Happy Birthday, Hamlinitos

This is Lilly. Today is her fourth birthday. Lilly lives in San Antonio, Texas with her Mom and Dad, her little brother, and two dogs. As you can see, she is very funny. Her favorite color is yellow, and she loves to swim and dance. Lilly is a keen observer. Once I told her, "You have a good eye." She answered, "I have two good eyes." She is also a talented storyteller. Some of the people in her stories include the charming Mia, the irrepressible green troublemaker Doko, the versatile Tyrone, and his enigmatic sidekick Pablo, about whom little is known.



This is Wil, who turned one year old on Monday. Wil is an excellent applauder who offers ovations of encouragement to all. Wil is not a loner--he is with the people and for the people, and is known to get up in somebody's grill. Wil admires bling and loves the ladies.

Happy birthday!

fotos by Heef

BUFFALO TIME

This happened like three weeks ago, but I just uploaded the photos. Now, Barbara, you may have wondered, what makes Fisch laugh? Furthermore, what makes Fisch laugh while drunk on a cold Sattidy night?

I'll tell you what. So, my friend the artist known as Chartreuse Velour threw a terrific small all-girl clothing swap and dinner party. We ate two kinds of casserole, and salad, and ran around half-naked tryin' on blouses and whatnot, talked a lot, danced some, drank beer and wine. Here's the CV, writer, crafter, commandant, playing some rockin' mood music:
So then her Fiance (pronounced fye-ants, always, in my mind)came home with a bottle of bourbon.
Wooo! When he showed it to me though, his manly hand was obscuring part of the "Buffalo Trace" label, and I asked aloud if it was "Buffalo Time" bourbon.
Oh, how we laughed, when it was revealed how the bourbon was called "Buffalo Trace" . I laughed, anyhow. Buffalo Trace = evocative, semi-Yoknapatawphian (I am reading Faulkner now)fancy-likker place name, kinda. Buffalo Time = what is it?? When is Buffalo Time? How does one keep Buffalo Time? Eastern, Central, Mountain, Pacific... and BUFFALO TIME. All right, if I have to explain it this hard, it's probably not that funny. But the girls (and Warren) obliged me. Mainly by passing the bourbon bottle around, taking swigs, and bellowing BUFFALO TIME! at the top of our voices. OK, mostly me.

And perhaps not surprisingly, it got funnier and funnier to me as the night wore on.
Here we are, then, engaging in Buffalo Time.
What time is it, y'all?
BUFFALO TIME.

To wit, dig artstar celebutante Anne Sussman here:


And how about la Kat Fasano? She's in Brain School, so you know she knew what time it was.


And Lori Mocha celebrates Buffalo Time just like a normal person. But go look at her blog, yo.

And here's Emilie Blythe McDonald. Don't let the fact that she's bottle-free fool you. Total Buffalo Gal! Behind Em, Warren is visible.

I hope he ain't mad we drank up alla his Buffalo Time.

Happy Vagina Day

In my Valentine's day e-mail from my mother:

I drug your father, the Woods, the Schwartzmen and the Hamlins with me last
night to see "Vagina Monologues." I figured it was a good Vday
acknowledgement. They all actually enjoyed it, I think, but it did make us
all uncomfortable, of couse.
Sam Gilliam was in it.

Sam Gilliam was my high school drama teacher.
Happy Vagina Day, y'all!

(Note: Photo taken in 8th Avenue stop of the L train--found artwork commentary by anonymous New Yorker.)

Still in the Ramping-Up Process, Clearly

Why, hello!

How are you?

School is proving to be quite a challenge, in an excellent way. I have to read the first 6 chapters of Faulkner's Light in August before Thursday. I've never read any of Faulkner's novels, just "A Rose for Emily." In that story, (spoilers! Look out!) a lady secretly keeps her dead boyfriend in her house. Awright! So I have great hopes for Light in August. We just finished Look Homeward, Angel. If you're looking for a densely imagistic bildungsroman, I recommend it. Thomas Wolfe does terrific descriptions of food, ghosts, drunks, and melancholia. He refers to Greek mythology quite a bit, too. My Southern Modernists professor, Dr. Bernardete, recommends Googling classical references, and said on Thursday: "O lucky moderns! In my day you had to get up and go to the library."

My favorite new word from Spanish class: mediocalvo. It means "going bald." The other students in my Spanish class are fun. One guy and his pregnant wife are taking tango lessons in order to improve the baby's rhythm. Another guy, somewhat older, plans to retire to Chile in three years, and among his favorite topics of Spanish conversation are fishing, fistfights, and taking people hostage.

We had a huge snowstorm in New York last night/this morning. I went out and took a good long walk in it today, but I forgot to take my phone-camera with me. So here are some fotos of random recent subjects.

Bar on LES is possibly named for unknown distant relative.









Graveyard, Queens. I held my breath while taking the photo, just in case.










I don't know what this great big vulture on a hydraulic lift thinger was for, but I was very impressed. It was on Union Avenue in Williamsburg near McCarren Park.


Apparently it's for sale. I don't know whether that means the lift thinger, the bird, or the whole shebang. Anyhow, I doubt I can afford it.

Easing Out of the Batcave

Dearest Barbara*,

Hey y'all! Homes! Dudeleh! Remember me? Well, I've had about enough of my sad sack bullshit, so I'm here to lighten the mood. Many thanks to all of y'all who left such nice comments here, I really appreciate it.

The quick news update is that I managed to get started at the New School despite the job loss. This is my second week of classes and I am completely nerdily ecstatically loving the whole damn thing. You never saw somebody so delighted to buy a 5-subject spiral notebook. Pile on the coursework, bitches! I'm taking intensive Spanish, two fiction-writing classes, and a Lit course, "Southern Modernists." Am currently geeking out on Wolfe's Look Homeward, Angel for that class. I've had to read a 70-page chunk of it, plus read two Flannery O'Connor essays, do a crapload of Spanish grammar exercises, and write nine pages of fiction, all since last week. DOESN'T THAT SOUND LIKE A LOT? It seems like it to me.

Anyhow, I'll have far more to say about all that later on. Meanwhile, I KNOW you're dying for some fone fotos.

Photo restoration display in Greenpoint shop window.












Cops navigating large puddle, McCarren park.




The explain-o-monster from my dreams.



Can you spot the Empire state Building in this foto?




Future ex-husband Heath watching A&E documentary about the Gucci murder.


*Barbara, in case you've forgotten, is what I call all y'all, collectively. It amuses me, and nobody seems to mind.