Tennessee’s unholy mother from hell

Posted on March 23, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

The Roundabout Theater’s production of The Glass Menagerie is about to open and I dare anyone to say anything negative about Judith Ivey’s performance. I’ve been going back and forth with a friend over the quality of the performances by the actors playing the daughter and son, but we both agree that Ms. Ivey’s Amanda Wingfield was pitch perfect as the ex-Southern Belle smothering shrew of a mother. At the interval I wanted to jump up on stage and strangle her. Isn’t that about as convincing as you can get? Her long (loooong) streams of dialog seemed like natural conversation, as though the words were being spoken for the first time. That’s hard to do.

I thought the performance of the actor playing the son, Tom, (Tennessee Williams’ doppelganger) was labored and unconvincing. It felt like a script reading to me. Mr. D. thought he was fine but that the actor playing the daughter, Laura, played her as someone who was mentally retarded. “The character is supposed to have emotional flaws. Not a learning disability,” he reasoned. I thought she played it from the heart and did a fantastic job. Same show, but different evenings. That could factor into it.

* * *

Today marks the 2nd anniversary of this blog. It has replaced chasing rare books as my hobby of choice (although I still do that, too). Kudos, once again, to Bob, who got me started on this venture without ever realizing it.

Since the very start I have been far too concerned with uncontrollable, idiotic things like stats, traffic and comments. I’ve resolved to be more keenly aware of the quality of the posts and less concerned with whether or not anyone is reading them. What an ego!

Central Park photo blast: spring hath sprung

Posted on March 22, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

It was a long time coming, but spring has finally arrived. I’m certain that we’ll get one or two more blasts of cold, raw weather, but unless the earth unexpectedly shifts on its axis, I think we’re done with snowstorms and winter.

After finishing some bizznizz in the city, I met Nurse H. We had lunch in Central Park and watched the big parade of humanity walk by. With commentary, of course. Don’t worry. We were in good spirits and nobody got trashed too terribly.

Do you know how “they” say that you have to have something to occupy your days? That without meaningful work, you’ll slip into a fits of depression? NOT ME, pals! I could easily spend each and every day like this and not be saddened in the least. I realize that most people require intellectual and emotional stimulation in order to feel alive, but I think that living in New York City for as long as I did gave me a lifetime’s worth of fulfillment and I could very easily coast the rest of the way. Like John Lennon, I could happily dream my life away, just watching the wheels go ’round. People say I’m lazy! Too bad it doesn’t pay.

These two were so extraordinarily attractive that they should be forced to breed for humanity’s sake. This picture really doesn’t do them justice. They’re right out of a J. Crew catalog.

This guy was a great musician. He played American popular standards with real depth of soul and feeling. And for all that ability, he’s playing for tips in the park. It made me wonder if having talent can sometimes work out to be a curse.

A shot to give the kiddies nightmares. Heh-heh.

This is the Angel of the Waters fountain on Bethesda Terrace. I’m pretty sure I’ve posted pics of this before but it never gets old for me. She was designed by Emma Stebbins in 1868. Emma was the first woman to receive a public commission for a major work of art in New York City. Hoo-ha for Emma!

Lovely Central Park Lake. The best show in town is standing on that bridge and watching people row their boats stern-forward.

Ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive. If at all possible.

Posted on March 21, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

8-Year Old Daughter: I drew this picture for you, Dad. It’s for you to hang at your desk when you get a job.

That hurt. Do you know what’s worse than being unemployed? Being unemployed with a daughter who is old enough to realize that you’re unemployed. Should I try to explain what investment income is in order to ease her mind? Or is that pointing out a problem that she is unaware of?

Jesus Christ. How did this happen to me? I started in investment banking years ago and thought I was set for life. I was never a six-figure “earner” but I thought I could carve out a fairly comfortable life. “What could possibly go wrong?,” I thought to myself. Plenty, it turns out.

* * *

Me: Give me a little kiss on my cheek.

3-Year Old Daughter: NO!

Me: Pleeeeease? I’ll pay you for one. How much are they?

3-Year Old Daughter: TWO DOLLARS!

Me: That’s a lot of money for a kiss!

3-Year Old Daughter: Well, they’re NOT ON SALE!

* * *

3-Year Old had a secret for the Easter bunny. Shortly afterwards, we bumped into the Easter Bunny coming out of the men’s restroom, which lead to a host of questions regarding the bathroom habits of bunnies.

* * *

I took the girls to the Broadway Diner. I’ve done posts about this place before. It’s our home away from home. The diner opened in 1959 and has many of the original accouterments.

Honestly? The food is not that great but we keep going back. We probably always will.

There was a renovation in the 70’s so even though the structure is the same, the color palate has been changed. Unfortunately, if you ask me. I’d have preferred they keep the chrome, tube steel and red.

On the dole again

Posted on March 18, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

My contract at Massive Retirement Conglomerate, Inc. ended this week and I find myself on the dole and looking for work again. It’s painful and draining, to say the least. I was laid off from J.P. Morgan in December (a blessing in disguise) and found contract work a few weeks later. I knew it wouldn’t last but took it for practical reasons.

This is the first time in my life I’ve been an active participant in a full-blown crisis. Earthquakes, falling pianos and crimes are things that you read about in the paper but don’t happen to you. You tsk-tsk and turn to the sports page.

You lucky folks who are gainfully employed can afford to be blissfully unaware, but it’s still pretty bad out here. Especially in New York. You read the monthly new jobless claim figures and are unaffected, but take it from me, to be a part of a catastrophe is enough to test a man’s resolve. I have a friend who is an attorney. He recently told me his office received over 800 applications for eight openings.

Mrs. Wife and I consider ourselves lucky. We have some cash in reserve and can also live (very frugally) off of income derived from our investments and unemployment. Mrs. Wife has also picked up some side-work project managing the construction of a web site. Obviously, this can’t continue indefinitely, but we aren’t going to go underwater anytime soon. But not having work when you have two little girls looking up to you hurts, hurts, hurts. What the hell kind of provider am I?!

But it’s not all grief. There’s something sweet about being home. I painted the front door today because it needed it. It looks pretty good, if I do say so myself. I put training wheels on 3-Year Old’s bicycle and inflated the tires on all the bikes. I went to the gym and worked my ass off and then made myself a scrumptious plate of hash and eggs with rye toast for lunch. I had dinner with all three of my girls, which has never failed to satisfy me, and I gave 3-Year Old her bath. That never happens.

Tomorrow I have to visit the tax accountant in the city, but then I’m meeting up with Nurse H. The weather is going to be perfect (finally). We’re buying sandwiches and walking to Sheep Meadow in Central Park for lunch. Afterwards, I’m stopping into the International Center for Photography for an exhibit I’m dying to see—Twilight Visions: Surrealism Photography and Paris.

After that, I’m seeing a revival of Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie, that I hear is great. (The museum and theater tickets are complimentary, of course. All discretionary spending has been halted.)

So I will continue to hunt for employment and try to fight off the fits of depression with a whip and a chair. Mrs. Wife is a rock. I see no panic/fear in her eyes. And if you’ve got to be on the dole, you can do a hell of a lot worse than being surrounded by family and a stone’s throw from New York City. Amen, my brothers and sisters.

For sale: Ireland’s history

Posted on March 16, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

I promise not to turn this blog into a auction house “greatest hits” repository, but I thought this was particularly interesting.

Just in time for St. Patrick’s Day. Next Monday, March 23rd, Bloomsbury Auctions here in New York will hold The Irish Sale. The lots are comprised of paintings, silver, books and manuscripts. There’s a first edition of the unreadable (to me, anyway. I tried twice.) ULYSSES by James Joyce (est. $50,000-$70,000) and first editions by Yeats, Samuel Beckett and others.

The most significant (and, by far, expensive) item up for grabs is this only know existing Tricolor from the Irish Revolution. This was the Republic’s first flag and the rallying symbol for the 1916 Easter Uprising. It was captured by British troops at the General Post Office in Dublin in April of 1916. After five days of warfare, the G.P.O. was in ruins but the flag, miraculously, still flew undamaged. It was reported to still be aloft two days after the surrender.

Auction estimate: $500,000-$700,000

The design is borrowed from the French and was intended to unify Ireland. The green stripe represents the Gaelic and Catholic, the orange represents the Protestant minority and the white is the peace between them. From the catalog:

That the flag survived undisturbed for some time is not surprising. Until it was hoisted above the GPO, few of even Dublin’s citizens had seen a Tricolour before and it was certainly unfamiliar to the British forces. It was up to a Sergeant in the Royal Dublin Fusiliers to recognize its importance (no doubt after seeing Tricolour armbands in the ruins of some rebel positions and on the arms of surrendered men).

I can’t imagine this belonging anywhere except with the people of Ireland, however, it’s entirely possible that some wealthy bloke will buy this and stow it away so that no one ever sees it again.

Here’s the full listing in the auction catalog. It’s a bit lengthy but it’s compelling reading. The account of the capture of the Tricolour and its subsequent provenance is fascinating.