Bad Weather

Have you ever heard that expression, "There is no bad weather, just bad clothing choices"?  I embrace that. 

Facebook posts from friends in Southern California have them basking in superlatives about the 80 degree weather in January and "Ooh, I am cold, I think I will turn down the air conditioning." (I thought that one was pretty brilliant.)  But I did not feel any envy- none. 

One of the many things I like about living in New York is the weather.  If you don't like this weather just hold on another kind of weather is just around the corner.  I thoroughly enjoy the seasons.  I was just ice skating in Central Park with the chill in the air, a scarf around my neck, warm gloves on my hands and the sun on my face.  The other night I came in from the chill of the icy rain and ate hot soup as the rain clattered against my window.  How do you get that feeling when it there are tank tops and flip flops passing by outside?  You don't.  And tank tops and flip flops will be soon enough.

In my mind January is for snow and chill and slush and layers and scarves and soup and taking a hot steam at the gym.  I do not desire 80 degrees. I desire wool and hot cocoa.

Yefim Bronfman at Lincoln Center

 A view from my fenetre at intermission.

My good friend Ellie and I went to hear our fave pianist Yefim Bronfman at Philharmonic tonight.  (There is no apparent need to say New York Philharmonic when you live here I am learning, but for purposes of my vast worldwide audience, it is the New York Philharmonic.)  Like filing into a Yankee's game or the New World's Vatican of Tennis,  the US Open,  or wandering around the Met (Museum or Opera), the experience starts the moment you alight from the taxi or emerge from the subway.  You will not only have a wonderful experience attending the thing you are paying for, but you will also be part of a collective New York experience.   You will be one of the gleeful huddled masses.  There is a lot of "huddlage" in New York.  It is indeed a rat race, but I find, it is one where everybody wins.

I am off topic again.

What IS the topic?

I have two:

1.  People watching.  The Phil offers amazing people watching.  It is for music, but also for looking at interesting faces, imaging the state of those two over there's marriage, queens in fur coats, ladies in fur coats and comfortable shoes, men who look like they would rather be elsewhere, wondering if a new generation will come, picking out people from Westchester.  It is not for star sighting though last time I was there I body checked Caroline Kennedy on my way back from the men's room.  I am endlessly fascinated by all of us.  And I am not alone.  We love it. And it a funny thing in New York, the giant metropolis, I ALWAYS expect to know someone, or recognize someone, everywhere I go!  And quite often I do though not tonight.

2. Yefim Bronfman.  I wish I could call him Yeffy, but we are not on that level yet.  I first heard him at here last January playing Piano Concerto No. 2 in G minor, Op 16 and was so blown away.  He is a genius.  And I use that heavily.  The Yefster rocks my world with his playing. Tonight was no exception though you never forget your first time.  If you ever get a chance to hear this man where you are do go.  (See his link above for international schedule of future Yef sightings.)

The Subway

This evening I was sitting on the E train heading for a meeting in an office downtown.  I was properly bundled and I was reading a torn and crinkled issue of The New Yorker saved from the crowded mess of my book bag.   I am a New Yorker and I know it. After three years here I know the subway lines, I don't get offered double-decker bus tours anymore and I give directions to strangers and hail cabs.  I am comfortable in my skin. As long as it is properly attired for the weather.

A woman sat next to me. She was carrying a step ladder. Folded.  It didn't look like she just bought it from Bed, Bath and Beyond.  It didn't have a security sticker; it looked like she just took it to use places.  I could feel my body wanting to lean over and say something like "Do you need that to read the adverts on the subway?"  But I just could not think of anything that was either 1. funny or 2. not too obvious.  Unlike a REAL New Yorker, I felt compelled to engage with her.  Just to engage? Well, I think I want to know someone who carries a step ladder with her.

She would always have a seat places.  She could reach things at the grocery.  Or a library.  A liability at the airport surely.

I then thought about how great it would be to carry a seat with you wherever you went because you would always have one!  I used to think it would be great to carry a parking space.  And I also used to think of how great it would be to be able to shrink so tiny that you could carry your house with you and live anywhere!  But the fear of cats would multiply.  And unwanted grasshoppers knocking on your door with a loud bang.   Don't think I would like that. I almost figured I didn't carry my house out of fear of getting eaten.  I never even regarded that it was a real non-issue since I couldn't shrink.

My stop. I got off the train. The woman with the step ladder had farther to go.  I mentally thanked her for getting my thoughts to go places.  But I will never know where she is from and why she carries that step ladder. And I guess that will just have to be okay.

Blizzard, New York City

Jeff and I came home from Christmas in Poughkeepsie.  We left early because, like everyone else, we heard a storm was a brewin'.  I immediately thought of a movie I had never seen  - "Twister"   But instead of racing from the eye of the storm we were driving into it. Still, Jeff thought of me as Helen Hunt and he as Bill Paxton.  This time I didn't argue as we had to make tracks.

As we rolled into Astoria to Jeff's, the flurries were not yet furies (I just made that up right here on this spot. Damn!) so we had time to shop for pork tenderloin with baby spinach in sesame oil.  What. A. Relief.

What a night. My first blizzard. I was so excited. As caramel swirls of Haagaen Daz Caramel Cone reached my lips I could see swirls of sideways snow passing by the window.

We downed two movies and some maple cookies and headed for a long winter's nap.  As I drew the sash and pulled open the shudders in the morning, my wandering eyes saw a s*#t-load of snow!  I was in love. Again.

While Jeff's car was buried outside we had scrambled eggs and coffee and downed another Beverly Hills Housewives ON DEMAND. That Camille is doing my head in! But Kyle! I thought she had way more sense than to argue back, especially with a drunk psychic at the dinner party. Disaster of blizzard proportions in Malibu I tell you.

 It was time to say adios to Jeffy and head into the big city. I delighted in all the snow around me.

 Because I don't have to shovel or dig I love the snow and a good blizzard for me is a good thing.

Pipes of Christmas Past

My friend Merri from California invited me to see her perform in "The Pipes of Christmas" at the Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church at 73rd.  It was SOLD OUT and got listed as one of the MUST DO Christmas things to do in New York.  Well I did it. 

First, what a venue.  The place was decked like an Upper East Side deb and just shone. 

And the show was wonderful. A lovely blend of pipes and organ and song and brass.  I think I could be moved by a kazoo in this church, but wow, this was moving. And Merri is such a lovely person it filled me with even more joy.  Joy, I tell you, Joy! 

 After the concert there was a reception with Robert Burns' "Address to a Haggis"  It was wonderful. 

You Better, You Better La Bête

What a fantastic New York night.  A night where I am in the 1940s and the city is buzzing and I am a three dot journalist...Met Cooper and Paul-Louis in from LA...Jeff got to meet them which I loved.  Cooper and PL have a great deal to do with why Jeff and I even met...Job and all.  We went to the Music Box Theatre to see our friend (well theirs and he knows who I am and he is totally a lovely guy) David Hyde Pierce in La Bête.  A modern Molieresque play all in couplets.  Harder sell than "Cop Rock"

I digress.  I really enjoyed the play and David was excellent. Other David and Charlie met us there.  I adore both of them and it had been a long while since I had seen them...Sitting in the row back were Cooper and PL's neighbors from LA.  Small world.  And Jeff and I saw our friends Henry, Peter and Charles... How does that always happen here?

The core group went backstage and I introduced Jeff to David and we hung out for a while. I peed in the same toilet as Lionel Barrymore, I imagined. Or at least Bert Lahr... Unfortunately David could not make dinner as planned and the 8 of us went to Orso for a late apres theatre supper like they did in the old days in my mind  And next table over was Stockard Channing...Perfect...I wanted to tell her the last time I saw her (in that dreadful production of Pal Joey at Studio 54) was the night I got sick and got Bell's Palsy and Vertigo, but I think she might have taken it more wrong than historical...

Another grand night in Gotham.

Writing

As my meagre cadre of fans of this blog know, I lost it about 5 months ago and stopped writing daily here for the first time in almost 3 years.

I have missed this forum, but could not get back into it.  I felt like a blogger stuck in a bog in a fog and my computer was just out of reach.  I could not bring myself to write here.  Part of it was depression and joy.  Both good writing moods! But I just could not.

I also wanted to start a new blog ABOUT SOMETHING! But that eludes me still. WHAT could I possibly be the expert on that I could write about and attach my blog to my Linked In and sell advertising and gather a HUGE following?  Food? Too many do it better.  New York City?  Maybe, but I would need an angle.  Fish out of water?  Nah.  Tucked away places?  I am not consistent enough and would probably steal from Time Out New York.   My take on NYC? Maybe, but I think I should be a celebrity first. Just Dunno.

But the more I work and ponder the more I realize I want to write professionally.  I have heard so often "the secret to writing is writing."  Of course I ignore that and use the procrastinator's mantra: "the secret to writing is doing research on writing and throwing money at it: computer, classes, Amazon.com.

So I bought two books.  They are here at my beside. Bindings intact.  Apparently "the secret to reading is reading. "  They are "The Right to Wright"  by Julia Cameron.  Yes, Virginia, I still have permission issues and I am hoping this book gives me that.  The secret to writing is permission?   I also got "Eats, Shoots and Leaves" by Lynn Truss. A person I greatly respect who is not a writer, but a doctor and great procrastinator likes this book very much.

So now I have more books on writing, a blog that is aimless, and the desire to have the desire. 


Go!