". . . But the past does not exist independently from the present. Indeed, the past is only past because there is a present, just as I can point to something over there only because I am here. But nothing is inherently over there or here. In that sense, the past has no content. The past -- or more accurately, pastness -- is a position. Thus, in no way can we identify the past as past." p. 15

". . . But we may want to keep in mind that deeds and words are not as distinguishable as often we presume. History does not belong only to its narrators, professional or amateur. While some of us debate what history is or was, others take it into their own hands." p. 153

Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History (1995) by Michel-Rolph Trouillot

Monday, October 3, 2011

River Walking Yesterday

A 2 1/2 hour walk down to the Battery and back. I took photos and when I transfer them to my hard drive maybe they will provide a sense of what river walking is like around here .... I think I saw two Monarchs. I saw a pigeon brain itself by flying itself right into the trunk of a tree – oh, I laughed! I continue to laugh every time I recollect it. Later, at Fanelli's, el V says I am a cruel woman and he'd never before even suspected; I say, "It's a pigeon ...." The usual spoiled squoiles, posed classically, nut in mouths. Cool and blowy and cloudy, not the best for taking photos, but maybe I got some good ones of the duck pond and the ducks, who were getting no noms because it was too chilly with the wind for parents to sit there with their tiny children whose joy it is throw ducks bread -- which of course is not allowed, which of course no one pays any mind to, any more than bikers pay any mind as to signage that tells them to dismount and walk the bikes on this pedestrian only path, or those with dogs pay any mind to the signs that insist "No Dogs Here" ....
Friday at a Farmer's Market, te obtained some of the last of a New Jersey organic producer’s heirloom tomatoes. I have home-made pesto from Raffetto’s (est. 1906!) and their home-made mozzarella, some Sicilian olives and olive oil, and prosciutto bread ... made the sandwich of sandwiches! The last taste of summer 2011. Gotta say the summer of 2011 was maybe the most unpleasant summer we’ve ever experienced. I love summer but this one, not much.

This morning it was 53 when we got up. Summer was a clumsy, messed up first draft, not ready in the least for professional consideration. It's in desperate need of an entire re-think, as lacking in organization and coherence as it was, with a risable number of repetitions of weather-caused disasters, lurching from one thing to another without continuity or motivation or even sufficient set-up (other than that catastrophe of global climate change that we must never mention for fear of either being lynched or laughed out of the room). Does not meet our needs at this time. Don't call us. We are never calling you.

However, this evening I have an informal symposium in C's studio on the history of Hollywood costuming in the Western. Yay, C! A symposium with champagne and people bringing you food. What more can you want?

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