SJ Rozan

These are from today’s storm. A few more on Flickr; click on any of these. It was gorgeous!

the evil neighbors have a nice backyard

out in the snow

traffic light

fence

railing light

bench

backyards

First, if you haven’t seen it, here it is.

Me, I liked it. I thought it was moving, though the Native American population (who knew this country was beautiful before it was America) were underrepresented in the visuals and I don’t know if any of the languages used was a native language (though I doubt it; would love to be wrong, though). Nevertheless, as far as an affirmation of multi-ethnicity goes, it was lovely. For those who wanted ATB sung in English, Queen Latifah and the New Jersey Youth Chorus did that nicely at the beginning of the game. Some of the flare-up over the ad is coming from people who think ATB is the national anthem, which of course it’s not. (Nor is God Bless America, sung by hastily-assembled Congresspeople in the immediate aftermath of 9/11.)

(Parenthetically: Everyone who’s been to a sporting event with me — plus some non-sports-fans who’ve nevertheless had to listen to this rant — knows I hate the fact that they play the Star-Spangled Banner before a game. It’s a practice started in baseball stadiums during WWII, a conspicuous display of patriotism at a time when the uncomfortable idea had started to circulate that able-bodied young men ought to be on the battlefield, not the ballfield. What bothers me is the linking of patriotic emotions to an upcoming winner-take-all physical confrontation. Fans are already on an adrenaline high for their teams, fight-or-flight mechanisms churning, and the whole reason for the game is to ritually divert those feelings of aggression and hostility into a proxy battle. Connecting that physiological response to love-of-country strikes me as a cheap, manipulative trick.)

Back to the Coke ad: I liked it, yes, but there’s an argument to be made by the cynical that Coke wasn’t speaking to the immigrant population of the US anyway, or at least, not entirely or even primarily. (Thanks, Helen Benoit, for bringing this to my attention.) Coke’s a multi-national corporation and it’s more important to them to grab the market share of relatives and countryfolk of newly-arrived Americans than to be beloved here. ‘Cause there are a lot more of those folks, that’s why. So the anti-ad flare-up doesn’t bother them in the least. Whatever they lose in good will here will be more than made up for in the rest of the world. I mean, it’s a bazillion dollar Superbowl ad; you don’t spend that unless you expect to get your bazillion back multiplied like loaves and fishes.

Walt “Clyde” Frazier and I both did events at the Rubin Museum last night. Here’s me telling him how great he is.

River’s a mirror.

Red-and-tan tug looks spiffy

Upright, upside down.

Two mallards slice V’s

Landing on glassy water.

Buffleheads stare, dive.

Raggedy ice floe

Drifting north on smooth current

Nudges at pilings.

Happy Year of the Horse, you guys.

One of my heroes since I was a kid. His music was part of my life. I was thinking about him yesterday, as it happens, as I sat by the river, how important the Hudson was to him, and he to it. Thanks, Pete. You’ll be missed.

If you’re in NYC this coming Friday, Jan. 31, and you’re thinking to defy the polar vortex and go out — I mean, the weather people say it’ll be in the mid-thirties by then, practically spring — come on over to the Rubin Museum. I love this place anyway, for the art it shows, the creativity of the curators, and the calm atmosphere. And the cafe! They have a Friday night film series with a different theme each season. This season it’s “Mind Over Matter,” Friday’s film is “The Sting,” and I’m introducing it. I promise not to talk for long (they give you a nine-minute maximum, probably figuring that way they can keep their introducers to ten minutes) and the movie’s free with the purchase of a drink. Which you’ll want, so you can unwind in the cabaraet-style auditorium. Come on down!

Ice has broken up.

Wild river eats at edges

Of final ice-field.

Tide’s turned, running high.

Whitecaps and ferries race north.

Churning water’s gray.

Gull circles, swoops, lands.

He’s hoping for a handout.

I should have brought bread.

Whaddaya think?

Seven degrees F. when I went out this morning. Snow had long since stopped. Cold like this means my trusty camera couldn’t give me much — battery drains right away. But what it gave me was cherce. (Points if you get the reference.) And yes, I sat on my bench and drank my tea. I think the Park people probably have me pegged as a complete lunatic, out on that bench in every weather. I can’t say I think they’re wrong.

ice and water

singing bridge

snow on singing bridge

inside and outside my window