You know how low the bar’s been set.
I’ve already written about that softball she tried to throw Jeb, and how he fumbled only by failing to catch it–the “if you knew then what you know now” pitch on Iraq.
And yes, she’s considerably less odious than The Donald, but as RETIII at DailyKos.com points out, she lied through her teeth at the debates.
Why didn’t any Republican presidential contender mention global warming?
Because the GOP hasn’t yet found a way to blame it on the Welfare Queens!
An all-dance commercial flick?
Hoping to get to see Powell and Pressburger’s 1951 Tales of Hoffmann at the Museum of Modern Art tonight at 7:00 p.m. Choreographed by Ashton, starring Moira Shearer–and I’ve never seen it in its entirety!
I can’t get to MOMA t’row at 4:00 p.m. for P & P’s The Red Shoes, but hopefully you can! I’d love to see it again.
UPDATE: I couldn’t get there but I heard it was mesmerizing! It’s shown again Sunday evening.
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?
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.
“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!”
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. . .
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.
Not to mention a subject!
“Wilde Times: Patricia Wilde, George Balanchine, and the Rise of New York City Ballet”
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