“Are you a musician?” The server asked me. “You look like someone I’ve seen before but I can’t place you.” After quizzing each other with various people and places we may have met, it turned out in the nineties we both worked at local wine shops and may have crossed paths at industry tastings. Maybe I’d recognize him clearer if he shaved his beard, but probably not.
It was the first time I’d been in The Refectory, one of the finest restaurants in the city, in my entire time here, and the moment I entered the main dining room I regretted missing out on those lost decades. It’s a beautiful space in an old church. The decor was fresh, there was nothing tired about the place.
And we were there now. Finally met the sommelier after following him on social media for a few years. He poured us a couple of amuse bouche samples of obscure Italian wines to start the show.
We had very good wine. She had antelope, I had the four course chef’s menu. The sous vide beef shoulder was outstanding. Nothing was rushed. The staff on the floor were all working together with a learned precision that was not pretentious, but natural. Our dinner a few years back at the Ubiquitous Chip in Glasgow was outstanding in quality and service, but last night went past that. The Refectory is a skilled team from front of house to back.
There was no way I could afford to go in there until now. Even when I was in the wine business in the nineties it could not be done.
As we ate I was thought about a quote a local chef recently said in an article about her. She said that fine dining was dead. This is the same chef who passively/aggressively insulted my wife in front of a dining room full of people. The same chef who partnered with a local brewery owner who is now accused of sexual assault by multiple women. Fine dining is not dead, it’s the lazy, uncreative and harmful attitudes of those who control the narrative that should be. On our way out we walked past one of the former food critics from the Dispatch, who had just finished his dinner. I was never fond of his writing style, it turned into a template the last few years of his reign. Yet when a place gets outstanding reviews for over thirty years, innovates with the times to provide a superior dining experience, you keep going back. As will we, sooner than later. It’s worth it.
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Saturday, February 9, 2019
Sunday, August 26, 2018
When I'm not attempting to burn the house down
Went to see a friend spin some records last night. Yes, it was real vinyl, playing on two turntables. None of this digital laptop deejaying. We brought in our own records, carried them into the bar and we liked it! Made me nostalgic for the old days, as such events tend to do. I miss the slip-cue, it was a lot of drunken fun.
In line at the grocery, a guy mentioned my Guitar House Workshop t-shirt. He asked my what guitars I had. Mentioned my Ibanez first, then he asked me if I played jazz. Told him I was taking lessons. Did not mention that I sucked so that's a positive.
We're having a party in two weeks, today may have been the last time I try cooking burgers in cast iron, as the house has a good amount of smoke. It should clear out in time.
In line at the grocery, a guy mentioned my Guitar House Workshop t-shirt. He asked my what guitars I had. Mentioned my Ibanez first, then he asked me if I played jazz. Told him I was taking lessons. Did not mention that I sucked so that's a positive.
We're having a party in two weeks, today may have been the last time I try cooking burgers in cast iron, as the house has a good amount of smoke. It should clear out in time.
Wednesday, August 22, 2018
Sunday, April 8, 2018
That three throw closeout
Events this past week have brought my head space back twenty years in some ways. A lot of thinking where I was, where I went and why, and where I am now. Somewhere in all that is the how.
And it's such a horrible tragedy, that accident involving the hockey kids in Saskatchewan. Communities are devastated, social lives are centered around those junior leagues on the prairies. They were good kids, I met a few like them, back in the day.
Last night one of our new neighbors invited us over to their place for beers and an outdoor fire. We had a very good time, a beer too many in my case and walked two blocks home. I have not been able to do that for years, maybe since when we lived by the Crest Tavern, when it had real dartboards.
A British dart throwing legend died last week. I was not familiar with him, but my wife was, and friends of mine. I have a board, a good one, waiting to be set up on a bare wall downstairs. I just can't find my darts right now. So I've put a set on my Amazon list. I'm one click away.
There are a lot of things I'm missing right now: the address on a water bill, my concentration to be able to read a freaking book, let alone write anything coherent or meaningful. Some days, when you're under the stress of finally finding a summer caregiver for your son, or selling a house that has a nice personality but some real problems underneath, it's all you can do to be able to get up in the morning with not quite hangover but a bloated uneasy feeling in your gut. I'm so grateful and lucky to have the space to go to and try to get through it all.
And it's such a horrible tragedy, that accident involving the hockey kids in Saskatchewan. Communities are devastated, social lives are centered around those junior leagues on the prairies. They were good kids, I met a few like them, back in the day.
Last night one of our new neighbors invited us over to their place for beers and an outdoor fire. We had a very good time, a beer too many in my case and walked two blocks home. I have not been able to do that for years, maybe since when we lived by the Crest Tavern, when it had real dartboards.
A British dart throwing legend died last week. I was not familiar with him, but my wife was, and friends of mine. I have a board, a good one, waiting to be set up on a bare wall downstairs. I just can't find my darts right now. So I've put a set on my Amazon list. I'm one click away.
There are a lot of things I'm missing right now: the address on a water bill, my concentration to be able to read a freaking book, let alone write anything coherent or meaningful. Some days, when you're under the stress of finally finding a summer caregiver for your son, or selling a house that has a nice personality but some real problems underneath, it's all you can do to be able to get up in the morning with not quite hangover but a bloated uneasy feeling in your gut. I'm so grateful and lucky to have the space to go to and try to get through it all.
Thursday, March 29, 2018
Rest in Peace, Le Grand Orange
You had to close down on opening day
The fight left you as the team you inspired as children
took their positions on the field
Your poster on their parents walls
Baseball card in back pockets
Never flipped for luck
Saw you almost hit .400 in the World Series
You could not carry your team on a broken shoulder
The Shea Stadium outfield fence took away your arm
as you made the catch, but not your bat
Never your bat
Later in your career you were called on in the seventh, eighth, ninth inning
to do one job
The crowd chanted your name, knew you’d come to the plate
You’d pinch hit a single, double, never a triple
(foot speed was never your top skill)
or the tip your hat to the crowd encore home run
When your career ended you cooked
You fed the hungry, the first responders
Anyone
You gave back to a city that embraced you as one of its own
Now, Rusty, we say goodbye, au revoir, thank you
The fight left you as the team you inspired as children
took their positions on the field
Your poster on their parents walls
Baseball card in back pockets
Never flipped for luck
Saw you almost hit .400 in the World Series
You could not carry your team on a broken shoulder
The Shea Stadium outfield fence took away your arm
as you made the catch, but not your bat
Never your bat
Later in your career you were called on in the seventh, eighth, ninth inning
to do one job
The crowd chanted your name, knew you’d come to the plate
You’d pinch hit a single, double, never a triple
(foot speed was never your top skill)
or the tip your hat to the crowd encore home run
When your career ended you cooked
You fed the hungry, the first responders
Anyone
You gave back to a city that embraced you as one of its own
Now, Rusty, we say goodbye, au revoir, thank you
Friday, November 3, 2017
Thomas Wolfe and the home thing
Back on Long Island for a visit. Just a visit. For a change there are no funerals to attend. The weather has been oddly glorious for early November. This morning, though, there was a dense fog and I went to Heckscher State Park to see how the Great South Bay would look. It was hard to see though the mist. Very eerie and quite cool. A mist formed over my glasses. Made me wish I’d spent more time down here in high school. Should have ridden my bike down there instead of the to the South Shore Mall to play video games. It would have given me some much needed serenity.
The presence of my Mother is at many turns I make. She worked at the Connetquot State Park, which looms large with my family. There’s a memory bench with her name on it by the hatchery, where the public cannot go. My Stepfather and I went there today. He’s struggling with mobility these days, as he ages. But he got out his walker and rolled himself there.
As I drive my rented Hyundai around Western Suffolk County, memories flood me more than usual this time. Mostly about all the places I did not go, and how much time I wasted not going to them. But there’s the place I cursed up a storm at a guy for taking my bike. There’s the building I where threw a solid punch at a guy and knocked his head back. And of course, the house I lived in under some torment. But my Mom is still all over the place, and me - well I deliberately tried to erase my presence, or at least my footprint - and I cannot put it back, nor do I want to.
Overall it has been a good and necessary visit. My Stepfather took us to dinner last night, I took him to lunch today. My Niece does not take any crap from by Brother, which is a good thing. Later, I’m taking my Aunt to dinner. After that, who knows.
The presence of my Mother is at many turns I make. She worked at the Connetquot State Park, which looms large with my family. There’s a memory bench with her name on it by the hatchery, where the public cannot go. My Stepfather and I went there today. He’s struggling with mobility these days, as he ages. But he got out his walker and rolled himself there.
As I drive my rented Hyundai around Western Suffolk County, memories flood me more than usual this time. Mostly about all the places I did not go, and how much time I wasted not going to them. But there’s the place I cursed up a storm at a guy for taking my bike. There’s the building I where threw a solid punch at a guy and knocked his head back. And of course, the house I lived in under some torment. But my Mom is still all over the place, and me - well I deliberately tried to erase my presence, or at least my footprint - and I cannot put it back, nor do I want to.
Overall it has been a good and necessary visit. My Stepfather took us to dinner last night, I took him to lunch today. My Niece does not take any crap from by Brother, which is a good thing. Later, I’m taking my Aunt to dinner. After that, who knows.
Thursday, October 13, 2016
Thursday, August 4, 2016
Something from the LJ archive
There were fireflies glowing by the old chicken coop in my Grandparent's backyard. We used to have barbecues there when the other tenants of the house were not home. We'd cut through the breezeway, looking into the kitchen of their neighbors. One time, when i was five or so, i snuck in their home, walked into a hallway. heard a noise and bolted out of there fast. I remember a black and white portrait on a dresser.
Down the road from their house on Eagle Avenue was a riding stable. We used to go down there, not to ride, but to look at the horses. Some of them knew their names and would look up at you as you read their names from the plaques on the door.
One day, I was sitting alone in the front seat of my Stepfather's Barracuda. I was playing with the gear shift and put the car in reverse. Their driveway was on a slope that, slowly, sent me into traffic. Luckily i was not hit by any oncoming cars. A passerby saw me frozen in the front seat and went into the house for help. When my parents came out to get me, all they saw of me was my beanie cap with the propeller on it.
Down the road from their house on Eagle Avenue was a riding stable. We used to go down there, not to ride, but to look at the horses. Some of them knew their names and would look up at you as you read their names from the plaques on the door.
One day, I was sitting alone in the front seat of my Stepfather's Barracuda. I was playing with the gear shift and put the car in reverse. Their driveway was on a slope that, slowly, sent me into traffic. Luckily i was not hit by any oncoming cars. A passerby saw me frozen in the front seat and went into the house for help. When my parents came out to get me, all they saw of me was my beanie cap with the propeller on it.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
A few hits to fill in the blanks
This was a good little record by the Fine Young Cannibals back in 1989. It was a year I do not remember too well. Too much drinking, a few too many drugs and general unhappiness/uncertainty. At the end of the year we moved to Ohio, leaving the alcoholic comfort zone of lousy pay for the mystery of a big city. If I stayed on I would not have survived. The next decade was a combination of being broken down and breaking myself. Bad career decisions were made, one after the other. A marriage fell apart. The next decade seemed to repeat itself with financial strain replacing the alcohol. These days the stressors are different but profound and worrisome. I've found it harder to reach my son when the show in his head is greater than that around him, or if he's in pain. It's hard for him to tell us that, and it weighs heavy.
Then this song becomes the show in my head -
"Oh I know that times are bad
and they make you want to cry
Don't be sad, we'll get by"
All I can say is, maybe.
Friday, March 11, 2016
Tuesday, February 16, 2016
Snow Day reading about craft beer turns into a blog post
Another snow day today so while the boy is upstairs on his iPad I got to read an interesting local blog post about weirdness in the local craft beer trade. I've read some interesting whispers about things that are happening locally that are quite sad and disturbing and I'm pleased to see someone was brave enough to put their thoughts down.
Very little of what the author wrote surprised me. She was spot on in her reporting that micro-breweries are putting out mediocre beer just to have something new to market. If you can't establish why you wanted to become a craft brewer with a signature beer or two, drinkers are going to find you out when you keep putting adjectives into cans instead of decent product.
Read the post I linked to, it summarizes a lot of what I've been micro-ranting about on social media for the past few years.
Here's my post about Trophy Beverages from 2014.
When I worked for McGee's back in the nineties, there was a lot of cooperation and synergy between retailer/wholesaler and the few micro-breweries in Columbus at the time. We were trying to break even at best, which did not happen to McGee's in the long run, and introduce good products to our customers. And if a brand did not work, we did not recommend or support it. Sorry to Gambrinius who had some massive sanitation issues when an attempt was made to bring the brand back.
Every Friday turned into a beer tasting, we'd open up the new stuff, people would bring in beer that they had acquired on the travels to The Party Source or out of state and we'd discover what was happening in other states or a cool foreign beer we could not get in Ohio. Sure it was illegal to do it so openly, it was all new.
Our shop put on one of the first outdoor beer festivals in Columbus in 1996 when we pitched a couple of tents in the Bank Block parking lot behind the shop, invited the local brewers and wholesalers to pour their stuff, had a homebrew competition and we had a reasonably good time doing it.
There was allocated product, but no one really went without. No retailer really tried to hoard all of any given release, our customers did not buy up all of our product for their use. There was sharing, and that spirit seems to have disappeared. The changes of the industry and the drinking culture bros who go for the trophy brews over anything else, is flattening my interest.
Very little of what the author wrote surprised me. She was spot on in her reporting that micro-breweries are putting out mediocre beer just to have something new to market. If you can't establish why you wanted to become a craft brewer with a signature beer or two, drinkers are going to find you out when you keep putting adjectives into cans instead of decent product.
Read the post I linked to, it summarizes a lot of what I've been micro-ranting about on social media for the past few years.
Here's my post about Trophy Beverages from 2014.
When I worked for McGee's back in the nineties, there was a lot of cooperation and synergy between retailer/wholesaler and the few micro-breweries in Columbus at the time. We were trying to break even at best, which did not happen to McGee's in the long run, and introduce good products to our customers. And if a brand did not work, we did not recommend or support it. Sorry to Gambrinius who had some massive sanitation issues when an attempt was made to bring the brand back.
Every Friday turned into a beer tasting, we'd open up the new stuff, people would bring in beer that they had acquired on the travels to The Party Source or out of state and we'd discover what was happening in other states or a cool foreign beer we could not get in Ohio. Sure it was illegal to do it so openly, it was all new.
Our shop put on one of the first outdoor beer festivals in Columbus in 1996 when we pitched a couple of tents in the Bank Block parking lot behind the shop, invited the local brewers and wholesalers to pour their stuff, had a homebrew competition and we had a reasonably good time doing it.
There was allocated product, but no one really went without. No retailer really tried to hoard all of any given release, our customers did not buy up all of our product for their use. There was sharing, and that spirit seems to have disappeared. The changes of the industry and the drinking culture bros who go for the trophy brews over anything else, is flattening my interest.
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
Even the tiny country of Togoland has a message for me
I am contacting you for the claim of my late client fund, who is a
native of your country that was deposited with the bank here in Lome,
Togo. I am soliciting for your confidence in this matter; this is by
virtue of its nature as being utterly confidential. Though I know that
a contact of this magnitude will make any one apprehensive, but I am
assuring you that all will be well since I know everything about my
late client fund.
I have decided to contact you due to the urgency of this matter. Let
me start by introducing myself properly to you. I am Barrister Martin
Keen, the personal Attorney to my late client Engr. F. D Plunkett
(Snr) a contractor and importer here in lome-Togo and he was involved
in a ghastly motor accident along Nouvissi express Road. He was
banking with Bank, Lome Togo and had a closing balance as at the end
of September 2008, worth $ 4.5 million usd (Four Million Five Hundred
Thousand United States Dollars).
The bank now expects the Next of Kin to come forward as a beneficiary.
Efforts have been made by the management of bank to get in touch with
any of the Deceased Family or Relatives, but they have met with no
success. Now the management under the influence of the bank director
and Members of the Board of directors has made arrangement for the
fund to be declared Unclaimed so that they can share the money amongst
themselves.
In order to avert this negative development, as part of my duty, I
decided to track his last name over the Internet, to locate any member
of his family. Hence I have contacted you, all documents and proof to
enable you get this fund will be carefully worked out by me for this
claim. I have secured from the probate an order of Mandamus to locate
any of the deceased beneficiaries, and more so I am assuring you that
this claim is 100% risk free.
On the receipt of your response I will furnish you with detailed
clarification as it relates to this mutual benefit transaction.
Respond to my confidential email (barr.martinkeen02@gmail.com) for
full details.
Thanks
Yours faithfully,
Barrister Martin Keen
native of your country that was deposited with the bank here in Lome,
Togo. I am soliciting for your confidence in this matter; this is by
virtue of its nature as being utterly confidential. Though I know that
a contact of this magnitude will make any one apprehensive, but I am
assuring you that all will be well since I know everything about my
late client fund.
I have decided to contact you due to the urgency of this matter. Let
me start by introducing myself properly to you. I am Barrister Martin
Keen, the personal Attorney to my late client Engr. F. D Plunkett
(Snr) a contractor and importer here in lome-Togo and he was involved
in a ghastly motor accident along Nouvissi express Road. He was
banking with Bank, Lome Togo and had a closing balance as at the end
of September 2008, worth $ 4.5 million usd (Four Million Five Hundred
Thousand United States Dollars).
The bank now expects the Next of Kin to come forward as a beneficiary.
Efforts have been made by the management of bank to get in touch with
any of the Deceased Family or Relatives, but they have met with no
success. Now the management under the influence of the bank director
and Members of the Board of directors has made arrangement for the
fund to be declared Unclaimed so that they can share the money amongst
themselves.
In order to avert this negative development, as part of my duty, I
decided to track his last name over the Internet, to locate any member
of his family. Hence I have contacted you, all documents and proof to
enable you get this fund will be carefully worked out by me for this
claim. I have secured from the probate an order of Mandamus to locate
any of the deceased beneficiaries, and more so I am assuring you that
this claim is 100% risk free.
On the receipt of your response I will furnish you with detailed
clarification as it relates to this mutual benefit transaction.
Respond to my confidential email (barr.martinkeen02@gmail.com) for
full details.
Thanks
Yours faithfully,
Barrister Martin Keen
Thursday, May 28, 2015
He liked the scripts better when they had coffee stains on them.
One of my college professors at Fredonia died yesterday. John P. Malcolm was a gregarious and knowledgeable man. Whether in the classroom or walking about town he always had a kind word to say, and if years had passed since you had seen each other, he did not forget who you were.
When he found out we were moving to Columbus, Ohio State was his Alma Mater, he would always ask if we were going to live in Buckeye Village, which he called "Fertility Acres." Many conversations or lectures you had with him started, “Back in my old days at Ohio State!” He was a good man who is directly responsible for my having a degree.
Here’s the story: when I ‘graduated’ in 1985, my GPA in my minor was not high enough so I did not officially earn a degree. No, I was not the best of students. A couple of years later, my ex-wife asked him, he was Chair of the Communication Department, if he would waive that requirement (all without my knowledge) and allow me to have the degree, which was well within the rules at the time. He did it without hesitation.
My schedule has it that I will most likely be unable to attend any services for him, and that distance makes me sad. Dr. Malcolm leaves behind a loving family, scores of colleagues and the many students who had great respect for him. Rest in Peace Dr. Malcolm, and thank you.
When he found out we were moving to Columbus, Ohio State was his Alma Mater, he would always ask if we were going to live in Buckeye Village, which he called "Fertility Acres." Many conversations or lectures you had with him started, “Back in my old days at Ohio State!” He was a good man who is directly responsible for my having a degree.
Here’s the story: when I ‘graduated’ in 1985, my GPA in my minor was not high enough so I did not officially earn a degree. No, I was not the best of students. A couple of years later, my ex-wife asked him, he was Chair of the Communication Department, if he would waive that requirement (all without my knowledge) and allow me to have the degree, which was well within the rules at the time. He did it without hesitation.
My schedule has it that I will most likely be unable to attend any services for him, and that distance makes me sad. Dr. Malcolm leaves behind a loving family, scores of colleagues and the many students who had great respect for him. Rest in Peace Dr. Malcolm, and thank you.
Monday, May 4, 2015
Another boss bites the dust
1985 was a crazy year. I graduated college, got married shortly after and began work for a local radio station that was in the process of having its broadcasting license revoked.
This is the second former employer of mine who has died in the past year.
It was a strange place to work, like many of my jobs, with weird and wonderful coworkers. I've never been so scared at work before, as I tried figuring out a newscast out of the local paper and nicking the other station in town. Had no idea what I was doing. None. There was no AP teletype in the station, the owner was too frugal to pay for that. The morning guy was a hoot, a former stand up comedian he made me laugh on the air constantly, God rest his soul.
The former owner of WBUZ, Hammerin' Hank Serafin, died on Saturday, aged 89. I've been playing with this for over a year and a half, finally got motivated to finish it today.
Ten Reasons You Lost Your FCC License
In 1989 radio station WBUZ Fredonia/Dunkirk had it’s license pulled by the FCC. It was only the second license revoked since the Communications Act of 1934. The owner of the station, Hammerin’ Hank Serafin, died on May 2nd.
1) Do not rig a contest in which first prize was a trip to Niagara Falls in which you sent a major advertiser and his wife went to because you were worried people in an immoral relationship would win. Second prize was a hi-tech radio you kept in your office.
2) That time you called the agency for a secretary then asked her supervisor if they had any white girls because the one that showed would make charcoal look white.
3) That day you hacked a public phone booth to air a high school baseball game.
4) Do not keep the public from inspecting your public file during business hours. Do not harass the person who came to view your public file by mocking his hair length.
5) Do not forge the records in your public file. Even if the guy you strung along for years so you could try to sell him the station lied for you.
6) You were also a well known local slumlord. Do not call an advocate for the poor a bitch on the air. Said person was the daughter of a well known county judge. But you could not help yourself, could you?
7) Never charge sponsors for ads they did not agree to run. It also helped your bookkeeper pay her electric bills without you knowing for years.
8) Do not lie about paying your ASCAP fee. Even the polka musicians had to get paid.
9) Because you were such a cheap bastard, you left a visible storefront in town, bought a double wide and parked it next to your transmitter. Enviably located next to a pallet factory at the end of a dead end street. Painted a sign that read the temporary home of WBUZ.
10) In the last days even nature knew you were done. Days before the station went dark a bird flew into the trailer, fluttered around the station, then shat on your desk
This is the second former employer of mine who has died in the past year.
It was a strange place to work, like many of my jobs, with weird and wonderful coworkers. I've never been so scared at work before, as I tried figuring out a newscast out of the local paper and nicking the other station in town. Had no idea what I was doing. None. There was no AP teletype in the station, the owner was too frugal to pay for that. The morning guy was a hoot, a former stand up comedian he made me laugh on the air constantly, God rest his soul.
The former owner of WBUZ, Hammerin' Hank Serafin, died on Saturday, aged 89. I've been playing with this for over a year and a half, finally got motivated to finish it today.
Ten Reasons You Lost Your FCC License
In 1989 radio station WBUZ Fredonia/Dunkirk had it’s license pulled by the FCC. It was only the second license revoked since the Communications Act of 1934. The owner of the station, Hammerin’ Hank Serafin, died on May 2nd.
1) Do not rig a contest in which first prize was a trip to Niagara Falls in which you sent a major advertiser and his wife went to because you were worried people in an immoral relationship would win. Second prize was a hi-tech radio you kept in your office.
2) That time you called the agency for a secretary then asked her supervisor if they had any white girls because the one that showed would make charcoal look white.
3) That day you hacked a public phone booth to air a high school baseball game.
4) Do not keep the public from inspecting your public file during business hours. Do not harass the person who came to view your public file by mocking his hair length.
5) Do not forge the records in your public file. Even if the guy you strung along for years so you could try to sell him the station lied for you.
6) You were also a well known local slumlord. Do not call an advocate for the poor a bitch on the air. Said person was the daughter of a well known county judge. But you could not help yourself, could you?
7) Never charge sponsors for ads they did not agree to run. It also helped your bookkeeper pay her electric bills without you knowing for years.
8) Do not lie about paying your ASCAP fee. Even the polka musicians had to get paid.
9) Because you were such a cheap bastard, you left a visible storefront in town, bought a double wide and parked it next to your transmitter. Enviably located next to a pallet factory at the end of a dead end street. Painted a sign that read the temporary home of WBUZ.
10) In the last days even nature knew you were done. Days before the station went dark a bird flew into the trailer, fluttered around the station, then shat on your desk
Thursday, December 18, 2014
The first time
For the last 28 years on his last taping before Christmas, David Letterman has had Darlene Love on as his musical guest and she has performed Christmas (Baby Please Come Home). This was from the first year, 1986.
Letterman is retiring next year and tomorrow night will be the last time Love will perform the song on television, so she claims.
It is a yearly tradition that will be missed. Is Jay Thomas going to throw a meatball on the studio tree?
Letterman is retiring next year and tomorrow night will be the last time Love will perform the song on television, so she claims.
It is a yearly tradition that will be missed. Is Jay Thomas going to throw a meatball on the studio tree?
Monday, March 10, 2014
Monday headache
If I insist my son eat, sleep, use the toilet and try to communicate with the world in a meaningful manner I have to be nothing less than a brute.
I saw too much criticism of the updated Cosmos last night that made me call into question why we do anything else. Yes, Neil DeGrasse Tyson is not Carl Sagan. Yes, Fox is not PBS. No matter how much people want it by worshiping their past or surrounding themselves with fetish items from their teenage years, childhood is not coming back. I guess that last segment of last night's program, in which DeGrasse Tyson spoke of meeting Sagan as a seventeen year did not get across. It's why we move forward, or at least try to.
And no, I'm not going back to watch the original at this time, because, this old post.
I saw too much criticism of the updated Cosmos last night that made me call into question why we do anything else. Yes, Neil DeGrasse Tyson is not Carl Sagan. Yes, Fox is not PBS. No matter how much people want it by worshiping their past or surrounding themselves with fetish items from their teenage years, childhood is not coming back. I guess that last segment of last night's program, in which DeGrasse Tyson spoke of meeting Sagan as a seventeen year did not get across. It's why we move forward, or at least try to.
And no, I'm not going back to watch the original at this time, because, this old post.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Everything is awesome
It was a holiday yesterday so my son was off school. I took the day off to look after him and decided that we would have a father/son outing. It's been grey and cold here, with more snow than usual so I chose a movie. The Lego Movie.
A lot of people had the same idea as mine, the theater was packed with kids, which was fine as I had one, too. It's always hard to decide what to expose your son to, what does he know? What will he get out of it?
He did well but was not really interested in the happenings on screen. He watched, then looked around the theater, babbled a bit. Who knows if he had a good time? When the movie was over and the credits started he was instantly out of his seat and wanted out of the theater. I thought that he would be interested in the credits as he always watches them intently at home. Not the case.
The film itself was a visual freak out of nostalgia. Certainly entertaining, though I'm not sure who the target audience is. Having read no reviews I had no idea what to expect, or who did the voices so there were pleasant surprises for me.
Later that evening TCM had a premiere of a little seen film of Jackie Gleason's. Gigot was made in 1962 and to my knowledge is not available on home video in any form. It's also directed by Gene Kelly. It's set in Paris and Gleason plays a mute who works as a janitor. He's picked on and ridiculed by people in the neighborhood regularly and with great cruelty. Then he meets a prostitute and her daughter and finds a friend in the kind daughter.
I wanted to root for this film, but some of the sentimentality and pathos was so over the top it's hard to take Gigot seriously. Reviews were mixed, and remain so. Was Gleason trying to be Chaplin in the Kid, or Tati? His ego was all over the opening credits as his name appeared several times in very large font. Still, it's quite the ambitious film and the effort is certainly there, even with execution that is deeply flawed.
A lot of people had the same idea as mine, the theater was packed with kids, which was fine as I had one, too. It's always hard to decide what to expose your son to, what does he know? What will he get out of it?
He did well but was not really interested in the happenings on screen. He watched, then looked around the theater, babbled a bit. Who knows if he had a good time? When the movie was over and the credits started he was instantly out of his seat and wanted out of the theater. I thought that he would be interested in the credits as he always watches them intently at home. Not the case.
The film itself was a visual freak out of nostalgia. Certainly entertaining, though I'm not sure who the target audience is. Having read no reviews I had no idea what to expect, or who did the voices so there were pleasant surprises for me.
Later that evening TCM had a premiere of a little seen film of Jackie Gleason's. Gigot was made in 1962 and to my knowledge is not available on home video in any form. It's also directed by Gene Kelly. It's set in Paris and Gleason plays a mute who works as a janitor. He's picked on and ridiculed by people in the neighborhood regularly and with great cruelty. Then he meets a prostitute and her daughter and finds a friend in the kind daughter.
I wanted to root for this film, but some of the sentimentality and pathos was so over the top it's hard to take Gigot seriously. Reviews were mixed, and remain so. Was Gleason trying to be Chaplin in the Kid, or Tati? His ego was all over the opening credits as his name appeared several times in very large font. Still, it's quite the ambitious film and the effort is certainly there, even with execution that is deeply flawed.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Wide right in one case, the crossbar in the other
Got to the Schott today to see the Ohio State Hockey team take on Penn State. It was also an afternoon in which the program celebrated 50 years of Ohio State Hockey, which has been operating my whole life now it seems.
Before the game, the team honored a couple of dozen of former players by bringing them out to center ice. It was cool to see them all, but hard to hear all the names due to the muffled sound system. In a perfect world, it would have helped to have the player named, then the years they were in the program, for additional historical context, but that may have taken more time.
It was very nostalgic to see former players Ryan Jestadt, Craig Patterson, Lee Spector, Jeff Maund, and a few other players from the mid-nineties represent. This was the time I started following the sport.
Between the first and second period the All Buckeye Team was named. On the team are goalie Jeff Maund, defensemen Greg Kostenko and Jim Witherspoon and forwards Hugo Boisvert, Paul Pooley and Paul Tilley.
Most of these players were a bit before my time in Columbus but not Maund and Boisvert. Those two were an key part of the Buckeyes only Frozen Four appearance in 1998. I have Hugo's game-worn jersey from that year and wore it today.
The game itself had Penn State jump out to a 2-0 lead after the first period. There must have been some words said in the locker room since the Buckeyes scored two quick power play goals early in the second period and added a late period goal to take the lead for the rest of the game. Final score was 5-2.
In other nostalgic Hall of Fame news it was great to see Andre Reed finally selected to the Football Hall of Fame. Reed was one of the best wide receivers of his era for the Buffalo Bills as he helped his team to that four in a row Super Bowl run in the early nineties. He would have been in sooner if they won, just one.
That brought back a flood of memories on a day in which was filled with bittersweet things. Back to a time when the Bills were probably just a little too important. Which was followed by a time where college hockey was also a little too important.
Before the game, the team honored a couple of dozen of former players by bringing them out to center ice. It was cool to see them all, but hard to hear all the names due to the muffled sound system. In a perfect world, it would have helped to have the player named, then the years they were in the program, for additional historical context, but that may have taken more time.
It was very nostalgic to see former players Ryan Jestadt, Craig Patterson, Lee Spector, Jeff Maund, and a few other players from the mid-nineties represent. This was the time I started following the sport.
Between the first and second period the All Buckeye Team was named. On the team are goalie Jeff Maund, defensemen Greg Kostenko and Jim Witherspoon and forwards Hugo Boisvert, Paul Pooley and Paul Tilley.
Most of these players were a bit before my time in Columbus but not Maund and Boisvert. Those two were an key part of the Buckeyes only Frozen Four appearance in 1998. I have Hugo's game-worn jersey from that year and wore it today.
The game itself had Penn State jump out to a 2-0 lead after the first period. There must have been some words said in the locker room since the Buckeyes scored two quick power play goals early in the second period and added a late period goal to take the lead for the rest of the game. Final score was 5-2.
In other nostalgic Hall of Fame news it was great to see Andre Reed finally selected to the Football Hall of Fame. Reed was one of the best wide receivers of his era for the Buffalo Bills as he helped his team to that four in a row Super Bowl run in the early nineties. He would have been in sooner if they won, just one.
That brought back a flood of memories on a day in which was filled with bittersweet things. Back to a time when the Bills were probably just a little too important. Which was followed by a time where college hockey was also a little too important.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Good Ol' Freda!
Just when you think all the angles of the Beatles story have been covered comes a documentary from the perspective of their fan club secretary. Good Ol' Freda, tells the story of Freda Kelly who, as a seventeen year old in 1962, became an insider to the incredible rise of the band and was there at the fall.
Kelly has an incredible amount of integrity and has protected her privacy to such an extent that many of her close family and friends had no real idea of what she did during the sixties.
The film is far from a tell-all or a money grab. Kelly has specific reasons to document her story and while telling some lovely anecdotes refuses to sling any mud. Kelly is far from destitute but has had some underlying tragedy in her life. She told some incredibly sweet stories about how she befriended the parents of the Beatles, especially Ringo's. Another impressive things about the Kickstarted production is that there are original Beatles songs in the soundtrack, the rights of which were waived by the surviving members of the group. That's the respect they have for Kelly and the film makers.
My one peeve was during a montage of the inner circle who have died, there was no mention of Mal Evans, which was disappointing. Otherwise it's a remarkable documentary about a girl who was a fan of the band who became a key member of the team. For Beatlemaniacs it's a must see part of the canon. Not an exploitative work, but fair and honest insight from an until now unheard of insider.
Kelly has an incredible amount of integrity and has protected her privacy to such an extent that many of her close family and friends had no real idea of what she did during the sixties.
The film is far from a tell-all or a money grab. Kelly has specific reasons to document her story and while telling some lovely anecdotes refuses to sling any mud. Kelly is far from destitute but has had some underlying tragedy in her life. She told some incredibly sweet stories about how she befriended the parents of the Beatles, especially Ringo's. Another impressive things about the Kickstarted production is that there are original Beatles songs in the soundtrack, the rights of which were waived by the surviving members of the group. That's the respect they have for Kelly and the film makers.
My one peeve was during a montage of the inner circle who have died, there was no mention of Mal Evans, which was disappointing. Otherwise it's a remarkable documentary about a girl who was a fan of the band who became a key member of the team. For Beatlemaniacs it's a must see part of the canon. Not an exploitative work, but fair and honest insight from an until now unheard of insider.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Not proficient
Mike Mills, former bassist of REM asked me to play bass in a band he was putting together. There was going to be a show at 9AM at some bar in Columbus. Mike told me the gig would be loose, essentially a rehearsal.
The bar was in the north campus area, around Dodridge and High, which seemed to be just across the street from my house.
While all this was going on, there was a zip line installed in my backyard which involved putting an odd, large, breed of cat on the line in a basket. There were a couple of other animals involved.
I walked to the bar early and breakfast was being served. I thought I saw Paul Westerberg or Jim Jarmusch eating, EVR was there (big surprise) as well as a guy I went to college with who was in this band. None of them knew I would be playing bass.
I almost got pickpocketed by some kid who asked me questions about Sheryl Crow as I was headed back to my house to pick up my bass. I saw the truck with all the gear pull up and start loading into the bar. When I was at my house, I realized I did not have a bass, but may have had an amp. I also had not showered, and had to go to work when the show was over.
The bar was in the north campus area, around Dodridge and High, which seemed to be just across the street from my house.
While all this was going on, there was a zip line installed in my backyard which involved putting an odd, large, breed of cat on the line in a basket. There were a couple of other animals involved.
I walked to the bar early and breakfast was being served. I thought I saw Paul Westerberg or Jim Jarmusch eating, EVR was there (big surprise) as well as a guy I went to college with who was in this band. None of them knew I would be playing bass.
I almost got pickpocketed by some kid who asked me questions about Sheryl Crow as I was headed back to my house to pick up my bass. I saw the truck with all the gear pull up and start loading into the bar. When I was at my house, I realized I did not have a bass, but may have had an amp. I also had not showered, and had to go to work when the show was over.
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