Cabanas

Up the Beach, a burst of color.

Abandoned Beach Patrol

No safe-keepers; no one to keep safe.

Steel Pier

No time for a real post, but I want to put in just a couple images. The dayjob brought me to Atlantic City this week, and I had a little time the first day I was there to hit the Boardwalk (via a Jitney bus that passed by a bunch of streets I know from playing Monopoly growing up)



unattended snack shack with the steel pier amusement park on the horizon




wonderwheel in fading dusk

T-Day: The Next Generation

Ok, life has been crazy busy. Dayjob stuff is just nutty. Personal stuff keeps happening. Acting stuff in the works as well (of course, once I got cast in a show and my dayjob explodes, that's when about five different theaters want to see me all at once).

However, I made time for a trip to New England in the midst of it all. Had plans to visit the Cathedral on Lansdowne that could not be put off.


And then, a trip to the Berkshires to see Sue & Kevin and the newest addition to the T-Day contingent. Ladies and Gentlemen: Max Killam.

He has a superhero name; he has a superhuman smile. Moi, I'm happy he's around.

So, here are a couple photos of the proud parents, including one particular guy's first-ever Father's Day.


I don't know. I'm no expert, but I gotta think that's better than a necktie.

HellGate Love Letter

This was the performance piece we saw a couple weeks back on the East River. Put together by the Alice Farley Dance Theater and produced in conjunction with the environmental activist group Solar One, it was a fantastic tribute to an earlier era in New York, and a great example of the kind of thing that continues to make the city singular. Loaded with poetry both verbal and visual, it started with a dance by these gals:


They were Spiney Star Fish, and they were accompanied by a couple guys who wandered around the crowd playing music through these crafty speakers hanging around their necks.



While this was going on, programs were distributed which included poetry by Lorca and Whitman, odes to New York - both the man-made and the natural sides. Characters named Gallus Mag and Sadie the Goat came out and delivered the bulk of the evening's text: a mytho-poetic incantation, reminders that these canyons of concrete and steel are surrounded by rivers, and right on the edge of the power of the ocean.

Here's Gallus mag in all his glory:


As you can see, the costume design, makeup and other visual elements (not least of all the park, the river, and the view of Brooklyn and Queens on the other side) were a big part of this show.

The crowd was herded up and down the path as different etudes emerged involving dance, text, and ever more expressive costumes. I was impressed by this River Cactus.


Dancers sprang from every rock, tree and rail.



There were many characters I didn't get good shots of, including this Sea Horse, but his unicycle costume is so rad I can't resist putting this picture, however blurry.



It even involved some tricked out kayaks.
And in keeping with the idea that nature is cyclical, it ended at the place where it began...
See those kayaks in the background?
Very cool event. By the way, the name "HellGate" comes from the Dutch word "Hellegat," which means both "Hell Gate" and "bright passage" and was the name Dutch settlers gave to the East River Strait.

Ok, I don't know why I'm not able to format this particular entry any better than I have. My html skillz evidently leave a lot to be desired. Hope you can make heads and tails of it. My main point is: All hail public art in New York outside in the summer!

catching up

Yes, yes, I know, I haven't posted here for a while. I've been busy! Doing many things of interest, including getting cast in a production of Twelfth Night that's going up in August. Details to come later; for now suffice it to say that it's one of my fave plays, and I'm looking forward to the experience.

Also, I've finally entered the world of digital photography. It's been a long time since I've been behind a camera in any kind of serious way, and I have essentially no experience with digital, so look forward to a learning curve. But in theory this will be a really good outlet for the visual side of me, and ought to add a dimension to this blog as well.


Nothing terribly special about this one - just your basic "there's the Empire State Building in the distance beyond a bustling park in Hoboken on Memorial Day."


Kids playing in the fountain on the edge of said park. Tough place to fill your watergun, but I'm guessing he made it work.



From a performance piece on the East River the day before. This rates its own post, which I'll try to put together soon. For now, I won't mention her name (or publish your comments if you do) because I don't want to identify with paparazzi or trigger any blog alerts, but I don't think it's out of line to point out that one of the Famous and Beautiful is giving our Spiney Starfish the eye...

No X 4 = Yes

Yesterday was a pretty exciting day for Red Sox fans: John Lester pitched a no-hitter. Always a stunning event, the story is especially incredible with Lester, who was diagnosed with lymphoma 2 years ago (!) and made a recovery sufficiently strong to pitch the 4th and final game of last year's World Series and then this extremely rare achievement of a no-hitter. Kind of a lot to have done by the age of 24, don't you agree?




But let me take a moment to focus on the other guy in that photo. Jason Varitek, Captain of Red Sox Nation, center of the team, and one of the best catchers in baseball. Last night he caught his fourth no-hitter. Count 'em: four. More than anyone else in the history of baseball. On any team ever. I don't want to get too carried away here, but this man arguably has as much to do with the Red Sox Championships as anyone else, including Ramirez, Ortiz, and Francona.

I mean, sure - it's 10 times easier to catch a no-hitter than to throw one. But a great catcher, a strong veteran leader who understands his pitcher, the batters and the game in general can go a loooong way in helping the event. And look at the authors of the no nos he's caught: Nomo, Lowe, Buchholz and Lester - first rate pitchers, yes, but not exactly a who's who of Cy Young winners (though he's called the shots impeccably for future Hall of Famers like Pedro Martinez and Curt Schilling, too). You better believe that Varitek's help calling pitches, leading the team and keeping the hurlers centered had something to do with those games. Did you see the game earlier this year when Buchholz, barely out of his (part of a) rookie season, shook him off three times in a row? Tek let him throw the fastball, and it got shelled for a double. The look on Jason's face afterwards was priceless: "I've been around here a while kid. Helped you get through that no-hitter in your second start last year; don't you think I know what pitch is gonna work?"

And it bears repeating: nobody has ever caught 4 of these gems. Not Yogi Berra, not Johnny Bench, not Roy Campanella, nobody. Has Jason been lucky? No doubt. Has he been helped by some great defense? Hells yes. But I think that this record is more important than the attention it's going to receive, and tells us a lot about the success of the Red Sox.



There's no way Varitek will make the Hall of Fame. He's never hit .300, his RBI production is not that great, and neither is his arm (especially in his early years, people could steal bases against him with relative ease). But don't be surprised if people who know a lot more about the game than I do mention him as one of the great catchers and team-leaders of his era, if not of all time.

Robert Rauschenberg

I don't really have the time nor the knowledge to write a full tribute to Robert Rauschenberg, who died on Monday, but, especially in light of this morning's entry, I have to put down a few words about this artist who had the staggering ability to see beauty in the commonplace, and share it with us. He was a master of possibility, a portrait of persistence, an inspiration on many levels, and one of the great lovers of life.



In addition to the very good Michale Kimmelman article in the Times, there is an interesting remembrance from Jim Lewis in Slate, which yields a perspective on death that I like quite a bit: "I'm working on my fear of it. And my fear is that after I'm gone, something interesting is going to happen, and I'm going to miss it."

Ummm... yup.

It's the Little Things

Sometimes the details just line up and mean more than the sum of their parts. Today I had a friendlier-than-usual exchange with a fellow bus passenger, and I was having one of those Good Commute Tunes days (mostly indie rock, with more Sinatra than chance would seem to demand). But it was a cloudy damp day, and my head was aching dully, so it wasn't exactly an ideal morning.

Then I had one of those moments that's hard to describe. After a note-perfect Guided by Voices song, and a Sinatra tune I actually bumped forward about halfway through, I got the beautiful, plaintive 'Raincloud' by Leah Siegel. Had me in a nice place, and then just as she sang '...the way you feel the sun crashing down on the horizon' the sun broke through the clouds and cast a light that was, let's not be overly dramatic and call it 'miraculous,' but it was stunning. And it drew my attention to one of those buildings that I've surely passed dozens (hundreds?) of times but never really noticed - one of countless structures in New York which have a singular beauty but which all too often blend into undeserved obscurity because of the simple volume of Big Buildings on this island.

But not today. Today, as Leah's guitars made the case for love, I took in the levels of this building, noticed how the details catch the light, saw where arched windows had been bricked over, caught a sign that has probably been hanging in a window for 30 years or more.

Don't have a photo to share with you guys about it, but I wanted to recognize the moment.

And in other news, it's Free Iced Coffee Day at Dunkin Donuts.

Reality. Check.

So in the wake of my recent whinefest, I checked Love Puppy's tumblr, which gave me a well-deserved shoulder shake.

I'm back.

See, that didn't take long!

Monday is the New Monday

Holy crap this is the Mondayest Monday I've had in a while. Very good weekend, but I'm not even in the mood to write about it because it's pissy and rainy and cold, I had pretty bad sleep, the computer network at the dayjob is superslow (and keeps kicking me off my email - very annoying) and I'm in pain from tendonitis.

Harrumph!

Got here in such a good mood too! I'll write later when, I don't know, the stars realign or something.

Happiness

Maybe it's that it's such a sunny beautiful day, or maybe it's just a feeling that the people in my immediate circle could use a little extra jolt of joy, but I'm digging this viddy from Goldfrapp:



Ok, it's silly, but it's fun silly. Irrationally fun, no? Plus, it's got to be harder than it looks to pull off that hopping...

thoughts from a walk in the east village on a sunday afternoon

I will not be a "good old days" person, if for no other reason than that the good old days always had something bad about them.

The spot where CBGB was is now some kind of gallery called 'Morrison Hotel'



[a moment, for you to let the irony of that simmer]

The building that once housed the Bouwerie Lane Theatre now offers Retail Space for Rent. And I think I saw in an article that a talented new developer has his eye on the residential space in the upper floors.

I will not sit inside a hot and badly ventilated coffee shop in the East Village on a gorgeous spring day, no matter how hip it is, or how beautiful its patrons.

I will, however, get one of their very delicious iced coffees and walk around the neighborhood for a while.

Much as it bugs me to admit it, the new facade of 40 Bond Street is pretty fucking rad.



I may sit in a cool and comfortable theater lobby while waiting for my partner for the matinee, no matter how un-hip.

Especially when there are nifty little tables & chairs.

No matter how geriatric I may seem in other circumstances, I am still likely to be one of the youngest people at certain live performances.

Especially matinees.

No matter how long I've known her, and how likely I know it to be, it still annoys me when she shows up late.

**addition**

I don't want to be one of those "I could have done that better" actors, but I auditioned for this show, nailed it, and goddam it, I could have done it better.

Weekend Away

Last weekend, not this one coming up. Not sure what I'm doing this weekend coming up.

But last weekend, a group of us went to Shannon's family place in the Delaware Water Gap. This group:

Evidently, when I hang with these people out of town, I wear t-shirts from schools I didn't attend (see Fire Island trip from last year). I don't know if I possess any shirts from schools I did attend.

At any rate, it was a fantastic time, full of action and food and drink and fun and good company. Played some games that were new to me, did ok in a poker tournament, made some magic in the kitchen (gazpacho & pizzettas w/Sherin, inventiveness with Tequila, a vegetarian version of Grandma H's fancy baked eggs), had a good balance of indoors and out. Aaron and Shannon have a wonderful family of friends, and it's great to be included in it. Thanks guys!

I really like that photo of us by the waterfall (even though it's sans Sherin & J.P., alas), and have lately been feeling somewhat drawn to getting back into photography. Which would mean getting a digital camera that is not part of my cell phone. Not totally sure I need another activity that will take up time, energy and money, but I used to be kind of good at it, and if one of the trips I'm aiming at this summer comes to pass, well, let's just say the photographic potential will be there...

Jon, Jon, Jon...

Ok, I've held back. The last few weeks have given us all such fodder for some rage against the political/media machines, and I've been restraining myself for the sake of good Spring vibes.


But now I'm going to cut loose just a little bit and unleash on one of my fave commentators. (side note: why 'commentator'? why not just 'commenter'?) Mr. Jon Stewart, who has consistently been there to skewer the Stupid - left, right and center - let a big ol' grapefruit of a ball drop last night.



He had Newt Gingrich as a guest on The Daily Show. Yes, that Newt Gingrich: former Speaker of the House, Clinton Nemesis, author of the Contract On America (What? it's Contract With America? C'mon, when you hire a hit man to grease some guy, you don't call it a contract with said guy, you call it a contract ON him), architect of the Neocon Revolution. And I'm thinking: "Yes! Now, in light of all the things that have been happening lately - the economy, the war, the food crisis, the back room approval of torture - you can get in some really good jabs, maybe even land a knockdown or two." And he set it up pretty well, showing a clip of Justice Antonin Scalia insisting, with a straight face, that 'torture' isn't 'punishment' (as, get this, part of his "charm offensive." I have lived too long.)

And what do they talk about? Obama's former minister.



WHAT?!?!??!?!



I know, I know - these things are vetted and scripted, or at least outlined. But this was the best outline you could get Gingrich to agree to as he's hawking his new co-authored novel about WWII? Really??

It's not that I don't have my problems with Reverend Wright, who seems extra special self-serving these days. It's not that I don't think it's fair for a Republican to kick the Democrats while they scuffle and scorn. It's not that I don't already have a HUGE issue with this sense among progressives that watching satire on TV is some kind of substitute for real activism. But Jon, if you're gonna hold a satire party and invite a pig, don't forget the meat fork.

The thing that may be bothering me most is that a lot of people would consider me a wing nut for thinking that the fact (fact, people, there's evidence, and they all admitted it) that the Vice President, Secretary of Defense, National Security Advisor and a room full of others, with the President's knowledge, got together and mapped out/approved of processes of torture - I'm sorry, "extreme methods" - that would be conducted by American Soldiers might be, oh, I don't know, MORE IMPORTANT than Bittergate, and who does what shots in what bars, and who eats what kind of cheesesteaks.

Yet there it is, all over the "liberal media": proof, time and again, that accountability, analysis and critical thinking are not part of the game.

Work with me folks. I think it's time to rewrite the rule book.

Record Store Update

Ok, rather than go on a political rant* (and, oh yes, I've got one in me today) I'm going to follow up on the Record Store Day post I made last week.

Saturday turned out to be fairly magnificent, weather-wise; and even though I was heartlessly blown off by my tennis partner du jour, I wasn't going to let that get me down. Took a long and beautiful walk through the 'boken, ending up at Tunes, my favored local music shop. Picked up a couple new releases I was looking for, then strolled to the back to check out the budget offerings. Greeted there by great news! Tunes has vastly expanded their vinyl selection, which used to be almost 100% new, audiophile-centric stuff. Which is fine and dandy, but now they have rows and rows of used stuff on the cheap. WAY better, people, at least for my purposes.

SO - I picked up some jazz, some classical, and some 80s pop. During the browse, I was taken by the band playing on the store speakers, so I picked that up too (The Dodos, a San Francisco folk-meets-art-rock group, very good - the disc is called "Visiter".) And, as if that weren't enough, they were selling these new-but-vintage-looking beer glasses up front: I got 4 pint glasses, complete with ice bucket and a dozen coasters, all graced with the "Old Style" logo (On Wisconsin!) for - wait for it- 10 bucks. Most satisfying.



Eventually, I went into town for a double feature and drinks with Sherin at the MoMA Jazz Score Film Festival. Saw Paris Blues (star-studded - Paul Newman, Sidney Poitier, Joanne Woodward - with great Duke Ellington & Louis Armstrong music, if a little cheesey. Plus, Diahann Carroll = yum) And...
Anatomy of a Murder (more Duke Ellington soundtrack action, written specifially for the movie this time. Very dated in some ways - hello 1950s sexual politics - but much funnier than I'd remembered, with first rate work from James Stewart, Ben Gazzara, Lee Remick and George C. Scott, and a remarkable performance as the judge from Joseph N. Welch, who hardly ever acted at all, having been a real-life lawyer. And not just any lawyer - this was the guy who faced down Joseph McCarthy in the Army/McCarthy hearings, and who nailed the Red Baiter for good with "Have you no sense of decency, sir; at long last, have you left no sense of decency?" Cool!)

Fast forward to yesterday evening: again, a gorgeous New York Spring evening. I had some time between work and meeting J.P and the boys at the Riviera for the Sox game (gotta love the Red Sox bar in New York), so I sat in beautiful and blooming Madison Square Park reading a music mag. You know how 'fulfilling' that trip to the record store on Saturday was? Well, remember: this is one of those appetites that increases with feeding. Looking over the reviews, I found myself intensely craving the new Portishead and Roots discs, and reissues from Otis Redding (stereo and mono mixes! plus live material!!) and Carole King. So, you know, just since I had some extra time, and since I was going to the Village anyway, I strolled down to another record store I know. There I found good news for my wallet, but bad news for civilization:



Yep. Disc-O-Rama has bitten the dust. (Please forgive the crappy camera-phone image.) Now, this was not one of those classic music shops. The clerks were snobby and surly - which is to be expected, surely, but it's usually accompanied by some serious taste and/or knowledge. That wasn't the case here. I mean, the guy who owned the place had some game, but he was hardly ever there, and even when he was he never wanted to talk to anybody. And the people who just plain worked there weren't much help either. Still, it was a place I'd gone to since I moved to the city, from way back before easy downloads were possible, even before easy CD burning was possible. They were always good for $10 CDs, even of new releases, even when the giant box stores were in full vigor.

R.I.P.

And let this be a warning to us all - support those local independent record stores!!

*Earth Day and the Pennsylvania Primary were also a warning to us all, people. Damn, I hope you are paying attention out there. Lots of people aren't.

Body Sushi

Ok, I was scanning the interweb for some more information on Aliza Svartz, the Yale student who created a performance art piece that claimed to involve inseminating herself then intentionally inducing miscarriages by eating legal 'abortifacient herbs'. She wasn't really doing any such thing, it turns out. Or maybe she was; she likes to keep the question open. I'll be happy to engage you if you want, but my brief overall take: it was definitely a clever way to stir up some controversy by tweaking a bunch of the right wing's hot buttons: 'those elitist Ivy Leaguers,' 'liberal sluts,' 'wanton abortionists,' 'Godless East Coasters,' not to mention 'performance artists' in general, and successfully provocative - while disingenuously pretending not to be - but I'm not seeing it having done a whole lot to draw attention to real right-to-choice issues. Though maybe I'm wrong; I so often am.

Anway, while I was perusing the world wide grid, I found this little tidbit about Body Sushi, or nyotaimori, in Minneapolis. Yup, that'd be eating sushi using an (almost) naked body as a plate.


My first thought was of some of my peeps in the good ol' Midwest. "Well dang, I'd figure to see that kind of thing in New York or San Francisco (aka Barack Hussein Osama bin Laden Godless Bittertown Radical Feminazi Hippie Food Co-op Homoville), but out here in Minnesota?!" And then I had one of those little "can this be an ok sort of sex positive thing, or do I automatically need to get upset about body objectification and such?" inner monologues. The fact that (unlike in most places where Body Sushi happens, which overwhelmingly favor female models - to the extent that I coudn't find a single male image in my search) this Minneapolis nyotaimori-torium has both men and women as human platters helps me, um, swallow it.


So, whadya think? Most of you would agree that if you want to eat sushi or sardines or ice cream off your spouse's, lover's or roommate's naked bod in the privacy of your home (not that there's any such thing as privacy anymore, but that's another box of wine), that's a right granted you by the deity of your choice. How 'bout spending a bucketload of money to eat raw fish off a well-paid model in a restaurant? (And I personally find it amusing that the establishment in this particular article is called 'Temple') How about the notion of reinforcing racial stereotypes (the exotic sexualized 'otherness' of Japan, and Asia in general)? Is that diluted/assuaged by the fact that the models at Temple appear to be Midwesterners? Just don't try to claim that this is primarily a 'high end dining' experience, not a sexual one, or you'll get laughed out of the discussion.

Just some more stuff to make you go "hmm..."

Happy Patriots' Day

It's a pretty New England-specific thing (and really seems to mean a lot more in Boston than anywhere else) but I think that Patriots' Day deserves a shoutout.



It's most renowned for being the day that the Boston Marathon happens - congratulations to Robert Cheruiot (four's a charm!) and Dire Tune! And it's exciting to Red Sox fans because they play a game that starts in the morning. I'm tapping this out at 1:23, and the Sox are already leading the Rangers 8-0 in the 6th. (You almost have to feel sorry for those poor Rangers. This may be long-term repercussions from when George W. Bush ran the club.) But I think it's also a good reminder that patriotism does NOT mean blind acceptance or following of the government; that America's foundation was built on dissent and rebellion, religious freedom (emphatically not fundamentalism) and independent thought.



At least, that's how I see it.



So, given that, here's a brief excerpt from a pretty rad interview with F. Murray Abraham in today's Gothamist (I encourage you to read the whole thing):



Speaking of casting, weren’t you supposed to be in the current revival of The American Dream and The Sandbox?



I was scheduled to do it with Edward [Albee] but I just simply couldn’t do one more play without making some money. You know, I’m only making about $425 a week here and I have some big expenses. Very big. And I have to make some movie money. I had done three plays in a row and I had to beg off so I could do a movie. He was very understanding and we’re friends but I simply couldn’t. I’m leaving shortly to do another movie; I have to do these movies to support this theater habit.


So you’re an actor with this incredible reputation and a body of work that speaks for itself, here you are in an Off Broadway play with a famous writer and incredible cast, and you’re being paid peanuts. Has the pay scale just gotten worse and worse over the years?



Yeah, it has. It’s just one of those things. But working people across America have been paid less and less over the years. And while that’s happening we have these heads of corporations who are destroying corporations while making billions of dollars. What’s going on? Is this democracy? Something’s wrong here. It’s bullshit, man. It’s got to stop. It’s got to change. I don’t know who or what that change is but we have to do something. I mean, the idea that you believe – as the God I play believes – that you are the only source of truth and integrity and reality, then that gives you the right to torture people and do any damn thing you want because you’re above the law. That’s what the Nazis did; they said it was there divine right. And we’re behaving like Nazis. That’s not America, that’s not the America my two brothers died for in defense of their country. It’s bullshit.



Ain't it, though?

Record Store Day!

Well, it's tomorrow, not today, but I reckoned you could do with some advance notice.

Some of us have had the discussion: is it ok to download/share music? My short answer: yes, IF you keep funneling a commensurate amount of money to musicians/artists, and remember ani difranco's caveat/warning that it's "never as good as the real thing."

One handy excuse to do some of the real thing comes in the form of Record Store Day, tomorrow, 19 April, 2008. Put together by a group of indie record/cd store owners, it's an attempt to shine the light (and rain the bucks) on the nigh-unto-holy tradition of small/independent purveyors of music/life soundtracks to those who pay attention. This day was brought to my attention by this New York Times article, which is pretty good, if, you know, Timesy.

SO - go to your friendly neighborhood music store, grill the guys who work there, and reward them for their efforts. Let the games begin: Clash vs. Sex Pistols; Death Cab... vs. Postal Service; CD vs. Vinyl; invent better games of your own. I'll take a few minutes from what promises to be a GORGEOUS day and visit the Tunes in Hoboken (which for some reason is not officially affiliated with Record Store Day, possibly because they don't have a website. Don't know why they haven't bothered with that, but will still go there tomorrow. After all, it's 'my' record store.) Probably get the new R.E.M. even though those guys are filthy rich and don't need any more of my $, because the record totally fucking rocks. And I'll pick up something by a more deserving/needing-of-the-money artist as well. Maybe Tapes 'n Tapes, who are gigging in Williamsburg tomorrow night. (Hmmm... might we want to catch that gig after our big fat double feature?)


Oh, and by the way: Clash; Postal Service; CD and Vinyl is kind of a wash: Vinyl sounds better WHEN IT'S NEW, but gets all scratchy with time unless you are so careful as not to be practical. LPs are effin heavy, but the big format is way better for cover art - the great underlamented loss of the current era of musical devolution (LPs > CDs > MP3s) Ok, I grant that the intertubes offer some pretty nifty graphic options, but we lost something important when we lost the big ol' record covers.

SO - I present, not a claim for 'the best' cover or anything like that, but a golden example of bitchen album art:

There's the front of this unbelievably brilliant achievement in jazz fusion from one of the best combos ever assembled for that purpose. Don't judge a record by its cover, but I'd say this cover conveys the contents pretty well.

And, so you can see how they worked together in ye olde foldout:

I couldn't find the amazing late 60s soulful revolutionary jazz hipster prose poem liner notes by Ralph Gleason online, but, you know what? Just track down the album (in any format) and read them for yourself: have a look, dim the lights, light the candles, pour the wine and settle on in for the evening.

M.I.A.

And not the Rap Goddess this time. No, this time M.I.A. refers to me, being absent from this forum. And I have no time to fill in the blanks right now either, people, but rest assured that I'll be back. There's plenty to share.

For now, and for no good reason, here's my niece dressed up like a cow.