I swear, all I did was sit down. I wasn't looking for anything more than a seat.
My Sunday began, as all good Sundays should, with brunch, but not at a restaurant.
The Sharon Jones soul brunch was happening at Steady Sounds, an easy three-block walk from my house, and the occasion was the impending release of the new Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings album.
I walked in to hear the mellow madness of Michael Murphy spinning soul 45s and proceeded upstairs where he was for brunch.
There I found the pop-up style guru, the cheese whiz and lots of others chowing down. Me, I passed by three kinds of Proper Pies to get to Heritage's chicken and waffles with chile honey.
I may not be a southerner by birth, but damned if I don't think that chicken and waffles is the best breakfast ever.
Downstairs, I found more friends, the mod-looking DJ who's growing out her bangs for the first time since I've known her and a favorite cute couple.
I'd seen on Facebook recently that half the couple had posted that, "a perfect Friday night would include art, pie and dancing," so naturally I asked if his had.
Affirmative. Curious about the source of the pie, he said he'd gotten it at Bamboo, "served with a side of crochety."
Apparently when you order pie at Bamboo at 1:45 a.m., the server will tell you you're not allowed to eat it there. And the pie won't be as good as at Garnett's, either, he said.
I couldn't resist looking at the latest art show, Nick Crider's "Work," a collection of prints as well as posters for music shows, trying to decide which one I'd like to own given how reasonably priced they were.
Too full from brunch and with too many people to talk to, I couldn't decide, but I'll go back and score one before the show ends, that much I know.
When I left there, soul music was still blaring and the joint was just as full, always a pleasure to see at my neighborhood record store.
My next stop was the VMFA to see "Atonement," part of the "60 Films in 60 Days" series they're doing.
I slid into a seat at the end of my favorite row and the couple next to me turned as if they'd been awaiting my arrival.
It was the trifecta. Recent transplants landing in my lap again, just like the past two nights.
These had moved from Morgantown, West Virginia and were over the moon about being back in a place with more than chain restaurants and culture at every turn.
They'd just heard of Lucy's and wanted to know if I'd been. They wanted restaurant recommendations and to know about docent tours at the VMFA. They were my kind of people.
In the fifteen minutes before the film began, I learned that they'd seen the Hollywood photography show and, like me, liked it even better than the costume show.
The one of Liz Taylor on the beach was her favorite, she told me after asking mine (couldn't decide).
Interestingly enough, she'd once had a chance to meet Liz, back when she was Warner's wife and living in Virginia.
But a prior engagement had prevented her from going and she'd never gotten over missing her chance.
"I divorced him because he kept me from meeting Elizabeth Taylor," the woman said dryly and I knew we were going to be friends.
I guess that makes you the lucky replacement, I said to her current husband.
"That's me, Mr. Lucky," he grinned, actually sounding sincere.
They were delightful and just before the lights went down, insisted that we exchange cards after the movie so we could meet for drinks or dinner.
Honestly, I did not try to engage these people, they engaged me.
As for "Atonement," I'd seen it at the Westhampton back in 2007 when it came out, but frankly, anything that happened before 2009 is like another lifetime to me, so I'd forgotten how a) beautifully shot it was and b) heart-breakingly sad.
The first half takes place on a summer's day so scenes of lush, green, English fields, hollyhocks and Queen Anne's lace blooming everywhere, felt as faraway as 2007.
Doors were left open, bees crawled on windowpanes and people asked questions at dinner like, "Does the hot weather make you behave badly?"
I only wish it was hot enough for me to answer yes to that.
After an ending that had me in tears, my new friends were as good as their word, insisting we get together soon for drinks and more conversation at the very least.
He handed me a card with both their names, both their phone numbers and a shared e-mail address printed on it.
I found it quaint, perhaps because I'd never seen a couple's card before.
Maybe it's the prize you get when you finally find Mr. Lucky.
Showing posts with label made in hollywood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label made in hollywood. Show all posts
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Sunday, November 24, 2013
So Not Starving
The last thing I expected when I went to the movies was to get a full day out of it.
But walking into the theater to see the Movies and Mimosas screening of "Auntie Mame," I heard someone call, "Hey, lady!" and somehow knew it was directed at me.
A favorite couple was already in my row so I joined them as we waited for the projectionist to figure out how to make the movie show correctly.
It seems like projector issues are standard at Movieland these says, at least from my recent experiences.
Finally they figured it out and "Auntie Mame" began in full Technicolor with sets and costumes designed to dazzle.
Whether I'd never seen it or just long since forgotten that I had seen it, I did at least know what it was about: an eccentric woman's philosophy of life.
Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving.
Well, needless to say, I can certainly get into that kind of attitude.
Drinking humor was abundant, whether Mame chiding her nephew, Patrick, "Pipe down, kid, I'm hung!" or asking for "a light breakfast- black coffee and a sidecar."
Or leaving for a trip, "Don't forget the maps and the martinis!"
Ah, the good old days.
After Mame loses her money in the 1929 stock market crash, she takes a job as a telephone operator, something both my grandmothers did for a living, and then at Macy's during Christmas season.
There she meets Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside (which, by the by, is only one name removed from much-beloved local drag queen Magnolia Jackson Pickett Burnside) and falls in love.
When she goes down to meet his kin at his estate Peckerwood (!) in Savannah, every cliche about the south is put into play.
A banjo playing "Way Down Upon the Swanee River." Truly awful southern accents. An old lady with a snuff box. Men in Colonel Sanders-esque white suits.
Oh, it's bad.
Back in the real south, it was during the fox hunting scene (of course) that the man sitting in front of us called out loudly to a guy in another row, "Sir, would you put your phone away, please?"
I don't know about the rest of the audience, but the three of us nodded in affirmation.
Despite Patrick's trustee's opinion of Mame ("You're a deceitful, irresponsible bohemian"), she is also a cultured, witty and intelligent woman who brings up her nephew the same.
So when he brings home a pretentious social climber who observes of Mame's apartment, "Books are really decorative, don't you think?" she knows everything she needs to know about the girl.
Like so many mid-century movies (this one was 1958), the movie was a blend of the period represented (late 1920s through early 1940s) and the time it was filmed, with clothing especially far more '50s than anything and lots of modern art.
At two hours and 23 minutes, it was a long movie but between the elaborate sets, fanciful costumes and depiction of la vie boheme, before we knew it, it was the end.
I asked my friends about their afternoon's plans, sharing that mine included a trip to the VMFA and suddenly we had a date to meet at Amuse for lunch.
They were already ensconced in the mid-century modern green lounge chairs and a bottle of J Brut Rose arrived moments after I sat down, thus allowing us to continue with Mame's decor and penchant for bubbles.
One of my friends shared a Mame-like anecdote about a trip to the beach and a Tupperware pitcher of Bloddy Marys that the back seat contingent consumed before the ocean was ever in sight. Bravo.
We barely got started when three seats opened up at the bar and we took them and our J with us.
Since I have to be a hired mouth tonight, I chose the cornbread waffle with spicy apples, maple syrup and applewood-smoked bacon while they went heavier with pork belly poutine and corned beef hash biscuits.
Given the ridiculously cold and windy weather outside, it was a pleasure to eat and sip in Amuse's sunny dining room, although even its magnificent windows weren't immune to the weather and had big areas of condensation on them.
While enjoying my waffle, I spotted Lady Di coming in, as he always does, to meet friends for drinks on Sunday afternoons.
Kiss, kiss and he was on to his friends, promising that we'd see each other tonight at GLAP.
Once lunch was history, my friends and I went downstairs to get our tickets for "Made in Hollywood," the companion photography show to "Hollywood Costume."
As a photography devotee, I have to admit that this show interested me even more than the costumes.
With 93 vintage photos of stars during the golden years of Hollywood, it was both a memory jog and a reminder of the studio system that shaped human beings and careers.
And sometimes, it was just a breathtaking look at a superbly-composed photograph, like the one of Louise Brooks in a black dress against a black background.
The only things you can discern are her face, neck, hands and a knee-length strand of pearls. It's a study in black and white contrast.
A shot of Marilyn Monroe applying lipstick was striking for the book laying next to her purse, "The Thinking Body."
From what I read of her in ex-husband Arthur Miller's biography, that's exactly how she wanted to be thought of.
In a photo of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing, they are so fluid, so graceful-looking, that it's a shock to lean in closer and realize that both have their feet are on the floor not in the air.
Passing a picture of Rita Hayworth, a woman next to me said to her companion, "I forgot all about her."
Based on the father/daughter duo I heard in the gallery, many of the people in the photos needed an explanation for some visitors.
A stunning photograph of 16-year old Liz Taylor was proof positive of why when, as a child, I asked my mother who the most beautiful woman in the world was, she said without hesitation, Elizabeth Taylor.
Many of the photographs were stills, taken between scenes when the photographer had limited time to capture a moment but did so wonderfully anyway.
The most playful was one from "The Thin Man" with William Powell in pajamas sitting on a couch with his legs up and a gun between them, Myrna Loy at his side and alcohol behind them.
In that one photo, the crux of "The Thin Man" movies is distilled to its most basic elements - Nick, Nora, booze and humor.
Despite being on an impromptu couple date, I didn't walk through the show with my friends because we each started in different directions and strolled at our own paces.
But afterwards, we met up to look at some photos together and discuss others, before they decided to go home and take a nap.
Just between you and me, they may have been a little hung, as Mame would say.
Drinking in the afternoon...just one of many little pleasures of the bohemian life.
But walking into the theater to see the Movies and Mimosas screening of "Auntie Mame," I heard someone call, "Hey, lady!" and somehow knew it was directed at me.
A favorite couple was already in my row so I joined them as we waited for the projectionist to figure out how to make the movie show correctly.
It seems like projector issues are standard at Movieland these says, at least from my recent experiences.
Finally they figured it out and "Auntie Mame" began in full Technicolor with sets and costumes designed to dazzle.
Whether I'd never seen it or just long since forgotten that I had seen it, I did at least know what it was about: an eccentric woman's philosophy of life.
Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving.
Well, needless to say, I can certainly get into that kind of attitude.
Drinking humor was abundant, whether Mame chiding her nephew, Patrick, "Pipe down, kid, I'm hung!" or asking for "a light breakfast- black coffee and a sidecar."
Or leaving for a trip, "Don't forget the maps and the martinis!"
Ah, the good old days.
After Mame loses her money in the 1929 stock market crash, she takes a job as a telephone operator, something both my grandmothers did for a living, and then at Macy's during Christmas season.
There she meets Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside (which, by the by, is only one name removed from much-beloved local drag queen Magnolia Jackson Pickett Burnside) and falls in love.
When she goes down to meet his kin at his estate Peckerwood (!) in Savannah, every cliche about the south is put into play.
A banjo playing "Way Down Upon the Swanee River." Truly awful southern accents. An old lady with a snuff box. Men in Colonel Sanders-esque white suits.
Oh, it's bad.
Back in the real south, it was during the fox hunting scene (of course) that the man sitting in front of us called out loudly to a guy in another row, "Sir, would you put your phone away, please?"
I don't know about the rest of the audience, but the three of us nodded in affirmation.
Despite Patrick's trustee's opinion of Mame ("You're a deceitful, irresponsible bohemian"), she is also a cultured, witty and intelligent woman who brings up her nephew the same.
So when he brings home a pretentious social climber who observes of Mame's apartment, "Books are really decorative, don't you think?" she knows everything she needs to know about the girl.
Like so many mid-century movies (this one was 1958), the movie was a blend of the period represented (late 1920s through early 1940s) and the time it was filmed, with clothing especially far more '50s than anything and lots of modern art.
At two hours and 23 minutes, it was a long movie but between the elaborate sets, fanciful costumes and depiction of la vie boheme, before we knew it, it was the end.
I asked my friends about their afternoon's plans, sharing that mine included a trip to the VMFA and suddenly we had a date to meet at Amuse for lunch.
They were already ensconced in the mid-century modern green lounge chairs and a bottle of J Brut Rose arrived moments after I sat down, thus allowing us to continue with Mame's decor and penchant for bubbles.
One of my friends shared a Mame-like anecdote about a trip to the beach and a Tupperware pitcher of Bloddy Marys that the back seat contingent consumed before the ocean was ever in sight. Bravo.
We barely got started when three seats opened up at the bar and we took them and our J with us.
Since I have to be a hired mouth tonight, I chose the cornbread waffle with spicy apples, maple syrup and applewood-smoked bacon while they went heavier with pork belly poutine and corned beef hash biscuits.
Given the ridiculously cold and windy weather outside, it was a pleasure to eat and sip in Amuse's sunny dining room, although even its magnificent windows weren't immune to the weather and had big areas of condensation on them.
While enjoying my waffle, I spotted Lady Di coming in, as he always does, to meet friends for drinks on Sunday afternoons.
Kiss, kiss and he was on to his friends, promising that we'd see each other tonight at GLAP.
Once lunch was history, my friends and I went downstairs to get our tickets for "Made in Hollywood," the companion photography show to "Hollywood Costume."
As a photography devotee, I have to admit that this show interested me even more than the costumes.
With 93 vintage photos of stars during the golden years of Hollywood, it was both a memory jog and a reminder of the studio system that shaped human beings and careers.
And sometimes, it was just a breathtaking look at a superbly-composed photograph, like the one of Louise Brooks in a black dress against a black background.
The only things you can discern are her face, neck, hands and a knee-length strand of pearls. It's a study in black and white contrast.
A shot of Marilyn Monroe applying lipstick was striking for the book laying next to her purse, "The Thinking Body."
From what I read of her in ex-husband Arthur Miller's biography, that's exactly how she wanted to be thought of.
In a photo of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing, they are so fluid, so graceful-looking, that it's a shock to lean in closer and realize that both have their feet are on the floor not in the air.
Passing a picture of Rita Hayworth, a woman next to me said to her companion, "I forgot all about her."
Based on the father/daughter duo I heard in the gallery, many of the people in the photos needed an explanation for some visitors.
A stunning photograph of 16-year old Liz Taylor was proof positive of why when, as a child, I asked my mother who the most beautiful woman in the world was, she said without hesitation, Elizabeth Taylor.
Many of the photographs were stills, taken between scenes when the photographer had limited time to capture a moment but did so wonderfully anyway.
The most playful was one from "The Thin Man" with William Powell in pajamas sitting on a couch with his legs up and a gun between them, Myrna Loy at his side and alcohol behind them.
In that one photo, the crux of "The Thin Man" movies is distilled to its most basic elements - Nick, Nora, booze and humor.
Despite being on an impromptu couple date, I didn't walk through the show with my friends because we each started in different directions and strolled at our own paces.
But afterwards, we met up to look at some photos together and discuss others, before they decided to go home and take a nap.
Just between you and me, they may have been a little hung, as Mame would say.
Drinking in the afternoon...just one of many little pleasures of the bohemian life.
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