Elektra

To get through nearly two hours of singing without any intermission required endurance and talent the caliber of Susan Bullock playing the lead role was able to deliver. Elektra is based on Greek mythology and is a story of tragedy and vengeance often labeled as a "psycho-drama" of Freudian and Shakespearean influences.

The opera premiered in Dresden in 1909 making it 100 years old now and still a popular choice among Strauss lovers along with Salome, also an opera in one act and famous for its Dance of the Seven Veils. To support the overwhelming emotional content of the opera an unusually large orchestra is used in Elektra. The music defined the moods ranging from an expression of tenderness to grim rage and in order to achieve symphonic balance, the voices of the major players, two sopranos and a mezzo-soprano, must rise above the orchestra's own powerful sounds. And that's exactly what happened.

It is a simple set outside of the palace with a giant statue of a horse lying on its side representing the Trojan Horse. In this Met debut, the demanding role of Elektra was flawlessly filled by Bullock who is as brilliant a soprano and as graceful an actress herself. She danced the ecstatic dance of triumph as she avenged the death of her father Agamemnon, waving an ax about the stage and finally collapsing to her own death. (No Celine, she didn't have a heart attack, that's not classy. This is the opera, remember?)

The climax left some of us feeling something; I for one, unsure whether Elektra died in her moment of hysteria or she killed herself. It turned out she was overwhelmed by her emotions that she falls dead. It was a superb performance with the dance scene as a great conclusion.

Once again, kudos to the Met for another splendid production. This was a thrilling experience.

'Twas a shoeless Christmas

Let me see. I've been buried in a nest of paperwork and stack of newspapers, obsessed with baking breads and cakes to salvage overripe fruits, caught in the doldrums of winter, worried sick about kinsfolk flying into town in the midst of a snowstorm, etc. I think I've perfected the science of doing a gazillion things at one time leaving me dead tired and finding no energy to write. I'm telling you it's not a cakewalk being old, ha ha.

So it's the traditional Christmas Day party that Inang and I host every year. No invitations necessary, gifts optional (sweaters that fit please) and pot luck dish a must.

This year no friends were invited. We have our own steady supply of cool nieces, whining in-laws, maladjusted nephews, smart grand kids (Matthew is now into square roots of huge numbers), to pack the place from floor to ceiling practically. That's a little exaggerated, but if you were my poor bed, you would've buckled with the weight you're bearing as these humans pile up for a pose for Facebook. Speaking of which Amor had to to be educated and lectured that there's no going back now. This thing called Facebook, not Fess Book will shape the future of her grandchildren like it or not. Note: cousin Amor has a blind spot about technology.

First they were drilled, some of these less than obedient members of the family. We'll have guests we never met before so leave those campy jokes at home, be on your best behavior and pretend you have something in common with them. After all you are part of the clan.

They were the first at the door, my favorite cousin Alice who flew in from Manila to spend the holidays in the city with her daughter Sheila Jane and son-in-law Joie. It's our first time to meet Joie. And Sheila, she was an infant when I saw her last. Before I knew it she's done with med school and now delivers babies among other things while Joie is busy drilling and pinning femur pieces together ( he is an orthopod).

Poor Joie's initiation into the rowdy family. Sure it was a warm welcome, imagine being greeted with a hug and kiss and handed a pair of socks followed by a brutally frank "Could you please take off your shoes?". I'm glad they're family, I can tell them anything - I think! Nelsie whined endlessly about this shoes-off business. This is ridiculous, she ranted. Her glitzy but sharp stilletos could've poked serious dents on my floors. Not counting the fact that she could've delivered a trail of halite indoors. Full disclosure: Nelsie is our own poster girl for fashionable footwear despite her sore heel spurs.

We were joined by the entire family of Amor and Joe, Ate Alice's cousin Flora and Aunt Marta and of course Chong, Marvee and Tita Lumen. It took just a few minutes for the kids to warm up to their newly-met cousins. It didn't take very long for Ped either to bring up the prickly topic of Amor's pichi-pichi dessert. The scanty balls of sweets look like they are just a sprinkling on the platter. Is there a chance she forgot there are at least 25 adults eating today or is there really a shortage on coconut? Ate Alice said she could've used cheese as substitute. Poor cousin went deaf on the harsh critics. How about Joe who started babbling after downing one glass of wine?

There was enough food to feed a battalion but way too many desserts. I've got to do a better job of delegating tasks so we don't end up with sugar high. We were bedazzled with sweets thanks to Grace's pecan pie, Melissa's chocolate chip cookies, Charmaine's assortment of nutty squares, Chong's blueberry cheesecake and Indian pudding, Noris' leche flan, Amor's fruit salad and the infamous pichi-pichi.

There was Ped's glazed ham, Melissa's chicken Marsala, Chong's baked salmon, Charmaine's pasta, Flora's pork bun and of course Inang's signature boiled shrimp, Christmas nilaga (puchero) with lots of veggies and Carol's favorite pinakbet loaded with okra. Amor snuck in a dish of tofu for her grandchildren Kaitlyn and Matthew. Grace brought Gabby's own home-cooked dish - she's got food allergy, eggs, wheat you name it. Poor kid.

As usual everyone left with their own bag of scraps. My big part in all of these is staying as far away from the kitchen while Inang was cooking (like me she prefers to be left alone), scraping crumbs off the floor, sponging off red wine stains on my bed cover and the big cleanup after they all left.

We missed the rest of the family. Elli took George's place. We saw him make a few trips to the kitchen scooping hot broth from the pot. George loves Inang's soup with plenty of kilig-kilig pork. Ramon had a feast, a big break from his diabetic diet and so we had to keep an eye on his plate. Ruel was so flattered when told that he strongly resembles his handsome Uncle Lauro.

Teasing, reminiscing, drinking, and eating; didn't we all have fun? I hope our guests Sheila and Joie feel the same way and we also hope you enjoyed your stay with NYC's best.

And how did you all like your brand new pair of socks for Christmas? Sucky? That's tough!

Merry Christmas. I sent you all the link to the tons of photos we took, so enjoy us!

Badass of the Year Clint

Clint Eastwood, GQ's Badass of the Year!

In my book, he's right up there with the coolest, the Cooler King, Steve McQueen

and my blues-rock man Eric Clapton.

Spot on!

The Red Book, The Tree & George

Overheard in the subway yesterday: "The problem with New York is that there is so much to do you can't leave it". This was a local giving directions to a tourist from Liverpool and who claimed he's been "temporarily living in NY" for the past 30 years. So much to do, so true. Certainly New York with all its surprises isn't for everyone. Alligators in the sewer, rats caught in the third rail, sardine-packed subway cars with all the RSS (Really Stressed Subway riders) passengers are only some of the added pressures in life here. I for one have paid my dues and often ask myself how many more dues does one have to pay?

There's a good chance you've had enough of my NY ramblings so I'll carefully tread on that but will make one exception. My good friends and I have a great appetite for anything NY, stuff that may not appeal to everyone but will thrill others. So if you're one of the latter, tag along on our Manhattan escapade.

Last month, while nervously waiting in the hospital sitting area for Maria to wake up from a snooze after another rotator cuff repair, I stumbled on an article in the Smithsonian about the book of Carl G. Jung. The Red Book which for decades had been kept by Jung's heirs in a secret vault in Switzerland, is now released for public viewing and publication. It was intriguing and my initial response was where can I find it and the answer was there - the Rubin Museum of Art in NY. This museum in the Chelsea district which also has a vast collection of art of the Himalayas and its surrounding regions is the host of this never-before-seen book. So off we went to RMA.

The Red Book featured C. G. Jung's active imagination and fantasies which many believed to have been the center of his work in analytical psychology. It is my interest in calligraphic illustrations, as in the Book of Hours, and not the psychoanalytic content that drew me to this rare exhibition. Jung typed his manuscripts in calligraphic scripts onto parchment pages and painted elaborate representations of his dreams and fantasies. Bound in red and nearly 100 years old, it is one of the most artistic works in illuminated style I've ever seen. It is a painting. A priceless work of art.

From the lower gallery we proceeded upstairs to view the rest of the RMA permanent collection. One exhibition Mandala: The Perfect Circle explored the circular diagram that symbolizes the world of a deity and which is also widely used as aid in meditation. Precise and technical, it is created in colored sand or painted in cloth with warm spicy colors bursting in reds, greens and oranges.

The art work depicted the cosmology and philosophy of the cultures and religions of Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism. With due reverence and speaking of rotator cuff tear, Maria wondered how much pain and suffering the deities with many arms had to bear if they had been afflicted with this condition. This was somewhat of an extension of her experience. Judy added: "It'll make any orthopedic surgeon happier and richer." Bad girls!

True to its promise, the RMA provided a dramatic and exceptional exhibit of Himalayan objects of art which are numerous, very colorful but to the inexperienced viewer like me may seem redundant.

After this heavy dose of culture and religion, we were ready for some light entertainment so we scooted to the Rockefeller Center. The brightly lit towering Christmas Tree is gorgeous, and as expected, one could easily get lost in the crowd or have their picture taken by a total stranger unless they are 7 feet or taller and could steer clear of all the camera lenses around. Five minutes, that's all and four of us decided to leave The Tree for the tourists.

Lather up, Celine. She got her triple-milled French bar of soap at L'Occitane before we escaped the mob at the Rockefeller channel gardens. Having sworn off McD or Burger King, we were now in search for decent grub.

Celine suggested the Palm which we never got to since Maria was so hungry. We instead ended up at Le Pain Quotidiene. Sounds like we're having French tonight. Turns out it's one of those Belgian invasions - it's an international chain of bread/salad/sandwich/bakery European style. The tartine of chicken with smoked mozzarella, greens and a slice of melon stood up to the test. At Midtown hefty prices, it was okay to splurge for something this good and well presented. I'm no Francophile, but this was great, filling enough and healthy. Is this why French women don't get fat?

More interesting was the conversation we struck with our waiter. George is a transplant from the Polish district of Hamtranck, Detroit, who for the last two months has been renting a room from a Russian family in Brooklyn. The kid from Ham what? has a knack for languages, about six he claims he speaks but not fluent enough, except French, to land him a job at the United Nations. It was interesting. One never knows what's behind that apron-donning host or hostess, this one is also an artist. NY is the stepping stone. He seemed happy here at LPQ but here we were as usual dispensing of our motherly wisdom, wishing him much luck in searching for a better job.

Back in the days, say 1970's I wouldn't have said a word to him. Now I have more time to talk and listen. Look out! You can't leave now, welcome to New York, George!

"The Lurid Beauty of Monsters"

What's he thinking of? What are his dreams like?

A madhouse and funhouse it was at the MoMA where Tim Burton has an extensive retrospective exploring his career in the arts and movies. A toss among the current exhibitions of Bauhaus and Rough Cut which are of the modernistic type, Tim Burton and The Lurid Beauty of Monsters drew a huge crowd.

One is welcomed at the lobby by the giant Balloon Boy and upstairs at the gallery the entrance canopy is the mouth of a toothy monster. Quirky-themed, creepy and of the famed The Nightmare before Christmas, Batman and a host of decades of his works, Tim Burton's highly stylized work of about 700 pieces filled the walls and halls of the small gallery. Awesome is an understatement. Movies, doodles, sketchbooks, storyboards, some are on canvas, many on spiral notebook paper and quite a few on cocktail napkins. I wasn't as bold as Melissa to have stolen a few shots, so here's a few from the MoMA exhibition brochure.

My favorites were the animal carousel by the entrance, all the puppets from The Nightmare before Christmas, Oogie Boogie, the ghost dog and all the long-legged triangular-faced creatures some with daggers, lancets and swords sticking out of their heads.

Despite the required timed admission, viewers lingered at the gallery and savored every bit of the work of this genius of an artist. No pushing or shoving, it was an orderly crowd of Burton fans. It might have warranted some crowd management of sorts if it wasn't declared as Sold Out at about 6:00 pm. Chong with her guests Agnes and Seth, and myself got in at 5:oo for free, compliments of Target on its Free Fridays sponsorship.

What I saw in Tim Burton was first-rate concept artistry inspired by the painter Edward Munch and the illustrator Dr. Seuss, with lots of imagination of a child. He is prolific. I'll go see it again! I'm glad Seth and Agnes loved it too even if it's style is a world apart from that of their next destination - Morocco.

The Bauhaus exhibition is also a must see. Works of Kandinsky, Paul Klee and Laszlo Moholy-Nagy were on display. Marcel Breuer's chairs and several Bauhaus lamps, stackable chairs and nesting tables are reminders of present-day Ikea-type furnishings, which in the 1920's? the Bauhaus artists designed with affordability of household items for mass production in mind. Who would know that they'd be fashionable now. From Bauhaus to your house - how's that!

This is a sampling from the Rough Cut- Design Takes a Sharp Edge exhibition - a collection of bold designs, sometimes rough and ugly, other times just practical. According to the curators, "design is not always pretty - but when it's good it's undeniably powerful, meaningful and beautiful". I'm not sure I can appreciate its artistic value for I'm not an artist. How about you?

Giving thanks

These turkeys were roaming the woods at Big Bass Lake. I tried to get closer to get better shots but they just took off. Dumb fowl had no idea what was happening, not realizing they could win stardom for appearing in my lousy blog post. If they were spared from being the centerpiece at the Thanksgiving table, then they must have plenty to thank for.

Contrary to what I was accustomed to, these fellas were quiet. There was no panic and none of the noisy chattering. I expected at least one of them to attack me, but no they just arrogantly strutted away. From what I gathered, turkeys are pretty stupid. They make a lot of noise but run scared of everything. Throw them an apple and like a football it will be tossed around and played with!

Out on Long Island I heard that while the hunters were busy chasing these birds for their holiday dinner, one got away and landed on the roof of a house. So they must not be stupid after all if they can climb trees, rooftops and even fly!

One thing they can be trusted to do quite well is to rid Bambi of her ticks. Just raise a farm of these feathered friends and you got yourself free of Lyme disease.

And on that note, have a Happy Thanksgiving and enjoy your turkeyfest.

Turandot

"No one shall sleep!" "Nessun dorma!"

It matters little that the tenor Frank Porretta who played the part of Calaf did not have the spunk and depth that Pavarotti had, a thunderous applause followed his splendid rendition of this famous tenor aria. It was Porretta's Met debut.

Turandot is Puccini's final opera and a compelling story of one suitor's bold attempts to win the heart of the man-hating princess. It is also considered a principal piece in any operatic repertoire and is listed as one of the top most-performed operas in North America.

The setting is Peking near the Forbidden City, legendary times. The Princess Turandot has taken a sacred oath that she will marry only a man of noble birth who can solve three riddles. The penalty for failure is death. The cold-hearted Turandot who has sworn vengeance against all men was played by the acclaimed dramatic soprano Maria Guleghina. Her singing was received enthusiastically by the discriminating Met audience. The great baritone Samuel Ramey played Timur and the role of Liu was sung by Marina Poplavskaya.

This is another one of Met's grandly scaled productions, with its massive casting and exuberant costume designs. The props were great on details and the large chorus alternating with arias imbued the opera house with such lush sounds. There probably wasn't an empty seat in the house and I'm willing to bet that many in the crowd belong to the born-and-bred in the opera. You can tell, they're all dressed up and they mingle at the lobby after the performance. The first time I saw Turandot was at the New York City Opera and I'd say that was modest compared to this Met production.

Is it TuranDOT or TuranDOUGH? A question that has followed this opera over the years. The debate probably stems from the fact that the opera was taken from a Persian term Turandohkt which meant daughter of Persia in which case the letters K and T are voiced. According to the scholars, Puccini must have Italian-ized the title and never pronounced the ending letter T, but his granddaughter who is the keeper of Villa Puccini clearly stated that it must be pronounced with the T.

I pronounce it ending with the DOT sound. That again, matters very little. I didn't write the codes for pronunciation so I wouldn't worry about that. This performance was perfect and that's with a T.

On the way home I caught this scene underground near 42nd Street - Music Under New York with a string quartet playing a Bach composition. And no, the cellist is not half-naked. She's just wearing a tube top, okay?

Out with the old?

On opposite sides of the aisle on the train yesterday, two riders were reading "books". A guy with earbuds stuck in his ears had a hardcopy of Isaac Asimov's The Robots of Dawn which he fished out of his backpack that was sitting on the floor (yuck!). The girl next to me on the other hand was head down dopily reading from the tiny screen of her smartphone scrolling thru pages of what appeared to be entries from a "book". With her hair dangling down the screen it was hard for me as I hover and try to look at what she's reading. Finally, she raised her head. What a relief- it was not a faceless body after all! Then she went on to read further ignoring me completely.

I noted as I surveyed the car that 11 out of 12 were wearing black, at least three people reading paperbacks and the rest were thumbing away and toying with their phones. All the nifty tricks technology can offer, books online in this case, impress me but I'll have none of that. Maybe I'm becoming a little old lady petrifying into a party-pooper of modern technology. I just can't see myself staring at the screen for hours on, reading Wuthering Heights. I can't even see for crying out loud.

Technology is creeping into our lives at an accelerated pace, we can complain all we want but it's here to stay. After working in the industry that put plenty of food on my table, I'm sounding like a thankless twit, don't I? I'm not, it's just that when it comes to decisions on purchasing new gadgets I can be my worst enemy and here's one to prove it and annoy all you techies out there! Let me digress.

Tippy tap. Save. Tippy tippy tap. Save. Tippy.....Poof!

And then it dies. For some time now, I'd be clicking and typing away on a wing and a prayer. Until my laptop finally went to rest. After living past its life span with almost 8 years of hard labor it had every right to do so. Trouble is I procrastinated. I'm pleased with Windows XP, I tried to hang on to that for as long as I could. Whenever friends talk about their new computers equipped with Vista I just nod. That was a deal breaker. I figured I'd wait until the kinks are no more or maybe I was just biding my time something I do a lot of.

Finally, I got the new toy with Windows 7 without the demands for hardware upgrade that Vista requires or so they claim. Let the doomsayers say that 7 is just a spin on Vista but hey, I thought long and hard about this, and I'm keepin' it. At least now the family won't think I'm such an old fossil. So let's blog away.

Anyway, back to my story. Despite all the distractions, I got to the city in time for the concert and reception at the David Rubenstein Atrium at the Lincoln Center campus. Touting its greenness, it features two 21-foot tall vertical gardens lush with living plants. That's neat but let's see how they maintain that. A huge media wall also displays LC performance information for the day. Cool.

Like most of my endless forays into Manhattan, I always meet some interesting people. This time, it's Carol, a native of Hawaii who is here on a parent day visit with her son studying vocal music at NYU. She's quite excited about his recital this weekend.



We were later joined at the table by Julia a retired teacher, an avid jazz fan and a member of the Duke Ellington Society. Together with her daughter Nina and grandaughter Sophie we enjoyed the program while partaking of some light snacks served by 'wichcraft. Young Sophie entertained herself by alternately dancing to the music and doodling away. If anyone knew how to appreciate good sounds, these folks did.

The Asphalt Orchestra entertained us with an eclectic collection of part parade and part halftime music. I couldn't figure out what to call them, a marching band of sorts which reminds me of Seventy Six Trombones. It was a refreshing change with this mix of young musicians so down to earth with their jeans and shirt/shorts garbs parading around us, banging away and having a good time. They were followed by the Juilliard Jazz Ensemble a group of students from the Juilliard School with their brilliant rendition of some of John Coltrane's music. It doesn't get any better than that and what a way to relax and decompress. It was also wonderful to have met Carol and Julia and of course cute Sophie and Nina.



By the way, I'm not going to dump my old notebook or "unfriend" my old friends after I befriended new ones. Old is good but they don't make those kind anymore, they're the best.

The Lower East Side (LES)

Our mission today is to take a glimpse of the past and look at the way of life of the early immigrants in NYC. In one form or another some of us could probably trace our ancestry to someone who has sailed the Mayflower or passed through Ellis Island. Being an immigrant myself makes the best case for not passing up the opportunity to visit the Tenement Museum on the Lower East Side. I was somewhat disappointed with the docent’s presentation, but it was an up-close learning experience.

The Tenement Museum building on Orchard Street prides itself with the signature old New York City wrought iron railings and freshly stained wood moldings. In contrast however, hidden behind the ornamented façade, there live some remarkable but sad life stories not known to many. A few steps away is a former haberdashery turned into a men’s boutique now selling trousers at an easy $300 a pair. Across the street from the museum is the Hotel Blue Moon formerly tenement housing transformed into a 22- room eight storey luxury hotel a nightly rental of which fetches from $295 to $1,000. Today this is the picture of the Lower East Side but in 1863 this district is anything but trendy.

Popular in the ‘70s as the bargain district for garments both wholesale and retail, Orchard Street near Delancey and its nearby neighborhoods is culturally diverse. It is hard to walk the streets of the New York or ride its subways, without taking notice that this is a city of immigrants. In 1840, a heavy flow of immigrants arrived into the country. Many of them settled in New York mostly Germans and Irish and later followed by the Chinese.

This residence was constructed by a German-born tailor who saw the need for homes for many immigrants. The housing was shared by people of different ethnic origins. Through this tour, we followed the lives of The Moores, an Irish family, who resided in this tenement housing cramped in a 475 square feet quarters in a four-storey walk-up building. The rooms were set up as they were many decades ago. The halls of the apartment were dim and the place is crumbling. One can almost tell from the peeling layers of wall covering the number of families that have previously occupied the place. The story of their survival and the challenges of adjusting to life in this country is heart-rending, particularly that of feeding the babies with swill milk.

There is so much history in the building and it shows of the support for the immigration movement at the time. It was a moving experience.



Gentrification, however, has spurred so many changes in this district and caused so much anxiety among the small business establishments and the apartment dwellers that are being displaced. The Lower East Side is now home to many high-end eateries, trendy shops and art galleries. One place that survived is the landmark Guss Pickles, the "largest pickle emporium in the world" boasting its barrels of sour tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers and sauerkraut by the store entrance. Other buildings of great architectural appeal which are adorned with their fire ladders/verandas in the front (but which some will find nowadays as an eyesore) were also spared.

It was surprisingly not difficult to find a Thai restaurant whose prices were knocked down a notch from its upscale relatives. The place is called Sticky Rice and their "box-menus" can hardly be described as tasting of cardboard. They are elaborate Bento boxes and not made of paper. Pad thai or satay - delicious and affordable. (I was so hungry I forgot to take a picture).

That's the flavor of the Lower East Side - authentic even post-gentrification. A must-not-miss when visiting New York. Whether you are an immigrant or not, it deserves your attention.

Aerosmith who?

Heavy metal came from chemistry. That’s a given! Acid rock might have originated from geology and chemistry. Rap, I have no clue where that stemmed out of and I’m not apologetic for my ignorance. Whatever the term, they seem to come in different shapes and sizes for those who live and die for rock.

The world of rock music is packed with a long list of bands with ridiculous-sounding names. If you think remembering their names is a challenge, try listening to their music. It is daunting and as a baby boomer I had my share of the days of the great headliners such as The Who, Van Morrison, Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, Aerosmith, etc.

The tabloids these days are filled with rumors of Aerosmith breaking up. Take it easy, you won't hear me crying over their shaky future because I’m not a fan. And why am I writing about them you ask?

1975, five years into my stay in New York, I was curious as a country mouse lost in a cheesecake factory. Commuting to work in the city in those days was a killer and so I decided to make Manhattan my home during the work week and the weekend usually found me in my Long Island nest with my cousins. Some weekends I stayed in the city. I heard of a band that will perform at the Schaeffer Music Festival during one of those weekends so I decided to check it out. I left nothing to chance, I stood in line for tickets early. The venue was Central Park and the line snaked around the block. Jees - this band must be good I thought, judging from the number of people in line. I had no idea who the Aerosmiths were.

It's showtime! So here I was walking into a crowd my age and younger, only they have a better grasp of the music I was about to hear. It was deafening and head-scratchingly painful to my ears. Ugh! That reverberating sound from the acoustic guitar. This was not the rock music I expected. There's too much of heavy instrumentation and the musicians were belting out songs with incomprehensible lyrics. Definitely metallic!

On top of that I was surrounded by concert goers who were stoned. Some had that blank stare and others had their arms raised to the skies, but they all seemed harmless. They didn’t scare me, I just felt unwelcomed. I was hoping the music will grow on me. I decided to stay and gave it a chance but it failed to bloom. I started to get a headache instead so I left before the concert ended. I’m sure they were the great band that they were supposed to be but they didn’t do anything for me.

Nothing against you Aerosmith, but you are not for me. If that was heavy metal, no thanks, I’ll just stick to chemistry and my groovy (ha, ha) music. I can live with The Ventures and to some extent maybe The Rolling Stones. Different strokes for different folks, I guess, for sure I'll never be a convert.

It was an odd experience, but one I learned something from. Curiosity did not kill me!

And the wall came tumbling down

Today marks the 2oth anniversary of an event that changed the world. Ronald Reagan in his speech of June 12, 1987 challenged Mikhail Gorbachev to "Tear down this wall" - four little words termed as "unpresidential" that will later become the phrase he will be most remembered for. Two years later, the walls came down.

To celebrate the anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, people crowded around individually painted dominoes along the former route of the wall. Some 1,000 giant dominoes, many of them decorated by schoolchildren, were toppled during the celebration.

The Berlin Wall, 20 years gone.

This Is It

Many names come to mind when it comes to the best musical career such as The Beatles and Elvis Presley. And then there is Michael Jackson. The name tells us a lot. “Thriller”, “Beat It”, “Billie Jean" were smash hits and household songs. We crank up the volume on those irresistible beats and we can’t help but to dance to them.

I’m never really a big fan of MJ but I do love some of his songs most especially those from his Jackson Five years. I must also admit that I watched this documentary “This Is It” out of curiosity. The posthumous release of these clips from the rehearsals of his supposedly final concert painted a different picture of MJ for me.

It was disturbing that we rush to judgment based on the warped images portrayed of Michael by the media. The conflict in his life hasn’t exactly prompted kind remarks from a lot of his audience and listeners and that is unfortunate. This is a very powerful film. If he was in pain, he never showed it. He possessed a pretty rare talent which I never appreciated much until now. His mastery of music and dance is unparalleled. Energy and versatility that’s what he is all about.

At 50 it didn’t appear that he had slowed down. When performers like him are slowly becoming a dying breed, when rock singers of late can’t act or sing to save their lives, we long for the great talent of MJ. We turn to the songs we remember him for.

His great footwork, his voice, his humility, the whole package contained in a short film. Not to mention the state-of-the-art technology behind the production and the selection of talented dancers and singers from all over the world. He was hands on all the time, it was his music, his dance and his stage. The final stage.

Don’t take my word for it, "This Is It" is phenomenal. Go see it.
A tribute fit for a king - the king of pop.

From start to finish

It was a great surprise to find that the Documentary Channel will be airing tonight the premiere of “Spirit of the Marathon,” a documentary vying for Oscar® consideration that offers a rare glimpse inside the lives of six runners as they prepare for the challenging Chicago Marathon. This will be the second time I'll be watching this film, which was introduced to me by my nephew Ped. It was moving and it truly speaks of the test of human endurance and character, both physically and mentally.

There is a lesson here, that of triumph over pain and nothing could come closer to home than that of the recent experience of Ped and Carol as they ran the ING NYC 2009 Marathon. I regret that I wasn’t around to cheer them on but of course they got their added inspirational boost from Marco, their son and his fiancee Amber who flew in from Chicago to support them.

Ped wasn’t pleased with his time of 4 hours, but let’s look beyond the clocked finish time and focus on the commitment both of them had from start to finish. This is bigger than words; they pushed themselves through months of rigorous training which is remarkable. And they triumphed in the end.

Ped was no Meb, Carol was no Grete Waitz or Deena Kastor, but they sure displayed a character of true perseverance and determination. The grueling 26.2 mile run left Carol nursing blisters the size of dollar coins on her sole but her spirit remained unscathed. Just a few miles after the start at the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, she was already slowed down by the pain, but she stayed on to run the rest of the course.

She was met by Marco and his friend at the Queensboro Bridge, that monstrous bridge and the steep and long hike, holding her by the arms and continued on striding thru the Bronx and finishing in Central Park. Clocking in 7 hours, she was applauded as she crossed the finish line where the crowd had already thinned but Carol’s spirit had not. Tears rolling down her cheeks as she received her medal and with Ped by her side, it must’ve been an extraordinary moment in her life.

If I know her, in anything she sets out to do, Carol’s mantra is “I know I can, I know I can”. She battled pain from the blisters but her loving family got her through.

That was special!

Ghouls' night out

We hit the road at the crack of dawn to avoid the city slickers who were heading out for a leaf-peeping road trip or the Yankees-Phillies WS game. Our destination: Big Bass Lake in Gouldsboro, northeastern Pa. on an invitation from Carol for a “ghouls’ night out” in her cabin. Thanks to a rainy morning start and a nearly pitch black US I-80 side-road pit stop, we arrived later than planned but still in time for the creepy breakfast Carol whipped up.

The scenery along the way wasn’t exactly in living color. It was a bit late for a peak foliage viewing but it didn’t matter. Gouldsboro is a charming village tucked away in the lush woods on top of the Poconos. I marveled at Carol’s beautiful chalet. It is rustic enough to allow us to commune with nature, something of a Thoreau-like existence in Walden Pond. As a matter of fact we were greeted by a bunch of wild turkeys nonchalantly roaming about, but of course as soon as I aimed my camera at the flock they quietly retreated. I should mind my manners they too need their privacy.

Carol, our hostess, had waiting for us a pot of piping hot coffee, a cup each Maria and I quickly gulped down. Caffeine starved, we had no time to linger over Java. This was Halloween, all day of eating, drinking and getting scared. Carol goes all out for the holidays I was told and the freaky menus she prepared were a testimony to that! While Carol was mummifying the sausages, Judy who is still comfy in her pj’s was delegating as usual, Dorothy was in the shower, Sheila wedged herself between Carol and the sink to clean up after her. Carol didn’t want any of that help, we got booed out of the kitchen and so we grudgingly obeyed after some silly bickering and sipped our second cup.


It was a festive table of gruesome breakfast of mummy sausages, swampy eggs with frog parts and bloody juice. And of course this was no time to curb our addiction - more coffee to build us a powerhouse ready for a scary movie or to deal with arguments over card game rules with our unworthy opponents.

After breakfast we sat to enjoy the slideshow of the pictures of Judy’s and Dorothy’s recent Tanzanian safari tour. It was awesome, about 900 pictures altogether of the lodge, the tented camp and their adventures with the great wildlife and that includes witnessing a kill and the Maasai women building a hut with sticks, mud and dung. The two of them were amazed at the vast sprawling grassland, the star-studded nights and the great sightings they’ve experienced. It is humbling just watching the whole slideshow; I can’t imagine what it’s like being there.

We didn’t have to travel far for a deer sighting. Right outside Carol’s cabin a buck and possibly it’s mate and a fawn came to visit long enough for us to snap some shots. I suspect that they were the same herd that cleaned out the puking Jack-o-lantern that was sitting on the porch.

For lunch, Carol served a snakey sandwich with a side of pasta salad topped with a deviled (egg) eye. Dorothy made her newly-found recipe for avocado dip. That sure was delicious, the whole lunch thing, but I just couldn’t eat the head of the snake. Did I mention that while we were watching the picture show, Carol also baked some pumpkin cookies? There was no end to her creativity. And I helped paint the tombstones for the ghastly graveyard dessert with RIP, a crucifix or Boo (that wasn’t easy)!

What to do next? Walk in the woods? No, it was raining. So we either stare at or try to ignore each other, but Carol had an antidote for that – a game of cards. Oh no! The possibilities of humiliating myself playing cards are seemingly endless. Like a dimwit, I’ve begged off on some of these games in the past and plotted ways to avoid joining them since I can only handle the more sedate but boring solitaire. Yup! Now the bridge experts got me drawn into their orbit of card games. It was Hand and Foot this time, something similar to Canasta I was told.

Dorothy came down really hard on me announcing “ Cecilia, that’s not a Joker, it’s a Jack!”. Who cares? And kept reminding me to” breast your cards” to which I replied “What… my cards now? Excuse me, but what exactly do you mean?". They laughed and that’s when I delivered my best Big Ass puns (as in Big Bass) of body parts and ended up laughing uncontrollably myself.

My game partner Judy was so patient and Sheila was a good teacher. I’ve fouled up plenty of things in my life before but I swore not this one – I was determined to learn and win this game. Yup, Judy and I won despite the fact that rules were made up or changed as we went along.
Tell me something new about this crew.

More of the creepy cuisine for dinner: Spooky shepherd’s pie, vampire elixir and for dessert the ghastly graveyard and eyeball snacks. Yummy!

Popcorn was handed at the movies: I’ll Drag You to Hell. Dorothy fell asleep, Judy snored, I didn’t get scared, Sheila thought it was violent, Maria thought it was okay, Carol thought she should have previewed it before showing.

I turned in after the movies and they all played the game of Things. I had no clue what it was all about, from the bedroom all I heard were the words sex and cops.

I enjoyed the card game and the entire Halloween-inspired creations of Carol. I went to bed feeling like a pumpkin needing to be carved, my tummy was ready to explode. My last thought before I finally dozed off lingered on the fire that was burning in the fireplace - it was warm and soothing, a perfect evening in the woods.

Sunday morning Sheila, Dorothy, Maria and I went to hear mass which was held at the village firehouse next to the church. Who knows why, I could've asked the villagers but I was timid. Everyone looked so proper and reserved I'm afraid I might scare them. Before church we went to Baruta's Store to pick up a few things. It is the only convenience store in the tiny little town and run by a friendly little old lady, but mind you, she sells everything I swear.

After lunch we headed home and the plan was to take a detour to Basking Ridge, NJ for some apple picking. It's a long story. We drove around in circles, darn GPS not doing its job again, it got dark and we all decided to just drive back to the city. Traffic should be light by now, the NYC marathoners have dispersed, except probably for a few stragglers .

It was a treat! Carol outdid herself, she is the perfect hostess. Little does she know that the halloween word search game and Hand and Foot scared me to death. That was the trick - it was tough but she still gave me a prize for not getting it!

Thanks for sharing your cabin sweet cabin. We had fun.

Kandinsky on the ramps

The line snaked from 5th Avenue and around 88th St. as the Guggenheim doors open for a free admission day as it celebrates its 50th anniversary. Celine caught up with me and politely cut into the queue where I was waiting. The lady behind me didn’t mind; after all there was no seat assignment involved and giving up one space in the long line is a small price to pay for a truly unique experience to view 97 of the Kandinsky paintings.

The stately Guggenheim Museum is the host to a full-scale retrospective of the works of Vasily Kandinsky, the leading figure in the development of abstract art. If I had half the brain I would have looked him up and his works before coming here, but no, I relied on the audio guide and Celine’s eye for the art work. Which is no mistake since this is right up her alley and as usual she taught me a lot about abstract expressionism. I’ve never even heard of Bauhaus until now and why it was closed down by the Nazis who condemned Kandinsky’s teachings of modernist art.

The ramps of the six levels of the museum exploded with brilliant colors starting from the Campbell Panels originally painted to adorn the entrance foyer of the apartment of the wealthy Edwin R. Campbell of New York. The stained-glass colors shades of which I’ve never seen before of orange and yellow and pistachio green are so intense lined against the white rotunda walls. Abstract paintings which I’ve under appreciated before are of interest to me now. It was just a matter of exposure.

An accomplished musician himself, Kandinsky was fascinated with music, and its influence on his painting is very strong, particularly the music of Schoenberg and Scriabin. He is believed to have had synaesthesia, a harmless condition that allows a person to appreciate sounds, colours or words with two or more senses simultaneously. In his case, colours and painted marks triggered particular sounds or musical notes and vice versa. He translated the colors he heard onto the canvas and called it a form of “visual music”.

Halfway thru the exhibition, Celine and I paused for some coffee and pastries and what a picturesque view we had. The picture windows by the Café flashed the autumn colors from the trees across Central Park. It was priceless.

We finished off as we walked up to the sixth level to view Kandinsky’s later works of geometric shapes and a series of watercolors considered “biomorphic abstraction." Much of it looked like paramecium and amoeba to me that Celine and I didn’t particularly care for.

We then watched a 2-minute film on the winning entries to the shelter design competition. Google teamed up with the Guggenheim Museum to create a design competition to design a "simple shelter for a specific geographic location anywhere in the world." The prize went to David Mares of Portugal for his Cork Block Shelter and to David Eltang of Denmark for his Sea Shelter. One of the 10 finalists is “A Bamboo Shelter in a Garbage Dump City” by a Filipino architect Gonzalo Raymundo. I’m proud of that.

It would be a shame to miss Anish Kapoor’s sculpture entitled Memory, which is 24-ton steel that looked like it got stuck in one corner of the gallery. Shaped like a giant egg, looking like a walnut or a Zeppelin dirigible it’s a puzzle how they even got this piece inside that gallery. Known for his large scale sculptures, we’ll recall Kapoor’s Sky Mirror installation at the Rockefeller Center.

Art appreciation for one day, I can only assimilate so much, so off we went to look for a decent restaurant. What a find – Centolire on Madison and 86th, traditional Italian, substantial portions worth the money.

And there it ends - everything I always wanted to know about Kandinsky but were afraid to ask and a lunch treat from Celine on a free day at the Guggenheim. Our target for next month – the Rubin Museum of Art with Carl Jung’s controversial The Red Book on exhibit.

Grand Aida

Overheard while in line for the ladies room: "This is on my bucket list. At last I can say I saw this grand spectacle". I couldn't agree with this lady more. Aida, with its most exotic setting, is the grandest of the grand operas. Filled with spectacular scenes, large sets and a cast of powerful voices producing out-of-this-world sounds, it is the mother of all operas.

It was absorbing all throughout. The most unforgettable moment is the popular triumphal procession impressive with its cast of over 150 on stage, beautiful horses without any harness and performers stepping in style and marching in synchronized presentation. Do not blink or you'll miss something.

The music, the arias, the magnificent choruses and elaborate ballet make up the complex ensemble. A high point was the heart-warming solo "Celeste Aida" by the tenor Johan Bohta who played Radames. Violeta Urmana starred in the lead role and sang equally striking melodic solos all throughout the opera. From season to season, it is the same blockbuster opera lovers would not want to miss.

It was hard to escape the fact that on this Saturday matinees, the average subscribers are senior citizens. They are the opera buffs who, cane and all, would rather climb multiple steps with but a few landings to the Family Circle section to see the performance than go to the theatre to watch the live HD transmission. Not that I do not support the Met's program of widening its audience globally and to all age groups, but I'm also one who likes to see the act on stage while I listen to singing. What can I say, you can't teach old dogs new tricks!

Below is the newly renovated plaza of the Lincoln Center. The well choreographed water effects of the fountain is the centerpiece of this iconic performing arts center.


Aptly said, "Even the water dances".