Sunday, April 17, 2011

Thank You, Mr. C

If you don't live in New York, or even if you do, you may not be familiar with Bill Cunningham.  He photographs night life and fashion on the streets of New York City. On his bike.  He's 80ish, and has been doing this for decades. 

A new documentary entitled 'Bill Cunningham New York' tells his story.  I saw it today and haven't stopped thinking about it.  Although I knew of him and his pictures, like most people, that was about all I knew.  But this really isn't a fashion movie - it's a Bill movie.

I so hate to overly hype films and describe them to death, but I just felt the need to say a little something about it.  Because honestly, it made me want to run down the street, and wrap my arms around this city that is New York.  To dance with all the loners and misfits that make the world wonderful.  To do things I love.  It broke my heart, and filled it up to the point of bursting. 

Thank you, Bill Cunningham.  Truly.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYqiLJBXbss

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Signs of Spring

Spring is here at long last.  Even a freak last-minute storm couldn't keep it away.  Days are still chilly, but there is that unmistakable spring glow in the air.  It's the kind of glow that makes people go out in their lightest jacket even if the weather really calls for something heavier.  They break out their sunglasses, and paint their toes bright pink.  They cut their hair.

The birds know it too.  The chirping chorus in the mornings is almost deafening.  On my street is a particular tree where they all seem to congregate.  You can find plenty of evidence of their presence on the sidewalk and cars below.  This morning I noticed a big wooden owl hanging in the branches, I guess in an effort to scare them away.  It made me laugh but it wasn't helping in the slightest...these are New York birds, after all.

The windows are open.  Apartments are being cleaned, and stuff is being thrown out on the sidewalks.  Getting ready for something fresh.  I spent the last couple weekends doing just this.  Rearranging and dusting and sneezing.  Listening to "Good Day Sunshine", a springtime anthem of sorts.  A new season, a new outlook.

There is a line for the Mister Softee truck.  Sidewalk tables are packed with friends meeting for Sunday brunch.  People are carrying around bunches of tulips and daffodils wrapped in paper.  And my sister called to tell me that the Cedar Inn, a hometown favorite famous for their cheeseburgers and frosty mugs of root beer, is opening for the season.  So it's official.

I remember my brother giving my mom a giant jar of sliced pickles one year at the beginning of winter in Minnesota.  He told her that when the jar was empty it would be spring.  Funny enough, I just finished my own jar of pickles yesterday. 

Spring is good.