Monday, March 31, 2014
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Camp refuses both the harmonies of traditional seriousness, and the risks of fully identifying with extreme states of feeling.
- Susan Sontag, "Notes on Camp"
Saturday, March 29, 2014
On a fine March day 35 years ago, there I was sitting in Concert Choir, right where I liked to be, just behind and slightly to the left of Scott Edelman, who had a truly epic backside and was my guide - what with me being, to be kind, what cruel judges on television singing contests call "pitchy" - toward hitting any note above middle-C.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Monday, March 24, 2014
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Friday, March 21, 2014
Let's brighten the end of this gloomy week with a true ray of starry sunshine - the latest magnum opus in the magnificent career of that Levantine ultrastar, Miss Nancy Ajram.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Saturday, March 15, 2014
This week's fine weather, alas, failed us today, with glowering low skies, a biting wind, and sharp, sudden showers that scuttled, among other things my idle thoughts about going out to Schönbrunn, the Hapsburg's cozy little summer place at the edge of town (I joke, of course - when Marie Antoinette went from here to Versailles, she was probably disappointed that her new house was so much less impressive than where she grew up).
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
I do hope you'll forgive yet another portrait of a bygone lady, but when I saw her hanging last weekend on a wall at the Vienna City Museum, I fell just a little bit in love. And I don't think it's just her striking resemblance to Bert Lahr, either.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
This charming woman, whose roguish expression greatly caught my fancy this afternoon while I was visiting the Kunsthistorisches Museum, is Emilia, Princess of Saxony, and I don't know about you, but I'm just mad for her snood-hat combination.
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Thursday, March 6, 2014
What could better summon up the nostalgic elegance of Alte Wien than that rarest of cinematic genres, the Hitchcock operetta? Throw in those mitteleuropische sweethearts, Frauleins Matthew and Compton, and you have a confection that seems likely to be about as authentically and evocatively Viennese as Brighton Pier.