Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc.

Asking Celebs Dumb Questions

Do You Ever Wonder What They Think?

I know many celebrity-obsessed people. Many want to meet them. I have a friend who regularly sends me info about the signing events athletes do. He’s never gone and never will. He’s dying to meet them and the actors who play superheroes. Toss in the writers and artists that work on the comic books.

I have dated women who have their crushes. One told me the first day we met she was in love with Harrison Ford and Paul O’Neill. Nothing better than Han Solo, Indy, and the best right fielder and intense player the Yankees had in many years. No one will replace Paul. I’d take him in RF and the clutch hitting situation over just about anyone. One was in love with Eddie Vedder and Johnny Depp: another Sting and Geddy Lee. The best of them dreamed of Roger Taylor and Simon Le Bon. She was the best dressed, classiest, prettiest, and smartest of all I dated. She could have been the girl on film.

I have my crushes. Those that know me know who they are. Last year, I was at Yankee Stadium for Old-Timers Day, and Jack Curry was walking into the Stadium. He shook hands and snapped pictures with many of us. I referenced some of his books in our brief conversation. He told me he has another coming out. I sent the image to my friend. He was jealous.

In 2012, as part of the Times Talks, I saw Yoko (Ono), where she discussed the movie “Imagine.” At the end of the event, I went up to the stage and got to hang with her for a few minutes. She’s super nice.

People asked her fairly normal questions, such as what type of music do you think John (Lennon) would have liked these days. She said he would have loved hip hop because he was obsessed with fast-moving wordplay.

About two years ago, Chris Stein released a book about his work in Blondie. I attended. Blondie was one of the first bands I liked, and I remember when my grandmother, a religious woman, took me to TSS in Queens to buy the band’s cassettes. I think I also got music from the Ramones. I have some interesting stories to tell about them. Maybe one day. Or not.

I can still picture this shopping event. I was about six. The cashier was curly-haired, about 17, and wore glasses with a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. He asked what I wanted. She said he wanted Blondie. I got my tape. I wonder what the kid behind the counter thought about a six-year-old with his religious grandmother buying punk? Probably nothing. It was a sale, and he likely wanted to go home, listen to Plant and Page and have a beer.

Deborah (Harry) accompanied Stein at an event held at his alma mater, SVA. The two spoke about their times at CBGBs and the assortment of characters they hung with, including the Ramones, Lou (Reed), Television, Iggy (Pop) and club owner Hilly (Kristal). They opened it up for questions. People asked about Iggy and the scene. Then came the “brainy” question. The person said he was an electrician and asked, “Do you remember maybe in 1975, when the two of you lived in your Bowery loft, and I came to fix an electrical issue and had to look in a closet?” Deborah and Chris just looked at him and said something.

A few weeks ago, I saw Lenny Kaye at City Winery’s Loft. Lenny spoke about Patti (Smith), Joey (Ramone) Lou and Hilly during his time at CBGBs. The Q&A started. Someone asked Lenny if he remembers meeting him and shaking his hand outside a club in 1976. Lenny said something along the lines of I have met so many people.

A week or so before Kaye’s event, Ann Wilson did a Q&A at City Winery. People asked similar questions. I wonder what they think when people ask these questions? Only twice did I ever ask questions.

I think they were normal. At a CD signing at the former Tower Records on 8th Street, I asked Depeche Mode if they could play songs from a specific album at their upcoming show at the Garden. Martin said, “Maybe.” The songs I wanted were ones they usually don’t perform. About two years ago, they did play them at the Garden. Maybe they had me in mind from 2002. Not.

At the 92Y in the early 2000s after Idina Menzel spoke, I was in line to get her signature on her new CD. This was post “Rent” and before “Frozen.” I asked her what her favorite “Rent” songs were. She mentioned a few that were not hers.

I am sure I will be at more Q&As. I cannot wait to hear the questions.

The Match is Set. Or is it?

Alana, Anat, and Marc were hanging out at the Staten Island Ferry Terminal in St. George. Why did they choose to hang there? They loved Staten Island. They felt it was exotic.

Jay was on the incoming Newhouse boat. Christy A. was across the street from the terminal near Staten Island Borough Hall. She was relatively calm for herself. She had a couple of slices at the nearby pizza place. She quenched her thirst with water.

The boat docked, and the passengers got off. Some walked around to the section for the NYC-bound boats. Several headed to Empire Outlets, the bus stops, or the Staten Island Railway. It was a weekend. So, it was not running express. The fact that it was running at all is a shocker.

Christy was heading towards Empire Outlets. Jay was approaching the Old Navy outlet. His cousin was also approaching it. The good heroes split up. But were in sight of each other.

All of a sudden, glass was flying everywhere. Pieces of moldy bread were knocking it down. Some missed, and the glass hit people. Alana, Anat and Marc furiously texted each other. They wanted to wait before they jumped in. But didn’t want to see people get hurt.

Sadly, a piece of glass hit a little girl in the face. She started bleeding. She screamed. Her mother held her and started pressing herself against her to stop the bleeding. As she squeezed her child tighter, a piece of bread smacked her in the left eye. She fell.

The three had enough. Anat was standing on top of the roof of the Gap Outlet store. Dried fruit was deflecting the glass and bread. Alana raced out of the front door of the Guess outlet and began flooding the area with wine. From the Hagen Dazs store, pomegranates were flying. One nailed Christy A. in the head. Jay fell in a pool of wine. Christy tripped over a few raisins.

Apple seeds hit Jay in the eyes. Barley landed in his mouth. Apricots smacked Christy in the eyes. Some wound up in her nose. People were running to get away. Many jumped onto the departing Senator John J. Marchi boat. Pretty soon only the fighters were at Empire Outlets—those who didn’t get away sheltered in the stores. Anat jumped off the roof. As she landed, she kicked Jay in the head with her Timberlands. Marc pounced on Christy and poked her eyes with pomegranates. Alana kept the wine flowing.

The Creatures of the Incinerator, Laundry Room and Gym

To start, my dearly departed grandfather was the master of the incinerator. My grandmother would send him there all day. At one point, he knew to go. However, he was always given the nudge. But he was not a creature of it. When I say creatures of the incinerator, I don’t mean rodents. We all know they spend time there.

What I mean are the people who can’t follow the rules. Same with the laundry room and gym. We are constantly beset with new rules on how to toss out our trash. We, those of us in apartment buildings, have the various trash cans for paper, aluminum, and within the last year or so we got our compost cans. People dwelling in houses have those cans at the top of their driveways and place them at their curbs on the appropriate days.

I am a neat freak. I follow all the trash disposal rules. I often think of grandpa when I take out the trash. What I cannot understand is why people cannot clean out takeout containers before they place them into the receptacles in the incinerator. The other day, I walked in to throw out my newspaper and found an aluminum take-out container loaded with cheese and sauce. This happens regularly. Don’t the creatures who dump this into the recycle bins know this will bring roaches and mice? Is it that hard to rinse it out? I do. My recyclables look like they came off the assembly line and are waiting for pasta or something to be loaded up.

Let’s jump over to the laundry room. In my old apartment complex (Bay Terrace, Staten Island), I was known as laundry boy. In my current building, I either use the laundry room or drop it off at the dry cleaners. Lately, I’ve been doing it myself. I am not the best when it comes to folding. But I live.

I have to stand tall to add the Downy. Sometimes the machines do not work. I usually do laundry when I have the room to myself and have my pick of the washers and dryers. Alas, sometimes people are doing laundry with me. It is okay. I know who they are. There is a very sweet woman who says hello to everyone. Sometimes she has trouble with the machines. Sometimes she stands on top of one of the washers and sings. I am not sure why. But she does. She’s about my height. I always thought she climbed on top to add Downy. I am not sure. But I often walk into a concert. Maybe one day she will perform at the Garden. I hope the stage has a laundry room.

Then there’s the gym. Well before COVID, I had my towel in hand and wiped off each machine pre- and post-use. I now grab the Purell wipes and scrub. There are far too many people who bounce between machines and never clean anything. I am not sure they clean themselves. There’s the man who never washes his hands after using the gym’s bathroom. He never wipes any machine. There’s the couple that works out together. They proudly say during COVID they would not wear masks or give anything an extra wipe down. They sweat all over the machines. It makes no sense.

There are creatures everywhere. I don’t think they are the little creatures the Talking Heads meant when they recorded their landmark album, “Little Creatures.”

I Can’t Sing. I Will Never Pretend I Can

Years ago, I was in Durham and on the phone with my dad. I let him know I landed and was at my hotel. Even at my age, I have to let my parents know where I am. Sadly, my dad’s been gone for over a decade. Maybe he knows.

Anyway, I said, “You know I used to sound like John Lennon. Now I sound like Paul McCartney.” He retorted, “You make all the young girls cry.” He didn’t mean I sing like Barry Manilow. He meant my voice would make anyone cry. He’s right.

Sure, I wish I had the voice of Bono, Ian Curtis, David Gahan, Peter Murphy, Robert Smith, or the Moz. Oh, and the two Beatles I mentioned. They were gifted. There are many others in my boat. Far too many. But sadly, some of them think they can sing. I attend many events where we sing by the campfire or as part of our religious services. There was a guy there who used to like to sing and dance. He often said he was shocked that people didn’t recruit him from Lincoln Center to sing at the opera house or in the other theaters.

What do I do? I sing along or use their time up there as the time for a bathroom break. Some of them sing fast. Some drag it out. What should take 3-5 minutes turns into 45 minutes. That’s a lot of time in the bathroom. But it also gives you time to run over to the kitchen and get tea.

But then there are the personalities. The opera star had none. Some of the others are wonderful people. Some retired. Some working. They mean well. They want to sing. I still want to pitch for the Yankees. I blame my mother for never signing with the Bronx Bombers. That’s really a joke. Steinbrenner would have never signed me. Rightfully so. But these days, I might play and be better than whom Hal and Cash have signed.

How do I pick which “concert” I attend? There are places I go where those leading can carry a tune. But they are not friendly. In some cases, they are downright nasty and mean. I used to alternate. I recently decided I’d rather let my ears suffer with poor singing, as opposed to suffering unfriendliness.

Tipping and Other Scams at Restaurants, Entertainment Venues and Coney Island

Tipping is the standard for good service. Whether it is the server or bartender in a restaurant, the delivery person, super, barber, or a few other folks. I have always been a big tipper. I have a friend who does the same. Some do not believe in tipping.

There are the standard percentages of the bill to give, and thankfully restaurants make suggestions, and you plug it right in when you swipe your phone. But then there are the scams with tipping and other ways places try to unjustly and/or unnecessarily squeeze money out of you.

Last week, I saw Joe Jackson at the Beacon. I went downstairs where the lavatories are. Right outside is now a self-serve beverage bar. You can get beer, soda, water, and some other beverages. They have an employee standing near the fridge. The process is pretty simple: you walk up to it and pull out your beverage(s). You go to the scanner, place it in the middle, and tap your card. The employee is there to help you and check ID if you’re purchasing alcohol.

It is all pretty simple. I grabbed a water bottle, scanned, and swiped. It did ask me to leave a tip. I left nothing. I wish I could have tipped myself. I did see some people click on the tip section on the scanner. I am not sure why. They did exactly what I did. If the employee helped the person scan the item or pull it out of the fridge, you might consider giving a tip. But does this get into the craziness of everyone expecting a tip? Supermarkets and drug stores have tips jars by the registers. Fast food joints do. For decades, this was unheard of. It just seems like another way to squeeze money out of people. Plus, I am sure the vendors know that too many people like to click on everything they see. So, they don’t even think about when they add more money to an already overpriced bottle of water.

Then there are the other ways places try to rip you off. A few days ago, I was at Coney Island. I am a regular there. Nothing beats Gargiulo’s or Nathan’s. We all love a few rides on the Cyclone and Wonder Wheel. All of these places charge more than enough for their food and entertainment.

I went on Leti’s Treasure, the water ride in Luna Park. On a hot, sticky day, there’s nothing better. You get drenched. Normally, I keep whatever is in my pockets in them and hold my NY Yankees hat. July 12, 2017, it flew off my head while riding the Cyclone rollercoaster. I am sure it is somewhere under the tracks. Who knows what bit into it?

The Hat That Replaced What Flew Off My Head

Back to scamming customers out of money. Lockers are available at some of the rides. The Cyclone does it the right way: you hand it to an employee who places your stuff in cubbies and gives you a bracelet, then you get dropped. At Leti’s and other places, they charge $2 for two hours for the lockers. Truthfully, it is a great idea to have them. It protects stuff you do not want to get wet or fall out. But people, particularly a couple or mom and dad and the kid(s), can easily spend a few hundred at America’s Playground. Why not give people a break and let them have the locker at no charge for two hours? People would probably be thankful and spend more on rides, food and souvenirs.

AI and the Arts

Is it Helpful or Does it Destroy Creativity? Will it Make Coney Island or NYC’s Flowers and Rivers Look Better?

I’ve been to some in-person breakfasts and/or lunches (remember those) and attended several Zooms (we all know those) where we’ve discussed the progression of AI. Make no mistake, it is progressing.

One of the things we discussed in the side conversations or hallway chats is how it affects the arts. I had a similar discussion with people who are writing and performing their own music. They’ve played in some of NYC’s bars. Hopefully, one day, one will headline Madison Square Garden.

The big topic is: does AI help or hurt the Arts? I know people who are now creating art using AI. Is that how we should use it? Use it as a collaborative tool. It will make your work better.

We have spoken about how, in a few decades, we will enter the Guggenheim and see art created by AI? Will it rival the pieces painted by Cezzanne, Monet, Picasso, Pissarro, and Van Gogh? Unlikely. I doubt it can capture the feelings they had while painting. But it can create interesting material? Should it have an asterisk? Sort of like what they did to Roger Maris after he hit #61?

AI certainly helps you be more creative. Don’t use it to create your image or music. Use it where it enhances your work. I love using Photoshop’s new AI tools. Most of my photography is shot outdoors. My favorite sites to shoot are Coney Island, Brooklyn Botanic Garden, South Street Seaport, and a few scout camps.

Little Acorn Cabin at William H. Pouch Scout Camp

Photoshop has enhanced its tools that let me delete those annoying glares and spots from the sun. Yes, I used polarizing filters. But nothing can one hundred percent eliminate them when shooting. We have great tools on our cameras, and AI is another super tool to help. It does a few other cool things, such as removing distracting elements or fixing the colors better than it previously did. It is easier to fix someone’s shaving cut and make their face look better in the image with their children at special moments.

Sure, it can play around with clothing. I know someone who wanted to take a uniform someone wore in an image from the 30s and update it to today’s look. I said no; that’s where we should keep things the way they were.

Bottom line: when used properly, AI can do wonders. It is frustrating to see sun spots in my skies, rivers, and fields when filters could not block them all out. That is where AI is especially helpful. It can help you be more creative. Use those ideas as a starting point, not as a substitute for your own vision.

Nostalgia

How Music is the Driving Force

Over the last few weeks, I saw performances by Paul Simon at Forest Hills Tennis, Bon Jovi at the Garden and Joe Jackson at the Beacon. Future shows include Squeeze at Radio City Music Hall, David Byrne at Forest Hills Tennis, Sting at Brooklyn Paramount and Belinda Carlisle at Palladium Times Square. I hope to see more. I do have a few Yankees-Red Sox games on tap.

All brought back memories. Or, as my mom said, nostalgia. Bon Jovi’s on-stage commentary put it best. He said, let’s party like it’s 1999. We all know Prince, whom, sadly, I never saw did that. Bon Jovi said Let’s go back to 1986. He references when his hair was a little fuller and his jeans were tighter. He continued, saying that all of you listening to me now were much younger back in the day. Probably all in high school and now we’re older.

As I listened to him, I was blasted back to my high school job at the Greenridge Plaza McDonald’s and when we closed the store. We all brought cassettes to put into the boombox to blast while we cleaned up. Remember cassettes and boomboxes? We had one of our managers, Uncle Dave, or Disco Dave, with his choices. Others had their choices. We used to fight over what we’d listen to. We heard a wild mix of Bon Jovi, the Cure, David Bowie, Cinderella, Depeche Mode, Genesis, Guns & Roses, Love & Rockets, Madonna, Mötley Crüe, Poison, U2, Van Halen and Wham. I liked most of it. Couldn’t stand and still can’t Cinderella, Mötley Crüe, Poison and Van Halen. Plenty of other acts made our playlists. They were either on mixed tapes, or albums that we pulled in and out of the boombox. We did not have the luxury of Apple Music.

Hearing Bon Jovi pushed me back to those days. I had visions of us in our uniforms scrubbing the grills, sweeping and mopping the floors. It made me think of the times we hung out in the parking lot after we closed. In our cars, we played what we wanted. In front of the stores, some of us had beer. Not me. I did nothing. That’s usually the case.

As for Paul Simon, I wasn’t around for Simon & Garfunkel’s heyday. I did see their reunion tour in the 2000s. I have seen Simon solo a few times and saw Art Garfunkel once at the original City Winery on Varick Street. As Simon played songs from the “Graceland” album, it reminded me of being driven to Scout trips, particularly our winter ski trip—my first- and only-time skiing. I did not do well.

It also reminded me of when I played music all night and kept my sister up in the next room. I made mixes. Most of the new wave and goth bands. But had to include the classic rock tunes. Elton John, Billy Joel, and the Beatles made the cut. Billy Joel was my first concert. I called in sick when I was supposed to close McDonald’s. I got to the former Brendan Byrne Arena with my family. Seated a few rows behind me were several of my coworkers. No one said a word about my illness.

I constantly listen to the Cure. Many times, I flash back to what was perhaps my first date, seeing them with the Pixies and Love & Rockets. We were too young to buy beer. Not that would have as I was driving. We had M&M’s at Giants Stadium.

All of the other bands mentioned do something similar. People who knew me in college often say they remember my Cure and Depeche Mode posters hanging on my dorm room wall. Sid Vicious hung on my room’s wall at home.

Good music, particularly the best generation of music ever, the 80s, is the driving force of keeping things going.

The Meeting

Anat invited Marc and Alana over for Sunday brunch. All of the kids were playing nicely in Alana’s home office. There was lots of great food – shawarma, salmon, eggplant and wine and beer.

Dan was there, too. They decided they needed to end, once and for all, the craziness involving Jay and Christy A. Marc was still pleased with her actions at Lincoln Center. But knew that was a solo homer, and she needed to be stopped.

They were tired of their days being ruined every time they went somewhere. Their kids, although powerful, didn’t need to learn to fight at such a young age. They were just happy they were playing together and getting along. Everyone knew Sarah and David Benjamin would likely be the most powerful. Both of their parents had superpowers. Their blood was loaded with strength. They could be as strong as Anakin. Maybe stronger.

Dan had no powers. But he had his law enforcement training and had the tactical skills. That’s why he was there. He added a lot to their discussion. They decided to split up and stake out two enemies. They know that, despite their distant relations, they hated each other. They knew that from their recent battle.

The heroes hoped they would fight each other to determine who would rule. They wanted to lure them into a fight. They figured the two of them would go on and on. Alana, Anat and Marc hoped that while the two were weakening each other, the three of them would attack with all of their forces. They didn’t think they’d be able to handle that. The three of them plotted how to get them to fight.

Headphones at Coney Island and Elsewhere

I hate headphones. I remember when the Sony Walkman was introduced, and everyone got one. My dad took me to the now-shuttered Tops Appliance City in Edison, NJ, and I got one from a competitor. I worked fine. My friends and I would sit in our bedrooms every Sunday night and listen to Dick Clark’s Top 100 and other music countdowns on our Walkmans. We would report our thoughts and predictions to each other over our Radio Shack walkie-talkies.

I could not stand having the music blaring directly into my ears. I took the headphones and put them slightly above or below my ears. Usually below. I could hear “Eye of the Tiger,” “Don’t You Want Me” and “Beat It” just fine. I have never outgrown this habit.

During the countless Zooms we sit through, I do the same if I am in the office. If I am remote, I use the speakers on my MacBook. For the record, I have had several iPhones. I have never once used the AirPods. I am thankful people use them. Keeps things slightly more pleasant on our subways. Much better than when people blast their music on their mobile devices for all of us to hear. Hint: we do not want to hear it.

A few days ago, I did the “Meet the Sharks” tour at the NY Aquarium, Coney Island. Chance our tour guide handed out headphones. He mentioned that if you stay close to me, you might not need them. But several camp groups are visiting, and it can get loud. Plus, there are fans, and we are going into some areas with louder equipment. I did my best to stay close. But everything he mentioned made me put on the headphones. I had to place the headband over my NY Yankees hat and push the speakers just below my ears. All was well. I heard it all and learned a lot. Toward the end of the tour, we handed them back and walked into the touch tank. I got to pet several cat chain sharks.

I have always been fearful that they have not been disinfected. Sometimes they give headsets in plastic bags that you tear open and attach to the device. Usually, you can keep or trash those when you’re done.

I have taken many tours with the Tenement Museum, New York, NY. It has walking and indoor apartment tours. They give out headsets. I never use them on the indoor tours. The educator usually speaks loudly enough. As for the walking tours, I stay close. Occasionally, I have had to wear them my way. I am outside in NYC. It is loud.

Bottom line, headphones have a purpose. But between the sound directly penetrating your ears and my worries about whether someone has worn them before me, I will do my best to use them only as needed and in my way.

A Quiet Day. Not

It was a pleasant sunny day. Thankfully, the heat wave ended. People were back outside and enjoying the beach and parks. David Benjamin and Sarah were in their joint stroller being pushed by Marc. Alana was humming music from the Bauhaus, the Cure, Depeche Mode, and, for kicks, she tossed in some Bon Jovi. She and Marc saw him the night before at the Garden. Sometimes they needed good, fun rock. It is not as deep as the goth and new wave scene. But has its needs.

All was going well. The kids were enjoying themselves in Prospect Park. They had spent a few minutes at Grand Army Plaza and walked over. Alana and Marc are not the biggest fans of zoos, but they planned to take the kids to park’s zoo. One day, they’d take them to an African safari. But at this point, they knew their younglings would enjoy the sea lions, some wild felines (Alana and Marc are allergic to and hate cats), and maybe even try feeding some of the animals. They are still a little young to understand everything. But we are quickly getting there.

They walked down Flatbush Avenue in the direction of the zoo. They gazed at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden across the street. They wanted peace. They sipped their water and made sure the two kids had their milk in their NY Yankees thermos. They were both wearing Yankee t-shirts, shorts, and hats.

They saw the usual crowds on Flatbush – The Homeless, the mentally ill, other families, the street performers and salespersons, and the ice cream trucks. Alana’s phone buzzed. She had no desire to answer it. But it was the blasting of the emergency ringtone by Siouxsie Sioux.

Alana’s eyes lit up. Marc’s phone was on vibrate, and it was vibrating. There was an attack in New Springville near the Staten Island Mall. Glass was flying everywhere. The NYPD was trying to defuse the situation. Dan’s emergency response team was on the scene.

Anat jumped into her Porsche and was making great time on the FDR Drive to the heliport near the South Street Seaport. Dan alerted the police that his wife would be able to negotiate. Although Anat worked in investment banking her negotiation skills were well known in NYC. Dan often had her counsel his staff.

She exited her car and headed into a chopper, and in about five minutes, she was at the mall. Glass almost hit the chopper. Dan knew Anat was not going to use her powers on demand. She and the others kept their secrecy. It has been getting harder. But they’ve been getting smarter.

Jay was in rare form. The officers fired at him. But his glass deflected all the bullets. Alana and Marc were entering the zoo and deciding what to do. They knew they couldn’t get to Staten Island in the manner that Alana did. However, they thought they could be useful. Anat went without Gili and Jerry. So, there’d be no jelly, latkes and olives flying. Dan was getting worried. The NYPD was making some strides but needed something extra.

He looked at his wife. She smiled. She got onto the microphone and asked Jay to stop. More glass flew. Anat said she had to use the ladies’ room. She made that up.

She walked towards Richmond Hill Road and used her senses to sniff out Jay. She fired prunes and apricots at the glass. She knocked most of it down. One piece came awfully close to her. She ducked just at the right moment. She heard Jay’s gravelly voice. She was able to fire in that direction. She stunned him when a raisin hit him between the eyes. He thought he was in total control, and his enemies weren’t gonna get to his location. Wrong he was. Anat fired several more times. Jay fell to the ground. The NYPD closed in. Anat walked away.