a strange time....

Friday morning---heavy heat expected---have to stay cool---some things to take care of, but they don't have to be done today---still i would like to do them--kind of in limbo---the only plan I can come up with is by the early afternoon, to hit the Lincoln Center library and read and browse there for about 2 hours. Much room in that library, andd very cool, as the many people who used it pre pandemic seem not to have discovered it now. After that,  maybe stop off at Spectrum and pay my bill as well---it is right near there. And what about my long lost plans to buy new dungarees and a belt? Well, Target is nearbye---perhaps I will stop in there, but possibly will put that off. Better off at Old Navy, but that is a trip.  

Still have not taken my movie "risk"---not sure of when that will happen---in the meantime i read like a fiend. Yesterday read most of Andre Gregory's autobiography (ironically entitled This is Not a Memoir) It reads well---since I am familiar with most of the theater events he describes, and the people who were part of those events, it is easy for me to relate. How many years of theater memories do I carry with me? My other read is Shaw's Major Barbara, and believe it or not, I have found it to be a brilliant play. Totally timeless, and incredibly sharp. When I finish it, in my mind, I would like to read several more of his plays, particularly the ones I don't know. One of the first "adult" movies that I saw when I was less then 10, was Androcles and the Lion, adopted from the Shaw play. Sterling Holloway played the hopeless Androcles. All I remember is him dancing with the lion, and feeling so "adult", because at that young age, I was in the movie theater all by myself.

The movie theater was called The Globe, and it was about 5 blocks away from my apartment house. How many movies did i see there as a kid...I remember there were Friday afternoons, when I would be finished with school, and my father, who was a school teacher would take me to a double feature that began around 4 P.M. Angels in the Outfield, about my favorite team, the Pittsuburg Pirates, and a Bing Crosby movie that had In the Cool Cool Cool of the Evening---those are two I remember off the bat---yes my chidhood: very relaxed and appreciated--very unstressful and rich in imagination.

So we will leave it at that---still in the apartment---no appetite to speak of, but the day is moving on---will report soon.

Of Mozart and Pete's Candy Store...

  Began the evening, listening to Mozart's Piano Concerto no 12; one I did not feel I was too familiar with. Great music---I am in awe of Mozart's ability---one more of the 21 (not counting the first five) concertos that I want to be familiar with.  So much more of those concertos to listen to---if I wish. Yet when it was over, I went directly to Yelp---to check out the following bars: Sonny's in Red Hook; Freddy's in the south slope, and Pete's Candy Store, in north Williamsburg. They are all open now---what longing---just to be there---to walk in,  hang out, have a converation with a new person---if only it was possible! But isn't it?  Here I sit---in this total limbo world---not sure how far I can go with anything. What issues..? The bag...my energy level---long trips, short trips, does it matter? Willing to spend tonight at home, reading possibly since I have no interest in the all star game...What next...?

something to say....

 so it turned out that the nodule is cancerous, and beginning yesterday, I am taking cancer pills, no infusion, which means I don't have to visit the center on 86 street, and can drink cold drinks. But after three influxes of two pills each, feel a little drowsy---not sure if that is the cause or not.

Overall, though, feeling pretty good. Nice long weekend--on my own, but basically enjoyed it. On Monday afternoon, while reading in Riverside Park, near the apartment, ran into Teddy G, and old friend, a former playwright, and member of Artists in Action, a group that I was part of that was formed to campaign for Walter Mondale, during the 1984 election. You know what happened then, but it was a good group, made up of many of the young New York actors and actresses at that time. No names, now, maybe later, anyway, Teddy and I chatted for about an hour---compared notes, spoke of the current elections, went through the list of old friends---where are they now---you know, the whole thing, and I found myself enjoying the conversation very much. Will I see him again this summer---possibly, he has a summer house in Stockbridge, and is leaving for it soon. But we may have time.

First trip to Lincoln Center Library yesterday---its first day of reopening. Wow! Glad to have it back--its nicely cooled, and I can spend hours there, reading plays or books analyzing Shakespeare's plays, or whatever. Also, there is a nice outdoor reading space that was created for Lincoln Center's re-opening right behind the libaray that was not there before. Too hot to read yesterday---but might be a nice place to read in the future. The library was not very crowded---a kind of a ghost like energy filled the place, those people like myself who returned seemed like phantoms---have been going there since it opened in late 65,  it where my ex wife and I began our first date in late August of 66. Funny how that just came to mind; I was carrying a recording of Cosi Fan Tutti when I met her. But I did not really "learn" the opera until a year later--my "Mozart immersion" spring and summer of 1967. That was also a summer of isolation, per se---but isolation for a twenty three and a half young man, is different then isolation for this person whom I am now. Lots of reading then, too---The Fixer, by Malmud, When She Was Good, Philip Roth's only non Jewish novel, and 36 children, by Herb Kohl, about his experiences teaching fourth grade for a year in Spanish Harlem. Feeling  a sense of "strangeness", I kind of "how did I get here" questioning, going through me at that time. An apartment very much like the one I have now--a studio---only located on Irving Place--and very inexpensive.

Sometimes as I walk the streets of my neighborhood---the upper west side namely the seventies, I ask myself, "when I spent time on these streets in the sixties, could I have imagined what the neighborhood would turn out to be?" The upper west side at that that time was "gritty"---considered by many "dangerous"---attractive to only certain kinds of youn- people---actors, teachers, social workers---that was all---a twenty something in any other profession would have chosen to live on the upper east side---considered safer--friendlier---definitely a place for people with high ambitions. No dealing with brownstones that had become rooming houses that held addicts, or crazies, or prostitution. This was a tough world, and while I would not say one navigated it at one's own risk---there were plenty of safe streets and aveneues--you had to be careful. Now the side streets are placid, the brownstones all safely residential, the welfare hotels (yes, there were many of them) turned into stylish apartment houses---younger people (like my radiologist oncologist)  see the area as a place of wealth. But it evolved, as did my generation, and tbe chaos no longer exists,

Just finished an interesting memoir by Julie Metz called Eve and Eva about her mother---a true "New Yorker" and woman of the world, who was born in Austria, and experienced two years of isolation before she and her Jewish family could emigrate to New York. The Anschluss---brutal. They were lucky to get out. Very well written---not sure what I will read next---another trip to the library soon. 

All for now...next time...?

The last of the "airless" days....

 is coming on strong. Unbelievable! Never in my adult life, have I experienced heat so "airless"---it seems to sap the energy out of you the moment you leave the apartment house. Well, one more day of that---and as the weather becomes more "liveable" (I hope) the doctor's appointments commence. One tomorrow morning and one on Friday. Have they determined the results of my biopsoy yet? They should have by now and yet no word. What does that mean...? No news is good news, or do they want to "break it to me gently"? I am not in any hurry; I simply want to live through this day. Feeling quite good and solid though, so we will see how that plays into the larger  .

Going for my morning bagel, I passed a large group of west side parents and children standing on a nearby corner. It occured to me that they were waiting for a bus, that would take their children to camp---probably day camp---it did not seem like the goodbyes were very heavy. It made me think of my years in camp--all sleep away-- many summers in my childhood---but were they summers that I really wanted to spend in that way?

My camp history...I must have heard about sleep away camp some time during first grade, because I told my parents that I wanted to go. My parents were okay with it---don't remember that much of that summer---I was basically happy for the eight weeks--parents came to visit twice---the son of the girls head counselor, who must have been five, bopped me over the head with a toy gun during a pageant on parents day---but i think that I made up my mind that I did not want to go ever again. So, ofcourse, for the next six years, I found myself in sleep away camps for the whole summer. Why? My parents---who were so comfortable with me being away for eight weeks, decided that they themselves wanted to work as counselors at camps during the summer. So there it was. My father was the camp dramatic counselor, and my mother, who taught science, during the year, was the nature counselor. Two camps in five years---and then another sleep away without them for me, until the streak was broken. Was that what I wanted? I dreamed of being allowed to stay in the Bronx all summer, each day looking at the television, watching either the Yankee or Giant games being broadcast.  No structure, no tasks. But  it never happened. My parents---who really gave me so much as a child---took me to plays and movies all the time to build up my imagination---insisted that we go. But was it really for them? What part of them could not spend the summer in the city..? "We think it is best for you (and my brother)".  that was the mantra each year, as I would make a brief protest before we left. And  to a certain extent it was---organized sports, lots of swimming---some good friendships, but what was in it for them...? I wonder.

So the basic conflict between my parents and myself was basically set up by their committment. My imagination could rome free with their approval---until it couldn't. Once they made up their mind, the line was crossed---and whatever I felt---whatever I dreamed about or envisioned---meant nothing. The break--the cut---call it what you like---but once they made up their mind, my autonomy was ended. And yet (as I will end this post) I had a "happy" childhood.

Monday, a day later....

an intensely hot, airless afternoon. Finishing up A Diving Rock on the Hudson, Roth's autobiographical novel. But is that all? My enery is very high---but at this point I am unable to move into a more interesting zone. By that I mean, take in a movie at the Lincoln Center theaters, go up to the Bronx and see what is happening around the stadium (maybe someone will offer you a cheap ticket) head out to Brooklyn---just to the Atrium opposite the Harvey. My mind bursts with fantasies of places that I use to go, while I remain here on 76th street. What stops you? Is it the bag? You know you can get it under control; it worked for you at the marvelous Friends graduation---still can't get over that day---it will behave if you want it to---but what? Fantasies of far away places too strong? Not clear---my body asks me to move, my mind wants to play it safe, at least for today. So here I sit, writing this.

No "adventure" tonight, cityboy?  So what does the evening hold for you. First, checking out the beginning of the the Yankee-Angel game---should start soon, then maybe, in the hope that the atmosphere is a little more bearable, a walk, probably north on Amsterdam. The street restaurants are always filled, even on a day like this, there should be many people out. Why not go the other way, south to Lincoln Center? Maybe. Somehow, walking on Amsterdam seems to work for me better. At odds---will have to see what happens---stay tuned.

New York reawakins, and we are ....

 caught on the upprer west side? Possible. Strange day---five days after biopsy,  (no results in yet) some pain in my unrinary tract---seems to be receeding now, but earlier---intense. What does that mean for me today? Probably a lot of reading in the close environs of my apartment house. No trip to Brooklyn just yet. Ah, remember a time when Sunday morning meant getting on the subway---the 1 to the A to the M at 4th street---the ride over the Williamsburg Bridge----South fourth, Lorimer, the beginning of Bed Stuy from a distance, from the window,  Bed Stuy on one side and Bushwick on the other. Finally getting off at Knickerbocker, walking from there to Wycoff and Jefferson and finally Cobra Club with your bartender friend Olivia getting you coffee and putting on the baseball game for you. Some aquaintances dropping by---feeeling good, then off, down the Bushwick grid, past Starr Street and the Bushwick Starr--possibly stopping by Molasses, the bookstore you like---chatting with Matt, who owns the place and his nice wife Maggie---the continuing out of Bushwick, to Broadway, then walking a bit away from Myrtle Avenue and chopsing a street---Bainbridge, Decatur,  maybe Patchen, to walk down, into Bed Stuy, brownstone city, calm, relaxed, wondering if this is the same neighborhood I was taught as a white person to fear for most of my adult life, Finally, a bus ride back to Flatbush and the BAM neighborhood, checking out the books at the Fiction Center, having some coffee there, reading what ever looked interesting, and also checking out the Atrium, opposite the BAM Harvey, plenty of TV' to watch baseball or football. Those days are long gone. I wonder if the Atrium and its restaurants have re opened. Always found good convesation there---could that happen now?  

Can't say---still dreaming of many trips, but today my companion will be Henry Roth as I try to come close the finishing his autobiographical novel, A Diving Rock on the Hudson---His writing is revelatory--much of the time, but some of it is plodding. What is he to me...? I read his story, almost recorded day by day, as if it were my own. But it isn't. Could I write about my life at Science or at Hopkins, It is hot today--I can feel the Baltimore heat---even more intense then we have here--just thinking about some moments that I spent there. But what would be the point,,,? More things going on now. Now I simply fantasize another book after Roth, but quite different in content I would hope.

Played out. Not much more to say. Want to move on. Will report soon.

so here we are again....

 Saturday morning, around 12---have already sat in Riverside park, reading and remembering. Reading: Henry Roth's autobiographical novel called A Diving Rock Off the Hudson. Young jewish youth around 1920---lives with impovershed parents on 114th street and Madison---then a Jewish and Irish slum. He gets a job selling sodas at the Polo Grounds--remembers being cursed at by John McGraw. The writing is sharp and detailed---the author now writing this is approaching eighty. Roth drills into his past. Nothing seems wasted. Second time reading this---bbvetter then ever. 

Memories---sitting in the park, recalling the first time I watched a pro basketball game that used the 24 second clock. November of 54 ---I am in sixth grade---the Fort Wayne pistons are playing anther team. Bald George Yardley and his two handed set shot. Don't remember who they played but they won going away. Before the clock: New York Knicks ahead with three minutes to go. Freezing the ball. It goes to center Sweetwater Clifton---a former Harlem Globetrotter. Opposing players swarm him---he simply makes tools of them by palming the ball from hand to hand. Knicks were good in those days. 

Other memories: the first Quentin-Maggie scene from Arthur Miller's After the Fall. Always moved by that---very innocent. Directed it at Yale, in my one (horrible) year at the Drama School. Fantasized directing it again with High School students. What would they think of it?

Almost time for second Yankee-Oakland game. I want to follow it closely. At one point yesterday, fantasize about going to the Stadium, trying to get a last minute inexpensive ticket---just to stay for a  few minutes, just to get the feel of things, the images. But not able to--will have to settle for the radio play by play---maybe stop by a few bar windows to watch a little bit of it there. Even though the bars have reopened, I have not been in---too expensive at this point. Energy level mixed---will see what happens tomorrow.