Walter Cronkite was the last newscaster with a moustache.
When I was a baby I could stay up until the 11 o’clock news. That’s when my mom or the babysitter would say “Walter Cronkite” and I would get in my pjs, have some pound cake and go to bed. Pound cake became so unpopular. Nobody wants to think about pounds when they eat cake. But my mom wanted me to have cake and ice cream at bedtime because in those days having a chubby kid made you look rich. Now I can stay up all night because I don’t have my Cronkite curfew.
Latino kids in NY stay up late. You’ll see our groggy babies with the headband bows, over the new tuft of dark hair in strollers at midnight. Later the babies will be but to bed nestled amongst the coats in the one dark room at the party. “Put your coat in there. Shh. Don’t wake the baby!” That’s how we roll.
My former therapist advised me not to send out business emails at 3am because people frown on it. I don’t understand that kind of thinking. But I took her word for it. Now if there’s something important to email I’ll stay up till 6am to send it, giving the impression that I was up with the chickens. I’m leaving for gigs in London and Scotland in a week and enjoy these communications greatly because they are 8 hours ahead of me and I can call them at 2am my time for phone meetings.