1st Aniversary On WordPress!

 Well it’s an auspicious occasion for me tonight, I am six days away from my one year anniversary on WordPress.  To coin a well-worn phrase it’s “been a long strange trip” but really not so strange and actually it has been wonderful!  When I started this BLOG a year ago I was home sick from my many wanderings in New York City, burning the candle at both ends as it were. But when I wrote my “About” page and my first post “Now with Subtitles” I couldn’t have imagined where it would lead and how it would change me as an artist and as a writer.

 While I always knew that I could write pretty good at least as far as my school teachers grades indicated, it wasn’t till I attended college that my English 101 teacher Prof. Wigetow told me when asked that I could be a writer, he said it with conviction and without hesitation. But it was on a cool night on Oct 22nd 2008 that my world was changed when I; waiting for Duffy to take to the stage, was questioned by a woman asking what I was writing in my notebook. While I told her she was joined by her brother W.B.Wilkins, Wilkins (a former english teacher and actor) upon finding out that I intended to wait until the winter to start writing, gave me a lesson I’ll never forget. He covered how one goes about writing, but more importantly how I should go about writing about my experiences. He told me to do this in two days not two months!,and to try to convey what I’m feeling and what others are feeling. If I can write a piece that speaks to 80% of the people then I turn writing into saleable art.

 But he warns me not to expect to make money at it, just like painting the pleasure is in the doing, the experience of the work and the love of the written word. If you are very lucky, people will pay you for it! This is all punctuated by light taps on my chest, a rub to my arm and a squeeze of my bicep. It’s done in a fatherly reinforcing way and with a handshake he and his sister who is also a teacher, moved off to get a good spot for the concert that was starting.

 I left that episode out of the Duffy piece because I thought it broke the flow of the story but now give the credit where it is due, I have tried to convey in all my NY travel stories exactly what he said, how it feels to be there at that moment. To give my readers the sights, smells, and tastes around me and also the people moving around me and how they might feel too. I feel as if I’ve done a good job of  this but there is always room for improvement. I also have to acknowledge the influence of Jack Kerouack, his hand written notebooks and in the moment style have had immeasurable influence on me. The sheer brilliance of his raw novelist as reporter approach to his writing have served me very well and I really don’t think I would be this far along if it wasn’t for him. But I also have to give as much credit to William Burroughs, his loose yet careful words have shown me how a writer can be like a jazz musician, light and dark, fast and slow, all at once or each emotion on it’s own terms. There is also room to mention Tolkien and James P. Blaylock both created antediluvian worlds that made me want to live there, where good quiet folk found themselves fighting evil and having adventures. They are still favorite reads for me and the work never gets old even after multiple readings of  Tolkiens “The Hobbit” and Blaylocks best “The Disappearing Dwarf” and “The Elven Ship” they will be read again and again till I am gone from this world.

 The influence of another figure who is not only a writer but also a well-known former executive chef and star of two hit shows, one for the food network (which is no longer on the air) and currently an Emmy Award winning show for the Travel Channel. I’m talking about the loveably snarky and iconoclastic Anthony Bourdain. He has been my mentor, my man-crush, and my pick-me-up on Monday nights at the beginning of a long week of work. I listen closely especially to the voice over at the end of the show where he tries to sum up his experience in a particular place or country. While images of the trip flash by he recites his words, the liquid wisdom he has written in the moment. Very often the insight about the world and the human condition become (for me at least) the best part of an already excellent show. These programs have fired my imagination and along with my trip to England and France in 2005, have given me a wanderlust that right now…I can’t satisfy. The lack of expendable cash and responsibilities on the home front  have kept me from journeying away.  But I know that someday Tony, I too will swing in my hammock on the edge of the lake in Indonesia, in my little house and wait for ”pancake man” to come in his boat on a sunny morning to give me breakfast. Yes, this at least I’ve promised to myself.

 But since I will probably never get to meet you face to face and tell you this story I’ll write it now, and maybe you’ll read this someday. I have never been a great lover of seafood, even though I have Swedish and Norwegian blood and my Great Grandfather was a sea capitan I have never much liked the water and could only stomach a few kinds of fish even into my twenties and thirties. In grammar school of course I ate tunafish sandwich and I liked fish sticks as long as it was all white, no discoloration please! Frozen deep-fried Howard Johnson’s clam strips or shrimp were a favorite too…thanks Mom.

 But I could not stomach the real hardcore seafood, I’m talking about the shellfish. On a good day I could handle a lobster tail (when I was older) but drew the line at a whole lobster or even crab legs, I had no desire at all to perform an autopsy on my dinner! The humble Mussel was enough to make me hurl, the sight of the chambered form inside with its Lovecraftian appendages, bubbling and blaspheming in a pot of Cioppino at my cousin Chrissy’s house, could send me screaming about the “Old Ones” into the night, and don’t even get me started on snails! But in 2006 things would change in a special way.

 My aforementioned cousin Chrissy had been battling cancer since 2003, and had survived an operation that would have killed most people, they are probably still studying her case. The cancer had spread from the intestines to the liver and ovaries, kidneys, stomach-the lot. They removed so much tissue from her body it was a miracle she lived, but live she did. She would live to vacation in Jamaica and take many other trips away with her husband and two girls, and I living nearby would drop in to see her without notice just to sit and tell her of my adventures or problems, you could always count on honesty with Chrissy, even if she didn’t always tell you what you wanted to hear.

 We had a special bond as painters but had gone to only one art show together since I started to paint in 1999,she was raising a family and I was busy with my own life. So in 2006 Chrissy and her husband Bruce decided to host Christmas for all the family, these were always happy times for me, I loved sitting at the table with my cousin Chrissy and her sister Donna, Bruce and Pat their husbands, my cousins daughters Sharon, Michelle, and Jennifer and my brother Chris as well as all the parents of our tribe. We would go off telling war stories and riffing on each other in a friendly way that would be punctuated by the raucous laugh of Chrissy and high-pitched guffaw of Donna and my own explosive laugh. So on this night things were a little more subdued but not much and when the hot food was served I saw that there was many seafood items to be eaten tonight. I realized that this may be Chrissy’s last Xmas with us and when I had already tried the other dishes of chicken, various pastas, eggplant, zucchini, roasted peppers and mushrooms. I went to the table of freshly laid out seafood and scanned the offerings, there was Cioppino, small snails in tomato and garlic tapenade, crab legs with butter, stuffed clams in garlic butter, seafood stew, a feast of garlicy tomato Italian tradition. 

  I took it all back to the table and bravely tucked right in with my cousin sitting across from me beaming as I discovered that some of this was actually very good! I ate and talked with her enjoying the face time with her and for a while it was not very obvious that she was sick. There was no way I wasn’t going to do so, like Tony says on the show when people are giving till it hurts, even if you don’t like it-you eat it and you smile and you ask for more, to do anything else would be an insult.

 My cousin died eleven months later in November of 2007 and it was touching that she seemed to wait until Stanly Kramer, her old art teacher in grammar school, now the school principal. Had to come to see her before she would let go, that’s how strong her bond was with him and with her art. We get together now without her and it’s cool to see how her daughter Jennifer has taken over Chrissy’s role as the raucous storyteller, regaling us with her tales of working in the fashion industry in New York City and Donna too seems to have joined her as well filling the gap left by Chrissy’s passing, and Chrissy’s other daughter Michelle, (a photographer who looks like her mother) quietly takes embarrassing pictures of all of us-yes we will get you for it too Michelle just wait.

 I did some growing up that night and since then I have found myself trying more foods that take me out of my comfort zone, even though I might not like them at least I try them now, veal, seafood, unfamilair meats, blood sausage, lagastino lobster, and anything else offered to me I eat without hesitation. I no longer sit on the sidelines and watch as others enjoy and encourage me to do the same and refuse, too caught up in myself to be polite and join in. I learned there is a big difference between taking a stand against a certain type of food for health reasons or moral obligation, and not trying a certain food out of immaturity.

 So thank you Anthony Bourdain for helping me to grow a lot, and for putting a smile on my dying cousin’s heart. Indeed with your own writing not just for your show (and it’s accompanying books) but also your fiction, which I have also enjoyed very much. You have informed my writing too, just like the master writers of this century and I hope you stay here in New York and keep doing No Reservations for many more years to come. This viewer will never grow tired of it.

 But I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the one thing that my writing has given me, the most important thing…a friend. When I started reading others work I came across the blog of Maureenj aka White Orchid and after commenting on something she wrote, found her also looking at my page and since then we have become good friends. The fact is that only a few other people have bothered to comment on my posts and the comments have all been good, but no one follows my blog like Maureen.  This past year we have weathered many storms in our own life but still find time and energy to encourage each other and comment on each others blog posts. She has become the older sister I was supposed to have in many ways and although I have not shared some of my deeper problems and fears with her, (especially since she had a medical scare this year and a death in the family) I have come to realize she is my true friend. We talk of our desire to meet one day and I often find myself day dreaming about my trip to Australia or hers to New York, where I would undoubtedly be the personal tour guide for her that I want to be in the near future, and was with my relatives from England in April of this past year.

 Mark and Sharon came over and changed my life without even knowing it at the time, the days spent showing them the Village and Midtown Manhattan were the happiest this year, and led to my realizing that this might be my true calling. This was reinforced by meeting Robert Fogelnest; a former tour guide and Village authority whose book I bought and study along with many others on all things good and bad about New York City.

 So right now while I weather the storm of debt consolidation and zero credit available to me I cannot indulge in the finer things in New York City. I have to learn to write about other topics anyway, still have some story’s to tell about New York and some experiences I had before all this blogging, theater-going, tour guiding study and hardcore foodie stuff started. The very first story I wrote as an intentional piece of journalism was a story about street art that I wrote in 2007 when I was so wrapped up in my story that I didn’t even review the food I was eating in a now closed Sri Lankan restaurant, which is strange because I remember it was good. The story of our trip to England and Paris is all a blur now but I can try to look at pictures and piece it together to make it live. I also have the hope of coming into some money soon, by legal means I assure you which will be enough to pay off a few bills not covered by the debt consolidation in which case I could be in a few months very close to breathing a sigh of relief and able to continue my adventures.

 So right now after watching Paradise Found with Keifer Sutherland last night I am also trying to become an artist again, and trying to meld both my writing and my art into switches I can throw on or off depending on my mood instead of one or the other, which is the way it’s been since early 2007, I haven’t painted a thing in two years,why…I don’t know.  

 I am grateful to Word Press for their support and presence on the web, and to Cheru Jackson of  Alphainventions for helping me to promote my page, and to my Mom, whose diary writing, and her repeatedly showing and speaking aloud the first three letters of the alphabet to me as a baby, have undoubtedly had a lasting effect on me as a writer and reader. As always it’s the little things like this that mean the most.

It has been a great ride and I hope to continue this for the rest of my life, even if I never make it as a writer or an artist it’s OK. The most important thing is that while I write or paint I’m alive, doing what I enjoy and not wasting time with mindless activities or destructive behavior. Thanks to all the cast of characters in my life, which is my work of art, as I am in others casts…so may all of us grow. Thanks for reading and influencing my life and art, and if your ever in New York City drop me a line and we’ll have a drink or two, and one more thing…try the veal at Le Rivage on W. 46th St…it’s really good.

sincerely

Glen 

Long Island, NY 2009

Letterman-Victim Or The Crime?

The front page of the Daily News in New York on Friday Oct 2nd was an early morning surprise for me, when I discovered that my old pal David Letterman was yet again the target of some plot I couldn’t help thinking of the culture of attack we live in as I covered in my post Phelps, Pot and Precognition a few months ago. I call Dave my old pal because from 1981 to 1989 I was self employed and watched his show every night while I worked, obviously I don’t know him personally and regrettably stopped watching his show when I started working for the “man” and could no longer stay up late. Yet although I could have recorded it and watched it the next day…I didn’t,  I tried a few times now that I think back to those days but watching it at five o”clock didn’t work…something for me was lost.

I know I missed many good shows since then and always thought he was screwed by the execs at NBC when they picked Jay Leno to take the helm of the Tonight Show over Dave. But what has been revealed and continues to come out in the media has really been a study in media frenzy and what I will call the “Days of the Long Knives” for David and his family and I’m starting to think maybe it’s got nothing to do with monetary gain but rather a personal vendetta against Late Show with David Letterman as a TV entity as well as it’s namesake.

The alleged blackmailer Robert J.”Joe” Halderman is the  producer of the acclaimed CBS 48 Hours Mystery, an in depth reporting program that has seen Halderman nominated for Emmy Awards for his pieces about Sarajevo and Russia’s brutality against their own people, he has also worked in war zones such as Somalia and Bosnia. Halderman was considered ” hard driving” but also refered to as a “swashbuckler” described as brave and capable of doing any story he was given. But in his off hours he was called a “party animal” who was a barrel of laughs, a spendthrift who enjoyed the night life.

 But MSNBC’s Keith Olbermann remembers a different man that he worked with at CNN in the 1980’s, on his blog Olbermann wrote that whenever somebody gets arrested for some stupid or horrible crime people always say “That’s not the guy I knew?” Well not this time, as Olbermann reveals “This is exactly the guy we knew at CNN.” He also stated that Halderman thought he was better than everyone else and that there was no weeping when he left CBS.

 The young woman at the center of this scandal is Stephanie Birkitt, a Wake Forest University graduate who actually interned at CBS in 1996, where she would have likely met or at least become known to both Letterman and Halderman before graduating in 1997. It was shortly after this that she started working on 48 Hours where I suspect Joe Halderman was first attracted to the pretty young girl who now was legal age, but after a short time Birkitt moved over to Late Show to get away from the serious news business and worked as a producer on the Late Show. Later when the job of personal assistant to Letterman opened up Birkitt applied for and got the job to be in Dave’s inner circle where she was quite happy calling Dave the “best boss I ever had” in a 2002 interview. Then in an 2003 interview at her old school she described the working environment as fun and Dave as kind, personable and generous and was “great fun to play catch with,” (you play catch and get paid for it!).

 But also Late Show is known as a serious work environment where 15 hour days are the norm and the female staffers were happy with the workplace environment according to former employees. This I think is the beginning of the love triangle that will develop into this last act of revenge that pushes Halderman to try and settle the score with Dave for getting the girl he wanted an affair with while he was still married!

 The fact is that people who work together long hours usually wind up playing together too, and in this sort of environment (bars/party’s) it’s easy for people to hook up and have affairs. I mean years ago I knew a group of people who worked together at the Sears Auto Center when I was a delivery driver for an auto parts store. One day I noticed that this little short mechanic was kissing a beautiful tall European looking blonde who worked in the office up front! They were totally mismatched and looked odd together so I asked him about it and he told me…”we had our Christmas party at the bar down the block a few weeks ago, at the end of the night we were the last two people left at the bar…and it just happened.” I don’t know what became of that hookup but all kinds of weird matches are made every day. You also have to remember that Dave who has always been very self deprecating, calling himself a geeky guy and has been very reserved almost shy in a way. I’m guessing he  was probably not much of a lady’s man in his younger days. I think that if you look at the types of people Dave has had in his life they could easily be described as plain jane’s who are interested in writing and are professionals, you don’t find people who look like Duffy on his staff. The fact that no sexual harassment charges have ever been brought against Dave and that one former staffer said Dave’s definitely not a “groper” kind of leads me to believe that this was a case of total infatuation. Birkitt, a young attractive girl, who by all accounts liked Dave’s offbeat sense of humor, and for Dave it was the equivalent of the cheerleader he never had.

 This of course doesn’t excuse his cheating on his long time girlfriend Regina Lasko, but 23 years is a long time to date someone and I can’t help feeling like they were together for convenience and sex rather than love. The fact is that Regina was a former staffer at Late Night and should have known Dave for the lady’s man he is now being portrayed to be by the media, therefore I find it confusing that Lasko is surprised or mad at this revelation which she should have expected.

  This is where the really tough moral questions come in to play, as we have seen men have a built in instinct to mate with many females that was hard wired into our brains to expand the population. Men have been trying to overcome that instinct for the past 30 years at least on paper. But culturally speaking, many of us do a pretty good job of it most of the time. I personally have never cheated on a girlfriend I was with, but that didn’t stop me from looking at other girls and desiring them as well. Don’t roll your eyes girls, I’m being honest here so you can understand- it’s not personal.

  I was madly in love with my ex fiance at one time yet still found myself checking out other girls in stores or malls while we walked together. It’s something that men do on an almost subliminal level, the difference being there are those who act on those desires and those that don’t. I mean indeed I once knew a woman (not my lover) who actually bought her husband a subscription to Penthouse so he had the stimulation at home to enjoy. Yet judging by her smile at my shock, it worked for them and for her too as she alluded to the benefits of a stimulated man!

 But the most shocking thing to me was when a young former co-worker; a latino male of about 18 (who was not good looking by any means) who had girls sending him text messages and cheesecake pictures requesting “stress relief,” informed me that it was common to have many girlfriends but there was only one “wifey.” The girl who was wifey was your favorite, the one you cared about the most and the girl your friends were not allowed to look at with desire or talk smack about at all. This was the girl you took to family parties or holiday occasions, this was astounding to me and was an accepted form of behavior by college age people. It was also possible for girls to have the same arrangement with other guys! This was a don’t ask don’t tell arrangement, and all this information was backed up by other young people related to me that I questioned about this social practice. The attitude was if infidelity is going to happen anyway why get mad… just have open relationships and no one gets hurt.

 The relationship between Letterman and Birkitt seems to have ended around the time when Dave and Regina found out they were going to be parents, and Birkitt went back to Halderman sometime after the breakup and eventually moved in with him. She paid him a whopping $1500 a month to help the now divorced 51-year-old who was paying out $6800 in child support and was also deep in debt but still trying to keep his golfing /partying life style intact. So we now can see the intention of Birkitt all along was to get with an older man and try to advance her career, she went with Dave after leaving the staff of 48 hours to have fun and got some face time on TV, because as fans of the Late Show know well…Dave likes to use his staff in bits and sketches, members of the band, stage manager Biff Henderson, even going so far as to bring out a petrified female staffer who was getting married to do several bits so she could get paid for being on TV (on top of her regular salary) as a wedding present! Dave sent Birkitt to cover the 2002 and 2006 Olypics and had her do silly bits on the show from time to time so by all accounts Miss Birkitt had a swell time and was paid a very good salary too, even after the breakup Birkitt was still employed by Letterman and is now on paid leave from the show.

 But it was during the time that Birkitt was living with Halderman,about 2005 to late Sept 2009 that Halderman allegedly read Stephanie Birkitt’s diary and love letters to Dave that she had saved. This then was the package that was presented to Letterman in early September with the request for 2 million dollars. There is also a rumor that Halderman had David Letterman’s office bugged or video taped in some way but only the FBI knows for sure and they …are not talking.

 So right now we still don’t know the real truth about all this, did Halderman snap when he found out that his ex-wife was taking the kids out-of-state to live?  Maybe it was the fact that Birkitt was not happy with Halderman for refusing to have children with her and was getting tired of waiting and threatening to leave? How could he think that a man like Letterman (who was driving Birkitt home to Halderman’s house after work at night, even though they were split up) would just lay down and die and submit to extortion?

 The media’s frenzy that is going on is amazing, panels are discussing the ethics of the workplace with psychiatrists and psychologists and all sorts of experts talking about how we have to re-examine our work policy regarding office romance, militant feminists are calling for Dave to be drawn and quartered and his show to be cancelled and former Gotti attorney Gerald Shargel is waiting with bated breath to cross-examine Letterman if the case goes to trial, which I’m betting  won’t even go that far.  The case will be settled out of court and what Dave’s legal team will do… is make this go away as fast as possible.

 The strange thing is that Dave is getting very high ratings for all this embarrassment and discomfort, with Jay Leno moved to 10:00 o’clock time slot and Conan O’Brian in Jay’s still warm seat I expected a surge in Late Show ratings but not for this reason!  I know what Dave did was wrong and I feel it may cost him his marriage in the long run and that is a shame but if I was Regina I would stay with Dave, have a fling of my own to get even, and try to forget it ever happened.

 The 20 million dollar ranch that Dave owns out west and the house on the water in the tropics could make me forgetful easily, as well as the weekly allowance that she probably already gets could be doubled as well. Then what about poor Stephanie Birkitt?

 Well, if she had any real feelings for either man, it can only be speculated on, I’m sure she knew about Dave’s girlfriend when she hooked up with Dave. The love letters that were used by Halderman were never sent? If not why? These facts are ignored by feminists who don’t want to admit it but Birkitt was 22 when she started working for Dave, hardly a stupid kid but a college grad, with a taste for older men in positions of power in the industry. If she isn’t looking for a sugar daddy then why not hook up with someone in their late 30’s, instead of a 51 year old Halderman? Then also if she really loved Dave then why not insist that he split with Regina Lasko and marry her instead?  She will probably do the talk show circuit and write a tell all book in a few years, unless her silence is bought out by both men and then she will have a house in the tropics too.

  Halderman who has lost his job with CBS is the loser in all this, he doesn’t have a chance now of coming off all this clean, he has lost all his credibility, he might just as well skip town and try his luck as a beach comber in the tropics. If he does Birkitt and Letterman will need orders of protection! LOL…not funny though, that’s why I’m not Dave I guess.

 David Letterman was about 50 when he hired Birkitt who was 22, Birkitt was 34 when she left Halderman who is 51. I am 47 going on 27, why-because I work at every day. I think young act young I try to be younger than I am because I believe it preserves youth and keeps you from aging. In the unlikely event that some girl in her twenties was interested in me I would be ecstatic, not because I “bagged” a young girl at my age but because I’m alone, and loneliness is everything it’s cracked up to be. But I would not accept the advances of that twenty something girl while I had a forty something waiting for me at home, I just don’t roll that way. But I don’t know for sure because it’s never happened to me. You just don’t know what your capable of untill you do it, whether it’s good or bad. You never know just how you look through other peoples eyes either.

 So Dave you screwed up buddy…from one geeky guy to another-you screwed up. Best wishes for all involved. 

Peace

Glen

Ps: The information used in this article is in the public domain and was memorized from numerous radio shows, TV news briefs, and talk show conversation, online sources and speculation on my part. It is not intended to be taken as gospel truth but as a conglomerate of all the available information on the subject. I have no intention of hurting anyone and will apologize up front to anyone I offended in the creation of this piece. GH

P J Harvey & John Parish-June 2009

It’s a mild overcast June evening as I drive to the train station, the torrential rains of last night are all but gone yet the weather is still unsettled and cooler than it should be for this time of year. I’m going to see P J Harvey and John Parish at the Beacon Theater on Broadway in New York City. The reviews are good but I know they will not be playing any of her old songs that I really like, just the music recorded by them on an old and new cd released this year. On board the train now speeding towards Penn station I listen to a group of friends talking over business stuff, one of them is leaving the job and they discuss various exit strategies. There is much laughter and many suggestions are made as to how to leave, nicely with class and professionalism or badly to leave a mark and strike back at the evil empire. But even those who suggest the path of class are bitter. They seem to have much disdain for the place they work, an all too familiar theme these days.

When we get to New Hyde Park station a few friends get on talking loud and acting out. The girl is very brash and annoying, trying to take pictures of her fat friends “man boobs” with her cell phone. Some people have no class or shame, they behave like children who talk like adults. yet no one wants to make a scene because to do so would be to give the attention they seem to be craving, especially the girl seems to relish using bad language in creative ways. So I look out the window and try to tune them out.

Between New Hyde Park and Jamaica Station we pass by a bunch of lovely little cottages, two story affairs with front and back porches, some have little pools in back while others have patio decks where I see people sitting talking on cell phones, sunning themselves or firing up the barbecue while doing chores. Except for the passing trains it seems like a nice place to live. The train however is delayed by someone who was standing on the tracks?  Some guy wandering around loose, we creep along losing time until they sort him out and we get underway again. I hear people complaining about the expected 50 cent fare hike coming soon as we descend into the station and come to a halt so I fly up the stairs to get topside as fast as I can after losing time.

The great thing about good weather is that it’s easy to get a cab right away, and I score a great old Jamaican driver who weaves in and out of traffic and gets me to the Beacon in just ten minutes! That’s 30 blocks with traffic lights and going over three avenues as well, he passed by others with inches to spare but I have never had a better ride. I toss him a tip after telling him how great he was and wish it could be bigger but maybe I’ll ride with him again someday. I go in to the theater and get my seat deciding against an expensive drink. This is a beautiful old theater I haven’t seen in years, I think the last time I was here was for YES about 2002 or 2003, the lights go down and the opening act comes out. Some guy comes out called Pip Pakova and plays about eight of the most annoying songs I’ve ever heard in a high pitched voice while playing guitar. The songs are all sexual innuendo, tongue in cheek farce, and very self aggrandizing. Just way more kitsch than I want on a Tuesday night, I mean this guy needs a punch in the face and a kick in the ass, he makes me want to jump off a cliff…with him to break my fall!

I sit and rub my temples a little, my allergies are driving me nuts and I’m starting a headache but soon the lights go down again and John Parish and the band come out and begin playing. They are all dressed in suits and look a little like old time gangsters and P J comes out in a simple black dress and bare feet. They launch into material off their new cd which I have never heard and old material from their first days together before she was a cult figure, as I said no classic P J material will be played. The thing is that it doesn’t matter, it’s P J that you come to see and hear. She fascinates me… although she is not a raving beauty she has enormous sex appeal. P J moves onstage not with the poise of a dancer but rather the abandon of a flower child in an almost Gothic style. She is tough and strong yet vulnerable and definitely erotic. P J delivers the vocal equivalent of a chef’s tasting menu, reaching high and going low, cupping the mike for effect. The band supports her with minimal movement, while not being called shoegazers. Only the drummer comes close to the physicality of P J.

The audience is a mixed bag of personalities and types who explode into applause at the end of each song, also screaming out songs they want to hear and many “I love you”s coming from guys and girls. It’s a great show with a three song encore and with many smiles and waves she leaves us till next time. I saw her 2001, five days before 911 and again during the Uh Huh Her Tour after that and then her solo show two years ago. Each time P J presents with a slightly different version of herself and a new set of songs to tell her stories, I wonder what she will bring us next time around.

I leave the theater and begin walking down Broadway heading south, it’s a lovely night and I wish I could sit down and eat outside one of the many eateries I pass as I look for a copy of the Village Voice. I walk with other excited fans as we start off in a bunch and gradually thin out in all directions, some going to subways others to apartments somewhere in the city and others to New Jersey or Long Island. I open box after box looking for my free newspaper but all are empty, then I find one with a few copies inside reaching in I find them damp from what I hope is the rain and not something else. I’m really loving this walk but it’s a work night so I cross Broadway and flag down a cab outside Lincoln Center to get home a little earlier. I get a cab easily and we glide down 9th Ave and I take note of all the bars and eateries whose names I’ve seen online but have never been inside. Jake’s Bar, Puttanesca,  Bar 69, and Marseilles. Many more whip by in a flash of shape and color. Mere static images forming a backdrop for the speeding cars around us and the people moving slowly between us and their massive brightly lit forms. Like the human body, the Avenues are the lifeblood of the city. The shops and restaurants are the walls of the arteries with the people playing the role of slow moving plaque and the traffic moving fast is the blood flow to all points in the system.

The driver lets me off at the 7th Ave entrance and I ride the escalator down to Penn Station once more, I can see the big board in the distance and right away I can see I have about thirty minutes before my train so I head immediately to Tracks for a washup in the loo and then sit down for a quick rum and coke to kill some time before making trackside.

I sigh a little as I look at the clock, I will be getting home a lot later than I would like but a P J Harvey concert is well worth a few lost hours of sleep.

Bonne Nuit

Glen

Desire Under The Elms Part 1-May 16th 2009

A cool foggy Saturday morning in May, I’m sitting in a nearly empty LIRR train on my way to Penn Station to see Eugene O’Neil’s Desire Under The Elms and I can’t resist going back to Prune for what I’m sure will be a fantastic brunch. I have to be careful to avoid a lot of walking, my left foot hurts on the instep, it feels like a pull but it might require a trip to the foot doctor. So of course favoring my left foot has messed up my right foot too so I’ll be using mass transit a lot more than I like, so it’s a subway tour for me I’m afraid.  That’s okay as I need more experience on the subway and with the rain expected today It”ll be okay to be low and dry! When I arrive I do go topside to check the weather, I guess I’ll always feel a little stifled by being underground too long. I see that there is no change so I go back down and head for the 1,2,3 subway line to take me to 42nd St where I can take the 7 across to the 4,5,6 downtown. Sound confusing?, it can be for newbies but I know my way around a little and double check to make sure I’m right before I wind up in nowhere land. The subway stations are hot and stuffy today and I notice mostly young people are riding today, a few families but mostly students and workers.

I stop to help an old man with directions, he’s going to the Yankee game so I help him navigate a little since the young police officer trying to help him didn’t seem to know which subways he should take to get there. I whip out my New York traveler book to show the subway map and we figure it out. Later, the young policeman asks to see the guide again and I strike up a conversation with him about my plans to become a tour guide while I wait for my train. I’m excited about this and can’t help sharing it, maybe he will remember me and someday I might need his help. I have to start making friends and contacts here now, I will need them in the future if I’m going to be successful. I ride down to Spring St where I’ll get my bearings again and maybe buy a hat from a street vendor. I have overshot Prune by a few blocks so I have to walk up and over a little , I find a little butcher shop called the Albanese Meat Market, in the window is a paper clipping showing the shop was once filmed for a documentary called The Last Butcher in Little Italy on IFC (the Independent Film Channel) and is located on Elizabeth Street. I resolve to go back for Memorial Day weekend when I will have a three day holiday and get a real good steak for grilling from this shop before it’s gone too. 

The Last Butcher in Little Italy

  My feet feel good So I enjoy my walk to Prune, it’s about 11:00 am and it’s already packed so I wind up at the bar where I sat last time, some kind of karma I guess. To my left a young Asian girl takes photos of the bartender, while waiting for her food. When it arrives I see that she has ordered eggs benedict, she examines it closely lifting the toasted English muffin off the plate peering underneath like she’s searching for something. “What are you looking for? I ask quizzically. (Yes I am nosey!) She says blushingly that she was “trying to see if she could pick it up” She resigns herself to eat it with knife and fork and puts a giant piece in her mouth, not bad for a little girl.

I sip my strong coffee and watch the bartender work till my food comes, I ordered stewed chic peas with tomatoes and Panko covered poached eggs with a side of hand made lamb sausage, it comes with toasted flat bread points and it is super! I will duplicate this at home for dinner, it would be a nice protein rich meal.
I finish my meal with a second cup of coffee while a young Asian couple moves into the space vacated by the girl from out of town who by the way took pictures of her plate before she ate it! The young couple orders, oatmeal with fruit for her and deep fried oyster omelet for him, both get drinks too. I think they are on date judging by the conversation, they question each other about ordinary things between mouthfuls of food. I talk with the bartender while he makes Bloody Mary’s like there’s no tomorrow. But I’m done and the crowd outside tells me it’s time to move on and give someone else a chance. I love this place, I will be back soon but right now I walk slowly trying not to aggravate my feet, I walk up a few blocks and over an avenue or two. I take note of places and things like never before, getting a greater feel as I do for where I am and how to get from place to place. I gravitate down to the Washington Arch by way of Greene St and pass by Edward Hoppers old apartment continuing up to the 1,2,3, line of the subway which I descend into and take back up to the theater district and get off at 42nd St. I walk to the box office and get my ticket and ask about a good bar nearby, the man behind the window tells me to go to the place on the corner. But after walking down there I decide not to go in, too dark and stodgy looking. I can’t see inside and I find a better spot at Smith’s Bar, a landmark and a place I’ve never been before.

A good place for a quick drink before a show.

So I go in and find a seat at the bar which is almost empty and order a rum and coke from the cute Spanish waitress. While she makes my drink I head to the loo for a wash-up and when I go back to my seat my drink is ready and I sit down and read The Village Voice and sip my cocktail and relax. This is one of those perfect times when everything is just right, I feel at home here, like I belong in Manhattan at least at this moment and I enjoy every minute. I’ve got about an hour and a half to wait till I have to leave for the show, so I read the articles and soon my peace is broken by an older couple who just sat down asking the waitress about the best places to find New York pizza, They are only two seats away and no one seems to have a clue even though they live here! I guess I’ll have to step in and help these folks, all in a days work for “The Guide Boheme” I guess. I introduce myself and we begin a conversation.
Stay Tuned
Glen

Desire Under The Elms Part 2-May 16th 2009

I put my two cents in on their question after the waitress and shift manager can’t give them an answer and suggest they go to one of the many Famous Rays locations, it’s about as New York as any pizza  I’ve had and they are all over the city. They are from Florida so we talk about the differences in pizza between New York and everywhere else and we touch upon my memories of Vero Beach, how cheap a great breakfast was in Florida and how beautiful and clear the water was there in the gentle surf. They are well travelled and we talk about Georgia and the places they found there  for good eats and drinks, I also tell them about my road trip down south years ago to Tennessee, Alabama, and Georgia when I thought a truck stop was fine dinning and beer was the drink of choice. I take the time to write down menupages.com for them so they can find what they want in food and check menus and prices when they get back to their hotel. I talk about the Village and Cafe Reggiro and the renovation going on in Washington Square Park, but am surprised to find them asking if it’s safe to go down there at night. So  I assure them that they will be fine, dozens of people will be out eating and drinking till the small hours, sitting in open cafes and on sidewalks out side bars and restaurants enjoying tapas, bar food, pretzels, and even three course meals! I tell them to just take a taxi back, don’t walk unfamiliar streets in the dark. They both thank me for my time and leave …so now I polish off my drink and walk back to the theater.

The St. James is a nice old theater with beautifully upholstered carpets with matching seats, I don’t have to wait long for the lights to go down and the production to start. The stage is set with boulders, lots of them and I mean lots! They hang from the ceiling by ropes, piled up like walls and used as camouflage to hide clever hydraulics that will silently raise and lower props. There is a small house also hanging from the ceiling with ropes that got to be three inches thick!  A stove and table with chairs is stage right, that will lower into the floor to allow the house to be lowered, stage left is a raised platform that is used to simulate the farms slaughterhouse and later will represent the bedroom in the upstairs of the house. a hidden pathway behind the rocks in back of the stage is used to simulate travel and the out of doors, and center stage is used for most of the scenes. It is an absorbing production, brilliantly staged and very passionately acted. Set in New England in 1850, it’s the story of the Cabot family. The father Brian Dennehy (Ephraim) gives an outstanding performance as a man who is consumed by his possessions and all that he considers his. Carla Gugino (Abbie) is exceptional as the young woman he marries determined to have her own possessions at any cost. Pablo Schrieber (Eben) puts in a commanding performance as the son(from Ephraims second wife) who fights for what he believes is his inheritance from his dead mother. Boris McGiver (Peter) and Daniel Stewart Sherman (Simeon) play the brutish brothers who work hard in the fields of the farm but dream of the gold fields of California where they imagine gold lies atop the ground like rocks do on the farm. I won’t give the plot away to any who might read the play or see the show but it’s sufficient to say that like many of O’Neil’s works it’s about loss and longing and the burdens of life. I can’t help thinking that he longed for what I long for, a more perfect world where love, loyalty, and honor take precedence over hate, greed, and betrayal. The sad events of O’Neil’s life reflect the all too grim reality of many people throughout history, what a shame but then again it fueled a string of fascinating literary works by Eugene that might not have been written any other way but the hard road he walked. Many critics have called the production pretentious and overstated, and sharply criticised the lack of Elm trees in favor of rocks. The fact is that this was written as a play but it’s really a movie, so it’s impossible to not have platforms rise and fall and houses that lift out of the way. It has been made into a movie once or twice but still I think the play was brilliantly acted by the three main characters and the brothers who are gone early in the play give us all they got while on stage and should be commended for what they do with limited roles and not too many lines. It is a great performance and the crowd roars at the finish like it’s the Super Bowl!

I wait outside with others all eager to meet the cast and get an autograph, we wait for a half hour before they all come out one by one. I stop Daniel as he was just going to leave figuring that no one would want his autograph. I hold out my program and say “Not so fast bud you guys rocked the first part of that show”! causing a round of applause by others waiting with me and he blushingly signed away, obviously happy at the recognition. Next Boris comes out and gets a round of applause too and signs many autographs, I tell him that  Daniel was gonna just walk by and he says “Well he’s not too bright you see” causing all of us to laugh at his obvious co-worker joke but at the same time I see it as the characters still alive and could imagine Peter and Simeon talking like that about each other. Next is the man himself Brian Dennehy, big and imposing, familiar yet larger than life. He signs for many and poses for pix very patiently before he leaves and then Carla and Pablo come out together, she is petite and gorgeous and Pablo is strong and cool as they too wade through the crowd who surround them with questions and beg for photos and signatures. I leave while others are still talking and taking photos and start walking back to Penn Station, but after a few blocks I realize I’m walking the wrong way!

I turn around and as I come back I find Pablo and Carla together going someplace, it couldn’t be a restaurant because Pablo carried a plastic container with heath salad and dressing out of the theater with him so he’s got his dinner, could this be a romance I wonder as I walk by noticing they recognize me from before as they pass. Good for them I think as I walk down the busy street, the weather is hot and dry now a perfect day for walking. But soon I see a strange sight, Brian Dennehy is standing out in the middle of the street trying to get a cab. He’s got two small bags, one he’s carrying and one pull behind and he’s looking lost or something. I walk up to him and say “Hey Brian I see you have just as much trouble getting a cab as the rest of us.” He looks at me and says “This is bull***t, I’ve been trying for twenty minutes!” So we begin walking along together and he says “I can’t understand this, doesn’t anyone want to be out in this beautiful weather.”  We wait for more cabs to pass still striking out, he asks me if I’m needing a cab too and I stupidly say no, I should have said yes and hung out with him. I mean I don’t know where he was going but it would have been cool to share a cab and maybe wind up having a cold beer together and talk about acting, movies, and TV. But then again he was probably on his way to a lie down before the next performance tonight at eight so he says that if this keeps up he’s going back to the theater and walks off. I look at the retreating figure and am a little worried for him, he is just a few years younger than my father but he’s been around so he will be okay I think as I turn and head towards Penn again. I was thinking about staying in the city but I’ve got a pork bracciole that’s thawed that I eaither cook and eat tonight or chuck out, it’s been thawed for days. So I decide to leave the city early, and as I walk with the crowds listening to the conversations of people around me. There are a few goggle eyed tourists from parts unknown who say to each other things like…”How do these people stand all the crowds and noise?” or “I could never live here, but I’m glad I saw it!”

I group of younger people are talking over a destination and saying over and over…”She said it was right here! Right here by the garden.” now I don’t know what they mean but then one of them says “The Stage Door Deli, she said it’s right by here.” I look up as I approach the intersection leaving them behind arguing about it, while I wait for the light to change I look up and as a truck moves out of the way I see it in the distance on the right hand side of the street. I walk back half a block and say to the group “Your looking for the Stage Door Deli right?” “Uh yeah.”  a girl says just slightly worried at the stranger talking to her. I point down the street and tell em “It’s right there on the right hand side of the street, the Garden is opposite, you can’t see it from here but it’s there…trust me.” They thank me and I walk off happy to have helped again. I feel it now, it’s my destiny to be an ambassador of New York City, to help out-of-towners find their way and to change peoples opinion about New Yorkers. I go down the escalator to the station and help another couple find New Jersey Transit before getting to the LIRR area. I’ve got six minutes to grab a cold Stella Artois and go down to the track area, easy as 123.

I sit and sip my cold one bemused as a couple in their mid thirties smooch in the seat in front of me and talk about the musical Jersey Boys to each other and to someone on the other end of the cell phone, it must have been one hell of a show to arouse so much passion. They really need to get a room, jealous you think…well you might be right.  But I’d say right now I’m way more envious of Pablo Schreiber than of this guy in front of me. But also way more jealous of O’Neil’s ability to imagine fictional lives than I am at this point in my writing career, and if I’m ever going to be published I’ll need to have that mastered. I sit and ponder the problem while the couple in front of me have finally run out of steam and sit quietly.

Nighty Nite

Glen

Waiting for Godot-Part 2 April 18th 2009

I sit down in Dillion’s a small long bar, probably a dive bar for those who couldn’t make it into or got thrown out of Studio 54 back in the day, but now a simple wooden floor bar with a seating area for food in back. Yes this is THE Studio 54 from back in the good old days, bought by the Laura Pels Foundation and made into a theater. The girl behind the bar is working like a dog to get the next shift set up, setting up the bar with beers and ice and everything needed for the night shift, but also takes time to make conversation with me and a few other people while she works. Later she tells a guy near me she plans to take a nap and then go out and get drunk, I can’t say I blame her. She wears a fedora on top of long brown hair and has a Roman nose on her soft pointed features which actually works for her and makes her very attractive,  (of course about 25 years younger than me and has the pick of the crop when it comes to boys) and a nice body to match. Not a model just a nice package in black slacks and a white top with a sleeveless black vest, a classic look for a pretty girl.

But soon it’s time for me to go so I say my goodbyes, leave a tip and walk the short distance to Studio 54, there is a school group here waiting to get in to the show. These are high school age teens cutting up and talking loudly while we wait to be allowed in to get our seats. I hope they will behave themselve tonight, or I will ask for a refund as I watch the silly boys doing antics to impress girls and weird out teachers, they are of course old enough to know better, I watch only half amused impatient to go in and see the show.

When we do get in after a while, I decide to not pay the high prices for drinks and snacks so I get my seat in the lovely old looking theater. I find that we are hemmed in like sardines in the small seats designed for smaller people from a bygone age, I mean I’m not that tall but there’s no leg room at all! My knees are right up against the seat in front of me, this is why it’s always good to pay extra for better seats and if possible choose an isle seat. However, when it was built in 2003, it was made to be beautiful and reflect the old look from the Golden Age of New York, and it is beautifully decorated inside with fancy carpeting and plush seats, and walls and ceilings decorated like a kings court. The light soon go down and we are reminded to shut off our cell phones, there’s always one idiot who forgets or refuses to do so it seems.

When the curtain is raised, we see Nathan Lane sitting on a rock in an outdoor setting, a strange rocky landscape with a path running through it, with one small leafless tree. He appears to be homeless and is in the process of trying to get shoes off swollen feet, he is in much pain from walking…I can relate.  Soon he is joined by Bill Irwin and they are both  there waiting for something or someone called Godot. He is a strange mysterious figure who can provide work and or shelter and food, although they never explain how or why, the rest of the time they live by their wits, trying to survive in a hostile environment yet preserve their dignity. The play offers no hope, no glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel as it were, but rather shows the interplay of two men, two friends who while deciding  they are better off alone, cannot live without each other. This is easily seen as an Abbot & Costello relationship and the performance of Nathan and Bill puts one in the mind of the old duo from a better time long ago and far away from today’s problems and fears. The addition of John Goodman as Potto; a wealthy looking man being attended by a worn out slave like character who he mistreats, is striking as he provides grist for the mill of the characters as they look for ways to pass the time while they wait for Godot. Days lose all meaning to them and memories are unnecessary, because one day is like another. The play while not uplifting is thought provoking and deep and provides one with a sense of how time should be spent rather than wasted, I leave the theater and wait outside holding my program waiting for an autograph.

But after a while I notice that no barricades are set up and when a couple come along hoping for the same, I wonder if we are in the right place. I see into the lobby and a similar area seems to be open on the other side othe theater which opens out on the other block. Even with my glasses on I can’t see well enough. I mention it to the couple near me who just came along and the husband goes in to check and comes out to inform us that we have to go to the other side of the theater, we are on the wrong block!  We all dash off down the block and cut through a parking garage that goes thru to both sides to the theater where black cars are waiting to take the actors home or where ever they go after a show. Just as we arrive on the scene Nathan Lane is signing autographs, I try to get around to him but am told to stay behind the barrier. While he moves to the other side and signs a few and then gets in the black Escalade to leave, not one to be deterred that easily I walk over to the driver as he comes around and holding my program out I say one word “Please” and with a sigh he takes it and I follow him to the drivers side of the Escalade where he gives it to Nathan to sign, I say to Nathan that it was a fantastic performance and he inspired a bunch of high schoolers tonight and he thanks me and they drive off.

I feel a little bad for the young couple but they didn’t move with me just stood there like dummies, they missed out, still I wait with the others avoiding the gaze of the couple if it was coming my way and wait for Bill Irwin to come out, he is very nice and signs for everyone and poses for pictures, I get the chance to tell him that his performance reminds me of Red Skelton and he is quite pleased, and also the whole Abbot and Costello routine and he says he must tell Nathan that the next time they meet before the show. I know I have in my own way helped enourmously and feel good about putting my two cents in, after I help a couple from Boston who want pictures taken of them in front of the lit up sign for the show on the wall next to the exit. But now as I talk to them I realize that my voice is half gone now as the germs from my company have taken firm hold and I am sick, so the only thing to do is to high tail it outta there and get back to Penn Station and get home to bed.

I walk down 8th Ave back downtown, it’s fairly warm now about 60 degrees so I don’t bother witha cab, I mean I know I’m sick so a ten dollar cab ride won’t change a thing. But even when I try to get one after re-thinking my decision, there isn’t one to be had. So I stop in a Duane Reed and get a cold drink and walk the twenty blocks to Penn, with an assortment of drunk college students, tourists, natives who ignore everything, and weekenders like myself going back from whence they came. This is an endless procession of charecters and types, young ethnic men hitting on cool young chics, aging intellectuals walking home from dinner & drinks, couples fussing over over something in Spanish that seems vitally important, and young people who’s only concerm is here and now.

The array of types is amazing here, straight and gay, rich and poor, foreigners and New Yorkers, suburbanites and out of towners all struggling for a bit of fun, a sense of peace, and a claim to space in a crowded urban sprawl. I find myself wearily entering Penn Station from the Amtrack side  and have to make my way amidst the crowds and unfortunates looking for change to the LIRR area. I’ve got about 15 minutes to wait for my train so I go to Tracks for a quick Harp before I have to get my train. The beer is cold and crisp, I enjoy every mouthful till I bottoms up, dash off to get my train, more than a little tired but happy to have had my birthday gift to me.

I ride home knowing I will be sicker by tomorrow, but some things are worth getting sick over, I will wait for the next big event to come and enrich my life like this one has. But maybe that is the message of the play, not to Wait for Godot. But rather to grab him and make him give up his secrets! There is no need to wait for Godot because he really doesn’t exist, he is just a metaphor for people to decide for themselves. I can be a leader, I don’t have to wait for Godot or anyone else to succeed. I have spent too many years waiting as it is, I have to knock loudly on opportunities door, I think that now that is what I must do, it’s not going to knock on mine.  So I sit on the train and think about the future, what I could make for myself as we rattle along I try to stay awake and think about the possibilities.

Peace

Glen

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Waiting for Godot-Apr 18th 2009

A mild warm day for us, it’s a little overcast but not raining yet. We have three days of rain coming tomorrow but you know what they say about April showers…I’m going to see the play Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett; starring Nathan Lane! This is my birthday gift to myself and as such I also will be going to the Village for an early dinner. I board the train and we set off noisily, it’s full of sports fans and families with kids. A young mom with a cute little boy turns down an offer from two young fellas to sit down. A classy move on their part but she declines citing the boy would not keep his seat andshe stands by the door with him in her arms so he can get the best view as we speed along to Penn Station on an express. I think moms are the real heros of our world, I mean to take a kid to New York by yourself especially one that’s not trained yet  is a heck of a job even with a husband along to help. The trees are budding as I look out the opposite door from mom, the Cherry trees are flowering now, you can smell them for miles when your outside, soon they will be replaced by the Dogwoods in a few weeks. A panhandler smelling of booze asks me for some change, he spends all day skimming from people to get his next drink or hit and moves down the car looking for sympathetic faces. It’s a shame people live like this in our world.  A week ago I was entertaining relatives from England staying in the city, we had a ball, I miss them and can’t wait to see them again.

Soon we arrive at Penn Station and I’ve got plenty of time so I go to my favorite watering hole in the city, Tracks. There I grab a Harp and visit the loo before getting on the subway, the bar is not crowded at this time so I really enjoy my cold draught without the dinn of the usual crowds that will fill the place later. I finish my beer and head down to the subway station, weaving through the mass of people as I do so and get on the subway to W. 3rd St, when I get off  I begin to wander passing some of the places I took my relatives to a week ago. I find a trendy looking Indian place called Cafe Spice near University Place, but it’s not open yet so I read the menu in the window and take note for next time. (just a footnote, I looked on Menupages.com and people said it was pretentious and the staff were lacking as was the food so I guess I won’t be trying it.) Moving back towards Washington Square Park I approach the open side where people can still gather during the rennovation to sit and read, eat, a bunch are listening to a Chinese drum team. They sit on the ground and twirl these sticks in time to a captain, it’s very impressive I think as I pass a man holding a book and decide to take a closer look, his name is Robert Fogelnest and he is selling his book “The Streets of Greenwich Village, A Self Guided Walking Tour” it’s only twelve dollars and has a street by street listing of all the prominent residents, it’s not so much a tour as a book you can carry with you as you walk  scanning  for building numbers to see where people lived years ago. It’s a real hardcore Villageaphile kind of read but for me it’s right up my alley, so I buy it and tell him the most fun I had was taking relatives through the Village, guiding them around and how I wish I could get paid for it. He looks at me and says “You can, it’s easy” He pulls out his wallet and shows me his official tour guide card, and tells me how you go about studying for and passing the test for tour guide licensing and where to get a job making a decent salary doing what I now know I love.

Like the time I chronicled in my story Duffy Concert Part 1 & 2 that I met a man who led me to start writing, here now I feel the next part of the puzzle has come. This man has shown me the way out of the job I hate without the loss of too much of my current income, of course you make that up on tips and taking private tours in your off hours from the regular bus tours and such as are offering employment. He says to me you spend your day with happy people on vacation from all over the world. He says Greenwich Village is the beating heart of the city, and by God  he is right…it’s all right here. It’s a revelation to me, I thank him and shake his hand and begin digesting this new information, suddenly I see the city now differently, I have to slow down take more notes and find out about everything in New York, I can’t just cater to my own interests, I have to find the city all over again as a whole entity and it’s history and it’s future. But before I do this for a living I have to lose weight and get some foot problems taken care of too.

Having said that I still can’t help feeling like a door has been opened for me, I wander around the village taking notes, I stop to aid a woman who needs help carrying groceries at the Marketplace, she was in the process of calling her old friend to get out of the car across the street to come over and help her but I volunteered. I follow her into the store and carry three of the packages into the car for her. She thanks me and I continue my walk passing beautiful beds of flowers, early spring is a great time for me and the birds who are  starting courtship rituals andI couldn’t agree more, it’s time to find a nice girl- not easy but nothing is!

I eventually find myself sitting down outside of Gus’s Place,192 Bleeker at MacDougal. My choice of eatery for today and one that I have been looking forward to for a while. This is a Village fixture that closed and re-opened in a new location to the delight of many, a little tricky to find since there are so many places right on top of each other here. It has a 5 star rating for food with only a 3 star rating for price and considered by some to be the most authentic old Greek village food experience in New York City, which is good cause that’s what I’m looking for today. I have to watch my spending so I order 2 small tapas, grilled octopus with EVOO, onion and capers, and Fava beans with tomato and onion, and a glass of Greek red to wash it down.

While I sit and wait I  watch as tourists and residents move about, there are so many people out today because of the nice weather. I notice a man standing in the street to get a good picture of his friends at the table nearby, he almost gets run over by the occasional car that passes these Village streets. My food arrives and boy it is good, the Octopus is seared  tender and the Fava beans are meaty and savory, but the olive oil is outstanding.  I wanted the small fried fish but they are not in season yet so I’ll have to wait till next time, and that’s OK anyway-I gotta cut down on calories. I finish my food and head up to the Union Square market to see what’s good today, I stop first and take a photo of a young couple in New York for the first time who were posing individually so I offer to help, and they pose together so the MacDougal St sign is in the pic.

Funny but I am striving now to make myself available to people like this, I’ve always been kinda shy but now I have to break free of that if I’m to tour with folks one on one. The market is always interesting, a young Rasta looking dude quietly says to me “Hey man I got green all fresh all natural” as I pass, sorry it just gives me a headache I think as I walk along the crowded market, there are artists and photographers selling prints, produce of all kinds from upstate New York are there, cheese vendors, meats, jams, breads, pastries, flowers and plants for apartment dwellers. There are so many things to see it would take all day to sample everything so I go below to get away and wait for the subway, the 6 train is jammed there is a problem as many workers in vests are in the track area and on the platforms. So I take the 5 express to 42nd St. I go up top and walk back to Sofitel to pick up the umbrella that my mom left behind last week. The concierge provides me with it and goes back to his job a picture of class with a little snobbery just under the radar I think as I leave but he was nice enough.

I continue but I actually have  to hit an ATM because right now I don’t have the money for a cab, but decide to just keep walking anyway to save money I can do it. The hustle of 8th Ave is impressive as buses, taxis, black cars, all vie for position like ponys at the starting gates. Suddenly they burst forth as soon as the light turns green with much honking of horns and gunning of motors. It’s a long walk and when I get to 54th St I have to walk a little further to find an ATM inside of one of the many Ray’s Pizza locations. They all claim to be the original but God only knows the truth!  I’ve got bags of time so now I need a drink and to rest before the show, I walk down 54th St and try a bar but it’s noisy so I leave before they even approach me. Instead I see a sign that looks promising…Dillons on the other side of the street, I walk across to have a few drinks and relax before the show.

Cheers

Glen

The British Invasion-Part 1-Apr 8th 2009

Well today is an auspicious occasion, I am heading into Manhattan to meet two of my relatives from England who are here on holiday, I search for a legal parking space but none are available, so I park with dozens of others in an illegal spot and hope for the best. I walk to the station, get my ticket and a coffee, and let me tell you it’s cold. I mean I remember days in December warmer than this, luckily the train comes in a few minutes. I get on and have to stand in the crowded rush hour train, across from me an Asian guy devours a bagel with cream cheese like it’s his last meal. He takes big bites while texting and drinking his coffee off the floor, a tradition inspired by the lack of cup holders on board. A good thing I guess because trains are sticky enough. I’m late because of my parking ordeal and I’m really annoyed that we have to buy a permit to park, even the outer mall parking lot nearby is being taken over as railroad parking. More money for the county, parking permits or tickets for that matter and more regulation of free space and time. When the revolution begins, I’ll be on the front lines.

 There’s a couple of cute moms with kids a few rows away and every few minutes a chorus of loudly repeated words like a yes/no fight erupts between the kids causing the moms to shush them over and over. The mom facing me is wearing  jeans and shiny black boots, she’s got a cute smile and I like the way she plays with her hair as she talks to her friends. I catch her blue eyes noticing me noticing her and she reddens a bit, enjoying the attention. More people get on as we stop at stations, they still haven’t checked tickets yet. Maybe a free ride this time for us standing anyway. The kids are fussing now and cute mom hugs her daughter, a cute moment…it would be a great painting if I had a photo to work from. We slowly come in to Jamaica Station, some people will get off here but I don’t think I’ll get a seat anyway. The train leaves the station and we are speeding along now, soon I will feel the descent of the train into the tunnels under the water, into Manhattan’s underground catacomb of rail systems.

 I get off the train with a sense of urgency, I know I’ll be late but the traffic makes getting a cab impossible, I mean the line is long for one thing so I walk at a brisk pace to Sofitel on W 44th St, to find Sharon standing outside waiting for me. She quickly takes me inside to find my cousin Mark who was trying to ring our house to see where I was. Then after a trip back upstairs to get a jacket we sit down in the lobby to catch up on things, I haven’t seen them since our first meeting in 2005 when my family and I went to England and France at an all too brief family reunion party. We leave the beautiful hotel, which is nicer than any I’ve ever seen, and begin a trek in the cold windy city greeted with brief snow showers and then raindrops. This is hardly what I wished for them on their first trip to New york, but they might as well discover now that the Big Apple never quite lets you forget who’s boss. It’s like a man once said… you come to New York the first time and she beats you up some and you run away with your tail between your legs, then you lick your wounds  and you come back, because you learn to love it.

 I’ve never done this before so I’m a little nervous, I’d like to be a wealth of information but mostly I travel by the seat of my pants, it’s better that way…you find things you might have missed otherwise. But these folks have travelled a long way so every minute counts, and I don’t want to let them down. We walk to Grand Central Station to catch the subway to the Village, all the way chattering like magpies about everything, getting to know each other. The funny thing is I feel like I know them already, I might be nervous about doing a good job but I’m totally comfortable with them as people, they are very likable and kind and we get on thick as thieves from the start. They are well travelled but a little unsure about New York, the sheer size of it is daunting to them and I can understand, I’ve been to the city dozens of times but still can get turned around easily, the city is intimidating. I bring them down and show them the subway explaining the green and red lines that can get you uptown and downtown, the cross over lines and so forth. We get out at Union Square so they can see the city, I know the market is not in full swing on weekdays but want them to see it anyway, and then we are off in search of a loo and they want drinks! Now I am taken aback and look at my cell phone and say “It’s only 11:30! smiling at them. Mark smiles and says “Yes but were on vacation! And so are you! I smile and say “Yes I guess your right then, OK lets see what we can find” I think because I’m home I didn’t feel it at first but I am on vacation and it feels good. We find both needs at Patsy’s on University Place, not necessarily the one that Frank Sinatra frequented but so what it’ll do. We sit down for a beer and talk, they want to know everything about New York?, how many people live here?, how many square miles is it?, how far is it to my town from here?, the distance to Kennedy Airport?, how many people live in Hicksville? But I’m afraid I don’t know these things, I feel a little stupid but in my daily life I don’t need this information, but I will find out for the future.

 We move on to our breakfast destination, stopping to look at my map a kind woman stops and asks us where we need to go. I tell her it’s OK I live here, just getting my bearings and off we go to find the Washington Arch by way of the Washington Mews, a cobblestone street that used to be horse stables but was turned into affordable housing for the artists, writers and poets who occupied the apartments there, Edward Hopper had a place there before moving to larger quarters a block away. The mews are all painted in beautiful colors in the French tradition and have flower boxes and a tree or two for shade. We exit the mews and turn left to find the Arch itself, I show them the door and tell them the story of Marcel Duchamp and friends on top of the Arch (covered in the story Greenwich Village on an earlier page here) and we look at the new construction as we make our way down to MacDougal Street which is been dug up for resurfacing. We sit down then in Cafe Reggiro, the oldest cafe still in use in NYC. My family likes the quaint old world decor and the 90 works of art that adorn it’s walls. It’s very dark inside adding to the mystery of the place, you feel the ghosts of the Village wandering the room, people like Mabel Dodge, Jig Cook, Susan Glaspell and others…names known only to the few that walk in the old world of Village life. We eat a small simple brunch, tuna sandwich for Mark, Capri tomatoes and cheese for Sharon, and eggs Benedictine for me and coffee all around. It’s tasty and affordable fare, and after getting our picture taken together. We wander back towards the 6Th Ave subway in a roundabout fashion, passing the leather shop where I always buy my wallets, a small community park, a small alley street getting a makeover where they see a subterranean apartment “that is prime real estate here” I tell then as we pass. Then I take them down Bleeker till we get to 6th again and I see that they are getting tired so we go back into the subway and get out at Grand Central and go  past a great rock violinist and later a classical guitarist to get topside.

  They would like to find a liquor store and to get some crisps as they call them, chips for us-specifically Pringles, Ranch flavor which for some reason is unavailable in England but Mark always brings plenty back. But first we need a loo again and some more drinkies, so we find Mulligan’s Pub and settle down for Stella Artois for the boys and Bacardi and coke for Sharon. We talk for over an hour talking about the family history and Sharon’s medium like psychic experiences. This is the time I enjoy the most, the long comfortable chats about the life here and there, and the future trips and hopes for all of us. I try real hard to be the answer man for everything they want and need, dashing off to get information and be the host I promised to be, enjoying the role thoroughly. The three of us pass a Starbucks and a woman who looks just like  the lady that tried to help us passes by and goes in to get coffee. Strange but I see a significance in that for some reason. We buy Bacardi and they pick out crisps in another local store and then make our way back to Sofitel, the last thing they need is a dinner destination, I strain my memory but don’t know the area well enough to tell them right off but as we come to their block I see a place I know well, and since they like curry…it’s a hole in one. There is a Jewel of India on the same block about two minutes away from their hotel! I am quite pleased because I have this a couple of towns away and it’s the best around. I leave them then to have a nap before dinner, but not without agreeing to come back again on Friday to guide them around the 40’s and also agree to make reservations for the whole family to have dinner together on Saturday. I give them a group hug and with a spring in my step bound down the street to do just that while I am here close to it. I walk two blocks up and three over to Le Rivage, possibly the most authentically French restaurant in New York, a place I’ve only been to once but was very very good. Now I can saunter back to Penn Station, I hope I didn’t wear out my new friends on their first day in New York. I am knackered as the Brits say, but it’s a good kind of tired, a kind that I hope to feel alot more in the future.

Cheers

Glen

Brit Brunch-Part 2-Apr 10th 2009

While we march to our lunch destination there is an occasional stop to check for Ranch flavored Pringles in shops, but we either find old outdated cans or none. Eventually we find ourselves sitting down in a Thai place called Siam Grill on 9th Ave between 42nd and 43rd St and we are soon sipping cold Singha beer and looking at the extensive menu. I listen with great interest to the secret of their travel fund, they pay it like a bill that’s due each month almost without fail, therefore they have the cash in the bank to travel,  just like the old Xmas clubs that I remember my mom and dad having… it works well for them. But it  has also required discipline and sacrifice, you can’t blow money on CD’s, meals out or takeout food every day, or books, clothes, shoes etc  if you want the travel lifestyle. We enjoy a beautiful lunch, chicken and veg with red curry sauce for them (it’s always a sign of a good relationship when couples order the same food) and I opt for a lunch special of crispy fried duck (sorry Daffy) with veg and green curry that comes with clear veg soup. We spend over an hour eating, talking about travel and tourism before leaving to have a walk about, with no destinations in mind we walk uptown almost to Central Park again before turning back towards the area of the hotel, we come down 7th Ave and start searching for a watering hole. I wish I could remember all the details of every moment but as I’m writing this after the fact some has been lost. But of course I wouldn’t bore you with our family chatter so it is sufficient to say that hours have passed since our lunch and we sit down in a large noisy pub in the back to continue our talk.

 I ask them to tell me about their travels, I even suggest they ought to write a book about it but they both reject that idea, even after I read an excerpt from the first day of our adventures. They are not interested in writing and don’t posess my gift for stories, I think it’s high praise as they go on to tell me of their travels past. They have been to Egypt three times and explain how a few tips will get you treated like royalty,  the barman will set your drinks out, your table will be reserved and all your preferences will be noted within 24 hours. They tell me that Morocco is not a place where Americams and English are treated well, and Gambia where every bit of your money will be taken from you in corrupt practices by almost everyone. This a wake up call to me, for us regular people things don’t go the way they do for TV hosts on the Travel Channel, heck even Anthony Bourdain and his crew were stuck in a war in Beirut. You have to be careful and read up on the customs and culture of your destinations, the DK travel guides are the best for this kind of info I think.

 But in all their travels they haven’t run into such a nasty surley bunch of people as the arrivals staff at JFK, The line of questions asked in a half annoyed yet dis-interested monotone are especially rude…What’s your business here? Are you married? Where you stayin? When you leavin? and then STAMP STAMP off you go without really checking you out properly at all, a man with a large trunk was passed through while Mark and Sharon were practically stripped searched for a few small bags, it makes no sense. They have been to Canada and taken a side trip to San Francisco from there, and they have done Vegas more than once too as well as the whole Elvis Tour down south. We talk for hours and by the time we leave I’m a little looped, I had about 4 beers on a empty stomach and now I’m hungry.  But although I didn’t intend to horn in on their dinner together, when Mark suggests we eat, I gladly and go along with the program. But I try not to show my loopy state of mind and quickly suggest  Brazillian, Spanish tapas, Greek Taverna, etc. They both settle on Spanish so I direct them to restaurant rown on 46th St and we settle on Sangria 46, just a few doors down from Le Rivage… my favorite French restaurant.

 It’s a long intimate crowded place where the food has a five star rating with only a three dollar sign rating, so that’s a good combo! Mark starts right in and orders a bottle of wine for all of us, he is a wine expert…a man after my own heart when it comes to the grape. He seems to love red and I do too, yet another reason to believe that we are genetically closer than second cousins. There is a guitarist in full dress regaling us with such Spanish classics as the Eagles, Billy Joel, Elton John, and The Doors…anything but Spanish classics but it’s cool so Mark and Sharon order veg medley and Chicken cooked in wine and I opt for a cup of Gazpacheo soup and two tapas plates (that’s small appetizers) of sauteed baby squid and pork shish kabobs, all was exceedingly delicious for me and Mark but Sharon struggled with a stray chicken bone or two. Sharon and Mark haven’t had much luck with chicken this trip I’m afraid. When the check comes there’s a problem, the tip is too small. Now Mark is not cheap by any means but the waiter explains the problem and points out the mistake in percentages. I will take the time to explain this now because the next night we all gather at Le Rivage to eat dinner, myself , Mark, Sharon, my mom and dad and my brother and when the check comes there again the tip is wrong. The waitress explains the different levels of tipping based on the number of people at a table, the more people the bigger the percentage. But she also tells Mark something I didn’t know, the wait staff isn’t paid an hourly wage by the owners, they work for tips only, now I don’t know how this got set up I mean nobody ever complained to me but then again I’m new to eating good food out in the city. Most of the places I go for lunch don’t seen to have these strict guidelines, and in the suburbs where I live the rule of thumb is to double the tax. This is easier for people like me who can’t do percentages easily in our heads,  people seem to get really insulted if you don’t tip well however, and now I have to ramp up my knowledge of the city to avoid any future problems for myself.

 So Mark sorts out the bill again and we walk leisurely back to the hotel and after a few more minutes of chatting out side I give then a group hug and walk down 8th Ave for my trip back home. I sit on the train later sipping a decaf coffee and try to collect my thoughts on an eventful and glorious day, a day full of firsts for me.

 I now have an idea of what I must do to ensure the life changes I want , the feeling that the tourism industry is my true calling is very strong. I can’t wait for the day that it is I staying in a hotel in England, paying to feed and water Mark and Sharon when they show me their town, and we have many laughs over many pints or drinkies, great meals and tasty snacks. But it will all begin with the group hug that for me has come to symbolize my special relationship with them, the three musketeers if you will. These two wonderful people have given me what I prayed for, a new career path to follow, and they have become much more than family to me, they are my friends.

Cheerio

Glen

Brit Brunch-Part 1-Apr 10th 2009

In the bright sun of a new day I find myself walking from my car to Hicksville station to catch the next train west. Even with sunglasses on I’m getting blinded by the light coming right at my eyes. I found a legal parking space easily this time but I literally have 3 minutes to get my ticket from the machine, grab a coffee and run up the escalator to get the train I hear pulling in as I approach the station building.
 But somehow I manage to accomplish all and find a window seat, I see the clouds are rolling in and it’s supposed to rain today and tomorrow too, I feel bad for my relatives from England, Mark and Sharon had only one nice day yesterday when I wasn’t with them, on their own to explore the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and Central Park. They asked me the other day (see The British Invasion story) to come in today to help them navigate around midtown, they want to see Times Square, Rockefeller Center and the Plaza. I also thought St Patricks Cathedral would be nice but England is loaded with those so maybe not. The thing is their hotel on 44Th St is close to all of these places so they don’t really need me, they just want to share my company and I’m flattered by that. It would have been a boring vacation if they didn’t come to New York, I actually took this week off to be available to do whatever I could for them and to get my parents in to see them before they go back. I get on and again find myself in packed rush hour trains but this time I get a seat and this is an express train so only two stops before Penn Station is just what I need.

 I get out at the station and immediately head for Duane Reed to get a gift bag for the knit cap and tweed hat I bought then last night at Sears, these are from the hipster section in the young men’s and girls dept’s and are “Right out of the fridge”- that’s Village talk for cool for all you squares out there. I walk down to 44TH St in the fading sunlight hoping for no rain today. I pass by Macy’s Herald Square, they are having a show today, flowers decorate the famous windows outside and I look through the door to see thousands of flowers decorating the store which is not open yet. I know they want to see Macy’s and this will be perfect! I already feel great about today, I feel like one of those people that are contacted by the Travel Channel when Anthony Bourdain needs to be shown around somewhere for his No Reservation’s series on cable TV. I feel like I’m a “contact” even though it’s my first time doing this I’m growing more confident about my ability to do this for a living and I’m starting to wonder if this is my true calling. I arrive at  9:00 AM and go inside to have the concierge phone up to Mark and Sharon’s to tell them I’m here. They come down after a while smiling and ready but first I present them with their gifts which are appreciated and the first thing they want to do is go to Central Park because they didn’t make it there yesterday so we pile into a cab and off we go to the top of 6TH Ave. During the ride they tell me that I would have been proud of them, they made their way by subway all the way to Battery Park and took the boat to Lady Liberty and Ellis Island and navigated themselves to Ground Zero and Chinatown and made it back by subway without getting lost or missing a stop. We are dropped off at the base of the park and walk towards the entrance where the horse drawn carriages park. Which is good because they want to have a carriage ride around Central Park so I say OK I’ll find a shop or a coffee while your gone but they insist that I come too! I tell them it’s a couples thing but Mark says that they’re not going to make out in the back of the carriage and I must come too. The only problem is…there isn’t a horse in sight and it’s ten o’clock, so are we in the right place? maybe they don’t start up till noon because of some law we don’t know about. I can’t answer the speculations but just then I see a groundskeeper down below so I dash down the stairs into the park itself and ask when the carriages come, the man looks at his watch and says “soon, very soon .”  So I run back up to my friends and tell them it’s OK we’ll be riding shortly and just then Mark say “Here we go then” and I turn around to see them across the traffic circle cuing up and taking passengers already. We cross the street and miss the first coach and wait just a minute to get the second one and then we are off on a pleasant ride around the park, stopping at key points for the horse to drink water and to take pictures of certain views that our driver points out to us along the route. It’s a nice ride I recommend to anyone visiting New York and not expensive at all, about $34 plus tip for a thirty minute ride. We stop where we started from and the driver takes our picture in the carriage together and then gives Sharon a carrot to feed to the horse who swallows it whole and we pet the horse and move off to find a loo for Sharon and myself. We go down the stairs of the Apple store right across from The Plaza Hotel and use the bathrooms, the store is amazingly arrayed with all manner of IPOD products and computers. People are running about like ants in a nest  chattering like monkeys about the products and God only knows.   It’s making me wish for fresh air however so I take them down the street to a hot/cold buffet deli and grocery store for some coffee and muffins. They are amazed to see all the different kinds of food here, deli sandwiches, burgers, wraps, burritos all made to order and the hot table with Chinese, Italian, American, Soup, Salad, Chilli’s and more than I can remember now. There is nothing like this in England they tell me and I suggest they should open one and start a new craze, but we get our coffee and sit down at a table in front of the store to talk about all the family history some more. This is real nice time for me but unfortunately they are asking me questions I cannot answer such as the time-line of the passing of several relatives that I miss, I guess my memory for much is shot, too many things running round my head for too long or maybe it’s just that I block out the unhappy memories. But I find Sharon’s talk of her medium like experiences fascinating as she has a connection with the other side like my mother but way stronger, it’s the same intuition that has saved me from a few near accidents when the little voice tells me to keep away from that car next to me and I back off just in time to not be hit by a wreck-less driver who’s cut me off.

 We leave now and it’s incredible how the weather changes in New York so rapidly, one moment we are warm and opening coats and the next a damp breeze blows and reminds us that April is a wet and muddy month. We walk down from Central Park area to Herald Square so they can see the city, it’s people and places, stopping to look at huge diamonds in a store window, taking some video or pictures and generally sharing tales and laughs over this and that. The streets are alive, tourists and stressed out workers, students and lovers all moving toward something unknown by you until you see what they are after.  You hear  family disputes one minute then raucous laughter the next depending on where you look and listen, always changing the city reminds us of how big it’s pull is for the people of the world and we finally arrive at Macy’s Herald Square to see the flower show.  It’s a mob scene that would make old Mr. Macy happy, we look at the window display and see the fictitious flight of a huge pink flamingo being depicted going to various countries, some window panels show only his long legs and others part of his body in flight and his huge head is shown in yet another. You have to go to the Macy’s web site to see it for yourself it’s unbelievable! We go inside and it’s a zoo, people crowd every inch of space and it’s just beautiful, there are pink flowering plants that have been grown into flamingo topiary surrounded by all manner of flowering trees, plants and bulbs. There are over 1 million bulbs and 30,000 plants and trees. We walk through dazed crowds to get to the old wooden escalators to go down for a loo stop again, after we men talk over the mystery of handbags and shoes while Sharon shops till she’s had enough and slowly make our way back to the exit. They are hungry for a little lunch and so am I, last night I took the time to research a few meal suggestions for their dinner tonight so I pull out a short list and suggest maybe Brazilian, Tapas, and Greek. But they love curry so I ask if they like Thai and bingo! the magic word so it’s off to find Thai, only problem is I don’t have any written down, so as we move back up towards restaurant row I suddenly duck into a shop or two and come back almost before they realize I’m gone, I ask store employees for a good Thai place and finally I hit on a guy who knows. We have to head over to 46Th between 8Th & 9TH Ave so we march along not caring for the time just enjoying the easy camaraderie of the three musketeers we have become.

Cheers

Glen