Crazy People

 

I could not love this picture any more. I crossed the street to take a shot of this canvas hanging on the back of a truck on West Broadway, and this guy stopped in front of it just as I was taking the picture.

Art is so often created by happenstance.

Walking down the street with me is not a bargain. Those who know me well know my famous, “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.” Those who love me unconditionally (AKA, offspring and BFFs) smile and know this is just the price to pay for hanging out with me. I make up for it in other ways. Those who are married to me (the subset of one) are incredibly tolerant and will even stand in a situation for my amusement (and theirs later on).

So, this image begs the question, “Why are crazy people such good lovers?” Here is a little exercise. Jump out of lurking mode (I know you are all there, I check the stats) and feel bad enough for my sorry ass to leave some comments answering to one or more of the following topics:

1. Define crazy.
2. Decide if this makes you more likely to admit that you are.
3. In your experience, is there a direct correlation between being crazy and being a good lover?

Amuse me kiddies, I have had a tough few months!

 

The Eggnog Woman

Dairy Barn. I am pretty sure they are only in the Northeast. They may only be on Long Island, actually. But they are by far the best retail invention of my lifetime. Ok, maybe the Apple Store is better, but in a much different way.

You see, ever since I was a kid, the Dairy Barn was the stop on your way home, go out in your pajamas and slippers, get stuff way into the night, how could I live without this place store. They never updated their look and for that reason the sight of them still carries that comfort of being the little kid in the back seat hoping for Entenmann’s chocolate donuts when mom picked up that last minute gallon of milk. When we learned to drive, my brother and I loved to be able to drive through the Dairy Barn and be the one to say.”out of $5.00″ when they told us the purchase was $4.55. And when my kids were little, I would buy whatever they had at Dairy Barn before I would take a sleeping kid out of the back of the car to go to the supermarket.

All in all, until today, the Dairy Barn has been a constant in my life that I have failed to pay homage to. Seriously, I friggin’ LOVE this place.

Yesterday morning, in my pajamas and slippers thank you very much, I ran out to get some whole milk for a recipe. (I know, cute domestic peek of me that I don’t usually reveal). And there behind the kitschy sliding glass doors of the place was none other than…

The Eggnog Woman.

Who, you might ask, is The Eggnog Woman (note initial caps). She is a rather large individual of questionable sexual designation. There were times when the kids were little when we were convinced she was actually a guy. And she seems to only be semi-seasonal. I NEVER see her in the summer, but she does seem to hang around till the spring sometimes. AND, we sometimes see her at Dairy Barns in other zip codes (Gary thinks she is a floater from Dairy Barn corporate).

So the thing about her is, she seems to take the egg nog and its availability only during the holidays, very seriously. To the point that my neighbor Janet became obsessed with asking for it when it was out of season.

Just for the laugh.

And it sort of caught on when the kids were little. So yesterday, I just had to call Janet to tell that The Eggnog Woman was back and wish her a Merry Christmas. She was so excited that she was going to jump in the car just to see her.

There was something so nostalgic about connecting with an old friend over a silly thing that entertained us. I certainly would not have thought to call her for the holiday had that not happened. If you are thinking this was all at the expense of The Eggnog Woman, please don’t. She is truly an icon.

Happy and Merry to all.

Tie-Dyed Einstein

Only in Woodstock! I love the way Albert had this sheepish look as if I had just caught him shopping for tie-dye, his apparent guilty pleasure.

We took a trip to Woodstock 2 weeks ago to see the Midnight Ramble, which I still need to write about. But in the mean time I have a series of amazing blogworthy shots that I have to share. I will do another post on just signage and probably one more on oddities. Yeh, I am back, alright.

This picture was taken in what Gary called ‘that other little hippie store’.

We split up for a little while and this is how the conversation went:

Me: Where are you now?

Gary: In that other little hippie store.

Me: Um, we are in Woodstock, you are going to have to be a little more specific.

A few minutes later I called Dr. Jimmy to again find out where they were. Here is how that went:

Me: Where are you now?

Dr. Jimmy: In front of the headshop

Me: Again, you are going to need to be a little more specific.

Woodstock was fun but a little too much like a hippie museum. Sort of like the 60s version of Disney. But it was fun. And hey, where else can you go from store to store and hear all Dylan all the time?

Time to Cry Tuesday – The Last Play at Shea

(For those of you expecting a Time to Cry about sending my boy off to college this week… no can do. He is still here and the mantra is ‘hold it together’, so wait till next week for that one.)

Saturday night made me remember all the reasons why I love to be a New Yorker. This is a town like no other, and this particular night proved why being born and raised here is still something to be proud of.

Citi Field, a perfect summer evening and a unique sort of show that could only be dreamed up in the city that never sleeps. We went thinking this would be a fun sort of evening, a little barbeque tailgating with great friends and $10 tickets to see a movie about the Billy Joel concert that closed Shea. What could be bad about that? Little did we know what a gem of a film we were about to see.

I will not claim to be either an avid Mets or Billy Joel fan but I will tell you that this film made me realize what a huge part they both played in my coming of age.

Shea Stadium was that big ugly building that let me know we were almost home after a long road trip as a child. A place where my parents took us to see our first baseball game. Billy Joel’s music played as the backdrop to my adolescence. All the milestones of growing up were marked by the history that this film so elegantly illustrated. Sports, music, joys and sorrows that New Yorkers have endured through the 40+ year history of a man’s career and the stories of a Stadium and a team.

1965. The Beatles played Shea. I was 6. Do I actually remember it on TV in my house or is that memory of the retelling? Hard to say.

1969. All I could think of was kids listening to that game on transistor radios walking home from school with friends.

1986. Game 6, we were painting my friends kitchen in her new house and screaming at the game.

2001. September 21st. I still get chills at the thought of a New York still numb in a post-9/11 stupor; grieving as one family at the horror we had witnessed, as Piazza hit that 2-run homer that felt like hope. Maybe there was a chance we could think of living again.

And woven in between the stories of Billy Joel’s career were stories of the lives of Shea like Pete Flynn, the groundskeeper who not only drove The Beatles to the stage in a Cadillac in 1965, but then drove Paul McCartney to the stage again to close the Billy Joel concert that last night. And of course Billy, who stood humbled on the stage, in awe of being chosen to close that icon of a stadium that he too had grown up with. As he said, ‘Hey, I haven’t put out a new body of music in almost 15 years and this place is filled tonight. Thank you all.”

What a night. The world’s biggest drive in filled with the world’s greatest fans. And they cheered, and teared up. And breathed a collective sigh of appreciation at the end for a beautiful night out in NY. Nothing fancy. Nothing expensive. Just deliciously nostalgic and inspiring in its spirit of hopefulness.

As Paul McCartney ended the show with Let it Be, it was hard to think of anything else more to say.

Bogus Hill

Once again, Joyce is bird-dogging great shots for me. My motto: if you can’t get out of the basement, make sure that your friends can. And remind them to carry a camera.

This is half the stone entrance for Bogus Hill. We love this name. What happens up there?

Nothing real, we are certain.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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The Bulgarian Bar

The Bulgarian Bar is NOT upstairs.

I, for one, was quite relieved by this signage.

Apparently they have a problem with thirsty Bulgarians.

What was upstairs was a fabulous, tragically hip (which we are not) asian fusion tapas (any other groovy name you can think of to describe it) restaurant called Kuma Inn. (113 Ludlow Str, NYC)

Great food, great service, reasonable prices and lovely bathroom with lots of candles.

And SO not a Bulgarian Bar.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visitLeaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Paul Giamatti and the broken trackball

Today was a lemons to lemonade day. I woke all cranky about the broken trackball on my blackberry that would go sideways and up but would not go down (please, hold the jewish girl references here). If you are a blackberry user you know that down is key. Without down you can’t read your emails, you can’t turn on your bluetooth and you can’t change your settings to vibrate so your phone bings all night long with emails. Ok, so I could have shut it off for the night but let’s not forget I have a daughter overseas and without the blackberry we have severed-comm (yes, I have been watching too much 24 – copy that).

So, on this unseasonably beautiful April day I was not all that sorry to take the convertible out to the Verizon store to get it fixed. Happily it was only a $20 replacement part. And while I was there I had a nice lively debate on the worth of the iPad with my favorite guy there.

But, the biggest treat of all was that today a film was shooting at our town’s train station. And who was there, but Paul Giamatti (who I called Giamotta on Facebook today and am still a little embarrassed that I have a photo album there with that name in the title).

Poor Paul. There he was in a wool cap and this heavy jacket and it was near 90 degrees at high noon. I am guessing this was not exactly lemonade for him.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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What a long strange trip it’s been…

… from Haight Ashbury to the New York Historical Society. Who would have thought that such a conservative venue would one day house the archives of the Grateful Dead. I guess if you live long enough.

And I did hear yesterday that someone who sits on the board of the NYHS donated a considerable amount of memorabilia to the archives with the caveat that he would be able to house a show here in NY.

If you are a casual Grateful Dead fan I would say this exhibit is probably not for you. It is rather small and unless you have the cult-like knowledge this tribe breeds you might find it a bit boring. Even for the hardcores there may be some level of disappointment at the size of the show.

The exhibit really needed audio headsets, like the Rock Hall uses. The Lennon Show at the now closed NY venue did a great job with this. Having to read each little sign was tedious and the type was way too small on a purple background (oh, sorry, graphic designers can be that way). A kick ass sound system playing live shows would have also been a nice touch. There was some music playing but it was sporadic and the sound kind of sucked.

However, there were some real jewels in the items on display so I will list my faves here , in no particular order (except for maybe number 1 because it is so ridiculous).

1. Boogie ’till you barf bag. (featured above) No, I did not disrespect the rules of the Society by photographing inside the exhibit. But the blogger that did will forgive me for not giving him photo credit and swiping his shot. Since he took the shot sort of illegally I don’t feel compelled to give credit. How’s that for rationalizing.

2. Steal Your Face Yarmulke nothing like a little kosher Jerry.

3. Original Warner Brothers recording contract Typewritten and looking a little bit like a term paper it was cool to see this document.

4. Original handwritten notes and sketches for the Wall of Sound For those who are unfamiliar, this is considered one of the largest sound systems of all time, built exclusively for the Dead and used on tour from 1974-1976.

5. Copies of 4 different Grateful Dead Comic Books Never heard of these and thought they were really cool.

6. Hand painted stage backdrop For the campies reading, this was reminiscent of a color war banner but bigger. It was quite cool, but I was a bit aggravated by the way it was displayed with part of the exhibit blocking the ability to see the entire piece in full view.

Oh and this was a big fave:

7. Dicks Picks binder Dick Latvala was the famous GD tape archivist. Fans were known for tape trading and Dick was the guru of all live show recordings, later releasing a CD series called Dick’s Picks, which was continued even after his death.

Dick kept meticulous notes for each show including set lists and commentary. If you know me, you know I LOVE a good binder. If you visit the NYHS site and click on photo #6 you can see the page for the May 8,1977, Barton Hall, Cornell show. Dr. Jimmy was there and tells me that this is arguably the greatest Dead show of all times.

Sorry to say I saw them at Cornell the following year – which I would like to say was the best show ever – but all I can remember about that show was the rather ‘interesting’ trip I took in the middle of the night to stand on line for tickets, something about albino deer on the side of the road and the rest is a blur.

And that last little anecdote seems as good a place as any to end a post about the Grateful Dead.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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White Dogs with Orange Socks

I don’t know, I just couldn’t come up with anything clever as a title for this. Sometimes the obvious is so outrageous it just fits.

Seems like the theme this week is pets. So if you are not an animal lover check back on maybe Saturday.

I saw these little lambikin like doggies on the Esplanade in Battery Park City yesterday. If you have never been there, you should visit, it is a very cool place and it almost seems like it is a different city than NY. Full disclosure, Battery Park City Authority is a long-standing client but I genuinely love this place and have watched it grow over the past 25 years from a whole bunch of open lots into a thriving urban jewel.

Back to the white dogs in orange socks (this sounds rather Suessian, no?). I was with a friend/client and we stopped to talk to the owner of these little… scamps. I am pretty sure she suffered from a little OCD of sorts because when I asked to take their picture she was all upset about their ‘faces being dirty’. Apparently these tiny orange socks are not meant to protect their delicate itsy bitsy feeties, they are to keep them from getting soiled.

Oh my!

Do you think she was offended when I bent down to pet them and told her my dog takes bigger dumps than this? Yeh, probably was classic anti-social behavior, but it did get a laugh out of my friend.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Chip off the old blog

The day my daughter was born I held her in my arms, looked into her eyes and thought, ‘Damn I hope she grows up to be a blogger someday’.

Ok, perhaps 20 years ago there was no such thing as a blogger. Come to think of it there was no mainstream internet to speak of. But I was a visionary.

Today, I am proud to announce my daughter has started her first blog. It will chronicle her semester abroad in Sevilla, Spain. Yes I am thrilled that she embraced the idea of blogging and yes, I am jealous as hell.

She is funny (not just because I am her mom, she really is), and she already gave me a shout out in her first post. Since she has sufficiently sucked up – and because I am her mom – I thought that it was my duty to give her some link love. You can find her at Jaña en España (cute, right?).

Hop on over and show her some love.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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