Monday, March 11, 2013
Judy Bardack is a lovely person, funny, intelligent and honest.
However, she had the misfortune over the weekend of being quoted in the
New York Times, and, inevitably, sounding a bit goofy. That is, anyone
who faces the media without professional assistance and a Valium is bound to
sound goofy. The topic was a celebration of the closing of a restaurant
that systematically cheated its workers out of wages, according to a federal
judge. About $2 million has been paid by the owners in restitution, but
the doors were closed with another million still owing. The restaurant
sat on Judy’s corner and, admitting that she never ate there, she was quoted as
saying: “I’m a liberal, but I found this offensive. This was not the
worst abuse in the world, and they managed to hound them out of business.
I mean, the balloons!” She later explained to me that her primary
concern was the level of festivities conducted under her windows day and night,
rather than compliance with the wages and hours law. But, they spelled
her name right.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Burro Borracho Taqueria, 251 Church Street, is obviously not an
Asian restaurant and my visit at lunch will not add to the count.
However, it is worth knowing about because I enjoyed the food. I
had a burrito poblano ($7.50), about 6" long and 4" in diameter,
bursting with shredded chicken, rice, shredded lettuce, black beans, avocado
and sour cream. It was tasty, but it could have used a bit of hot sauce
which I failed to ask for. The food was the only thing to recommend
because the interior of the restaurant was crummy. The first bench I sat
on attempted to deposit me on the floor. Moving over to a
solidly-anchored bench put me at a table that leaned heavily whenever any
weight, including that of a hefty burrito, was placed upon it. There was
also an unpleasant smell, possibly from the upholstery, that inhibited
enjoyment. To summarize, this is a good place for take-out.
As if I wasn’t popular enough, the latest issue of the
Stuyvesant High School Alumni Spectator lists me and one other person as
organizers of our next class reunion, sometime this 55th year after graduation.
This information was a complete surprise to me, since the last e-chat
session among those of us who ran our 50th reunion concluded that we would pass
until 60 rolls around, or so I recall. However, one day after the
publication arrived in the mail, I’ve already received inquiries as to time and
place. Even if our little group, growing littler with the passage of
time, decides to gather sooner rather than later, the planning of such an event
needs months and months and months. If one of you is not using your
ballroom in late September let me know.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Samuel Fuchs, Stuyvesant ‘14, working on a feature article for
the school newspaper, called me last night to get my opinion on the
consolidation of the school’s team names, a subject I have ranted on (October
24, 2011). At that time, I discussed the proliferation of Stuyvesant team
names, about 22 different names for 26 teams, male and female. The
traditional Peglegs, the only name we used in my day, was now used only by the
football team and the boys’ lacrosse team. A few of the names showed
imagination – bowling team Pinheads, fencing team Untouchables, girls’ golf
team Birdies. Others were neither witty nor logical, as far as I could
discern – cross-country team Greyducks, girls’ tennis team Lobsters.
Samuel told me that my list is now obsolete, although the latest
collection seems to suffer from the same unnecessary randomness.
Which brings us to the question of what should be the single,
most appropriate name for Stuyvesant’s sports teams? Instinctively, I think
of Peglegs, describing Peter Stuyvesant’s obvious physical characteristic and
the name long associated with the school’s teams. Of course, this may be
viewed as insulting to physically-challenged (handicapped is out) people. But, I am not in a position to weigh the effect
and I only see the affectionate humor in the name. Of course, most of the privileged caste usually
regard their nicknames for their lessers to be humorous if not affectionate. You don’t use shines or sheenies or gooks in a
serious sentence. So far, the only
objection to the use of Peglegs that I’ve heard has come from fully able
people. Shall I wait until those implicitly
derided express their objections? Is
this akin to the tree falling in the woods?
If there should be a name other than Peglegs, I strongly support
Dutchmen even to describe the women’s teams. Stuyvesant was a Dutchman after all. His progeny, even if symbolic, are properly
denoted then as Dutchmen. Those clever
alternatives now in use for specific teams, such as Pinheads or Birdies, have
no unique tie to Stuyvesant; they might be in use at any school anywhere. In the end, I’m sticking to Peglegs because
of its historical accuracy and the vicarious thrill that someone missing a limb
might experience when the Peglegs triumph.
I don’t thing that describing a Stuyvesant team as the Prosthetics would
have the same impact.
Another lunch party in Chinatown.
Art, Tom, Bill, Ken and Stony Brook Steve crowded into Wo Hop downstairs,
17 Mott Street,
with me for an abundant amount of classic Chinatown Chinese food. We ate
fried won tons, barbecued spare ribs, roast duck chow fun, Singapore chow mei fun,
jumbo shrimp with lobster sauce, beef with scallions, honey crispy beef and
chicken fried rice. Tea flowed freely and it cost us $20 per person
(because we tipped generously having sat longer than usual in the
rapid-turnover environment of Wo Hop).
Thursday, March 14, 2013
One reason that I arranged a big lunch yesterday was in
anticipation of today’s events. Multiple
teeth extracted, replaced by implants, while sedated for 3 ½ hours. Then, 5 hours with my mouth open, which is
not unusual except that nothing was coming out except grunts and drools. By day’s end, my appearance had changed, the
net number of teeth in my mouth had decreased, and I had spent enough to buy a
Toyota Camry, but not the hybrid model.
Friday, March 15, 2013
I stayed home to nurse my
wounds, but can’t claim to be more than slightly sore today. However, a story in the newspaper has caused
me genuine pain. A co-worker, who sat in
the office immediately next to mine, who has been on maternity leave since the
birth of her first child, committed suicide on Wednesday. She jumped out of her apartment window with
her son strapped in a baby-carrier. Fortunately,
the child survived. This is shocking
under any circumstances, but I knew her as a delightful woman. Members of our department sit in small
offices, usually two at a time, behind closed, even locked, doors. Whether it was her friendly demeanor or her
husband as another rabid Rangers fan, I often stopped by to chat with her for a
couple of minutes. I was very happy that
they were having a child when in their 40s.
While I had not seen her since she took leave, I looked forward to her
return.
Now, I read speculation
about the insidious depression that led to her death with the attempt to destroy
her child as well. While on two
different planes, I relate my feelings about Stuyvesant nicknames and my friend’s
suicide. I can’t understand being on the
outside in either instance. I am
physically whole, give or take some teeth, although diminished in strength and
stamina by time. Mentally, I have my
share of neuroses, but I get up each day without more than a whiff of fear and
loathing for what I have to contend with.
I act out a bit, but usually without requiring the intervention of men
in blue or men in white.
My co-worker had feelings
and thoughts that no one else could fathom. Her husband, a pleasant man that I met at Madison Square Garden,
is left with an infant to raise, and questions that will take at least his
lifetime to answer. I’m sad as if that
makes a difference.
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