My Dumb Observations

  Never forget. After the attacks on September 11th, 2001 those two words were weaved into American culture. As graphic images surfaced, Ground Zero became the most documented event at the dawn of the digital age. "Never Forget" lifted a demoralized city from the ashes and was instrumental in uniting the nation. With the compassionate response of hundreds of thousands of first responders and volunteers, the human impact was overwhelming. Over time, the phrase diminished as the nation retreated into opposing corners. Twenty five years later, the forgotten slogan is trending for a few days, but do you recall when 'Never Forget' had far greater significance? Unlike most, September 11th began for me before sunrise in Red Hook, Brooklyn. From across the harbor, Lady Liberty and the twin towers reflected on the calm waterfront in the dark. The glowing torch and skyline after last call marked the end of yet another great evening, as that Monday and Tuesday was part of my ...

From a cultural perspective, America is a peculiar nation. Without the richness of millennia to draw from or many shared borders to influence us, America manages to hold her own. Similar to the old-timey days, we just do things differently here. On the world stage, however, many nations find America less entertaining, viewing us as a spoiled bully still in diapers. Perhaps true, but the United States attracts players from around the world, forming the greatest expansion team in history. And with all those cultures in the mix, America proudly displays her combined greatness. For better or worse, we also do a robust job projecting ourselves as a libido-driven, virus spreading, collection of binge drinkers. America has also reimagined some practices to the benefit of democracy worldwide. Ancient Pagans would wish to carry the candy basket of any American kid on Halloween, and no Inuit festival can warm the feet of a reveler at our Groundhog Day or polar plunge celebrations. And look what ...

Odd thoughts come to mind while reflecting on the passing of a friend one year ago. Some believe not everyone is called to be on the planet a long time. Of course, whenever a person in his early 50's passes, it's hard to avoid thoughts of "too soon." But Howie was an outlier. Both personally and professionally, Howie sailed rogue in a world divided by labels, conjuring his Brooklyn birthright to adapt in anyone's company. Nicknamed Triple H by fellow cops, he could be observed clocking out from a double shift with little sleep, or brown-baggin' a beer with flag waving colleagues, or seen donning a helmet to ride with his crew of urban motorcycle enthusiasts, often in the same day! Super cool, Howie's persona fit the stereotype of his appearance; like a lab-made hybrid of Barry White and Issac Hayes without the velvet notes or Kung Fu moves, but that never stopped him. Always the quiet charmer, Triple H would head back to his locker after roll call to spor...

Growing up in New York City during the bad old days was a wild ride. From the 1960's through the 1990's, a perfect storm amassed, creating a calamity of conditions that would erode the city. Of course, people living through those declining decades can compare notes as to when the Big Apple had rotted most- and they all have merit. The 60's saw profound institutional racism, record unemployment, and inner city riots. The 70's added a crippling financial crisis and urban decay to the recipe. Then 1980's witnessed rapid flight and a declining tax base, combined with exploding street crime, crack cocaine, and the AIDS crisis. The simmer  would then boil over, culminating in the 1990's when murder, drugs, mayhem of every flavor, and a malaise of government services would embrace Mayor Rudy Giuliani charging forward with a plan for change. Giuliani's recalibration of city services, and redeployment of the NYPD would eventually swing the pendulum back toward civili...

I hate Christmas. The fake spirit, the phony joy, it’s all a big farce. As a kid, when Santa Claus was motivating, I looked forward to the seasonal customs, but was always suspicious of how Santa operated. On Christmas Eve, my parents would encourage my brother and I to “go to bed” because Santa would not arrive with people awake. Then they would stay up with a houseful of guests celebrating the holiday Italian style -drinking jugs of wine, smoking cartons of cigarettes, eating seafood, and carrying on till sunrise- while we listened and choked on the fumes atop the stairs. Christmas morning we would drag my parents out of bed. Hung over and exhausted, my father would set up the old 8 millimeter camera, flood the room with studio style lighting, and blind his children while capturing silent films of us tearing into an overabundance of gifts. We truly were blessed. We always received what we wanted, and as an added bonus, my brother often had more fun playing with the ...