Composition Book

Moving Day

Thu, 24 Nov 2011 18:49:05 -0500

Dear tumblr followers: Thanks for your support during this short run, but I am outta here! PLEASE...

The Road Ahead

Sun, 13 Nov 2011 20:15:05 -0500

(Photo Source: Peter Marlow) “God, should we? That’s a lot of driving, either way. I don’t want...

Puzzle Pieces

Wed, 09 Nov 2011 22:00:05 -0500

(Photo Source: Christopher Anderson) Jesus, why is it always so much FUCKing harder to get a cab...

After the Snow

Mon, 07 Nov 2011 04:51:05 -0500

(Photo Source: Marion Post Wolcott) The snow started gently around 10:00 AM and ended gently around...

The Tudor

Thu, 03 Nov 2011 04:48:00 -0400

(Photo Source: Ida Wyman) “Madame, for your patronage and your exQUIsite beauty, in consideration...

0078 by www.alissadinneen.com on Flickr. “Christ, you remember...

Mon, 31 Oct 2011 04:48:05 -0400

0078 by www.alissadinneen.com on Flickr.

“Christ, you remember those old one-piece mask and pajama costumes?” Alton asked Rachel, breaking into a giggle. “The ones our parents used to get at…”

“K-MART!!!” Rachel and Alton said at the same time, breaking into hysterics. “Yeah,” Rachel continued, patting Alton on the forearm,“what were they thinking with those?”

“I’m amazed none of us burned alive in those goddamn things! They were as much of a fire hazard as the Pinto was!”

Alton and Rachel were taking advantage of the open bar at the reception. He had gone to high school up north with Brad Collins, the new groom, and she worked with Beth Dunn, the new Mrs. Collins. They both snuck glances at each other during the ceremony, squinting as the Halloween sun went down over the lake, and they ended up seated at the same table.

It was supposed to be a costume wedding, celebrating Brad and Beth’s love of Halloween, but they figured most of their guests would lame out, so it ended up being business casual. The wedding and reception were at the Sedaguncook Lodge on Lake Dirigo, the dinner was steak and salmon and the specialty of the house was the 10-31 Pumpkin Martini. After a few beers and wine with dinner, tongues loosened, Alton and Rachel slid over next to each other and started talking about Halloween past.

Alton pulled out his iPhone and pulled up a picture of himself, age 5, in 1979, wearing a Spider Man costume. “I remember cutting my face on the damn plastic, and I almost choked on the rubber band! Can you imagine?”

Rachel, holding her martini at an alarming angle, put an arm around Alton’s shoulder, laughing hysterically at the photo on the screen and the story. “Oh my God! That happened to me too! I was Snow White that year!”

The evening went on, the drinks flowed and Alton and Rachel talked well into the small hours, walking down to the lake in the icy chill, holding hands, laughing. They met again for breakfast, exchanged e-mails and agreed to meet again later that week. And they both drove home thinking “greatest wedding ever” and loving Halloween more than ever…

The Heart Wants...

Thu, 27 Oct 2011 04:49:06 -0400

(Photo Source: Vivian Maier) There it was, there in the window. Joe McGillicuddy passed by the...

The Street

Mon, 24 Oct 2011 04:48:05 -0400

(Photo Source: William P. Gottlieb) It was eight blocks and a gorgeous night, so what the hell?...

Composition Book is off this Thursday. Here is a timely favorite...

Wed, 19 Oct 2011 20:02:39 -0400

Composition Book is off this Thursday. Here is a timely favorite from the first incarnation of this page, Phantomas. Happy Series, all…

phantomasblog:

It was a typical Saturday afternoon at Kelly’s: Cards/Cubs on the tube, Old Style on tap and in pounders, armchair analysis going around the bar. Tim and John, both Cubs fans but, more broadly, both baseball fans, were arguing the game on the TV and the games already played.

“Okay, you’re tellin’ me the Cards are more universally beloved than the Cubs?” John asked Tim, mocking his jaw falling to the bar.

“I’m not saying more beloved!” Tim replied. “I’m saying more historically significant!”

“What in THE hell you talking about?” John spat back. “Hack Wilson, Ron Cey, Ernie Banks! Hey, let’s play two! Harry friggin’ Caray and Wrigley Field!”

“Yeah, well Harry Caray was the voice of the Cardinals first, ya know!” Tim replied, proud at scoring a point. “And think of this: the St. Louis Cardinals changed the game twice.”

“Twice?” John asked?

“Twice.” Tim affirmed. “First, Branch Rickey – the man who later signed Jackie Robinson, no less – was the Cards General Manager, and he developed the farm system and spring training. Used to be a ballplayer would go home
after the season and spend the winter drinkin’ and gorgin’. Rickey put ‘em to work in the hot sun before the season to get ‘em in shape. An’ he developed the farm system and hid his best prospects low in the system. Used to say that every small town in America in the ‘30s had an A&P and a Cardinals farm team.”

John was suitably impressed. He knew about the influence of Rickey, of course, but hearing it from Tim was revolutionary. But there was more to hear. “Okay, that’s once. How did the Cards revolutionize the game twice, smartass?”

Tim knew he was about to deliver a roundhouse to the chin. “Okay, think about this. In the course of twenty years – less than a generation – the Cardinals went from being one of the most fiercely segregated teams in the game to one of the most fiercely integrated teams in the game.”

John just stared at his friend.

“1947. Robinson breaks the color line with Brooklyn. At the time St. Louis was the farthest stop west and south in both leagues, and the closest thing to a home team for the deep south. Those were the Cards of Harry Walker, Whitey Kurowski, Enos Slaughter and Joe Garagiola. Some of those Cards agreed to boycott games against Robinson and the Dodgers. Slaughter and Garagiola, in spite of his later sunny persona on the Today Show, were notorious for spiking Jackie, race baiting, all that crap.”

John continued to stare, disgusted and fascinated in equal measures.

“1967. A mere two decades later. Tim McCarver, Orlando Cepeda. Roger Maris, Bob Gibson. Steve Carlton, Curt Flood. Total integration and a team that was completely there for each other.

“Think about that. Twenty years! It happened in Chicago, but not as dramatically. Sure, Ernie Banks was first for the Cubs in 1953, and the Cards integrated in 1954. But the integration of the Cards was absolutely unprecedented, and frankly one hell of a great American story.”

John was absolutely dumbstruck and silent. Kelly’s grew quiet, the most prominent sound being the play-by-play on the tube.

“You win!” he said, turning back to his beer and a slick 6-4-3 double play live from Wrigley.

Steel and Shadows

Sun, 16 Oct 2011 21:14:06 -0400

(Photo Source: William Gedney) …damn…damn, Damn, DAMN! GodDAMNit, why didn’t I do it...

The Killing Frost

Thu, 13 Oct 2011 04:52:06 -0400

October: grey sky, silver and black clouds, the smell of the lawn, freshly mowed for the last time...

At The Fair

Mon, 10 Oct 2011 09:25:29 -0400

(Photo Source: Library of Congress) The day was warm for fair season, but the breeze carried a...

End of the day on Flickr. Twilight Twilight falls, ending the...

Thu, 06 Oct 2011 04:51:05 -0400

End of the day on Flickr.

Twilight

Twilight falls, ending the day. Lights come on, supper is served. Stories about the day just over, taillights, car wheels on a gravel road. Coffee and woodsmoke, the blue light of TV hitting the snow outside. Talk of dreams, plans, good books, drinks and pajamas and an extra blanket. Hot cocoa, hot cider. A story in every lit window, a story at every table. The day ends, the twilight wins. Time to come in, relax, say goodbye to the day just over…

Both Sides Now

Mon, 03 Oct 2011 05:26:05 -0400

(Photo Source: Stanley Forman Photos) I. Catherine Cummings sat at the little table looking out...

(Source: formfollowsfunctionjournal) Stacey Peralta The days...

Thu, 29 Sep 2011 05:26:06 -0400

(Source: formfollowsfunctionjournal)

Stacey Peralta

The days went on and on…the never ended. Up for a quick bowl of Froot Loops, then off to “school”. Yeah, right. If the waves were there it was off to El Capitan with our hollows or Rincon for longboarding. Rincon was just mint. Greatest barrels ever. We could shred clean lines all morning, then back to carve the afternoon away in the empty pool at Chip’s house. Throw some records on the hi-fi, smoke a little grass, skate until we had to go home for dinner, then hoops or a movie after…man, just dynamite.

I love it here now, and wouldn’t trade my family or house or life for anything. Still, a day like today, staring out at two feet of Vermont snow and counting, I can’t help but dream…and miss being a kid in Santa Barbara in the ’70s…

Rest Stop

Mon, 26 Sep 2011 08:10:05 -0400

(Photo source: Stephen Shore Photographs) The western flank of the Verdugo and San Gabriel...

149 diner by Nick DeWolf Photo Archive on Flickr. Cafeteria Neil...

Thu, 22 Sep 2011 06:40:00 -0400

149 diner by Nick DeWolf Photo Archive on Flickr.

Cafeteria

Neil and I always enjoyed our nights on the town ever so much. We would start at the Hays-Bickford’s on Causeway St., under the el and across from the Boston Garden, arriving with the pre-hockey crowd for hamburgers or even just coffee. Neil always had his black: I always teased him about how he would be awake all night, and he always laughed and gave me a look with all the twinkle of the night sky in his eyes. It may sound square, but I swear, that look made my knees go weak every time.

From Bickford’s we would stroll across Causeway to the Garden for a Bruins game or boxing. Even with my wraps and his overcoat we always ended up shivering, and it was never that much warmer inside! But we loved going to the games anyway. Our seats were in the second balcony. You’d call them the cheap seats today, and they were nothing but wooden slats. But it was always a grand time, even with those terrible Bruins teams back then.

If we didn’t have tickets for hockey or the fights, we would go to the Latin Quarter or the Savoy for drinks and dancing. Oh, could Neil ever cut a rug! He was a marvelous dancer! He had the eyes of all the girls on the floor. And I was so thrilled to know that I was the apple of his eyes. I always felt so special, holding his hand and moving to the orchestra. Those were nights of magic.

Neil had a convertible Mercury Comet, and on warm nights we would go for a drive, mostly along the North Shore, to Marblehead or Ipswich. Sometimes we’d turn on the radio and dance under the stars. Or we’d just sit close together and watch the moonbeams dance on the waves. His eyes would twinkle and he’d hold me close, and I felt like I was as safe as I would ever be in my life. I felt like I was home.

The Bickford’s is gone now, of course, and so is the old Garden and the el. And now my Neil is gone, too. So lonesome without him. I walk by the old Bickford’s sometimes, or I should say I walk by the glass and steel condominium building that stands there now, and think of my sweet Neil and wonder what he would think of all this change. And I dream of the nights of dancing and music and romance and youth and all the promise of our years together, and how they always started over coffee at that little cafeteria.

Harvest

Mon, 19 Sep 2011 19:42:47 -0400

(Photo source: http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/fsa2000023271/PP/) “Well, it cain’t possibly be...

3rd Ave and St. Marks Place, 1980 by Michael Sean Edwards on...

Thu, 15 Sep 2011 05:49:00 -0400

3rd Ave and St. Marks Place, 1980 by Michael Sean Edwards on Flickr.

The Deuce

It was always an easy score with The Deuce, at least when he wasn’t on vacation at Rikers. When he was out he could be found at the corner of St. Marks & 3rd, one block west and ten blocks south from my apartment on 18th & 2nd. If he was in I’d have to keep going to E. Houston and Avenue A, but more often than not I found The Deuce.

They called him The Deuce because he used to work 42nd St. during the grind house days. Now the heat was all over Times Square, so the trade had moved out. The man was gigantic, probably 6’4” and completely sculpted. You were afraid to score from him, and he made you afraid to score from anyone else.

I called him my Vending Machine. I would walk up, stick out my hand, bills in my palm, for a shake, and he would spit the bag out of his mouth. Nothing to see here, just me - white, 5’8” & 120 lbs - saying hi to my 6’4” 300 lb. good black buddy. I would shove the bag into my crotch, wave and take off back home, sweat pouring down my neck. Well, I was getting my exercise for the day.

Back in my first floor studio, I would set up next to the fan and put a record on. Something mellow, nothing to tweak myself out too much. Miles Davis “Birth of the Cool,” mostly. Next door there was a family from San Juan with a baby that screamed non-stop and a toddler that yelled in Spanish. The hall outside their door always smelled like Sazon and beans and rice, and the noise never ended. Not the most relaxing atmosphere in which to shoot.

I’d turn the TV to a game show or a soap, sound off and cook up, hands shaking from coffee, cigarettes and junk sickness, slam the spike and feel the warmth spread. Like floating in a warm tub of bliss.

And I would think to myself I shouldn’t know these things. I shouldn’t know where to find The Duce and how to tap a vein and that Dilaudid helps when coming down…

I shouldn’t know this.

How did I know all of this? What a life. And then I’d do it all over again the next day…

39

Mon, 12 Sep 2011 08:53:39 -0400

So I’m 39 today. Today I’m back and forth, looking back and looking forward. Taking stock, keeping...