Macy’s Flower Show 2008

I expected a profusion of lushness, a riot of color and fragrance and exotic pollens unknown for their hallucinogenic effect until all the nice old ladies started batting at imaginary butterflies and talking to the manikins. Well:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Perhaps it was different when the show was on the 8th floor; wouldn’t know. Never went. It always seemed like a ladies-who-lunch sort of event, and I’m a guy who eats at noon standing up while typing. I’m also not the sort of person to whom this means anything:

 

They could put up a sign that said “Alkajehad Neoplasmia” and I would nod and say they’d look nice in the garden. It’s fun to say, but I can’t quite see myself driving to Bachman’s and asking for it by name. Tulips and roses I get; the rest are, well, flowers.

Do not mistake my ignorance for a critique of the event, though; the displays were full of exotic plants that would probably die in a day of culture shock if you put them next to begonias – whatever those are – and they made you long to live in a world where these amazingly flamboyant plants grow all year.

(Then again, maybe not; if you’ve read “The Ruins,” and intend on seeing the movie, you’ll probably want to avoid the show.)

There’s art as well – paintings by a fellow who seems to specialize in peasant women with enormous hindquarters, and photos of Havana. You’ll find large masks – here’s Quzelgroinal, God of being kicked very hard in a sensitive spot:

 

 

 I always wonder if these masks are based on designs originally used for priests in some ghastly rites; perhaps in 500 years there will be masks of Charles Manson up on the wall, and people will think they’re charming and primitive. The favorite of the little kids was a giant chicken attacked by flower-shaped antibodies:

 

 

 

If you’d laid spherical cactuses, you’d be making a sound too. The event runs for another week, so if you’re downtown, stop by. Don’t miss the Jennifer Lopez promotional wall, hawking her new perfume. If this tableau doesn’t make your winter-weary heart feel as though it’s suddenly lost in the tropics, nothing will: