By popular demand, here is the communist incense... just follow the link - I'm too lazy to scan the box.
Disclaimer: Dear Big Brother, I am not nor have I ever been a member of the Communist Party (I just like the Soviet Realist art).
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Sunday, November 12, 2006
I Went To a Garden Party
Yesterday the family ventured out to Downtown with the intent of seeing the OCMoA's loaner exhibit from the British Museum's Egypt collection. Arriving on the scene, we found parking spaces to be at a premium and we had to park a few blocks over. I answered curious enquiries as to why by mentioning the peace festival, held annually in the Hall of Mirrors, was the likely draw. This was met with great interest, so we went there first.
If you haven't been, this is an event which features information tables and various wares offered by the deepest indigo blue-staters in the metro area. All the heavy-hitters were there including Amnesty International, Sierra Club, Green Party, Greenpeace, etc. plus a few local flavors. As I am in so many places, I was def a fish-out-of-water. I immediately had an allergic reaction to the whole place - mainly at the practitioners. I have struggled with this affliction for years. I walk into assemblages like these and I am bombarded by emotional responses I can't understand. It makes me appreciate the difficulties faced by SID folks.
It's frustrating because I can't quite get a handle on it and that annoys me to no end. I feel contemptuous, judgmental, confused, stubborn, schadenfreude; all these and more all at once. I'm confused because I agree with the sentiment of probably 80% of the people in there (in fact I knew three of the people manning the booths), and yet I'm compelled to roll my eyes and laugh at them. My initial analysis is that it's some sort of deep conditioning I got as a child growing up in a cult, going to gunshows, hoarding weapons, ammo, precious metals and pennies. But I have overcome so many other elements of that conditioning, it seems too easy an explanation. I've even wondered if seeing Vietnam War protesters and civil rights activists beaten up on the nightly news as a four and five year old somehow conditioned me to feel that way. I discount that because I don't and never have felt violent toward anyone in my whole life, but maybe there's something there.
Another thing is that it seemed like such a club. I always hate that. For one thing I don't really like any of the uniforms available (e.g. tie-dye, long scraggly hair, saffron robes). There tend to be a lot of intractable holier-than-thou positions to take, many of them hypocritical, and therefore not unlike those folks on the other side. The difference is those folks on the other side used to be my folks. I guess I've already picked and chosen from them and fought the battles so I'm either more tolerant or at the very least, not passionate in my opinions regarding them anymore.
I couldn't make it in the club because I would be paralyzed. The concession was selling Starbucks coffee and I felt like if I walked around with a cup the anti-globalization guy would get on me. I only hoped the socially-responsible investing guy and the Fair Trade guy would come to my rescue, but if the investing guy came to my aid, he would risk getting sucker-punched by the Socialist Youth guy. So I just went without coffee. And the ham sandwiches. Forget it. I mean, they put the vegan table right by the exit, how was I going to get out of there alive?
And then there was sort of a general disdain I picked up for America and American culture and a corresponding heightened interest in exotic cultures. There is def a lot of baby-bathwater tossing I think. Just because America may have been co-opted by robber barons again, doesn't mean we the people are bad people and doesn't mean we shouldn't make lionize the ideals of the white males up on Mt. Rushmore. I couldn't help thinking that if some of these causes started adorning their material with American flags and using words like heritage and freedom it might be a little more palatable to the great middle in this country. Maybe they don't want that. Maybe that would dissolve their raison d'etre.
In my defense, I want to remind you that I do not act on these impulses. I don't laugh at people I don't know. I don't treat them poorly when I interact with them. I picked up their pamphlets and read them. I engaged a couple of booth-manners on the issues. The fact that I'm there proves I'm open-minded. But why does it bother me so much? If you know me, go ahead, take a whack at me; leave a comment.
The funniest thing was when I turned the last corner and saw one of my best friends at the World Neighbors booth. She was shocked that I was at a peace festival. I was shocked that she was shocked. I said, "I'm all about peace. Fair Trade, non-violence, justice, unions, condoms, environmental protection; what's not to like?" She just smiled and said, "Just by yourself, right." She knows me all too well...
If you haven't been, this is an event which features information tables and various wares offered by the deepest indigo blue-staters in the metro area. All the heavy-hitters were there including Amnesty International, Sierra Club, Green Party, Greenpeace, etc. plus a few local flavors. As I am in so many places, I was def a fish-out-of-water. I immediately had an allergic reaction to the whole place - mainly at the practitioners. I have struggled with this affliction for years. I walk into assemblages like these and I am bombarded by emotional responses I can't understand. It makes me appreciate the difficulties faced by SID folks.
It's frustrating because I can't quite get a handle on it and that annoys me to no end. I feel contemptuous, judgmental, confused, stubborn, schadenfreude; all these and more all at once. I'm confused because I agree with the sentiment of probably 80% of the people in there (in fact I knew three of the people manning the booths), and yet I'm compelled to roll my eyes and laugh at them. My initial analysis is that it's some sort of deep conditioning I got as a child growing up in a cult, going to gunshows, hoarding weapons, ammo, precious metals and pennies. But I have overcome so many other elements of that conditioning, it seems too easy an explanation. I've even wondered if seeing Vietnam War protesters and civil rights activists beaten up on the nightly news as a four and five year old somehow conditioned me to feel that way. I discount that because I don't and never have felt violent toward anyone in my whole life, but maybe there's something there.
Another thing is that it seemed like such a club. I always hate that. For one thing I don't really like any of the uniforms available (e.g. tie-dye, long scraggly hair, saffron robes). There tend to be a lot of intractable holier-than-thou positions to take, many of them hypocritical, and therefore not unlike those folks on the other side. The difference is those folks on the other side used to be my folks. I guess I've already picked and chosen from them and fought the battles so I'm either more tolerant or at the very least, not passionate in my opinions regarding them anymore.
I couldn't make it in the club because I would be paralyzed. The concession was selling Starbucks coffee and I felt like if I walked around with a cup the anti-globalization guy would get on me. I only hoped the socially-responsible investing guy and the Fair Trade guy would come to my rescue, but if the investing guy came to my aid, he would risk getting sucker-punched by the Socialist Youth guy. So I just went without coffee. And the ham sandwiches. Forget it. I mean, they put the vegan table right by the exit, how was I going to get out of there alive?
And then there was sort of a general disdain I picked up for America and American culture and a corresponding heightened interest in exotic cultures. There is def a lot of baby-bathwater tossing I think. Just because America may have been co-opted by robber barons again, doesn't mean we the people are bad people and doesn't mean we shouldn't make lionize the ideals of the white males up on Mt. Rushmore. I couldn't help thinking that if some of these causes started adorning their material with American flags and using words like heritage and freedom it might be a little more palatable to the great middle in this country. Maybe they don't want that. Maybe that would dissolve their raison d'etre.
In my defense, I want to remind you that I do not act on these impulses. I don't laugh at people I don't know. I don't treat them poorly when I interact with them. I picked up their pamphlets and read them. I engaged a couple of booth-manners on the issues. The fact that I'm there proves I'm open-minded. But why does it bother me so much? If you know me, go ahead, take a whack at me; leave a comment.
The funniest thing was when I turned the last corner and saw one of my best friends at the World Neighbors booth. She was shocked that I was at a peace festival. I was shocked that she was shocked. I said, "I'm all about peace. Fair Trade, non-violence, justice, unions, condoms, environmental protection; what's not to like?" She just smiled and said, "Just by yourself, right." She knows me all too well...
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Goin' to the Chapel
Finally, day three. Just a note, first, tho. I only have pictures of buildings and cityscapes. We are supposed to get a CD of the partypics which will have more pics of interest to those who commented their requests.
We split up on Sunday. At 10:00am, Mimi came for Super Giant Killer and they hailed a cab and whisked away to American Girl Place on 5th Avenue. Mimi had made a deal with her that if she practiced exceptional finishing school manners she would be rewarded with a spree there and she really was a sparkling little angel the whole time. She got to bring Kit with her and they got matching letter jackets and Kit got some Converse hi-tops and crazy socks. That is sacrilege to hardcore AG freaks because she is dressing 'out of time', but SGK doesn't care. Then they spent the day getting hair and nails done on Park Avenue.
Meanwhile, YHWH and I took C. F. Kats on the Uptown Loop of the sightseeing bus. We got to see all the ornate French Renaissance buildings and Harlem. It was a nice relaxing trip of about 2.5 hours. About the only thing we really did that day was visit the MoMA and we shopped in a couple of little boutiques and an international grocery. MoMa is pretty pricey at $20 each, but every work in there is by a 'namebrand' artist, and most of them are the biggies like Starry Night and the Campbell's Soup Cans and Persistence of Memory, etc.
Then came the great hour. Time to get dressed for the Main Event - Wedding Part Three. The second iterations of the fancy dresses were donned and I put on my average looking gray suit, but I did wear a red tie with eyeglasses on it. Only later did I realize that I was to have worn a dark suit to a wedding. No one made a big deal of it, though. I made the fatal mistake of so many honest men and fell for the question, "How do I look?" No, actually, I was just trying to bring levity to the rather tense three-people-dressing-in-a-small-space scenario. So, I said that C.F. Kats' blouse made her look like a pirate and that YHWH's dress looked like something Mrs. Roper would wear. They weren't amused. But they were just ravishing anyway.
The third wedding was in NYAC itself, so we got there with no hitches. This ceremony was still not something to which I am accustomed. I don't know if it was because it was Catholic or Argentine or what. Evenso, I'm very tolerant of other cultures and customs - I even went to a lesbian wedding back in the early 90s before it was cool (or legal) - so I'm not judging it negatively. One thing I noticed was that there was still more speechifying. The father of the bride got up and read off a list of names of people who came all the way from Dubai and Argentina again just like the rehearsal dinner and then we all applauded. I was kind of thinking that if I wanted to know who was there, I would just go look at the guest book. Actually, we applauded lots of things at the urging of the priest. I'd never heard of wedding applause and it did make the solemn proceedings I'm used to seem a little riotous at times. Of course, SGK did a great job strewing flower petals around in the wake of the bride's steps. There were also lay readings by family members and I'm not used to that, either. That whole thing was pretty painless, though.
The hard part came when the ceremony was over and we had yet another open bar with cheese and hors d'oeuvres (I hope I got that right, I'm too lazy to look it up). I say hard because I was starving again having only had a knish from a stand in the street for nourishment all day and I was waiting in line for my gin and tonic and cheese when I was summoned away for family photos. Endless permutations of "now just the uncles", "let's have everyone over five feet", "all people born on Wednesdays!" were assembled for photos and each lineup was taken with about six cameras and two or three lighting scenarios each. So I had to endure all of that without alcohol assist. Speaking of which, once I had a drink in hand, I let C.F.Kats have a taste hoping that it would discourage her from partaking too soon. She was suitably disgusted by the taste, so hopefully it worked. The coolest part of this phase was when YHWH's uncle (the same from the previous night's speech) sat down next to the piano player, who had just played "Ode to Joy" and "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" moments before, and taught him to play "Boomer Sooner".
At this point another unusual development occured. We were all asked to sit down at our tables for dinner (again, most receptions I've been to do not have dinner). But the food was not forthcoming. And once again, it was about 7:00 and I was starving. So, we all sat down and the dj started playing some anthemic Kool and the Gang or Raydio song and he belts out these booming introductions of the parents of the couple and each of the flower girls. Kind of had the feel of one of those pro wrestling introductions. And then the dj takes over the whole reception and starts playing dance music and we're all supposed to dance. OK. We're starving. Doesn't the dancing come after the dinner? But I'm cool with that. I've had two drinks and some champagne.
Everyone knew I was shy and reserved and would mope over at my table with Big Time Book Editor, but since that was what's expected of me, I did the opposite. I grabbed C. F. Kats and we danced the odd tangoish dance of people who can't dance, then I goofed around with SGK, then I danced with YHWH's sister, then I danced with YHWH's stepmom, and finally I did a Saturday Night Fever routine with YHWH when "Stayin' Alive" came on. Killer was all over that dance floor and in fact, the whole night she wouldn't have anything to do with her family. She wouldn't talk to us or dance with us or anything. She wanted Book Editor and family to adopt her. We did get to see some tipsy dancers fall over, tho, and C. F. Kats got some sage advice from a disgruntled woman hiding in the bathroom from her husband.
We finally got to eat appetizers at 8:30 - shrimp on a bed of some really gross cold grey noodles. No thanks. Then the entrees came out at 9:30. Filet again! And still no bacon. It was ok, but nothing to write home about. Dessert was wedding cake and it was pretty standard fare, even though the couple was too prim to smash the cake in each others faces. Bad sign...
So that was it. Final thoughts - it wasn't that bad. Once I accepted the absurdity of the entire enterprise and just let go, it was fine. I got rave reviews again, this time from the top, so I felt pretty good about it. I even got a verbal invitation to the brother-of-the-bride's wedding in Minnesota in May.
We split up on Sunday. At 10:00am, Mimi came for Super Giant Killer and they hailed a cab and whisked away to American Girl Place on 5th Avenue. Mimi had made a deal with her that if she practiced exceptional finishing school manners she would be rewarded with a spree there and she really was a sparkling little angel the whole time. She got to bring Kit with her and they got matching letter jackets and Kit got some Converse hi-tops and crazy socks. That is sacrilege to hardcore AG freaks because she is dressing 'out of time', but SGK doesn't care. Then they spent the day getting hair and nails done on Park Avenue.
Meanwhile, YHWH and I took C. F. Kats on the Uptown Loop of the sightseeing bus. We got to see all the ornate French Renaissance buildings and Harlem. It was a nice relaxing trip of about 2.5 hours. About the only thing we really did that day was visit the MoMA and we shopped in a couple of little boutiques and an international grocery. MoMa is pretty pricey at $20 each, but every work in there is by a 'namebrand' artist, and most of them are the biggies like Starry Night and the Campbell's Soup Cans and Persistence of Memory, etc.
Then came the great hour. Time to get dressed for the Main Event - Wedding Part Three. The second iterations of the fancy dresses were donned and I put on my average looking gray suit, but I did wear a red tie with eyeglasses on it. Only later did I realize that I was to have worn a dark suit to a wedding. No one made a big deal of it, though. I made the fatal mistake of so many honest men and fell for the question, "How do I look?" No, actually, I was just trying to bring levity to the rather tense three-people-dressing-in-a-small-space scenario. So, I said that C.F. Kats' blouse made her look like a pirate and that YHWH's dress looked like something Mrs. Roper would wear. They weren't amused. But they were just ravishing anyway.
The third wedding was in NYAC itself, so we got there with no hitches. This ceremony was still not something to which I am accustomed. I don't know if it was because it was Catholic or Argentine or what. Evenso, I'm very tolerant of other cultures and customs - I even went to a lesbian wedding back in the early 90s before it was cool (or legal) - so I'm not judging it negatively. One thing I noticed was that there was still more speechifying. The father of the bride got up and read off a list of names of people who came all the way from Dubai and Argentina again just like the rehearsal dinner and then we all applauded. I was kind of thinking that if I wanted to know who was there, I would just go look at the guest book. Actually, we applauded lots of things at the urging of the priest. I'd never heard of wedding applause and it did make the solemn proceedings I'm used to seem a little riotous at times. Of course, SGK did a great job strewing flower petals around in the wake of the bride's steps. There were also lay readings by family members and I'm not used to that, either. That whole thing was pretty painless, though.
The hard part came when the ceremony was over and we had yet another open bar with cheese and hors d'oeuvres (I hope I got that right, I'm too lazy to look it up). I say hard because I was starving again having only had a knish from a stand in the street for nourishment all day and I was waiting in line for my gin and tonic and cheese when I was summoned away for family photos. Endless permutations of "now just the uncles", "let's have everyone over five feet", "all people born on Wednesdays!" were assembled for photos and each lineup was taken with about six cameras and two or three lighting scenarios each. So I had to endure all of that without alcohol assist. Speaking of which, once I had a drink in hand, I let C.F.Kats have a taste hoping that it would discourage her from partaking too soon. She was suitably disgusted by the taste, so hopefully it worked. The coolest part of this phase was when YHWH's uncle (the same from the previous night's speech) sat down next to the piano player, who had just played "Ode to Joy" and "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" moments before, and taught him to play "Boomer Sooner".
At this point another unusual development occured. We were all asked to sit down at our tables for dinner (again, most receptions I've been to do not have dinner). But the food was not forthcoming. And once again, it was about 7:00 and I was starving. So, we all sat down and the dj started playing some anthemic Kool and the Gang or Raydio song and he belts out these booming introductions of the parents of the couple and each of the flower girls. Kind of had the feel of one of those pro wrestling introductions. And then the dj takes over the whole reception and starts playing dance music and we're all supposed to dance. OK. We're starving. Doesn't the dancing come after the dinner? But I'm cool with that. I've had two drinks and some champagne.
Everyone knew I was shy and reserved and would mope over at my table with Big Time Book Editor, but since that was what's expected of me, I did the opposite. I grabbed C. F. Kats and we danced the odd tangoish dance of people who can't dance, then I goofed around with SGK, then I danced with YHWH's sister, then I danced with YHWH's stepmom, and finally I did a Saturday Night Fever routine with YHWH when "Stayin' Alive" came on. Killer was all over that dance floor and in fact, the whole night she wouldn't have anything to do with her family. She wouldn't talk to us or dance with us or anything. She wanted Book Editor and family to adopt her. We did get to see some tipsy dancers fall over, tho, and C. F. Kats got some sage advice from a disgruntled woman hiding in the bathroom from her husband.
We finally got to eat appetizers at 8:30 - shrimp on a bed of some really gross cold grey noodles. No thanks. Then the entrees came out at 9:30. Filet again! And still no bacon. It was ok, but nothing to write home about. Dessert was wedding cake and it was pretty standard fare, even though the couple was too prim to smash the cake in each others faces. Bad sign...
So that was it. Final thoughts - it wasn't that bad. Once I accepted the absurdity of the entire enterprise and just let go, it was fine. I got rave reviews again, this time from the top, so I felt pretty good about it. I even got a verbal invitation to the brother-of-the-bride's wedding in Minnesota in May.
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