Hello In There

I was walking down 42nd street one day, I wasn't workin'42nd street I was walkin 42nd street.
And this amazing thing happened to me. It was July it was about 89 degrees. It was hot, hot for New York
You know and I was walking east and this humungous person was coming west.
And she had this big blue house dress on peppered all over with little white daisies.
She was almost bald but sitting on top of her head, forehead you know, on her forehead was this fried egg.
Which I thought was really unusual. Because in New York City the ladies with the fried eggs on their heads
don't generally come out until September or October you know.

Here was this lady, this demented lady with a little fried egg on her head in the middle of July.

God what a sight and ever since I saw that lady not one day goes by that I don't think of
her and I say to myself "Oh God, don't let me wake up tomorrow and want to put a fried egg on
my head. Oh God.

"Then I say real fast I say " Oh God, If by chance I should wind up with a fried
egg on my head", cause sometimes you can't help those things you know, you can't.

I say to myself "don't let anybody notice."

And then I say real fast after that "if they do notice that I'm carrying something that's not quite right and they want to talk about it, let 'em talk about it but don't let 'em talk so I can hear. I don't want to hear it."

Cause the truth about fried eggs, you can call it a fried egg, you can call it anything you like, but everybody
gets one, some people wear 'em on the outside, some people they wear 'em on the inside."

Bette Midler

I have this theory- if there is something you need to know- something maybe you were...avoiding. Like something you need to do, but are... putting off DOING. The universe lets you hear it. Repeatedly. From the most disparate places. Like a friend will call out of the blue after being out of touch for years. And then a bag lady will say it. And then- it's in the Wall Street Journal and before you see in written by a skywriting plane you say "OK! OK already! I got it."

Whatever it is. You can't avoid the truth when it wants hearing.

Last night's post was really close to- well- a bit of truth. Real truth. And I just put it out there. And struggled all night long. Take it off- I thought- no one needs to hear that- it's not FUNNY. Or newsworthy. It's just a little internal battle and it can stay inside.. or could it.

This morning K's phone number was on the caller ID. I called back- "just checking up" he said. "I'm FINE, great wonderful. " I said. "I know you're ok." he replied. I just wanted to TELL you that you were OK." OK...

VLH called just to gloat a little about his perch on a palm shaded veranda, and to say ... well, not everything should be so public- but in his words-it was all good.

And then I ran into an old friend from the big enormous paper store. She ran out from under a building overhang and grabbed me as I walked by bear-hugging me and almost knocking me over. "Keep writing, Mel" she said. "Thank you for saying the stuff I didn't, and wanted to."

And I picked up a book. On becoming human. It stresses that for the world to be a better place. It begins with being vulnerable and openly imperfect. If I say I am scared, or flawed.,,, it's a bit easier for YOU to say so as well. Allows the world to love you when you need it. And loving you helps them, too. And allows you to see yourself as not alone- which you were- when you were being so brave and strong and faking your ASS off. And afterwards- it wasn't so much a fake. Loved people are stronger.

And all the way home I thought about K. And my bear hugging friend. And the book I picked up out of a pile at the Salvation Army for a quarter. And how in one naked moment I said "ouch" out loud and got a band-aid and a boo-boo kiss.

So there is something to be said for this mad-crazy fried egg wearing life. And that something is "thanks".

:) X

Where faith lies

"faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see" Hebrews 11

Interesting conundrum, faith. "Faith is believing in things when common sense tells you not to"- that is what Maureen O'Hara tells a 6 year old Natalie Wood in the "Miracle on 34th Street". Her very intelligent response is "That doesn't make sense Mommy". And there we have it- even at 6 a New Yorker can see if the sign doesn't say "Walk"... we ain't walking- common sense overrides our belief in our faith in our feets. We may run- but we're not walking.

In "Rent" one man living with AIDS said- I'm a New Yorker- fear's my life." But then goes on to say "I try to open up to what I don't know, because reason says I should have died three years ago... "

Moments like that- when there is nothing else- when you have exhausted all reasonable and horrible expectations. I think for many people- that is when we grab onto faith. And at least if the worst happens- we can face it with less fear.

Lately I have been struggling with things going well. I feel almost as if I have lived my life with a bomb shelter in the basement- all ready should the worst come I could hide encased in cement. But truly, even being in a safe place- encased in cement is no way to live your life. It's cold. It only comes in gray. Quelle drab. Very not me.

I have spoken of my fears before- snakes, motorcycles, excel spreadsheets and bonus checks- we all have our own mishegoss- that is the Yiddish word for... nonsense. I'm just brave, or foolish enough to own up to mine. And lately the question of faith is in what is going well. What if it's GONE? And had you ever asked me I would say I was the Charlie Brownest of optimists tearing up to the football EVERY time. But I think it may be that my faith has been not so much that the ball would be there but that I would survive the fall and the disappointment. I'm a New Yorker- fear is my life. There is no basis for dealing with all this good...

I told a dear friend the other night-" I don't know what I want." He laughed- "It sounds like you ABSOLUTELY know what you want- and you're getting it" and smirked at me. I reminded him that having an MSW isn't the same as having a license to be a smart-ass.

And being a scrappy survivor means folks ADMIRE you. When things are going well all you can DO is fake humility (no... the extra income is no big deal) Or minimize (It wasn't a HUGE bunch of flowers- just kinda...big) Or put it down (Yes the next trip is Hawaii but I have to WORK you know) This goes over like a lead balloon- especially if you are buying a sundress in February and the girl behind the counter asks WHY you are buying a sundress- this answer gets you tax charged on your purchase- even if there is no tax on clothing in New Jersey. I take this on the chin- this person is helping just a teensy bit to restore my faith in the status quo- things SHOULD be going badly. Shouldn't they? Oh wait- I just checked the receipt- she charged me for sunglasses- not tax. Oy.

So if faith is knowing what you want- or at least being sure of what you hope- shouldn't I hope for the best? Truth is I already have it. And when I get a bit shaky- I know who I can ask. Yov asks how good can you take it- I dunno. But it'd be a hell of a leap of faith to strain myself a little to find out. I guess for me faith comes a minute at a time- if the last year in any indication- the minutes are pretty good. I grateful for the minutes.... for me, it's where faith lies.

Looks like Four of a Kind

"Four of a Kind" Cassius Marcellus Coolidge

I recently read a list in a magazine out of LA about how artists can sell their work-specifically painters. I CANNOT resist a list.The list read as follows:

Tips for artists who want to sell

* Generally speaking paintings with light colors sell more quickly than paintings with dark colors .

* Subjects that sell well-: Madonna and Child, Landscapes, flower paintings, still lifes (free of morbid props...dead birds, etc.)nudes, marine pictures, abstracts and surrealism.

* Subject matter is important. It has been said that paintings with cows and hens in them collect dust...while the same paintings with bulls and roosters sell.

This list made me completely dispeptic. Hiccup-py actually. Bright colors? Yet Van Gogh only sold works to his family in his lifetime- no one else would touch em. Dark Paintings- you mean like anything by Rembrandt or perhaps...ooo the second most recognizable painting (arguably) in the world; the Mona Lisa?

I once dated- very briefly, a man named Richard- he had an awful last name that sounded very much like a dead wet fish being slapped on a countertop- that, in my mind made a long-term relationship unthinkable. No, really. His issue (aside from his surname) he could not tell good art from bad. And he was ironically in a position to advise large corporations on how to invest money in art as a tax shelter. He described this...disability and likened it to being color-blind. It all just looked like paint (or ink, or whatever) applied to a flat surface. He wanted me to teach him- give him the Cliff Notes actually- as to how he could immediately identify good art from bad. I goggled. I asked him- You mean- you want me to give you...examples of good and bad art? Like- Dogs Playing Poker-bad- American Gothic-good?

Dogs playing Poker? he said. Yes- you know, 4 dogs playing-- He stopped me- he said YEAH I know- I LOVE that painting- it makes me laugh. And the dogs look really, real. I have one in my HOUSE.

Oh. Oops.

Years later there is a lesson in all this. To my mind what makes a piece of art successful-is liking it. Remembering it and on whatever level- laughter, tears or being moved to your wallet. Well- that's what art IS. Or should aspire to be. A vision of life slightly better than it is. And without criticism the job market for critics (and experts) is pretty bleak. So if what moves you is four of a kind- that's still a pretty good hand. Ultimately- the expert opinion just becomes a lot of cock and bull.

:) X

I See Bones....

We took a meander around the "Bodies" exhibition, me VLH and the younger Loquatious-es. We were fascinated.. and awed... and grossed out and in my head, Allan Sherman sang- to the tune of "C'est Si Bon":

"I See Bones
The doctor was looking at the X-ray
And I asked him, "What do you see?"
And he kept on looking at the X-ray
As he said in French to me:
"I see bones.
I see gizzards and bones,
And a few kidney stones
Among the lovely bones.
I see hips
And fourteen paper clips,
Three asparagus tips
Among the lovely bones.
I see things in your peritoneum
That belong in the British Museum.


I see your spine,

And your spine looks divine.
It's exactly like mine.
Now doesn't that seem strange.
And in case you use pay telephones
There's two dollars in change,
Among your lovely bones.
Oh hello there, Nurse.
Come over here and look at this X-ray.
It's really remarkable.
Look at this.
Isn't the lumbar vertebrae supposed to be connected to the clavicle?
Well I know, but with Scotch tape?
Hey, look what's in there.
Look at that, it's a stamp.
It's a 1922 McKinley ultramarine blue with imperfect perforations.
I've gotta get that out and put in my collection.
Look in there, there's printing.
What does it say in there?
"U.S. Certified Grade A."


Look at this, fascinating.
See those little round things.
Know what those are?
Those are M & M's.
Those people are right.
They don't melt!
Among the lovely bones"

And in the end we figured out

a. People look a lot like a rack of lamb when their skin is removed.
b. I will KEEP my skin, thanks
c. It freaks you out a little when folks just stand there with their skins off....



d. And that since it takes a great deal more planning than any of us could do to make anything this complicated that works- that God exists.

Then we went for ribs..

:) X

Her last letter

I got a letter from a dead woman today. Two weeks ago I learned that a woman that I'd worked with for ten years at the big famous paper store died- very unexpectedly- at 49 years of age.

The news of her death came to me when I was in Scottsdale. We were not close- but we worked next to each other. I knew the names of her sons, remembered when she met the man who became her second husband- heard every Monday in excruciating detail what she had cooked for her family over the weekend. We talked about going to lunch one day. Or taking a yoga class. It never happened. So often I think the universe plants us next to someone who seems to grow independently of you and yet- you share space and cannot help but be affected by that time. Rilke said that we change a room merely by passing through it. How much more can we be affected by sharing a room for ten years. I try and wrap my mind around it but- my brain gives a little squeal of inadequacy to the task and I start compiling a grocery list or answering e-mails.

And today I got an e-mail. This woman had written her family holiday letter. The holiday for her was the Chinese new year and it was your basic family catch-up on all the news, graduations, passings, weddings and the rest. A big year for her as her teen-aged sons had graduated high school and started college, her boyfriend of ten years became her husband and with the passing of older relatives she had become the family matriarch. In her letter she said "I don't know if I can wait until February 7th for this year to end" I shivered as I read that. Is there a voice that whispers in your ear-"better tie up those loose ends". I don't know- my rational mind says not- but there is so much the rational mind ignores in order to get to grocery lists and e-mail. Too frightening by half to acknowledge how much is invisible to the rational mind and how little control we actually have.

Photos, there were- of her wedding, her garden and her honeymoon in China. Her recognition of the simple joys and blessings in her life. And the pride in her sons. The love for her husband, her family. In talking with her day to day I know that there were challenges in loving ALL of them all the time, but love them she did and her words echoed that. Things she missed, things she looked forward to. Now that the time of raising children was passing, that love was found and firm and she had a safe and loving home- she looked outward to the planet and worried aloud as to its fate, outlined ways in which she was trying to help.

It was all little things. Nothing huge- no mention of a Nobel Prize or a cure for cancer or a new job with a blockbuster salary, no offer from Antonio Banderas to run off and be her love slave. She had it. She saw it. And as she wrote, she appreciated it. Her letter ended with an exhortation to celebrate the Lunar Chinese New Year, February 7th.

I try hard to appreciate all the big changes that this year has brought me. And right through our own New Year I still struggled with all the comings and goings in my life. Tonight I was reminded, several times and on the most profound level that all the little blessings make a life for which to be extremely grateful. That insomnia brought on by a strange bed is ok if offset by the opportunity to watch a sunrise on a new horizon. That traffic can be bearable because for the first time in my life I'M driving- and God bless everyone else on the road. That missing someone- is really a testament to finally, finally finding someone worth missing- who misses you right back. That seeing old loves as they truly are doesn't mean you were foolish then- just a bit wiser now, and loving them still, just as they are. And when I went to the vending machine at work tonight- working another late night and pressing the button for pretzels and having the machine deliver a bag of M&M's as a little gift on the side.

My friend reminded me tonight as I spoke of something pressing on my heart; "Remember Zama." she said. And I do. Because even though she is no longer in the room. She effects me still. Only now I am aware. And I can thank her. And that is no little thing. Happy New Year Z.

Be My Valentine

"The heart isn't heart-shaped, that's one of our problems."

Julian Barnes

I'm late. Not for Valentine's Day of course- with eight days to go I have oodles of time to write this- but I can't. Maybe it's my all-too-many years in retail where Valentine season begins on January 2nd- never too early to instill fear in the heart of every male who thinks he might have missed it. But I have SUCH a backlog of things I want to write- about how I fell for the antique cars at Barrett Jackson or that Las Vegas was more than tits- not a whole LOT more, and maybe they were the highlight of my trip but there are still a few thoughts kicking around I'd like expressed. And then there is getting ready for Hawaii though I cannot imagine writing about it- just the research has led me to the extremely STRONG opinion the Hawaiians rely much too heavily on vowels and I can't spell a damned thing. Programming the Garmin down there is going to be a hoot, I feel it coming.

But the heart is on my mind. And Valentine cards, as I have not made mine yet. I try to make mine. And if I don't- I don't sent store bought ones- I just sulk. I am hoping in all the busy-ness to at least pull out the red paper and glitter and remind a couple of my closest friends I love them. I made a bunch last year and didn't send one 'til July- I was mad at the person- that didn't mean I didn't love them. And love is one of those things that keeps.

A few Valentine facts

Every year around 1 billion Valentine cards are sent. After Christmas it’s a single largest seasonal card-sending occasion.

Teachers receive the most Valentine's Day cards, followed by children, mothers, wives, and then, sweethearts. Children between ages 6 to 10 exchange more than 650 million Valentine's cards with teachers, classmates, and family members.

The second fact... teachers get more Valentines than anyone. This, along with summers off may be the reason folks BECOME teachers- it certainly can't be the pay. And children are the largest group of card givers-and most of them don't even have their own money! Anatomy says that a child's heart is actually much larger than an adult's- 1/130th of their body weight as opposed to 1/300th in an adult. And the heart is the first organ to develop in the embryo. This isn't really a surprise. Remember the box in the front of the classroom for Valentine's day? You gave a Valentine to EVERYONE, but didn't sign the one you gave to the person you truly wanted for your Valentine. I didn't anyway. Joey Tormey if you are reading this- Valentine circa 1972- that was me. Forgive the peanut butter kiss marks- my mom always hid the lipstick.

"Let's start at the beginning. Love Makes you happy? No. Love makes the person you love happy? No. Love makes everything all right? Indeed no. I used to believe all this of course. Who hasn't? (Who doesn't still, somewhere below decks in the psyche)? It's in all our books, our films; its the sunset of a thousand stories. What would love be for if it didn't solve everything? Surely we can deduce from the very strength of our aspiration that love, once achieved, eases the daily ache, works some effortless analgesia?"

Julian Barnes

Saint Valentine was a felon imprisoned under Claudius the 2nd for secretly marrying young men and women when the emperor forbade it. His letters to his niece were signed "your Valentine". He died for love. I wonder how he would feel about a 70% divorce rate. I don't think he would change much. He'd want them to at least try- to take that leap for love- even if two people are only that brave for one moment, it is a moment is worth celebrating.

Two Valentine's Days stand out for me. When I was oh so young my then special person MADE me a Valentine, each year for the seven we'd been together. I do not know if it was that we had no money- or that we'd both gone to art school- I choose to think it was because that made it special. And real. He proposed one Valentine morning by taping a white ring box to the top of my Kermit the Frog alarm clock so I couldn't slap the snooze button, as was my daily custom. I remember looking only at the box and then turning to look at him lying still on his pillow-his eyes wide open and a bit scared- "will you?" he asked. I hadn't even opened the box. I can't remember what I said but it must've been something like "yes" because we married that June.

The Valentine's Day I was six is still clear- I got the first heart shaped box of chocolates of my own. It was red foil and held eight pieces of Whitman's chocolates in tightly pleated little brown waxed paper cups. The cover of the box read "Be My Valentine" in gold letters and it was from my dad. I'd like to say that I treasured it and would not touch it but the truth is... I kept the box for years- I doubt the chocolates lasted an hour. I am certain I didn't share. And just as certain that year that I had the best Valentine, my dad, and that he loved me.

I would like to say that we lived happily ever after- but I think I knew there was a change when my Valentine came from a store one year. Or say that I get chocolates from my dad, but he hasn't been around for quite some time. In both cases- I wouldn't change the past- or have missed those moments, especially if I knew the future. Some memories are precious and perfect just as they are.

"And so it is with love. We must believe in it or we are lost. We may not obtain it and find it renders us unhappy; we must still believe in it. If we don't then we merely surrender to the history of the world and to someone else's truth." Julian Barnes

So I'm getting out the red paper, and the deckle scissors, some glitter and rhinestones and whatever inspiration the back-to- school aisle at the Duane Reade offers up. I have my work cut out for me.

"What will survive of us is love." Philip Larkin

Viva Las Boobies

I was warned about Las Vegas- I didnt believe it. There were slot machines in front of me as I left the plane- I mean IMMEDIATELY as I left- like, before the Starbuck's or the Chili's. And they were everywhere. Next thing I saw was a poster that read "Shoot a REAL Machine Gun" with a big blonde in a tank top (big hair, big gun...big everything... except her clothes which were exceptionally tiny)holding an AK-47 and smiling for all she was worth. I think it would be a toss-up whether a fella would want to work the gun or the gal- it's Vegas- my guess is it'd be an all or nothing gamble.

Aside from extreme overstimulation from just...too many of EVERYTHING blinking ringing and clanging I came to a realization. I mean with everything going on somehow one particular item (well, two actually...) snapped into extreme clarity and, well, not to be crude- it stood out. All the statues here have HUGE boobs. No kidding. I expected it on showgirls but everywhere I looked- Greek, Egyptian, Italian- I mean Venus rising from the sea looked like Dolly Parton in a wig- and she was SMIRKING. So- I plan to keep looking as I have not yet found my way out of Caesars Palace but here is the evidence thus far. The proof is in the statuary. As ever- tits rule.












:) X

And now a word about a dinosaur...

Barrett Jackson... I felt like I had landed on Planet GUY. So you will get this in segments- as I did. The store manager hauled me directly from the entrance to Barrett Jackson to see...the BIG attraction...the world's largest robot...who thinks a Mini Cooper is an hors d'oeuvre!


Robosaurus. I felt like the prettiest girl at the monster truck rally that day- let me tell you...


It stood

It picked up a poor defenseless Saturn (it was a car show, they announced the make of the "victim")

It belched a lot of fire (and a little confetti)

And then chomped it!


OK, OK. I kinda liked it. Sue me.

:)X

Remember, "All You Can Eat" is a Suggestion, NOT a Challenge!

Taking a break, mentally from Houston, which so far is gray, cloudy and at 50 degrees, colder than I packed for... and filled with the most agressive drivers I have seen since Mad Max the Road Warrior. (My mantra- "there's no place like home, there's NO place like HOME".) I give you my latest and scariest NYC discovery.

Todai Restaurant www.todainyc.com Located at
6 E. 32nd St. I had buzzed by a few times on my way to an appointment and been amused by the Happy Squid waving from the lobby.

The restaurants on 32nd Street are mostly Korean and fairly daunting as ... well, nobody in there looks a bit like me. Frankly I worry that without my occidental posse I might not be welcomed- or at the very least commit some grievous error in etiquette for which the waiter will need to kill me or himself.

But who says "No" to a happy squid? Or an all you can eat buffet of Asian delicacies including sushi, snow crab legs, all sorts of grilled meats and really scary skewered shrimp with their heads on... (I had VLH decapitate- I tried but it kept LOOKING at me)This and much more for the prime time price of $27.95 (I think it's about $3-$5 cheaper if you go on a weeknight) I worried that If this place catches on I may not be able to get in but with seating for 700 and a buffet LITERALLY a city block long- I could tell a few of you...



A little salad



A lotta sushi



THEIR dessert bar



VLH's dessert plate (I helped...)

Bon Appetit!

Toto check the map- I don't think we're in Kansas, anymore

Our booth at Barrett Jackson is located adjacent to and unfortunately within smelling distance of the Famous Dave's BBQ stand http://www.famousdaves.com/
If anyone wants to find me I will be lunching there today.

It looks a bit like Detroit. My cerebellum registers cactus, sagebrush, roadrunners and retirees and its 61 degrees in January. And yet what hangs over my head fluttering like flags over a fiefdom are the banners of the kings- GM, Ford, Bentley. And they all share an anthem- VRoooooooom VRooooooooom.

It's not Kansas. It's not the Motor City. It's Desert World in Scottsdale, AZ. and the Barrett Jackson's world famous auto auction http://www.barrett-jackson.com/. Aside from the fact that ALL I care about in a car is a. that it goes and b.that I like the color (I picked up the car on Sunday and someone asked me what model I got and I said "Red".) What the HECK am I doing here- to me a Hemi is half a planet. I looked at the booth across from my company's and asked the sales person if it came in any colors besides...metal. No idea what I would use it for but gray is not my color.

But- work beckoned me here to Scottsdale so I came here to make money, for work and to make trouble- for fun and enjoyment. It's actually a hoot as I have not spent a great deal of time with the sales staff below the manager level I was now thrown in with the guys who essentially make the money that pays my salary. And they think of me as a "higher-up" One guy actually introduced me that way- "This is Melanie Nerenberg, my higher up" Made me feel like I was ON a lift- or at least 5'6" tall. Yep- to THESE guys I am "corporate" A word which means- QUICK act like you never do ANYTHING but work. I was deferred to. I was escorted. I was driven around AND practically genuflected to. It was UNBEARABLE. So I did what any self respecting corporate brat would do. I blew my cover.

The evening's gala was invitation only and silly me- I left my invitation to the $400 a head invite in my other LIFE. But smart me- being corporate- having NOT worn the long sleeved golf shirt with the company logo embroidered on it and because I look AWFUL in khakis (kind of like a bowl of butterscotch pudding with pleats) I had on a suit. And according to one of the sales staff- at least in his opinion I looked like the folks going into the gala. I made a mark on my hand with a magic marker, picked up a shawl and threw it over my suited shoulders and grabbed a plastic cup someone had left on the counter and walked up to security. It had been suggested I affect I southern accent but frankly, I couldn't hold it- I went for New Jersey with money but no class. "Excuse me Hon" I tapped a beefy girl from Security on the shoulder. "You seen my husband?" She looked at me- after all there were 4998 other folks inside besides me and my fictional husband. "No M'am" she said "Can I help you?" I waved the hand with the drink and the marker mark quickly past her- gesticulating a bit and sloshing my drink dangerously close to her nice red windbreaker for effect. "He was supposed-ta wait right HERE" "Oh" she said- "I didn't see him". "He has my PURSE" (slosh) "How'm I supposed to get IN?" (shoshity slosh)I held the drink closer and closer as I moved. I was getting dangerously close to HER and she REALLY didn't want to get hit with whatever was melting in my cup. "Why don't you go find him?" she said and lifted the velvet rope to give me entrance.

I ran past the Elvis impersonator (sheesh) Cleavage with more depth and breadth than the Grand Canyon and Mickey Dolenz doing a Monkee's set in front of the Monkee mobile and headed straight for the Barbecue station. "Pile it on" I said as I stood there- "He's on Atkins". I appeared back at the booth with food for my new found and very grateful buddies. "How did you do it?" they asked. My boss has a saying- "only the paranoid survive" I did not want to let them know I had broken the rules but was really happy INSIDE myself to know that I had. "I just asked someone nicely." I said. "Eat up guys" And they did.

More- with pics- later. :)X

Twelve Years of Rent

The waves of fortune keep washing cool stuff up on the shores of my life. The other night- 4 tickets to RENT. Oddly enough, even being the culture hag that I am, and having seen the movie more than a few times- (I own the DVD), I had never seen it in the theater. I knew the story behind the story- Jonathan Larson's untimely death the night his play opened on Broadway- he was 36 years old. It is ironic and horrendously fitting that the author of a play which relates to a disease that consumes so many young people- that his life also ended so awfully early. The credo of the play "No Day But Today" hits a little harder when seen from that perspective. For more on the show http://www.siteforrent.com

So- it was me, an office mate, her friend and VLH in the 12th row of the orchestra, stage left. The set was distressed and multi-leveled with blue-gray acoustic tiles soaring to the rafters serving as a backdrop for a twisted pile of metal and garbage that I know is an echo of a similar structure in a community garden on the lower East Side of Manhattan.

And the play began. The cast are for the most part relative newcomers to Broadway, having cut their not inconsiderable teeth touring with Rent as well as other shows. I think that Declan Rogers who played Roger had a cold- either that or a mouth-ful of marbles as he spent a great deal of the 75 minute 1st act mumbling his lyrics. I fully enjoyed the performances by Tamyra Gray- a former American Idol contestant and astonishing acrobat- her rendition of "Take Me Out" performed while looping her lithe frame through a metal banister 3 stories above the stage in high-heeled boots and skin tight electric blue latex pants literally took my breath away. And oh how I loved watching Justin Johnson as Angel leaping his way through "Today For You" in patent leather platform heels- you go...girl, kinda. Loved it.

I watched the show and tried to imagine what this all looked like in 1996 when it opened- when men kissing men and women kissing women and cross dressers kissing everyone would have been ground breaking. When tattered clothing onstage meant you were watching Les Mis or some other period piece that had nothing to do with the present time. When walking out to your car meant you might actually encounter a homeless guy with a squeegee.

And when AIDS was actually something new. A raging epidemic that outlaw groups like Act-Up were fighting and there was a question as to whether their guerilla tactics were effective or alienating. When the fight against AIDS was a street fight and newspaper headlines in less urban areas talked about the plague that was "killing all the right people."

Rent as a play felt a bit dated, with so much of the shock value gone from all the kissing and the street folk relegated to dark corners these days. But, as Angel was dying... as it happens every time I see it- I cried and cried, more than a bit aware that this might alarm VLH- who does not know me well enough to know how I feel about AIDS- not enough of my personal history to know that I held the man who made my wedding dress and walked me down the aisle as he lay dying in St. Vincent's of this disease. I looked around the theater and wondered, to all the young, healthy, mostly out-of-towners- was this a STORY? Because I know for me- at that moment it was NOT a story. It was a reminder. It has been awhile since I looked at the statistics- so I did and was sickened (statistics from http://www.until.org/statistics.shtml:

United States:

An estimated one million people are currently living with HIV in the United States, with approximately 40,000 new infections occurring each year.

75 percent of the new infections in women are heterosexually transmitted.

Half of all new infections in the United States occur in people 25 years of age or younger.

And in the larger world the story is worse

Over 22 million people have died from AIDS.

There are 14,000 new infections every day (95 percent in developing countries). HIV/AIDS is a "disease of young people" with half of the 5 million new infections each year occurring among people ages 15 to 24.

The UN estimates that, currently, there are 14 million AIDS orphans and that by 2010 there will be 25 million.

And if the larger world has an orphan issue with regards to AIDS, about 2 years ago I started volunteering to cook at God's Love We Deliver- www.glwd.org an organization which provides meals to homebound people with AIDS. They deliver over 3,000 meals a day in the NY Metro area. That in and of itself was a sad statistic to learn but what struck me was that 15% of those meals are for dependent children. 450 children who could lose their parents- it is amazing to me that the 14 million number does not affect me as those 450 do. Not because they are here- but because I cannot conceive of 14 million children left alone. The grief is unfathomable. For the 450- I can help, a little. So I chop onions.We each do what we can.

I guess what I want to say. Dated or no- marbles in the mouth or not. I want Rent to continue to run. If an audience member can care about the death of Angel, maybe they would be compelled to look a little further- be a bit more careful in how they conduct their sex life- maybe even send a dollar or chop an onion. But it is most important that people realize- it's not over. Our friends are still gone. And very young people will continue to die in staggering numbers. So it all helps. What was heartening was at the end of the show the audience rose to its feet and gave a standing ovation. I hope at least a few will be moved to do more.

Chasing the Eto

New Year's day brings with it many fine traditions like the consuming of black eyed
peas for luck. I think the tradition actually showed luck in and of itself as HAVING peas, a hock to cook them with and a pot in which to accomplish this were signs in and of themselves that you were pretty darned lucky to begin
with.

Nursing a sick head from too much wine or a sick stomach from too much food are also fine American traditions- as if somehow we need to punish ourselves for being well off. I decided this new year to A.) Be sensible and sensitive to the
needs of others and B.) Be more than a little cranky about it and C.) Be OK with that.

Fred had recently introduced me to a new concept. We were speaking about an aquaintance of his who recently did some THING (I forget what) for herself and stated she was NOT being selfish, she was ENTITLED. It became the theme for
my evening let someone else feed me and do for me and if I won at Candyland (which I did, beginners luck actually having never played before-) I was teaching the little guy good sportsmanship AND I was entitled. The crankiness? Well
after having absolutely no fun sharing my own crabby company I decided I was ENTITLED to a better time and took my grumpy butt to bed at 11:30. I was awoken at 12:08 and about every 4 minutes thereafter by well wishing friends who
were astonished I was asleep. I explained I was not asleep I was just answering the phone lying down with my eyes closed in pajamas and leaping to conclusions was no way for them to start a new year.

Bed was important as I had a plan for new years day. I was going to catch a mouse. Specifically an Eto. 2008 is the year of the Eto- the Japanese Good fortune Rat.

I met 'Neff at the Mitsuwa market a Japanese mall in Edgewater, NJ. I arrived at 9:00 that rainy morning and was met with a line of about a hundred slightly damp Asians awaiting the opening of the market. According to Keiko it is customary for Japanese folks to go out and celebrate on New Year's morning. Mitsuwa offered Taiko Drumming, Ceremonial Dragon Slaying, soft serve black sesame ice cream and the big draw the 1st 500 families would receive a free porcelain rat meant to bring luck in the coming year- the Eto.

I got mine, Neff got hers and we wandered Mitsuwa looking at...the everything. There was so much to see. Amazingly marbled Wagyu beef, a vast array of pickles, sake, ramen and gyoza all beautifully displayed. Even a lowly cello pack of okra was elevated to 'okura' giving it not only a certain Asian exotic-ness but an additional syllable as well.


New Year Cake


If I had 2 Etos- I'd give one to you...


Taiko Drummers




Mizuna


A whole LOT of sake


I am assuming this is a cocktail snack....

VLH joined us just in time for brunch. Mitsuwa offers a stunning array of Japanese and Chinese style foods as well as taking a stab at French and Italian inspired cuisine; offering croissants (stuffed with red bean paste) and soba noodles with baby clams served as ' linguine con vongole'. I was very pleased when the counter lady at the St. Honore bakery greeted me in English to be able to respond with my only complete and absolutely correct Japanese phrase " Shinnen akemashite
omedeto gozaymasu" Which I have believed for the past 25 years meant 'Happy New Year' in Japanese. Keiko, ever aware of my desire to learn and be appropriate in Japanese informs me that this phrase actually means "Happiness to you on the
dawn of the New Year's Day" basically I had until noon that day to say my one phrase and then it was another 364 days of waiting.

25 years ago I learned the phrase to impress a Japanese man named Alan that I had a crush on. I repeated it over and
over to myself for weeks and learned the night I actually SAID my hard-won greeting to him that A.) Alan was gay. And B.) Knew not one single word of Japanese. Looking back I cannot say which discovery upset me more but I know the
counter lady and the fifteen or so strangers I greeted this new year's morning at Mitsuwa appreciated my work all those years ago.



As I mentioned-VLH joined 'Neff and I for a gorgeous brunch in Mitsuwa's food court. H had been a bit late to the party and was so stunned by the museum-quality display of plastic food at Mitsuwa that he was launched into a sort of food fugue and rendered completely incapable of choosing a stall from which to purchase breakfast. It was a giddy state brought on by an excess of ...noodles and potstickers. All he kept muttering was... "I dunno- you pick and then I'll choose- I dunno, I dunno..." I was worried that drool was imminent or some form of spasm.

As I had arrived 2 hours earlier I had calmed down sufficiently to narrow the field. Eggs. Scrambled. Sounds like everyday fare in the U.S. of A. until you find that these particular eggs are scrambled with crab and served over rice with pork and scallions. Yum. H chose a plateful of plump pork-filled gyoza, pan fried and 'Neff a bowl of soba noodles with pork accompanied by rice covered in salmon roe and a somewhat ancient-looking hardboiled egg in what appeared to be soy sauce. The question for me was how in the world did the denizens of Mitsuwa market maintain such diminutive and trim stature? The portions were ENORMOUS!

As with many New Year's past, the post brunch activity was VERY serious napping. 'Neff went on to home and parents and VLH and I to our patriotic duty of sleeping off the effects of a Japanese super-sized brunch. A very pleasant way, in many ways, to spend a New Year's Day. Easy as snapping a garter. I did not miss the hangover or the black-eyed peas- not even a little.

I spent THIS weekend thinking about my good fortune- this the first weekend in recent memory that I spent on my own and I set myself (again crankily as I would rather have had company but did not provide any for myself- self imposed grouchiness-even worse) to straightening cabinets and closets and clearing things out for the new year. I found that I had at least two of everything, and sometimes more. As the afternoon wore on I also found the crankiness moving away and being replaced with a sense of awe. Maybe for the first time in my life, I have much more than I need. Especially of luck and prosperity. And it did not come by chance- just like my Eto- I went out and got it and more and more- like the Eto- good fortune and happiness comes to my door- free of charge, even if I'm too cranky at that moment to appreciate it. So next time I'm feeling a bit like this I can just reach over- grab my Eto- and remember to be grateful.

Shinen Akemashite Omedeto Gozymasu!

The Bind That Ties

December has- without really looking, probably been the skimpiest, entry-wise, of all the months this year since I began blogging last March. It has been pointed out that there have been 50 entry months and 8 entry months, a sure sign of ebb and flow which is common in everyone's lives. I DID notice and even came close to mentioning it- saying something like..
"Sorry, your readership is important to us and we will get back to you as soon as life hocks up something amusing, visually stimulating- oh, and something that by writing it, won't invade someone else's private moments by writing about it in a public forum. Please stand by, or have a seat- it may be awhile and it looks like those shoes might hurt." oh "Beeep."

The interesting thing is that the 32 entry month/8 entry month statistic was revealed to me and taken for granted, as well as the references to early, early blog entries. Discounted as just someone trying to catch up with me- and my life. Bit of hubris actually- as this particular individual has a life which barely allows for a change of socks and a laundry drop off. And the collaborator also has a life pretty chock full of child, school and dealing with a new life and the challenges it brings. But I have always heard that if you want to get something done- give it to a busy person. If its a biggie- give it to two busy persons and watch them multi task by not only getting it done but by becoming really good friends in the process.

You little co-conspirators, you.

So it was my favorite little guy's fifth birthday and paired with Christmas there was a pretty big haul on the table for him as well as a natal-fest feast that would make Rachael Ray wince (this didn't take 20 minutes, babe- deal with it- go down a shot of EVO wouldja?) I volunteered ( and dragged an ever-willing VLH and his brand new food processor along for the ride) to make hummus and grill vegetables. The work was pretty minor for a former chef and his amateur assistant to knock off with a mere 2 jugs of very strong coffee. We finished the required cooking activities and VLH took the lead, heading over to Z's apartment chatting merrily on his cel phone to one person or another. I scaled the stairs to the apartment- Z lives in a 4th floor walk-up- some days- like at the end of a month of sheer culinary indulgence and zero trips to the gym- scaling the stairs to Z's house feels like scaling Annapurna- in heels.

We arrived and stood panting in the hallway and Z opened the door simultaneously greeting us, complaining about the cat, pointing out that the garbage needed taking out AND did we want anything to eat. I ran into the kitchen- which looked like the Falklands after the invasion- small and ...well it wasn't covered in goats but with all the dishes pans and other party prep remains- goats might have been an improvement. I grabbed 2 sausage out of a waiting pan and stuck one in my mouth and held the other in my hand as I walked back to the living room to offer assistance to Z and a sausage to VLH. Z stood in the middle of the maelstrom holding what looked like a pair of dictionaries clutched to her chest. VLH turned down my sausage offer, which should have tipped me off- and directed me to Z, who insisted I wipe my hands clean. I thought about wiping them on the back of my jeans, but at this juncture drawing attention to that area of my body- NOT my best side at the end of the holiday season, was just not prudent. I scarfed the 2nd sausage (waste-not, waist, also not.) and found a napkin and did a serviceable job of cleaning my greasy paws.

I held my hands out and Z placed the two 500 page tomes in my upturned hands- one book red, the other deep green. The green one had gold letters embossed into the cover. In Times New Roman it read: "The Ephemerist's Notebook" and on the second line optically centered "Volume One". The red book read, in Times New Roman golden letters "The Ephemerist's Notebook, Volume 2"

I'm crying as I write this. and I did then as well. I could not speak. I could not breathe. I know Z spoke to me. I know VLH did as well. I cannot tell you what they said. I have been struck speechless before as you know. Strangers saying with their actions that they care for me, that will take away my ability to come up with some glib comment. This took away my breath and I was not quite sure I could take anything more in- not even air. The letters glinted at me from the pristine hard covers. This...book. THESE books. I could not wrap my head around the idea that I had done this, that THESE were me... and mine. And then I looked at the faces of those two- one who has stood by me for almost twenty years and literally kept me alive through some of its darkest moments, been more than a friend and better than any sister could be to me and then to the face so new and so incredibly dear to me, my precious, precious and brave yov. The yov that has always been one step braver in loving me.

It wasn't just that they were bound- though seeing my writing as books- as opposed to some glorified Myspace page or Facebook ego trip (hot or not- you decide!) And more that hearing that they both felt this work was worth the tremendous effort to get this done. It was an incredible visual. This amazing year in two volumes. Special. Three-dimensional. And mine.

Eventually I stopped crying and was able to whisper my thanks. The books had to be put away as they brought on a new spate of tears every time I saw them and my red tear-stained visage was frightening the little party-goers and putting them off the remaining sausages.

I asked VLH to put the books in his car as we were going to see Fred for dinner in a glorious restaurant in New Canaan called Aloi and I wanted him to see this amazing gift. It was my one-year anniversary of knowing Fred and I wanted to celebrate the changes he had brought into my life and introduce him to the newest one. At dinner, which was incredible, we talked about the nature of loving, and Fred said something- he said that a particular person we were discussing "just wanted to be appreciated for the love they were giving".

At the time the phrase had a different context and it was not until just now that I realized that was what the real gift of the books was. Recognition of the love I had been giving, returned to me- in red, green and gold.

Oh my.

To any one who reads this- from Brooklyn to Helsinki. Happy New Year.

:) X

Cheezborger, Cheezborger, Cheezborger, no fries (ice) chips

Chicago twice in one year. This absolutely constitutes a record for me as my goddaughter Nikki, the world's most glorious adolescent pointed out, the last time I saw her that often we were waiting for her to be potty trained. After a weekend spent with Syd and the fam in Hinsdale (for those of you who wondered- the latch on the patio door is still unrepaired- at this point I think Henry would use a piece of chewing gum to fix it and Syd is considering total house razing to rectify the problem and a compromise does not appear to be likely or imminent)

Flying into Chicago on Saturday morning fell asleep (yahoo- the ephemerist becomes a seasoned traveler!) I woke to the man in the seat next to me smiling at me- a bit disconcerting as I am pretty certain I was drooling a teensy bit. Seems he had been flying for the past 15 hours and was actually looking over my shoulder as we taxied into Chicago- "Is that snow?" He said. I turned- blinking and trying surreptitiously to wipe my eyes. Snow. Lots of it. I YELLED at Syd "you didn't TELL me". I texted VLH- there is SNOW here- he texted back- "Strange turn in the weather- currently 85 degrees in NJ- taking the kids to the beach." I knew- unless he was suddenly raising polar bear cubs that was just a MAJOR dig that said- it's winter all over, babe- deal with it. Personally I feel dealing directly with reality is highly overrated and occasionally ..well, often a buzz-kill.

Fortunately I learned very quickly that like New York, Chicago is a walking city. What I mean by that is you do not need to get into a car to reach civilization- in this case- I walked out the door and saw...TONS of civilization- lots of cool and groovy architecture, public transportation and stores- even a GARMIN store- right there on Michigan Avenue. I guess to allow you to BUY a Garmin they needed to find a retail location you could get to WITHOUT one. Blind people could see this place the windows were 2 stories high and the travertine marble exterior had a big GARMIN logo on it. All they needed was a voice outside the store repeating over and over- "You have reached your destination". The store was trying very hard to be an Apple Store- lots of hip looking sales people of multiple ethnicities and none over say...27.5 years of age (just old enough to resist calling EVERYONE- male and female- "Dude"). And they TRIED to help me but..in a way it was just like the Scotch tape store on the old Saturday night live which only sold- Scotch Tape. They seemed to only feature 1 model of Garmin at only ONE lofty price point $699. It seemed ironic that the display, and the merchandise and the super cool store staff- just made me wanna say- "Get Lost".



Chez Garmin



Sayat Nova Armenian Restaurant




The Navy Pier in Winter and Lake Michigan

But. Garmin also sponsored the MAPS exhibit at The Field Museum. As much as I love the Natural History Museum here in NYC- you had to love the Field- home to "Sue" the world's only/most complete tyrannosaurus rex skeleton. I did not realize- until making Sue's acquaintance, that most/all OTHER tyrannosaurus rex skeletons were cobbled together or made with artificial parts- I can just imagine the exchange- "I'll trade you 6 tyrannosaurus vertebrae for a stegosaurus hip joint and 3 triceratops toes..." Add in 4 calling birds and 3 french hen skeletons and it's a merry holiday all around. The best part for me- Sue- the display and maintenance of- is sponsored by McDonald's. There is a joke in there SOMEWHERE I just can't find it.

However- there was another joke I found- ALMOST as old as Sue, hamburger related AND as free of tyrannosaurus rex meat as Sue's old bones. The Billy Goat Tavern. What? You may ask- I didn't know either. The Billy Goat Tavern was immortalized on Saturday Night Live. The real Saturday Night Live in the days of Belushi, Ackroyd, Morris, Newman, Curtin and the glorious Gilda Radner. The Skit?

Cheezborger, Cheezborger, no fries- chips- no coke Pepsi.

The Billy Goat is located UNDER the glitzy Michigan Avenue shopping strip and across from the cool and groovy Chicago Tribune building- notable for the bits and pieces embedded in it from other cool and groovy buildings.



A piece of the Trib



Under Michigan Avenue

I was dressed in road exec gear- suit- coat with fur collar- heels- the Billy Goat at the height of its dress code- requests you wear nothing with permanent stains on it. So the greeting I received when I walked in the door was- in a SPITTING imitation of Belushi - "You wanna EAT here?" Yes, actually yes, I do. I love dives- greeeezee spoons- not dirty- or smelly but- unpretentious and filled with stuff- oh and at the smell of meat on a griddle- my whole being yells YIPPEE lets PARTY! Barely disguising his surprise the counterman swiftly went into his patter-

"You want cheezborger? Double cheezborger the best!" OK I'll have that
"You want chips, no fries" Yes Please.
"Corn Chips, Regular Chips?" Regular.
"Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Sprite, Ginger Ale" Diet Pepsi (OK,OK I KNOW double cheezborger... we save where we can...)

And it came to me on a slip of waxed paper- just as you see here (I added pickles and pickle relish and lots of ketchup, the only red wine that truly complements hamburger grease)



And- as greasy-divey experiences go- it was MIGHTY fine. Oh and I managed to keep it off my white shirt... BONUS!



And finally- a reminder on the cold Navy pier- how far I was, exactly, from yov.
It made getting home and what it would take... a little bit clearer.

And I'm home :)

:P X