I am surprised that I have almost made it this far. Tomorrow I will be 69, a bare 12 months before 7 decades. It is not that I am asking for a “Happy Birthday,” but rather that I made it this far, or at least I’m about four hours or so from it.
It is not as I would have thought it to be and I often wonder how, with all that has occurred in my life, I am almost there.
There are those who believe New Year’s Day is one for reflection on the past year. I am not one of them. Last year was what it was and will always be so. It is past, never to return.
Perhaps I’ll have a thought or two about some of the events that occurred, but generally speaking, what’s done, as is so often said, “is done.”
Those things that might be considered interesting might make a story or two, but aside from that . . .
This year, 2012, I suppose I’ll be at least pleased to get out of bed; after all, in a few days I’ll be a year from seven decades.
I have, indeed, seem much in my life, maybe too much; I’ve done a lot, maybe more that most, but certainly less than many. In retrospect, I think of it all as a series of stories that might be recounted orally or by written word.
How odd that the most perplexing issue for me these days is Maggie. Most of those whom I’ve known over the years I can still contact; I pretty much know what they’re doing, assuming they’re alive. But Maggie, well, I’ve written about her quite a bit.
It is modestly disturbing not to know if she’s dead or alive. If I put on my old reporter’s hat, I could find out. The fact that I don’t could mean maybe I just don’t really care; or maybe it concerns me that I’ll find she’s dead (in my family we don’t use euphemisms like “passed on.”)
Today I’m spending watching old movies and I hope you readers are having a pleasant day.
As to 2012, I hope brings you what you desire…but remember the old saw, “Be careful what you wish for…”
[NOTE: THIS WAS WRITTEN ON DECEMBER 29, 2011] It is just three days until New Year’s Eve and many will go a bit nuts welcoming in 2012. I’ll be grateful to be above ground, and just a few days before my 69th birthday.
Welcoming the New Year isn’t what it once was for me. Sure, I’ll have a drink or two; watch the ball drop (early) in Times Square (for the past two years a disappointment – it ain’t what it used to be – far to fancy and commercial), then perhaps watch a Thin Man movie.
Cynic and pessimist that I am, I see nothing especially positive coming next year, save that I’ll probably be around.
It is a quiet week for me this week, with little to do for clients. I’m going to resign one as a New Year’s gift to the client.
My firm provides strategies to clients that will make them more visibile to their prospects; even make them at least modestly famous. Of course, we’re know for getting clients out of trouble; managing them through crises.
But there’s one, a law firm, run by a woman who at this point I can only describe as a “Publicity Whore.” Well, I don’t want to get into to the kind of strategies and tactics we use and exactly what we do; she’s now gone from a “respectible” and reasonably successful middle-class law firm to the kind of firm that might post billboards for $99 bankruptcies and the like. By the way, stay far away from those firms – if you are in a personal bankruptcy situation, pay up for the service.
Now the woman, who has about 15 lawyers working at her firm is paying for a call in radio show. Please, that’s just what you want: Two bit callers, looking for free advice from an attorney over the phone, then maybe coming into your office only to find they can’t afford your fees. In this firm’s case, they’re reasonable.
Her bill for a couple of months was the smallest bill my firm has sent out in years, less than $500 and she held it up. Please. Once the check, which I’m told is being mailed “later this week” is in our hands, she’s gone.
But you don’t really care about that. I just felt like writing it out.
Do you care about the Iowa Primary/Caucus, whatever? Frankly, I’m tired of the GOP. I’m tired of the “debates.” How much do we really need to know about these “candidates?” And does anyone really care.
Frankly, I think at this point folks only care about what’s in their pockets, whether or not they’ll keep their jobs; if they can feed their families…just put gas in their cars.
Washington, our government doesn’t seem to have those concerns, not at all. And that makes me yearn for the old days, when politics was politics; but governing was governing and done for you and me.
Happy New Year to all, just in case I don’t post again before then.
It is just three days until New Year’s Eve and many will go a bit nuts welcoming in 2012. I’ll be grateful to be above ground, and just a few days before my 69th birthday.
Welcoming the New Year isn’t what it once was for me. Sure, I’ll have a drink or two; watch the ball drop (early) in Times Square (for the past two years a disappointment – it ain’t what it used to be – far to fancy and commercial), then perhaps watch a Thin Man movie.
Cynic and pessimist that I am, I see nothing especially positive coming next year, save that I’ll probably be around.
It is a quiet week for me this week, with little to do for clients. I’m going to resign one as a New Year’s gift to the client.
My firm provides strategies to clients that will make them more visibile to their prospects; even make them at least modestly famous. Of course, we’re know for getting clients out of trouble; managing them through crises.
But there’s one, a law firm, run by a woman who at this point I can only describe as a “Publicity Whore.” Well, I don’t want to get into to the kind of strategies and tactics we use and exactly what we do; she’s now gone from a “respectible” and reasonably successful middle-class law firm to the kind of firm that might post billboards for $99 bankruptcies and the like. By the way, stay far away from those firms – if you are in a personal bankruptcy situation, pay up for the service.
Now the woman, who has about 15 lawyers working at her firm is paying for a call in radio show. Please, that’s just what you want: Two bit callers, looking for free advice from an attorney over the phone, then maybe coming into your office only to find they can’t afford your fees. In this firm’s case, they’re reasonable.
Her bill for a couple of months was the smallest bill my firm has sent out in years, less than $500 and she held it up. Please. Once the check, which I’m told is being mailed “later this week” is in our hands, she’s gone.
But you don’t really care about that. I just felt like writing it out.
Do you care about the Iowa Primary/Caucus, whatever? Frankly, I’m tired of the GOP. I’m tired of the “debates.” How much do we really need to know about these “candidates?” And does anyone really care.
Frankly, I think at this point folks only care about what’s in their pockets, whether or not they’ll keep their jobs; if they can feed their families…just put gas in their cars.
Washington, our government doesn’t seem to have those concerns, not at all. And that makes me yearn for the old days, when politics was politics; but governing was governing and done for you and me.
Happy New Year to all, just in case I don’t post again before then.
Shakespeare & Company 1998 - My Photo
From The New York Times: PARIS — George Whitman, the American-born owner of Shakespeare & Company, a fabled English-language bookstore on the Left Bank in Paris and a magnet for writers, poets and tourists for close to 60 years, died on Wednesday in his apartment above the store. He was 98.
He had not recovered from a stroke he suffered two months ago, his daughter, Sylvia, said in announcing his death.
More than a distributor of books, Mr. Whitman saw himself as patron of a literary haven, above all in the lean years after World War II, and the heir to Sylvia Beach, the founder of the original Shakespeare & Company, the celebrated haunt of Hemingway and James Joyce.
As Mr. Whitman put it, “I wanted a bookstore because the book business is the business of life.”
Overlooking the Seine and facing the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, the store, looking somewhat beat-up behind a Dickensian facade and spread over three floors, has been an offbeat mix of open house and literary commune. For decades Mr. Whitman provided food and makeshift beds to young aspiring novelists or writing nomads, often letting them spend a night, a week, or even months living among the crowded shelves and alcoves.
