Negril Notes

May 2010 Packing List - Attempt at minimalism . . .

I haven’t posted a packing list for my last several Negril trips. I didn’t think it was a big deal until a fellow Negrilophile accosted me last September, so here goes. I’m attempting minimalism for this trip. There are so many little things I never touch once in Negril, it’s just a waste to haul them two thousand miles.

May 2010 Packing List

Clothing

Toiletries

Health & First Aid

Mind & Body

Travel Supplies and Documentation

Other Stuff

Wow, to see it all listed out one wouldn’t think that I lopped of at least a dozen items. Did I miss anything?

2 Comments April 18, 2010

Are you a real writer?

So there I was, just minding my own business in the comfy confines of Ozzie’s, a coffee shop on 5th Avenue in Park Slope. I was working on a piece I’d written on a scrap of paper a few days ago (http://bit.ly/2cMYKv), when a young woman stopped and asked me, “Are you a real writer?”

Her name was Michelle, an attractive yet somewhat disheveled twenty-something brunette. A few years ago I would have thought the she was hitting on me, but a subtle blend of maturity and reality keeps that from being my first conclusion these days. She was here to meet-up with a group of people to read and comment on each other’s writing. This was her first “Meet-Up” and she didn’t know who may be in her group.

“I’m forty-five minutes early,” she admitted, and went on about how she felt like she was on a blind date and seemed dubious about her compatriot’s motives. My motives were clear. I planned to sit here and bask in the glory of talking with a beautiful woman half my age for as long as she’d have me.

“Don’t you have name tags or a secret handshake?” I queried mustering my charm while trying not to seem too lecherous.

“This is my first time, so maybe they’ll show me!” She giggled, and then she effortlessly floored me with, “So what do you write for?”

Wow, two poignant questions in five minutes. I know she was expecting the name of a magazine or website, but the way she phrased the question, for me, was much more broad. In response I talked in platitudes about the love of writing, and the need for artistic expression. She seemed satisfied with that, and so the conversation continued until her group grew to become obvious. We exchanged email addresses to share our work, but as she joined her group, I was stuck with her question, “Am I a real writer?”

I knew I was not satisfied with the tepid answers I gave my new friend. I’d been working under the idea of “Audacity:” if one has the audacity to step up and tell the world he is a writer, then dammit, he is. It sounds good, there is even some truth to it, but it’s only a first step. Temerity gets you moving, but now what?

I don’t have an answer right now. There are a lot of “should do’s” and even quite a few “am doing’s,” but it’s time for the next step.

Any suggestions?

Vinny

3 Comments February 6, 2010

Elvis & The Buddha

In the fall of 2008 on becoming a formal Zen student I took part in a small private ceremony where over tea and light conversation my teacher, Daido Roshi, presented each of us with our grey student robes, and our oryoki bowls. Items linking us in the long line of Zen practitioners back to the time of The Buddha.

It is customary for the student to offer a small gift of appreciation to the teacher at this time, but what do you give to the man who has everything? It had to be something personal, something with history, something with a story.

Starting in the 90’s I began spending my vacations is a little town on the western tip of Jamaica. I often stay in the same small hotel, and I have become friendly with the families, restaurateurs, and shopkeepers in the little neighborhood close to the hotel. In these years I also began to explore eastern philosophy and to practice various forms of meditation. Mornings in Negril became synonymous with deep introspection peppered with ganja and robust coffee while gazing into the void of the great Caribbean Sea.

Several months after beginning to study with Daido Roshi I found myself back in Negril, this time with my Dad. On the first day, my friend Elvis called me over to his stand just outside the hotel’s gate. The first thing he asked was, “How are the brothers doing?” as if they were old friends who’d emigrated to the States a few years earlier. Actually “The Brothers” were a pair of crescent moons carved from planks of pimento wood with beautiful expressive Jamaican faces he’d made for me as a birthday gift for my daughter. Elvis is a gifted artist with the ability to get right to the heart of the matter.

He held up a block of wood, ironwood he told me, and as he held it he began to ask in a mystical sort of way, “What can I show you in this block? What do you see?” Along with being a wonderful carver Elvis was no slouch as a salesman, but I was in a hurry to get back to my Dad so I blurted out, “Have you ever carved a Buddha?” This got him. He looked at me puzzling images through his mind until a light went on, “The fat one, wit ‘im big belly?” “Not exactly,” I replied and began to speak of the type of Buddha I was referring to. He listened with rapt attention and finally replied, “I’ll look on the internet and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

The next evening Dad and I returned from a day of sightseeing and I stopped by to see Elvis who showed me a catalog of some kind containing several Buddha images. As we looked at them he said, ” ‘im like Rasta men in the mountain praying on Jah Rastafari.” He turned the rough-hewn block in his work worn hands, placed the it on the workbench, and crouching down he began to describe the finished sculpture which he could clearly see. I didn’t interfere, he got it, he got it in a way that filled the whole room. I thanked him, and said I’d see him in a few days.

Dad had left for the states, but I still had a few more days in town, and I hadn’t seen Elvis in a week. The next morning I went out to forage the fruit stand for breakfast when I saw Elvis’ smiling face waving me over. The statue was wrapped in some kind of oiled cloth and Elvis was rubbing it furiously as if to whet my appetite. When he unveiled it, I was blown away. The statue was so much cooler than I could have ever imagined. Imagination tethered to experience simply limits possibilities, but in this statue Elvis’ world met mine. I paid the first price he mentioned without a haggle.

I knew that one day I’d donate this treasure to Zen Mountain Monastery, and when the subject of a gift on becoming a student came up, I knew exactly what to do. I was so happy to let go of this unique piece of art that held such strong meaning for me, but with Daidoshi’s illness seeming to be taking hold at the time I went through this process, I never had an opportunity to share what this item actually was.

My next trip to Jamaica was in the Spring of ‘08 and I hoped Elvis and I could collaborate on another unique carving, but several months earlier he’d stepped on a nail and was having serious health issues. Routine health care isn’t routine in a country as poor as Jamaica. Later that year I became a formal Zen student and I gave the Rastaman Buddha to my teacher.

I didn’t return to Jamaica again till September ‘09 where I found Elvis’ carving stand abandoned. I asked around and was heartbroken to hear that my friend had passed away in the same month I offered his work as a gift. He’d lost his foot to the nail, and weakened by tetanus he succumbed to “flu”, probably pneumonia, a month or so later.

I spent a little time sitting in the dilapidated old stand sharing beers with Elvis’ brother who was working to sell off what carvings he could. Sadly in their weathered state they were not appealing to the passing tourists who would never have the honor to know the sweet man I knew as “Elvis The Carver.”

Vinny

4 Comments January 16, 2010

Mom and Dad in Negril 9-09

Hello to all my fellow Negrilaholics! I apologize for not getting to this sooner, but I need a month or so to digest my trips before spilling my guts here. So here we go…

I planned this trip back around last Christmas. Sitting before my laptop and Google Calendar blocking out the major events of the year. At first it was a spring trip, but finally it had to be pushed to September. I like hurricane season in Negril, maybe I secretly want to be stranded for an extra week some day. OK, so that’s not a secret to anyone, except maybe my boss.

It was July 4th weekend 2009. I was eating my outdoor grilled bratwurst at my parents place in Jersey when the subject of my next Negril trip came up. “I have the second week of September penciled in, you guys should come…” I offered spontaneously. They’re retired, financially stable, so what the hell? Of course it was my Dad who responded about a nano-second after the words were out of my mouth, “OK.”

Mom & Dad in Negril

Now my Mom was a tougher nut to crack. She hemmed and hawed as she rolled their Fall 2009 social calendar around in her head, “We can’t go to Jamaica so soon, maybe next spring.” But it only took a few minutes of me and Dad’s cajoling before she was in. The last piece of the puzzle was seeing if my daughter Kris could make it.

Things moved pretty quickly from there. I went online to find Air Jamaica was running a $289.00 round trip special from JFK to MoBay if we purchased the tickets right away, so we jumped on it. Booked three tickets that weekend, and then sent an email to Petrona and Susan at The Blue Cave Castle to book two rooms. We got one of the fancy rooms “Superior Ten” for Mom & Dad, and my favorite room “Deluxe One” for me, and if Kris was able to break off a week to come along she could room with her old man.

Almost immediately Dad was back to “Ya Mon” as the affirmative answer to almost any question, and Mom was excited too, and was soon very concerned with what to pack. My answer of, “Just bring a bunch of t-shirts” wasn’t too helpful.

There was a lot of joking about the sagacity of flying on 9/11 amongst our family, not to mention some stern warnings from my sisters, “You better bring them back in one piece!” The sisters are planning the big 50th anniversary shindig next spring, so I had to promise not to let Mom do any cliff-diving.

About a week out I emailed Petrona at The Castle to confirm and to let her know about when we would arrive which I estimated at “just before sunset,” to which Petrona replied, “Fuzzy and I will hold the sunset until you get here.” I just loved the visual that put in my head.

Getting to JFK for me is a pretty easy run. I can do a taxi, bus, train or subway, but Mom and Dad had to get there from Jersey. Luckily my brother offered to take them, but since traffic is so unpredictable they left really early. With the “Luck of the Irish”, of course they hit zero traffic and we checked in, through security, and at the gate by 9AM for a 12:45 flight. I left early for me, and met up with them at the gate around 10:30.

Time flew by and although it was a bit rainy we took off on time, hit no delays, and had a nice uneventful flight. We arrived at Sangster a little early, about 3:15 Jamaica time, and sailed through immigration, baggage and customs in record time. We were just outside the sliding doors into the driver’s area after successfully side-stepping the deal makers and Red Cap guys, to see a guy holding up a sign with Vinny on it.

The driver looked familiar, but it wasn’t Kenny who I’d contracted for the drive into Negril. He introduced himself as Rocky and apologized that he wasn’t Kenny, which I thought was funny. Hey Man, we can’t all be Kenny.” He explained he works with Kenny who was double-booked that day. We didn’t really care, his van was in good condition and the AC was working, though I must admit to missing the ice cold Red Stripes Kenny would have had ready to go, a situation we remedied at the first beer shack we ran across on the other side of Montego Bay. There’s just something wonderful about that first Red Stripe.

I told Rocky we were hoping to get to Negril before sunset, and I thought it shouldn’t be a problem, but we hit a whole lot of Friday afternoon traffic. Making the turn just past Lucea we were able to fly down the western coast all the way into Negril. Mom was so impressed with all of the school children in their uniforms. I was intrigued how Mom, who grew up in Ireland, felt at home almost immediately. She kept relating names, places and word usages to the old sod. For me it was really cool, I’d been worried if she’d like Jamaica, thinking she’d get used to it in a few days, but she seemed to get it immediately.

Soon we were among the myriad “Welcome to Negril” signs, rolling past the all-inclusive joints, through town and up into the cliffs. I love the feeling when those big white gates open and we pull through to see Santa’s big smile and warm smile. “Greeting mi friend!” he says as I introduce him to Mom, he remembered Dad.

We settled in our rooms for a while. I think this is my fourth time staying in “Deluxe One,” it was like seeing an old friend, though the furniture had been moved around some.

The sun was getting low, but we still had about half an hour till sunset so I went to get the Parents and to give Mom a tour of The Castle property, and then we went across the street to L&M Grocery to stock our respective refrigerators. The neighborhood was coming to life as we walked back, but the various sellers and deal makers kept their distance out of what I would like to think was respect for two older tourists making their way back to The Castle.

Sunset was nice, The Castle’s view is as good or better than anywhere else in Negril, and it was fun to watch Mom and Dad take it all in. Mom kept saying how she understood why I keep coming back.

More to come…

Vinny

1 Comment November 15, 2009

A letter to the editor . . .

I wanted to share this note from Joe & Laura:

Hi Vinny!

I can’t tell you how much I have, and am currently, enjoying reading your Negril exploits! Too funny, way insightful and very informative. Thanks for all the vivid descriptions of a lot of the places I’ve been reading about for the last year in anticipation of our trip to Negril.

I’m writing to tell you that my wife and I are flying into MoBay on November 20th for a 10 day trip to Negril for our 3rd wedding anniversary. It is the first time in Jamaica for both of us, and after reading most of your articles I am thrilled that we picked Negril for the whole trip. We have a car rented through EFAY car rental that we will pick up at the airport and then we will hit the “Road to Negril.” We are staying at the Charela Inn the entire time. Do you know anything about the Charela Inn and did we make a good choice? We will have a Junior Sea View Suite on the second floor.

The only thing we really have planned is our anniversary dinner on 11/24 at Rockhouse and a Wild Thing Cruise/Snorkel/Horse ride trip. We definitely plan on eating at Selina’s, 3 Dives, Kuyaba and Best in the West. We also want to eat at Xtabi and check out the snorkeling from their cliffs.

If we have time we hope to drive to the Black River and check out Rasta George.

I’ve got your packing list printed out and will take your advice on the Wet One’s! Any other advice about where to get some good local flavor would be greatly appreciated, but we can’t wait to have a Red Stripe in our hand, and our toes in the sand. You’re not going to be there from 11/20 -11/30 are you?

Thanks again for the great reading. We both hope to become one with Negril and its people.

“A phattie the size of a baby’s arm” OMG, LOL! When I read this I immediately fell off my chair and rolled around laughing with tears streaming down my face. Nice work!

Cheers,
Joe & Laura

Wow! Thanks Joe & Laura,

It never ceases to amaze me that people are helped by my ramblings.

First off, Negril is a great choice! People are always asking me, “Why do you go there?” Soon you will know the answer. You also picked a great time to go, I’ve done the late fall trip. The place is getting ready for the high season so things look great and the businesses are up ready to go.

Charela is very nice, I have friends who’ve been spending two weeks there each summer for more than twenty years. I’ve gone for dinner and drinks, and you can’t beat the location right in the center of all the beach action. I like taking a private water trip with Famous Vincent, or one of the many glass-bottomed boat guys up and down the beach, but The Wild Thing is also a great time. As you may have gleaned, I stay at The Blue Cave Castle and every afternoon the Wild Thing takes a slow cruise right by, when, on occasion, I’ve been known to moon them.

Please remember, you don’t have to go totally native on your first trip to have the time of your life! If you get one thing from this note, please get that. My first two trips were to an all-inclusive, but luckily a buddy told me to get out and see a little of the real thing which I did. On both of those trips I spent a fortune for all the things you go to an all-inclusive for and I totally loved both Hedonism and Sandals. I often give first timers the same advise I received. Go AI but get a little taste of The Real Negril!

For me, it wasn’t till my third reach when I needed a cheap trip that I totally immersed myself. I paid $25 a night at The Yoga Centre, foraged for food at small local places, drank in little hole in the wall bars, and really fell in love with Negril.

All your choices sound great. I suggest a stop into the The Blue Cave Castle up in the cliffs for one of Teddy’s sunset meals. He is an inspired chef and there is simply no better view, period. Also, don’t miss Rick’s Cafe! Some of my friends consider it too touristy, and even though I agree to some extent, its sheer awesomeness overshadows the commercialism.

The only thing I’d warn you about is the car rental. Getting around is very cheap and easy via route taxi’s and tour bus. I like to use Kenny 876-384-1371, and most of the better restaurants will send a car for free. I’ve heard many a story where the stress of dealing with a car in a third world country had buzz-killing results. Hey, maybe you guys are seasoned world travelers so this is a moot point. As for me, I’m usually too wasted to even chance a bike ride

Happy Anniversary! Have a great time! And please let me know how it turned out.

Peace and gassho,

Your Pal Vinny

Vinny pon de beech in Negril - September 2009

1 Comment September 22, 2009

Negril Bound!

Woo Hoo! Making my last minute packing decisions, stuffing the new suitcase, and having second thoughts on my book selections, which are all par for the course.

Flight info: Flying from JFK to Montego Bay on Air Jamaica Flight #0010 with a scheduled arrival time of 3:35PM.

Negril Transport: Usually I take the J.U.T.A. shuttle to Negril for $20US, but this trip with my parents I hired Kenny from Negril. Kenny will pick us up as soon as we clear Immigration and he’ll ferry us to sunny Negril in his big comfortable van stocked with snacks and Red Stripes.

Hotel: As usual it’s another stay at the wonderful Blue Cave Castle. I’ll be in Deluxe #1 and Mom and Dad will be in Superior #10 just across the yard near the coffee hut. Mom and Dad opted for a few creature comforts like a TV and Air Conditioning, though I’m not sure if Dad will be able to get the Giants game on Sunday.

Plans?: We don’t have much planned, there are a few things I’d like to do though. I’d like to do a beach day up at Half Moon Beach, and a day trip out to Black River and its environs. I’ve already tentatively booked Kenny for the Black River trip. I’m not sure if Mom will be cool with the fishing boat cruise up river, but I’m sure we will find some mutually accessible activities. I’d love to go out to Treasure Beach, and Alligator Pond, or up into Cockpit Country.

No matter what we choose we will have a great time! I’ll be posting with pics and news, so check back often!

Peace,
Vinny

Things to do in Negril - by Marko

I loved this list by my pal Marko, so I stole it (Shamelessly I might add).

Kuyaba for romantic dinner and drinks on da beach

Boat Bar for 200J Red Stripes on da beach

For Real for 150J Red Stripes on da beach

Selinas on Sunday for Brunch on da beach road

RealNegril.com live webcasts Tuesday’s thru Sundays - say “Hi” to dem at home

Ossies or Best of the West for Jerk on da beach road

Sunrise for Italian or Pizza on da beach road

JahB’s on da beach road for Scooters, Food and Cottages

Jenny’s on da West End Rd for best prices on breakfast, lunch and dinner - “Special Cake”

Wild Thing for a sunset cruise and open bar

Royal Palm Reserve with Famous Vincent

White Sands for 2 for 1 specials on beach

23/7 for drinks anytime on beach

Alfreds for breakfast on beach

Canoe on da West End Rd for great food and drinks - 200J Red Stripes

Fishing with Capt Stanely

Xtabi on da Cliffs for snorkeling and food and drinks

Bouborn for Jerk and live music on Monday Wed and Sat nights on da beach

Alfreds for live music Sun, Tues and Fri nights on da beach

Roots Bamboo on Wed nights on da beach

Wednesday nights “On the Rocks” has a party night dj playing on da West End Road

Charela Inn blues on Thursday nights on da beach

Tuesday nights at Negril Escape Sunset Show on da Cliffs

Late Tuesday nights at MiYard for live and direct DJ’s on da West End Rd

Famous Vincent for Snorkeling

Jungle on Thursday nights for Ladies Night on da beach road

Legends and SamSara Happy Hour 4 - 7PM

YellowBird Happy Hour 4 to sunset on da beach

Margaritaville popular all afternoon and good place to watch sports on a lot of TV’s on da beach…

Cosmos for food at da start of Negril

Kool Runnings Water Park on da beach road

Shamrock Shop on da beach road for coldest Red Stripe Beer and fresh squeezed OJ

LTU for Chicken Lola and pumkin soup on da Cliffs

SeaStar Inn on Sat nights for $15 buffet and entertainment on da corner of SeaStar Lane and West End Road

HiLo for changing money at da best rates

Cool Runnings,
Marko

Thanks Marko!
Vinny

PS: When do you ever sleep?

Writing Practice Redux

Sitting here with my fab new netbook I miss my pen and paper. The computer is great for writing the thing you plan to write, but when there’s no plan I find myself missing the meandering of pen on muted vanilla page. So unimportant, so much room for error and mispunctuated expediance, but here in the world of 64 fonts, back space and the character map, I feel limited. It’s like the first few weeks after I moved from dollar store composition book to sleek elastically held Moleskin. “Look at beautiful paper with it’s delecate lines, surely this is nothing to be scribbled on!” After a while I got over myself and was back in writing practice full swing.

Maybe it has something to do with my horrible typing skills. Writing on paper is a tactile experience, free flowing thought to words without the editing inherant in my slow typing. I want transfer to typing completely, that’s my goal. It’s not because I bought this cool new toy, that’s a cart and horse issue, I actually bought this cool new toy because I wanted to affect this transition. Using a computer, a wordpress blog and Google everything promises to make the writing process much more efficient. Writing on paper, re-writing, re-writing again, typing into a computer, posting, editing, re-posting, yada, yada, yada, is a pretty tedious process, and to ever expect this writing gig to go beyond hobby status something has to give.

So with the help of the comfy coffee houses of Brooklyn (I’m at Has Beans right now), I will be working through this. I apologize in advance for any schlocky prose you may encounter.

Peace,

Vinny

Negril Trip All New! Again!

The countdown is on! I love the pre-trip angst, the packing list, the scampering around looking for that one thing you can’t find anywhere.

I haven’t really gotten started. I’m usually 90% packed by now, shirts starched and boxed, new travel sized toiletries stacked up. I did buy a new big bag. Since 9/11 I don’t bother with a carry-on. Actually it wasn’t 9/11, it was the liquids ban, which was just silly. The liquid bombers are in prison, but that doesn’t stop the geniuses at the TSA for keeping the barn door closed. And I’m eying a good sturdy pair of Birkenstock’s for all that walking I plan to do.

Mom and Dad are coming along this time, which should be a lot of fun. I was hoping the Kid would come too, but she couldn’t carve a week out of her busy schedule. We got a great rate from Air Jamaica and we got the parents a fancy room at The Castle. This is Dad’s second Negril trip, but it’s been a long time since Mom has taken the rustic route. It’s always so much fun taking a newbie to Negril. I get to do all the touristy things that I love to do but don’t bother doing when in town with more seasoned Negrillers.

Normally I have a very loose schedule, but on the Mom & Dad trip I’ll have to at least sketch out a thumbnail. I’m sure Mom will love Rick’s Cafe, and likewise a nice shady beach day at Half Moon, though we may have to tone down the Black River Safari trip a little. Maybe I’ll send Mom and Dad out alone for a romantic sunset cruise with Famous Vincent.

Well I’m going to Target to start checking off my list. I’ll be posting the packing list about ten days out…

Peace,
Vinny

The Worst Restaurant in Brooklyn

I should know better. Tuesday is the worst night to walk into a restaurant in Brooklyn, or anywhere else for that matter. But my schedule has been so screwy lately I didn’t think about what day it was until after I was committed.

The St. Claire Restaurant, is a diner on the corner of Smith and Atlantic in what I guess is technically still Boreum Hill though I think the trendy realtors like to call it BoCoCa (I’m not even going in to it.) I’d been by it a hundred times, it always looked clean, well lit, and as I reflect in this moment; empty.

I was on an aimless journey, I’d missed the early start time for a film I’d only marginally wanted to see and I hadn’t eaten, so I hopped off the bus and wandered into the St. Claire. My goal was to get my standard grilled chicken over a salad, though splurging on the special was a possibility.

Completely empty at 6:45PM. I must be an idiot, but still I nodded blankly as the busdude waved his arm expansively saying, “Anywhere you’d like sir.” I took aim on a booth opposite the counter, plopped down and reached for my book. It took several seconds to realize my ass was wet, then my arms, then slowly I awakened to the fact that this clue-dog let me sit at the one seat in the entire empty damned restaurant with the AC vent leaking on it.

Over in the next booth now, the menu and the iced tea came out without incident. To be completely honest it was pretty damned good iced tea. It hit that iced tea sweet spot, not too icy, not too tea-y. I forewent my usual salad mainly because they all had stupid names and I wasn’t in the mood to decipher the Smith Street Special or the Brooklyn Classic’s ingredients. I ordered the meatloaf special. It’s a diner, I’m from Jersey, and the Tuesday Night Special is Meatloaf served with soup or salad, potato and vegetable, how could I go wrong?

The salad came out promptly. Upon serving the salad, my friendly, yet strangely stand-offish server asked what kind of dressing I wanted. I asked for italian. She said, “Creamy Italian?” and I wasn’t sure whether she was asking if that was OK, or if she was trying to warn me off. I smiled and nodded. I’ve spent most of my adult life smiling and nodding at attractive women I don’t understand, so I went with what works.

As soon as it hit the table I realized I’d made a poor dressing choice. The texture was off, different than any other salad dressing I’d here-to-fore encountered. A heaping jiggly blob of creamy detritus that seemed to be plotting an escape from the all too confining monkey dish. I approached with due caution. It was a slightly flavored mayonnaise with chunks of odd chunkiness throughout, confused and a little disturbed, I asked for oil and vinegar.

I pushed my empty salad bowl, dressing dish, and oil and vinegar caddy to the corner of the table when I was finished, where it sat.

My main course came out on two plates, steamy meatloaf slathered in gravy on the big one, and steamed broccoli and green beans on the other also hot and steamy. I was psyched to dig in, “they can’t screw up everything?” I thought. Oh naiveté.

I’ll start with the veggies. The broccoli was sitting somewhere dying before being conscripted for my order. It wasn’t terrible, but more Denny’s than I’m used to. To stay on the Denny’s kick, the green beans were standard Jolly Green Giant frozen flavorless. At least Denny’s used to soak them for days in some greasy sort of salty brine which was a flavor sensation all its own.

Now for the thick meat flavored substance they were pawning off as Meatloaf. Back in the day, and when I was a kid, and when I made Meatloaf in a diner, it was a signature dish. It is deceptively tough to create and sell a dish so common as the lowly meatloaf, because everyone’s Mom makes the best meatloaf ever! So it needs to be of quality and high standard, but with that something extra that makes it great without threatening anyone’s notion of mom’s pièce d’ résistance. A true balancing act.

Don’t worry, your Mothers have nothing to fear from The St. Claire. This meatloaf-ian mystery meat was almost worth eating just to discern what the hell it was, but between the grease, the furiously salty gelatinous glop that passed for gravy, and the hard bits, I was at a loss.

Dizzy with the MSG rush from the canned gravy-like substance, I stacked and pushed my plates next to the still there plates from the salad course, the empty water glass (plastic glass), the empty iced-tea glass (ditto plastic), and my flatware with my uncharacteristically linen napkin folded neatly atop the pile.

Finally after several bouts of the “obviously looking around for my server” head movements, she finally appeared from the one direction I wasn’t looking and startled the shit out of me. I asked for a refill on the iced tea. “How was it?” she asked with an accent of Ukrainian origin. I smiled and said, “The iced tea was great.”

After ten or fifteen minutes of relaxing, reading my book, and recovering from the salt shock, I got up to pay my bill. I was still the only person on the restaurant, though by then I knew why. I perused the bill as I walked to the very uninterested gum-chewing-reading-glasses-on-a-chain cashier, and laughed aloud as I saw that they charged me for the iced tea refill. My first instinct was to be annoyed but the iced tea was the only part of the meal that was worth paying for.

“How was everything Sir?” the very uninterested gum-chewing-reading-glasses-on-a-chain cashier asked in her droning way.

“Pretty terrible actually,” I said with a smile.

“Thank You.” she said not even registering my comment, or so cool that she didn’t want to give me an inch. I just kept smiling, by this time amused by the whole situation.

I walked over to the table and put my 20% tip on the table next to the festering pile of dirty dishes. It’s not her fault she works in the worst restaurant in Brooklyn, and I’m not the type to hold a grudge.

Peace,
Vinny

Impermanence . . .

It’s like duh… We talk about it all the time, it’s a core tenet, so why are we so rocked by change? OK, maybe I need to get out of the third person. Why am I so rocked by change?

That’s the question. We get used to this or that, the trail clears, widens, and the rut deepens. It may sound apocalyptic but it’s not so dramatic, we do it with everything. Being habitual isn’t the problem, it’s our blind faith in these habits, the non-questioning life.

When a friend and mentor recently made a change, a change to further his practice, a positive change, I felt my clinging to the status quo rear up in my life. Such a simple thing.

I spent several days thinking, “This sucks!” even though I knew intellectually this was a positive move for all involved. “What an asshole I am,” I thought. So conditioned in what I like and what is familiar, it makes one reflect on forests and trees.

It also brings to light just what an expansive journey this life, this questioning life is, and how steep even are the foothills.

Vinny

Book, Pack & Go. . .

I’m in that no man’s land of booked, but too early to pack, and going is so far off. September seems too far away to be in pre-Negril mode, so I guess I’ll call it post-booking-pre-packing excitement mode.

Are are some things one can do? Is it ever too early for pre-trip inventory? Then at least I can begin the post-inventory pre-packing travel equipment staging, right? Maybe I need another cup of coffee! Well, no; obviously not.

Packing and gear aside, I’m quite prepared for this trip. I’m usually agonizing over what books to bring, to computer or not to computer, and since I’m bringing Mom and Dad along, the itinerary is pretty much set to “The Jamaica Experience in Six Days.”

The computer problem was solved with the purchase of my totally awesome HP Mini, and since lately I’ve been buying books at a disturbing rate my backlog is filled with tasty selections.

The book backlog problem is all about talking on the phone while perusing the stacks at Barnes & Noble. Everyone has suggestions and of course, I am easily led. Discussions spark memories of myriad conversations and Discovery Channel episodes ended with choices like Orwell’s 1984, The Omnivore’s Dilemma, Tim Wise’ Between Barack and a Hard Place, and several more. A few weeks ago it was the same story but with different stories, Daido Roshi’s The Heart of Being, Pride & Prejudice & Zombies (that one may need to be reviewed here), and then several tomes on theoretical physics, a kind of Michiu Kaku Greatest Hits.

Damn, 53 more sleeps till Negril, I shouldn’t stay away so long next time, this is going to be torture…

Peace,
Vinny

First Annual Indepenence Day Post

I’m sitting here at Gorilla Coffee in sunny Park Slope Brooklyn celebrating Independence Day with my awesomely cool brand new netbook! It’s so cool and trendy that I just had to add “netbook” to my spell checker. At first I thought these things too small, but for the price and convenience you can’t beat them. I went for the HP Mini with a 10.1″ screen, 160ghz Intel Atom processor, 160 gig hard drive, 1 gig of ram all for $329 bucks.

The reason I went to the whole netbook concept is portability, the thing weighs 2.5 lbs, but when you add that to the convergence of all these technologies I’m not really giving up any performance. Another big reason is it is very blog friendly. As I’ve been moving towards “The Cloud” with Google Docs, Google Calendar and two WordPress blogs, I plan to keep all those heavy apps like MS Office and the like back on my work computer which now seems huge although it is only a 14.1″ Dell Laptop.

So next year when I post my Second Annual Independence Day Blog Post, we’ll see how this new technology helps me keep writing, moving and blogging.

Go eat some BBQ! I’m headed to Coney Island to eat some hot dogs . . .

Peace,
Vinny

Flu Overflow, or would that be over-flu?

Maybe it’s because I have a nasty cold, and I’m a little grouchy, but as the city braces itself for the impending onslaught of the dreaded swine flu, I wonder if this is all some kind of social experiment. A lesson in control from our friendly faceless puppet masters.

OK, so maybe that overstates the problem, but this media apocalypse is way overblown. From the news to the office, from the subways to the streets a pall of uneasiness has swept my little corner of the world. The housing crisis, pirates in Somalia, failing banks, bankrupt auto makers, the list goes on and on. It’s relentless. People on edge, society all keyed up, then this?

When things are broken, or even when they seem broken, people look for someone who promises to make it better, they abdicate their responsibilities, and the pendulum swings towards tyranny. The path of history is crowded with the muddy footprints of they whose over-reaching has led to the disenfranchisement of cheering crowds.

I don’t believe in messiahs. Life is to be lived one day at a time, one moment at a time. I can’t stomach the thought of a future kept in constant crisis, with people betraying their better judgment for some collective cure. It either ends up as a Demolition Man prozac world of neutered sameness, or Roddenberry’s Borg. Neither is very appealing.

My suggestion? Let’s all take a step back and gain a little perspective. When I used to run fast-food joints we’d train the cashiers to never focus on the line out the door, but to just handle the customer right in front of you. Give them your full attention and the line will take care of itself. I think it works in life too.

Vinny

No one knows how it started ?

Harry Kalas is “Outtta Heeeerrrrreee!”

Harry Kalas 1936-2009

I will never pretend to be a huge baseball fan, but one of the charms of living in Philadelphia all those years was hearing Harry Kalas calling a Phillies game. A lot will be written and said over the next few weeks as those more knowledgeable than I wax eloquent on his accomplishments. Even the most casual Phillies fan like myself knew the greatness we were in the midst of. It’s hard to describe in text what the man could do with a microphone, scroll down a few posts and play the clip of Harry calling last year’s World Series, or just go to YouTube and search his name.

Goodbye Harry, rest in peace.

Plastic Fences

There was a time I thought plastic (vinyl) fences were a good idea, you know, practical, easy to maintain, long lasting. A man becomes pragmatic and expansive when in the reassuring embrace of The Home Labyrinth Super Store.

Last week I was on a commuter train, minding my own business, trundling through the back yards of suburban New Jersey. Everywhere I looked, endless tracks of plastic demarcation gleaming in the morning sunshine; ice cliffs calving into a sea of banality, one after another, ever new, ever fresh, ever cheerful.

Is my worldview changing? Warped by a few years of introspection, or is it Brooklyn? Am I becoming like those self important Park Slope nose-down-lookers? I’m not quite there yet, but I wonder about those fences. Plastic yard borders surround plastic houses full of plastic things, and even a plastic car on a driveway not yet plastic, though I’m sure teams of plastic scientists are at work right now to remedy the situation.

A banana tastes best as it begins to rot, entropy is what is, an intimacy conspicuously ignored. What price pricey perfection? Standards skewed, Jones’s up-kept, what are we teaching these kids? Causes affecting more causes effect again moving through someone’s idea of BMMRs and minivans choking the cul-de-sac. But it’s OK everyone has GPS to navigate the sameness.

I hope they can find their way…