What Would Jane Austen Do?

When I was a kid, my mom made special efforts to get us all cultured and stuff. We went to any and every play that was put on in the Golden Triangle, and often when we went to Austin we would see something at Southwestern or at St. Edward's. Among the ones that stand out: My first concert, Billy Ocean at the Beaumont Civic Center. Lots of fainting black ladies. I was saucer-eyed. I think I was 10. The Wizard of Oz at the Port Arthur Civic Center, where mom says we watched the special effects guy much more than the play. Some retelling of Hamlet featuring a flatulent Claudius, at some theater in Austin. There were maybe 20 people in the audience, and we were 6 of them, but we walked out during Act I. And now, even though I have to remind myself to do it, I like getting out there to see what Houston has going on. Rossini's Otello , presented by Opera in the Heights So it turns out that Rossini's opera gutted the character of Iago , which is kind of a disappoint...

After Christmas I usually feel (temporarily) flush from the gifts of cash.  I mean, Lord knows I should save it or something, but that's... not happening .  For the past couple of years I've used the money to buy art books that are generally expensive and not urgently necessary, and thus never quite make it to the top of my shopping list. Last year I bought Tibor Kalman, Perverse Optimist  and Rare Bird of Fashion: The Irreverent Iris Apfel , both of which made me so happy. This year I bought And the Pursuit of Happiness  (love) and 13 Words  (love less, but it's Maira Kalman, so...).  It was nice to get a package on my doorstep again; I got used to that happening everyday in December.  [I did not miss the overly-friendly FedEx dude.  We don't need to hug, sir .] Poking around on Apartment Therapy today I noticed that Phaidon is having a warehouse sale (online, even).  Unfortunately, I don't feel so very flush any more. 

I have been surprised by how much I enjoy everyone's year-end posts, even the most philosophical ones. Maybe they've just hit me in the right mood. Even though my stocking was far from empty this year (or ever -- how different could my life be from Joseph Brodsky's ?) my favorite today was this poem (below), posted at swoond . Isn't it funny how you can want to like poetry, and you can really enjoy a poem, but not be entirely sure what it means? I almost always expect there to be some "gotcha" from the poet, as in, "Ha-HA! You enjoyed that poem, which PROVES that you hate JESUS and DECADENT AMERICA!" So I just spent 45 minutes looking for a scholarly interpretation of this poem, so as to be sure I wasn't signing off on something awful.   The other scenario is liking a poem that turns out to be the literary equivalent of a Thomas Kincade painting. [Poor Joyce Kilmer ; I like trees, too, man .]  Anyway, I didn't find anything about the Brod...

Watching I had a lot to say about it, then I realized I sounded like a pretentious twit.  Even more than usual. But can we discuss how gorgeous this interior is?   Terracotta walls, pink ombre pillow, bottle green couch ... swoon .

Sofia Coppola has a movie coming out in December called Somewhere . The exciting thing is that it was filmed at the Chateau Marmont, which I've always wanted to see -- you'll know why once you see the trailer. Gracias, Mr. Kottke

Born Rich Is there a valley in Manhattan? Why do these people all talk like Moon Unit Zappa? Maxed Out Definitely making its own point of view, as evidenced by the first title card, in a scene with a successful realtor: "This is the same type of accounting used by Enron." At times [a lot of times] maudlin, but there was good information in there. The interviews with academics were particularly enlightening. Can't say I recommend it, though.

King Corn Well done in that it espouses no political point of view. I like that they treated all of their interview subjects with respect, even the spokeswoman for the high fructose corn syrup industry. [She looked like an extra from Working Girl and seemed to be reading from an Epcot "Farm of the Future" script.] The Botany of Desire I like Michael Pollan a lot more than I thought I would, based on the whole, "Eat food. Mostly plants..." nag. Totally fascinating movie.

The kids are with Papi's parents this week. It's amazing how much time we have for movies when Sponge Bob isn't blaring in the living room for six hours a day. I'm catching up on documentaries. Harvard Beats Yale, 29-29 So, so charming. Loved it. I loved that, as middle-aged men, they put on their coats and ties to be interviewed at their kitchen tables. Can you imagine being haunted by a penalty call 40 years on? Helvetica How much do I love Erik Spiekermann? "I just like looking at type. Some people get a kick out of looking at girls' bottoms..." Images: Amazon, Wikipedia

I'm reading up on this restaurant, Haven. It's a new(ish) restaurant started by one of the church members -- he was a chef at Brennan's before. I love how everybody thinks she's Ruth fucking Reichl now with the restaurant criticism. And even the people who liked the place were stingy with the stars. "Oh they don't have organic wiiiiiiine..." "Me and three of my friends..." gave it two stars. Die . P.S. They have bacon spaetzle on the menu. HELL YES.

This was the invitation: It´s "drawers open and bottoms up" at Rienzi . The Upside Down/Inside Out event highlights select pieces of furniture and other treasured objects from the Rienzi Collection that will be opened up or turned over, giving guests a rare chance to see the inner workings. Isn't that the best idea ever? Listen, Rienzi is worth a visit any time, if only to listen to the docents. It's worth the price of admission to hear a lady named (no lie) Sally Lunn tell you about the "armaleww" (ormolu) and the "aayperns" (epergnes). But yesterday we got to see the insides of cabinets , the machinery of an early English long case clock , the undersides of the silver serving pieces, and even an X-ray of a wooden torchiere . They had a first edition of Tom Jones out on display (they kept the Ben Jonson locked up, alas). We saw the stitching and structure of this footstool , created for Spencer House in London [it was evacuated during World ...

So, the reason I went to New York was to check out the Art of the Samurai exhibition going on at the Met. It did not disappoint. I direct your attention to the photo below. The plaque next to the display case indicated that this style of headgear, including the hair, was "favored by the more rambunctious samurai." Ladies and gentlemen, I traveled to Edo Japan by way of contemporary New York and finally discovered the origin of the mullet. The Met was a great place to visit, though it would take months to get through all of it. I also checked out the Wrightsman Galleries while I was there. 18th century French decorative arts aren't that exciting to me, but the galleries were lovely. The second thing on my list, and one of the highlights of the trip, was the Neue Galerie. It's in an old townhouse once owned by some Vanderbilts. The library -- now a bookstore -- had the most fantastic bookcases. While I was at the Neue Galerie, I ate at Cafe Sabarsky (which Smit...

This is a hat , y'all. Photo via The Awl . I am headed to the Big Apple. For real. I can't believe the day is finally here. I've been dreaming about NYC for years now. Back when I worked at the art gallery, I tried hard not to let on that I'd never been (because it made me feel like a hick). So now I'm braving epic security checkpoint lines and 14 degree temperatures to make the trip. The catalyst for finally going is this exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art . I can't believe I'm finally going there -- as a kid I loved From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler . I might have to hide in a bathroom stall and stay overnight. So this time tomorrow, I'll be on a plane. I will be back in Houston late on Sunday. In the 60 hours (or so) I'll be in the city, I have big plans to... Visit: Metropolitan Museum of Art Guggenheim Museum The Frick Collection Neue Galerie MoMA Cooper-Hewitt, National Design Museum as much of Central Pa...

It was a rainy day today, so I stayed inside and caught up on some reading, alphabetized my spice rack, etc. Oh wait, no: I started another blog. I have a minor obsession with packaging; hence pkg.tumblr.com . Amount of my day now spent on the internet = 93.7%.

Reading During a THREE-AND-A-HALF HOUR wait at the doctor's office yesterday. Did you know you can get HPV in your mouth? Watching I have no idea what's going on at any given moment, but I like the show anyway. Listening to I have to say, I didn't love it. Dolly's voice is as beautiful as ever, but the music is very synthetic pop. When Dolly's voice -- or pop music -- is stripped of its context, the resulting album suffers. This post brought to you by Pitchfork and Kraft, the makers of Velveeta Cheese. If that's your sort of thing, though, I should point out that you can get three bonus tracks if you order the CD from Cracker Barrel .

in Just- by e.e. cummings in Just- spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame balloonman whistles far and wee and eddieandbill come running from marbles and piracies and it's spring when the world is puddle-wonderful the queer old balloonman whistles far and wee and bettyandisbel come dancing from hop-scotch and jump-rope and it's spring and the goat-footed balloonMan whistles far and wee

I was trying to think of a poem for today, and I found this one by Victor Buono , from his book, It Could Be Verse. When flowers doze upon their lonely beds And oaken sentries nod their noble heads And piney cushions snug the cuddled fawns And dewy gems bejewel the dreaming lawns, I sit and wait in patience born of pain For some sweet sonnet to ignite my brain. And as Aurora lifts her rosey veil My muse approaches - haggard, had and pale. Fetid, fingered, rancid, rank and frowzy, No wonder all my poetry is lousy.

The anti-Valentine, from that old sap, Robert Browning. My Last Duchess FERRARA That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said “Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not Her husband’s presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up t...

In honor of the crew of the Space Shuttle Columbia , who were lost during re-entry on this day in 2003. A Noiseless Patient Spider by Walt Whitman A noiseless patient spider, I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated, Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding, It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself, Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them. And you O my soul where you stand, Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them, Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold, Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

For the new President (this is his favorite poet) and for the lovely Karen , who is also from Trinidad. This is my favorite Derek Walcott poem. Blues Those five or six young guys hunched on the stoop that oven-hot summer night whistled me over. Nice and friendly. So, I stop. MacDougal or Christopher Street in chains of light. A summer festival. Or some saint's. I wasn't too far from home, but not too bright for a nigger, and not too dark. I figured we were all one, wop, nigger, jew, besides, this wasn't Central Park. I'm coming on too strong? You figure right! They beat this yellow nigger black and blue. Yeah. During all this, scared in case one used a knife, I hung my olive-green, just-bought sports coat on a fire plug. I did nothing. They fought each other, really. Life gives them a few kicks, that's all. The spades, the spicks. My face smashed in, my bloody mug pouring, my olive-branch jacket saved from cuts and tears, I crawled four flights upstairs. Sprawled i...

I-Miss-Cayce Edition Having a Coke with You by Frank O'Hara is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them ...