I was going to start with a caveat that this was a “lazy” post because it’s mainly photos. Then I remembered that photography is a legitimate art form. I like to fancy myself an advanced beginner. I used to develop my own black and white photos in high school. I had an excellent instructor who taught me the basics about composition, framing, light, texture and all that jazz. The lessons stuck. Probably the only ones from high school that did. So I retract the caveat that I have not offered.
I went out on my lunch hour while it was snowing and took these in Bryant Park, which is located just behind the big library on 42nd St.
There’s an installation currently on Broadway in the garment district. Avian Avatars by Donna Dodson and Andy Moerlein. Five bird sculptures that are, according to the literature, considering the state of the world. Don’t we all?
Yet another illegal depriving an honest, hard-working American of a food delivery job. Obama’s liberal immigration policy must be STOPPED. Send this lazy, entitlement-sucking bum back to where he came from.*
*If you think I’m serious, you are not allowed to read my blog anymore. If what I’ve written reflects your true feelings about this poor bastard, you are not allowed to read my blog anymore. If you don’t feel any compassion welling-up inside you, there’s a hole in the space where your heart should be and you are not allowed to read my blog anymore. Go away and don’t come back.
I (bravely) took on Eugene O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh at the Brooklyn Academy of Music starring Brian Dennehy and, in a rare dramatic turn, Nathan Lane. The program said it was 4:45 long but what the hell, let’s call it an even 5:00.
It was pretty rough stuff. Curtain was at 7:00 and we got out just before midnight. Three intermissions. It was a Herculean effort and while it was awfully good, it fell short of greatness. Dennehy is a hulking mass of actor. Lane, on the other hand, is burdened with the baggage of his success. This happens with movie actors who take the stage. He had a long, passionate soliloquy near the end and I kept hearing Timon peeking through singing Hakuna Matata.
Eugene O’Neill was mad. Sitting through one of his plays is a long, hard slog, but it’s usually worth it. Here are some memes I found that will tell you everything you need to know about an O’Neill play.