Monumental Perspective

Coffee table objet d'art at its finest.

Imagine you live in an 800-square foot apartment with 16' ceilings in New York City. Yeah, that's pretty hard to imagine on an average salary. Anyway, let's just pretend. And your apartment is so cool that you have fabulous views of Central Park, Midtown Manhattan, and Columbus Circle. And in the center of your coffee table is a 13-ft statue of Christopher Columbus (Cristoforo Colombo, to his friends). Fortunately, you can pretend all you like, thanks to Public Art Fund's latest installation, Tatzu Nishi's Discovering Columbus.

What Nishi has done is to encase the Columbus statue in Columbus Circle with scaffolding and stairs leading right to the top of the column. A trendy NYC apartment was built around the statue itself, complete with sofas, chairs, and a big screen television. Smack in the middle of the room, he's built a coffee table around the base of Columbus and scattered magazines on the table. Ho hum. Just another dust-collector in the living room, eh?

Except this is a unique experience to get a very up-close-and-personal look at a statue that most of us only see from a distance with our necks craned and eyes shielded against the sun. Think about it. Think about all the statues placed way on top of columns and towers that none of us really get a chance to examine (Nelson's Column, anyone?). Here, Nishi has given us the opportunity to see what the birds and a few photographers have seen. And really, I don't think the birds care one way or another.

I had to reserve my ticket ahead of time (it's free!), and I'd opted for a Sunday morning slot. Seemed like a worthy idea at the time. My fellow ticket-holders and I gathered at the base of the column and waited to be passed in by the ticket-takers. Then we climbed up six stories and entered the "apartment." The climb was not as bad as I anticipated. I even had breath left over when I reached the top.

So. Perspective.

Perspective of the statue meant a chance to walk around big old Columbus and see the detail of his shoes, his robes, his eyes.

Perspective from the top of the Columbus column afforded fabulous views of a great city on a beautiful autumn day.

Perspective about the real Christopher Columbus? Well, you'll have to sort that out for yourself.

This exhibit isn't about Columbus the man but Columbus the statue atop a column in Columbus Circle, New York City. And from that perspective, it is awesome. Awesome to be given the opportunity to get so close to an historic monument, to be able to see it at eye-level.

If you don't mind climbing up six flights of stairs and paying absolutely nothing to get cozy with a New York monument, I highly recommend Discovering Columbus.  You'll gain perspective on all sorts of things in that little sky top apartment at the southwest corner of Central Park.

Now, sitting in my own little NYC apartment, it's become painfully clear to me that should someone offer me the Columbus statue for my own home, I'd have to cut it off at the knees. It'd make a helluva coat rack, though.

'Twas a Dark and Stormy Night

No, really it was. It was 9:30pm and pouring down rain when we gathered on West 3rd just south of Washington Square for a 90-minute Ghosts of New York walking tour. I'd picked up a discount ticket online several months ago, and as the expiration date neared, I cashed it in for the tour "Edgar Allan Poe and His Ghostly Neighbors of Greenwich Village."

I'm a lover of walking tours. Have been ever since a friend and I signed up for a London Pub Crawl Tour back in 1977. We only survived two pubs. But that's a story for another day. Anyway, back to the present. New York is a perfect walking town and has more history than you can shake a very large booty at, so I'm in. Though if I did a New York Pub Crawl Tour, I'd still probably only make it through two pubs.

Our tour guide was decked out in a sort Bestoink Dooley-ish outfit (sorry, only Atlantans of a certain age will know who that is) in a top hat, black cape, frilly shirt.There were about 20 of us, mostly couples, plus 4-5 NYU students that crashed the tour for about an hour. Everyone one was friendly and looking forward to hearing stories and getting a little spooked.

We did hear a couple of stories about Poe in New York (I was expecting more) and about various murders and suicides in the area. (Did I mention it was pissing down rain, with thunder and lightening?) The guide tromped us through puddles and mud to Washington Square, which started out as a big ol' burial ground and site of many a hangin' before it got a lovely fountain, massive arch, and ubiquitous chess tables. Dem bones, dem bones.

The site of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire curiously has very little ghostly phenomena on record. I hope it's because the souls of those girls went straightaway to Heaven and had no reason to roam the earth thereafter.

Sanford White, Harry Thaw, and Evelyn Nesbit haunt several locations around Greenwich Village. Sex, murder, money. Well, I would hope these three still roam the area. Also, Aaron Burr has one or two haunting haunts in the Village. Must be feeling a little guilty over killing Alexander Hamilton.

Well, lots of little stories and worth the tour. I must say I was a little disappointed that it wasn't - I don't know - scarier. The guide was pleasant enough, though he sometimes seemed to be grasping for more stuff to tell, but I was expecting a tour de force ghost walk. With all the out of work actors in this town, you'd think there'd be a better ghoulish tour guide. Ah, well.

The rain stopped a few minutes before the tour ended, which made hoofing through the Village and Washington Square to get to my subway station a little easier. In fact, heading to the #6 was the scariest part of the night.

Ever made your way through Greenwich Village near midnight on a Saturday? Oooooooooooo!

Where the Boys (and Girls) Are

Picture it: Mulberry Street, New York City, The Feast of San Gennaro (Saturday). Connie Francis music blarring (yes, blarring) from loudspeakers at the corner of Grand and Mulberry. Little Italy at its best.

Amazingly tantalizing smells from sausages, onions, and peppers smoking on grills. Pastry vendors, Kiss Me I'm Italian badges, carnival games and rides. And Connie Francis singing her heart out over the whole scene. Everybody's somebody's fool.

I saw my venture as an opportunity to grab a perfectly smoked hot Italian sausage on a roll and pick up a block of made-in-Little-Italy torrone, the nougat and almond delicacy that's indescribably yummy. Yeah, it's always about the food with me, stupid cupid.

Added bonuses: great street view of the San Gennaro parade - complete with the famed statue, marching bands, and Connie Francis herself riding in a red convertible. (OK, now I get why the Connie Francis songs were cranked up.)

Oh, yes, and I nabbed a perfect strawberry gelato, too. It is all about the food. Who's sorry now (that you weren't there)?

Hope from the Bright Side

Between Honey Boo Boo and the political conventions, the entire country seems to be swirling in some weird, wound-up vortex of, well, I don't know what. Bad taste? Boredom? Anger? Exhaustion? Help me out here. Or, no. Don't. I really don't want to hear your opinion. I'm fed up with opinions.

I'm on the look-out for the fun. The joyful. The uplifting. Honey Boo Boo ain't it. I suggest looking on the bright side for a while. Let's start here:

The vast expanse of intersteller space. I may be showing my age here, but space exploration is still the most intriguing thing earthlings are doing. What/who is out there? Why are we here? Fortunately, there's a lot of great stuff happening right now. The Mars rover is busy exploring that planet on our behalf.  Voyager I, launched 35 years ago, is set to leave our solar system and show us what's happening beyond. Is there anything cooler than that? No, there is not. And during this exciting time, we pause to honor the life and achievements of the first man to plant a foot on our moon, Neil Armstrong. He's seeing a whole different side of the moon now. My point is, if you're discouraged with some of the slime hitting you from all sides here on earth, just look up. The possibilities and inspiration are limitless.

Impending autumnal awesomeness. For me, Autumn is the season of hope. Cooler weather, new beginnings, Halloween, colorful trees, sweaters and corduroy, the smell of dry leaves, Thanksgiving. Humidity and heat give way to crisp, breathable air that clears away summer's lazy sluggishness. It's a time of energy, clear thinking, creativity. Suddenly, I have the gumption to attack my lengthy to-do list. Buh-bye sticky Summer. Hello, awesome Autumn! You can't get here fast enough for me.

Great books in a million different ways. My little summer reading self-challenge has led to my discovery of some wonderful, weird, challenging books available for my reading (via old school real live book or Kindle) and listening (thanks, New York Public Library, for free audiobooks!) pleasure. I've fallen in love with biographies and autobiographies again. I've rediscovered non-fiction, at least the kind that is well-written, non-academic. I've gotten great recommendations from friends, both in real time and via Goodreads. Friends, there is some great stuff out there. Stay away from the political, but seek out something that will pique an old interest or spark a new one. You don't need reality TV or battling news commentators. Life is so much bigger than that.

Food. In general. Preferably with Family and Friends. Beef stew. A smoothie of fresh fruits and berries. Lobster roll. The perfect hamburger. Apples (in any form). Grilled cheese sandwich. Pie (in any form). Well, I could go on and on. Insert your favorite food here. Yeah, yeah. Obesity, blah-blah. Shouldn't live to eat, etc. And I am not advocating constant, unhealthy pigging out. But, oh rational souls, you know the thrill of a first bite of premium ice cream or a loaded baked potato. Especially if you're sharing your food-fix with loved ones. It gives hope that all things are possible. Life can continue. Why use reality TV as a guilty pleasure? That's what chocolate is for. Need ideas? Get thee to Pinterest.

There. That's enough to get me on the road to the Bright Side. It might work for you, too. Add in some family love and faith in whoever your Creator may be, and you're on your way.  Eschew (see how I work that word in once in a while?) the soul-sucking and opt for the life-lifting. Give it a try. Eschew. Opt.

And always look on the bright side of life.

Un-Conventional

The year is 2012. We've had the 24/7 news cycle for over 30 years. Most of us have access to hundreds of TV channels, video games, plus an internet with infinite edu-tainment capabilities. And thanks to a convoluted primary system, presidential nominees are selected months ahead of Election Day by a handful of scantily-populated states.

So here's what has me puzzled: Why do our two political parties spend millions on week-long conventions, speechifing, wearing silly hats, and subjecting us all to overly-emotional, slickly produced videos of the presidential and vice presidential candidates [cue patriotic music] in this day and time? And tell me why network television feels the need to cover the whole rootin' tootin' business.

Who's watching? Who's listening? Why? You know who the nominees are going to be. You've heard the keynote speakers of both parties before. Do you watch both the Democratic and Republican America the Beautiful patriotic tributes, or just the one for your particular party? (You can probably download it from the party website, by the way, and be done with it. Just a suggestion.) The only reason I can see for tuning in to these creaky events is to see who's wearing the silliest elephant or donkey hat. And, ya' know, that has limited attention value these days.

Reality check, oh great party leaders. Gone are the days where you could hold a nation in suspense about who your presidential nominee would be. The time has passed for the roll call of states to mean anything since your candidates have already been selected. "The great state of (fill in the blank) pledges its 74 delegates to Estes Kefauver!" just ain't ever going to happen again. Mainly because Kefauver's dead, but you get my point.

Now, if the two parties want to have a little 2-day, rally-round-the-candidates, let's-hold-hands-and-wave-the-flag to-do just to light a fire under the party faithful, well, I say, let 'em have it. Have a short party, slap each other on the butt (or across the face), and get back to explaining why you should sit in the Oval Office. Don't you all have better things to do with your time and money?

Certainly, the conventions provide lots of temporary jobs for waiters, bartenders, and strippers in the two cities where they're held. But I can't help thinking that even more jobs - permanent ones - could be created with the dough spent on the two parties' parties.

Once upon a time the conventions held the possibility of a dark horse candidate coming out of nowhere, at least for the vice-presidential nominee. Ah, for the days of smoke-filled rooms and behind-the-scenes bargaining sessions! Make no mistake, the conventions were still dull as dishwater, and seemed to last forever on black-and-white television back in the day.  But now, they're so predictable. Scripted. Slick.

Maybe if they added a final challenge, like Survivor or The Bachelor or Biggest Loser. Or, even better, forced the candidates to compete on a Japanese game show obstacle course. OK, then I would definitely tune in. And seriously, could that be any less dignified than the current conventions and campaigns? Hardly.

But since some sort of ultimate smack-off seems unlikely, I'll limit my convention-viewing time to the bare essentials and throw my support to Netflix. Not even your silly donkey and elephant hats will pull me in.

Don't Wanna Hear It

OK, y'all. Let's get one thing straight right up front. I support everybody's 1st - 27th Amendment Rights. You have the right to say whatever you want to say, think whatever you want to think, stockpile weapons, a fair and speedy trial, due process, and clear on through the rules about when congressional salaries take affect. And publish whatever you want all over the internet.

But I am tired of hearing about it. All sides are are just screaming at each other right now, and nobody is changing anybody's mind. I don't care what the polls say about presidential candidates, chicken sandwiches, or gun control, I do not believe there is any middle ground right now. Forget "independent" voters. They do not exist. Anyone claiming to be a middle-grounder-independent is just yanking the pollsters around. There are only two camps on every single issue at this moment in time, and each side is just throwing hissy-fits. It reminds me of Dr. Seuss's Butter Battle Book. But the Cold War had nothing on the form of mutually assured destruction we're going through now.

So while I support your right to fling out your particular viewpoint on immigration or the legality of jumbo-sized sugary drinks, I also support my right to not listen to all the fussing and fighting. Unless some unforeseeable event happens, I believe we're stuck where we're stuck. Like 99.99% of the population, I already know who I'm going to vote for. I know where I stand on the chicken issue, immigration, education, and out-sourcing.

And if you know me at all, you probably know where I stand on those things. And I know where you stand. If we're on opposing sides, you won't change my mind, and I won't change yours. So I'm begging you to stop trying to convince the other side. Or tone it down. Anyone left with an open mind can make up his/her mind without all the loud, angry opposing viewpoints.

Let's call a truce. I love/like you wherever you stand on the issues of the day. There's a whole lot of things we do agree on. About most of what life has to offer, we can share laughter, tears, and awe. I love seeing pictures of your crazy night out, your exotic vacation, those precious grandbabies and family weddings. I love when you recommend a book or a concert or a restaurant. But I do not love being hit by political hate bombs every time I check Facebook and Twitter. As the old song goes: I don't wanna hear it, no more fussin' and-a fightin', baby. And I don't.

But I'm always up for a good joke or a vacation picture. Or an update on how many times you went to Starbuck's today. Peace, y'all.

Reclaiming the 1996 Atlanta Olympics

The 2012 Summer Olympic Games kick off tonight in London, and we'll all crowd around the television to watch the opening ceremony. In the run-up to these games, I've read a lot of really negative stuff about the 1996 games held in my hometown, Atlanta. All suggestions seem to be "For goodness' sake, avoid Atlanta's mistakes."

Over-commercialization and rigid press credentialing and access seem to be the biggest gripes. Though pre-9/11 security was tight, a nut-case was still able to plant an exploding backpack and do real damage. The Centennial Park bombing that took place on July 27, 1996, was horrendous, but - contrary to bomber Eric Rudolph's goal of shutting down the "socialist" event - it didn't seem to impact crowds at the venues for the rest of the games. And the weather was steamy hot. Atlanta in July. Who'd a thunk it?

But let me tell you the real story of the 1996 Olympics. I was there. I took my two-week vacation for that year to work as a shift supervisor for a team of security volunteers at Centennial Olympic Park. We weren't the gun-totin' professional security team; AT&T was responsible for those officers, I seem to remember. Our job was to give directions, reunite lost children with their parents (I did that three times), keep folks from bringing in beer (they had to buy it at the Budweiser pavilion inside the park) and bicycles/skates/skateboards, plus crowd control and generally keeping an eye on anyone looking sick or getting too rambunctious. The professionals took over - medical or law enforcement - from there.

My stint was one week before the games started and the first week of the games. I worked with a smart, fun team of folks from FirstAtlanta Bank. The hours were long. I normally reported in at 3pm and worked until the park closed, sometimes midnight, sometimes 1-2am. It was hot. But we had been well-trained, learning everything from how to keep cool (heat-wise and head-wise), how to spot suspicious behavior (which has stood me in good stead since then), basic first aid, and every bit of Olympic/Atlanta trivia you can think of. And, yeah, we got to wear those great safari hats that people offered large sums of money for ("No, I'm not going to sell you my hat." I still have mine, by the way). Bottom line, my job was hospitality.

The park was wide open, which was subsequently a criticism of Atlanta's games - too much activity concentrated in one area of the city. Well, boo-hoo. It was the place to see and be seen. It's where the athletes hung out in their off-hours or to celebrate victories. Visitors from all over the world were treated to great concerts and had a ball playing in the dancing fountains. It was definitely a party atmosphere. We laughed a lot, learned a lot, and - trained as we were - never lost our cool.

It wasn't all work, though. Kate and I attended a couple of equestrian events at the Conyers International Horse Park and a baseball event at the old Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium. Thanks to a good friend with an extra ticket, Kate was lucky enough to attend the Opening Ceremony (yes, we still have the green and gold quilted pouch of goodies). Saw several concerts at the Park (picture above at Joan Osborne concert, I think). I also had volunteer shifts in front of All Saints', fortuitously located between the North Avenue MARTA station and Olympic Village where the athletes were staying. We gave directions, handed out water and snacks, and invited folks to come in from the heat, say a prayer, meditate, whatever. Many took us up on that.

Yeah, it was a big commercial event, but that was seen as a huge plus at the time. We kept hearing horror stories about Montreal still deep in debt from its 1976 games, and Atlanta was just not going there. I think the city ended up in the black by about $10 million, so thank you Coca-Cola, AT&T, IBM, and Budweiser. The thing is, I notice London's games are even more commercialized than Atlanta's. Here's hoping my English friends come out ahead, too. You do not want to be paying for this twenty years down the road.

The 1996 Olympic Games in Atlanta were wonderful. We had the best, friendliest, most helpful  volunteers on the planet (and I believe that record still stands). The athletic events set an unprecedented number of world records. Most of the visitors were just happy to be there and really got into the Olympic spirit. So hate on our games all you want, just understand that your negative view is colored by a prickly press corps and sour IOC officials. OK, our mascot was ridiculous, but thank God, London's is even worse. Leave Izzy alone now.

Ali lighting the flame. Kerri Strug making that vault. The Brazilian soccer team bringing me one of its t-shirts as a thank-you for directing them to the Budweiser tent. That frozen lemonade concoction. Collecting and trading pins. Those gorgeous blue-green butterflies at the Opening Ceremony, plus Gladys Knight singing Georgia on My Mind.

Awesome, Atlanta! Thank you for the opportunity to serve my city, my country, and the world.

One Good Guy

I lost a childhood friend this weekend. Steven Clark, who shared the classrooms, hallways, and playgrounds of my elementary and junior high school with me, died of pancreatic cancer on Saturday.

Steve and I hadn't seen each other since we graduated from Brainerd Jr. High in 1966, but thanks to the power of Facebook, we reconnected a couple of years ago. I remembered him as kind, smart, and thoughtful. From our Facebook communications I learned he was still all those things and more.

The two of us shared a classroom all the way through elementary school. His face is in every single class picture I have, from first through sixth grades. (He's in the white shirt holding up half of the PTA award banner in our fifth grade picture above. That's little me grinning for all I'm worth, hands folded, below him.) Steve was big brother to four younger siblings, the very model of what a big bro should be. He never got caught up in any crazy school kid drama - whereas, I was always in the midst of it - and was always the even keel with a word of encouragement and friendship. One good kid.

As soon as we found each other on Facebook, Steve emailed me and said "We just have to talk!"  He called, and we spent the better part of an hour filling in the years in between - family, vocations, music, religion, memories. You name it, we talked about it. He sounded the same. We laughed a lot about things done and left undone (for which you're supposed to repent, I know). As a church organist, he had occasion to play in Episcopal churches; we spent time affirming our love for the great choral tradition and liturgy of my church. We brought each other up to date on where various classmates were and what they were doing. Just like two friends catching up after summer vacation - a very long summer vacation.

My travels took me to/through Nashville twice since reconnecting with Steve, both family events allowing no opportunity to  meet up with my old friend. I was hoping we'd have more time in the coming years to get together, but it wasn't to be. My brother David died of pancreatic cancer in 1990, and when I heard Steve's news in February, it gave me a jolt. Yet, I really hoped that medicine had come far enough along on the disease in the last couple of decades to make the prognosis not as dire as it had been for us. Alas, it hasn't come far enough.

I do feel fortunate to have learned that the good kid I knew all those years ago grew up to be one good guy. Rest in joy and peace, Steve Clark.

Summer Reading List Update

I know you have been at the edge of your seats wondering how my summer reading effort is getting along. Well, here it is July, and I am doing my best to fill in each category. Here's the tally so far:

• 2 Biographies: Well, I have two ready to go, The Autobiography of Mark Twain, Vol. 1 (OK, I'm including autobiographies in the biography section - sue me) and Kindred Souls, about the relationship between Eleanor Roosevelt and David Gurewitsch, both via my iPod. I did listen to Tina Fey read her Bossypants - hilarious, giggled all the way through, but since it's about show-biz, I won't count it (though I highly recommend giving it a listen). 
• 2 fiction (not junk): As you can imagine I've already overloaded this category. Finally read Henry James' Washington Square. Also, Summer by Edith Wharton. Currently reading Pure, by Andrew Miller - excellent story about clearing out Les Innocents cemetery in pre-Revolution Paris. 
• 2 non-fiction: Just finished The Power of Habit, by Charles Duhigg, read in the hope of giving me some insight into my bad (and good) habits. Now, I just need to switch around a few cue-behavior-reward patterns, and I'm all set. Next up: Last Child in the Woods, by Richard Louv.
• 2 theology/religion: Only one, so far: The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided by Politics and Religion by Jonathan Haidt. Beyond that, I haven't a clue.  Still searching. Looking for suggestions.
• 1 self-help: Nothing selected so far. I may look for another non-fiction and move The Power of Habit into this slot. Or maybe Bossypants, since it gave me lots of laughs and a light heart.

I have stacks and stacks of fiction ready to go, and by "stacks," I include audiobooks and Kindle e-books, as well as books made from trees.  It has been a test of mental fortitude to stick to my categories in this dreadful heat, though none of my choices have disappointed so far. Still, I long to read a mindless mystery or tawdry beach-book.

If I get through this competition with myself, a great big hot fudge sundae is waiting for me at the end. Yeah. One of those bad cue-behavior-reward habit cycles I refuse to break.

Happy 4th of July!

http://www.ushistory.org/declaration/

The Irish of Old New York

After six years of self-guided New York City tours, I felt the need to break out and find better ways to discover/uncover all the city has to offer. I found "Friendly Native New Yorker Walking Tours" on Meetup and figured, what the heck, and signed up. The first tour available, The Irish of Old New York, was yesterday.

Because of the extreme heat we're experiencing right now, our guide Linda kindly moved the original time of 12:45pm to 6pm (thank you very much!). With my $15 cash in hand - the charge for each tour, comfortable walking shoes, and lightweight clothing, I met up with the group in front of St. Paul's Chapel to begin the tour.

Why begin a tour about the Irish at an Episcopal Chapel, you might wonder (as did I)? Well, it seems two early prominent Irish transplants have monuments in St. Paul's cemetery, though neither is buried there. Thomas Addis Emmet (1764-1827), Irish revolutionary and American lawyer, and Dr. William James MacNeven (1763-1841), the father of modern chemistry, have cenotaphs - both engraved with the Irish harp and clasped hands - in cemeteries on either side of the church. And smack dab on front of St. Paul's is a monument in memory of Brigadier-General Richard Montgomery, who died at the Battle of Quebec in 1775.

We moved on to City Hall, co-designed by Irish-American John McComb, Jr. in 1803. He also designed Gracie Mansion and Castle Clinton, by the way. Our guide enlightened us about one of the early governors of New York, Thomas Dongan, whose residence stood on the site of what was the New York Times building and is now Pace University. We heard wild stories of the Irish who helped build the Brooklyn Bridge. How that thing ever got built is beyond me.

At Chambers and Broadway stands what once was A.T. Stewart's Marble Palace, the first department store in the United States. Next door (on Chambers) is the old Emigrant Industrial Savings Bank, which provided financial services for Irish emigrants. Both are across the street from the Tweed Courthouse (yeah, that Tweed). Boss Tweed was not Irish, but his Tammany Hall cohorts bought many a vote from Irish emigrants via jobs, health care, and other services.

We passed through the splendiferous Municipal Building on our way to notorious Five Points, famous for Gangs of New York. Once the roughest area of the city, it's now an area with a little park, row houses, businesses, courthouses, and government buildings. Such scary history, though. When the old brewery was converted to tenement housing in 1837, as many as 1200 people lived there. Murder, disease, dead bodies. Lovely. We also got the scoop on the Draft Riots of 1863. Seems most of the names drawn were poor Irish, and violence ensued.

The tour ended at St. James Church, where the United States branch of the Ancient Order of the Hibernians was founded in 1836. The AOH sponsors the ever-popular St. Patrick's Day Parade each year in New York City. Erin go yadda-yadda.

So, there you have it. A recap of our two-and-a-half hour walking tour. Well worth $15. The group - many of them regulars - was friendly and our guide knowledgeable. I'll definitely be on the lookout for the next meet-up.

But I don't think I'll ever want to live any place called The Old Brewery.

Collinwood Cliffhanger

My name is Victoria Winters . . . [cue music] Oooo-ooo-OOOO-oo-oo-oooo-ooo-oooo. [Cue waves crashing on rocks]

Last month, I spent a couple of weeks with the fine denizens of Collinwood in Collinsport, Maine. It had been a long, long time since I'd whiled away the afternoons with my Dark Shadows buddies Elizabeth and Roger, Carolyn, Maggie, and Victoria, Barnabas, Julia, and David. But there they were, in glowing black and white, which added to the creep-value, I can testify. I wanted to watch the series in preparation for seeing the Tim Burton movie, just to refresh my memory about who's who and what's what.

I found I'm still jealous of Carolyn Stoddard's perfect flip (that's a hairstyle, young'uns) and the super-cute wardrobes of Carolyn, Maggie, and Victoria. Classic. However, there's still some really iffy acting, especially from the film pros like Joan Bennett, and it's easy to tell they're reading from the prompters. Boom microphones and cameras are often seen in the shots, or at least their shadows, so much so that the show was often referred to as "Mic Shadows."

But you know what? The show still managed to scare me. Maybe it was the music, or the weird camera angles (with or without boom shadows), or that everything seemed to happen at night. Anyway. The storyline is still FABulous. Seances, ghosts, steep drops down to the waves crashing on the rocks, mausoleums and cemeteries, the Blue Whale, those damn music boxes. The Old House. The New House. Take the key and lock her up . .  {shiver}

Alas, I got so hooked on Dark Shadows that I was devastated when the Netflix series came to a screeching halt. Dang. I'll give them one thumbs up (for making part of the series available) and a whole handful of thumbs down for its weird selection of episodes. It starts with Episode 210 (the first time Barnabas appears) and ends with Episode 370 (when Victoria has traveled back in time and just as we're about to find out how Barnabas got to be a vampire). Aaarrgh! So irritating! I want all 1225 episodes, not a measly 160!

I'd love to see the first episodes that provide the background of Elizabeth Collins Stoddard, her daughter Carolyn, governess Victoria Winters, and Maggie Evans. And, I would love to see the rest of the series with Quentin and lots more Angelique. Sheesh. I feel so cheated. Much like viewers did when the show was abruptly yanked from the afternoon line-up in 1971.

What would be the fate of Barnabas, Elizabeth, Carolyn, Quentin, Maggie, and poor Willie Loomis? One of the show's writers brought a little closure in a TV Guide article at the end of the series. Not much consolation, granted, but it is a glimpse into what might have been, though my skin kinda crawls knowing that Barnabas and Julia would marry. {another shiver}

So until Netflix pulls everything out of the Dark Shadows vault (get it? vault?), I'll have to find a way to live with my unfulfilled addiction to the good people of Collinsport.

By the way, I never did see the Tim Burton movie version. After watching the original series, I can't imagine anyone topping it, not even Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter. And I'm sure no one could out-"do" the original Carolyn Stoddard's hair.

[cue music] Oooo-ooo-OOOO-oo-oo-oo-oo-ooo-oooo.

The BBQ King

I ventured down to the Big Apple BBQ Block Party in Madison Square Park this morning to pick up as much good old' southern barbecue as my to-go containers could carry and my wallet afford. It is a swell event.

Award-winning BBQ establishments from around the country set up huge cooking drums, light the fires, throw on the meat, and wait for thousands and thousands of BBQ-starved New Yorkers to pay $8 a plate to indulge their pig-eatin' yen. It's sort of a throw-back to the annual Kiwanis BBQs when I was growing up, where $8 would get you enough BBQ, slaw, corn on the cob, baked beans and loaf bread to feed a family of 12 (OK, it's the South, what can I say?).

It was fitting and proper that I should track down barbecue today of all days because this is my dear daddy's birthday. He would've been 92 today (he died in 1999). As far as I'm concerned, Clayton Frazier was the BBQ King.

Once or maybe twice a year, Daddy would barbecue enough pig-meat to feed a small army. His style was a cross between North Carolina vinegar-based barbecue and his own Tennessee farm boy twist. His was not the kind with thick, sweet sauce smothering the meat. It was thinner, lighter, and with a bit of a hot-sauce kick.

He made too much to be eaten in one or two sittings, so he'd bag it up for you to take it home to throw in the freezer and eat whenever the mood struck. Believe me, that barbecue fed me many a meal during some lean-earning years.

Daddy was so proud of his barbecue. I'm sure he loved the process of tending it for hours on end as much as he loved the tasty results. Let me add, however, that the results were not to some folks' liking, but for Daddy and me - mmmwah! It was delicious.

I can't think of a better way to celebrate the life and barbecue-legacy of my daddy than to chow down on smoked pork smothered in hot sauce. Happy Birthday, BBQ King.

Reading My Way Through Summer

Ugh. Summer. I just do not see the appeal. At least not to those of us for whom the rat-race does not slow down June through August, or who don't have swimming pools right outside our doors or beachfront homes in the Hamptons. So I have to come up with something that makes all the humidity-drenched hair, sticky clothes, and nose-melting street odors bearable until the crisp, fresh winds of October blow all the yuck away.

My plan involves some sort of summer reading program. Through books, I can escape the heat and humidity and take virtual vacations that my pocketbook would not allow me to do otherwise. Plus, it's a throw-back to those lazy-hazy-crazy days of childhood summers, when I worked my way through the public library's summer reading list, ticking off my three biographies, four fictions, four non-fictions, thanks to the trusty bookmobile.

Last summer, I only read New York City-themed books. A couple of years ago, it was books by Southern authors with Southern settings. This year, I'm breaking away from geographically-based program, though it would've been so easy to opt for England in this Jubilee year. No, instead, I've decided to push myself beyond easily-read mysteries and historical novels. I've been a lazy reader of late, and I must move to more substantive material. Yeah, that goes against the summer-ready grain of pot-boilers and bodice-rippers, but my brain will turn to mush otherwise.

Discipline. Reading discipline is this year's summer reading theme. I'm harking back to the old-school summer reading requirements (on my own terms, of course): two biographies, two critically-acclaimed fictions (no airy-fairy stuff), two non-fictions, two books about theology/religion, one self-help. Once I tick those off, I can read any sleazy show-biz biography or free Kindle vanity-press thing I want.

Whether I prop up a real, old-fashioned hardback tome, listen to the book on my iPod, or have it delivered to Kindle, I expect my list to broaden my horizons and keep me cool (figuratively, if not literally) at the same time. And while I've already chosen about half the books that meet my worthy goal, I'm always open to suggestions, so jump in if you have something to recommend.

Now all I need is someone who'll give me a fancy certificate and Baskin-Robbins gift card when I successfully complete my summer reading program. That might make the heat bearable.