"All I Want for Christmas is July"

                In case you have friends and acquaintances that still persist in NOT believing a fairly drastic climate change is and has been going on, tell them this: December 22, 2013 it was 70 degrees in New York City. A temperature that was equal to or higher than any major city in America including the south and the west. In fact while New Yorkers walked around in tee-shirts, flip flops and shorts Dallas was 30 degrees on the same day. What explains such an anomaly? In fact it was the hottest Dec.22 ever recorded in NYC.

                No big deal in the short run. Cold here, warm there, you say potato; I say patato. But what does climate change bode for the future? How weird is this all going to get? Will summer and winter change months? Will every city have to brace for either a warm winter or a cold summer? Are all the reliable givens about weather off the table? Tornadoes on Long Island, super storms, and arctic storms; it seems anything is possible on any day. It’s really only been what 15 years that we've noticed significant changes. It started slowly, a freak storm here or super-hot spell there but now every year is wild and woolly.

                I lived 55 years without ever hearing about a tsunami happening somewhere in the world but in the last 10 years there have been 3 major tsunami’s I know of. When I was a teen (I know, I know) I could go outside and basically tell you what month of the year it was or at least be off only by a few weeks. Today I can’t tell you anything about what month it is. It went from a high of 28 degrees last Wednesday to 70 degrees in 3 days. It sure is interesting.

                Oh well, all part of the experience of living in the 21^st century. I wonder if a hundred years from now there will be no seasons. It will be like the Presidents Birthdays in February, just pick days close to the target day so’s not to miss your 3 day weekend. Just rearrange the calendar irrespective of seasons or weather. If that happens they can have Christmas in June and barbecue in December. I woke up this morning and it was 18 degrees!

By the way, from The Bailey Post:

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!!

"The Last Leaf "

                It’s an odd subject to write about, leaves on a tree, in mid-December. Coming back from my teaching gig in the Bronx on Wednesday I was struck by seeing these leaves still on this tree. Leaves fall in droves, scads of them in October and November. By December the cold nights and time have stripped the trees bare. We've had maybe eight or nine nights cold enough to kill the leaves and there shouldn't be any leaves left on the trees by now. Not mid-December! But these leaves refuse to go; they’ve declined nature’s invitation, natures call.

                I thought why these leaves, these reluctant stragglers? What do these leaves have that countless thousands other leaves didn’t have? I wonder which leaf will be the last one, refusing to accept winter and defeat. If leaves could talk, what would these leaves say to us? Probably something about being stubborn, doing things their own way, not following the crowd, not being a lemming. Maybe they would tell us how much they like being a leaf. They like the view.  They like their place on the tree.

                When it gets down to the last couple of leaves, I’ll wander over to the tree across the street from my apartment, and silently congratulate them on  their courageous fight. for being the toughest, most resilient of leaves.

                I want to be one of the last leafs on my human tree too. Let’s face it, its fall for me, but I’m not volunteering to be one of the first to go. There will be no lack of taking care of myself so that my early descent would be assured. No! I’m going to hang on as long as I can.  No leaf lasts forever the trick is to try and be the last leaf on the tree. I know accidents happen, a bird lands on a limb and dislodges a leaf, a gale wind blows up and dislodges the leaves not strong enough or caught napping but if you are lucky enough to avoid misfortune why not stick around? Be you as long as you can be you, I say. Beside I also like the view up here, I like my place on the tree. I'm shooting to be the last leaf left.

              

                

"Everyday is Black Friday for me"

 Take #1

                The official color of New York City is black. People here wear black in winter, black in spring, summer, and fall. See these pictures? This represents 90% of everyone walking the streets. Oh yes, there are the non-conformists, the “rebels” that just have to wear “brown” or even “gray”.  And there are the people that didn’t get the memo, probably new to the city and they will wear a red winter coat or a blue but this is a mono chromatic city.

                The question is why? My theory is this: since the goal is to NOT stand out when walking around the best way to do that is to NOT stand out. Not standing out means that people ignore you, which is the goal. At the most they will barely acknowledge you since they have to share the sidewalk with you but that’s all they want to do and that’s all you want them to do. 

                It’s like those scenes in Science Fiction movies where some alien force has taken over human bodies but don’t want to be found out having done that, so in public they all walk around ignoring each other, disembodied bodies in motion. It took me some time to get used to this. I had to get rid of some of my clothes, and replace them with black or dark blue. Took a while but I finally was able to officially become a fully disembodied, featureless, drab, Manhattan street walker just like 6 million others. How cool is that!?!

    Take #2           

                If I hear one more Black Friday commercial state the lie: “Oh what a savings”! One commercial playing here shows two neighbors (men) comparing Black Friday deals and one guy ( meant to be the loser) gets packages out of his trunk and his neighbor says to him, “Oh, Black Friday, how did you do”? And the guy says, “Great, I got up early and saved hundreds of dollars”. “How did you do”? The guy (meant to be seen as the winner) was waiting for that question so he could fling his smug, know it all, smart-ass comment back at him by saying, “I slept in and ended up saving thousands”. How did he do that? He did it by buying a Buick Lacrosse, now a shiny new black car in his driveway.

                The whole point is, “winners” like this guy (I’d like to punch him right in the face) save thousands because they are smart, with it, hipsters and the other 99% of  the guys are “okay” but not as smart, not as with it, and not as “hip”. They take their hundreds and feel stupid. The message to that 99% of men is if you want to be cool, and gloat over our neighbors is run down and buy a 38K automobile for 36.5K. I hate all these Darwinian themed ads where it’s guy vs. guy or woman vs. woman, playing up insecurities and fears.

                BUT what I hate even more is the fact that this commercial (there are oodles more just like them) promotes the big lie. The big lie is this: “you are saving money”. You are not saving money, you are SPENDING money. Saving money is when your bank account goes up not down.  Let me test my theory: I want you to write me a check for 50.00 and send it to me. I will send you a CD of the pictures I took at the Parade. I’ll send them to you for 50.00 and trust me you are saving money. Because it's Black Friday I am giving you a great deal. You are saving lots of money so start writing me that check.

Look, buying something involves spending money not saving money. I mean if I want to buy something, I just spend the money and get it. That’s my decision and I’m okay with that. I just want these calculated, smarmy companies to stop trying to sweet talk me into thinking that me spending my money is me saving my money. These commercials tick me off.

 BUT then, I tell myself, "let it go Will, just let it go" at least you get to wear black every day of your life.

               

               

               

                

"The Gathering"

                There are two things I really hate. One is when everyone else (I know) is spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with their loved ones and I am not. The other one is when I am spending my holidays with loved ones and I know someone else isn't.  I can’t stand that. It goes back to situations in my child hood that were painful and burned into my psyche. I won’t go into that. I once horrified a woman I was in a relationship with (and living with) many years ago because when we went out to a see a movie on Thanksgiving eve I noticed an older man watching the movie alone. I said to her; let’s invite him over for Thanksgiving. She just did one of those slaps on my arm like, “oh really Will, stop"! Then she saw my face and she knew I was dead serious. She became ashen-faced (well, it seemed that way to me) and began explaining to me all the reasons why that was a bad idea. I didn’t invite him over but I stood there for at least 3 minutes thinking about it before I gave it up. Now, I chuckle when I think about the look on her face but it is also interesting that 40 years later I still think about that guy and I still hope he had a place to go.

                 After my son left for New York, and when the holidays would roll around, the woman I was dating (the loosest definition of the term) made a point of NOT inviting me over to her parents’ house. No need to go into the folly of that retarded (sorry) situation BUT my good friend Neville and his wife Lana always invited me over to their house in Encinitas for Thanksgiving. Five years running. There were times when I would say to them both, c’mon surely you just want family at this one but they wouldn't have any part of that. So I always went, and gratefully so. At Christmas season, I would travel. One time I flew to New York City the day after Christmas Day to see Austin.  But I only flew there one time at the holidays.  So what I would otherwise do is drive on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I’d drive to Arizona and stay in a B n B or up the California Coast, or Las Vegas, anything to get through those two days. It worked pretty well. 

         One winter I went to New Mexico to see my friend Liz.  That was the most spiritual Christmas I had spent in a long time. Christmas Eve Mass was held in a little hand built catholic church in Valdez, NM. It was very dark outside, with snow on the ground and only about 20 degrees. The church was not very warm, everyone kept their coats on. The mass was in Spanish. It was perfect! That is how I always want to feel on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day was a drive out of NM and into Southern Colorado. The drive and views were spectacular. Traveling on the holiday would keep me from thinking about the holiday, but it was always only a second best option. It wasn't what I really wanted. 

         The Holidays for me are a time for cement. Time to cement the friendship, the family ties, your relationship. Not just with turkey and gifts but by telling/showing those people close to you that they matter so much to you that you are renewing your commitment to them for another year. Who are you going to renew your commitment to this Holiday season?

                And now to you! I don’t want you to be by yourself during either Thanksgiving or Christmas. Only if you are doing a sequestered monk thing, or your only other choice is to be with someone you especially don’t want to be with, do I want you to be by yourself.  Even then I don't want you to be alone. So I have a job for you (no it doesn’t involve inviting strangers in a movie theater over to your place). If either of the two holidays roll around and it’s looking like you are going to be by alone (at all) you are under orders to let me know and I will call you on the phone and remind you of three things: 1. Why it is I like you so much (you would not be reading this if I didn’t think the world of you) 2. How much I miss you (those are not empty Hall Mark card sentiments, I like being with you) and 3. Begin making plans for next year where you will be freezing your muck locks off out in NYC visiting me. (Don’t make me say this twice). 

I hope you have a great Thanksgiving. 

PS: Most of you know, that in the picture I'm clearly the one that's Goofy!

"Ich Bin Ein Berliner"

                I really liked President John F. Kennedy. Lots of other people did not. Friday is the 50^th anniversary of President Kennedy being shot and killed in Dallas, Texas. President Kennedy had serious enemies. The Mafia openly talked about having him killed. Cuban exiles in the U.S. believed that he had left their brethren hung out to dry in the Bay of Pigs invasion (and he had). They openly rejoiced in his death. The Soviets were still stinging from having to back down in the Cuban Missile Crisis (they didn’t really have to) they had no love for Kennedy. The U.S. Military despised him for what they believed was weakness on his part when he didn’t retaliate over the shooting down of a U.S. spy plane by the Cubans during the missile crisis. The pilot was lost. Also, Kennedy had begun to see the folly of  military advisors in South Vietnam and had been talking about an advisor pull out. The military doesn’t like it when you threaten to take away their source of funding and their purpose for being. Then there was that disaffected little man who wanted to be a big man: Lee Oswald. Take your pick. So many people and groups hated him and could have had a hand in his death. My post this time is less about who killed him than what was killed in me when our President was murdered 50 years ago.

               
            We use the euphemism assassinated to try and make the horrible seem less horrible and more clinical.  He was murdered in cold blood on a Dallas street, with his wife sitting next to him. He was shot through the neck and then with the second (or third) shot he had half his head blown away. His wife, the First Lady had to crawl on the back of a Lincoln Town car to retrieve part of his skull. Just like Abe Lincoln 95 years before him,, he was shot from behind, in the head, in an act of cowardice and malice. I didn’t think things like that could happen in the “modern world” of 1963. Boy was I naive.

 I was an impressionable 12 year old when I first became aware of John Kennedy. The close nature of the 1960 Presidential race between Kennedy and Nixon really caught my attention. I like drama and this was political drama at its best. It was a showdown at high noon, winner take all. In this corner an old money, famous family, catholic war hero from Massachusetts against, in this corner, the middle class upstart from a Quaker family in Southern California; that stuff really appealed to me.  The first televised presidential debate was great theater too. Nixon stood there in the badly lit part of the stage, in the shadows wearing his his bad suit, with his nervous tics and all the while sweating profusely. He was doomed just on image alone. That by the way was a BAD thing. Kennedy came across as a man that was smart, verbal and confident. He seemed like Harvard. Nixon came across as a man that had something to hide. He seemed more like mail order College. Kennedy won that debate based on image; the actual talking points were essentially even. Ever since that time, image has counted more than ideas. Look at Obama, the quintessential image over substance president. He’s not alone, Reagan with his rouged up cheeks, Bush Sr. and Jr. and their homespun folksy talk and let’s not forget Clinton’s perfected smile of sincerity; most of them image over substance.

              
      Kennedy was magnetic, I saw him on TV give his famous Berlin speech in front of 500,000 people. When he said, “Ich bin ein Berliner”, I had chills go up and down my spine. The West Germans loved him. Half a million came to hear that speech! Think about that, half a million!  He was so sincere and genuine. He was funny and warm. I loved the fact that he really was transparent with the American People. He went on TV regularly to tell the American people about almost everything. During the Missile crisis he was explaining everything to the American people. He had aerial photos, and explained exactly why we had to get missiles out of Cuba and how we were going to go about doing it.  Obama and the rest of the late 20^th and 21^st Century Presidents could take a cue from Kennedy. They not only don’t tell us the truth when something is happening, they tell us a spin-doctored version of the truth after the fact. What did really happened in Benghazi Mr. President?

              
       When Kennedy said at his inaugural address in January of 1960, “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country” that was the ultimate “nationalistic” request. I knew when I heard it that it would be a famous line. I took what he said to heart. Don't be self-centered, do something good for your country, other people and yourself. He followed that up by establishing the Peace Corp. Young people flocked to a service organization and spread help, ideas and good will everywhere in the world. I planned on joining the Peace Corp myself after I graduated high school. I never got the chance. Kennedy was killed, Johnson expanded the Vietnam War, the draft went into effect and I had to get into college. A lot more than one man died that day in Dallas.

              
       I know that many years later we found out that Kennedy had been a skirt chaser. He cheated on Jackie many times (including with “Happy Birthday Mr. Pres i dent, herself Marilyn Monroe) and there is no “Camelot” style rhetoric that will take away that stain from his character. I was disappointed to hear that about him. I also think he made both a strategically and morally wrong decision by not following through on his pledge to support (with air power) the Bay of Pigs freedom fighters trying to overthrow Castro.  For Kennedy it may have been ultimately a fatal mistake.  He had flaws and to say otherwise is not being truthful.

Still, I mourned the loss of Kennedy 50 years ago and I still do. He represented  a bright future, a pride in country that was genuine and not jingoistic. He gave americans confidence that we (all of us) could do what we had a mind to and that we owed it to ourselves and each other to live up to the promise of this country.  He was leader.  Even though I was only a teenager in 63' I  knew something important had been taken from both me and millions of others like me. I felt it keenly. I felt it deeply inside me.  Many baby boomers became cynics that day, I believe.   Jackie continued to wear her blood stained pink outfit the rest of that day, and despite being asked several times to change her clothes  she said, “no, let them see what they’ve done to my husband”.  Indeed, let them see,  even 50 years later, what “they've done to us all”. (end)

**I invite you to share a memory of JFK, where you were (please don’t say you were a glint in your father’s eye) that fateful Friday or if you are younger, what you think about him when these conversations come up. What you learned in school etc. I will publish (without names) responses in an upcoming blog.
Be honest, if you didn’t like him say so.

                

"Hey Everybody the Circus is in Town"

I have written (some) before about subway travel in New York. New Yorkers refer to the subway simply as “the train”. Well, any train ride could end up problematic, that’s for sure because it’s a random draw of a lot of different types of people all put in the same confined space. You end up riding with strangers for an indeterminate length of time. Most of the time things go okay. A truly weird person is (on the train) surrounded by people that aren't nearly as weird and so even they can hold their weirdness in check until they get off the train which they normally do. The unwritten (but crystal clear) message is, you don’t stare at anyone, you don't make eye contact unless you have to, and you don’t call attention to yourself. The idea is to ride in anonymity and silence. Most people observe the rules. Last Wednesday was my day of bad luck. My random draw of people came up snake eyes for me and for the next 30 minutes I rode the circus freak train from Hell.

I take the 4 train from 86^th street going about 3 miles due North up to the West Bronx and I get off at Kingsbridge Road. This day when I got on at 86, I could tell from a quick glance around and the overall vibe that I was in trouble. I had to sit next to a really old man, I mean really old. He gave me a half-glare/stare when I sat down.  I think he was worried that I would sit on the tip of his overcoat. I eased down carefully and missed his precious raggedy old coat. The lady across from me was staring opened eyed at the ceiling and not moving. At the next stop a 14-15 year old boy came on with his BMX bike and soon started talking to a friend on his cell. Every third word was fuck or shit. The old guy, next to me, was starting to unravel; he kept muttering “shut the fuck up”. I didn't dare explain to him the meaning of the word irony. While this was going on, I noticed that the woman across from me and down 2 seats was holding her bran muffin. I’ve seen her before on this run. She gets on at 86 and rides up to Bedford Park Blvd (next to last stop) which is also the stop after mine; but what she does is she takes one bite out of her muffin when the train starts moving and chews one and only bite until the next stop. If the stop is 3 blocks away or 10 doesn’t matter. She chews until the next stop. When that stop is over and the train begins to move again she takes one more bite out of the muffin and chews it til the next stop and so on. She takes her last bite at Kingsbridge Road, but doesn't wad or fold up the napkin it came in. Oh no, she wouldn't do that! At the next stop she gets off, wads up her napkin and throws it away. How do I know this?I decided one day to see this muffin saga to the end so I stayed on and then got off at Bedford Park with her. It was worth it to me (having to backtrack) just to see her ritual played out.  She eats a 12 stop, 30 minute muffin.

A little kid down at the far end of the car started howling every 2-3 minutes. At each howl the old man next to me got so frustrated and pissed off at the noise that he dropped his cane. Then had to try and reach over and get it which wasn't easy for him. My good angel said help the poor bastard, my other angel said let the misanthropic old fart get his own cane. He muttered “shut the fuck up” over and over. Just then the teen cuts loose with another barrage of swear words and the old man started to get up. Fortunately he stopped himself before east met west if you know what I mean. I looked to my left to see why in the wide, wide, world of sports this kid kept howling. Of course, sitting opposite him was a weird looking woman making faces at him.  She was opening her mouth as far as she could and twisting her head to one side, and then the other. What kind of a  gargoyle freak show is this, I wondered?  No wonder the kid was yelping in dismay. The Buddha sitting to my immediate left was huge; I mean small craft advisory huge. He didn't move a muscle and stared straight ahead. Ommmm! Lastly, there was a nun across from me and three seats down. All during this 30 minute ride she was working her rosary beads and praying silently. I wanted to go down there and ask if I could share the beads. Usually, at a lot of stops, people get off and others get on so the dynamic changes but not today. Oh no not today; I had to do the full Monty.

I kept counting the stops, praying: "please, please Dear Lord stop this train at Kingsbridge Road". Mercifully, it did and I got out the train door as fast as I could and ran down the station platform to the train exit. You are thinking, c'mon Will, you made this up. Au contraire mes amis, Will did not make this up. 

I did think of getting a bran muffin for the next trip up just to see what would happen if she saw me taking one bite out of my muffin at each stop.....!!

"Just Trying to Help"

I rarely give anyone, advice. The reason is obvious, I have never been on the cover of Common Sense magazine.  I’m the guy that sunk my money in a hamburger stand in downtown New Delhi, India. Who knew that in India the cow was sacred?  However, when I see the chance and the need to help my readers by passing along some hard earned wisdom I feel I should. In that spirit and based on this last year living in  New York City, a city that teaches hard lessons daily here are my

“Ten Things to Stay Away From”

     

           Stay away from people that describe their life as “My Journey” or “My Personal Journey” (the redundant version). These are people so taken with themselves that they believe one day their life-story will become a TV documentary.

   

             Stay away from people that tell you, “I don't want any drama”, “Please, no drama” or my favorite 

       “I'm tired of all the drama”. No they're not! First of all these people live for drama, they are drama; no one can out do them for drama. The one thing that is constant in their life is all their drama. If you have to know a person like this just prepare yourself for Act III of Shakespeare’s “King Lear” a lot.

             Stay away from people that cut you off in the middle of your thought/sentence with: “right, right, right, yeah, yeah, yeah” It’s become an epidemic in New York. Can I please finish my sentence or my thought before you let me know you already know everything I know?  I’m going to try this, saying “ You know, the flux capacitor during ion recalibration, often emits a non-aural stream of negative grignon particles and if the person does the “right, right, right, yeah, yeah, yeah,  I'm going to ask them to explain to me what I just said.

              Stay away from any company that sells their product or services in “bundles”. When and where did this annoying, cloying, stupid idea come from? The word bundle had all but disappeared from the English language until some geeky Berkeley MBA grad came up with the idea. Hey Time Warner…….wanna see my "bundle"?

  

             Stay away from any company or product that promises you “happiness”. I saw a car commercial for Manhattan VW yesterday and their catch phrase is “we sell you happiness”. Oh really Freud? The finest philosophers and scholars in the world haven't been able to identify what happiness is, or what makes people happy. So, I guess all the finest minds in the world, Nietzsche, Foucault, Hobbs, James, Heidegger, Kant, Hegel, Schopenhauer, Oprah and Tony Robbins should just step aside, the answer to that elusive, great question has been discovered by Manhattan Volkswagen.

    

             Stay away from anyone that asks you for “Just a minute of your time”. The first thing they've done is lie to you. How reliable can they be?  

  

             Stay away from anyone over the age of 50 that still go by the names of: Skippy, Precious, or Willow. They are adolescents that think they are cute but they are just creepy, weird. They mistakenly thought that if they stayed cute, quirky, and a child they would stay young. Now they have become like the characters Dustin Hoffman & Barbara Streisand played in “Meet the Folkers II”.

   

       Stay away from any politician that says, “We just want what’s best for the American people”. If that were true they would have resigned already so we could get someone less grasping and self-serving in there.

              Stay away from anyone that offers you something for free. The last time someone was truly offered something for free, Eve took a bite out of it and I think we all know how that turned out!!

      

        Stay away from anyone that wears suspenders, especially anyone with suspenders and a bow tie(self-explanatory).

"Soft Spots on a Big Apple"

A few months back I wrote about some of the denizens of my new world, New York City. If you missed that posting I have the link to it at the bottom. I think you will find some humor in that one too.  Since then, I have run into many more "characters" but here are 3 of the most exotic.

The Barking Man:  I have seen him several times on my walk to Hunter College. He frequents the area around 73^rd between Third and Lexington avenues.  I see him walking his dog (terrier of some type) up and down a couple of the residential streets. He is a tall man, in his thirties (I guess) and except for what he is doing, he would not be especially noticeable. In fact, I only noticed him because I heard him. When he is walking his dog, his dog walks obediently beside him and doesn't make a sound. However, as they walk, the man does the barking. He barks for his dog. Every few steps he lets out a couple of loud woofs. Not the bass woof of a big woolly dog, or the shrieking yip of a rug staining yapper. No his is a mid-sized bark all right. All the way down to 2^{nd Avenue} and back again the barking man barks for his dog. I have watched in fascination but I wouldn't dare approach him, what if he does other things for his dog too?

The Debt Collector: This smallish woman is a lot like most of the other lost souls in New York City, that sit on a busy sidewalk corner holding out a cup seeking your money. She sits in front of the busy Starbucks on 75th and 1^st.  Business must be good, she only works five days a week. Like all the street cup holder’s she has the typical teeth optional, sad face, scrawny, pretzel body and it’s pretty easy to see she’s not a former Rhodes Scholar fallen on hard times. However what sets her apart in  the knarly world of “begging” is her tenacity. She demands a response from you as you go by, looks right at you, and says "will you give me some money"? It's hard to pretend she hasn't spoken to you. Being the congenital nice-guy that I am; I give her money. Sometimes if I am in a hurry I'll respond by saying, I’ll catch you later or catch you on my way out. In the Blanche Dubois world of I get by on the kindness of strangers, that's a polite no but not to the debt collector. When you come back out of Starbucks, she lifts the cup right up to you and says, okay here I am. If you try to slip away to the corner she gets up, comes over to you, sticks the cup in your face and says “you promised”. There is no getting out of it; there is no escaping the Debt Collector.  Now, I just bring a dollar, resigned to the lesson I learned early in my life that some people (like me) just always end up paying their debts.

Boot Woman:  At Hunter College there is this cross bridge that goes from the West Building to the North Building. (See picture). It’s fun walking across the walkway and seeing the busy street below and looking off into the distance at downtown or uptown New York. One late afternoon as I was hustling to my art class on the 15^th floor of the West building; I saw a young woman walking towards me. Probably a student there and my guess was she was in her early twenties. That would describe countless young women at Hunter….EXCEPT for what she was wearing. She was wearing a loose, flowing dress just above the knee and cowboy boots. Men know women with good legs in a dress and cowboy boots can be attractive and so at first I thought nice.  That was until she was about 4 feet from me when it became apparent to me that she wasn't exactly wearing cowboy boots. What she had on were shoes up to her ankle that were like the bottom half of a pair of cowboy boots and the top half were two perfectly matched tattoos of cowboy boots. Let me repeat this for the speed readers: She had the top half of a pair of cowboy boots tattooed on her legs. This was hard for even me, Mr.  Avant-garde, to comprehend. I’ve seen her twice since then and both times she was wearing clothes that showed off her legs and "her boots". I started thinking what could I have tattooed on me? All kidding aside, it did  make me think, what if men actually led women to believe that they had something they didn't really have, I mean  what if……..uh……...on second thought, never mind, forget that. Just forget I said that!


http://thebaileypost2.blogspot.com/2013/03/upper-east-side-irregulars.html

"C.Vitae Finally"

Hello Friends

The Bailey Post has been silent too long. The reason why I haven't posted in a month is simply that my life went from a crawl to full throttle in less than 2 weeks about a month ago. Specifically, I began taking 2 classes at Hunter College in midtown Manhattan.  I am taking Art in America: 1700 to 1900 and American Political Thought. The Political Thought class is an area I have wanted to study for some time and the art class fills in a gap in my previous studies.

The bigger news is the fact that I was hired to teach at Lehman College in West Bronx, NY. I believe it was providential and maybe you will too after I tell you how I got this job. I came back from my California trip even more restless to do something meaningful (my theme song for the last 2 years) and my son said to me one day "dad I think you can get a job teaching English in college with your background and credentials, just not teach full time without a Phd". So I decided to try and land an adjunct (part-time) position for second semester or in the event I ended up somewhere else maybe a job there. I spent a full week getting my resume and cover letter (now called c.vitae) together.

I asked Austin one weekend if I should mail them out now (the new semester was starting in 3 days) or wait until December. He said to send them now and follow up with an e-mail in December. So, I mailed out my C. Vitae’s on Monday Aug. 26. I got a call on Wednesday Aug 28 from Lehman saying they had a last minute section open up. It opened up the very hour my resume landed on the Department Chairs desk.  I went in the next day and was hired.  I teach Mon.-Wed. from 2:00-3:15. My office hour is Wednesday 3:30-4:30. I share an office with 2 other professors. One is full time and one is an adjunct.

Lehman is a four year college with a full range of undergraduate and graduate programs. It’s an older beautiful campus (I included some pictures). I take the 4 train from Manhattan straight to Kingsbridge Road, and walk 3 blocks to Lehman College. Carman Hall is the first building I come to on the campus. 

The English Department takes up all the third floor of Carman Hall.  My office and classroom are all located on the same floor. The funny part is this, I have gone back to the old blackboard and chalk. (see pic)

My friends, I needed this. Doers have to do. There is plenty of time for the rocking chair on the porch and I will know when that time comes for me. My other blessing is I am teaching the same course at Lehman that Austin and Rebecca teach at Hunter. We get together and talk shop. Talk shop with my kids for God's sake!

I hope I get picked up for second semester but for now “I'm doing” and happy.

I hope to get The Bailey Post back humming along real soon.

 

"Oh What a Night"

The first picture is of my lovely residential street (81^st between 1^st and 2^nd avenues) on the upper east side of Manhattan. The second picture is of my red brick apartment building. 

One nice thing about living on a more residential (city) street is that the people get to know each other, become urban friends in a way.  Recently I attended the East 81^st Street Faire and Talent Competition held right outside my building. I ate foods I can't pronounce, will still be digesting in November and that came in suspect containers, but I also got to witness this year’s talent competition. 

There were seven exciting acts but here are my 3 favorites. 

First (and winner of the 6 month supply of large trash bags) was Grantland Toogood, an older British fella living in my building in apartment 5a. Grantand’s specialty was using a small piece of wax paper and a comb to create a kazoo-like sound (some would say a wounded quail sound, but let’s not quibble). He did a splendid rendition of John Philip Sousa’s stirring march. It was so rousing that even Eugene Tweezer stopped eating long enough to stand. I wished he hadn't since his pot belly (now more like a full size Franklin stove) nearly upset the table when he rose.

Only the quick hands of Twila Mayo grabbing the kosher pickle jar prevented disaster. Grantland breezed through Brahms’s Concerto for Kazoo and finished with my favorite of the three, The Beatles “Blackbird”. Well done Grantland. Later he complained of sore lips but a few people whispered that it wasn't his playing but more likely Mrs. Hershel's none organic potato salad which he had been advised to stay away from and didn't.

Another “can't miss” was Anna Constantinople’s sock puppet act. She pretended to be talking to a character she calls Bartleby but which I think is a rip off of the old Ed Sullivan’s Senor Wences act: Topo Gigio. Whatever! Anna’s ventriloquism skills aren't bad although seeing her Adam’s apple move when she was speaking for Bartleby was disconcerting on many levels. She won the Street Faire Committee’s prize for most “Unlike Non Reality” and with that a 40.00 gift certificate to the local Rainbow Hardware.

But the one I am most eager to report on was the grand champions. Two twin boys that tap danced.  Guido and Bill were about the age of six but as we all know, it’s harder to tell ages when they are cross-eyed twins. They stood on a folding table, held capably by their father Altoona. Their first number was a crowd pleasing “Yankee Doodle Dandy” adroitly followed by the mood changing number “New York, New York”. The only thing is that right in middle of their tapping the line "I did it my way", Beulah Fillit two tables down began to cry uncontrollably.  I was thinking, Beulah, they aren't that bad.  But,turns out I was wrong, the elderly Beulah Fillit had never heard that Ol Blue Eyes himself, the Chairman of the Board, had died. 

Braho, my building’s super gave poor Beulah the down lo on Blue Eyes and at the same time scolded her on her loosened trash bag tops. OUCH!

The twins finished with something that is hard to believe. They began to tap dance to Ravel’s “Bolero”. If you don’t know “Bolero” starts out very, very slowly for several minutes and seeing them tapping in slow motion (remember each boy is looking at the other boys feet) left all of us with our mouths agape in disbelief.  They were so excited to win the DVD of the movie “Titanic”.  Later, we quietly took up a collection to help them buy a DVD player. I saw things that night that will stay with me forever.

I bet I know what you are thinking right about now: "I wish I lived in New York City"!!

"Stroller Nazi's"

 I have some observations about the baby strollers in New York City and the people that push them around.

 First, there are many models to choose from. Some parents and Nanny’s prefer the kind my friend Tammy has in California. I call it the Side-by-Side Rickshaw 3 Wheeler Model. What I like about Tammy’s stroller is one: the fact that she needs a two-seater because she has twins. Unlike some of the parents in New York that use the two-seater because it’s bigger and way-cooler even though its totally unnecessary, you know like owning a big SUV.  Two: Tammy’s is functional not ostentatious. New York parents have to push their 3 wheel rickshaws with doo-dads and rich Corinthian leather.

Other models in New York include the Double-Decker London Bus Model. This version has one seat on top of the other. It’s the bunk-beds of strolling. The one on top gets the panorama view the one on bottom gets a view of the one on top.  Then there is the Triple Wide Model where you can put the triplets or if you only have one child or even twins they can invite other infant friends along for a stroll through the carbon monoxide, construction noise, panhandler, screaming siren, congested streets of NY. The good news is if they get back home without wailing or that thousand yard stare on their face you know they are city survivors and likely to stroll their kids in like manner in the future.

My personal favorite is the Double Decker X 2 London Bus Model. Here you have two on top and two on the bottom. These are especially built for parents that doubled down on the fertility drugs (just to be sure) or the wannabe “Octomoms”. These strollers are the equivalent of the Winnebago. The kids in these strollers are almost always quiet which I attribute to one of two reasons one: traveling in a four-pack gives them the confidence to know that few on the road will give them and their sibling posse any crap or two: they are already so embarrassed to be seen in the Winnebago that keeping quiet increases their chances of drawing less attention.

My last point is about the New York City Stroller Nazi’s. These are the parents or hired nannies that feel entitled to push their kids’ right down the center of the sidewalk. More often than not you’ll see two stroller Nazi’s teamed up side by side to prevent any/all traffic from getting through. I've often seen 3 go side by side by side. They go slow enough to keep their kids safe (we all fear seeing an out of control speeding stroller) but not fast enough to prevent the sidewalk from clogging up like a 65 year old hillbillies arteries. They know you are behind them but with their noses in the air they pretend they don’t see you.  What they are really saying is, "I’m special and therefore my child is special so FU".  It’s their walk that infuriates me, the “I clawed my way up the Darwinian Manhattan ladder and now I am entitled to do whatever I want with my baby, my stroller”. “ I had a baby in New York damn-it”!!

"Want a Quickie"?

I like to do quick takes every so often on current events. Things that interest me or bug me but don't want to devote an entire piece to.

Here are 4 quickies What is your opinion? Am I wrong?

 #1: “I Have a Dream Speech”

2013 is the 50^th anniversary of the famous August 1963 Martin Luther King speech delivered at the Lincoln Memorial in DC. I had just finished 10^th grade and my family had gone back to Lincoln, Nebraska to visit my Aunt Donna and Uncle Jerry. I watched King's speech on my aunt and uncle’s black and white TV in their basement. I didn't know it would be a famous speech but I knew his “I have a dream” line would be famous (when he said it) just like I knew Kennedy’s “ask not what your country can do for you” line would be.  You could tell King spoke from his heart. Unlike those two opportunistic vultures today: Reverend Al Sharpton and Reverend Jesse Jackson who make their considerable living off the misery of african Americans. Blowing into town with their "It's an outrage...." photo op speech and then when they've sucked all the attention out of the situation they can, slip town quietly.  Martin Luther King (by comparison) show Sharpton and Jackson to be nothing but huckstering carpetbaggers. Am I wrong?

#2: Middle East Democracy

So now Egypt is in turmoil again. Mayhem rules there, just like it did a year and a half ago when they threw out Mubarek. Syria is another sinkhole of madness. Would you really be surprised if you read that another Middle Eastern country was starting to implode? The United States should stop trying to turn the Middle East into “America East”. They don't want to be like us, they just want our cool stuff.  They have centuries of doing things the way they want. Look, they want our jeans, cell phone, computer technology and Vin Diesel DVD’s. In exchange we want their oil and are willing to gouge American drivers to pay for it. DONE! 

Oh, we also don't want them to create nuclear weapons. That would be akin to letting your 14 year old move the gun collection from the house to the garage. We are at least smart enough not to do that.

Am I wrong?

#3: More money for education

The NY Times recently reported that per pupil spending in this country is at an all-time high. Really? As long as this profession is clogged with layers upon layers of redundent bureaucratic bull shit,  it will be the mule stuck in the mud. No Child Left Behind and standards testing was going to save education. Well it didn't and now we have a new fix all: Common Core. You want COMMON CORE; I’ll give you “the common core”: As long the fantasy persists that every kid will graduate from college, reality will be the shrouded lone figure sitting at the back of the antiquated cheese wagon. You can give education all the money you want but unless educational “leaders” begin to use some common sense, American education is doomed to continue to be the 21^st Century version of the 8 track player. Am I wrong?

Outtake #4: Instant Replay in Baseball

Oh boy, the headlines are blazing with the big news. Major League Baseball will go to a full instant replay plan for the 2014 season. They've joined their sports brethren the NBA and NFL with officials and referees huddled around a TV monitor wanting to “get it right”. Who the hell cares? Christ it’s just a game. Oh yeah I forgot it’s the fantasy players and the gamblers that care very much about “getting it right”. To them it’s life and death. They want every last frame scrutinized but soon that won't be enough, we'll have to have the “blow up frame” so we can get what’s right a little righter. Upon further review the call on the field stands: people will fucking cave in to money every time. Am I wrong?

"Trip Summary: The Big Picture"

I am back in New York City. I was gone 7 weeks house sitting in San Diego.  The  most often asked question of me was: Do you like New York City? The second most asked question was are you staying in New York ?

Answering the first question is not as simple as a yes or no. Do I like New York when I run into rude people? NO Do I like New York on a sunny, low humidity day sitting outside at Starbucks? YES Do I like walking so much? Well, YEAH. Do I like walking every single day? No! I could go on and on but you get the point.

New York City is in some respects is like your city in that there are things you like and things you don’t. The main thing is that NYC is different for me, challenging, quirky and unpredictable.  That I am able to be around my son and his Rebecca is something I like very much. So the better question is: Is New York City likeable and doable for you now? That answer is yes

I’m staying in New York as long as I stay in New York. I don’t have a time table. Life changes so quickly that I have no idea what my life experience will be like in 3 months let alone 9-10 months. In July of 2012, I was worried about a potential a serious health issue and I was wondering if I would ever get to New York. A year later, in July of 2013, I’m driving a truck around San Diego, playing pool in a nice house in San Marcos, and doing a scavenger hunt at the ZOO. Go figure! All I know is that this is where I am today.

I do like San Diego and I came to appreciate (even more) those friends that also care about me. For some of the people I knew there; when I left a year ago they dropped me off their grid. Not there? Fill in the space with someone else.

BUT other friends in San Diego were happy to see me this summer. For them, distance had not diminished the knowing of each other. One of the worst things that can happen is complacency. Just assuming you will see the other person again soon and often. Now when I see my friends in San Diego, I know it might be the last time I see them, so I want each minute to count, to enjoy my time with them. In most cases ( while there) that is what happened. They aren't mutually exclusive you know. I like being in New York for now and yet I also care more about my friends in San Diego than ever.

"Upon Further Review"

I haven't written a blog for at least five weeks? Why? Was I too busy on my trip to California? Not really.

I experienced an existential crisis about my blog shortly after I arrived on this trip. I found out 3 people I thought for sure were reading my posts weren't reading them at all. Plus, I asked my son (who is himself an excellent writer) for his honest assessment of my writing. He kindly obliged and what he said shook me up. He said I wasn't doing Blog writing at all. Mine were formatted incorrectly and too long. Readers (he said) just don't want to have to slog through posts that are too wordy. He was right of course. My friend Bronwyn also pointed out some time back that my format was off. She was right too.

I was thinking how can I write shorter pieces without just doing a Reader’s Digest version of my ideas? I felt like Leonardo Di Caprio’s character Jack Dawson in the movie Titanic when he is alone at the bow of the ship with his arms out stretched screaming into the wind, “I'm the King of the World”. What a romantic moment right? Wrong! He’s shouting into the wind, no one hears him. He might as well mime it. He’s not the king of the world; he’s a poor immigrant 2 days away from being an ice cube bobbing in the water.

That was me, standing there at the bow of the ship with my arms outstretched shouting into the wind “I'm  a good blogger"! Uh huh, sure!

It was my serious intention to pull the plug on The Bailey Post. I didn't write or even think about The Bailey Post for 5 weeks. However, then something just as unforeseen happened. 4 people I was sure weren't reading my posts all said to me at different times, “hey, keep sending me your blogs, I really like reading them”. Hello Earth! Earth calling Will, come in please!

That changed my thoughts about the whole thing.  I've decided I'm going to try to keep The Bailey Post going. I will try to write shorter, blog-style pieces. I honestly don't know if I can. I've never written like that before.

I may still be shouting into the wind but at least I’m feeling more confident now that I won’t be bobbing in the water 2 days from now.

"For the Love of: Gooey Butter Cake Bars"

Question for you, what is worse for you Gooey Butter Cake Bars or the person that tells you it's ok to eat them?  Hmmmm, I'm thinking, I'm thinking. Seriously, how did Paula Deen come to have so much power and influence in the food world with her obviously self- destructive behavior and her health destroying recipes?  In case you are thinking she is finished after her revelations under oath that she used racist language in her restaurants and maintains attitudes from the pre-civil war south you are mistaken.
Yes, she has been dropped by: Smithfield Foods, Wal-Mart, Target, QVC, Home Depot, Penny’s, Sears, K-mart and even the Type 2 Diabetes insulin manufacturer Norvo Nordisk BUT AFTER her teary eyed confessions her book Paula Deen’s New Testament: 250 Favorite Recipes shot to number 1 on the Amazon best Seller book list. The week before that she was languishing around 1500 on the same list. Americans love a good fall, the tearful, humbling, begging for forgiveness and then the resurrection. This is all so predictable and disgusting I don't even know where to begin.

Look, I appreciate that Paula Deen grew up poor in Albany, GA and was left virtually penniless after a divorce. I appreciate that she was prone to panic attacks, and agoraphobia. Through luck and determination she clawed her way up the food chain (pun intended) to fame and fortune in the cooking world. Her fame mostly has come as a result of her shows on the Food Network. Her first show began in 2002. She got on the Food Network because she had set up two successful restaurants in Savannah, Ga.  Give her credit for not being a quitter, but let’s turn the coin over and see the other side.  Paula Deen might be savvy in the business world but she is not intelligent or knowledgeable. She’s less sophisticated than the least sophisticated person you know. Is it any wonder that she regularly used the word (nigger) in conversing with staff at her workplace, allowed a culture at work where words like this were often used or had the unbelievable stupidity to announce (recently) that she was planning her brother’s wedding reception and that she was going with an old fashioned "Southern Plantation Style Reception" complete with black servers. Focus in on that last line, doing a southern plantation theme with black servants. What was the entertainment going to be an Al Jolson look alike in blackface singing “Mammy”? Paula, Paula, Paula!

Why she is famous is what bugs me so much.  She is famous for serving “southern comfort food” which means fried, fried and deep fried. She is all about fried lard, fried butter, fried Oreos and the list goes on and on. She eats crap, serves up crap, has creative recipes for crap, markets and sells the crappy idea that eating this stuff is perfectly ok. It's bad enough that obese American adults found someone to give them two greasy thumbs up on their bad eating habits but what's worse is that she encourages kids to eat just as badly as their hillbilly  parents. That really pisses me off. She did a book called Lunch Box Set for moms that encouraged kids to eat: Cheesecake for breakfast, meat loaf and chocolate cake for lunch and French fries all day. Do we really need more adults and children with obesity and Type II Diabetes? She is a hypocrite on so many levels. Tub of goo, Paula Deen filled with oils, sugar, salt, and grease was diagnosed with Type II diabetes in 2009. Duh! My question is what took so long? Did she change her show content and encourage others not to do what she just did? Of course not, instead she saw another money-making idea. Since she started taking the Type II diabetes insulin manufactured by Norvo Nordisk, she became a spokesperson for this insulin/company. So imagine a fat, unhealthy woman getting paid a fortune to cook up Old Fashion Fudge Cake and Gooey Butter Cake Bars, all the while telling people they could eat this stuff and not worry and then get paid as a spokesperson for Type II Diabetes insulin. That's like selling the drugs and then opening up a  drug rehab clinic down the street. That went on for 3 years. She did not admit her own Type II diabetes and connection to Norvo Nordisk until the story leaked out. I swear to God if Paula Deen told people  to eat a shit sandwich every day, not only would so many of them do it but they would deep fry them first.

I don't like Paula Deen because she represents the worst of entrepreneurship.  Devoid of conscience, self-centered, manipulative, fake; a bull shitter extraordinaire, that’s Paula Deen. The fact that even one person ever listened to or watched her on TV only gives credence to what I've said for years that the average American is a lot more stupid than most people think. Look at her, listen to her; does she look like a person that should be telling you how to eat?

The Food Network channel should be ashamed of itself. She was on for 13 years and you mean to tell me they didn't know she was a racist. No one in 13 years ever heard her use a racial term, or any other ugly term?  Really? What is more plausible is this: they knew it but as long as she never said “jigaboo salad” or “coon pie” on camera they just looked the other way. Apparently we are also to believe that none of those other companies, so eager to drop her now, ever knew she was a racist? Didn't they check her out before signing her to lucrative deals? No, it’s about the money. She made money for them and as long as she didn't call her line of cookware the “Paula Deen Plantation Cookware” available only in white they were more than willing to keep her on board. They are every bit as hypocritical as she is. 

The Food Network should drop the “its America, and we just present shows, it’s up to people to decide for them what to eat” mantra. That’s irresponsible. You have an opportunity to present cooks and shows that could change America’s concept of food and eating for the better. That network could be presenting people that will help foster a food sustainability program for our country. There is so much good they could be doing now and for the next few generations. Again, I'm not suggesting that every show on the Food Network be 10 ways to eat granola. Food should be tasty and fun but fried Oreos? C’mon!

 America you get exactly what you deserve. I remember telling my son Austin in the year 2000 that Americans vote for whom they want in office and you know what, whoever they put in office, regardless of the reasons, they get exactly what they deserve be it good or bad. The same holds true for watching the Paula Deen show. Food that will hasten your Diabetes, hardened arteries, heart-attacks, strokes, indigestion,  colon issues, double and triple chins, plus, plus, plus sizes, extra loose fits and mumu’s should be avoided not sold as "fun foods" or "comfort foods". Last time I checked Type II diabetes is not fun or comfortable. I just wish they would do a survey about Paula Deen viewers:  I'll bet a month’s salary a vast majority of those people also smoke and drink.  The “average American” has to start getting smarter. Look, the American author Kurt Vonnegut Jr. once said, “Cigarette smoking is the only socially acceptable form of suicide”. If he'd known about Paula Deen he would have added her food to his list. 

Finally, a friend recently said that Paula Deen will reinvent herself and continue to make money chubby hand over fist. Maybe this was all orchestrated by Paula herself to get out of her Food Network deal where her ratings were dipping below the grease line and her sales of books and other related Deen accessories had really fallen off. No doubt Paula will retrench into the Deep South, start a local eat all the boiled peanuts, and fried everything you want cable show and continue to make money.  Some readers might think:
Will  you're picking on Paula Deen pretty heavily here. I think people in the public eye have a responsibility to find a proper balance between making money off their fame and using their talents to help others have a better life. If Paula Deen were my aunt; I would have written the same blog post.

Movie review: Great Gatsby

Most of you know that F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel The Great Gatsby (1925) is my favorite novel. I have alluded to it in previous Posts; so I am not going to explain all the reasons why I like it here. If you haven't read the novel, the story is set in NYC and Long Island in 1922. Jay Gatsby, now a 30 year old millionaire lives on West Egg (Little Neck) Long Island in a huge mansion. The woman he is in love with, Daisy Buchanan lives over on East Egg (Great Neck) Long Island. Eight years ago when he fell in love with Daisy, Gatsby was a poor Major in the Army about to be sent overseas in WW I. Major Jay Gatsby came back from the “great Teutonic migration” just as poor as before. We are led to believe that Daisy did wait for him some but soon moved on. She married a super-rich prig and elitist snob Tom Buchanan. They have one young daughter. Gatsby’s desire to get his “golden girl” back soon leads him to fast money, i.e. the mafia.  We never know what he actually does for them but when the novel opens he’s made a lot of money doing whatever they ask of him. Will Daisy leave her cheating, racist, hulking brute husband for Jay or not? 

The themes of the story are love, romance, money, lots of money and the freewheeling jazz age of the 1920’s. 

There have been several movie adaptations over the years with the 1974 Robert Redford-Mia Farrell version considered the best of the bunch. That movie followed the book very faithfully but the critics thought  it was too long and kind of boring. As much as I loved Redford and Farrell, I had to agree the critics were right about it being somewhat tedious. Now, (39 years later) there is a new version out in theaters. The artsy director Baz Luhrmann has served up a whopper of a Gatsby movie that cost in the neighborhood of 100 million to make. So far the critics don't know what to make of it and frankly I don't either. I was asked by one of my friends recently if I liked the movie and I honestly couldn't answer yes or no.  Here’s why:

The 2013 version is brasher, louder, irreverent, and vulgar. It’s also compelling. It’s Gatsby on steroids, the kind of movie the surrealist painter Salvador Dali might have done. Imagine a movie where David Lynch (Twin Peaks) does the script, Tim Burton (Nightmare before Christmas)) does the sets and lighting, Marilyn Manson does the costumes and makeup, Liberace does the party scenes and choreography, and rappers do the movie music. This movie is a handful.  Does it follow the novel's storyline? Sort of, yet it totally  leaves out significant moments like when Gatsby’s father came to his funeral at the end of the story and in so doing fills in details about his boy Jimmie.  The only calm, sane, sensible character in the book is the narrator Nick Carraway, but in Luhrmann’s version he becomes an incurable alcoholic and mental patient. Nothing could be farther than the truth, but remember Luhrmann s going for art not authenticity. Tom tells George in the movie that Gatsby killed Myrtle (George’s wife) yet in the book he only suggests it. Nick has an on again, off again relationship with Jordan Baker (in the novel) but in this Luhrmann movie they have virtually no relationship. Tom and Daisy’s daughter has a crucial scene with Daisy and Gatsby in the book but is non-existent in the movie. I could go on but you get my point, it is the same basic story but changed so much that it resembles the book about like how a dream would resemble reality.

The parties in the book are the typical 1920’s rich person’s orgy of pranks, booze, dancing and gossip. But Luhrmann’s Gatsby parties are Mardi Gras on speed, with blasting hip hop music, and some weird gargoyle floor show right out of a 1930's Berlin Cabaret. Gatsby’s yellow Rolls Royce which is impressive even by today’s standards is beyond belief in the new movie. This Rolls is lowered, supercharged with eight barrels sticking out of the sides of the engine compartment and apparently (with the help of CG I) capable of doing a hundred MPH. This was 1922 where 40 mph was considered a hell raising speed. Nick’s bungalow house next to Gatsby’s looks like it’s set in a primordial forest. I expected to see a lion pop up out of the dense foliage. It’s supposed to be the Long Island shore for Pete’s sake not the Congo.

Leo Di Caprio put on weight to play the early middle aged Gatsby and looked the part. That is until he wore clothes which were very ill fitted that made him seem like a hayseed stuck in Au couture.  I wouldn't wear what he wore even if I had millions of dollars. I thought this very odd since the whole point of Daisy considering going back to Gatsby was his money, cool sophistication and the fact that Tom next to Gatsby looked even more foolish and uncouth.  Not in this movie. Tom looks like he belongs in the expensive suits not Gatsby.

MY last criticism (wait, the positive comments are yet to come) is that the interpretation of Tom Buchanan is all wrong. Luhrmann’s Tom is a shouter, bellowing out opinions and orders as if everyone in the room were deaf. Tom doesn't shout. He’s old money; his money gets him what he wants not intimidation or noise. Tom would slip the head waiter 20 dollars and get the good table. He speaks quietly because his money speaks loud enough. Luhrmann’s Tom is still the slime ball the book portrays him to be but in a weird way I ended up siding with him when he puts down Gatsby as a two bit swindler.

Meyer Wolfsheim is a character in the book that is based on the real life NYC gambler Arnold Rothstein. Rothstein (Wolfsheim) actually did fix the 1919 World Series and a couple of years later he was gunned down at a poker game. He was low key, smart and Jewish. In this movie he is loud, flamboyant, a show off, womanizer, boozer and either Indian or Pakistani. He looked like a caricature of an 8^th avenue pimp. 

As you can see Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby is way different but that is where the rubber meets the road. Luhrmann had no intention of giving us Fitzgerald’s Gatsby; he is giving us HIS Gatsby.  Luhrmann always does his thing. Luhrmann is about visuals and sound. He wants you to see, hear and feel the story. His Gatsby is visceral, tangible, tactile, and defying.  When you are done with this Gatsby movie you will feel like you just finished gorging yourself at a sensory smorgasbord. We are supposed to feel sadness (I believe) for Gatsby when he gets it in the back but in this movie I didn't even care. That’s because by the end of the movie, I felt like I'd been to one of Luhrmann’s versions of a Gatsby party and I needed a week’s rest. 

In the book Nick is so offended by the excesses of the rich that he leaves New York and goes back to Chicago with a desire to never again have “privileged glimpses” into the lives of rich people. In Luhrmann’s movie Nick goes insane and is being treated at a clinic. I see why. It wasn't just the sordid behavior of the main characters it was the whole orgiastic experience of everybody and everything. Nick must have felt like he was going down in Gatsby’s pool for the third time knowing that he had been in over his head right from the beginning.

If you want the airy, meaningless conversation of the super-rich, a Gatsby that is romantic but flawed, a Daisy that conquers the Gatsby’s of the world but doesn’t really want them and a Nick that is so moral that riotous excursions into the lives of the careless leave him sick to his stomach, then this version is not for you. If you dare to see what an artist can do with antiquity then this version is for you. I say live a little, go see it. Ironically that is what the 1920’s jazz age was all about, daring to do new things. Fitzgerald would (I think) want you to. 

"Bonheoffer"

I am a person of faith.  My faith got me through a bad childhood, and has been instrumental in helping me persevere at other difficult times. The faith I am talking about isn't about religion. The faith I refer to is what you've staked your life on, what you believe in.  

I staked my life on three major things: that I could raise my son well; that I could be a good teacher and that I could help other people.  Sometimes things weren't going well but I kept my faith in what I was trying to do.  Many people don’t choose what they will stake their lives on what they will have faith in. It could be circumstances, other people, fear, or just a lack of focus that keeps a person from knowing what they want to do in life. If you are older like me you probably can look back and see where you placed your faith, what you staked your life on. If you are younger, perhaps you are just now deciding where you will place your faith.

My level of faith pales in comparison to the faith of Dietrich Bonheoffer. Who you ask? 

 I once was researching the Catholic Church and Nazi Germany. One of the articles I found mentioned a German theologian: Dietrich Bonheoffer.  He was a Lutheran pastor that that challenged the Nazi’s right from the beginning. I thought that was an awful risky thing to do; so I began to find out about him. His story defines what it means to live your life according to what you believe and how faith helps see you through.  

Bonheoffer (pronounced “bonoffer” (one word) was born in 1906 in Germany. His father Karl was a well-known psychiatrist and the family believed he would become a psychiatrist too but instead at age of 12 he  announced that he wanted to become a theologian and minister. At age 18 he graduated from the University of Berlin (1924) and at age 21 he completed his PhD. His dissertation was on the faith of the Saints. Since at age 21, he wasn't old enough to be ordained, he went to New York City. He had been invited to come over to preach and study by the famous Union Theological Seminary. Union Theological is located in Harlem, New York. While there he attended and taught Sunday School at the mostly all black Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem. It was while he was here that he came to his first epiphany.

 He concluded that the churches in the black community were not helping their own poor. In fact he thought that many of them (though well intention-ed) were teaching the downtrodden to accept their miserable lot in life. You know, suffer on earth now but reap rewards in heaven later. He also realized his own Lutheran church in Germany was essentially doing the same thing. He came to believe that being a Christian meant that one should be active in helping the people that suffer most. Churches and church clergy needed to get out of the exclusive world of the theoretical, the intellectual. Essentially he believed the clergy needed to use their faith to change lives not just talk about change. From that point forward he was dedicated to pushing the German Lutheran Church to be more active in bringing about changes for the suffering. 

Before heading back home he visited other churches in other countries.  He came to his second belief. He concluded that helping people was not the job of any one church or faith but all churches and faiths. He embraced the ecumenical doctrine of all churches and faiths joining together to end human suffering.  He was asked to be one of the founders of the World Council of Churches.

When he got back to Germany, he began preaching at a Lutheran Church and lecturing at the University of Berlin.  He continued to preach, teach, and write from 1923-1933.  The lives of all Germans, including Bonhoeffer's) changed radically when Adolph Hitler and the Nazi Party came to power in 1933. Bonheoffer had already been alarmed with Hitler’s militaristic and anti-Semitic rants.  He went on the radio just 2 days after Hitler took power and in his radio address criticized both Hitler and the Nazi’s. He warned Germans to beware of the “der fuhrer”. He told them Hitler was really the “ver fuhrer” a word that meant a mislead er. His was “mysteriously” cut off in the middle of his address. The Nazi’s began to watch him closely.

Bonheoffer did not let up. He continued to criticize and warn in his speeches and sermons. After a while, the Nazi’s denied him access to the radio and soon he was not allowed to give any public speeches outside of his Sunday sermons. Many higher ups in the German Lutheran Church begged him to “lighten” up, to back off his criticisms but he did not. Virtually every other church in Germany one way or another looked the other way regarding Nazi abuses.  The Catholic Church may have been the most egregious example of “getting along” with the Nazi’s (see photo). In fact the Catholic Church signed an accord with Hitler in 1936 that allowed the Catholic Church to stay open both in Germany and the occupied countries as long as the Church expressed no opinions about Nazi decisions and operations. Essentially, the agreement was you stay out of what we do and we’ll leave you to your rituals and robes.  The Catholic Church has always claimed it knew nothing of what was going on. (I ask how is that possible?) Dietrich Bonheoffer made no deals with the Nazi’s.  

Bonheoffer went to England in 1938; partially to escape harassment in Germany but mostly to solicit help for those in Germany being arrested, murdered or deported to “labor camps.  He got sympathetic ears but no offers of help on any meaningful level. Most people had no interest in taking on Herr Hitler. 

He went back to Germany just before Hitler invaded Poland in September 1939. He worked tirelessly to keep his by now all but outlawed church (“Confessional Church”) going but when the war officially started Bonheoffer was once again under duress. This time he was facing conscription into the German Army. The Union Theological Seminary invited him back to NYC. Facing conscription or jail in Germany he made the decision to get out. 

He could have safely ridden out the war in New York BUT he soon regretted his decision to leave his home country. He believed that should be in Germany helping the German people survive what was going on there. He said, "How could I take part in reunifying the Christian Church in Germany after the war was if I had not been there with the people during the dark times"? His faith in what he believed he needed to do took him back home.

 He was not allowed in the city of Berlin at all and was effectively under house arrest.  Not being able to conduct church services he looked in another direction. He joined the Abwehr.  There were two secret organizations in Nazi Germany. The Gestapo was Hitler’s personal secret police. The Abwehr was the Military intelligence gathering branch and Bonheoffer agreed to work for them. Why would he do that? It's because the Abwehr was where officers (like Klaus Von Stauffenberg) were that were trying to assassinate Hitler. The Abwehr came up with a clever plan to protect and use Bonheoffer.  They told the Gestapo that they had recruited Bonheoffer to travel outside the country to do espionage work.  They told the Gestapo that they had appealed to his sense of country and because he was a well-known theologian outside Germany it would work.  The Gestapo knew he did love his country and they knew he would have access to highly placed people so they went along with the idea. Obviously that is not what he was doing. He used the trips to tell other countries about Nazi atrocities and about the Final Solution. Being in Military intelligence he was privy to what the Nazi’s were doing.

The Gestapo hated the Abwehr. They thought they should be doing all the secret work and they thought the officers in the Abwehr too soft for "wet work"! They finally got wind of an Abwehr operation in which 20 Jews were smuggled into Switzerland. Many officers in the Abwehr did risk their lives to disrupt Nazi plans and free Jews. But this time they were caught doing it. The Gestapo raided Abwehr headquarters.  They uncovered some documents that hinted at but didn't state specifically what Bonheoffer was really doing on his trips. Nevertheless he was "detained" Tegel Prison.  They DID NOT uncover any information about the ongoing attempts to assassinate Hitler.

Two guards in particular admired Dietrich Bonheoffer, a soft spoken man of faith and each at separate times offer to help him escape if he would take them with him but he turned down their requests. He believed he needed to help the prisoners keep their faith in their time of troubles.   Finally, when the bomb detonated at the Wolf’s Lair did not kill Hitler, some of the men arrested (during torture) told about how the Abwehr was a base for conspirators. They named names in hopes of being spared but they were not spared.   

Hitler gave the order to kill everyone from the Abwehr whose name had come up in the interrogations.  On April 9, 1945 Bonheoffer and many others were hanged. Germany surrendered May 1^st just 23 days later. One of Bonheoffer’s seminary students was a prisoner at Tegel at that time and he witnessed his execution. By his account, Bonheoffer was composed, and seemed to truly believe God had heard his prayers. His last words were: “This is the end, now my life begins”. He was 39 years old.

Dietrich Bonheoffer redefined the way many Christians view their purpose on this earth. He helped bring Christianity out of the realm of the theoretical.  He believed Christian Churches and clergy must be active in this world, just as Christ was. They must stand up for people. Martin Luther King and Gandhi (to name just two) were big fans of Dietrich Bonheoffer. Needless to say, the Catholic Church was not.  

His religious views aside, what I care most about him was that he lived according to what he staked his life on, his faith.  My faith has never been tested like his was. But that was his time, his place, his life. We can only live the life we are given, in the time and place we are in. What we stake our lives on; where we place our faith defines who we are just as it did him.