Archive for the ‘personal’ tag
The 3six5
There’s a website I’ve been reading called The 3six5, which takes the form of a “personal journal”-style blog, but with each day of the year written by a different person. Not long ago, I saw on Twitter that they were still looking for writers and I applied to be one of the November authors. I was assigned November 18, which was yesterday. I spent my day in Philadelphia and then on the ride home to NYC I wrote my entry and submitted it. It’s posted here.
Update almost a year later:
The site is no longer there. Here’s the entry:
____________________________________________
Nothing is more like a thing than the thing itself, and today was a Sunday par excellence, full of redemption and history and black coffee and whiskey. With the NYC marathon canceled after Hurricane Sandy, Laura applied for—and got!—a spot in Philadelphia’s race. So I urban-adventured from New York to the City of Brotherly Love, with not enough sleep, my friend Matthew, and good cheer and cheering packed in our bags and printed on our marathon signs.
We arrived perfectly in time to see Laura just before she crossed the finish line. We bellowed and waved and bobbed our signs. She waved and smiled and filled us with pride. Beyond the finish line, she was exhausted and deliciously delirious, saying all she immediately wanted was to go shopping for a new dress. We all wandered through our awe together, then sent her on her way.
The rest of the day blurred by disturbingly quickly. Cocktails and a tapas lunch, the Liberty Bell, a horrifying collection of diseased flesh at the Mütter Museum, one knocked-back drink in an Irish pub. Stone and brick, beautiful old buildings with ugly new facades, the quiet of a weekend’s pace—the city is charming and lonely, another clear signal for Sunday.
Friendship pulses through time like blood in the veins of those horrific specimens once did. And today is just one day. Matthew is barely older than my friendship with Laura. How well do we know each other? How well do we know ourselves? I wonder if we’ll still all be friends another 26.2 years from now.
Heading east, toward the past, as the sun went down, I felt the draw of home. But the bourbon in my belly gave me a hunger for the next—next adventure west, next bite of something sweet. Marking miles and milestones makes for almost instant nostalgia. Remember that time we went to Philly to see Laura run? Remember when we crossed the Delaware, leaving Jersey behind, leaving Pennsylvania behind, in a raking autumn light? Our declared freedom itself was a perfectly Sunday kind of declaration. We found common cause in our day’s hours, and ran circles round time itself.
Great Friend, Great Cause
OMG! Laura is running the NYC Marathon this year! And in doing so she is raising money for Team for Kids. She says:
Hello!
I’m completely psyched and thrilled and amazed and a little freaked-out to be running the 2012 ING New York City Marathon, but so humbled and grateful to be running with Team for Kids, and I’m asking for your support of their noble mission. Team for Kids raises funds for programs that directly combat childhood obesity and empower youth development in low-income schools and community centers in New York City, throughout the country, and in Africa. All contributions are tax-deductible.
Affectionately, Laura xxoo
I’m proud to have donated to this worthy endeavor and encourage anyone and everyone to do the same — even if only a tiny amount! If you’d like to make a donation, just click here!
My Debut on the New York Social Diary
Well well well, look who finally got his face in some society pages (scroll down a bit). The book we published about Romain de Plas was the cause for a lovely celebration at Archivia Books. This is a fantastic independent bookstore on the Upper East Side, a real gem of a place, run by the wonderful Cynthia Conigliaro. She did it up right for us and everyone enjoyed themselves immensely.
In related news, I am quoted in this article about de Plas in The Lo-Down, an online magazine about the Lower East Side, where de Plas lived and worked for a good amount of time. He spoke in an interview of not knowing what to make of Downtown, having spent much time abroad and most of his New York time to that point Uptown. Personally, I can’t think of a better place for an artist than Downtown Manhattan. But he had a true artist’s soul, which lived in its own world and by its own rules. I’m glad the show and the book are beginning to get a bit of press. It’s a project I’m very proud to have had a hand in.
A part of my adolescence died today
Rest in peace, Phoebe Snow.
And here is a wonderful Paul Simon song that features Phoebe Snow. It’s from his Still Crazy After All These Years LP:
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New work from McCall Associates
I don’t blog about my day-job often, but today we finally updated the portfolio on our website. When I take a look at the body of our recent work all together I have to say I’m pretty proud of what we’ve been up to lately. If you’re curious check out the portfolio here. In the meantime, here are a few highlights:
New design for the information-rich website of Galerie St. Etienne, a prominent 57th Street gallery. My contribution to the project was a completely re-thought editorial structure for the site:
Catalog for MoMA’s fascinating survey of drawing through the 20th century. The cover has an unexpected rhythm, and I wish this picture showed the spine — which just has a simple line right down the middle:
Catalog for The Morgan Library & Museum on the art collection of Kasper — the fashion designer and bon vivant (and personal friend of mine). Michelle made two different jackets to show off the dual nature of the collection — drawing and photography:
Catalog for L&M Arts’ show comparing the work of Calder and Tanguy. Mark’s typography and use of color in this book is about the best our studio has ever produced:
Technology Proves Me Right
After three years of walking and biking over the Brooklyn Bridge — coming and going from home to work — I know intuitively that the ramp up to the bridge on the Manhattan side is steeper than on the Brooklyn side. Now I have proof.
I just bought an iPhone app called Cyclemeter, which records your bike ride, run, walk, swim, etc. using GPS. Cool! It not only calculates the distance and speed of your travel and things like how many calories you burned, but also your elevation. And it graphs it for you. Here’s my walk home tonight, showing the elevation going from Tribeca to Cobble Hill, reading left to right:
So as you can see in that rather sudden uptick, the ramp up is shorter and steeper on the Manhattan side and more gradual on the Brooklyn side. The app also gives me my time — 44 minutes 25 seconds for 3.30 miles, which means I walk a thirteen-and-a-half-minute mile. Sounds slow, but trust me, I was moving.
Concettina Died, a book by Marco Zaza
Years ago, when I started this blog, I asked my dad to contribute by writing down some family stories to be posted in his own section of the site. He came through in a major way — writing two dozen stories that told of his growing-up days on the East Side of Youngstown, Ohio and of our family’s development from immigration through today. His blog is called Concettina Died and Other Stories of the East Side because he had always said if he were to write a book, that would be the title.
So this year, after Dad updated the site with two new stories, I started to think it was time to compile them into an actual book, and to flesh them out a bit with illustrative photos that would help bring to life all the wonderful characters in these tales. With the help of friends and family who sent me the images and helped out with various bits of fact-checking, I pulled it together in time for Christmas. Dad was surprised and delighted to see his work take this new form, and my family had a wonderful time over the holiday enjoying the book and reminiscing about the events in the stories.
The book was produced using print-on-demand technology from Blurb.com. It was edited and designed by yours truly. And it’s available for purchase by anyone who wants one. Concettina Died is an 80-page, fully-illustrated 8-by-10-inch volume. It is available in both hardcover and softcover. Here is an online preview of the book.
If you’d like to order one for yourself, you may do so here:
Hardcover edition
Softcover edition
Enjoy!
Blind Shadows, for Scott
Thanksgiving 2010
This woman is a Thanksgiving Genius:
Every time I go to Atlanta I gain five pounds. Stephanie’s cooking skillz are second-to-none. She made a very traditional, and absolutely perfect, holiday meal — turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, brussels sprouts, stuffing, cranberry chutney, and popovers. Oh, and she made an appetizer of succulent shrimp cocktail with champagne, you know, just in case we weren’t gonna have enough food! Insane. And awesome. Of course, it’s easy to see where she gets it. My parents arrived from North Carolina with a lasagna, stuffed shells, sausage, braccioles, wedding soup, and tarrales. Good lord it was all heavenly.
For most of the weekend I did what I always do at Stephanie’s house: I alternated between sitting on the sofa and going to the kitchen to make cocktails between feedings. I love going there.
We did venture out to the mall on the Friday after Thanksgiving. It was crowded, but not insane. And amazingly everyone who works at that mall was all trained at the same stupidity factory. So after very light shopping (including oohing and ahhing over a black diamond bracelet at David Yurman — sigh…), we cut our losses and headed home for cocktails, Scrabble, and Wii. We also played Pictionary, which was weird.
But you know what’s even weirder? We went bowling late Friday night! It had only been, oh, fifty years or so since Mom went bowling. And maybe 30 or so for Dad. Things have changed — now it’s all black-light and disco, automatic scorekeeping and beer! We had a ball. Bah-dum-bah!
I got pictures of everyone in action:
And I got a great sequence of Stephanie getting a spare:
And then Thanksgiving was over as quickly as it came. But Christmas comes. Here it comes!
The Unknowing Co-Conspirator
When a loved-one dies, memories can be a salve for the wounds of grief and sadness. Dad has paid loving tribute to his sister Palma in a new story he sent me, recalling from his childhood the beginnings of her marriage, and the trust and sweetness Aunt Palma always embodied, in this case, by way of secretly entrusting him in her personal affairs. Again, this story has been added over at the old site, where I encourage you to read all of Dad’s stories, which are touching and, more often than not, very very funny. Thanks for another story, Dad.
– DMZ
The Unknowing Co-Conspirator
In August of 2010, my dear sister Palma died after a long and courageous fight with diabetes. Attending, as she had requested, her very simple funeral, my mind wandered back to two events that took place many years ago.
In July of 1949, I was just eleven years old. Palma, who was eighteen, invited a young man to our house, so that he could ask my father’s permission to marry her. This came as a complete surprise to Mama and Papa, who strictly forbid my sisters to date at that age. Also, Martha, our oldest sister, was engaged to be married the very next September, and according to an old Italian tradition, daughters must be married off in chronological order, eldest to youngest. So, being the epitome of the Italian father, Papa quickly dismissed the young man, asking him to never darken the doorway of his home again! And so Joseph Frank, the would-be suitor, left, and a weeping Palma was sent to her room. The crisis had been met and dealt with.
The very next week, while the family and some friends celebrated Papa’s birthday, Palma called me up to her room, and asked me to carry some paper bags of old clothing to the basement. I made two such trips, and anxiously went back to birthday party, for fear I’d miss out on cake. Meanwhile, my sister Martha and her fiancée returned home from a matinee movie, and joined in the party. Mama, missing Palma’s presence, asked Martha to go upstairs and bring her down to join in singing Happy Birthday. What Martha found when she went to their bedroom, was a note from Palma, saying how she could not live without “her Joe,” and so they were eloping that day. The bags of old clothes I had carried to the basement were actually Palma’s clothes. She could not risk using a suitcase, for fear of being caught. She used me and the cellar exit to make her escape! The celebration was over.
The newly weds, fearful of Papa’s anger and possibly some other real or imagined retribution, made a home in Kane, Pennsylvania, a good three to four hours away from our home in Ohio. I missed my sister, who was always ready to give me treats (she liked to make fudge, which never set, so we ate it with a spoon), or help me entertain myself.
By autumn, I had not seen Palma for several months, and then one day I looked up from my desk at school, and there she was, peeking in the window of my classroom door. I was so excited to see her, and I jumped out of my seat. The teacher asked me to sit down, and I remember saying, ”but that’s my sister, and I want to see her.” Mrs. Schrader went out to the hall, heard Palma’s story, and allowed me to go out and see my sister. What a happy reunion. But once again, Palma asked me to keep a secret and not tell the family that she was in town. Once again we were co-conspirators!
Months later, on December 24, Mama received a phone call from Palma from Kane, Pennsylvania. In tears, Palma told Mama that there had been a fire in their apartment, and although they managed to save most of their furniture, they were basically homeless. When Papa heard this, he told them to hold tight, that he would be there as soon as possible. So on Christmas Eve, in a snowstorm, Papa drove his truck into the hills of Pennsylvania, and brought Palma, Joe, and their belongings home to Youngstown. Mama got the gift of a lifetime — her family was together again!
– Marco Zaza
Née Curtz
“You and Your Town” — a story update from Marco
You see that little link over there on the right that says Concettina Died and Other Storied of the East Side? Well, it’s been since January of 2009 that we had an update from Marco. Until today.
When Stephanie, Joe, and I were visiting Mom and Dad over Labor Day, Dad told a story that we’d heard before, but that never gets any less funny for the retelling. Something made me think of it today and I realized that it’s a classic that really shouldn’t be left out of Marco’s story archive over there at the Concettina Died section of my old site. So I asked Dad to write it out. He obliged within the hour.
Marco writes:
After high school graduation, my parents, who were busting their buttons because I was the first in the family to go to college, decided they would drive me to Athens, Ohio, where I would start classes at Ohio University. The journey was about four hours, and took us through winding country roads, and it seemed, through every small township and village in southern Ohio.
In one of these villages, a traffic jam had Papa’s car at a dead standstill. It was a two lane street, through the middle of that village, with the opposite traffic directly across from our car. September can be very hot in southern Ohio, so all the car windows were rolled down (no air conditioning in 1956). Papa, who had little patience when he thought the fates were acting against him, cursed in his native Italian, and was generally beside himself over the delay. In the car directly opposite ours, traveling in the opposite direction, a rather elderly little lady sat behind her wheel, patiently waiting to move forward. I seem to remember she looked at us, and smiled. Papa smiled back, and in his broken English, said to her, “eh ladee, thisa yu town?” She, probably expecting some nice word about her village, answered, “Yes, yes it is.”
Then with all his frustration ready to be unleashed, Papa leaned out his window and yelled to her, “Wella, poo! Go to hella you eh you town!”
Unable to believe what had just taken place, I slid as far down into the back seat as I possibly could, hoping for the traffic to begin moving soon. And that’s how my college days began!
I’ve added this story to the full archive, and if you haven’t done so recently I recommend going back through and reading all of Dad’s stories again. They’re funny and touching and it’s a wonderful blessing to have them written down. Thanks, Dad.
In Loving Memory of My Aunt
Here is the obituary for my Aunt Palma as it appears in the Youngstown Vindicator. Aunt Palma was one of the most warm-hearted people, with an easy laugh and smile that we’ll always remember.
There’s Summer in This Song
Right — I was ten when this song came out. I remember begging my mom to buy me a magazine at the grocery store that had the lyrics in it. And since sometime in my college years — maybe 10 or 12 years after it’s original release — this song has always had summer written all over it for me. Is it the great guitar riff? Is it Pat’s snarling vocal? I don’t know. But I do know this a great live recording of it. She can really sing (no autotune for this diva!)….
Okay. So, that’s done. Can summer please go away now?