New York Tales from the Cutting Room Adventure

At one point, a young, random New York guy on the other side of 32nd Street passed by the long line of people standing outside the Cutting Room.  He thought it would be funny if he hauled out a lighter from his jeans pocket, flicked his Bic, waved it back and forth and yelled, “Free Bird!”  That actually was pretty funny, and we all burst out laughing, but what was even funnier:  he then proceeded to burn his thumb on the lighter and threw it into the street with a yelp and a few words that shall not be repeated here.    (And that we found truly hilarious!)  Only in New York ...!

I had lunch at a place down the street, Sarabeth’s.  The waitress came up to my table and I looked up.  Then she gasped.  “Ohmigod, I LOVE your poetry!  I read it all the time – can I please have your autograph?”  I almost hated to break it to her that she had mistaken me for someone else, but apparently, I look just like a famous poet.  She did tell me who she mistook me for, but the name has gone right out of my head.  But now I know what it feels like to be a celebrity and have someone in awe of meeting you – even if they’re meeting the wrong (and considerably less awesome) person.  So she did get my autograph - when I paid the bill - but I suspect she wasn’t all that thrilled with it.

Just went through my annual spring ritual of finding my fragrance for the year.  If these were the olden days, I would have skipped merrily through the meadow, picking flowers and placing them oh so delicately in my little wicker basket to brew a cologne worthy of my irresistible self.  Since these AREN’T the olden days I was reduced to reading online descriptions and throwing darts at a dartboard, hoping I would inadvertently hit on something worthy of my ... considerably lazier self.  And the winners for this year are:

Mystic by Marilyn Miglin is a chypre (which, as you all know, is “the name of a family (or concept) of perfumes that are characterized by an accord composed of citrus top-notes, a middle centered on cistus labdanum, and a mossy-animalic base-note derived from oak moss and musk, and fall into numerous classes according to their modifier notes, which include but are not limited to leather, florals, fruits, and amber”) (thank you, Wikipedia) Floral fragrance for women. Mystic was launched in 1998. The fragrance features apricot, iris, sandalwood, lily, patchouli, jasmine, marigold, lily-of-the-valley, narcissus and vanilla.

And actually ... once I had it on, it immediately brought me back to the days of walking into the “Enchantments” shop in lower Manhattan – an experience everyone who has ever been in there can relate to ... it is probably the best-smelling place on the planet.  So, with the name of Mystic on the bottle, how could it help being an “Enchantments”- reminiscent fragrance?

The other one was Ed Hardy Skulls & Roses for Her, “a warm, sugary fragrance made of strawberry, violet leaf, honeysuckle and caramel.”  This one everybody buys for the wonderful packaging and then probably sticks with for the scent:  absolutely lovely, and you wouldn’t have thought those four scents together would be so nice, but they are.  (And I love the skull!)

So there you have them:  the 2015 “Let me capture and tie you into unbreakable love knots with my irresistible scent” winners for the year.  Believe me, you’ll be the first to know if either one of them works.

Physical therapy:  lied through my teeth ... well, no, I didn’t lie (EXACTLY) – I just left out pertinent information.  Just said I had tried standing without support for a long period of time.  Which was true – I had – I just didn’t provide any details on exactly WHY I had been doing that, or how.  I still got the hairy eyeball, but didn’t get thrown out of physical therapy as “uncooperative”, which is what would have happened if I confessed that I had gone against every single instruction they gave me.  Turns out I had seriously strained the muscles around my foot, ankle, back and shin bones, which directly contribute to one’s ability to maintain balance.  He could physically feel how strained they were.  His only crabby comment?  “Well, at least you can’t blame ME for that.”  I looked properly ashamed of myself – which I sorta was, but not entirely.  I had just REALLY wanted to see the ... yeah, I know, go ahead and shoot me, I just REALLY wanted to see The Cowsills.

The Cowsills 50th Anniversary Concert, Il Volo Hits the 2 Million Mark; I Collapse

In one of those amazing synchronicities that always knock me flat when they happen:   I had a few cd’s on hand, ready to be imported into i-Tunes and listened to.  One of them was more of a curiosity than anything else, which is why I hadn’t rushed to get it loaded.  So I finally get around to throwing it in the drive, and start listening to the first cut.  Eyeballs popped open.  The entire concept of the first song was another version of my C’era una volta counterpoint to “Paradise Lost”, although perhaps darker than Volta, but the concept behind it was still unmistakable.  The first time I have ever heard anyone even come close to the concept.  First comment:  “Holy (bleep)!”

And the singer/songwriter?  Jason Cowsill (son of Bob), The Shape of the Journey cd.  I never expected it to be as good as it was, but it really was astonishing.  I should apologize to the guy for letting him sit on the “To be listened to when I get around to it” pile for so long.  Reminded me of Bill Miller, too -  and everyone knows Miller is a long-time favorite of mine.  Only wish:  that he’d printed the lyrics on the liner.  As it was, I had to sit there with one ear literally glued to the speaker to catch every word.  A bit annoying, actually.  But even so, it had me sitting there, seriously impressed with how close he came to the same vision I had of the birth of everything.  And all this time I had been thinking I was the only one who had that image of the REAL “big bang”, so to speak, in my mind.

And while I’m learning new things ... I learned an important piece of information about dandelion tea:  it can taste differently depending on who’s selling it to you.  Drank one batch of them from one supplier; just drank another cup from another one;  they tasted differently.  One tasted more “earthy” than the other, if that made sense.  Both tasted good; just ... different.  So, is that because the earth the dandelions were grown is has a different “flavor” to it?

Despite the fact that I woke up a few mornings ago to discover sleet, ice and snow all over the ground (you don’t know the details of my reaction to THAT discovery – none of it is appropriate for this blog), it seems to me that now is about the time to start growing the seeds in my little seed grower contraption.  You’re supposed to start them – depending on the plant – some 4 to 6 weeks before transplanting out of doors, so this is about right.

The Cutting Room - Epic Fail

The venue itself could have definitely handled it infinitely better than they did ... we stood outdoors on a long line on 32^nd Street for well over an hour before even coming anywhere near the front door.  By show time (7:00 p.m.) a huge swath of people were still outside, on a line, getting totally freaked out because they thought they were going to miss the start of the concert.  No one from the venue came outside to reassure us that the concert hadn’t started, and was delayed so that they could get everyone indoors.  One person asked about it at the front of the line, and the venue tried to blame the Cowsills for the late start – luckily, no one who knew the family and their discipline and professionalism bought THAT explanation even for a second.  You heard, “That’s bullsh*t!” all the way down the line when that was passed back.  Sorry, Cutting Room – absolutely no one bought your trying to blame The Cowsills for your screw-ups.  Just saying.

Our unilateral suspicion was that they had literally no idea how incredibly popular and beloved The Cowsills were, and were taken by complete surprise at the volume of people who showed up for the concert.  In fact, we all watched as one of the Cutting Room employees walked the sidewalk close to starting time, counting people and then walked back inside with a look of serious concern on his face.  An epic fail on the part of The Cutting Room.

But the Cowsills Themselves?

I would not have missed that concert for all the (pick one):  tea in China, olives in Tuscany, oranges in Valencia, pastries in Denmark, WHATEVER!  That much energy swirling around does all sorts of things to your emotional state ... and I’d been sitting at home, alone, in such isolation for so long, it was almost a shock to my system, not only being back home in New York City – which everyone knows is simply coursing with a powerful buzzing energy anyway - but being at that concert, on that month, on that day.  The emotional impact was exacerbated by the fact that the concert was held three years (minus two days) since my brother Jim died, also in New York ... so if you don’t think that didn’t impact me emotionally, think again.  A lot of emotional things coincided, all at once.  In short, while I basically held it together outwardly; inwardly, I was an emotional high wire, twanging at everything.

As for The Cowsills, THEY were perfect.  Absolutely perfect.  Pitch perfect, note perfect, set list perfect, banter perfect, the whole package.  The audience spent the entire concert in the palm of their (collective) hand, laughing, crying, singing along and loving every minute of it.  They faced a packed room of people who absolutely adored all of them, and would have sat there all night long, if the band wanted to keep going.  The concert felt like it was over way too soon – although they must have put in a good 90 minutes, if not longer, I was not wearing a watch – but I didn’t want it to end, that’s how good it was.  Here’s a small snippet – the one and only Cowsills singing “The Rain, The Park and Other Things” at the Cutting Room, sounding every bit as wonderful as they did when the song was first released.  I'll probably be babbling happily about this wonderful concert for months to come, it was that good.

Physically – well, that’s another story.

I should never have pushed myself to go, as I did.  Woke up this morning to dual leg spasms so bad I actually fell out of bed, crying out in pain, and pulled the contents of the nightstand down on top of me.  Throughout today, spasms all throughout my legs and feet, muscles around my shins are spasming and I know that was from constantly trying to keep my balance without the walker, which I couldn’t bring with me because I had a suitcase; numbness moved up to the backs of my knees and it wasn’t there before, back spasms, the works.

I have spent today going “WTF did I do to myself?”  I don’t even want to know what I did to myself.  Thank goodness I don’t see the physical therapist until Wednesday because he will want to know when this all changed, and I don’t want to tell him what I did to provoke it.  “Stood on lines for 2 hours trying to see and meet the Cowsills, leaning on a cane until I saw black spots before my eyes and knew I was about to faint?”, “I told you not to use the cane until I told you that you could use the cane; didn’t I tell you that?!”  “Yes, I know you did, but ... you don’t understand, I REALLY wanted to see the Cowsills."

I have no defense other than, “I really wanted to go, I’ve been waiting to see them perform live for 45 years!”  I know he won’t care; I’m either going to have to lie, or get railed up one side and down the other.  And I don’t want “She deliberately disobeyed my instructions!” on my permanent medical record.  Because that is exactly what I did.  I’ve been taking muscle relaxers all day to the point where I’m dizzy, and they’re not helping.  Taking Tylenol for the pain, and it’s not even making a dent.  And I can’t even complain about it because it’s my own fault; I did it to myself.  I have two days to make up a whopper of a lie, and I really don’t want to do that, either.  (“*Duh*, I dunno, I just woke up Monday morning, and it was like this; I don’t know what happened, it’s a mystery ...”)  Hopefully, he doesn’t read blogs.

I’m the first to admit I’m an idiot who should have known better.  But you have to understand ... I REALLY wanted to see The Cowsills!

Meanwhile, the boys from Il Volo just hit the 2 million mark with Grande Amore, surprising exactly no one because the song is so beautiful.

So there you have it:  a wonderful musical weekend followed by intense physical suffering.  Here’s hoping I get my physical act together before I get yelled at.  And I still don’t regret for one second finally seeing The Cowsills live for the first time in my life, but don’t tell my physical therapist I said that.

Bad Hair, Bad Products, Bad Blood and Paradise Lost

WHEN WILL I EVER LEARN?  I just don’t learn, do I?  Again – the hair styling was a complete and utter disaster.  Complete.  Total. Absolute.  I’d jump out the window were it not for the fact that (again) I live in a one-story and it wouldn’t accomplish much beyond giving me a scraped knee.  Went to a clothing store, bought stuff that was too big for me and had to return to the seamstress and have it fixed.  Went to Tallman’s for new glasses only to discover that they were closed.  That closed the window on my getting new glasses in time.  On my way back, stopped at Sylvan Grille and drank myself into a stupor.  Came home.  Cried a lot.

The disaster now required me to find something that will shape the straight-hanging mess into something less awful.  Tried a hair oil that is supposed to help hair keep a curl, thinking I could get the hair to turn under a little.  Instead, I was allergic to the oil itself and spent the next few hours with tears running down my face, sneezing repeatedly and with my nose running like a faucet.  Bought a curling iron.  Haven’t figured out how to do it right, and only ended up looking even more goofy than I already did.

Whatever self-confidence I once had (and it wasn’t much) disappeared in the blink of an eye.  And I will be seeing my childhood crush in exactly 9 days.  Of course I will.  Why strut out of an expensive hair salon looking like a quadrillion bucks when it’s so much more typical to slink out of it looking you were just run over by a leaf mulcher?  I just never learn, do I?

Well, while I battle the utter horror that is my hair, I’m also battling a never-ending round of doctors, appointments, physical therapy, more doctors, more appointments, more physical therapy - and my life shrinks to the dimensions of my appointment calendar – I started reading an annotated version of Milton’s Paradise Lost, which I’m finding inspirational, and I’m only in the Introduction.

I cannot get my head around Milton’s point of view ... by the time he started writing his Paradise Lost, ships were already sailing their way across the Atlantic, depositing colonists on the North and South American east coasts, so he is already aware that there is an entire continent over here, chock full of people who had no knowledge of the supposed “truth” he was espousing, which had originated within a very small tribe of nomads based in a very tiny region of the Middle East – of which, needless to say – none of these North and South and Central American continental natives had any knowledge.  So why – at some point – didn’t that “a priori” truth he was basing his entire epic poem upon stop making logical sense?  The Far East was already well known.  The beliefs of China, India ... they were well known.  Where is his logic?  His “lost paradise” was intelligence?  That isn’t saying much for him and his ilk is it?

From his first book, he is only making reference to Greek and Roman mythology, as though they were the only civilizations with which he had to parry and thrust.  It may be that he looks at Egyptian later in the work, but at least in his first book his entire glance towards Egypt consisted of Moses.  That’s it.  Just Moses.

True, the fact that most historians are seriously questioning the Biblical story of Moses altogether may be a more recent development, and ancient Egypt wasn’t really discovered by western culture until the time of Napoleon, so perhaps I can’t fault him for that as much.  But the other regions?  Makes no sense to me, none of it does.  So much of his initial argument makes no sense I can’t even find a place to start, as far as making a counterpoint is concerned.  Maybe with the original Lilith or something, to squash his Eve?  But he doesn’t focus on Eve so much anyway – Adam is his guy, which, for a man steeped in the toxicity of an extremely conservative, religiously fundamentalist patriarchy – much like the Republican Party of the U.S.! - isn’t surprising.

I have just discovered today that I really love tea made from roasted dandelion roots.  Why stupid suburbanites (the evil “Manifest Destiny” lunatics)  have this passionate need to destroy, slaughter, poison or trample everything worthwhile, I have no idea, but it seems they do.

One thing you should try not to do is allow your blood sugar to drop so far you nearly black out from it – which happened to me when I started feeling gawdawful and discovered my blood sugar was 37.  That isn’t a typo.  Thirty-bleeping-seven.  Drank two glasses of fruit juice pronto and had some toast ... and that was before I could make my way back to the bedroom where I had the glucose tablets.  I was hanging on to the countertop, trying not to let my knees buckle.  37.  Who gets readings like that?  And it wasn’t as though I was doing anything unusual when it happened; my sugars just plummeted for no good reason that I could determine.