Friday night working late brought an unexpected delight to us and our clients. After a fast and furious, raging storm blew through New York City, the following hour brought the most gorgeous sunset I've ever, ever seen.
The clouds looked light, cottony, unreal and unlike anything I've ever seen, thanks to the warm glow of the setting sun.
We were all drawn up to the roof to gaze skyward and marvel. Maury later did some research and found these spectacular clouds are called mammatus, from the Latin word mamma meaning "udder." Makes sense.
A couple of weeks ago I made good use of Housing Works' Open Air Street Fair, where they took over Crosby Street to sell thousands of books, CDs, records and clothing to raise money for AIDS research. They had vinyls at 5 for $1. You know I spent like an hour there.
In addition to a 1970s 4-album set of "Learn French In Six Weeks," I also got this little gem, "Introduction To Jazz." Jazz and I are already good friends but I thought I'd get the formal introduction anyway.
I took it out for a spin last week.
But lo, when I took out the record, 'twas not the corresponding vinyl. What!
It was "Rock 'N' Roll Dance Party" !!!
Still gorgeous and dusty like I like it.
Groovy. I popped that sucker on and it is fabulous... just great old songs to boogie to. I wanted to invite people over just to do the Twist with me.
It kind of made me feel like a teenager having a party in her parents' den and waiting to play Spin The Bottle. Very "Are You There God? It's Me, Jenna."
It was by far the best case of mistaken identity I've ever had.
Friday night I went to see Phoenix. Not my hometown but, in great opposition, a French pop band by the same name. I have loved this band since my first winter in New York (lo those many years ago). Back then I thought they were kind of mediocre but there was something about their sound that I couldn't stop myself from coming back to - they didn't take many risks but they were dependably catchy, familiar, and forgettable all at once. But... in a good way. Because five years later, I still love their music. It's kind of like a really soft bathrobe you wear when you're down. Comfortable, soft and... just kind of there.
Of course I hopped on with tickets as soon as I knew they would be playing the awful, shorty-unfriendly venue Terminal 5. When I got there, the opening band Amazing Baby was on, in full headband glory lookin' like those trendy girlz I see everywhere and want to punch in the face.
This is my usual view, even up close:
Gotta love shoulders. But since it was just me, I was able to stealthily sneak my way from open pocket of space to open pocket up to the front, right by the stage. It was then that I realized I was surrounded by children.
Bizarre. I think one of their dads bought everyone tickets for someone's birthday or something. But I'm not complaining, because these kids had a fabulous time and danced their hearts out. They were so excited and knew every song (I was impressed).
There were also danglers up on the balcony.
Ah, teenagehood.
As the roadies set up for Phoenix, I enjoyed the blankness of a stage waiting to be filled with music and light.
The Frenchies came out soon enough and those kids I was standing next to went NUTS.
The photobloggers were in full effect, hanging out just in front of my underage friends.
Bands bands bands! I love you! I want to be in one!
Let me just tell ya, these guys are so cute.
Lead singer Thomas Mars adjusted his mic, then just chilled for a bit while the rest of the band did their instrumental thang.
Then they blasted it. I want to be a lighting designer real bad at moments like this.
Not sure what's happening here... perhaps a bandaged hand rubbing temples?
The kids were diggin' it. I did not have as good of a taste in music as they do when I was their age, that's for sure.
During their epic, mostly instrumental song "Love Like A Sunset," Mars laid himself right down behind an amp. I've never seen anything more attractive than this.
Back to reality, and an encore...
As the boys came back out for the encore, they just looked genuinely surprised and almost uncomfortable with the roaring, adoring crowd. "Thank you very much. Merci beaucoup," Mars said very timidly.
Then they started playing my favorite ridiculously catchy song, "1901."
And the surge of teenagers around me started jumping around even more, going nuts. One of them elbowed me in the face. I never thought the first time I'd be hit in the face at a concert would be at a Phoenix show. It was then that I decided I was done and escaped the throng, face intact. Luckily, it was the last song.
Thanks, teenagers, for getting me to dance!
Thanks, Phoenix, for giving me a reason to jump around! You are adorable. Let's get married. (postscript note: I just found out Thomas Mars is the baby daddy of Sophia Coppola's daughter. Dang.)
On my way to the Phoenix concert on Friday, I was walking down 57th Street and heard a song on the balmy June breeze. I turned toward the source and saw this.
The Trinity Presbyterian Church was beckoning to me and I wandered in to take a peek. Inside was a Friday night service, sparsely populated but for the truest of worshipers.
The space smelled like kitty litter and every note sang in the hymn was off key, but there is something about wandering into churches that I can never resist. The feeling is the same everywhere I've been in the world.
The piano player played earnestly and the patrons sang with devotion.
Where there is an open door, enter.
Where there is an open window giving song, listen.
One recent Saturday I took my frustrations out on my feet and bought some new shoes at Payless, which very promptly destroyed my whimpering soles (and gave me a blister which has only just healed, several weeks later). In the process I decided it was a prime opportunity to do my semi-annual Shoe Switcheroo, which is like bringing out all of your summer or winter clothes for the season except it is shoe-exclusive.
In dragging them all out of my closet, I found that I have a lot of shoes. Or at least, a lot more than I thought I did. Aw, it's like a little babbling brook of footwear leading into my closet.
