NY at Night; a place still most special

I attended an event at the Winter Garden...then I went out walking....

At night there is always a magic and a little danger, 'specially for a Steppenwolf.




The mess that this place is is metaphor for the rest. Although, yesterday I hear they are zooming up the engines to "pave paradise and put up a parking lot", read 3 tower sky scrappers of shopping malls....just what the doctor (mayor) ordered.

Nocturnal Emission

Having traveled through many countries and their respected time zones, I decided to go early to shop at the Coop when it opened at 6am. With nothing in the fridge, I hoped to find something open, to sip, before I could get to the store.

I entered the heavy summer night air and passed the lines of trash in their neat bundles representing an anthropological study of the middle class; a homeless man startled me, (or I he) as his body moved and eyes fluttered from the niche his body had formed into the Methodist Church steps. Bagel stores gates were half rolled and bakery deliveries ambled down making big truck noises. Another homeless fellow with a packed shopping cart was doing push-ups on the corner of Third and that burst of energy made me cross over and turn back on Seventh and head to my destination instead of meandering in the dark.

Passing PS 321 on Second Street I saw a very wasted black prostitute servicing a rather young white male. She on the stoop, he standing. How very sacrilegious on our pristine public school, known as the best in the city.

Summertime, and the living ain't easy...

Barbecues turn into bombings someplace else in the universe-- it's connected to your inner psyche, you see a world spinning out of control; inside/outside, BUT sometimes just sometimes you get to eat fish with friends with fresh lemon labels too! Love to all!

Twin Light Towers Where there Once were Two

Staring in the Pit of Death

New Yorkers are truly some of the most resilient people in the world. Then again, perhaps all war-torn people have this great resiliency; the second skin, like a coat of Teflon upon which the affective filter turned up so high that the negative emotion does not effect one outwardly; the daily motions are still in place, while inside there may be a great sense of eternal havoc. In some ways our courage is testament to the human spirit which transcends the daily grind. And perhaps it is here, in NY, where we as artists display this spirit on a constant basis through our productions of dance, theatre, music, writing and the visual arts. Theses are the testaments that there is a spirit, a collective soul that we chose to let out or allow others in through our words, gestures, and various productions, even in the acceptance of the other by allowing them to look into our eyes.

Not Quite Talking Heads

SuperStarSub-Set/Passing the BabyBoomerBaton

Last night saw a performance billed as "Miranda July and Friends " at the NYPL on 42nd St., yeah, the one with the lions. It was an evening, moderated by its new host, whose name is something German-Dutchyish with a lisp, and that's why the evening was so perfectly timed out and even included an intermission with free artesianal wine and cheezes for the masses of NYers who now the library is trying to attract to it's lively Friday night chats.

I'm not sure exactly what to make of Miss July. Her film, You, Me, and Everyone Else we Know, was interesting if not somewhat tedious to me with a distinctly LA, but anti-Hollywoodish quality . I wondered if her slightly awkward gait and pauses where calculated or deliciously adorably real. The audience, us of the most jaded quality, seemed mostly all very present with her and I did enjoy her stories.

The next in the venue was Becky Stark who wore a rust colored dress with buttons up to the neck with matching collar and cuffs and sang simple repetitive lyrics in a high pitched tone and looked pure as a virgin from the Ozarks not yet incested by one toothed uncles and other kin folk. What the hell was this chickee's rap? Was it all created up at Bennington Vermont or something like that?

Finally, the man who got me through all my college all-nighters, dancing in subterranean darkroom, high on color chemistry fumes: David Byrne. He looked splendidly gracefully aged with a tan and shock of spiked but soft full hair of a color indeterminable Grecian blue. He was the moderator for Miss July. He pulled out filmstills in Powerpoint and Quicktime clips and commented on their schematic qualities.

By then I had had 4 glasses of the hand-made wine (as opposed to feet made wine?) and so started scribbling notes and drawing things on my worn green pad with the Andy Warhol cover that maybe I'll look at later or maybe throw away. However, what was clear is that the show had Mr. Byrne last and the two youngings in the spotlight, although I did enjoy watching Miss Becky and Mr. Byrne play guitar together as the finally act, and Mr. Byrne displayed a feeling for the music as expressed in slightly jerky neck movements.

I think the mostly floral, somewhat polka-dotted , and solid linen summer dressed crowd on NYers liked it as evidenced in the "I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing" type of sing along that we all participated in singing aloud, in perfect harmony. But I guess that's why they served the artesian wine to us first--it takes a lot for us stoic, jaded New Yorkers to follow the bouncing ball.

Did you notice Miss July changed her headband from yellow to green between acts??? Aha...

The House Began to Twitch

With my auto insurance policy up for renewal, I called Geico to go over my policy and see what might be trimmed. I had seen an ad of theirs that said for $25 you could buy identity theft protection (heck, at this point you can have it) so I wanted to look into it. I learned that that type of stealing your personality is only included with their homeowners policies. So I asked if I could get one of those and the pion on the other side said "Oh no, we don't insure THAT area it's wayyyyy tooooo dangerous!" My Brooklyn pride rose in me and I retorted that crime was way down here and this was like the Gold Coast. She told me many insurers were dropping the homeowners policies because the danger was not the crime but the impending hurricane and that's why I should buy the umbrella policy to cover any kind of catastrophe in my car or in my home. And so I wanted clarification as to what would be covered: would you cover: a flood? a meteorite? terrorist attack? How 'boutt a scud missile through the window? Well the agent pressed on but I assured her/him (I couldn't tell) that the building was quite sound and that I would think about it....

We Love Korn

Chai

Lot in Life

On weekends I am often a zombie. This is due to my work schedule because I must arise at 5am and I leave my job on most days at 5pm. I wake up automatically and go through repetitive motions. I feel like a carriage horse with blinders on and no other possible direction but forward and without peripheral vision. For when I do look sideways I get stuck in the mass amounts of minutia that exists around me. Alas, the job pays the bills and gives me medical insurance, and every now and then, some satisfaction.