Any of several oxlike Old World mammals of the family Bovidae, such as the water buffalo and African buffalo.
The North American bison, Bison bison.
To intimidate, as by a display of confidence or authority: “The board couldn't buffalo the federal courts as it had the Comptroller” (American Banker).
To deceive; hoodwink: “Too often... job seekers have buffaloed lenders as to their competency and training” (H. Jane Lehman).
To confuse; bewilder.
With one exception, and that was two years ago, I have spent every Thanksgiving weekend since 1989 four-hundred miles away in Buffalo, New York. Actually, it's not exactly Buffalo. It's a Buffalo suburb named North Tonawanda. For me, however, it's all Buffalo. Niagara Falls is Buffalo. Orchard Park where the football Bills play, is Buffalo. Attica where the famous prison is, is Buffalo.
For me, Buffalo has never been the butt of jokes. As a city, Buffalo has always been a friendly lady. On every return, she greets me with her familiar cold breath and bare trees and warm homes and abundant food. Buffalo gives me the opportunity to be Polish once a year. It allows me to gather and act gregariously with familiar faces. Buffalo is my social club.
Although the flavor and timbre of Buffalo is mid-western, as Washington, D.C. is also incongruent with its southern feel, Buffalo was my first exposure to the east coast of the United States. In 1986 I was here for a wedding that didn't last long. I was dating my wife at the time and her cousin was getting married. My then girlfriend insisted and insisted that I go with her to this wedding event. We were living in Tucson, Arizona at the time. I had never been to the east coast and the trip presented itself with the opportunity to stay a week after the wedding and parlay a visit to Toronto, Ontario.
It was a memorable trip. We stayed at my girlfriend's grandparents' home for that first visit. I got to hear mass in Polish, I ate duck blood soup and ate hot wings at The Anchor Bar, I visited Canada, saw Niagara Falls, read a plaque commemorating the site of where U.S. President William McKinley was shot to death, drank beer I've never heard of, I was introduced to an army of family and friends. Family whose last names had many consonants and many ended with the letter "I" or "Y", and I was a very popular polka partner. No palm trees, no sand, no surf......Buffalo, baby!
Three and a half years later, my girlfriend who is now my wife and I, decided to move away to the east coast to seek career advancement. We moved to New York City. Having done that, Buffalo then became a second home. My wife was able to visit her grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins much more often over on the other side of New York State. I then got the opportunity to get to know that side of her family fairly well. I also incorporated a new stable of guy friends: all the husbands, the cousins and their friends.
So, since 1989, the last Thursday in November it's over the hills and through the woods to grandmother's house we go and into a world of excess. It is a world filled with the cackle of family, of alcohol, cigars, food, guns, sports, pool playing, guy talk, bars, snow and extreme weather. All this just 400 miles away. It's just like living in Nogales. A different border city, but it lies along the U.S. border nonetheless.
Truthfully, I have learned to like going to Buffalo because it can be difficult to get there on Thanksgiving weekend. And that weekend seems to be the only one I'm ever there for.
Some years back, Thanksgiving 1995, before we had children, my wife, the loyal Rottweiler and I left New York City on Wednesday Thanksgiving eve at 6pm. Traffic was very heavy leaving at that hour. Soon enough, traffic slowed dramatically as we approached the Poconos. Eventually, we realized what was happening. Cars were becoming unable to climb into the Pocono plateau soon after entering Pennsylvania from New Jersey. It was snowing steadily and it had been cold for some days before, so the snow was not melting as it hit the asphalt. Snow was accumulating. Fortunately, we were driving a four wheel drive, a heavy vehicle, a Chevy Suburban. I engaged the 4X4 and steadily forged forward until we leveled off into the Poconos.
What began was a contest between my driving skills and the elements. A battle with mother nature that lasted until 10am the following morning. The drive from the Poconos to Buffalo (a leg of 320 miles) was conquered at 30 to 35 miles per hour. At times during that long slow drive, for long stretches on the interstates, it was quite a lonely dance with the blizzard, the windshield wipers, the radio, the loyal panting co-pilot, my slumbering wife and the snow plows along the highway. I would say that outside of service vehicles, I may have come across no more than 50 other cars until daylight broke. It was just like the opening scene in the motion picture "Fargo" for 14 hours.
And at the end of the New York Thruway, at about 9:30 am, fifteen and a half hours after starting the drive, there she was.......Buffalo baby! With all her warm indoors there she was. Buffalo waited with all the hugs, smiles and kisses. With the smell of breakfast cooking. With the two courteous mom & pop neighborhood convenience stores by grandma and grandpa's house that sell the Polish to everyone in the neighborhood. Buffalo awaited with my wife's cousins, their husbands, their guy friends to take in a Sabre's hockey game and a Buffalo Bills game and revel intensely before it. Buffalo is where we save the Thanksgiving leftovers and opt to dine on orders of sheets of pizza and boxes of hot wings that feed 15 adults for about 30 dollars sans coupon.
When my Buffalo lulls and takes a breath for a few hours on those weekends, I'll don a coat and walk over to one of the many neighborhood bars. I'll fill the jukebox for an hour, watch what's on the TV, and small talk the barkeep. I sometimes buy the bar patrons a round of drinks. It's never very much. Over this past summer, I paid NINE DOLLARS for a Bud Light draft at a "Sex In The City" trendy assed style bar in Manhattan. I enjoy spending my money in Buffalo much much more. I'm never in the bar long before one of the family finds out where I've gone and I'm met there soon enough. Buffalo and her children then demand I play 50 cent pool table games. Another 75 cent draft another 50 cent round of 8-ball and then more drafts. I never say no to Buffalo, her allure is always intoxicating.
Sometimes I wonder what Buffalo was like at its peak and in its prime. I've gone on dog walks and entered mothballed steel plants and walked inside of them. The abandoned Roblin Steel plant in North Tonawanda, New York could have served as the back drop for some MTV hair band music video for sure. Buffalo was such an industrial center once that its influence still colors some old timers. But, there is evidence that Buffalo has always been a fun town. Is it possible to envision Buffalo as a place that people went to on their honeymoons? A place associated with sex? Perfect for propagation? A place of lust by men for women? The lyrics for the song "Shuffle Off To Buffalo" composed in 1933 for the famous Broadway play "42nd Street" show us that Buffalo was a place for young love.
http://www.harrywarren.org/songs/0460.htm
Through the 90's and halfway through this millennium's first decade, my Buffalo has experienced some major cast changes. Many people have unfortunately passed. My Grandpa and Grandma-in-law are both gone. Father Joe, the family uncle who was a priest passed suddenly last year. Joe, my wife's cousin, who moved to South Carolina with his family, will be back without two of his three teenage children this year. Little Joey and Samantha were killed in an auto accident thirteen months ago. He just couldn't make it last year he was too distraught. We were all distraught as well. Thanksgiving dinner last year was one of welled eyes. It was because of the children at the dinner table, and they being children, that offset the use of napkins for tissues. Empty dining room chairs along the wall of that large dining room signified the sense of loss.
My wife's cousin Sue and her three young children have been without their husband and father for the past two years. He's been the property of the United States government through the U.S. Army and The N.Y. National Guard. He's been in Tikrit, Iraq. He's home now. He arrived last week and he's back to stay. Sue's been very gushy about having him back and the rest of the family have been very happy to have him back also. Some more than others. Some of those steady play dates hosted by some of Sue's friends and family have suddenly cancelled their appointments. Jeff's home and he can now very well pick up the slack. So, other people besides Jeffrey's wife are very happy to see him back for good!
Let's go Buffalo and welcome back Jeff.
*!*
The North American bison, Bison bison.
To intimidate, as by a display of confidence or authority: “The board couldn't buffalo the federal courts as it had the Comptroller” (American Banker).
To deceive; hoodwink: “Too often... job seekers have buffaloed lenders as to their competency and training” (H. Jane Lehman).
To confuse; bewilder.
With one exception, and that was two years ago, I have spent every Thanksgiving weekend since 1989 four-hundred miles away in Buffalo, New York. Actually, it's not exactly Buffalo. It's a Buffalo suburb named North Tonawanda. For me, however, it's all Buffalo. Niagara Falls is Buffalo. Orchard Park where the football Bills play, is Buffalo. Attica where the famous prison is, is Buffalo.
For me, Buffalo has never been the butt of jokes. As a city, Buffalo has always been a friendly lady. On every return, she greets me with her familiar cold breath and bare trees and warm homes and abundant food. Buffalo gives me the opportunity to be Polish once a year. It allows me to gather and act gregariously with familiar faces. Buffalo is my social club.
Although the flavor and timbre of Buffalo is mid-western, as Washington, D.C. is also incongruent with its southern feel, Buffalo was my first exposure to the east coast of the United States. In 1986 I was here for a wedding that didn't last long. I was dating my wife at the time and her cousin was getting married. My then girlfriend insisted and insisted that I go with her to this wedding event. We were living in Tucson, Arizona at the time. I had never been to the east coast and the trip presented itself with the opportunity to stay a week after the wedding and parlay a visit to Toronto, Ontario.
It was a memorable trip. We stayed at my girlfriend's grandparents' home for that first visit. I got to hear mass in Polish, I ate duck blood soup and ate hot wings at The Anchor Bar, I visited Canada, saw Niagara Falls, read a plaque commemorating the site of where U.S. President William McKinley was shot to death, drank beer I've never heard of, I was introduced to an army of family and friends. Family whose last names had many consonants and many ended with the letter "I" or "Y", and I was a very popular polka partner. No palm trees, no sand, no surf......Buffalo, baby!
Three and a half years later, my girlfriend who is now my wife and I, decided to move away to the east coast to seek career advancement. We moved to New York City. Having done that, Buffalo then became a second home. My wife was able to visit her grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins much more often over on the other side of New York State. I then got the opportunity to get to know that side of her family fairly well. I also incorporated a new stable of guy friends: all the husbands, the cousins and their friends.
So, since 1989, the last Thursday in November it's over the hills and through the woods to grandmother's house we go and into a world of excess. It is a world filled with the cackle of family, of alcohol, cigars, food, guns, sports, pool playing, guy talk, bars, snow and extreme weather. All this just 400 miles away. It's just like living in Nogales. A different border city, but it lies along the U.S. border nonetheless.
Truthfully, I have learned to like going to Buffalo because it can be difficult to get there on Thanksgiving weekend. And that weekend seems to be the only one I'm ever there for.
Some years back, Thanksgiving 1995, before we had children, my wife, the loyal Rottweiler and I left New York City on Wednesday Thanksgiving eve at 6pm. Traffic was very heavy leaving at that hour. Soon enough, traffic slowed dramatically as we approached the Poconos. Eventually, we realized what was happening. Cars were becoming unable to climb into the Pocono plateau soon after entering Pennsylvania from New Jersey. It was snowing steadily and it had been cold for some days before, so the snow was not melting as it hit the asphalt. Snow was accumulating. Fortunately, we were driving a four wheel drive, a heavy vehicle, a Chevy Suburban. I engaged the 4X4 and steadily forged forward until we leveled off into the Poconos.
What began was a contest between my driving skills and the elements. A battle with mother nature that lasted until 10am the following morning. The drive from the Poconos to Buffalo (a leg of 320 miles) was conquered at 30 to 35 miles per hour. At times during that long slow drive, for long stretches on the interstates, it was quite a lonely dance with the blizzard, the windshield wipers, the radio, the loyal panting co-pilot, my slumbering wife and the snow plows along the highway. I would say that outside of service vehicles, I may have come across no more than 50 other cars until daylight broke. It was just like the opening scene in the motion picture "Fargo" for 14 hours.
And at the end of the New York Thruway, at about 9:30 am, fifteen and a half hours after starting the drive, there she was.......Buffalo baby! With all her warm indoors there she was. Buffalo waited with all the hugs, smiles and kisses. With the smell of breakfast cooking. With the two courteous mom & pop neighborhood convenience stores by grandma and grandpa's house that sell the Polish to everyone in the neighborhood. Buffalo awaited with my wife's cousins, their husbands, their guy friends to take in a Sabre's hockey game and a Buffalo Bills game and revel intensely before it. Buffalo is where we save the Thanksgiving leftovers and opt to dine on orders of sheets of pizza and boxes of hot wings that feed 15 adults for about 30 dollars sans coupon.
When my Buffalo lulls and takes a breath for a few hours on those weekends, I'll don a coat and walk over to one of the many neighborhood bars. I'll fill the jukebox for an hour, watch what's on the TV, and small talk the barkeep. I sometimes buy the bar patrons a round of drinks. It's never very much. Over this past summer, I paid NINE DOLLARS for a Bud Light draft at a "Sex In The City" trendy assed style bar in Manhattan. I enjoy spending my money in Buffalo much much more. I'm never in the bar long before one of the family finds out where I've gone and I'm met there soon enough. Buffalo and her children then demand I play 50 cent pool table games. Another 75 cent draft another 50 cent round of 8-ball and then more drafts. I never say no to Buffalo, her allure is always intoxicating.
Sometimes I wonder what Buffalo was like at its peak and in its prime. I've gone on dog walks and entered mothballed steel plants and walked inside of them. The abandoned Roblin Steel plant in North Tonawanda, New York could have served as the back drop for some MTV hair band music video for sure. Buffalo was such an industrial center once that its influence still colors some old timers. But, there is evidence that Buffalo has always been a fun town. Is it possible to envision Buffalo as a place that people went to on their honeymoons? A place associated with sex? Perfect for propagation? A place of lust by men for women? The lyrics for the song "Shuffle Off To Buffalo" composed in 1933 for the famous Broadway play "42nd Street" show us that Buffalo was a place for young love.
http://www.harrywarren.org/songs/0460.htm
Through the 90's and halfway through this millennium's first decade, my Buffalo has experienced some major cast changes. Many people have unfortunately passed. My Grandpa and Grandma-in-law are both gone. Father Joe, the family uncle who was a priest passed suddenly last year. Joe, my wife's cousin, who moved to South Carolina with his family, will be back without two of his three teenage children this year. Little Joey and Samantha were killed in an auto accident thirteen months ago. He just couldn't make it last year he was too distraught. We were all distraught as well. Thanksgiving dinner last year was one of welled eyes. It was because of the children at the dinner table, and they being children, that offset the use of napkins for tissues. Empty dining room chairs along the wall of that large dining room signified the sense of loss.
My wife's cousin Sue and her three young children have been without their husband and father for the past two years. He's been the property of the United States government through the U.S. Army and The N.Y. National Guard. He's been in Tikrit, Iraq. He's home now. He arrived last week and he's back to stay. Sue's been very gushy about having him back and the rest of the family have been very happy to have him back also. Some more than others. Some of those steady play dates hosted by some of Sue's friends and family have suddenly cancelled their appointments. Jeff's home and he can now very well pick up the slack. So, other people besides Jeffrey's wife are very happy to see him back for good!
Let's go Buffalo and welcome back Jeff.
*!*
posted by JerryNJ @ 8:07 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home