Tuesday, February 07, 2006

What becomes a life

When my Aunt Snooze and John visit New York, their stays are choreographed to take in hilights of a Cole Porter-era city.

Days begin reasonably with bloody mary's at The King Cole Bar, and may close ay "21" but, memorably once, we all went to hear Bobby Short at the Cafe Carlyle.

Next week, Mr. Short's possessions (he passed away last march) will be auctioned at Christies.

I didn't think I had much place in my heart for celebrity-touched hankees and bath stools but, going through Mr. Short's posessions intimate and exotic, I'm wavering.

His stuff is endearing.

Somehow his bamboo library ladder, his diminutive Dunlop racket, his basket of walking sticks - items all on the very low end of the auction's price slope - seem invested with an intelligience and curiosity and good taste you wouldn't (I wouldn't):


Assign a clutch of walking sticks,


or attribute to a wood racket,


or link to a ladder.

And so, marches on, the cult of celebrity.


C - in lockstep.

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