3 days ago
Friday, October 07, 2005
LEAVING THE LEAVES ALONE
We're cancelling our leaf-peeping trip to Vermont that we had planned for this weekend. The forecast is for rain almost the entire time, and the leaf season is late this year, so we'd have to drive at least a hundred miles further north to see the really good stuff. Maybe next year.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
EVEN LATER
Yesterday I noted that the Nobel Prize for Medicine went for work done more than 20 years ago. Apparently this is a competition among the various Nobel areas, because they just awarded a share of the 2005 Nobel Prize for Physics for work published in 1963.
Maybe they should just call them the Nobel Lifetime Achievement Prizes.
Maybe they should just call them the Nobel Lifetime Achievement Prizes.
Monday, October 03, 2005
A LOVESICK SIMONE DE BEAUVOIR?
After exiting the Breakfast on Pluto Q&A on Sunday afternoon, we headed up Broadway. It was a little strange being there in the middle of the day, with the stores all open--usually I'm only in the Lincoln Center neighborhood for evening performances. We stopped at a coffee shop, where I had a nice bison burger for lunch.
There was still over an hour until our next event, so we strolled into Central Park, enjoying the beautiful early fall weather. We skirted Sheep Meadow, where there were lots of people, but no sheep, unlike at Falstaff the night before. Eventually we got to the Central Park Zoo, or whatever they're calling it these days. We did manage to catch the end of the 4 o'clock performance of the Delacorte Clock, and then proceeded to the Children's Zoo. We saw turtles and ducks and goats and (yes) sheep--and lots of kids watching the turtles and ducks and goats and sheep. We watched some of the kids feeding the goats and the sheep, and we read the sign about the spitting alpaca (if it spits on you, contact any zoo employee). Then we went back to the main zoo area. There we saw sea lions sunning and swimming, viewed penguins mostly just standing, and traversed an obstacle course of empty strollers parked in front of the puffin exhibit, the view of which was obscured by the former occupants of said strollers.
Time was running out, so we left the park and went to Florence Gould Hall of the French Institute/Alliance Française (FIAF) on E. 59th St. We settled into our seats for Liaison Transatlantique: Letters of Simone de Beauvoir to Nelson Algren. This is a one-woman show based on Fabrice Rozié's play Transatlantic Liaison.
I can't say I was really looking forward to this. It is a reading of French philosopher Simone de Beauvoir's love letters to American author Nelson Algren, whom she met while on a trip to America in 1947. She was having a long-distance affair with Algren, who wrote The Man With the Golden Arm. This affair was concurrent with her life-long relationship with Jean-Paul Sartre. De Beauvoir would not marry Algren out of respect to her relationship with Sartre. She ended up being buried next to Sartre--wearing Algren's ring.
In and of themselves, the letters are not particularly interesting, at least to me. De Beauvoir wrote them in English, and this was clearly not her mother tongue. What is interesting, though, is that at the same time she was pouring her heart out in these love letters, she was also writing The Second Sex, the book that basically founded modern feminism. The contrast of the conventional love letters with the revolutionary book is jarring.
Nevertheless, the reading of the letters by themselves quickly put me to sleep. I awoke just in time to hear the one line in particular that I remember. De Beauvoir explained that she was calling her book "The Second Sex" because "pansies" were called "the third sex" in France, but no one ever referred to the second (or to the first, I presume).
The performance was by Marie-France Pisier (left), who seemed very under-rehearsed. I can't believe she's 61 years old, though. I'd sure like to know the name of her plastic surgeon.
The Q&A afterwards was not terribly illuminating, other than Pisier saying that she knew de Beauvoir. We left in the middle, and went and had a nice dinner at Fig & Olive.
It was the end of a very busy week. I was out 7 days in a row. I need a rest.
There was still over an hour until our next event, so we strolled into Central Park, enjoying the beautiful early fall weather. We skirted Sheep Meadow, where there were lots of people, but no sheep, unlike at Falstaff the night before. Eventually we got to the Central Park Zoo, or whatever they're calling it these days. We did manage to catch the end of the 4 o'clock performance of the Delacorte Clock, and then proceeded to the Children's Zoo. We saw turtles and ducks and goats and (yes) sheep--and lots of kids watching the turtles and ducks and goats and sheep. We watched some of the kids feeding the goats and the sheep, and we read the sign about the spitting alpaca (if it spits on you, contact any zoo employee). Then we went back to the main zoo area. There we saw sea lions sunning and swimming, viewed penguins mostly just standing, and traversed an obstacle course of empty strollers parked in front of the puffin exhibit, the view of which was obscured by the former occupants of said strollers.
Time was running out, so we left the park and went to Florence Gould Hall of the French Institute/Alliance Française (FIAF) on E. 59th St. We settled into our seats for Liaison Transatlantique: Letters of Simone de Beauvoir to Nelson Algren. This is a one-woman show based on Fabrice Rozié's play Transatlantic Liaison.
I can't say I was really looking forward to this. It is a reading of French philosopher Simone de Beauvoir's love letters to American author Nelson Algren, whom she met while on a trip to America in 1947. She was having a long-distance affair with Algren, who wrote The Man With the Golden Arm. This affair was concurrent with her life-long relationship with Jean-Paul Sartre. De Beauvoir would not marry Algren out of respect to her relationship with Sartre. She ended up being buried next to Sartre--wearing Algren's ring.
In and of themselves, the letters are not particularly interesting, at least to me. De Beauvoir wrote them in English, and this was clearly not her mother tongue. What is interesting, though, is that at the same time she was pouring her heart out in these love letters, she was also writing The Second Sex, the book that basically founded modern feminism. The contrast of the conventional love letters with the revolutionary book is jarring.
Nevertheless, the reading of the letters by themselves quickly put me to sleep. I awoke just in time to hear the one line in particular that I remember. De Beauvoir explained that she was calling her book "The Second Sex" because "pansies" were called "the third sex" in France, but no one ever referred to the second (or to the first, I presume).
The performance was by Marie-France Pisier (left), who seemed very under-rehearsed. I can't believe she's 61 years old, though. I'd sure like to know the name of her plastic surgeon.The Q&A afterwards was not terribly illuminating, other than Pisier saying that she knew de Beauvoir. We left in the middle, and went and had a nice dinner at Fig & Olive.
It was the end of a very busy week. I was out 7 days in a row. I need a rest.
NYFF: BREAKFAST ON PLUTO
Sunday, less than 13 hours after I got out of Falstaff, it was back to Lincoln Center for my last film at the New York Film Festival, its "centerpiece," Breakfast on Pluto. The schedule said it started at noon, but the ticket said 11:59 a.m. Maybe it was Brunch on Pluto.
Director Neil Jordan adapted Patrick McCabe's 1998 novel for this film (the film's website has an incorrect date). It's the story of Patrick "Kitten" Braden, a crossdressing orphan in Ireland in the 60's, who grows up to search for his mother in London in the 70's. I haven't read it, though I don't know how much it would have added. In the Q&A after the screening Jordan said that when he does use a book as his source his first allegience is to the film, not the book. He specifically said he entirely made up the ending of the film, having thought the novel didn't really have much of one.
Jordan had previously made The Crying Game, which he said McCabe was influenced by in writing Breakfast on Pluto. Both share the themes of transgenderism and Ireland's political violence. He was unsure whether he wanted to do so similar a film. While exploring the possibilities, he had Cillian Murphy do a screen test as Kitten, using the peep show scene. He was amazed at how much Murphy was able to get out of the character, he said--much more than he actually had envisioned.
Still, he was undecided. This went on for a while, until one night when he was having dinner with Murphy. Murphy wanted to do the film very badly, later calling Kitten "a once in a lifetime role for me." He told Jordan that if they were going to make the film that they had better get started, before he got too old to play the part. Indeed, he was into his late 20's when it was shot, and the early scenes of Kitten's teenage years are a stretch.
But the film did get made, and it is a lot of fun. (My only quibble is that the Irish accented dialogue was difficult to understand sometimes, especially in the early scenes.) Jordan said he had Candide in the back of his mind, and Kitten certainly was a youth who naively flits from one peril to the next, as did Voltaire's character. Breakfast on Pluto is not nearly as serious a film as The Crying Game. If you can't believe Kitten, or some of the things she gets into (and out of), it doesn't really matter. It's just a fun movie--the whole tone is set by a couple of wise-cracking computer-generated birds that open the film. Jordan said he was worried that audiences wouldn't get the humor. They did no audience testing, they just threw it into the film festivals, first Telluride, then Toronto, then here. He worried for nothing.
Murphy was gorgeous. The Q&A moderator, Lisa Schwarzbaum, was really taken by his cheekbones. I was taken by his eyes. His performance was great. I've heard mention of an Oscar nomination, but I doubt it. Crossdressing actors aren't favored: Philip Seymour Hoffman didn't get a nomination for his drag role. In fact, the entire cast was wonderful. And this time Stephen Rea got to play a character that can recognize a tranny.
It's opening in November. See it.
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
I see they awarded the 2005 Nobel Prize for Medicine to the two Australians who discovered that most stomach ulcers are caused by bacteria, not stress. They made this discovery in 1982! I guess it takes a long time for news to get all the way from Australia to Stockholm.
SUPREME HAIRSTYLES?
President Bush has nominated White House counsel Harriet Miers to replace Sandra Day O'Connor on the Supreme Court. I don't know anything about her judicial philosophy (she's never been a judge), but judging from her pictures she's definitely a swing vote on hairstyles.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
MORE VERDI
Following up Wednesday evening's hearing of the Verdi Requiem, Saturday we went next door to see the Metropolitan Opera's production of Verdi's last opera, Falstaff, which I had never seen before. It featured my favorite current baritone, Bryn Terfel, in the title role. I heard him in an excellent recital at Tanglewood last year and I was looking to seeing him on stage. I was not disappointed.
Falstaff was Giuseppe Verdi's last opera, and his first comedy in 52 years! His librettist, Arrigo Boito, managed to extract a fairly reasonable story from Shakespeare's The Merry Wives of Windsor and King Henry IV--reasonable by opera standards, which isn't saying all that much. The aging and enormously fat Sir John Falstaff finds himself nearly broke. He decides to replenish his purse through the use of his romantic power over women--a power long gone, if it ever existed. He decides to woo Alice Ford, the wife of a rich man. Just to make sure, he decides to woo a second such woman, and that is his undoing.
He sends both of them love letters, but the two women happen to be friends, and compare notes--literally. They find Falstaff's missives to be identical, except for their names. Together with another friend, Mrs. Quickly, and Ford's daughter, they plot their revenge. It's not quite that simple. The daughter is in love with with a young man, but Mr. Ford wants to marry her off to an old doctor. And he suspects his wife of being unfaithful, so he disguises himself and sets a trap to catch her--paying Falstaff to woo her!
It takes half the opera to set all this up, and it would have been just a series of static scenes of people singing, except for the slapstick of Falstaff and his henchmen. Terfel, with Jean-Paul Fouchécourt and Mikhail Petrenko, play it for all it's worth, and manage to keep the audience laughing. Fouchécourt and Petrenko are a great comedy team--the former is at least a foot shorter than the latter.
Eventually Falstaff goes off to visit Mrs. Ford, and after a bit they are interrupted. She has him hide in a hamper of dirty laundry, which she has thrown into the Thames River, ending the second act.
The third act starts with Falstaff dragging himslf out of the water--Terfel climbs a ladder out of the orchestra pit onto the stage. The plot gets a little incredulous here, because he then falls for another trap set by the women. Briefly, he is lured out to a park, where half the town comes out in costume to torment him. It is this scene that makes the whole 3+ hour opera worth it. Verdi was a master of choral music, even greater than his small ensemble composition, if that is possible. The scene gives the Met chorus a chance to show off, not to mention its costume department. There's a big bunch of kids in the scene, who get to have a great time on stage, way past their bedtime. Oh yes, there was a horse. There are plenty of operas there where they bring a live horse out onto the stage, but I don't remember ever having seen one disguised as a unicorn. And I've certainly never seen live sheep on the stage before.
Anyhow, Falstaff learns his lesson, Ford learns his lesson (his wife is faithful), and even his daughter gets to marry her beloved. All is forgiven, and the opera ends with everyone singing that the world is but a jest.
Terfel is a very good comic, besides being a great singer. He obviously relishes being the clown--he even stayed in character a little when taking his bows. The other standout of the evening, at least vocally, was Stephanie Blythe as Mrs. Quickly. And for once a very large opera singer had a role where her size seemed appropriate. Franco Zeffirelli's 1964 sets, while certainly not his most spectacular, have been well-refurbished--and he did manage to include a couple of his signature staircases. It took a while to get going, but Falstaff was an enjoyable evening.
Falstaff was Giuseppe Verdi's last opera, and his first comedy in 52 years! His librettist, Arrigo Boito, managed to extract a fairly reasonable story from Shakespeare's The Merry Wives of Windsor and King Henry IV--reasonable by opera standards, which isn't saying all that much. The aging and enormously fat Sir John Falstaff finds himself nearly broke. He decides to replenish his purse through the use of his romantic power over women--a power long gone, if it ever existed. He decides to woo Alice Ford, the wife of a rich man. Just to make sure, he decides to woo a second such woman, and that is his undoing.
He sends both of them love letters, but the two women happen to be friends, and compare notes--literally. They find Falstaff's missives to be identical, except for their names. Together with another friend, Mrs. Quickly, and Ford's daughter, they plot their revenge. It's not quite that simple. The daughter is in love with with a young man, but Mr. Ford wants to marry her off to an old doctor. And he suspects his wife of being unfaithful, so he disguises himself and sets a trap to catch her--paying Falstaff to woo her!
It takes half the opera to set all this up, and it would have been just a series of static scenes of people singing, except for the slapstick of Falstaff and his henchmen. Terfel, with Jean-Paul Fouchécourt and Mikhail Petrenko, play it for all it's worth, and manage to keep the audience laughing. Fouchécourt and Petrenko are a great comedy team--the former is at least a foot shorter than the latter.
Eventually Falstaff goes off to visit Mrs. Ford, and after a bit they are interrupted. She has him hide in a hamper of dirty laundry, which she has thrown into the Thames River, ending the second act.
The third act starts with Falstaff dragging himslf out of the water--Terfel climbs a ladder out of the orchestra pit onto the stage. The plot gets a little incredulous here, because he then falls for another trap set by the women. Briefly, he is lured out to a park, where half the town comes out in costume to torment him. It is this scene that makes the whole 3+ hour opera worth it. Verdi was a master of choral music, even greater than his small ensemble composition, if that is possible. The scene gives the Met chorus a chance to show off, not to mention its costume department. There's a big bunch of kids in the scene, who get to have a great time on stage, way past their bedtime. Oh yes, there was a horse. There are plenty of operas there where they bring a live horse out onto the stage, but I don't remember ever having seen one disguised as a unicorn. And I've certainly never seen live sheep on the stage before.
Anyhow, Falstaff learns his lesson, Ford learns his lesson (his wife is faithful), and even his daughter gets to marry her beloved. All is forgiven, and the opera ends with everyone singing that the world is but a jest.
Terfel is a very good comic, besides being a great singer. He obviously relishes being the clown--he even stayed in character a little when taking his bows. The other standout of the evening, at least vocally, was Stephanie Blythe as Mrs. Quickly. And for once a very large opera singer had a role where her size seemed appropriate. Franco Zeffirelli's 1964 sets, while certainly not his most spectacular, have been well-refurbished--and he did manage to include a couple of his signature staircases. It took a while to get going, but Falstaff was an enjoyable evening.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
NYFF: MANDERLAY
My third film at the New York Film Festival was Manderlay. This ia a film, not a movie, if you get the distinction. Even before it began the producer warned us that we would not "enjoy" it. At the end, a couple of people actually booed. A lot more walked out in the middle.
It certainly is weird. But I should not have been surprised, given that is a Danish/Swedish/French exploration of race relations set on an Alabama cotton plantation worked by slaves who were freed by a passing gangster's daughter in 1934.
It is the second film of a trilogy by the Danish director-screenwriter Lars von Trier. The first film was Dogville, which I hadn't heard of, let alone seen. But I had seen von Trier's strange Breaking the Waves, which should have been warning enough.
Is it good? Is it bad? There's quite a bit of both, though for a 139 minute film it did hold my attention pretty well. The performances were excellent, especially Bryce Dallas Howard as Grace, the gangster's daughter, and Danny Glover as the house slave/butler. But the plot does take a leap in logic now and then--for instance, why didn't someone tell Grace what would happen if they cut down the trees?
My advice, though: unless you are really interested in this kind of film, don't bother.
Friday, September 30, 2005
GenderPAC RECEPTION
Last night I went to the 10th Anniversary Reception of GenderPAC down at the Jeht Foundation offices in SoHo.
The evening actually started out with a conference call meeting of the New York State GENDA Coalition Steering Committee. I would put in a link to the Coalition's website, but it isn't up yet. My job today is to contact the person on charge of it and see what's going on--it was supposed to be running months ago. The Coalition is dedicated to the adoption of the Gender Non-Discrimination Act by New York State, which would extend to the entire state the protections achieved here in New York City in 2002.
Getting back to the reception, GenderPAC, the Gender Public Advocacy Coalition, "works to end discrimination and violence caused by gender stereotypes by changing public attitudes, educating elected officials and expanding human rights," or so it says on its website. That's its current goal, but it wasn't always. Originally it was dedicated to transgender rights. But five or six years ago it abruptly changed direction. It was very controversial, and most of its transgender board members quit.
I still support GenderPAC, if for no other reason than it helps foster good relations between the transgender community and the straights and gays that are the current major supporters. They have sharpened up the focus of their activities in the last couple years, and I think their efforts at providing parents with materials to help combat gender stereotyping will prove most useful.
But I think that too often they shoot themselves in the foot with little things like the invitation to this reception. It said the "Suggested Minimum Donation" was $75, but if you went to the webpage to get a ticket, the $75 minimum was not suggested, it was required. After I sent an e-mail to complain about this, they said they had a few "slots" for people who couldn't afford $75, and offered me one. I told them to save the slot for someone who really needed it.
Back to the reception itself, there were about 50 people there. Even before I arrived I spotted Mariette Pathy Allen, the Lammy-winning photographer of transgender people. My cab passed her as she was getting out of a car, and I waited at the street entrance to say hello. State Sen. Tom Duane, the Senate's first openly-gay and first openly HIV-positive member, showed up for a little while. But the guest of honor was Doug Wright, the Tony Award and Pulitzer Prize winning playwright of I Am My Own Wife. (Wright was a much better choice than Brini Maxwell, whom GenderPAC presented at one of its earlier fundraisers. Maxwell's portrayal of the typical 50's housewife is at least a borderline gender stereotype--another shot in the foot.)
Anyhow, when I arrived I was immediately ushered into a photo with Wright. I guess the photographer liked me.
After a bit of mingling, wine and hors d'oeuvres, a short program began. There were a couple of speeches by the president of the host Jeht Foundation, and GenderPAC Executive Riki Wilchens. Then it was Doug Wright's turn. He made a nice speech, trying to relate the work of GenderPAC to an "outtake" of his conversations with Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, the subject of his play. She was a German transvestite who survived the Nazi regime and its replacement in East Germany, the Soviet-dominated Communist dictatorship. I'm not sure the two things had much in common, but the story was interesting.
They also showed a short film, GenderPAC at 10: A New Vision for Human Rights. It was very well done, though it was hardly as it was described on the little printed program they handed out: "A documentary film chronicling GenderPAC's first 10 years of work and growth." While it did an excellent job of showing its current efforts, not much of the past was covered. There was certainly no mention of GenderPAC'a naissance as a transgender rights group. (I don't think it's found anywhere on their website either.) I'm not sure, but I think there may have been one small error. It went by very fast, but I thought I saw a picture of Gwen Araujo captioned as Amanda somebody. I'm going to e-mail them to ask them to double check that.
The program ended with a solicitation for more donations. They had already gotten $9100 from the evening, and wanted to reach $15,000, half the cost of an additional staff-person that they wanted. They said that the person who donated the most would get a trip to Starbucks with Doug Wright following the reception. They did achieve their goal.
There was some more mingling afterwards. I had a nice talk with Michelle Miles, an old friend from Crossdressers International, who is now the treasurer of GenderPAC. Then I went off to Lips for the rest of my dinner and to see Jesse Volt's "Dining With the Divas" show. She portrayed Nancy Sinatra this week, while Ginger did Britney Spears (Who told Britney Spears that "I Love Rock & Roll" needed her interpretation?), and Spanky did a make-up-smeared Courtney Love. Bartender Frankie Cocktail did her usual Dolly Parton.
The evening actually started out with a conference call meeting of the New York State GENDA Coalition Steering Committee. I would put in a link to the Coalition's website, but it isn't up yet. My job today is to contact the person on charge of it and see what's going on--it was supposed to be running months ago. The Coalition is dedicated to the adoption of the Gender Non-Discrimination Act by New York State, which would extend to the entire state the protections achieved here in New York City in 2002.
Getting back to the reception, GenderPAC, the Gender Public Advocacy Coalition, "works to end discrimination and violence caused by gender stereotypes by changing public attitudes, educating elected officials and expanding human rights," or so it says on its website. That's its current goal, but it wasn't always. Originally it was dedicated to transgender rights. But five or six years ago it abruptly changed direction. It was very controversial, and most of its transgender board members quit.
I still support GenderPAC, if for no other reason than it helps foster good relations between the transgender community and the straights and gays that are the current major supporters. They have sharpened up the focus of their activities in the last couple years, and I think their efforts at providing parents with materials to help combat gender stereotyping will prove most useful.
But I think that too often they shoot themselves in the foot with little things like the invitation to this reception. It said the "Suggested Minimum Donation" was $75, but if you went to the webpage to get a ticket, the $75 minimum was not suggested, it was required. After I sent an e-mail to complain about this, they said they had a few "slots" for people who couldn't afford $75, and offered me one. I told them to save the slot for someone who really needed it.
Back to the reception itself, there were about 50 people there. Even before I arrived I spotted Mariette Pathy Allen, the Lammy-winning photographer of transgender people. My cab passed her as she was getting out of a car, and I waited at the street entrance to say hello. State Sen. Tom Duane, the Senate's first openly-gay and first openly HIV-positive member, showed up for a little while. But the guest of honor was Doug Wright, the Tony Award and Pulitzer Prize winning playwright of I Am My Own Wife. (Wright was a much better choice than Brini Maxwell, whom GenderPAC presented at one of its earlier fundraisers. Maxwell's portrayal of the typical 50's housewife is at least a borderline gender stereotype--another shot in the foot.)
Anyhow, when I arrived I was immediately ushered into a photo with Wright. I guess the photographer liked me.
After a bit of mingling, wine and hors d'oeuvres, a short program began. There were a couple of speeches by the president of the host Jeht Foundation, and GenderPAC Executive Riki Wilchens. Then it was Doug Wright's turn. He made a nice speech, trying to relate the work of GenderPAC to an "outtake" of his conversations with Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, the subject of his play. She was a German transvestite who survived the Nazi regime and its replacement in East Germany, the Soviet-dominated Communist dictatorship. I'm not sure the two things had much in common, but the story was interesting.
They also showed a short film, GenderPAC at 10: A New Vision for Human Rights. It was very well done, though it was hardly as it was described on the little printed program they handed out: "A documentary film chronicling GenderPAC's first 10 years of work and growth." While it did an excellent job of showing its current efforts, not much of the past was covered. There was certainly no mention of GenderPAC'a naissance as a transgender rights group. (I don't think it's found anywhere on their website either.) I'm not sure, but I think there may have been one small error. It went by very fast, but I thought I saw a picture of Gwen Araujo captioned as Amanda somebody. I'm going to e-mail them to ask them to double check that.
The program ended with a solicitation for more donations. They had already gotten $9100 from the evening, and wanted to reach $15,000, half the cost of an additional staff-person that they wanted. They said that the person who donated the most would get a trip to Starbucks with Doug Wright following the reception. They did achieve their goal.
There was some more mingling afterwards. I had a nice talk with Michelle Miles, an old friend from Crossdressers International, who is now the treasurer of GenderPAC. Then I went off to Lips for the rest of my dinner and to see Jesse Volt's "Dining With the Divas" show. She portrayed Nancy Sinatra this week, while Ginger did Britney Spears (Who told Britney Spears that "I Love Rock & Roll" needed her interpretation?), and Spanky did a make-up-smeared Courtney Love. Bartender Frankie Cocktail did her usual Dolly Parton.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
WEDNESDAY EVENING: RECEPTION AND REQUIEM
This week I departed from my usual Wednesday Crossdressers International open house for a couple of other events. First was the Public Service Awards Reception of the New York County Lawyers' Association. The Committee on Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Issues, of which I have been a member three or four years (the first TG one), received the award for the best committee report of the past year. It was for Making Progress: How New York’s Top Twenty-Five Law Firms Address Issues of Concern to the LGBT Community. I worked on the Report subcommittee, concentrating on the TG areas, of course. I suggested most of the questions concerning TG's, and wrote most of that part of the summary.
The award was accepted by the current and immediate past Committee chairs, the immediate past one also being the head of the Report subcommittee. The current chair was surprised to hear that the award was actually $500. The Committee has always operated on a zero budget, so now we have to figure out how to spend it.
I would have liked to go to the reception as Caprice--I always like to show the TG flag at events like this--but I was meeting my wife afterwards, and I respected her desire that I present as a man.
After the ceremony there was a very nice refreshment spread, and I had just enough time for a light dinner. Then I hopped on the subway uptown, for Verdi's Requiem Mass, the opening night concert of Lincoln Center's Great Performers series.
It was performed by the London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, under the baton of Sir Colin Davis, with soloists soprano Anne Schwanewilms, mezzo-soprano Ildiko Komlosi, tenor Stuart Neill, and bass Orlin Anastassov (in his New York debut).
It was my second opening night event at Avery Fisher Hall in the last week, with another gala dinner occupying most of the upstairs lobby, but unlike last time there was no red carpet. And while there were a fair amount of nicely dressed people, it wasn't black tie. Since there wasn't an intermission, I really didn't get a good chance to see exactly what people were wearing, but my business suit fit right in.
As luck would have it I was sitting next to a couple of musicians of some sort. If I overheard correctly, the man two seats away was an orchestra conductor, though I certainly didn't recognize him. One or two others in the audience did, though, and came over to talk.
The concert was very good. Verdi was primarily an opera composer, and this Requiem was certainly on the "operatic" end of the scale. The orchestra was there to accompany the vocalists--and except for the work's signature phrase (repeated three times at various points), you really don't notice it. Sir Colin, three days past his 78th birthday, was in total control. He had performed the Verdi Requiem with the LSO in July, as a memorial to the victims of the London bombings, in St. Paul's Cathedral. Everyone was well prepared.
The chorus was superb--large enough to easily sing over the full orchestra, but nimble enough to sing quietly when required. The sopranos were not at all shrill even at their highest notes, a frequent problem with large choruses. The lower voices balanced the higher ones completely--there seemed to be an equal number of men and women, often not the case, at least with U.S. choruses.
Three of the four soloists were excellent--though tenor Stuart Neill could easily drop a hundred pounds and still not look thin. Bass Orlin Anastassov looked scrawny standing next to him, and it was a bit disconcerting hearing the high notes from the bigger man and the lower ones from the smaller.
As for the women, mezzo Ildiko Komlosi sang with a strong, rich tone at even her lowest notes, yet never wavered at the high end. Only soprano Anne Schwanewilms disappointed. Everything seemed to be a little bit off. A couple of times the pitch of her high notes was a tiny bit off for just a fraction of a second--eliciting groans from the musician sitting next to me. She just didn't have a pretty sound to my ears, unlike the other three soloists.
At least everyone was properly dressed. The men, including Sir Colin, were in white tie and tails, and the women wore nice, appropriate gowns that did not distract. No Viet Cong outfits or busboy jackets here.
The award was accepted by the current and immediate past Committee chairs, the immediate past one also being the head of the Report subcommittee. The current chair was surprised to hear that the award was actually $500. The Committee has always operated on a zero budget, so now we have to figure out how to spend it.
I would have liked to go to the reception as Caprice--I always like to show the TG flag at events like this--but I was meeting my wife afterwards, and I respected her desire that I present as a man.
After the ceremony there was a very nice refreshment spread, and I had just enough time for a light dinner. Then I hopped on the subway uptown, for Verdi's Requiem Mass, the opening night concert of Lincoln Center's Great Performers series.
It was performed by the London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, under the baton of Sir Colin Davis, with soloists soprano Anne Schwanewilms, mezzo-soprano Ildiko Komlosi, tenor Stuart Neill, and bass Orlin Anastassov (in his New York debut).
It was my second opening night event at Avery Fisher Hall in the last week, with another gala dinner occupying most of the upstairs lobby, but unlike last time there was no red carpet. And while there were a fair amount of nicely dressed people, it wasn't black tie. Since there wasn't an intermission, I really didn't get a good chance to see exactly what people were wearing, but my business suit fit right in.
As luck would have it I was sitting next to a couple of musicians of some sort. If I overheard correctly, the man two seats away was an orchestra conductor, though I certainly didn't recognize him. One or two others in the audience did, though, and came over to talk.
The concert was very good. Verdi was primarily an opera composer, and this Requiem was certainly on the "operatic" end of the scale. The orchestra was there to accompany the vocalists--and except for the work's signature phrase (repeated three times at various points), you really don't notice it. Sir Colin, three days past his 78th birthday, was in total control. He had performed the Verdi Requiem with the LSO in July, as a memorial to the victims of the London bombings, in St. Paul's Cathedral. Everyone was well prepared. The chorus was superb--large enough to easily sing over the full orchestra, but nimble enough to sing quietly when required. The sopranos were not at all shrill even at their highest notes, a frequent problem with large choruses. The lower voices balanced the higher ones completely--there seemed to be an equal number of men and women, often not the case, at least with U.S. choruses.
Three of the four soloists were excellent--though tenor Stuart Neill could easily drop a hundred pounds and still not look thin. Bass Orlin Anastassov looked scrawny standing next to him, and it was a bit disconcerting hearing the high notes from the bigger man and the lower ones from the smaller.
As for the women, mezzo Ildiko Komlosi sang with a strong, rich tone at even her lowest notes, yet never wavered at the high end. Only soprano Anne Schwanewilms disappointed. Everything seemed to be a little bit off. A couple of times the pitch of her high notes was a tiny bit off for just a fraction of a second--eliciting groans from the musician sitting next to me. She just didn't have a pretty sound to my ears, unlike the other three soloists.
At least everyone was properly dressed. The men, including Sir Colin, were in white tie and tails, and the women wore nice, appropriate gowns that did not distract. No Viet Cong outfits or busboy jackets here.
NYFF: CAPOTE
The second film of the New York Film Festival for me was Capote, which has been getting almost as much hype as Good Night, and Good Luck. This time the screening was in Alice Tully Hall, a much better venue for films than the larger Avery Fisher.I don't know if there was actually a red carpet on this gauntlet of paparazzi that the celebrities had to survive, because this time there was a separate entrance for us common folks. Even being in the third row wasn't a deterrent--after a couple minutes I had completely forgotten about my proximity to the screen.
I was really looking forward to this one, because I think there is no finer actor than Philip Seymour Hoffman these days. I knew that if anyone could pull off the portrayal of Truman Capote, both in the physical/voice and the psychological spheres, it would be Hoffman. Beyond being a pivotal figure in American literary history, Capote was a well-known celebrity, with repeated appearances on Johnny Carson's Tonight Show. Everyone knew what he looked like, and what he sounded like.
I wasn't disappointed. The Oscars can print up Hoffman's nomination for best actor right now. I'm sure there are plenty of impressionists who could have done a little closer rendition of Capote's signature high-pitched lisp, but Hoffman's was more than sufficient. As he explained in the Q&A following the showing of the film, his aim was to show Capote as a "fish out of water"--a gay New Yorker plopped down in a small western Kansas town to write on the murders of a farm family. The film is the story of the creation of Capote's resulting book, "In Cold Blood," the "non-fiction novel" that suddenly made it OK for serious writers to do non-fiction. The film concentrates on the conflicted relationship of a journalist and his murderer subject.
Only towards the end did the film drag even slightly, as we wait, as did Capote, for the murderers to exhaust their appeals. Hoffman was great, as was Clifton Collins, Jr., who portrayed the murderer Perry Smith. In fact, they can probably print up his nomination for best supporting actor right now also.
It's opening this weekend. See it.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
SPAM, A LOT II
The spammers have started working overtime. I got 73 of them at my main e-mail address yesterday, mostly touting penny stocks that are part of the homeland security boom. But none of them made it to my inbox. My home-made filters caught every single one of them.
So far today I'm 35 of 35. Oops, another one just arrived. Make that 36 of 36.
So far today I'm 35 of 35. Oops, another one just arrived. Make that 36 of 36.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
MOVIE QUICKIE
Last night we watched Mar adentro (The Sea Inside), which won the 2005 Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film. It's the true story of Ramón Sampedro, the Spanish quadiplegic who fought for 30 years for the right to die. It's strangely uplifting, more about his effect on those around him than Sampedro himself. Javier Bardem's portrayal of Sampedro was amazing, as he could use nothing but his head and his voice to evoke the character. So too was the make-up job they did on him, as he was only 35 at the time. The flashback to his accident showed his true age. In fact the make-up garnered an Oscar nomination also.
Highly recommended.
NYFF: GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK
Friday we went to the opening night of the New York Film Festival, to see the much-touted Good Night, and Good Luck. This is the story of CBS newsman Edward R. Murrow's 1953 challenge of the U.S. Air Force's dismissal of an officer who refused to denounce his allegedly communist father and sister--without any sort of trial, merely on the basis of a sealed envelope of "evidence." This quickly escalates into a challenge to the previously untouchable Sen. Joseph McCarthy's tactics in his witchhunt of alleged communists and communist sympathizers in the government.The film uses actual footage of McCarthy, and is highly evocative of the time. It is shot in black and white, just like television of the day. Actual 1953 commercials are seen. Everyone smokes, office attire is rather formal (particularly for the women), and unthinking sexism is ubiquitous even among the most thoughtful.
The whole thing is riveting, even though we know exactly how it comes out. The performances are superb. David Strathairn is Murrow--the voice is perfect. George Clooney, who also directed and co-wrote the 93-minute film, portrays Fred Friendly, Murrow's co-producer (and later president of CBS News). Frank Langella plays William Paley, chairman of the board of CBS. They, and the rest of the cast, are excellent--helped by the fact that a few of the people actually involved were still around to advise them. Clooney and Grant Heslov, who plays Don Hewitt, (later the executive producer of 60 Minutes) as well as being co-writer, both spoke before the screening. The rest trooped across the stage, and everyone took a bow from a first-tier box at the conclusion.
The cinematography and filmscore were first rate. The only things I can really complain about are the opening and closing scenes, which were a 1958 tribute dinner for Murrow, making the real action all a flashback. The 1953 story was enough.
As I said at the beginning, this was the opening film of the festival (not counting a 6-minute short that preceded it). We hadn't gone to opening night before, so we were not prepared for what awaited us at Avery Fisher Hall--a red carpet, complete with photographers and screaming fans. When we got out of the cab I looked for another way in, but when I showed our tickets we were immediately directed down the carpet by security. Meanwhile the photographers were concentrating on the formally attired celebrities, as we marched by in our sports clothes. It was a bit surreal.
We were early, and the lobby was full of people in tuxedos and beautiful dresses. We waited by the ticket-takers with a few others of the hoi polloi. The red carpet was directly outside, though the celebrities turned away from us to pose for the photographers. I think I saw Edie Falco's back. Eventually they started admitting people, and we climbed to our seats. They were in the rear of the third tier. In 31 years of going to Avery Fisher Hall I don't think I've ever been in the third tier before.
It's not that bad for a movie, though, at least visually. The apparent size of the screen is still sufficient, even at that distance. But the sound was another matter. We had trouble hearing some of the dialogue, and someone in the row in front of us said the same thing: we'll have to see it again to get everything. Fortunately that's the only film in the festival being shown in Avery Fisher Hall.
The next film for us will be Tuesday: Capote, with the wonderful Philip Seymour Hoffman in the title role.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
FALL FLING & SLUMBER PARTY
To celebrate the end of summer (a time when many crossdressers find crossdressing to be inconvenient and/or uncomfortable), Crossdressers International (CDI) had its Fall Fling Dinner Thursday night. This is a name we blatantly stole from the Tiffany Club of New England. And for several of the attendees, this was indeed the first time they had been en femme since last spring--the summer being a time when they can't let their shaven legs be seen, or it's too hot for the wig, pantyhose and make-up.
So sixteen of us went to Le Beaujolais up on Restaurant Row. It's a nice 6-block walk from the CDI apartment--at least if your heels aren't too high. Mine weren't.
Like many of the restaurants there, the place is usually empty by 8:00pm, when the theaters in the nearby Times Square area raise their curtains. So a group the size of ours was a nice bit of extra business for them--when we arrived at 7:50 the only patrons were a couple of guys sitting at the bar.
The food was unremarkable, the service very accomodating, and we had a good time. The evening developed into a joke competition, led by Rita Knight (left), who looked like she had just come from an audition for the role of the mother in Hairspray. Or maybe Dame Edna's understudy. She thoroughly ascribes to the motto of Lady Bunny: "The higher the hair, the closer to God."
Rita is our resident jokester--at least in her own mind. I think the others started telling jokes just in self-defense.
Eventually it was time to leave, and people started discussing where to go next. Most decided to call it a night, but three of us headed down to a club in the Flatiron District where burlesque performer Dirty Martini was to appear. I guess this is a hot place for clubs--there were four of them just on the single block of our destination.
It was a place called Duvet. We had to wait outside for a few minutes, so the club could give the impression it was difficult to get into. When there were enough people lined up behind us, we were admitted.
I must say the decor was very impressive. The bar area was spacious, with beautiful, internally-lit, glass-topped tables attached to the floor. The bar itself was also glass-topped, and lit from below. We bought some rather expensive drinks, and wandered over to the most impressive decoration of all--a large tank filled with dozens of baby jellyfish, gently and gracefully propelling themselves around. The light in the tank changed hue every 15 seconds or so, tinting the all-white creatures. It was mesmerizing.
After staring at the jellyfish for a bit we started looking for the stage, so we could see Dirty Martini. We found it in an entirely separate room--the place is very large, at least by NYC standards. Most of the rest of the room, though, was occupied by beds!
I had read about such places, where you don't sit at tables, you lie on mattresses and pillows. Something like in ancient Rome, I guess. Earlier in the evening they serve food, and that is where people ate. Now people were just lying on them, drinking, and cuddling, or dancing, or rolling around simulating sex.
It was quite clear we were what I call "OITP"--Oldest In The Place. It's a situation I regularly find myself in, sometimes even when I'm just out with my wife. Here, I was probably twice the age of a good majority of the people there. But nobody seemed to care--it's amazing how putting on a dress changes things.
We stood around, not really knowing what to do, when a 20-something woman came over and introduced herself--Lauren. She had a disposable camera and asked if she could take our picture. We agreed, and she took a couple of shots. Then she said she was there with some people "from her agency," and invited us to join them on their bed.
When in Rome...
We followed her, and found ourselves at a very large bed right behind the stage (which doubled as a dance area). Off went our shoes, and up on the bed we went. We sat and talked to Lauren for a bit, as well as we could over the thumping music. Then one of her friends came over, and we all started dancing.
Dancing on a foam mattress is not easy, at least not for me. I noticed that the bed was made of several mattresses, and I had to be careful not to step between them (everything is covered with very nice, very smooth sheets). I also noticed that the mattresses were of widely differing firmness. It was the softer ones that made dancing more difficult.
Eventually Lauren and her friends left. Still no Dirty Martini. We sat for a bit and waited. A somewhat older guy, maybe over 40, came over, trying to convince me to join the Imperial Court. He left, and another twenty-something woman came over with a camera, and asked to take our picture. I talked with her for while, then she left. I put my shoes on and went to get more drinks.
Of course, that was when Dirty Martini showed up. I was told she did her striptease. By the time I returned all I saw was the tail end--of her tail end (I said our bed was behind the stage).
We were hoping she'd do more, but that was it. We did see Amanda Lepore, wearing her surgery and lingerie. We finished our drinks, and called it a night.
So sixteen of us went to Le Beaujolais up on Restaurant Row. It's a nice 6-block walk from the CDI apartment--at least if your heels aren't too high. Mine weren't.
Like many of the restaurants there, the place is usually empty by 8:00pm, when the theaters in the nearby Times Square area raise their curtains. So a group the size of ours was a nice bit of extra business for them--when we arrived at 7:50 the only patrons were a couple of guys sitting at the bar.
The food was unremarkable, the service very accomodating, and we had a good time. The evening developed into a joke competition, led by Rita Knight (left), who looked like she had just come from an audition for the role of the mother in Hairspray. Or maybe Dame Edna's understudy. She thoroughly ascribes to the motto of Lady Bunny: "The higher the hair, the closer to God."
Rita is our resident jokester--at least in her own mind. I think the others started telling jokes just in self-defense.
Eventually it was time to leave, and people started discussing where to go next. Most decided to call it a night, but three of us headed down to a club in the Flatiron District where burlesque performer Dirty Martini was to appear. I guess this is a hot place for clubs--there were four of them just on the single block of our destination.
It was a place called Duvet. We had to wait outside for a few minutes, so the club could give the impression it was difficult to get into. When there were enough people lined up behind us, we were admitted.
I must say the decor was very impressive. The bar area was spacious, with beautiful, internally-lit, glass-topped tables attached to the floor. The bar itself was also glass-topped, and lit from below. We bought some rather expensive drinks, and wandered over to the most impressive decoration of all--a large tank filled with dozens of baby jellyfish, gently and gracefully propelling themselves around. The light in the tank changed hue every 15 seconds or so, tinting the all-white creatures. It was mesmerizing.
After staring at the jellyfish for a bit we started looking for the stage, so we could see Dirty Martini. We found it in an entirely separate room--the place is very large, at least by NYC standards. Most of the rest of the room, though, was occupied by beds!
I had read about such places, where you don't sit at tables, you lie on mattresses and pillows. Something like in ancient Rome, I guess. Earlier in the evening they serve food, and that is where people ate. Now people were just lying on them, drinking, and cuddling, or dancing, or rolling around simulating sex.
It was quite clear we were what I call "OITP"--Oldest In The Place. It's a situation I regularly find myself in, sometimes even when I'm just out with my wife. Here, I was probably twice the age of a good majority of the people there. But nobody seemed to care--it's amazing how putting on a dress changes things.
We stood around, not really knowing what to do, when a 20-something woman came over and introduced herself--Lauren. She had a disposable camera and asked if she could take our picture. We agreed, and she took a couple of shots. Then she said she was there with some people "from her agency," and invited us to join them on their bed.
When in Rome...
We followed her, and found ourselves at a very large bed right behind the stage (which doubled as a dance area). Off went our shoes, and up on the bed we went. We sat and talked to Lauren for a bit, as well as we could over the thumping music. Then one of her friends came over, and we all started dancing.
Dancing on a foam mattress is not easy, at least not for me. I noticed that the bed was made of several mattresses, and I had to be careful not to step between them (everything is covered with very nice, very smooth sheets). I also noticed that the mattresses were of widely differing firmness. It was the softer ones that made dancing more difficult.
Eventually Lauren and her friends left. Still no Dirty Martini. We sat for a bit and waited. A somewhat older guy, maybe over 40, came over, trying to convince me to join the Imperial Court. He left, and another twenty-something woman came over with a camera, and asked to take our picture. I talked with her for while, then she left. I put my shoes on and went to get more drinks.
Of course, that was when Dirty Martini showed up. I was told she did her striptease. By the time I returned all I saw was the tail end--of her tail end (I said our bed was behind the stage).
We were hoping she'd do more, but that was it. We did see Amanda Lepore, wearing her surgery and lingerie. We finished our drinks, and called it a night.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
I'M STILL HERE
In case anyone is wondering, I'm still here. I've been busy with some other things, and I am in the middle of writing a long, serious post. I don't know whether it will be done before Friday--right now I have to go and figure out what I'm going to wear to the Crossdressers International Fall Fling Dinner tomorrow.
Monday, September 19, 2005
I AM NOT HE
I have renamed my blog. It turns out there is a another "glob." It hasn't been updated in over a year, and the owner said he didn't care, but I do. So now it's "caprice's glob."
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Saturday, September 17, 2005
I AM YOU AND YOU ARE HE AND HE IS ME
Yesterday in the mail an envelope arrived with a set of tickets to the New York Film Festival. This was rather puzzling, since we had already received our tickets. A close examination of the address showed that the first and last names were right, and the street was right, but the middle initial was wrong (I seldom use mine anyway), the street number had an extra digit, and the apartment number was wrong.
There is no listing in the phone book for that name and address, but a call to the New York Film Society produced the number. My wife called him, and he happily agreed to come over and pick up his tickets. It seems that the Film Society has completely screwed up both of our addresses. We are both listed as at his street number, my street (which is one less than his), and his apartment number. I think the reason I haven't had any problems before is that I always include a self-addressed envelope with my ticket order.
This kind of confusion happens from time to time. My male name is not unique, even in Manhattan. There are three of us in the current phone book. Years ago I remember there were six. Back then there was a lot of confusion. When I first moved to New York I got quite a bit of mail meant for one of the others, who lived in the same neighborhood. Apparently he was a book editor. Once I even got a manuscript someone sent. I marked "Return to Sender: Wrong Xxxxx Xxxxx" on everything and dumped them in a mailbox.
There were also a lot of phone calls meant for him. I usually knew it immediately, because thay'd say "Hi, Xxxxx," which was a nickname I never use. What really got me, though, were these messages left on my answering machine. Every couple months or so I'd come home from work and find a message that went, "Hi, [nickname]. This is Bill. I'm going to be in New York next week. Can we get together and talk? Please call me at home." This went on, year after year after year. I really felt sorry for him, but he never left a phone number, and I didn't have caller ID (if it even existed back then), so there wasn't anything I could do to end his frustration. Not to mention mine.
One day, though, I was at home sick when he called.
"Hello."
"Hi, [nickname]. I'm so glad I caught you at home."
"I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong [first name] [last name]."
Momentary silence.
"You're not my brother?"
"No."
A little more silence.
"But, but, I've been calling you and leaving messages for years."
"I know, but you never left your number, so I couldn't call and tell you that you were making a mistake."
"Oh my God. All this time I thought he was still mad at me."
There is no listing in the phone book for that name and address, but a call to the New York Film Society produced the number. My wife called him, and he happily agreed to come over and pick up his tickets. It seems that the Film Society has completely screwed up both of our addresses. We are both listed as at his street number, my street (which is one less than his), and his apartment number. I think the reason I haven't had any problems before is that I always include a self-addressed envelope with my ticket order.
This kind of confusion happens from time to time. My male name is not unique, even in Manhattan. There are three of us in the current phone book. Years ago I remember there were six. Back then there was a lot of confusion. When I first moved to New York I got quite a bit of mail meant for one of the others, who lived in the same neighborhood. Apparently he was a book editor. Once I even got a manuscript someone sent. I marked "Return to Sender: Wrong Xxxxx Xxxxx" on everything and dumped them in a mailbox.
There were also a lot of phone calls meant for him. I usually knew it immediately, because thay'd say "Hi, Xxxxx," which was a nickname I never use. What really got me, though, were these messages left on my answering machine. Every couple months or so I'd come home from work and find a message that went, "Hi, [nickname]. This is Bill. I'm going to be in New York next week. Can we get together and talk? Please call me at home." This went on, year after year after year. I really felt sorry for him, but he never left a phone number, and I didn't have caller ID (if it even existed back then), so there wasn't anything I could do to end his frustration. Not to mention mine.
One day, though, I was at home sick when he called.
"Hello."
"Hi, [nickname]. I'm so glad I caught you at home."
"I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong [first name] [last name]."
Momentary silence.
"You're not my brother?"
"No."
A little more silence.
"But, but, I've been calling you and leaving messages for years."
"I know, but you never left your number, so I couldn't call and tell you that you were making a mistake."
"Oh my God. All this time I thought he was still mad at me."
APPIAN UNAPPETIZING
Richard Greenberg scored a Tony Award and a Pulitzer nomination for his 2003 play Take Me Out. His latest work to hit Broadway, A Naked Girl on the Appian Way, won't get him any such awards. I realize that the show is still in previews, but what I saw last night has no potential for significant improvement.The characters vary from the mildly eccentric to just plain nuts--and some of them wander back and forth across that range through the course of the show. I can't believe either of the sons could grow to adulthood and still act so immaturely. Also, while I'm not an expert in the area, I believe the whole plot is based on a total misreading of family law.
There are some good lines here and there. The play is not really boring--just don't try to make any sense out of it.
This marks the return of Jill Clayburgh to Broadway, after a 20 year stint at child-rearing. Her portrayal of the cookbook author mother was the most believable--though it was too reminiscent of Martha Stewart for my taste. I look forward to her seeing her in her next role, as the mother in a revival of Barefoot in the Park.
The rest of the cast did well, considering what they had to work with. But no matter how good the actors are, when the characters they play are unbelievable then their efforts will be futile. Give this one a miss.
Friday, September 16, 2005
CAN'T SLEEP
So what am I doing up at this hour? I can't sleep. I did go to bed, but an hour later I was still wide awake. So I'm up, getting a head start on tomorrow's stuff.
But I have to get some sleep sometime--I'm seeing a play tomorrow evening. Well, I guess that's really this evening.
But I have to get some sleep sometime--I'm seeing a play tomorrow evening. Well, I guess that's really this evening.
OY VEY!
Liz Smith writes in today's column
This reminds me of a former colleague of my wife's who made an even worse mistake. She meant to say "futz around" (meaning to mess or fool around--it's not really Yiddish). But she said "putz around." "Putz" is a very offensive, almost obscene word for penis.
Liz, everyone, leave the Yiddish to people who really know it.
JENNIFER ANISTON has mended from the tzimmes surrounding her divorce from Brad PittI'm certainly no Yiddish expert, but even I know that she means "tsouris," not "tzimmes." "Tsouris" means troubles. "Tzimmes" is something you eat, made up of things like stewed carrots, honey, raisins, and prunes.
This reminds me of a former colleague of my wife's who made an even worse mistake. She meant to say "futz around" (meaning to mess or fool around--it's not really Yiddish). But she said "putz around." "Putz" is a very offensive, almost obscene word for penis.
Liz, everyone, leave the Yiddish to people who really know it.
WHAT THE L.L.?
Yesterday's mail brought us the L.L. Bean Christmas catalog, with a nice, snowy scene of people skating on a frozen pond on the cover. But, yesterday it was 82° in New York. Well, maybe we're having a late fall warm spell. Let me check my calendar. No, it's September 16.
It's still summer AND THEY'RE SENDING OUT CHRISTMAS CATALOGS???!!!! UN-F'ING-BELIEVABLE!!!
It's still summer AND THEY'RE SENDING OUT CHRISTMAS CATALOGS???!!!! UN-F'ING-BELIEVABLE!!!
Thursday, September 15, 2005
GOOGLE ME II
A couple days ago I noted how proud I was that this blog was coming up in Google searches. Now Google has come up with a search engine specifically for blogs: http://blogsearch.google.com. I'm there, too, as I expected.
Blog on!
Blog on!
CDI KATRINA FUNDRAISER YIELDS $1200+!
Crossdressers International, of which I am treasurer, held its fundraiser for the victims of Hurricane Katrina last night. The 20-odd (not 20 odd) members and guests contributed over $700. With the contribution from CDI itself, we will be delivering over $1200 for hurricane relief.
We were saddened to hear that one of our guests had lost two relatives to Katrina, one a litle baby. I think there will be a lot of people with dead relatives, when they finish identifying all the bodies. There was also a phone call during the evening from the friend of another guest. The friend is safe in Brooklyn, but escaped with little more than the clothes on his back. Now he has no home, no job, and no idea what is coming next.
On a brighter note, the highlight of the evening was the cooking of Michael, a professional chef who is the friend of our president. His pasta bolognese was first rate. I was amazed he could come up with something so good in the limited cooking facilities of the CDI apartment--a tiny galley kitchen with two electric burners and no real oven, just a microwave. That's a pro for you.
We were saddened to hear that one of our guests had lost two relatives to Katrina, one a litle baby. I think there will be a lot of people with dead relatives, when they finish identifying all the bodies. There was also a phone call during the evening from the friend of another guest. The friend is safe in Brooklyn, but escaped with little more than the clothes on his back. Now he has no home, no job, and no idea what is coming next.
On a brighter note, the highlight of the evening was the cooking of Michael, a professional chef who is the friend of our president. His pasta bolognese was first rate. I was amazed he could come up with something so good in the limited cooking facilities of the CDI apartment--a tiny galley kitchen with two electric burners and no real oven, just a microwave. That's a pro for you.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
WALK (⅔ OF) A MILE IN MY SHOES
I recently managed to walk from Ninth Avenue and W. 14th St. to the Monster Bar at the corner of Grove St. and W. 4th, in 3½ inch heels. It's about ⅔ of a mile, judging from Mapquest (I didn't walk per the driving directions). I only got one blister on each foot.
I think if you can do a full mile you get a merit badge from the Drag Scouts.
I think if you can do a full mile you get a merit badge from the Drag Scouts.
GOOGLE ME!
Google has found me! If you do a search for glob mostly mozart, for instance, I'm on the third page.
I've been on MSN Search almost from the beginning. But Google! Now I know I've arrived. I'm so proud!
I've been on MSN Search almost from the beginning. But Google! Now I know I've arrived. I'm so proud!
MARCH OF THE MONOGAMISTS?
An article in today's New York Times says that conservatives are rallying around the film March of the Penguins. They think it promotes monogamy and the intelligent design pseudo-theory.
Monogamy? Sure. Except what the movie and its conservative fans fail to point out is that every year the penguins choose new mates. It's temporary monogamy--an automatic annulment every spring. Is this what the conservatives want to promote?
Intelligent design? Pul-eeze! It's just the opposite. The penguins that figured out where it was safest to do their breeding (as far from the predator-filled sea as possible) and were strong enough to withstand the journeys back and forth, were the ones that survived. Evolution does not yield species that take the easy road.
Monday, September 12, 2005
MATISSE AT THE MET
Yesterday I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see the Matisse: The Fabric of Dreams--His Art and His Textiles exhibition. I was blown away, particularly by his use of color. I think he might displace Van Gogh as my favorite "modern" artist.
It was amazing to see the actual textiles and garments that Henri Matisse used on his models and for his backgounds. Matisse's family had been in the textile industry in northeastern France for generations, and he grew up with fabrics, not fine art. It was said that he probably never saw an oil painting until he was 20 years old. He collected fabrics and garments all his life. When he died in 1955 the collection was packed away, not to see the light of day until last year.
But it was even more amazing to see how he presented them in his pictures. They were never literal representations, and sometimes were very much different. For instance, the Ottoman robe on the left became the one on the right. In fact there was another painting of the robe that had even wider stripes.
At the end of his life and mostly bed-ridden, Matisse found a different medium with which to use color: he took a pair of scissors and made cut-outs of paper that had been painted with solid hues, and then attached them to similarly colored backgrounds. He found great freedom in not having to use a brush to invoke a color. At the left is his "Acrobatic Dancer." While the relationship to fabrics is more distant here, this medium did resemble some of the fabrics he had collected from Africa and the South Pacific, where layering was used.
The exhibition will be there through the 25th. Catch it if you can, especially if you love colors. If you're watching your pennies you can skip the audio guide. It only adds a few things to the posted explanations, and probably everything is in the catalogue. There are many copies to view in the reading room.
It was amazing to see the actual textiles and garments that Henri Matisse used on his models and for his backgounds. Matisse's family had been in the textile industry in northeastern France for generations, and he grew up with fabrics, not fine art. It was said that he probably never saw an oil painting until he was 20 years old. He collected fabrics and garments all his life. When he died in 1955 the collection was packed away, not to see the light of day until last year.
But it was even more amazing to see how he presented them in his pictures. They were never literal representations, and sometimes were very much different. For instance, the Ottoman robe on the left became the one on the right. In fact there was another painting of the robe that had even wider stripes.
At the end of his life and mostly bed-ridden, Matisse found a different medium with which to use color: he took a pair of scissors and made cut-outs of paper that had been painted with solid hues, and then attached them to similarly colored backgrounds. He found great freedom in not having to use a brush to invoke a color. At the left is his "Acrobatic Dancer." While the relationship to fabrics is more distant here, this medium did resemble some of the fabrics he had collected from Africa and the South Pacific, where layering was used.
The exhibition will be there through the 25th. Catch it if you can, especially if you love colors. If you're watching your pennies you can skip the audio guide. It only adds a few things to the posted explanations, and probably everything is in the catalogue. There are many copies to view in the reading room.
FEMA DIRECTOR RESIGNS! ABOUT TIME!
The AP reports Mike Brown, the idiot FEMA director, has resigned. It's about time. This guy was clueless.
Go into the private sector indeed. I pity any company that hires him. In fact, I'm wondering if I'm still eligible to buy put options at my stock broker's.
Go into the private sector indeed. I pity any company that hires him. In fact, I'm wondering if I'm still eligible to buy put options at my stock broker's.
DRAG QUEENS IN MUFTI
I recently had the pleasure of attending the going-away dinner for the manager of Lips, the Greenwich Village eatery which features drag performers as waitresses and bartenders. Edwin is going off to California, and is considering an offer to manage a clothing-optional men's (i.e. gay) resort there. (Does anyone besides me see a certain, um, symmetry, between running a place where people dress up, and one where they, uh, dress down, all the way down?)
I've been a regular customer at Lips for several years, and I've gotten to know some of the people who work there. No deep friendships, but enough to occasionally hang out with them after they get off work. They were nice enough to invite me to this dinner for Edwin, also.
The thing was, I had never seen most of them out of drag before. A couple of them present as women full time, and two more were quite recognizable as men. But there were these other two...
One was the last to arrive, so I knew who it was by process of elimination. But I don't think I would have recognized him otherwise. (The funny thing was, he didn't recognize us! The restaurant staff had to show him to the table. He said it was because he was looking for a table of drag queens--and I was the only one there even wearing a wig.)
The other one I would never have recognized in a million years, despite all the hours I've spent looking at, er, her. Then he opened his mouth. As soon as he started talking I knew who it was.
We talked (and laughed) a bit about it. One said it's common for them to do a performance, return to male-mode, go out to the bar, and be totally unrecognized by people who had just seen them up on the stage.
The late arrival told a story on himself. One night he wasn't working he went to a bar, hoping to meet someone. He saw a guy he liked. He went over, and started "cruising" him, showing his interest. The guy gave him a puzzled look, but he continued giving him the eye. The guy started laughing, and said, "Xxxx, it's me, Edie!"--someone he had worked with, in drag, many, many times. Even drag queens don't always recognize each other out of uniform.
I've been a regular customer at Lips for several years, and I've gotten to know some of the people who work there. No deep friendships, but enough to occasionally hang out with them after they get off work. They were nice enough to invite me to this dinner for Edwin, also.
The thing was, I had never seen most of them out of drag before. A couple of them present as women full time, and two more were quite recognizable as men. But there were these other two...
One was the last to arrive, so I knew who it was by process of elimination. But I don't think I would have recognized him otherwise. (The funny thing was, he didn't recognize us! The restaurant staff had to show him to the table. He said it was because he was looking for a table of drag queens--and I was the only one there even wearing a wig.)
The other one I would never have recognized in a million years, despite all the hours I've spent looking at, er, her. Then he opened his mouth. As soon as he started talking I knew who it was.
We talked (and laughed) a bit about it. One said it's common for them to do a performance, return to male-mode, go out to the bar, and be totally unrecognized by people who had just seen them up on the stage.
The late arrival told a story on himself. One night he wasn't working he went to a bar, hoping to meet someone. He saw a guy he liked. He went over, and started "cruising" him, showing his interest. The guy gave him a puzzled look, but he continued giving him the eye. The guy started laughing, and said, "Xxxx, it's me, Edie!"--someone he had worked with, in drag, many, many times. Even drag queens don't always recognize each other out of uniform.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
BILL V. ARNOLD?
There's a rumor going around they're trying to get Bill Clinton to run for governor of California, against Schwarzenegger. I wonder what the residency requirement there is.
I also wonder what Hillary would have to say about it.
I also wonder what Hillary would have to say about it.
9/11
It's 9/11--a day of sadness and anger and horrible memories for me. I was there. My office was across the street, right behind 7 World Trade Center. I saw some things no one should ever have to see, things I want to forget. But I can't.
I was lucky. I wasn't hurt. I didn't even have to breathe any of the dust--unlike the 1993 bombing of the Trade Center. At that time I had a job in 2 World Trade, and I had to walk down from the 68th floor in a smoke-filled, crowded, unlit stairwell. I was fortunate that I had a tiny flashlight in my briefcase. To this day I always have one in my pocket or purse, just in case.
I was also lucky that no one I knew personally was killed on 9/11. All of my former colleagues still working there got out, as did everyone else I knew who worked in the Trade Center. There were a couple of friends of friends, and a cousin of a friend, but no one closer.
But I still have the horrible memories. It didn't help that my company did eventually re-occupy its offices down there, and I spent a year and a half trying not to look at where the towers had been.
I want to forget. But I can't.
I was lucky. I wasn't hurt. I didn't even have to breathe any of the dust--unlike the 1993 bombing of the Trade Center. At that time I had a job in 2 World Trade, and I had to walk down from the 68th floor in a smoke-filled, crowded, unlit stairwell. I was fortunate that I had a tiny flashlight in my briefcase. To this day I always have one in my pocket or purse, just in case.
I was also lucky that no one I knew personally was killed on 9/11. All of my former colleagues still working there got out, as did everyone else I knew who worked in the Trade Center. There were a couple of friends of friends, and a cousin of a friend, but no one closer.
But I still have the horrible memories. It didn't help that my company did eventually re-occupy its offices down there, and I spent a year and a half trying not to look at where the towers had been.
I want to forget. But I can't.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
THERE'S NO MERCY IN FOOTBALL
My college team, the University of Wisconsin-Madison Badgers, is winning its football game against the Temple Owls, 51-0. At halftime. With the second string in.
I kinda feel sorry for the Owls. But unlike softball, there's no mercy rule in football. They'll have to play this out until the end.
Maybe we should suit up the band and send them in. Or the cheerleaders.
Friday, September 09, 2005
POOR MARKTING
I was invited by a couple friends to join them for dinner. They said they were going to the Market Restaurant at Ninth Ave. and 14th St. So I wanted to find out a little about the place beforehand, and I Googled it. Nothing. I found Spice Market and Chelsea Market in the neighborhood, but no Market. Could it be that new?
Nevertheless at the appointed time I took a cab and went to Ninth and 14th, and sure enough, there it was, right on the corner--except it was Markt, not Market. It's a Belgian restaurant, and they used the Flemish spelling. Not a really great marketing ploy. But the food was very good, and the service was excellent.
Nevertheless at the appointed time I took a cab and went to Ninth and 14th, and sure enough, there it was, right on the corner--except it was Markt, not Market. It's a Belgian restaurant, and they used the Flemish spelling. Not a really great marketing ploy. But the food was very good, and the service was excellent.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
YOU CAN'T BE SERIAL
My wife's new laptop (excuse me, notebook) computer arrived today. It has no parallel, serial or mouse ports. Everything is USB today--except our old peripherals. We already ordered a replacement for her old HP Laserjet 4L, which sounds like it's going to spit out pieces with every page it prints. And I happen to have a cordless USB mouse I've never gotten around installing on my computer, so I can use that.
The computer also has no floppy drive. My wife likes to immediately back up all her documents on floppies, so I ordered a USB floppy drive also. That will fill all three USB ports, so if we get anything else I'll have to get a USB hub.
It is kind of amazing about the serial port, though. I remember my first real computer back in 1982 (not counting the VIC-20 toy), the original Compaq. It didn't have a serial port either. It was portable, though--if you consider a 30 lb. suitcase portable.
The computer also has no floppy drive. My wife likes to immediately back up all her documents on floppies, so I ordered a USB floppy drive also. That will fill all three USB ports, so if we get anything else I'll have to get a USB hub.
It is kind of amazing about the serial port, though. I remember my first real computer back in 1982 (not counting the VIC-20 toy), the original Compaq. It didn't have a serial port either. It was portable, though--if you consider a 30 lb. suitcase portable.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
GO MARTINA!
Martina Navratilova has made it into the doubles semi-finals of the U.S. Open, at the age of 48! She just keeps going and going and going.
OH MY GOODNESS! I AGREE WITH NEWT GINGRICH!
Liz Smith reports:
FOX NEWS emperor Bill O'Reilly tells us in Katrina's wake that if we — Americans — depend on the United States government for any reason, we are certain to be disappointed. Always. The government of the United States cannot help you. Bill's advice to America (to the poor of New Orleans, especially) is educate yourself and get a well-paying job. Only then can you avoid standing on a "metaphorical rooftop" when the next disaster rolls around. Bill did not give the poor any advice on how one finds a proper education or a job. Remember, the government can't help.
Oh, Newt Gingrich told Bill — in the nicest possible way, because they are friends — that his government theory was, well . . . "un-American."
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
BOB DENVER IS DEAD
Bob Denver has died at the age of 70. While most people remember him as the Gilligan of "Gilligan's Island," I always liked him better in his earlier role of Maynard G. Krebs, the bearded beatnik in "The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis," so workophobic that even hearing the word "work" would cause him to react in horror. Thanks for all the laughs, Maynard,Gilligan, Bob.
Monday, September 05, 2005
A CD ON THE SUPREMES?
Over on the Myhusbandbetty boards Michelle wrote:
She wants a crossdresser on the Court?
Seriously, I'm crossing my fingers and holding my breath on Roberts. He does seem to have an open mind, unlike Scalia and his wannabe sidekick. Supreme Court justices frequently do migrate toward the center, or even further--Earl Warren was considered to be a conservative judge when he was appointed.
As for O'Connor's next replacement, I also think a woman is quite possible. But I think Bush's first priority will be to find someone similar to Roberts.
And who knows? Maybe Roberts will wear a skirt under his robes. I'll send him one. Does anyone know his size?
[A] close friend of mine (a partner in a large Phoenix law firm) who knows Justice O'Connor well related to me yesterday that she likes Roberts well enough but wishes, in her words, "that he wore a skirt".
She wants a crossdresser on the Court?
Seriously, I'm crossing my fingers and holding my breath on Roberts. He does seem to have an open mind, unlike Scalia and his wannabe sidekick. Supreme Court justices frequently do migrate toward the center, or even further--Earl Warren was considered to be a conservative judge when he was appointed.
As for O'Connor's next replacement, I also think a woman is quite possible. But I think Bush's first priority will be to find someone similar to Roberts.
And who knows? Maybe Roberts will wear a skirt under his robes. I'll send him one. Does anyone know his size?
CDI FUNDRAISER FOR HURRICANE VICTIMS
We're (Crossdressers International) putting together a fundraiser barbecue for the victims of Hurricane Katrina, on Wednesday, September 14. CDI will be matching individual contributions up to $20 (with a $500 total limit I think--we're not the richest TG group in the world). See the CDI website for details as they develop.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
VERY LIGHT IN THE PIAZZA
I saw The Light in the Piazza last night. From the bit they performed at the Tony Awards I didn't expect that much, and I wasn't disappointed. The music was totally forgettable. The story was weak to start with, and degenerated almost to nonsense--in the second act characters changed their minds for no apparent reason.
The performances were good. Victoria Clark deserved her Tony for Actress in a Musical. The best part, though, were the costumes--the early 50's dresses worn by the younger actresses were to die for. Catherine Zuber deserved her Tony for them.
The performances were good. Victoria Clark deserved her Tony for Actress in a Musical. The best part, though, were the costumes--the early 50's dresses worn by the younger actresses were to die for. Catherine Zuber deserved her Tony for them.
SISTER V. SISTER: UNAPPEALING UNPLEASANTNESS
One of the television sportscasters opined that everyone likes a Serena Williams versus Venus Williams match, except Serena and Venus. Piffle! I doubt their family likes it. I certainly don't. They generally play relatively poorly against each other--it's hard to exhibit a killer instinct when it's someone you love across the net.
At least the matches are not all one-sided. I rememeber when Andrea Jaeger had to play her older sister many years ago. Despite being ranked in the top 10, much higher than her sister, she kept losing to big sis. It took Andrea a number of tries before she was able to conquer her sibling.
At least the matches are not all one-sided. I rememeber when Andrea Jaeger had to play her older sister many years ago. Despite being ranked in the top 10, much higher than her sister, she kept losing to big sis. It took Andrea a number of tries before she was able to conquer her sibling.
Friday, September 02, 2005
AUTOMATIC PAYMENTS, AUTOMATIC PITA
I got an e-mail from Lycos, which hosts the Crossdressers International website, of which I am webmistress. It said my Discover card that they bill for the site (a whole $4.95/month) was expiring. Which it is. I just got the new card a few days ago, so I signed on to the Lycos site and put in the new expiration date.
Then I remembered that I have a bunch of other places that get paid automatically via Discover. So I signed on to the Discover site, brought up my last bill, and made a list. Some I could do online--if I remembered my user id and password. Some I had to call--but the toll-free numbers on the Discover bill were inaccurate. (the worst was SBC Yahoo!, which listed a number for their DSL division--but I only have a dial-up account with them. It was voice response hell.)
It took almost three hours, and I'm still not sure a couple of them are correct. What a PITA.
Then I remembered that I have a bunch of other places that get paid automatically via Discover. So I signed on to the Discover site, brought up my last bill, and made a list. Some I could do online--if I remembered my user id and password. Some I had to call--but the toll-free numbers on the Discover bill were inaccurate. (the worst was SBC Yahoo!, which listed a number for their DSL division--but I only have a dial-up account with them. It was voice response hell.)
It took almost three hours, and I'm still not sure a couple of them are correct. What a PITA.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
MOSTLY MOZART FESTIVAL FINALLY FINISHES
The Mostly Mozart Festival ended strongly last Saturday. I'll get to that concert in a bit. First, a few comments about the previous performances that I saw:
- 8/19, Handel's L'Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato, by the Mark Morris Dance Group--Dance isn't really my thing, but this was fairly interesting. 24 dancers, of widely different heights, colors and looks. One part had some of the dancers portraying 3 dogs on leashes pulling a guy along--that was excellent. The lowlight of the evening came at the end, when Mark Morris himself came out to take his bows with the company. He was wearing cargo shorts and flip-flops. Yech.
- 8/20, Osmo Vänskä conductor: Beethoven's Namensfeier Overture--I thought I had heard every orchestral work Beethoven ever wrote, but this was a new one to me. I could see why--even a genius like Beethoven can have off days. Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 23 (K. 488) played by Stephen Hough--probably Mozart's most popular concerto for this instrument. Hough did it quite well--in another Viet Cong uniform (see ZERO MOZART below). At least this one was more fitted than Bell's, and had some nice black-on-black embroidery around the button holes. But it was his shoes everyone noticed: green suede loafers. PUH-LEEZE! Schubert's Ninth Symphony--Vänskä asked for and got a rousing performance.
- 8/25, The Russian Patriarchate Choir, making its U.S. debut. Alice Tully Hall was filled to the brim with people, and with sound. They probably could have done both in the larger Avery Fisher Hall. The 12-man choir, formed in 1983 to specialize in liturgical music, has a very unusual, non-operatic sound. Little vibrato, I think, and certainly no emotion. (One tenor soloist did have a more operatic voice, and didn't really blend at all.) The program consisted of liturgical pieces in the first half, followed by some non-liturgical ones (one by Rachmaninoff) after intermission, and ended with some Russian folksongs. They phoned in the liturgical ones--the conductor didn't even bother to put on his reading glasses. The second half was much better. But nothing in the program had anything to do with Mozart. Fashion note: in the audience was a young woman wearing a very striking outfit. All black, her halter-top revealed a 4-inch wide swath of bare skin all the way down her front to her shiny jeans. I think some double-sided tape was in play here. A 3-inch, modern Orthodox cross in burnished brass dangled between her breasts. It did not match her silver nose ring. Her polka-dotted cloche hat did match her polka-dotted high-heeled round-toed pumps, however.
- 8/27, the final concert: All Mozart!--Piano Concerto No. 20 played by the 24-year old American pianist Jonathan Biss as soloist. The audience thought it was great. I don't know--I fell asleep for most of it. After intermission we heard the Mass in C Minor. Conductor Louis Langrée (still in his bus boy jacket), led a strong performance, with the the Concert Chorale of New York, supported by the Russian Patriarchate Choir. The male-voice-deficient Chorale certainly needed the help. The only thing marring the performance was soprano Sandrine Piau, who started coldly, and never warmed up very much (and her dress, a grayish, brownish, empire-waisted full-skirted mess, hasn't been in style since Mozart's time. If then). On the other hand, mezzo Tove Dahlberg positively flirted with the audience, almost bouncing along to the music. Tenor Gregory Turay sang nicely, though he did not have quite as much power as the others. Bass-baritone Patrick Carfizzi was excellent in his tiny part.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
I'M BACK. ANY COMMENTS?
Sort of back. I've finished the accounting (see WORK! PLAY! WORK! below), and am getting caught up with various computer stuff, like this blog. But I'm going to go get on my exercise machine in a moment--I've got to get working on losing the rest of the 9.5 lbs. I gained on vacation, not to mention the nearly 20 I was trying to lose before that.
One thing I have had time for is to figure out how people can comment on my posts without registering with Blogger. Anyone can comment now. You just have to do the word confirmation thing. To leave a comment just click on the "comments" below. You can use almost any name you want, or be anonymous.
One thing I have had time for is to figure out how people can comment on my posts without registering with Blogger. Anyone can comment now. You just have to do the word confirmation thing. To leave a comment just click on the "comments" below. You can use almost any name you want, or be anonymous.
Friday, August 26, 2005
I LOVE A CD WITH A SENSE OF HUMOR
From the NY Times gossip column (yes, there is one, sort of):
OK , I know I said I'll work on the accounting. I'll get to it.
We also asked why Mr. [Michael Ian] Black was wearing women's clothing in his few scenes in "The Baxter." Mr. Black replied that he often wore his wife's clothing, like her dungarees, though he added that the jeans were very tight and that he had to use certain special effects in certain areas to convey a virile image.
"I have a reputation to create," he said.
You have to keep in mind, we said, this is The New York Times.
"Oh, right. I have a reputation whom to create. Is that right?"
OK , I know I said I'll work on the accounting. I'll get to it.
WATER, HOT. NOT.
No hot water in my building this morning--even at my fancy address this happens once in a while. Fortunately I have no pressing need to take a shower immediately. I'll continue working on the probate accounting in my PJs for a while.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
WORK! PLAY! WORK!
I really am still alive. I've just been too busy to post much of anything here. I figure if I have to choose between living my life and writing about it, I'll live it.
Retired people do have work to do, popular opinion notwithstanding. Aside from returning our vacation gear to the various storage places, since I returned from spending July in the Berkshires I have done our 2004 taxes, helped get an application for health insurance into Oxford, and tried to get the CDI website up to date (not quite done with that, though). Currently I am working on an accounting to the probate court for a trust for my mother that my father set up in his will. I'm the trustee, and every 2 years I have to satisfy the court I haven't run off with the money.
I'll get back to posting about the fun stuff when I can.
Retired people do have work to do, popular opinion notwithstanding. Aside from returning our vacation gear to the various storage places, since I returned from spending July in the Berkshires I have done our 2004 taxes, helped get an application for health insurance into Oxford, and tried to get the CDI website up to date (not quite done with that, though). Currently I am working on an accounting to the probate court for a trust for my mother that my father set up in his will. I'm the trustee, and every 2 years I have to satisfy the court I haven't run off with the money.
I'll get back to posting about the fun stuff when I can.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
U RAH! RAH!
My alma mater. I'm so proud: Survey Ranks Wis. School Tops in Drinking
MADISON, Wis. (AP) - The University of Wisconsin-Madison topped a list of the nation's best party schools released Monday, despite a decade-long effort by the school to reduce its reputation for heavy drinking...
Monday, August 22, 2005
WIG OUT!
My friend Jesse Volt, the drag performer, has (finally) opened her online store, tranniegear. Great prices on wigs. There's also cosmetics, shoes (good prices here, too), and body contouring items. And there's more coming.
Check out Jesse's "Tips of the Trade" and benefit from her years (decades) of experience.
Check out Jesse's "Tips of the Trade" and benefit from her years (decades) of experience.
LESBIANS DO LOVE THEIR TOOLS
A couple weeks ago I went up to Massachusetts for my sister's 25th/1st anniversary party (25 years together, 1 year since wedding). The next day they were opening their presents, which ranged from additions to their fine china set to gift cards for Home Depot. My sister-in-law said lesbians love their tools, but I had never seen someone actually hugging an orbital sander before.
I GIVE UP
I tried everything I could think of. Nothing worked. I've gotten no reply from the Blogger support people (not that they promised to reply--you get what you pay for (if you're lucky), and Blogger is free).
The old template won't work, at least not for me.
So I chose a new template, added in my links and such, played with the fonts until I got one I liked, and went with that. The only "feature" that this one seems to have is that my flickr letters (see Thanks, Katya) insist on arranging themselves vertically instead of horizontally. I can live with that.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled blog.
The old template won't work, at least not for me.
So I chose a new template, added in my links and such, played with the fonts until I got one I liked, and went with that. The only "feature" that this one seems to have is that my flickr letters (see Thanks, Katya) insist on arranging themselves vertically instead of horizontally. I can live with that.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled blog.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
THE GOEBBELS failed EXPERIMENT
Thursday I went to see The Goebbels Experiment down at the Quad Cinema. Somebody thought of a way to combine Joseph Goebbels' (Hitler's minister of propaganda) diary with never before seen German archival footage. He should have kept thinking.
I suppose the concept could have worked. It could have shown how the Nazis used propaganda to motivate an entire country to insanity. But far too often the movie just took cheap shots, pulling out some prediction of Goebbels' that turned out to be totally wrong, or excerpting some exaggerated diary entry that was merely a personal pep talk. The audience was laughing, but Goebbels was not funny at all.
What I found most interesting were Goebbels' home movies, mostly of his children. Home movies is a bit of a misnomer. They were movies taken at his home, but they were obviously staged, professionally lighted and filmed. I found this quite strange, even for a Nazi egomaniac.
BTW, the Quad is always showing interesting films (I didn't say always good films) that are seldom shown any place else. If you like such things, its president, Elliott Kanbar, sends out a weekly e-mail newsletter that details what they're showing, plus he always adds a few comments about films in general that are quite entertaining if not informative. You can subscribe on their website.
Anyhow, after the film we went to dinner at Japonica, over at 100 University Pl. We lucked out--we were seated immediately, a highly unusual occurrence at this very popular place. The food is very good (but I haven't had the sushi there in quite a while), though on the expensive side. The service is great (though having a Latino waiter in a Japanese restaurant is strange). We recognized one of the other waiters from our usual pre-Lincoln Center spot, and he recognized us, greeting us on our way out.
I suppose the concept could have worked. It could have shown how the Nazis used propaganda to motivate an entire country to insanity. But far too often the movie just took cheap shots, pulling out some prediction of Goebbels' that turned out to be totally wrong, or excerpting some exaggerated diary entry that was merely a personal pep talk. The audience was laughing, but Goebbels was not funny at all.
What I found most interesting were Goebbels' home movies, mostly of his children. Home movies is a bit of a misnomer. They were movies taken at his home, but they were obviously staged, professionally lighted and filmed. I found this quite strange, even for a Nazi egomaniac.
BTW, the Quad is always showing interesting films (I didn't say always good films) that are seldom shown any place else. If you like such things, its president, Elliott Kanbar, sends out a weekly e-mail newsletter that details what they're showing, plus he always adds a few comments about films in general that are quite entertaining if not informative. You can subscribe on their website.
Anyhow, after the film we went to dinner at Japonica, over at 100 University Pl. We lucked out--we were seated immediately, a highly unusual occurrence at this very popular place. The food is very good (but I haven't had the sushi there in quite a while), though on the expensive side. The service is great (though having a Latino waiter in a Japanese restaurant is strange). We recognized one of the other waiters from our usual pre-Lincoln Center spot, and he recognized us, greeting us on our way out.
Friday, August 19, 2005
CLICK, CLICK
I'm finally getting a chance to write about the Crossdressers International Sightseeing Bus Tour of New York that I went on Wednesday night. Actually, I more than went on it. I organized it.
For several summers CDI has been taking a cruise on the CircleLine "Harbor Lights" tour. With numbers varying from 3 to nearly a dozen, we joined the tourists on a large boat (capacity in the 100's). It was a chance to get out of the "tranny ghetto," mingle with the public, and let some of our more fearful members see that you can do this without being attacked or harassed. In the early years people did occasionally take our picture, like we were just another tourist sight. But otherwise there were never any problems. Sometimes we'd talk with some of the people around us, but mostly we just sat and watched the scenery go by. It was an opportunity to show that CDs do "normal" things and aren't all just a bunch of crazies or hookers.
But after 6 years of this, it was getting pretty boring. The first four times we had the same tour guide, and after a while I could almost repeat his spiel (with all his lame jokes) by heart. The last couple years we had a different guide, but I was learning his talk, too.
So this year I suggested something a little different: we'd stay on dry land, and take one of those double decker, open-topped tour buses for our sightseeing excursion. A little research found the Gray Line Night Tour. It was more expensive--maybe a little too expensive for our more financially challenged members. So I got the other officers to agree to a small CDI subsidy.
There was confusion about the departure times of the tour. Their website seemed to indicate there were three, 6:00, 6:30 and 7:00, but that seemed rather early to me. I e-mailed them to ask if this were correct, but I never got a reply, and I was too lazy to try and call. I just assumed it was correct. My mistake.
But I proceeded with my incorrect assumption, and called for people to gather at the Gray Line office at 6:30, so we could make the 7:00 o'clock tour--the Gray Line website said you should arrive 30 minutes ahead, and that would give us time to purchase the tickets, and for the usual latecomers to still make it.
So Wednesday afternoon I went to the CDI apartment to change my clothes (it does take me a while to transform). The CDI founder, Kristine James, was there, waiting for the tour, and a visitor from West Virginia, Toni, arrived. She had seen the event on the website, was in town on a visit, and wanted to take the tour also. She changed her clothes. But everyone else who arrived just wanted to stay at the CDI apartment for the Open House.
At about six the three of us left and walked the eight blocks to the Gray Line office. We were early, as I wanted to be, so I could be on the lookout for anyone who came directly. The others bought sodas (well, Toni called it a pop) and sat down to wait. I enquired about the departure time, and found out that the 7:00 o'clock tour was the first not the last. Oh well, next time we'll know--we might be able to get more people with a later departure.
No one else showed up. It was just the three of us (and I, amazingly, was the youngest at the age of 56!. But unfortunately there isn't a senior discount). At 6:45 I bought the tickets, and we went across the street to board the waiting bus. The dispatcher (maybe it was the driver) punched our tickets, and welcomed us aboard. We climbed the narrow stairs to the upper deck.
There were already a few other people up there, including a British family occupying the front row (see my previous post, below). We settled in right behind them, taking some souvenir pictures of each other.
Shortly after the appointed time we departed, with only a few empty seats, at least upstairs. Our tour guide, Andrew, standing in the stairwell right behind us, took his microphone and started his talk. He talked. And talked. And talked. Almost non-stop for the entire tour, Andrew used his mild New Yawk accent to point out the various sights. Was the accent real? He said he was a native New Yorker. But he had no trouble shifting into other accents when appropriate. So who knows?
He started pointing out this building and that, trying to make connections that out-of-towners would appreciate, such as the soup stand used as a model for the "Soup Nazi" on Seinfeld. There were a lot of references to television shows.
The first thing I noticed were the traffic lights. The bus cleared them only by about a foot. Andrew warned us not to stand up when the bus was in motion, and the warning was real--at one point Toni rose a little in her seat to take a picture, and Andrew immediately pressed her head down. There was a traffic light coming right at it.
Andrew explained that with many in his audiences not speaking English, he needed a good way to tell everyone when there was a photo opportunity. He said he had found "Click, click" to be the universal indicator. He also said he once had to do one of Gray Line's foreign language tours when the guide suddenly fell ill. But he didn't speak the language. So all he said the entire trip was "Click, click," "Click, click."
But taking pictures from a moving bus, especially at dusk, is rather difficult. I soon gave up trying. It was lovely night, still in the low 80's with very low humidity. I just sat back and enjoyed the trip.
I won't bother with a detailed description of the tour. Take it yourself if you're really interested. We went up Eighth Avenue a bit, turned right for a block, then headed downtown. Eventually we got down to the Manhattan Bridge. Andrew warned us of high winds on the bridge, saying we should secure any "packages, purses, or significant others" that we didn't want to lose. I was wondering if he was going to add wigs, but he didn't (though I'm sure he made us). I was actually worried about that-- I made sure I had a scarf in my purse before I left, so I could tie things down.
But it hadn't been very windy at all up until then, so the scarf had remained unused. As we started across the bridge I made sure my wig was on securely, and got ready to hold it down if need be. But it wasn't a problem at all.
The view from the upper deck of a bus going across the upper deck of the Manhattan bridge, a little before sunset, is worth the price of the whole tour.
After seeing a bit of Brooklyn we returned across the Manhattan Bridge and went back uptown. A second pass through Times Square, this time after dark, was included. Then we returned to our starting point. As we departed we each gave Andrew a couple dollar tip, and he said to each, "Thank you, honey."
As a New Yorker of over 30 years, I am always interested in what the tourists are told about my city. Most of what Andrew had said was correct--with one big exception: He said that Mayor Giuliani was in his emergency bunker in 7 World Trade Center on 9/11, evacuating only minutes before the building fell. Totally untrue. Giuliani never was in the bunker that day, and it was evacuated in the morning, hours before the building collapsed. See Time Magazine's account.
Andrew had remarked several times how light the traffic was that evening. The tour, advertised as 2+ hours, only took 1:40. So we had plenty of time to return to the CDI apartment for a late dinner. The fresh striped bass, caught by Wendi Darling, and cooked by Rochelle Nicole, was lovely.
For several summers CDI has been taking a cruise on the CircleLine "Harbor Lights" tour. With numbers varying from 3 to nearly a dozen, we joined the tourists on a large boat (capacity in the 100's). It was a chance to get out of the "tranny ghetto," mingle with the public, and let some of our more fearful members see that you can do this without being attacked or harassed. In the early years people did occasionally take our picture, like we were just another tourist sight. But otherwise there were never any problems. Sometimes we'd talk with some of the people around us, but mostly we just sat and watched the scenery go by. It was an opportunity to show that CDs do "normal" things and aren't all just a bunch of crazies or hookers.
But after 6 years of this, it was getting pretty boring. The first four times we had the same tour guide, and after a while I could almost repeat his spiel (with all his lame jokes) by heart. The last couple years we had a different guide, but I was learning his talk, too.
So this year I suggested something a little different: we'd stay on dry land, and take one of those double decker, open-topped tour buses for our sightseeing excursion. A little research found the Gray Line Night Tour. It was more expensive--maybe a little too expensive for our more financially challenged members. So I got the other officers to agree to a small CDI subsidy.
There was confusion about the departure times of the tour. Their website seemed to indicate there were three, 6:00, 6:30 and 7:00, but that seemed rather early to me. I e-mailed them to ask if this were correct, but I never got a reply, and I was too lazy to try and call. I just assumed it was correct. My mistake.
But I proceeded with my incorrect assumption, and called for people to gather at the Gray Line office at 6:30, so we could make the 7:00 o'clock tour--the Gray Line website said you should arrive 30 minutes ahead, and that would give us time to purchase the tickets, and for the usual latecomers to still make it.
So Wednesday afternoon I went to the CDI apartment to change my clothes (it does take me a while to transform). The CDI founder, Kristine James, was there, waiting for the tour, and a visitor from West Virginia, Toni, arrived. She had seen the event on the website, was in town on a visit, and wanted to take the tour also. She changed her clothes. But everyone else who arrived just wanted to stay at the CDI apartment for the Open House.
At about six the three of us left and walked the eight blocks to the Gray Line office. We were early, as I wanted to be, so I could be on the lookout for anyone who came directly. The others bought sodas (well, Toni called it a pop) and sat down to wait. I enquired about the departure time, and found out that the 7:00 o'clock tour was the first not the last. Oh well, next time we'll know--we might be able to get more people with a later departure.
No one else showed up. It was just the three of us (and I, amazingly, was the youngest at the age of 56!. But unfortunately there isn't a senior discount). At 6:45 I bought the tickets, and we went across the street to board the waiting bus. The dispatcher (maybe it was the driver) punched our tickets, and welcomed us aboard. We climbed the narrow stairs to the upper deck.
There were already a few other people up there, including a British family occupying the front row (see my previous post, below). We settled in right behind them, taking some souvenir pictures of each other.
Shortly after the appointed time we departed, with only a few empty seats, at least upstairs. Our tour guide, Andrew, standing in the stairwell right behind us, took his microphone and started his talk. He talked. And talked. And talked. Almost non-stop for the entire tour, Andrew used his mild New Yawk accent to point out the various sights. Was the accent real? He said he was a native New Yorker. But he had no trouble shifting into other accents when appropriate. So who knows?
He started pointing out this building and that, trying to make connections that out-of-towners would appreciate, such as the soup stand used as a model for the "Soup Nazi" on Seinfeld. There were a lot of references to television shows.
The first thing I noticed were the traffic lights. The bus cleared them only by about a foot. Andrew warned us not to stand up when the bus was in motion, and the warning was real--at one point Toni rose a little in her seat to take a picture, and Andrew immediately pressed her head down. There was a traffic light coming right at it.
Andrew explained that with many in his audiences not speaking English, he needed a good way to tell everyone when there was a photo opportunity. He said he had found "Click, click" to be the universal indicator. He also said he once had to do one of Gray Line's foreign language tours when the guide suddenly fell ill. But he didn't speak the language. So all he said the entire trip was "Click, click," "Click, click."
But taking pictures from a moving bus, especially at dusk, is rather difficult. I soon gave up trying. It was lovely night, still in the low 80's with very low humidity. I just sat back and enjoyed the trip.
I won't bother with a detailed description of the tour. Take it yourself if you're really interested. We went up Eighth Avenue a bit, turned right for a block, then headed downtown. Eventually we got down to the Manhattan Bridge. Andrew warned us of high winds on the bridge, saying we should secure any "packages, purses, or significant others" that we didn't want to lose. I was wondering if he was going to add wigs, but he didn't (though I'm sure he made us). I was actually worried about that-- I made sure I had a scarf in my purse before I left, so I could tie things down.
But it hadn't been very windy at all up until then, so the scarf had remained unused. As we started across the bridge I made sure my wig was on securely, and got ready to hold it down if need be. But it wasn't a problem at all.
The view from the upper deck of a bus going across the upper deck of the Manhattan bridge, a little before sunset, is worth the price of the whole tour.
After seeing a bit of Brooklyn we returned across the Manhattan Bridge and went back uptown. A second pass through Times Square, this time after dark, was included. Then we returned to our starting point. As we departed we each gave Andrew a couple dollar tip, and he said to each, "Thank you, honey."
As a New Yorker of over 30 years, I am always interested in what the tourists are told about my city. Most of what Andrew had said was correct--with one big exception: He said that Mayor Giuliani was in his emergency bunker in 7 World Trade Center on 9/11, evacuating only minutes before the building fell. Totally untrue. Giuliani never was in the bunker that day, and it was evacuated in the morning, hours before the building collapsed. See Time Magazine's account.
Andrew had remarked several times how light the traffic was that evening. The tour, advertised as 2+ hours, only took 1:40. So we had plenty of time to return to the CDI apartment for a late dinner. The fresh striped bass, caught by Wendi Darling, and cooked by Rochelle Nicole, was lovely.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
BRITS BEHAVING BADLY
I always associate a British accent (at least an upper class one) with public propriety and good manners. It probably comes from watching too much Masterpiece Theatre. So it was disconcerting last night to hear, with every consonant crisply enunciated,
"Mummy, Timothy is pushing me."
"No, Mother, I am not."
"Yes, Mummy, he is."
coming from a pair of very young riders on the tour bus. I guess kids are the same all around the world--big brothers harass their little sisters everywhere. No matter how well they speak.
"Mummy, Timothy is pushing me."
"No, Mother, I am not."
"Yes, Mummy, he is."
coming from a pair of very young riders on the tour bus. I guess kids are the same all around the world--big brothers harass their little sisters everywhere. No matter how well they speak.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
ZERO MOZART
Another Mostly Mozart concert last night. Except this time there was no Mozart–unless you count the snippets Schnittke quoted in his 1977 piece “Moz-art à la Haydn.” It is described as a “game with music.” Let’s just say that after watching the musicians do their choreography I have no need to watch any football half-time shows for a while.
Also on the bill were Prokofiev’s First Symphony, the “Classical” Symphony, and Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto, two works with which I am quite familiar–and enjoy very much. Both were done quite well. The audience raved for Joshua Bell’s performance of the Tchaikovsky. I joined in the ovation at the end (though not in the long one he got after the first movement).
At 37 Bell’s a little past being the hot, young up-and-coming next Heifetz, but he still gives a very youthful appearance–helped in part by his costume, basically a black silk pyjama set. A man in the row behind me called it a Viet Cong uniform. But I don’t believe theirs were made of silk. I will say that this outfit was a bit better than the one he wore when I heard him at Tanglewood last month. That one had a blue pyjama top.
Since this was a weeknight, and much cooler than last Saturday, there were few summer dresses worn by the audience. One of the older women in the row in front of me was overdressed in a very nice multi-colored speckled white skirt suit. Other than that there wasn’t too much in the fashion category that I noticed.
My biggest complaint: they really need to replenish the snack supply at the refreshment stands–gummy bears and after dinner mints are just plain insufficient.
Also on the bill were Prokofiev’s First Symphony, the “Classical” Symphony, and Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto, two works with which I am quite familiar–and enjoy very much. Both were done quite well. The audience raved for Joshua Bell’s performance of the Tchaikovsky. I joined in the ovation at the end (though not in the long one he got after the first movement).
At 37 Bell’s a little past being the hot, young up-and-coming next Heifetz, but he still gives a very youthful appearance–helped in part by his costume, basically a black silk pyjama set. A man in the row behind me called it a Viet Cong uniform. But I don’t believe theirs were made of silk. I will say that this outfit was a bit better than the one he wore when I heard him at Tanglewood last month. That one had a blue pyjama top.
Since this was a weeknight, and much cooler than last Saturday, there were few summer dresses worn by the audience. One of the older women in the row in front of me was overdressed in a very nice multi-colored speckled white skirt suit. Other than that there wasn’t too much in the fashion category that I noticed.
My biggest complaint: they really need to replenish the snack supply at the refreshment stands–gummy bears and after dinner mints are just plain insufficient.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
THANKS, KATYA
Over in Kat's Korner Katya posted a link to Spell with flickr, which is where the "glob" in pictures is from. Check back daily to see them change.
SPAM, A LOT
Spam. I hate it. Everyone hates it. Occasionally spammers get caught. Mostly they just get rich. And keep on spamming.
At my main e-mail address I get 30 to 40 spam messages a day. This is actually a little better than a year ago, when it was closer to 50. I'm not including advertisements from companies I deal with. I'm talking about honest-to-goodness, forged return address spam.
But very little of the spam makes it to my inbox. I set up filters, and send spam, or suspected spam, to separate folders. There I can quickly look at them, make sure there's no non-spam, and delete all the shit in one swell foop. (Originally I had a separate folder for suspect messages, but I realized that just about all of them were spam, too. So now I just send them to the spam folder, marked in a different color so I can give them a little more scrutiny.)
Every time a spam message does make it to my inbox, I write rules that would catch it. Lots of rules. Anything that would distinguish it from something I'd want to read--phrases like "enlarge your penis" or "price per dose, " misspellings (especially of words related to sex or drugs), accent marks in the subject (except for valid French accent marks--I do get some real mail with them), any variant of "mortgage" or "refinance," etc. Lately someone is sending spam from abunchofrandomletters@yahoo.com, so now anything from yahoo.com (that isn't in my override list, of course) is suspect.
I've been doing this for a while now, and I have hundreds of rules. But the spammers keep coming up with new stuff--yesterday I added "got laid" to the subject list ("get laid" has been in there for ages).
It's a challenge.
At my main e-mail address I get 30 to 40 spam messages a day. This is actually a little better than a year ago, when it was closer to 50. I'm not including advertisements from companies I deal with. I'm talking about honest-to-goodness, forged return address spam.
But very little of the spam makes it to my inbox. I set up filters, and send spam, or suspected spam, to separate folders. There I can quickly look at them, make sure there's no non-spam, and delete all the shit in one swell foop. (Originally I had a separate folder for suspect messages, but I realized that just about all of them were spam, too. So now I just send them to the spam folder, marked in a different color so I can give them a little more scrutiny.)
Every time a spam message does make it to my inbox, I write rules that would catch it. Lots of rules. Anything that would distinguish it from something I'd want to read--phrases like "enlarge your penis" or "price per dose, " misspellings (especially of words related to sex or drugs), accent marks in the subject (except for valid French accent marks--I do get some real mail with them), any variant of "mortgage" or "refinance," etc. Lately someone is sending spam from abunchofrandomletters
I've been doing this for a while now, and I have hundreds of rules. But the spammers keep coming up with new stuff--yesterday I added "got laid" to the subject list ("get laid" has been in there for ages).
It's a challenge.
Monday, August 15, 2005
I HATE...
being sick.
doing my taxes and finding out I don't have all the information I need.
when my Internet connection goes down.
In other words, I'm not having a great day.
doing my taxes and finding out I don't have all the information I need.
when my Internet connection goes down.
In other words, I'm not having a great day.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
MEASLY MOZART
Last night was my first Mostly Mozart concert of the season, not counting Opening Night which I watched on television. It was very good (not that I'm a terribly good critic, but I know what I like). But there was little Mozart to be heard--just one of the four pieces performed. We also heard works by Johann Christian Bach (JSB's son), Beethoven, and Haydn.
The single Mozart piece was short aria, "Va del furor portata." I guess we must excuse the brevity--little Wolfgang scribbled it down at the age of eight! The title translates to "Go, Transported by Fury," and there was plenty of fury in tenor Russell Thomas' rendering. His voice easily filled Avery Fisher Hall with a glorious sound. Only the lowest notes gave him any trouble--he did have to reach a little. There was plenty in reserve at the top, not that this piece is a test of a tenor's high notes. This was his New York orchestral debut--he made his Metropolitan Opera debut this past season. I'm looking forward to hearing him there. And there, at least, I won't have to look at his purple shirt.
The extended stage they built for the Mostly Mozart series worked quite well--maybe a little too well. I could hear conductor Louis Langrée exhaling a couple times as he urged the orchestra to a crescendo--even from the 12th row. But the sound is smooth and balanced, and the lighting and acoustic structure hanging over the stage isn't too intrusive--though the silvery rails clashed with the gold trappings of the hall.
Intermission always gives me a chance to check out what the women are wearing, and there was a good number of nice, colorful summer outfits. Mostly Mozart is pretty informal for the audience--plenty of people in shorts, sometimes just with a t-shirt. But there always exceptions, like the 20-something couple in front of me on the refreshment line, obviously out on a date. She wore a little black dress, showing off an impressive (but not overly impressive) amount of cleavage. It was a great distraction from her rather plain face, which she wisely refrained from emphasizing with a lot of make-up. And it gave her date, much taller despite her 4-inch heeled ankle-straps, a great view.
And while we're on the subject of clothes, I really wish Langrée would lose that bus boy jacket he wears.
One more complaint: It is customary not to applaud between movements of a piece. Well, some of the Mostly Mozart audience isn't aware of that. The performers manage. Pianist Garrick Ohlsson even got up and did a little bow after his excellent rendering of Beethoven's oh-so-long cadenza in the first movement of the First Piano Concerto (after checking with the conductor, of course). What I don't like is the smirking of the non-applauders. It's not that big a deal.
(and you thought this post would just say "Second Post?")
The single Mozart piece was short aria, "Va del furor portata." I guess we must excuse the brevity--little Wolfgang scribbled it down at the age of eight! The title translates to "Go, Transported by Fury," and there was plenty of fury in tenor Russell Thomas' rendering. His voice easily filled Avery Fisher Hall with a glorious sound. Only the lowest notes gave him any trouble--he did have to reach a little. There was plenty in reserve at the top, not that this piece is a test of a tenor's high notes. This was his New York orchestral debut--he made his Metropolitan Opera debut this past season. I'm looking forward to hearing him there. And there, at least, I won't have to look at his purple shirt.
The extended stage they built for the Mostly Mozart series worked quite well--maybe a little too well. I could hear conductor Louis Langrée exhaling a couple times as he urged the orchestra to a crescendo--even from the 12th row. But the sound is smooth and balanced, and the lighting and acoustic structure hanging over the stage isn't too intrusive--though the silvery rails clashed with the gold trappings of the hall.
Intermission always gives me a chance to check out what the women are wearing, and there was a good number of nice, colorful summer outfits. Mostly Mozart is pretty informal for the audience--plenty of people in shorts, sometimes just with a t-shirt. But there always exceptions, like the 20-something couple in front of me on the refreshment line, obviously out on a date. She wore a little black dress, showing off an impressive (but not overly impressive) amount of cleavage. It was a great distraction from her rather plain face, which she wisely refrained from emphasizing with a lot of make-up. And it gave her date, much taller despite her 4-inch heeled ankle-straps, a great view.
And while we're on the subject of clothes, I really wish Langrée would lose that bus boy jacket he wears.
One more complaint: It is customary not to applaud between movements of a piece. Well, some of the Mostly Mozart audience isn't aware of that. The performers manage. Pianist Garrick Ohlsson even got up and did a little bow after his excellent rendering of Beethoven's oh-so-long cadenza in the first movement of the First Piano Concerto (after checking with the conductor, of course). What I don't like is the smirking of the non-applauders. It's not that big a deal.
(and you thought this post would just say "Second Post?")
Saturday, August 13, 2005
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