Category: Uncategorized
Went to Laser Wolf last night for the first time and found it closed. Javier had described it as a hipster bar, though he looked more like a preppy, straddling his bicycle in the street and wearing a white sweater with thin blue stripes.
We headed to 2nd Street. Javier's bike was already leaned against a sidewalk table by the time I found a parking space, paid the meter, placed the receipt on the dashboard. He brought us two beers.
He asked if I'd been to Jerk Machine over by the bus station. I said I'd heard of it but I'd never been. He said that the perfect first date would be jai alai in Dania Beach, followed by a meal at Jerk Machine, and then a nightcap at Laser Wolf. "If the girl said, 'That was a great night,' you'd know you had a keeper."
Following the example of Samuel Beckett, I've been watching a lot of televised tennis (the Australian Open). Which means I've also been watching a lot of commercials. One in particular has caught my eye. It's for some sort of credit card, and features Alec Baldwin playing two parts. In this particular one, the first Alec Baldwin cuts off the bottom of the second Alec Baldwin's tie and says derisively: "Flat tie. What are we, in prep school?"
I own over 50 flat ties - I prefer to call them Roosters - and I've never associated them with prep school, maybe because I attended public school. I wear them because I find their thin shapes becoming and their horizontal stripes aesthetically pleasing. Now that thin ties are back, I keep wondering why nobody takes the next logical step and flattens the bottom and levels the diagonal stripes. At the same time, I'm rather happy that they don't.
Years ago I attended a reading at a bookstore in Salt Lake City at which the author - a hip young nature writer - wore an exquisite Rooster with variously sized stripes in varying shades of pink. After his reading I complimented him on his tie and, taken aback, he said: "It's the only tie I own." This was disappointing; I had imagined him going through his collection and picking out just the right shade for a literary soiree. And it was also a bit frustrating, seeing such a beautiful Rooster worn by someone with no appreciation of it. I felt like asking him if I could have it.
In most cases (i.e., mine), wearing a square-bottomed tie is a sign of perseverance. They are not sold in contemporary clothing stores (except, sometimes, the thick, solid-colored knit ones, which are to the delicately-striped Rooster what a brownie is to a mille-feuille). You have to hunt for them in vintage clothing stores and consignment shops and Goodwill centers. All of which are in neighborhoods far removed from prep schools.
Freelancing's funny. (Not.) One week you're reading Facebook and the next you're finishing up a quick, out-of-the-blue assignment, before heading off to make copies of your essay in a literary quarterly that was delivered to your door yesterday evening, when an e-mail arrives from the e-book publisher you'd nearly forgotten about with your edited story attached for your perusal. All this the day before you leave on a trip.
To LA. I'm going to see if I can crash the Golden Globes. (I'll let you know on the 19th.) In the meantime, if you want to read me - and learn about Palermo and my brush with the Mafia - pick up the Winter issue of The Missouri Review.
Saturday evening we went with our Boca friends, Don and Joanne, to the Riverfront to see Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. On the way I explained the sad history of the complex; when we got there we strolled empty walkways past vacant storefronts. Still, the setting along the New River was impressive.
"How do you mess this up?" Don asked incredulous.
I told them of the column I wrote suggesting a complete overhaul, which included the addition of a branch of Books & Books, with a cafe in the courtyard and evening entertainment; an art movie house; tapas bars instead of expensive restaurants. And I told them of the letter I got from a reader telling me to take my tapas and art films and jump in the New River.
I'm a day late here but the Rose Bowl parade - and the Rose Bowl - held on January 2nd have completely thrown me off. At this rate I'll probably not send any valentines out until February 16th, have my Memorial Day cookout the second weekend in June, and shoot off fireworks the 24th of July. And I'll just save for Christmas my Thanksgiving turkey.
I became a tennis writer this year, covering the Sony Ericsson in Key Biscayne and the U.S. Open in Flushing Meadows, where I saw Tony Bennett and Frank Deford sitting in the VIP section of Arthur Ashe Stadium, watched Roger Federer walk in for his final press conference like a man headed to the gallows, and shook hands with Andrea Petkovic. On seeing me enter the room (I had requested a one-on-one interview, but two other reporters decided to join in) the bookish, joyous Serbian-German stood up, took a few steps in my direction and, with hand outstretched, introduced herself. At an event that gathered the world's greatest players, this was the most impressive thing I saw.
In November I interviewed Dita Von Teese at the Mondrian Hotel in South Beach (she thanked me for the interesting conversation), and two weeks later I went to a dinner at the W attended by Sean Combs, Adrien Brody, Chris Bosh and Paris Hilton. It couldn't hold a candle to the dinner I had had back in May with Jonathan Raban at Mandolin. (Talk about interesting conversations.)
I taught a number of travel writing courses - online and in person - and visited a few familiar places. Driving to Key West for a story, I spent a night at the Casa Marina (a step up from the usual Southwinds Motel) and added to the list of Great Florida Hotels I've Slept In. In Warsaw in June I got into the prison where Hania was born. (Story pending.) I missed the U.S. Open finals to fly to Prague. (Why hang around when Federer and Petkovic are gone?) I spent a long weekend at a writers' conference in Grand Cayman. (Not a misprint.) In November, I flew to Portugal and found the people - even in crisis - as warm and gracious as ever. (Portugal is one of those rare countries - Turkey is another - that make you feel not like a tourist but like a guest.)
And every weekday, when I was home, I wrote this blog. Thanks for reading it. See you next year.