Real Music & Real Estate . . .

Yiddishe Cup’s bandleader, Bert Stratton, is Klezmer Guy.
 

He knows about the band biz and – check this out – the real estate biz too. So maybe he’s really Klezmer Landlord.
 

You may not care about the real estate biz. Hey, you may not care about the band biz.  (See you.)
 

This is a blog with a gamy twist. It features tenants with snakes and skunks, and musicians with smoked fish in their pockets.
 

Stratton is an occasional contributor to the New York Times, the Times of Israel, the Cleveland Plain Dealer and City Journal. He won two Hopwood Awards.


 
 

I AM NOT A SLAVE

I am not a slave to my possessions. I don’t collect. You can have anything I have. (Exception: my Sharpie retractable markers.) A Yiddishe Cup musician once told he looks forward to his next purchase. He’s so off-base!

Take my stemware, please.  Crystalware means nothing to me. (I’m hostile toward glass because my mother made me “dry” too often.) I accidentally broke a glass at a dinner party while cleaning up. My wife said I should pay the host $30 for the glass. No way!

stemware  broken glass

This card also is important to me (and you can’t have it):

maris baseball card 2

Maris 1958.

Anything else is yours.

One more thing, you can’t have my musical instruments. (And I reserve the right to revise this list.)

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5 comments

1 marc { 07.22.15 at 11:36 am }

I saw Maris play in Fenway Park when he was on the Yankees. He made some unbelievable catches against the wall in the outfield.

2 Ken Goldberg { 07.22.15 at 1:27 pm }

Anything? How about that back patio at your house?

3 Dave Rowe { 07.23.15 at 4:07 pm }

Roger Maris, well, he’s a prime example of the Rocky Colavito syndrome, the Indians trading away a player too soon. Maris, though, didn’t amount to much after ’61, the year he broke the home run record. Too much beer possibly.

4 Charlie B { 07.28.15 at 9:34 am }

I’m a slave to my memories of missing childhood possessions.
What ever happened to my exquisite plastic statues of Maris and Mantle as Yankees? These were well beyond
bobblehead schlock. And come to think of it, where’d my old baseball cards go? Vaporized within the mists of time, I guess.

5 Seth B. Marks { 07.29.15 at 6:19 pm }

In no particular order: bike, wife (oops, not a possession), soda stream, peace of mind, memory, harvested produce? Let me know when I can come over and rummage around.

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