First Snow Of The Year

Yesterday was the first snow of the year here in NYC. It was only about 2 ½ inches, but it was the perfect consistency for snowballs and snowmen (excuse me, “snowpeople”). The fact that it was Sunday helped in that we didn’t have to commute anywhere and could enjoy the day.

Sam was at a birthday party, so Molly and I went out to play. I felt like I was Molly’s age rolling around in the snow and it reminded me of how exciting the first snow of winter was when I was her age. It was clean and ripe for eating as well, and we had a banquet of wet crystal flakes.

It was also a perfect mood enhancer. Having started to feel the heaviness of shorter, darker days recently and having it color my mood, waking up to a beautiful coating of white yesterday morning lifted my spirits and made me realize that it’s only 17 more days until the days start getting longer again.

Another girl, about a year or two younger than Molly, ganged up on me with Molly to pelt me with snowballs (as much as two little girls can “pelt”) and as a dutiful dad, I fell in the snow with great loud groans of “Ya got me.” We made a snow person and wrapped Molly’s scarf around its neck. Then we made the largest snowball I’ve ever seen – about 4 ½ feet in diameter upon which I boosted Molly so she could sit and take in the world from her frozen perch.

We were only out for less than hour, but it was a glorious way to welcome winter.

Wireless Amber Alerts

Cell phone carriers have banded together with law enforcement and other organizations to issue AMBER Alerts to cellphones as an SMS message free of charge. This is an excellent way to potentially save a child's life. There is no cost at all to the user. It only takes a minute to sign-up on line (follow this link) and you specify from one to five zip codes where you would like to receive alerts. This prevents you from receiving an AMBER Alert from Oregon if you live in North Carolina. You can specify more than one zip code if you spend time on a regular basis away from your home area.

I urge you to participate in this program.

Church Sign Generator

Stumbled across a great site that let's you generate real looking church signs with your choice of text. It's great fun and I've also added it to the list of fun links to the right.

Dave Freedman

I have come to appreciate the cathartic value of creating more frequent but briefer entries in a blog. After all, I live in NYC and encounter blog-worthy moments and observations on an almost daily basis. Consequently, I will make an attempt to thrill and delight my readers with frothy bits of blog.

Let's start by turning you on to my friend Dave Freedman's blog. Dave is one of the funniest people I know (he actually makes a living at it) and it is a darn shame that he lives in London.

Happy Turkey to everyone!!

The Comedy Festival in Las Vegas

I just returned from a 3-night trip to Las Vegas where I attended The Comedy Festival (TCF). TCF is an off-shoot of the US Comedy Arts Festival (USCAF) sponsored by HBO in Aspen every spring. One of the complaints about the USCAF is that it is expensive, in a cold locale, and geared primarily towards the entertainment industry. HBO and other sponsors, including AOL and TBS, decided to host a more consumer-oriented festival, hence TCF. This was the inaugural year.

When I first read about TCF, I knew I had to be there. As a comedy buff, the line-up of stars was very compelling. Add to that the fact that I love Vegas, and it was not a hard decision. I work hard and between job and family don't have much time to do things that I love.

All events were held at Caesar's Palace and The Flamingo which are right across the street from each other on the strip. Given that I knew I wouldn't be spending much time in my room, I opted for the less expensive Flamingo. Also suspecting that Delta Airlines may not be solvent much longer, I started working down my mileage balance by flying out in first class.

With many concurrent shows in the various venues of the two hotels, it was tough to pick the ones that I wanted. I ended up choosing a package of tickets, the benefits being that a) I would get better seats to the hot shows and b) the higher level packages included a private show with Jerry Seinfeld.

Flights were perfect and my room at the Flamingo was large and comfortable, but sparse and clean. At least it did not follow the theme I have found at other hotels on the strip such as Excalibur and Luxor where the rooms are so gaudy and the wallpaper so loud that you just can't wait to escape to the casino.

Thursday night was the opening of the festival which started with the live taping of "Earth To America", a two-hour special highlighting the need to stop global warming that aired on TBS this past Sunday night. It was chock full of great stars including, but not limited to, Larry David, Ray Romano, Bill Maher, Tom Hanks, Steve Martin, Eric Idle, Jason Alexander, Ben Stiller, Dustin Hoffman, Leo DiCaprio, Jeffrey Tambor, and Cedric the Entertainer. There were pre-taped segments from Robin Williams, Kevin Nealon, Will Ferrell, Rob Corddry, Conan O'Brien, David Letterman, Martin Short, and Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. There was also a very special guest appearance by Apollo 13 commander Jim Lovell.

On my way to the show which was held in the Colosseum at Caesars', I inadvertently joined Cedric the Entertainer's "posse." As I came around a corner, I ended up walking into the middle of a pack of people in a hallway. I suspected something was afoot when I realized that there security guards at the front and back of the pack, and people started coming up to the guy walking in front of me asking for his autograph, as security and Cedric's Armani-clad personal bodyguards kept them at bay. Why didn't they bother me? Go figure.

With so many celebs in town for this event, it wasn't hard to bump into some of them. Consequently, I actually bumped into Fred Willard, and almost bumped into Robert Klein and George Wallace. I was also pulled out of a crowd to do a brief promo interview spot with Jeffrey Ross that may air on HBO.

Next that night was a double bill of Dave Attell and Lewis Black. They were both great and exactly what I expected. Lewis Black actually had to turn away from the audience a couple of times because he cracked himself up and God-forbid the audience see the curmudgeonly veneer crack.

By the time I got back to the Flamingo after midnight, I decided to try my hand at some gambling. In 5 minutes I was up $40 at video poker and intended to take my winnings and leave, especially as it was now 12:30AM (3:30AM on my East coast body clock). It wasn't to be. Prior to my leaving New York, my colleague Sean had told me about a game he thought I would enjoy - Pai Gow Poker. It is a table game combining Chinese Pai Gow with Poker. It moves very slowly and many hands push so it takes a while to lose one's money and you get drinks the whole time. It is also a friendly game as the 6 players play against the bank instead of each other. There is often much conversation and sharing of emotions at great wins and lousy losses. I sat down to try my luck and was seated next to a fellow that I soon realized thought he was Hunter S. Thompson. He had the whole picture - he was wearing a pith helmet, sunglasses, a Hawaiian shirt, and used a cigarette holder. Having seen Dr. Thompson lecture a few times in my life, I can say that he had it down pat, including the voice and mannerisms. When I turned and referred to him as "the good doctor" he practically squealed with delight as most people did not recognize what he was trying to achieve. Two hours flew by at the end of which I was up $60 so I took my leave and retreated to my room. By the time I crawled into bed it was 3:00AM (6:00AM on my body clock) and I had a hard time falling asleep. I slept a whole hour and a half before my body clock woke me up. I finally gave up trying to get back to sleep at about 6AM. This all reminded me of one of Ray Romano's jokes that night in which he mused that Las Vegas is the only place where you are likely to cancel a wake-up call because you haven't gone to bed yet.

Friday was a big day as I had 5 back-to-back shows that night and wanted to hit the concurrent comedy film festival as well, so I started gambling right after breakfast to make sure that I got in some Pai Gow Poker (sense a pattern here?). Played a few hours and got my winnings up to over $100 before I headed over to see a screening of the Jerry Seinfeld documentary "The Comedian." I highly recommend this film for anyone who seriously loves stand-up or wants to know more about the craft from a master professional. The screenings for the festival were held in two large rooms equipped with bean bag chairs in the front and couches in the back. Muy comfortable.

At 5:30PM, the shows commenced, starting with a taping of Dennis Miller's new HBO Comedy Hour (airing in January 2006), followed by the private Jerry Seinfeld performance (he went for 1 hour and 20 minutes!), The Rudy Casoni Show (a Sinatra-like Las Vegas lounge act that is a new HBO concept being tested), a George Lopez performance, and capping off the night an "Adults Only" show hosted by Bill Maher and featuring Jeffrey Ross, Gilbert Gottfried, and Dom Irera. With the last show ending at 2AM, I figured I should try and get some sleep and succeeded - 4 and a half hours that night!

I should mention that one of the great pleasures of this trip was the ability to sit and read the NY Times from front to back at breakfast each morning. This should tell you something about how pitiful my life is if that was a highlight! I should also mention that while the days of $2.99 breakfast buffets in Vegas have gone the way of the Dodo, $11.95 at The Flamingo does buy you every kind of breakfast food imaginable plus a sirloin carving station, a nacho bar, a pasta bar, full salad bar, and stuffed filet of flounder. I guess they are catering to those just coming in from the evening as well.

Saturday morning was spent again playing Pai Gow Poker (Yes, it's true. Aside from walking between the two hotels which are across the strip from each other, I did not see any daylight but hey - this is Vegas, baby!). In the afternoon I caught a program of short films before returning to my room to change for the evening. That's where I met Alice. I found Alice sitting on the floor in the elevator lobby. Her shoes were off and she was rummaging through her bag. I went over to see if I could render any assistance and was treated to the sight of a pretty, quite voluptuous, very drunken woman. Alice was so drunk that she had trouble speaking clearly - forget about standing or walking. She couldn't find her key or the card that told her what room she was in. I doubt that if there was an elephant in her bag she would have found it. I found out that she was there with friends and was able to get the name of the one to whom the room was registered, called the front desk on my cell phone, and asked for the room. Alice tried speaking to her friend but couldn't seem to hold the phone right-side-up or with the front facing her. I took the phone and explained the situation to her friend, offering to escort Alice. I was given the room number and we managed to get into the elevator and arrived at the appropriate floor. As you may know, Vegas strip hotels are huge and the walk from the elevator to the room took about 10 minutes, not including stumbles. Along the way I found out that Alice was a flight attendant for United and was there with 6 of her flight attendant girlfriends. They had hired an Elvis impersonator to come to their suite a bit later to do a private performance. Alice encouraged me to join her and her friends for the evening. A little devil appeared on one of my shoulders saying, "Are you kidding me?!?! Seven flight attendants - at least one of them drunk - and you're being invited to spend the evening with them!" The little angel on my other shoulder won out and I delivered Alice to her room safe and sound, though I am sure she became very famiiar with the toilet shortly thereafter.

Then it was off to the last night of comedy, starting with the awarding of "The Comedian" - the festival's first annual award to an artist who has most influenced and furthered the art of comedy. The recipient was Jerry Seinfeld and the event was a Q&A session moderated by CNN's Anderson Cooper and featuring - in addition to Jerry Seinfeld - Robert Klein, Chris Rock, and Garry Shandling. This event was probably the highlight of the weekend as the banter and stories from these four was pure gold. There was much good-natured joking around, but also a serious side as they spoke of the challenges of stand-up and the life of a comedian.

Next up was Jon Stewart, followed by a double-bill of Carlos Mencia (from Comedy Central's "Mind of Mencia") and Pablo Francisco. The audience for this was quite younger than all of the other shows I had attended, drawing a lot of locals. The evening was capped off by Triumph the Insult Comic Dog's "Poopalooza" featuring a bevy of guests including Penn & Teller, a Neil Diamond impersonator, Jon Stewart, and magician Lance Burton.

The show ended at 2AM at which point can you guess what I did until 4AM? Can you also guess what I did for a couple of hours Sunday morning before leaving for the airport. Overall for the weekend I was up $25. Not bad considering that I drank only for the cost of tips!

While there were shows that I'm sorry I had to miss such as Dane Cook and Dave Chappelle, I had an absolute blast. Being alone was never a problem as I met nice fun people at every turn. I'll be back next year for sure!

Life Update - Job and Health

A number of people have mentioned that not only have I been scarce recently, but that my blog has not been updated in a while. True as it is, at least it’s for good reasons – sort of.

As you probably know I changed jobs in May. An opportunity came my way for what is essentially my dream job. I am running the New York office of a healthcare consulting firm based in Toronto. We have offices in Edmonton as well and starting next month, our first UK office will open. It is very exciting as I have my hands in a number of things including service delivery, business development, recruiting, management of the firm, and finding and building out a new office. We have a team of 20 people working in New York.

As my wife observed a couple of weeks ago, “I’ve never seen you work so hard, yet not complain a lick.” It’s true, and is a combination of loving the work, the people, and the culture of the company. It is truly a collaborative, collegial, and supportive organization filled with very smart, very passionate people and I am proud to be associated with it. That being said, I am working my brains out, and with many summer weekends at my in-laws pace on Fire Island, I have not been as present in my friends’ lives as I would like. At least I’m not traveling much any more . . .

While settling in, I had a somewhat un-settling thing happen to me earlier in the summer. Around mid-June I was having some unusual abdominal pains that were not going away (don’t worry – everything turned out okay). It was somewhat confounding and after about 3 weeks, I finally went to my doctor. After ruling out appendicitis and an intestinal infection, he was both confounded and confused. I was too and my anxiety was heightened by the fact that he couldn’t figure it out and that wanted me to have a CT scan.

Now this was a big deal for me. I am a bit of a baby when it comes to my own health so not only was I completely unnerved by imagining all of the worst case scenarios of what might be wrong with me, I was also worrying about the CT scan. It wasn’t the scan itself that bothered me, but the fact that it was to be with contrast. For those who don’t know, in order to have one’s insides show up better in a scan, there needs to be contrast material in those insides. For the abdomen, you don’t eat for a day and then are given a barium smoothie to drink (radioactive substance that essentially makes your intestines glow). For the pelvis, however, iodine-based contrast dye is given intravenously just prior to and during the scan.

I was most anxious about the dye. Aside from the fact that there are not-in-frequent cases of people being allergic to the dye with potentially life-threatening results, I have never had an IV before and I hate needles.

Upon arriving at the imaging center, I was given about 48 ounces of an apple-scented, chalky white substance to drink – the barium smoothie. Yum. When brought in for the scan, I was given the IV. Although I had a mild panic attack, due more to anticipatory anxiety than anything else, it went fine. At least I’m not afraid of IVs any more.

The funny part, however, were the breathing instructions for the scan itself. The technician, who cannot be in the room during the scan, told me to just relax and the machine would give me breathing instructions. It is a recorded voice, and I don’t know how they found this guy or where he was recorded, but it sounded like a conductor’s announcement on the Long Island Rail Road. With a lot of background noise, a very stereotypical Long Island-voiced older man says – almost yells – “Stay still, take uh deep brett, and hold it.” It was very hard to keep still while at the same time suppressing giggles. The scan lasted about 10 seconds, after which the train conductor came back over the speakers telling me, “You may now brede nohmally”. More giggles. I had to do this twice.

Lo and behold, the CT was negative. Just before seeing my doctor, I had been reading up on my symptoms and found that if it was something irritating my colon, then a liquid diet was in order. Doing that actually started to soothe some of the pain and my doctor told me to continue on it for a few days and then move to a bland diet. He was of the opinion that if these steps resolved my symptoms, then I likely had an irritated colon, cause unknown. If it didn’t, I would have to have a colonoscopy. Luckily my symptoms resolved, and I have lost some weight as part of the bargain. I’m not eating dairy, red meat, spicy or acidic foods, but my tummy is much better.

Speaking of colonoscopies (how’s THAT for a segue), it reminds me of the first time my mother had one. I had referred her to a physician whom I liked at NYU Medical Center. Rob is a very nice and very quiet fellow – the kind who is easily embarrassed and an atypical personality for a surgeon. My mother was on the table in the O.R. on her stomach, somewhat drowsy and loopy from medication, when she turned her head back just as Rob was about to invade her nether regions with the tools of the trade and said, “Does your mother know what you do for a living?” Love that story.

Long story short (or long story long), life is good. I love my job, I have my health, and in a few hours I leave to take my family to Disneyworld. Not bad if you ask me.

Cell Phone Rant

I gratefully acknowledge that cell phones are now a part of our life. While I remember getting along just fine without one, today’s speed of business and the realities of needing to be in touch with my family – particularly in case of emergency – make a cell phone a welcome addition to my wardrobe.

That being said, those who talk while driving (that “hands-free” operation makes it less dangerous is a complete and utter fallacy), those who use their phones in inappropriate places (the theater for example), and those who think that they must speak loudly or shout to be heard, all deserve my wrath. I had thought that the previous list covered most egregious errors in cell phone etiquette and judgment. I have been proven wrong.

With the advent and recently increased popularity of “walkie-talkie” type phones, I am now treated to hearing BOTH sides of what frequently should be a private conversation. The worst offenders – those who carry on such conversations in an elevator where the sound quality is better and the possibility of escape limited – are the ones who should really give second thought as to what it is there proximal neighbors are hearing. Last week in the elevator, I did not need to hear a woman quizzing her friend on how good the sex was on her friend’s date the previous night, nor did I need to hear the graphic and detailed answers. I’m no prude by any stretch of the imagination, but some people are, and there is always the chance of children being present and within earshot. I just don’t want my kids learning about the birds and the bees courtesy of Verizon.

Keep it in your pants! (the phone, that is . . .).

Father's Day

Upon arising on Father’s Day, my children flew into our bed with wishes of “Happy Father’s Day!” They then announced that I had the honor of choosing where we would go out for breakfast. First of all, I was not aware that we would be having breakfast out – Betsy then revealed to me that we had little or no breakfast foods in the house – and second of all, Sam and Molly were trying to influence my decision by repeating their own faves for breakfast over and over again.

I decided that I wanted to go to The Pink Tea Cup in the West Village. The Pink Tea Cup is barely bigger than a hole in the wall, but is famous for their soul food. They also serve what are probably the best grits available north of the Mason-Dixon. There was no traffic in the city that morning and we arrived just a few minutes after their 8:00AM opening time. Having the place to ourselves for a few minutes, we also took advantage of the R&B and Soul-oriented jukebox to play some Aretha, Stevie, and Earth, Wind & Fire.

It was still early and starting to become a beautiful day, so we strolled around the Village. We ended up at a playground at Bleecker and Hudson, primarily because we were waiting for the Magnolia Bakery across the street to open. Magnolia is known for their cupcakes (made even more famous by Sex and The City), and this is what Sam and Molly had their sights set on. Betsy and I, however, also know that they have excellent banana pudding and deciding to continue our foray in culinary treats from the south, we shared a cup. And it was only 10:30AM!

The real treat of the day – what made it the best Father’s Day I could ask for – was that around lunchtime, we decided to try and get Sammy on his bike without his training wheels. We had tried this briefly a few weeks ago, but met with much frustration due in large part to the fact that I had not researched this task enough. What I have since found out, is that when removing training wheels, the seat must also be lowered far enough so that the child can place both feet firmly on the ground. I had not done this the first time around, and can only imagine the fear and anxiety of a 7-year old trying to figure out how to balance on this big moving metal contraption when they can only touch the ground by stretching out their toes.

Lowering the seat really did the trick, and Sam became instantly comfortable. He did stop me at one point because I kept telling him that once he figured it out, it would seem so easy for him. He proceeded to lecture me on the fact that someone such as myself who has done this many times before may find it easy, but that I should remember that this is new to him, and even if he were to find it easy, “the devil might make it hard.” Pretty heady stuff coming from a 7-year old.

I am not exaggerating that it took Sam all of about 10 minutes to figure it out, including how to start off from a complete stop. He’s no Lance Armstrong yet, but he kept at it and gradually got more and more comfortable. I was beaming!!!

I should have expected that Molly would want to follow in her brother’s footsteps and she insisted that I remove her training wheels as well. I lowered her seat and we had some limited success with her. Unfortunately, all best efforts kept getting thwarted by the fact that she was wearing sandals and shorts. The pedals, which have little nubs on them to hold a sneaker in place, kept whacking her in the legs and hurting her. I give her a lot of credit because she wanted to keep at it. She knew what to do, having watched me instruct Sam, and I would guess that another couple of trips to the park will have her joining her brother in the two-wheeled world.

For dinner, my brother-in-law Mark came over with his family and we were joined by my in-laws. I went up to Dinosaur BBQ and brought home a feast, topped off by a cake made by Betsy and an original Father’s Day skit created and performed by the four cousins. Not a bad way to spend this “Hallmark holiday” if you ask me.

Remembering Memorial Day

For most Americans, Memorial Day is the unofficial kick-off to summer. The first barbecue. A long weekend. Time to start wearing white again. Perhaps a sale that you've been waiting for so you can afford the big-screen television.

Having grown-up in relative peacetime, the Memorial Day parade on Riverside Drive to the Soldiers and Sailors Monument on 89th Street was an opportunity to watch older men marching along, carrying ceremonial wreaths to lay at the monument. I didn't know anyone who had been lost at war. I could not relate.

As we start this "holiday" weekend, it is important that we take at least a moment to realize that in the past few years, a whole new crop of soldiers - over a thousand - have given their lives for something they believed in. These were men and women - virtually all of them younger than me - who joined the armed forces out of a desire to either better themselves or to better their country. They chose a noble path and met with the ultimate sacrifice. And all of this for a war most of us feel was uncalled for. A tragedy no matter how we look at it.

So enjoy your time off, enjoy that grilled burger. Smell the sea air. Just take a moment to remember that in the last century there were thousands upon thousands of men and women who put their lives on the line to preserve something we generally take for granted. Remember that we hope we never again have to use their services. And remember that they have gone to their final rest fighting for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. They will not be enjoying a day at the beach this weekend, nor will their families. It is the least we can do to remember that the word "memorial" implies that a loss has been suffered. It is the least we can do to pause and say "thank you" from our hearts.

Farewell Houston

I finished my nine-week assignment in Houston this past week. I left not because the project was completed, but because I have left the company I was working for to accept an offer of a great new job that will also keep me mostly local.

While I am excited about the new opportunity, I did have a great experience in Houston (travel aside) because I had a great team to work with. I had inherited a project that had gone bad and with the help of the team, was able to turn it around and get it back on track.

The hospital and hotel we were at are all part of a section of Houston called Texas Medical Center which is right next to Rice University. About a mile from the hotel is a four square-block collection of shops and restaurants called Rice Village. The previous week we had gone to a great tapas restaurant called Mi Luna in Rice Village. Everything about it was great and festive, including the food, the drink (we had Sangritas - a mixture of margheritas and sangria), and the entertainment. The live music was provided by a pair of classical guitarists - Garcia y Reyna - playing modern classical guitar. They were so good, most of us bought their CD - "Baile del Sol" - on the spot.

For my last night in Houston, I was asked to choose where we would all go out and I chose to return to Mi Luna as we knew that Garcia y Reyna would be there again (they play every Wednesday night). It was even better than the previous week. This time, they had a percussionist with them that played the Cajon - a wooden box that is sat upon, with guitar strings behind the front face which when struck in different places, produces varying sounds. We went through several pitchers of Sangritas and everyone was drumming along on every possible surface. We met two other fellows - Javier and Marco - who are friends of the musicians, and Javier sings with them sometimes. They were even louder than we were, singing along and Javier playing the spoons. Javier is from Bolivia and we spent some time chatting. At the end of the night, he gave me a big hug and told me to say hello to everyone in New York.

It was a little tough walking back to the hotel that night, and it wasn't just the alcohol, spicy food, and music humming through my body. As happy as I was to be getting off the road, it was also the sadness associated with leaving a great bunch of people with whom I had achieved some real results. I may not miss the Marriott, but I will miss the people, the camraderie, and nights at Mi Luna. Farewell, Houston.

Thanks, Richard!

I spoke to my very good friend Richard Stoerger yesterday and the subject of my blog came up. Richard reminded me that he was the very first person to post a comment to one of my entries (see "The Gates" in February 2005), but felt slighted because I had not acknowledged this ceremonious event.

T H A N K Y O U, R I C H A R D ! ! ! ! !

Even In Death, Aunt Judy Keeps Me Laughing

My aunt Judy passed away two weeks ago. As posted here previously, she was diagnosed in February with cancer that had metastisized and was given a terminal prognosis. She spent two months in hospice care and passed quietly and peacefully.

Growing up, I have some very distinct of memories of Judy. First, she was a court stenographer for a good bit of her adult life, continuing on to become a legal secretary. When I was little, she would let me play with her stenographer's machine, trying to help me understand what the combinations of vowels and consanants translated to. She would do much of her transcription at home and had an early-model IBM Selectric typewriter which she also let me play with. I would watch her doing her transcription sometimes and I have never before and never since, seen anybody type as fast as she did.

Judy was also a voracious reader of both fiction and non-fiction, and probably kept the Book of the Month Club in business for many years. Same for costume jewelry manufacturers as she had a thing for rings (most of which my daughter Molly has now inherited).

My most beloved memory, however, was that a few times a year, my brother and I would have a "date" with aunt Judy where she would take us to lunch and then to a movie or show. These were very special times. Judy was not a parent and treated us like adults, and we loved these ventures. The key is that Judy always took us to see something funny. It was not that Judy was such a funny person, but she had a deep understanding and appreciation of comedy - something that runs deep in my family. It was my aunt that took us to see "Young Frankenstein" when it opened in 1974, and she also took us to see Monty Python live at City Center, also in the 70's. We had such great seats that I could touch John Cleese as he cavorted in the aisles.

This past Saturday, my uncle Gary and I went to pick-up Judy's cremated remains. From the funeral parlor, we went to her apartment to start going through her things. While there, Gary's wife Gail called to tell us that the funeral parlor was frantic and that they wanted us to contact them immediately. Only one thing could have possibly inspired such a call and sure enough, when we checked the name on the box in the shopping bag that had been given to Gary, it wasn't Judy's. They had given us someone else's ashes.

Thankfully, the ashes were intact and we were able to come back and exchange them for Judy's remains. As I've said in the past, my family believes in finding humor in everything and since there were no unfortunate outcomes, we couldn't help but giggle at the circumstances, and believe that in her own inspired way, Judy had given us just one more laugh.

A Conversation With Mikey

My 8 year-old nephew Mikey recently visited the Hirschorn Museum in Washington D.C. with his class to see a modern art exhibit. This is an excerpt of his conversation with my brother Doug after he picked him up from school that day:

Doug: How was the museum trip?
Mikey: GREAT!
D: Which artists' work did you see?
M: Lots. Pablo Picasso, Mary Cassat, and Jackson Pollack, who slides around painting with his butt.
D: Which was your favorite?
M: Andy Warthog
D: Did you see anything else while you were downtown?
M: Yeah, we went to the FDR memorial, which was really cool.
D: Do you know who FDR was?
M: Yes, Dad, of course I do. He was a President.
D: Do you know what FDR stands for?
M: Of course I do. His name. Franklin Delaware Rosenfeld.

Greetings From France - The Final Chapter

Friday, our last full day in France, was one of the most interesting and diverse.

We started out with local market day in Riberac, the nearest town of substance (about 10 kms away) to where Peter and Helen live. Local market have been held for centuries, with each town having its own day. Vendors did not have permanent storefronts, and instead they would move from town to town. It is the mountain coming to Mohammed. Riberac is not a town of note historically, but rather a commercial center for the area and market day serves as a social event as much as a shopping opportunity. The town square is closed to traffic and vendors selling everything from fruit & vegetables, to meat, fish, & game, to baked goods, and all of the local specialties (walnuts, honey, foie gras). The emphasis here is on fresh. There are also vendors selling household items, and some entertainment provided by a trio of clowning men who made their way through the area. It was great fun and although it harkens back to an older time before the advent of supermarkets, we were constantly brought back to the present by the fact that the French air force has a fighter jet training base nearby and very loud F-16s were performing exercises above us.

From there it was on to Les Eyzies, a small town that serves as a tourist base for the pre-historic attractions in that area of the Dordogne. We had lunch at a wonderful restaurant called La Metarie, again taking a menu of local specialties including garlic soup, pate Perigourd, and confit de canard.

With our full stomachs, we went to the first of the two main pre-historic cave sites in the area, Grotte de Font-de-Gaume. Discovered in 1901, Font-de-Gaume is a cave about 250 yards up the side of a hill that contains some of the most amazing polychrome paintings and engravings. What makes them amazing is first that they are about 14,000 years old. The other amazing thing is that the paintings are all of animals and utilize modern techniques for representing the subjects in three dimensions. For instance, a very detailed picture of a horse, utilizes the natural curve of the cave wall, to represent how the hind quarters and rump rise from the back. It is hard to describe, but was probably one of the most exciting parts of our trip. The 45-minute tour is limited to 12 people at a time and must be reserved way in advance (hats off to Betsy who took care of this). The group size limits and other great care is taken to ensure that the caves are not damaged by the introduction of humans trekking through constantly.

The artists of these works did not live in the cave. Firstly, it would have been too dark and somber, and historians believe that it was treated as more of a sanctuary or holy site. It is believed that the artists worked in the caves by oil lamp, and this is supported by formations that served as natural chimneys for the smoke of these lamps. The tour was in French, but our guide spoke quite clearly and I was able to understand about 90% of what she was saying.

During the hour we had between our reservations at the two sites, Betsy made a quick visit to the Pre-Historic Museum (subject matter is very old - the museum is pretty new and very modern) in Les Eyzies. It was a glorious day and I preferred to wander through town in the sunshine.

Nearby is Grotte des Combarelles, another cave site but in this one, the figures are etched into the stone, rather than painted. There are pictures of horses, bison, wooly mammoths, and rhinoceroses among others. There is also an occasional humanoid figure. The guide for this site spoke much faster and with a bit of a lisp. I only caught about 70% of what he said.

What is very interesting and still perplexing to historians is that in each of these two caves, there are occasionally found (both painted and etched) a triangular pyramid-like geometric shape. It is the only geometric shape found in the area, though other geometric shapes have been found in other areas of Europe. It is speculated that these might have been symbols of particular tribes of people, but it begs the question why all of the figures are drawn in free-form and no other geometric shapes depicted.

I think UFOs landed nearby.

Since we had a bit of time, we chose to take back roads all the way to Peter and Helen's, and it was beautiful. We passed mainly through farm country on roads with very few other cars.

Returning to Chez Berczeller, Peter urged us to soak our weary bodies in their outdoor hot tub. The air temperature was hovering in the upper 40s and low 50s and I had never used a hot tub in such brisk weather. We tried it anyway and boy, was it a treat! No pun intended as Peter is an MD, but it was just what the doctor ordered. I stayed in longer than Betsy and when I got out, I had thought that I would be freezing, but Peter assured me that my body would still be warm for a while. He was correct, and I stood in a cool breeze surveying the valley from the stone patio and listening only to the sounds of birds chirping. It was one of those moments when you realize that life is good.

Another great dinner prepared by Helen was preceded by a single malt scotch tasting. Okay, so it was only Peter and I drinking it, but the whiskey, the food, the wine, and the company were a wonderful and warm way to wrap up our trip to France. We slept well that night.

Rising before the sun on Saturday morning, we made our way to the airport in Bordeaux in the rain. I have mentioned the rain before, but what is truly amazing is that I can now state categorically that it rained only 6 times during our trip, but never on us. Three times were while we were driving and three times during the night. We had amazing luck.

Even the trip to the airport was pleasant. First of all, filling up the gas tank before returning the car, I calculated that even at $5.50/gallon for diesel, our big - by French standards - car got about 50 miles to the gallon (combination of diesel engine and manual transmission). Our other observation was that it seemed like any available space in and around Bordeaux, had grapes growing on it. At the airport, a small patch of land (maybe 15 X 15 feet) in the corner where the terminal building takes a jog to the right, had grapes growing.

Domestic airport security seemed to be less rigorous than US standards as we boarded our flight from Bordeaux to Paris. Arriving in Paris, however, we went through a more detailed security procedure, including being asked a series of questions at the boarding gate by security personnel. At neither airport, however, did anyone have to remove their shoes.

We had about 45 minutes to kill in the Air France lounge and had a celebrity sighting. Well, maybe not a celebrity, but Kato Kaelin certainly stood out with the even more un-natural coloring of his hair. Remember him from the OJ Simpson case? At least we did. And at least he was not on our flight.

A smooth flight home and we were re-united with our kids by 6PM on Saturday.

All in all, it was a great trip. We spent time with people we love, doing interesting things, seeing beautiful places, and eating wonderful food. Exactly what a vacation should be. Okay, so I would have preferred some spa time in there at some point . . .

Thanks for reading.

Greetings From France - Part 6

I have to stop talking about what wonderful luck with the weather we have been having, because it is at the expense of the French. They have been having a drought and there are parts of the country under severe water restrictions.

That being said, it was another great day! It did rain a bit on our way home, but we were on the Autoroute (French equivalent of an interstate) with no traffic. It also rained just before we went to bed, but this morning (Friday) it is clear and sunny.

We started out by driving to Sarlat in the heart of the Dordogne. Sarlat is one of the biggest towns in the area, having grown up around the original medieval city. We ventured into the old part of town and it reminded me a bit of Tuscan villages. Stores everywhere hawk foie gras and duck confit as this is the section of France from where it all comes. We had a lunch of local specialties in an outdoor restaurant. These included a garlic soup, an escargot cassoulet, pate, magre de canard, local sheep's milk cheese, and walnut cake (this is also the region that produces most of France's walnuts).

Then, we were off to Domme, a city built on a high hill overlooking the Dordogne River. A 13th century village, its sole purpose today is for tourism and it is understandable why. A beautiful drive up the hill takes you to one of the gates of the walled city. Once inside, the quaint village and shops surround a park set on the edge of the cliff with gorgeous views in three directions.

Next stop was Chateau Castlenaud, a castle not far from Domme. Originally built in the 1200's, the castle has been added to through the 1600's. We were able to go through most of it and I think that it was probably the first time I have ever been in a castle. I was more interested in the history and architecture, but there are a lot of exhibits having to do with weaponry and what was worn during battle (think armour and chain-mail). Again, glorious views of the Dordogne valley were provided. My main observation was that the people of the time had to have been shorter and with smaller feet as traipsing up and down the circular stairs within the castle's towers was an exercise in foot placement and could have been claustrophobia-inducing for some.

Leaving the castle, I had my first (and so far only) negative experience with driving stick. I stalled out on a hill (facing up) - a classic test for those learning to drive a manual transmission car. It was an anxiety-producing event as there were blind curves both in front and behind and my frantic efforts to get us out of there kept causing me to accidentally try and get the car started in third instead of first. After about 5 minutes which seemed like an hour, we were again on our way, but not without my sweating bullets.

On to another chateau at Beynac-et Cazenac. I decided to sit this one out and catch up on my reading - especially since I was a bit tired after doing battle with that hill. Betsy went in and was not very impressed so we were on our way agin shortly.

Our last stop of the day was in the town of La Roque-Gageac. It is not really a town, per se, because the 449 inhabitants live in homes built into the side of a cliff along the Dordogne River. It is quite an amazing sight, especially given that the origins of the town can be traced back to the 700's AD. You are free to climb up the paths that lead to the charming little homes, and take in the beautiful view.

I never thought that I would encounter rush-hour traffic in the French countryside, but that is exactly what happened. We had to drive back through Sarlat which, as I have mentioned, is one of the bigger cities in the area. We must have sat in stop and go traffic (made all the more fun with a manual transmission . . .) for over 15 minutes.

We made it home a few minutes late for another wonderful meal with Peter and Helen - confit de canard, along with an Austrian wine from the village in which Peter's dad grew up and more local cheeses. A good night sleep was then had by all.

I don't know if I will have a chance to post again before returning home. Today we are off to a local market and then to some pre-historic caves. We leave very early tomorrow morning to make our flight from Bordeaux to Paris, connecting back to NYC. Will blog once more about trip in the next few days. Thanks for reading!

Greetings From France - Part 5

Today was a transition day.

We packed up our things and left the Marriott bound for the train station in Montparnasse. Again, our luck with weather continued and we also had good traffic kharma. The president of Portugal had been in town, tieing up traffic whenever his motorcade went somewhere. We passed the George V where he was staying just prior to his gridlock-producing departure and we arrived at le gare in only a few minutes.

The train ride itself was beautiful, watching the scenery change from urban to suburban, and finally to glorious fields of green. A quick 2 and one half hours later and we were in Angouleme from where we were picking up our rental car.

Many businesses in France are closed from 12PM to 2PM for lunch - similar to the Italian siesta period. This includes the Hertz office in Angouleme. Knowing this ahead of time and not wanting to wait an hour for our car (we arrived shortly after 1PM), Peter Berczeller had called the local Hertz office a couple of weeks ago and told them that we were on a tight schedule and had to get to Riberac for a wedding. Voila, the papers were waiting for us at the hotel next door.

I don't remember whether we had reserved a compact or intermediate size car, but my elite status at Hertz gained us an upgrade to a Citroen Picasso. The Picasso is a five-seater with a large hatchback trunk and is not much smaller than our Toyota Matrix at home. We fit ourselves and all of our bags in quite easily. After about 10 minutes trying to figure out some basic necessities like how to turn on the lights and wipers, and figuring out what the warning light on the dashboard meant (Parking Brake Is On!), we took off. Bear in mind that I have not driven stick in about 20 years and we only had a couple of stall outs. By the end of the day I was much more comfortable.

Heading south, we first visited the 16th century town of Brantome. Normally crowded with tourists, we managed to hit the area during off-season and enjoyed this sleepy little town on the Drone river. It was also a challenge for my new driving skills - trying to combine getting used to stick shift with understanding French road signs, and navigating streets in towns like Brantome meant only for a horse and carriage at most. We survived.

While I could only take in the scenery when we were on a straightaway, what I did see was absolutely gorgeous. When you view the masterpieces produced by the Impressionists, this is the area that is the subject of their paintings. Even the light and the way it plays over the landscape is magnificent and reminds me of the quality of the light in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Betsy had accurately predicted that I would love it and I can understand why people eschew Paris for a trip to the French countryside only.

The next stop was Chateau de Puyguilhem. By the time we had reached there, I was tired from the stress of my new driving responsibilities and the tour was in French only, so Betsy went and I was quite content to spend a bit of time on a beautiful spring afternoon reading my book.

After the tour, we made our way towards Riberac and the home of Peter and Helen Berczeller. Located in the rolling hills outside of Riberac, their home - originally built in 1630 - has a Tuscan feel in terms of the archictecture. It is a large and beautiful home that looks like a lived-in museum. Filled with objets d'art and the things that one collects over the course of a lifetime, it is at the same time a warm and hospitable oasis. The kitchen, where we had a wonderful dinner, is my favorite room as it combines modern conveniences with a large table and fireplace that just feels like home. Betsy and I are staying in "le pigeonnier" (thanks to Sabine for the spelling correction!), a separate building in which the owners of such homes in the 16th century kept their pigeons. The larger the "pigeonnier", the more wealthy a man was presumed to be. Peter and Helen, our most excellent hosts, have turned it into a guest cottage.

There is no bathroom in the small building where we are staying and so we must walk a few feet outside into the main house to use the facilities. I had to do so in the middle of the night, but had to just stop, look, and listen when I made it into the cool night air. The sky was clear with an abundance of stars, but the most amazing thing was the silence. It was absolute. As much as I appreciated and was in awe of it, the city boy in me eventually came out and it actually made me feel slightly uncomfortable. In New York, even at 4AM with no traffic at all, there is still a palpable hum and I guess that is what I am accustomed to. I returned to bed thinking, "It's quiet. Too quiet."

More later.

Greetings From France - Part 4

Another spectacular day in Paris. Sixty-two degrees and sunny. Supposedly, the rain comes tomorrow, just as we are leaving for the Dordogne.

This was the first day that Betsy and I have had to ourselves. Not that we didn't immensely enjoy the company of our family and friends, but it was nice to spend some time together alone.

Started out with a walk to Le Madeleine, stopping along the way at some of Betsy's favorite food haunts including Fauchon, Hadrien and Maison de la Truffe. We then wandered over to a children's wear store near L'Opera that Betsy had been tipped off to. I have mixed feelings about this stop on our itinerary as we are now carrying two very heavy bags of children's clothes on to the Dordogne and then back to New York. Granted, they were a great value and my kids will be incredibly well dressed, but c'mon!

Speaking about our kids, we are somewhat disappointed that they don't seem to be missing us. We take it as a sign that we have raised them to be emotionally strong individuals and have provided excellent care for them in our absence. Either that, or we're lousy parents. It would be nice, however, to have at least one tear shed . . .

After buying out the clothing shop we continued East to the Bourse area and found a local fresh market. We wandered some more and ended up at a simple little bar for a simple little lunch which was all our simple souls desired. Nothing fancy, just good food and good wine (yes, we have quickly become quite accustomed to having wine with every meal lunch and dinner).

For the afternoon, we each had our own agendas. Betsy wanted to find some seeds for vegetables and flowers she can't find in the US and I wanted to sit for an hour or two with a cup of coffee and a book, and watch the world go by. The problem was that I volunteered to drag the bags of kid's clothes (remember those?) back to the hotel first. It wasn't the long walk laden with packages that was causing me concern, but rather that I wanted to find a cafe afterwards that was far from the maddening crowds of the Champs Elysees and devoid of tourists. As it happened, I did not have to go too far and found a nice little cafe in a residential area on Avenue Marceau. There were no tourists and no one speaking English. Even the waiter continued to speak to me in French after I butchered my conversation with him. I spent a lovely hour there.

Later, more walking around and shopping in the area with Betsy before meeting up with Sabine for dinner way out East not too far from the Bastille. It was a bistro that had been mentioned in the April issue of Gourmet magazine and lived up to its description as having "inexpensive but fabulous food".

It is now Tuesday night (actually, very very early Wednesday morning) and our visit to Paris draws to a close. Tomorrow, we take the TGV to Angouleme, pick-up a rental car, and drive to our friends' house in Riberac in the Dordogne section of France. It has been a long time since I drove a car with manual transmission, so as long as I don't burn out the clutch my next report will be from there.

Au revoir.

Greetings From France - Supplement

There are some odds and ends about our trip that I have neglected to include in my daily journaling and therefore offer them here.

Betsy's Quest for Chocolates

I don't know if this have ever happened to you, but inevitably when we have traveled in the past, there is always an article about our destination in a magazine or newspaper immediately after we return. Since we planned this trip so far in advance, however, we have been able to keep our eyes peeled for articles of interest for this trip. For instance, the NY Times ran a brief blurb in the Sunday travel section a few months ago about the neo-Impressionism exhibit at the Musee D'Orsay.

That being said, Betsy has been scouring not only traditional news sources, but of particular interest to her were articles that appeared in food and travel magazines such as Bon Appetit and Gourmet. Consequently, she came armed not only with names of restaurants, but also very high-end chocolate shops.

We have been on a chocolate hunt and although I have not yet seen the film "Sideways", I suspect that we have had a similar experience but with chocolate instead of wine. We have visited many shops and to be honest, although I have always been satisfied with a Hershey bar, I have a new appreciation for the finer points and subtleties of very fine chocolate. We have spent much time in these shops, discussing with the staff the varieties and flavors. It has often taken us 15 minutes to choose 6 pieces, and another 15 minutes to sample them and discuss them (at roughly a dollar for each very small piece, it's a good thing that we only sampled 6 at a time). I never thought that I could have such discussions over chocolate, but the flavor blends that have been achieved by these master craftsmen is truly amazing.


Things That Have Changed In Paris

It has been 12 years since my first visit to Paris and 9 years since the last time that Betsy and I were here together. We have noticed the following changes:

More Casual

Paris has become more casual . It is still the fashion capital of Europe (and some would argue, the world), but people seem to be dressing more casually. Part of this appears to be the adoption of American styles of dress, including more youthful fashions and the American Business casual uniform of kakhis and an oxford shirt. Not good or bad - just different, but it does make it harder to pick out the American tourists as some of the French now blend in with them.

Less Smoking

It used to be that one would notice a restaurant because it did NOT smell of smoke, and there was nary a "No Smoking" sign to be seen anywhere. Now, the reverse is true. Restaurants have separate smoking and non-smoking sections, and most people are not smoking. It is to the point that one notices when someone is smoking in a restaurant instead of an often pervasive haze. Everywhere else, there are "No Smoking" signs present and fewer people in general smoking.

Quicker Pace

Not that Paris was ever slow, but life seems to be moving faster, mirroring simiar changes in America. This is particularly evident in the number of foods available "A Emporter" ("To Go") and the number of people eating sandwiches as they walk at lunchtime. Even at Fauchon, the bastion of fine food, the wares were originally food that you would take home and cook. They have now converted virtually all of their sales space to prepared foods and meals that you can simply heat up at home or office.

Even Smaller Cars

Cars have always been smaller in Europe, and particularly France, due to the narrow size of the streets. Add to this the exceptionally high cost of gas (about $7/gallon) and the premium for parking, and the need for even smaller cars has gotten greater. When I was here 4 years ago, Renault's "Twingo" was very popular. It is a 4-seater that is roughly the size of a Volkswagon Beetle. Now, the popular small car is the "Smartcar" - a two seater that is shorter than a motorcycle. Imagine the front of a minivan, with the driver and passenger sitting high, but cut off immediately behind the seats and no trunk. For city driving and parking, it is especially convenient. To give you an idea of how prevalent small cars are here, I saw a Mini Cooper and it looked HUGE.

Improved Hygienic Technology

I don't know if it is a sad statement that I have noticed two improvements in the bathrooms of France. First of all, many newer toilets offer two different types of flushes - a low volume flush and a high volume flush. Presumably, this is an effort to conserve water based on what it is one is flushing. The other improvement - one that is near and dear to my heart - is that the technology to produce softer toilet paper has apparently started to catch on in France. It still ain't Charmin, but it isn't sandpaper anymore either.

That's all for now. More braindroppings as they occur.

Greetings From France - Part 3

Well, our third day in France started out well.

The Marriott continues to amaze me as a bastion of America on the Champs Elysees. I really did not come to France to have USA Today in front of my door in the morning! At least it's the International Edition which means that the weather page covers European and Asian locales instead of US cities. Oh well . . .

We started out another atypically beautiful day by visiting the Picasso Museum in Le Marais with Sabine and Claude. It is a great museum that truly gives one a sense for the scope of his work through the years and in all different mediums. As mentioned previously, there was a special exhibit comparing the work of Francis Bacon with his inspirations in Picasso's work. It was a special treat to visit with Claude who is an artist and art educator. She pointed out things about both content and technique that I might have missed otherwise and was a good companion with which to discuss my observations.

Claude left us there and Sabine, Betsy and I met my cousin Marc for lunch at Le Souffle. Betsy had found a write-up of the restaurant which specializes in - can you guess it - souffles! We had a souffle tasting menu which consisted of an appetizer souffle (we all had morrels), a salad, a main course souffle (I had seafood, Betsy had foie gras), and a dessert souffle (I had mandarine orange, Betsy had apples with Calvados). The meal must have had 73 egg whites per person.

Sabine left us after lunch and we wandered East with Marc with our original intention to get to the flower stalls near Chatelet. We were almost there when we ran into people we know.

Now Paris is not such a huge city, but it isn't small by any means. We were walking near the Seine just East of the Louvre when we literally bumped into Alon and Betsy Kasha. Alon went to college with Betsy's brother Mark and he and his wife Betsy later ended up living on the same floor of the same apartment building as Mark in the mid-90s. They have been friends for a long time and we had forgotten that they recently moved to Paris. They were on their way to pick up their children Sarah (6) and Simon (5) from school, and so we joined them. It was a treat to do something as ordinary as picking up kids from school, and Sarah and Simon are sweet, bright, funny and adorable. They spoke almost no French when they moved here in September and are now as fluent as their classmates. It is always amazing to me how easily kids can learn foreign languages.

We accompanied the Kasha family back to their beautiful apartment on the Left Bank (Interior design is one of Alon's many talents) for a visit and to embarass my brother-in-law Mark. Alon called Mark in his office in NY regarding another matter. Mark told Alon that Betsy and I were visiting Paris and Alon asked why Mark had not had us look them up. Mark responded that "It wasn't necessary" and Alon then placed his sister Betsy on the phone.

'Tis a small world.

Cousin Marc left us to meet his boyfriend Stephane and Betsy and I walked back towards our hotel through the Tuilleries. There was a beautiful late afternoon sun and plenty of people enjoying it as we walked through this gorgeous urban oasis. Before stopping at the hotel, we went to visit Samuel, Sabine's son who works at one of the family's art house movie theaters on the Champs Elysees. We got a tour of the theater including my first ever visit to a projectionist's booth. Now, I was a geek on the AV squad in school, setting up old Bell & Howell 16mm movie projectors in classrooms. This was geek's wet dream and I was like a kid in a candy store. I have a new found respect for those in the business as the process of showing films requires a skill of which I was not aware.

It was then off to meet Marc and Stephane for dinner about as far South in Paris as you can go without crossing the city line. The restaurant, La Regulade, was another treat (Betsy was 2 for 2 yesterday!) - a small but bustling and homey restaurant where you were close enough to other tables to join in their conversation. A good meal was had by all.

The day, unfortunately, ended on a very sad note. While at dinner, I received an e-mail on my Blackberry from my uncle Gary. My aunt Judy had passed away that morning. As noted in previous posts, my aunt had been diagnosed with cancer about 2 and a half months ago with a terminal prognosis. She was moved into hospice care with a prediction that she would live for approximately 3 to 6 months. We all knew from seeing her that it would likely be even less and she proved us right. Consequently, we were emotionally prepared. I had visited with my aunt every week since her diagnosis and saw that she was quietly slipping away. She is now at peace and hopefully keeping my father and her parents company in a better place.

More later . . .

Greetings From France - Part 2

We are very lucky! Thankfully, Sunday morning Sabine turned on the TV and was reminded that the Paris marathon was being run - and on the Champs-Elysees, right in front of our hotel. We knew that here was no way that we would be able to drive into Paris and drop our bags at the hotel, so we drove to the RER station - the commuter rail system - in St. Germain and took a 25 minute ride to L'Etoille - the Arc de Triomphe - which is only a few blocks from our hotel. We are staying at the Marriott Champs Elysees, again for free, using points I have accumulated through all of my business travel. It is a 5 star hotel and the only disappointment is that everyone speaks English (guest and staff).

I have been doing better than I expected with my French. I find that when someone speaks to me in French, I respond in French, and the same with English. Sabine and her sister Claude have been very good about making sure that I practice by sometimes switching to French, and speaking clearly and slowly. I have surprised myself by how much comes back so quickly.

Our room at the hotel is small to average size by US standards, but huge by French standards. It is a fine hotel, but we spent only a few minutes there before heading out to our first stop - the Musee D'Orsay. By the way, I am using a computer at the Marriott now to write this and they are equipped with American-layout keyboards. Yet another reminder that we are in an American hotel, but I can type much faster on it. The only downside is that I don't have French accented characters.

We had tickets for the neo-Impressionism exhibit at the museum and consequently were able to jump a line of about 200 people. The exhibit was wonderful and very well-laid out. The audio guide was available in French only so only Sabine and Betsy took one. My French was good enough to allow me to read the placards in the exhibit so I did not miss much. It was well organized and the largest collection of the style that I have ever seen. Since the movement started in Paris, much of the subject matter was local. We had lunch in a cafe at the top of the museum, overlooking the Seine through the face of a large clock (the museum was once a rail station).

Sabine left us there and Betsy and I took a long walk along the Seine, crossing over at Ile de la Cite to stop in Notre Dame. We have been there before, but no matter how many times one sees it, it is easy to be amazed by the size and grandeur. There were countless candles lit for the pope and there were organ auditions being held while we were there, adding to the majesty.

From there we continued to Ile St. Louis and sampled some Berthillion's ice cream - the best in France and native to Ile St. Louis. We dawdled through the wonderful shops and sidestreets in the area and made our way to Le Marais - the Jewish section of town.

When Betsy lived here many years ago, she dated Sacha Finkelsztajn who now owns one of the most famous patisseries specializing in Yiddish and Jewish products (They are even listed in the Michelin Green Guide as a highlight). We have visited the shop in Le Marais several times on previous visits and were excited to find Sacha's father at the store. He and his wife had adopted Betsy as their own when she and Sacha were dating and he and his wife were so pleased to see her and spend some time chatting with us. We were sent on our way with a very heavy box of sweet treats.

We then went to meet Sabine, J-F, two of her children Sammy and Nicole, her mother Laura and her sister Claude for dinner. We ate at a Morrocan cous-cous restaurant in the 8th and it was truly a treat. As many cuisines as one can sample in NYC, it is still hard to find a good, authentic cous-cous and we enjoyed both the meal and the comapny, sampling some Algerian wine in the process. There is also an uncanny family resemblance between Betsy, Sabine, and Claude. If you saw them individually, you would never guess that they were related, but when they are lined up next to each other, the resemblance is uncanny - especially between Betsy and Claude. Whenever we are together, we take a picture of the three of them to show how it continues through the ages. Molly once looked at one of the earlier pictures, turned to Betsy, and asked if that was her sister.

One of my favorite aspects of Paris is that it is the most walkable city I know. New York is very walkable, but Paris is prettier and more charming. Consequently, we took the Metro only once, and that was because we were running a little late to meet the family for dinner.

After a day in which we walked several miles, we got to bed around midnight and although Betsy is still asleep in the room (it is 8:30AM local time), I seem to have adjusted quite well and quite quickly to the time change. We are also lucky in that the weather forecast when we arrived indicated rain for our entire time in Paris, but we have not seen any yet. Yesterday was somewhat overcast and today is supposed to be sunny and 62 degrees. Ahh, April in Paris!

Today we are off to the Picasso museum for a special exhibit showing how the artist Francis Bacon used many of Picasso's works as inspiration for his own. We are meeting my cousin Marc for lunch at a restaurant called Le Souffle for a 3 course meal, each one consisting of,you guessed it - a souffle! I shudder at what my cholesterol count will be upon our return.

More tomorrow!!

Greetings From France - Part 1

Betsy and I finally left on our very first vacation without the kids on Friday 8 April (notice use of European dating format . . . acclimating already). I'll try to blog at least a couple of times while away. Much will depend on access to a computer, as well as my ability to get used to a French keyboard layout (Typing just this much so far has been quite a challenge!)

We left on Friday evening after securing the kids with my in-laws. They were so excited at the prospect of spending the weekend with their grandparents and the week with their favorite babysitter, Isabel, that our departure was more of an afterthought, and that was just the way we hoped it would be. We, of course, were a little bit more shaky having never left them for so long. Much of that anxiety was washed away when Betsy got to experience Delta's BusinessElite class of service. I travel a lot (which is how we got the miles to fly up front) and have flown in BusinessElite, but Betsy had never had the pleasure. Betsy actually slept for a few hours and I managed to doze for a bit.

Jean-François, the husband of Betsy's cousin Sabine, was kind enough to pick us up at the airport and take us to their house in Marly le Roi in the Paris suburbs. They have a great big light-filled contemporary house in a beautiful suburb that is similar to the NYC suburb of Westchester. We had the opportunity to sit and schmooze with Sabine who is the best possible combination of cultures having grown up on NY's Upper West Side until she was 13 before moving to Paris. She is one of my favorite people in the world and although her daughter Nicole still lives at home, two of her three sons came over for lunch to see us, including Amelie - son Louis' fiancée. Everybody enjoyed the Kraft macaroni and cheese we brought - a perrenial favorite in Sabine's house which is difficult to find here!

Betsy has always been pretty fluent in French. She has been taking a refresher conversation class the past few months, and it shows. Her French is superb and makes my feeble attempts to converse sound like a 2 year-old.

We spent the better part of the day just catching up, but given that it was a glorious - if not chilly - afternoon, Betsy and I took a walk around the neighborhood before joining Sabine for a short drive to the town of Saint Germain en Laye - the hub of the area. We met up with my cousin Marc and his partner Stephane who live in St. Germain and the 5 of us bopped around the lively little town. We sampled some outrageously good macaroons which were even better than Laduré's and then walked the grounds of the castle where King Louis XIV was born. There is a beautiful view overlooking the Seine with Paris in the distance.

For dinner, we headed into Paris with Sabine and J-F to a bistro owned by Alain Ducaisse for a meal of Lyonnaise food. The food was quite nice but the rumour we had heard - that it was quite popular with Americans - was very true. There was more English being spoken there then one would normally have found in a New York restaurant!

Well, Betsy and I actually made it through a pretty full day day without a nap and got a good solid night of sleep. I am hoping that we will adjust fairly easily to the time change. Today we move to our hotel in Paris for 3 nights and have tickets to the neo-Impressionists exhibit at the Musée d'Orsay. Tonight, we meet up with Sabine's mother Laura and sister Claude for some good Morrocan cous-cous.

More later when I can. A bientot!

Culinary Diversity

Here in Houston, where I am spending WAY too much time, there is a Mexican take-out restaurant in the lobby of the building where my office is. I stopped in last week and was perusing the menu, trying to make up my mind. The fellow behind the counter was trying to be helpful and when I told him that I was thinking about the Cuban sandwich (Cubano), he encouraged me to get it. I told him that I was from New York and that I had access to good, authentic Cubanos, and could be quite critical. He told me that if I didn't like it, he would make me something else.

Lo and behold, it was quite good.

I returned today to pick up another Cubano. The same fellow greeted me and told me that he hoped I had a good Easter. I told him that I didn't celebrate Easter. He responded that neither did he. I told him I didn't celebrate it because I am Jewish. He told me that he is Muslim, and went on to say that he is Palestinian. We joked about meeting outside to "mix it up" (yes - it WAS joking) and he made me another Cubano.

It was as I was leaving that it struck me.

I had ordered a Cuban sandwich,
In a Mexican restaurant,
In Texas,
Made by a Palestinian.

Only in America!

Mrs. Smith

As mentioned in a previous post, my Aunt Judy is in hospice care at a skilled nursing facility (aka nursing home) in Brooklyn. Although she is receiving palliative care, she is in a room on a regular nursing unit and has a roommate.

Due to her condition, she cannot really speak and therefore does not converse or interact with her neighbor (the curtain between the beds is usually drawn as well). Her neighbor, whom I shall call Mrs. Smith, is an older black woman who gets around in a wheelchair. When I visit Judy, Mrs. Smith is always in her wheelchair and out of her bed which is then very neatly made. Mrs. Smith is always impeccably dressed and coiffed. She always has fresh flowers and a selection of apparently homemade snacks sitting on the table near her bed. Clearly, she is a very proud woman with friends and/or family who must visit often.

I do not know Mrs. Smith’s diagnosis, but one thing I do know is that she exists in many worlds simultaneously, and has proven to be a good match for my aunt as Mrs. Smith has conversations with and about anything in her environment. On various visits I have observed Mrs. Smith having a conversation in her soft and somewhat mumbled way with the following: Her nurse, her television, her radio, my aunt, me, and apparently herself. What makes these conversations interesting is that they seem to be formed from a stream of consciousness that encompasses both the past and whatever is going on at the moment.

One day when I was visiting Judy, Mrs. Smith was having a conversation with the minister who was preaching on her radio. At the same time, I was telling my aunt about my son Sam’s birthday party in which we took him and some friends to see the movie “Robots” and then to our house for pizza and cake. I realized that Mrs. Smith must have been listening as her barely audible monologue went something like this:

“That’s right, Jesus was the one. He helped the people and then look what they did to him. I like these cookies, they are delicious but not too sweet because you know I don’t like things too sweet. Yes, I know them little boys do love the movies. I bet they ate lots of popcorn. You tell ‘em reverend. Hallelujah! They just a bunch of sinners. Those tulips are still so pretty. I like the yellow ones but maybe I’ll get me some pink ones to. When I was a girl I used to love pink flowers, especially in church. I used to love pizza but I can’t eat it anymore. I’ll bet that cake was good. Maybe I’ll have some cake later. Don’t know that movie but I know them boys do love goin’ to the movies.”

They may never have crossed paths before and they never will again, but Aunt Judy and Mrs. Smith seem to have developed a rhythm in which they may not be friends but they do not bother each other either. They are soft-spoken souls being cared for by staff, friends, and family. There are worse ways to live out the days of one’s life.

Houston Billboard

Couldn't help laughing at the text on a highway billboard in Houston for a local funeral parlor:

"Drive Carefully. We can wait."

But I Thought John Cusack Killed Him?

As a preface, there is a film called "Grosse Pointe Blank" starring John Cusack as a former CIA assassin turned professional contract killer. It is a black comedy which I like a lot, and in it there is a line where he is telling someone about some of the "jobs" he has performed. "I killed the president of Paraguay . . . with a fork."

I am in Houston on business. There is a section of town known as the Texas Medical Center where some of the country's preeminent healthcare facilities such as The Methodist Hospital, M.D. Andersen Cancer Center, and the DeBakey Heart Center, are located all together in a campus-like environment with its own shops, restaurants, and transportation. I am staying at the Marriott Medical Center which is right in the center of it all and is pretty nifty in and of itself in that it caters to the healthcare community. Since patients and their families stay here, all of the bathrooms are fitted with assistance rails and the restaurants have a significant selection of healthy items.

Returning to the hotel today after meetings, I was waiting for the elevator with some other people, and it seemed to be taking longer than it should. One of the elevators opened and men with earpieces and Uzis peeking out from beneath their jackets emerged advising us all to move aside and stand back. Following these men were another group of well-dressed Latino men, followed by more gun-toting personnel. They moved swiftly through the lobby, exiting the lobby to a set of waiting cars.

We piled into the elevator along with a bellman. One of the other guests asked the bellman what guest was so special that they deserved the security and entourage. The bellman replied that he was not supposed to tell, but after prompting from the rest of us he revealed that we had just seen the president of Paraguay.

Perhaps he didn't die, but was here to have his puncture wounds treated?

The Meaning of Life

When my dad passed away in 1990, my brother and I were struggling with what, if anything, to put on his tombstone besides his name and dates. We eventually came up with "Gentle Soul - Man of Vision." Part of the genesis for "Gentle Soul" was an essay by Garrison Keillor that I had read at the time titled "The Meaning of Life." It touched me then, and I offer the last paragraph of it here now so that you may enjoy it as well.

"What keeps our faith cheerful is the extreme persistence of gentleness and humor. Gentleness is everywhere in daily life, a sign that faith rules through ordinary things: through cooking and small talk, through storytelling, making love, fishing, tending animals and sweet corn and flowers, through sports, music and books, raising kids - all the places where the gravy soaks in and grace shines through. Even in a time of elephantine vanity and greed, one never has to look far to see the campfires of gentle people. If we had no other purpose in life, it would be good enough to simply take care of them and goose them once in awhile."

New York Magazine Competition

For many years, the “New York Magazine Competition” ran in the back of about every third issue of the popular weekly covering life in the Big Apple. Mary Ann Madden ran the competition and in my opinion, ever since they ceased this feature, the magazine has gone downhill. Readers were given a clever and funny assignment – often a play on words. For every competition there were a couple of first-prize entries, a couple of runner-up entries, and then several “Honorable Mentions”. I entered frequently and although I never scored a prize, I did make Honorable Mention quite a few times. I had saved these and came upon them recently. Here is a sampling of my entries that were printed. I have provided the year for each competition since as you can see, some of them are somewhat dated (especially the first one, obviously pre-DVD).

Competition 656 from 1989 in which you were asked for unappealing items from a catalogue:

VIDEO TOMBSTONE. Leave a personalized message. Granite or marble. Specify VHS, Beta, or laser disc.


Competition 659 from 1989 in which you were asked for the title and characters of an undiscovered work of drama or fiction:

“Gramercy Park” by Woody Allen
Russell, a neurotic accountant
Rose, his widowed mother
Daisy, his girlfriend
Paul, his lawyer and best friend
Linda, his ex-wife now married to Paul
Mr. Rockwell, the IRS auditor


Competition 664 from 1990 in which you were asked to define a familiar name, altered by one letter:

DON QUAYLE: Organized crime figure famous for making an offer you cannot understand.


Competition 775 from 1993 in which you were asked for an item from a doomed catalogue:

PHOTO TARGETS: Turn any picture into a full-size NRA-approved silhouette


Competition 838 from 1996 in which you were asked for prequels:

The Artist Formerly Known As The Little Prince


Competition 846 from 1996 in which you were asked for a no-news headline:

Gene Kelly Tribute Will Include Film Clips


Competition 871 from 1997 in which you were asked for the opening, flashback line of a film noir:

"Funny, I’d always thought Sylvia was a woman’s name."


Competition 912 from 1998 in which you were asked to invent and define goofy words:

posshillbillity – “You might be a redneck if . . .”

Blackberry Haiku

A person once said
Being available is
A cure for boredom.

E-mail all the time
And it is a phone as well
Please leave me alone.

Ring, beep, blink, vibrate
The world wants me to say “hi”
Oops! I’m out of range.

What happened to mail
And long conversations on
The phone with a friend?

Finding balance
May mean tossing battery
And live life in peace.

I Know A Guy

As far back as I can remember, my Uncle Gary - younger brother of my late father - has been involved with one type of business or another. Each of these ventures has brought him into contact with a variety of suppliers and tradesmen with whom he has kept in contact over time. For many years he was "Frederick the Mattress King" of East 33rd Street and consequently knew many of the other business owners in the neighborhood.

My uncle has also always known where the best deals on anything could be found. It was he who turned me on to Costco (then Price Club) in the early 1990's. As a result of all of these contacts and knowledge of bargains, one of my uncle's common responses when one expresses a need to buy something is "I know a guy . . ."

In 1993 when Betsy and I moved into our first apartment, we needed some bookshelves with odd dimensions to fit a particular space. After an exhaustive and fruitless search for pre-built units, we mentioned our quest to Uncle Gary who responded, "I know a guy." Two weeks later and voila - we had well-built custom bookcases that fit the spot precisely for a reasonable price. They came with us to where we live now and we still use them. More recently, Betsy was bemoaning the price of quality cookware. Gary's response: "I know a place . . ." and Betsy is now in contact with a supplier in New Jersey.

All of this might seem somewhat ordinary, except that Gary is a consummate New Yorker with a seemingly gruff exterior which masks the teddy bear within. A gravely voice and knowing look (complete with raised eyebrow) can make it seem like his recommendations are somewhat nefarious or fell off the back of a truck. Of course this isn't the case, but it perpetuates a caricature that amuses me.

Recently, we have been dealing with my Aunt Judy's unexpected hospitalization and now confinement in a hospice with only weeks or possibly months to live. Judy - Gary and my dad's baby sister - never married and did not have an extensive support system. Consequently Gary, with the help of his wife Gail and support from my brother and I, has taken the lead in ensuring that she has adequate care and arranging her affairs. Upon learning of her prognosis, Judy and Gary had some frank discussions regarding the future and Judy expressed a desire to be cremated.

Last week, I brought up the subject of the funeral and cremation with Gary. I do not know anything about the cremation process and wanted to start exploring options with him. Gary stopped me in mid-sentence with, "I know a guy."

It is my belief that one can find humor in even the most morbid of situations, and I could not help bursting out in laughter at the notion that in Gary's travels through life, he knew someone that would give us a great deal on cremation. Gary explained the circumstances of how he came to know such a resource. It was not the story that amused me, but the fact that somewhere in Gary's brain, in the vast file cabinet marked "Great Deals", there is a folder bearing the label "Cremation."

I love my uncle and I love that this is a facet of his character that makes him uniquely him. This has also confirmed for me that as I go through life, should anyone I know need anything, be it a product or a service, I can proudly turn to them and say, "I know a guy."

The Gates

So many people have asked me whether or not I liked The Gates. Art is very personal and subjective and I have heard several different responses ranging from "A complete waste of time and money," to "A phenomenal example of genius." I suppose that my answer lies somewhere in the middle.

Previously, I had only seen The Gates from a distance as I circumnavigated Central Park by car or taxi. Yesterday - a sunny and somewhat windy day - I had the opportunity to walk through The Gates and it certainly does bring a different perspective. Art should make you feel something, and I could not help but enjoy the vibrancy and the way in which shadows played upon the saffron-colored fabric. The Gates actually made it possible to "see" a breeze as it billowed through the hanging swatches. Painted against the bleak grays of a hibernating landscape, Central Park came alive if only for two weeks. Perhaps more than The Gates themselves, I was particularly in awe of the engineering and coordination which made it possible. Christo could not wrap Central Park the way he did other buildings, so I suppose that taking a virtual highlighter to the winding paths was an innovative alternative.

Another positive response I had was The Gates' contribution to the city's financial status. Aside from the significant tourist dollars and revenue generated from souvenir sales, the economic boon to merchants and tradesmen usually dormant at this time of year (think hot dog vendors and window washers for apartments overlooking the park) was welcome. When the counting is finished, the city will have come out ahead. Of course it didn't hurt that the IOC visit to evaluate NYC as a contender for the 2012 Olympics coincided with The Gates and potentially drew some attention away from the fact that we do not - and may never - have an Olympic stadium venue.

The flip side to all of this is that art should also make you think. To that end The Gates was rather pedestrian. I truly love whimsy, but there is only so much that one can derive from a bunch of orange blankets hanging around the park. I can think of many ways that the millions of dollars expended on it could have been put to better uses, including feeding the hungry, caring for the sick, educating our children - you get the picture. Yes, art is essential to a civilized society and it is imperative to make it available to all. I'm just not sure that this was the best use of resources.

In the end, I suppose the way to look at it is that this was a present from Christo. When someone gives you a gift, you appreciate the thought, the expense, and the effort that was made to select an item that the giver thought would best suit the recipient. Thank you very much Christo. Your efforts mean so much to the people of the city of New York. Now where's the receipt?

In The Beginning . . .

It takes more than my fingers and toes to count the number of reasons that have prevented me from doing a blog or something similar earlier. Prime among them are probably job and kids. I thought of carrying around a notebook in which to scribble down my ingenious thoughts, brilliant ideas, and disbelief at the sheer quantity of stupidity exhibited in this world. But what fun is that if nobody can read my notebook (or handwriting)?

It's going to take a while until I get this going into a steady stream. There is so much running around in my brain right now, both current stuff going on in my life, as well as news, events, and things of interest from the past that I keep meaning to pass along. For instance, did you know that Costco now sells caskets (on-line for delivery only - how would you get it in your car anyway)? Don't believe me? Check it out here.

I expect that maintaining a weblog is both cathartic and somewhat egotistical. Consequently, I expect that some of these posts will be witty & charming or sensitive & insightful, while others will be pure drivel. Hey, it's not like you're paying for this . . .

So thanks in advance for reading what will follow. Your comments are welcome.