The Heart of Patrician America
50 Watts, one of my favorite places to shop for books online, has a new physical retail space in the beautiful Chestnut Hill neighborhood of Philadelphia, not far from where I live. They kindly ordered some books from me, both those I published through Paradise Editions as well as my translations of Kleist and Hilbig, so I decided to hand deliver them and check the store out. My car being wrecked at the moment (it was hit by a truck while parked) I took the commuter train, a very 20th-century or even 19th-century mode of transportation. With my straw hat and box of wares, I felt like was going back to the days when the city was known as the heartland of patrician America. The “Main Line” in mainline Protestant refers to a set of wealthy communities, still very wealthy to this day, served by another commuter train, the first of its kind in the United States.
It was a wonderful clear afternoon in early autumn, perfect conditions for a small business transacting business with another small business in a walkable neighborhood with good residual urban planning and transportation connections. As I was doing so I was aware of the moral valences attached to this activity. By the liberals: good. By the left: indifferent. (It’s a testimony the how dimwitted American conservatism has become that they regard these safe, wealthy, aesthetically pleasing communities as dystopian.) I had no other agenda that day other than selling some books and having a good time. The trip was successful on that count. It won’t save the world, but I do wish that more people could participate in that sort of lifestyle, with time enough to read and take the slow train. In other words, I was neither angel nor devil on that particular afternoon, just a lucky person peddling his wares. I hope my books do well for 50 Watts. Stop by if you’re in the vicinity.
Culinary Dream
I was in Brooklyn eating with friends at a trendy restaurant. All of the dishes there were made of algae. There was algae that was stir-fried, algae that was broiled, algae that was turned into sort of edible foam. We were all debating about what to get. None of the dishes seemed particularly appetizing. Then a waiter, coming out of the kitchen, dropped a plate with a hamburger on it. The entire restaurant rose in stunned silence. Then a customer asked for a burger instead of the algae dish they ordered. Then another asked and then another. The staff—chefs, bussers, waiters—all of them ran away in a panic, followed by the customers, whipped into an irrational fury by this burger oversight. My friends and I were the only ones left in the restaurant. The proprietor came to us in tears, begging that we should stay and eat the algae, as he had originally intended.