Brittany and I took a trip to NYC to see a couple of shows. Actually, we went only to see ‘Good Night and Good Luck’. But while I was at dinner at Angelo’s, and high on red wine, I drunk-bought tickets for ‘Glengarry Glennross’. So we wound up seeing two shows.
Good Night was great. Really terrific. And prescient for our times.
Glen was just okay. Good talent but it felt like they were all over-acting a bit. Also, they cut out some of the very best parts from the movie. I found out later the Alec Baldwin character was written into the movie but never adapted to the play. Which was too bad because the play was not the same without that iconic scene.
We had a lovely time though. Sleeping in a bit, long walks through Central Park and mid-town. Down to the Starbucks Reserve Roastery. We had great meals at Quality Italian, and Langan’s.
Generally just fucking off. People-watching in one of the world’s wildest cities. We stayed at Times Square and it was a madhouse as usual. A naked grandma cowgirl has now joined the naked cowboy in playing guitar. I got in a few cigars at Macanudo’s on East 63rd. Terrific cigar bar.
We never left mid-town. No need to.
There was a pro-Israel parade/march that felt a little over the top. It seems to the casual observer that Israel is very well supported while the Palestinians are being kicked and stomped while they are down. I think the score in this latest skirmish is around 56,000 to 1,100 or thereabouts. Maybe a little less gloating and whining by Israel supporters, and a bit more compassion and reflection, would be more effective than deputizing busloads of kids in matching shirts to walk the streets of Manhattan to sing the praises of Israel.
Where does it end. Have the Palestinians not suffered enough for the crimes of their brethren. You’ve extracted your blood revenge. Quit killing the children. Anyway, do you not think they will grow up with the hate of remembrance in their blood. How you killed their fathers and brothers and uncles who were not Hamas and did not vote for violence, but simply tried to live in an unlivable situation.
To Israel — do you really think hate and violence is the way to peace? Do you not understand that forgiveness and love and creating livable and humane conditions for this next generation will be more productive. Or do you enjoy this drama? Are you addicted to the identify of victimhood — because it appears that way to those of us watching from the sidelines. At long last, have you no compassion for other humans?
Perhaps the majority of Israelis do feel compassion but, like us here in the US, are powerless against their own government who is not acting on behalf of the majority. Israel needs to overcome Netanyahu and we need to overcome Trump.
We watched a bit of the Netflix show about Bin Laden. Soon after 9/11 a reporter asks George Bush if diplomacy should be part of our response and Bush replies ‘Fuck Diplomacy — we’re going to war‘. That pretty much sums up the US and Israel’s response to everything.
We help create the circumstances and motivations for others to attack us and then over-react and double down on more of the same when it happens. I am not trying to over-simplify, but only to acknowledge that we play a not insignificant part in these horrendous episodes. And we kill far more than we are killed.
With the benefit of reflection, we can trace a line from Ronald Reagan to George Bush to Donald Trump and the consistent deterioration of decorum and diplomacy in favor of military forward and finally now, on the cusp of a dictatorship. We’ve no one to blame but ourselves.
Lots of news about the new pope. NPR interviewed a lady from the midwest and she was exalted out of her fucking head over having an American pope. She is over the moon. Apparently, she believes her life, whatever good or ill her circumstances, will somehow be transformed with an American on the throne. I suppose all the pedophilia and crusades and mass executions and burning people and cover-ups and the fact that women are not allowed to be fully expressed in the church practices or administration are lost on this lady. Good for her. Go new pope!
In a hilarious meme, I saw a post that essentially said ‘a 69 year old man who had his entire life been known as Robert now identifies as Leo. He was also wearing a dress when he made this proclamation’.
I have a jacket I bought at the Columbus Coffee Festival a few years ago. I’ve never once worn this jacket without getting compliments. I got to my hotel in NYC too early to check in, so I walked across the street to Pret a Manger for coffee and a croissant. A well dressed, older banker type dude followed me to my table to let me know how much he loved my jacket and ask me where I got it.
Columbus sounds a little boring for a jacket that gets so much attention, so I told him I got it at an outdoor market in Nairobi from a lady selling handmade apparel items. The only fabrication there is the city — all else is factual, including that the lady was from Nairobi.
If I was handy with a sewing machine, I would make and sell these jackets nineteen to the dozen.
Just a few days in the healing forests of Black Dog Ridge and I already feel stronger. Calmer. Like the whole world is not coming down on me at once. Like I can sustain whatever blows come next. I’m building a garage here and replacing the wood-burner with a proper fireplace. Lots of little projects in the plans.
Marti and I have us a big time here. Hiking up and down the mountain. Going for jeep rides. Cutting up downed trees and dragging them back to the wood pile for sawing and chopping. Sitting by the fire and absorbing the wisdom that emits from the hot coals. Being here reminds me that my problems are minuscule compared to so many others.
While driving the jeep down the lane, enroute to the general store for water, Marti saw a squirrel run across the road and she lept over the dash and out onto the hood and off the front of the jeep and right after that squirrel. Of course I cannot catch a jungle fox, so I just switched off the engine and waited for her to return. She did. Just a few minutes. She was not carrying a squirrel carcass when she came back to the jeep.
Funny thing about Marti. When she came back to me, she was smiling and happy and wagging her tail. She does not seem to be massively disappointed that she did not catch the squirrel. She seemed happy as hell just for the opportunity to chase it. And that little lesson is just one of many reasons why I feel better. It’s the journey fool!. You know this. But keep getting wrapped around the axle trying too hard to manipulate outcomes.
We are planning a little get together at BDR for Juneteenth. Why not?
I caught up with some good friends. A guy in Melbourne that I have not see now for 25 years and he is still one of my favorite people. Steven. Wicked smart. Kind. Gentle. Funny. Great perspective. As I write this, he is playing tour guide to my other friends I have not seen in 25+ years. Dean and Lori. I was in the Navy with Dean. We served on the USS Truxtun together. Military experiences, like rugby, facilitate strong bonds. So even though we don’t see one another often, we remain connected by our shared experience in those confusing years of youth.
Not to be confused with the confusing years of the 7th decade.
He came looking for the answers
To some questions on his mind
Seeking truth and understanding
In the hope that he would find
A way to better serve his brothers
And his sisters in the sun
Sharing all that he has given
Giving all to everyoneJohn Denver
Scrolling must surely be mostly bad for us. But tonight. Tired from a long day and too emotionally drained for reading, I scrolled. Because my algorithms know me, I was reminded of the beauty of Mark Knopler and John Prine and Merle Haggard and John Denver and Robert Frost and T.S. Eliot and the hilarious wit of Ricky Gervais. So I will keep scrolling a bit here and there. Lots of trash to be sure, but among the trash, some bits of real beauty.
I dreamed about rugby last night. Again. Is this normal? The old team coming together to play again. In the dream, we are older but apparently still feeling capable enough. We were warming up and I was running around like a young colt. Laughing, running, jumping. Practicing kicks and long passes. The usual suspects from Portneuf Valley RFC. Judged by the prolific dream sequences, my rugby experiences appear to be top of the list in my life reflections. I did play a long time. Over 20 years, which is decent for rugby.
We had us a time. We surely did. Living in Pocatello, our closest games were 2.5 hours away in Salt Lake City. Each spring and fall we made 3 or 4 trips to SLC to play The Haggis, Park City, and the University of Utah. Then there were trips to Missoula, Spokane, Boise, Vegas, Bozeman, Butte. Tens of thousands of miles of road time. The after game parties. Tournaments were all weekend affairs. We saw everyone’s kids getting older each year.
It was a scene.
And the rugby. The sweat and blood and pain. The anticipation of the physicality. The pure joy of free-flowing adrenalin and tackling people. Running plays to create space and opportunity. The shared experiences of winning and losing and all the emotions that come with going into battle together time after time with the same guys.
I fucking love that shit.
Humbly Submitted
Robert Myres – Flanker, Portneuf Valley Rugby Football Club (ret.)
The Martini Tales 