The Last Red Envelope

When Netflix announced that DVD.com would cease to exist, I had temporarily suspended my account because the Folly didn't have a smart TV-compatible DVD player.  Although not quite a luddite, I am slow to change and for the past several years I'd been watching DVDs on my old Sony tube TV.  Even I had to acknowledge that the viewing experience suffered in comparison to the set-up I had at 47 Pianos.  So the service suspension felt a little like AI justice:  Netflix calculated that streaming had stolen my affections.

It hadn't.  Not by a long shot but by the time I returned to New York and renewed my subscription, it was obvious how DVD.com had become an empty shell.  Every Friday morning, I would add the latest movies well-reviewed by the New York Times to my queue, as I had done since opening an account 16 years ago.  Although these titles typically wouldn't be available until after their theatrical runs, Netflix was so on the ball that you could immediately add them to your queue.  That was no longer true in May.  The search box reported "no results found" for most of titles that had accumulated on the list I had been keeping since January although I did nab Tar.  What was I going to do?

If you've never used DVD.com you probably don't understand--or care--why I find its loss so devastating.  I wasn't greedy; my plan shipped only one DVD at a time.  Hardy Candy, in November 2006, was the first, when I was still in my early 50s.  It's a pretty good example of the other 734 red envelopes delivered to my mailboxes by the United States Postal Service, an average of 44 per year.  My criteria for selection remained consistent: well-reviewed movies that I felt no urgency to see because of buzz or special effects.  I LOVED Netflix--so much more convenient than the years I spent going to the video rental store or standing in line outside of movie theaters (fun fact:  I once waited nearly three hours in subfreezing temperatures to see The Exorcist when it opened in Manhattan).  And a lot cheaper, too.

In the five months before its imminent demise, I  re-prioritized my queue to emphasize classic films unavailable on streaming services which essentially are the vast majority of movies ever produced.  I'd already seen many of them and while I'm not the kind of person who typically repeat views, age had piqued my curiosity:  were the great movies I'd seen in the 70s really as wonderful as I remembered?  Sunday, Bloody Sunday and One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, most definitely; The Godfather and Five Easy Pieces, not so much, although they're still pretty good.

Apparently I wasn't the only maven with a plan:  for the most part, "very long waits" were indicated for the top 20 titles in my queue.  I never knew what would show up next and time was getting so short that separating the wheat from the chaff became imperative. But La Dolce Vita and Imitation of Life--neither of which I'd ever seen-- did make it through.  Both got four out of five stars, a ratings system I refused to share with Netflix because I hate cultural recommendation algorithms.

I already can hear what you film snobs are saying:  it's heresy to equate Federico Fellini and Douglas Sirk unless, of course, you ask Todd Haynes whose affection for the latter's films led me to the pick.  Sure Imitation is almost campy melodrama but watch it before you judge me.   If you can find it.

The "very long wait" for The Godfather Part II, which held the top spot in my queue, turned into forever today.  I found a bit of cosmic irony in my mailbox instead:  Hitchcock's'  The Lady Vanishes.

Just like DVD.com.  

No, Netflix, it doesn't soften the blow that I get to keep the last disc (which I'll add to my personal collection of nearly 150 at the Folly where you can pick 'em up for a buck at Goodwill), or that I'll have access to my queue (284 titles remain) and history for another month.  

Thanks for rubbing salt in the gaping wound you've left.  It may be good customer service, but it still stings.

Domino Bois

Victor invited me to Williamsburg to meet Gabe.  They've been together long enough to make a baby, so it was time.  Extended fingers are a through-line in Victor's relationships.

 

Gabe, who emigrated with his parents from the southern Philippines when he was eight, makes a mean and pretty, gluten-free birthday cake.  Trained as an artist at Cooper Union, he's also worked as a fashion stylist, party promoter, Lucky Cheng's host and food co-op manager before becoming a Victor wrangler, the hardest job of all.

My visit coincided with the remnants of Tropical Storm Ophelia.  I took New York Ferry's Astoria line from East 90th Street.

The $4 one-way ticket includes free transfers for up to two hours.  I changed to the East River line at 34th Street.

With so little room left in Manhattan, real estate developers have moved to Long Island City and the East River waterfront in Queens and Brooklyn to erect new residential complexes.

I disembarked in "north" Williamsburg.  These apartments are a far cry from the walk-ups in "south" Williamsburg where Joe moved briefly after graduating from Columbia.

Random street sign sculpture recalls the hipster vibe of pre-gentrification.

Victor pays more than five times as much rent as I do for his one-bedroom apartment on the 28th floor overlooking the East River and Williamsburg Bridge.  

You can't beat the therapeutic views, the quality of construction or rooftop pool.   Most residents work in finance or tech, although some units are reserved for lower income tenants who must feel as if they hit some kind of housing lottery jackpot.  Good for them!

Sunny Day View from 1 South 1st Street

Domino Park, repurposed from the sugar refinery that opened in 1882, serves as Victor's and Gabe's front yard.  Here they are in front of metal tanks once used to store syrup.

Victor led a game of bros or (gay) bois as we checked out male pedestrians.   We fell into the latter category, despite our ages, although Gabe is more than a decade younger than either of us.

I count myself very lucky to have seen Kara Walker's unforgettable installation in this building before the area's redevelopment.  Victor can remember the wafting scent of sugar from his Brooklyn childhood as he and his family drove past in their car.

"This place is like the High Line on steroids," he declared.  Aside from the re-purposing and some similar landscaping, I'm not sure I agree.

The High Line, built as a gift to New York City before subsequently attracting private development, is a narrow, elevated canyon cutting through 20 blocks of Manhattan that feels claustrophobic.  The more spacious Domino Park was built in exchange for commercial development.  By the way, those brightly painted cranes were once used to unload sugar cane from ships.

What Victor and Gabe described as "shrieks of joy" usually emanate from this colorful playground on sunny days.

$14 margaritas are available from Tacocina.

From the north end of Domino Park you still can catch a glimpse of the old waterfront.

It makes you wonder what is being lost to redevelopment.

But's it's easy to wax nostalgic.  Here's how the area looked from the other side as recently as 2017.

Hot Fun in the Summertime

An unexpected invite took me places I'd never been before, even though they're within a day's drive of the Big Apple.

Independence Day Flags, Poconos

Thom's nephew Jimmy participated in a Civil War battle re-enactment at Gettysburg.

I also joined Thom for a week of blue skies, traffic and homelessness in Los Angeles.  As much as I enjoyed the trip, if California is America's future, we're in deep trouble.

Getty Center Gardens

During all the summer weekends I drove to Jones Beach in Herr Cucaracha with David and Barnet, I never checked out the splendid boardwalk and pool.  Swimming in the ocean and cruising the dunes were higher priorities in my youth.

You can't escape pickle ball.

Afterward, Anthony & John hosted Thom and I for another beautifully presented, delicious meal.

In South Boston, Magda & Joe gave birth to their third child and first son.  Audrey and Tom are over the moon and the D-Girls couldn't be more delighted with their baby brother.

Can't wait to meet Desmond in person at Thanksgiving.

Florian travelled to Quebec and Ontario.  He and Arko celebrated Pride in Montreal.

Call me jaded, but seen one Pride parade, seen 'em all.

More bespoke parades ring my chimes.

But that Arko is one photogenic pooch.  He turned six in the spring.

This photo recalls the infamous hot dog soup Florian cooked up the summer we spent together in the Pines.  Flashback to come soon.

I took surprisingly few photos in Central Park this summer.

Steven joined me for one of my routine walks.  I showed him a new wooden structure erected just below Belvedere Castle.

Groundskeepers are wrapping some tree bark in plastic.

This guy had all the accoutrements of fatherhood but I never once saw him glance at his phone as he lovingly fed his infant son.  Now that's what I call being present!

These sunlit leaves got a head start on autumn.

While reading The New Life one morning on Central Park West after my bike ride, a pretty bug landed on me. I soon discovered that you're supposed to stomp on them mercilessly, no easy task for someone who finds Jainism appealing.  Spotted lanternflies, a beautiful but invasive species, could decimate California's almond crops if they go west.  That's one way to reduce the state's water consumption.  Did you know that it takes three gallons of water to produce a single almond?

Here's a unique view of the park from Steven's roof deck.  Since he had Randy and me over for drinks, he's retired.  At age 52!

Randy reminded me to get my butt to the Avedon retrospective at Gagosian before it closed.

Blue Cloud Wright (1979)

As much as I admire Avedon, methinks the under-appreciated Bruce Davidson may have given him his inspiration for "American West."

Wales (1965)

Davidson trains his lens on ordinary people as intently as Diane Arbus focused on "freaks," which probably explains why her work is so much more famous (that and her back story, of course).  I find his work just as compelling.

Washington, DC (1963)

Brooklyn Gang (1959)

Bronx, NY (1963)

I caught Davidson's show in the Fuller Building, an early example of multi-use urban architecture on E 57th Street, just off Madison.  The things I learned from the Art Deco tour that Thom and I took in downtown LA increased my appreciation of it.

Inlaid marble floors and a stunning elevator bank sent me straight to Google after a security guard shooed me away.  The Fuller construction company, which built the Flatiron Building at the turn of the 20th century to house their headquarters, moved uptown in 1929.   Art dealers clamored for gallery space in the lower six floors before the scene moved to Soho and then Chelsea.

Stunningly detailed bronze reliefs illustrate the buildings trade.

Speaking of construction in New York City, have you visited the new LIRR station beneath Grand Central?  It's truly a marvel and contrary testament to the conventional wisdom that big things don't get built here any longer.

Bright mosaics cheer commuters.

Yet even the much-maligned subway continues to surprise.  I'd seen these mosaic hats many times in the subway station at 23rd Street and 5th Avenue yet had no idea that they depict haberdashery worn by specific individuals, including Harry Houdini.

If unreconstructed New York is your thing, take a stroll on Lexington Avenue in midtown. The Roger Smith Hotel, where I think my parents may have honeymooned in 1946, is just south of these buildings with vintage signage.

Of course the theater district is also well-preserved.  The Belasco, where Thom and I caught the final performance of Good Night, Oscar (shame on you, Jesse Green!) is roughly contemporary with the Flatiron Building.  I saw The Rocky Horror Show--starring both Tim Curry and Meat Loaf--there with Tom, Audrey and Cynthia in 1975 before it flopped after just 45 performances.

New York walkabouts reveal statues both new and old.  When I first passed Carol Feuerman's "Sea Idylls" in the spring, I didn't notice any male swimmers among the nine sculptures on lower Park Avenue.

The Golden Mean, 2012

Force and wisdom face off in front of New York State's Appellate Division of the Supreme Court.

It seems like they're about to do so in the next Presidential election, too.  Wisdom does not look particularly reassuring.

I was in the area to see an auction of LGBTQ+ items at Swann Galleries.  This remarkable woodcut by Adrian Lee Kellard, felled by AIDS in 1991, sold for $4,000.

"Holy Face" (1987)

Randy used to work for Kenn Duncan, the photographer who shot Joe Dallesandro, my first celebrity crush, in his prime.  But even $800, the expected minimum for a portfolio of five portraits, seemed like a lot to pay for something so easily reproduced in digital format.

The Met threw me for a loop with its new "virtual line" system.  A guard kindly allowed me into "Karl Lagerfeld:  A Line of Beauty" without an advance reservation.

Chanel Ensemble (Autumn/Winter 2016-17)

By the time I went to see "Van Gogh's Cypresses," I knew the drill and spent some of my 115-minute waiting time on the roof which took me right back to Karnak, with an African-American spin.

"the eastside of south central los angeles hieroglyph prototype architecture"
by Lauren Halsey (2023)

"A Walk at Twilight" (1890)

Although this isn't a representative work,  the Pepón Osorio exhibit at the New Museum induced an extraordinary sense of childhood wonder at the symbolic, overstuffed and meticulously re-created Puerto Rican environments he has created over the past three decades.

 

"If I Remember Correctly" (2023)

Chris & Thom kept me company during several Saturday afternoon museum visits.  "The Sassoons" proved once again that the Jewish Museum mounts some of New York City's most interesting exhibits.

The Three Amigos also paid a visit to New London, where Randy showed us a great time.  Again!

Retirement gives you plenty of time to fool around with new Apple apps that mysteriously appear on your phone without your consent (remember when U2 got in a lot of trouble for that?).  Freeform seems to be competing with Pinterest but it did provide an easy way to let Pines neighbors know when to show up for my 70th birthday celebration at Victor's house.  Little did I realize it was a "collaborative" app, not my strongest characteristic.

Fire Island seems fresher now that my visits are few and far between.  What kind of bird do you suppose lives in Venus Envy?