Seeing as I have to maintain my jetsetter lifestyle, I'm running away to London for two and a half months in a few weeks, which naturally means I have to switch a bunch of opera tickets. No biggy, it just means that my opera season is a bit compressed now. Lucky you! Either you get to hear about lots of opera all at once, or you get a huge break from hearing about any opera and only about my travels...I guess it depends on what you prefer to read.
But the ticket switcharoo means I got to see "Don Carlo", which I've only heard good things about. I know I've said this before, I'm a big fan of Verdi. He's just pretty, I can pretend to sing along, you can breathe along with a Verdi aria...I really like Verdi. And although there are hundreds of people that have spend thousands of hours working on dissertations and studying his work, the basic truth is: he's an easy composer. Non-opera lovers can sit through one of his operas (even the ones that are 4 hours long like "Don Carlo") and still walk away smiling (if it's a good production). And the MET did a fine job, the sets were nice (well they did include burning heretics) , the costuming understated, but beautiful, and the singing was fine. I have very little to say about "Don Carlo". I was really excited to get to see it, I wasn't disappointed, but it sure didn't blow my mind like "House of the Dead" last season or "Lucia de Larimoor" the season before. Ferruccio Furlanetto, who played King Philip, was incredible I will admit, but he was the only stand out actor in the production. Not that everyone else was bad! They were fine, it's just that that's it, everything was just fine.
Then on Friday I saw "Pelleas et Melisande". I'll start off with even for an opera lover, two operas in a week is a bit much...but...
"Pelleas et Melisande" is Debussy's only completed opera. I had never heard of it. And I was there opening night, and I know that I wasn't the only one there that had never heard of it.
It's a difficult opera. Folks that came for Mozart, that love Verdi (and as I just said I love me some Verdi) were not enjoying themselves, a lot of people left half way through (a lot of people left less than half way through). However, after just saying this: I loved this opera. It is so amazingly modern, everything that "Dr. Atomic" had tried to be but horrifically failed at achieving (which is strange I compare the two because Gerald Finley plays the lead in both: Golaud in "Pelleas et Melisande" and John Adams in "Dr. Atomic"). It's the imaginary story of an older king who marries a girl he knows nothing about that he finds in the woods. When he brings her back to the castle she falls in love with his half-brother, and when he finds out, he gets mean and kills his half-brother, and then she dies in the end during child birth (but the king's child). Standard opera story. But it's an almost 4 hour long opera, that description took 30 seconds. The opera is really about all the things you don't say to the people you love and don't love, the withheld moments and possibilities of life, in other words awkward silences and regrets. It's so human it's hard to believe you're watching an opera. At the same time though, the story is so far fetched that it blows your mind as you walk out on the street still feeling a little awkward for watching a series of relationships self destruct that realistically when there's absolutely nothing realistic about the actual story.
Debussy called it his "ideal" opera: a symbolist piece not meant for the masses. There are no librettos, no arias, just musical emotion, and it is profound. I often wonder why it is that I love the opera so much, and so often the only conclusion I come to is that I love the extremes, but I don't think that's entirely true. What I think I love is the impossible truth that's hidden in them. Not the extremes, but the realities hidden in the absurd, and it's the operas that emphasis that part of the medium that I have learned move me the most: "Pelleas et Melisande", "House of the Dead", although not so much "Lucia de Larimoor", it's still just a bella canti opera with a really, really good aria at the end.
Wednesday 22 December 2010
Tuesday 16 November 2010
Scary clowns, hipsters, and tragedy, oh my!
Just so you know, my life is not all art and operas, I do other things. Like go to haunted houses! My friend Greg did some animation work for the guy who created Nightmare: Superstitions a while back and so he got free tickets to "the scariest haunted house in America", and naturally invited me along. I admit it, I was a haunted house virgin. Outside of childhood/teenage things in the cornfields of Danbury or wherever Blue Jay Orchards is, I have never been to a haunted house. So I had done a fairly good job of completely psyching myself out, I'd totally prepared myself to have the shit scared out of my for real...but as you probably could have told from my movie preferences, I am not the easiest person to scare. But luckily a couple of the people in our group were and that made it way more entertaining. Because there is nothing more entertaining than screaming strangers.
And after we survived the horrors of the haunted house, Greg's friend gave us a backstage tour. Which was the best part. Then we got to watch screaming strangers from behind curtains and one way mirrors, and get to see all the costuming and fun little tricks. And then to top it all off, the ghost of Bloody Mary gave me a bottle of Bloody Mary mix to enjoy. Which lead me to the theory that if more mirror haunting ghosts gave more people cocktail mix, they would be way less scary. But then again, maybe that defeats their whole purpose in haunting mirrors in the first place...
That was Friday, Saturday I did nothing. For real, nothing. I watched 4 movies on my Roku player and ate some left over soup.
Sunday however, Greg had also invited me to the second half of his free-stuff-for-doing-stuff adventure weekend. He had been given tickets to the Sufjan Stevens show at the Beacon Theater for doing some of the animation used in the visuals for the show. The haunted house was fun, but for this I owe Greg a pie. It was amazing. I do have all of Sufjan's albums, but I don't listen to them very often, because in truth, I can only take him in small doses. I don't have a good explanation for why, but he's not normally my speed. But, this is why I owe Greg a pie, that might have been the most beautiful few hours of my life while surrounded by a thousand strangers. Sufjan, sadly, cannot dance, but he makes up for that in spades by being simply gorgeous and possessing the most amazing voice I have ever heard in person. And his band, although not as pretty, were equally fantastic. On key, on tempo, perfect at all times. It was beautiful. I have seen where hipsters go when they die: a never ending Sufjan Stevens concert. It almost made me wish I was a hipster...well, at least it made me miss my emo-hair.
And then so you aren't left feeling too uncomfortable with this departure from art and opera, Monday I went to the opera. And for once, I was there early (normally that's me you see running down Broadway towards Lincoln Center praying that I'll get in my seat within the next 40 seconds, cursing the B train delays and World News for being so entertaining). As I'm strolling around outside, enjoying this strange sensation of not rushing to the opera, watching the fountain, killing time, there is a ruckus. More than a ruckus, hundreds of screaming teens off to the side. So seeing as I have 30 minutes to kill, I wonder over to explore. And there is the Harry Potter red carpet or at least something resembling the red carpet, and the cast of Harry Potter showing off their grown-up looks and hundreds of screaming teens overwhelmed by the stars real-life presence only mere meters away (cause it was more than just a few feet). Little kids were besides themselves, teenagers in costumes were screaming, and the amateur paparazzi were clicking away. It made me giggle. And then as the stars finished their promenade, I made my way back to the MET and inside to watch "Il Travatore"
I first saw "Il Travatore" at the Verdi Theater in Florence, just down the street from my apartment on via Ghibelina. I know I saw it, and I have a CD with a couple of the songs on it, but I honestly don't remember it at all. The Firenzian opera company was not that spectacular, and seeing as my Italian wasn't so spectacular either, it's not like I had that good of an idea as to what on earth was really going on anyway. I mean, I remembered that this is the one where everyone dies, but I confuse it with "La Traviata" where almost everyone dies. It was fantastic. Verdi (one of my favorite opera gods I admit it) makes it hard on the singers, and they did a wonderful job. It's a silly opera, completely implausible. Switched accidentally murdered babies, gypsy curses that weren't real, kidnapped ladies, and slow acting poison, but that's OK, because it's so beautiful you find yourself not actually reading the subtitles because you're too busy listening. It's an easy opera, people that don't like opera can't help but like Verdi. And in case beautiful accessible librettos aren't enough for you, Horatio was back! You remember beautiful, tall Horatio with his couple of lines in "Hamlet"? Well he was there, looking fine in his Napoleonic uniform. In addition to that, I've told you about operas with horses, and dogs, and chickens, and other such exciting things...this one's got a bunch of topless men, hammering on anvils, pouring water on themselves to cool themselves off, But don't worry Horatio, they mean nothing to me, nothing.
And after we survived the horrors of the haunted house, Greg's friend gave us a backstage tour. Which was the best part. Then we got to watch screaming strangers from behind curtains and one way mirrors, and get to see all the costuming and fun little tricks. And then to top it all off, the ghost of Bloody Mary gave me a bottle of Bloody Mary mix to enjoy. Which lead me to the theory that if more mirror haunting ghosts gave more people cocktail mix, they would be way less scary. But then again, maybe that defeats their whole purpose in haunting mirrors in the first place...
That was Friday, Saturday I did nothing. For real, nothing. I watched 4 movies on my Roku player and ate some left over soup.
Sunday however, Greg had also invited me to the second half of his free-stuff-for-doing-stuff adventure weekend. He had been given tickets to the Sufjan Stevens show at the Beacon Theater for doing some of the animation used in the visuals for the show. The haunted house was fun, but for this I owe Greg a pie. It was amazing. I do have all of Sufjan's albums, but I don't listen to them very often, because in truth, I can only take him in small doses. I don't have a good explanation for why, but he's not normally my speed. But, this is why I owe Greg a pie, that might have been the most beautiful few hours of my life while surrounded by a thousand strangers. Sufjan, sadly, cannot dance, but he makes up for that in spades by being simply gorgeous and possessing the most amazing voice I have ever heard in person. And his band, although not as pretty, were equally fantastic. On key, on tempo, perfect at all times. It was beautiful. I have seen where hipsters go when they die: a never ending Sufjan Stevens concert. It almost made me wish I was a hipster...well, at least it made me miss my emo-hair.
And then so you aren't left feeling too uncomfortable with this departure from art and opera, Monday I went to the opera. And for once, I was there early (normally that's me you see running down Broadway towards Lincoln Center praying that I'll get in my seat within the next 40 seconds, cursing the B train delays and World News for being so entertaining). As I'm strolling around outside, enjoying this strange sensation of not rushing to the opera, watching the fountain, killing time, there is a ruckus. More than a ruckus, hundreds of screaming teens off to the side. So seeing as I have 30 minutes to kill, I wonder over to explore. And there is the Harry Potter red carpet or at least something resembling the red carpet, and the cast of Harry Potter showing off their grown-up looks and hundreds of screaming teens overwhelmed by the stars real-life presence only mere meters away (cause it was more than just a few feet). Little kids were besides themselves, teenagers in costumes were screaming, and the amateur paparazzi were clicking away. It made me giggle. And then as the stars finished their promenade, I made my way back to the MET and inside to watch "Il Travatore"
I first saw "Il Travatore" at the Verdi Theater in Florence, just down the street from my apartment on via Ghibelina. I know I saw it, and I have a CD with a couple of the songs on it, but I honestly don't remember it at all. The Firenzian opera company was not that spectacular, and seeing as my Italian wasn't so spectacular either, it's not like I had that good of an idea as to what on earth was really going on anyway. I mean, I remembered that this is the one where everyone dies, but I confuse it with "La Traviata" where almost everyone dies. It was fantastic. Verdi (one of my favorite opera gods I admit it) makes it hard on the singers, and they did a wonderful job. It's a silly opera, completely implausible. Switched accidentally murdered babies, gypsy curses that weren't real, kidnapped ladies, and slow acting poison, but that's OK, because it's so beautiful you find yourself not actually reading the subtitles because you're too busy listening. It's an easy opera, people that don't like opera can't help but like Verdi. And in case beautiful accessible librettos aren't enough for you, Horatio was back! You remember beautiful, tall Horatio with his couple of lines in "Hamlet"? Well he was there, looking fine in his Napoleonic uniform. In addition to that, I've told you about operas with horses, and dogs, and chickens, and other such exciting things...this one's got a bunch of topless men, hammering on anvils, pouring water on themselves to cool themselves off, But don't worry Horatio, they mean nothing to me, nothing.
Monday 25 October 2010
Bunches of art
So a while back I mentioned this amazing show that I was in SOHO at a fantastic gallery called Spattered Columns (you remember, the opening I missed back in September because I was working on my tan). Well, the closing was on the 19th, and it was also a spectacular success (in the words of the gallery owner at least). There was a panel discussion between the artists, the curator, and the Director of the Flux Factory, Ginger Shulick, which I naturally stressed about for weeks, and went quite smoothly and absolutely nothing embarrassing was asked while my parents were in the audience.
Also, remember that restaurant with the amazing clams from god? Well, I actually got my parents there to enjoy its plentiful splendors...mmmmm clams from god...after all my talk of never getting my parents that far south to enjoy some of the wonderful food choices hidden around the rest of Manhattan, they found themselves already that far south, so it was a natural leap to dragging them a few blocks away to MSG heaven. And yes, we ate until we almost burst...and then I went a celebrated some more with some good whiskey in the LES.
But back to the more important part...here's your chance to take a look at the show! Even though it's already taken down, walls returned to white, and the next show already installed.
The blue wallpaper installation in the back is Sean Lugo's and the wall collage is by Natalie Lanese.
Here's another image of Natalie's piece and how it then interacted with Beth Ann Morrison's installation space.
See! Awesome! Woohoo! Artstars!
If you feel the need to just see the highlights of my part of the show, feel free to come by my apartment...because there's now a lot of framed art up in my entryway just in case anyone missed it at Spattered Columns. Or if you did see it, but just miss it, and want to spend some more time with pretty dirty pictures.
Also, remember that restaurant with the amazing clams from god? Well, I actually got my parents there to enjoy its plentiful splendors...mmmmm clams from god...after all my talk of never getting my parents that far south to enjoy some of the wonderful food choices hidden around the rest of Manhattan, they found themselves already that far south, so it was a natural leap to dragging them a few blocks away to MSG heaven. And yes, we ate until we almost burst...and then I went a celebrated some more with some good whiskey in the LES.
But back to the more important part...here's your chance to take a look at the show! Even though it's already taken down, walls returned to white, and the next show already installed.
The blue wallpaper installation in the back is Sean Lugo's and the wall collage is by Natalie Lanese.
Here's another image of Natalie's piece and how it then interacted with Beth Ann Morrison's installation space.
See! Awesome! Woohoo! Artstars!
If you feel the need to just see the highlights of my part of the show, feel free to come by my apartment...because there's now a lot of framed art up in my entryway just in case anyone missed it at Spattered Columns. Or if you did see it, but just miss it, and want to spend some more time with pretty dirty pictures.
Tuesday 12 October 2010
Four and a half hours
That's how long "Boris Godunov" is, including intermissions. Longer than "Lawrence of Arabia", longer than I don't know what...long enough to miss the incredible hail storm that hit Brooklyn...long...but luckily, it's fantastic. Your back may hurt, your legs may be stiff, but the drama keeps you going, interspersed with catchy little Russian folk tunes, and the singing was wonderful. Although the standing ovations went not necessarily to those that deserved it, mostly because of people's resounding bravos for a 9 year-old kid in the show that was a bit off key, but he was like 9, and it was way past his bedtime. But it was great. Not one of the operas that I leave the Met humming to myself wishing I could grow up and be a diva, but one where I had to work not to shed a tear at Boris's death aria. Not much comedy, and at no time did Moose and Squirrel make an appearance.
Yeah! Opera season has started!
Although I do have one real reservation...the people I was surrounded by I pray are not subscribers. I don't want to spend the whole season surrounded by them...to my left, a man who excitedly conducts while he sings under his breathe, to the right an elderly gentleman who reeked of piss. Please, please, please, don't make me sit with them every opera. Please. I miss the grumpy old Russian couple I had last year...
Yeah! Opera season has started!
Although I do have one real reservation...the people I was surrounded by I pray are not subscribers. I don't want to spend the whole season surrounded by them...to my left, a man who excitedly conducts while he sings under his breathe, to the right an elderly gentleman who reeked of piss. Please, please, please, don't make me sit with them every opera. Please. I miss the grumpy old Russian couple I had last year...
Monday 11 October 2010
sell-out
I love my gym, for real, I do. They had a series of contests recently in celebration of their 21st birthday and I won tickets to "American Idiot". Not that it's something I've ever wanted to see, but hey, free tickets! Right?
Let me start this again. I am not a huge Green Day fan. I wouldn't say that I actively hate Green Day, but I've never bought an album, I've never jumped up and down at the prospect of seeing them in concert (even in high school when even though I never bought anything of theirs at least I thought they were good)...but how bad could it be? American Idiot, people seem to love it...it's been on Broadway forever...
I've never been so pissed off in my life. Green Day, you wanna see suburban-raised angst? I got yours right here. I've never been so insulted. It more than mocked my entire teenage years and young adulthood, it trivialized it. Yeah, I grew up in the 'burbs, I wore grunge clothes, and I listened to hardcore, alternative music, and I went to art school and then moved to the city with a big dream, and I may not be the huge artstar that I will be some day. But I sure as hell didn't sell out in the process. And neither did 99% of my friends.
The whole show follows 3 friends, who want to go off to the city and start a band...1 never leaves cause he knocks up his girlfriend, 1 gets to the city and hears the call of patriotism and joins the military, and the other left to his own devices becomes a smack head. They never played a single song as a "band". And in the end, they all give up and go home, one (who never left) without his new family cause his girlfriend and baby left him, the other angry and without a leg from the war, and the third, just a failure. And their other friends all show up in suites and tailored skirts because they've all sold out and joined the mainstream. And everyone reunites at home and makes up and is happy again.
Cause that's it, we're all losers, huh Green Day? We're all strung out failures at life? Forget your dreams, go back to you parents' basement and you'll still have music at least, right? Fuck you.
I have no problem with rockstars making it big, getting famous, and making buckets of money. That's the dream. That's why we all want it- buckets of money. I have a problem when after they've gotten famous, and made their fortunes, they then turn around and sell out by trivializing the people that got them there. Sitting in an audience of people my parents' age as they clap along to this farce of my life. How would they have felt if 'Hair' had come out in the 80s? 20 years after the actual cultural movement, trivialized, and basically called your entire generation nothing but burned out hippies that would never amount to anything? This is how if feels to have your revolution pandered to tourists who don't even know better than to give a mindless show with mediocre singing a standing ovation.
In the end it was worth every penny. And I have given Green Day exactly as much money as they deserved over the years. You guys had better had made enough money to support your lifestyle for the rest of time, cause this is it. Every fan that you had, that's seen this piece of shit, is one more fan that you just lost. Enjoy it, who's the loser now?
Let me start this again. I am not a huge Green Day fan. I wouldn't say that I actively hate Green Day, but I've never bought an album, I've never jumped up and down at the prospect of seeing them in concert (even in high school when even though I never bought anything of theirs at least I thought they were good)...but how bad could it be? American Idiot, people seem to love it...it's been on Broadway forever...
I've never been so pissed off in my life. Green Day, you wanna see suburban-raised angst? I got yours right here. I've never been so insulted. It more than mocked my entire teenage years and young adulthood, it trivialized it. Yeah, I grew up in the 'burbs, I wore grunge clothes, and I listened to hardcore, alternative music, and I went to art school and then moved to the city with a big dream, and I may not be the huge artstar that I will be some day. But I sure as hell didn't sell out in the process. And neither did 99% of my friends.
The whole show follows 3 friends, who want to go off to the city and start a band...1 never leaves cause he knocks up his girlfriend, 1 gets to the city and hears the call of patriotism and joins the military, and the other left to his own devices becomes a smack head. They never played a single song as a "band". And in the end, they all give up and go home, one (who never left) without his new family cause his girlfriend and baby left him, the other angry and without a leg from the war, and the third, just a failure. And their other friends all show up in suites and tailored skirts because they've all sold out and joined the mainstream. And everyone reunites at home and makes up and is happy again.
Cause that's it, we're all losers, huh Green Day? We're all strung out failures at life? Forget your dreams, go back to you parents' basement and you'll still have music at least, right? Fuck you.
I have no problem with rockstars making it big, getting famous, and making buckets of money. That's the dream. That's why we all want it- buckets of money. I have a problem when after they've gotten famous, and made their fortunes, they then turn around and sell out by trivializing the people that got them there. Sitting in an audience of people my parents' age as they clap along to this farce of my life. How would they have felt if 'Hair' had come out in the 80s? 20 years after the actual cultural movement, trivialized, and basically called your entire generation nothing but burned out hippies that would never amount to anything? This is how if feels to have your revolution pandered to tourists who don't even know better than to give a mindless show with mediocre singing a standing ovation.
In the end it was worth every penny. And I have given Green Day exactly as much money as they deserved over the years. You guys had better had made enough money to support your lifestyle for the rest of time, cause this is it. Every fan that you had, that's seen this piece of shit, is one more fan that you just lost. Enjoy it, who's the loser now?
Tuesday 14 September 2010
art sans artist
Why hello there all! I send this to you while sitting in the lobby of my resort being eaten by mosquitos carrying Dangay Fever, but this is all just proof of how dedicated I am to my own artistic career (and tan).
I have an opening tomorrow night in SOHO! Yeah!!!! And those of you that have encountered me in the past few weeks know all about the stress of pulling an installation out of your nether regions in mere weeks, but it's done, and it looks great, and I'm going to miss the festivities. But if you want to go, just to brag to other artworld fixtures that you know the famous artist herself, and have actually spoken to her on numerous occations, then please do! Here're the deets:
Seeing as I won't be able to grace everyone with my presence, there will also be a closing, on October 15th, which I will be sure to send out a real invite for. And in the meantime, just think of me here:
I have an opening tomorrow night in SOHO! Yeah!!!! And those of you that have encountered me in the past few weeks know all about the stress of pulling an installation out of your nether regions in mere weeks, but it's done, and it looks great, and I'm going to miss the festivities. But if you want to go, just to brag to other artworld fixtures that you know the famous artist herself, and have actually spoken to her on numerous occations, then please do! Here're the deets:
Seeing as I won't be able to grace everyone with my presence, there will also be a closing, on October 15th, which I will be sure to send out a real invite for. And in the meantime, just think of me here:
Yeah, I know, I have a really difficult life.
Saturday 4 September 2010
more divine mollusks
So naturally my parents saw my recent post lambasting their unwillingness to venture far from Times Square for meals, and when they last came to visit half of them wanted to try the amazing "Clams from God" while the other half complained that Canal Street was way too far away...I'm not naming names, here, I'm just saying...so instead I met them with a list of fabulous restaurants near their hotel, and they settled on Brasserie, on 53rd and Park Ave.
And I'll admit that the reviews I read of it said they had recently remodeled the space, and no one had anything nice to say about that part, but they all guaranteed that the kitchen staff hadn't changed, so it was supposed to be delicious. So we walked the few blocks, and in the middle of what I consider midtown hell, we found it. Located in the basement of an office building, looking like a cross between 1984 and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (OK, it didn't look anything like any of those movies, but for some reason it felt like a cross between those two movies...way too many video screens and oddly shaped wood panelling), it was exactly what the critics had said...ugly.
But, the food was way better than the space looked, and some how I had the chance to continue my culinary mollusk revelations. As many of you know, or at least now realize, I love seafood. Especially the kind that comes in shells...clams, mussels, crabs, shrimp, lobsters...all of them. Except oysters. I hate oysters, they're gross, really gross...Anyway, the menu had plenty of real food, brasserie staples, just with a fancy twist. And then they had moules frites...one of my favorite things in the world. And they had it with a choice of three different sauces, the standard white wine and garlic, the spicy tomato based sauce, and then one I've never had before: Pastis. Pastis? What? Isn't that an after dinner drink you sip on your terrace in Provence? Turns out to be a saffron and star anise based broth...and it turns plain ordinary mussels into "Moules de Dieu". They were amazing. Completely different from the Clams from God, but equally tender and perfect, swimming in a practically drinkable sauce. The fries were even good! They stayed crispy until I was done (seeing as sometimes it can take a while to eat a giant bowl of mussels), and seeing as Bloomberg took away or transfats, they were a little bit of heaven in themselves.
So there you go. Just in case you're stuck in midtown and you have a hankering from some divine mollusks, and are with people that don't want to go as far away as Little Italy, fear not! There is salvation even in the scariest of sky rise purgatories! And I promise, they'll even be so tasty you'll forget about the awful decor.
And I'll admit that the reviews I read of it said they had recently remodeled the space, and no one had anything nice to say about that part, but they all guaranteed that the kitchen staff hadn't changed, so it was supposed to be delicious. So we walked the few blocks, and in the middle of what I consider midtown hell, we found it. Located in the basement of an office building, looking like a cross between 1984 and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (OK, it didn't look anything like any of those movies, but for some reason it felt like a cross between those two movies...way too many video screens and oddly shaped wood panelling), it was exactly what the critics had said...ugly.
But, the food was way better than the space looked, and some how I had the chance to continue my culinary mollusk revelations. As many of you know, or at least now realize, I love seafood. Especially the kind that comes in shells...clams, mussels, crabs, shrimp, lobsters...all of them. Except oysters. I hate oysters, they're gross, really gross...Anyway, the menu had plenty of real food, brasserie staples, just with a fancy twist. And then they had moules frites...one of my favorite things in the world. And they had it with a choice of three different sauces, the standard white wine and garlic, the spicy tomato based sauce, and then one I've never had before: Pastis. Pastis? What? Isn't that an after dinner drink you sip on your terrace in Provence? Turns out to be a saffron and star anise based broth...and it turns plain ordinary mussels into "Moules de Dieu". They were amazing. Completely different from the Clams from God, but equally tender and perfect, swimming in a practically drinkable sauce. The fries were even good! They stayed crispy until I was done (seeing as sometimes it can take a while to eat a giant bowl of mussels), and seeing as Bloomberg took away or transfats, they were a little bit of heaven in themselves.
So there you go. Just in case you're stuck in midtown and you have a hankering from some divine mollusks, and are with people that don't want to go as far away as Little Italy, fear not! There is salvation even in the scariest of sky rise purgatories! And I promise, they'll even be so tasty you'll forget about the awful decor.
Wednesday 28 July 2010
if you loved me...
I know I don't blog about this this sort of stuff...but it's rare, very rare, I find something in the fashion/design world that I want this badly.
And if you loved me, really, really love me, you'd get this for me...
http://www.michielschuurman.nl/2009/06/colouring-dress-for-sale.html
And if you loved me, really, really love me, you'd get this for me...
http://www.michielschuurman.nl/2009/06/colouring-dress-for-sale.html
Tuesday 20 July 2010
Clams from God
Yes, I sit before you so full I may die. So full of Peking duck, some mustard green and pork soup (complete with mystery yellow discs of wonderfulness) and clams from God. And yes, I may die before I finish this post, but in case I survive (or don't depend on how you look at it) I have to spread the good news.
Jeff, my friend who I mentioned earlier who took me to the symphony, took me tonight to an amazing Chinese restaurant technically in Nolita called Yong Gee Seafood (or possibly The Dining Room Management Group, Inc...you know how Chinatown can be) at 102 Mott Street, a little bit north of Canal. He had been there a while back and had the best food in forever, so we decided to make sure it wasn't a fluke.
And yes, the soup we had as an appetizer was delicious. Mustard green and pork soup: a heaping bowl of pork and mustard greens and funny little yellow discs that looked like egg yoke but where the consistency of shellfish roe in an amazingly light but rich broth that we didn't finish, much to the chagrin of the lady in charge of our table. Not because we were already full, but because we were anticipating the feast to come...because naturally we had over ordered.
Peking duck...miss ordered, but crispy and wonderful, and gladly accepted in place of what we had really been looking for. The first and last time I had Peking duck was in Beijing, not the same, but yummy and worth the mistake. And seeing as we're adults we ordered a vegetable: mustard greens with dace and something else. Since I have no idea what dace is I figure not remembering what the something else was doesn't really matter (although we came to the conclusion that dace must be some sort of preserved fish, which sounds worse than it tastes, which is pure yum). Both of which were excellent. But nothing compared to the dish I picked out...
Clams cooked House Style.
Or as they should be known from now on...Clams from God.
The most amazing clams, with HUGE pieces of garlic, and green onions, and scrambled egg and minced pork...yes minced pork...and tiny sprinklings of heaven (which to the untrained eye are invisible but very, very tasty). Each one perfectly tender and well just...perfect. I've never tasted anything that made me so happy. And I may be serious about this, or I could just be so full that all the blood has left my brain and is so busy digesting that I just don't remember having ever eaten anything before tonight. I honestly don't even know what to say about them, except I will dream about these garlic and pork drenched mollusks for years, and although the place is not expensive I hope that I'll be able to convince my parents to venture south of Times Square when they next visit New York so that they too can have their eyes opened to the wonders of Clams cooked House Style.
I've never been so happy.
This is the aftermath...as you can see no clams...lots of mustard greens.
Go! Go and eat Clams from God! Go and spread the joy and the waistlines! Go! And let me know when you're going so I can have some too.
Jeff, my friend who I mentioned earlier who took me to the symphony, took me tonight to an amazing Chinese restaurant technically in Nolita called Yong Gee Seafood (or possibly The Dining Room Management Group, Inc...you know how Chinatown can be) at 102 Mott Street, a little bit north of Canal. He had been there a while back and had the best food in forever, so we decided to make sure it wasn't a fluke.
And yes, the soup we had as an appetizer was delicious. Mustard green and pork soup: a heaping bowl of pork and mustard greens and funny little yellow discs that looked like egg yoke but where the consistency of shellfish roe in an amazingly light but rich broth that we didn't finish, much to the chagrin of the lady in charge of our table. Not because we were already full, but because we were anticipating the feast to come...because naturally we had over ordered.
Peking duck...miss ordered, but crispy and wonderful, and gladly accepted in place of what we had really been looking for. The first and last time I had Peking duck was in Beijing, not the same, but yummy and worth the mistake. And seeing as we're adults we ordered a vegetable: mustard greens with dace and something else. Since I have no idea what dace is I figure not remembering what the something else was doesn't really matter (although we came to the conclusion that dace must be some sort of preserved fish, which sounds worse than it tastes, which is pure yum). Both of which were excellent. But nothing compared to the dish I picked out...
Clams cooked House Style.
Or as they should be known from now on...Clams from God.
The most amazing clams, with HUGE pieces of garlic, and green onions, and scrambled egg and minced pork...yes minced pork...and tiny sprinklings of heaven (which to the untrained eye are invisible but very, very tasty). Each one perfectly tender and well just...perfect. I've never tasted anything that made me so happy. And I may be serious about this, or I could just be so full that all the blood has left my brain and is so busy digesting that I just don't remember having ever eaten anything before tonight. I honestly don't even know what to say about them, except I will dream about these garlic and pork drenched mollusks for years, and although the place is not expensive I hope that I'll be able to convince my parents to venture south of Times Square when they next visit New York so that they too can have their eyes opened to the wonders of Clams cooked House Style.
I've never been so happy.
This is the aftermath...as you can see no clams...lots of mustard greens.
Go! Go and eat Clams from God! Go and spread the joy and the waistlines! Go! And let me know when you're going so I can have some too.
Friday 25 June 2010
opera without the costumes...and the moving...
So a very good friend of mine, Jeff Bergman, was crazy enough to start a blog about how he was going to listen to classical music for a year and expand his mind, blah, blah, blah. But his blog, A Year of Living Classically (http://yearofclassical.blogspot.com) got noticed by the New York Philharmonic and they gave him free tickets to the performance last night (cough, cough, nudge, nudge Metropolitan Opera? hello?)...anyway, his very lovely, very pregnant wife decided not to go, and that left me to fill the free void next to my high school buddy.
It's been years since I went to the symphony...not since I was in college in Baltimore, before I discovered the opera (the tickets were cheaper and who likes opera anyway?). Jeff, being the prepared, intelligent person that he is, sent me a podcast about the performance we were going to see, the review of the opening piece (a brand new piece by composer in residence Mangus Lindberg), and some other info...not that I read or listened to any of it...which deep down inside I know he expected, he has known me since Freshman year of high school. I didn't do my homework then, you think I'm going to start now?
The Lindberg piece, titled Al largo, I'm sad to say it, but is the reason I'm not that big a fan of contemporary classical music. It was like listening to the sound track of a space epic. Star Wars may be to blame, but who's to know. As a person who has grown up with epic movie sound tracks, this one just sounded like an action packed space adventure, with asteroid belts to navigate, space pirates to defeat, and cosmic bees protecting the alien princess that needs rescuing...but without the actual explosions to entertain the rest of my brain, it was just a bit lack luster. A bunch of loud, fast music, trying really, really hard to be exciting...but in the end was just music...no lingering emotion, just a expectation of when it was over the credits would magically fly by. Jeff liked it a lot, the NY Times, liked it a lot...I know nothing about classical music...it was just OK.
Intermission
The other half of the program was Beethoven's Missa solemnis, Op. 123, which was supposed to be his big devotional to God and all things that are holy. And it was big. Being a child that grew up with Handel's Messiah, it was interesting to see the difference a hundred years makes in "yeah, God!" opuses. Even though the text it draws upon (in the Lutheran Church at least) is used in the Celebration of the Eucharist and the Offertory Prayer (yeah, you didn't know I grew up in the church, did you?) it was very, um, yeah, big. It sounds like it is all about the angry God, and we're for real begging for mercy. And we're really begging, because any minute now one of those giant crashes of percussion and string crescendos will be his wrath smoting us. Whereas Handel was celebrating the beauty of God, there's no anger in the Messiah. Missa solemnis is not a piece I would have called beautiful, it had it's moments. Little spots that give you goosebumps, when you sway in your chair involuntarily at the same moment the violas do, little spots that are very Beethoven.
And 71 minutes later it's over, and I was left wondering what used to bring me to the symphony all the time in college...cause I really missed the costumes and "acting". It's strange, I listen to classical music at home all the time, where as I don't ever listen to opera, because it's just not the same when it's all in your head. Maybe too much TV has ruined my ability to really enjoy stillness.
But thanks, Jeff! I hope to someday return the favor (ahem, Met?).
It's been years since I went to the symphony...not since I was in college in Baltimore, before I discovered the opera (the tickets were cheaper and who likes opera anyway?). Jeff, being the prepared, intelligent person that he is, sent me a podcast about the performance we were going to see, the review of the opening piece (a brand new piece by composer in residence Mangus Lindberg), and some other info...not that I read or listened to any of it...which deep down inside I know he expected, he has known me since Freshman year of high school. I didn't do my homework then, you think I'm going to start now?
The Lindberg piece, titled Al largo, I'm sad to say it, but is the reason I'm not that big a fan of contemporary classical music. It was like listening to the sound track of a space epic. Star Wars may be to blame, but who's to know. As a person who has grown up with epic movie sound tracks, this one just sounded like an action packed space adventure, with asteroid belts to navigate, space pirates to defeat, and cosmic bees protecting the alien princess that needs rescuing...but without the actual explosions to entertain the rest of my brain, it was just a bit lack luster. A bunch of loud, fast music, trying really, really hard to be exciting...but in the end was just music...no lingering emotion, just a expectation of when it was over the credits would magically fly by. Jeff liked it a lot, the NY Times, liked it a lot...I know nothing about classical music...it was just OK.
Intermission
The other half of the program was Beethoven's Missa solemnis, Op. 123, which was supposed to be his big devotional to God and all things that are holy. And it was big. Being a child that grew up with Handel's Messiah, it was interesting to see the difference a hundred years makes in "yeah, God!" opuses. Even though the text it draws upon (in the Lutheran Church at least) is used in the Celebration of the Eucharist and the Offertory Prayer (yeah, you didn't know I grew up in the church, did you?) it was very, um, yeah, big. It sounds like it is all about the angry God, and we're for real begging for mercy. And we're really begging, because any minute now one of those giant crashes of percussion and string crescendos will be his wrath smoting us. Whereas Handel was celebrating the beauty of God, there's no anger in the Messiah. Missa solemnis is not a piece I would have called beautiful, it had it's moments. Little spots that give you goosebumps, when you sway in your chair involuntarily at the same moment the violas do, little spots that are very Beethoven.
And 71 minutes later it's over, and I was left wondering what used to bring me to the symphony all the time in college...cause I really missed the costumes and "acting". It's strange, I listen to classical music at home all the time, where as I don't ever listen to opera, because it's just not the same when it's all in your head. Maybe too much TV has ruined my ability to really enjoy stillness.
But thanks, Jeff! I hope to someday return the favor (ahem, Met?).
Monday 17 May 2010
The end of the season
I apologize, things have been busy, and I've missed filling you in on two separate operas (not to mention a million other things that have passed by in the chaos).
After all this opera talk, constantly reminding everyone of my excitement at finally getting to see Rene Flemming in Armida, I completely spaced actually telling you what it was like. I had mentally composed witty sentences describing how absolutely wonderful she was...which I have naturally forgotten in the ensuing month. Needless to say, she was divine. Beyond divine...exquisite. And the guys were ok, too. Well, except for the one guy, who I swear to God has been in half of the operas I saw this season and he sounds like he's not only singing completely through his nose, but his voice has a quality to it akin to someone who is being attacked by a weasel. I'm not a big fan. But even he couldn't dampen the whole production, because in the beginning there was Rene, and in the end there was Rene, only an angry Rene, and I know that even though the opera ended, Armida would not have let the weasel tenor survive.
And then there was my final opera of the season...Der Fliegende Hollander. I first saw The Flying Dutchman in Baltimore, in a production that absolutely blew my mind and I completely believe solidified my love of opera right then and there...and yet...I apparently completely mis-remembered the opera. I'm not saying that I forgot the story (ghost ship, cursed captain, girl falls in love with a picture of the captain, greedy father, spurred love, no one gets what they want in the end, you know the story), I just seem to have combined Der Fliegende Hollander with another 2 or 3 Wagner operas that actually have songs that conjure memories of Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny in Brunhilda costumes (even though I know Brunhilda is not in Der Fliegender Hollander). I swear I had never heard any of this music before, except for the scary ghost ship approaching/storm music that just sounds like blood thirsty pirates must be just beyond the next wave. So in a way it was disappointing, not because it actually was a disappointment, it was just not what 10 years of fake memories had been expecting. And I guess in the end what it really means is that I have to be better about seeing the other Wagner operas so I can actually sort out what it is that's all jumbled in my college opera memories bin...
But the season is over. I have to figure out what to do for next year...another season subscription? There's a lot of repeats next season, Mr. Gleb and Mr. Levine, but there is another chance to see the magnificent Rene. So that's it. 8 operas: some bad, some good, one fire incident, Placido Domingo and Rene Flemming, horses and dogs and dancing children on stage, and now I have to wait 8 months until I get to sit up in those red velvet seats, surrounded by snoring elderly people, and watch completely unbelievable story lines sung by people with completely unbelievable voices...until next October...
After all this opera talk, constantly reminding everyone of my excitement at finally getting to see Rene Flemming in Armida, I completely spaced actually telling you what it was like. I had mentally composed witty sentences describing how absolutely wonderful she was...which I have naturally forgotten in the ensuing month. Needless to say, she was divine. Beyond divine...exquisite. And the guys were ok, too. Well, except for the one guy, who I swear to God has been in half of the operas I saw this season and he sounds like he's not only singing completely through his nose, but his voice has a quality to it akin to someone who is being attacked by a weasel. I'm not a big fan. But even he couldn't dampen the whole production, because in the beginning there was Rene, and in the end there was Rene, only an angry Rene, and I know that even though the opera ended, Armida would not have let the weasel tenor survive.
And then there was my final opera of the season...Der Fliegende Hollander. I first saw The Flying Dutchman in Baltimore, in a production that absolutely blew my mind and I completely believe solidified my love of opera right then and there...and yet...I apparently completely mis-remembered the opera. I'm not saying that I forgot the story (ghost ship, cursed captain, girl falls in love with a picture of the captain, greedy father, spurred love, no one gets what they want in the end, you know the story), I just seem to have combined Der Fliegende Hollander with another 2 or 3 Wagner operas that actually have songs that conjure memories of Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny in Brunhilda costumes (even though I know Brunhilda is not in Der Fliegender Hollander). I swear I had never heard any of this music before, except for the scary ghost ship approaching/storm music that just sounds like blood thirsty pirates must be just beyond the next wave. So in a way it was disappointing, not because it actually was a disappointment, it was just not what 10 years of fake memories had been expecting. And I guess in the end what it really means is that I have to be better about seeing the other Wagner operas so I can actually sort out what it is that's all jumbled in my college opera memories bin...
But the season is over. I have to figure out what to do for next year...another season subscription? There's a lot of repeats next season, Mr. Gleb and Mr. Levine, but there is another chance to see the magnificent Rene. So that's it. 8 operas: some bad, some good, one fire incident, Placido Domingo and Rene Flemming, horses and dogs and dancing children on stage, and now I have to wait 8 months until I get to sit up in those red velvet seats, surrounded by snoring elderly people, and watch completely unbelievable story lines sung by people with completely unbelievable voices...until next October...
Tuesday 6 April 2010
FDNY and one hot Horatio
As usual I have an operatic update for you all: Hamlet, the musical...well, actually that was a really bad movie. But this production was extra exciting...the New York Fire Department made their operatic debut in this seldomly performed piece!
Ok, well, I didn't actually get tot see them, but I did notice the strange, faint smell of fire at the beginning of Act II. But seeing as I'm not a particularly excitable person (even when attending something I enjoy as much as the opera) I just figured that there would be a scene coming up with a bonfire that they were just practicing for. But I've been told that my logic is often very, very flawed.
Needless to say, no body died...well, actually almost everybody died in the final minutes of the performance. And the only real fatality was a poor gell that was too close to the light and happened to melt, probably when it saw Horatio...who was a beautiful, beautiful man. Not only was he tall and blonde and in some very tight tights, but he could sing too! No credit in the playbill, but what can you do (Horatio if you're reading this, I have an event on Wednesday night that you are more than welcome to attend with me...Brazilian guitarist...wine...food...).
Theoretically we were all there to hear Ophelia anyway, whose voice often seemed directly connected to the follical of every hair on your body. Despite her magical singing, it was a pretty blase performance. For the MET, the sets were pathetic (2 moving walls poorly put together with technicolor faux marble) and the costuming was so drab that there was nothing to even look at besides the performers, and although they sang well, that's not enough to keep your eyes occupied (according to the program both the sets and the costume were from Geneva...bad Geneva! Bad!).
It's too bad the firemen didn't actually make an appearance on stage, their outfits and equipment would have spiced things up a little bit...
http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/2010/04/06/2010-04-06_fire_is_ultimate_diva_at_the_met.html
Ok, well, I didn't actually get tot see them, but I did notice the strange, faint smell of fire at the beginning of Act II. But seeing as I'm not a particularly excitable person (even when attending something I enjoy as much as the opera) I just figured that there would be a scene coming up with a bonfire that they were just practicing for. But I've been told that my logic is often very, very flawed.
Needless to say, no body died...well, actually almost everybody died in the final minutes of the performance. And the only real fatality was a poor gell that was too close to the light and happened to melt, probably when it saw Horatio...who was a beautiful, beautiful man. Not only was he tall and blonde and in some very tight tights, but he could sing too! No credit in the playbill, but what can you do (Horatio if you're reading this, I have an event on Wednesday night that you are more than welcome to attend with me...Brazilian guitarist...wine...food...).
Theoretically we were all there to hear Ophelia anyway, whose voice often seemed directly connected to the follical of every hair on your body. Despite her magical singing, it was a pretty blase performance. For the MET, the sets were pathetic (2 moving walls poorly put together with technicolor faux marble) and the costuming was so drab that there was nothing to even look at besides the performers, and although they sang well, that's not enough to keep your eyes occupied (according to the program both the sets and the costume were from Geneva...bad Geneva! Bad!).
It's too bad the firemen didn't actually make an appearance on stage, their outfits and equipment would have spiced things up a little bit...
http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/2010/04/06/2010-04-06_fire_is_ultimate_diva_at_the_met.html
Tuesday 2 March 2010
the barber of seville
Has lesbians making out in a closet, a donkey, hams, operatic slapstick, pumpkins being crushed by an anvil, an explosion, a rubber chicken, and a bunch of Seville oranges...what more do you need in an evening at the opera?
Saturday 13 February 2010
Lower East Side Print Shop Benefit
The Lower East Side Print Shop, although no longer in the Lower East Side, is a fabulous, wonderful print shop. Not only is the print shop lovely, but so are all the people that work there and all the artists that they work with. And thusly, they deserve everyone who has some extra money lying around to give it to them in support and good will. And if you looked in your wallet and said to yourself, "hey! I have a wad of extra cash right here!", you're in double luck! Because right now they are having a benefit auction, so not only do you wind up helping out a wonderful institution, but they give you real, live art in exchange! The list of artist is amazing, including your's truly, and I promise they you can find something that will match your couch. Check it out, pick out your favorites (most are even framed!), attend the auction on February 24th (or you can buy a bunch of them right now online), and get yo'self some art!
http://printshop.org/web/Collect/Exhibitions/benefit10/sale_preview.html
http://printshop.org/web/Collect/Exhibitions/benefit10/sale_preview.html
Wednesday 10 February 2010
Who wants to hear about my last week?
I can hear you yelling and jumping up and down, "Oh I do! I do!"
Oh and you do, I know.
First, the week started off after returning from a wonderful trip to Disney World (oh yeah! I never mentioned family vacation to the wonderful world of Disney!, next time I promise)...but as I was saying, I had returned from my adventures with Uncle Mickey and was sitting on my couch about to do some work on my computer when my computer decided it didn't really feel like working that afternoon. Hoping that it was a passing technological bad mood, put it away for a nap, reinstalled the programs, and had a little chat with my laptop.
To no avail.
So I tried threatening. Backed everything up on my external hard drive, made an appointment at the Genius Bar and turned on the TV to wait til morning.
Stupid computer.
Got to the Mac Store, they wound up wiping my hard drive do to some terminal whatevers and techy hijinks. No big deal, right? I mean I did just back up everything right?
Oh, I wish.
I get home, ready to attach this issue head on, and reinstall everything and start from scratch. Only it turned out I was the only one ready to start out on this new adventure with my naked computer, it however, had very different ideas. So different that I was shocked. It refused to open anything, much less reinstall my back-ups. Back to the doctor you go, little Mac!
Did I mention that I hate computers?
So I make another appointment at the Genius Bar and hope that this next visit will go better than the first. I arrive in a good mood, and 3 1/2 hours later, I leave in a jubiliant mood, cause they fixed everything and upgraded everything, and gave me a bunch of programs that I was going to have to buy! Success! Life is good! Yeah Geniuses!!!!
Oh I spoke way too soon. Although everything looks hunky-dory, my computer is completely uncooperative, and refuses to load any back-ups. Sigh. To tekserve I now go...but it's Saturday, and I can't get there in time, so I'll do it tomorrow. In the meantime I continue to go about my life. Part of that life involves going out to meet friends and occationally have meetings, but often I do have to leave my apartment. Even if I don't want to. So I have this meeting to go to on Saturday evening, and as I leave my wonderful abode, the door knob spins, but isn't making contact with anything...and then it does, and the door opens, and as I pull it open, the door knob on the outside of the door goes flying across the hallway. For real. It fell off. I have a meeting to go to. Now.
I prop the door open with a giant glass cast rabbit from grad school, and try to reassemble my very confused door knob, with no success. But I have to leave, so I can get in so long as the little nobby thing (you know what I mean, the little knobby that holds the door closed that is worked by the door knob...that's the technical term) doesn't go into the door frame I can use the dead bolt and not worry about it. Right? Grab the duct tape, tape the shit out of it, and test it out. I'm brilliant I'm thinking...and I am wrong. The deadbolt doesn't work if the little knobby is immobilized...but I discover that as part of the deadbolt function, it automatically pulls in the little thingy when you unlock it. So I will deal with this much later, and head off to my meeting. Now late.
Meeting goes well, whatever, get home, let myself in no problem, and that is the last time that door knob worked. Sunday I am stuck in my apartment. If you wanted me to come out and play I couldn't, if I had been hungry for something other than what was in my fridge I was shit out of luck, cause you couldn't open my front door. But it would have cost me an extra $50 to have a locksmith come on a Sunday, so I can wait a day, I mean, what would I go out and do on a Sunday anyway?
Monday comes, I call the locksmith. He arrives, I slide him the key so he can let himself in, he pulls a new door knob out of his pocket, he replaces the pieces of what used to be my door knob, and then he charged me $110...four minutes, $110. I am in the wrong field. No one told me to conscider being a locksmith when I grew up. They should have. Four minutes.
But I am free, hallalujah! I am free! I grab my computer, and cart it off to Tekserve...$220. Cause they can't figure out what's wrong with it, it has to go to the real, real doctor.
Did I mention yet that I hate computers? I think I did, but I'm just double checking.
It's going to take a couple days...meaning four days. Four days with out internet. Four days without being about to print anything. Four days of no computer.
I got a lot of drawing done. It's been long time since I was that productive, a little out of the loop in social circles, missed a few parties in the absence of facebook, but overall I survived.
After four days I got to pick up my very expensive, pissy computer...and even they couldn't make the back-ups work perfectly. They recovered my iPhotos, but I lost all jpgs on both my external hard drive and my computer due to an unforseable software glitch that should never have happened. They could be recoverable, but that would be another $900 and in the future I need to wipe and reformat my external hard drive...not that I have somewhere to put everything on it while that happens...so I should just buy a new one and start all over...what? What? The jpgs are all gone? My portfolio is gone. Everything that I have color corrected and sized, and organized, and bunch by who's seen what and what's been sent where is gone? What? $900...
$900...Did I tell you yet how much I hate computers?
I have a few more days to figure out what I'm going to do, because I can't use my hard drive in the meantime, and I need to use my hard drive almost more than the actual computer. At least my door knobs work now.
Oh and you do, I know.
First, the week started off after returning from a wonderful trip to Disney World (oh yeah! I never mentioned family vacation to the wonderful world of Disney!, next time I promise)...but as I was saying, I had returned from my adventures with Uncle Mickey and was sitting on my couch about to do some work on my computer when my computer decided it didn't really feel like working that afternoon. Hoping that it was a passing technological bad mood, put it away for a nap, reinstalled the programs, and had a little chat with my laptop.
To no avail.
So I tried threatening. Backed everything up on my external hard drive, made an appointment at the Genius Bar and turned on the TV to wait til morning.
Stupid computer.
Got to the Mac Store, they wound up wiping my hard drive do to some terminal whatevers and techy hijinks. No big deal, right? I mean I did just back up everything right?
Oh, I wish.
I get home, ready to attach this issue head on, and reinstall everything and start from scratch. Only it turned out I was the only one ready to start out on this new adventure with my naked computer, it however, had very different ideas. So different that I was shocked. It refused to open anything, much less reinstall my back-ups. Back to the doctor you go, little Mac!
Did I mention that I hate computers?
So I make another appointment at the Genius Bar and hope that this next visit will go better than the first. I arrive in a good mood, and 3 1/2 hours later, I leave in a jubiliant mood, cause they fixed everything and upgraded everything, and gave me a bunch of programs that I was going to have to buy! Success! Life is good! Yeah Geniuses!!!!
Oh I spoke way too soon. Although everything looks hunky-dory, my computer is completely uncooperative, and refuses to load any back-ups. Sigh. To tekserve I now go...but it's Saturday, and I can't get there in time, so I'll do it tomorrow. In the meantime I continue to go about my life. Part of that life involves going out to meet friends and occationally have meetings, but often I do have to leave my apartment. Even if I don't want to. So I have this meeting to go to on Saturday evening, and as I leave my wonderful abode, the door knob spins, but isn't making contact with anything...and then it does, and the door opens, and as I pull it open, the door knob on the outside of the door goes flying across the hallway. For real. It fell off. I have a meeting to go to. Now.
I prop the door open with a giant glass cast rabbit from grad school, and try to reassemble my very confused door knob, with no success. But I have to leave, so I can get in so long as the little nobby thing (you know what I mean, the little knobby that holds the door closed that is worked by the door knob...that's the technical term) doesn't go into the door frame I can use the dead bolt and not worry about it. Right? Grab the duct tape, tape the shit out of it, and test it out. I'm brilliant I'm thinking...and I am wrong. The deadbolt doesn't work if the little knobby is immobilized...but I discover that as part of the deadbolt function, it automatically pulls in the little thingy when you unlock it. So I will deal with this much later, and head off to my meeting. Now late.
Meeting goes well, whatever, get home, let myself in no problem, and that is the last time that door knob worked. Sunday I am stuck in my apartment. If you wanted me to come out and play I couldn't, if I had been hungry for something other than what was in my fridge I was shit out of luck, cause you couldn't open my front door. But it would have cost me an extra $50 to have a locksmith come on a Sunday, so I can wait a day, I mean, what would I go out and do on a Sunday anyway?
Monday comes, I call the locksmith. He arrives, I slide him the key so he can let himself in, he pulls a new door knob out of his pocket, he replaces the pieces of what used to be my door knob, and then he charged me $110...four minutes, $110. I am in the wrong field. No one told me to conscider being a locksmith when I grew up. They should have. Four minutes.
But I am free, hallalujah! I am free! I grab my computer, and cart it off to Tekserve...$220. Cause they can't figure out what's wrong with it, it has to go to the real, real doctor.
Did I mention yet that I hate computers? I think I did, but I'm just double checking.
It's going to take a couple days...meaning four days. Four days with out internet. Four days without being about to print anything. Four days of no computer.
I got a lot of drawing done. It's been long time since I was that productive, a little out of the loop in social circles, missed a few parties in the absence of facebook, but overall I survived.
After four days I got to pick up my very expensive, pissy computer...and even they couldn't make the back-ups work perfectly. They recovered my iPhotos, but I lost all jpgs on both my external hard drive and my computer due to an unforseable software glitch that should never have happened. They could be recoverable, but that would be another $900 and in the future I need to wipe and reformat my external hard drive...not that I have somewhere to put everything on it while that happens...so I should just buy a new one and start all over...what? What? The jpgs are all gone? My portfolio is gone. Everything that I have color corrected and sized, and organized, and bunch by who's seen what and what's been sent where is gone? What? $900...
$900...Did I tell you yet how much I hate computers?
I have a few more days to figure out what I'm going to do, because I can't use my hard drive in the meantime, and I need to use my hard drive almost more than the actual computer. At least my door knobs work now.
Tuesday 26 January 2010
another opera first
Simone Bocanegra.
My first Placido Domingo performance.
And it lived up to his reputation. He was fantastic. Everyone in the cast was fantastic (almost...a couple needed to warm up a bit, but then they were great). It was the first performance at the Met that you could actually hear everyone signing their parts during a Verdi classic cinquette...or whatever you call them. It wasn't as profoundly moving as House of the Dead was, but it was sung beautifully, and low and behold, Placido can act! He died like 5 times! He's old, man! And each time he did dead-guy face plants.
But that's not the real point of this story...for the first time in all my solo visits to the Metropolitan Opera an old man tried to pick me up. Oh yeah. He came up to me during intermission and offered to have me join him in the seat next to him on the orchestra level. To which I kindly explained that the sound was better up where I was sitting, with a smile naturally. I guess I looked good tonight in my new jeans, ancient sweater, and $5 pashmina...or at least hot to an old German man...and I'll giggle about that for days.
If only he had been as suave as Placido...
My first Placido Domingo performance.
And it lived up to his reputation. He was fantastic. Everyone in the cast was fantastic (almost...a couple needed to warm up a bit, but then they were great). It was the first performance at the Met that you could actually hear everyone signing their parts during a Verdi classic cinquette...or whatever you call them. It wasn't as profoundly moving as House of the Dead was, but it was sung beautifully, and low and behold, Placido can act! He died like 5 times! He's old, man! And each time he did dead-guy face plants.
But that's not the real point of this story...for the first time in all my solo visits to the Metropolitan Opera an old man tried to pick me up. Oh yeah. He came up to me during intermission and offered to have me join him in the seat next to him on the orchestra level. To which I kindly explained that the sound was better up where I was sitting, with a smile naturally. I guess I looked good tonight in my new jeans, ancient sweater, and $5 pashmina...or at least hot to an old German man...and I'll giggle about that for days.
If only he had been as suave as Placido...
Monday 11 January 2010
18" of snow in London!
I know, that's the headlines everyone was hearing...18" of snow in London...
Gatwick closed, Luton closed, Heathrow closed for a few hours, flights canceled and delayed for days! Tubes shutdown, school canceled! Shops and restaurants closed because people can't get to work! Absolutely unheard of chaos! On top of that it was just freezing outside! A whopping -1º C (that would be 30º F for us Westerners, who during the winter would think about breaking out our beloved flip flops if it was that warm outside).
It never snows like that in London. And I mean never. I mean, um, I was there, and I didn't see 18" of snow on the ground. Well, maybe 18 mm, ok, maybe a little bit more than 18 mm, but not much. I'll give it 3" and that's being generous. Emmanuelle (a fantastic friend of Kelly's) lives near Hyde Park and she claimed to have 6" or so on the ground, but she might have been exaggerating...I mean, she's only a 30 minute walk from Kelly's place in Shoreditch, and I find it hard to believe that the small street Kelly lives off of is in such a microcosm of weather anomaly.
Shut down the airports? For an imaginary 18" of snow? I don't doubt that it dropped feet of snow in Scotland. It's cold up there, but Scotland is really far away. London? Come on.
I even have proof. This was taken in Hockney Park the night after the city was snowed in with the storm of the millennium.
Does that look like 18" to you? It's beautiful, I'll admit that. London in the snow is pretty magical. The dogs loved it, and it was kinda nice having to hole up in the apartment and eat all the cheese and pate and drink the plethora of wine we had stockpiled for just such an occasion (in the event of a zombie invasion, I'm placing my bets on surviving the longest in Kelly's flat, meet you there).
This is probably where I'm supposed to add in the joke my mom made about British men and if this is what they think 18" looks like, just imagine how small 8" is (see, I come by it honest)...ah, London.
Gatwick closed, Luton closed, Heathrow closed for a few hours, flights canceled and delayed for days! Tubes shutdown, school canceled! Shops and restaurants closed because people can't get to work! Absolutely unheard of chaos! On top of that it was just freezing outside! A whopping -1º C (that would be 30º F for us Westerners, who during the winter would think about breaking out our beloved flip flops if it was that warm outside).
It never snows like that in London. And I mean never. I mean, um, I was there, and I didn't see 18" of snow on the ground. Well, maybe 18 mm, ok, maybe a little bit more than 18 mm, but not much. I'll give it 3" and that's being generous. Emmanuelle (a fantastic friend of Kelly's) lives near Hyde Park and she claimed to have 6" or so on the ground, but she might have been exaggerating...I mean, she's only a 30 minute walk from Kelly's place in Shoreditch, and I find it hard to believe that the small street Kelly lives off of is in such a microcosm of weather anomaly.
Shut down the airports? For an imaginary 18" of snow? I don't doubt that it dropped feet of snow in Scotland. It's cold up there, but Scotland is really far away. London? Come on.
I even have proof. This was taken in Hockney Park the night after the city was snowed in with the storm of the millennium.
Does that look like 18" to you? It's beautiful, I'll admit that. London in the snow is pretty magical. The dogs loved it, and it was kinda nice having to hole up in the apartment and eat all the cheese and pate and drink the plethora of wine we had stockpiled for just such an occasion (in the event of a zombie invasion, I'm placing my bets on surviving the longest in Kelly's flat, meet you there).
This is probably where I'm supposed to add in the joke my mom made about British men and if this is what they think 18" looks like, just imagine how small 8" is (see, I come by it honest)...ah, London.
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