Alas, it will be a quiet post-season for the city’s baseball fans. Last week, the Yankees bid farewell to their old stadium amid much fanfare; by contrast, the Mets final loss to the Marlins was marked by familiar frustration — yet another late season collapse and an ignominious end to a 44 year run at Shea.

(Half an hour before the Mets’ final out, The Brewers did their part to clinch the NL wild card with a 3-1 win against the Cubs.)

This night in late August, though — my second game of the season — the Mets’ playoff hopes were still alive. J and I arrived during the second inning to find our team had already posted up five runs in the first against the Braves. It was a perfect night for sitting in the stands — unseasonably cool for late summer — and what followed was probably the quickest game I’d ever seen at the stadium.  Just about 90 minutes later, we found ourselves chiming in on the eighth inning sing-a-long song: The Monkees’ “I’m a Believer“. (Bitter irony there.)

From up in the nosebleeds, we had a prime view of the Amazins’ future home, whose construction progress we’ve been watching all year.

Soon this will all be reduced to a pile of blue rubble.  While Shea was hardly ever a paradise, it will be strange riding the 7 next year, and finding it paved over to put up a parking lot.

NB: My involvement with the organization this season is the primary reason that this blog has fallen by the wayside of late.  Only so many hours in a day…

The gritty edge of Long Island City is not the typical venue for these types of fundraising events, but given the haute barnyard vibe, it felt appropriate somehow.  The rain, which had fallen steadily through most of the afternoon, cleared out in time for our evening at the “beach.”  As we checked in, I was tickled to be presented with a selection of flip-flops — pink for me! — more suitable than my office pumps for traipsing around on the still-wet sand.

The event, dubbed “Let Us Eat Local“, began with an awards presentation honoring local leaders and farms.  M and I hardly heard the announcements, perhaps because we were happily distracted by the ice cream and Long Island winery tables, which the organizers had positioned in the outer tents, farthest from the podium. (Later, Adrienne Young and her band would provide the musical entertainment from the same stage.) Over two dozen restaurants and purveyors were represented here in all — each offering tastes of their wares, emphasizing local, organic ingredients.  All presented with biodegradable servingware and utensils, of course.

We quickly assessed that it would not be possible for us to sample everything.  Highlights included the offerings from Cleaver Co. & The Green Table, Candle 79, and Craft.  Chef Tom Colicchio, though, was nowhere to be found; perhaps he was otherwise engaged with the new Top Cheftestants in town.

Egg salad on chive biscuit from Tiny’s Giant Sandwich Shop on Rivington:

Both the Telepan and Jean Georges tables ran out of food by the time we made our way their direction towards the end of the evening — we’d heard their dishes were delicious — but we did manage to get to the smokey homemade kielbasa from Gramercy Tavern, artfully presented on skewers, while chatting up their three-starred chef Michael Anthony.

After all the unique gourmet bites presented to us — tasty all — M and I agreed that the most satisfying of all was the humble Harry Hawk burger.  After all, very few things can compare to the simple pleasures of a great burger.

Check out the rest of the photos on Flickr.  And for more inspiration, read the New York Times profile on Will Allen — urban farmer and genius!

At the corner of Prince Street and Roosevelt Avenue sits Sifu Chio, an unassuming restaurant which my parents introduced to me as one of the best places in town to get a bowl of authentic Hong Kong-style wonton noodles – a simple thing, done very well. (Chowhounds like the dumplings.)  The restaurant isn’t quite a dive, but the aesthetic is rather plain and utilitarian: open kitchen, florescent lights overhead, menus on the table under glass and every dish served in disposable plasticware. We were the only ones in the shop this evening, probably owing in no small part to the river of wretched rainwater coursing along the sidewalk in front.

What had started out as an order of a few bowls of wonton noodles expanded to include a side of Chinese beef brisket, a dish of Chinese broccoli, a bowl of noodles and fish balls, and a bowl of shrimp watercress dumplings.  As the driving rain pounded against the darkened windows, we eagerly scarfed down every bite.

Hard to pinpoint precisely what sets these noodles apart from the hundreds of other bowls I’ve eaten over the years. Dumplings made to order — delicate, tender skins with deliciously fresh filling — are certainly one factor.  Mostly, I think, it’s the perfectly textured noodles. In Cantonese, the word to describe them is “song,” a wonderful adjective which has no true English equivalent. Song can be used to describe a bitingly crisp wedge of fruit, a firm yet succulent shrimp, or here, snappy, springy noodles.  Al dente in this context comes close, I suppose, but doesn’t quite get to the heart of the irresistibly pleasurable sensation: of tooth meeting initial resistance, then bursting through to tender, juicy center.  “Toothsome” (definition 2) is the best general English translation, though I find it lacking in the poetry of “song“.

Later that night, the second annual Sunnyside Shorts Film Festival, which had been scheduled to take place at The Sunnyside Gardens Park, was driven indoors to the newly inaugurated Sunnyside Senior Center at Sunnyside Community Services  (Note to self: 39th Street — not the same as 39th Place. A girl raised in Queens should know this. I plead temporary rain-blindness.)

We sat at round formica-topped tables to watch the 16 submissions by filmmakers hailing predominantly from New York — among them a few Sunnyside locals — with contributions from Europe and South America.  Several of the short films were set in New York City, and covered an array of genres: animation, documentaries, comedic skits, one painfully earnest teen film student exercise, a sock puppet music video…

Quality varied widely. My favorite was Yolanda Pividal’s 16-minute “Two Dollar Dance” — a poignant examination of the Latino clubs dotted along Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights where a clientele of immigrant men, isolated from mainstream society, gather in the evening to pay for female companionship, if only for the duration of a song — an update of the “dime a dance” girls of the taxi-dance halls of the 20s and 30s. (Unsurprisingly, the workers at these places are often exploited.)

But as credits rolled on the experimental “interpretive dance” short (oof), I discreetly slipped out with SH and AP, in search of the less challenging pleasures of frozen yogurt: green tea and blood orange for me.

R&B heartthrob (and boyfriend of Rihanna) Chris Brown sported a retro-looking red blazer for his Sam Cooke tribute on “Cupid“.  Minutes later, he picked up a black fedora and doffed the jacket — the better for showing off some of those famous acrobatic dance movies — for a performance of his hit “Forever.”

Terrence Howard, looking very dapper.  Howard earned an Oscar nomination — and a record deal — for his work in 2005’s Hustle & Flow.  His solo album Shine Through It debuted on Tuesday, but Howard was here tonight as a presenter only.  (Perhaps for the best; early reviews: not so good.)

Justin Timberlake garnered the most enthusiastic applause of the night with his Motown tribute: Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Give It Up,” followed by a duet with Beyoncé on “Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing.”

A Timbaland-produced medley (introduced by a heavily made up Tyra Banks) with One Republic, Chris Cornell and the Pussycat Dolls, who performed “When I Grow Up“.  The acts all took the stage for their final bow, joined by Timbaland, who strolled out like a triumphant fashion designer at the end of a successful runway show.

Fergie was less successful in her tribute to punk, despite the assist from 63(!)-year old Deborah Harry on “Call Me.”

Mariah Carey, who this spring surpassed Elvis Presley’s record with her 18th chart-topping single “Touch My Body.”  Only The Beatles, with 20 No. 1 hits, have more.  (To commemorate, NYC lit the Empire State Building in pink and purple in her honor.)

Kid Rock closed out the show with his summer hit “All Summer Long“.  Special guest Lynyrd Skynyrd took the stage to segue off the classic riff and add a chorus of “Sweet Home Alabama,” which brought the star-studded crowd to its feet.

Condé Nast Media Group’s event — now in its fifth year — kicked off New York’s Fashion Week, which runs through September 12, 2008.  The rock concert/fashion show was hosted by Denis Leary (whose rotating designer outfits included one evening gown) and boasted a line-up of musical performances by Beyoncé, Justin Timberlake, Mariah Carey, Fergie, Black Eyed Peas, Chris Brown, Rihanna, Pussycat Dolls, Debbie Harry, Keith Urban, Kid Rock, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Chris Cornell, Solange and Duffy.

Proceeds from the concert benefited Stand Up To Cancer, an organization that distributes grants for collaborative cancer research.

Here’s Rihanna, kicking things off with Madonna’s fashion anthem, “Vogue“:

Beyoncé channeled Etta James (also in attendance tonight — first row) in her performance of “At Last” — a preview of her role in the upcoming film, Cadillac Records.

During the concert, the three major television networks aired an hour-long, commercial-free fundraising telethon for Stand Up To Cancer.  ($100M was raised that night.)  At 8PM, the cameras broadcast live from Fashion Rocks where 13 women singers performed the charity single, “Just Stand Up“.

From left to right: Keyshia Cole, Fergie, Leona Lewis, Ciara, Carrie Underwood, Mariah Carey, Mary J Blige,  Beyoncé, Miley Cyrus, Rihanna, Ashanti, Natasha Bedingfield and Nicole Scherzinger.

British singer-songwriter, Duffy and her dancers, performing her hit “Mercy“:

Black Eyed Peas, who covered The Rolling Stones’ “Miss You“:

Presenters Tommy Hilfiger and Gossip Girl’s Leighton Meester, whose seat was directly behind mine.

More photos to come… as always, you can check out the full set on Flickr.  For more on the musical performances, tune in on Tuesday, September 9 at 9PM ET when CBS will be broadcasting the concert.

An impromptu dance area opened up, and soon the floor was filled with couples, swishing and spinning into the late summer sunset.

Click for the video:

With affection and thanks, B.

I was last at this theater on West 22nd Street for George Bernard Shaw’s The Devil’s Disciple in December, so knew that the company was well used to accomplishing much with minimal resources – cast and space-wise.  Still, the story, based faithfully on the 1873 novel by Jules Verne, stretched the limits over the ensuing two hours of action: 5 actors, playing 39 characters, and one simple set, representing 24,000 miles of rugged land and high seas.

Mark Brown adapted the adventure of unflappable English gentleman Phileas Fogg (Daniel Stewart), who makes a £20,000 wager that he can circumnavigate the globe in the titular 80 days. The journey, made with his French manservant Passepartout, takes Fogg from London to Suez to Bombay to Calcutta to Hong Kong to Yokohama to San Francisco to New York to Liverpool and back to London. Mistaken identities, skirmishes with local officials, weather delays, a lady in distress and sheer bad luck all seem to conspire against Fogg meeting his deadline, but we all know how things turn out in the end, don’t we?

The 19th century source material veered at times into political incorrectness in its characterization — or rather: caricaturization — of foreign cultures, and that bias unfortunately also colors this production. Passepartout (Evan Zes)’s Pepé Le Pew accent, while good for a few early chuckles, wore thin after a while.  Overall, though, this was a pleasant enough romp that received middling to good reviews in the press.

Most fun to watch was how the indispensable pair of on-stage foley artists kept flawless pace with the action when called upon to suggest swaying steamers, chugging trains, a lumbering elephant, a raging typhoon, a sledge through a snowstorm and gunplay with Apaches. (Contrary to popular impression, however: no hot air balloon.) In an age of ever more elaborate special effects, their work was a refreshing return to basics.

Incidentally, Fogg’s £19,000 in travel fees would have been the equivalent of nearly £1.5M today, adjusted for inflation. It now costs considerably less to make the same trip, even when accounting for fuel surcharges and airline baggage fees.

After a late May visit to Central Park’s Delacorte Theater for Hamlet, we continued the summer streak with Shakespeare in the Park’s second production: Hair.  This time, it was SYB who scored a pair of tickets through the Public’s virtual line.  (No Craigslist for us.)

The landmark rock musical was presented here (also for free) last September in a concert staging to commemorate the 40th anniversary of its debut at the Public Theater’s inaugural 1967 season. The music by Galt MacDermot, with lyrics by Gerome Ragni and James Rado, is notable as an era-defining soundtrack, but remain familiar to the Flower Children’s children through television commercials… and the closing credits of The 40 Year Old Virgin.

The Public’s impassioned artistic director Oskar Eustis, profiled in The Times in June, introduced tonight’s performance by underscoring the continuing relevance of Hair’s anti-Vietnam War anthems by drawing parallels with our current “unpopular war abroad” — a sentiment greeted by enthusiastic applause.

(As for the connection to Shakespeare, one need look no further than the song “What a Piece of Work is Man,” which draws almost entirely from Hamlet’s famous speech.)

Joyous performances by a diverse and wildly charismatic cast (under the direction of Diane Paulus), the 12-piece on-stage band, that famous flash of group nudity… Although Hair is in structure little more than a revue with just the wispiest suggestion of a storyline, this is one situation where the whole truly is more than the sum of its quaintly dated parts. And how about “the duo of hotness” that is Jonathan Groff and Will Swenson? (Groff is best known for his Tony-nominated role as Melchior Gabor in Broadway’s Spring Awakening;  Christopher J. Hanke took over the role of Claude on August 17 and will remain through the show’s extended September 14 run, replacing Groff, who had a prior commitment.)

Check out the lauding reviews from New York magazine, The Post, Variety, Time Out New York, and The Times.

From the opening “Aquarius” to the plaintive “Let The Sun Shine In” finale, it seemed at times that half of those in attendance were singing along with the performers.  When the show reached its explosive conclusion, and the entire audience was invited on stage for a riotous dance with the actors and musicians, we could not help but be swept up in the Summer of Love… or at least the 2008 approximation of it.

Flickr preview: Labor Day at the U.S. Open, 4th Round, featuring Andy Murray and Serena Williams, both of whom advanced to the semis.  Also: cast members from HBO’s Entourage.

In 2006, popular Sunnyside joint Pio Pio Riko opened a location on Greenpoint’s Manhattan Avenue.  Like the original, this Peruvian restaurant and steak house specializes in pollo a la brasa, i.e., spit-roasted chicken; the front of the restaurant prominently displays racks of rotisserie chicken slowly rotating behind a glass-doored oven.

Pio Pio Riko’s menu features poultry, steak and seafood, including such Peruvian staples such as ceviche and plantains.  Tonight, though, we were here just for the chicken.

We munched on handfuls of the complimentary cancha (salted, toasted kernels of maize) from a bowl set on the red and white topped tables — one of several conspicuous displays of Peruvian pride.  In the background, the flat-screen television played — of all things — Showgirls.

The plate of quarter-chicken with white rice and red beans was a terrific value at under $5: all crisp skin and tender, moist meat, chunks of which we dipped greedily into the irresistibly creamy, spicy house ají sauce.  (Bonus plátano maduro courtesy of B’s plate.)

Pio Pio Riko is not related to the well-loved Pio Pio in Jackson Heights, the Upper East Side, the Bronx, the Upper West Side… or any of the seven Pio Pio branches throughout the city.  RM once remarked (with only slight exaggeration) that all Peruvian chicken places are called “pío pío” — the Spanish interpretation of a chirping chick sound.  Cuter and catchier than “coc co co coc” — Spanish for “cluck cluck” — or “kikirikí kikirikí,” which is Spanish for “cock-a-doodle-doo.”