The Neon Indian concert at Governor’s Island turned out to be a fun evening, but far from perfect.  Since Neon Indian have only a small repertoire, the show also featured Prefuse 73, DOM, and Nite Jewel.  Most of the music was quality psychedelic dance pop, but was again the hipster crowd proved that they simply cannot dance. Additionally, the security personnel were on a major power trip and thwarted any possible hope of exploring the island late at night.  Food and beer prices were sky high, which is to be expected.

One of the many Security Personnel

The Scene

The show The Capeman written and directed by Paul Simon was much less enjoyable.  Waking up at 5 a.m and waiting in line for free tickets in Central Park until 1:00 p.m ended up being more enjoyable than the show itself.  The evening was rainy and chilly, yet that is not what made the musical viewing experience so miserable.  The show was destined for failure mainly because Paul Simon tried to capture the Puerto Rican immigrant experience with no basis to do so.  And because of this the music and choreography suffered since Simon has no personal experience with the culture.

DINING

Following a long line-waiting experience, we dined at Nougatine in Jean-Georges.  Eating on the patio was a good way to disguise the fact that we were not as stylish as the other celebrity-seeking clientele.  The fried calamari was absolutely delicious with a touch of basil salt.  The citrus-chilli dip also helped make the dish.  Jean-Georges makes a lot of the sauces in a whipped-cream maker, so they have an incredible airy texture.

The poached peaches with pistachio ice cream and hazelnut was an unusual dish.  I thought the peaches tasted like olives and was not in love with them, but the ice cream was absolutely delicious.

All in all, a delightfully delicious meal.

H & H bagels

The selection of varieties are minimal, but the bagels are always hot and delicious.  Being able to eat a fresh bagel and lox sandwich and 4:30 a.m is an unbelievable luxury, so I am not going to complain about the lack of flavors or atmosphere of the restaurant.  We made the fellow line-waiters so jealous with these bagels that we did not make any friends.

RECREATION

Four stars to the midtown greenway.  Well paved, well labeled, and away from traffic.  The best way to travel around Manhattan.

It’s a lazy way to cover the Minnesota State Fair, but I’m still recovering from our visit, and speechless. More themes probably forthcoming.

Cheese Curd Twins - We Fry Cheese to Please!

Navy Twins

Milk Twins - Farmers Feed Us!

French Fries Twins!

Elderly Twins - On a bench

*Editor’s Pick - Burnsville Marching Band Dating Twins

Shameless and unnecessary cute pic for the kids

St. Louis Arch

Franzen is from Webster Groves, which is an inner-ring suburb of St. Louis.  Even though Webster Groves was recently ranked number nine in Family Circle Magazine’s list of the “Ten Best Cities for Families” in America, it received more negative press in the 1966 CBS documentary, 16 in Webster Groves. Although the documentary portrays the suburb as a stifling hub of conformity, Franzen disagrees, citing it as a friendly, unpretentious Midwestern town where one’s innocence is able to be preserved.

Earthquake Cake

In celebration of Franzen’s second book, Strong Motion, which describes mysterious earthquakes in the Boston area.  The fault line runs through the top of the cake.

3M Headquarters

Similar to Franzen’s previous novel The Corrections, Freedom begins with a portrait of a family.  The family is named the Berglunds and they live in St. Paul, Minnesota.  Walter Berglund is a lawyer who works for the multinational corporation 3M, pictured above.

Freedom!

A gas station named Freedom is almost as ironic as a novel about a typical suburban family titled Freedom.

This is kind of like freedom and Franzen loves birds.

]]> http://www.titsandballs.org/?feed=rss2&p=741 http://www.titsandballs.org/?p=715 http://www.titsandballs.org/?p=715#comments Fri, 13 Aug 2010 06:59:45 +0000 Tits http://www.titsandballs.org/?p=715

Monkeys in stainless steel by Rona Pondic, American 1952

Graft in stainless steel by Roxy Paine, American 2009

A common trend in our travels has been sculpture gardens and two of my favorite ones are stainless steel representations of natural objects.  Graft, weighing about 16,000 pounds, beautifully embodies the juxtaposition of the natural and manmade, as it is perfectly placed in a sculpture garden within the urban setting of our nation’s capital.  One can see the sculpture appears to be a fusion of two distinct tree types, the left side gnarled and irregular, while the right smooth and ordered.  This appears to expand on the metaphor of the natural world meeting the cityscape, however which is chaotic and which is ordered lies in the eyes of the beholder.

Monkeys is an older piece that captures movement impeccably, while the positions of the monkeys seem to have some sexual undertones.  It is amazing how the stainless steel looks so much like skin in the human hand portions. Stainless steel surprisingly appears to be a great medium in which to capture the natural world.  It highly resembles mercury, which looks like it is always moving, and thus is able to capture the changes that often occur in nature.  Albeit stainless steel itself is incredibly unnatural, it is able to offer a surreal representation of the metamorphoses of life whether they are the growth of a tree or the evolution of mankind.

The Magic Garden is one of mosaic artist Isaiah Zagar’s many public works.  While the crowds and heat of a typical Philly summer day took away from some of the “magic”, upon entering one can imagine the beauty of the space if it were unpopulated.  While to some it may look like a sparkling junk yard, to others it is a gleaming, and beautifully arranged assortment of glass bottles, bicycle wheels, broken glass, and other trinkets. Additionally, one can thank Isaiah for helping save South Street.  Before, Isaiah, his wife, and fellow artists rented space on South Street it was slated by the Philadelphia city administration to become an expressway.  Also, I think Isaiah and I have a connection since I’ve had a vision to create a mosaic skyscraper and he created a mosaic building and extensive garden.

It turns out that “Schuylkill” is pronounced more like “skoogle” than like “sheyulkel.” As in, “The Schuylkill River Trail is a strange dichotomy of serene and hectic, with the scenic waterfront on one side and a 4 lane highway on the other. There should be more water fountains.”

DINING

Honey’s Sit’n'Eat: ostensibly Jewish-Southern Fusion, although we felt like the cuisine was more combined than fused. They featured both Matzo Ball Soup and Fried Green Tomatoes, but nothing along the lines of Latkes and Sausage Gravy, or Deep Fried Brisket. The waiters were unbearably hip, and Honey’s does not accept credit cards. But there was a note in the bathroom about how to flush the antique toilet, which I found endearing.

Some Cheese Steak Restaurant with “John” in the title: According to one native Philadelphian*, this is the only place in the city that doesn’t serve low-quality beef on low-quality bread with Cheez Whiz. The sandwiches are humongous and delicious. It was in a decidedly untouristy part of town between I-95 and a Blockbuster, and the cook was impatient to the point of being rude, so I’m pretty sure it was authentic. No free water.

*neither of those adjectives is true

TRANSPORTATION

Wasn’t crazy about the trains, mostly because of some confusion about when the last train was going back to Mount Airy. We thought it was closer to 1:30, they thought it was more like midnight.

The system is almost unbelievably archaic, too. It doesn’t accept credit cards, and one buys little metal tokens to get on the subway. On trains going out to the edge of the city, a conductor comes around with a hole punch. It would be cute if a one-way ticket didn’t cost 5 dollars. (I think Philadelphia has no money.)

TOURIST ATTRACTIONS

I was EXTREMELY disappointed by the Liberty Bell.

**Corrections

Liberty Bell notwithstanding, I really loved Philadelphia. Our hosts were gracious and badass, the pizza was icy cold, and the beer was herby and delicious. The Something Corporate show (NOT Taking Back Sunday) was an embarrassing blast from my early high school past. It’s a great city to bike in, and if New Orleans sinks into the ocean (and I very much hope that it does not), then Philadelphia will be high on my list of places to live.

And to all you scrapple virgins out there- Stop it.

It’s been almost 70 years since Crystal Springs reigned as the largest exporter of tomatoes (in the world?), but locals still know it as the “Once  known  as  the TOMATOPOLIS   OF   THE   WORLD” A curious tourist will still be directed to the one-room Tomato Museum, and the annual Tomato Festival is the biggest party of the year. But just as every Rome eventually falls to barbarian hordes, and Night follows Day, so must every Tomatopolis someday be outshone by the South’s Largest and Most Unique Selection of Lawn and Garden Fountains, Birdbaths, Planters and Statuary. I enjoyed my visit to the Tomato Museum with its forlorn relics of a bygone era. But for me, Crystal Springs will always be Four Seasons Garden Art.

Tits and I stumbled onto FSGA by accident, on our way, in fact, to the TM. We’d been driving for days, and needed a little R&R. Unable to find the museum and intrigued by the armada of classical statues lining the highway, we decided to stop in. Good thing! The selection was immense. There were fountains and gazebos, life-sized Davids and miniature Davids, rabbits, lions, frogs, pigs, creepy little girls, dragons and hedgehogs, several versions of the 10 Commandments, birdbaths, benches, baskets, mermaids and more. I could have stayed for hours, but since an (exceedingly helpful and friendly!) employee gave us directions to the Tomato Museum, we decided to move on. Unfortunately our U-haul was full and our wallets almost empty, so we left without that special something to brighten up our yard. Someday, though, we’ll need lawn ornaments, and we’ll sure know where to get them.

Although, we were too early for the much anticipated tomato festival, we did very much enjoy the museum.  A one room museum connected to a local art gallery, was staffed by a couple very friendly individuals.  Neatly arranged media and objects surround the room, highlighting tomato festival t-shirts from every year.  The museums collection consists mainly of historical documents, tomato-growing tools and machinery, in addition to tomato garb.  Unfortunately, there is little information about the tomato plant itself, or any human narratives about the tomato farming experience in Crystal, Springs.  However, it is a must-see if you find yourself on I-55 S just south of Jackson, Mississippi.

Note: Vitamins are known as “health givers,” and the most delicious way to enjoy them is in Campbell’s tomato soup.

Crystal Springs tomatoes were shipped under labels such as Crystal’s Pride, Blue Flag,  Magnolia, Red Robin, Mississippi Special, and Red Robin.

From my bed (that I share)

I can see the earth

And the sky

I can see Blake and Mary Ellen

And every other room in my house

I can see the neighbor’s house

(And not just through the window)

(Which is very dirty anyways, and broken)

It is the second most beautiful place I have ever lived

Garwin and I went to the golf course in Northfield, MN, and somehow talked our way into getting some clubs and balls so we could hit up some holes (is that proper golf lingo? I’ve never golfed). On the way over to the first tee, which was way up on a hill, I notice Tony Hayward (the very-much-in-trouble CEO of BP) getting ready to tee off. I start taunting him from below: “Hey Hayward, fuck youuuu!!! You motherfuckin’ ass-lickin’ cocksuckin’ motherfucker!!”

Oh, and by the way, I might as well mention that for this whole dream Garwin is just hangin’ out behind me. And my dad is way ahead of us on the course; he doesn’t actually make an appearance in the dream, but that’s where he is.

So anyway, I’m taunting Hayward who is way up on the hill. He starts to defend himself and his actions, but I just continue giving him shit. The antagonistic back-and-forth starts getting pretty old, so I decide that I’m gonna give a sort of mock apology to have a little fun: “Hayward, I am sooooo sorry. I just lost control of myself, I don’t know what happened.” He immediately accepted my sarcastic remark. So I say “Hey Hayward, do you wanna show me and my buddy how to play golf? We’ve never played.”

Hayward bounds on down to take a look at our equipment. “Did you boys pay for these yourselves?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, these won’t do. They’re far too large for you boys. Let’s go exchange ‘em.”

Hayward takes us back to the front and helps us select proper equipment. Once we’re properly equipped, we go to the first tee. He shows us the right golfing technique, and some strategies for the first hole. The first hole requires hitting the ball through a cracked door to a large log cabin, and aim at a place on the far inside wall labeled “Ma” in Sharpie. Also, inside the log cabin there are walkways that are all turning, like in Hogwarts.

By the time I’m ready to hit the ball, I begin to realize that the cabin is FULL of people who love Hayward. Everyone is going “Hey, Hayward! How’s it going?” to him, and giving him high fives. There’s farmers, little kids, and all sorts of people who just love Hayward in this magical log cabin golf course in Northfield; he’s some sort of local hero.

At this point, I’m starting to feel some real affection for the guy. He was so generous with his golf instruction to us, even after we antagonized him so. And all those people were able to see the good inside him. Perhaps Hayward had taught all of them how to play golf. And so my fake sarcastic apology turned into a real one. I realized that he isn’t the monster the media has made him out to be. He’s just a regular guy with a heart of gold, golfing with the rest of us.