O Tannenbaum!

A classic New York City—particularly Manhattan—sight is the Christmas tree vendor, filling a good third of the sidewalk with his fragrant green wares. Here is a typical scene, right near my apartment, slightly blocking the entrance to a local Duane Reade. Many of these vendors come down from New England and Canada to do their yuletide business. An unusually warm late autumn or, if you will, early winter doesn't set the trees off as well as do snowy pavements. I remember being in Latin America one Christmas and finding their decorated evergreens (a different style, with droopy branches) somewhat incongruous in the semitropical climate.

A typical bit of Christmas New Yorkiana: When asked what I was doing for the Big Day, I told my Italian hairdresser, "Un natale ebreo" ("a Jewish Christmas"). Hip and au courant person that she is, she countered, "Oh, yeah—a movie and Chinese food!" Perfectly correct, of course. We haven't chosen the movie yet, and the food could possibly be Thai or Korean. Last year it was Thai.

An Experiment re The Mystery Office

Sometime back, I published a very mild comment on an empty office space in a famous NYC landmark building. I was curious as to why this very desirable office space was always empty when I passed it on the way to my dentist. In September I received a notice that the commentary had to be taken down because it was found to be violating some law or other. Can't imagine what this was, except that I had used a stock photo I had found online, and perhaps that was copyrighted. There was no tag indicating such on the photo. Anyway, here is my entry again—not that it's such a literary masterpiece—with a couple of not wonderful photos I just took with my cherished new iPhone (Sprint finally offered it!).

Here I go again with one of my obsessions,  the Chrysler Building. To get to my dentist's office there, you take the express elevator to the 57th floor and then walk around the corner to take the Tower Elevator to the 69th floor. But on the 57th floor, on the way to the next elevator, you will encounter what I have come to call the Mystery Office. As the possessor of an overactive imagination, I find that this office reminds me of something out of The Twilight Zone or perhaps a program on the Sci-Fi (recently renamed—wait for it—SyFy) Channel. Except for an occasionally visible young woman who appears to be a receptionist, there's never anybody in there! Is this a conference venue? Temporarily unrented space (no surprise here, with office rentals going begging in the recession)? Over several years, at whatever time I have my dentist appointment, there has never been anything taking place in this glossy, pristine space. Do covens congregate there late at night, gazing out over Manhattan from the 57th floor? Do Mafia dons occasionally plan whack jobs? Che cosa fanno li? Whatever the case may be, using this venue has got to be pricey. No one in the dentist's office seems to know anything. Have they been warned by underworld figures to keep their lips buttoned—observing omertà? Where is Mike Hammer when we need him? Or better, C. Auguste Dupin, Sherlock Holmes, or Hércule Poirot? Or, since it's a 30s Art  Deco building, Philo Vance?

Sunny South Bank Sunday

Not a remotely foggy day in London Town. Strolling toward the Design Museum near Tower Bridge on the South Bank, tourists and Londoners alike are basking in a glorious, sunny Sunday. Visitors from various countries stop us and ask us to take their photos, and we do the same. Your blogger (foreground in picture) and her sister are posed near the bridge in a favorite photographers' spot.

The London version of Mister Softee is Mr. Whippy. Being too cutesy for words prevails on both sides of The Pond.

Kicking the Can Under the Bus

The following expressions don’t bear too much analysis; however…. Have complained before about over-used or incorrectly used catch phrases and words, but there are a couple that do amuse me, although I can’t recall using them myself. They are “Kick the can down the road” and “Throw him/her under the bus.” I believe the late William Safire dealt with one or both of these in his much-missed “On Language” columns in the Sunday New York Times Magazine.

A little online research reveals:

Definition of “kick the can down the road”

To procrastinate. "Kicking the can down the road" has been a favorite metaphor politicians have used to describe someone who is postponing a decision or avoiding an issue.

Definition of “throw under the bus”

One is thrown under the bus when made the scapegoat or blamed for something that wasn't one’s responsibility in the first place. A coverup for your mistake. You get thrown under the bus when someone (usually a co-worker) reports some wrongdoing or slacking off to a superior or other influential person. Sometimes used with the suffix "Vrooooom!" to simulate the noise the bus would make as it passes by at a high rate of speed.

Lately, there has been a veritable flood of “kick the can” usage in connection with legislative debates concerning national debt. How far that can will be kicked, no one knows. As for the bus, a lot of people are getting thrown under it these days.

Silfiden!

Silfiden, Danish for La Sylphide, continues to exert its otherworldly magic as presented on June 18 by the Royal Danish Ballet on its first visit to New York City in many years. The charm and delicacy with which the mostly very youthful company presented this August Bournonville classic certainly captivated this audience member. And everyone else.

The delicate-seeming but actually very difficult choreography—oh, those precise finishes in fifth position!—is complemented by a real sense of fairy-tale fantasy, perfectly expressed by the two leads; they really seemed not quite of this world and could not survive in it.

Quaint nineteenth-century stage touches are managed deftly: the Sylphide whooshes up the chimney at the end of the first scene, so that our hero, James, isn't even sure she's been there at all. When she reappears on the windowsill, cf. the old Taglioni lithograph, she floats to the floor. When she meets her tragic end, her little gossamer wings drop off one by one, and, finally, her corpse is borne off aloft, on wires, accompanied by her fellow airy beings.

As an avid opera as well as ballet aficionada, I was also charmed by the lovely sets and costumes, totally in keeping with echt romanticism, that were designed by Mikael Melbye in one of the most successful career changes in the world of the arts. I heard him sing Papageno at the Met a number of years ago, and he was one of the most prominent Danish lyric baritones when he retired from singing in 1999. Also a painter, he has since become an internationally successful theatrical designer. (New York City Ballet could use him.)

"Bloody, Bold, and Resolute"

The Royal Opera has climbed aboard the HD television bandwagon pioneered by the Metropolitan Opera's highly successful seasons of live matinee transmissions to theaters around the world. This week's live ROH offering was a stunning performance of Verdi's formerly underrated Macbeth, which has come to be appreciated in recent years. Perhaps English speakers and Shakespeare enthusiasts were put off in the past by characters addressed as "Macbetto," "Macduffo," "Banco," and "Il re Duncano." ("È morto e assassinato il re Duncano!") As someone fully conversant with the original text and fairly competent in Italian, I can admire Francesco Maria Piave's adaptation for the libretto, and I even enjoy a full chorus of witches instead of the original three. There were many imaginative touches in the staging, which was never over the top. One such was the delivery of Macbeth's letter to Lady M by one of the witches, who materialized and then vanished. Their supernatural, controlling powers were made evident.

A favorite artist, the extremely versatile and physically attractive Simon Keenlyside, is able to color the music with drama and emotion despite not having a typical Verdi voice. No one seems to have a typical Verdi voice these days, but here it didn't matter. The baritone's excellent Italian was also a help. The Ukrainian soprano Lyudmila Monastyrska sang "La Lady's" fiendish music with flair, seemingly tossing off the most difficult passages. The voice is rich and free of vibrato, and she even has the requisite trill. As an actress she was less effective, but it was a pleasure to hear the music so well sung. She did go against Verdi's original idea that Lady Macbeth should make an ugly sound; her voice is an extraordinarily beautiful one.

The dark, menacing, imaginative production and the fine conducting by Antonio Pappano made this British entry into the HD sweepstakes a success.

"An Isle of Joy"

My friend with the great apartment in a great location snapped this late-day view of park and skyscrapers yesterday. Wow! The fact that the summer solstice is near may have something to do with the wonderful light phenomenon.

Thought that it might have had something to do with this, but not the case—a separate topic:

Manhattanhenge | Hayden Planetarium