Monday, September 28, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Postcards from Neil
The last time I saw Neil, he asked me if I remembered the postcards. I said of course, of course, of course. He sent me great ones when he was down in Florida. They were all old, vintage cards and if they weren't as beautiful as a work of art, they were hilarious.
What, you've never seen Mrs. Maude Black's sausage tree before?
Look at this girl and her come-hither look + oranges approach. I've been admiring her outfit for over 20 years, now.
And hey, Neil V: The back of this sea turtles one says, in part, "If you see my cousin Neil, ask him to tell you about the time we were chasing a sea turtle down in St. Thomas." I never did ask you about that. Do tell. (Also, looking forward to seeing you next weekend.)
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Neil Nash
I met Neil at a party at the Orbach house on 21st street back in the 80s. I'm pretty sure it was to celebrate Martha and Tony Orbach's impending wedding. Neil interrupted a conversation I was having near the pool table on the second floor and I thought he was kind of obnoxious, possibly funny, and very handsome, and therefore perplexing. The party was smoky and crowded and we crossed paths a few more times during it, but never in a way that made me think he wasn't, perhaps, full of bluster.
Until I saw him again, soon after, at the Orbach wedding and he said something like "Remember me?" and I said something like, "Sure, you're that rude guy," and he shot back something like "Who, me? I'm not rude, I'm extremely charming, and anyway, I'm not that into ska music." (Remember "rude boys" and "rude girls"?)
Here we are chatting each other up at the wedding.
"I'm 17." "No, you're not." "Yes, I am."
Neil was, indeed, very charming. I was crushed when he revealed he'd recently moved from NYC to Miami to start a business with a high school friend. I was starting NYU in the fall and the cost of tuition and perhaps some minor layer of intelligence prevented me from chasing after him and pitching a tent outside his Floridian apartment complex. There was no mistaking the sudden pandemonium of an exciting new romance. He sent me a bouquet of pumpkins in October. We wrote each other goofy and impassioned letters and had marathon, middle-of-the-night phone calls. Some of the things that would play in my head over and over all through college, long after we'd broken up, were all the times we reunited on streets, on my stoop, wherever, after weeks of not seeing each other. It was always operatic to me, but not just because I cared about him so much. It was also because Neil himself was so operatic: passionate, intense, unpredictable.... As if the way to show up was, naturally, to drive his truck halfway up onto the sidewalk and jump out, leaving the door open and Tom Petty's Free Fallin' blaring on the car radio. Then, too, there were times like when we arranged to meet at a party in SoHo and, shortly after he walked in the door, he got into a fight with my sister's European semi-boyfriend Dirk, which almost broke up the soiree. Dirk did have an irritating quality about him. But it wasn't worth fighting about.
I realized Neil and all the stories about him running around the city and upstate were kind of legendary to some people (whether they involved beating someone up or not). But to me, he was always gentle and sweet, and funny. He was always recommending books: "Have you ever read Nathaniel West's Miss Lonleyhearts? It's really great, but really dark," "I'm finally reading Moby Dick. It's about a whale," (Ha ha). "I was never crazy about Saul Bellow, but oh my god, Henderson the Rain King!" I read an article about novelist Harry Crews and his book Car, about a man who tries to eat his entire Ford Maverick from bumper to bumper, and told Neil about it. I very much enjoyed taking credit for this, as Neil became a huge fan, and ate up all of Crews' books. We both loved the remake of Breathless with Richard Gere we'd seen on TV, even though it was extremely cheesy. And when we had our first argument, he bellowed, "What we have here is a failure of communication!" Then, he couldn't believe I didn't know what he was referencing, so he bought me a copy of the book (better known as a movie) Cool Hand Luke. Christmas had long since past, but he inscribed it "To my grinch," because I was often grumpy and pessimistic about the fact that he lived so far away.
Here he is in his Florida shop with two of its residents.
What woman in her right mind could avoid the gaze? Of those two cats?
He inspired my first full-length play, The Impossibility of Romantic Relationships in the Final Minutes of the 20th Century, and ducked in one night at the last minute to see it — a great production with Maddie Corman, Josh Hamilton, and Ethan Hawke. He was always so supportive and vehement about my work. "You better keep writing, or else!" he'd say.
We stayed in contact long after we split up. He always seemed to call me right before I went out on a date with someone new, or right after I came home from one, and of course, he loved that.
Until I saw him again, soon after, at the Orbach wedding and he said something like "Remember me?" and I said something like, "Sure, you're that rude guy," and he shot back something like "Who, me? I'm not rude, I'm extremely charming, and anyway, I'm not that into ska music." (Remember "rude boys" and "rude girls"?)
Here we are chatting each other up at the wedding.
"I'm 17." "No, you're not." "Yes, I am."
Neil was, indeed, very charming. I was crushed when he revealed he'd recently moved from NYC to Miami to start a business with a high school friend. I was starting NYU in the fall and the cost of tuition and perhaps some minor layer of intelligence prevented me from chasing after him and pitching a tent outside his Floridian apartment complex. There was no mistaking the sudden pandemonium of an exciting new romance. He sent me a bouquet of pumpkins in October. We wrote each other goofy and impassioned letters and had marathon, middle-of-the-night phone calls. Some of the things that would play in my head over and over all through college, long after we'd broken up, were all the times we reunited on streets, on my stoop, wherever, after weeks of not seeing each other. It was always operatic to me, but not just because I cared about him so much. It was also because Neil himself was so operatic: passionate, intense, unpredictable.... As if the way to show up was, naturally, to drive his truck halfway up onto the sidewalk and jump out, leaving the door open and Tom Petty's Free Fallin' blaring on the car radio. Then, too, there were times like when we arranged to meet at a party in SoHo and, shortly after he walked in the door, he got into a fight with my sister's European semi-boyfriend Dirk, which almost broke up the soiree. Dirk did have an irritating quality about him. But it wasn't worth fighting about.
I realized Neil and all the stories about him running around the city and upstate were kind of legendary to some people (whether they involved beating someone up or not). But to me, he was always gentle and sweet, and funny. He was always recommending books: "Have you ever read Nathaniel West's Miss Lonleyhearts? It's really great, but really dark," "I'm finally reading Moby Dick. It's about a whale," (Ha ha). "I was never crazy about Saul Bellow, but oh my god, Henderson the Rain King!" I read an article about novelist Harry Crews and his book Car, about a man who tries to eat his entire Ford Maverick from bumper to bumper, and told Neil about it. I very much enjoyed taking credit for this, as Neil became a huge fan, and ate up all of Crews' books. We both loved the remake of Breathless with Richard Gere we'd seen on TV, even though it was extremely cheesy. And when we had our first argument, he bellowed, "What we have here is a failure of communication!" Then, he couldn't believe I didn't know what he was referencing, so he bought me a copy of the book (better known as a movie) Cool Hand Luke. Christmas had long since past, but he inscribed it "To my grinch," because I was often grumpy and pessimistic about the fact that he lived so far away.
Here he is in his Florida shop with two of its residents.
What woman in her right mind could avoid the gaze? Of those two cats?
He inspired my first full-length play, The Impossibility of Romantic Relationships in the Final Minutes of the 20th Century, and ducked in one night at the last minute to see it — a great production with Maddie Corman, Josh Hamilton, and Ethan Hawke. He was always so supportive and vehement about my work. "You better keep writing, or else!" he'd say.
We stayed in contact long after we split up. He always seemed to call me right before I went out on a date with someone new, or right after I came home from one, and of course, he loved that.
He took this shot when we drove out to Amagansett for a couple days.
A natural dreamboat and one of his many catches.
But I'm talking about an old version of Neil here, a more-than-a-couple-decades-ago Neil. We fell out of touch after he married Martha, a tall, beautiful, wise-crackingly funny drink of water who I knew was perfect for him. And when I ran into him over the years, it was no surprise he'd become a dad and stayed home to take care of his and Martha's beautiful kids. The one thing everyone knew in the absolute was that Neil wanted children. I'll never forget when I stupidly mused one time about there not being another term for "Mr. Mom." "DAD!!" he said, to my well-deserved embarrassment.
This past year, my friend and Neil's cousin Dawn invited me up to see her brother Neil V's show in Kingston and Neil was there. We ended up hanging out a few times and yakking on the phone with some frequency since then. I'd seen him a few times over the years and knew his old, street-fighting temper had long since simmered down. But it struck me as so paradoxical this time, how much he'd changed and grown and yet he was still the same, exact person I'd known. He was just so much more brave. I'd never thought of Neil as weak — lord, no! — but I never imagined how strong he could be, even as his body grew weaker.
I walked around his neighborhood with him one day and he stopped to chat with everyone we passed (he seemed to know everyone in his neighborhood) to promise them he wasn't messing around behind Martha's back (Ha ha).
But I'm talking about an old version of Neil here, a more-than-a-couple-decades-ago Neil. We fell out of touch after he married Martha, a tall, beautiful, wise-crackingly funny drink of water who I knew was perfect for him. And when I ran into him over the years, it was no surprise he'd become a dad and stayed home to take care of his and Martha's beautiful kids. The one thing everyone knew in the absolute was that Neil wanted children. I'll never forget when I stupidly mused one time about there not being another term for "Mr. Mom." "DAD!!" he said, to my well-deserved embarrassment.
This past year, my friend and Neil's cousin Dawn invited me up to see her brother Neil V's show in Kingston and Neil was there. We ended up hanging out a few times and yakking on the phone with some frequency since then. I'd seen him a few times over the years and knew his old, street-fighting temper had long since simmered down. But it struck me as so paradoxical this time, how much he'd changed and grown and yet he was still the same, exact person I'd known. He was just so much more brave. I'd never thought of Neil as weak — lord, no! — but I never imagined how strong he could be, even as his body grew weaker.
I walked around his neighborhood with him one day and he stopped to chat with everyone we passed (he seemed to know everyone in his neighborhood) to promise them he wasn't messing around behind Martha's back (Ha ha).
I called him one day this past spring and he happened to be at the chiropractor's. "What's the one thing no one can live without?" he asked. For some reason, I didn't know that day. In disgust, he put his chiropractor on the phone, who reiterated: "You really don't know what no one can live without?" "No," I said. "Water?" "LOVE!!!" They both finally yelled.
He knew more than anyone how passionate, lucky, and full of love his life had been; he always talked about it, despite the pain and deep annoyances he and his family were dealing with. I'm glad he doesn't have to fight anymore.
He knew more than anyone how passionate, lucky, and full of love his life had been; he always talked about it, despite the pain and deep annoyances he and his family were dealing with. I'm glad he doesn't have to fight anymore.
But it still completely sucks that he's gone.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Manchasm
This video really starts kicking when the cat shows up. (I know, I never thought "cat" would be one of the most-used words on this blog, either.)
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The comfort of Mclusky
My friend and old flame Neil Nash gave up the ghost yesterday early in the morning. His cousin has an appropriately story-filled post about it over on Neilwaukee. I'm going to dig around in some old photos and, in my next post, give you guys (some of whom knew him) a bit of a blast from the past hopefully.
In the meantime here's a band you might like, especially if you feel like punching and kicking things. The first one is of the single-image You Tube variety, so please don't be disappointed by the lack of synchronized dancers, and the second one is an actual Mclusky video.
The chorus of this song can stick in your head and drive you nuts, so watch out!
This video features a bowling pin.
P is responsible for introducing me to such noise. The first song I heard of theirs is the very mellow and brilliant Fuck this Band, but I can't find a copy of it anywhere across the whole world wide web. It's been a long time since I fell so madly in love with a band. I love you, Mclusky!
I guess I should also mention that this band isn't around anymore but the lead singer started a new band called Future of the Left that's presumably very good.
In the meantime here's a band you might like, especially if you feel like punching and kicking things. The first one is of the single-image You Tube variety, so please don't be disappointed by the lack of synchronized dancers, and the second one is an actual Mclusky video.
The chorus of this song can stick in your head and drive you nuts, so watch out!
This video features a bowling pin.
P is responsible for introducing me to such noise. The first song I heard of theirs is the very mellow and brilliant Fuck this Band, but I can't find a copy of it anywhere across the whole world wide web. It's been a long time since I fell so madly in love with a band. I love you, Mclusky!
I guess I should also mention that this band isn't around anymore but the lead singer started a new band called Future of the Left that's presumably very good.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Boooo
I loved this building. I loved it, dammit!
And I loved what some of the Cooper students posted in the windows just before it was demolished. See it? I miss the old NY. My sentiments exactly. I know, the old New York was full of abandoned buildings and weed- and garbage-strewn vacant lots, dark, empty avenues and crime stats were bad, real bad...but it was awesome.
Cooper erased the words in the windows, which struck me as very spoilsport-y of them. Especially since they were going to knock the whole thing down within days anyway.
This is the crazy thing shadowing our lives now. It's huge, it looks like it was attacked by a hook-handed pirate, and from what I hear, it's more a display of ego on the architect's part than useful for the students and faculty of Cooper Union.
Boooo.
And I loved what some of the Cooper students posted in the windows just before it was demolished. See it? I miss the old NY. My sentiments exactly. I know, the old New York was full of abandoned buildings and weed- and garbage-strewn vacant lots, dark, empty avenues and crime stats were bad, real bad...but it was awesome.
Cooper erased the words in the windows, which struck me as very spoilsport-y of them. Especially since they were going to knock the whole thing down within days anyway.
This is the crazy thing shadowing our lives now. It's huge, it looks like it was attacked by a hook-handed pirate, and from what I hear, it's more a display of ego on the architect's part than useful for the students and faculty of Cooper Union.
Boooo.
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