One Small Political Post

Someone should do the math on the popular vote numbers in the Democratic presidential contest in a slightly different way. Results from three states should be deducted from the running totals. Florida counts; both Obama and Clinton were on the ballot, even though they did not campaign. Michigan is the first state that doesn't count, of course, because Obama wasn't on the ballot. The other two states are the Senators' home states -- New York and Illinois. No way the non-favorite son/daughter wins -- or even gets particularly close -- in those no matter how much or how little campaigning is done. So throw out those three outcomes and where are we then?

The Democrats have to do something about Florida and Michigan. The states did a stupid thing by defying the DNC and scheduling primaries earlier than authorized. But the party would do an even stupider thing if it went up against McCain in two very battleground states with the Democratic state parties and, particularly, the voters feeling they did not have a voice in determining the party nominee.

A Day at the Met

On the third of three consecutive gorgeous early spring days, we had a fine day at the Met yesterday, seeing Lee Friedlander's richly textured and layered photos of Olmstead's parks across the US, capturing exactly in that medium what Olmstead sought in his own design, and then on to the huge and thoughtful landscapes of Poussin, almost four centuries old, and examining what always remains worth examining, man's place in nature and the sudden moments where light in life turns to darkness, with no warning or explanation, sometimes in Poussin's work through a venemous snake (Man Killed By a Snake and Orpheus and Eurydice). There were two grand quotes at the end of the exhibit, concerning Poussin's monumental final works, The Four Seasons, based -- for the first time in his career, I think -- on scenes from the Bible rather than myth. From Poussin himself, "It is said that the swan sings more sweetly when death approaches. I will try to imitate him and work better than ever." And from Chateaubriand, "Often men of genius announced their end through masterpieces; it is their soul that takes wing."

Attribution of works of art is a very living science -- more than a few of the canvases and drawings in the Poussin show had been attributed to him -- or removed from his catalogue -- in the last decade or two.

Venturing deep into the museum as we did in getting between the two exhibitions made me realize all over again what extraordinary work the retiring Phillippe de Montebello has achieved in his 30 years tenure. It is said that he often walks alone through the Met, visiting his favorite works. Well he should; it's a glorious place.

Night Life, Night Death

After a god-awful French film (La France) at the New Directors/New Films festival (widely varying quality, but often very exciting stuff, such as Red Road last year) and thoroughly blitzed by a marg on the rocks with salt at the well-named 125 Small Plates place in the previously Black Hole restaurant location at 3143 Broadway, I walked out on to a Broadway blocked off by police vehicles and yellow Incident Do Not Cross tape. There had been no screaming sirens while I was in the restaurant but also no indication of anything amiss as the 1 train I'd been on surfaced 45 minutes earlier. The strobbing red lights were up at 122nd at Manhattan School of Music, so I walked up, driven by the drink and the craven, but ubiquitous something-happened curiosity, passed an NYPD detectives van, and at the Manhattan School of Music was asked by a plainclothesman to turn left and walk up toward Riverside, past the glut of NewsChannel Blah Blah vans and away from the scene, which seemed to be across Broadway at the SE corner of 122nd. I asked him what had happened and a bit to my surprise instead of replying "Can't tell you," he said, "A cop shot somebody." Read about it in the Times tomorrow, or online tonight, but a couple hours ago, maybe as I was picking my way out of the dark Walter Reade Theater while the credits rolled, a cop, another person, and a bullet (or several) were converging in a moment none of them expected when the alarm went off this morning.

Footnote : Either the plainclothesman was wrong, or I misunderstood him. In fact, three kids accosted a Columbia graduate student from China on the median at Broadway and 122nd. One began attacking the student, who broke away across Broadway and was struck by a southbound car that had no chance to see him and stop. He was killed. We found out another day later that he lived in our building, making the whole tragedy even sadder. His attacker is fourteen years old.