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.

The Tenement Museum of New York

It's been nearly two weeks since I've posted, and one of the reasons it's been so long, though admittedly not the only one,  that I was waylaid, yet again, by a sickness which has been making the rounds.  In spite of my having had it a little over a month ago, it clocked me again and kept me in bed for a good three days before I was able to rejoin the world of the ambulant.

I was still a little out of it when I participated in a tour of the Tenement Museum with my co-workers at The New York Transit Museum as part of a kind of cross-cultural training we've been doing with them.  Some of their staff had been to our museum a few weeks earlier to learn about what the transit experience would have been like for immigrants in the early part of the twentieth century, and we were lucky enough to be able to experience their museum recently to learn more about how our past passengers and staff would have lived.  Cold or not, I was determined to go, as one of the perks of my employment with a center of learning, is that I have many opportunities to experience pieces of history in a way that others might not.  Being paid to tour The Tenement Museum is one such perk.

The Tenement Museum (along with the Transit Museum) is one of a few unique spaces in the city in that it is housed in a practical space.  In the case of The Transit Museum, we are housed in a subway station that is no longer being used to transport commuters and serves educational purposes by storing vintage, accurately restored subway cars from our last century.  We have also have a program in which costumed interpreters inhabit the space much like they would have, and share their stories with visitors.

The Tenement Museum had been an apartment building in operation beginning in 1868, which had been condemned in 1935, and left much as it was at that time.  In the late eighties it was purchased and transformed into an educational space, though much of it was left exactly as it was found, and provides an authentic experience of stepping back in time to the visitor, while allowing the museum to elevate the stories of "ordinary" people.  Visitors today can meet and interact with costumed interpreters portraying people who actually lived in the building many years ago.

The Tenement as discovered in 1988.

 Both museums provide unique views of the city experience as it was, and I consider myself lucky to be a part of an organization working to keep history alive in such a vital way.  Their aim is as much to provide a "feeling" and to imbue a sense of empathy for those who went before, as it is to transmit factual information.  I consider myself lucky to be a part of an organization that values this kind of experience, and works to keep this space alive and vital.  

The Piano Bar

Last Monday found me singing at a piano, shaky with nerves, but gaining confidence from my first vodka soda.  At the piano with me was a charming older gent, who's name may have been Stephen.  The scene was a bar frequented by the older set, often in suits, who lounged in Ethan Allen chairs amongst velvet curtains and hotel carpeting.  I'd come here to meet a date, who upon hearing that I liked antiquated type places, had recommended this place.  When I stepped inside I was a little nervous that I'd be under dressed, but while most of the men were indeed in slacks and ties, they were also almost all over sixty, so a pair of dark blue jeans wasn't going to make me feel much more conspicuous.

The date itself was fine, he was handsome enough, if a little too "inside himself" for my taste.  I don't mind reaching out to people and drawing them out, but I find it so much more fun to be with someone who meets me halfway.  Besides, there's someone else I have an interest in, but seeing as I'm not certain how interested he is in me (those careless arm brushes don't always mean anything) and I'm not wanting to put all my eggs in his basket, I've been going on dates a bit.  Truth be told, I am much more inclined to put all of my proverbial eggs into another man's proverbial basket, but it doesn't always pay to be this way, so in spite of the fact that it isn't in my nature to see multiple people at once, I've been trying to sprinkle my affections about until I'm on more certain ground.  

Does anyone else feel weird about the idea of dating more than one person at a time?  I feel like everyone else in the gay world is a lot better at being "casual" than I am.  After two dates or three dates with a person, if I was at all interested in the first place, I've usually decided to narrow my focus to just them, at least for the moment.  And if there's any kind of sexual intimacy, I'm afraid my eggs will definitely end up in that person's basket.  They might practically be thrown in there, and it won't be all, but... maybe 70% of my eggs will be in there jostling around.  And if it doesn't workout between us?  Well don't worry.  I don't take an inordinate amount of time to retrieve my eggs.  There will just be an awkward moment or two as we smile at each other with teeth showing, my eyes wide with discomfort as I say softly, "So...I'm probably going to need these back."

But where was I?  Oh yes, at this piano bar.  I was sitting on a low couch next to this guy, learning that one of his favorite movies was "The Aristocats", when he mentions that this place has somewhat of a "reputation" for being the kind of place where underweight, doe eyed twinks sashay from octogenarian lap to octogenarian lap, looking for an older daddy to buy them drinks, dole out dollars and take them home for an evening or twenty.  I don't know why I found this skeezy, and tainted my enjoyment of the place.  I mean, consenting adults, right?  I guess it's at least partly fear.  Fear of becoming one of them, or being thought of as one of them, and the fear of being in such a bloodless arrangement.  But as it happened, there were no shenanigans going on at the moment, as it was six on a Monday.  And if I did see the shenanigans it would most likely seem less sordid than it seemed at the moment.

At any rate, our conversation was scored by Brian or Stephen at the piano, crooning every chestnut by Gershwin or Berlin under the sun, and I have to say that hearing those songs made me feel very much at home, grateful that there was a place that these songs were appreciated.  And when when Stephen...or was it Brian... asked if anyone wanted to sing, my date practically pushed me up to the piano.  In truth, I pretended I needed more coaxing than I actually did.  And since it seemed like a pretty low pressure place, I went for it.  I have to say, it was really freeing.  And it was a decent place to practice "presence".  Plus, Brian or Stephen couldn't have been more charming, making me feel completely at ease, calling me  a "young thing" every once in awhile, and in this place I guess I was.  At least, relatively speaking.

Once I'd sung he bantered with me throughout the evening, tossing jokes and comments my way, suggesting I come back up for another song.  And while these kinds of interactions always make me incredibly self-conscious, it was very kind of him.  And while the date ended up being a no go, at least romantically, I may have to make my way to that or another piano bar at some point.