Rambling Rose

I enjoy my job, and let's face it, it is doing a decent job of paying the B-I-L-L-S, but it is taxing.  Sitting in front of all those people for eight hours, smiling, answering questions, some of which I'm receiving for the twentieth tie that day, processing requests, juggling priorities... it stresses this lil bitch out sometimes.  On a particularly busy day like today, I do not want to socialize.  I do not want to put on a brave face. I just want to come home, throw on my pajama bottoms, make me a drink and curl up in the darkness.  Luckily I have friends who understand and accept this about me, and on the occasion I need to hermit it up, they are pretty forgiving.

Does this mean I'm an introvert?  I know there is the old fashioned definition that an extrovert gets charged up from being around people, and an introvert charges up by being alone, but I'm not sure I buy that.  I don't think it's that simple.  There was a person at one point who tried very hard to convince me that it was true, but I think that was much more about making herself feel less alien, along with a good dose of projection.   Truthfully, I love people, and consider myself a people person.  I don't usually have  difficult time making connections, and I get a lot of mental rewards from being around them, and from pleasing them.  That said?  I also really enjoy when I don't feel like I have to be "on" and there is no pressure to be nice or to consider other people's emotions.  So yes, when I can sit and just take care of me, I re-charge so that I can bounce around and have fun later.  I don't think that makes me an introvert.  And yet, there are plenty of times when I'm at parties that I just want to pull away.  When I was in my twenties, at parties you would be just as likely to find me on the couch petting the dog, as you would find me laughing with people.  Sometimes that's still true.

But that said, I still really need social activity, and if I weren't to have it for a day I would probably go stir crazy until I got out of the apartment and stumbled onto the N Train for my daily dose of New Yorkers.  It's a conundrum... maybe I'm on the cusp.  But my Meyer's Briggs profile says extrovert.  I'm an ENFJ, for what that's worth.

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These days I seem to be a snot making machine.  I go through more than twenty tissues a day and am always finding rumpled up kleenex in my purse, or in my office desk drawer, or I'm desperately fishing for one in the garbage to empty more not into.  This is gross, I know.  And it's catching, so fucking watch out!!!  I was out for four days straight, knocked out with a combo of Day-quil and Sleep-Eeeze, which I think made the cold or whatever I had go away more quickly than it would have, but who really knows.  I've never been one who believes in slathering myself in anti-bacterial sanitizer, but maybe I should be.  Since moving here I have been sick three times.  Maybe it's just part of building up my New York immunity.  Is that a thing?

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There's a new book coming out in 2017, about which I have very mixed emotions.  It's called Judy and I, and it was penned by Judy's third husband, the now deceased Sid Luft.  Next post, I will give my thoughts on the book which is sure to be controversial amongst Judy fans, and which I will certainly buy, though I may hate myself for it...

Macys Beats Gimbels... Again!

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).

Everybody Wants Some?

Today may be the first truly glorious day of the season.  The sun is so bright, and the temperature seems much warmer than the 59 degrees my weather gadget is telling me it is. I pulled out my retro sunglasses, and strolled on over to the Gossip Coffee Shop where I am now sipping coffee and ruminating, as it hasn't gotten too crowded yet for it to be unbearable.  Yes, I could have stayed home and written.  Sat down in the sun room, scooted up to my desk and worked.  But there's something about getting out amongst the people, away from distractions, forced to follow through with my intention, that feels like I'm "filling the well".  So, it's not a luxury I'm ready to give up as of yet.

Today is a day free of obligation, and when these days come along, I'm doing my best to make the most of them.  Last week I took a walking tour of Washington Square Park, as led by New York's history podcasters The Bowery Boys.  To be more specific, this one was guided by Greg Young of The Bowery Boys, and it's available for purchase by going here, where you will find links to purchase it for just under $4 at CD Baby, and Google Play.  You can also purchase it at Amazon.com or on iTunes, but they are charging nearly twice the price.  I could not recommend it more, as it taught me so much about the park...  that it was a former graveyard where Yellow Fever victims were buried?  And where many still are?  That the Washington Square monument we know and love is a copy?  That famous folks like Edith Wharton, Henry James, and Edward Hopper lived just across the street? Who knew?

Also last week, inspired by my trip to Veselka, and the desire to feast on Beet Soup (I can't bring myself to call it borscht too much, that' such a gross word) I made a huge pot of it.  I proceeded to eat it for the next five days.  I can truly see that I need not have any more of this particular soup for a very long time.  And yet... it lasted for about six meals, and there's more left.  So I was thinking of making another soup today or tomorrow, since soup is both an economically wise and relatively healthy choice.  We will see if I follow through on that impulse.

So, I'm feeling of two minds today.  I'm busy tonight having drinks and dinner with a friend, but my whole day until then, is free.  Will I spend it on the Highline taking yet another walking tour from The Bowery Boys?  Or will I head over to Union Square and see Richard Linklater's new film Everybody Wants Some?  I've been wanting to see The Linklater film ever since I saw the preview, and not just because it features strapping young mustachioed men in tight shirts (which it definitely does) but because it is also a gentle tribute to a particular kind of movie that was made back in the eighties, and I'm a big fan of films that recall those that have gone before them.

As far as reading, I've been trying to get through a tome called City Of Nets, and endeavor I undertook largely because Katrina Longworth, creator and host of the podcast  You Must Remember This, credited it as a very important source for her.  And yet... I find it's format a little hard to digest, as the transitions are difficult to understand, and it doesn't seem to be going in any kind of chronological order.  I've gotten a little over a hundred pages into it, and there I sit, no longer inspired to read, but going back to it like it's the vegetable course of a meal that you're supposed to eat before you get to the potatoes, because it's low in calories, filling, and "good for you".  And as much as I have enjoyed learning about the directors and producers of such great films of the 1940's, I may need to find another way to do it.

Me Party!

On the schedule for today:  Exploration, creativity, and a bit of self-care.  It's been a really great week.  I spent Tuesday evening with one of my dearest friends from college having coffee and trading stories, then took a walk over to Book Culture on Columbus Avenue, which is a really restorative and peaceful bookshop.  There are so many candles, journals, unique bookbags and tempting knickknacks that it's easy to forget that they sell books.  I also spent a great evening at home with my roommate watching the forgotten Disney chestnut Moon Spinners , a jewel caper set in "the bleached beauty of the Isle of Crete", and starring Hayley Mills with the dreamy Peter McEnery I loved the movie as a kid, and it's somewhat retroactively that I realize I was not only charmed by Hayley's plucky demeanor and upturned nose, but by Mr. McEnery's golden tan and self possessed air.  He was among a handful of males that looking back, should have clued me in that I "wasn't like the other boys", including...

Harry Hamlin :

The aforementioned McEnery:

And of course, the house favorite, Philip McKeon, AKA "Tommy" from Alice:

And yet, Peter McEnery was just one of many things that kept this movie alive in my memories.  There was also a "suspenseful" where the two young heroes hide away in the catacombs.  In this case, catacombs is is perfect in every sense of the word, as there are stray cats hiding there who attack the villain with perfect timing.  Of course, looking back it just looks like someone is tossing these poor hissing creatures from one side of the screen to the other, but on first viewing, I thought this was all of their own angry volition.  Add to that the beautiful scenery, the extremely wooden acting of silent film star Pola Negri, a cheetah lounging on a lavender settee on a grand yacht, and you've got yourself a fucking PICTURE!!!  Of course, the fact that the plot is somewhat convoluted might keep some people away, but not me.  I own that fucking movie!

But where was I?  Oh yes, running down the week...  last night I had a pretty lovely date which ended in conversation at a park bench in Madison Square Garden looking up at the cherry blossoms, forefront to one of those nighttime skylines you can only find in New York.  It was one of two moments that evening in which I thought to myself that I can't believe I live in this city that up until the past year has seemed like a make-believe place.

So yeah.  Pretty good week.  

Today, I am determined to keep the good times rolling with a party at which I am the only guest.  That's right, I'm having a Me Party.

I'm going adventuring, to check out parts of the city, and hopefully do some creating.  As much as I love being around others, and think of myself as an extrovert, I definitely have that other side of the coin which needs to re-charge by being alone with my own company.  So that's what today is for.  I'm determined to make it a good one.

The Bowery Boys: An NYC History Podcast

I was recently introduced to The Bowery Boys Podcast by a friend of mine who was telling me all about the second story store fronts in New York City that had been created, and some still remain, for those passengers on the now defunct elevated train line.  He mentioned that he'd learned about it on a New York history podcast, and I thought it was such a delightful story about history in plain sight, and one that made me more aware of the truly wonderful things all around, that soon I was bingeing on these stories.  They have episodes on some landmarks of particular interest to me: The Plaza Hotel, The Stonewall Riots, Carnegie Hall, and some fascinating episodes of New York's paranormal past.  Greg Young and Tom Meyers are "the Bowery Boys", two amateur historians, and really charming hosts who take the listener on a trip through time back to the New York's glory days.  And come May, their book The Bowery Boys Adventures In Old New York will be available.  While I would love them to check some of their Judy Garland facts, I am a very ardent new fan, and think anyone living in this city, new comer or "old timer" should have them as virtual companions on their journeys through the city.

Greg (on the left) and Tom (on the right) creators and hosts of The Bowery Boys podcast-- photo from www.boweryboyshistory.com

Charles Busch in Cleopatra!!!

Last night I checked off an item on my bucket list:  Seeing Charles Busch live onstage in one of his original plays.  For those of you who do not know him, he is legendary (in certain circles) for being a truly wonderful wit, playwright, satirist, and actress.  He's been a major inspiration for me as an artist, and while I was lucky enough to catch his cabaret show at 54 Below a few months ago, I had yet to see him in one of his plays (plays that include Vampire Lesbians of Sodom, Psycho Beach Party, The Lady In Question, and Die! Mommie, Die!) .  Charles is famous for paying tribute to Hollywood epics of the past, and to the legendary ladies who starred in those classic films.  I've admired his plays on their own merit, without ever having seen them performed, and been able to play in a few of them locally in Austin (always with the awareness that I wasn't doing "the real thing" as these were pieces written for a very specific group of people, their dynamics, their sensibilities, and their skills).  Seeing one of these plays was something I feared I'd been too late in my arrival to New York to do, but I am happy to say that he is still putting up these irreverent, flashy, underground pieces of theatre that are equal parts camp and pathos.  Tickets to Cleopatra at the historic Greenwich Village gem, Theatre For The New City, are worth grabbing while you can.    When last I checked, the show had been extended due to very high sales, so if you want to see it, make haste.

You'll see some grand story telling, some really talented Broadway performers, and may even catch a star sighting (Nick Adams was in the audience when I saw it last night) but most of all, you'll get the privilege of seeing Charles Busch shining as only he can.

Veselka Is Love

When people ask me about my favorite restaurants in New York, I've often drawn a blank.  Of course, I love me some Juniors, but it's a place I think of as an every day place.  If I'm in the mood, I'll head to Juniors, have a cup of Matzoh Ball soup, and maybe a potato pancake with apple sauce and sour cream.  But a special place, with knock your socks off food?  I would have had to scan around in my mind for bit.  No longer.

I probably wouldn't have thought of this place at all, except for the fact that one of my dear friends had mentioned going when she was in town about a month ago.  It's a Ukranian diner in the East Village that is known to have a pretty great brunch.  We ended up dining close to her hotel, but I kept this place tucked away in my mind for awhile, and when I was searching for a place in the East Village, I suggested it, and I'm so glad I did.  It's name?  Veselka!!!

I'd been craving Borscht for awhile, something I'd never really loved until I moved to New York, and this place looked like it might fit the bill.  It was so festive and comforting the I couldn't help but agree with the giant sign overhead reading...

They even have a cookbook!

I ordered a cup of the Vegetarian Borscht to start, and we also had a salad with a Dill Vinaigrette, but I have to say, it seemed a lot creamier and thicker than any vinaigrette I've had in the past.  Both my date and I ordered the "Deluxe Meat Platter"  which included pierogis, stuffed cabbage, and kielbasa.  Every bite was a little bit of amazing, and everything about the experience, including the company, helped to make this one of my new favorite places in New York City.  I cannot recommend it more highly.

Move Over Sun...

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.

The Return of Wonder Woman

On April 12th, a new Wonder Woman book is coming out by Grant Morrison, entitled Wonder Woman: Earth 1.  In many ways, this could be the return of Wonder Woman after a long absence.  What I mean by that, is that she's gone through many mutations since she was first created, which is both expected and somewhat desired (I mean you don't want a character to be stagnant).  In the fifties she became a lot more dreamy and romance focused.  In the seventies she became more secret agent than super hero and even lost her costume.  In the 2000's she added a sword and shield and became just another "woman kicking ass".  All this is fine, as I said.  But the Wonder Woman I love is the way she was originally envisioned by Charles Marsdon, and the way she was portrayed in the tv show, as a force for peace.  She was better than men, knew more than they did, didn't adopt their violent ways.  This new book is returning to those roots.

There are some changes, of course.  The media is focusing on her fluid sexuality (after all she's been living in a society devoid of men for thousands of years) and that Steve Trevor is black.  I'm kind of excited by both of these changes, as well as the new visions of her Amazon home, which is being imagined as more of an alien society who's culture and technology has developed from the Greeks, but in a way much different from us.  What else is exciting to me?  No fucking sword.  Morrison doesn't think she needs them, because the tools she had were already pretty great.  And, you won't find much violence in this new book, as Wonder Woman is pretty amazing at getting things done without resorting to it.  All of these things, plus the return of her sidekick, Etta Candy...

are why I'm more excited about this release, than that of her first film appearance in Superman V Batman.  Grant did a pretty in-depth interview recently for IGN, and I really recommend checking it out, and purchasing the book on the 12th (though the interview incorrectly states that it was released on the 6th)

No One Really Wants Everything

I've started the morning off right, at my favorite coffee shop, Gossip Coffee, and am sitting down to a coffee and donut treat.  I've always loved donuts, along with popcorn and soup they make the triumvirate of my favorite foods.  Today, I think I overdid it.  Gossip Coffee makes great donuts, like the Nutella Almond and the Cinnamon Sugar Cookie, however today I saw this in the display window:

It was called "The Everything Donut", and something about it said "take a risk on me!  I have everything!!!"  Of course the reasonable part of my brain said that anything that looks like it was made by a hungover college kid using every fucking thing in his pantry and fridge will taste just like it was made by a hungover college kid using every fucking thing in his pantry and fridge.  But I couldn't help myself.  My nostalgia for the St Patty's day just passed was strong, and there were "Lucky Charms" in there, and green frosting.  And the part of me that missed out on Mardi Gras was taken in by the little edible stars and the multi-colored glitter of a King Cake!  And the woman behind the counter said the customers had liked it.  So I leapt.  And when I got it home in front of my laptop to write, and I took a bite...I regretted it.  It is the grossest combo of flavors imaginable.  Strawberry glaze, chocolate glaze, sprinkles, added to the previously mentioned ingredients...bleh.  BLEH!!!!!  I just wish someone had save me from myself.  Like that coffee server!! She had to know it was disgusting, and she didn't whisper an advisory warning, she didn't give me a subtle grimace or shake her head.  She beckoned me on like a siren on a heap of sugary garbage.  

Oh well.  I guess I'd say I learned a lesson, but this won't stop me from being adventurous in my choices next time.  Maybe I learned to trust my instincts when it comes to this.  In the meantime, as much as I hate tossing this colorful confection, I will.  

But please don't let this keep you from going to Gossip Coffee and trying their coffee, donuts, or flavored rice puddings.  It's an awesome shop, so cozy and beautiful, with a friendly shop and a number of comfy seats and electrical ports (though it DOES get crowded on weekends, like all places around here, so check-in early).  And the donuts are my favorite in town, just not this particular donut.  

A Great Day For The Irish!

Nowhere I've lived thus far has felt like a more appropriate place to be celebrating St. Patrick's Day, than right here in New York City.  When I awoke this morning I donned my green checked button snap shirt and headed out to save a little cash on a pair of dress pants, so I have more office clothing options when I'm making a little "green" (see what I did there?).  Banana Republic had a coupon for the holiday, and on my way there I saw more people in green than you can imagine.  And  when on the subway, there were about eight or nine New York firemen, older gents in pressed uniforms headed to the parade.  It brought a real sense of excitement to me, even though I wasn't participating.  On the street there were groups of people decked out in full regalia, and it was really exciting to see so much buzz for a holiday that prior to living here had just felt like a great excuse for people to put on horrible accents and drink a shit ton of Guinness.

Me?  Last night I baked some Irish soda bread, and I currently have a pot of stew simmering on the stovetop (made with Guinness, of course) and have just finished watching Judy sprinkle some serious charm over an often hokey, but good hearted film called Little Nellie Kelly.  Tonight, my roommate and I will be watching Darby O'Gill and The Little People, and another friend is coming over later to have a drink and eat some stew.  So it should be a pretty cozy evening.

Now, a word for Little Nellie Kelly.  If you want a perfect example of early 1940's schmaltz, patriotism, and overt rapturizing over familial love, you need not look any further.  If you are looking for some really ineffective Irish brogues, this is your film.  Even Judy's is less than stellar, although she more than makes up for it by taking the somewhat wooden dialogue and making it breathe.  She just exudes genuine warmth, and when she opens her mouth to sing, it doesn't get any better.

The first half of the film revolves around a charming but lazy Irishman by the name of Michael Noonan, who rants and raves at his local pub about the menace of work.  His young daughter, Nellie Kelly watches over him and keeps house for him as her mother had passed away some time before.  But when she falls in love and decides to move away to America so that her future husband can find a better opportunity for work, Mr. Noonan is having none of it.  Of course, all three of them eventually make their way to New York City, and there are loads of opportunities for dewey eyed Judy to beam patriotism as images of the American flag, and the Declaration of Independence scroll behind her.

The second half of the film revolves around Nellie Kelly's daughter, also played by Judy, who grows up to become a young woman and is stuck in between her feuding father and grandfather much as her mother had been.  She is pursued by the very stiff and off-putting Douglas McPhail.  He was being groomed by MGM at the time as an operatic lead, but he is a poor match for Judy, and while his voice is lovely and resonant, a great screen presence, he is not.

What makes this film work, as much as it does, are the dual performances of Judy Garland, and the brash and bombastic emoting of Charles Winninger, as her grandfather.  And, I have to admit, that in spite of some flaws, the MGM factory knew how to tell a story and I did find my eyes tearing up a few times during the film.  As a sidetone, this is the first time that Judy was allowed to be the center of a picture in which she is put on a pedestal as a beauty that all the young men are intent on wooing.

For those of you not able to invest the ninety minutes into the film, below is a clip from the St. Patrick's Day parade in which Judy and Douglas sing their little hearts out.