story repository

How Will She Know?

2012-02-12T07:44:00.002-05:00

A lot will be written and said about Whitney Houston in the coming days and weeks, and nearly everyone will agree - fan or not - that she was blessed with one of the most amazing voices of all time, and how tragic it is that beauty, talent, success, and more money than many small countries possess just weren't enough. And I agree with that, so far. I was never a fan. Though I could certainly appreciate her vocal skill, there was always something cold and calculating about her music, with the exception of "Saving All My Love" which is by far my favorite of her songs. My ambivalence toward Ms. Houston was shattered when The Bodyguard and that song were, suddenly and without warning, everywhere. I started to actively dislike her. That dislike made it easy for me to be amused when her seemingly charmed life began to fray around the edges. The "opposites attract" marriage to bad boy Bobby Brown, the rumors of drug use (remember when we could convince ourselves they were only rumors?) which began to seem more and more plausible. Whitney's descent was slow, but it was steady. Then the photos of a bathroom in her zillion dollar house cluttered with drug paraphernalia, the gaunt meth-addict look she began to display in public, the erratic behavior and the cancelled shows made it impossible to deny that something terrible was going on here. Now, I'm a big proponent of personal responsibility even if I struggle with the concept in my own life. Whitney may have had a truckload of bad influences pushing her down the wrong road, but ultimately she's the one who got herself addicted to who knows what. But I can't believe that a world famous celebrity with a monstrous fortune and influential friends, I can't believe nobody was able to step in and help her. Maybe her friends and family and agents tried and we just don't know about it, but come on, the world saw her spiral down into the depths of hell and nobody seemed to lift a finger to stop it.

On Winter

2012-02-08T04:21:00.002-05:00

We're just about half way through a winter that has yet to really show up, and I couldn't be happier about it. For all my brave talk about how much I love my seasons, the truth of the matter is that the seasons I love are pretty much fall and... fall. It's been years since I've been in school but I still think of the year in school terms. For me, September marks the arrival of a new year, not January 1. Thinking that way plays some tricks with my mind, because the optimism and hope and potential of a fresh slate don't quite match the decline and decay I see all around me as autumn leads us kicking and screaming into winter. And though winter looms large throughout autumn, I still somehow manage to be not ready when it finally does arrive. It never fails that I find myself standing in line at Walgreens with a pair of 99 cent gloves the first day the temperature dips below freezing. Gee, if only we'd had some warning that this was going to happen! I don't think I'm the only one who thinks like this, either. The first snow is always treacherous, even if it's only a fraction of an inch, as people seem to be driving in the snow for the very first time. In Buffalo.

So now as February races by I find myself worrying less about when the other shoe is going to drop and instead hoping that we can somehow ride this mild spell clear into April. I don't even want to think about what the implications and consequences of such a bizarre winter are. Will there be droughts or food shortages or some other thing (almost certainly unpleasant) that we'll have to deal with later on? Is this a taste of how winters of the future will be or a once in a lifetime exception to the rule?

I will say that I don't miss the cabin fever that is usually appearing right about now. I don't miss brushing the car off firing up the snow-thrower or even the beauty of the bare trees right after a snowfall. Going without for one year won't kill me.

2012-01-14T18:40:00.002-05:00

I'm giving Etsy another shot but so far it's pretty much the same as before... nothing! I don't want to sound bitter but wouldn't you rather have a print of one of Buffalo's majestic grain elevators than a neck cozy made out of woodchuck fur? I guess for the overwhelming majority of people the answer to that question is "no."

2011-12-07T00:49:00.002-05:00

The Real Dream Cabaret's long awaited Outlaw Show is rounding the clubhouse turn and entering the homestretch, and I for one am thrilled. It has been (as nearly all Cabaret projects are) varying degrees of fun, stress, challenge, growth, creativity, satisfaction, fear and physical exhaustion. But, as they say, the squeaky wheel gets the grease, and physical exhaustion is yelling the loudest at the moment. Still, the show is an accomplishment, especially considering the fairly large obstacles that appeared - seemingly out of nowhere - at the last minute. We got through it and the show is something we can all be proud of (three stars out of four from the Buffalo News, in case you were wondering). We've had some publicity - posters, postcards, a beautiful write up in Gusto and a story in Buffalo Spree. It's always funny when people tell me they saw my photo in Spree because I can tell they really mean "I can't believe you get up on a stage and say things in front of people because you're such an awkward, inarticulate mess every time I've ever seen you try to speak." I resist the temptation to tell them that for $20 ($15 student) they could find out I'm just as awkward and inarticulate on stage as I am in real life.

Welcome Caterina Rose!

2011-12-07T00:41:00.002-05:00

The big news from the Carocci family is the recent arrival of my niece Caterina Rose, who entered the world fully formed at a whopping 9 pounds and 3 ounces. She's a lovely baby, surrounded on both sides by armies of loving, doting relatives - grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. I'm pretty sure she's already been photographed more than Liz Taylor.

2011-11-02T00:27:00.002-04:00

It's the day after Halloween, and my Facebook feed is clogged with photos of adorable children in their Halloween finery. I've never met the vast majority of them, but if I look closely I can sometimes see their parents in the way they hold their head or how their eyes crinkle when they smile. It's nice. I'm also pleased to see home-made costumes making a comeback. Maybe it's the economy, or maybe my friends just skew creative (I suspect a combination of the two). Whatever the reason, I support this trend. As with so many other things in my childhood, I never really knew how good I had it until I was an adult. My parents couldn't afford store-bought costumes for me and my brother (which, truth be told, were pretty hideous in those days anyway) and so we always had home-made costumes. The quality varied wildly from the almost un-wearable robot costume (a cardboard box covered in aluminum foil, and any similarity between the control dial and a spinner from the Game of Life is purely coincidental) to the completely charming Underdog costume I wore in kindergarten, 2nd, 4th and 6th grades. Only once were my brother and I a "matched set" costume wise... I wore my red and white striped pajamas and he was a police officer. There's a picture of it somewhere, and it's the cutest thing you ever saw. Because we were so far apart in age, my brother and I were seldom together in school, but we did go trick or treating together. Once it started to get dark (daylight trick or treating is a modern invention I'll never understand, I don't care how much safer it is) we got our plastic pumpkins or bags or whatever and hit the streets. We did a couple of houses on our block to warm up, then made a beeline for the lower half of Ross Park, two blocks away. We had lived on Ross Park, so I knew the area well, even though our apartment had been on the much less desirable upper section of the street. The lower section as we rounded Court Street was ablaze with porch lights... it was like discovering buried treasure and winning the lottery at the same time. And keep in mind, this was before "fun size" candy bars were invented. Many is the year we had to go home, empty our pumpkins, and return to Ross Park to finish the job.

BINGO!

2011-10-27T19:07:00.002-04:00

Hallwalls Bingo with the Real Dream Cabaret.

2011-10-19T23:55:00.002-04:00

Buffalo has a rhythm that I've adjusted to over the years. In the winter, you hibernate. You might venture outside to shovel or get the mail or maybe show up at your job, but for the most part you spend the winter months curled up somewhere with a blanket and the internet, and just try to get through it all (winter that is, not the internet). Then when the weather breaks (sometimes we get lucky and that's late March. It's more often early May) all hell breaks loose. People who have been cooped up all winter suddenly start throwing parties and there are festivals and art openings and all sorts of crazy stuff going on. Then, toward the end of summer, our collective energy starts to flag and the pace slows a bit. It's sad, because we know summer is about to end, but at the same time we're all getting a bit tired so the slowdown isn't exactly unpleasant. The back to school knocks all the parents out of the loop and the next thing you know it's November and you're standing in line at Valu Home Center with a weatherization kit in your hand. Of course, you're not ready. You never are. Paragraph Break! This pattern for 2011 has been different. The slowdown never really came this year, and now here it is mid-October and we're all scurrying around at our July pace, and there's no end in sight until at least Christmas. I guess this is a long winded way of saying I've been too busy to blog. And you've probably been too busy to notice. Paragraph Break! The Real Dream Cabaret is putting the final touches on our long awaited Outlaw Show. We've been "doing research" for this show (and by doing research I mean watching outlaw films every couple of weeks at Brian and Holly's house) for close to five years, and it's actually quite a bit of fun, so I always figured we'd just keep watching the movies and never get around to putting on a show. Then somehow our humble - but very thoroughly researched - little Outlaw Show appeared on schedules as part of Torn Space's season. A real theater! It's very exciting, of course, and a bit intimidating but we're all working hard and having fun. Paragraph Break! As exciting as that is, the real news is my impending uncle-hood. Yes, in just a few short weeks I'm going to have a niece. Can you believe it?

2011-08-04T16:33:00.004-04:00

The great paint project of 2011 continues. The color is Glidden's Red Hot which I absolutely love. For real. I stand there on the sidewalk staring for minutes at a time, enthralled and enchanted by the red-orangeyness of it all. It's beautiful. The trim is Martha Stewart's Dune and I was skeptical but it turns out that Blair and Monique were right and I was wrong. This picture doesn't really do it justice. The door will be a really nice, deep sky blue. If that's ok with Blair and Monique!

2011-05-09T16:13:00.003-04:00

I spent a wonderful afternoon yesterday shooting in Forest Lawn. In addition to the geese and ducks and all manner of birds, I saw a beaver (I think) and even a deer, who though interested in my movement, didn't seem afraid of me in the least even when I was only a few feet away.

2011-04-04T00:11:00.004-04:00

There's this thing I do where I start out laughing at something and the next thing I know I really like it. It's happened numerous times throughout my life, but the very first time it happened was with June Christy. I can still remember little eight year old me going through my parents' record collection looking for something - anything - that looked even remotely interesting, usually without success. I had to settle for making fun of the squaresville record album covers, and the squarest of the square was "the Cool School" by June Christy. It sure didn't look very cool to me, and what the hell kind of name is "June" anyway? Then one day, for reasons long since forgotten, I must have been exceptionally bored, or maybe I was finally starting to realize that not everything my parents liked was terrible, but for whatever reason I decided to listen to the Cool School and see what the deal was. The liner notes told of children's songs done up in sophisticated, jazzy arrangements by one of the most respected vocalists of her era... but all of that was lost on me. I just wanted to hear "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead." Well, call it divine intervention or just my pre-adolescent clumsiness, but I dropped the needle onto "Aren't You Glad You're You" by accident and thus began my life-long membership in the June Christy Fan Club. Looking back, it's hard to remember just what it was about the song that grabbed my ears so immediately. Heck, though it's a very special song to me, it's not even my favorite song on the album. But something clicked and it clicked hard, and now, no matter how bad things are, it's guaranteed to make things better. Maybe not completely wonderful, but better than they were 2:22 earlier. Do you make the most of your five senses? Or is your life like Old Mother Hubbard's shelf? Well mark this on your slate: life is not an empty plate. That's if you appreciate... yourself. Every time you're near a rose, aren't you glad you've got a nose? And if the dawn is fresh with dew, aren't you glad you're you? When a meadowlark appears, aren't you glad you've got two ears? And if your heart is singing too, aren't you glad you're you? You can see a summer sky, or touch a friendly hand, or taste an apple pie, pardon the grammar, but ain't life grand? And when you wake up each morn, aren't you glad that your were born? Think what you've got the whole day through, aren't you glad you're you?

Shootin' with the B's

2011-03-31T20:52:00.003-04:00

One of my many qualities that I hope is endearing but people probably just find annoying is my child-like (immature) excitement over the little things. Two of my friends who are photographers were in town last weekend for a photo shoot, and they agreed to let me observe. It was probably nothing to them but to me it was like Christmas morning; that is if Christmas morning took place in East Aurora's beautiful Roycroft Inn on a Sunday afternoon in March. The shoot was wedding/bridal themed, and photographers Joey and Allison were looking to create a series of images that showed their versatility - from straightforward wedding shots to fashion editorial shots, along with everything in between. My goal was to watch and learn, particularly when it comes to directing people, something I'm absolutely terrible at. The first thing I learned was that photo shoots are pretty much nothing like the ones you see in movies or on America's Next Top Model. There was no bass-heavy techno music blaring, and nobody was screaming "FIERCE!" or "Give it to me!" between shots. What there was instead was a great amount of patience and attention to detail, making sure each element was just right before proceding in order to get the best shot possible. That was a great lesson for me, as I tend to rush through the process so as not to inconvenience the model, but I learned that the model will gladly put up with a slower pace to get a better shot. That's not to say there's no room for impulsive creativity... but when the lighting and angles are right that frees you to focus on being creative. It was beautiful to see, and the shots Joey and Allison took that day are spectacular.

Egg Salad

2011-03-18T08:10:00.002-04:00

When I was in school I worked at the hospital near my home. It wasn't a pleasant job as far as after school jobs went - I certainly didn't have the same status as my friends in retail - but the pay was excellent, and I could get full-time hours if I wanted. When I went away to school, they allowed me to come back and work on my vacations, which was a great help. On one vacation stint I was placed in the cafeteria at the sandwich station, which was basically a mini-Subway before there was a Subway. Customers would choose their bread and I'd fix up a sandwich to their specifications. One day a family came through the line and the little boy, about 6 years old, pressed his face against the glass to see what kinds of sandwiches we had to offer. His eyes lit up when he spotted the egg salad. "Mommy is the eggs like yours?" has asked. His mother was offended. "No they are not," she hissed. His eyes lit up even brighter. "I want the eggs!" he told me.

2011-03-06T12:06:00.001-05:00

Look, at this point I'll take any excuse to post some warm colors.

2011-03-06T12:00:00.004-05:00

This is Assumption, the church my family in Syracuse has attended for generations; going back to the early 1900s. I have so many memories of the place: countless hours spent staring at stained glass windows and the awe-inspiring statues of saints and prophets and martyrs during mass, daily lenten stations of the cross during my catholic school years, first communion, confirmation, confession, and the various weddings and funerals throughout the years. But the most vivid memory of all is the time I was home from college and my aunt asked me to help hang the Advent banners in the church. I said "sure," but it turned out to be a more complicated process than I'd expected. First I had to drag the giant wooden ladder out from behind the altar, place it carefully against each column, then climb up (higher! higher!) until I could insert a six foot iron rod through two small iron loops mounted on top of each column's capital. It was difficult; the rod had to be positioned precisely or it wouldn't go through. Now, you can't really tell from the photograph but those columns are tall, and that ladder was rickety, and I'll admit it: I was scared. Maybe it was the ladder shaking or maybe my hands were sweaty, but I dropped the iron rod, and down, down it fell, clattering loudly, first on the polished wooden pews and then across the hard marble floor below. Before I could think about it I shouted "oh, FUCK" and it echoed over and over in the empty church. My aunt and I both looked around the church, desperately hoping nobody else was there, and then made a silent agreement to never speak of this again. But I wouldn't be surprised if that echo continues to this day.

Frances

2011-03-01T22:11:00.003-05:00

I've been in contact with Frances, one of my design teachers from UB. It began as the basic Facebook-style reconnect, but since then we've actually had some interesting conversations via e-mail, and thanks to her recommendation I'm doing some design work for a start-up project she's involved with in New York City. Frances and I have been corresponding for a few months now, but it's still a bit surreal. The first shock was that she remembered me at all after 20+ years, as I wasn't exactly a standout student (though I probably showed occasional flashes of potential that were no doubt incredibly frustrating to my teachers). But Frances remembered me right away. The second oddity is the way she treats me as an equal, which makes perfect sense on paper (I'm no longer her student and we're probably only a couple of years apart in age) but still feels odd in practice. Frances taught 2-D Design my first year at UB, an amazing, confusing time in my life that I can barely remember even though it sometimes feels like yesterday. I did well in her class that first semester, but by the second semester new friends and outside interests took their toll on my schoolwork and my grades. Apparently Frances has graciously chosen to forget that second semester, and working with her again after all these years has been a real treat. Her criticism is constructive and always spot-on, and her praise has been great for my confidence. The other day she surprised me with a scan of some work I had done in her class. It was a strange feeling to look at that creation of my long-ago self. I didn't recognize it at all, and in fact for a long time I was convinced she'd made a mistake and sent me some other student's work. I decided to let it be a lesson, and gave myself permission to be creative and daring and not restrict myself to choices my future self would recognize as "typical John". Let's keep him guessing.

Peepshow 2011

2011-02-27T20:58:00.004-05:00

Last night was Squeaky Wheel's Peepshow, and the Real Dream Cabaret was there with a traveling speakeasy featuring swing dancers, gangsters, and the jazz stylings of Holly Billiday and yours truly Johnny C. After a few performances, the police would inevitably raid us, and we'd disperse into the crowd only to reconvene minutes later in another part of the building. It was a lot of fun for us; hopefully the crowd enjoyed it as well. I'm not sure if a link into Facebook will work, but here's some video footage of Peepshow. Enjoy!

http://www.facebook.com/#!/video/video.php?v=10150416281510274&comments

Beep

2011-02-21T22:05:00.003-05:00

I don't like to paint with a broad brush, but it's a fact that every Italian man who has ever lived thinks his mother is a saint, and that her meatballs are the best on Earth. How fortunate for me that in my case, both statements are true. Despite my best efforts, I had a few rough years right after graduating from high school, and my mom helped me get through them relatively unscathed. When I went away to school, I could count on a note or letter from home at least twice a week, and in those days before e-mail or unlimited long distance calling, that meant a lot. Still, it's funny to go back and read some of those notes, filled as they are with the details of a life I simply don't remember all that well. Here, presented out of context for maximum amusement, are selections from a few notes and letters I received my first year away at school.

1. That's why I keep my door LOCKED!

2. Take care and PLEASE DON'T HITCHHIKE! (this was underlined as well)

3. Everyone's going orange crazy around here.

I guess they aren't all that silly after all, though the idea that I'd ever hitchhike is still good for a chuckle.

The Book of Knowledge

2011-02-19T23:20:00.002-05:00

I am lucky enough to have had the opportunity to know two of my great grandmothers. In fact, my great grandmother Vaccaro (GGV) passed away when I was in my third year of college. GGV was a character, for sure. She'd grown up in relative affluence on an olive farm in Italy (her family had servants!) but raising eight children here in America during the depression taught her the value of thrift. On Sunday afternoons we'd go to visit her in her rambling yellow house on Gifford Street. The cousins would play while the adults talked, propelled by a seemingly endless supply of chocolate stars and, later on, popcorn popped on her enormous old stove that took up an entire wall. Amazingly, in all my visits there I was never in the backyard (where chickens may or may not have lived, depending on who you ask) and I was only upstairs once. GGV was devoutly religious, and one of the most truly generous people I've ever met. On holidays the cousins would each receive a half-dollar coin hand sewn into a little square of plastic, and she regularly sent a shipment of homemade prune-filled biscuits to our house after I made the mistake of saying I liked them, which was a complete lie, but I ate every one as it seemed that not eating them would have been an even bigger offense. But GGV also gave me two larger gifts: my desk, and the Book of Knowledge. I knew something was up when we drove over to Gifford Street on a weekday, and as we pulled to the curb I saw a giant brown... thing... on the sidewalk that was apparently my new desk. I was thrilled even if it was just about the ugliest thing I'd ever seen. It was enormous and rickety, painted an awful chocolate brown and with doors held together by giant staples, but after my mom took a furniture refinishing course with my desk as her project (we refer to this period as her stripper days) it was transformed into a beautiful piece of fine furniture. But it's the Book of Knowledge that is the real topic of this post. The Book of Knowledge is one of my most prized possessions yet I can't remember when or where GGV gave it to me. So what is the Book of Knowledge, anyway? It's a 22 volume children's encyclopedia set published by the Grolier Society. My set, published in 1942, is an updated version of the set from 1937. The most noticable feature of the Book of Knowledge is that it doesn't follow the standard reference format. Alphabetical order? Forget it. Each of the 22 volumes has entries in the following categories: Earth Science, Plants, Animals, Familiar Things, Literature, Fine Arts, the United States, Other Nations, Stories, Poems, Famous Men and Women. There are also questions and puzzles and riddles interspersed throughout. The second most noticable feature is that it abandons the detached, neutral attitude of most reference materials. A biography of an artist might include a harsh judgement of his work, or high praise. It sounds a lot like propaganda to modern ears, and yet the Book of Knowledge remains strangely neutral on then-current figures like Hitler and Stalin, mentioning them without so much as a hint of judgment. It's almost creepy. My favorite features are the scientific explanations of phenomena that the passing time has proven wrong, and the beautiful photos of architecture that sadly no longer exists, particularly in Europe.

BINGO!

2011-02-19T13:13:00.002-05:00

The Real Dream Cabaret co-hosted the recent bingo event at Hallwalls, and our extensive research and preparation (an evening at Polish Cadets bingo which I missed, and a flurry of e-mails that I didn't) has me thinking about the bingo days of my youth. I was raised in a bingo family. My grandfather called the numbers at our church bingo events, and my grandmother sold admission cards and helped verify winners. Later on, my mom and aunt sold "pull tabs". Bingo was a big deal at our church, and the weekly Tuesday night games and monthly Sunday afternoon games accounted for a big chunk of the parish's income. The main game was held in the gymnasium, with a smaller "non-smoking" game held downstairs in the cafeteria. The two rooms were connected via intercom, though it sometimes took a second or two for people in one room to realize a bingo had been called in the other. As years went on, the parish grammar and high schools closed, and parishioners who had moved out to the suburbs were less and less willing to drive in to the city. Bingo felt the pinch. The monthly Sunday game was eliminated, then the Tuesday games were held in the cafeteria only. Eventually, bingo was discontinued entirely. I have a lot of memories of bingo, though they've blurred to the point where I don't remember which story happened when. I remember my grandfather calling the numbers, and sometimes my brother would be sitting on his lap (I don't know if state gaming regulations were looser then or if our church just didn't follow them - that would be a major no-no today). I remember people didn't seem to be having fun. They were always yelling if the caller was going too fast (where's the fire?) or too slow (come on!) or if someone at another table won more than one game (%$#*!). Still, it was exciting. Years later, I went to bingo with my mom and aunt, and while playing I was struck by the multi-colored designs daubers made on the specials cards. After the evening was over I went from table to table collecting the cards, intending to use them as wrapping paper. A volunteer, thinking I was simply being helpful, told me I didn't have to help clean up. I explain that I wanted to reuse the sheets as wrapping paper and she seemed to think that was the cleverest thing she'd ever heard. Another lady - 80 if she was a day - ran over with a thick stack of used pull tabs "you can use these for the tags!"

Flower

2011-02-06T01:05:00.002-05:00

This is something I posted on a garden blog I was involved with for the briefest of moments. I found it again today and was struck by how different my life was only a couple of years ago.

This morning I passed another marker on the long road to being a gardener, another step on the journey, another brick in the wall, another one bites the dust. Choose whichever cliche you prefer; they all work. Yes, I finally had a flower plucked from my front yard. I didn't notice at first, even though my garden is tiny and mostly perennials, which, lovely as they are, don't really clamor for attention with big, showy blooms. I was getting something from my car and on my way back in I noticed the spider flower had sure faded fast. I hadn't expected it to... hey wait a minute, it's not dead at all, it's completely gone, cut off from the stem in a break so clean as to suggest it wasn't simply nature having its way. I won't lie and tell you there was no little twinge of disappointment or anger when I saw the stem come to an abrupt end halfway up to its former height. But then I decided to take a more zen approach and go with the assumption my little spider flower is making someone very happy in its new home. And I can't deny it... I'm kind of flattered that someone would want anything I grew! Of course, I don't want this to become a regular occurance, but if I lose a blossom now and then to the world at large, hey, I can live with that.

Cartoon Time

2011-01-22T13:17:00.002-05:00

I did that thing again, where I have a great idea for a story repository post, but by the time I get to a computer whoosh it's gone. Whenever it happens, I think about the first time I can remember it happening. One night during my junior year of high school, I had a dream about a cartoon. It was an amazing cartoon, really, and even in my dream state I wondered if I'd really come up with the idea myself or if I'd perhaps seen something similar somewhere else. At any rate I knew it was worth saving. When I woke up, I ran to the bookcase in the hall where a pad and pencil sat next to the phone extension (you youngsters probably didn't understand a word of that sentence) and sketched out the cartoon as well as I could remember. Then I showered and went to school. Now, I wouldn't say I obsessed exactly, but the cartoon was on my mind all day, and I couldn't wait to get home and see what I had sketched out upon waking. No after school detours to downtown or Buttons arcade on that day - I went straight home and ran upstairs. And, as you've no doubt figured out by now, the cartoon I sketched out made absolutely no sense at all. It was a cat (sort of, I had just woken up after all) falling from the ceiling toward the floor. And on the floor right where the cat would land was a sign that said "back off". Yep, that's my classic cartoon for the ages, the panel I thought so witty that it was inconceivable that I'd thought of it on my own. It was a hard blow, but I walked over to my desk and crumpled up the envelope addressed to the New Yorker. There was another time, years later, that I got up the nerve to actually submit a cartoon, though it wasn't to the New Yorker, it was to the Bingo Bugle. The Bugle was sort of a family joke at the time, and if you've ever perused its pages you'll know why. My comic showed a guy sitting at a table covered with bingo cards, dauber in hand, and his thought bubble said "come on, free space!". They never printed my cartoon.

Table Talk

2011-01-07T23:27:00.003-05:00

As I've no doubt mentioned in previous posts, I'm a social phobic. Part of what that means in practice is that when I'm out in public, I stay very much aware of my surroundings so that I can maintain control over my interactions (or lack thereof) with other people. But this being an imperfect world, I'm not always the one in charge, so sometimes I just have to buck up, leave my carefully constucted comfort zone and let the chips fall where they may. This happened most recently on Wednesday night at the Protocol. ~ Let me back up. The Protocol is a restaurant, and I was there a fundraiser for the agency where I work. The room was full to capacity with people, which despite my personal horror is a great problem for a fundraising event, and because of the way the seating arrangements played out I was placed at a table with seven strangers. I was tempted to leave, but that meant missing out on filet mignon with au jus and asparagus, so I steeled myself, sat down, mumbled a hello to the women sitting on either side of me, and busied myself pretending to check my camera settings. ~ Let me back up again. I know how that sounds. I know I'm the one starting things out on the wrong foot by refusing to participate in even the most basic conversation. I know it's rude to bury my head in my camera instead of socializing with the people I'm about to dine with. And I know my discomfort makes them uncomfortable as well. But I bury my head anyway. ~ Well, the lady seated to my left was having none of that. It started innocently enough - a request for my help in putting her coat over the back of her chair - but she was a talker, and there was a real risk of me having to converse with her all evening. For what seemed like the millionth time that evening, I resigned myself to my fate and started nodding as she told me about her grandchildren. ~ I soon discovered I had underestimated my formidable foe. When I stopped nodding and actually began to listen, I realized she was an interesting conversationalist, and, slowly at first but with increasing enthusiasm, I began to respond and converse back. Oh, she had a few tricks as well, but I saw through them right away. Still, I was was charmed that she thought enough of me to try them... talking softly in a crowded room so I'd have to lean in and really concentrate to hear; showing me the amazingly well-designed holiday card her daughter had sent that she carried around in her purse, that sort of thing, but none of those little tricks would have worked if she hadn't also been so determined early on to keep the conversation going by sheer force of will. She shared the story of how she had found out about the event - she'd stopped into TGIF for a bite to eat and a break from her Christmas shopping, but all the tables were full, except for one large round booth with some space free at one end. She asked the women already seated if she could join them, and though they were just about to leave by the time their little party broke up they'd made plans to attend our event together. ~ That sort of effortless ability to make connections with other people is something so foreign to me I can't even have a reaction to it. It's just beyond my comprehension. But by the time dessert was served, as I complimented her on a lovely, unusual ring she was wearing, I was shocked to discover that I wasn't just making idle chat to pass the time. I was genuinely enjoying talking to her over our dinner, and if she'd asked me to attend a fundraising even in a couple of weeks, well, I probably wouldn't have said yes but then again maybe I would have. ~ I've known a few people like her before... social beings who get along with anyone, anywhere. I've even been friends with a couple of them, which is a wonderful thing although it can be deflating when they shine their light on everyone instead of just you. But I'm taking this experience as more than just a pleasant night out. I'm taking it as inspiration to venture out of my comfort zone more often, to listen, to contribute, to connect with people in an honest way instead of just nodding my head and waiting for them to turn their attention elsewhere. It might not be amazing and it certainly won't be effortless, but maybe next time I'll be the one who refuses to let the conversation trail off.

The Most Wonderful...

2011-01-04T23:03:00.002-05:00

Another holiday season has come and gone, and now the brand new year stretches ahead, full of promise and peril. I thought I had things under control. I had my Christmas cards all picked out and purchased, which for me is the toughest job of all. Unfortunately, I neglected to write them out and mail them, and between one thing and another it never got done. They're still sitting in a box on the shelf, so if you didn't get a card from me this year (and you didn't) that's why. I guess I could hold on to them for next year and save a few dollars, but to be honest I wasn't all that crazy about them anyway so I'd rather try to find some really nice cards for 2011. My decorating efforts were slightly more successful. I'm a firm believer in "less is more" when it comes to holiday lights, so I went with a few strands of colored lights wound around my front porch railing... simple yet fun, and quite lovely once the snow finally arrived. Shopping was a bigger challenge, unfortunately, partly because I waited until the last minute (I'll pause so you can recover from the shock) and partly because everyone on my list is hard to shop for. The two things I really wanted to get for my parents were nowhere to be found, but in the end I think I pulled it together as well as can be expected, and when I say "in the end" I mean it... I purchased the last gift at 3:20 p.m. on Christmas Eve.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-28T03:25:00.003-05:00

Another Thanksgiving Day has come and gone. Over the years, Thanksgiving has become my favorite holiday of the year. It's built around a delicious meal, the weather is (usually) decent for traveling, and there's just the right hint of Christmas anticipation without any of the Christmas stress. Then, of course, there's the actual purpose of the day; a purpose I'm 100% on board with. This wasn't always the case. As a child, Thanksgiving was definitely a second-tier holiday, well behind the "People Give Me Stuff" top-tier holidays like Christmas, Halloween, Easter and my birthday, and only ahead of the "Boring, But At Least I Don't Have to Dress Up" holidays like Labor Day because of the parades. Thanksgiving was usually at our house. Grandparents and aunts and uncles would arrive, and I'd hang up their coats, supply soft drinks, or, when I was old enough, tend the fire in the fireplace. I was banned from the kitchen, and that suited me just fine. Dinner was always delicious (my parents really do have a magic way with a turkey) and then the day hit its first rough spot - the seemingly endless interval between dinner and dessert, when the parades were over and nobody wanted to play games because they were all engaged in that most hideous of adult pastimes, talking. Finally, coffee was brewed and mom would whip up the cream for the pies. The day was back on track. Now that I'm an adult, that gap between dinner and dessert is almost nonexistant (nowadays we're barely done with dessert before someone says "you know, I could go for a turkey sandwich" and we all nod our heads ecstatically) and filled with jokes and stories and memories and laughter. I guess talking isn't so bad.

Red Jacket Awards

2010-11-19T14:36:00.004-05:00

Photos from the Annual Red Jacket Awards Dinner at the Buffalo and Erie County Historical Society. A lovely evening to honor people who have made an enormous difference in our community.

2010-11-10T23:21:00.003-05:00

You might have noticed that I stopped talking about my diet a while back. That's because I fell off the wagon, and over the subsequent weeks I gained back 12 of these 50 pounds I'd worked so hard to lose. It was a slide, for sure, but it could have been worse. Monday I had my "oh, shit" moment and got back on plan. As I feared, it's harder now that summer is over. The seemingly endless selection of fresh, delicious fruits and vegetables has been replaced by apples, pears, and a whole bunch of expensive out of season stuff. Now, I love apples when they're turned into other things, like apple sauce, apple pie, apple crisp or apple muffins, but on their own I'm definitely not a fan. Pears are another story, especially the bosc or red varieties, which is good for me because I'll be depending on them (and the ever-present bag of baby carrots) to get me through the winter months. Oh, and speaking of pears and making apples into something else, here's an easy recipe I sort of invented for our pot-luck staff retreat:

John's Special Harvest Mix

Cut up cored apples and pears into bite sized chunks. I prefer to leave the skin on, but if you're industrious you can peel them. I had success with a mixture of about 2 to 1 apples to pears, with mixed varieties of each but emphasis on tart varieties of apples such as Granny Smith. In a large mixing bowl, combine the apples and pears with cinnamon (lots) and brown sugar to taste (I used 3/4 of a bag of dark brown sugar for a batch that filled my big crock pot to the brim). When the fruit is coated with the sugar and cinnamon, put it in the crock pot and add 3/4 of a bag of cranberries. Because the fruit is so juicy, you won't have to add any water. Cook until the fruit is tender but not mushy, stirring occasionally. My full crockpot was cooked to perfection in a bit under 3 hours cooking on high. If you cook it long enough, it becomes mushy like applesauce, but the cranberries explode and the mixture turns a dark brown that doesn't look very appealing. It was a big hit at the pot-luck, and there were lots of ideas about how it could be modified (walnuts or pecans, maybe) or served (with ice cream, or whipped cream, or as a side dish if the brown sugar was reduced).

Heiny

2010-11-08T22:57:00.003-05:00

My aunt had a dog named Heiny. His actual fancy-pants pedigree name was Sir Asti Heineken, but we all agreed that was too much name for a miniature Schnauzer to handle, so we called him Heiny. "Like the beer?" people would invariably ask. "No, like your butt," I'd think as I smiled and nodded yes. Now, even based on the scant information I've provided thus far, it should come as no surprise that my family managed to transform fancy-pants pedigreed show dog Sir Asti Heineken into Heiny, the canine equivalent of trailer trash. I didn't care; he was a great dog with or without a blue ribbon. I became Heiny's favorite early on because I treated him like the human he thought he was, but I was far from the only person who indulged him. My normally thrifty grandfather became suddenly casual about scooping ice cream, and the not quite empty cartons always somehow ended up on the floor near Heiny's dish. And then there was Edith, the neighbor who lived in the back apartment. We'd open the door to let Heiny out and he'd make a beeline for Edith's door, and bark until she let him in. She fed Heiny scrambled eggs or hot chocolate (yes, really and no, I have no idea why) and he'd return after a while satisfied and ready for a nap. ~ One year we celebrated Easter at my grandparents' house, all of us gathered around the long dining room table enjoying a delicious meal. I think I was the first to notice Heiny wasn't at his usual post under the table in case someone dropped any food, an event so unheard of I still remember the pang of surprise I felt. I called for him... nothing. I called again, and he sauntered into the dining room, face covered in whipped cream, with an expression that can only be described as "yeah, what?", and when my mom saw face prints in her beautiful pies on the side porch, I thought she was going to kill Heiny. For real. But Heiny wasn't all mischief, either. One time he was barking, which was very unusual for him, and when I let him out he didn't run to the back yard like usual but stood there in full-on Lassie mode barking at us to follow. We did. A neighbor's dog, leashed in their yard, had tried to jump the fence and was caught, hanging by his collar. Heiny had heard him and saved the day. We were extra casual scooping the ice cream that night.

2010-11-07T23:17:00.002-05:00

On the northern edge of Buffalo, there's an imposing marble building perched atop a grassy hill. The hill slopes down to a small lake ringed with trees and a Japanese garden. It's a beautiful spot, quiet and drenched in history, and I often find myself there on that specific type of sunny day when you have a lot of thinking to do. The building houses the local historical society, but it was built as the New York State pavilion for the Pan American Exposition of 1901 by an architect who clearly looked to the Parthenon for inspiration. The gardens and lake are part of an extensive city-wide park system designed by Frederick Law Olmsted, and President McKinley was assassinated while attending the Exposition only a few yards (and a hundred years or so) from where I stand. On the steps leading up to the portico sits a bronze statue of Abraham Lincoln. He is portrayed at rest, legs crossed, a leather portfolio of legal papers in his lap. His expression is thoughtful, and his placid gaze looks down over the lake, past the Japanese garden and the interstate to the city beyond. The statue is life-sized, and, apart from the color, very realistic. I always half expect him to turn his head and start talking to me. There's a sort of "when worlds collide" feeling to the spot, filled as it is with the contradictions and overlaps of history. It's secluded and serene, yet the low hum of city traffic never completely disappears. The neoclassical facade, itself homage to a still earlier time, can't quite block the modern overpasses and guardrails and traffic lights from my view. This spot always helps me recognize the repetitive, cyclical nature of life, and what I like best is the reminder that we're surrounded by history, our own, our family's, our nation's. Countless dozens of generations before us have dealt with the same struggles and catastrophes and triumphs and desires and joys and losses and victories as we have, and countless dozens more will follow in our footsteps. I think it's critical that we study history in order to understand how those who came before us solved their problems, or, if they couldn't solve them, why not? Lincoln struggled with a nation fractured to a degree we can only imagine, and yet somehow it eventually worked out ok. Seeing his face, calm, serious yes, but unlined by worry or fear, gives me hope that we'll figure out a way to do the same.

2010-11-07T21:08:00.002-05:00

Blogger has a new feature where you can use your own photographs as the page background instead of their selection of stock images. To be fair, their library of images is unusually nice, but I welcome this extra level of personalization, especially on a blog which is supposed to reflect the unique personality of the owner. Now maybe I should design a proprietary typeface. Or not.

$300!

2010-11-06T13:18:00.003-04:00

Now, I'm not one to brag (much) but I just received word that my two photo submissions to the Mosaic Art Auction sold for a total of $300. The auction is a fundraiser for the Family Justice Center, a very worthy organization that provides help to victims of domestic violence and abuse. Now the pressure is on for next year's submissions!

2010-11-02T00:33:00.001-04:00

Halloween 2010

2010-10-31T19:32:00.002-04:00

2010-10-26T20:21:00.003-04:00

I went back to Chestnut Ridge Sunday evening for another look at the beautiful Autumn scenery. The sky was overcast but once I got into the woods, that didn't really matter so much. I followed a lovely little brook, down into a small ravine, over the rocks and leaves, and only turned back when the sky began to get darker. There's a lot to like about Chestnut Ridge. It's huge, which means you can lose yourself in the beauty of nature without civilization - cell-phone towers or power lines or even other people - breaking your reverie. Huge also means the really pleasant knowledge that there's so much more to discover. And of course, it's flat out gorgeous there.

An October Day

2010-10-23T14:55:00.005-04:00

As much as I love the awe-inspiring beauty of nature, as an actual physical experience I beg to be excused from anything more than the briefest encounters. Oh no, you go on and enjoy your hike. I'll just stay here and shoot some photos before heading in for a nap. Well, a beautiful October day spent at Chestnut Ridge State Park (for our annual staff retreat) has me thinking I might be missing out on a lot. The view above is from the lodge where we met for the day, and on our lunch break I began the walk around the lake I'd been waiting for all morning. The sky was blue and the air was clear and crisp. There was a chill for sure, but it disappeared only a few minutes into my walk. The commotion of 35 co-workers eating lunch faded quickly, replaced by... well, nothing really, other than the crunch crunch crunch of my footsteps. It was interesting to experience the various personalities different sides of a small lake can have. As I began, the path was through dense trees, dark and quiet and secluded. It felt like wilderness. About halfway around, the path became wider and more open, with unobstructed views and less of a sense of isolation. Back at the cabin was the lake's public face, it's best side, it's most dramatic view, as if it knew it was posing for our photographs. Note: I had to tweak the color on this photo a bit. The foliage shows up more vibrant than it was in real life, but the sky and water were even more dazzling than they appear here.

10/10/10

2010-10-11T17:55:00.003-04:00

Here's footage from Kevin and Megan's lovely beach-at-sunset wedding held on Sunday evening, along with the usual litany of excuses about low lighting and my lack of editing skills.

Ladies Who Brunch

2010-09-26T22:34:00.002-04:00

Here are the ladies enjoying a Sunday brunch of lettuce and... well, mostly lettuce. It kind of falls short of what you and I think of as Sunday brunch. There's no waffles or pancakes or sausage or even an omelet bar. No orange juice or mimosas or cranberry cocktail. Just a baggie full of scraps, but the ladies tore into it like it was brunch at the Four Seasons.

No More Dust!

2010-09-23T15:53:00.002-04:00

I'm thrilled to report that my camera sensor is now dust free, and what a difference it makes! I used to spend a lot of time on pretty much every photo removing dust spots with PhotoShop and then applying filters to hide my clumsy PhotoShopping. No more, and being able to start with a clean image is downright luxurious.

2010-09-20T21:57:00.003-04:00

I finally got sick of PhotoShopping the same 10 dust spots out of every picture I take, so I dropped my camera off at Delaware Camera to have the sensor cleaned. I'm starting to realize I have what must be an unhealthy attachment to my camera. I actually miss it. Fortunately the sensor cleaning won't take too long - a day or two at most.

2010-09-19T15:45:00.003-04:00

Here's a revised version of the grain elevator image. I left out the "glamour" filter effect which fuzzes things up in a way that I really like (it's flattering for portraits) but looks a bit phony on some monitors. This is also the first shot where I've been satisfied with the tone mapping effect, mostly because the sky and the gritty industrial subjects lend themselves to how the effect makes things look. Ok, I'll shut up now.

2010-09-17T23:51:00.002-04:00

There's this thing I do - I don't know if there's a term for it - where I think of something completely random, something completely out of the blue, something so amazing that I almost can't function until I force myself to stop thinking about it. Tonight as I walked along Gallagher Beach I looked at the still, peaceful water of Lake Erie and was amazed that an enormous body of water - a Great Lake - could be so placid. It just doesn't seem like it should be possible.

2010-09-16T23:57:00.003-04:00

These are the amazing Ma and Pa Ubu puppets Holly created for the Real Dream Cabaret's half of Woy/Ubu. We'd been talking about taking some photos of the puppets for a while, and we finally got to it last night.

2010-09-14T16:37:00.001-04:00

Puerto Rican Day Parade

2010-09-11T18:09:00.002-04:00

My Blue Period

2010-09-11T01:45:00.002-04:00

Here's Blue Gossett, Jr. taking in the beautiful painting Ani Hoover did on a Delaware Avenue storefront. While BGJr. enjoyed the scenery I decided to check out Curtain Up, which, to be honest, was kind of disappointing. I haven't been in years, but didn't it used to be two nights and wasn't downtown packed with people both nights? Maybe I was there too early or something.

2010-09-07T23:59:00.002-04:00

I've been out of school for *CENSORED* years now, but September is still a time of promise and new beginnings; it's more of a new year than New Year's Day itself. But there's an undercurrent of melancholy as well, because promise and new beginnings can be so easily squandered. The warm days of early autumn remind me of the countless hours I spent exploring when I should have been attending classes at SU. At the time I thought myself free, but now I realize I was just running away from something. This is the year I'm finally going to learn from the mistakes of my past, and make the most of the promise of this new beginning.

Blue Gossett, Jr.

2010-09-01T23:24:00.003-04:00

Unbelievable. It's been nearly a month since I got Blue Gossett, Jr. (previously the As Yet Unnamed Car), and now that the new-car euphoria has subsided (slightly, at least) I'm learning all about the car's pros and cons. I had assumed that since it's a newer version of the car I already had, there wouldn't be too much I'd have to get used to, but it really does drive and feel like a completely different car, which is almost always a good thing. Let's start with the things I like about it. The ride is great, and shifting is as smooth as silk. The seats are about 2 inches higher than in my old car, which is just enough to be noticable, so I get a better view of the road. There's a substantial horsepower increase over the old car, but it's partially offset by a slightly higher curb weight (despite being nearly 7 inches shorter) and having air conditioning. Still, it's noticably peppier than the red car. The features - which I hadn't even wanted at first - are wonderful. Power windows and a key fob probably aren't a big deal to most of you but to me it's almost decadent luxury. And the rear wiper... how did I ever get by without one? Those 7 inches I mentioned earlier were basically lopped off the trunk, so the hatch is much smaller than in my old car. But the wheels are placed so that the wells don't cut into the storage space as much, so the result is a much boxier space that's actually more useful than the larger, awkward space I had before. The stereo is, of course, awesome. It sounds great, and I've become addicted to XM despite my best attempts not to. In terms of style, Blue gets a narrow win. I'd always liked my old car's defiantly clunky look, though I realized early on that choosing red had been a big mistake. Blue is definitely sportier, and while that can look ridiculous in an economy car, Blue's compact dimensions and tidy proportions save the day. I wasn't originally taken with the color, but it has grown on me, and I've since noticed that the car looks much better in lighter colors - white, silver, blue - than dark colors - black, rust, dark blue. Inside, it's no contest. Blue's interior is unbelievably elegant and restrained for a cheap car. The old car had all sorts of awkward storage spaces that only ended up collecting dust and spare change, while Blue's storage is far more well designed and useful. Now for the downers. The air conditioning is on the anemic side, and we haven't even had any seriously hot weather. The driver's side blind spot is a lot bigger than on my old car so extra care is required when switching lanes. There's a fold-down armrest, which sounds like a plus, but it's awkwardly placed, and it prevents you from fastening or unfastening your seatbelt if it's folded down. Those are quibbles. My only other complaint is that the gear ratios are proving harder to master than I'd anticipated. I seem to have trouble finding the right gear a lot, but it's getting better so hopefully I just need a bit more time. It was easy to accept the many shortcomings of my old car because it had been so cheap, and I definitely expect more from Blue because of it being so much newer and a more expensive trim level. So far, it has delivered and more.

2010-08-11T23:10:00.000-04:00

50 Pounds...

2010-08-11T21:05:00.003-04:00

Ok, we're going to take a break from car chat and talk about this diet thing. If all goes according to plan, I'll hit 50 pounds lost at my next weigh-in. This is, of course, fabulous news, and I couldn't be happier, though of course I also realize the real hard work lies ahead, not behind. My big fear is that, like an alcoholic, I'll have to work at staying on plan for the rest of my life, and that kind of sucks, because obviously I really like to eat. But there are a few things working in my favor, as well. I now think of food in terms of whether it's worth spending points on. A bag of M&Ms is delicious, but do I really want to blow seven points on something that will be gone in a couple of minutes? Lately, no, I don't. The natural result of this way of thinking is that I'm eating better food; fruits, vegetables, eggs, yogurt, low-fat cheese, whole grain breads, popcorn and so on. Gone is the fast food I used to live on. Gone are potato chips and chocolate (though I've indulged once or twice since starting back in May) and creamy mayonnaise-based salads. Even apart from the weight loss, I feel a lot better, and I hope this continues. But it's still work. I can do it, and for the first time I'm really starting to believe I will do it, but it's not easy, and I'm afraid it never will be.

2010-08-08T10:09:00.001-04:00

The As-Yet Unnamed Car and I hanging out at the Botanical Gardens. Whenever someone passed by I had to step back and pretend I was taking photos of the building and not my car. I don't think anyone was fooled.

An As-Yet Unnamed Car

2010-08-07T23:22:00.002-04:00

The Great Car Saga of 2010 is finally over. That muffled squeal of delight you heard today at about 3:15 was me picking up my new Ice Blue 2010 Hyundai Accent GS. After spending a few hours driving around town, I realize the car is both more and less like my old car than I'd been expecting. I'd assumed it would just be an updated, nicer version of my old car, with actual features replacing the blank spaces in Lil' Red's dashboard. And to a large degree, I was right. The controls are laid out almost identically to how they were in my old car, and everything works and behaves in a familiar way. There's just more there. What I wasn't prepared for is how different the car is to drive. I expected it to drive pretty much like my old car, only 9 years newer and smoother and rattle-free. But it drives like a completely different car. First off, the seat is about 2 inches higher, which is just enough to make a noticable difference in visibility on the road. I like that a lot. Speaking of visibility, it's different... better in some directions, worse in others. But the real difference is the stick. Lil' Red's stick was no great shakes new, and even worse nine years later. The new car has a much gentler, smoother gearbox, almost delicate. It's a very easy car to drive. The gear ratios, however, are going to take a while to get used to. They're designed for optimum fuel economy, and a little light on the dashboard tells me when it's time to shift. The car wants to shift a lot sooner than seems natural, and if I obey the little light I'm in 5th gear at 37 mph. I didn't use Lil' Red's 5th gear unless I was on an interstate. Part of the adjustment is that the engine is so much quieter. With the windows closed I can barely hear the engine to know when to shift, and using the light as a guide meant a smooth ride so I guess it knows best! Everything else worked pretty much exactly as it should. It's a lot smaller than my old car but the room in front is pretty much the same. So far? No complaints! And come on, isn't it the cutest car you've ever seen?

Road Tunes!

2010-08-06T22:32:00.004-04:00

Here's the track listing for the awesome mix CD I burned for when I pick up my new car (are there three lovelier words in the English language than "my new car"? Yes, but I'm never going to hear them so I'll have to take my joy where I can find it) this weekend. Any song on my computer with "blue" in the title was an automatic in.

1. Blue Kiss - Jane Wiedlin
2. Shining Light - Annie Lennox
3. All of Me - Ella Fitzgerald
4. Blue Letter - Fleetwood Mac
5. Different Drum - Susanna Hoffs and Matthew Sweet
6. Adonis Blue - Voice of the Beehive
7. Little Black Book - Belinda Carlisle
8. The House That Jack Built - Aretha
9. Darling, Let's Have Another Baby - K. MacColl & B. Bragg
10. Too Jung - Popinjays
11. Nathan Jones - the Supremes
12. Our Lips Are Sealed - Fun Boy Three
13. Treachery - Kirsty MacColl
14. Until You Come Back to Me - Basia
15. My Blue Heaven - the Pogues
16. C is the Heavenly Option - Heavenly
17. Judy and the Dream of Horses - Belle & Sebastian
18. Make My Heart Fly - Proclaimers
19. Wedding Bell Blues - 5th Dimension
20. Blue Savannah - Erasure
21. I Believe in You - Kylie Minogue
22. Blue Monday - New Order

Goodbye, Lil' Red

2010-08-06T09:53:00.003-04:00

Lil' Red is all cleaned out, which those of you who have been within 10 feet of my car know is a huge deal. As I expected, about eighty percent of what I cleaned out went right into garbage bags, but I also rediscovered some things I'd forgotten I even had. Most of that was small stuff like CDs or DeltaSonic car wash coupons, but the big find was a flash attachment from my Pentax K-1000 which will also work on my Nikon. Score! I should probably be ashamed because I haven't had my Pentax for at least six or seven years, but I'm not. I've got a flash! As for the rest of the stuff, I saved a few things for sentimental reasons but was ruthless with the rest. It was only weighing me down, figuratively and literally. The hardest part was "saying goodbye" to the car I've had for nearly nine years. But now that it's all emptied out it doesn't even seem like Lil' Red... it just seems like an empty car.

2010-08-05T23:44:00.004-04:00

The Great Car Saga of 2010 is almost over. As you may recall, after a brief flirtation with fixing Lil' Red and trying to get a couple more years out of her, I decided putting that kind of money into a nine year old economy car just wasn't the smart thing to do. My new plan involved using the insurance money as a down payment on a new car. So far, so good... but then I hadn't actually begun car shopping yet. My first stop was Northtown, where I'd gotten Lil' Red nearly a decade earlier. They didn't even have one Accent Blue (Blue is the entry-level ultra-budget model that weeks of internet research had convinced me was the right car). They had deals on the next trim level up, but none of the three on the lot had a manual transmission. I'm not fussy about many things but a stick shift is a must. So it was out to Grand Island to pay a call on Billy Fuccillo. Again, no Accent Blues on the lot. I started to realize this was going to cost me more than I'd bargained. I steeled my nerves and asked to see a GS. There was only one on the lot, and my brain refused to even see it until I found out how much it would cost. The answer was a lot more than I'd bargained for. All sorts of thoughts and fears and worries were racing through my head, and it seemed like an eternity before I realized the salesman was still talking. I wasn't quite paying attention but words like "rebate" and "discount" fought through to my brain, and when I finally put it all together I realized that yes, I was indeed going to pay more than I had planned but not that much more, and I was going to get a much better car. I looked at the little GS again, really seeing it this time instead of going through the motions. I liked what I saw. Outside, the Icy Blue paint sparkled in the sun, and inside the laundry list of features made me even dizzier than the sticker shock had a few minutes earlier. And not stupid features like "ash tray" that the Accent Blue has to list because there's simply nothing else. Real features like cruise control or power windows or anti-lock brakes or a stereo that's not only adequate but sounds pretty damn good. I looked over at Lil' Red, and realized that skimping on features may have saved me a few dollars but it also left me with a car that had virtually no resale/trade-in value. I looked back at the GS, and maybe it was a trick of the setting sun or maybe it really did sparkle. I don't know. But in a few hours it's going to be my new car. And now, an ode to Lil' Red, a car that was ridiculously inexpensive and yet ended up being more reliable than I had any reason to expect. I got nearly nine years of trouble-free driving, and other than one fairly large repair bill a couple of years ago, she never caused me a moment's stress. I certainly didn't need to worry about speeding tickets.

2010-08-04T02:58:00.002-04:00

High Dynamic Range

2010-07-31T22:22:00.005-04:00

I have no idea what that means, but it can make for some interesting photographs. I've been experimenting, but it's still hit and miss, with a lot more misses than hits. The eggs are HDR and the tomato is not. To make an HDR photo you take two - or more - versions of the same shot which have different exposures, and then the photo editing software takes the best exposure for each particular section and combines it into one image where everything is perfectly lit. Of course, since real life is seldom perfectly lit, HDR shots often look artificial, but they can be beautiful as well. These photos were bad examples to use now that I think about it, because they were taken under very different lighting conditions so it's hard to compare one to the other. The tomato shot actually looks more artificial than the egg shot, but that's because of the flat lighting, not the HDR or lack of HDR.

Housekeeping

2010-07-31T22:21:00.001-04:00

Just a reminder that the more thoughtful posts are archived in the very back. The more superficial stuff is front and center.

Ceramics

2010-07-29T19:10:00.002-04:00

The real purpose of this shot was to test out my new remote shutter release, which passed with flying colors. I struggle with focus, partly because my lens and my eyesight are both less than perfect, and I'm kind of jittery on top of that. The remote and a tripod makes a hell of a difference and I can't wait to improve. Anyway, the shot features a pot from my ceramics days at OCC, though I didn't actually make it. If I had, the walls would be about 3 inches thick and lopsided. But about a week before the semester ended, the teacher opened up the shelves and we could take any unclaimed work that had been left by students who dropped the class or were so good at throwing pots that this didn't meet their standards. Well, it sure as hell met mine. The glazing job is mine, so I can claim some part of the creative process. It's a raku glaze, which leaves a lot to chance. Raku uses glazes that are high in metallic content, and instead of firing them you dig a big pit in the ground, fill it with charcoal and ceramics, and cover it up again. The heat causes the metals to react - loudly, explosively and unpredictably - and then you dig up the pots and see how they turned out.

Stories

2010-07-28T23:31:00.002-04:00

Tonight on NPR they were talking with a guy from the MOTH Project, which has something to do with stories. I guess. I missed the intro and several key points due to errands/poor reception. Sidenote: didn't WBFO just build a more powerful new tower? If it's so powerful why does their signal drop out when I'm on Elmwood Avenue near Hertel? Because I have news for you, WBFO... if my choices are On Point or going to K-Mart, K-Mart is going to win every time. So anyway, this guy puts on an event where people tell stories, free of the distractions and interruptions that make it difficult to really tell a story at work or a cocktail party or whatever. I listened with interest because that's sort of how I envisioned the Story Repository when I first started it. It was never meant to be a personal blog filled with the boring minutiae of my life. It was meant to be a place to hand down stories in this electronic age; a digital campfire if you will. Well, as even a cursory glance at the archive will tell you, it did no such thing. Not a single person ever shared a story, big or small. I spent some time trying to figure out why, but eventually lost interest. Tonight's show has me thinking about it again. Maybe a Buffalo rip off... oops I mean homage to the MOTH Project in the back of Rust Belt Books? Who knows.

Usher

2010-07-24T10:04:00.006-04:00

My early college years were turbulent. I had a rough time moving from late adolescence into adulthood, and nearly every aspect of my life - school, work, family - was rocky. My world was expanding and changing at an unbearably rapid rate, but I clung to anything that offered the stability of my youth. When my grandfather suggested I become an usher at church, I jumped at the chance. I got my "Assumption Usher" pin and was assigned to the side aisle at the 12:30 mass. Mr. Scarsi, one of my grandather's best friends, had the place of honor in the center aisle. Mr. Pignatti had the side opposite me. Mr. Scarsi was a control frea... er... take-charge kind of guy, which suited me fine as I'd received no training and welcomed any direction. Not that any training was needed. The 12:30 mass was a low-key, poorly attended affair, so being called on to find seats for late arrivals was about as likely as, well, as the least likely thing in history. My job consisted of shutting the side door as mass began, standing around, passing the collection basket, and opening the side door again once the closing song started up. The most difficult part of the whole thing was getting up on time if I'd been out the night before. The ushers met monthly to discuss secret usher business, and I showed up at the parish center in a tie and sport jacket carrying the paper and pens I'd need to take copious notes. I was prepared, and I was early. The meeting was called to order, and I sat with pen hovering over blank sheet of paper. "Any old business?" asked the head usher, and the members were silent. "Any new business?" he asked, again to silence. "Meeting adjourned" he bellowed, and Don Knight started shuffling the cards. And that's how I learned to play poker.

Clocks Clocks Clocks

2010-07-17T23:36:00.003-04:00

A New Accent

2010-07-16T22:51:00.003-04:00

Tuesday evening, I was involved in a minor accident. An SUV hit me from behind while I was stopped at a red light. No injuries, though the surprise of it all took a few hours to wear off. Unfortunately, Lil' Red suffered some damage. The bumper is hanging off, and the hatch is dented severely enough that it won't open. It had been looking pretty good for a 9+ year old economy car, but now I can see every day of those 9+ years and more. The insurance process is underway, and the other driver is taking full responsibility, but putting hundreds or even thousands of dollars into fixing a 9+ year old Hyundai Accent seems kind of silly, so I'll probably use the insurance money as a down payment on a new Accent. It will be nice to have a new car, but I'll sure miss Lil' Red. It was a good car. -- The Accent has changed a bit in the near decade since I got mine, and most of those changes are welcome. Unlike most modern cars, the Accent has actually gotten smaller over the years, and I do like a small car. The engine provides 27 much-needed horsepower more than what I have now, and as Hyundai's reputation improves the new car's mediocre resale value will be a huge improvement over Lil' Red's nonexistent resale value. The big disappointment is that there's no stereo unless I get the $1,800 options package - which I'm not - but the wires and speakers are there, so it will be easy to get an aftermarket stereo for a fraction of the cost. The Accent (old and new) also has a number of small, thoughtful features like a hook to keep the floormats in place; features that probably cost a few cents to include but make the driving experience a lot more pleasant without driving the price up. -- There have also been a number of changes in me, and this small fender bender hammered that point home for me. As minor an accident as it was, it was still my first, and it reminded me how much damage we're capable of when we get behind the wheel of a car. I think back to my younger days of driving 110 mph on the Thruway or generally goofing around when I should have been focusing on the road, and I wonder at the way fate resisted teaching me a lesson. Fortunately I learned that lesson gradually. No more fiddling with the radio while I drive or trying to open a bottle of Diet Pepsi while changing lanes or pushing myself to "make time" when I haven't had enough sleep. I'm a good driver when I want to be. And now, I want to be. Note: help me decide between black and white!

Every Day Is Kids Day

2010-07-12T22:17:00.002-04:00

Today's topic at work was how we all grew up poor. We swapped stories about the various things we didn't have or couldn't afford, and the clever ways our parents did their best to make sure we didn't notice. And for the most part, we didn't notice. I was always vaguely aware that my family didn't have much money, but it wasn't because I went lacking for anything important. In fact, if we hadn't rented an apartment on a relatively swanky street until I was 8, I never would have given a thought to our second hand cars or my hand-me-down clothes. Sure, my friends had more toys than I did, but I chalked that up to being indulged by divorced parents (divorce was still kind of a big deal back then) rather than affluence. Besides, even if I didn't have many toys, I had Lego blocks, and what else did a kid need? The one area where our financial condition affected me was food. My mom wouldn't buy things like Spaghetti-Os or Twinkies or deviled ham, and we rarely if ever ate fast food like McDonalds. That seemed terribly unfair to me, but my mom held firm: "that stuff is junk" she'd say, and the discussion was over. I realize now that we probably just couldn't afford it, and that I was far better off eating her delicious home cooking, but at the time I felt deprived. I'm ashamed when I think of how hard they must have worked, and how much they must have sacrificed, and meanwhile I'm whining about how I can't have a Twinkie instead of home baked chocolate chip cookies. It really is a miracle they didn't smother me in my sleep. I was also ashamed as I listened to my co-workers tell about the sacrifices their families made; beautiful, bittersweet stories that put my "we had a used car!" drama to shame. The things that parents do for their kids!

2010-07-10T02:30:00.000-04:00

Grammy

2010-07-05T03:16:00.003-04:00

My parents received a letter from one of my dad's cousins from the Morman branch of the family. Enclosed were some geneology records he'd found while researching the family tree. Sidenote: I don't know if this is common knowledge or not but apparently the Mormon Church keeps extensive geneology records. I had no idea! Anyway, looking them over and talking with my parents I learned more about my paternal grandmother's family than I'd known before. I knew a bit about her family already, mostly because Grammy was a born storyteller. It helped that her childhood and large family were genuinely interesting, but Grammy could turn a trip to the mailbox into a side-splitting story. She had icy blue eyes that sparkled when she was telling a story or laughing, and I remember her as an exceptionally beautiful, stylish woman even as a senior citizen. In the photos I've seen of her younger days, she could have been a movie star. Grammy could trace her lineage back to the first ship that came to America after the Mayflower, though I now think that might have been a dramatic embellishment. Apparently her family had some money at one time. They owned a large tract of land along Lake Ontario that is now a state park, but they fell into hard times even before the Great Depression. So back to the records... I found out that Grammy's mother was named Nellie Belle Brown, which is about as old fashioned a name as I've ever heard. Belle must have been a very popular name in that family, because there was also a Flora Belle, a Nora Belle and a Clara Belle. There was also a Cordelia just to break up the monotony. Grammy had four brothers and sisters. I don't remember either of the brothers, though one died when I was four years old. I do remember Aunt Vera and Aunt Doris very well. Aunt Doris sent home made gifts to my brother and me every year; small things that I didn't really appreciate as a child but now realize were very special. I remember Aunt Vera a bit better, mainly because she was a bigger personality that demanded to be noticed. She taught me to waltz at a wedding when I was six or seven. We used to go visit Grammy and Bop in Fairmount on Sundays. Grammy would make tea for me; it made me feel very grown up. Then the adults would start talking (boring!) and I'd read Grammy's collection of National Enquirers or play chopsticks over and over on the upright piano. I don't know how they could stand it.

2010-07-02T17:17:00.000-04:00

This reminds me of the inside of a cathedral.

Truth and Consequences

2010-06-29T22:40:00.004-04:00

You're probably as tired of reading about my weight loss struggles as I am of struggling. But unfortunately for both of us, this is going to take a while. I think I've already written that when I joined Weight Watchers I had no idea what to expect other than vague suspicions that a scale would be involved (it is) and that they'd try to sell me their pre-packaged food (they do, but it's a soft sell - nothing I can't handle). I imagined it playing out like an AA meeting complete with folding chairs and styrofoam coffee cups and teary confessions. Truth? I was afraid. Well, the meeting turned out to be no big deal. It was actually kind of interesting, and it gave me a few tips for staying on plan for the coming week. It's not a perfect fit. The group is overwhelmingly female, overwhelmingly suburban, and the issues they're dealing with aren't always the same as mine. But just like with that first meeting, I always learn 2 or 3 tips or bits of information that make things a lot easier. A half hour meeting each week is a small price to pay. Sometimes what I learn is small-scale: how to make sense of confusing microwave popcorn nutrition labels or maybe a recipe for a healthy dessert. Other times they're bigger and broader, like this week's lesson that choices have consequences. All this past week I flirted with going over my points total, and worse, I stopped keeping track. "Oh, it's only a few bites. It won't make a difference." Well, those few bites added up as bites will do, and despite what I'd thought was a good week I only lost a pound when weigh in time came around. Choices have consequences, even if the choice seems inconsequential.

Yee Haw

2010-06-26T16:32:00.002-04:00

I saw Schlifke at a party, and she told me the Attica Rodeo holds qualifier events every Friday during the summer. She said it's a great place to take photographs, and cheap, so I decided to give it a try. I fired up the GPS and hit the road. The route was a lot more rural than I'm used to, and the lush green fields were beautiful in the setting sunlight. If it wasn't for my destination (or rural traffic, which always seems to want to go faster than I do) I'd have dawdled and taken some photos there. Eventually I passed Darien Lake amusement park, and the rodeo was a couple of miles further on, just before the infamous prison. I don't know what, if anything, I was expecting, but this wasn't it. The grounds were small and not really set up to accommodate visitors. There was a ring surrounded by bleachers, a small refreshment stand, restrooms, and a few ticket booths. Beyond that was a field where the riders were prepping the horses. I walked around for a bit then went and sat in the bleachers. The riders were just starting to enter the ring to warm up the horses, while the ring announcer greeted people he knew over the PA. Finally, the event started. Here's how it worked: there were 27 cattle in the ring, 3 each numbered 1 to 9. A team of three riders on horseback would enter the ring. The announcer would call out a number, and the riders would have to herd the 3 cattle with that number into a pen at the far end of the ring. It was kind of amazing to see, because the riders had to work as a team to seperate the right cattle from the herd, and then drive them into the pen. One team did this in 24 seconds. It was also a little bit sad, because the cattle were clearly not enjoying this as much as the riders or even the horses. It was striking to see the riders dote on their horses but give absolutely no regard to the cattle. The sun set, the lights came up, and team after team herded the cattle into the pen. With my hour+ drive back to the city to consider, I left before the event was over, and laughed at how easy it was to find my little red Hyundai hatchback in a sea of pickup trucks and SUVs.

2010-06-24T22:09:00.003-04:00

Like a lot of people, I've been following the story of the oil leaking into the Gulf over the past few weeks, though with a certain amount of detachment that I wasn't aware of until today, when it suddenly, inexplicably went away. I was driving along the Lake Erie shore, looking for a new vantage point to shoot some photos, and it just hit me all at once how tragic it would be if the lake was simply ruined over the course of a couple months.

Don't Assume.

2010-06-21T23:54:00.003-04:00

Today's lesson was "don't assume" and I learned it in a big way. The veggie pattie sub at Subway has always been my "go to" lunch when I'm trying to eat healthy but still need a filling meal. If my willpower is strong, I'll skip the cheese, and when loaded up with veggies and lots of black pepper it's a substantial sandwich and even kind of tasty. Early on, I tried to calculate the calories. Specific information was scarce but my best guess put the total at about 700 calories for a 12 inch sub. Not great, but not terrible. Fast forward to this afternoon, when I needed more than a simple calorie count to complete my daily points log. Specific information for the sub is still hard to find for some reason (which should probably be a warning) and different people gave completely different numbers, but it looks like the real calorie total is in the 950 range. Even worse, we're talking 25 grams of fat. I'd actually be better off having a steak and cheese sub, so the veggie pattie has been demoted from "go to" lunch to an occasional treat.

2010-06-21T00:44:00.002-04:00

I've been "on plan" for almost 7 weeks now, and while there's still a lot of work to do, I have the basics for eating healthy under control. This is great news, except that "I have to get my diet in order" was the last remaining excuse for why I don't exercise. Now I'm forced to face the music. I was never all that active physically (though as a kid I rode my bike all over the place) so "starting to exercise" is not something that I get excited about. I have to sort of trick myself into being active: "the elevator takes too long, so I'll take the stairs" or going out to shoot photos. This week I really made an effort to get to the next level of activity, figuratively and literally, and I ended up climbing the waterfront observation tower not once, but twice.

Ellicott Square

2010-06-14T23:49:00.002-04:00

Niagara

2010-06-14T01:36:00.003-04:00

The skies - and my mood - were gray and gloomy, and I wasn't in the mood for any Art Festival nonsense. A couple of hours near the rapids helped a bit, but it was almost completely undone by bridge traffic on the drive back. It was the kind of day where the little victories take on extra importance, so my discovery that Dannon Light & Fit yogurt is not only just as tasty as Weight Watchers brand, but lower in calories and cheaper as well, will have to suffice. Little victories.

Make Your Own Kind of Music

2010-06-13T00:14:00.004-04:00

I consider it one of the great injustices of all time that I can't sing. Or to be more specific, that I can't sing on key. My grandmother on one side was an opera singer, and my grandfather on the other played in a band for almost half a century. By rights I should be musically gifted, but I guess my DNA didn't get the memo. I've loved music from as far back as I can remember. My parents had a decent sized record collection but I only remember them ever playing a few of them: the Clancy Brothers, the Kingston Trio and John Denver. I wasn't much impressed with any of them, though I liked the uptempo numbers well enough. My favorite record was called Bobby Vee Meets the Crickets, and it was basically a Buddy Holly cover album with Bobby Vee on the vocals. To this day when I hear a Buddy Holly song, it seems like the wrong voice. When I was old enough to be trusted to operate the stereo by myself, I began a record collection of my own. My first LP was a used "Hot Butter" album purchased for 25 cents at China Towne in Solvay. As David Cross would say, I played the shit out of that record. My second LP was Elton John's greatest hits, a birthday gift from Aunt Joanne. I didn't let the fact that I'd never heard of Elton John stop me from playing the shit out of that one, either. When I entered third grade I was eligible to take music instruction at school. For reasons long forgotten, I chose to study trumpet. My parents took me to a music store off Teall Avenue by Lyncourt Bakery to get my trumpet - a dented silver thing in a battered case lined with maroon velvet. Everyone else had gold trumpets, and so of course I pouted. I can only imagine what my parents sacrificed to get me that trumpet, and I had the nerve to pout. I really was a bratty little thing. Twice a week I'd get a half hour trumpet lesson from Mr. Mastroleo. I don't remember much about them other than he seemed generally unsatisfied with the effort I was putting in. I don't know if he was short on trumpet players or if he just didn't care, but toward the end of the year he asked me to join the school band. Band practice was at 7:45 a.m. and arrived at Webster School with my battered trumpet case in hand. I was scared. As I entered the building I could hear the far off, muted sound of instruments - scales and such. I walked to the room, opened the door, looked around at the twenty or so students holding flutes, clarinets, trombones, trumpets, a french horn and drumsticks and said "is this band practice?" It was a good two minutes before the laughter stopped completely. I wish I could say things got better from then on but they kind of didn't. I started out as third trumpet and moved up slowly but surely until in sixth grade I was first trumpet. My individual lessons we cut to once a week, but band practice was twice a week. We played at school assemblies and concerts for parents. Once a year we'd combine with bands from other elementary schools for a district-wide concert. Through it all I had a secret: I wasn't playing. I'd mime the mouthing and do the finger work but I wasn't playing. I was too afraid of making a mistake, because I just wasn't very good. After a concert I wanted to scream at Mr. Mastroleo "how can you not know I'm faking it?" but thankfully I never did. I still do sort of wonder what his answer would have been.

Weight Just a Minute...

2010-06-08T20:24:00.003-04:00

So I finally decided I'd had enough and joined Weight Watchers. Today was a milestone day: 5 weeks as a member and 25 pounds lost. Even so, I'm completely pissed off, but more on that in a bit. First let's talk about points. Weight Watchers uses a points system. Everything you eat or drink, from a Big Mac on down to the half & half in your coffee, has a points value based on the number of calories, amount of fat and amount of fiber. Foods with identical calorie counts may have different points values if one is high in fat (higher points value) or fiber (lower points value). This is working a lot better for me than simply counting calories. First and foremost, the points system guides you - gently - toward healthier eating. If I'm hungry between meals, I'll choose a boiled egg (2 points), cup of fat-free yogurt (1 point) and a banana (2 points) to snack on over a bag of M&Ms (7 points). My 5 point snack is healthier and more filling than the 7 point candy. The flip side of the coin is that the system guides you - again, gently - away from foods that are bad for you. Sure, I'd still love to have that bag of M&Ms but it's just not worth spending 7 points on, especially when I'd only be hungry again in an hour. Another advantage is that the points system is simple, but you can't guess in your head like you can when you're simply counting calories. You have to calculate or look up the values of foods, and that means you know more about what you're eating than if you simply guestimate your calorie intake. Now the real question I had was "how many points can I have every day?" and that number is based on your starting weight, age, activity level and gender. You also get 35 "floater" points each week that you can use if you go over on a particular day, or save them to use for a special occasion (they don't roll over, however). If you hit your daily total, you'll lose weight even if you use all of your floater points. Then there are the weigh-ins and meetings. I wasn't quite on board with the meetings at first - they veered dangerously close to support group meetings for my taste - but each week there has been at least one helpful nugget of information that I can use, even if it's only something small. Tonight, for example, I learned that I'd been figuring the points for 94% fat free microwave popcorn - a twice-daily snack since I began Weight Watchers - incorrectly. That means I was really taking in 5 points every day when I thought I was taking in 2. That may not sound like a big deal, but 21 points could be the difference between an ok week and a good week. I won't lie... I hate having to control what I eat. But the simple truth is that the points system is working, and with some planning I can be, if not exactly full, at least not starving. So why am I pissed? I lost a pound at tonight's weigh in. I figured in a week where I went to a family barbecue, an outdoor festival and a wedding, that's not too bad. Then I stopped myself and realized that the time for excuses, rationalization and equivocating is over. If I'm going to watch everything I eat, and if I'm going to make healthy choices, and if I'm going to attend a meeting every week and if I'm going to pay for the priviledge, why undermine myself and prevent bigger weight loss? Those few brief lapses nearly undid a whole week's worth of work, and that's not how I want it to be. So I'm pissed off, but I'm motivated as well. Next week, my weigh-in will be epic.

UPDATE: well, it was this close to being epic. I had to lose 4.2 pounds to hit 30 total, and I lost 4.0. So my 6 week total is 29.8 pounds. I'll take it!

City Hall

2010-06-02T21:53:00.003-04:00

Buffalo's City Hall inspires a mixed bag of emotions. Visually, it's a delight... magnificent, stately, imposing; a masterpiece of civic architecture done in an unusual art deco style. The second largest city hall in the United States (only New York City's municipal building is bigger), Buffalo's City Hall is filled with tributes to the Queen City and her people rendered in paint, sculpture, mosaic and stained glass. It's not what you'd expect from a struggling rust belt city that has seen better days. Then again, it was built 70 years ago, when Buffalo was among the largest and most prosperous American cities, and I suppose in that other world building a 32-story cathedral consecrated to municipal government seemed like a wise investment in a bright future. I doubt anyone imagined the city's fortunes would change, but change they did, as Buffalo - along with most other Northeastern cities - began the long, slow descent that would last for decades. Today City Hall's majesty can come off as a bit ridiculous, especially on the inside where concessions to economy must be made. The lobby is dimly lit, and the bathrooms may or may not be stocked with soap and paper towels on any given day. Everywhere you look is a reminder of another era when citizens actually took their business to City Hall rather than using mail, telephones or the internet. Still, credit where credit is due. Buffalo isn't a wealthy city, and the City of Buffalo isn't wealthy either, but City Hall is maintained in as near-pristine condition as one can reasonably expect of a building that's the better part of a century old.

Three Sisters Islands

2010-05-29T19:35:00.000-04:00

Unfortunately my lens cap is somewhere down there.

Professor Miss

2010-05-28T00:28:00.004-04:00

One of the things I like best about the show Community is that it really captures the "I don't really want to be here but I'll make the best of it while I try to figure out what to do with my life" feeling I endured pretty much around the clock when I was attending Onondaga Community College. I'm sure a lot has changed in the years since I was there, but back then OCC really was more like an extension of high school than an institution of higher learning. At times that was comforting, especially after my time at Syracuse University (which was anything but pleasant) but most of the time it just seemed wrong; wrong in a scary way I couldn't define or ignore or escape from. Even so, there were bright spots, and while being required to take health and swimming my first semester there wasn't one of them (way to fight that "extension of high school" perception, guys!) my health professor definitely qualified. I don't want to name names, because that's just rude in this ultra-connected world of Google and Facebook, but the fun started when she walked into class on the first day of the semester and announced that her name was Professor Miss ____ _____. I'd never known anyone who liked being called by two titles simultaneously, and when she announced matter of factly and appropo of absolutely nothing that she was also coach of the women's tennis team, I knew I was in for a fun semester. Unfortunately the reality fell far short of the promise of that first day. Professor Miss ____ _____ was no doubt an intelligent, educated woman, but she was cursed with a ditzy demeanor that made her seem like a moron and a speaking voice that could bore you to tears in less than 2 minutes. My solution was to read ahead and tune her out in class. Or try to tune her out. One day during a particularly inflectionless lecture she told the class that she lived in Fairmount Fair. Who knows what she meant. Maybe she meant she lived in Fairmount, or near Fairmount Fair. But she said she lived in Fairmount Fair. Nobody reacted; they were probably tuned out as well. But Professor Miss suddenly acted as if she had made the funniest blunder of all time. "Whoa, I mean, of course I don't actually live in Fairmount Fair. Nobody lives in Fairmount Fair! That would be ridiculous. I live in a regular house, not a shopping mall!" I'm doing her an ill turn by paraphrasing but I'm doing you a favor by stopping short. The original disclaimer lasted a minute and a half if it lasted a second, and she wasn't even halfway through it before I was muttering "we get it, lady, you don't live in a fucking mall."Late in the semester she gave the class a project - research and review an over the counter health or beauty product. She had fairly strict guidelines on what information she wanted and how she wanted us to present it (she was clearly a fan of Consumer Reports) but the actual product was entirely up to us. This will come as a shock, but I sort of put the project off until well after the last minute, and desperate measures were called for. And that's when Fulox Tablets were born. Fulox was a word I'd invented which combined fool and an ethnic slur for people of Polish descent, and which ascribed a particularly nasty variety of stupidity to people I didn't like. Since I already loved the word, and it had a vaguely medical sound, I made up Fulox Tablets, a new headache remedy that claimed to be as effective as Tylenol but at a much lower cost. I made up a description of the product and its packaging, its advertising campaign and its warnings, which were suspiciously similar to the giant bottle of Wegmans aspirin we had in our medicine cabinet. I even made up the test results in a move of arrogance that could only come from the absolute knowledge that Professor Miss ____ _____ would never catch on. And either she didn't or she didn't care, because I got an A. I realize this story isn't terribly interesting; I just like to think about it and marvel at the nerve I had, once upon a time. And if my head starts to ache I reach for a bottle of Fulox.

Hee Haw (no, not that one)

2010-05-17T21:03:00.003-04:00

This is the story of how I made fun of Dave Matthews. The Dave Matthews Band is one of my brother's favorite musical artists, a tick above Fleetwood Mac and a very distant second to U2. So in the tradition of older brothers teasing younger brothers (a tradition which dates back at least tot he bronze age) I developed a "Dave Matthews Impersonation" which sounded to the untrained ear exactly like a donkey braying. It wasn't terribly clever or even accurate but it got the job done. Meanwhile, it turns out that a woman I worked with is a personal friend of one of the band members, so I shared my impersonation with her and we both had a laugh. A few months later DMB came to Rochester, and my co-worker went. She was sitting in the second or third row, right in the center. During the show, between songs, Dave had a bit of a coughing spell and had to stop for a drink of water. My co-worker could be heard laughing hysterically. After the show, hanging out with the band, Dave asked if that was indeed her that had been cracking up as he choked on stage. She said yes, and what was so funny was that when he was choking he sounded exactly like my impersonation, which she of course decided to share, much to the delight of the rest of the band. For the rest of the evening whenever a band member passed Dave they would bray like a donkey. This is up there with the time I broke up one of Ani Difranco's friendships; a story which I'll save for another time.

Bowling

2010-05-08T20:43:00.001-04:00

Sauce

2010-04-24T11:32:00.003-04:00

I read somewhere that Syracuse has the highest percentage of Italian-Americans of any city in North America. This was quite a few years ago, so it's probably no longer true, but when I was growing up it seemed as if everyone I knew was Italian, with Germans being a distant second. Despite being 75% Italian, I didn't grow up immersed in Italian culture like many of my friends from the North Side did. My parents didn't speak Italian, we didn't have flocked wallpaper or gold velvet furniture (I'm choosing to pretend 1978-81 didn't happen) or a giant crystal chandelier in our dining room. We drove Volkswagens and buttoned our shirts. My grandparents were definitely more in touch with Italian culture, even though both had come to America as young children. Neither spoke with an accent, or even in Italian, unless they were discussing something not meant for young ears. Then the conversation would switch back and forth between Italian and English, often three or four times in a single sentence. I had to go to either of my Great Grandmothers or to distant cousins to find the real Italian culture. The one exception was food. My immediate family had "sketties" at least once a week or the occasional lasagna, and Sunday dinner at Gram's house was always macaroni - shells, rigatoni, or if I got to choose, wheels - with the big pot filled with meatballs, sausage, spare ribs, sauce, and braciole. My mom's meatballs were better (though I was smart enough to keep that opinion to myself) but Gram's braciole was heavenly. There was no point comparing sauce, as it all came from the same place: the well-stocked shelves of Gram's cellar, lined with rows of mason jars filled with homemade sauce. Every summer we'd pile into Pop-Pop's car and drive out to what seemed to be the sticks at the time (but was probably just Baldwinsville) to pick tomatoes. I'm pretty sure my brother and I threw more than we collected, but eventually we'd fill up a bushel basket and carry it back to the car. Meanwhile my grandmother would waddle up to the car, drop her apron, and somehow, magically, three bushels of tomatoes would come spilling out and into the trunk. The woman was barely five feet tall so don't ask me how she did it. We were charged by the bushel so while we were picking my grandfather worked on getting as many tomatoes as humanly possible (and often more) into a bushel basket. By the time he was done the baskets looked like red ice cream cones turned upside down. The fun was over, but the work wasn't. Late August meant canning, so we'd all head down to the cellar (every Italian family had a makeshift kitchen set up in their cellar for canning in the summer heat - apparently it was cheaper than buying an air conditioner, though much less effective at keeping us cool) to can. Gram would be at the stove, standing on a platform so she could reach the pots simmering on all four burners. My mom and Aunt Joanne did the actual canning, and I was in charge of the machine. The machine! If I was going to spend a week of my summer vacation toiling in a sweltering cellar (and I was, whether I wanted to or not) the machine was the best way to do it. The machine was a grinder/strainer that my grandfather and uncle had hooked up to a lawn mower engine. I would put a tomato into the opening, push it down with the wooden tool, and the machine would extract the juice and strain out the flesh and seeds. The juice would come shooting out the side and into a pot with an awesome splurty noise that was second only to throwing the tomatoes as far as fun. Then I'd take the lump of skin, flesh and seeds and throw it out. Or rather, I'd try to throw it out, but my grandfather stopped me. "put it through again" he'd say, and I'd roll my eyes and repeat the process. The splurt would be softer this time, and only a trickle of juice would come out, but it was still juice. Then, to my dismay, he'd say "put it through again" and I'd repeat the process - with eye rolling and rapidly diminishing returns - until the plump, juicy, freshly picked tomato was about the size of a quarter and as hard as a rock. Only then was I allowed to throw it out, and even then it was only grudgingly. If the tomato didn't make a clang when I threw it out, that meant I hadn't put it through the machine enough times. Finally canning week would come to an end and we'd admire the rows of gleaming new jars of sauce, sauce that would anchor our meals for the coming year. Eventually my gram died, and we stopped canning. For a while my mom would mix our sauce with store bought to make it stretch further, and then came the week when there just wasn't any left. I thought it would be a big deal but nobody said a word about it, and we transitioned to store bought sauce as if we'd never canned. I started using less; it's not that I didn't like store sauce but it just wasn't the same. Now I barely use any. A few of us were discussing sauce on Facebook today (which lead to this post) and we agreed that store sauce has come a long way since those days, and honestly I don't think I'd bother to pick and can my own sauce now that there are so many options available. Even so, the smell of tomatoes in a hot kitchen always makes me think of canning, and as much as I hated it then, I wish I could hear my grandfather tell me to "put it through again".

Spring Has Sprung

2010-04-23T20:42:00.002-04:00

As you can see, when I decide to take a bit of time off from writing, I'm not kidding around. This is partly because I've done a good bit of writing at work - certainly enough to quench my "hey, I want to write something" thirst - but mostly because I just haven't had anything interesting to share.

This is a strange but wonderful time of year in upstate New York. Hibernation time is over for real, and it seems as if there's something going on every day from now until the snow falls. It's exhilerating and it's exhausting. Normally spring recharges my creative energy but this year something is off. The one creative endeavor I've tried turned out nicely enough (and the jury is still out on whether "nice" is meant as a compliment), but it was well within my comfort zone and not exactly a sign of good things to come.

Will inspiration strike soon? Stay tuned to find out.

2010-03-12T11:20:00.001-05:00

2010-01-25T13:13:00.003-05:00

I'm a very political person, but I try to set my views aside when it comes to the internet. My friends and relatives are nearly every ideological persuasion under the sun, from Leftie Mc Left to Rightie Mc Right, and I doubt they want to hear what I think about an issue every time they check Facebook. Still, I feel perfectly comfortable saying that the image shown above is exactly what's wrong with our nation, and why God problably laughs His head off every time we demand He bless America.

Poor Jennifer Aniston. Has it really been a whole five years that she's been struggling with life after Brad? How the time flies, although of course that's easy for me to say since I'm not the one struggling. You know those whiny Haitians could learn a lot from gorgeous multi-multi-millionaire Jennifer Aniston about dealing with adversity.

I Resolve...

2010-01-11T15:06:00.004-05:00

(above) Megan and Riley

I have an odd way of thinking about friendship. I don't necessarily have to be in contact with someone to feel as if we're connected. My mind somehow translates "I really need to call Mary" into "I called Mary", and so months or even years pass can pass without me talking to my dearest friends. Sometimes this is a good thing, because many of my friends live far away, and it would be impossible to see them on a regular basis. Overall, however, it's a bad thing because it plays as complacency or taking them for granted, when nothing could be farther from the truth. It hit me when I arrived at Megan's house for dinner last night, and realized we hadn't actually talked (beyond a line or two via email or Facebook) for over a year. That shit don't play. So as a belated New Year's Resolution I offer this sincere promise to be better about staying in touch with friends and family.

To a Good Kid (Part II)

2009-12-13T23:19:00.004-05:00

More excerpts from old yearbooks. These are from 9th grade. "When I came to Assumption I didn't know anyone but you talked to me." Translation: you're a giant loser who has to pounce on new students. "Well I am running out of things to say." Translation: I wish yearbooks had call waiting. "It has been a real experience knowing you." Translation: I will be a politician someday. "Epsilon is within us all." Translation: no idea. "Lay off the heavy drugs you're going downhill" Finally, someone with the guts to confront me. "You're a lot of fun but boy you're a pain when you're in a rotten mood." Yeah, that's right, there had never been a moody adolescent until I came along.

This Christmas

2009-12-09T21:55:00.003-05:00

I've always been nostalgic, but as the holidays bear down upon us I seem to be even more so than usual. I blame Facebook, and the way people from my distant past have been adding me at an unprecedented rate over the past few months. I'm not complaining - it's been really nice even if one or two of the requests were puzzling. I guess enough time has finally passed for me to forgive and forge... well, forgive anyway. I also blame the innate nostalgia of the holiday season, which is always pushing us to figure out a way to fit our memories into the collective holiday experience (and spend money).

Christmas was always a big deal in my family, and though we didn't have a lot of money you'd never know by looking in on our Christmas. It started weeks before, of course, with my mom baking cookies and pie crusts, and dad getting the tree and putting up the lights. Frank Sinatra sang in the background, or maybe Fred Waring and his Pennsylvanians. My brother and I would sit on the couch armed with the current Sears catalogue and color coded magic markers. I want this! Oooh, I want this! Me too! The bizarre thing is that my parents pretty much ignored everything we circled but still managed to figure out something we'd like even better.

Christmas day was, of course, crazy. We'd get up early and fidget while my dad got his coffee and mom looked for the Instamatic. We'd open the presents and clean up the mess, then get ready to go to my grandparents' house for dinner. After dinner we'd drive out to Fairmount to my other grandparents' house, sometimes when it was already dark and the Christmas lights looked extra magical. Then it was home, to play with our new toys for as long as we could hold out before falling asleep.

Our Christmases followed the same basic template for my entire childhood, and now when people ask me if I remember a particular Christmas, I have to say no because they all blend into one. Sure I remember the year we got stuck in a blizzard less than 200 feet from home, or the year it was warm enough to play basketball in our driveway, but I can't remember if it happened I was 4 or 14.

Now, decades later, Christmas is another beast entirely and that's not a bad thing. It's still madcap, and I still love each and every one.

To a Good Kid

2009-11-24T23:14:00.004-05:00

Presented for your amusement are these excerpts from my 8th grade yearbook. If the overwhelming consensus is to be believed, I was apparently "a good kid" with "a great personality" - flattering, yes, but kind of at odds with my vivid memories of being an outcast. Enjoy!

To a nice kid and I hope you will stay that way - Cindy (nice enough on the surface but with a vaguely threatening undertone) You are decent and nice. Don't drink coffee and you might grow taller. - Sue (the hell? I wasn't short) Try not to act so goofy in high school or people will think something is seriously wrong with you. - Elaine (whoa) Remember to always control yourself. - Mark (no clue what this means) Hope your high school years are your happiest. - Carol (Thanks for nothing, Carol) Vote for me for best looking or you're dead! - Rodney (isn't it too late for that if you're holding the yearbook?) Say hello to your mother for me. - Kathy (nothing says "cool" like people giving your mom a shout-out when they sign your yearbook)

Soup Night II

2009-11-20T14:13:00.006-05:00

Here's the video from November's Soup Night - it's quite a bit better than last month's video thanks to fine work by Guest Director Finn and Guest Cinematographer Monique.

Titanic Days

2009-10-28T23:40:00.002-04:00

You'd think that month-long gaps between posts might mean I'm busy doing exciting, meaningful things. And you'd be wrong. I've been working and watching scary movies on YouTube. I did manage to tear myself away from the computer long to visit the Titanic exhibit in Rochester, which was a surprisingly intimate experience considering the subject matter was so epic. The exhibit focused on the personal effects found in the wreckage which belonged to passengers - clothes, toiletry items, and a remarkable number of paper items such as postcards, receipts and letters. There was also a lot of information about the daily routine of the ship, including menus from the restaurant and cabin decor. It was an interesting exhibit but sad, as the small scale of the artifacts brought the historic tragedy down to a personal level and made it rawer than something that happened a century ago should be.

Soup Night - October 2009

2009-10-19T22:25:00.003-04:00

For some reason I really struggled with this little film. An annoyingly low percentage of the footage I shot was any good, and the scenes that did make the cut refused to come together the way I wanted them to. Boo! But it's (yet) another learning experience, and the next one will be better.

Welcome Home Chickens!

2009-09-21T21:35:00.003-04:00

2009-09-21T16:24:00.004-04:00

I don't remember ever being in New York City during my brief (but intense) "Red Chucks" phase, but here's photographic evidence, so apparently it happened. I also wonder why I was at the World Trade Center instead of the Empire State Building, which I always liked about a thousand times better. One reassuring constant is my inability to keep shoelaces at full length for more than a couple of weeks. I must tie my shoes really aggressively.

Jingle Jangle

2009-09-02T21:58:00.003-04:00

Today at work we were talking (I know, right?) about commercial jingles from our childhood, and it got me thinking about how different advertising is now than when I was a kid. Today's commercials are more likely to borrow the connotations of a well-known song than to offer an original one, and that's a shame. It not only deprives us of some catchy jingles, but it attaches new and typically unwanted associations to familiar songs. When I think of the Pogues I don't want "Gigantic Cadillac SUV" to be the reason why. There are exceptions, of course. Volkswagen and Target often use interesting music in their commercials, and the minor annoyance of "Da Da Da" being referred to as "that song from the VW ad" was more than outweighed by the joy of hearing it several times a day. Unfortunately these are notable exceptions among a sea of advertisers who think slapping a catchy Motown or classic rock track on an ad is enough. It's not. Like most things from my childhood, jingles take up a large portion of storage space in my brain; space I could frankly use these days. My favorite was always the Syracuse Savings Bank song: Save more, earn more, dividends are best / Parking is no problem and people are the friendliest / Save more, earn more, dividends are best / At Syracuse Savings Bank (ding dong ding dong) / Your hard earned money earns more and more money for you. Byrne Dairy had a jingle too, but I don't remember the words, which is odd because we were definitely a Byrne Dairy family. I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes longing for chocolate milk in the glass bottle from Byrne Dairy - heaven! But other than the last line "cash and carry is the one for shopping on the run" their song is lost to me. This train of thought had me feeling old and disconnected from today's world, until after work, as I was walking into Target, a little boy five or six feet ahead of me pulled on his mother's arm and asked "can I go look at the toys?" Maybe the world isn't all that different from when I was a kid.

2009-08-29T15:39:00.004-04:00

We wished Liz, Will and Buttercup farewell Friday night at the River Grill. Liz is moving on to a new VISTA assignment in Washington, D.C. and this was their last weekend in Buffalo.

Damn You, Kay Russell! (reprint)

2009-08-22T23:51:00.005-04:00

Ok, so this is the story about how Kay Russell ruined my life, but first we have to go back to 1952, the year WSYR-TV introduced Ladies Day. Thousands of Syracuse housewives tuned in each morning to watch Kay share recipes and sewing tips, and when Ladies Day finally went off the air in 1977 it was the longest running "women's program" in the nation. Growing up I was only peripherally aware of the show - my mom watched once in a while - but other than the bouncy theme song Ladies Day held no real interest for me until one fateful day in 1972. I don't remember the details, but somehow I knew my grandfather's band (the Royal Vagabonds) had played at a charity fundraiser and that Kay had been there, covering the event for Ladies Day. At school the next day I told everyone all about how my grandfather was going to be on television, and either my teacher was a Kay Russell fan (possible) or I just wouldn't shut the hell up about it (more likely) because the next thing I remember was the AV aide wheeling the giant television stand into the classroom so we could watch Ladies Day. The class sat quietly in the darkness as the familiar theme began, and things went pretty well through the opening recipe segment. Some of the boys got a bit restless during crafts, and by the time the fashion report came on there was open horseplay going on right there in the classroom. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the torment was over and the closing credits beg... hey, wait a minute! My grandfather wasn't on! I stammered an apology to Mrs. Heisler, saying maybe they didn't have time for the segment he was going to be in or maybe I got my dates mixed up. Suddenly a voice came, loud and clear from the back of the room: "aww, he just wanted to watch Ladies Day!" And that's the exact moment my life ended.

Three

2009-08-21T04:14:00.005-04:00

Here's my third film. Those of you who've seen the first two will recognize some of the footage, but a lot of it is new. It's not what I had in my head, but I guess it has a clumsy charm.

Two

2009-08-16T00:57:00.009-04:00

This is my second film. Or rather, the second version of my first film. Most of the footage was shot with my new Vidster (a toy digital video camera made by Mattel that I scored off e-Bay) with a few still photographs added in to keep things going until the song ends. I've only had the camera a couple of days but I already know three very important things: 1. it's all about the editing software, 2. the trick to success with the Vidster is finding out how to exploit its strengths and overcome its weaknesses, and 3. it has a lot of weaknesses. The point of the Vidster is kind of a mystery to me now that I'm using it. It was marketed as a toy, yet it's not particulary tough and only marginally easier to use than a "regular" digital video camera. The low-resolution video can be charming (depending on the subject), but sharpness and clarity are pretty much impossible to achieve, even with ideal shooting conditions. That's already driving me a little crazy. I shouldn't already be dreaming of my next video camera, but I am. But for now, the Vidster it is, and I'm trying to be creative within the canned confines of its editing software and/or Windows Movie Maker, both of which emphasize cheesy effects and neither of which impress even a novice like me. It's hard, and I'm still not sure if that's because there are so many obstacles or if I'm just not going to be any good at this. The difference is that with photography, I don't really care if I'm any good because I love it so much. I haven't yet felt that joy with video. But it's only been two days... we'll see.

2009-07-31T02:13:00.005-04:00

I treated myself to a ride on the Miss Buffalo Grain Elevator History Cruise. It was a gorgeous Sunday afternoon and the boat rode up and down the Buffalo River and canals past literally dozens of industrial and grain elevators, some long vacant and others still in use. It's often difficult to get to these structures by car, and seeing them up close and from the water was amazing. There was a downside. The tour narration was rambling and amateurish, with a 70/30 mix of nonsense to interesting information. I'd have preferred silence. But visually, it was a treat, especially to someone like me who is drawn to the strange beauty of decay.

Garden 3.0 Earns a C+

2009-07-30T23:10:00.004-04:00

It will be the proverbial cold day in hell before my garden is Garden Walk worthy, but I still use the Walk as motivation to get everything looking as lush as possible by the last weekend in July. This year as I took stock, I realized Garden 3.0 is a definite step back from previous versions. It's not entirely my fault. The almost-daily rain has been tough on some of the less sturdy specimens - the blue wildflowers I love so much are now almost completely horizontal. And there are some bright spots. The ivy is thriving since I removed the ornamental grass, and the coreopsis and anemone are blooming like mad (I so hope they both survive the winter). The forsythia is a quick grower, and the new chocolate snakeroot with its purple and green foliage is perfect for the spot where the ornamental grass used to be. Even the crazy-quilt collection of flowering perennials I planted around the tree is filling in, if slowly, and I think with a few additions and some annuals for drama the hell-strip will be quite nice in 2010. But the sad fact remains: I made some major blunders. Leave it to me to have my sophomore slump in my junior year.