Someone With a Pen: Richard Grayson’s Diary

Monday, June 21, 1999

8 PM. My sinuses are pounding now, as it’s been very humid. Last night we had a downpour and I woke up at 3 AM with a sinus headache that has persisted throughout this cool (65° high), rainy day.

It was certainly pleasant enough for dinner on the deck last evening. Guests started arriving at 4 PM: Buddy and Evelyn; Teresa’s parents; P.J. and his grandmother; Cat and Neil; and Connie and Peter with Thomas, who bleached his tips blond. (Heidi was working at CVS.)

Teresa’s parents moved out of Brooklyn yesterday and said I could stay there if I wanted. Although would have been nice, I also know that when it heats up later this week, I’ll be glad to be in an air-conditioned place. Still, I would have enjoyed actually being in the city if I were living in Williamsburg or at marks in Midwood.

I enjoyed the company while everyone was here. Teresa’s family is very different not only from my own family but also from me in their interests and in their dedication to their homes and to food and to the sense of family itself.

I take this to be very Italian, yet I’m sure that some Italian Americans are more like my own family and don’t see each other that often.

Of course, when I was a boy, my grandparents saw their brothers and sisters and their children regularly and on weekends we used to go out to Long Island to Aunt Sydelle’s in Cedarhurst or Uncle Marty’s in Oceanside.

As odd as my parents and brothers are, in some sense their lack of extended family feeling and their lack of interest in celebrating rituals – even those like Mom and Dad’s 50th anniversary – rather suit my own personality.

Anyway, up here with this clan, I got to experience the nice parts of a big close family. I can tell that Paul’s mother also feels uncomfortable because of her British reserve, which resembles my mother’s aloofness.

I began to relax my diet a bit in recent weeks, and I think it’s starting to show, but I’ll return to my routines once I’m back in Florida.

I helped clean up and take away dishes and glasses and everyone was sitting outside, and I put everything in the dishwasher or the sink. That’s the least I can do to earn my keep around here.

Everyone had left by 9 PM, and Jade had returned from Vermont. I went to my room to finish the Sunday Times.

Originally Teresa was supposed to go to Manhattan at 7:30 AM today to replace Susan’s nanny who sprained her ankle, but at the last minute Susan found someone else.

Teresa printed out a front-page Times story on the demise of Another World after 35 years on NBC. Soap operas are losing their audiences due to changes in the workplace, the family and the culture.

Another World was the first soap opera I got involved in, with Eugene in junior high, and I watched it through my adolescence, college years and young adulthood. (Teresa and I used to tape it in the mid-1980s.) I lost touch with the show when I lived in Gainesville for six years and had no NBC broadcast affiliate.

Rick Peabody emailed, asking for my thoughts about the NOCCA position, which is permanent, not temporary, as I had believed.

Rick is being considered for the job, but the interview may not happen for weeks, and he and Margaret need to set one of three dates for a late summer wedding. They want to have kids right away, so he’ll need to sell the house before they leave D.C.

It almost seemed as if Rick wanted my permission not to go on the interview. But he feels he has to go to New Orleans because he’s always complaining how he can’t find a full-time job teaching creative writing.

I suggested it was okay either not to go for the interview or to go for the interview and then, if the job is offered, turn it down.

(I suspect the latter move hadn’t occurred to him: lots of people believe that just because someone offers you a job, you have to accept the offer.)

Today I called Ronna, who said that ever since they got sand for the sandbox, they now have to bathe Amelia every night. Amelia received my birthday card and still sits on the ledge by the kitchen the way she did with me.

Matthew has an interview coming up with the hospital in Pittsfield – I told Ronna that they’d like the Berkshires – and Ronna said that her mother and Bob will be up around July 10.

Ronna was surprised when I told her that my parents sold the house. She didn’t recall me telling her they were moving to Arizona: “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

I told Ronna that  I hoped to see her in Florida and thanked her for the offer to stay in her house over the weekend while they’re at the Jersey Shore.

I also spoke to Scott. We exchanged parents’ numbers in Fort Lauderdale because he’ll be there all July 4th weekend.

Mom was right: Allstate found out my address had changed, and they increased my six month premium from $285 to $765: more than the car is worth, basically. I’ll change to a cheaper carrier when I returned to Fort Lauderdale.

Last night I put the new pink sheets on, but Teresa still hasn’t noticed. I still need to get peach sheets because everything else here – walls, other pillows, shades – is peach.

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Tuesday, June 22, 1999

9:30 PM. My sinuses dried out slowly as the rain gave way to sunny skies and temperatures hovering in the low 80°s.

I decided to go into the city via the usual 9:32 AM train (which I’ll take tomorrow to see Josh). From Penn Station I took the subway to 23rd Street and walked down Sixth Avenue to Bed Bath & Beyond. Surprisingly, I couldn’t find a full sheet set in peach there, though they seemed to have every other hue in stock.

Later I looked in vain for something suitable at Macy’s at Herald Square but couldn’t find the right color there, either.

I left Bed Bath & Beyond for the nearest Barnes & Noble, where I felt a bit nauseated. The store had no air conditioning, though I perked up a bit after using the bathroom.

Somehow I was able to transfer for free to the 23rd Street crosstown bus. Then I strolled up to the new movie theater and store complex at Kips Bay pm 31st and Second Avenue, where I found Borders. There I read most of the new “Girls” issue of XY and the news section of today’s Times.

Manhattan was filled with cute guys today, but I also enjoyed watching New Yorkers of all genders, ages, ethnicities and positions on Hillary vs. Rudy for Senator (including “bring back Moynihan”).

I had to scramble to check out Macy’s bedding department, get some grapefruit juice and yogurt at Penn Station, and make the 2:14 PM back to Locust Valley.

I’ll be back in Manhattan tomorrow, but basically I’ve inoculated myself with enough New Yorker antibodies to last a while. Just listening to the local news on WNYC and reading the Metro section of the Times and all those free rags helps hone my New York City sensibility.

When I got back here at 3:45 PM, Ollie was limping noticeably – but as the day wore on, he gradually resumed normal walking. Nevertheless, I felt so sad to see him hurt that I shared my veggies with him even more than I usually do.

Teresa went to Riverhead to pick up filet mignon for this week’s party (the price soared from $3.99 to $5.99 a pound) and then went to visit her parents in Mattituck.

It’s hard for me to believe how neurotic Rick is being about his now-scheduled NOCCA interview. After today’s three back-and-forth emails, I’m convinced he’s not going to get the job and that he’s too immature to step into Tom’s shoes.

Rick is acting like a boy, asking me what to wear, worrying about flying and the bad neighborhood the school is in, and then mused “how N.O. means no” and how he wished the interview was in New Mexico (“NM, not NO”) because he really wanted the New Mexico job he applied for but lost.

My disgust – presumably not detectable in my measured replies – stems from my discomfort remembering I used to behave exactly the same way in the late 1970s and early 1980s when I applied for jobs I was afraid to take and even to interview for.

I seem to have gotten beyond that stage myself – but I suspect it lingers.

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Wednesday, June 23, 1999

9 PM. Today was a pleasant day. As usual, I awoke around 5:30 AM, turned on WNYC-FM to hear NPR’s Morning Edition, then fell back into sleep until I roused myself to work out to Body Electric as I taped the 1997 series show. After showering and dressing, I had breakfast.

Teresa was already cooking and had a lot of complaints about Paul, mostly related to how much he drinks after dinner. But I’ve watched Paul, I said, and he has only a couple of glasses of red wine.

Teresa replied that Paul shouldn’t be drinking at all with his blood pressure medicine, which makes him unable to tolerate alcohol: “That’s why he says stupid things and nods off.” I’m not certain she’s right.

Teresa told Paul, “I don’t have to stay married to you in ten years if you’re going to become an alcoholic.”

Paul’s always had this idea that he was going to retire at 55 because his grandfather did (his father didn’t live that long), but like my father and unlike Teresa’s father, Paul has no hobbies.

His concerns about her catering jobs make Teresa more anxious. At one point before their marriage, Paul was a tremendous help, but now he is mostly a hindrance to hard work.

Teresa also complained about Cat, who was unable to start school at Post this week because of a problem with her not getting financial aid last fall at New England College, which should have said the money to Post.

Cat does seem to have screwed up, just the way Teresa said she would.

Dressed in one of the preppy checked shirts I got at Kmart on Sunday (I love them!), I took the 9:32 AM train into the city. After much searching, I finally found peach-colored sheets on sale at Sterns – but I had to buy these very expensive (250-thread count) sheets separately (a fitted sheet, a flat sheet and two pillowcases) and they cost almost $90.

But that will be a gift to Teresa and Paul in lieu of another thank you. Teresa didn’t realize I’d ruined the old sheets, which were really old. Well, I’ll send the white ones that I bought to Florida, as I can use them myself, and Teresa can use this one and the cheaper pink set.

When I arrived at Josh’s apartment, he was restoring Gabrielle’s screen name on AOL. They had just talked, and he said that “even though I know she’s crazy, I miss her.” I did not reply, “That’s because you’re crazy too.”

At an outside table in Veselka, over his usual raspberry buttermilk pancakes and my garden burger and carrot juice, Josh explained his “two ethical dilemmas.”

First was his brother needing $5,000 for a new truck for his gardening business. Josh’s father would have given it to his brother, but his mother was less generous, and Josh would be taking it out of her money, along with an equal amount for himself.

Since he’ll replace his mother’s money if she needs it for long-term care – he called her before we left the apartment, and I could tell that she’s totally demented – I said, “That doesn’t sound like a dilemma.”

The second dilemma dealt with the baby. What does he owe the child? Financial support? If so, I said, it should be regular so as not to be manipulative.

Gabrielle says the German government will give her $5,000 a month after the baby is born whether the kid is in Germany or the U.S.

The problem with Gabrielle coming to New York is that they don’t have the money to support a one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan. (Josh refuses to move back to Brooklyn.)

I find Josh’s statement, “I want the kid to be a Jew” extremely offensive, but apparently that’s no problem for Gabrielle.

I told Josh I don’t think he has any idea of how hard it is to live with a baby or a young child as its father. He’s not going to be able to keep eating at restaurants for every meal or going to jazz performances; he’s not going to be able to go out much at all.

Josh objected when I said I didn’t know if he could be an affectionate and playful father to a kid although I admitted it was possible that he could be less stiff and more cuddly than I’ve ever seen him.

To me the situation is terrible. Gabrielle’s friends told her she was “much too desperate” to have a child, and I think that whatever happens to this kid, I hope he or she is strong enough to survive having Josh and Gabrielle as parents.

I’m not sure they will ever get together, but if the child is born – and Josh all but hopes for another miscarriage – I foresee a lot of turmoil in their relationship.

Meanwhile, the start of Josh’s new job at the Corrections department was postponed from July 1.

Back at his place, I got on AOL as Josh went to the bathroom, where he sits for 20 minutes with reading material, something I’ve never done in my life. On AOL, I read another whiny, apprehensive note from Rick and a nice update from Kevin who’s dating a guy who finally treats him right. (“But he’s married,” Kevin wrote. “I know, I know…”)

Josh walked me to the N/R train as he went to FedEx to send a check on his brother.

I got to Penn Station in time to get my usual 2:14 PM train, riding back to Locust Valley with the same two high school boys I went in with this morning. They had gone to the Computer Expo at the Javits Center and were loaded down with shopping bags filled with freebies.

At home, I showed Teresa the sheets, fed Ollie – who’s still limping badly – and checked my mail from Mom and Tom, who sent the first installment of The President in Her Towers.

Teresa was upset because she had to return sushi boats to the store in Syosset. I made her happy by volunteering to take them back myself at 6:30 PM.

After all, I know how to get where the stores are – by the LIRR station on Jackson Avenue, and nearby is Borders, where I went to sip iced tea, read the newspaper and watch women play mah-jongg.

Coming home at 8 PM, I watched the “Jack comes out” rerun on Dawson’s Creek.

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Sunday, June 27, 1999

6 PM. My foot is a little better today and I hope I didn’t make it worse by walking too much. At Borders this afternoon, I found the book on feet, and from my reading of that and some websites, I’m pretty sure my problem is that as I’ve aged, the wear and tear on my flat feet are creating a mess that may require surgery to fix.

I need to investigate all the conservative treatments first, of course, and do what I can to mitigate further damage. This problem often seems to have the same symptoms as a sprained ankle.

I’ve had what’s called “flexible flat feet”: my arch disappears when I put pressure on my foot, but the symptoms have been easy to ignore until now. Probably the walks I took all winter only made things worse.

Last night I watched an okay teen flick, Can’t Hardly Wait, on HBO. Everyone came home around  10 PM.

During the night I had a dream in which a cat I was stroking became a teenage boy who wanted me to hug him except I wouldn’t because I couldn’t get over his having been a cat.

This morning I began reading the Times outside after breakfast. I wanted to see Linda Greenhouse’s long article on the 1998-1999 supreme court term.

Teresa was kind enough to let me have the car while she’s in Fire Island, so I drove her to catch the noon ferry and then stopped in Syosset to sit at Borders and to return the sushi trays.

Back here, P.J., Cat and Paul were in the pool, so I joined them. It’s been so wonderful to be a part of the family here for two months.

At 4 PM, I drove to the Kinko’s in Greenvale to access Westlaw and Lexis/Nexis. The Boca Raton News printed my column on Sunday with the headline “Vegetarian has biting view of political hypocrisy.” I’ll get the printed edition at the Boca branch of the Palm Beach County Public Library when I get back to South Florida.

On Nexis, I read newspaper articles from my clipping service, keeping up with the activities of Brad Gooch, Miriam Sagan, Susan Fromberg Schaeffer, Judy Cofer, the UF law school, gay issues, etc.

I also checked out articles on Palmdale, the Los Angeles exurb (one of the fastest-growing cities in the U.S. in the 1990s) where Red Hen Press has their post office box address.

The Antelope Valley sounds like the same sort of desert city I’m used to: lots of strip malls with big box stores, loads of new houses in subdivisions, and no real center.

Returning here at 5 PM, I had a bean veggie burger and went upstairs, turned on the air conditioner and listened to Weekend All Things Considered on WNYC-AM.

It’s going to be a shock to return to Florida, but I think I’ll be more, not less, tolerant of my parents now. I have an enormous number of things to do.

It’s too bad I didn’t accomplish more while I was here; I would have loved to finish my Dictionary of Literary Biography article and read more of the Political and Civil Liberties textbook.

For now, the DLB article is my first priority since Tom’s deadline is September. But since that involves writing, it’s not as easy to start as is the process of gathering blurbs or preparing for my fall classes.

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Monday, June 28, 1999

8 PM. This is my last night in my room in Locust Valley. Since I’m not leaving until late tomorrow, I have yet to begin packing, but I’m sure I could do that in plenty of time.

Until the car service comes tomorrow, I’m not going to have much to do except read the paper. Teresa will be leaving for Barbara’s in New Jersey in the morning.

Last evening Cat and Neil and some of their friends came over for dinner on the deck, so I slipped out and went to Wendy’s on Glen Street.

On the line to order food, a Salvadorean guy shorter than I am accidentally bumped into me, and he kept apologizing as if he was afraid I was going to beat him up.

When I got back, I called Fort Lauderdale and spoke to Jonathan.

He and Dad spent Thursday night at the emergency room at Parkway Regional. Aunt Sydelle “cracked her head open” in a fall and she called screaming to say she was bleeding profusely. They got her to dial 911, and by the time they got to Aventura, the paramedics had been working on her for some time. She did lose a lot of blood.

Jonathan said the ER was horrific with lots of violently ill and injured inner-city people taking precedence. Sydelle got five or six staples in the back of her head, and by the time they got her home, it was early morning.

Jonathan’s been driving my car to work a few times a week, and except for the lack of air conditioning, it’s driving fine, he said. I told him to tell Mom I’d give her my flight information on Tuesday morning. Then I watched the Sopranos rerun with Paul before going to bed.

But I couldn’t sleep. My foot hurt terribly although it has since improved a great deal and I was only slightly limping today.

Anyway, it was after 3 AM when I fell asleep, so I didn’t get much rest – but I wasn’t tired today. It was hot and humid but not desperately so; in Fire Island, Teresa reported, it was breezy and cool.

Rick was offered the NOCCA job and now he has to decide by Wednesday if he’s going to agree to their offer. The salary, $32,000, is bad. Rick said the “new building on the edge of a black slum looks like the Pompidou Center.” And the job is no longer about creative writing but about “money, race and public relations” – at least according to John Otis.

Rick said he met with some of Tom’s former students who have doctoral degrees in literature, and while he’s impressed with them, Rick said he’s not interested in carrying on the scholarly work of Tom,  who’s “the most widely-read man I’ve ever met.”

Rick got the impression that Otis and everyone else at NOCCA now feel that Tom is holding the place back. Tom wants out and says Rick can do whatever he wants.

Brad will probably end up doing most of the teaching to start while Rick would be an administrator and responsible for schmoozing, fundraising and working on projects like webzines and bookstore events. Like every other institution these days, NOCCA wants to be Disney. (The company built the school’s sound studio.)

Brad told Rick that his take on this school situation was “amazingly perceptive” for somebody who just walked in there. Rick is afraid that NOCCA is a snake pit of pressure and politics. If Rick turns them down, Tom said they’ll hire this woman from Alabama.

Rick is exhausted and hyper, but he thanked me for getting him through the process because “it was good for me to finally land a job.”

I told Rick I trust his perceptions of what he experienced in New Orleans and that my final advice was simple: (1) Don’t ask too many people for their opinion whether you should take the job; (2) Remember, there’s no such thing as a “wrong decision”; and (3) Once you make your mind up, move on.

After doing laundry, I went to the Borders in Syosset and sipped iced tea by my favorite spot by the window.

Back home, I got my clothes out of the dryer and called Alice to say goodbye. She’s fine and said that she and Peter are going to Belgium and the Netherlands in August.

“Just don’t drink Coke there,” I said, referring to the recent wave of illnesses people got from doing exactly that.

At 3:30 PM, I drove to the ferry slip in Bay Shore to pick up Teresa. On the way, I needed to stop to pee at Massapequa General Hospital. I finally found the ferry after getting a little lost; Teresa always drives there, so I don’t pay attention. It seemed a lot cooler on the South Shore.

Teresa and I got back here at 6 PM. After I had my Cascadian farms Veggie Bowl Sichuan dinner and some strawberries, I went online and was surprised at how many responses I got to my Yahoo Personals ad.

I replied to several of them, but not the sexual come-ons and the married man who wants to see me while his wife is out of town. A couple of the guys sounded really nice, but who knows? I’m not going to get excited about this now.

I joined Teresa, Paul and Jade in the backyard as they ate dinner.

The talk, as it is often these days, was all about the incredible money floating around: the house in Fair Harbor on  sale for $1.2 million, an unheard of amount till now, and the fortune the guy who threw Saturday’s party has made for himself and his friends by setting up their own mutual fund.

Now that almost everyone seems to have put all their faith in free-market entrepreneurial capitalism. there’s no alternative to the money culture.