Monthly Archives: December 2014

When Noon is Midnight

31 Wednesday Dec 2014

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Me and Lo. 12.28.14 NYE-2

Just before noon on December 28, 2014.

BY LOIS DESOCIO

Julie usually spends New Year’s Eve doing things like taking “the 7 train to Astoria, Queens with a couple of buddies to eat Greek food …” before they try to “grab balloons caught in the trees.” Or maybe she and Steve will “… make dinner and drink champagne and perhaps manage to hang out until the ball drops.”

This year she said she wants a New Year’s Eve party.

So who’s she gonna call?

I arrived at Julie’s beach house on December 28 promptly at 10:04 in the morning. Since we are both busy tonight, we put together a celebration when it worked for both of us — a Sunday morning. No one else was invited.

10:14 (a.m.). Waiting for the party to begin.

10:14 (a.m.). It’s officially a party.

We glittered. Her dining room table hosted hats, horns, sparkly 2015 sunglasses. Vodka iced in the freezer. Champagne chilled in the fridge. The cheese was creamy and smelly. Fig jam sweetened up the saltiness. In between pumpernickel bagels, we pulled and gnawed at a loaf of French bread. We even had a log of salami. And cookies.

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We splurged. Julie scrambled up some eggs, over which we grated a whole, pungent, earthy, magnificent white truffle. (Thank you, Anita.)

truffle

This is how Anna Magnani would smell a truffle.

We overindulged. And partied hard. We tooted horns. We drank (just a little) too much. We ate a lot. And we ate a lot of food that we usually try to not eat a lot of. We said goodbye five hours later, both of us feeling fat. Bloated. Fulfilled. And 9 p.m. that night became my “morning after.” Wide awake at midnight, it felt like noon.dinner is served

Julie and I wish you all a celebratory night, a glorious day-after, and a 2015 full of smelly cheese, a toast or two, a splurge or more, white truffles, salami, sparkles, horns, daylight, friendship, love, a wad of good fortune, and a clean bill of health.

me-and-lo-12-28-14-nye

Happy New Year.

Anna Magnani Defines Sexiness

30 Tuesday Dec 2014

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Anna Magnani.

Anna Magnani

BY JULIE SEYLER

Have you ever wondered what makes a person “sensual?” I don’t mean the superficial qualities of figure and face.

I am referring to elusiveness — a mysterious attractiveness, unforced; a wise naivité. It’s the enigma that arises from the inner core. For me, it can be summed up in two words: Anna Magnani, the Italian film actress. She died the year I turned 18. She was only 65, nine years older than I am today, but in her movies she lives on.

She seems to always portray women who are primal and of the earth. Whether she was the garrulous prostitute in Mamma Roma, or the overburdened widow in The Rose Tattoo or the actress desperate for a good time on New Year’s Eve in The Passionate Thief, her sexiness exudes: her humanity and her voluptuousness; her smile and her vulnerability; her compassion. She may be an over-the-top volcano, but she is never unreal. So what if she was merely a figment of someone else’s imagination. She never could have been as sexy as those characters are unless she possessed it.

And so my New Year’s resolution is to see more Anna Magnani movies.

A Seasonal, Sentimental Journey (Love You, Mom)

29 Monday Dec 2014

Posted by in Confessional, Men

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Ken and mom

Christmas, 2014.

BY KENNETH KUNZ

My mom reached 87 this year. God bless her. Sure hope she gave me some of her genes!

Mom also taught me how to laugh.

For much of her life, even before I was born, she could be cold and stubborn, gracious but rude, liberal and conservative, accepting and very judgmental, controlling and demanding, submissive and coy. All with an extremely, self-centered, strong ego and vanity second to none. Your mom too? I sometimes refer to her as a drama queen/diva. She is also one of the more intelligent people I know, and can be extremely generous. Much more than I could ever hope to be. I really do love her. And beneath all of this, she is quite sentimental and emotional. I remember when I was a teen laughing and teasing her as she teared up watching what seemed, at the time, a corny scene in an Elvis Presley movie, of all things. I’ve witnessed her shedding tears many a time at similar instances, which I thought to be trivial, both in movies or real life.

Now some of you may be familiar with the late Jimmy Valvano, a college basketball coach who founded the V Foundation for Cancer Research. Shortly before he passed on, at the first ESPN Espy Awards, he received the Arthur Ashe Courage and Humanitarian Award. During his acceptance speech (which you should all Google and experience), he mentioned three things we should do every day: laugh, think, and have your emotions moved to tears (for happiness or joy). I surely think a lot. I try to laugh whenever possible, but boy oh boy can I be moved to tears every single day, even over the most trivial sentiment (except any part of any Elvis movie — never liked any of them). It is, by far, the easiest thing to do.

So many things to bring out our emotions — the fragility of our existence; a child struggling with cancer; the innate goodness of man moved to a selfless act; the beauty of nature; a truly corny Hallmark movie (some real good ones lately); a certain hymn at Mass; a firefighter who perishes attempting to save someone; a daughter hugging her “Poppy” returning from war. So many things. So many things. I’ve shed more of these tears than all those I’ve seen coming from my mom’s eyes. Such a sentimental fool am I. Truly, truly thankful I have those genes from my mom. Truly.

This is a most emotional, sentimental time of the year is it not? Of our life on this orb, yes? Love is the word.

Peace and Merry Christmas. God bless us … everyone.

A (Smith) Spin on Christmas

24 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by in Concepts, Men

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night 2

BY BOB SMITH

Although Christmas is celebrated worldwide by millions, I believe little is known about the birth of Jesus.

A baby was born in the Middle East approximately two thousand years ago. His mother, Mary, was probably no more than 14 years old and either engaged, or only recently married, to a man named Joseph. No one knows how old Joseph was at the time – he could have been anywhere from 15 to 99.

The two had not yet slept together, so when he learned Mary was pregnant, Joseph planned to leave her and move on with his life. A compassionate man, he considered a private divorce because if he publicly denounced her as having been unfaithful, Mary could have been stoned to death. However, despite his reservations, Joseph relented and decided to stay – reportedly, an angel appeared in a dream and reassured him that Mary had done no wrong, and that, nonetheless, she was bearing a very special child.

The baby was born shortly thereafter, and they named him Jesus. Those bare facts aren’t seriously disputed (although many would quibble with whether an “angel” had actually appeared). But beyond that, little is certain about the circumstances of Jesus’ birth.

They say he was born in Bethlehem, but for the rest of his life, he was known as “Jesus of Nazareth,” which is eighty miles away. There appears to be scant or no historical support for the belief that Joseph had traveled to Bethlehem to be counted in the Roman tax census, when whatever property he owned (and on which the taxes would have been levied) was back in Nazareth. And it doesn’t make much sense for the couple to have embarked on a four (or more) day journey when Mary was so close to giving birth.

Many believe the Bethlehem birthplace was a fiction, created merely to make the birth of Jesus more closely conform to Old Testament prophecies about the coming of a great savior.

We don’t even know the exact year, or the exact month and day, when Jesus was born. Some say December 25 is unlikely for a number of reasons. For instance, the shepherds supposedly tending their flocks would not have had their sheep outdoors overnight during that cold and rainy time of the year. And December 25 was already popular as Saturnalia, a pagan holiday celebrating the birth of the sun god. Did the Roman Catholic Church pick December 25 as the date we commemorate the birth of the “son of God” (our very own “sun god”) as a convenient replacement for a holiday with which their doctrine disagreed?

It’s also unclear whether Jesus was born in a manger, as the story goes, or in someone’s home. And apart from Mary and Joseph, there appears to be little or no historical evidence for believing that anyone else attended the birth – if the magi were there at all, they likely arrived some time later. Some speculate that it could have been months before any “wise men” showed up bearing gifts. And while there may have been three of them, the historical record (the book of Matthew, the only known account of the magi and the “Christmas star”) merely refers to them in the plural, so there could have been two, four, or ten of them for all we know.

So what do we know? About two thousand years ago, a boy named Jesus was born in the Middle East. That’s not unusual – today, at least four people are born every second of every day. And his parents were poor; nothing new there. But we also know that the accounts of this boy’s life and death, and his teachings, have been preserved and passed on for centuries. And we also know that, whoever you think he was, Jesus has had, and continues to have, an enormous positive impact on the lives of billions of people.

Given the passage of millennia, and the fact that we’re talking about someone who many worship as the son of God, is it surprising that the story may have been “spun” by some, or that elements of fable have crept into the record? I think I can live with that.

A Christmas Letter from Grandpa

23 Tuesday Dec 2014

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Bryce having pre-Christmas fun with Dad.

Bryce having pre-Christmas fun with Dad.

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

Dear Bryce:

So, at the age of 10 months, you may have noticed a great deal of unusual activity recently. Your parents have probably been spending more time in stores. When they come home, they wrap colored paper around what they bought.

“What’s up with that?” you may ask.

In your first visit to New York City you probably were wondering why your mother and father took you to see a big tree full of colored lights. And you probably have noticed that your neighborhood also has a lot of these same colored lights around. And you may have seen some people wearing a lot of red, particularly fat men with big white beards.

“What’s the story, grandpa?” you may ask.

OK, here’s the skinny. It’s called “Christmas” and it comes every year at this time. It’s sort of a big deal, particularly for kids like you because — and you better sit down for this — it’s a day that people give you lots of neat stuff to play with and to eat. They even ask you to make a list of what you want and then — and here’s the best part — they get it for you!!

And you know all that colored paper — you get to rip it off and you get to play with it and the box too. You may even want to play with what’s inside. (Although this year it’s probably gonna be mostly things to keep you warm through your first winter in Vermont.)

Now you may be thinking, what’s so special about this Christmas day that makes people act so strangely?

Well, it started out as a celebration to mark the day a really nice man named Jesus Christ was born a really long time ago. It’s called a birthday. You’ll get your own celebration in a couple of months. We’ll call yours “Brycemass” if you want.  Anyway, people liked this guy so much that when he was born, strangers traveled great distances to bring him presents. And we continue that tradition today. Only now we give presents to each other. Neat, huh?

Well if getting stuff from your mom and dad and your grandparents, aunts and uncles wasn’t good enough, there’s someone else who brings things to you at Christmas. He lives up at the North Pole. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. Maybe he likes snow. Anyway, this guy is old and fat and always dresses in a red and white suit. His name is Nicholas but everyone calls him Santa Claus. He has a bunch of reindeer and a sled and every Christmas he packs it up with all the toys that boys and girls want and he delivers them while you’re asleep — sort of like the UPS man only without having to sign anything.

But just like the NSA, Santa sees you when you’re sleeping and knows when you’re awake. He has a database of who’s been naughty and who’s been nice. You have to be on the “nice” list to get presents. Word is that you can get presents even if you’re naughty sometimes, just as long as you’re mostly nice. Santa knows that no one’s perfect.

It’s an imperfect world and so people sometimes act naughty. But the thing about Christmas is that people make an effort to be nice. They’re not always successful, but most people try. That’s what really makes Christmas special.

About 50 years ago, when I was a kid, people were worrying about how people had forgotten why we celebrate Christmas and instead were focused on buying things. So a wise doctor named Seuss gave us a story about a Grinch who found out that people could celebrate Christmas without “things.” And an artist named Schulz gave us a story about some kids who get so wrapped up in decorations and Christmas plays that they forget the reason for the season. A boy named Linus reminded them.

Well if Christmas was too much about “things” 50 years ago, the years since have only given us more of the same. We now start “celebrating” Christmas beginning in October. We have a shopping day after Thanksgiving that is so crazy they call it “Black Friday.” What’s worse, storekeepers have come to rely on people buying stuff to excess in the last three months of the year as part of their business plans, and the media makes it almost un-American and certainly anti-capitalist to resist this command to buy.

But we can resist the urge to make Christmas about “things” and I hope that you will. Oh, I know how great it is to get new toys, and you will certainly have your share in the Christmases ahead. But always remember the lesson that Linus and the Grinch tried to teach us many years ago. The spirit of Christmas is not in the decorations, the presents, the trees or even the songs. It is in what you can do at Christmas and every day to assure that there is “peace on earth and good will to all men.”

Love always,
Grandpa Frank

P.S. I hear that if you leave some cookies for Santa, he can be extra generous. Even Santa works for tips.
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More of My Favorite Things

22 Monday Dec 2014

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My cousin gave me this card in 1986. Inside it reads "I've found a way to enjoy loys of pasta and stay trim."

My cousin gave me this card in 1986.

BY JULIE SEYLER

Does indulgence in our favorite things keep us healthy and wise, if not wealthy? Who knows. But living that theory certainly contributes to contentment. So some of my timeless reliables of favorite things are:

Noodles.

They can’t be too wide (like fettucine), too flat (like linguine), or too short (like penne). No, as a favorite thing, the noodle must be long and stringy and thin and twist like a slimy worm and then they can take on a manifold of ingredients and flavors: cold with sesame sauce and scallions, in a steaming bowl of ramen stocked with miso and pork belly, or slathered with the juice of lemons, garlic and parmesan cheese.  While my pre-diabetes scare did put a damper on eating noodles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, it did not put a damper on the joy that I get from slurping them up, (albeit these days I try to make them whole grain).

Traveling.

Of course if I am en route to a destination I am thrilled, but prior to the actual departure date, planning the details, finding the hotels, and figuring out the must-sees is a definite mood booster. And once I return the rehashing commences and ergo reliving what I’d seen and where I was, ergo all the recent post on Romania and no doubt more to come). Then about two months later it’s time to start thinking of the next place to go, like Detroit Michigan for a 2 day sojourn in February?  Now how fun will that be?

Art.

It doesn’t matter if I’m seeing it, reading about it, writing about it, or dabbling with painting and drawing, it delivers endorphins.

Swimming.

It’s my exercise of choice and my pleasure. I love being submerged in water.

A Martini

Made with Russian Standard vodka and a single olive.

Julie Andrews sang it and John Coltrane played it, but those are a few of my favorite things.

This is One (More Like 600) Tough Cookie

19 Friday Dec 2014

Posted by in Confessional, Food

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Ripped recipe

BY DEBBIE NEELY

Every Christmas, I bake butter cookies. Not just a few dozen, but batches and batches and batches of them. Actually, I bake 50 dozen. I do this with no particular joy, nor just because I have loving childhood memories of eating them by the fistful straight out of the Charlie Chips cans with my sisters.

Cookie tools

The tools.

So why then do I spend an entire, miserable weekend every December baking? Because I enjoy creaming pounds of hard, greasy, sweet butter and sugar with dozens of painstakingly separated egg yolks? Because I experience a moment of Zen-like oneness while hand-mixing pounds of flour and bottles of almond extract into goopy, wet, yellow batter? Because I feel a surge of warm pride while pressing dozens upon dozens of delicate snow flakes, topping each with a bright red, finger staining Maraschino cherry?

Debbie dough

The dough.

No! I bake them every Christmas, and I mean every Christmas, because my grandmother baked them, and my mother baked them and because I just, well, have to bake them! It’s as if I’ve acquired a hereditary, seasonal mandate, or have some crazy genetic predisposition that, upon hearing the first tinny bells of the season, compels me to ransack the kitchen hunting down the old, family butter cookie recipe.

Debbie tins

The tins.

Though this inherited urge to bake each Christmas is a labor-intensive chore that leaves me cranky, it is also a labor of love. My family, friends and neighbors have come to expect their carefully packed tins of butter cookies delivered by a rather harried me. These cookies have become a part of their holiday memories; a part of their holiday DNA.

And so, before I change my mind, I’m back to the kitchen! Happy Holidays.

Cookies done

The End.