In passing ...

We lost a neat woman the other day, just a special person. My wife's second cousin Marie O'Neill passed away at the age of 85. Her health had been failing lately and she passed on earlier this month. We couldn't attend the funeral service in Connecticut because of the bad weather. We will make time for a memorial service later on, however.

She was a great lady and I loved her laugh and her smile. She never married and I knew that she taught English in New Canaan, a leafy, well to do suburb in Connecticut. One of her students was Rick Moody, the short tory writer and novelist who wrote The Ice Storm. At the premiere of the movie, he was asked about his influences. Instead of saying the usual suspects like John Cheever or Updike, he mentioned his eighth grade English teacher and how she made an impact on him.

Here is Mari'e obituary. I knew she was a WAV in WWII but not that she was a Lieutenant Commander or that she had taught in Europe. I did know tht she loved to ride around the country to visit family and friends. She hated Republicans with a passion and once wanted to know what the hell a refrigerator magnet of Richard Nixon was doing on my fridge. (It was a gift from a friend -- a close-up of Dick at his sweatiest).

I loved how she once brought her Carolla into a Toyota dealership for an oil change and walked into the showroom. After talking to the salesman, she decided it was time to buy a new car. She had more miles to travel.


Here is her obit. We miss you, Marie.

Marie Helen O'Neill, age 85, passed away Friday, March 9, 2007, at the Villas of St. Therese, in Columbus , Oh. She was born in New Haven , Conn. on July 14, 1921. Marie received her B.A. Degree in English from Albertus Magnus College in 1942, and earned her M.A. Degree in Education from Columbia University in 1955.

She served in the U.S. Navy as a Lt. Commander in the Communications Office of the Eastern Sea Frontier during WWII, which included the mapping of ship movements in the Atlantic during the war. After retiring from active service, she began and enjoyed a long fulfilling career as an elementary school teacher in Europe, and New Canaan, Conn., where she helped to shape the lives of countless children.

Marie's many travels throughout the world helped to enrich her love of nature, and the protection of the environment, which led to long associations with the National Audubon Society, and other Preservation groups. Her other favorite hobbies included attending museums, musical concerts, and other cultural and social events of all kinds. As an avid reader, she was versed in a variety of subjects, and loved to discuss and debate the current issues across the Political landscape. She was also an active volunteer to causes that helped the less fortunate. Marie will always be remembered for her unique sense of humor, and her adventuresome spirit will be greatly missed by her immediate family, and all who knew her and loved her.

Marie was preceded in death by her parents John and Mary O'Neill of New Haven , Conn. , her brother John J. O'Neill, Jr. and her brother-in-law John S. Bird. Marie is survived by her sister, Eileen Bird of Ohio (John); sister-in-law, Jessie O'Neill of Washington , D.C. (John). Marie is also survived by nieces and nephews, Mary Diamond (Bruce), John O'Neill Jr. (Martha), John Bird Jr., David Bird (Jeanette), Barbara Douglas (Brad), Kathy Cox (Michael) and Stephen O'Neill (Karen). She is also survived by great-nieces and nephews, Martha, Jessie and John Diamond, Carleigh, Madeline and John Douglas, Jack and Sam O'Neill, Benjamin O'Neill, Morgan Vickers, David Bird, Michael, Katie, Rachel, Matthew and Sean Cox and Anna Bird. Funeral from SISK BROTHERS FUNERAL HOME, 3105 Whitney Ave., Hamden, Conn., Saturday at 9 a.m. Mass of Christian Burial at 9:30 a.m. in St. Aedan Church, Fountain St., New Haven. Burial will follow in St. Lawrence Cemetery. Visitation will be Saturday from 8:15-9 a.m.
In lieu of flowers, contributions to the National Audubon Society or the Villas at St. Therese, 25 Noe-Bixby Dr., Columbus, Oh. 43213.

The Shame of London vs New York

Talk about your coincidences. Next month's cover story of Waters is about the chance that New York might be losing its financial crown to London. I pitched the story to my reporter Emily and I liked the neat irony that she is a Brit and will be looking at the local/global story as a US reporter.

Then last week New York magazine has a cover story theme issue that just reeks of a huge staff tackling a juicy subject. The same subject you can all read in my magazine next week. It was an entire issue dedicated to NYC and London. Who is the leader in the arts, entertainment, dining, living and global finance? It was very well done and you should def check it out. The magazine was a tad defensive -- hell, it is New York magazine afterall, but they did capture the notion that London is very much on the rise. It is the global city to watch.

I have some mixed thoughts on London. I love the history of the city and it's very neat to see the old architecture and the street names that bring back some novels I haven't read since college. It certainly has a pulse and there is a ton of money floating around there. The people are generally nice and seemed not interested in blaming me for the American-made woes in the world. But then again, they have no problem describing how much they detest President Bush. Not disagree with his policies but truly loathe the man. Oh, and Israel isn't popular either.

But what is it about London that I don't like? It's simple: it has a thuggish air about it. I feel like I could get jumped by a group of drunken teenage girls. I feel like a soccer hooligan can throw a drink in my face and steal my cell phone. The drinking is outrageous over there and I attended a SUNY school not far from the Canadian border.

A friend has relocated to London with her banker husband and two sons. She is adjusting well but she is having trouble matching the prim accents and smart clothes with the loutish behavior. She has seen drunks screaming at one another in broad daylight, mothers behaving badly with their children and her mind reels at the conversations around security systems and the rash of break-ins. I can relate - on my last trip to London someone was apparently stabbed outside the hotel where I was staying. When I checked out, a maid was furiously scrubbing the sidewalk.

So, what is causing this bad behavior? The excessive drinking is a cue and key ingrediant, to be sure. But maybe it's because the UK doesn't have a shaming culture the way the US does. If you misbehave here, scolds on the right and the left will gladly tell you where you screwed up and how you are a bad person. Having sex outside of marriage? The Christian Conservatives will tell you all about hell and loose morals. Have uncharitable thoughts about gays or minorities? The PC patrol on the left will tell you you are intolerant and need to change your thinking.

I don't think this exists in the UK. Do they have evangelicals, pentecostals and fundamentalists keeping one and all in God's line? Do they have liberal academics and columnists telling us that some thoughts are racist, sexist and homophobic and will not be tolerated? I don't think that exists in England.

Add in a lack of church attendence, and it's a wonder any laws are followed.

In through the window

What a week. Last Saturday, there was 10 inches of ice-covered snow outside with two foot drifts at the front and back doors. I couldn't let the dog out to do his business. I also couldn't get out to start the shovelling. Wunnerful. So, being the Man of Action that everyone secretly knows me to be, I donned my shovelling gear and opened the window of the TV room. I handed my wife the shovel, parted the curtains and slipped out into the white frontier. And then sank up to my knees in snow.

Yup, I had to exit through the window.

Fast forward: The neighbors joined us to help clear the driveway we all share. Once we realized that the driveway was more icy snow than powder, I suggested that one of the teens hail any truck with a plow. After one stopped and agreed to clear our driveway, I ran to the house for cash. We hadn't gone to an ATM in ages but we scrounged togther 38 bucks. The guy in the truck asked for only $10 or $15 so I gave him the top amount and asked for his phone number. His wife/girlfriend was happy to oblige. You could tell that the mild winter had taken a hit on their personal economy and they were grateful for this late snowfall. I was happy not to break my back chipping the hard stuff and hauling it over the fence.

I saw The Departed, the film that won Martin Scorsese his Oscar for Goodfellas and Taxi Driver. Not a great film but a terrific cat and mouse flick. I had a ball and I actually liked watching two actors I have never thought much about -- Leonardo DiCaprio and Matt Damon. I'd like to rent this again from NetFlix just to count how many people get shot in the head. I think it's at least six or eight but it might be more.

I am reading A Coffin For Dimitrios, a thriller by Eric Ambler, the master of this genre. (Man, how I hate that word). You can see why Alan Furst adores his writing and uses him as a guide every single time he writes a WWII thriller of his own. Definitely check it out.

Some picture blogging -- on a mild Daylight Sunday

A boy and his orange paint.


The hands tell the tale.


Some flowers outsidde in the backyard.


Two angels and a green pillow.


An angel outdoors.

Thomas The Bitch Engine

The boys are watching Toy Story 2 and basking in the Buzz Lightyear introductory scene. It's a welcome relief from the Thomas the Tank Engine DVDs they have been devouring for more than a year. An actual story -- where things happen. Characters are revealed and developed. The surfaces have actual textures. In the endless Thomas videos, the different trains and engines moan and bitch at one another in their simpering British accents.

It's the video equivalent of working in an office of women.

Oh, dear. Was that my outside voice?

Chief comments

A few days ago I posted that when I saw the F-105 Thunderchief at the New England Air Museum, I was amazed that the thing was so huge. I still am -- it's ginormous for a fighter. I saw an F-14 Tomcat inside the same wing of the museum and I would have been certain that the Tomcat would be larger than the Thunderchief. I also remarked that the USAF probably couldn't wait to get rid of this pig. I remember one documentary that said the Thunderchief needed plenty of maintenance after each flight. I got the impression that the F-4 Phantom was therefore more reliable as a fighter bomber. Besides, the Navy and Marine Corp clearly didn't see it as a viable option or they would have asked for versions of their own, much like the Phantom and one of my fave jets, the A-7 Corsair.

I received an email from USAF pilot who flew several missions in the 'chief. He was insulted that I quoted my son by saying 'oink oink' about the jet he flew and clearly loved. No offense meant, sir. It is a damned impressive jet and I remain baffled that it was really that huge.

It does look like it would be fun to fly one, though. That's for sure.

Books n flicks

My first week as just Special Projects Editor is over and so far, so good. It is an almost out of body experience to watch someone else do my job of the past three and a half years. Wow, it really is a full-time job, I said as I did the second job I have been doing at the time, namely the special projects.

We had a wicked downpour on Thursday night/Friday morning and regina and I woke to find a small flood in the basement. Let's just say we had some puddles and a small hole with water streaming out. Not a trickle -- actual force and volume, like you turned on the faucet half-way. We bailed and laid out towels and fired up the wet-dry vac. The filter was so old it couldn't handle the force of the water being sucked in so we went to a pair of Home Depots for a new filter. Once afixed, the sucking commenced.

Watched more of the second Season of The Office (US). It's very well done and is getting more wonderful with each episode. They soften Pam's bofriend from a thuggish lout to sweet if thoughtless loser. Dwight Shrute is a wonder and the actor Rainn Wilson was born tomplay this overbearing psycho who will ruin everyone's life once he is promoted to any position of power.

I am reading Low Life, a survey of old New York from the 1840s until the 1930s. NYC was, in short, a magnicently dirty and dangerous place to live. This isn't your father's Henry James novel. In fact, I bought this book of of Amazon with Edith Wharton's House of Mirth. Not a gilded age in the pages of Low Life.

The other morning, I cashed in some pounds at Grand Central and I laid the book on the counter. The guy behind the counter looked at the cover and said, "Low Life, eh? Is it about George Bush?"

Everyone's a critic.