Cranes and Carpenters @ Jones

Despite the reconstruction that is underway, Jones Beach is still in trouble. Only the westernmost end  of the boardwalk was open today, though I was told the entire length would be open this weekend in time  for Memorial Day and the Bethpage Airshow (minus the Blue Angels or the Thunderbirds – but that’s another story.) Had I known that only 1/3 of the boardwalk would be open, I probably wouldn’t have chosen to run there today, but being all dressed and ready to go, I ran the same section back and forth three times. Along the way I watched a crane and dozens of workers moving sand and putting up wind fences – all determined to get this done by the weekend. I may not have been able to run the boardwalk end to end, but it still smelled like the beach and that’s what I love, yet just when we’ve almost recovered from the effects of superstorm Sandy, a monstrous, killer tornado hits Moore, Oklahoma. It sure puts things into perspective. Who cares about a lousy boardwalk?

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Golfing at Camp Granada

Golf- Season Four: My scores surely do not reflect it, but I’m feeling improvement. I at least figured out why I prefer to walk a 9-hole course. First of all, because I can. But then again, most people can and I think, do. But without intending to sound boastful (right away, it does- sorry) I can walk 18 holes handily if I ever wanted to invest 4+ hours of my busy, overbooked retired life to do so. Nine is just what the doctor ordered for now.

As for golf carts, yesterday my two good as gold golf buddies generously offered to split riding in the cart so I wouldn’t have to drag my golf bag for nine holes. It really didn’t work out for me. I’m a scooter who likes to approach the ball and assess which club to use. If the cart, which is holding my bag, is clearly on the other side of the fairway, and I have chosen the wrong club, I’m screwed.  What a waste of time to have to run down the cart or wait for it to return.  I’d much prefer to screw up my own shots with my bagful of clubs at hand. It just brings to mind carpools. I’m not a carpool type of gal, never was and I guess, never will be. In my entire 33 year teaching career, I can only remember carpooling in 1974-75 and that was only because two of my young teacher friends had no car, making me the designated driver. I always made my own hours and they were never conducive to carpooling. So it goes with golfcarting.

Back to the golf course: Allan Sherman’s “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh” is a metaphor for my game. When it’s going well, I love it and when it’s not, “Take me home, oh muddah fadduh, take me home.”

P.S. I will make an exception for a golfcart if it’s raining as it was today. Golf two days in a row- what a luxury!

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Lob ‘n’ Slice Revisited

I was tested this morning with the return of Miss Lob’n’ Slice. She had twice injured her calf muscle in the past six weeks or so, but she’s back in full force - albeit taped up the wazoo. As I wrote in my February 28th blogpost, league play always affords you the opportunity to play people with different hitting styles. Well, this was my third time to play against her since February although our second match was aborted/forfeited due to the above-described injury. I beat her the first time we played and today she beat me in a tiebreak. At first I was down 4-1 and starting to panic (unbeknownst to her since she doesn’t know what I’m really like.) The points she was winning were from slices that landed short and bounced every-which-where. I was there and I was set up, but oh, you know the routine. Miraculously I bounced back, making the score 5-5. then 6-6, culminating in the tiebreak which she won. The more power to her.  We gave each other a real workout and fortunately for both of us, we can run – even with the taped calf!

I can’t wait to see how those lobs ‘n’ slices translate in a doubles match; she’s also in my Friday doubles league, but she’s new this season and so far Marie and I haven’t played her. I think we can expect tension and tough points.

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The Sick Irony of Legs

Headlines scream so loud that you can see the blood: “So many people without legs!” Legs – the two body parts you need to run a race. I’ve muttered to myself during marathons, “Legs, don’t fail me now,” and to this day, they haven’t. I’m the fortunate one. But to innocent, once jubilant bystanders in Boston – just feet from the finish line, they weren’t so lucky. The exhilaration of the 117th running of the prestigious Boston Marathon was dashed in just a few seconds. The New York Times editorial page writes that it could be some time before “officials determine which malevolent ideology was behind the attack. ” Let’s hope it’s sooner than later, but bringing the terrorists to justice still won’t bring back the lost limbs, the lost lives and the horrible memory of a patriotic day in Boston.

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Ooh La La Tissot

I have a new favorite contemporary of the Impressionists. With all due respect to the old standbys – Monet, Manet, Cezanne and Renoir,  where has James Tissot been all my life? His paintings, included at the Met’s current featured exhibition, “Impressionism, Fashion and Modernity” really blew my skirt up. This ambitious show, consisting of about twelve galleries of paintings, period costumes, corsets and accessories from the mid-1860s to the mid-1880s, introduced me to two renowned artists whose works I had never seen: James Tissot and Gustave Caillebotte. Each room contained two to three life-size glass encased gowns that had provided inspiration to the artists who had painted in their studios or in plein air.

Sande and I, as usual, spent over three hours ooh-ing and ahh-ing as we read the wall cards, contemplated the stenciled quotations on the walls and, whenever we spotted a corresponding number next to a major work, tuned in to the Audio Guide tour of the exhibit. (A word regarding the two voice-over artists for this exhibit: The man was fine, but the woman’s voice was unbearably grating on the ears. Since when do you record with laryngitis?)

In “The White Dress and the Black Dress” gallery, you could practically “feel” the gown in Manet’s stunning “The Parisienne.” Taffeta and crinoline, words from my childhood, were included in the descriptions.  I absolutely loved James Tissot’s “The Shop Girl” with the satin ribbons falling from the table onto the floor and the etched glass doors that brought you right out onto the cobblestoned streets of Paris. Gustave Caillebotte picked up where Tissot left off in his painting “Paris Street, Rainy Day,” which manages to capture a feeling of quaintness despite its depiction of the modern wide Parisian boulevards. You can feast your eyes on these gorgeous paintings until May 27, 2013.

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Nice Truck If You Can Get It

Here’s the premise. A shiny, new Nissan “Hardbody” pickup is up for grabs.  It involves ten contestants in an endurance test at a car dealership in Longview, Texas. Based on a documentary called “Hands on a Hardbody,” the musical version is now on Broadway at the Brooks Atkinson Theater. If you liked “Jersey Boys” (I didn’t, but I adored the real Four Seasons ) and “Memphis,” you’ll be happy to know that choreographer Sergio Trujillo is back with this sensational, offbeat, yet heartwarming show. I had read an article about the challenges he faced in trying to animate characters around a red pickup truck without making this show itself an endurance test. Not only did he succeed, but the truck becomes a character in its own right. The audience was laughing out loud throughout what became a five-day contest to see whose hands can remain on the hardbody truck the longest. Each contestant was given a pair of work gloves so as not to damage the truck’s finish. The heat (and the sweat) became palpable, the song lyrics were clever and often tongue in cheek, but then again, it was set in a struggling car dealership in east Texas! Hard realities, economic and otherwise, infused each scene, but the audience warmed to the ten entrants, rooting for just about every one of them – from the corpulent Jesus freak, to the acrobatic young stunt man anxious to start his life with a new pickup truck, to the va va va voom blonde bimbo and the middle-aged woman with six kids and a husband on food stamps. Revealing the winner would be like hearing the shocking revelation in “The Crying Game” ahead of time. Just see it; this cast deserves an audience. It opens tonight.

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Yo Miss, You Married?

Some say there is no such thing as a stupid question. I agree. But the timing of some of my former students’ questions was really stupid. Case in point: As I completed an exegesis of a Robert Frost poem, I asked the requsite, “Are there any questions?” Maybe I’m the stupid one for inviting questions, but where there’s life, there’s hope. Craig, a tall, dark, handsome burnout quips, “Mizz Ehtlich, isn’t the bell late?”

Midway through a lesson, I was interrupted with this request: “I fell in gym last period. Can I go to the nurse to get some ice?”

“Sure, and tell her to send up a Martini with that.” But the all-time classic question was asked by a Maxwell cosmetology student: “I have a question for the class.”

“Oh, by all means, Damaris. Go ahead,” I was thrilled that there may have been an inquring mind intent on engaging the entire class.

“Anybody got a tweezer?” she asked and you bet can she got at least one. And then there was Paul who asked me the definition of a motel as I was introducing background material for Psycho.

I explained that “a motel is short for a motor hotel. Usually there is a parking lot right outside the door.” Paul pondered this for a moment and came back with, “Oh, I thought a motel was for sex.”

“No, you’re thinking of a ho-tel,” I zapped back, almost causing pandemonium of “Oohs” and “ahhs.” The class was all-ears now and of course, anxious to get on the bandwagon, Sal, feigning innocence, decides to ask, “Sex – what’s the definition of sex?” to which a heckler in the back of the room calls out, “Something  you don’t get, dude!”

Those Q and A’s – you gotta love ‘em!

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Shedding New Light (and new lesson plans) on “Psycho”

Neil Genzlinger’s article about the soon-to-be-seen “Bates Motel” on  A & E appearing in yesterday’s “Arts and Leisure” section of the Times, taught me a thing or two. The A & E series was filmed outside of Vancouver and while he was working on the story, Genzlinger decided he should spend one night on the set in Room Four of the eerie motel.  If he was becoming naturally paranoid, the cast and crew didn’t help him, even going so far as to ask him if he had a life insurance policy. No worries – Genzlinger “checked in” according to plan. He even showered in the morning. But what he did to pass the time that evening is very clever –  something I hadn’t ever uncovered in all of my “Psycho”-related research. Genzlinger reveals that the “Bates Motel” sign was flashing outside his window, and he had been playing word games on his iPad. Not only did he come up with “STAB,” but “SLAB,” “TOMB” and “LAST MEAL” were encrypted in the sign! Oh, to have had this material when I taught “Psycho” in my Literature to Film classes at Richmond Hill High School! The film needed no additional motivation, but I’m just sayin’.

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On Writing Classes

I can’t say I’ve maxed out on writing seminars these past eight years, but I have attended a few. I’ve also consulted writing manuals to hone my craft, but the one that proved to be a sugar-coated, fun read for me was Stephen King’s On Writing – A Memoir of the Craft. King advocates the autodidactic approach over the communal experience of writing classes. “It is, after all, the dab of grit that seeps into an oyster’s shell that makes the pearl – not pearl-making seminars with other oysters.” This reminds me  of writer and pop culture commentator Toure’s comment about tennis players:  ”Genius is not replicable. Inspiration though, is contagious.” If that is true, then perhaps a writer’s group can   inspire through osmosis. The jury’s out on this.

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Sighway 61

March 4 – what would have beeen my brother Cliff’s 61st birthday:

If He Had Lived

If he had lived, where would he be today?

Would he have become Cliff Grisham, superstar singer/songwriter waltzing comfortably amongst the glitterati?

Or, God forbid, still hoping for fortune and fame as he vies for a spot on an American Idol-esque television show?

And how much cosmetic “work” would he have had done by now?

Would his long, wavy hair have turned to that gorgeous man-aging gray or would he still be shaking those blond highlighted locks a la Roger Daltry in “Who’s Next?”

 Would he have  a partner – or even be married?

Perhaps a child for him to dress to the nines?

But most of all, would  our mother, who has now reached her nineties, have gotten that promised chauffeured limo?

Two things we know for certain, if he had lived:

Mom’s New York apartment would have been painted regularly and we all would have had the perfect lunch, dinner and theater companion…if he had lived.

P.S. It is truly ironic that today’s front-page headline announces “IN A MEDICAL FIRST, A BABY WITH H.I.V. IS DEEMED CURED.”

Posted in current event, music, poetry | 2 Comments