A Queen departs...for good

You might have already seen these pix somewhere...I actually swiped them from somebody's blog, who admitted to having stolen them from yet somebody else's blog, and probably the provenance continues from there.

The smaller of the ships is the QE2 and she slipped out of New York harbor for the last time this week, destined to become a hotel in Dubai. The lovely Mary escorted her out...

Naming Wrongs

There’s a gigantic new football stadium reaching for the sky right across the Hudson River in New Jersey. Upon completion in 2010 this stadium will be shared by the New York Jets and the New York Giants for 99 years (I'm not kidding, that's the contract), presumably not at the same time (well, they do play each other once in a while). As the new football season chugs into its 6th week I’ve noticed the media is now referring to these teams as The Jets and The Giants thereby ignoring geography completely and letting people think of them as New York teams when, in fact, they are playing in New Jersey.

Whatever state they play in, a German-based insurance company was negotiating with whomever one negotiates with to buy the “Naming Rights” to this new stadium. Allianz is a European “financial services” giant and already has their name on a soccer stadium in Munich and sponsors Formula One racing. This is all cool until you read what Allianz seemed to be willing to pay to have their name in lights in New Jersey. The two teams would split $25 million a year for 30 years. Yet another sports-related dollar-value that boggles the mind. However, due to revelations that Allianz was the Third Reich’s choice for insurance coverage before and during WWII, including a nice benefits package for the engineers at Auschwitz, this proposed alliance with American football took a fast fade, seemingly never to be whispered of again (Allianz is the parent company of several large American insurance companies, including Fireman's Fund, but shhh about that).

You no doubt noticed that the Democratic Convention was held in the Pepsi Center in Denver, right? And the Republican Convention was at the Xcel Energy Center in Minneapolis. Both of these corporations paid a pretty penny for this honor but naming rights seem to have taken over almost every new structure going up around the country, especially the new sports venues.

Although (thank goodness for big favors) the new Yankee Stadium will be called Yankee Stadium, the new venue being built to house the New York Mets is dumping the name “Shea” and will hitherto be known as Citi Field. Citigroup, although seemingly caught-up in the current mortgage mess, having lost hundreds of millions of dollars, still has deemed it worthwhile to pay $20 million a year (for 20 years) for naming rights to the new structure. Similarly, the new home of the New Jersey Nets, soon to be squeezed into downtown Brooklyn, will be named after Barclays Bank. Well, okay then, but to what end? Will financial stabilization and a surge in new business result from having the words Citi Field emblazoned on the new baseball stadium and Barclays on the new basketball arena, or will it only result in even higher penalties for overdrafts?

There are dozens of stadiums, and buildings in general, named after corporations (some even now in the dumper, e.g. the WaMu Theater in Madison Sq. Garden) and products like Pepsi and even, more rarely these days, individuals. Naming rights are certainly nothing new. But why does it stop there? Why can’t I, for example, make a little scratch by scaring up a sponsor for naming rights to my backyard or parts thereof? Say the Peebstuff/Frito Lay Urban Floral Garden, or how about the Benny Burrito Birdbath; a nice terra cotta basin that the blue jays dote upon? Money would not have to change hands. I would sell the naming rights to my birdbath for some free burritos at Benny’s. Even individual plants or trees could be carried into history. I wouldn’t try to make a profit but it would be nice to get some of my maintenance expenses covered. I figure I spend about $300 a year and, if necessary, I would be willing to cut back on birdseed next year. Is that too much to ask? Every year of course, for 20 years, just like Citi Field.

A slight digression: I do love the birds that come around to eat the seed I scatter and then stick around to splash around in the two birdbaths I provide, but daily maintenance is almost essential as a result. Birds are just like people in this regard. That is, if you feed them, you have to put up with their shit.

Anyway, naming rights can be extended to anything. I got into a brief discussion about selling naming rights to my body parts but immediately dropped the topic when one of my waggish friends suggested my butt could be named Wriggly Field.

Red Hot MoMA

I have always had a love/hate relationship with New York’s Museum of Modern Art. I’ve even held memberships to MoMA several times (right now I have one) but I usually let them lapse because I get so tired of the damn pretentious elitism of the place and the constant battering at the doors of my meager income for donations. To top it off they also sell, or at least supply, my name and address to every other cultural institution on the East Coast causing a deluge of mail, each one pleading their individual cause and the dire need for me to send them money. Even so, I must confess, once in a while MoMA does something so right that I fling myself inside over and over until surfeited with art; somewhat like eating too many burritos at a Mexican restaurant (including numerous margaritas…with salt).

This year’s blockbuster consists of only 24 paintings but almost any one of them could be enough to send you home tapping your impressionistic toes. Van Gogh and the Colors of the Night is the pretentious (see?) name of this exhibition and it is nothing short of thrilling. You’ve probably seen all the paintings, if only on postcards, and I’m afraid I must confess to owning a coffee cup, a mug really, with a “Starry Night” motif. But in the flesh these paintings live and breathe and agonize. You can’t help being trapped in Van Gogh’s world of beauty, ugliness and madness unless your taste in art is primarily limited to the museum shop.

My cynical soul always cries out to the cynical souls who bring exhibitions like this together. Admission to MoMA for an adult is $20. I wonder how much that translates into the Euros of 1893. Poor Van Gogh never sold a painting in his life and now they seem to get passed around for gazillions about every 20 years or so. This show should be free (yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen) but I set my basic communism aside for shows like this one. My esthetic senses deserve the break and it gets me over the hump of what passes for “modern art” nowadays, but don’t get me started on the commerce behind it all and the victimization of its collectors. So I will proceed cautiously in these shallow waters because, after all, I really do like my coffee mug. It’s a good size, the handle fits my fingers nicely and the colors are really pretty.

Cranberry Almond Cookie Monster ME

I might have written about these delicioso cookies before but Trader Joe’s Cranberry Circles are now in my neighborhood; TJ’s having recently opened a nicely convenient-to-home branch in Brooklyn Heights. I’m told these cookies are not available on the West Coast, which seems fairly incomprehensible to me even though they are manufactured in Needham, Mass. Maybe, like New York bagels, they don’t travel well. You're right, you fox, this bag isn't full...somehow someone cadged two or three on the way to the photography studio.