art

what I'd really like would be able to devote my time and energy to collecting art and reading. Is that really all that much to ask? I want to stop having to go to work. I want to spend more time in the garden. I have two gardens by the way. One flower garden and one vegetable garden. In the vegetable garden I have corn and tomatos growing. I planted the tomatos, and i'm really not sure why the corn is growing. I imagine that it came by way of a racoon or something of the sort ringing it through and dropping it off in the garden. either way, it's pretty cool that I have corn growing. I can't wait for the roma tomatos to ripen either, so that I can make sauce. I also want to go to Chadd's Ford, PA to the Wyeth museum. I love the work of NC Wyeth and his son Andrew, as well as Jamie, the son of Andrew. I used to read a lot too, and I haven't had the time or energy to read in the past 2 years or so. I used to think of myself as very cultured and high brow, but now I'm just a dad and that's all i have the time for.

no reservations

When the show first started, I thought No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain was the most brilliant thing on television. I had read his book, Kitchen Confidential (which my blog title nods to) and thought that he was this total bad ass, doesn't give a shit kinda punk rock guy. I thought that he was an unapoligetic prick, and the first season of No Reservations confirmed it. He was brash and arrogant, he smoked and drank and while totally respectful of his environs, he was critical of anything he found to be less than perfect. But I just watched the debut of the new season, and the show has gone progressively down hill. He has become too much of a kiss ass. He's lost his edge. He's lost his opinion. He's totally complacent and doesn't stand up for anything. The edge and grit that got him to where he is today is totally gone, and it's totally disheartening. He's no longer worth watching, because there is no longer the potential that he will snap and get in a fight, or drink too much and make an ass of himself. He's just some dopey dude on a great vacation.

"Cocktails at 6 Sonny." my father called after me as I walked up the stairs to the small room that I grew up in, with model trains, planes and various reminders of my youth spent in quiet introspection. "ok dad, I'll be ready."
My father and I were playing in a member/guest golf tournament at his club, and tonight was the "Mens Grill". Starting off with cocktails from 6-8, then a steak dinner with plenty of beer and wine, and ending the night with gin rummy and backgammon tournaments to the wee hours. I had played in this tournament for the past 8 years and day one of play was always tough. "I'll be ready in 20 minutes." I called down the stairs

Fruit

Matt ### was a very good friend of mine. I don't exactly know when it was that we met or specifically how long we had been friends, but I've known him for as long as I can remember. He was a very tall and lanky sort of fellow, and quite goofy in his own way. But despite being goofy, we was an accomplished tennis player, and as a young man he was being groomed for a professional career. He was affectionately known to his friends as "fruit" because he was a bit of a fruit cake. As the years progressed, we saw less and less of each other, but we would still have a good time when we got together. I didn't notice the changes in him right away, and really just thought of the changes as fruit just being funny. I had several friends that thought wierd was funny, and just thought that he was one of them. In our teenage years we had experimented with drugs and alcohol, but for most of us it had ended with that; experimentation. Years later I would come to realize that perhaps for fruit, it was more than just childish experimentation. He would make little comments about certain things that upon thought leads me to think that his mind was going. One of the last times I saw him he was telling me that people he saw driving on the road thought that he smelled and that he suspected they thought that I smelled too. At that point, I decided that I missed my friend. Last I heard he had been involved in a hit and run and had fleed the state and was staying with his sister down south somewhere.

In the still heat of a mid summer night, the sound of crickets blend magically with the gentle rolling of waves on the beach. sitting on the deck, closed in by the scrub brush of Wauwinet, several bottles of wine and enough cigarettes to keep us going until dawn. Sitting with my best friends in the world, discussing things that really matter. Prep school scandal, fishing, who's doing who, who's a douche bag, friends that have fallen out of favor. The deck lit only by a string of large bulb Christmas lights. There was a faint sea breeze coming off the atlantic that made the mid august night bearable. Among all of the topics of conversation was the criticizing of friends old and new. It was great fun telling stories fun and famous. Embarassing and assinine. These are the times that really matter. The times where you can truly be yourself around an army of people that would do anything for you. These men; bankers, brokers and lawyers. Neer do wells, fools and deviants. All living completely different lives in their own ways can come together at any given moment and be children once more. Forget the stresses and responsibilities of life and drink irresponsibly. Most of them had quit smoking years ago, yet whenever they get together and are deep in the cups, smoking comes quit naturally.

She walked into the cafe cold and wet. Her hair was drenched despite her efforts to keep it dry with the most recent edition of FADER magazine... She was fucking cool... I always loved the fact that we were able to talk about music, and all music too. She wasn't limited to any one type of music. To look at her, you would have thought that without question, all she listened to was techno/house crap. She had chestnut colored hair and dark eyes. She was short, 5' at best, but she carried herself like an amazon. She was scrappy and gregarious but with a tender side that was unrivaled. I sat alone at the table in the cafe with my elbows on my knees, and my face 3 or 4" from the travel section of the new york times. I knew that she had entered, but I didn't lift my eyes from my reading. she saw me from across the room and made her way over and sat down. I looked up and said hi. "hi" she said smiling sweetly. I sat back in the chair and looked her up and down. "raining?" I asked. "yes baby, it's raining." was all she said. I pulled a box of cigarettes from my pocket and slid on out. I hesitated a second before I put it between my lips and lit it. "When did you start smoking again?" she asked? "when I decided that it wasn't worth it to deprive myself of things that I like."

I thought that one day I would be this incredibly well respected creative mind that was good at everything that I did. I thought that I would be a triple threat and then some. Film, Literature and art. I thought that at this point in my life I would have published works of fiction, my name on a few well respected independant films and an burgining art collection filled with mostly young upcoming artists. I have always thought of myself in a greater light than my current state. Short of all this, I also wanted to be involved in building and gardening and landscape design. I think of myself in terms of art and design. Intellectual persuits. I wanted to be able to persue all of the things that interested me without fear or worry about how to make it all work financially. I never thought in terms of making money, because I thought that if you did what you loved the money would come. but now I find myself working my ass off trying to make ends meet and being too tired at the end of the day to write, or create a wonderful meal, or work in the garden. I'm lucky if I have the time and energy to shower. I want the opportunity to be financially secure enough to persue these things, but for now i'm just tired.

insomnia

so it's about 2am and i'm on the couch. when i attempted to go to sleep, my son was in my bed and taking up the better part of my side, and being very restless. so, here i am. it's been a while since i've posted, and i'm not really sure what to write, but I figure if I get started, something will come to me. I drove out to our house in Milford, CT tonight to mow the lawn, and on the way I saw that there was a sailing race in progress, and with the warm weather coming my mind as always turns to the water. I remember fondly my youth spent on the water and long to return to a life of sailing.

Test

IPad

preppy

I think that there is a common misconception on what it means to be preppy these days. Preppy isn't a style. It isn't something tangible that you can deffinitively say, "oh look. that guys a prep." It's a way of life, a state of mind. Most people that I would catagorize as preppy, wouldn't necissarily call themselves such. the style of dress that comes from this is always an natural, and unforced style that just seems to suit the person. it's an unexamined look, that naturally looks nice. clothing designers try and imitate this look and market it to the masses, and these days have been quite successful. like j crew and vineyard vines, even the gap and banana republic. but if you examine what it means to be preppy you'll see that it's not something that you can buy, or put on. you don't have to be born of priveledge, but having gone to private school of some kind is almost prerequisite. Whether it's boarding or day, this kind of enviornment is pivotal to the growth and nurturing of the young prep. You can't buy culture or class, and that being said, another key to defining a prep is a love of art, literature and culture. you're average prep is a voratious reader and prides himself on having a solid knowledge of the finer things in life like wine, film, politics, and art. it's easy to be a pocketbook prep, who's trying to buy their way out of wherever it is they came from, but true prep is born deep within and can't be taken away. whether you're a builder or a banker, gardener or gourmand, it's an unappoligetic way to present yourself to the world. hold your head up high fellow preppies, it's a cruel world. i'm off to finish my glass of wine and head to bed.

Deer Tick

I recently came across a band that I love. Deer Tick is an alt-country act that really strattles many genre's with a deep gutteral voice booming over steel guitar, fiddles and an amazing rock-a-billy/outlaw sensibility. On the surface, there is an obvious punk influence as well, but the sonic force and originality of this young artist renew my faith that there are young guys out there making great music forward facing with healthy respect to the past. Another band that got me this excited a couple of years ago was Two Gallants, whose debut record, The Throes, blew me away with it's throw back song writing with nods to the delta blues, as well as Bob Dylan.
Solid stuff.

rain

I love it when it rains. Especially at the beach. I love a cool rainy autumn day at the beach. One of my favorite places in the world is Nantucket in October, with a light rain. Fishing in the morning and then reading by a fire while the rain taps out a methodic tone on the window. I should have lived in london or seattle. I get depressed when it's sunny for too long. there is something thereputic about a good rain, however recently I haven't been reading as much as I'd like, or as much as I used to, and a good hard rain always reminds me that I miss reading. Even the chill you get from being out in the rain for too long makes me feel good. taking a long hot shower when you're chilled to the bone is one of the greatest feeling in the world.

Saturday in the city

So, on Saturday night I went out with the boys in New York, we were supposed to meet up around 2pm and then head to Brooklyn for some good old fasioned drinking. Well, Brooklyn didn't really pan out. I got into the city around 1, and made my way from Harlem/125th st to the Upper East Side, where we were to all meet up, and the birthday boy was not there yet. He was to be on his way, so we went to lunch. after lunch we had ice cream and went for a windy walk in the park. three dudes eating ice cream and strolling along the river. a little suspect I know, but it was kinda nice. We went back to my friends apartment and watched baseball and waited for the birthday boy to arrive. He showed up around 4:30 with beer, and we all had a few and shot the breeze. then we went out to a bar and ate and drank like grown-ups, which doesn't happen all that often. This was to be the pre-game. from there some of us who were looking to get a little loose went to some less reputable establishments on the UES. Toward the end of the night, there were only two of us left and thinking that it was a good idea, we decided to stop and one last place on the way home. i'm really glad that we did. There were a couple of drunk trollops hanging out, being really loud and obnoxious. another group of girls called them whores, and it almost went to blows. I was rooting for it and thought that it would be fun to see a good old fasioned girl fight, but alas it was not to be. All in all, it was a tame night, and I'm a little embarrased that I don't have any good stories to relay.

please indulge my little rant

Before I get to talking about my adventures last night, I want to first talk about something that bothered me today as I was riding the train home. Before I left the city I grabbed my friends copy of the New Yorker to read on the excriciatingly painful ride home, hung over and with a bad case of the "I hate me"'s. whatever, that's not all that important. What is important is what is going on in publications that were once about culture and intellectual persuit. I'm not really an angel or puritanical in any way. I'm not a prude and I'm actually quite fond of expletives, and use them more often than I should. Some might even say that I talk like a sailor most of the time. But, that being said, I found myself getting increasingly more annoyed and almost offended by the fact that every story that I read was loaded with profanity. I mean, really. What's the deal? The New Yorker is a publication that should hold itself to a higher standard. It should be a beacon of culture and shouldn't dumb itself down. I realize that in todays society, the use of profanity isn't as shocking and inappropriate as it once was. and hearing four letter words constantly throughout the day isn't unusual, but is there any limit? At what point do you say enough? I feel like writing like that is lazy and lacks creativity.

an evening of sophisticated tippling

Well, my wife just left with the kids, and pretty soon I will be boarding a train to the center of the universe and for those who aren't aware, Manhattan is the center of the universe. I'm supposed to meet up with my friends to celebrate a birthday, and that part of the evening (or actually, the afternoon) will take place in Brooklyn. the place where the hipsters dwell. don't get me wrong, I love hipsters. I once aspired to be a kind of quasi hipster, but I was never really cool enough, and I don't wear glasses, and I don't believe in socialism, or think that Che Gueverra was the second coming. But, either way, Brooklyn will be fun. On normal occasions I believe that gentlemen don't drink before 5pm, and that cocktail hour is a sacred institution that is going the way of the wing tip and cravat, but on special occasions I will imbibe prior to the golden hour of 5pm, but only beer which is something I rarely touch. After my sojourn to Brooklyn, i will make my way into Manhattan where i will responsibly drink bourbon and making sparkling, coherent convrsation with anyone who will listen.
Have a lovely evening boys and girls.

introduction

Just a quick note to get things started. There are several things in which I consider myself, and one of those things is a WASP, which is an acronym for White Anglo-Saxon Protestent. There is no real significance to that, even though the title of this blog is Wasp Confidential. It was more of a place holder than anything else. If there are any other wasp's out there that happen upon this blog, then perhaps you've had some of the same or similar experiences that have made you the person that you are today. I know that being a wasp has somehow defined me and led me one way or another based solely on the way that other people have perceived me, but this isn't really about that! I just enjoy writing and thought that I had something to say that there may be a person or two interested in it.
So, now. I will try and post as often as I can, and I can assure you that it will be around cocktail hour (which is later now that I have kids), and with drink in hand, and song in heart I will talk about things that don't matter and maybe will make you laugh and perhaps think, but in the absence of those things, maybe it's better than watching bad reruns on television