Art or not

In 1976, an abandoned schoolhouse in Long Island City, P.S. 1 was transformed into an exhibition space for works created by budding artists. The three-storey building, with its drab hallways, squeaky floors and old classrooms full of photographs and videos make up this Contemporary Art Center which is an affiliate of MoMA.

The courtyard has been the exhibition hall for the winner of the Young Architects Program. In its 10th year, this year's installation Afterparty and designed by the firm MOS installed with the help of students from Yale and Harvard is an oversized tent topped with hairy palm fibers which is a reminder of the thatched roofing used in rural Asia. The tall tent poles hold the dark brown furry covering that should provide shade for the outdoor summer Warm Up parties at the museum. Modern .... yet primitive. Very interesting.

Having had enough of the planet-of-the-apes-looking structure, I headed inside to view the current exhibit, that of the Argentine Leandro Erlich : Swimming Pool. Defying the law of physics, it is a disorienting visual trick fashioned by the artist. He installed a full-size pool complete with its trappings, deck and ladder. When approached from the first floor, it's surreal. People, fully clothed, can be seen walking, standing, beneath the surface of the water. Viewed from the basement gallery, one will see that the pool is empty. Laminated glass spans the pool and suspends water above it creating an illusion of a real swimming pool.

How cool is that?

After an hour of roaming the corridors of P.S. 1, I sat outside trying to absorb the theme of these creations. I was joined by a couple of young Japanese students, who casually handed me their cameras and posed for their NYC memento. Not in this neck of the woods one should do that - trust a perfect stranger with your camera. This is industrial NYC, filled with rows of abandoned buildings, warehouses - not fashionable at all.

Stepping out of the museum, two blocks towards the subway entrance, the facade of a building caught my attention. Writings on the wall! This must be what I always see looking out from aboard the #7 train on an elevated platform - 5 Pointz. This must be that artist studio where once a concrete stairway collapsed, the proving ground for graffiti artists who are always ready to pull that trigger on a spray can and use the walls of a building as the medium.

What do I think of it? I walked away filled with curiosity. Who gets to decide who sprays what? And what is trash versus "legal graffiti"? Scribblings and murals I could hardly label as "art", they are more of an eyesore. Graffiti, art or no art, has no place on the outside of a train car, the exterior of a building or walls of a fence.

Put a lid on those spray cans.

Mazel tov

"They did it" were the words of Arlene, Barb's mom, and she's quite thrilled about the wedding! Richard, her dad, was ecstatic and that was written all over his sweet face.

It was on a bright but cool June summer day with an open sky Chuppah (canopy) ceremony that Mel and Barb exchanged vows. They couldn't have picked a better place; the grounds at The Bates House in Setauket set the tone for a very relaxed, "easy-mingling" reception which followed after the traditional Jewish wedding ceremony. Raised as devout Catholics, this is first for our family and it didn't surprise me that there are close similarities in the wedding rites.

At his ripe age, it might be a little late for Mel to go through the brit milah ritual to fulfill the religious requirement. Not again! Although it wasn't referred to as bris when it was performed when he was a kid. Mel was teased plenty about it by Frederick, Barb's brother-in-law during the toast. Didn't I tell you George, breaking the glass alone doesn't constitute conversion!

Members of both families warmed up to each one instantly. I'm lousy at remembering names, but there's Barb's sister Stacey, Bonnie and Mark and a host of other lovely relatives and friends coming up to us and introducing themselves. We were touched.

Ped, George, Inang and myself represented our family and trust me, we're not well-versed in doing most things perfectly and without embarrassing our beloved ancestors, but this time, we did a damn good job of standing for my brother Tony and sister-in-law Prasing who couldn't make it to the wedding. Even George behaved himself. As usual Inang charmed everyone.

I loved every detail, from the flowers to the cake, everything tastefully done, allowing for plenty of time and room to mix with all the guests. Music was awesome, a guitarist provided some classical and smooth jazz background. One piece stood out for me, Santana's Samba pa ti.

He did have competition though, when Mel was called in to play. Impromptu but he did wonderfully, singing a beautiful Beatles ballad. Ped toasted his brother with pride and with stories reminiscent of their young days during the Beatles era.

Without further ado, here they are and we're happy for them. Mazel Tov!

Have a good life together!

4th of July regatta

We got company at the dock - a waterlogged muskrat just surfaced from the lake

mother duck and ducklings searching for grubs.

It's the fourth of July TASCA sailing regatta and picnic. Judy and Maria whose pendulums swing equally towards the greens and the water once again pulled me into their world of sailing. Marcia was at hand to help rig the boat while watching her head from being hit by the boom.

Off they go towards red marker number one! A boat capsized before the start of the first race and the 12 knot winds didn't spare the flotilla of small boats either.

No capsizes at the regatta, the seasoned sailor Herman showed some skillful maneuvers. Impressive, graceful but it looks completely terrifying. It was some show that Gina and Herman put out there today!

None of my friends joined the race. Maria was assigned to help as starter, Judy was the standby and Jan, the fledgling sailor cheered on with me by the deck. I did what I do best, and that is help Barbara set up lunch for the hungry sailors. The roasted veggies went perfectly well with Vinnie's grilled hot dogs and steaks!

I will not attempt to understand the physics of sailing but I can tell you it's loads of fun to watch the race! Thanks guys and a happy fourth!

Just milling around

Taking off on a whim after what seemed like forty days of rain just felt so right. One small detail I left out for the getaway was that it is Thursday before the July 4th weekend and a mass exodus of city residents is about to happen; leaving us with no choice but to compete for the last available space in the Long Island Expressway, with the Hamptonites who are scurrying home to their holiday retreats. Chong and I managed to make it to Southampton in less than two hours, of course stopping for some McCafe and her favorite greasy hash browns along the way.

Destination: The Water Mill Museum

The town of Water Mill in Southampton was named after the water mill that was built in 1644 by Edward Howell. In exchange for building the millstone and a dam, he received 40 acres of precious land, which today would be valued in who knows how many millions of dollars.

Today the Water Mill Museum houses the mill that continues to grind. Hanging on the wall by the entrance to the building was a beautiful blue quilt of traditional design which we were told is the prize for this month's raffle. Also on display are milling exhibits showing the history of milling from beginning of civilization. The lady keeper of the museum was very enthusiastic in giving us a lesson on the process of milling.

The grain is lifted in sacks and emptied into the bins where the grain falls down through a hopper to the stone grinder below. The flow of grain is regulated by shaking the grain gently into the hole in the center of the runner stone. A wooden piece directs the grain to the eye while an iron piece named damsel, by male chauvinist millers eight centuries ago, shakes and chatters while moving the grain. This is the only metal part of this particular mill. The milled grain is collected in the trough on the ground.

The mill is powered by a 12 foot undershot water wheel made of mahogany. The building is made of wood and the beams are held together by wooden pegs. In order to prevent the vibration from the milling, from shaking the building apart, the mill sits on its own foundation.


To preserve and support the Water Mill Museum, special art exhibits and quilt show and sale are held throughout the summer. This quilt was made for the Bicentennial celebration in 1976.



This bronze piece entitled Torso by Mark Newton is listed at $4,000. What a surprise! Mark was one of Chong's student in the TASCA Spring sailing class which was recently completed. A recipient of the prestigious Fulbright scholarship, his impressive bio and portfolio were included in the exhibit's catalogue.


This house on the other side of the mill pond is a typical Long Island house with its wrap-around porch and charming Victorian details. The marble sculpture shown in the picture is entitled The Owl by John Capello and listed at $1,500.

Right next to the Water Mill Museum is a tiny gallery(not pictured), Celadon - A Clay Art Gallery, full of fabulous pottery, plenty to choose from but pricey. It has a workshop space and a kiln in the back available to local artisans to use.



Located on the south fork of Long Island and the surrounding countryside, Southampton is synonymous with preppy America, the Wall Street rich (or not, any longer) and their Ralph Lauren-wearing children. Beautiful homes, green fields, sandy beaches and the closest place to get a respite from New York City, that's the Hamptons.

Not your run-of-the-mill style of living. And...we just happened to be milling around.

The rich and the needy

I was brought up to believe that I don't belong to the upper crust; I still don't , will never belong and I'm not sure if I want to. But in certain instances, being in the right circles is not a crime even if it means taking on a non-glamorous job in order to be in.

Call it servitude to golf, silly, sheer benevolence, here I was on a marathon to help my charity again - the Long Island Museum of American Art, History and Carriages. In my attempt to help my golf-crazed friends to gain access to the Hamlet Golf and Country Club and hopefully be given playing privileges for free (You wish!), thus making their retirement income last a lifetime, I signed up giving a few gratuitous hours for a good cause. Pardon me for my partly altruistic reason, but it comes with the package, true friendship and volunteerism.

The Hamlet surely is a place for golfers who have plenty of money to burn. It is an enclave of gated-entrance luxury town homes, large enough you might as well call them mansions. This charity tournament was opened for individual sponsorship at $500 a shot at the greens as the cheapest.

The level of wealth I couldn't gauge, I'm just a mere volunteer here appreciating the landscape and the course design while sitting at the 17th hole for that awaited hole-in-one. The prize is a year of free lease on a Mercedes Benz which nobody won. I figured today's players may be the select and privileged group but not necessarily the good golfers. Judy and Maria cringed as we watched one guy 7-putt it painfully and embarrassingly. One man literally got a nice bounce on his ball as it hit the concrete cart path and we barely escaped being knocked down as we took cover inside the cart we parked under the oak trees.

At least this time the assignment was easy; there was no Josh to check if I'm up to speed on the job. Breakfast at the clubhouse, lunch served on the course and our own club cart, but hell if I'm going to drive that and risk tipping over and getting drowned in the water hole. I rode with Maria Andretti but I almost jumped off the cart as she got us on an almost 45-degree incline. I heard Judy once "jumped overboard" while she herself was driving the cart, Maria as passenger and poor Maria had to grab the wheel to save her own life. And I thought Judy was fearless.

Golfers think they know all about golf! But there's more to golf than how far you hit the ball. There are actually a few things I look for in a course, as if you care; something along the lines of what the surroundings has to offer, such as oaks, cypress, magnolias, dogwoods and not doglegs, flowers, rabbits, deer, restroom and a decent clubhouse restaurant. I love my camera and if there's any reason that I'm kicked out of here, it is because I got too close to the gorgeous private homes that are partly hidden by a row of hedges.

This is not the designated forward tee for ladies .. it's a red mushroom. Red!

Shotgun start was at 11:30 am which gave us plenty of time to enjoy the nice spread at the Clubhouse dining room. When you're used to having just coffee and toast for breakfast, a massive blanket of food and never before seen fruits such as the yellow raspberries is an exotic experience. Bananas are yellow, not raspberries.

It is luxury and extravagance probably equal in form to the Kentucky Derby. A master cigar roller from the Dominican Republic is ready on hand to deliver a freshly rolled one or boast a demo for the players before they drive off to the grounds. Life in contrast, my respectable wardrobe consisted of my gardening khaki pants and sneakers which are still muddy from a wet day at the US Open.

Once you get past all the wealth, bells and whistles, everything else is equal. I think. But, no. Let me rephrase that. Women play better golf than men from what I've witnessed today.

Now if men could only realize that golfing isn't as easy as writing a fat check.

I had fun. You may keep me out of the Country Club after this, but please let my two golf-addicted friends play - even just nine holes!

"Sink it" or swim

Some have actually called it “Deathpage”, the Black course at Bethpage being one of the most intimidating golf courses in the world. As rain continues to pound the course the great players at the US Open might as well use a sailboat to get from one hole to the other.

At the crack of dawn we drove to Farmingdale College Lot E for our 6 am charity assignment at the 18th hole concessions tent. It was relatively dry when we started out but could I trust those meteorologists predicting it “could be better today than yesterday”? And you mean what? We’ve seen a deluge of water for who knows how long that all sorts of fungi already make up the fauna (or is it flora) of our region. Toadstools sure look like plants to me or umbrellas?

It was early enough when we got to the College where we parked and hopped on the shuttle to Bethpage. Flaunting our volunteer credentials (one could easily drop $100 a piece for a ticket) we sailed through the gate without any hassle. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Water must’ve pelted the area, but now the place stunk of manure as we walked on hay over mud; galoshes would’ve been in order. Did I mention that I left my polka-dotted rubber boots at home? Good place for it huh?

After a few guesses and detours, we found the tent; actually we heard Judy’s voice coming from behind one of the closed tents. Aha! There they were, four early birds ready to get to work. We got inside to meet Josh the banquet manager and what I saw was enough to inspire a full blown anxiety attack. A mess. Get me a paper bag now quick!

After a few intros, sign-in and brief orientation we donned our aprons over our khaki and white uniforms and started hard labor. Cashier? Runner? Condiments? Griller? Dog and bun assembly? Beer pourer? I chose to be a runner, but little did I know I would be needing roller skates. Josh saw the potential in me and in this mad, mad world of multitasking, he added the condiments stand to the task list. Okay, I’m not getting a performance evaluation after this am I? Good, so you 're getting what you got.

About 7 am the tent drapes were drawn and tada! With a sold-out event, we should expect a huge crowd. Coffee? No, we’re not serving that here, so I had to quickly learn how to give directions to the (Holy) Grill where they sell everything. Hot dogs? Too early. But hey, eat healthy, so why not have a banana or an apple? And that worked - by noontime we’re all out of bananas. My small contribution to health care.

Poor Carol and Dorothy were thrown to the dogs. Nathan’s best but can you wrap 500 in five minutes? Fast paced assembly line wasn’t fast enough for Josh I had to lend a hand. Boy did I learn some wrapping techniques quickly. Sheila's and Maria’s fingers were flying on the registers and Judy kept busy as runner behind them.

Josh would gently remind me of the condiments. I’m on top of it, man. They don’t call me QC (Queen of Condiments) for nothing. Between sweeping the water off the platform and robotically restocking the brownies, cool drinks, fruits and the infamous condiments (jars or gallons of ketchup and mustard), I timed my breaks such that I was able to watch Tiger and Phil, separately of course, finish off at the 18th hole. That was the highlight of my 8-hour duty.

I was smitten by Phil, the sentimental favorite. What a nice guy. Two feet away from me walking towards the clubhouse, he promised to sign autographs after he’s done with his scorecard. It must be hard for him as he endures the pain of watching Amy battle breast cancer.

The big cheers came around 11 am, beer is served! The long line kept the young and pretty Casey busy, what with all the wise guys trying to get her number. She drew a beer crowd and PROM Caterers made a killing at $6.00 a glass. Her father Brian couldn’t hide the foam around his mouth and as a volunteer he’s not even supposed to drink beer. What about the 3 hot dogs he easily gobbled down at breakfast? At the steep prices of eats and the rate he's going, there won't be any money left for our charity. He must've easily chowed down $80 worth of below par food; so, Long Beach Reach you can kiss your share goodbye. He pigged out and it's not even angus beef!

Noontime and Tiger just finished the second round, so the lunch orders started pouring in and the pace and chaos was no longer beer and skittles. Boy, Americans eat a lot of dogs and consume plenty of mustard. Don't forget the onions! No kisses from me, whew!

Free at last at 2 pm - the end of slavery. With all my toes complaining we shuffled to the 18th hole grandstand in the rain. Were there a lot of fair-weather fans behind me! As Furyk said, " NY fans are opinionated and their support is earned, not guaranteed". They're not too kind with folks opening their umbrellas either; was I entertained.

Finally, the end of the day, we couldn't ignore the merchandise tent. All the black logo balls were gone, that's all I can afford to buy here. Judy and Maria got a sleeve of the white ones. Maria bought a canvas three-legged portable chair. We lost Dorothy in the crowd and with no cell phones there was no use hanging around to wait. Maria and I took the shuttle and drove back home in the rain. The beginning of the third round was cancelled, we left with the course practically submerged in a sea of mud; foolish women wearing flip-flops were slipping and sliding or busy cleaning their toes!

What a washout, soggy grounds unfit for man or even the frogs. Wasn't it enough that the Black course lived up to its reputation of being tough that Mother Nature had to add to that?

Oh yes, Dorothy. They found her alright!

What about my toes, are they still there? I can't feel them anymore.

The Lake House

“Or is it just my imagination runnin’ away with me?”, so goes the song.
Really, if only I own this house.

The weekend was beyond my wildest dreams. An invitation from our friend Sheila which I almost declined turned out to be a delightful mini-vacation I could only imagine.

It’s a lakeside house at the very tip of the island at the end of a private road in a hamlet in Candlewood Lake, Connecticut. Picture windows, glass patio doors that open into wooden decks offer a full view of the lake from all sides. Woods and lush vegetation and the lake surround this gorgeous vacation house. Steps lead down from the patio to another deck way down below right next to the lake. My dream house, but it is not quite built for my wondrous agility or lack thereof.

Sheila was waiting, coffee on the stove and a warm welcome. After a quick tour of the house followed by wine and cheese at one of the porches with a magnificent view of the hills and lake, we sat and talked, I busy catching some snapshots of boats, kayaks, and wave runners cruising up and down the lake. The conversation that ensued covered just about anything. The stories of their adventures aboard the schooner Windjammer were just so fascinating. Meanwhile Sister Therese’s ears must’ve been burning; it was a riot and I think Sheila was just too funny.

Lunch was hot dogs and burgers with Judy minding the grill. Carol prepared a healthy looking and great tasting salad of greens some of them harvested from her garden. For Judy and Maria, lunch couldn’t have ended sooner.

Eager to go kayaking, Maria and Judy headed down the beach channel area, then the rest of us followed suit and relaxed as the two explored the lake.

So I can’t swim, but did I have to wear a pfd on dry land? These ladies just won’t quit; Carol asked me to get into the kayak but hey, I’m not going to take a crack at learning how to swim or kayak now.

Dorothy immersed herself into her House Beautiful magazines fishing for ideas on decorating her new home. Nobody seemed to have the time to help her pick colors and designs but she didn't mind after all we're here just to have fun, not to review color charts and swatches. That's way too cerebral.

Carol decided to skip any of the water activities and left all that to the live wires Maria & Judy. She must’ve been reading up on the rules of the game we didn’t know we will be forced to play after dinner that night – Mexican Train Dominoes. That was a nightmare – the rules kept changing as we played on, blame it on Dorothy's expertise.

Or maybe Carol was trying hard to finish her book, the beauty of which there was no due date on the report. She must’ve read less than 10 pages of it. I was always sneaking up behind her, crouching on the ground, snapping shots of the weirdest stuff, such as the oversized mushroom and the perfectly shaped maple leaf.

And how many people does it take to haul up a single kayak? Four sailors, one of them with a bum shoulder, and three who can’t decide which direction to pull. Where is Judy?

Judy was the grill master again that evening. Dorothy made her artichokes dish, Maria watched while it cooked and everyone did the rest of the chores because like a concert pianist I'm saving my precious fingers for more of the same - lousy snapshots.

If there's anything I learned, it's to stay away from arguments in the kitchen, what with all the sharp knives around and the No, No, No's from all five housemates for the weekend. Imagine more of the same - No, No, No during our game of dominoes and why did Dorothy have to pick the Mexican train? Nobody really knew how to play it. I was accused of not knowing what a double is, Maria not knowing how to count, oh it was a mess. I don't blame Sheila for dozing off in the middle of it, she must've hidden some of her tiles just to the end the game. Hohum...

Sunday morning it is, and as usual Carol and I were admiring the scenery and there it was a low-flying plane hovering over the lake. Quick and shoot, but in a second it was gone. Sheila said it's one of the neighbors going off on a Cessna to pick up his morning coffee and the Sunday paper from the small island on the other end of the lake.

Huh? Pinch me, am I still dreaming?

What a rare treat, thank you Sheila for inviting us. Next time we promise not to make a big mess in the kitchen. And I'll stay away from the kids' playroom.

We concluded the weekend by attending church services on Sunday on our way back to New York and that included Judy. She called it the Church of St. Edward the Professor.

No, No, No, it is the Confessor. But then again what does she know, she is a Protestant.

One thing I know I will be dreaming about Billy's house for a long time.