I’ve wanted to see Hair for ages, long before I donned long skirts and dabbled in hippiedom for a few years in college. I knew I’d love the music, the costumes, the astral-projection- groovy- can you dig it style of the entire thing, but I didn’t know I’d be slammed with one of the most powerful and moving pieces of theater and social commentary I’ve ever seen.
Archive for the ‘Manhattan’ Category
Let the Sun Shine In
On May - 12 - 2010
Tourist for a Day
On May - 3 - 2010
When a pigeon almost flew in my window, I remained nonplussed. The rat with wings sat in my windowsill and stared at me. I stared back. So what if I contract avian flew? What’s the worst it can do, poke my eyes out? It flew away, and I considered myself victorious.
I Still Want to Be the Girl With the Most Cake
On April - 28 - 2010
What'chu lookin' at?
Ravel’s Bolero is the song I listen to when I’m gearing up to work. Its measured tempo, predictable and steady, suggests forward motion and productivity. This is exactly what I need to enter the fray of my own mind before I turn amorphous thoughts into concrete ideas. It was also the song Courtney Love chose accompany her lackluster entrance during her concert at Midtown’s Terminal 5 last night.
Empire State Ending
On March - 31 - 2010
I don’t know Cameron Dabaghi , but I’m going to imagine who he was for a few moments. I’m first going to think about why people choose to take their own lives. I know all the psych book answers, but they don’t seem sufficient. Then I’m going to think about why someone so young would choose such a dramatic, visible way to die. Then I’ll ask myself the obvious question: of all the ways to go, what would prompt someone to choose to plummet 86 floors from the Empire State Building?
Then I’m going to wonder what it looked like on the way down, who might have seen him falling, if he ever had a moment of unfettered freedom before splattering on the pavement, and when, precisely, he actually died.
It doesn’t seem fair to speculate on the life of a total stranger, but I’m doing it anyway. It is facile to stay that suicide is an escape, and that for some, it seems the only option when hopelessness and desperation take hold. Once one decides to die, how does one decide to go? The living never get to hear the stories. Some likely go the way of least resistance, at least pain-wise. Others, however, think of the impact on others. I imagine that Cameron didn’t feel heard, because he didn’t go quietly or privately. Had he overdosed in his dorm room at Yale, we likely would never have know his name. A tale of torment and anguish needs a dramatic finish, and I wonder if he jumped simply because he wanted a powerful ending to his story.
Purim Gone Wild
On March - 1 - 2010
Only a few weeks after I’d denounced my religion, I found myself celebrating Purim. (Long story, and not one I’m going to tell here. ) I started out with a simple costume (hot pink tights and a sequenced headband) at a small singles gathering. I drank one Red Bull and vodka on an empty stomach. By the time I ended up at temple, my headband was off and I was slightly tipsy. Initially I felt a little ashamed, until I saw the state of affairs that awaited.
Hiatus from Hibernation
On February - 27 - 2010
Before you non-New Yorkers (or Chicagoans) become infatuated with the snow, here’s a dose of cold, harsh, reality. (Did I mention cold?) Yes, the world blanketed in a downy cushion of white powder is beautiful. It is also slushy, wet, and inconvenient.
Exhibit A: This is a pile of trash left unattended due to the inevitable slowdown of the sanitation department. And I wonder why New York is infested by cockroaches.
Exhibit B: This is a makeshift bridge used to prevent an accidental drowning as I walked from the curb onto the bus. This plank, while useful in theory, did not withstand the weight of an adult female (that would be me). Yes, my leather boots were submerged in slush.
Exhibit C: This is rather sad, like the abandoned walkman in your basement that reminds you of making mixtapes in sixth grade. It encapsulates the stifling, burdensome nature of winter. I don’t think anybody will feel the wind in their hair on this baby anytime soon.
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Immobility
Exhibit D: Snow and its aftermath necessitate manual labor. I say call it a winter and get yourself an unlimited metro card.
In all fairness, Central Park is a winter wonderland and a child’s snowy paradise. In the process of taking these photos, I nearly developed frostbite. Now please excuse me while I make some hot cocoa and curl up in bed.
Don't fall in.
That One Time, When I Crashed a Speed Dating Event
On January - 28 - 2010
I’ve never had trouble getting a date – until I moved to New York. Blame it on an intensely competitive dating pool, a city bursting at the seams with people who are overbooked and overworked, or my own theory that most people find flirtatious texts, Chinese food and meaningless sex more satisfying and cost-efficient than an actual date. I thought I was content being single and unfettered without so much as a textworthy crush until I started to develop a thing for the men of Jersey Shore. (I spend more time watching them than interacting with males of my own species). Then I could smell it: desperation.
The Making of Life: an art installation
On January - 13 - 2010
I love the way I move in art, and I feel somehow changed within a space redefined by sculpture.
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- I am so much more than yogurt and granola bars.
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- Are these defining objects of my lifestyle?
