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You see George, you really did have a wonderful life.

I think often, we forget how really wonderful life is, I know I do from time to time. I get caught up in the minutiae of the daily grind and forget what is truly important, truly wonderful: the magic of being alive. It really is a gift. To throw out another appropriate movie quote, Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death.

Drink in life. Eat up every last morsel. Savour every last moment. Life is too glorious not to.

So catching up. Thanksgiving was odd, but lovely. Jamie, as I mentioned in the last post was sick. He got up long enough to enjoy our dinner, or enjoy it as much as someone without a sense of smell due to clogged sinuses is able.

That weekend, our friends John and Karen came in from London for a week’s visit. We kicked it off by going to Peter Luger’s Steakhouse, a fav of ours. Luckily, Jamie’s ick had subsided enough for him to enjoy the evening and taste the food.

Then later that week, on Thursday, J & I went to the 75th Anniversary Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular. And it was. Spectacular.

We go every year. We love it. We love the over-the-top wackiness of it. We love the live camels on stage and the hokey holiday–ness of it all. But this year, being the 75th Anniversary, it was even better than usual. It was all about the Rockettes, who are indeed, always “featured”, but this year they were truly the stars of the show. They even got their own holiday souvenir martini glass

filled with, of course, the Rockettini, which was basically a slushie with really high proof rum poured over it.

All during that week after Thanksgiving, along with show-going and friend-greeting, we were getting ready for our first (annual) holiday party. Lots of food, liquor and mixers bought. Some food prepped here. And that Saturday, 12/1, from 5 ’til, well, I’m told that it went on until about 1:30AM, a grand time was had by all.

We spread it out over such a long period as:

1. We have friends with many different work schedules or kids or other engagements, so this allowed them to drop in/drop out.
2. Our apartment, though lovely, wouldn’t fit all the invitees comfortably at one time.

It all worked out beautifully. Except, of course, for my being done in by a nasty drink introduced to the party by our friend Suzanne. She had recently edited a drink book and this, unfortunately stuck in her mind; I certainly will never forget it. It is a wicked little concoction called a Duck Fart. And it does smell, not that I’ve actually ever had the pleasure, but I imagine it would be similar, like a duck fart.

It, however, is really tasty. It is layered in equal parts of Kahlua, Bailey’s and Jack Daniel’s. It goes down smooth and hits hard. And so, I ended about an hour or so before the party did. Ah well, a good time was had by all.

In the following two weeks, I had the joy of going through a colonoscopy and an endoscopy. A little holiday treat, that. My last physical turned up a bit of anemia and we’re trying to figure out what’s up with that. Nothing showed up in either of those tests, so we’re on to more. I get the next round of results after the holidays – easy tests, just blood-work. Somewhat ironic that they needed to take four vials of blood to see what’s up with my anemia…

As my reward for going through rather unpleasantly invasive tests, I gave myself the gift of theatre. Jamie & I went to PA to the theatre I grew up in, Genesius, to see “The Belsnickel Scrooge”, a PA Dutch take on “A Christmas Carol.” We loved it. It is so amazing to be reconnected with that theatre.

While in PA, we celebrated Christmas with my folks and our dear extended family members, Sue and Liz. We don’t get to see either my parents or S&L often enough.

Oops, forgot, on the weekend between my c’scopy and my e’scopy, we went to visit Jamie’s Mom in FL for her birthday. We had a great time visiting with her and Jamie’s sister, nephew and his new girlfriend. It was nice to get away from NYC for a bit, although I couldn’t wait to get back to the more seasonal weather. FL is nice, but give me seasons. I don’t care how many decorations you see, if it’s 80 degrees, it just doesn’t feel like Christmastime. This is, of course, coming from a confirmed Northerner, however, Jamie feels the same way and he spent most of his life in FL.

Anyway, that brings us up to the week past, which was filled with Christmas hubbub and such, including a wonderful holiday concert on Saturday featuring Karen Mason, an amazing singer and a lovely person. I worked with her years ago on “And the World Goes ‘Round: The Songs of Kander and Ebb”, back in the day when I was doing backstage stuff. She has such amazing control of her voice and such an amazing energy. She’s just, well, amazing.

She was briefly joined by Greg Edelman, Liz Calloway, and The Accidentals (a tight jazz acapella group) – all were great.

Oh and before the concert, we went to see Sweeney Todd, the film, not the theatre piece. It was magically delicious, go see it.

And that brings us to tonight, Christmas Eve.

We went to NJ to our Godson’s for the evening. Met the little fella and his mom at the train station – he loves trains – then headed to the 4 o’clock Children’s service at their church. Very nice service; Jamie & I both forgot how much we like the practice of going. We’ve decided to check out our local church soon. We both miss the brilliant eucharist at our old church, unfortunately, the emotional/spiritual toll of that place was too high so, the search continues.

After church, we went to their house and met up with the G’son’s dad and sister, Aunt and friends and we all shared a delicious dinner.

Then back to the city in time for me to light my bayberry candle. All these superstitions… I don’t know if it’s a PA Dutch thing or where it came from, but it is tradition in my family to light a bayberry candle on Christmas Eve and let it burn through the night into Christmas day – it must burn completely away. It’s said to be good luck, and like Jamie with his “the tree must come down on New Year’s Eve”, I ain’t messin’ with the mojo.

So here I sit writing, now officially Christmas day, while Jamie sleeps, dreaming of the early morning present opening to come.

So many opportunities we’re given. So many wonderful things to do and see and experience; just look back over just my last four weeks.

It really is a wonderful life.

And now, now that the candle has reached a point of safety, meaning, as it burns merrily in the sink, if it falls, it’s short enough to pose no danger of toppling out onto the floor, but rather just rolling around in the sink, I can guiltlessly go to bed. Jamie is very, very, nervous about the candle. Very. But it’s safe now, and I’m tired, and he’s going to get me up at first light for Christmas morning present-opening, so in the Christmas spirit I say,

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
k.

Tags: Family, Food, Jamie, Life, Spirituality, Theatre by Kirk
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Are tedious. I learned this last night. Last night, as I was peeling them for the stuffing that is at this very moment in the oven inside our turkey.

Jamie has written about our Thanksgiving dinner. Although somewhat smugly. Ahem…

Indeed, I have been loathe to go against the food experts and cook my stuffing inside my turkey. The recipe we’re using, however, makes it easy to cook it inside the turkey, to maximize the flavor, and yet easily remove said stuffing for continued cooking to temperature after the bird is removed. Indeed, compromise.

I don’t know about the green bean casserole happening today. I’ve been doing all the cooking this year, as Jamie has come down with one whopper of a cold and has been laid out since yesterday. I’m hoping against hope that I’m not visited by the same bug. Fingers crossed.

But yes, the chestnuts. I’ve never peeled chestnuts. Everything I read, pre-peeling, seemed to indicate that it was indeed a laborious, hit-or-miss kind of thing with, very often, crumbled, rather than nice, whole, nut meats.

I decided to try the 1896 recipe that I found on About.com. It worked beautifully. No crumbled nuts.

It’s still not easy though, prying the shells off the suckers; imagine hot splinters shoved under your fingernails over and over and over again and you’ll get the gist. My thumbs are achin’.

I’m sure the chestnuts will be delicious in the stuffing. I’ll enjoy it immensely and keep it as a fond memory as I’ve no intention of ever peeling chestnuts again.

The cranberry salad. This is an anticipated treat in my family usually prepared by my Aunt Marcia, and since she’s not here to prepare it for us… While I’m not at liberty to share the recipe, I can assure you, and Jamie, that there are no oysters or chives to be found. It’s delicious. It better be ’cause I did make a hell of a lot of it, although not the 18 pounds Jamie has indicated. By the time we finish it up though, it might just seem that way.

So last night, after I finished mutilating my thumbs, I took a needed break from the kitchen and headed outside.

Oh it was lovely. It was about 11PM. It was misty, very misty, with the light of the street lamps diffused in a beautifully cinematic way. I headed down our block to a little garden area notable only as it offers a break between buildings and an unobstructed view out over the park.

And there I stood looking out into the night sky. Alone with my thoughts. And it was one of those beautiful nights, so quiet, full of anticipation, “holiday nights”; everyone is inside preparing or sleeping, dreaming of tomorrow.

And then it rained. But not rain. I was standing under a wonderful old tree whose leaves had all gone yellow. A lifetime ago, I’d have been able to tell you what kind of tree it is, but it’s one of the many things that I’ve forgotten over the years; funny how that goes. At any rate, there I was, in that gauzy mist-light in an amazing drizzle of yellow leaves. I must have stood there a good 10 minutes marveling at it all, the leaves gently falling all around me.

I love magical moments like that. That’s what is brilliant about life; you never know when those kind of things will happen. You just have to stop and be amazed when they do.

And then I went back inside and continued cooking… until about 2AM. Whatever, I’m a late-night person. Always have been. I’ve been totally acting against my nature with my current job that requires me to get up at 6AM; I can do it, but really I’m not meant to, and by the end of the week, I’m worn out from it. But I digress…

So today, I’ve been taking it slow; Jamie’s still feeling like crap, though less so than yesterday. We were going to put off Thanksgiving until tomorrow but I didn’t want the turkey to sit in the brine that long. So I’ve meandered in the kitchen today, really all that was left to cook was the pumpkin cheesecake – had batter left over, made cupcakes, yummy! – and finishing off the stuffing for the turkey. Everything else was done last night.

Except for the imported, organic green bean casserole (see Jamie’s piece for that one). We’ll make that tomorrow.

For now, the comforting aroma of roasted turkey wafts enticingly ’round the house. It’s almost time to pop the sucker out of the oven to rest while its companion dishes fill the oven void to warm up to dinner temperature.

And on that note, it’s time to baste!

Happy Thanksgiving!
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Food, Jamie, Life, Nature by Kirk
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It seems as though that is exactly what this weekend is turning out to be. A weekend of roundtuit.

Now I suppose that it should really be spelled “roundtoit”. But, seeing it, you wouldn’t pronounce “roundtoit” the same, correct way one would pronounce “roundtuit”. At best, “roundtoit” would be gifted a French sensibility and be pronounced, “rontoi“; but what the hell is that? And without the French inflection, well, “roundtoit” is just rude.

So “roundtuit” it is. “Roundtuit”, as in, “when I get around to it,” in case that wasn’t painfully obvious by now.

‘Round to what? Little things around the house that I’ve been putting off: painting the trim on the door frames, painting the window trim in the bedroom, touch-up painting all over the house. Lots of painting. Frankly, I’m sick of painting.

But you know what? From now on, when I’m sitting on the couch or walking down the hall or lying in bed, well, I won’t have that splotch, that ill-defined line, that naked, primered window frame taunting me. No, I’ve put those little household demons to bed.

Now I can sit back, relax… and ponder the other projects I want to get done around here. The joys of home-ownership.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

New pix of the “finished” product coming soon, I promise.

k.

Tags: General, Life, Renovations by Kirk
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I’ve mentioned briefly before Jamie & my recent collision with organized religion and how, through the bad, it did bring about great good.

For the two-ish years we attended this particular church, we were heavily invented in it, in all senses of the word; we invested our emotions, our time and our money. As I said in the post linked to above, we are both still giving back financially to… God, Higher Power, what-have-you: to the Divine from which all things come.

Yes, I am spiritual. I do believe in a “higher power”. I have my little conversations with whatever you choose to call it, nearly every day. I find it comforting. I find it worthy. I find, in this world of increasing “me”-ness, that the acknowledgement of some power “greater than” is a centering, humbling practice.

For me.

Everyone is different, has different needs, practices, beliefs or lack thereof. It makes me no better, or anyone who doesn’t feel the same way, any worse. Our differences, as my dear Bob Bendorff used to say, are what “makes the phone book”. Homogeneity, monoculture, how boring and soul killing would a world like that be?

So this week, I’m feeling like I want to go to church on Sunday. Not that church. Never going back there. But there’s an Episcopal within walking distance and I’d like to go tomorrow.

Why? I’ve no idea. It’s just a desire that’s cropped up in my gut. I tend not to question these things. I just feel like I want… I don’t know, the experience, the reverential pause, mutually shared.

I like going outside our apartment to look at the sky, the trees, the world. It is my own personal reverential pause. My personal moment to stop and look around me, to see and feel the world. And really, that’s kind of my church, standing in the air, listening to the trees and birds and insects, looking up at the stars… It’s where I find my “calm center”.

I’ve always had a dicey relationship with organized religion. Through the years I’ve read, tried out, experienced a variety of religious permutations: Christianity, Eastern, the old religions. I’ve found all of them somewhat lacking as they are all tainted by the human element. To use a base, somewhat spiritually deficient corollary, it’s like my beautiful, pristinely shiny stainless steel refrigerator, you can’t touch it without leaving a fingerprint. And that fingerprint stands out like a sore thumb.

Organized religion is the attempt to understand the mystical, to put it in a neat box. You can’t.

Well, oops, organized religion is the attempt to control the masses though the use of a big bat called “God”, ‘Allah”, the Maiden, Mother and Crone (admittedly the older earth-based spriritualities are less so, but still, in a coven, there’s a leader and where you have a leader…), what-have-you. Organized religion is about “rules”.

“The Spirit” existed long before man came along and will still be here when we are nothing but a memory. We are unnecessary in the bigger picture. Organized religion tends not to pay that any mind.

And in the end, what are these religions all saying? What is the base from which all the man-made extranea is built? What are the basic rules?

How about: respect and love.

How good is man with those concepts? How good is organized religion with those concepts?

And so, I’m left with this slight feeling of hypocrisy in wanting to go to church tomorrow.

But sometimes, I like the ritual, the community. And sometimes, the Spirit manages to make an appearance despite the man-made constraints. And those times are glorious.

k.

Tags: Life, Politics, Spirituality by Kirk
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This weekend was filled with ghosts. This is the ghost on our door. The sign, the sign mentioned in my last post that alerts kiddies and their parents that Trick-or-Treating is allowed. I dug into my big chest of arts and crafts materials (what? doesn’t everybody have one of those?) and pulled out some plaster cloth that’s been waiting for a purpose.

And the quinces from my rant about Martha? Yes, they are still sitting around, still pretty green, not yellow… Bitch. Anyway, I found a use for one of them. I needed a stand to hold the armature for my ghost. I took a quince, stuck five toothpicks in it to make it stable on the table and then I inserted one end of a shish-ka-bob skewer into it. Part way up (and I’m going in to all this should you find yourself with an errant green quince and a roll of plaster cloth, both of which have been taunting you with their inertia; now you can give them a purpose – I have saved the day), after fashioning it into a long triple loop to give it strength and also form at the ends, I wrapped some copper wire.

So far, we have a pentad-ed quince with a skewer protruding from its top with a copper armature one third of the way down, like a cross for some bizarre religion, worshipping… I have no idea. Grilling and electrical repair?

I needed a lovely, proportional head shape. And there in the refrigerator it was: a slightly shrivelled lime. Plop on the top of the skewer it went.

From there, it was simply a matter of wetting the plaster cloth and draping it spookily on the armature. Et voila! A lovely ghost, which stayed there drying over night.

Today, I carefully slid the lime and the copper armature off the skewer, then even more carefully pried the lime from under the plaster. It worked, the head did not nod forward: no one likes a sleepy ghost. I took a magnet from the fridge and stuck the little fella to the front door. So far, so good; it’s lasted the day.

But that was the least of the ghosts filling my weekend. Ghosts don’t need to be ethereal, sometimes people and places can be as haunting as any unnatural presence. Sometimes your past can be the ether you drift in to. And sometimes that’s not such a bad thing. Sometimes a walk through that mist is just what you need to clear your head.

After work on Friday, a particularly trying day, I met Jamie for dinner and a show. It had been quite some time since we had had a Midtown rendezvous, much too long.

We met at Le Madeleine, an excellent restaurant next to the Westside Theatre where I worked for many years before moving to my present job. As we sat at the bar, drinking and having dinner, we re-connected with old friends and acquintances from the nabe. I popped next door and ran into two of my former co-workers. It was nice to be there, in Midtown.

After dessert, before coffee, I went outside to, well, smoke. More about that later. But, as I stood there, under the Le Madeleine canopy as the rain fell, I realized that in the four years I’ve been in my present job, I’ve never felt at home; I’ve always felt as though I’m spending my time in some odd, foreign world, and that’s just the neighborhood. Now, there’s nothing strange about the Flatiron area, in fact, it’s quite lovely. It’s just never felt like, me.

So then we went to the show, The Farnsworth Invention written by Aaron Sorkin. I love his writing. Some people don’t. Some people think he is too wordy. I love his wordy-ness, as does Jamie. We loved the play. Briefly it’s the story of the battle between Philo T. Farnsworth and David Sarnoff. Between them, they created TV as we know it, the box, not the programming. A wonderfully written, powerful piece of theatre; I recommend it highly.

And there, another ghost, no not Allison Janney, although she was at the theatre, no, Kelly Martindale. There she was in the Playbill. A stage manager that I adore. She was the stage manager on Hedwig…. Beyond being a wonderful stage manager, she’s just a really, really nice person. The type of person who makes you smile no matter how crappy your day is; treasure those people. She deserves all the success she attains, cheers to her!

We had arranged to meet up after the show with a friend I hadn’t seen in ages. We worked together at the Westside. So there we sat, catching up and generally having a great time chewing the fat. It was lovely to see him, much too much time had passed.

After we said our goodnights to him, Jamie and I decided to pop down the block to the place where our friend Stephen hangs out. Sure enough, though close to closing time, there he was. And so we closed down that place and moved on with Stephen to close down another.

We wound up at Don’t Tell Mama, a piano bar where I spent way too much time many years ago. Again, saw many people I hadn’t seen in a long while. And being there always brings up memories of my late friend, Bob, who played piano there for many years. He’s been gone now for years and I still miss him. A lot. Some people leave this life much too early.

And last call came and went and then we said g’nite to Stephen and promised to not let so much time pass between get-togethers. It was quarter to four in the old AM and we cabbed home.

The people you value in your life shouldn’t become ghosts. Sometimes, as with Bob, they must; they can only live in our memorys and our hearts. But those people who are still here, still very accessible, we often let our lives drift apart, waving through the mist of “too busy” or “I should call sometime”; we shouldn’t let those connections go away, break. We need to recognize when the past is a good thing to let go of, and when letting go is losing something precious: friendship.

The ghosts of the weekend have been made flesh again. They’ve reminded me of a part of myself I had lost, or rather ignored. I think changes are in the wind.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Jamie, Life, NYC, Theatre by Kirk
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Looking forward to it.

In all my previous apartments, I’ve always prepared, ready with treats for the trick-or-treating kiddies. Never had any. That’s why I always pick candy that I like. I always wind up eating it. I’m not complaining.

But this year, I think it will be different. I think, here in the Co-op, where we have a good number of kids, that we’ll get some ghoulies and ghosties at our door.

Today, I learned the secret sign. The sign of invitation. Perhaps the lack of it is why we’ve had no Halloweenian rapping at our door in years past. We have never decorated our door.

My dear, darlin’ Nathalie informed me that door decor is the code that alerts parents that your home is Trick-or-Treat-able. Who knew? It does make sense when you think about it. I can understand that parents wouldn’t feel comfortable walking the halls, ringing unknown doorbells, unbidden. Cold calling for candy, as it were.

Strange as it may seem, this is the first place I’ve lived since I moved to NYC, oh those 20ish years ago, where I’ve actually been acquainted with my neighbors, not just the ones down the hall, but throughout the building. In NYC, we’re all crammed together, door to door, floor upon floor, and it is a rare occasion when you even know the name of the person who lives next door, let alone speak to them.

I suppose that this is the difference between a rental space and an owned space. In a Co-op, where we all depend on each other to support the success, the life, of the building, there is more investment in knowing your neighbors. This can be a good thing, this can be a bad thing. In Jamie and my case, in our new home, so far, and I don’t see this changing, it’s a very good thing. I find it comforting.

As I think about it, I guess the “knowing” of one’s neighbors is not as typical as it once was, and now, I’m including suburbia in that general net. Lives have become busier. People have become more protective of… well, themselves; their time, their lives. My parents used to know everyone on their block. They still know a fair amount of their neighbors, but in the years since I’ve moved away, the neighborhood has changed, become more… transient? People move. Homes that were once owner occupied have now become rentals. Of the 17 homes on my parents block, there are only 3 that haven’t changed hands in the 45 years I’ve been alive, my parent’s home being one of those. It shouldn’t be, given how many times I’ve moved in my life, but it is very odd to me, that change, that move from settled to stopping off point. I guess I see my parent’s neighborhood, where I spent my first 18 years, as a place of stability. And of course, it isn’t. These days, stability is in the heart, not in the location.

And no one sits on their porch anymore.

I guess that’s why I’m hoping to have costumed visitors come a tapping, gently rapping at our chamber door. That memory of a simpler time, that autumnal, comforting timelessness. Yeah, I want to take off the insular shroud for awhile, even just for an evening, and wrap myself in a warm blanket of community.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Family, Life, NYC by Kirk
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And relaxing. And wonderful. And sorely needed.

That’s what our weekend get-away was. We didn’t realize how desperately we needed to stop our lives and leave town for a breather.

We left Thursday, later than expected; our flight was delayed about two hours. Well first one hour, at which point we called the restaurant at which we had a 9PM reservation. We moved it to 10:30, the latest we could make it. After the next hour delay, we called and cancelled the reservation. Ah well, disappointing, but what are you going to do?

We finally made it to Orlando at 10:30. We grabbed our rental car and drove to the hotel, The Royal Plaza. Very nice. On the Disney property and all. We found a place to eat right around the corner, nothing to write home about, the food was decent, they had a huge beer selection. Lots of beer and drink specials. In the end, it was a far more relaxed dinner than we had planned. Everything works out the way it should.

Got up the next morning and took the first Disney shuttle (8AM) to EPCOT. Got our tickets and stood in line for the opening of the gates. Countdown – 10, 9, 8… Got into the greeting area. Forgot to look for our pic and note on the slabs. At the entrance to EPCOT they have this lovely money-making gimmick, you get your pic taken and/or write some note to go with the pic and then they photo process them onto metal sheets about 1 1/2 inch by 1 inch and affix them to these monoliths, for future generations to marvel at. Last year, we fell prey to the vanity of it and had our pic taken, together of course, and wrote “Kirk and Jamie, Honeymoon January, 2000”. Somewhere on those slabs we are indeed immortalized. We just forgot to find out where. On o’ these days…

So then we went to the entrance to the main park area, where we stood waiting for the next countdown as Mickey, Minnie, Chip ‘n Dale and Goofy, paraded and shook hands from the other side of the red rope. Countdown, 10, 9, 8… And we were off into the park proper.

First things first, got to ride the fav staples, Test Track, Ellen’s Energy Adventure (Ellen Degeneres and Bill Nye – The Sciene Guy – Jeopardy and travel through time. Who’d miss that?!), Figment’s Imagination ride (Eric Idle and a purple dinosaur thing that is definitely not Barney). The big sphere thing was closed so we had to miss that this time. Oh, and how could I forget, “Listen to the Land”, a lovely boat ride through the Disney experimental greenhouses?

By this time, we were mighty hungry. So we crossed over to the World Showcase area to do what we had really come for: eat. And eat we did. We love the EPCOT Food and Wine Expo. All the different countries represented, plus some others that just set up for this event, have tasting plates of their native foods – $2 – $4/plate. With wine pairings. There were so many great things. Jamie, who has a much better memory for the food specifics, will hopefully detail more on his page. Suffice it to say that by 5:30 we needed a food break before our evening’s major event.

And so we paused to hear Starship, yes, Jefferson Airplane, Jefferson Starship, and for years now, just Starship. Honestly, I thought this was going to be a joke. I was not expecting it to be anything I would want to see. I was wrong. Mickey Thomas still has an amazing voice. They did all hits, of course. They even did a retrospective journey though the band’s permutations starting off with a lovely female singer doing, yes, at a Disney park, White Rabbit. Brilliant. They had the place rockin’. I was amazed at how much fun it was. And then it was over, and just in time, as we had to hurry on over to the aforementioned main event of our day, the South African Wine Tasting (with food).

Inside the EPCOT exhibition space, there was a band beating out a jazzy South African beat, there was delicious food, and wine, lots of wine. There were four kiosks around the room. Each kiosk had four sides and on each of those four sides was a different winery. Each winery had several different representations of their product. We tasted a lot. I have notes on the wines we really liked. At some point when I find those notes, I’ll post a list here. So from 6 to 8:50 we ate and drank.

Then we decided that we’d had enough and we should go watch the fireworks. As we paused outside the space, we started chatting with two women, Wendy and Connie, who were also at the tasting. They told us about a fun piano bar on the property and told us to join them after the fireworks. Sure, why not?

So we ohhh-ed and ahhhh-ed at the glorious fireworks display. And then headed on over to Jellyroll’s.

There’s always been this path in EPCOT that we’ve never travelled. We thought that it just led to the resort hotels in Disney proper. Well, it does do that, but it also leads to the Boardwalk, a cool little area with shops and bars. Yes, bars, Jellyroll’s being one of them.

Jellyroll’s. It’s a sizeable but still intimate space. A bar on each side of the room. A stage at the head of the room. Two grand pianos on the stage. And all night, two guys, well four actually, they switch off, playing and singing just about any song you request. They were great. We had a blast, although they never did play Jamie’s request, The Cure’s Just Like Heaven, but we survived; they played a hell of a lot of wonderful music.

And then we wound down and, unusual for us when we get going, left before the bar closed and headed back to the hotel. We had to get up relatively early the next day to drive to Sun City Center (outside Tampa) to visit Jamie’s mom, or MomFLA, as we call her, as opposed to my mom, MomPA. We settled in our very very comfy bed and realized with great amazement that we felt so very far from our daily NYC lives. I mean that in a very good way. In one day, we felt a week away from NYC. It was great and relaxing and wonderful.

And now, I’m up too bloody late writing this and I’ll have to finish the rest of the weekend tomorrow ’cause I’ve gotta get up early and go to my hideous job.

Oh, yeah, did I mention that calm, that relaxing “Ahhhhh”, that giddy smile, lasted about two hours into my return to work today. Gone, all gone.

That is, until I started writing about it tonight. I felt relaxed and happy all over again. Maybe I can make it three hours tomorrow before it fades.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Family, Food, Jamie, Life, NYC, Travel by Kirk
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Well, just when you are in need of it, more often than not, a happy little giggle moment of surprise comes along.

It’s been a rough week, well, three or so weeks. Work has been tough; too much to do, not enough hours in the day even when I’m pulling 9 or more hours a pop. Sometime it not the thing, it’s the time it takes to do the thing that’s daunting. Sometimes things seem to be designed in the most convoluted way possible, as if, in giving directions to exit a room to get to the office next to you, you said, “First, knock a hole in that wall and then scale down the outside of the building, then go around the block. Come in the street level door, take the stairs, not the elevator, never the elevator, to your floor, then go to the office.” “But,” you might say, “there’s a door right there? Couldn’t I use that?” “Not our way,” you’d be told. “Not our way.”

I believe in simplicity. I suspect, if you read me rather than know me, you might find that hard to believe. I suppose I should restate: I believe in cutting through the bull. There, that’s better. I think it has something to do with nearly dying. (How’s that for a teaser?) Here’s a problem, lets find the best way of solving it. Perhaps it’s a Virgo thing. I believe in straight lines; they get you to your destination much more quickly.

Of course, that only holds true for my work life. In my “real” life, I like curves, I like the found paths, the little-used byways. They are far more interesting and fun. But at work, I don’t like to waste time; I don’t like my time wasted. Most of the time, I feel I’m doing extremely trivial things and putting out fires. I don’t feel like I’m actually accomplishing anything…worthwhile.

Ok, it’s work. Work is work. But work can be, and sometimes still is, rewarding. But not as rewarding as it has been with past jobs. I suppose that’s why I started writing again. Writing here. Not that I have anything earth-shattering to impart, I think that much is clear, but rather that I do indeed have something to impart. It gives me some small creative outlet, and, after all, the subtitle of the site is: “Built to amuse…myself”. And it does.

So tonight, I go outside to have my evening’s perambulation and upon exiting the building, I discover happy halloween decorations lining our little dead end street. A flickering pumpkin, a couple of those big, baloon-y things with lights in them, a pumpkin, a pumkin with a cat on it, etc. Stupid things. But really quite charming. Lovely that our building does that. It made me smile. And writing about it, I’m still smiling.

I suppose that’s what gets me through life, finding and treasuring those small moments that somehow move you in a positive way. I love those kinds of gifts from the cosmos. Difficult to believe if you saw me, walking down the street with my NYC, “don’t bother me” face on, but I love to smile, and laugh. It really feels good, and generally, no one does it enough.

So tomorrow, as you’re going through your day, look around and find your blow-up pumpkin. And smile.

Oh that seems a lovely way to end this, doesn’t it? But ramble on I will. One more thing to say.

J & I are off tomorrow to visit his mom in FL. It will be a nice trip, we haven’t seen her since last December.

And it will be nice to have a getaway. We’ve been so busy with the apartment this summer that we didn’t really do much else. I’m not at all complaining. I love what we did this summer. I’m proud of the work we did on the new place and even more, I’m more proud that we did the bulk of it ourselves, quite successfully and beautifully, I must add. But it will be nice to get away for a long weekend.

And we’re giving ourselves a mini-vacation within the vacation. We’re taking Friday all to ourselves. We’re spending it at EPCOT. We love Disney. We love EPCOT. So sue us; it’s great fun. And this month is the EPCOT Food and Wine Festival. All the little faux countries around International Lake (or whatever it’s called) have tastings of their native foods. There are food events and wine tastings.

And taste we will. Friday night, we’ll be at the South African wine tasting dinner. It should be wet and tasty. And a very nice way to transition between NYC and Sun City Center, where Jamie’s mom lives. SCC is the kind of place where you are just as likely to see people driving a golf cart down the road (yes, the roads have golf cart lanes) as driving a car.

But, as I said, it will be really nice to see Jamie’s mom. It’s been too long.

And there’s a damned good BBQ rib joint just down the street from where she lives. Gotta love that.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Family, Food, Jamie, Life, NYC, Travel by Kirk
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As in giving. Giving when you don’t have to, but rather want to.

One of the many good things Jamie and I took away from our brief collision with organized religion, was the concept of charity, of giving.

We had a visitation, at our former church, by the treasurer of the diocese, during which he presented an argument for “proportional giving”. PG, my abbreviation, not some cultish appurtenance draped casually off the shoulder, is simply this: choosing a percentage of your gross income, a percentage that pushes the boundries of comfort, then when a paycheck comes in, tithing that percentage of your income to the church. This is your way of thanking God, Higher Power, Whatever, for the privilege of taking space in His/Her/It’s world.

When Jamie and I took our leave of the organizational side of religion, veering into the less claustrophobic/psychotic land of “faith”, we carried the concept of “proportional giving” with us.

We don’t give the money to support a building any more. We, instead, give the money to support people.

When we left the church, we were both agreed that our giving should not come to an end. That it was right and good to, as they say, spread the wealth (such as it is), and so we both searched the internet for charities that we believed in, that we felt did more good than harm. That used our money wisely, effectively.

There are many charities out there. You know this, you get solicitations from them almost every day. It’s hard to choose. It’s hard to say “no”. It’s hard to know when to say “no” and when to say “yes”.

It is easier when you do your research and see what percentage of your funds goes to good works and what goes to fund raising. You’d be surprised, or not, at the number of charities that waste so many of the dollars, given freely and with the intent of doing good, in administrative costs, fundraising costs, etc. A friend recently did a bike trek around Ireland for Lance Armstrong’s cancer charity. I donated. I like my friend, I support her desire to do good. And frankly, more power to her, I certainly couldn’t have done that ride. And it did look amazing. Trouble is, Lance Armstrong’s cancer charity wastes a lot of the money it raises. And in the end, my friend probably would’ve done much more good donating the money it took to take the trip to a more financially concerned charity than actually taking the trip.

But in the end, I support her. We do what we do, and doing something is most often better than doing nothing.

What do Jamie and I do now that we’re not giving the funds to the church? We did a good deal of research; two wonderful sites for this are: Network for Good and Charity Navigator, both give ratings, ie: dollars donated/dollars used beneficially/dollars used to raise dollars. We both were drawn toward the concept of the micro-loan.

The micro-loan is, in a nutshell, a small loan given to an entrepreneur in a developing area – 3rd world country, impoverished area of a developed country – to help them grow and be more self-sustaining. To make a better life for themselves and, indeed, their community.

So Jamie chose FINCA and I chose Accion International. Both of the linked sites give a far better explanation of micro-finance than I do; even if you’ve no interest at this point in giving away any of your hard-earned cash (a totally understandable position), I’d urge you to read about this, it might, down the road, appeal to you.

Jamie donates totally to FINCA. I alternate, 1st of the month ,15th of the month, between ACCION and, what I consider an incredibly worth charity, Genesius Theatre. ACCION does amazing, life-changing work, but Genesius is the only reason I’m here writing this today.

Fodder for another blog, but suffice to say, without the second home I found in Genesius Theatre, the 11 year old, self-aware, fat homosexual child, who wound up growing into me, would never had made it through High School. Yes, it’s a sad song that few wish to hear, but the suicide rate of gay pre-teens and teens is astounding; such is the society we live in. I easily could have been a statistic had it not been for the community I found at Genesius.

What I donate to Genesius is a pittance compared to what that theatre gave me: love… and life.

Ohhhh dear, I’ve become so damned preachy and maudlin, haven’t I? Well, one more thought then I’ll get off my soapbox.

We all, myself included, can do so much better than we do to make this world better. Every day is a struggle with the mundane, regimented march that is life. A struggle that most often makes us forget how damned lucky we are to be here; how miraculous life really is. It is so easy to forget.

I’d urge you to give something back. Doesn’t need to be money; could be time, clothes, service, whatever. Just give something back; it’s good for the heart, it’s good for the soul, it’s good for the world. Best of all, it doesn’t require that you believe in any “higher power”, just the beliefe that you can do some little good in this world.

And that’s not such a bad thing at all.

And now, as it’s 1AM, I’d better get my ass to bed so I can get up and get to work so all the above is possible.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Jamie, Life, Spirituality by Kirk
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Well, after updating WordPress, I discovered that my previous theme was not totally compatible with the new WP version, hence the change.

I like it. Need to do some more work. I’ve only got one of the five header images personalized, but by the end of the weekend (or sooner) I’ll have ’em all changed over.

And now, it’s late and I’ve got an MRI early in the morning. Gotta see how the squished disks in my back are doin’. From the spasms in my leg, I’d say not as well as I’d like.

We’ll see. I cannot wait to be shoved into that metal tube…not that I’m claustrophobic or anything……….

Nite,
k.

Tags: General, Life by Kirk
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