Oh so tired, but it’s a good tired. Only have an hour or so to rest before Bill and I head over to Newport in Jersey City for Risotto’s Christmas Party. We were invited a month or so ago and now the time has come. It should be a nice time.
Hadn’t seen Risotto in years and never met his partner. It’s also within walking distance. It starts at 7:00 but we can’t stay too late since Bill has to drive tomorrow morning. We’re both looking forward to attending the party, it promises to be a good time.
Another cannabis free dream last night, involving a trip to New England. Could have been Vermont, or New Hampshire. It involved Bill, my mother, Julio, my brother Brian and my sister in law Elaine. One part of the dream involved me walking up a river, knee deep to catch up with the others.
In some bushes on the shore, there might have been my former roommate Jimmy Lee whom I asked if he had figured out a song for me. I tried to get the people in the dream to move from the bed and breakfast we seemed to be meeting at to a local cigar establishment.
Then I woke up with Don’t Rain on My Parade in my head. It was endlessly repeating. Almost maddening.
What got me out of bed was the fact that I had a plan to visit the Man Ray exhibition in Manhattan at the Jewish Museum. If you recall, I was going to go last week, but it was too cold and rainy. Today it was mainly cold. I showered, made coffee and headed out to get the paper and some bagels.
Came home, had a hearty breakfast as Bill sat and watched Lawn Hors d’œuvre . No time for Bill to watch the Closer which is his Saturday morning routine. He was off to see his mom and run around Manhattan.
About an hour later I too was headed into the city, taking the Path train to 14th Street and walking over to Union Square to catch an uptown train. On the way to the Path I stopped by the Guitar Bar and wished Jim a belated birthday and also said hello to his daughter (and mine) Lily who was working at the store for the afternoon.
Throughout Hoboken there were Santas everywhere, all participating in a Santa clad pub crawl. Walking down the stairs at the Path station there were a few Santas dressed up obviously off to participate in drunken shenanigans.
The train was crowded as was the 4 train uptown from Union Square. What was an express train, turned local once it went to Grand Central. I rode up to 96th street and thought the Jewish Museum was at 96th Street but it was at 92nd Street.
Went into the museum, was searched, as was my bag which I had to check. I walked into the galleries and took off my coat and held it over my folded arms. A few minutes later a security guard came up to me and told me I had to either check the coat or wear it.
No carrying coats at this museum. I blame Tony Shafrazi. He was the former art adviser to the Shah of Iran and his Peacock Throne, that all around Iranian ghoul who spray painted Picasso’s Guernica. Or maybe it was because it was the Jewish Museum. It was a minor hassle nonetheless.
Great pieces of art, with me having a laugh at a few pieces, like Rrose Sélavy created by Man Ray and Marcel Duchamp after they both fled Ridgefield NJ to Paris. Rrose Sélavy is a ‘person’ portrayed by Duchamp and photographed by Man Ray and it’s a play on Eros, C’est La Vie.
Hilarious I thought and chuckled. The other patrons merely sniffed. So much fun to be found, especially in the letter to Tristan Tzara where Man Ray writes “dada cannot live in New York. All New York is dada, and will not tolerate a rival.” Still rings true almost 100 years later.
After than, a cigar and a stroll down Fifth Avenue, taking pictures at whatever I deemed art and whatever screamed loudly enough for me to take it’s photograph. I’ll more than likely go back again to the exhibition, I just won’t wear such a heavy coat.
I walked from 92nd Street and Fifth Avenue to 33rd Street and Sixth Avenue. That’s about it.
Here’s some pictures.