Three-Handed at Jonathan LeVine Gallery

by baad lamb

Cleveland Mississippi, 1932 by Nicola Verlato

Last Saturday I went to Jonathan LeVine Gallery to see the opening of the group show “Three-Handed”. The titular three very talented painters are Eric White, Nicola Verlato and Fulvio Di Piazza. Eric White is from Ann Arbor, but lives and works in Brooklyn, as does the Verona, Italy born Nicola Verlato, who has sculptural works in this show as well. Mr. Di Piazzi, from Siracusa, Italy, currently produces his paintings in Palermo, Italy.

Much more, and plenty of pictures after the jump

Why Does The Night Fall ...

By Habanasky

Why does the night fall when it knows that I won't hold you in my arms because you are so far. Does the night not realize that everytime it comes I think of you and feel so blue.

The stars look on me and the tears twinkle in their eyes because they know my heart is lonely without you and the wishes we made go undiscovered ... you are not by my side.

The moon has lost its glow as the darkness fills my soul and I can't bear to see how sad we've both become.

I once saw my reflection in your eyes, but now you won't take the time to find what we once felt, the energy that brought us to each other long before we met.

I once touched you and could feel your love, but now you push away my every thought, every caress.

I once knew what was in your heart, but now I feel like we are worlds apart and there's no reasoning or logic, but still you choose to give us up, to turn your back ... walk away and ignore the words I say.

So my cries go unheard and my words just blow into the wind ...

And everytime the night falls I hear them once again.

Leslie Jordan's: My Life Down the Pink Carpet

Leslie Jordan, of "Will & Grace" and "Sordid Lives" fame (among so much else), opened a 12-week run in NYC of his autobiographical, "My Trip Down the Pink Carpet" last week.  You can get more information and available showtimes from the show's site.
He and Lily Tomlin, who is producing his show with Jane Wagner, were on "The View" this morning and have been making the press-junket rounds.  Even on The View he was hilarious which doesn't surprise me in the least.  I think he's one of those rare actors that has so much comedic talent just oozing from his pores that he must leave a trail of sloppy, laughing, people in his wake.  Thursday night I'm hoping to be one of them.

It Wouldn't Have Mattered

By Knucklecrack

I could tell you it was the White Party or The Winter Party or some weirdo after party where you dance in the middle of a zoo, but it wouldn't matter. I could also tell you that this was the party where the lights went out, or where the DJ collapsed on her turntables, or where Teddy and Eddy broke up, or where somebody took a dump on the dance floor, or where that guy I've seen a few times out died of a GHB overdose. I could tell you all that, but it wouldn't matter.

What matters is that it was Carmine and me, old pals, arms slung around the others shoulder, stumbling through loose-fit sneakers through the rocky terrain of empty water bottles and plastic cups. Danced-dazed-drug walking shirtless human apes, trudging for an exit. And we were with them.

It was balmy outside. Our bodies sticky with the crowd, the heat and sweat. The lights glowed, thumping lightly. We stood there rolling on our heels for awhile coming to our senses. Buoys in the middle of the sidewalk.

I lit a cigarette. "Where to now?"
"Let's go back to my room. We'll shower, sit down for awhile and head to the after party."
"Aye, Aye Captain."

The walk was pleasant and goofy. I kept grabbing Carmine from the back and squeezing his ribs, tickling him. Making him run away from me and then whining that he was too far away. Pals. Real true pals. It's the only word that comes to mind. That push-push, "I've known you forever/we've been through this thing together" familiarity and old-root strength. We've been there, with each other, the whole time.

At a stoplight I went to poke his ribs another time. He had a delayed response. He wasn't paying attention. He was somewhere else. He pushed away my arm and began walking closer to the wall. Our energy dropped.

"Hey," He said, "I have to tell you something."

Lost Gay New York: Lost Lingo, Park Queens and Department Store Queens

By Perry Brass

“The rent is $69,” my roommate on Central Park West, Bob Schwiller told me. “A lotta people make something of that. It’s actually $16.80 a week, but to make it easy, I’ll ask you for $69.”

I asked him what he meant by “people make something out of it,” and he told me that “69” was code for gay sex. “So if your rent was $69, people just put two-and-two together, and that’s what they get,” he added. “Their minds are always in the gutter. Sometimes I don’t mind being there myself.”

After I moved in, I met many of Bob’s friends. They were all older guys who’d been in New York for a while, remembering queer New York during World War II, when the city was “wide open, not like now when everything’s closed up still because of the Fair.”

This was 1966, remember.

One thing I got out of meeting his friends were that gays were often “specialized,” and had a lingo of their own. They needed the lingo, because you had to be able to talk about something very forbidden, queer sex and its devotees, in a way that straights could not decode.

Perry Brass at the NYC Gay and Lesbian Center June 25, 2009

By Father Tony

The other day, while reading up on new QNY voice Perry Brass, I began to think that I recognized him. I looked into my Youtube archives and found this. I don't know if he's ever seen it.

Midnight Cowboyz

by Father Tony

Four New Yorkers (L to R) Doug Meade, Olivier Cale, Bob Wilson and Peter Zupcofska spent the day hootin and hollerin at the Gay Rodeo in Fort Lauderdale.

Exit Through the Gift Shop. Banksy, is that you?

by baad lamb

"I always used to encourage everyone to make art. I don’t do that any more." -Banksy

"Life is a chess game, and I don’t know how to play chess." -Thierry Guetta aka Mr. Brainwash

As soon as I heard about Exit Through the Gift Shop, I started to doubt the premise. The concept of a documentary movie both about and by the camera shunning world famous street artist-provocateur Banksy seemed beyond unlikely. Then after seeing the trailer, I got really skeptical (rather unusual because I’m actually pretty trusting, and don’t automatically step into the doubt side).

Yet here I was prepping myself to look for subtle Fight-Club revealing moments. Would we ever see Banksy and Thierry together in the same shot? I wondered which one might be playing “the game” on The Other, sustaining a prolonged cerebral fabrication between Dueling Art-heads, two opposites acting completely genuine while purposely leaving us guessing the reality of either.

Much more after the jump...

It's a hard knock life.....

Lock it up....

Out Goes The Baby With The Bath Water?

By Father Tony

(photo by David Goldman for the New York Times)

The city wants to reduce the number of vendors of "expressive media" that clog the sidewalks of its major public parks.

While I agree that they are a nuisance, I think that simply reducing their number is not the best approach. Better would be a change of definition of what is allowed. All the mass-produced stuff ought to be prohibited, leaving only original arts and crafts made by New York City artists and artisans. Photography should be allowed but only if the photographer is the one who has the permit for the assigned spot. Businesses that traffic in identical stuff that is available in dozens of adjacent booths ought to be eliminated.

The same rule change ought to be applied to those scoundrels who sell funnel cake, bedding and fake oriental rugs at all the neighborhood street fairs.

Simply limiting the number of vendors will unfortunately eliminate some local artists who are not backed by a large retail entity that is simply taking over our public spaces and detracting from the beauty of our parks.

These permits to sell stuff are supposed to benefit local artists and artisans, but they don't. I don't think the tourists will miss those endlessly churned out photos of Marilyn Monroe and Elvis.

QNY Welcomes A New Voice - Habanasky

by Father Tony

Please join me in welcoming our first female QNY voice, Habanasky.

She is a Cuban born lesbian writer and poet. You'll have to ask her if the name she has chosen for this blog is pronounced Habanaski as if it were a Polish name, or, Habana Sky as in the lyric "There's full moon in the Havana sky tonight". Either way, I'm delighted that the QNY family now contains a female voice. We started out with an unintentional lack of diversity and I've made efforts to recruit good writers who are more reflective of the glorious diversity that is NYC. Let's hope she doesn't choke on the high level of testosterone in this room!

Habanasky, glad you're with us and looking forward to hearing from you often!

QNY Welcomes A New Voice - Perry Brass

By Father Tony

On behalf of our growing QNY family, I'd like to welcome our newest member Perry Brass!

Perry is an accomplished author and well known speaker who moved to NYC in 1966 and was one of the earliest members of the Gay Liberation Front.

Please visit PerryBrass.com for a complete list of his many books and projects. His newest book is The Manly Art of Seduction. He has just begun his QNY series  Lost Gay New York.

Oh Ricky

By Father Tony

Lost Gay New York, A Series by Perry Brass

I came to New York in August of 1966, a month before my nineteenth birthday. I had grown up in the Deep South, in Savannah, Georgia, and New York was strange to me. It felt immediately huge, rude, cold, and unfriendly. And also, quite ungay. You have to remember, this was only a year after the New York World’s Fair (1964-65), when Mayor Wagner had closed down most of the gay bars in the city to keep hordes of tourists and their families from stumbling innocently into queerness. So the few bars that remained open or were re-opened later by the Mafia (and in this period, Tony Soprano and his cousins ran virtually all gay enterprises in the city) were still vulnerable to shake-downs by the cops.

I’d also been away from home (or at least the city of my birth) for more than a year. In order the escape the South, where I had already come out, and the literal threats of murder I’d had there, I hitchhiked, at the age of 17, after a year of college at the University of Georgia, to San Francisco. Gay Nirvana. This was the interesting period of my real coming out—being a 17-year-old attractive kid on his own in California, where I could not wait 10 minutes for a bus without guys cruising by and trying to pick me up—but it’s another story. So by the time I got to New York, I’d already had somewhat of a life, and New York seemed less than welcoming. But immediately I got a job. In those days it was simple: there were more jobs than people in the city, during the boom period of the mid-60s, and since I had wanted to work, in my naive way, in the “art field,” I got a job as a messenger/apprentice at an art studio in the East 50s.

Gay Extortion

For my adult life I have always been a replicator, never an originator. As Oscar Wilde stated " Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone elses opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation."

My computer skills are similar, I nearly failed "Fortran" and "BASIC" programming during my college years. Thanks to the folks that created the internet, and write software for bloggers I can now join the legions on the web.

After a string of gay cyber social site linked killings Father Tony warned us once of inviting men into our homes for hook ups. He labeled such conduct the "Gay Death Wish" He was correct.

Now the BBC is reporting that a Porn Virus malware can copy a persons web history. After the criminals burglarize a computer's content they contact the owner with a vile threat. " Pay up and buy our clean up removal program" or we will post your private web history for the world to see.

Because most of us including myself are replicators we have to "trust" the others whether it's a website, car mechanic, lawyer, physician and other trust based professions and institutions. However as we have seen from the greed on Wall Street, corrupt elected officials, the Y2-K scare and social net working cites, criminals are lurking everywhere.

For our community in which many of us have more robust, varied and progressive views of sexuality a public posting of a persons cyber history could cause personal and professional destruction. As what may be normal in our community would be viewed as "deviate" by many others. ( hypocrisy not withstanding)

We are still in the infancy of the web,GOOGLE" pulling out of China because of cyber crimes and spying by a repressive regimes are a bold reminder. That yes the web is awesome but like driving on a highway when you enter you assume risk. When you drive and surf the web every click could result in a virus, malware, and now this public extortion. Scary stuff.

Smoky Chocolate Lava Cookies

by Hungry Rabbit

Chocolate Chip Cookies fresh from the oven are an American favorite that translates quite easily to foreign palates. The distinct smell of butter and chocolate is intoxicating. Ever since my first bite of this seemingly simple cookie, I've been searching for the right combination of chocolate, sweetness, and texture. As with brownies, there are so many interpretations: thin, thick, large, small, chewy, crispy, plus the magical extras of walnuts, almonds, and peanuts. All have something to recommend them.

After much research, baking, and dedicated sampling, I found the Jacques Torres' cookie suits me well. It's a combination of chewy center, slight crispy edge, buttery taste—all with a pronounced chocolate essence. Every bite of this cookie has chocolate. He uses chocolate discs/féves which do not harden after baking, but remain soft and slightly gooey. It's pure sensory overload of flavor and texture. To further amp up the complexity, I tossed in my favorite smoked almonds.

The only drawback to this recipe is that you have to make it ahead of time and chill the dough for at least a day, so the recipe can’t deliver instant gratification. It does support complete indulgence, however.

(recipe after the jump)

Mould & Morel's Blowoff:NYC - Friday, April 23rd

There are probably more hyped dance parties in New York then you can shake a stick at these days but I'm not sure any of them can come close to Bob Mould & Rich Morel's Blowoff.  Phenomenal music and a swelling crowd of humpy dudes for everyone's taste.
And luckily this isn't a review but a call to action: it's happening next week so everyone has time to make appropriate arrangements, launder their slightly faded, ironic-text t-shirt (that you'll end up taking off about a half hour into the thing anyway) and get their Friday evening disco naps in to be able to attend.

BlowOff: NYC

Friday April 23rd, 11:30pm - 4am @ Canal Room

285 West Broadway NYC

$15 in Advance / $20 at the door

Tickets

Blowoff Facebook Page

Spring Flowers From the Greenmarket

By Brooklyn Bill

Like Stash and hungry rabbit, spring makes me think of certain foods, especially fresh produce from the Greenmarket. But I'm also delighted this time of year with the reappearance of gorgeous, locally grown flowers.

I'm usually loyal to a family of flower growers from Burlington County, New Jersey, who come to my neighborhood Greenmarket at Grand Army Plaza. The past couple of weeks, though, I've been stepping out on them and buying my bouquets at the Union Square market. Don't tell 'em.

Anemones

Narcissus. These were advertised by the farmer as mildly scented, and they do have a nice perfume along the lines of hyacinth, only much more subtle.

TAX TIME

These boots are made for walking........

LYNDA CARTER'S (Wonder Woman) BOOTS.

LYNDA CARTER'S BOOBS (and first husband). I took these SX70's in 1980.

13Relay: Baton-passing to Homo Mecca

By Beau

On May 1st and 2nd, a team comprised of 12 NYC Front Runners will be running the 13Relay, a 199-mile course starting in Boston and ending in P-Town.  Each runner will run three non-consecutive legs of the race over 24-hours, morning, noon, and night.  I've never done one of these kinds of races before but the Front Runners team was so gracious and kind to invite me to participate when I inquired about the race, even allowing for my self-confessed glacial-paced galloping.

Quite honestly, I'm still not sure how it all works other than there are vans full of team-mates, water stops, three-changes of clothing, and lots of cheering.  I hope we can hang out of the van and be loud and obnoxious while seeing the beautiful sites of New England so I'm planning on taking my flip-cam and tweeting while I'm running (not safe but whatevs).  I am disappointed that in crossing the finish line in beautiful, downtown Cape Cod, I won't be able to spend any time there and will have to haul ass back to NYC for work on Monday but that's the way these things sometimes go.

OH....REALLY...!

BREAKING NEWS - QNY Exclusive: It's Official 2010 NYC Pride March Cut by 25%

by Maurice Michaane



On Monday April 12th, the General Membership of NYC Pride (HOP), which was open to the public, discussed and voted on how to respond to the new City-Wide March/Parade rules.

In the interest of the NYC community, the details of the meeting last night will not be released until negotiations for all City-Wide March's/Parades are finalized.

JoeMyGod - The Florida Boy Comes Home

This was an especially enjoyable interview for South Florida Gay News, and one which rather wrote itself.

Review: Psycho Beach Party

Posted by David

If this past week is any indication, summer is nearly upon us.  Time to start breaking out your swimsuits, sun glasses and multiple personalities!

At least, that is the de rigueur beach-wear featured in the Pipeline Theatre Company's exuberant and bouyant production of Charles Busch's Psycho Beach Party playing for a woefully short run at the Theatres at 45 Bleeker, located in the East Village.

John Early as Chicklet, flanked by Shane Zeigler as Nicky (l) and Brian Maxsween as Yo-Yo (r).  Photo by Suzi Sadler.

Spring Fever

by hungry rabbit

When I get Spring fever, it's not the daffodils, grape hyacinth, or snow caps that evoke the feeling. Flowers are beautiful, but it's the food that truly touches my heart. I long to stroll through the farmer's market and buy the produce of spring. There's the fragrant garlic scape, the abundance of asparagus, and the sweet smell of strawberries. But my true romantic notion of spring is being in Paris and eating those beautifully colorful macaroons in a café and sipping tea or espresso. The delicate nature of these sweet treats is seemingly simple, yet alluringly satisfying.

As the weather warms and daylight saving is upon us, I can't help but to make these French classics that may be the next sweet phenomenon after cupcakes. Since both M and I are lovers of all citrus, I naturally made Lemon Macarons for this occasion. The crunchy shells are sweet, yet the scent of lemon brings the perfect balance of freshness. The creamy curd is made not just for the textural contrast, but it provides a tangy sharpness to brighten the palette. When you bite into a Lemon Macaron, you'll be pleasantly surprised with the complexity.

(Recipe after the jump)

The 39 Steps

Posted by Mondschein

"The 39 Steps" at New World Stages, March 27, 2010

The transfer from it's two-year run on Broadway, including stints at the Roundabout's American Airlines, to the Cort, to the Helen Hayes is starting to show its wear now that Maria Aitken's skillfully and cleverly directed farce has moved off-Broadway to New World Stages.

I had hoped to find this production as tight as the transfer of Avenue Q a few months ago, but such is not the case.

John Behlmann certainly has the requisite movie star looks of protagonist Richard Hannay, though he looks a bit young for the role.  Kate MacCluggage also falls just a hair short of the Hitchcock blonde.  It's still quite funny, but some of the sophistication seems to have been lost along the way.

I still think this is the right venue for this production.  I hope the producers will give the audience enough time and direction to find it in its new home.


Click here for my original review.

Time Stands Still

Posted by Mondschein


"Time Stands Still" presented by Manhattan Theatre Club at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre, March 24, 2010

Donald Margulies continues his successful relationship with MTC in his latest work, Time Stands Still, an exploration of two war journalists trying to survive the aftermath of recording the gore and horrors in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Jamie (Brian D'Arcy James) brings home long-time girlfriend, Sarah (Laura Linney), in the last stages of recovery from injuries by a roadside bomb.  Her scarred and broken body belies her passion for the value of her photography as a means to expose the injustice and cruelty of war.

Tightly directed by Daniel Sullivan, the able cast brings us a compelling tale of a warrior who can't stop fighting despite the love she receives.  Ms. Linney is, as always, clear and focused in her portrayal of Sarah.  Mr. Bogosian and Ms. Silverstone support very well as Jamie's editor/publisher and his new, young girlfriend, respectively.  It is Mr. D'Arcy James who carries the evening.  His Jamie is exhausted from the real battles that he and Sarah cover, the battle of her infidelity as well as the battle to get Sarah to leave the danger of that life behind.  He's always first to reach out and always ends up rejected.  It's a remarkable performance.


Time Stands Still closed on March 27.

Starwatch - Mary Louise Parker was in the audience (scouting for the movie, perhaps?).

All About Me

Posted by Mondschein


"All About Me" at Henry Miller's Theatre, March 25, 2010

It's as odd as you might imagine.  Michael Feinstein and Dame Edna Everage have combined forces for an evening of music and Dame Edna.

Mercifully, it has closed, but one can't help but wonder if Max Bialystock was a part of this bizarre mash-up.  The wannabe Vegas style set, complete with 12 piece band and a white grand piano filled most of the stage, shoving the action to the apron.  Why Christopher Durang allowed his name to be associated with this travesty is beyond me.  It must have been an impressive check that arrived with no performance clauses in the contract.


Alas, maybe the third time will be the charm for this newest house on Broadway, now named the Stephen Sondheim.

A QNY Restaurant Review: Má Pêche

By Brooklyn Bill

I had my first dining experience at a restaurant in David Chang's Momofuku empire yesterday. My friend and co-worker Joyce and I enjoyed a terrific late lunch at the brand-new Má Pêche.

The surprising highlight for me was the Chou-Flour Chiên, fried cauliflower flavored with curry, mint, and fish sauce. That was one of two small plates Joyce and I shared to begin the meal. (It's on the left in the photo.) I'd love to have a big bowl of that in lieu of a bag of popcorn the next time I go to the movies. The other small dish was Côtelletes de Porc, pork ribs in a magical lemongrass caramel sauce.

The Manly Art of Seduction by Perry Brass

By Darling!

I haven't read this book yet but I plan to. Perry also runs work shops on this topic at The GLBT Center........very interesting. Maybe I should get some pointers? Lord knows I need some.
Go here for more info.

The Art of Blogging - A GALLA Panel

By Father Tony

I was delighted to moderate an impressive panel of bloggers yesterday including the Miami Herald's Steve Rothaus who is the go-to voice of gay south Florida, Steve Petrow who is about to release a book on gay etiquette, and Manhattan's own juggernaut gay blogger and my house guest Joe Jervis. Here's how Steve R recaps it in the Miami Herald. Be sure to click through to the candid photos by Jon Schwenzer. I especially love the ones of JMG looking supremely bored. Actually, whenever he was talking he was animated.

From that set, L to R, are Steve Rothaus, Steve Petrow, Joe Jervis, Tony Adams, and Chad Thilborger of our host, the Stonewall Library.

Early Spring: Highline Park

View from the Model Stand

What I'm Reading Now: Jay Lake's "Mainspring"

By Beau

What if the world as we know it wasn't subject to the unseen, untouchable laws of mass, gravity, and velocity but instead followed its normal helio-centric orbit by way of a colossal brass gear wheel encircling the equator of the earth along a Divinely-made brass track, with all the other planets of the solar system?  And what if the clock-work mechanics that kept the world spinning on its brass track around the sun were winding down and the earth was starting to slow and falter?
That is the premise of Jay Lake's clockpunk work, "Mainspring", set in a alternate, fantastical world of the early 1900's where the zeppelins and sea ships of the British and Chinese Empires battle for supremacy in Northern Earth while the colossal Equatorial Wall separates it from the exotic, mythological lands of Southern Earth.  Throw on top of all that a Christianity-like religion that had the Roman's crucifying the Brass Christ not on a cross but on a giant gear and wheel referred to as the horofix and we've got ourselves a novel, innovative story unlike anything, anywhere people have read before.

Sunset on the Mountain, Night-time in the Valley

An Easter Parade of Shame

NYC's St. Vincent Hospital to close

The New York Times is reporting St. Vincent's Hospital, a staple for health care in the West Village and haven for early AIDS/HIV care in the 80's, will close in a few weeks because of mounting financial debt.  The question floating around the city is whether any of the larger medical systems that dominate Hospital Row on the East Side or in the northern part of Manhattan will see an opportunity to buy into a prime location for a presence in the West Village.  An earlier partnership deal with Mt. Sinai fell through last week though it seems the door is open now for an outright purchase of the system.

I never worked or had services at St. Vinny's but don't think many of my friends and co-workers at some time have not been directly a part of either providing or receiving care there.  It's a historic hospital that had its mission of care to New Yorkers, regardless of their ability to pay, is etched in the foundations of the hospital.

The great concern now is where will all those people who have used St. Vinny's to get both their acute and long-term care can go for help and whether the other hospital systems in the city can absorb the impact.

Next Fall: A Review

 I am probably coming to the party a little late, since Next Fall started life off-Broadway as a Naked Angels production, where it enjoyed a long run and several extensions.  Elton John and David Furnish stepped in at some point to produce it on Broadway, specifically the Helen Hayes Theatre, where I hope it enjoys another good long run.  

QNY Series - How I Got Here - Tony Adams

By Tony Adams

This is my entry in the QNY series describing our becoming New Yorkers. They are inspired by the New York Magazine series.

My approach to New York City took the form of regular inoculations that built an addiction rather than an immunity to the city. At five, my parents brought me to the Empire State Building. At thirteen, my best friend and I took a bus to the World's Fair. After ten minutes at the fair, we took a bus and a subway into Manhattan without any plans or directions. We wandered about until dark when with the help of strangers we managed to get back to the fair in time to catch our homeward bus to Connecticut. We never told our parents what we had done. At the age of nineteen, a newly ordained priest friend brought me to New York to see Lauren Bacall in Applause. When she sang Welcome to the Theater she looked straight at me. Two years later, that same priest booked us a room at the Plaza Hotel for the three days before I set sail on the SS Raffaello for my Roman years. At the age of twenty-eight, I was being kept by a wealthy older man in his East 69th Street coop, spending Monday mornings watching television with his maid while he was at the office.

I don't know when I realized that Tiffany's didn't actually serve breakfast, but it was probably concurrent with my realization that to live in New York City without money of one's own is an adventure best left to the very young and very pretty. At the age of thirty, I felt as if I had missed that bus and had given up any thought of becoming a New Yorker. Years later, with cash in our pockets from earlier real estate investments, the Baad Lamb and I went shopping for a Manhattan home.

Reasonable Facsimile

Lend Me A Tenor

Posted by Mondschein


"Lend Me A Tenor" at the Music Box, March 13, 2010

I have always thought Stanley Tucci was a very smart actor.  Making his directorial debut on Broadway, he has only proved that theory by reviving a war horse of a play, Ken Ludwig's Lend Me A Tenor.  On top of that he has assembled, for the most part, a most excellent and talented cast to carry out this farce of egos and ambitions courtesy of the fictional Cleveland Grand Opera. 


World-class opera star, Tito Merelli (Anthony LaPaglia) has arrived to sing the title role in Verdi's Otello for the company, with his wife Maria (Jan Maxwell) in tow.  CGO assistant Max (Justin Bartha) is under strict orders from general manager Saunders (Tony Shalhoub) to keep Signor Merelli from wine and women until after the performance.  The entire city is eager to meet the star, including Max's sometime girlfriend and Saunders' niece, Maggie (Mary Catherine Garrison), her aunt Julia (Brooke Adams), company soprano Diana (Jennifer Laura Thompson) and the Bellhop (Jay Klaitz).  As befitting a farce, mistaken identity, false deaths and bed-hopping all follow in due course.  All that's missing are the Marx Brothers, whom surely must have been in Mr. Ludwig's mind as he wrote.

Elbow Room

[Highline Park, Chelsea]

I learned at an early age that cities make me claustrophobic, especially the big concrete canyon ones.  I've learned to cope, but when I start snarling at strangers because they happen to be standing near me, I know it's time for a trip out of town, or at least to some location where I can see long views and some sky.

From High Above & Far Below

by baad lamb


Samuel Rousseau as seen at Volta New York 2010. From high over their heads we see men walking purposely, rapidly, on the way to somewhere. But they are trapped in their 3D backlit blister-pack of brightly colored pills, and every direction is a dead end. Constantly on the move, yet consistently getting nowhere.




Then, as the baad lamb lies down on Water Street directly under the Brooklyn Bridge, looking up at the feet-first view of pedestrians from far below produces a similar visual effect, occasionally punctuated by gracefully gliding bicycles.




Happily, this is no Bridge to Nowhere. Unlike Mr. Rousseau's perpetual motion men, monotonously moving on their simple colored carpets,  Brooklyn Bridge travelers enjoy a kaleidoscopic panorama not proffered by any pill, anywhere.
Since 1883, New York's top thrill.
Still.

How I Got Here: Beau RN

By Beau

This is my entry in the QNY series describing our arrivals to NYC.  it is inspired by the New York Magazine series.


Arrived 1995
My arrival to New York, now that I reflect on it, was punctuated by several events that when I'm coaxed into telling the tale, tend to somewhat agitate and anger my single friends.  I don't even know what to make of it anymore, truthfully, other than it was what it was.  

Slash: Paper Under the Knife

By Brooklyn Bill

Yesterday evening, I went to the Slash: Paper Under the Knife exhibit at the Museum of Arts and Design on Columbus Circle. Overall, I enjoyed the show a great deal, particularly those artworks that were architectural in nature or explored the human face or form. A few of the pieces underwhelmed me, but several were stunning.

I wanted to crack open the display case and bring home Saraben Studio's Solar Topographics so I could turn its pages and get my eyes right down next to it. It's described as a book-bound, three-dimensional "architectural plan for an observatory that overlooks the ruins of the Palpatine in Rome. The building also functions as an eternal clock and calendar, tracing the passage of time in light and shadows that change throughout the year. Steps represent the days and months, stones represent minutes, and lines stand for seconds." Awesome.

I was also quite taken with Alex, a life-size sculpture of a young man who had flatlined on the operating table while battling cancer. After he recovered from his harrowing experiences with the disease, Alex asked the artist, Oliver Herring, if he could be the subject of one of Herring's sculptures, and he said he wanted to be naked so his surgery scarring would be visible. Alex consists of hundreds of colorized photos that Herring took during several meetings with Alex and then cut and applied to a polystyrene form of Alex's body. The final result is an amazing achievement that, despite the vibrant coloring, almost convinced me I was getting to know the real Alex. The photo is one I took of the page on MAD's Web site that lets you zoom in on Alex's face, neck, and shoulders. On that same page is a video interview of Herring.

Red

Posted Mondschein


"Red" at the Golden Theatre, March 18, 2010

The Donmar Warehouse has transferred its latest London hit to Broadway, creating the story behind Mark Rothko's creation of the murals commissioned for The Four Seasons restaurant in 1958.  In this two-hander dramatization by John Logan, Rothko (Alfred Molina), once l'enfant terrible of the modern art world has just accepted the commission and hires Ken (Eddie Redmayne) to assist him in the project.  Ken, an aspiring young artist himself from Iowa, is looking to learn from a master with hopes of jump-starting his own career.

Mr. Logan's script creates lots of tension and drama as Rothko rants, raves, mocks and insults with total disregard, while expounding his own bloviations of how the younger generation doesn't "get" the meaning of his art, convinced that those who don't are too stupid to realize true genius.  Ultimately, Ken has had enough abuse and speaks out for the first time, declaring Rothko's movement as obsolete just as Rothko himself once declared of the cubists.  Ken plays the final straw as he accuses Rothko of selling out with the commission.  Rothko rescinds the commission and keeps the art for himself, firing Ken to push him forward in his own career.

Quick Queer Coffee Review - City Girl Cafe

Is it my imagination or does the Times run an article every six months to a year about how New York City is finally getting good coffee?

The latest iteration of this theme includes a long list of "The Best Coffee Places in Manhattan and Brooklyn."  I was pleased to find my favorite coffeehouse, Cafe Grumpy, again listed among the best.  If you're in Chelsea, stop in and see them at 224 West 20th Street, between 7th and 8th Avenues.

I am a creature of habit and having found Grumpy, I rarely venture elsewhere for a special cup or bag of beans.  After all, only at Grumpy have I actually tasted the alleged flavor notes that every bean claims.  The first time I sipped an espresso that actually tasted like blueberries, I nearly fell out of my chair in amazement and delight.  Why mess with success?

The Times list had me wondering, however, if perhaps I was missing something by confining my epicurean coffee enjoyment to one place.  I had an appointment with my tattoo artist in Soho after work, so I scanned through the Times's list and found City Girl Cafe.

Bette Bourne: A Life in Three Acts

I was hesitant to write a review of the show I saw on Saturday at the St Ann's Warehouse in Brooklyn, since as far as I can tell, it ended an extensive tour (mostly in the UK) the following day.  Writing about it seemed rude, maybe even cruel, especially since I intend to rave a bit.  I saw something great, you don't get to.  Sucks to be you.  I'm writing about it though, because I think the person at its center deserves to be celebrated.   

A Life in Three Acts is a shaped recreation of interviews the playwright Mark Ravenhill did with his new friend, the performer Bette Bourne, about her life.  As thrilled as I was at subject matter, having been a fan of Bourne's since the early nineties, I was initially a bit leery of this format.  It's not without problems, but Bourne is a gifted storyteller with some fantastic material, Ravenhill a friendly presence, and the connection between them created a warm, relaxed atmosphere.  

Priests, Queers, and Bridges

Last week, as I stewed in a sticky, stinking, sad hospital bed at St. Vincent's Hospital, a priest appeared and broke through my morphine haze.

"Would you like to receive the sacraments of communion or healing?" the priest asked.

"No honey, I'm gay."

"I can still offer you an anointment for healing."

"No, thanks."

"I will keep your health and recovery in my prayers," he said, pityingly, then checked a box on his clipboard and retreated to the nurses' station.

A QNY How I Got Here: Brooklyn Bill

By Brooklyn Bill

This is my entry in a planned series describing QNY bloggers' arrivals in the city. It was inspired by the Waking Up to New York essays in New York magazine's My First New York cover package from last spring that also inspired a new book of essays about New Yorkers' early days in their new city.
***
Arrived: 2005
I knew I was moving to New York about a year and a half before I actually did. Four months after I bought a house in the little town of Stockton, New Jersey, my co-workers and I got word that our jobs were eventually moving from central Jersey to Manhattan. The timing depended on the completion of a building in midtown that was going to serve as my company's headquarters. In the interim, my house in Jersey would get flooded* by the Delaware River. And on the day my friend Pat drove me to Brooklyn, with the moving van on its way ahead of us, a family of shysters took up residence in my restored home. They would end up costing me a good deal in bounced rent checks and emotional distress.

Pat and I arrived in Park Slope to find that my movers couldn't get into my apartment because no one on the building's board had made copies of all of the keys I would need to actually move in. The movers cooled their heels for an hour until the super could replace the door lock.

Almost immediately, I started dating a guy I met online. We'd gotten together a couple of times downtown, and for the third date, he invited me to dinner at his apartment in Washington Heights. To get to his neighborhood, all I had to do was take a 2 or 3 train up the west side, change over to the 1, and ride that for several stops. I'm not sure how I managed to do it, but I fucked up the switch to the 1, ended up on another train, and got completely lost. After racing aboveground, I called the guy to let him know I was running terribly late. Luckily, he hadn't started on the key, time-sensitive steps in the risotto he was preparing. I eventually arrived at his place, with a container of mostly melted homemade chocolate chip mint ice cream. By the time we'd enjoyed his delicious risotto, some wine, and each other's bodies, the ice cream had resolidified and we ate our dessert. Heading back home a little later, I asked a couple of guys standing near the stairway leading to the uptown 1 platform where the entrance for the downtown 1 was. They mocked me.

*My home isn't quite visible in that photo. It was to the left of the leftmost house.

The Traynoir Towers, an Immodest Proposal

by baad lamb

On a recent long weekend to visit with my love, the silliness takes over completely.

And need I say it? All the photos embiggen nicely!

South Elevation                      East Elevation              North Elevation

Plan

Here is a model of the latest construction proposed to rise from the South Florida hardscape. If handled correctly, this penetrating design by a young up-start architect (who tries to remain anonymous, but everyone's got his number) might soon be fully erected on the Fort Lauderdale Beach by Richard M. Biggens, a well-known, crotchety old developer.

The Traynoir Towers, as they'll probably be called, would be named for three memorable bartending brothers who exploded on the club scene not long ago. At first, they were seen around town with just about everyone, but then one day they disappeared so quickly, that people were left scratching. their heads.

Mr. M. Biggens describes his pet project: “This mixed use development will consist of three eggplant colored towers - none of them completely straight - offering residential, office and hotel space. These three towers are thematically similar in overall appearance, but two will be taller, while what the third one lacks in size, it makes up for in girth. On the model, you can see how each slightly curved structure gently widens near the top, where the sun glistens warmly as it caresses the buildings’ taut skin.”

He continues: “A giant sports complex will positively dominate the connecting base, and under each tower will be a large ball field. I’m thinking baseball, football, and basketball. Or maybe all-basket ball.”

There was originally very stiff opposition, due to the abnormally long shadows the tower complex would point across the beachfront, but tricky-Dick-M. knew how to poke all the right people, so permits have been granted.

An orgy of fireworks accompanied the erection of the massive marketing sign bearing a simple minimalist message:

Coming Soon!