Uncle Louie Bee's

When we went to get ices Thursday afternoon at the Uncle Louie G's on Vanderbilt we got to meet Uncle Louie G. He wasn't running around like a mascot, doing mascot things, he was wiping off tables coated with dry sticky spills, spills drawing plenty of bees.

My 2 youngest kids go for the sweetest flavors, root beer and bubblegum. Perhaps indicating that I don't give them enough sugar, perhaps indicating that they'll have dentures prematurely. The bees don't mind, they wouldn't leave us alone in fact. One almost landed on my son's lips, for god's sake. I kept the kids madly scrambling from spot to spot to try to avoid the bees that inevitably found us, dangling their legs like broken landing gear before touching down. One bee was very adorable trying to eat my daughter's ice, sampling the pink and blue mountain with its little probiscus, trying to walk up the icy slope but slipping off.

My son managed to eat his while evading the bees but my daughter's case was hopeless because they include actual chunks of gum in the bubblegum flavor, so it takes forever to eat. It was strange but when I looked around at Uncle Louie G's, no one else seemed to be having any trouble with the bees. I think they really like root beer and bubblegum. I suppose next time I'll have to just buy one for the bees so we can relax and enjoy the sweetness.

Accordion Player

The Reflex

These two have gotten far too quick for my lazy lens.


















I've found more docile subjects on the F train.

Man Behind the Counter

He said I could take his picture, but I'm not sure he thought I was serious when I told him I was going to put his picture on the internet. How could I resist?

House Fire on 11th Avenue

Dolores is ok, thank God. So well that it took determined efforts on the part of many to get her to leave her home and go to the hospital to get checked over, just in case.

I often see her sweeping the front yard of her house, a bowfront on 11th Avenue which may now have some degree of fire damage. The fire started on the first floor, but I saw a little smoke coming out of the window on the second floor. Dolores' cousin told me of her devotion to her home which I'm sure she keeps immaculate. It's her place in the world, and we're her people. Even me whose name she doesn't know but whom she still smiles at in that way of hers.

Who does she think she is smiling like that? Why doesn't she just smirk at my poor fashion choices? Doesn't she know we live in the age of insolence, where's her self-righteous indignation, her simmering contempt and snarkiness. Why isn't she a douchebag? Is it because at this point she might not have much of a future to hate herself for ruining? Oh, the steep burden of youth and ambition...

Engines on the scene included the 122, 220, 147 (Da Pride a Flatbush), 239, 281, 1, 240 and 148. Rac Unit 2, Ambulance 232 and several of other vehicles. About 20 firemen stood in a semicircle folding up their hose, a solemn zen-like ritual. My heart is theirs, big pansy that I am.