nypd...blue

let me preface this post...i am not a cop...or a retired cop...or child of...and this post...these feelings are not a pulpit stand for left or right...black or white...or the real grey we all live with in between...this is for a sadness...a profound sadness...a real deep blue...this morning as i griped about all the fun my ten-day post shoulder surgery is...and the real delight of a sling on my right arm...the same that will make this posting proceed at a real turtle pace...yes, after saturday morning kvetching i put on the tv...and there it was...the funeral for the late detective ramos...and there was that tear...or two or three...hard to look away...hard not to feel flush with sorrow...bratton's eulogy was the real tear inducer...the boston accent rolling in a sea of genuine sorrow...i kept thinking who the hell wants that job...and being a film fan i cannot escape the bits and pieces that play in the reel always turning in my mind...a fictional soundtrack for warped reality...it was al pacino..."sea of love"...and that crazy line...defending himself to ellen barkin...something like, "in the wet-ass hour we are everybody's daddy"...and as i watched that sea of blue today i did think of what nypd does and must do day in and day out...again, this is not a debate over what needs fixing...what doesn't...it is really just a humble realization...and thank you...for men and women who do what would repel most...when every hour...every minute on the job may end in a day like this...a day when every new yorker..present and past...is nypd...blue

head, shoulder, knees and toes...

ah, yes...the gleeful toddler song...parents smiling...anxiously...hoping their future genius...who they will post about ad nauseum on social media...touches the right body parts when performing at family get-togethers and neighborhood barbecues...but as i reference this rhyme today it is because as of tomorrow i will have completed the quartet and had some procedure or surgery on all stated parts...tomorrow the right shoulder...and as my fingers fly on the keyboard i frown realizing i will be pecking in frustration with my slow left fingers for a few weeks to come...and so i cook the last supper, as it were, on the first night of Chanukah...before the shoulder feels like that latke on the bottom of the plate...i think back wistfully to my childhood and to the joyous anticipation of that first night...the first present...and the first candle burning in my parents' music box menorah...that as we got older played a rather asthmatic sounding "Hatikvah"...i think back to all this holiday was, and is...and wish, for just this moment, i was that little strawberry blonde...singing that song...giggling throughout...all my grandparents, my father still with me...my poor mom rushing to clean up sixties-style...no dishwasher...and my grandfathers hoisting me up to light the first candle...Chag Sameach...Happy Chanukah...wishing you all the blessings and sweetness of memory...

the god of small things

last night...after midnight...mike turned to me and said, "how about assisted living for donut?"...donut, our cat...the same cat that is in a coma all day, was racing through our apartment and scratching everything BUT the scratching post...this is his revenge...our thanksgiving trip to florida...while he boarded at a vet due to his diabetes...has now resulted in a total reversal of day and night...not so bad before the trip...but you get it...and i thought about all this...these small creatures...and then small people...children...about how since i am now light years away from when we traveled the florida route when lauren was little, i am less tolerant...like, when they announce boarding at the gate, they should just say, "anyone who does not require assistance or is not traveling with small children may now board"...and all 5 of us will approach...or when a bored 7-year-old finds kicking the back of your seat amusing is there any parent that will say "stop"?...or when a mother tried to rush past me as everyone crunched like sardines in the aisle of the plane, waiting to exit...worse than the E at rush hour...she shoved, stating she had a baby...and i looked behind her and saw a virtual sea of weary looking parents and babies...and wanted to say, "bitch, really?"...but just laughed, let her go...ugly toddler in tow...and jotted it down on the inside...where i would forget it...until 4am...when i am staring at my demented cat, thinking...atria for kitties...

O Captain! My Captain!

today i spent a wondrous afternoon at walt whitman's birthplace...thinking about the "leaves of grass" as i watched leaves falling on a cold but glorious fall day...but here is the irony...for twenty years i lived about two miles from the place...passed it all the time...wrote, edited and agonized over my poems at a panera across the road...moved to nassau county two years ago...entered some poems in a contest sponsored by the nassau county poet laureate society...didn't win but had one published in their brand new anthology...which was launched today...and there i was in whitman's house...an afternoon bursting with poems...funny and poignant...and inspiring...trying to listen as my heart raced waiting to hear my name...and suddenly it was my turn...and damn, it felt good...the best in life is often that minute or two when it all comes together...we often forget that and don't appreciate that moment...because just as quickly the mundane and ordinary will return...and it did...as i kicked the fallen leaves under my heels on the path when i left i closed my eyes...and breathed deep...but it wasn't the glory of whitman's leaves i smelled...but the aroma of the laundromat across the road...coffee from dunkin next door...and life returns...o captain...it does

the patron saint of schmucks

so I realize some of this may seem familiar...like thoughts from a previous blog post for those who've followed for a while...but since most of us are around that half century mark...or in the neighborhood...we won't remember...which is a blessing for this writer...anyway...i'm feeling cranky...sleeping like shit thanks to donut...(yeah, you've all read about that one)...and shoulder pain...which now after last week's mri seems less of an age-complaint and an actual tear...and so to pull a "scarlett"...as in "o'hara"..."gone with the wind" for the rest of you...i decided to think about all that another day and went to the movies with mike last night..."st. vincent"...which i enjoyed...despite some cloying plot devices and too-tidy for me scripting...but the title of this blog belongs to the woman who sat down next to mike at the multiplex...you all know her...she plopped in with her significant other, toting a coat, a vat of popcorn and a water bottle...in the middle of previews...her mouth didn't shut for the remainder of her stay...the two of them talking...loudly...mike bore the brunt of it...i opened my mouth many times to say..."shut  the fuck up"...but i remembered the multiplex shooting in florida and closed my mouth...sadly it's all over the place...no one shuts up at the movies...or at broadway performances...or on the lirr...or on a plane...the disconnect created by modern technology has rendered us all starving for the sound of our own voice...blah...blah...blah...and as i ponder this and dream wistfully of days gone by...dressing up to go to the theater...the sweet silence with an overture...no crinkling of twizzlers during the show stopping number...soft sobbing...the only sound in a movie theater during closing credits...i realize that shit...i am a cranky-pants...and i think of all the oscar-bait movies opening this fall...plotting when to see which one...how to cram it all in...and then about that patron saint...and wonder when all those movies will be available on netflix!

house of litter and fog

i am sleepwalking through fall...blame it on the meow..in july, donut, our cat, came out of his "diabetic remission"...and any shot at normal sleep, or a "good housekeeping" clean home went out the proverbial window...he sleeps all day...wakes to drain the water bowl...runs in and out of his pan...a lot....trailing litter that escapes mats, sweeps, vacuums, etc...a lot...and bellows at 230AM...a lot...i am the only one who notices...or hears...in theory...and so after weeks of this i find myself finding it difficult to distinguish the line between daily life...and r.e.m...and so I am sleepwalking...which in a warped alternative universe should be a goldmine for creative juices and writing and such...but instead of poems of epic proportion i concoct shopping lists...and spend free time watching the guity pleasures on the dvr...the sunday jackpot...and so as i picture myself a somewhat older alicia florrick...lustrous chestnut julianna margulies-maned...killer career...enviable wardrobe...i fear that i am more bug-eyed carrie mathison...running on fumes...and a good chardonnay...and the good stuff nucky thompson bootlegs...as i wait for that insulin to work...and to sleep...again...

next to normal

i am a woman in my fifties...there...i've said it and i'm still breathing...and i am trying to reinvent the wheel, again...so to speak...as my generation runs the treadmill that is life...trying not to fall off...trying to be current...relevant...not get left behind...trying to hang on to employment...and find some meaning if that employment has become little more than a paycheck...and as all this becomes unbearably loud in my head...that nagging thought rises like a crescendo...what have i done with my time...what will i do going forward...and how fierce will i be...blame all this angst on the jewish new year which always makes me pause...and think...and brood...and eat...which...being a woman in her fifties...is like immediately dialing up the freakin' scale five pounds for thought alone...i make a to do list...maybe a little more introspective than picking up cat litter or going to the cleaners...no, this is more like...get that second book out there...read more...laugh more...listen a lot more...and as i sit here and ponder the big picture...and where i fit into all of it...i look on my desk at a beautiful quote mounted on a wood plaque...given to me by a lovely women, sue, in my writers' group..."the old woman I shall become will be quite different from the woman I am now. another I is beginning, and so far I have not had to complain of her." ~ george sand...and as i start this new year...5775...i look forward to new beginnings...and to the challenge, and journey...and to the halvah sitting on the counter

six degrees of separation

only a few weeks ago i blogged about seeing joan rivers...first time...stand up...long island...but this was before robin williams...before joan...and this is no laughing matter...and i wondered about loss and grief...and how if we dissect things we are probably all six degrees or less from it all...and as i pause to wonder if the new york post is even fit for the bottom of a bird cage after it's horrible photos of pre-beheadings...(this is 2014, right...not tudor England of which i am totally immersed in courtesy of "wolf hall")...as i pause in awe at the swift passage of time as we approach the 13th anniversary of 911...i feel sadness in the waning days of summer...realizing how important robin and joan and all brilliant comedians are as they hold us tight in the warmth that is humor...keep us from falling into the abyss of the world as we know it...hoping that generation text will continue the tradition of comedy...which is a step away from tragedy...and find a voice or two that will make them laugh till they cry...and keep the world outside at bay...for a while

everything is illuminated....

fireflies on an august night...a breeze on a beach that hints of fall...a nice glass of wine in your hand as the sun sinks into the horizon...the clichés of summer...what we dream about on a biting cold winter afternoon...but the title of this blog has little to do with fireflies...or even summer skies lit up by crazy storms...it has to do with me thinking about the movie, wonderfully directed by liev schreiber...everything is illuminated...about love and loss and closure...about man's brutal inhumanity and gentle humanity...maybe I am thinking about this because september has always been a month of new beginnings...after august and all that was free and effortless, we move forward and start again...the responsibility of a new school year, or new school...for some back to work...and for me, in a few short weeks, rosh hashanah, the new year...a woman in my writing group read a beautiful piece she was working on...one that asked a pointed question of what you would ask for if given one wish...not that simple, huh?...would it be personal or global?...and I've been thinking about that...and all that is in the past...and what is now...and wondering about what will be...and i dig deep to really decide what that wish would be...one sunset closer to fall...and hoping for some illumination when my eyes close...and the world fades to black

Can we talk?

so, i am looking back at the past week and i realize how bizarre that last saturday i saw joan rivers...and last night sammy hagar (with michael anthony, vic johnson and jason bonham)...no real common thread...although the seeds of humor and music firmly planted in my earliest memories of growing up...vacations in the catskills...borscht belt fever...sneaking in to see the show...comediens...comediennes...and then there was music...my parents and their most eclectic album collection...broadway hits, sing along in yiddish, allen sherman, harry belafonte, ramsey lewis, tito puente, shirley bassey, janis joplin....wait janis joplin??...and there you have it...and so in one week i finally get to see joan...i want to be that fierce at 81...to take all life has handed you and then throw it back while the audiences cries in laughter...sammy hagar...not that i ever really owned any of his cds...but no one could deny his rock showmanship...i was actually very curious when jason bonham's name appeared...remembering how incredible he was with heart at jones beach...secretly hoping for zeppelin tunes...and then getting several...sammy wailing "whole lotta love"...jason slaying "moby dick"...of course, concerts always bring them all out of the woodwork...the almost fist fight over a seat at joan...yes, at a joan rivers performance security was called...not slipknot...then last night...the seat holder to my left...standing and pumping his right arm in the air wildly...while his wife or girlfriend sat in a catatonic state to his left...as the evening wore on he was getting closer to me...closer to pounding my skull with each pump...closer to knocking the steel plate out of my skull...would have sent it flying onstage...sammy probably would have just laughed...autographed it and tossed it back to the crowd...hey, there's only one way to rock...

losing my religion

summer...supposed to be a time of long days at the beach...sweet tea on the porch...ice cream melting in your hands...and catching fireflies in mason jars...but this summer all is chaos...and although the temperature is somewhat tepid here...the world is burning...for long islanders, body parts on lawns in hempstead...machetes...planes landing on roadways, and more...but it distracts from the real inferno...the world...a second malaysian airline catastrophe...and not one nation can seem to get past ukrainian rebels to bring those bodies home...i watched one dutch mother's anguish on tv and had to look away...and i avoid the most painful...israel...hamas has brilliantly created a cesspool of epic proportions that i fear israel can never crawl out of...without shit on their hands...and the world responds...a synagogue filled with worshippers stoned in paris...and not the first time...it goes on...if you think all of this doesn't strike every jew...the most observant to the most self-proclaimed "casual" one to the core...well...makes me think of the southern expression...losing my religion...losing one's civility...at the end of one's rope...sometimes i put that silver peace symbol on in the morning (one that i'd been searching for and found a few weeks ago in a little shop in port jefferson.)..sometimes i just put that on like a wreath of garlic against the vampires...and i pray when i turn that phone on...and scan the news...that this world will be metered some measure of peace

ain't nothing but a dream...

richie havens is following me this week...or i should say his beautiful "follow" is...the radio...there again, wonderfully used in two movies i caught on tv...having seen both so many times..."coming home"..."a walk on the moon"...two stories about women finding their identity in fast changing times...and i mull over all of it...world anguish in the middle east now, far east then...this being july...later this month it will be the 45th anniversary of the infamous walk on the moon...when you look back and put that in the context of the tumult that was the sixties...and the violence of the later sixties...you've got to shake your head and think what a gift that moment was for this nation...to allow everyone to get lost in space for a few minutes...i sit here and wonder...will there be relief from the incessant body count...when do we get to turn down the noise we've created and embrace something collectively...where is our walk on the moon...because if you sing it softly and with purpose...we surely will follow..

summer wishes, winter dreams

i am looking out my window...and the sun is glorious...the birds are chirping...and i am getting ready for work (bleh)...summer has begun...in all its hot, frizzy glory...after a horrible winter and a spring that never showed up...I ask you...then why do i always get that little twinge at summer solstice with the realization that the days now shorten...albeit slowly...but still...almost the way I mentally bargain at the winter solstice...this darkness too shall pass...and i am struck by the thought of how much we bargain with time...particularly as we age...the past few weeks i have had the good fortune to find some old college friends via social media...we exchange life stories and memories...and suddenly, if but for a brief moment, we are back in time looking at our younger selves...and then i look at my daughter...turning 23 this week and older than i was in those faded videos and snapshots...and marvel at the swift passage of time...and think that the greatest birthday wish i can give to her is to not bargain with father time...but just embrace each day the best you can as the adventure and gift it is...and then, reality sets in...how quickly would her eyes roll at the thought...which brings to mind the last line of "the turning point"..."oh, emma, if only she knew what we know now"..."it wouldn't matter worth a damn"

who'll stop the reign?

it is raining...again...and after this past winter i don't think we should have any rain this summer (even if it's not really summer, yet)...well, maybe one afternoon a week...because if it was beautiful out every day then i would never sit at the laptop to write...and then I would feel guilty..and i am rambling...today's rant is about those brilliant sisters....who have contributed so much to our culture...no, i am not talking about the brontes...but the kardashians, of course...because last week...while more girls were kidnapped in nigeria...while 5 of our own were killed in a horrific episode of "friendly fire"...while we lost ruby dee...and, even on lighter notes, when broadway's brilliant audra mcdonald made incredible tony award history (6 tonys, all four acting categories and she's only 43!!)...we get to hear about kourtney...is she pregnant...do we care?...we get to hear about kim and kanye's second honeymoon...see her fat ass in a white bikini...hear about him turning 37 (that's 5 in kanye tantrum years)...thankfully, the real nitwit, khloe, was in absentia...and i want to know...actually beg...can someone take the spotlight from them...someone with real talent...make it easier to wrap my brain around it...how about some kick ass sisters to take the reign...like the wilsons...ann and nancy, of course...

Come what may(a)...

i am sitting here...the last day of may...and thinking about the passing of maya angelou...and her legacy both culturally and spiritually...and have to admit...that although i call myself a poet...i have read only some of her work...as is the case with many great poets...it is really not something that i do out of laziness...but more out of fear...that i will immerse myself in the beauty of great poets and my own pen will be silenced...or i will lose my voice when i write when trying to emulate another's...in april i had the good fortune to attend the academy of american poets "poetry and the creative mind" event at lincoln center...it was the second year i went...the event celebrates national poetry month by inviting actors, poets, chefs and other celebrities from various paths to read some great poetry...anyway, i opened this year's program and there it was...miss angelou's "still i rise"...to be read by rosie perez...i know some of you are grinning...rosie perez?!?..she had to excuse herself for the first half of the program...a coughing fit...she made it back and it was her turn to hit the podium...the beginning was a bit tentative...the signature nasally full-on-new yawk voice almost afraid of the task...but midstream something happened...and the words were not just on the paper...or from memory...but from somewhere deep inside...and when she finished the applause...thunderous...and that is the real beauty of poetry...great poetry...the chord it touches within each of us...still i rise...perhaps the greatest gift miss angelou bestowed was a voice for the mute among us...an introduction to the masses to what poetry can be...and a kick in the ass to this writer to keep writing...the poetry of our stories will always rise...

a price above rubies....

coming home from mom's (nj) to me (long island)...sans auto, so I could take care of some "city" things...I found myself thinking...quite a bit...the thoughts were an extension of a poem I recently wrote about how it feels at this moment being a woman in her fifties...about how difficult it can be to stand tall when society tries to diminish my worth with each candle on the cake...it's easy to sell yourself short...the media slams us everyday with images of our Hollywood counterparts..."wow, see how she looks at 40, 50, 60..." blah blah blah...I'm thinking yeah, she's had more work done than the belt parkway...to add to these feelings...many of us find ourselves in the job market...again...trying to reinvent ourselves...again...competing with our own children and their contemporaries...ouch....and so I thought about the beautiful phrase...a price above rubies...and became a little introspective...and thought of so many of my friends...close and even casual...all of a certain age...and thought...never let anyone or anything compromise your feelings of self-worth...age is beauty and our worth is far above the prices of rubies...yeah...put that on the resume!

a day in hollywood, a night in the ukraine

the news makes my head hurt...not the lead stories...about the size of kim's ass or the possibility of george being off the market...uh, like he was ever on the market for me, or anyone reading this...but we dream...anyway...it is the real news that causes frown lines...the news about a ferry full of innocent south korean high school students sinking...about missing nigerian girls...and mostly about ukraine...whether or not each story is valid the tone is...putin is marching and anti-semitism is alive and strong...as it always has been...but more so lately...buried deep after stories of beyonce and bieber and all other forms of distraction...i wonder if maybe the greatest history lesson we can teach younger generations is that how it repeats itself...despite hopes and claims to the contrary...so we close our eyes and wish for the happy ending...but it keeps me up...when I think that hitler began his merry march in 1933...and the attack on pearl harbor wasn't till 1941...eight years...i guess it was eyes wide shut...or maybe everyone reading about what vivien wore to the "gone with the wind" premiere...or who clark's date was...makes me think of that old play title...a day in hollywood...a night in the ukraine...

chasing cars

"what can i do to get you in this car today?"...i am in hell...the leases on both our car, and lauren's, are up in may...and so comes the search...and for every dealership we walk into, the catch phrase...i clench my jaw...cause what i want to say is...something along the lines of...buy it for me...and while you're at it...throw in my mortgage...and credit cards...how about gas for a year...unleaded!!!...ugh...and on that little form they all ask you to fill out there are those lines for phone numbers and email addresses...i think of putting in my old phone number...from the 60's...the one my mom made me memorize till my little head hurt...HI4-6184...keep them busy...because you know they are going to call...and email...all the time...like when i was trying not to drop the 14 pound turkey en route to the oven on passover..."what can i do to get you in this car today?"...does it come with a 5 foot invisible shield to surround it...so when I take it out the first time...like to fairway...it won't get battered by some shopping cart racing from the next row that some dumbass couldn't roll back...and also for that car careening onto the northern state without a glance in the rearview...can it fly next time i have to navigate the potholed belt parkway...didn't think so...cars...when we sit down with the pen and the money...and sign on the dotted line...just give me the color i want...let me download "full moon fever"...and drive away...into one mile an hour long island traffic...deal?

what a fool believes

last week i was shuffling through the port authority to visit my mom...this being my mode of transport when i want to avoid the craters...i mean potholes on the belt parkway and staten island expressway...and also pass on the 100 year construction project that is the status quo in the tri-state...anyway...I am having coffee, this after walking by fatigues and guns and police...the authority in this port...a reminder of the fragile state in which we still exist post-911...i am trying to write...and trying to avoid the news from the tv above...another fire in new jersey...hey, new york post...the hell with bridgegate or whatever the catch-phrase du jour is...new jersey is burning...and a plane is missing a la lost...i can't watch those relatives wailing in close-up in yet another report so i look away...and my eyes try to avoid the growing number of homeless also shuffling along...all while mayor de blasio won't shut up about universal pre-k...and i am thinking that coffee is not strong enough...even at noon in this "port"...flash forward...monday morning...the last day of march...the first day in the three-card-monte game that is a presale for tickets for fleetwood mac...prices not bad they say...unless you want to eat this month...but i think of christine mcvie...over my head...as i lament that i have to go to work and therefore will not be able to click search at 10am...it is snowing...i have to dig my freakin' snow boots out again...and it's not april fools' yet...but i remember two weather forecasts sunday night...newscasters flashing pearly whites and mentioning the possibility of flakes north...and we are east...and as i slip into work i am thinking about all of this...and laugh...what a fool believes

on lions...and lambs...

somewhere between the inane olympic commentary...and (the bachelor) juan pablo's brain-numbing assurances of..."it's okay"...all isn't okay as i suddenly find myself sliding towards the infamous ides of march...my last rant to all who read was dated february 17th???...how the hell did a whole month go by?...or almost a quarter of 2014...i am beginning to think that i am creatively a bear...and with that first burst of icy cold my brain hibernates...or maybe not a bear?...through circumstances of work and weather i have missed my weekly writer's group for the better part of this winter...and today as i edited one lonely poem to read tomorrow, i began to ponder the unthinkable...was there any juice left in my creative veins?...was i done??...a list of poetry contests to enter...I became more miserable with each poem i selected...as if each one was just a lamb to the slaughter...this sunday is purim...another one of the jewish holidays that is essentially...they tried to kill us, we won, let's eat...but maybe not...i mean queen esther was really such a bad-ass diva...maybe it's time to channel my queen esther...pull a lion out from behind my lancomed-mask...a poem that will roar...yeah, this sunday i'll drink a little wine, summon the creative spirits and hit the send button!...happy purim (and happy st. pat's)..see you in spring

Now is the winter of our discontent....

to steal a little shakespeare...who had no idea when writing this little gem of the wrath of mother nature in 2014 new york...then again living in those old drafty castles probably was no picnic...but i digress...the weather...it is all we talk about...bitch about...post about...and it is still february...two weeks away from the weather crapfest that is march...we are also in the middle of the winter olympics...and i am remembering that in the past how i would really look forward to the ice skating competition...always amazed at the spins, jumps and grace as I would recall my attempts on the ice...owning white skates with pink pom-pom laces and no apparent skill whatsoever...but this time, maybe blah and numb from lugging around in 400 pound snow boots and winter gear since november, i am less interested...but then a few days ago as i played spin the dial to avoid another dire weather interruption i saw it...little yulia lipnitskaia of russia...wearing red on a sea of white ice...skating to "schindler's list"!!...i did a double-take...figure skating to the sob-inducing music of "schindler's list" in the land that gave us the pogrom...in a nation where it is dangerous in the 21st century to be openly gay...could a 15-year-old know all the twisted irony when she chose the music?...i've googled in earnest...reading how she was discouraged by many over her insistent choice of music...how she had watched the movie many times and was drawn to the girl in the red coat...how they searched for a choreographer...and ultimately chose a russian jew...how, all politics aside, it was a hauntingly beautiful interpretation...if she takes the gold, I only hope putin doesn't steal her thunder...he certainly will never understand the strength of spirit that always burns even in the most oppressed souls...maybe this should be what we take away from sochi...

material grill

i originally thought i would title this, "now is the winter of our discontent"...a rant about the obvious...the winter that won't die...blah, blah, blah...and then there were the Grammys...and Madonna...the hat, the suit, the cane...the grill...a too-touched up face leaving her looking a little too-Faye Dunaway...oy...but later on that night i got to thinking...what does a woman do when she reaches that certain age?...should she shop at "frumps are us" or raid her daughter's closet?...if she works hard at keeping fit, then what's acceptable to wear to flaunt it....and i thought more...if on the inside we are all still so young and evolving...then how do we translate that to the outside?...and i found myself feeling sorry for Madonna...always a pop cultural icon...yet for me more the queen of reinvention...i always thought of that song from "Gypsy" when she would take on a new persona..."you gotta have a gimmick"...and now the "gimmick" becomes a joke...so maybe Madonna should let go...and just sing...well...better yet...produce...get behind some new talent...show them the ropes and how not to get strangled by them...throw out the grill...and smile...let a few wrinkles and laugh lines show...be less the material girl...and, you know, how that real 80's goddess, Cyndi Lauper sang...show her true colors...at this certain age, she owes nothing less to herself, and to us...

his, and her(s)...

a sunday in january...the golden globes...the official start of awards madness...so i think of the films i saw this year...those i missed...those i hope to see before they disappear to the small screen...what we like or hate about movies is a subject as wide as the grand canyon...and how does a couple choose what to see when their tastes are often...different...sometimes, it seems the choice is mutual...often, we joke, this one's yours...next one's mine...and so it would seem that it was my choice last week with spike jonze's latest, "her"...i will preface this by saying that i do really like spike's movies...many do not...and i was more than curious by reviews and trailers...i really liked it...the premise...the acting...the direction...you get it...i glanced at mike about twenty minutes into the film...oh, no...there was that look...it was kind of the same look he gave me during "pulp fiction" a million years ago...a movie, which i should tell you, he now watches anytime it pops up...i wondered how many movies of his choice i would have to sit through in exchange...i cringed...and found myself back at the multiplex last night..."the wolf of wall street"...let me give you a brief background on this one...i am a graduate of nyu's tisch school of the arts...before it was even tisch...although i was a television major, it was still in evidence through those old halls (again before the beautiful new digs on broadway were built) that we all were to worship at the shrine of "marty"...martin scorsese...nyu's esteemed graduate...and so i always find myself approaching his films with some indoctrinated adoration...mostly deserving...although not all the time..."wolf"...three hours later i cannot tell if i really liked it...it was certainly not like most scorcese films...or was it?...i did feel a bit nauseated when i, too, laughed with the audience...and this a long island audience...the home of stratton oakmont...would they laugh as loud if the subject was madoff?...then there was all the excess...profanity, drugs, nudity...footage...all understandable given the subject matter...but the movie was too long...and the portrayal of women...ah, there it is...as much as i have admired, and loved, some of "marty's" films...he most definitely has always had difficulty with his female characters...in this one alone why does the audience feel almost more sympathy for jordan belfort than his second wife, naomi?...i thought back to vera fermiga's character in "the departed"...lorraine bracco in "good fellas"...blah, blah...and so, as i wonder about all of this...and ready for the globes tonight...which is the greatest joke in hollywood...how does the foreign press explain "her" in the comedy category...anyway, when i watch, and ponder "wolf" i will need to really wonder...if i sort of liked it...who chooses the next flick???...such the dilemma as we dive deep into january...keep warm... 

old lang's sign...

and so it is a cold, sunny New Year's morning...the quiet before a snowstorm...or not...depends on whether your weatherperson sees forecasts as "half empty" or "half full"...but anyway... it is always a time of year of some sort of reflection...and I got to thinking about that old New Year's tune, auld lang syne...for those of my generation, this song was always the background when the big ball dropped in Times Square and Dick Clark told us it was a New Year...or for others, it was those last few minutes in "The Poseidon Adventure" when Ernest Borgnine, Shelly Winters and Gene Hackman clasped hands smiling before the boat flipped and they climbed and yelled for two hours...this year I decided to research the lyrics...the words that no one knows and everyone mumbles through the alcohol haze at midnight...and I smiled...so simple, so beautiful...and it became clear...the texts, emails, phone calls, holiday cards...reaching out to old friends, and new ones...family near and far...hoping to close the distance, literal and figurative, in the New Year...hopeful before the reality of life swallows us whole again...like that tidal wave in "Poseidon"...and so I leave you some of the lovely words of Robert Burns...as I reach out to wish you all the best in 2014..."And there’s a hand my trusty friend ! And give me a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll take a right good-will draught, for auld lang syne."