Hola Danaus plexippus

About this time every year monarch butterflies flutter by my backyard for a couple of days. Today eight or nine meandered hither and thither around my flora and sunbathed on the brick and the birdbath. I know they are just passing through on their way to Mexico but it makes this gringo happy they take the time to take a break in their long journey and show me their true colors. I have nothing to feed them (maybe I should plant some milkweed) but that doesn't seem to make any difference as they hover and stretch and preen in the sunlight.

A Cuppa Coffee with Laurel Burch

Laurel Burch passed away on 9/16/07 at 61. In the ‘60’s Ms. Burch made jewelry at her kitchen table in the Haight-Ashbury district of SF and sold it on the street from tackle boxes. Her designs struck a chord and it seemed like every hippie in SF was wearing her stuff. It must have gone especially well with long, straight, ironed hair because local stores started stocking her creations. She soon went national and, with a trip to China in 1972, international. To this day she is a merchandising dream and, although it was her earrings with a feline motif that mostly carried the day, her designs appear on everything you can imagine, including fabric, clothing, tote bags and greeting cards. You name it; her cats (and other creatures) are on it. Her stuff is still licensed to a dozen companies who make and distribute it around the world. Her designs (not cats) are on two coffee cups I treasure and after reading her obituary I sought them out and still marvel at their artistry and ingenuity. They are the perfect size for a robust cuppa coffee and I use them often; and they are dishwasher safe.

Voldemort is Dead...WooHOO!!!

I’m trying to come up with a word to describe my mood right now. Vexed? Nonplussed? Bemused? I’ve just finished the seventh installment of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books and I’m not sure how to describe my reaction; not just to this book but the six before it. I think maybe “railroaded” might be appropriate. Maybe “victimized.” I mean, what were we thinking? The books are okay, not great; fodder for 14-year olds but not something I meant to waste precious time on.

How many books can one read in a lifetime? How many books have I read in my lifetime? Thousands certainly; tens of thousands maybe? Of course a high percentage was adolescent trash and probably not worth reading but one doesn’t really know that right away. I’ve certainly tossed aside many a book after reading only a few chapters, but I think that’s fair. With the Potter books we’ve been brainwashed into reading not one, not two, but seven books aimed at a tween-age audience and subjected to all the highly professional public relations and peer pressure accompanying each installment. The only thing that tempers my horror is that I never bought any of the books myself. They’ve just kind of appeared in my presence without any thought from me…maybe therein lies the magic purported to be beyond an ordinary Muggle like myself.

“Resentful” is a good word; also “exasperated,” in that there are seven really good books out there that I will never get to read because I spent so much time on these. I don’t resent Rowling; she deserves all the money and fame she has reaped, with her publishers somehow manipulating the public into adoration. So, good for her.

I have never regretted reading L.B. Carroll, J.R.R. Tolkien or especially T.H. White’s The Once and Future King which is truly the definitive book for the 15-year old in us all. Rowling doesn’t even come close to these giants so maybe “regretful” is the word I seek. Nice try, J.K., and thanks for stopping by but thanks for stopping.

Cordially, your Muggle (and proud of it) friend,

J.W.

Caution: the book did not end where it should have. Rowling (and her publishers) certainly recognize buttered bread and have left the door open with an “Epilogue;” thereby creating the possibility for further mischief. And Harry’s rival, Draco Malfoy, survived the final mayhem and continues to give him frosty looks. Uh oh.

Round and Round it Goes No More...

I think we’ve all have gone through a “what if” session with people, and within our own brains, about what we would do if we won the lottery. I now have a new one.

Coney Island’s Astroland shut done last Sun-day as planned (my blog about it is somewhere down there). This is somewhat of a calamity, I think, in that the new owners of the land, having grandiose plans for a combination of luxury high rises and retail space do not have the necessary legal variances to proceed with these plans since the entire area is currently zoned for “entertainment” purposes. They purchased the land and several adjacent parcels (I heard $100 million) with the presumption that their request for rezoning would fly through city hall without problems. This, of course, is not to be…there are too many irons in too many fires to make it easy. Anyway, rather than leasing the land back to the present operators for another season, allowing Astroland to stay open until new construction could actually begin, they chose to shut it down. Consequently, while the grist for the rezoning mill grinds exceedingly slowly through a red-tape nightmare, the current structures and surrounding grounds will quickly deteriorate into fire hazards and crime-ridden crack-hovels (maybe a slight exaggeration). Coney Island is, after all, right next to a very large body of water called the Atlantic Ocean, whose erosive properties of sand, salt, howling wind and seagull shit will immediate-ly start chipping away at anything not properly maintained.

Well anyway, you’re wrong, my lottery winnings are not destined to set things right with Astroland; I don’t really give much of a hoot what eventually happens out there; other than the fact that the process is totally screwed up.

What I want to do is buy the carousel. Or rather, I want to answer the call for a “cor-porate sponsor for the restoration and relocation of it.” It would only cost $1.3 million, a mere fraction of my lottery winnings, and the city of New York is willing to discuss in what public space it would be located and they would take care of its upkeep, presumably forever. But in addition to the $1.3 million I would set up a trust fund so that it would always be a freebie.

This carousel is not your run-of-the-mill merry-go-round. It has 50 horses (and two chariots), all made of hand carved and hand painted wood; not one of those aberrations with other kinds of animals made of fiberglass. Carousels should be horses, after all, majestic steeds rearing and roaring endlessly, scaring and thrilling those among us who like that sort of thing.

I rode this carousel for the first time in 1959 when it was truly a thing of beauty. You’ve heard the expression “grabbing the brass ring?” It comes from carousels like this one. A complicated little contraption is set up at its edge with a mechanical arm extended toward the riders. The arm contains a dispenser with one ring at a time pro-truding out. I’m not sure what the rings were made of, maybe bronze (probably iron), but they were pretty heavy. As your ever-ascending-and-descending steed whizzed past you grabbed the ring and then, as you rounded the curve, you tried to throw it through the bulls eye of a large target painted on a sturdy, canvas backdrop. This made the ride that much merrier because it was not all that easy to do and a large number of the rings ended up scattered throughout the pavilion as people butterfingered their way around the rotation. And it was a personal triumph to toss it successfully through the bulls eye. In addition, during your ride (but not always) a shiny brass ring would appear in the armature. If you were lucky enough to ride by on your rearing stallion at the right time and were successful at grabbing it; you got a free ride! WooHOO! I don’t recall if I ever caught the brass ring but I sure spent a lot of quarters trying.

When next I hit the big city in 1970 the carousell (sic) was still there but under a really tight secu-rity system (the value of original wooden carousel horses has skyroc-keted) with walls and metal grates to peer through. The ring grab-and-throw feature was gone (like everything else that insurance companies frown upon). The carousel itself had not been maintained very well although it was still something to behold and, through the years, I took nostalgic rides, continuously impressed by the artistry involved in its creation. But also continuously depressed by the deteriorating ghetto surrounding it, including Astroland across the street.

Last summer I went to the NY Aquarium, which is located near the Coney Island boardwalk, and tried to search out the carousel but I was too late; it had already been dismantled and put in storage. I understand it is actually still operable but quite a bit of restoration will be required to give it back to the public. $1.3 million doesn’t seem like too much to ask, does it? I can do that once my lottery winnings clear the bank; where’s my checkbook?

Identity Theft (with 2 Updates)

Two years ago Commerce Bank opened a branch right around the corner. “Great,” we said and a lot of people in the neighborhood opened an account there; including me and the-mother-of-your-dreams, Dorothy. The bank was all lovey dovey and accepted our money happily and we were treated nicely by the bank employees as reliable and recogniz-able customers. About a year and a half later the bank is staffed by mostly new people and we are no longer treated like anything but people off the street who, at any given time, might pull out a gat and hold up the place. Consequently, every transaction requires that you prove who you are, which is no problem for most people because we can easily flash a drivers license (the photo I.D. of choice).

For people like Dorothy, however, this presents a problem since she doesn’t drive…and never has. To solve this Dorothy went to the Dept. of Motor Vehicles to get a non-driving I.D. and was told she couldn’t get one because she didn’t have any I.D. A mind-boggling Catch 22, right? To issue a non-driving license the DMV requires the presenta-tion of a Social Security card. This sounds okay but Dorothy lost her SS card at least 25 years ago and never had it replaced. Dumb, yes? But also very common…who knew the day would come when self-identification would be so important? Where do you keep your SS card?

So Dorothy goes to the Social Security office and she was told that to get a replacement card she would need her birth certificate. Easier said than done. Thank goodness Dorothy has her baptismal certificate and, using that, she was able to track down her birth certificate…although it took almost a year to do so.

Finally she thought she had all the necessary papers to obtain a new Social Security card, after which it would be back to the DMV for Commerce Bank-approved proof of identity. Armed with her birth certificate, baptismal certificate, Medicare card, marriage license and proof of previous employment with an employee photo I.D and a pre-filled out application form (picked up by me at the SS office about three weeks ago; along with instructions), we confidently arrived at the downtown office (Brooklyn residents can only use this specific office…no branches) at 7:00 a.m. this morning, forking over $14 for a space in a nearby parking lot (well, two blocks away).

There were about a dozen people ahead of us and 20 service windows, 15 of which were not manned. After waiting 20 minutes we were called to window 8 and submitted the application. The clerk did not even look at our stack of proof and asked for a letter from Dorothy’s doctor that states her name and her date of birth.

Stalemate.

He then gave us a list of required documents that we heretofore did not have in our possession and, I guarantee, was not part of the pack-age I had picked up three weeks ago. Oddly enough he also gave us a printout of a document showing that Dorothy was indeed the owner of her particular number but said document was not proof that she existed, even though she has been collecting Social Security pay-ments for 25 years. Before moving away from the window I scanned the new list and noticed that a Medicare card could be used as proof and I told Dottie to show hers to the clerk. He pointed out that the list said Medicaid, not Medicare (my mistake), so if you are on Welfare you can prove who you are. The marriage license didn’t work because it can only be used for proof if it’s less than two years old. Since Dorothy got married in 1938 the license was not acceptable. I also noticed that proof of life insurance is good if it shows her date of birth; but she didn’t include that with her other documents (who knew?) Her employee photo I.D. is no good because she is not em-ployed anymore. A passport is also excellent proof but need you ask if Dorothy has one of those?

For some strange reason the clerk kindly gave us a fax number so that Dorothy’s doctor could send in the required letter. The big “however” with this is that it was now only 7:45 a.m. and Dorothy’s doctor doesn’t start his office hours until 10:00 and Dorothy had to be present in the Social Security office when the fax arrived. He sug-gested we take a seat until we could contact the doctor but I balked at that; just for my own self esteem. Turned out to be a good thing we didn't wait, though.

It was so frustrating it was almost hard not to laugh. You know how it is when you run up against a brick wall with no way over or around it? That was it this morning. We were home by 8:15 and my rigid back and fluttering eyes did not allow me to go back to bed. At about 10:15 Dorothy called her doctor to get the required letter in the works. Of course her doctor is home sick and please call back on Monday or Tuesday. Another circumstantial kick in the groin!

I just don’t get it. Where is the common sense in all of this? Dorothy is 90 years old and is being treated like a felon and/or a terrorist. One look at her and anyone would know she’s legitimate! Will no one give this wonderful lady a break? Commerce Bank, the Dept. of Motor Vehicles and Social Security do not accept her as a real person. And why does a doctor’s letter supercede everything else? It seems to me that would be the easiest thing to forge, right?

So, because Dorothy is crazed (me too) by her not having any accep-table identification, she will get this doctor’s note and we’ll try again next week. If, that is, I can survive my own agita.
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Update: On Monday Dorothy acquired a hastily handwritten letter from her surprised doctor stating her full name, her social security number and her date of birth; all of which she had to verbally supply to him. Armed with this fairly bogus (in my opinion) letter we went back to the Social Security office this morning. There was no line, the clerk superficially scanned the letter and, without asking to see any other document (birth certificate, driver's license, passport); stamped an approval on her application for a Social Security card; which she will receive in the mail within two weeks. The next bureaucratic bastion to be breached: The Department of Motor Vehicles. Further update forthcoming...

Update, the Second: Dorothy got her new Social Security card in the mail yesterday, 9/17, and her brother-in-law took her to the DMV today. She presented her birth certificate, Social Security card, Medicare card, life insurance policy, marriage license and the new doctor's note. Sorry, Dorothy, the marriage certificate was issued by a church and is unacceptable proof; she must obtain the one issued by a government entity (city/state). Again, Dorothy has all these documents that are irrefutable proof that she is alive and well and a living human being. But this 90-year-old woman has been, yet again, turned away by a clerk whose self-worth has to be set at zero, in a situation where logic has no meaning, a tiny bit of power and is a cog in the wheel of another incredible bureaucracy. Dorothy got married in 1938; do you think it will be easy for her to obtain a copy of a civic marriage license? The clerk gave her an instruction sheet which included directions on how and where to obtain an acceptable marriage certificate. The phone number on the directions is wrong, but luckily the robot who answered the phone gave her the correct number and the subsequent factotum told her he would send her the forms. However, he also told her she would have to appear in person; but the only place this can be done is on Worth St. in downtown Manhattan. She played her age-card but, other than sending her the forms, there is nothing he can do. He did emphasize that once she filed the forms it would take four to six weeks and cost $15. This is no longer laughable.