The Next Grey Gardens?

Didn't I just say that I don't want to grow more eccentric in my old age? I'm beginning to reconsider that after reading this great article in New York Magazine about Hunt Slonem. I am sad to admit that I'd never heard of this artist, but now I am on a fast track to catch up and have already ordered a couple of his books.

A 15,000 (yes with five digits) square foot space and it's still overstuffed? That sounds curiously like the JunkPlex. And just how eccentric? We won't pass any judgment, but Albert Mayles is making a documentary about him. Can't wait.

What Kind of Old Works Best for You?

With the passage of time and onset of aging, I try to come up with an image of what type of old person I would like to become. What are appropriate role models?

It's much easier to identify what I don't want to become as I look at the variety of people of a certain age. On one end of the range are the cranky, bitter and hunch-backed type. Much as we might love reading Dorothy Parker, who would want to be around her elder, bitter, gin-soaked self?

Equally annoying are those supposedly joyous, eccentric types who throw convention to the winds and become lively free spirits. Remember that dreadful poem Jenny Jospeh:

When I am an old lady I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

Bleh, no way. I'm getting bitter just thinking about it. I won't go so far as to name names, but I hated tie dye when I was young and have no intention of wearing it in my dotage. The justification made by such supposedly joyfully colorful elder eccentrics is that they don't want to become invisible as they grow older. What's wrong with growing invisible in your old age? Didn't these people have childhood fantasies of being invisible and being able to enter secret places without being observed? Fear of growing invisible is a sign of an outsized, fragile and unfulfilled ego in my book.

So what are some appropriate role models? I've been reading Joseph Mitchell's Old Mr. Flood, a wonderfully elegant little 122-page tome about a man who intends to live to the age of 115. Mitchell's works definitely are the embodiment of the golden age of The New Yorker, I also just ordered his Up at the Old Hotel, a collection of his best pieces. Admirably, Mitchell chose to stop writing when he ceased to find subjects that he didn't love. It is sad that the New York he loved was disappearing, but commendable that he had the wisdom of knowing when to quit instead of either kvetching about the changes or writing half-heartedly about people he didn't care for.
A contemporary example that brings me great joy every week is photographer Bill Cunningham of The New York Times with his little online slide shows of street fashion in Manhattan. Cunningham is in his 80s, has lived in New York for at least 60 years but approaches his subjects with the joy of someone who just arrived from the provinces. A Korean War veteran, Harvard dropout and man who has worked in the cut-throat fashion industry for years, he manages to exude so much joy in his little two-minute slide shows, each one leaving me feeling uplifted and optimistic about the nature of urban life.

Cunningham has a great eye and rapport for his subjects. His visuals are always great, but I enjoy just listening to the audio minus the visuals. Cunningham is very much an old-school New Englander who drops his Rs and has a wonderful rhythm and rasp to his voice. Best of all is the delight he finds in his subject without the slightest air of judgment. No matter how ridiculous or outrageous the outfit, he captures it with the delight of an archaeologist finding some great discovery. Not that he would ever wear it, but he always has an air of "Look at that!" that is heartening.

Though decidedly knowledgeable about fashion, he clearly prefers to focus on the sidewalk not the runway and admires the ingenuity of the individual over the fashion victim. It's great that he doesn't focus on specific designers or trends but specific things like this great show on scarves (or "skawhves" as he would say). I hope I might run into Mr. Cunningham on the streets of New York someday, not likely as a subject of his photographic eye, but just a chance to cross paths with his wonderful spirit.

Julia Morgan Does Some Research

When Julia Morgan accepted the commission to design Hearst Castle, there were many cynics who questioned if "a girl was up for the task". Humpf! She certainly showed them, didn't she.

Before embarking on the actual design, she did extensive research, mostly in New York where she was less well known and could travel inconspicuously. Here we see her outside the New York Public Main Library where she did much of her research.

The Skinny on Manhattan

Manhattan is the center of the thinnest county in the state of New York, according to this article in today's Times. And they say hard-hitting investigative reporting is dead!

The Times has certainly come a long way over the past 40 years, I am usually not one to shriek and point at mild comments that I consider to be homophobic. However, I must say I was given pause when I read this paragraph:

"Beyond that, Manhattan is the national capital of disparate subcultures of the skinny: Aspiring models. Nightclubbing hipsters. Gay men with the time and money to chisel their physiques at the gym. Park Avenue society matrons who remain preternaturally slender into their 70s, the 'social X-rays' satirized by Tom Wolfe."

I can't say that I have an excess of time and money on my hands and, even if I did, that I would necessarily invest it the way this article suggests. And to think Park Avenue society matrons are maligned in the same paragraph.

Then again, I live in San Francisco where I do see my fair share of overweight people but probably not what you'd see in rural Mississippi. How's the waistline in your zip code?

Just Get On With It

I've been watching episodes of Mad Men, Season Two back to back, absorbing an era when people dressed incredibly well, lived and played hard, died by the time they were 62, kept their emotions to themselves, and did not go to 12-step programs or at least did not talk about them in public. If something horrible happened in their lives they would act as if it never occurred and would just get on with it. Has our society advanced? Some questions don't need to be answered.

Little Ruthie's Wild Ride

Much as I might want to say that I am not one to follow tabloid news and fallen royalty, I must admit a particular fascination with the fate of Ruth Madoff and consider the above photo the most iconic image thus far this year. Okay, the Madoffs are probably more the stuff of hard news, but Ruth being kicked out of that two story penthouse and being allowed to take only the stuff of tabloids and trash TV/movies. Who would be the ideal woman to play her? Glenn Close? Please not Meryl! Too bad Farrah didn't live to tackle such a role.

Back in the 1970s and 1980s, there was talk of the Garbo interview being the Holy Grail of celebrity grilling. It was Rex Reed, if I recall correctly, who said that would probably be one of the most boring interviews ever since all she would talk about would be her yoga routine, diet and bowel movements. Others have said the same of hearing J.D. Salinger spill his guts about all the books he didn't write over the past 50 plus years.

So who wouldn't love to hear Ruth Madoff interview? A couple of friends have said that they are perplexed about what to think about Ruth since unlike Anna Nicole Smith or even Ivana Trump, her opulence was always so subdued and tasteful.

Even the Times can't resist being a being a bit like the Post with articles like this, and the various paparazzi shots of Ruth slumming by having to actually by her groceries at Food Emporium are hard to resist. Ruth is supposedly down to one friend in Connecticut. She's yet to appear on Facebook but has her MySpace profile where she has lowered her age by three years and only seven people ("Tom" doesn't count) have dared to befriend her. Even fake Adolf Hitlers and Atila the Huns do better than that. Or is that just a testament to the death of MySpace. Whatever the case, this "Ruth" who claims that Thieves Like Us is her favorite movie does have a mildly amusing introduction:

I guess you could call me the original shopaholic. My husband's away on a business-related sojourn, which leaves me some extra time to surf the web and find new friends. Maybe we can even go shopping together! I have more fun things to do on my blog. See you!

It will be interesting to see where she goes from here with the clothes on her back and $2.5 million to start from scratch. Even in "this economy" that's barely enough to start a lower middle class lifestyle in Manhattan or San Francisco, and there probably won't be many visits to the high end salons and eateries. Will there be a reality TV show or book deal in the future?

Indeed, 99 cents does more.

Way Out West Side Story

I've been reading The Story of a Marriage in part due to my long standing fascination with San Francisco's western districts, many of which could pass not only for Pasadena or Palo Alto but even Kansas City or Omaha.

So it was nice to discover the Western Neighborhoods Project, with a healthy cadre of stories, photos and links. It's not quite equal to my beloved Bowery Boys, but then neither is the subject matter. Speaking of which, the B-Boys posted a tellingly well-informed post on Julius, that other historic Manhattan bar that pre-dates the Stonewall Inn by a century or so. My memories of it were never terribly quaint. Usually some bridge and tunnel troll would converge and immediately grab my crotch and ask if I had plans.

I Must Meet Leslie Kritzer When I Return to NYC

And to think SNL didn't hire her after seeing this tape. Another reason I lost interest in that show around 1979.

40 Years of New York

There has been much analysis of all that happened in the world 40 years ago, perhaps most effectively in Mark Kurlansky's fantastic 1968 that gives a 360 degree world view that happened that year. Many Gen X and Y members complain that Baby Boomers overestimate the importance of their age of youth, and that's probably an accurate critique.

However, I was excited to get the 40th anniversary issue of New York magazine in the mail today. Many complain about its influence on other publications with short, pithy articles. But it's one magazine that I've subscribed to for 36 of its 40 years. There are some great little tidbits in it such as Whatever happened to Marla Maples and where was Lou Reed's first apartment. Information we all need to know.

Seen in Manhattan: Celebrity Dogs

Taking Manhattan

If you were to ask me, I am not a birthday person. The last time I celebrated a birthday in any big way was in September 2002 when I hosted a fundraiser for three of my favorite non-profits by inviting 200 people to my San Francisco flat. Anal, over programmed person that I am, people were invited in shifts, but there was a point when a likely 90 people were in various parts of the flat and garden at one point It was a great event, but within weeks, many aspects of my life cam unraveling, with both of my parents, a difficult aunt that I was nonetheless very close two, both of my cats, and my significant other disappearing from my life.

Two years ago, when I refused to mark my 50th birthday, I was certain that my life was the embodiment of the Cavafy poem "Candles" in which there are many extinguished candles behind me and few leading me forward. In fact, it was hard to see any light.

This year I decided to visit Manhattan to celebrate year 52 and my 20th year of working for World Neighbors. Neatly, a blogger meet up emerged organically, and it was an amazing, touching four day weekend.

Nasty weather, humidity and an hour delay did not manage to dampen my spirits when I arrived Friday night and headed up to the East side Friday night Joy's place (she embodies the lyric from 42nd Street of "sexy ladies, from the 80s...) where she, Mark and Gary buzzed me in and were serenading me with a birthday greeting at the top of the stairs with handsome four-legged Basil peeking through their legs to smile at me and flash his potato chip loving tongue.

Afterwards, Joy took me to see a friend of hers named Robert at the Rodeo Bar and I videotaped it and you can see on my previous post. Late as the night may have gone on, I kept reminding myself that it was not even midnight yet in San Francisco.

After a breakfast with Nicole in Little Italy, I went to the Tenement Museum in the morning and then saw Boeing, Boeing that Gary and Mark treated me to see. It was a wonderful show, hilarious and perfectly staged.

That evening our blogger group had the meet up at the Soho Grand. Steve, Jill, Husein, Ched, Kim, Brice, and Ed were all there. After a few drinks, we had greasy food in Chinatown.

Sunday I saw the Van Gogh exhibit at the MOMA and then saw the amazing production of August, Osage County. Spoiler alert: In the third act, when one character said "He's not your cousin, he's your brother!" a man behind me, in a thick Okie accent, belted out "Yep, that's Osage County." Seated in the third row, I was oblivious to the fact that the show went on for more than three and a half hours. I could have watched another five. And what a thrill to see Estelle Parson on stage for the first, and likely last, time in my life. At 80, she was a ball of energy, charging up and down the stairs, struggling with a daughter trying to strangle her, and nearly chewing up scenery in this amazing play.

That night I headed over the bridge to Park Slope to have dinner with W______ and had a few moments of icky nostalgia in what used to be the flat we shared on Garfield. .

Monday, I took a quick stroll through Central Park and then visited Gary’s school on 23^rd Street. His kids were very sweet and smart and had many questions. I spoke a bit about my work with World Neighbors, and I was amazed that I was able to hold the attention of five-year-olds with some heavy global issues. Gary is an amazing teacher in action, and his co-teacher Lauren is just as gorgeous and graceful in action as she is in their videos. I spoke a bit about the issues of inequity between boys and girls in the Global South, and I was greatly impressed by the questions of the girls in the class. I hope it doesn't take that long, but when there is a woman in the White House, I wouldn't be surprised if it's one of Gary's former students.

Finally, I strolled through Wall Street which has an odd pall on the day the market took its biggest drop ever. Ironically, I was on CNN for an 18th of a second while strolling before the cameras.

The whole trip was way, way to short. The high point was truly the blogger meet up. We're not sure how we all came together, but we think it was likley the handsome and charming WAT in southern Cal.

JTTV - Season 3, Episode 2 - Junk Thief Takes Manhattan

Live From the Rodeo Bar

Early into my four days in Manhattan, I headed down from the Upper East Side to the Rodeo Bar with the vivacious Miss Joy of I've Got a Crush on...Me! to catch the cool band Comic Tales of Tragic Heartbreak. Joy somehow managed to slip out into the night wearing lead singer Robert's white pinstriped blazer. It was a great welcome and a very memorable way to celebrate my birthday. All I have to say is that I've got a crush on...Joy!

Yoo Shud Cawl Us

Seconds before we were about to land at JFK on Friday, this commercial from the local NBC affiliate came up on the little screen in the back of the seat on jetBlue. I love this woman, and this is the type of accent and look I so miss since moving west. I searched the far corners of Manhattan hoping to run into her, but she must have been at home sipping her cosmos on Staten Island.

Biggest. Drop. Ever.

After having a great visit with Gary's first grade students, this afternoon I headed down to Ground Zero and Wall Street since I've not been there in years and it's a place that's been on many of our minds lately. I got there just around the time the news about the failed attempts to push through the bailout hit and stocks were falling. People weren't jumping out of buildings, but the place was swarming with reporters, tourists who weren't exactly smiling and the air was filled with an odd stiffness I've never experienced in the neighborhood.

Making it all the more surreal, I saw a glimpse of myself while watching a CNN report on my jetBlue flight back home.

This was definitely not the highlight of my Manhattan trip, but I thought I'd post it since it's a rare time that I actually crossed paths so closely with world news.

Photos and stories of my four days in Manhattan to follow, but I'm now ready for bed since it's nearly 2 a.m. Eastern Time. Mouse beat me to the punch with this slide show.

First We Take Manhattan

In barely 48 hours, I'll be arriving in Manhattan for a jam packed weekend highlighted by the great blogger meet up. If you didn't already get the news, plan to be at the SOHO Grand Lounge this Saturday, September 27, 6:30 - 8:30 p.m. Other mischief and adventures will precede and follow.

And if you've not seen the video promoting this convergence, it is here.

Special thanks to the lovely Salty Miss Jill for making this happen.
ATTENTION LA AND PORTLAND BLOGGERS: I'll be in Oregon October 6-9 and LA October 27-31 +/- . I'd love to meet some of you on those trips if anyone has suggestions. I promise to host something here in SF soon.

Manhattan, Get Ready

Face the Dog

Yes, there really is a...Dogbook, a parallel Facebook site. Oh, dear. Thanks to the introduction from Joy of I've Got a Crush on...ME! Now her Basil and Guru are at least cyber friends across the continent. Bunter and Whimsey's "In Loving Memory" profiles are still up over at Catster. Perhaps I should look for Gardenster so my agapanthia can make friends with others in New Zealand or something.

An amazing thing, these interwebs. I bet I can already predict Tugboat Dave's reaction to yet another wacky San Francisco-fused trend.

If you've not friended me already, my Facebook profile is here.

Rise Above It

Few things are more depressing to me than feel-good, life affirming movies. I'd rank pineapples, ham, chocolate, cigarettes, Coca-Cola, Wal-Mart, Celine Dion, Hawaii and pastel colors in the same category. So I went to see the new documentary Hats Off with some trepidation.

At 93 and 95 pounds, actress/model Mimi Weddell is, on the surface at least, one of those spunky old ladies that you could almost see Willard Scott featuring in his Smucker's birthday greetings. With a clipped, Bostonian blue-blood accent and a collection of several hundred hats, she's been seen by most of us a few times in countless bits parts in A-list movies, lead parts in B, C and D-list movies, commercials and print work. Everything from Juicy Couture to California Cheese (in which she claims to have been around so long that she knew Monterrey Jack himself).

Weddell is amazing for her physical and emotional stamina, despite a constant cigarette in an elegant holder, which allows her to go on constant cattle call auditions and put in 14 to 20 hour day shoots. She also shows some pilates routines that would be amazing for 50-year-old but one must see to believe someone past 90 can do. She is by turn grotesque and gorgeous and sometimes both at the same time.

When her husband, a descendant of the Mayflower but with no business sense, died and left her with nothng but debt, she began pursuing her acting career age 65. The day of his funeral, she got on a plane to L.A. and acted in a vampire movie.

The strength of the film is the underlying conflict between her and her two 50-something children who are both overweight and prone to deconstructive self-analysis. That doesn't seem to have brought them anymore peace or happiness. Weddell herself despises self-introspection or analysis and prefers to face adversity with her motto of "Rise above it." What's unfortunate about the film is that it does take too much of a Willard Scott approach to her spunkiness without maybe a little more delving into her dysfunctional but still loving family. After angst-filled documentaries such as Capturing the Friedmans, it is refreshing to see a more upbeat film like this with a few shades of darkness. There is much frustration, disappointment, resentment and regret in this family but no hint of deep, dark stories.

It was all worth it for me, for a finale in which Mimi indulges herself in a hoiday that she had longed for since she was 13. Seeing her on a carousel in one of her trademark hats, as she opines that even going in a circle she feels that she is going somewhere was encouraging to know that it's never too late for some dreams to be realized.

Save That Date

It's official. Junk Thief will be in Manhattan September 26 to 29, 2008. If you're going to be in town or would like to meet up there, start the comments and emails now.

Not to blow it out of proportion, but what do the following celebrities, listed in chronological order, all share in common with the date of September 26? Saint Francis of Assisi, King Christian X of Denmark, T.S. Elliott, Pope Paul VI, George Gershwin, Jack, LaLanne, Marty Robbins, Julie London, Gal Costa, Bryan Ferry, Olivia Newton John, Jane Smiley, Linda Hamilton, Junk Thief, Jake Paltrow, Serena Williams and Princess Salma of Jordan. It is also the day of Bureflux on the Discoridan Calendar.