He Knew All The Words

Wow. Here’s some economic commentary that knocked my socks off. Elizabeth Warren, Harvard Professor and chair of the Congressional Oversight Panel policing the TARP bailout, lays out our country’s financial history in one very simple lesson: regulate the banks or lose. The pertinent part of this video begins at 1:55 into the clip:

Brava, Professor Warren! As Jon Stewart says at the end, this is the first taste of financial chicken soup I’ve tasted in quite a while.

Cotton candy at the Easter Parade. Click all images for larger….And many more pictures of the weekend can be found here.

I love Easter because I love family, I love food, and I love Peeps! For family and food, my sister played Easter Bunny this year and came hippity-hoppity up from Washington. For Peeps, well, I still have some stale ones in the cupboard!

Stephanie arrived on Friday night. Patsy and I were both home and the three of us shared a cocktail and caught up a bit before dinner. We went to Frankies Spuntino in Carroll Gardens. I love this place. I’ve been three or four times in the last few weeks. Their food is fresh, carefully prepared, and basic in all the right ways. Stephanie had the homemade pappardelle with rabbit, and Patsy and I both had the pork brasciola. It was all divine. Their house wine is 12 bucks for half-liter carafe, and it’s delicious. Best wine bargain this side of the East River. Yummy!

The next morning, after coffee and cereal at home, Stephanie and I headed into the city. I had tickets for the opera, which Laura was attending with me. So I kissed Stephanie goodbye at 34th Street as she headed out for a day of shopping. She hit Macy’s then buzzed down to Century 21, stopping for a French lunch at Les Halles. I met Laura at the Met and we indulged in five sublime hours of Wagner. I’d never seen Die Walkure before. My god it was great (I’m going to blog about the opera separately, so stay tuned…). Laura brought us muffins and doughnuts from the farmers market. Mmmmmm — cider doughnuts!

Miss Howell arrives at the Met

We left Lincoln Center five hours later full of music and sturm und drang and met Stephanie at Alta for a cocktail and some bacon-wrapped dates (the fruit, not men). Our bartender was horrified by the idea of a five-hour opera, let alone a five-hour shopping spree, though he seemed to quite like Laura’s rather, uh, physically illustrated telling of how her bra wasn’t feeling so balanced (he feigned embarrassment, but his macho demeanor and his Boston accent gave him away–he loved it).

Amy and I sharing a laugh

We kissed Miss Howell goodnight and headed east to meet Jim & Alex and Phil & Amy for dinner. Phil and Amy are back in town from London for a few weeks, and it was wonderful to catch up with them and enjoy a nice dinner together. Felt like old times–happy laughter and food and wine.

Stephanie and I at dinner

Easter Sunday arrived with a crisp sunshine and a stiff breeze. Stephanie and I brunched at Clover Club on Smith Street, which is now my favorite place for brunch. Patsy and I went there a couple weeks ago and both times have been spectacular. Let’s just put it this way: one of the brunch entrees is called “Bacon tasting.” Oh yes indeed I had it! Stephanie and I split it, actually, along with an order of four yummy deviled eggs, which we thought was a funny thing to eat on Easter morning. Then we each had an order of ricotta pancakes. Oh my. I’m a believer again!

After brunch it was time for the traditional Easter Parade!

Fabulous folks dressed to the nines for Easter Sunday’s promenade

Scary characters at the Easter Parade!

Now the Easter Parade is not a parade at all–it’s a promenade. They close off 5th Avenue in Midtown and the people are free to simply mill about. The bonnets, the bunnies, the bon vivants! Some people are dressed in their Sunday best, arriving at the parade just after church. Some are turned out in fancy bonnets–homemade affairs of eggs and plastic flowers and fur and everything spring. Some are dressed up in costume–Easter rabbits, Alice in Wonderland characters, and all kinds of wacko freaky things you’d expect from an “only in New York” kind of event. We had a blast checking out all the funny hats, all the freaks, all the cute kids. And I took lots of pictures.

Sweet family on parade

Pastelly fellies at the parade

The Easter Bunny takes a break from parading

MoMA is conveniently half a block from the parade, and it’s somewhat of a tradition for me to go there afterward. We saw a fascinating photography show of the American West, as well as a nice small show about paper in the drawing galleries. We took in the main painting and sculpture galleries, then we followed another Easter tradition and found ourselves a couple of seats at the bar at The Modern. Along with cocktails we ate some homemade country sausage and an order of liverwurst which the bartender claimed was the “best wurst” in the city. (It was delicious, but I personally think the best wurst is to be found at Cafe Katja on the Lower East Side).

Stephanie and I in the sculpture garden at MoMA
Many more pictures of the weekend can be found here.

Easter is all about eternity, but Easter weekends always come to an end sometime. Stephanie went back to Penn Station to catch a train back to DC, and I picked up my lonely bicycle at the office and enjoyed a nice but windy 6-mile ride just before sunset.

It’s Easter, so naturally I’ve been put in mind of my favorite counterculture retelling of the Passion Play: Andrew Lloyd Weber and Tim Rice’s Jesus Christ Superstar. When my sister and I were little we would divide up the parts and sing the opera from start to finish. (With my voice not yet changed I always played Mary Magdalene). Stephanie’s on her way home from visiting me for Easter right now, and I just finished listening to the original recording of JCS. And I’ve been thinking–if I could stage it today (or just produce a new definitive recording), who would I cast? With some great suggestions from Stephanie, I humbly submit my dream cast:

JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR: ZAZA EDITION

Jesus Christ — Courtney Love
Rock and Roll, Baby! She can belt out the rockers, break the slow jams over her shredded vocal cords, and be as egomaniacal as Judas sees her character to be. She wants to be the Christ with the most cake.

Judas — Morrissey
He’s so disappointed that he hangs himself from a tree.

Mary Magdalene — Beyoncé Knowles
Forget Yvonne Elliman–we need a woman who can seriously coooooooooo.

Pontius Pilate — Rufus Wainwright
As Stephanie put it: He’s a total drama queen!

Caiaphas, High Priest — Nick Cave
The deep-voiced concern, the booming declarations. No one else could play the part.

Annas — David Byrne
High-voiced and witty, and a role not demanding the greatest voice ever.

Simon Zealotes — Mos Def
Cutie-pie Mos himself can bring the positive vibe with the political edge that’s needed!

Peter — George Michael
Deny, deny, deny, George.

King Herod — Tom Waits
I’m thinking a slower, bluesier version of King Herod’s song, rather than the jaunty ragtime of the original….

Now the last question is who’s gonna play the Roman guard who in the original recording sums up the absurdity of this entire project by referring to Jesus as: “Someone Christ, King of the Juice!”????? (Answer: Sandra Bernhard!)

I had the oddest morning. Tell it like a dream.

Mark Fox and I were sitting in Balthazar for our Thursday morning breakfast, on Wednesday, and the couple at the opposite table were kissing passionately. For an hour. Just like in our puppet play The Kiss. So we went up to Park Avenue and stood in an important modern masterpiece of architecture, holding up a broken mirror to the outside world. Suddenly it got dark and started to snow very hard. And then Richard Serra’s editor, Heidi Colsman-Freyberger, walked in, looking to buy a rain hat. We looked up and were now in a big bank building where one of Mark’s artworks was hanging over an open stairwell. I climbed the stairs to look at it while Mark made small talk with a bank bigwig and a security guard. Back on the train I held a stranger’s hand before kissing Mark goodbye. The stranger’s friend was hogging the poll, licking his fingers, then touching the poll with the same fingers, so we got in a fight about how disgusting that was. Up on the street in Tribeca, I passed the Soho landmark, Jerry’s Cafe. I found Bon Chon Chicken but didn’t go in. Willie Nelson’s Bubbles in My Beer came on my iPod so I thought of my old flame Christopher, when suddenly a woman bumped into me and knocked me into a red Vespa just like Christopher’s. I was then at my desk in my office and the phone rang and woke me up for good.

Everything I just said happened this morning.

And this one is particularly sweet because it’s a legislative decision, rather than a judicial one:

VERMONT PASSES GAY MARRIAGE

That brings to 4 the number of states that allow gay marriage. I suspect we’ll see a steady trickle over the next few years–California and New York, maybe New Jersey, Hawaii, and perhaps some other Midwesterns like Wisconsin. I think we’ll also see some kind of federal recognition of civil unions by the end of Obama’s second term (though I suspect whatever that is will be a seriously watered-down version of traditional marriage rights).

Now if I could just get Dustin Lance Black to accept my proposal, we could have our choice of the 8% of these United States where our marriage could be performed….

UPDATED TO ADD:
I’m so glad someone is doing this kind of AWESOME blogging so that the rest of us don’t have to. Marriage equality is moving forward, people, like it or not. Sure, we’re gonna have some setbacks–but the march of time is unstoppable. If you haven’t yet decided to support full marriage equality, take a look at the list of states in the above link and see how long you’ve got to change your mind. (My personal suggestion: get on the right side of history now, while the gettin’ is good…).

Rebecca and Jamie have submitted their new San Francisco digs to Apartment Therapy’s “Small Cool” contest. Their place really is small–650 square feet total. But look at the pictures and you can see they clearly are cool. So go vote for them and help them win. (Note: You do have to create an account and verify it via email but its quick and easy. But it’s worth it because Apartment Therapy is a great site for anyone who’s interested in home solutions that are nice and affordable–no matter whether you live in a tiny studio or a mansion. I am already a regular reader). After you register and login, just click on the “thumbs up” link below the picture of their place to vote.

Good luck, RF!

Rebecca and Jamie have submitted their new San Francisco digs to Apartment Therapy’s “Small Cool” contest. Their place really is small–650 square feet total. But look at the pictures and you can see they clearly are cool. So go vote for them and help them win. (Note: You do have to create an account and verify it via email but its quick and easy. But it’s worth it because Apartment Therapy is a great site for anyone who’s interested in home solutions that are nice and affordable–no matter whether you live in a tiny studio or a mansion. I am already a regular reader). After you register and login, just click on the “thumbs up” link below the picture of their place to vote.

Good luck, RF!

New York ought to be ashamed of itself. And California too. Iowa has gay marriage before both of these so-called progressive states. Unbelievable. Here’s a video that’s so cute it makes me want to go to Iowa to get married–it’s openly gay State Senator Matt McCoy explaining why he believes this court decision will not be reversed:

I was given a pair of great seats for a rush hour concert at the New York Philharmonic tonight. Rush hour concerts are short performances which start at 6:45pm so that crusty Connecticuters can make it back to their suburban blankness before the witching hour or something. Anyway, I’ve never been to one because I actually have to leave work early to make a 6:45 curtain.

So I left work early tonight, met Mark Fox at Avery Fisher Hall, and enjoyed a quick and very accessible concert of Stravinsky’s Dumbarton Oaks and Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 5. Charles Dutoit was conducting.

Dumbarton Oaks is a lovely chamber piece that is related–by inspiration–to Bach’s Brandenberg Concerto No. 3. The small ensemble gave a lovely reading of it tonight. There are wonderful moments where the violins and clarinet are doing call and response which had exactly the right light tough. The acoustics of Avery Fisher Hall, of course, are a bit muddy, and it certainly isn’t a good place to hear chamber music–the strings were bleeding into one another and the balance of the french horn and bassoon was like two guests at a party talking at once. Nonetheless, it was extremely enjoyable to hear it well-played.

The Tchaikovsky #5 is one of those pieces that makes some snobs hate Tchaikovsky. It can be schmalzy, and it’s a bit all over the place, and it’s certainly not difficult listening hour. But I like this work because it has a common musical motif running through the whole thing that keeps its patchwork quality all sewn together. And hell, who can resist the big sweeping melodies of ol’ Peter T.? The second movement is a long and winding road, and the melody–Mark Fox pointed out afterward–simply must be the basis for John Denver’s Annie’s Song. You can actually sing a few lines at the end of the chorus almost identically: “You fill up my senses…. Come fill me again….”. (I mean, it’s not the whole song note-for-note the way Von Suppé’s Poet and Peasant Overture has a cello solo that sings the whole of “I’ve Been Working on The Railroad…”, but I digress). The piece has a great coda ending where the brass chuff out a rousing melody while the strings punctuate the phrases with increasingly intense zings. It’s a rousing finish that had the audience bravoing before the last chord had entirely faded away. Good fun!

Spring
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.