Monday, July 22, 2019
Message to MS St. Louis from U.S. government on June 3, 1939 -- "Go back to where you came from."
https://www.britannica.com/
. . .
I attempted to observe the 50th anniversary of the moon landing this weekend more or less the way I witnessed the event itself. In 1969, I was in my first year as a rookie computer programmer with the newly-formed U.S. arm of a German computer company. I had some success in that venture, which further diverted me from what had once seemed like the inevitable road to law school, a path that I returned to 30 years later.
I was living in a nasty, tiny studio apartment in Greenwich Village, on Morton Street, the block once home to Elliott Gould, John Belushi, Wally Cox (and his overnight companion Marlon Brando), and the Rosenberg spy ring, none of whom of my acquaintance. It was furnished with a gateleg table and two leather chairs that I took from my Uncle Jimmy's waiting room when he closed his medical practice. There was a built-in chest of drawers and a crudely-fashioned Murphy bed, which covered the remaining floor space when opened. There was a window air conditioner that operated so poorly that I stayed in my employer's sleek new office space late at night in warm weather, which got me promoted because my productivity outstripped my co-workers, who had a comfortable place to go home to.
I was already building my record collection and owned a decent stereo system. But, I did not own a television set. In fact, I never owned a television set as an unmarried man, for whatever that's worth. The anticipated moon landing was big and I wasn't going to miss it, just as I took care to be parked in front of a television set 25 years later in the Manchester Pub, 920 Second Avenue, now closed, on June 14, 1994, when the New York Rangers won the Stanley Cup for the first time in 54 years.
Message to MS St. Louis from U.S. government on June 3, 1939 -- "Go back to where you came from."
https://www.britannica.com/
. . .
I attempted to observe the 50th anniversary of the moon landing this weekend more or less the way I witnessed the event itself. In 1969, I was in my first year as a rookie computer programmer with the newly-formed U.S. arm of a German computer company. I had some success in that venture, which further diverted me from what had once seemed like the inevitable road to law school, a path that I returned to 30 years later.
I was living in a nasty, tiny studio apartment in Greenwich Village, on Morton Street, the block once home to Elliott Gould, John Belushi, Wally Cox (and his overnight companion Marlon Brando), and the Rosenberg spy ring, none of whom of my acquaintance. It was furnished with a gateleg table and two leather chairs that I took from my Uncle Jimmy's waiting room when he closed his medical practice. There was a built-in chest of drawers and a crudely-fashioned Murphy bed, which covered the remaining floor space when opened. There was a window air conditioner that operated so poorly that I stayed in my employer's sleek new office space late at night in warm weather, which got me promoted because my productivity outstripped my co-workers, who had a comfortable place to go home to.
I was already building my record collection and owned a decent stereo system. But, I did not own a television set. In fact, I never owned a television set as an unmarried man, for whatever that's worth. The anticipated moon landing was big and I wasn't going to miss it, just as I took care to be parked in front of a television set 25 years later in the Manchester Pub, 920 Second Avenue, now closed, on June 14, 1994, when the New York Rangers won the Stanley Cup for the first time in 54 years.
For the moon landing, I did not require the kindness of strangers, because my colleague Altie D. invited me to watch it at her family's apartment. I drove my Adrian Cruttwell-Vaughn Blue Volkswagen Beetle (a private joke too good to ignore) to Brooklyn, stopping at a delicatessen to buy corned beef sandwiches and fixings to fuel us through time and space. Okay, I forgot what delicatessen, so sue me.
By the way, my relationship with Altie was thoroughly respectable, I think because of her wise caution. In any case, we watched the historic event then and yesterday I tracked her down after about 48 years, living in Florida, married, but retaining her distinctive maiden name (can we still use that term?) as her middle name. I called in the morning, in the afternoon and in the evening without speaking to her. I finally left voicemail with sufficient detail to convince a normally skeptical person of my identity and my sanity.
By bedtime Sunday, my hope to recreate in conversation that historic evening together went unrealized.
. . .
We did have a successful reunion today, but it represented a different time and place. In 2013, madam and I took a trip to Greece, Bulgaria and Macedonia, under the expert guidance of Marcia Haddad Ikonomopoulos, president of the Association of Friends of Greek Jewry.
Among our interesting fellow travelers was Dr. Laura, born in Salonika, hidden in a basement from the Nazis during WWII. Now retired from her medical career, she recently moved from the suburbs to the building next door to Palazzo di Gotthelf and we were happy to accept her lunch invitation. Joining us was Sharon S., another traveling companion, who knows as least as many languages as Pete Buttigieg. We stuck to English, though, and had a wonderful time.
Tuesday, July 24, 2019
A Harvard professor examined the prospect of free college tuition, proposed by several Democratic presidential candidates, in the New York Times this weekend.
https://www.nytimes.com/2019/
By the way, my relationship with Altie was thoroughly respectable, I think because of her wise caution. In any case, we watched the historic event then and yesterday I tracked her down after about 48 years, living in Florida, married, but retaining her distinctive maiden name (can we still use that term?) as her middle name. I called in the morning, in the afternoon and in the evening without speaking to her. I finally left voicemail with sufficient detail to convince a normally skeptical person of my identity and my sanity.
By bedtime Sunday, my hope to recreate in conversation that historic evening together went unrealized.
. . .
We did have a successful reunion today, but it represented a different time and place. In 2013, madam and I took a trip to Greece, Bulgaria and Macedonia, under the expert guidance of Marcia Haddad Ikonomopoulos, president of the Association of Friends of Greek Jewry.
Among our interesting fellow travelers was Dr. Laura, born in Salonika, hidden in a basement from the Nazis during WWII. Now retired from her medical career, she recently moved from the suburbs to the building next door to Palazzo di Gotthelf and we were happy to accept her lunch invitation. Joining us was Sharon S., another traveling companion, who knows as least as many languages as Pete Buttigieg. We stuck to English, though, and had a wonderful time.
Tuesday, July 24, 2019
A Harvard professor examined the prospect of free college tuition, proposed by several Democratic presidential candidates, in the New York Times this weekend.
https://www.nytimes.com/2019/
From 1847 until 1976, City College of New York, followed by its sister colleges as they emerged, charged no tuition, while providing an unmatched vehicle for upward mobility for tens of thousands of kids, present company included. Its graduates' have a superlative legacy of Nobel Prizes, Ph.D.s, inventions, philanthropy and cultural achievements, present company excluded. Yet, this information seems not to have reached the Harvard Harvard; the good professor omitted it entirely from his essay.
. . .
. . .
Two weeks ago, I got off the #7 train at 74th Street-Broadway (Jackson Heights), and found myself at the intersection of Tibet, Burma, Nepal, Pakistan and India. Today, I continued to the end of the line, Main Street-Flushing, and arrived at downtown China. I was trying to address one of the very few fair criticisms levelled at me, my failure to explore Flushing's Chinatown. I went to the highly-reputed White Bear, 135-02 Roosevelt Avenue, actually around the corner on Prince Street. It is fair to call it a hole in the wall. Six two-tops are squeezed in the small place, leaving room for no more than two skinny people to order at the counter.
Noted for its wontons in hot sauce (12 for $7), almost nothing else on White Bear's limited menu was available. However, all the very youthful looking Chinese customers were eating the wontons in hot sauce. Once I dug in, I understood why. They were delicious and spicy, but they looked fiercer than they tasted. Fortunately, plastic forks replace chopsticks, because the Szechuan pepper oil bathing the wontons was as slippery as WD-40.
Noted for its wontons in hot sauce (12 for $7), almost nothing else on White Bear's limited menu was available. However, all the very youthful looking Chinese customers were eating the wontons in hot sauce. Once I dug in, I understood why. They were delicious and spicy, but they looked fiercer than they tasted. Fortunately, plastic forks replace chopsticks, because the Szechuan pepper oil bathing the wontons was as slippery as WD-40.
If I were heading right back to the subway, lunch would have been over. But, I was on a mission and I needed more fuel. Of the many choices in the vicinity, I stopped at BoneMan Fried Chicken a/k/a Secret Fried Chicken, 135-45 Roosevelt Avenue. I ordered chicken strips ($7.99), chicken wings the only other choice. Since BoneMan was only a counter facing the sidewalk, I ate leaning on a newspaper dispenser. A table and chair would not have improved the experience. The breaded coating was not crisp and the white meat within was about 15 seconds removed from being undercooked.
I did not clean my plate, a rare event, and headed down Roosevelt Avenue to Citi Field, one mile away, where the New York Mets allegedly play baseball, to complete my business.
Wednesday, July 24, 2019
Last night, I tried again to reach my former colleague Altie, leaving a voicemail message, promising that it would be my last. I don't want to appear to be a stalker; I'm just interested in what has transpired for this very nice person over the decades.
. . .
. . .
Let's get this straight. Republicans in the White House and Congress insist that the Mueller Report was the product of "13 [or 18] Angry Democrats." http://www.
Yet, they assert that it demonstrated no collusion, no obstruction and was "a total victory for the president.”
https://www.usatoday.com/
I guess those Democrats were not angry enough.
. . .
I guess those Democrats were not angry enough.
. . .
We spent several hours at the Auschwitz exhibit at the Museum of Jewish Heritage, 36 Battery Place, with cousins Barbara and Bernie. I have been to the actual site and also visited major Holocaust museums and memorials here and abroad. Beyond just conveying information, they serve as a mirror for self-reflection and a prism to see the world today, especially today. In fact, the exhibit is titled "Auschwitz. Not Long Ago. Not Far Away." You don't need me to tell you more about it.
We took a baby step to restoring our peace of mind by going to Shanghai 21, 21 Mott Street, for an early dinner. The four of us got stuffed with 2 scallion pancakes ($3.75 each), cold noodles with sesame sauce ($5.75), eggplant with garlic sauce ($12.25) and tangerine beef ($17.50). It took a 25% tip for us to reach $60.
After our meal, we walked through Chinatown and Little Italy to MO Gelato, 178 Mulberry Street, which Barbara correctly recalled had chocolate sorbet. MO offers small ($4.75), medium ($6.75) and large cups ($7.75). I had a medium cup with two scoops, Monella -- Amarena cherry, roasted almonds & hazelnuts, and Delirium -- "Creamy cookie with chocolate fondue." It is widely understood that a good Chinese meal ends with ice cream.
Thursday, July 25, 2019
My million dollar mouth was restored today at Montefiore Medical Center. You prosthodontistry fans out there might remember that the errant tooth was the same one that fell out 6 years ago in Greece, Bulgaria and Macedonia, waiting for me to cross a border to fall out again.
Friday, July 26, 2019
News from the generation gap:
I was chatting with a new neighbor this morning when he noticed that I was wearing a T-shirt celebrating an event at Cardozo Law School. Did your child or grandchild go to Cardozo, he asked. "No, I did."
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