Happy Mother’s Day

It’s still strange that someone celebrates this day with me in mind.  We had a lovely picnic in Prospect Park and recalled the picnics we used to take in Paris and dreamed of taking Julian there someday soon…

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It happened today…

…that moment when I knew I’d been in New York for a long long long time.

I remember my 22-year old self thinking that I would have these “I used to do this” kind of conversation with someone someday…I just didn’t realize it would happen, well, now?

I was talking to a younger co-worker about going dancing. Seemed simple enough. Before I knew it I had launched into a serious diatribe about our beloved Don Hills.  Sigh.  I was recalling a “once was” time about something that is just a shadow of it’s former glory.  Sigh, again.

Does anyone remember the nights of TisWas?  When Blur , Pulp, Suede and Stereophonics ruled the dance floor (along with the Culkin brothers)?  Blogger William Gone writes “The club was also a destination for stateside fans of Britpop. In the dark and Anglophobic days of the early-’00s garage rock movement, the Tiswas party kept the Union Jack fluttering over the local club scene. Billed as an “indiepop electro dance party,” Tiswas was friendly to English bands and New York groups with transatlantic sympathies. The Strokes, Interpol, the Mooney Suzuki, A Place to Bury Strangers, The Realistics and other popular New York bands all played Tiswas before achieving international fame. Spacehog — a British band living in the United States — rocked the party, as did Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr.”

We were there…my friends and I.  We lived through that.  We had a front row seat.  This place suited us, not too pretentious, not too underwhelming. Great music, good atmosphere and fantastic people.  You felt like you belonged there.  There was a promise of a good time.  We used to pretend we were an all girl band and convinced passersby that we were going somewhere.  That they should come to see us.  That we needed to be seen.  Don Hill’s broke Jenny’s nose and prevented her from going to basic training, which, in turn, prevented her from going to Iraq.

I couldn’t have said it better…so, for now, I’ll leave you with an obituary of one of NY’s greatest venues. Or am I really mourning myself? Sigh, trois.