April MuseLetter 2026 | Domenica Press

March 2026

May 2026

MuseLetter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun

1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought; especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.

2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.

Archive

There were three versions of a Loew’s theater on the Lower East Side, which were within comfortable walking distance of my Two Bridges Neighborhood--- so called as it lay between the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges--- Loew’s Canal, Loew’s Delancy and the Loew’s Apollo. (Not to be confused of course, with that landmark performance venue in Harlem).

Other movie-house options for us, that were not so grand but more embellished than any of the movie-chain places we might go to today (when not streaming at home), were Tribune, Governor and Venice. This last owned by the eccentric legendary woman named Mazie, aka the "Queen of the Bowery." For her tough and caring personality, and her kindness to the derelicts in the adjacent Bowery area. The Venice (and we always used the definite article when referring to these treasured places), was the first of our neighborhood theaters to close.

In all, a half-dozen theaters that we could attend on an almost weekly-ritual basis. You went to the movies, like you went to church. Religiously.

Though hardly a surprise. I’m at the edge of Chinatown here. The more gentrified, hip, cool LES area, is about to begin. Though even here among the ruins, some modern coffee places have come. Tiny as they are. A bread place actually---forgot the name--- I have a croissant and cup of coffee…. excellence among the ruins. I take a few snapshots of that movie house façade, that I would later learn through online research, was designated a landmark in 2010. Gut the building…keep the façade. You take what you can get. The remains of the day. From back in the day…the experience of both this, and going to the church I was baptized in over 80 years ago and had never been back in until today. I would have wanted to walk the streets farther when mass ended. But it was still raining when I went over to the East Broadway station …got on the F train…this stop and train of my youth, and headed home. In no time. Spending far less than $36 this time.

Once there were movie houses. Lots of them. Some even referred to as palaces by the entrepreneurs who had built them. Such as Marcus Loew (1870-1927). His legacy as encapsulated in a Google search…

“A pioneering American business magnate, born on the Lower East Side of New York, who revolutionized the film industry by creating the prestigious Loew's Theatres chain. He built an empire from small nickelodeons, later forming Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer in 1924 to ensure high-quality content for his theaters, becoming one of the most influential figures in cinema history.”

What came to the forefront in memory, as I looked across the street at this besmirched site of our long-gone

Canal, was remembering that I had seen Psycho there. A movie that was all the rage at the time. Or had I?

Hitchcock in true Hitchcockian style, forbade the theaters to admit anyone after the movie had started. Given the film’s early plot twist, in which a star the magnitude of Janet Lee was eliminated so early on. Some might come in late (as we often did back then), and wonder where her character Marion Crane was. This “no late admission” policy of course, only increased demand to see the film.

Then there was the strategy of releasing the movie to local theaters, just 9 weeks after its Broadway run. Rather than the typical 6-9 months. Which would decrease the possibility of "spoilers" for those eagerly awaiting..."coming soon to a theater near you."

I didn't know or remember anything about this, until recently. What I do know and remember, is that I saw Psycho at a neighborhood theater. We never went uptown to see a movie. But was it at “The Canal”? I've always thought so. But does the chronology work?

The Loew’s Canal closed its doors either in the late 50’s, or, at some point in 1960. I ran across conflicting reports on this in my online search. Psycho opened uptown on June 16, 1960. Meaning, I could have seen it that August. Might it have been (dramatic pause)... the last picture show at The Canal? And I was there? If so, what does it matter; this walk back in time at this advancing age?

In a poem I once wrote entitled, “Egg Life” (Shots from a Passing Car, 2005), I offered these lines in a pithy piece of what could be called a philosophical conundrum: Either nothing matters/or everything does. The implication being that, you’re born, you live, you die. And who knows, they might even give you a funeral mass. Which is where I came in on a rainy Monday morning in March.

The Loew's Canal:

with a Cold Opening from a Journal

March 23, 2026

Miserable rainy Monday morning I hopped into an Uber… down the East River Drive to St. Teresa’s Church. The traffic was going the other way and the rain was causing no delay… there in no time. But $36?! Without tip?....Mr. Driver wanted to turn around at the outset and go down a street he was imagining? “What are you doing? It’s a dead end.” I dare not use the word cul de sac… Getting there almost an hour before the funeral mass for Mary Ann was about to begin, I decided to go up the block and around the corner, to the site of the old Loew’s Canal movie theater. Could you look any slummier?

Quote of the Month

In the Course of Mundane Interaction,

Please Don’t Ask Us to Start Typing.

It has become pervasive. Once upon arrival, we were verbally acknowledged and attended to. At a doctor’s office or medical facility, or any facility for that matter, it was sufficient to say: “I’m here for my ___ o’clock appointment.” Or in this newly specific case, to pick up a prescription.

Now we’re asked in CVS at the end of a trek throughout the day, or throughout the decades for those of an age so in need of an emporium of this kind, to type in our full name, date of birth, email address and maybe other qualifiers? Why not ask for our mother’s maiden name while you’re at it? All of which you must know by now. Including how old mother was when she had us. And why we might in some cases be, an only child. It’s all no doubt in the database. Born of the goddess of Algorithymania, off the Geek isle of Indiscrete.

But of course, the person before us, with a voice right out of Looney Toons (have you ever considered doing voiceovers?), cannot understand how to deal with those of the "golden years", taking such a piss-ant stance. A refusal to engage with this cutting-edge procedure that was instituted because it’s cool; it's so very now. And because when you folks can, you can't help but go high tech at every turn.

The flummoxed person behind the counter, or what has now become an encounter, will now have to override their downloaded training and deal with a real live person. Not a bot. Who has come to you, not through your phone, but through the front door of this place. That will one day be no more. A store. What a concept.

This poor lost soul must now find an alternative way to go about retrieving that prescription, visibly resting on a shelf just over their shoulder. No big deal? But we can’t help but ask of ourselves—in lieu of the crowd in this chain-pharmacy—what are we coming to?

That this has long since become the Age of The New Technologies, is not lost even on those still speaking in Baby Boomerese. You’ve heard of that war. It was in all the history books. Do we still have history books? If so we’d suppose, they’ve all been rewritten and distributed through the mojo of texting. But this overwrought procedure to claim one’s earned medication in life, is just the tip of the iceberg. One rapidly melting what with Climate Change. And just where will the penguins go?

A.I. is already old hat. Wearing a black one at that; it has become so villainous. If one may be so bold as to suggest a new definition, reimagined from the flip of an old saw: artificial intelligence is the toothpaste, that can be put back into the YouTube.

And to think this all started out, with a trip to CVS for the purpose of "high prep." With apologies to the Bard:

To be or not to be.

Still one more colonoscopy?

Word of the Month

existential ex·is·ten·tial eg-(,)- sten(t)- shɘl

adjective

1 : of, relating to, or affirming existence

2 a: grounded in existence or the experience of existence : empirical

b: having being in time and space

3 : concerned with or involving human existence or its nature : existentialist

Etymology

Borrowed from Late Latin existentiālis, exsistentiālis, from existentia, exsistentia existence + Latin -ālis -al entry 1; in the 19th and 20th centuries in part as translation of Danish existentiel (later eksistentiel) & German existentiell

First Known Use

1656, in the meaning defined at sense 1

Source: Merriam-Webster

Used in a Sentence

To me, every story involves travel, in the existential sense of the word.

Source: Condé Nast Traveler, Nov. 2023