September 14, 2009
I am so relieved to see ...
that my diet apparently is working.
Not only have I lost weight, but I have also become elongated and toweringly tall.
August 4, 2009
July 29, 2009
July 26, 2009
July 22, 2009
July 17, 2009
Emily Dickinson's "certain slant of light".
Not a good sign.
July 16, 2009
June 20, 2009
June 15, 2009
June 10, 2009
May 5, 2009
Sunrise on Avon
Took this photo on the beach at Avon, freezing dawn.
This photo is not re-touched or edited in any way. This is actually what I saw.
February 11, 2009
I like to take pictures of:
Drinks.
I don't know why. Do not ask why the heart wants what it wants. I just like what it looks like.
I like to take pictures of:
Flags.
Cannot get enough. Always on the lookout.
And, of course, working at 30 Rock put me at the veritable epicenter of Flag Obsession.
February 5, 2009
Everything changes eventually
I cannot be alone in my tendency to go visit things (meaning: objects) that I love and have some connection to. I visit favorite trees. I visit statues (calling Alexander Hamilton). I visit rocks in the ocean. I have my pilgrimages that make up my solitude. "Let's go visit that one tree I love, see how it's doing, what stage it is in right now."
I also visit graffitti that I love. Now graffitti is less eternal than the other things and you cannot depend on it staying there, at least not in the original form. You can't get too attached. That's the beauty of it.
Under the highway sort of near my house, there is a piece of graffitti that I love. I would have to walk by it every day, and I always looked at it, as I passed. I don't know why. It was like checking on it. "How you doing? Still there? Okay, good. Hope you're well."
In the last year, my routine has shifted, and I no longer was walking under the highway every day. So I lost touch with my dear graffitti. It's not on Facebook, either, so I can't IM with it in the middle of the night when I'm lonely, like I can do with all my other insomniac friends and family members. But I never forgot about its existence. How could I? When I love once, I love forever.
Last weekend, I took a long glittering freezing walk, and my route took me under the highway. As I approached where I knew it would be, I felt a small flutter of anticipation. I was excited to see my graffitti again.
And, true to its form, it has changed.
But I somehow enjoy the change, too. It's not what it once was, but then again ... which of us are?
June, 2007
January, 2009
February 4, 2009
February 1, 2009
Classic.
I just love this picture, of the front billboard of Wrigley Field - corner of Addison and Clark in Chicago. Middle of winter. 27 degrees.
January 29, 2009
Scanning Thursday
The Civic Opera Building in Chicago - quite a spectacular building. I worked in a huge gleaming office building on the other side of the river - there was a bridge right there - and I took this photo from the walkway on my side of the river. The front of the Opera building is all columns and statues, very classical and grand - but the back is a sheer stone wall that goes right down into the water (at least that's how I remember it), like something in Venice. I just loved the look of it. I almost preferred the back of the building, architecturally, to the front.
January 23, 2009
Scanning Friday
All I wanna do is
BICYCLE
BICYCLE
BICYCLE
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like
Bicycle races are coming your way ...
January 21, 2009
Photo Wednesday
Sunrise on the Jersey shore. It was freezing, too, with wind so hard it nearly knocked me over.
January 15, 2009
Scanning Thursday
A shot of my favorite movie theatre in the world - the Music Box, on Southport Ave. in Chicago.
Well. I haven't been to them all, of course, so I can't say for sure, but the Music Box is one of my favorite places to see movies. Gorgeous building, great movies ... it's a treasure. For one year, I lived right behind the Music Box and I was in heaven. I was there all the time.
This particular shot was taken on a freezing sunny day and Michael and I had just had a long conversation about getting married (he had proposed to me), and our conversation had ended in a stalemate. A friendly stalemate but a stalemate, nonetheless.
When we met, one of the things that had connected us (intellectually, I mean) was discovering that we both loved the movies of Cassavetes. We had freaked, and spent many happy hours talking about Cassavetes and his movies.
Blah blah. Fast forward to our silent walk down cold sunny Southport.
He and I, filled with thoughts of wedded bliss or horror, depending on your perspective, approached the Music Box - and I glanced up at the marquee and couldn't believe my eyes. I started laughing out loud, and then Michael saw the marquee and he started laughing (believe it or not, Cassavetes' name had come up during the proposal conversation) ... and I had to take a picture. Michael was standing beside me as I took the picture, saying worried vaguely grumpy things out loud like, "Holy crap. What the hell are we doing...."
January 11, 2009
Scanning Sunday
The "bridge to nowhere" in Milwaukee.
Pat called it "Sheila's Bridge" because I was so fascinated by it.
December 11, 2008
From the cell phone camera: O'Hare Day
Stranded in O'Hare for 10 straight hours. I read the entirety of Christine Falls that day. So I may have been sitting in an airport chair by my thwarted gate of departure, but I was really wandering through the misty streets of Dublin in the 1950s.
November 25, 2008
November 3, 2008
November 2, 2008
Things I've seen since Friday
Titanic lifejacket slash mirror
Sunday in the park with ...
Chessboard
China clogs
Oscar Wilde in the parlor alongside my leather jacket
This bust scared me in the night.
Player piano
Cash register
Statue labeled "Maternity"
My own face at sunrise
Glass-enclosed cherub
The breakfast room
Viewfinder on the boardwalk before the sun came up - FREEZING - so windy it nearly knocked me over
October 21, 2008
Favorite photos
I love this post (I love that site in general). I love it because of the photos she chooses to share, and how she talks about why she loves them. She loves "gents surrounded by ladies", she loves any photo with a year in it, she loves photos of trios, she loves photos of "snooty Edwardian women", she loves photos with old radios or old appliances in them.
Who can say why we love the things we do. The "why" is not interesting. What is great is the FACT of the love, and how it is expressed and shared. It's why I love her site so much.
So in the spirit of that. These are not my favorite photos, per se, but they are representative of the themes and images I am compulsively drawn to.
I like photos of women from the 20s wearing furs, little hats, and cute strappy shoes.
I like photos of little ragamuffin children working in factories at the turn of the last century.
I like any photo that involves an old-fashioned kitchen. I love to see old toasters and percolators and eggbeaters and refrigerators with rounded edges.
I like photos of old-fashioned (but brand new then) gleaming cars.
I like photos of Rosie the Riveter women working on assembly lines during WWII.
I like photos of women floating underwater.
I like photos of Coney Island, back in the day.
I love photos of Ziegfeld girls.
I love photos of old movie palaces.
Any photo involving an aviatrix is dear to my heart.
I love photos that involve: sailors or guys with slicked ducktails, girls with curled hair, a floor smudged with cigarette ash, Coke bottles on the table, an integrated crowd (as an added bonus) and a dance floor.
Make sure you go check out her favorites - the images she has in her collection is extraordinary!
September 6, 2008
Thank you, Mrs. Franco
Images that recall and reflect one another. Moments like this always makes me grateful for Humanities class in 11th grade in high school. It makes me notice things ... to this day. I looked up at the clouds and saw that girl from the painting.
(photo I took of clouds above my apartment)
("Ecstasy", by Maxfield Parrish)
August 11, 2008
I float in the water ...
... and I contemplate things like my stock portfolio and existential issues surrounding my own mortality. I am deep in thought. I revel in solitude and the vaguely melancholy source of my own intellectual meanderings. Please do not disturb.
April 15, 2008
Hoboken train and ferry station
It's a phenomenal structure - and I finally went and got some pictures of it.
The interior
In the parking lot - there are cobblestones - and an old pair of tracks - just ends, right there.
The exterior
The famous St. Paul's - downtown
(A brief history of this extraordinary church here). Some photos from this past Sunday.
March 19, 2008
Some photos
From Chicago. The door at Improv Olympic - close-up - Clark and Addison.
March 8, 2008
By the lake
It was frigid cold. There were snow flurries. The wind was intense and YEARNED to toss me into the freezing waves. Fences by the water were coated with ice. The shoreline is one of the most beautiful places on earth, as far as I'm concerned. And the skyline takes my breath away. I get emotional, when it comes to Chicago. It is the city of my heart. It really is. I walked probably 5 or 6 miles yesterday, and finally came home, and collapsed in a chair. It took me about an hour to warm up. Here are some pictures.
The Belmont Marina
Approaching the lake
The shoreline, waves crashing onto the steps
Spume. (Mitchell made fun of me when I called it "spume". To quote him accurately, he said, "Fuck you and your spume.")
Ice-coated fence
More of the ice-coated fence
Looking north. The sun lighting up a streak of the lake.
Gorgeous
Navy Pier
The skyline. Oo say drak.
March 4, 2008
February 10, 2008
Schizo day
Left my apartment at about 11 to go to church. The day looked like this.
Two hours later, walking home, the day looked like this.
It was so windy I was nearly blown off the causeway.
Half an hour later, this was going on on my street.
And here is where the skyline used to be.
And now it's a cold clear blue twilight with one hell of a ferocious wind.
I fully expect a heat wave in the next 24 minutes.
February 2, 2008
A tour of my bulletin board
because the light.
I have no idea what it means - I cut it out of a magazine years ago. I just like it.
A tour of my bulletin board
Wrigley Field, Chicago. I took that picture. I was out with M. that night, I remember. We were in his car.
January 22, 2008
having a camera ...
... at times can make you really open your eyes. For example, I walk by a particular building almost every day. It's almost a block long, and kind of falling apart - there's a garage door entrance where I think you can buy used car parts every other Thursday or something like that - but other than that, it's just a big concrete wall, an old warehouse I thought.
But then I noticed an image/carving on the side of the buildng - and realized what the building was, once upon a time. I LOVE moments like that!! Ghosts.
(Photo below.)
December 31, 2007
2007 Year in Pictures
I bought a camera (with Allison's help) in March. So here are (and yes I will finish Master & Commander - I'm almost done - and fell asleep holding the book in my hand. Yeah.) ... some of the photos (many of the photos) I have taken this year. Some I've posted on the blog before, some I haven't ... but it's been kind of cool to scroll through and take a look at all the photos, memories coming up, etc. I'll post with little to no commentary ... just a montage of images from 2007, a year which has pretty much sucked. It's been a big year, though. Tons of upheaval. My life at this moment looks very little like it looked at this time last year. That is good. And I hope it's even MORE so true next year. Let there be little to no resemblance next year at this time to my life right now! God willing!
Hope you like the pictures. I have enjoyed going thru them all.
2007 Year in Pictures
Boys playing basketball in my neighborhood at night, Manhattan gleaming in the background
2007 Year in Pictures
Gee, that's a tough choice you're presenting me with there, bub. Kinda like "cake or death".
December 17, 2007
December 15, 2007
December 11, 2007
Uhm ... wow. That parking lot is empty.
I cannot explain why looking at the following two photos I took with my cell phone makes me laugh out loud. I know my blog is all private-jokey these days, like I'm writing in code, so, whatever, sorry - lots going on that I'm not talking about - I cannot explain why the surrounding situation is so outrageously funny and insane and horrible that I guffaw (and wince in horror) just thinking about it - I have tried to write about it but ... so far, I can't find the right words.
In sum, I seriously can't even BEGIN to tell the story of these two cars ... but I post the photos nonetheless because I need the laugh.
Speaking of Cagney ...
George M. Cohan overlooks the chaos and color of Times Square. He is, as of now, surrounded by construction - which makes him seem even more mythological.
December 1, 2007
Buildings and colors
A montage.
Central Park South building, NYC
Ivy on Edwards Hall, URI
Regal Cinemas, 42nd and 8th, NYC
Protest wall, Belfast, Northern Ireland
The Playpen, 8th Avenue, NYC
Lehman Brothers, 50th and 7th, NYC
Stucco house, my neighborhood
Back of Roseland, 53rd (I think) - in between 7th and 8th, NYC
Carnegie Deli, across from Carnegie Hall, NYC
Dark green storefront, Soho, NYC
My favorite roof in Manhattan, midtown
November 29, 2007
November 27, 2007
My old stompin' grounds
This past Saturday - a freezing cold day - I went up to URI and wandered around, on the quadrangle - and then went over to the Fine Arts Center, where I spent the majority of my time in college. Like 80% of my time. All the doors were opened. No students - they were all home on Thanksgiving break. But I wandered around to my hearts content, strolling down memory lane. Amazing how nothing has changed!
I went down to the girls dressing room - below the stage. I could still smell the powder, the Aquanet - I could still see all of our reflections in those mirrors ... Brooke, Jackie, Liz, Nancy, Julie, Lee ... all of my friends. Actresses. Costumes hung on the rack. Hustle, bustle, quick changes, curlers, corsets, T-strap shoes, hoop skirts, aprons, bonnets ... My locker was over on the left hand side.
My old stompin' grounds
The Fine Arts Center lobby. I wandered around, staring at all the posters - shows from before my time, shows during my time, and shows after. They're all still there. And that lobby!! How many fights did I have with boyfriends in that lobby. How many embarrassing public meltdowns. How much I have gossiped in that space, whispering with Mitchell, being completely annoying because we couldn't believe what good friends we were. We drove everyone crazy. How many classes did I cut - sitting in that very lobby. LIke: Sheila. You have a class IN THAT BUILDING. If you're going to cut, at least get off the premises!! How many nervewracking waits for auditions - that's where we all would pace and wander, before being brought into the various auditions. How many improvisations were done - with Mitchell and David and Jackie - crazy stuff - David picking us all up over his head and whipping us around. A wonderful advertisement for what it was to be a theatre major. It's a beautiful space and I love how much it has NOT changed.
The box office
Posters for The Five Brothers and The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds - two shows I was in.
Poster for The Gingham Dog. David starred in that one. I played his bigoted sister.
Poster for Reckless. David and Nancy starred. Mitchell was hysterically funny as the ridiculous cheeseball gameshow host. I played David's deaf (or pretending to be deaf) paraplegic wife.
Poster for Anne of Green Gables. I played Anne with an "e". The highpoint of my college career.
Poster for Edwin Drood. I think that was my favorite theatrical experience in all of college. I just played a music hall girl, no big part ... and it was the most fun I've ever had. Jackie and I, as music hall sluts, were joined at the hip. We danced, we laughed, we did stupid bits, we heckled each other, we strutted about ... we had an absolute blast.
And now ... looking back: on my past, seen through the lobby.
My old stompin' grounds
The light lock. The actor's lounge downstairs. Hallways. Ghosts of my younger self EVERYWHERE. And not just my ghosts - but everyone's. David. Mitchell. Jackie. Nancy. Brooke. Jim. Alec. Judith. All of them. These spaces may LOOK empty, but I assure you: they are not.
My old stompin' grounds
The main theatre. Wait til you see the size of the space. We, as students, had no idea how good we had it. You get out in the real world, and you deal with scratchy black-box theatres, seating 70 people ... and you realize: holy crap, the facilities back then were world-class!
Thanksgiving weekend was always the dry tech weekend - students gone, so the technical team can put up the set for the show that opens the following week. I was happy to see nothing had changed. They are doing Little Women, and the dry tech was up and running when I peeked in. I love continuity.
My old stompin' grounds
G Studio. Scene of a million acting classes. A million rehearsals. We did a production of Lanford Wilson's Rimers of Eldritch in G Studio - and the place was transformed into an old rickety tumbleweedy kind of town. That place is full of ghosts. Kimber (teacher) smoking his pipe. Scenes being done. Meisner repetition exercises. So many things. Mitchell and I were reminiscing last night about all that went on in G Studio. And it hasn't changed at all. I auditioned for Picnic in G Studio. It was my introduction to the seriousness of what I wanted to do, and how seriously I wanted to take it. That feeling resides in that room to this day.
My old stompin' grounds
The exterior of the Fine Arts Center - where I spent the majority of my time in college. The statues say it all. It feels like so many important moments of my life happened within view of those statues. It was a freezing cold day, brisk and blue-skied. With red and yellow leaves abundant everywhere I looked. An autumnal day. Very college-y and it made me very nostalgic.
November 17, 2007
October 31, 2007
Costumes!
This is an old post. But it's a gift that just keeps on giving.
Okay. So Halloween. My Halloween costumes through the years.
Here's a photo of my brother and me. I am a bunny rabbit. He, obviously, is a clown. The height of his hat is taller than his actual body. My mom made both of those costumes.
Here I am as a flapper. This is during my junior high years, my Eight is Enough pariah years. My best friend and I were obsessed with the 1920s. We loved flappers. We had seen Bugsy Malone. We were HOOKED. So we dressed up as flappers. Sadly, though, the neighborhood mothers, opening the doors to trick-or-treaters - all assumed that we were hookers. I don't know. I think it's PERFECTLY obvious that I am a flapper!!! This was my last year trick-or-treating.
Now we move on to college, when it becomes cool to dress up again. Here I am at a party with my college boyfriend. I was a blind mute French beggar. The sign around my neck says "J'ai faime!"
My boyfriend didn't wear a costume. JUST KIDDING.
He dressed up as a nerd.
Here we are at the start of the party, costumes intact, the illusion complete.
And here we are a couple hours and many underage beers later.
Costumes not so pristine now. I love that picture.
At that same party - my friends Jackie and Mitchell dressed up as Jackie's grandparents - who were FAMOUS to all of us. Chester and Millie. It was like one word. Chester and Millie, Chester and Millie. They died within days of one another. Truly devoted to each other. Anyway, as a tribute - Jackie and Mitchell dressed up (or should I say channeled) Millie and Chester. Here they are.
This is one of my favorite pictures of all time. Look at Mitchell's EYES! He is completely in character. I am also particularly amused by Jackie's mouth. Like: what is Millie saying to Chester? Is she calming him down? I hope so, cause he looks a little worried.
A year later, Mitchell and I joined forces and dressed up as Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick. Again, the expression on Mitchell's face in this photo KILLS me. He looks so bored, so arrogant, so OVER it.
A couple years after that - while we were living in Chicago - Mitchell and I got invited to a Halloween party. The whole Woody Allen-Soon Yi thing had just exploded, so we dressed up as Woody Allen and Mia Farrow. Please note that:
1. Mitchell is carrying Crime and Punishment
2. He is using photos of Geisha girls as a bookmark
A couple years ago, I was invited to a Halloween party where we had to dress up as someone who was actually dead. A person from history, what have you.
I am going to hell. I have written "Helter Skelter" all over my arms and legs with red marker.
Here's the side view of my pregnant belly as I dance with Jackie Kennedy and Mrs. Al Capone. God forgive me. More hellatious fires licking at my heels.
I think my favorite costume I ever came up with, though, was when I was Squeaky Fromme. I don't have any pictures of it. I was living in San Francisco at the time. But I thought that was my funnest costume ever.
October 27, 2007
And so I ask you.
No, seriously, I ask you.
In the immortal words of Madonna:
What are you looking at??
October 25, 2007
Ceci, you'll love this
I was walking through the belly of the Port Authority bus terminal last week, I happened to have my camera on me ... and when I have my camera on me, it's like my actual VISION changes, and instead of not seeing things, because I see them every day ... I see EVERYthing, as a possibility, as something to be saved.
When you enter the subway terminal 1 floor down in Port Authority, you come thru the turnstiles - and over to the left, randomly, is a tiny store. A small glass box - surrounded by tile and concrete. You need to be buzzed in to even enter. It's a "portrait" store ... elaborate frames, cheeseball paintings - and the other day, as I walked by, it's like i saw, for the first time really, the absurdity of such a store. The lighting in there, as opposed to out in Port Authority where it is fluorescent and practical, is dramatic and elegiac. Almost religious in nature.
Check it out. I just love the two "portraits" they have chosen to represent their store.
October 24, 2007
A couple cool photos
... from the night Patrick Hughes came to town. The first one is from when we were all standing outside on the sidewalk after the reading. The second one is the interior of the performance space upstairs. Mo Pitkins (the venue, bar and performance space) closed its doors this week, for good, which really makes me sad. It was a great great joint. Glad I got some pics of it.
October 22, 2007
October 21, 2007
A montage
Some pictures I've taken that I like. Maybe I've posted some before. Can't remember.
The dawn's early light.
8th Avenue, 6 a.m.
Sunset light, Soho
A glimpse of light.
Violets
Sunrise over New York.
Skyline, summer solstice.
Cheesecake.
Spongebob
Mirror at a junk shop
Hello, Columbus Circle!
Statuary on Houston Street
Ice cream in Soho
Respectability!
A Life
Statue at beach
Steeple
The prehistoric-looking cranes of Newark
October 9, 2007
More pictures from New Mexico
It is so hot and muggy here that it almost feels malevolent. I'm with Michele. Weird. I felt that way when I first woke up this morning. The city has a really bad vibe today and it STINKS. Garbage piled up early this morning, air totally not moving, everything stagnant ... something is OFF. It's also October so the mugginess and stickiness is throwing me out of equilibrium.
So. Blue skies. Desert.
Shadows. Sun.
Make Gloves! Not War! -- seen in Taos, where the "wool festival" was in full woolly bloom. Wool fanatics from all over the world flock to Taos for the festival. Spoke to one little old lady for a bit (this was her car, actually). She lived in Durango, and had come in for the festival. "If you ever come to Durango, look me up. I work in the yarn shop. There are only 2 in town so it should be easy enough to find me." I adore people like that. Who take their passions to the fullest extent.
Blue. White.
Party in Taos!!
Dappled light in Santa Fe
Old-school signage.
My first glimpse of Albuquerque, standing outside the airport.
October 7, 2007
Over the past 4 days ...
I ...
crossed the Rio Grande.
Many times.
I also ...
drove past this whimsical compound built by people waiting for UFOs to land on their property.
I also ....
saw Mildred Pierce for the first time which convinces me, yet again, that although Joan Crawford is recognized as a great icon, she does not always gets the props she deserves for the meticulous-ness and power of her acting. She is so damn good.
I also ....
got to finally meet Stevie, after all these years of internet correspondence. What a pleasure.
I also ...
ate enchiladas from a joint that looks like this.
... and this was on the front window of the enchilada joint.
I also ...
got glimpses of rustic windy beauty....
... and Maxfield Parrish clouds like these....
.... and simple visions of joy and light such as this:
I ...
befriended Jackie and Lou, in a bar. They were celebrating their 23rd wedding anniversary and treated us to an anniversary dance. Great people. Stevie and I loved them.
I ...
saw vistas like this everywhere I looked.
I ...
had a great conversation over breakfast with a couple from Dallas - about Alexander Hamilton, the letters of John and Abigail Adams, John Quincy Adams, and Nathaniel Greene.
I saw ...
this from Stevie's balcony.
And lastly:
I met Dean Stockwell. You know, all in a day's work.
September 17, 2007
New York City: early morning montage
Pre 8 a.m. on a rainy fall-ish morning.
I love being in Times Square that early ... it's so creepy, melancholy. Beautiful. Photos below I took: starting out on MY side of the river ... and continuing over on THAT side.
From the end of my street. It's about 7 am here - a light mist of rain. And check out the huge ocean liner coming up the Hudson.
My 'hood.
42nd and 8th
Peeking in at a big construction site. Corner of 42nd and 8th.
Through a scrap of fabric: the lights of 42nd Street.
BB King's joint - on 42nd. I just love it - because it was literally about 7:30 in the morning ... but damn, those lights were on!!
Weird. The hot gold of the lights above - but then you can see the cooler blue and muted rainy neon of the rest of the street underneath.
Reflection in a rain-puddle.
Times Square. 7:45 a.m. I like it best at this weird hour of the day. Lights still ablaze ... but almost empty of people.
Check this out. An entrance to, oh, some corporate office or something. I have not doctored this at all - or messed with the colors. I was walking across town - in the grey rainy morning - grey streets, watery neon, muted yellow cabs - everything soft and grey - and saw this bright blue entranceway. Like a spaceship or something. And check out what the security guard's station looks like in the photo below this one. It's so Quantum Leap Imaging Chamber, isn't it??
September 2, 2007
Scanner Sunday
I love how this one came out. Sisters on the beach at Block Island.
This is not posed.
Scanner Sunday
I look like an urchin, living off the charity of others. All I have in life is this balloon. Please don't take away my balloon.
Scanner Sunday
A Wade montage. As is probably not surprising - since my last Diary Friday - I've been determined to find him again. I know he's here in New York, and I just love him. He was in the HBO movie Hysterical Blindness - had a small part, played Justin Chambers' best friend - but he's visible in almost every scene in that pool hall ... Jen and I, watching, were like: WADE!!! We called him immediately and left him a joint message, screaming about how great he was, and how much we loved and missed him.
He and I were such freaks together. Grad school can be an overly serious atmosphere. But as long as we were in the same classes, we were never in danger of taking things too seriously.
The photos below are either ones I took of Wade - or ones Wade took of me.
That's a picture Wade took of my friend Jen and me - at a party. On a beanbag chair.
Okay, so this one has been making me laugh every time I look at it.
We are IN CLASS. Mkay? Notice the serious grad school conferences going on behind us. Yet we have a Polaroid camera. And this is what we are doing over in our corner. I am shaking with laughter right now.
Wade and I are on the subway here - and it's gotta be 3 o'clock in the morning. I am being an emphatic asshole.
Okay, so this one below needs some context but I am crying with laughter looking at it. There was a woman in our program who considered herself to be the Grande Dame of theatre, Helen Hayes reincarnated, whatever. She actually was very talented - and she and I got on very well - but man, she could be obnoxious. So she was standing up in some workshop, pontificating on something - and I glanced behind her and saw this:
He was creeping up behind her but looking at me. Like that! I can't stand it!!
This is me, in class. I lived on those Energy Bars. I tried to pretend they were a valid food group.
I took this picture of Wade at some party we were at. I love it. The rings, the sideburns, the 'stache ... He was the most interesting mix of wild boy, staunch upstanding citizen, hippie, and artist. I always felt safe with him - he had that gentlemanly thing, too. No double standard, either. He treated women with friendliness. A babe magnet, as you can imagine. Amazing actor, too.
I will be back in touch with him by this time next week, you mark my words!
Scanner Sunday
There's only one thing to do when it's 27 degrees out and Lake Michigan is frozen over.
Scanner Sunday
Speaking of my most recent celebration of friendship - came across this photo which is amazing, in light of how long ago it was.
It was my graduation from college. My dear friend David was also in my graduating class. The rest of our friends would graduate the following year - so all of them were in attendance. And here is a photo.
That is - from left to right - Maria, David's girlfriend at the time - who is now his wife - a dear friend of mine - and David and Maria have two beautiful young daughters. I didn't even really know Maria that well at the time this photo was taken ... but eventually, when I ended up in Chicago - and David and Maria were there - our friendship took off. It is a huge blessing to me, my relationship with her. Just kind of wild to see her - so long ago - when I didn't even know her.
Next to her on the blanket is Jackie - whose cabaret night we all just went to.
Directly behind Jackie is Antonio - my first boyfriend. I have recently gotten back in touch with him as well - although we are never far from each other's orbits. Strangely enough - Tonio and his wife and kids now live within walking distance of Jackie and her husband. A complete coincidence. But here they are ... years ago ... already connected. Amazing!
Next to Tonio is Steven - Mitchell's brother - lovingly referred to, by all of us, as "Stee".
And next to Jackie, in front of Steven, is Mitchell -- the missing link in our celebration of friendship this past Friday.
Amazing to see us all ... so long ago. But still friends, still in one another's lives on an almost daily basis. I'm blessed!!
Scanner Sunday
Member the story of me on the swing in the Rocky Mountains?
Here's a picture.
August 20, 2007
July 6, 2007
School is out for summer
Central Park HEART-CRACK.
You can't really see it but the mother is about 13 months pregnant.
The sky in Central Park today
You're not gonna believe this. I have not doctored this at all. This is what I saw over the Great Lawn.
July 1, 2007
New York montage
New photos here - I've selected just a few for le montage below.
My favorite kind of roof. This spectacular building reminds me of the Titanic as well as the iceberg. Gorgeous.
Old-school sign.
Night on the 29th floor. All skyline and reflections.
No comment.
Dance studio. I took this photo at around 8:15 in the morning, and it seemed quietly desolate to me, but also - quintessential New York. Everywhere you look ... signs of humanity and interests and activities and life - even when people are still sleeping.
Taken on the same morning walk. I love to see the signs before the neon goes on.
The side of Carnegie Hall. That building gives me goosebumps.
Ivory
The door at Tiffany's when the store is closed.
Truck!
The back of Roseland Ballroom
Gutter
June 24, 2007
Of surfeit one can never have too much
I believe I have mentioned my undying love for the sight of water towers perched on top of buildings throughout Manhattan. Little (and big) rickety wooden rain barrels ... floating through the sky. Once you start to look for them, you see them everywhere. I adore them.
This weekend I found myself in an apartment floating above the city. The view was stunning. But more than that ... WAIT UNTIL YOU SEE WHAT I SAW.
My experience of the water towers transformed. As you can see below.
THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!!!
I think that one's coming to get me.
But look down ...
HOLY GOD, IT'S AN INVASION.
Hmmm, I feel something looking at me. I turn my head.
AHHHHHH. ANOTHER ONE. NO, TWO!
They've got frigging sentinels everywhere.
There is no escape. Don't even try. They have every avenue covered.
As far as the damn eye can see. BASTARDS.
Figure I better keep my eye on the Big Mama closest to me.
You know, it's kind of unnerving.
AHHHH!
That's better, sister. Back off.
Solstice thunder and gleam
So I posted about the summer solstice sky -
Here are two of the photos I took that night. (Rest here)
The sky over my apartment.
And then ... looking to the end of my street ... the sky over Manhattan in the same moment.
June 21, 2007
To quote Team America
"We need a montage!"
Random NYC shots.
I took this one out a cab window as we ricocheted down 7th Avenue. I was surprised how clear it came out.
A winged Wilbur.
Garment district. Dancer in the window.
Fountain. I liked how this shot came out.
I kept seeing a pack of ghosts running through Times Square. Everywhere I looked, I'd see them. They weren't doing anything, really - just standing around, or walking. This is my favorite shot of one of them.
Another one of the fountain. Divide of sun and shadow, thought it looked cool.
Blood-orange margarita
Midtown Comics.
The Paramount Sign. I swear, my heart speeds up when I see that sign.
Cool T-shirt.
Like James Lileks, and also Bill McCabe - I love the ghosts of old signs painted on sides of buildings. You gotta capture these things while they still last. Their days are numbered.
And then - a couple of the many shots I've taken of the Tiles for America memorial. (I posted about this place before)
Oh - and here are more (more photos than you probably ever would want to see) here on Flickr!
June 13, 2007
Snapshots
Random photos and stuff. Things I think look kinda cool.
Tense stressful day ahead.
I think The Quiet Man arrives today. I'm alternating between Woody Allen and John Wayne, and it suits me perfectly.
Reading The Arabian Nights. The Richard Burton translation - which has a flowery Arabic FEEL to it and I love it. I read a couple pages a day. It's all I'm fit for right now. Now I know why generations of schoolchildren are literally swept away by the magic carpet ride herein. You just are transported to another world. And you NEED to know: "But what happens next??"
Breathe. Don't forget to breathe.
Dinner with Ted tonight.
Window at Tiffany's.
Weather-beaten chairs on my roof.
59th and 5th - it was a black stormy sky with a burst of sun hitting the white marble buildings. Breathtaking.
Apple Store, stormy day
St. Patrick's Cathedral
Buildings on edge of Columbus Circle.
They call me "No Shame Sheila."
More photos here!!
June 12, 2007
Photos and such
Hey everybody - I love that I'm being "invited" as a "contact" to other Flickr members - this is all a new thing for me, and it's really fun. I love my Flickr page, and I'm kind of obsessed with it. It shall pass. Thanks for making me feel welcome - I'm seriously a newbie, etc. I took some hopefully cool photos yesterday as a big and sudden storm came up ... I was at the Apple Store on the corner of Central Park and I saw some pretty amazing cloud/sun combinations that made the whole city look like miniature jewels or something.
June 9, 2007
I don't really know what I'm doing
but I have a Flickr page now. I need to work on organizing all of it. I know nothing about Flickr. Kinda like how I just discovered this awesome thing called Netflix. And how I just got this cool new gadget called an iPod. I'm always the LAST with crap like this. But it's been fun (and hard) uploading the photos.
Speaking of Netflix, I have Broadway Danny Rose to watch tonight. I've had a long hard day. Need to chill. (Freaks and Geeks hasn't arrived yet! The entire 6 disc series is on its way. I can't wait.)
Date with massage guy tomorrow. Thank the Lord. Til then .....
Objects
I was walking down 6th Avenue at about 5:30 pm last night - and I saw many things along the way. Many magical wonderful things!!
There was a haze in the air - an odd hot haze - that made the lengthening of the light even more stark. A strange day - sort of muggy, yet when you got a breeze, it was as cool as an ocean breeze.
6th Avenue, at around 44th, 43rd ... gets very CRAFT oriented (in an industrial way - it's kind of like the garment district - with entire stores of bangles, or scarves, or silk, or whatever) - as you will see. Some incredible-looking stores. But you also pass "jewelry way" ... so it's an interesting mix.
I kept trying to capture what the light and shadow looked like on this one particular building. I haven't quite captured it - but you can KIND of tell how cool it looked.
Obviously, it was box day in the city. You saw such things everywhere.
I passed a couple of stores entirely devoted to buttons. In the long sunset-light rays, the objects shimmered - almost like talismans, or something out of a fairy tale. Magical.
Then I passed all the jewelry stores. To explain why the light was so amazing - these stores were all on the east side of the street - so they were getting the sunset light on them directly.
A couple stores devoted entirely to trim.
A wall of ribbon. Incredible sight.
I thought this one came out cool. The reflection is of the sun-struck buildings in the first part of this post. Amazing, right?
Pitstop. Manicure.
And also with you.
Hot.
R2? What are you doing here?
Table of ties, sidewalk, corner of 43rd and 6th.
Flowers on the edge of Bryant Park.
End of the line.
June 2, 2007
knick knack paddy wack
I suck at thinking up titles.
Long day, lots of work done. Still much more to do but at least I STARTED. Exhausting mentally, takes a lot of concentration, a specific mindset. But I hunkered down. It's swelteringly hot too. Now I'm gonna lie on my cool sheets, burn some incense, and watch Sands of Iwo Jima. I figure I deserve a break. And all the John Wayne centennials that went on last week made me bump this one to the top of the queue. I've seen it before, but I got a hankering to see it again. I have a couple of Woody Allens too - I'm in kind of a Woody phase ... I saw Melinda and Melinda this past week and fell in love with it. I agree completely with Roger Ebert's review of it - I'm right there with ya, buddy! It was great to see Radha Mitchell get such a plum part, too. I remember seeing High Art years ago and thinking: Hmmm. That chick is pretty damn good. Not too bad to look at either. To see her in a Woody Allen flick, though, was so right. She has a Mia Farrow kind of fragility - she's very pretty, but obviously a wee bit crazy too. I loved it.
But tonight I have a date with the Duke. And a cold beer.
Some pictures below. Just because.
You got a little patriotism, and a little bit of smut. All before 8 a.m.!
My godmother told me long ago that one of the ways she kept herself engaged - and not afraid of change or risk - was to drink from a different coffee cup every day. To not be too rigid, to not have a favorite. It was a small gesture, but not meaningless. So that every day ... every day ... she had a small reminder of what life was really about: embracing change, leaping in, letting go. I really liked that ... and have been doing it ever since. I do have a favorite (yo) but every day ... new cup.
Check out the red glow of sunset against the new Times building (still being built). This is a view from the rooftop bar of a new club that opened up near me. Sunset time is the hour ... the magic hour. I kept calling it "happy hour" ... but I suppose that is true as well.
And here's the view when I turned the other way.
Counting the days ...
May 29, 2007
I forgot to mention:
I am now a member of the paparazzi. Obviously.
(The stories of the grizzled cynical hysterical press photographers around me - and what they say - and who they are ... will be saved for a later date. But I love it. These guys are hard, man ... and funny. Shouting up at Adam Levine, "GROUP HUG, GROUP HUG", etc.)
May 27, 2007
MEMORIAL WAY
This is something I wanted to post last year - but it took some planning ahead and it also took, er, a camera. All along Boulevard East (a winding road on the cliffs opposite Manhattan) is a memorial park - it goes from Weehawken to West New York. It is so beautiful. I wanted to move along from south to north and take pictures of every memorial I came across. They aren't just for wars, as you will see below ... but I've included them all. This is what I did last night (before I went home and tried on my blue sparkley false eyelashes). The south end of Boulevard East marks the estimated spot above where they estimate the dueling grounds were where my dead boyfriend lost his life. When I run along Boulevard East, I pass this spot. There's a bust of Hamilton there ... so that's where I start. And I just moved north - snapping shots of each thing I saw.
Some of these get kind of artsy. I was experimenting. Also, it was dusk - perfect lighting - until I reached the end ... when lighting my "subjects" became quite challenging. I did my best.
I had an interaction with a little boy by a huge bell - a memorial for the Weehawken Fire Department, erected in 1907. I heard a little mouse-voice announce behind me, "That's the Liberty Bell!" I turned and saw him. A pipsqueak of about 7 years old, with brown skin, thick black hair, and a little scooter he was pushing along. He was with his mom. He kept talking, "Actually, I don't think that's the Liberty Bell." I loved how he was taking himself thru his thought process. I also loved his deductive reasoning. Age 7. He said confidently, "The Liberty Bell is in Washington D.C." Oh it is, bub? Really? He kept babbling, his mother being busy with her smaller baby, "I really don't think that's the Liberty Bell." I felt he was waiting for some confirmation so I stepped in. Little did he know who he was dealing with. You wanna talk about the Liberty Bell? The chick in the white skirt and the hi-top sneakers is JUST the girl you want. I said, "No, that's not the Liberty Bell." He said, 'What is it?" I said, "It was put up for the firemen in Weehawken way at the beginning of the LAST century." (This child was obviously born in THIS century. He's a 21st century kid.) He said, "Why?" "Oh, you know. To thank them for their help in the town and stuff like that." "I knew it wasn't the Liberty Bell." "You are totally right. The Liberty Bell is in Philadelphia." He was thrown off by this, but silently. He adjusted his brain's information. Okay. It's not in DC. It's in Philly. Got it. He reminded me of Cashel. He then asked, "Why are there all these things up?" Meaning - the red white and blue bunting everywhere. I said, "It's for Memorial Day on Monday. You probably don't have school, right? It's a holiday." "Oh." Then they were off ... meandering away thru the dusk ... little black-haired boy babbling on and on to his mother. It was a perfect and very human little exchange.
So - in honor of Memorial Day - of all the American veterans, past and present, of all of those who have lost their lives in service for this country, and in honor of all of those in harm's way in the present-day ... here's my wee tribute. And my deepest gratitude.
First: the view from Boulevard East. Dusk.
Midtown.
Downtown. DAMmit.
ALEXANDER HAMILTON MEMORIAL
ALEXANDER HAMILTON MEMORIAL PARK
People were out in droves. Escaping the heat.
THE "LIBERTY BELL" OF THE WEEHAWKEN FIRE DEPARTMENT
MEMORIAL TO THE KOREAN AND VIETNAM WAR
WORLD WAR I MEMORIAL
WORLD WAR II MEMORIAL
SKYLINE BREAK
Repetitive, perhaps, but I never EVER get tired of the view.
JOSE MARTI MEMORIAL
I would have had no idea who Jose Marti was if Val from Babalu Blog hadn't asked me to participate in his BlogCuba celebration years ago. He asked bloggers to write something about Cuba. I know nothing about Cuba, except the political stuff that everybody knows. I like Cuban food. I felt like I would be an asshole if I wrote about a Cuban restaurant I liked, so I emailed Val - "I don't know what to write about!" He basically set me free, saying - whatever you want! A movie you like, an author you like, whatever! I decided to write about Cuban poetry. I know nothing about Cuban poetry. But I educated myself. And, naturally, I discovered Jose Marti immediately. What a gift! Here's the piece I wrote for Val - I don't just focus on Marti - there are other poets - but Marti is basically the father of Cuban poetry. So I felt like an insider when I came across this memorial. I live in a heavily Cuban area ... as will become obvious. I thought of Val, as I stood there in the darkness, looking at Marti's face, with the Manhattan skyline in the background.
MEMORIAL TO CUBAN PATRIOTS
WEST NEW YORK VETERANS MEMORIAL PARK
WAR MEMORIAL
This was erected in 1935. Notice that at that time WWI was just called "World War". WWII was gathering, approaching ... but at the time of the memorial's birth, it was just "the Great War". Sad. It's kind of an ugly memorial in the light of day - but seen in the dusk it takes on a mythical aspect. It's funereal, like a mausoleum ... with plaques all over it - of all of the wars ... and the names of everybody from West New York who lost their lives in "the Great War" (not enough space for everybody else from all the other wars). Sad - this memorial made me sad. Perhaps because of the year it was put up. Retrospect can kill ya.
MEMORIAL TO TWO CUBAN DUDES
SKYLINE BREAK
AMERICAN VETERANS MEMORIAL
THE COMMUNITY ...
Boys ... playing basketball in the dying of the light ...
Girls playing a game of baseball on the tennis courts
COMMEMORATING THE SIGNING OF THE CONSITUTION
Plaque erected in 1937.
STATUE HONORING CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS
I really struggled with the light here. I could not get a good shot of the Roman frieze-esque plaque ... it's a ship, struggling in the waves. Anyway, here's what I got.
SKYLINE BREAK
Okay. It's totally night now.
ANOTHER PLAQUE HONORING THE 150TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE UNITED STATES CONSTITUTION
(The trees planted now tower around the plaque. Sniff.)
SEPT. 11, 2001 MEMORIAL
The memorial day parade
I have another photo essay planned - that I actually wanted to do last year - but never got around to it (uhm, mainly cause I didn't have a camera). I took all the photos I need last night for this photo-essay idea (before the visit from the firemen, naturally) ... but I need to go thru them, and organize them. In the meantime: here (and below the fold) are the photos I took of the Memorial Day parade in Hoboken. (Warning: I took a million photos. This camera has created a monster. Me.)
Please assume that every caption for every photo should be: "I love these people."
The veterans. The high school bands. The cops. The firemen. The ROTC clubs. The Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts. And everybody knows everybody in Hoboken - so there's a lot of waving, and joviality.
I love parades.
And here they all come!! (Oh, and it was sunset time. So that light glowing on the buildings in the background is not an exaggeration or a Photo Shop trick. It was that magical hour when everything blazes up into utter clarity, shadows take on stark and vivid outlines, and the bricks glow like gold. I was glad that some of that was captured)
And there they all go ....
I hope you all have a wonderful Memorial Day.
Stagehands on break.
Hot day.
Hot men.
I couldn't resist - they looked so perfect - their poses, the yellow walls ...
May 20, 2007
Scanner sunday
My favorite road sign in Ireland (and I love the accompanying prop below) - it's just so hysterical. (More on Irish signs here)
Scanner sunday
I haven't touched up this photo at all. This is actually what I saw. This is the view from the end of my street. It is dawn. I mean, can you believe it??
Scanner sunday
He's lecturing me about something, chowing down on a stack of French toast.
Scanner sunday
Hi, everybody! I am SO EXCITED. I mean, just check out my pants ... wouldn't YOU be excited if YOU were wearing such pants? Also ... it is just SO FUNNY to be perched at the top of the bulkhead. Like ... I cannot get over HOW FUNNY it is to be up so high in my plaid pants!
Scanner sunday
Welcome to Belfast! Carrie gave us directions, involving the phrase, "Take a left when you see the mural of the chicks with the guns ..." You know, as though she were saying, "Turn left when you see the Dunkin Donuts ..." We did the whole mural tour with Carrie. I mean, you just gotta. Our tour guide said stuff like, "And over der is da pub where me girlfriend's da got his leg blown off ..."
This one is actually not on the side of a private home - like all the other ones are - this is on the side of the Sinn Fein office. Gerry Adams was inside - and you can see the television truck antenna in the foreground. Lots of TV journalists hanging out, waiting, smoking, drinking coffee. We talked to them for a bit.
Hi! Welcome to the neighborhood!
Scanner sunday
I think wearing some kind of sailor-middy type dress should be compulsory for little girls.
Who ... me?
Scanner sunday
A gleam of gold.
This was on my way out to Block Island one wintry day. Heavy grey clouds, dark icy ocean - with this gleam of gold at the horizon. Truly spectacular - heart-stoppingly so.
Scanner sunday
Long-time regular readers of my blog will recognize this one right away. And for those of you who are new ...
Still has the potential to get me all choked up.
Scanner sunday
I found this photo in my big hatbox this morning - I was looking for something else and instead floated off down memory lane. This photo is what happens when you live with one of your best friends, and you have the same sense of humor, and you take a joke and you run with it. I am drunk (obviously) and Mitchell said to me, "You know - in that get-up you somehow look like a disaffected member of some defunct royal family - like a Hapsburg princess on vacation in the Alps or something."
What? But that became the joke. That I was a coked-up princess deprived of her throne - being all bitter and glamourous in some Alpine nightclub. There are a number of other photos in this series. I loved living with Mitchell, we were always doing crap like that.
May 19, 2007
May 15, 2007
New York montage
Around 34th and 8th:
Vertigo.
Post office under wraps.
Est. 1901
The Garden.
Chapped lips, dead eyes, fabulous wig.
Reflection
May 14, 2007
Sunday
Red Sox vs. Orioles. It was 5 - 0. 8th inning. Okay, whatever. I'll take a quick walk and take some pictures. I came back into the house 20 minutes later - just in time to see the Red Sox freakin' WIN.
It was great, too - because the second the game was over the phone rang (which is classic - that's the way it always goes in this family. Game over, phone rings ... you have no idea WHO it is, but you know it is a member of the extended clan ... who needs to either exult or bitch ...) It was my brother and my cousin Mike. So that was great.
So weird, though, that I left, strolling around in the late afternoon sunshine ... pretty certain that they would lose - I mean, of course they would ... and I walked back into the house ... to hear my parents hissing at me, "Come in here! You're not going to believe it!" I rushed down the hall, just in time to see Millar (bless him, on multiple levels) throw to first ... fumble bumble ... and then to see Ortiz and Youk jumping up and down just like they were in Little League celebrating a championship win.
From 5 - 0 ... to 6 - 5? What the hell??
Here are the photos I took as my team worked its 9th inning magic.
Side lawn.
Forsythia.
Corner of the lawn.
Shadows on the grass.
Violets in the shade.
Green and gold.
Prehistoric bush.
Neighbor's beautiful lawn.
Back lawn.
May 10, 2007
Just in case ...
there was any lingering confusion ... (and shockingly, there still is)
here is a helpful visual aid we cooked up, for your reference notes:
May 8, 2007
Snapshots
See below
By the dawn's early light.
Ruben - I think you need to check out what's on my fridge.
A baby bag.
I used to live on the second floor - my window is the one with the fire escape outside it, behind the tree. I lived there from 2000 - 2001. Horrifying.
So bizarre.
Contrast.
May 2, 2007
snapshots
-- Thunder last night. Rain.
-- Movies, writing, movies, writing.
-- I'm lonely right now. I am missing a lot of people. I miss my friends, all of them, and Cashel. I am alone too much. I'm busy, that's good, but lonely too. I miss my parents too.
-- Movies, writing, movies, writing.
-- My apartment looks like a bomb hit it. I'm using it basically as a pit-stop right now ... and I need to have a good long organizational/cleaning purge but it won't be for a week or so. I just don't have the energy or the time right now.
-- I read the novel We Need to Talk About Kevin in 2 days. In the wake of VT massacre, it ended up being chillingly timely. My God. What a book. What a writer. I am totally in awe. I'll write more about her - but it's rare that I can't put down a novel. Like - I fell asleep on Saturday night with the book open in my hands. I needed sleep, but I couldn't stop reading. UnbeLIEVable book.
-- Saw The Third Man last night. I've been seeing so many movies that the thought now of seeing a movie in my one night off was almost ikky - but then I got into it. It was a rainy night, I was exhausted, and book-less. I love Joseph Cotten. God, he's good. And I am certainly not the first to say it - but Orson Welles' entrance in this film is one of the best (if not the best) entrances of any character in any movie ever made. PERIOD.
-- I hurt myself on the bus last night. A metal bar stuck out of the ripped upholstery of the seat (the bus is so damn ghetto), and I, exhaustedly, threw myself into the seat, and stabbed my own butt cheek with the sharp metal. It didn't break the skin - or rip my clothes - thank God - I would have had to go to the hospital - but it hurt like a motherfucker. Damn ghetto bus. My entire left ass-cheek is black and blue and a sickly green right now. I'm so bummed. Literally.
-- Saw Grey Gardens again last week. Went with my sister Siobhan. It was great - a real indulgence - and great to see her and catch up.
-- I need to go back to Rhode Island. I miss my friends, my family.
-- I need to get back into exercising. I'm too busy right now and I feel bad about it - kind of out of control.
-- Marvelous post. God, I so relate. That's an amazing blog in general. I love her voice.
-- It's a funny thing, talking about love with somebody who interrogates people for a living. It gives the conversation a clarity and an urgency that it might not otherwise have. His assessment, after 45 minutes of questioning me and listening intently to my answers? "I think you need to dumb down." I am still laughing about that.
-- Stopped off at the Virgin Megastore in Times Square last night - a place I normally avoid like the plague - but I wanted to pick up the new Tori Amos. Ne-yo was downstairs, signing copies of his new CD - and there was a screaming crowd, cordoned off, waiting in line ... waves of screams emanating up the escalator. Found Tori and then saw a huge display of soundtracks. Started browsing and saw the soundtrack of the film Jesus Christ Superstar - which I had had on tape - and it never made the transfer to CD ... and suddenly I realized how much I NEEDED it. It was 40 bucks. Ouch. But I bought it anyway. I came home and listened to some of it, as the thunder rolled in the sky. I am so excited to have it in my life again. "Damned For All Time". "Just DON'T say I'm ... daaaaaaaa-aaaaaamned foooooo-or a-aaalll ti-ime ..." Goosebumps.
-- Ann Marie was in town this past weekend for 2 days and I was so busy I couldn't see her. sniff.
-- Screening tonight at 10:30 p.m. I think David is going to be there - a mutual friend of ours is in the film - and actually, Mitchell came to town as of yesterday - so he might come to the screening too. That would be my only chance to see him.
-- My dear friend Kate is in tech this week for Arcadia - opening at the Court in Chicago next week. I've been thinking a lot about her. Missing her, too. I want to try to get out there in the next month or so, to visit friends, but also to see Arcadia. It's been a while since I saw her act. Too long.
More actual snapshots below
It's awesome when you live on the edge of gang territory.
Sunday. 7-4. A 20 minute pitstop to check the score, in between Kapuscinski and my 2nd movie of the day.
Making fun of Tucker Carlson never gets old. It is one of our new favorite activities.
Under the highway.
Colony Music. Heaven on earth.
Pitstop # 854.
Tribeca.
Spectacular spectacular. (Oh, and happy birthday Empire State Building.)
En route.
What we do when we are bored. And there is a dry erase marker in the vicinity.
April 29, 2007
Tribute to Ryszard Kapuscinski
My heart is so full. The place was standing room only. The line was (literally) around the block. It went from the door on 42nd Street all the way to 6th Avenue. I heard Polish being spoken in line, we all had dog-eared copies of Kapuscinski's books - I heard one young woman, she was probably 23 years old if she was a day, say to her friend, "I think The Emperor might be favorite of his. What's yours?" It is always a great comfort to me to find "my own kind". To show up for a matinee on a Sunday, a tribute to this great writer - and to find hundreds and hundreds of people who had the same idea. It was a bright sunny day, and we queued up - making quite a spectacle, the line snaking around Bryant Park. "What is this for?" people asked, drawn to us. Someone would answer, "Tribute to Ryszard Kapuscinski." "Who?" someone asked. But then someone else thought a bit, nodded seriously and said, "Oh!"
I think one of my favorite parts of the entire day was when the Polish writer and newspaper editor Adam Michnik got up to speak, a longtime friend of Mr. Kapuscinski. His English was halting, so he spoke with a translator - a tall laconic gentlemen over to the side, holding a microphone - who was the striking resemblance of George Plimpton (his name was Jan Gross). Anyway, the Mr. Michnik was red-faced, jovial - (oh, and the entire panel was drinking vodka the entire time ... in tribute to Kapuscinski and his love of life, good alcohol, companionship, and recklessness. It was great - there was Salman Rushdie, raising his glass of vodka to the memory of his dead friend ...) But anyway, the Michnik spoke, and it was obvious the vodka was having some effect - he was humorous, and anecdotal - he didn't stand on ceremony, he told very funny stories about Kapuscinski- and I loved him. But it was great because there were, of course, huge numbers of Polish speaking people in the audience (most of them sitting in the first 10 or so rows) - so he would come to the punchline of some joke, in Polish - and there would be a huge spontaneous thunderclap of laughter from the front, from the Poles ... then our Plimpton-esque translator would tell us the punchline in English 2 seconds later - and all of the English speakers in the audience would burst into a huge thunderclap of laughter. It came in waves. Like a time-released punchline, reverberating backwards in concentric circles. Laugh from front ... pause ... laugh from back ... and so it went, on and on, throughout the Michnik's entire speech. It was gorgeous. The interconnectedness of it, but also the separation - by language ... and yet humor is universal. We just might not "get it" at the same moment. It (to me) was the biggest tribute to Kapuscinski's overwhelming humanistic appeal: those time-lapsed waves of laughter. The jokes making it through the translation. The message received.
I took some grainy pictures below. Salman Rushdie was marvelous. The dry wit ... obviously very comfortable with public speaking - he appeared to speak off the cuff. Maybe he had some notes - but he didn't refer to them often. He just sipped his vodka and told funny stories. He related a tale about a time he and Kapuscinski had in London - a stage production of Kapuscinski's book The Emperor was going on - and protests were being staged outside the theatre.
Rushdie said to us (and his timing was impeccable - it was all in the pauses):
"Speaking as someone whose writing has ...... occasionally ... generated .... protests ......"
HUGE laugh.
It was the "occasionally" that made the joke.
And what an unbelievable pleasure it was to see my husband, Philip Gourevitch, in the flesh, for the first time. To hear him speak. My God. I admire him so much. I love his writing so much. Man, what a day.
Crowded. Photos of and by Kapuscinski were projected up onto huge screens around the room.
The ceiling in that room never ceases to amaze me.
The man of the day.
Another funny anecdote from Rushdie. Back in the early 80s - when Kapuscinski's books were starting to come out - he and Rushdie were part of the same publishing house in London. Rushdie, young, ambitious ... had never heard of Kapuscinski. He walks into the editor's office and the editor says to him in a portentous dramatic tone, "I have just read what I believe might be the best book ever written." (A lot of Rushdie's charm and humor was in how he told the story ... just the WAY he related the editor's words told us the whole thing - Rushdie felt jealous. He wanted the editor to be saying that about HIS book.) Rushdie, feeling jealous, said, "What's the book?" Editor said, "It's a book about Haile Selassie by a Polish writer." Long pause. Rushdie then said, "Well, that certainly sounds like the best book ever written."
So dry, so funny!!!
(Excerpt from "the best book ever written" here)
Another quote from Rushdie, on Kapuscinski's time in Africa: "He was sentenced to death every Tuesday."
Here's a grainy shot of the panel. Rushdie clearly seen over on the right ... and Gourevitch clearly seen over on the left.
The organizer of the event asked Kapuscinski once about the many times he had been thrown in prison in Africa during the 60s and 70s. I think it was over 40 times, and he had gotten a "death sentence" 4 times. Crazy decades in Africa, anarchy, etc. Kapuscinski, with his gentle self-effacing way, told a story about how he was in a dark cell, and the guards kept throwing in poisonous snakes with him. Kapuscinski's verdict on the whole thing, as he re-told the story? "It was ..... not so good." Never one for dramatizing the alreaady dramatic. Although he put himself in all of his books, it was never in a self-aggrandizing way. But it is true that after his time in the prison cell with the poisonous snakes - this particular imprisonment went on for 2 weeks, I think, and by the time they let him out - freed him from the pitch-black room with the poisonous snakes - his hair had gone completely white.
God, I love his face:
Rushdie asked him once about all of the times he had faced death while trying to get the story out to the wire service. Rushdie asked him, "How do you do it?" Kapuscinski had to answer that question a lot - he was asked often, "Are you attracted to danger?" He was always so incredulous at the stupidity of that question. He saw nothing attractive about danger - that's the whole point of his books. But in order to write them, he needed to be there, not behind some desk. - His whole essay about what happens to a man when he sits behind a desk is vintage Kapuscinski. So anyway, Rushdie was hearing the 100th story about Kapuscinski somehow conniving his way through some flaming checkpoint in Uganda, with rifles pointed at his head, and drunken soldiers rifling through his papers ... and Rushdie asked, "How do you do it? How do you escape death so many times?" Kapuscinski thought a bit and then said, "I make myself unimportant. I make myself seem unworthy of the assassins bullet."
Here's Rushdie at the podium - you can't see it, but he has a huge glass of vodka next to him.
Gourevitch spoke eloquently about Kapuscinski's thing as a writer. I loved one thing he said - he said that Kapuscinski is a 'great artist of the pixel'. And you know - thinking of his various books - it is the minutia that sticks with you: the cushion-bearer in Selassie's court, the long treatise on making cognac in the Imperium, the image of the pool hall built by the Soviets in what was once a mosque in Samarqand ... the old Muslims sitting outside under a tree, with the sound of pool balls clacking around the green baize table in what was once their holy place ... Oh, and so much more. The little puddle-jumping girl in Irkutsk. The wooden city in Angola floating away into the ocean (excerpt here). The gin-soaked nights in Ghana. The entire essay on the soccer war (excerpt here). His long essay on the Armenians. Their books. (excerpt here) Gourevitch told a very funny story too about how Kapuscinski was once asked to be on a panel discussing foreign policy issues - I can't remember which country, maybe it was the EU, I don't know. But it was to be a highly detailed conversation regarding this or that policy, this or that bill. He sat there, and was asked what he thought of such and such policy. He had never heard of any of them. He was not a wonk. He did not go in for the tiny details of government. He abhorred them - they were dehumanizing.
But his books! Look to his books.
Here's Gourevitch speaking.
April 27, 2007
Tribeca Film Festival
I'm going to be part of a team of critics covering the Tribeca Film Festival for House Next Door - one of the best culture blogs out there. Be sure to check in over there over the next week to see all the reviews as they come pouring in as quickly as we can write the damn things. I saw two movies today, and will see 7 movies in the next 3 days. Because I'm going to the press screenings, and not the regular public screenings - the movies are not shown at prime time. I'm seeing a movie tomorrow morning at 9 a.m., for example. And then racing downtown to see another one. Sunday will be truly insane. Movie in morning. Race to New York Public Library for the tribute to Ryzsard Kapuscinski. Hopefully meet Salman Rushdie and Philip Gourevitch. Race back downtown for second movie. And I will write my reviews ... when?
Here are some photos I took today as I tramped through the fog from movie to movie.
Ye Olde Media Kit and press pass.
I felt like Rosalind Russell in this moment.
Mural I fell in love with, as will soon become obvious.
Mural love.
Staff setting up the memorabilia and information table.
Poster on the wall in the lobby. I couldn't resist.
In between movies. A breather.
Madison Square Garden.
Back to work.
Mural love, yet again.
A black flat behind an information booth.
Hypnotized by the mural. Who wouldn't be?
Preparing ...
What can I say. The mural called .... and I answered.
Descending down to the lobby after the second movie - where audience members were gathering for the public screenings. You could feel the buzz in the air.
People holding tickets, yearning for tickets ... corralled up into queues outside.
The marquee.
April 24, 2007
Unconnected images. Spring. New York. Skylines and flowers and my bulletin board - which apparently I find endlessly fascinating. Too much happening. Can't really read right now. A weird feeling. I finished Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep finally - I'm only able to read about 3 pages a day - but I finished it this morning. Loved it. And for the most part, I've been reading poetry. That suits my attention span and my non-literal emotional mood these days. Oh, and I've been reading compilations of movie reviews. Tired. Tired. Happy though.
Harses, harses, harses.
Overblown pink tree near my house. Just intoxicatingly beautiful.
Oh. Happy belated earth day! Or - to quote Cashel when he was three years old: "Eeth." (Eg: "8 billion years ago an asteeyoid ceeyashed into the eeth ..." etc.)
The most fascinating billboard in the world apparently. Up to the right is a postcard of a Joseph Cornell box. And then the plane postcard in the middle was given to me by CW when I first met him. The blurry black and white image over to the left is one of the "photo-paintings" by Gerhard Richter.
This is my favorite building in my neighborhood. It seems to be from out of the Mediterranean or Latin America ... it looks best at dusk - the colors most striking. This, sadly, was taken at mid-day - but you can still see the coolness of the colors, lime and melon ...
Dusk, West Houston Street. I love the floating neon yellow hand in the bottom left corner.
Love you, too.
April 22, 2007
Montage ...
... of books. Throughout my tiny apartment.
I like this one because it is so random. EM Forster and Fisher Price. And a wolf-carved stone that I bought at some new agey shop. Why these objects all together? No reason. No reason whatsoever.
Where we are at now ... in the daily book excerpt:
Just looking at this makes me feel like all is right with the world.
The Geek Shelf.
Only one more book will be added to this collection - when it is published in May. And then forevermore there will be silence. It makes me sad.
And of course I want to end with:
Montage ...
... from my fridge. Why oh why am I taking pictures of my fridge? Because it makes me happy. That's why.
And now ... randomly ... my Hail Mary plate.
Don't ask.
Montage
... from my apartment ...
I have taken down a bunch of my stuff from the wall - for various reasons - and it is stacked up in a corner. Additionally, I've been working on this big writing project - therefore all of my writing stuff and little filing boxes are out and about (I have no desk, by choice - I like to loll about on the floor like a Bedouin.) - but anyway - I happened to glance at the scene before me - and it cracked me up. Rocky rising up above my piles of work.
April 21, 2007
Scanning Saturday
To anyone who remembers the story of the worst show I was ever in ... (or one of them anyway) ...
This is a photo of the cast (plus Jackie) backstage. This was the show where an audience member stood up during a production and shouted at us, as we were acting, "WHO WROTE THIS SHIT?" Good question, sir.
Our continuous game of Uno backstage was the only way we could manage to get through that horrific experience.
We are being brave here. We are merely enduring the production. It's allllll about Uno.
Scanning Saturday
Now, Sheila, do your own work. Build your own bird-feeder, don't copy your (bossy BOSSY) friend.
This is 4th grade, I believe. (The Year of Keith.) Yes, definitely it is - because Betsy isn't in the picture. Betsy came to our school in 5th grade, and after that - every picture I'm in, she's in too. Inseparable.
Scanning Saturday
Uhm ... there is really nothing I can say in defense of this photo.
I have nothing to say.
Warning: What you are about to see may be shocking ....
Scanning Saturday
Ah, makin' a movie. The glamour. The non-stop glamour.
I think I've said before that the best people to hang out with on a shoot are the sound dudes. They're always awesome, laid-back, humorous, and PATIENT. Never met a sound dude I didn't like. So this is the sound truck, during one of the hurry-up-and-wait days of shooting.
But still. The parade of glamour in this business never ceases to amaze me.
Scanning Saturday
Holy crap - I knew a photo existed of the moment my childhood died ... but didn't realize that I had it in my possession.
Here it is! The very moment my illusions shattered ... captured on film. How many of us can say that??
Although you'd never know how devastated I was. Already I was an actress, artful at lying, hiding.
Backstory to this pivotal moment here.
Scanning Saturday
I was in 5th grade - or maybe 6th - and Betsy and I took some after-school photography program. I think Betsy and I must have had some assignment about getting the same shot from multiple angles. We got very creative. Here is one - where I am obviously attacking Betsy.
I have a ton more - where we zoom in on her face, or mine, a far off shot, a close-up ... it's hysterical.
The photos are disintegrating.
Oh, and by the way - we're at school here.
Scanning Saturday
Mitchell and I became FAST friends at age 19. Then we had a "bad time" which lasted 3 months, and where I was a totally cold bitch. Then came the thaw, and after that - we became obnoxiously close. Inseparable. Later, we laughed about it - how people in the theatre department must have been like, "Guys ... you're not the first two people to discover friendship ... please get over yourselves."
But we couldn't!!
We jitterbugged constantly. We knew one routine - and we did it over, and over and over ... complete with the choreographed bow. Like whether or not the music had come to an end - we HAD to do our bow, because that was the only way we knew how to end it.
Here we are in the act. This was after the thaw. As you can tell by my big red cheeks - which are also indicative of the summer, and also clearly show the effects of my jolly shame-free underage drinking. I love love love this photo. I miss those earrings.
Scanning Saturday
A very belated happy Easter. From another generation to this one.
I am rockin' such a cool purse and such a stylin' hat.
Clothes by Mother.
Scanning Saturday
Waiting for my laundry to be done. Thought I'd do some scanning. The next 2 weeks are going to be so busy that I feel nervous just contemplating how I will manage it - the work, the sleep, the eating, the schedule .... I will be occupied from 6 a.m. until at times 2 a.m. - not to mention all the writing I'll have to get done ... I'm kinda jazzed about it. I'll share more once it gets going ... For now, let's just say ... I am enjoying the last leisure time I will have until May is well underway.
So here's a scan.
I call it Urban Crisis. It should be clear why. In the photo, I don't seem too concerned about the urban crisis around me.
April 20, 2007
Welcome to the Tribeca dungeon
I come down the stairs into the basement area - and at first glimpse think: Okay. I am about to be killed by an angry penis-hating butterfly-loving lunatic who orders me to put the lotion in the basket.
One look at this view and I am sure I have only moments to live.
I move further into the basement. Here's the corner. God, doesn't it look cozy and inviting??
I turn ... and find what I am looking for. Although it sort of has a "GATEWAY TO HELL" feel to it. Dare I continue on?
Closer ... through the mirror, the "ladies room" glows with the fires of hell.
The ceiling of the dark blue hallway. I'm being buried under bricks ... or I'm waiting for a small lonely FBI agent wearing night-goggles to come and save me.
I look down the blue hall to where I want to go ... and see a floating roll of toilet paper ... beckoning to me through the gloom.
This is what I see, looking up, as I am perched on the ol' can (actually, I should say as I am hovering over the toilet bowl ...). It's so cramped that my knees touch the door. This is far cry from the Charmin Brou-Haha. It almost looks like a torture device. Bricked in, so no one will hear you scream.
I am now fully ensconced in the red glow of the fires of hell ... yet I glance back out ... and can still see the blue cool hallway to freedom ...
It puts the lotion in the basket.
On my way out, I decide to check out the men's room. To see what kind of ambience they've got going on in there. This is my first glimpse.
I hightail it out of there.
Dusk in lower Manhattan
The streets seemed semi-deserted, and there were times when I could almost believe I was strolling around in 1910. It was a cloudy dusk, turning cloudy night, with smattering of rain ...I later found myself in what amounts to a dungeon -and I took pictures there too - but that'll be in the next post.
For now ... the beauty of a cloudy night in lower Manhattan. I was alone (during my walk anyway) but not lonely.
This is the AT & T building and I just thought it looked spectacular. Like something out of Brazil or Metropolis.
Street scene. Maybe it's just my sensibility but I look at that and feel a deep ache of aesthetic satisfaction. It just has so much in it ... it's night, you can feel the history of that street - and then just as an image ... the huge windows, the dusk, the fire escapes crawling diagonally, the beam of the street lamp ... Get ready, there are gonna be a million more like this one. It's a photo where you could conceivably be in another century.
It was getting a bit too dark to be shooting without a flash - hence the blurriness of this photo. A lot of these came out too blurry and I deleted most of them but this one for some reason appealed to me. Again, with the feeling of an early industrial city ... it seems to be from another time.
And then. A near-death experience caught on camera.
Ahhhh. I love to see mountain ranges, and forests, and crashing waves. But this is just as beautiful to me.
This struck me as kind of eerie and poetic. It's light - which means life - which means: "there are people behind this door" - but somehow this seems uninhabited ... like maybe it's an ALIEN behind the door, or something like that. Somethng alive but not quite human.
More urban poetry. The glowing of lamps through windows. This is not a residential area - it's a mix of industrial (old dusty fabric shops, garment stores) and cavernous art galleries, with 2 or 3 paintings hanging on otherwise empty walls. One side of the street is grimy, gritty (the ones I took above) and the other side gleams with stark whitness. Here's a glimpse from the gritty side.
The glare of this pirate totally stopped me in my tracks.
This image was glued onto a battered service entrance-door. I have no idea what it is but I love it.
Basquiat? Is that you?
The "clean" side of the street. Spectacular in its own way ... staring calmly across the narrow road at the early 20th century garment district shops.
As night fell, random lit windows gleamed. Like I said, this is not a residential area - so most of the windows were dark. The contrast struck me as so beautiful.
This might be my favorite photo of the batch. It's a lamp store - but with no signage, no Home Depot stamp, no corporate environment. This is a rough area. Completely functional. But poetic because of that.
Yet another "ahhhh" view of the street.
And let's end it with this guy. He called to me from his remote corner of the wall, in a gruff burbly voice, saying, "Hey. You wid da camera. Yo. Check me out, bitch!"
Next up? MY time in the dungeon ... a space right out of "Silence of the Lambs".
April 18, 2007
Where Sheila takes her navel-gazing to even greater heights
... or depths.... depending on your opinion of such things.
I enjoy gazing at my own bellybutton. You know, I've kept a nearly-daily journal for almost 30 years. Obviously, I am pretty much obsessed with myself.
And my camera.
Corner of my bulletin board.
Corner of my bulletin board.
Bathing beauties overlooking the tub.
Please don't judge me. I lost power on Monday - with a full load of laundry in medias res. So I hung crap up EVERYWHERE. This particular view made me laugh when I saw it, because I suddenly was like: "uhm ... maybe you want to branch out into some other colors there, Sheil-babe."
Close-up from my Wall O' Quotes
Another close-up from my Mosaic o' Quotes
Quote. A reminder for those white nights that come over me, on occasion.
Let us ignore the mis-spelling of my name and just revel in the FACT of this MIRACULOUS object. Seriously. My blog brought Jim Craig to me. Kinda can't even deal with the cool-ness of that.
Greenery. And my piece of stained glass that Mitchell gave to me in the Jurassic Era. The fact that it has not broken - not even with all my moving - is nothing short of a miracle. (Speaking of Jim Craig).
It is my goal in life to find an outfit I can wear these with. I have a couple ideas ... but nothing has come to fruition yet. Suggestions are welcome. I want to EAT these shoes I love them so much.
My awesome barrister bookcase. Given to me by my dear parents, and driven down to me by my dear friend Beth. Who am I that I should be so lucky???
Let the Controlled Chaos begin.
Controlled Chaos towering above me.
Controlled Poetic Chaos. Yo, Sheila, you like Sylvia Plath, ya think?
April 17, 2007
Traveling
The little train station near my parents' house. I am there all the time ... but I never get over its quaintness. It was just re-done - and they kept the feeling of it intact, which I - with my resistance to change - appreciate. They did cut down the massive beech tree in the middle of the roundabout - and that was something I needed to grieve. But other than that ... it is all the same.
April 15, 2007
New York montage
It's a pouring rainy morning and I've been up since 5:45. I was BLASTED into consciousness by Justin Timberlake's "Sexy Back" ... and I feel that that is a good omen for the day. I am doing laundry, and Swiffering everything in the apartment, including my soul. I also read a chapter in my book about the Maronite Christians. And I also wrote a girlie-gushy entry in my diary about Keith, and what it was like to be with him last week. Hi, Keith! Yes, it is a modern-day version of Diary Friday. My own life - with its interwoven continuity, its re-visitations, its feel of a literary conceit - kinda blows me away, if I really think about it. Talked on the phone with David yesterday and he said, "Sheila, it's like in a matter of a month you have been plucked out of your old life completely ... and plopped down into the middle of somebody else's life. Like what the fuck???" Oh, and I also made some Nutrisystem pancakes (which rock the house, by the way). I'm meeting with my tax lady later this afternoon, no time like the present, I love her, with her vaguely Serbo-Croatian accent and her acute intelligence with a semi-Balkan edge. And hopefully later I can see my massage guru, because it's been one helluva week - all good stuff - but I am wiped out and I need a bit of attention, frankly. I've also been messing around in my little photo studio, trying to figure this whole thing out.
Here's another New York montage. Things seen while out and about and up and down and around and thru.
9th Avenue
Anthropologie window display. Little hanging baggies of dirt, with sprouts coming out of it ... such a whimsical beautiful window ... I loved it.
The United States Marine Band - going back onto their bus. I got to watch them perform, too. It was gorgeous. On multiple levels. Ahem.
Kurt Vonnegut. Rest in peace.
The Hershey Factory - one view - Beth, member our insane time there when you were a chaperone (who had no voice, I might add??) And Bets - remember crowding in there the day you came down with the kids to see Wicked? That place is nuts!!
The Hershey Store - another view. It was great - because it was a grey dreary day and the colors bombarded you thru the bleak.
Stage Door
NBC Studio 1 - mural on lobby wall
NBC Studio 1 - another view of the mural
This one's my favorite shot I got of the mural.
Doesn't this dude look like such a wiseass? That's probably because he's 8 stories tall.
April 14, 2007
Before 7 a.m. ...
... an entire life can be lived. Yesterday I was up at 4 a.m. ... and all of the photos taken below come from before 7 a.m.
Dawn in Manhattan. It's otherworldly, man.
5:30 a.m. This is the view from the end of my street.
Another view of Manhattan - a bit north of midtown.
Even farther north. God ... spectacular.
Walking to catch the bus. Glancing to my right, repeatedly ... for the views. The city can be seen at the end of every street or alley.
In the city now. It's 6 a.m. Port Authority ... already awake and handling its everyday duties.
6 a.m. Some human needs never slumber. A little peeping, a little palm reading, a little pawn-shopping ...
Walking cross-town. Saw a dusty truck. Everywhere you look (seriously, everywhere) you can see remnants, memories, memorials ... you just need to know HOW to look. You can't walk 3 steps without seeing something like this.
I turn north. I head towards Times Square. Amazons towering above me in the dawn light.
Times Square at dawn. Seriously - it is surreal. It's surreal in mid-day as well ... but at dawn? FanTAStic.
Dawn patrol.
The Nasdaq never sleeps. We do ... but it does not.
This way, please.
Now here - you can see the glow of sunrise on that one patch of building. Shivers! I saw that and felt what Emily Byrd Starr would call "the flash".
Somehow incongrous ... this little old-fashioned looking building surrounded by corporate gleam.
That last photo was taken at 6:49 a.m.
A whole life lived before 7 a.m.
April 13, 2007
April 12, 2007
A solitary walk
... in the woods near my parents house. There's a pond, and a shed with a fireplace ... and sometimes the pond freezes (I remember Mere and I skating there on a snow day) ... and it's all marshy and quiet and you can see deer and all that crap. It was getting on towards twilight so the sky was dappled ... I kept trying to capture the exact quality of the sky with my new camera and I didn't QUITE succeed but I will keep experimenting.
Photos below.
Here's that dappled sky I mentioned:
Da shed in da wood.
I guess this person had run out of Post-It notes:
The way thru.
I love this.
Mirror.
Wintry bark.
From inside da shed. Big stone fireplace. Teenage grafitti on the walls. The ghosts of a million lost virginities.
Thru the swamp.
April 11, 2007
Dazzling
Yo.
Camera fun.
I have a Flickr account now. Let the games begin.
Opening day
Living vicariously. Incredible photographs, Beth.
Here is my contribution.
It was Easter Sunday. We had family over. A wee apple-cheeked baby was there. Chaos reigned in the living room. Toys were brought out from the attic. Beauty of being with family. I looked around at one point ... and saw THIS on the table.
April 10, 2007
Memory Lane
I took these photos on Easter morning. It was chilly, windy, bright. I went to my old grade school - which is no longer an active school (sniff) - but the ghosts remain. You can see how Mother Nature is taking over ... the weeds in the sandbox, the empty basketball hoops, the rust ... but this place is alive. I went to school here. I am everywhere I look. So is Betsy. And Michele. And Andrew. And Keith. And J. And Greta and Leo and Dee Dee and Kevin and ... my siblings ... This was where we grew up.
The door. This isn't really the front door - that's over to the right, off-camera. This is a side entrance - the boiler room to the left.
This is where the fabled FORT used to be - a huge two-leveled wooden structure - which could be a pirate ship, a fortress, a castle, whatever. Now of course ... it's just bushes and trees. The fort is where I attacked poor Keith, age 9, after chasing him at recess, and kissed him on the cheek. A terrifying moment for both of us. We laughed about it last week. He could not get away from me. And then of course I had to run away, shrieking. I had gotten what I wanted, but what was I supposed to do with it??? No idea. Must run away.
Here's one of the sandboxes. This one was right next to the fort. We would sit on those triangular wooden sides, our feet in the sand. When we were older, say, 10 or 11 ... we didn't play in the sandbox. But the girls would all convene there - to gossip, plan our attacks on the boys, chatter away. I also remember that Betsy used to know how to make herself faint - she would hyperventilate, then hold her breath, and keel over. This was a huge draw - kids would run from all sides of the playground to "watch Betsy faint". And she would do it in this sandbox - so that she wouldn't crack her head open on the cement. Good times, good times.
This just struck me as very desolate and poetic.
I love this.
Alaska. Off to the side and up around the corner.
The Great Rift Valley of ... er ... Oklahoma?
A bubblah. This is out the back door and to the right - we used to play ferocious dodgeball in this small brick alcove. The bubblah is kid-height - everything makes one feel like a huge giant.
Target practice!
This picture is full of ghosts. Ghosts of a bazillion 4-square games, many many years ago.
Through the glass darkly. Over to the left was my 6th grade class - where Andrew gave me the Valentine - way down at the end of the hall is the "multipurpose room" - where we would have gym on rainy days, lunch every day - and where plays would be put on on occasion. I also remember seeing The Computer who wore tennis sneakers there - on some rainy day. Huge screen pulled down ... all of us in the darkness ... who knows why some things stick in the brain.
Old messages. Hieroglyphics of a bygone age.
Florida. Georgia. Alabama.
Gather ye rosebuds.
April 9, 2007
Camera glory
I am having so much fun with my camera. It's a little bit scary how much fun I am having. And the whole hooking-camera-up-to-computer thing is so easy that it frightens me. Although I do get a weird message about the "device not being unhooked properly" when I take the USB cable out. I can't figure that part out. But the photos have been imported. And here we go. This is the first round. The first batch of photos I took.
HOBOKEN DUSK
BLOCKBUSTER: ALL OUT
FRAGMENT
MY FRONT DOOR
AVENUE OF THE AMERICAS
ELEVATOR FLOOR, 30 ROCK
GRACE ON 46TH STREET
HOBOKEN DUSK II
TIMES SQUARE PIRATE 20 STORIES HIGH
April 6, 2007
Diary Friday
I'm all emotional today because I hung out with Keith M. for a marathon 10 hours ... he was in town this week, and we met up, and had this awesome time together, and ... he's my childhood friend. It's a strange thing. I'll write about it more when I'm not so under-slept, over-whelmed, hung-over ... and any other unders and overs you can think of.
I wrote about Keith M. and who he was to me here (and, I guess, who he still is to me).
See, I'm all teary-eyed right now. How often in life do we get such a chance? To reunite with an old old friend ... someone who "knew you when" ... and not just in a superficial way - or not just a catch-up talk at a high school reunion (although our last reunion was really intense - for both of us - we talked about that too) - but a serious re-connecting? Like in a real life kind of way? I just feel so lucky, so happy right now, and I'm crying. I obviously have a lot of great friends from childhood, who are still my friends today. Thank you, God. These people are my rocks, my anchors, my dearest friends. Betsy and Michele - from grade school, and then Beth and Mere from junior high. Keith and I talked a lot about that, and why such friendships are so poignant - and important - like what exactly is it ... it's not just nostalgia. It is something else.
We hashed that one out yesterday (in about hour 2 of our marathon day) - sitting on a bench in Central Park, watching little kids play - just like he and I used to play. There were kids on the swings, kids chasing each other, sliding down slides ... and I was listening intently to Keith, commenting, talking, listening, nodding, all that stuff - but I was also sitting there, and seeing in my minds eye the ghosts of us - when we were little ... at recess ... doing the very things the kids around us were doing at that very moment. Chasing each other, screaming, dangling precariously from jungle gyms, running as fast as we could, etc. Keith is a man now. I'm a woman. But we were children together and ... those kids we once were ... are still there, they are still us, they are part of us. Maybe that's why I'm writing this with tears streaming down my face. I talked with Keith, and I knew him, even with the "20 year gap" in our friendship. Amazing. I just feel so freakin' lucky. We have grown and matured ... but he is that person I remember from 2nd grade, 3rd grade, high school. There is a continuum here - a piece of myself that is somehow contained in Keith.
We are not islands. Memory is a collective thing. Little pieces of who we are, memories ... are contained in other people, not just in our own minds. Like we were just batting back and forth the memories yesterday, throwing out names, telling stories, having the past wash over us, bolts from the blue - "remember that??" Talking with Keith for 10 straight hours yesterday was not hard at all. There wasn't one awkward silence. We got into it, man. hahaha Like - no small talk. We went right to it. Politics, God, relationships, our childhood, issues we struggle with - who we are - our flaws - what we want - our dreams - sex, life ... It was a marathon. Lots of laughter, too. He said to me within the first 5 minutes of seeing each other, "It is my goal that by the end of the night you will either be crying - or laughing so hard you piss your pants." hahahaha It was that kind of reconnection. And we could have kept going. It's just that it finally was 1 a.m. and we were wiped out. I need to just let this percolate for a while. It was so so good to see him, sweet, strong, intense, poignant, and also just plain old fun. How much fun it was to sit in a bar with Keith - KEITH! - my childhood friend! - and drink beer, and talk like maniacs about our lives?
So in honor of him, and to embarrass him - here are a couple of Diary Friday entries - I've posted them before ... apparently I wrote about Keith in my diary a lot as a high schooler ... this was something I did not remember. I always had a fondness for Keith, I always liked him - but after grade school, our cliques diverged ... but I was always aware of him. Not in a stalker kind of way - just a kind of familiarity that I found comforting. And also (judging from these diary entries) exhilarating.
But first: a picture of us then. And I'm bummed - we kept saying we needed to take a picture of us together now - but we were just so wrapped up in our conversation for 10 hours that we never took the picture. I did take a picture of his back as he walked away from me in one of the bars we hung out in. Yes, there was more than one bar. hahaha But it's a blurry cell phone photo ...
Guess the ghosts of us then will have to do:
Keith and me - we're 11 years old here. sniff, sniff. I'm a mess.
These two entries are from my junior year in high school:
NOVEMBER
WHAT A DAY!! I've got to tell you! Have I told you about Keith M? It feels like I have. He is -- the -- (I swear to God) nicest guy at our school. Wow. My heart almost hurts. He is gonna grow up to be one fantastic guy. He already is. It's unusual. I mean, the popular guys in our class - they're nice and everything - but not very sensitive. It seems like they make fun of everyone. They can be mean. But Keith! KEITH! What a name. [Uhm, okay - not only am I probably embarrassing Keith reading this, but now I'M embarrassed. It's the "What a name" moment that got me. Okay, onward.] He never makes fun of freshmen or unpopular kids. He's nice to everyone. But he's not overly sweet. He's sort of a tough guy, you know? [I ADORE my complex character analysis here.]
He's in my Chemistry and Math. He is a good student. He wants to understand and do well. It gives me a thrill whenever he says my name. [AHHHHH! How embarrassing!!] It's like: "He knows who I am!" But of course he does! I've been in his class since first grade. We were a "couple" in 4th grade. (Really heavy stuff. You know. I stole his comb and giggled when he came near me.) But in junior high, I drifted apart from all my old friends. They all became popular - Keith, Andrew - but now - this year, I just love being in classes with him. My old childhood friend.
I keep thinking I've told you this! [Er - I believe the "you" is referencing my journal] There's that moment in gym class - where a retarded kid showed up and he'd be doing his best, and everyone would be snickering- but Keith M. sat there, staunchly, firmly, calling out, "Great cut! Okay! Keep your eye on the ball! That's it!" You know -- pep talk. Whatever. GOD.
Keith M. has such a great start on being human. I told my mom that story about Keith in gym class and she went, "Now him. He will grow up to be an even nicer man." She's right. He's so friendly. We can talk to each other. I don't know. I feel comfortable with him.
[I have to just interject here. The fact that I wrote about Keith M so much and so rapturously in my journals is kind of surprising to me - not that he isn't a worthy object - but that I don't remember doing so. I don't remember having RAVED about him so consistently - his name comes up constantly in these old journals - and it's really amazing to look back and go: "Wow. He really meant a lot to me. Who knew??"]
I had gone on a field trip today with Drama to see Glass Menagerie and I came home and wondered who to call from Math to find out what I missed. I really don't know anyone in my class, not well enough to call anyway - so I thought of Keith - not that I know Keith like a brother - but God, the opportunity was there - I grabbed it. I was nervous though. I practiced what I would say. O God! [I am striking myself as unbelievably sweet here. Also, I love that I didn't write "Oh God" but I wrote "O God" ... it's a much more dramatic and poetic spelling, which was completely appropriate - seeing as I WAS ABOUT TO CALL KEITH M! I was so dramatic. Sheesh] I looked up his number.
I remember every second of this phone call. Keith has a distinct way of talking. His voice ... it sounds - not sharp - but clear. He is the best looking boy in our class, I swear. Heart pounding, I said to myself, "Cut it out, Sheila!" and dialed.
It rang twice.
"Hello?" It was his father, I guess. I could hear the news on in the background. Just saying, "May I please speak to Keith" gave me a heart attack. What was he thinking as he came to get the phone? Would he be bummed out that it was me? But really what I was thinking was just his name ... Keith. [Sheila, his name is Keith. Please get over it.]
"Just a minute," and he went off to get Keith and I thought, "Oh my God, he's home!" I wasn't nervous - just - I don't know. I really like him. But 4th grade is so far away now.
There was a pause - then I heard this sort of close voice, "Yeah! I got it!" His sharp clear voice. He picked up the phone. [Listen to how I am writing about this - I am writing as though calling Keith to get the math homework is literally the biggest cliffhanger ever. O God!] He said "Hello?"
I pushed on - "Hi Keith? This is Sheila from Math class." Dumb thing to say. We have been friends since six-year-old-dom. But he said, "Oh! Hi!" Really friendly. Not sort of suspicious, like: "Oh no - what does she want?" I once called Andrew in the 6th grade - Mary Lou answered and went running off screaming, "ANDREW! IT'S A GIRL!" [hahahahahahaha]
I said, "Uh ... I was wondering, since I wasn't there today if we had a quiz or what the homework is ..."
"Oh - okay. Uh ..."
I love how -- I just -- He just was so nice - very amiable. I have such an inferiority complex, especially with boys. I think everyone's suspicious of me. And I think that if they guess that I like them - they will be bummed out about it. It's weird.
He said, "We didn't have a quiz today but I believe we're having a test on Friday and - okay, the homework is the - uh - Chapter Review - Chapter Summary - whatever, and that's on page ... Do you have your book with you?"
[Look at that. I have almost no memory of this enormous cliffhanger of a moment in my life - but I would bet that that's almost word for word what Keith said. I had a knack - and still have it - for remembering conversations, no matter how benign or trivial - with word to word detail.]
"Uh - no -" I whipped out a pencil to mark it down. He said, "Well, it's either on 109 or 129 - I'm not sure - but one of those." I wrote that down quickly on my Glass Menagereie program and said, "Okay. Got it. Thanks a lot, Keith." "Yeah, sure." "Okay. Bye." "Bye."
AND THEN WE HUNG UP!
[If you could only see how huge those letters are in my journal. Hahahaha They're enormous. I am shouting "AND THEN WE HUNG UP". As though hanging up the phone is the most AMAZING development in this whole cliffhanger.]
Keith seems so natural - not inhibited - I can't explain this. I don't idolize him - even though I sit here going, "HE KNOWS WHO I AM!" It's not like that. I don't idolize him. I just care for him. He is special. That’s all. His whole personality. I know that conversation doesn’t sound thrilling – but Diary – all the other guys – I mean, I don’t know if they even know who I am – but you had to have been on that phone. He was not – Okay. I know. I remember. I know why he's different, and special. That’s what matters. I mean, I don’t think he likes me or anything, but it is the fact that he treats me so kindly, like a pal, like a friend – It comes so easily to me when I am with him. With all other boys – even the ones I grew up with – it’s always so weird and awkward. They act like I want something from them – just by talking to them. Keith never does that. Conversation comes naturally with us. Me, Keith, and Bill always end up sitting near each other because of our last names. That last sentence had awful grammar, and sorry about that. Anyway, in Chemistry, I sit in back of Bill who sits in back of Keith. One day, Mr. Amoeba started handing out papers for a “pop quiz” – ooh, isn’t he cool and scary – [Uhm, can you tell I despised that teacher?] Keith groaned, "Oh, great. Here goes another grade down the tubes." I said - not really to him - just to myself, and anyone who felt like listening: "Think positive!" Bill heard me. He leaned forward, tapped Keith on the shoulder, and said, "Excuse me, Keith. Sheila O'Malley wants you to think positive." [hahahahahaha] Keith turned around and grinned at me, giving the thumbs-up sign.
I can't believe how much I care for this kid. How has this happened? Just a friendship is more than enough.
Aren't human beings and human nature the most wonderful things in the world??????
DECEMBER
Oh, the weirdest thing just happened to me! [Sheila, please don't share it. Oh God ... you're gonna share it, aren't you?] Isn't it wonderful when life looks so humdrum and a tiny little thing pops up to take away the humdrum-ness?
Just now - I was in my room alone working on a new story I just started, listening to the radio. Today was a good day. I wasn't depressed or anything, and Freeze Frame came on the radio. [HAHAHAHA] Music is my savior. No matter what kind. It uplifts me. [But I thought you just said you weren't depressed??] I love music. It does something to me. It revitalizes me. (Ooh!) [Uhm - okay, I don't know what that "ooh" is about.] Anyway, an old wave of happiness flooded over me, remembering when I loved that song and Mere and I made up a dance to it. [Mere, I am sure you can see those dance steps right now. It SWEPT THE SCHOOL!] So I leaped to my feet, turned up the volume, and started bounding around dancing. I love dancing - I feel so happy and uninhibited when I dance. I went wild, like I usually do at dances. [Yes, but Sheila, did you press your sweaty Irish head up against the tiles?] I'm glad no one was watching me though because I went berserk. I did the little dance, I really got into it. I'm cool! [Uhm ... ya are?]
Suddenly I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My cheeks were all flushed. I was smiling. I looked okay in a very athletic out-of-breath way, that fun song was in my ears - I felt energy fizzing on all my nerve endings. I had nothing to do with the grin spread across my face. I was just lit up inside and it came out in a smile.
Then - [Oh God, there's not more is there?] I felt this surge inside - really - that's the word. It felt like a little cherry tomato exploded inside me. I felt no more doubts. I saw myself (well, not really saw - it wasn't like these visions slowly drifted past me - they all assaulted me at once, making it all the better) - I saw myself going with Dave to the movies, sitting at Ricky's with him, [RICKYS! HAHAHAHAHA] - kissing him - dancing with him - talking with him - It was wonderful. Just suddenly - for one brief flash - I felt: Of course something's going to happen. Of course! Ecstasy flew through my brain and I felt like leaping and screaming and laughing!!! [Wow. This is really sad. Nothing did end up happening and I spent the entire next summer staggering around in tears because he turned me down to go to the Junior Prom. God. It sucked, really.] But it paralyzed me in a way. I just stared at my reflection. The next minute, that feeling - if that's a word for it - was gone - but I still feel all wiggly inside. I wish I could say in here: Of course it'll work out! I want it more than I have ever wanted anything!!!! [Oh, sweet girl. Sorry. Heartbreak's comin' at ya. Hunker down.]
Yesterday in Chemistry, we saw a filmstrip, and Keith ran the projector. So he pulled a desk up right next to mine. I'm not in love with him, but I do find him very attractive, and he is such a nice and real person. I wish I could get to know him better, like we used to know each other when we were kids. Anyway, the room was dark and the narrator was droning on and whenever the beep beeped [uhm you might want to re-word that], Keith would turn the knob. I was just sitting there, taking notes like a good doobie, and I happened to glance at Keith, and I happened to look at his hands. Very nice hands. Big, with long rough-looking fingers - looking as though they were sculpted out of wood, just casually curled around the projector. Sometimes just slightly moving, not for any good reason - or reaching up to scratch his chest. Then - to my shock - I suddenly felt like reaching over and taking his hand in mine - feel his fingers gently squeeze mine. I had to quickly look back up at the screen to keep myself from doing just that. I didn't concentrate on the film AT ALL after that, but you know what I think? I think holding hands is about the most romantic thing of all. Of course, I've never done it. I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING. But I think that holding hands might even be nicer than a kiss. Of course, if I am ever kissed, I will probably think differently, but holding hands ... Oh God, its too romantic to talk about.
Of course, next in French, I glanced back at Dave's hands. Talk about big hands! They were beautiful - with ragged bitten nails. [hahahahaha Yeah, Sheila, they sound really "beautiful". Love is blind.] He bites his nails too. A cut on one of his knuckles. Rounded blunt fingertips. I couldn't get the vision of us strolling along, with our hands clasped, out of my mind. I want to hold hands with him.
You know what? It's just occurred to me that it must look to you as if this whole relationship is in my brain. [Er ... yeah. That is what it looks like] But it's not. It's not like the thing with JW. I admired JW from afar and tricked myself into believing that he cared for me just as much as I loved him. HOW could I have been so STUPID??? Why didn't I see? We must have had 6 conversations in all - I had fantasies of our romance, but it was all so illogical. He was so far from me. But David - suddenly this year - there is a friendship growing that wasn't there before. [This is not a lie. We were friends.] And this time - I don't lie on my bed dreaming of a sudden dalliance. [Dalliance? What is this - Les Liaisons Dangereuses?] I think about our real-life happenings which is so much more satisfactory. Me asking him to dance, us in Project Adventure - him talking to me - and just thinking about him -- DAVE - who he is, what he's like - what he thinks about - if he ever thinks of me.
It's impossible not to imagine us going out and what it would be like and how wonderful and fascinating it would be, but Diary - oh forgive my awful forwardness - I think it could work! [I love that I am apologizing TO MY JOURNAL for my "awful forwardness". It's so Victorian of me. I was a Gibson Girl, even then.] I think it honestly is in my grasp.
Isn't that wonderful?
I don't know how to go about "going for it" - but if nothing happens naturally - I'm gonna find a way. [Bummer, man. Headin' for a fall ... a big fall ...]
Here's the entire Diary Friday archive if you're interested.
DECEMBER
Oh, the weirdest thing just happened to me! [Sheila, please don't share it. Oh God ... you're gonna share it, aren't you?] Isn't it wonderful when life looks so humdrum and a tiny little thing pops up to take away the humdrum-ness?
Just now - I was in my room alone working on a new story I just started, listening to the radio. Today was a good day. I wasn't depressed or anything, and Freeze Frame came on the radio. [HAHAHAHA] Music is my savior. No matter what kind. It uplifts me. [But I thought you just said you weren't depressed??] I love music. It does something to me. It revitalizes me. (Ooh!) [Uhm - okay, I don't know what that "ooh" is about.] Anyway, an old wave of happiness flooded over me, remembering when I loved that song and Mere and I made up a dance to it. [Mere, I am sure you can see those dance steps right now. It SWEPT THE SCHOOL!] So I leaped to my feet, turned up the volume, and started bounding around dancing. I love dancing - I feel so happy and uninhibited when I dance. I went wild, like I usually do at dances. [Yes, but Sheila, did you press your sweaty Irish head up against the tiles?] I'm glad no one was watching me though because I went berserk. I did the little dance, I really got into it. I'm cool! [Uhm ... ya are?]
Suddenly I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My cheeks were all flushed. I was smiling. I looked okay in a very athletic out-of-breath way, that fun song was in my ears - I felt energy fizzing on all my nerve endings. I had nothing to do with the grin spread across my face. I was just lit up inside and it came out in a smile.
Then - [Oh God, there's not more is there?] I felt this surge inside - really - that's the word. It felt like a little cherry tomato exploded inside me. I felt no more doubts. I saw myself (well, not really saw - it wasn't like these visions slowly drifted past me - they all assaulted me at once, making it all the better) - I saw myself going with Dave to the movies, sitting at Ricky's with him, [RICKYS! HAHAHAHAHA] - kissing him - dancing with him - talking with him - It was wonderful. Just suddenly - for one brief flash - I felt: Of course something's going to happen. Of course! Ecstasy flew through my brain and I felt like leaping and screaming and laughing!!! [Wow. This is really sad. Nothing did end up happening and I spent the entire next summer staggering around in tears because he turned me down to go to the Junior Prom. God. It sucked, really.] But it paralyzed me in a way. I just stared at my reflection. The next minute, that feeling - if that's a word for it - was gone - but I still feel all wiggly inside. I wish I could say in here: Of course it'll work out! I want it more than I have ever wanted anything!!!! [Oh, sweet girl. Sorry. Heartbreak's comin' at ya. Hunker down.]
Yesterday in Chemistry, we saw a filmstrip, and Keith ran the projector. So he pulled a desk up right next to mine. I'm not in love with him, but I do find him very attractive, and he is such a nice and real person. I wish I could get to know him better, like we used to know each other when we were kids. Anyway, the room was dark and the narrator was droning on and whenever the beep beeped [uhm you might want to re-word that], Keith would turn the knob. I was just sitting there, taking notes like a good doobie, and I happened to glance at Keith, and I happened to look at his hands. Very nice hands. Big, with long rough-looking fingers - looking as though they were sculpted out of wood, just casually curled around the projector. Sometimes just slightly moving, not for any good reason - or reaching up to scratch his chest. Then - to my shock - I suddenly felt like reaching over and taking his hand in mine - feel his fingers gently squeeze mine. I had to quickly look back up at the screen to keep myself from doing just that. I didn't concentrate on the film AT ALL after that, but you know what I think? I think holding hands is about the most romantic thing of all. Of course, I've never done it. I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING. But I think that holding hands might even be nicer than a kiss. Of course, if I am ever kissed, I will probably think differently, but holding hands ... Oh God, its too romantic to talk about.
Of course, next in French, I glanced back at Dave's hands. Talk about big hands! They were beautiful - with ragged bitten nails. [hahahahaha Yeah, Sheila, they sound really "beautiful". Love is blind.] He bites his nails too. A cut on one of his knuckles. Rounded blunt fingertips. I couldn't get the vision of us strolling along, with our hands clasped, out of my mind. I want to hold hands with him.
You know what? It's just occurred to me that it must look to you as if this whole relationship is in my brain. [Er ... yeah. That is what it looks like] But it's not. It's not like the thing with JW. I admired JW from afar and tricked myself into believing that he cared for me just as much as I loved him. HOW could I have been so STUPID??? Why didn't I see? We must have had 6 conversations in all - I had fantasies of our romance, but it was all so illogical. He was so far from me. But David - suddenly this year - there is a friendship growing that wasn't there before. [This is not a lie. We were friends.] And this time - I don't lie on my bed dreaming of a sudden dalliance. [Dalliance? What is this - Les Liaisons Dangereuses?] I think about our real-life happenings which is so much more satisfactory. Me asking him to dance, us in Project Adventure - him talking to me - and just thinking about him -- DAVE - who he is, what he's like - what he thinks about - if he ever thinks of me.
It's impossible not to imagine us going out and what it would be like and how wonderful and fascinating it would be, but Diary - oh forgive my awful forwardness - I think it could work! [I love that I am apologizing TO MY JOURNAL for my "awful forwardness". It's so Victorian of me. I was a Gibson Girl, even then.] I think it honestly is in my grasp.
Isn't that wonderful?
I don't know how to go about "going for it" - but if nothing happens naturally - I'm gonna find a way. [Bummer, man. Headin' for a fall ... a big fall ...]
April 4, 2007
The loneliness of ice skaters ...
... on a rainy windy New York day.
That's with my cell phone. Hence the darkness surrounding the ice skating rink.
April 1, 2007
Sniffle, sob
I lost my favorite pencil.
The only rational response to such a grievous loss is:
... outright sobbing in a carefully placed pool of light.
Phew. I believe the grief has passed.
Oh ... nope ... false alarm ...
not done yet ...
wahhhhhhhhhhhh
March 30, 2007
Couldn't resist
Walked by the Booth on my way to meet the Trinidadian, and took a picture of one of the photos in the marquee.
March 26, 2007
A New York shocker
I know it will be hard to believe, but a certain venue in Times Square has closed its doors. I had gone out searching for it again only to find ... it was gone.
I took 2 pretty damn funny pictures of what is there now. I've listed them below.
So here is the monolith that now confronts you ... if you go seeking out that old venue.
Wow. Okay. I GOT it. You guys CLOSED and there is now a RETAIL OPPORTUNITY.
Blue curtains line the glass front doors, obscuring what is within ... I wondered what remained of the mania I had once experienced. I went to peek between a gap in the blue curtains to see if there were any remnants of the former tenant .... And I took a photo thru the glass door of what I saw on the wall behind that curtain. This may be the funniest photo I have ever taken.
March 25, 2007
New York Signage
Old and new ....
I'm going to be getting a nice camera in the next month or so ... no more of this cell-phone-photo crap although sometimes the snaps come out looking okay. Like the neon one below. I kinda like it - the blurriness gives the correct feel to it, because it was raining last night when I took that pic at about 11:45 pm.
And the second photo below ... it's just an old water-stained utilitarian sign, but I find such beauty in it.
Every time I see an example of old-timey signage in New York, I feel compelled to capture it. It's a ghost of days gone by. You can still see it everywhere, though ... you just need to train your eyes to look for it.
March 23, 2007
March 17, 2007
8 a.m. 39th Street
Oh - and I slipped and fell in the middle of the street - I was holding a Dunkin Donuts coffee and a big bulky overnight bag - and down I went - I totally wiped out, but the funny thing is: I doggedly held my coffee up in the air, so it wouldn't spill. I was lying in the street - face down - with my arm up, triumphantly. The rest of me was covered in slush, but dammit, not one drop of coffee spilled. I must have looked ludicrous. A little old man helped me up. Thank you, sir.
March 9, 2007
On the waterfront
Last night, I was waiting for a cab in Hoboken. Freezing my BUTT off. Frigid wind whipping down 13th Street. I happened to be near the Hoboken Historical Museum - which has its entrance in a covered-over walkway between two buildings. There are arched entranceways - and when you stand on 13th Street and look through, you can see the glitter of the Empire State Building - hovering on the other side of the Hudson. The walkway provided a good break from the wind as I waited for my cab. Shivering. There are glassed-in cases in the walkway - with pictures of Hoboken in earlier days, the brownstones, the development, etc. I took some photos of ONE of the displays, as I shivered and stamped and blew on my quickly numbing digits. Not hard to imagine why I was drawn to THAT glass case as opposed to the others.
February 26, 2007
The ballots
Allison was smart. We filled out our ballots - checking off everything we thought would win - and then, of course, you have to pass them in. There are prizes and everything - and, not to jinx myself, but I think I might win something. I was guessing pretty much everything correctly. I got the Dutch poet one wrong ... but other than that, I was pretty much scoring. But anyway - before Allison handed in her ballot, she scribbled down on a napkin all of her choices - because sometimes it's hard to remember what you actually chose for Sound Editing, Sound Mixing, Makeup, etc. For some reason - I loved the look of her napkin on the bar, and her fevered scribbling - so this comes to me, via Allison's cell phone. It kind of gives the spirit of the night. Oh, and it snowed! Beautiful fluttery snowfall, my favorite kind.
February 25, 2007
In honor of the first Sunday of Lent
... here is my impression of Heaven.
Michael - I am dying to talk with you about Paradise Alley. Holy crap! His writing is what really struck me. It's almost pure Odets. Amazing. I realize that I am communicating with you through my blog which is strange and dysfunctional ... but whatevs. Paradise Alley!!!
February 18, 2007
10:15 a.m. crisp morning
breathe ... breathe ... Long meandering weekend days and nights. So I have time to bounce back. Laundry. Cooking. Murphy's Oil soap that you squirt directly onto the floor. Heaven. Gave myself a facial yesterday. Easy. Be gentle. Mani-pedi today. Gym. Steam room.
But for now: Morning. The vaulted halls of Grand Central ... everything blurred out because of the general suckiness of my phone, but also because of the morning light streaming in the windows. That place is psychedelic. Classical. Built for contemplation. Transition. An emptying out of anxiety. Forward motion. Upward looking.
February 16, 2007
And then there are days ...
... strange and rare days ...
when it feels as though time has stood still.
This is one of those days.
Exciting. Yet odd. Rare. Time curves back in on itself.
To quote Ann Marie (wish you could be here!!): "Hm. Weird."
February 15, 2007
A peek into my tiny world
Bill made a joke the other night that my apartment, in the eyes of the blog world, is "mythical". hahahahaha We were laughing, he said - "No, but seriously ... you just know people are wondering: just how small is it???" So ridiculous and funny. Anyway, here are a couple of peeks. At corners of it anyway.
The corner. With my often ice-cold radiator. And my beautiful dark curtains. And my random 8-ball - given to me as a gift by a cast member in the last show I did. Oh, and my plant. His name is Andrew. He was given to me over 10 years ago when he was a teeny Dr. Seuss-esque stalk. He is now a glorious (and rather twisted) tree.
Tooooo many books. This is my history (world history as well as American history) bookshelf - as well as my Founding Fathers Biography bookshelf (I keep them separate from other biographies.) I LOVE my hat box (on the top of the bookcase). Jean gave it to me. It's filled with letters and photographs.
Over the door into the kitchen ... a photo by the wonderful Sam Shaw of 2 of my idols and inspirations - John Cassavetes and Gena Rowlands. (And in the background - you can see how I, like all urban dwellers, must store things in plain sight - and high up. I've got my summer fan on top of my kitchen cupboards, and my picnic basket that Ann Marie gave me - oh and my George Foreman grill as well. Thank God for random high-up storage space.) Now this is ridiculous - but that photo was in an Interview magazine many years ago - and it was spread across 2 sides of the magazine. I loved the photo so much that I ripped it out - trying to keep the two sides intact, but they ripped. I got it Xeroxed, as is - and somehow I really like the rip down the center. It gives it an oddly authentic feeling. I've had this photo on my wall for almost 20 years now. When I freakin' die, that photo will be on my wall. I can say, with all honesty, that not a day goes by that I don't look up at it, and just contemplate it, for a few happy reflective moments.
Another bookshelf - literally jammed into the only corner I had left for it. Which means I cannot stand in front of it, perusing my books - the dresser is in the way - but c'est la vie. That's what happens when you live in a 2 room apartment with 1800 books. I just love this view, though. I love my little ivy plant coming over the top ... I love the things on the side of the bookshelf - each item has its own personal meaning ... my favorite photograph of the World Trade Center is at the bottom - two people are kayaking in the Hudson, a slate-grey Hudson, with a slate-grey sky - and the towers look huge and glowering ... there's also a quote about being an artist from John Cassavetes - printed in the middle of a huge spotlight - a painting of a white dove - that one makes me feel better and peaceful every time I look at it. Oh yeah, and then all my books. That's my adult fiction shelf, by the way. Or, one of them.
February 11, 2007
Sunny Saturday afternoon, Feb. 2007
Corner of 7th Ave and Greenwich.
These are just a couple of the tiles on the fence (tiles created by people all over the country) ... which stretches off down the block ... a mosaic ... this memorial has been there for years now, without one tile being stolen.
January 28, 2007
January 21, 2007
Cat Lady
Cat Lady has only one defining feature: enormous pink glasses.
Cat Lady also got more and more volatile as the photo shoot went on. She sang. She talked to her cats. She yelled at people who were cruel to cats. She smouldered silently at the thought of abandoned kittens. She goes through the spectrum of emotions brought about from too much solitude and not enough human contact.
Here is Cat Lady in a relatively (and rarely) calm and forthright attitude.
Cat Lady is not always in control of how she comes off.
The thought of cruelty to animals makes Cat Lady go deep deep within herself. Into a fortress of rage.
Cat Lady quiets down her inner demons for a moment. Just a moment.
Singing to her brood of cats always makes Cat Lady happy.
Sometimes Cat Lady gets depressed. The blues come over her suddenly, with almost no warning.
It is useless to try to talk her out of these moods.
If you push her too hard to "cheer up", she very well may lash out at you.
For the sake of all of her cats, she does, on occasion. try to "put on a happy face". The cats are never fooled, however.
The black moods pass ... leaving Cat Lady exhausted and quiet within.
Now she can sing to her cats again, with a free and open heart. A heart filled with ... a thermal glow, apparently.
It is unknown how Andy Warhol came to know her. She lived in Tribeca when it was mainly an industrial area, so it is possible he saw her on the streets and became intrigued. But he captured her here, in one of her happy singing moods.
'
Pleading Woman
Pleading Woman is more of an emotional state than an actual character. She is upset about something. She is rather melodramatic. She is pleading. She is hurt. Pleading for: a second chance? To be loved? To stop the pain?
Hopefully Pleading Woman will move on from this moment in time. But for now, here she is.
Pleading Woman is stricken.
She can't believe it.
"Why?" she asks. "Why?"
Trying to accept.
Stunned.
The first cut is the deepest.
Wings of the Dove Lady
Wings of the Dove Lady is not really a good name for this character, but that was what I started calling her in my head, so I'll stick with that. But let's put it another way. She is rich. She is arrogant. She spends months traveling in Europe, with a retinue of servants and maids following her luggage about. She toys with people. She is cunning, sexually knowing, and manipulative. She is nobody's fool. She is loved by many men. It is their great misfortune to love her. She has not loved anyone. Ever. She loves power and power alone.
She is up to no good. Watch your back around this woman.
The look in her eyes here kind of says it all.
Don't be fooled by her laugh. It doesn't mean what laughs normally mean.
She prefers night to day. For obvious reasons.
Back in London, a woman who was once her lady's maid, writes fervently in her secret journal, hidden in a box at the back of her closet: "Someday ... someday ... this icy woman will be revealed for who she really is. Please God, please. Let it be so."
In the dictionary, beside the word "haughty", should be a photograph of this woman.
She is quite aware of the effect she has on men, and she uses it.
With all of her schemes and machinations, she has perfected what we would call, in our day and age, the attitude of "plausible deniability". Nothing can be pinned on her. And she knows it.
She will die unloved and unmourned.
Warp-Speed Red Lips
Warp-Speed Red Lips is a woman dominated by her own special effects. She has red lips. Occasionally she puts on what appears to be a burqa. Occasionally she wears glasses that look suspiciously like Cat Lady's glasses. And she endures life at warp-speed. She has no inner life. So don't look for one. Emotions lose their appeal at warp speed.
She has a strange Women's Studies je ne sais quoi here. Except for the red lips.
Here she is vaguely Saudi.
Warp-Speed Red Lips often wonders if her freckles could be any larger.
Uhm ... Garp?
Red Lips look as though they are a gushing wound at warp speed.
See what I mean?
Does anyone have a Bandaid?
Alexa: Peter Gatien's Bitter Protegé
If you do not know who Peter Gatien is, then you had best Google him right now before Alexa hears of your unbelievable ignorance. If you ask Alexa, his bitter protegé , "Who's Peter Gatien?", she is likely to pull out her switchblade. Silently, ominously. She might even check her lipstick in its glittery surface, just to freak you out. She probably wouldn't cut you with it, though. She's an heiress. Spent her childhood at boarding schools in Switzerland and France. Has never had to work a day of her life. She has financed some of Peter Gatien's clubs, but only because she's such a coke-whore that she won't be let in to other clubs. She needs somewhere to go. Gatien thinks she's "a trip". "You're a trip, Alexa," he growls. She can't tell if this is a compliment or not.
She's bitter because she missed the late 70s and 80s. She wants to bring them back. Clubs used to be important. Club owners were personalities, notorious, envied, fucked. Those days are gone. Alexa wants to bring them back.
She likes to think of herself as dangerous. Her friends are rappers who have done hard time, drug-dealers from Jersey, porn stars and moguls, and bored heirs and heiresses like herself. She likes men better than women. She thinks most women are pretty silly.
She doesn't think that she is silly. Not at all.
Posted without comment.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with Alexa's eye.
Harassed Mentally Unbalanced Wife of a Red Sox Shortstop
Nancy is married to a Red Sox shortstop. A dude who is now at the top of his game. At the top of the game, in general. He has become a celebrity. He's good-looking. He becomes one of the untouchables. One of the Gods.
Nancy was completely unprepared for what would happen when they moved to Boston. Or - she thought she was prepared, but nobody can prepare you for such a paparazzi onslaught. She's also a drunk. She thinks she just "drinks socially" but it is impossible to "drink socially" when you live in Boston and you are the wife of a famous Red Sox shortstop. She is caught out, here, there, everywhere, drunk, sloshy, getting in and out of cabs. Her behavior becomes increasingly erratic. Her husband does press conferences, asking the press to back off, because obviously "my wife is shy". This does not stop the bloodhounds. They smell her weakness. They stalk her everywhere. She does time in a rehab. When she comes out, after a couple of months, a barrage of photographers wait for her at the gate.
She is a PR nightmare for the Red Sox front desk. She tells reporters to "screw themselves". She says things at press conferences like, "I f***ing can't stand baseball. I prefer football." She doesn't bond with the other Red Sox wives.
She's a mess. She wears sunglasses. She doesn't know how to be gracious. She can't bear the attention.
She's slowly being driven insane by the flashbulbs of the cameras.
Here are some photos detailing the disintegration of her personality.
Nancy, coming out of O'Reilly's Cask and Flagon at 1:30 in the morning.
Nancy, stumbling out of Maxwell's Pub at half past midnight.
Nancy, staggering out of Lucky's Tavern, at 1:30 in the afternoon.
Someone from the Providence Journal took this photograph of Nancy at Fenway Park on July 31 - at the moment that her husband hit a grand slam. This was her response.
Later that night, she was caught by the Boston Globe, drinking by herself at Fitzgeralds.
Needless to say, when she heard the cameras clicking, she was not happy.
On August 2nd, her husband hit another grand slam. She slept through it, in the stands.
Then someone woke her up and told her about her husband's grand slam. This was her response.
The next day, she was besieged on the streets of Boston wherever she went.
Naturally, she did not handle it well.
Not at all well.
It's a long day for Nancy.
She's screaming something along the lines of: "Grand slam Shlamslam! I don't give a crap!"
And things go downhill from there. Quickly.
On August 4th, Nancy offers a meek apology to the press. She is wasted. She slurs the word "sorry". That afternoon, her husband hits a home run. Nancy is in the stands. This is her response.
I don't think Nancy is cut out to be the wife of a major league star. She just doesn't understand the rules of the game.
January 19, 2007
Snowy day!
Finally. Sheesh. I mean, it's just a sprinkling - nothing like the massive storms seen across the rest of the country ... and it will be gone by this afternoon ... but I did wake up, glance out my window, and think: ahhhh, yes. Winter!
Here is my back "yard".
January 14, 2007
10:45 p.m. last night
13th Street between 6th and 7th (one of my favorite blocks in the city).
Got a picture of one of my favorite churches in New York. Cell phone camera quality.
January 2, 2007
2007 self portrait
and my own nod to a certain handheld horror movie that I saw with my dear friend Kate and she actually had to leave because she got motion sickness ... and I believe that I stayed to watch the rest of it ... instead of leaving the theatre with her ... which seems quite insane ... but that is how I remember it. If that is the case, Kate, please accept my belated apology. What a jagoff thing to do.
Anyway, I got tagged by Missy a shamefully long time ago - and I have not experimented yet with my little camera on my Mac yet ...
so here it is. I am not smiling, but why would I be smiling when I am so terrified?
Terror in the woods.
By Sheila O'Malley (eyebrows by Eric)
December 26, 2006
Tilting tree ...
... down the street ...
... anchored above by a star.
December 19, 2006
It's a privilege to pee
There is a new monstrosity in the middle of Times Square right next to the Virgin Megastore. I had strolled by there on my way to the Actors Equity office a couple of times and wondered what the hell it was ... but frankly, it terrified me too much to investigate. The entrance is enormous. Blinding white tiles confront you from within, and 2 escalators going up. Into nothingness. That is all one sees. However, happy-crappy sing-song Barney-shit music emanates onto the sidewalk, and compels one to see what the hell is going on in there. Standing on the sidewalk, are 3 or 4 guys - all dressed alike - in blazing blue tops, baggy white pants, and a hip-hop je ne sais quoi about their demeanor. The pants are slung low, and they are dancing to the happy-crappy Barney shit music, and somehow they manage to do it with a bit of street-cred. Even though (forgot to mention this) they are also all wearing big huge furry brown bear claws on their hands. Hiphop boys dancing around, cooler than thou, somehow acting like Lorelei to the scary white tile innards of this new structure. What is it?
Maybe on my 2nd trip past ... I realized that it was a BATHROOM version of the Virgin Megastore. Now tourists do not have to struggle to find a place to pee and poop in their meanderings through Times Square. They do not have to queue up in line in the two Starbucks in that area. Now there is an entire STOREFRONT devoted to bathrooms. This is a good idea. I get that. But what's with the happy-crappy music (literally) and the baggy pants brigade with the bear claws? And ... where do the escalators go? What is up there??
I decided to investigate. This was on impulse. I was on my way to Equity a couple days ago, and I felt the tell-tale urge. (The title of this post, by the way, is a direct quote from Urinetown) My urge was semi-urgent and although I could have waited until I got to Equity - the bathroom in the Membership Department is, uhm, just not condusive to serious business. It's one room - right off the main office floor - which is always packed with people ... and it's just an uncomfortable situation all around. Not when you have to pee, clearly, but if something ELSE needs to happen, it can be a nightmare. I have experienced performance anxiety in that bathroom before, so I decided - okay. Whatever. I will enter the tiled monstrosity and see where my urge takes me.
Guys, seriously. This is an experience like no other.
I have many thoughts about this new bathroom structure - some of it barely rational - but much of it has to do with my dismay at the G-rated suffocation of ... well, New York certainly - but the entire adult world as well. I, as a strictly R-rated type girl, will fight this suffocation at every turn! Leave SOME spots strictly rated R, thank you very much.
But when you gotta go, you gotta go.
Up the escalator I went. This is a massive gleaming escalator - it takes you up two stories, just to give you an idea. You are encased in a long gleaming white-tile tube - and plastered on the walls are pictures of furry brown bears - and also repetitive (like cult-brainwashing repetitive) advertisements for Charmin, the company that obviously foot the bill for this G-rated poop magnet in Times Square. (Maybe parents with little kids think pooping is cute, and maybe they feel the need to make going to the bathroom akin to a trip to Disneyworld ... but I'm an adult and I was strictly creeped out by the potty-training YAY FOR YOUR BODILY FUNCTIONS ambience of this entire place.) However, there was something highly amusing about it as well The escalator was packed with people. We all were being carried, passively, to the 2nd floor - where the toilets were, I guess. And I regressed. I became an 8 year old emotionally, giggling at everybody around me, because I was thinking, "hee hee, you have to poop! hee hee you have to pee!" It was my own version of Everybody Poops. I found it hilarious. I resented the brainwashing influence but I still found it hilarious.
I got to the top of the escalator. The second floor is all blue carpeting. Blinding blue. Right there at the top, is a small desk - manned by a couple people, all smiles, wearing blue and white, and little baseball caps. They looked like they were working a movie concession stand. And, indeed, there is a bowl of complementary candy canes and mints on the desk. You know, because it's important to have a breath mint after you take a massive dump. People had stopped at the desk to chat, to ask questions? What? It was truly bizarre. I don't want to DWELL on the fact that I've got bodily urges, I just want to get them taken care of, and move on with my day. But oh, this is not possible in Charmin Central. You must submit to the infantilizing displays. You MUST.
There's a small blue-carpeted corridor (and everything is very controlled - there are barriers to keep the crowds in line) and then you emerge into a space that defies description. It is part playroom, part disco club, part bed and breakfast, part TV studio at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory and part FREAKFEST. There is an enormous open space over to the left that you cannot get to unless you want to leave the line. (And why would you want to leave the line? Don't you just want to poop, pee, and get the hell out?) But no, many people had left the line. Perhaps they were waiting for their slower-defecating friends. Who knows. Everywhere you look is blue carpet. And also Charmin signs. Big plushy white couches line the walls. There is a fake fireplace (I am not kidding). There are also TV screens everywhere, and huge video monitors and ... I honestly wondered if I dreamed this part of it ... but I did not. Playing over and over and over again is a video - with happy smiling dancers, a multicultural mecca of talent, against a blinding white screen - and music blares from speakers - as the "dancers" do their thing, lip synching to a song about toilet paper. I'm not kidding. At one point, all of the dancers line up like the family Von Trapp in "So Long Farewell" ... and they sing, full on, face front, "We're singing in two-ply harmony!"
Watching that (or, rather, being unwillingly subjected to that) I suddenly despised the entire human race.
I also suddenly felt like: Uhm ... maybe I can do my business in the Equity bathroom. Didn't seem so bad after all. And the URGE I had felt 5 minutes ago suddenly had subsided. Because of the terror and rage.
The video is playing over and over and over, it never stops. And people WORK in that environment all day long. I think we can expect some of them to go postal one of these days. It was like a terrible karaoke video ... with this piped-in jolly song about wiping your ass.
There is a small stage over to one side (it keeps getting worse) - and standing on the stage is a guy in blue and white (what a surprise), wearing huge furry brown bear claws ... and he is dancing. Not even with all that much heart or conviction. He's just up there. Dancing. Trying to maintain SOME of his dignity. He has props up there, in case anyone wants to join him. And yes, people wanted to join him.
I hated the human race even more.
He had blue and white pom poms, and there were people dancing around as they waited in line to drop trou.
Over to my right was the REAL terror. A huge tiled open space - with 3 walls - lined with bright white doors. These were the bathrooms. No lines of stalls like in Port Authority - no. We each will get our own room. Now - this is actually smart - because a public bathroom in that locale would get trashed within 5 minutes of regular use. Just because 500 people peeing and pooping in the same area is gonna get nuts without some serious monitoring. So here is how the Charmin Wackos handle it. They have a staff - who all stand in the middle of this tiled space. They are all wearing latex gloves, and they are all incredibly cheery. Like Mickey Mouse Club cheery. And the line slowly moves forward - and people come out of the bathrooms - and people go in ... but here's the worst part. Whenever anyone emerges from the bathroom - all of the staff goes nuts. Cheering, shouting, a cacophony of voices, "WHOOOOO!" So you, who have just pooped, have to stroll through that congratulatory mayhem, just trying to move on to make your matinee. I gotta give it to that staff. They were completely enthusiastic. But there was something so unbelievably fucked up about the entire thing. Oh - and each bathroom is "cleaned" after each patron. One person comes out of the bathroom and is greeted with cheers of congratulations from the Charmins staff. (And some of the people in line got into it and cheered as well. There was a group dynamic going on that was SO not what my bathroom-self needed. I go to the bathroom and it's a private affair. I don't need you to CHEER when I am successful in this particular venture. I'm fine, I know what I'm doing, I've got it down, thanks. Thanks. No, really, thanks. But there was no way out of the line. You could not escape.) So - then after one of the rooms is vacated, one of the staff goes in, shuts the door - does their little clean-up job (cleaning up the sprinkling, I would imagine - and flushing if the first flush was not complete) and then comes out, cheering and whooping that yet another bathroom is ready. I gotta hand it to those people. I would so have a hard time staring at shit streaks all day, and then be CHEERFUL about it.) So people would walk towards the vacant bathroom, surrounded by the staff whooping like wild Indians, embarrassed smiles on their faces. And when you emerge from the bathroom - it's like you have walked out onto a stage. There is no privacy. You walk out of one of those doors - and the entire line is right there facing you - and 5 people are all jumping up and down, cheering your amazing accomplishment.
It is the most fucked up place on the planet.
But I will say this, having suffered through the nightmare that is the public bathroom in Port Authority: the joint is immaculate. It smells overwhelmingly like Lemon Pledge - it must be piped through the speakers with the happy-crappy Barney two-ply harmony. The tile gleams. You feel almost EMBARRASSED at what you are about to do in that clean little bathroom.
Once I was in the bathroom, my amazement continued. The cult-brainwashing was on overload there. Charmin Charmin Charmin everywhere. The walls are bright blue, with painted rolls of toilet paper, and huge bears (some of them are holding their paws between their legs - to show how badly they have to go. Ew.) Another good thing, though: there are EIGHT ROLLS OF TOILET PAPER (uhm, Charmin) in every bathroom. And it's Charmin. So it's soft and fluffy and nice. Not the freakin' sandpaper that Port Authority uses. Also, you ladies will know what I'm talking about when I say that the toilet seat was dry and immaculate. I still hovered above it - because I was freakin' freaked out by the whole thing ... but it wasn't a disaster area. It was SCARILY clean.
Then I emerged and stalked grumpily through the gauntlet of war-whooping Charmin employees, jumping up and down in utter glee because I had just pulled down my big-girl pants and done a big-girl bowel movement. I'm glad they didn't make me acknowledge what it was I had just done. I half expected one of them to rush up to me with a mike and say, "So ... tell us ... number one or number two?"
I took pictures the entire time I was there.
It is an experience not to be missed. If just for the sheer freak value of the entire enterprise.
Coming in ... to my left is the fake fireplace. You can see all of the video monitors and televisions blazing with the Charmin two-ply video.
Standing in line. I took a picture of my foot. See the blue? Doesn't it just make you want to poop your pants immediately?
And this one I took accidentally when I was trying to get a shot of the revolving disco ball (which wouldn't come out.) As I fiddled with my camera, I took the following photo and decided to keep it because I thought it looked cool.
And over to your right is the bathroom area itself. Which looks like a television set from a PBS kids show. Big tile middle - lined with white doors. You can see the staff there ... all in the middle of whooping and hollering for an ADULT who just performed a TOTALLY NATURAL bodily function. Isn't it freaky?
And here are the photos I took from within my own personal bathroom. Yes, while sitting on the can. Here is what is on the wall BEHIND the toilet.
I find that so scary.
And here is what you see on the back of the door, when you are sitting on the can.
Just in case you were in ANY danger of forgetting. CHARMIN SPONSORED THIS.
Welcome, readers from Feministe! Hope you vicariously enjoy my experience.
December 17, 2006
Classic
Just classic.
Didn't come out great, due to the camera-phone's drawbacks ... but still. Magnificent. One of my favorite landmarks in this fair city.
December 7, 2006
This is the first thing I saw ...
... when I walked outside this morning, circa 7 a.m.:
Uhm ... Santa? Are you feelin' a little ... defeated by life?
Are you comin' off a bender?
Are you praying to Mecca?
Would you please reinflate so that I can stop feeling so tremendously sorry for you?
Thanks.
December 2, 2006
Scary cleaning jag
I've gone insane. I have thrown out furniture. I have enlisted neighbors to haul shit out of my apartment. Some of them have taken home items I do not want. Filing cabinet, chair, etc. My apartment is too small, and frankly I have tooooo many books. But the books must not be thrown out. The FURNITURE MUST GO. I'm also giving my desk to my hot Latin super - tomorrow we will heave it down to her basement apartment. She speaks nary a word of English. I barely speak any Spanish. Yet we were able to make our arrangements quite easily, with hand gestures, as well as mime-esque movements connoting "you want desk?" "Yes I want desk." Once that desk is out of my apartment I am going to weep tears of joy because of the added space. Of course it will IMMEDIATELY be filled by the Barrister bookcase coming my way (yay!) - and eventually I need to get a big plush arm chair - and then who the hell knows where THAT will go ... but I will find a way.
I am still halfway done with the Great Purge and so my apartment looks absolutely nuts - like a crazy person lives here - piles of crap EVERYWHERE - and this will be a project lasting a couple of days so I will tolerate the chaos until the day comes when all will be in order. I need to hang pictures - I still have a couple framed prints I haven't gotten around to putting up (my painting or - etching - or whatever it is - of Sarah Bernhardt!) - and there needs to be Swiffer action but I can't begin that until the Purging part is done, because it would be pointless.
I have moved one of the bookcases in my kitchen (uhm, there were 3 in there - it just was way too crowded) over near the bathroom in the front hall - there WAS a bookcase there, a small one - but I moved that one into the main room - (why am I telling my blog this?) - and eventually I may get rid of it, once Barrister gets here. But I shuffled the book collection around - and now the bookcase by the bathroom has all of my biographies and memoirs in it. It thrills me to look at it. I have had to move all the kids books elsewhere - which I was able to do by moving other crap around ... but the main thing has been; getting rid of that damn chair (which passed as an armchair, but - bah - I'm sick of it) - and my giant filing cabinet which was just gathering dust. I don't need it. I kind of just needed it for the SURFACE of it - because I put my printer on it - but seriously - that's a rather large piece of furniture to keep for the TOP of it.
Hmm. What else. I even considered getting a single bed - just to make more space - but I figured, no. Might as well remain optimistic. However, the last time I had a boyfriend, I had a single bed. So perhaps it's a sign??
I am having a manic episode. It is hard to keep feng shui in mind. But I am trying. I think I have too many books to be orthodox feng shui. But at least I'm clearing out some serious space. And once that desk is out - I can just ... revel in that empty wall ... the world map high up on the wall ... and nothing else beneath it. Clean and open. The desk has not been sat at or used in over a year. And definitely not since I became a Mac person. I sit with the ol' laptop in the bed (the DOUBLE BED) ... and that is how I prefer it. I feel much more like working when I'm in bed. (Hm. That somehow doesn't sound right.)
But the sun is shining through my newly Windexed windows, the ceiling fan is going, it was 70 degrees here yesterday and it's gotta be in the 60s today (which, frankly, pisses me off ... I want snow and cold. Thanks.) ... but while the weather lasts, I will keep going. The Purge shall continue.
My friend Beth is coming down next weekend - for Christmas shopping, beers, and frenzied conversation ... so I am determined to get all of this done by the time she arrives.
Update: I put Sarah Bernhardt up. She looks BEAUTIFUL. I put some other pictures up too which have been leaning against the damn wall in the closet ... they look so pretty!
Okay. Gotta go. More to do, more to do.
Update:
Blurry camera phone shots of pictures hung:
Here's a horrible photo of Sarah - but I'm just so pleased that I found a nice spot for it, and I think she looks really nice. I had bought this really cool frame for her a while back and I just love the look of it.
AND - I moved my Varitek painting from the shadowy indistinct spot where it once was to a much better and more prominent spot on the dingy paint-peeling falling-apart kitchen wall. No, but seriously. I just LOVE where he is now. I gloat at him proudly.
You can see my heating pipe sticking out into the middle of the room ... which has, at times, been the bane of my existence since it gets literally SMOKIN' hot in the winter ... but oh well. What can ya do.
Oh, and here are my two Irish pictures: One is a copy of the original 1916 Proclamation and one is a page from the Book of Kells. Bought both of these at the Trinity Library in Dublin. I just love the look of these two as well. Oh, and you can kinda see the dark brown paisley curtains my mom made me over to the left. She made those for me, uhm, 2 years ago? And I'm still not over being grateful for them, and appreciating them aesthetically.
October 22, 2006
Santa Monica Pier
I took this picture with my phone last Friday. It captures a bit of the scope of the vista - the sky - clouds and blue -
October 8, 2006
By request
Member the dress I had to be sliced out of with a razor blade during a quick costume change?
Here it is. With the pajamas for the second scene.
1st costume. Maggie and Quentin in the park. (He was a wonderful actor, by the way. Perfectly cast, too - he just was that guy.)
This is the dress Kyle sliced off of me.
Here's another view of the dress, a fuller view. I've just been sitting down so that's why it's wrinkled and bunched up.
And this is what I had to change into in 12 seconds. (Or, I should say: be changed into, since I had so much help, including, in one panicky moment, Kyle's razor blade.)
September 29, 2006
The giant
I wasn't very nice to John. I look back on how I treated him, the bluntness with which I dealt with his emotions, the devil-may-care attitude I took towards the future, and I'm stunned at my own callousness. At the time I said to myself, "Look, I'm just being honest with him" and I was - I can honestly say that I was more honest with John than I probably was with anybody else in my life at that time. He was a stranger to me, someone completely new, and I was in the process of re-inventing myself and he was the first to benefit from the new me. Or be bludgeoned by the new me. Depends on how you look at it. I see it now as bludgeoning. Later, once I became used to this new person, the person who had shuffled off the shackles of my Holly Hobbie dress-wearing past, I didn't need to bludgeon people over the head with my persona. But John got there first. I trembled on the abyss, I remember the feeling. I could have gone backwards ... it would be so easy to go backwards ... that old self was right there, I could still feel her in me, I could still revert to her in moments of insecurity or when I feel threatened ... but oh, this new self has arisen, and she is powerful, and she is free, and she doesn't have to be the way she used to be, she doesn't have to accept that old destiny ... But I was awkward just being myself. I had no idea who I was, but I knew the old me was dead. Any infringement on my new self, any limits put on her - I fought like a tiger. I was not graceful yet. I was still learning. I was like a giant trying to play with a human-size chessboard. There was much bumbling. There was much inadvertent bludgeoning. And so I bludgeoned John with honesty. And he took it. Maybe I didn't respect him for that, but I don't believe it's that simple.
For a while there, for 2 or 3 months during that manic spring, we had an awesome understanding. I had just moved to Chicago, fleeing a relationship gone bad, and a crack-up in Woodland Hills that left me chastened and frightened about my ability to actually get along in this world. My old boyfriend, my first love, had moved on already. He was dating someone else. The fact of this seared through me, singe-ing me to the bone. And yet he also would call me, randomly, from pay phones, choked with tears, as he suddenly realized what we had actually done.
I was in a new city, a city I had only spent 24 hours in prior to moving there, and everything was shimmering, dangerous, the air full of knives. But instead of sensing the threat, I only felt excitement. The pores opening up, the fearlessness rising. I loved walking through the streets, dodging the knives hurtling at me. I still had terrible moments, lonely moments, in my first apartment - the only apartment I had ever had by myself. A quiet dark room, with a ratty grey carpet, the hallways reeking of the sweet poison of roach motels. The elevator was rickety and would stall between floors. It had a creaking metal gate that you had to yank open to disembark. I put on my Salvation Army bought corporate outfit, and took the L downtown to my temp assignments, staring out the window, my eyes dilated, my breath high in my chest. I had been living with fear for a couple of years. Dodging the truth about myself. Tamping down the reality of Sheila, in order to fit into my relationship. Carol Shields talks about "inner weather". I had been in open battle to calm down my inner weather for years, thinking that there was something wrong with me, something was terribly terribly wrong.
Turns out there was something wrong. But it wasn't with the ups and downs of my inner weather. It was the suppression that was wrong. It took me years to come to terms with it, and on some level - it is an issue with which I still struggle. I rode the L, wearing my little flats, my hose, my hair pinned down to one side, staring out at the roofs of the brownstones, the lights of Wrigley Field, the brand-new silhouette of the Chicago skyline against the dusk, and think: This is me. This. Is. Me. I had never had my life look the way I wanted it to look. Not since I was, oh, 5 or 6, maybe. But now, I got to choose. It's not that everything suddenly was hunky-dory and all my dreams had come true. It was that now, it all was up to me, and to me alone. I was by myself, I had my own apartment, I was single as an adult for the first time ever, and I was meeting every challenge that came my way. I could do this. I could sign up with a temp agency. I could kick ass on the typing test. I could look for an apartment, find an apartment, put down money for it, get a cat, get my cat his shots, and set up a litter box. These are small things, but at this point in my life they were tremendous triumphs. There was a secondhand store where I bought a mattress. I put it on the floor. I had no other furniture for months. It didn't feel right to have possessions. All of my books were shipped to me from LA and I threw them all out. Can you believe that? That gives you some idea. I threw out my entire book collection. Eventually I got a little two-seater couch, a hand-me-down from a friend - but for the year that I lived there, that was it, in terms of furniture. I didn't even put blinds up. My windows remained bare, and open to the alley and building beyond. I just didn't care. The details of life, the surface stuff, which had consumed me when I was with my boyfriend - no longer seemed relevant or interesting. It had been a highly domestic relationship, where we cared about futon covers and teflon and shower curtains and getting our pitcutres framed, All that had disappeared. Vanished. Never, really, to return, actually. I enjoy having nice bookshelves. And I love the curtains my mom made for me. And I am happy that I can now afford a nice bed, with a great mattress and a box spring, and I have a really nice dresser with a swivel mirror that I adore. But that obsession with domesticity, that feeling that pots and pans are important ... is not in my DNA. I felt shame about that for years. I felt like I, as a woman, was supposed to somehow ... give a crap. It's harder for some people. It was hard for me. I had been at war with my own nature.
I have a Polaroid of myself from a fund raiser I went to very early on in Chicago, maybe 2 months after I had arrived. I had been cast in a show and the theatre company held a fund raiser. I was making new friends. I hadn't made a new friend in years, my relationship had been very insular, we had been each other's everything. Most of the new friends I made were men. They hovered around me. Kenny, Paul, Michael At the time the photo was taken, I was very skinny, skinnier than I had ever been. This was not because, oh, I was dieting and taking care of myself. The skinniness was a direct result of the horrible breakup, of being so poor that I lived on Lipton's cup-a-soup, and the adrenaline rush of having to survive. On my own. I stand in the middle of an open space in the photo that I have, I am wearing all black, my hair is curly and red, I am pale, and I am smiling, my mouth open, holding a plastic cup of wine. A mere two months before I had been sitting in my room in Woodland Hills, California, wearing an old jumper I had made, a lavendar Holly Hobbie jumper, billowing, shapeless, tennis sneakers, and a T-shirt, sitting and watching M*A*S*H re-runs, and drinking Rolling Rock. Sick at heart. The transformation was that radical, that fast.
In retrospect, I suppose if I could - I would say to that girl in the photo: "Sheila, you have no business getting involved with anyone right now. You need to be by yourself. You're a mess." And while this was true, my messiness had nothing to do with needing to be in a relationship again. It was completely the opposite.
I have girlfriends who have never been single, and who cannot be alone. They need a boyfriend. "Having a boyfriend" is, and always has been, a part of their adult lexicon. This was not me, although I was not believed at first when I would share this with the new men (we'll get back to John in a minute). Men would roll their eyes at my declaration of independence, and say, "Yeah, right. You girls are all alike. You all just want a boyfriend. I've heard this one before." I don't blame the guys for having this response, by the way. They were responding to the stereotype - the stereotype that exists because, for the most part, it is real. Only in this specific case, it was not real. I actually meant what I said. It wasn't until I met M. (only a couple of months in the future) that I found a man who not only did not roll his eyes at my declarations, but grinned and said, "Cool. Me too."
My first month in Chicago was chaotic. I crashed on my friend Jackie's couch. The sky was white and wintry. The dome from the church a block away stark and black against the billowing blizzardy sky. I had a suitcase of clothes. I missed my boyfriend so much that I would lie at night, on her couch, clutching myself, holding on, pressing my hand down over the spot on my chest where my heart was, trying to soothe, trying to press it back, tamp it down. Jackie and I also got bronchitis, with the swiftness of a stampede. We lay on her couch together, watching Life Goes On, feverish, our throats burning ("there is a tiki torch in my throat" Jackie said 10 times a day), and occasionally - I would start to weep. I remember one disastrous bronchitis-ridden afternoon when we were flipping through the channels, saw that The Way We Were was on, and thought, foolishly, "Oh, we love this movie! Let's watch!" By the end, we were both wrecks, but then my wreckage took over the afternoon. It was one of those moments. Jackie was crying about the movie, I was crying about the movie, and then I started crying about my whole life, and then, whaddya know, I could not stop. Jackie, even with her tiki torch brigade, took care of me. I was lying face down on her couch, holding onto a blanket with fists, crying so hard no sound came out. By this point, the skinny Sheila had already started to emerge, my old pajamas suddenly hung off me, I swam in them. And that afternoon, I happened to have a blue bandana wrapped around my head. So I lay on her couch, and howled, and Jackie got Kleenex, and the white sky shot away from us out her window, and Jackie had a couple of moments when she looked at me, skinny and pale with the bandana around my head, and thought, "Wow. Sheila totally looks like a chemo victim right now." We laughed about it later. "Member that day I was a chemo victim on your couch?"
But once I got my own apartment, and got my cat Sammy, I started settling in. Settling in to a new and oftentimes jagged reality. I was unhinged, unattached. I was in a strange freefall. Every day I woke up thinking; Anything can happen today. Earlier on, as the bronchitis was starting to settle in, Jackie and I were invited to be part of a new actor's collective, called The Actor's Gym. We had to go meet the two organizers of it up in an apartment in Rogers Park. The tiki torches had begun their approach, so we were ill, but we kept our appointment. We hacked our way through the interview, talking about what we were looking for as actors, telling our interviewers what type of work we had done. "I worked at The Walnut Street ... hack cough hack ... which was great for me ... cough ... I just moved here ... cough cough ... so I'm looking to immerse myself ... hack hack hack tiki tiki ..." The beautiful thing, in memory, about that surreal hacking afternoon in Rogers Park, in an apartment that was being painted so every piece of furniture was covered with a drop cloth, adding to the unreal atmosphere, is that one of the men interviewing me was Ted - a man who would become a dear friend, and who remains a dear friend to this day. This was my first moment meeting him. He remembers that first encounter. "You guys were so sick. We just fell in love with both of you." They invited us to join the Actor's Gym. Doing battle with the tiki torches made it difficult to be 100% psyched about anything, but I did have the presence of mind to be happy, proud, and gratified. I had been in Chicago 2 weeks when I joined the Actor's Gym.
Every Saturday a group of actors would meet in a drafty warehouse space, above the China Club, a red-velvet-rope nightclub on the outskirts of downtown Chicago. The windows were as tall as the walls of my apartment, and the wintry wind shrieked through the cracks into our class. Through the windows, you could see the Sears Tower. I would be lying on the buckled hard-wood floor, doing my breathing exercises, doing the group sensory exercises that were part of the Gym, and occasionally I would open my eyes, stare out the window to see the blinking red lights of the Sears Tower antennae against the black night sky, and feel something akin to contentment. It had been years, so I wasn't sure if that would be an accurate word for that emotion. Did "contentment" feel so exciting? So full of possibility? That's how I felt in that warehouse space. With the bare lightbulbs, the scratched table, the random furniture lying on the outskirts - a bedframe, an old fridge with the door off, battered chairs, desks - the leftovers of some defunct bureaucracy. This is where we had our acting class.
And that was where I met John.
He wasn't the first guy to show interest in me. He was just the first guy to make a move. In my bludgeoning honesty, I said that to him later, in a defensive tone, "You just made the move first." This was the truth. John said, "Well ... what if Donald had made the move first?" " I totally would have gone out with Donald." I saw no point in lying to John. I wasn;t having a relationship wtih him, where it seemed to be required that you lie, gently, in order to save the other person's precious feelings. John would laugh. "So ... what ... you like Donald?" "I have no idea." "But you just said you would have gone out with him." "If he asked me, sure. Why wouldn't I?" "How about Paul?" "What's wrong with Paul?" "Nothing." "I totally would have gone out with Paul if he had asked." "So ... are you saying ... that you are only going out with me because I asked first?"
I was so selfish at that point, so consumed with my own reality, that I saw no problem, none, with telling the truth. "Of course, John. You asked first." It was a brutal place I was in, a place of pared-down behavior. You said what you felt. You acted according to your conscience. You did NOT LIE. You did NOT PLAY GAMES. I took all of this quite literally. Donald was hot, and Donald was interested in me. Donald said to me point-blank, "Sheila, call me when you're done with John. You and me? We've got unfinished business." "Okay. I will." I saw no problem with any of this.
But, as always, I am getting ahead of myself.
John showed interest in me almost immediately. Chicago is a smaller town than New York, and all of the actors know each other, or know of each other. I was new. A new girl had come to town, and so she is automatically interesting, by default. I noticed, during our Actor's Gym Saturdays, that he would always be by my side, making conversation, lingering so we could walk out together.
A couple of words about who John was. He was a very good actor, who had been in kind of a large hit the season before, so he had that confidence about him. There were other guys in the Gym who might have been more good-looking or sexy ... I hang out with actors, who are weird people, in that there are usually a ton of freakily good-looking sexy people in my field. These are my peeps. John had beautiful piercing blue eyes, he was pale, and he had an interesting intense face, with an ear to ear grin. He dressed down, he was not a dandy. He was kind of a schlump, to tell you the truth. He wasn't 30 yet, but he had a receding hairline. And yet charm? If the boy could bottle what he had, men round the world would score on a more regular basis. He wrote the book on charm. He had a kick-ass personality, a snarky sinister sense of humor, and a beautiful way with women. I would dare any woman to try to resist him. He knew how to draw women out, he knew how to ask leading questions, he appeared to listen, he would make funny comments, he forgot nothing, and he also seemed to truly enjoy the company of women. Women respond to that. John was as much of a dog as the rest of the guys. He was no wilting sensitive flower. He, like the rest of them, wanted to get as much tail as he possibly could ... but if you, as a man, come off as a person only interested in tail, then you will only get a certain kind of woman. Because real quality women hate being treated like tail, and resent it. We also are interested in being seduced and having as much sex as we possibly can. Of course we are. But if you treat us as though we are interesting? As though you actually enjoy spending time with us? You will never be lonely, kid.
But let me try to describe where I was at, psychologically, at this point. I was not "looking". I was not "on the market". I wasn't even like, "Maybe I'll be ready to be on the market by the fall." The marketplace was 10 oases away, as far as I was concerned. I wasn't planning on living like a nun, oh no. I was planning on having lots of sex. I was hyped up, I was alive to myself, I felt pretty for the first time in years, and I loved the buzzing male attention. I had been "off the market" for 4 years. My ex-boyfriend had been my first (and only) boyfriend, so I had zero experience outside of him and was ready to branch out. I was 24 years old. Time to have some fun. But not boyfriend fun. No. Keep it light, keep it unattached, don't get involved, because you know what "being involved" means. "Being involved" means futon covers and Holly Hobbie. The choices were that stark to me. To me, boyfriend meant "domesticity" and that word has taken on unfavorable connotations to me ever since. Spare me from domesticity. Do not fence me in. Do not tie me down (unless we're in bed together!). BE with me if you want. If I want. But do not fence me in. I was in a growth spurt when I met John. Growth spurts are not comfortable. You do not gradually go from child to adolescent. From adolescent to adult. There are pains. People get hurt along the way. I don't mean to excuse my behavior, because much of what I did to John was appalling. But I was suddenly, for the first time in my life, in the realm of Truth. My truth. You think truth isn't relative? Then you can't understand my life. I was living in a perpetual state of blinding white truth. At every moment of the day. Say whatever is on your mind. Speak it out. Damn the consequences.
Our sessions at the Actors Gym were so long that we would take a dinner break. I remember being outside, and it was still daylight out. Perhaps I was going to a nearby deli to gorge myself on Lipton's cup-a-soup. I remember John following me, and catching up to me, and saying, squinting at me with those blue eyes, "I'd love to take you out. Would you like to go out sometime?" I felt a quickening, a small flutter up and down my nervous system. Here it is. The moment. I had felt that it was coming. It was in the air. But I had also felt it with Donald. With Kenny. With Paul. With Michael. But John had the balls to make the move. I liked John. He made me laugh. I remember him saying, during class once, he was up in front of the class, doing an acting exercise, in front of all of us, being guided through it by Bobby, the leader - and it was a raw and open and almost excruciating thing to watch - and I remember John muttering to himself at one point, in the middle of it all, "I feel like I'm having a stroke", and it was so dry, so witty, such a comment on what all of us felt when we were in his position, that waves of laughter erupted throughout the warehouse room. He was self-deprecating, he was honest about feeling scared, like a doofus, he made sure the joke was always on him. I liked him. So when he asked me out, I said to him, openly, "I'd love that!"
I hadn't been on a date since I was in college. And I was no longer the same person I had been then. I was now a woman. I had had sex. I don't remember our first date, and as a matter of fact, all of our dates kind of blend together - although there are some spectacularly original and cinematic moments which have stayed in my brain, the nuggets at the bottom of the sieve. Insane sexual escapades.
In retrospect, John was my entryway into the Chicago actor life. He knew everyone. He was well liked. He had a busy social life. He loved to go out. He loved meeting up with friends at the Melrose Diner at midnight, after their shows got out. I would go with him. I met crowds of awesome people. John knew weird things to do, odd events: miniature golf tournaments, weird matinees of performance artists who lathered paint over their body and screamed about their mothers, midnight double-features of Andy Warhol movies. We did all of that stuff. I never would have been up for all of that on my own. I am much more of a solitary type. I probably would have holed myself up in my apartment, with the mattress on the floor, my meowing cat, my soup, and read. I was very into Jeanette Winterson at that point. The Passion became a guiding post, a lantern lighting the way for me. Villanelle - the red-headed cross-dressing web-footed gambler - the heroine of The Passion - took up space in my imagination. Her freedom with her love, her intensity, her knowledge of herself - that the domestic way would never be for her ... I read that book over and over.
John included me in his crazy whirl, and - very unlike myself - I went along for the ride. John would call me after our nights out and say, laughing, "Well, once again, you were a huge hit last night." "I was?" "Yeah. 2 of the guys and 1 of the girls asked me for your phone number." "Really? Which ones? Tyler?" "Yeah. Tyler." "I loved her." "Yeah, well. She loved you."
I did not take John seriously. Not as a potential mate anyway. I did not feel that we were "moving towards" anything. I did not let him think that this could ever "be" anything. I didn't know much at that point - I was just getting through each day - but I did know that I would not be a girlfriend any time soon. No. No girlfriend. I am not a girlfriend. No. No. No.
Early on, maybe our second or third date, John and I sat in the back room of a bar which actually was just a house. There was no sign outside. I have no idea where we were in Chicago. I never knew where I was with John. The city was so new. But there was a bar - and it was in a house. You walked in and it was a regular old house, with a living room, a kitchen - and yet there was one room with a bar. You ordered drinks. Then you went and hung out in the house, wherever you could find a spot. We sat in a back room, by ourselves. It was dark, and there was a couch. There were windows, with lights shining on them, and the windows were stained glass - deep blues and reds and blinding whites. I feel like I can't be remembering this correctly, that essential expositionary details are lost, and perhaps this is true, but the fact remains: we were in a bar, that was just a regular house, and there were lit-up stained glass windows. Nobody joined us. We had stained-glass window room to ourselves. John, in his charming way, grilled me on my life. I was the opposite of cagey. I was the bludgeoning giant, remember. Unconcerned with how I was coming across, unconcerned with the fact that maybe this person - this man sitting with me - actually was ... a PERSON ... who might be developing feelings for me - I answered his questions forthrightly. I could not lie anymore. No more tamping down. And John was one of those people - so typical of actors - who are hungry for information. They love people. Their religion is other people. Who IS that person? What is HER story? Why are his eyes like that? What is going on with him? John turned that spotlight onto me. "Where'd you grow up?" "What was high school like?" "What was your first kiss?" "You moved here from where?" Tireless. I do not remember the connecting of the dots, but I do remember this. In that dark stained glass room I said to him, "Listen. We can hang out. I am having a BLAST right now." (I was.) "But you must not think I will be your girlfriend. I will never be your girlfriend. I'm just not into that right now. I am not into any of that. You just need to know what you're getting into." This was not a script. A "let's not be exclusive" script. An "I'm just not that into you" script. It was a bluntly spoken expression of what was going on with me. I liked John, and I loved how he was dragging me around the city, doing cool things, and I was even cool with it being romantic, and us having dates. "But don't ever introduce me as your girlfriend. Because if you do - you'll never see me again." John burst into laughter. We both were kind of drunk. I started laughing too. The blues and reds of the stained glass piercing through the black. I said, "I'm serious. No girlfriend talk. I just won't have it." John said, "Let's just keep hanging out. I'm fine with that." I had a bad premonition. So of course I spoke it out. "I feel like you're gonna develop feelings for me. And you really can't. I am not available. Seriously. If you think you can't handle it, get out now." "I'm not looking for anything serious right now either." Doubt prickled at my spine. IIt's like I was the stereotypical guy, and he was the stereotypical girl. I felt like I wasn't being believed. I said, "You're not?" "No. Let's just keep hanging out." "John, just remember what I said. No girlfriend talk. If I hear the word 'girlfriend' out of your mouth, you'll never see me again." Then John attacked me. In the stained glass room. Okay, I can deal with THAT. I had been monogamous with my boyfriend, of course. I had been unhappy for a long time. So I made out with John in that black and red and blue lit back room, in the bar that was a house, in some unknowable Chicago neighborhood, and it was awesome. He probably didn't know what hit him. I had a lot of sexual steam to let off.
And that, at the bottom of it, was what it was all about for me. Letting steam off. And I learned that it doesn't matter how clear you are at the outset. Clarity does not save you from misunderstanding. Things change. People's feelings change. I had said exactly what I meant to John. In a way that left no room for doubt. I even said it in what could be characterized as a mean way. I let him know that of COURSE I would date Donald if he asked me. Why wouldn't I? None of this was a pose. It was completely genuine. I would ask him, guileless, "Why wouldn't I date Donald if he asked me?"
Honesty was new for me. My own voice was new to me. I had never said the real truth to my boyfriend. Not until the very end when it was way too late. It was never about lack of love between us. We always loved each other. That was what made it so horrible to break up. But I felt my own power with John, for the first time ever. And I used it. I used it brutally.
He would get mushy mushy on the phone. "I haven't seen you in a couple of days. I miss your sweet face."
"Wow," I would drawl. "That sounds an awful lot like relationship talk."
And yet - when he would ask me to go out and do something - I would always say yes. The adventures were fast and furious with John. Some of the adventures took us to other states. We found ourselves joining up with insane wedding parties that we were not a part of. We found ourselves gyrating to house music at some rave on the south side of Chicago, a rave where you had to have a CODE WORD to get in. We found ourselves having a quiche brunch with the gay couple we had met up at a random wedding, having never met them before in our lives, but feeling that kindred spirit "ohmygod, we must be best friends" connection. We went to a gallery opening in a VERY sketchy neighborhood one night - the gallery opening began at one in the morning. It was a night where purple lightning forked through the sky. We sat in this dumpy gallery, on the 4th floor of a huge abandoned warehouse, surrounded by smoking drinking people, drinking cheap wine, with the windows occasionally flashing purple, and John tried to be my boyfriend, and I would not let him. I would brush him off. I would make snarky comments when he would get sentimental. He would get touchy-feely, and I would say, "Member what I said months ago? I'm not girlfriend material right now. You said you were okay with that." Throwing it back in his face. I would talk with another guy in a stairwell for 20 minutes. I would flirt with the bartender. Dangerously. Like ... something could happen. I was feeling it. I was feeling it all the time: This. Is. Me. So you. You. John. I'm talkin' to you. Get. Out. Of my way. But then we left the art gallery and had sex in his car, right on the street. He sent me flowers. I rolled my eyes to myself. I found myself getting angry. Hadn't I been clear? What ... he hadn't believed me? What the fuck was his problem? Why is he treating me like a girlfriend? Even though we are making out at various venues up and down the Lake shore? I TOLD him. He's just being stubborn. The giantess was coming out. The bumbling giant fingers. I did not treat him with delicacy or respect. I should have cut it off with him about 2 weeks in, because it was obvious almost immediately which way the wind was blowing. But John knew about such cool things to do ... John had such a group of cool friends ... John listened to me, was fun to talk to, we had a good time ... Fine. I will continue on with him, even though I realize he's softening towards me - because I can rest easy in my conscience that I WAS CLEAR. Too bad for him if he didn't get the message.
Cold as ice.
There was a night when there was a double-feature at the Music Box: Play it again, Sam and Harold and Maude. Ted (the guy who had interviewed me for the Gym) lived across the hall from John (randomly) and somehow - maybe when I was over John's one day - the 3 of us decided to go see the double-feature. I didn't know Ted that well, and as a matter of fact, I was kind of intimidated by him. He was my teacher. He was brilliant. I looked UP to him. When Ted found out that I had never seen Harold and Maude, he flipped out. It was his favorite movie of all time. I HAD to see it and he HAD to be there when I saw it so he could experience it through my eyes. That night of the double-feature was the true beginning of my long friendship with Ted. It was cemented that night. He remembers it that way too. I watched Harold and Maude, sitting between these two men, and there was one point - when the general with one arm finds himself stuck in the salute position with his fake arm - and you can see his silhouette, with the fake arm saluting his forehead, reflected in the puddle - and I started laughing so hard and so loudly that eventually I had to get up and leave the theatre. I stood in the lobby of The Music Box, luscious and baroque, with the red carpet and the old-fashioned popcorn machine, leaning against the wall, literally having a rabit fit of laughter. I thought I would never be normal again. What a release! I finally came back into the theatre, but the second I saw the action continuing on up on the screen, I was gone again. I sat between them, and wept with laughter. Wept and wept and wept. Ted was beside himself with delight. I remember him catching it. Catching my laughter. He had seen the movie so many times. So to see me flip out to such an intense degree gave him such pleasure. Every time I would bark out a laugh, after trying to suppress it, Ted would start guffawing. I couldn't stop. People were getting annoyed. They were all old old Harold and Maude fans from way back. They had all seen it a gazillion times. But I experienced that movie as an assault unlike any other. I was aware, dimly, that as my laughter intensified - and as audience members were growing annoyed by the girl obviously having an apopl