Defying brevity...

I wanted to love Wicked...the Broadway musical...and I liked it...but it was uneven...and suffered to a degree with the same problem of Les Miserables...what to do with Act II when the "11 o'clock number"...in this case, "Defying Gravity" (now, on repeat ad nauseum at a Target near you)...ends Act I???...which in the movie version comes after almost 2 hours and 40 minutes...the movie which is Part I...why?...what happened to less is more...is this what happens when the almighty dollar rules?...now, I will admit I was hesitant to see this Wicked...and by the way...this is not a kids movie...the musical never claimed to be for kids either...it left that to the Disney side of Times Square...but this movie is being marketed that way...for fuck's sake...this Wizard is like the Joseph Mengele of Oz...and this is unfair to the revelation of the darker side and sadness of Elphaba...and the evolving friendship of Elphaba and Galinda...which is the essence of the movie  and is quiet moving...kudos to Cynthia...and I will, begrudgingly admit, Ariana who is quite "grande" in this role...but director Jon Chu couldn't leave that subtlety alone...he had to insert over the top numbers and kitschiness..."One Short Day'' which introduces us to the Emerald City looks like it was lifted from Crazy Rich Asians...but I digress...I could not help but think about The Wizard of Oz...made in 1939...it was not the first color movie...but rather the first movie where color...and the use of black and white and sepia for contrast...carried the vision of the director...all that served to support Dorothy's search for more than she realized...it was the emotions this elicited that allowed its audience to feel...to cry ...which immortalized it...I wanted to cry during Wicked...it almost had me...but all that glitters is not always golden...(and everyone over the age of 5 who saw The Wizard of Oz knew that Glinda was the bitch)...

"the women gather"...

Nikki Giovanni died last week...one of my favorite poets...I happened to catch the last half hour of the 2023 documentary "Going to Mars: The Nikki Giovanni Project" the other night on HBO...it left me smiling for a while...there are words that dance on the page...but hearing them read aloud is other worldly...being a writer...a poet...reading other works...loving other poets...that's a tricky thing...there's always that fine line between admiration and subconscious regurgitation...because isn't all creativity new interpretation of basic tenets?...2024 is winding down...slipping, not so quietly, in early sunsets and winter winds...and there isn't just a weather-related drought here in New York...I have been feeling it acutely in my writing...or lack thereof...this year, the world and life stole my creative thunder...many times...we seem to feel those empty chairs at the table more acutely as the candles mount on our birthday cakes...makes me think of another favorite poet...Mary Oliver...who seamlessly wove the innate fear of mortality into exquisite thoughts on nature and earthly delights...and that is the real beauty in poetry...reading, and thinking - yes, I feel that too!...here's hoping that there are more poems inside me...that life gives me the grace to voice them...and for the end of this year I leave you with the closing line of my favorite Nikki poem, The Women Gather..."it is not unusual to sift through the ashes and find an unburnt picture"...

I'm only happy when it rains...

well...I actually don't love the rain...but after weeks of nothing more than a drizzle...and living less than two miles from Eisenhower Park...all 930 flammable acres of it...I find myself looking a few times a day at the long-range forecast...nada...blue skies and sun...good hair days...but if this keeps up will there be water to wash it?...no rain...I promised when I started this that I would talk about the drought...but really the only thing falling from the sky is the shitstorm from Mar-a-Lago...grab 'em young Gaetz for attorney general...Madam Defarge...oops Wiles for chief of staff...RFK Jr...worm for brain for health and human services...Hegseth...is it Hegseth and the Angry inch?...doesn't want women in the military...will he sit across from Tulsi in meetings...she, national intelligence...an oxymoron...she who did serve...how will that play...and Stefanik...she can get off her knees now...she apparently has another job to do...JD Vance wrote the forward for Kevin Roberts' new book...Roberts...Heritage Foundation president...you know that little Project 2025 which no one says they know anything about...I just can't anymore...I am not surprised...i knew Trump would win for a long time...the Democrats are due for a major overhaul...Biden's deal with us was one term...not quite...2024 election...he said he was running...uh, shuffling...until the debate debacle...but without a proper primary it all stank to the heavens...and to the public...the Democrats didn't get it in 2020 when Harris was elevated to the ticket over Klobuchar...they need to get their heads out of the sand...actually out of the coasts...and realize the vast space between and run a candidate accordingly...fixing things is not running a vice presidential candidate like Walz...who looks like he stepped out of an Alexander Payne movie...as an afterthought...because running the more qualified Jewish candidate would offend...omg please have the party grow a pair...after this clown car implodes...Kinzinger and Cheney might be waiting in the wings to mop up...who will be there to meet them...shake hands and debate...with substance and not faux fear...

OMG

OMG...the hit song from Mets Jose Iglesias became the rallying battle cry from that other team from New York...the NY Mets...the team that should have been golfing in October...and almost gave us another miracle during these sweet days of Indian summer...it got me thinking and remembering...1969...P.S. 115 in Canarsie...boys sneaking transistor radios into school...playing them in the deep recesses of those old public school desks...1986...the doors opening at Queensboro Plaza...the old R and 7 exchange...people yelling..."what's the score???"...and other years but no prize at the end of some spectacular seasons...these last few weeks, we could taste it...Eric Adams was praising the Lord...a subway series would mean his shambles of an administration would move several pegs down the news cycle...he's crying this morning...and so are Mets fans...tears of disappointment...but joy...in the scrappy team from Queens that gave us a welcome respite from the world which is harsh and bitter these days...a break from relentless political ads which assault my brain cells...in the lies...and also, the bad writing...it made me realize that when you are in the stands cheering for your team...in any sport...that person next to you jumping and yelling is your best friend for a few hours...there are no political lines or gender lines or color lines or all in between...you are kindred spirits...and all is right with the world...until you sit for hours trying to get on the Grand Central...but seriously...there is no greater escape and happiness than in being a fan...and if you are a true fan...you wait with silent anticipation for February...for pitchers and catchers reporting to spring training...to start that fire within...a new season...a new chance...cheering on your team...high fiving new friends on that stroll into Citi Field...you're a Mets fan...patience is your middle name...

free falling

most people my age who are still blessed to have parents in their lives, repeat one mantra to them at all times...don't fall, don't fall, don't fall...repercussions can be life altering...so there I was...Friday the 13th....enjoying lunch at a nice restaurant with my friend...we were laughing, having a "ladies who lunch moment"...as opposed to the daily "ladies who work, worry and schlep moment"...we got up to leave...and I, remembering my mantra...tucked in the 3,000 pound fairly ugly modern chair as I made my way around the table...at least that was the plan...apparently one leg of said chair was not tucked...challenged my right foot and sent me free falling forward to the ground...and most of me landed on my left knee...the same poor knee that has survived four, count 'em, arthroscopies...cortisone shots...and many rounds of PT over the last twenty years...the knee pronounced not replacement material...I felt panic and my lunch in my throat...thankfully, an employee gingerly got me into a chair, ice appeared from the kitchen...I was able to walk...made it to my car...my friend at my side...made it home...Advil and ice...later orthopedic urgent care...no breaks...a contusion...and I hope that is it...most of you know...you hold your breath after a fall like that...because the real damage is not always obvious...but I am hoping...bargaining with the man upstairs...it's been a shit year in many ways for this family...let this just be a bruised knee and ego...as the knee gives me the middle finger every morning...reminding me I am alive...reminding me to go through life...one step at a time...and watch the chairs...

Unconventional thinking...

as summer slipped into its last month...we had our country's second convention...now, we know each side has lambasted the other's candidates...speakers...delegates...slogans...intent...ad nauseum...but one thing is certain for both sides...there is fatigue behind all those smiles...not the kind that comes from too much after hours partying in Milwaukee or Chicago...no, it is a weariness from years of distrust...distaste...dishonesty...most Americans politically align one way or the other...but these days...the political construct leaves a bitter taste in one's mouth...allowing for left and right extremism...in this respect, the United States is not alone...we can see it in election cycles worldwide...and with this eerie shift...if we are now in this century's "roaring twenties"...are we headed to the authoritarian thirties, part 2?...as for the conventions...when watching them...and I did...well, one more than the other...I often found myself most immersed in the everyday citizens who were asked to speak...their stories were genuine...sincere...a rare political commodity...but this election cycle I find my enthusiasm has been curbed...sidelined by this nation's growing pains...hopefully a "midlife crisis" not a death knell...so, I wait for these last August sunsets...and strangely think of Jimmy Carter...his upcoming 100th birthday this October...and his determination to vote this November...to plant that seed like the good farmer he was...and me...I'm hoping for some inspiration...hope

hillbilly van gogh

I couldn't help it...knowing it would eventually piss me off...make me yell at the screen...I watched Trump's speech last night...well, that first third and then some...and yes, for the first segment...it was a subdued Trump...soft-spoken...and I knew...if he stopped right after that point...it could have been a slam dunk appeal to the undecided...but he couldn't help himself...does a leopard change its spots?...he pivoted...and it was vintage Trump...the revenge tour...a sneak preview of a second term...the crowd cried...wearing quickly made right ear bandages...they claimed in solidarity...a bizarre assembly of the faithful draped in red, white and blue...with bandaged ears...but pay attention...the real danger was Wednesday night...with the elevation of J.D. Vance...that would be James Donald Bowman...freshman senator from Ohio...former Marine...lawyer...author of the NY Times best-selling, yet underwhelming, memoir "Hillbilly Elegy"...made into a mess of a movie...by Ron Howard...oh, Opie...but most importantly...despite his adept back pedaling skills...this guy does not respect women...yes, he has a very accomplished wife...I would argue she will be his shield against all his has said...and has vowed to do...he has said he wants a nationwide abortion ban...no exceptions...he has put the value of staying in marriage for the sake of children above leaving when suffering from domestic abuse...but if you want to see the anger behind the smile...pull up a clip from 2021 where Vance blamed what he calls the "childless left" for our country's woes...since they have "no physical commitment to the future of this country"...my favorite quote sums him up "we are effectively run in this country...by a bunch of childless cat ladies who are miserable at their own lives and the choices that they've made, and so they want to make the rest of the country miserable, too. And it's just a basic fact"...gee, I didn't realize Clarence Thomas is a childless cat lady...but, what's an overwhelming fact is that yes, Mr. Bowman...in simplistic psychological terms...your mother and grandmother did a number on you...which despite your accomplishments you cannot rise above...but now you're going to be a heartbeat away from being the most powerful person on the globe...unless the Democrats pull a miracle...or you let your true colors show beneath the veneer in the lead up to November...with your disdain for the majority of the country...women...for our planet...for our allies (Ukraine)...I could go on...but it's 5 o'clock somewhere...I think Van Gogh vodka is calling my name...

the shiva bell

we get very few "instructions" in life...we take our first breath...mumble the first word...take that shaky first step...but no one really tells us how to live...or prepares us how to die...and most importantly...how to mourn...we often follow the rules of our religion...from the devout...to those diligently adhering as a final gift to our dearly departed loved one...maybe feeling conflicted inside...and so it was...after my father-in-law passed away...gathered around the table sharing a meal in between hours of shiva...that I joked in an exhausted state...that maybe we needed a shiva bell...something to ring to signal that respite...that quiet space was on...and then later...ring it to let us know we were resuming seeing mourners...and it got me thinking...about the mourning process...which is unique to each person...and ever evolving...loss is continuous...changing...as we resume life after losing someone...being busy seems Shangri-la...less time to think...but if only it was that easy...almost twenty-two years later...and I still feel my father's loss...at strange times...how could I support Mike when I have learned so little in that vast time...maybe we just need that shiva bell...to ring when we need that space to feel...even laugh through memories...then cry...with no explanation...after all...who among us does not deserve that grace?

the thin blue line

I was originally going to title this...NYPD blue...but something went off in my brain...and I opened my folder of blogs going back to 2012...and there it was...a blog about the murders of Detectives Ramos and Liu back in December 2014...that time the perpetrator...again, with a stellar rap sheet...did us a favor and killed himself...and the political leaders from both sides...did the mea culpa tango...flash forward almost 10 years and here we are again...Officer Jonathan Diller...wake today and tomorrow...funeral Saturday...political leaders angling for ways to ease their collective conscience...forget them all... this is about his young widow...his beautiful baby...a police partner...all whom will never recover from this...Diller was a Long Island man...I lived in Suffolk County nearly 20 years, and now Nassau County for nearly 12...there is a real six degrees (or less) of separation out here...Diller was 31...my daughter, Lauren, 32...as the days since his murder move forward, she keeps finding friends of friends who knew him...as a mother, that hits hard...the sorrow is palpable...there will be time for finger pointing...and there's plenty of blame to go around...but it does not bring him back...the same day that Diller died...an innocent man was pushed on to the subway tracks in Harlem...to his death...a mentally ill man...with a rap sheet...was arrested for this senseless murder...in an endless loop of subway and street violence in New York...and all of this on the cusp of the holiest weekend for Christians...so...Christian, or not...whatever higher power you believe in...ask for blessings for the soul of Officer Diller...and that man in Harlem...and for this city...my city...which I always hope can rise from the ashes of its current state of relentless hate...and for all that we say...amen

from the river to the sea, what is it they want from me?

almost six months into the Israel-Hamas war...and as an American Jew...everyone wants a piece of me...according to our former President...a cancer that keeps evading chemo..."any Jewish person that votes for Democrats hates their religion, they hate everything about Israel, and they should be ashamed of themselves"...gee, I don't remember any other religion or ethnic group being held up and threatened...and Biden and Blinken cannot win with this one...certainly not when the youth of this country get their news and stats from Al Jazeera...Gaza is an atrocity...Hamas is deeply imbedded and protected and will likely grow out of the ashes...the United Nations called for cease fire...referencing Ramadan...where the hell was the United Nations when Israelis, and non-Israelis, were slaughtered October 7th on Simchat Torah?...no Jew is surprised...but rising antisemitism has its tentacles around the voices and hearts of American Jews...we are damned if we do, damned if we don't...we are held accountable in ways no Christian can ever understand...here's the thing...I am an American Jew...this is my homeland...how safe I feel here...that is my motivating force...and the entire political system...red to blue...has let me down...I matter every four years...and then I am thrown to the wolves...I have no answers to this Mideast conflict...but when Jews are targeted in this country...my country...let me hear your plan...cause the old ones haven't worked...under every administration...blue and red...hate doesn't thrive in a vacuum...it is passed with the potatoes at dinner...in unchecked sermons...in unchecked adjunct professor lectures...in election year dog whistles...like the brilliant Oscar Hammerstein wrote in South Pacific..."you've got to be carefully taught"...

Queen for a day...

the paper shamrocks are being swept away...the spilled beer hosed down...revelry receding in the rear-view mirror...for Jews, this next weekend gives us Purim...late this year...overlapping with Palm Sunday and hopes for spring to assert herself with budding trees and warmth...I have to admit...these last few months...since the October 7th Israeli massacre...which occurred on the Jewish holiday of Simchat Torah...literally "joy of the Torah"...let that sink in...all Jewish holidays are wrapped in sorrow...knowing that there are fellow Jews held in captivity in Gaza...if they are...there is a deep part of me that thinks they are all dead...and so in a few days, we celebrate Queen Esther...and the resilience of our people...or as we would joke before October 7th...they tried to kill us, we won, let's eat...but as I look away from the news...the tragedy of the hostages...the total lack of recognition from women's groups and leaders around the globe of the rape and mutilation of Israeli women (Michelle Obama, anyone?)... and to the tragedy of civilian loss and starvation in Gaza (Egypt silent as a mummy about the closed border)...I wonder...the news always shows male leaders and their mouthpieces digging in their heels...across this globe...and mothers crying silent tears...the amount of women in Palestinian government is pitiful...it's not much to brag about in Israel either...Golde Meir is but a powerful twentieth century memory...maybe women should step forward...if they could...in Gaza, give up their murdering and raping husbands and sons...form a women's coalition to negotiate in good faith...and in Israel...form a more moderate coalition...not caving to religious fanaticism or corrupt leadership...I know...just a pipedream...a crazy thought...but something to think about before you bite into that hamentashen...

one for the ages

The Gilded Age...The Roaring Twenties...The Great Depression...I got to thinking a few days ago about "ages" and how they got their names...did the names properly convey what life was like for the average Joe...or Josephine...we know that not much was really "gilded" in the later nineteenth century, except for the very wealthy...and despite social change...which was significant...the twenties roared...into the Depression...not much to "flap" about...which brought me to this...what will they call the first 20-30 years of the 21st century?...my first thought was The Age of Entitlement...we certainly aren't sitting around that proverbial campfire singing kumbaya...no one takes responsibility for their actions...the fault always rests on the shoulders with those who you violently disagree with...come to think of it...maybe this time period will be referred to as the Age of Discontent, or Disconnect...chose your word with autocorrect...technology outpacing humanity...invention over intention...can't finish the blog...no worries...it's AI...AI...go...

Getting your sea legs

I was on a short cruise last week...encountered rougher weather than one would expect in February...and while waiting for an elevator on my last night...which is a scheduled activity on many a cruise..."waiting for an elevator at 6pm"...I saw a dad with his little daughter...she must have been about 4...cute as a button twirling her sundress...he joked with her asking "I hope you have your sea legs"...to which she replied incredulously..."Dad...I don't have sea legs"...it got me thinking about rocking ships...and wobbly legs...and life...our journeys are never all smooth sailing...we all, on many occasions, want to run to a muster station and abandon ship...it's our ability to get those sea legs...a sense of balance and serenity...and tenacity to move forward...that steers us through life...and adversity...and so, as I thought about my imminent departure...and eventual Monday morning and a huge "to do" list...I was hoping for a strong gait...buoyed by memories of soft winds...sunny baby blue skies...giving me a renewed sense of purpose...but just in case...I'll hang on to that Dramamine...

Attack of the fitting room mirrors...

shopping for clothes...alone...is the biggest pain in the ass...you try to haul as much as you can in with you...multiple styles...sizes...and then pray...there I was yesterday...looking for a sweater  but thinking maybe jeans too...Lord have mercy...this is where that expression comes from...two sizes...three styles...you get it...but after crying exhaustion with the third pair...I realized I had only one size in the style I really liked...and it fit...well...until I sat...then breathing was optional...I meandered out into the store in their jeans...my socks...no one flinched...and couldn't find the next size...headed back to the fitting room disappointed...until I saw a saleswoman rolling a cart by me...I asked her if the next size was in the storage room...she looked me over...she said they didn't have it in the store...and besides..."they would be way too big for you"...she was my new best friend...I told her how these...pointing to their jeans that I could have walked out in...were tight when I sat...she claimed they would give and stretch...I was doubtful...and getting hungry...I went back to the fitting room...put my clothes back on...then I looked in those hideous mirrors with the poor lighting...oh you wonderful saleswoman...you know nothing about the plight of my people...my family...the genes...not the jeans...the plight of "groys pulkes"...I will translate...but the essence will be lost...it means big thighs in Yiddish...I sighed...bought the sweater...thinking salad for lunch...as I headed home...

Silence is golden...

Golden...Golden Bachelor...Golden Globes...it seems as days get shorter all is golden in entertainment...or is it?...first, the Golden Bachelor...or when we yawned towards the grand finale...was he really the golden grifter?...I will admit I did watch it...from weird, promising start...to pathetic, typical finale...all that seemed more real in the beginning...sincere, older bachelorettes...supportive sisterhood...was just business as usual...although watching rejection happen to these "older" women seemed a tad too real and painful...clutch my pearls...until the fan favorites starting showing up all over Instagram and everywhere in between...social media darlings...alongside the plastic young winners and runners up from past seasons...it is only days before these senior bachelorettes hawk products...become senior influencers...ugh...then the Golden Globes...a little history refresher...what once was a Saturday night blip on TBS became a primetime Oscar warm up...people took notice...kind of...it still was the Hollywood Foreign Press...a group I could have easily pictured on a small plane bound for...Epstein Island...and so the red carpet was what drew me in...wearing my January winter sweats, pale complexion and holiday weight...then Covid...then everyone pointing fingers at lack of inclusion...which was hysterical...what was the difference?...this was never supposed to be a serious critics darling...it was just a winter party where celebrities starved themselves...fit into -0 size gowns...got drunk...and rambled through acceptance speeches...but ok...no one wanted to host anymore...so this year they gave us Jo Koy...who?...oh, he's the stand-up guy whose career will be part of the Oscar dead montage...with the most cringe-worthy opening imaginable...I was hoping this was written by AI...because if it was a team of writers...well, this writer says - go back on strike...then odd pairings...inane banter...oy...today would have been David Bowie's 77th birthday...and Wednesday will mark 8 years since he passed...and I keep thinking of a line from his iconic song, Golden Years...just remember...before you click on anything else claiming to be golden..."run for the shadows in these golden years"...don't believe me...just ask the groundhog...