My New York Week July 8 – July 14

Overused Words and a Wordy Book

I’m so sorry the word, fuck, has lost its virginity. Aren’t you? I was thinking that while a friend and I watched THE HEAT, a sentimental, predictable, violent, girlie-bonding, white trash summer movie. Isn’t fuck the ghost pepper of words – to be used sparingly by those who know what they’re doing? Where do we go from here? Is there another word with its repulsion/fascination factor?

Guy is a word that needs to be replaced with synonyms. Am I the only woman who is puzzled when a woman only audience is addressed as you guys?

How are you? Well or good? This is one the grammarians have lost, but it does give us snobs ample opportunity to prove we know the difference between an adverb and an adjective.

Recently, I read Whittaker Chambers’s WITNESS. It’s a beautifully written book in formal American English by the controversial Mr. Chambers. Was he or wasn’t he a lifelong Commie?  Is his book a slick whitewash or a sincere recantation? It made me wonder whether this country would have been better or worse if Communism had gained a legal foothold. We’ll never know.

This pianist wheels his piano into Washington Square Park and then serenades us with Chopin.

When I was about fourteen, an aunt listened to my moaning about the weather and told me  to stop complaining unless I wanted to be considered a bore. I guess I want to be considered a bore because ain’t it hot? Is NYC the only place where you can be hot and cold at the same time? At least it doesn’t curb my appetite. On Tuesday, over platters of mussels and fries and chilled white wine a friend and I discussed her recent trip to Palestine, Israel and Egypt. She’s a well educated, thoughtful woman who’s agreed to my interviewing her about her experiences in the middle east. Stay tuned! On Wednesday, a friend and I went to the American Ballet Theatre’s The Sleeping Beauty. It was a frothy delight with wonderful dancing – nothing like the pitty-pat of ballet slippers on the Metropolitan’s stage. My friend knows all those Russian and Latin names. From Kochetkova to Cornejo to Vasiliev the names trip off his tongue. I’m going to be boring again and bring up the weather. The 4th was a real stinker but I spent part of the day with old pals and am including a photo

of their wonderful green garden.

The greatest Soprano of them all, James Gandolfini, has died in Rome. He was an Italian American of humble origin who won big in the American dream sweepstakes. In an early episode, his therapist asks him if he was depressed. All I can say is I’m depressed because this wonderful actor has departed the scene much too soon.The illustration is by Jim Margulies and was featured in amNewYork.

Can you guess where she’s floating? It’s somewhere in Manhattan.

Aren’t these iphones great for taking photos?

Welcome to my apartment. In back of me is Frank Galuszka’s oil. He painted it in Romania many years ago.I bought it in Rome and brought it back to NYC. I can look out my window from where I’m sitting. Isn’t this spooky? Sometimes lightening strikes the Empire State building.

This is from my window.