Dandelion Whine

Although definitely a weed, dandelions can actually be beautiful in two phases of its existence.  Its bloom is a brilliant yellow and a bed of them, especially at a remove of ten feet or so, is attractive.  These flowers morph into the seed ball that we all know and love and, if you’re like me, many a childhood reverie was accompanied by blowing gently into the core of the cloudy orb and sending beautiful little parachutes into the wind, presumably to take root far from the origin of its existence.  And, of course, annoy the owners of manicured lawns everywhere.
 

But, and no buts about it, dandelions are definitely a weed; the definition of which generally means any plant you don’t want.  When dandelions are let loose in one’s garden they will blanket the landscape and choke out anything in their path.  The stems and leaves interlock and the roots go deep into the soil, and evil commences.  They usurp the territory of every other plant and, if not sent to hell in time, they choke off all other flora except, maybe, English ivy.

This year, because of our brutal winter, I was sure nothing would survive but somehow my spring garden has produced a bumper crop of dandelions.  I let them have their way for a week or so and enjoyed the brilliant yellow of their light brigade.  But yesterday I armed myself with the proper tools and the physical aggression required and heartlessly uprooted the little bastards and sent them to hell.  But, for some strange reason, I left a small area, maybe 3’ x 3’, to live out the proper order of their little (but evil) hearts just so I can witness the next phase.  If the wind doesn’t blow away the little pistils of survival I’ll do it myself.  They certainly don’t need me to propagate their species but hey, you never know, maybe I have saved the world or, at least, prolonged it by a thousand years.

Tater Delight

Brunch at The Surf Spot restaurant in Pacifica, Calif.  Posting a photo of my meals on here is not my thing, really it isn’t.  But this is a “tot” special The Surf Spot occasionally features.  It’s essentially a cheese and bacon omelet but what makes it different is that it is served on a layer of crisp, perfectly cooked tater tots.  I don’t know if they are Ore Ida or homemade but it sure made for a filling and delightful meal (with delightful company) on a sun splashed Sunday in Pacifica.

Frozen Hotel

It’s a rare movie that I see twice, but last week I saw two that just might fall into that exalted category.
 
I saw Disney’s megahit “Frozen” with two children (aged 7 and 10) who had already seen it umpteen times and could sing all the songs and lip-synch most of the dialogue.  Usually this would drive me up the wall but these kids were adorable and I couldn’t help but laugh inappropriately and thus sometimes missed some important facts and/or plotlines.  I guess the movie itself is charming (yes, there’s a prince) and it seems to have risen to the level of some of the bygone Disney classics, although blessed with a fairly anachronistic non-period script and jazzy lyrics/music.  I don’t think I really listened to the songs and sometimes my eyes wandered to the chickadees in attendance rather than the screen so, to be fair to both myself and the movie, I need to see it again.  Hmm, come to think of it maybe I should leave it alone…I might lose control of my old-fogey anti-sugar gag-reflex.
 
Wes Anderson’s “The Grand Budapest Hotel” is about as quirky a movie as you might see since the heyday of, say, the Marx Bros.  It’s almost relentlessly so and I missed a lot of the details so that a second, or even a third, viewing might be required to remedy that.  It’s a mad, mad world set in a never-existed European Alp country just before a major World War.  In other words it’s a damned serious movie taken lightly-with-caviar and it has a farcical panache that is hard to resist.  Ralph Fiennes is absolutely perfect as the historic and heroic concierge of the hotel and he attacks his role relentlessly, plays it gloriously straight and never cracks the veneer of what is required for his character’s impossible job.  Almost everybody in the cast is terrific in their own way (or maybe they are just giving in to Mr. Anderson’s “way”) with the exception of a couple of clinkers who were obviously cast in bit parts to draw I-see-you titters from an otherwise engrossed audience.  I don’t think it ruins anything to tell you that Mr. Fiennes’ character is a gerontophile, a word I love for several reasons, including just looking at it.  The GBH is probably one of the best movies of 2014 and I hope the Oscar folks have long memories.

Travelin' Marilyn

She’s 26 feet tall, she’s made of stainless steel and aluminum and she weighs in at some 30,300 lbs.  She has been loaded (in three pieces) on a flatbed truck and is headed, as we speak, across the country from Palm Springs, CA to Hamilton, NJ where she will be included for the summer in a retrospective of the artist Seward Johnson.  She’s been in PS for a little less than two years and I really don’t understand how I missed her.  But, fear not, I was able to take a close-up gander of “Forever Marilyn” last week and I must say I was impressed by its basic grotesqueness and shoe size.  Whimsy does have its place in the art world and this sculpture might just be the epitome of kitsch, Jeff Koons and his balloon dogs be damned.