Picasso as potato chip

El sombrero de tres picos (The Three-Cornered Hat or Le tricorne) is a ballet choreographed by Leonide Massine with music by Manuel de Falla commissioned by Sergei Diaghilev for his Ballets Russes that premiered in 1919.  Diaghilev also commissioned sets and costumes by none other than Pablo Picasso.  After this production and needing some cash Diaghilev had the center cut out of the curtain and sold it to a Swiss collector.  In 1957 it was bought by Seagram liquor nabob Samuel Bronfman (for $50,000) and, in 1959, it was installed in the entryway to the Four Seasons Restaurant in the architecturally ballyhooed Seagram Building on Park Avenue.
 

This last December a controversy erupted because Aby Rosen, the current owner of the Seagram Building, hates it and wants it OUT OF HERE! and proceeded to arrange for its removal.  The excrement hit the fan and everybody, including the NYC Landmarks folks (although they do not have jurisdiction) has jumped in with muddy feet to try to save the curtain (named Le Tricorne, after the ballet) as is, in place.  Basically a theatrical artifact and huge (vertically 19 feet), it is not considered a “major” Picasso and Christie’s valued it (in 2008) at “only” $1.6 million.  Also it is (allegedly) very fragile and could fall apart “like a potato chip” if it’s removed.  And just who gets to say what a “major” Picasso is and, for that matter, what kind of potato chip?  Everything connected to Picasso’s name is major, even the tee-shirt I own with his signature emblazoned across the front.
 
I betcha if that big ol’ Crystal Bridges Art Museum in Arkansas offered a cool $5 million, or so, everybody could get on board with selling it and, suddenly, it wouldn’t be so fragile after all.  What say you to that, you art connoisseurs at Walmart?

And the winner is…(cut to commercial)

Is it my imagination or am I correct in my assessment that NBC’s coverage of the Winter Olympics is being edited to resemble a reality show?  Can it possibly be more boring?  Also, can my own hypocrisy in watching be overcome by boycotting the Olympics, after the fact, on moral grounds?  Can the fact that I am hoping that both the Russian and the American men’s hockey teams and the Canadian and American women’s hockey teams crash and burn, be a sign that I am unpatriotic?  Is it wrong to root for Finland, a country I’ve never been to and have no desire to visit?  Am I so arrogant that I think arrogance should not be rewarded?
 
Can curling really be an actual sport?
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Update:  February 22, 2014 -- Wow, I almost got my wish didn't I?  Both the Russian and American men flamed out.  The Canadian women triumphed for gold and the American's fell, hard, to silver.  I heard the Canadian and American women's teams are so dominant that the sport might be discontinued as an Olympic sport!  Huh!

Funky Buddha

The German-style Floridian Hefeweizen wheat ale was right up my strasse at the Funky Buddha Brewery in Oakland Park, Florida last week.  Wheat ale is usually light on the palate anyway but this one, along with the usual citrus and cloves of such craft beverages, has a touch of an intriguing banana aroma and colors of a brilliant orange-and-yellow-flecked sunset-in-a-glass.

I tasted a couple of other creations and, although intriguing (and award-winning!) the Maple Bacon Coffee Porter was way too heavy for my tender palate and I took a pass on the other, darker potables.

The Funky Buddha is so “in” right now in South Florida it can hardly draw breath.  We were there on a Monday night so it wasn’t crowded and I felt right at home although the average age of most patrons seems to be about 14.  My old gray hairs might draw resentful and/or sympathetic gazes on a weekend.  Not that I care.

The FBB doesn’t serve anything to eat in-house, which seems odd to me since beer requires some sort of trail mix (at least), but they get around this by somehow having permission for food trucks to park along the curb in front.  There was only one on Monday (Mexican…and pretty good) but I understand there can sometimes be as many as four or five trucks on any given night serving a variety of ethnic edibles.  You are free to bring your food indoors and/or take up space in designated outdoor areas.

Cool place.  Thanks for the memory!

Oh, yeah, you can also buy “growlers” of any of the tap beers on a to-go basis.  The growlers are downright handsome and properly funky and they come in two sizes, large and way-large, and make the beer itself stylishly accessible and the bottles look really good on a shelf in your refrigerator.  You have to pay a deposit but the marketing is really clever in that it gets you back into the brewery for a refill. 

Ice Potty

Over the last couple of months I’ve discovered that my bathroom is pretty much the warmest room in my apartment.  It has a vertical floor-to-ceiling heating pipe that makes it really cozy for performing one’s daily toilette and other natural and unnatural functions.  Now, when the ghost of my mother yells, “What are you doing in there?” I can legitimately yell back, “Staying warm, do you mind?”
 
Really, this winter has been a back-breaker so far.  I’ve lived in NYC since 1971 and I don’t recall so many days of single-digit temperatures.  I figured I was used to the cold but I guess I was fooling myself in thinking that 28 degrees is cold.  Trust me, 8 degrees is the number that curdles the blood and sinks into the bones.  My pioneering spirit is being put to the test this year and it’s no laughing matter.  And I’m failing the test.

Bear Coffee

Most of my buds and buddettes (and family) know that I do like a good cup of coffee.  I’m somewhat of a purist and usually drink it black to savor the true flavor of whichever bean is put before me, but sometimes I do indulge myself with a latte or cappuccino so I can dip my mustache into creamy goodness.  I don’t usually emphasize my innate manliness (ahem) but sometimes I guess my swagger comes through.  Today, after I finally dug my car out of the ice floe in which it has been stuck for way too long and ran some errands I've hereto put off due to that glitch in my agenda, my local barista at Connecticut Muffin must have decided I deserved some special treatment.

Ahoy, Peewit!

I'm dawdling at the edge of the surf at Haulover Beach in Ft. Lauderdale; squinting at the purity of a teal and aqua horizon; poking at the sand with my toes and looking for valuable flotsam (well, okay, seashells); turning this way and that so the sun and ocean breeze could caress both my southern and northern exposure and, looking inward, contemplating my place in the world.  I’m venturing back and forth into the water, not flinching at its temperature or caring that a purple flag was flying which, I’m told, is the signal that there is some sort of sea life in the area that can wreak havoc on one’s flesh.  In this case, man-of-war jellyfish.  But I cared not.

I have it on good authority that my friend Dan (safely ensconced under a canopy up the beach) said “look at John, he looks like he is going to start sprouting feathers any minute.”  I guess it did look like I had adopted an avian strut at the water’s edge, maybe even preening as I sought solace from the warm sun which had been in very short supply for the last couple of months in NYC.  I acknowledge Dan’s homage to my evident display and have decided this bird is the one I will heretofore emulate.  It is a Northern Lapwing, otherwise known as a Peewit.  Not as showy as a peacock but still handsome enough to turn heads on the beach but still looking like I would be capable of some strategic mayhem if challenged by the common gull, tern or pelican that frequent Florida’s beaches.  Yes, you should know or might suspect:  Haulover is a feather-optional beach.  And preen I will.