I APOLOGIZE

I almost hated to post those last links providing the latest looks at our degraded journalistic profession on the heels of Laura’s exquisite prose.

I mean, great performing art, great writing–kind of nice, right?

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“JOURNALISTS” PAID NOT TO DO THEIR (OSTENSIBLE) JOBS

Rick Pearlstein at the Washington Spectator excoriates the obfuscatory, trivia-obsessed coverage of the GOP presidential primaries. It seems to be worse than ever.

WHILE

Sarah Lazare at commondreams.org describes the way mum’s-the-word when it comes to “journalists” covering the Koch brothers luau.

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LAURA HAS THIS TO SAY

This Serenade is amazing, caught up in coarse shadows on a claustrophobic stage and still it flies into infinity. Fascinating, how intimate is the Waltz Girl’s final fall. Except it’s not a fall.  It’s a death roll, Diana Adams turning in the arms of Jacques d’Amboise, simultaneously rolling and falling in a horrific hydraulic.  Today this sequence is much more stylized, but here, in 1957, these two were caught in a turbulent narrative. Diana’s body on the ground is not a graceful pose–she is marked, stricken!  Jacques, bending over her, is stricken too. This is not the Serenade we were seeing by the 1970s.  We know that in so many instances Balanchine was stylizing away from the “exciting event,” as Freud would say.  So here it is, as it was — exciting!”

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IN WHICH A GREAT BALANCHINE BALLERINA

shows her Tudor and de Mille training:

that would be Diana Adams in the 1957 CBC Serenade.

I was talking to Laura today about it; she may contribute a few words. . .

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AND YOURS ISN’T BAD EITHER

Was driving and remembered a line I hadn’t thought of in years. It’s in that novel I told you about which I want to sit down and finish. Seems the protagonist had gotten his chin tweaked by a plastic surgeon in Los Angeles. But he was playing close to the chest about it backstage. Well, a certain great ballerina, not a total stranger to the enhancement arts herself, waltzed so-to-speak-by. Leave it to her to immediately spot it. “Like the chin, babe!” she greeted his refashioned visage.

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HOW’S THIS FOR A TITLE?

Not to mention a subject!
“Wilde Times: Patricia Wilde, George Balanchine, and the Rise of New York City Ballet”

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NOTICE A CONTRADICTION?

“THE NEXT THIRTY MINUTES ARE AD FREE–THANKS TO THE FOLLOWING SPONSOR!”

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DI BLASIO MAKES A DIFFERENCE

I thought I was seeing things–I’m still not quite convinced it was real: there, on the side of the bus, was an advertisement from the Human Resources Administration about the food stamps program. Racial stereotyping was shrewdly averted: the poster face was white. I do know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I saw a similar or identical ad in a subway car.

What a world of difference from the prior mayoralty: under Bloomberg, agencies like the HRA that actually address the needs of more than the one percent were sandbagged, As poverty in NYC soared, the needy were generally treated as potential or actual criminals by the municipal administration.

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IN THE THROES

I’m finishing my book on Patricia Wilde. I called her up yesterday around 10:00 a.m. and said, “You know, Pat, you were on my mind the moment I woke up, as well as when I went to bed at 3:00 a.m.!”

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DAY LILLIES AND THE PATHETIC FALLACY

I choose to anthropomorphize —

Deadheading day lillies–no, not those by the side of the road, I can’t do everything–I say to myself about some that are semi-gone: “Oh, let them have their full single  day of bloom!”

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