The old Tuscan hill town of Montecatini is famous for its thermal baths. You go there and walk around with your hands clenched behind your back, stopping to have a cup of their warm “curative” water.
You can take a warm bath, do some breathing treatments, listen to live classical music or just people watch, which is what we did.
Besides the water, you might want to try their Chianti and Brunello wines. After all, red wine is also curative.
RONALD NALDI: “O Paese d’O Sole.” (“Land of the Sun” from his album of Neapolitan music)
By Paul Goldfinger, Editor at Blogfinger. Re-posted from 2015.
In Princeton, you expect eateries that reflect the Ivy League pedigree of the place. The fancy Nassau Inn is on Palmer Square in addition to a trendy coffee shop, a fine chocolate store and an ice cream parlor that serves their goods on the soft side. There also is a lacrosse store and a Barbour shop that carries high brow sporty clothes from England.
But right across from that amazing opulent campus is Zorba’s Brother. It wasn’t crowded, but it was very appealing because of its simplicity. Music from the show Zorba played in the background. We had Greek lemon soup and the lunch special—fish and chips. The coffee was so-so. Have the Greeks forgotten how to make coffee?
Carl, my “date” from Mt. Tabor Way, went with me to see a photography exhibit at the Princeton University Art Museum. We walked on the magnificent campus and took some photographs. It was a glorious morning. Those old buildings were accompanied by newly flowering trees, and it was all very lovely. Everyone there seemed well behaved and most walked on the pathways instead of on the grass. No one smoked cigarettes and no one swore.
Small clumps of visitors were taking tours, and some high school kids got to sit on the tigers in front of Nassau Hall.
I saw a student with a violin and one with a cello. So that’s how those two got in, thought I. Two students came by on skateboards. Do they have a skateboard team at Princeton? All those kids must have gold-plated extracurricular activites in their resumes.
Inside the museum, a guard warned us not to take pictures of the traveling exhibits. Then he wanted to discuss race relations in America because I was looking at videos of the 1968 Chicago riots at the Democratic convention.
Carl and I stared at the naked gorgeous Diana who was up on a pedestal shooting a bow and arrow. She was hunting. I did a 360 around her, but didn’t dwell on it. After all, this is Princeton! But the Greeks did have naughty goddesses, and Diana’s SAT’s must have been quite good, and how many applicants can hit a rabbit at 50 yards with a bow and arrow while standing on one leg?
Diana at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She has excellent form shooting on one leg. . Internet photo.
We picked up a copy of the school newspaper which had a headline that said “U. appoints Graduate dean of diversity.” I’m not sure why only some words were capitalized. Another headline said, “Associate dean of the college for programs of access and inclusion appointed by U.”
It seems that political correctness is in the limelight at U. If any parents are planning to spend about 1/4 million bucks for their kid to go to Princeton, they might want to read that newspaper first.
Carl and I decided not to apply to the U. Naked Diana is in the museum—-outrageous!
By Paul Goldfinger, Photography Editor @Blogfinger
My photo was taken of Central Park after the 1969 blizzard. I climbed to the top of Mt. Sinai Hospital and took the picture with my Pentax Spotmatic 35 mm single-lens reflex camera which a friend had brought back from Korea. I only had one lens, a 50mm. I made the print in my darkroom using traditional wet/chemical methods .
Years later, as I learned more about photographic history, I admired the work of André Kertèsz, a Hungarian born photographer who lived in France and then came to America where the third phase of his career elevated him into the ranks of the most famous fine art photographers.
He and his wife moved into a 12th story apartment overlooking Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village in the early 1950’s. He loved to shoot images with a telephoto lens out the window at the park. He especially enjoyed snow scenes.
From Photograph Magazine via Swann Galleries, New York.
When I saw his image (above) from 1954, I was struck by the similarity to mine. But my photo was not derived from his, since I was unaware of him in 1969. At least I don’t believe I ever saw it before.
But art always owes a debt to the work of those who came before, and that is why artists must study the history of their genre in order to build on the past. The influence of one generation of artists onto later ones is sometimes unconscious on the part of those who may be borrowing without even realizing.
Because of our two similar images, and I am not comparing myself directly to Kertèsz, I feel that there is a kindred spirit—a connection— that somehow exists, and that is something that is both weird and exhilarating.
Have any of you artists/writers out there (and there are some in Ocean Grove) ever felt such a relationship?
JENNIFER THAYER (This song was featured in the movie The Thomas Crown Affair and sung by Noel Harrison)
DON AZPLAZU and the HAVANA CASINO ORCHESTRA: Remember Cuba when Myer Lansky and his fellow travelers hung out there? They use to have big time boxing matches in Havana along with casinos, glamour, money, music, the rhumba, booze, and good times.
Did any of you go “bc” –before Castro? What happened in Havana stayed in Havana, along with some of the customers.
By Paul Goldfinger at the New Jersey Cranberry Festival.
The food stand on the top photo had a sign that said, “Shiksabob.”
We wondered about that dish. Was their word spelling correct for their language, or was this an English misspelling ?
We said it over and over until we figured out that it was a misspelled word: Let’s try “Shiskabob.” No–that’s not a word.
Then we said: “Sishkabob,” but no, that was rejected.
But we finally realized that it was “Shishkabob,” but we tried so many versions that we began speaking gibberish and we seemed to have become fahblunget. Or farblunget. Oh, “farblunget” means hopelessly screwed up in Yiddish.
And, last but not least, the correct word (s) is “shish kabob.” And even though I briefly thought I was having a stroke, we finally became coherent again as we walked to our car.
On the way, there was a row of toilets at the Cranberry Festival with the name “Mr. Bob’s” on each door. A lady came out of one and walked towards me.
I held out my hand and said, “Hi, I’m Mr. Bob, and that will be 50 cents. ” She laughed and breezed by. No more Mr. Bob jokes.
