Stacy Horn's Blog, page 199

Choral Society of Grace Church Benefit

Our Annual Spring Benefit Cocktail Party, is Tuesday, May 22! As always, the benefit is held at the fabulous home of Kevin Roon and Simon Yates in Tribeca. There will be plenty of cocktails, of course, and food. But the big attraction will be chamber music offered by the principal players of the amazing and celebrated Choral Society Orchestra, led by Jorge Avila.

Tickets cost $100 if purchased through me via the Choral Society. Just go to the website, then click on May 22 Party for specifics, and choose the “friends” price on the left. Trust me, you’ll have a wonderful time! Great music! Great people!

In my book I write about walking back and forth on 11th Street, going to and from choir rehearsals. Lucinda recommended a book called House in Time, by a person who grew up on 11th Street and I recently took it out of the library (haven’t started it yet). But I took a picture of the house she wrote about at 42 West 11th Street.

In Plain Sight, Oh, How I will miss you!

TV regularly breaks my heart. I become close to characters, and even though they are not real, I miss them when they are gone. (Sob.)

There was much to love about the finale for In Plain Sight, but the criticisms first. There wasn’t enough of a wrap up for Stan, and WAY not enough for Jinx and Brandi. In the beginning they were both so annoying, but the writers and the actors really made something of these characters. The two of them would screw-up, get their act together, screw-up, etc.. Since that it how I would describe my life, I had a lot of affection for them. The wrap-up for Brandi was somewhat satisfying, but I really needed to spend more time saying goodbye to Jinx. To begin with, it would have been nice to hear her sing at the wake.

Everything else however, was absolutely wonderful. The finale resolution for Marshall and Mary was perfect. When I saw the “I love you” in the teaser I was worried it was going to go another way, which just didn’t feel right to me. While I honestly do not see Marshall and Abigail, (he needs someone geekier and bookish) I definitely no longer see Marshall and Mary (there was a brief time when I did). Their scene on the balcony was lovely and choked me up big time. It emphasized the importance of the bonds of friendship and it was agony to see them both realize the necessity of letting go of at least some of that. I’m sure Marshall would still be there for her, but not *every* time. She can reach out to the other people in her life. (Sob.)

So, goodbye In Plain Sight cast and crew. Thank you for all the great work. (Sob, sob, sob.)

I organized a reunion brunch for my fellow Census workers, and I arrived too early. Here are a couple of pictures I took underneath the on ramp to the Brooklyn Bridge, where I walked around while I waited.

Feed the Birds, Tuppence a Bag

I was tremendously influenced by the Feed the Birds song from Mary Poppins, which I just read on Wikipedia was Walt Disney’s favorite song. Even though I was going to catholic school at the time, it was the first time my eyes were truly opened about doing good works and kindness.

This man poured bird seed into my hand yesterday in Washington Square Park and …

… I fed the birds.

“Come feed the little birds, Show them you care, And you’ll be glad if you do, Their young ones are hungry, Their nests are so bare, All it takes is tuppence from you …

“All around the cathedral the saints and apostles, Look down as she sells her wares. Although you can’t see it, you know they are smiling, Each time someone shows that he cares.”

Technically, Spring Cleaning Has Begun

Spring Cleaning, in case you weren’t aware, is a precisely timed operation. For instance, it takes two weeks to clean my carpet. So I had them pick it up today in order for it to return all fresh and clean on the last day of my yearly Spring Cleaning.

The bulk of the cleaning will take place between 5/14 and 5/18, but there are a lot of pre-cleaning tasks, like going through all my boxes and files to see if I’m hanging onto anything I can get rid of. You’re supposed to save your research for future researchers, so I continue to store all my files for each book, but these growing towers of boxes bug me. Is there anything, anything at all I can get rid of?? I’ve started asking other writers what they save and I’m learning that not everyone holds on to their records. The thing is, I don’t have the heart to just chuck everything—I know how often I’ve accessed the archives of long gone writers and researchers. But maybe I can pare it all down a little more.

For some reason, even though I love wood floors, a completely bare floor depresses me, so I put a blanket down. It kinda works. That’s Finney over there on the couch. Finney loves a freshly cleaned comforter … to hork up a hairball on.

In Case You Croak

Taped to my kitchen cabinet are instructions for taking care of my cats. Across the top are big bold letters that say: In Case I Die. I had two diabetic cats at the time, and it occurred to me that if anything happened to me, even if someone was nice enough to take my cats the cats wouldn’t make it because the person caring for them wouldn’t know all their insulin schedules, etc.

When I wrote Waiting For My Cats to Die I made a blank version to give away as a promotional thing. I renamed it In Case You Croak because I thought for some people that was funnier and less upsetting than the idea of death. You can fill in information about your pets, what to do, who to call, etc.

I scanned and made downloadable pdfs. Front. Back.

A picture of a door on 11th Street. I took this picture because I loved the super high gloss of the paint, which this picture doesn’t quite capture. That reminds me, Nora turned me on to Humans of New York. I can’t thank her enough, I love this site, the guy who takes the pictures, his pictures. It made me realize, I need to take more shots of people. I’m too shy to take the kind of pictures this guy takes though.

Thank God I Rarely See a Cockroach

Because apparently cockroaches have feelings, and they get lonely. I think I’ve mentioned how if I find a bug or a spider in the apartment I’ll coax it onto a piece of paper and escort it out into the hall or out the window. I can’t bear to kill anything. The exceptions are those giant flying cockroach things, which terrify me.

I don’t know why, but I start crying the minute I see them. If they fly right at me, which they seem to love to do, I feel this awful, primal, fear and dread. It’s all I can do to not to start screaming. Whenever they show up, regardless of the hour, I have to get one of the neighbors to kill them for me. Once, I got Howard to come all the way crosstown to kill one for me.

Last year I went around the apartment and found various ways they might be getting in and I plugged up all those holes and haven’t seen one since. Thank God. Because after reading that article I’d feel bad now. They’re nice. Their favorite thing is to talk about food. Just like us if I go by the conversations on Echo (the online service I run).

Note to Nadine: Thank you for the review on Amazon of Waiting For My Cats to Die!

A music stand sitting out on the street. I wanted to take it home to paint and use, but what if belonged to a homeless street musician or something?

One World Trade Center Progress View From My Roof

Yesterday, One World Trade Center became the tallest building in New York City. I wish my “before” shot was better, and I wish I had centered it, but from now on I’m going to be centering it in all my shots. In any case, you can see the progress they’re making. The before shot was from last November, only five months ago.

Before

Look rather gloomy, I admit.

After

A much prettier day! You can see how as they add those shiny panel things, they have also been adding height. It’s going to be glorious. I just read they expect to finish it this summer. Wow.

Elsie’s Oke Doke Bar

When I was in my twenties I used to go to a bar on 84th Street called the Oke Doke. The name was technically the Oke Doke Restaurant, but it wasn’t a restaurant, it was a tiny bar with no tables, (that I remember) a jukebox and a shuffle bowl game. Elsie, the owner, wouldn’t open the door for everyone. You’d knock, she looked you over, and maybe she’d let you in.

Sometime after I turned forty, I went back to the Oke Doke with my friend Chris. Elsie was like the Miss Havisham of bar owners, it turned out. I wrote about the visit in my book, Waiting For My Cats to Die. An abridged version:

“The place was practically unchanged. The same singers were on the jukebox: Frank Sinatra, who is the most represented, Al Jolson, Patsy Cline, Bobby Darin, Marion Lanza, The Ink Spots, and Peggy Lee. I recognized the few knick-knacks behind the bar, like a cheap brandy snifter filled with 20 year old, now smell-less pot-pourri, as well as the shuffle bowl game on the way to the bathroom. Nothing has moved in eighteen years, nothing has been spruced up, nothing has been renovated. It was dingier and less cheerful …

“Elsie was smaller than I remembered, and grayer. “I’ve been running this place since 1950,” she tells me. The guys I used to come in here with—who weren’t exactly the nicest guys in the world—still come around, she told me. She clearly adored them. She called them “my boys” and told me what they are all up to.

“The three of us talked about men and children until she buzzed in a group of six young Eastern European men who, recognizing the honor they had been given, thanked her very politely, and took the stools to our right. A little while later she buzzed in a handsome man roughly my age who walked in with a very lovely young woman in her twenties. They sat to my left. “This is my third time in here this week,” he announced to the room. I liked him at once. Elsie pulled out a guestbook. “Someone gave this to me in 1986,” she said. It listed the dates, names, addresses and, best part, it had a space for comments.

“I scanned for familiar names. I found one of Elsie’s boys, someone I used to come here with. “I will always love you … Your Tallboy.” (He was gigantic, I remember.) I found his brother’s name. He’d written, “When will I be known only for my own good deeds?” A touching question …”

I would do anything to read that guestbook now, slowly and carefully. I couldn’t at the time. It’s just the kind of thing I live for whenever I research and write. The comments created such a perfect picture of the place and the people who used to drink there. The Tallboy was a guy named Ray who I’d dated a few times. Ray had, like, a billion brothers, and I don’t remember which one wrote “When will I be known only for my own good deeds?” but I still think it’s a touching question. I wonder if he ever went on to perform any good deeds.

Sometime after, I went back to the Oke Doke, and there was a sign on the door saying that it was closed and Elsie was in a nursing home. I went to visit her. The place wasn’t bad at all, but it was a terrible visit. Elsie was miserable and angry to be there, and she just fumed the whole time, it was awful. She told me her boys visited her and I believed her. Like I said, they weren’t the nicest people I’ve ever known, but as far as I could tell they had genuine affection for Elsie, so I could see them visiting her.

The site of the former Elsie’s Oke Doke, from Google maps. The orange awning is where Elsie’s used to be. I wished I’d taken a picture at the time. I couldn’t find a picture of it online. She ran it for roughly forty years, there must be a picture somewhere.

Things I Meant to Post About

- I read an essay by Rebecca Bazell, who lived in the same building as Etan Patz, (the six year old who went missing in 1979). It made me curious about her. She was ten at the time of Etan’s disappearance, who did she grow up to be? An amazing painter, among other things. If I was a rich person I’d buy her paintings. Attention rich people: buy her paintings.

- The power of singing. Remember Anders Behring Breivik? The guy who murdered 69 people last year in Norway, mostly kids, in order to halt what he saw as encroaching multi-culturalism? Apparently he hated a song called “Children of the Rainbow.” Well, 40,000 people gathered in Norway to sing it in protest of his anti-immigration views. A lovely response to a terrible, terrible thing.

- A new particle has been discovered. Why isn’t this bigger news? Not that I fully understand what it means, but still. It seems like a big deal.

Someone tied a bunch of daffodils to a railing on 11th Street. Thank you, someone.

If You Need a Good Cry

Watch this P&G ad for the Olympics. In response, Salon had an interesting essay yesterday titled, Motherhood is not a job.

I’m comfortable with calling motherhood a job. I think I only have a problem with calling it the most important job, as if what the rest of us do, or what else we do, is not as important, as the author of the essay pointed out (Mary Beth Williams). Calling motherhood a job started because for so long being a mom wasn’t considered as important as what the man does. The problem is, calling motherhood a job feels condescending, depending on who is saying it and how. It’s like a pat on the head. Even this ad, which made me sob and sob and sob, is like a really artful pat on the head. The children are the ones who are achieving greatness and getting awards. The mothers are getting a really moving and well-deserved thank you. It’s another version of “behind every great man there’s a great woman.” Yes, it’s pointing out that the woman helped him get there, and that he couldn’t have gotten there without her, but the man did the great thing. It’s another way of saying thank you.

This video makes me sob because the “thank you” feels so genuine. The whole thing is so wonderfully done, from beginning to end. To see the children’s gratitude and acknowledgment for all their mother’s work and sacrifice, and to watch the mothers witnessing the fruits of their labors, I’m tearing up again just writing about it. But what about the dads?

Delivery!