Seven Years Ago Today

As I posted last week, I just wanted to take a moment today to remember my friend Brian Zelizo.

I wanted to write to all of you to tell you that Brian Zelizo found peace around five in the morning yesterday, Sunday. His family decided to take him off life-support late last week when it was apparent that they did everything they possible could. Due to various legal qualifications, they needed to wait until all drugs and medications were out of Brian's blood stream before they could take him off of life support.

I just wanted to thank all of you, again, for your kind words of hope and support. They certainly were of help to me, and I am sure they were felt by Brian and his family. Some of you have never even met Brian - thank you.

I also wanted to mention that Brian's family arranged to have his organs donated, as the only damage Brian received was to his brain. As a healthy man in his 20s, his organs were used to help with the lives of nine other people.

There will be viewings on Tuesday and Wednesday, and the funeral mass will take place on Thursday morning. Although he was living and working in New York City, these arrangements will take place in his hometown in northern New Jersey. Please email me if you would like any more information.

If you ever saw Brian at a show, or with friends, you would have noticed this smile that subtly turned up the corners of his mouth, extending all the way to his eyes. This was a smile of someone who knew how wonderful life was - who enjoyed living and everything that was associated with it. Now, he will forever be happy and at peace.

Comes with the Territory

Yesterday morning, we saw Morley Safer walking on the street in the Upper East Side; he looked happy in his newsboy cap. And later, while we were eating brunch at a new diner in SoHo, the model/tv personality Frederique came through with another adult and a child. They strode through to the back of the restaurant. Then this morning, I had to make my way around a filming for the new Bravo show Top Design. They had set up where I pick up the Shuttle in Grand Central, with a string duo, a curtained area, yellow tape, lights, and lots of people looking busy doing nothing. Now I am going to have to watch to see when it appears on the show . . .

The Sad Machinery of Spring, er, Winter

We just got home from the later Tin Hat show at Symphony Space on the Upper West Side. So damn good. They were a four-piece, including Ben Goldberg on clarinet and Ara Anderson on pump organ, glockenspiel, and piano along with Mark Orton on guitars and Carla Kihlstedt on violin and trumpet violin (very cool instrument that sounds like an old phonograph). Zeena Parkins, who plays harp on the new album, was not there. But man, such an intimate and lovely show. They play what the play so damn well, if that makes sense. Their light music, each instrument standing out on its own; mix of jazz, klezmer, classical, folk. Their new album, The Sad Machinery of Spring, comes out on Tuesday, but I am going to pop in my copy now before bed . . .

This was my first time at Symphony Space and I think I would definitely go back. It is quite intimate and was perfect for Tin Hat's type of music. (Easy to get to at 95th and Broadway)

"Great book."

As I was getting off of the A train last evening, some guy walked by me and said "Great book." I was holding Tom Robbins' Jitterbug Perfume with my finger marking the page as I pushed past him. As I stepped off, I turned and said "Thanks." I guess "Thanks" isn't really the correct word choice, but that was how I felt to be honest. I can't get enough of that kind of interaction, especially in a city like New York, where most people keep strictly to themselves. It was something I would have done, made note of a book that someone is reading. I enjoy that sort of interaction. I want to connect to people, through music or a book, share an interest. I guess that is why I try to glimpse at iPods as people are spooling through their music. I want to see what they are listening to, where our interests may intersect . . .

It made me happy. (My mood only continued as we met a good friend of my brother's for a good meal at BLTBurger.)
___

I should quickly say that I am really enjoying Jitterbug Perfume. This is my first Tom Robbins book and I know that it certainly won't be my last. It took too long to start reading one of his books; he had been recommended by a number of friends and I just put him off as my book list has always been quite long. But I thought our trip to Jamaica was a perfect time to start -- and I couldn't put the book down. He has this great mix of John Irving, Douglas Adams, Terry Practchett, and Christopher Moore. His humor is right up my alley, and I really enjoy his anthropomorphic descriptions of inanimate objects. I think Still Life with a Woodpecker is up next . . .

Genius

Calvin and Hobbes Snow Art Gallery

Seven Years Ago This Week

I think I see him. It used to happen more, but it still happens. Someone in a crowd, or on the subway, or on a sidewalk. Maybe it is his build, or his hair, or that huge smile. And a pang of loss shoots through me, and for a few moments think about that sunny morning of January 1, 2000, the last day I saw him alive. I am speaking about my good friend Brian Zelizo who passed away seven years ago this week. Just days after we spent a few glorious days together (along my my brother and our great friend Amy) at Phish's concerts on the Big Cypress indian reservation in Florida. We had an amazing time ringing in 2000, sharing what is still the greatest music experience of my life. I wonder what my life here in New York would be like if Brian was still around . . .

I am going to post the initial email that I sent out to friends and the larger Phish community after hearing of Brian's accident. And in a week, I will post the follow-up email. Remember to live each day to the fullest. And cherish each moment with your loved ones.

I am writing to you to ask for your prayers for a close friend of mine. Early Sunday morning, Brian Zelizo was hit by a taxi, and has been in a coma since the accident. He was helping three friends into another cab, as they were heading the opposite direction, and on closing the door, he was hit by another cab. That driver did stop, and help; he claims he didn't see Brian, maybe thinking he got into the cab as well.

He has been heavily medicated since the accident, keeping him in the comatose state so that his body has the time to start healing itself. Today, they will slowly take him off the medication - he is not allowed to be on that strong medicine for more than 48 hours. As of last night, the doctors are not optimistic.

Please take some time to pray, or reflect, or whatever; I am writing to you since I thought you knew him back at ND, or at least have heard of me speak of him. I just saw him three weeks ago, as we celebrated New Year's together down in Florida. He is an amazing friend . . .

News On the 'Burgh

The Steelers Coaching Search: It's Tomlin (I am excited for this choice)
Peduto launches his second drive to be mayor (Bill was my choice for mayor last year, actually)
Appeal to NHL possible if Penguins try to leave (please, work something out)
Changing the Landscape of Pittsburgh (encouraging to see all of the building)

And to tie it back to New York:
Seinfeld's soup man bringing his gourmet concoctions to Pittsburgh

Interesting How They Just Sit There

I am looking out my window here at work, looking north-north-west, and there is a helicopter just hovering. I am guessing it is in the hight 50s or low 60s, around 10th or 11th Avenue. Just makes you wonder what they are looking at up there. What is going on down on the street level. Kind of like that feeling you get when you see a spotlight pacing the sky on some evening. That, though, is usually celebratory, "come look at me." The helicopter, on the other hand, usually carries negative connotations.

Well, it's gone now . . .

Not *That* Old . . .

Monday mornings are actually tolerable when you had a great weekend. And that is happening today. My weekend was pretty wonderful. Laura and I made our second trip to Lupa on Friday night and were once again blown away by the food. Everything was so, so tasty. The salad, the scallops, brussel sprouts, my incredible bucatini, Laura's pork shoulder, capped off by a great tartufo. There is just this simplicity to Lupa's food that allows each of the ingredients and flavors to shine. We were pleasantly surprised that, upon arriving around 6:30, there were a number of open tables and we had our choice of seats (Laura actually couldn't get a reservation; just goes to show that it is worth trying to walk-in to some of these restaurants . . . ).

Saturday, we took our time getting up before heading out to brave the frigid wind that was roaring down York. Yes, winter is trying to rear its head. I guess I don't mind too much. We had a good brunch at Eli's Vinegar Factory before meeting up with Jenick (hah!) to head to the Brooklyn Museum of Art. There was an extensive retrospective on Annie Leibovitz's work, over 200 photographs, paying special attention to intimate shots from her personal life (Annie Leibovitz: A Photographer's Life, 1990–2005). It was closing this past weekend, so we headed to Brooklyn, not knowing that we were going to have to wait almost three hours to see the show. As we drove by the Museum for the first time, looking for a parking spot, we caught a glimpse of a mass of people, winding their way out of the (new and rather well designed) lobby into the gusting wind. I was not at all prepared for that crowd. It took us about an hour to make our way to the ticket booth. Then over 30 minutes to make our way to the elevator. And then over another 30 minutes to make our way from the elevator to the exhibit. I am still shocked by the amount of people and/or the mishandling of the crowds by the musuem (the Leibovitz exhibit should have been in a larger space, that is for sure; the crowds prevented one from really appreciating the work as well as reading the notes and statements). Before leaving the museum, we made a point of experiencing another show at the museum -- the sculpture of Ron Mueck. And it is work that you truly do experience, mostly with some discomfort I will admit. Ron's sculptures are hyper-realistic representations of humans, either over-sized or undersized, complete with facial hair, "moisture" near a nose, and wrinkles on the bottom of feet. Walking around from figure to figure, you get this uncomfortable feeling that they are going to start moving as soon as your turn your back. It is amazing how successfully Mueck is able to capture the details of flesh. Before heading back to the City, as a treat to ourselves and as a way to warm up, we wound our way down to Dumbo and indulged in chocolatey goodness at Jacques Torres.

Saturday night, we headed to craftsteak new york for a wonderful evening of eating. That's what it actually ended up being, as we were at the restaurant for three hours. Just about everything was perfect. First of all, the restaurant is a great space, with high ceilings, very interesting light fixtures that remind me of music notes, and this floor-to-ceiling glass enclosure that houses the wine. This divider glitters and is visually quite appealing; on the opposite wall, there is an interesting painting of the High Line (which is right outside the restaurant). The seats were comfortable, the tables were nice, it was not too loud, and the wait staff was quite good and friendly. Then the food -- such tasty pieces of meat, incredible brussle sprouts (with bacon and a veal sauce), peppery salad, and a wonderful syrah from the Elyse Winery in California. (My only complaints would be: my meat came already sliced, so it cooled off before I would have hoped; our extra sauces never arrived; and they mixed up my ice cream with my chocolate souffle; not big deals, but I just thought I would share). Just a great night . . .

Sunday was filled with as much winding down as possible. With a limited focus on eating. And an attempt to read as much of the Weekend editions of the Times as possible. (Such a great Christmas gift! Thanks again, mom and dad.)

Edit:
Here is a slide show of the installation of Mueck's work. The baby is just creepy . . .

And here is one of his heads:

Something Cool this Chilly Saturday

Amazing animation set to one of Coltrane's hits.

Giant Steps by Michael Levy

Wait, this is the same place?

There have been many instances in my life and memory when I have originally pictured a place a certain way, formed directly from that first moment of experience. But then after months or years of traveling through that place, I think back on that original memory and am often amused by how different that place appears, or feels, in that first memory. I experienced this with the Shadyside section of Pittsburgh, when remembering it from the Summer of 93 or 94 and comparing that evening scene to the six years that I lived there. Or, that fond memory of the first day in Rome in September of 95. Where the van let our class off, along the Tiber, and the walk to the hotel where we would be living for nine months. How everything was so new and different and exciting, all seen through a jet lag haze.

And then this morning, I was once again thinking back to that trip to New York that I took with my church's youth group in the early 90s (1991 or 1992, I am going to guess). How we saw Forever Plaid in some off-Broadway theater. The barbeque dinner that night. Our dinner in Little Italy. The day trip to the South Street Seaport and the t-shirt I bought at Banana Republic (this was back when there were pith helmets as part of the decor of the store). I also remember the Hard Rock, FAO Schwarz, and the motel we stayed at. But here is where my memory fails me. I must have been completely turned around during those few days, because I remembered FAO Schwarz to be north along the park. I also did not remember the Hard Rock to be part of Times Square -- it certainly did not seem to be in the location that I now walk by every morning. And I truly did not think that the motel was in Hell's Kitchen; for some reason, I had it over on the Lower East Side somewhere. Interesting how perception and memory are different from actual experience . . .

On a related note, did I ever tell you about when I slept with a . . . oh, never mind.

Shhhh. More Secret Society

Some downloads for your listening pleasure:

04.18.06 (feat. Ingrid Jensen on trumpet; Ingrid usually plays in Maria Schneider's orchestra)
01.14.07

It's Snowing!

About time.

The Pleasures of Eating

I need to start reading Wendell Berry. My friends Jeff and Zane first introduced me to Wendell a few years ago, but I have yet to read any of his essays. So this might be a good place to start. Here is a link to his essay The Pleasures of Eating from 1989 (as reposted by the Center for Ecoliteracy).

I mentioned earlier the politics, esthetics, and ethics of food. But to speak of the pleasure of eating is to go beyond those categories. Eating with the fullest pleasure — pleasure, that is, that does not depend on ignorance — is perhaps the profoundest enactment of our connection with the world. In this pleasure we experience and celebrate our dependence and our gratitude, for we are living from mystery, from creatures we did not make and powers we cannot comprehend.

Monday Morning Musings

- All last week it felt as though pine trees were put on some sort of death march. And those that could not keep up simply gave up and laid down on the sidewalk. At least that is how it felt as everyone who had Christmas trees in their apartment unloaded the decorations and set the trees out near the street for some sort of pick-up. Not sure when that pick-up was supposed to have happened, as I still was stepping over branches this morning on the way to work, but there seemed to be this mass placement of trees. And most actually looked pretty healthy and smelled quite nice. At least for the first part of the week.

- CRP United, my office soccer team, lost 2 to 3 in the finals on Friday night. Sure, it is nice to get second, blah blah. But we should have won.

- After contemplating a few different restaurants, Laura and I ended up at Blue Ribbon Bakery on Saturday evening. It was our second time at Blue Ribbon, and we will definitely go back. Our food was just so good. The appetizer, cheese, salad, entree, and tasty treat to cap it off -- all of it. It is definitely one of my favorite restaurants in the City . . .

- Children of Men is quite a good movie. At least for its intensity and its effect on your emotions. On the ten-block walk home from the movie, I could not have held on to Laura more tightly. For some reason, I left with this over-riding feeling of having to protect her. Kind of odd. I would lump Children of Men into a group of movies like 12 Monkeys, 28 Days Later, Brazil, and Blade Runner. They all offer these dark glimpses of the future that are believable just enough to make your mind wander. (It is also cool that Laura works with the director's sister . . . )

- I finally got to see Darcy Jame Argue's Secret Society on Sunday night at the Bowery Poetry Club. After hearing about the Secret Society last summer as one of New York's "big bands," I contacted Darcy and asked to be put on their mailing list. But it wasn't until Sunday that I was finally able to see one of their (infrequent) gigs. And I was thoroughly impressed. When Darcy mentioned that he had studied under Bob Bruckheimer, I realized that both Darcy and Maria Schneider had the same mentor. And it completely made sense. The Secret Society's music was wonderfully dense and complex, like Maria's, utilizing all eighteen or so musicians. Darcy's music, though, has a bit more of an edge -- which I couldn't get enough of. I anxiously await their next gig. Here is a link to an archive of a number of the Secret Society's past shows. There is quite a selection of songs to sample. I would suggest Phobos, Flux In a Box, or Desolation Sound.

Underrated Musicians (or Guilty Pleasures?)

Grant Lee Buffalo (I downloaded a life show from dimeadozen last night; I really like Phillips voice and listened to them quite a bit in the early 90s)
Ned's Atomic Dustbin (one of those bands I tried out directly because of Spin)
Hall & Oates (honestly, I love these guys; every time I hear Maneater I think of riding to a floor hockey game with my dad)
Chuck Mangione (I grew up with Chuck on vinyl, though, as I was born in Buffalo and they got into his style of late 70s jazz . . . )
The Sundays (I can listen to Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic any time, any day)

Edit:
I was walking from the Shuttle this evening, to the 6 Train. And I was noticing all of these people with their little ear buds filling their heads with walking-home music, and I started to wonder if there was anyone else in all of New York who was listening to Grant Lee Buffalo as I was. Out of eight million people, was I the only one listening to them? You would think that the numbers were such that there must have been one more person -- but I really am not sure. Should that make me feel more like an individual in this City of numbers, or should I feel alone?

Umphrey's In a Box

Umphrey's first encore from 12.31.06, an homage to Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake's Digital Short. I hope it will make you smile. (Not really work safe, in case you have speakers.)

The Song I Heard the Ocean Sing, Mon

After driving to Pittsburgh for a great six days (including a trip up to Erie on Christmas), and a solo flight to Chicago for Umphrey's entertaining three-night run for New Year's, we capped off the Holiday festivities with a trip to Jamaica for a wedding of friends from Pittsburgh. We flew into Montego Bay, met some fellow guests, and drove to Jake's at Treasure Beach. The resort was on the southern coast, almost in the middle of the Island, about a two-and-a-half-hour ride from the Mo' Bay airport. As you can imagine, it was a wonderful time. Very relaxing, incredible weather. Sunny, this amazing breeze all day long, crashing waves. (The resort didn't have its own beach, but did have a great little inlet with a bar and chairs to lounge as well as a salt-water pool.)

I didn't expect Jamaica to be as primitive as it was, to be honest. Goats, shacks, unfinished mansions scattered throughout the hillside, people walking on the main roads, little huts to sell food, people doing laundry in a creek, chickens. It took about two and a half hours to get from Montego Bay to Jake's, over the mountain, along the water. A two-lane road the whole way, passing in the right-hand lane (driving is on the left), swerving to miss the pot holes. And every once and a while, not knowing where it came from, I would sniff this great earthy chocolate aroma . . .

As one would expect, my head was constantly filled with music. Whether it was reggae that was being played everywhere -- classic reggae, dance hall, dub, pop reggae. It was all encompassing, accompanied by shirts and posters of icons of Jamaica and it's culture: Bob Marley, Haile Selassie, the Harder They Come movie poster . . . With the constant crashing of waves, either during the day as the heavy waves meshed with the strong breeze or at night as we could hear the calming sound through our louvered windows, my mind went to a more-recent Phish song called A Song I Heard the Ocean Sing. (With thanks to Apple, I was able to listen to a version of this song on my iPod while lounging in a sun-faded chair.)

And as happens when you are encountered with a land or place that you have never experienced before, you try to relate it to things you know or have other memories of. And while I do not want to belittle the uniqueness and beauty of Jamaica itself, the sun and breeze and sounds were always reminding me of past concerts and music experiences. The warm sun and breeze of the Big Cypress Indian Reservation. The sounds of a parking lot as reggae echoed from car to car. The pleasant heat of a farm in Manchester, Tennessee. But in Jamaica, these attributes are always there, not just related to a special occassion. No wonder everyone seemed to be so happy . . .

I am realizing I burnt my face pretty well (as it is already flaking off) and the bride almost lost her veil, but I don't think any of us would have had it any other way.

Did you know that there is a Red Stripe Light?

Grandma Jobes

My brother does a beautiful job of describing our grandmother.

Grandmother Jobes

Ooooh that smell . . .

Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you

(Actually, I didn't smell anything like gas today, although it was supposedly all over Manhattan and New Jersey. Glad it is not anything too serious . . . )