Thank You Mom, Dad, Neil

As I have gotten older and my parents have passed on, there are many things I recall that I am grateful that they "forced" me to do. I say "forced" because I would not have done them on my own and, at the time, would not truly appreciate the value of them.

One was making me hold my knife and fork correctly. My presumption was always that if you could get the sustenance in your mouth you were going to survive and that is all that mattered. I was in "raised by wolves" phase. But I never knew what my parents knew and that was good table manners hold one in good stead for "social survival." I can go anywhere and dine with anyone and not be mortified that I am holding my knife like I am logging.

The other thing that comes to mind today is "forcing" me to watch television. Typically parents try and limit this exercise. And mine were no different. I do remember "Love American Style" and "Hitchcock's The Birds" were forbidden to us. But there were moments that we were rousted and physically placed on the couch and told that what we were about to see was historically important and we would be part of history by watching it.

Two majors were: the moon landing and President Nixon resigning office. The others were watching "Roots" and "I, Claudius." I learned invaluable things from all of those experiences including: my parents cared about me in some way.

So today marks the 40th Anniversary of the moon landing. I was just shy of 7 and probably shy of everything else. I know I already knew about envy, and fantasy and that sawdust was for soaking up urine in the classroom. This would be my fourth thing.

What a remarkable event it was to think for the first time ever a human being had walked on a surface not on this planet. These guys were far away and talking to the president on the telephone. The future was here. And soon, I am sure, the modern kitchen from the Jetson's cartoon will be a reality. What fun! It must be right around the corner, I presumed. My dad had sideburns and my mom wore outfits right out of Farside cartoons and we were four and we had a TV and grandparents. Life was good even then. Damn, my lesson in envy made me forget to appreciate that at the time, but I do now.

Thanks, Mom and Dad for making me watch television 40 years ago today.

Out on The Frying Pan

Jerry is just back from touring all over Australia. In a week's turnaround time he takes off to do volunteer work in Tanzania. Lisa wanted to have a drinks get together during his "New York window" and I suggested this place I had passed by on one of my "walkabouts" up the Hudson River walkway.

It is called "The Frying Pan" after the historic lightship this bar/restaurant occupies at the end of an old railroad loading dock. Like the Highline, it is an amazing 're-purpose" achievement that New York City seems to be so good at. And what a good place it turned out to be.

There are loads of places all over this bobbing barge to sit with friends and have a drink and a burger. It isn't a scene in a way that anyone would feel unwelcome. It just a nice way for the "po folk" who don't have a home in the Hamptons to enjoy some summer on the water!




Surprisingly there is a lot of square footage in this place and I had walked around looking for my party and finally had to call Jerry on his cell. In the meantime I crashed into my wonderful friend and fellow California ex-pat, Josie having beers with pals. Great to see her as always.



Aha! There we are. It was a great time hanging out and hearing Jerry's tales of Aussie life and about his plans for Africa. We worked together and as I scrape to find a new gig, he is in a different place and is taking this time off. He seems so entirely happy. And today it was infectious.

Ryan in this photo is an art director and I "hired" him for this group shot. He told me when the lighting was good. I was the producer of the shoot and booked the woman at the next table who was a photographer. She stood on a chair and took this photo of our maritime good time.

Jerry is really a good guy and I am so happy I met him in Utah and got to work with him in New York and that we have gotten to be friends. He is also an excellent Facebook chronicler of his travels which is always appreciated by those of us at home.

Jerry with my friend Jennifer, fellow UWS denizen and appreciated Manhatin reader! We had a good yak on the 1 subway back to the 80's after our boat ride today.

Frank & Teddy Stand in Front of Their Car

Met Frank and Teddy today in the West Village. I had my camera and seemed to want to take a photo of them. This photo of them. I am not sure why, but I wanted something for no reason; I wanted something ordinary. No backdrop of flowers or a fountain or a cool storefront. Not just now.

Most photos are taken for specific reasons usually to commemorate something like a birthday or a vacation. Rarely do you see photos of your parents as kids beyond the studio shot or the first communion photo. Or the day they got married.

Many photos are "here is me" photos- Here is me in front of the Eiffel Tower or Here is me hugging a dolphin. We need to stake our claim on top of our own mountains of achievement or have an association, an "I was there." I get that and have loads of photos to prove it, or myself. Fine and good and I look forward to more.

But "here is me" the day that Teddy got a haircut and Frank was just meeting up with him, those moments, most important, are rarely captured. Life goes so fast and things change so quickly, and this is how they were today in what will soon be dated clothes in front of a dated car on a street with dated bank awnings and perhaps dated buildings. But in this moment at the time it was captured things were fresh, it was a beautiful day and life was good.

"Gosh do you remember that day I had paint samples in the back of the car and we were going to look for carpet for the bedroom? Gosh, that was 30 years ago. Wow. Do you still have that watch?"

Caramoor

Bob invited me to go to Caramoor to see the Donizetti opera "L'Elisir d'Amore" (The Elixir of Love).

"Caramoor" the name reminds me of some Sir Walter Scott made up romantic pastiche and it kind of was all that. The kind of place you would want to go to outside of New York City.

It was my first venture out after this cold and it was indeed an elixir. It felt like being kidnapped to the country - on a luxury coach from grand Grand Central- to some verdant hideout up the Hudson River Valley outside Katonah, New York. (The East is so cute with its Indian, er, Native American names. I could name my daughter after this place!) I remarked to Bob that I didn't realize NYC was so UN green until we got out of it and saw all these trees.

In an effort to compare everything to home this place is a former estate now used for the arts and gardens and weddings sort of like Filoli. Or Huntington. Very beautiful.

I wish we had more time to explore, but we did have time to sit at a picnic table in the woods and enjoy a Bob-created gastrofeast. It was excellent as per usual. I even got leftovers.

And in this faraway land of makebelieve, we continued to run into people we knew including the classical music critic Alex Ross from The New Yorker. I asked him if he was going to write something on this and he said he was. Ha! I scooped him. (But not well, he is a good writer!) On the bus on the way up I asked Bob if he knew my friend Pat and he didn't and there was Pat up at Caramoor! Small bloody world. New York continues to get smaller and smaller for me. Who knew!?

The opera was superb. It is held at this Venetian style theatre there under a tent and one could see fireflies swirling around. Just magical. The opera is about a boy and a girl and a magical love potion. I was just a boy and a bottle myself, but I got the idea. The voices were strong and pleasant to my uneducated opera sensibility and it was shear pleasure to be there to listen to it all. I could feel the music in my body as Bob remarked he could as well.

Home James on the coach and back to the Big A as if coming out of a dream experiment in a lab. But my mind was not erased. I remember it all and it was wonderful.



Bob's friend the General Director explains the season and the place.

Rear Window

Remember? Jimmy had a broken leg and Grace Kelly came to nurse him back to health and in the meantime they fell deeper in love AND solved a murder?

Nothing like that here, really.

As I continue to be laid up with this cold and entombed in my late 19th Century New York brownstone complete with patio, I feel much like Jimmy - frustrated, bored, trapped etc. I have no Grace and can't even find a murder let alone a lonely ballet dancer to stare at through my window looking onto the backs of all the apartments on the street one number lower than mine in the NYC grid system.

There is that apartment with the big sailboat in the window. And there is that one up a few flights and over to the right with the TV on throughout the night. I wonder what that is about? But rarely do I see humans. So odd that. No fight scenes or sex scenes or entanglements of even the grocery sorting kind.

I do have new neighbors on the next patio over who like to sunbathe and BBQ and smoke. They are a young and beautiful couple with a dog. Pleasant. Neighborly. I am the grizzled, sickly neighbor who catches her in her bikini when I go out to water in my grey sweat shorts, growth and wife-beater. If I had her body I wouldn't be shy either. I find myself more Raymond Burr than Jimmy Stewart these days. Hmmm?

I hear a guy singing to a piano. Standards mostly. And there is some stone blasting and Spanish being spoken.

But no murders or gorgeous pre-Royalty nursemaids.

Slow News Day

I promised myself I would not run myself into the ground while sick like I did in January. The residual effects of that still linger as well as the ongoing expense of treatment.

So today I did my consultant job on the computer and drank hot lemon with ginger and red pepper flakes. And a little honey.

The end.

Summer Cold

Oxymoron indeed!

After a night of outdoor music and sumptuous food à la française, I landed this horrendous cold in July. "They" (the nebulous department of all things referential) call it a "Summer Cold" and I really don't know why it is just not a cold that you get and it happens to be sunny out. I think the whole thing is that it is a shock that one would get sick when one is supposed to be lying on a beach or canoeing.

I am doing neither.

I woke up this morning with the shivers and shakes and had to take two hot showers in NYC in July! to get warm. I am hacking and sneezing and coughing and snorking. Brutal.

Since my "life changing" Winter cold in January, I am not going to forge on through this one, but instead take care of my bloody self.

Here are some thoughts that happen to someone home alone whilst illin' in Summer:

Little Woman Syndrome: "I always thought I was a feisty independent Jo, but I think I am really the sickly one, Beth, when I really probably want to ultimately be Amy and go to Europe and marry well."

Old Uncle Syndrome: "I am destined to be that old uncle with bushels of hair in his ears and pouring out of his nose like the tails on the backends of two gone to seed mares standing side-by-side, who never married under mysterious circumstances and comes to live with you and gives you gifts like expired chocolate mints and tries to kiss you with grey 3 day growth and breath that smells like a popped zit."

When I Get Better Syndrome: "When I get better I am going to shoot video and edit to music and read something written over 100 years ago and get a New York driver's license and learn to sing." All things that I could have done all along become mega vital while laid up. This syndrome sadly passes upon recovery.