a few tired remarks

I'm really tired, but I feel like someone has chained me to the computer and refused to provide me with the key. I've been working quite a bit on the website, and I've even got the help of a Dutch friend that's quite good at visual-type stuff (see the music page graphic), so things seem to be coming along swimmingly. Thank you to everyone who has visited the site. Please feel free to download any music you like (mine or the Balsawood Players) and distribute it as you see fit. You will not be prosecuted for reckless downloading and copying of songs. On the contrary, you will be rewarded by someone. Someday. Somehow.

In other news, I finally got around to taking some pictures up in Little Italy in the Bronx. Unfortunately, some of the ones that I hoped to get proved quite difficult, so I plan to continue photographing in the area and return with a greater number of better images within a short time.

What is Little Italy in the Bronx?

Well, Little Italy in the Bronx is basically an area around Arthur Avenue (off of East Fordham Rd.--the sight of the Law and Order-like post of the other day), otherwise known as "Belmont". The official Arthur Avenue website says that the area is home to "tens of thousands" of Italian Immigrants, which sounds about right. The area has been popular with Italians for about one-hundred years, but in recent years has become a focus of Albanian/Kosovar immigration.

What is really wonderful about the area are a few things:

1. Arthur Avenue lacks the astro-turf restaurant patios of Manhattan's Little Italy. While some may find this a drawback, I personally see it as a great improvement on the Italian-American dining experience.

2. Going to Belmont truly feels somehow different. People are actually speaking Italian! Old ladies are chatting on park benches, husbands are looking old-world, those that don't speak italian are saying things like "forget about it" and "ciao."

3. You can find all sorts of food in the area that you would be hard-pressed to find anywhere else. For instance, if anyone needs a rabbit steak or a whole goat at any time, I would be happy to show them where to buy it.

4. You can occasionally see figures such as "Big Pussy" from the Sopranos in the area, sipping espresso and everything. (Unfortunately, I wasn't carrying my camera the day that I had the honor).

5. Translation and a joy in forthrightedness lend a true glow to the neighborhood.

So, I give you a couple of photos to enjoy. Hopefully I'll be back with more soon.
If you're interested in checking out Little Italy, take the 4 train or the B train to Fordham Road (it could be the D, but I'm pretty sure it's the B). Get off and walk down East Fordham Rd. (ask someone there which way).
If it's nighttime, walk briskly or take a cab. If it's daytime, walk leisurely and enjoy the dichotomy which is the Bronx.

Arrivederci. I'm going to bed.

The World of Bond

Exciting News!
---------------------

www.theworldofbond.com is now a reality. The site is still admittedly skeletal, but it exists. Feel free to visit and download music by Chris Bond (me) and the Balsawood Players (me and others). I plan to continue work on the site, and hope to soon have photography, art, and more music at your fingertips.
Have a great day!

Greasy Jersey

Here is a photo of a greasy Jersey evening. I saw some old friends that are in town for the holiday. We went out for a couple of drinks and then out to the local diner (a time-tested Jersey tradition). The food you see in the picture is a Taylor Ham, Egg and Cheese Sandwich. Taylor Ham is a Jersey Delicacy, and a mystery in much of the rest of the country. It's basically a breakfast meat, similar to a sausage or Canadian bacon, but much, much more processed, and much, much tastier. Go check out this web page if you'd like to learn more about taylor ham (aka pork roll). Or go here if you'd like to order some delivered to your home.

(By the way--thsese were taken on a friend's camera phone--Please excuse the mediocre quality. As for the unhealthy complexions, I attribute those to the food we're eating and the environment we're in--not the camera)

The Jersey Tour

Gobble Gobble.

Thanksgiving was gluttonous, as it should be. I spent the day with the family in Western New Jersey, joined by four foriegn food lovers that I brought along for the day. The day was a great success, and all seemed to have a great time. A good Belgian friend of mine made a very fine toast during the meal, my Uncle Chuck blessed the meal with great beauty and a fine choice of words, and my South African friend succumbed to the power of tryptophan on some random couches. In addition, all enjoyed the delicious food cooked by my cousin, the wonderful Tiramisu (did you know that this means "pick me up"?) made by my Italian friend, and the soothing piano music of our very own lovely Portuguese girl.
In short, the event was a perfect new take on a traditional holiday.






At the end of the party, we squeezed into my father's car (6 people in a 4-seater) and drove to the PATH train to drop off some people. My South African friend (KIM) stayed along, having agreed to join my brother and I in one our favorite pastimes.

BOND BROTHER PASTIME

Simply put, PJ and I wallow in shit and relegate it to a holy status. We watch whatever crappy movies we can find on the television (our favorite channels are generally USA and TBS), eat whatever leftovers we can find, or just some crackers and cheese, and drink whatever happens to be around (this can occasionally entail drinking white zinfandel wine or Sambucca or something equally sweet and, to my palate, gross).
And, while we're watching bad television and drinking overly sweet beverages, we talk about how great the movie is and how good the local delicacies are. We're easy to please, I guess....

--------------------------

And so, we returned to the family homestead, ready to jump right in to some shit movie watching. We were soon joined by a friend of Pj's (of the female persuasion). We soon found ourselves four people, smushed into a small couch in a small room, sipping white zinfandel (Kim called it vinagrette, and said that it would be "lovely with a bed of arugula and some tomatoes), and watching Sister Act.
Now, at some point, Kim interrupted the conversation my brother and I were having (discussing the generally incredible quality of the Sister Act plot, the genius of the acting, the fine musical performances, etc.) to suggest that we actually leave the house and visit a Publick House, bar, or some other sort of festive establishment.

Needless to say, we took Kim's suggestion to heart. and decided to leave the house, (in effect destroying a family tradition) and go somewhere.

JERSEY PRIDE

I love New Jersey. I know New Jersey. I feel New Jersey.
I love to show New Jersey to outsiders (both American and otherwise) and prove to them that, bad rep and all, NJ is OK.
This in mind, I took the opportunity, as we left the house, to use this excursion for dual purposes. We would visit a bar, have some drinks, have some fun....and LEARN about New Jersey at the same time....
I held in my hand the chance to give a South African citizen a truly good impression of New Jersey and inject her with an idea that could then, like a noxious and fast moving (yet non-deadly) disease, spread to the African continent. I knew that if I were to play my cards right, I could begin to change the world's opinion of New Jersey.

And so we visited the most Jersey place in the area, a bar called the Verona Inn. Kim was enthralled, soaking up Jersey culture, and enjoying the following Jersey moments and impressions:

1. We got turned away from the first bar we visited, because of Kim's foreign (non passport) identification. Kim is thirty years old. Oddly, the 18-year old girl that came along with us got in with no problem. She had a fake Delaware license.

2. I ordered a tequila shot for Kim. It was served to me in a small (very small), disposable plastic shot glass. Jersey.

3. A bit banal, but the girls really did have pretty big hair at this bar. The legend continues.

4. Two guys in the bar were engaged in a "pushing contest". Soon after we arrived at the bar, one guy pushed the other guy so hard that he fell on his back and ended up laid out on the floor. He appeared to be nearly suffering from a seizure due to the hard fall.

In truth, the whole night was Jersey, but it becomes too difficult to put labels and names and descriptions onto every Jersey element of the evening. Suffice it to say that everything just felt really Jersey, and I was happy to see that Kim could feel this as well. On occasion, looking over at her, I could see her just sort of spacing out, staring at the people around us, feeling the difference, feeling the beauty, feeling good, feeling at home, feeling Jersey.

Police Action

I had a pretty wild scare today walking home from work at Fordham University. Walking along East Fordham Road from the campus to the subway station, I felt at ease. Now, the neighborhood is far from the most pleasurable of places to relax. It is rather loud, you can literally bite the smog it's so thick, NYC sanitation obviously doesn't see fit to empty garbage cans there that often (nor, to be honest, do many people seem to take much care to use the garbage cans). The entire road, furthermore, from the train station to the University, is lined with stores selling used electronic equipment, cell phones (no credit check! cheap prices!), and pizza. At least that's the way it seems to me.

And, let's be honest, I feel guilty as hell. I mean, I walk down the trash filled streets, through poverty and sadness and anger and violence, flash my little red badge at the University gates, and walk into the Ivy League-ish paradise of Fordham University (which, to be honest, is worth a visit, both to see the campus and experience firsthand the strange dichotomy that is the neighborhood).

Anyway, so tonight I'm walking home, through the now dark and cold streets, bundled up inside a wool hat and a couple of hoods (sweatshirt material and goretex), and I stop at a one way street to watch a cop drive out the wrong way. Suddenly, the car turns onto Fordham Road and turns back into the next street the wrong way (it is one-way as well). The car screeches to a halt, 20 feet or so from me, and out come four cops, all holding guns, screaming at the occupants of a car in front of them (which they are now blocking).

Now, the windows are tinted, so I can't see anything, but I guess that the cops could (weird?), because they're screaming, "Put your hands in the air! Put your fucking hands in the air!!"
I watched this all go down, a few feet before me.
I didn't want to be too close, so I began moving across the busy street pretty quickly, as some others were doing as well. Once across, I ducked into a store and sort of positioned myself behind a rack of clothing, hoping that I wouldn't be hit by a stray bullet.
NOW! Here is what I find the scariest thing of all:
A few people (like me), got the hell across the street and away from any bullets. A few others stayed around and sort of watched the whole thing, remaining close to the action. Some others just kept on walking, after turning around to take a quick look. Meanwhile, I'm thinking:
"Holy shit! Guns! Lots of them!"

I'm watching the cops pull people out of cars, throw them on the ground, screaming and yelling, waving guns in the air. Just like television, but with real bullets and real people.
Now, I'm not even passing judgement (then or now). I don't know if these were some racist cops that were just being crazy, or if these guys really deserved this yelling and gun pulling craziness. Who knows?
But everyone just carried on with their business.
How (ab)normal is this?

This is scary stuff. I just keep thinking, "Jesus, if this happened in Greenwich Village, or Midtown, or imagine! the Suburbs, people would be hanging around for days after they pulled themselves out from under cars, or climbed down from trees, or extricated themselves from whatever hiding place they had found for themselves...."
Not in the Boogie Down, ladies and gentlemen. Not in the Boogie Down.

It's sad what you can get used to.

Hero of the Week

Here we are, back with another Hero of the Week. In order to facilitate an understanding of this honor, I'll explain again the significance of the "award".
Basically, every week (or so) I will highlight someone that I feel is in some way a hero. Contrary to most awards of this type, I will avoid obvious figures, even if they are more deserving of the title "hero". I will not, for example, discuss Nelson Mandela (first democratically elected President of South Africa) or Rigoberta Menchu (Nobel Peace Price, 1992). Nor will you find chatter here on the understated and underappreciated heroism of firefighters or medical researchers searching for the cure for cancer. What you will find are heroes of a quixotic ilk--strange dreamers with strange visions doing somewhat strange things. Some, of course, will be stranger than others. The last hero featured here, for example, was Noel Godin, a Belgian man most famous for throwing cream pies at dignitaries and other famous people that need to be taken down a notch. Absurd? Sure. But also creative, daring and funny. I like that.
This week's hero is L.L. Zamenhof, aka Doktoro Esperanto, creator of the most widely spread purposefully invented international language. In constructing Esperanto, Zamehof attempted to use simple grammatical structures and easily recognizable vocabulary, utilizing various languages as his sources and inspiration. Unfortunately the dream to make this neutral language truly useful (and used) has never become a reality (at least not yet), although there are a number of international organizations dedicated to Esperanto. Estimates of the number of Esperanto speakers vary greatly--some researchers have suggested numbers as high as 2 million. Others discard such estimates as pure rubbish. There are, however, supposedly around 6,000 native speakers of Esperanto (presumably people with very strange parents).
Numbers and estimates and research and facts, however, are of little importance in deciding Zamenhof's status as a hero. A dreamer of an impossible dream he may have been, but a dreamer all the same he was. And while he wasn't out there dressed all funny-like, throwing pies in the face of Bill Gates, he was holed up in his room constructing grammatical structures and inventing vocabulary lists and conjuring up conjugation charts. And that's damn strange. Damn strange and damn admirable.

Read more on Zamenhof and Esperanto at:
Wikipedia
ELNA Website FAQ

Alternatively, check out Wikipedia in Esperanto:
Esperanto Wikipedia

FINALLY, ON ANOTHER NOTE....
On December 26th, I will be leaving NYC on a jet plane for uncharted waters. I'll head to Detroit, lay over a bit, then off to Paris to catch a plane for Casablanca, Morocco (oddly, Casablanca the film was actually filmed in Tangiers, which I visited briefly in July [see old posts], and not actually in Casablanca).
I'll be in Morocco until the 12th, traveling around all by my lonesome. On the 12th, I'll head to Paris, hang out a few days, and return home to start working again.
This all means that I will finally return to the original motivation for starting this blog--detailing my travels to interesting places, recording my thoughts, experiences, and perceptions in and of the places I visit.
Please send any advice, suggestions, places to stay, etc. to chris_m_bond@yahoo.com
Have a beautiful day.

ODD Todd Props!

Bond Trota el Mundo is the featured "Sunday Bloggerino" on www.oddtodd.com this week! Thanks to Todd. Go check him out, surf around, enjoy the videos.

Greenpoint Nights

Absolutely Disgusting and Amazing

I stumbled upon this link the other day (I don't really remember how) and I was amazed by how creative and disgusting the idea could be.
Basically, in order to cover valuable tools in a motorcycle trunk, one throws this pair of ersatz dirty underwear atop the tools, thus making sure that no would be thieves dare to rummage through the items below.
To be honest, I'm not even sure if this is a joke, or if they're really for sale, but regardless, this is amazing.



www.cycoactive.com/mc/bvd.html

Strange Foods of Nicaragua (with update)

This morning (well, let's be honest--this afternoon) I went across the street to get some breakfast (another lie--a ham and cheese sandwich) at the local bodega. For those lacking Spanish or that live outside of NYC, a bodega is basically a convenience store, What makes them unique is that they're usually extremely cramped, run by Hispanics (or Koreans), and stocked with all sorts of strange stuff.

In my neighborhood we lack many things. Bodegas are not one of those things. Across the street from me are two different bodegas (I refer to them as "the one on the right" and "the one on the left." Others prefer to use colors to differentiate between the two, but I can never seem to remember the different colors). Anyway, there is also a bodega on the corner and one across the street from that one. In short, there are many bodegas.

So, these two bodegas across the street serve two very different purposes. We (those of my house) buy beer and cigarettes at the one on the left, and all other staples at the bodega on the right. The bodega on the right also makes a damn fine sandwich. As these bodegas serve many purposes, I have become quite friendly with their owners. I chat with the people behind the counter at the bodega on the right, and say hello to the groups of beer-drinking men at the left bodega.

And so today I walked into the bodega on the right to buy a sandwich, and came upon the woman who runs the place (jointly with her husband) and one of her three sons. They were both eating something out of a bowl, and I looked into the bowl curiously. What, I wondered, would the bowls of these Nicaraguans reveal? Perhaps some interesting traditional Central American foodstuff?

Well, no. They were both enjoying a bowl of rice, beef and Oreo cookies. They explained to me how delicious this was, discussing the marriage of sweet and savory, the variations on the same theme, the many other scrumptious similar dishes that they had eaten. I in turn regaled them with stories of peanut butter and lettuce sandwiches that I had eaten. Admittedly, these stories paled in comparison to their own stories).

I therefore present to you, my reader, a photograph of this meal. God's honest truth, they were really eating this.



****UPDATE 11/18/05****

Right. So my father works for Kraft, which owns Nabisco (he used to work for Nabisco), which makes Oreo cookies. After I sent the link to this blog to my father the other day, he apparently laughted heartily and passed the link onto those in his company that make and market Oreo cookies.

Who knows? Maybe we'll soon see new and improved Oreo cookies
NOW FORTIFIED WITH RICE!!!
Something like this, perhaps?



Or this?

Quotes for Today.

"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower."
--Albert Camus

"In Italy for thirty years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love; they had five hundred years of democracy and peace and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock."
-Orson Welles

Jerzey

I headed to Jersey this weekend--partly to satisfy my urges to see my family, partly just to get out of NYC for a day, to breathe "fresh" air and see a different scene. Oddly, my trip there was relatively calm (I have a bad track record (no pun intended) with NJ Transit specifically, and trains in general).

Having arrived in NJ, I took the short walk from the train station to a house on Hamilton where my brother's band Outsmarting Simon was playing one of their first shows back in Jersey. In an exciting turn of events, my brother's favorite (now defunct) band, Penfold opened for them, playing a surprise reunion show. They played an amazing show, performing their set with great skill and filling the place with the sort of energy that can only be created when playing before people that have obviously truly missed a band's performances.
Outsmarting Simon played a great show as well. It's always strange for me to watch people in the audience sing along to my brother's songs and to see an idolizing glow radiating out of so many eyes. I even had the weird experience of watching the following text message be written by a girl standing near to me:
"I'm watching Outsmarting Simon play and you're already gay!"
I spent ages trying to figure out what this message meant. Most of it is absolutely self explanatory, and requires little thought. This girl obviously felt that her attendance at the show was worthy of envy. OK. I understand that. I even understand her use of the vernacular, somewhat offensive term "gay" (presumably not referring to anyone's sexuality, but rather using gay as a synonym for uncool or lame). What I still can't figure out is her use of the word already.
Why is this person already gay? Did she expect them to be gay next Thursday and was surprised that they were already gay by early Saturday night? What can this possibly mean?

Beyond these linguistic considerations, the night was packed with highlights. I saw some old friends that I haven't spent any time with in years, and really enjoyed their company. My brother introduced me to the "Gift of GAB" -- GAB is Golden Anniversary Beer, which sells for approximately $2.50 a six-pack, making it a gift both for the buyer and for those that happen to be around him (as it is so easy to be generous with a beer that costs less than $0.50). I got to spend time with my brother enjoying the gift (someone else presented us with the GAB), eating delicious, but ultimately dangerous sandwiches (more later) and homemade cold sesame noodles (my brother's concoction).

All in all, this Jersey trip reiterated for me the obvious fact that a one-hour train ride into even previously known territories can be exciting, reinvigorating, and eye-opening.
Isn't that what everyone says about Jersey?




SANDWICHES

Just a quick note on these "dangerous" sandwiches. Suffice it to say that the mixture of Cheesesteak, fried mozzarella sticks, french fries, and chicken fingers did a number on my stomach, leaving me sick in the middle of the night.
Check out this website on the Grease Trucks

crazy guy

So this summer, on my way from Spain over to Morrocco, I saw this crazy guy on the boat. He didn't seem to have any problem with me taking photos or him. Anyway, I don't know what his deal was, but every once in a while he pops in my head and I wonder what the hell is deal was.

On Being French

This whole "being French" thing is getting more and more complicated. Riots are tearing the cities apart and fires are eating through the blinders of Parisian society. Unfortunately, nobody quite seems to know how to deal with it. Chirac, much like other bumbling Presidents of other powerful nations, has been slow to react. French society, it seems, does not know how to deal with difference and doesn't officially recognize that difference even exists. So, essentially the policy is "There's no such thing as the dichotomy of black and white, muslim and christian. But if you're black, we're not gonna give you a job, entendu?"
Suddenly, white French society is forced to deal with an issue that they've tried to pretend does not exist. France is changing, from the outside in, and the poor suburban dwellers are beginning to raise their voices, cutting into the airspace of all those with their heads in the sand. As Craig Smith said in today's NY Times, "Put simply, being French, for many people, remains a baguette-and-beret affair." Well, ladies and gents, being French, put simply, is turning into a halal-and-head scarf affair. And if our Gallic friends don't learn to accept this fact, they're gonna be forced to....One car at a time.

Hero of the Day--Redux

So I've got this idea. We'll see if it works and we'll see if I'm industrious enough to continue with it. Basically, every week, I'll name/nominate a hero for the week!. I'll try and pick people that are somewhat unknown, someone that is a hero for some reason that I deem unique. If you hate my hero, email me at chris_m_bond@yahoo.com

There's no real reason why Noel Godin should be the hero today. Not specifically today. But there is every reason in the world that he should be regarded as a hero. A practicioner of the absurd, a hero of humor, an anarchist with a sweet tooth, Godin is truly an amazing man. He's basically this Belgian guy that goes around throwing pies in people's faces. That's it in a nutshell (he's also a director of films, but about that I know nothing). He's hit government ministers of all types, and some time in the 90's he got Bill Gates. You'd think it'd be harder to get Bill Gates with a cream pie than it would be to get the Pope, but apparently if you have an army of cream pie-armed partners, it's quite easy. If you want to read more about him, check out www.jaybabcock.com

Vuahini

Vuahini was sad that her photo didn't make it into the Marathon photos.
I've often been told, by librarians and the like, to be careful what you wish for.
Anyway, this is one of those Doublemint advertisements from the early 90's.
Vuahini is the one on the right.
(post edited Nov. 8, 2005)

Jamaican Meat Patties

Riding the subways, I often see people eating or drinking. Usually it's something harmless and victimless, like a beer in a paper sack or a candy bar or something equally odor and crumb free. Every once in a while, I suffer as I witness the disgusting act of eating sunflower seeds on the train, which of course involves spitting saliva-covered half shells all over the floor.
The grossest, however, is dealing with people that seem to think that it's perfectly okay to eat hot, aromatic (good or bad), crumb-filled, greasy food on the subway. I've seen people eating hamburgers, chicken, sandwiches (my roommate admitted to this tonight). The list goes on.
Today, however, I had the particularly bad luck to sit next to a girl that unwrapped and proceeded to devour a Jamaican Meat Pattie. Now, this pattie was aromatic. Not particulary "bad" aromatic, but at rush hour, on a packed train, any intense meat odor is fairly unpleasant. To make matters worse, this girl was doing her best (and admirably succeeding) not to make a mess. Perhaps that sounds like a good thing. But it's not.
In her fight to avoid dropping any sloppy joe style meat on her pants or the floor, she was taking little tiny bites, and then sort of slurping the chopped meat mixture after every bite. In this way she avoided meat sludge buildup, and always stayed ahead of the erupting meat volcano. Her cleanliness, however, meant that I had to listen to her slurp her way loudly and slowly through the entire pattie.
Not nice.

Marathon Sunday

This Sunday I had the opportunity, due to geographical good luck, to walk out my front door and land in the middle of the New York City Marathon. We live a half-block from the 11-mile point in this race, which seems like the perfect distance to catch a glimpse of the event. Basically, few people are truly struggling at this point, and everyone looks pretty good--which makes me feel happy for them, as well as terrible for the knowledge that I would look destroyed and bedraggled by this point, (if I had the good luck to get this far).
It's truly amazing to see these people, people of all sizes and shapes, from all corners of the world, running such a long distance. Knowing the effort that they've expended to reach this point is truly inspiring. While I'm not much of a sports-fan, and I can't conjure up the excitement and enthusiasm that so many spectators seem to experience, I'm not wholly immune to the awe created by this vision of thousands of people running fast, hard, and long.
What I am always amazed by, perhaps even more than by the dedication and gumption these people present, is by the fact that there are overweight people running it. All joking aside, how is possible that someone could train to run more than 26 miles and still be unable to shed that annoying "michelin effect" so common to so many Americans?
I just don't get it.
Anyway, I took some photos of the day. Unfortunately, I didn't have the forethought to take a picture of any chubby people, but perhaps it's better to speak without examples and save anyone the shame of being that person.

Visions of the MTA

The Midnight Express

This news article (which hopefully you can read) is pretty interesting
....if it's illegible, sorry, but the basic story of it is...

"WASHINGTON, Nov. 1 - The Bush administration tried to persuade the Supreme Court on Tuesday that federal narcotics policy should trump the religious needs of members of a small South American church who want to import a hallucinogenic tea that is central to their religious rituals.

Two lower federal courts have barred the government from seizing the sacred drink, known as hoasca tea, which is brewed from indigenous Brazilian plants that do not grow in the United States. The tea's hallucinogenic effect comes from a chemical, dimethyltryptamine, usually known as DMT, which occurs naturally in the plants and is listed as a Schedule I banned substance in the federal Controlled Substances Act." (beginning of article in NYTimes by Linda Greenhouse)


Anyway, I know many people involved with similar South American churches, and so I follow the story with interest and wish luck to those fighting for their religious freedom (even if a whole lot of people find their religion very strange). If you're interested in more information,check out wikipedia's article on ayahuasca, which is how the referenced "hoasca" is generally called.

Have a nice day.

--C

One Brother Gone, One Returns...

So, just recently, I have lost a brother to the road and one has returned from the same.
My brother Brian has gone off to India, where he's pursuing dreams and fate and religion and music. He's got space on blogspot, although he doesn't seem to be updating it much. Anyway, the site is www.brianbondinindia.blogspot.com. Maybe he'll keep in posted and we'll be able to read what he's up to. Although I imagine he's got enough to think about and enough to do already without worrying about posting his news...
[if interested in hearing some of his own acoustic music, check out www.brianbondmusic.com]
My brother PJ has just returned from tour with his band. They drove clear across the US and back again, playing shows for kids all the way. His music [and tour journal] is definitely available at www.outsmartingsimon.com. There you can find both free mp3s (I think), as well as cds for sale.
It's strange--I'm so used to going away, to traveling and leaving others behind. It's a lot easier that way, I think, at least for me. When I travel, I'm always so stimulated by things around me, so busy learning and trying to fit in, finding my place, meeting new people, that while I miss my family and friends, I have a whole lot less time to worry about it.
When my brothers leave, I feel their absence so much more.
So anyway, welcome home PJ, and safe travels Brian.
I love you guys.

Chewing on Brooklyn

So, I know that a lot of Europeans hate "Amerika" . . .
They're all obsessed with Brooklyn though....
Check out this Italian chewing gum...