My other Atlanta photo obsessions

An old shed in the back of my neighbor's house...

What I like to call 'country in the city.'

We've got a lot of that down here in Hotlanta.

"Cartoonists: Foot Soldiers of Democracy"

I went out last night to a screening of a French documentary film about political cartoonists that was organized by the Atlanta Press Club, and as I walked to my car, I felt a little surge of life!

It’s easy to see why. I went to see a film. And not just a film but a documentary. Moreover, a documentary film in French! About cartoonists who are boldly lampooning politicians specifically and inequities in general.

Do I really need to say it was cool?

The film, “Cartoonists: Foot Soldiers of Democracy,” followed around a dozen cartoonists from across the globe as they observed their culture, including the explosive events they’ve chronicled through their drawings, and explained how they worked. It thoroughly captured what it was like to live in their worlds.

The cartoonists were interviewed in their native tongues – Arabic, French, Russian, Chinese, Spanish – as they worked, or in the case of the Russian cartoonist, as he danced in the countryside with friends. Imagine an aging Russian cartoonist dancing on the grass with friends!

The press club had several Georgia cartoonists on hand, including Rick McKee of the Augusta Chronicle. When I asked Rick about being in such an elite group, he said, “There are about 50 of us around the country left.”

There’s just something about the cartoonists’ ability to conjure up so much with just a small square of a drawing. And the stories they tell in the movie! Of being summoned by the KGB or banned from publishing or threatened. One scene included an interesting conversation between two cartoonists in Africa about the limits of what they could and couldn't publish. Spoiler: the scene includes a part of the male anatomy!

And as a board member of the Atlanta Press Club, I was super proud we could sponsor such a cool event!

I should also mention the French Consulate here in Atlanta was an important partner in pulling off the event. Now if only I could say that in French!

Found and lost (Cat streetscape)

I took this photo (I think of it as 'cat streetscape') in an enclave of artist live-work spaces, off the Beltline, back in 2009.

And it's somewhat curious that this little bit of street art is now gone.

My neighbor, Art

I take walks sometimes with my 83-year-old neighbor, Art.

A retired chemist born in Chicago to a Swedish mother and a German father, he's in remarkable health. Thin of bearing and spry, taking off on long, cross-country drives, and heading out often to (mainly classical) concerts.

Yup, he's decidedly young at heart. And a lovely man, who's retained a wide-eyed curiosity about life.

And he says to me this morning, as we're walking in Grant Park near my home in Atlanta:

"I'm really looking forward to aging."

As you might. At 83.

Steps to nowhere

I've been intrigued for a few years by the sheer number of old steps in Atlanta that lead nowhere.

They once led somewhere, to be sure.

But now the original building is long gone.

Yet the steps remain.

So I've started to take photos of them.

I suppose other cities have steps to nowhere, as well.

But perhaps because Atlanta is a city with many single-family homes and standalone office buildings, the steps seem to stand out...or maybe pile up quicker.

As a reporter, I traveled to Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina. And Atlanta's steps to nowhere have the odd echo of the properties I saw in Biloxi where all that remained of a house might be the foundation. Or the steps.

Found photos (Southern Italy edition)

In the age of the digital photo, you 'forget' some of the photos you've taken. Here are some 'found' favorites of Southern Italy.

The Book of Moods

I feel sometimes as though I could write an entire book about my moods. Is everyone this way?

Join me as I indulge this fantasy.

I could write it along the lines of Bridget Jones' Diary, but oriented, in my case, for the (ahem, older) mother of a toddler:

Sleep: 7 hrs, 45 min sleep
Caffeine intake: 1.5 caffelattes
Time to write: 1.5 hours solid work
Mood as of 8 a.m.: "It's A Wonderful Life" (last scene, obviously)

Then you could do a night-time edition:

Sleep: 7 hrs, 45 min sleep
Caffeine intake: 1.5 caffelattes
Total time writing: 4 hours
Exercise: Ran three miles
Book I'm Reading: Henry James' "The Portrait of A Lady"
Alcohol in-take: Two glasses of red wine
Wine quality: We were drinking aglianico so fan-fuckin'tastic
Funny things Leo said: "Whatta happened?" and "Look at that Mommy face!"
Mood as of 8 p.m.: This feeling should be illegal

Alternative version: when I sleep a little less than I should, sometimes I find the gates of perception are nonetheless wide open, and I'm stumbling from one thought to another, and one prospect to another, with boundless hope and good will.

Sleep: 6 hrs, 15 min sleep
Caffeine intake: 2.0 caffelattes
Time to write: 1.5 hours solid work
Songs listened to: "No Government" by Nicolette on the way back from daycare, then Springsteen, then Gianna Nannini's "America"
Read some Italian? Yes; finished third book in Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan series
Mood as of 10 a.m.: Hallucinating about taking over the world (and hence needing and wanting to write down every thought)

Just me?

From the Leo Journal (Nina Simone edition)

The last two evenings, Leo has jumped up after dinner to say, “Let’s listen to some music.”

He runs over to the boom box on a corner bookshelf in the kitchen and begins fiddling with the knobs. He knows which CD is his – a children’s album of Woody Guthrie songs from my friend, Margie – but he’s also curious about my jazz CDs.

The first night, he listens to the song "Take Me Riding In the Car," and shouts out certain words: Back seat! Blow the horn! There's a frog in the car!

Then he looks at Nina Simone’s face on one of my CDs and decides he wants a listen. I cue up “My Baby Just Cares For Me,” one of my favorite songs, and try to dance him around the dining room. He’s not having it.

But he likes the next song, “Don’t Smoke In Bed.” On the second night, he begins playing his CD, then says, suddenly, with perfect enunciation and recall, “Don’t Smoke In Bed.” I roar with delight, and he says, again, “Don’t smoke in bed, Mommy."

Menefreghismo! Yes!

There's an incredible new nonfiction book by the Economist's John Hooper called The Italians.

How do I know it's incredible? According to a book review in The New York Times, he explains concepts like "menefreghismo"!

For the uninitiated, it means not giving a crap about something; the phrase "non me ne frega niente" is something you hear every day, every day, in Italy. Typically 'niente' might be replaced with 'un cazzo' -- that kind of thing.

In fact, menefreghismo sums up the attitude of vast numbers of people, including just about anyone in public office.

Finally, the REAL Italy. Not just gondolas. Please tell me there's a chapter on the tredecisima!

Read The New York Times' book review here.

**ciao ciao ciao ciao ciao ciao**

Look at that face!

"Found" dialogue:

"Look at that face," he says. "Look at that Mommy face."

My two-year-old. Leonardo.

Then he adds, "Mommy happy? Mommy happy?"

**

Nicolette - No Government

I love this song so much by the British/Nigerian singer, Nicolette. Listening to it, I feel as though I'm committing a crime or telling a lie, its beat is so infectious and sinister.

OK, so I have a thing for trays

This tray is part of my "Italian tray" collection. Yes, the collection has subcategories.

This tray was actually a gift for Il Nostro Inviato.

I was delighted to see an article about trays in the New York Times' Home section today. As the article says, they "corral" items that would otherwise be clutter and also convey a sense of service, if used for drinks or food.

Unlike the trays featured in the Times, my trays all come from thrift stores! Even the one from Italy!

Sesame Street: Leonardo da Crunchy's "The Muncha Lisa"

This is what we've been watching this morning. "The Muncha Lisa"? Oh Lord, too funny.

We discovered this video just as we'd been looking the past few weeks at a calendar of Leonardo Da Vinci paintings, including, of course, the Mona Lisa.

I can only imagine that comparing the two -- even just the names -- made the discovery that much sweeter for my Leonardo.

And for this Italophile, the accents on the Leonardo and Mona Lisa puppets are hysterical! And spot-on.

C'era una volta a Firenze

Più che una libreria, fu una chiesa per i libri.

Libreria Condotta was a delightful little bookshop not far from Piazza della Signoria. The type of bookstore with those old ladders left leaning against the shelves, which of course lined the place from floor to ceiling.

The owners were incredibly knowledgeable, and even a bit intimidating. I always had the sense I was interrupting something very important whenever I asked a question.

But they had everything, so many delicious Italian novels.

It's now a winebar. Ah, the remembrance of things past! Past and now lost forever.

My latest dose of Italy

c/o Il Nostro Inviato (ma certo).

Quasi quasi piglio il libro di Tabucchi e mollo tutto!

Spotted at Blue Ridge and Cleburne (ATL)

Buongiorno, right back at you!

Italian Books Rock! (Bambino edition)

I recently received one of the most beautiful books I've ever seen. And it wasn't for me (though I quickly appropriated it). Take a look. Squisito, no?

It's a children's book that my cousin-in-law, Stephanie, brought back for Leo from Italy. (Stephanie, a.k.a., Mary Kate Wife, in Leo's parlance).

The images are gorgeous, the thick cardboard cutouts are solid and elegant, and the design is ingenious!

Sometimes it's as though all I do in my life is fall in love again and again with the same things! Ahhh....books!

And I suppose if that's really what life is like, well, shoot, it could be worse.

The other view from my room at Bennington

When I awoke most mornings at Bennington College this month for my grad school residency, there was a lot of gorgeous, fluffy snow falling outside of my window. And then inside, there was this:

Sharing a soda with Leo at the Blue Benn diner.

You can put that on my tomb (Robert Frost)

While I was at Bennington for my grad school residency, I visited the churchyard where Robert Frost is buried. Take a close look. The inscription reads:

"I had a lover's quarrel with the world."

Commence swooning. Is there a better inscription?

It makes me feel a bit like I have nothing to say so I will simply add: I, too, am having a lover's quarrel with the world. And I'm quite enjoying it.

Leo on the Rodin sculpture at the High

Here's Leo's take on the Rodin sculpture on the front lawn of the High Museum in Atlanta:

"He not moving. He not get down."

So true.