bloglog

(solstice 11:09)

This long hot summer on a hot tin roof in the heat of the night. It is taking taking a slow exit with temps going to 90 on the first day of autumn. A fall preview Sunday with 70s spendour at the Rittenhouse fine art show with the canvas cabanas populated with some interesting work. Everybody seemed chilled out around the Square. Playful, vibrant or dark abstracts butted against vibrant florals, seascapes, urbania, portraiture. Was hard to bike around the square and remember to stop because it was so interesting taking in as a flyby.

Bloggerslacker

Like the hazy Daisy Buchanan in The Great Gatsby, I always wait for the longest day of the year then forget and miss it. Hard not to miss the longest hottest week of the year. The haze descended on my brain and it’s all burned off. Out twice along West River Drive on Greg (3rd gen beater bike, whose seat is busted & keeps me standing a lot) to see if the Kelly Pool behind Memorial Hall is filled. After the long steep wind up Briar Rd. Hill to realize in the distance that it is empty. You have to laugh, like lunging toward an oasis. Or maybe it’s heatstroke, Only one thing to do and that is try to run hills, because it makes you feel so disgustingly hot, that the rest of the day seems cooler. For this Sisyphusian drill- up and down, forward and backward- with the assurance that air-conditioned motorists think you are a loon.

Missed Solstice, not because of the bourbon Daisy was still having, but ushered in two days late in the form of a 70 mph wind drive that dropped the temperature 20 degrees in ninety seconds, only to be steamier later that night, it finally feels like summer. I was trying to write something that would crack the mental dust & fury and noticed that the room was a lot darker, and then I heard a swish of the trees so I immediately went out to feel the storm advance. Rain moving seemingly every which way except straight down, swirling wet bands that were lashing me back in the doorway. Fabulous summer is here and there is nothing to be done really except to keep an eye out for those green lights off East Egg.

no MetroScape

Philly pretty beat up and still buried in piles of redirected snow which has been turned into shovel ready soot cliffs, it was easy to stay in today and do Monday homework. No one was open for business except the banks, forgetting that President’s day means more than store sales. Climbed out of the doldrums in steeped in opera and dance lands.
Was listening to the radio when Evan Bayh announced he was not seeking reelection because of the party rancor that prevents governing and just got really pissed at both parties.
Well the GOP won’t be happy until they are the only party, until then, they will obstruct. It is disgusting that they would ever crow about no bipartisanship. Forget governing, when the they don’t get their way, like the character Fatty Arbuckle used to play, a petulant child, they break what is in front of them. And they will do and say anything to smear their opponents. They lie, cheat and spit on democracy.
On the Democratic side, they just don’t fight hard enough and I get the queasy feeling because they are afraid of their own jobs. Byah is one of the most sane, compassion and intelligent lawmakers we have, the fact that he is being driven out of politics because it is so toxic is disheartening. Who can blame him. He is a man of character and wants to fight for his causes where it will count, not where it will be turned into so much poison. Merde!
Turned off the radio and put on Chet Baker quintet Let’s get Lost just as it was getting darker. Made mock soup, which really means I blanche everything and build up the broth all in 15 minutes, so it is good enough, but doesn’t have any depth of flavor, but is healthy on a damp day-
for gay sautee
chicken garlic soup with Chinese vegetables
1- Chicken broth with 2 full cloves of garlic, 1 onion, 1 red pepper minced, any spices that are remaining in the cabinet.
2- Chinese veggie pack from the produce store with Bok choy, water chestnuts, baby corn, broccoli, mushrooms & bamboo shoots (save a few for GOP fingernails)
Sautee with salad dressing until greens glow, pour in broth.
Had lunch and reread the more blistering sections of Ned Rorem‘s diary LIES.

bloglog

Enter and sign in please

12:34am waiting for the Senate vote on the health reform bill and killing time by youtubing celebrity guests from ‘What’s My Line’ which I used to look forward to every week in the 60s, because everybody was from Broadway and film, or so I thought and everyone was dressed in evening wear, bowties and gowns, a world I could only dream of being in.  Of course the subtext of What’s My Line was that it was also a peak into a world that was gay, gay, gay.  So now it just all makes so much sense when I see people like Lauren Bacall, Judy Garland, Sal Mineo, Paul Newman, Joanne Woodward, Tony Perkins, Rock Hudson, Mongomery Clift, Yul Brenner, Ginger Rogers,  Sophia Loren, Gypsy Rose Lee at ease and slinging all that stagedoor banter.  Course, as silly as it was as I watch this assemblage I suddenly wish there were a political ‘What’s My Line’ where the mystery guest had some wit and class, showed respect to the show and was answering honestly even when our blindfolds were still on.

bloglog

Stagephil, my first fouffy blog, was exported to Alternatetakes2, my current fouffier blog and we just passed a year of fouffiness and we are, doves, on the verge of 500 posts. Thank you Jan!  AT2s fab and fierce photographer in the gorgeous hills of PA. They are too, too beautiful.  HappyBlogdamnyear!

bloglog

After all that nastiness with politics and religion one needs a break darling. And the Palin menacing the land in tailored suits again, it’s just too, too scary. Turns out she’s a political bigfoot afterall.

Anyway. Perhaps I’ll watch a thriller. Maybe a Hitchcock or maybe John Schleisinger’s movie Marathon Man with that eternal tagline ‘Is it safe?’ I still do not have tv, but a lot on vids and discs. Course I need to be soothed tonight, so it might be Garbo after all. Now, Mata, Anna or Ninochka?  Roman, Frederick or Melvyn? Doesn’t matter it’s Garbo.

And just to clear up a Garbo myths. She did say ‘I want to be alone’ but there is no truth to the rumor that Novarro had to say the line ‘What’s the matter, Mata?’