Christmas in Maine

Another nice Christmas in Maine, bordered by easy Jet Blue flights, then three days of good food by the fireside, punctuated by a giant bonfire in the field on the Solstice, as per tradition, and an unfortunate highway muffler-falling-off drama. A foot or two of snow made it all very wintery. J. and I had a wild turkey spotting (see below) but I'm still waiting to see a moose.




I actually flew back on Christmas Day, which didn't bother anyone but my mother who couldn't quite get her head around it. Invited S. and K. over for dinner but realized I had no wine and went walking through the quiet city, ran into R. (from the past) who just because he likes me walked with me up 6th Avenue to 20th Street, over to 8th Avenue and back and down 6th to Union Square East, then down to 8th Street over to Astor Place all to no avail. There simply is no wine on Christmas Day. We then shopped for food and said goodbye until we run into each other again, on my stoop. After a mutually cancelled dinner party, I happily began reading Absurdistan. Fun times.

Back by popular demand

Happy New Year to Bobsy, Val, Jean and Pete and Sasha and O. Henry and Salsa and Ann and Ann and Ann, Stash, Cleo, Nicole, David L., Maura, Nell, Toby, LK, Shannon, Joanne P., Jeff G. Jeff O., Bruce, Betsy, Lily, Alice, Ann, Al, Krista, Casey, Steve, Penny, Carmella, Joan, Bob, Michael O., Michael P., Devin, Ann, Sylvia, Pat, Matt, Joanna, Roberta, Kevin, Philippe, Garrett, Todd L., Mary, Janine, Maura, Steve and Laura, Sayyid, Petra, Kim, Wendy, Kate, Marshall, Torrance, Charlene, Gabriel, JC, Daniel, Al, Margaret, Scott H., David, Kevin, Jonathan, Alice, Adam, Jose, Paul, Lev, Jochen, Hani, Ricky, Ruth, Mary Rae, Rae Ann, Don, Tamar, Richard, Becky, Steve, Steven, Peterson, Andrea, Jim, Doug, Alison, James and Leo.

Qubits: What I've learned so far today

Quantum computation relies on the ability to coherently manipulate the quantum state of qubits. However, unavoidable coupling to the environment gives the qubit a finite lifetime. It has been proposed that the use of a geometric phase (or Berry's phase, a topological phase that accumulates as an object traverses a path) should be more robust to the effects of decoherence. Leek et al. (p. 1889, published online 22 November) describe the observation of this geometric phase in a superconducting qubit, which they claim might bring fault-tolerant quantum computation a step closer. [from Science CiteTrack: This Week In Science e-mail newsletter]

Wikipedia tells me that a qubit is a unit of quantum information. Okay. In addition, "Benjamin Schumacher discovered a way of interpreting quantum states as information. He came up with a way of compressing the information in a state, and storing the information on a smaller number of states. This is now known as Schumacher compression. In the acknowledgments of his paper (Phys. Rev. A 51, 2738), Schumacher states that the term qubit was invented in jest, during his conversations with Bill Wootters.

In other news, unrelated, the purported "Word of the Year"" is "woot"!

I know how to pick 'em

It's been a long time since I'd gone to the movies alone. And maybe longer since I went with anyone. Anyway, I went to Angelika today to see The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. Which was pretty much the perfect movie for today, for me, for now... It was, briefly, a really beautiful experience, not perfect, but visually amazing and mentally motivating. One's (anyone's) personal problems kind of fade away watching a vibrant person transformed into a trapped-in-his-own-body terminal existence. I'm pretty sure all 20 people in the audience were crying. And, like the best movies do, it transported and uplifed. The soundtrack was (Tom Waits, among others) spot on.

Calling Mr. Gehry

I need a treehouse. Well, not need.. like I need food and oxygen but I have in my head the rough outline for a treehouse or Tree House, set in the hilly woods of New England near the coast, set high among the oaks and maple forest, high enough to catch the sunlight streaming over the western hill (yes, western. I don't love morning sunlight so much. Not that I awaken or will awaken in the afternoon but you understand.)

Ew: Eaten by Cats

Wow. This was exactly what I didn't need to read this early Sunday morning. I'm trying to type and eat my oatmeal while O. Henry and his new pal Sausalito (Salsa, for short) wrestle loudly in the bathtub. I picked up Salsa yesterday from Kitty Kind in order to give Hen a friend. Salsa's very cool and was easily the most popular at Petco yesterday (I kept having to tell people not to get too attached as she was coming home with me -- I really meant keep your kids' grubby hands off her).

Ok, this is ... um... fun. My photo of the late le Pescadou restaurant made it onto a nifty little site called (exclamation NOT mine) Schmap!! (with my permission) along with a nice description of the LATE and lamented restaurant which hasn't been there for months and months. Oh well. You'll see the photo if you allow the page to load... or just click here, which may be faster.

Okay, one more cat pic. I can't help it. Day #2 and I guess it looks like they'll get along just fine.

The New New.. New

After imbibing a pricey and strange lavendar martini at Five Points Restaurant* in Noho, A. and I traipsed in the cold to the opening ("Bowery Bash") party to celebrate the new New Museum of Contemporary Art. The crowd (decidedly downtown and upwardly striving) was a sea of rectangular designer glasses and women in variegated plumage, mostly in tones of black.

Everyone peered at each other's faces to see if the other was famous. Many were.. most were not. After milling about wondering where the art was, we found the elevator to the art. I can say now that, for me, the elevator (enormous and apple-green vibrant) was the best part of all of it.

The art? Hm, well, I'm no critic but I'm quite sure my cat created some of it, possibly in the throes of, well, throwing up. I did appreciate the gagglemess of chairs seen here.

I wish it well. The building, plopped onto the reluctantly gentrifying Bowery, is interesting in a "I'm obviously not from here, but am trying my best to fit in" way. I also wish Lisa Phillips, the director (with whom I worked briefly a long time ago at the Whitney -- she was a curator; I was a temp) all the best.

*Crappy website but a nice restaurant; try the truffle-infused wood oven pizzette with Sonoma teleme cheese. La di da.

More thanksgiving

Between this article in the Times about abject poverty in Maine and the grim and gripping The Law of Dreams (Peter Behrens) about the Irish potato famine, I'm feeling pretty lucky and, well, thankful. Heartbroken, maybe ... but still fortunate.

Thanksgiving 2007

Contrast

The Moon Looks Like a Walnut

I live for Harper's magazine's "Findings." The seemingly random selection of scientific factoids is so well done -- dry as a bone and yet often laugh-out-loud funny. Here are a few that cracked me up this month:

Canadian researchers found that men are almost as likely as women to be coerced into sex and that nearly a quarter of men are coerced into cuddling.

Astronomers confirmed that Saturn's moon Iapetus is half black and half white because its front side picks up space dust, and its back side accumulates ice. They also said that the moon has looked like a walnut for a very long time.

Female African jumping spiders that lose their viriginity to large males and avoid being eaten by them after sex tend to choose small, less threatening males for subsequent sexual encounters.

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This weekend has been a long one for me. Like 8 days long, at least. That's one upside of a breakup, I guess. Really, really long weekends...

Thursday's Child: for some reason I want to play ping pong

My title (of this entry) has no real meaning. Except that I was born on a (cold, rainy) Thursday in 196-) and today is Thursday. And... "Thursday's child is full of woe" -- 'nuff said... details to (probably not) follow.

Anyway, things that caught my eye and ears (eyes, plural, actually, thanks to my opthalmologist): On deck from NY Magazine's "The DVD Queue," RESCUE DAWN -- "a dark-horse contender for Best Actor, Christian Bale brillantly plays Vietnam POW Dieter Dengler as the strange optimist found in director Werner Herzog's 1997 documentary LITTLE DIETER NEEDS TO FLY." No clue what that means but as one who still, some 20 (?) years later dreams dreams inhabited by Herzog's monkeys from AGUIRRE, I can say, I'll watch anything Herzog-related. (Oh, I also dream occasionally of Klaus Kinski but we needn't go there.)

Also, a cab ran over my right foot (corner of Hudson and Reade, possibly). And I survived. Here's what happens: a rounding-the-corner cab screech, then a strange pressure on said foot, then a completely instinctual and kinda kangeroo-ish physical jump backward and then... nothing. Until one (me) gets home and strips off tights (black, matte) to find entire top of foot is mottled black and green. Nice!

Delightfully pleasant evening with dear friend K. on Tuesday... at a Van Halen concert! WTF? I know! Well, her company (publishing) has a sky box at Madison Square Garden, obviously meant for stressed-out copyeditors to lounge in from time to time (once in a blue moon) to feel "appreciated." Or something. Anyway, I'd not been in a sky box before and it was rather kinda cool and upper-atmosphere (I wanna say... hm.. tropospheric). Yes.) and a very hazy view of the hilariously posturing David L. Roth, et. al. I definitely need to get out more. And will.

My friend A. says I use too many adverbs. Can this be right? What if adjectives just don't quite do it? Huh?

Oh. And this week's The Office made me itch to play ping pong. I'm pretty good...

What I've learned today so far

That Quaker Instant Oatmeal + Fage 0% fat yogurt plus Tibetan Gohji Berries make a fine breakfast. That John James Audubon "counted a day wasted unless he had shot a hundred birds." That fresh-cut freesia last a long time (a week!) but the white ones last longer than the yellow ones. That cats don't like warm water any better than cold. That's it for now; laundry time on a windy, cold November Saturday.

Say It Ain't So

Ever since I've been a Yankees fan (not rabid, but... always there) I've liked and admired Joe Torre as a coach and a man. He radiates a quiet goodness that perfectly counters his melancholy resignedness. Which I guess is a good word for this week, as he essentially resigned, refusing to accept what he termed an insulting offer of compensation for his time and talent. I can only hope he read the more than 100 haikus (!) posted about him the Times' Joe Torre Haiku Contest.

Go Joe, live long, your
hangdog visage will linger
with me a long time

No words

Took my wonderful neighbor Ann to dinner at Market Table, new on Carmine Street for a nice dinner and a sort of tribute to Petey, who died on Friday. I know... shocking, sad. I'm not sure how he died but it was nearly exactly the same way MeMe died (suddent spasm, dead in an instant). And yes, if you didn't know, I'm talking about my cat(s). Petey was a good guy, the quintessential tabby cat and just a darn fine specimen: loving, cool, mellow, happy. I'd post a picture (again) but I'm too sad to look for one. And pissed off that I had to pay $85 for have him cremated (wtf?). Living in the Village is insanely expensive.

Anyway, dinner with 82-year old Ann (who takes/took care of Petey, and MeMe and now O. Henry when I'm out of town) was lovely. I can recommend the swordfish highly (ate every last scrap) with fresh off the cob corn and avocado/frisee salad) and probably the crabcake, which Ann devoured and then took home the bun with the lettuce and tomato tucked inside). Nice place (we got the last unreserved table) but too much space wasted with a weird selection of things I can't imagine anyone would want to spontaneously buy.

Other weekend highlights included a successful trip to Housing Works and a bad epidemiological thriller that made me want to do some detective work to find out who/what killed Pete. First stop: the exterminator who looks like Alec Baldwin (O. Hen had some fleas) and then possibly Purina.....

Update: there were no fleas. O. Henry just had a mild ear infection.