I saw this beautiful vintage Porsche 912 from half a block away this morning while walking to my to my neighborhood coffee joint. I love the way the red color stands out from the environment, especially on such a dark, wet, rainy day. They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.
Comments Off My beautiful friend Sylvia sent me a link to The Roundabout Theater’s online auction featuring some truly fabulous items. Please take a look and support this important theater’s legacy of producing the best in new musical theater and plays and preserving these valuable American art forms for future generations.
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I recently rediscovered this vintage family photo among my personal collection, and right away was struck by the undisguised eeriness of this child’s costume. Who the photographer (my father?) and subject are (my cousin Joe?) is not clear, but judging from the context of my “archive” it appears to have been taken sometime during the late fifties to early sixties. For me, on the most visceral level, the image suggests the feeling of some of Diane Arbus’s more evocative work during her tragically abbreviated life. There must be something in the air, as this morning I arbitrarily stumbled across this article and slide show from the Huffington Post on “creepy” vintage Halloween costumes. It occurs to me that somewhere along the line, we’ve managed to sanitize the spirit of Halloween along with nearly everything else, which to me is far more disturbing than anything these costumes might actually represent.
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One of the things that drew me to New York City in the late seventies was a sense of history that was distinctly missing in the suburbs of Middle America, including those of Buffalo NY, where I was raised. However, since around the mid-nineties as much of the urban flavor began to bleed out of New York City, a great number of the old restaurants and mom and pop establishments have been replaced by suburban super stores and coffee house chains. It was somewhat ironic for me therefore, visiting Buffalo for the first time in 14 years, to find Parkside Candies exactly the way I’d always remembered it. A salesperson I spoke to said that its been at this location since 1927, without having had any major renovations. The factory is housed in the rear of the building, behind the store, and still produces some of the best candy I can ever remember eating. The sponge candy, which they’re famous for, is completely addictive and truly worth going out of your way for.
Comments Off As always, Bob Herbert strikes the right chord with this editorial.
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Exiting the subway station this morning, I came across this MTA Arts For Transit lightbox exhibition featuring the photography of Travis Ruse. The photos pictured here at the 6th Avenue & 42nd St. station reminded me so much of Bruce Davidson’s dark and wonderful 1986 book, Subway, which documented the lives of New York City straphangers at around the time I first arrived here. Although the Davidson photos are rawer, partly owing to the blighted condition of the city at the time, both photographers seem to possess the same keen perception, a prodigious eye for detail, and the ability to render humanity in places where it may not readily be apparent. I’d like to see more public installments like this that actually demonstrate artistic merit, unlike a lot of the typical rubbish we’re usually subjected to in this city. It was certainly a much needed relief from those insufferable Diesel Be Stupid ads that were plastered all over the same station a few months ago.
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C. Howard’s Violets have been around for as long as I can remember. Early one Sunday morning before a recent photo shoot, I stepped into a grungy Canal Street deli to pick up a bagel and a cup of coffee, and noticed the improbably flavored candy displayed on some shelves by the cash register. I asked the man behind the counter if they were still popular, and he said that every once in a while somebody buys a pack.
I learned from the company’s website that the candies were invented in the nineteen-thirties by a man named Charles Howard, who ran the operation out of an industrial loft on Broadway, probably not far from where I bought them. I find the purple and silver foil and the vintage graphics beautiful, and although I probably won’t be eating them, their sweet violet scent still permeates my apartment. I can’t help feeling nostalgic these days – I guess its part of getting older, but I find it somehow comforting to see that there are some things from my childhood that have remained unchanged.
