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The idea for travelling in Scotland, to spend a week playing golf, was my father's. He proposed it four years ago, and for the last three, I had resisted. My reservations were various, but the reasons why I changed my mind over those years were also diverse and different. Still, one of the conditions that I wanted my father to meet was to let me ( Read more... )

while driving with the family, listening to the Met Opera channel on satellite radio.

Dad: "So what's {Wagner's The Flying Dutchman} about ( Read more... )

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I spent the Easter weekend in New York. My parents had gone on a cruise that was docking in Manhattan, thereby creating a critical mass of filial matter that had inexorably dragged me into its orbit. Weekends with parents usually revolve around two activities: eating and watching movies. All of the real conversation happens at table. Dealing ( Read more... )

LittleSister is rolling into town on a bit of an East Coast filial tour (she's been spending the last few days in New York with OlderSister). Schedule tonight is to pick her up at 6pm, get haircuts at Liquid at 7, then go over to River Gods at 9 and where she'll spin a guest DJ set with her old WZBC cronies at Ointment. If you've got a free ( Read more... )

Late afternoon, last Friday, I was sitting in a Green Line D train car, waiting to head to the airport and charting out my schedule for the evening. Drove home from work, bus to the T station, T ride to airport, flight to LaGuardia, bus to Grand Central, subway to the hotel. I was thinking that I needed another car segment in there for symmetry's ( Read more... )

I picked up a weird headache somewhere near final approach into Logan. I was thinking that maybe it was something to do with the descent and air pressure changes, but the headache didn't go away after we landed. I resolved to treat myself to a cab ride home, rather than take the T and bus back. Besides, migraine induced crankiness, train crowds ( Read more... )

Sunday, 13 July 2003On Sunday morning, before I left for North Carolina, my sister took me to Cendrillon, a Filipino restaurant in SoHo. As befits the neighborhood pedigree, Cendrillon had a well composed look of tall ceilings, exposed brick and understated folk art. "Surprisingly nice," was my comment to my sister, as we waited for seats ( Read more... )

Thursday 20 Mar 2003 Father Gallende was a kindly, old Italian priest who could speak fluent Tagalog and thickly accented English. He was the pastor of San Agustin Church, the oldest church in Manila, and one of the few buildings that survived the Japanese occupation in WWII. He's also in my aunt's book club, so when I decided that I wanted to ( Read more... )