My Jewish neighbor from LA, M- noticed my Cantor’s shirt and remarked that in her youth she would go by what to her then was a neighborhood joint and eat the largest available “ire kiegel”. I had no idea what she was talking about. But famous search-injun helped us suss. It’s an egg cookie chaped like a bow tie. I had not noticed, in maybe 10 previous visits to Cantor’s of Fairfax; I had sufficed with: matzo ball soup, corned beef sandwich, chopped liver, people watching, book about hard rock band, in that order. So, something to look forward to.
Not to be confused with, despite my tempting morsel of “quotidian in quodlibet”, the Jamaican or reggae word “irie” which, (and I admit I had to look it up and lively up myself) which means “feeling good”.
As in “I had me the ire kiegel and am feeling irie, Monday”.
Of course Bob Marley was the ulitmate irie chap, for the first years of his life, maybe up to the grueling foot-cancerous end.
Dare I say “edible vs Oedipal” in the classic sense of a bad foot, or a bad joke. Brief history of Plastic Alto in seven botched posts.
Here’s to your next Jewish Bow Tie Egg Cookie, M- my friend. And mine too. Or my two.
file under: “lala” meaning Los Angeles and “ethniceities” which means Jewish.
This pre-empted what I started to write about art and words and “sex” (women’s, distaff, the second sex, first female POTUS, et cetera) and the Palo Alto artist Cheyanne Woodward and her use of typography and words that are almost legible but make you want to really try, in her acrylic on panel for example “Sorry To Bother You” or something, contrasted with a random picture of a woman’s upper thigh and about 50 words of illegible tattooed messaging (instructions, the maker’s chop, favorite song lyric –actually I knew slightly and worked with commissioned a perfectly reasonable artist from Austin who had a famous quote from and referencing a famous Goya something about dreaming the future of a dark world of monsters on her arm).
I drifted as if the Devil led me down the wrong path from researching a singer and her song to a blog about relationships to a social media catalog about fashion, to someone’s sad and not popular video series about her reaction to famous hip hop figures newest videos, to a successful young photographer in Baton Rouge and Atlanta — who shot presumably a friend imitating Megan Thee Stallion or so she said — in the way that you likley cannot read Cheyanne Woodward invented faux naive typography unless you peak at the title of the work.
I meanwhile although dreaming of sugary and fatty treats had a salad of lettuce and tuna mostly, which I ordered with a fake Francophile air from a El Salvadoran with a British Christian name, after greeting my German yogi former neighbor. It was nice.
I think I also, because I read nametags, met a woman named “Auntie” or “Aunnie” and another woman named “Nisi” though she has no Aunts.
Also, and I’ve really drifted here although like Bob Marley he has dreads, I wonder if the person who donated a kidney to jazz star Dayna Stephens was the nice lady relative of his who worked for ABAG in Oakland I met several years ago at his previous Stanford showing and in residency.
Also, I have to look up if Ruthie Foster indeed played at Kerrville circa 2000 or I’m buggin’.
and: a couple days later I completed this with a photo, or detail, of a young woman from Baton Rouge vacationing in Cabo with a block of copy — words — visible but not legible on her right thigh. Her left leg says “Carpe diem” or maybe “cardi b”.
Cheyanne’s painting says “sorry I’m late” or maybe “soy latte”. We met at Peet’s; she’s doing a poster for my September 13 John Santos concert; I found Chey serendipitous on the web— she’s a Gunn grad with an art degree from a school of the arts in Baltimore Maryland; she’s currently in a show at SICA in Sans Ho.
andand, Arnautoff in 1932: