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20090424

The bartender is on vacation and all he got us is this lousy postcard

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Posted by Nausicaa :

5 comments:

  1. jazzolog4/25/09, 1:42 AM

    Amazing they reconstructed the symbols of the 1939-1940 New York World's Fair for the one in 3979! My parents went to that first one...and for all I know, I may have been conceived there. An auspicious postcard...maybe Bartender will bring us back some souvenir glasses like these~~~

    http://www.flickr.com/photos/mr_t_in_dc/2634628277/in/set-72157600016957682/

    The lady with the navel would be welcome too.

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  2. Utah Savage4/26/09, 6:14 PM

    Is the bartender a doctor by any chance?

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  3. Nausicaa4/27/09, 1:47 PM

    Perhaps only those who went to the 1939/1940 New York World's Fair as children still understand fully today how it remains such a vivid memory in a dwindling number of minds.

    The author of the following reminiscing is quite obviously one of them:

    To go to this fair was to have your life changed forever. It was there that I was amazed by a device that measured the thickness of my hair, by a General Motors vision of 1960 (I asked my parents whether I'd still be alive at that distant time in the future), by mighty Railroads on Parade and Railroads at Work, by climbing up to look into the cockpit of a real airplane, by witnessing for the first time something called television; and I was chilled by the sight of a gas mask, as if I realized that here was a sign of what soon would dash or delay many of the hopes that THE FAIR expressed.

    During more than half the years since THE FAIR closed I have taught philosophy, religion, and sometimes history (really always history, since everything is part of the story of how we have struggled and sometimes soared in making what may be progress). But I have never forgotten THE FAIR. I think that it has given me a better perspective than I could have had on human beings as dreamers, aspireers, hopers, builders than I could have had if there were not somewhere in me memories of THE FAIR. There was much of it that I didn't see, didn't understand, didn't appreciate. Probably one could make a case for portraying it as a lot of nonsense or a tawdry attempt to make a buck in the midst of a depression. I haven't studied it enough to know to what extent such claims could be justified. But, whatever the motivation behind any or all of THE FAIR, there was something very good about it. Moreover, I believe that a world that could give rise to THE FAIR must have something pretty good at its heart.

    For me THE FAIR was something of a dream, as well as an actuality that spoke of the future, "the world of tomorrow." It remains a monument to those who dream and who "dare to do their dreams"

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  4. Tom Bombadil4/27/09, 4:49 PM

    “The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it used to be.”
    ---Paul Valery

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  5. BebopAuthor4/28/09, 3:28 AM

    Wearing my blue wig, "YESTERDAY'S PERFUME and white maribou feathered boa I have decided to honor this establishment and, like a will-of-the-wisp, whisper my way across the threshold. Who cares if Jazzolog is away as he sent me a message he confetti-ed up into the rare toxic ether of the Internet and said, "Drop in, if you dare."

    As he is a God's honest risk-taker who keeps me entertained with his political and jazz savvy, I am his number one cheerleader. I know, I know, this is some classy joint and not even the Mafia, Hollywood or Royalty is allowed to just drop in so I'll make this visit quick and leave quietly, although that is not my style as I am considered a drama queen. I'm haunted by the timeless beauty of this place and my curiosity has the better of me.

    Arguably this special place, located in the heart of the elegance of days gone by is not my usual haunt as I am a bebopper. My late night sortie is usually at 131 W.3rd Street, arguably at the world's most popular jazz club (212-475-8592) and Herr Carlson AKA RICHARD or as I like to call him: Ricardo, is usually dressed to the nines or just shirtless, depending on the weather...as we enter this magical place, located in the heart of the Historical District (a blue neon marquee marks the club and often displays some sort of hint of what someone might find behind the blue door) but somehow that door is always slightly ajar and the notes of jazz waft out onto the sidewalks (the way it used to be all the time of 52nd Street in days of yore) of Greenwich Village and that is why I am telling you all of this because, before we went downtown we were at The Stork Club.

    So my credentials as an old sage are up to date and I am fearless now that I am about to see where Nausicaa, Indira, Tom and others isolate themselves at The Wufshead.

    Strange but this place reminds me of when The Sheraton Palace was renovated in 1960, in San Francisco, and the place had a mind of it's own and people were bright and witty with pithy remarks that brought a silent smile or a guffaw. I feel comfortable but, like Sherman used to be with some people, I am not used to being told "do not enter" so I will be like a phoenix rising out of the desert and make my visit speedy...well, try to anyway. I wish Nina's Granddaddy were
    here to light my cigarette. I gave him that gold lighter they gave me at the opening of The Dunes and it is sentimental...where did these cigarettes come from?

    Sherman Billingsly has allowed me to perpetuate the name of The Stork Club and I am about to open in the fall so I need to just see what it is like in here. Thank heavens I memorized all the hand signals the head waiter taught me when I hung out there for three years. The night is warm,the "fantasy" bartender likes to be called "RED" is busy at the bar concocting every drink imaginable as I sit myself into a booth directly across from the stage. I settle in,order my drink and get ready for (Richard told me SHE would be here) the "Queen" to once again sing to our souls; it is the first set and in spite of the season the place is humming and I see her being escorted up to the little stage; she looks amazing with a haute-blond-do reminiscent of the one and only
    Marilyn Monroe, wearing Chanel red lipstick surrounding a drop-dead smile; that adage 'one is never too slim' definitely applies; garbed in an elegant, understated navy blue (looks like serge from where I sit) suit, spiked heels and a touch of gold-lame at her throat she is on stage, microphone in hand and I hear Jackie Paris's tune he taught her, 'I've been around the world in a
    plane"... and I envelope her with invisible waves of love as she begins with "I Cant' Get Started."

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