Bozman Neavitt Maryland
Originally uploaded by Charlie Roberts
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
THE LITTLE FOXES
I spend the weekend with CAR in the swanky section of Maryland, Bozman Neavitt, also known as the Boz?
CAR picks me up at my towering apartment building on west 42nd Street around 8 pm.
I've managed to make my bed and straighten the living room, but as soon as she gets here, I ask her to sweep the kitchen floor, pick up the mess in the bathroom and empty a week and half's worth of garbage trash. I have to follow along for the this particular chore because the smelly fetid trash is bursting at the seams. In the trash room, I fish around for recyclables (encrusted with coffee grains, old wet cereal, and carrot scrapings, before we dump the loot down the chute.
Car is visibly disgusted which surprises me because she always has seemed to have a low bar for all things gross.
(My bar is lowered every day).
We pack up the car, including my bike, my laptop and some of my vitamins. Her car-van is perfect for my bike and CAR single handily lifts it and it goes in standing up.
"Piece of cake" says CAR.
(I am impressed -now- with everyone's strength, with everyone's mobility, with everyone's motor-neurons).
We stop at the dollar pizza place on ninth and fortieth*. CAR gets two slices and a diet coke. I am off wheat so (no pizza for me) and "diet coke is poison" I admonish her. Car seems to have some risky handle on health, she's created her own philosophy, which she firmly believes... and she's convincing. I have to grip my seat not to be swayed. Basically her concept is that nothing can hurt you as long as you don't believe it can hurt you (or) ... something like that. It's actually very Mary Baker Eddy of her. It goes the same way with medicine too (I tell her) you have to research vitamins and herbs and medications and understand what you are taking so that the mind cooperates with the potions.
My throat is bothering me. I am fighting a cold. I can't clear my throat easily.
When CAR gets pizza, leaving me in her blinking van under the Port Authority Bridge, I have a moment where I can't get air down my throat. I DO panic. But I wait it out. I did one search about this very issue on the web and it basically said. very, very few, ever die of choking. So. I let it go. And CAR doesn't seem concerned so why should I? It's a relief to have someone around who doesn't buy into the drama of this thing.
The drive is fun. I eat CAR's lettuce, nuts and water.
CAR and I have a way of talking endlessly. I ask inane questions and she allows for this. I ask things like...
"Do you ever wish you didn't own a car?"
(or)
"Is it hard to keep you bathroom clean? and who does the cleaning? And moreover, what kind of cleaning products do you use?"
I am endlessly fascinated by the smallest, tiniest subjects. I have an endless facility for imaging things in my mind's eye so these absurd (out of left field) topics are really entertaining to me.
I imagine that my interviewees must feel a little defended. That I'll have some insightful thing to add at the end of my endless questions. But I never do. I sit there, my mouth slightly open (like the village idiot) pondering, imaging, how (CAR gets baking soda and white wine vinegar to work around the bathroom tile and toilet bowl. Does here daughter stare at her as she scrubs? Is the cat in the way? When can she possibly have time to do it?) And so on...
Perhaps, I too am on "the spectrum". The spectrum (a word that CAR uses often) being the wide possibilities from ADD to Autism (I surmise).
We take 95 to 301 and cross the Delaware Memorial Bridge (really something to look at!).
We get lost and CAR makes urgent calls to her husband as she stares in frustration at her GPS devise on her Blackberry. I sit in my docile and inchoate state as CAR whips herself into small bouts of angst and apology for our meandering. Since I don't care to look at the future (these days), since I don't want to face planning, the present moment is always perfectly fine with me.
I am (indeed) - (zen-like) out of necessity.
We get to CAR's parents house around 2 am. There is a long driveway lined with Sycamores. It feels grand (with a touch of humility) and historic. It's so late at night, I am reminded of Scarlet returning to Terra in Gone With the Wind after the civil war is over.
Like a play, the drive in, is an overture to the front of the house which is... (I guess) ... the first act?
The house is great looking. The groomed property seems endless. The Maryland water hugs the property. There are multiple outbuildings which is a sure sign of prosperity (in my book).
The place is called "Gratitude". There is a sign hanging by the entryway. CAR says "we tried to change the name of the place but it involved too much paperwork or something."
I suggest they rename the place, "Complacency" or "Deserved It!" Car and I find this amusing but she tells me she's gotten guff for the name before so I imagine and I'm bringing up old jokes and she is giving me the courtesy laugh.
CAR and I get right to it and have a glass of wine at two in the morning.
CAR initiates a conversation about me.
"Charlie" she says "I just can't believe this, this is just UNbelievable."
I don't really want to talk about it, but I do offer, "well from where I'm sitting it doesn't seem so far off the path. I've always had these mess-ups along the way."
I go through a list of health scrapes I've had.
I was in and out of the hospital a lot when I was a little kid.
I just can't get a handle on it except to say that it feels familiar.
I scale the stairs (I grip the banister and pull!) and choose a bedroom, coughing along the way.
It feels dramatic and ominous like I'm Horace Giddens in "The Little Foxes".
CAR picks me up at my towering apartment building on west 42nd Street around 8 pm.
I've managed to make my bed and straighten the living room, but as soon as she gets here, I ask her to sweep the kitchen floor, pick up the mess in the bathroom and empty a week and half's worth of garbage trash. I have to follow along for the this particular chore because the smelly fetid trash is bursting at the seams. In the trash room, I fish around for recyclables (encrusted with coffee grains, old wet cereal, and carrot scrapings, before we dump the loot down the chute.
Car is visibly disgusted which surprises me because she always has seemed to have a low bar for all things gross.
(My bar is lowered every day).
We pack up the car, including my bike, my laptop and some of my vitamins. Her car-van is perfect for my bike and CAR single handily lifts it and it goes in standing up.
"Piece of cake" says CAR.
(I am impressed -now- with everyone's strength, with everyone's mobility, with everyone's motor-neurons).
We stop at the dollar pizza place on ninth and fortieth*. CAR gets two slices and a diet coke. I am off wheat so (no pizza for me) and "diet coke is poison" I admonish her. Car seems to have some risky handle on health, she's created her own philosophy, which she firmly believes... and she's convincing. I have to grip my seat not to be swayed. Basically her concept is that nothing can hurt you as long as you don't believe it can hurt you (or) ... something like that. It's actually very Mary Baker Eddy of her. It goes the same way with medicine too (I tell her) you have to research vitamins and herbs and medications and understand what you are taking so that the mind cooperates with the potions.
My throat is bothering me. I am fighting a cold. I can't clear my throat easily.
When CAR gets pizza, leaving me in her blinking van under the Port Authority Bridge, I have a moment where I can't get air down my throat. I DO panic. But I wait it out. I did one search about this very issue on the web and it basically said. very, very few, ever die of choking. So. I let it go. And CAR doesn't seem concerned so why should I? It's a relief to have someone around who doesn't buy into the drama of this thing.
The drive is fun. I eat CAR's lettuce, nuts and water.
CAR and I have a way of talking endlessly. I ask inane questions and she allows for this. I ask things like...
"Do you ever wish you didn't own a car?"
(or)
"Is it hard to keep you bathroom clean? and who does the cleaning? And moreover, what kind of cleaning products do you use?"
I am endlessly fascinated by the smallest, tiniest subjects. I have an endless facility for imaging things in my mind's eye so these absurd (out of left field) topics are really entertaining to me.
I imagine that my interviewees must feel a little defended. That I'll have some insightful thing to add at the end of my endless questions. But I never do. I sit there, my mouth slightly open (like the village idiot) pondering, imaging, how (CAR gets baking soda and white wine vinegar to work around the bathroom tile and toilet bowl. Does here daughter stare at her as she scrubs? Is the cat in the way? When can she possibly have time to do it?) And so on...
Perhaps, I too am on "the spectrum". The spectrum (a word that CAR uses often) being the wide possibilities from ADD to Autism (I surmise).
We take 95 to 301 and cross the Delaware Memorial Bridge (really something to look at!).
We get lost and CAR makes urgent calls to her husband as she stares in frustration at her GPS devise on her Blackberry. I sit in my docile and inchoate state as CAR whips herself into small bouts of angst and apology for our meandering. Since I don't care to look at the future (these days), since I don't want to face planning, the present moment is always perfectly fine with me.
I am (indeed) - (zen-like) out of necessity.
We get to CAR's parents house around 2 am. There is a long driveway lined with Sycamores. It feels grand (with a touch of humility) and historic. It's so late at night, I am reminded of Scarlet returning to Terra in Gone With the Wind after the civil war is over.
Like a play, the drive in, is an overture to the front of the house which is... (I guess) ... the first act?
The house is great looking. The groomed property seems endless. The Maryland water hugs the property. There are multiple outbuildings which is a sure sign of prosperity (in my book).
The place is called "Gratitude". There is a sign hanging by the entryway. CAR says "we tried to change the name of the place but it involved too much paperwork or something."
I suggest they rename the place, "Complacency" or "Deserved It!" Car and I find this amusing but she tells me she's gotten guff for the name before so I imagine and I'm bringing up old jokes and she is giving me the courtesy laugh.
CAR and I get right to it and have a glass of wine at two in the morning.
CAR initiates a conversation about me.
"Charlie" she says "I just can't believe this, this is just UNbelievable."
I don't really want to talk about it, but I do offer, "well from where I'm sitting it doesn't seem so far off the path. I've always had these mess-ups along the way."
I go through a list of health scrapes I've had.
I was in and out of the hospital a lot when I was a little kid.
I just can't get a handle on it except to say that it feels familiar.
I scale the stairs (I grip the banister and pull!) and choose a bedroom, coughing along the way.
It feels dramatic and ominous like I'm Horace Giddens in "The Little Foxes".
Maybe CAR will kill me in the night for my life insurance.
CAR graciously sets me up with some water and my medicine.
As I fall asleep, I worry I'll choke to death in my sleep.
_________________________
* that patch of the city, the only section left that resembles the New York I remember as a kid, as an eleven year old commuting to 1970s Manhattan during the garbage strike, where there were Chock Full of Nuts diners on every corner and I met the likes of a pre-adolescent Ally Sheedy at TV auditions
CAR graciously sets me up with some water and my medicine.
As I fall asleep, I worry I'll choke to death in my sleep.
_________________________
* that patch of the city, the only section left that resembles the New York I remember as a kid, as an eleven year old commuting to 1970s Manhattan during the garbage strike, where there were Chock Full of Nuts diners on every corner and I met the likes of a pre-adolescent Ally Sheedy at TV auditions
Monday, October 5, 2009
PETE AGAIN
Charlie!
How are you my friend? Are things well on your end? Doing any theatre that I should know about?
Things here are pretty good. Working on a new play and trying to produce this festival of new plays and readings that is to go up in January at the Access Theatre in Tribeca. Have you ever been there? Great space, that. I'm actually writing a play that I would star in myself so that's pretty vain of me, isn't it?
Would you like to grab coffee soon?
Your friend,
Pete
-------------------------------------------------
Pete!
Coffee would be great.
That is a perfect idea. To write a play for yourself.
Not vain at all. The right thing to do.
I am not doing theatre as I struggle these days.
I am presently keeping a blog and will begin other writing endeavors soon.
A play? Short stories? The madness of screenplay writing?
I would like to grab coffee but I'm a bit unraveled.
I am kind of hiding out. Not a great idea.
I am on my way to making plans.
I just got back from the Chesapeake Bay Area.
A friend's parents has a house that looks like a movie set for old time wasps.
Next week our short film plays in Bend. Wanted to go, I hear Bend is magic.
But, no go.
We also got into Beloit College's festival.
But this may be the end for (the short film) maybe you should write a feature using bits from the short play.
CHARLIE
_______________________________________
Charlie.
So sorry to hear you are struggling. You are in my thoughts, surely.
What is your blog called? Can I read it?
Yes. I agree. I want to write a feature one of these days. Using themes, maybe characters, from stuff I've already written. But, yes, screenplay writing is madness.
My girlfriend and I moved to the west village and it was all fine and dandy but I think we have, dun dun dun, bed bugs. It's really awful. And itchy. I blame the exposed brick that we had hitherto found so charming.
I'm not exactly sure what is going on with you, as you have shrouded yourself in mystery, but if you ever want to talk about anything, know that I'm hear to listen. Or, if you want to talk about anything BUT what is going on, I'm happen to do that do. Whatever you need, Mr. Roberts.
Pete
_______________________________________
Charlie.
So sorry to hear you are struggling. You are in my thoughts, surely.
What is your blog called? Can I read it?
Yes. I agree. I want to write a feature one of these days. Using themes, maybe characters, from stuff I've already written. But, yes, screenplay writing is madness.
My girlfriend and I moved to the west village and it was all fine and dandy but I think we have, dun dun dun, bed bugs. It's really awful. And itchy. I blame the exposed brick that we had hitherto found so charming.
I'm not exactly sure what is going on with you, as you have shrouded yourself in mystery, but if you ever want to talk about anything, know that I'm hear to listen. Or, if you want to talk about anything BUT what is going on, I'm happen to do that do. Whatever you need, Mr. Roberts.
Pete
Friday, October 2, 2009
Clinic
Clinic
Originally uploaded by Charlie Roberts
Getting weekly glutathione on Second Avenue and 42nd Street
LITHIUM, results are disappointing (PLM)
There was a conference call today (Oct. 1, 09') with Doctors doing study and subjects and family members. It was an explanation on the study content and findings to reasons for stopping study. And then a qustion asking time for subjects and or family members. They concluded that the subjects taking Lithium actually progressed a little faster that subject taking pilcbo. In early Nov. 09' results from the study will be available and subjects in the study will find out what they were taking. Have to turn over every rock! I was a subject.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Kevin writes from Sweden
Hi Charlie!
Cool! I say "Hello"! back to you of course! :-)
I think NYC seems exciting and I wish I could go there in the future.
For how long have you had ALS?
Take care!
Kevin
______________________________________
Yeah New York is fun but I've lived here most of my life.
I still bike around the city on a battery bike but I can't really cross the street without falling down.
I feel like I noticed tiny problems three or four years ago.
My body would never feel rested after I worked out.
I did YOGA three times a week and my balance kept getting worse!
When I played tennis I'd need to sleep afterwards.
But officially my foot stopped working and I stopped being able to run about 15 months ago.
I started tripping as I walked to work.
I haven't done much research. I DID change my diet and I take a ton of vitamins.
Just added coconut oil to keep weight on. I like the taste!
Charlie
Cool! I say "Hello"! back to you of course! :-)
I think NYC seems exciting and I wish I could go there in the future.
For how long have you had ALS?
Take care!
Kevin
______________________________________
Hi Kevin,
Yeah New York is fun but I've lived here most of my life.
I still bike around the city on a battery bike but I can't really cross the street without falling down.
I feel like I noticed tiny problems three or four years ago.
My body would never feel rested after I worked out.
I did YOGA three times a week and my balance kept getting worse!
When I played tennis I'd need to sleep afterwards.
But officially my foot stopped working and I stopped being able to run about 15 months ago.
I started tripping as I walked to work.
I haven't done much research. I DID change my diet and I take a ton of vitamins.
Just added coconut oil to keep weight on. I like the taste!
Charlie
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
GRACE
Sunday morning ,
we cab to the Cupping Room in SOHO.
I flirt with the waiter.
The scene is robust handsome New Yorkers, sloppy and tired from Saturday night.
I feel like an outsider (now) I am impressed with the crowd - look how they move! So youngish and urban (catalog ready).
We tip toe ( I hang onto cars, to walls, to my mother) to see my favorite furniture store on Wooster Street, Room and Board. We stare at furniture. We sit on sofas. We imagine different pieces for my boxy apartment.
We come home and nap.
We cab to SHREK. I got cheap tickets on the web.
Turns out we're in the very back of the very last balcony.
An usher sees me struggling up the stairs.
"Let me see your tickets... these seats are WAY too far away for you. You'll never make it."
She calls a house manager and they seat us down in the orchestra.
I feel lucky and sad.
Like I'm a kid going to camp because I've got cancer.
Shrek strains under all those sets and costumes. Too busy. My eyes don't know where to focus.
EVERYTHING is green. I don't find fairy tale characters funny or compelling.
But, Christopher Sieber is so good. Still I am bitter that I am not up there.
We take a pedicab home for $20.
I ask our biker (this pedicab driver is from Africa and speaks broken english) to take the roof down but he misunderstands and zips up all the plastic windows. It's like riding in a plastic tent.
When we get home, we have a glass of wine and my mother tells me,
"We need to redo your apartment. It's not set up right. It's my fault (she says) because I dumped all this furniture on you."
"We need to redo your apartment. It's not set up right. It's my fault (she says) because I dumped all this furniture on you."
It's kind of true she did. And something occurs to me about... sticking up for yourself? about not agreeing to what you don't want just because you can't get what you really want (or something) In the moment, deicide what you want and have the (sense of self) to wait for it. Skip the crumbs.
In the morning, we have coffee and read the New York Times.
I mention an article about Barbra Streisand. "Lucky Streisand Fans Were A-listers for a Night".
Barbra Streisand is promoting her new album "Love is the Answer".
The word "Love" is used so freely. It's like a weapon.
The word "Love" is used so freely. It's like a weapon.
(I'm reading Christopher Isherwood's journals. Last night I read a section that struck me.
He's talking about a book an ex-gangster has written called "Love Can Open Prison Doors."
Isherwood writes, " The book is terribly sentimental, and far too breezily written. It recommends "love" as the universal cure-all - without ever properly explaining what "love" is.
And so it is with me. I read "love" cures! and G-d is love! "Love" seems an evasive concept. (duh)
I ask my mom - (continuing with my Barbra Streisand theme - "Everyone talks about "love" being the answer to everything ... but what really IS love anyway?"
My mother (from across the room) says carefully, "well I think about "love" the way I think of you. I love you without conditions... unconditionally."
This frank appraisal is too much for me and I move onto... "well, I think it has something to do with treating your neighbor as you would you treat yourself. That seems to be the cornerstone of all religions,
of all self-help books. Also, in Kaballah, they talk about the greatest kind of love, the most powerful being kindness and generosity that is given without recognition. This is true grace."
(I - of course- do not lead my life with that kind of grace.
But I can read about it.
I can write about it can't I? - (reader) ?)
But I can read about it.
I can write about it can't I? - (reader) ?)
It's time for my mother to go. She wheels her rolling suitcase behind her and I follow her down the hallway, down the elevator, across the lobby out to the circular drive. She spots a cab and doesn't stop to say goodbye. She yells "Goodbye!" without looking back and she's gone.
The Beresford
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