We spent a long weekend in Brooklyn. Quite entertaining.
Needless to say, kicked off with dinner with Kate, followed by walking along the park under the B Bridge. We were staying not far from there. It was one of those nights when everyone was out (the whole weekend was like that), strolling along, enjoying being alive. Very nice start.
Hit the B Museum on Friday, which has a serious permanent collection of good stuff (late Sargents, lotsa Rodin, a perfect S.B. Morse, etc.), and a special exhibit on Keith Haring. This was interesting, because although I can identify Haring a mile away, for the most part I knew nothing about him. Now I know a lot. The guy was sort of crazy, definitely art-obsessive, and very much of a piece. That’s why you can identify him a mile away. Liking him or not, that’s another question, if liking means, would I want his work hanging in the dining room. He would have preferred I hang it in the subway, because he was strongly into public art, found and created. Needless to say, seeing an exhibit like this sparks a discussion about the purpose of art, and the self-containment of non-representative art, where a work of art is about itself. Shades of Caveman! Right up my alley.
After that, we walked all over (Brooklyn) creation until I thought my legs would fall off. We were in the nice area above Prospect Park, so it was all very lah-di-dah, but still interesting.
The next day we headed first to a flea market (best part was the collection of the original Star Wars rip-off toys, like the Star World light sabre), then over to the Green-Wood Cemetery, where everyone who isn’t alive is buried. The place is about as big as Rhode Island, and we walked through it for a couple of hours barely scratching the surface. Horace Greeley was facing east. Leonard Bernstein is a bench. L.C. Tiffany was just a block, obviously not designed by him. Lots of people of lesser fame had mausoleums bigger than our house. One had a wooden door that was crumbling, which obviously was too weak to keep whatever was inside from breaking out, but the wife suggested that that wasn’t really why the crypts have doors. L.M. Gottschalk’s grave, since I just blogged him on Grinwout’s, got a lot of running commentary from me (plus, I’m basically a fan anyhow). We got lost more times than not, especially trying to find the path to Fred Ebb down by one of the lakes. He was definitely facing Broadway; much better planning than Greeley.
That night we walked over the BB to Chinatown, and back, so as you can imagine, the legs were getting a real workout. And we did keep building up an appetite for the next meal.
Sunday, on the way home, we went over to the Museum of the Moving Image. Absolutely worth going to end of the earth (AKA Astoria). My favorite part was the series of clips devoted to script writers, famous line after famous line that you wanted not only to say along with them, but to continue for them.
And then, home. It was like a college debate weekend, without the college debate. A great way to spend the time.
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