Not only acerbic --- it's infrequent
Hinterlanders hit Nieuw Amsterdam - again!
Fans, you may remember an earlier posting about visiting the city of New York, New York. As both of you may recall, Wifey and I visited the MOMA and walked around a bit.
This time, we attended the New York City Ballet. There were several short works by Ravel and Debussy set to dance by Jerome Robbins. What a wonderful combination; Robbins' choreography is a modern extension of the balletic toolkit, so that one finds humor, more stances and postures, and a little sexiness thrown in. I couldn't help but notice that fully 97% of the audience was lily-white, very similar to a wine and jazz soiree held in Mount Vernon Virginia just a weekend prior. Oh well.
Central to the afternoon's performance was 'Afternoon of a Faun', and what an afternoon! Tossing a lissome redhead around for a couple of minutes --- what faun could find fault with that! This is the work made notorious by Nijinsky, but turned into a pas de deux (providing more of a wholesome outlet for the apparently aroused faun, but let's leave the detail of the original performance to the Internets, where you can indulge your possibly salacious curiosity).
The performance space is the New York State Theater. The interior is reminiscent of a jewel box. The ceiling looks like a spirograph, and the space seems festooned with giant rhinestones, with a huge chandelier that always strikes me as looking like the faceted eye of a fly. This photo from wikipedia gives some sense of the appearance. There is no center aisle, which makes for a difficult passage down the long rows for those who are less ambulatory, but the space all in all is very nice and seems sumptuous.
There were a lot of kids, as one of the pieces was Mother Goose, a collection of short pieces under the organizing concept of Sleeping Beauty and several dreams she had while awaiting Prince Charming.
One final thought: For those scornful of ballet---try actually mimicking some of the poses, doing so with the requisite grace balance agility and strength, and you will come away with a new appreciation of these artistic athletes. Read Gelsey Kirkland's autobiography for a peek into the physical toll that this career takes; just the description of the unnatural and deforming nature of 'turning out' is enough to give you a glimpse into their sacrifice. Don't even get me started with the whole excruciating concept of dancing 'on point'; granted, it's not as extreme an assault on that flexible/fragile body part as the fetishistic foot binding of China of years past, but it deforms the feet. Think of what football players do to their knees for glory and you have an apt analogy, in my opinion. To me, it's a close cousin of the spiked heels many young women wear to look sexy.
Every year in Springtime, on the sidewalk near us, two flowering neighbors reach toward each other and create a fragrant arch, and every year Wifey and I meet under that arch, and share a kiss. This year, we did it right after burying our beloved pet conure, who was with us for almost 17 years. After all that time of sharing our living space, Charlie passed away; we miss her, but are moving on.
A pet gets woven into your daily routine, such that every day after their death has the promise of another little jarring reminder of something missing. When the TV show Jeopardy was on, we always had to be careful about the Daily Double and its signature alarm, because that would send you-know-who flying; the other day, the show was on briefly, the Daily Double sounded, and we looked at one another; a little tug at the heart. Charlie would share pasta when we cooked it, and I always knew that if I cooked too much, I could hold some aside for her, but no more. When she was eating, and wanted to say something, she had a way of doing it while still holding onto her seeds or vegetables, and seemed to cackle out of the side of her mouth. Since conures look at things from one eye at a time, her sideways glance and cackle always put me in mind of a gangster of those 30's films talking with a cigarette in their mouth, very endearing. When she was sitting on my finger, I would exchange sounds with her and get her to vocalize, and I will always remember the little puff of her breath that I could feel on my lips when she responded; even as it was happening back then, I knew I would remember and cherish that sensation.
Gotta go, too many heart tugs for this early in the day. Friends, treasure the little things.
NEVER thought 'Original Footprint' would sound like music
There was activity in the long-dormant Gibbs property that lies along Plymouth, Trinity and The Crescent the other day. A conversation with the handful of guys there reveals this wonderful news:
- The current building interior and roof will be renovated
- The original footprint of land usage will essentially be retained, however
- The usage will be professional offices
- Greenery will be kept
- A small addition will be made on the front (Plymouth)
- An exterior elevator shaft will be added
- This will produce ratables for the Township, so the approval should be no problem
- Maybe the parking lot will be made available for overnight parking
RIP George Banitch
One robust thread of community is the shared experience of ritual, and among the most poignant and personally powerful of these rituals are those attending a person's passing. This past Saturday we were privileged to be able to take part in such a memorial service at St Luke's Episcopal Church for a long-time Montclair resident, Dr. George Palmer Banitch. This Plymouth Street neighbor was much loved and respected, and the large attendance at his service was ample evidence of his status. I am not much of a church-goer anymore, but I appreciate the power of religious service, especially the point in the ceremony where we turned to our neighbors in the pews and said to them 'Peace be to you'.
The simple act of looking someone in the eye (especially a stranger), smiling, shaking their hand, and wishing them well produced a feeling of peace and yes, pride, and caused me to have a little more confidence in the future. I know, I know, lots to conclude from such a brief set of encounters, but nonetheless something I felt. The power of words to give perspective and solace was also evident in presentations by the priest, two of his children, and a long-time friend and Lion's Club colleague, where they all ably mixed humor and respect in honoring his life of modesty, integrity and service. Dr. Banitch was responsible for promoting the acquisition of large type books and reading machines for the Library, and was a two-time President of the Montclair Lion's Club.
I close this homage with an excerpt from the ceremony for George and all the dear departed: "Grant to them eternal rest. Let perpetual light shine upon them."
Karen Ciaramella, a local artist who is interviewed elsewhere on this site, has a new piece at the MAM through May 11. (Fridays are free).
BTW, MAM will have Jersey girl Bebe Neuwirth at a gala fete (it's not a cheese, people) on April 26, for rich people. I know, it's a fund-raiser, and raise they will, with a guaranteed draw and for a very good cause. Museums are a hallmark of the civilized life, and our local one is a treasure to be sure. It's just interesting to me, a Trenton-born boy with working class parents, to share a town with people who can afford $25,000 to reserve a good table for the event, a recreation of a 1940s supper club with the talented Ms Neuwirth. (They don't even mention how many seats are at the table---if you have to ask, you can't afford it, as the old saw would have it.) I mean, the MAM web page for the event has an actual 'resource' area for those who want to do it up proper, with links for reference books about the Forties, where to get hairdos that are era-specific, et. al. And why not? Do it right, and make it memorable.
I don't know if it's a coincidence, but just a few minutes before encountering the notice about the fund-raiser, I was reading online about how, per the Wall Street Journal, the top 1 percent of Americans earned 21.2 percent of all income in 2005. How many of our fellow citizens are living paycheck to paycheck and are one illness or layoff away from homelessness? I know, lots of the wealthy are that way because they have created new value, and are thus rewarded, and philanthropy is thriving, but c'mon, how many of them are just living off inherited wealth, where their main challenge is simply not to screw it up and lose what the old man passed on to them? And one more thing, those who conflate the 'most productive' Americans with the wealthiest are full of ... cant. OK, enough. Eye of the needle, eye of the tiger.
I had occasion to stop in the Watchung Delicatessen last weekend, and was pleasantly transported back to the family-owned stores of my childhood. This is a place with a personality and with a large-sized sense of humor. It's a few doors down from Bluestone Cafe, another great Watchung establishment of long standing. If you visit the deli, check out the refrigerator case for Kelchner's horseradish; and consider a kielbasi sandwich.
Harbinge Drinkers
We had a big bunch of Robins drop by recently; they travel in packs (or flights, pods, or whatever name groupings of their species were assigned) this time of year. They were all over and all about the birdbath, to my immense proprietary pride. They hung out in the trees nearby, although they are usually given to ground ops.
Scarf 'em up - stray gloves get 'repurposed'
I recently had a periodontal surgery to address some significant recession of my gumline. I guess that's better than gumline stagflation. What they do is cut a flap of skin off the roof of one's mouth (in this case, mine), then sew it over the iffy area. They were in there for an hour, but it actually seemed like less time. There are lots of medical and dental professionals in Montclair, so you can often just walk to the practitioners. Fortunately, no problems in the recovery (of the gums, not the economy). I have had some residual swelling. My cheek was puffed out quite a bit. Someone saw me and said I 'favored John McCain', but I responded that my electoral preferences are private, Aussie ballot and all that. "No, I mean visually" she said. "Oh, that's very different ... never mind", I said in homage to Emily Latella.
Valentine Day Poem for Wifey
We lie length to length,
Serene in the maelstrom of modern life.
You trace the flight of birds;
I trace the line of your hip,
on the inside track to Nirvana
Props to local Giants
David Tyree (Mr. Helmet) and Michael Strahan both have ties to my beloved town, and both played important roles in a recent major upset in the Super Bowl. I watched the game on Sunday in an initially politely semi-detached way, as I really don't get into sports that much anymore, but I have to admit that I was hooting and hollering along with the rest of the friends and coworkers I had joined. (A projection on an entire wall of a HD image, I must say, certainly eased the transition to engaged viewer). It was a good game, that's for sure, but as I age (gracefully most of the time), I more and more come to pondering the damage those men inflict on one another, and how many of them will have trouble just getting around in a comfortable way in their later years. Yes, I know, marvels of science, replacement joints, etc, but still.
Avian-American Princess
I guess by now you've gathered that I like birds. This is ours. Or maybe, we are hers. Sixteen tumultuous and fascinating years now. More later about Birdy.
♪ ♫ One of these things is not like the others, One of these things is not quite the same♪ ♫ A photo series commenting on the recent addition to the Church Street neighborhood. The riposte to same .
Quick! Is it OK to eat this, or not? I can never remember, and the sauce is getting cold. (And does anyone ever say 'pass me that last raviolo'? God, I hope so).
Birds do it
At this time of year, there is a lot of migratory action, as many species of birds move to their winter homes, much like a lot of folks pass the cold months in Florida or Arizona. When I lived in Arizona, in fact, I learned that these seasonal types actually were called 'snow birds'. Recently, on the road, I observed a couple of hundred birds resting on overhead telephone wires, one after another, along the entire length of several stretches. Viewed end on, the wires looked like pipe cleaners, a remarkable image. Anyway, in support of our avian friends, I try to ensure our bird baths are replenished with fresh water every morning, as they really appreciate it. I've learned that when I replace the water, it helps to pour the water into the baths from a height so that it makes an audible splash, as they prefer running water in the wild, since it would more likely be of better quality. Often, as I'm splashing it, I hear a birdy tumult, as they pass the bird-word. Each species has its own language. To me, the catbird sounds like a tiny buzzsaw saying 'bweah'. The bluejay sounds like a rusty hinge, the cardinals just do a 'pip' kind of sound. For many birds, unlike the virtuosic mockingbirds, the range of said vocabulary seems limited to only a few peeps and chirps. I always remember that great New Yorker cartoon of many years ago where in the first panel, we see a dog going 'Bark', 'Bark', 'Bark', 'Bark', 'Bark', 'Bark'. The caption says "What we hear". In the second panel, the caption is "What they mean", and the 'translated' phrase is: 'Hey', 'Hey', 'Hey', 'Hey', 'Hey', 'Hey'.
Beaks do it
Birds have a characteristic action with their beaks to clean them, whereby they wipe the beak on a branch or other object, much like a pirate wipes his sword, by drawing it across a cloth starting with the hilt, or drawn along that branch like a razor is stropped. (There, two subtle Johnny Depp references).
They start with the top part of the beak and wipe down to the end; for a lot of birds, a little food collects on their beaks, and even though they have tongues, they don't lick their chops like a dog might. This beak-cleaning behavior is called 'feaking'. Every bird species does it, I think. The little guys like sparrows, even the vultures and buzzards, as they wipe the awful offal off. (You knew that buzzards were bald to more easily stick those hoary heads inside a carcass, right? Yum yum.)
In Asia, there is a species called 'bustards', which makes it possible for me to (mercifully) end this screed with the image of an apocryphal Asian yelling 'get off my car, you feaking bustard'.
Neighborhood Snaps
PREVIOUS
About Me
Nom de blog:
Monty Einwohner de Crane-Towne
Likes:
I like New York in June -- how about you?
I like a Gershwin tune; again, how 'bout U?
Dislikes:
Bad things (Jeez, I HATE 'em!!!)
Pasttimes:
Watching videos of UB40, B-52's and U2 on YouTube
Driving the SPEED LIMIT in Montclair, to do my bit for safety
Life goals:
To use 'frippery' in a sentence, as:
'The British guy said "What's all this frippery, then?"' (One goal down, two to go)
To circumnavigate the globe exclusively by making right turns
To try to bring some joy and thoughtfulness into your day, beloved reader
Explanation of the nom-de-blog:
