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Well, actually, you know, Idora Park's been closed for a while. Like since the end of the 1984 season. The Wild Cat burned, and that was that--the rides, and the park, were over.

But after twenty years of painstaking restoration, the carousel from Idora Park has been quietly spinning for a couple years right here in ol' Brooklyn. Jane Walentas, wife of the DUMBO real estate king (DUMBO, for you non-NYers, is the obnoxious name realtors gave to the neighborhood Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass). The Walentas bought the carousel from Idora in the original auction after that last tragic season. And then Jane got to work.

She debuted the restored ride in 2006. It sits in an old brick garage on Water Street--a stone's throw from the Brooklyn Bridge. The Walentas are trying to have the carousel placed in the Brooklyn Bridge Park, but plans for the park--like every other development in NYC right now--are fraught with political complexities (read political incompetence and lack of will). So while we wait for the park to get its infrastructure straight, the ride spins in its slow elegance in a garage. No passengers allowed.

The restoration is lovely. The carousel looks simply magnificent--fresh, rich, and perfect. When someone enters to view it, an attendant switches the ride on and voila--the music comes on, the horses gallup, and the carriages spin round and round. I hope I can ride it again someday....

A few more of my pix are here, and here--courtesy of the good folks at Gowanus Lounge--is a video of what's now called "Jane's Carousel"....

And just in case you want to know why Idora Park was so beloved--well, the Wild Cat was an amazing roller coaster:

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Senator Larry Craig, married, searches for sex in men's rooms

Senator David Vitter, married, pays for sex from prostitutes

Look at these assholes and ask yourself if the Senator who solicited sex from a male undercover cop in an airport men's room and the Senator who was a john of an infamous prostitution ring, both of whom are married (yes, to women) are really the people who should be co-sponsoring an amendment to the US Constitution called the "Marriage Protection Amendment." You know, it's bad enough that some people want to write bigotry into the constitution, but when those people are craven hypocrites of the highest order then there's something seriously wrong with our government.

Hey, I've got an idea! Let's throw the bums out!

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Remember Melissa, our little campfire cook with the BIG CHECK (scroll down a few stories)?

SHE WON THE GRAND PRIZE! Whether or not the new prize is a BIG CHECK it's a BIG check. I'll update as soon as I have some more information.

Yay yay yay yay yay. And yay!!!! Melissa won!!!

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Watch Senator Dodd's speech

Read Greenwald

Russ speaks for me

Call your Senator right now

UPDATED TO ADD:
MUST-READ: An eye-opening and rather scary blog post about FISA and the PATRIOT Act

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This wonderful poem is by James Schuyler. It's from a book published in 1980 and it refers to some images of a disappearing "old New York." With restaurant Florent closing in 5 days, it put me in mind of the people and places I've seen pass through my decade and a half in New York.

Millions of thanks to The Unruly Servant, who typed out each of these 1,431 words, so that I didn't have to.

Dining Out with Doug and Frank
by James Schuyler

for Frank Polach

Not quite yet. First,
around the corner for a visit
to the Bella Landauer Collection
of printed ephemera:
luscious lithos and why did
Fairy Soap vanish and
Crouch and Fitzgerald survive?
Fairy Soap was once a
household word! I’ve been living
at Broadway and West 74th
for a week and still haven’t
ventured on a stroll in
Central Park, two bizarre blocks
away. (Bizarre is for the ex-
town houses, mixing Byzantine
with Gothic and Queen Anne.)
My abstention from the Park
is for Billy Nichols who went
bird-watching there and, for
his binoculars, got his
head beat in. Streaming blood,
he made it to an avenue
where no cab would pick him up
until one did and at
Roosevelt Hospital he waited
several hours before any
doctor took him in hand. A
year later he was dead. But
I’ll make the park: I carry
more cash than I should and
walk the street at night
without feeling scared unless
someone scary passes.

II
Now it’s tomorrow,
as usual. Turned out that
Doug (Douglas Crase, the poet)
had to work (he makes his bread
writing speeches): thirty pages
explaining why Eastman Kodak’s
semi-slump (?) is just what
the stockholders ordered. He
looked glum, and declined
a drink. By the by did you know
that John Ashbery’s grandfather
was offered an investment-in
when George Eastman founded his
great corporation? He turned it
down. Eastman Kodak will survive.
“Yes” and where would our
John be now? I can’t imagine him
any different than he is,
a problem which does not arise,
so I went with Frank (the poet,
he makes his dough as a librarian,
botanical librarian at Rutgers
and as a worker he’s a beaver:
up at 5:30, home after 7, but
over striped bass he said he
had begun to see the unwisdom
of his ways and next week will
revert to the seven-hour day
for which he’s paid. Good. Time
and energy to write. Poetry
takes it out of you, or you
have to have a surge to bring
to it. Words. So useful and
pleasant) to dine at McFeely’s
at West 23rd and Eleventh Avenue
by the West River, which is
the right name for the Hudson
when it bifurcates from
the East River to create
Manhattan “an isle of joy.”
Take my word for it, don’t
(shall I tell you about my
friend who effectively threw
himself under a train in
the Times Square station?
No. Too tender to touch. In
fact, at the moment I’ve blocked
out his name. No I haven’t:
Peter Kemeny, gifted and tormented
fat man) listen to anyone
else.

III
Oh. At the Battery all
that water becomes the
North River, which seems
to me to make no sense
at all. I always thought
Castle Garden faced Calais.

IV
Peconic Bay scallops, the
tiny, the real ones and cooked
in butter, not breaded and
plunged in deep grease. The food
is good and reasonable (for these
days) but the point is McFeely’s
itself—the owner’s name or
was it always called that? It’s
the bar of the old Terminal Hotel
and someone (McFeely?) has had
the wit to restore to it what
it was: all was there, under
layers of paint and abuse, neglect.
You, perhaps, could put a date
on it: I’ll vote for 1881
or the 70’s. The ceiling is
florid glass, like the cabbage-rose
runners in the grand old hotels
at Saratoga: when were they built?
The bar is thick and long and
sinuous, virile. Mirrors: are
the decorations on them cut
or etched? I do remember that
above the men’s room door the
word Toilet is etched
on a transom. Beautiful lettering,
but nothing to what lurks
within: the three most
splendid urinals I’ve ever
seen. Like Roman steles. I
don’t know what I was going
to say. Yes. Does the Terminal Hotel
itself still function? (Did you
know that “they” sold all the
old mirror glass out of Gage
and Tollner’s? Donald Droll has
a fit every time he eats there.)
“Terminal” I surmise, because
the hotel faced the terminal
of the 23rd Street ferry, a
perfect sunset sail to Hoboken
and the yummies of the Clam
Broth House, which, thank God,
still survives. Not many do:
Gage and Tollner’s, the Clam Broth House,
McSorley’s and now McFeely’s. Was
that the most beautiful of the
ferry houses or am I thinking
of Christopher Street? And there
was another uptown that crossed
to Jersey and back but docking
further downtown: it sailed
on two diagonals. And wasn’t
there one at 42nd? It couldn’t
matter less, they’re gone, all
gone and we are left with just
the Staten Island ferry, all
right in its way but how often
do you want to pass Miss Liberty
and see that awesome spiky postcard
view? The river ferryboats were
squat and low like tugs, old
and wooden and handsome, you
were in the water, in the shipping:
Millay wrote a lovely poem about
it all. I cannot accept their
death, or any other death. Bill
Aalto, my first lover (five tumultuous
years found Bill chasing me around
the kitchen table—in Wystan Auden’s
house in Forio d’Ischia—with
a carving knife. He was serious
and so was I and so I wouldn’t go
when he wanted to see me when
he was dying of leukemia. Am I
sorry? Not really. The fear had
gone too deep. The last time I
saw him was in the City Center lobby
and he was jolly—if he just
stared at you and the tears began
it was time to cut and run—
and the cancer had made him lose
a lot of weight and he looked
young and handsome as the night
we picked each other up
in Pop Tunick’s long-gone gay bar.
Bill never let me forget that
on the jukebox I kept playing
Lena Horne’s “Made about the Boy.”
Why the nagging teasing? It’s
a great performance but he
thought it was East Fifties queen
taste. Funny—or, funnily enough—
in dreams, and I dream about him
a lot, he’s always the nice guy
I first knew and loved, not
the figure of terror he became.
Oh well. Bill had his hour: he
was a hero, a major in the
Abraham Lincoln Brigade. A dark
Finn who looked not unlike
a butch version of Valentino.
Watch out for Finns. They’re
murder when they drink) used
to ride the ferries all the
time, doing the bars along
the waterfront: did you know
that Hoboken has—or had—
more bars to the square inch
(Death. At least twice when
someone I knew and hated
died I felt the joy of vengeance:
I mean I smiled and laughed out
loud: a hateful feeling.
It passes.) to the square inch
than any other city? “Trivia,
Goddess . . .” Through dinner
I wanted to talk more than we
did about Frank’s poems. All it
came down to was “experiment
more,” “try collages,” and “write
some skinny poems” but I like
where he’s heading now and
Creative Writing has never
been my trip although I understand
the fun of teaching someone
something fun to do although most people
simply have not got the gift
and where’s the point? What
puzzles me is what my friends
find to say. Oh forget it. Reading,
writing, knowing other poets
will do it, if there is
anything doing. The reams
of shit I’ve read. It would
have been so nice after dinner
to take a ferry boat with Frank
across the Hudson (or West River,
if you prefer). To be on
the water in the dark and
the wonder of electricity—
the real beauty of Manhattan.
Oh well. When they tore down
the Singer Building,
and when I saw the Bogardus building
rusty and coming unstitched in
a battlefield of rubble I deliberately
withdrew my emotional investments
in loving old New York. Except
you can’t. I really like
dining out and last night was
especially fine. A full moon
when we parted hung over
Frank and me. Why is this poem
so long? And full of death?
Frank and Doug are young and
beautiful and have nothing
to do with that. Why is this poem
so long? “Enough is as good
as a feast” and I’m a Herrick fan.
I’d like to take that plunge
into Central Park, only I’m
waiting for Darragh Park to phone.
Oh. Doug and Frank. One is light,
the other dark.
Doug is the tall one.

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New York State Senate Majority Leader Bruno is retiring. Oh happy day! Chances of a Democratic takeover of the New York State Senate just increased greatly. We're one seat away. It's time our state's Senate started acting like our state. In other words, more progressive, more liberal, more--well--smart, than the Republicans with their interminable majority status would ever allow.

Now, we progressive activist are going to have to do everything we can to once and for all break down the decades-old power structure of Albany's "three men in a room." We need to renew our state, transform ourselves into the progressive democracy we should have been all along. And that means getting rid of the Speaker of the Assembly, Democrat Sheldon Silver, too. It's time for new leadership across the board (though, personally, for me, the jury is still out on our new Governor. So far, I like him, but we'll see...).

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Imaginary interview with Sam Amidon:

Q: Where did you find your voice?
A:

Q: Why is the human voice both fragile and so powerful at once?
A:

Q: What is the correlation between dance and voice?
A:

Q: What does stillness have to do with how a voice projects?
A:

Q: Are talking, laughing, and crying at all like singing?
A:

Q: Do you sing in your sleep?
A:

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Newlyweds, United States of America, 2008

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If you like a horse race, I strongly recommend electoral-vote.com. They compile and average the state-by-state polls for the Presidential and Senate races. The main page features a daily-updated map of the states, with roll-over pop-ups of the percentages of the latest polls; and it gives a total of electoral votes for each candidate. Looks like this:

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As the Democratic race was wrapping up, Obama was leading McCain 283 to 255. But hey hey, as the Democrats unite around Obama now, we've got him up with a MUCH bigger margin: 304 to 221 (with Virginia's 13 electoral votes tied). Now, of course, it's only June. Lots will change between now and November. But think about this: Obama leads McCain in national polls between 3 and 6 percentage points. But in 2004? Kerry never led Bush in national polling--always riding 1 to 4 percentage points behind. And he lost by a tiny margin of electoral votes.

What I'm getting at here, of course, is that if we all chip in, we are indeed going to pull this thing off. Nothing is guaranteed, but if you're serious about prevent a third Bush term via Senator McSame, please consider making a donation to Obama or to the DNC, or volunteering, or setting the record straight when the Republicans launch smears, or just making a concerted effort to discuss this important election with your family and friends. Neighbor-to-neighbor, friend-to-friend campaigning is the best and most convincing form of advocacy work anyone can do. So don't be afraid to bring up politics with your friends and family, even though it can be a touchy subject. Doesn't have to be too serious, just enough to let those around you know where you stand. If they're interested, they'll ask more.

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My friend Melissa won the Northeast Region in a contest for "gourmet campfire cooking" recipes--whatever that is. And look what she won: a giant check!

About the contest, Melissa writes:

So I entered this crazy competition about a month ago...a "gourmet campfire cooking" competition. What's more crazy, is that I was chosen as a semi-finalist. The winery that hosted the competition paid for me to go down to D.C. to battle it out at a food and wine festival. Think Iron Chef without the cool special effects, the cool costumes, and the gross ingredients.

Strangely...(enter drumroll) I WON. Which, as it turns out, was pretty wicked because, not only did I win $, they presented me with one of those ridiculously fantastic giant checks. It was like being a Publishing Clearing House winner...only without the van and Ed McMahon.

Melissa now moves on to the national competition, while We The People get to vote on our People's Choice. So do me a favor and go give Melissa some votes. You can vote every day, actually--so yeah, vote early and vote often!

But what exactly did Ms. M create that makes her such a winner. Why, Blackberry Hand Pies with Jar-whipped Lavender Cream, of course! And why not? Sounds delicious to me, if I were to be anywhere near a campfire, that is (highly unlikely). But I like the idea of it anyway.

Her recipe is here. Check it out, give her a little vote, and cross your fingers for the national competition on June 26. Good luck, Melissa!

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Today, on his first full day since Clinton's decision to suspend her campaign, Obama starts making his moves. This is the kind of commitment to change we can expect from an Obama administration:

Democratic Party Will No Longer Accept Washington Lobbyist Donations

Democratic National Committee Chairman Howard Dean and the Obama for America Campaign today announced that the DNC will no longer accept Washington lobbyist donations, making the same commitment as Barack Obama, the presumptive Democratic nominee for president.

"The DNC and the Obama Campaign are unified and working together to elect Barack Obama as the next president of the United States. Our presumptive nominee has pledged not to take donations from Washington lobbyists and from today going forward the DNC makes that pledge as well," said Democratic National Committee Chairman Howard Dean. "Senator Obama has promised to change the way things are done in Washington and this step is a sure sign of his commitment. The American people's priorities will set the agenda in an Obama Administration, not the special interests."

That's what I'm talkin' about! Well played, Senator Obama. Well played, Chairman Dean. Get the dirty money out of Washington!

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Oh what a terrific birthday! If this is being 39, I like it a lot. Patsy wins for being the first to say (and to sing!) happy birthday to me--at 3am this morning! And I had great shout-outs from Mom and Dad, Stephanie, Alex, Aunt Joyce, Mr. Santos, my wonderful staff, Sexy MF, Paula, Laura, Carter, Penny & Pete, and Thomas and other various random callers and well-wishers too numerous to mention. The only twinge of sadness was that it was the last of my many birthdays celebrated at Florent, which this time next year will just be memories. But a wonderful time there tonight we did indeed have.

Oh, and by the way, the Democratic party wrapped up an historic campaign by giving enough delegates to nominate Barack Obama for the Presidency! A wonderful birthday present for me--and better, I am sure, for Obama himself. What a wonderful night for America! What progress for the Democratic party! The polls against McCain are good, and McCain himself is such a whimpering little mess that I almost feel bad for him. Don't worry, I don't. It's just that seeing his sad little speech to a sad little group of supporters tonight compared with the intellectual, rhetorical, and common sense intelligence of Obama seems like making for an unfair match. Then again, Obama is black, so the cards are certainly stacked against him. But don't believe the media spin about how working-class whites won't vote for him. It's only Appalachia where that's true--and if you scratch that surface you find raw racist wounds just below the skin. But regardless, I have faith. I think he'll actually make inroads there. And anyway, he's currently ahead in national polls, and also, more importantly, he's ahead in polls tabulating the electoral college vote. (Check out this averaging of polls which results in Obama beating McCain 283 to 255). Anyway, there'll be plenty of movement up and down in the polls over the next couple of months, but I know the Democrats can win this race. After all, we must.

Anyway, back to the Index... I plan to do an entry telling you about a bunch of new albums that are out--so many good ones, and a few medium ones--but since that always takes time to put together, I want to mention one new release that's gotten under my skin in the most haunting of ways. Robert Forster, of the Go-Betweens, has a new album out. Two years ago his Go-Betweens partner Grant McLennan died quite unexpectedly. As a dedicated fan I took it harder than I do most celebrity deaths, but Forster's new music has pricked that old wound open to reveal a deep heartbreak within me I didn't know could come from the death of someone I didn't even know. On The Evangelist, Forster channels not only the Go-Betweens but McLennan himself, using three songs McLennan left unfinished at his death. One of them, Demon Days, moves me to tears over and over. It's haunted, it's awfully sad, and it's impossible to get out of your head. Somehow, the song makes this stranger's untimely death very real to me. It's a telegram from beyond our world, reminding us of what was lost when McLennan closed his eyes that final time. You can stream the whole album from the link on this page, and I encourage you to go there to listen to Demon Days, but really, just go buy the CD or download from iTunes. Forster deserves nothing less than respectful observance of this sad ritual he's created.

Let me also just mention a good book for those inclined to be interested in good writing, animal rights, or science: Elizabeth Hess's Nim Chimpsky: The Chimp Who Would Be Human. Hess is one of the first people I ever knew in New York City--a writer of great skill with a generous spirit who helped show a young poet around the art world when he first arrived here back in 1992. This new book is filled with that same generosity of spirit, sharp intelligence, and wonder. (Highly recommended specifically to Patsy, Stephanie and to Debbie M!)

Many friends and family and readers have asked about my new digs. I keep meaning to give some updates about my new borough, my new apartment, my new hood, my new domestic tranquility. But for now, just know that to have the pedestrian path of the iconic Brooklyn Bridge--especially with the fluid cinematic view from one's bicycle--as your daily commute to work, is pure bliss. I'll try to remember to take some pictures to post here.

Signing off from the first day of my 40th year. I'm David Zaza, indexing the Zazaura™ since 38 years old. Now I'm 39. Sounds like a lie. Grrr.

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