I am considering becoming an Orthodox Jew. This has nothing to do with religion and everything to do with my dancing.
My family calls the one dance step that I perform the Horace Mann shuffle. This is not meant as a compliment. It is a short hand reference to how they perceive the skill set of me and a number of my old high school classmates. For those of you who may be fans of Seinfeld, think of the memorable dance of Elaine, and multiply it many fold.
I don't know any other way. Once the music starts, the shuffle emerges. There is a biting of my lip (which is a trait I believe I share with Elaine), a contortion of my face, an awkward flailing of my arms, and a thrusting to my side of one leg and then the other. Joanne is left a helpless victim, a partner in name only.
For a person who gives the appearance of being coordinated, I often display complete physical ineptitude. I am that one guy in the crowd who can't do rhythmic clapping. Tapping to the beat of the music is a foreign concept. And then there is my dancing.
So, tonight, when I attended an Orthodox wedding, it came to me. From the youngest boy to the octo/nanogenerian, they were amazing. There was jumping, bumping, twisting, turning, smiling. I couldn't tell if they were all great but they were certainly not painfully awkward. And they seemed in control of the space they inhabited.
If I could only absorb what I saw this evening. I began to envision myself much like the young John Travolta, strutting and preening.
So while it may be true that white men can't jump, I have discovered that there is a certain portion of white men who can dance. If I am soon one of them, you will know that I took some very unorthodox steps to get there.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
They
They appeal to the worst part of our beings
They search for the worst in others
They prey on our fears
They create deceptions
They create divides
They create nothing
They disregard truth
They foster despair
They make us hated
They make us hate
They make us small
They destroy
Is this the best they have to offer?
They search for the worst in others
They prey on our fears
They create deceptions
They create divides
They create nothing
They disregard truth
They foster despair
They make us hated
They make us hate
They make us small
They destroy
Is this the best they have to offer?
Saturday, August 7, 2010
A Thank You Note to My Wife on Our 33rd Anniversary
Most who read this might find it strange that I am thanking you for not being with me today. You were not with me while I played golf (very badly) with 3 of my long time golfing companions. You were not with me when I decided to go with Richie to the Yankee game this evening. You are not with me now as you traveled up to Great Barrington this afternoon with friends. You will not even be with me tomorrow morning when I play yet another round of golf (also, quite certainly, very badly) with 7 golfing companions. In short, after 6:30 this morning, we spent our entire anniversary apart. I thank you for allowing me, and my passions to be important today, of all days. I thank you for making each day matter, but none matter more than another.
I thank you for accepting that first date. I thank you for our first tennis game. I thank you for your Mom and Dad. I thank you for rescuing me every night while I was studying for the bar exam. I thank you for your Mom fixing my bow tie right before the wedding ceremony. I thank you for our first apartment. I thank you for not letting me bid on every house we saw. I thank you for Tenafly.
I thank you for bringing the oranges to all Alex's soccer games. I thank you for finding that sign language class for her. I thank you for loving that Saab even with the push pins, the rust and the water seeping in. I thank you for helping Richie make that school project object that looked like a hamburger. I thank you for the centerpieces made out of old ski boots. I thank you for those car rides back and forth from the Berkshires with the kids talking, arguing, or sleeping. I thank you for Coal, Shadow, Mickey and Banjo. I thank you for the mogul runs I made you take a little too early in the vacation. I thank you for enjoying shoveling manure. I thank you for being the co-chef with Richie in his search for the perfect edible alternatives.
I thank you for sleeping with the air conditioning on in our bedroom even though you are freezing and even though the noise wakes you up throughout the night. I thank you for doing all those chores I don't do because I am very bad at them. I thank you for not worrying at all the things I worry needlessly about. I thank you for being the handyman and the moving man. I thank you for taking those long walks with me. I thank you for the bike rides I am now starting to enjoy. I thank you for thinking 5:30 is an actual dinner time and 10 PM is late. I thank you for making me feel that my writing has value. I thank you for the joy in your face when you do something well. I thank you for introducing me to a very interesting group of people known as ski patrollers. I thank you for putting up the plaque listing all those in my bunk from Camp Akiba. I thank you for the way you help me out with my mom. I thank you for all the things you do with Richie. I thank you for driving with me in the middle of the night to pick up Alex. I thank you for still laughing with me. I thank you for never going to sleep angry. I thank you for letting me discover new joys in the Berkshires. I thank you for refusing to get old.
I thank you for the million things I did not thank you for over the past 33 years.
I thank you for where we are now, and where I hope we will be tomorrow. I thank you for all the yesterdays and all the days to come. I thank you for today. I thank you for being my wife.
I hope you sleep well tonight and I will see you tomorrow afternoon. I love you.
I thank you for accepting that first date. I thank you for our first tennis game. I thank you for your Mom and Dad. I thank you for rescuing me every night while I was studying for the bar exam. I thank you for your Mom fixing my bow tie right before the wedding ceremony. I thank you for our first apartment. I thank you for not letting me bid on every house we saw. I thank you for Tenafly.
I thank you for bringing the oranges to all Alex's soccer games. I thank you for finding that sign language class for her. I thank you for loving that Saab even with the push pins, the rust and the water seeping in. I thank you for helping Richie make that school project object that looked like a hamburger. I thank you for the centerpieces made out of old ski boots. I thank you for those car rides back and forth from the Berkshires with the kids talking, arguing, or sleeping. I thank you for Coal, Shadow, Mickey and Banjo. I thank you for the mogul runs I made you take a little too early in the vacation. I thank you for enjoying shoveling manure. I thank you for being the co-chef with Richie in his search for the perfect edible alternatives.
I thank you for sleeping with the air conditioning on in our bedroom even though you are freezing and even though the noise wakes you up throughout the night. I thank you for doing all those chores I don't do because I am very bad at them. I thank you for not worrying at all the things I worry needlessly about. I thank you for being the handyman and the moving man. I thank you for taking those long walks with me. I thank you for the bike rides I am now starting to enjoy. I thank you for thinking 5:30 is an actual dinner time and 10 PM is late. I thank you for making me feel that my writing has value. I thank you for the joy in your face when you do something well. I thank you for introducing me to a very interesting group of people known as ski patrollers. I thank you for putting up the plaque listing all those in my bunk from Camp Akiba. I thank you for the way you help me out with my mom. I thank you for all the things you do with Richie. I thank you for driving with me in the middle of the night to pick up Alex. I thank you for still laughing with me. I thank you for never going to sleep angry. I thank you for letting me discover new joys in the Berkshires. I thank you for refusing to get old.
I thank you for the million things I did not thank you for over the past 33 years.
I thank you for where we are now, and where I hope we will be tomorrow. I thank you for all the yesterdays and all the days to come. I thank you for today. I thank you for being my wife.
I hope you sleep well tonight and I will see you tomorrow afternoon. I love you.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Witnessing History
I had been at the game when he hit 599, and I was at the Stadium this past Monday when the futility in trying to reach 600 continued. A- Rod, in full view. You could almost see him twitching internally, as a succession of mostly forgettable names stymied him in his ongoing pursuit of greatness.
One of sports seminal pleasures is recounting tales of having been at a defining moment. I will bore anyone within earshot with a top ten list of my 'accomplishments' of having been in the right sporting place at the right time. Yesterday, I was not at the Stadium. However, that is not to say that I didn't have tickets to the game. I did, or at least, I kind of did.
Some years ago, I presented a friend with 4 tickets to a Yankee game, in celebration of his son's birthday. It turns out that an annual tradition was born that day.
As I sat in my car and listened to the radio yesterday afternoon, I imagined the arc of A-Rod's 600th. My first thought was not of the steroid issue, or of the weight that was lifted from his shoulders, but of those 4 seats, none of which were being occupied by me. Joanne texted our friend "600 !!!!!" and got a joyous reply moments later. That could have been me, I thought.
The truth is that my best memories are of moments unscripted. My daughter and I watched as Jeter dived into the stands and came out bloodied but triumphant during that unforgettable game against the Red Sox. It was stirring being with my son while seeing a fading Doc Gooden pitch a no hitter against a Seattle team led by a young star by the name of Ken Griffey.
And the one that surpasses them all is recalling my dad beaming, while clutching a foul ball that had just been hit by Yogi Berra in his 2000th game as a Yankee.
So, while I lament my failure to be a witness to history, maybe I should, much like A-Rod, stop trying so hard. Let it all come to me naturally, and allow what is meant to be to happen of its own accord.
That is not to say that I am not trying to figure out exactly when 700 will be hit, and maybe even calculate the moment in time when 763 should go sailing into the history books. I wonder if the Yankees can put tickets on hold for mid-August 2013 and 2015 in the left field bleachers?
One of sports seminal pleasures is recounting tales of having been at a defining moment. I will bore anyone within earshot with a top ten list of my 'accomplishments' of having been in the right sporting place at the right time. Yesterday, I was not at the Stadium. However, that is not to say that I didn't have tickets to the game. I did, or at least, I kind of did.
Some years ago, I presented a friend with 4 tickets to a Yankee game, in celebration of his son's birthday. It turns out that an annual tradition was born that day.
As I sat in my car and listened to the radio yesterday afternoon, I imagined the arc of A-Rod's 600th. My first thought was not of the steroid issue, or of the weight that was lifted from his shoulders, but of those 4 seats, none of which were being occupied by me. Joanne texted our friend "600 !!!!!" and got a joyous reply moments later. That could have been me, I thought.
The truth is that my best memories are of moments unscripted. My daughter and I watched as Jeter dived into the stands and came out bloodied but triumphant during that unforgettable game against the Red Sox. It was stirring being with my son while seeing a fading Doc Gooden pitch a no hitter against a Seattle team led by a young star by the name of Ken Griffey.
And the one that surpasses them all is recalling my dad beaming, while clutching a foul ball that had just been hit by Yogi Berra in his 2000th game as a Yankee.
So, while I lament my failure to be a witness to history, maybe I should, much like A-Rod, stop trying so hard. Let it all come to me naturally, and allow what is meant to be to happen of its own accord.
That is not to say that I am not trying to figure out exactly when 700 will be hit, and maybe even calculate the moment in time when 763 should go sailing into the history books. I wonder if the Yankees can put tickets on hold for mid-August 2013 and 2015 in the left field bleachers?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Calm from the Storm
My sister is on vacation this week. In her absence, others in our clan scramble to fill the temporary void in 'coverage' for my Mom. Last night, my nephew, his wife, my niece, Jo and I all joined my mom for dinner at her favorite restaurant.
Towards the end of the meal, I mentioned that one of our cousins would be taking my mom out to lunch the next day. In these difficult times, when even a meal with my mom can be trying, I am thankful for those willing and able to continue to make the effort.
Not too many years ago, I attended the funeral of a friend of the family. I contemplated what I would say if one day called upon to eulogize my mom. I remember thinking that I would gaze out on a room overflowing with people, all with good reason to consider themselves her best friend.
Time has robbed her of many things. Chief among these is the constant flow of people in and out of her life. Her days were once filled with chatter and activity. From the moment she awoke, there was always something going on. The phone calls with all her sisters, and a myriad of others, was a given. Something was always happening or about to happen. Loneliness and isolation were words that belonged in someone else's world.
Now, she looks out at a universe filled only with space. With her memory having almost completely betrayed her, she is unable to visualize what lays ahead. Plans are never initiated by her, and often don't exist. Many days, she finds herself in the passenger seat of a car, being driven for hours to no place in particular by one of the women who are entrusted with her care. She has to keep moving to try to stay one step ahead of the emptiness.
It is a painful dance to watch. My sister and I are filled with guilt if neither of us is able to be in her company. We call my mom religiously, many times a day, so that there is something, anything to fill this moment, if not the next. We try to stagger our time with her, and alternate vacations. Each 24 hour period is now an exhausting lifetime for my mom. All we can try to do is make it a little less cruel.
I know that this story is repeated, with minor variations, in many households every day. For those fighting to maintain their dignity, and the many who love them and watch in desperation, it is not easy, never easy.
If I could have one wish for my mom it would be that each day not be the enemy. Let her just be able to sit in a chair, pick up the newspaper and read it peacefully. If I could have one wish it would be for calm from the storm.
Towards the end of the meal, I mentioned that one of our cousins would be taking my mom out to lunch the next day. In these difficult times, when even a meal with my mom can be trying, I am thankful for those willing and able to continue to make the effort.
Not too many years ago, I attended the funeral of a friend of the family. I contemplated what I would say if one day called upon to eulogize my mom. I remember thinking that I would gaze out on a room overflowing with people, all with good reason to consider themselves her best friend.
Time has robbed her of many things. Chief among these is the constant flow of people in and out of her life. Her days were once filled with chatter and activity. From the moment she awoke, there was always something going on. The phone calls with all her sisters, and a myriad of others, was a given. Something was always happening or about to happen. Loneliness and isolation were words that belonged in someone else's world.
Now, she looks out at a universe filled only with space. With her memory having almost completely betrayed her, she is unable to visualize what lays ahead. Plans are never initiated by her, and often don't exist. Many days, she finds herself in the passenger seat of a car, being driven for hours to no place in particular by one of the women who are entrusted with her care. She has to keep moving to try to stay one step ahead of the emptiness.
It is a painful dance to watch. My sister and I are filled with guilt if neither of us is able to be in her company. We call my mom religiously, many times a day, so that there is something, anything to fill this moment, if not the next. We try to stagger our time with her, and alternate vacations. Each 24 hour period is now an exhausting lifetime for my mom. All we can try to do is make it a little less cruel.
I know that this story is repeated, with minor variations, in many households every day. For those fighting to maintain their dignity, and the many who love them and watch in desperation, it is not easy, never easy.
If I could have one wish for my mom it would be that each day not be the enemy. Let her just be able to sit in a chair, pick up the newspaper and read it peacefully. If I could have one wish it would be for calm from the storm.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Secrets Unrevealed
THIS WAS WRITTEN 11 DAYS AGO BUT COULD NOT BE POSTED UNTIL NOW, FOR REASONS THAT SHOULD SHORTLY BECOME OBVIOUS TO YOU.
I have a serious character flaw. I am unable to keep a secret. I have a great and wonderful secret to reveal to 2 of my friends. I can't. It is more than I should have to bear.
My friends are actors. And they have established clearly defined rules and regulations that one must live by when discussing things touching their craft. Chief among them is that one is never, ever to tell them about a critic's analysis of their work, during the run of a show. Good or bad, it matters not. Never is the operative word.
On page 3 of today's arts section of the New York Times is a review of the play in which they are currently starring, (in a major stretch) as a husband and wife who are both actors. The review, at least in my opinion, is very positive, as to the production in general and as to my friends in particular. Accompanying the article is a large picture of the lead couple, in an embrace on stage.
But, this piece is not about them or their acting abilities. It is about the curse they put upon me, which swears me to remain mute in their presence concerning what I have just read.
Throughout the years, I have been known to reveal even the smallest of gems, at the least of provocations. Holding back on something of this magnitude requires an act of inner fortitude that is miles above the pay grade of that part of my psyche in charge of controlling impulsive speech.
Fortunately, I am nowhere near their presence for the next several days. But, come Friday, and throughout this weekend, I fear our paths may cross. Will I give myself away with a smile, or a thumbs up? Will I find the urge to blabber uncontrollable? I think that I may have to run and hide anytime they appear, even in my periphery.
The only consolation is that this play has a limited run. Come the end of this month, the show is scheduled to close, and the prohibition placed upon me will be lifted. Holding in my secret any longer would be deemed cruel and unusual punishment. Thus, my fervent wish for my friends is a short, successful and happy engagement. Short being the operative word.
I have a serious character flaw. I am unable to keep a secret. I have a great and wonderful secret to reveal to 2 of my friends. I can't. It is more than I should have to bear.
My friends are actors. And they have established clearly defined rules and regulations that one must live by when discussing things touching their craft. Chief among them is that one is never, ever to tell them about a critic's analysis of their work, during the run of a show. Good or bad, it matters not. Never is the operative word.
On page 3 of today's arts section of the New York Times is a review of the play in which they are currently starring, (in a major stretch) as a husband and wife who are both actors. The review, at least in my opinion, is very positive, as to the production in general and as to my friends in particular. Accompanying the article is a large picture of the lead couple, in an embrace on stage.
But, this piece is not about them or their acting abilities. It is about the curse they put upon me, which swears me to remain mute in their presence concerning what I have just read.
Throughout the years, I have been known to reveal even the smallest of gems, at the least of provocations. Holding back on something of this magnitude requires an act of inner fortitude that is miles above the pay grade of that part of my psyche in charge of controlling impulsive speech.
Fortunately, I am nowhere near their presence for the next several days. But, come Friday, and throughout this weekend, I fear our paths may cross. Will I give myself away with a smile, or a thumbs up? Will I find the urge to blabber uncontrollable? I think that I may have to run and hide anytime they appear, even in my periphery.
The only consolation is that this play has a limited run. Come the end of this month, the show is scheduled to close, and the prohibition placed upon me will be lifted. Holding in my secret any longer would be deemed cruel and unusual punishment. Thus, my fervent wish for my friends is a short, successful and happy engagement. Short being the operative word.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Birthday Wishes
His wife asked me to do it. I felt it was my duty to comply. After all, she or one of those closest to her husband had been emailing me every few weeks to thank me for my friendship. I was being asked to celebrate her husband's birthday by sending him a note of congratulations. It had been a tough year for him and he needed to know I was there.
I wrote to him about perseverance. I told him that better days lay ahead. I tried to be encouraging and funny at the same time. At one time or another, many of us have been placed in a similar situation. You hope your words will have some positive effect.
Today I got an invitation to a party in his honor. I am not even sure I will attend. Even though the birthday boy is having trouble making ends meet, I don't what I could bring that would be a meaningful present.
If I do go, I will only stay a little while. I will end up in conversation with people who don't really care what I have to say. I will search the room for familiar faces, without success.
Barack Obama turns 49 on August 4. I hope he smiles when he reads my birthday card to him. I am surprised he has not responded yet, but I guess he will get to it soon. Happy birthday, my good friend (at least that's what Michelle tells me we are).
I wrote to him about perseverance. I told him that better days lay ahead. I tried to be encouraging and funny at the same time. At one time or another, many of us have been placed in a similar situation. You hope your words will have some positive effect.
Today I got an invitation to a party in his honor. I am not even sure I will attend. Even though the birthday boy is having trouble making ends meet, I don't what I could bring that would be a meaningful present.
If I do go, I will only stay a little while. I will end up in conversation with people who don't really care what I have to say. I will search the room for familiar faces, without success.
Barack Obama turns 49 on August 4. I hope he smiles when he reads my birthday card to him. I am surprised he has not responded yet, but I guess he will get to it soon. Happy birthday, my good friend (at least that's what Michelle tells me we are).
Jersey Sure
Like the President, I have never watched "Jersey Shore"(or at least neither of us would admit to it). I wouldn't know any of its cast of characters if I tripped over one of them while he or she was passed out on the floor after a night, and/or day, of self excess. However, I have story line suggestions, that I believe would raise the level of discourse and provide clearly redeeming social value to this show.
1) Foreign Affairs - The cast goes on a road trip to scout out locations for season 4. Happy, Peppy and Bursting with Love all want to leave the US. The only dissenter is Dopey who thinks this would be a violation of the terms of his probation.
2) The Environment - Dumpy, Squeezy and Muffin lead a group discussion on the merits of cap and trade. Dumpy says that salary caps are fluid, while Squeezy says the July 31 interleague trade deadline serves no rational purpose.
3) Racism - Is Obama half white, or half black? Snooki gives us the definitive answer.
4) Fiscal Responsibility - Each cast member demands $100,000 per episode. The network talks of replacing everyone (but Snooki). They settle on $75 per show, and a state of art tanning bed.
5)Immigration - After days of tanning abuse, 3 cast members go outside and are immediately stopped by 2 policemen. Searched, questioned, and asked for identification, one nervous cast member tries to flee. Arrested and in jail for 12 hours, he comes back and convinces everyone to swear off the tanning bed.
6) Drugs - Doc says his days of roid usage are over. The pimples on his back are more than he can take.
7) War - Knuckles gets into a fight at a bar and falls down hard, a few times. After leaving the hospital, he announces that his lawyer advises him that he will soon own the bar. Everyone breaks into spontaneous applause. He smiles, the missing space where his teeth used to be, in prominent display.
8) Democracy - Queasy says his mother is coming to visit. Queasy is escorted off the island.
9) Global Warming - To compensate for the lack of a tanning bed, Wrinkles spends 74 consecutive days lying in the sun. He begins to peel, leading to widespread panic that this condition could be catching.
10) The Mid-Term Election - Young and Restless finds out that she is 10 weeks pregnant. It is decided that everyone will have an equal say in what comes next. This is the last episode for the season, and we are left just as Snooki is about to cast the deciding vote.
Stay tuned.
1) Foreign Affairs - The cast goes on a road trip to scout out locations for season 4. Happy, Peppy and Bursting with Love all want to leave the US. The only dissenter is Dopey who thinks this would be a violation of the terms of his probation.
2) The Environment - Dumpy, Squeezy and Muffin lead a group discussion on the merits of cap and trade. Dumpy says that salary caps are fluid, while Squeezy says the July 31 interleague trade deadline serves no rational purpose.
3) Racism - Is Obama half white, or half black? Snooki gives us the definitive answer.
4) Fiscal Responsibility - Each cast member demands $100,000 per episode. The network talks of replacing everyone (but Snooki). They settle on $75 per show, and a state of art tanning bed.
5)Immigration - After days of tanning abuse, 3 cast members go outside and are immediately stopped by 2 policemen. Searched, questioned, and asked for identification, one nervous cast member tries to flee. Arrested and in jail for 12 hours, he comes back and convinces everyone to swear off the tanning bed.
6) Drugs - Doc says his days of roid usage are over. The pimples on his back are more than he can take.
7) War - Knuckles gets into a fight at a bar and falls down hard, a few times. After leaving the hospital, he announces that his lawyer advises him that he will soon own the bar. Everyone breaks into spontaneous applause. He smiles, the missing space where his teeth used to be, in prominent display.
8) Democracy - Queasy says his mother is coming to visit. Queasy is escorted off the island.
9) Global Warming - To compensate for the lack of a tanning bed, Wrinkles spends 74 consecutive days lying in the sun. He begins to peel, leading to widespread panic that this condition could be catching.
10) The Mid-Term Election - Young and Restless finds out that she is 10 weeks pregnant. It is decided that everyone will have an equal say in what comes next. This is the last episode for the season, and we are left just as Snooki is about to cast the deciding vote.
Stay tuned.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
WikiLeaks
As we continue past the first decade of the new millennium and lurch forward, we are confronted with the ongoing question mark called Afghanistan. Revelations that Pakistan appears to be hedging its bets, working both for and against us in Afghanistan, merely adds to our confusion and consternation.
The only certainties about this war are death and taxes. Everything else seems just some amorphous blob.
For those looking to find reasons to abandon this long and, to the present, futile effort, there is now one more justification for suggesting that we pack up and head home.
The only certainties about this war are death and taxes. Everything else seems just some amorphous blob.
For those looking to find reasons to abandon this long and, to the present, futile effort, there is now one more justification for suggesting that we pack up and head home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)