STAR REVUE
An ode to my library, and I digress
by Joe Caccamo
Where I sit, work, think, occasionally write and buy shit on Amazon is one of the most glorious spots in the world. It’s on a chair at the head of the dining room table in my lovely home in Amagansett.
To my right are the large, sliding-glass windows that lead to my recently reconstructed, TimberTech deck, the completion of which required the firing of two unscrupulous contractors, several years of my life, and cost as much as an Ivy League education for a year-and-a-half. Beyond the deck, trees, glorious trees, as far as the eye can see.
Straight ahead, I look at a lovely arrangement of dried flowers from Amagansett’s most adored boutique, Love Adorned. Beyond that, I see a couple large, framed prints of crustaceans painted by one Jong-Koch Quentell, a German artist whose name, you might agree, sounds like the nome de plume for a budding, Euro-smut novelist, but I digress.
To my left is my gorgeous, custommade, floor-to ceiling, bookshelf, designed, milled and constructed by the phenomenally talented and absurdly reasonable, local artisan Michael Darmanian, nesting my approximate 1,000-title collection. I’ve organized my library by author and I’ve stamped each book with a “Property Of …:” on both the inside cover and back page of each book. I also commissioned a custom placard, two actually, that read, “My books are my life. If you like one, please do not remove from the house.
Please email me at jcaccamo@cppcre. com and I’ll buy a copy of it for you as my expression of appreciation for you being a kind guest. Thank you.”
One of the placards is affixed to the bookshelf itself. I placed the other placard above the adjacent light
"I lie in bed at night with a cold-sweat during a renter's tenancy, wondering if a Murakami, Ford, Harrison, Klosterman, Amis or Babitz will go missing, a fear greater than hair loss."
switch panel that illuminates both the kitchen and dining room, so it would be impossible to ignore. For me to lose a book or books to the occasional renter would be to cut off a limb. Though I’m compelled by the money renting my home brings, I lie in bed at night with a cold-sweat during their tenancy, wondering if a Murakami, Ford, Harrison, Klosterman, Amis or Babitz will go missing, a fear great-
WALKING WITH COFFEE
A Tale of
Two Kiddies
Ok, full disclosure:
I grew up on a block in Brooklyn during the 1950s. In an age before "playdates," I was let out at the age of five to roam one side of the block between 4th and 5 Avenues. (just for the record I have no issue with parents using playdates in the
er than hair loss, the Rangers losing the Eastern Conference Finals, Trump’s second term or the reunification of Milli and Vanilli.
I’ve been an avid reader as long as I can remember and have always enjoyed the sight and smell of books, so I’ve never let them go, could never let them go.
Just the sight of each book reminds of where I’ve been … a houseboat in Sausalito, a hammock in Sayulita, a coffee shop in Milan, a lonely bed in New York City, a tent in Yosemite, a DMV in Los Angeles. They are markers for the nine lives my Gemini self has lived. They’ve been my salvation from heartbreaks, traveling companions, binkies for surviving family gatherings (I’m the youngest of seven boys), excuses for reprieve from the intimacy-craving demands of girlfriends, late night, all-night companions of the insomniac, fever friends, and each, a head-of-the-table invitation to another human’s dreams, passions, creativity, fears, desires, madness and heart.
via Suskind’s “Perfume,” my sanity and will to survive tested on an ice floe in Antarctica for a year via Shackelton’s “Endurance.”
I’ve yet to travel to Asia or to Africa or to Paris for that matter, but I’ve sweltered in the steamy jungles of Burma via Orwell’s “Burmese Days,” my olfactory senses assaulted by the rot of the 18th century Sixth Arrondissement
post-Etan Patz world). To entertain myself I was given a red rubber ball manufactured by the Spalding company. On the block they were known as “spalldeens”. My friends and I spent hours just bouncing this thing around. With games like punchball, kings, hit the penny, off the point, we spent the hours between school and the call for dinner.
When we were a little older and allowed in the street, stickball took over, played between moving and parked cars. I can’t say how this af-
I’ve toted the ever-expanding collection back-and-forth and forth-andback across the country, to apartments, houses, sailboats and even a houseboat I lived on in Sausalito, San Francisco, New York City, Los Angeles, and unrecallable longitudes and latitudes adrift at sea. Finally, “permanently,” I’d love to think, they have found their proper mooring in Amagansett.
The chiropractic appointments, ship-
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fected the brains of kids who grew up in this era, but I know the Surgeon General at the time didn’t come out with a proposal to put warning labels on “Spalldeens”. That happened last week when Vivek Murthy, the current Surgeon General, came out in favor of warning labels on smartphones used by children. Apparently, studies show hours spent staring into these handheld portals is having a damaging effect on kids. Mostly in terms of social interaction and long-term
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At
Merry
Joe
Julie
George
Kelsey
Dante
Michael
Turtle spotting
by George Fiala
Last year in these pages I chronicled my search for turtles. The story is that years ago I would often see turtles and frogs out here in Amagansett. You really had to drive slowly or else you'd inevitably smush one. One of the places I remember seeing a lot of turtles was the Old Stone Highway near Louse Point.
But it had been years since I've seen a turtle crossing the road here, but I did see plenty of turtle crossing signs. So I did some research. East Hampton Village places a sign whereever there's a report of a turtle, and injured turtles are taken to Turtle Rescue of the Hampton's in Jamesport. I went there and had an interesting interview for a fascinating interview with their founder, Karen Testa. I saw many turtles there, but so far none in the neighborhood.
Until July 4th.
My guests were off on a hike and it was my job to prepare the barbecue. I got in the car and drove
down the Old Stone Highway headed towards the IGA when my eyes spotted something oval I didn't expect, right on the center stripe. I looked again as I passed it and sure enough, sitting very still in the middle of the road was a living box turtle.
I quickly pulled the car over to the side of the road, which turned out to be right by the Lieber Collection. Up until now I have never been over to the Lieber house, although my mother, who was from Czechoslovakia, told me about her as they both spoke Hungarian. My mom did tell me how the Liebers had become wealthy designing pocketbooks, but I never thought anything of it until just now when I looked at some of the collection online.
There were no cars coming and I ran to the turtle and picked it right up. As I did so, I saw a car coming up from Springs. I waved them and pointed to the turtle
in my arms. They slowed down and as they passed yelled out "You don't need a cape to be a superhero." One of the nicer compliments I've ever gotten. I had the phone in my pocket but I was more concerned to get the turtle to the other side of the road than to snap a selfie with me and it. It was wriggling in my arms and as soon as I dropped him on the other side he scampered to a branch and stopped under it. I just then thought that this might be something to write about, so I pulled out my phone out and snapped these pics. It all happened so fast, just like I imagine a lot of life and death situations happen. For a split second I thought about not stopping, but it's funny how the mind works, I immediately thought better of it and did my good deed. I walked back to the car and went on my way to the IGA and got chicken and pork, hamburgers and corn. On the way back I stopped again to see if my new friend might still be around.
Between the Lieber driveway and the neighboring house is a small patch of untouched nature, which I guess was the turtle's destination. I looked around for a while, but I spotted no reptiles. But I felt good that in a time of unexpected need, I was able to come through.
George Fiala
The box turtle happily across the road.
I pulled over for my turtle rescue.
Turns out that this turtle must have been spotted before, as the Lieber driveway sports an East Hampton turtle crossing sign.
Beekeeping is a year-long affair
Editor's note: this article was written for our June paper, which was postponed until this month, which is why some of the material is a bit old.
It’s full-blown honey bee swarm season in New York City and Nassau County! Many of my professional beekeeper colleagues have been very busy saving swarms over the past few weeks. Swarm season hasn’t officially kicked in here on the east end, but its coming! Looking over my prior year’s records, mid-May is when the calls start coming in. So get ready, because before you know it, swarms will be flying, and maybe in your neighborhood. Swarms can occur from now until mid-fall, so save my number and give me a buzz if you spot one . (631-377-1943.) If I can’t catch them, I’ll find someone who can!
You can also look on the Long Island Beekeepers Club’s website for a list of beekeepers across the island who are experienced at removing swarms. The list can be accessed at https://longislandbeekeepers.org/report-a-swarm. For those of you not on Long Island, Cornell has an extensive list of beekeeper/swarm catchers who work throughout New York State. The Cornell list can be found online via this link: https://bendemoras.com/static/pollinator-network/swarm-directory.html. And in case you missed it, I wrote an article about swarms and swarming in the April edition of this newspaper, so please check it out online if you’d like more detailed swarm information. All back issues are also available online.
While swarm season is right on schedule, our nectar flow is lagging a little behind. We’ve had unusually cold weather so far this season! The start of our flow is usually around the end of April, with our main flow coming on strong in mid-May. It only lasts about two months and ends in mid-late July. The strength and length of the flow depends on rainfall, temperature, sunshine, wind, and cloud cover. Just uncontrollable stuff like that. This time last year I was already adding honey supers to most of my bee hives.
Nectar flows
While most of my colonies are booming, many are not bringing in much nectar right now, so supplemental feeding is necessary. The bees are fed frames of honey,
by Deborah Klughers
which will get them through to the nectar flow, but they require nectar, or a thin sugar sugar syrup to stimulate the queen to lay eggs. We want the queen to lay a lot of eggs before the main nectar flow in order to build up the colony for the nectar flow. It’s a timing thing; we want large, strong colonies with lots of forager bees before the start of the nectar flow in order to have a large workforce of bees ready to collect nectar and turn it into honey.
can harvest from the bees. The average amount of surplus honey here on Long Island is about 40 pounds per colony. Speaking of harvesting honey from bees, our local honey launderers are not hard at work getting their bees up to snuff for the upcoming nectar flow and subsequent honey harvest season.
They don’t have to worry about any of this, since all they have to worry about is where they are going to buy their honey from and how much it will cost
"If I start this supplemental feeding too early I may induce swarming, and if I start it too late, the colony may become malnourished."
In order to do this, the bees need food to not only nourish themselves, but to create the brood food that is fed to developing larval bees and young nurse bees. They need pollen for their protein source and sugar for energy. Here on the east end we have plenty of pollen. In fact, our pollen flow runs from early March through late fall. Nature provides the bees with pollen, but since our nectar flow still hasn’t fully kicked in here on the east end , they will need supplemental feeding. Without this supplemental feeding, the bees may not receive adequate nutrition, and will not rear a large amount of brood. Any brood that is developing can be cannibalized by its bee family if incoming food is scarce! The bees want to survive; instead of all of them starving, the worker bees will eat the eggs, larvae, and developing bees in order to survive. Pretty interesting, right? My job as the beekeeper is to simulate the nectar flow in order to stimulate the queen to lay. If I start this supplemental feeding too early I may induce swarming, and if I start it too late, the colony may become malnourished and become weak, and have fewer bees.
The bees need 50-75 pounds of honey to make it through the winter. Believe it or not, winter prep starts now! Building large colonies that will make enough honey to over winter with is my first priority. Any “surplus” honey, meaning any honey in the hives in excess of the first 75 pounds, is what I
them per pound. Then they can figure out the profit per pound without worrying about the bees who made the honey. I wonder if they are worrying a little about if they will get caught. I hope they are. They should be. In case you missed it, I wrote about honey launderers in prior issues of this newspaper. Again, past issues are available online. I will be discussing honey launderers in every issue, so check out prior issues to catch up, just in case you haven’t been following along. And, stay tuned for exciting updates!
OK, back to the bees. Nectar flows and supplemental feeding also allow the bees to secrete beeswax from specialized wax glands on the underside of their abdomens. Beeswax is a clear liquid that becomes opaque and hardens when it comes in contact with air. It is absolutely astounding to me that bees make beeswax from flower nectar. Think about it. They make a substance that has so many uses and has been an integral part of human history, since the beginning of human history.
I could write about beeswax all day, and maybe one day I will. But for now, if you are interested, please do a little research about beeswax. Look at any era in history and you will be amazed by the many uses of beeswax and how valuable it has been to humanity. From art to currency to medicine to tax payments, beeswax has proven to be an important contribution to hu-
manity. It’s pretty important to honey bees too!
Certain age bees secrete beeswax so the colony can shape it into beautifully symmetric wax combs. The bees fill the comb with honey. They also fill it with pollen, which the bees ferment and cap with a layer of nectar. This is called bee bread, and it is how the bees consume the pollen they gather. The bees are actually preserving both the pollen (by making bee bread) and the nectar ( by making honey) for future use. While honey lasts for-ever (as long as it was properly processed and/or stored) bee bread does not. It seems the bees prefer fresh bee bread over older bee bread, which may have been stored over the winter. In any event, in times of rainy weather where the bees can’t get out and gather pollen, or when the beekeeper is trying to help a small or struggling colony, beekeepers can offer the bees pollen substitutes or pollen supplements. I haven’t needed to add pollen pastes this season, even though we have had a good amount of rain. The good thing about all that rain early on is that the ground had a lot of water ground which will supply the plants with all the water they need during the nectar flow!
Business networking
But right now, we need some warm sunny days to get the party started! And then, we do want just enough rain in the early summer to keep the nectar flow going but not too much to wash the nectar from the flowers or stop the bees from foraging. So yes, I have been almost as busy as a bee. I recently joined a business networking group. I totally stepped out of my comfort zone and joined Le Tip, and I’m glad I did!
Started in 1978, LeTip was the first business leads networking group in the United States. I knew little to nothing about business networking groups in general, and certainly never heard of LeTip. I learned about Le Tip through Mindy Armandi, the owner of Rejuvalian Aesthetics, a medical spa in Southampton. In case you didn’t know, Mindy is the self-proclaimed Collagen Queen of the Hamptons. Now you know.
I saw an ad on Instagram for Le Tip of Bridgehampton, and Mindy’s name was mentioned as the Secretary. I
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BEES
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asked her about it while getting a facial at her spa. She told me it is a group of business owners who refer other business owners, exchanging qualified leads while building solid business relationships. Through Le Tip, business owners can also develop strong presentation skills and become proficient networkers.
There are chapters throughout the world and each is governed by an elected board. Prospective members are vetted into each group by a team of “inspectors”, who interview the member and reports back to the group, who then casts a vote to accept or reject the candidate. Qualifications to join include having all the proper licenses and insurances necessary to run that type of business. A comprehensive questionnaire is used, and basically, you have to be a high quality business in good standing with whatever powers that be in order to be voted into the group.
Each group allows one person in each field to join the group. That person holds the “seat” for the business category in which they work. Each business category is represented by only one member, creating a fully engaged competition free environment. There can be only one plumber, one chiropractor, one landscaper, one dog walker, one financial planner, one caterer, and so on. And surprise, surprise, I am the first beekeeper EVER in Le Tip! I actually wrote the “Apicul-
turist” category for the organization! (Apiculturist is the proper term for beekeeper!)
I joined less than 2 months ago and I can tell you it has positively affected both my professional and personal life! I have met some of the smartest and nicest people through Le Tip. We have weekly meetings in Bridgehampton and monthly socials. There are also opportunities to meet other business owners across Long Island. Heck, you can network with fellow Le Tippers across the country via all kinds virtual events! There’s information about running and growing your business and so much more.
Le Tip has worked for me
At first, I thought I would just pass on some information about honey bees, and hoped those in attendance would learn how they could help the bees and share that information with others. Since talking about helping bees is one of my most favorite thing to do, I figured I'd give it a go. I also hoped I would be able to offer leads to my fellow LeTippers, and joined with a little trepidation about that part, and low expectations for business growth, (to be perfectly honest).
Well surprise surprise again! So far, I have secured two additional retail locations to sell my Bonac Bees honey. One is the Jewelry Exchange on Route 58 in Riverhead, and the other is Healing Points Acupuncture and Wellness, also in Riverhead. Who’d have thought? Not me!! In addition, I have been selling a few jars of honey at each meeting.
Great Home Cooking on the North Fork
The best part of the sale is seeing how happy a jar of honey makes people, and hearing how much they like my honey! They are so excited to buy it and also seem so surprised at how delicious it is. I think that maybe many people have not had real, raw, local honey before. I’m thinking that the honey launderers in our area have something to do with that, but I digress, again…
Selling honey is a very small part of my business. Good thing, because there is no way a real beekeeper/ honey producers can compete with honey launderers. Honey launderers never sell out. They buy honey for a few dollars a pound. It’s that easy. Maybe they pretend to make honey from imaginary bees that only exist in their crooked minds. Yes, I am angry about this. It’s horrible, actually. These people are defrauding the public with every sale. It’s infuriating and sad at the same time.
Spreading the word
Thankfully, the main focus of my business is managing bees for other people. I’ve received a few leads for new clients through Le Tip. Those referrals haven’t become my new clients, but all leads don’t have to end with a sale. For me, it’s spreading the good word about honey bees, the bad word about honey launderers, and some tipsy words about Le Tip. To learn more about Bridgehampton LeTip , the best chapter on Long Island, and all the outstanding business members, follow this link. https://bit.ly/4bEpbzP
If you are interested in joining, first check to see if your business catego-
ry is available. If you need help, give me or the membership chair a buzz and, and we can help you figure it out. If your business is unique, or the category does not exist, don’t worry ! They can make a category for you just like they did for me. If you’d like to buzz on by, do come as my guest! Keep in mind, we have snacks!
Speaking of snacks, grab a jar of honey and dig right in. Its actually a great energy booster before workouts or anytime, and can also help promote restful sleep! Honey is not just a sweetener, its medicine! Stay healthy, eat honey! Hopefully by the next edition the bees will have gathered lots of nectar and will be making to sweet nutritious honey!
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alienation. I see kids three, four, and five doom-scrolling on their devices. And I have to admit I find my own self watching reels of mountain goats scaling sheer cliffs, street vendors in India selling cobras, cats on pianos, the secrets of the pyramids, anything and everything in 15-second bits. We’re not going back to the “spalldeen”, I know that, but where are we heading? Wait. Gimme a sec. I’ll google that!
Looking for The Remote: Roaming Mass Media
by Joe Enright
For the first in an ongoing series, let’s start at the beginning…Before color screens, before video cassettes, before DVDs, before cable, before Wi-Fi, before Smart TVs – and the thousands of viewing options very few older Brooklynites know how to locate – television programming was sparse. Especially in 1948, when WNET (today’s Channel 13) made its debut with only one “show” – consisting of a camera trained on a teletypewriter printing wire service news stories. Every now and then the camera would swivel to show mechanical toys moving around while schmaltzy music played so they could load more paper. It was called “Day Watch,” and I think it would make a great new format for Channel 5, Fox. They could market it as “Retro-News.” The camera would be trained on a machine that continuously printed the New York Post and the Wall Street Journal, but occasionally swivel to show Rupert Murdoch getting bitch-slapped by one of his ex-wives. Anyway, just an idea… Channel 9, meanwhile, was originally owned by the General Tire Company, which purchased the catalogue of RKO Pictures, leading to their Million Dollar Movie gambit: the same
I imagine Zac would have had a lot of fun with the cable fare today…“Ghost Hunting Adventurers Meet the Curse of Skinwalker Ranch Island to find Ancient Bigfoot Alien Dog Star Egyptians”
movie played twice each night for a week. That’s probably why some of us Big Apple Boomers can still recite last lines from RKO classics:
King Kong: “No, it was beauty killed the beast.”
Godzilla: “The menace was gone and so was a great man, so the whole world could wake up and live again.” (US milquetoast version dubbed by Raymond Burr). The closing Japanese narration which we never got to hear anticipated the 843 sequels and spinoffs, give or take, that would follow: “If nuclear testing continues, then someday, somewhere in the world, another Godzilla may appear.” 100%.
Gunga Din: “You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.” Duh.
The Thing: “Keep watching the skies!” Or as Jackson Browne would phrase it in For A Dancer (1974), “Pay attention to the open skies, you never know what will be coming down.”
Citizen Kane: “Throw that junk!” Of course, the first line is infinitely more famous: “Rosebud.”
Channel 11 was owned by the NY
Daily News which called itself “New York’s Picture Newspaper,” so it grabbed the call sign “PIX.” For most of the 1960s, on Saturday night at 7:30pm, Chiller Theatre reigned there (using the British high-brow spelling of re, HaHa!), hosted by “Zacherley, The Cool Ghoul.” John Zacherle (no “Y” in his true name) had a hit novelty record in 1958 called “Dinner With Drac” and built a career around it – as a TV host and later an FM rock radio DJ, doing his Dracula schtick. John, who passed in 2016, obviously inspired the 1990s Comedy Central Mystery Science Theater 3000 format of mocking Grade Z horror and sci-fi flicks. Zacherle was at his best when he inserted himself into those grainy dark black and white movies – Zac’s preferred palette.
By the late 1990s cable had finally penetrated every corner of the City and the Captains of Media suddenly realized they needed a cheap new business model to fill up their schedules. Alas, teletypewriters had been relegated to museums, so they invented “Reality TV” – sorta like Public Access but with way better production and a lotta stock footage: the on-screen amateur talent costs a pittance, little studio time needed since you’re out in the world all the time, and no (UGH!) writers to pay because it’s all staged ad-libs. Plus no licensing fees, so you can create plenty of spinoffs and repeat everything forever.
I imagine Zac would have had a lot of fun with the cable fare today…“Ghost Hunting Adventurers Meet the Curse of Skinwalker Ranch Island to find Ancient Bigfoot Alien Dog Star Egyptians” or “Surviving Brutal Alaska Where It Stopped Snowing Three Seasons Ago Due to Global Warming” and “Alone and Naked in the Woods with Nothing Except the Production Team and a String of Heated Trailers with Fully-Stocked Bars.”
I find these shows oddly comforting, each in their own niche way, depending on the production company. Take for instance “The Secret of Skinwalker Ranch,” “The Curse of Oak Island,” and their two spinoff series, all produced by Prometheus Entertainment for the History Channel.
On “Secret” they drill holes, fire rockets and stare at the skies in very rural Utah, reading their gadgets and calibrating instruments. The five major cast members assemble in a semi-circle whenever a new drilling outfit arrives to explain how the last drilling outfit broke all their bits trying to pen-
etrate the shell of a spaceship buried inside a mesa (don’t ask). They then all look at each other gravely and say things like, “That last drill just done broke. Must’ve been the UFO.” And the others will nod solemnly and look at each other again. They also assemble in the ranch’s control room and sit around a table looking at film of the day’s mysteries: a misfired rocket, a strange radio signal, mysterious aircraft surveilling their misadventures, and, of course, another broken drill. In “Beyond Skinwalker Ranch” (could there be a more perfect name for a spinoff?), the Skinwalker cast sends an ex-CIA agent and a TV journalist to another western ranch each week that’s only slightly less para-normie than Skinwalker. They then round-up people on the new ranch so they can stand around (or sit at a big table) and stare at each other nodding gravely and proclaiming: “It just doesn’t make any sense!!” and “In all my years on this planet I have never witnessed
a drone [or rocket or bulldozer or drill or screwdriver] malfunction like that!! Must be the UFOs!”
Both shows are highly recommended if you can record and watch later to avoid the 18 minutes of commercials every hour. And be sure to catch the series that inspired it all, “The Curse of Oak Island.” For eight seasons a group of treasure hunters have been digging holes in a Canadian island that’s smaller than Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Every show ends with them sitting around a long table staring at each other and saying with a solemn voice, “Well I thought for sure we were gonna find that pirate gold this time.” Then, “Yup.” And in the next episode they come up with reasons why they were wrong to drill where they did until someone points at a map and exclaims, “Dag-nab-it, let’s drill over there next season!”
Rinse and repeat forever. Frankly, every episode of all these shows is very entertaining. The end is always almost in sight…but then…Just like the G train lately, it all disappears. Wait till next season when they actually dig out that spacecraft somehow embedded in a sandstone mesa. Then you’ll thank me…Unless, of course the spacecraft turns out to be a meteorite. But hey, the “Beyond Skinwalker” team used ground penetrating radar to trace what appears to be a “Manta Ray” spaceship buried on Mount Wilson Ranch in Nevada this season, so the curse of the secret remains!
BOOKS
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ping payments, hand trucks, blistered fingers, scraped knuckles, dusty inhalations, crammed vehicles, rickety, steep staircases, molasses-velocity elevators I’ve endured schlepping the collection around could be a novel itself.
I’ve cursed the Gods, cried of sheer exhaustion, broken up with girlfriends, fist fought shipping-company porters, bruised BMWs, slathered tubes of BenGay on my lower back, plastered bandaids on my elbows, all so that me and my books could remain as one.
Some are truly tattered, torn and surgically reconstructed with Scotch tape, burnished with food, water, wine stains, and even snot. Some have been misshapen by my behind which has fallen asleep and rolled atop more books than I care to remember. A girlfriend would really fix that problem, but I digress.
I’ve built much of my collection through my good fortune of meeting so many interesting people to whom I will always say: “Tell me a book that was seminal to your existence, that blew you away.” And then I go and buy that book and read it, in honor of their spirit. Once in Three Lives, my favorite bookstore in Manhattan, I volleyed back and forth with Brooke Shields about our favorite books. Our tastes were so aligned she suggested we each buy each other a book. I bought her Mark Helprin’s “Memoir from Antproof Case.” She handed me Abraham Verghese’s “Cutting For Stone.” That book has re-
mained one of my favorites of all time, and not, dear reader because it was gifted to me by Every Male of My Generation’s Fantasy, although that was certainly a little pumpkin spice in my latte, I won’t deny. But I digress. I have some titles with author inscriptions, many bleached by the sun. I even have a hardback copy of “Old Yeller” the Fred Gipson tear-mill about a teenage boy and his love and loss of a canine companion. My copy is from the Garden City Junior High School library and is covered with the requisite plastic coating, replete with library stamp card and stamp pocket affixed to the inside first page. Borrowers, per their penciled inscriptions, include Ken Wren, Jeanne Maclean, Rosemary Cole and Scott Jones … but no signature of yours truly.
I open the book and bury my nose in its jaundiced pages and it transports me back to the seventh grade, like magic, so many images and emotions revitalized … rugby shirts and Levi’s cords, Graham crackers and lukewarm milk in waxed carton containers, chalkboards, tiled floors, Bubble Yum and strange, new urgings. The smell is indescribable yet familiar to anyone of my generation. You are welcome to come over and get a whiff if you’re feeling nostalgic for simpler days. If I could bottle it, it would be a best seller (Eau de Bibliotheque) and perhaps inspire a whole new generation to more temperate pleasures of hickeys and light petting, The Police, Foreigner, Ron Reagan Republicanism, old school stuff, but I digress. Has it been worth it, this literary alba-
tross around my neck? If you’re reading this piece, if you’ve actually picked up this little local-yokel, “charming” newspaper at Jack’s Coffee in the Amagansett Square, or in the stack next to Dan’s Papers at the IGA grocery, and paged through it, perhaps the image of my library catching your eye, and you’ve tolerated my mastery of the run-on sentence thus far, then there is at least a small chance you’ll agree that yes, it was worth it. For clearly, you’re a glutton for literary punishment, a fan of the great Russians (Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Chekov, Pushkin, etc), Bolano, Pynchon, DH Lawrence, perhaps, and likely you’re a bit insane, on the spectrum, at least a mad dash of obsessive compulsive in the mix. Perhaps, you’re a bit nos-
Rates of Exchange
by Saul Dennis
The Scene: A café in Manhattan’s Central Park. Early morning. Stopping for a coffee while walking the pup. (Patience. It only sounds like a cliché. OK. It is a cliché. But like most clichés, it contains a kernel of truth. In this case, that dogs need to be walked in the morning. More meaningful truths follow, promise.)
Two teenage boys work the counter. One Black, the other Hispanic. Directly in front of me, a man orders. Taking out his wallet, he hands over a bill.
Black Teen: Hey, what’s this?
Man ordering coffee (sheepish, reaching to take the bill back): Oh, sorry… Black Teen (gesturing, the bill held in both hands): No, what is this?
Man ordering coffee: Oh, it’s a Qatari riyal.
Now I noticed that the coffee man
talgic, want time to stand still in some cases, want to toss Kindles and iPads and smartphones into the proverbial sea, harken back to the slower times, the heft of the page, the sounds of the saw mill producing pulp which would become paper which would become book. Perhaps, you like to appear smart, well-read, to get a lady in bed.
On this point, I’ve been frequently accused, as my red Mazda Miata convertible wasn’t a dead giveaway. I’m joking, and once again, I digress, but I shall do so no more. I’ve got some pages to turn.
Please feel free to email me at jcaccamo@cppcre.com if you’d like a list of my favorite books.
does, indeed, look and sound Middle Eastern.
The kid behind the counter shakes his head in amazement. Heck, I leaned in.
Just what does a Qatari riyal look like?
The kid calls his co-worker to take a look. He, too, is awed. For a few moments, we’re all happily looking at this odd paper currency with camels and funny writing. A worldly Middle Eastern traveler, two teens and a middleaged white guy (me) sharing a moment of wonder.
At the time, and looking back, I’m filled with hope. No thoughts of race. Color. Politics. Us vs. Them. Me vs. You. Just connection. Unalloyed and honest. The guy getting coffee motions for the kids to keep the bill. He extends a few US dollars to pay for his coffee.
Black Teen (waving him off): No, man…We’re good.
Currently, a Qatari Riyal is worth 27 cents. But if you ask me, at that moment, it was priceless.
What's going on with France?
by Dario Pio Muccilli, Star-Revue EU correspondent
As President Macron surprisingly called a snap legislative election in the aftermath of his loss to the far right in the June 9th EU elections, France is today close to having its first far-right Prime Minister: Jordan Bardella, the rising star of Marine Le Pen’s Rassemblement National (RN) By the time of this writing, France has already held the first voting round, which gave RN an astonishing 33% of the ballots. Now, on July 7th all the constituencies where no candidate had the absolute majority of the ballots will see a second round. According to French electoral law, the admitted candidates to the second stage are not just the two biggest vote getters, but each candidate who got votes from at least 12.5% . This means that in many constituencies there are three candidates from the three main parties, the RN, Macron’s Ensemble (Together) and the leftist alliance Nouveau Front Populaire (New Popular Front).
The debate today is whether the latter two form an alliance or single agreements to withdraw candidates in constituencies where one of them is more likely to defeat the far-right. The Star Revue spoke to Lucas Moulène, 27,
PhD student in history and member of the Isère region Federal Council of the Socialist Party, which is a major stakeholder in the Nouveau Front Populaire alliance.
What is the atmosphere today around these elections for people you know? Fear?
Generally, coming from a republican family, everyone close to me is very afraid of the arrival in power of a party that rejects everything that has made France great in the world, namely the invention of modern democracy, the Enlightenment and Human Rights. Some binationals I know, or foreigners, are afraid of having to leave the country. Personally, given my political and professional commitments, I’m almost physically worried.
What is the importance of this second round?
Decisive. It’s a referendum for or against the Republic, which in France means for or against democracy. In the event of a far-right victory, it would potentially spell the end of the EU. Finally, it would be the worst symbol of all for democrats, for whom France, despite its lesser importance in the world today than in the past, remains a model for human rights.
Is it possible for the Nouveau Front Populaire to form an alliance with Macron?
If by alliance we mean a coalition with a common program, I don’t think that’s very likely. Moreover, it wouldn’t be so much with Macron as with what’s left of his majority. Macron is discredited everywhere, including among his own troops, as shown by the differences between the voting instructions in his center-right coalition. As for the withdrawal agreements, the majority seem to be on the right track, even if many on the right refuse to unite against the reactionaries. On the other hand, a left-wing minority government seems possible, though far from likely.
Would you define the RN a threat? Why are they so popular among voters?
The RN threat represents the return, updated for the 21st century, of the worst that France and the world have produced. It’s not the fascism of the 30s and 40s that’s coming back, but its epigones. From the outset, everything about the RN stinks of anti-republicanism, racism and anti-Semitism. Remember that its founders include members of the Vichy movement, a “French” Waffen-SS who defended
Hitler’s bunker, and members of the OAS (ed, Terrorist movement against decolonization of Algeria in the 50s60s). The original founder Jean-Marie Le Pen and Marine’s father, repeatedly convicted of Holocaust denial and anti-Semitism, is the most paradigmatic example. Journalists even asked Jordan Bardella whether JMLP was anti-Semitic a few weeks ago, and the PM candidate replied that he was not. When you scratch the surface, you see that the RN has not changed. Nearly 50 legislative candidates had already been convicted of all kinds of violence, racism, homophobia and Holocaust denial.
What would you do if they win?
It’s a good question, because I’m a public servant at university, where I have freedom of speech. I will keep teaching my students without expressing my political views, but in all my research and party activities I will do everything to defy them. We are discussing creating local associations where it will be possible to start a new leftist thought, which has suffered in the last decades.
As public servants we are obliged to save the honor and the interests of the Republic, so I will resist.
SUN SIGNS JULY FORECAST
Julie Evans
As we enter the season changing energy of Cardinal Sign Cancer, we may consider the recent Presidential Debate between President Joe Biden and Former President Donald Trump at the end of June. From an astrological point of view we now know that Joe Biden does not have an astrologer. If he did have an astrologer, the debate would have never been set for the moment that it was held. His natal astrological chart shows that at the day of the debate, Mercury, his planet of communication, made a difficult aspect. This was the ninety degree or square aspect between his natal Mercury in Scorpio and transiting Saturn in Pisces which made what he said (or what he failed to say) significant enough to be remembered forever. Saturn is stationing now… barely moving and getting ready to retrograde from about nineteen degrees Pisces, so the ramifications of the debate will become part of Joe Biden’s political legacy. It will be talked about for months until well after the election has come and gone. If you look at the Trump Natal Chart, there is personal expansion ahead as Jupiter in Gemini hits his Sun later this year. Perhaps this is why he agreed to whatever Joe Biden asked for as debate prerequisites. Trump may have an astrologer. Reagan did!
Cancer - Happy Birthday to you and to the United States also born under this sign. The first two weeks present a better time period to vacation if you are thinking of getting away. Your annual New Moon asks for you to set intentions for the year. Look at how you can distribute your responsibilities in an easier to manage way. The Capricorn Full Moon on July 21st opposes your sign but still looks like a fun day for getting out and participating in a fun, creative event.
Leo - Mercury enters your sign on July 2nd and may make the Lion’s roar louder. You might want to employ the count to ten before you speak since Mercury slows down and enters his shadow period on July 16th. What you say in July can come back to you in August since Mercury will dance between Leo and Virgo this summer.
Virgo - Mercury is very much at home in the sign of Virgo. Virgos are detail oriented and can be highly analytical. With Mercury entering your sign on July 25th you may want to review documents you hope to move forward once Mercury moves direct after August 25th. For those about to head off to college this is a good time to review your potential course work and schedules.
Libra - You may know that something is amiss but you are not doing anything about it. It would be wise to pursue the answers you are seeking even though the urge to have fun in
the sun is getting the upper hand. Scorpio - Issues regarding love will come up in July. Whether it is a person that represents this difficulty or it is a subject you love, there are problems to work through. It may be as simple as your school schedule not allowing you to take the classes you want. Or it might be that a lawsuit you are involved in that takes up too much vacation time.
Sagittarius - Words of love may be spoken during a great summer romance. Look instead to slow down the escalation if you want the relationship to last instead of burning out. Your emotions run high around mid-month. It is better to have a cooling off period than losing your head in a romance.
Capricorn - Look for communications regarding your professional life around mid-month. There will be confusing aspects and you will have to read between the lines to see exactly where the sender is going with this. But, you will get a flash of inspiration about how to deal with this problem in a creative way if you look for it.
Aquarius - Pluto represents the plutocracy, atomic energy and the politically powerful and is in Aquarius for July and August, however in September it will retrograde into Capricorn for a few months before moving back into Aquarius for about the next twenty years. While in Aquarius Pluto’s focus is on the people, on the
collective or the hive. This is a major shift from Pluto’s former twenty year residence in Capricorn that brought us the 2008 financial crisis. The Leo Sun is in opposition to Pluto during the last ten days of July, making this period a testing ground for your Aquarius inspired ideas as long as they are oriented toward the collective.
Pisces - Neptune has been in its home sign of Pisces since 2011 and is scheduled to leave next year. Neptune along with Saturn in Pisces has shown us how powerful the waters of the ocean can be. Recent rip currents have taken the lives of people who do not know how to swim in the powerful ocean. Hundreds of whales and dolphins are turning up dead and are attributed to commercial fishing gear, vessel strikes and the building of offshore wind energy areas. Hard to believe this amount of death could be from commercial fishing gear as claimed since offshore wind has taken its toll on commercial fishing businesses. Perhaps it is the fog of Neptune confusing the government. Because Neptune is at the critical twenty-ninth degree of his home sign Pisces I would caution mariners to be aware of ocean storms turning violent. I think there is a greater chance of a major hurricane and major flooding than we have seen since Hurricane Sandy due to a square aspect between Uranus in Taurus and Saturn and Neptune in Pisces. Many fish species are moving northward along the East Coast looking for cooler water. And many fishermen are being pushed out of their traditional fisheries because of increasing government regulation. Expect July to be a time of ocean accidents and do not rule out a possible accident while having fun in the ocean.
Aries - Time to chill out. Think about how much you have done this year and allow yourself to take a needed break and heal any wounds you might have gotten during your self imposed work program in that coal mine. Later this year things may get confusing so now is the time to review and cool.
Taurus - Prepare for sudden disruption. It could be a major storm or an earthquake. But it could be the passing of people by violence. Mars and Uranus are conjunct this month on July 14th. It is also conjunct
with a fixed star called Algol. Algol represents the severed head of the Medusa in mythology. It is a most unfortunate star and is associated with death by decapitation. With these three elements moving together I would lay low from July 12th until July 18th.
Gemini - With Jupiter the planet of abundance and expansion in your sign for a year you can expect “more.” Depending on where it is located in your natal chart, this placement will tell you what sort of “more” to expect. If you want to know about this once in twelve years configuration contact me. Otherwise expect anything from winning the lottery to a really bad sunburn.
We are continuing to stand in our own light and meditate on bringing more love to our planet. We are doing this world wide at 2 pm every Sunday. Join the rest of the world as we do a fifteen minute meditation in your home or on the beach.
Please read both your Sun Sign and your ascendant sign, if you know it. If you would like to know what sign your ascendant is in or more about the promise of your natal chart, please contact me at jevansmtk@gmail.com for more information Copyright Julie Evans Astrology 2024
BOOK SERIAL: Fishes, Purple, Tiny... by Bob Racioppo
Last Month
“Zak Wozny, a laid-back teenager who has spent his whole life in Sunset Park, enrolls in Hunter College in order to make sure he gets a draft deferment to stay out of the Vietnam War. Last month we saw his in Miss Kemp's apartment, who asked him for a strange favor. Afterwards, out on his own on the Upper East Side, Zak learns a few things about the living city.
5 – Back to Brooklyn
With 36 ounces of Budweiser in him, Zak felt good, fuck it, take a piss and back to Brooklyn. He could have gone downstairs and taken the 4 train to Pacific and transfer to the RR, but he didn’t. Instead walked west on 42nd Street to Times Square to catch the N express… the Sea Beach, as it was called. It was stupid, but he still didn’t like the IRT, with its numbered trains. Zak knew and liked the Times Square station, which in 1969 was a mecca of commerce. On the first underground level you could buy records, popcorn, hot dogs and French fries and ice cream. You cold get a haircut, your shoes shined, send flowers, make keys or have a watch repaired. There was a certain smell of sugar and sweat. Top-forty hits were pumped out of the doorless record store, accompanied by the screeching of trains from the level below. Zak had a hot dog and an orange drink in a paper cone, caught the N train to Sunset Park. 34th Street, 14th, Canal, Pacific, and his stop – 36th street in Brooklyn.
6 – 451 40th Street
It was 4 short blocks from the subway to the apartment at 451 40th Street, a six-family tenement where Zak lived with his parents Helen and Frank. In no hurry to get home, he stopped at the bodega on the corner of 40th and Fourth. Pete the owner, a mustached Puerto Rican, had known him since he was a kid.
His mother would send him down with a dollar to buy bread or milk. Pete would put the change in a brown paper bag. After nods of hello, Zak walked past the fat grey cat sleeping on the plantains, got a 16 ounce Bud out of the refrigerator case, and put a dollar on the counter. Pete put the beer in a small brown paper bag and slid back a quarter. Bodega beer was always cold, and with the added slight taste of the brown bag Zak knew he was home. Reaching his stoop, there was still half a beer left.
He couldn’t go upstairs with it and was trying to finish when he heard a voice from across the street.
“Hey Woz!” It was Frankie Nod calling. “Hey Frankie…”
Frankie’s family owned 452 40th Street, directly across from 451. He had access to the cellar, which had become a much-used hangout spot. Frankie put a finger to his lips and motioned Zak to come over.
“What’s up Frank?”
“Listen,” he spoke in a low tone, “Ben-
nies downstairs, he scored an ounce of kief… breakin it out.”
“Kief?”
“Oh yeah… it’s powdered hash, dynamite stuff.”
“Oh yeah?”
“C’mon down.”
Zak followed Frankie down the weathered stone stairs into the low-ceilinged, concrete-floored basement, past garbage cans and unused coal bins, ducking under a few ancient sewer mains into the back room. There were two old couches, a coffee table, psychedelic posters taped to the stone walls and a mini-fridge. There was a pull down stereo, crates of records, big vinyl albums with covers to stare at and roll weed on – in short, hangout heaven.
Bennie Gooch sat on one of the couches, sprinkling greenish powder onto a piece of Bambu rolling paper.
“Hey Wizard of Woz, just in time.”
“Hey Bennie, something new?”
“Yeah…kief.. hang on… Frankie, give me a cig.”
Frankie took out a box of Marlboros.
“You need a whole cigarette?”
“No, break off half.”
Bennie took the half cig, squeezed out some tobacco on top of the kief. “Yeah, this helps it burn.”
Bennie then licked the paper, rolled a tight joint, licked it again and held it up.
“Got a light, bro?” They lit up and passed it around, Frankie Nod pulled an album out of the milk-crate, his latest purchase, “Electric Ladyland.”
“You guys hear this yet?”
He put it on the pull down stereo, shut off the overhead incandescent and turned on the black light, while Jimi sang… “So down and down and down we go.”
“Heard you was in college now.”
“Huh… yeah, just came from there.”
“Oh yeah, what ya taking up?”
“Taking up?”
“Yeah, what are ya studying?”
“I don’t know… different shit.”
“Like what, ya got books?”
“Yeah I got …. Oh fuck, MY BOOKS!”
Zak recalled the day, he had four textbooks with him to start, had them in Geography 101 – then he flashed back to an extended hand and a woman’s voice saying, “Hi, I’m Susan Kemp.”
7 – Pizza ETC.
Zac Wozny left Frankie Nod’s cellar around 10 pm. Really high, way too high to go upstairs to the apartment. Had to kill at least two hours, make sure his parents were asleep. The lost books, which cost over a hundred bucks, were going to be a problem. Maybe they’d turn up in lost and found, maybe. Either way, he’d think about that tomorrow. Hungry now, he floated up the block to Fifth Avenue, where there was a pizza joint on every other corner. Tony’s, Za Za’s, Johnny Kings, The Royals. Za Za’s on 46th Street had a jukebox, so he took a walk. There had been a light rain while he was down in the cellar. Everything was shining. Well, to him
it was. The stores he passed every day grabbed his interest. A curtain store on 42nd Street with a brightly lit display drew him in. Zak got close and stared at the interlocking threads of color. Blues and yellows, blending into green – and one thin strip of metallic gold weaving in and out. After a few minutes, when the patterns of color began moving and shifting… “WHOA! Too high.” He backed off – time for some food. At Za Za’s he ordered two slices. While they warmed, he went to the back where the jukebox was. Usually there’d be some of the 46th Street crowd hanging out, but it was Tuesday night, he had the red Formica dining room to himself. The “Rock-Ola” gave you three songs for a quarter. Zak’s first was F-7, Sly and the Family Stone. The 45’s were lined up in a rack, an arm slid sideways, grabbed a disk, slid back, slipped it onto a turntable, where a needle came down on the spinning vinyl. First a little hiss, then real loud with heavy bass:
“I want to thank you For lettin me be mice elf… again!
“Mice elf… cool.” Next pick E-6, was Donovan’s “Hurdy Gurdy Man,” with a lead break by Jeff Beck.. and the lyric “Here comes the Hurdy Gurdy Man singing songs of love…”
He was eating pizza when his third selection came up:
“I was born… in a crossfire hurricane!”
The pizza tasted great, the music was better. About to turn 18 in 1969, Zak felt pretty strange, actually very strange.
“But it’s alright… in fact it’s a gas!” Zak made his way back to 451; the lights of apartment 2R were all out. He slipped in silently and got into bed after a long day. There was a lot to think about, he’d do that tomorrow.
8
– HUH?
Zak Wozny awoke the next morning from uneasy dreams. He found himself transformed in his bed into a different person. There was a knock on the door and his mother’s voice.
“Zak, it’s 7 o’clock. You’ll be late.”
A voice that didn’t seem to be his answered automatically.
“Yeah Mom, I’m up.”
He lay still in bed thinking. “This is new.”
Looking around the room, everything was the same: the dresser, small stereo, closet, bookshelf, desk, window looking out on the fire escape… all exactly as it was, but why did it look so different?
His mother’s voice again through the door, “You’ll be late.”
“I’m up, I’m up.”
But his voice was upsetting to him. It was separate, disconnected, on its own automatic pilot. Was he still high? He hoped he was ‘cause if he wasn’t, his brain had split in two during the night, with one half talking, and the other half listening. He dressed quickly. In the kitchen his mother poured him coffee and offered scrambled eggs, which he declined.
“Didn’t hear you come in last night.”
“Oh yeah, I got in late.”
“Did you eat?”
“I had pizza.”
“There’s leftover macaroni if you’d like to take some for lunch.”
“Nah, I gotta get going.”
“Zak, your books.”
“Oh… no, I got a locker now. They gave us lockers, like in high school.”
“Oh, nice.”
“OK, see you tonight.”
9- -?
Zak Wozny, still on automatic, walked down 40th Street, turned right at Pete’s bodega, four blocks to the 36th Street BMT station, where at the top of the stairs, he stopped. The morning rush hour crowd brushed by him. He moved to the side of the green metal subway entrance and leaned over, watching the descending crowd.
“Oh right,” he thought. “This is NYC, the living organism breathing, breathing in people.”
Zak had seen the exhale yesterday at Grand Central, now, the inhale. Was he still high? These weren’t normal thoughts for him. He watched the descent of suits and dresses and, it being Brooklyn, many blue collar work shirts. They moved smoothly down the stairs into the subway tunnel.
“THE SUBWAY TUNNELS WERE THE VEINS… THROUGH HICH PEOPLE FLOWED, LIKE OXYGEN INTO THE HEART – MANHATTAN.”
“Stop! Please stop!” he yelled at the foreign words and ideas bouncing around his head. Zak turned and started back to 40th Street, after a block he stopped and asked himself again, “Where the fuck am I going?”
He couldn’t go home. He felt a tightness in his stomach again, a wave of fear through his whole body. Standing still, he broke into a sweat.
Panic attacks weren’t common knowledge in 1969, but that’s what he was having. It was Wednesday morning around 7:30 in Brooklyn. People were walking by him, going to offices, school, factories – a normal day in the working world. Zak had been part of this. Now, standing on the corner of 37th and Fourth, it felt to him like a Twilight Zone episode. He was suddenly separate and alone in a world apart. Fuck it, he turned and walked back to the subway station, went down the stairs and bought two tokens for thirty cents, went through the heavy wooden turnstile, got back in the flow…. to get inhaled like the rest by the living organism which is New York City.
Continued Next Month
Author Bob Racioppo is a founding member of the Shirts, a New York-based American punk band that was one of the seminal CBGB bands. After signing a record deal they toured the US and Europe. In addition to music, Robert is an accomplished fine artist. This is his first novel. He grew up in Sunset Park and now lives in Windsor Terrace. To order a copy of the full book ($15) text 917 652-9128 with your address.
Leaving the classroom in the rearview
by Kelsey Sobel
After a decade in the classroom, I’ve accepted my first non teaching job since starting my graduate degree in 2014. Even though the position is for an educational nonprofit, and I’ll be working in a school twice a week, it’s the first fall in many years I won’t be returning to a classroom. There will be no dusting off the syllabus, no ice breaker games, no back to school outfits, no homecoming weekend. No new faces and fresh school supplies. Although I was never the type of teacher who imagined returning to the same school for thirty years, or even teaching for the entirety of my adult career, the change of identity comes with a host of emotions both happy, sad, and bittersweet. The thought of having a job where the work isn’t so intrinsically tied to the idea of being “good” or “bad” is both alluring and confusing.
Teaching is an outward facing position, one where students and community feel free to label your work in whatever way they see fit. This can be grounding and immensely rewarding, it can also be damaging and exhausting. I’ve usually enjoyed telling people I’m in education: it’s a role I believe contributes enormously to the fabric of society. Both of my maternal grandparents were teachers and most of my family works as social workers, professors or teachers of some variety. Coming from a service oriented background, it’s nearly impossible to untie my identity from the desire to contribute positively
to society. The flip side of a profession that is so directly tied to value is that one’s own personal worth and outlook can easily become tied up in the work as well. The line between your identity and work identity can become increasingly and unhealthily blurred. I imagine many teachers, as I have, experience these thoughts on a regular basis: “Am I trying hard enough? Are students learning? Are they engaged? What else could I be doing?” These existential concerns, paired with the relatively low salary and slow climb to a higher salary, (along with the pandemic) teaching has increasingly become a less and less popular profession to choose in an expensive modern world. Of my junior class of over 100 students, not a single one was interested in education.
Community
Part of what drew me to teaching and kept me in education for many years was the sense of community. Schools are an incredible ecosystem and especially in rural areas, act as the hub of social life. If I hadn’t worked at a public school when my husband and I moved back to rural New Hampshire from Brooklyn I’d be adrift – not just in terms of friendship but in terms of having a sense of place – a sense of history – who is who – what is what. Schools provide years of histories, both personal and familial. Schools tell the story of a place.
Working at home three days a week
Heirs to the Court of the Crimson King. Pardon my imprudence but I fail to get excited about one or two former members peddling again what a band they were in did 20 or 30 years ago. As crucial to my young listening as Talking Heads and XTC were, the Remain in Light and EXTC revival bands mean little to me. And while Adrian Belew, Steve Vai, Tony Levin and Danny Carey are out touring with their Beat, playing music from the essential ’80s King Crimson records, I’m more interested in the newer bands that follow in the King’s stead.
them into a solidly black metal setting. (I suppose that makes them prog metal but I’m loathe to use the term.) Launched as a recording project by Brendon RandallMyers (conductor of the Glenn Branca Ensemble and a member of the new music electric guitar quartet Dither) and vocalist Doug Moore (Pyrrhon, Weeping Sores, Glorious Depravity, Seputus), they became a real, live band with the addition of Tristan Kasten-Krause (Sigur Ros, Steve Reich, LEYA) on bass, Dylan Dilella (Pyrrhon) on guitar and Lev Weinstein (Krallice) on drums. Their second album, The Promise of Rain (CD, LP, cassette and download out from Flenser July 12) sharpens the intricacies, patterns and colors of King Crimson into a gleaming growl. Mid tempo, repeating guitar lines float above relentlessly fast, rolling drums while the strain in Moore’s scream might give you laryngitis just from listening to him. The new album is a scathing and scintillating set of songs. Another New York outfit, Paragnosis, released their second album last month. The self-titled, self-released, downloadonly collection of six instrumentals clocks in at just under half an hour. The trio’s sound is cleaner than Scarcity’s, with more room given to showboating solos, executed quite skillfully. Robert Fripp’s King Crimson, at least at times,
I’ll have a noticeably quieter work day. I can work at the kitchen table. I can work on the porch. I can make myself lunch, take a phone call or go for a walk. For many this is the reality of their every day work day and since Covid, remote work has become normalized. Yet for me, leaving a job where I was expected to be stationed in my classroom (with almost zero exceptions) between the hours of 7:15 and 3:15 pm, this feels akin to a jailbreak. At the same time, there will be no end of year celebration, no turning a new leaf. No obvious chances to remake, to redo, to try again. No letters from students saying thank you in so many words and ways.
Most of all I’ll miss interacting with teenagers at such close proximity. To start I’ll be placed in a middle school in a nearby town with low socioeconomics and a low rate of college graduates. The majority of my role is to interact and engage with the community in an effort to get more students to college and or interested in more diverse career opportunities and pathways. Luckily I’m passionate about this work as I remain passionate about education. I’ll be part of a school community, just not as a traditional classroom teacher. Mostly I’m excited to see where this role takes me. One of my frustrations with teaching has been there isn’t much room for growth within the profession. As with any change, I feel expectant, uncer-
leaned into the metallic, whether or not their fans want to admit it. The band came together in 1968, the same year as Black Sabbath (although the Londoners of Crimson were perhaps a bit more erudite than the Brummies of Sabbath). Fans have often tried to build a wall between the two camps, but such bands as Paragnosis and Scarcity proudly walk both sides of the divide.
Everything old is punk again. I don’t mean to be imprudent and I certainly don’t want to be insouciant. Maybe summertime makes me feel nostaligic, or maybe punk is especially good at reinventing itself with only minor changes. All forms steal from their own histories, but punk burned fast and has continued to smolder for decades. Bob Mould sang of squandered youth 40 years ago on “Celebrated Summer” from New Day Rising, the apogee of Hūsker Dū’s brilliant arc. I found myself singing that song through the minute and 57 seconds of “Escape,” the first song on Hayes Noble’s sophomore album, As it Was, As We Were (CD, LP and download from Two Two One Press last month). It doesn’t really fit in melody or meter, but it does in mood, and that’s what matters. Noble’s all of 19 years old and recorded the album the summer after his high school graduation with his younger brother on bass and dad on drums. Like the Hūskers (from Min-
tain and excited. No more grading, no more parent phone calls after an unpleasant incident. Freedom, or perceived freedom can be a double edged sword but I’m ready to take the leap. Teaching is so unique in the human nature of the job - I started mornings between Monday and Friday for most of my career with twenty something faces looking expectantly at me. The idea of walking into a school building without any direct and immediate responsibility to live students is disorienting yet wildly appealing. I can be ten minutes late? I don’t have to speak if I don’t want to? Who am I, if not a teacher? In the fall I’ll also be coaching cross country, a gig I’ve enjoyed as it allows me to interact with young student athletes in a growth oriented way. Watching athletes achieve their physical goals is rewarding and fulfilling. I’m hopeful that with the subtraction of my classroom, the addition of a more flexible role, and my position coaching, I’ll have miraculously achieved the dream balance between work and home. This is, of course, a ridiculous goal but I do think I’ll have a little more free time to spend with my family. And in the end, I’m not certain I’m done with teaching forever. With anything you truly love the door is never fully closed.
nesota), the northern Illinois native son (since relocated to the Pacific Northwest) plays solidly upper Midwest punk, full of the existentialism and angst of the flatlands and, even at his age, some wistfulness. Noble crafts some strong songs here. Never mind that there’s nothing all that new going on. It’s powerful, impassioned and catchy, and that’s what punk’s supposed to be.
Meanwhile, the Granada, Spain, five-piece Palmar de Troya put me in mind of Sonic Youth at their yellingest and punkiest. Singer keyboardist Llulaby attacks the five songs on their second album, named simply II (10” vinyl and download from Reptilian Records July 5) with a Kim Gordon take-no-prisoners urgency. The album is full of hooks strategically placed within a nest of fuzzed out guitars. The band named itself for the Palmarianos, a 1970s Spanish religious that founded its own monatery and declared its own pope. But I imagine it’s more the rebellion than the religion they found inspiration in. The automated voice in “Cold Snakes” that repeats an admonition against questioning authority isn’t there to offer helpful advice. It’s there for mental target practice.
NYC’s Scarcity takes Crimson’s precision and overlaid riffs and puts
Where people in the know eat
by George Fiala
For some reason, my parents, who started coming out here in 1969, never took my sister and I to Sam's, even though it had already at it's Newtown Lane location for over twenty years. Maybe they preferred seafood, and I have many memories of the family at Gosman's dock, but then again, I also remember often eating pizza at Ma Bergman's, as well as breakfast at Fromm's in Amagansett.
I wasn't really even aware of Sam's until a friend of mine, who used to stay at my house with his girlfriend, kept telling me about what a great place it was.
In college I had a part-time job at a pizza place called Sam's. That however, was in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Being in the relative vicinity of Philadelphia we also made great steak sandwiches.
There's another venerable pizza restaurant on Court Street also called Sam's. It actually has been around since the 1930s. But somehow I never ventured into our Sam's. Until now.
One night this past winter after a day of distributing the paper I decided to
check it out. The first thing I noticed, aside from the homey atmosphere and beautifully dated decor, was that everybody there, customers and wait staff as well, seemed very happy.
I will add that the menu is also happy. In fact, full of happy food. I ordered minestrone soup, a personal pizza with sun dried tomatoes on top, and a plate of spaghetti. The bill came to less than $40.
Judging from notes of famous happy eaters, the place has a storied history. On the wall in the middle room hang autographed notes. Some of the signatories include Bill Clinton, Al D'Amato, Ben Bradlee, Peter Maas, Kathleen Turner and Billy Joel and Christie Brinkley (on separate pages).
Here's what Mike Lupica, Daily News columnist wrote: "Tom, This is one of our favorite places! And the pizza is getting better... somehow." And famous Life magazine columnist (in her own handwriting, of course): "Shana Alexander eats here —— whenever she can."
