We can’t keep our Short Shorts off.
They met, they kissed; they wed, they bred; kids fled, lives led; they’re dead.
A Friday Short Short
12 Friday Sep 2014
Posted in Words
Monthly Archives: September 2014
We Remember
11 Thursday Sep 2014
Posted in September 11
Thirteen years.
My Memory Lane: OTHS, Asbury, the Circuit, a Broke-down Palace. And a Tattered “Y”
09 Tuesday Sep 2014
Posted in Confessional
Ocean Township High School.
I graduated high school in 1973. We went to football games on Saturday afternoons, and spent many a Friday and Saturday night at the Rec Center.
Kingsley Avenue with the remnants of the Casino in the background.
In the summer, we cruised The Circuit, a continuous loop down Kingsley Avenue, past the Palace with its ferris wheel, carousel, and bumper cars.
Bumper car painting from the old Palace Amusement Park.
We curved around, and traveled north, up Ocean Avenue leaving the Casino with its different carousel behind, and up to Convention Hall, where we seemed to play pinball games all night long.
Convention Hall. Asbury Park.
I worked at the Donut Shop and my friends worked at The Casino Coffee Shop.
Where the Casino Coffee Shop used to be.
We all seemed to have service industry jobs. I do believe, we believed, we were the luckiest people in the world. I moved onto college and law school – D.C. and Manhattan – but my mother continued to live at 615 Blanchard Parkway in Allenhurst, so I always went back “home.”
In 2010, my mother moved to Manhattan, and there went the anchor. But life is funny, or as Bob would write, everything happens for a reason. Years ago, I met Steve, and last year he decided to buy a house in Elberon, in Ocean Township, and I’m falling in love with where I grew up all over again.
I drive by the high school, and I see my girlfriend driving us into the side entrance every morning junior and senior year from the day she got her license as we listened to the 8-track tape deck blast music. I see the cheerleaders on Saturday afternoons screaming “Spartans Spartans, give me an S.” I see us being so impressed with how big the high school was after the petiteness of Dow Avenue.
Home of the Spartans.
I drive down Main Street, and look up, and there is the old YMCA building, and there I am, nine years old, jumping into the 1930s pool learning how to swim.
The Y is now an adult day care center, tattered and battered, and the pool is gone. But the smell of chlorine lingers, and so does some of the art deco fretwork that decorated the top lintels of the building.
Looking up at the YMCA.
I mourn the Palace, the Casino, the Mayfair and St James and Lyric theaters. Of course, there’s still The Wonder Bar and The Stone Pony, and the ghost of Mrs. Jay’s Beer Garden flits by. The pinball games we once played are enshrined, but working, in a Pinball Museum on the Boardwalk. I am thrilled the tent homes still go up every summer in Ocean Grove.
Tent homes. Ocean Grove.
I see so much of my life through the lens of Ocean Township, and it just highlights in technicolor how fast it has all gone by. Everyone I grew up with has their slew of memories of Ocean Township and Asbury Park. It seems we love to take our trip down memory lane because there is/was something so comforting in our familiarity with each other, and the world we inhabited for that short time between the day we entered elementary school and graduated high school.
I started third grade at Wanamassa School 50 years ago. It was 1963.
Short Shorts (Redux)
08 Monday Sep 2014
Posted in Words
It may be September, but some of us are still wearing our short shorts.
She spun a silk honeycomb. Of lies.
The Saturday Blog: Green Bike
06 Saturday Sep 2014
Posted in Art
Riveted by the Hands
05 Friday Sep 2014
Tags
The Shadow of the Dancer.
When Steve and I were in Bali last year we had a chance to see a portion of the Ramayana, a classic of Indian folklore, performed under the stars outside a Hindu temple in Ubud.
Ubud.
We were mesmerized by the movement of the dancers. That we were in Bali sitting under the stars no doubt contributed to the enchantment, but watching the dancers control every aspect of their body, from eyebrow to pinky toe was riveting.
When I heard that there was going to be a festival celebrating the dance of South India I really wanted to go, but this time I knew it would not be a Steve thing. We were going to be sitting on the floor, in a cramped hot theatre with no air conditioning.
But I did ask my 20-year old nephew, and he was game. The performance was only an hour and we were utterly rapt because, again, each movement captivated.
The eyes traveled separate from the eyebrows, the index finger stood out distinct from the thumb, and the toes acted independent of the foot.
Henna tattooed hands
And thus were we introduced to the classical dance form of Bharatanatyam.
I knew there was a story being told, but I never quite got the plot. It really didn’t matter because it was about watching each of the two dancers on the stage command their bodies. My eyes are peeled for future performances.
Businesses Younger than 50 Should Not Have Bragging Rights
04 Thursday Sep 2014
Posted in Opinion
Not old enough.
On the corner of Farewell and Marlborough streets in Newport, Rhode Island stands the White Horse Tavern. I mention it not because I want to offer a review of the restaurant’s fine cuisine. I mention it because the White Horse Tavern was established in 1673. That makes it just about the oldest existing business in the United States.
Last week I was at another fine eatery – Lenny’s. Lenny’s is a chain of Manhattan sandwich shops. And again, I have no desire to offer an opinion about their food. I mention Lenny’s because they prominently display a sign in their stores that proclaims “Since 1989” as if that is something that should impress us. I am not impressed.
Now I know that it is unusual for a business in the United States to last 100 years, never mind the 341 years the White Horse Tavern has been serving ale in Newport. But am I really expected to admire a business that is younger than my youngest child?
Frankly, I am not impressed by any business that is younger than I am. I think this is quite natural. When you’re 25, anything that’s been around for 50 years seems pretty old and established. When you’re in your 50s and beyond, your perspective changes quite a bit.
Old enough to pass muster.
Businesses have a natural lifespan that is usually equivalent to the working life of their founder. Some businesses manage to pass the baton to the next generation or two, but businesses still being run after the death of the founder are in the minority. I think that businesses should avoid touting their date of establishment at least while their original customers are still alive and patronizing the business.
Nagle’s. Ocean Grove, NJ. From pharmacy to restaurant, but still kicking
Once a business has been around for 100 years, it has earned the right to brag. But let’s stop this nonsense of celebrating the longevity of businesses that are less than 50 years old. If the business isn’t old enough to have had John Lennon as a customer, it has no right to promote its establishment date.
Strangely, while some businesses advertise how old they are, people mostly don’t. You don’t see John Grisham bragging on his book jackets that he has been writing “Since 1989.” You don’t see Phil Collins placing a logo on his albums bragging “Established 1981.” Perhaps there is a difference between corporations and people. (Alert the Supreme Court!)
For those of us over 50, any business bragging they were established during the Reagan Administration will get a big yawn. Most of us have articles of clothing that old. No, what we need is a restaurant like Barbetta on West 46th Street in Manhattan that proudly advertises at the top of its web page: “Since 1906.” Now, that’s impressive.
Recipe for a Lazy Cook
03 Wednesday Sep 2014
Posted in Food
Tags
BY JULIE SEYLER
Unlike Lois, I am not an adventurous cook. When she told me about the corn marshmallow combo I reacted with my usual pronouncement- “Yiska Lo that sounds awful!” Not only because candy-coated vegetables are counter intuitive, but because summer corn sings unadorned. My corn goes from the farmer’s market to the grill without a stripping, and that basically sums up how I cook.
Unhusked corn on grill.
All meal decisions are governed by the same rule: simplicity in taste and preparation. (Well almost all. I did attempt coq au vin and that was a truly detail oriented project). But in the summer where the tables at the Farmer’s Markets are laden with locally-grown fruits and vegetables and beach time, followed by cocktail hour, is key, there are two rules: (a) less is always more and (b) prepare in the A.M. With this one I couldn’t even manage to bring out a whisk to blend the lemon juice and olive oil.
Slice one yellow squash, one zucchini, 2 medium red onions.
Squeeze the juice of one fresh lemon over the medley.
Add some fresh ground pepper and sea salt.
Toss in a few garlic cloves (mince them if you prefer).
Pour on olive oil to coat vegetables.
Shred fresh rosemary, oregano and thyme- and I guess any other fresh herbs that are handy.
Toss and marinate 4-8 hours.
Grill (or roast at 400 degrees) for 45 minutes or longer if necessary, tossing and turning frequently.
The Ceramic Couple
02 Tuesday Sep 2014
I’m not much for tchotchkes, but we’ve got a set of ceramic salt-and-pepper shakers that’s close to my heart.
You’ve probably seen them, or some version of them: it’s a married couple, in “Before” and “After”poses.
“Before” shows the couple young, happy, and dressed for their wedding day. He looks handsome in his gray tuxedo and red bow tie, sporting a mustache and glancing sidelong at his rosy-faced bride. She stands proudly in her white wedding dress and headpiece, with golden curls spilling out the sides, demurely holding a bouquet at her midsection. Her lips are pursed in a hopeful smile and her blue eyes gaze brightly ahead, focused on the future.
When you turn the figurines around, the legend on the bottom reads “AFTER,” and the changes are striking.
The groom is now wearing a strappy T-shirt and boxer shorts, and he’s gained at least 30 pounds. Frowning, he’s lost most of his hair and the dapper mustache, and he’s glancing sheepishly at his wife as if expecting recriminations. She, too, has gained a few pounds, as evidenced by her jowly face and plumper middle. She’s wearing a bathrobe and curlers in her hair, and instead of flowers she holds a rolling pin. Her young bride’s optimistic smile has been replaced by a scowl as she glares at her spouse, apparently considering where to slug him, and how hard.
I bought these when Maria and I had been married around twelve years, when we weren’t far removed from the “Before” picture of the happy couple. We’ve been displaying them on the windowsill over the sink for the last 20 years, and I’ve since come to identify with – if not resemble – them more and more.
They’ve taken a beating over time – his hair, and her veil, are badly chipped on the “Before” side, and both of their noses, “Before” and “After,” have been marred by falls from the window ledge. We, too, bear scars from our three decades of life together. And like the figurines, neither of us is in quite the shape we were when we were married, but we’re still standing.
Sometimes I’m in a miserable mood and she’s just fine, the “Before” to my “After,” or I’m feeling just fine and she’s in the dumps. We can arrange the figures accordingly.
But usually the couple on the windowsill isn’t mired in “After.” They’re facing front, smiling warmly in their wedding regalia; a much more pleasant image. Like our ceramic counterparts, we’re hopeful we can carry on living happily ever “Before.”
The Write Side of 59 