It feels like early on in our lives, every one of us is convinced to cast aside a piece of ourselves. Whether that something is as big as a sexual preference or as seemingly insignificant as a favorite color. Here's my journey to taking those pieces back.
New York City contains some of the most unique and memorable sites in America, and I'm not merely talking about designated "sites". On my way into Mid-town every weekday morning, I encounter people shouting tirades to fellow subway goers, one man bands, and folks wearing brilliant and unusual fashions worn for no reason at all. I walk by sculpted works of art that I appreciated on the first encounter, but that have since become just part of the background. I am the first to admit what a shame that is. These are the things that make New York "New York", and to truly appreciate the city, one has to pay attention to these details.
One such detail that I had noticed in passing, but hadn't really paid all that much attention to as I passed it each day on my way to lunch, was this...
a pair of liquid nitrogen tanks just sitting in the street with yellow tape around them. I'd passed them several times, and never really paused to wonder what they were doing there, or if they posed any kind of threat or hazard. And then one day I stopped. And took notice (and a couple of photos)
What do they do? Well there's a hose coming from the canisters that goes down a grate or manhole and the liquid nitrogen changes to a gas and expands, keeping copper wiring dry underneath the streets. It belongs to Verizon and helps to keep their phone service and internet running smoothly. In spite of the fact that there is a protective covering over the wires, there is some damage due to the elements and steam from heating, so the nitrogen assists.
As for the tanks, they've apparently never leaked or exploded (and there are many of them around the city) in spite of occasionally being tipped over by cars hitting them.
I find it kind of funny that they can't fund a better way of doing this, but I'm hardly a scientist, and this is just another interesting feature that is part of living in New York City.
(A shaggy grey hair,ed man walks into the N Train at the Queensborough Plaza stop on a busy Tuesday morning. He has a booming French accent, and wears a soiled trench coat)
Oh look!!! You are all here! Hello America, you have arrived! Aren't we all blessed? Look at you. Just look at yourselves.
(I surreptitiously, and avoiding the crazy man's glance, look at us. We aren't much to look at)
Aren't you lucky? To be here? And you are so beautiful! And do you know who loves you?????
(I'm pretty sure I can guess)
JESUS LOVES YOU!!!! He does! Don't you know it! I want you to know how much I love you, and how much Jesus does, and how great America is! God gave his son to you!! I think we should all sing. Let's sing and pray! Our father holy god Jesus! Thank you thank you thank you...
(It's at this pint that I stop pretending to be tuned out and actually tune out. And yes, this may make me seem like a cynical person, but I don't need some asshole shouting at me about the sacrifice of Jesus on a Wednesday morning at 8:07. I just want to play my fucking Wizard of Oz match three game and get to work)
That's it America! Thank you, Thanks to Jesus and have a wonderful day!! Don't forget that Jesus loves you, and pray everyday!
(He exits. A moment goes by. I breathe a mental sigh of relief. He enters in the next door)
Hello, America! You made it!! (stops for a second) Have I already been in this car???
(Against my better judgement, I respond- "Yes, you have. You were just here." It's the Jurassic Park equivalent of moving when the fucking T-Rex is sniffing three feet away from you. At this time the doors close and the train moves on)
I was??? I was!!! Well, goodness that's ok! (Looking toward me) Big Man!!!
(I despise being called 'big man'. Loathe it)
You're so tall, Mr. Man! You know what? You are taller than JESUS!!!!! Do you know what you look like? (I involuntarily shudder, and part of me wants to tell him that it's not like Jesus was on record as being that tall so being taller than him is not a great feat) You look like an Oak tree!!!!
And you (he turns to a twenty-something woman with her boyfriend) You look like a cloud!
(She mumbles, "A what?) (loud assertive man with the French accent whispers) You look like a cloud. (He points his finger close to her nose, like he's going to "boop it". He does not "boop" it. At this point the train stops at 49th, where it's thankfully time for me to make a hasty exit. I hear him as I leave)
Well, goodbye America, and thank you! And don't forget who loves you!! It's JEEEEEESUSSSSSS!
This is not the post where I ruminate on The Night Of A Thousand Judys, though that will likely come tonight. At the moment, however, it takes the kind of thought and care that I simply cannot muster. I've realized that when writing reviews I am often less than completely candid. Not that I don't tell the truth as I see it, but, as I assume many critics do, I often feel the need to soften my negative thoughts on a theatrical experience, especially being a performer myself, and knowing what it is like to latch onto a pithy comment tossed off by a reviewer and letting it gnaw away at my mind like its the one bit of truth in a world I've built on delusions of my talent. At this particular moment I just can't hack the pressure, dear reader, and would prefer to let my mind take me where it will.
Right now I'm thinking a lot about the Tony ceremony this Sunday and how it will totally fuck with my diet, as a few of us are getting together to view them, and there will be food and drinks galore. Seeing as the ceremony itself isn't likely to be the most exciting (much as I respect the show, watching the people from Hamilton get up and thank everybody over and over is likely to get monotonous real quick) I'll likely spend half the night with my mouth wrapped around the spout of the margarita machine, and the other half spooning down mouthfuls of crab dip. And yes, glory be, there will be a fucking margarita machine.
__________________
As far as my own actor's journey, I recently got some disappointing news. While on the one hand, it's a move in the right direction--- agent takes notice--- when an agent hands you his card after an audition and asks you to call him the next day, what I am hoping for is not to hear the words "keep in touch and let me know the next time you are in something". Yes, as he said, it is difficult to tell that much about a performer from 32 bars, but I can't help but think that if I'd really been good, 32 bars should have been enough.
I mean, people do get hired for jobs based on 32 bars. And yes, I understand that part of it is who you know, and that 32 bars getting you a callback for lots more exposure, and so much is based on the randomness of how a particular performance hits a particular viewer at that moment, but Barbra Streisand, I have to imagine, would have been called in after thirty-two bars. I know, I know, I am not Barbra Streisand. This is not a newsflash. But I do think I'm talented, and I do think, from some of the feedback I've received that I have enough talent to swim in this sea. Am I fooling myself? I honestly don't think so. But then there is that thing they call "grit". "Grit" is all the rage these days. It's the new buzz word. Grit.
The fucking grit factor. Stick to-itedness. Persistence. Call it what you will, think of it as the self help trend of the moment, this shit seems to matter as much, if not more than talent. I mean it's a cliche, all these talented people who never make it because they can't get seen, or can't even bring themselves to finish a piece of art. As many have said, "half the battle is showing up". So, I can't let this get me down. I have to take this as a sign of good things to come, encouragement to keep honing my skills and cultivate this new connection along with others like it. The only way to work here is to keep working at getting work. This is something that seems at the moment like a daunting prospect, but, can be broken down into some smaller and mundane tasks. Right? "Keep coming back!! It works if you work it!!" Do I sound like I believe this yet?
I mean, I have made progress. In the past 9 months I've gotten my Equity card, booked a couple of gigs, done about twenty auditions, met some people, begun compiling my book, worked with a coach... this is all part of it. And in spite of the feeling that my journey is nearly over and I'm a dinosaur crawling toward a downward spiraling asteroid, it's possible that this is just the beginning of my journey.
When wandering the streets, running errands, or otherwise going about life, it is nearly impossible to forget that I am in New York City. Sure, this may change as I continue to live here and I may grow jaded and become complacent, but I truly hope this never happens. I mean, this is the place I've read about for my entire life, and come to see as the center of the American Universe. So many movies, tv shows, and books use it as the setting for their stories, even in a somewhat incidental way, that nearly every nook and cranny has been memorialized and made even more special by being embedded with a well-loved modern "legend" of my life. Macy's Department Store is certainly one of those places. Nearly every American must have a metaphorical filing cabinet for visions and images of Macy's, the Thanksgiving Day Parade, with an entire drawer for the film Miracle On 34th Street, where we can easily pull out memories of Maureen O'Hara's patrician beauty, or find a precocious Natalie Wood watching astounded as Santa Clause sings in Dutch with a little girl who had, prior to that moment been feeling lost and alone in the world.
And yet, when I headed to Macy's for the first time yesterday, I didn't really think of it as anything to get excited about. But then, as I got closer to Herald Square I started to realize how long it had been here, since the 1880's, and that it hadn't moved it's location since it's opening. And as I headed up to the sixth floor to browse through the bedding, I encountered something pretty magical, something no one had mentioned to me before... the wooden elevators of Macy's, which have been around since 1920, and have survived major renovations.
Photo by Benjamin Norman for The NY Times
These escalators, their solid construction, the polished wood (mostly oak) and their meditative rumble up the floors of the 1 million square feet of shopping space, are like a time machine. You can't help but think of all the people who have stood on them in the nearly one hundred years they've been around. And it was comforting to do a bit of research later and discover that they are revered by the store as iconic to the Macy's brand, and that those elevators are not going anywhere. They will continue to make an impression on shoppers (no matter how subtle that impression may be) another beautiful detail in our every day lives.
And these escalators would be enough, but there is more. I think it bears repeating that the store just went through a major renovation in which no detail was overlooked. And yet, these escalated remained. As did, the elevators.
I had to return to Macy's the next day, as I had purchased the wrong sized sheets and needed to make an exchange. Well, since I didn't feel like riding the escalators six floors, I headed to the elevators, and found that much of the hardware has been left intact. The photo above shows the elevator as it is today, missing only the switch that the elevator attendant would have flipped. It's pretty astounding that Macy's keeps these details as they are, and respects its history as much as it seems to. Of course, me being me, this fact has won me forever as a devoted Macys customer. (That and their super amazing sales).
Last Sunday afternoon, New Yorkers collectively took the coats off their racks and put them back on their bodies as we go through our day. It's also been a major blessing to those forced to engage in small talk, because it's an easy go to, and every one has an opinion on it. Me? I felt a little let down by the mild winter this year, so this last gasp has been a nice excuse to get my peacoat out when I join the throngs heading into Mid-town in the mornings.
For a little more than two weeks now I have been getting up and heading into an office job in the heart of New York City. It meant giving my notice to The New York Transit Museum, which was a very difficult thing to contemplate, and it also meant giving up some of my freedom to head into auditions at a whim, and to consider myself a "gypsy". The decision made for a fidgety Easter weekend as I mulled over their offer of a 40 hour work week and their added benefit of working with my audition schedule. What was their to ponder?
I worried that this job would keep me from auditioning, keep me from creating. I feared that the stress of the day would keep me from pursuing other goals in the evening as I'd prefer to just zone out and relax. I worried that this money would make me complacent, and that before I knew it I would be doing a job I could easily be doing in Austin, near my family, for less rent. I did, and do not want this to happen.
I took a lot of risks coming here. I left a job, my family, left my dog in the care of that family, and upon getting here joined the union, which has taken me out of the running for all of the theatre I was doing in Austin. I subsequently lost a close friendship (though one could argue that was due to more complex issues and was likely to come to a head at some point anyway) and have put myself through the experience of and culture shock of New York City, re-establishing a social, work and creative life. I could not let those things have happened for nothing, nor was I ready to give up this soon in the game. Is that what taking this job was, in effect?
The other side of that argument was that this job offering was a blessing that would provide a steady income allowing me to remain here longer and pursue my goals at a workplace that feels like home, with people who had, in just a few days, shown an overwhelming amount of appreciation, agreed to work with my auditions, and had taken enough time to truly consider this fact of my life that I didn't feel like they would be shocked when an audition came up. Plus, because I'd been up front with them from the beginning I could be both loyal to the company, and to my other pursuits. If it truly doesn't work out? As long as I conduct myself professionally, I lose nothing, and gain some funds and some contacts. How could this be a bad thing?
After three days of careful consideration, and consulting with trusted friends, I took the position. And the strange thing is that now, having less free time, I am doing more creatively than I was before. Why? Because that time has suddenly become more valuable, and so I cherish it more and manage it much better.
I've continued working on my writing project, have looked into a couple of night classes about the acting business, and have auditioned for two Broadway shows.
In this spirit, I give you a clip from a very flawed, but very pleasurable film: Inside Daisy Clover, which begins at 2:09.
Being new to this city has made for lots of learning opportunities. That's my positive way of saying that through the natural course of the day in NYC, some annoying shit has happened many times, and through the experience of it, I have learned to make subtle corrections the next time I'm in a similar situation. Some places are awash with learning experiences. The subway has provided more educational experiences to New Yorkers new and not-so new, than NYU could possibly imagine. And their tuition is much more manageable. Another place of learning?? Target.
"What?" you think yourself. "I know Target. Target is easy as pie. Get out of here with yourself!" For the most part, yes, you do know Target. But there are a few differences between your trip to the Target in Austin, or some other relatively small city, and New York. I am here to help you make this experience a little more pleasurable.
1. Give yourself up to three hours if you are venturing out to Target. Unlike in Suburbia, there are not many of them in this city. Frankly, there could never be enough of them. New Yorkers are all about Target. In fact, a Target within a ten minute subway ride will get your apartment rented on that basis alone. So count on an hour round trip, some time for shopping, and for the surprise side trip, because there's always something awesome next to Target, and you might want to take a few extra minutes to shop there, since you are in the neighborhood.
If you are me, give yourself an extra 20 minutes to get on the train going in the wrong direction, realize this, and then head back. It's sad, but true.
Of course, you could do it in a much shorter time, by being ruthless with your minutes, but believe me, you will get so annoyed by the people in your path that are stopping to laugh and chitchat, Sunday strolling on a Tuesday, standing right in front of the 75 watt equivalent LED lightbulbs for seven minutes as if there's a weighty decision here-- It's a fucking lightbulb!!!-- In short, you will make enemies. And don't you want to save your enemy making for those who are genuinely trying to get your goat??
2. Visit all floors. In most cities, you will encounter "spread". This is what the suburbs are all about. People can't live packed together on top of each other, jumbled up and twisted like the socks in my underwear drawer. They need space. And in these other cities there is a lot more available space to be had, because...people have cars, and will take an extra five minutes to drive a little further out to you. What's the biggie? In New York? We have spread out as much as we can. That's what the boroughs are all about. There is no more horizontal space to be had. So instead, things spread upward. The Gap, Target, Walgreens (ahem, sorry... Duane Reade) thrift stores, comic book shops, these will all have two or three floors. If you can't find what you need, there is probably another floor. You will get used to this, and eventually it won't seem like a crazy New York thing anymore. Trust me.
3. Respect, but do not be afraid of the shopping cart escalator thingie. "What", you say? "What the fuck are you talking about?" Well friends, with multiple floors, and not enough elevator space, they have developed an escalator for your shopping cart. It travels with you side by side, in its own little lane! Crazy, right? It actually has a name. It's called... are you ready??... a Vermaport.
Be like this happy family and use the Vermaport!!
Now, don't be afraid of it, it works really efficiently, and can handle a good amount of weight. So load up your cart with plastic objects and go to town! There are occasionally accidents, however, so I ask you please not to be a show off asshole and try to ride your cart up or down the Vermaport. Everyone who sees you will just think you're a fucking idiot. Except for little kids. They will want to copy you, and you will have mothers shooting heat waves of hate into you.
Don't be like this girl (even she's a little ashamed of herself).
4. Check the prices!! This is the single most important piece of advice regarding Target, and the true reason for this blog post. When I lived in Austin, I rarely had to worry about items being put in the wrong row, or right on top of an incorrect price. Here, however, I have purchased something where the label said $11.15, and then when I got to the check-out, the product was actually $19.95. This kind of thing happens more than a third of the times I go to Target. It also happens at Duane Reade, CVS, etc. Now, while in the moment of this tiny tragedy it is easy to think "Target is trying to rip me off! How dare they?!! I am a loyal customer!!! FUCK YOU TARGET!!!", I would like to suggest instead that the people stocking these shelves are just careless. New York stores get a lot busier than stores in smaller cities, and so there's a lot more work to do, and the stockers are a lot more likely to think "good enough" as they unload the mountains of merchandise that they shelve every day. So double check the labels. Always. And carefully! Often times, the label is deceiving and there's a reason the stocker put it there by mistake. You might even take pictures of the labels, so if you get to the check out and get overcharged, you can show them what caused you confusion. Now, you might think this is too much trouble. But trust me, it can save you $5-20 on an average trip.
5. You might even (dare I say) consider other stores. While not every neighborhood has a Target, most of them do have a "Bargain Stop", or a 99 Cent Store, and a lot of the things you get there are much cheaper than you will find them at Target, and you won't have to lug them around on the subway or call a Taxi to lug your microwave and accent chair three miles. However, these places can oftentimes be depressing. Sometimes, and this is entirely up to you, it is worth the time and extra expense for the wide open and well organized aisles, the comforting scent of bubblegum-windex and popcorn, and the bright red splashed everywhere you turn.
6. While we are on the topic of organized aisles, don't go to Target at 11PM. That place is a shit show at 11PM.
And there you have it. My handy quick guide to making a peaceful and pleasant trip to Target. If you have other tips and suggestions, please feel free to add to mine, and share your shopping experiences.
I'm writing this current post surrounded by stacks of boxes, and swirls of dust bunnies that have been unearthed by dragging furniture from the corners of the apartment to get ready for the movers who will be here bright and early tomorrow morning to move me out of Brooklyn, and into my new home in Astoria. Since moving to New York I've gotten to know Astoria due to some good friends that live in the area, and I've really come to feel like it is the place I'll be most at home. It's got a lot of lovely cafes and restaurants, a movie theatre and a beautiful independent bookstore all within easy walking distance. Plus, my favorite museum in the city is very close by. In addition to that, the trip into Manhattan for auditions has been cut short by twenty five minutes, and I'm awfully glad about that. There are certainly some things I'll miss in Crown Heights, like Pel's Pies, The Brooklyn Central Library, and the church bells I can hear chiming from my window every morning, but despite the fact that this move has been challenging, I do feel it will be for the best. My current roommate situation has become too complex to be sustainable, and these are things people can't always predict when they enter into a new living situation. You get a good feeling about it, you take a leap of faith, and sometimes it doesn't work out. But in spite of a difficult month getting prepared for this move, and some sleepless nights stressing over the unknown, it looks like things have all fallen into place. I know the new place won't be perfect, as there are certain compromises anywhere you live, but I'm very excited about it and hopes are high!
New York is sometimes a place where you can sit in a train car, heart in a book, and let yourself cry for the people living in the pages. You can wipe those tears away with your index finger, turn the page, and then look up to see that you haven't made the spectacle of yourself you thought you had, because of the seven or eight people scattered about the car, not one was looking up. They had their faces in mirrors as they applied lipstick, or their phones, or like you- in a book. You exhale and feel an emotion that is equal parts relief and isolation.
Here's a hard New York truth. Everyone in New York jaywalks. They do. As a visitor to this town, or a resident, far too often you will come to a crosswalk, and see a street completely empty of cars (this happens more often than you would think) and you will either wait, and wait, and later wonder what bliss you could have had with those two minutes you frittered away waiting for the little white walking man to pop up, or you will look both ways and then hustle across the street. You will face this decision a lot, and so I promise you, then in New York, you will jay walk!
Here's another situation in which you will jaywalk. You are in a bustling part of the city, it's 7PM or so, and a crowd of you is waiting for the light to change. HOWEVER, you've got a fucking show to get to and you want to make sure you have enough time to buy a ten dollar glass of wine and get your drink on before the curtain rises on Aladdin or whatever bullshit show you are aching to see. Suddenly, the crowd, as one begins to surge forward across the street like a living life raft. You will tuck yourself inside them and walk, knowing that
1. Surely a car would not hit all these people.
2. If someone does come plowing through in their metal exoskeleton, heedless of all these living, fragile cantaloupe headed creatures, they will likely hit someone else first, and there will be lots of bodies to cushion your fall.
So, you will jaywalk. Believe it. Unless you are a studious eight year old girl on the corner linked hand in hand with your eight year old cohort. In that case you will wisely listen to all the things your mother told you, and you will stay still. As I strut across the street I will pay you silent homage and give you a mental kudos. Your lives are not worth that two minutes you would save!!!!
But in truth, if you are a grown up, and vigilant, in many instances, it's just efficient to book it across the empty street. And in case you are worried about a ticket? They never fucking ticket for it, because, as I have mentioned, EVERYONE does it. I've seen people jaywalk right in front of a police car without batting an eye, and they are not cited. However, please be safe about it. Please! Because for every quick an careful person, some people are just ridiculous about it.
Just today I saw a group of three girls, and the heftier of the three, the poor girl who had shot up a little taller than her friends and at aged 15 or so was nearing six feet, she obviously had something to prove. So while the crowd of us waited at the corner and cars whizzed by, she, with a careful pose of nonchalance, walks out into the street. She sways her head a bit, fake sassiness girding her loins as her pupils dilate. Her two friends stand a couple steps behind her, giggling, shocked at her audacity. You can almost hear them think to themselves "you're so brave, Martinique". In the meantime I'm screaming inside, thinking "DON'T DO IT MARTINIQUE!!!! You are too trusting, and your life is worth more than the five seconds of glory you will have in being able to prove to your friends that you didn't give a fuck!
Another example that happens all too often. There's a young (are they always young? Do the young have a monopoly on cockiness and naivety?) person waiting at the corner with you. They spot a car coming toward them, the sign says "don't walk" and yet, they think they can make it before the car gets to them, so they begin the walk across the street. But it's less of a walk, more of a stroll. They saunter, they promenade across the street with major attitude, almost daring the car coming at them not to slow down. There's a defiance to it, and a swing to the hip or a mild thrusting of the pelvis as they make their way across the street. There's something sexual about it, believe it or not.
Now I say these things not to judge or cast aspersions. Like I said, I have been a jaywalker. In a way, I am sayingg these things to remind myself to be vigilant, and remember to take my eyes off the phone as I 'm walking down the street and arriving at a corner. To pause and assess. Because New York is a dangerous city, and you never know if that car, the one coming at you as you defy the laws of traffic, is being driven by someone who values your life, or is piloted by someone who's at their wits end and will give you a hearty flip of the bird as she plows on through the intersection, nearly hitting you because she has a green light.
I guess what I'm really saying has all been said before, much better than I can, and it all boils down to this. Let's all be careful walking those streets, and if you're feeling vulnerable and alone, find a grown up friend and be safe.
