NYC - I can’t imagine why anyone would make the movie “Nine”. Oh yes, it was originally a Broadway musical. But just talking about the basic concept, what’s the damn purpose?
The story revolves around famous film director Guido Contini, a knockoff of real-life Italian director Frederico Fellini. He’s a serial womanizer. He can’t stay out of bed with beautiful women when they throw themselves at him. It’s ironic that the film comes out in the midst of the Tiger Woods tales. Contini, even in the midst of apologizing to his wife and trying to make up, abruptly leaves to be with his mistress, Penelope Cruz. (She of the heavy eyebrows and skimpy underpants.) Beautiful costumes, ample girlie shots and bazooms galore.
But flashy dance and costumes cannot sufficiently mask the stink of the rot that lies beneath. We see a procession of his infidelity, casually tossing back affairs like a scotch before dinner. No concern for marital faithfulness. Or for the damage that such serial infidelities produce.
And at the end of the movie – finally! – we see no real repentance or change in his behavior. After suffering a dry spell as a film director, Contini at the end of the movie is back in the studio about to start a movie, his creative dry spell rekindled.
But left unresolved is his sexual addiction, his casual disdain for lying, his total disregard for his marital vows. To say that the whole movie put me off would be a huge understatement. I can’t believe that anyone with some maturity beyond that of a pubescent teenage boy would want to make such a film.
Or see it.
It’s with delight that I saw in today’s New York Times that “Nine” is languishing at the box office.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Gotham Impressions
Dec. 28 – DAY ONE IN NYC - I was all over The City today. Upper West Side. Soho. NYU area. And everywhere I went, I was serenaded and caressed by a torrent of impressions, thoughts and memories. They came so fast, it was like riffling through a deck of cards.
Youth is not all it’s cracked up to be. I was first here when I was 19 and I was so tense and hostile, the slightest misstep cramped up my muscles, giving me blinding headaches.
Flash forward to the present. I caught a wrong train tonight. Found myself on the east side subway instead of the west side. Rather than cussing the subway system for doing a crappy job of signage, I just said to myself, “Ah well, no prob. I’ll just catch the shuttle at Grand Central over to Times Square and pick up the west side train there.
And so I did.
Great time tonight at the Blue Man Group down on Astor Place. It was one of those historic theatres that had very steep stairs and only held about 250 people. Crowded entrance. Cold weather. I just let it be.
The Blue Man Group was two hours of fun and zaniness. But quite intense. First off, all three of them paint their entire heads and faces bright blue. (I don’t know why.) Intense drumming. Dribbling bright paint onto the drums, producing a colorful spray as they beat the drums.
Elements reminiscent of Ernie Kovaks’ “Song of the Nairobi Trio”.
Someone I know from Nashville, singer Annette Strean of “Venus Hum”, traveled with Blue Man Group for quite a while. I first saw them together on Leno about 7 years ago.
So what’s so special here in the Big Apple? Well, I know my way around. Not just geographically. But more importantly socially, personally. I know how to click with these folks. It’s nice being back in the saddle.
Youth is not all it’s cracked up to be. I was first here when I was 19 and I was so tense and hostile, the slightest misstep cramped up my muscles, giving me blinding headaches.
Flash forward to the present. I caught a wrong train tonight. Found myself on the east side subway instead of the west side. Rather than cussing the subway system for doing a crappy job of signage, I just said to myself, “Ah well, no prob. I’ll just catch the shuttle at Grand Central over to Times Square and pick up the west side train there.
And so I did.
Great time tonight at the Blue Man Group down on Astor Place. It was one of those historic theatres that had very steep stairs and only held about 250 people. Crowded entrance. Cold weather. I just let it be.
The Blue Man Group was two hours of fun and zaniness. But quite intense. First off, all three of them paint their entire heads and faces bright blue. (I don’t know why.) Intense drumming. Dribbling bright paint onto the drums, producing a colorful spray as they beat the drums.
Elements reminiscent of Ernie Kovaks’ “Song of the Nairobi Trio”.
Someone I know from Nashville, singer Annette Strean of “Venus Hum”, traveled with Blue Man Group for quite a while. I first saw them together on Leno about 7 years ago.
So what’s so special here in the Big Apple? Well, I know my way around. Not just geographically. But more importantly socially, personally. I know how to click with these folks. It’s nice being back in the saddle.
Photo Magic
NY City, Dec. 26 - The images appeared as if by magic. They were the kinds of images I’d seen in the New York Times’ style section. Or in ads. Or in layouts in Life Magazine back in its heyday.
But these pictures were made by me.
My long-time friend from church back in Nashville, Lizzie Evans, now lives in The City. She wrote that she needed some shots for her soon-to-be-released CD. (She’s a very good jazz singer.) And since I was going to be in here, she asked me to do the honors.
It’s easier working with someone you already know. Of course, she and I were never involved other than through church. There’s a 30-year age difference. But she and Lois were quite close. Lizzie was in our home church group for several years and was one of “Lois’ Girls.
I guess I’ve had the mechanical ability as a photographer all along. You know, the nuts-and-bolts stuff like exposure and shutter speed and composition. And you gotta have all that mundanity mastered. But there comes a point when what you produce transcends mechanics. Back when Liz and I were married, since she was a dancer, I took tap dance lessons. And one time I remember the experience of really dancing. It transcended knowledge of steps. It was dancing!
And that’s what I did last night out on the rain-wet streets of Soho in Manhattan. I was dancing with the camera. Lizzie and I clicked as two friends coming together after a long time. And the mechanics of telephoto lens and flash and composition just came together.
Shazam! What a great feeling.
But these pictures were made by me.
My long-time friend from church back in Nashville, Lizzie Evans, now lives in The City. She wrote that she needed some shots for her soon-to-be-released CD. (She’s a very good jazz singer.) And since I was going to be in here, she asked me to do the honors.
It’s easier working with someone you already know. Of course, she and I were never involved other than through church. There’s a 30-year age difference. But she and Lois were quite close. Lizzie was in our home church group for several years and was one of “Lois’ Girls.
I guess I’ve had the mechanical ability as a photographer all along. You know, the nuts-and-bolts stuff like exposure and shutter speed and composition. And you gotta have all that mundanity mastered. But there comes a point when what you produce transcends mechanics. Back when Liz and I were married, since she was a dancer, I took tap dance lessons. And one time I remember the experience of really dancing. It transcended knowledge of steps. It was dancing!
And that’s what I did last night out on the rain-wet streets of Soho in Manhattan. I was dancing with the camera. Lizzie and I clicked as two friends coming together after a long time. And the mechanics of telephoto lens and flash and composition just came together.
Shazam! What a great feeling.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
A Very Merry Day
ELIZABETH, NJ - What a delight! To be able to spend a day with people who love you, who accept you as you are. No need for pretenses. No holding back. And at the end of the day, to have a bottle of chablis from the motel front desk and a microwaved hot pocket of cheese and ham.
I mean, SHAZAM! It doesn't get any better than that.
I was able to connect with kits, kats, sacks and wives (so to speak). In-laws, blood relatives, kids of kids. Watch a couple of brothers 8 and 9 years old, joke and play. Reminded me a bit of my brother Joe who didn't make it. Only brother I had but who left us when I was 10 and he was 2. I was always envious of guys who had brothers. And a bit disdainful of those who fought and didn't like each other. Connor and Corban didn't fight. They showed playful competition and a wry sense of humor. If I was going to have kids, Connor and Corban Galloway would be them.
A niece, Rachel, and I exchanged photo tips. A brother-in-law, Richard, listened as I cried in the car when he picked me up from the motel this morning. Not crying as in sadness. But crying as in overwhelming emotion, the kind that I don't often feel. My sister Dixie just looked at me and I knew she loved me, that I didn't have to do anything special.
And at 5 o'clock when I was overwhelmed with being around people, I retired to the luxuriously appointed Country Inn and Suites. The Ruby Tuesdays next door was closed for Chistmas Day and I was stuck with what was available at the motel snack bar. But I didn't care. I sat in the breakfast room eating the hot pocket, drinking wine and watching CNN coverage of the bozo who tried to blow up a Delta flight.
And at the end of it all, after a day full of joy and love, I had an itch to have a piece of the Delta story. I watched the reporters in New York and Hawaii and Washington and I had a twinge of regret that I never made a serious run at working for a network or a wire service or a news magazine.
It's been a fabulous day!
I mean, SHAZAM! It doesn't get any better than that.
I was able to connect with kits, kats, sacks and wives (so to speak). In-laws, blood relatives, kids of kids. Watch a couple of brothers 8 and 9 years old, joke and play. Reminded me a bit of my brother Joe who didn't make it. Only brother I had but who left us when I was 10 and he was 2. I was always envious of guys who had brothers. And a bit disdainful of those who fought and didn't like each other. Connor and Corban didn't fight. They showed playful competition and a wry sense of humor. If I was going to have kids, Connor and Corban Galloway would be them.
A niece, Rachel, and I exchanged photo tips. A brother-in-law, Richard, listened as I cried in the car when he picked me up from the motel this morning. Not crying as in sadness. But crying as in overwhelming emotion, the kind that I don't often feel. My sister Dixie just looked at me and I knew she loved me, that I didn't have to do anything special.
And at 5 o'clock when I was overwhelmed with being around people, I retired to the luxuriously appointed Country Inn and Suites. The Ruby Tuesdays next door was closed for Chistmas Day and I was stuck with what was available at the motel snack bar. But I didn't care. I sat in the breakfast room eating the hot pocket, drinking wine and watching CNN coverage of the bozo who tried to blow up a Delta flight.
And at the end of it all, after a day full of joy and love, I had an itch to have a piece of the Delta story. I watched the reporters in New York and Hawaii and Washington and I had a twinge of regret that I never made a serious run at working for a network or a wire service or a news magazine.
It's been a fabulous day!
Friday, December 25, 2009
The Christmas Gift
CHRISTMAS EVE 2009
Elizabeth, New Jersey - Christmas with family. Yeah. Of course. That’s what everybody does. Right?
Well not exactly. For whatever reasons, Lois and I rarely did. I bet in the 25 years we were together, we got together with family maybe 10 times. More commonly, we’d stay in town, go to a nighttime service at our church, come home and make some hot chocolate and open presents. But first, I’d do this routine that we were NOT going to open all of them. Only one present each then go to bed.
Of course we never did. We opened them all. I’d get gifts from Lois and from each of the dogs and from the in-laws. Of course, Lois had bought all of them. She knew what size shirts and pants fit me. And what colors to get. (I didn’t. And when she died, I had to relearn a lot of things.) She’d get me 5 or 6 new ties. She knew exactly what colors looked good on television. We’d finish clearing away the wrapping paper, clean up our cocoa cups and go to bed.
Doesn’t sound all that exciting. But it was to us. We enjoyed it tremendously. We enjoyed being with each other tremendously. It was bliss.
Up until that last Christmas together in 2006. Of course, I had no inkling it would be our last. But it was a struggle for her. She was struggling to breathe. I had no idea what damage the emphysema had done. And that before a year would be up, lung cancer would take her away.
But her heart was broken because we’d lost our house and had just days before Christmas moved in with our friends the Esterlines. Lois was a brave little soldier and never complained. But I knew what it meant to her, losing her little cottage, a nest where we’d lived for 12 years.
And so that Christmas Eve of 2006 was hard. We had very little money for gifts. It was just the two of us, sipping our hot chocolate and opening the few things that we could afford.
It was a scene right out of O. Henry’s “Gift of the Magi”.
This is the third Christmas I’ve spent without her. And it’s the first time in many decades that I’ve gotten together with my family: sisters, husbands¸kids, grandkids. I’m a blood relative of all the kids but we’ve rarely seen each other. I don’t even know all their names. But they’re very open with me, a distant relative they’ve heard about. The guy who worked on TV. I’m their grandmother’s brother so I must be really old.
They’re funny. I enjoy them tremendously. Several of them are quite photogenic and play to the camera well. Funny thing how that show-biz flair can run in families.
So I am in New Jersey, surrounded by people who love me, who accept me, who are glad to have me around. And I appreciate them. It’s a warm and fuzzy feeling.
But you know, I still miss Lois.
Elizabeth, New Jersey - Christmas with family. Yeah. Of course. That’s what everybody does. Right?
Well not exactly. For whatever reasons, Lois and I rarely did. I bet in the 25 years we were together, we got together with family maybe 10 times. More commonly, we’d stay in town, go to a nighttime service at our church, come home and make some hot chocolate and open presents. But first, I’d do this routine that we were NOT going to open all of them. Only one present each then go to bed.
Of course we never did. We opened them all. I’d get gifts from Lois and from each of the dogs and from the in-laws. Of course, Lois had bought all of them. She knew what size shirts and pants fit me. And what colors to get. (I didn’t. And when she died, I had to relearn a lot of things.) She’d get me 5 or 6 new ties. She knew exactly what colors looked good on television. We’d finish clearing away the wrapping paper, clean up our cocoa cups and go to bed.
Doesn’t sound all that exciting. But it was to us. We enjoyed it tremendously. We enjoyed being with each other tremendously. It was bliss.
Up until that last Christmas together in 2006. Of course, I had no inkling it would be our last. But it was a struggle for her. She was struggling to breathe. I had no idea what damage the emphysema had done. And that before a year would be up, lung cancer would take her away.
But her heart was broken because we’d lost our house and had just days before Christmas moved in with our friends the Esterlines. Lois was a brave little soldier and never complained. But I knew what it meant to her, losing her little cottage, a nest where we’d lived for 12 years.
And so that Christmas Eve of 2006 was hard. We had very little money for gifts. It was just the two of us, sipping our hot chocolate and opening the few things that we could afford.
It was a scene right out of O. Henry’s “Gift of the Magi”.
This is the third Christmas I’ve spent without her. And it’s the first time in many decades that I’ve gotten together with my family: sisters, husbands¸kids, grandkids. I’m a blood relative of all the kids but we’ve rarely seen each other. I don’t even know all their names. But they’re very open with me, a distant relative they’ve heard about. The guy who worked on TV. I’m their grandmother’s brother so I must be really old.
They’re funny. I enjoy them tremendously. Several of them are quite photogenic and play to the camera well. Funny thing how that show-biz flair can run in families.
So I am in New Jersey, surrounded by people who love me, who accept me, who are glad to have me around. And I appreciate them. It’s a warm and fuzzy feeling.
But you know, I still miss Lois.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Southern Bagels
NASHVILLE - I love living in the South. I really do. Nashville is a very cool place. But folks down here certainly don’t know diddly about making bagels. Sitting in the Nashville Airport is Noshville Deli¸ festooned with images suggesting a New York connection: large photos of the Empire State Building and a lovely aerial shot of the Brooklyn Bridge.
But the bagel was a huge disappointment, more like Wonder Bread with a hole in the middle. Maybe it’s an ethnic thing. Perhaps only Jews can make an authentic bagel. Wonder if there’s a goyim counterpart. Maybe only goys can make real fried chicken, swimming in Crisco?
I can’t wait to get to the Big Apple to dig the real thing. Maybe go for the gold and have a bialy as well. (You gotta be a New Yorker to know what a bialy is.)
* * *
CINCINNATI - Cincinnati Airport. Aside from the fact that it has a paved runway, we could be in a Third World country. Certainly an inauspicious entre to New York City. But you goes where the plane goes.
* * *
EN ROUTE - The tiny Embraer jet from Nashville to Cincinnati is tight even for my just under 5-foot 7 inch frame. Barely enough room to stow your carry-ons overhead. But the stewardess (aka cabin attendant) made up for the shortcomings. Her name was Taylor, an androgynous name. And she had a toughness about her. A toughness masking a huge sensitivity. Not a negative thing at all. Certainly not for me. A modest turn-on. Not as intense as the American Airlines girl(?) from Dallas last June. Dang! She was something. I’m pretty sure she was either a cross-dresser or a sexual reassignment individual. The fact that I found her so alluring may say more about me than I’m willing to admit in an open blog. And Wonder Woman in those stars-and-stripes shorts. Shazam! Certainly stirred up something in a 9-year-old comic book reader.
Someone once suggested that my type was "soft boys". A little unkind perhaps. But Liz (Wife #2) certainly fell into that category. Dazzlingly beautiful but sinewy muscles like a wrestler.
Excuse me for a moment. My glasses are steaming up.
Taylor didn’t quite fall into that category. But her allure was captivating. It certainly mitigated some of my claustrophobia in the tiny cigar-shaped Embraer jet.
Probably ought to send a fan letter to Delta. “Dear sir or madame, I congratulate you on your choice in employees as represented by Taylor. Her androgyny was stimulating.”
Yeah, I’m sure that would work.
But the bagel was a huge disappointment, more like Wonder Bread with a hole in the middle. Maybe it’s an ethnic thing. Perhaps only Jews can make an authentic bagel. Wonder if there’s a goyim counterpart. Maybe only goys can make real fried chicken, swimming in Crisco?
I can’t wait to get to the Big Apple to dig the real thing. Maybe go for the gold and have a bialy as well. (You gotta be a New Yorker to know what a bialy is.)
* * *
CINCINNATI - Cincinnati Airport. Aside from the fact that it has a paved runway, we could be in a Third World country. Certainly an inauspicious entre to New York City. But you goes where the plane goes.
* * *
EN ROUTE - The tiny Embraer jet from Nashville to Cincinnati is tight even for my just under 5-foot 7 inch frame. Barely enough room to stow your carry-ons overhead. But the stewardess (aka cabin attendant) made up for the shortcomings. Her name was Taylor, an androgynous name. And she had a toughness about her. A toughness masking a huge sensitivity. Not a negative thing at all. Certainly not for me. A modest turn-on. Not as intense as the American Airlines girl(?) from Dallas last June. Dang! She was something. I’m pretty sure she was either a cross-dresser or a sexual reassignment individual. The fact that I found her so alluring may say more about me than I’m willing to admit in an open blog. And Wonder Woman in those stars-and-stripes shorts. Shazam! Certainly stirred up something in a 9-year-old comic book reader.
Someone once suggested that my type was "soft boys". A little unkind perhaps. But Liz (Wife #2) certainly fell into that category. Dazzlingly beautiful but sinewy muscles like a wrestler.
Excuse me for a moment. My glasses are steaming up.
Taylor didn’t quite fall into that category. But her allure was captivating. It certainly mitigated some of my claustrophobia in the tiny cigar-shaped Embraer jet.
Probably ought to send a fan letter to Delta. “Dear sir or madame, I congratulate you on your choice in employees as represented by Taylor. Her androgyny was stimulating.”
Yeah, I’m sure that would work.
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