Alice meets the Caterpillar

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence; at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice. “Who are you?” said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied rather shyly, “ I – I hardly know, sir, just at present – at least I know who I was when I got up this morning but I think I must have changed several times since then.”
“What do you mean by that?” said the Caterpillar sternly. “Explain yourself!”
“I am afraid I cannot say it more clearly,” Alice replied very politely, “You see, I can’t understand it myself to begin with, being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.” “It isn’t,” said the Caterpillar.
“Well, perhaps you haven’t found so yet,” said Alice, “ but when you have to turn into a chrysalis – you will some day, you know– and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel a little queer, won’t you?”
“Not a bit,” said the Caterpillar.


From ALICE IN WONDERLAND

No Reservations

Yes, that is title of the movie I saw today… The storyline was actually good, but the movie was as flat as a glass of stale beer, no self respecting aria of Madam Butterfly or Traviata could save the deflated soufflé, nor the quail with champagne and wild mushroom sauce worth its truffle… Chef Kate’s paced through her dull New York apartment more like a fashion model than an over-zealous chef.

During my humble career in Food and Hospitality I met a few chefs. Most were man… For instance, tres-elegant French executive-chef Robert (pronounced Robear) was of the species capable to compete as IRON CHEF... Fast, meticulous, precise, austere, proud... he personally would fly a thousand miles to obtain the perfect Filet de Boeuf and could make a Pompadour-Homard (lobster) worthy of the Prince of Wales.

Yes I knew Italian-Swiss chef Marco, the meanest guy whose career almost ended when doctors amputated his right leg as a result of neglected diabetes… But he did not care… He just loved food… food and wine… Could I forget Zhiggy, the mad banquet-chef? I still can hear his German-accented shout: “Line up… Pick up… Pick up… If you drop it I’ll chop your head…“ Chef Zhiggy adored Wagner, cigarettes and Heineken; he went to the ladies’ bathroom to have a smoke, and never washed his hands…

I have known 3 lady-chefs. Religious Portuguese Maria made the sign of the cross over each Bouillabaisse. Encarna was Spanish-Lebanese, off duty she liked Flamenco and Middle Eastern foods, boiled chicken, lentil soup, Molochia, a green weed picked along the Nile, halva, cognac and champagne. When she became grandmother she packed it all in and went to Paris…

In a five star hotel worked the third lady, French-Canadian executive chef, lesbian, with an unusual name and a rare sense of humour, thoughts of her remind of Queen Latifah in the movie “Chicago;” at Xmastime she gave gifts of huge chocolate Santas, and while cooks, chefs and gifted kitchen-employees made gingerbread houses, hers were palaces; in Singapore she learned Ice-Sculpture well enough to win awards, she explained that a woman in a man’s world has to work three times as hard only to be twice as good… But... I stray... the receipe failed for NO RESERVATIONS?

It Raineth Every Day

Movies in the Rain

Because it rained all day it was the perfect time to clean-out the dozens of cumbersome video cassettes humbly stacked in dark neglected storage ever since slim’n sleek DVD’s became the elite upgrade. Not an easy task… the titles and the covers of the out-of-the-closet video-cassettes scattered on the floor exuded scents of old mystery, pulsated with undeniable magnetism. I poured a Corona, reconnected the VCR to the TV and inserted LA DOLCE VITA. Even without Special Features, Fellini’s film of 167 minutes merited at least another Corona. I poured the last ounces of Cointreau into a crystal wine glass and drank it while I watched SATYRICON, (twice).

Slept awhile, noisy raindrops at my window woke me… over a pot of tea I listened to John Mayall and Jimmy Witherspoon… O… how that Blues tunneled under my skin urging me to bust out of the c ocoon… but it rained again all day and the next, while on the floor the set-aside but not forgotten movies demanded viewing time… Enough! Enough Fellini after THE NIGHTS OF CABIRIA but still in Rome, CALIGULA came next. What a show… a tapestry woven of naked flesh… Malcom McDowell – a superbly wicked Caligula, Peter O’Toole- epitome of imperial decadence, John Gielgud – elegant even in the death-tub, beautiful is Helen Mirren – as Caesonia, Titania or Queen Elizabeth…

4th day and still raining…

Letter from the Past

June 28- 1990

Dear Tallulah,

Daiquiri, here we are having a Cuba Libre. Cheers!
It’s a lovely sunny day and we realize that it takes two of us to write you a letter…Really we wish we were all together on good old WRECK BEACH, laughing nude by the sea, watching the dazzling sun-struck parade of randy virgins… Puffing the hookah to the rhythm of tinkling ice cubes.

HOT TOWN SUMMER IN THE CITY…

We thought about you over a morning cup of coffee at the local – Greasy Spoon Café – so we rushed home, poured drinks, got into the computer and here we go…
One rainy night this past winter we met by chance (after all our nights of glamour) on the Victoria Coach, - the Bus!!! … Can anyone tell that we are world famous poets?Hah ! We reminisced how you entertain all with your impeccable Marilyn Monroe impersonation and the good-humored strip-tease act. No one guessed you were a man until that inebriated night when you overlooked your bird-seed boobs, your gorgeous wig askew, and your maleness badly tucked…
We were young then, we lived high, walking on a tight-rope to paradise, no obstacles would prevent our climb, Academy Awards glittered on the horizon… And while we waited for fame and fortune we mixed Strawberry-Frozen-Daiquiris and passed again the hookah… Yes it was divine, delicious, delightful, marvelous, miraculous and magnificent… Let’s call for another round of youth!
At the hotel where we are presently, unwillingly engaged as elegant slaves (banquet servers) at the price of Rubies, Blues and Champagne we ran into Miss Lovey, Miss Lovey discarded her leopard-skin exotic dancer costume, she now starrs in the long-running musical hit AIN’T MISBEHAVING and sings Gospels, upon recognizing us she shouted from the stage “GIRRL!!!” Where’s that MISS WILD DAIQUIRI… Could you hear in LA?
WindSang Galleons blown across the sealike a dream…Handsome Pirates light as dolphinsSeagulls calling…MagicNothing but…

The Emperor's Mah-jongg

Ok I will explain… the other wicked reason for postponing my blog posts as well as hiding from family and friends, for not answering e-mail, getting the car washed, weeding my sister’s garden or prune a single rose bush is because I became addicted to the Mah-jongg game installed on my computer. Brutal was my dedication to the game which like a magnet would attract me in the morning after I brushed my teeth but before I made a cup of tea, cruel to let me microwave a cup of soup but would not give me time to eat, wet the jade- plant on my balcony or make my bed… In self-loathing I unistalled the demon before I went to sleep only to reinstall it upon waking up…

It was not a simple addiction to a game. To recognize and memorize character and symbols on the Mah-jongg tiles and find the match, was a challenge and the 12 layouts blinking (were they winking?) kept testing my wits and ability just as promised on the CD cover. Persevering, I discovered that mere visual recognition of the symbols on the tiles was a mere smidgen, a token scratch in the pursuit of the - Scroll of Wisdom - , starting with the first mission which consisted of 12 tile “layouts” named and shaped to represent the 12 signs of the Chinese zodiac. Of course for the removal of ALL the tiles the player needs a strategy…

And when a strategy for each of the first 12 layouts became revealed, I realized that the challenge really was - SPEED-… To progress through 6 levels of 12 dissimilar layouts each at escalating speed in the quest of meeting the 12 Emperors!
Maybe in 12 years of 12 months each...

Mah-jongg and the Seeds of Wisdom

In search of elusive wisdom what did I not know about the Chinese Horoscope and the game of Mah-jongg I discovered during a swift excursion into the TONG SING, the Chinese Almanac. Nothing however wise, could release me from the masochistic pursuit and after playing an astronomical number of solitary games I resolved to plunge into the Emperor’s Challenge…
By now to remove from each of the 12 signs of the Chinese Horoscope 100 out 144 tiles within 6 minutes was easy enough; half way through the ordeal I became an APPRENTICE, upon completion I was reward with 12 Parcels of Knowledge, a symbolic RUBY GEM, and by Emperor's decree ordained DISCIPLE.
With creepy perseverance I regained a small degree of self-respect by the additional achievement of being deemed TEACHER, as one white-night I succeeded in removing the required number of tiles of 10 following layouts within 5 minutes, and in so doing I received additional Chinese Wisdom, all of which is posted on the right side of this blog…
In the futile quest to become ranked as Emperors one must progress through 72 layouts grouped in 6 different themes:
1– Horoscope, 2– Crafts, 3– Nature, 4– Scenery, 5– Martial Arts, 6– Emperors.

I should give it a miss, as proclaimed by Parcel of Knowledge No. 2:

Of all stratagems - to know when to quit is the best!

Leonardo's Dream

I dreamt we were riding on an open nineteen-century carriage, curiously their was nothing in front pulling it, but turning my head to look behind I realized the carriage was pushed forward by the four Byzantine bronze horses of St. Mark Cathedral. We rode along a boulevard flanked by sumptuous buildings. The architecture was familiar, it might have been ancient Rome or Washington DC. Gradually aware that the scene belonged to a world of computer generated graphics we moved forward as players of a Nintendo game. Captured in the scene, we paused awhile, motionless while time like wind was gusting by. There was no sound, not a whimper!

Silently the left side of the grand boulevard imploded… self-destructed… In fog, dust or smoke the rubble disappeared… Leggo architects came, new buildings quickly rose, impressive new generation of palaces filling all vacant space. The vitreous facades reflected the old...

Then the carriage became my bed and Leonardo DiCaprio was beside me. “Magic” he said.

Food Poison

I was ready to resume posting a couple of weeks ago but I woke up suddenly in cold sweat, fainted on my to the bathroom, hit my cheek-bone on the tile floor, injured my upper lip and bruised my knee. When I regained consciousness I had to crawl on my hands and knees because I couldn't stand up.

The only other time I injured myself was when I got unintentionally drunk on OOZO… I was sitting on the sofa and when I stood up the wall on the opposite side of the room came at me and struck me with a vengeance… Lucky it was not the stone-faced fireplace! The bruise on my forehead prompted my friend Sam to confess the reason he never showed up for Sunday breakfast a few years before was that he woke up pushing against a wall he couldn’t get away from, and not until he heard the policeman’s voice did he realize that it was not the wall but the sidewalk floor he was flat upon… He recalled having a couple of drinks with his pals after an afternoon shooting pool…

I have recovered well. It was only a case of food poisoning… hit my guts like a ton of bricks, I am glad it wasn’t arsenic… Though for my part and when it’s all over, I find the more painful the experience the greater the impact on my memory, and so I will avoid tasting even the smallest bite from a suspicious jar… but pain of the heart such as Sidney Adrian’s is not easily healed by flushing it down the toilet.

Landscape Blues

So long since I posted to this blog, I have been busy, I have been preparing for a website. And who am I to want a website of my own? A blog is great, but a blog is not enough. Now, with a lot of help from two very special people the website is up, I am happy and very very proud.

Why the website? To publish my writings of course… I just could not trouble a myriad editors and publishers with my humble manuscripts, I may be wrong but I believe those Gods do not favor unknowns like me. So be it.

My jewels, for my stories are my jewels, are beautiful, and because the most beautiful things in life are free, they are free for anyone who cares to read them as they appear on my brand new website: LANDSCAPE BLUES.
LANDSCAPE BLUES consists of three ACTS in prose poetry. The Voyage of Tomorrow, Fields of Snow, and the Heart of the Rose, are poetic narrative populated by call-girls, suicide, and shadow puppets… My website is the abstract garden where reality and fantasy fuse into poetry of passion and obsession... See you there!