Stay 'Way From My Seat!

Where Thin People Roam, and Sometimes Even Eat - NYTimes.com

Whenever some irritating factor of life in New York gets to me, I always give myself the advice: “If you want to live in the Big City and enjoy all that it has to offer, you have to put up with this!” And don’t insult minorities! Fortunately, it appears that, to some extent, political correctness is going out of style and, anyway, in this case I’m insulting a majority. The story, “Where Thin People Roam, and Sometimes Even Eat,” appearing in the Times on July 23, mentions that Manhattanites tend to be thinner than residents of other boroughs and, indeed, than in other parts of the U.S. Therefore, it may be safe to mention that being squashed by a fat person who attempts to sit next to you on one of the side-facing seats in the rear of the bus can be yet another downer in our great town. I’m always hoping that only a thin Asian teenager—they’re generally narrower than Westerners—will sit next to me, but this is not usually the case.

On a bus ride to my home on the East Side, I had one of those empty seats next to me when a well-dressed and well-groomed but extremely large man eased his more than hefty frame into the space. After making myself as narrow as possible and holding my breath, I capitulated and stood up. At the same moment, a seat next to a slim, handsome young man opened up across the aisle and I grabbed it. The (much younger) man and I happened to get off at the same stop. He commented, “I saw how uncomfortable you looked, and I was very amused. I really sympathized with you.” He was an acting student, going to class at the Neighborhood Playhouse and always observing people as fodder for his craft. We chatted while walking a couple of blocks to our respective destinations. Then he, obviously honing his technique for future use, said, “And you’re very pretty; I enjoyed our little talk.”

Even though that particular experience ended well, fat people, stay away from my seat!

Turtlemania—BTW I Happen to Live in Turtle Bay

Having been fortunate enough to visit the Galápagos Islands some years ago, I've always been a fan of turtles and tortoises. I remember the huge, lumbering Galápagos tortoise, its head, legs, and tail pulled in when at rest or asleep, resembling an enormous WWII Nazi helmet. And in Costa Rica, a truly memorable event was seeing a giant sea turtle lay her eggs in the sand by moonlight. In fact, even before then, as a kid I was occasionally given those baby turtles with "Souvenir of Miami" or some such other legend cruelly painted on their shells. These poor critters never lasted long, of course. My present turtle collection consists of just these three: a hand-painted one from Russia, with mermaids, considered good luck in peasant cultures there; another from a Santa Fe pottery artist; and a third, a Chinese replica of a Murano glass design, from the Smithsonian shop. In the past, I would occasionally see box turtles along the roadside when driving in upstate New York, although I now read that these are pretty endangered and rare. A wildlife book I own states that they are frequently the victims of motorists when, like the ubiquitous—and very slow—groundhog, they try to cross a highway.

Thus, it was encouraging to read this morning that all is not lost in the turtle world. If a bunch of them can hold up flights at JFK, there's reason for hope!

Flight delays as JFK airport runway taken over by turtles!

Two favorite bits of verse by one of my heroes, Ogden Nash:

Come crown my brow with leaves of myrtle,

I know the tortoise is a turtle.

Come carve my name in stone immortal,

I know the turtoise is a tortle.

I know to my profound despair:

I bet on one to beat a hare.

And that is why I'm now a pauper,

Because of its tortly, turtly torpor.

—from The Carnival of the Animals

and

The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks

Which practically conceal its sex.

I think it clever of the turtle

In such a fix to be so fertile.

More Alma-Tadema

Have the decorators no shame? Never paid any attention to the other Alma-Tadema in the little entry hallway to the ladies' dressing room. Inside the dressing room is the reproduction of A Favourite Custom (1909) that I blogged about on June 11. Happened to notice Unconscious Rivals today, and here are, top, the genuine article and, below, the pale copy on tile. Would still love to know if the dance studio ownership/management know what they have here or if they just think the pictures are pretty, which they are, of course. According to not-always-reliable-but-at-least-it's-there Wikipedia, in Unconscious Rivals, in the Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery in the U.K., "Alma-Tadema's female figures have a slightly bored, pleasure-seeking attitude, as if they were pampered courtesans. There is little action in Alma-Tadema's paintings; here two women are probably just waiting for a lover. The composition is balanced by the flowers in bloom." The same lover? Perhaps a hair-pulling match between those two carefully coiffed ladies might ensue. That would add some action!

I very much doubt if the (mostly) young innocents (ha!) who pass these pictures most days even notice them, let alone know what they are. Or care. Don't get me started on air-headedness. Actually, some of them are very bright; have responsible, professional jobs; or attend good colleges. So there.

Not Quite "The Last Rose of Summer"

A friend and I missed the major part of the June rose display at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden through no fault of our own. Since it rained for most of the month, a lot of the blossoms were probably destroyed by heavy winds and rains. But here is one fresh beauty that survived, as it looked on June 24, 2009.

Had not been to the terrific Brooklyn Museum in many years. Finally got around to being overwhelmed by Judy Chicago's 1979 feminist assemblage, The Dinner Party, and to see a fine exhibit of Impressionist paintings by an artist I had not previously encountered, Gustave Caillebotte. He was born to great wealth; thus it's good that he used his time well as an outstanding yachtsman and important artist instead of just lounging about, as he could have done.

You can buy a ticket that combines visits to both the museum and garden. The ticket seller warned us that we couldn't get our money back for the garden part of the admission if it rained. Luckily, it didn't rain until we had just about finished our visit.

Is Cute Enough?

Free-associating again! For some reason, an old New Yorker cartoon has come to mind, although I can't find it on the Cartoon Bank Web site. It depicts a huge, looming adult male looking down at a tiny, somewhat bewildered, shamefaced tot at his feet and exclaiming, "Cute is not enough!" Was reading about the varied wildlife in Central Park, in connection with the raccoon that apparently wandered onstage during a recent Shakespeare in the Park performance of Twelfth Night. From there, I segued into a memory of chipmunks, which I do find to be among nature's cutest. Raccoons, though destructive, are cute, too.

Then, my meandering consciousness evoked the memory of driving in the Hamptons behind a car that ran over, and squashed, a chipmunk. Of course, the driver didn't stop; probably didn't even know that he had murdered the tiny rodent. Then, since it was the countryside, my thoughts turned to:

British Hedgehog Preservation Society BHPS

I've always been amused by this group, which seems to be emblematic of the most endearing side of British eccentricity. And hedgehogs are cute, too. The hedgehog preservers try to prevent just the type of disaster I witnessed with the Hamptons chipmunk. They apparently patrol roadsides and try to rescue the little critters from heedless motorists. We don't have this creature in North America. What are we missing? British kids have hedgehog squeaky toys, e.g.

Pigeon Pros and Cons

Former NYC Mayor Ed Koch, never at a loss for words, has been credited with referring to urban pigeons as "rats with wings," although he may not have originated the expression. Certainly they are a major player in city life, reviled by many and loved by little old ladies and others who feed them, whether they need to be fed or not. My experience with our avian friends has been mixed. In general I find them dirty and a nuisance, but there have been exceptions.

I was fortunate enough as a child to have a father who encouraged me to live side by side with our fellow creatures, even snakes (at least the harmless ones). In our upstate New York backyard, we were able to encounter all sorts of animals and birds, including gorgeous pheasants. One day a pigeon waddled up our driveway, and I decided to feed him/her/it a few breadcrumbs. I was only a kid; wouldn't dream of doing it now. The bird returned the next day, and for several days after that, at about the same time in the afternoon. One day I wasn't home, and my mother said that the pigeon had come again but that she hadn't fed it. It never returned. No grace period for me: "Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms...."

On the unpleasant side of pigeondom, I recall walking into my dormitory at Barnard College wearing a prized new Pringle cashmere cardigan. I heard a "plop!" on one shoulder, and there was pigeon poop. Ugh—even though there's an old wives' tale that it's good luck. I also see the birds ranged in rows on certain city lampposts, looking for all the world like the eponymous predators in Hitchcock's immortal The Birds. And then there's the smallish one that flew into an unscreened window of my apartment. Since, unlike Tippi Hedren in the film, I'm not afraid of birds, I was able to open the window wider and, after a short scuffle, shoo the unwelcome visitor out.

I have visited Venice a few times and have naturally enjoyed it to the hilt, not being fazed by the feathered inhabitants of Piazza San Marco. My traveling companion on my first visit there was afraid of birds and was obliged to keep to the perimeter of the plaza instead of walking straight across it. I don't see why anyone with a fear of birds (irrational, of course, despite Hitchcock) would even visit Venice in the first place. I guess the lure of this wonderful, fabled city is worth the risk.

So, the jury is still out on pigeons. Columba had just better not poop on me again.

Aha!

Eureka! A little googling has helped me to find the source of the ladies'-room mural mentioned in the post below. It did look vaguely familiar. Would Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema turn over in his grave if he knew about this use of his painting? Anyway, here's the source, straight from the horse's mouth, i.e., the Tate Gallery:

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema 1836–1912

A Favourite Custom 1909

Oil on wood, presented by the Trustees of the Chantrey Bequest 1909

"This scene is set in the Stabian Baths of Pompeii. In the foreground one woman playfully splashes another in the 'frigidarium,' a cold bath. The artist based this work on photographs of the remains of the baths, revealed by archaeologists in 1824. He has made them more luxurious by adding a marble floor and walls which have usually been found in larger imperial baths. The Dutch-born artist Alma-Tadema achieved enormous success in Britain with carefully researched scenes like this of daily life in the ancient Roman world."

Well, I suspected as much. I wonder if anyone else is interested. Anyway, Eureka!