Triple play

Does anyone else ever want to destroy the television? And especially when those triple play commercials come on? The one with reggaeton background music, some bald dude rapping on a couch, girls with umbrellas and one poor sap dressed up as an alligator, in which they're all telling you why you should sign up. It's awful. And brilliant. The number to call, 877-393-4448, is ingrained in my memory, but hopefully not for life. There is a new ad running, thank the sweet Lord. Swing music, I think. Somehow much easier to forget.

Keep in mind, I have yet to call for the service. I haven't had cable for years. And even when I did, I can't remember the last time I paid for it! And these days, who needs it? I watch Thirteen, the city's public station. And other than that, everything else you might want to watch is available on the internet anyway.

And so I wonder, could it possible that the television is becoming obsolete? I remember the first t.v. we had. It had antennae and a knob to turn to channels U through 13. And my friend Tony left me his tellie after his move to San Fran, via Iowa. So I had to get rid of mine. It's from my parents' basement. I remember watching MTV on that thing, when MTV was new. The 24 year-old who helped me move it admitted that he'd never seen a t.v. as old. I think it may have been older than him!

Wait a minute. Doesn't a triple play mean you're out??

Another scene at Tompkins

A dude with his boombox just walked by a group of teenage girls. David Bowie's Fame blasting, the girls clapped and cheered to the rhythm. Nice. Music is universal.

Shhh, it's a secret

I've been tutoring this kid who doesn't know how to read so well. His name is Monty. He's 15, lives in the neighborhood, got in some trouble in recent months, is now being monitored completely and got assigned a tutor. Me. Today I got word that he was removed from his family and the city by ACS (Administration for Children's Services, and also my initials, weird) and placed somewhere in Pennsylvania. And I'm happy for him. This city is hard to grow up in. At the same time, I'm going to miss working with him.

Does anyone about Post Secret? It's a compilation of postcards sent to a PO Box. All of the postcards are secrets revealed anonymously, like, "I wish I was the other twin." Well, anyway, I checked out one of the books and he and I were supposed to send ours. Maybe he'll send one anyway wherever he ends up.

I'm not sure yet what I'm going to put on mine.

Scene in Tompkins

I just watched a street kid get loaded into an ambulance. Junkie pretty much. No response. Even after the EMT stuck him with a needle and smacked his face to wake him up. The guy next to me took photos but they made him put it away. Seemed like we should leave the guy with some dignity, even if he didn't have much for himself.

Ciao, Florida!

Headed back to New York, a quick "thanks!" to Heather's dad for putting us up at his apartment for the last five days. He's a cool dad. Even though I was totally embarrassed one morning, walking in on him butt necked on the toilet, we all managed to have a good time together.The view off of his balcony reminds me of Georgia, pine trees, magnolias, only with I'm guessing more water, and chances are, alligators.

And a fond farewell to our Mitsubishi Eclispe convertible, oh how we'll miss you! I love a convertible. Back in the day, I grew up driving a bright yellow, 1974 Volkswagen Super-Beetle I'd named Sonny. Man, oh, man, I loved that car. I remember learning to pull up the hill of Hilo Court in that stick shift. My dad used to let me drive after soccer practice. He taught me how to drive in the VW, and in Old Blue, a 1976 Cutlass Supreme my folks bought from my Nana. The Cutlass got stolen. It was a indeed a smooth ride. As for the Beetle, I wrecked it, sure enough. Like most things I love, I loved it to pieces.

Live

Last night the Black Crowes played. I had a cassette tape of them back in the day, the album Shake Yo' Money Maker. I think I was in the 8th grade. I heard once that the music you identify with most, you heard at or before age 15. In that sense, anything post teenage years may be of your liking but will not have the same effect as would anything from your formative years. I can identify. The Black Crowes are in there for me. Along with Led Zeppelin, Stevie Wonder, Cyndi Lauper, Whitney Houston, Nirvana added to a strange blend of bluegrass, classical and heavy metal.

There's nothing better than live music. And getting to see a group perform live whose music has touched your heart. The Crowes played several songs that took me right back to Leafmore Creek pool and crushes on lifeguards. To July thunderstorms and evening cookouts. To lying in front of the t.v. on the floor watching the Braves on TBS.
My friend Emily McMahan was in love with the lead guitarist, Rich Robinson. And 18 years later, he's still looking good.

Tonight, Morris Day & the Time closed out the festival, best known for his hit Jungle Love, "O-E-O-E-O-E," followed by a fireworks extravaganza.

Work done

While on the plane down here, I remember thinking and even whispering, "My lord, Heather. I have never been on a plane with this many old people in my life." Wheelchairs, canes, walkers, looks like it's true. A whole lot of New Yorkers retire in Florida.

The flip-side to the retirement communities and in equal numbers are the plastic surgery recreated. Another Florida phenomenon. Young, trendy husbands buy wives face-lifts, boob jobs, tummy tucks. What?!? Were I married and my husband bought me any of that, I think I'd be insulted. It's a status symbol of some sort. And the men, too. They spend the same dollar for dollar at the cosmetic surgeon, hair salon, the car dealership. And I'm sure on manicures and waxing, too. What a trip!

But in all honesty, the most interesting is when the two collide: the plastic surgery recreated retiree. Joan Rivers is not alone. For me, though, there's just something normal about aging. I know, I know. I'm in my early thirties. What do I have to complain about? And, hell, who knows? Maybe one day I'll join the masses. But don't get me wrong, I already look forward to retiring! And yet I fear my career has yet to begin...

Happy 26th today, Heather!

Sunfest

Another cool aspect of this vacation is Sunfest. A five day music festival on the water, in combination with live music and Florida sun, I'm not sure what could make me happier! Last night we listened to a little Sheryl Crow, not my favorite but, hey. We grooved to George Clinton before that, though, and, man, they still funk it up! His lead guitarist opened the show in a diaper, nice! The cast of characters is truly a riot. He's got "Bid Daddy" on trumpet and 2 dudes who come out on stage to battle in pimp wear, one a James Brown fanatic, the other just a no-name pimp. No sure who won this round, but my vote goes to Big Daddy.

Away again

I am at the beach with my friend Heather. Her birthday is in a few days so we thought, "VACATION!" Here in West Palm, Florida, the sand is the color of my mom's hair of a few years ago. A lovely salt and pepper, a mix of rocks and shells, the sand, mind you, not Mom's hair. The sand is coarse much easier to brush of the skin than that of the Emerald Coast or St. Maarten. The color is darker and richer and still beautiful.

We are at Blowing Rocks nature preserve. A bird sanctuary and sea turtle breeding haven, porous rocks line the beach. From a distance they look like turtles themselves but up close more like sponges. As the tide rises and hits the rocks, water shoots through the pores in mini geysers. The ebb and flow of the water the ocean's heartbeat, slow and rhythmic, I am at ease.