Clouds Over Sutton Place

There are two Sutton Place Parks: The larger one, at the far east end of 57th Street in Manhattan, is temporarily closed for renovation. It is going to be expanded and will become part of a more extensive park along the East River. The smaller one, which I'll call Sutton Place Park Jr., is at the foot of East 53rd Street and is a pleasant triangle with excellent river views. It is noisier than "Sr.," because it is lower down and closer to FDR Drive traffic. Still, it's very pleasant, and one can watch boats go by. On a day like the one pictured, who needs to leave Manhattan? 

When a woman carrying her pet hyacinth macaw sat down near me yesterday in Sutton Place Park, I immediately consulted Google on my iPhone for more info about this bird. It appears that they make good pets if you don't mind being bitten occasionally. They survive mainly on nuts, and can cost as much as $10,000 to purchase. Needless to say, there are not all that many private owners of hyacinth macaws, although anything goes in New York. It appears that the bird owner was conferring with the owner of the cute lap dog about the merits of each pet. The gorgeous macaw is about the largest parrot and regularly makes itself known by loud squawking, as was evident yesterday. The owner kept stroking the bird as if it were a cat. These birds become very attached to their owners and need a lot of personal attention. They can learn a few words, but don't talk as much as other parrots. Maybe that's a good thing.

This is Seated Ballerina. It's 45 feet tall and inflated. Has to be taken down in bad weather. Not sure why; perhaps, despite its size, it could be blown over and hit some innocent passers-by. Most passers-by may not quibble over the sculpture. I like it almost as much as Koons's Puppy, the giant flower-covered terrier exhibited in Rockefeller Center some years back:

Puppy was also exhibited in various other locations here and abroad. The ballerina was inspired by a porcelain figurine. Like a lot of dance art, the artist didn't get some details right, e.g., ribbons on pointe shoes are not tied that way. However, it and the puppy are a lot of fun. There's plenty of room for lighthearted art, and we need a lot of cheering up these days.

Letter in the NYT (albeit anonymously)

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/08/30/realestate/dear-landlord-wheres-our-building-canopy.html?emc=eta1

My third, and probably last item to be published in the august New York Times. Have had two "Metropolitan Diaries" in over the years.

However, the canopy was replaced before my letter could appear. Doesn't matter; I'm glad it's back. We were without it which seemed like forever.

Easter on the E Train

Sunday, April 5, 2015—these little girls are so delighted with themselves and look so charming in their silky dresses and skirts, that they deserve to be recorded, even though they won't ever know about it. Can't decide which hat I like best, even though these hats are probably purchased already assembled and not original creations by the wearers, formerly a longstanding Easter tradition in New York City. They probably do not plan to watch Fred Astaire and Judy Garland in Easter Parade in the evening, either. In fact, they've probably never heard of Fred, Judy, or the movie itself. Or Irving Berlin. What they're missing!

"Du bist der Lenz"

It's been a long time since posting anything, but here we are on the first day of spring, supposedly, 2015. So it's appropriate to start over. Snow-capped Citibikes symbolize the end of a super-long winter. But the sun is out and, as the second-most-quoted English poet said, hope springs eternal. It's a nice, sunny day at 11:30 a.m., and the temperature has risen above freezing, so let's go!

Onward and Upward in the Neighborhood!

After many years of a view over low rooftops, the blow has finally fallen; the die is cast, etc. The local developer finally got enough money together to start construction on what is going to be a 33-story apartment house on the site of the former and much beloved Metropolitan Café and Columbus Bakery! Plus ça change,,,,

But—The upside is that I have a bird's-eye view of the details of building construction to which, like most city dwellers who aren't actually in the business, I never paid much attention in the past. I can see how much really skilled labor is involved, and even, as a dance, theater, and art enthusiast, a certain amount of choreography and design. I especially like the arrangement of the black netting recently installed to catch flying débris. A few years ago there was a construction disaster in this part of town, only a couple of blocks away, wherein a crane toppled into a building under construction, destroyed a brownstone, killed one person, and heavily damaged some other surrounding buildings. I'm hoping that enough precautions have now been taken so that nothing like that can happen here. Fortunately, my building is far enough from any cranes anyway.

This is what it may eventually look like:

959 First Avenue : Curbed NY

At least I'm still going to have almost all of my light. 

The East, Mysterious Once Again

It's not exactly full-blown international intrigue on East 52nd Street, but for a number of weeks there has been a police presence directly across the street from me in front of the Thai embassy.  The building itself has been closed for quite a while, owing to the political unrest back home in Thailand. This gives our otherwise low-key neighborhood a faintly sinister air. In typical Manhattan fashion, the embassy is flanked by a decorous brownstone on its left and a modest little shoe repair shop on its right. There are usually two of New York's Finest lounging in front of the neat white building. From my window vantage point, their body language indicates extreme boredom.
  

A few weeks back, from time to time, there have been some quiet protest groups; in fact, a few times parade-type barriers have been set up in front of my building and a few flags have been waved and placards worn. But nothing lately. However, a friend, whose upcoming travel itinerary formerly included Bangkok, has been notified that Thailand will be bypassed. The fate of the goings-on across the street has yet to be determined.

Syttende Mai—Good Neighbors

My Manhattan Street in Turtle Bay (Midtown East) has some establishments that are more genteel, less raucous, than many others in New Yawk, New Yawk. We have the apparently decorous Turtle Bay Music School and, right across the way from me, the Norwegian Seamen's Church (Sjømannskirken). They wish all visitors "Hjertelig velkommen," which, thanks to cognates, needs no translation. Today, May 17, Norwegian Constitution Day, known simply by its date, syttende mai (seventeenth of May), gives them a chance to cut loose in a remarkably quiet and orderly way, as opposed to the generally riotous parades and celebrations of other ethnic groups which the city hosts periodically. They don't need Fifth or Sixth Avenue; one crosstown block is sufficient for them, and their charming parade, well populated with towheaded, flag-waving youngsters, lasts only a few minutes. Con Edison's periodic tearing up of the street makes a lot more noise than they do. Long may they remain in the neighborhood! (They always clean up after themselves, too!)

Il Porcellino in New York City

I saw the Florentine bronze "Porcellino" in its home in Italy quite a number of years before it appeared, in 1972, in my neighborhood Sutton Place Park. This one doesn't have its nose rubbed to a coppery shine like its ancestor's, although I did see someone doing a rub—considered good luck—while I was sitting on a nearby bench on a recent sunny Saturday afternoon. Porcellino means "piglet" in italiano, but this is more a wild boar than a cuddly Babe-type piglet! The surrounding flora and fauna, consisting of vines, reptiles, and insects, are worth a close perusal. The whole work is a bit menacing, though lovable for its associations. A civic-minded philanthropist with a whimsical turn of mind donated this as well as a Peter Pan statue in Carl Schurz park. 

It was definitely a cross-cultural afternoon, as I was listening to Strauss's Arabella  from the Metropolitan Opera on my iPhone, and following the libretto. I guess I really should have been listening to that valentine to the city of Florence, Gianni Schicchi.

Manhattan Pastorale

No, we're not in the Adirondacks. These Canada geese are visiting us right here on the east side of Roosevelt Island, smack in the middle of the East River.  Hadn't visited Roosevelt Island in many years, and it has become quite an outpost, more for families than for singles, with many good-looking high-rise apartment houses and attractive plantings. At the southern tip, a memorial park for Franklin D. Roosevelt is under construction.  

The island seems to have all the amenities, especially for family life. I wouldn't call it the best place for living solo, though it has the added attraction of being much quieter than the rest of Manhattan. And a couple of minutes on the Roosevelt Island tramway (assuming it's in working order) will get you to this peaceful oasis.

Burning Bright

It’s easy to see why kids, both big and little, love fire engines. They are usually kept lovingly polished and shining. Even at rest in their garages they can’t help catching the eye. Many of New York’s fire trucks have slogans painted above the front windshields. One of my favorites is an engine in the Broadway theater district that proudly states, “Never missed a performance!”

Of far more importance than the spectacular vehicles used in their essential work are the firemen themselves. We New Yorkers consider them heroes, and rightly so. The horrors of 9/11 showed their strength and courage fully, but these men have always had our respect and admiration.

Like the rest of us, they have to do grocery shopping, and I often see them making purchases at the Fairway I frequent. That’s why this beautiful fire engine was parked by the stop near that storied food market, where I was waiting for the Broadway bus.

For further musings on Fairway, with or without our great firemen:

http://mobilemanhattanite.blogspot.com/2008/03/fairway-oy-veh.html

http://mobilemanhattanite.blogspot.com/2010/08/fairway-redux.html

Putting Zs Into "Das Rheingold"

Overactive imagination at work again: Sat down to enjoy Das Rheingold at the Met the other night, and noticed that an elderly gentlemen a few seats to my right was already asleep. I had always supposed that, at least, people waited until the opera actually started before they dropped off. O.K., he wasn’t bothering me and he wasn’t even snoring.

Shortly after the show started, I noticed that another man, just to my left, was bent far over, also apparently asleep as well. I was afraid that he would fall against me, but that didn’t happen.  As the excellent performance progressed, I noticed that he wasn’t waking up. Was he dead? Immediately, ominous thoughts of summoning an usher who would call for an EMT flooded my mind. Would I have to stay around and be a witness? He had come to the opera alone. Would I have to do the Good Samaritan thing? I trusted that the applause at the end would wake him up first.

Of course, he wasn’t dead at all and even stirred a few times during Rheingold’s two and one-half hours. He fled as soon as the curtain came down. I wonder if he remembered anything of the very fine performance. Even the Met’s infamous Robert Lepage Machine, much despised by the critics, made very little noise. There were only a few slight rumbles as the Rhine maidens descended into the deep at the end of their scene. The audience, except for the two snoozers, responded with vociferous appreciation at the opera's conclusion.

Staplers! Or, My Mini-Collection

A co-worker at my last job and I had both loved the movie Office Space (1999), and one day I found that she had bought me a gift, even though it was neither my birthday nor a holiday. It turned out to be a red Swingline stapler, immortalized in the movie to such an extent that Swingline started manufacturing red staplers again. Then, this item appeared in the business section of today's New York Times, sparking nostalgia and causing me to e-mail the article to my former office mate:

Staplers, the Attachment That’s Still Making Noise - NYTimes.com

Among various family objects I've inherited over the years is this Ace Cadet stapler, which could date anywhere from the 1930s through the 1950s. In my case, it's probably from either the 30s or the 40s. Maybe it's even worth something to a collector; people collect old typewriters and cameras, though I don't see why. Swingline is probably eternally grateful to the producers of Office Space. To quote a famous line from Death of a Salesman, "Business is definitely business." I'm not that hard up to try to sell it on eBay, though I've already discovered a site for antique staplers, which shows one like this.

Well, maybe I'll entertain bids, if anyone actually reads this!

John Jay on TV (Anonymously)?

CUNY's well-regarded John Jay College of Criminal Justice recently added an impressive new structure on Eleventh Avenue (which subsequently becomes West End Avenue) as an addition to its campus. Passing by it frequently on the M57 bus, I have become aware that it does double duty on more than one occasion. From time to time, the building has its name changed. A couple of weeks back, in large, neat, permanent-appearing letters, it was called "ALL SAINTS HOSPITAL." And just today, its name had been changed to "BOOKER UNIVERSITY." Underneath the Booker name was "University Hospital." Most intriguing. A quick check on Google (delightfully, the relatively new voice-activated Google app on my iPhone), showed that, apparently, there is no such university. And there doesn't seem to be an All Saints Hospital in New York City, either.

My keen intelligence, honed by endless viewings of the now-defunct, but still ubiquitous, Law and Order (where Lt. Van Buren and others were John Jay alumni), allowed me to posit that they are using John Jay's handsome western façade as a location indicator for one or another TV shows, most probably police and/or medical dramas. I'll have to look sharp to see if I can catch it on the small screen one of these days.

Update! Further research reveals that "All Saints Hospital" is the workplace of Edie Falco, the eponymous protagonist of the show Nurse Jackie on Showtime. O.K., that mystery solved. Now, where is "Booker University"?

Sometimes Music Hath No Charms At All

The music that one will hear inside this "hallowed" place is always appropriate to the impressive setting. BUT....!

Friends and I have enjoyed Aquavit's Christmas Eve julbord for the past several years. We went again last night and found the quality and atmosphere had been maintained EXCEPT for one glaring fact. There was almost-too-loud background music playing that would have been suitable for a shopping mall, a Denny's or an Olive Garden, e.g., but not for a presumably sophisticated Manhattan top-class restaurant. This type of "Jingle Bells," "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" background might go in Omaha, but not in NYC, and not at these prices. TACKY is the only way to describe it, and I can only hope that this was a one-time failing; we never experienced it (or, as I dimly recall, any other obtrusive background music) at Christmases past. Soft, high-level jazz would be best. Music is the bane of many otherwise fine dining establishments.

Sweet Spot

Diabetics everywhere: Beware! There are now three stores of the It'Sugar chain in the New York area. Passed this one on Broadway in the Lincoln Center area yesterday. One must admit that the colorful display of all manner of candies and related sweets makes an attractive picture. I stayed just outside the entrance myself, not being attracted to anything but top-of-the-line Belgian or French chocolates. Thus I was saved from the alluring fantasy of this emporium. Small children may lose their minds here.

MTA Musings, or, "Mama Don't 'Low"

Ever since the "NO littering, smoking, spitting, radio playing" notices have been up on NYC public transportation, I have, with my usual tendency to free-associate, been reminded of the following terrific American folksong:

           Mama Don't 'Low 

Mama don't 'low no banjo playing round here
Mama don't 'low no banjo playing round here
Well, I don't care what Mama don't 'low
Gonna play my banjo anyhow
Mama don't 'low no banjo playing round here

Mama don't 'low no guitar playing round here
Mama don't 'low no guitar playing round here
Well, I don't care what Mama don't 'low
Gonna play my guitar anyhow
Mama don't 'low no guitar playing round here

Mama don't 'low no talking round here
Mama don't 'low no talking round here
Well, I don't care what Mama don't 'low
Gonna shoot my mouth off anyhow
Mama don't 'low no talking round here

Mama don't 'low no singing round here
Mama don't 'low no singing round here
Well, I don't care what Mama don't 'low
Gonna sing my head off anyhow
Mama don't 'low no singing round here 

I just want to replace "banjo playing" with "littering," guitar playing" with "smoking," "talking" with "spitting," and "singing" with "radio playing." This is what I hear in my head when riding on an MTA bus or subway. I have a few more items that Mama shouldn't 'low, but it would make this entry too long.

Art on Park

Les Baigneuses, above, a sculpture by Niki de Saint Phalle, is currently reposing on the traffic island at 57th Street and Park Avenue. It's one of the reasons why a stroll up or down Park can be so pleasant. Other reasons that walking on Park can be a good experience include much wider sidewalks and some really high-end shops. (O.K., there's a Staples too, and, farther up, a Duane Reade among other interlopers.) The sculptures displayed on Park over the past few years have included the giant roses, which I commented on a while back, and even some Boteros, favorites of mine. Those giant plastic or acrylic or whatever-they-were roses looked especially nice when they had snow on them. Wonder if we'll ever see real snow in NYC again.

Here's another one, by Niki—a Totem to something or other. The other attraction on the traffic islands is the lovely floral display, donated by affluent civic-minded people. Right now it's miniature begonias.

And, finally, here's what's in front of the Seagram Building, one of my favorite edifices. Didn't get the artist or the title. Maybe it's more Niki. You tell me.

Santa Fe Dispatch

Dr. Johnson, who in his Dictionary famously defined opera as "an exotic and irrational entertainment," might still have enjoyed himself at the renowned Santa Fe Opera this (nearly) past summer. Everything there conspires to the enjoyment of the art, including the setting, as the view of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in the background to the far left confirms. Sometimes the effects of the excellent performances are enhanced by non-musical meteorological contributions such as thunder, lightning, and winds during a battle scene in Rossini's monumental Maometto II, a rediscovered masterwork.

The well-behaved and appreciative audiences are another Santa Fe advantage. Heard no cell phones go off, and very few excessive program rustlers. It helps that the beautiful program book is on heavy, rustle-proof stock. Also, we don't have early departures rushing to catch the commuter train to Westchester dashing up the aisles or, as was the case with the final performance of Billy Budd at the Met last spring, getting out of a row, stepping on feet, and ruining the last moments of Captain Vere's moving final monologue at the very end. I'm still angry about that!

Another oft-quoted opera description is by the late Ed Gardner on his hilarious 1940s radio program Duffy's Tavern ("where da elite meet to eat"): "Opera is when a guy gets stabbed in the back and, instead of bleeding, he sings." In Tosca, of course, Scarpia gets stabbed in the chest and is only able to croak out, "Soccorso—muoio," etc. (In Santa Fe's production he was then dragged through a doorway and you could just see his feet sticking out to indicate that there was a body lying there.) On the other hand, Rodrigo in Don Carlo does fulfill Gardner's description quite well, though we wouldn't want to miss his gorgeous aria.