one thing today

Godards Breathless.   Her lovely Peter Pan blonde hair.   His mashed up nose, fat lips and hard chest. They talk in bed.  Would you rather feel grief or nothing?   They disagree. We look each other in the eye but what for? She asks ...  what does bonkers mean ? That's me. I wonder if I’ll ever share another exchange like theirs. 

I’m chopping onions at Gods Love today and I ask the woman working next to me her what she does. She produces and directs documentaries. I tell her I worked at channel thirteen for many decades. She turns out to be the widow of a close colleague of mine at the station.   She and I knew each other twenty five years ago and still have a mutual longtime friend who she saw recently - but I shouldn’t mention anything about her in front of his wife.   We’re just good friends but she’s funny about some things so ...   We spent three hours running through names and programs and good times and weird times long gone. Small world this big city here.  

T he thing I miss the most now is the absence of sudden wow surprise that was so much a part of our lives back when we were young and new here and Gerald Ford told us to drop dead.   I lived a floor below my best friend Michael in the Village. He dealt with AIDS for too many years and would eventually spend an entire summer in St. Vincents. One New Years Eve afternoon, I bought caviar and a few other things I wouldn't ordinarily and planned to ring things in with my bestie and our close, nutty neighbor Miss Baby. My then jazz musician boyfriend Kirk called and said, lets go over to Tom's  loft (where he hosted legendary New Years parties). Tom was Hair's director  on Broadway. I told him I had to pass because I had plans with my pals. He said invite them. I doubted Michael would be up to it but, I doubted wrong. That night, we taxied in a snowstorm to lower Broadway. The walls were adorned with Tom’s famous collection of bizarre musical instruments from around the world. Mi

Went to the Metropolitan Museum tonight with my dazzling date.   Haven’t been there in probably a decade.   We were blown away anew. Big surprise, right?   Besides all the famous greatest European paintings of all time never to be surpassed … there was a beautiful 2nd Century bronze piece from an equestrian statue wearing a cuirass - ??? - a  defensive armor for the torso comprising a breastplate and backplate. A dorned with sea griffins, dolphins and palms, i t’s both era defying tropics lounge wear and elevated 70s sex club drag . Nice don't come close.  

Walking down the street - not much wind this evening.   It feels nice, but a little raw - like snow or calm before a storm.   They keep promo-ing the release of the body cam video tonight of Tyre Nichols in Memphis - like heralding the release of a new Taylor Swift bad boyfriend tell all or the latest  Beyonce drop.   Funny not funny - violence now is both the new collective daily shock and yawn.    I’m reading about Dylan songs. As for   Blowin’ in the Wind - a colleague of a musicologist said he didn’t get it. The professor said ...   what’s not to get ...  how many roads must a man walk down before they call him I man.   oh, I get that .  They go through each and every  how many  -   oh I get all that .  then what don’t you get?   How can the answer have anything to do with telling us to just blow in the wind?

went to the opening night of my good friend mindy's play ... poland circa 1949 and 1980.  a very polished production, good sound and staging and acting and of course - play.  I am so proud of her - she personifies what the story is all about - questioning, facing sorrow, resilience - rolling with the world as it turns - with the help of friends and loved ones.  kudos to my cool, talented friend and comrade. 

 

The Clares lived across the street from us. They had eight kids to our six. Mr. Clare sold us our house and Freckles, our crummy dog for a very short time, decided he wanted to be purebred Irish American and went down the block and didn’t do much of anything besides sleep on their crab grass and bark at us for years. I just sent Nancy a photo of two of her sisters with one of mine - and their friends. The youngest sibling in both families passed away. I’m not sure why I am mentioning this ... besides the fact that lately, they’ve been more and more friends and family to suddenly miss and I don’t think that is gonna change during the days ahead and that requires a considerable degree of acceptance which is hard to find and sustain. 

Twelve hours before Dean Martin died, Frank Sinatra said to his pal/manager I think I’m gonna call the dago and see how he’s doin’. He did. Dino shared a joke.  So … what did one casket say to the other?  I don’t know pal, what did one casket say to the other?   Is that you coughin’?

I love Ray Charles.   He is the coolest man ever born.   Listen to him sing A Song for You  with Willie Nelson and Leon Russell   . Or Georgia on my mind with Cher .   Or Peggy's Fever.   Watch his interview with Cavett on Youtube.   How much soul you have depends on how much adversity never knocked you down dead. I wish I saw him perform.   I wish I could buy him a burger and a whiskey and see his smile and hear his laugh close up in person. His smile starts at his toes. My o my goodness. One of those magicians who makes us glad to be alive.  

  More Gods Love.   My team mates  hesitate to initiate conversation - but once I do - its off to the races for three hours while we make 1700 meals. I feel like I wanna be Norma Rae - how bout a five minute pee/water break. Maybe get us off our dogs for a minute say. Dean laughed at me saying "I'm too lazy to be a liar." By far, the people profile is: Brooklyn, grandchildren, well travelled. I am such a unicorn of a different color.   On the way home I went to Reminiscence vintage clothing half price sale.   A fab flannel shirt for 12 bucks.   Maggie who works there talked Harris tweed jackets with me and showed me hers and said “I have no idea why I have these dog biscuits in my pocket.   I don’t have a dog.”

The universe has kept whispering Cormac McCarthy to me lately. I pick up his novel Suttree in the bookstore and read the first sentence to see how it lands.   Peering down into the water where the morning sun fashioned wheels of light, coronets fanwise in which lay trapped each twig, each grain of sediment, long flakes and blades of light in the dusty water sliding away like optic strobes where motes sifted and spun.   Worrrrdigo. For one thing, just sayin', how bout a verb, pal? Unlike my usual way, I didn’t trust my gut. I bought the book and now, after trying it again - dear blessed mother of God and all the saints in heaven. Oh, the pain - not even my enemies should know. What have I done, why did I forsake me? I check the bag for the receipt. Whew! I’ll return it tomorrow and rectify my transgression, my lapse, my doubt and never travel that road again for as long as I live and read.  

My first morning volunteering at Gods Love We Deliver.   Since 1986. They deliver meals to 10,000 people each day.   I worked with five 22 years old kids from New York Life.   We ladled and packed about a thousand containers of coconut curry soup and agreed that tattoo artists removing tats of your resemblance and/or name - for free - does not bode well for the future of your music career (Ye nay).   Being round such fresh eyes and minds is a tasty, welcomed thing.   22.   My God.   Envy,  admiration, jealousy, memory, more. 

  The PS22 Chorus of Staten Island, 65 public school fifth graders, performs Joni Mitchell’s “River” on Youtube.   As one boy sings    “I’m gonna make a lot of money and quit this crazy scene,” he grins into the camera and rubs his thumb over his index and middle finger … the universal wordless vernacular for “moolah.”    Centuries ago, when I was a squirt, I asked my Basque grandmother Justina why she left her home and family and came to this city as a young woman. She did the money sign. I didn’t know what it meant but someone told me soon after - probably my mother or one of my older sisters. All these years later - the sign. It makes me wonder who first did it and how it spread and grew to become as recognized a motion as a smile.

I love Washington Square Park.   It’s always been a weird combination of spot on current and the spot that time forgot … crazy kids selling weed at tables now, old black guys teaching shorties how to play chess, the Bubble Man with long sticks and string showing kids how to make bubbles the size of Volkswagens, baby chick artists, reading NYUers, scruffy  musicians, fashion royalty next to the impoverished. More than a hundred years ago, Duchamp & posse released balloons from the secret room on top of the Arch and renamed the Village The Republic of Dreams .  

My horoscope says You might feel especially adventurous today …   I don’t …  and wish to go away for a while with a romantic partner …   sure, why not, sounds good, my calendar is clear …  and let go of some misgivings, experience deep insights, and make new friends … OK, I’ll try my best with these.   There’s something up that’s very, very new that could move in those directions. W e’ll leave it at that. For now … which was what an old lady with a broken leg in the park once said to me when I remarked on how beautiful the weather was.  

  The Life of Jimmy Dolan on TCM - 1933. I recognize ravishing  Loretta Young and little kid Mickey Rooney but not the ridiculously handsome leading man.  Douglas Fairbanks Jr.   I worked  with him once in the late 70s.   He sashayed into the studio like he was wearing a cape. Maybe he was. He filled the space with hard core movie star shine.  Hard to describe but impossible to deny.  Everyone was glad to be where they were.

  Went to Fort Gansevoort gallery this afternoon … an exhibition of Myrlande Constants big, dazzling hand beaded and sequined Haitian works. They really are knockouts but the place itself is so wonderful.    An 1849 Greek revival row house in the far West Village.   Clean, simple, authentic, peaceful.  I want to live there and just be.   oh yeah.  answer to yesterdays quiz - a puddle. 

  Beauty is everywhere.   Is it … a puddle   an aerial view of marshland a construction site wall   answer next time

  It’s my oldest sister Eileens birthday.    I wrote this poem for her.   They are demolishing the house on Gay Street in the Village where the original book/movie  My Sister Eileen  lived. Bad. Sad. Am glad  I still have mine .

  As my lovely, gracious niece Deborah grows even more lovely each year, she reminds me more and more of Queen of France Eleanor of Aquitaine, also known as the iconic redhead rock star beauty of her time and way past it - Katharine Hepburn.  

  The great writer Joan Didion said she first knew she was in love with her soon to be husband when she watched him take off his tie in front of a full length mirror while singing  Who Can I Turn To  very off key.   It made me think of Leonard, affectionately known as my  big, fat boyfriend .  His doctor told him when he delivered his twelve pound plus self, Lenoard jumped off the operating table and they walked out of the room hand in hand.  He was an endearing lug for sure. One night, for some stupid reason, I insisted we eat dinner at the small table in my kitchen. Begrudgingly, he did and after a minute or two - he raised his arms and admitted “I feel like a fucking gorilla here.” Done.   Cupid pierced me clean and deep right then and there.   Who knew? I did.   Love has many weird facets and first moments.  

  Maybe thirty years ago - I am about to leave my parents home in Florida. The three of us sit at their kitchen table.   My dad takes out his ancient money clip that one of my sisters made him when she was very young.   It had a Saint Christopher medal on its burnished base and was very smooth and cool to the touch.   I said how much I always liked it.   He gave it to me. Before boarding the plane I bought a newspaper and when I taxied home back in the city I realized I left the clip on the counter. My heart sank. I called the airport many times but never found it.   Years later, my father disclosed to me that somehow - a neighbor of his was told by someone about what happened to my cherished, lost money clip.   My dad had it for about 45 years.   Me - 45 minutes.   T he odd things that become our legendary sorrows.

  Once upon a time Mr. Kitchen Confidential was asked by an interviewer why he wanted to become a chef.   He said he was dishwashing in Provincetown in the 70s and saw the king of the kitchen go out to the parking lot and boink a very new not so blushing bride in her wedding gown. He wanted in on that kinda big time wild life debauchery. “Her party was going on inside the restaurant.” Interview girl made an OMG face.   He shrugged and added "you asked.”  

Meet Hugo, my charming deli man.  My sister Suzanne asks about him alot.  H and I play off each other very well.  Today, while he rang me up while I glanced at the front page of the paper ... I  forgot to pass him my debit card. H says ... "we've have a new rule for the new year. If you buy something, you gotta pay for it."  I say, "hardly seems fair." I should have captured his smile. He's got great choppers. He knows everybody who comes into the place and most of them are cool and he enjoys them and vice versa.  Nice work if you can get it.  He's got it. 

  In my dream, I sat on a piano bench with my father.   The television was on behind us and the Twilight Zone  theme played. Da da da da. Da da da da. I smoked a cigarette and my dad got excited.   He thought it was a joint. I looked at him, frowned and said “sorry.”  I wake up and can’t sleep at one in the morning and turn on the Twilight Zone. A Kind of Stopwatch is the episode. A man invents a watch that can stop time and freeze things and people.   He goes to a bar and steals money.   The actor Herbie Faye is the bartender. He looks just like his name. Throughout his career, his forte was playing cooks, waiters and barkeeps.   You’ve seen him. He was always perfect. Dreamy. 

  My mother had good eye sight but she certainly didn’t have very good proper adult super vision at times.   The other night I watched Gregory Peck and Ava Gardner being movie stars -  On the Beach  - Australia, about submarines, nuclear annihilation, radioactive death, no hope for mankind, nada, zippo, zilch.    I saw it when it came out in 1959. I was nine and had no idea what the story was about but I got scared anyhoo.   What was I doing in that theater?    Who was I with?   Is it possible I went to it without anyone knowing?   Most likely, my mom looked it up in the Legion of Decency and saw that it wasn’t condemned. Maybe she thought it was a sandy Annette and Frankie deal.   Now its just one of those mysteries that’s as gone forever as my ancestor.