vip in the city, page 73

After work, I stopped in at the W New York — Times Square Living Room for the new exhibit of Madonna art. Which is to say: paint embellished photographic canvases featuring Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone, the pop — not religious — icon.

Prominent New York-based photographer Steven Klein has been called the “anti-fashion fashion photographer.” Interesting side note: Klein was the photographer behind the infamous Brad Pitt-Angelina Jolie “Domestic Bliss” feature photo spread in the July 2005 issue of W Magazine, which prompted Jennifer Aniston to remark of Pitt to Vanity Fair, “There’s a sensitivity chip that’s missing.” I’d say so.

Jean-Baptiste Mondino is a French fashion photographer and music video director. He directed Madonna’s “Open Your Heart,” “Justify My Love” and “Don’t Tell me” videos, among many others. Mondino and Klein’s photos covered the span of Madonna’s career… well, more accurately, her post True Blue-career. Not a lace glove cutoff or wedding dress in sight.

The champagne was free-flowing, as was the music: all Madonna, all the time (natch), with focus on The Immaculate Collection singles, mixed — ineptly, as my tunes-sensitive companion pointed out — by the resident DJ.

Beauty’s where you find it
Not just where you bump and grind it

Decided today to head out to the Water Taxi Beach in Long Island City earlier this afternoon before the World Cup final party in Sunnyside. Intriguing little spot, perfect for beach-starved city dwellers who can appreciate the trippy, fakey nature of laying out on a Port Authority-owned wharf atop Jersey-imported sand, overlooking Midtown Manhattan… and without their toes actually touching any water.

Still, the sun shone hot and bright, and from the wooden picnic tables, we could sink our teeth into freshly grilled burgers while the seaspray (riverspray?) misted us off the New York Water Taxi ferries to 34th Street.

The burgers, by the way, are very good, as one would expect from a place run by Harry Hawk of Schnäck fame. According to the website, they’re crafted of 1/4 lbs of 100% Certified Black Angus Chuck, ground fresh daily based on the estimated need for the day, and once they’re out, they’re out. That credo seemed to apply to other menu items as well; by the time we arrived early Sunday afternoon, the tiki hut had run out of fries, chips and bratwurst for the weekend.

But the sangria and frozen margaritas were refreshing and tasty — dangerously tasty. Plus, how could we resist the DJ spinning his eclectic mix beach-ready tunes, ranging from The Beach Boys’ “Kokomo” to Bob Marley’s “No Woman No Cry” to Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy?” (Thanks, B!)

The chainlink fence separating us from the water somewhat detracted from the illusion of a true beach experience, but the sunbathers and volleyball players hardly seemed to notice or mind.

Such a beautiful day, and I ended up staying somewhat longer than planned. On the way to the World Cup Final party, I passed several cars, which suddenly exploded into a cacophony of horn-blaring and jubilant shouting, as jersey-clad passengers hung out of the open windows, waving their red, white and green flags in the air. Hmm.

And sure enough, by the time I arrived, the Italy v. France match was over — penalty kicks and all. Even missed the Zidane headbutt, though not the endless replays on the news later that night.

SYB rose bright and early on Saturday morning to wait outside the Public Theatre for Shakespeare in the Park tickets so I could attend one of the last performances of Macbeth that night. A valiant — and generous — effort, but perhaps due to the recent run of sunny, low-humidity days or to some “final reminder” writeup in one of the dreaded city-centric blogs, by 7:30AM, the line was 250+(!) deep for the 1:00PM ticket distribution. Got his text message shortly after 10:00AM regretfully informing me that he missed the cutoff by about 10 spots.

Meryl Streep’s run in Bertolt Brecht’s Mother Courage begins August 8. Dare I try?

So after work that night, instead of watching Liev Schreiber perform (and instead of crashing D’s bachelor party), I strolled over to Riverside Park South to check out the tail end of the 1st Annual NYC Main Squeeze Accordion Festival on the newly opened Pier I at West 70th Street.

Good, goofy fun. As advertised, there was live accordion music and an accordion flea market. By 8:30PM the festival was winding down, but as the sun set in the west, the band musicians played on to a still lively crowd, several of whom were moved to their feet, dancing along the pier to “The Tennessee Waltz.”

View of West New York, New Jersey:

M met me for lunch downtown this afternoon, freshly bronzed off her trip to Mexico. Over yellowfin tuna salad, she regaled me with lavish tales of poolside shenanigans and $60 Don Julio Real shots.

Later that evening, I met S, SC and CS for an outdoor movie in Hudson River Park, the 550-acre greened refuge spanning the five mile stretch between Battery Place and West 59th Street, and the largest open space development in Manhattan since Central Park. Since breaking ground in 1998 — and still ongoing — the city has rebuilt the formerly dilapidated far West Side into a series of docks, boat houses, lawns, beach, walkways and granite bike paths. Quite a massive undertaking, if like me, you recall the scene here from the Crack ’80s.

But the best parts are the public piers, some of which extend up to 1,000 feet into the Hudson River, offering unimpeded views of the water and… well, Jersey. Pier 46, where tonight’s screening was set up (while the Tribeca pier used in years past is undergoing reconstruction), is located in one of the first segments of the park to open to the public (Spring 2003). Hard to believe that this prime real estate was condemned and sitting unused just five years ago.

“Wallace & Gromit in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit” was the first of the Friday night RiverFlicks this summer. I’d somehow missed this movie in its original theatrical run in 2005, so was very much looking forward to finally seeing it, and happily, Nick Park did not disappoint. Inexplicably, I found the “Bun-Vac 6000” sequences [Check it out: QuickTime or Windows Media Player, courtesy of Dreamworks] with the absurdly twirling bunnies, particularly hilarious. As one would expect, the screening was well-attended by the stroller set.

The low-tech stop-motion clay animation stood in interesting counterpoint to Disney Pixar’s “Cars,” which I saw last Sunday evening with B and TR, in all its CGI glory.

After the film we stopped briefly at West Lounge, just up the block from the pier. Only briefly, because the music inside was being blasted at distracting and ridiculous levels… though I did get to hear Echo & the Bunnymen’s “The Killing Moon” for the first time in ages. Yes, the original and not the Pavement cover. Maybe in honor of the group’s sold out(!) appearance at Irving Plaza last week, 20+ years after that tune first made its mark?

“Faaaaate. Up against your wi-ill….” I still love it.

After picking up and dropping off my weekly haul of vegetables from Stoneledge Farm, I headed down to the IFC Center to catch the 9:00PM screening of “Worldplay,” the documentary about the colorful subculture of hardkore crossword aficionados.

The IFC Center opened in 2005 in the space years-abandoned by the famed Waverly Theater in the weeks after September 11. It’s actually a rather depressing and still gritty (for the Village) stretch of Sixth Avenue — flanked by tattoo parlors and adult video stores — but the space, to me, is vastly more charming than the megaplexes in the Squares — Union, Times and Lincoln. Clean, intimate screening rooms with well-cushioned seats, pre-feature shorts, real butter on the popcorn, an above average theatre cafe, and no commercials mixed in with the trailers. Well, no corporate commercials… the theatre is actually rather relentless in their self-promotion and IFC-branding.

The film itself was fun (and humbling!) — and inevitably called to mind 2002’s Spellbound, another film I enjoyed.

Besides the expected ensemble of gloriously word-nerdy characters, one of the most interesting segments in the movie focused on the (in)famous New York Times crossword that appeared on Election Day morning, Tuesday, November 5, 1996. If you are not familiar with the story of this puzzle – or would like to try your hand at solving it before reading further – check out this link.

The controversial combination of clues asked for the “Lead story in tomorrow’s newspaper (!)”, which seemed to require the puzzler to predict the outcome of the 1996 presidential election. Many were shocked that the Times would be so reckless and bold (albeit in the crossword) as to call the election while the polls were just opening that morning. The amazing — and truly brilliant — twist was that both “CLINTON ELECTED” and “BOBDOLE ELECTED” were valid answers, fitting within the grid. So clue #39-DOWN (“Black Halloween animal”) could be either “BAT” or “CAT”; #35-DOWN (“Trumpet”) could be “BOAST” or “BLAST.”

Wow. Will Shortz called it the most amazing crossword he’d ever seen, and I would be hard pressed to argue. I tip my hat to you, Professor Jeremiah Farrell!

Yesterday’s staved off rains poured out of the sky this morning. By afternoon, the storm had passed.

Stepped into the conference room for a staff meeting at work today and found that my co-workers had arranged for a surprise (belated) birthday lunch. Sweet! SK baited the new interns by introducing a discussion on comic book heroes and science fiction. I think the new boss was both amused and slightly alarmed by the flagrant fanboyism on display. I later assured her that one need only a passing acquaintance with the twin pillars of geekdom (Star Trek and Star Wars) and a scant familiarity with the DC Comics/Marvel Comics catalog to get by. But just not to mix up the latter two, lest fisticuffs ensue.

The day of the barbecue started off hot and humid, and dark, ominous clouds threatened at any moment to unleash a torrent of rain. As we began grilling, we could hear the rumblings of thunder in the distance. After a few scattered rain droplets — which prompted some preemptive scurrying indoors — the sun broke through as if by miracle, holding off the rain for the rest of the party.

The unique scent of grilled burgers and insect repellant intermingled in the steamy air, calling to mind many summers past spent on that deck overlooking the East River.

With bellies full of barbecue, apple pie and Beard Papa’s cream puffs, we settled into our chairs to watch the fireworks display from the South Bronx.

After last night’s dinner party at S & J’s — DIY spring rolls and almond pudding: all wonderfully delicious — I left with CS and the dogs in search of a cab uptown. It was such a beautiful night that for the next two hours, we strolled along the West Side, swapping stories as we walked, during which no less than three people approached us, cooing over the adorable dogs.

Happy to have a friend in the neighborhood.

The next day, at the Guggenheim’s Zaha Hadid exhibition. Got these shots off before a guard walked over and told me I was done.

The 7 train was not running into Manhattan this weekend, which added another transfer to my commute into Queens on Saturday… bleh. But the detour gave me the opportunity to check out the new(ish) “observation deck” at the Jackson Heights station — really just a Juliet balcony off of the subway platform, looking out onto the colored glass windows and street entrance below.

Later that day, I came across a display of “The Da Vinci Code” paperbacks. Now I consider myself a reasonably well-read person. The twin mountains of books in my living room will attest that my reading ambitions  at least are high. But I have not read “The Da Vinci Code.” No reason, really… I have nothing against Dan Brown as an author, nor do a begrudge the book’s phenomenal success, or the fact that it was made into a big budget Hollywood movie, starring Forrest Gump and Amelie. I was moderately intrigued by some of the write-ups in 2003, but then the book developed such a fanatical following, sparking the frenzied churnings of the media machine, and I just never got around to it. And suddenly, it seemed that the city — and the world — was overrun with people remarking with a mixture of smugness and incredulity, “I can’t believe you still haven’t read “The Da Vinci Code.”

So enough. I picked up my very own paperback edition on Saturday. This had better be good. (Heh.)

SK invited me to a belated birthday lunch at Lemongrass Grill — my fifth day back in the country and already back on the Vietnamese food. Friday’s suddenly sunny skies had beckoned every downtown office drone into the streets; those not in the park were huddled around every available television set broadcasting the Germany-Argentina quarter-final. By the time the match went to penalty kicks, the din from the bar area had drowned out any possibility of conversation over spring rolls and papaya salads. But just as soon as it was over, the fans dispersed with remarkable speed, absorbed back into the glass and concrete towers from whence they came.

En route to the Wall Street station — with plenty of daylight still left, truly one of best things about summer — I was looking forward to spending an evening on a blanket in Central Park, where Joan Didion would be reading from her 2005 National Book Award winning work, The Year Of Magical Thinking.

But by the time I set out for the park 90 minutes later, the clouds had rolled back in, unleashing yet another storm of water.

So no Didion. I returned to the apartment, trading my blanket for an umbrella, and set out for a walk. Over at Lincoln Center, the Midsummer Night Swing musicians were packing up their instruments, and the plaza was cleared of dancers, save one lone couple swaying together in the drizzle.

Out front, an installation of boats — in progress: