Brief Encounter

Recovering from partial knee replacement surgery in April kept this snowbird later in Florida than usual.  I only had six weeks of spring in Manhattan.  It kicked off with a rush look at the not-quite-finished Harlem Oval followed by a visit to the New York Historical Society which seems to be emphasizing its art collection.

"In Appropriate #1" by Frank Buffalo Hyde (Onondaga/Nez Perce) (partial, 2013)

En route to Smash, I made the acquaintance of controversial black woman in Times Square

"Grounded in the Stars" by Thomas J. Price

. . . and marveled how Carrie has gone from the sides of buses in Sex and the City to giant billboards for the almost unwatchable reboot.  The show I sat that afternoon, however, was a hoot!  And just like that, Dead Outlaw closed after the Tony's, as did Smash.  Never in a million years would I have picked Maybe Happy Ending for "Best Musical," as if I needed yet another reminder the culture is no longer about me.

I had a hard time sitting through Floyd Collins at Lincoln Center and not only because of my worst knee pain since surgery.  Old Broadway houses have much more spacious seating than the cramped Vivian Beaumont.

It looks like there will be some hot summer nights under the giant disco ball above the plaza in front of the Metropolitan Opera.  But you'll be dancing silently with headphones so as not to disturb the neighbors.

En route to the dermatologist I checked out a Robert Motherwell exhibit at the New York Public Library.  The building at Fifth Avenue & 42nd Street attracts a much bigger crowd than it once did, perhaps because of the many and varied "Treasures" on display.

"Hermitage" (1975)

Cool, rainy weather meant not as much post-walk reading in the Ramble where wooden bridges were casting long shadows.

Gallery hopping took me from Chelsea to Lower Manhattan one afternoon.  Hudson Yards has utterly changed the midtown city scape

. . . although glorious and mundane structures of the past remain, repurposed

. . . or not.

I did a double take, too, for two reasons 1) the cheeky Pride month advertising at this weed store and 2) my first sighting of a legitimate bricks & mortar dealer.  Look for the green sticker with the QR code near the entrance to ensure proper licensing.  There's even one in my neighborhood, which will mean the end of infrequent importation of my chocolate edibles from Massachusetts.

"Soft Power," the new High Line billboard, made my day, especially when I discovered that Alex Da Corte thinks the old Pink Panther embodies the new queer freedom, now under threat.   I've loved his work at the Met and the Whitney, too.

Scenes from the Village.

Weather permitting, the hippos can watch me do my physical therapy exercises on a nearby bench, with bees buzzing the hydrangeas above my head.  If not as convenient as my PT corner at the Folly, it's a lot more scenic.

Meanwhile, some friends had taken to the streets of New London to demonstrate against our nation's goose-step march towards monarchy.  I wish only that Randy's creativity hadn't forever tainted my only junk food, no matter how accurate the hair color comparison.  Will I ever be able to eat a Cheeto again without gagging?  And please note he's wearing a t-shirt that protests against the chaos agent's first administration.