Oh I love a bit o' cultchya, me!

I used to be a culture vulture. I mean beyond the moving image, too. Nights at the theatre and afternoons spent in galleries were part of my regular diet.

Then I moved to LA, the home of popular culture. In 16 months there, I went to one gig. Oh, and we did see a production of Midsummer Night's Dream at the hippie fest that is Topanga Canyon's Theatricum Botanicum.We also tried to go to LACMA once but it was closed so we went to Nordstrom in The Grove and bought shoes instead.

New York was little better. In 10 months in Manhattan, I went to the opera, saw one musical, and made it to the Met a couple of times.

I'm pleased to say that as part of my return to London, I seem to have got my cultural groove back. I've been home for 10 weeks and already have made it to the Hockney exhibition, a brilliant Rob Cowen gig and a play at the Barbican (an outstanding Cate Blanchett in Big & Small).

Most cultural of all - and surprisingly so - was our recent visit to Saltburn. Saltburn is a quiet little surf town, with a nice old pier. It it very photogenic, has a great Nobu outpost, and Dick Van Dyke lives there. Oh, wait, that's Malibu. Well, barring the year round sunshine and celebrities, they are very similar. The last thing I expect to find there is destination (as in, worth travelling for) artwork.

But look what someone went and did on Saltburn pier:

 

The knitting bombers have created a tribute to the 2012 Olympics. It is a work of genius and visiting it is the cultural highlight, so far, of my return to Britain.

Hurrah for cultural consumption. How do you get yours?

The Great 'No Cable' Experiment

As our time in Manhattan draws to a close, so too does the great 'no cable TV' experiment.

After our noses had stopped bleeding at the thought of our rent, we decided to save a few dollars each month and embrace the digital revolution. With the advent of live streaming services like Netflix and Hulu we could cut the chains that had bound us to Verizon for too long! What was the point of spending $100 a month on umpteen cable channels, when we really only watch about 3 of them?  And as New Yorkers apparently never stay in anyway, we'd probably rarely switch the telly on.

And so the experiment began. We signed up for a Hulu Plus account, and between that and Netflix we were spending about $15 per month on subscriptions. We made a small investment in an Apple TV, and an even smaller one in a 'bunny ears' TV aerial for the free stuff. Then we sat back and rubbed our hands together in smug self-congratulation.

Sadly the 'aren't we clever' bubble was soon burst. It turns out we watch quite a lot of TV. Most nights we will, at some point, curl up on the sofa and look for something amusing and reasonably current (30 Rock, Parks and Rec) or at least classic (Seinfeld). Annoyingly, Hulu Plus is usually a couple of weeks behind the series it does have, and sometimes whole shows disappear altogether. It also has an increasing number of ads, and unlike our old DVR service on Verizon, we can't fast forward through them. The Netflix selection is pretty woeful too.

Fortunately for our wallets and sanity, TLOML got me hooked on Battle Star Galactica. We watch a couple of episodes a week which is great. Otherwise we'd have to spend our nights in playing Gin Rummy (and I'm tired of losing) or watching old period dramas (I liked North and South fine the first time around, but once was enough).

There's a reason people pay for cable. Life with HBO is better.

I'm looking forward to getting home and signing up for a nice juicy Sky/ Virgin subscription so I can watch Test Match cricket and TLOML can still enjoy all the action from the NFL. In fact the best TV in the UK is free - BBC News 24, Grand Designs, One Born Every Minute. Ooof! I'm getting all misty-eyed just thinking about it. And I am reliably informed that Man Vs Food is now showing on an obscure Freeview channel too.

Yes, moving back to the UK will truly usher in a new age of cultural enrichment in our lives. And a lot more staying in....

What we wore

(It turns out some people want to know, okay?).

Me: a slightly dull electric blue dress, livened up by a silvery sort of bolero jacket with sharp lapels. I call it my magicians jacket, and I got it from the PDSA charity shop in Kentish Town in 2002. And that is why I never throw clothes away - it turns out it was totally Met appropriate.

TLOML: a very dapper suit, shirt, no tie.

Yeah, we rocked it. And you'll be relieved to hear we didn't see anyone dressed like this:

Maybe it's the holiday season, and people are treating their night at the opera more seriously. But it seemed to me that standards were kept fairly high and pretty formal. Which is quite right too, as the Met Opera building is such a gorgeous space. Here are some pictures I swiped from other people's blogs to prove it:

 Plaid and skinny jeans on these sweeping staircase? Thank goodness, no.

PS The performance was great too.

What to wear? What not to wear?

TLOML's 40th celebrations rumble on. Tonight we go to the Met to see La Boheme. Aren't we fancy?

Well yes, actually we are. And I like an excuse to get dressed up. Now according to what I have seen in that well known guide to Manhattan etiquette, Sex and the City, one should wear couture to the Met. Preferably Oscar de la Renta. And then hang off the arm of a handsome-but-inappropriate chap in black tie.

But I know, from that time I wore my tutu and flesh coloured leotard out, that what works for Carrie does not always work for me. So I googled the Met dress code and here is what I learned...


Yelp is usually a good source. And this Yelper was adamant: 'Put on your most ridiculously fancy dress, don gloves and a freakin' stole if you feel like it, you won't feel out of place for a second. Wear a floor length black velvet gown, and glide out onto the balcony, to look at the people who, although they are not all so attractive, did come here from all over the world, and took the time to get dressed in their best duds.'

I'm not sure about a floor length velvet gown though. I'm not sure about velvet anything to be honest. Except maybe a cushion. So I was still leaning like a lazy girl towards the ubiquitous skinnies, heels and a slinky top.

For what it's worth, the Met themselves say 'There is no dress code at the Met. People dress more formally for Galas or openings of new productions, but this is optional. We recommend comfortable clothing appropriate for a professional setting.' Okay, it isn't opening night. But we aren't working either. So I'm not wearing a 'pant suit' and that's for sure.

Then I read this brilliant Yelp contribution from one Rebecca K, which removed all doubt:

'To all Hipsters - I don't wander into your coffee shop indie-jam sessions wearing a gown and satin heels. So please keep your 10:00-shadow, flannel, 1980's glasses and ball cap wearing hipster filth out of the Metropolitan Opera House. Even Basquiat knew when to don a tailored suit. Have some respect for the arts.
[At my last visit] There were random hipsters out for an elegant night of "non-conformism", one female wearing her grandmother's glasses, flannel, jeans, and sneakers, and her male in a "vintage" blazer from Urban Outfitters, a t-shirt with something pointlessly "ironic" printed on the front of it, and skinny jeans. A pair of young females also in t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers (but one wore a fedora) were sloppily eating ice cream cones whilst heading up the stairs for their seats (why they were let in with those I do not know). And there I was in a satin gown and pumps with numerous other befuddled patrons of the arts, doggy-paddling through the sea of anti-pathy that began swelling up within me as I watched the hipsters scuttle by in their desperately indifferent fashions. It was positively horrific.
A little respect would be nice. It's the Opera House not Yankee Stadium.'

'Rebecca K' made me laugh out loud. She also made me very afraid. I may not be wearing satin but fo' shizz I will dress right up.

Chelsea's Youthful Art Scene

We saw this kid a couple of weeks ago, on one of those walks to Whole Foods that morphs into a mooch along a street market and a late Basque lunch in Txikito.

He was doing a roaring trade.

The art scene's pretty competitive here, and I guess the really ambitious artists start young.
 

So this is what they mean by a Disney ending

After a hugely successful run in the UK, the National's War Horse came to New York in the spring of 2011. And suffered a bit of, um, Americanisation as a result.

*** WARNING - WAR HORSE PLOT SPOILER ALERT ***

In a nutshell the plot, set in World War I, comprises these main events:

• Kid gets horse, and is unimaginably happy
• Kid's dad sells horse to the army. Horse goes to France.
• Kid lies about age, enlists in the army to find horse.
• Many bad things happen to kid and horse, separately.
• Kid is blinded by tear gas 
• Kid is reunited with horse (which involves a fair bit of sniffing and whinnying so they can be sure they recognise each other)

And that - the moving reunion - is your happy ending. It did it for me. I was in floods of tears and felt thoroughly satisfied by the narrative arc.


Over here in the land of the free it was, apparently, not happy enough. I hear from my theatre guru friend that they've added an extra bit of happiness to the ending:

• Kid finds out his blindness is only temporary

Really! I guess it is a bit depressing to end a night at the theatre with some unresolved physical ailment still affecting your lead character. Much better to clear it up so your audience can sleep easily.

I'll be in trouble with TLOML for anti-Americanism if I go on. But I think you get my point...

The Book of Mormon

TLOML and I saw The Book of Mormon last night, thanks to the savvy foresight of our favourite cultural guru. It's the hottest ticket in town right now and she booked it, it seems to me, before Parker and Stone had even hired the theatre. Seriously, she's that good.

It was a treat to see the show that everyone's raving about. It was great to catch up with our cultural guru over some killer margaritas. (I opted for frozen, because - have I mentioned this? - it's so damn hot here at the moment). And it was a huge treat to be in a large airconditioned theatre in the middle of this horrible heatwave.

Given that The Book of Mormon is a musical from the creators of South Park, I was expecting hilarity and irreverence. But who knew it would also be so educational?

We don't have a lot of Mormons in the UK, so I had a lot to learn.

Did you know all Mormons have to wear special Mormon underwear, which looks like a kind of Victorian romper? And that they believe after the resurrection, Jesus popped in to America on his way up to Heaven? And that most of this and their other tenets are based on the translation some dude made of some 'gold plates' with ancient scripts he found in his backyard in upstate New York, which an angel called Moroni tipped him off about?

Me either. You live and learn. Join me on my educational journey by watching this neat summary of what the Mormons believe:

And a history of the roots of the religion:

Genius.

Harlem Update

TLOML just got to reading my last post and has 3 additions and 2 corrections.

1. A video of Sylvia's, in case you - like us - enjoy watching a large man eat fried chicken:

Brits - Man Vs Food is a show where this dude tours America to take part in eating competitions. Like 'Eat a 12 lb burger and you get a free t-shirt'. He is TLOML's hero.

2. A photo of the vibey atmosphere in the Lenox Lounge's Zebra Room:

That's Sweet Georgia Brown on the left, the crazy Swiss in the middle, and a bunch of Danes on the right. Cringe!

3. Further elaboration on the Swiss dance moves. It was sorta like this:

4. A corrrection: that innuendo-laden singing I mentioned? TLOML says it was rather more direct. These are the lyrics he was thinking of:
'Don't touch my leg, 'cos then you'll wanna touch my thigh
Don't touch my thigh, 'cos you'll wanna touch my cherry pie'
Cherry Pie, by the way, is the name of Sweet Georgia Brown's new album. Presumably it's full of songs about her, um, lady bits.

5. Finally, and most importantly of all, TLOML would like it to be known that he is not a house husband. Although my last post made him sound like one a bit. (But if he were one, he'd be really good at it).

Across 110th Street

When you haven't seen the love of your life for a couple of hours, and he greets you with the words, 'Loads has happened!', and goes on to elaborate 'I bought some fruit, and the super came and fitted a new aircon unit and it turns out the fuse had gone which is why the light wasn't working... oh! and I put a wash on' that's when you know you need to inject a little adventure into your life.

So I thought I'd surprise him with a trip to Harlem, to the legendary Lenox Lounge. TLOML loves jazz, and southern food, and anything north of 60th Street feels like a grand voyage to me.

TLOML, trying to guess where we were going, said, 'we're not going into Harlem or something crazy are we?'.

I knew I was onto something. I googled 'Is Harlem safe?'. For every story of a brute muttering 'Imma cut you' and chasing a terrified cracker down the street, there was another story of a happy Columbia grad student sauntering along 125th Street late at night unmolested.

It sounded like the perfect blend. Being from a middle class enclave not far from this....

 ...in the Boro, I do enjoy just a frisson of urban danger on a night out.

So we headed North, TLOML guessing wildly that we were going to cocktails at the Met, or an event at Columbia. He was pretty pleased when we emerged on 125th Street and made for Sylvia's. Sylvia's has been in 'the historical village of Harlem' since the 1960s, and serves fried chicken, waffles and all that good stuff.

We took a table on the street and I looked out for 'pimps trying to catch a woman that's week, pushers who won't let the junkies go free, and women trying to catch a trick' (apologies to Bobby Womack). They were absent.

After taking down the chicken'n'ribs combo and some collard greens, we headed to the Lenox Lounge, the legendary jazz club which is described as 'bustling and boisterous', 'authentic' and having a 'cool vibe' in internet reviews.

 
 Never trust internet reviews.


Aside from us, there was a table of Danes in their 50s, two Swiss women (who I had earlier decided were Scottish schoolteachers, if that helps create a mental image), some grey haired Australians, and a solitary Japanese kid (who TLOML decided was just waiting for his tour bus to pick him up).

And by the way, we know their nationalities because the brilliant Sweet Georgia Brown worked the crowd so well. As TLOML said, it was like being on a cruise ship. Watching the olds get up and twist about awkwardly was compelling in a bad way. The Swiss women had some of the strangest dance moves I have ever seen. A sort of out of sync version of the 'birdie', and that description doesn't do the weirdness justice.

I should say, at least, Sweet Georgia Brown, the self-proclaimed 'last of the red hot mamas', was awesome, busting out some great innuendo-laden jazz and blues. We had a pretty good night all round. But edgy, vibey and atmospheric it was not.

Next time I want adventure, we're going to the East Village. And next time we want a chilled out night with daiquiris and good Southern food, we're going to Harlem.

PS Read my subsequent update here