Off-Colour

Monochromatic. Sometimes leads to monotonous, even in the hands of Frank Lloyd Wright; especially when one attends the museum in high anticipation of beholding walls full of brilliant Kandinskys...

...only to discover level after level of architectural designs rendered in the small, artfully accurate and gifted hand of the aforementioned Mr. F.L.W.

So many, in fact, that one actually considers throwing one's self over the edge of one of the aforementioned levels. Unless a devotee of architectural design, blueprints begin to pall after a time, even if many do resemble detailed Star Trekkian utopias .

Hope springs eternal in the human breast and one heads optimistically to the gift shop. Umbrellas printed with an image of the webby sky dome? Alas, even the gift shop disappoints. Note to self: the Googoo (as it likes to call itself) has changing exhibits. Check what's on before slapping down one's admission.

Another somewhat disappointing art experience was the Neue Gallery, where one mistakenly anticipated walls glowing with dazzling Klimts only to be confronted by gloomily decadent Expressionist prints. Nothing for it but to descemd to the basement café for a little refreshment.

Not quite the technicolour gallery experiences I'd hoped for, but charming in their own way.
(she says snootily)


Addendum: I must point out that these museums are wonderful and the exhibits I saw were, indeed, extremely interesting. It's just that my expectations were for something other, so that while I was delighted with what I did see, I was ultimately disappointed by my own hopes. I should have blown my "museum allowance" (time) on the MoMA or the Whitney, I guess. Too many choices, too little time to do it all in one visit. And who knows if I'll ever be able to return.

This is an example of what I was writing about in the post below, how one's state of mind colours one's experience; how expectations can induce a certain

mind set. Everywhere else in NYC I was there with "beginner's mind"--open to whatever presented itself and absolutely delighted with everything I saw. But museums and art...I had expectations.

Times Squared

When I went to NYC I was very excited to give my regards to Broadway.

The spectacle lures one like a distant oasis. The throngs plod along at a camel's pace.




Finally arriving at the Casbah, one can only stop & gape, snap pictures & ruminate.



So many choices, so little cash!




Let's just sit awhile on the red stairs and contemplate Herald Square.

*

Since I was a little kid I've been a big fan of musical theatre. In the summer my grandparents would take me to see "Theatre Under the Stars" (fondly known as Tuts) in Vancouver's Stanley Park. The show would get under way at dusk and the mosquitoes would come out as the sun went down. When the night air grew chill, we'd spread plaid blankets over our knees without missing a beat of the music or a line of dialogue. It was magic time! There were usually two Broadway musicals presented each summer and we'd always see at least one of them. I had no trouble staying awake after my bedtime, right up until we drove past the illuminated dancing fountain at the park's entrance--the perfect ending to an enchanted evening (and, yes, I did see South Pacific there).

When West Side Story came out as a movie I was absolutely gaga over it. I had the program, the album, I knew all the songs by heart, I could do a mean version of the dance routines in my living room when no one was around. I couldn't make up my mind whether I wanted to marry the leader of the Sharks or the Jets when I grew up. When I was a teenager, Tuts put on West Side Story and I auditioned for it. I was a very good dancer, but a bit too chubby and a little too young so I didn't make the cut.

But I did finally get to New York City and I did see a Broadway show, albeit Ionesco, starring Susan Sarandon, Geoffrey Rush, Andrea Martin and...the girl from 6 Feet Under... in "Exit the King." It was every bit as thrilling and exciting as anticipated. Although a revival of West Side Story was playing, I opted not to see it. A case of having "been there, done that, and bought everything but the T-shirt."

In case you were wondering, I never married George Chakiris or Russ Tamblyn.

I was here!

Feet of Clay

How to preserve a hero.

*

Okay, so I might as well level with you. This isn't a real person, and the photo below isn't actually of a former Village People...they are mannequins! Sorry for trying to pull the wool (or plastic bag) over your eyes!

*

The odd thing is, C and I were just breezing along the street in NYC's financial district, trying to evade the invading hordes of Quebec tourists, when we stumbled into this odd assortment of dummies--ones that weren't moving or talking. As their get-ups were completely unrelated to each other there was no discernible rhyme or reason for them to be assembled together. We must have just missed some sort of photo shoot, but of what and why? Maybe it was a really low budget film and they couldn't even afford extras so they just raided Macy's old disused props from the 1970's. Perhaps it was just a normal sort of happening on the streets of the Big Apple. The mangy lot were being all bundled up and whisked off in carts by a very efficient and speedy crew: I had just enough time to snap a few pictures before they disappeared back to the mysterious place from whence they came. I think it makes for a pretty good illustration of the word "cryptic" (as in Tales From the Crypt).

Celebrity Spotlight

Spotted in New York City last May--

A dude from the Village People!

So gratifying to learn that he has found gainful employment. It would have been a shame to let the costume go to waste. I wonder what's happened to the other guys.

Bagshead Revisited

A conceptual crafts display in Central Park with anonymous vendors

(I didn't buy anything)

Heads Up!

Stag party honoree or dishonoured mate?

Q. What do Frida &t he Medusa have in common?

A. Untamed hair follicles.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Rolling Stones!!!

*

And speaking of the Stone Ages...

There are so many day-themed blogs out there, like Mumbling Monday, Titillating Tuesday, Woolens Wednesday, ThimbleThursday, Freakshow Friday that I thought I'd propose one of my own. Song Saturday. Yup, simple as that. If you want to play along, just post a tune on your blog every Saturday. No sign up fees, no weekly dues, no accounting for tastes. Here's my first random offering.

The Horror!

Head crafted entirely from felt

This gruesome head on a spike was part of a window display I saw in NY on one of our night time ramblings. It is horrific, macabre, and yet somehow playful. Rather like a bat.

Some people profess to liking bats and praise their worth in terms of keeping the mosquito population from taking over the world. I say there's bug spray for that. I don't believe in Heaven and Hell, but if I did, I know which Afterlife Country bats would hail from, as exemplified by the term "like a bat out of hell." It is absolutely wrong that rodents should be able to fly! Especially ones that don't see well, as in "blind as a bat." "Oh, but they won't fly into you--they have sonar, " the batophiles exclaim. Perhaps so, but it seems to only kick in once the winged mouse has flown directly at you and pulled up at the very last second before impact.

We live in a quasi-rural setting. Ok, we live in the sticks. While we have all that lovely bucolic stuff going on around us, we also have the more disagreeable sh*t as well. Bats, for example. Those recent 3 weeks while Pierre was away, my terror would set in around dusk--the dreaded batting hour. I took the precaution of turning on the porch lights and several lamps around the ground floor of the house (energy-saving light bulbs--we do our bit to save the planet). Each time I let the cat in or out the back door, I spoke loudly to her, peered through the screen, and booted her. I spent a happily bat-free 3 weeks and heaved a sigh of relief once the Batman had returned.

In case there are some batty innocents out there, I will explain the correct procedure to adopt should a bat get into your house. Upon first sighting, scream as loudly as you possibly can, pull the back of your shirt up over your head, and run from the room yelling "NO NO NO NO NO!" until reaching the safety of your bedroom. Barricade yourself in, with blankets stuffed along the bottom of the door and all the lights on. Having now sounded the alert, you can wait for someone else to deal with the thing.

Last night I was peacefully sleeping, only to be awoken by the hall light shining through the bottom space of the bedroom door. I then heard a series of odd bumps and random thumps coming from downstairs. I listened for a bit, fearing that Pierre had finally gone completely nuts and was doing spectacularly nutty things. But then it dawned on me: "There's a bat in the house!"

Usually with some clever dance manoeuvres and dexterous use of a window screen or blanket, Pierre is successful of herding the critter back into the great mosquito-ridden night sky. Last night, however, the all clear was not given. The bat eluded the Batman and went into hiding.

Consequently, I am hereby alerting you that if you hear a blood-curdling scream emanating from Canada's eastern seaboard tonight you will understand that it is merely the Madlynne, sounding the bat alarm. Oh, the horror, the horror!

The King's Head

The former king, who set the stage for the King of Pop?

Spotted in NYC, May 2009

*

Elvis impersonation is still pretty popular, I guess. Still plenty of fans. I used to be amused to see the larger, older version of Elvis, out with his chubby family, shopping at a discount department store in Vancouver in the 1970's. Out shopping in his full white satin regalia. If you've got it, wear it, I suppose. A girl friend of mine once got a gig as a back-up singer for an Elvis impersonator. Part of her job was to hand out scarves, with which he'd wiped his sweaty brow, to audience members, who were all very excited to receive them. At least she got a trip to the Phillippines out of the deal.

*

I wonder if we'll be treated to glimpses of "Michael Jackson" riding the bus and shopping the bargain bins for underwear now.

What's For Lunch?

We are feeling a little lacklustre and in need of sustenance.

This will do famously! (or should that be "famishedly"?)

*
New York memories of Salade Nicoise at the Markt Restaurant .

The yurt-like shape of the salad echoes the rooftop structures that we viewed from our apartment windows.

*

Today, however, back in the burrow, I'm enjoying some homemade cabbage soup to combat the damp limping away of June.

*

Horsing Around

"So what of this horse, then, that actually held opinions, and was sceptical about things? Unusual behaviour for a horse, wasn't it? An unusual horse, perhaps?

No. Although it was certainly a handsome and well-built example of its species, it was none the less a perfectly ordinary horse, such as convergent evolution has produced in many of the places that life is to be found. They have always understood a great deal more than they let on. It is difficult to be sat on all day, every day, by some other creature, without forming an opinion about them.

On the other hand, it is perfectly possible to sit all day, every day, on top of another creature and not have the slightest thought about them whatsoever.

Douglas Adams (Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency)

***

Today I was sitting in the back yard, babying my sprained ankle by keeping my foot up on a chair, reading the above-mentioned book and when I came upon this bit about the horse, it brought to mind the picture I took of one of New York's Finest looking slightly distracted while sitting atop a fine steed who appeared camera shy. They were watching the stream of humanity gushing through Times Square and I snapped this as I floated by.

Antique Café

Do you notice something a little odd about this photo? I flipped the image so that we could read the writing on the wall...er...window!

Is it hot in here or are my glasses fogged up?

Tasty tidbits and tasteful decor.


Adding to the pleasure of our stay in NYC was breakfast at the Antique Café, just around the corner from our apartment. A continental breakfast was part of the B&B deal, and we could choose from a variety of fresh-baked muffins, croissants, chocolatines, etc. to go with a bottomless cup of robust coffee. Part of the charm of the place was an older waiter, tall, thin, and slightly weather-beaten, with what I think was a mid-Western American accent. He was unfailingly attentive and upbeat in the face of our bleary-eyed morning mumbles.

***

Vintage

"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety."

Baubles, Bangles, and Edna

This is a photo compositon I made of an older woman I saw creeping along a street in Little Italy in NYC. She was being encouraged by her younger companion to, "Hurry up, Edna!" I loved that she still colours her hair, applies make-up, dons the glam shades and pumps up the volume with big clip-on earings and ropes of faux pearls. Edna is still strutting her stuff, even if it is at a snail's pace. I combined the picture of Edna with one of a storefront window that had caught my eye in another New York neighbourhood


.

Even though neither image is technically good, I find that the haziness (some of it deliberate: it's called "noise") lends an appropriate mood to the composition. At any rate, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Here's the original Edna photo, surreptitiously snapped as she shuffled by the streetside table where C & I were indulging in vodka-sauced pizza and beers.

Shades of the young Edna?

TGIF

A little mood music to help ease our way into the weekend. I could use a lovely stroll in the park just now. Maybe an ice cream cone (chocolate, of course) and some jazzy tunes to soothe my rattled mind on my lunch break. Nice to have this moment's respite before heading back to the grind. I hope you've enjoyed it, too. Thanks for sharing it with me. (What flavour did you get?)

***

(Photo from May trip to NYC--unfortunately not really today)

Tagged

(Art Gallery Guard Cat, NYC)

A couple of weeks ago, I got tagged by Mr. Toad of Magic Lantern fame (and I do mean fame). I understand it is a matter of noblesse oblige in Blogland to respond when this happens. The rules of the game also indicate that one is supposed to tag 6 other people, but one can alter the rules and questions...so I say, if any one out there wants to post answers to these questions on their own blogs, or in the sand for that matter, you are invited to do so.

So here are the questions with my responses:

What are your current obsessions?
Who says I'm obsessed? Have you been watching me? I guess I'm a bit obsessive about maintaining my blog, otherwise known as talking to myself in the dark. And checking OPB's (Other People's Blogs)...

Which item in your wardrobe do you wear most often?
My black shawl--probably something to do with the Italian in me.

What's for dinner?
Usually whatever Pierre wants to cook.

What's the last thing you bought?
Other than necessities? A colourful, low-cut summer dress that I'll probably regret.

What are you listening to?
The wind in the leaves, birds singing, summer approaching. I am listening to the absence of winter.

If you were a god/goddess, who would you be?
Sedna, so I could be featured in some cool Inuit art.

Favourite holiday spots?
Anytime, anywhere visiting with my daughter. Although, probably not if snow was involved.

What are you reading?
I'm re-reading "Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates" by Tom Robbins. When I read it several years ago, I raced through it. This time I'm savouring the language.

Who or what makes you split your sides laughing?
Not really a side-splitter. Can't say what might set me off; it has to be something very unexpected and incongruous. Then I'll laugh till the tears roll down my face and I may continue for hours afterwards, intermittently...depending on how much I've had to drink.

Who's your hero/heroine?
Fred Astaire, movie version. He could sweep me off my feet any day.

First spring thing?
Slapping some fake tan lotion on my legs so I don't blind the public when I start wearing skirts again after the endless winter.

Favourite film?
I've watched Broadcast News many times. I like Amadeus. Les Choristes. Once. The Hours. Singin' in the Rain...Chloe in the Afternoon...King of Hearts...I guess no real all-time hands-down favourite. It's still open.

Care to share some wisdom?
If you're female, make sure your skirt is not tucked into your underwear when leaving the washroom; if male, check that the barn door isn't open. But not to be sexist--if you're a girl wearing pants or a guy wearing a skirt, same deal!

If you were a tree?
A weeping willow (inspired by "Willow Weep For Me", Chad & Jeremy version).

Fictitious character who left a lasting impression?
Miss Haversham. And Cinderella.

Four words to describe yourself.
I'm an acquired taste.

Six things you love (other than the obvious).
Sorry, time's up!

Silver

Some random sights that caught my eye in NYC last month:

The flip side of when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie.

The next trend in medicine--vertebrae replacement to go with your new hips and knees.

If you've still got it, flaunt it!

Grandstanding.


You Got the Silver

Say, Can U C

Let me reflect a moment...

***

(This a companion photo to the one I posted for the Reflection theme over at the Blogger Friends site. )

A New York Jones

C. and I were introduced to the Great Jones Cafe by a charming young man whom C. knew from McGill days. It was hidden away in an unremarkable corner with an unprepossessing exterior. Without our guide we would have probably walked on by. Inside it was hot and noisy and filled with tempting aromas of a kind of Tex-Mex variety. Sitting there felt like we were part of a genuine New York scene, filled with students and academics and hipsters and not a tourist in sight. I think we passed undetected.

***

You raise up your head

And you ask,

"Is this where it is?"

And somebody points to you and says

"It's his"

And you say,

"What's mine?"

And somebody else says,

"Where what is?"

And you say,

"Oh my God

Am I here all alone?"

Because something is happening here

But you don't know what it is

Do you,

Mister Jones

*

(B.Dylan)

All The Better To See You With

Just what, I can't help but wonder, should one "let her know" as advised in the display. Perhaps that she's gone a tad too far with her weight-loss campaign?

I believe these glasses give one the power of Reverse X-Ray Vision!

Distant Shores

My trip to NYC last month was my first trip there. I've flown to many places before without suffering any fear about it but I must say that flying into LaGuardia was a bit of a white knuckle experience. The relatively recent media images of passengers standing on top of a plane floating in the New York harbour only served to, shall we say, enhance my excitement. We came zooming in over the water with no sign of land anywhere beneath us, lower and lower. I wasn't in the window seat so when we finally did touch down, I still couldn't see any evidence of terra firma. The landing itself seemed as if we were trying to screech to a halt on the deck of an aircraft carrier with only centimetres to spare before careening into an immovable object.
I can't wait to do it again!