Dinner With The Gang

Alexis and Lee and Lori and Peter came over for dinner last night. Also joining us was our friend, Gail, who we met through Lori and Peter. Before they arrived, our niece, Jessica and her husband, Eddie came over with their sweet little girl, Jordan Leigh. Jordan is my brother's third grandchild. All we have are two granddogs and no babies in sight.

Jordan's adorable and her grandma, Alexis, asked me to take some photos of her for her upcoming birthday party CD/party-gift. Being the family photographer, I complied (gladly).


Jordan Leigh Mosher at our house on Saturday, May 29, 2004.


Another shot of Jordan.


Ah, I got her to smile at me.

Jessie and Eddie (and baby) left and Peter Lori arrived with Gail. Appetizers were devoured and the main courses, roast pork and skirt steak came off the grill and we sat down to a lovely dinner.

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Today, Sunday, was one of those fabulous spring days. Cool, (very cool for the end of May). And no cars on the streets to speak of. I remarked to Stacey as we pedaled down to the bottom of Park Slope that this was the way Sundays used to be so many years ago. Do you remember those Sundays of long ago? When nothing was open, that is, all the store were closed. The streets were empty. The day was simply pristine: fresh air, dry, not too hot - perfect for rolling through empty streets on your bicycle. What people were out were sitting around in front of their houses, just hanging. It brought back memories of the 60's and 70's when a Sunday was a Sunday -- a true day of rest.

So you probably want to know where we were headed. Stacey had a yen for pancakes and the place for probably the very best pancakes you might ever taste is CAFE LULUc at 214 Smith Street in Cobble Hill.

LULUc is one of our favorite little places: very cozy, great food. And there's a garden in back. Just lovely.


The bar at Cafe LULUc in Cobble Hill.

The pancakes' secret is, according to someone I know who knows someone who knows, maple syrup folded into the batter that gives them a wonderful and intense flavor usually lacking in other flapjacks we've had over the years. Anyway, they're very good. Try'em.

The name, you ask? The "c" was added when, after they opened the place, they discovered that there was another Cafe LULU in existence. So what to do without a big rigamarole and added expense? Just add a "c" to the name of course. Of course.

After brunch we biked onwards. Our destination? We wanted to check out a house on Pioneer Street in Red Hook that Danielle spotted in a real estate listing. And our friend Tamar was showing some of her paintings in a gallery that's housed in an old warehouse on a pier that juts out into New York Bay.

Red Hook is an "up and coming" neighborhood on Brooklyn's "rim" that has been "down and going" for many years. A true backwater neighborhood, it's been forgotten for years: forgotten by the city in terms of services; forgotten by people because it's so out of the way. It lies behnd the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel entrance and the word "hook" in its name derives from the shape of the locale as it juts out into the bay and forms a hook-shaped shelter. In the old days, this hook provided a natural harbor for boats in the Erie Basin, one of NY's largest boat yards. Grain from American's bread basket came from the midwest on barges down the Erie Canal, then down the Hudson and was loaded onto waiting freighters in the Erie Basin to be shipped to markets across the ocean. These yards closed with the advent of containerization in the years after World War II and the remnants are there for all to see today: rotting piers, ancient warehouses and even some hulking wrecks of boats abandoned long ago. Spooky but, hey, this is waterfront property and my guess is that, Manhattan prices being what they are, not to mention other Brooklyn neighborhoods approaching Manhattan prices, this interesting neighborhood has nowhere to go but up and up.

Today, one of those piers with its sturdily built warhouse named after a civil war entrepeneur who built it (William Beard), is the home of the gallery we visited. The warehouse has been wonderfully converted into workshops and studios for artists and galleries to display their work. This is being done under the auspices of BWAC - The Brooklyn Waterfront Artists Coalition. The view of the harbor is unforgettable. If you like exploring, this visit to Red Hook at the end of Van Brunt Street should be on your lists of day trips this spring.


You can almost touch the Statue of Liberty when you're out on the pier at the end of Red Hook.


The sign tells the story of Mr. Beard and his warehouses.


A band was playing on this beautiful Sunday. But look at the back drop. This is the ghostly Erie Basin - once a dynamic, hustle-bustle of a harbor where grain from American wheat fields in the midwest were loaded off of Erie Canal barges and onto hundreds of freighters that were then sent out to sea to deliver their cargoes in Europe.


Mr. Beard never knew that his warehouse would one day be artists' studios.

Where My Mother Lived

I biked over to Bay Ridge on the Saturday of the Memorial Day weekend. I thought I would do a little campaigning. The Barbaro campaign had scheduled a street corner mobilization at the very busy 86th Street and 4th Avenue area. I decided to bike over there using the streets (rather than the bike/ped path along the Narrows and New York Bay. I like pedaling around streets more than so-called scenic bike paths. I just find it more interesting. This route took me through Brighton Beach, where I stopped to photograph my mother's house. She grew up in her teens (after a childhood in Manhattan's lower east side on Henry Street) at 2956 Brighton 4th Street.

Brighton is, indeed, a strange place today. Now it's mostly Russian but there is also a large component of Latinos, Pakistanis and Turks. Back in the 20's and 30's and beyond, it was a summertime community of bungalows, beach and boardwalk. The street grid had large numbers of paths, lanes, courts and the street naming system went like this: Brighton 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th Streets, etc. But these were intersected by tiny walkways that would cut through from one larger street to the next. Thus, there were also Brighton 2nd Lane, then Brighton 2nd Path, then Brighton 3rd Path and so on.


Brighton's street names reflect the maze-like structure of streets, lanes, paths, walks and courts, criss-crossing.


Brighton 3rd Walk passing from Brighton Brighton 3rd Street to Brighton 4th Street. About 3 or 4 feet wide, lined by tiny bungalows.

My Uncle Seymour (my mother's younger brother) lived on one such "court." His family inhabited a small bungalow. My early memories were birthday parties for my cousins, Jay and Cory, in front of that modest abode: nice memories.

My grandparents lived with their son, (i.e. my mother's brother and my uncle Morris) around the corner on Brighton 4th Street. My mom and all her siblings lived there in earlier years before they married off. How they all fit in to that small dwelling is not comprehensible, but families did just that in those days.


My grandparents' house at 2956 Brighton 4th Street. I wanted to take this photo today before the house (and others like it) disappeared. Four story condos are replacing these tiny bungalows up and down Brighton Beach's streets.

I cut across southern Brooklyn enroute to Bay Ridge and the street corner where I was to meet others who were canvassing shoppers. I was told they would meet at 86th Street and 4th Avenue at 2 PM. I got there (late, of course) at 3 PM. No campaigners. No evidence that they were even there except for one Barbaro poster that some Disabled Vets had stuck on their fundraising table. They couldn't tell me where the Barbaro people were. Oh well. Missed it again.

It was a nice ride anyway and I didn't mind getting out of the house (and away from this computer) for a nice ride and some exercise. I headed back, this time taking the shore route along the Narrows. Coming, I was bucking a very strong wind. Now, headed back east toward home, the wind was pushing me and I hardly had to pedal. The water, though, was being whipped into a frenzy and the view of the bridge, the water and the sky was about as beautiful as it gets.


A very choppy Narrows at the Verrazzano Bridge, whipped up by strong north winds.

I rode along the promenade, being pushed along by the wind at my back (much more pleasant that way) and turned south when I reached Coney Island. Nathan's was hopping and people were lined up for their famous hot dogs and french fries. Although it's not on my diet, I opted for two franks anyway. Couldn't resist. Besides I just worked off 10 million calories on my 15 mile ride. So who's watching?

A Great Flick

We saw a wonderful movie Friday night in Brooklyn Heights, then dined at one of our favorite restaurants afterwards: Noodle Pudding.
(It's Italian...the name derives from the fact that the owner's last name means, roughly, "noodle pudding" in Italian). Our snow-bird friends are back: Barbara and Mark. Had shared a dinner with them in months as they were down south.


Matt, Barbara and Mark at Noodle Pudding in Brooklyn Heights

So we headed to the theater on Henry Street in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge. We saw, and loved, a great French movie: The Strayed.

This film is set during World War II as the French nation was being invaded by the Nazi armies. It's a passionately anti-war film that portrays the depravity of war by focusing on a woman and her two young children fleeing Paris. Beautifully photographed. Woven into it are a few haunting clips from actual WWII footage. We all agreed that this was a very fine, must-see film.


The recently widowed Odile (Emmanuelle Beart) is a
young mother fleeing Paris with her two children.

Goodbye Sweet Sol

Got up early today and, guess what, it was pouring. Today I was to prepare for Sol Gorelick's memorial at the Shorefront YM-YWHA in Brighton. Sol, a close friend and fellow-activist, died at age 87, several months ago. Today we honored him. He was a gentle man, a good man, a kind man.

Frank Barbaro, the candidate whose campaign I'm volunteering on, spoke as well and I was so very impressed that some people can stand up in front of an audience and without any effort or planning (or so it seems), the words just flow. Not only do they so easily flow, but they are logical, spare, non-repetitive and, best of all, inspiring.

Back to Sol: he was an ardent trade unionist, having been a social worker in the poor, Brownsville section of Brooklyn for many years. In fact, the week before he expired, it is said that prayers were said for him in many churches in his old bailywick, even though he's been retired for so many years. He evidently made an impression that wasn't soon forgotten.

Sol was a persuasive progressive. He never raised his voice; he didn't use bombast to convince people of his point of view. But he was also an intellect; he knew his stuff and it was hard, if you disagreed with his point of view, to refute the logic of his argument.

In my speech, I simply read John Donne's poem of 1694:

No man is an island, entire of itself
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main
if a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were
any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee.

I thought it pretty much summed-up Sol's life which was one of showing concern for other human beings. That was the golden thread that was woven through all his activities, through his work, through his relationship with his wife, Mildred, with his kids and with his contacts with people on a day-to-day basis.

Sol will be greatly missed -- by me and by the many people that he touched throughout his long life. I believe that Sol's life can be a role model and a moral compass that we can all learn from.


Sol Gorelick


Frank Barbaro addressing Sol's memorial at the Shorefront YM-YWHA in Brighton Beach


Sol's wife, Mildred, reading letters from friends who could not attend


My dear friend, Georganna Deas, Coney Island activist and Sol's and my colleague when we worked to stop the privatization of Coney Island Hospital. A struggle that we won!

Rain, Rain Go Away

Does anyone remember a wetter spring than we've had? I don't. And down here at Brooklyn's shore - it's been one day of fog after another. We've had some great views of the Verrazano Bridge (or parts of it anyway) shrouded in fog as we head into Manhattan on the Belt Parkway. But, enough already: we want the sun back.


Enough fog already. Bring on the sun!

I've been keeping busy working on the Barbaro for Congress campaign. Yesterday, I spent a good part of the day preparing a fund-raising letter to my personal contacts. Today I'll accompany Frank on appearances in Staten Island and Brooklyn. First we head to the Boardwalk in South Beach. Why we're going there, I don't know: who's gonna be on a foggy beach on a weekday? But that's what the campaign has lined up for him. Then, on to a public school to meet parents who are picking up their kids.


It's a big borough and quite an interesting place.

The other night I attended a meeting of organizers at the campaign office on Richmond Terrace. I have to say, being a veteran of many years of movement work, that this campaign is very exciting. There were about 20 people at the meeting; overwhelmingly from the labor movement. That's natural, given Frank's strong ties to labor. He was head of the Labor Committee in the state assembly and worked closely with the union movement securing many pieces of legislation that benefited New York working people. The UFT (teachers) are supporting Frank in a big way and that's great: a lot of muscle there. Also attending were representatives of the transit workers, AFSCME (state employees), legal aid workers, etc.

I also met my old friend, Larry Moskowitz, who I knew from the 70's. He's comes to the campaign from the Working Families party and will be the campaign manager for Frank's campaign. He's a very capable guy with lots of experience. People were quite spirited and ready to get to work. But there was also a quiet realism, knowing that we're up a powerful and well-funded Republican machine. Fosella, the incumbent, will work from the top down with lots of dollars, flooding the TV, postering the district with his signs and saturating the area with his name and image. Our job is to work from the bottom up creating a groundswell of support from rank and file Staten Islanders and Brooklynites. That means using voter registration, targeting natural allies in the African-American and Latino communities, hitting the organized working class. Staten Island has the highest density of registered Democrats, yet tends to vote Republican in these local races. That's a puzzle because it also has the highest amount of union members of any borough and is overwhelmingly working class. If anyone can break through that contradiction it's a guy like Frank Barbaro. I'm happy to be part of this effort and I'll keep you all posted on how it's proceeding. Now off to the beach.

=======

Well, it didn't happen. The campaigning, that is. I was about to leave and I thought to myself, "let me call Frank, to make sure he waits for me." Sure enough, nobody had informed him I was coming. On top of that he was sick and not leaving home at all today. End of story. Instead of campaigning, Stacey and I headed downtown (Brooklyn) to check out the purchase of some customized baseball caps for her women's group (they're going to the Mideast in June ... more on that in another BLOG).

Came home, mowed the lawn - which was much overdue only after a week and a half. The rain makes things grow so fast. Talk about tall grass -- the grass next door at my parents' ex-house (which was just sold to new owners several weeks ago) is as high as an elephant's eye. The new couple haven't done a thing yet in terms of construction (or whatever their plans are) and the grass is a-growin'. It was bothering me so I cut it down - part of it anyway. Don't want to attract varmints and pests. The house is starting to look haunted and squirrels are making their way inside the eves. Very discomforting to come home and see the house that I grew up in, sitting there, empty, uninhabited and deteriorating.


Nature reclaims what man abandons --
the old Weinstein household at 220 West End Avenue.
Overgrown and uninhabited.

Will Schumer be the next Solarz?

For those of you who don't remember, Steve Solarz was a Congressman from Brooklyn during the 1980's. He was an up and coming Democratic star. Originally, a professor at Brooklyn College, he entered politics as a reformer. Once ensconced in Congress, he became a prolific fund-raiser -- for himself. He also became smug and arrogant, thinking himself undefeatable as he moved to the right on issues of importance. He voted for the Reagan budget and Reagan's pet boondoggle, Star Wars -- both of which were responsible for robbing the "Peace Dividend" of billions of dollars in the wake of the end of the Cold War. He ended up losing to Nydia Velasquez when his all white district was penciled out of existence to increase the representation of Latino voters. Progressive forces were not unhappy to witness his demise having demonstrated against this so-called liberal turned cold-warrior.

Sound all too familiar? Chuck Schumer is playing the same game. A staunch ally of the Sharon government in Israel, he has supported the Bush war without reservation. In the past few weeks, as revelations of torture and abuse have surfaced, many Democrats including John Kerry, himself, have called for the resignation of Donald Rumsfeld. Where is Schumer on this? Nowhere. "I want to hear more," he's been quoted as saying as if the photographs that have flooded the TV screens around the world were not enough. As if the recent exposes showing this torture was not an isolated incident by seven soldiers but a policy, an order that emanated from the very highest offices -- as if that information were still not enough.

On top of that intransigence, he has now stated that he is opposed to showing any more torture photos on TV because he wants the rights of the victims to be protected (sounds like a press release from the Pentagon to me). One might ask, where was Mr. Schumer's concern for the rights of the victim when American Muslims were being arrested and held incommunicado for months in Brooklyn's Arabic communities? Despite repeated requests by peace forces for him to speak out on these terrible violations of first amendment rights, Mr. Schumer remained silent. So much for his concern!

Chuck Schumer has amassed tens of millions of dollars for his future campaigns. The rumor mill is spinning with stories of his plan to run for New York State governor. For the last few Sundays, Brooklyn Parents for Peace have been sponsoring a Sunday night vigil at 7:30 at Schumer's residence at 9 Prospect Park West. The demand? That he speak out against the war. That he join with his fellow Democrats in demanding punishment for those higher-ups, like Rumsfeld (and, we might add, Rumsfeld's boss as well), responsible for the gross abuse of human rights of the Iraqis detained by the U.S.

Mr. Schumer must know that his silence is being interpreted by many as complicity in these crimes. He would do well to remember the fate of the complacent and smug Stephen Solarz. The dozens that picket his home this Sunday, can turn to hundreds next Sunday, which, in turn can turn to thousands in the months ahead.

Incidentally, the protest at Schumer's home continues into the future: every Sunday night from 7:30 to 8:30 at 9 Prospect Park West (at Carroll Street)in Brooklyn's Park Slope. Please spread the word and join us.


Brooklynites in front of Chuck Schumer's house last night.


Solemnly putting the names of dead Iraqis and
Americans in a casket. Mr. Schumer are you listening?

Bravo Michael Moore!

Have you heard that somewhere in Texas a village is missing an idiot?

I just finished reading Frank Rich's review of Michael Moore's new film Fahrenheit 9/11. (Thank you Disney. Your attempted censorship of a film that just won the top prize at Cannes probably guarantees its success). It's a "must read" and aside from a few asinine assessments by Mr. Rich of Mr. Moore -- e.g. he calls Moore's denunciation of Bush at the Oscar ceremonies last year "boorish." To which I ask Mr. Rich "What! We should be gentlemen and gentlewomen in denouncing the boorish Bush men's oil war? Bravo, Michael Moore ... it was a breath of fresh air that blew in that night and, for a moment or so, disrupted the pretense of the emperor's-new-clothesism that pervades our networks, the media, Hollywood, Washington, etc.

You can read the Frank Rich review too, right here.

So, where was I? Oh yah! We went out Friday night with Stacey's cousin, Stephanie and her husband, Al -- our good friends. Out for "country dining" at a restaurant (Marcello's & Dino's Roman Cafe in Harrington Park, NJ.) Don't ask me where that is -- I have no idea. Al drove for what seemed a very long time on twisty roads and then we were there. Nice Italian food; Marcello is a long-time acquaitance of Al's and he greeted us effusively.


Steffi, Al and Stacey at the Roman Cafe in New Jersey.

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Stacey and I futzed around the next day (Saturday) and then we met Peter and Lori at a new club: Satalla -- "The Temple Of World Music." Satalla means "high on life." I found that little tidbit online when the owner, Michael Yaacobi, (who I called enroute to Florida when I saw that Maura O'Connell would be appearing at his club) challenged me: "If you can find out what Satalla means, then I will give you a free drink when you come to listen to Maura." I called him back with the answer gleaned from the Internet on my handheld Treo 600 phone while passing through South Carolina. That was in April. When we showed up last night, he remembered his offer but gave us two free drinks! A gentleman.

We were celebrating Lori's birthday and Maura O'Connell is one of our favorite Irish female pop singers. She doesn't write music -- only sings it with a beautiful, clear and strong voice. But not last night. She said that NYC pollen had gotten to her and she was very hoarse. A shame. And we felt bad for her, straining for the lows and the highs.

But the music was beautiful anyway; her backup band was great and the place (37 West 26th Street between Broadway and Sixth Avenue) very cool: a real throwback to earlier times: all blacklights and fluroescent decorations on the wall. A guy sat down in front of us his white oxford shirt glowing brilliantly. Peter wanted him to put on a jacket to block out the light emanating from his shirt. To listen to Maura sing a beautiful rendition of Ireland, just click here.

Afterwards, we walked over to our reservation at East Of Eighth, a restaurant we've been to several times and have always enjoyed. Oddly enough, it's on West 23rd Street, just east of Eighth Avenue.


Maura O'Connell at Satalla.

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Today, Sunday, Stacey went to a baby shower. Our friends, Doreen and Stu's daughter-in-law, Jenna, is having a baby in July. So Stacey headed out for Merrick (the thought of getting on the Belt Parkway, headed for Long Island on a gorgeous Sunday appeals to me about as much as a visit to the dentist). Her gift was a stunning quilt made by none-other than our daughter, Danielle who has turned to quiltmaking lately and has become quite good at it. Stacey says Jenna loved it.


This is the beautiful quilt that Dani made for Stacey to give to Jenna

And I headed, by bike of course, for Prospect Park. I answered the call of my bike group -- Transportation Alternatives. They asked for volunteers to help out the Prospect Park Alliance raise money on its You Gotta Have Park annual fund raising day.

Man, was it hot! I stayed from 10 am to 1 pm and then biked over to Cobble Hill and Cafe Luluc for lunch. Then home: hot and tired. Later.


Raising money for Prospect Park at 9th Street.

Is That An Island?

It's said that Staten Island got its name when Henry Hudson sailed into the harbor and asked his first mate, "Iz Dat An Island?" The mate thought he was pointing to an island called Zdaten or as we say today, Staten. And so the name stuck. Yuk, yuk.

I headed out early this morning to spend the day in Staten Island at the Frank Barbaro For Congress campaign. It was a beautiful spring day: cool and dry and the "B" train took me swiftly to Dekalb Avenue, downtown Brooklyn, where I switched for the tunnel train and disembarked at South Ferry at the southern tip of Manhattan. The Staten Island ferry terminal is being rebuilt and the temporary building is confusing. I boarded with hundreds of others but when I got on with my bike, I was told to take it down to the lower level of the boat and stow it on the rear of the boat. That was OK with me as the view of Manhattan as it receded was magnificent.

You can live, work and play in New York and yet be totally divorced from, and unaware of, its island nature and the many various waterways that surround the city. I'm sure you, like I, have been on the Staten Island ferry many times, yet when was the last time? It's fabulous! And, better yet, it's free! As the ferry makes its way you are treated to one spectacular view after another of this wonderful and grand harbor. The skyline, Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty, Governors Island, the Verrazano Bridge, the Jersey shipyards. Reach out and touch them.


Leaving Manhattan behind. That's the Brooklyn Bridge on the right as we head for Staten Island.


The city gets smaller and smaller.


We zip past the Lady of the Harbor.

Frank Barbaro is a retired New York Supreme Court Judge. Before that he was an Assemblyman for many years from Brooklyn's Bensonhurst. He's a progressive, working-class Italian-American politician with lots of experience and who has garnered great support in his community and in the labor movement throughout the city. He's running against Vito Fosella, a young, right-wing, 100%-Bush loving member of Congress from the 13th CD. That district covers all of Staten Island and a section of Bay Ridge, Bensonhurst and Dyker Heights in Brooklyn.

New York was solidly anti-Bush in the last election and will be solidly anti-Bush in this election. However, one way that progressives can help out in the coming election is this Congressional campaign. It's important to support John Kerry's bid to replace Bush but it's equally important to take back the House and the Senate. That's what Frank's campaign is all about. And he has a good chance of winning. What's needed, though, is help, lots of help: leg work, voter registration, phone banking, fund raising, etc. Having time on my hands I figure this is a good place to put my energies in the months ahead until November. And so I took the ferry to Staten Island.

I met Frank and my old friend, Bob Greenberg, at the headquarters which is just a block from the ferry terminal on Richmond Terrace. I've known Frank personally for many years and it was good to see him getting ready to run again. I met some of the other staff as well: a young guy, Mike and and older man, Ray. The two of them are running the Staten Island Office. We talked about plans for a while and about opening an office in Brooklyn. Frank asked if I could work on reaching out to some of the Brooklyn peace groups that I have contact with and I agreed.

We had lunch and then Frank, Bob and I headed out to a public school to meet some parents and hand out some flyers. Staten Island is not Manhattan: there's no street grid there. If you don't have a map you're lost. After some confusion we found our way and were surprised at the friendly greeting and interest expressed in the campaign. Frank is very personable: he's a big, friendly guy and parents waiting outside the school for their kids gave him a big hello and big smiles as they took his literature. It was a good outing and the three of us returned in good spirits.

I headed back to Manhattan on the ferry but by the time I got there it was close to five and I was afraid to put my bike on a rush-hour subway. Being such a lovely day I decided, what the hell, I'll bike it. And I did: cross the Brooklyn Bridge, jammed with workers and tourists and all the way home. Tired. But a nice tired. And inspired...all the way home I've been making plans on how I can add my experience to help out on the campaign. I even have a whole letter (in my head) that I'm sending out to you, my friends, asking for a contribution. Check your mail soon.


Frank in his Staten Island office.


Frank greeting parents outside a Staten Island public school.

Dinner With Lonnie. Lunch With The Old Mayfair Crew.

Last night I had dinner with Lonnie. We met at our regular location: Sammy's Noodle Shop on Sixth Avenue in the Village (corner of W 11th Street). We were supposed to meet at 7:30 but I got there late (another side effect of retirement which has only made a bad habit of tardiness, worse) at eight. Fortunately, he was late also so ... no problem. However, Lonnie is a starving individual so he had already polished off a small soup and was in the process of devouring a steamer of Har Gow (shrimp dumplings) that he is, to put it very midly, very fond of. Never you mind, he was ready for more.

I placed my usual Sammy's order: roast port wonton (a bowl big enough to bathe in) which ideally must be seen to be appreciated. But I'll try anyway: imagine the very most delicious wonton broth in a huge bowl that is overflowing with plump, tasty wontons. On top of that load on what appears to be an entire order of pristine sliced roast pork. Add a nice amount of chopped scallions and voilá, you have the world's greatest wonton soup (IMHO). I accompany this with the world's greatest egg roll which is available there as well. Oh yes, and a cold Tsingtao beer.

Lonnie showed me a new camera, a super duper new Canon Powershot Pro 1, which is now their new top digital camera in the "all-in-one" category. I was very impressed. Click here for more information


Lonnie at Sammy's with his new Canon.

Finally, I have to relate one funny item (funny to me), regarding Sammy's and what may relate to a difference in cultures or attitudes. Several years ago we were experiencing a water shortage in New York. Sammy's, like many other restaurants, would not serve you water unless you requested it. They went a bit further and posted large "Save Water" signs around the restaurant. Well the water shortage came and went, but the signs remained for a year or so. During that period of time I noticed that a faucet in the men's bathroom developed a drip. The drip got worse each time I visited until finally it was a steady stream of water, pouring out unregulated. The Save Water sign was still dutifully hung in the dining room while the restaurant wasted water in its bathroom. I pointed this out to the management but the irony of the situation may have escaped them.

Finally, after complaining several times, the hostess replied that they had been having a tug of war with the landlord over who was responsible and that he promised to repair it this week.

Well, I visited again several weeks later and, can you believe it, it was fixed! New washers finally installed you might venture to guess? Um, not quite. The solution was much simpler: duct tape was tightly wound round and round the lever type faucet thus holding it down tight. Water still poured out, but hey! They tried.


Now why didn't I think of that?

----

This morning I headed over to Sissy's again for her third computer lesson. We concentrated on starting the Email program and reading her waiting messages. She seems to get confused over the multiplicity of windows that might open from reading messages and clicking on various links. But I'm an optimist and I do believe she's getting the hang of it. Just a few more lessons and some practice and she'll be surfing the web like a pro.

After Sissy's I picked up my brother and headed to Sheepshead Bay to Chikurin sushi restaurant. We were meeting our old buddy and employee, Vlad Sorkin. This is the second time the three of us have gotten together for lunch. We talked old times and business opportunities and generally had a great time.


Vlad and Lee at Chikurin in Sheepshead Bay.


The three ex-Mayfair stalwarts at lunch today.

If you feel that this Blog has been slanted in favor of topics dealing with food and the consumption of same, you're probably right. I've been eating too much lately. What happened to that pledge I made myself several weeks ago: smaller portions, more sharing of entrees when eating out, more salads and less heavy protein? Where is that damned pledge? I know it's around here somewhere.

The Rest of Today

Took my little Dahon folding bike to the subway. Off to meet Stacey after her Italian lesson. My Dahon is so cute and small that you don't really feel like you're on a bike; you feel more like you're just rolling along on your own volition without a vehicle under you. And it hardly takes up any room on the subway so you don't get nasty looks from other passengers. I try to avoid taking my bike during crowded times but it's nice that bikes are now permitted on NYC subways. If it starts to rain, if you get tired, if you want to start your bike ride from, let's say Manhattan and continue from there onwards, being able to take you bike on the subway is very neat.

I got out of the "B" train (we finally got our "D" back but now they call it a "B". Don't ask why; nobody really knows; the point is it runs up 6th Avenue in Manhattan and not up Broadway as the Q did for all these 10 past years or so while the TA repaired the Manhattan Bridge)- I got off at Broadway-Lafayette and called Stacey on her cell. "I'm at Broome and Broadway," she says so I rolled the few blocks down Broadway to where she was and we walked (she walked; I walked but had to roll my bike alongside) around Soho. We headed up to Bob's new restaurant once again: I wanted to show it to Stacey. Bob wasn't there but his partner, Bert, was. There was a lot of work being done: painting, carpentering. It's not so easy to open a restaurant and they're planning for mid-June.

Stacey and I ate next door at La Palette a cute, French bistro (that's all there is in Soho: everything is either French or Italian, including the people who work there and the customers who frequent these places).

We then headed home but with a quick stop for bread at Balthazar, the trendy bistro on Spring Street. We don't care about the trendy part or the restaurant part but we do love their baguettes. We're bread lovers and theirs are just about the best there are. Try one. Their little retail bakery abuts their restaurant and is located at 80 Spring Street (between Broadway and Lafayette Street).


My Dahon folder in front of Balthazar on Spring Street.


Spring Street, Soho.

We're headed out again at 6 PM after getting home at 4 pm. Stacey to a meeting on the Mid East; I to meet Lonnie at Sammy's Noodle in the Village. What was that I said this morning about relaxation??

Diary of a Mad Househusband

There she goes again. If there's a definition of "retired," Stacey's not it. Yesterday, she substituted at PS 217 for her friend Tamar, who's an art teacher also, and had to be out of work for the day. Then, last night she went to play mah jong with a group of friends. Today she left at 8:30 (this retired man was still sleeping) for Italian lessons at the UFT (her teachers union). Then there's her twice a week job at a Korean school in Bayside, Queens. She's not working(at her old job) but she's sure busy.

Me? I'm not that busy. Don't get me wrong: I'm not bored; I don't feel guilty. I quite enjoy the feeling of not being obligated -- of not having to be somewhere at a particular time. It's very, well, relaxing. I understand that this approach has its dangers. For a while, I was getting up at 10, took an hour or so to get showered, dressed, ready (for what?) By the time I left the house, the day was half gone. In the winter, particularly, that's not great. I was left feeling very unproductive -- not that I'm producing anything.

I quickly modified that "lazy" mode of retirement to a more active approach. That is, rising earlier and moving along more quickly. I get to the gym three times a week: Monday, Wednesday and Friday (I've been quite good about that, rarely missing my workout). Oh yes, Stacey goes to the gym as well -- add that to her busy schedule also.

Back to me: I've been volunteering (irregularly) at , Transportation Alternatives my bicycle-advocacy organization. This Thursday, I'm taking the subway to the ferry and then to Staten Island to meet an old acquaintance, Bob Greenberg, at the Barbaro For Congress headquarters. I'm going to work on Frank Barbaro's campaign for the House seat that he wants to win away from Vito Fosella, a right-wing Republican ally of W.

So, in a relaxed way, I'm picking and choosing a few choice morsels of activity. I guess it's a matter of degree, the difference between Stacey's very full schedule and my more relaxed approach. It seems that as soon as you mention you're retired, the other person always asks, "So what are you doing with yourself?" -- the implication being that you must be doing something on pain of disintegrating into an amorphous blob. Cary and Ted, my friends, have an endless routine of joshing me because I often call them of a mid-morning while sitting sipping an espresso at my local cafe. In fact, Cary calls me and says "OK, where are you now?" That's how he starts the conversation.

Whoops, it's 9:30 and I'm still in bed, writing this worthless Blog when I could be up and doing something ... anything. Better get to it or I'll turn into a frog or, worse, an amorphous blob.


Stacey, finally relaxing on Mother's Day.

New Cat Carrier

I know you've been dying to see Pumpkin (our cat) in her new carrier that we bought last week. We took a walk this morning (she and I) but before starting out I snapped this photo. She protested loudly being saddled up once again (first, harness attached then inserted/stuffed into the sack) but I think she actually liked the walk. She didn't really tell me that in so many words. I just sensed it. Or maybe I wanted to think she liked it. I'm trying to widen her horizons; get her out of her shell; get her to see the world around her. Good idea, no?


My little cat in her little carrier..

American Idol - Who Cares?

Am I missing something?

Am I "out of the loop?" -- The generational loop, that is.

Item on NBC TV news this morning: it seems the voting on Fox's super-hit American Idol is flawed. Tens of millions of called-in votes from viewers are being ignored. Either they can't get through the stressed-out phone voting system while text messages are getting through or hackers are penetrating the system to skew the results in favor of internet gambling. Fox had no comment on the matter according to NBC news.

Like, who gives a shit? Israel is bulldozing hundreds of homes in the Gaza leaving 1000 homeless just this weekend alone. American kids are dying and killing in Iraq for the Bush/Halliburton oil aggression. A truly democratically elected government in Haiti is ejected (with U.S. complicity) and replaced with death squad thugs. Education and health care are going down the toilet here at home. And we're supposed to get riled up about voting irregularities on Fox TV?

To what decadent and pitiful state of affairs has this country and culture descended?


Should we be worrying about this?

A Day At The Jersey Shore

Lori and Peter called for us ("we'll be over by 9 am") at about 11. We got into our car and headed for Ocean Grove, NJ on the Jersey shore. They've been there many times for summer jaunts and have asked us to come down and take a look. The idea is to perhaps join them for a week or so this summer.

Of course, it should have been an hour ride: through Staten Island, over the Outerbridge Crossing (named oddly enough for a Mr. Elysius Outerbridge, go know) and then south on the Garden State. Well, we're talking and talking and talking and I missed the exit for the parkway. We got off 10 miles west and then proceeded to take a slow boat to China or the shore (same thing as far as Peter was concerned): one hour turned into two (or so). We did, however, get a nice tour of other parts of New Jersey.

The town of Ocean Grove is lovely: not overly developed, not overly new. Sweet, little cottages, lovely, tree-lined streets running off a beautiful Atlantic Ocean beach. It's a dry town: the advantage? It's not a beach/bar town with the attendant crowds, motorcycles, wet t-shirt contests, etc.


Stacey and Lori in Ocean Grove, NJ


Walking down Main Avenue in Ocean Grove.

Its history lies with the Tabernacle, an immense, wooden structure in the middle of town that is a Methodist meeting hall. At the turn of the last century (you remember the 20th century don't you??) this town was known country-wide as a summer Methodist camp, much like Oak Bluffs on Martha's Vineyard. The church goers would come from all over and stay for the summer, attend church and "camp" in tents and ginger-bread cottages built all around the auditorium. These days it isn't just a Methodist meeting town but the church still plays a strong role in town affairs and so one can't go to the beach before noon on Sundays; it's "dry," etc. Still and all, it's a lovely, New Jersey beach town and very appealing to us.


The Methodist tabernacle: The "Auditorium."


Beach block near the ocean in Ocean Grove.


The Boardwalk under a puffy, blue sky.


Stacey in front of typical Ocean Grove cottage.

We walked some of the back streets, stopped in at an "open house" to see what might be for sale and what the inside of a $450,000 cottage might look like ... it was tiny, right off the tabernacle and a block or so from the beach. Needed a good imagination and a lot of work. Maybe a rental would be a better idea for now.

Lunch was at a small cafe back on Main Avenue. Then we took the tourist route back to Brooklyn: skipping the Parkway we meandered our way up the Jersey coast to Highlands and the Amboys, through Staten Island and home. A long day, but very lovely and satisfying. We always have a nice time with Lori and Peter.

Dinner on the Deck

Carol and Micky (Weinshenker) came over for dinner last night. And since Stu Shapiro is alone (Doreen is in Atlanta with her mom), we invited him as well. Stacey had spent a good part of the day planting our deck with flowers and it was like a summer night so we dined on the deck, lights twinkling, wine pouring, food savoured. Lots of talk, mostly of Iraq and the mid-east. Opinions differed: would Bush get in again. His polls are at an all time low. To me, his presidency, err, reign is disintegrating right before our eyes. But others thought he would use some manufactured provocation just before the elections to accomplish what now might seem doubtful.


Carol and Micky for dinner last night.


Stu, making a point.

This morning we're off to explore the Jersey coast with Lori and Peter (Stacey's brother). Stay tuned.

I want to take my cat with me!

I have this idea that my cat, Pumpkin, would like to see the rest of the world. That is, the world outside our house. So I've been looking for a cat carrier that I could sling over my shoulders and carry her on my chest. I found one on the web and ordered it from a company called petstore.com.


Meet our cat, Pumpkin.

Don't you love ordering things on the Web? I do. First, because it's so instantly gratifying. Second, I love getting packages in the mail. Harkens back to something in childhood I guess. Anyway, the cat-pouch came today and I took Pumpkin for a walk down the block. She complained a little especially when I tried to wrangle her into the contraption. Once in she seemed reasonably OK ... I think it'll take a few trips to get her used to it. We also bought a harness for her so we can clip her into the carrier, disabling her ability to spring out all of a sudden.

.....

We brought Stacey's used computer over to my Aunt Sissy's house. She had been using an ancient model that used a free Juno email hookup that was text only and terribly slow. I thought she should graduate to real internet/email so we're loaning her this setup. I spent several hours with her yesterday, by the end of which she was exhausted and overwhelmed. It's not easy for older folks to absorb that which we (and even younger "we's") take for granted.

I went over to her apartment again this morning and spent another hour. A few more lessons and I think she'll be able to work Outlook Express and surf the web. When I walked in this morning she already had the browser open and was perusing the NY Times site. We'll see. But I think she already realizes how fabulous, though daunting, this new setup is with its color and pictures.


My Aunt Sissy and her snazzy new computer.

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For those of you in Brooklyn -- there has begun a weekly peace vigil at Senator Charles Schumer's house:

Every Sunday from 7:30 to 8:30 pm.
9 Prospect Park West in Park Slope

As you might know, Schumer (not to mention Hillary Clinton) has been supporting the war in Iraq. Amazingly, he has refused to call for Rumsfeld's resignation saying "he wants to hear more." How much more do we have to hear (or see)?

Last Sunday there were 100 or so people who turned out. There hoping to double or triple that tomorrow. If you're around, then GO! This is being sponsored by that very good and very active group, Brooklyn Parents For Peace.

....

Had lunch today (Saturday) at a new restaurant on Brooklyn's fabulous new restaurant row: Smith Street. This was a cute new place called Village 247 at 247 Smith Street. They had a garden in back (man! it was hot!)and a light menu with some Cajun stuff on it. The bonus: they're on IGT (one of those dining discount clubs that we belong to). So, in addition to their moderate prices we took another 25% off. Now that's nice.

After, we drove to Park Slope looking for some coffee and spied Anja Schlein (Lonnie's daughter) on the corner of 7th Avenue and 1st Street, with her boyfriend, Robert. That's the second time in one week...an amazing coincidence. Robert took off on his BMW motorcycle, headed for work. We walked Anja over to the Green Market at Grand Army Plaza. What a nice meeting and all by chance. While we were at the market we ran into my friend, Elisabeth Rucell and her family: husband Geoff and kids, Wilhem and Gemma. They were picnicking.


Geoff and Elisabeth at their house on Vanderbilt Street.

It's nice in New York to bump into friends in unexpected places. Despite its huge size and scope, New York can be a small town at the same time. I love my city.