Closed, then No Service.

The reader must know that there is no nostalgia for Americana from this writer, but rather an interest in things nostalgic in general.  Earlier today, as I was walking around on a day which bordered between not so hot and hot, at least temperature-wise, I had thoughts of getting an egg cream from one of the many spots which advertise its wares and perhaps also of an ice cream cone (which was the thought last evening as I ventured out and about as well).  But, as is usually the case, I did not.  Although I did get a phone call inviting me to a holiday weekend barbeque, which indeed I am considering.

All this talk of refreshments reminds of a place in New Orleans that I first saw two years ago but which was closed for the day.  A year later, I visited again (as New Orleans is a fun place to go to and I heartily recommend it as one of the few places in America that are worth looking into) and the place (Royal Pharmacy) was open. First thing I did was sit at the counter and ask what refreshments they could conjure up, thinking of egg creams, flavored sodas and such such, but I was told that the soda fountain had not been working for years. What a let-down!  So, I snapped a few pictures and with a broken heart,  I found a deli a little further down the street and bought a large bottle of water from a fellow who called me "honey" or "sweetheart" or some such.

ask and you shall not receive

cheek to cheek

Following on yesterday's good fun, I decided to pop in a DVD of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers' film Top Hat.  It seems as if I had seen it before, many ages ago, but I don't quite remember it as it really was that long ago and much younger then.  But watching it was really thrilling, lots and lots of fun, and there was a familiarity with the film and the movements- and it wasn't only because it all started by wanting to see Fred Astaire dance gracefully in black coat and tails. No, it was Hollywood when it was really Hollywood, all glitz and glamor.  And the songs were more than wonderful to the accompaniment of Astaire's singing and the duo's dancing.

Really, it made me want to dance the night away.  Brilliant stuff.

a screenshot from the film. before astaire danced his way into her heart

a splash of colour

It is not often nowadays that I wear anything beyond the black and white of my everyday uniform, but over the past few months, I have cheated a little by adding a very subtle hint of color into my life.  This is in the form of my pocket square, which is still the architectural flat fold that I favor (the more floral arrangements with elaborate patterns always being tried before the mirror and then thought better of and put away).  The only difference between the usual white and the current one is that it is custom made and the color silkscreen print is entirely unique.

a little color never hurt, or does it?

But, in eager anticipation of the upcoming London trip, I was thinking, wouldn't it be fun to say adieu to the ever present black suit, white shirt and make three new flamboyant (within limits, of course) suits and three quite fun shirts and really brighten up my adventure?  The rest of the time can be the old tried and true black and white.

Up and onwards

The last days having been a bit topsy turvy with travel planning-where to go, whether or not to go, where to stay, what to eat, who to see, how to arrange it, and all the countless questions and many unforeseen others that go with traveling, I have had barely any time to focus. True that I tend to wander around all the time in my mind, jumping from this to that, but after a bit of concerted effort this late morning and early afternoon it is now confirmed that I will indeed be going (returning is a better word, perhaps) to London.  It seems so long ago that I was there last (a decade, after a simple numbers count) and considerably much longer when I was "studying" there before finally throwing in the towel to return to this place, this New York.

On more than one occasion, I thought of giving up altogether with this travel plan.  But I persevered and I really do have to pat myself on the back.  It seemed all darkness, all dark, all doom and gloom- but looked out the window at the day in day out drab scene that surrounds me and it was not hard to pull the trigger.  And you know what?  I also realized something I seemed to have forgotten along the way- that one must seize one's own destiny, come hell or high water.

which shall win out depends entirely on oneself

Looking across the ocean

A few days have passed but did not pass me by, for I have been hunting and gathering much information on a new trip abroad.  With much enthusiasm, I might add, for it has been ages since I have gone for a European excursion (past trips having been mostly here in the States and the most welcome visits to Japan which has become a bi-annual and now hopefully annual thing).  Ten years in fact, even before the Euro was introduced- now, that's ancient history!  With all the ups and downs of creating an itinerary and realizing that some things are a bit or a lot beyond what I had expected (case in point, a suite at the Savoy), it was not a surprise that I poured myself a nice stiff one last night despite being a teetotaler for the most part recently.  Well, that story is to be continued.

In the meantime, I would like to share this image which always brings a smile to my face, which is located in an obscure section inside the Saks department store.  I prefer to place a flower in my boutonniere by myself, but having a woman (preferably, one who is the epitome of style) do so is rather jolly as well.

any, why not?

Light up my life

A week or two ago, on one of the pre-summer but summer seeming hot and muggy nights, I was coaxed to take a quick stroll outside.  Air condition being the godsend that it is (despite its toll on the environment), it took something quite spectacular for me to venture out. Well, the reason was that for some extraordinary reason, there are fireflies in this neck of the woods (actually, city).  This has to be one of the most spectacular things- given that they somehow live and return to this area, so far away from their natural environment.  Sorry to say that the evening's hunt was a dismal failure, and I was soon back enjoying the cool luxury of a chilled apartment and went back to the usual activities of the evening (reading, listening to music, et cetera).

No further thought was given to the matter until a few nights ago, when taking the elevator back up to my apartment.  I saw a strange looking bug which I meant to squash- as I am no insect aficionado, and the reader should excuse my metropolitan lack of knowledge of anything of the natural world.  Just as I was about to scoot it away, it flew around and lit up. It was a firefly, all for me (and my partner, the one who initiated the failed adventure of the week before).  Now, that's something to be thankful for.

there it was before it shone and after it lit up the evening

Hail to this Chief

Last night while visiting one of my friends who has inherited a small hoard of mostly knick-knacks and worthless nonsense with a few gems thrown in here and there, I was given a small gift from that collection/pile- this following matchbook:

Mr. President

front and center for a real commander in chief

It turns out this is a hoarded matchbook from the collection of my friend's aunt, who served in the White House while President Reagan was in office.   How fun!  Why, just the other day I was reading through a compilation of Reagan's personal notes, and thinking how Presidential he really was whenever he appeared on the television.  Even as a youngster, I do remember how interesting and regal he seemed.   There was something about his nature, perhaps from being in Hollywood, perhaps from being a spokesperson for commercials et cetera, but I have no interest in getting into that here.  Unfortunately, the ones who preceded him and followed him are nowhere even close to his caliber- although there is one who has a lot of the talk but absolutely none of the action (leave it to the reader to decide who that puppet is).  Politics aside, I would like to add I always appreciate seeing President Reagan often wearing a pocket square to good effect.

A Grand time

After being in New York for many a year, too many to count, I find it increasingly rare to find anything which strikes me as spectacular.  Tourists come and gawk at Times Square and think it's the second coming, for example- but they'd jump up and down about any old thing that this place offers up to them.  Me?  If I were pressed to list places, I really couldn't think of many, although the Seagram Building is surely my favorite building here, and there are any number of interesting interiors (the Morgan Library comes to mind, especially Morgan's office).  Really, it's hard to reel them off...

The reason I write this is because I was just reminded of a pretty good place the other day when I had to meet someone for a casual lunch- we met in Grand Central, and the hustle and bustle of the crowd made the whole place quite fun in a metropolitan kind of way. Looking up at the renovated ceiling depicting the heavens, it was quite super.  Now, if everyone were dressed to the nines instead of the usual casual "whatever"/"comfortable" mode, then it would be really spectacular.

stars cross us above in day as shining light beams through

Pieces coming together

One would think that in a bustling city of materialistic culture like New York that there would be any number of great store displays all the time, but it is simply not true.  Perhaps it may catch the eye of a visiting hick from the sticks, no offense to the other regions of the world (many places of which are actually far more interesting and infinitely more beautiful than any city), but for the jaded eyes of this idler of the metropolis, very few and far between actually strike my fancy.  There are of course the elaborate windows of Bergdorf come the holiday season, but that's only to be expected.  Anyway, the always fun store Anthropologie had some elaborate and colorful wooden collages made from scrap pieces which was plenty of summer fun.  Inside is also good too- their curatorial sense is spot on.  Fortunately, I am not a woman, or I would probably be spending a lot of time and quite a bit of money in there.

a piece, piece by piece

Most suitable

Despite the always unwelcome arrival of the Summer season (no desire to go to the beach here!), many of my thoughts often turn to dreams of suits and such.   This is of course no surprise for those in the slightest bit acquainted with myself in the past however many years.  Anyway, what is new is not an interest in sartorial matters, but the wholehearted move towards creating garments for myself in a bespoke manner but which stem entirely from my/our own production.  This is both a frightening and exciting endeavor, and one of which I am sure will appear on the pages of this blog as soon as possible.  

For reference, here is the assemblage of pieces which make up the pattern of one of the possible summer suits which are being thought of right now-

looking towards a bit of sartorial fun time in summer

A belated goodbye.

With the imminent destruction of the fabled Mars Bar here in what used to be the unwanted part of the city and having passed by a sale of items from the key/hardware store next to it the other day, I did not realize that a part of my own memory had been distorted.  A documentary which I watched last night, The Tao of 9 2nd Avenue, made me question my own sanity. While watching it, I was made aware not only of the devastation wrought over the past few years in the name of progress- this is nothing new to the Lower East Side, East Village, Nolita, et cetera, but the twisted nature of it in my own conscience.  In the film, the focus was on a certain building which used to serve as a community center, and which had inside it a swimming pool and a church.  Watching it in its entirety, I could not make sense of what was happening because I could have bet anyone anything that the building still stood.  But, even after the footage of the demolition was seen by my own eyes, I could have sworn that it was still there.

I could not add 1 and 1 together in this instant.  This was particularly startling as I am often one with quite a long memory, especially of places.  It is a kind of nostalgia for the old days, something that is becoming commonplace nowadays.

Well, today, I walked by the area (which, actually I do almost every day) and my eyes were greeted with the erasure of the old.  What I thought was there was no longer, and had not been for years now.  How many other things in my life are this way, I do not even want to begin to think.

A curious lapse in memory and time (screenshot from the film)

Playing around

A few days ago, I found myself on the most sweltering day inside Steinway Hall to have a look see at the pianos. Now, for those who have a passing acquaintance with me, the piano is something that I play around on every chance I get.  I have a keyboard at home, but that is so different as to be another instrument altogether!  Well, the main reason that I did so on that day was to meditate on an upcoming music composition which I was invited to contribute for a French exhibition.  It was rather difficult to find an instrument suitable for my needs because two of the larger rooms were closed to the public, and only the two smaller rooms on the first floor were available for fiddling about. This was hindered further by several of the pianos on show being the lesser models (that is, those without the Steinway moniker). Despite the disappointment, I was able to find one all right piano which served its purpose and I had the simple joy of playing for a little while all by myself and for myself.

Above the entrance before entering the space that is Steinway

Another of the night.

Posts being a bit scarce these past few days due to my inactivity and general idleness, I thought that some short chit chat could be writ this early evening.  continuing on from the talk of a few posts back. There are interesting and positive things which appear only in the evening- hidden from view though not necessarily away from the public eye. Case in point is one of the most spectacular florists- Ovando, this one located in the West Village (the other one on the Upper East Side also is superb, but this original location seems more rarefied). At night, unattended and lit for whomever is privileged to catch their eye, the flowers radiate such awesome beauty.

Night falls ever so steadily all around beckoning the day to come

floral fireworks

With little or no fanfare but a certain quiet joy in my heart, I submit the following image to celebrate this 100th blog post of mine.  No other words today, other than thank you and let us go forth together.  

as a bouquet arrives as sure as day

Love will

The other day I was at a street fair (truth be told, it was a book fair), and despite the fact that my attention was primarily focused on the books (although there was not much to offer for me, except for a copy of Homer's Odyssey), my ears became entranced by the clarity of some voices that were broadcast over the speakers.  I looked up to see whether there was someone performing live- so clear was the sound.  Then, all of a sudden, I realized why I was captivated by the singing- they were voices from the not so distant though distant past, singing to me of friends from a long time ago- some of whom I keep in touch with, some of whom have I have forgotten or have been forgotten by and et cetera.  But, it didn't matter one bit.  I looked up at the sky and thought of them all, and in particular, thought of her and the always that is the past which is past I know but still, all the promise of everything good that will come to us in the future.

The sky above as the song sang through and through.

Wait, of the World

The other afternoon, a stroll through one of the many small neighborhood parks rewarded me with some folk-art style sculptures that in my mind's eye of youth reflected the works seen and subconsciously registered in the 1970s.  Of the few that I took some spare moments to look at, there was one slightly abstract one which could very well be of Atlas supporting the heavens.  At least, I hope that it was, because it looks as if his burden is a little bit reduced.

A similar feeling I have these days, too, as if something is up ahead.  Usually, I call it a "storm" because it seems more dramatic that way, but often enough what happens is that beauty blows through ever so lightly and then things become ever so much more clearer than clear.

Lest the heavens fall, but should they, then what of it?

Night falls and retracts

The other night, after a more than fun conversation with a superior writer (which will be the topic of another time), I decided that it would be a delight to stroll home despite the far distance.  It being around 10 in the evening, which is usually bedtime in this dull house, was no deterrent at all.  A good thing, too, as there was a sublimely lit fountain that were I not a denizen of the nighttime (for one night), I would have not had the chance to encounter.

Everything seemed a bit different that evening, as if it were the beginning of a new adventure.

blue white flows the evening, light as air.

In this Manor, June 4

Some of the time, I just haven't any interest in reading in general.  So, like most folks, I tend to look at the pictures. Of course, since most of the books I am interested in are books of the art and architecture variety, this is not a problem.  But when it comes to books that have actual content, or are works of fiction, then merely looking is clearly not an option.

For what reason I picked up George Orwell's Animal Farm for the first time since I read it in elementary school, I am not quite sure.  I do remember that I had a memory of distaste for the characters of the book, but I chalked that up to my childish mind of the time.  But, rereading it the other night, all the same sorts of feelings returned.  As with Orwell's other more famous work (1984), it is as if nothing and everything has changed. The nature of the game is even more insidious, and the world is even more suspect.  And, like before but worse, I have not done a thing- at least, back then, at least I could say I was innocent.

I do recommend that people give Animal Farm another read, and see how their own world vision has or has not changed. Somehow, I suspect that one will only be angry at oneself for complacency- a key theme that seems to recur in some of these idle posts.

the story still rings true, through and through.

With that in mind, this is the anniversary of the June 4 Tiananmen Square "incidents," that is, if one remembers them at all.  But, come tomorrow, June 5th, will it be shuffled aside once again, as it is year after year?  If so, why bother remembering it at all?

A book and a story related to its author and myself.

For quite a long while now, I haven't read a proper novel.  Not for lack of effort, as my eyes often glance over the pages of many a book.  Oftentimes, I put them down or have to return them because they just can't maintain any interest.  The fact is that none of them seem to have what it takes to motivate me to read past a few pages (at most).  This of course does not pertain to mystery novels, which I read with alarming frequency- but which for the most part are not to be categorized as books but as mere entertainment.

Last week, though, I was fortunate enough to receive an inscribed copy of the upcoming first novel (Everything Beautiful Began After) by the writer Simon Van Booy- whose two previous books of short stories are more than wonderful.  Having been bogged down by some small nonsense, I was not able to give it the attention that it deserved, so put off reading it until this morning.

The past few hours had me captivated by the range of its small world, and I will not give anything away but to say now after finishing it, that it is something that is well worth reading. My only regret was that the book ended so soon (despite its being 400 pages or so), and as always, I look forward to reading anything of his.

I will also add here a little story of my short encounter with Mr. Van Booy last week.  When I asked him whether I could ask him something (which contemporary authors that he recommended), he countered by saying if he could ask me something in return.  Of course, I said yes.  He asked where I got my pocket square from.  Not missing a beat, I took it out and told him that I made it and he could have it as a gift.  As he inscribed his book to me, he asked me also to sign the pocket square. That was great fun.

An advance copy of the lovely book.

Away at it

There's always something or some things that whittle away at my own mind, a sort of thinking that precludes thought and which captures not moments but traps them in a worthless time and space.  One way or another, what wants and needs to be said, written or done is somehow forgotten- and then, it is past its time, past its prime, past all of it.

An exhibition I happened to walk into the other day, showing some sculptures which showed the immense fragility behind strength- how even solid things can become close to air.

Piece by piece are thus whittled away

Weeds

For those who are in favor of counting down as days pass and months go by in their humdrum way, this is the beginning of a new month.  Instead of ceding to this, I find it much more fascinating to watch things always as an outside insider or an inside outsider- this may be a result of never wanting to belong to any club, society, or whatnot.  Quite an indirect case in point is, in deference to an earlier post of how nature reclaims itself over the wicked ways of the human world, the recent appearance of weeds in some patches of my urban neighborhood.  Although many would weed them out, I find their unrestrained growth quite delightful, joyous and magical.

That nature cast its spell over the land