THE OSCARS

Have clearly cracked this city finally, because last Sunday we found ourselves invited to not one, but two Oscars parties.
On Friday it occurred to me that I hadn't yet seen any of the movies that had been nominated. And I mean any. So I spent the next 48 hours in cinemas, clocking up six movies. By Saturday night I had haemorrhoids and was apparently talking about makeup artists in my sleep.
On Sunday I showered and ate to film soundtracks and spent the remainder of the day revising documentary and animated shorts.
The Tactile Helpdesk pointed out dryly that if I were even half as competitive in my career as I am when it comes to TV programmes, then I'd probably be very rich by now. As I see it, most of my earnings so far this year have come from betting on the outcome of TV programmes, so it practically IS my career..... and anyway, there was to be a 5 dollar winner-takes-all ballot at the party......

T's friends, B and I, are totally adorable people - welcoming, friendly, relaxed, witty. And as for their beautiful Upper West Side apartment. Let's just say a pianist was playing Oscar-winning film soundtracks on a (grand) piano in (one) of the living rooms. There were (real) Dali's on the wall. (Plural).
Gorgeous food, lovely guests.

A whole room was set aside for the ballot and I spent at least as much time on the ballot paper as I did on my German O' level back in 1979. So long in fact, that when I finally emerged, I was asked for a second 5 dollars because another ice-age had begun outside and everyone had forgotten that, back in 2007 when I entered the room, I'd paid already. (Next time they need an invigilator.) Then obviously I had to copy down my ballot form answers into my little black book, because I needed to remember who I'd voted for so as I could cheer. Unfortunately the host read this as me not trusting her to mark the papers correctly, which hadn't even occurred to me.
At least until she mentioned it.......

As I was defending my little black book actions, the TH shot me the first of many 'stop taking this so seriously' looks. I glared back with a 'you're on your third drink already and everyone else is drinking water' look. That's the lovely thing about being married - after a year or two most necessary communication can be achieved with an alarmingly small number of all too familiar facial expressions.

T and I blagged some precious TV room sofa seats and got stuck into serious red carpet dress-bitching with all the guys who had been hooked on the TV since entering the party and seemed to know all the costume designers personally .....

By the time Ellen started to do her thing (and how cool was SHE!), the TV room was filling up and I was starting to get that anxious sitting-on-the-subway-should-give-up-seat-to-someone-more-needy feeling. I kept glancing behind to see if there were any signs to that effect, but no.... just beautiful sculptures.
Finally my morality (read 'guilt') got the upper hand and I had to let the 8-month pregnant woman and one-legged 95 yr old man take my seat. (Okay not quite that needy, but I had been sitting for at least an hour.)

The TH had decided that the kitchen was where it was at. It was where the alcohol was at too. Weird that. I stopped by for a drink and a chat then probably appeared very rude to the host by running out mid-sentence to check my score. Several things became apparent as the evening progressed - nobody at this party was drinking even remotely as much as the Brits - ie. T, myself and the TH. In fact the majority appeared to be not drinking at all. Hmmmm.....?
Nobody at the party was taking their score quite as seriously as I was, as evidenced by my panic when some near-end scores came in and I knew I had 12, which would have put me in second place, but was told I had 11. The TH gave me a third or fourth 'warning look' at that point, although by then his looks were getting a little less focused, so he might equally have been looking at the rather amazing Victorian brass hand collection.

I knew I'd not won when the best movie came in. I'd wanted 'Little Miss Sunshine' to win (which, incidentally, you absolutely MUST see,) but I figured it wouldn't win, so I'd gone for 'Babel' instead, on account of it being big and profound and traumatic. Wrong....

I'd added up my score as 14. The winner had 15. She went home with the money. Then someone else got a second prize for 14. Errrrr......?
The TH was practically trying to drag me out by this point, but I was adamant. 'Re-count!' I demanded. Nobody was paying any attention, which was just as well. It was late and everyone had to be up at 6 or something, so the place emptied quickly, leaving only the TH (incapable of counting anything), myself (demanding a re-count) and a not exactly sober T (doing the re-counting.) Here you see the basis of the vast cultural difference between Americans and Brits. If this had been a party in Herne Hill on a Sunday evening, there would already have been at least one divorce, a fire, and someone sleeping in or at least on the washing machine. Nobody would have gone home yet, and most people wouldn't have been able to remember where home was. Sometimes it's kind of embarrassing being British in New York.

Anyway, following T's re-count, it transpired that I had definitely come joint second, so she insisted that I also got a second prize, which was a packet of customized M&M's with the hosts names printed on them. I really didn't mind whether I got a prize or not by this point - it was merely a matter of pride, but this prize worried me slightly (despite the fact that I am a total M&M's addict). It seems sort of weird to eat M&M's with people's names on, like a bad omen thing. I decided we could only use them as 'emergency' chocolate. And because I'd had drinks, many drinks, something made my outside voice go through all the possible emergencies which could result in me eating these M&M's - divorce, death,......

We got out. Even the TH had sobered enough to push me out of the door mid this-particular-monologue. All in all a rather wonderful evening at the home of some truly gorgeous people. And I do hope our behaviour wasn't too shameful.......but I'm not betting on it.

MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS

It's that time of the year again. American Idol predictions.
I apologise.
I'm not feeling as confident as I did last year. The standard is much higher in general, and I didn't get that immediate 'he/she's going to win' feeling that I felt last year on first hearing Taylor Hicks.
I'm therefore rooting for the most honest vocalists. The ones to whom delivering the song was more important than delivering an image of themselves singing it. The ones who were not a step or more removed from their performances. The ones who sang with the most sincerity and the least self-consciousness. In short, those with the most natural musical talent, aside from their voices, looks, image etc.
Shark's winning predictions are therefore Phil Stacey or Lakisha Jones.

VALENTINE'S DAY MASSACRE

Guess what! More upside down nakedness!
The theme of random unsavoury lack of clothes continues this week. Our Valentine's night outing was initially looking all set to be nudity-free, which clearly one would expect from a Kurt Elling gig at the Blue Note (totally amazing of course). I was feeling all loved-up, until the TH insisted on a detour on the way home and dragged me into a seedy club called (I think, imaginatively) 'Love'. I very much agree with the Groucho Marx sentiment of refusing to join any club that would have me as a member, particularly a night club in New York on Valentine's night, without the aid of a Marquis to see me through the velvet ropes. There were no velvet ropes (never a promising sign, much as I hate them) and the doormen were throwing us in, not out. In fact it was a whole lot easier to get into this club than to log on to blogger these days. There was of course a reason for this - the place was full of (but far from full) sad single crazies and geeks out on the pull, dressed in practically nothing, displaying body parts best left unseen and demonstrating all manner of quirky non-rhythmic dance movements, which left no further need for an explanation as to why they were on their own. There were also a handful of extremely young people, young enough to be my children, or possibly my grandchildren. Since we were there and there was no queue at the bar it seemed rude not to try out their house gin, which I'm fairly sure was called 'Crap', which sounds unlikely, although made sense. (Whatever it was called, it was definitely responsible for the mysterious disappearance of February 15th.) Sometimes the 5 year age gap between myself and the TH seems like about 25 years, because I think he was actually having fun...? I was not. However, I definitely got my own back by taking advantage of the practically empty dance floor (what were those DJ's doing?) to run through the entire repertoire of my sister's contemporary dance career. By the time I had got to a piece called 'The Wrecking Yard' the TH was more than ready to leave.......

Tonight I am going to a party in a church in honour of the Reverend's parents. I await with interest to see if the nudity theme of the week is going to continue to play itself out.

FAIRY TALE

I woke this morning to the sound of fairies dancing on the air-conditioner outside the window, their footsteps like tiny wind-chimes.
Finally it is snowing.

BUM 'N' BASS

So there's been lots going on of course. It's just that I've somehow lost the ability to log it all. I mean Steve and Lo came back to stay for another week, which was loads of fun, oh and we're heading for bankruptcy on account of the TH's housing allowance mysteriously CEASING ALTOGETHER! But really, all that pales into insignificance in the light of tonight's gig.
I am a serious Me'shell Ndegeocello fan, but the TH is even more so. So his valentine treat from me was tonight's gig at Joe's Pub. Totally sold out of course, huge anticipation vibe, the place rocking out to DJ Beverley Bond's hardcore funk intro. Then Me'shell comes on with a SERIOUSLY AMAZING band. But during the first number a half-dressed woman(?)appears in the very tenuous 'gangway' doing a dubious 'erotic' dance, flinging a feather boa in everyone's face. Uh? I am thinking maybe this is a quirk, like from the audience. The place is full of them after all - the guy sitting next to me is swaying to the music so alarmingly that if I don't sway along with him I'll get knocked out. I'm a little distracted, but she disappears, so all is good, that is until she re-appears on the stage......
She then proceeds to dance around Me'shell, sucking on random mics and licking any musician bodily part which presented itself, before taking off her top. This is so incongruous with what we all expect from a Me'shell gig that the audience is somewhat.... errrrr...gobsmacked? Call me old-fashioned, but believe me it's really really hard to appreciate a Robert Glasper or Jason Lindner solo when there is a practically naked woman doing a headstand in your lap with her feet on your shoulders, which is exactly what happened to me a couple of numbers later.....
(And no, 'could you get off me please, I'm trying to watch the gig' wouldn't have worked under the circumstances/position.)



At one point there was a bra hanging on Me'shell's mic (naturally), and the sound guy needed to change the mic. He proceeded to do this, then carefully replaced the bra on the new mic.....a pure comedy moment. I have no idea what was happening at that gig tonight. The band were awesome and groovesome - I mean you can't fault Charles Haynes, Oren Bloedow, Mark Kelley, Brandon Ross etc - they're amazing musicians, but this was like a Burlesque show. Me'shell I think (?) sensed the audience confusion - 'I'm just trying out some things that are going on in my head'.....errrrrrr okaaaaaay...... ? It's absolutely bizarre to me that she should feel that anything else is necessary apart from her music. She is a genius bass-player, vocalist, composer. Why on earth does she need anyone or anything to distract from this that we all came to see and hear?
Hey whatever. We all do what we have to do, but the lack of demand for an encore after what was a stunning night of music kind of said it all.....