Here Comes the Sun

  You all know the story.  Girl visits NYC and it's love at first sight.  All she wants is to move to NYC and perform on Broadway.  She just hopes that New York will take her in and be kind.  Well, okay - anyone who saw my cabaret knows that isn't exactly what I had expected.  I knew it would be really difficult - but hell if that didn't excite me even more!  The first time I set foot in NYC a pigeon shit on my head but I didn't care.  I expected it.  So I moved here and started my NYC romance.  Like every exhilarating love affair - I found passion, inspiration, & creativity with just the right amount of hurdles and pigeon shit laced throughout to keep it a constant challenge/chance for growth.  New York forced me to evolve in ways I never dreamed I would and learn exactly what I'm made of.  Though I knew my dream of Broadway would be difficult - I feel a little silly now saying that somehow - deep inside - I never doubted it would happen.  Here I sit - nearly 11 years later and well, let's just say that dream feels 100% as challenging as it did the day that pigeon shit on my head.  People often would ask me in those first few years whether I was thinking about giving L.A. a try - or did I miss Pittsburgh?  My mom, of course, knew me best and could tell within that first year or so that I wasn't coming home - that NYC was going to be my home for a very long time.  She saw my love for the city and continues - to this day - to support me fully in my pursuit of my dreams here.  All I have ever wanted, that I just knew was in my grasp if I did the work, was living in NYC and performing.  That was one thing I was sure of.

  One thing I've never been sure of is whether or not I'd ever find someone to share my life with.  Of course I grew up expecting that "someday I'll meet someone" - because that is just what is supposed to happen - but as I grew older it really felt like that part of my life might never be like it's "supposed" to happen - and I honestly started to just accept this.  I knew I was likely going to live in NYC for the rest of my life and would most certainly be that crazy lady on the train with weird glasses wearing leopard pajama pants and talking to herself.  And that was okay by me.  My, how life can through you for a loop sometimes! Without getting too crazy into the nitty or the gritty -- the important part here is that I did meet someone.  And that someone loves me.  And I am crazy about that someone.  And that someone lives out in New Jersey.  So....guess who's moving to Jersey?  That's right - it's ME!  I know - I am as stunned as you are - which is the point of this post.  It wasn't an easy decision and again - neither the gritty nor the nitty is necessary here but....the EXCITING thing is - I am so giddy to begin my life with this guy without all the commuting!!!  The thing I haven't been as excited about is leaving my NYC.  That is the tough part.  There are so many things I am frightened of as I prepare to make my commute to my city-life sightly more difficult.

  So there I am - the day before I am to move 98% of my belongings from Queens to Jersey --- and I hop on the subway to meet my Jersey boy in the city for a "Final Saturday as an Official New Yorker" dinner type thing.  I am a little melancholy - as I have been with all my recent NY activities - when I hear an accordion player step onto my subway car and start playing/singing "Here Comes the Sun" by The Beatles.  Now - if you live in the city - you know there are a cast of familiar characters you see on your trains -- every once in a while there is someone new - but generally it's the same folks with the same old schtick.  Well, I have never seen this dude and I have rarely - if ever - heard any of them playing this song.  More importantly - this is one of the FEW songs my Jersey boy sang lead on in his old band.  I couldn't help myself as a smile spread from ear to ear and I heard the comforting words "It's all right.".  I begin to get out a dollar for this guy (which I try to do when they genuinely make me laugh/smile).  He had stopped playing and collected from someone else - but was on his way over to me.  My head was down as I struggled in my pocket when suddenly he is hovering over me and loudly singing directly at me "SUN SUN SUN - HERE IT COMES!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SUN SUN SUN - HERE IT COMES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  I gasped and giggled as he stopped and apologized for scaring me.  I gave him my buck and then he remained there - playing some romantic tune you'd hear if you and your love were being serenaded by an accordion at a little Italian restaurant.  But I was all alone.  It was perfectly ridiculous.  All of it.  It was one of my favorite types of NYC moments - I hadn't had one like that in a while.  And it came just when I needed it.  It felt like my "old flame" NYC was giving the thumbs up to this move with it's blessings - reminding me that it will always be right here and that I will always be just as much a part of it.  Only now it would be my (slightly) long-distance commute.

So that girl moves to New Jersey.  And it's all right....

"I Clearly LOVE the Smell of This Poop."

Weeee! I am officially licensed as a New York City Sightseeing Guide!!! No - I am not ready to give you a tour of all of NYC yet. I am so very sorry to disappoint. I am gonna need a second - and a script - of my own or someone else's created. Patience is a virtue. Even when I am ready to give you a tour at the drop of a hat - don't expect me to do it. Much as I only sing on demand for my mother - just because I have a skill- doth not require me to demonstrate it like a dog watching a delectable biscuit in yo' hand. I realize you are just making conversation and that is all you can think of to say - but please don't be disappointed when you don't get the (at least) 24 hour walking tour that would ensue if I really did what you asked. My friend, attempting to quiz me on the eve before my NYC Tour Guide Licensing Exam, asked me "So, who in invented New York?". He was only slightly kidding. Today - when congratulating me on FB he said "So now do you know who invented New York?". And it got me to thinkin'. The depth of my study is wide and varied. While not entirely sufficient - I have a greater understanding of how New York came to be. And like any city - no one person "invented" it - someone may have "discovered" the land and possibly swindled the Native Americans who already lived on it - but no city can be created by one person. I realized my friend was being silly, of course, but I really enjoyed where it has tossed my mind. Through this whole process, while I am no huge fan of studying or taking tests - I have almost entirely enjoyed every second of what I have learned. This is due in most part to the fact that New York has always been made up of those, like myself, who were not actually born here but CHOSE to be here - to follow their dreams, to challenge themselves, to begin again. Anyone who comes to New York and stays - is, most certainly, slightly deranged - and therefore -utterly fascinating. So it has been a wild ride! One of the things I love most was watching the PBS special series "New York, A Documentary Film by Ric Burns" - all 8 DVDs of it. This documentary is interspersed with delicious quotes from the literary geniuses who made New York City their home. Not one to be too immersed in literature - these words were all new to me and really helped me understand what it must have been like to live through all of the intense changes the city has undergone. To read about facts and dates in books is one thing - but to hear the voice of real New Yorkers (the truest definition of which does NOT involve those born here)...is to feel the energy of the city at that time. It made me want to write. It made me wonder where all of our astute observations of our city - and our lives - are now getting recorded - on Facebook statuses. Where will those be for future generations to have access to? We are the ones who are inventing our cities - in this moment. We are who people will be reading about in 100 years - whether or not we make it onto an exam question. It's fun to remember that when you came here to be on Broadway - but this Broadway is an entirely different place than the Broadway you had imagined. It's fun when you find yourself excited to learn as much as you can about the city you have called "Home" for 9 years now in order to become a "Licensed Tour Guide". It's fun to remember that when you are sitting on a subway car that smells like poop. That poop smells the same as it did in 1904 when the subway began. I love this city - and I love that poop. Sort of.

Proud Mary Keep on Turnin'!

What a weekend in NYC!!! Just when I thought all we were waiting for was a decision on whether or not the senate was even going to vote on the issue of Gay Marriage - midnight struck and they had not only voted - but voted in favor of it! Wha??!?! This should not come as a surprise to me as it most certainly should have happened before all of the other states but, well - almost nothing comes as a surprise to me these days. All I know for sure is that I really know nothing for sure. What was most delightful is that this influential decision came at the start of NYC's Pride Celebration Weekend! I was scheduled to work some events during this weekend's festivities and couldn't have been happier that I was going to get paid to go and celebrate on such an exciting weekend in history.

Now, I have been living in NYC for 9 years and out of those 9 years - I would say I might have missed 3 or 4 parade celebrations. I have a gaggle of close gay friends who I was giddy to go out and support for my first few years in the city. Then as I started to pay some closer attention to politics and the issue of gay marriage started to become an even bigger issue - I found myself really taking notice and getting involved. The parade for me as always been about the celebration of a movement that started on June 28, 1969 with the riots at Stonewall. It is many things to many people: a time to drool over all the hot bodies, a time to get naked and don as much glitter as possible, a chance to walk in shoes and outfits no sane person should be able to stand straight up in, and for many - the time to gawk at all of the above - either with pride, envy, or embarrassment. But through it all - at it's heart - are the couples you see proudly holding hands, many of whom have been together longer than most heterosexual marriages. Through it all it is about how difficult it shouldn't be for couples just like them all across the country to be proud of who they are and who they love. Through it all it is about the movement that began in 1969 when they just weren't going to take the abuse anymore and began to fight for their equal human rights.

Just a few short years ago after I had attended some rallies in support of gay marriage in Queens and the city, after I stood out in front of my local representative's office to show that he did not currently support the gay marriage bill and urging him to do so, after years of doing whatever I could to support this movement - me - a "straight" girl...had a startling realization. I was hanging out with some of my close friends - you know, the same ones I had gone out to support and love with every fiber of my being. We were sitting next to an older gay gentleman who brought up the subject of gay marriage - and Prop 8 - as it was all so HUGE in the news at that time. I was excited by this stranger connecting on this issue and wanting to discuss it with us. They seemed mostly irritated by this older gentleman that, perhaps, might be hitting on them. Worse-they seemed unimpressed or moved in any which way. It was as if they hadn't been aware it was even happening. My heart sunk. Why was this more important to me than it was to them?

Going to Pride with my friends always meant drinking in the bar at Stonewall until the parade was over-then hitting a few more gay bars-and most often hanging out until each of them hopefully found someone to go home with. How was this different than what we did when I'd visit gay bars with them on any other night? It wasn't. The fact that 6+ years of this along the idea that they were generally missing the actual significance of the day or those fighting for it = me opting to avoid the hot sweaty/shirtless crowds of the village in recent years.

This year wasn't supposed to be any different -but then I got scheduled to work in the parade. This sounded all the more fun when things went so well in Albany. So I donned my glitter and off I went!

While walking the route with 4 straight men - 3 of which who happened to be topless and hot - our lack of samples to pass out resulted in something strange. First off-I had a conversation with one of them that was eerily similar to one I had just the night before at a bar. These talks consisted of me claiming the importance of the day and them insisting that no one was going for those reasons but purely to see naked men and freaks-and to find someone to "freak" by the days end. These were straight men who insisted that they "have no problem with gay people and (insert weak proof here)."-but who continued to scoff at my notion that this day actually meant something serious to anyone. To say that these conversations bothered me is to say that I saw nary a nipple at the parade (lies...all lies!). By the time I had this talk with my coworker a few times IN the parade I decided it was futile and I would not waste more energy on it.

Unfortunately we ran out of samples to pass out, which sucked, but then something AWESOME happened. I walked half of the parade making as much eye contact as I could with everyone in the crowd as I wished them a Happy Pride - and blew kisses, slapped high-fives, gave a hug when arms opened up-screaming until I thought I lost my voice (something I usually don't allow to happen as a singer). Every so often we were getting verbally abused for not having free samples walking in the parade-but mostly-I connected with people receiving my wishes and my love. I saw the gratitude in their eyes and I knew they instantly felt how genuinely happy I was about it and I often forgot I was there to hand out chips. The best part was-I think many of them did too!

In a time when we are celebrating the victory of NYC finally making gay marriage legal-the fact remains that those marriages still aren't recognized in 40 other states. Living in NYC it is easy to imagine that everyone is open, accepting, and in support of human rights for all. But even right here in the city I continue to experience these politically correct stock responses which clearly do not reflect their truest feelings/assumptions. It's like when people used to say "I have no problem with black people-one of my good friends is black!". If this exists in Nyc-what is it like in the other 40 states?

As I went home. Drained and worried I lost my voice, I also couldn't stop worrying about whether the arguments of those two straight guys had more truth than I had imagined. How can anyone gain a different opinion of this community when many of them appear so blissfully unaware of their own movement/history? When a huge percentage of them are still fulfilling the idea of the "careless homosexual" that so often puts themselves and their very own community in danger.

Perhaps when you are so much a part of something it is hard to step out of yourself and see what is right. Like the feeling that "Well, I've already cheated on my diet-there's no saving me now-may as well eat more." Or, "I am so in debt I may as well max out this credit card because I can't imagine being able to fix it." This can be the only reason I can come up with as to why some folks prefer to remain uninformed and uninvolved while often perpetuating the old stereotypes.

I used to pay little attention to some of these matters and I imagine plenty are still doing the same. I don't always stay involved. I often get discouraged and ignore things for a minute. But I always find myself inspired to some type of action again. I can only hope that you do too. In a world that has this many uninformed people, why not pay better attention and continue being inspired to do something as we celebrate this step so that we will continue to have something to be Proud of?

Play Me, I'm Yours!

I was born in what was to become The MTV Generation I was a little late for the explosive freedom and liberation of revolutionary changes in the 60's and 70's where music was taken out into the streets uniting people for causes beyond the concert stadiums. I was a child of the 80's and listened to music made on synthesizers and very large computers. Madonna and Whitney Houston were my heros and banana clips were my friends. Somehow though, as I aged, it did not take me long to realize that the music I truly love is that of the 30's and 40's. Of course I can appreciate modern music but I am certain I was born in the wrong era. I long for the days when a party meant everyone gathering 'round the piano and singing some rousing tunes. I feel strange that I know how songs like THIS...


was once a pop hit!

So it should come as no surprise that when I heard about "Play Me, I'm Yours", an art installation of pianos randomly distributed throughout Manhattan and many outer boroughs for New Yorkers to see, play, and enjoy, I was anxious to find some!

I had little idea just how cool it would be when I found one. The first I encountered was at Columbus Circle just behind the huge statue this past Wednesday. I got so giddy! I sat down to wait for the friend I was meeting and listened to the man playing the piano.


Everyone watching him was smiling and enjoying this just as much as I! When I thought about finding one of these I was hoping someone might be playing a song I knew and I might feel inspired to hop up and sing along. Instead, I was stunned as a sort of scroungy older man in the audience (who could have passed for homeless) hopped up and ran over after the other man left and started ticklin' those ivories! The crowd sat full of smiles as we enjoyed his tune, when a woman with a stroller carrying two babies wheeled over next to me. She pushed her babies towards myself and an older woman beside me saying hurriedly, "Would you mind watching them for a moment while I play?" Of course we agreed and she ran over and sat down only to play the most brilliant and challenging song we had heard just yet! "Oh MY!!!" giggled the older woman next to me as she started a round of applause! I watched as one of her babies repeatedly attempted to pull himself out of his slumber. I wondered whether he recognized his mom's tune. On she went only to be replaced by a tourist with bag from the M&Ms store. I was really considering jumping in but the only thing I thought I might be able to play was the Oscar Meyer Wiener song, and decided against it. It was then that my friend met me and we had to proceed with our day. I still want to find myself at another one of these pianos and sing some old standards just to have that experience out on a street somewhere, but wow is this public art incredible! We move to this city to be near this type of energy yet so many of us wrap ourselves into our solitary cocoons with earbuds and our own agenda. We steer clear of the "touristy" areas that initially drew us to this city and grumble at the crowds. I love when someone places something like this in our way and I watch as we come back out of our shells, and smile, and laugh, and connect...the way we were born to do. So get out there and find yourself a piano!

“Play Me, I’m Yours” is an artwork by British artist Luke Jerram who has been touring the project globally since 2008.

From 9am-10pm each day, 60 pianos will be available to play across New York City. Presented by Sing for Hope they are located in public parks, streets and plazas the pianos will be available until 5th July for any member of the public to play and engage with.

Be sure to check out the "Play Me, I'm Yours" NYC site for more information, locations on the pianos (including Queens, Brooklyn, and Staten Island!) and to post pictures/stories/videos of piano sightings!

And to you fellow artists out there who are looking for ways to volunteer, I am excited to learn more about the folks presenting this art along with Luke Jerram, Sing for Hope. Go check out ways you can get involved as well!


*****Update*****I finally got to play my wiener song....poorly...in the middle of Times Square to a smattering of applause! (6/26/10)

"Extra Extra! Read All About It SUCKER!!!!"

If you know me you know of my obsession with "The Onion", a brilliant satirical newspaper that is often the only news source I can genuinely trust. I have often found myself obsessed with their horoscopes, but not as of late. Just in case you haven't seen this brilliant periodical, you should do yourself a favor and visit their website and enjoy their news videos. The physical newspaper itself is not only awesome, it is FREE!

Well, a few years ago after a particularly long day out on the mean streets of NYC, I had been looking for the new issue of The Onion to pick up for my subway ride home and every spot I'd come across was out of them. I am pretty sure I even went out of my way to seek it out in a few choice spots, but to no avail. I was dragging my weary bones down 8th Avenue looking for a place to rest my soul when a sort of crazy-eyed homeless guy approached me with a stack of newspapers. I figured he was selling the "Homeless Times" paper that some of these folk are peddling. Just as my auto-response "oh, no...sorry" was about to begin, my eye caught sight of the old familiar font and Today's Weather looming off to the right. This man was trying to SELL me "The Onion"! I couldn't help but laugh. This man thought I was dumb enough to pay $2.99 for "The Onion"? He even pointed out the joke price that used to be printed on it that looked legitimate but was just part of it's brilliant satire. I could NOT stop laughing! I figured this was worth the $3 for the amusement I was getting, and besides, I needed the new issue anyway. So I told him I WOULD buy one off of him, just because I thought it was hysterical of him to sell it. I walked away grinning from ear to ear only to realize, as I glanced down in jest, that I already had this issue, and it was WEEKS old. This swindler not only sold me a FREE newspaper, but he sold me an issue 3-4 weeks old! That bastard still GOT ME! At least it was actually one of my favorite issues. I know that sounds strange but I told you I was obsessed. Every single inch of that issue had cracked my shit up and mostly out loud....so at least he sold me a good one!!

This has long-since been one of my favorite NYC stories, much like the time I saw a "blind" panhandler with a walking stick walk off the subway reading his newspaper.

Well....I was hangin' out in Times Square this past week....acting like a hippie with flyers for "Hair" when this man wanders through.....




Now this is NOT the man who swindled me, but I have never seen anyone else trying this since then and that was at least 4 years ago. So I had another good laugh. I told him all about it...and he kept saying it was probably him. I knew it wasn't but I still needed some documentation. This man was very good humored about it all even though it hadn't been him originally. He mentioned that they stopped putting the fake price on the paper and he assumed it was so that people like him couldn't sell them on the streets. He also mentioned that he recently returned from being "away" for the past 4 years. By "away", he definitely meant "in jail"...which he was also, oddly, good humored about.

Oh where oh where have my crack-tacos gone? Astoria Taco Truck where are YOU?

I must begin with my deepest apologies for my last post being of the boring insights and disgusting image of Mortadella. I have been mortified that I left you all with that gem as my last post in entirely too long. I know full well there aren't that many of you who even swing past here all that often and those of you who do ought to be rewarded with something other than the world's most hideous looking luncheon meat.

Now...onto more pressing matters.

Those of you who know me know of my infatuation with the Taco Truck here in Astoria, NY. You may recall it from a past voicemail, Facebook status or any number of endless ramblings stating my suspicion of their use of actual crack amidst their delectably unique and fresh ingredients which keep addicts like me running back for more. If you ever heard tell of my new found adoration of limes and radishes, these are the people responsible.

The Taco Truck, otherwise known as "El Rey del Taco" and always parked in front of the Rite-Aid at 30th Avenue and 31st Street (except on Mondays) has recently gone missing, and I am not the only one who cares. I recently read a worried friend's status this past week, as he lives right near it and hadn't noticed it there for about a week. I had my regular two $2 chicken tacos (otherwise known as heaven) about 3-4 weeks ago but hadn't been over there since. I was worried about this when another friend casually mentioned her plans for the taco cart that evening on her way home, and had to warn her that her plans may be thwarted due to it's absence.

On my way to a party late Friday night near their corner, I approached the silhouette of a trunk nearly the same size and shape of the Taco Truck. As I got closer, however, I noticed it was slightly smaller and was covered with some graffiti-type artwork that was drab and frightening. A man loading boxes into this truck saw me slow down as I noticed this menacing impostor and thought he'd try flirting with me (since I was all dolled up and walking alone at 1am). All I could do was look at him sullenly and say "you're not my Taco Truck....where's my Taco Truck?" and sulk away.

Well, I am not sure what the explanation is for the disappearance of one of my most reliably delicious and insanely cheap-ass dinners/snacks, but I am ecstatic I am not the only one who is concerned and people are already trying to get to the bottom of this.

I also had no idea that the people who owned it recently opened an actual restaurant not too far away that sounds pretty delicious as well....though, I'm still gonna need you to bring me back my cart, mmkay?

French Fries and Copious Amounts of Bird Poop

I remember the first time I visited New York City. I remember the shows I saw, the stars I got my picture with at the stage doors, the grimy streets, and my brother getting swindled in Times Square by some sketchy dudes playing cards on cardboard boxes. I remember the energy I felt in the air and I knew that I would move here one day. Just before all that, I recall my very first step onto a NYC sidewalk just left of the crazies outside of Port Authority. A pigeon shit on my head. Welcome to New York. I knew this was the town for me! That day and many times since, I have been told that a bird pooping on your head is a sign of good luck. While there is no doubt that I am enjoying my time here in the big city...it's been nearly 8 years now and I am pretty sure I am still waiting for that good luck to prove itself.

Last night I had an odd dream. We (castmates, classmates of some sort, and just friends in general) were all staying in the woods near a beach. I'm not sure what we were doing there. En route one afternoon from wherever we went everyday back to our cabins in the woods, we were all crossing the beach when french fries started falling all around us. I don't know where they were coming from, but the sinking feeling in the pit of our stomachs told us that if:

beach + fries = seagulls and birdshit

then:

beach + copious amounts of fries = well...you get the picture


So we started to run just as hoards of seagulls came swooping in eating the french fries that just kept falling. This was obviously followed by large amounts of poop on our heads. We had just barely reached the woods we were living in when the 'storm' got real bad. I just remember all of us drenched in seagull poop and wondering who was going to get to use the shower first.

Now, if birds pooping on your head = good luck

What do dreams about massive amounts of bird feces pouring down your face and the faces of those around you equal?

How about copious amounts of random french fries?

Only in New York...I hope.

So I was heading home last night after seeing a show and grabbing some food with friends, and the subway car that I got on had a homeless guy stretched out and sleeping on the bench. The first thing I do when I notice I am on a car like this is take a small sniff. I have endured more than my share of subway rides with homeless people who smell like poop, or worse....death. I once stayed on a subway car all the way into the city with a man who smelled dead because it was rush hour and I needed to sit down and eat my breakfast on the way to a job I would be standing all day for. Yes, I even ate an egg sandwich whilst smelling death. I don't recommend it, but not just for the fact that it is gross, mainly because I smelled that smelly homeless dead guy all day long. There are still days when I think I can smell him near me. Anyway, I noticed upon sniffing that there was no discernible scent, so I decided to stay. I noticed some crumbs lying on the floor next to his cart. I felt bad for the man, knowing this may have been his only meal that day and it looked like a tiny bag of chips. I wondered if he would be interested in finishing the half of chicken quesadilla I was carrying home. It wouldn't be the first time I had offered someone my leftovers, and generally they have been well-received, but sometimes it can be offensive. I thought about how I wish I could leave him a $50 bill to wake up to instead of a quesadilla. My thoughts drifted to this man and his plight for a few stops until I noticed that he had his hand down his pants. Up to that point, the angle I was sitting at saved me from that discovery. Certainly he isn't doing anything in there....maybe his hand was just...cold? It wasn't long before I noticed that his hand was moving, and there was no denying what it was doing in there. Well fuck that! That foul man is NOT getting my chicken quesadilla! Ah....NYC. Good times. Well...shortly before my stop, I noticed his motions getting more...purposeful when....I heard the sound of water...falling. Still laying across the subway car seat, he had pulled out his penis and proceeded to unload his bladder. From where I was seated, his cart blocked full exposure, but the arch of urine from his crotch and splashing onto the floor was clear. It was then that those at the other end of the car....down-stream of this man's relief show...noticed what was happening. Some were amused, some were appauled. I found myself more amused than anything. I have to say that, while NYC is a much cleaner/safer city than years ago, nothing like this really surprises me exactly. It was a first for me though. I never saw a man whip it out and piss on the subway while laying down, but I did see a man take a dump on the sidewalk in broad sunny daylight near Madison Square Garden though. It was a hot summer day and there were people everywhere. The man made no attempt to conceal his actions, and I saw his bare ass gleaning in the sunlight and the poop coming out of it. But the best part of it all was that he was reading what looked like a paperback romance novel at the time.

Fettucini...

So you may recall a few months ago I posted a blog called "The Princess of Soho?". It was about the newspaper guy on my way to work who spouts out many words to me, most of which I don't understand, and when I do they are often insulting. Well he is still working the corner, and I am still working that job. So I've grown accustomed to the gibberish I don't understand and can recognize his old standby, "I lika you eyes." He may 'lika my eyes', but he still thinks I'm a large woman. Once again he threatened to bring me dresses from his home, and protested again when I said I wear a size 8. He corrected me, "no...10!" What is this man doing with all these dresses at home, and why does he want to give them to me? Well beyond those precious moments we finally hit a new level this week. When I passed him yesterday he mentioned something about cooking as he handed me my paper. I thought he was asking if I like to cook. I mentioned that I am not particularly skilled at it, no. Then he said something about his friend, and how I should call him, and something about...fettucini? I figured he must have a friend who works in a restaurant and he must make good fettucini, perhaps he wanted me try it. "No!" he said. I tried to clarify, certainly he was speaking about a restaurant of some sort. "No!" he replied....and I couldn't make out any other meaning from the repetition of him saying something about calling this man....and...fettucini. So I said "okay..." and walked away in the same cloud of confusion as always. I looked down at the paper and saw that he wrote this man's number out, with his first and last name....and next to it he wrote the word "fettucini". So do I call this man and tell him I heard about his fettucini? Is fettucini some code word for a drugs? Is he using a new petname he has given me and I just don't understand he is actually saying "FATtacini??" Is this man on the corner some mystical matchmaker that lures in your true love via random pasta code words. I really have to call this number.

Fitness, Made Simple...

it's made for real people.



WHY can't I NOT sing along with this WEIRDASS commercial with the skeletal and leathery 109 year old man and his weird cult followers who have lost weight with his tapes? These commercials have freaked me out from the first time I saw one, but now I actually sing along (as I do with a lot of things), and sometimes continue singing long after it is done....help me stop!!!



If you aren't in NYC, you probably have no clue what I am talking about.

If you are, you still may not. Unfortunately I still do.

"Piece of Chicken" $1

Tonight was incredible in so many ways, but please allow me to share one with you. I keep passing by this place on 45th Street near 9th Avenue called "Piece of Chicken". It caught my eye one night a few weeks ago because the sandwich board out front says simply, "Piece of Chicken $1". Is this the chicken on a stick I see at every corner halal stand? Is this really all they sell? It wasn't a handwritten sign, it was official. It appeared to just be a kitchen. It was all stainless steel and didn't look as though it was an actual restaurant. I was intrigued, but there was nothing in their menu box, so I kept walking. The next time I passed by there were menus, and people inside ordering. The menu boasts 8 chicken/salmon/fish types and 7 side dishes, all just $1 each. This sounds amazing! Especially if it's any good. I was hungry, but felt like going home to eat, not knowing quite what to expect. I may have passed once or twice more and my curiosity grew every time. So tonight I was starving and with no particular meal plans I decided to give it a go. I ordered a piece of fried chicken, a side of blackeyed peas, and 2 small corn muffins, all for $3. As I was waiting for him to package up my food...I noticed servers coming in and going back into a different room with plates of food. I was standing in the kitchen of the restaurant on the corner! I don't even know what restaurant that is, whatever is on the corner of 9th at 45th Street. Whose idea was it to open up a storefront and sell fried chicken and sides for $1 each? This is absurd, and brilliant! Why doesn't everyone do this? Well it isn't the ideal place to go as there is nowhere to sit. I think they have a table or benches out front for the warmer months (not tonight with slush everywhere). So I didn't know where to go with it and knew it'd be cold by the time I got back to Astoria. I ducked into a McDonalds and ordered a diet coke and some heavenly chocolate chip cookies and took a seat. It was actually pretty damn good. The blackeyed peas had a little kick to 'em, and the chicken was tasty and all white meat, which I love. I probably could have eaten another piece of chicken though, as it was small. The corn bread was...well...corn bread is always good to me. Perhaps next time I'll try the BBQ salmon and macaroni & cheese. So next time your starving and short on cash, check out "Piece of Chicken" on 46th and 9th. As I enjoyed my meal I gazed out at the slushy sidewalk and was glad to be taking a break from trying not to slip. My soundtrack tonight was a combination of Amy Grant's "Baby Baby" and the homeless guy having an endless conversation with himself behind me. I love New York.

Dead Sea Monkeys

So I recently reprised my role as "booth bitch" for the Dead Sea Pavilion working for a week at the Columbus Circle street fair. I have worked a lot of street fairs and I have seen a lot of crazies. I have gone loopy and come back again, only to find I am still loopy, but often not as loopy as those that visit the booth. I can't even recall all of them, and that makes me sad since they definitely thrust me into a pseudo reality wondering if I was in some strange dream as they spout out unintelligible gibberish with behavior only seen on SNL, Mad TV, and In Living Color. People say strange things, and do even weirder things, such as accepting a free Q-tip we were offering just to be silly and walking away staring at it with a gleam in their eye as though they had just won the lottery. My favorite thing ever uttered in the booth happened this past week when a pretty normal looking woman came in and was interested in the face cream with the Dead Sea Minerals in it, but what she said was... "Umm...hi! Do you have any of those face creams with the dead sea...monkeys....or whatever?" Instantly I smiled, as I always seem to when monkeys are involved. Then the brilliance exploded when I realized there is such a thing as Sea Monkeys...and she was not only requesting Dead Sea Monkeys, but in a face cream! I immediately got visuals of microscopic sea monkey cadavers rubbed all over her face. I started cracking up, and she looked at me like I was insane. She thought I was insane for laughing at her having asked for face cream with dead sea monkeys in it. A last she walked away wondering what was wrong with me. What's most wrong is that I didn't tell her that the dead sea monkeys cost extra.

Oh...the crazies!

There are many times in life that reality is just so kooky that no writer could possibly invent the characters that I encounter on my various jobs here in NYC. Working at the Compusa on 5th Avenue (promoting AOL) has always been what I will refer to as an adventure, so as to cleverly conceal some of my bitter sweet feelings for it. Located in the heart of midtown, entirely too close to the Empire State building, you encounter one of 2 types of people here...the foreign folk, and the crazies. There are a lot of both in midtown, where they walk in all directions at once, none aware that there are hundreds of other human beings anywhere near them..changing their already indirect directions instantly running into you, stepping on you, keeping you contstantly on guard to dodge them, or stand your ground and run into them. Just the foreign folks, the crazies, and me. Perhaps it is best that these folks just bump into you and keep moving, for when they stop, and talk to you...you enter a world that not just anyone can handle. I talk to these people. I listen to them. Not generally on the street, but while working my various jobs. It took me a while to realize that while there shouldn't be any harm in this, they can often drain the life out of you at the same time as they tickle your brain when you realize that this is a real person standing in front of you, talking nonsense. When you stand in one place in a retail store every day or every weekend, these crazies always know where to find you again. I have met so many but right now all I can recall is yesterday. I met a filthy looking lady yesterday here at the store. She was very sweet. She was missing her two front teeth which were framed by the bright red lipstick smeared around her mouth. She had a tragically uneven skin tone, made moreso by the streaks of concealer or foundation strewn about her face. Her eyeliner appeared to have been applied heavily before her head had, perhaps, been held under water for a spell. Her hair seemed plastered to her head, with a slight frizz, and coated in some sort of glycerine-like liquid that was at some point dripping down her temples, but whose thickness had stopped it on it's way . Too thick to be sweat I wondered if she had applied glue? The topping on the cake is a toss up between the swirls of red lipstick that had somehow been spread faintly around her entire face and the numerous whiskers on her chin. She was a sight to behold. I approached her in my section without realizing all of her uniqueness, but once we began, I was involved...and had little way out. So we chatted. I learned she was an actress and she showed me her headshot and resume, a postcard sized copy of a picture she said had been taken on a cellphone, of her standing on a NY city street in front of a subway station, looking like a homeless person with bright red lipstick on. On the back was her resume, which boasted film/tv/commercial credits that my resume can't hold a candle to. Some credits were scribbled in and all was on the back of this postcard/cellphone picture. I offered to take her picture here (one of the parts of the area I am to get people to interact with). She seemed as though I caught her off-guard and she wasn't necessarily at her best, but we gave it a go. She saw the first shot and whipped out her makeup bag saying she needed to touch up her face. The first thing she grabbed was her tube of whore-red lipstick, which she not-so-expertly applied without a mirror. Instantly it began to bleed out into the lines and sweat on her face, on a path towards joining the rest of the "lipstick party" already in full swing on her forehead, cheeks and chin. Then she grabbed her foundation and swiped her finger in it and proceeded to draw lines around her face, poorly attempting at blending it while asking "do I look alright?". I can't answer that! Lying is physically painful to me. I couldn't even begin to point out all of the things that would have required fixing. The most helpful thing I could have offered would be a sponge and a bucket, but this was not an option. She was now looking in a mirror, and if she couldn't tell that she didn't look okay by seeing what I was seeing, what was the point in trying to fix it? Lastly she took out the eyeliner observing in the mirror as she rubbed the dull pencil around both eyes. "do I look alright?" she asked again, smoothing back her glue-y hair and smiling her no-front-teeth smile. "yes, yes you do." I said, pinching back my amusement and wincing at the pain for the untruth. She wasn't ever pleased with her photo, yet she had plans to go to kinkos to copy it and use it for her acting work. A few minutes later when she sat down at the public free internet computers we have here, I cringed as I watched her dirty hands smearing the left over brown foundation all over the keys and mouse. I couldn't wait until she left to wipe it down, but these computers are very popular and I never had a chance...several people cleaned it off with their own hands. Ew. Ew.

More Midget Michael Jackson Man!!!!

If you don't know who the Midget Michael Jackson Man is, please check out an earlier post in this blog about him. He is a man of the dwarf persuasion who dances to Michael Jackson hits in the subways of NYC.

I caught the lil' guy warming up his legs this morning...a little hopscotch action, sort of..in one place...very briskly...boy those tiny limbs move fast! A good midget subway performer knows to stretch well before a long day of moonwalking less his puny ligaments tear where they meet his teensy hip sockets.

Once again, while the man does a mean tiny crotch grab, I still marvel more at this early Saturday morning ritual I am sometimes lucky enough to catch.

Midget Michael Jackson Man...

You know that midget Michael Jackson impersonator in the subways in NYC? Well I witnessed him stretching his tiny limbs this morning. I watched him whip those wee little arms around and back and forth like a small sparrow fallen out of the nest, desperately continuing to try to fly though his feet remain firmly on the ground. He was facing the dark smelly corner of the subway tunnel, warming up his mini ligaments and tendons for a Saturday of girations to "Billie Jean" as people stop to gawk. Is it sad that I found this early morning warmup preparation ritual far more entertaining? I will never get that video clip out of my mind.

Gratuitously Rotten Smelly Homeless Man

This morning I hopped into the brisk air on the subway platform and was met with a train pretty quick, only to rip open my fresh hot egg sandwich and enter a car on the train that just happened to be filled with the stench of Gratuitously Rotten Smelly Homeless Man. There was no one in this car. The looks on my face as well as the few others who had filtered on with me told me I wasn't the only one to smell it. At the far end of the car lay the rotten thing...with all his belongings. Was he dead? How long had his carcass been allowed to ride on this train? Why hadn't anyone cleaned him out of there at the last stop (being that it is the end of the line, where they clean the cars!)? I saw him stir, so the smell couldn't be explained by death. We all looked at eachother in horror, our noses scrunched up as we tried to inhale as little as possible. A few people passed through to the next car. I looked in, but realized that-at this hour of the morning, were I to move, I would lose my seat...which is a coveted position during the morning rush hour...even moreso when you are about to stand outside for the next 10 hours working a promotion. So I stayed there...still eating my egg sandwich...because, well...I had to eat. As others filtered in, no one sat from half way through the car towards him. Many switched cars the first chance they got. I remained. Every once in while, as my nose started to get used to the smell...I feared the idea that I could ever get used to something so awful...would I smell like that all day? Just as I would worry about getting used to it, another wiff would waft all the way down to my end. What the hell could cause that? Was he covered in open sores and lying in his own soiled pants? How long would he be permitted to stay there? I have no doubt his smell would linger LONG after he had been shood out...and some innocent new rider would sit right where his poopy/bloody/corpse-like body had layed all day. I don't know if I was being insensitive to the plight of this unfortunate soul...whose aroma stayed with me and taunted me throughout the day. Was it really nearby, or was it just that strong that my mind couldn't help but have flashbacks? I don't know...there are a lot of homeless people here that sleep on subways...and they don't all smell like that.

Huge Snow "man-part"

Today has been a good day. I got to sleep in, with my sweetie...but I didn't sleep all damn day...

My roommates and I all bundled up to go outside and play in the snow!!! It was a little rougher than I am used to (I am such a girly girl...aka..."wuss"). We built a snowman on our front balcony...by hoisting up additional snow in a huge pasta pot with yarn...then, eventually we did the same thing from the roof to the balcony. I must admit, it was a little daunting and I totally felt like giving up when our snowman looked a bit like a pointy mountain blob...and I was cold and cranky....but somehow things started to take shape. Then we got out the "tools". Very quickly we began sculpting him into the unfortunate shape of a penis...TOTALLY unintentionally....but couldn't help cracking up wondering how many people looked out their windows seeing two chicks molding a huge snow "man-part" on their balcony. We were mortified when someone walked by and gave us a thumbs-up, we aren't sure if he could see the obvious dirtiness or not. Well...eventually we got ourselves a good lookin' snowman...complete with fig newton eyes, a carrot nose, and pink wafer buttons....

We took a trip to Dunkin Donuts to get Dunkaccinos...mmmm...

I took a longass hot shower...

....and now Kira is making grilled cheeze and tomato soup....

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!

Drunkard on a train

I ADORE living in NYC, but there are some moments it can SUCK SUCK SUCK...riding trains home after midnight, drunk, is definitely at the top of the list. Unfortunately I can never afford cabs. It has been a while since I experienced something like this here, though I am no stranger to it.

Right, so I went to an awesome party last night and evidently drank a bit too much wine. While I was there, I knew I was having fun, but at no point did I think I'd had too much. It wasn't until my incredibly retarded journey home that I realized I might not be right, and I definitely shouldn't have been attempting the trip home alone, by subway, at this very late hour. I wobbled my way to the subway station, and automatically went down to wait a very long time for the train. I put some song on my ipod, I don't think I chose an entire playlist, as I was going to pick something else once I got on the train. I remember the train pulling in, and me getting on. The next thing I know, I wake up and we are stopping at the Whitehall Street station. Being that I live in Queens, this is definitely not where I should be. As the train was pulling in, I realized nothing was playing in my lil' ear buds, and took them out to put them away. As I hobbled out of the train to go on the other side of the tracks to head the RIGHT direction, I tried desperately to remember what one song I had listened to before passing the fuck out on the train. I still can't remember. So I am standing on the uptown side finally, waiting. I understand the dreaded agony of the late-night wait. I mustered up as much patience as I could find, and refused to put my ipod back on. I knew it could help the agony of the wait, but I wasn't too in the mood to listen to anything, since I was angry at myself for not noticing which direction I was heading before...and I didn't think I was in any condition to be leisurely enjoying my ipod on a subway. I don't know how long I waited there. A homeless man was taking up one of the benches, and the only other people in the station, who had gotten off the train I did, were sitting on the other one. I could have sat with them, but for some reason I just didn't want to. So I remain in between the two benches, propped against a pole. After a while had passed, something made me feel like pacing, and I paced near some signs that had service changes on them. My drunken head eventually processed some very important information. There are no uptown trains from that station over the weekends at that time. I reread this numerous times until I understood it properly. What the fuck? Why can we walk down there to wait for the trains, if none will ever arrive? Where's the fucking tape stopping us from walking down there? Where are the signs or announcements? I realize I only paid $2 to go the wrong direction home tonight, but I just don't understand why they are alright with customers waiting stupidly on the platform at 2am-ish with no idea that they will never get home that way. Seriously. So I climb the stairs and ask the station attendants. I ask how to get home. They tell me to go upstairs and get the 1 shuttle to 42nd street, or the 4 or 6. They don't tell me how. I find myself near the Staten Island Ferry...in the windy fucking cold, and there is nothing to point me in the right direction. The only thing I can see is that the 1 train is in the station the Staten Island Ferry comes to. So I head over there. The doorway to get to the 1 train is gated. I begin to cry. I ask the man working there, who says to go outside to get the shuttle. "Where???" I ask. He mumbles some streets as I walk out weeping. I just wanna go home. I walk to the streets he mentions. There is absolutely NO indication that I am where I ought to be. I have to walk back down into the original station I came out of. Still weeping, I return to the lady asking "WHERE do I go?!?!?!" One of them does come out of the booth to walk me up the stairs and point me in the direction of the 4/6 train several blocks up the street. He is still talking about some shuttle, which I still can't fucking find. I weep all the way up the street, knowing that I need to pay another 2 fucking dollars once I get there, and knowing after that long-ass wait, I will have to get off at 59th to wait AGAIN for MY train. I just wanna go home!!!! I need not mention once again my state of weeping as I waited FOREVER at that station. Then a 1 train comes, where the 4/6 should be...and I get on, never fully knowing if it is running on the 1 line, or the 4/6 line...I just remain confused and hoping to GET HOME. I remained painfully conscious on this train, thankfully, until I arrived to 59th street. I angrily made the transfer there to the platform to my n/w train. I sat down and waited. It was FREEZING in there. I shivered like a junkie in withdrawal. I kid you not. I was in hell. I just wanted to go home!!!! I wept a bit here as well, as I did throughout various other moments of the trip. I was pissed off at myself for being stupid, at the MTA for not providing info and charging me more money to get home with all their changes, and mainly I was weeping for the week I had. I just worked a few days at a new job for people who don't know what they are doing, with several hard-working people, without any idea when or if we will get any money at a restaurant that shouldn't be open yet. I hate being taken advantage of when I give people the benefit of doubt. I do feel like that wait was at least 30 minutes if not more. Finally, an N. I am comforted, knowing I am finally heading where I need to be. ..
The next thing I remember, I awake sitting in a freezing train in a station. At first I thought we had just made a stop and the doors would shut and we'd be on our way again...I could see where I am, and know how many stops were left. But we just sit there. The cold wind floods into the car, and my junkie shakes return. I peak further out of the train and see that I am now sitting at the end of the line in Astoria, at Ditmars. Only one stop past where I live, but still. I slept through my motherfuckin' stop!!!! What the HELL is wrong with me? I had NO idea I was this inebriated, but yes, I was. Now, when you are at the last station of the subway line, the trains hang out there for a while. I don't know what they are doing with them, but they take a long while to move again, especially at this hour. So here I am, waiting once more...in the fucking cold...getting angrier at myself that I got that intoxicated before riding the subways home. Yay me. I stay freezing and pissed off conscious...finally we start to move again....finally my stop...I run home, it's that cold out. I don't run, but I ran last night. Finally I am home.

No Day But Today...and Yesterday?

I went to see the new "Rent" movie not once, but two times since it came out 2 days ago. Should I be embarrassed? The first time, my friends and I went to the Ziegfeld Theatre (the BEST to see movie musicals!). The lines were crazy, the theatre was PACKED, and everyone there wanted to be there with their entire being! I have never seen a movie where people applauded from the opening credits, but this is how we started the night.

This show is very important to me, and to a lot of people I know. I cried for nearly every song from the beginning to the end. The entire show isn't ALL sad, but I couldn't help it! I was so happy it was made. I was so proud of it and all the people involved. It made me happy to think about all the people who never knew a thing about the show who will one day fall in love with it because of this movie. I was crying for the tragedy of such a brilliant creation existing on it's own without it's incredible creator being alive on the earth with it. I cried for the beautiful irony of his lyrics about 'writing one song...before he goes...a song about love...from the soul of a young man...'. I cried because he left this legacy of songs behind, not just one. Tears welled up in my eyes the way they always seem to since I moved here and witness people in front of my singing their hearts out on stage (usually live) on the stages of NYC. I cry because it shakes me. I cry because I know how it feels to do it, and I long to be a part of something half as good. I cry when I am afraid I won't get to. I feel chills up my spine because the show isn't only about love and dreams, he created a piece of art that speaks to people about issues we still want to ignore.

The songs of this show bring me back to my dorm room in college for musical theatre. If you weren't listening to the album in your room, and no one on your floor was, you would undoubtedly hear it coming through the pipes in the bathroom from another floor. We were far from alphabet city and not yet starving artists. We were starving college students who were starving to start living for our art. ..>

Tonight several of the same friends and I decided to go again, after eating a lot of food...with a few people who had yet to see it. We made our way to a less glamorous theatre. The theatre was nearly empty (probably due to the horridly cold temps!), and applause after every song just wasn't the tone of the evening. Of course I enjoyed seeing it again, but I was mortified when I heard the my friends on the other end of the row had to endure some ignorant people who never should have been watching the movie in the first place. Evidently these guys gaybashed through the entire movie, saying things starting with "fuckin' faggots..." and getting disgruntled every time a song started. What were these people doing in there?!?!?! Clearly they had just snuck in and should never have stayed. When they realized they were annoying my friends, I guess they decided they ought to stick around and ruin the entire night. I found out about this all upon leaving the theatre. I don't think I need to explain to you how bad this upset me. I just can't understand people intentionally setting out to ruin other people's happiness. I can't fathom how that could be an enjoyable time. It also slaps you in the face. We weren't sitting in a theatre in Oklahoma watching some Jackie Chan Movie, we were in NEW YORK CITY watching about movie MUSICAL about gay people, straight people, people with HIV. Of course NYC is one of the best places to be in our country if you happen to be gay or love those who are...but I think sometimes we forget just how far we haven't come in the scheme of things. We still are living in our very own city with people like that. I guess we need reminded of that, though I still don't quite know what to do about it.

As starving college students these songs inspired us to pursue what is real and genuine...in our careers and our friends and lovers. They showed us how important it is to live and love without regret. I am 8 years older. The NYC we live in is far different than the one these characters lived in 20 years ago. I am still inspired by these words and melodies. The most valuable message Jonathan Larson gave us, in my opinion, is to live in the present moment. As soon as we are thinking about this moment, it is already gone. Did we actually LIVE it? ..>

From the already powerful message that was harshly cemented with his untimely death:

"There is no future, there is no past, I live this moment as my last. There's only us. There's only this. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. No other road. No other way. No day but today."

The Drum Circle in Central Park

Walk into Central Park any Saturday or Sunday evening from about 5pm until 9pm...follow the tribal sounds to a cauldron o' cultures moving and singing, clapping and smiling...all to the same primative beats being cooked up by an equally diverse team of drummers. This is the drum circle in Central Park. I was drawn to the sound of the drums one Sunday a few weeks ago and didn't leave for 2 hours. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face as I watched young people, old people, little babies, someone from nearly every race and culture...some in business suits, some in jeans...all of them moving and laughing and enjoying life! There were amazing dancers who danced appropriately to the african beats while yet others, who normally would probably be embarrassed to dance in public felt compelled to move their bodies regardless of who might see them. Although I have lived in NYC for nearly 3 years now, I never came across this wonderful celebration, but it happens when the weather permits every weekend throughout the summer. I couldn't get this wonderful evening out of my head, and anxiously awaited the next decent weather day to get out there. I had an amazing time again tonight! Something I thought about the last time I was there was how hundreds and thousands of years ago this same sort of thing was happening....people banging on drums and those who were in earshot magnetically drawn to it and into the frenzied dancing for an inexplicable but undeniably euphoric shared experience. I remember thinking how unbelievable it was that we are no different from those people who danced together thousands of years ago. Upon further thinking about this party that I discovered, I have decided that what is even more unbelievable is that several thousand years ago there definitely wouldn't have been so many varied cultures enjoying it together and how fortunate we are to live in a time (and a city) where we can-and do. Ahhhh drums!