I wrote this awhile ago and just revised it. It was going to be the prologue to my book, but I think that 2,000 something words in the voice of an eleven/twelve year old might be a thousand too many. If anybody has read it, and has an opinion please let me know. As usual I’m bewildered. I’m really not into writing children’s or young adult books, and can see how the voice in this might be hard to take even for young teenagers. I believe the teens begin at nine now. My niece is twelve and has gone to four Bat Mitzvah’s in the past six weeks. This week she came home at 1:45 AM, new time. My father would have been so proud. Haven’t been to many blogs. I apologize
Christmas break 1961
Daddy promises to take me to the ice skating rink in Great Neck later. My little sister, Elka, is at her best friend Debby’s apartment in our 40 family garden apartment court, in Beech Hills, a thousand family garden apartment complex up a steep hill in North East Queens.
My best friend, Lori, lives two doors down, but she’s away with her family, in their new Lincoln Town car with electric windows. My other friends are either away or they’re not speaking to me or I’m not speaking to them. I’m in sixth grade, and I used to be the first girl anybody would call or call up the window to come down and play with. Now the kids think that I’m weird. Near the candy store the other day I heard my cousin, Ken, call me a goof to a girl he was trying to impress
Eleven is a very difficult age, I think as I look out the window at the deserted court. It’s almost never empty. No matter what the weather parents sit on the park benches and kids play in the grass, but the snow’s really more ice than snow, and it’s freezing.
There’s going to be a big football game. Daddy hates football, but he likes to make many charts showing possible plays. Then men bet on it. Mommy says it’s okay.
“Daddy’s special. He likes excitement. Other men, they bet the rent or the mortgage, and food money. Daddy saves money each month and only bets extra money. Daddy will make sure we always live well.”
“Uh, mommy, we live in a four room apartment. I have to share a room with Elka.”
We moved to the garden apartments, or “up the hill” as mommy and daddy call it, when I was four. We were supposed to live here for a year while my parents looked for a house in Great Neck. Elka and I love it here, but lately I really want my own room, and I let mommy know that at every opportunity. Elka’s half of the room is decorated with her own paintings. I had Fabian posters up but took them down for Warren Beatty ones. We’ll probably buy a house when I’m away at college. Daddy likes to check everything out 200 times.
My parents take an hour to decide on what brand of toilet paper to buy. I saw them fight over that. Then I watched them make up. I think that’s one of the reasons adults fight. Elka wants to crawl under the table when they make out in a restaurant but I like it.
Daddy has friends who are artists, writers, and fashion photographers. Mommy doesn’t like it when they call late at night, and daddy has to drive into the city to bail them out from something called Alimony Jail. I think that it’s a large room where men go to play poker and get away from their current wives. Daddy thinks that’s funny. Mommy doesn’t, but she never says anything bad about daddy.
Sometimes I hear mommy yell about daddy exposing us to bad influences. Daddy yells back that we have to know about the world, and that some of her cousins are crazy crooks.
They try to yell in Yiddish, but mommy doesn’t know much. I know not to ask why mommy’s family is meshuganah, but daddy’s friends are acceptable. Daddy became a Communist because Bubbe Celia was one, and he adores Aunt Elaine. We don’t know mommy’s cousins because they are crazy, but we know daddy’s cousins, who are mostly gamblers, and one left his wife for another woman. They think that I don’t know all this but I do and am always confused.
On Thursdays when daddy goes into the city at night to take classes at The New School and play poker, mommy makes foods that he won’t eat like lobster. It’s our night to be girls together, and mommy gives us manicures. But we have to take the nail polish off because daddy’s convinced nail polish and nail polish remover will kill us. He thinks that most beauty products will kill us.
Mommy and daddy both belong to many clubs. They only go out together on Monday nights when they take dancing lessons at Arthur Murray, and come in exactly at Ten PM when Red Skelton is over. They go out separately one or two times a week at night They go out on Saturday nights, except when they have a party, every six weeks or so. Elka doesn’t like it because they go out more than our friends parents do. Ithnk they’re more like parents other places.
While we wait for daddy to reach a point where he can stop and take me ice skating, I wonder if I will be as good a hostess as mommy is. Though mommy and daddy don’t really drink they have a fully stocked bar, and ashtrays though they hate the smell of smoke. We don’t eat cake but always have some for unexpected company.
“I wish daddy would get ready.”
“I’m sure he will be ready soon, sweetie, your daddy loves taking you the rink. He wishes he could skate.”
I’m not a great skater but I love going round and round the rink while the loudspeakers play songs like “What’s your name?” and “The lion sleeps tonight.” I’m getting bored looking out the window, so I go to the bookshelf where I take out a book I have looked at but rejected many times.
I take A Tree Grows in Brooklyn into my bedroom. Soon I’m in a world so similar and different from mine. Francie Nolan’s eleven, and lives in Williamsburg Brooklyn in the early part of the century. Mommy’s from Greenpoint which is walking distance from Williamsburg and was born later than Francie. Francie’s Irish and our natural enemy as we’re Jews, and the Irish and Poles in Greenpoint threw tomatoes and other things at mommy and her brother and sisters.
I love Francie. She’s lonely and bookish, but loves her family. This is the best book I have read so far. Mommy calls us into lunch. I don’t want to eat because the Nolan’s have just moved to Lorimar Street which is right next to Greenpoint and I want to see what happens next. I have forgotten that daddy’s supposed to take me skating. Mommy asks what I’m doing.
“Reading a book. A Tree grows in Brooklyn.”
Mommy’s all excited.
“Oh don’t you love it? Isn’t it a wonderful book? What are you up to?”
I’m confused. “You don’t like Irish people.”
“It’s different. Books talk about experiences that we share”
“Oh like how all our blood is red, and how we’re really the same under the surface, like Spring Lake teaches us.”
“Right.”
“But Johnny, Francie’s father drinks. Half the time he can’t even work because he drank so much. Francie loves her father anyway. I wouldn’t love daddy if he drank.”
“That’s the Irish curse. Every group has its own problems. That’s why books are so wonderful. Girls love their daddies no matter what they do. Finish the book and we’ll talk.”
Mommy smiles her big toothy smile. She’s five feet tall, with short curly brown hair, big brown eyes, a good nose, and is cute. Everybody likes her. I’m already taller than her. My body grows each day. I’m awkward and weird and want to look like mommy. I made daddy promise that if I continue growing so fast he will have my legs cut smaller when I’m thirteen.
Mommy thinks that I’m very pretty and smart. But we fight all the time. She says that’s because we’re so much alike. I don’t think that I’m pretty, smart or at all like mommy. She just says that because I was adopted and she wants to make me feel good when we’re not fighting over my hair not being brushed properly and things like that.
Every summer right after my birthday Elka and I go to Camp Spring Lake in Barryville for six weeks. It’s a progressive Jewish camp where we don’t really have to do anything except make pow-wow sites for camping, swim, have socials, and debates on Saturday morning at. We learn about civil rights and how we are responsible for helping the less fortunate.
Most campers don’t have a professional for a daddy, nor do most of the kids in the garden apartments.. I have to explain what an accountant does. I don’t even bother trying to explain the difference between an accountant and a CPA (Certified Public Accountant). I’m not sure I really understand the difference. Accountants, I think, just do tax returns. CPA’s help people keep their money. When I told daddy what I thought, he smiled and said that many adults didn’t understand that.
Daddy’s no longer a Communist. He calls himself a Socialist like his father was.
I know that somebody who helps people keep their money is a capitalist, so this really confuses me. Daddy can only say that being a Socialist is an ideal not a reality. I know that he makes money on the stock market, because it’s my job to answer the phone when I’m home, and politely take messages or give my parents the phone when they’re home.
Daddy and I like to talk about politics and current events. Daddy can’t explain why there are signs saying “Bomb Shelter” with a yellow and black arrow pointing to the apartments basement that contains milk, soda, candy, and washing machines. At least we will have food and clean clothes. But that doesn’t make sense either. Nobody can live on candy, soda and milk, and how will we get the clothes down to the basement? Why is the basement safe just because it’s underground? My parents tell me not to worry. Like the drills in school where we have to get under our desk with our hands on our heads, it’s just practice for something that’s not going to happen.
I worry anyway. I read about people who have real bomb shelters with real food and clothes. Shouldn’t we have one also? When I grow up I want to be a spy for the FBI and find Communists in their cells like Nancy Davis did on Ronald Regan’s GE Theatre. But many people in my family are Communists and I love them. I can’t wait to become an adult so that I can understand this.
Bubbe Celia, my Mom’s Mom died the day before Halloween. She taught me about The Scottsboro Boys, The Triangle Shirt Waist Fire and other important things. When mommy found out that she had just died, she went running into my arms. I felt special and remember being surprised about how much mommy needed me. Bubbe Celia was a Communist, an incredible cook, and could see a dress in a department store window and copy it exactly. Mommy refuses to sew because all her clothes were made by her mother.
I bet I miss Bubbe almost as much as mommy does, and more than her younger sisters Faye and Elaine who are Bohemians. Elka and I can always spot a Bohemian because they wear peasant shirts, flowing skirts,and tons of copper bracelets. They have lots of orange furniture, butterfly chairs, and play folk music in their houses.
When I’m angry at mommy and ride my bike through the huge back alleys I pretend that I live with my birth mother who is a real beatnik, lives in the Village, and would let me grow my hair to my knees and walk around without shoes. Nobody told me this but I know it. Beatniks write poetry, play bongo drums, sleep late and don’t have real jobs. Everybody is worried about my cousin Sandy because he’s a Beatnik.
Mommy goes to get daddy. He hasn’t shaved, and his clothes are old and in tatters. I remember he’s supposed to take me ice skating and I pout.
“Just give me an hour Pia, and I will take you.”
“Okay.”
We’re eating a Saturday lunch. Mommy makes tuna fish salad with celery, carrots, a little Miracle Whip and a lot of lemon. We’re only allowed to eat potato chips when we eat tuna fish. Mommy and daddy know all about the danger of fat, salt, sugar and cigarettes. When I tell my friends they laugh.
“Max guess what book she’s reading?”
He shrugs.
“A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.”
For the first time since daddy came in for lunch he looks excited.
“Great movie.”
Daddy reads accounting journals, each issue of Mad, and parts of four to seven newspapers a day, but he doesn’t read books. Mommy gets The New Yorker . I read them both.
After lunch he goes back to his spread sheets, and I go back to my room.
Mommy calls us into supper. Francie’s father, Johnny has just died. I want to finish the book. I don’t want dinner. I’m beginning to understand why girls love their fathers even if they’re drunks, and what mommy means by people being alike. It’s more real than what we learn at Spring Lake. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to read and think. I’m glad we didn’t go to the rink, but I have to remember to pout. Daddy comes into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry Pia, I’m really sorry. I just got carried away.”
He’s never said that he’s sorry to me before. I can’t let daddy know that I’m not angry. He broke a promise, and I tell him that.
“I know, sweetie. How about if you watch A Tree Grows in Brooklyn the next time it’s on TV even if it’s on the late show on a school night?”
“Okay.”
Christmas Week 1962
Last summer at camp my parents sent me a letter saying that we are going to move on Halloween. Nobody has heard of this town on Long Island. It sounds biblical. We all thought that my family’s moving to the Mid East. I wondered if they have Special Progress classes in the Mid East so I can do seventh and eighth grade in one year like I was supposed to do in the city.
Our new town turns out to be fifteen minutes north east of Queens. We had moved to Beech Hills the year that the expressway came out to it, and now the expressway is built, out to X town, and there’s an exit just a few blocks from our eight room, four level house. X town is cheaper than Great Neck, almost all Jewish, and the parents are building a school district from scratch.
I hate our new town. When my records finally came they asked me if I want to be in the honor class. I was doing so badly I said no without even thinking. We change teachers but go from class to class with the same kids. My last name starts with “S” and I’m with the “H” through “M”s. My life’s not fun. How could I have ever thought that eleven was a horrible age? Twelve’s much worse. I haven’t made one friend in school.
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is going to be on the late late show tonight. Daddy said that he would wake me. Daddy stays up working until two or three most nights, but he doesn’t get up until 9:30 AM. I can’t wait to be an adult. I just reread A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and have decided that I will read it every Christmas for the rest of my life. Daddy wakes me before the movie begins.
Daddy and I go into his red burlap wallpapered office. He sits on his swivel chair next to his huge mahogany desk, and I lie on the red plaid wood framed couch. The carpet’s red with some black. A tree Grows in Brooklyn is a hundred twenty eight minutes long. It starts at Two Am and won’t be over until almost five AM. Daddy’s been muttering all week about how he thought it would be on the late show during a school night, and how he’s only good until Three AM these days.
We watch the movies in silence only getting up when absolutely necessary. It’s a perfect night and as daddy and I twirl our hair almost in tandem, I think about how Francie’s father always makes promises that he doesn’t keep, and daddy doesn’t make many but when he does he eventually keeps them.
Stumble it!
That’s about it.
Lucia is all upset because Little Luce who will be sixteen three weeks from yesterday is going to a party without her. It’s their first Halloween apart. Lucia had the whole night planned.
The way Lucia’s been carrying on, you would think Little Luce is moving out, and never coming home again.
While I would love to feel sorry for Lucia, I do remember the days she would make fun of me for being friendly with my parents BLL (before Little Luce.) We were in our early 30’s.
Baby boomers weren’t supposed to be friendly with their parents, but baby boomers children are supposed to worship, and adore their parents.
Little Luce does adore her Mom, and Lucia doesn’t remember ever making fun of me. It’s cute.
Stumble it!
postscript on top: There were two or three 9/11/Ground Zero articles in the City section of The Times I remember reading about a year after 9/11, an article about a young woman who was 9/11ed out. The author considered the woman to be unfeeling and gross. I agreed, but five years later I just don’t need to be reminded so much.
I do understand how important finding bodies is. Don’t need to be reminded that maybe they could have been saved, alive, had people been able to reach them. I’m not unfeeling but I knew that already.
Took this from CooperBush is the new Rove. He distorts Democratic feelings. Most of us would love to see real terrorists punished greatly. But who declared Iraq the center of terrorist activity? Bush. Is Osama Bin Laden there? I greatly doubt it.
There was another article comparing the cost of living and a bit of quality of life between New York and Omaha. I could really get into having a whole house for 142K, my 600 prime square feet cost more than that nine years ago. Though I don’t think that Omaha is the answer for me.
If Bush really wants to help America he could make sure that the costs of 9/11 are bared equally by every person in this country. But he doesn’t. He learned from his mentor Rove that talking against many Americans is a sure fire way to get many people back into the fold, and all cheering, etc. He should have also learned that strategies like that backfire eventually.
Sometimes it dawns on me, all over again, that we have the first administration to take away rights instead of enhancing them. If we keep people in detention centers as we have been doing, we’re no better than our “worst enemies.”
VOTE NEXT WEEK. THIS IS THE ELECTION BEFORE THE ELECTION OF OUR LIFETIME
WE CAN TAKE BACK AMERICA, Let them have their stupid cheer leading sessions. We know what is truly important. We lack a moral compass. We lack empathy, understanding and compassion. But of course not where zygotes are concerned.
A week from Wednesday I will be back to normal non-issue based programing. And yes, I love throwing their words back in their faces.
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I haven’t read the weekend papers yet so I have no idea what’s going on. That’s not a good thing, but I was writing all weekend. Revising and reworking, not anything new and not for Courting.
That’s when I realize I get into non-linear hell as opposed to the opposite when I rework something. I add more thoughts to the original and end up with a jig saw.
The weird thing is I have always loved the editing process. The whittling away to make the piece strong. Blogging actually helps as I can get all the extraneous stuff out.
I would like to thank everybody who covered for me, and everybody who was so supportive. There are more guest bloggers to come, hell there’s always a Dawg, a Bone and a Wombat, and so many more including people who said they would but I forgot to push them, and when I printed out my Gmail calender, the way they said to, everything was on the date before or after it, I forget.
But I managed to over extend my time incredibly, and actually did sign up for two courses at the same time, promise people I would do things at a certain time, and….The irony is that I’m much better without consulting a calender. Except for dental appointments, I remember the date and time. Of course I remember the dental date day, just get the appointments an hour late or once early,
I used to be too disorganized to use a calender, and so developed that skill. Now there are no excuses, and I have learned to compensate for many of the organizational problems. But, obviously, I have flunked time management.
In Stephen King’s memoir/writing book he says he tells people that he takes his birthday and Christmas off, but really….I can relate. He was very defensive about being a “popular” writer. At first I thought it put on. Then I realized that he meant it, and began to think about all the amazing characters he’s thought up.
Though it scares me, I think Carrie is brilliant. The Stand, Misery, The Green Mile and more. Then I realized that being self defensive or self effacing is a great way to get people to like you. Oh yes, I never actually thought that one out before. And I’m so good at.
Last night there was a sound that first sounded like a drop of water. We’re told to be vigilant about floods so I listened, especially since it was coming from above me. And it was Three AM, really had nothing better to think about. It began to sound like a computerized perfectly round drop. It was hypnotic and put me into a deep sleep.
That was good because at 9:30 AM, new time, about twelve kids came out onto the penthouse deck next door with a boom box.
I really really love Sunday mornings because it is so quiet and I can think without drilling, or even the white noise of the Bose Noise Cancelling headphones. The new ones really are better than the imitations, but I don’t think that I should have to have them on all the time.
I live in one of the quietest areas of Manhattan, and loud noise is jarring. I don’t mind the sound of normal traffic zooming down the West Side Highway, I do mind the horns and car alarms.
But I have to expect that. I don’t have to put up with rude parents with way too much disposable income–parts of that penthouse were redone three or more times. They’re not exempt from basic courtesy.
I did something that I have never done before. I screamed at them and said it wasn’t even Ten AM. I can’t believe that I did that and a part of me feels incredibly guilty and another part really good because those kids were obnoxious.
I understand that we live in a childcentric society, but this is a city not the country.
I live across from a park and the river, and that’s wonderful. But there are times that I would love to go on my deck, and do whatever people do on decks. I know I have stayed in many houses with them, and my apartment in Riverdale had a terrace with a dead on view of the World Trade Center, but we had to have fake grass carpets which are magnets for pollen, and I basically shared one with my neighbors, and she thought I wanted to steal her husband.
It’s comical know but I was the husband stealer of Independence Avenue, or so many women thought. Yes, I gave up Manhattan to steal husbands in the Bronx.
I suppose I should feel flattered but the doormen at The Pierre asked me every day for years if I wanted to go to a party, a date, and some other stuff. I remember thinking “wow, that’s about as high as a pro could go, why don’t I feel more worthy, in real life?”
One of my biggest regrets is never taking them up on the offer. It would have been an interesting experience. Though it’s probably better that I didn’t go down that road, I do respect women who do that. Many women then didn’t have what they considered to be marketable skills so they sold their personality and body. I’m getting less into this idea by the second.
My life became very different when I left Manhattan and didn’t steal husbands. Then I moved back and still had no desire to.
I was going to go somewhere with this, but I promised the Dawg this would never be a weight loss or ____blog, and so it won’t be.
And for the record, I have never stolen a husband or had any desire to. I did have one affair when I was 26 with a Senatorial candidate’s bodyguard, but it was never meant to be anything else. And come on, it was a fitting finale to the hippie/glam years, though I dressed punk to go to CBGB’s.
I have always been into dressing in costume, though now I’m basically jeans and sweaters. I suppose it was the costumes that made the doormen at the Pierre ask me. After awhile it did become a joke, but then there would be a new doorman….
Wish that I had this kind of luck with men in real life. But look at Shirley Schmitt (Candice Bergen). Denny Crane (William Shatner) has the Schmitto inflatable doll, Alan Shore (James Spader) wants her–actually he’s going through a great middle aged crisis, Schmitt probably doesn’t have a man in real life, or as real as BL can be. That’s more real than other TV show.
I know that if Shirley ends up with Alan, there is hope for me. Or any other man that’s not Tom Selleck, though he has grown on me.
I can’t believe that I just added Schmitto to the Google dictionary.
Stumble it!
In the response video to the Fox one, most or all of the speakers are Catholic. Have nothing against Catholics. Almost all my good friends are. However, if all or most were Jewish, it would be labeled a conspiracy, and somehow good for Israel. If most were Muslim, Hindu, Sikh….Why is everything about religion in America?
Somewhere I saw “Cooper” as a Technorati tag. Yes Cooper.
A prologue to the paragraphs on moving. A Loehmann’s is moving into my immediate neighborhood. I did what any self respecting daughter of a woman who thought Loehmann’s was a true bonding experience and reached for the phone, as she would have died. Then I remembered….
As exciting as my Mom would have found it, this sealed the moving deal. My neighborhood is over crowded on the most quiet days. Loehmann’s is a destination store. We don’t need more people walking in the neighborhood. This isn’t the Upper West Side anymore. It’s the Broadway Mall and enviorns. I’m sorry but I don’t find it fun to be trampled. If I did I would have moved to Soho. Nine years ago there was still a neighborhood feel, here. Now….
I wonder how the people who are buying the condo’s in the Apple Bank for Savings–2 to 4 mil–will take this. Or are they planning on having limos take them everywhere to add to the congestion in the streets?
And Lucia, my best friend, who never saw an item of clothes for $29.99 that she didn’t like? Not only will she spend all her time in the store, I will have to physically restrain her from buying junk as I did a few weeks ago in Mandy’s, a store I personally find repulsive. Yes I had to restrain her…Fortunately Mandy’s has a large selection of fake leather belts I could use for bondage….Threw that in to see if anybody actually reads this
I am planning to move. So far it’s between Santa Monica/Venice and Miami. I love hot weather, the ocean, humidity when it’s over 80 degrees and hate humidity when it’s under 80–give or take a few degrees. I hate rain but love thunderstorms, don’t mind hurricanes, earthquakes or other natural disasters. Sorry, Chandira, Seattle is out because I would have to drink even more coffee than I do unless there’s a long–like 20 years–drought.
I don’t drive and don’t plan on driving. Safer for humanity. Santa Monica/Venice are navigable on foot with good bus systems, and Miami, well it’s always been like a second home. Love the tropical humidity. My family and friends are real big on Miami as it’s a quick Jet Blue plane ride from here.
Any suggestions for any other cities? They have to be near a coast, preferably as close to the beach as possible. Hawaii’s out. No offense to anybody who lives there or loves it, but the one time I was there I had a great time but never felt quite at home. I can live among Republicans as long as they’re tolerant. Actually for a short time Coronado and La Jolla were in the running. They still might be, it’s San Diego proper that weirds me out–again no offense meant.
If you were going to start over given the above conditions where would you move? And I’m at the debating selling or keeping my apartment stage. That’s the hard part. Were I renting I would be out of here tomorrow. Not that I don’t love New York…love it with all my heart. But I so need to live somewhere where the sun does shine, where it’s fun to walk and not an exercise in patience or almost getting killed every day by bike riders or Jersey drivers who think that since they can legally turn right on red lights in Jersey, they should be able to do the same in Manhattan. Never mind the people crossing the street. We’re dispensable. Offense is meant to Jersey drivers who do that, and in my vast experience and it is vast, it’s always drivers from Jersey. Sorry Janet, I know you wouldn’t.
Have to go deposit my Star rebate check before the state goes broke or something. And the $57 check the state just sent me will buy me a bag and half of groceries. Wow, can’t wait to spend it.
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I have a question that directly relates to Rush Limbaugh’s idiocy but also goes into American society in general. Okay two questions. Or more.
Why are we so quick to judge each other? And if somebody doesn’t do something exactly the way we want them to do it, why do we assume stupidity on their part? And I include myself in this, as I seem to insult people with some regularity when I write about issues which is a big reason I have stopped. But the election is important.
But maybe more important is how Limbaugh judged Michael J Fox.
I can relate to how Fox was treated too well. Put it on him. He’s the one at fault because he dares speak out on an issue that directly affects him, and some people just don’t want to hear that.
This is long and classic whiny, sort of so here’s the “more” Continue Reading »
Stumble it!
Courting isn’t an issue centered or political blog. However there is an important election in less than two weeks. We don’t debate at Courting. We do delete comments.
Trying to link to our favorite Wombat/bartender/actor who does do a BL recap. There were many great lines including “mad penis,” and we loved how Alan Shore (James Spader) is the girl in a relationship We did figure that out too quickly though. In case nobody knows this we heart James Spader. And read the Wombat when bad Blogger behaves for a real recap.
Keep forgetting that MizB has a video with loverboy. Don’t forget, just forget to link. We, like so many people, can’t help but love her.
As we were “a mistake” though never to ourselves, our family, friends, and now we hope our many good blogging friends, we have spent much time debating–me, Toto the Imaginary Dog, our lap top Savannah Falls and our old PC Savannah Falls Too–our new Imac doesn’t get a say, and to us, a zygote is a zygote until it marchs that long road down to being a fetus.
Our mother, who is the subject of the post below used to wonder why she so strongly believed in abortion being a woman’s absolute right, since I so easily could have been one. Our Dad, who had become a staunch NeoCon in the real sense of the word didn’t wonder, he just thought it a woman’s right. There is a difference between Neo Con’s and Libertarians, but I’m not in the mood to even look it up or define the descriptions.
We do believe that abortion is a woman’s right, and not something that the government should have any say in. We have noticed that the radical right doesn’t talk about moral/values anymore. Could it be because there are too many of us blogging now?
Courting began just before the RNC in New York. We named the original URL freenynyfrombushtoday.blogspot.com
and did live to regret it though we feel the same sentiments today. At the time Blogger didn’t allow a person to have more than one URL and as we barely knew what a URL was…
On that note, it was just a blow job that didn’t begin but crystalized the hate-centered Republicans. We don’t include all Republicans in that category. As we are only a registered Democrat because until recently whoever won the Democratic primary won the election here. Now we are a registered Dem as another small protest.
Small protests are good things. While we never expected Bush to be impeached it was the principle that let us become among the first bloggers to call for him impeachment. His sins are much bigger than a blow job.
We have felt shame in being an American for the first time in our lives. As a New York Jew we were shocked by the Impeachment as we were shocked by the blogging trolls who loved to make our lives miserable with their absurd hate for us in particular.
Honestly, we had thought these people to be characters on talk radio, not real people. We couldn’t believe that The First Amendment was so misunderstood. While this country might be 83% Christian, it is not now a legally Christian country nor has it ever been. We have explained all five parts of The First Amendment somewhere.
At first we were shocked by the hateful comments we got. We couldn’t believe it when we were asked what mental disorders we suffer from as somebody had a theory that certain mental disorders went along with far left thinking. If we’re far left what is Lynne Stewart?
About a year ago we were told that we lacked a moral compass and a higher purpose in life. When we asked the person what his higher purpose was we were told that he didn’t have to have one as he’s a husband and father.
So all married people with children are exempt from having moral/values, and we should probably find a Nunnery. We did learn a lot from those experiences.
They didn’t drive us out of the blogosphere but did help us understand that a blog such as Courting which discusses the life and times of somebody who hasn’t been living our lives their way was needed.
The ironic thing was that it wasn’t people on the Left who usually came to our rescue on the rare times we needed rescuing but true Conservatives. For the last time, when books are reviewed, the writers morals aren’t usually reviewed also. Women, who would be judged to have far “worse” morals, have had books reviewed with nary a mention of their penchant for sleeping with married men, doing drugs, whatever. So get over “you have to get used to having your morals judged.” Not in our America.
Now, people like us have begun to rule. Bloggers who came after us, haven’t usually been exposed to gross hate filled comments, and we are proud that we had something to do with that.
Courting has come a long way. In the grand tradition of shameless self-promotion, we are proud that Courting is an under 2,000 Technorati ranked blog. Barely, but we were proud when we hit 11,000 then 5,000. We have spent all week, being us and being embarrassed by this feat. We are too aware that tomorrow our ranking might go up which means down in Technorati land.
I call it the big T in the sky as I believe that my parents have something to do with this. I also have a neon blue Technorati scoreboard on the wall most people would have a flat screen TV on. We thank Bone for buying this for us 
Virtually.
We thank everybody who has had something to do with this and who has linked to us. Courting is my proudest achievement. It is something that I created out of nothing. I really knew nobody. Sometime in November, it will be two years since I followed StephK, the only blogger I knew personally and just slightly, into BE.
My life changed that day. I can’t say that I have ever had a boring day since then. The interaction is something that every writer dreams of.
I am evolving, and have significantly less time to spend on Courting. I need to spend most of my time on things that bring in money rather than cost money. I don’t accept ads on Courting for a few reasons, and don’t have a “donation,” button. I understand why people do have them and should probably have one myself, but can’t go there. For me, personally, it seems wrong. However I always reserve the right to change my mind.
No more long dental surgeries or office visits. I’m probably the only dental patient in history to not just be late for oral surgery–blogging took precedence–but to be prescribed for pain relief “fight with the rad right,” as I refused to take the pain relievers until I couldn’t take the pain anymore.
Pain begets anger and anger begets many things. I’m not an angry person so I won’t fight anymore I do delete comments that are rude, crude or in any way malicious., and am proud to live in an area where all the political commercials are anti-Bush ones. That said, I barely watch TV let alone commercials but the three that I have seen…..
Bone
a blogger we have grown to know well–otherwise would be wishing him a permanent Happy Halloween has great fiction exercises on Wednesdays that we will of course do on Friday. We are excited for Bone that Laura is coming back to General Hospital. We do like Luke since he got rid of the yellow dye job and bad perm, and uh got rid of Laura who was TV’s longest lasting hippie-dippie until overnight she became a business executive.
We saw Demi Moore, who began her career on GH, on some show last night. She used to be a rabid Republican who in the early 90’s thought that making $200,000 a year was “small change.” We really found that nasty. However the times have changed and she seems to have changed with them. We actually liked her.
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IM Dedd did an absolutely brilliant video that shows a whole other side of the Dedd Guy. I liked it.
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Here’s a link to an advert Michael J Fox did. It’s very hard for me to understand people who put zygotes above the already living. This broke my heart as it will yours.
If it doesn’t something is seriously wrong with you.
In my world we value life. We all watched Michael J Fox grow up, or grew up with him, or something.
Michael J Fox has the best of everything available to him. He deserves to live a long and happy life.
I can tell from the video what stage he’s at, and what happens next is something you don’t want to know about. I pray that he stays at this stage for a long long time or until a miracle happens.
Stem cell research might provide that miracle. Here’s where I’m supposed to say, leave a comment. However, if you believe that zygotes have more rights than the already living, don’t come near here, and just pray that nobody in your family or any of your friends ever come down with a debilitating condition, because prayers are all you’re going to have.
If you value human life vote Democrat. if you think you value human life because you love those zygotes, you have no idea what life’s about.
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Cooper has a wonderful post and video at Taking Place. Even got the name right.
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I don’t usually write about my day-to-day life, but I can open a page of Courting at random and remember the entire day. I’m not sure why I can, or why remembering precisely is important to me. Nobody remembers precisely. There have been countless book and movies about people remembering the same incident through different eyes.
But my Mom had a truly precise mind. She memorized everything that she saw, every piece of information that might be vital. I admired that and seemed to have some of the same abilities. I needed to remember everything because I’m so disorganized.
The disorganization and other problems I don’t really like to talk about because why? make me seem very literal many times though I’m capable of very abstract thought. I no longer try to make sense of my life and just live it. I back slide, but don’t beat myself over that.
There’s short fiction under this post if you don’t want to follow the “more” Continue Reading »
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I was Sar’s* 30,000 visitor. Cooper has an amazing post, well several in one, all worth reading. So does Sage, in a different way–with some lines I’m going to put both on my sidebar and my front door
Leanna walks out of Barnes & Noble fuming. How dare they have In Cold Blood in new literature. It’s the book that inspired a genre. It’s the Rosetta Stone of True Crime. Yes, Capote said that some of the dialogue was made up, as is dialogue in every book in the true crime section but court transcripts.
She has no idea why she’s taking this so personally. When she was a young teenager, In Cold Blood was in The New Yorker. Leanna and her mother devoured it as they had Light in the Piazza and so many other books. When Madeline was young is based on and pays homage to Light in…
Made up for the horrible play,Light in…the musical, that everybody else loved. Leanna’s boyfriend still imitates her screaming into his ear “the levees, the levees, how the hell can people enjoy themselves…those drunken lush asshole women behind us, from the Peachtree state as they keep saying, should have some empathy for fellow Southerners.”
Later Matt told her that people might be pretending to have fun because they had bought the tickets months earlier or were on a long anticipated vacation Leanna didn’t buy that. She had been in Torquay, England and had to take a bus 30 miles to Plymouth to buy anInternational Harold Tribune when Flight 800 had gone down on Long Island in 96, two days before her birthday. She had known five people from two separate families, who were killed, and that might have been the reason she became depressed. And angry at the British people in Torquay for thinking it not important.
The Englishmen she had been traveling with thought her a bad sport to become depressed. Even watching the English people with bad teeth line dance hadn’t cheered her up, and usually that was an instant mood enhancer.
Leanna listened to herself. With a mind like hers who needs friends? Well, everybody, and somehow Leanna has been obsessed with the idea that she would have met Capote had he lived. She can’t remember the first time she read Breakfast at Tiffany’s but will never forget reading his Christmas with Aunts stories. It amazed her that he had aunts. She had been very young then, and somehow couldn’t imagine writers outside of context.
It doesn’t matter where a book is placed. It only matters that people read it. No it doesn’t. It’s not new, it’s 40 years old and Capote has been dead for over 20 years. No wonder people have no understanding of or respect for history.
When she crosses the street she’s almost run over by a Chinese restaurant deliveryman on a bike. Asshole,” she silently mouths, and then feels guilty because he’s probably illegal and sleeps on the floor in a room with 20 other men. A second later, she’s angry because he wasn’t looking. Neither was she, but she had the light, and that should count for something in New York, home to the most amount of pedestrians.. It never does.
Tower is closing? There are huge signs all over the store. Makes sense when she thinks about it. But still, it was an institution for a decade or so a decade ago.
A Target or Nordstroms would be nice. She’s still never been in either. Lincoln Center would be a great area for either. Leanna feels guilty because she should be dreaming of some home spun store. New York for and by New Yorkers. Novel concept. Leanna’s friends, even Matt totally rational human thought New York had been invaded by non-native very very rich people who were determined to remake New York into an image imprinted on their brains of what New York should be. A boring shell of itself.
The Eurotrash back in the 80’s knew their place. They hung at Le Relais on Madison between East 63rd and 64th, and other Upper East Side restaurants with bar scenes occasionally scurrying to different parts of town.
Leanna has grown up with modern New York. At first the changes were exciting. Then they were too much. But she still has the natives reverence for blocks that haven’t changed since the 20’s. Or really any person who loves good mixed architecture. The Upper West Side can have five distinctly different styles on each block.
When she gets home she looks at her 2004 copy of In Cold Blood One of the ways Random House had celebrated its anniversary was by reissuing it, in its original type face. Just as the 40th Anniversary edition was issued this year.
Next to the ISBN number are the words “True Crime.” For some reason she yells:
“Yes, Capote is God.”
*As Sar would never be into shameless self-pomotion, no never Sar I will shamelesslly self promote one of the sweetest bloggers with the absolute best contests, and usually wonderful guests. I was the rare exception last week. In my defense I had no Internet access and hence couldn’t….I hope that Sar knows I adore her.
Go see what I was awarded. It’s made of links. Not that links mean anything to me.
On Monday, I will write about when my sister and brother-in-law, when he was still Elka’s fiancee were the most unlikely though cool Meat Market pioneers. It was still a ho row, and you could see the ho’s in action from some of their windows.
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Your Honor she’s making fun of Christianity. It’s unpatriotic. I’m afraid that it will hurt the troops.
Alan Shore (James Spader) to a Judge on Boston Legal.
That statement, wow. I could take it so many places, but chose not to tonight. However, if other people want to. I should explain it in context of the episode but tired.
Here are two people who don’t need an introduction to the readers of Courting. The Wombat thinks that I compliment him too much. No, I respect people who understand history in all its forms and he does.
I love people who know the history of rock as it’s the history of several generations, and goes back much further when you go to the blues and the jazz influences. History is so wonderful, I can’t understand why more people don’t want to learn it as it can be learned through so many different lenses.
The Wombat even posted on how to properly watch The Rocky Horror Show, in the aisles, in character.
It played at The Waverly on Sixth Avenue near West Third Street, midnights on Saturday, until the horrible Eraserhead, which I would probably love today, came out. The club where everybody did know my name was very close by, and I had to run into it in the middle of Eraserhead to throw-up. My boyfriend Zachary chose to stay until the end. My taste has become progressively more violent over the years. Though I much prefer sex in films. Usually starring James Spader.
Cooper goes to NYU which fits in with the geographic location I have brought this too, but she’s taking the semester off, and seems to find every cause worth knowing about, at least. Cooper, besides being the Queen of Courting Moderation though not in awhile, is the True comment Empress. Someday I will do an in-depth anaylsis of Cooper’s seven commenting styles as practiced at Courting.
Cooper, the Wombat and I all share a deep love of Boston Legal. Like the Wombat I never took William Shatner seriously, or hadn’t since Star Trek. Unlike Cooper I do watch other network shows but never live and never before 11:30 PM.
Cooper posted the following though the Wombat says he also immediately saw its possiblities. It seems fitting that my first co-authored post is an IM by them. Dare you not to like this, and don’t want to say anything more.
EsotericWombat: hmm… I hunger… probably has something to do with the fact that I’ve yet to eat
Cooper: go eat sweet thing
Cooper: eating sounds good as a matter of fact.
EsotericWombat: time to masticate and summarily digest plant and animal tissue
Cooper: oh you had ot use that word masitcate didn’t you
EsotericWombat: I haven’t used it in a while
EsotericWombat: and anyways that word isn’t even vaguely naughty unless you say it out loud
Cooper: please wombatty don’t let me stop you from masticating
EsotericWombat: and how do you know that I’m not right now?
Cooper: you wouldn’t masticate while aiming with me
Cooper: would you?
EsotericWombat: oh wow I didn’t even see that
EsotericWombat: umm…
EsotericWombat: *sputter*
EsotericWombat: I bet this is what a computer feels like when it gets hit with a 404 error
Cooper: ah
Cooper: well tell me then
Cooper: are you masticating?
EsotericWombat: at the moment, no.
Cooper: you will tell me when you begin..right?
EsotericWombat: but it is entirely possible for me to not wish to lose the time in your presence while CHEWING FOOD
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Uh, thanks for the roast. Have to be in better condition to think of any comebacks, and then will probably make somebody else write them.
Contrary to popular opinion I don’t spend all my life emailing, nor do I try to make people feel good. If I believe in them, I believe in them all the way, and am usually right.
My cable service has been restored. Apparently they put in new cable last week. Forgot to put it in whatever waterproofs it. Flooded. The thing about Time Warner Cable is that you can’t get a straight answer from them.
To use my biggest New Yawk expression, they make my blood boil, so I have now resorted to having a friend call for me. I sometimes make calls for my friends when they can’t handle the company. Find that it’s an easier way to stay sane. Did make the first four or five calls myself. No I’m not a cable company stalker. They kept telling me that techs were there and would resolve the problem.
I believe that “high speed” Internet service is essential to functioning properly in today’s world. Know that at one time electricity wasn’t considered an essential service. Of course I live in New York, where nobody noticed that 200,000 people in Queens were without electricity for four days.
Know that I truly am over my 9/11/dead mother thing. Which leaves the question, should I leave or should I stay? Was strolling on Broadway yesterday. Can’t really walk on it, too crowded, and for the tenth millionth time thought that this city is just too damn crowded, and expensive. I think that I’m ready to make this decision in a more rational way. So I’m going to put it to a vote. No, it’s something that I have to figure out for myself.
This was the invisible disappearing post. Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of my Mom’s death. Last night was the first night of Succoth. In the Jewish religion celebrating holidays take precedence over mourning. Think that’s wrong, though I understand the intent. My dad died in the middle of his favorite holiday, Passover, and it wasn’t fun.
Last night I went out and without thinking blew out the Yazhrehit or mourning or remembrance candle. I freaked but my friends laughed because they had known my Mom. She always screamed at me as I love candles and was convinced that I was going to burn my house down.
It did make me laugh because I even remembered her voice and laugh, and how she looked not that last year when she was frail but how she looked for the 20 years prior to then. My Mom never seemed to age. She was youthful forever and I hope I can live up to that.
Today would have been my Mom’s birthday. Can’t say what age as she never told it to people until she was over 80.
When I think of my Mom now, I don’t usually think, of that horrible month before and two years after. She went for a physical on her birthday. We never got the results as she suddenly died four days later.
My Mom would go for a physical on her birthday. While far from religious as she believed even less than do, she believed, but wouldn’t really say that she did, in the Kinehora or evil eye. She wouldn’t say this to anybody but because it wasn’t logical, but somehow curing cancer through laughter was. Not that she ever had any cancer but small melanoma’s because she didn’t listen to my father, and “took” the sun. Not that she really spoke that way.
There was nothing stereotypically Jewish about my Mom. Well, the guilt thing, but I believe that was hard wired in all our brains.
I think she really went for a physical on her birthday to say out loud, I’m alive and I plan on staying alive. Continue Reading »
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First I’m Sar’s guest this week. As I consider Sar and Doug to be the hostess and host of blogging, this is making me a bit nervous.
Hey, it’s not easy being a moral relativist, especially since I never heard of the term until blogging. People in New York assume that your knowledge base comes from many sources. Actually everybody I know had to look it up. I figured it out from context because I used to hate looking words up. Couldn’t spell.
Doug was the white knight who saved me from the radical right. It was amazing to watch Doug become a guru to a fifth of the blogging world
I knew Doug’s politics before most people and took much pleasure when they found out. True Conservatives and true Progressives, to used an out of vogue word, have much in common. Such as intellect.
I have to take issue with somethings Doug said. I think we taught each other. Me go on and on? Use phrases, me? I could go on, but I give you Doug.
Apparently fasting a day on Yom Kippur may not be enough for Pia to atone for all her crimes, real, alleged and “make sures.” You can see the problem with moral relativism right away, can’t you?
I know she’s worried about it because when I offered to write a piece to her specifications she said “Make fun of me.” Like my dogs, I hunt rabbits that surrender the same as the ones that run. Like a proper roast, I hope all of you will join me in abusing Pia in the comments below. No matter how deep your gratitude to Ms. Savage may be, how tender your affection or how robust your admiration, I just bet you can mock her for something. If you’re reluctant just leave sentence fragments. Not going to.
I first met Pia through the magic of BlogExplosion. No matter how many times I clicked on the little number, the frame just stayed on this site. At that time, and the last time I checked, too, Courting Destiny was nine out of every eight BE sponsors. Finally I decided that this must be a very important blog, not yet appreciating the paradox. In that moment I became a BE pioneer myself by reading what was on the screen. I even scrolled.
The first of Pia’s pieces I read was a long piece. You know what I mean, about her. Tangent to tangent like an epileptic mathematician, Pia described her diagnoses and her political positions and just what she thinks about men of a certain type, described someplace she once lived once and what was around the corner from, discussed how little she made as a social worker and how much they charge for a cab ride, how meaningless she found the stereotypes of Jews and why yo
can still call a cop if you get lost in Manhattan. I was tempted. I felt like I was following Tarzan shopping by vine for the perfect boutoniere. What amazed me then was that in the last sentence of the post a light came on and the whole journey suddenly made sense. I realized I had discovered a new literary voice, perfect for an electronic medium in that it needn’t draw breath.
Hooked on Pia’s writing and knowing exactly where I could find more, I was there for her debut in the arena of online politics. I quickly learned that those who blog politics as a hobby are much like those who run for office professionally except that they don’t need nice clothes to be stupid in nor a camera to show their backsides. As best I recall the discourse, Pia speculated that a family murdered by Christians was as dead as if they’d been murdered by Muslims for which she was called liberal, non-linear and treacherous. Scurrilous charges but not meritless.
From that day to this one, Pia’s taught me how to comment, to answer comments, why both are important unless you have allergies but not yet how forgoing grammar enables someone who can only type 40 words per minute to publish 2500 an hour. If you know a good publisher, the woman needs a book deal just to catch the overflow. If you don’t know a publisher, maybe give her a link so she can finally beat technorati in numbers as well as letters. If you have no site to link from, then God bless you.
In conclusion, I wish Pia well this Yom Kippur although I suspect God would take an hour of silence before a day of hunger and thirst. But don’t beat yourself up. Your blogging friends will take care of that.
SAVAGE, adj. Differently cultured.
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