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".