Vladimir Kagan's Blog

Fitness Be Damned!

PARTING SHOTS

(fitness be damned!)

Copyright Vladimir Kagan April 25, 2011

 

His name is Alkidiadis Alexandros Robert Alexiadis and you don’t have to be linguist to figure out that he’s Greek…. We just call him Alkis. He could have been a man for all seasons, but life’s necessities have cornered him into a one profession straight Jacket. …His official title is Physiotherapist. Like all people in that profession, they become gym-bugs, exercise, and weight lifting, flinging Kettle Balls, jogging at night (probably in a black tracksuit so none of the crazy Florida drivers can see him.) When he’s not doing it himself, he scouts it out on TV or the myriad health journals that he subscribes to.

He’d really would have preferred to be an Aristotle instead of an Adonis… His fertile mind is always inventing gimcracks… things that sometimes get patents but never make money. He works like hell but invests in foolish ventures that can’t sustain themselves. Like all good Greeks, he is a staunch family man. He started life in the tenements of New York City, but as a bright and upwards mobile youth…went to Hunter College then City College. He wanted to study architecture (I told him it was a good thing that he didn’t…. it’s a sure formula for staying poor unless you morph into an I.M. Pei, Zaha Hadid, Frank Gehry or any of the others that you can count on your ten fingers).

 

Alkis and we hitched-up when Erica needed a Physiotherapist after her ski accident four years ago. Over a six months period, he moved her out of the wheel chair and onto crutches until he finally kicked them out from under her and dumped her into the pool. During that time, he kept Erica entertained with stories and anecdotes, taking her mind off the arduous therapy he was putting her through…. She has made a perfect recovery and is now enjoying life after her recent Arthroscopic knee surgery, (a delayed bi-product of the ski accident.)

 

As the Stenosis of my spine has worsened and my mobility more impaired, I inherited Alkis.

 Ours are no lightweight entertainment sessions, He is tough. He’s a driver and he’s prepping me for the Senior Olympics, (haven’t figured out which event). Alkis is strong and he gets his isometric exercise manipulating me…. We both grimace with pain… neither of us are ready say “uncle”.

 

 

There is a known adage in the exercise world: “No pain in stretching other wise you may have the opposite effect!” Not for Alkis, his motto is, “Tolerably Intolerable” or “Comfortably Uncomfortable”…. “You don’t have to like it – you just have to do it!”

Alkis and I doing the double crunch

The pretzel stretch

The Rack... "and remember Comfortably Uncomfortable!"


 

With this admonition, we slog through our regime three times a week. It is a love-hate relationship…. I try to schmooze him with culture; he brain-washes me with gymnastic world-records. I count the minutes until we are finished, he counts the repetitions of each exercise. Finally it feels so good when we stop…. I walk a bit more upright; feel a little more alive and ache for the rest of the day.

 

Alkis is a pessimist, (he says realist). He is a survivalist - The end is neigh – be prepared for the worst – he has stocked four months of freeze dried food in his basement – barrels of water - he would like to own a farm in Manitoba and grow his won vegetables. Guns are not in his arsenal, he doesn’t need them… he can break your back with his arms…. . For all this, he is not a bad fella. He’s just a throwback to a Spartan Greek.

 

 

Alkis, old buddy…. I will miss you this summer and can’t wait to return to your torture chamber in the fall.

 

Snurfin’ The Beach On Singer Island

Snurfin’ The Beach On Singer Island

Copyright Vladimir Kagan April 24, 2011

 

Singer Island is less than ten miles north of Palm Beach…. But light years away. There is no exit off I-95 indicating you are near…. I’d venture to say, no one from our little Mecca has ever been there. BUT, if ya wanna see the real Florida…. Experience America enjoying itself on the beach, ya gatta go to Singer!

 

We were drawn to it with the promise of great snorkeling under The Blue Heron Bridge. We set out in the late afternoon to catch the high tide. Our first stop was a nearby dive shop where we bought the necessary paraphernalia: Armed with flippers, snorkels, a dive flag and a Google map, we set off on our adventure.

 

The Blue Heron Bridge at dusk - destination of our snorkeling party

Under protection of our athletic son-in-law and his family, veered off the four-lane bridge, into a seedy recreation Park called Phil Foster.  Most people had already departed, a few die-hard Scuba Divers were still floating off shore looking like the manatees that inhabit these waters. When they surfaced with their unwieldy gear, they looked more like Martians.

 

Moored in the lagoon, were a few rag-tag live-on-board sailboats. Out of the cabin of one, emerged a character, straight out of central casting. A robust middle-aged beach bum, tanned to a toasty brown, scraggly blond hair in a pigtail tied back with a bandanna, wearing cut-off jeans and the obligatory cigarette dangling from his mouth. He stepped into a makeshift dingy and paddled it like a canoe, which, on closer examination turned out to be a Sunfish hull with its deck cut off. “Serves me just fine” was the response when I complemented its owner. Undaunted the kids dove into the water, with me gingerly following. Our wives: Erica and Vanessa stayed behind to guard our belongings in this rag-tagged environment. The call of nature made each lady search for the restrooms some 50 yards down the road. (I would rather have improvised) but they braved the trek. Alone, each ventured into the “Ladies”… flowed by a deranged 15-year-old boy asking if they would like to have sex with him! Thankfully, he wasn’t aggressive…. (I kid you not!)

 

 

Emboldened by our adventure, we all agreed to do a replay. Days later, the tide was not with us but wanting to experience a new escapade, we found Ocean Reef Park, the public beach where we were promised a coral reef within swimming distance…. It was a cloudless, blistering 93% and by the time we arrived, so had the hordes of tourists who vacation in these parts. The sea was rough and the beach covered with bare flesh. I opted not to dive into the waves… our bevy of four nubile girls (grand-daughters and their friend), with Matt as their protector - did. I found my entertainment on the beach. The blubbery overweight masses that find their gourmet meals at McDonald, flimsily clad in ill-fitting bikinis with tattoo covered flesh bulging in excess over their halters and but-floss. Their male escorts were befittingly gross with Mullet haircuts goatees beards and the obligatory tattoos on bulging arms and thighs…. A Gay couple was easily spotted prancing their wannabe Charles Atlas bodies, clad in banana hammock bikinis…. A beautiful black lady with an orange Afro was sashaying down the beach chasing her innumerable children…. An attractive trio of young college students was completely out of place and soon left the scene…. Then there were the steady habitués of the Island; retired elderly couples who have left their tedious lives up north and became sun-worshippers. Lathered with tanning oils, they baked their emaciated bodies to a crisp in the noonday cancer rays. Our family blended right in: Matt, with his deeply tanned Lifeguard physique wearing a revealing Speedo, accompanied by his bevy of nubile teenyboppers in their itsy-bitsy bikinis and toasted bodies, all rushing into the frothy waves…. Soon all that could be seen of them was the diving flag dragging in the waves…. Left to our own devises, I limply hobbled down the beach on two ski poles followed by Erica schlepping all our belongings. We squatted down in the midst of the crowd on our rented sun-loungers and a hand-held beach umbrella.... we were right at home! (No one gave us a second look.)

 

Blending into the beach crowd at Singer island

A little off the beach, as we were heading back to our car, in the shade of the Sea-grape and Tamarind trees, were the picnic crowd, basting their delicious ribs with barbecue sauce…. The smell was irresistible. (We were kindly invited to join them) but were heading for a change of scene… the last walk down Worth Avenue before the family jetted back to reality in New York.

 

A postscript to our bucolic adventure was an article in the Palm Beach Post, two days later, of a grizzly double murder under the bridge. If you are ghoulish enough to want to read about it here is the link: http://www.palmbeachpost.com/news/crime/man-charged-in-two-fatal-shootings-on-boat-1373583.htm

 

 

 

 

 

The Ultimate Boys Museum

THE ULTIMATE BOYS MUSEUM

The Wolfsonian–Florida International University in Miami Beach

(Bring the Girls, they will be happy you did!)

Copyright Vladimir Kagan April 22, 2011

The Wolfsonian Museum entrance: A window grill rescued from a 1929 movie theater in Norristown, Pennsylvania

Last Week I wrote about ‘Boy’s Toys’…..This week I will tell you about Mitchell “Micky” Wolfson Jr. the quintessential ‘Boy’s Toys’ Collector. Micky’s personal interest is the design and propaganda arts encompassing the period of 1885 to 1945. He continues to collect veraciously. Works documenting the period through art on paper, paintings, sculpture furniture and decorative objects. To house all these ‘toys”, he took a family owned, six-story warehouse in downtown Miami Beach (back in 1986 a dilapidated part of the famed Art Deco district) and converted it into a home for his visionary collection. After remodeling it from head to toe in a distinctly mid-century Moderne style, he called it The Wolfsonian (that later became a part of FIU, Florida International University)

 

The Wrestler, a 1929 aluminum sculpture by Dudley Talcott (American 1899 - 1986) it was created for the Tenth Olympic Games in Los Angeles 1932

Model steam engine, ca. 1885 made in steel, brass and painted

 

Miami isn’t the only city to benefit from Wolfson’s largess. Not having enough room to display his vast collection under one roof, he founded the Wolfsoniana in Genoa to store the rest and donated it to that community. Today the Wolfsonian own over 120,000 artifacts.

 

A triptych painting depicting Mussolini and the achievements of Italian Fascist "sintesi Fascista 1935" by Alesandro Bruschetti (Italian 1910 - 19810

A painting depicting the creations of Schultze and Weaver Architects from 1921 to 1936 (note The Waldorf Astoria in New York, The Biltmore in Palm Beach and many other notable landmarks of the period

A Breuglesque painting "La Bataille Pour La Ville" (the Battle for the City) 1944

Raymond Daussy (French b. 1918)

 

Micky Wolfson has strong taste. Much of his collected works includes Italian Fascist and Nazi art sculpture and architecture, Soviet propaganda and the early bi-products of the industrial revolution and the World’s Fairs in which they were exhibited. This mix of stuff is the substance of a boy’s dream. The Museum not only houses an amazing exhibit of paraphernalia, art, objects, and furniture…it has one of the finest research libraries documenting these collected works.

 

The Wolfsonian's impressive reference library

An Art Deco display case housing just a few of Micky Wolfson's  collected artifacts

A bookcase Skyscraper., ca 1926 designed by Paul Frankl (American b. Austrian 1886 - 1958

  A stained glass window for the International Labor Building, League of Nations, Geneva, depicting Irish independence, designed in 1926 but never installed

Iconic steel arm chair designed by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe in 1927 (American b. Germany 1886 - 1969)

A pair of sculpted wall panels in pigmented plaster from a mansion in Palm Beach 1935

Designed by Jean Dunand (Swiss 1877 - 1942)

Stacking chairs ca. 1926, cast steel and wooden seats (designer unknown)

Gas range, Magic Chef, ca. 1935 (wouldn't we love this in our kitchen today!)

A painting of the artist's wife entitled Mary X-rayed, 1930, Clarence Holbrook Carter

(American 1900 - 2000)

 

You can see from my collected photos, the breadth of interest of Micky Wolfson's collection and how they might be a "boy ultimate dream acquisition"

I will probably get into a heap of trouble as a male chauvinist, with my lady friends, who happen to be the museum’s competent Director and Curators (by calling The Wolfsonian “The Ultimate Boy’s Museum”….I hope that they will forgive me!)

 

Erica and I have visited the museum on numerous occasions, this time, for the opening of ART FOR ALL: British Posters for Transport (link to this show:

  
BRITISH POSTERS FOR TRANSPORTATION

 

Top: The poster for the exhibit.

Middle: One of the all-time great graphics for the London Underground

Bottom: Erica posing in front of a photo of the underground station in London that she used for 20 years

http://www.wolfsonian.org/exhibitions/current/index.artforall.html) , an exhibit of 200 British Transportation Posters, collected over the past 30 years by my friend Henry Hacker, who donated his entire collection to the Yale Center for British Art. These robust graphics fit seamlessly with the Wolfsonian’s permanent collection. One doesn’t always associate staid England with a penchant for modern, but these great posters put emphasis on Britain’s contribution to the modern movement. Put into perspective, these posters date from 1905 through the 50’s and include works by such notable artists as Edward Mcknight Kauffer, Frank Newbould, Clive Alfred Gardiner, Kathleen Stenning, and dozens more…. Am amazing exhibit of Avant-Garde art from the earliest 20^th century and still very relevant today. This was a strong dose of graphic art for the British public….

 

A Great Western Railway poster by Edward Mcknight Kauffer 1933, showed his mastery of synthesizing the English countryside into a startling landscape painting

Edward Mcknight Kauffer was the King of transportation posters, this poster from 1923 depicts the "Rocket" a 1829 steam engines that changed modern transportation for ever

Mabel Lucie Attwell's 1912 "Country Fair" and Irene Fawkes 1928 "The Country" illustrate the strong influence of English women artists in the early 20th century

Frank Newbould's 1930 bathers on the beach, a paraphrase on Renoir's, The Picnic

The most idolized cartoon character, a dancing fisherman, by John Hassall 1923

 

Tom Purvis' magnificently stylized cartoon for for The London & North Easter Railway 1928

Harry Koop's amazingly modern rendition of the ubiquitous English umbrella for an Underground poster 1925

 

Kathleen Stenning's 1925 vivid depiction of an afternoon thunderstorm, a poster for The Underground

 The exhibit runs through August 14, 2011 Plenty of time for you to to see it.

 

The Wolfsonian–Florida International University is located at

1001 Washington Avenue - Miami Beach, FL 33139

▪                Wolfsonian–FIU biography

▪                Wolfsoniana Genoa (Italy)

▪                Wolfsonian–FIU Website

 

 

 

The Ultimate Boy’s Toy

The Ultimate Boy’s Toy

Copyright Vladimir Kagan, April 10, 2011

 

A Car!

 

I’ve always been infatuated with Cars…. My first one was a 1937 La Salle. It had exquisite lines; a distinguished grill, headlights mounted between its sculpted fenders and the narrow fuselage. It had doors hinged to open from a center post, the type that you saw in “Gangsta” movies and if you didn’t close them properly, they would fly open while driving. I bought it from my friend Chico and it was a lemon!

 

 A 1937 La Salle...note the doors are hung in the modern way... on mine, all four doors were hinged on the center post 
 
 

Over the years I really have not owned many cars…. Always used ones, (except for a little Hillman Station Wagon which we picked up in London and tootled all over Europe)…. My most memorable purchase was a 1955 RED Thunderbird, crowned with a removable 1956 white hard top with portholes…. It was a true girl catcher and I often enjoyed its magnetic lure … One memorable weekend, I dated a lovely girl from Vassar College. To show off my driving skills, I demonstrated the car’s awesome power from 0 – 60 in 60 seconds…. an impressive performance, but in doing so, I blew off the cooling fan, which exploded through the hood with a deafening bang.!.... Sheepishly, I call Erica for help, (She lived in Millbrook NY, only a few miles way). In her inimitable sweet way, she came to the rescue…. This little incident cost me a girlfriend but snagged me a wife!

 

The ultimate girl - wife catcher... my '55 Thinderbird

 

During our courtship, Erica and I were flying high with the glamorous MG-TD set; weekends in South Hampton, Quogue and Nantucket…

 When our daughter Jessica turned one, I thought it propitious to trade our toy for a more practical vehicle. Unbeknownst to Erica, I bought a spanking new white Plymouth Station Wagon… Erica was furious and insisted that I retrieve the T-Bird at once, (loosing $1000 in the transaction!)

 Ever since that first disagreement, I’ve learned to live tranquilly with my darling wife.… In all these years, my only serious regrets have been the cars I didn’t buy. (The T-Bird ultimately gave way to the tinny Hillman… I should have kept it on block in my parent’s garage in Woodstock…. but lacked the foresight).

 

When it comes to falling in love with cars, I always shoot from the hip… compulsive, impetuous…. On returning from a ski trip in Vermont, I spotted a 1927 Packard in a used car lot. The car and I were the same age! I wanted to buy it on the spot, but my practical side gave me second thoughts and I drove away without buying it…. it still looms as one of those regrets.

 In the 70’s, when I was flush with bravado and delusions of grandeur, I convinced Erica to take a trip to England with the express purpose of buying an antique Bentley. I had always loved the elegant lines of the Park-Ward bodies. Determined to find the right model, we ferreted out a dealer in Liverpool who had a stable full of antiques…each horse-stall concealed a vintage gem … he followed us with a chamois cloth and polished each door handle after demonstrating the vehicle… I found the car of my dreams and the price was more or less within reach…. There was a buzzing in my ears – the voice of my practical accountant, “When your guys in the factory see you driving this thing, they’ll go on strike and want a raise” Though this advice made infinite sense, I have regretted it ever since.

 

My dream car... a Bentley Park-Ward two-door sedan

 

When my mother-in-law died in the early 80's, she bequeathed her 60's Daimler to Erica...I rejected it summarily as I thought it too precious to store in a public garage…(the estate’s executor sold it to the local butcher!) Talk about a stupid decision!

“Wisdom is the ability to recognize your mistake the second time you make it!” and I was not going to let this happen again! Driving on a dirt road in Sag Harbour with my Friend Dolph in his 1918 Model T, a little man emerged out of the woodwork and asked, "Would you like to see another one?" With that he opened the garage door and there looming in front of us was a horse-drawn carriage with an engine and a “4 Sale” sign in the oval rear window. A 1922 Center Door Sedan…. This time, I bought it on the spot. It was 1973 and I’ve owned it ever since….

My Model T as it looks today in our Nantucket garage

                

The annual Daffodil Day - Antique Car Parade on Main Street in Nantucket...There's  me at the wheel

( come'on up for the weekend - it's this April 30th)
 

I had never driven a T before. Nothing about it even remotely resembled a modern car… my heart was in my mouth and in a cold sweat I drove it back to South Hampton. The brakes were virtually non-existent – needing to stop suddenly, in a panic, I veered off the road and drove up a grassy incline... it sputtered to a halt (it could have been the car’s last stop).... Model T’s have remained my passion ever since. My mouth waters every time I see an old ‘Brassy’ (T’s that were built before 1915) … only the reality of our one-car garage in Nantucket brings me back to my senses.

 

Subsequently I’ve owned a rag-tag collection of second-hand cars. A ’72 Land Rover to keep in Nantucket…. Still in use today…. A 525 BMW that failed to start in the cold freezing mornings on our ski trips to New England, (We improvised all sort of devices: heated blankets, spark plug heaters, battery boosters…  mostly to no avail)…. then came an Econoliner, a Van that doubled as a delivery truck for my company during the day… When it expired we bought an almost new Ford Aeorstar that ultimately died on the Throughway. I traded it for a 1997 Explorer from the dealer that ran the tow service and continued to drive on…. (Thirteen years later it’s still doing its job on Nantucket)… I came closest to buying a new car in Palm Beach… I was introduced to a wholesale used-car dealer who specializes in finding cars to specifications at auctions. We specked a low millage Toyota Sienna (our son Illya, assured us that it’s the quietest, with the most leg room and seats eight)…I bought it sight-un-seen (everyone though I was crazy). It still looks as if it just came out of the box.

 

Our '72 Land Rover in our driveway

 

The Land Rover and Explorer surviving a winter on Nantucket

 

All this is a preamble to a tempting advertisement I found in the local Palm Beach paper advertising a three-day auction of collector cars at the South Florida Fairgrounds Sponsored by Barrett – Jackson. I had Never heard of Barrett – Jackson, but bought two tickets on the Internet and headed out. I had no idea of the size of this event; it covered acres of land with sexy car-vans from every state in the USA. There were over 700 exquisitely restored cars listed in the catalog. Plus a display of the latest craze in RV’s: colossal buses customized into Road Yachts.

 

One of four tents housing the 700 vintage cars

Car shows are a magnet. It proved my theory that they are the ultimate adult boy’s toys. There were thousands of “boys” at the three-day event. Huge tents protected the cars from the scorching sun and inside of one of the three pavilions; Ford sponsored a show of their latest 2011 models (and magnanimously included their poorer cousins, General Motors in the display). The adjacent building was transformed into a sports arena with seating for hundreds of potential bidders awaiting the car of their dreams. It was a big deal: the Auctioneers sounded like Tobacco Auctioneer, where you couldn’t understand a word of their banter until the final price was announced.

 

A customized 2011 Mustang in the Ford Exhibit (Erica loves hubcaps - we both love the color red)

Chevy's Volt engine - uncharted territory for the mechanics

Erica and I navigated the show on our tandem electric scooter gig. (It caused quite a riot amongst the car buffs.)

Cruisin' the show on our makeshift tandem electric vehicle

 

One of the "boys"....Lemonade vendor (that's not a necklace- it's her tatoo)....Hot Rod and the ultimate handicap scooter

A gorgeous vintage Packard - like the one I nearly bought forty years ago

 

A customized 30s Studebaker 

 

Legendary Lotus racking machines

 

A sexy Shelby roadster


 

The auction pavilion - where the action was

 

 I took random photos of the cars I liked - bought the catalog to drool over at home - and both of us had a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon. (I missed seeing the 1914 Model T Speedster…. Otherwise I would have hung around and surely bought it!)