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:

 

Yeah, I know, I have a really difficult life.

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.

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

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.

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?).

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...

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