There is a tremendous noise of fire trucks, the twin babies are alert, looking around... I think one of them says the word "firetruck", which all kids love to say, don't they?
Five trucks converge on the house across the street from my sister. The neighbors were deep frying a turkey in the backyard and something went wrong, the grease caught fire and flames shot up to the second floor with a roar like a jet engine. Boiling hot grease went flying everywhere. The turkey, I was told, exploded. A propane tank that held the fuel to heat the grease was a danger. A fireman asked the owner if he had a garden hose (but there was a hydrant on the corner!) He aimed it at the grease, which more or less went nuts, splattering everywhere, but the flames were out.
Earlier my dad and I had a chat about politics. I mentioned to him that I thought the U.S. was more or less dependent on foreign oil, or at least they’d need to maintain the present level of oil and gas consumption in order to sustain the present lifestyle, travel and transportation. I said something like "if OPEC decided to withhold all oil the U.S. would be on it's knees in a year."
Dad likes to be somewhat argumentative, so he took the position that the U.S. could function more or less intact using its own resources. Well, depends on what you mean by function. He said the highways would become redundant, empty, and rail transport would become the principal means of transport. The interstate highways would be converted to rail paths, he predicted. The primary oil resources would be diverted to agriculture and allocated to food production, and the suburbanites would, I guess, be hung out to dry. Gas would be 20 dollars a gallon, at least.
I said I thought those predictions seemed realistic, but that I thought Americans would fight tooth and nail to hold on to their extravagant lifestyle — they won't go down without a fight. I also said that they would hardly hold the global hegemony they now do in his future scenario. He maintained they could still funnel sufficient funds to the military to be a significant power, but I doubt this.
Did make it to the Hirshhorn. There's a wonderful exhibition of Ana Mendieta's work from the 70s and 80s, when she died due to a suspicious fall from a SoHo window. Ned, the director, came down from wherever his office is and we were joined by Olga, who curated this show. They both walked through with my dad and me, my dad keeping his distance, for some reason.
In the very first room there were images of A.M. covered in feathers and another with blood dripping down a shaved head. Both images familiar to me from Santeria and Candomblé initiation ceremonies. A.M. is Cuban, so this seems natural, although she left when she was quite young.
Olga seemed to think she took an interest in her Cubana roots despite being raised in Iowa(!).
Ned chatted with my dad a bit and later commented to me that his dad is about the same age but mine seems more sprightly and energetic, which was sweet of him to say, I guess.
