Francesca and I had a great time touring downtown's Olympia Theater today. The one-hour journey took us from the balcony, to the basement, then backstage.
We stood where Elvis stood melting young hearts 62 years ago.
The theater has starlight in the ceiling and small Italian towns protruding from the walls.
Few of these fantastic, ancient movie houses are left.
Why not see this one.
There are three
tours manana (Sunday: noon, 1:30, and 3 pm). If you're in Miami, you
should consider it. More about the Olympia (a/k/a the Guzman Theater) tours
at www.dwntwnarts.com
It's on Flagler Street its just a block and a half south of one of our favorite eateries, the Bali Cafe.
We walked there for a lunch then sauntered
over to Bayfront park to work it off at trapeze school.
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You can't always get what you want. Francesca and I were aiming for a quiet night last Friday. She had prepared a lovely meal and we were planning to enjoy a movie when there was a knock on the door. It was my son, Ian, holding a fat, old dog. He had found it wandering in the rain a few blocks away.
The ancient French bulldog was frail and half-blind but not hungry enough to eat
our dog's food. With her considerable girth she looked like she could go weeks without eating.
Her name ("Pancha"), address, and phone number were on her collar. When we called we only heard a very young girl singing Mick Jagger's "You Can't Always Get What You Want". I let my son know we very much wanted him to find the owner in the next ten minutes, if possible.
He drove to the dog collar's address in an exclusive Miami Beach island enclave. The couple there said they'd just moved in and had no idea who had lived there before them. Ian offered them the dog. They graciously refused.
We texted Pancha's owner and near midnight got the reply, "Sorry, busy. Call you tomorrow". The dog, which resembled an old swollen sausage, bedded down for the night on our back porch.
In the morning she was dead, or at least she looked that way. Nothing was moving and she didn't respond to her name or "Porky". When I poked her girth her eyes barely opened. I was thankful I would not be burying her. It would have been a big hole.
Saturday afternoon, we got a phone message from a young woman who said, "I am the owner's assistant and am in a meeting all day". We tried feeding the finicky fatso but she wasn't interested.
We took her for a walk to encourage her to "do her thing". She didn't do any "thing". Nothing was going into or out of this smashed-faced pooch.
Finally at four, we got a call from the woman who said she'd be driving down from Broward County to pick up her boss' pet. An hour later a new Range Rover pulled into the driveway. An attractive Latina stepped out and we invited her in. Concha was glad to see her.
She explained that her employer had just moved to the Grove and was attending a wedding in Montana. I blurted out, "Gabrielle's wedding?" (I had just read that Burn Notice actress, Gabrielle Anwar, was marrying a local restaurateur at an exclusive ranch in the far-west state).
The assistant responded, "Yes, do you know her? It's her dog!". I told her "no", that I had only read about the British actress' wedding yesterday in the Herald's gossip column. She
went on to explain that the star-struck pig dog was one of a pair. She had no idea how the slow-moving 14-year-old had escaped.
A moment later the personal assistant was heading out the door with the spotted sausage in her arms. Now we could try that romantic evening again.
You can't always get what you want but this time, we did.
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I am beginning my last year of teaching. For the next ten months 500 kids will visit my art room every week. After that another adventure begins.
Today's decision:
What should we draw first, spiders from Mars or Andre the Giant?
Mr. Terry and members of the Shark Club
A few more European scenes captured by my Canon:
Window, Antoni Gaudi's house, Barcelona
Water Taxi, Venice
Sculpture, Nantes
Park in Barcelona
From one teacher to another, Venice
Stairway to our flat, Rome.
Spaghetti Cake, Rome
Masks, dollar store, Venice
Detail, Window shutter, Venice
Lebron Sprite, Venice
Cute priests calendar, Rome
Floor, Palacio Grimaldi, Venice
Poster, Canal St. Martin, Paris
The old and the new. Waiting in line, The Louvre, Paris
Life can be difficult. Sculpture, Paris.
G'bye!
They never stop waving (in the sun, solar powered) Paris.
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Last month we ate fantastic food, toured a phantom's palace, and marveled at a 900-foot woman dancing in a sea of fireworks. Francesca and I spent four days in Paris.
It was our European adventure's perfect ending which began on Bastille Day. The celebration of France's independence started with its annual military parade on the Champs Elysee. They say almost a million spectators were there waving flags, taking special pride in their county recently stung by the Charlie Hebdo tragedy.
Franesca and Brigitte with their new friend, Lt. Claude.
We found a shaded spot and listened for the parade approaching in the distance. Minutes later there was a deep chant, the song of marching soldiers. When the first group passed to loud applause we enjoyed the men and women in spiffy uniforms.
Military jets and helicopters were having their own parade in the sky.
A number of tanks clattered by on the patterned brick streets. Many more soldiers marched past representing the army, air corp, navy, French Foreign Legion and even The Bearded Woodsmen Brigade.
No, I don't know their real name but these fuzzy-faced men had snazzy aprons and carried axes proudly. It's probably the group I'd be in had I pursued a French military career.
When the parade ended we returned to our Canal St. Martin apartment to take long naps.
With five locks on our door we never felt a need to call security
After an early dinner we made out way to the Big Affair, a half-million people gathering on the endless lawn south of the Eiffel Tower.
The large expanse under the tower had been transformed into a stage complete with the Paris Philharmonic, a large chorus and prominent singers. And sing they did, for two hours ending with the French national anthem, "La Marseillaise". When everyone stood, loud and proud, it was chilling, like the French ex-patriots belting it out in Rick's Cafe (in the movie "Casablanca").
When our voices died down the fireworks lit up. For a half-hour
we marveled at twelve fiery pieces, a mix of pyrotechnics, music, and light.
It was high (1200-foot) art, colors, shapes and sounds with none of the loud explosions that we're so use to.
The tower itself was the star. Loaded with 50,000 fireworks, with each composition they would shoot out, swirl, and dance to the music.
The fire created temporary smoke screens and lights were projected on them. The inside of the tower had its own moving light component. It was incredible art the likes of which I may never see again. Here's a link that will give you a taste:
http://www.theguardian.com/world/video/2014/jul/15/eiffel-tower-fireworks-bastille-day-video
It was the first time in time in twelve years that fireworks exploded from the tower itself. Her silhouette seemed to dance when the sky was lit behind her then, in a moment of orchestrated darkness, the slender tower would sparkle its 5,000 bright, tiny lights.
Miami, why can't you do something as tasteful and elegant? As I write this my city is still considering a 633-foot tower covered with huge TV ads, 24/7. How deep can you sink, South Florida?
Why can't we have our own Ferris wheel? From the top the one in the Jardin des Tuileries we could see all of Paris.
Such a thrill! Amsterdam and London have them too.
What a shame that we don't have the spunk to build one on Biscayne Bay. Anything is better than the stupid Giant Clothespin planned for Bayfront Park. Greed trumps class most of the time in my home town.
The next day we toured the Paris Opera House where the Phantom lurked 140 years ago.
Thankfully, the 8000 lb. chandelier that he sent crashing into the audience is in great shape now.
Sixty years ago artist Marc Chagall painted the mural above it.
The opera house gift shop sold all of the essentials... jewelry, top hats, cloaks, and those darling $300 toad purses.
They are made from the very same buffo toads that are all over South Florida. Think of all the money waiting to be made in your own backyard!
The iridescent change purses were only $250
In the Louvre I took pictures of people posing with art.
I guess their photos say, "I was there!"
I was too but you'll have to take my word for it.
Here is a special moment, a guard trying to block my unfocused camera from taking a photo of the Mona Fan Club. He told me, "You can take a picture of Mona Lisa but not the people looking at her".
He said nothing about me photographing his hand.
After many days on the road it was time to do our laundry. We headed home where we could do it for free.
Next stop, California.
Costume, Paris Opera House
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PS: My neighbor, Andy Neale, just wrote to tell me the "bearded woodsmen" are actually "Sappers", French combat engineers. Sapper comes from the French word sapear, "to entrench".
Francesca and I had a great time touring downtown's Olympia Theater today. The one-hour journey took us from the balcony, to the basement, then backstage.
We stood where Elvis stood melting young hearts 62 years ago. 
over to Bayfront park to work it off at trapeze school. 
