Pass me a square

Palm cards: One of the ways my job at DN! and my exploration of NYC coincide this summer is through handing out palm cards at a variety of events around town. A palm card is a small, thick piece of paper with some info about DN! on it, how to listen to the show and such. Amy encourages us to pass them out at any and all events where there'll be a lot of people, and so, we do.

After doing this at several events now, I do have to say that when some hipster hits a card out of my hand, it affects me far less than when folks come up to me thanking me for being a part of the best show on tv and radio. Some people just shout, "Yeah! Amy Goodman!" That's rewarding, too. I try not to think about how many palm cards will be swept up at the night's end and try to remember what it was like for me to discover independent media for the first time and the whole torrent of consciousness and information that followed.

Freegans: I went on a trash tour with these folks last week, ended up with some good salsa and beets. NYC dumpstering is different. First, because there's no dumpster. Second, because it's right out in the open and on the street. Just opening garbage bags as you see them and trying to stay out of the way of people on the sidewalk. And, well, then there are the rats. We didn't see any (thanks God) but if you don't get to the trash quick enough, they will. Today a tiny mouse jumped out of my suitcase at me and I screamed like a child- a rat would probably paralyze me. I also went to a free (really free, they emphasized over and over) market in the East Village. At first, I thought I would only look for something I really needed, like sandals. 3 pairs of pants, 1 skirt, 2 pairs of sandals, a sweater and an armload of books later, I knew what I really needed was to get out of there (especially because I felt bad for not having anything but a lone book to donate). But the folks, from a group called In our Hearts, were more than generous and I even got some iced tea from the Freegans. It was a nice little quadrangle of people, although at events such as this in Kalamazoo, I would know most of them and here's not the case. I also didn't have time to stay and chat with many people because I had to go to Coney Island to pass out palm cards.

The Strand: Miles, miles, miles of books. I don't know how they measure it but what it amounts to in my mind is endless. I wove through shelves, scanned frantically, struggled to remember the names of various authors and books, climbed ladders and stairs, dreamed up stacks of books for my future bookshelves. I finally left after many hours with a portable Ingles-espanol diccionario, some Arabic lessons, and a Saadi Youssef poetry book. Love books, love the Strand.