Stacy Horn

Sayaka said I should pray to Buddy every day for two months, for his spirit to move on. I didn’t pray every day, but often in the mornings I would talk to him. I’d tell him he was the greatest cat ever and he deserved to go to a wonderful place and that I was sure he would.

It’s fitting that I finished my tribute movie to him last night. Today makes two months exactly. As I say in the YouTube description, I realize this movie is probably boring for anyone else to watch, but I worked long and lovingly on it. I cried while touching up the last three photographs of him. His skin was dry and flakey and it showed. Normally I gave him fish oil every day. It was for his general health, but it had the side effect of giving him a luxurious coat. Toward the end, I stopped giving it to him. He always hated it so there was no need to torture him with something that could no longer help him. (You can even see me giving it to him in the movie, after I pill him.)

I’m going to be glad to have this movie to watch from time to time to remember him. But it just makes me cry now.

I was so moved by this essay from the collection Mundo Cruel by Luis Negron, I wish they were all translated (they are currently only available in Spanish). Like I don’t have a huge to-read pile as it is. My edit Algonquin Books offered to send me books yesterday and I had to thank her and ask her to hold off for now, otherwise I will never catch up. But what happened at the end, between Negron and his father and mother. I don’t want to say anything, you should just read this essay.

As it happens I recently started a book by another Algonquin author and I am just loving it. Heading out to Wonderful by Robert Goolrick. “Let me tell you something, son. 
When you’re young, and you head out to wonderful, everything is fresh and bright as a brand-new penny, 
but before you get to wonderful you’re going to have to pass through all right. And when you get to all right, stop and take a good, long look, because that may be as far as you’re ever going to go.” A discouraging thought perhaps, but for some reason that sentiment, and this book, are cheering me up. It’s set in 1948 Virginia, and for whatever reason, Goolrick’s 1948 Virginia is where I want to be for now.

A window on my way to … where was I going? Oh! Economy Candy.

As I’ve said many times, I love going to libraries. If they’d let me I’d take my cats and move into the New York Public Library Branch on 5th Avenue and 42nd Street. That made me sad for a second. Buddy was a book-eater, so that wouldn’t have turned out well. Except it’s only a fantasy so what the hell. In my fantasy, any books Buddy would have eaten would be magically okay the next morning.

Actually, I keep forgetting that the The Dorothy and Lewis B. Cullman Center for Scholars and Writers (that’s in the 5th Avenue building) grants fellowships to writers every year. Among other things, you get a room to store the books you’re using for your research, instead of having to request and wait for them every time! I never ever ever ever remember to apply. I hate myself. From their website:

“A Cullman Center Fellow receives a stipend of up to $65,000, an office, a computer, and full access to the Library’s physical and electronic resources. Fellows work at the Center for the duration of the fellowship term, which runs from September through May. Each Fellow gives a talk over lunch on current work-in-progress to the other Fellows and to a wide range of invited guests, and may be asked to take part in other programs at The New York Public Library.”

But I wanted to post about the NYPL’s Central Library Plan (CLP) which I’ve posted about in the past. I didn’t hate everything about it myself, and loved some of the things the proposed, but there were some big problems, which apparently the NYPL has responded to! The story is here.

Joey Ramone Place. It looks quite different now from when Joey Ramone was hanging out in this neighborhood. The Hell’s Angel’s headquarters is one block over. I’ll bet they’re not thrilled about how the neighborhood has changed.

Most of the time I’d prefer to know as little as possible about the artist behind a work of art, although that is the opposite of how our society operates currently. We seem to want to know everything.

It’s just too dangerous. I find out the person is a jerk and it spoils my complete enjoyment. One of my favorite books, A Winter’s Tale, was written by a very politically conservative writer named Mark Helprin. I’m not anti-conservative, so this doesn’t have to be a problem for me, but I’ve read various essays and posts of his over the years, and he comes off pretty hateful sometimes. While he will often say something thoughtful within the hateful posts, he can be a complete ass and I’ve had a enough of hate for one lifetime and I need to limit my exposure.

There’s a new Mark Helprin book out, and I want to read it, and I will probably read it, but I can’t help wishing I didn’t know how hateful he can be. (For the record, some hate is okay. I get that intense sometimes too.)

Here’s a piece of music where the composer took data from the Higgs Boson data and interpreted it musically. Along similar lines, aside from how fun that idea is, I was wondering whether or not it matters that I knew that. Does it give me a deeper understand of the music? I wonder if the music somehow provides a deeper or different understanding of the science?

The Village Cigar store, which I pass by practically every day.

Actually, I don’t eat a lot of sweets, but I had an urge. So I went down to the lower east side, to Economy Candy, and I bought a pack of Adams Sour Cherry gum, wax lips, and Bonomo Turkish Taffy. Which nostalgic candy holds up the best?

Bonomo Turkish Taffy. I thought it was going to be the most inedible of the bunch, but it holds up very well, it turns out. I wish I’d bought more. Except, now I want a pumpkin pie. Still, it’s amazing I only bought three small items out of all the offerings in this store, and this is only one small part of it.