06 April 2007
a wise lady told me...
...today that "fine" is simply code for fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional. next question - what about "nice"? describing one's self as "fine", or being described as "nice" = social kiss of death? yes sir.
25 January 2007
a big eff you to the industry, i'll do it myself
Fast Company's Jamie Bryan covers the evolution of hip-hop's middle finger to Cristal...and Branson B. takes matters into this own hands. (Screw you guys, I'll just buy a champagne vineyard....)
http://www.fastcompany.com/magazine/111/open_bottled-up.html
Bottled Up
Just When Cristal got kicked out of the party, Hip-hop fixture Branson B. was rolling out his own champagne. So where are his famous friends now? Hey, it's just business.
From: Issue 111 December 2006 Page 94 By: Jamie Bryan
Editor's note: After this story went to press, HipHopGame.com reported that Armand de Brignac, the champagne featured repeatedly in a new Jay-Z video, is not "a premium, high-end brand in France" that has been "produced for centuries," as the company claims. It appears the brand was created after the Cristal boycott began. Read on to understand why…
Hip-hop giveth and hip-hop taketh away.
Earlier this year, Frédéric Rouzaud, managing director of Louis Roederer Champagne, was asked by The Economist whether the hip-hop world's love of its flagship, Cristal, "could hurt the brand." "What can we do?" Rouzaud responded. "We can't forbid people from buying it. I'm sure Dom Pérignon or Krug would be delighted to have their business."
Chalk up another one for French diplomacy. An indignant Jay-Z, the multiplatinum rapper and Def Jam Records president and CEO, promptly slammed the statement as racist and called for a boycott, triggering a rush of nasty PR for the gold-tone bottle he helped put on the map. No more endorsements in hit songs, no more gauzy close-ups in videos or on red carpets. The embrace that made Cristal the eighth most-mentioned brand in Billboard's Top 20 chart in 2005, according to American Brandstand, was summarily withdrawn.
Cristal will survive, of course. Demand still runs high, even if some of the slack has to be picked up in the less-than-glamorous Chinese and Russian markets. But within hip-hop--and the coveted young demo that follows its cues--what will take its place?
This is the question for Branson B., a Harlem talent manager and entrepreneur with local roots that run about as deep as they get. Branson doesn't rap, but he was once described as "hip-hop's version of the Dalai Lama." Now, with Cristal's implosion, he's looking to become hip-hop's version of Frédéric Rouzaud: A self-taught oenophile, Branson has spent years developing his own high-quality champagne and has just begun rolling it out in select venues nationwide.
Branson's venture has all the makings of the perfect entrepreneurial storm. He has name recognition in a champagne-fueled subculture and a new bubbly to bring to market at precisely the moment when the dominant bottle has gone flat. But his story is an object lesson in how hard it can be to build a brand even when you seem to be the right guy, in the right place, at the right time. By his own calculations, Branson has been paid tribute in more than 50 songs over the years. Now he's hoping some of those old friends in the hip-hop community will show up to back one of their own. Hoping … and still waiting.
Almost Famous
Long, neat dreadlocks fall across Branson's broad shoulders as he sits beside a line of empty champagne bottles in his Harlem wine bar, which is still under construction. Scattered among the empties are various promotional materials for rap artists and events. One glossy card plugs a DVD documentary on the notorious street thug 50 Cent, whose violent exploits inspired the chart-topping rapper who took his name. Branson narrates the project.
Branson's name, like Cristal's, is a hip-hop staple: It has popped up in hit lyrics from stars such as the Notorious B.I.G., Sean "Puffy/Puff Daddy/P. Diddy/Diddy" Combs, Mase, Redman, and LL Cool J. It's "like he's a celebrity," says Jimmy Rosemond, CEO of Czar Entertainment and manager of rapper the Game, adding that for out-of-town artists, an audience with Branson is a "status symbol." Fab 5 Freddy, coexecutive producer of VH1's Hip Hop Honors, agrees: "When you go to the top of the food chain, he's a well-known guy."
In fact, Fab 5 Freddy and other industry insiders credit Branson with having triggered rap's champagne craze in the first place in the early to mid-nineties, when he'd show up at recording sessions or other events with a few bottles of his latest favorite. But Branson is not your typical upturned-pinkie connoisseur. The lyrics about him tend to be of the "smoke a little Branson inside the mansion" variety (he's quick to point out that "I don't control the lyrical content, I don't control the artist"). And his reputation in the neighborhood goes back decades, to its most storied hip-hop incubator, the Rooftop Roller Rink. He has since managed artists including major R&B star Christopher Williams and the influential producer and Jodeci member DeVante Swing. He had his own record label for a while and later worked on another with Andy Hilfiger (brother of Tommy). For more than 20 years, his candy store, the Sugar Bowl, was an uptown landmark.
Branson's love of champagne led him downtown, however, to Manhattan's finer wine shops; with their guidance, his fascination evolved into an obsession. "He was always exploring different champagnes," says J.R. Battipaglia, manager of Garnet Wines & Liquors in Manhattan, who has known Branson as a customer for more than 15 years. "He wasn't a label buyer."
Branson says it took a good decade before it occurred to him to go into the business. He gravitated toward the rare but unsung "grower-producer" champagnes--those grown and bottled on one estate--and when he first expressed interest in importing some by the acclaimed Guy Charlemagne, Battipaglia was surprised but jumped to help. He put Branson in touch with Jeanne-Marie de Champs, who represents some of the top estates in Burgundy, as well as Guy Charlemagne. "He has a personality that we are maybe not used to in France," de Champs chuckles, "but it's great." She agreed to broker an introduction overseas.
So, more than two years before the Cristal controversy even broke, Branson journeyed to the village of Le Mesnil-sur-Oger, in the Champagne region, for the nearly three-month-long process of selecting grapes for three cuvées. He sweated through the rules and regulations imposed on new businesses by the French government and the region's hyperzealous governing body. (The laws, de Champs notes, "are very strict. You cannot do what you want, how you want, or what kind of label you want.") He fought off a challenge to his trademark from another company that claimed Branson's name was too similar. He created his own sleek, understated logo for the label and secured a New York State broker's license to buy and sell alcohol.
After three and a half years and an investment he puts in the mid six figures, Branson had three bottles of his own: a blanc de blanc/brut réserve, a brut rosé, and a special 2000 vintage, now available as "Guy Charlemagne selected by Branson B." Retail cost: $40, $43, and $65, respectively, or roughly a quarter the retail cost of a bottle of Cristal, which can run $800 or far more in some nightclubs.
Brand Flash
"There are two realities in champagne," explains Roberto Rogness, general manager of Santa Monica's Wine Expo and a commentator on the industry for NPR and MSNBC. "It's almost exactly like the music industry. Over here is pop music and over there is the music you want to listen to." Powerhouses like LVMH (Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton), the world's largest producer of luxury goods, dominate the game with millions in marketing muscle, while the best small vineyards in Champagne remain all but invisible despite arguably superior--and definitely cheaper--products. "You have always been able to buy our bottles of better champagne than Cristal for the same money," Rogness says flatly.
"I'm not going to lie. I'd love nothing more than for Jay-Z to stand up and say, 'Hey, I'm drinking Branson B. now.' That would be wonderful, and help sell the product."
In other words, the champagne hierarchy is no meritocracy, and the rest of the $23 billion U.S. wine market is no different. Fab 5 Freddy and others point out that rappers are expanding into wine and liquor just as they moved into apparel following Russell Simmons's striking success with Phat Farm. Meanwhile, the rise of bottle service in large clubs has made them far more influential as distribution and promotion channels--making brand flash a critical component of sales.
Both trends--rappers' entry into the wine-and-spirits business and the use of clubs to promote brands--are being built into the entire product-development strategy. For example, David McCallen, CEO of Straight Up Brands Inc., a publicly traded company, is launching a sparkling wine called Wave with rapper Foxy Brown, as well as other beverages with Ja Rule and DJ Clue.
According to McCallen, because Foxy is signed to Def Jam, Jay-Z has agreed to host Wave's launch this winter, "appear around the product with her," carry it in his 40/40 Clubs, and include a promotional insert in her new CD.
The quality of the wine isn't the main point--it's all about placement and cross-promotion. McCallen stresses that deals like Foxy's aren't endorsement deals. The artist "owns a piece of the brand" and shares in revenue as a creative partner (he puts the profits on wine products at around 35% to 40%, and up to 100% on spirits). "We give them signing bonuses, just like a record deal," he explains. "I want the artist to literally work [the name] into their songs, rap about it, have it in their videos. It's all product placement." After Busta Rhymes released his hit "Pass the Courvoisier" in 2001, that tipple saw a 30% sales increase.
"This is a fit for [rap artists] from a product point of view," McCallen adds. "I mean, they're shameless promoters… . So it's not a disconnect for them to rap about a liquor deal, a liquor product that they own. It's spot on."
The Shepherd
And then there's Branson, with his studiously chosen grapes, his understated bottle, his legit French label and trademark. For Branson, the quality of the wine is the point. But as wine merchant Battipaglia knows all too well from the retail side, grower-producer champagnes like Branson's, outstanding as they may be, have struggled here. "Americans, I would say, are very label conscious," he says, adding that Branson is "really working hard to get exposure. I think he initially thought it would have been a little easier."
Up at his as-yet-nameless bar in Harlem, Branson gives voice to a classic business quandary: "I don't want to pigeonhole myself to the rap community and be like, 'Hey, this is a rap champagne,'" he says. "I'd like the support of the hip-hop audience, but I'd like the hip-hop audience to be educated and aware and conscious of what they're drinking." In other words, he's serious about this stuff. And that has always been his way. "When Puff and other people in hip-hop were young and just about to do it, they were very inspired by Branson and his tastes," says Fab 5 Freddy. "Branson is a very intelligent, very aware tastemaker. He's one of those shepherds."
Wouldn't you think, then, that a guy with so much legend behind him would have the hip-hop community rallying, eager to put forward one of its own?
Branson mentions having sent some samples with a personal note in early 2006 to Jay-Z's 40/40 Club in Manhattan. He and Jay-Z aren't close, but they know each other socially through a mutual friendship with the late Christopher Wallace, aka the Notorious B.I.G. Branson worked for Biggie as a consultant during portions of his multiplatinum career, which was cut short in 1997 in a still-unsolved homicide.
Though he's built like a linebacker, Branson comes across tonight like a self-possessed yet world-weary professor. "I mean, I'm not going to lie. I'd love nothing more than for Jay-Z to stand up and take a position and say, 'Hey, I'm drinking Branson B. now.' That would be wonderful, and that would help sell the product." After Jay-Z cited Krug--hardly a brand known for its uptown cred--as an alternative to Cristal, it saw "a nice sales increase," acknowledges Emily Cohen, Krug's New York--based senior brand manager (she says she can't link the two events, but Wine Expo's Rogness says he also noticed a spike--and does attribute it to Jay-Z's plug). Jay-Z didn't respond to repeated requests for comment about whether he would support Branson's new venture.
Combs, too, is nowhere in sight. Czar Entertainment's Rosemond says Branson's role in advising and building up Biggie was "definitely one of the components" of Combs's own ascent. ("So Branson, pass me a jar cuz these cats done went too far," he raps on one track.) For months, however, Branson has been hearing that Combs was considering launching his own champagne.
"You know, it's funny," Branson says, without laughing or smiling, "here I am trying to do something, and now he's trying to do it." He adds, "Puffy and I had a good relationship for a lot of years, and I used to share champagne with him, but I wouldn't… ." His voice trails off. "I know that I had some kind of impact in his life, but I don't know if he would admit it.
"You know what I've learned?" he adds. "Everybody remembers different things."
Combs also refused to say whether he intended to support Branson's champagne--or compete with it. Fab 5 Freddy is sure he and Jay-Z will do their part (Combs owns a number of popular restaurants as well). "Oh, absolutely. It's just a matter of time, if it hasn't happened already." He relays that Combs tried some of Branson's label earlier this year and enjoyed it.
Then, in October, the rapper Nas was quoted talking about the possibility of "Diddy/Nas champagne." A week or so later, a Jay-Z video appeared shilling for Armand de Brignac, a champagne with a gold-plated bottle and an ace-of-spades-shaped label. The company's CEO insisted there was no financial arrangement with Jay-Z but complimented him on having "the highest standards and finest taste."
Maybe it's not about community, after all.
Bubble Up
Dining in a slick Murray Hill lounge one mild fall evening, Branson seems more upbeat than he did at his wine-bar-in-progress. Honey lounge in New York has signed on to carry Branson B., and the exclusive Cain clubs are thinking about it. Megu has added it to the wine lists at its tony Japanese restaurants in Trump Towers and Tribeca (Tribeca's list is a Wine Spectator award winner). Platinum-selling rapper the Game recently wrote Branson B. Champagne into the performance rider for his upcoming world tour. Momentum is coming Branson's way.
"I'm happy being creative," Branson remarks. "I'm happy doing things, making things happen, having ideas, and seeing them manifest." Asked about the days of dropping by while Biggie was in the studio, he recalls being present the night "Rap Phenomenon" was put down on wax.
"We're sitting in there, we're listening to the track, and then he just spits my name as part of the lyrical flow. You know, everybody turns and looks at you, but at the same time, it's not about you. It's about how it fits, it works, and it all feels good.
"I didn't know he was going to do that," Branson adds, sounding humbled.
Only recently did Branson decide to track down all the songs that have included his name and document them. The sheer volume took him by surprise. "I don't think there's another person who isn't an entertainer or star who has been mentioned more than myself in the lyrical content of this music," he muses.
"That, I guess, is building a brand."
Jamie Bryan's last piece for Fast Company was "The Mintz Dynasty," in April 2006.
Copyright © 2006 Mansueto Ventures LLC. All rights reserved.Fast Company, 375 Lexington Avenue.,New York , NY 10017
http://www.fastcompany.com/magazine/111/open_bottled-up.html
Bottled Up
Just When Cristal got kicked out of the party, Hip-hop fixture Branson B. was rolling out his own champagne. So where are his famous friends now? Hey, it's just business.
From: Issue 111 December 2006 Page 94 By: Jamie Bryan
Editor's note: After this story went to press, HipHopGame.com reported that Armand de Brignac, the champagne featured repeatedly in a new Jay-Z video, is not "a premium, high-end brand in France" that has been "produced for centuries," as the company claims. It appears the brand was created after the Cristal boycott began. Read on to understand why…
Hip-hop giveth and hip-hop taketh away.
Earlier this year, Frédéric Rouzaud, managing director of Louis Roederer Champagne, was asked by The Economist whether the hip-hop world's love of its flagship, Cristal, "could hurt the brand." "What can we do?" Rouzaud responded. "We can't forbid people from buying it. I'm sure Dom Pérignon or Krug would be delighted to have their business."
Chalk up another one for French diplomacy. An indignant Jay-Z, the multiplatinum rapper and Def Jam Records president and CEO, promptly slammed the statement as racist and called for a boycott, triggering a rush of nasty PR for the gold-tone bottle he helped put on the map. No more endorsements in hit songs, no more gauzy close-ups in videos or on red carpets. The embrace that made Cristal the eighth most-mentioned brand in Billboard's Top 20 chart in 2005, according to American Brandstand, was summarily withdrawn.
Cristal will survive, of course. Demand still runs high, even if some of the slack has to be picked up in the less-than-glamorous Chinese and Russian markets. But within hip-hop--and the coveted young demo that follows its cues--what will take its place?
This is the question for Branson B., a Harlem talent manager and entrepreneur with local roots that run about as deep as they get. Branson doesn't rap, but he was once described as "hip-hop's version of the Dalai Lama." Now, with Cristal's implosion, he's looking to become hip-hop's version of Frédéric Rouzaud: A self-taught oenophile, Branson has spent years developing his own high-quality champagne and has just begun rolling it out in select venues nationwide.
Branson's venture has all the makings of the perfect entrepreneurial storm. He has name recognition in a champagne-fueled subculture and a new bubbly to bring to market at precisely the moment when the dominant bottle has gone flat. But his story is an object lesson in how hard it can be to build a brand even when you seem to be the right guy, in the right place, at the right time. By his own calculations, Branson has been paid tribute in more than 50 songs over the years. Now he's hoping some of those old friends in the hip-hop community will show up to back one of their own. Hoping … and still waiting.
Almost Famous
Long, neat dreadlocks fall across Branson's broad shoulders as he sits beside a line of empty champagne bottles in his Harlem wine bar, which is still under construction. Scattered among the empties are various promotional materials for rap artists and events. One glossy card plugs a DVD documentary on the notorious street thug 50 Cent, whose violent exploits inspired the chart-topping rapper who took his name. Branson narrates the project.
Branson's name, like Cristal's, is a hip-hop staple: It has popped up in hit lyrics from stars such as the Notorious B.I.G., Sean "Puffy/Puff Daddy/P. Diddy/Diddy" Combs, Mase, Redman, and LL Cool J. It's "like he's a celebrity," says Jimmy Rosemond, CEO of Czar Entertainment and manager of rapper the Game, adding that for out-of-town artists, an audience with Branson is a "status symbol." Fab 5 Freddy, coexecutive producer of VH1's Hip Hop Honors, agrees: "When you go to the top of the food chain, he's a well-known guy."
In fact, Fab 5 Freddy and other industry insiders credit Branson with having triggered rap's champagne craze in the first place in the early to mid-nineties, when he'd show up at recording sessions or other events with a few bottles of his latest favorite. But Branson is not your typical upturned-pinkie connoisseur. The lyrics about him tend to be of the "smoke a little Branson inside the mansion" variety (he's quick to point out that "I don't control the lyrical content, I don't control the artist"). And his reputation in the neighborhood goes back decades, to its most storied hip-hop incubator, the Rooftop Roller Rink. He has since managed artists including major R&B star Christopher Williams and the influential producer and Jodeci member DeVante Swing. He had his own record label for a while and later worked on another with Andy Hilfiger (brother of Tommy). For more than 20 years, his candy store, the Sugar Bowl, was an uptown landmark.
Branson's love of champagne led him downtown, however, to Manhattan's finer wine shops; with their guidance, his fascination evolved into an obsession. "He was always exploring different champagnes," says J.R. Battipaglia, manager of Garnet Wines & Liquors in Manhattan, who has known Branson as a customer for more than 15 years. "He wasn't a label buyer."
Branson says it took a good decade before it occurred to him to go into the business. He gravitated toward the rare but unsung "grower-producer" champagnes--those grown and bottled on one estate--and when he first expressed interest in importing some by the acclaimed Guy Charlemagne, Battipaglia was surprised but jumped to help. He put Branson in touch with Jeanne-Marie de Champs, who represents some of the top estates in Burgundy, as well as Guy Charlemagne. "He has a personality that we are maybe not used to in France," de Champs chuckles, "but it's great." She agreed to broker an introduction overseas.
So, more than two years before the Cristal controversy even broke, Branson journeyed to the village of Le Mesnil-sur-Oger, in the Champagne region, for the nearly three-month-long process of selecting grapes for three cuvées. He sweated through the rules and regulations imposed on new businesses by the French government and the region's hyperzealous governing body. (The laws, de Champs notes, "are very strict. You cannot do what you want, how you want, or what kind of label you want.") He fought off a challenge to his trademark from another company that claimed Branson's name was too similar. He created his own sleek, understated logo for the label and secured a New York State broker's license to buy and sell alcohol.
After three and a half years and an investment he puts in the mid six figures, Branson had three bottles of his own: a blanc de blanc/brut réserve, a brut rosé, and a special 2000 vintage, now available as "Guy Charlemagne selected by Branson B." Retail cost: $40, $43, and $65, respectively, or roughly a quarter the retail cost of a bottle of Cristal, which can run $800 or far more in some nightclubs.
Brand Flash
"There are two realities in champagne," explains Roberto Rogness, general manager of Santa Monica's Wine Expo and a commentator on the industry for NPR and MSNBC. "It's almost exactly like the music industry. Over here is pop music and over there is the music you want to listen to." Powerhouses like LVMH (Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton), the world's largest producer of luxury goods, dominate the game with millions in marketing muscle, while the best small vineyards in Champagne remain all but invisible despite arguably superior--and definitely cheaper--products. "You have always been able to buy our bottles of better champagne than Cristal for the same money," Rogness says flatly.
"I'm not going to lie. I'd love nothing more than for Jay-Z to stand up and say, 'Hey, I'm drinking Branson B. now.' That would be wonderful, and help sell the product."
In other words, the champagne hierarchy is no meritocracy, and the rest of the $23 billion U.S. wine market is no different. Fab 5 Freddy and others point out that rappers are expanding into wine and liquor just as they moved into apparel following Russell Simmons's striking success with Phat Farm. Meanwhile, the rise of bottle service in large clubs has made them far more influential as distribution and promotion channels--making brand flash a critical component of sales.
Both trends--rappers' entry into the wine-and-spirits business and the use of clubs to promote brands--are being built into the entire product-development strategy. For example, David McCallen, CEO of Straight Up Brands Inc., a publicly traded company, is launching a sparkling wine called Wave with rapper Foxy Brown, as well as other beverages with Ja Rule and DJ Clue.
According to McCallen, because Foxy is signed to Def Jam, Jay-Z has agreed to host Wave's launch this winter, "appear around the product with her," carry it in his 40/40 Clubs, and include a promotional insert in her new CD.
The quality of the wine isn't the main point--it's all about placement and cross-promotion. McCallen stresses that deals like Foxy's aren't endorsement deals. The artist "owns a piece of the brand" and shares in revenue as a creative partner (he puts the profits on wine products at around 35% to 40%, and up to 100% on spirits). "We give them signing bonuses, just like a record deal," he explains. "I want the artist to literally work [the name] into their songs, rap about it, have it in their videos. It's all product placement." After Busta Rhymes released his hit "Pass the Courvoisier" in 2001, that tipple saw a 30% sales increase.
"This is a fit for [rap artists] from a product point of view," McCallen adds. "I mean, they're shameless promoters… . So it's not a disconnect for them to rap about a liquor deal, a liquor product that they own. It's spot on."
The Shepherd
And then there's Branson, with his studiously chosen grapes, his understated bottle, his legit French label and trademark. For Branson, the quality of the wine is the point. But as wine merchant Battipaglia knows all too well from the retail side, grower-producer champagnes like Branson's, outstanding as they may be, have struggled here. "Americans, I would say, are very label conscious," he says, adding that Branson is "really working hard to get exposure. I think he initially thought it would have been a little easier."
Up at his as-yet-nameless bar in Harlem, Branson gives voice to a classic business quandary: "I don't want to pigeonhole myself to the rap community and be like, 'Hey, this is a rap champagne,'" he says. "I'd like the support of the hip-hop audience, but I'd like the hip-hop audience to be educated and aware and conscious of what they're drinking." In other words, he's serious about this stuff. And that has always been his way. "When Puff and other people in hip-hop were young and just about to do it, they were very inspired by Branson and his tastes," says Fab 5 Freddy. "Branson is a very intelligent, very aware tastemaker. He's one of those shepherds."
Wouldn't you think, then, that a guy with so much legend behind him would have the hip-hop community rallying, eager to put forward one of its own?
Branson mentions having sent some samples with a personal note in early 2006 to Jay-Z's 40/40 Club in Manhattan. He and Jay-Z aren't close, but they know each other socially through a mutual friendship with the late Christopher Wallace, aka the Notorious B.I.G. Branson worked for Biggie as a consultant during portions of his multiplatinum career, which was cut short in 1997 in a still-unsolved homicide.
Though he's built like a linebacker, Branson comes across tonight like a self-possessed yet world-weary professor. "I mean, I'm not going to lie. I'd love nothing more than for Jay-Z to stand up and take a position and say, 'Hey, I'm drinking Branson B. now.' That would be wonderful, and that would help sell the product." After Jay-Z cited Krug--hardly a brand known for its uptown cred--as an alternative to Cristal, it saw "a nice sales increase," acknowledges Emily Cohen, Krug's New York--based senior brand manager (she says she can't link the two events, but Wine Expo's Rogness says he also noticed a spike--and does attribute it to Jay-Z's plug). Jay-Z didn't respond to repeated requests for comment about whether he would support Branson's new venture.
Combs, too, is nowhere in sight. Czar Entertainment's Rosemond says Branson's role in advising and building up Biggie was "definitely one of the components" of Combs's own ascent. ("So Branson, pass me a jar cuz these cats done went too far," he raps on one track.) For months, however, Branson has been hearing that Combs was considering launching his own champagne.
"You know, it's funny," Branson says, without laughing or smiling, "here I am trying to do something, and now he's trying to do it." He adds, "Puffy and I had a good relationship for a lot of years, and I used to share champagne with him, but I wouldn't… ." His voice trails off. "I know that I had some kind of impact in his life, but I don't know if he would admit it.
"You know what I've learned?" he adds. "Everybody remembers different things."
Combs also refused to say whether he intended to support Branson's champagne--or compete with it. Fab 5 Freddy is sure he and Jay-Z will do their part (Combs owns a number of popular restaurants as well). "Oh, absolutely. It's just a matter of time, if it hasn't happened already." He relays that Combs tried some of Branson's label earlier this year and enjoyed it.
Then, in October, the rapper Nas was quoted talking about the possibility of "Diddy/Nas champagne." A week or so later, a Jay-Z video appeared shilling for Armand de Brignac, a champagne with a gold-plated bottle and an ace-of-spades-shaped label. The company's CEO insisted there was no financial arrangement with Jay-Z but complimented him on having "the highest standards and finest taste."
Maybe it's not about community, after all.
Bubble Up
Dining in a slick Murray Hill lounge one mild fall evening, Branson seems more upbeat than he did at his wine-bar-in-progress. Honey lounge in New York has signed on to carry Branson B., and the exclusive Cain clubs are thinking about it. Megu has added it to the wine lists at its tony Japanese restaurants in Trump Towers and Tribeca (Tribeca's list is a Wine Spectator award winner). Platinum-selling rapper the Game recently wrote Branson B. Champagne into the performance rider for his upcoming world tour. Momentum is coming Branson's way.
"I'm happy being creative," Branson remarks. "I'm happy doing things, making things happen, having ideas, and seeing them manifest." Asked about the days of dropping by while Biggie was in the studio, he recalls being present the night "Rap Phenomenon" was put down on wax.
"We're sitting in there, we're listening to the track, and then he just spits my name as part of the lyrical flow. You know, everybody turns and looks at you, but at the same time, it's not about you. It's about how it fits, it works, and it all feels good.
"I didn't know he was going to do that," Branson adds, sounding humbled.
Only recently did Branson decide to track down all the songs that have included his name and document them. The sheer volume took him by surprise. "I don't think there's another person who isn't an entertainer or star who has been mentioned more than myself in the lyrical content of this music," he muses.
"That, I guess, is building a brand."
Jamie Bryan's last piece for Fast Company was "The Mintz Dynasty," in April 2006.
Copyright © 2006 Mansueto Ventures LLC. All rights reserved.Fast Company, 375 Lexington Avenue.,New York , NY 10017
22 January 2007
surreal!
this just in: al pacino has been tapped to play salvador dali in the upcoming film dali and i. how freaking cool can you get?
http://movies.monstersandcritics.com/news/printer_1248947.php
From Monsters and Critics.com
Movies News
Al Pacino cast in Dali biopic
By Stone Martindale
Jan 19, 2007, 23:04 GMT
Actor Al Pacino will play artist Salvador Dali in "Dali & I: The Surreal Story," and reunite with Andrew Niccol who is directing. Producers Room 9 Entertainment plan for a New York and Spain shoot in June, according to Variety.
Niccol originally acquired the project as a spec script written by John Salvati, based on Lauryssens' autobiographical book "Dali and I." Niccol is rewriting the script.
The film will be produced by Room 9 partners David O. Sacks, Daniel Brunt and Michael R. Newman, who also produced the hit satirical film, "Thank You for Smoking," reports Variety.
"Dali" will focus on the second half of Dali's life.
http://movies.monstersandcritics.com/news/printer_1248947.php
From Monsters and Critics.com
Movies News
Al Pacino cast in Dali biopic
By Stone Martindale
Jan 19, 2007, 23:04 GMT
Actor Al Pacino will play artist Salvador Dali in "Dali & I: The Surreal Story," and reunite with Andrew Niccol who is directing. Producers Room 9 Entertainment plan for a New York and Spain shoot in June, according to Variety.
Niccol originally acquired the project as a spec script written by John Salvati, based on Lauryssens' autobiographical book "Dali and I." Niccol is rewriting the script.
The film will be produced by Room 9 partners David O. Sacks, Daniel Brunt and Michael R. Newman, who also produced the hit satirical film, "Thank You for Smoking," reports Variety.
"Dali" will focus on the second half of Dali's life.
14 November 2006
10 November 2006
gestalt
simple, powerful quote that helps to illustrate the gestalt theory of psychology:
I do my own thing and you do your thing.
I am not in this world to live up to your expectations.
And you are not in this world to live up to mine.
You are you, and I am I.
And if by chance we find each other, it's beautiful.
If not, it can't be helped.
I do my own thing and you do your thing.
I am not in this world to live up to your expectations.
And you are not in this world to live up to mine.
You are you, and I am I.
And if by chance we find each other, it's beautiful.
If not, it can't be helped.
26 October 2006
the darkness
today i'm wearing a huge knit poncho thing that's probably just an afghan with a hole in it. regardless, it's warm, and my office is not. i'm quite content - it feels like i never got out of bed this morning. small problem, however - i'm a devout sitter.
you see, i have a toilet in the office bathroom that i'm pretty sure is mine exclusively. (remember pop up videos? how about the episode that features jewel in the bathroom? jewel and vh1 taught me that the first toilet stall is the LEAST used, thus it has become my favorite. without getting into specifics, i've devised experiments to determine my ownership of this toilet, and it is unquestionably mine and mine alone on MOST days.) as i am the only regular user of this toilet, i like to sit on it. none of this squatting bullshit - if i want to squat, i'll go to the gym. when i have two minutes to myself in the bathroom, it's like a zen moment to collect my thoughts and cease the swirl of bad energy created by unrelentingly cranky media folk.
sounds nice, right? so i stumble in slowly around 7 this morning, coffee having not yet kicked in, and i realize that i am very nearly about to dip my poncho fringe into the holy waters. oh hell no. thus, i do what any rational human being would do - i flip the back of my poncho over my head and settle in. the overall effect of being encased in a tunnel of black alpaca is similar to the feeling of waking up with a VERY full bladder in the middle of the night - turning the bathroom light on would push you to TRUE wakefulness, and no one wants that, so you manage in the darkness and wander back to bed. it's just a pause in the program.
so now here i am, the first one in the office bathroom, a pile of black sweater sitting on my private toilet, listening to the arcade fire on my ipod, and pondering the rest of my day. the stall door opens, and a woman from the neighboring ad agency screams (who else starts their workday at 6:45?). i fall on the floor, entangled in sweater mass, pantless, and thrash, whacking my grey matter on the tile.
somehow i can't find the motivation to continue this day. someday i will blog about something important. my toilet is no longer my own, and i hate my sweater. that is all.
you see, i have a toilet in the office bathroom that i'm pretty sure is mine exclusively. (remember pop up videos? how about the episode that features jewel in the bathroom? jewel and vh1 taught me that the first toilet stall is the LEAST used, thus it has become my favorite. without getting into specifics, i've devised experiments to determine my ownership of this toilet, and it is unquestionably mine and mine alone on MOST days.) as i am the only regular user of this toilet, i like to sit on it. none of this squatting bullshit - if i want to squat, i'll go to the gym. when i have two minutes to myself in the bathroom, it's like a zen moment to collect my thoughts and cease the swirl of bad energy created by unrelentingly cranky media folk.
sounds nice, right? so i stumble in slowly around 7 this morning, coffee having not yet kicked in, and i realize that i am very nearly about to dip my poncho fringe into the holy waters. oh hell no. thus, i do what any rational human being would do - i flip the back of my poncho over my head and settle in. the overall effect of being encased in a tunnel of black alpaca is similar to the feeling of waking up with a VERY full bladder in the middle of the night - turning the bathroom light on would push you to TRUE wakefulness, and no one wants that, so you manage in the darkness and wander back to bed. it's just a pause in the program.
so now here i am, the first one in the office bathroom, a pile of black sweater sitting on my private toilet, listening to the arcade fire on my ipod, and pondering the rest of my day. the stall door opens, and a woman from the neighboring ad agency screams (who else starts their workday at 6:45?). i fall on the floor, entangled in sweater mass, pantless, and thrash, whacking my grey matter on the tile.
somehow i can't find the motivation to continue this day. someday i will blog about something important. my toilet is no longer my own, and i hate my sweater. that is all.
23 October 2006
halloween consultant, part deux
per usual, the morning news provides...what ARE you going to be for halloween? the non-expert gives new life to your everyday household objects. (who takes care of you, baby?)
* * *
Question: You guys have any Halloween costumes I can put together? Last year my boyfriend and I went as a bus full of nuns in a car accident—so not happening again.—Katherine B.
Answer: We hate to hike old trails. How about costumes you can build with three items available in the typical American household?
Ingredients: Sunglasses, a white dress shirt, men’s briefs
Costume: Tom Cruise
Ingredients: Sunglasses, a white dress shirt, boxers
Costume: Truman Capote
Ingredients: Three cardigans
Costume: Edith Bouvier Beale (Grey Gardens)
Ingredients: Car battery, a pair of googly-eye glasses, and a Steve Gutenberg poster
Costume: Johnny Five (Short Circuit)
Ingredients: Pipes, more pipes, a ringing telephone
Costume: Danny Boy
Ingredients: White pants, white T-shirt, a bucket of red paint
Costume: A house painter
Ingredients: Black pants, white T-shirt, a bucket of red paint
Costume: A newspaper
Ingredients: Tuxedo shirt, dead body, ketchup
Costume: Vampire
Ingredients: Tuxedo shirt, dead body, Worcestershire sauce
Costume: Waiter in a vampire restaurant
Ingredients: Black turtleneck, black stretch pants, white face paint
Costume: Mime
Ingredients: Black turtleneck, black stretch pants, pixie appeal
Costume: GAP commercial
Ingredients: Three pairs of socks
Costume: A dog
Ingredients: Karate top, tube socks, Maglite
Costume: Luke Skywalker
Ingredients: Three footnotes
Costume: Mark Foley (because they come on the bottom of a page)
Ingredients: Two bungee cords and a blond wig
Costume: Marilyn Monroe
Ingredients: Bandana, cowboy hat, toy gun
Costume: John Wayne
Ingredients: Bandana, clown make-up, real gun
Costume: John Wayne Gacy
Ingredients: Three pairs of contact lenses
Costume: Steve Buscemi
Ingredients: The truth, three chords, red guitar
Costume: Bob Dylan
Ingredients: The truth, three chords, red iPod
Costume: Bono
Ingredients: Bone, thugs, and harmony
Costume: Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
Ingredients: Black shirt, black leather pants
Costume: David Copperfield
Ingredients: Black shirt, black leather pants, concho belt
Costume: Sexy David Copperfield
—Published October 20, 2006
* * *
Question: You guys have any Halloween costumes I can put together? Last year my boyfriend and I went as a bus full of nuns in a car accident—so not happening again.—Katherine B.
Answer: We hate to hike old trails. How about costumes you can build with three items available in the typical American household?
Ingredients: Sunglasses, a white dress shirt, men’s briefs
Costume: Tom Cruise
Ingredients: Sunglasses, a white dress shirt, boxers
Costume: Truman Capote
Ingredients: Three cardigans
Costume: Edith Bouvier Beale (Grey Gardens)
Ingredients: Car battery, a pair of googly-eye glasses, and a Steve Gutenberg poster
Costume: Johnny Five (Short Circuit)
Ingredients: Pipes, more pipes, a ringing telephone
Costume: Danny Boy
Ingredients: White pants, white T-shirt, a bucket of red paint
Costume: A house painter
Ingredients: Black pants, white T-shirt, a bucket of red paint
Costume: A newspaper
Ingredients: Tuxedo shirt, dead body, ketchup
Costume: Vampire
Ingredients: Tuxedo shirt, dead body, Worcestershire sauce
Costume: Waiter in a vampire restaurant
Ingredients: Black turtleneck, black stretch pants, white face paint
Costume: Mime
Ingredients: Black turtleneck, black stretch pants, pixie appeal
Costume: GAP commercial
Ingredients: Three pairs of socks
Costume: A dog
Ingredients: Karate top, tube socks, Maglite
Costume: Luke Skywalker
Ingredients: Three footnotes
Costume: Mark Foley (because they come on the bottom of a page)
Ingredients: Two bungee cords and a blond wig
Costume: Marilyn Monroe
Ingredients: Bandana, cowboy hat, toy gun
Costume: John Wayne
Ingredients: Bandana, clown make-up, real gun
Costume: John Wayne Gacy
Ingredients: Three pairs of contact lenses
Costume: Steve Buscemi
Ingredients: The truth, three chords, red guitar
Costume: Bob Dylan
Ingredients: The truth, three chords, red iPod
Costume: Bono
Ingredients: Bone, thugs, and harmony
Costume: Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
Ingredients: Black shirt, black leather pants
Costume: David Copperfield
Ingredients: Black shirt, black leather pants, concho belt
Costume: Sexy David Copperfield
—Published October 20, 2006
19 October 2006
so listen, the river's four feet deep, and you could take a ferry...
...which you should do, because as you found out at age eight, your oxen are shitty swimmers. ALL DAY i've been consumed by the thought of finding a version of the classic oregon trail to play. (whatever, i'll make up the eight hours of work sometime.) ayudame?
i sporadically claim alliance with wake forest, thus i snicker...
funny, because i don't know how i feel about my alma mater...via the onion
Tim Duncan Releases Decade Worth Of Pent-Up Emotion After Spurs Preseason Loss
October 19, 2006 Issue 42•42
SAN ANTONIO—Star Spurs center Tim Duncan has issued a public apology for his "unacceptable, inexcusable behavior" last Saturday night following a preseason loss to the Orlando Magic, saying that frustration and disappointment with his low-scoring, six-rebound performance caused "ten years' worth of unexpressed emotions to burst out of me like… like something I don't even know what."
An "agitated" Duncan responds to reporters' questions in a brusque tone of voice at a slightly elevated volume.
No criminal charges, police reports, or even complaints have been filed against Duncan, who was last seen leaving the Alamodome after giving what reporters are terming "mildly animated" answers to their post-game questions at a "slightly elevated" volume.
"I simply lost control during my post-game comments, and I did not give the press the full half-hour they are entitled to," said Duncan, who is on record as calling the Spurs' play during the game "bad," "real bad," "awful," and "very, very bad indeed" several times over the course of the 28 minutes he spent with reporters. "Anyone who knows me knows I never use language like that. I can only ask the city of San Antonio to forgive me for my outburst and give me a second chance."
"I was angry," Duncan added. "I even felt mad. I never want to go through that again."
Duncan claims that, after speaking to reporters, he was filled with a level of emotion that caused his memory to become unclear. However, Duncan is fairly certain that he turned away from reporters after insufficiently thanking them for the interview, walked to the parking lot with unusual briskness, and climbed into his car in a blatantly agitated fashion.
Witnesses' accounts bear out Duncan's version of events, with several onlookers saying Duncan "slammed" the door of his 1992 Buick LeSabre closed before driving off. Spurs guard Tony Parker, whose car was near Duncan's, denied rumors that Duncan was muttering grumpily to himself, but said Duncan did exhale audibly twice while getting his car keys out.
"Looking back on it, I think he was sighing in a frustrated or even exasperated manner," Parker said. "I thought about saying something, but I didn't know what. I'd never seen him like that. Frankly, I was a little scared."
"I should not have driven in that condition," said Duncan, who has implored the children of San Antonio not to emulate his actions or regard them as "cool." "I know better than to operate a motor vehicle while upset or in a highly emotional state of mind, but I did it anyway. I only wish I had exercised the self-restraint to let it go at that."
Traffic cameras tracked Duncan traveling from the Alamodome at up to seven miles per hour over the speed limit, twice driving through yellow lights, to a convenience store near his home, where the store's security cameras show him purchasing highly caffeinated beverages and several unhealthy snacks. A clerk at the store says Duncan consumed three of the soft drinks in his car while listening to barely audible music on his car's radio before driving off several minutes later.
Duncan's mid-'90s four-door sedan was found in the parking lot of his nondescript apartment building Sunday morning, having impacted a tree at what insurance company investigators say was an "extremely low" rate of speed, inflicting almost $140 worth of damage to the car during what they say seems to be an abortive attempt to park while slightly jittery from an excess of mild sugar stimulants.
"I do not wish to discuss that at this time," Duncan said. "I'm just glad no one was hurt while I was experimenting with Coke, or Pepsi, or root beer, or whatever it was. I just remember going into my apartment, turning on the television, unblocking Showtime, and calling up a few girls from church to say 'hello' and 'how are you doing.' Frankly I'm mortified, and in light of my actions, I wouldn't blame them for being cross with me in return. I was brought up to respect women, not to place telephone calls to them at what might possibly be well past their bedtimes."
Duncan recalls nothing else until 9:30 the next morning, when he woke up two hours late, unshaven, and dressed in unusually brightly colored clothing. Duncan immediately contacted the police, and was relieved to find he had in fact broken no laws.
Duncan has assigned himself 120 hours of community service working in hospitals, neighborhood improvement projects, and on highway-beautification crews for his "reckless endangerment" of the people of San Antonio.
"I promise you," the dry-eyed Duncan said in an unusually well-modulated voice, "you will never see anything like that from me again."
Tim Duncan Releases Decade Worth Of Pent-Up Emotion After Spurs Preseason Loss
October 19, 2006 Issue 42•42
SAN ANTONIO—Star Spurs center Tim Duncan has issued a public apology for his "unacceptable, inexcusable behavior" last Saturday night following a preseason loss to the Orlando Magic, saying that frustration and disappointment with his low-scoring, six-rebound performance caused "ten years' worth of unexpressed emotions to burst out of me like… like something I don't even know what."
An "agitated" Duncan responds to reporters' questions in a brusque tone of voice at a slightly elevated volume.
No criminal charges, police reports, or even complaints have been filed against Duncan, who was last seen leaving the Alamodome after giving what reporters are terming "mildly animated" answers to their post-game questions at a "slightly elevated" volume.
"I simply lost control during my post-game comments, and I did not give the press the full half-hour they are entitled to," said Duncan, who is on record as calling the Spurs' play during the game "bad," "real bad," "awful," and "very, very bad indeed" several times over the course of the 28 minutes he spent with reporters. "Anyone who knows me knows I never use language like that. I can only ask the city of San Antonio to forgive me for my outburst and give me a second chance."
"I was angry," Duncan added. "I even felt mad. I never want to go through that again."
Duncan claims that, after speaking to reporters, he was filled with a level of emotion that caused his memory to become unclear. However, Duncan is fairly certain that he turned away from reporters after insufficiently thanking them for the interview, walked to the parking lot with unusual briskness, and climbed into his car in a blatantly agitated fashion.
Witnesses' accounts bear out Duncan's version of events, with several onlookers saying Duncan "slammed" the door of his 1992 Buick LeSabre closed before driving off. Spurs guard Tony Parker, whose car was near Duncan's, denied rumors that Duncan was muttering grumpily to himself, but said Duncan did exhale audibly twice while getting his car keys out.
"Looking back on it, I think he was sighing in a frustrated or even exasperated manner," Parker said. "I thought about saying something, but I didn't know what. I'd never seen him like that. Frankly, I was a little scared."
"I should not have driven in that condition," said Duncan, who has implored the children of San Antonio not to emulate his actions or regard them as "cool." "I know better than to operate a motor vehicle while upset or in a highly emotional state of mind, but I did it anyway. I only wish I had exercised the self-restraint to let it go at that."
Traffic cameras tracked Duncan traveling from the Alamodome at up to seven miles per hour over the speed limit, twice driving through yellow lights, to a convenience store near his home, where the store's security cameras show him purchasing highly caffeinated beverages and several unhealthy snacks. A clerk at the store says Duncan consumed three of the soft drinks in his car while listening to barely audible music on his car's radio before driving off several minutes later.
Duncan's mid-'90s four-door sedan was found in the parking lot of his nondescript apartment building Sunday morning, having impacted a tree at what insurance company investigators say was an "extremely low" rate of speed, inflicting almost $140 worth of damage to the car during what they say seems to be an abortive attempt to park while slightly jittery from an excess of mild sugar stimulants.
"I do not wish to discuss that at this time," Duncan said. "I'm just glad no one was hurt while I was experimenting with Coke, or Pepsi, or root beer, or whatever it was. I just remember going into my apartment, turning on the television, unblocking Showtime, and calling up a few girls from church to say 'hello' and 'how are you doing.' Frankly I'm mortified, and in light of my actions, I wouldn't blame them for being cross with me in return. I was brought up to respect women, not to place telephone calls to them at what might possibly be well past their bedtimes."
Duncan recalls nothing else until 9:30 the next morning, when he woke up two hours late, unshaven, and dressed in unusually brightly colored clothing. Duncan immediately contacted the police, and was relieved to find he had in fact broken no laws.
Duncan has assigned himself 120 hours of community service working in hospitals, neighborhood improvement projects, and on highway-beautification crews for his "reckless endangerment" of the people of San Antonio.
"I promise you," the dry-eyed Duncan said in an unusually well-modulated voice, "you will never see anything like that from me again."
16 October 2006
13 October 2006
the disco queen, the octopus, and the compulsive counter
“If you create round characters,” said Dr. Gambone, my creative writing professor, “they may not do what’s expected of them. I’m just warning you. They’re manifestations of your subconscious mind. Let go. Relinquish your hold on them. Let them make the story – a plot borne out of character. Breathe some life into them, inflate them, let them become people that you can know.”
I inwardly rolled my eyes. Brilliant as my professor is, it didn’t seem feasible that I, control freak extraordinaire, would develop a tribe of imaginary friends to draw into my assigments for Intro to Fiction Writing E-25. Dubious, I read the two chapters on characterization, and began taking notes. At the beginning of the class, we were instructed to pick out a notebook that suited our individual needs, and carry it with us at ALL times. Kathryn assisted me in this arduous task. I wound up with a very Harriet the Spy-like red leather bound piece, pen contained neatly within, and I began to observe. Notes from the coffee shop, notes from the office, notes on the train. Conversations from the supermarket. Bizarre names overheard at the bar.
Then it happened.
While reading business publications for work the other night at the kitchen table, I pushed my glasses up and rested my eyes on my palms. What the hell? Behind my eyelids, I could see a small girl in an octopus costume. How bizarre. Later on, as I grew more tired, my inner monologue seemed to be stemming from an ex-disco queen, languishing on a couch in sweatpants while smoking a cigarette. While reading an old art history essay from Wake on a particularly splotchy Picasso pen-and-ink, a character in my head began to consider the painting, touching the spots under the glass while moving her lips quietly to herself – OCD, of course. She’s about fifteen. Now these three have taken up residence in my head. They can’t live together – how could they? But they’re currently homeless. I have no idea what to do with them, but they’re coming into their own and won’t stay put for long…here we go.
Plotline suggestions are more than welcome.
I inwardly rolled my eyes. Brilliant as my professor is, it didn’t seem feasible that I, control freak extraordinaire, would develop a tribe of imaginary friends to draw into my assigments for Intro to Fiction Writing E-25. Dubious, I read the two chapters on characterization, and began taking notes. At the beginning of the class, we were instructed to pick out a notebook that suited our individual needs, and carry it with us at ALL times. Kathryn assisted me in this arduous task. I wound up with a very Harriet the Spy-like red leather bound piece, pen contained neatly within, and I began to observe. Notes from the coffee shop, notes from the office, notes on the train. Conversations from the supermarket. Bizarre names overheard at the bar.
Then it happened.
While reading business publications for work the other night at the kitchen table, I pushed my glasses up and rested my eyes on my palms. What the hell? Behind my eyelids, I could see a small girl in an octopus costume. How bizarre. Later on, as I grew more tired, my inner monologue seemed to be stemming from an ex-disco queen, languishing on a couch in sweatpants while smoking a cigarette. While reading an old art history essay from Wake on a particularly splotchy Picasso pen-and-ink, a character in my head began to consider the painting, touching the spots under the glass while moving her lips quietly to herself – OCD, of course. She’s about fifteen. Now these three have taken up residence in my head. They can’t live together – how could they? But they’re currently homeless. I have no idea what to do with them, but they’re coming into their own and won’t stay put for long…here we go.
Plotline suggestions are more than welcome.
12 October 2006
six degrees
so as i was galloping down the stairs at the harvard square t station last night, i almost flattened a girl. i put a hand on her arm to apologize, and she turned - long dark hair streaked with raspberry, olive skin, black plastic eyeglasses, requisite earth-tone hued jacket. i looked at her curiously - maybe she'd gone to notre dame? i certainly recognized her.
"i'm sorry - are you okay?" i asked.
"yeah, i'm fine, don't worry about." she smiled.
we parted ways - she went back toward boston, i hopped the braintree train, and it dawned on me - jill carroll, the christian science monitor reporter who'd been kidnapped in iraq. huh.
interestingly, when the news of her kidnapping broke, i'd looked up carroll on our media database at work, but CSM had removed her, probably to prevent an influx of email. now she's back, reporting for the monitor and studying at - you guessed it - harvard. go figure.
"i'm sorry - are you okay?" i asked.
"yeah, i'm fine, don't worry about." she smiled.
we parted ways - she went back toward boston, i hopped the braintree train, and it dawned on me - jill carroll, the christian science monitor reporter who'd been kidnapped in iraq. huh.
interestingly, when the news of her kidnapping broke, i'd looked up carroll on our media database at work, but CSM had removed her, probably to prevent an influx of email. now she's back, reporting for the monitor and studying at - you guessed it - harvard. go figure.
11 October 2006
livening up family parties, one chest rumble at a time...
scrabble's getting old, you say? not digging the world war II stories the seventy fourth time around? how about some laser tag, grandma?
"Bonding in the Battlemaze" by Christopher Monks, via The Morning News
I shot my Aunt Maureen first. She had her back to me, waiting for Uncle Dick to walk by—big mistake. Unfortunately, before I could celebrate, my mother appeared out of nowhere and popped me in the shoulder. Bright colors flashed everywhere. My chest rumbled.
Laser tag was a lot harder than it looked.
It was my mother’s 59th birthday, and her friends and family were laser-shooting the hell out of one another. I hadn’t participated in an activity that involved pretend shooting since I was a child, when I played army games with my friends. We’d run around the yard doing our best Rambo impersonations—until my hippie parents found out about it and gave us a guilt trip for glorifying war and trampling their azaleas.
Now, many years later, I am the father of two young boys, and far more lenient when it comes to imaginary violence than my parents were. Both my sons have an uncanny knack for turning any found object into a sword or bazooka, and I’ve decided that praising their ingenuity is more important than quelling their desire to make-believe kill each other.
However, it seems that my parents’ attitude toward violence has become as lenient as mine over the years. One only had to witness my mother’s glee as she took down her brother and then her best friend with successive laser blasts to see this was true. While her chosen codename, “Aquarius,” lacked the aura of intimidation, she more than made up for it by kicking laser butt all over the Battlemaze. She shot me five times in total, twice in the chest. Me (codename: “Rambo Blade”), her only son. I had hoped we’d team up and go after my father. Once and for all, we could teach him a lesson for years of bad table manners and showing up 10 minutes late to every non-sports-related event in our lives. But from the get-go it was apparent Mom was on a solo mission of her own. Thus I resolved to take down Dad (codename: “The Lone Ranger”) all by myself.
But after one sight of him, it was clear he’d be too easy a target. His giant chest pack fit clumsily over his torso, and he seemed to have trouble figuring out which end of his gun the laser shot out of. Upon hearing him call out, “Have we started yet?” a good two minutes into the game, I decided there were bigger fish to zap.
My next target was my wife (codename: “The Shadow Keeper”). She did a lot of trash talking in the lobby, just as a group of eight-year-old boys from another birthday party looked on, bewildered. “I’m so going house on you!” she taunted.
I didn’t quite know what “going house” meant; she teaches high school and is more up on slang than I am. Still, I refused to let her bully me and suggested we wager on the battle: Whoever had the lowest score at the end of the game would have to change our younger son’s diapers for an entire month. I was pleased when she accepted, imagining 30 days off from listening to our two-year-old critique the size of his bowel movements. But unfortunately, just like Aquarius, the Shadow Keeper proved a challenging foe, or better put: She was way more awesome at laser tag than I was. Whenever I thought I had her cornered, she’d bounce a laser off a mirrored wall and nail me. It totally sucked.
Just as he did, my wife and mother jumped out from behind a wall and fired at him merrily, sending his target lights into a red blinking fury. I hadn’t expected to be so bad at this; my peacenik upbringing must have stunted my laser tagging skills. All that time pretending to be Rambo was spent in vain; those azalea bushes died for nothing. Worse yet was seeing the delight my wife and mother took in going house on me and everyone else. It was like they’d been waiting for this all their lives. Toward the end of the slaughter, the two of them joined forces, taking out four cousins, two significant others, and a sister-in-law. I desperately wanted to join them, but I knew that chances were they’d just add me to the body count. Again. So I reset my sights on the one opponent I was sure I could vanquish: Dad. He was the guy who taught me non-violent opposition and the words to “Give Peace a Chance”—and for this he would pay.I found him alone, readjusting his chest pack in a dimly lit section of the Battlemaze. I refused to feel sorry for him, no matter how helpless he appeared. Dad was mine. I would house him big time.
Stealthily, I waited for the right moment to pounce. Shooting Dad in the back would be too easy; Lieutenant John Rambo wouldn’t go out like that. So I shouted my dad’s name, prompting him to turn, but just as he did, my wife and mother jumped out from behind a wall and fired at him merrily, sending his target lights into a red blinking fury.“Thanks a lot,” Dad said, convinced I had set him up. And then, just like in some dumb war movie, he raised his gun and shot me.
Over the rumbling of my chest pack I heard him shout: “Yahoo!” Then he gave my mother and wife low fives, and they all fired on me again. As the lights on my chest whistled and flared, I vowed revenge—or at the very least, a sequel. And next time, I’ll bring my sons, who can be on my team. I only hope the Battlemaze has a changing table.
"Bonding in the Battlemaze" by Christopher Monks, via The Morning News
I shot my Aunt Maureen first. She had her back to me, waiting for Uncle Dick to walk by—big mistake. Unfortunately, before I could celebrate, my mother appeared out of nowhere and popped me in the shoulder. Bright colors flashed everywhere. My chest rumbled.
Laser tag was a lot harder than it looked.
It was my mother’s 59th birthday, and her friends and family were laser-shooting the hell out of one another. I hadn’t participated in an activity that involved pretend shooting since I was a child, when I played army games with my friends. We’d run around the yard doing our best Rambo impersonations—until my hippie parents found out about it and gave us a guilt trip for glorifying war and trampling their azaleas.
Now, many years later, I am the father of two young boys, and far more lenient when it comes to imaginary violence than my parents were. Both my sons have an uncanny knack for turning any found object into a sword or bazooka, and I’ve decided that praising their ingenuity is more important than quelling their desire to make-believe kill each other.
However, it seems that my parents’ attitude toward violence has become as lenient as mine over the years. One only had to witness my mother’s glee as she took down her brother and then her best friend with successive laser blasts to see this was true. While her chosen codename, “Aquarius,” lacked the aura of intimidation, she more than made up for it by kicking laser butt all over the Battlemaze. She shot me five times in total, twice in the chest. Me (codename: “Rambo Blade”), her only son. I had hoped we’d team up and go after my father. Once and for all, we could teach him a lesson for years of bad table manners and showing up 10 minutes late to every non-sports-related event in our lives. But from the get-go it was apparent Mom was on a solo mission of her own. Thus I resolved to take down Dad (codename: “The Lone Ranger”) all by myself.
But after one sight of him, it was clear he’d be too easy a target. His giant chest pack fit clumsily over his torso, and he seemed to have trouble figuring out which end of his gun the laser shot out of. Upon hearing him call out, “Have we started yet?” a good two minutes into the game, I decided there were bigger fish to zap.
My next target was my wife (codename: “The Shadow Keeper”). She did a lot of trash talking in the lobby, just as a group of eight-year-old boys from another birthday party looked on, bewildered. “I’m so going house on you!” she taunted.
I didn’t quite know what “going house” meant; she teaches high school and is more up on slang than I am. Still, I refused to let her bully me and suggested we wager on the battle: Whoever had the lowest score at the end of the game would have to change our younger son’s diapers for an entire month. I was pleased when she accepted, imagining 30 days off from listening to our two-year-old critique the size of his bowel movements. But unfortunately, just like Aquarius, the Shadow Keeper proved a challenging foe, or better put: She was way more awesome at laser tag than I was. Whenever I thought I had her cornered, she’d bounce a laser off a mirrored wall and nail me. It totally sucked.
Just as he did, my wife and mother jumped out from behind a wall and fired at him merrily, sending his target lights into a red blinking fury. I hadn’t expected to be so bad at this; my peacenik upbringing must have stunted my laser tagging skills. All that time pretending to be Rambo was spent in vain; those azalea bushes died for nothing. Worse yet was seeing the delight my wife and mother took in going house on me and everyone else. It was like they’d been waiting for this all their lives. Toward the end of the slaughter, the two of them joined forces, taking out four cousins, two significant others, and a sister-in-law. I desperately wanted to join them, but I knew that chances were they’d just add me to the body count. Again. So I reset my sights on the one opponent I was sure I could vanquish: Dad. He was the guy who taught me non-violent opposition and the words to “Give Peace a Chance”—and for this he would pay.I found him alone, readjusting his chest pack in a dimly lit section of the Battlemaze. I refused to feel sorry for him, no matter how helpless he appeared. Dad was mine. I would house him big time.
Stealthily, I waited for the right moment to pounce. Shooting Dad in the back would be too easy; Lieutenant John Rambo wouldn’t go out like that. So I shouted my dad’s name, prompting him to turn, but just as he did, my wife and mother jumped out from behind a wall and fired at him merrily, sending his target lights into a red blinking fury.“Thanks a lot,” Dad said, convinced I had set him up. And then, just like in some dumb war movie, he raised his gun and shot me.
Over the rumbling of my chest pack I heard him shout: “Yahoo!” Then he gave my mother and wife low fives, and they all fired on me again. As the lights on my chest whistled and flared, I vowed revenge—or at the very least, a sequel. And next time, I’ll bring my sons, who can be on my team. I only hope the Battlemaze has a changing table.
10 October 2006
hi readers. remember sometime around january 1st when i vowed to do only what makes me happy? guess what - i lied. i've done a crappy job sticking to my resolution, and now i'm entrenched in a little bit of muck. i'm going to think about it, and i'm going to get back to you. i read over my old posts today, and the voice was strong and good and quirky and fun. i'm mulling it over, but i want my voice back. more later.
30 August 2006
so...
i'm heading down to DC for the weekend a) to help maura move back into her apartment prior to senior year at GW (yay!) and b) to see some of the people i love the most. hopefully it'll provide a much-needed break from the norm and a battery recharge. things i'm looking forward to upon returning:
i'm heading down to DC for the weekend a) to help maura move back into her apartment prior to senior year at GW (yay!) and b) to see some of the people i love the most. hopefully it'll provide a much-needed break from the norm and a battery recharge. things i'm looking forward to upon returning:
- kickball on sundays!
- beginning a creative writing course
- fall riding season
- masterworks of indian painting at the mfa
- dog walks on the beach without the entire population of marshfield/duxbury
- starting over, starting fresh, starting anew on lots of things
see you post-cocoon.
04 August 2006
03 August 2006
excuse me, miss? your lack of taste is showing.
i can't help it, i think this is just cool...via NYT.
Dupri to Be Musical Director for AmsterJam
By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
Filed at 1:46 p.m. ET
NEW YORK (AP) -- Though musical mash-ups are the hot trend, Jermaine Dupri doesn't necessarily see the blending of two songs to create another as something new.
''I've always mixed different music with other music (as a DJ),'' said the top producer/performer.
Now, Dupri will do it once again as musical director for the Aug. 19 AmsterJam concert in New York City, where acts such as the Foo Fighters, LL Cool J, Busta Rhymes and Tom Petty will blend their music with that of other acts live onstage.
''What you hear will be my creation basically ... or how I think the mash-ups should go,'' said Dupri in an interview with The Associated Press this week. ''I'm kind of visualizing this from a DJ perspective.''
Dupri, 33, will decide how the artists' songs will be blended.
''LL Cool J and (reggaeton star) Tego (Calderon), that's going to be a hard one,'' he said. ''As the music director, I have to step up to the plate.''
This is the second year for AmsterJam, an all-day festival.
Dupri to Be Musical Director for AmsterJam
By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
Filed at 1:46 p.m. ET
NEW YORK (AP) -- Though musical mash-ups are the hot trend, Jermaine Dupri doesn't necessarily see the blending of two songs to create another as something new.
''I've always mixed different music with other music (as a DJ),'' said the top producer/performer.
Now, Dupri will do it once again as musical director for the Aug. 19 AmsterJam concert in New York City, where acts such as the Foo Fighters, LL Cool J, Busta Rhymes and Tom Petty will blend their music with that of other acts live onstage.
''What you hear will be my creation basically ... or how I think the mash-ups should go,'' said Dupri in an interview with The Associated Press this week. ''I'm kind of visualizing this from a DJ perspective.''
Dupri, 33, will decide how the artists' songs will be blended.
''LL Cool J and (reggaeton star) Tego (Calderon), that's going to be a hard one,'' he said. ''As the music director, I have to step up to the plate.''
This is the second year for AmsterJam, an all-day festival.
it's life. life is messy.
how difficult can that be for one perfectionist to understand?
ed just shared a great kipling poem with me...my gift to you on a sweltering summer's day. stay in your offices and try to look busy - evaporation is a real threat today.
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired of waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings -- nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run --
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man my son!
ed just shared a great kipling poem with me...my gift to you on a sweltering summer's day. stay in your offices and try to look busy - evaporation is a real threat today.
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired of waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings -- nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run --
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man my son!
11 July 2006
to know lutz is to love lutz...
a story of survival, by my dear friend dave lutz:
Wakkondot: ooh
Wakkondot: PS
Wakkondot: i rescued a baby bat last night
Wakkondot: i fed it with pedialyte and a brush
alannahbean: are you keeping it? loving it?
Wakkondot: and made a fake roost
Wakkondot: and put it out last ngiht
Wakkondot: its mom came and got it
Wakkondot: i saved him
alannahbean: i love that story
alannahbean: that is precisely why i adore you
Wakkondot: it was soooooooo coool
Wakkondot: i made a roost with some drawer liner, a cardboard box, and a ripped pair of boxers
Wakkondot: then fed him with the pedialyte
alannahbean: :-)
Wakkondot: i had to climb up on a ladder
Wakkondot: and put the "fake roost" up 10 feet
Wakkondot: and check later
Wakkondot: i had to handle the little bat with gloves
Wakkondot: it was soooo cool
Wakkondot: you know, little brown bats can eat 800 mosquitos a night
Wakkondot: and they only have 1 offspring a year
Wakkondot: so he was important
alannahbean: i want to hug you.
Wakkondot: haha
Wakkondot: so he survived
Wakkondot: that should give you good dreams
the official, published bat story: http://therhombus.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=63245
Wakkondot: ooh
Wakkondot: PS
Wakkondot: i rescued a baby bat last night
Wakkondot: i fed it with pedialyte and a brush
alannahbean: are you keeping it? loving it?
Wakkondot: and made a fake roost
Wakkondot: and put it out last ngiht
Wakkondot: its mom came and got it
Wakkondot: i saved him
alannahbean: i love that story
alannahbean: that is precisely why i adore you
Wakkondot: it was soooooooo coool
Wakkondot: i made a roost with some drawer liner, a cardboard box, and a ripped pair of boxers
Wakkondot: then fed him with the pedialyte
alannahbean: :-)
Wakkondot: i had to climb up on a ladder
Wakkondot: and put the "fake roost" up 10 feet
Wakkondot: and check later
Wakkondot: i had to handle the little bat with gloves
Wakkondot: it was soooo cool
Wakkondot: you know, little brown bats can eat 800 mosquitos a night
Wakkondot: and they only have 1 offspring a year
Wakkondot: so he was important
alannahbean: i want to hug you.
Wakkondot: haha
Wakkondot: so he survived
Wakkondot: that should give you good dreams
the official, published bat story: http://therhombus.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=63245
21 June 2006
$135 million for Klimt’s “Adele Bloch-Bauer I” is a deal if you keep A-Rod in mind.
via The Morning News...
The stratospheric price that cosmetics maven Ronald S. Lauder shelled out for Gustav Klimt's 1907 society portrait Adele Bloch-Bauer I—reportedly $135 million, the most ever paid for a work of art—is the least of its luxury attributes. Everything about this gold-flecked portrayal of a Viennese sugar-manufacturer's wife radiates luxury, one of the three things (along with calm and sexual pleasure) that Baudelaire said we require from great art. The painting will look right at home when it arrives on July 13 (the day before Klimt's birthday) in Lauder's jewellike Neue Galerie at Fifth Avenue and 86th Street in New York. Through shrewd acquisitions and smartly turned out exhibitions, no American has done more than Lauder, a former ambassador to Austria, to raise the visibility (and enhance the value) of often neglected German and Austrian art in the United States.
First, the painting itself is made of luxury materials. Under the joint inspiration of Japanese lacquer and the Byzantine mosaics he'd studied in Ravenna, Italy, Klimt, son of an engraver in precious metals, applied generous expanses of gold and silver leaf directly onto the canvas. The result is that Adele's head and hands seem to float in an entirely artificial world, like Yeats' fantasy in "Sailing to Byzantium": "Once out of nature I shall never take/ My bodily form from any natural thing,/ But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make/ Of hammered gold and gold enameling." The luxury effect is enhanced by exotic symbols and swirls that Klimt has borrowed from Egyptian and Mycenaean art and woven into the gilded fabric of Adele's cascading dress.
Second, the painting shows a prominent member of Vienna's wealthy industrial elite and was commissioned to show off her expensive charms. Women like Adele Bloch-Bauer flocked to Klimt's elegant studio, which was outfitted with Josef Hoffman's Wienerwerkstatte furnishings, and paid a high price for the master's attentions. The resulting painting, displayed in the intimacy of the bedroom, was itself the ideal emblem of opulence.
And third, the painting confirms the turn-of-the-century Viennese conviction that sex was the proper province of the rich and cultivated. In his voluminous pleated blue smock, Klimt—who once drew a self-portrait of himself as genitalia—played the sexy artist to the hilt. Part of the commission seemed to be that rumors would be spread of some hanky-panky between artist and model. Lauder bought the painting from Adele's niece, Maria Altmann, who once asked her mother about a possible love affair. According to Carol Vogel's June 19 report in the New York Times, Altmann's mother was furious and exploded, "How dare you ask such a thing? It was an intellectual friendship."
Intellectual friendship was foreplay at a time and place when, under Freud's tutelage, sex had gone upscale. The working classes copulated and procreated, but sex, as portrayed by Klimt in his swooning The Kiss (also 1907), was something properly performed, like Schubert or Beethoven, in upper-class drawing rooms. The femme fatale (or, in Freud's parlance, castrating female) was in vogue; Richard Strauss' Salome premiered in Vienna in 1907, and the American dancer Ruth St. Denis enthralled Viennese audiences with her erotically exotic performance art. Adele Bloch-Bauer, who entertained Strauss in her stylish salon, seems to have welcomed the femme fatale treatment, via a silver choker (symbolizing decapitation, according to Klimt scholar Alessandra Comini) of precisely the kind depicted in his notorious paintings of the biblical heroine and man-killer Judith.
But one generation's femme fatale is the next generation's comforting maternal presence. Walter Pater thought there was something kinky about the Mona Lisa: "like the vampire, she has been dead many times." Now she looks tame enough, with or without a moustache. Whatever sinister behavior Adele Bloch-Bauer was scheming while coyly rubbing her slender hands is gone with the wind. In the Klimt portrait, she looks like a preoccupied mom at a members' opening at the Met. "This is our Mona Lisa," Lauder said, plausibly enough. "I never saw her smile," Mrs. Altmann said of her aunt.
Maybe she sensed what was coming. As Robert Frost once wrote, "Nothing gold can stay." The Bloch-Bauers were Jewish and the Nazis liked Klimts. Adele died in 1925 of meningitis. After Germany annexed Austria in 1938, her husband fled to Switzerland, where he died in 1945, having left his art collection behind. The Nazis put three of the paintings in the Austrian Gallery and sold the rest. A complicated restitution case played out over many years, eventually going to the U.S. Supreme Court, which ruled that Mrs. Altmann, who lives in Los Angeles, could sue the Austrian government in American courts for her family's lost property. In January, she was awarded the portrait of her aunt along with four other Klimt paintings, including a later portrait of Adele and three extraordinary landscapes (a genre in which Klimt excelled). During the legal maneuvering, Ronald Lauder remained a staunch supporter of Mrs. Altmann, and his loyalty was richly rewarded in the privately arranged sale.
As for the $135 million, the price seems low to me. Most art prices seem low to me. What's a reasonable price for a one-of-a-kind masterpiece? If the Texas Rangers once paid Alex Rodriguez twice that amount to play shortstop for 10 years, hasn't Lauder gotten his Klimt, which he owns in perpetuity, for a steal? (I'd rather have Adele on my wall than A-Rod on my team.) Fortunately for the rest of us, Lauder's luxury object will be available to all of us, radiating luxe, calme, et volupté forever. As for the fate of the other four paintings in Mrs. Altmann's collection, also on view at the Neue Galerie through Sept. 18, stay tuned.
The stratospheric price that cosmetics maven Ronald S. Lauder shelled out for Gustav Klimt's 1907 society portrait Adele Bloch-Bauer I—reportedly $135 million, the most ever paid for a work of art—is the least of its luxury attributes. Everything about this gold-flecked portrayal of a Viennese sugar-manufacturer's wife radiates luxury, one of the three things (along with calm and sexual pleasure) that Baudelaire said we require from great art. The painting will look right at home when it arrives on July 13 (the day before Klimt's birthday) in Lauder's jewellike Neue Galerie at Fifth Avenue and 86th Street in New York. Through shrewd acquisitions and smartly turned out exhibitions, no American has done more than Lauder, a former ambassador to Austria, to raise the visibility (and enhance the value) of often neglected German and Austrian art in the United States.
First, the painting itself is made of luxury materials. Under the joint inspiration of Japanese lacquer and the Byzantine mosaics he'd studied in Ravenna, Italy, Klimt, son of an engraver in precious metals, applied generous expanses of gold and silver leaf directly onto the canvas. The result is that Adele's head and hands seem to float in an entirely artificial world, like Yeats' fantasy in "Sailing to Byzantium": "Once out of nature I shall never take/ My bodily form from any natural thing,/ But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make/ Of hammered gold and gold enameling." The luxury effect is enhanced by exotic symbols and swirls that Klimt has borrowed from Egyptian and Mycenaean art and woven into the gilded fabric of Adele's cascading dress.
Second, the painting shows a prominent member of Vienna's wealthy industrial elite and was commissioned to show off her expensive charms. Women like Adele Bloch-Bauer flocked to Klimt's elegant studio, which was outfitted with Josef Hoffman's Wienerwerkstatte furnishings, and paid a high price for the master's attentions. The resulting painting, displayed in the intimacy of the bedroom, was itself the ideal emblem of opulence.
And third, the painting confirms the turn-of-the-century Viennese conviction that sex was the proper province of the rich and cultivated. In his voluminous pleated blue smock, Klimt—who once drew a self-portrait of himself as genitalia—played the sexy artist to the hilt. Part of the commission seemed to be that rumors would be spread of some hanky-panky between artist and model. Lauder bought the painting from Adele's niece, Maria Altmann, who once asked her mother about a possible love affair. According to Carol Vogel's June 19 report in the New York Times, Altmann's mother was furious and exploded, "How dare you ask such a thing? It was an intellectual friendship."
Intellectual friendship was foreplay at a time and place when, under Freud's tutelage, sex had gone upscale. The working classes copulated and procreated, but sex, as portrayed by Klimt in his swooning The Kiss (also 1907), was something properly performed, like Schubert or Beethoven, in upper-class drawing rooms. The femme fatale (or, in Freud's parlance, castrating female) was in vogue; Richard Strauss' Salome premiered in Vienna in 1907, and the American dancer Ruth St. Denis enthralled Viennese audiences with her erotically exotic performance art. Adele Bloch-Bauer, who entertained Strauss in her stylish salon, seems to have welcomed the femme fatale treatment, via a silver choker (symbolizing decapitation, according to Klimt scholar Alessandra Comini) of precisely the kind depicted in his notorious paintings of the biblical heroine and man-killer Judith.
But one generation's femme fatale is the next generation's comforting maternal presence. Walter Pater thought there was something kinky about the Mona Lisa: "like the vampire, she has been dead many times." Now she looks tame enough, with or without a moustache. Whatever sinister behavior Adele Bloch-Bauer was scheming while coyly rubbing her slender hands is gone with the wind. In the Klimt portrait, she looks like a preoccupied mom at a members' opening at the Met. "This is our Mona Lisa," Lauder said, plausibly enough. "I never saw her smile," Mrs. Altmann said of her aunt.
Maybe she sensed what was coming. As Robert Frost once wrote, "Nothing gold can stay." The Bloch-Bauers were Jewish and the Nazis liked Klimts. Adele died in 1925 of meningitis. After Germany annexed Austria in 1938, her husband fled to Switzerland, where he died in 1945, having left his art collection behind. The Nazis put three of the paintings in the Austrian Gallery and sold the rest. A complicated restitution case played out over many years, eventually going to the U.S. Supreme Court, which ruled that Mrs. Altmann, who lives in Los Angeles, could sue the Austrian government in American courts for her family's lost property. In January, she was awarded the portrait of her aunt along with four other Klimt paintings, including a later portrait of Adele and three extraordinary landscapes (a genre in which Klimt excelled). During the legal maneuvering, Ronald Lauder remained a staunch supporter of Mrs. Altmann, and his loyalty was richly rewarded in the privately arranged sale.
As for the $135 million, the price seems low to me. Most art prices seem low to me. What's a reasonable price for a one-of-a-kind masterpiece? If the Texas Rangers once paid Alex Rodriguez twice that amount to play shortstop for 10 years, hasn't Lauder gotten his Klimt, which he owns in perpetuity, for a steal? (I'd rather have Adele on my wall than A-Rod on my team.) Fortunately for the rest of us, Lauder's luxury object will be available to all of us, radiating luxe, calme, et volupté forever. As for the fate of the other four paintings in Mrs. Altmann's collection, also on view at the Neue Galerie through Sept. 18, stay tuned.
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