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February 26, 2005

Taking Off...

zihuatanejo.jpgLeaving for Mexico in three hours. We've decided to head up to Patzcuaro -- inland and up in the mountains -- for a couple of days before settling down to do touristy things -- kayaking, sailing, drinking -- in Zihuatanejo for the week.

If you're in the city, check out the Meatyard exhibit at ICP before it closes on Sunday. He's one of my favorite photographers and I'm kicking myself for having missed this show.

Posted by csageday at 01:13 AM | Comments (0)

February 24, 2005

Procrastination

We're off to Zihuatanejo (Pacific coast of Mexico) in 30 hours and we don't really have much of an idea of what we're doing for the first three days and nights. We haven't packed either. We're cranky. Derek is spiralling into some sort of silent pre-trip panic. I finally made it to a bookstore to buy a decent Mexico book, but stress-induced procrastination kicked in and instead of reading it, I found other books to buy and read. I hate planning.

Books added to my list as a result of this irresponsible behavior:

Picked up Life & Times of Michael K again and while it's still very dark (the characters are vulnerable, the world is cruel and unforgiving, etc), it is easier to read now. I feel more of a connection with Michael K as he becomes more disconnected from everything around him. Also found a list of books to look forward to this year.

And finally, this kitchen item fits my personality nicely.

Posted by csageday at 11:45 PM | Comments (0)

February 22, 2005

Gates Mischief

clay_christo1.jpgclay_christo2.jpg 

I can only assume that Clay was desperate to find SOMETHING to distinguish his photos from the millions of other photos people are taking of The Gates. Why else would he risk personal injury like this?

Or maybe he thought The Gates is one HUGE, Guinness-Book-of-World-Records-sized jungle gym. For very tall people.

Maybe he was trying to impress the Olympic committee people?

Maybe he was trying to tear it down? I mean the fabric would make a great shower curtain. Perfect size, waterproof, very New York.

No, the real reason is: He just wants his picture on my blog. End of story.

He says the structure handled his weight well, though. I think we need to arrange some performance art -- maybe set up a swing set from one by cutting a hole through the middle, or hiring some graceful (no offense Clay) trapeze artists to do something. I know, I know, it's fine the way it is ... but isn't it a little tempting to cause some mischief about now? Before they take it down?

Also: Don't miss The Crackers (thanks Laura).

Posted by csageday at 10:43 PM | Comments (2)

February 21, 2005

The Gates, Part III

gates_snow_th.jpgThere's simply no way describe it or capture it on film. The Gates in the snow are beautiful. My usual horrible mood was completely turned around by walking into the park at 72nd street. I walked around the sheep's meadow, sticking to "gated" paths and I had to keep stopping and standing to the side so I could stare at the white expanse rimmed by bright orange flags flapping away at even intervals. It feels like the park was dressed up for a holiday, like it's Christmas and everyone stops to stare at a decorated tree or display. I wanted to take pictures of everything but it's lucky that my camera batteries ran out. It's so much better to just walk through it and not think about framing it or recording it. None of the pictures do it any justice.

gates_snowman.jpgYou're surrounded by orange -- it's in every view and it's above you. The movement of the fabric in the wind and the contrast of the color makes you feel like you're at a major celebration. The magnitude of it is mind boggling. The curved paths, viewed from a distance, provide the best views because you see different shades of orange based on how many layers of fabric separate you from the light behind. Everyone reaches up and touches the hem -- you want to play with it -- it's like a new toy that you haven't gotten tired of yet. I think the snow helps by throwing The Gates into relief and concealing the bases a little. I'm skeptical still, but I appreciate the optimism and simple beauty of it, which is maybe the point.

Posted by csageday at 11:16 PM | Comments (0)

Stocking the Bookshelf

Picked up Jonathan Franzen's How to Be Alone and Haruki Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle today at the very friendly little bookstore Three Lives & Company on West 10th in the village (on my way to E&C). Have also just finished The Stranger (Albert Camus), which was great -- somewhat like Kafka. I've been reading Life & Times of Michael K (J.M. Coetzee) but it's so damn depressing that I've put it down for now and picked up Murakami. For kicks, two lists...

Recommended, if you haven't already read them:

On my list:

Also, for quick takes on this year's new fiction, and to see literary bloggers pair them with each other in a kind of boxing match, visit the TMN Tournament of Books.

Posted by csageday at 09:37 PM | Comments (1)

February 20, 2005

They look so harmless...

dpns2.JPGPictured at right is a small, harmless-looking medieval torture device. Give it to a beginning knitter and say that it is used to knit small tubular things, like mittens, in the round. Watch as said knitter casts on and messes up a mitten 10 times before figuring out how the stupid things work.

There must be a better way. How about little tiny circular needles? Circular needles actually make knitting go faster because no rows are involved (you can knit FOREVER without thinking "just another row"). Part of the whole exercise of knitting seems to be to endure the same frustrations our (medieval) ancestors did. Isn't it time for a little technical innovation? The more I knit the more I learn, but the learning process is excruciating. You make half of something, then you rip it out and start all over again. And this doesn't seem to improve with experience -- the legendary Harlot is still plagued by the same problem. What was the POINT of all the concentration and focus you put into the first part? Was I learning anything? Getting some down time to think clearly why occupying my hands? Not really.

For me, knitting is procrastination. I don't have to think about it too much -- I just have to do it for hours and hours in order to gain any benefit. It's like playing poker for pennies. It fills up the time. It helps you feel like your life isn't totally pointless, and it's much more appealing than getting out of bed or dealing with the list of things you should really be doing instead. On a lighter note, it's also creative and can be really rewarding (I've made two tiny blankets, two and a half scarves, and a hat) but after my fight with double pointed needles yesterday, I'm a little resentful.

Posted by csageday at 02:22 PM | Comments (1)

The Last Thing He Wanted

Every once in a while I sit down to write a blog entry and what comes out is an English-senior-thesis-style mini term paper and there's not much I can do about it. All those years of bullshitting about modern fiction have made me into a MONSTER. Sorry.

Just finished Joan Didion's The Last Thing He Wanted. It's about a journalist investigating an old story about illegal arms dealings, but the plot serves as a method for Didion to explore the relationship of the reader and writer to the story and to each other.

The beginning of the novel reads like a writer's rambling exploration of a theme before a plot and style are settled on. It's a fascinating approach -- the reader is aware that there is story and that the narrator hasn't figured out how to tell it, so the reader starts to piece it together independently based on the information available. The narrator has a similar dilemma: She is not satisfied with the events as they were recorded by other authors, and is struggling to present the story "straight" -- an impossible thing to do. The plot -- an investigation of a historical event -- becomes a metaphor for the reader's effort to piece together the story from the disjointed narrative. Both efforts are inherently flawed, but Didion uses them to explore her readers' and characters' selective memories and vulnerability.

This line could refer to either struggle: "There were hints all along, clues we should have registered, processed, sifted for their application to the general condition." Details are mentioned early on, but only in reference to writing and investigative difficulties. The reader can start to speculate about the story in general ways. For instance, Didion writes, "Let me give you a paragraph from my notes. Not interview notes, not raw notes, but early draft notes," and then includes several slightly different versions of a standard introductory paragraph about one of the characters. These are "notes worked up in an attempt to get something on paper that might open a way to a lead". This approach puts the reader in limbo -- we experience the narrative with uncertainty and are forced to piece together the story ourselves instead of relying on the author to do it for us.

Eventually the story becomes more clear and we learn that the main character, Elena McMahon, faces a similar struggle in an unfamiliar environment. Elena is a victim -- constantly rejected by more informed figures that seem to be part of a story she doesn't fully comprehend. She struggles to fit in as a Beverly Hills mother and then as a journalist, but she can't find her place. When she ends up playing a part in her father's shady arms-dealing business, the coping mechanisms she has developed are useless. Didion uses repeated phrases, in italics, to reintroduce plot points at different moments, and we see how Elena remembers each detail and starts to piece together the story herself. As readers we feel the same lack of control that she does in each of these situations, but we're trying to figure out the "puzzle" Didion presents.

It reminds me of Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 69 -- the style is very different but the effect on the reader -- helplessness, suspicion of conspiracy, plot invention -- is similar. This seems to sum it up: "For the record this is me talking. You know me, or think you do. The not quite omniscient author."

Posted by csageday at 11:58 AM | Comments (0)

February 18, 2005

Ski Envy

So Derek is off skiing down Mont Sutton in Canada at the moment and I'm sitting at my desk, with no distracting IMs to keep me sane and prevent stress-induced self-mutilation (or consumption of processed foods). I'm not at Sutton this year because I am not organized enough to have bought ski boots that fit my oddly shaped feet and I broke one of my skis. (I've tried renting but it never works out.) I thought -- no problem, this will give me a chance to pack for Mexico and see The Gates again, etc. But the Times ran an article on Mont Tremblant (also in Canada) this morning and I'm totally jealous. I could be sitting in a lodge right now eating Sutton's "poutine" -- french fries, cheese curds, and gravy. I could also be freezing my ass off on a lift, but still.

Posted by csageday at 09:30 AM | Comments (0)

Giants for Toddlers

tmbg_borders.jpgI saw They Might Be Giants perform at Borders the other night for the release of their new children's album. I love that these two guys have taken their clever lyrics and goofball tendencies to a new, very appropriate audience of two- to eight-year olds. The crowd was about half college-aged stoners (their original and loyal fan base) and half toddlers with their parents. Groupie kids are great -- they dance and bounce and sing along and generally liven things up. Not that the college fans didn't do pretty much the same thing, but the four-year-olds near me were much more entertaining to watch.

Posted by csageday at 12:57 AM | Comments (0)

February 17, 2005

Pet Roomba

roomba.jpgWe got a new pet for Christmas: Roomba. Not a live pet, but a vacuum cleaner. It's all we can handle in the way of pets with our current schedule and level of maturity. It's a cute vacuum cleaner though, and very well trained. Roomba's many talents include:

Note to interested buyers: Roomba doesn't suck up everything the first time around -- the suction isn't fantastic -- but he's persistent. If you leave the thing going for a while and just forget it's there it picks up a lot of dust, especially in odd places. It's a good item for a smallish NYC apartment. If you have a real pet, go for the Dyson (cue imitation of the Dyson commercial).

Posted by csageday at 11:26 PM | Comments (0)

February 15, 2005

The Gates, Part II

gates_flag.jpgWell, I've been to the lower west corner of Central Park, and I've joined thousands of tourists in whipping out my digital camera and shooting The Gates from every possible angle. It's a lot of steel and orange and right angles and boxy pedestals. At some moments, it comes together for me and I feel as excited as I did last week, but for the most part I feel a need to make sense of it as a work of art.

It's provocative, which is a plus for any public work. If there were a major sponsor (Home Depot, say) or some political association (the orange revolution), the project would have a completely different impact. We could criticize it for its blatent commercialism or hail it as an expression of democratic might. As it is, you have to accept it on purely visual terms.

Cristo and Jeanne-Claude wrap objects in order to reveal the resulting abstract form. These forms are beautiful on their own terms, and may or may not resemble the underlying structure. Central Park offers quiet, fresh air, walkways, and natural views to its visitors -- perhaps the Cristos are trying to wrap the air and light here? Between their rigid frames, the fabric constantly moves with the wind and changes color based on the available light. Nearby branches cast shadows, and in some spots gates cast shadows on other gates. The flags make us aware of exactly how the air is moving above us and where our path is leading. You cannot do anything in the park without being aware that you are inside or outside one of The Gates' paths.

Inside the Time Warner building there are huge drapes -- one on each side of the huge window and one running across the top. The effect is to present the view of the park as if it were on stage. The Gates seem to aspire to a similar effect -- each gate frames a view of the park, with a little theatrical curtain at the top, dressing up the spectacle. Since The Gates are so much more noticable from the street, it's as if the framing of the spectacle is taking precedence over the show itself.

Derek suggested that the camera-wielding crowds are part of the installation -- many people are concentrating more on their camera angles than on The Gates (it's not really possible to capture on film -- it's fun to try but the art has too much to do with being IN the park). This seems to fit in with the "framing" theory.

gates_row.jpgWhat's arresting is that to the gates are so blatantly unnatural. The color and fabric don't lend themselves to natural beauty. The celebratory feel I was imagining was upstaged by the sheer magnitude of the project and the materials used. What does orange mean to most people? Take caution? Citrus? Clay has mentioned wanting to vandalize it or mix it up a bit, and I can see how the endless repetition of the same color and form -- both entirely artificial -- would encourage that. It has been vandalized at least once.

Maybe The Gates are a comment on the original project of building Central Park? Olmstead and Vaux did a lot of taming of natural tendencies to create the "natural" landscape we see today -- perhaps the distortion of the orange is a nod to the original corruption of a natural experience?

Another feature of this project seems to be our changing reaction to it. I've been on boths ends of the emotional scale -- when I first saw the gates I was ecstatic. Now I find them impressive but perhaps I've been swayed a bit by less than enthusiastic opinions. I can imagine a very practical friend saying "What's the point?" I think I may find it uplifting again tomorrow or the next day. Given a gloomy day with limited visibility, they may set an entirely different tone. When I took one last look on my way home tonight (in the dark), I felt as if I'd stumbled on something beautiful.

Posted by csageday at 10:55 PM | Comments (1)

Baby Xander

Xander, Derek's family's youngest comedian, doesn't have a blog yet but he's got a website. I couldn't resist adding captions to the latest batch of photos -- he's such a character.

Posted by csageday at 06:02 PM | Comments (0)

February 14, 2005

Ise

My parents love Japanese food. My father is a major fan of sashimi and tends to make friends with the entire staff of any Japanese restaurant we go to. The waiter we know at Yamato (Park Slope) still asks after him, and it's been over a year now since he's been there. He's a typical American diner -- he uses the warm moist towels to give himself a facial instead of just cleaning his hands, and he soaks everything in gallons of soy sauce. He also makes an impression by ordering sea urchin with a quail egg on top (you can see where I get my food habits). But the upshot of this is that we're used to Americanized Japanese restaurants, and so are most New Yorkers. Authentic Japanese food does exist in the city, but you need to know where to find it.

Last Wednesday, Derek and I had dinner at Ise (56th street near 6th Ave) with Clay (a friend from work), his wife Rie, and their friend Megumi. Lucky for us, both Rie and Megumi are from Japan and have magical powers when it comes to ordering food in a Japanese restaurant. Ise is also a great place to go for Japanese -- it attracts a sizable crowd of Japanese businessmen (a good sign) and offers several private tatami rooms.

Clay, Derek, and I got there first and ordered a bunch of dishes on our own -- vegetable tempura, spelt, grilled eggplant, edamame, hijiki salad, and age dashi tofu. We tried to order adventurously but we couldn't seem to find the right things on the menu. I ordered some plum wine but it tasted like a liquid jolly rancher. We kept joking that all the good stuff must be on the Japanese menu, which, of course, turned out to be true.

When Rie and Megumi joined us, the fabled Japanese specials menu appeared -- it looked a lot like ours but had about twice as many options. Two things were tantalizingly circled, and Rie and Megumi and our waitress had extended conversations (in Japanese) about what to get. I think the chef even came out at one point for a consultation. They ordered a homemade tofu dish that had to cook at the table for about fifteen minutes and was fantastic, with a silky texture and good flavor. Dishes kept coming -- I don't remember them all but one broiled (I think) whole fish was perfectly tender and sweet. The sardines were also good. (One tip for sharing dishes with a group if you want to be polite -- you can flip your chopsticks around and use the other end to grab your food from the shared plate, then switch them back to eat.)

For dessert, more consultations and animated conversations resulted in one exotic dessert, along with green tea flan and deep fried ice cream. I can't remember what Rie and Megumi ordered, but it came in a martini glass and had sesame paste at the bottom and was, of course, very good. My choice (English menu) wasn't too bad either -- I highly recommend the green tea flan.

I'm considering asking for the Japanese menu next time and pointing at anything circled, just for kicks. Somehow I don't think it'll work. Anyway, thanks Clay, Rie, and Megumi for a great dinner!

Posted by csageday at 01:04 AM | Comments (0)

February 11, 2005

Gates Party

Somebody has to do this: Throw a Gates party. Get some bright orange tape and put it on the walls and ceiling like The Gates and hang some orange nylon fabric from it (this would work perfectly in our long hallway). Have orange vodka cocktails and encourage people to dress up like tourists and Christo art fans. Take lots of pictures. Set up a fan to make the fabric blow around. Someone should steal this idea -- we would do it but we're going to be out of town the next four weekends. Might be able to fit it in on a Friday, though. Thoughts, anyone?

More Gates news: Christo and Jeane-Claud films are showing at MoMA and there's another article on Gates hype here.

Posted by csageday at 05:21 PM | Comments (1)

Subway Fashion

I love subway mosaics. The older ones at classic stations are beautiful and have a worn, antique look to them. Every tile is a slightly different color and shape and reflects light differently. It's like jewelry for the walls. The newer ones have a bolder scope -- they're larger (like the one in the 5th Ave. F/7 stop), use more varied materials, and I like the way the plain white tile is cut to accommodate their organic shapes. They're often whimsical or location-specific (see the fish swimming along the walls under the Museum of Natural History, or the beavers at Astor place). The intricate detail and quality often surprises me in unfamiliar stations. The eyes at the WTC A/C are chilling after 9/11.

Designers and the fashion community like mosaics, too. There's this purse, along with other underground paraphernalia turned into art, going up for auction soon. Tourists and residents in both London and New York have been appropriating the accidental and deliberate art of the underground for years. It's interesting that the MTA has made it into such big business in the last few years. There's even a catalog coming out. The merchandise isn't really doing it for me -- the whole point is that it should remind you of the experience of being in the subway, and mass market "F" t-shirts don't really do that. The stuff up for auction comes closer though. Very chic.

Posted by csageday at 11:58 AM | Comments (0)

Partisan Paralysis

(In the news today) January 25, 2001: Richard Clarke sends a memo to Condi Rice about the threat of Al Qaeda. He says: "We urgently need such a principals-level review on the al-Qaeda network" and "We would make a major error if we underestimated the challenge al Qaeda poses." Response: None, basically. He is told that his counterterrorism security group should report to the deputies committee, not [cabinet-level] "principals". September 4, 2001 (seven months later): The requested principals meeting takes place.

(In the news last April) August 6, 2001: The presidential daily briefing is titled "Bin Laden Determined to Strike in U.S." Excerpts include "FBI information ... indicates patterns of suspicious activity in this country consistent with preparations for hijackings or other types of attacks," and "Bin Laden wanted to hijack a U.S. aircraft," and various other alarming and on-the-mark assessments of the terrorist threat. Response? Well, Bush was on vacation. For a month.

The memo to Condoleeza Rice has just been partly released, so we'll have another outburst of name-calling and media coverage, and the public will take a look but largely ignore it. My question is, how does this administration get away with these types of things, along with so many others?

Passionate partisan arguments seem to be clouding the public's vision to a dangerous extent. Where there should be general public outrage about the use of torture or the ineptness of the administration in dealing with terror before 9/11, there is partisan distrust. Many people read partisan new sources now and get skewed facts. Instead of judging the material on its own merit, they swallow the spin and get busy rationalizing bad behavior.

Perhaps Rice's lack of a real response to Clarke's memo was related to partisan distrust. Clarke comes across as begging for attention -- but she may have interpreted that as a partisan accusation, since he mentions Clinton-era strategies. Why Bush did not respond to the PDB probably has something to do with his own partisan domestic objectives. And his vacation. And his dislike of reading.

If you justify your disinterest in the current scandal by saying that it's counter-productive to examine coulda-shoulda-wouldas, there is plenty of information about irresponsible things the administration is doing right now. There's a good New Yorker article this week on the U.S.'s liberal use of extrication and torture. Torture really doesn't provide valuable information, does little to improve our image in Muslim countries, and opens our troops up to torture by other governments in future conflicts. There is a reason for the enforcement of human rights: When you find yourself taken aside at the airport because of your name, tied up, blindfolded, and sent off to Egypt without a word to your family and you're innocent, you'll be hoping like hell that some rational international legal force intervenes. The depressing thing is that America used to represent that rational force.

Posted by csageday at 01:39 AM | Comments (0)

February 10, 2005

Earthquake Changed Time, Coastlines

From Yahoo: The tsunami earthquake changed the shape of the earth, altering the spin and shortening the day a tiny bit -- does anyone else think this is extraordinary? "Scientists at NASA...said the Dec. 26 quake...disrupted the planet's rotation and shaved 2.68 microseconds, or millionths of a second, from the length of a day." Read the rest here.

Posted by csageday at 07:28 PM | Comments (1)

For Seinfeld Fans

You can read scripts of Seinfeld episodes on this site. If you've seen enough episodes you can easy imagine George's yelling, Jerry's expressions, Elaine's smirk, Kramer's body language, etc. It's like Cliffs Notes, or TV for work. It also gives you a different perspecive -- you see why certain things are funny, how the scenes are set up, etc.

Posted by csageday at 07:26 PM | Comments (0)

February 09, 2005

The Gates

I caught a first glimpse of The Gates in Central Park yesterday. It looks like this at the moment. The orange ("saffron") color is a stark contrast to the natural colors of the park in winter, but it has a pleasing, celebratory effect. The drawings on the Christo and Jeanne-Claud's site reminded me of Japanese Samurai for some reason (something about long lines of tall, straight gates with fabric blowing in the wind -- maybe I'm thinking of marching Samurai? Do Samurai even march? Do they march with orange flags? I think I'm mixing something up with Lord of the Rings).

Apparently Christos groupies are flooding the city. I'm upset that we'll miss the opening day but I can't wait to visit on Monday, and we have 16 days to walk around in it. It will be interesting to see what happens when it's windy -- I'm not sure if the fabric will move all at once or sequentially for a ripple effect. Thank goodness for the Christo and Jeanne-Claud and their generosity and creativity (gotta love Jeanne-Claude's hair). Some bright orange in the middle of winter is exactly what we need.

Here's a long New York Mag article on The Gates, and a map of where the 7,500 gates will be. The nyc.gov site seems to have a good deal of info. I like this photo of a previous Christos project: Pont Neuf wrapped (1985), and the drawings here of an upcoming Over the River project, but I think The Gates will take the cake.

Update

There's an article about Cristo volunteers today in the NY Times.

Posted by csageday at 01:14 AM | Comments (2)

February 08, 2005

Dress Stress

I know I just wrote about clothes but we have a wedding to go to this weekend so this week is entirely consumed by the SEARCH FOR SOMETHING TO WEAR. I do not understand fashion or event-appropriate attire -- a fault I attribute to having a school dress code for 12 years -- so I always leave the clothing issue to the last minute and have a crisis. (Not understanding makeup also leads to a pre-event run to Rite Aid, where I realized that Rite Aid makeup is sort of crappy and I should probably have some sort of working knowledge of what brand works for me, what color lipstick I need, etc. Last time I guessed by looking at the photos on the ads.)

Yesterday evening I decided that, since none of the Park Slope places I went to on Sunday or the standby chains I went to on Saturday (Zara, Banana Republic, J. Crew) had anything remotely resembling a dress you might wear to a wedding in February, I would try Saks Fifth Avenue. This is the classic last-minute strategy -- when all else fails, try something new and hope that you'll finally discover the place where they hide all the normal cocktail dresses in the city.

So I walk over to Saks, all ready to find the floor full of perfect dresses, and learn that it closes at 7pm. I have 10 minutes to find a dress. I'm still thinking that if I find the perfect floor that's enough time, but there are no little signs with what's on each floor and I'm terrified of sales people (who understand fashion and might find out that I don't) so I just jump on the elevator. The elevator doesn't really have helpful signs either so I get out at the first floor it stops on and walk around, but it's all $500 t-shirts and well-dressed women and there's even a shopping assistance desk, so I know I'm in the wrong place. It's like Tiffany's for clothes. I slowly walk around, trying to look like I know what I'm doing, and circle back to the elevator. Eventually I figure out that there are floors with normal clothes, possibly floors with dresses, but I'm done with Saks. It's just too stressful.

The classic strategy after the last-minute strategy has failed is to try Macy's. The logic is: Macy's is gargantuan. Because of its sheer size, it probably has every piece of clothing made this season by every designer, right? There must be something in there. So I get on the train to Herald Square and go through my classic Macy's routine. I enter the building from Broadway and walk through the handbags and perfume to the escalator. Escalators are useful because you can see what's on each floor, so I take it until I reach what looks like the right type of womens' clothing. I know Macy's is open until 8:30 so I'm not in a rush, and I figure wandering around aimlessly is better than subjecting myself to the humiliation of asking someone where womens' dresses are. I realize pretty quickly that all I'm going to find is a skirt and blouse combo on my floor, so I try seriously for that, but the only thing that my mother (who will be at this wedding) will approve of is around $350.

So I go stare at the directory and figure out that womens' dresses are on the seventh floor. I take the escalator to the seventh floor. Bedding is on the seventh floor. Or childrens' clothing. There's some sort of half-floor thing going on because the "7th Avenue building" part of Macy's has floors that don't really match up with the other building. I feel like I'm in a maze. I find wedding dresses, but no cocktail dresses. At this point I'm starting to feel mad and frustrated and dehydrated -- the store sucks all of the moisture out of your body in about 20 minutes -- but I see a sign saying that "Woman's Dresses" are on the 8th Floor. Finally! I take an elevator to the 8th floor and realize that "Woman's" means plus-size clothing in Macy's speak. I feel like I've been through enough by then so I ask one of the "Woman's" department staff where to find dresses. "For you?" she asks. I say yes. She directs me to the fourth floor. The FOURTH floor. Macy's really needs to update their freaking signage.

What's maddening about this scenario is that I've been though the whole thing, in this EXACT order, except that last time I didn't have the courage to ask a salesperson for help in the plus size area (I did the whole looking-around nonchalantly thing in the plus size racks). This time, I actually get to the dresses -- half of the seventh avenue side of the building is devoted to dresses -- which is definitely progress, no? Except that in the entire section of dresses, there's not a single one that I can wear to this wedding. They're horrible, slinky ugly things with sequins or cuts I can't wear. I found what looked like another shoe department hidden in the same part of the building, but no dress. So I'm doomed to wear the same black dress I have worn to every event I've attended in the past five years. Which is fine, but I don't have shoes so I'm going to have to go through a similar last-minute shoe finding ritual tomorrow.

The point of all this is that since I grew up in the suburbs I don't know how to shop in Manhattan. It took me years to learn to do Christmas shopping in the city. I always ended up slinking guiltily out to New Jersey to do it all at a mall on Christmas Eve. City shopping is destination shopping -- you have to know where to go, you can't just browse and find something. There's Soho and Herald Square, but they are mobbed by tourists and people from outer boroughs and I usually burn out by the third store. I'm extremely picky, too, which doesn't help. Every once in a while I'll find something perfect and that just makes it harder. So I go around wearing the one perfect thing every day, even though some other part of my wardrobe is seriously lacking. It took me two winters to find a good winter coat, but I've been reduced to using canvas bags instead of a purse because I can't find one I like. I have been to a fancy ballroom thing with an elastic in my hair because I forgot to buy a barrett, and I've been to a wedding in a great outfit but crappy, battered, beach shoes. I think I need a personal assistant. It's hopeless.

Posted by csageday at 10:17 PM | Comments (2)

February 07, 2005

lowercase stores

A few years ago, boutiques started proliferating in Park Slope. A new one showed up every other week on Fifth Avenue. The prices in these places are absurd, and they attract yuppies in droves. D and I made fun of them because, almost without fail, they all have four-letter names right- or left-aligned in lowercase font on their tasteful, solid-color awnings. Don't believe me? Here's a list of stores within walking distance of our apartment: "loom", "bird", "otto", and "nest." They are all smallish and have modernist knick knacks or trendy clothes. And without fail, the name is in lowercase. If we're walking along Fifth Avenue and see a new store with a name all in lowercase font, we know it's a yuppie magnet and we roll our eyes.

Problem is, since I'm trying to get away from buying every single article of clothing from J. Crew or The Gap, I'm ending up in these lowercase stores, and I'm finding some decent stuff. My wallet is taking a beating, but I'm in love with my new hipster jeans. I spent way too much money today at a store named "redberi." Is this something to worry about? I'm supporting independent merchants (unless they're all secretly funded by anthropologie), but these stores are a bit pretentious to fit in with my food coop mentality. It's my luxury ingredient dilema again: I really want to be a savvy vintage bargain-hunting New York shopper, but I can only seem to manage being a victim of the latest yuppie trend. Sigh.

Posted by csageday at 01:06 AM | Comments (1)

February 06, 2005

The Nomi Song

nomi_th.jpgNote: This isn't really a blog entry but a long-winded essay on Klaus Nomi and The Nomi Song, a documentary we saw on Friday. We discovered Klaus Nomi when we saw "URGH! A Music War", and I've been interested in him since then. His outer-space aesthetic and operatic voice make for an interesting dichotomy. I went on a bit of a Nomi kick over the weekend and wrote what I thought would be a longish blog entry but turned out to be a mini-dissertation. Here it is, if you're interested. And if you can, get over to Cinema Village to see The Nomi Song, or at least let us lend you a copy of URGH.

URGH! A Music War

In the middle of the early-80s new wave and punk band performances in the movie URGH! A Music War (which chronicles that genre), a very odd-looking singer takes the stage and provides a unusual vocal performance. The band members in the background have long hair and the venue is a standard dive. But the signer, Klaus Nomi, has a unique voice and an outlandish appearance and he forces the audience to experience his performace on different terms.

The opening shot of his performance starts with his shoes: shiny black heels with long, pointy toes. The camera pans up to black spandex and a plastic triangular top with the white V of a tuxedo. He is in white face, with black lipstick and perfectly styled hair. His movements are robotic and unnatural. The song, Total Eclipse, begins with staccato lyrics, and Nomi's style is to place Shakespearean emphasis on each syllable. His wide-open, heavily-lined eyes fixate on something intently and then move suddenly to something else. For the chorus, his voice unexpectedly switches to an impressive countertenor (falsetto). The switch enhances the sense that Nomi is foreign and unusual, but it simultaneously draws the audience in because he hits each note perfectly.

Derek and I saw URGH! at Anthology Film Archives before Christmas and loved it for various reasons. The early and intimate performaces of bands like Devo, Echo and the Bunnymen, and Gang of Four were fun to watch and made us nostalgic for music we barely knew. The songs seemed fresh and you could tell the bands were having fun with the punk mindset and music. We went to a tribute concert at The Knitting Factory, but while we were watching the video of URGH between sets, I realized I was just waiting to see Klaus Nomi again. There's something very satistying about listening to him sing, and watching him pull off the costume and character is entertaining in its own right.

The Nomi Song

We found a bit more information about Nomi online. Mainly, he was a cultish figure with some avid fans, but he was one of the first victims of AIDS. His career was cut short right after he had made it big and found his ideal medium: the music video. We also found out that a documentary was being made about him called The Nomi Song. It opened at Cinema Village on Friday, and we were able to see the show when Andrew Horn, the director, was there to answer questions. The film and the Q&A afterward gave us a crash course on Nomi's life and I left with the impression that he was slightly more than a vocalist with a wacky costume.

Though slightly uneven at times, the film shows parts of nearly all the footage available of Klaus Nomi. Friends' interviews provide the narrrative for the film and help set up shots of Nomi's early work. The sense that Nomi's career was cut short and is not fully understood is enhanced by the film artifacts left in the documentary -- the director leaves blank spots (where salvaged film runs out) and blotches of dust on old cuts. The Nomi Song begins and ends with a very appropriate, low-quality 50s shot of a U.F.O landing and taking off, with group of bewildered spectators huddled nearby ("The world just wasn't ready.").

Klaus Nomi grew up in Germany, spend seven years in Berlin (some training to be a tenor), and arrived in the West Village at the same time many Andy Warhol types were heading there for the scene. There is one interview with him in German where he comes across as a very warm person. He tells a story of getting some money and rushing out to buy an Elvis album, only to have his mother exchange it for Maria Callas. He uses the story to explain his taste in music -- he's stuck somewhere in between those two disparate influences. He combines the drama and music of opera with the anti-authoritarian flash and energy of rock music.

Nomi does more than than invent a music genre all his own. Early Nomi shows were performance art pieces. In some, his head and arms are made to seem like they are not attached. His own movement seems to suprise him. He borrows from the Kabuki aesthetic and the stiffness of 60s space-age aliens in sci-fi movies. In effect, he has combined classic theatrical styles with modern ones in an alarming way. Many of these stage theatrics play on standard themes: the artist's relationship to the audience, the dislocation of the artist on stage from reality, and the struggle of the audience members to reconcile the artist's representation of reality with their own.

nomi_logo.gifI like the use of Nomi's extremely unusual profile as his logo -- it evolved out of the shadow created by his profile in the spotlight on a striped set. The resulting image is an alien head in a circle with bars on it. It suggests a performer's restrictions: his confinement to the public personna he has established, the fact that the public personna is only a shadow of real experience or identity (see Plato's cave, any postmodern interpretation of anything, etc.). The lyrics of The Nomi Song demonstrate this struggle as well: "If they saw my face, would I still take a bow; Will they know me, know me, know me, now." (The play on words there with "know me" and "Nomi" is clever, too). One of the journalists interviewed for the film explains how he felt after a show by saying "[Klaus] is art. We're not."

You can see from the first two videos Nomi made that the format was perfect for him. Special effects, close-ups, and abstract backgrounds heighten the sense of an other-worldly presence. The stark contrast of the dark makeup and hairline against the white, washed-out face, which can be superimposed on any sort of background, drive home the same point.

Nomi's trick was to make these concepts available to the minds of punk rock audiences. They're unsure of how to interpret his alien appearance and mannerisms, but when he serenades them with an operatic arias, they can't help but appreciate the music. Nomi makes us aware of how beauty can bind the audience to a performer and influence a reassessment of the visual aesthetic. The wierdness accentuates the art. Hearing opera out of context enhances its beauty, and the extreme contrast of Klaus to everything around him brings a surreal, transporting quality to the moment. Eliciting this type of conflicted reaction is one that few artists achieve. It makes us aware of the art itself AND the artist's manipilation of his audience.

More Information

First album: Klaus Nomi

Second album: Simple Man

The Nomi Song

Is it live, or is it Memorex?: A Flash tribute site

Posted by csageday at 11:30 AM | Comments (0)

February 05, 2005

Casa Mono

Casa Mono is a one-year-old tapas restaurant at 52 Irving Place. It was in the "Tables for Two" New Yorker column this week so we tried it out. Very impressive. We ordered five dishes to share and two "cuartos" of wine. We started with Pan con Tomate -- a staple of every meal in Catalunia -- which is toasted crusty bread rubbed with tomato and garlic and topped with olive oil and salt. Casa Mono's was good though a bit too salty. The bacalao (salt cod) croquettes over orange alioli (not the Italian aioli, which bothers me on menus because I feel like it's missing an "l", but Spanish alioli) were good -- the orange flavor in the alioli was interesting but not something I would make at home.

Since we were sitting at the bar, we chatted with a neighbor and watched each dish being assembled by the staff. One plate looked absolutely decadent and turned out to be one of ours. It's currently my favorite dish anywhere -- I haven't gotten over it yet. It's a sunny-side-up duck egg on top of sautéed fingerling potatoes and topped with salt-cured tuna (Mojama) and, the kicker, truffle sauce. The egg and potato and Mojama and sauce perfectly complement each other. I barely tried the cauliflower with capers (good) and passed on the sweetbreads because I was busy taking a bite and closing my eyes because it was sooo goooood. Must go back soon. I'm a sucker for luxury ingredients (truffles, duck eggs, anything imported).

Here's the menu and the NY Times review.

Posted by csageday at 11:08 PM | Comments (0)

February 04, 2005

Ode to Elephant & Castle

elephantcastle.gifWhen it comes to eating in Manhattan, I'm a creature of habit. I have a few restaurants I feel at home in, and as much as I try to go to the latest place-with-lots-of-buzz, I usually end up at one of the old standards. Going to one of them is like going to an old friend's house. If I drank regularly I would feel the same way about a bar, but since I'm more of a food addict I have these three stand-bys: Veselka, Souen, and my original favorite, Elephant & Castle.

Elephant & Castle opened in 1973 and hasn't changed much since then, although it doesn't feel outdated so much as worn in, like a good pub. There's a great story about the name here. Apparently I was taken there as a baby when my parents lived on Perry street. I don't remember going there as a child, but I must have known about it because I always took friends there on trips into the city in high school (it was the only place I knew of and it was within walking distance of Washington Square Park and the PATH).

It's the default setting for small family reunions and a good place for a long conversation. Derek and I come together sometimes, but since our mutual favorite is Veselka, E&C has earned the designation of being the place where I go to discuss our relationship ad nauseum with friends (one of whom, incidentally, was born across the street at St. Vincent's and was probably also an early customer).

Wood paneling, old-style windows, the British name (Elephant & Castle is the name of a traffic circle in London), and a collection of ceramic elephants give it a cozy feel. The menu has a mix of simple and complicated dishes, ranging from omelettes to sautéed shrimp to crepes. There are a interesting items like Boston Indian Pudding, and "Puréed Spinach with Poached Eggs, Melted Cheese and Potato Pancakes" (for brunch). The special soups can be fantastic. The Grand Marnier crepe is a bit much for me, but I love the Casa Blanca (with fudge and ice cream). The house salad comes with a great mustard dressing -- my mother asked for the recipe for it years ago and makes it at home sometimes. Bowls of milk with orzata, café au lait, or hot chocolate are all on the menu. The coffee there is always perfect. Derek tells me the burgers are great. The Green 'n Gold omelette (cheddar and spinach) is a good choice if you don't know what to get.

I must be an Anglophile. Londonist yesterday, and this today. But if you haven't been dragged to E&C by me at some point, I highly recommend it. It's interesting that Souen and E&C are both 30-year veterans of the New York restaurant scene and Veselka has been around forever -- they can each please a loyal crowd of regulars while attracting new clientele at the same time. I'm probably drawn to them because they remind me of how long I've been in the city (10 years) -- they make me feel like a New Yorker (say that with an accent).

Posted by csageday at 12:44 AM | Comments (0)

February 03, 2005

Blog Tourism

Since Gothamist and Dooce were nominated for the 2005 Bloggies (Weblog awards), I took a look at some of the blogs nominated in other categories and discovered two new "blogospheres" -- an eco-friendly one and a web development one, the latter of which I should be really familiar with, considering current employment.

The best find so far, which I've seen links to a dozen times but never checked out, is Londonist. It's Gothamist, but for London. It's like someone took Gothamist and rewrote it with a British twist for kicks. There are mentions of "adverts" and "parking wardens" (traffic cops), and there's talk of building a stadium for the 2012 Olympics (except, in London). Best of all, there's this bit about the Tube, every word of which could be used to describe our lovely underground equivalent (except for the "happy slapping" stuff, which is just weird).

Posted by csageday at 12:08 AM | Comments (0)

February 02, 2005

Tetris

tetris11.jpgI pride myself on my game of Tetris. I gave many, many hours to it in high school and college. Embarrassing confession: Since Tetris games can last a while, I developed elaborate fantasies of attending Tetris tournaments, where crowds of Tetris experts would sit in a dark auditorium, watching some sort of projection of my game. People would talk about my shape-changing dexterity and elaborate stacking techniques. Analysts would discuss the complex statistical formulae used effortlessly by Tetris prodigies like me.

So when a bar with vintage arcade games opened up in Williamsburg, I was psyched. All of that time invested in Tetris should be enough to get me a free beer and my name up on the high score blackboard, right? I should have known better. The Atari version of Tetris, which is what arcade-style games use, is very different from the PC-based software I played on. It has weird levels and it stops the game and sends you to another level when you've gotten to 15 rows. The version I played just goes on forever, getting faster and faster. The Atari version also doesn't respond well to fast commands in succession, so my fancy changing stuff doesn't work and I lose pretty quickly. Nevermind that the Atari version is the original version and I was playing some knock off. It was depressing.

So my question is, is there anything useful gained from honing video game skills? Even if you become an expert in one game, another version will appear eventually and you'll have to learn it all over again. Does it help your fine motor skills or satisfy some need to keep your mind occupied with a completely mindless task? Is it any better than learning all the plot lines and characters in daily soaps? Is there any benefit to all the dedication and blisters?

Okay, one benefit. You can impress drunk people into thinking you're cool. It's how D and I met. We're both quiet, even when we're drunk (sometimes), but we played Space Invaders together in the basement of a bar for a while. It was sort of retro and fun and it kept us together long enough to figure out what to do next. So video games are like a dating service for really lame, antisocial people. How sad.

Posted by csageday at 12:01 AM | Comments (0)

February 01, 2005

What's In a Name

Since the name Blue Sage is sticking, I googled it again and paid attention to the results. I chose the name because: I'm a member of the extensive, lunatic Sage family; I like all things blue; I like sage, the herb; "blue sage" is actually a wild variety of sage that grows in Wyoming, where some Sage family members live; and I'm usually depressed (blue) about something. And there's the whole implication of wisdom which really doesn't work here.

Back to google. My syndication options are limited. A whole bunch of people have already thought of the name, and probably even the lame BS joke. There's a bluegrass band called Blue Sage (which makes sense) and there's a rock band named Blue Sage (no explanation) with a fan base of girls in Abercrombie shirts. There's also a finance group (yawn), and a vegetarian restaurant in Philly.

Google came up with some photos of the plant and its cousins, Mealy Blue Sage and Giant Blue Sage (I'll stick with the plain variety, thanks). Then I found this site, which belongs to a self-described "tall freak with a bandana, glowsticks, and a Bastek badge," who "[feels] most comfortable representing [him/herself] as an animal rather than a human." Must be a relative.

There's a catering service, a coffee house, a spa, a real estate broker, an arts center, and a glass blowing studio. Lots of results seem to be associated with Utah. This guy calls himself Blue Sage on backpacker.com. Lucky for me, no Blue Sage Blog yet. Something close, but not quite. So at least I've cornered that market.

Posted by csageday at 09:04 PM | Comments (0)