There's A Moon Out Tonight

... and it kept me company all the way home -- another delightful day in Metropolis. I had a meeting in Manhattan today at 2:00. Wait, let me work this backwards, from the beginning (does that make sense?) I got up very early. Today, the new housekeeper, Eva, was coming to clean the house (which has been transformed into my bachelor pad; meaning, it's a real mess). She was to arrive at 7:30, having another job in the afternoon. And arrive she did. But I was up to greet her. I was going to hit the gym and I started out, but, man oh man, it was so gorgeous out that when I got as far as the corner, I turned said to myself - "Matt, why don't you bike into Manhattan instead of the gym." I'd be getting my workout and I had to be in the city anyway, so enjoy the day. Why not? Back to the house I went and back to a surprised Eva. By the time I took a shower, finally got my stuff together, answered a few phone calls, stopped for an espresso in Sheepshead Bay at my little Russian coffee shop and made a deposit at the bank -- well, it was too late to bike into the city. What possibly makes me think that I can fit 10 "to-do" items in the time needed to accomplish, say, two of them? My thought processes just don't jibe with the real world.

So, realizing that if I was to meet my friend Ted for lunch at 12 or so and then make my meeting at 2, I would have to take the subway. Which I did. But just to be mobile, on disembarking, I took my bike on the train. It really does make a big difference (i.e. taking your bike). I got off the B at Broadway-Lafayette. I hopped on to my bike and in, perhaps, 7 minutes I was at Ted's veterinary office at Second Avenue and 19th Street. Try doing that on foot -- impossible.

We had lunch at a nice Polish restaurant that we walked to from his office. I forgot to look at the name and I asked Ted, afterwards. He didn't know it either and he's been there a dozen times! Um, strange. However, if you're intent on finding it, it's at 12th Street and First Avenue (on the east side). We sat in the back in a lovely garden and had the five dollar special lunch. I had delicious pea soup, stuffed cabbage and two sides. Ted had a vegetable cutlet as well as the other accoutrements. Sadly, I had to rush...that meeting was getting closer and closer. Back to the office on foot; onto my bike and down to 13th Street and University Place.

I thought I would head back to Brooklyn after my meeting but the 1-hour meeting turned into two. So I headed over to Bob's place: the Gulf Coast Cafe to see how he was doing. I hung out a while and before I knew it, I was having dinner there (crabcakes -- really great and a beer.) It just occurred to me, as I'm typing these words, that I ate an awful lot of food within just a few hours today. Hmmm.


Stan, the chef at Gulf coast, shows me his artwork.

After that early-bird dinner I called my friends, Barbara and Mark, who had asked me earlier in the week to join them at a free Amy Mann concert in Rockefeller Park. That's a beautiful space just above Battery Park City, around behind the new Stuyvesant High School. It's on the Hudson. There's a fabulous lawn to spread yourself out on. And the star tonight was singer-songwriter Amy Mann.


I took the West Coast Greenway to get down to the concert in Rockefeller Park. The bike path now runs, along the Hudson, from one end of Manhattan to the other. Fabulous and very popular!


Concert goers as seen through by bike wheel while lying on my back enjoying the music and the night.

It was an achingly-beautiful evening. She had a lovely voice which floated over the lawn. The sun was setting over the river. Idyllic.


A beautiful lawn to lie on. A fabulous sunset. Great music. Summer in the city.

Now I was ready, finally, for my gym-exercise substitute. I biked it over the Brooklyn Bridge, watching the last vestiges of sunset while the almost-full moon was coming up over Brooklyn. I continued through Cobble Hill then, up hill through Park Slope, through Prospect Park, which despite the darkness, was packed with joggers, walkers and bikers, and then another seven miles southbound and back home. Coming to the end of my ride, I felt like I could have biked another 20 miles. Summertime bike riding at night is exhilarating. It's hard to explain how it makes me feel. But, trust me, it's an experience everyone should try at least once. You'd get hooked on it, I'm sure.


A romantic orange moon lit up the sky on my ride home through Prospect Park tonight.

The Boys See Fahrenheit

Just got home from a very intense night. A bunch of the guys decided we would see Michael Moore's film tonight. Stu picked me up at 4:30 and we drove into Manhattan. We had a drink at a bar on 2nd Avenue and 32nd Street and waited for Ted and his friend, Kamal to show up. Cary was meeting us also.


Stu at La Bella in Kips Bay.


Ted and Stu ... talking.

The Kips Bay Loews is an enormous multi-plex. The theater that we were in (number 10) must have held 500 people - my guess. It was filled. And the film was playing at a second theater as well. So each show was being played to about 1000 people. This has been going on since it opened last Friday -- breaking records. Well, this is New York and you might expect that kind of attendance in our liberal city. But, I wondered, what's happening across the country? In the South? In the Midwest? Something else unique: afterwards, many knots of viewers congregated in front of the theater, in the street, discussing the impact they felt from the film. I've not seen that with any other film.

The film was intense, dramatic, emotional, funny, powerful and (trying to be objective here) very convincing. It has to be extremely damaging to the carefully crafted image and paranoia that Bush & Co. have been foisting on the people since 911. My view is that it is a heroic and historic film ... it must go down in cinematic history, not only as Moore's finest work but as one of the most important films ever made. Not only because it is finely crafted - which it certainly is. But because of its message and the timing of that message. After all the bullshit. After all the brainwashing. After all the orange alerts to keep people frightened and off balance. After all the phony appeals to patriotism and jingoism. After all the lies. After all the crap about bringing democracy to the people of Iraq. After all the media silence and indulgence of this sordid collection of goons, ginks and thugs who stole the last election and have held our government captive to their extremist ideas. After all that!, here comes Michael Moore and his film with its cataclysmic exposé that Emperor Bush is not wearing any clothes at all! Oh my god ... what relief! What fresh air has suddenly been blown in to every corner of the country! What a light has been shone on this dark and fetid nest of cockroaches who now scatter, their secret hiding place exposed.

My prediction is that this film will certainly play a major role in defeating the Bush clique in November. Please go see it as soon as possible. Don't wait a day. And take your family and friends with you. If there is anything in this world that can be called an eye-opener (or a brain-opener), Fahrenheit 911 is it.


At dinner after the movie, l-r: Cary, Matt, Stu, Ted and Kamal.

Bike to the beat of a different drum - Part III

.... continued from Part II ....

From the Victorian houses of Prospect Park South I headed to Cobble Hill and Smith Street for a wee bite at Cafe Luluc. I entered Prospect Park at Park Circle where Coney Island Avenue ends. The park was magnificent -- it always is. And crowded with bikers, skaters, walkers, joggers, picnickers and drummers (yes, drummers who are always drumming by the dozen,on any given weekend, near the entrance at Parkside Avenue). it's a fabulous people's park and the people take to it with great love and affection. On a hot summer day, cool off in Propsect Park.

I took the park drive from the southwest entrance at Park Circle and pedalled (mostly uphill) to the northern exit at Grand Army Plaza. Then I coasted all the way down the Slope on President Street until I hit the Gowanus Canal. I crossed the quaint, old Carroll Street Bridge and arrived in Cobble Hill. And, to my surprise, there was yet another street fair on Smith Street and it was teeming with people.


Smith Street was packed with people on a crisp summer day.


Young girls on Smith Street. Downtown Brooklyn is the center of the Arab community in New York.


A people watcher at the Smith Street festival.

I walked the lenghth of the fair, rolling my bike, not easily, through the crowds. Baluchi, an Indian restaurant, had their food for sale in one of the stalls out on the street and I stopped for a Samosa which is one of the few fried things I eat. Can't resist them. Then I stopped for a bowl of mussels in a spicy red sauce and a cold Belgian Beer at Luluc. I sat there and just watched the world pass by.


The bar at Cafe Luluc as seen from my table.

After lunch I moved a bit further up the street and found a cool (and loud) Latino band playing and the people were dancing a storm. Just as I got there they started a jazzy rendition of the great Puerto Rican song, Que Bonita Bandera "What a beautiful flag!", a song which I knew from many years back. What a great scene: people were dancing, rocking and smiling. The sun was shining. For a few minutes all the negative realities of the new world we live in faded away. It was the way it ought to be.


This band was rocking and the people, dancing! -- ¡Que bonita bandera!


Dancing the day away on Smith Street.


Quite a show.


Cotton candy anyone? From the pink cotton candy jeep no less.

I headed home via the same route I had come; took a few more shots of houses along Rugby Road and was tired but feeling pretty good after 21 miles biking around my dear old Brooklyn. It was a great summer Sunday. The way it ought to be. Indeed.

Bike to the beat of a different drum - Part II

So that was yesterday. And this is today,Sunday. Even though it was a fabulous summer day, I didn't leave the house until 2 p.m. That's very late even for the procrastinative me. I had another one of those debates with myself, thus: Should I get on my bike and go for a ride on such a beautiful day as today? Or should I stay home, clean out the camper that's parked in my driveway for the last 20 years so that it can be towed away and junked? Now that was a hard one. Right. Why bother with a debate? Bike it! In retirement, it seems, one would much rather play than work, right? Tomorrow for the camper. Today, it's 2 p.m. and I'm off.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I would like to show you some of the wonderful old houses that line the streets of Prospect Park South. That's the area from the Parade Grounds south to about Avenue H and from Coney Island Avenue east to the train trench of the B line. If there's anyone out there who disagrees with that definition let them speak now. (I don't think anyone is actually reading my daily BLOG. However, throwing this jauntlet provides a test to see if you all are paying attention).

So I took my usual route up East 13th Street which is relatively traffic-free and runs all the way to Avenue H, then a quick right-left-left-right (to clear the railroad trench at Avenue H) and the Parade Ground without interruption. Other northbound streets have one obstacle or another, creating annoying detours. East 13th becomes Argyle Road after Avenue H and it's here that I took these photos. On my return down Rugby Road(which becomes East 14th Street south of Avenue H) I took some more. So these photos are of the houses on Argyle and Rugby. There are hundreds of more beautiful houses on the other blocks of the area. These are just a sampling. Highly recommended for a days outing, exploring ol' Brooklyn.

These streets are magnificent and harken to an earlier era. As I've mentioned, Albermarle Road was often featured on postcards of the early 20th century. It was an elegant thoroughfare, with a planted mall down its middle and lined with the mansions of wealthy doctors. The area retains its ancient trees. They tower above the street and form a virtual tunnel with a cool shade that keeps these streets a good 5 to 10 degrees cooler compared to the car-fume-polluted and blisteringly-hot and parched Coney Island Avenue (for example) which forms the western boundary of the area and runs parallel to Argyle and Ruby Roads.


The trees form a tunnel of coolth on Argyle Road north of Ditmas -- one of my favorite blocks.

Most of these houses have big front porches and many of them wrap-around to the side, making them very appealing. Memories of hot summer days lolling on a porch come to mind as your bike up these blocks.


Some of the street ends in the district are marked with posts that date to the early 20th century (or maybe earlier - I really don't know). But the bricks look like replacements and newer. The logo stands for Prospect Park South (i.e. PPS)


Argyle Road.


Argyle Road.


Argyle Road.

If you'd like to see more houses, check my photo site on Smugmug.com.

After I finished my photography I decdided to hit Cafe Luluc for lunch (it was about 4 o'clock already) so I headed for my usual digs: Smith Street, where I discovered still another street fair in progress. But that'll wait for Bike to the beat of a different drum - Part III. Just too tired right now...it's 1:15 a.m and I'm headed to bed. To dream a good dream. Know what I mean?

Bike to the beat of a different drum - Part I

Finally catching up on some much needed rest, I slept till 9 and then stayed in bed for quite a while, futzing on the computer, reading email, editing my pictures that I took yesterday.

Ah yes, yesterday. Yesterday I drove up to West Springfield, Mass to help celebrate the wedding of Amber and Aaron. The latter lad is the son of Stacey's cousin, Steffi. The two of them got married (suddenly and surprisingly) a few months ago while in Colorado on a visit to Aaron's father. This was to be the east coast celebration of that marriage. The kids paid for the party so it was on a budget but, as they say, it ain't the amount of money you throw at it but the spirit, the joy, the happiness. And that was in abundance.

I know West Springfield pretty well as it's not far from Camp Kinderland, the camp of my younger (and older) years. Also, my kids camp. And also where I still take camp photos every summer, even though my kids "graduated" from camp many years ago. It's a progressive, secular, Jewish camp whose origin in the 20's sprung from left-wing Jewish immigrant unionists who needed a place to send their kids where their values, along with Yiddish, would be taught and imbued. But I digress.

The party was held at Amber's grandmother's house. Actually in her immense side yard wherre tents had been set up. Hamburgers, hot dogs, salads and booze was in abundance. I had driven up in miserable weather on a horrible-as-usual I-95, congested with traffic. But once there, the rain stopped and the sun broke through now and then.


The newlyweds.


The very serious Aaron (he doesn't like his picture taken).


In case you've ever wondered, the secret is Elmer's Glue. I'm not kidding ... Elmer's Glue.


Lori Berti and Peter Press were there (to my surprise).


Strange and motley crew.

If you want to see more photos from the party, just click here.

I stayed a couple of hours and then headed back home. But I was so tired that my eyes started to close while driving -- not a great thing. I was on Route 84, having decided to avoid 95 again. I was passing one of my most favorite places on the east-west route: the town of Southbury. "Favorite," because just beyond that town the highway crosses the Housatonic River. I've always been intrigued with that spot. It looks like something out of a movie. The river takes a turn at that point. There are lovely summer houses scattered on its banks, boats plying the river, a beach along the shore and trees, trees, trees. I've always wanted to find out how to get down there by the side of the river and this time I did. I exited at Southbury and just followed a road in the direction of the river. The road twisted and turned, crossed the river and then came back again and voilá -- I was there. I pulled over and walked down a long driveway posted with a sign that read "Southbury Town Beach". A beautiful lawn with picnic tables sloped down to meat my beautiful river. This was heaven. It was late in the day and there were no people about but I imagined that this probably gets pretty crowded in the heat of the summer. Why not? Can't imagine a more beautiful place to lie around and watch the world and the river float by.

I walked back to the car and fell asleep for a while. Awakening, somewhat refreshed, I headed home down 684 to the Hutch, the Whitestone and back to Brooklyn. Lovely day.

Stacey arrives in Palestine.

I've been alluding to Stacey's trip but never really told you, the reader, what it's about. Now I can because she has arrived ... in Palestine (that's Palestine ... as in the West Bank; also known as the Occupied Territory.)

I couldn't share this with you before because of security. Israel has refused entry to thousands because they do not want people from other countries coming to protest their policies. Great democracy, no? No.

Stacey and some 20-plus other women are Women Of A Certain Age. That's cryptic for alta cockers. They're all over the age of 50 (with the exception of two younger women, daughters of two women members of the group. This group started with Stacey and her friend, Doreen.Then another friend, Carol, joined and then another and another and pretty soon there were 20 or so strong.


Stacey modelling the WCA hat that she designed and produced for her group.

It evolved from just a trip to go and see to something more like a mission with a purpose and action. This is the 40th anniversary of our Freedom Summer, the year of Shwerner, Goodman and Chaney; the year of the freedom bus rides; the year of intense civil rights activity in the deep south.

The I.S.M. (International Solidarity Movement) which brings people from all over the world to protest the Israeli occupation has announced a Freedom Summer in Palestine. Modeled after the U.S. summer of 40 years ago, it will employ non-violent civil disobedience and protest to bring to world attention the injustices being carried out in the occupied areas. In Europe, I believe, where their press is a bit more independant than our corporate media, there's a much greater awareness of the horrors of the occupation. Here that's not true. The women want to learn the facts and bring that truth back home to share it with family, friends and fellow-citizens. In that way, they will be doing their part and taking a stand against oppression.

Many of the women (not all) are Jewish. As such, they feel a special duty to speak out. They cannot remain silent when oppression is being perpretated by a state that purports to represent the Jewish people. Fortunately, many Israeli Jews feel the same way. Support for Sharon is huge; there's no understating that. But a significant part of the population is opposed to his policies; opposed to the occupation and wants the peace process to go forward. The women stand with those forces in Israeli society that want to live in peace and want no part of subjugating another people who only want the right to live in dignity and at peace with their neighbors.

I support Stacey and the women and their noble mission. Danger is present. The Israeli military have shown very little to no tolerance for peaceful protest. Tear gas, rubber bullets and real bullets have been used against peaceful demonstrations. Even the presence of "internationals" have not deterred them. We back home who are supporting them are aware of the danger. But we're also aware that in every generation and in every period there are those who, for reasons of conscience and morality, are compelled to take a stand, even when it means that you endanger yourself. The history of our own country is filled with pages that document the sacrifices that people have made to advance the cause of human dignity, freedom and emancipation.

If you would like to follow the daily adventures of the Women Of A Certain Age then just click here or set your browser to www.wca2004.blogspot.com Photos and text are by Stacey who has mastered her computer skills (I'm very proud of her) and is sending this home every (hopefully every) day. So keep tuned, the BLOG will be updated frequently.

Off now to the wedding celebration in Springfield. Oy...I'm late (again).

Spending A Day With My Old Friend Lonnie

My best and oldest friend, Lonnie, has been imploring me to come up to his country house and spend a day with him. Not having been there for quite some time, I agreed. I picked up Lonnie at work in Manhattan and we drove up together and arrived at 9.

He and Monique have a lovely house in Cuddebackville, which is a dot of a town between Middletown and Port Jervis. The house dates from 1870 and they have done wonderful things with it over the 19 years they've lived there. It's always a pleasure to visit and hang out there.

The country in the summer! When I got out of the car I inhaled and the fabulously fresh smell of summer, country air filled my lungs and lifted me up. The peacocks greeted us with the blare of their bizarre honking. The sky was filled with stars. And it was very peaceful.


One of the peacocks shows his stuff.

We turned in early and I slept until 9. My little cat was home alone but it was nice for a change to get away from the house, the campaign and Brooklyn.

Today we spend the day hanging out. I brought my notebook and Lon had 2 of his notebooks so the dining room table looked like a newsroom or some such thing. Comical. Eggs from the henhouse were our breakfast and then we took a walk down towards the Neverskink River that adjoins their property. We headed down a little dirt road that led away from their house and into a very remote area.


My notebook and Lonnie on the phone.


Me on the road behind Lonnie's house.

Their property originally had an old barn on it which also dated from the late 1800's. But nature finally took its toll and a storm blew it down some months ago. In between my last visit and this, they had a new garage built ... quite fancy compared to the old structure and Lonnie was very proud of it and couldn't wait for me to see it.


Their new garage. The old barn, which dated from 1870, got blown down this year.


Lonnie cracks a smile in his pool.

The day wore on and we finally got the get-up-and-go to try out Lonnie's new Mazda sports car. He wanted to show me something called the Bashakill which his friend Chris had taken him to a week ago. The Bashakill is 2000-plus acres of wetlands tucked, invisibly, beside Route 209, just west of Route 17. I say "invisible" because unless you knew how to get to it, you'd never know it was there. No signs, no directions. I've been up and down Route 209 dozens of times over the years and never saw it or heard of it. And yet, it's no more than a quarter of a mile or so off the road, running parallel to it. It's a hauntingly beautiful and vast open area of bog and marsh surrounded on the north by hills. It's also home to a great variety of wildlife and is a favorite place of birders who travel there to see bald eagles who make the area their nesting place.

We parked the car on the south side of the swamp in a little parking area and walked to the edge of the water. Lonnie spotted a sweet painted turtle, so-called because Nature has decorated it with beautiful markings that looked like an artist had labored over for many hours.


At the Bashakill -- a painted turtle.


Surveying the beauty of the Bashakill, just minutes from his house but invisible to those who don't know how to find it.


A canal "path" wends its way into the remote expanse of the Bashakill.

After the Bashakill we headed to a local supermarket to pick up stuff for dinner. Monique was coming up from the city to join us. She arrived around six and we threw some corn and pork chops on the grill. A nice salad and some good Austrialian wine rounded out the meal which we enjoyed on their screened porch under romantic candle light.


A lovely dinner on the porch.

I rested a while and then headed back home, reaching my house at about 12:30 am. Tomorrow, early, I have to drive up to Sprinfield, Massachusetts for a wedding celebration. Steffi's son (Steffi is Stacey's cousin), Aaron and his wife Amber were married recently in Colorado and the east coast gets to celebrate tomorrow.

A Bientot and good night.

It Was A Great D & D Day --- Like The Ol' Days.

So you want to know what a D&D day is, ay? It's what Dani and I use to call a day spent together, i.e. A "Daddy and Daughter day. And despite the gloomy, rainy day-meanor there was sunshine in our hearts.

I actually made it out of bed at 6:30 and got going pretty quickly. Stopped at Bagel Boys for one of their great poppy seed bagels (what do you think? Is this Blog very food-centric or what??)and then headed east, up the New York, Connecticut shore on I-95. Periodically I came to a standstill due to grass-cutting, construction, road narrowing, you name it. And I arrived at Dani's after a 3 hour trip around noon and hungry. Dani was hungry too.

Dani had asked me to come up for Father's Day but I wasn't about to make that I-95 trip on a summer Sunday so I postponed it till today. Dani lives in Groton which is across the Thames River from New London. I like Connecticut - inland and shore. Can't say why but there's something very familiar and reassuring about it. So many beautiful rivers running out to Long Island Sound. Beautiful old architecture, quaint villages. To be sure, it has its problems also: the glaring contrast of a concentration of super rich along side loads of grinding poor people. And then there was today's news: the resignation of the corrupt, Republican governor, Rowland (good riddance, he stunk anyway).

We drove the few miles to Mystic Seaport and had a lovely lunch at the S&P Oyster Bar overlooking the Mystic River and the old draw bridge that defines the main street. As we sat, the rain started and the river was covered with a lovely pitter-patter pattern. Boats passed by and it was a lovely and fun time shared with my beautiful daughter.

I had been up late the night before and awoke very early so we yawningly headed back to Dani's house, her two cute dogs and the couch where we hung out, chatted, joked, read the Times and napped.

I left for home at five just as Dani received a call from Erik who was far, far away. These phone calls are few and far between due to his job so not wanting to interrupt it, I simply gave her a big kiss and hug and headed back down 95 and home. Just one of those days that you want to remember for a long time. Good night, Dani. Love you. - DAD


Me, in Mystic, at lunch.


My daughter treated me to lunch. She was cold, so my jacket but her pretty smile!


A boat on its way to the Sound. The draw bridge goes straight up to let it pass!

Street Fair in Park Slope and Great Pizza.

Another beautiful day in Brooklyn. On Saturday I met my friend Stu Shapiro and his son Adam at the Seventh Avenue Street Festival in Park Slope. They drove. I biked. I arrived at 2nd Street and the joint was jumping. I was hoping to find the Brooklyn Parents For Peace table but never did. I thought I would hang out there, perhaps volunteer some time and maybe get some volunteers for the Barbaro campaign.

Instead, I ran into my new found friends from the campaign: Liz, Mike and Ray...just by coincidence in the midst of what seemed like a million people strolling through the fair ... there they were. "Did you see the peace table," I inquired. Yes, but it was at 15th Street, a mile down the avenue ... so that ended that. Too many people to make my way through. So I said goodbye to them, they headed south and Stu, Adam and I made our way up to the north end of the festival.

These street fairs have become ubiquitous, boring and bland. Just as each shopping mall seems like evey other one, so have street fairs begun to suffer from an "identical crisis." Same corn on the cob (which I quickly purchased - not that ubiquitous), same sausage and pepper stands, same sock and Gap t-shirt sales, same, same, same. I have to admit that the Park Slope affair was a little less identical, with some decent amount of interesting craftware and such, but only a little less so. But people seem to enjoy strolling through these things anyway and there were certainly a lot of people.

I left Seventh Avenue after about an hour and headed back home again ... just 7 miles away if you're a crow and flying down Coney Island Avenue. But I usually take the much-less trafficked (and parallel) Rugby Road which becomes East 14th Street. This takes you through the fabulous Victorian section of Prospect Park South with its very British street names: Westminister Road, Argyle Road, Rugby Road and Marlborough Road. One of the most beautiful residential sections of Brooklyn, its tree-lined streets are lined with fabulous, old Victorian houses. After a period of flux and downsliding, the neighborhood is now, it seems, on a very strong upswing with a lot of new, young families moving in and renovating these magnificent houses once again. I hope to include some photos of these houses in a future BLOG. Interestingly, Albemarle Road's magnificent mansions, once home to many doctors and other professionals, were regularly pictured on early 20th century postcards as representations of wonderful it is to live in the "suburbs."

I had eaten a bit at the street fair but just a bit. As I've said, my route was straight down Rugby/East 14th Street. Approaching Avenue J, I seem to always have a silent debate with myself:

"Pizza or straight home? Well, you've taken off so many calories today; 7 miles up, 7 miles down; you certainly can afford one little slice of New York's greatest pizza. In fact you biked so hard, you deserve it!"

Some debate!

The argument (with myself) was whether to stop at Di Fara's Pizzeria or to just continue on home. This little joint on the corner of J and East 15th Street has repeatedly garnered great reviews. In last week's Village Voice they scored again. In their review of The Best 100 Italian Restaurants in NYC,it placed 13th!

The owner, Domenico DeMarco, is originally from Naples. His picture was on the front of the Voice and that boosted business significantly, he told me when I stopped there on Saturday. Not like he needed the business. This guy works seven days a week and as many times as I've stopped there is as many times that I've had to wait in line -- a long line. He never stops moving; never stops making pies; never stops serving the slices. The cheese is Buffalo Mozzarella, imported from Italy. The crust is thin. The sauce, homemade. Perfetto!


My bike route from downtown to home takes me right past the best slice in town. Well, almost right past.


Di Fara's -- you'd never guess from the look of it that this is one of New York's greatest slices. (That's my bike leaning against the building).


A slice is nice.


Domenico DeMarco, pizza-maestro at Di Fara's.

=============

The two new bachelors (Stu and I) decided we would have dinner at Bob's new restaurant. So he called for me in his new Infiniti and we drove to Soho and Gulf Coast Cafe.

It's Monday night and so we didn't expect crowds to be knocking the doors down at 9 o'clock and we were right. It wasn't empty. But it wasn't full either. The food was good once again ... but this is not an easy town to open a restaurant in. It takes time, perserverence, lots of money and it certainly doesn't help to know some important critics.

Cary Hoffman joined us around 10 and then we took a stroll up Prince Street in the lovely summer nighttime air. And then home. Tomorrow, I'm visitng Dani in Connecticut. Buona notte.


Stu -- at the Gulf Coast Cafe, opening night.


Cary at Gulf Coast. Don't ask why he's pointing.

All Alone Am I

It's early Saturday morning and I'm all alone except for a furry creature, Pumpkin -- my cat. Stacey is off on her adventure. She left last night with friends, Doreen and Carol. By now they've arrived in Amsterdam where Carol's daughter, Mindy, is picking them up and driving them to her home in Eindhoven (The Netherlands). They'll spend 4 days there, touring, shopping, dining, hanging out. Then off to the adventurous part of their adventure ... but that's all I can say about it for now.

Last night I drove all three women (and the other husbands accompanied me as well) to JFK for the departure.


Stacey with the hat she designed for her trip with the 20 or so other women traveling abroad. WCA means .... you figure it out.


Doreen, Carol and Stacey entering security at JFK ... last night at 10 pm. By now they're in Amsterdam!

Strange to be alone. The house is very quiet. Pumpkin is ignoring me. It seems overcast out the window but the weather is saying "a nice day" is in store for New York. And despite the ability to do whatever I want, wherever and whenever I want to do it, I have a busy schedule set up (at least for today; then we'll see).

Today there is to be a massive march across the Brooklyn Bridge at 11. The demand? Bridge the Gap: Health Care for All! National Health Care Day of Action. The Barbaro campaign has asked me to take pictures of Frank who has been invited to lead the walk across the bridge. There's another huge march scheduled for the West Coast in San Francisco.

I was supposed to photograph a young graduate (intermediate school)whose mom is an old high school friend of mine and, in later years, a customer at Mayfair. The mother didn't like the official school portrait of Joanna so "could I take her yearbook photo," she asked. Uh-oh, scheduling conflict with the bridge-march. I guess I have to postpone the portrait for later in the day.

Tomorrow, Sunday, is, I hope, a day for shmoozing: catching up on some paperwork, a gentle bike ride somewhere, maybe nowhere - just follow my nose. The weather is said to be "nice." Tuesday, I'll drive up to Dani in Connecticut and spend the day with her and the "grandogs." That'll be like the old days: just daddy and daughter or D&D days as the two of us like to phrase it.

Mike never came in, as promised, to see us and to say goodbye to his mom. Tied down with a lot of video work lately. Miss him greatly. He's too far away. Says he'll return to New York "by the end of the summer." We'll see.

Hey! It's 8 AM. I'm sitting here, naked, typing and I should be headed out the door and downtown to the bridge. I promised myself last night to be more disciplined about doing things on time. Damn!

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It was close to 9 by the time I dragged myself onto my bike and sped downtown. I could have taken the subway but it's local-only on Saturdays so, I wanted to know, would it really save me time compared to biking. Yes, it would, but I wanted to bike on a beautiful day (beautiful days are finite; when all is said and done there are just not that many available). I don't know why I can't get started on time. One problem is the phone which kept ringing. Or emails that had to be answered. Stacey's writing about her phone usage abroad and I had to research it and write back to her. What did we do before this era of cell phones, email, etc?? I wrote and said to just enjoy Holland and forget the phone. Hope she took my advice.

I'm supposed to be in Cadman Plaza by 9:45 and call some guy Ari who will get me a press pass so I can photograph Barbaro who will be walking at the front of the march. I got there in the nick of time. It was 10:15 and the crowds were pouring into the park. I made my way to the stage, found Ari, got my pass and immediately saw Frank and Larry on the stage. They were chatting with John Sweeney, the President of the AFL-CIO. Sweeney has been a major force in revamping labor, bringing it out of its slumber and doldrums. If anything is to save our country it will be the trade union movement. They have the most to lose if the Bushies are re-selected in November and they have the muscle and the resources to lead the fight to defeat Bush and take back the Congress. Frank's campaign fits into that strategy and labor, citywide, statewide and nationally, are giving the campaign uncompromising support.

The march was called by Local 32BJ which is part of the SEIU (Service Employees International Union. They represent the tri-state area's building service union, representing 70,000 cleaners, doormen, porters, maintenance workers, window cleaners, security guards, superintendents, and theater and stadium workers in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut.

Many other unions joined in and spirit was high and militant. "What do you want." "Health care now!" And countless other chants, many with a Latino beat and rhythm. The union has a great mix of Black, Brown and white peoples.


John Sweeney and Frank Barbaro. Strong labor support for this congressional race.


Marty Markowitz, Chuck Schumer, John Sweeney and Frank Barbaro.


The rally was huge and very spirited.


Mike Fishman,Pres of 32BJ, John Sweeney,Pres of AFL-CIO, Brian McLoughlin,Pres of NYC Central Labor Council and Frank Barbaro - leading the march onto the bridge.

I, and many other press photographers, ran (backwards) in front of the march as it moved out of the park and up onto the beautiful Brooklyn Bridge. The sky was a wonderful blue with a few puffy white clouds. The skyline was striking; the air was so clean and clear that the buildings were sharply etched against that blue background.


A beautiful day to march across the bridge. 50 million Americans have no health insurance - casualties of the Bush/Republican offensive against working families.

On the other side of the river the marchers moved up into Federal Plaza (it used to be called Foley Square) where more speeches and chanting reverberated against the court buildings that lined the plaza. A giant TV screen had been set up to show the assembled workers that thousands more of their fellows were still streaming across the bridge after they had been standing there for an hour.

I walked back across the bridge - my bike was locked on the Brooklyn side. When I reached it, very tired and hot, I pedaled over to Smith Street and Cafe Luluc for lunch with Stu Shapiro, another husband on his own: Doreen, his wife, is in Europe with Stacey. Tonight, and it's a beautiful night, I'm meeting Bob for dinner in Manhattan.


Walking back to Brooklyn and my bike, I spied the Manhattan Bridge through the cables of the Brooklyn Bridge. Beautiful, no?