Paul LaRosa's Blog

Large sugar-based drinks like soda might disgust a lot of people — like Mayor Bloomberg — but if you want to find a particularly odious food, how about foie gras, that French delicacy that is produced by force-feeding ducks and geese through funnels shoved down their throats so that their livers become engorged, a traditional method known as gavage. The production of this highly-desired food, mainly eaten by the well-to-do, is considered so cruel that California has banned the production and sale of foie gras starting July 1 2012.

Which brings us back to large sodas which are, after all, the purview of the common man. Foie gras, not so much. They don’t sell foie gras (which means “fatty liver”) at the mall or movie theaters or Burger King. They do sell it aplenty in French restaurants, the kind frequented by Mayor Bloomberg and other high-rollers.

But the mayor’s proposed ban has more to do with public health than the inhumane treatment of animals, you say? That’s true but there are reports that link foie gras to Alzheimer’s disease and type 2 diabetes. Perhaps Mayor Bloomberg is preparing a ban on foie gras even as we speak but I’ve heard nothing publicly. Like all quality of life decrees, the banning of large sugar-based drinks is a slippery slope. Once you ban one food, why not the next? Certainly foie gras is in the running for an all-out ban but maybe not, at least not while it’s the preferred M & M’s of the wealthy among us.

I had heard that Barcelona natives never went to sleep and stayed out late but that’s an understatement — they make New Yorkers look like refugees from Mayberry RFD. Even now, approaching midnight, I look out my window and sees dozens of senior citizens gabbing, eating and drinking at the outdoor cafes. The young-uns probably aren’t even up yet. This is one late night city and I’m not sure I can keep up.  (Note to my friend Alec: move here. No one uses Facebook, they live Facebook.)

Maybe if I eat even more tapas and drink even more sangria. I’ve done my best. At lunch the other day, I ordered my wife and I a litre of sangria. She thought I’d lost my mind but I said, hey, we’ve gotta keep up and put on a good show for New Yorkers everywhere. Alas, we finished two-thirds, not the whole thing, and gave the rest away. But I’ll tell you one thing — the whimsical architecture of Gaudi looked a whole lot more whimsical after that lunch. I barely found my way out of Park Guell.

Thank God for the bus tourista, at least I think it was a bus tourista — I could have been on the back of an old El Camino for all I knew. I did think it strange that I had the tourista ear phones — the ones that are supposed to point out highlights — but never heard a thing.

Barcelona is a fun place but I’m thinking I might like to have one meal that doesn’t involve the word tapas! Would it kill the restaurants here to serve dinner occasionally?

And I wouldn’t want to be a pig or a Kosher butcher around these parts. I’ve never seen so many pigs legs in my life. But it’s a very cool place, even if I’ve yet to see Scarlett Johansson which, you know, is the whole reason I came. Gaudi who?

 

 

As New Jersey Judge Glenn Berman began his build-up to the sentencing of former Rutgers University student Dharun Ravi, it really sounded as though he was about to lower the boom on the young man. Then, almost mysteriously, he stopped far short of what the prosecutor and Tyler Clementi’s parents wanted, giving Ravi just 30 days in jail for violating Clementi’s privacy. (He faced 10 years.)

It was a surprise to me and it sounds like it was a surprise to those in the courtroom.

Whether or not this was the proper sentence will be debated for days, weeks, maybe years since the case has become a lightening rod involving gays, the internet, privacy and bullying — all hot-button issues.

But in announcing his sentence, Judge Berman seemed to finally agree on one key point of the defense — that Ravi was not charged with Clementi’s suicide. Why anyone commits suicide is almost unknowable but what one hears over and over is that those who commit suicide are in extreme pain and cannot go on. Sadly, this surely was the case with Clementi — the question is what drove him there.

Many believe that Ravi’s actions — using a webcam to spy on Ravi as he kissed another man whom he’d recently met on the internet and then announcing it to all in their small circle — surely had something to do with Clementi jumping off the George Washington Bridge days later. It’s hard to argue that it had nothing to do with it.

Those backing Ravi, including his lawyer and family, made the argument that his prosecution was unique, that no one had ever been charged with these sorts of crimes and that what he actually did was nothing more than a stupid freshman prank. I used to feel this way but I’ve been persuaded to feel differently by an argument comparing Ravi’s actions to that of a drunk driver.

The drunk driver who mows down an innocent person doesn’t set out to kill anyone either but society demands that he be held accountable for his actions. So it is with Ravi. If his prosecution seems unique, perhaps it’s because so few in our society are held accountable for their own dumb actions. Why? Because most of the time, stupid actions of the kind perpetrated by Ravi have no consequences. Other times, someone jumps off a bridge.

….in (No) Park Slope?

I was talking to a woman the other day about 50 Shades of Grey by E.L. James, the by-now ubiquitous erotic fantasy novel. This woman, named Terry, makes no apologies for enjoying pornography and says she’s been a fan since she was a teenager BUT she does not like E.L. James book. She prefers an erotic trilogy written by Anne Rice in the 1980′s.

I had never heard of it, partly because Anne Rice wrote the so-called “Sleeping Beauty” trilogy under the pseudonym A. N. Roquelaure. It includes the books The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, Beauty’s Punishment and Beauty’s Release. Terry says the trilogy, loosely based on the Sleeping Beauty myth except this Beauty is trained to be a slave, is far superior in writing, plotting and everything else when compared to 50 Shades of Grey.

Terry is nonplussed and somewhat annoyed by all the hoopla being given to 50 Shades of Grey partly because it’s now become so casually acceptable. “I’ve been reading erotica and watching porn for years and my friends thought I was insane,” she said. “I never had a problem admitting it or telling people I got turned on by it but I always felt judged.”

Today, with everyone but Hillary Clinton reading 50 Shades of Grey — and who knows if she is too — Terry is pissed at all the judgement that previously was directed her way but says she certainly understands the allure of the book and its two sequels. “I think it’s the submissive thing — not the whips and chains — but the idea that ‘you’ll do what I say.’ Women get turned on by that,” Terry says.

The books have tapped into a universal truth about a lot of women, says Terry. “Women think about being taken forcefully — not raped — but kind of rape-ish,” she said. “I would love to be taken against my will but…well, yes, against my will. The thing is, men are great because they’ll agree to pretty much anything you want but women won’t, even if deep down inside, it’s what they really want.

“Men are great because they give women a chance to be sexually free,” she said. “I’ve been blindfolded and it’s awesome. The first time I was with my husband in bed, he pulled my hair and I was so turned on by that. It was sexual turn-on for me. There is kind of a pain thing and it does have to do with domination. When he bites my nipples, it hurts but I don’t want him to stop because it feels so great. I just wish more Americans would be more open.”

In case you’re wondering, Terry is American and was raised Catholic. “I think we’re all human and have sexual urges and feelings but women are less apt to express their true feelings because they are judged,” she said.

Allison Williams

Simply put, the sex scenes depicted on “Girls,” the hot new cable show about four young women in NYC, are some of the most disagreeable, uncomfortable and ugly sex scenes ever put to video.

It’s like none of the characters on the show has good sex, except maybe sometimes the character who plays the beautiful British babysitter. Even then, in the most current episode (5/13) her sex scene, when viewed from the point of view of her virgin roommate, appears tawdry and awful.

If you were a virgin watching this show, you might want to swear off sex before you even started. The most satisfying sex scene shown so far is Allison Williams’ character masturbating. Finally, a woman in the show is satisfied by sex but of course it’s with the one she loves the most.

Still, it would be silly to think this is not all done to make a point. I’ve read that a number of young women totally relate to the bad sex because it depicts the truth about the act as something that is exchanged and negotiated between two parties, one of whom is usually less than willing.

The sex between Lena Dunham’s character and her fuck buddy — who has yet to wear a shirt or leave his apartment so far this season — is misogynistally brutal yet she keeps going back for more. Clearly, this guy has watched way too much pornography and treats Lena as such. At least in the most recent episode, she gets a crisp $100 bill for her humiliation.

Then there is the painful-to-watch tepid sex going on between Allison Williams and her longtime boyfriend who is only concerned with making her feel good. Ugh. One just wants to take a bat to this guy and put him out of his estrogen-induced misery.

When looking at either Lena or Allison’s character, the point is clear — these women are not getting what they want from the men in their lives. The saving grace is that the women are clearly complicit in the arrangements. In fact, when Allison’s boyfriend walks out on her, she begs him to stay (I’m not going further than this right now in case you have not seen this episode.)

Maybe that’s the real message of “Girls” — the characters might be unhappy but they’ve created their own unhappiness and are not mature enough to find a way out. Perhaps they will. There’s still plenty of time for someone of Mr. Big’s carriage to appear on the scene.

Sometimes I feel like every living being in my world knows that my memoir – “Leaving Story Avenue; my journey from the projects to the front page” — has been published but then, as happened Saturday night, I run into someone I know pretty well who knows bupkis about the book. And that pains me because — believe it or not — I try not to overdo the social media promotion. I really do try to be measured and not beat y’all over the head with it but then I run into someone who has no idea the book even exists and I feel like I’m not publicizing it enough.

Here’s the thing — when you work with a small boutique publisher, as I am — you’ve got to beat the drums for yourself or no one will.

I happened to notice this week that Anna Quindlen’s memoir “Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake” landed at No. 2 on The NY Times bestseller list. I’ve always liked Anna’s writing and, though she’s vastly better known than I am, we’re nearly the same age (she’s one year older, meow) and our careers have gone down similar paths. I always felt a little competitive with her even though she probably is barely aware I’m alive.

Still, when I was a reporter at The Daily News, she was a reporter at The NY Times. Back in 1983, we were co-winners of the Meyer Berger Award, handed out by Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism for best and most evocative writing about New York. She won a Pulitzer for her column; I won a Peabody and two Emmys for my television work. She’s written many very successful books and I’ve written books that were well-received but nowhere near as successful. And now we’ve both come out with our memoirs at the same time.

I’ve received fantastic reviews; her’s are not quite as good but she has the upper hand in being more well-known and working with a major publisher. Anna doesn’t have to hit the social media drum quite as hard as I do. So I guess what I’m saying, dear readers, is forgive me if you’re seeing too much about my book — I’m just trying to level the playing field in the smallest way possible. I can’t compete with Anna in the publishing world, only in other ways. For instance, I was reading about how she is proud that she was able to stand on her head after years of working with a personal trainer.

She finally achieved that goal, she says, when she was 58 years old. Hey Anna, I’ve been able to stand on my head since I’ve been 54! Not that I’m competitive or anything.

Yours truly talking to Hayes students

So there I was this past Wednesday, talking to a bunch of teenagers from my old high school — Cardinal Hayes in the Bronx — and telling them about my career and answering questions about journalism, life and my salary (a question asked by every one of the six classes I spoke to.) It was mostly fun. As with any group of teenage boys, some were engaged, some slept, some picked their noses non-stop.

If you had told me in high school that’s I’d be a school supporter, both of time and money, I’d have said you were nuts but….time softens the hard edges of memory, doesn’t it? It’s no secret that Hayes could be a rough place. In the years I went there, I was hit by priests and brothers on at least two occasions and we were emotionally brow-beaten within  an inch of our lives with rules, rules and more rules. We really did have a Dean of Discipline and, the kids tell me, the school still does.

And yet, I learned a great deal in high school, far more than in college. I guess all those rules paid off in forcing me to toe the line. It’s not like I’ve forgotten the bad parts but, looking back at my life, I can see that there was a method to the apparent madness of the school bureaucracy.

And here’s the other thing — I support the school because of the current students. Hayes has long since ceased being an incubator of Irish and Italian-American kids as it was when I went there. Now it’s all Latino and African-Americans kids; I saw one white kid on Wednesday in those six classes. When I went, the school cost $200 a year annually; today it is $6,000 and that doesn’t seem fair. Sure there’s been inflation but not that much inflation. I’m sure the families of those kids are sacrificing to send them there.

And they all assured me that teachers do not hit the kids anymore. That’s a good thing, right? These days, the teachers who hit me would probably be hauled off in handcuffs but it was a different time. And you know what? I survived just fine without arrests, lawsuits or anything else. Hell, I never even told my parents. It’s interesting to think how far all of us as a society have come.

It’s become de rigeur to say that, in this age of the iPhone and texting, sexting, and just plain babbling, we’ve lost the art of conversation. I think exactly the opposite — I think there’s way too much conversation and what’s actually been lost is the art of introspection.

Ever since my daughter got a cell phone — some ten years ago — she’s barely walked down any city street without pulling it out and having a conversation, any conversation, with someone. She’s not alone of course. I challenge you to walk a single block in New York without seeing someone talking on a cell phone. Impossible.

All we do is talk, whether it’s by phone or texting or on Facebook. The communication with others is non-stop. What we rarely do is take the time to reflect. I still do but, then again, I’m over 50. I actually enjoy my time on the subway (where there is still mostly no cell service) when I can observe my fellow humans or even close my eyes and think!

I thought of all this again Sunday night while watching the last couple of minutes of “Mad Men” when Don Draper drops the stereo needle on The Beatles revolutionary song “Tomorrow Never Knows”  from the LP “Revolver.”

Suddenly, amidst all that psychedelic rocks, comes John Lennon’s nasal voice:

Turn off your mind, relax and float down stream

It is not dying, it is not dying…

Of course, Lennon meant the song to mimic an LSD experience but, indeed, it’s not “dying” to unplug your mind and give it a break. In the 1960′s many did it with drugs but meditation works too. We should all do more of it.

Today, the Henry Street Settlement hosted a street fair to raise awareness for the Partners In Preservation Program in which Henry Street is competing against a slew of other deserving non-profits for funds earmarked by American Express. The weather cooperated beautifully and many people wound up voting for Henry Street on their on-site computers so what’s not to like? There were old-time street games, a cake baking contest, balloons and even temporary tattoos. I even nearly got a tan it was so nice outside. So remember, vote for Henry Street here.

wide-shot








◄ Back


Next ►

Picture 1 of 7