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I knew I wasn't in New York anymore
Southbound, I-89, Vermont to Long Island
Somewhere near Randolph,
one of those towns you only see
on picture postcards,
in art house movies,
and pinpoint black dots on a road atlas

These are the towns we pass straight through
these are the places we forget
These are the people we ignore

And I would never have known Randolph
And I never would have stopped
I would have kept my foot on the pedal
and soared by,
sixty-five miles per hour

But I know this name
I know this place
because my car's oil pressure gauge
went flatline at exit 4,
You don't fool around
with "STOP SAFELY!" messages
blinking on the dashboard
Something tells you
you're in trouble

Like a mirage,
a Mobil gas station appeared,
just off the exit ramp,
tucked into a white carpet,
sheaths of jagged, shaggy layers of snow
surprisingly busy with snowmobiles
truckers in workboots and parkas and knit caps,
and locals, fair-skinned and sturdy,
buying the Sunday paper and a pack of cigarettes

I pulled in, parking my unruly Volvo SUV in a corner,
ashamed and awkward and intimidated
by people who knew where they were going
and what they were doing

I prayed someone inside
the tiny store at the edge of the crossroad
would save me

"We're too small," the manager said,
never looking at me, ringing the cashier,
wiping the counter,
answering the phone
"We don't service cars.
You're gonna' need a tow.
25 miles to the nearest town
Don't worry.
25 miles is nothing around here."

AAA had to come to
rescue me
I learned a lot about Randolph, Vermont
in the two hours of my unintended visit to this
town, buffered by crossroads in the middle of nowhere

I asked Brenda,
the Mobil gas station attendant,
what people did in Randolph
and she told me:
"You're doing it."

Brenda bought me coffee
and lent me her cell phone
to call AAA
("Only Verizon works out here,"
she said)
We were the same age
Fortysomething
She'd rather be
a stained-glass artist
than a Mobil gas station attendant
but she already has grandchildren
she was abused for nine years
she knows how to open car hoods
she knows how to find dipsticks
she wants her children to join
The National Guard
I told her:
"I write poetry"

Driving home in a thick, white breeze of snow Sunday afternoon
Clutching the wheel for dear (not deer, ahem) life,
afraid my car would roll over
as two cars did just before me
on an icy bend on I-89 South

I saw a sign just like this



I thought I had stepped onto the set of Northern Exposure, a show I remember more for the cute Jewish doctor in Alaska
(okay, it could happen, but his mother wouldn't be happy about it)
and the nomadic moose in the opening credits

You see a lot of strange things on Long Island:
fake body parts pumped plump with Botox and gel,
Ugg boots and cuffed denim shorts,
Wrinkled in Time Grandpas in red Corvettes

We've got lots of doctors my mother wished I married
but we don't have moose



We do have the occasional MEESE-kite,
now that I think about it.
I wonder if MEESE is the plural of MOOSE

FYI: In Yiddish, meesekite ("mieskeit") are unattractive human faces.

Not that a moose isn't pretty in its own way.
It's an acquired taste, I suppose
Like squid
Like liver
Like gefilte fish

Yesterday, Robert Mack, the editor of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, wrote about Dickens’s Influence. Today Mack looks the many incarnations of the tale. This post first appeared on Powell’s.

It wasn’t long before dramatists saw the potential of the Sweeney Todd story. In the same month that the final episode of the serialized novel was published in The People’s Periodical in March 1847, the first theatrical version appeared on stage under the story’s original title, The String of Pearls. Written by George Dibdin Pitt, it was the first version to use the catchphrase now most associated with Todd – ‘I’ll polish him off’. This was soon followed by another stage version in around 1865, under the title Sweeney Todd, the Barber of Fleet Street: or, the String of Pearls by Frederick Hazleton. Meanwhile various other versions of the story were appearing in print, often either hugely swollen or greatly abridged, all using Sweeney Todd as the title. (more…)

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On this day in 1792 the New York Stock Exchange was formed. We turned to Oxford Scholarship Online(OSO) to find out more about the NYSE. OSO helped us find Wall Street: A History by Charles R. Geisst. Below is an excerpt from Geisst’s introduction.

Like the society it reflects, Wall Street has grown extraordinarily complicated over the last two
centuries. New markets have sprung up, functions have been divided, and the sheer size of trading volume has expanded dramatically. But the core of the Street’s business would still be recognized by a nineteenth-century trader. (more…)

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Earlier today we mentioned that last week, Nobel-prize winning scientist Eric Kandel wrote about the five most unforgettable work on memory for The Wall Street Journal. One of the titles in the article was Memory From A to Z by Yadin Dudai. Below is a random entry excerpt from the book.

(more…)

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Last week, Nobel-prize winning scientist Eric Kandel wrote about the five most unforgettable works on memory for The Wall Street Journal. Today we will look more closely at two of these titles, Memory and Brain by Larry R. Squire and Memory From A to Z by Yadin Dudai. Below is an excerpt from the beginning of Memory and Brain. Check back later today to learn more about Memory From A to Z.

(more…)

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