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.