i like toys.
i don't mean dolls and g.i. joe toys. i mean the adult kind. and no, get your filthy mind out of the gutter, i don't mean the kind of toys that adults play with that would cause their mothers to rue raising them. no, no. i mean like whoever has the most toys at the end of his life, wins..... ok, i better clarify a bit. not jaguars and jets, not rolex watches and diamonds (although most people wouldn't classify the latter as exactly toys). i mean like video systems, sound systems, gps devices, etc. those kind of toys. stuff you don't really need, but just love having. my grandparents lived out their entire lives, well into their eighties without a remote control to the television. so we don't really need this stuff to have fulfilling lives, we just love having these things pretending they fulfill our lives.
i had a big couple of weeks................
digress......
i was always the one, when technology was first being born, back in the sixties, that knew how to wire the video game, or connect the stereo wires, or use the remote controls, and i was very proud to be a geek in that regard. some people were just so clueless. and i think, back then, it was just a lazy thing for some, because it was really take the wire, run it from the output (of whatever device) to the input (of whatever device) and bingo........no big deal. and i have to say i was excellent, right through the dawn of the computer age and surround sound, until about 10 years ago, and then, i dunno........it just kind of slipped away from me. i got older, (it's a young man's game) and i kind of lost interest in the wiring of it, but still had the fascination for the toys themselves. (there are several areas in my home that look like the scene from raiders of the lost ark..... just snakes everywhere.......wires.....and more wires........and i now definitely need help with the wiring, a geek or a techie..........and i'm man enough to admit it.
back.......
so a short while ago, i went to an auction site and bought a gps system for the car. that's officially a toy. i'm 60 years old, and have found my way across this planet so far, with virtually no help, but now, i like to program publix onto the gps and listen to the mechanical voice guide me there. it's 12 freakin' blocks and i go almost every day, but still........there's something so cool about in a half mile, make the next left, or make the first possible u-turn, that just gives me a kick. can't help it...........toys are fun. (question....ladies, is this a guy thing?) many of my friends have gps systems either on their cell phones, (major toys) or built right into their cars.....(over the top toys.) so, not to be left too far behind.....(you know, like the avatar experience about which i spoke in an earlier post), i bought the gps system and i'm having fun......sort of........
ok, next up, everybody has these other devices now, either phones or blackberrys, or touch things, or clutch the pearls, this newfangled pad. (i think apple is responsible for most of them,) and i'd like to go on record and say that pad, should not have been the name that the geniuses at apple decided upon. there are too many other uses for that word. besides, something this fabulous just needs a better name. even tablet, would have been better. sounds a little biblical, no? like something given down by god?) anyway, these things hold their music, videos, facebook connections, etc........ i wanted one, but .........
a) they're expensive
b) the monthly service charges can be very pricey......unless of course you buy the 3g version in which case........
c) they're very very expensive.
so, count me out of that game.
but i did buy a sony device for my music and videos (although the screen is 2" in diameter.........i'm thinking avatar is out..........from big screen 3d to 2 inches? not likely) but it's pretty cool for the music. it will literally hold every cd i own. and the number runs into the hundreds. (like i'll live long enough to play it all). and i found it plugs into my car and comes out the speakers, if you push that heretofore unknown button called auxiliary. that button has never been pushed until now and WOW. (how cool is that?)..........i think i'm having a cheese stands alone moment. i can hear you all saying. i know. i've known all along.......... hey.......what can i say?
next up, it the remote control. or should i say remotes control. oy..........
to sit in our house and watch a movie takes 4 remotes. some just do one thing, because my universal remote won't do that one thing, so there they are, 4 remotes next to my chair. poor husband. not the best at that sort of thing, but then who is? most people are not. i'm good at them, but it truly takes all 4 to work the system. tv, dvr, dvd, sound, you get the picture. you all probably LIVE the picture. so what a surprise to me to find that logitech makes a universal that really really works.
one device. (you program it from your computer with a usb cord plugged into the remote.) it asks you the make and model number of everything you own, and the computer does the programming. (ok, truth time. i called a geek friend to help me.) you could program your ceiling fans if you so desired. up to 12 devices (and i bought the low end one. the high end will do 17.) i still haven't put away the 4 remotes yet. not until i learn this thing from top to bottom. i don't quite have the confidence that the nightmare is really over.
but back to that pad thing. (even with it's hideous name). have you seen one in action? it's like the ultimate toy to date. ever. it's music, movies, photos, read a book, internet browsing, email, calendar, date book, all your porn, (come on, you know you have some......even if it's just soft porn, like the fireman calendar.......although i must say, it does still elude me why they call certain things soft porn. sounds like another oxymoron. soft porn. a subject for another time.......) and on and on. but it costs around a bazillion dollars. well, $600 or so, and that's not chump change......
digress.........
the reason this subject came up is that husband and i have changed our habits somewhat. we've both become readers. instead of the television at night when we retire, we read. and he reads a lot. me, not so much.
back...........
so i was thinking about one of those reading devices, for him, like a kindle or a nook, that lets you read ebooks right from a 7 inch screen, no matter how big the book is, or how many you have. bigger or smaller fonts, turn the pages by touching a finger and sliding it sideways, the whole enchilada. it's one of the newer toys these days, but it too was pricey til recently. but now there are other companies making copycat devices. there's one now, for $120 that lets you do the read thing, the email thing, internet, photos, porn, (stop the giggling) calendar, all of it, like the pad. (only slower, because it's not $600). but still, way cool. so............
i bought one today.
i've actually got it up and running by myself, (didn't need a techie or a geek to help me), and i'm having fun with it, although i must say that until you actually buy an ebook and download it to your ereader, they give you free ebooks. (i might have to do another piece on what happened to my regular english language?) the freebies are from the classics. dead authors. so tonight i'll either start jane eyre, pride and prejudice, or little women. (it's a good thing i'm gay, because with those choices i'll probably wake up tomorrow morning wanting to do drag shows.) i'll keep you posted on how it goes. so far, i'm not sure it's a keeper yet, because it really is a little slow, and i'm kind of feeling like i should maybe wait a while until the pad becomes a little more affordable. not too long, of course. otherwise when i get one, and subsequently tell people i have it, and how cool it is, they'll say.......yeah, i know. i've known all along.
could someone pass the cheese, please?............
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
the fat lady has sung........
remember day 1, blog 1? the premise? i’m old?
every so often, even now, in my dotage and senility, i discover something wonderful. to be honest, it’s usually something everybody else has already discovered, and i’m just late to the party. a perfect example is avatar. you know, the movie this past year? it had grossed a billion dollars and everyone on planet earth had seen it, even poor people, at 14 bucks a pop, and the multitudes were ranting and raving and it was winning awards and changing the face of movies, and by the time i saw it there were 9 people in the theater. exactly 7 others, and us, husband and me. and of course i came out all wide-eyed, having just discovered this amazing adventure in 3d that changed my movie world in a way not since 1977, when star wars did the same thing. and it’s always a riot, because after these discoveries, there’s nobody to tell, because i was the last to find out, and if you try to share, people say, yeah, i know. i’ve known all along. so in the words of the old kid’s song, the cheese stands alone.
sometimes, though, it’s just a bandwagon thing, and i don’t jump on, doesn’t matter how much time goes by. an example of that would be….. i don’t know…….. survivor, or american idol. people rave and carry on, i take a look, and decide, ok, but not for me. and then the opposite happens….people want to tell me about david archuleta, or taylor whatshisface, and i just don’t care. (although i will admit carrie underwood has some talent. but i bought her cd and spared myself simon, paula, and the others.
tonight was one of those discoveries.
digress………..
when i was 12 years old, i had an aunt in jersey city, who was my mother’s older sister, who somehow, growing up in the depression, poor like everyone else, discovered classical music and especially opera, and grew up with a love for it, all her life. she had a husband who had the sensitivity of a cement block, and two children who were multi-faceted, well educated, and bright, who cared nothing for this particular bent of hers. our families summered together at the jersey shore in belmar and the metropolitan opera would send out their touring company each summer to a neighboring town for a couple of shows. i already had a feeling for music (remember the little budding fairy within?), and so at the age of 12, aunt asked me if i’d like to accompany her to an opera, and i said yes. she was a very smart woman, in that taking me to my first, she did not choose a 5 hour, wagner epic, like gotterdammerung. no, she was a clever woman. it was carmen, among the easiest operas for a beginner to digest. lots of familiar music, dancing, singing, costumes, toreador, all of it. and i was smitten. (that day did to my opera world what star wars would later do to my movie world). she was thrilled that i liked it and we spent the summer, she and i, as a couple, aunt and nephew attending various operas. (is this story too sebastian and violet? from suddenly last summer? by tennessee williams? gay boy, lonely aunt?.......no, actually it was gay boy and his mother, (one step removed from psycho).....but unlike those stories, in my tale, nobody gets killed at the end). and from that summer on, my love of opera was born and bred. i’ve loved it with a passion ever since. (including the 5 hour wagner epics).. a deep and abiding love that has withstood the test of time. a passion. a soul fulfilling emotional attachment to it. (oy, i got carried away, but i think you get the picture).
back…………..
so when friends suggested that we try this new-fangled outlet for opera, i agreed. tonight i discovered the high definition performances of the metropolitan opera broadcasts in one of our local movie theaters. oh i know what you’re thinking, pbs has broadcast live from the met for years. i know that, and i’ve watched with abandon everything they’ve ever shown. and i have cds and dvds and podcasts, but this was really different. you’re in a dark theater with the smell of popcorn wafting in from the lobby and all, and sticky floors and everything, and it starts out like a regular movie going experience (which i might add, i hate. i don’t go to the movies very much at all. i don’t care for people’s behavior in a movie theater anymore. not to be a snob or anything, but it’s all just too uncouth, people munching, talking, using their cel phones, texting, slurping…..too much for me. avatar was the last film i saw in a theater, a year ago. that ought to tell you something. just not for me anymore, thank you very much, unless there’s a real reason.) so i’m sitting in this popcorn smell, and i can tell my clothes reek already, before it even begins, but i’m there because they tell me this is good opera and i can’t resist, and i put up a good front and a happy face, here in "uncouth land", and i’m pleasant. and the lights dim and it begins………..
epiphany...........
suddenly, i’m transported into the audience of the met. the video is high def as i mentioned, and the picture is huge and clear and i’m in. sucked in so fast i got whiplash. the conductor comes out and shakes hands with the concertmaster, and you can see he's sweating already, that's how good the picture is. he bows to us, the audience, and turns to his orchestra. i can't tell you how much it was like being in the actual opera house, except it was a way better seat than i could ever afford. with the close ups, it's like your in the pit with the players. or on the actual stage. so real. and, it was one of my favorite operas, turandot, with a great cast and the old franco zeffirelli production which is simply magical. (the picture is so good and so clear, that you can sometimes catch a glimpse of velcro on the soprano's dress, to see how they tuck this rather large woman into all that fabric and still make a shape.) talk about wondrous art!! now you have to understand that i’m a regular operagoer to live opera several times a season, and this was actually better than that. it too is a live performance, but with the sound and the hd and the close-ups it was amazing. i was like that 12 year old kid again, and at the end, i walked out of the theater, and realized that this experience is a deal changer for me, in that i need to subscribe and go often. (how ironic that it was the metropolitan opera on the road again that did this to me, like all those years ago), and of course, i want to tell someone, but i’m thinking i'll get, yeah, i know, i’ve known all along. this is me and again, the cheese, stands alone.
but it’s good to know that there are still wonderful things to discover even now. so people, every so often, i want you to shut off dancing with the stars, put down the remote, and go discover something new.......that everyone else already knows.
every so often, even now, in my dotage and senility, i discover something wonderful. to be honest, it’s usually something everybody else has already discovered, and i’m just late to the party. a perfect example is avatar. you know, the movie this past year? it had grossed a billion dollars and everyone on planet earth had seen it, even poor people, at 14 bucks a pop, and the multitudes were ranting and raving and it was winning awards and changing the face of movies, and by the time i saw it there were 9 people in the theater. exactly 7 others, and us, husband and me. and of course i came out all wide-eyed, having just discovered this amazing adventure in 3d that changed my movie world in a way not since 1977, when star wars did the same thing. and it’s always a riot, because after these discoveries, there’s nobody to tell, because i was the last to find out, and if you try to share, people say, yeah, i know. i’ve known all along. so in the words of the old kid’s song, the cheese stands alone.
sometimes, though, it’s just a bandwagon thing, and i don’t jump on, doesn’t matter how much time goes by. an example of that would be….. i don’t know…….. survivor, or american idol. people rave and carry on, i take a look, and decide, ok, but not for me. and then the opposite happens….people want to tell me about david archuleta, or taylor whatshisface, and i just don’t care. (although i will admit carrie underwood has some talent. but i bought her cd and spared myself simon, paula, and the others.
tonight was one of those discoveries.
digress………..
when i was 12 years old, i had an aunt in jersey city, who was my mother’s older sister, who somehow, growing up in the depression, poor like everyone else, discovered classical music and especially opera, and grew up with a love for it, all her life. she had a husband who had the sensitivity of a cement block, and two children who were multi-faceted, well educated, and bright, who cared nothing for this particular bent of hers. our families summered together at the jersey shore in belmar and the metropolitan opera would send out their touring company each summer to a neighboring town for a couple of shows. i already had a feeling for music (remember the little budding fairy within?), and so at the age of 12, aunt asked me if i’d like to accompany her to an opera, and i said yes. she was a very smart woman, in that taking me to my first, she did not choose a 5 hour, wagner epic, like gotterdammerung. no, she was a clever woman. it was carmen, among the easiest operas for a beginner to digest. lots of familiar music, dancing, singing, costumes, toreador, all of it. and i was smitten. (that day did to my opera world what star wars would later do to my movie world). she was thrilled that i liked it and we spent the summer, she and i, as a couple, aunt and nephew attending various operas. (is this story too sebastian and violet? from suddenly last summer? by tennessee williams? gay boy, lonely aunt?.......no, actually it was gay boy and his mother, (one step removed from psycho).....but unlike those stories, in my tale, nobody gets killed at the end). and from that summer on, my love of opera was born and bred. i’ve loved it with a passion ever since. (including the 5 hour wagner epics).. a deep and abiding love that has withstood the test of time. a passion. a soul fulfilling emotional attachment to it. (oy, i got carried away, but i think you get the picture).
back…………..
so when friends suggested that we try this new-fangled outlet for opera, i agreed. tonight i discovered the high definition performances of the metropolitan opera broadcasts in one of our local movie theaters. oh i know what you’re thinking, pbs has broadcast live from the met for years. i know that, and i’ve watched with abandon everything they’ve ever shown. and i have cds and dvds and podcasts, but this was really different. you’re in a dark theater with the smell of popcorn wafting in from the lobby and all, and sticky floors and everything, and it starts out like a regular movie going experience (which i might add, i hate. i don’t go to the movies very much at all. i don’t care for people’s behavior in a movie theater anymore. not to be a snob or anything, but it’s all just too uncouth, people munching, talking, using their cel phones, texting, slurping…..too much for me. avatar was the last film i saw in a theater, a year ago. that ought to tell you something. just not for me anymore, thank you very much, unless there’s a real reason.) so i’m sitting in this popcorn smell, and i can tell my clothes reek already, before it even begins, but i’m there because they tell me this is good opera and i can’t resist, and i put up a good front and a happy face, here in "uncouth land", and i’m pleasant. and the lights dim and it begins………..
epiphany...........
suddenly, i’m transported into the audience of the met. the video is high def as i mentioned, and the picture is huge and clear and i’m in. sucked in so fast i got whiplash. the conductor comes out and shakes hands with the concertmaster, and you can see he's sweating already, that's how good the picture is. he bows to us, the audience, and turns to his orchestra. i can't tell you how much it was like being in the actual opera house, except it was a way better seat than i could ever afford. with the close ups, it's like your in the pit with the players. or on the actual stage. so real. and, it was one of my favorite operas, turandot, with a great cast and the old franco zeffirelli production which is simply magical. (the picture is so good and so clear, that you can sometimes catch a glimpse of velcro on the soprano's dress, to see how they tuck this rather large woman into all that fabric and still make a shape.) talk about wondrous art!! now you have to understand that i’m a regular operagoer to live opera several times a season, and this was actually better than that. it too is a live performance, but with the sound and the hd and the close-ups it was amazing. i was like that 12 year old kid again, and at the end, i walked out of the theater, and realized that this experience is a deal changer for me, in that i need to subscribe and go often. (how ironic that it was the metropolitan opera on the road again that did this to me, like all those years ago), and of course, i want to tell someone, but i’m thinking i'll get, yeah, i know, i’ve known all along. this is me and again, the cheese, stands alone.
but it’s good to know that there are still wonderful things to discover even now. so people, every so often, i want you to shut off dancing with the stars, put down the remote, and go discover something new.......that everyone else already knows.
Monday, July 19, 2010
dog day afternoon......
did you ever have a dog?
i've blogged a bit about the cat-nation that is our home, and mentioned the dog in passing, but she's a tale to be told in and of herself. she's an old girl now, (which is appropriate because i'm way too old to have a puppy). she's been with me since almost her beginning. i got her at 8 months (her life, not mine) and it was no ordinary adoption. (it's a funny concept to adopt a child when at heart, you're still a child yourself).
digress.................
i'd been a single gay man a long time. happy enough, self-sufficient enough, and good at being single. i wasn't one of those single queens that would say, cook for 1? are you crazy? easier to bring in take out. (oxymoron? bring in take-out?) no, having been single awhile, i learned to cook, made beautiful dinners for one, watched my collection of vcr movies, (always good for a streisand festival, or an opera on tape, or one of the classics......). i entertained, got laid enough....(more than most) and was generally a happy fairy. add to that i was self-employed, worked out of my home, and had sister (yes, the one from previous blogs), working with me in my business, and business was good, and i found myself buying a house that was way too big for one person, but fuck it. it was a great house, i could afford it, and i bought it. life was good.
then, one day, (at the tender age of 49), someone said to me, you know, if you get a puppy, and take it for walks, guys will stop to pet the dog and they just might pet you, as well. maybe meet a husband. and i, like a fucking moron, believed him. like that ever happens.
so, sister and i, took a morning off and headed to the shelter to look for a puppy. (she's a natural animal lover and has always had animals....dogs, cats, birds, boyfriends, (well, just some of them were animals), so she was perfect for helping me choose. and that first day, in the entirety of the broward county marti huizenga animal shelter, there was not one dog that we loved. not one.
but hey, i'm a child of the '60s and the supremes taught us......you can't hurry love, so we went back day after day for a week, and the pound was just bereft of choices. nothing. nada. it started to feel like a bad idea. and then one morning.........she was there........a raucous, feisty, amazingly cute puppy, which the workers told us had come from the shelter in puerto rico, because, when our shelters are empty, we help with their strays. after all, they're a colony and all.
so this little puerto rican puppy, jumping and spinning caught our eye. and sister, who was already smitten, said to the dog, hola. venga ya. (actually talking spanish to this little dog from puerto rico). and the dog actually came, all smiles and wagging, and suddenly we were done. toast. stick a fork in us, done to perfection, and the little puerto rican came home with us. she was 8 months old. humour me.....take a look...............
stop traffic, no?
finding her seemed like the easy part.........
but naming her, that was the hard part...........
digress...........
her "history card" said that she had heartworm, and would need treatment to survive. the shelter offered to treat her, free of charge, and the only thing we had to do, was keep the puppy......the amazingly hyper, happy, running, jumping, tail-wagging puppy.......quiet for 30 days. something about the drug clogging her heart and killing her. (WTF?). and then at the end of 30 days, another treatment, and another 30 days of quiet, lest she excite herself to death. so for 60 days, one of us was a wreck every time she barked, and i can tell you now, it wasn't her. that i got through those days in one piece, was a bloody miracle. funny......she didn't look so hyper..........
but trust me..............
back....................
so i began to think about a name. i didn't want a name that ended in an "ee" sound........daisy, fluffy, shirley, buffy, etc. just didn't. and i didn't want a name that was too jewish. (sophie, sammy, mildred, after all, i'm the jew, not her. (although they tell me there are puerto rican jews. not , however, according to my grandmother, but........anyway..............) and then it hit me.
i thought about the book, the prince of tides, and the sister who tries to off herself early in the story that gives rise to the rest of the book, and it turns out she fails suicide, becomes healed and survives and subsequently becomes this pillar of strength for the rest of the family, and i likened that to my poor child with the heartworm and wanted her to survive as well. she was a fighter, (and a blonde), so i named her after that wonderful character in the book, savannah wingo. well, just savannah, anyway, and survive she did, and became quite the handful of joy over the years. take a look at adult savannah......... not a bad looking bitch, i must say.........
backtrack......
remember, i was a single fairy, living alone, and this was supposed to bring me a husband. (i'll wait til the laughter subsides). but, sceptical though i was, and with the fates conspiring, not 6 months after adopting my girl, i met a man. with a dog. yes, husband. and i already had the 2 old cats. so suddenly, there was a pair of men, 2 dogs, and 2 cats all sleeping in a double bed. any bets on what our first purchase together as a couple was? ok, say it together..........
a KING SIZED BED!!!
that was 11 years ago. the two cats are long gone, husband's dog is long gone, and 2 new babies were adopted (see earlier blog, replete with pictures). savannah's an old girl now, i'm an old man, and husband, well, he's the oldest of the lot. we're all (savannah, husband and i) content in our senior years, and it makes for a pretty good family, and we're extremely grateful for all that we have, and of course for the fact that the cats let us live here at all.
there's an expression..........cats rule and dogs drool........and that is so true, i can't tell you.
but there's another expression as well................happiness is truly, a warm puppy................
if you've never done it, get a dog................................good night all..............
i've blogged a bit about the cat-nation that is our home, and mentioned the dog in passing, but she's a tale to be told in and of herself. she's an old girl now, (which is appropriate because i'm way too old to have a puppy). she's been with me since almost her beginning. i got her at 8 months (her life, not mine) and it was no ordinary adoption. (it's a funny concept to adopt a child when at heart, you're still a child yourself).
digress.................
i'd been a single gay man a long time. happy enough, self-sufficient enough, and good at being single. i wasn't one of those single queens that would say, cook for 1? are you crazy? easier to bring in take out. (oxymoron? bring in take-out?) no, having been single awhile, i learned to cook, made beautiful dinners for one, watched my collection of vcr movies, (always good for a streisand festival, or an opera on tape, or one of the classics......). i entertained, got laid enough....(more than most) and was generally a happy fairy. add to that i was self-employed, worked out of my home, and had sister (yes, the one from previous blogs), working with me in my business, and business was good, and i found myself buying a house that was way too big for one person, but fuck it. it was a great house, i could afford it, and i bought it. life was good.
then, one day, (at the tender age of 49), someone said to me, you know, if you get a puppy, and take it for walks, guys will stop to pet the dog and they just might pet you, as well. maybe meet a husband. and i, like a fucking moron, believed him. like that ever happens.
so, sister and i, took a morning off and headed to the shelter to look for a puppy. (she's a natural animal lover and has always had animals....dogs, cats, birds, boyfriends, (well, just some of them were animals), so she was perfect for helping me choose. and that first day, in the entirety of the broward county marti huizenga animal shelter, there was not one dog that we loved. not one.
but hey, i'm a child of the '60s and the supremes taught us......you can't hurry love, so we went back day after day for a week, and the pound was just bereft of choices. nothing. nada. it started to feel like a bad idea. and then one morning.........she was there........a raucous, feisty, amazingly cute puppy, which the workers told us had come from the shelter in puerto rico, because, when our shelters are empty, we help with their strays. after all, they're a colony and all.
so this little puerto rican puppy, jumping and spinning caught our eye. and sister, who was already smitten, said to the dog, hola. venga ya. (actually talking spanish to this little dog from puerto rico). and the dog actually came, all smiles and wagging, and suddenly we were done. toast. stick a fork in us, done to perfection, and the little puerto rican came home with us. she was 8 months old. humour me.....take a look...............
stop traffic, no?
finding her seemed like the easy part.........
but naming her, that was the hard part...........
digress...........
her "history card" said that she had heartworm, and would need treatment to survive. the shelter offered to treat her, free of charge, and the only thing we had to do, was keep the puppy......the amazingly hyper, happy, running, jumping, tail-wagging puppy.......quiet for 30 days. something about the drug clogging her heart and killing her. (WTF?). and then at the end of 30 days, another treatment, and another 30 days of quiet, lest she excite herself to death. so for 60 days, one of us was a wreck every time she barked, and i can tell you now, it wasn't her. that i got through those days in one piece, was a bloody miracle. funny......she didn't look so hyper..........
but trust me..............
back....................
so i began to think about a name. i didn't want a name that ended in an "ee" sound........daisy, fluffy, shirley, buffy, etc. just didn't. and i didn't want a name that was too jewish. (sophie, sammy, mildred, after all, i'm the jew, not her. (although they tell me there are puerto rican jews. not , however, according to my grandmother, but........anyway..............) and then it hit me.
i thought about the book, the prince of tides, and the sister who tries to off herself early in the story that gives rise to the rest of the book, and it turns out she fails suicide, becomes healed and survives and subsequently becomes this pillar of strength for the rest of the family, and i likened that to my poor child with the heartworm and wanted her to survive as well. she was a fighter, (and a blonde), so i named her after that wonderful character in the book, savannah wingo. well, just savannah, anyway, and survive she did, and became quite the handful of joy over the years. take a look at adult savannah......... not a bad looking bitch, i must say.........
backtrack......
remember, i was a single fairy, living alone, and this was supposed to bring me a husband. (i'll wait til the laughter subsides). but, sceptical though i was, and with the fates conspiring, not 6 months after adopting my girl, i met a man. with a dog. yes, husband. and i already had the 2 old cats. so suddenly, there was a pair of men, 2 dogs, and 2 cats all sleeping in a double bed. any bets on what our first purchase together as a couple was? ok, say it together..........
a KING SIZED BED!!!
that was 11 years ago. the two cats are long gone, husband's dog is long gone, and 2 new babies were adopted (see earlier blog, replete with pictures). savannah's an old girl now, i'm an old man, and husband, well, he's the oldest of the lot. we're all (savannah, husband and i) content in our senior years, and it makes for a pretty good family, and we're extremely grateful for all that we have, and of course for the fact that the cats let us live here at all.
there's an expression..........cats rule and dogs drool........and that is so true, i can't tell you.
but there's another expression as well................happiness is truly, a warm puppy................
if you've never done it, get a dog................................good night all..............
Sunday, July 18, 2010
eating again...............
again, typing and munching........
getting to be a habit........
although unlike the last time, this is a two-handed type, because the food i'm eating can be put down while i chew....and type........
ok, if you must know, i'm noshing on a piece of mandel bread, leftover, but frozen...(until just now), after a dinner party the other night. which brings me to a funny story.......
husband and i are very popular. oh, not like some. if gay marriage ever comes to south florida (you know, right after hell does that freeze thing?), we'd have a wedding event. we'd invite a bunch of our friends and make a big party. but not, say, like chelsea clinton and the sacred 500, which is, right now, such a secret that the people on world news tonight with diane sawyer, at the end of the 5 minute report from the town where it's to be held, said they weren't even sure it was happening there, interviewing townspeople, checking bookings in hotel rooms, and they still deny knowlege for sure, even after taking in vain the names of oprah winfrey, steven spielberg, the obamas, and of course barbra streisand.
that's popular.
i don't even know 500 people which is a good thing, because i can't afford to feed 500 people, so sometimes the universe conspires and you come out a winner.
so, as popular as we are, we invite people to dinner, and in turn get invited to dine. (and i'm thinking it's more than most people, but i could be wrong).
so the other night, in honor of one of our "couple" friends leaving for p'town to run their inn for the summer, we had a kind of a farewell event, and asked them to dinner, along with another gay couple that we love. husband got all creative and authentic and did a pasta thing, which is surely among his strong suits. it was spaghetti carbonara, NO CREAM INVOLVED. as i said, the real deal, bacon and eggs and shallots. talk about yum. there was also salad, and amazing bread from the amazing bakery in our 'hood. for dessert, we kind of cheated and just did some spumoni ice cream and biscotti.
digress............
who remembers real spumoni? well, i'm thinking certainly not the people in utah, or west virginia or indiana. no, this would be a new york, new jersey, philly experience. i'm talkin' the good crap, like from little italy in new york, or, of course, next to any cheesesteak joint in downtown philly......you get the picture. the good stuff that once you wander from the 'hood, is gone. (stays in your memory forever, whenever the word spumoni comes up,) but it's a local phenom. until now. edy's, (yes, clutch the pearls, the very edy's, available right here in publix) is making a spumoni now. it won't put the mob in jersey city out of business, but it will definitely touch you right on that spot that you remember.)
that's cheat #1......
and then there's noni's biscotti. readily available at publix, sam's, costco, bj's, and if you're not going to make them yourself, it works.
and that's cheat #2......
back..............
so that was dessert. store bought, very good, spumoni, and store bought, pretty good, biscotti.
i'm thinking, following the authentic carbonara, we're good.
digress again........sorry......
our friends, the various "couples", and we, have dispensed with "door prizes". you get invited, you come eat, and please don't bring me the bottle of wine, that i have to hold for 2 months before i give it back to you, when it's your turn. (i had a bottle of wine once for 9 years. never drank it. it just went back and forth from dinner party to dinner party.) we finally put a stop to that foolishness. it's totally unneccesary. we're all friends. so, tonight, no gifts were expected.
back...........
the first couple arrives with a shopping bag. WTF?? turns out, it's a container of pickles, some cream cheese, a jar of jelly, a head of lettuce and a lonely tomato. (they're leaving, remember? to go to cape cod? and they're emptying their fridge into mine. i'm not sure if they're saying, here this is for you, or hold this til we get back in 3 months, i don't want to run my fridge all summer). ah, friends.
now the second couple arrives, also with a package, and i'm like, oh shit, they've all gone either senile or nostalgic and i'm somehow in the middle wondering what kind of wine is in the bag? turns out, couple number 2 is just back from a trip, where an ancient recipe was bestowed upon them, and immediatly upon their return home, the one that cooks, dove in and tried it.
as fate would have it, the recipe was for mandel bread, which as you all know, is jewish biscotti. (maybe biscotti is italian mandel bread?.......whatever). what are the odds of this, people? i buy biscotti, and he bakes mandel bread. now, my politeness comes to the fore, and although having admitted to buying the biscotti, i make a point of saying, biscotti, schmiscotti. we'll put that away and eat the home-made goodies. and as it turns out, there's a reason that this is an ancient recipe. it's a keeper. these, you can't buy at publix or bj's or costco. no, no, no. you need a bubbe to make these. (that's yiddish for grandmother), or you need to pass the ancient recipe into someone's capable hands, and hope for the best. and that's just what we got. (to be completely disrespectful and blasphemous, these were better than my bubbe's). i'd go on and on about the nuance of the fresh orange rind, enrobing the nuts and cranberries, all caught up in a double baked bisquit with it's crunchy texture, but i won't, because after a while, you'd hate me, because there's one in my hand and not yours.
which is how this all began. with that majical cookie in one hand.........
ah, friends......................
getting to be a habit........
although unlike the last time, this is a two-handed type, because the food i'm eating can be put down while i chew....and type........
ok, if you must know, i'm noshing on a piece of mandel bread, leftover, but frozen...(until just now), after a dinner party the other night. which brings me to a funny story.......
husband and i are very popular. oh, not like some. if gay marriage ever comes to south florida (you know, right after hell does that freeze thing?), we'd have a wedding event. we'd invite a bunch of our friends and make a big party. but not, say, like chelsea clinton and the sacred 500, which is, right now, such a secret that the people on world news tonight with diane sawyer, at the end of the 5 minute report from the town where it's to be held, said they weren't even sure it was happening there, interviewing townspeople, checking bookings in hotel rooms, and they still deny knowlege for sure, even after taking in vain the names of oprah winfrey, steven spielberg, the obamas, and of course barbra streisand.
that's popular.
i don't even know 500 people which is a good thing, because i can't afford to feed 500 people, so sometimes the universe conspires and you come out a winner.
so, as popular as we are, we invite people to dinner, and in turn get invited to dine. (and i'm thinking it's more than most people, but i could be wrong).
so the other night, in honor of one of our "couple" friends leaving for p'town to run their inn for the summer, we had a kind of a farewell event, and asked them to dinner, along with another gay couple that we love. husband got all creative and authentic and did a pasta thing, which is surely among his strong suits. it was spaghetti carbonara, NO CREAM INVOLVED. as i said, the real deal, bacon and eggs and shallots. talk about yum. there was also salad, and amazing bread from the amazing bakery in our 'hood. for dessert, we kind of cheated and just did some spumoni ice cream and biscotti.
digress............
who remembers real spumoni? well, i'm thinking certainly not the people in utah, or west virginia or indiana. no, this would be a new york, new jersey, philly experience. i'm talkin' the good crap, like from little italy in new york, or, of course, next to any cheesesteak joint in downtown philly......you get the picture. the good stuff that once you wander from the 'hood, is gone. (stays in your memory forever, whenever the word spumoni comes up,) but it's a local phenom. until now. edy's, (yes, clutch the pearls, the very edy's, available right here in publix) is making a spumoni now. it won't put the mob in jersey city out of business, but it will definitely touch you right on that spot that you remember.)
that's cheat #1......
and then there's noni's biscotti. readily available at publix, sam's, costco, bj's, and if you're not going to make them yourself, it works.
and that's cheat #2......
back..............
so that was dessert. store bought, very good, spumoni, and store bought, pretty good, biscotti.
i'm thinking, following the authentic carbonara, we're good.
digress again........sorry......
our friends, the various "couples", and we, have dispensed with "door prizes". you get invited, you come eat, and please don't bring me the bottle of wine, that i have to hold for 2 months before i give it back to you, when it's your turn. (i had a bottle of wine once for 9 years. never drank it. it just went back and forth from dinner party to dinner party.) we finally put a stop to that foolishness. it's totally unneccesary. we're all friends. so, tonight, no gifts were expected.
back...........
the first couple arrives with a shopping bag. WTF?? turns out, it's a container of pickles, some cream cheese, a jar of jelly, a head of lettuce and a lonely tomato. (they're leaving, remember? to go to cape cod? and they're emptying their fridge into mine. i'm not sure if they're saying, here this is for you, or hold this til we get back in 3 months, i don't want to run my fridge all summer). ah, friends.
now the second couple arrives, also with a package, and i'm like, oh shit, they've all gone either senile or nostalgic and i'm somehow in the middle wondering what kind of wine is in the bag? turns out, couple number 2 is just back from a trip, where an ancient recipe was bestowed upon them, and immediatly upon their return home, the one that cooks, dove in and tried it.
as fate would have it, the recipe was for mandel bread, which as you all know, is jewish biscotti. (maybe biscotti is italian mandel bread?.......whatever). what are the odds of this, people? i buy biscotti, and he bakes mandel bread. now, my politeness comes to the fore, and although having admitted to buying the biscotti, i make a point of saying, biscotti, schmiscotti. we'll put that away and eat the home-made goodies. and as it turns out, there's a reason that this is an ancient recipe. it's a keeper. these, you can't buy at publix or bj's or costco. no, no, no. you need a bubbe to make these. (that's yiddish for grandmother), or you need to pass the ancient recipe into someone's capable hands, and hope for the best. and that's just what we got. (to be completely disrespectful and blasphemous, these were better than my bubbe's). i'd go on and on about the nuance of the fresh orange rind, enrobing the nuts and cranberries, all caught up in a double baked bisquit with it's crunchy texture, but i won't, because after a while, you'd hate me, because there's one in my hand and not yours.
which is how this all began. with that majical cookie in one hand.........
ah, friends......................
Saturday, July 10, 2010
does this dress make me look fat?
funny bit tonight at dinner…….
husband and i live in a fair sized house, and have for 11 and some years. lately, in the midst of a hideous economy, and job downturn we’ve taken in a boarder…..a roommate, if you will. a very nice, pleasant chap of german persuasion. as in, he’s from cologne (no, not the smell, the city in germany). he’s younger than we are by a decade or more, and by far much hotter, in gay lingo……he’s single, so he maintains a very youthful decorum. tall, lean, blond eyes, blue hair, (or is it the other way around?), and perfectly charming in his european way.
today was an absolutely lovely summer day in south florida, (boy, talk about an oxymoron…..it was freaking’ hot!) and we, roommate and i took some time at the pool. me of course, in the shade………i feel that skin like a louis vuitton bag is way overrated, and he lying in the hot florida sun. afterwards, i did stuff around the house and he napped, so when he awoke to come eat dinner, his face was a little smooshed from the nap, and red from the sun. over dinner, the three of us chatted and laughed, and then this dialogue ensued…………
husband: roommate? are you going out this evening? a fine saturday night out in gay fort lauderdale?
roommate: yes, of course. there are boys to meet out there.
husband: you know, roommate, this evening, i seem to be noticing that there are these “bags” under your eyes.
roommate: excuse me? say what?
husband: yes, these excessively bulbous areas under your eyes, they seem puffy tonight. and along with your reddened skin, i couldn’t help but notice.
roommate: what’s that about my skin? excessively bulbous areas? me: husband, that’s not very nice. even if it’s true it’s not nice to say aloud.
husband: why not? we’re friends. we can be honest.
me: ok, you’re a 65 yr old, paunchy, balding sloth. still all cheery about honestly, honey?
husband: no, i’m just saying, i’ve seen him look better.
me: mary, we’ve all looked better, so knock it off.
roommate: where exactly is the puffiness?
husband: here, he said. (and then he began touching his bags).
me: (screaming), stop it! leave his bags alone. even if he has them, please don't do this.
husband: i don’t see what’s wrong with it.
roommate: (sobbing softly), maybe i won’t go out tonight.
husband: you know, i hear from all my old queen friends, that if you daub a little preparation H under the eyes it shrinks the bags, and is kind of like a gay face lift.
me: no, no, don’t listen to him. a little moisturizer and you’ll be fine. (and now i realize i’m as bad as husband. he doesn’t need to moisturize unless he thinks so. suddenly i’m an asshole too).
oh the tangled web we weave.........
roommate: ok, dinner was great. i’m going into the bathroom now. (and we all know there are mirrors in there).
me: husband……not nice. you want to be his friend, notice a little less. you know……..less is more.
husband: sloth? you really think i’m a sloth?
me: the 65 year old, paunchy shit didn’t hurt? just the “sloth” part? oy……you goyim are so amusing.
roommate: (shrieking from the bathroom) omg, my face is a fucking gucci bag!!!!
me: husband, now see what you’ve done!
husband: roommate, it’s not that bad.
me: oh, nice consolation.
roommate: (emerging slowly, face covered with cream). i’ll be fine in a few minutes. the superiority of my european skin will prevail.
me: absofuckinglutely.
moral of the story. (wow, this far into this many nights and i don’t think we’ve had a moral yet. well, first time for everything.) the moral of the story is, eat your goddam pasta and keep your opinions to yourself, lest you set off an international incident.
husband and i live in a fair sized house, and have for 11 and some years. lately, in the midst of a hideous economy, and job downturn we’ve taken in a boarder…..a roommate, if you will. a very nice, pleasant chap of german persuasion. as in, he’s from cologne (no, not the smell, the city in germany). he’s younger than we are by a decade or more, and by far much hotter, in gay lingo……he’s single, so he maintains a very youthful decorum. tall, lean, blond eyes, blue hair, (or is it the other way around?), and perfectly charming in his european way.
today was an absolutely lovely summer day in south florida, (boy, talk about an oxymoron…..it was freaking’ hot!) and we, roommate and i took some time at the pool. me of course, in the shade………i feel that skin like a louis vuitton bag is way overrated, and he lying in the hot florida sun. afterwards, i did stuff around the house and he napped, so when he awoke to come eat dinner, his face was a little smooshed from the nap, and red from the sun. over dinner, the three of us chatted and laughed, and then this dialogue ensued…………
husband: roommate? are you going out this evening? a fine saturday night out in gay fort lauderdale?
roommate: yes, of course. there are boys to meet out there.
husband: you know, roommate, this evening, i seem to be noticing that there are these “bags” under your eyes.
roommate: excuse me? say what?
husband: yes, these excessively bulbous areas under your eyes, they seem puffy tonight. and along with your reddened skin, i couldn’t help but notice.
roommate: what’s that about my skin? excessively bulbous areas? me: husband, that’s not very nice. even if it’s true it’s not nice to say aloud.
husband: why not? we’re friends. we can be honest.
me: ok, you’re a 65 yr old, paunchy, balding sloth. still all cheery about honestly, honey?
husband: no, i’m just saying, i’ve seen him look better.
me: mary, we’ve all looked better, so knock it off.
roommate: where exactly is the puffiness?
husband: here, he said. (and then he began touching his bags).
me: (screaming), stop it! leave his bags alone. even if he has them, please don't do this.
husband: i don’t see what’s wrong with it.
roommate: (sobbing softly), maybe i won’t go out tonight.
husband: you know, i hear from all my old queen friends, that if you daub a little preparation H under the eyes it shrinks the bags, and is kind of like a gay face lift.
me: no, no, don’t listen to him. a little moisturizer and you’ll be fine. (and now i realize i’m as bad as husband. he doesn’t need to moisturize unless he thinks so. suddenly i’m an asshole too).
oh the tangled web we weave.........
roommate: ok, dinner was great. i’m going into the bathroom now. (and we all know there are mirrors in there).
me: husband……not nice. you want to be his friend, notice a little less. you know……..less is more.
husband: sloth? you really think i’m a sloth?
me: the 65 year old, paunchy shit didn’t hurt? just the “sloth” part? oy……you goyim are so amusing.
roommate: (shrieking from the bathroom) omg, my face is a fucking gucci bag!!!!
me: husband, now see what you’ve done!
husband: roommate, it’s not that bad.
me: oh, nice consolation.
roommate: (emerging slowly, face covered with cream). i’ll be fine in a few minutes. the superiority of my european skin will prevail.
me: absofuckinglutely.
moral of the story. (wow, this far into this many nights and i don’t think we’ve had a moral yet. well, first time for everything.) the moral of the story is, eat your goddam pasta and keep your opinions to yourself, lest you set off an international incident.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Career day...........
i’ve led a pretty interesting life. oh, not like some. i’m not a scientist type decoding the human genome, who then skis the matterhorn while on vacation, summers on the c’ote d’azur, and has actual aboriginal friends down under. no, no. nothing quite that colorful. but i’ve seen some stuff, and i know a thing or two about a thing or two, having lived this long, and it’s been an assortment of careers so far.
but, after college, careerwise, i was truly stuck. I was a liberal arts major with no particular work skills, and was clueless about what to do with my life.
digress…………
i sang in high school in the choir and theater department. early on, music was my life. by the time i was 12 or so, i knew that standing in a group of people, all singing, making a joyful noise, was, for me, the happiest place on earth. i breezed through high school, and lived for choir. my senior year i was the president. when it came time to apply for college admission, i applied to 3 schools, just to be sure some school, somewhere, would take me, but there was only rutgers college for me. (it was an all male school at the time, and me, an emerging gay boy, applied. another story for another night, i promise.) oh, it was a good school and all that, but it happened to have the finest men’s glee club in the country. no bullshit. better than princeton, westminster, university of indiana at bloomington, the yale whiffenpoofs, all of them. and i just had to sing with them or die. (wow, that sounded like a judy garland moment…….you know, the one where mickey rooney is in the aunt’s barn rehearsing for the summer show and judy really wants in?.....but so does deanna durbin, who’s actually a much better singer? but judy was relentless and a way better dancer so she eventually prevails and steals the show?........was that too gay?) so, anyway, i applied to rutgers, got accepted, moved to new brunswick, nj, settled into the dorm, and auditioned. (it was really a half-baked plan, looking back. i mean, if they’d rejected me, i’d have been in a college for no freakin’ reason on earth). but relax, they took me in. and with world concert tours every summer, carnegie hall gigs every 6 weeks, when visiting orchestras would come to new york and need a good choir to sing the beethoven 9th, or brahm’s requiem, and the soloists would gather, placido domingo, beverly sills, and the like, i was in my glory. It was so glamorous, so important to be in new york city, performing for all the world. it was certainly a long way from the mean streets of jersey city to the stage of carnegie hall, or the various stages across european capitals. (actually, you could take a bus from the mean streets of jersey city to carnegie hall, but i’m using a little hyperbole, so just bear with me.)
back………
so i’m tempted to count that as my first career, the singing, but of course, i didn’t make a living, so i won’t. i grabbed a clerical job in nyc after graduate school and knew in 4 months that corporate life wasn’t for me. too rigid. too structured. and we musical souls feel differently about those kinds of things than others, i believe. so shortly after that, i did a stint in the family business, driving a truck, filling vending machines (along with my heretofore unnamed sister, riding shotgun. yes, the family had a business, with my brother as the boss, my father his partner, and the 2 worker bees, sis and me. the best part of those several years was the time i spent on the truck with my sister. just the two of us. we’d always been fairly close (except of course, you know, it goes in and out through adolescence), but this became something very special. clearly among the closest relationships i’d ever had to that point and we bonded. it’s thirty five years later and we still have that bond, thank the universe for that. not everybody gets to have a sibling as good as mine. (she was the first person outside the gay world to whom i came out. and it was classic………yeah, i know…….she said…….i was gay since I was like 5 years old, and it took me 20 years to say it. to finally get up the nerve, and be sure in my heart that she’s still love me, and I got………………..yeah, i know….how funny is that?) and on the truck we were good. we’d arrive at a location and a candy machine would be jammed and broken. i’d proceed to fill it and service it, and she’d sit down on the floor, indian style, and take the entire coin mechanism apart, find the trouble, fix it, reassemble the pieces and put the machine back in service. (looking back she probably could have been on the indy 500 circuit, keeping those engines moving). she had, and still has, i might add, a real knack for all things mechanical. it’s a gift. i don’t have it. but i sing. (hey, just as important, in certain circles, ok?).
digress again……….
through college i had a best friend and mentor. he was, to this day, the most brilliant mind i have ever encountered. he was a few years older than i. (remember the a.d.h.d. skipping through school thing?), and as a result he had a job during junior and senior years in a restaurant, tending bar. (while by day he studied wittgenstein, kant, descartes and noam chomsky. hey, i warned you he was bright). i was so jealous that he knew how to be a bartender and that he made extra money, but alas, i was simply too young. jersey liquor laws were tough. i did however, in senior year, after getting my first car, deliver chicken from a take-out joint. chicken lickin’ i think it was called. ( a chicken delight knockoff). not much money, but the tips from delivering fried chicken and fries and onion rings to a lot of stoned college students added up. not to mention most deliveries included a hit on the bong for the road, or a toke on the joint as I handed the stoners their food. what a life! and of course, all the greasy food a 19 year old could consume. i even got to take home leftovers if we cooked too much on shift and the orders stopped. very helpful position for a starving college student. i was pretty popular with the roommates, as well. ( to this day, i still wonder why i wasn't a pimply face kid after eating all that greasy fried food. well, one thing to thank mom for anyway, some decent genes. aw, it was probably dad's genes. never know.)
back……………
so after a few years on the truck with sis, i grew weary. (the business was in the basement of my parent’s house, so that meant seeing mom every day, which if you read a former blog, you know was not an easy thing.) my aforementioned best friend, home on vacation from teaching philosophy in univ of north carolina, one summer, had a godfather with a famous tavern in the city, called, believe it or not, bill’s gay nineties, (it was a straight bar and restaurant but sometimes the universe just conspires, don’t ya think?) and one day, godfather needed a bartender. i begged my friend to teach me, and he finally did. private lessons for 2 days from my very own “master”. i was a young padawan, and he was my yoda. on the 3rd day, he took me to his godfather’s saloon, planted me in a corner of the kitchen for the lunch shift, behind the service bar, and proceeded to stand with me, (all the while sipping johnny walker red) and guide me through the preparation of a myriad of cocktails on my first day. well, not to sound too bold, but i must say, with his teaching and guidance, and my natural skills and brains, to use a very old, but very worthy cliché`, a star was born. i stayed the summer, working a couple of days a week, and lo, my 2nd career was born. shortly thereafter, my brother had a friend who managed a huge disco in new jersey, called the soap factory, because it was indeed a bar converted from just such an establishment. the place was huge. there were 2 bartenders for each of 8 bars, and the basement, in what used to be the boiler room, and was still called that, had a huge bar with only one setup for one bartender. i talked the friend into trying me out, he did, and i worked one of the 2 man spots upstairs. it was a disco, and so it was mostly a young crowd and there were some funny moments to be sure. for instance…..a heavy set very young girl with way too much black eyeliner, trying desperately to look older than she was, approached me......
her: i’d like a vodka and orange juice and a screwdriver.
me: that’s 2 screwdrivers.
her: no, no, only 1 screwdriver and 1 vodka with orange juice.
me: but hon, you don’t understand, that’s 2 screwdrivers.
her: oh no, you”re wrong. i’m not drinking screwdrivers, but my girlfriend is.
me: i’m so sorry. 1 screwdriver and 1 vodka with orange juice, coming right up.
i am not making this up. anyway, after a while, when bobby (the friend) saw how good i was and how mechanically fast i was (truth be told, there were some drugs involved…..let’s just call them “performance enhancing”,) he gave me the boiler room to myself, and that’s where i honed my craft and got great. (not bragging. truthfully, it was a very busy bar, but if you were coordinated, and got a rhythm going you could be great. and i was.) from there, i became a kind of hot commodity. i had friends in various places, and whenever a bartender was out sick, or needed a vacation, or had an emergency, they’d call and i’d just jump behind a bar and fill in for a time. kind of like a "guest star". the most important of which, i guess in retrospect, was a fairly famous restaurant on the east side called el parador. it was a mexican restaurant, very high class. woody allen, robert redford, mia farow, anna moffo, and lots of others would show up, and nobody made a fuss. very low key. the catch was, the relief bartender, who only worked saturday nights, cut his hand and was out for 6 weeks, so they needed a guy for 6 consecutive saturday nights, and i was the guy. the pay was huge because of the circumstances, and the owner was perhaps the nicest man for whom i’ve ever worked. (started out dirt poor in mexico, came to america, worked his way up through the kitchens of new york and eventually opened his own place. never forgot his humble beginnings so he was amazingly kind to his staff. he fed us great meals, told us stories of his childhood, as we prepped for a crazy saturday night, and then he’d put on his tuxedo, greet people at the door, and was simply elegant and amazing. i learned more about the restaurant business in those six days than in many years elsewhere.)
another highlight was doubles, a private club, downstairs beneath the pavement of manhattan, under the sherry netherland hotel. it was, perhaps, the swankiest club in new york, at the time . when the rich and famous came to town and wanted to be conspicuous, they stayed at the world famous plaza hotel. when they wanted their privacy and pampering, they came to the sherry netherland, across 5th avenue from the plaza. diagonal corner hotels with dueling elegance. i waited on kings and princesses, and movie stars, and politicos and never moved a face muscle. no expression whatsoever. (i tell ya, botox could have come in handy, but it wasn't invented yet!!!) jackie o, frank sinatra, the governor of new york, her serene highness princess ezra jah of iran and her father the shah, opera singers. i tell you it was a who's who down there. it was hideously expensive and nobody ever flashed any money or credit cards or anything. a private club with all private accounts. these people didn't bother with tawdry details like money changing hands. i'm thinking they just got a bill at the end of the month and their bookkeeper paid it. quite an experience. but alas, as elegant and fabulous as it was, the maitre d' was a greedy pig and he was the only one making big money, so i didn't stay long.
so after jumping around, guest starring in various venues, i decided that indeed, bartending was to be my profession, despite all my degrees in music and all my education. i loved it. it’s actually show business in a way. a bartender, if he’s good at it, is on stage his entire shift, entertaining as well as mixing, ensuring that people are having a good time, and that their needs are met. and as in college, i just loved being on stage. (and sometimes you got laid as well. some people just have a thing for a bartender. especially after a couple of drinks....)
so having decided that, i took a job off 14th st on 6th avenue, full time, as head bartender, in a cozy restaurant called the san francisco plum. and i stayed awhile and prospered. my stint there would ultimately lead me to my next career, but more about that later.
this restaurant was in the photography district of manhattan. (bet most of you didn’t know there was one, but there was.) and the place was frequented by neighborhood types who did photography for a living, and of course their models. it made for some colorful times.
as bartender you also do service to the dining room. (remember my first gig in the kitchen?) and we had some waiters and waitresses of questionable ability. I had a waitress named jeryl, a sweet young thing who was trying her hand in the city…………a daddy’s little girl from somewhere but she was gonna make it on her own, a virtual mary tyler moore………. (ok, everyone, sing the jingle, you're gonna make it after all).
jeryl: i need a vodka on the rocks and a whiskey sour.
me: ( i pour a clear liquid into a short glass with ice, and then proceed to mix whiskey, sour mix, ice, shake it, strain it, garnish with an orange slice and a cherry, and it’s all foamy and fizzy) and i put the drinks up. Here ya go hon.
jeryl: which one is the whiskey sour?
we had a saying. many are called, few are chosen. but we did have fun together.
during my tenure there, i got very friendly with a photographer and his 2 hot female models, and we’d party after my shift, deep into the night, in his loft around the corner. the girls would prance around naked for the camera, and of course i barely looked up from the photographer, who for me, was the hot one. time passed, and i was fascinated with the art of what he did, and i began to study that too. it led, as i said, eventually, to my 3rd career, photography, but not until after I met the craziest loon I’ve ever known……
to be continued……………….
but, after college, careerwise, i was truly stuck. I was a liberal arts major with no particular work skills, and was clueless about what to do with my life.
digress…………
i sang in high school in the choir and theater department. early on, music was my life. by the time i was 12 or so, i knew that standing in a group of people, all singing, making a joyful noise, was, for me, the happiest place on earth. i breezed through high school, and lived for choir. my senior year i was the president. when it came time to apply for college admission, i applied to 3 schools, just to be sure some school, somewhere, would take me, but there was only rutgers college for me. (it was an all male school at the time, and me, an emerging gay boy, applied. another story for another night, i promise.) oh, it was a good school and all that, but it happened to have the finest men’s glee club in the country. no bullshit. better than princeton, westminster, university of indiana at bloomington, the yale whiffenpoofs, all of them. and i just had to sing with them or die. (wow, that sounded like a judy garland moment…….you know, the one where mickey rooney is in the aunt’s barn rehearsing for the summer show and judy really wants in?.....but so does deanna durbin, who’s actually a much better singer? but judy was relentless and a way better dancer so she eventually prevails and steals the show?........was that too gay?) so, anyway, i applied to rutgers, got accepted, moved to new brunswick, nj, settled into the dorm, and auditioned. (it was really a half-baked plan, looking back. i mean, if they’d rejected me, i’d have been in a college for no freakin’ reason on earth). but relax, they took me in. and with world concert tours every summer, carnegie hall gigs every 6 weeks, when visiting orchestras would come to new york and need a good choir to sing the beethoven 9th, or brahm’s requiem, and the soloists would gather, placido domingo, beverly sills, and the like, i was in my glory. It was so glamorous, so important to be in new york city, performing for all the world. it was certainly a long way from the mean streets of jersey city to the stage of carnegie hall, or the various stages across european capitals. (actually, you could take a bus from the mean streets of jersey city to carnegie hall, but i’m using a little hyperbole, so just bear with me.)
back………
so i’m tempted to count that as my first career, the singing, but of course, i didn’t make a living, so i won’t. i grabbed a clerical job in nyc after graduate school and knew in 4 months that corporate life wasn’t for me. too rigid. too structured. and we musical souls feel differently about those kinds of things than others, i believe. so shortly after that, i did a stint in the family business, driving a truck, filling vending machines (along with my heretofore unnamed sister, riding shotgun. yes, the family had a business, with my brother as the boss, my father his partner, and the 2 worker bees, sis and me. the best part of those several years was the time i spent on the truck with my sister. just the two of us. we’d always been fairly close (except of course, you know, it goes in and out through adolescence), but this became something very special. clearly among the closest relationships i’d ever had to that point and we bonded. it’s thirty five years later and we still have that bond, thank the universe for that. not everybody gets to have a sibling as good as mine. (she was the first person outside the gay world to whom i came out. and it was classic………yeah, i know…….she said…….i was gay since I was like 5 years old, and it took me 20 years to say it. to finally get up the nerve, and be sure in my heart that she’s still love me, and I got………………..yeah, i know….how funny is that?) and on the truck we were good. we’d arrive at a location and a candy machine would be jammed and broken. i’d proceed to fill it and service it, and she’d sit down on the floor, indian style, and take the entire coin mechanism apart, find the trouble, fix it, reassemble the pieces and put the machine back in service. (looking back she probably could have been on the indy 500 circuit, keeping those engines moving). she had, and still has, i might add, a real knack for all things mechanical. it’s a gift. i don’t have it. but i sing. (hey, just as important, in certain circles, ok?).
digress again……….
through college i had a best friend and mentor. he was, to this day, the most brilliant mind i have ever encountered. he was a few years older than i. (remember the a.d.h.d. skipping through school thing?), and as a result he had a job during junior and senior years in a restaurant, tending bar. (while by day he studied wittgenstein, kant, descartes and noam chomsky. hey, i warned you he was bright). i was so jealous that he knew how to be a bartender and that he made extra money, but alas, i was simply too young. jersey liquor laws were tough. i did however, in senior year, after getting my first car, deliver chicken from a take-out joint. chicken lickin’ i think it was called. ( a chicken delight knockoff). not much money, but the tips from delivering fried chicken and fries and onion rings to a lot of stoned college students added up. not to mention most deliveries included a hit on the bong for the road, or a toke on the joint as I handed the stoners their food. what a life! and of course, all the greasy food a 19 year old could consume. i even got to take home leftovers if we cooked too much on shift and the orders stopped. very helpful position for a starving college student. i was pretty popular with the roommates, as well. ( to this day, i still wonder why i wasn't a pimply face kid after eating all that greasy fried food. well, one thing to thank mom for anyway, some decent genes. aw, it was probably dad's genes. never know.)
back……………
so after a few years on the truck with sis, i grew weary. (the business was in the basement of my parent’s house, so that meant seeing mom every day, which if you read a former blog, you know was not an easy thing.) my aforementioned best friend, home on vacation from teaching philosophy in univ of north carolina, one summer, had a godfather with a famous tavern in the city, called, believe it or not, bill’s gay nineties, (it was a straight bar and restaurant but sometimes the universe just conspires, don’t ya think?) and one day, godfather needed a bartender. i begged my friend to teach me, and he finally did. private lessons for 2 days from my very own “master”. i was a young padawan, and he was my yoda. on the 3rd day, he took me to his godfather’s saloon, planted me in a corner of the kitchen for the lunch shift, behind the service bar, and proceeded to stand with me, (all the while sipping johnny walker red) and guide me through the preparation of a myriad of cocktails on my first day. well, not to sound too bold, but i must say, with his teaching and guidance, and my natural skills and brains, to use a very old, but very worthy cliché`, a star was born. i stayed the summer, working a couple of days a week, and lo, my 2nd career was born. shortly thereafter, my brother had a friend who managed a huge disco in new jersey, called the soap factory, because it was indeed a bar converted from just such an establishment. the place was huge. there were 2 bartenders for each of 8 bars, and the basement, in what used to be the boiler room, and was still called that, had a huge bar with only one setup for one bartender. i talked the friend into trying me out, he did, and i worked one of the 2 man spots upstairs. it was a disco, and so it was mostly a young crowd and there were some funny moments to be sure. for instance…..a heavy set very young girl with way too much black eyeliner, trying desperately to look older than she was, approached me......
her: i’d like a vodka and orange juice and a screwdriver.
me: that’s 2 screwdrivers.
her: no, no, only 1 screwdriver and 1 vodka with orange juice.
me: but hon, you don’t understand, that’s 2 screwdrivers.
her: oh no, you”re wrong. i’m not drinking screwdrivers, but my girlfriend is.
me: i’m so sorry. 1 screwdriver and 1 vodka with orange juice, coming right up.
i am not making this up. anyway, after a while, when bobby (the friend) saw how good i was and how mechanically fast i was (truth be told, there were some drugs involved…..let’s just call them “performance enhancing”,) he gave me the boiler room to myself, and that’s where i honed my craft and got great. (not bragging. truthfully, it was a very busy bar, but if you were coordinated, and got a rhythm going you could be great. and i was.) from there, i became a kind of hot commodity. i had friends in various places, and whenever a bartender was out sick, or needed a vacation, or had an emergency, they’d call and i’d just jump behind a bar and fill in for a time. kind of like a "guest star". the most important of which, i guess in retrospect, was a fairly famous restaurant on the east side called el parador. it was a mexican restaurant, very high class. woody allen, robert redford, mia farow, anna moffo, and lots of others would show up, and nobody made a fuss. very low key. the catch was, the relief bartender, who only worked saturday nights, cut his hand and was out for 6 weeks, so they needed a guy for 6 consecutive saturday nights, and i was the guy. the pay was huge because of the circumstances, and the owner was perhaps the nicest man for whom i’ve ever worked. (started out dirt poor in mexico, came to america, worked his way up through the kitchens of new york and eventually opened his own place. never forgot his humble beginnings so he was amazingly kind to his staff. he fed us great meals, told us stories of his childhood, as we prepped for a crazy saturday night, and then he’d put on his tuxedo, greet people at the door, and was simply elegant and amazing. i learned more about the restaurant business in those six days than in many years elsewhere.)
another highlight was doubles, a private club, downstairs beneath the pavement of manhattan, under the sherry netherland hotel. it was, perhaps, the swankiest club in new york, at the time . when the rich and famous came to town and wanted to be conspicuous, they stayed at the world famous plaza hotel. when they wanted their privacy and pampering, they came to the sherry netherland, across 5th avenue from the plaza. diagonal corner hotels with dueling elegance. i waited on kings and princesses, and movie stars, and politicos and never moved a face muscle. no expression whatsoever. (i tell ya, botox could have come in handy, but it wasn't invented yet!!!) jackie o, frank sinatra, the governor of new york, her serene highness princess ezra jah of iran and her father the shah, opera singers. i tell you it was a who's who down there. it was hideously expensive and nobody ever flashed any money or credit cards or anything. a private club with all private accounts. these people didn't bother with tawdry details like money changing hands. i'm thinking they just got a bill at the end of the month and their bookkeeper paid it. quite an experience. but alas, as elegant and fabulous as it was, the maitre d' was a greedy pig and he was the only one making big money, so i didn't stay long.
so after jumping around, guest starring in various venues, i decided that indeed, bartending was to be my profession, despite all my degrees in music and all my education. i loved it. it’s actually show business in a way. a bartender, if he’s good at it, is on stage his entire shift, entertaining as well as mixing, ensuring that people are having a good time, and that their needs are met. and as in college, i just loved being on stage. (and sometimes you got laid as well. some people just have a thing for a bartender. especially after a couple of drinks....
so having decided that, i took a job off 14th st on 6th avenue, full time, as head bartender, in a cozy restaurant called the san francisco plum. and i stayed awhile and prospered. my stint there would ultimately lead me to my next career, but more about that later.
this restaurant was in the photography district of manhattan. (bet most of you didn’t know there was one, but there was.) and the place was frequented by neighborhood types who did photography for a living, and of course their models. it made for some colorful times.
as bartender you also do service to the dining room. (remember my first gig in the kitchen?) and we had some waiters and waitresses of questionable ability. I had a waitress named jeryl, a sweet young thing who was trying her hand in the city…………a daddy’s little girl from somewhere but she was gonna make it on her own, a virtual mary tyler moore………. (ok, everyone, sing the jingle, you're gonna make it after all).
jeryl: i need a vodka on the rocks and a whiskey sour.
me: ( i pour a clear liquid into a short glass with ice, and then proceed to mix whiskey, sour mix, ice, shake it, strain it, garnish with an orange slice and a cherry, and it’s all foamy and fizzy) and i put the drinks up. Here ya go hon.
jeryl: which one is the whiskey sour?
we had a saying. many are called, few are chosen. but we did have fun together.
during my tenure there, i got very friendly with a photographer and his 2 hot female models, and we’d party after my shift, deep into the night, in his loft around the corner. the girls would prance around naked for the camera, and of course i barely looked up from the photographer, who for me, was the hot one. time passed, and i was fascinated with the art of what he did, and i began to study that too. it led, as i said, eventually, to my 3rd career, photography, but not until after I met the craziest loon I’ve ever known……
to be continued……………….
Sunday, July 4, 2010
after the crisis.........reflections
ok, i'm sitting here with one hand on the keyboard...and typing very slowly....
the other hand......(um, i'm embarrased to say.....ya know, after the "diet blog", about the "weight watcher") stuff.........is devouring a "girl scout cookie mint ice cream" leftover.
ok, it's the "low fat" version, but still........
quite frankly, i don't know whether to type or go blind.....as the saying goes.........
ok, truth time. i'm enormous.........(for me). i have become my mother.
digress.....
have i mentioned in past blogs that my mother, who did not ACTUALLY eat her young, but somehow ate everything else on earth, was.....how shall i put this delicately....about my mother........a big woman? that was pretty polite i must say. (kinda had to be there). and if i get up the nerve, or the gall, is more proper, i might just throw in a picture. (which will certainly fuck you up, much like it did me......and my unnamed siblings, thus far in this blog).
we (the siblings), have always had weight issues. (well, not so much my athlete brother)........
(oooh......that's another story ......for another time)........and my sister......well, no permission yet, svelte as she is, to tell her story either. so in tonight's performance the role of the siblings will be played by yours truly. (but if you can, kind of picture other tortured souls living this same horror.)
so she was a large woman. oh, you know, you watch sitcoms, from the 50's and donna reed, june cleaver.....gorgeous moms in a house dress, heels, pearls, putting dinner on the table, vacuuming,...........(ok, i know, nobody had that life, but there were actually people who had a mother that didn't look like DIVINE)........and as kids, wrapped up in appearances, which were values slapped on us by our parents, we thought the family should look like other families. so on "parent night" or "student productions", my mom was this large person, and i was embarrassed.
for her. for me. in retrospect, how shallow and selfish of me. but hey, i was just a kid.
and she wrestled her with her demons, unbeknownst to me, at the time. i've only come to realize all this now that i've become her!!! i'm fat!! (for me), just as she was fat....(for her.)
wow, einstein was right. it's all relative. Especially MY RELATIVES..... no, just kidding.
break from mom..........
my dad, i should add at this point was goddam handsome. could have been movie star handsome, with proper handling. looked like a cross between jerry vale, and al martino. (funny, this jewish guy looked like two italian stars). wherever we went....to the diner.....across town to a function, the rodeo in madison square garden, wherever........women would ask for his autograph, (i swear), and my dad, bless his soul, would sign, JERRY freakin’ VALE......and women would scream.........i am NOT making this up. just ask my heretofore unnamed sister. she was there too.
he was a simple guy. good soul. don't know if he ever had big dreams as a kid, (probably did, all kids do), but i'm guessing the war (WWII), dissipated any such dreams. he came home and needed to marry and needed to make a living, (a man without much education), and it never occurred to him, that with his looks, he could have had ava gardner....(truth is, he was more handsome than frank sinatra, who actually married ava gardner)......nope. he opted for my mom, who in those days was a regular gal...(ok, not a thinnie.....but a regular gal........a WAC in the army, before she got busted for being under age......a real supporter of the war effort........(that concept is SO lost on our society now. supporting the war effort. WOW, is THAT the subject for another night?)...
so he came home to love her and marry her and spawn.
she was a depression era baby, clearly not wanted by her russian orthodox mom, who was 40 when she was born.......her female siblings kind of raised her......but she lacked "momma love", and it tormented her until her death. she found a beautiful substitute for" hunger in the depression" and a lack of "mom love", in......ok......psyche 101 class .......say it........FOOD.
so after marrying dad, and pumping out three wee ones.........she returned to her roots....and ate her way to glory. unfortunately for me (playing 3 roles tonight), it manifested as i've described...
shame, emabarrassment and a sense of "where's my regular mom?" i'm not proud of the things i thought, but the truth is, to ask a little kid to carry that "giant mom" thing among peers....just wasn't fair. and so, i went through life, very insecure....my mom wasn't pretty like some, or thin like some.......and that made me feel somehow different...........and the fact that there was a huge "fairy" growing inside me, i'm sure didn't help, and it made for an unsettled adolescence. add to this mix, that my mom, who lost control of her weight, as she ran amok through life, tried to maintain a sense of control about everything else. she became increasingly critical. the bigger she got, the tighter the control on all of us.
I was a bizarre child. (personally, I think these days they’d call it a.d.h.d.) I had issues.
i came home with a report card of 6 A's and a B..........and of course the B was in behavior........a.d.h.d. remember?.........and the question was......why not all A's? when i got into college on a scholarship, and wanted to study liberal arts and music (remember the fairy growing inside of me).........the question was..........why not medicine? pretty much, you couldn't win. every time you took a step forward, she slapped you back a couple. (i guess so we wouldn't realize how big she was and how much out of control she was.). oh, i know, nobody had it easy............this is just my story.
i made it through high school by being the funny one. and mostly......the smart one.
i was still very young by the time i hit high school. i skipped a few grades along the way………told you i was a.d.h.d……they used to call that precocious or brilliant. nowadays we know…..it’s just kids gone wild with adrenaline. so I was younger than the others, and smaller, and dare I say it…..a shit load gayer…. so I used my wits to cultivate funny. i actually didn’t get beat up. i didn’t have a lot of close friends either. i felt so unpopular and so geeky and gay, that i was in total isolation……at least that’s the way i remember it.
Side note.
i’ve re-read my yearbook in recent years, you know, the pictures of the seniors who write something meaningful at the time, that seems so corny, but 40 years later, you fucking weep? i realized that i was very popular, despite what my mother led me to believe. people wrote the nicest, sweetest things, like i meant something to them. always stay the same, never change, or, you always made me laugh, or thanks for being president of the choir……..
stuff like that. and more. and i am now 60 and amazed at how wrong my perceptions were then, based on my home life, and how much more i could have taken with me from high school, had i realized i was actually liked. (but her programming started early, and for a wee one, there is no escape.........until perhaps, much later. there was so much unhappiness in the house, and nobody had any "mommy love" to speak of, that i went through early life kind of broken). there was so much for the taking in childhood, had i not been so……..what………afraid?....of having feelings stomped on, by people.......like by mom did, (wow, getting all therapy now)………sorry…………
anyway, what this all comes down to is i’m fat (for me). and i still am like that kid, a tad paralyzed, knowing that i could do something about it if i chose, but i don’t. i will, but not right now. (what would happen if i did?....the dreaded unknown…….) success is a tough thing to handle, so some of us take it in very small doses, lest we implode. and i finally understand her, that woman, my mother, who could have hit the high notes, and did for a while, but got caught up in her stuff and couldn’t hold on, to be the best she could be. and i think i didn’t fall far from that tree. the difference is, i’m completely aware of it, and i’m not sure she ever was.
over the years my heart has opened and i'm able to love mightily and with gusto and zeal. i've come pretty far, but as the song goes.........the long and winding road............and i truly want to be the best me i can be, with whatever time is left........... a couple of days in the hospital and a couple of procedures will do that to you......sometimes............
this has been very therapeutic for me. certainly not my biggest laugh fest.
so now, back from the doctor ordeal, with my heart ok, perhaps it’s time to emerge as more than before. I have a good jumping off place, anyway……………
i’m gonna think about it for awhile………..
to be continued………………
the other hand......(um, i'm embarrased to say.....ya know, after the "diet blog", about the "weight watcher") stuff.........is devouring a "girl scout cookie mint ice cream" leftover.
ok, it's the "low fat" version, but still........
quite frankly, i don't know whether to type or go blind.....as the saying goes.........
ok, truth time. i'm enormous.........(for me). i have become my mother.
digress.....
have i mentioned in past blogs that my mother, who did not ACTUALLY eat her young, but somehow ate everything else on earth, was.....how shall i put this delicately....about my mother........a big woman? that was pretty polite i must say. (kinda had to be there). and if i get up the nerve, or the gall, is more proper, i might just throw in a picture. (which will certainly fuck you up, much like it did me......and my unnamed siblings, thus far in this blog).
we (the siblings), have always had weight issues. (well, not so much my athlete brother)........
(oooh......that's another story ......for another time)........and my sister......well, no permission yet, svelte as she is, to tell her story either. so in tonight's performance the role of the siblings will be played by yours truly. (but if you can, kind of picture other tortured souls living this same horror.)
so she was a large woman. oh, you know, you watch sitcoms, from the 50's and donna reed, june cleaver.....gorgeous moms in a house dress, heels, pearls, putting dinner on the table, vacuuming,...........(ok, i know, nobody had that life, but there were actually people who had a mother that didn't look like DIVINE)........and as kids, wrapped up in appearances, which were values slapped on us by our parents, we thought the family should look like other families. so on "parent night" or "student productions", my mom was this large person, and i was embarrassed.
for her. for me. in retrospect, how shallow and selfish of me. but hey, i was just a kid.
and she wrestled her with her demons, unbeknownst to me, at the time. i've only come to realize all this now that i've become her!!! i'm fat!! (for me), just as she was fat....(for her.)
wow, einstein was right. it's all relative. Especially MY RELATIVES..... no, just kidding.
break from mom..........
my dad, i should add at this point was goddam handsome. could have been movie star handsome, with proper handling. looked like a cross between jerry vale, and al martino. (funny, this jewish guy looked like two italian stars). wherever we went....to the diner.....across town to a function, the rodeo in madison square garden, wherever........women would ask for his autograph, (i swear), and my dad, bless his soul, would sign, JERRY freakin’ VALE......and women would scream.........i am NOT making this up. just ask my heretofore unnamed sister. she was there too.
he was a simple guy. good soul. don't know if he ever had big dreams as a kid, (probably did, all kids do), but i'm guessing the war (WWII), dissipated any such dreams. he came home and needed to marry and needed to make a living, (a man without much education), and it never occurred to him, that with his looks, he could have had ava gardner....(truth is, he was more handsome than frank sinatra, who actually married ava gardner)......nope. he opted for my mom, who in those days was a regular gal...(ok, not a thinnie.....but a regular gal........a WAC in the army, before she got busted for being under age......a real supporter of the war effort........(that concept is SO lost on our society now. supporting the war effort. WOW, is THAT the subject for another night?)...
so he came home to love her and marry her and spawn.
she was a depression era baby, clearly not wanted by her russian orthodox mom, who was 40 when she was born.......her female siblings kind of raised her......but she lacked "momma love", and it tormented her until her death. she found a beautiful substitute for" hunger in the depression" and a lack of "mom love", in......ok......psyche 101 class .......say it........FOOD.
so after marrying dad, and pumping out three wee ones.........she returned to her roots....and ate her way to glory. unfortunately for me (playing 3 roles tonight), it manifested as i've described...
shame, emabarrassment and a sense of "where's my regular mom?" i'm not proud of the things i thought, but the truth is, to ask a little kid to carry that "giant mom" thing among peers....just wasn't fair. and so, i went through life, very insecure....my mom wasn't pretty like some, or thin like some.......and that made me feel somehow different...........and the fact that there was a huge "fairy" growing inside me, i'm sure didn't help, and it made for an unsettled adolescence. add to this mix, that my mom, who lost control of her weight, as she ran amok through life, tried to maintain a sense of control about everything else. she became increasingly critical. the bigger she got, the tighter the control on all of us.
I was a bizarre child. (personally, I think these days they’d call it a.d.h.d.) I had issues.
i came home with a report card of 6 A's and a B..........and of course the B was in behavior........a.d.h.d. remember?.........and the question was......why not all A's? when i got into college on a scholarship, and wanted to study liberal arts and music (remember the fairy growing inside of me).........the question was..........why not medicine? pretty much, you couldn't win. every time you took a step forward, she slapped you back a couple. (i guess so we wouldn't realize how big she was and how much out of control she was.). oh, i know, nobody had it easy............this is just my story.
i made it through high school by being the funny one. and mostly......the smart one.
i was still very young by the time i hit high school. i skipped a few grades along the way………told you i was a.d.h.d……they used to call that precocious or brilliant. nowadays we know…..it’s just kids gone wild with adrenaline. so I was younger than the others, and smaller, and dare I say it…..a shit load gayer…. so I used my wits to cultivate funny. i actually didn’t get beat up. i didn’t have a lot of close friends either. i felt so unpopular and so geeky and gay, that i was in total isolation……at least that’s the way i remember it.
Side note.
i’ve re-read my yearbook in recent years, you know, the pictures of the seniors who write something meaningful at the time, that seems so corny, but 40 years later, you fucking weep? i realized that i was very popular, despite what my mother led me to believe. people wrote the nicest, sweetest things, like i meant something to them. always stay the same, never change, or, you always made me laugh, or thanks for being president of the choir……..
stuff like that. and more. and i am now 60 and amazed at how wrong my perceptions were then, based on my home life, and how much more i could have taken with me from high school, had i realized i was actually liked. (but her programming started early, and for a wee one, there is no escape.........until perhaps, much later. there was so much unhappiness in the house, and nobody had any "mommy love" to speak of, that i went through early life kind of broken). there was so much for the taking in childhood, had i not been so……..what………afraid?....of having feelings stomped on, by people.......like by mom did, (wow, getting all therapy now)………sorry…………
anyway, what this all comes down to is i’m fat (for me). and i still am like that kid, a tad paralyzed, knowing that i could do something about it if i chose, but i don’t. i will, but not right now. (what would happen if i did?....the dreaded unknown…….) success is a tough thing to handle, so some of us take it in very small doses, lest we implode. and i finally understand her, that woman, my mother, who could have hit the high notes, and did for a while, but got caught up in her stuff and couldn’t hold on, to be the best she could be. and i think i didn’t fall far from that tree. the difference is, i’m completely aware of it, and i’m not sure she ever was.
over the years my heart has opened and i'm able to love mightily and with gusto and zeal. i've come pretty far, but as the song goes.........the long and winding road............and i truly want to be the best me i can be, with whatever time is left........... a couple of days in the hospital and a couple of procedures will do that to you......sometimes............
this has been very therapeutic for me. certainly not my biggest laugh fest.
so now, back from the doctor ordeal, with my heart ok, perhaps it’s time to emerge as more than before. I have a good jumping off place, anyway……………
i’m gonna think about it for awhile………..
to be continued………………
Thursday, July 1, 2010
the doctor visit......part II
ok, francis ford coppola where are you? i've never written a sequel, and you're the guy with not only the best movie of all time, but the greatest sequel. can i get a little advice here........????
so i was home for the weekend, sprung as i've mentioned, and really stopped to smell the roses. not like i was endangered or anything, but still......when they invade your body with scientific marvels, it's a call to reality. and your mortality stares you in the face. so i examined my orchids on the patio, and loved my dog and cats, and had dinner with husband, and basically appreciated the life i have.
and my instructions were, call the electrician on monday. and so i did.
the receptionist said she needed to talk to the doctor........get this.....he's not just a cardiologist....anybody can be that........well, anybody with a lot of brains, dedication, and devotion........he's not just that.....he's the associate director for arrhythmia & syncope at the miller center, diplomat board of cardiac electrophysiology. (whew, bet you didn't think i could spell that, did you? and don't forget the body by jake).
and you think the iphone is cool? the ipad? there's a lot of technology marching forth, and not just apple products............
so she got back to me on tuesday around 3pm, and said, come in tomorrow, at 6:30am, to the lab for blood and stuff, and then, 7am in the doc's office for a procedure........
again that word.........
instructions: no food after midnight.....what am i, a gremlin? (didn't you love that movie? couldn't feed them after midnight?)
and so, wednesday, early, it began.
now, i'm thinking, 6:30 am, i've got to be first on line. after all, how many people need a procedure at that ungodly hour. (i'm thinking my doctor either doesn't sleep.....have you seen twilight?)....or is a party animal and doesn't sleep.........either way, it seems i'm fucked. turns out, he's back from the gym at 6:30 and rarin' to go.......(that would explain the body).......... lucky me, no party, just an animal...........
i was third.
first up was an old woman who needed a battery change in her pacemaker. (i swear). 20 minutes and she was gone. talk about wham, bam, wind me up, thank you ma'am.
next up, a lovely cuban woman, lourdes, named after the shrine, i imagine. (it's amazing how close two people can get on adjacent gurneys when your life is hanging in the balance. (we were bffs immediately.) remember, it was mercy hospital, her name was lourdes, and she used the word god......a lot!!!! nice catholic, cuban lady.) and she was actually in worse shape than i, and she needed my same procedure, an ablation.......(more about that later). she was in and out of the procedure room in about an hour and a half.
on my gurney in the waiting area, as i waited my turn, this amazing nurse named cindy gave me a tv to watch, to pass the time.( go ahead, people, get comfortable on a gurney in a hallway, i wanna see you try.) so midway through regis and kelly (and dolly parton was the guest, and i love her........a good omen).......it was my turn.......and dolly was interrupted by my having to go in.
digress........
dolly looks good. she's about 4 years older than i, but of course, she's had a few procedures, and i don't mean on the inside. so her lips are thick and luscious, her skin is tight, and her boobs are perky (they should be around her knees by now, bless that good doctor), and it was good to see her. (i wonder if she has hot doctors too.......)
back again.....
the drugs........
sadly, there are no more quaaludes in the world. with one of those you could remove my heart, make repairs, put it back in and i'd give a shit. alas.
but they do, i must say, have this new drip. right into the vein in your arm. verset or something. better than the old valium drip. you can stay awake if you like, while they remove your legs, spleen, arms, whatever. rather nice.
i really wanted to watch this ablation. there were screens everywhere that would show it in high definition. (actually nicer than my home tv.). i tried to stay awake but there was a panel blocking my view of the screen, and i got bored for about 5 seconds and of course i nodded. a very nice sleep......i might add. perhaps a viking sleep. (see earlier blog).
so as i slept the sleep of the innocent....yeah right.......the ablation........(i promised)....
they invaded my groin from both sides, and pushed long electrode wires up through my body, into my heart.......did i mention that there were stick on patches on 80 percent of my torso, that cindy ever so gently glued into position, (which didn't hurt at all....until of course, it was time to remove them, and then there was some screaming involved), and they could see inside me, my entire wiring system of my heart? and so, while perusing my innards, the doc zapped 6 spurs on my heart, that were causing the arrhythmia, pulled out, and said, in the immortal words of tangina, in that movie poltergeist, this heart is clean!!!!
so, relieved was i, and rarin' to go home, and not so fast, paleface. there's a 4 hour recovery from this procedure where you can't move. like being in an m.r.i. don't bend your legs, don't try to lift your neck, try not to move your arms, lie back flat, and all that. they don't want you to strain the wounds they've inflicted on your groin area. so i drifted in and out of sleep, (drug remnants), and watched some soap operas, (hoping to find my doctors taking their shirts off.....the drugs, you know), and 3pm they sprung me again. husband was there, they wheeled me out to the car, and made me recline the seat all the way home (more lie down time). but the truth is, it's over (for now). my arteries are clean, my electrical systems are a go, and the palpitations are gone. (probably until the hospital bill comes in. it won't surprise me at all, if glancing at the bill, they return...........................)
so i was home for the weekend, sprung as i've mentioned, and really stopped to smell the roses. not like i was endangered or anything, but still......when they invade your body with scientific marvels, it's a call to reality. and your mortality stares you in the face. so i examined my orchids on the patio, and loved my dog and cats, and had dinner with husband, and basically appreciated the life i have.
and my instructions were, call the electrician on monday. and so i did.
the receptionist said she needed to talk to the doctor........get this.....he's not just a cardiologist....anybody can be that........well, anybody with a lot of brains, dedication, and devotion........he's not just that.....he's the associate director for arrhythmia & syncope at the miller center, diplomat board of cardiac electrophysiology. (whew, bet you didn't think i could spell that, did you? and don't forget the body by jake).
and you think the iphone is cool? the ipad? there's a lot of technology marching forth, and not just apple products............
so she got back to me on tuesday around 3pm, and said, come in tomorrow, at 6:30am, to the lab for blood and stuff, and then, 7am in the doc's office for a procedure........
again that word.........
instructions: no food after midnight.....what am i, a gremlin? (didn't you love that movie? couldn't feed them after midnight?)
and so, wednesday, early, it began.
now, i'm thinking, 6:30 am, i've got to be first on line. after all, how many people need a procedure at that ungodly hour. (i'm thinking my doctor either doesn't sleep.....have you seen twilight?)....or is a party animal and doesn't sleep.........either way, it seems i'm fucked. turns out, he's back from the gym at 6:30 and rarin' to go.......(that would explain the body).......... lucky me, no party, just an animal...........
i was third.
first up was an old woman who needed a battery change in her pacemaker. (i swear). 20 minutes and she was gone. talk about wham, bam, wind me up, thank you ma'am.
next up, a lovely cuban woman, lourdes, named after the shrine, i imagine. (it's amazing how close two people can get on adjacent gurneys when your life is hanging in the balance. (we were bffs immediately.) remember, it was mercy hospital, her name was lourdes, and she used the word god......a lot!!!! nice catholic, cuban lady.) and she was actually in worse shape than i, and she needed my same procedure, an ablation.......(more about that later). she was in and out of the procedure room in about an hour and a half.
on my gurney in the waiting area, as i waited my turn, this amazing nurse named cindy gave me a tv to watch, to pass the time.( go ahead, people, get comfortable on a gurney in a hallway, i wanna see you try.) so midway through regis and kelly (and dolly parton was the guest, and i love her........a good omen).......it was my turn.......and dolly was interrupted by my having to go in.
digress........
dolly looks good. she's about 4 years older than i, but of course, she's had a few procedures, and i don't mean on the inside. so her lips are thick and luscious, her skin is tight, and her boobs are perky (they should be around her knees by now, bless that good doctor), and it was good to see her. (i wonder if she has hot doctors too.......)
back again.....
the drugs........
sadly, there are no more quaaludes in the world. with one of those you could remove my heart, make repairs, put it back in and i'd give a shit. alas.
but they do, i must say, have this new drip. right into the vein in your arm. verset or something. better than the old valium drip. you can stay awake if you like, while they remove your legs, spleen, arms, whatever. rather nice.
i really wanted to watch this ablation. there were screens everywhere that would show it in high definition. (actually nicer than my home tv.). i tried to stay awake but there was a panel blocking my view of the screen, and i got bored for about 5 seconds and of course i nodded. a very nice sleep......i might add. perhaps a viking sleep. (see earlier blog).
so as i slept the sleep of the innocent....yeah right.......the ablation........(i promised)....
they invaded my groin from both sides, and pushed long electrode wires up through my body, into my heart.......did i mention that there were stick on patches on 80 percent of my torso, that cindy ever so gently glued into position, (which didn't hurt at all....until of course, it was time to remove them, and then there was some screaming involved), and they could see inside me, my entire wiring system of my heart? and so, while perusing my innards, the doc zapped 6 spurs on my heart, that were causing the arrhythmia, pulled out, and said, in the immortal words of tangina, in that movie poltergeist, this heart is clean!!!!
so, relieved was i, and rarin' to go home, and not so fast, paleface. there's a 4 hour recovery from this procedure where you can't move. like being in an m.r.i. don't bend your legs, don't try to lift your neck, try not to move your arms, lie back flat, and all that. they don't want you to strain the wounds they've inflicted on your groin area. so i drifted in and out of sleep, (drug remnants), and watched some soap operas, (hoping to find my doctors taking their shirts off.....the drugs, you know), and 3pm they sprung me again. husband was there, they wheeled me out to the car, and made me recline the seat all the way home (more lie down time). but the truth is, it's over (for now). my arteries are clean, my electrical systems are a go, and the palpitations are gone. (probably until the hospital bill comes in. it won't surprise me at all, if glancing at the bill, they return...........................)
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