Matthew Gallaway

The Halloween Report (March of the Zombies)

Each morning this week when I left for work, the sun had barely risen and flesh-eating zombies staggered up the sidewalk in front of me. It was a time of great beauty and great sickness, judging from the onslaught of sniffling and coughing I faced each day on the subway. One morning on the way to work a woman started tottering on the long ride between 125th Street and 59th: to everyone's dismay, it seemed like she was about to become a "sick passenger" (or a zombie). We all felt anger (why did she get on the train?) and compassion (did she have an obligatory meeting with her corporate overlords?). A space quickly cleared and she was given a seat, where she remained until 34th Street/Herald Square, at which point she managed to stand up and walk unassisted into the one of the most nightmarish stations in the system (which thankfully I don't need to use anymore). I wondered if she had health insurance and, if so, whether she could afford a trip to the doctor or whether she would have to pay out-of-pocket, not having met her $5000 annual deductible. "Single payer or STFU." -- Elektra, after watching the Republican primary debate "Get Hillary on the line, because we need to talk." "Is Elektra running for President yet?" -- Zephyr "Feel like I'm stuck on the bottom of a ladder." -- Clio
In more comforting news, the seasons continued: the ferns in our front yard turned silver and the columnar pin oak leaves dropped to the ground. The backyard, which is something of a "micro-climate" was perhaps a month behind the rest of the city.
In cultural news and reviews, Dante watched a few episodes of "The Muppets" and decided that the idea of neurotic, adult Muppets was interesting, but that the two-dimensional, stereotypical execution was horrible. Dante: "That show, like pretty much all of them, needs hordes of flesh-eating zombies to make it interesting." What interested me is that I never liked Fozzie Bear as a kid, and I still don't like him now that they've turned him into an aggressively non-homosexual jerk. Maybe if the show was more focused on Janice (<3) and the rest of the band, I would watch more. Shows we're enjoying include: "Les Revenants" (French zombies), "The Walking Dead" (especially episodes without Rick), and -- because not every show can have zombies -- "Please Like Me," which if you haven't seen it is sort of a gay "Seinfeld" from Australia (in the sense that it's a "show about nothing" where antics ensue) but where the lead character is very sweet and charming. To put it in HBO terms, it would be like if you took the best parts of "Girls" and "Looking" and ended up with something less ponderous and self-aware, but still earnest (but not too) and funny and illuminating (A+)."Why can't every show have zombies?"
Here's a picture of a morning glory, which is my costume this year. Happy Halloween!

The Politics Report: Pools and Parks

As with so much associated with the very rich, the penthouse pool, which I could see from my Tribeca office, seemed like a beautiful, extravagant waste: as far as I could tell -- and I had checked pretty regularly -- nobody ever used it. I suppose it's possible that it gets used a lot and that I'm just looking at the wrong times. Here's a view of my block in Washington Heights, the most densely populated neighborhood in Manhattan, and it appears to be empty. Or at least empty of people, because it's obviously filled with morning light. Plus, it's not like there's a law or anything that says you need to use everything you own. I own a sweater I've never worn, for example. Is there a difference between a sweater and a rooftop pool in Tribeca?   Whatever. Our country is a mess, basically.
It was time to think about ferns. And our columnar pin oaks, whose leaves are starting to turn. They only get a little bit of sun these days, but they enjoy what they get a lot. They're not at all like the Tribeca rooftop pool owners, in other words. Clio continued her forays into the garden. She and Elektra caught SIX mice last week.
Elektra also caught six hundred flying snakes and eviscerated all of them. Zephyr didn't catch anything. "Don't even think about asking." -- Dante Clio made a new friend in the garden. "She's a strange looking cat." -- Clio Even with the mums, the garden began to feel more gothic as the light vanished and the vines took control. Here's my pitch for "American Horror Story: Mums." Having never experienced Halloween, Clio retreated indoors. On Saturday morning, I woke up early and went for a run in Fort Tryon Park. Like the Tribeca pool, it was empty (except for me). I think we can agree that the Tribeca pool has almost nothing in common with Fort Tryon Park, however. What's the same about a Tribeca pool and Fort Tryon Park? They both have red berries, except for the Tribeca pool. Even the lowly yarrow looked beautiful against the backdrop of the park. Oakleaf hydrangea and elm trees. The park is a perfect example of a functioning government. We need to spread the park concept to 1) health care, 2) mass transit, and 3) ________. More oakleaf hydrangeas. I was supposed to be running, but I couldn't stop taking pictures. Two women asked me if I knew what this orange flower was, and I confessed that I didn't. Instead we agreed that life was full of regret. I stepped back for a wider view of things. The Tribeca pool and everything it represented seemed very far away. When you think about it, so much of our collective money -- our "hard-earned tax dollars" -- gets spent on the worst things in the world: nuclear missiles, guns, drones, sterile stadiums that house corporate brands and foster a false sense of civic pride.
A lot of it gets spent on things designed to keep us "safer." My question for the next presidential debate: what are you going to do to make the world more beautiful?
"Drain the pool and spread the wealth." -- The Hostas

March of the Mums (Cats and Mums and Zombies)

On my morning walk to the subway, I noticed that someone had planted a bank of red chrysanthemums on the west side of Saint Nicholas Avenue. When I was younger (~ two weeks ago), I would have been less than excited about the annual onslaught of mums: garish, disposable, factory produced flowers you picked up at Home Depot. Now, however, I wanted some. I mean, I wish we had enough light for autumn roses, but I knew it was never going to happen. "Not every garden is a rose garden," Elektra reminded me when I started complaining to her.  Besides, there was a lot to admire at this time of the year: the azure sky, the magical light, the twisting branches of a (non-columnar) oak tree, also on Saint Nicholas.
In the garden, leaves were beginning to fall. We prayed for this winter to be less brutal than the previous two. Recently I met someone and explained that I had submitted a work-related proposal to some important people for review: "Say a prayer for me," I said, to which he responded, "I'm an atheist, so you won't be getting any prayers from me." I was reminded why I don't feel comfortable labeling myself an atheist, even though I probably share most and probably all of their non-beliefs. Of all of our cats, Zephyr has the plushest coat, as he's the first to point out. Dante was entranced by the light in the trees. "Just don't ask me to catch a mouse." Clio, on the other hand, was praying for mice to appear -- as they often do as the temperatures drop -- and her prayers were answered. I found the evidence in our front hall closet, where Clio promptly positioned herself with feline intensity and focus. Within a few hours, the score was in: Clio 2, Mice 0. Let this be a warning to any mice considering taking up residence in a four-cat household. On Thursday night, I saw Tannhauser at the Met, which like (parts of) this blog post is also about the parameters of belief. I read in the program notes that Wagner had mixed feelings about the opera for his entire life, and you can really feel that ambivalence in the music, which veers from more traditional and constrained to the kind of sweeping, chromatic waves that characterize his later works. It was thrilling to behold, although after it was done, I was filled with renewed hatred for the popular music that played in the cab on the way home and -- even the next day -- the techno music that was piped into my gym's locker room. If I ever open a gym, I'm going to install a stereo that plays nothing, so that people can enjoy the reverberating melodies of the opera they heard the night before.
On Saturday, we drove north in search of mums. On the way, we stopped at an apple orchard, where we picked apples. Just kidding, we bought them already bagged because we were running out of time on our Zip Car and we wanted to eat donuts instead. You might say the donuts and hot cider were "heavenly," unless you were my atheist friend who would say, "I don't believe in heaven." As the afternoon skies darkened, I hoped and feared that hordes of zombies would appear over the ridge. I recently skimmed through a very long "think piece" sort of bemoaning the popularity of The Walking Dead by a person who clearly didn't understand the appeal given the array of shallow characters and predictable plot lines. But really, what could be a better distillation of life? The only difference is that, in life, the zombies are less defined, but they/we are still everywhere. Everyone's a zombie, depending on your perspective. The other zombie show I've been enjoying, btw, is Les Revenants (the French version), which has an excellent Slint-derived soundtrack by Mogwai. My point being that I would pay pretty much anything to join a gym that played Slint and Mogwai instead of garbage techno. We dropped off our Zip Car with one minute to spare and returned to the garden, where we were greeted by the Japanese anemones. And toad lilies. To reward Clio for catching two mice, we brought her out into the garden for the first time. "I'll admit it, that kid has potential." -- Elektra "I'll help her with her coat," said Zephyr. We arranged our new pots of mums on the table, where they basked in the afternoon sun.

March of the Autumn Light

While I can't say I was happy when they tore down the house in the middle of our block, it's hard to feel too upset when the morning glories light up in the autumn sun. The trees are also starting to turn, although in some cases it's difficult to tell whether it's an effect of the season or of the extreme heat we had through much of August and September. It's probably one of those questions that's better not to fixate on. Inside, the orchids continued to bloom. Outside, an ant relaxed on the petal of a Japanese anemone, also just starting to bloom. "Leave me alone and stfu," said the ant when I asked if it was enjoying the fall weather. "Ants are rude," confirmed Dante. In other garden news, the toad lilies continued to flower, which is a promising development because we moved them earlier in the season. Most plants aren't afraid to show their emotions: if they're happy, they'll flower; if not, they'll just give up and die. "Flowers are stupid and weak," said Elektra. "If I'm not happy, trust me: you'll know about it." "I'm happy sitting on a piece of paper, but I can't really explain why, which makes me feel confused. Is it possible to be happy and confused at the same time?" Whatever. It was finally not hot and we understood that the light would be amazing while it lasted. "I've never seen the autumn light," said Clio. "It makes me want to move to Nova Scotia or Scandinavia, where the shadows are very long." "Sometimes you can stay in one place," said the garden statue, "and the light will come to you."

 

The Early October Report (Hurricane Cats)

It was a week of transition from hot to cold. "Shut up," said Dante. "I'm hunting for hurricanes." "Also, is it too late for me to enter the presidential campaign?" The hurricane sent a few clouds to hover over Manhattan. "Whatever." -- The Empire State Building "I look great in any weather." The clouds grew more serious. Not everyone was allowed to go outside, on account of their recent surgery. Not everyone was allowed inside, on account of being a garden statue. "You can't always get what you want," said Elektra. "Deal with it." "And when I say 'you,' I mean 'you,' because I get everything I want." Zephyr: Are you terrified of Elektra, sometimes?

Dante: I'm actually more terrified of Clio, tbh.  "Elektra has taught me a lot," said Clio. "You spend time with a veteran like her and you learn a few things."  "For example, she taught me this pose, which is how you 1) guard for flying snakes, 2) watch for hurricanes, and 3) wait for pizza. It looks easy, but -- trust me -- like anything, it takes a lot of practice."