I am continuing to get emails from members of the FDNY over this, accusing me of making the whole thing up. Why would I do that? I was obviously really upset about it, which is why I wrote about it. Why are they so threatened and unable to take criticism? And why not limit comments to the post?
Well, the wonderful James Wolcott, whose writerly support I’m always so immensely thankful for, found the story compelling and quoted from it, so it’s not like they can harass me into taking it down.
Last night Ariel and I went to a launch party for the new online version of Read Russia, a magazine about all things Russian, at Idlewild Books in Union Square. I’d heard about the event through Lauren Cerand’s happening Monday column, The Smart Set, on Maud Newton’s literary blog.
I hadn’t heard of the magazine before, but it looks like a fun, informative read, and just the kind of publication I’d be into, nostalgic Russophile that I am. I say nostalgic because it seems kind of like a zine for Russian expats living here — as well as Americans– but kind of the reverse of the Prague Post and St. Petersburg Times, and all those literary mags founded by members of my generation for Americans living in Eastern Europe in the 90s, right after the fall of Communism. Oh, to be young in the fin de siecle again :S…
And totally fell in love with Idlewild Books. Honestly, best bookstore I think I’ve seen. At least it suits me to a t. They specialize in foreign and “travel books” but I put the latter in quotes because they’re not only the kind of cheesy travel books you’re used to that really might better be called tourist books, but novels, historical accounts, and the like, written by that region’s writers, or insightful visitors, that give you a much richer, deeper sense of the place.
And, unbelievably, they had this back table of heavily discounted books, which I don’t think I’ve ever seen at a small, independent bookstore before! Books I can actually afford 🙂 I had an armful ready to buy but the cash register was long closed by the time Ariel and I ended our vodka fest (okay, my vodka fest) and got ready to leave.
Yes, they had free flavored vodka, which of course I had to have. Right when I got there, a man had just emptied into his cup the remaining bottle on the table, so a Read Russia editor brought out a new one. But she didn’t open it, and I couldn’t figure out the blasted cap to save my life. A guy must have seen me picking desperately at the thing, then giving up, and embarrased, placing it back down on the table and trying to walk away nonchalantly. He came up, unscrewed it, and without pouring himself a glass, sat the bottle right back down before where I’d been standing and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. How embarrasing.
They also had these delicious Russian candies, but the blasted things were downright elephantine. I unwrapped a cherry-wrapped log thinking it was going to be all squishy and gummy-bear-like so I could tear it apart with my teeth, but no, it was hard candy. I couldn’t bite it apart, so had to put the whole thing in my mouth. It was like the size of a small hot dog — like the kind you use for pigs in blankets! I couldn’t talk without my mouth drooling red syrup, and I kept feeling like I was going to choke, so I nonchalantly wrapped it in a napkin and placed it in an empty, used vodka cup. Apparently it takes practice to be Russian.
At the end of the evening, they gave us each as parting gifts a “Literary Map of St. Petersburg.” I was so excited — just my kind of thing! I have one of London as well. And even more exciting when Ariel discovered that there were series numbers listed on the bottom right corners. Mine was 25/100 and hers 24/100. Real, original prints! Oh how I love free art!
How does it look on my wall?
Update: for more info on this lovely little gem, go here.
Friday night Ariel invited me to my first (I think, that I can remember anyway) fashion show. It’s currently Fashion Week in New York, and though the event is mainly held in various tents at Bryant Park, they have some other shows in other places. Malan Breton, who was on Project Runway last season (says Ariel; I confess, I don’t much watch the program!) had a show in the Eli Klein Gallery in SoHo. (photo above, Breton posing for photos with his models, below, being applauded at the end of the evening)
Instead of a runway though, models just stood atop small pedestals lined up along the walls, in front of artwork in the back of the gallery. They stood there for a good two hours, while the party lasted. I have to say, I wasn’t a huge fan of his clothes (from what I saw at the gallery), but Ariel, and our friend Angie, were. Ariel fell for a sweet creme satin-faced swing dress and a long, tulle and lace ball skirt.
(Ariel in front of some of the models, one wearing a dress she liked)
Breton was really nice and unassuming, and posed for several pictures with Ariel and other fans at the end of the evening. It was interesting, though now I’d love to see a real runway show. Interesting art too, though we didn’t get to see much of it since it was so crowded. I took this one downstairs, where we went for a while to escape the crowd.
(how cute is Ariel!)
I was riding the Brooklyn-bound 2 train during evening rush hour when suddenly a man sitting across from me collapsed onto the woman next to him. The man was white, mid-forty-ish, with oily hair and lines of black under his fingernails and in the crevices of his hands. His jeans and jacket bore caked dirt and his pants were very worn. He may well have been homeless.
Of course people often fall asleep on the subway, and their head ends up on the next person’s shoulder. But they usually wake up, embarrassed and apologetic. This man didn’t budge. And I remembered him appearing fairly alert; when I boarded he’d made eye contact with me.
The woman next to him tried to inch away. When his body trailed hers as she went, she tapped his shoulder. When he still didn’t move, she took both hands and tried to push him upright. When she let go, he lurched slightly left, then fell forward, straight to the floor, crashing head first into the metal gear box under the seats.
Everyone in the car heard the thud and gasped. He remained motionless and I started to worry he’d had some kind of seizure or stroke.
Yesterday I went to Williamsburg (Brooklyn) with a new friend I met recently at the Dance on Camera festival, Teressa Valla. Teressa’s an artist — a painter and sculptor. She calls herself a “kinetic artist” because she’s inspired by and tries to capture movement. She often uses dancers as her models. Visit her website to see some of her beautiful work. We went to Brooklyn to see one of her paintings that is currently showing in the Sideshow gallery. I think it’s this painting.
I loved this gallery. It’s one of those whose walls are almost entirely covered by art. I love that. That’s the effect I try to create with my walls, although my art is all quite cheap! Some people may think it looks too busy, but not me. I love busy!
Anyway, I totally fell in love with this one piece of art by an artist named Terrence Miele. Unfortunately, the painting isn’t on the gallery’s website and the artist doesn’t seem to have his own site. It was called “Portrait of –” — someone with a long Polish or Czech-sounding last name that began with “K” — and it wasn’t really a realistic, lifelike portrait (like the above), but kind of more expressionistic, like more expressive of a feeling (like Scream — one of my favorite art works). The man, K’s features — his mouth, his eyes, and eyebrows, were all doubled, so it looked like he was shuddering. It was really disconcerting, even dizzying, to look at.
Anyway, we walked around Williamsburg, which is one of those recently gentrified arty areas where there are many galleries, browsed some over-priced used books on the street (guy wanted $10 a piece — the covers were all dirty and buggy, some pages rain-soaked, etc., come on), had Thai food (and I had Thai iced tea with brandy, which was fun but I later got a violent migraine — either from that or perhaps they used msg in my fish), and then we ended up at this great store called Junk. It was huge and they had everything from antiques to used furniture, paintings, jewelry, buttons, clothing, videos, books, etc. Teressa found a chair and a shirt and I found a table (we didn’t buy the furniture — yet) and this painting (above, for $5) that I really fell for. She laughed and said, “hmmm, Rembrandt??,” but to me it said, Musketeer! It makes me wonder who painted it — an art student playing around with Rembrandt style or is it indeed a Musketeer (I think he is about to withdraw a sword) — and how long ago was it painted, and how did it get to Junk?
Anyway, he looks kind of cute on my mantle, no?
Not to sound melodramatic, but it just seems like the recession is really changing the way some people live. My apartment building seems like party central during weekday days now. Halls are filled with the cacophany of TV cartoons, soap operas, talk shows, and blaring stereos, all of which easily penetrate walls, floors, and ceilings. Either a lot of people are out of work or they work at home and enjoy lots of background noise. And people are up all night, blaring stereos, the same noise, till all hours of the morning. You ask someone politely to please turn it down a bit and they mumble and slam the door in your face. And the other day I smelled pot coming from someone’s apartment, again, during a weekday day. This used to be a professional building, with lawyers and journalists and the like as residents. Now everyone’s rude and antisocial. Maybe the middle-classes are starting to get a small sense of what those in poorer communities have had to deal with: hopelessness, frustration, anger, boredom…
Okay, here’s my (late) list of favorites from 2008: (click on highlights to read what I wrote about each dance)
Favorite overall dance of the year:
Revelations by Alvin Ailey. Because the movement language — a unique blend of American Modern with African — is highly evocative, richly varied, and, because it’s set in a specific time and place recognizable to most if not all of us, it’s imbued with meaning and feeling accessible to everyone. And because it speaks to the human condition like no other dance I’ve ever seen. I’m still looking for something to top this and don’t know if I’ll ever find it.
Favorite new dances:
1) Nimrod Freed’s PeepDance in Central Park;
