The Power of the Seat

In many of the institutions I headed, I coordinated the graduation ceremonies. I usually was in charge of, at the very least, reading out the names of the graduates. This is not a valued position, as you can make a great mistake and ruin a family’s day. However, I wanted to make sure the names were correct so I took over the job, with an early practice, asking most students to tell me their names as I looked at their printed file card which included all necessary information; name, major and honours etc.

I often screwed these up at rehearsal and there were amazing stories, most of which I already explained in this blog years ago. However, today I focused on the opportunity I had to control the assembled multitudes because I had “the power of the seat”.

As the audience sat, the faculty, staff and special guests would walk in and go to the stage, the graduates would follow and make to their seats, and all eyes were on me, l and everyone knew not to sit down until they saw me sit.

When I sat, having the ability to see that everyone had made it to their seats, everyone else sat. I had the “power of the seat”.

Last night we went to the Hamilton Philharmonic to see Beethoven’s Violin concerto and following the intermission, the Ninth Symphony. With about 250 people on stage for the Ninth, it was a packed house.

I have been having trouble with my knee lately, and although I’m finally off the cane, I still have some trouble, especially with stairs. After a beautiful Violin concerto, the audience was applauding and standing, and having an end seat, I decided to make it out to the lobby to get a Diet Coke before the throngs were released. I dashed out and was able to get down the stairs before everyone else so I could slowly make it and not be crushed by traffic.

I got out and to the bar, and no one followed. What I could not have known was that the violinist would play an unscheduled encore for a few minutes, so no one except me left the theatre.

There was a trio prepared to entertain in the second floor café, and they, of course, had no idea either that there would be an encore. My best guess is that when I broke out between the doors during the loud applause, I became the signal for intermission. They were triggered into action by my drink purchase, and loudly started to play “The Entertainer”. It went on for a bit and could clearly be heard through the doors and into the main hall as a very sweet and quiet encore was progressing. Someone must have come out and hushed them, because in my confusion about why I was alone and why music was playing from above, the music stopped.

I believe, after thinking about it, that I must have had the “power of leaving my seat”.

Getting to School

A long time ago I wrote about getting to school. This story appeared at http://arthursdays.blogspot.ca/2009/03/i-am-mr-getlin.html

In watching the kids at the bus stop waiting for the school bus every morning it made me think again about getting to school.

In order to go to high school, I had several choices of transportation, none of them perfect.

We had to make a choice at the end of the 9^th grade as to where we would like to go to high school. For some unknown reason, probably due to space availability, when I was leaving the 8^th grade they asked us to choose. The scientific method they chose to make the decision was to give the first 5 people on the class list their high school choice and the next 5 stayed in the junior high school. I luckily was included in the list of getting your choice.

We had many high school choices; basically the whole city of Baltimore was open for enrollment. Most likely for the kids in the Jewish neighborhoods was Forest Park High School, a place we could walk to. It was just 2 blocks from our current junior high and was a no brainer. However, we did have a few other logical choices; the most promising for me was City College, the third oldest high school in the US and sort of the academic one, or Poly (Baltimore Polytechnic Institute) the engineering and math type school where I would never fit. I chose City which necessitated some interesting transportation woes. Basically, it was three buses away, and took about 45 minutes on a good day.

We were eligible for a bus pass which gave us, I think, a 10 cent ride to and from school. The best solution was having a friend with a car so you didn’t have to worry about getting there, but gave you lots of opportunities to cut school and go all sorts of places. I traveled around suburban Baltimore and visited friends in other high schools and was chased in and out of an assortment of schools as a trespasser. We went to friends’ homes for a day of TV and fun, or once in a while found both boys and girls who were hiding out and found an assortment of very innocent things to keep us busy.

But most of the time I went to school. The only problems came when friends graduated and we were left without as many guys with their own cars. This meant we had to find a way to school.

Hitching a ride was the best part, and even though it required at least two and sometimes up to four rides, the challenge was there. It was a” trial by transportation” most of the time. I am amazed looking back on those most simple and innocent times, how helpful people were. There were so many who gave us, up to 5 or 6 of us sometimes, a ride to the next stop or all the way to school.

I have little memories of bus rides, although in the 4 years I spent in high school, I must have used the bus often.

What you see is truly what you got.

I was away for a bit and heard saw and some wonderful things.

In Ali Baba’s Shwarma Shop in West Bloor Village (near Toronto) today, I was eating lunch (my favorite shwarma shop) and a couple was in line near by ordering. He ordered two sandwiches for them and the woman behind the counter said, “With everything?” Sure, he said, and asked his wife’ “You want that with everything?” “Sure”, she said, “but what’s everything?” The woman showed her all the stuff layed out on the table in little buckets and she said, “What’s that?” pointing. ”Cabbage”, the woman answered. “I don’t want cabbage”, she said. “I don’t want any of that either, and none of that and no hot sauce, I guess I’ll just have everything with only humus”.

A young woman was standing by her lounge chair, taking off her excess clothing by the pool. We were in downtown Toronto on the most beautiful day I have ever seen, sitting by the pool and the pool bar enjoying the afternoon. We were reading and I was ogling a bit. The woman had to remove her sweat pants, as she had bikini bottoms underneath and as she removed the pants (pulled them down) she also pulled down the bikini bottoms and her bare ass was exposed to no one in particular except to me. She quickly and deftly repaired the problem and no one except me even noticed.

A man yelled to his wife from the bar, “How’d you like a vodka and pomegranate?” “Is it diet?” After a brief conversation with the bartender he says, “No, it’s not diet”.
A thought moment occurs...
”No, forget it, if it’s not diet”.
 Another thought moment occurs...
“Get me a Rye and Coke!”

Two guys at the bar were talking to the bartender as she was making them pitchers of sangria. She was doing a great job and all three of us were commenting on her good work. The young guys were very nice and when the first guy went to pay he pulled out a roll of bills from his bathing suit pocket that surprised me as it was the largest amount of cash I’d ever seen. I’d only seen a similar roll while having drinks many years ago with an old time gangster, a story I will not tell in these pages. There seemed to be many hundreds among the other bills, and frankly I would never have that much cash with me but I guess it was good for a young guy, probably early 20’s.

The bill was $45, and he gave her $60 and told her to keep the change. She argued a bit, and I was surprised by the whole adventure, as was another guy waiting for a beer. He apologised (very Canadian) for not being that kind of a tipper. I did not apologise and did comment on his roll of bills.

There was another woman with an incredible bikini but I have learned from recent beach trips that today’s woman is not in the least bit shy or demure for the most part. Stuff just seems to hang right out there. What you see is truly what you got.

Girls

Heather says to me, “You have a 20 year old daughter, you’d love this show! Well, maybe not love it, but you’d probably find it interesting and most of the girls are naked a lot of the time!” The last one got me interested.

I said to my wife this morning that in Girls(which she has never seen and surly will not  now)  the guy who plays the boss and grabs the office girls ass all the time is played by the guy who was David on “One Day at a Time”, a guy people used to think looked like me.

I never realized my youngest daughter was still home. “You should not be watching that show, you old creep! That show is for teen agers. There needs to be a block on the TV so I can keep you out!”

“I get no respect”- Rodney Dangerfield and Arthur Greenblatt.

This show is a brilliant piece of work, a cross between a sitcom and a soft porn series. The lead character, writer, director spends much of her on screen time naked. There is more sex than I have seen on any main stream comedy. I read about it in Rolling Stone and the Globe and Mail. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to watch. I reawlly enjoy the show, albeit I am a creepy old man.

It comes to us from writer/director/actor Lena Dunham ,Judd Apatow and Jenni Konner. This scripted half-hour series focuses on a group of 20-something women in New York and their adventures in post-collegiate floundering. Two years out of liberal arts school, Hannah (Dunham) believes she has the talent to be a successful writer, and though she has yet to complete her memoir (she has to live it first), her parents cut her off financially without warning. Further complicating things for Hannah is her unrequited passion for eccentric actor Adam, with whom she occasionally has sex (when he can be bothered to respond to her text messages). As the harsh reality of rent and bills looms, Hannah leans on her very-put-together best friend and roommate Marnie, who has a real job at an art gallery and an even realer boyfriend (neither of which she can admit she might not love.) Meanwhile, their gorgeous British friend Jessa, who has travelled to as many different countries as she’s had boyfriends, appears in the city and moves in with Shoshanna, her naïve younger cousin with Sex and the City lifestyle aspirations.

This is a wonderful series I now will watch by myself in the middle of the night. This is much like watching porn, as in by myself in the middle of the night.

Spanish Dinner

It was a Spanish meal for the dinner club. There were a few wrinkles involved in this one as one of our member couples has split and we have interest from both sides in attendance, making things sometimes a bit hairy. However, as we are a rag tag group without regularly scheduled timing, things can be a scheduled and reschedule\d and we can work things out.

We have been eating together for at least 12 years.
This evening included the addition of the “new girlfriend”, setting things all a twitter. Who was she, what was she etc., although no one of us were worried, it was all just a mystery.

The focus is the dinner. We were loud, obnoxious and all had a great time and the dinner was fantastic.

I started with Spanish beer quickly moving on to Rolling Rock.

The appetisers brought by one couple were two kinds of chips with a wonderful mango salsa that I was told was great but since I am allergic to mangoes, I declined. That’s how I knew about the two kinds of chips, that’s what I had. As well, there was an amazing stuffed mushroom cap filled with chorizo or something like that with bread crumbs and maybe even some cheese. I have no idea, but it was hot from the oven and delicious.

At some point Peter, as it was his house and he and his new girlfriend were the hosts, began to fill strange bowls on the table. The small bowls were filled with red wine which I later found out were wine cups to drink from and I did. The other two, long ceramic bowls has a strange ceramic covering of ceramic rack, I guessed. He filled those with vodka and later tried to light them, which failed. We asked his girlfriend (I am leaving out names to protect the innocent here) and she said they were from her girlfriend and she told her to use cheap booze. We suggested brandy instead, which Peter found and poured out the vodka to use later and filled it with brandy. It was then decided to go and get a small soldering blowtorch as the matches didn’t do the trick.
It turned out (blowtorches work!) these were trays to cook chorizo, both the sweet kind and the hot kind.

Chorizo is a term encompassing several types of pork sausages originating from the Iberian Peninsula.

Chorizo can be a fresh sausage, in which case it must be cooked before eating. In Europe, it is more frequently a fermented, cured, smoked sausage, in which case it is usually sliced and eaten without cooking. Spanish chorizo and Portuguese chouriço get their distinctive smokiness and deep red color from dried smoked red peppers (Due to culinary tradition, and the expense of imported Spanish smoked paprika, Mexican chorizo (but not throughout Latin America) is usually made with chili peppers, which are used abundantly in Mexican cuisine. In Latin America, vinegar also tends to be used instead of the white wine usually used in Spain. Traditionally, chorizo is encased in natural casings made from intestines, a method used since the Roman times.

Chorizo can be eaten as is (sliced or in a sandwich), grilled, fried, or simmered in apple cider or other strong alcoholic beverage such as aguardiente
Spanish-style tapas bars that serve traditional-style chorizo have gained in popularity in recent years, and now appear in many large cities throughout North America.

We cooked the already smoked sausage which we had along with chicken made of the grill with a wonderful spicy flavor and pork tenderloin and pork rib-lets made in peri-peri sauce. With this was had small roasted potatoes and a large bowl of Spanish rice. The salad which we brought and was served first consisted of red onion, fennel and orange slices in a Spanish dressing.

The dessert was a large tray of berries and homemade white fudge and chocolates made of agave flavored coconut covered in chocolate, also homemade by one of the other guests. She also announced to the “new girlfriend” that she had promised me a blow job on the 100th birthday, which you may remember from a previous post. This news I figured may have been startling (we were quite lubricated at that point) but she seemed to take it all in good stride. The same young woman announced when the sausage was served, “I don’t think I can get my lips around that one!”, and we knew there was a theme here.

Late in the dinner, all of which was done outside, a disembodied voice came over the fence in the backyard wishing my wife a good night and hoping she was having a nice time. This came from the neighbor in the back who is also my wife’s piano teacher and a friend, although not quite a friend of our home owner. It was strange.

One hell of a dinner and for once, although I seldom say this, I was meated out!

The Cane Continues

As the season of the cane wanes, and I become less reliant upon it, while I can’t say I’ll miss it, I will notice it’s being gone.

People have been much kinder to me because of it. Amazingly, I have had doors held open for me; I have been let in front of people in lines. The things you think someone might do for an older person that they never do, will work for a handicapped one.

It is an interesting position to be in and yet I can’t wait to leave it.

The pain is not yet gone and my biggest problem is my reflexes. Because quick movements seem to twist my right knee, it’s hard not to make them. I need to become anti intuitive and only move when I think about it. My problems seem to be reactive. A car comes too near me on a parking lot and my leg decides to twist out of the way, leaving me in pain.

I have to let this one play out. My wife has been very helpful and has been walking Max in the mornings (my job) and has taken out the trash. There is a gradual improvement each day, and driving the car is getting easier, as I can once again drive with my right foot rather than the two foot drive, which is scary.

I look forward to the immediate future. My lawn mowing help comes tomorrow, so I don’t have that fear. The weekend is beautiful and I hope to see the outside and enjoy the weather.

I am currently deciding on the best story to tell about my leg when people ask. To say it was caused by strain or old age and weight, is a dumb story with not much sympathy involved.

 I met a guy a few years ago who was pretty badly beat up and had a large cast. He said he fell down a mountain in Peru. This is a great story!

When I broke my ankle in 2001, it was taking out the trash. This was a dumb story!

I think my leg injury should be falling off of a skate or snow board, that’s cool!

Cane Time

I am now using a cane.
This is not the Bat Masterson approach, a cane and derby hat, not the cool cane of another era, but the sad cane of old and crippled.
I just started to hurt on Sunday, and by the evening, it was bad. I was in pain,, and thought it would work itself out. I spent the day at the Doors Open Hamilton event, welcoming people into our building.

I expected not to be busy and thought we would have maybe 50 people in attendance, but we had more than 200. This meant that the book I took with me to read sat on my desk and I was up on my feet most of the time.
I guess starting with our annual auction in mid-April; I had lots of opportunities to be standing around for hours at a time, something I don’t do very often.
By Sunday night I was not walking very well, maybe not at all. Steps were a big problem. On Monday it began to get better but at night it was horrible. I had a Tuesday appointment with the doctor. She sent me for x-rays to see if it was more than the dreaded, “Old and Fat” disease.
I had no response from her office today and can assume it was as expected and no further efforts need be made except stop eating and get younger. She offered drugs but I was fine with Motrin which did help.
This morning it was so much better I was going to forget the cane, one I had left over from an earlier (11 years ago) ankle break. As I was putting on my right sock, I pulled up my right leg a bit on my left knee and I heard (and felt) a tendon snap! OMG!! I went through the roof, and right back to the cane.
Now, I had a real problem, as the twisting effect took over and it was suddenly hard to do thing like drive my car as my foot is turned to use the break and the gas. It hurts!
I went to Costco and had to park a block away and walk and return. It was killing me. Getting in and out of the car hurts now as well because of twisting.
I am using ice now, and it helps, and praying that I’ll lose weight and get younger real soon!
http://youtu.be/IRNImRxRNjc

The Pressure

I had a friend who was a designer, and was doing quite well. At one point he decided he had to take on another person, and used friends to help out. Once in a while the friend screwed these jobs up and he was horrified. He was unable to discipline his employee as it was his friend.

Later on, as work increased, he realized he needed full-time help to complete these major jobs, and he had to hire someone. These were in the days before computers, and yes, there are days before computers, and work was a hand job (you’ll pardon the expression).

His concern grew by leaps and bounds as work expanded and he had the necessary components to make it all happen, but there were times when work declined and he had concerns about paying his employee.

He was unable to handle an employee, and realized he had to pay the employee first, even if he received no wages himself.

It got so bad that he had to fire the employee with much concern and take on all the work himself not to have the pressure of the obligation that an employee imposed on his being.


There was, of course, too much work for one person to perform.


In the end, he decided to quit the very successful design practice he had developed and become a carpenter, which required using his skills and never having to employ another person.

Boards

I have sat on Boards and with Boards most of my adult life. All my experience have been with not for profit Boards as no for profit corporation sees me as a suitable candidate for their Board, and I understand that, although I’d love the salary attached.

In an early Board experience, in the late 60’s, I was the youngest member of a not for profit Board and was responsible for their youth program as a volunteer advisor. This was a health related charity which is an unusual role for me as it wasn’t art related.

On that Board was one of the organizational founders, an older man, retired and in maybe his late 60’s or early 70’s, which seemed to me at the time like a very old man, although today I would not use that terminology.

Somewhere during the meeting we could be sure he would start to pontificate about what we did in the old days, and how it used to be. We would all roll our eyes and let him go on until he was through, and then go on with the meeting.

I realize that today, I may be that guy!

I promised myself all those many years ago that I wouldn’t get that way, and now here I am saying stuff like “I’ve been doing this for more than 40 years and…….”

We always were very kind to him and let him speak, although we never listened to what he said. I think people may be doing that to me, however, I have noticed one difference.

He was a very wealthy man, the retired CEO of a major national conglomerate, and every one listened because he funded most of it.

I don’t find myself in the same position…….

The Neighborhood Auction

This is the house where we were living  in Sudbrook Park.

In about 1976, when we lived in Sudbrook Park, Pikesville, Maryland there was an auction up the road a bit from my house. Sudbrook Park is a historic neighborhood near Pikesville, Maryland located just northwest of the Baltimore City limits in Baltimore County.


The community dates to 1889 when it was designed by American landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted, Sr. (1822–1903) and developed by the Sudbrook Company. Known most for designing well-known urban projects like Central Park in New York City, Olmsted conceived this "suburban village" with curved roads and open green spaces, traits that set the community apart from its contemporaries.


Sudbrook Park was registered on the National Register of Historic Places in 1973, and from 1993 to 1999 portions of Sudbrook Park became listed as Baltimore County Historic Districts.


The auction was held in one of the historic homes and included all the interior furnishings. The story, told by residents to each other at the time of the auction, and seemed to make sense from a neighbourhood perspective was that when the family died off, they left the use of the property to their servants (household help) until their death, which ended with the last person dying in 1976.

It was a sunny day with lots of attendees. I wanted to bid on lots of stuff, and althouigh I had a large home nearby, I didn’t need much. I bought a silver plated over copper English tray, some old photographs, a great old lithograph in a golden oak frame (in my bathroom today) and some other items I can’t remember.

There was a large wood wardrobe cabinet in many pieces that was beautiful but needed some work. While I had no used for it, I considered it great for a friend of mine (or maybe a few of my friends) and thought if it was a bargain I would bid on it. I have always been a sucker when it comes to bargains and sometimes buy stuff I don’t need, because it’s just too good to let go for that price. I am an idiot, of course.

When the bidding started, I was in the middle of it. There was a woman bidding against me who seemed to want to go crazy for it, but I was determined. At $5 increments (these were 1970’s dollars) we moved to $80 and she was out. I bought it for $80 and thought about it for a while and realized I had to move it to my house, while only a half a block away, it was pretty big and I had to do it myself so I decided to do the noble thing. I asked the woman to take it from me for $90.

She said she would think about it, and to this day she has not responded.


Funny about auction activity, even if she really wanted it, after a moment to think, it didn’t seem like a good idea.


A friend of mine had it picked up at my house and paid me the $80. It was refinished and had a beautiful rosewood veneer.