Staten Island’s Midland Beach has recovered from Hurricane Sandy – on the surface at least.
The peace and quiet belies the devastation from Hurricane Sandy from just ten months ago…tucked away in parking lots. 
Still evident on the surrounding streets. 
Construction projects dominate the ocean front.
Yes, all seems on the rise, except the ground, which is as low and flat as ever, while another hurricane season approaches. 
White: blue dots; African American: green dots; Asian: red; Latino: orange; all others: brown (Created by Dustin Cable at University of Virginia’s Weldon Cooper Center for Public Service)
See more city maps here: http://www.wired.com/design/2013/08/how-segregated-is-your-city-this-eye-opening-map-shows-you/#slideid-210281
Part two of another potential Apollo film: Dee stays at her sister Crystal’s apartment where Crystal’s boyfriend, Derek, is over for dinner. DEE goes into the bedroom after APOLLO.
CRYSTAL: Don’t let him back out! Don’t.
DEE: We’ll go for a walk in a minute.
CRYSTAL (Staring out the window): What makes fire fighters so full of shit? 
DEREK: The witching hour is upon us.
CRYSTAL: I couldn’t hear you. Too much cackling.
DERK: (Turning on the television): Have another glass. 
CRYSTAL: Like I need your permission.
DEREK: What about not getting totally fucked up?
DEE: (To CRYSTAL): Walk Apollo with me.
CRYSTAL: I can get as fucked up as I want, baby, because I know you and your friends are here to make the save.
DEE: (Standing): Come on. Let’s go.
CRYSTAL: (Refilling her glass, looking into it and then drinking everything): Acting like you’re at the center of the universe when you’re just a fat old woman watching it on TV.
DEREK: Ease up, will you?
CRYSTAL: My mother, that’s who you remind me of, my fucking mother, staring at the fucking TV, not shutting up, blah, blah, fucking blah.
DEE gets Apollo out of the bedroom and goes down the hall after him. 
CRYSTAL (Walking behind her): Your legs look good.
DEE (Letting APOLLO out): Thanks..
CRYSTAL: You working out?
DEE: Where are your shoes?
CRYSTAL checks her phone for messages. 
DEE: Hey, is everything okay?
CRYSTAL: (Not looking up):Super duper.
DEE: You’re sure you’re all right with me being in your place?
CRYSTAL: I don’t like it when you get passive on me. It’s not cool.
DEE: I don’t want to get in your space.
CRYSTAL: You were born in my space. I have to live with that. (Looking up, snapping her phone closed) You have to live with that too.
DEE: I know Apollo can be a pain.
CRYSTAL: I don’t give a shit about the dog. Why would I give a shit about the dog, except that it smells and pisses on the floor?
DEE: I’ll move as soon as I can find a place.
CRYSTAL gets her phone out again and struggles to focus on the screen. She laughs to herself and sends a reply.
DEE: What was that about mom?
CRYSTAL (Yelling back to DEREK): You passed out, baby?
DEE: What did you mean?
CRYSTAL (Looking back blankly): What?
DEE: You said something about mom. 
CRYSTAL: Mother?
DEE: You think about her like that?
CRYSTAL (Pushing DEE out and closing the door).: Try not to get raped, okay?
The boat circled below the island with the sun setting over the broken horizon, the clouds going after it, pulling each other together in the red and blue. 
There was a pool with bright blue chlorinated water like in Florida, so square and odd in the back of the boat, the river water gushing past. I sat in the corner looking at Crystal with her back to everyone, looking at the city, her elbows poking out, under the 59th Street Bridge and looking up at the dark mass, the dirt and cables, the shadows of the cars and trucks, and sank into how almost safe and eerie it was.
Lisa was in the pool and singing to Chumbawamba, delighted in herself, drinking shots, and laughing convulsively, doubling over and then trying to get out of the pool and throwing up and almost going over, and then crying, Ian holding her and then their mother, and it was sad and worse how separated I was from it and didn’t care. 
I watched the boat turning the corner, going into the Harlem River and seeing the city, the steep hill up into the Harlem, how green and wild it looked, and then the Bronx on the other side, flat dull and grey, highways and warehouses and nothing else and then Yankee Stadium, as dull and grey as everything else.
Bernardo played its first-ever gig at Hank’s Saloon in Brooklyn last night, thanks in part to Bill Murray on a bicycle.
Hank’s Saloon’s facilities
Lead man, Mike Deminico, walked into the bar a couple of weeks back, inquiring into playing at the venue, and received an indifferent response and email address. Somewhat miffed, Deminico considered abandoning the enterprise when Bill Murray bicycled past and returned Deminico’s greeting. 
His resolve buoyed, Deminico got in touch with the manager and was on stage shortly thereafter.
Mike Deminico leads Bernardo at Hank’s Saloon.
The music of Bernardo is an unadulterated pleasure, straight ahead and wildly fun; the short 35-minute set was simply not enough. Deminico promises more in the months ahead.
I went to Coney Island recently and was impelled to extract my fortune from the Zoltar machine. 
It read: You are strong believer in fate. You feel that you have no control over your destiny. Fortunately you are destined to be very happy indeed. You’ve had some trouble mostly caused by inconsideration of others. But fate will be kind to you and you can expect your life to run on a smoother pattern. You are somewhat irresponsible and that has caused you some hardships. You have a neat and tidy nature and can’t tolerate slovenliness around you. Since you demand this of yourself and others, you will always live in a tidy atmosphere. 
All of this is true but for the “strong belief in fate”, although the fact that I went to the Zoltar machine in the first place, thought about the card it produced and then posted it here might imply otherwise.
In the midst of a four-day conference on engineering the pitch, I take stock of where I am, in a complex of multi-use studios where others act, dance and sing, an ideal location for a Robert Altman film. 
The starting point of the conference is a work-shop circle, focusing on editing the pitch, ensuring the set, hook, complications, plot points and cliff hangar are in place, re-writing that again and again until the essence of my bad side is razor sharp or dead. 
The second and third days are devoted to pitch sessions, the first done in front of the group, the second and third in one-on-one speed meetings with my group leader as coach. There is a lot of sitting and staring, waiting for the door to open and my chance to go in. 
And when that comes – in the room for a second, maybe two – I can’t remember any of it except that I had said something about not wanting to change my sex and then went on about the wonder of science fiction, which my book isn’t, in other words, the bits that I would like to have back. 
Another session awaits, another chance to shine or collapse, and of course regret everything in the end.
I picked up my first rock with purpose in the summer of 1983. 
I was sitting beside the road in Prince Edward Island on a hitch-hiking journey across Canada when I saw this rock and decided I should keep a memento from each province. I continued to collect sporadically over the years. 
It became ingrained in me when I hiked the mountain trails around Vancouver, beginning in the early 1990s, bringing a rock home every time.
Crown Mountain, British Columbia
I don’t know where all of the rocks are from, although a few do stand out.
Hot Springs Cove, Vancouver Island
Acropolis, Athens, Greece
Rasafa, Syria
John Street, New York City
The collection continues to grow, maybe around 400 now. 
More space is needed. 
I just have to get my partner to agree.
We went on a brief theater rampage recently, seeing Nora Ephron’s Lucky Guy, Lyle Kesler’s Orphans and Richard Greenberg’s The Assembled Parties. 
While there is something to be said for witnessing the likes of Alec Baldwin (Orphans) and Tom Hanks (Lucky Guy) on stage, 
those plays paled in comparison to the staging of Greenberg’s work, a drama that delivers interesting characters, sharp dialogue and a sprawling, rotating New York apartment. The piece centers on those who play the stock market, reupholster chairs at exorbitant cost and attend law school to delay life decisions, people who judge and glibly self-reflect, and yet are endearing in some aspect. 
The play asks much, answers little and lacks a coherent beginning and end…indeed is much like modern-day life. Interestingly enough, the play had to be recently edited after the Boston Marathon bombing, due to a reference made to a Harvard student making a bomb for extra-credit, an image that certainly matches the tenor of the work and our times.
There was a fire on Fulton Street – on the other side of our block – on March 18. (Click on image for video.)
Demolition crews arrived two weeks later and have steadily reduced the building, story by story. (Click on image for video.)
It has been a fascinating procedure to witness – the meticulous and pounding aspects of such a reduction – almost like watching a fireplace. (Click on image for video.)
It is certainly an excellent distraction from writing.
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