It’s the first day of the new school year in our little corner of Maryland, about two weeks later than usual, for some reason–normally, it seems we start around the 20th of August or so. I’m not sure what happened to the days when school started the week of Labor Day. Maybe that’s one of those memories that dates me, in the same way that I remember jungle gyms being built on huge pads of solid concrete that baked under the hot sun, so you could burn yourself if you tried to go barefoot, or break your arm if you fell off the monkey bars, instead of landing unhurt on that weird soft cushiony stuff they use these days that was actually found inside a meteor and does not exist naturally on this planet.
Wait, where was I?
Right. School starting. So, over the weekend, Barb and I ran down the laundry list of things you need to make sure your kid has before she heads out that first day. We also made a point of reviewing the morning schedule that we would be getting back to, now that summer is over and a 13-year-old’s day can no longer begin at 10:47 a.m.
Since . . . well, forever, really, I’ve been the one who wakes Madi up in the morning. That’s not to say that she doesn’t set her alarm. She does. And she shuts it off immediately and goes back to sleep, so I have to come in, flick on the light and announce that it is now 6:31, and the bus will be here in thirty minutes, and if the bus is missed, there is no way I am driving you to school, and I am not bluffing, I assure you, even though I am and she knows it.
And actually, she never misses the bus. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t sometimes make it exciting.
Anyway, this weekend, I tried to pull off another tremendous bluff, and announced that since Madi was now in eighth grade, I was through coming in and making sure she’s up. “I’ll alert you when it’s 6:50 and time to get ready for the bus, but that’s it,” I said, not too convincingly.
Well. Madi was up and about without any help. Turns out I failed to factor in one thing: mascara. As it turns out, it doesn’t matter how much or how little makeup you allow your teenage to wear, it will always take at least thirty minutes to apply. So they build in a Makeup Buffer. And, later, probably the hair buffer.
It’s not that I had forgotten that little fact; I had actually never known it. Because I have never been the parent of a teenager. And when the hell did that happen?
I was saddened this morning to learn of the death of Senator Edward Kennedy, after his long fight with brain cancer. Considered perhaps the most liberal member of the United States Senate — if not American politics — chances are good you had strong feelings about Kennedy, his politics, and his personal life, no matter which end of the political spectrum you were on. And obituaries today will likely be unable to discuss his political achievements — and they were many — without also bringing up his often rocky, and disappointing, personal shortcomings. That is, of course, life in politics.
When I started working on the Hill in 1990, Kennedy, nearing age 60 at that time, had already been serving as a Senator for longer than I had been alive. He was an institution in an institution, a brush with a piece of America’s mythic past. He was also a genuine political celebrity and he had that indescribable Kennedy magnetism. We used to joke that the strength of his charm was inversely proportional to your own political stance — that the more you disagreed with his politics, the more charmed you were by him in person. He would shake your hand with both hands, look you in the eye and call you by name. You were completely disarmed.
If you were opposed to his policies, Kennedy could infuriate you with his absolute determination to ram through his initiatives — and he led the charge on an awful lot of them, from civil rights to health care. But it might surprise you to know that Kennedy was also brilliant at something else: bipartisanship. He was so good at it, in fact, that you scarcely realized he was doing it. When he was preparing to introduce either a huge, complex or controversial piece of legislation, Kennedy had a knack for going out and finding a Republican cosponsor, sometimes an incredibly unlikely one who you wouldn’t normally even put in the same room with Kennedy, much less on a bill. It was much harder for Republicans to torpedo a Kennedy initiative on veterans’ health, for example, when his lead cosponsor was Republican Leader Bob Dole.
In the late 1990s, I worked on the Republican Senate HELP committee, where Kennedy was the ranking Democratic member of the committee. He hired smart staff and, more often than not, they were genuinely interested in helping reach an acceptable compromise on your legislation. We were able to easily approve child care tax credits, for example, because we had Kennedy’s staff on board from day one.
Of course, part of the fun of watching Kennedy work was watching Kennedy work. Like many members, once he got wound up on the floor of the Senate, he could be a shouter and a flailer, waving his arms madly as he all but shouted at the top of his lungs. His voice was easily imitated – and believe me, once the door was closed, even Democratic staff would sometimes drop into that familiar cadence, starting sentences with “Ayr, uh” in a way Kennedy himself really never did, but which made it all that much funnier. But Kennedy himself was in on the joke, and was smart enough to know that all those impressions only sealed his iconic reputation. (Fortunately for writers on The Simpsons, that accent is not trademarkable — otherwise, Mayor Quimby might sound like Comic Shop Guy.)
I’ll close with one of my favorite Kennedy stories, which didn’t happen to me, but should give you a feel for the kind of charm and reputation the man possessed: my friend Anne, who worked for Republican Senator Alan Simpson of Wyoming — one of nicest, and funniest members of Congress ever — had her mother coming to town. As part of her visit, Anne had arranged for her mother to have lunch with her Senator in the Senator’s Dining Room — a fairly exclusive and impressive place — then take a private tour of the Capitol, sit with the Senator in a committee meeting, and generally shadow Simpson as he worked throughout a typical day.
About a week after her mother had left, I was talking with Anne about the visit, and how impressed I was with all she had planned out. ”What was your mother’s favorite part of the day?” I asked her. She scowled slightly, then laughed. ”Her favorite part was an elevator ride in the Dirksen Building, when Senator Kennedy stood next to her.”
That was the Kennedy charm. Love it or hate it, you likely won’t see anything like it again.
Madi and I spent a terrific day in New York City yesterday. We had to be up and on our way to Baltimore to catch the train by 7:00 a.m., and she couldn’t have been more of a trooper — especially since we’re approaching the final days of summer vacation, and teenagers like to get all the sack time they can get before the regular routine starts again.
We made it into New York Penn Station just slightly after 10 a.m. – a bit late, and I had to be at the Paley Center for Media at 10:30 to do some talking head filming for a documentary piece that’s being put together on Washington Irving and Sunnyside. Rather than cab it, Madi and I opted to hoof it and, in spite of a false start by me, when I steered us in the wrong direction out of Penn Station, we arrived at Paley just before 11:00. An elevator whisked us to the 11th floor, where I spent the next hour sitting just near William Paley’s Emmy Awards and talking All Things Irving while cameras rolled, trying not to talk too fast or too much with my hands, which can be particularly embarrassing. I have no idea yet when the piece will run — it’ll be a while, and will likely be just a regional thing — but I’ll let you know. At any rate, it was fun, and I got to do my James Fenimore Cooper impression.
After the taping, Madi and I headed over to the Le Parker Meredien to meet my editor, Casey, and dine on what I’ve been told are the finest burgers in the city. The restaurant — a tiny little place called Burger Joint — is crammed in the back of the Meredien’s lobby, almost unnoticeable except for a small neon sign shaped like a hamburger. There was already a line out the door when we arrived there at 12:30 — which, I was told, was the norm — and at the recommendation of an incredibly nice concierge, we got in line to hold our spot until Casey arrived, which she did within a matter of minutes.
The place was the size of a postage stamp, and the real trick once you’re inside is to watch for someone preparing to leave their table — at which point you hover over them like a vulture and slide into their seats while they’re still bussing their mess. While standing in line, we spotted a corner booth being vacated, and managed to slip Madi into it just seconds in front of a fellow who had just gotten his food. The food was, indeed, outstanding, though the slightly melted shakes left something to be desired.
Following lunch and bidding farewell to Casey (who texted me shortly thereafter to officially designate herself a Madi Fan), Madi and I spent the rest of the afternoon back over at the Paley Center for Media, where I had some clips I needed to take a look at for Project Blue Harvest. I had never been to the center before, and I gotta tell ya, it’s a Pop Culture Junkie’s Candy Shop. You can scan through the center’s enormous video library, select any clip you want to see, then slide into a darkened room where your clip runs on a video monitor. I had them pull about an hour’s worth of footage involving my subject, while Madi chose an old Twilight Zone (“The Bard,” one of the humorous ones in which a hack television writer conjures up William Shakespeare to do some ghost writing for him) and for the next two hours, we sat in front of a monitor with headphones on, laughing and, at times, pointing to other monitors in the room (one was showing “The Trouble With Tribbles” episode of Star Trek, while another showed Lucy gagging on Vitameatavegimin). We got a particular kick out of the old commercials that were still intact on the Twilight Zone clip, for Marlboro cigarettes and Reynold’s Wrap aluminum foil, the virtues of which were extolled by a straw-hatted barbershop quartet.
After shutting off our monitor and hanging up our headphones, we decided to spend a few hours watching some of the presentations that were running in some of the theaters throughout the building, and finally settled on the program in theater four, which featured over an hour’s worth of Super Bowl commercials — some good, some bad, and some shown only once and never seen again because they were deemed too offensive or too ineffective. We thought one of the most interesting was Apple’s sequel to their incredible successful “1984″ commercial — where they unveiled the MacIntosh, as we called it back in the Dark Ages, kids. In 1985, Apple was promoting Mac Office during the Super Bowl — and given the success of their 1984 ad, expectations were running high for the new spot. The commercial — called “Lemmings” — was a failure, considered too dark and rather sick, and was never shown again. But see what you think. Here it is:
We ended our day with a slow walk back to Penn Station, where we ate pizza in Bryant Park, tried unsuccessfully to locate an open bookstore, and munched on doughnuts (which I slobbed all over myself, much to Madi’s enjoyment) while we waited for our train. We finally made it home well after midnight — and here at noon now, I only just heard Madi get out of bed. But you know what? She deserves the late morning. It was one of the nicest days I’ve spent in a long time, just hanging out in New York with my kid.
Once again, apologies for neglecting the ol’ blog. I’ve been away, but not idle. Here’s a rundown on what’s happened over the last 13 days:
- I turned a year older, and celebrated my birthday by painting the concrete floor of our living room, mowing the lawn, and having dinner with my wife and my dad. The perfect way to spend one’s birthday, if I may so. And I do say so.
- I had an incredibly productive day at the Library of Congress, running down some long-lost newspaper stories and advertisements related to Project Blue Harvest. Nothing major, but lots of little things that make those Wow, I Didn’t Know That moments that give your subject life.
- I finished reading The Road to Xanadu, the first book in Simon Callow’s masterful biography of Orson Welles. Next up: part two, Hello, Americans!
- I had two exciting conversations relating to Washington Irving: An American Original — and hope to have something to tell you here shortly.
- I replaced my peezacrap eight-year-old HP laptop — which weighs 300 pounds, has a loose ‘Y’ key, and will only open documents in Safe Mode — with a much lighter, quicker, and convenient MacBook.
- And finally, I’m leaving for New Mexico tomorrow to enjoy a bit of R&R, visit my Mom, see my brother (who just happens to be in Albuquerque this week for his high school reunion) and his family, hang out with my pals, and come whizzing back to Maryland with my kid, who’s been out west all summer. And don’t get between me and the big steaming plate of Los Cuates’ carne adovada I’m having mere moments after my plane lands. Because I will knock you down. Hard.
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