Coffee House

We all need a "third place" -- somewhere other than home or work where we can relax, sip coffee and chat with friends. I found a new one today and am here to report on it.

One distinctive advantage to living in a metropolitan area is the presence of exotic options. Sure there are boring, pedestrian Starbucks around the world but wouldn't it be nice to try coffee from Yemen or Guatemala? To savor a Pistachio Latte? Or bite a tasty organic pastry?

On the way home from a bi-monthly drug-infusion today I coaxed my chauffeur into visiting a new specialty coffeehouse: Mokafé on Route 110 in Melville. (There are additional locations in NYC and NJ.) The Melville location is large and nicely-decorated. Perfect for a comfortable experience. Open until 2 a.m. most nights Mokafé is designed for fun. It is busiest between 9-10 o'clock at night.

Mokafé's owners are from Yemen, Palestine and Guatemala. Their culinary offerings celebrate the owners' cultural heritages. Mokafe’s coffee beans come from farmers in Yemen and Guatemala with whom the owners deal directly. The owners originally started as wholesale coffee distributors. When they opened a coffee-shop it was instantly successful and they've continued in that direction.

The variety of coffee drinks is diverse, as are the interesting pastries, cakes and sandwiches. Experiment with khaliat nahl, sabaya or a pistachio knafa croissant. And when you spot me and my chauffeur canoodling in the corner, come over and say hi. :)

Mardi Gras

Tuesday is Mardi Gras. (The phrase is French for "Fat Tuesday"). If you can't make it down to "Nawlins"/NOLA (New Orleans), celebrate locally. My friend Jaime and I are going to one of Long Island's last remaining restaurants serving Cajun food (Louisiana Joe's in Oceanside).

Mardi Gras is a celebration of life. People wear masks, costumes and beads. The holiday's primary colors are purple, green and gold. People sometimes dress as nature fairies, animals and mythological characters. Medieval costumes are also welcome.

Here's a picture of Jaime & me enjoying Mardi Gras around the turn of the century. Our tradition goes way back!

Heaven On Earth

When you face death, so close you can smell its breath, you realize profound truths. About the value of life. Small pleasures are actually bigger than small, rich opportunities abound, and life offers a platter of pleasures. 

In age we can cherish redolent memories of delightful experiences. I've been lucky to have many. Remembering them, the people I shared them with, and the joy I found balances the scale against decrepitude.

Some years ago my good friend Aimee took me on vacation to an idyllic spot: the Thousand Islands of St. Lawrence River (near the east end of Lake Ontario). The area, separating Canada from the U.S., contains 1,864 individual islands. A century ago it was the summer playground of wealthy New Yorkers, attracted to ineffable natural beauty.

Aimee and I took a ferry boat from Alexandria Bay to Singer Castle and Boldt Castle, locations now available to the hoi polloi. The June day was sunny, bright and dreamy. Cool zephyrs greeted us like friends on the boat-ride. The atmosphere -- and indeed entire day -- was sublime. 

I'll never forget the peace, calm and pleasure I felt that day. Health, eyesight and a caring friend were present, with not a hint of trauma waiting in the near future.

"Brockmire"

My favorite actor, Hank Azaria, has had a long career of amazing performances. All elevated by bright intelligence and startling accuracy. I first noticed Hank in "Quiz Show" (1994) where he transformed a tiny part into a pivotal part of the story.

Hank's greatest achievement, in my opinion, is "Brockmire" (2017+) based on a character Hank created. He plays a 50-year old baseball announcer who's flawed but brilliant, funny but destructive, and traditionally sexist. Most notable of all is how Hank nails the voice of the character.

In the show's four-season run, it was hilarious and deeply insightful. Plus, who doesn't love Amanda Peet? :)

Great art and artists are often underappreciated. Don't let that happen here. Go watch "Brockmire". Its messages are growing in importance, especially from the last season which imagines the dying future of baseball in the 2030s.

Happy Groundhog Day

Punxsutawney is a fun, quirky place.

First time I visited was by accident. I was riding home, alone, from North Dakota on my first motorcycle trip. This was back in the day when GPS didn't exist and I wasn't using a map (1999). I was just heading east toward New York. Passing through western PA on rural roads I spotted a large statue of a strange creature. Then another. Then a sign signaling my arrival in the Groundhog Capitol of the World. Surprise!

I returned ten years ago on my BMW touring motorcycle. Intentionally. I now had GPS. You can see the bike in one of these photos.

What will Phil say today? 

Johnny Cash

The music of Johnny Cash has soul. Authentic feeling. You sense the man has seen some shit. Life at its nadir and peak.

For my birthday last November I requested tickets to a "jukebox musical" of Johnny's songs. We attended the show last night at a theater in Northport. The musicians were talented, their performance was glorious. It was like sitting in front of a warm hearth to escape Winter's cold.

The occasion warranted breaking out one of my favorite shirts. I bought this beauty thirty years ago when visiting Boston. Returning to a city I'd spent three years in for law school (1979-1982) I enjoyed being there again. This time I had money in my pockets; as a student I was dirt-poor and frequently ate falafel from King David's food truck.

On this trip I walked down Boylston Street, Boston's upscale shopping Mecca. I spotted a boutique with a catchy name: "Rock 'n Roll Cowboy." I took a look inside. The store had chic clothes with motifs I'd never encountered before. I noticed this classic country-style shirt and fell in love. But... it was expensive. Obscenely so. 

After debating the voice of my immigrant-parents (in my head), I took a plunge and pulled out my wallet. In retrospect, that was the right choice. The shirt is made of high-quality material, is embroidered not printed, has real pearl buttons and appears brand-new after three decades of wear. When a thing can become your treasure for a lifetime, it deserves respect regardless of cost.

I hear the train a comin'

It's rolling round the bend

And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when

I'm stuck in Folsom prison, and time keeps draggin' on

But that train keeps a rollin' on down to San Antone.

When I was just a baby my mama told me "Son, 

Always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns"

But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die

When I hear that whistle blowing, I hang my head and cry.

I bet there's rich folks eating in a fancy dining car

They're probably drinkin' coffee and smoking big cigars

Well I know I had it coming, I know I can't be free

But those people keep a movin'

And that's what tortures me.

Well if they freed me from this prison

If that railroad train was mine

I bet I'd move it on a little farther down the line

Far from Folsom prison, that's where I want to stay

And I'd let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away.

You've Got Moxie!

I just finished a fascinating book about life in America a century ago. Back in the 1920s baseball was everyone's obsession, Babe Ruth became our first national celebrity, and mass communication (radio and print newspapers) spread news with astonishing speed. (The book, an award-winning best-seller, is "The Big Fella" by Jane Leavy [2018])

Primary sources quoted in the book illustrate how language evolves. Not just slang, like phrases I gleefully played with as a kid in the 1960s ("Right on, man!", "groovy"), but vocabulary spoken in ordinary conversation. Some words commonly deployed then have since been replaced by new ones.

Here's an example. Today we talk about "grit" -- that laudable quality some folks have to persevere through hardship. We admire the force of their character, their determination. Back in the 1920s, a popular word used for this was "moxie". A person who had moxie was strong, vigorous and capable of enduring anything. 

The word moxie itself is interesting: it originated in the 1870s as the (capitalized) commercial name of a "medicinal" elixir. (The beverage was actually just a carbonated energy drink with no medicinal value.) Widespread ads for "Moxie" later led "moxie" to evolve into a personal characteristic.

"Hey, it takes moxie to climb Coney Mountain!"