Met Gala is an anachronism. But. It you want to grade ’em for CAMP. Lady Gaga. Cardi B. Jared Leto. Katy Perry. Best in Show.
Tiger was emotional as he received his Medal of Freedom in the Rose Garden. If we cannot celebrate that, the country is screwed.
And. Please. Just go Hillary & Joe. Know when to exit the stage.
Finally a beautiful warm Spring day. At our al fresco fave Tavern on the Green. Shared a flatbread. One Peroni. One Radeberger pilsner. Patio bar filled with European tourists and ladies who lunch.
The drink of choice for six suburban matrons with matching smart watches was a Green on the Green – Fair Quinoa vodka, kiwi, matcha, & lime. That’s right. Gluten-free vodka from South American quinoa. Seriously. It was a sick shade of green. Like the new seasonal color. Everyone’s wearing it. From fashionistas and actresses to Melania.
I’ll stick with NY black & beer.
A tilt in the winter air. Lunar eclipse could be seen by West Siders on a clear night. Yet. Nothing seems right.
Super Bowl teams decided by a bad call and a coin toss. HBO’s excellent Brexit with Benedict Cumberbatch sheds chilling light on what happened both there and here in 2016. The Mercer’s and Cambridge Analytica are responsible for it all. Steve Bannon, too. A must see.
True Detective music. Season three.
Give it up for the NYC fireworks maestros. In the pouring rain.
Central Park at Midnight. Rocks it every year.
The Lifespan of a Fact. Daniel Radcliffe. Cherry Jones. Bobby Cannavale. Studio 54 Theater. Yes. That same old disco venue. Clever staging. The takeaway from the play. Facts are not truth. Yet truth needs some facts. Writing was the star. The ensemble inimitable. Without them. No reason to go. Radcliffe supplied the crucial electric current. Jones the cerebral publishing glue. Cannavale the stalwart artist. Called a farce. Disagree. A witty composition on the vagaries of life. Without going down trite emotional trails. Consistently true to the conceit. Great.
And. Not once did Harry Potter occur.
What to do with all those leftovers? Boomer libs, that is. NYT columnist David Brooks contemplates the dilemma of the traditional liberal, now a relic at Thanksgiving dinner. College kids embrace anarchical progressivism, tilting at socialist ideals. Trumpian types are unrecognizable to the Ivy League alums as even those country club Repubs. Nothing seems familiar anymore. The old school lefties earned their way up the academic and jounalistic ladders. They got the top jobs. Yet. Today feel weak and beleaguered in the wake of a new wave.
Neither red. Nor blue.