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Of Barbies, Bats and Other Hol(e)y Things
Jul. 22nd, 2023 10:46 amI have not been to the opening of the film based on the far more interesting life of my slightly older sister. Like me, this is Barbie's 64th year, but she already passed that Beatle Barbie mark a few months back. Mattel regards the doll's March 9, 1959 launch date as her "birthday." She was shamelessly ripped off from a German fashion doll that her American creator, Ruth Handler, saw on a visit a few years earlier:
During a trip to Europe in 1956 with her children Barbara and Kenneth, Ruth Handler came across a German toy doll called Bild Lilli. The adult-figured doll was exactly what Handler had in mind, so she purchased three of them. She gave one to her daughter and took the others back to Mattel. The Lilli doll was based on a popular character appearing in a comic strip drawn by Reinhard Beuthin for the newspaper Bild. Lilli was a blonde bombshell, a working girl who knew what she wanted and was not above using men to get it. The Lilli doll was first sold in Germany in 1955, and although it was initially sold to adults, it became popular with children who enjoyed dressing her up in outfits that were available separately.
That visit turned into a doll, an entire product line and of course a lawsuit- by Lili's German creators, who quickly capitulated and sold Mattel the patent and copyrights for just over $21,000 in 1964. I don't know; maybe somebody mentioned the war.
My sisters were long beyond such toys when I came along, and a generation later, Emily didn't have much use for them either; we once left her with a babysitter who regaled in microwaving her Barbies when her parents tried getting her into more traditional girl play. Still, we appreciated how she would occasionally stray outside the pink lines into more male-dominated occupations, and we'd mock her when she slipped back into trope with Talking Barbie lines like "Math class is tough!" Now, after numerous smaller film efforts over her life, Margot Robbie has brought her to life behind Greta Gerwig's direction; these tough independent womens' vision is hardly LET'S GO SHOPPING, GIRLS!. At least that's not ALL they're doing together, and the MAGAs are quite displeased. The Fox Five in skimpy skirts want her back in the kitchen, dammit, and that great Canadian patriot Ted Cruz is pissed that the film portrays her male soulmate: “Disappointingly low T from Ken," says Rafael.
Dude, Ken hasn't GOT any balls, or a dick. And from the way you've capitulated after TFG insulted your wife and father, it would appear you don't, either.
Barbie's also been internet-memed into a crossover with the other big budget production premiering this week, from three-time Batman director Christopher Nolan:
Go see Barbie- she da BOMB!
In one case, she was more DA STORM. A co-worker took her eight-year-old daughter to see it Thursday night, at the same time Eleanor and I were driving home in a thundery downpour from her birthday dinner, and the power at Regal went out. They stayed, and the film came back on.
Barbie's got that kind of power.
----
Speaking of Christopher Nolan and film, I just saw this anecdote from a local friend who was not at the Barbie movie. Vince is a bit older than us, dad to two NT-expatriate twins I've known for ages from LJ, who I finally met both of for the first time at their mom's way-too-soon funeral a few summers ago. He carries on alone now and keeps busy, but not without the occasional excitement:
So I'm calmly watching television. A movie called Atomic Blonde. I've seen it. And in my foggy old memory, I don't remember seeing a bat fly across the front of the screen. It seems I have invited a tiny little bat into my household. In all honesty I wouldn't really mind it. However it is distracting. It took about 20 minutes to track the little bugger down, wrap it in a towel, and free him in the backyard. Who says single life is dull.
It reminded me of another moment from those days 30-odd years ago that have been top of mind lately with Eleanor's birthday the other day and Sandy's coming up tomorrow. Before our wedding, we had to do several marital counseling sessions with the minister who married us. Her study was in a converted mansion- George Eastman’s starter home- on Rochester’s East Avenue. Ten minutes into one of them, a bat got loose in the room. Susan was a bit phobic about them (wasn’t the first visit) and an umbrella was summoned.
That was 1987. We’re still here. Holy Good Karma, Batman!
This is that building, and its story:
This is the former Wilson Soule House, now owned by the Asbury Methodist Church since 1950. Now a little bit of history: This Richardson Romanesque structure, was designed by J. Foster Warner. The influence of the great American architect H.H. Richardson, and his contemporaries is apparent. Imposing in size, substantially built, and enriched by superior craftsmanship in the finest materials available, this mansion represents a high standard of architectural design in the 1880s.
Inside and out it is detailed with care and skill. The stone carving of the entrance frame is notable, as is the embossed copper work under the eaves and elsewhere about the roof. On the interior, large rooms have received finely carved woodwork. The most remarkable interior feature is the Teak Room. An oriental fantasy of this sort often was incorporated into large and richly furnished houses of the period. The Teak Room combined delicately carved woodwork with oriental scenes painted in sepia on canvas panels and a ceiling of gold filigree applied to red fabric. The room is well preserved, considering its age and fragility.
This mansion was built of Indiana limestone in 1892, at a cost of $100,000, for Wilson Soule. Soule, the son of the wealthy founder of a patent medicine manufacturing company (Hop Bitters Patent Medicine Co), occupied it for only two years when he was killed attempting to stop a runaway horse. The house was then purchased by George Eastman (Eastman Kodak Co) who lived here with his mother until his new mansion at 900 East Avenue was completed in 1905. During his stay Eastman added such improvements as an indoor shooting gallery and a photography laboratory in the basement. The structure has 35-rooms on three floors.
The building was to have been demolished in order to allow expansion of the church facilities however, recognizing the quality of the mansion, many members of the congregation protested, and the loss of this major work was averted. It is located at 1050 East Ave in Rochester, NY.
Weird, remembering that tale just a few days after I visited near the site of one of the biggest Frank Lloyd Wrongs ever committed in the name of "progress." The influence of Richardson on 1050 East Avenue also resonates, because we passed one of his most famed public buildings on the way to visiting what is now a collection of three others last night:
That's HH's creation of the longtime Buffalo State Asylum, replaced as a working facility in the 1960s, saved from demolition and decay between the 70s and oughts, finally brought back to life as a hotel-restaurant complex we once visited for an anniversary dinner in its Hotel Henry days, shuttered during COVID, and now back accepting guests as the Richardson Hotel but without the heavy restaurant and catering promotion that left Henry's name with a bad taste in locals' mouths after the shutdown.
That building was just in passing, though. We were on our way to the K of the newly-christened AKG Museum:
There you see the other two: the stately original Albright building to the right, and the long-delayed and still-not-quite open Gundlach building to its right; but we were headed to the Knox building to its other side:
No, but they can buy their name onto an art museum. SUCKLERS!
The galleries were not open last night, but they have been holding many activities either outdoors adjacent or, as last night, in a newly built atrium just inside that entrance up the road from the Bernie Bro, called the Ralph C. Wilson Junior Town Square.
That's its ceiling. Below, it is surrounded by a restaurant, studio space, and an interactive play-and-draw section for da kidz. The event we attended was styled as “an operatic examination of the ages and stages of life.” Music (low-key), dance (don't worry, Garth Fagen, these guys aren't comin' for ya), performance art and poems read by Carl Dennis, one of Buffalo's most esteemed poets still going at 83:
Even Eleanor couldn't quite make them all out. I asked a friend who knows him well, and he said that's somewhat intentional: in so many words, Carl believes poems should be read, not heard. And we will, now that I know the title of what they mostly came from.
The performance itself was a little woo-woo, tracing history from the creation of the universe billyuns and billyuns of years ago, to random stops at the million marks for human creation and creations, tools and art arriving in the hundreds of thousands of years ago, photography and space travel coming within the past few centuries, and climate change being acknowledged by those with no apparent power to do anything about it longer ago than you might think.
So we people watched between eras:
It was and it wasn’t- what it says on that t-shirt. On the one hand, it’s practically a religious rite around here, going to the Albright Knox (and we will always call it that, sorry, Gunrack;) on a summer evening, especially when it’s free. They even served a communion of sorts at the end in the little holey trays. (A friend said they were gimlets, but whether cocktail or mocktail, she wasn't sure- we weren't going to chance it.)
The most NOT SO BUFFALO part, though? In almost two hours in a public space, one even named for Ralph Wilson? I did not see a single person in a stitch of Bills gear. No Jasper Johns knockoff with Josh’s sacred 17 on it. Nobody reading three line poems with Nick Mike-Meyer/Doug Flutie/ Matt Barkley syllables. Carl Dennis didn’t even SHOUT!- in fact, they had to turn his mic up.
We also saw frens there- Bianca from poetry, doing one of her coffee paintings across the square-
- as well as musician Maria and several other poets in attendance and even invited participation.
The little kids in front were irrepressible all night, chasing balloons and kicking soccer balls, but at least not chewing on electrical cords like I saw one of similar age almost doing several nights earlier.
Because, wow. Both of us were out and about in the afternoon or evening for four of the past eight days and five of the previous ten. I added in a Food Truck Tuesday and a No Fun Rochester Wednesday to that total. Now we're home for the weekend, and the week until Thursday, when the gallery does another event in that "square" and I make one more trip out of town.
And maybe a movie in there somewhere. Anything good out there now?
During a trip to Europe in 1956 with her children Barbara and Kenneth, Ruth Handler came across a German toy doll called Bild Lilli. The adult-figured doll was exactly what Handler had in mind, so she purchased three of them. She gave one to her daughter and took the others back to Mattel. The Lilli doll was based on a popular character appearing in a comic strip drawn by Reinhard Beuthin for the newspaper Bild. Lilli was a blonde bombshell, a working girl who knew what she wanted and was not above using men to get it. The Lilli doll was first sold in Germany in 1955, and although it was initially sold to adults, it became popular with children who enjoyed dressing her up in outfits that were available separately.
That visit turned into a doll, an entire product line and of course a lawsuit- by Lili's German creators, who quickly capitulated and sold Mattel the patent and copyrights for just over $21,000 in 1964. I don't know; maybe somebody mentioned the war.
My sisters were long beyond such toys when I came along, and a generation later, Emily didn't have much use for them either; we once left her with a babysitter who regaled in microwaving her Barbies when her parents tried getting her into more traditional girl play. Still, we appreciated how she would occasionally stray outside the pink lines into more male-dominated occupations, and we'd mock her when she slipped back into trope with Talking Barbie lines like "Math class is tough!" Now, after numerous smaller film efforts over her life, Margot Robbie has brought her to life behind Greta Gerwig's direction; these tough independent womens' vision is hardly LET'S GO SHOPPING, GIRLS!. At least that's not ALL they're doing together, and the MAGAs are quite displeased. The Fox Five in skimpy skirts want her back in the kitchen, dammit, and that great Canadian patriot Ted Cruz is pissed that the film portrays her male soulmate: “Disappointingly low T from Ken," says Rafael.
Dude, Ken hasn't GOT any balls, or a dick. And from the way you've capitulated after TFG insulted your wife and father, it would appear you don't, either.
Barbie's also been internet-memed into a crossover with the other big budget production premiering this week, from three-time Batman director Christopher Nolan:
Go see Barbie- she da BOMB!
In one case, she was more DA STORM. A co-worker took her eight-year-old daughter to see it Thursday night, at the same time Eleanor and I were driving home in a thundery downpour from her birthday dinner, and the power at Regal went out. They stayed, and the film came back on.
Barbie's got that kind of power.
----
Speaking of Christopher Nolan and film, I just saw this anecdote from a local friend who was not at the Barbie movie. Vince is a bit older than us, dad to two NT-expatriate twins I've known for ages from LJ, who I finally met both of for the first time at their mom's way-too-soon funeral a few summers ago. He carries on alone now and keeps busy, but not without the occasional excitement:
So I'm calmly watching television. A movie called Atomic Blonde. I've seen it. And in my foggy old memory, I don't remember seeing a bat fly across the front of the screen. It seems I have invited a tiny little bat into my household. In all honesty I wouldn't really mind it. However it is distracting. It took about 20 minutes to track the little bugger down, wrap it in a towel, and free him in the backyard. Who says single life is dull.
It reminded me of another moment from those days 30-odd years ago that have been top of mind lately with Eleanor's birthday the other day and Sandy's coming up tomorrow. Before our wedding, we had to do several marital counseling sessions with the minister who married us. Her study was in a converted mansion- George Eastman’s starter home- on Rochester’s East Avenue. Ten minutes into one of them, a bat got loose in the room. Susan was a bit phobic about them (wasn’t the first visit) and an umbrella was summoned.
That was 1987. We’re still here. Holy Good Karma, Batman!
This is that building, and its story:
This is the former Wilson Soule House, now owned by the Asbury Methodist Church since 1950. Now a little bit of history: This Richardson Romanesque structure, was designed by J. Foster Warner. The influence of the great American architect H.H. Richardson, and his contemporaries is apparent. Imposing in size, substantially built, and enriched by superior craftsmanship in the finest materials available, this mansion represents a high standard of architectural design in the 1880s.
Inside and out it is detailed with care and skill. The stone carving of the entrance frame is notable, as is the embossed copper work under the eaves and elsewhere about the roof. On the interior, large rooms have received finely carved woodwork. The most remarkable interior feature is the Teak Room. An oriental fantasy of this sort often was incorporated into large and richly furnished houses of the period. The Teak Room combined delicately carved woodwork with oriental scenes painted in sepia on canvas panels and a ceiling of gold filigree applied to red fabric. The room is well preserved, considering its age and fragility.
This mansion was built of Indiana limestone in 1892, at a cost of $100,000, for Wilson Soule. Soule, the son of the wealthy founder of a patent medicine manufacturing company (Hop Bitters Patent Medicine Co), occupied it for only two years when he was killed attempting to stop a runaway horse. The house was then purchased by George Eastman (Eastman Kodak Co) who lived here with his mother until his new mansion at 900 East Avenue was completed in 1905. During his stay Eastman added such improvements as an indoor shooting gallery and a photography laboratory in the basement. The structure has 35-rooms on three floors.
The building was to have been demolished in order to allow expansion of the church facilities however, recognizing the quality of the mansion, many members of the congregation protested, and the loss of this major work was averted. It is located at 1050 East Ave in Rochester, NY.
Weird, remembering that tale just a few days after I visited near the site of one of the biggest Frank Lloyd Wrongs ever committed in the name of "progress." The influence of Richardson on 1050 East Avenue also resonates, because we passed one of his most famed public buildings on the way to visiting what is now a collection of three others last night:
That's HH's creation of the longtime Buffalo State Asylum, replaced as a working facility in the 1960s, saved from demolition and decay between the 70s and oughts, finally brought back to life as a hotel-restaurant complex we once visited for an anniversary dinner in its Hotel Henry days, shuttered during COVID, and now back accepting guests as the Richardson Hotel but without the heavy restaurant and catering promotion that left Henry's name with a bad taste in locals' mouths after the shutdown.
That building was just in passing, though. We were on our way to the K of the newly-christened AKG Museum:
There you see the other two: the stately original Albright building to the right, and the long-delayed and still-not-quite open Gundlach building to its right; but we were headed to the Knox building to its other side:
No, but they can buy their name onto an art museum. SUCKLERS!
The galleries were not open last night, but they have been holding many activities either outdoors adjacent or, as last night, in a newly built atrium just inside that entrance up the road from the Bernie Bro, called the Ralph C. Wilson Junior Town Square.
That's its ceiling. Below, it is surrounded by a restaurant, studio space, and an interactive play-and-draw section for da kidz. The event we attended was styled as “an operatic examination of the ages and stages of life.” Music (low-key), dance (don't worry, Garth Fagen, these guys aren't comin' for ya), performance art and poems read by Carl Dennis, one of Buffalo's most esteemed poets still going at 83:
Even Eleanor couldn't quite make them all out. I asked a friend who knows him well, and he said that's somewhat intentional: in so many words, Carl believes poems should be read, not heard. And we will, now that I know the title of what they mostly came from.
The performance itself was a little woo-woo, tracing history from the creation of the universe billyuns and billyuns of years ago, to random stops at the million marks for human creation and creations, tools and art arriving in the hundreds of thousands of years ago, photography and space travel coming within the past few centuries, and climate change being acknowledged by those with no apparent power to do anything about it longer ago than you might think.
So we people watched between eras:
It was and it wasn’t- what it says on that t-shirt. On the one hand, it’s practically a religious rite around here, going to the Albright Knox (and we will always call it that, sorry, Gunrack;) on a summer evening, especially when it’s free. They even served a communion of sorts at the end in the little holey trays. (A friend said they were gimlets, but whether cocktail or mocktail, she wasn't sure- we weren't going to chance it.)
The most NOT SO BUFFALO part, though? In almost two hours in a public space, one even named for Ralph Wilson? I did not see a single person in a stitch of Bills gear. No Jasper Johns knockoff with Josh’s sacred 17 on it. Nobody reading three line poems with Nick Mike-Meyer/Doug Flutie/ Matt Barkley syllables. Carl Dennis didn’t even SHOUT!- in fact, they had to turn his mic up.
We also saw frens there- Bianca from poetry, doing one of her coffee paintings across the square-
- as well as musician Maria and several other poets in attendance and even invited participation.
The little kids in front were irrepressible all night, chasing balloons and kicking soccer balls, but at least not chewing on electrical cords like I saw one of similar age almost doing several nights earlier.
Because, wow. Both of us were out and about in the afternoon or evening for four of the past eight days and five of the previous ten. I added in a Food Truck Tuesday and a No Fun Rochester Wednesday to that total. Now we're home for the weekend, and the week until Thursday, when the gallery does another event in that "square" and I make one more trip out of town.
And maybe a movie in there somewhere. Anything good out there now?