Weekend exertions

It was a brief but intense weekend for me here in NY. On Friday I caught up with a friend at a wine bar downtown. Somehow a one hour-one drink evening ended at 2 am and after a bottle and half between the two of us.

Saturday was an opera marathon - truly an extreme sport version of the art. First I saw Tristan at the Metropolitan opera, the matinee, which normally beings at 1 pm but on this occasion began at 11 am since the opera is 4'30" long. Tristan contains two very famous bits - the prelude and Liebestod - two glorious, achingly romantic pieces of music filled with overwhelming longing and desire (indeed! hot stuff!) But to hear the 4 hours of music that is between these was rewarding. You approach the end in a kind of delerious hyponosis, and when Tristan and Isolde die you cannot but shed a tear (and honestly be a bit relieved -- it takes Tristan about 45 minutes to die after being stabbed). Then I came home, napped, and went to hear Elektra, which is another 2'15" without interval. This opera is a lurid, expressionist masterpiece, and leaves you a little dizzy at the end. A few drinks with friends downtown cured that nicely.

Today I went to Port Authority to pick up a piece of furniture that had arrived for my apartment via Ebay and Greyhound. Port Authority is a crazy place. When you enter, you are transported into some bizarre world that exists by its own laws -- you feel like you are at a spaceport in a science fiction movie. The fact that there was a naked man - apparently changing his clothes - near the entrance doesn't bother you or him or anyone else one bit. Then I descend two levels into an underworld where lost American and European tourists are wandering to and fro -- trying to leave every manner of luggage at the counter.

But into this world my mover manages to make it and get my piece home. A word on the movers. For small moves like this I've used a company called NYCityVan. The first time I used them the mover was an Israeli who was into technoraves and offered (several times) to hook me up, with what he never specified. The second time the mover was a raffish American who tried several times to get the phone number of a friend who was helping me move. This time the mover was a would-be filmmaker who moves by day and goes to lectures by night.

After all of this I finally managed to set up my divider, which is shown below, and my dining table, also below. The divider is designer unknown, from the '50s or '60s. The table is by Bruno Mathsson and the chairs by Hovmann Olsen.


(The table may not look special, but it quadruples in length, from the 3' above to 12' if needed.)



Thus ends my weekend -- tomorrow back to flugelbinery.

Hope you've all had a lovely weekend.

BB