The Best "Clear Out" of All Time

A British mother and son were having a "clear out" or what I affectionately call "a feng shui fit" (definition: when I can't stand the clutter in my house any longer and start sorting through things for Goodwill) recently when they stumbled upon a vase on a shelf. I probably would have given the vase to Goodwill or Age Concern out of complete ignorance. This wise pair took their "what is this" to Bainbridges in London.

Smart move.

Today the Chinese vase sold for $68 million dollars.

That's one hell of a knick-nack.


The elaborately decorated 16 inch (40 cm) ceramic vase, which dates from the mid-18th century Qianlong period, was bought by a private buyer from mainland China on Thursday in Bainbridges, a small west London-based auction house.

After the addition of the 20 percent fees on its hammer price the final bill for the buyer was £53,105,000 ($85,176,578).

According to CNN souces, it is thought to be the highest price ever paid for any Chinese artwork say Bainbridges, who auctioned the vase on behalf of a mother and son.

The pair, who want to remain anonymous, were clearing out a house in Pinner, a leafy suburb of north-west London, when they came across the dusty vase on a shelf.

They had no idea what it was says Helen Porter, a researcher at Bainbridges.


Luan Grocholski, a Bainbridges' valuer and specialist in oriental antiquities, told CNN: "When I saw it for the first time I thought it was a wonderful piece, I wasn't sure if it was real. But, after some research and examination we decided that it was real.

"It is indeed a world record in ceramics, definitely the most expensive piece of oriental art sold at auction", he added

Porter said: "They were hopeful but they didn't dare believe until the hammer went down. When it did, the sister had to go out of the room and have a breath of fresh air."

The vase was believed to have been acquired by an English family during the 1930s although how it came to reside on a shelf in Pinner is not known says Porter.

The vase was made in the mid to late-18th century during the reign of the fourth emperor in the Qing dynasty, Qianlong. It would have resided in the Chinese Royal Palace and was almost certainly fired in the imperial kilns, say Bainbridges.


The vase is reticulated and double-walled -- there is an inner vase that can be viewed through the perforations of the main body.

Peter Bainbridge, the owner Bainbridges, said "It helps balance the books rather more easily but it also means jolly good bonuses for the staff".

Pardon me, I'm off to check out my knick-nacks.

Art That Survived Hate

In 1937 the Nazi's launched two major shows that toured cities across Hitler's Germany- one was called the "Degenerative Art" Show and featured dozens of sculptures, pictures and bronzes that the party deemed innaprorpriate. The point of the show was to illustrate to people what and why these pieces stood against all that was truly German and good.

Part of the collection, thought to be completely destroyed by bombing and fire during the war, have been excavated in Berlin by a group digging to build a new rail line. These pieces have not seen the light of day, much less the light in the eyes of onlookers in over 70 years. They now stand again-but proudly- as cornerstones of classical modernism.

There was a wonderful article on cnn today about the find that showcases several of the works.

How moving that this should come out on Veterans Day, and how amazing that these lost works have been found again. It goes to show that art can survive hate.

Farewell Leo- What Will Happen to the New Yorker

I have a love/hate relationship with my weekly issue of the New Yorker. I love it because it is full of wonderful articles, it has all the museum and theater information that I could need about a city that I don't live in. The last part of that sentence is also the part of the New Yorker that causes the hate part of the relationship. If I had a dollar for every time I rushed to the Internet to find a cheap flight to make it to some wonderful showing or event in New York City that I'd read about in the New Yorker I'd never have to worry about paying for another subscription.

Part of the wonderfulness of the New Yorker has been the little cartoons that sprinkle through it. I love the last page that asks you to create the tagline to an image. Turns out I have a nice man from New Jersey to thank. Sadly, he passed away this week. I'm not sure how my New Yorker will manage to move on.

One of my "bucket list" items of life accomplishments is to have my obituary in the New York Times. It's obituaries like this one to Leo Cullum that make that a wish that I hope someday (a long time from now) comes true.

Leo Cullum, a cartoonist whose blustering businessmen, clueless doctors, venal lawyers and all-too-human dogs and cats amused readers of The New Yorker for the past 33 years, died on Saturday in Los Angeles. He was 68 and lived in Malibu, Calif.

The cause was cancer, said his brother, Thomas.

Mr. Cullum, a TWA pilot for more than 30 years, was a classic gag cartoonist whose visual absurdities were underlined, in most cases, by a caption reeled in from deep left field. “I love the convenience, but the roaming charges are killing me,” a buffalo says, holding a cellphone up to its ear. “Your red and white blood cells are normal,” a doctor tells his patient. “I’m worried about your rosé cells.”

Mr. Cullum seemed to have a particular affinity for the animal kingdom. His comic sympathies extended well beyond dogs, cats and mice to embrace birds — “When I first met your mother, she was bathed in moonlight,” a father owl tells his children — and even extended to the humbler representatives of the fish family. “Some will love you, son, and some will hate you,” an anchovy tells his child. “It’s always been that way with anchovies.”

“There are many ways for a cartoon to be great, not the least of which is to be funny, and Leo was one of the most consistently funny cartoonists we ever had,” said Robert Mankoff, the cartoon editor of The New Yorker. “He was certainly one of the most popular — some of his cartoons were reprinted thousands of times.”

In all, Mr. Cullum published 819 cartoons in The New Yorker, the most recent in the issue for Oct. 25. Many of them were gathered in the collections “Scotch & Toilet Water?,” a book of dog cartoons; “Cockatiels for Two” (cats); “Tequila Mockingbird” (various species) and “Suture Self” (doctors).

Leo Aloysius Cullum was born on Jan. 11, 1942, in Newark and grew up in North Bergen, N.J. He attended the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester, Mass., where he earned a degree in English in 1963. On graduating, he entered the Marine Corps as a second lieutenant and underwent flight training in Pensacola, Fla.

In 1966 he was sent to Vietnam, where he flew 200 missions, most in support of ground-troop operations, but at one point he flew secret bombing runs over the Ho Chi Minh Trail in Laos. “Who these were secret from I’m still not sure,” Mr. Cullum told Holy Cross magazine in 2006. “The North Vietnamese certainly knew it wasn’t the Swiss bombing them.”


He went straight from Vietnam to employment with TWA, flying international and domestic flights. He retired at 60 from American Airlines, which merged with TWA in 2001.

During layovers he rekindled a childhood interest in drawing and decided to become a cartoonist. “It looked like something I could do,” he told Holy Cross magazine. “I bought some instructional books which explained the format, and I began studying the work of various cartoonists.”

Inevitably, he set his sights on The New Yorker. The magazine rejected his early submissions but bought some of his ideas, turning them over to Charles Addams to illustrate. The first one resulted in a captionless Addams cartoon from 1975 of an elderly couple canoeing on a peaceful lake. Their reflection in the water, depicting the husband’s actual state of mind, shows him, in a homicidal rage, attacking his wife with his paddle.

After Mr. Addams encouraged him to strike out on his own, Mr. Cullum sold his first magazine cartoon to Air Line Pilot Magazine and soon placed his work with True, Argosy, Saturday Review and Sports Afield.

Before long he cracked The New Yorker. On Jan. 3, 1977, the magazine published his first cartoon, which showed a bathrobed businessman drinking coffee at his desk, surrounded by chickens and speaking into a telephone. The caption read: “No, you’re not disturbing me, Herb. I’m up with the chickens this morning.”

Mr. Cullum quickly became a regular. By the 1980s he was one of the magazine’s most prolific and beloved contributors. “Starting around the mid-1990s, no one was published in The New Yorker more than Leo,” Mr. Mankoff said. He also contributed regularly to The Harvard Business Review and Barron’s.

In the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, Mr. Cullum managed the delicate feat of finding humor when the prevailing national mood was black. The issue of The New Yorker that came out immediately after the attacks carried no cartoons, but Mr. Cullum’s was the first cartoon that the magazine’s readers saw the following week, on Page 6 under the list of contributors. A woman, turning to the man next to her at a bar, says: “I thought I’d never laugh again. Then I saw your jacket.”



His most popular cartoon, from 1998, showed a man addressing the family cat, which is sitting next to the litterbox. “Never, ever, think outside the box,” he says.

He is survived by his wife, Kathy; a brother, Thomas, of Reston, Va.; and two daughters, the former child actresses Kimberly Berry and Kaitlin Cullum, both of Los Angeles.

In 2006 Mr. Cullum’s work appeared in “The Rejection Collection,” a book of cartoons rejected by The New Yorker. Asked to complete the sentence “When I’m not cartooning, I ...,” he wrote, “am wrestling, then showering, with my demons.”


Farewell Leo- you will be greatly missed.

Zen and the Art of Pencil Carving

Years ago I went with some friends to a Zen Buddist meditation group. We were in our early-thirties: bright-eyed, looking for inner peace and enlightenment while balancing ladder-climbing careers, hangovers and unhealthy relationships with the opposite gender. Basically your run-of-the-mill Atlanta artists-cum-career girls. This sounds like the beginning of a bad New York Times bestseller right?

Anywhoo- we went to the two hour meditation group shepherded by a boneless, sanguine hippy lady who looked like she could have been blown down by a slight breeze, but was also clearly as strong as a giant Redwood tree. She looked at about halfway through the meditation and I could practically see her thinking "Not Buddists".

In my experience there is a calm pond, quiet breeze sort of aura or air about those who practice Zen Buddism. I don't have it. Wish I did. I don't.

The Zen sand garden drives me nuts.
Moving a mountain of rice one piece at a time across a room. I'd go insane.

I'm working on it-trust me. But not there yet.

Where am I going with this? Patience. No, not you, me. I don't have an endless supply. My glass is half empty. But, a friend of mine sent me an article about an artist named Dalton Ghetti who makes sculptures out of pencils- specifically the lead of pencils. These things are teeny, itty-bitty, Borrower size sculptures that must take forever to create. They are an example of how in simplicity can be found perfection.

In an article from 2007 in the New York Times, Ghetti talks about a piece that he's working on in reaction to the 9/11 bombings. There will be a single rice-grain-sized teardrop for every soul claimed by the attacks. From a distance it will look like a giant tear, but up close you'll see its made of tiny little ones. He tries to carve one tear a day and expects the project to take about 10 years before it's completed.

That's patience.

He has carved the entire alphabet, letter by letter into the tip of a pencil (that project took two and a half years). There's a bust of Elvis, a heart in the center of a pencil, a boot, and a beautiful 24 link chain made out of a single pencil lead.

They're magnificent, and I just wanted to share them with you.
They make me want to work harder to find my inner Zen Buddist.
Or at least, if nothing else they've given me a new appreciation of the beauty that can be found inside something as simple as an everyday pencil.

Save the Words One Sentence at a Time

If I ever really worried that the bookish part of bookishredhead was fading with age I was disabused of that this morning when I was introduced to the Oxford English Dictionary's Save the Words website.

DELICOUS!!! And, what a fantastic idea. The premise of the site is to invite people to adopt and use an old word as much as possible so that it will boot out those silly, fakey words like "unfriend" and "staycation" that pop up so often these days.

Much like the old "Save a Child" tv commercials with Sally Struthers you can sponsor a word (BUT ITS FREE) by promising to use it at least once a day in a sentence. BONUS- if you like you can create and buy a tshirt with your adopted word on it for all to see and repeat.

Oh, how this appeals to the tamped-down literatti in me. It makes me want to run through my vepricose, senticous garden tussicating from all the pollen but still bravely singing the prasies of these long forgotten words. Save them. Save them all!

I think it might be difficult to find appropriate uses for words like avunculize and recineration, but I'll work on it.

Now if I could just find a use for this scandiscope.

Art With the Simplest of Elements

If you had told me that a woman making images with sand on a light table with some music in the background would practically bring me to tears (and did bring a large Ukranian audience to tears-not an easy task) I would have given you the crooked eyebrow and carried on with my day. But, it's true. Another interesting offshoot of "Britain's Got Talent" is "Ukraine's Got Talent- and quite remarklble talent it has.

Check out Kseniya Simonova's piece. Of course, it also doesn't hurt that she's stunning.

Rest Well Chacha Roux

Natacha, you will always be remembered. You lived your life so well.

Lunacy's Back...and she's fine.

Who Says Graffiti Can't Be Art?

For the last few years I've been watching the work of Blu. I know comparatively nothing about him/her, but the work is breathtaking and clearly quite time consuming. This isn't just your average spray can tagging on the wall-this is ART. Check out the latest piece called Big Bang Big Boom- a sort of evolution of life and what might happen to it.

http://vimeo.com/13085676

Life Advice from John Waters

John Waters (father of fantastic films like Pink Flamingo) has published a wonderful book called Role Models. Among many wonderful things between the covers are ten pieces of life advice. Life advice from John Waters, yes, on the surface it might seem unorthodox, but hey, this is a guy who's made a career out of being well..a freak. I place these at your feet for review. I particularly stand by #3.

1. “If someone is racist and really cute, could you still have sex with him? I have to admit the answer is yes. I have. You just change the subject or shout, ‘La la la la la la la,’ covering your ears when he speaks nonsense. If all else fails, stick something in his mouth to shut him up.”

2. “You should never just read for ‘enjoyment.’ Read to make yourself smarter! Less judgmental. More apt to understand your friends’ insane behavior; or better yet, your own. Pick ‘hard books.’ Ones you have to concentrate on while reading. And for God’s sake, don’t let me ever hear you say, ‘I can’t read fiction. I only have time for the truth.’ Fiction is the truth, fool! Ever hear of ‘literature’? That means fiction, too, stupid.”

3. “If you’re not sure you could love your children, please don’t have them, because they might grow up and kill us.”

4. “[F]or all the neurotics who may have felt a little blue one day and were unfairly diagnosed and overly medicated before they could even try to talk out their problems, I have some advice. It’s appropriate to be depressed sometimes. Who wants to be ‘even’ day after day? If you just killed three people in a DWI accident, you should feel bad. If your whole family molested you in a giant basket on Easter morning, you have a right to be grumpy every once in a while. But feeling down can make you feel up if you’re the creative type. The emotional damage may have already been done to you, but stop whining. Use your insanity to get ahead.”

5. “Everybody knows you need young blood in your house. The way to build a great [art] collection is not to have a lot of money and buy established artists; it’s to go to all the galleries once a month and find a brand-new artist you like in a gallery whose stable seems to be up your alley. Go back to the artist’s second show and buy something for around $5,000. It really means a lot to the artist at this stage of the game, and even though you should never buy art just so you can later sell it for a profit, it does perk up looking through the auction results when you see your gamble go sky-high once in a while.”

6. “Parents should understand that their young kids are not like them and need to have the privacy to fantasize both their good and bad desires. What you may find shocking about the perverse behavior of your child may not even be remembered by your offspring later in life. But what you may pooh-pooh as their silly young fears can be more debilitating to your children than you will ever imagine.”

7. “Everybody has his or her ‘love map,’ as the late, great, sadly discredited Baltimore sexologist John Money once called our predetermined sexual types. And we can never really change our love maps, but we can learn to see them coming. A healthy neurotic knows his type can and probably will bring emotional trouble combined with a powerful sexual wallop. But we can see, through effective therapy, that we have a choice. Yes, our love maps may be bad for us, but WOW! I won’t find this kind of sex in a healthy relationship. So is it worth it? If it is, yes, you are fucked-up, but as long as you choose it, you are also neurotically happy.”

8. “Nobody has to meet Tennessee Williams; all you have to do is reread his work. Listening to what he has to say could save your life, too.”

9. “I’m a fascist about my work habits and I expect you to be, too. Never have a spontaneous moment in your life again. If you’re going to have a hangover, it should be scheduled on your calendar months in advance. Rigid enjoyment of planning can get you high. Militant time-management will enable you to ignore how maladjusted you would be if you had the time to notice it in the first place. Discipline is not anal compulsion; it’s a lifestyle that breeds power.”

10. “You don’t need fashion designers when you are young. Have faith in your own bad taste. Buy the cheapest thing in your local thrift shop — the clothes that are freshly out of style with even the hippest people a few years older than you. Get on the fashion nerves of your peers, not your parents — that is the key to fashion leadership. Ill-fitting is always stylish. But be more creative — wear your clothes inside out, backward, upside down. Throw bleach in a load of colored laundry. Follow the exact opposite of the dry cleaning instructions inside the clothes that cost the most in your thrift shop. Don’t wear jewelry — stick Band-Aids on your wrists or make a necklace out of them. Wear Scotch tape on the side of your face like a bad face-life attempt. Mismatch your shoes. Best yet, do as Mink Stole used to do: go to the thrift store the day after Halloween, when the children’s trick-or-treat costumes are on sale, buy one, and wear it as your uniform of defiance.”

The Lovely Laura Marling

I don't imagine that this little blog of mine is a cornerstone of cultural information- that it's highbrow and full of things that most normal Philistine's would never dane to contemplate. It's just my chatter about things I find interesting. I don't even know if anyone reads this blog.

So, from time to time I reserve the right to be silly and fluffy and twee. Today I'm going to talk about a show I saw last night. Laura Marling. Good GOD almighty what a talented woman. I admit it- I have a soft spot in my heart for folk music and using real instruments. I'm a sucker for an acoustic guitar backed up by a cello. Throw a banjo in there every once in a while and you've got me at hello. Last year I stumbled upon Laura Marling while reading a music blog. She had done some work with a few other British bands that I like and I immediately enjoyed her work.

I am officially a big fan. Big. Like how I feel about Andrew Bird. Walking into the club last night I realized she was standing about 2 feet away from me and I got jibbery and kerfoffled like a teenager. It's just that she has such a beautiful voice and her music is open and honest and REAL. I gobbled up the first album and have spent an embarassingly long time on You Tube tracking down odd little tracks (see below).

She's come out with her second album now, entitled "I Speak Because I Can" and it's leaps, bounds, mountains ahead of her first album which was damn impressive in itself. If you're a fan of poetic lyrics and striking vocals Laura Marling is the girl for you.

I was absolutely thrilled and stunned to see the announcement that she would be coming to East Atlanta's venue The Earl, and snapped up tickets immediately. One generally thinks that when they stumble on a little band that they can't possibly be the only one who knows about it, but from the size of the crowd last night I guess maybe that many people don't know about the 20 year old Hampshire, England girl. I am not generally one of those people who yells out from the crowd at a show, but last night asked for "The Wrote & the Writ" and she seemed surprised that anyone remembered it. Remebered it- hell, I tracked it down on ye olde Internet and had it in the CD player for several weeks. Her lack of acknowledgement in the U.S. clearly has more to do with a lack of PR rather than a lack of talent.

Don't say you haven't been told now. Don't walk, run and buy her music.

Here are some samples of her work:
From "I Speak Because I Can"
What He Wrote
I Speak Because I Can
Blackberry Stone

From "Alas I Cannot Swim"
My Manic and I
New Romantic
Alas I Cannot Swim

And, not on her albums but also favorites:
The Wrote & the Writ
Travel Light
Needle and the Damage Done

It was a no photography show, but I'm sorry- I snuck a photo. (see above)
Sorry Laura.

Oh. She doesn't do encores. But you won't care. You'll just be glad you were able to experience the music. Trust me.

Inside the Mind and Letters of Magritte

Clearly I need to win the lottery sooner than later. In a little less than a month Sotheby's in New York will be auctioning a series of over 40 letters and poscards from the Surrealist master Rene Magritte to Paul Colinet.

The correspondence forms an extraordinary record of the artist’s creative process in addition to revealing the literary and artistic influences on his work during the most productive period of his career. Complete with drawings and sketches, many of which are variations on the artist’s well-known canvases. The letters and postcards last appeared on the auction market at Sotheby’s London in 1987, where it was offered in a sale of artifacts from the artist’s studio consigned by his widow. No other significant group of Magritte letters has appeared on the market since.

In 1933, Magritte met the Belgian Surrealist poet Paul Colinet, and the two became close friends rapidly. At the time, Magritte’s personal connections with Surrealism were strained – he had left Paris in disgust and returned home to Brussels – although ironically his artwork remained clearly Surrealist in style. The collection of letters cover a wide range of topics – artistic, literary and surreal – and reveals a remarkable influence Colinet wielded on Magritte and his oeuvre.

In numerous letters Magritte discusses the question of appropriate titles for his paintings. Having acknowledged that Colinet has a rare talent for finding the most suitable title for his paintings, Magritte frequently asks his advice, with a sketch of the picture included. On the verso of an undated letter Magritte pens a landscape, a derivative no doubt of the artist’s iconic L’Empire des Lumières, and writes beneath it, “un titre plaese! (prononcer un ‘titre plisse’).” In another letter Magritte gives his definition of the art of painting, and in yet another, sets out to tackle the question “What does this picture represent?”

A peek inside the mind of the Surrealist genius is presented by a letter in which Magritte digressed on the significance of the number 9 and his prose becomes a bit surreal: “vous avez déjà remarqué que le chiffre 18 compose de 1 et de 8, soit 1 + 8 =9 . . . le chiffre 9, multiplié par lui-même donc 81, soit 8 = 1 = 9 . . .”

The correspondence with Colinet also reveals Magritte’s opinion of various works of literature, at one point expressing disgust with André Breton’s L’art magique and stating he cannot share Colinet’s enthusiasm for the work of Jorge Luis Borges. He goes on to note that he has just received books by Paul Morand, Joseph-Arthur, comte de Gobineau and Martin Heidegger.

*more information can be found at Art Daily

'A Day in the Life' for Sale

When they say that not everything can be bought, it appears that the list of items included in "everything" is growing smaller. I'm not judging, if I was in a bad financial pinch there are not many physical possessions that I call my own that I wouldn't not willingly divest. But I'm not sure I could part with this little jewel.

The final song on "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" titled "A Day in the Life" is up on the auction block. The single piece of paper penned by John Lennon will go under the gavel on June 18th at Sotheby's and are expected to bring between a half a million and $700k pounds.

Inspired by real-life events, including a newspaper artlce about numerous potholes in Blackburn, Lancashire, the song is one of the Fab Four's most recognizable tunes. Strangely enough, the original lyrics do not contain the mildly controversal "I'd love to turn you on," line which jangled many a teenage parents nerves in the early 1960s.

I hope whomever buys it will display it for we plebians to view. John would like that, yep, John would want it.

Beauvoir- On Beauty and Frumpiness

God knows I love the New York times.
Lord knows Simone de Beauvoir's “The Second Sex” is one of the most important feminist tomes in the history of feminist tomes.

So, when Knopf released a new translation of Second Sex this week you might think that the Times would have rushed to press with tasty tidbits previously mistranslated or left wadded on the editing room floor by the original publisher. You'd be wrong. The Times decided to write about of all things, Ms. Beauvoir's looks. Oh sweet irony.


Frankly, it was an interesting article (you can read it here in full) and a nice glimpse into the life and fashion thoughts of an icon. I've always thought Beauvoir was a natural beauty that had the kind of wit and vivacity that would still make her a force to be recconed with if she were still with us today.

At least the Times acknowledged it was being reductionist and superficial. (grin)


I don't know about you, but I'm going to pick up the new version and reaqaint myself with The Second Sex. It's been more than a few years since I've studied the tome and now seems like a good a time as any.

Happy Reading All!!!

Think You Know Picasso?

I thought I knew my fair share about the great master. I know the names of his many wives and lovers, have a fair idea of the amount of work he generated in his lifetime (around 50K pieces) and even the name of his dog (Lump). But, I didn't know his whole name.

Get ready for this one and be glad you don't have to monogram it on any shirt cuffs.

Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso.

Whew.

With a big name like that its no wonder he had such a gigantic ego.

Hotel Normandie- Where it's 420 Every Day

During a recent hotel stay my partner expressed his complete frustration that it is so difficult for anyone who smokes to find a hotel where they can smoke in the room. To smoke a cigarette requires getting dressed, scrabbling under the bed for shoes, schleping to the elevator and finding a dingy corner to light up.

I'm pretty sure the Normandie Midtown Hostel in Los Angeles wouldn't blink if I lit up a Marlboro. This new boutique hotel is the first marajuana friendly establishment in the United States. Dennis Peron, a long-time marijuana dispensary owner and medicinal marijuana advocate, is currently remodeling Los Angeles' Hotel Normandie with plans to turn its 106 rooms into a haven for smokers around the world.

When did the hotel open? On 4/20 of course! Peron's ultimate vision for the hotel is of a "hippie rustic" theme with a rooftop deck where users could light up, framed by the hotel's vintage neon sign.

"We have a motto now," Eastman said. "Forget Amsterdam. Meet me at 6th and Normandie. You won't need a passport to come to the Normandie Hotel. You won't need a plane ticket to come to the Normandie Hotel. All roads lead to the Normandie. On the Metro, the bus, the taxis, we're centrally located in the middle of the center of the universe right here."

Eastman grandly bills the hotel as the United Nations of marijuana, and has been polishing some one-liners, which Peron gamely puts in his own words.

Eastman: "You won't need a towel at the bottom of the door. "

Peron: "Yeah, you don't have to put towels down there."

Eastman: "And there are some no-smoking hotels. We're definitely not one of them."

Peron: "We're definitely not. There are some no-smoking hotels. We're not no-smoking."

The Normandie began as a dignified residence hotel in the 1920s. It touted a $1 turkey dinner prepared by Mrs. H.F. Bruner and was a luncheon spot for women's clubs. In 1938 and 1939, it was briefly home to British author Malcolm Lowry, who was reworking his masterpiece, "Under the Volcano." In 1957, rooms cost $4, and in 1970, they were only $7. In the 1980s, the hotel was a retirement center.

Most recently, with rooms advertised on banners at $49.99, it catered to budget travelers, long-term tenants and Korean-speaking visitors. Its nightclub and restaurant, with their fanciful and outdated decor, are abandoned. Its lobby houses an odd assemblage of furniture and vending machines. Its rooms are decorated in a palette of flesh tones. It is comfortable but worn.

Very little marijuana is evident. But Eastman says the hotel has had some pot-smoking visitors. And Peron and some friends have established an outpost on the fourth floor.

On a recent day, Caroline Lewis had a blunt wedged into a notch in an ashtray beside her bed. She said she smokes pot for back pain from the epidurals she had during four C-sections. She moved in about three months ago and loves the vibe. "Oh, God, it is so freaking terrific," she said. "It'll give medical patients a safe environment where they aren't hassled by the police."

She lives with Dennis Carpenter, who says he has been smoking marijuana to relieve stress. He works for Evangelista and was helping refurbish the rooms. "I was envisioning it to be like a green hotel," he said. "I was expecting it to be a lifelong project."

Dude....

Oh George- Return Your Library Books

I've been more than a little guilty of keeping library books out entirely too long. I lost one once- in the back of a taxi, and it was returned to the library nearly a year later. I had already paid for the book in full, but liked to think of it being passed hand to hand, taxi ride to taxi ride across Atlanta.

I digress...

There was an interesting little snippet in the news today about our first President and his overdue library books. Apparently, in going through his papers a historian found two books and a chit for their return date from the New York Society Library. If Mr. Washington was around today to sheepishly return them to the library he would owe about $4,500. Not too bad considering they're over 220 years overdue. I can't imagine what kind of penalties the IRS would slap on you if you were that late paying back taxes.

The New York library, a subscription library that was New York's first library open to the public, has known about the missing books since the 1930s. The matter came up again recently because the library is capturing the ledgers in digital form to preserve the records.

Library officials cross-checked the books mentioned in the ledger with the ones in their collection. "Volume 12 (of "Common Debates") was still missing," as was the other book, Goldstein said. The library is not so concerned about the fine as it is about each book.

Monet Found After 10 Years

Ten years ago, a theif walked into a small museum in western Poland and quietly, un-noticed by guards or cameras, swapped out Monet's "Beach in Pourville" with a copy, painted on cardboard and strolled away.

Today, in Warsaw, Poland police say that they have found that painting in the possesion of a 41 year-old man in the southern city of Olkusz. Fingerprints and other traces left at the site helped identify the suspect, but police weren't able to locate him until recently. The man has confessed to the robbery, but no other details have been released.

The National Museum in Poznan is currently examining the painting to ensure its provenance. The painting, which shows the sea lapping against a beach is valued at $1 million dollars. Needless to say, the museum owners consider it to be pricess. And, can you blame them?

Been Gone So Long

Sorry I've been away for so long. Hopefully I'll be better about updating my blog this decade. :)