Here’s a story I’ve been telling for years, because I love it. New York City, maybe seven or eight years ago, a man living with a female roommate on Tompkins Square Park became famous for serving soup to the homeless.

This man made enough soup to feed all the homeless for days on end and news crews came out in force and hailed him a hero. As a result of the intense media glare it became apparent that the hero’s female roommate was missing.

Got it? Roommate Soup. Totally true story.

Today I was regaling my friend Cee, a poet and a traveler. However, just as I said “Tompkins Square Park” Cee raised her blue inked hands with tattoos of dog paw prints and squiggles, and waved them, she was already giggling. I was a little annoyed because this tale is a real favorite and momentum is best not interrupted.

“Let me finish!” I begged, hoping to quieten her.
“No!” Cee was laughing loud. “I was there! I ate the roommate soup!”

I was aghast. This was a fresh twist for me entirely. But this is Cee, my dear friend the occasionally indigent traveler and poet. I was shocked and began to reflect on that era when I too was living in New York City, albeit uptown and in an apartment and buggering the life out of a wholesale wool business, and rather miserable. Amazing to think, at that very same time, Cee was downtown and in the park with her sleeping bag, and sipping soup.”I wish we had known each other then! So how did the soup taste?”

“I remember exactly how it was seasoned,” Cee said. “It was delicious!”

Yesterday, after lunch with legendary local visionary and developer David Wolkowsky we sauntered off to visit the Key West Museum of Art & History.

David Wolkowsky at the Tennessee Williams exhibit, Key West, Florida January 2014

The former Custom House is a 19th century redbrick castle and houses permanent collections from the likes of the late local sculptor/painter Carlos Sanchez, another room devoted to Ernest Hemingway’s books and writing and from now until April please revel in the charms of an exhibition of paintings by the very excellent Tennessee Williams.

David says, “Tennessee did all these paintings on Ballast Key [David’s private island] and he fussed a great deal about how he could only paint if he had ample red wine and Billie Holliday on the record player. And there were no such supplies on the island! So we went to some trouble to get him everything he needed and sorted out.”

One painting, named A Child’s Garden of Roses, depicts Truman Capote shooting a gun. David explained to me, “This was Tennessee’s revenge for a blind piece Truman wrote for Esquire, slyly referring to dog walkers and hustlers, and while no names were mentioned, Tennessee knew it was about him, and had the last laugh!”

Almost all the paintings in the show belong to David Wolkowsky. He and Tennessee Williams were great friends, and this is a delightful tribute to an artist of deep and far reaching qualities.

A Child’s Garden of Roses, by Tennessee Williams who in a fit of pique depicts a tiny Truman Capote firing a gun, symbolizing his acts of sabotage, self-wounding and otherwise.

Due to my frivolous nature I visited New York for the holiday parties. A highlight was dinner with Rachel. I reminded her of countless creative transgressions and she was embarrassed. She had forgotten many salient details of our adventures! Turns out, these days, she’s a big shot with a successful catering business. Money suits her and I tell her as much. Sadly for me she was off for to Palm Beach for Christmas. 

I attended everything and finally the parties ended. The well-heeled went wheels up and away. But I stayed on as I had access to an empty apartment, a massively comfortable loft on Fourteenth Street with TV screens the size of Cadillacs. Christmas Eve, after my final blow out at some posh uptown thing with lobster this and truffle that I returned to the loft and fired up a movie (made by the tycoon, the movie producer and an actor by the name of Alec Baldwin). Really it is a mockumentary, called Seduced and Abandoned. You can find it on HBO, I fell asleep on the fourth viewing. I loved it!

Christmas Day around 2pm and I was sound asleep. But a bell was ringing. I opened my eyes and sniffed at the cold air and immediately burrowed back to sleep. More insistent and urgent bell ringing continued. I tried to hide under the thin blanket but the sound of bells never stopped. Half awake and annoyed as I knew this interruption could not be for me I found a coat and as I surged toward the front door, I was pulling on the coat, and grumbling, and opened the first of three glass doors. A tall man swaddled in winter woolies was standing outside and waving two large brown paper sacks, with handles. Somehow we communicated that the bags in his hands were for me.

This made no sense and I was confounded. Yet sure enough I opened the doors and the man handed over the bags. He made gestures to confirm he did not want money or a signature. Then he was gone. The door slammed back shut, bringing with it a full body shivering of freezing air. 

 Except now I had these two enormous paper bags, with handles. I peered in and saw containers with clear lids of food. I scurried to the kitchen and unpacked. I discovered tubs of everything I love. Boringly, I have complicated food issues and here was everything I can eat. This had to be from someone who knows me very well.

Once I was sated, stuffed like Pooh Bear, I waddled contentedly over and checked my phone. Ten texts from Rachel asking me if I got the goodies! What an excellent Christmas Day feast I had! I am so grateful to have my old friend back. 

Thank you Rachel!

 I sincerely hope for all of us this New Year brings new friends and opportunities and old friends made new once more. Happy New Year!

With Christmas in view I’m reminded of a time with Rachel, eons ago, when I was in Los Angeles. I was renting a bedroom in a mansion halfway up one of the Hollywood canyons. These canyons are a place to run into movie stars as well as hustlers. My roommate, a hustler, was gone on some sort of all-expenses-paid ho vacation with a B-list actor.

In this case while Rachel didn’t deliver to her credit she didn’t get arrested. Cuba Libre!

I eventually made it to New York City and partook of a fine evening with the tycoon and the movie producer. At one point I found myself explaining my recent unseemly conduct. I plead my case, I had a reason, albeit flimsy, why I was so keen to attend that Palm Beach Thanksgiving party. I explained that I was curious to see a certain someone who shall remain nameless. I just had to see for myself. Crucial statistics for my Large Animal Research Station. I trust my motives were understood and I was pardoned.

Sure enough I had gathered some raw figures for crunching, the coltran of data. I truly was the last guest to leave. I am a person of extremes. If I show up at all I tend to overstay my welcome. In truth, I did not want to exit the magnificent pile by the sea. Secretly, I was hoping to be offered a wing. I was there adorned in my orange shawl from Walgreens. I’ll bet nobody else that night sported anything from Walgreens. Not even their cosmetics. I was a parrot fish out of water on some deeply fundamental levels. Did anyone notice my all wrong thing, I think probably.

But all this was mere foreplay as it neatly trickled into the richly random resurrection of Rachel.

Regarding the word she uttered I had to ask her as I drew a blank, but it was, enchante Which was almost right, but not. Because she never told me her name. There was nothing yet to be enchante about, as there’d been no introduction. Hence the drawn out awkward silence, like a couple of gun slingers on a dusty noontime western Main Street.

A full day later, when we reviewed this unplanned pregnant meeting, Rachel admitted she didn’t immediately reveal her name because she was considering her options. It was obvious to her I didn’t recognize her, but she also knew, because of her confoundingly pronounced lisp that if she said anything at all the jig would be up. Sounds provoke memories sharper than any Madeleine, matter of time before I discovered her true identity. Sure enough, when she said, enchante my long lost cohort came rippling into focus right in front of my eyes, like a magic trick.

Rachel is a person I have actively ducked for the past 14 years. Why, because Rachel is the third rail. What kind of trouble did Rachel stir up, two words: Steve Martin. Need I say more?

Ergo, as to Rachel, I shall proceed with a short leash.

The moral of the story is always take the better offer! Ditch your pals and grab at the shiny stuff. You’ll have better memories, only piquant regrets, and fewer people to manage in your life. Kidding!

Honestly, I’m thrilled to have Rachel back in the fold. She is fabulous company. Picture the Artful Dodger all grown up and with some dosh, that’s Rachel. Irresistible!

Once again I was expected in New York City, this time for a Thanksgiving feast with old friends, including the tycoon and the movie producer. With Sati playing loud and me skipping around my 220 sq ft home in Key West I was attempting to pack, but instead I was futzing.

As is my neurotic way I frequently check my social medias, and lo, what did I see but a message from great friend photographer Patrick McMullan. A Thanksgiving party at Terry Kramer’s in Palm Beach. I chucked my suitcase into my car, drove past the Key West airport and doffed my hat, and sped north. I had done the unthinkable, the unpardonably rude, and accepted the better offer. My New York friends were not amused. You lose some.

I picked up Patrick in Miami and the fun began. First the festive meal in the monolithic moorish Kramer palazzo, where the guests were a mix of impeccably turned out society types and celebrities. Our gracious hostess sported thick ropes of diamonds, like a rap star. After midnight, and the last to leave, we returned to Miami to Patrick’s bayside balconied flat. With many friends visiting for Art Basel we played Gin Rummy with a pack of invitations. The fun lasted a week.

But one night we met up with friends and friends of friends at a restaurant. Upon arrival we went through the ritual of greetings and introductions. Except for one lady who only smirked at me. I told her my name and waited but she continued to smirk. I felt awkward. The lady cocked her head, and grinned. I began to wonder if I was missing something. Still she remained silent, she only pursed her lips. I was entirely puzzled. She just didn’t look remotely like anyone I knew. Was she playing with me, was she having a stroke? Time ticked and we grinned oddly at one another. At last she spoke. Just one word, a French word, though she was clearly not French.

The single word without context meant virtually nothing. Yet something about it snagged me, caught my full attention. Watching her intently I rolled around the sound of her voice, matching it up against the files of my memory banks. The tone triggered something, nagged at me.

But now that voice was in my head, and it caught me short. Tugging an implausible idea into view. Shy to even dare, because I was unsure, I mouthed at her, “Rachel?”

Very slowly she nodded her head, affirmatively. I was shocked.

Fourteen years since we’ve seen each other. She looks so different, all grownup and groomed and happy. We used to cause all sorts of trouble, for sport. Thankfully we were never caught. Afraid of the evident downhill slide ahead I had ruthlessly cut bait. In truth, I’ve missed her.

We both got up from the table and ran into each other’s arms. You win some. Giving thanks.

Entrance hallway at Terry Kramer’s Palm Beach mansion by the sea.
Photo by Patrick McMullan

Things change, and I felt a deep sadness when Darko, my favorite dance partner split town abruptly, and permanently. Life in Key West is an evolutionary experience. Tides swell up the beaches, water nibbling at the sand, plucking and depositing. Very gradually everything is constantly inconsistent. Twirling clouds and twisting topography, and of course the flux of people. Friends I have made have moved on, others are tipping into the beyond. Change is strange and hard to handle especially since it defies time. The big stuff often seemingly happens overnight. Hair turned bright white from fright. I blinked and looked in the mirror and there was a complete stranger looking back at me. Time flying right in my face.

TO READ MORE PLEASE FOLLOW THIS LINK…

http://www.amazon.com/Doubt-Double-Dosage-Christina-Oxenberg-ebook/dp/B00HXNK4EO/ref=tmm_kin_title_popover?ie=UTF8&qid=1390357282&sr=8-5

Was it Mark Twain who said Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to keep to possibilities; Truth isn’t.

– Well put Mr. Clemens. Some of my strangest stories are true, and so is the following:

A man I know in possession of a great quantity of guns was recently up in front of a local judge. He was there specifically for being wildly drunk at the same time as trying to drive himself home, late one night. Except he never made it because the cops pulled him over, breathalyzed him, determined he was piss drunk and locked him up overnight.

TO READ MORE PLEASE FOLLOW THIS LINK:

http://www.amazon.com/Doubt-Double-Dosage-Christina-Oxenberg-ebook/dp/B00HXNK4EO/ref=tmm_kin_title_popover?ie=UTF8&qid=1390357282&sr=8-5

My friend tells me that on the night of his birthday, which happened to have landed in the middle of Fantasy Fest, he was headed for The Chart Room, one of his favorite bars, for a nightcap. It was late in the evening and he was cruising slowly through the crowd of strangely dressed revelers when he bumped right into a body. A young slender female gorgeously sexy body attired in various black leather straps.
       “Great costume!” he said, “Where are you from?”
       “Thanks! Wisconsin!” She slurred and she fell into his chest and giggled, “You’re cute!”
       “It’s my birthday!” he said, beaming, up close.

TO READ MORE PLEASE FOLLOW THIS LINK…

My friend tells me that on the night of his birthday, which happened to have landed in the middle of Fantasy Fest, he was headed for The Chart Room, one of his favorite bars, for a nightcap. It was late in the evening and he was cruising slowly through the crowd of strangely dressed revelers when he bumped right into a body. A young slender female gorgeously sexy body attired in various black leather straps.

“Great costume!” he said, “Where are you from?”

“Thanks! Wisconsin!” She slurred and she fell into his chest and giggled, “You’re cute!”

“It’s my birthday!” he said, beaming, up close.

TO READ MORE PLEASE FOLLOW THIS LINK…