Friday, November 28, 2014

Friday's Child Is Loving And Giving
And Was On TV!!!!

Social Tees and other rescue 
organizations and people 
were celebrated tonight on


OK so the show only had dogs on it.  That's because there's no way you could get cats to cooperate.

Still, no matter if it is a cat.... (Goldie, rescued a year and a half ago from Social Tees)


... or a bigger cat.... (Jupiter, rescued from Queens Boulevard four years ago and who went on to keep my heart alive)


... or a cat who pays the bills... 

(Ada, rescued five years ago from Social Tees by Jillian- she was brand new to the shelter, dirty, stinky, and mean. Named Ada (after the mathematician Ada Lovelace) because of her mathematically complex hiding places. These days, she sleeps next to Jillian's mom, dances for ham, is a fan of Doctor Who, had a NYFringe play written about her)...

... Or Lotus who is doing amazingly well!!!  (in a loving warm foster home!!!)



Thanks is given to the hard working people who go out and rescue and find homes and work tirelessly for a better world.

SOCIAL TEES IN THE EAST VILLAGE!!!


Come Volunteer!!!

Come Visit!!!!

 Come On In!!!!!


 Social Tees 
325 East 5th Street, NY, NY 10003  
socialteesnyc.org 
www.facebook.com/SocialTeesAnimalRescue


Thursday, November 27, 2014

Encore for Thanksgiving: HAND-TO-HAND-COMBAT! LIFE OR DEATH DECISIONS! SLOW CAR CHASES! IT'S THANKSGIVING, THE MOVIE!!

Originally Posted November 26, 2009


This really happened.

It was right before Thanksgiving and like a billion other people, my friend ordered dessert from Veniero's on 11th Street to bring to the family gathering in Pound Ridge. It was probably pumpkin pie, or pastiero di grano or maybe even a cheesecake with little cannolis on top.

This woman is very attractive and she is over 30. Maybe even over 40 but her seamless attractiveness is elegant and well appointed. Oprah's makeover couldn't improve on her classic outfits, highlighted with tasteful touches of contemporary accessories.

So... as she waited on the long line she grew a bit tired. Noticing a bunch of round tables stacked along the wall, she sidled up to one and gently, as only elegance and class could, sat down.

The woman behind her, generously described as perhaps not very attractive and very unhappy about not being attractive, snapped I'M IN THE FOOD INDUSTRY AND YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE SITTING ON A TABLE. My friend politely pointed out that these were tables being stored, not being used for service. At that point the counter guy called "Next." Which was my friend.

YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO TAKE A NUMBER yelled the Unhappy Woman. My friend pointed out that not only did she have a number, she had the one they were calling and off she went to pick up the family dessert. Turning to leave she came face to face with the Unhappy Woman who then... punched her.

"Why'd you do that?" the counterman asked.

My friend quickly left and joined her husband in their car. As she began to tell him what just happened, the Unhappy Woman ran out of Veniero's and began yelling at the car. Windows rolled up and doors locked, her husband began to drive away. My friend pleaded for her husband to go slow because all they needed was for him to run over the foot of the Unhappy Woman as she followed the car down 11th Street yelling things at them.

That Thanksgiving Dinner the dessert was brought out to many ooos and ahhs.

"We almost died for this cake," the husband said.

A brief discussion ensued. Did the Unhappy Woman attack my friend because she was Asian? Did she attack my friend because she was Asian AND pretty? Or was this Unhappy Woman just basically nuts?

Nothing was decided. So they ate the cake.

Monday, November 24, 2014

...One Story At A Time


The United Nations is all orange, campaigning to stop violence against women.  Those lights are trying to paint a more beautiful world where if you have a vagina you'd be safe.

Writing this, live coverage of Ferguson show the police crouching behind riot gear and while the President of the United States quotes Michael Brown's father asking his son's death not be in vain but bring change, the Channel 11 WPIX reporter at the scene gets tear gassed.

It's also Florence's birthday.

I think of all the untold stories and unspoken words about all the blows she took, the acts on her body she did not agree to.


Her stories and all those Michael Brown could have told become lost, become ghosts.

Suddenly the TV shows young men kneeling in the street, hands in the air with an American flag, defying the order to vacate the area.

And suddenly those ghosts start speaking back. 

**
Related Posts:

UNite To End Violence Against Women

A Special Encore of Sunday Memories: I Hear It Was Her Birthday

Sunday Memories: Mathhew 26:52

Use Your F*#&$*g Words

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Sunday Memories: The Expansion Of Family Burgers



Adrian and Alon come to burger-visit

For years, we - Adrian and I - wove burgers in and out of our travels as we headed to love and art and other places in our hearts. 

Brooklyn with the mac&cheese side we liked better than the burger, Avenue C with everything on it, St. Marks Place traditional, fried onions for me, cheese for him, bacon for both of us, Buenos Aires but there it was called steak, London too many to recount but each one noted in full detail, 13th Street small and spectacular, Cape Cod during a break from fried fish, at a french restaurant in Tel Aviv, tonight on 14th Street. 

Eating them and pondering their place in our exploration, even while lovers left, partners stayed, marriage happened, unions were made, families got bigger... perhaps it was the burger that got us to go places we never thought we would.

**

Related Posts:

The Eyes Have It

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Metamorphosis:
Après Le Déluge,
Avant Le Déluge


The cupboard, painted, fixed, shelved.....

There is no history in it and there's no storytelling coming out of it. 

It suddenly looks like the homes all the expensive magazines tout, insisting real people really do live there, and all the clothes match in neat, small piles.

But, real life isn't small, monochromatic or neat.  It's overflowing, messy and filled with color.  It gets stuffed into corners and falls on the floor.  It clashes and sticks out and everything seems to be arguing with everything else.

Still, for just a brief moment, ignoring all the stuff piled all over the place, waiting patiently to be put away, the fantasy of a life this still entices.  Sorta like interior design porn.

 **
Related Posts:

Metamorphosis: Skeletons In Closet

When One Door Closes And You're Headed Towards The Other Door Opening...

Emptying Into Open

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Rainy Day and Monday Encore: "You Say You Want A Revolution..."

Rainy days and Mondays lend themselves to glancing back at other times.  Although not necessarily better.  Or worse.  Just a reminder of the original home

Originally posted July 5, 2009

















Monty's Mom asked what everyone in the courtchyard asked. "What are you doing with your mother's apartment?"

(actually it was more like "whatcha gonna do wit ya motha's apartment?" note: the "t" is silent)

I gave the usual answer about renting and the piano.

"You still play?"

No. I had put my foot down at 13 and refused to play anymore. If I was going to be forced to study music, go to music school and attend the music department at the School for the Performing Arts for violin, I wasn't also going to study the piano. In a rare nod to my individualization, Florence agreed.

I never liked it, I told Monty's Mom.

"Well," she said, "You were a rebellious one."

I was? I had played with Monty when we were little little but like most of the neighbors in the courtchyard it never really felt like anyone knew me, just of me as I ran past in a game of tag.

"Oh yeah. You were power to the people. I mean it was the 60's. But yeah, you were. You were little, too. Yeah. Power to the people."

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Sunday Memories: When Late Comes Early




When the sky gets darker, the lights brighter and the streets come alive, Childhood reappears in the middle of middle-age.

The delight of staying up late, the excitement of holidays coming even if we didn't celebrate them, the flurry of promises made between pedestrians and cars...

**
Related Posts:

The Sign Of Things To Come

Lights Of Autumn

Sunday Memories Of Light And Night

Miracle On Grand Street