"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.....!!