When I was married, my wife and I used to live in a sort of rural town on Long Island's East End. Well, not really rural, compared to what constitutes rurality insofar as the rest of the US is concerned. The town still had its suburban aspects, though more relaxed, and is perhaps more accurately described as being a part of the "Outburbs" or more remote residential areas outlying New York City.
I was content to live there, as was my wife. We had everything we needed, and easy access to what we both loved the most: access to the many beautiful Bay, Ocean, and Long Island Sound beaches.
There was nothing that gave me greater joy and happiness than taking a long conversational walk with my best friend and Lover, my Wife, and my best girl Star-later to be joined by my best buddy, Henry, our two English Springer Spaniels.
I recall one day in December before we were married, or still dating in other words, (this was pre Star and Henry) talking a walk on one such beach, on the Long Island Sound. The name of the Beach was "Iron Pier" I believe.
The snow started to fall, in large flakes, and was picked up by the wind and whirled about in random and ever shifting waves above the whitecaps in the choppy green water, and over the rocky beach. We kissed, and held each other for a long time, and I said: "I adore you."
It was one of the happiest moments of my life.
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But here I was around 6:30AM this (Sunday) morning at the 7-11 buying a cup of coffee at the Westhampton 7-11. I walked in with my white painters pants on, and looked around and was surprised to see a whole crew of Latino Painters already there and buying coffee and something like a microwaveable bacon egg and sausage sandwich, or a pre-made and packaged, cellophane wrapped sandwich for lunch later on. And, as always, the Red Bull or similar energy drink to help them get through the periods of fatigue during a very long and laborious working day.
One of the workers glanced at me and smiled. (I always seem to draw stares and knowing smiles sometimes for some reason.) It might be because of my hair, which is a bit longer now, or it might because I stand out as an oddity as a painter, since I am obviously white.
But there are other white painters, and so I try to think of other reasons they might stare: the absence of the usual jewelry ornamentation found among the white working class, such as earrings, or upon the skin in the form of multiple tattooing. Or perhaps, and the one I find most disconcerting, is my general demeanor, derived maybe from my having gone through an educational process, and/or combined with my seeming to belong to a different social class altogether than the one I was obviously occupying, as evidenced by my white painter's pants.
So why wouldn't the sight of me draw a few smiles?
If I happen to meet another white guy painter, say, at the Hardware store, I try to sort of ease up on my speech, and try to throw in as many cliches as I can. For instance: I might remark upon whatever random phenomena that comes up in said talk as "Six of one and half a dozen of the other" , rather than call it an event that seems to bring about a choice which, would bring about consequent sacrifice of other benefits or some such thing. Or is that the catch 22 Jeeves?
In any event, I dare not put on the dog, as it were, lest I be picked out as a snob or one who can be percieved by one's peers as sort of unhappy with being among them, if not desirous of getting away from them.
And so, I follow the path of the language, or rather, get drawn along by the stream of it, and pretty soon I am saying: "There ya go!" and "No Problem!" or "I'm neutral like Sweden" among other working class Long Island Cliches.
In fact, I would like to point out that the "There ya Go!" cliche is another way of expressing: "I don't understand the point you are trying to make, but it doesn't matter, because I, as a member of my working class, view a member of your insincere and unethical (because you don't work hard for your money) class with contempt."
*Forgive me, I'm a bit depressed today. This is all just a part of my not feeling like I fit in anywhere anymore, and deeply in debt. No wife. Destroyed credit forever. Out of the system. Marginalized.
All because I went to a law school.
But I swear to everyone, my intentions were of the very best when I started years ago. I actually did think that becoming a lawayer would enable me to "help people." And now I cannot even help myself, and everyone looks down on me.
And a very queer question came into my head today, and I'm surprised actually that I could think such a thought. But it goes something like this:
When the slaves were finally all free after the Civil War, how much were they worth in total value before the Civil War?
I mean, if one slave cost a thousand dollars, and all of a sudden a million or so (I don't know because I never studied the Civil War) are free, what did the former owners do? Take a loss? Go broke and starve?
I guess I am thinking about how there is a price on my head now for life. Fancifully, some entity does own me.
I really think I'm headed for a nervous breakdown or something because I feel very out of touch with the rest of society. Viewed with contempt, and looking back and unable to explain how I got here. I lament law school and as I get older, wish I could just draw my regular union pay and buy tickets to an exciting Rock concert and scream lungs out along with all the others at a black and blank wall of nothingness, and go thru my entire life never having to contemplate anything too deep at all.
How does one make the populace understand Student Loan Debt, and the path to it? Law School being one of several, if not many such paths.
NO one will ever understand.
I hate being the working Joe slob with the intelligent demeanor, and the intelligent things to say. I hate it.
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And to read this blog, don't forget the instructions and/or sheet is here:
Anyway, it is 3:31AM. I did my laundry and used a bit too much detergent (The water was too soapy in other words,) and so I dis an extra rinse, and then another with a little bit of fabric softener.
Well, after it was all done, I removed the clothes and found my cell phone at the bottom of the machine.
I'll buy a new one today, but that money was alotted for my helath insurance premium. So I will have to grovel and plead with a family member in order to borrow the money to keep the Health Insurance plan active. It frightens me.
About a week ago, or maybe a week and a half, I walked into the Town Hall with a simple question. I asked if I needed to obtain some sort of permit so that I could play my banjo,and my brother the guitar during one of the many sort of fairs and festivals held in the town during the year.
The fellow behind the desk, in the truest tradition of all officious, or self important clerks since time began or the oceans rolled or whatever was rather abrupt and dismissive, telling me that if I were to block the sidewalk, the police would be summoned and remove me.
I then asked if it were possible to play in the park, and he grew annoyed, and said: :"It doesn;t work that way Sir!"
I walked out feeling like a real fucking shithead for sure, and then walked down the street to where they were filming ofr that television show I mentioned: "Royal Pains" with the same scene over and over and yada yada.
But to return to Long Island's East End. It begins pretty much East of the town of Riverhead, where the Island splits or forks. I will start with the North Fork, which is where I used to live when I was maried, and where I used to vacation as a teenager with my family.
The North Fork of Long Island during the 20th Century was as rural as could be. It is flat, like much of Long Island, and Sunny, and well suited for farming. I remember well the many many potato farms and the Polish farmers during the 1970's.They had farm stands alongside the road, and the vegetables were outstanding and low priced. I recall the cantaloupes, and how all of us raved over how fresh they were. Probably picked less than a couple hours previous, they smelled wonderful, and were incredibly juicy. I've never had cantaloupe like that before or since. I guess I never will either, because, as I mention, my smell and taste are gone forever, with my olfactory nerves having been cut out during two operatiuons on my sinus cavities.
Anway, the farm stands also had fresh carrots, corn, potatos (or what was it Dan Quail siad?)lettuce asparagus, string beans, squash, turnips(I think) (I'll add to this) In the fall there were the pumpkins.
One day, when the entire family was in the family truckster or station wagon, my father went exploring as he sometimes did, and we stopped at one of the more curious "Farms". It was actually a new vinyard-the first of its kind-that a yonng couple with a couple of small children had started. Their name was "Hargrave" and I forget the man's first name. He was tall and barefoot wearing casual jeans, and casual and friendly as well. His wife was named Louisa, and she was the same as her husband, in that she was relaxed and friendly and eager to converse and describe what they were attempting. (I don;t know why, but I'm getting a little teary eyed now. Silly right?)
Anyway, I remember well how my parents and the Hargraves had a pretty thorough discussion about how the Hargraves were trying to start a vineyard, and about how Long Island's climate was suited for raising wine grapes. All of us strode among the rows of small grape trees or plants, the branches of which were tied and trained to grow on horizontal wires-sort of like trellis work.
As I say, the plants were small, and the Hargraves spoke of how their whole operation could be wiped out if a hurricane were to come along during within the next few years (More on hurricanes and Long island later)
since it would raise up a salt water mist in the air from the surounding Sound and Atlantic Ocean, and kill the grape plants.
My siblings and I half listened to all this, and sort of watched the young hargrave kids play etc, and I remember at the end my parents wished them good luck.
Today, it is a well established vineyard, and in the wake of teh successful Hargrave vineyard, many other vineyards became established over the last 30 or so years. The old Polish potato farmers sold out over time, and many of the old potato fields became vineyards.
Now, I have mixed feelings about the proliferation of the vineyards on Lng Island's North Fork. On the one hand, they maintain the essential rurality (of that is a word) or essence of the region, On the other hand, they draw a lot of day trippers from further west or "Up the Island" or even the city, who are wont to pile into a limousine and tour the vineyards, part of said tours being the sampling or tasting of the different wines produced and marketed. I recall going into one tasting room with my wife on a Sunday (because the liquor stores were closed) to buy a bottle of red wine(She was Italian, and loved red wine-I'm joking) and I remember a sort of pretentious looking tourist guy with the most quizzical expression on his face as he sat at the tasting bar and sampled a glass of chardonnay or red wine, or whatever it was. I felt like gong up to him and saying: "Just drink it buddy and forget all the theatrics. Be thankul you can taste anything at all." But that would have been crazy of course.
One of the current Eastern Long Island vineyards on the North Fork is called: "Osprey's Dominion" and there is a big sign on the highway marking the entrance to the place that has a rather dramatic depiction of the bird swooping or about to perch or something or other. I used to tell my wife that they should have named the place "Wasp Spray's Dominion" because the people within were pretentious and toxic.
I always jot a jab in th ribs when I made such remarks, but it was all in fun, and we had many a fun day sort of 'knocing around" the North Fork, and seeing and doing things and remarking in all we saw and did, and laughing a lot. Star was with us too.
Oh, it's 4:19AM. Back to reality. But let me see if I can add a little more here.....
Um.....the people Yes, the people of the North Fork.
As I mentioned before, the East End of Long Island has a few sort of parallel populations, if that is a good way to describe it. Different (and I hate to use the word for its lack of total accuracy) "Classes" of people.
But wait. For this description I will use my subjective and biased Omniscient, objective voice:
There are the "City People" or "Up-Islanders" whom I have referred to before. They are the people west of Riverhead, most often from Nssau County or Western Suffolk county or, as is often the case, from Manhattan or Queens.
They are upper middle class, and own homes-many being second residences-about the North Fork towns such as Cutchoque, Aquebogue, Southold, Matttituck, Orient, etc. Among them are a significant number of gay and lesbian home-owing couples. (whom I have noted are very fond of going to tag or estate sales, and I have often asked myself why).
Anyway, the "Up Islanders" typically would come "Out East" (in Up Islander Parlance) between Mmorial Day and Labor Day, with their children. Or they might come for the weekend-perhaps leave early on a Friday or even take Friday off. (develop this more)
Now, the "Local People" or year rounders, or the North Fork natives, know and mark very well who and what the "Up Islanders are" Epitomized perhaps by none other than the son of the man that used to play the violin with Albert Einsteinm, and won't let you forget it ever.
Oh boy, now I'm really gettin started, but I'll save it for tomorrow's insomniac journal session.
My wife used to laugh at this upcoming portion of the story, but I'll save it as I say and just leave this hint as to how it is all going to go. There is a bumper sticker that one sometimes sees on Long Island's North Fork that states: "NORTH FORK NATIVE (Born Here)"
And so I think you can get my drift, so stay tune. More tomorrow.
And wait until I cover the South Fork!
(this is a running first draft and I'll clean it all up tomorrow night maybe)
Just a note here, lest I forget to mention it.
I once painted for a lesbian couple on the North fork. One was sort of stand offish, and teh other couldn;t be nicer and friendlier. In fact, she used to talk to me a bit "near" or close and very animatedly and charmingly. I would get the sense at those times that her significant other, who would be standing nearby, was sort of seething or jealous or something. It was a real brain twister for me for sure. I would go on conversing in my nice working guy that everyone likes sort of way, and, as I often do anyway, avoid direct eye contact, especially with one so friendly and a customer.
One day this couple had a number of friends over-all women, and I happened to be working about the premises-inside and outside.
Anyway I was standing in the kitchen, and the friendly woman I spoke of (and she really was very cute and charming) were standing in the kitchen and talking. I looked out the window and saw four three or four of the guests lifting and moving a heavy object (I think it was an kitchen old countertop if I recall correctly)
I said: "Oh. You should have asked me to do that. Let me go out and help them move that."
Her reply was: "Oh don't worry! They're strong. They're lesbians. They can handle it!"
Well, I didn't reply, and could feel my face flushing. Turning beet red in fact, and she noticed it, and laughed, and gave me a light shove.
And on another occassion, one of the pair had to leave to go shopping or somewhere like that, and prior to departing, turned to her partner and gave her a kiss. Not just a peck, but a pretty firm and full kiss point blank on the mouth.
I was crimson again, and the same friendly woman I mentioned really laughed at me as I put my hands over my face.
They were very sweet.
______________________
It is 8:27AM, and I am going to leave for the day. I have to get a new cell when the store opens up, and then head out East again. I still feel a sort of post traumatic stress from those awful painting crew experiences in the Hamptons. Silly right?
Anyway, maybe our elders were right in that they got married when they should have, and they honored the contract and never divorced. I know I know, there are all sorts of variables and qualifications and objections that will be raised by that statement. But still.....
And if you get the chance today, give your wife or husband a hug. Remeber the old guy with the shaking hands I mentioned before. None of us are going to be here forever, and they don't got no Town Hall in heaven and write out no building permits neither. So don't youse go forgettin that neither also.
I'll leave this little Joni Mitchell song in the meantime. I've done it before on this blog. It is dedicated to all of us, and especially to those who have had their lives touched by Law in whatever degree, and for better or worse. And as far as Kafka goes, he had some nice chestnuts with respect to Law, but Kafka don't know everything there is to know about life, and neither does any author. So youse gotta figure it all out for yourself in the end.
Like a philosophy professor mused once (the one that didn't give me such a high grade) maybe all of his intellectual thought and all human intellectual thought will be completely vanquished by time and vanish from the universe after a million years or whenever.
Thus spake Judy Holiday (In the Solid Gold Cadillac)
Just a note here, lest I forget to mention it.
I once painted for a lesbian couple on the North fork. One was sort of stand offish, and teh other couldn;t be nicer and friendlier. In fact, she used to talk to me a bit "near" or close and very animatedly and charmingly. I would get the sense at those times that her significant other, who would be standing nearby, was sort of seething or jealous or something. It was a real brain twister for me for sure. I would go on conversing in my nice working guy that everyone likes sort of way, and, as I often do anyway, avoid direct eye contact, especially with one so friendly and a customer.
One day this couple had a number of friends over-all women, and I happened to be working about the premises-inside and outside.
Anyway I was standing in the kitchen, and the friendly woman I spoke of (and she really was very cute and charming) were standing in the kitchen and talking. I looked out the window and saw four three or four of the guests lifting and moving a heavy object (I think it was an kitchen old countertop if I recall correctly)
I said: "Oh. You should have asked me to do that. Let me go out and help them move that."
Her reply was: "Oh don't worry! They're strong. They're lesbians. They can handle it!"
Well, I didn't reply, and could feel my face flushing. Turning beet red in fact, and she noticed it, and laughed, and gave me a light shove.
And on another occassion, one of the pair had to leave to go shopping or somewhere like that, and prior to departing, turned to her partner and gave her a kiss. Not just a peck, but a pretty firm and full kiss point blank on the mouth.
I was crimson again, and the same friendly woman I mentioned really laughed at me as I put my hands over my face.
They were very sweet.
______________________
It is 8:27AM, and I am going to leave for the day. I have to get a new cell when the store opens up, and then head out East again. I still feel a sort of post traumatic stress from those awful painting crew experiences in the Hamptons. Silly right?
Anyway, maybe our elders were right in that they got married when they should have, and they honored the contract and never divorced. I know I know, there are all sorts of variables and qualifications and objections that will be raised by that statement. But still.....
And if you get the chance today, give your wife or husband a hug. Remeber the old guy with the shaking hands I mentioned before. None of us are going to be here forever, and they don't got no Town Hall in heaven and write out no building permits neither. So don't youse go forgettin that neither also.
I'll leave this little Joni Mitchell song in the meantime. I've done it before on this blog. It is dedicated to all of us, and especially to those who have had their lives touched by Law in whatever degree, and for better or worse. And as far as Kafka goes, he had some nice chestnuts with respect to Law, but Kafka don't know everything there is to know about life, and neither does any author. So youse gotta figure it all out for yourself in the end.
Like a philosophy professor mused once (the one that didn't give me such a high grade) maybe all of his intellectual thought and all human intellectual thought will be completely vanquished by time and vanish from the universe after a million years or whenever.
Thus spake Judy Holiday (In the Solid Gold Cadillac)
______________________
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