Fan Club

Hello World,     Feliz Cinco de Mayo! On Saturday, we go "mano a mano," in a manner of speaking, with our Mexican brothers and sisters, in commemorating the victory over French forces at the Battle of Puebla in 1862, and don't spare the tequila, my good man! Admittedly, this may not yet be a holiday that has caught the fancy of the country at large, from sea to shining sea, but let's face it, here in New York, any excuse is good enough for a party, and nobody quibbles over the details, amigo. Best of all, this is a celebration that has been going on for over 150 years, dedicated pretty much to nothing but food, folks, and fun, and not a bit of controversy associated with it, to put a crimp in the festivities along the way. (Waitangi Day, please take note.) So grab your maracas, break out the sombreros, and if you're not authentically Mexican, you can still party like a gringo loco, if nothing else. Say, who let that Mariachi band in here?     Well, it's certainly been a long cold winter in the local region, and has taken many more months than expected to kick mean old Captain Cold to the curb - but now that it's finally May at long last, I think we can safely say that we've turned the page, and closed the chapter on that part of our seasonal experiences, and good riddance, it goes without saying. Once we finally got the weather above 50 degrees, all of the trees broke out en masse, bugs suddenly appeared in hordes, and spring birds are bob-bob-bobbing along like there's no tomorrow. Any sections of the yard that weren't already covered in wind flowers and grape hyacinths, have now exploded into a virtual sea of dandelions and violets everywhere you look, including the driveway and between the cracks of the sidewalk. It didn't take long for the foreign invasives to re-assert themselves, and the garlic mustard and rampant alien mutant poison ivy are already standing up in clumps, and looking like they mean business, I can tell you that. Speaking of invasives, it reminds me of a church meeting we had recently, where a member commended the minister for being such a good fit with the congregation - or, as she put it: "You've grown on us." To which I added, "Like a fungus." He laughed.     Last week, we carved some time out of our busy schedules to go see Caitlyn Canty at the Rockwood Music Hall in the city, and lived to tell the tale, which only goes to prove that the Age of Miracles has not passed after all. It must be said that the evening began inauspiciously when we got to Grand Central Terminal early, since there is no food to be had at the venue, and we were looking for something a little more substantial than a food cart out on the street. We were concerned that Frankie's Dogs on the Go in the dining concourse might be closed by the time we got there, but that turned out not to be the case - the problem was that even though they were still open, they had no veggie dogs at all, thanks not. Bill opted for a bagel at Zaro's, and I went for their triple grilled cheese once again, only this time, it was so much uncooked, that I would dare to say that it never actually touched a grill at any point, and the cheese wasn't melted, much less grilled, so to say that it lacked a certain wonderfulness would be putting it mildly. Oddly, even though it was a Thursday might, we had to wait on a ridiculously long and slow line outside of the station for a cab, and once again, thanks so very much not. The attendant finally managed to snag one for us, only to have the poor fellow get lost along the way (!!!) even with his GPS, so that Bill finally had to get the right directions to put us back on track, with the upshot that we ended up being late to the show, in spite of leaving home 3 hours ahead of time. Honestly, sometimes it's the simplest things that turn into the biggest headaches, and after doing this same thing numerous times, the last thing we were expecting was for the cab driver to get lost. But at least we didn't have the usual harrowing breakneck sprint through lower Manhattan, and although we did arrive late, it was without the customary full-throttle panic and outright terror that generally brings us to their door, and I ought to know.     Fortunately, we are on Caitlyn's V.I.P. list, so there was a reserved table waiting for us upstairs, and even though we were late, we still had great seats. The headliner was sharing the bill with Molly Parden (not to be confused with Dolly Parton, obviously) another pretty young singer/songwriter, who came on first, and did a short set of original songs, that was very well-received by the small but attentive crowd. Thursday's show marked the album release for Caitlyn's newest effort, and she was touring with Noam Pikelny in support of it, and together, they made a very tuneful pair indeed. After the show, we went downstairs to check out the merchandise, and Bill had a chance to speak with Caitlyn briefly, before the surging waves of her other fans basically pushed us right out the door and onto the sidewalk. From there, we actually flagged down a cab all by ourselves - old school, without a concierge or a taxi app! - for a very routine trip back to Grand Central, where we arrived just in time to catch a train for home. All in all, the occasion ended up better than it started, and we were glad to be back at home, sweet home before 11:00 PM, and still on our feet, just like a couple of young whipper-snappers out for a night of clubbing in the big city. Now, where did that Mariachi band get to? Elle