Memorial Day Musings

It’s time to hit the pause button on this Memorial Day and reflect on the sacrifice. Take a good look around. It isn’t very pretty. We’ve got a wannabe despot in the Oval Office who is—to employ a favorite expression of an elderly relative of mine—not right in the head. And that’s a lethal combo! On the other side of the spectrum, things aren’t exactly rosy. This past week the much touted live—word for word—remakes of classic episodes of All in the Family and The Jeffersons aired. ABC in 2019, not CBS in 1975, bleeped out the “N” word uttered by George Jefferson. Naturally, there was much talk about the iconic status of the two shows—how they were at once trailblazing and wouldn’t pass muster today. That is, in today’s politically correct, ridiculously over-sensitive climate. When pioneering satire is too hot for television—where it thrived for one brief shining moment forty years ago—something invaluable has been lost. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I say: Let freedom ring from unsafe spaces everywhere. 

The way things are going right now, I think we should temporarily replace our regal national bird—the eagle—with the pigeon.

On a lighter note: While out and about these days, I patronize more bathrooms than ever before. That’s the way it goes, I guess. I certainly have less of a desire to hold it in until I’m home sweet home. And in many cases that's not an alternative. But public restrooms in New York City are not exactly on every street corner. My visits to bathrooms—public and private—have always been Number 1-related, bladder-emptying endeavors. 

That is, until yesterday, when I broke new ground. Throwing caution to the wind in an effort to make the remainder of my journey more pleasant, I checked the Number 2 box for the first time. I selected a restroom in a nice part of town—one that I frequently call upon. It is both considerable in size and well maintained. I view the experience as a new lease on life. Because the first time is always the hardest. The above photo, by the way, is of a Number 2 train.

Some fashion trends perplex me: Torn jeans at the knee, untied sneakers, and women's bedroom slippers as popular menswear.

Subway advertisements in this day and age take up an entire car. The same product or service is promoted. Most of the time I haven't a clue what the product or service is. It's tough getting old.

When planting trees require a mammoth crane, you know you are in a fancy part of town. My preferred bathroom is a few blocks away.

This past week, I watched a British mini-series on Amazon Prime called Fearless. As I waded through the first episode of six in total, it dawned on me that I had already seen it. Straightaway, I got the sinking sensation that I didn’t like it on the first go-round. But caught between the proverbial rock and hard place, I had to see it through to an ending, which I wished had come sooner rather than later. 

Now, I consider myself a huge fan of British mysteries, legal, and crime shows. In fact I give them an "A." I recently watched in very short order every episode of both Vera and Inspector Lynley. I’m currently plowing through a series, Wycliffe, from the 1990s. But back to Fearless and the one glaring thing that—in my opinion—the Brits often get wrong. It’s their portrayal of Americans as typically obnoxious, intolerant, and—in many instances—downright evil. I’ll readily concede that there is a fair share of obnoxious, intolerant, and downright evil Yanks in plain view.  But come on. In Fearless, the predictably malevolent American, a shadowy intelligence operative, bloodlessly says at one point: “America, the country that everybody hates but everybody wants to live in.” More than a little heavy-handed, I'd say. 

Whoever came up with this advertising slogan for a tour-boat slip was obviously a Marv Albert fan. One final word on British TV: I was thrilled a while back to come across the legal series, Kavanagh, Q.C., starring the always-exceptional John Thaw. I had watched it on VHS tapes many years ago. With the exception of one episode, I remembered thoroughly enjoying the series. It was the episode where Kavanagh visited America—Florida to be exact. Not wanting to see a great show go completely off the rails and totally out of character again, I chose to skip a viewing in the here and now. The Florida of the 1990s was depicted as George Wallace’s "Jim Crow" Alabama. Lacking any subtlety at all, its good-old-boy governor was named "Cotton."

There once was a diner called "Blue Sky" and a waiter we all called "Alou-ishes." Sadly, some things just can't exist in New York City anymore.

Oh, canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see.

Oil, electric cables, and water don't mix.

But Con Edison steam mixes with everything and in all seasons.

Striking the pose on a subway platform makes for a good picture...

But it behooves one and all to...

A weekend ago, local trains weren't running and buses took their place. What's in a name anyway? In a nearby park, I've encountered this woman with a dog named "William" on a few occasions.  Yes, "William." Judgmental me would call her "WT," which I think is a sociological term, or is it an urban dictionary definition? Anyway, she always appeared angry at the world and was chain-smoking. The lady looked, too, like she'd been through life's ringer, which she no doubt was. Well, one day, I overheard her saying to a female companion, "After the first of the year, I'm out of this state for good!" I don't exactly know what New York State did to her, but this gal turned out not to be a woman of her word. For I both saw and heard her this past week. And it's well after the first of the year! Complaining as is her wont, she said, "Who does he think was the bitch who traveled six hundred miles back and forth while he was in prison?" To be continued...

Times have certainly changed. I remember patronizing a place as a kid called Sanitary Barber Shop. An old guy named William—a better name for a barber than a dog—cut hair there.

Stand alone houses in New York City—your days are numbered. Let's put a building there—why not?

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)