Chelsea Vortex

Chelsea Ghosts

I took this photo in the stairwell of the Chelsea Hotel. Funny, but I don't recall anyone else being on the floor at the time. And yet, who is that reflected in the glass of the door?

Jazz in Columbus Circle

No Pussyfooting

Lindy West takes on Sex and the City 2 in possibly the best movie review I've ever read.

"SATC2 takes everything that I hold dear as a woman and as a human—working hard, contributing to society, not being an entitled cunt like it's my job—and rapes it to death with a stiletto that costs more than my car."

Down a Well

Gideon fell down a well. It's not entirely clear how this happened. Alcohol may have been involved. Frankly, it's not one of those things that require reconstruction. Once you find yourself trapped at the bottom of a well, how you got there is irrelevant for the most part.

"Could be worse," Gideon thought, crumpled up in a muddy puddle. "At least my leg isn't broken." Then he tried to stand and discovered his leg was, in fact, quite broken. That pretty much ruled out climbing out by himself. The soupy brick walls of the well hadn't looked promising in any case. Footholds were far and few between.

He decided to call out for help a few times, in case someone might be within earshot. His first attempt sounded too desperate, the second too self-reliant. By the third attempt he got the balance just right. My dignity is intact, his cry suggested, but I could still use an assist.

"Hello down there?" A woman's moony face appeared in the opening at the top of the shaft, peering down at him and cutting off the sky.

"Hello," he returned.
"What are you doing at the bottom of this well?"
"Calling for help."
"So I heard."
"My leg's broke. Can you find a way to get me out?"

The woman thought about this. "I can't reach you from here. You're too far down. Maybe I could find a ladder?"

"Yes, a ladder would be very effective."
"Or possibly a rope?"
"Yes, either a rope or a ladder would be fine."

"There's a hardware store not far from here, I think. They must sell ladders." She pursed her lips in thought. "You'd be able to reimburse me for the cost, won't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"Good, because my budget is tight, what with my gym membership and the cable bill and whatnot. Very expensive living on your own these days, you know."

"Yes, I can imagine it is," Gideon sighed. "Look, I'll pay whatever you want, just please get me out of here. I'm getting very soggy and I can't feel my toes."

The woman glanced at her watch. "Oops, it's time for my show. Today we're going to learn if Betsy is really going to leave Jim for the mullato carpet salesman. I don't think she is, but I must know for certain. I'm afraid you'll have to sit tight for an hour until it's through. Bye for now."

"Wait!" he called, but the face was gone and with it the woman.

An hour went by. Then several. The woman had forgotten about him or lost interest or something had befallen her. He felt terribly alone. Then it started to rain. It rained with a fury and an anger not seen in recent memory. The downpour lasted for several days and several more nights. The well flooded and Gideon's limp, waterlogged body floated to the surface. The ladder was no longer needed.

Rejected Album Art for Pink Floyd's The Wall

[From Rejected Version of Famous Album Covers]

Lost: The Long Con

A heap of mixed feelings on the Lost finale. I fall squarely in the emotionally satisfied, intellectual disgruntled camp. I'm not complaining about the way it ended. That was apt, iconic, symmetrical, etc. Well done there. A bit speechy in the church, but I can live with that. When the show wants you to know something, it always highlights it in neon.

My complaint is with the gross mismanagement of the entire series. I haven't been with it since the beginning. I watched the whole thing mostly in a caffeinated marathon run in the hiatus between seasons five and six. As a result I'm freshly aware of the myriad of dead ends and enough plot holes to fill the Albert Hall.

The writers have been trying to cover their tracks by insisting "it's a character-driven show." First of all, it's not. These are flimsy characters who are moved around like chess pieces to serve the plot. A character will get angry for no other reason than the story needs an angry character at that point. We're not talking Madame Bovary here. But even if it was true, this excuses nothing. There's no reason to have an entire episode devoted to Jack's tattoo, meanwhile you can't take five minutes to show who was in the other outrigger. That's just poor planning. The reason I got sucked into the show was because of the elements of mystery. What's under this hatch? Who were the Dharma Initiative? What's with all the Egyptian motifs? That's what made the show unique. Without it, Lost is just another piddling soap opera.

While season six may have ended powerfully, I accuse the writers of pulling a bait and switch. They ended with a grand flourish of explaining what the Sideways world was, but that's not a question I was asking until this season. They were counting on their audience to have short attention spans. I'm fine with mysteries being left unexplained. But I want that to be an artistic choice, and not because the writers concocted a mystery without knowing the answer and then, when they couldn't figure out how to wrap it up, decided it wasn't important. Ends remain loose not because of any artistic integrity but because they were set into play with no knowledge of where they were going. That's disingenuous, and because of it I feel vaguely conned. And so does a large portion of the audience, if the internet message boards are any indication. It's like a detective story in which the plot became too convoluted for the author to figure out, so in the last chapter he kills off an entirely new character and has his detective dramatically solve that murder, then stand back triumphantly and hope we are sufficiently distracted enough to have forgotten what drew us to the story in the first place.

I feel towards the show like I do the New York subway system. Glad it exists but pissed off at the bad management, endless construction, fare hikes, & complete disregard for its customers.

Dio brainstorming session

You've been left on your own like a...
pigeon in the park
meadow in the lark
dog without a bark
jumper of the shark
raider of the ark
hunter of the snark
rainbow in the dark

Top Five Old Time Radio Shows

The Goon Show
By gluing Wodehouse-style humor to the surrealist movement, Spike Milligan inadvertently spawned John Lennon, Monty Python, and Firesign Theater. Peter Sellers went on to cause a bit of a commotion in Hollywood. Nutjobs with names like Neddie Seagoon, Hercules Grytpype-Thynne, Major Bloodnok, and Bluebottle run amuck through WWII-era Britain.
"For thirty years Caesar ruled with an iron fist, then with a wooden foot, and finally a piece of string."

Suspense
Some of the greatest writing ever to traverse the airwaves. Stories adapted from the likes of Louise Fletcher, John Dickson Carr, and Cornell Woolrich. Top-notch acting never hurt too.

Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar
The insurance investigator with the action-packed expense account. Great writing, great sound effects. The end of the Golden Age of Radio.

The Shadow
There were several Lamont Cranstons, but Orson Welles was the creme de la creme. Its dabblings into the occult must've at least partially inspired the Indiana Jones films.
"Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?"

Nightbeat
Chicago reporter Randy Stone wanders the streets at night looking for a scoop. Taut stories stocked with compassion and charm.

Top Five So-Called Children's Books

Harriet the Spy: Louise Fitzhugh (1964)
Instruction manual on how to snoop on eccentrics and keep a journal. And appreciate tomato sandwiches.



A Bear Called Paddington: Michael Bond (1958)
Mischief as an artform. What is a duffle coat and where can I get one?



Alice's Adventures in Wonderland: Lewis Carroll (1865)
Demented logic. A proto-psychedelic masterpiece.



The Phantom Tollbooth: Norton Juster (1961)
Demented wordplay. Alice for the post-Marx Brothers epoch.



The Fireball Mystery: Mary Adrian (1977)
Dupes its reader into learning about nature and astronomy under the guise of a simple detective yarn. A devious but effective tactic.

Top 5 Prog Rock Albums

King Crimson: Lark's Tongue in Aspic (1973)



Gentle Giant: In a Glass House (1973)



Genesis: Selling England By the Pound (1973)



Yes: Close to the Edge (1972)



Jethro Tull: Thick as a Brick (1972)