It seems the letter I wrote to the principal of Annie’s school, the one about kids being weighed in class, never made it past the desk of Annie’s teacher. It appears that Miss Petrausch took it upon herself to open the letter, regardless of the fact that it was sealed and addressed to someone else. Annie says the witch read it, was annoyed by it, and then told Annie that her parents should stay out of such matters.
Yesterday I was in the car on Broadway and 86th Street. I had to pull over and help Annie with her tangled seatbelt, and by the time I proceeded to pull back out onto the street, I noticed a policewoman standing near my car writing a ticket. But the interesting thing was, she wasn’t looking at my car or at me, it was as if she was attempting to hide the fact that she was writing the ticket at all. I rolled down the window and asked, “Are you writing me a ticket?” She looked at me with dead eyes. “Yes,” she said. “Why?” I asked. “Because you’re parked in a bus stop,” she answered. “But I’m IN the car,” I said. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, “You’re in violation of the law.” “I was helping my daughter with her seat belt, why couldn’t you have just told me to pull out?” I asked. “That’s not my job,” she said. My blood started to boil. “You weren’t even going to leave that ticket on my car, were you?” I asked. “You were just going to let me drive off without knowing you wrote it, weren’t you?” She looked at me again with her dead and angry eyes. “You broke the law,” she said as she completed writing the ticket. I put my hand out to her to take it, but she rolled it up, turned away, and put it on the windshield of my car. That sinister bitch wouldn’t even hand me the ticket! After all that, she wanted me to get out of the car and go get it. “You’re a real piece of work! I shouted as she walked away, “A real piece of work!”
I can tolerate a lot, but the two things I cannot turn away from are when someone else is being wronged, and, when what I consider blatant evil is at work.
My father gave me much advice when I was growing up, and one of the things he said was to never trust a politician, a police officer or a schoolteacher. Well Dad, I don’t, and I won’t, and in these two cases the kitten in me will not be called to the stand. No, I’m afraid it’s time to bring out the big cat.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Pure Fiction
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Somewhere...
Tonight there was a shower in this part of Manhattan, pouring rain over a sun-drenched sky. The light flooded the sidewalks and the drops were those big fat ones that fall down hard and heavy like in the movies. When David walked in the door he had a big smile on his face.
"I wonder if there'll be a rainbow," he said.
David is always searching for rainbows but almost never finds them. He stood looking out of our bedroom window and suddenly shouted for Annie and me to come and see. A rainbow. Then he took off out the front door, I grabbed the camera, and Annie and I followed him up to the roof.
Later, when we were back inside, David watched from the window as the rainbow became more intense in color and clarity.
"You can't have a rainbow when there's just rain," he said, "And you can't have a rainbow when there's just sun. You need both. It's life. That's the beauty."
"I wonder if there'll be a rainbow," he said.
David is always searching for rainbows but almost never finds them. He stood looking out of our bedroom window and suddenly shouted for Annie and me to come and see. A rainbow. Then he took off out the front door, I grabbed the camera, and Annie and I followed him up to the roof.
Later, when we were back inside, David watched from the window as the rainbow became more intense in color and clarity.
"You can't have a rainbow when there's just rain," he said, "And you can't have a rainbow when there's just sun. You need both. It's life. That's the beauty."
Quality Time
I don't really know how to describe either of my two brothers. I can say they're both highly intelligent, funny as hell and out of their minds, but I guess Michael, my big brother, is the easier target. He's a wonderful actor; he was also a cab driver and a bartender for years. He runs his own theatre on the lower east side, he almost never sleeps, and, as I mentioned before, his mode of transportation is a Harley he brought back from an extended trip to Maui. Michael is over the top and he lives life big, so when he wants to see his kid sister, it's an event. Well, sort of.
One day Mike called me and announced he wanted to spend the day with me at the barn. When I picked him up he was standing on the corner holding a heap of paper in his arms, an address book, several pens, a bottle of water, a script and a cell phone. He wore blue jeans, a black cowboy shirt, cowboy boots, and yes, a ten-gallon hat. "You're not going with me dressed like that!" I told him, but he assured me that he was. "I know a thing or two about horses Sis," he said as we approached the barn, but when I handed him a brush and asked him to help me groom, his response didn't resemble that of a true horseman. "I'm not going near that thing!" he barked, and he proceeded to find himself a shady spot on the grass where he settled in for a three-hour nap. After my ride I cooled down the horse, put him away, and woke up my brother. "Let’s go Mike," I whispered, and he got up, stumbled to the car and continued his nap all the way back to New York.
I love my brother dearly and I accept him completely. What choice do I have?
One day Mike called me and announced he wanted to spend the day with me at the barn. When I picked him up he was standing on the corner holding a heap of paper in his arms, an address book, several pens, a bottle of water, a script and a cell phone. He wore blue jeans, a black cowboy shirt, cowboy boots, and yes, a ten-gallon hat. "You're not going with me dressed like that!" I told him, but he assured me that he was. "I know a thing or two about horses Sis," he said as we approached the barn, but when I handed him a brush and asked him to help me groom, his response didn't resemble that of a true horseman. "I'm not going near that thing!" he barked, and he proceeded to find himself a shady spot on the grass where he settled in for a three-hour nap. After my ride I cooled down the horse, put him away, and woke up my brother. "Let’s go Mike," I whispered, and he got up, stumbled to the car and continued his nap all the way back to New York.
I love my brother dearly and I accept him completely. What choice do I have?
Oops, Oh Well
Missed Magic
I went to Carnegie Hall that night to find magic. I may even have thought it possible to find it by giving my hand to a palm reader. But in the moment of my "blog rant" about the experience, I failed to mention saxophone player, Michael Brecker, who was a surprise guest in the early part of the evening. Brecker, who has been deathly ill and off the scene for the past year and a half, was diagnosed with Myelodysplastic Syndrome (MDS), a deadly bone marrow disease. His manager conducted a worldwide search for a donor, setting up a booth at every major jazz festival to find the perfect match...to no avail. In January of 2006, Brecker had a stem cell transplant with his daughter as a donor, though she was only a half-match. Then a couple of months ago he was rushed to Sloan-Kettering and was clinging to life. As my friend and jazz critic Bill Milkowski said, "To see him back on his feet, let alone playing the tenor sax again, was nothing short of a miracle."
Dwell
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Wednesday Morning 6:54am
Goodbye City Life!
Blog surfing has become a hobby for some, and although I don't do it myself, once in a while I see something on the "Blogs of Interest" list that catches my eye. I found one called "Farmgirl Fare," and it's just lovely. It really captures the sweetness and the easy feel of farm life. I love the pictures of the animals and the landscape, and who knows, I may even try the recipe for blueberry breakfast bars.
To get to the farm, click on the title or go to the "Links" section.
To get to the farm, click on the title or go to the "Links" section.
BBC World Service Reports
June 23, 2006
A giant Galapagos tortoise, the world's oldest known living creature, has died in Australia at the age of a hundred and seventy six. Harriet the tortoise passed away after a short illness. Experts believe the elderly creature, that weighed a hundred and fifty kilograms, was once the personal pet of the British naturalist, Charles Darwin. To read complete story, click on title.
A giant Galapagos tortoise, the world's oldest known living creature, has died in Australia at the age of a hundred and seventy six. Harriet the tortoise passed away after a short illness. Experts believe the elderly creature, that weighed a hundred and fifty kilograms, was once the personal pet of the British naturalist, Charles Darwin. To read complete story, click on title.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Quote
From "Overheard in New York..."
Monday, June 26, 2006
Monday Morning
Future Shock
Carnegie Hall. Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Gonzolo Rubalcaba and more. And I...I was bored to tears.
Okay, see, this is why I shouldn’t talk about music. Again, what do I know? With all of those elements how could I have been so completely unmoved? I knew there was a chance I’d be slightly disappointed because somehow, when a performer stands on the Carnegie stage, there’s an immediate divide between he and the audience; maybe it’s just too grand. But it wasn’t only that. This three-hour show was like witnessing a gathering of top Nobel Prize Winning heart surgeons in fancy suits who were waiting to receive their awards. But I want to see them out in the fields and on the front lines. I want to see them with their sleeves rolled up, sweating, cutting it open and transforming life. There were smiles on the artist’s faces, but the joy didn’t translate. They were playing but not playful. David pointed out that they performed as if they had nothing to prove, and when you start doing that, you should just hang it up.
When the show was over the standing ovation was like none I’d ever seen: like the roaring of ten thousand lions and the stomping of ten thousand bulls. David and I looked at each other in dismay. Could it be we were the only two people in the hall who thought the evening was less than stellar?
After a walk to 8th Avenue and a leisurely cup of coffee, it was past midnight by the time we headed home. We saw a sign for a palm reader and I ran up the steps and rang the bell. We went inside and Madam whoever said she was going to read my mind. “Oh, please don’t,” I said. "Then let's look into the future," she said, and she predicted I would have three children. “Oh no I won’t!” I told her. “It’s not in your control,” she said. “Oh yes it is!” I replied. Then she said if we gave her $50, she would light a special candle for us from “The Church in Jerusalem,” (You know that church on the corner of Moses Avenue?) But we’d already spent enough money on a disappointing show that night, so I handed her $10 and the curtain came down.
Okay, see, this is why I shouldn’t talk about music. Again, what do I know? With all of those elements how could I have been so completely unmoved? I knew there was a chance I’d be slightly disappointed because somehow, when a performer stands on the Carnegie stage, there’s an immediate divide between he and the audience; maybe it’s just too grand. But it wasn’t only that. This three-hour show was like witnessing a gathering of top Nobel Prize Winning heart surgeons in fancy suits who were waiting to receive their awards. But I want to see them out in the fields and on the front lines. I want to see them with their sleeves rolled up, sweating, cutting it open and transforming life. There were smiles on the artist’s faces, but the joy didn’t translate. They were playing but not playful. David pointed out that they performed as if they had nothing to prove, and when you start doing that, you should just hang it up.
When the show was over the standing ovation was like none I’d ever seen: like the roaring of ten thousand lions and the stomping of ten thousand bulls. David and I looked at each other in dismay. Could it be we were the only two people in the hall who thought the evening was less than stellar?
After a walk to 8th Avenue and a leisurely cup of coffee, it was past midnight by the time we headed home. We saw a sign for a palm reader and I ran up the steps and rang the bell. We went inside and Madam whoever said she was going to read my mind. “Oh, please don’t,” I said. "Then let's look into the future," she said, and she predicted I would have three children. “Oh no I won’t!” I told her. “It’s not in your control,” she said. “Oh yes it is!” I replied. Then she said if we gave her $50, she would light a special candle for us from “The Church in Jerusalem,” (You know that church on the corner of Moses Avenue?) But we’d already spent enough money on a disappointing show that night, so I handed her $10 and the curtain came down.
Dirty Mind
From "Overheard in New York..."
Quote
Listening to at the Moment ...
It whispers, not forcing me to listen, but slowly and gently moving into me, it asks. The guitar picks it up just above the surface--the horn anchors it to the ground. Percussions guide it fluidly forward with the bass suggesting its direction. Soon, the space inside me is occupied by only its sound, leaving no room for thoughts or images--it holds me close, it sits and waits, just at the edge of my heart.
Tabula Rasa, by Solcircle
Tabula Rasa, by Solcircle
Friday, June 23, 2006
Sangam
My one regret is that I didn’t make a life in music, but sometimes, like last night, I'm glad I didn’t. I don’t analyze it, I don’t break it down, I don’t think about technique or style, I just receive it. The truth is, I don’t know shit about music, I only know what it means to me, what it makes me feel, where it takes me. And last night it took me on a mind-blowing trip.
Sangam signifies confluence, a meeting place, a gathering or coming together, literally or metaphorically. Triveni sangam means a three-way junction or meeting of three rivers, which merge and flow as one. And that’s what took place on stage last night between the legendary Charles Lloyd, Indian tabla master Zakir Hussain, and my new favorite drummer, Eric Harland.
Can’t say much more than that.
Sangam signifies confluence, a meeting place, a gathering or coming together, literally or metaphorically. Triveni sangam means a three-way junction or meeting of three rivers, which merge and flow as one. And that’s what took place on stage last night between the legendary Charles Lloyd, Indian tabla master Zakir Hussain, and my new favorite drummer, Eric Harland.
Can’t say much more than that.
Musical Month
I don't know if I can take two nights in a row of such intensity. But okay, I will!
QUARTET with Wayne Shorter, Dave Holland, Brian Blade
TRIO with Jack DeJohnette and Ron Carter
PIANO DUETS with Gonzalo Rubalcaba
QUINTET with Richie Barshay, Lionel Loueke, Matt Garrison, and Lili Haydn and special guest Marcus Miller
Proceeds to benefit the Thelonious Monk Institute of Jazz
QUARTET with Wayne Shorter, Dave Holland, Brian Blade
TRIO with Jack DeJohnette and Ron Carter
PIANO DUETS with Gonzalo Rubalcaba
QUINTET with Richie Barshay, Lionel Loueke, Matt Garrison, and Lili Haydn and special guest Marcus Miller
Proceeds to benefit the Thelonious Monk Institute of Jazz
Dwell
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Luck Wanted
I've decided to run down to Carnegie Hall tonight to try and get a ticket to see Sangam: Charles Lloyd, Zakir Hussain, & Eric Harland. By the time I had heard of the event, which is part of the JVC Jazz Festival and should be a memorable experience, the only seats they had were in the very back...and I just don't do seats in the very back. So, even though I don't believe in luck...around 7:45pm Eastern Standard, cross your fingers, toss pepper or say a prayer that someone will have a seat for me, way up front.
Santa Cruz Boardwalk Photo Booth
Quote
The Second City
David's from Chicago, my parents met there, and, before being born in New York City, I was actually conceived there. My father was also a founding member of The Second City Theatre Company.
Here's a picture of Annie pointing out her grandpa's name in front of the club last summer.
I wish they could have known each other.
Here's a picture of Annie pointing out her grandpa's name in front of the club last summer.
I wish they could have known each other.
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