Don't Stand So Close to Me

I'll make this short, though not so sweet.

I'm tired of saying "I won't go out alone," or "I need a concert buddy," and something that happened last night to a good friend of mine proves that I will be saying that for a long time to come.

My friend Sharon and I went out for a nice dinner and then to hear some live music at a favorite club. I go there all the time, and was excited to show her this special place.  We hadn't seen each other in a while and never ran out of conversation: our kids, our men, our extended families, music we had seen and were yet to see, our jobs...  We really were enjoying the night and anticipating some great tunes.

When we got to the bar, she loved it and we each got a drink and found a nice spot to settle in.  I saw a few friends mine and introduced her.  We got back to our conversation.

But then, Sharon's face fell, as she saw someone she knew.   Before she could tell me anything, he came over, and was in our space.  As she's a kind person, she wasn't rude, but nothing in her voice or body language gave this guy, Carl, the impression she was happy to see him, or welcome in our conversation, except possibly his ego. After he moved on, I assured her the room would get crowded and we'd keep our distance.

Other guys came up to us (mostly her) and we coolly let them know we were not interested.  But as the night wore on, Carl, and another guy (we'll call him Stan) circled around Sharon like two hawks taking turns.  The more drunk they got, the more assertive they became.  Another friend came by and made a wedge between Sharon and Carl so she and I could dance, but this could only last so long. When Stan started touching Sharon's shoulders, we moved to the back of the room, but that's where Carl was.

By the end of the first set, we were done.  I felt exhausted trying to help her, she looked miserable and beleaguered having had to fight them off all night.  I felt stupid that I had to ask my friends to "babysit" us when we were out for the night.  I felt horrible thinking "next time we should just come with our husbands."  What is this?  1950?

This is not our fault!  Last night it happened to Sharon, but this has happened to me. And not when I was in my 20's.  It's happened all my life, and still happens.  It happens to my daughter.  If you are reading this maybe it's happened to you.  Or your wife, mom, daughter, girlfriend.

Hey men.  If this is what you do when you drink too much, stop drinking. This is not appropriate or fair behavior.  It is harassment.  If it happened in the work place you would all be fired.  But if it happens in a bar, we  women just leave feeling bad and missing the music.

It's time for a change. Instead of leaving the bar next time, I will be talking to the manager about the belligerent patron(s) hassling and harassing the women.

And then I'll have fun with my concert buddy and enjoy the music.



Post Script:
After publishing this blog and getting a lot of feedback on facebook and a ton of hits... I thought I'd publish some of the comments from people.  Since they didn't publish them here, I have omitted their names, as I did in the original blog.

From my friend who was in the band that I went to see...

I'm so upset to hear this. I wish I could have been aware. The whole band would have been off the stage to remove them in seconds. Sadly it would not have been our first time doing this. In the unlikely event you make it back ...to our next gig... we can have a hand signal. I'll also let the bouncer know to have your back. I know (other friends in a favorite band) will do the same. No excuse for our friends to feel uncomfortable even for a second.

From a fellow concert-goer who is not my friend...well, now she is.

I go out alone all the time. Step 1: "Please don't talk to me." Step 2 (the warning): "Do I have to get security or police involved?" Step 3: Let security know and have someone walk you to your car. If you notice someone following you- head straight to police dept. I even have the police station programmed on my gps so if someone breaks into my car and decides to visit my home- they'll get a big surprise! Zero tolerance for intimidation and harassment over here!

It's a shame we have to think like this, but some good advice...

This one is from a good friend of mine:

All women have a right to go out and enjoy themselves without having to deal with being harassed and stalked. Men need to step up and call out any man they see acting in a disrespectful manner. Women however, need to stop worrying about protecting people's feelings and being perceived as "rude" or a "bitch". It goes against how our culture raises us, but we need to break the cycle. Any woman has a right to tell a guy to back off, and if they don't, get the staff involved.

Absolutely.  And another good friend, a male wrote:

Read this with great distress. I also noticed there are no comments from guys on this at all. Perhaps, like me, they are uncomfortable being associated with males that act that way. I'm sorry for your experience Juliet.

So, who knows... maybe getting the conversation started was a good thing to do.  Just today I learned that the manager of this particular bar read the blog and was completely on board with making sure all patrons in this music venue feel safe at all times.  I guess that should go without saying, but knowing what has been going on under his watch now makes him responsible.   And makes me feel a lot better about heading back there again real soon.

Okay, one more thing...

My 29 year-old son was home for a visit.  He heard me talking about this incident, and the blog.  He didn't really want to discuss it, or the implications of what must happen all the time with his sister, a gorgeous 25 year-old who goes out alone all the time. But, I did find this article, carefully cut out of the New York Times, sitting at my spot at the kitchen table one morning.

What a Lifetime of Leers Does to Us

You're Gonna Miss Me When I'm gone

It was one of those times. I had some time to kill before tickets went on sale before the Dead & Company Summer tour and I needed a box to send my son a few things (including his Valentine's Day candy).  I emptied a box that had been sitting full of papers since I don't know how long.

Old lesson plans.  Post-it notes. A few packets of Emergen-C.  Some spare change. An earring that had been missing for about 6 years. (It's lonely mate, has been sitting, waiting in my jewelry box. They were reunited on my head today, joyfully.)  Then at the bottom, some really old stuff.  A few report cards from middle school years (my kids are in their 20's).  A souvenir key chain from my parents trip to the Grand Canyon.  (WHEN was that, and who did they give it to??)  A deck of cards that was in perfect condition from a trip to Israel.  And, at the bottom of the box, this photo.

From the moment I saw it, I knew exactly when it was taken.

June 18, 1995.

That was the last time I saw Jerry Garcia play with the Grateful Dead.  At the Meadowlands in East Rutherford, NJ.   I even know why it is not with the rest of the photos from that day, or in the album.

It's TERRIBLE!

My friend Patti doesn't look great, and yeesh... me with those high wasted shorts and a fanny pack. Worst of all, we've been captured on the port-a-potty line!  I clearly pulled the photo out from the rest when it was time to show off the pictures to everyone, and hid it in a box.

Memories are flooding back.  I remember saying to my husband not to take the picture!  I remember the two great batik t-shirts I got... I still have them... tho they are now relegated to the gym or to sleep-wear due to the holes.  I remember hanging out by our van, our beloved party van, drinking and eating and watching people play hacky-sack nearby.



The cops were pretty bad, but not as bad as they had been in years earlier.  We had a great time in that parking lot.  When we got in, our baby-sitter (the one who was NOT available, obviously) was sitting two rows ahead of us!   Unfortunately, the concert was not that great.  It had its moments, but Jerry was in a bad way, and if you listen to the show (the link is below) you can tell he's in rough shape.  After seeing hundreds of shows, I drove home (only twenty minutes away) and I'm sure I thought - "Oh well, the next one will be better."

Jerry, in his better days, 1990.

So, here I was, about to order (HOPEFULLY) tickets to see the boys, now known as Dead & Company, play one more summer tour, and in my hands, now getting shaky, were holding this relic. 

And. Just two days away from Patti's yahrtzeit (the anniversary of her death).

Karma is a crazy thing.

For the last two big "Grateful Dead" events, GD50 and Dead & Co. - I couldn't get tickets no matter how I tried.  Even for the upcoming Phil's birthday, for the first time I was SOL.

But somehow, this time, with this terrible picture of Patti and me, waiting on the porta-john line, goofing around and having a blast, I got lucky.  Looks like I'll be back on tour with Dead & Co.  I'll be with new friends and old, and Patti in spirit. 

The music never stops.  It changes, it twists and turns and I am thankful every single time I hear Bob, Phil, Mickey and Billy bring back the magic.  See you on tour!







This is the link to the last show I saw - 6/18/95 at the Meadowlands.
https://archive.org/details/gd95-06-18.aud.2543.sbeok.shnf

This is a link to the upcoming tour.  I think you all should go.  To Bonnaroo. :-)
http://www.deadandcompany.com/

I Can See Clearly Now...

click here to set the tone for this blog...


Well, it's been 15 years, maybe longer, but we are breaking up.

Actually, let me rephrase that.

We broke up today.

That wasn't my intention. 

But I had finally had enough.

Enough of the waiting.

The lies.

The expense... and then the disappointment.

LensCrafters - you and I are done.

I know you apologize every time you screw up.  And each time, it seems so heartfelt, that I have given you another chance.  I've wandered around that horrible mall for hours, when you've promised it would only be ONE HOUR.

I've left on vacation without glasses when you said, after 2 hours that you couldn't get them done after all. 

I've worn out-of-date styles because that's all you had that could accommodate my complicated prescription.  

But today, when I said I may take my business elsewhere, and you simply went and got me my prescription, I knew we were over.  It was as easy as that.  

No more driving to the mall and wasting my precious time.
No more sneak-eating the gay-hating Chik-fil-a and hoping no one will see me.
No more wandering into store upon store which offers nothing but horrible scented candles and creams, all destined to give me a head-ache that will last long into the evening. 
No more rushing by the kiosks  to avoid being badgered into having someone straighten my hair, trim my cuticles, or thread my eyebrows.

We're over, LensCrafters.  I stayed in this dysfunctional relationship long enough.  Next time you see me, which will be, um, never, my myopia will be fashionably and functionally fixed by a pro who won't make false promises and won't talk me into add-ons I don't want or need.

And if anyone has a recommendation for such a place... I could use a new optometrist right about now!


 

Ladies and Gentlemen- The Beatles

At the tender age of five, my parents gave me a record player and the 45 record of the Beatles "I Want to Hold Your Hand."   I was hooked from an early age at the perfect time - 1965 - and I have loved these four guys - John, Paul, George and Ringo ever since.

So of course I am thrilled about the recent news of their long-awaited reunion.

At this point, no one thought it would happen.  Newspapers, magazines and online sources stopped guessing and even hinting about it a long time ago.  I can't even think about the last time anyone suggested a collaboration.

But here it is, 2016 and the Fab Four have announced three stadium shows in Europe and plans are underway for at least four U.S. dates for the summer.  And naturally people here are going beserk. But with the recent passing of David Bowie, Glenn Frey, Paul Kantner, and Maurice White it seems that the time was right to bring the magic back.

WHAT HAVE THEY BEEN DOING:

John Lennon - Ever since the attempt on his life in the middle of New York City in 1980, John has focused his attention on his sons Julian and Sean, and his wife Yoko.  He occasionally shows up on other artists' albums (un-credited) but mostly spends his studio time helping his family with their projects.  He is rarely seen out and about, and keeps a very low profile.  Manhattan residents seem to understand that John wishes to remain private, and any recent photos of him almost never turn up on the Internet, including Instagram and Facebook.  And when they do, they seem to disappear immediately.

On the other hand Sir Paul McCartney has been seen everywhere over the last few years. He is a regular, both announced and unannounced on Saturday Night Live, most recently popping up alongside Bruce Springsteen this past December. Paul has done benefit concerts for causes he believes in here in the U.S. and in England, and has appeared on countless tv shows.  He has also collaborated with other artists, but unlike John, he does so with a bit of fanfare. It is rumored that this reunion was his idea, and that he has been all for it for years.

We all breathed a communal sigh of relief when George Harrison survived his terrible bout with lung cancer in 2001.  This left his voice a bit rough, but he is in good health now, crediting both alternative and modern therapies for his recovery.  "I sound a bit like a cross between Bobby Dylan and bullfrog," he was quoted as saying in 2010 when asked why he no longer tours.  But his son Dhani sounds remarkably like a young George and will be filling in the harmonies, and possibly some of the guitar work as well on the upcoming tour.  As for getting the rest of the band to adopt his vegan lifestyle, only Paul is on board with that.

"I finally have some actual stars in my all-star band!"  Ringo Starr has clearly been the most active of the four, touring constantly, and is thrilled about the reunion.  It's no secret that he has collaborated with each of the Beatles since they disbanded in 1970, and has pure, unbridled enthusiasm for this project. He is bringing some of the back up players to this band, though at this time, the line up is not set.

BEATLEMANIA:

For those who missed it the first time, you are experiencing real live Beatlemania  and it is great.  From middle school book bags and lunch boxes, to high school iPods.  From collectors paying exorbitant amounts of cash for original vinyl to record breaking numbers of Beatles downloads. Even club music, which was once the mindless thumping of sound-alike electronica has rediscovered the Beatles.  And those of us of a certain generation cannot stop smiling, hearing music that makes us feel joy when we recognize that song from the first two notes.  

I know that when we see these four "Lads from Liverpool" on stage, they will look like tiny specks, and we will have to watch them on the big screen from who knows where in a football stadium.  But I can't wait. I know all the Facebook groups will be guessing the set lists already, and getting tickets will be madhouse.  And lets not even start with the scalpers.  

For now, lets just enjoy the moment.  

By United Press International (UPI Telephoto)

Good-bye Starman

Click here for some music to set the tone for this blog.

Yesterday, it rained all day. I went to work in the rain. Came home in the rain.  Took a nap in the rain and woke up listening to the rain on my roof. 

I didn't realize the skies were crying. 

Suddenly, my son came in, knowing it was perfectly okay to wake me up for a rainbow. And what a brilliant one it was.  Little did I know, it was the most elegant chameleon saying good-bye. 

The first song I ever heard by David Bowie was when someone performed "Changes" in a talent show during my Freshman year of High School.  I thought 2 things.  She's great... how come we didn't know this girl could sing all through middle school?  And WHERE DID THIS SONG COME FROM??? Back then you didn't look it up on iTunes, or Google it.  I asked her afterwards, and she told me it was David Bowie.  I went and got the 45 immediately. 

I first heard David Bowie live in concert in 1975.  He was touring to promote the "Young Americans" album, which I didn't even own yet. But the songs were getting a lot of airplay, and when a group of kids at school asked if I wanted to go to Madison Square Garden, I had only been there once before, and it was all very exciting.   My crush on the way in to NYC  became my boyfriend on the way home.  I realized there was more to life than "Just and Old Fashioned Love Song*." My parents had let me go into New York City with my friends, I made it home alive, and I grew up a little that night.

My musical horizons were opening.  Billy Joel and Beach Boys were giving way to the The Who, Paul McCartney's solo stuff, and I was even  re-discovering the Beatles, as people tend to do when they get a really good pair of headphones for the first time. 

But then, in 1976, along came David Bowie's Station to Station Album. 

When he came back to play  at  MSG, I was the one who said to my friends that we should buy tickets.  My boyfriend was already moving on to the next big thing, which I believe was Peter Frampton at our high school.  But we went to the concert.  And I was transfixed.  Transformed.  If you don't know this album, play it (like an album, please, in order).  

I understood "I Wanna Hold Your Hand," and "God Only Knows What I'd be Without You."  Yes, of course. These made sense to a fifteen year old.  But "Wild is the Wind?" WHOA.  Love isn't simple. Love is messy.  Love is complicated.  David Bowie was talking about something I was just on the verge of understanding. (I was, after all, now a sixteen-year-old.)

On the bus ride home, my boyfriend said, "You know, he likes girls AND boys."  I did know that, and said something like, "So?"  I remember my boyfriend looking at me with a mixture of disgust and incredulity.

Not long after that we were in his car and I found the hand cream of another girl.  Even at the tender age of 16 love was messy and complicated. 

I went home and played Station to Station with my headphones on.   In fact, as the melodramatic teen-aged girl that I was, I repeated this ritual every single day.  I still can't hear TVC15 without thinking of Jim** and my newly broken heart. 

David Bowie didn't come out in platform shoes during those shows. He didn't wear make-up or an extreme haircut.  He had on a stylish suit and sang songs that touched my soul.  I remember saying even then to probably no one that he was ahead of his time.

His music has had the power to make me feel: happy, sad, energized, strengthened.  With words I understood, but concepts I sometimes had to struggle with.  Different genres on a single album.  Superior musicianship, and outstanding partnerships.  And of course, excellent showmanship.  Just three days ago, on his birthday, I watched a special called Storytellers, where David Bowie told the tales behind some of his most popular songs, and some obscure ones as well.  It was a delight.  As I watched, I wondered, not for the first time in the last year, why he's been so quiet.

The outpouring of love for him on social media is heartwarming.  I know I for one will miss him always.  And will always consider him my first grown-up love.

Good-bye Starman.

*A classic by 3 Dog Night, and not a bad song.  Just wildly over-played at the time. Click here to hear it.  Or don't.
**Jim was not his real name.  
Click here to get to the New York Times article and obituary.

Thank you to Adam Barr, my brother-in-law, for posting this and giving me a real laugh...David Bowie shows his humorous side...
Click here to end with a laugh.

The First (and only) Noel

A True Story.

I have never had Christmas envy.  

Growing up in a Jewish home, we celebrated all the Jewish and American holidays in full style.  We have enjoyed each at its given time, with the proper full table and decorations.  As a little girl, I never dreamed of waking up to see what Santa might have left me, I knew that was for the other kids.  I was happy with my eight nights of Hanukkah, my gelt and dreidels and latkes and knowing I was that anomaly at school who didn't blend in.  

But... one year... things were different.

It was 1969.  That year, my family had moved from Newton Centre, Massachusetts to Cherry Hill, NJ. Shortly after we moved in, we watched with amazement as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon. I went from not understanding Red Sox fever to not understanding Mets fever.  (AGAIN with the kids and their transistor radios!)

I was in 4th grade, and my little brother Geoffrey was in 1st. Of COURSE we walked to school, and it was quite a hike.  As we walked along, we met up with our neighbors and friends.  We made friends quickly and summer turned to fall turned to winter.

I remember one very cold and slightly snowy morning, and our usual friends were sparse.  As we approached the "major" intersection where the crossing guard usually protected us from the dozen or so suburban cars, who slowly made their way toward the school, we saw she was not there.  Being the big sister, I took my little brother by the hand when the light turned green.  We boldly crossed, me feeling proud and accomplished.  When we arrived, unscathed at the school, we found, to our delight, it was a snow day!  Our small group turned around and trudged back home, through the inch and a half of accumulated snow, most likely to my mother's chagrin. 

As was the norm back then, the school was decorated beautifully. As you walked into the lobby, there was a huge Christmas tree, and it made the foyer smell great.  The tree had ornaments and lights, and back in those days, that metallic tinsel that came in single shreds. The lobby had other decorations as did every hallway and classroom.  The school was positively festooned with Christmas decorations. 

Was there the obligatory menorah in the lobby?  I doubt it.  Did one or two teachers hang up some Hanukkah decorations?  Maybe. Was there a Kwanzaa candelabra up?  There wasn't even Kwanzaa yet. I don't know what other parents told their children, but I just knew it wasn't my holiday.  I knew when I got home there would be my holiday waiting for me... and it was okay. 

And then, it was time for Christmas vacation.  The school did what they had always done, they entered every child's name into the raffle to see who would get to bring the giant Christmas tree home.  They did not ask who wanted to enter.  They did not consider who might not want a tree, or who might already have one.  And little Juliet Cantor, one of a handful of Jewish children in the school won that Christmas tree.

I didn't think for a second to argue with the principal of the school, or turn down this tree.  At 9 years old, I had not yet even considered standing up to authority, and it was true, we didn't have one...

So.

There I was. 

At 3:30 on a snowy afternoon at the beginning of Christmas break with a giant naked pine tree. 

To my surprise (and probably dismay) winning the Christmas tree did not mean winning any of the lights, ornaments or that pretty tinsel.  The custodians had made quick work of that while we were in our last classes of the afternoon.

I rounded up my friends, which included my boyfriend Andy and his best friend Paul (both Jewish) and little Geoffrey (we let him carry the top of the tree, since he was only 6).  And the four of us schlepped

this thing all the way home. 

As a parent... I can't imagine what I would do if any of my kids EVER came home with a Christmas tree.  But I can tell you what mine did. 

They let me keep it.

My dad configured some kind of stand for it in our den.  And I was allowed to make decorations for it... origami and snowflakes... and we admired it.  Since we didn't know about watering it, it dried out nicely, dropping its needles all over the place.  My cousin happened to be visiting and he taught me to draw a perfect 5-point star and we colored them in, punched holes, used Mom's yarn to make loops, and hung them up on the tree. Then we taught Geoffrey how to draw Stars of David, as I had just learned in Hebrew school, and did the same with them.  We did not see the irony.  

When Christmas came, there were no presents under that tree.  We didn't hang stockings with care, or leave cookies for Santa.  But for one year, we had that intoxicating scent of pine wafting through the house.  After that, my dad took it outside, chopped it up, and let it dry, and we used it for firewood.  It smelled wonderful in the fireplace.

It's funny to think of it now.  A Christmas tree in our house.  My parents acting like it's no big thing.  And because they acted that way, it wasn't. (Although I did ask if we could buy tinsel and lights, and they said no.) 

When I reminded them of this story, family lore at this point, I asked them if there were photos I could use to enhance the blog. They both looked, but, not surprisingly, there were no photos to be found.

Since that time, we've always enjoyed Christmas as guests, celebrating with others. Enjoying their traditions, foods, stories, and Christmas trees.  And definitely the music.   But that one year was the beginning and end of Noel in our house.

The author, as artistically  "elfed" by @pawhite. 

To read more of my Jewish blogs about Christmas, click on these links:

http://myso-calledblogat.blogspot.com/2013/12/why-theres-plaster-jesus-in-my-basement.html



http://myso-calledblogat.blogspot.com/2011/12/in-memory-of-friend-at-christmas.html

Family Dinner

Since 1987, when my husband Michael and I packed up our baby son and drove from San Francisco, across the United States to live back in the great state of New Jersey... we have had a tradition of the Family Dinner with my parents.

At first, it was just natural.  We lived in their house while we were looking for a new home, so every night was family dinner.  Actually what I remember most was keeping my two cats locked upstairs in what used to be a playroom (now my mother's art studio) and our beloved 5:00 cocktail hour when my husband and my dad would both come home from work and we would meet in the kitchen for martinis and laughs about the day with our  joyful toddler Zachary bouncing from one person's arms to the next.

Soon we were in our own home, with our daughter Maddie joining the family; my brother had moved to the area as well soon to start a family of his own. Family dinners were usually on Sunday nights.  We chose places which were kid friendly.  I remember that Chinese food was a favorite of ours.  There was also a deli we loved.  We had a pizza place we adored, and it was there, a few years later,  having pizza and a great antipasto when we got the phone call that my niece Talia was born!

We meet and share the news the of the week.  New jobs, new boyfriends and girlfriends (the kids, not the adults... don't worry!), house troubles.  The snow.  The rain. The hurricane.  If the weather is terrible we meet for dinner.  If the weather is great... we meet for dinner.  We bring sad news, and we bring great news.  Heavy news and frivolity.  We laugh and we  are sometimes loud. We sometimes change seats before dessert.  We sing Happy Birthday in Hebrew.  Jacob and Ben, the same age, would sword-fight with tooth-picks when they were little.  Then, in the blink of an eye, they were already in the "sneak-texting" phase!

And before we knew it, our first was grown and off to college, and the reservation was for 10 and not 11 anymore.   And more often than not, the kids had things to do, rehearsals, social engagements, homework.   And just this September, the last grandchild, little Talia went to college.  Family dinner is just six of us, my parents, my brother and his wife, my husband and me.

We went out to dinner last night.

My brother chose sushi, because it was his birthday... 5 days ago.

As we order I think about all the years of the family dinners.  My husband isn't here because of work. The kids are all off, three are in college, two of mine are already through with school and on their own. October has been a rough month for me and I am somewhat pensive.

My parents are through with the menu and my sister-in-law and I are ready to order.

My brother pours some sake into his glass while we wait for the waitress.

He starts a story.

"When I was in London, sushi was very rare."
"Too bad," Dad says, not missing a beat, "because it should have been raw!"

While we are laughing over this I get a text.  As impolite as it is, I secretly check my phone at the dinner table.  It's a photo of my three kids.

They are having family dinner at my daughter's house tonight in Cambridge.  They know I love a good selfie, so they sent it to me before they cleaned up the dishes.

I see they sent it to my husband who clumsily tries to send back a smiley but sends the angry face emoji by mistake.

I smile, and I hear myself laugh.  I look up and see my brother has caught me "sneak-texting" on my phone.  I slip it back in my pocket.

Surrounded by love, I get back to the family dinner. (Insert happy emoji here.)