Music of the Subway

Everyone in New York ends up on the subway at some point, and most of us end up there at least twice a day.  It is definitely its own land with a distinct set of rules, people, smells and sounds that inhabit it and give it its color.  At first, everything is exciting, somethings are off-putting, but eventually you become desensitized to it all.

There are always performers in the subways.  Musicians, dancers, silver painted statue people, mini-Michael Jacksons, lady Michael Jacksons (just about every variety of Michael Jackson you can imagine) and for the most part they become a piece of the background noise.  But last Sunday I was at the Atlantic/Barclay stop in Brooklyn heading to a last stop in Target before leaving town for a bit, and I heard the strains of "How Great Thou, Art" coming from a soothing, and unique instrument, which at first I thought might be a theremin, but it was instead it was Maestro Moses Josiah and his musical saw.  He had an almost ethereal expression and unlike all the other people performing in the subway, he had the aura of someone giving a gift that you were welcome to take if you like as you moved through your day.  He was so earnest, and the music rather haunting, so that I had to pause a moment and just take it in.

He accepts donations, and sells cds, so if you are ever in New York and pass Mr. Josiah, take a moment and appreciate him.  He and his music have stayed with me long after hearing it.

A Night At the Whitney

Last night was a truly wonderful New York kind of night.  It was my last chance to hang out with Kirk for a while, and though I had mentioned having a quiet evening of packing and cleaning, when he mentioned the possibility of going to the Whitney (which is where he currently works, and is open late on Saturday nights) I jumped at it.

The opportunity to be on the terrace at sunset, looking down on New York city seemed like just what I needed.  We met up at the Barnes and Noble downtown, had dinner at the Hollywood Diner and walked over to the Whitney.  I was less excited about the thought of touring the Whitney than I might have been before I toured the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Maybe I had "museum fatigue" if that's even a thing, but if so, the actual experience of The Whitney Museum of American Art has cured me.

It was founded in 1931 by Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney, an exceedingly wealthy society lady and patron of the arts.  She had offered her collection of contemporary art to the Met, only to have it rejected, as they weren't interested in 20th century art.  So, she founded her own museum, which flourished under her guardianship, and continued to flourish after her death in 1942.  It was temporarily closed in 2014 until it reopened this year in its current home.  Like a lot of museums, the Whitney's building is as much a work of art as the pieces it displays, and the view from the terrace is literally breathtaking.

Stepping out onto the terrace, seven flights up, onto a jutting look out, was so unsteadying and exhilarating.  To look in one direction and see the harbor and the ships, to look at the Statue of Liberty, turn and look at The Empire State Building, The Chrysler Building...to be right in the center of these icons of New York... it was incredible.  You could turn left to right and see nothing but the city and its colored lights below, like jewels... the glamorous hotel next to us, with it's myriad of open hotel rooms that you could look right into as well as the ball room with its enormous chandelier...

It made me feel like a part of something miraculous and man made and distinctly American.  Sure I was a tiny little piece of it, but I was a piece, nonetheless.  I was hit with all of these cultural touchtones that make up the thoughts and feelings and dreams I have had about this city since I was a kid... snatches of music from Guys and Dolls, thoughts of ladies swathed in black furs heading into the theatre from the snow, Billie Holiday, taxicabs, Friends, the many disgusting little sweatbox convenience stores that sell sandwich meats and so therefore feel perfectly justified in calling themselves delis... all of it, the good and the bad mingled together to make this incredible picture of the city.  This city that I am now a part of.

After a while we stepped back inside, as the view became a little too disorienting, and it was time to return to the art.  

The collection is phenomenal, and while the museum is well known for its collection of Edward Hopper pieces, I have to say I found them to be some of the least exciting pieces in the collection, especially compared to the work of Thomas Hart Benton.  Benton is my favorite painter.  He'd been dismissed for awhile as sentimental Americana, but it's some of those very qualities that I love about his work.  He captures both the beauty and the weariness of people.  He captures the excitement and glamor of human diversions, but doesn't dismiss its seamier aspects.  

One of his greatest works was recently reconstructed at the Met, and it was by far my favorite exhibit there, when I visited last February.

At The Whitney, they have what is currently my favorite piece of art.  It's called Poker Night, and was inspired by Streetcar Named Desire.  It exemplifies what I love about Bennet's work.

There were some other wonderful works, most of them on the 2nd floor, which focused on the entertainments people use to make their lives seem a little lighter, and highlighted both the grimy and the gorgeous at once.  

The night continued with a walk on the High Line (part of a discontinued train line which is elevated above the city, and should not be missed on any trip to New York city) and finished with a piece of the Black Forest Cheesecake at Empire Diner , which is a beautiful art deco restaurant in Chelsea, founded by Chef Amanda Freitag.  

On the walk to the subway I snapped a couple pics that glimpse at some of the overlooked beauty that is everywhere in New York...

All in all, it was a great New York night, and it should more than hold me over while I'm upstate.

A Little Bit of Joy

Theres' a lot about New York that can seem somewhat squalid and "gritty".  There are the the rats, of course, the piles of garbage at night along the street, the blank stares of people wrecked by their mind numbing days, the smell of urine and gin that permeates the air at times... but if you are looking for it, even in some of the hotter, more tepid and grim places, like the subway at 2AM, there are these little pieces of art that give a little bit of hope and joy to the city.

It's this attention to detail, this history, this sense of timelessness that is just one of the reasons I love New York.

Roommate Wanted

Tomorrow morning I head out to Greene, New York for six weeks.  It doesn't feel like long at all, but when I realize that I've only been in New York for a month... It's been an exciting time to say the least.  Things come up, surprises arise, and as a person on the journey I'm learning to go along with the flow.  I mean, for the most part these circumstances have little to do with me, and so I do what I can when I can.

It is a strange feeling to be without a permanent home, and once I've resolved that situation I imagine it will go a long way to making me feel more secure, and less like a visitor here.

I have been checking out the various member sites, Facebook groups and Craigslistings to seek a solution to it, and a little while ago I had my first visitation for a possible place to live.  It was sited as...

1. Short term or long term
2. One Bedroom
3. $850
4. Pre-War building

Sign me up!!!

I would be sharing with a retired ballerina who is currently working in the wellness industry. I put aside my stereotypical and completely unfair preconceptions about ballerinas being high maintenance and somewhat, bat shit crazy, and called her up.  She was very kind.  Really open and forth right, with a deep voice and a strong voice to match her equally strong convictions that Brooklyn and Williamsburgh are terrible, the true working class have long since left the area and it takes hours to get anywhere from there.  She was an artist from the Warhol days, and she knew how it was.  There was something in her vocal presence and energy that sang of "Native New Yorker".  

We made an appointment for the next week to see the room, which would be all I would be renting as she was "doing the New York thing" of renting out her bedroom and using her living room as a bedroom. Hmmm.  

I got to the Bronx an hour before our appointment, and had plenty of time to look around.  It was situated right next to Yankee Stadium, which could be tricky during game time, and didn't seem as easy to get to as she had claimed.  Plus, the city was...grittier than I'd expected.  The building itself was gorgeous.  A relic of times gone by, gigantic, gated, and the lobby was cavernous and completely empty, which seemed strange to me.  

I gave the woman a call and let her know I was down stairs.  She was headed down to the basement to recycle some things, so she would see me in a bit. About five minutes later a tiny little woman in red and green square cut spectacles greeted me carrying two six foot tall empty boxes, which I immediately took from her.  She had salt and pepper hair in a pixie cut, and that's what she seemed like to me.  A no-nonsense, get 'er done, New York pixie in her early sixties.  She proceeded to lead me down to the basement and regale me with the history of the building, its amenities, and conveniences.  

She seemed to take in everything around her with a critical eye.  The garbage cans needed to be moved, etc.  "What are you doing??" she called to the guy at the end of the hall who was quite blatantly propping the door.  "Are you loading something in?  Cause I can't have that door propped.  I just had a strange person come up to my apartment door and knock saying he was with electricity!"  

Of course, like a clumsy Saint Bernard I bumped the overhead fluorescent light as I stacked the boxes in recycling.  There was a slight sizzle and a flash.  "I'm gonna have to call Phil about that.  Can you hear it??  Can you hear it sizzling?  Lemme call Phil."  

She apparently had the Superintendent on speed dial.  I was mortified, but neither did I want to burn down this stunning pre-war building on my first visit.  Phil came down and replaced the bulb, I took a quick peek at the laundry facilities, met one of the neighbors, a short squat opera singer, and we headed up to see the apartment.  I also picked up in the conversation between them that my pixie friend was the Vice Chair of the Board for the building, which is a co-op.

The apartment was sizable, the kitchen was clean, and it looked like something could be done to make it quite homey.  However, nothing had been done at the moment.  There was not a painting hung on any of the walls, no pictures, the furniture was sparse, though antique, and I was surprised to discover she had lived there more than two years.  There was a guy working construction in her apartment though, so maybe that was it?  He had assembled and installed a couple of IKEA bookshelves, and was currently working on the lighting in the kitchen.   We walked through her bedroom to the room that would be mine, and it gave me pause.  

I understand it's "the New York thing" but it seemed like it would be strange if she was asleep by ten PM and I was creeping through her bedroom late at night to get to my own, or if I had a friend over...just, very close for comfort.  The room itself was quite lovely, with a beautiful view of the park below, and lace curtains blowing in the wind.  It was a little feminine for my tastes, but could be worked with.  So possibly?  I knew I wasn't ready to make a commitment at that point, and she had to rush me out anyway, because she had a last minute Skype conference scheduled in her kitchen, so before I knew it I was out the door and shuffling into the rickety elevator back down to the ground floor.  

There were definitely possible issues.  But it was very cheap rent, and was available September 1st.  If I ended up booking the Greene gig (something that was still up in the air at that time) maybe??

But I had had some crazy roommate situations in the past in Los Angeles, and I wasn't eager to sign up for another.  As nice as this lady seemed, she was very assertive, and in everyone's business.  I couldn't imagine living a life in her apartment that would be in any way private.  

After I booked the gig in Greene (it feels so weird to say that word- "gig".  Any time I say it I feel like one of the Archies) I gave her a call.  The timing would certainly work, and it would be nice to have something secure when coming back.  I left her a message saying I was interested, would be back on the 6th of September, and was interested.  Maybe we could start it out for a couple of months, make sure it worked out.  

However, it is not to be.  She left me a message with a lot of her former friendliness drained away, saying, no, she needed the apartment rented as of the 1st.  The 6th would not work out, and she needed at least a year commitment (so much for "short term ok").  Since she was just getting a million calls on the rental, so it didn't look like it was going to work out, even though I seemed like a lovely person.  Click.  If course, as I'd mentioned in my message I was open and amenable to whatever would work for her, but apparently, she didn't want to converse about it.

Damn.  It's strange how much rejection can sting, even when it's an opportunity you aren't even sure you really want.  Maybe if I'd seemed a little more sold on it?  Maybe if I hadn't been 6 ft 3 to her 5'5 self, a seeming physical threat?  I guess we will never know.

In the meantime, I will have a [place to stay for the next six weeks and will do what I can to look for a new apartment, even if it is from three and a half hours away.

Stacey Kent At Birdland

There are some singers who excel at communicating story through song.  The inner life of the singer is awake in their eyes, each tiny gesture, they are empowered with the ability to move an audience through communicating this intangible feeling.  Their voices are also beautiful, but when it comes to technique, they tend to sacrifice perfect musicality for the emotion.  Then there are your Audra's, your Barbra Streisands-  those who sound beautiful, flawless tone, and yet... there's a studied quality, something a little removed.

I've always preferred the former to the latter.  Give me an actress with a gorgeous voice who rely puts her heart on the line.  It's that bravery, that emoting and sharing that really gets me.  Bernadette Peters, Patti Lupone, Sara Vaughn...

Stacey Kent is a rare singer who does both.  Her technique is flawless, and the interpretation as dictated by the notes and instructions in the sheet music, coupled with what the accompaniment is doing, really informs and feeds her performance.  She's always there in the moment of the music, and alive in the story that the song is telling.  Garland was much the same way, although she preserved her instrument less well, sacrificing her voice in order to give all she had.  Save nothing, at times seemed to be her motto.

Kent is not a belter.  She has a kittenish, caressing quality to her sound that resonates with another era, and this quality is perfectly illustrated in songs like Violets for My Furs, You're Looking At Me, and I've Got A Crush On You from her cd Dreamsville.  She is playful, open, and lyrical.  She is like a little Jazz Pixie, whole and healing through song.  I've felt this even through her recordings, and until last night had never had the chance to see her live.  Thank God for New York, because if your eyes and ears are open, your musical inspirations will be passing through at some point and you will get to take part in their brilliance.  And I do think Stacey Kent is brilliant.  

Last night as I watched her (from the front table at Birdland) I was just awash in her voice, in the skill of the musicians around her, and in their calm and confident presence.  I could have sat and listened for hours.  And it's strange, but after seeing her live... I'm not ready to go back to the recordings, as great as they are.  I just want to keep hold of that moment a little longer when artist and audience were in the same room, fed off of each other, making a unique moment.  Forgive the waxing rhapsodic, but it's wonderful when someone you know in a limited capacity exceeds your expectations when you experience the complete artist.

If you aren't familiar with Stacey, I have two CDs I recommend.  First, there is Dreamsville, which I mentioned prior, second is the Grammy nominated Breakfast On The Morning Tram which strays from the standards a bit to focus on collaborations with Kent's producer and saxophonist and composer Jim Tomlinson, and novelist and lyricist Kazu Ishiguro.  Each album is wonderful in its own right, and either or both are a perfect gateway to Kent's art.

Kent is playing at Birdland 8:30 and 11PM tonight (the 22nd) as well as Thursday and Friday, and there are still a few tickets available.  

Miranda

Since I was twelve I have been somewhat obsessed with mermaids.  Up until my freshman year in High School I held on to a stubborn belief that they could exist out in the world.  My logic was that no one could prove they don't exist, so...they just might.  This logic allowed me to hold on to my desperate hope that there was still magic in the world that rendered my sudden weight gain, self confidence and low grades in Algebra as truly insignificant.

I still believe there's magic in the world.  I just don't know if it takes the form of beautiful feminine creatures in the depths of the ocean.  But I'm still fascinated by them.  I love how much they own their sensuality and their desires.  How primal they are.  Sometimes they are innocent- like Madison in Splash, and sometimes they are simply unschooled in our societal "niceness" and manners like in Mr. Peabody and the Mermaid.  But always, they are mysterious, enchanting, and powerful, whether they know it or not.  That's certainly true of the mermaid at the center of this oddball little English gem Miranda.

Glynis Johns as Miranda

It stars Glynis Johns as Miranda, a mermaid who catches herself a Doctor on a fishing holiday and convinces him to take her home with him for a vacation.  Merriment ensues.  Glynis (best known for her work in Mary Poppins) is eccentric, guileless and winning.  She's always had an offbeat quality to her, and is at her best when the powers that be allow her to live in this land.  She's that somewhat rare breed, the beautiful character actress.  The director uses her skills to fullest in this story that sets Miranda loose in a world of extremely civilized men and women all doing the proper thing.  

Of course, being the late forties and on a limited budget, the special effects are somewhat simple compared to what is available today, but to me, it only adds to the charm of it.  Remember when special effects were meant to support the story, and not thought of as an element that could drive box office on its own?  One thing the film doesn't lack is sexual innuendo.  I'm assuming the English didn't have the strong censors that Hollywood had at the time, because there a lot of tongue in cheek sexual references sprinkled throughout the movie, which surprised me, knowing their reputation for being somewhat...repressed.

There are also a great number of character actors and actresses filling out the cast, including David Tomlinson, who would eventually play her husband in Mary Poppins, and Margaret Rutherford.  Margaret is best known for playing Miss Marple (whom Agatha Christie detested in the role) and she's wonderfully bulldoggish in the role of Miranda's "nurse".  

Margaret Rutherford

Also worth noting is Googie Withers as the Doctors wife.  Her reactions to Miranda are surprisingly nuanced for a comedy of this type, and very English.

Miranda is available on Netflix streaming, well worth a view, and was very successful in 1948.  It even spawned a sequel, Mad About Men (which is completely skippable).  There was also a statue commissioned near  Dartmouth Castle inspired by Miranda, and it has become a tourist attraction in its own right.

Miranda, Mermaid of Dartmouth, as sculpted by Elisabeth Hadley

3 Drinks and a Chanteuse

Thursday I headed over to 54 Below and caught Charles Busch's cabaret show That Boy/That Girl.  And, since the last time I'd gone out to the theatre with my dear friend Leslie I was nearly thirty minutes late to meet her, this time I gave myself plenty of time to get there.  We had a 6PM dinner reservation, and I arrived in plenty of time to saunter casually in, take a seat, order a vodka soda, and take in the setting.

It feels very posh and expensive, all red and gold, drapey and dim.   It's what a friend of mine used to call "chi-chi poo poo", which I've since made my own (and that's "ch" as in chic, not chick).

It won't surprise you to know there were a lot of queens in this place.    They started filing in and making jokes to the waiters, responding when asked "Can I get you anything tonight?"  "Yes, you can get me that hunk of a driver in delivery truck outside!" There was a lot of name dropping and dishing, and I of course loved it.  What I wouldn't have given for super human hearing.

Pretty soon Leslie arrived, we ordered, the lights dimmed, and out stepped Charles Busch.   I have to admit, I was a little apprehensive.  I had discovered Charles Busch when I was in my early twenties and I stumbled across a copy of his play The Lady In Question, a parody of 1940's classic war propaganda films.  It focused on a beautiful, but self centered violinist, who was not interested in politics and was traveling through Europe on a musical tour.  Charles had written the part for himself, and the photos in the book showed, not the clownish drag I had come to expect, but a glamorous leading lady.  That play opened up a whole new world of possibilities to me, because it said you could do drag, and in your own way, with your personal observations as a man who loves them, raise up the female stars and archetypes of that era for reexamination and praise.  

I'd played a couple of women myself at that point, and was always upset by or dismissive of the one's who played women in order to mock them, or to wear a kind of mask that allowed these performers to let loose their anger and rage with the safety of a female mask.  I wanted to step into these women's shoes for awhile and show the person within, not to mock, but to pay tribute, and to highlight the ridiculousness in ALL of us, as people.

Here was someone who seemed to be doing that, and doing it very well.

After that, I read and saw as much of his work as I could get my hands on, and watched a fascinating documentary entitled The Lady In Question Is Charles Busch, which follows his career, his art, and captures his essence as well as anything else I've seen.  Suffice it to say, he's kind of an artistic hero of mine, and heroes have been known to topple from their pedastles.  

I needn't have worried.  He is a charming raconteur, a delicate interpreter of music and lyrics, and he has a wonderful way of playing the drama behind a song, playing the opposite of the meaning that might have originally been intended to bring new depth.  He's not mawkish, or artificial, but true and authentic.  He's steeped in the femininity of this character, and his/her sensitivity.  I say "character: because, while Charles is himself on-stage, he is still performing himself. It's that fine line of practiced revealing, and very carefully structured intimacy that cabaret is.  As an artist he is a bit of a "magpie", taking the shiny bits of art and glamour and making new works of them, and living in them so fully that they actually become him, and he them.  And he has such a sharp, crisp humor delivered with dead pan technique. It doesn't feel l like an act, but it does feel like this soul found these old films at an early time of life, films that expressed the things already felt, but also further revealed himself to his own eyes, in a way that maybe nothing else had before or since.

 It's a very intimate show, a show in which you are let into the heart and soul of a person, bravely and adeptly.  Leslie, who was not as familiar as I was with his work, said that within moments of his arriving on stage she knew she was in good hands.  I couldn't have said it better.

There's one last chance to see That Boy/That Girl on July 23rd.  

D.A.R.E. to Sell Bongs

I remember D.A.R.E.  I don't know if you are of this age to remember this program, and the details are fuzzy to me, even now.  But it amounted to bringing police officers in to the schools to catch us before we were caught by the druggies and the dope peddlers.  And it worked on me, for sure.  I was a little Victorian.  No smoking!  No drinking!  That little feather that some girls were wearing in their hair???  Don't even think about it.  I was a very savvy fifth grader and I knew that the metal "clip" was really meant to hold drugs!!!!

So when I was in SOHO a couple of days and spotted these on the street...

Now this seems daring to me.  We know what these are for Mr. Vendor, man!!!!   These are not plant holders or decorative vases!!!

Summer's Eve...

It's a balmy summer evening in Brooklyn, just past eleven, and it seemed like a nice time to jot down some thoughts, so I washed the dishes, made myself a nightcap (oh yes I did) and put on summer music.  To me, summer music can be languid like the Flamingos doo-wop cover of I Only Have Eyes For You, or it could be anything by Astrud Gilberto, that music seems meant for summer, or even big band hits and toss in some Jeff Buckley.  Truth be told, I'm not sure what exactly defines summer music, but I know it when I hear it.

It's strange how malleable our emotions are, or does it speak to the power of music, that a certain song can come on and it makes me feel a very particular way?  I don't mean "that song that he and I listened to when we" fill in the blank.  I just mean the way certain songs can make you joyful or whimsical or melancholy.  Right now, I'm missing my friends... Mark, Meg, Julie... my folks, my little dog...and I know I'll see them again, but I sure do wish they could all be with me here now.  Of course, now I get to be with my friends Kirk and Heather, and Leslie, and Melissa and Kathleen, and I couldn't be more grateful.  Every decision has a trade off I suppose.  The trade I've made is so I can be close to opportunity and creativity, and the energy that this town has.

It's funny, but it doesn't feel at all like Los Angeles.  In LA I would hide what I did for a living.  I would never tell anyone that I was in a show or that I sang, or what have you.  And every time I heard someone talking about their new head shots my stomach would churn and Id become a caustically bitter bitch.  I guess, in LA, it was just so easy to say your were performer.  Anyone could get head shots and dream of fame and fortune or reality tv stardom.  But the theatre?  You ain't doing it for the money, that's for sure.  So if you are doing it, you must really love and be devoted to it.  At least that's the way it feels.  So when I hear someone talking about their auditions as I'm typing away on my computer at a coffee shop, or planning an indie music video, it feeds me.  Makes me feel a part of a community in a way that LA never did.

Another thing about New York.  I know an agent helps.  But it's not required that you have one to get into an auction.  I couldn't even get seen in LA.  Everything I got was because of who I knew, my friends who trusted me and knew that I would deliver something.  I was really grateful for those times, but of course it's nice to win a job from a stranger, and what they see right in front of them in the moment.

Tomorrow I'm seeing Charles Busch at 54 Below in his cabaret show That Boy/That Girl.  Admittedly, there was a moment when I thought I wouldn't go, as money is something I need to keep track of, but... Mr. Busch has written some amazing things in his lifetime.  Psycho Beach Party, Die Mommie Die!, Vampire Lesbians of Sodom, among others.  And his approach to drag is the kind I appreciate and understand.  Yes, it's about looking good, but there's something under the surface... he brings an intelligence to drag, a devotion to the great ladies, that really resonates, and he channels that spirit and glamour like no one else.  It's an incredible talent.  And when someone like that, someone I identify with and take inspiration from, is performing a cabaret show, it's a good moment to not only listen and enjoy, but to learn.  So I'll give you an update tomorrow or the next day for sure.

Somewhere That's Greene

No, the title doesn't refer to the recent Encores Revival of Little Shop that was by all accounts incredible.  Instead it refers to a town three and a half hours from the city.  They have an Equity theatre that is producing Jeff Daniels' comedy Escanaba in Da Moonlight about two brothers and their father on an annual deer hunting trip.  They are replacing a cast member, and conducted auditions to fill the role.

It was the first thing I submitted for in New York, through the Equity website, and I got an email from the Artistic director that I might be a match.  We set up an audition and I went to work.  I read the script, printed up the sides, made some notes, studied the Upper Peninsulan accent I would need to do the part (it shares some qualities with the Minnesotan accent, but is definitely distinct from it) and bright and early Sunday morning I did a couple readings from the sides.  I felt it was a really strong reading, but you never know.

Well last night I was told I'd booked the role, and as of this morning it's official!!  I'll be playing Reuben Soady, the elder son of the Soady family.  He's ever landed a buck, and if he doesn't do it this year, he will go down in the records as being the oldest one in family history to have never landed one.  It's a comedy very immersed in the UP culture, full of references to Pasties, home brew, drinking and hunting, and aliens.  Yep.

I leave on July 27th for six weeks in Greene.  I'll be living at the theatre with the rest of the cast, though I'll have a private room, access to a company car, and will have a day off each week.  It should be pretty exciting, and I should have plenty of time for other creative projects, so hopefully it will be conducive to writing.  Of course, as a human, I am completely against deer hunting, so it will be interesting to play a character that is so immersed in it, but we will see how it goes.  It's a story, after all.

I'll definitely send updates about how the show is progressing.  Right now Im just grateful to have found paying work so quickly that is in my chosen field, and affirms that there are good opportunities out here for actors and artists.  And Greene's high temps are typically in the seventies and eighties, so it will provide welcome relief from the heat.  Halleluj!!!

I Is Chef!

I've always had the vague feeling, not that I usually act on it quickly, that a place you live doesn't feel like home until you've broken in the kitchen by making a full out meal.  I'm not talking boxed soup, but some delicious recipe (it's best if it's one you've never tried).  Cooking in this kitchen was a joy, and a bit of an adventure, as the stove is compact, and I'm not very familiar with what utensils and spices are available, so in some cases I had to make do.  I found a really delicious chicken recipe I'd been dying to try (found it on Pinterest, that's right) and I was really pleased with the results.

(Picture for illustrative purposes only.  This is not my actual result)

The recipe originated from the Jewhungry blog, and the alterations I made were few.  I am not kosher so I went ahead and used butter an sour cream, although I'm sure it's delicious with the dairy substitutions, they weren't available within easy walking distance from my apartment.  I also used some rice noodles from the fridge (which I'll replace before my friends come home because I am a good person) as I didn't have a saucepan and tight fitting lid avail.  

All in all, it was truly "dish delish", made me feel like a grown up, and acclimated me to the kitchen with little trauma as it is a dish that's easy to prepare.  So  hooray for cooking!

The Third New York

"There are roughly three New Yorks.  There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter- the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night.  Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something.  Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last- the city of the final destination, the city that is a goal.  It is this third city that accounts for New York's high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements.  Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion.  And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference:  Each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh yes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company."  

-- E.B White from a passage in his essay Here is New York.

There's an App For That

Thank God for technology.  It's been really helpful in learning to navigate this city.  Of course, google maps has been a godsend in helping me walk the town, but there are many other useful apps, a few of which I have listed below:

• FOR YOUR SUBWAY NEEDS-  Hopstop.  It tells you how to get to the nearest sub station and which train to take to get to your desired destination. It also tells you your eta, including walking time.  Beware, though.  This is only an estimate.  And since it's always good to have a back-up app for such things, there's also Embark NYC.  Embark has a better alert system in case of changes to service, but I personally prefer Hopstop.

• FOR YOUR THEATRE TICKET NEEDS-  TKTS.  This app connects to the ticket booths around town (there are three) that can get you discounts to Broadway and Off-Broadway shows.  They are usually (although not always) 50% off.  But be warned, the discount is off the best seats available.  SO if tickets are $160, you will pay around 80, with a service fee.  Which is still a good deal, but if you are looking for nosebleed seats, they are not here.  There's also Today Tix , which offers more seating options and lists the lowest priced tickets available as well as some better seats for a slighter hefty price.  

• FOR YOUR FOOD DELIVERY NEEDS-  Because this is New York, tons of restaurants offer free delivery, and of course there are a couple of apps that will tell you what's in the area (you can also search for specifics) and allow you to place and pay for your order through the app.  You can also see reviews and ratings for suggestions.  I've not used either of these, but both Grub Hub and Seamless come highly recommended.  

Of course they have apps for taking taxis, and there's always Uber.  I used Uber a few times in Austin, as it's very quick with pick-ups and the drivers have always been really friendly.  Truthfully though, , I haven't had any troubles getting a taxi in New York when I needed it, so thus far, I've not used it since moving.

This is just the beginning of my list, which is sure to grow as I meet new people, get suggestions and discover things on my own.  If you have one to add to the list, or suggestions of better apps for the situations mentioned, I would love to hear about it/them in the comments section!

Too Many Rats

Another undeniable feature of New York City?  Rats.  Sightings in the subway are all too common, and as I walked home through the streets of Brooklyn after having a drink with friends, passing by the mounds of garbage at the curbs, a rat scrambled from the garbage bags and crossed my path, which was a first for me.

Truthfully?  I can deal.  I don't want to see one in my apartment EVAH, and every time I make my way to the toady I try not to think of the Urban legend of rats crawling through the pipes and up out of the toilet.  But I think they are here to stay.

This whole situation reminds me of the children's book my Aunt Lu used to read to me before I fell asleep.  It was called The King, The Mice, and The Cheese.  You think New York has rats and mice?

Well, the wise men of the city told the King to get rid of the mice with cats, but shocker, the cats proved to be a bigger problem than the mice so they had to use dogs, and then lions to get rid of the dogs, and elephants to get rid of the lions... you see where this is going, right?

Mice for the win!!!

So, again, as long as they aren't inside with me, cuddled up in bed expecting a belly rub, I will be fine.  Not happy, by any means, but I suppose I will live.  And yet, being "fine" means some days you will walk past a building with a sign like this...

Opening Night at NYMF

Yesterday I was lucky enough to see the opening night of this year's New York Musical Theatre Festival (aka NYMF), and I learned a valuable lesson about traveling in New York-- ALWAYS give yourself more time than you think you will need.  Especially if you are staying out in Brooklyn.  Those "arrival times" on the subway apps are just estimates, people. and they are no guaranty that you will get there at the time they say.

I was meeting my friend at 480 Broadway at 6:30.  Leaving at 5:35 should be enough time to get there, right?  Fuck that!!!  I needn't have spent the time showering and making myself presentable, because after racing 3 blocks to the subway, getting on the 3 and then switching to the express (only to realize that the express landed me a little farther away from Times Square than the local) taking shuttle to Times Square and then walk-running from 42nd to 10th street, I was drenched and red faced (at least that's how I felt).  And I could not find 480 for the life of me.  I found 470... and 500... back to 470...and 500.  I called my friend at 6:56 for a 7pm show.  Would that I was calm cool and collected when making this call.  Alas, I was not.

"I'm going home.  I don't...I don't even know where I am.  I'm at the CVS at 10th and Broadway"

"Joe, the theatre is at 10th and Broadway.  You can make it."

This was my first encounter with inner demons.  Of course, these were relatively small demons, and not giant hairy demons with spiked backs coming at me with great swords.  They were small demons like the little caped chap on the deviled ham cans, with tiny little shrimp forks to jab insistently until I felt I just might lose my shit in frustration at subways and geography and my perceived ineptitude.   I did not lose my shit.  I took a breath, or two.

This is when I realized that though the sign on the outside of the building might say 470, it is ALSO 480, but 480 is upstairs.

I hurried up the stairs, made my way through the velvet rope, passing directly by Johnny Tartaglia, the director, who was far too immersed in pre-show prep to notice the harried homo heading into the theatre.  I met my friend, and a couple of new people who could not have been sweeter, and the A/C started to calm my nerves and soothe my soul.

I hadn't even had a chance to investigate what the show was about.  I'd just seen the blurb of text that mentioned a "super" guy.  Super Hero musical?  Ok.  Could be fun.

What it actually is, as was beautifully captured in the opening number, is a musical about the inner lives of video game characters, specifically those in "Claudio Quest" (an homage to Mario World).   It's the story of two brothers, one a shining star always saving the day, and the other his dutiful and dear, one man pit crew.  It's whimsical, bright, beautifully designed, and very tight.  And while it's clever, it is more than that.  The writers did some major research and tapped into all the things that annoy and inspire us about them, and use the world of Claudio and Luis and Princess Poinsettia to explore questions of free will, the possibilities of defying expectations, and the yearning for something more.  The script is well structured, and supported by some wonderful performances.  There were a few times I thought about the trust that the writers place on the actors, because many lines in less capable hands could land rather flatly, but they are executed with full out commitment and just a smidgeon of irony which helps them really breathe.  Special props to Michael Schupbach and The Puppet Kitchen for the rendering of the angry mushrooms, eggplants and assorted creatures that populate Claudio's Kingdom.

I got to meet John Tartaglia after the show, and he could not have been more charming or considerate.  It was fun to be able to see everyone after, to get to tell them what a wonderful job they'd done,  and what joy they had brought.

If you are in the New York area you have seven more chances to catch this production in its current form, and I couldn't recommend it more.

Me Time

Remember that last post when I mentioned I'd been aching for some "me time"?  That little saying "be careful what you wish for" seems appropriate at this point.  It hit me on day two of being in the apartment (which is perfectly serviceable, but on the older side, complete with pock marked walls and creaking stairs) that every close friend I have in New York, save one, is currently out of town on some amazing adventure.  So I've been doing what I could solo... doing laundry, learning how to get around town, grocery shopping at the bodegas, and eating several meals alone.  It's been nothing but quality "ME Time" for the past three days and it's somehow different being alone when the place you are in is so familiar and friendly.  When everything is new and you are on your own, it can get daunting.

Thankfully, my friends and family have been immensely supportive and reminded me that as of this evening I have only been in New York for a week, and adjustment takes time.

I have been able to push through, though and not succumb completely to laziness (although I am a little ashamed to admit I purchased Outlander from Amazon Prime thanks to a gift card I received and have been devouring it like that rat Templeton from Charlotte's Web when he's let loose at the fair) and have been achieving at least one or two things a day.

I've updated my resumes (acting and survival jobs), sent inquiries to a company I have a connection with that may be hiring in the area, joined a group that offers discounted theatre tickets, and as of ten minutes ago I overcame my nerves and submitted my pic and res for a couple of Equity audition opportunities.  It's a good reminder that the lulls and doldrums will pop up, to be forgiving of myself, and to work through them when possible.

Tonight I went to the opening night of NYMF and saw Claudio Quest!  More on that tomorrow...

My First Two Days in New York City!

My first couple of days in "The Big Apple!!!" (PS: nobody here calls it that, says the person who's lived here for a total of four days and has in no way earned the right to be bitchy about the phrase "The BIG APPLE!!!) were a whirlwind of activity and adjustment.

I went straight from the airport to Queens, where I stayed with my friend Leslie and her husband (also my friend) Paul for the first couple of days.  Leslie is 1 part Tinkerbell, 1 part Gracie Allen (look her up), 1 part Robin Williams.  Times with her are whimsical and carefree, and if you aren't careful--- highly caloric.  I indulged in a couple things, but said "no" to a few others, so I ended up somewhere in the middle.  And what, with all this New York walking...

Some of the things we did:

• Juniors.   It's a deli with locations in Times Square and Brooklyn.  It's famous for it's cheesecake, and has DIVOONDEBAR potato pancakes.  My gawd.  A little sour cream, a little apple sauce...heaven! I've now been there four times, and should start branching out.  But what can I say?  I find something that works and I stick with it.  I had a cup of the matzoh ball soup, some pickles, and a Diet Coke, in case you wondered

• We went to the Actor's Equity Office and I got my Equity Card, which was a major step, and if you are in New York and want to audition for the good stuff, it is a must.  It's usually easier to get outside of NYC, so if you are a performer heading here, I would recommend making that a goal before you get here.  I got the card on first arrival because I had discovered two weeks ago that "Joe Hartman" was currently up for grabs as an Equity name, and for constancy sake, I wanted my SAG and Equity name to remain the same.

• We saw Iris, which I'd been dying to see.  It's the final film of Albert Maysles, part of the team that brought you the gay classic Grey Gardens.  His most recent doc features Iris Apfel, an "octogenarian starlet" who rose to fame in about the past ten years for her massive collection of jewels and fashions, and for her ingenious and audacious ways of displaying them.  She's a beacon for any young artist or individual today, as well as those who may have thought they'd aged out of...well, anything.

Of course, the audience at 2pm on a Thursday was mostly an older crowd, and a reminder that many times in New York, the audience is as entertaining as the film.  Right before it started a gentleman took a phone call (on speaker phone no less) in which he discusses the US Open with some unsuspecting soul for about 6 or seven minutes, blatantly ignoring all the people around him who were "not having it".  They sighed audibly, shouting "turn off your phone!" and such, as I tried to hide my delight.  Quick Quiz!!:  Do you think this man ended the call when the previews started?  Answer:  Hell no!  He kept right on going.  Finally the manager of the theatre came rushing in, arms waving, and gave him the stink eye.  The older gent casually finished his call and apologized. 

Cut to after the film.  An older man in the first couple of rows had fallen asleep, and we gently woke him.  It so startled him he gave  little shout, and his eyes momentarily increased three times in size.  He was thankful we'd awoken him, and so dear.  He just lit up talking about the film and how he'd loved it so much the first time he had to come back and see it again.

•   We went to the dollar store for some remarkable savings...

• We checked out The Museum of the Moving Image for "free" night, and saw the Mad Men exhibit.  It was wonderful!!  They have a recreation of the writers room, sets from the show that were moved and reassembled, and many costumes, as well as the inspiration boards that were created for each character using vintage images.   

• We watched I Am Big Bird (about Sesame Street puppeteer Caroll Spinney) on streaming as we ate egg salad sandwiches.  It was another really inspiring piece about following your own dreams, in spite of what others might, and definitely will say.  

Needless to say, after that much excitement I was ready to have some relaxing me time, and the past couple of days have been devoted to adjusting to my new home for the next three weeks, unpacking, and arranging things to make them feel like mine.  I've also done a shit ton of walking, and naturally getting lost.  Not much, I haven't wandered for hours, but a walk that should normally take ten minutes might take me twenty, as I home in on my destination like a very uncoordinated bat, bumping around in the streets until I finally make it to where I intended to go.  After a week or two in New York I should develop some grade A legs, if God is at all sympathetic.

Too Darn Hot

I've learned a few things in the brief time I've spent in New York City.  First and foremost, I have learned the difference between summer in Austin, Texas, and summer in NYC.

In Austin, yes, it is hot.  Much hotter than here.  90-100 degrees many days, and with the humidity it can seem like more.  But there is one thing that Austin has, that New York does not... an all consuming obsession with air conditioning.  It's deeply embedding in our psyches.  We keep our homes perfectly air conditioned with our central A/C.  We drive to and from work in portable A/Cs.  We carry sweaters to the office to drape on our shoulders for god sake, because the office is always cold, if not downright frigid.  Movie theaters, grocery stores, malls, all these places are pumped full of frigid air.  It's so cool that I have yearned for days I've only seen in films, back in the forties, when  young women and men lounged languidly on wicker chairs on their screened in porches as they sipped lemonade in front of a fan, reading the Sunday comics.  "Oh well" I would think to myself with slight regret, "those days are gone.

No.  Actually they are not.


Here in New York, sure...places are cooled.  And yet... I've walked a great deal here, in the heat, back and forth, around blocks, up and down the stairs.  And the subway?  Certainly not freezing.  Nor is central air conditioning something one can count on in every apartment here. Most of the time they will have the window units, if they have A/C at all.  My home for the first couple of nights?  Window unit.  My home for the next three weeks?  No A/C at all.  Cue the forties music as I start squeezing the lemons.

It actually reminds me a lot of when I was a kid, around four, and my mother and I were staying in the  upstairs bedroom of my aunt and uncle while we looked for a more permanent place to stay.  Mom and I would lie with the lights out, window open, fan blowing, as we played some children's record and I fell asleep listening to "The Little White Duck", and "The Teddy Bear's Picnic".  At the time I didn't think too much of it.  It was so hot my arms stuck to whatever part of my body they lay upon.  Of course now, those are good times.  Golden even.  And just hearing "Mares Eat Oats and Does Eat Oats" gives me a glow.

So here's hoping that as I lie on top of the sheets with fans blowing, that I am making fond memories of my early days in New York.