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Washing the Cat

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It’s hard to believe that Harlan Coben has written only 36 novels. It’s just feels so many more. I confess I have never read one of the #1 New York Times author’s books, and I can’t say I have any urge to do so. They seem rather lightweight, and I recall one online commentator who described his prose style as “execrable.” But Coben’s stories, which often involve events from the past suddenly rearing their ugly heads, can make for some darn good escapist TV. Twelve of his books have been adapted for film or television, with Netflix cranking eight series to date. Coben’s work has been provided material for shows in England, Spain, France and Poland to name a few, and his net worth has been put at $25 million, which sounds kind of low if you ask me, given his output. I just got finished watching Missing You and in addition to being a funky mystery and a fine cast, the program was only five blessed episodes. There was just enough time to introduce the characters, set up the s...
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A Streetcar Named Confusion

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Now I know how Mom felt about the trolley. My mother used to speak fondly of the streetcar that used to run through our neighborhood in Bay Ridge. In particular, she told us, that it was comfortable, warm, and she always got a seat. Trolleys were in a big item our borough at one time. In the early 20th century, Brooklyn's streetcar system was one of the most comprehensive in the U.S. and by 1930, nearly 1,800 trolleys were traveling along the streets of Kings County. Our hometown baseball team was originally named the Brooklyn Trolley Dodgers, which should give you an idea of how prevalent they were at one time. Well, that all came to a screeching halt in our neighborhood on Aug. 12, 1948, which was a few days before my mother’s birthday, when the trolley was replaced by the bus. And Mom said that the bus was cold, crowded and most times, she had to stand. Hardly what you’d call progress. Then the Dodgers left Brooklyn for L.A. 9 years later—in the year I was born. Th...
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The Parting Glass

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The voice mail greeting caught me off-guard. My sister and I went out to Los Angeles last week to attend the memorial service for our Uncle Joe, who died on New Year’s Day. As soon we got off the plane, I called Joe’s wife, Sara, to let her know we were in town and the next thing I know I’m hearing my uncle’s voice telling me to leave a message. Of course, with so many things going on, changing the voice mail greeting is hardly a priority. But hearing Joe’s voice again just reminded me how much I missed him and how much I enjoyed our Sunday afternoon phone conversations. And if felt so strange being in Los Angeles without seeing Joe. If I'm in L.A., I'm going to see Joe. The two are inseparable in my mind, which is not surprising given that whenever I went out there, I stayed with Joe and Sara. This time, though, we were sharing an Airbnb with our cousin Keir and his family. Keir was part of the memorial service, which was held at Griffith Park, where Jo...
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Notes from Underground

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“Didja' ever get one of them days when you should-a stayed in bed.” – Elvis Presley. If this had been a movie, I would’ve met the love of my life. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a movie, it was a real life and so, no, I didn’t meet the future missus, but I am trying to extract a lesson from Saturday’s disastrous experience. Okay, so what happened was one of my MeetUp groups was doing a tour of subway art, which is a great idea—no two ways about it. There are so many amazing murals and sculptures in the New York City subway, but I’m usually too busy rushing someplace to stop and take a look. The tour would be a great chance to slow down and view some of this fabulous work, while the group’s leader provided the background on the art work. I was definitely into it when I signed up for the tour. In fact, I was disappointed when the event was postponed two weeks ago, and I made sure to get on the list when it was rescheduled. But I woke up Saturday morning and I wasn’t feeling ...
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The Magic Word

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Well, I’m glad I finally got that settled. Whenever I visited my Uncle Joe in Los Angeles, I could always count on him to use the word “Hijole!” several times during my stay. I got used to hearing this expression, but it never occurred to me to look it up or ask him what he was talking about. Now that he’s gone, I finally got around to find out what “Hijole!” actually means. Pronounced “ee-hoh-leh,” it is interjection used in several Latin American countries “to express surprise, exasperation, or to convey that someone is impressed.” Translations include the likes of “wow”, or “gosh.” Wikipedia tells me that hijole is an univerbation, which may sound dirty to all you degenerates out there—and shame on you, by the way—but it only describes a linguistic process that involves combining multiple words into a single word. For example, the word albeit comes from the Middle English expression al be it, in which “al” means although. Hijole is an ellipsis of “hijo de puta”, w...
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Last Call

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As soon as I woke up this morning, I reminded myself to call Uncle Joe. Sunday is the day I usually call my dad’s younger brother in Los Angeles to get the latest on the West Coast branch of the Lenihans. And then I remembered I couldn’t call Uncle Joe today—or any other day. Joe died on Wednesday and so the last member of my father’s family left this world on the first of the new year. Joe was in his nineties and in failing health, but it’s hard to believe that I won’t be talking with him on the phone anymore or seeing him when I go out there for a visit. My sister and I have been staying with Joe and his wife Sara for so many years now. They took us all over the place to see the sites and meet up with our cousins. If I recall—and don’t quote me--I first went out there in the late Eighties when I was living in Pennsylvania. Joe and I had trouble finding each other when I arrived in LAX, but we met up and I sat in the back seat of his car recovering from my post-flight trau...
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Glimmer Man

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“Don’t live the same year 75 times and call it a life.” -- Robin Sharma There’s a scene in Woody Allen’s 1971 comedy Bananas where the hero, Fielding Mellish, must defend himself in court. “This trial is a travesty,” he declares, jumping to his feet. “It's a travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of two mockeries of a sham.” I haven’t thought about that film in years, but that scene came popping into my head just a few days ago. At first, I wasn’t sure why, but I’m starting to believe that since we’re about to begin a new year, my cynical subconscious mind was making a not-to-subtle assessment of my ability to stick to my resolutions. Yeah, I still make New Year’s resolutions. It’s corny, especially at my advanced age, and I usually fall far short of all the grand promises I make, but I still can’t walk into January without some kind of road map—or at least the illusion of one. I need the fantasy. I want to believe that this year will be different than all those ...
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