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eddie reader, "kiteflyer's hill"
 

The Eyes Of Tammy Faye;
The Fast And The Furious
 

The Turn of the Screw; Entertainment Weekly; Harper's
 

"The attack was an attack on American foreign policy, which, for the last thirty years, has allied itself, both at home and abroad, with despotism and the weapons trade, a policy conducted by and for a relatively small cadre of selfish interests unrepresentative of (and unaccoutable to) the American people as a whole."
-Lewis H. Lapham

• sleeping in.
• vegetating
• lots of reading
• general slothfulness
• sun, sun, sun

I went to the snow-covered fields of the Adirondacks, courtesy of my friend Gail (who despite being older and suffering from a heart condition is still spry and amusing and has a great tolerance for watching films which contain Jamie Lee Curtis even though she doesn't like her), who lets me come up and puts on a great fuss about me so that I can frolic in the snow and generally get my ice limit for the season. Because in that area, New York has been a grave disappointment this year.

I wrapped up a rather harrowing week at work, doing extra bits and pieces so I wouldn't fall behind while being off for President's Day week, and naturally whilst away some interesting developments regarding my show broke, so I naturally feel out of the loop. I never have any legitimate reason for this feeling, but whenever I take more than a day or two off of work, I just assume I'm going to walk in on Monday and get fired. It's a weird kind of ego-paranoia; sure, the magazine does fine without me, but I always figure they're going to Find Out Something about me while I'm not there to watch my back and decide to get rid of me. 

So Saturday I zoomed up to Utica on the Amtrak, which is absolutely one of my favorite rides. I need to remember to sit on the left side riding up, the right side going down (at least I got one right) because that train ride up the Hudson is just spectacular. The river is almost level with the train, so you feel as though you're hydroplaning; the mountains across the other side create a perfect mirror reflection in the flat water. At one point we passed under a bridge, and I couldn't stop staring at the symmetrical bridgework in the water; the effect seemed to be both under and over me at the same time. The lack of ice and snow was rather depressing, but then we got nearer to Albany and things perked up. This kind of bizarro weather we've been having the past few years generates a lot of stupid conversation among people who both love and hate snow. A typical comment: "Boy, it's warm for this time of year! Isn't that great?"

Nope, it isn't. I know snow's a pain in the ass if you have kids or drive a car or have a driveway (I'm 0 for 3 on that) but if you don't like snow, move south. Like, to Florida. And in the meantime, stop driving those frickin' SUVs, which pollute the atmosphere even more than cars normally do, which then opens the ozone hole and creates more bizarre, silly warm winter days. I've got nothing against warm weather. In its place. But a year without snow is both sad and such an obvious sign of global warming that it kills me how people have no sense of the long-range plan. They're just focused on their little comforts. How about letting them know that their grandchildren might be living in a desert, or at best in the midst of a several-year drought? New Jersey is on drought alert, putting on water restrictions. In February! Wake up, people. You don't have to be Miss Cleo (whose Psychic Friends Network is now being charged with fraud – jeez, guess they couldn't see it coming) to know that Something Is Seriously Wrong Here.

Besides, I don't trust perfect weather. These same people who have no long-range foresight always glow over things like Perfect Weather All The Time, and How Nice World Peace Would Be. People aren't – well, most people aren't – designed for perfection. We got kicked out of Eden for a reason. We like to fuck with the establishment, we like to ask questions. People who don't are boring, and halfway dead. World Peace is another issue, but if suddenly World Peace broke out tomorrow, can you imagine the unemployment? Eh, just like me, putting a damper on peace.
 

Moving along, up I went to Utica, where Gail picked me up. She looks rather hale and hearty, but has bad carpal tunnel and has to wear wrist braces on both hands a lot of the time; she had a heart attack a few years ago (after cleaning up the house in anticipation of a visit of mine! Oh, the guilt) so I always want to assist and run around and do things and treat her like an invalid which isn't fair at all. She's a great cook – once we got home she made my favorite cheese and mayo hot dip (man, a heart attack on a stick that one) and roasted veggies which were just lovely.

gail and friend!

I had brought some VHS movies even though she has some, and we watched some of them. The rest of the weekend was relaxing and enjoyable, but no sleeping in – Gail goes to bed rather early and gets up super early, so that by 8 she's rarin' to go, wherever we end up going. She lives in a small town in the Adirondacks, which is just one of my favorite places – I know so few small towns. Her house isn't too spectacular from the street, but it does have an outdoor porch with a swing and the inside is just adorable, all wood trim and neat little antiques and crystal and silver oddities. She even has a small sculpture of Christopher Robin and Pooh, which she puts in the back garden during nice weather. At the end of the backyard is a small secondary house, which she rents out. It's just darling. But sit down and talk with her long enough and you hear all of the sordid stories of the various town residents – from who's sleeping with who, to who's an alcoholic, to who neglects his kids, to the clash of the town council around the subject of the really, really annoying snowmobilers who zoom through town – and suddenly New York feels cleaner! But I like going there anyway, especially since I don't know anyone else there except her friend Doc, who is the local chiropractor. Has a bustling business, too – we went and sat in his office a little while as people came in and out, and during some quiet periods we sat around talking. One of the customers is Doc's cross-country skiing partner, and he brought his dog, who loved chasing after a golf ball. So I threw the ball in the snow, the dog would leap on it and bring it back. Dogs are silly that way. After about five times, she just sat there chewing on it. I kept trying to get her to bring the ball to me for more throwing, and she wasn't interested. I train very easily.

Later on, we visited the local General Store, which has a ton of just about anything and everything you could want, including at least a hundred different cookie cutter shapes. There was a dog there, too, who was friendly and sweet for about thirty seconds – and then the store owner decided to let me know that "she's been sick, so..." just as the dog bared her teeth. I dodged a snapping. Dogs love me! Usually. I was hurt. Well, not physically. I also went to church with Gail the next day, and since not being Christian I don't get to many Sunday services, I found the whole thing interesting. Even made a contribution to the collection basket. Gail sits upstairs in the balcony with the rest of the choir, but there wasn't any special singing on Sunday. Meanwhile, outside the snowmobilers continued zooming by. Heretics! Later, she took me out to the ski area, where there are at least four different slopes, and a Winter Carnival was going on, so everyone was competing in various snow events. I got out of the car and turned into a seven-year old – all of the kids were sledding down a short slope, at the top of which was a castle built out of snow bricks. Gail was very tolerant of me as I grabbed an abandoned sled and went careening down a few times. I even posed like a goober in front of the snow castle. Ice makes me giddy.

We stayed outside watching the skiers (including some of the itty bittiest children, who we decided had less distance to fall down if they did take a tumble) until we were freezing, then went inside the lodge and burned our mouths with some hot chocolate. It was a madhouse in there – tons of families, equipment, goofy fleece hats and fried food for all. They gave out small medals for the ski winners, and despite the fact that I really have about zero interest in the Olympics, it was fun watching the kids get all excited. (That is my one and only O reference, by the way. What a boring waste of TV time, in my opinion, although Sarah Hughes is kind of neat. Mom made me watch her. More later.) 
 
 

I got to do some skiing of my own, only cross-country with Doc another day. That was fabulous. Cross-country skiing is the perfect sport – when you're hot, you stop and cool down 'cause it's freezing out; when you're cold, start up again and you get a nice sweat going. Trudging up the hills is a little tough, but the reward of flying down and trying not to tumble on your ass afterwards is worth it. Plus, snowmobiles buzzing in the distance like huge mosquitoes aside, the quiet is very peaceful and lovely. The world is white, the river is gurgling, the trees are bordering you in, and you'd have no other sense that what you're skiing over is usually a golf course. I did naturally fall, twice, and I swear, you feel like a turtle turned over when you're face down in the snow with the skis crossed behind you. Fortunately, Doc helped me up or I might still be there. We ended up skiing about 2 miles, which I think is pretty respectable. But boy did I feel it later.

snow bunny

Mom visited up from Maryland on Wednesday, and overall I think we had a fab time. But she's still recovering from her hip surgeries (one wasn't enough; they had to recall a part and do it all over, and the whole scene was just miserable – mainly of course for her) and walks even ... more ... slowly ... than ... ever. Which isn't too bad at home, since most of the time we're in cars, but in New York it's a small chamber of hell. Plus, she's kind of out of shape (not as bad as Gail) and we did a lot of pausing and slowing down and stopping. Which rather puts a kibosh on getting a hell of a lot done. Still, we did respectable and she was pretty game for everything, which I give her lots of credit for. (She's a lot more tolerant of my crankiness than I can be of her walking, which just proves she's got mom love for me.) From the train station we headed downtown to stroll the streets and ended up in a fur shop which made (out of scraps of mink) small coats/hats for Barbie dolls, one of which I'd bought for Buddie years ago – and Mom got friendly with the Israeli woman running the place. She also ended up buying a coat. I shit you not. It's a bomber jacket out of mink, which comes with a hood, but they can turn it into a purse if she wants. $900. She swears its a steal, and although she couldn't take it with her, she put a down payment on and will now come back in October for the thing. Whoa. I'm not really a fur person (though I do love the feel of shaved beaver ... uh, yeah) but she's all about having a good fur. So, more power to her. We met up with a friend of hers for dinner at Ruby Foos, thus beginning a string of dinners at my absolute favorite New York places (the next night: The Gotham Bar and Grill; Friday night, Tavern On The Green). 

Next day, I'd gotten tickets for The View (she's a big Baba Wawa fan) from the Good Publicist at ABC Daytime (the Bad, Evil one is out on maternity leave and long may she stay) and they were even VIP, so we ended up sitting in the front row of the audience, inches from BW and The Gang. I'm not a huge fan of the show, but mom likes it, and of course, there's BW. Mom thinks they all look tinier and skinnier than in person and almost seemed personally offended by Lisa Ling's emaciation. "Barbara has great legs," she marveled. Mom, who has had bad thighs her whole life, notices these things. Another thing about Mom – she makes friends with everyone, everywhere, which just amazes me, since I'm not usually rude, but I don't exactly engage with everyone. She got to know the student we sat next to in the row, she made friends with the salesclerk at the Metropolitan Museum gift shop, even got chatty with the salesguy at the cheap, cruddy souvenir store we wandered into on 57th Street later that day. She'll just talk to anybody. So The View was good, although I was a bit worn out – some idiot's car alarm literally went off every three minutes or so, right outside my window, all night. Mom was so worn out from her initial travel day she never heard a thing, but I had my head under a pillow, ears stuffed with cotton and a hat on and could still hear the damned thing. So although I lasted okay through The View (Kevin Bacon put in an appearance as a guest, so I wonder if this makes me and Mom one degree of Bacon), I was pretty crushed after a walk through Central Park, a stop in Bergdorf Goodman's (for some reason we were on a quest for a red tie for Larry; BG had tons – for $135 a pop) and a stroll down 57th (where Mom made friends and got a Betty Boop Kleenex holder, along with Osama Bin Laden toilet paper for my brother, which we agreed was probably his style and some socks for Buddie which had the Manhattan skyline – no Twin Towers; anything which had the former WTC on it Mom insisted was "too sad" and rejected out of hand) I was ready to fall apart. So we sat around in Cafe Europa and had a soda before heading to the Gotham; it was a good chance to watch the traffic and play Look At That [Fill In The Blank] Person! Also, without totally planning it I felt around a little on the adoption issue. I'm not at a point where I want to search, and in truth I don't believe I have that big empty space in me some adopted people claim to have (I say "I don't believe," because who knows if I'm self-deluding, but as of this moment, I really don't believe so) but apparently I'm at a ripe age for people to start to consider looking. I'd like medical records, I really would, but I don't think there's any way to get them without searching openly. And Mom should be involved, but she often gets hairy when I bring up any questions. This time, she seemed cool. So although I didn't broach the idea, she might be all right with it. That's one of the good things about spending a significant amount of time together – you can get past the small talk and eventually wander into deeper territory without planning it.

The Gotham. Fab food. Fab service. A really cute guy who looked like a famous actor I can't think of the name of. Did I mention the food was fab? Magnifique. The rest of the trip involved the Met (she'd never been; we checked out the Extreme Fashion exhibit, and nude photos by Irving Penn), Tavern (good food, good service) and a surprise Broadway show – we bought tickets, discounted, via the Internet (www.theatermania.com was a godsend) for Bea Arthur live on stage. Okay, so it wasn't Chicago, but Mom really likes her, too, so she wanted to go. And since she was paying, how could I turn down an evening with Maude? Years ago Maude scared me – she was this big blowsy woman on TV and as a little kid her outfits and voice were terrifying – but now I know better and have respect for the show and what it was doing. So you got an evening of cheesy songs ("What Can You Get A Nudist For Her Birthday?") and jokes, all told by a 70 plus woman in her bare feet and a pianist. Hell, it's Broadway, anything can happen. And the next day, back to Penn Station to see her off. I headed out to the archery range (I hadn't been able to go in two weeks) and then came home to collapse and veg. That's a lot of social interaction for me – a whole week's worth! Yet, it was fun. I love taking people around to my favorite places.
 

And then there was Vin Diesel in a truly wretched film, The Fast And The Furious (though not as wretched as I'd been led to believe) but since it was Vin, all was well with the world. In the deleted scenes, there's a section where Vin and the other actors are filmed talking about the first time they drove, and the director, Rob Cohen, overdubbed his reasoning behind deleting the scene. The actors all have their shirts off, which isn't necessarily a big deal for me, but with Vin I make an exception. And the director ended his commentary on that scene with a shot of Vin, shirtless, explaining something, and quite drolly said, "Vin needs to work out." Heh. And, tres cool -- there's going to be a sequel to Pitch Black: The Chronicles of Riddick. Whee!

That's all folks ... bye, Mr. Jones.