Odds and ends

Ever since I was old enough to feed myself I have been peeling bananas just one way. Some call it the monkey way others the upside down method. I peel the banana from the tip while I hold the banana by its handle.

You might think I've lost it or perhaps I'm high.

This topic has triggered a lot of heated debates among my friends at the old workplace. They believe that it's so dysfunctional the way I peel my banana and that no one else does it my way, until one day there it was, all yellow and right smack in the middle of Broadway. And guess what - the banana was split from the tip and peeled my way! There you go, follow my lead!

Call it the monkey way but since they are the undisputed experts in this department I don't mind being associated with them. I did a little digging and the good people at Wikipedia referred to the song Mellow Yellow by Donovan as rumored to have been about smoking dried banana skins believed to be hallucinogenic. Of the many drugs with unpronounceable names, right under our nose is bananadine, can you imagine? Tripping on bananas? Or did they just make this up?

Another odd practice of mine is reading the last page first.

I have to admit to reading any magazine backwards because I like the last page best but I'm not exactly an end -reader and I don't read the last page of a book first. It just seems natural for me. I pick and choose what I read first in a newspaper or magazine, I read piecemeal and I hop all over the place.

Check out this advice column by Jeffrey Goldberg found in the last page of The Atlantic, "What's Your Problem?" and tell me if that isn't hilarious. Read about the troubled sperm donor in the July/August issue, I think it's a riot.

Other noteworthy last pages that aim at humor:
The Awesome Column by Joel Stein (Time )

The Last Page (Smithsonian)

Findings (Harper's Magazine)

I bet you there's a few more out there and I leave it up to you to find out.

I love the 60's but no I have not been doping myself with banana peels. This is my natural state of mind - bizarre.

Live and Let Die

What are you talking about?

Paul who?

McCartney?

Get out! Are you serious?
How come I didn't hear about it?

So I heard it was a blast of a christening for The Mets' new stadium Citi Field. Paul McCartney did it again. 1965, I was fresh out of college, when The Beatles made history by playing at the former Shea Stadium.

I didn't see them then; I didn't see him yesterday either.

What's wrong with me? Where's my brain?

And I'm only a stone's throw away from the stadium. Bummer.
Somebody, just shoot me please and end this misery.

Part of Setlist : Drive my Car/Jet/I Saw Her Standing There/Let It Be/Yesterday/Get Back/Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band/Paperback Writer/Hey Jude/Day Tripper/Eleanor Rigby/Lady Madonna/Jet/Band on the Run etc....

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!