Missing Blogs

In my case having a life and blogging don't seem to mix. It's the difference between carving out time for writing a blog and having all the time you need to do any kind of shit you want; like writing a blog. That must mean I haven't carved out because . . .

As I mentioned last time, my daughter Denise (not her real name, of course) graduated from college in April. My graduation gift you her was two round trip tickets (and hotel, etc.) to London. The second ticket was for me because I had helped her find a temporary job in Cambridge with my old company for six weeksand I was her traveling companion. We had an interesting time. Interesting time like when the Chinese say "May you live in interesting times." It was a busy and tiring but rewarding experience -- for both of us, I think. Having been to Europe many, many times, London in particular at least 40 times, I had offered to help Denise with her first trip abroad. I was not looking forward to making the flight in coach, and my concerns were borne out. Even in an exit row seat with my daughter next to me, it was exhausting for both of us. We got to our hotel without any trouble and I fell asleep. I knew things were taking a turn for the worse when I woke up and Denise was nearly in tears because she had not gotten her work visa stamped at immigration at the airport. I was very reassuring -- just an administrative snafu that we can handle, blah, blah. I was not buying the student job agency's crap that we might have to leave the country and come back. So we hit the Big Bus tour and saw the sights -- a few.

The next day we went to the agency and again I knew all was not well when Denise came down stairs to me with tears in her eyes and said we have to go to France and retunr to England. Of course, I immediately thought these people must be dumb asses, and we could handle it ourselves. Ha! I was humbled later that evening as we planned our same day trip to France.

The easiest and of course most expensive route was the Eurostar (the train under the Channel). To Calais and back. How bad could it be? With the Pound equal to $2.00 and the Calais station in the middle of a field -- literally -- it was pretty bad. We had to wait less than 2 hours to return and don't think I wasn't shitting a brick over this one little stupid stamp we needed. Thanks god the immigration officer was very competent and figured it all out and we were good to go.

The next day was a beautiful Sunday and we took the train (above ground for a change) to Cambridge and to Doug and Lesley's place where Denise was lodging for six weeks. They were lovely people and I felt better -- but I had a huge lump in my throat as the taxi took me back to the hotel with Denise standing waving on the sidewalk. She's been there two weeks now and other than being followed by a creepy guy (just the once we hope), she is making it okay.

Two days after I returned, M and I went to Philadelphia for site seeing and a formal wedding that her daughter was in. We were not impressed with Philly but we ate at two great places. One was lunch at a French restaurant where I thought we would have to eat foie gras or some shit, but actually we had burgers and onion rings and fries that were gear -- oops, I mean, pomme frites. Then we had dinner at The Saloon which had a western motif but was in fact an Italian restaurant with fabulous food and great characters that looked like a casting call for the Sopranos. Amazing what good sauce can do to a simple plate of spaghetti. We also rode across town to Pat's Original Cheesteak, which was the pits. Don't go there.

I looked great in my (own) tux and M looked fabulous as always for the wedding. It was a beautiful affair. Unfortunately it was very hot and the reception was outside at an estate and I got overheated and very nasty. In hindsight I felt like shit for being such a prick to M, but my demeanor was mostly biological not plain old prickishness.

Prior to the London trip, Anthony graduated from High School. As class President, he gave the final speech and I was so proud. I don't know why but after he concluded his speech and tossed his mortarboard in the air, I cried -- with joy. He is the coolest kid ever -- beside my other three cool kids. He's coming to stay with me for about half the summer and I'm delighted.

There's more family news but it'll keep.

And so, boys and girls, until today I have not been writing blogs.

What I Did on Spring Break

Ever had two surgeries -- albeit out-patient surgeries -- on consecutive days? Well, it was all part of my Spring Break that seems worth recalling. It was a week with new found love; family ties; health issues; travel and fun. At about 11:00PM Wednesday evening I thought I was about to have a meltdown from stimulus overload, but obviously I made it. Now, can I make it entertaining to you?

I was born on Easter Sunday. So was my eldest daughter Claire (I never use real names) but on a different day; and my eldest son David has had an Easter birthday as well. So this year Claire suggested that we celebrate the April births at one get-together. An excellent idea. We all headed for Columbus, Ohio; the birthday boys and girl and their significant others. (Who the hell came up with that term?) We bowled. Something that most of us -- not you, Claire and Jack -- do about every time we see Haley's Comet. It was great fun. Boys vs. Girls. I believe the Girls kissed (I think I meant "kicked".) our scrawny asses in game one but revenge was extracted in game two. Nothing like donning bowling shoes to give life a whole new garish casualness.

It was the initial meeting of Laura and Claire, Jack, David and Nicky. All went well I think. We had a delicious dinner cooked by Nicky with Claire's assistnace and played cards afterwards. It was fun but without Tony, my youngest son, the pot never got very big. He loves to bet the pot and lose. After breakfast the nest morning Laura and I headed to lovely Michigan. After the trip I got a stomach ache that wouldn't go away. The I finally realized that my umbilical hernia was strangulated. A charming image, isn't it? Good fortune was about since I was scheduled to have it repaired on Tuesday and because I could push my guts back in. Sorry.

I had the scheduled ambulatory surgery Tuesday and Laura babysat me and all was fine. Well, not so fast. My vision had been blurry for 5 days so I thought I should get it checked out. The opthamologist could fit me in in a couple of hours, so Laura came to my rescue and drove across town to chauffeur me again. What a sweetheart! So the doctor examined my eye and thought he saw a tear in my retina -- which was solely due to his thoroughness since it was not causing the blurry vision. Since I have developed a good relationship with him, he called a retinal specialist to see me immediately. The specialist was in surgery but was coming back to his office late. After a couple of emergency surgeries, the specialist met Laura and me at 10:00PM. Half an hour later a bright light and piercing beam was in my eye and my vision was temporarily (at least) preserved from a torn retina. That was a long fucking day and as I said above I was about to lose it half way through the eye surgery but I held it together. No panic attack!

Amazingly I had another Doctor appointment Thursday but that was unproductive and not worth discussing. The only way to look at all this was getting it out of the way at once.

On Saturday my youngest daughter Denise graduated from college. I am so proud of her. That's three through college and one to go. We had dinner afterward and Denise was able to have her whole family with her. It was lovely. I love seeing all four of my children at the same time. They are incredible.

That was my Spring Break. How was yours?

BTW. About new found love . . . Life is good and I'm happy. Which doesn't make for the most entertaining blogs from a notorious smart ass; but deal with it!

Avoiding the Subject

Do you remember how just a few blogs ago I mentioned how many movies I watch? Something like 25-30 a month. Well it seems I have had the same four movies from Netflix for weeks and I haven't watched nore than a few minutes of any of them. Why? I HAVE A LIFE NOW. I have no time for movies. I have found something far more enagaging and exhilerating. . . But why go into that now?

On to safer topics. Are you the oldest child in your family? Being the oldest child in a large family is one of those things that you accept while you’re a kid at home but only after years do you realize how profoundly it influences your entire personality, your maturity, your common sense and your ability to succeed in life. In my case being the oldest of six has had a serious impact on every part of my life: my relationship with my siblings; my relationship with my parents; my own parenting; my career; my ability to mentor other people; and, of course, my relationships with women.

I can only speak to what it’s like being the oldest. I have no idea how it feels to be in a different position in the birth order.

It’s really beginning to be fun to see what being a big brother to my siblings has meant to them. -- Like I have a clue! -- For fifty years or more I just saw myself as one of the kids. It wasn’t until my sixtieth birthday when I received a card from my youngest brother saying he “couldn’t have asked for a better big brother” that it dawned on me that I was a big brother. When I was in school I didn't feel like a big brother becuase my siblings were an annoyance to me. I barely acknowledged them - Particularly my brother Bill. We were two years apart in age and a universe apart in everything else. Bill died last year at fifty-eight. At the time of his death he lived in a subsidized apartment where our Mom paid the rent. When he dropped to the pavement, he had something like 41 cents in his pocket. Other than some throw away furniture, he possessed nothing. His place was the worst shit hole I have ever seen. He was in miserable health. Obese. Smoked hand rolled cigarettes. Had no job nor any prospects. And did God-knows-what all day. Now, rewind the clock to high school and imagine how much our lives intersected. Not at all, of course. We never had a connection in our lives until the last few months of his life when we had poor health in common. The last time I saw him alive, he was so thrilled that I had come to see him. Next thing I knew he was gone. Very strange to have a total stranger as a brother. I have no clue who I was to my brother. I guess I was the one who set a standard he couldn't keep up with and he ended up throwing in the towel.

My younger brother and I are eight years apart. When I left for college at 18, he was 10 and barely existed to me. Forty years later we re-connected and it was like finding a twin that you never knew you had. I was single and so was he – both divorced – and my work travel allowed me to fly through Denver from time to time, so we made of point of seeing each other. We would have dinner and then drive through the foothills of the Rockies and talk. Lots of growing up and family analysis talk but mostly women talk – an area we each had a major lifetime focus. It has been delightful and very comforting. Reminds me of reading Portnoy’s Compliant when I was in my twenties, and thinking “Someone else thinks like I do (about women)”. (Read the book if you don’t follow me.) My younger brother and I have come to have a wonderful close relationship and I love him.

I can’t imagine how my sisters viewed me as an older brother. Maybe they'll tell us. Two of my sisters are alive. My eldest sister was severely retarded and lived about 31 years before she succumbed to Hodgkin’s Disease about fifteen years ago. My middle sister and I were always close - as close as I was to any of my sibs. We got good grades and were both sort of popular and were cynics. Funny how a bad attitude can be a bond between brother and sister. My youngest sister is 13 years younger than me and we had little interaction as kids and not that much more as adults.

I guess my siblings looked up to me or maybe they do now. Hell, maybe they resent me and think I’m an asshole. I don’t know. There were times during my working career that I felt totally distant from my brothers and sisters. My shrink makes the comparison to a race in which I am running with my siblings and eventually I get so far ahead that I lose touch with them and forget who I’m racing - In other words totally disconnected. Fortunately in the past few years the connection has come back – or has started up where there was none before.

Vhat does zis mean, Herr Doctor?

Writer's Block

Well I guess I've painted myself into a corner haven't I? I have a ton of stuff -- good stuff -- to write about but I don't want my friends and family to be reading about themselves, now do I?

For example, I have the two great friends, Romy and Michele. You've seen their High School reunion? They have graciously included me in their group of friends who hang out at the exotic Highway Cafe. And I mean exotic! We meet late on Friday night before the karaoke starts at 10:00. I never would have thought that I’d be hanging out on karaoke night, but there I am having a great time -- okay, not always great but I always enjoy myself. Romy sings and Michele watches. Romy is an excellent singer -- does great on Amy Winehouse stuff. There are other new acquaintances of course. Donny the mild mannered nice guy is always a pleasure to be around, even though he speaks so quietly that I usually nod and smile a lot with no fucking clue what he said. He sings to -- King of the Road is a favorite of his. Oh yes, and dances! Usually Marsha and Tommy come by as well. I think they are newly housemates. And there are loads of other people whom I can't make up names for because I barely know their real names.

My big problem with the place is smoke -- but what would I rather do: Sit home in a smoke free environment or be with friends at the bar? I can wash the smoke out of my clothes but I don't have nearly as much fun with imaginary friends at home. Pause . . .

Okay, I've been thinking about parenting as a topic for blogging -- my god, I just used the word blogging - and now I have a segue into it: imaginary friends. My kids had imaginary friends, but Rob’s was the best. His name was Brian and he was really well developed. He was amazingly real, except for the minor detail that we could never see him. We knew exactly where Brian lived because as we drove down the street near our house, Rob (well then he was Robbie) pointed out where Brian lived. Brian and Rob used to do all kinds of stuff together and when they were done, Brain went home. When Brain had done his time and needed to go, he didn’t just cease to exist. He moved to California. We know because we stopped at his house and when I said I was going up to knock on the door, Rob told me that Brain had moved . . . we never heard from Brain again. The point is that nothing in the universe beats being a parent. Yes I admit adolescence is shitty, but the rest is great. Now that my kids are young adults, or Chris’s case, adult period, I am finding out that this is just as great as when they are little. My personal favorites are two year olds. Forget that terrible two’s stuff. Nothing beats talking with a two year old. They are so bright and full of wonder and clarity. If you just talk TO them and not AT them, you’d be amazed at how lucid the conversation can be. Kids are a wonder.

Back at the bar, kids aren’t allowed. Well, people under twenty-one aren’t allowed in. There are lots of kids there. Lots of genuine salt-of-the-earth people. Very comfortable – so far. People watching is good. Last week Dancing Cindy and her husband were there. Regrettably Dancing Cindy, who did not wear her underwear on the outside, sorry to say, did not dance or sing. However her husband serenaded us with sounds that made you look up and say “Why?”

Romy and I used to work together – I was her boss. She has been the best friend imaginable. I’ve been away from work for two years now and we still have lunch almost every week. She’s terrific. Michele is Romy’s best friend from always and has been terrific to me. She is interested (or pretends to be in a very convincing way) in my adventures and we have yoga class with Marsha and Tommy. She knows my son -- remember him? Brian’s friend.

So that is the best I can do at dancing around the surface – the real nitty gritty goes in The Book. See you at the bar!

Sitting Around at 2:00AM

This is exciting, you know? Writing a blog in the middle of the night. My mind is free of the day's burdens and I can concentrate on . . . yes, I know I don't have any burdens, but still . . .
Well, I did it. I sat right there in the offices of Great Expectations and paid a fortune – five times what I would put down on a new car – for a dating service. WHat the hell could I have been thinking?
And what do all dating services sell? Their membership list. That’s all they have to offer. Every one, including efuckingharmony, deceives you into thinking that they have a black box from which they will produce your ideal match and all you have to do is just describe in excruciating detail whom it is you want to meet. They neglect to mention that they can only match you up with other people who have joined their service. You want a tall forty year old Ph.D. from Manhattan who likes sailing and romantic walks after dark? Good luck. They have only two Ph.D.’s from Butte who are 5’ 4”.
You’d think after three years of It’s Just Lunch – which I laugh to think that I used to believe it was expensive – I’d be wise to the allure of paying to meet Ms. Right. Actually, I’ve met Ms. Right more than once and she was wonderful – I was just wasn’t prepared to be Mr. Right. So here I am, the man who used to negotiate deals for a living and I ask the attractive (big surprise: attractive young woman selling a dating service to a middle aged man!) sales woman to show me what I’m buying. Nope, can’t do that; privacy you know. Okay, show me a demo of your system. No, can’t do that either. And I still did it! Why?
Frustration? Desperation? Showing off? Hoping against hope? Whatever, I did it. You should have seen me after I did the first search on new members in the Detroit office? It was the same thing that you get on BABYBOOMER peoplematch.com for 15 bucks a month --okay, at least most GE people had pictures. I felt like puking or crying. Page after page of women in whom I have no interest. Yes, I know I’m picky, very, very picky. That’s what I thought I was buying – select group of people who were willing to lay out serious cash to meet someone. Well, not so fast big boy. -- Let me stop and say, least I come off as the elitist that I am, I’m talking about compatibility and common interests; not making value judgments. And while I’m making a point, the women I have spoken to from GE have been wonderfully smart and attractive and personable. The other 90% who have selected me . . .not so much.
Check this scam out. When you search, for example, all women from the Detroit office, it includes women “who visit your city”. So you sit there thinking that these women have answered a question somewhere says: “What cities do you frequently visit?” And they said “Detroit”. Nope. It just means they have a global member ship with access to all 50 offices whether or not they’ve every been to Detroit, Palo Alto, Cleveland or where ever. So 50% of the result list lives far, far away and you have no shot with them. Before I realized this, I kept asking myself why am I being selected by all these women in Florida, Connecticut, California and BFE? Because I show up as visiting their city, I guess.
The punch line is this. It’s a bitch to find the right person. You say you already knew that. Yeah, me too - but you didn’t spend a fortune to find out!

At the Movies . . . Again

I had this blog written the other day and when I went to cut and paste it into a word document so I could spell check it, I cut and deleted it. So here I go again. Maybe they'll fix the fucking spell checking on this thing some day.

I watch a lot of movies -- maybe 30-35 a month. I watch DVD's faster than Netflix can send them to me, so I have to hit Blockbuster or the local video rental place once a week. Here's a hint: when you go to Blockbuster, start at the beginning of the alphabet. There are more watchable movies in the numeric's, A's, B's and C's than in the rest of the alphabet. I always seem to find something like Angel-A (or Angela) that I have never heard of which is really good.

In the past 6 days I have seen 6 movies, three of which were really good. Morgan Freeman was in two of them, but even he couldn't save the one that should have been really good. I'll start with the best.

The Namesake. I loved it. Not only was it beautiful to look at, it was smartly written. It's a story of contrasts -- New York and Calcutta; old world values and modern American kids. It's the story of an Indian couple who move to New York and have two kids. Their son, Gogol, is the namesake -- for the Russian writer Nicholi Gogol. Since the boy's name is Gogol Ganguli, he is embarrassed by it and wants to go by his "good name" Nicholas. As the movie progresses, he comes to learn the significance of the name Gogol in his father's life.

The cast is terrific. Kal Penn of Harold and Kumar fame is sincere and believable as Gogol. The mother Ashima is played by an Indian actress named Tatu and she is beautiful and strong and unflappable. I particularly liked the scene where the family visits Calcutta and the kids are seeing India for the first time. It was very realistic and fascinating. Rather than describe it further I recommend you see it.

10 Items or Less. I loved it. This is a little film, that was shot in 15 days, that I knew nothing about and was totally taken with. Morgan Freeman plays a has-been actor "doing research for a project" he might consider at a market in Southern California. Paz Vega is the Spanish immigrant who is the checker at the 10 Items or Less Lane. The movie is the story of their unlikely collaboration and friendship. They are both wonderful and the script is smart and very clever. From the moment Scarlet (Paz Vega) appears on screen I was totally taken by her strength, smarts and weariness. I immediately wanted to know this woman. And Freeman's character, called Him, is charming and disarming (are they the same thing?) and completely likable.

Scarlet is trapped with an idiot husband from whom she is separated and a dead end job. "Him" coaches her through a transformation to get ready for a job as interview as an office manager. You may have to suspend disbelief a little, but it's so well written you don't care. The final scene is the perfect ending. I also recommend it.

Adrift in Manhattan. I liked it. It’s the story of three lonely people whose lives intersect in Manhattan. Tommaso, played by Dominic Chianese who is best known as Junior Soprano, stole the show with is portrayal of an aging painter who earns a living working in a corporate mailroom and is losing his sight. He meets Isabel, played by Elizabeth Peńa, at work and a romance begins. Both characters have smart dialogue to deliver and play a mature couple falling in love with grace and supreme dignity. I loved them. Heather Graham plays Rose an eye doctor who is treating Tommaso and trying to cope with the death of her two-year old son. Billy Baldwin plays her estranged husband. Finally there is Simon a socially retarded teenager with an overbearing mother who begins to follow and photograph Rose after being attracted by her scarf.
The movie was unknown to me be fore I saw it and turned out to be a real find in the “A’s” at Blockbuster.

A Feast of Love. I didn’t like it. With Morgan Freeman, Jane Alexander, Greg Kinnear, Rahda Mitchell and Alexa Davalos, and a big name director, this should have been a better movie than Adrift in Manhattan. It's not. The plots of these two films have some similarities -- there’s a tarot reading in each of them – in that they involve the intersection of several lives. Freeman and Alexander are a college professor on leave and his wife who have lost their grown son to a heroin overdose; all the while unaware of his addiction. Kinnear is a sap with a heart of gold who gets dumped twice – his first wife leaves him for a woman and his second (Mitchell) for her long time lover. Alexa Davalos as Chloe is the heart of the movie and has more inner strength than any of characters around her.
I couldn’t buy the script and Kinnear seems way too goofy to attract Diane (Mitchell).

Payback: Straight Up – The Director’s Cut. Great movie. If you have seen the 1999 theatrical version of this Mel Gibson gritty hardboiled thriller, you know it a really good movie. The Director’s Cut is very different and is much closer to the novel The Hunter by Donald E. Westlake writing as Richard Stark. Gibson’s character Porter was double crossed by his wife and his partner in crime – gunned down and left for dead. His cut of the take was $70,000 and he wants it back – and not a penny more. Porter is without redeeming qualities – he’s a killer – but his doggedness and ferocity make him interesting. Lucy Lui and Maria Bello make their first appearances in a major film and both are good. Mario Bello, thanks to A History of Violence, is my current Hollywood queen. This version is so much darker and gritty than the theatrical version that I preferred it.

The Ten. A piece of absolute shit masquerading as a comedy. It features ten scenes which are somehow supposed to illustrate the Ten Commandments. Yuk.

Hope you enjoyed this and will see at least one of these movies.

Days 6, 7 & 8 Back in the Frozen Tundra

Day 6 -- Lovely Daytona Beach.
I hung out and recuperated. Exciting, no? It was beautiful though. The sun was bright and the temperate was in the low eighties. It felt so good lying in the sun letting the warmth sink in. You know that feeling you get when it's cold out, but sunny, and you get into your car after it's been in the sun for a while ... and it's so warm and toasty in there that the warmth just sinks right into you and it feels sooo good? Well, that's how it felt.

Trying to find a place to eat was a challenge. I was looking at the local promotional rag in the hotel room and I was amazed how few places there were to eat at (excuse the grammar) and how horrible the food looked in the ads. Ever notice that on TV or at the movies when they show an ad for a restaurant and the food looks repulsive? Who thought the pictures of the food looked good? The owner? I wish I had a scanner so I could have shown you some pictures of the haute cusine that was available. I drove about 6-7 miles to a place called Cheers because in its ad it looked like a normal franchise type place like Bennigan's or something. It was a green cinder block square beach bar -- not on the beach. I cursed, turned around and ate at Johnny Rocket's. The place where they serve ketsup with and smile and food without taste. But Daniel the counter boy was chatty as hell.

I dined at an exotic locale that was scary but interesting in that I-can't-look-away kind of way. One of the bartenders was a young woman who was plain looking but with in your face cleavage that featured some sort of tatoo in the cleavage itself and spilling out onto her boobs. Trying not to stare was and look disinterested was a challenge. She left and my bartender was a woman of indetermined age who was new and had not just returned from her Rhoades Schoralship. She had to be rescued by two owners helping her out. Since Daytona was in its lull before race week, the place was sparsely populated but could have been scary with more people. Lot's of people there looked like they had done some hard living. I survived and enjoyed the people watching and the sandwich was good.

Day 7 -- On the road from Fla. to Va.
I had expected that once I got into northern Florida and Georgia the temperature would drop considerably, but it was gorgeous the whole way. It was 82 degees in SOuth Carolina. Kind of ironic when there were terrible storms in the lower midwest going on at that time.

I have followed my Weighter Watchers regime religously and it's obvious just from the loosening of the waist of my pants that I'm loosing weight. Staying within my limts while driving all day on interstates is a challenge. The choises or eateries other than fast food are few. By dinner I was starved and eat 7/8 of a small pizza. What the hell!

Day 8 -- Survivng Lunch
Pardon me while I rant. Desperate for lunch I settled on Bob Evans in Parkersburg, West Virginia. It was up on a hill overlooking the highway and the road to the restaurant was so fucking impossible to find that my poor Tommy (Tom Tom navigation system) was totally lost. After I got there -- knowing I usually hate their food -- I told myself that the only safe thing to eat was eggs and bacon; maybe salad. So I ordered a salad and the lovely beef tips stir fry. Very bright -- ordering fake Chinese food in a homestyle American place. It was beyond awful, it made me nauseous. And I was so pissed at myslef for spending seventeenfuckingdollars on an inebilbe meal. You're asking yourself, why didn't he send it back? And get what?

Reminds me of two rules. When at a steakhouse, order steak. When at a breakfast place, order breakfast. And secondly this: When you have a bad meal or poor service what do you do? Tell them everything was fine; never come back; and tell people you know about it. So if you serve the public, don't think asking "How was everything?" will tell you anything about your service. . . That was wasn't much of a rant.

The last 120 miles of the trip were nightmarish and given my past history of being run over by a semi-truck on a freezing wintry night while driving a small car, I handled it pretty well and the beemer performed well too.

My lasting memory of this trip will be that shitty trips make for shitty blogs. I'll do better on my next adventure.
Cheers!