Flaming Pablum

Blondie on the Street

Spotted this over on J.Yuenger’s excellent blog, but I remember first seeing it in the book, Making Tracks: The Rise of Blondie, which originally came out in 1982, but was re-released in 1998. My friend Walt was this massive Blondie fan and he treated that book like the Holy Grail. In any case, I’ve always loved this shot. I have no idea where the photograph was taken (the only caption info from the book being “Debbie and Clem trying to walk down the street”), but it still completely reeks of cool. 

I saw a picture of the Blondie kids quite recently (eek! Click here) and suffice to say, the bloom is slightly off the rose (`cos, ya know, I haven’t aged a day!), but they’ll always have style for miles, as far as I’m concerned.

Haven’t heard their new one, but here’s a taste of their heyday.

Goodnight, Irene

I'm sure this has been making the rounds, but thought I'd share it here as well...

 

Irene NYC from Buffalo Picture House on Vimeo.

Irene's soggy backside

Just took a morning stroll around my neighborhood. Looks like my area of downtown escaped largely unscathed. A few tree branches down here and there, but nothing too major. Streets largely free of cars, but lots of curious folks strolling about. Spotted Zach Braff (from "Scrubs") cleaning up after his dog. I guess we're in the clear?

...and I caught a fleeting glimpse of some blue sky...

Irene Fatigue

Spotted on First Avenue in the East Village this afternoon.

Give Me Shelter, Shelter From The Storm

It’s not supposed to roll in for another twenty-something hours or so, but I’ve had this old favorite song from my college years bouncing around my head for the past several days. Stay safe and dry, folks. Watch this space.

Exhuming "The Cruise"

Before Hurricane Irene arrives and destroys all that we hold dear, here's another post I meant to put up a while back that am only getting to now. Apologies to my friends on Facebook who may have already read me blathering about it.

So, I finally saw "The Cruise" (albeit about thirteen years after its release). It's a really compelling character study of one complex man's eccentricities and the city he's obsessed with. The documentary is also a nice snapshot of pre-9/11 New York City in all its glory. While protagonist Timothy "Speed" Levitch fluctuates between the insightful and the insufferable, it's still a wholly captivating film.

Here's a typical monologue from the man, struck by architectural rapture while walking north on Crosby Street.

"Psycho" Candy

Here's another post I meant to put up a few weeks ago.

I was never a big fan of Bret Easton Ellis. Sure, I read “Less Than Zero” in college (I believe I even have a first edition copy of it … wonder if it’s worth anything?), but my fandom for him didn’t really extend beyond that. When “American Psycho” came out a little while afterwards, I didn’t care and didn’t bother reading it. From what I heard about it at the time, it seemed like a pretty shallow exercise. A couple of years later when it became a film, I cared even less. I didn’t see it, and the earth continued to rotate just fine.

As fate would have it, however, I actually caught “American Psycho” on cable a few weeks back and watched it. As expected, the plot was pretty dumb, and I didn’t really invest in any of the characters therein, least of all protagonist Patrick Bateman (played with deliberate woodenness by Christian Bale). But I did enjoy director Mary Harron’s loving attention to the details and locations of New York City.

To that same end, Scouting NY put up an excellent breakdown of the specific spots in Patrick Bateman's New York City. While not as exhaustive as his treatments of "Taxi Driver," "Rosemary's Baby" and "Ghostbusters," it is indeed enjoyably thorough. Do check it out.

A Dip in the Ocean

My little brood made a late afternoon trip to the beach last Saturday afternoon. Peg and the kids had already been there for a little while, but I caught up with them around 5:30 pm after running some errands, hoping to squeeze the last few rays of sunshine out of a fleeting summer weekend in Quogue. Earlier in the day, the flags at the beach club had been waving white -- advising that the surf was "calm" and thus safe for swimming. By the late afternoon, however, it was somewhat unclear whether that choice of flag was still appropriate.

When I walked down onto the sand, my little boy, Oliver, spotted me and immediately came scampering, breathlessly asking to be taken into the water. At five years of age, Oliver is well versed in swimming in pools and quite happy to play around at the water's edge at the beach, but still requires assistance and supervision in the ocean. Gazing up at the still-white flag, I said "sure," and agreed to take him into the water with me.

I took little Oliver by the hand and walked to the edge of the shore with him. The surf was clearly in some state of transition at the time and the waves were breaking a bit more forcefully than I'd have preferred but still -- the white flag was still flying. I looked around and spied two lifeguards still technically manning their perch, but clearly ready to close up shop for the day. Thoughtlessly, Oliver and I waded into the churning blue water.

Within seconds, a short-but-emphatic wave pushed up against us, knocking my little boy down. I quickly scooped him out of the roiling white water. He was sputtering and soaked, but still boasting a wide, cherubic grin. As the waters started to rise around us, I hoisted him up and continued in. Suddenly, I was very concerned. I could feel the tenacious tug of the tide beneath me and the volatile waves above. Oliver clung to me like a little koala, but was still giggling happily. A single step further, and I felt the shelf of sand I'd been walking on sharply drop off beneath me. The water quickly rose to my neck, and a sizable wave was suddenly bearing down on me and my precious little boy.

Life suddenly went into stark slow-motion. When the wave hit us, I was completely knocked under, desperately managing to maintain my hold onto Oliver, vainly trying to keep his little head above the surface and forcing myself not to panic. I felt my back and neck hit the shelf of sand, shells and rocks I'd just been standing on, and immediately struggled to right myself and get my head and my son's head back on the right side of the water.

When we broke the surface again, we were already much farther from the shore than I'd ever planned on us being. Oliver wasn't giggling any more, and suggested in a hushed little voice that we "go back and see Mommy." While attempting to head back toward the shore, another wave hit us from behind, but by then we'd managed a foothold and were largely in the clear.

I carried little Oliver back to our towel and dried him off, downplaying the fact that I was visibly shaken from the experience. I looked back at the lifeguard stand. I have no clue if we were genuinely in any danger during the course of those fleeting, frantic proceedings, but my heart was certainly beating at a new and rarified rate. When I finally put Oliver back down on the sand, he skipped off merrily to go pester his big sister, arguably oblivious to fact that he'd maybe just had a brush with drowning.

Learn from my mistake. Trust your eyes and instinct. Flags mean nothing,

Did You Feel That?

I looked up and saw the lights swaying briefly. Image shamelessly appropriated from Jeremiah Moss. Be safe everybody.

Yet Another Shot From The Very Same Spot

Helpfully submitted by my main man, Rob B. who writes "It could be Brooklyn, ya know...."

It ain't Brooklyn. Still stumped?