Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Why? February 2012


...does it cost just about the same to fly from Los Angeles to Hawaii as it does to fly from Pensacola to Hawaii?

...do I bawl my eyes out every time a horse runs fast in a movie?

...does Newt Gingrich feel the need to label every person with whom he disagrees? (the elite media...the Massachusetts moderate...the socialist Kenyan President...the money-grubbing creditors at Tiffany's...the elite Kenyan socialist money-grubbing Saul Alinsky hairstylist who "did" Calista)

...am I never able to guess the actual perp on Law and Order, including, sadly, the repeats?

...hasn't someone been able to make an alternative energy source viable and profitable enough to end our dependence on oil, both foreign and domestic?

...does the time between the Super Bowl and the first Red Sox spring training game seem like an eternity?

...do I almost never eat peanuts in the shell unless I'm at a baseball game in which case I absolutely have to devour them?

...did the Supreme Court decide that money is akin to speech?

...can I live with the same furniture for 40 years without a second thought while other people need to change their surroundings periodically?

...does the word "Vermont" placed in front of any product (syrup, coffee, paper shredder, socket wrench) seem to add value to said product?

...do the words "Rhode Island" have the opposite effect?

...can't I get both the volume and channel selector to operate from one remote instead of two?

...did Juliet ever think that Friar Laurence's cockeyed scheme could actually work?

...did I never learn to fix anything?

...do I get excited any time Boston is the setting for a movie?

...don't I like beer as much as I once did?

...haven't I settled on the ONE BEST WAY to eat an Oreo?

...are we even mentioning contraception and birth control?

...do I think something really bad involving Iran is right around the corner?

...did the actor who played the bizarre Mr. Kruger on Seinfeld recently try to shoot himself in the head, unsuccessfully?

...can a professional golfer hit a golf ball 140 yards using a pitching wedge?

...are the "land's end" kinds of places (Key West, Provincetown, Penzance) havens for many offbeat and/or desperate people?

...why is the same true of Seekonk, Massachusetts? (just kidding)

...is Italian food always my go-to choice when eating out?

...do movies directed by Michael Mann always look so cool?

...don't I attend more plays, both amateur and professional?

...does anyone even begin to care what another person does in the privacy of his/her bedroom?

...is almost every dress shirt I own a button-down type?

...would I rather watch a Rick Steve's travel show on Italy than actually go there?

...didn't I learn to dribble with my right hand?

...don't I "get" kites?

...is there always lint in the lint filter after a drying? shouldn't clothes that have been washed and dried many times be free of lint after a while?

and, finally (did I just hear you whisper, "Thank God"?)...

...is the actual movie never, ever, ever as good as the previews?

Ain't life grand?
J

NOLA: February 2012




...also known as The Big Easy, The Crescent City, or Nawlins. Kate and I just returned from a two-day New Orleans getaway, and I'm here to report that we can't wait for a chance to go back.

We chose a wonderful time to visit. The first Mardi Gras parades were scheduled to begin on the day we were leaving; as a result we were able to experience much of the excitement and anticipation of Mardi Gras with very little of the accompanying vomit and random puddles of urine.

Seriously, the town fathers of this unique city have had to find a way to clean the streets of any number of objectionable liquids during this month-long hedonistic celebration. Each morning specially equipped street cleaning trucks make their way through the French Quarter spraying a lemony substance that washes away the previous night's deposits and leaves the Quarter fresh, clean, and ready for another evening assault by thousands of people who enjoy the good ol' American value of three-for-one drink specials offered by many of the bars during Happy Hour.

Last year I was one of them and came perilously close to mistaking the hotel coat closet for the bathroom. Thankfully, the tiny area of rationality left in my brain was, at the last possible moment, able to determine the difference between the two (one of them is used to hang coats) and tragedy was narrowly averted.

Let's call it a rookie mistake.

This year I swore an oath to moderation and had none of those close calls.

NOLA is an easy 4-5 hour drive from our place in Florida along amazing Interstate 10. I say amazing because this highway runs from the Atlantic to the Pacific and there are NO CURVES. It's kind of the Twiggy of Interstates. It's 75 MPH all the way through places like Mobile and Biloxi and the next thing you know you're crossing the Pontchartrain causeway to New Orleans.

We stayed right in the middle of the Quarter, one block off Bourbon on Conti Street at the Prince Conti hotel. We had stayed there last year and felt it was a nice, clean place that offered good value. Unfortunately, our first night's room faced the street which was filled with revelers right through the night. Here's a little clue to all people who drink too much: LOUD ISN'T FUNNY! We were able to switch to an interior room for the second night and weren't bothered by the madness outside.

The main New Orleans attraction for Kate and me was the opportunity to hear all kinds of live music. Over the space of two nights we heard the following: the fabulous house band at Preservation Hall playing traditional New Orleans jazz, a trio of operatic singers performing in the lounge of the Ramada, an absolutely kick-ass R and B ensemble, complete with a three-piece horn section and a spectacular lead singer, ripping it up at Fat Catz on Bourbon, a smooth, late night piano player/vocalist coolly performing Cole Porter and other standards at the Bombay Lounge, right beside our hotel, a fiddle-guitar-washboard trio dedicated to "ol' timey" music from the twenties and thirties playing at the Three Muses on Frenchman Street, a phenomenal house pianist who could and would play absolutely anything at the same location, and, finally, to our amazement, the youngest Marsalis sibling, Jason, playing first rate vibes with a brilliant guitarist and piano player back at the Bombay Lounge. This last act was an absolute wonder. It was the type of jazz that I've loved since I was 15 years old. Songs like Stardust, Willow Weep for Me, Whisper Not, Peace and others played lovingly and intelligently by masters of their instruments. What conversations there were were subdued in deference to the music. It was magnificent ensemble playing with the whole being very much greater than the sum of its parts. Pure magic.

And it was free.

Food is another NOLA specialty, and we were not disappointed. One of the gentlemen who works at my golf club comes from New Orleans and had a few restaurant recommendations for us, not the least of which was the Central Grocery, the home of the original muffaletta sandwich. Don't worry, I didn't know what it was either; however, I am here to tell y'all that it is a real treat. Other than salami, I don't know what's in it but, man, was it delicious. One of the best sandwiches this chubby traveler has ever et, and that includes the hard salami from the G&G and the Italian sub from Go Go's in Hanover! High praise indeed.

We took the delightful St Charles streetcar through the garden district to the Audubon Zoo, directly across the street from Loyola and Tulane. What a treat it was to stroll around this excellent park, watch the two Asian elephants get their exercise, see the nastiest, hugest Anaconda ever, stare down a menacing Silverback gorilla and assert my dominance over him,(Actually it was Kate who stared him down; I was hiding.) witness two beautiful, massive white tigers lounging in the sun, and laugh at the derring-do of a baby orangutan joyfully climbing and leaping at impossible heights.

Great music, great food, and a delightful zoo.

Now I know what it means to miss New Orleans.

Ain't life grand?
J

Saturday, February 4, 2012

On Turning 65: February 2012


Recently, I celebrated my 65th birthday.

I'm not blogging about this in some cheesy, pathetic attempt to get all of you to send birthday greetings (jagetman@yahoo.com) or golf-related presents (102 Fern Way, Santa Rosa Beach, FL, 32459).

No, I only mention this because on the morning of my 65th birthday I played a round of golf and would have shot my age if I had been born in 1933!

I make a little joke.

So what does this birthday really mean to me? Clearly, the most important aspect of being 65 is that I am now enrolled in Medicare. As a matter of fact, because my birthday falls on the first of the month, my eligibility began a month before my actual birthday. Having proudly flashed my medicare card, I've already had a physical, blood tests, and prescription fill-ups.

I'm happy to report that all of this, the enrollment, the office visit, the prescriptions, went off without a hitch. No six-month wait, no death panels, no nuthin'. Three-month quantities of six different prescriptions came to a total of $28. Thanks to all of you out there who are still working and paying taxes in an effort to keep me alive.

You know who you are. Don't think I don't appreciate it.

So here, in no particular order, are some of my personal baby-booming highlights, reflections, and recollections, both grand and tiny, accrued during the 65 years I have spent on this planet. I apologize in advance to those of you who didn't have the good fortune to grow up in Boston, since many of these are Hub-centric.

...watching Big Brother Bob Emery toast President Eisenhower every day at noon on channel 4

...Boom-Boom-Boomtown

...Jackie Jensen refusing to fly

...Red Sox goofballs Gene Conley and Pumpsie Green trying to fly to Israel during a three-day bender

...at 14 or 15, purchasing Miles Davis' "Porgy and Bess" and listening to it almost non-stop for a week, definitely one of the "fork in the road" moments in my life

...seeing and, especially, hearing a child who was encased in an "iron lung" during the polio scare

...acting on the recommendation of friend and fellow Aardvark Martin Bickman and reading a Robert Heinlein novel; the rest as they say is history

...sitting nervously as a seventh grader in the Boston Latin School auditorium for the first time and being told that it was only a matter of time before my true ignorant nature would be discovered whereupon I would be exiled in shame to Boston English High School

...fooling those bastards for six years

...finding out I was funny

...passing my driving test on the first try despite being forced to make a three-point turn on a hill in a standard shift car, undoubtedly my finest driving moment

...hitchhiking to Montreal with fellow Aardvark Andrew Razin in search of that famous mythical creature, the "loose" Quebec Catholic girl; despite our determined efforts, we never were able to locate this fabulous but elusive being

...accompanied by Marvin "Knuck" Lehrer, attending a weekday matinee Celtics game in February, 1959 against the Minneapolis Lakers; final score: Celtics 173 Minneapolis 139; you could look it up

...witnessing both of my sons deliver beautiful, inspiring speeches and/or performances during Ada's wonderful memorial gathering

...learning geometry as a 10th grader under the tutelage of Mr. Salvucci, an excellent teacher and a nice man; I believe it was about this time that I decided I might not be a complete idiot

...seeing an undiscovered John Pizzarelli perform in a small club at the Montreal Jazz Festival and knowing that he would soon become something quite special

...similarly, seeing Stephane Grappelli, well over 80, barely able to walk on stage, magically become 60 years younger the second he started to play his jazz violin for an adoring jazz festival audience; it would be one of his last performances

...after several awkward phone calls, taking Ada Ernest on our first date, a double feature at the Morton Theater on Blue Hill Avenue; again, the rest is history

On the morning of my 65th birthday I was presented with a magnificent ice cream cake.I'm going to eat it even if it means I don't make it to my 70th.

Ain't life grand?
J