i had the best giggle yesterday, during "what's the word?" on pti, when tony kornheiser called roger federer picking up rafael nadal at the airport..."bromantic."
both photos: Tenro AG via the atp world tour facebook page
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
night in the city: stride along
fifth avenue, nyc. dec 19, 2010.
fifth avenue, nyc. dec 19, 2010.
photos © anita aguilar
Sunday, December 19, 2010
thank you for a fun-ky time
happy housewarming...
hello homemade dumplings
pretty polvoron - filipino candy made of powdered milk, butter and sugar
Saturday, December 18, 2010
bb v. rebekkah
on thursday night, one of my co-workers offered an opportunity to attend the opening of a bernardo bertolucci photography exhibit at the director's club--the man himself was to be there.
the adc exhibit, which coincides with the moma bb retrospective, includes 140 images taken from bertolucci's sets, by photographers alessia bulgari, angelo novi, marilù parolini, and giovanni lunardi. have you heard of them? i hadn't--and i was ready to jump at the chance to become acquainted.
but it was the same night that my friend rebekkah was hosting a variety show/fundraiser, benefiting city harvest. in a world where teleportation is possible, i'd have gone to both.
the adc exhibit, which coincides with the moma bb retrospective, includes 140 images taken from bertolucci's sets, by photographers alessia bulgari, angelo novi, marilù parolini, and giovanni lunardi. have you heard of them? i hadn't--and i was ready to jump at the chance to become acquainted.but it was the same night that my friend rebekkah was hosting a variety show/fundraiser, benefiting city harvest. in a world where teleportation is possible, i'd have gone to both.
but this was an easy choice. my friend is a lovely talent--and she has a heart bigger than texas. i wasn't going to miss a chance to support her and a good cause...
chris rozzi as "shakespeare"
mark dzula
Friday, December 17, 2010
dbgb kitchen and bar: shanghai surprise
imagine a friday night in late fall.
it's about 7:30. you swoop in through the etched glass doors at 299 bowery, happy and hopeful, even though you've not been able to make a reservation for 4.
you take a gander around the anteroom: it's full, but no one's waiting for a table. you're starting to feel lucky.
there are two people behind the dais, dressed in grey or something muted and monochromatic and modern, and they smile calmly as you discuss the no-reservation situation. and, gesturing toward the anteroom, they say, that's absolutely no problem, it'll probably be about thirty to forty minutes, whenever a table is free you can just take it.
and you're relieved, so relieved, because 30-40 minutes is nothing really-- a drink and a half at the fancy bar? you remember previous visits: when the place was newly opened, with hotshot you were dating then. how positively adorable it was to share those leather bar stools-for-two, and burgers and wine and ice cream sundaes. you smile and turn to your sister and your cousins, with your mind mostly on the one visiting from out of town, and as you lead them toward the bar, you regurgitate the news: great, it will be about 30-40 minutes...
and then you start really hearing the rest of what was said...you can just take it.
you're only half-smiling now and your temples are beginning to throb as you process those words. but you kind of don't believe they expect you to snag the table yourself.
by the time you're at the bar-where there is only room for 2 to sit-- you're so flummoxed you can't focus on the cocktail menu. you're assessing the situation: half the diners are mid-meal, the rest have clean, white plates and menus still in hand.
it hits you. damn. this is going to suck.
but you've got to make this work.
you're paying attention to everything and everyone now, except the folks you're with. you notice the bartender is surly and slow. the surly part is contagious. you're observing a party of two families with two strollers--only on their first course and one of the kids is climbing amok. (is that right to say? anyway...) no chance they're out before the hour.
you kick yourself because realize that right in front of you was a circular table for 6 which had, up to that moment, 4 seats available. (you think: did you really want to sit and share that table anyway? the answer is no, but ...what if that was the best chance to eat before 9?) your head is in full turmoil.
thankfully your family has not wasted any time--they've made surly bartender take a food order. tuna crudo, with a harissa-sesame sauce, gets solid nods from all four. they've ordered something else, also good (rillette provencal, maybe? you don't give it much thought--your attention is focused on not just the tables, but the couples and groups that are squeezing up to the bar. the competition.)
finally, close to an hour later, you spy an opportunity. spy being the operative word. you sidle up to a table for 4 occupied by a couple who looked on their way out--and possibly on the outs? you don't listen and you try not to look--you feel bad for hovering over their ennui. this is when you really start to resent the seating policy. you catch the eye of a handsome, neatly dressed young fellow. he's looking to snag the same table for himself and his lady friend. you share an empathetic smile and exchange a few words. he kindly defers, allows you to take the table. you're overly apologetic for an inconvenience that's a function of the cockamamie, lazy set-up. you offer to buy him a drink, because it all feels wrong somehow. but he knows you're not at fault. he seems to appreciate the gesture.
you signal strenuously and impatiently for your 3 dining partners to join you (quickly!) to save you from having to stake any more awkward claims to the table.
the service gets better--once you finally sit (yourself) down, they start acting like they want you to stay. every bite is as good as you remember. it's almost redemptive. the four of you manage to rave about the crisp, salty fries and the clever little burgers and go hog-wild for the desserts.
but as you walk out of the place, and notice now three people behind the dais to wave you on your way out. you wonder what exactly is the point of three being there, if not one will help seat the people without the reservations? the reservations room isn't big at all. and it all comes back to you, the tension and discomfort, and you think to yourself, never again, dbgb kitchen bar.
at least not without a reservation.
formerly: the profiteroles, the napoleon, a green apple and honey sundae and (my favorite) the chocolate-peanut sundae. rice krispies, chocolate brownies, caramelized peanuts, chocolate fudge & whipped cream...
it's about 7:30. you swoop in through the etched glass doors at 299 bowery, happy and hopeful, even though you've not been able to make a reservation for 4.
you take a gander around the anteroom: it's full, but no one's waiting for a table. you're starting to feel lucky.
there are two people behind the dais, dressed in grey or something muted and monochromatic and modern, and they smile calmly as you discuss the no-reservation situation. and, gesturing toward the anteroom, they say, that's absolutely no problem, it'll probably be about thirty to forty minutes, whenever a table is free you can just take it.
and you're relieved, so relieved, because 30-40 minutes is nothing really-- a drink and a half at the fancy bar? you remember previous visits: when the place was newly opened, with hotshot you were dating then. how positively adorable it was to share those leather bar stools-for-two, and burgers and wine and ice cream sundaes. you smile and turn to your sister and your cousins, with your mind mostly on the one visiting from out of town, and as you lead them toward the bar, you regurgitate the news: great, it will be about 30-40 minutes...
and then you start really hearing the rest of what was said...you can just take it.
you're only half-smiling now and your temples are beginning to throb as you process those words. but you kind of don't believe they expect you to snag the table yourself.
by the time you're at the bar-where there is only room for 2 to sit-- you're so flummoxed you can't focus on the cocktail menu. you're assessing the situation: half the diners are mid-meal, the rest have clean, white plates and menus still in hand.
it hits you. damn. this is going to suck.
but you've got to make this work.
you're paying attention to everything and everyone now, except the folks you're with. you notice the bartender is surly and slow. the surly part is contagious. you're observing a party of two families with two strollers--only on their first course and one of the kids is climbing amok. (is that right to say? anyway...) no chance they're out before the hour.
you kick yourself because realize that right in front of you was a circular table for 6 which had, up to that moment, 4 seats available. (you think: did you really want to sit and share that table anyway? the answer is no, but ...what if that was the best chance to eat before 9?) your head is in full turmoil.
thankfully your family has not wasted any time--they've made surly bartender take a food order. tuna crudo, with a harissa-sesame sauce, gets solid nods from all four. they've ordered something else, also good (rillette provencal, maybe? you don't give it much thought--your attention is focused on not just the tables, but the couples and groups that are squeezing up to the bar. the competition.)
finally, close to an hour later, you spy an opportunity. spy being the operative word. you sidle up to a table for 4 occupied by a couple who looked on their way out--and possibly on the outs? you don't listen and you try not to look--you feel bad for hovering over their ennui. this is when you really start to resent the seating policy. you catch the eye of a handsome, neatly dressed young fellow. he's looking to snag the same table for himself and his lady friend. you share an empathetic smile and exchange a few words. he kindly defers, allows you to take the table. you're overly apologetic for an inconvenience that's a function of the cockamamie, lazy set-up. you offer to buy him a drink, because it all feels wrong somehow. but he knows you're not at fault. he seems to appreciate the gesture.
you signal strenuously and impatiently for your 3 dining partners to join you (quickly!) to save you from having to stake any more awkward claims to the table.
the service gets better--once you finally sit (yourself) down, they start acting like they want you to stay. every bite is as good as you remember. it's almost redemptive. the four of you manage to rave about the crisp, salty fries and the clever little burgers and go hog-wild for the desserts.
but as you walk out of the place, and notice now three people behind the dais to wave you on your way out. you wonder what exactly is the point of three being there, if not one will help seat the people without the reservations? the reservations room isn't big at all. and it all comes back to you, the tension and discomfort, and you think to yourself, never again, dbgb kitchen bar.
at least not without a reservation.
***
the piggie: beef patty topped with daisy mays bbq pulled pork, jalapeno mayonnaise, on a cheddar bun with mustard-vinegar slaw, and fries.
the caramel pear napoleon-- this one fades quickly from the memory. the hazelnut biscuit is crunchy, but unremarkable, and the caramel doesn't have the strength to stand out. but if you're in the mood to finish your meal with poached pear and lots of whipped cream, you'll probably enjoy it.
profiteroles with the chocolate cream, coffee ice cream and warm mocha sauce...it's a real showpiece
formerly: the profiteroles, the napoleon, a green apple and honey sundae and (my favorite) the chocolate-peanut sundae. rice krispies, chocolate brownies, caramelized peanuts, chocolate fudge & whipped cream...Thursday, December 16, 2010
let them have (cup)cakes
and pizza and juice.
and let there be face painting and balloons
(a friend asked me to take photos at a birthday party...)
to learn more about volunteers of america...visit voa.org
and let there be face painting and balloons
(a friend asked me to take photos at a birthday party...)
it was this little fella's first birthday
he took his first steps at the party
to learn more about volunteers of america...visit voa.org
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
mostly i'm silent
december 11, 2010
"where do the ducks go in winter?"
december 11, 2010
december 11, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
read a good poem: depression glass
photo © anita aguilar
Depression Glass
It seemed those rose-pink dishes
she kept for special company
were always cold, brought down
from the shelf in jingling stacks,
the plates like the panes of ice
she broke from the water bucket
winter mornings, the flaring cups
like tulips that opened too early
and got bitten by frost. They chilled
the coffee no matter how quickly
you drank, while a heavy
everyday mug would have kept
a splash hot for the better
part of a conversation. It was hard
to hold up your end of the gossip
with your coffee cold, but it was
a special occasion, just the same,
to sit at her kitchen table
and sip the bitter percolation
of the past week’s rumors from cups
it had taken a year to collect
at the grocery, with one piece free
for each five pounds of flour.
--by Ted Kooser via the poetry foundation
Saturday, December 4, 2010
dc 2010: the doubles (mon dieu!)
FRANCE def SERBIA - 3-6 6-7(3) 6-4 7-5 6-4
magnifique.
arnaud clement, left and michael llodra...
photo: darko vojinovic/ap, via tennis.com
michael llodra (l) and arnaud clement.
photo: darko vojinovic/ap, via tennis.com
magnifique.
(how nervous is gilles simon now?)
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