Superbowl on Broadway

I have never understood the Superbowl. It’s ‘football’ for one thing, but with well over 100 million viewers it is also the most watched broadcast on American television. So I had to investigate this week when the giant footy frenzy came to Broadway. From Macy’s to Times Square, an easter show of giant proportion set up tents and treats and even a toboggan run to coincide with Superbowl XLVIII. For the first time ever, the game was to be held in a cold state ( as opposed to a southern state ) and to be held outside, not in the usual domed arena. New York and New Jersey jointly pitched for the privilege to host the event, and winning was akin to being chosen to stage the Olympics. The actual game would be played over the river, but the fanfest would be all NYC.

The Seattle Seahawks and the Denver Broncos are the final contenders for the trophy, and while jocular gibing between loyalists and oi oi oi activity were a given on Broadway yesterday, the atmosphere was more a celebration of football itself. Hundreds of volunteers donned yellow jackets to be part of the event, our newly crowned Mayor de Blasio took a turn on the toboggan run, and thousands of people joined the party to pose as a player or to line up for an autograph.

David Beckham was scheduled to make an appearance and the look of the security guard deterred anyone from creeping on the queue. My comment that I didn’t think this was David’s game was met with amazement, as he is now welcomed as a fashion designer. So bending it like Beckham has become trending it like Beckham. Even the police dogs were out in blue boots… So I’ll leave football to the fans, and enjoy the peace of the city from kickoff on Sunday. By then the queue for the toboggan ride might even be gone…

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The Bridge

Kim Bodnia has been in town to direct a play, The Tailor’s Tale, which presents differing views about what happened in Denmark during World War ll. Did the King really wear that vest with a yellow star…? The play was presented as a reading, which made for an interesting dynamic, as actors walked about the stage with manuscripts in hand, but with charged emotion nevertheless.

Although Mr Bodnia was the director rather than an actor in the play, he is so well known from the Scandinavian crime series The Bridge, that he was the focus of more attention than his unperturbed nephew, who actually wrote the play. I had an excellent conversation with Kim earlier in the day, and was very happy to hear it was his mother who encouraged him to act, rather than pursue an athletic career. She must have know how much we all love a thriller. Oh, but no, I can’t tell you what happens in the third season…

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Beach envy

The Australian wasn’t the only beach in town this week, as a live cam recorded the sun shining and palms waving on the white beaches of Fort Lauderdale, and streamed it live to Grand Central Station. What a tease! I accepted the two essential items necessary for the trip – water and sunglasses, and trudged home through the snow wondering how soon I could swop my boots for bathers. No news yet on the trip for two with three nights accommodation included, but I’m an optimist, and in any case, anticipation is half the holiday…

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Happy Australia Day!

The skies this morning in NYC were as blue as the poster outside The Australian, but the icicles on the balcony opposite us, and the snow still whipped into frozen peaks outside our windows, reminded us that while it was not exactly barbecue weather, it was perfect for keeping the lamingtons from melting. Not that there was any chance of them lasting that long, especially when the whole city had been alerted to the auspiciousness of the day. It was a proud moment to see the green and gold beaming out from the Empire State Building tonight – a first thanks to Mr Jackman. It helps to have friends in high places…

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Shepherd’s Warning

If there were any shepherds in NYC yesterday morning, there were none within cooee of our back door by last night…

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Dreams for NYC inspired by MLK

At the Apollo in Harlem yesterday, WNYC, the most listened to radio station in the USA, assembled an amazing group of ‘thought leaders’ for a conversation about NYC in 2014 based on the moral compass established by Martin Luther King Jr in the 14 years of his public life. It was an inspiring event, bursting with intelligence, history and music. There was a Buddhist Baptist, political historians, professors, a congressman and filmmakers.  The conversation weaved through politics, culture, faith, education and justice, all the time reflecting back to the influence of King and where we stand now, 50 years on from the signing of the Civil Rights Law. It was not a nostalgic gathering, but more a measure of then and now. One speaker spoke of ongoing racism being the result of the failure of democracy, that democracy is a great idea, but it is not practiced in the United States. He said that the USA congratulates itself on things it hasn’t done yet, building memorials for MLK instead of following through on his ideals… ideals like the minimum wage being raised to $10.10 so that people need not work and be in poverty at the same time…

‘The times they are a-changing’ was sung by Morley in the spirit of Bob Dylan in 1964, when in one short year, everything was different. This lead to a discussion about moments of rupture in history, where time seems to be speeding up and suddenly events bubble with tremendous possibility. The hope of Obama came and went, there were ‘cursory moments rather than fundamental change’, but in 2014 the new Mayor ( and the new Pope ) give new promise. De Blasio won the election on a ticket of inequality and he and his policies were mentioned several times during the event with the question, what is the Big Apple going to do with this opportunity…?

I could listen to King’s oratory all day, there is so much soul in his words. Excerpts from his speeches were read and the inspiration of his dreams were well and truly alive in all the conversations. It was a thoughtful event, and I wanted to hear more. But the time for talking was over, as the joyous energy of the Gospel for Teens Choir took us tapping onto the street…

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Disaster!

It seemed an extremely appropriate activity to see a show called Disaster on my birthday. Even though I prefer to look forward rather than back, it was all too poetic, and the temptation too great to see a performance that merged the disaster movies of the seventies with the music of the same era. Had it been a slick Broadway show with millions of dollars spent on production, I might have been more sceptical of the rave reviews. But here we were at St Lukes on West 46th in what must have been the church hall, slightly dilapidated and hokey, and with a perfectly lovely quote from Danny Kaye at the entrance. Going in with that thought, I knew the show would be good regardless.

It was hilarious! Showing my age – and camaraderie – in unison with the audience, I laughed as Earthquake, the Poseidon Adventure and Killer Bees was cleverly storied with Don’t Bring Me Down, I am Woman and Hot Stuff. A singing nun with a badly tuned guitar stole the show as she anguished over her vowels and her gambling addiction, singing ‘Torn between two lovers’ to a slot machine. When the casino was ripped from its moorings by an earthquake and set adrift, upside down, up the Hudson River about to be hit by a tidal wave, the evil owner was attacked by sharks and appeared on stage with both arms engulfed by soft-toy white pointers. The pantomime made the show. The effects of the casino exploding ( Burn Baby Burn Baby! ) left everyone smeared with soot. A Shirley Bassey character, with wig being her afro one minute and her dog the next, was left with black puppy prints across her chest and on her face.

The audience was a marvelous miss mash of characters that grooved in the aisles at half time. I kept thinking I would run into Maggie Tabberer or Don Dunstan. There were baby boomers and a lot of boys, and the show had them all laughing together right to the end. Even though there were some New York in-jokes from the 70’s about characters I didn’t know, the last laugh was pure NYC. As the helicopters arrived to the sound of Barry Manilow’s ‘Daybreak’, the survivors emerged to see the worst disaster of all – New Jersey!

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Having my cake and eating it

It was a day of decadence. Fueled by the endless opportunity of tempting new eateries in NYC, as well as old favorites, it was not so matter of which treat to indulge in on my birthday, but where to start. West 40th street, running alongside Bryant Park, is making us all proud in Mid-town for finally providing some local largess. Maison Kayser bakes a superb bread made with whole green olives, and their frangipane galette des rois made especially ( and only ) this month for Epiphany is magnificent. Royce, the Japanese chocolate maker, is a few doors down and would have been especially popular in the Australian heat wave this week because their delicious truffles are all packaged with mini ice-packs. But for the 13th, it was the layered cakes of Lady M that won first indulgence of the day.

I suspect that the Lady’s business was named for the noises the customers make when they peruse their options. There are so many creamy colorful choices it would be a difficult decision, were it not for the signature cake made from 20 fine crepes layered with ‘ethereal light pasty cream’. I was in admiration of the sheer engineering perfection of the slice, and then of course there was the delight of actually eating it. Mmmmmmm.

The richness of morning tea did not provide any deterrent to venturing uptown for more. In fact, the sugary energy inspired not only some fantasy shopping in Saks, but a spritely walk up to The Plaza for a mid-afternoon lunch. The old kitchens of the hotel were transformed into the Todd English Food Hall over 3 years ago, and the ability to choose from the various open-kitchen cuisines makes it an easy and excellent destination. There is fresh seafood, pizza from a brick oven, multicolored fresh pasta or cheese and charcuterie. I chose sushi and Sean the pork and ginger dumplings, but we were as one with the dessert. White chocolate creme brûlée with fresh mango sorbet. What more can I say? Mmmmmmmm.

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The Girl with a Pearl

The Frick was the New York hot spot on a very chilly Sunday morning, when hundreds of people lined up for a last chance to see the Dutch Masters before they returned to Holland. Queues shivered in either direction from the main entrance on East 70th Street as museum members lined to the east and the mob to the west. Spots were held as people dashed for coffee, and the conversation between strangers, and the camaraderie that ensued, confirms that NYC is still the best place in the world to wait in line. It took us nearly two hours to make the entrance, and worth every minute.

The Girl with a Pearl had a room to herself, appropriate for her iconic status and the crowds wanting to see her.  A respectful shuffling gradually enabled everyone to move to the front for a personal audience, where the beauty of the art – and her gaze – was mesmerizing. Vermeer is known for his light, and the fact that his muse is anonymous and the painter died in debt and unrecognized, somehow adds to the purity of the painting. In the next room Fabritius’ small painting of a gold finch was causing a similar rapture, where readers of the Donna Tartt best seller were contributing to record crowds at the Museum.

My curiosity about the mechanics of hanging a priceless work like the Girl with a Pearl was well met by one of the ‘ask me’ volunteers. She explained that the curators have a mini styrofoam mockup of the gallery with velcro positioning that allows them to ‘hang’ the painting in various places and make adjustments before actually bringing in the real art. Because the painting is fortified behind two layers of plexiglass in a boxed structure, it is incredibly heavy, and as such becomes the responsibility of a strong handyman to put the piece on the wall. What a claim to fame. The man with a masterpiece. The Girl with a Pearl.

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Polar Vortex

Even our snowman had frostbite. His nosey carrot of fresh organic origin turned black and his apple eyes teared up. With the big chill on the way I thought he would become a permanent fixture in our frozen garden. Then miraculously he melted in double digit temperatures just before the polar vortex arrived. The snow disappeared, and any lingering traces became mini ice skating rinks on the street corners. An eeriness descended on the city and the view from here was as though the vortex was a creature, looking for the fallen ball in Times Square. Personally I think the polar bears were having their own revenge. We have been inadvertently sending them warmer and warmer conditions for ages and now is their time to return the favour. Suddenly farenheit and celcius are as one – we are well below all the usual reference points. Six degrees would have been cold in either language, but minus 15….?!  When you start talking minus, it isn’t simply a matter of adding layers, it is how many clothes can you put on and still be able to walk….or not give the children nightmares…!

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