Alice's Tea Cup

I had time to kill on 46th and Lex in between appointments. I thought I would grab a coffee and then I saw Alice's Tea Cup on E 64h St across from where Bernie Madoff used to roam happily. I decided it was probably too expensive or too "twee" for me, but I ducked inside as I also have this odd self-righteous, nobody puts baby in a corner streak in me these day. Commonly known around town as "defensiveness."

It was a little girly-precious, but the thought of a scone and a cup of tea sounded nostalgic. It is what my mum used to serve.

I was given a menu with a tea list that was as many pages as a wine list at a posh restaurant. I found it much like betting on horses; you go for the name that you like. There was a black tea blend called "Margaret's Hope." (Could also be a racehorse name in fact!) I went for that because that is my mum's name and I want her to have that for me. I got a French vanilla scone to go with because I am studying French and I am awfully vanilla.

My whole order sorted, I sat back at a table with an Alice doll encased under glass peering up at me and read a New Yorker article (see: yesterday's entry) about Samuel Beckett who oolong ago (tea joke) replaced David Cassidy on my wall. (Now there was a leap!)

Margaret's Blend was so wonderful and the experience of stopping for a moment in an isolated tea shop in the middle of Manhattan and being able to read an article in my breeds-like-sheep New Yorker was so relaxing.

Alice's Tea Cup is really a day spa.

AHhhhhhhhhhh.

"I Am Drowning in New Yorkers"

This was my Facebook status for a day. And I meant it. But what I meant was that I cannot keep the pace with the weekly delivery of New Yorker magazine. I liked that I kept the status loosely cryptic so one could infer anything. My own New Yorker attempt at being a wit, a fop!

I love this magazine and it opens me up to all sorts of worlds and ideas, but once you have finished an article on nuclear reactors in Russia and are ready to read a John Lahr review or tuck in to the fiction piece thinking that one day that will be your spot, PLOP another issue comes through the post. Arrggghhh. I haven't even dealt with DETAILS or Preservation let alone the self-help book or that bible on Manhattan that I could chuck at someone's head and cause real problems.

How do people do it? My friend Sue (an ex-subscriber) maintains that all people who say they read the New Yorker weekly are, well, liars. But I hear them and they are well-versed liars who also comment on all the NPR they listen to and read the New York Times (paper edition) cover to cover. And they have read the classics, they co-parent a dog or child and hold down a job and a relationship and get to the opera. Some have abs.

There I go comparing myself again.

I say I am drowning in New Yorkers and I suppose I mean the beasts themselves as well. It is a rat race here and I am trying to keep up. Oh and loads of them run marathons or pop off a quick 10K in the park for some lesser cause like feline cancer just cause they can.



I digress. Quickly.

So for today I will read what I can about solitary confinement as a form or torture and then I will wash my dishes and take a nap with a New Yorker on my chest.

In the Village, Man

it's all peace love and understanding after all, ain't it?

I celebrated a big day today for me. 5 years. I am not sure what I feel but I know it is good. My good mates Frank, Pat and Sean went with me to Smorgas Chef on W. 12th Street the celebrate.

We had herring and meatballs for starters!


We went to this particular restaurant because I locked in "West Village" and "Breakfast/Brunch" on my Urbanspoon iPhone app and SHOOK it!

It was a great day out.

The Boys of Spring.

GLAAD Media Awards New York City

I find myself in the darndest places. Here I am wearing a PRESS badge at the GLAAD Media Awards in Manhattan on the press line about to be a photographer for a MoxieQ. I know nothing about birthin' no photography, but I know in these hard economic times to say YES to stuff that will get you out of the house and onto the red carpet!

It was a fun night. I stood next to a ditz from New York Magazine who did the worst interviews and asked me if the head of GLAAD was gay. And, God bless her, she didn't know who Phil Donahue was. I swear it. She wore a very exposed red bra which I think might have helped her land some good lesbian interviews.

Here are some photos, but my good ones are on the other camera. Will have those for you soon.


Suze Orman - Financial Temptress

Phil Donahue. Before Oprah, there was Phil

Christian Siriano


Vanessa Williams. I was hurt she didn't recognize me from working together in Los Angeles.

Chris Noth. I managed to get all his bad angles.

Okay, I don't know this fella because I am out of the demo.


Tyra (all the way to the) Banks. The crowd went mental!! They really did.

More to come....including Clay.

Farmer's Market - Lincoln Center

They're in the Attic!

Even the poster evokes Lifetime TV, not legit theatre.

The amazing Irena Gut Opdyke

Went with my friend Bob to see "Irena's Vow" at the Walter Kerr Theatre. I feel like this is one of those "God forgive me" reviews because this is a play about the Holocaust and it was pretty weak. The play, not the Holocaust, of course.

How can one criticize a play that tells a story that demonstrates that "it" really happened and how bad "it" really was?

I know, I know.

Irena Gut Opdyke was a Polish nursing student who hid a dozen Jews when she was the housekeeper to a high-ranking German official during the war. She even had to become his mistress to save their lives. How can one even THINK - "Oh, not another story about a risk-taking Christian hiding Jews."

As Bob put it, "Schindler's Miss."

The story that the play is based on is an amazing and inspiring one, but the tone the playwright chose to take made me think of "Hogan's Heroes" with Irena mugging to her commandant, "Cellar? There's no one in the cellar." That sort of thing. And there was the hackneyed exchange of "Why didn't you tell us?" Ready for it?....."You never asked me." Yuk, yuk.

Yuck.

There were even beats in the play where my head went "Insert Song Here" as if this were supposed to be a musical. And OF COURSE one of the women is going to have a baby in hiding. I felt that one coming a kilometre away. The Nazis were buffoons one minute and then smashing a baby's head on the cobblestones in front of Irena the next. They make you laugh, they make you cry? This was awkward.

Nowadays it is really hard to pull off an original and effective Holocaust tale. But this true story (like so many) is so compelling it begs to be told daily and animatronially at the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. Complete with intact PowerPoint slide show of Nazi era photographs.

But not on Broadway. Not like this.

The moment that was best of all sadly was not even in the play. After the curtain call, the daughter of the real Irena Gut Opdyke came onstage and answered questions. She was amazing. I cried.

If only she could be there every night.

Got Wood.

I walked by a man sawing wood using a circular saw. It was on Broadway outside a shop. In the middle of all the hustle and car smell and craziness, I could smell the fresh cut wood and the slight wood burning smell caused by the fast motion of the blade. I just love that smell so much. It is an "honest" smell. It is not being anything but what it is. I suppose most smells are honest smells, but I don't categorize them that way. But this was one.

The smell brought me back to so many UNspecific memories. I think though, I mostly thought of summer school wood shop where I made an owl-shaped key holder that my parents were forced to adore.

It was a smell I never imagined to smell in a big city.

Wow, you really can get everything here!

Pub Quiz NIght

Tonight I went to the 2nd Annual BAFTA EC Pub Quiz Night. It was held upstairs at The Perfect Pint on E 45th at 3rd Ave.

What an amazing turn out. I think the success and fun of last year brought them out in droves. Not to mention endless pints of lager and platters of fried food.



There were umteen teams of 6 people vying for the big prize (a book by Annie Liebowitz). My team was called "Madoff with the Answers" which won BEST TEAM NAME. (quick brag - I made up that name for us!)

"Madoff with the Anwers" - great group. We all brougth something to the table, but we could have used a James Bond expert. Sucked big on that category!


We won a Welsh Choir CD for BEST TEAM NAME!

And that was all we won.

No matter it was a GREAT night and kudos to Lisa for putting it on and Mark for being once again being an excellent pub quiz master.

The tres excellent Lisa and Mark

The Winning Team - "The BBC Bastards."

I LIVE HERE!

Grand Central Station with the Chrysler Building in the background.

I am not passing through this city. I live here. In fact I could walk down here everyday and look at this. I love knowing that I can. It is just inspiring. I think of all the generations of people who have looked up at this.

Blessed be!!!

Welcome!

And I feel it.

This part of town is growing on me. I remember when my dad would not even let me go up here. Now there are patisseries!

You can barely see The Apollo in the background.

All in a Daze Non Work

Went up to to Harlem again today to Workforce 1. The clearing house of the unemployed. Where the flotsam and jetsam of the disillusioned gather. But we hang together. We hang together in desks with attached tables we haven't sat in since high school. Miss Jones took us through orientation which basically required her to read WORD FOR WORD off the PowerPoint presentation. (How much do YOU get an hour, Miss Jones?)

Kelly wore a smart business suit. Miguel the same. Sandy wore a black bra over a grey t-shirt. Not too smart in my opinion. But maybe we'll all end up being strippers and she has it right. My contribution was shaving. I shaved.

Israel called my name and I went to his desk. He said I needed to meet with a career counselor which is what I would have told him about 2 hours earlier. But, hey, you gotta follow the procedures. So I go back tomorrow. At 2.

And I was told I don't qualify for food stamps.

Officer, Hershey and Billy Elliot Assualted Me

Sure New York City can be a huge-ass, crazy, loud, wearing place. Full of HUGE-assed, crazy people wearing LOUD clothes (shhh-mostly tourists). Nowhere is this clearer than while negotiating through Times Square. It it like being in a human car wash where instead of giant brushes coming at you, young hucksters try to sign you up for comedy clubs on your right and barkers try to get you into Gentleman's clubs on your left and a woman in tights and a top hat blocks your way to hand your a flyer.




There is always some gaggle of tourists walking slower than your pace and there are signs everywhere telling your see this, drink that, wear this and eat this. Not to mention the constant scrolls on electronic billboards telling you The End is NIGH!!!

It is madness, but just up the road there is a quiet tree-lined street with beautiful brownstones and the most beautiful park in the world. Or a river to walk along. Or a neighborhood to sit and have a coffee and a bagel.

New York City works. It just does.

Top 10 New York Smells I Like Today

New York has loads of smells. Loads. And some are pleasant and some require a body bag.

Here is my list today that I noticed. In no order.

1. the dampness of the subway. (Reminds me of Glasgow - old and wet and historic)
2. new Band-Aids at the gym
3. garlic wafting out of the Italian restaurant on my corner
4. incense being sold on the street
5. Fresh apples at the Sunday market on Columbus.
6. The floating smell of fresh bagels from H & H on Columbus.
7. dirt in Central Park
8. cheap coffee in coffee pots in the church hall
9. the New Yorker magazine
10. The stairwell in "my" brownstone

Another Gwyneth Paltrow Night in Manhattan

Water tower and Hudson River /out of window. Lovely food and decorative dish and tableware/ in of window.


Two New York friends plan to have a bite in New York and then go to film in New York. Though neither HAS to be about New York.

But what? How? Where?

Ask the the question where you are going to get the answer you don't know you need, but she does.

WWGwynethD?

Hilary, being the more together one of the two of us, suggested her cool Tribeca pad for a light bite before a film in Chelsea.

So gracious. So PErfecT!!!

We ATE grilled Fish with Pesto Sauce.

It was from Goop, Gwyneth Paltrow's new website that seems targeted toward busy women who have a simple black dress, and do yoga. Maybe own some haiku books.

The pasta was Spelt. (I heart spelt) The fish was tAlapia. The pesto was fResh. It was all wonderfUl.

We then went out to see "Two Lovers" starring....Gwyneth Paltrow.

Gwyneth was wonderful in the film. We both liked it. It was a solid 3 Goops.

She can act, accessorize, raise two kids, keep a rockstar husband happy, start a webventure and open a gym all while listening to Madonna go on on the phone.

Who wouldn't do what she suggests?

Harlem Spring

The first day of Spring and as I threw open my sash what to my wondering eyes should appear?

Tons and tons of the most beautiful, fat snowflakes you ever did see drifting down as if they hadn't been told.

I was thrilled, but then remembered I had to go to 125th Street. I wanted to stay home and write a novel and watch the weather outside stay there.

But I bundled and got up to Harlem and it was MAGNIFICENT! What a great adventure. Travelling in New York takes no time; you just think it does.

This is not your father's Harlem. It is exciting and safe and mixed and clean. I want to go back and spend more time. In the REAL Spring.



The Historic Apollo Theater on 125th.
New York? Or Hollywood backlot?


Harriet watches o'er this three way intersection. See the snow?!

Madoff's Moving House

Bernie Madoff's old house: 133 64th Street between Park Ave and Lexington

Bernie Madoff's new house: The Manhattan Detention Complex.

Montage OR Le Montage

Life isn't like the movies. And WHY didn't anyone ever tell me this?

Case in point: The Montage.

When the protagonist in the film is either:

a. Falling in love
b. getting in shape to battle the villains
or
c. going through a tough, slow, painful rehabilitation...

we get to see it all happen quickly in a series of jaunty/sexy/stunning clips and there they are at the end in love, with a body of death, in the summer.

I realized today that:

a. I cannot blow bagpipes because of my residual bell's palsy.
b. I cannot balance or walk without staggering
c. I am single and unemployed with no prospects in either category.
AND
d. I am struggling with French class

All this would be solved quickly and readily with The Real Life Montage.

Instead of having to go through slow, grueling mouth and lip and balance exercises, there would be quick cuts of me doing these with a hunky trainer set to a peppy song. Et voila - in 30 seconds cured!!

OR, I would be seen on the phone, using the Internet, pencil behind ear, cool best friend dog at my feet with a tie in his mouth that I would hastily put on to go out to interviews where I would get a GREAT job and fall in love with the Boss (who is from France) all set to something by Katrina and the Waves.

But NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The truth is all of this ONLY happens when one (including me apparently) painstakingly goes through slow and daily exercises and LOTS of phone calls and emails and rejection over 8 or 9 months and asking guys out and getting knocked back until one says yes, etc, and practice, practice, practice with the French book.

It all only happens through TIME, PATIENCE and EFFORT.



Damn.

When Irish Eyes Are....

Does it get more cliche than this? What GREAT faces!



A picture of me NOT playing with the band.

My fellow bandsmen drinking out of paper bags. Class.


Today was totally Irish for me - I laughed, I cried.

It was a GORGEOUS day in Manhattan today and people were out in full GREEN force and I LOVED that. Smart woman in beautiful green coats and young "hooligans" in face paint and giant Guinness hats. The NYFD lads looking fundraiser-calender HOT in their uniforms and families all decked in green finery. It put a smile on my face.

I also think of my dad on this day as I know he would have LOVED to be here with me. This is HIS town; I am just visiting. And I would have LOVED to have been here with him. I saw the Empire State Building from where I was standing with the band and I always equate that with him as he grew up around the corner from it.

My dad's Empire State Building in the background.


I was listening to Van Morrison on my headphones on the bus earlier and tears just rolled down my face and I didn't care. I should have dyed them green! I felt so sad for the people I miss and Van can always bring that home to me.


I think the thing about longing and missing and frustration is that they can all be turned into tribute if I choose to look at them that way.

And now I do.


Here's to a great day for the Irish and all those who have gone before us and those of us still here!

Sláinte

Can't Blow

Tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day and I am supposed to be marching up 5th Avenue in New York City with the Pipe Band. But I can't blow.

(Insert ALL jokes here...)

I can't blow my pipes enough to keep them going. Because of the residual Bell's palsy, I cannot make the seal around the blow stick with my lips. Air gushes out and without enough pressure there is no sound.

The pipe major suggested I "fake it" because he knows I want to be a part of it all. There is nothing more frustrating to a piper than faking it for miles. I cannot do that.

So I have to practice PATIENCE. If I had a tattoo for 2009, that would be the word I would have tattooed on my forearm. PATIENCE.

So tomorrow is my feast day and I will enjoy it as I can and trust that one day I will be able to play bagpipes again.

Looking forward to GREENER pastures tomorrow.

The End

New York City Woman

This woman in sweat pants and wearing headphones was walking in front of me on my block. She had a giant Zappo's shoe box in her left arm and drying cleaning in her right hand. I thought: "This is a New York City woman."

St. Francis in the Dessert, er, Desert

My pal Charlie had a dinner party at his house and it was such fun. Again, after 40, dinner parties are my favorite thing of all in life. And someday I will host one?

He invited me and his friends Bill and John. I had never met Bill and John. It was a cozy meal for four in Charlie's swankily designed designer apartment. He did it himself. Besides having been a singer/performer and a Taryeton cigarette model, he was a designer - interior and furniture. I have none of those talents so I am always amazed.

Bill, me and Charlie in the den. (Still dress like a farmer and need to get more "Big City.")

Bill is a Professor of Italian Renaissance Art History at Columbia. I asked him about Bellini's "St. Francis in the Desert" at the Frick Collection (because I JUST saw it and it took my BREATH away - please see March 8th 2009 blog entry to prove I am not a total pretentious bastard. Besides, this is what we New York types talk about at our dinner parties. No more film grosses for me!)

I said, "Bill, Bellini's 'St. Francis in the Desert' at the Frick is considered to be the finest Italian Renaissance painting in the United States. What do you think about that?" He agreed. And he spoke about why. It was amazing to discuss emotion, intellect and physical reaction to art. I felt like Marilyn Monroe to his Arthur Miller...

The Moon and New York City on the way home. My dad grew up right around the corner from here.

Eats Shoots Leaves

As my friend Susan says, "The two things one should never sacrifice even during down times are travel and education." That is a total paraphrase and a COPY EDITOR would so talk to the fact checker to make sure it was a direct quote. If not, it would be changed on the page.

I know these things and more because I took a one day copy editing class. It was fantastic. Taught by Cheryl Della Pietra who, if she ever googles (not capitalized when used as a verb) this blog, will have some red pen things to say about it! I was so struck by her because she had such a sincere and infectious enthusiasm for grammar and structure and style. She was amazing. I wanted to put her in my pocket like a thesaurus.


I loved the copy editing exercises, but I failed the must not fail if you want to be a copy editor spelling test miserably. Annoint, supercede, supoena, occassion, liquify, descicrate, irresistable, battallion, occurance etc. I spelled them all incorrectly so you could not immediately think "What an idiot, that is so obvious." Now you can figure them out yourself.

The course made me realize that I need to be a writer and have someone else copy edit me! But I so did love the love of grammar and am in total agreement that we way overuse the M dash nowadays -- at least I think so.

Leap and the Networking Will Follow.

When you are flush with high school graduation fever and you along with all the other doe-eyed lads and lassies are throwing mortar boards to the wind, you never expect your future to contain attending a seminar entitled: "I Lost My Career. Now What???"

Especially one containing THREE question marks.

That is exactly what Sue and I attended this morning. It was given by international speaker and motivator Jason Alba, Founder and CEO of Jibber Jobber. He is career management expert. And he became one by making himself one. I have to say it was a good presentation and my resistance to his ideas was only out of FEAR and not out of, "That is a lame ass idea, mister."

He thinks one needs to see oneself as a brand. Not a new concept, but a worthy (and sometimes cringe-worthy) one. He thinks one should have a professional blog to support said brand and one should publish in one's field and be an expert. A lot of marketing jargon, but I have to say it was a great morning and filled my head with a lot of thoughts, including "I am an expert at nothing."

And Seinfeld already mined that area.

Afterwards Sue and I decided to post-game at Petite Abeille, a Belgian restaurant in Tribeca. Just in case there were networking possibilities with decision makers from Brussels.

Here was one of the great successes of the morning. Sue deduced that the breakfast sandwich for $4.50 had all the ingredients of the breakfast for $12.50 less the mesclun salad. A huge savings that could be put towards career software or a Jones of New York interview suit.


The Belgians were kind and let us discuss our futures over java refills for what seemed like the time it would take to fly JFK to Antwerp.

When in France - via New York

Had French class tonight. I was way less confused than I was last week, but the batard gave us a pop quiz! What is this, high school? I am here to learn cool stuff, not be ganged up on. Of course I am only defensive because most of it was on the articles: le, la, les, du, de la, un, une, des etc. And I SUCK at the articles. Frankly, I don't care what is masculine and what is feminine. And that is why I am home alone wearing a Snuggie. (une Snuggie?)

I clearly am not giving enough importance to what nouns are penile and what are vaginal, and though I was fascinated by the partitive when we covered it, I am so past that now. I just want to sound cool and get ooh la las from native speakers.

Articles, schmarticles.

I have to admit that my thought is: "if I say un poire instead of une poire those cool French people with the cool friends and dinner parties that I will be at will be so into my witty banter in French about a pear and will not give two figs that I screwed up the gender of the article!"

This is the belief that will keep me from advancing beyond "the pencil is yellow" for the rest of my jours.

I truly want to get good at this language. I really, really do. I podcast stuff, I read Le Monde on-line. I talk to French people on the bus. I am into it. But those pesky articles and verb conjugations.

They will just hold you back from skiing in Charmonix and having coffee around Les Halles.

Why can't they just drop this nonsense so I can speak the language?

Bleecker - Does It Get Any?

There are just those days. But they pass. And when they do, you feel better, but you are still one day older and nearer death.

**********

I went to see this one man show tonight at the Bleecker St. Theatre in NOHO called "Sleepwalk with Me." It is a about the life of a comedian who has a sleeping disorder. Mike Birbiglia. I write his name because he told us he has Google Alert for whenever people like me (or the New York Times) write about him. Hey Mike! Good job!

So far, I have found this Google Alert tool sadly unnecessary.

I see stuff because I am on this quest to figure out what I want to do next. What my PURPOSE now is. I await my LUKE USE THE FORCE moment. I have been hanging out for that one since the film was first released.

I have been feeling good lately, but then I hear Mike is 30 years old, has been on Letterman and has his own off-Broadway show and a girlfriend and maybe cats. His banter turns to wah-wah as I realize I have none of these things. NONE. This show is now all about me. And I am forty something with the SOMETHING now glaringly substantial.

I think, "I don't want to have to do stand up on college campuses at my age. I would hate that."

Hopes to be the comedian I never knew I wanted to be are dashed this very night. Who forgot to tell me to pursue this earlier? Huh?!!

Earlier today I had two coffee meetings which one does when one is out of work and the person they are meeting is out of work.

Or else you meet in their office.

Which is not usually Starbucks.

The first was with a former colleague and it was delightful. The second was delightful too, but with a young guy who works in media ad sales and wears a suit and a wedding ring and no wrinkles. I thought I was all digital media savvy until I spoke with this sport. He was aggressive, knowledgeable and on his way to a job interview. I felt this big. He was super nice, but it didn't stop me from thinking, "Why didn't I go into computers like my mom told me to?!" But I quickly knew that I would never have so then it got me thinking "Why didn't I go into dance/writing/television/advertising copy writing/international whatever when I was the age of two 5th graders?!

I go home to do my French homework. I am taking a class taught by an homme who has his whole vie ahead of him. I look at the assignments (which are due tomorrow) and think "Damn, this is a LOT OF HOMEWORK. And it is HARD. QLF?!

Then I think "How OLD are you?" Don't you want to actually learn to speak this language this time and not just survive it? Quel un jerk je suis.

So I did it. And it was half-assed. What, am I going to be a stand up in Paris?

Jamais at this rate.

Dash it all. I am here now. Broken, exhausted, unilingual and unpublished. How can I compete?

My left eye won't close entirely and I can't even play bagpipes. Not even badly.

***************


I have always loved Bleecker Street ever since I was a kid. I love walkng on it to this very day. I remember this song by Paul Simon from when I was very wee:

Bleecker Street (1963) By Paul Simon Fog's rollin' in off the East River bank Like a shroud it covers Bleecker Street Fills the alleys where men sleep Hides the shepherd from the sheep Voices leaking from a sad cafe Smiling faces try to understand I saw a shadow touch a shadow's hand On Bleecker Street The poet reads his crooked rhyme Holy, holy is his sacrament Thirty dollars pays your rent On Bleecker Street I head a church bell softly chime In a melody sustainin' It's a long road to Caanan On Bleecker Street From Wednesday Morning, 3AM (1964) Copyright © E. B. Marks Music Corp. (BMI)

Why didn't I become a modern day troubadour when I had the chance?! Arrggghhhh!

Carnegie Hall in Four Movements

One of the fun things about New York is that friends take you to dinner and Carnegie Hall to celebrate you. At least that has been my experience.

Tonight Ellie and I had a wonderful dinner and a great evening at one of the most famous concert halls in the world. I gloat because it is just so gloatable and I am overcome with gratitude and good fortune tonight.

1. We had the best seats. Row L Orchestra right off the aisle. I have never NOT been up in the gods in Carnegie Hall and here I am ruined for life with these fantastic seats. It is like finally getting a washer/dryer in your apartment, there is no going back, at least not happily. Or getting bumped up on an airline. I show my true bumpkin colors here.



2. Looking up from these seats I see all the balconies painted cream and done up in elaborate gold leaf. It is as if I have been shrunk and I am looking up at the most glorious wedding cake made of layers and layers of the finest buttercream adorned with little peoples' heads way up top.



3. Carnegie Hall has always had a special place for me because Andrew Carnegie was from Scotland where my mother is from, but more so because my dad sang a solo here probably in the late 40's. He used to say in his off-beat expression of love whenever any of us kids achieved some level of greatness: "Come and see me once you have sung a solo at Carnegie Hall."


4. Being up so close to the orchestra for an evening and seeing the shoelaces and eyeglasses on cellists and violinists, there were a few I felt I had come to know and have a relationship with. "I wonder where he lives in Chicago and if he planning to go out in the Big Apple tonight?" "That girl in the pants I wonder if she thinks she is a better violinist than that girl in the long skirt next to her?" "I bet those bassists think they are cooler than the oboe players." Rarely do these close personal relationships with this orchestra members happen in the balcony. It is akin to when I used to drive up Highway 5 from LA to San Francisco and there were certain cars I used to tag team with on the way up. Some would pass me and then I would pass them. I felt like we had a relationship of sorts. And there were some I loved and some were my Dick Dastardly enemies. I would make up bios for each of them to pass the time. I did the same here. Clearly I need to get a cat.

Pierre Boulez conducted the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and they were wonderful. They played pieces by Stravinsky, Varese and Elliot Carter. Elliot Carter just turned 100 a few months ago and was there in the audience. He wrote Reflexions which was played tonight for Pierre Boulez.



It was a love fest all around

I'm in a New York State of Dog

Me and my pups.

My landlords went away and asked it I would watch their Jack Russell terriers, Addie and Maude. Of course I would. A chance to see life on the other side.

I think there are two kinds of people in New York City: those with dogs and those without.

I have always been fascinated by watching people with their dogs here. It is such a "thing' having a dog in NYC. I never fully understood how a city where people are crammed in tiny apartments with no yards and work at offices all day has so many dogs. And dog services. And dog stores. And dog bakeries and beauty parlors and therapups.

I was told it is for loneliness and/or companionship. Even my own sister thinks I should get a dog.

(I am still holding out for its owner.)

And dog owners have that high-pitched "Who's the best little girl, huh?" "You are SOOOO cute I could just..." Only a octave down from the cootchie coo of people who own kids.

I find this whole dog thing another opportunity to judge or profile. And another opportunity for hating myself for doing it. That dude with that dog that makes him not so "manly" or that woman with that "purse pup" who no longer has sex with her husband. And the outdoorsy guy with the golden retriever being all Aiden from "Sex and the City." C'mon who are you kidding? See? Judgey and wrong, I know. But see how those two with the mastiff look at me? I know they are. See that, why dontcha?!

And if I see someone with one dog, I think it is theirs, but with two dogs (unless they are matching!) or more, I think that person is a dog walker. Dog walking is BIG BUSINESS here. There is this guy on my block who has this "I am a Walrus" mustache and he walks different dogs all the time. I wonder if he every wants one of his own?

Wow, I am gettin' all Andy Rooney with this dog thing. I wonder if he has covered this? (I can't stand that poor man. I bet his dog walker walks a bulldog or some other stout, scrunchy-faced breed.)

Anyway, I did notice that kids found me more interesting and people looked at me more. And I felt kind of proud of my two munchkins when we were in the park.

Ooooooo. Aren't they just ADORABLE? C'mon here to pappa you wee lovely bundles of Oooooooo Ooooo OOOOOOOO. I could just eat you up. Yes, I could. Oh. Oh.Oh. Yes, I couuuuld.

Frickin' Art

Today is my sister Seona's birthday. Happy Birthday, Sis. I hope it is one of health, joy and peace.

In her honour, I chose to go to the Frick Collection. This collection is housed in steel magnate Henry Clay Frick's former mansion on 70th and 5th Avenue. Very nice address, Henry. I went with my friend Sean. We crashed into friends of his by the fountain in the inner courtyard. Always nice to have a small world experience whilst appearing cultured.

I like seeing collections in the position that the collector left them. I know we don't always get this opportunity and it can be argued that this statue there was quite happy in the church in Spain that it was possibly plundered from and this tapestry should be in Holland and not New York, but being in Henry's library surrounded by his Joshua Reynolds as he once was, adds another dimension to the viewing for me.

I had been to see this amazing collection once before when I was visiting New York. I was so moved and blown away that I bought the coffee table book. The art work this man amassed is impressive and I SO love his sensibility I have to see at the risk of sounding like a total wanker/ponce.

I also appreciate that Mr. Frick was not just a man who made a butt load of dough, but valued art and reading.

I want to be more like him. I will start with a place in the East 70s thank you. And then I will read.

Mistress and Maid by Vermeer, 1666-1667

I love this painting in Frick's gallery room. The color and light in person are striking. He has 3 Vermeers which is considered a lot since Johannes didn't produce much!

St. Francis in the Desert by Bellini 1480.

This hangs in Henry's mahogany paneled sitting room. I was so moved by this one. It depicts St. Francis receiving the stigmata from God. It is a a very powerful painting I must say.

Bonfire of the Vanities

Last Exit to Brooklyn.

Tonight I went to Bensonhurst in Brooklyn because I had to go to a thing to speak at a thing. Just a thing. I had never been before and in a another example of pre-judgement and word association that one plays with place names like "Iraq" "Syria" "Texas" and "Mykonos", I associated "Bensonhurst" with "race riots," (shhhhhh) "Mafia," and "death by gang for certain."

Turns out Scott Baio and Gabe Kaplan and Larry King and Marisa Tomei are all from here. Though they don't still live here.

It was a far ride from the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I was fortunate enough to have trusty friends Sean and Peter come along. True Friend Test #307 "Hey, I have to go to Bensonhurst on a Saturday night will you come with me and I can't promise fun OR survival?" Good pals those two.

Though it was long, it was fast. I always love travelling over the Manhattan Bridge where the subway is outside and you get to see the Brooklyn Bridge and lower Manhattan. And then you travel though Brooklyn where those apartment buildings are so close to the rails and there is graffiti and neon and, as Peter said, you half expect to hear a wailing saxophone. It was so real it looked like a movie set or like we were on the Universal New York streets tour.

We arrived at the 71st Street stop. There was an Italian pastry shop from the 1950s. We got cookies. Awesome. There was a church and houses that were decorated above their station, meaning, tried to look too grand for their simplicity with lions and fancy doors. The streets were dark.

Three middle-aged unsuspecting youths walked without a problem.

Later we went to an excellent Turkish restaurant Bay Ridge Cafe (the name SCREAMS Turkish donnit?). The food was great and half the price of Manhattan. They were really lovely in there and gave us free dessert.

Like it was going to be our last.

Excellent food at the Bay Ridge
Sean and Pat. Peter would not allow photo for this publication.

Actually Peter is right behind me in this photo. Thanks Peter!

Sant Ambroeus

Do you remember that scene in Victor Victoria where Julie Andrews goes into that fancy restaurant because she is so poor and so hungry she will do anything for a meal and she plants that cockroach on the plate at the end so that she can get a free meal?

Well, my day was nothing like that, but my pal Sue and I met in the West Village to catch up and discuss life as unemployed people on the East Coast. (We already had these conversations in Los Angeles!)

In LA we met in a Zen tea garden to figure out what to do, here we went to the famous cafe, Sant Ambroeus in the West Village. This place is cool and old and elegant and no place for discussing how to pay rent while having a coffee. (You go to McDonald's for that.) But one throws caution to the wind for a bit of ambiance and chat, I suppose.

It is such a beautiful place that you want to write your first novel there. We had coffee and a plate of assorted cookies at that little table in the corner. You know the one. Where Hemingway courted Gene Tierney and Fitzgerald caused a scene over the brand of vermouth.

As we always love to do, we had agenda items. And we cover 'em! I think I love us. Now to get employers and paramours to come around and feel the same way.

After our LONG visit over a plate of 10 biscuits, two coffees and a change in the lighting outside, we went to pay. (No cockroaches). They told us they lost our bill and it was on the house! Can you imagine that? Have you ever heard of such a thing? (If so, please tell me the name of the place so I can go there!) I took it as a good omen. They were so nice and we left a big tip and walked out into the quaint, too expensive for us to live there, street and felt sated and ready to face what comes.

All in all a wonderful afternoon.

A Few Things.

1. I love Noxema. I smelled it the other day and it reminded me of days of yore in such a nice menthol-y way.



2. I saw a homeless man sitting on the platform with his plastic bags all around him eating a half gallon Neapolitan ice cream out of the container with a spoon. I even saw that he had empties!! I think this is what I will do when I am homeless if my sitch doesn't change: I will eat half gallons of ice cream in the park. On a bench. Probably Vanilla or Cookie Dough.



3. Walked through Central Park today and saw all the snow and my worries melted.



4. I was studying my French on the bus today and I heard this woman across the aisle speaking French to her young son (jeune fils). I showed her my book (mon livre) and she started talking to me in slow, clear French. She was such delight and it made my day to speak French on the bus.



4. Read this article on Recession Blogs in the New York Times (MY idea dammit!!) and came across some FREE stuff to do in New York so I pass it on. (Cliquez sur FREE) Kind of a shite site, I think I could do better. But am I? I dig the pay what you can museum nights and the talks at Columbia. I want FREE music. And money.

Soho

My arty Soho street shot.


In my continued (from yesterday) quest for knowledge and adventure and glamour and whatever else I can Hoover up, I went to Apple's chi-chi Soho Store to take some classes. I got off the Broadway/Lafayette stop and wondered why I didn't pop down here more often. It was so easy. Part of my fear of feeling like I am too provincial in New York City...I don't go below 57th and the Park.

Soho was so-so as I noticed so many empty storefronts and FOR LEASE signs in this terminally trendy part of Manhattan. Zoinks!

I really enjoyed my two hour long classes and I am learning SO much more about the Mac, but there is SO much and it goes so fast that cool ways to have it snow on your dashboard and change the template of your address book just dropped out of my head. And I am sure my written notes are illegible.

But I did learn how to do a screen grab on my iphone! I changed my wallpaper to a delightful and sunny and bright photo of me and my pal Teresa living life in Long Beach, CA. And here it is!! How cool is that?

Notice the song I was playing and the title. SO unintentional, but perfect. Teresa and the sky make me happy. As do all of you!!! xo p

Firefox and Firebird.

Ron and I went to Columbia University today. So exciting to be on an Ivy League campus. I wanted to melt back in time and, well, start over. My dad even took me here when I was 18 to look into going here. Wow. My head was in my ass. Sigh.

But enough of that. We went to hear Mitchell Baker speak. She is the former CEO of Mozilla and was named by Time Magazine in 2005 as one of the 100 most influential people in the World! Wow.




I am big fan of Firefox now so it was great to hear her speak about it. I also got immediately that she was 1. Intelligent 2. Kind 3. Didn't suffer fools. Loved her. She is on Manhatin's list of Top Five Most Influential People of the Day.


We left here and went to City Center to see Paul Taylor Company dance. Great as always. Paul also made the Manhatin list. Exclusive.

And that, my friends, is living life in the City.

Love it all!!!!

Snow Day and a Bell's Palsy Fashion Shoot

My block this morning.


Dumped snow big time last night. Woke up to a winter wonderland. Schools closed. It be COLD out. Especially with the windchill. I had my parka and a sweater on, but the wind just froze me to me timbers.

I do love the snow, however.

Had to drop by Central Park where I took pictures of, well, myself. The winking and fem lip thing are not me, they are my residual Bell's palsy. I swear it!

The M7

The M7 bus was almost full tonight when I got on. I made my way to the back after the doors closed and the bus trundled up Amsterdam. Before I felt I could "back out" and turn around, I sat next to a poor, pathetic bag lady who occupied the middle of the back bench of 5 seats and took up the rest of those seats with her puffed up blue and white plastic bags filled with her life's belongings. She was wearing a filthy satin dress from the 40's with a vintage turban to match. Her legs were spread too far for a lady and I feared if her dress hiked up any higher with the motion of the bus, I might NOT see her underwear because there was none. Her cheeks were rouged deep red like a carved wooden doll from a carnival. She had a blank stare like her eyes were painted on as well. The poor woman was out of it and sat so sadly on her throne of back seats. I was to her left and didn't want to look out of respect, frankly.

Four young girls got on at the next stop. They were all around eleven, that in-between age that is cuter than one recalls until confronted with it. They too walked to the back and halted before getting too close to the bag lady. Two sat in the newly unoccupied seats to my direct left and the other two sat on their laps! It was as as natural as you could imagine. That is what 11 year old girls do. And they continued to talk to each other as if the M7 were a slumber party. They played with each others' long, beautiful hair like loving primates. The talk was about school and cell phones and brothers making pranks! God, it was beautiful to listen to. It was so pure and precious that it broke my heart to think the poor woman to my right was once like them.