bonckers

Ode to a Patrick

2010-03-16T20:35:00.002-04:00

In 1914 my great-grandfather Patrick (his given name, Pasquale) came to the United States at the age of 13, with a bad case of psoriasis and only a vague idea of how he was going to survive. After a few days in holding at the Ellis Island hospital, the doctors cleared him for entry and he was released, having given the address of a cousin who was living in New York City.

He worked several jobs, including one for an Irishman who called him Patsy, which a judge, evidently in disdain for such a name given to a man, changed to Patrick when he officially became a citizen. Eventually he saved enough to send for his brother, Alex (Alessandro). As the roaring twenties took the country on a wild and prosperous ride, Pat and Alex made their way west working for the Northern Pacific Railway. They saved and saved to send for their younger brother, Tony, and his family. But the depression hit, and then the war, and immigration slowed to a trickle; Tony and family would not set foot on US soil until the mid-1950s. Meanwhile, Pat and Alex struggled through the depression, eventually working for the railway again as the war effort began in earnest. To supplement their income, they built houses on the side, salvaging timber discarded by the railway to help set foundations. My grandmother told stories of helping dig foundations as a child and watching them mix concrete by hand.

But none of this was passed to us, as their own children moved into mostly professional jobs. They were not ashamed of their working-class background so much as eager for their children to prosper in this country for which they had left home. There was promise of a better life here, and damned if their children weren’t going to make manifest that promise. So here, by dumb luck and chance, am I at the beginning of the twenty-first century. I don’t do back-breaking work, I don’t often work more than 40 hours a week, I have a college degree (of questionable value) and live modestly in the most un-modest city in the world. I am no success, by any appreciable measure. I am lazy, often depressed, and can be incredibly obtuse myself even while maintaining a high level of disdain for stupidity and ignorance. And still my life is a dream in comparison to my great-grandfather’s journey, his long separation from his family, his ability to persevere through thick and thin with the kind of grit and determination that I cannot fathom. He prevailed to make the life I’ve had possible; to provide the opportunities, both squandered and realized.

At times I think the Ancient Egyptians had it most right, that our ancestors are also the key to our future, that their journey into the afterlife presages our own, and that their memory and legacy, no matter how big or small, should be prominent in our hearts and minds and monuments. Perhaps it is the weakness of my reason, or the human condition, that makes me believe that they are not gone forever. And so today, I honor him (my namesake), my grandmother, my mother: three lions of my youth, who finally lay down with the Lamb of God.

Réquiem ætérnam dona eis Dómine;
et lux perpétua lúceat eis.
Requiéscant in pace.
Amen.

Vendus Interruptus

2009-11-27T14:51:00.002-05:00

Coming back into the city on the bus from Washington, DC earlier today (we were only stuck in traffic once we got into the city; 20 minutes to go 5 blocks) I saw a street vendor cover his wares with plastic, carefully unfurl a prayer rug, remove his shoes, and then pray toward the East. It was strange, and beautiful, to watch from the silence of the bus, imagining him focusing on the sacred amidst the cacophony of the profane (Black Friday crowds and traffic jamming the streets near Macy's).

Diary of a Bad Year

2009-11-24T18:54:00.003-05:00

I'm currently reading JM Coetzee's Diary of a Bad Year, and remembering that Coetzee is really quite a stunning writer. This clever little tale of deceit has three simultaneous threads that can be followed individually, but that create a crackling experience together. He is absolutely at his cagey finest in this book, creating (or perceiving?) a doppelganger that cannot be pinned down. Many will react strongly to the "Strong Opinions" section of the book, and I suspect that this will turn many off, but patience is a virtue in this case, and those that stay for the duration will be rewarded. I like a good curmudgeonly jab at one's critics!

Debut

2009-04-26T13:38:00.004-04:00

I am currently in rehearsals for my first official, soon-to-be advertised New York City Off-Off-Broadway debut in a show by the production company of which I am a member, The Collective. The production offers three weeks of different programming that should interest just about anyone.

The first week, of which I am a part, is a series of six monologues written by Clay McLeod Chapman featuring six Collective members. Chapman is the creator and performer of the long-running and much-celebrated The Pumpkin Pie Show.

The second week features two pieces by Edward Allan Baker (North of Providence) with four Collective Members showing off their chops in two difficult, richly textured one-acts.

The third week will prove to be intriguing, as The Collective debuts a bold new adaptation of Arthur Schnitzler’s scandalous fin-de-siècle play Reigen (better known as La Ronde). The production will feature ten Collective members and is sure to create some buzz.

Details to come soon.

Agog

2009-04-03T18:37:00.002-04:00

I don't think my previous post was intemperate. Apparently management here would disagree were they to read it, since everything is status quo at work. And "Ron" seems to have gotten over whatever initial reaction he initially had to his humiliation. Water off a duck's back, I guess. Sometimes I think I exist in the twilight zone and have completely bizarro reactions to things that everyone around me seems to think are just fine.

Annals of Douchebaggery

2009-04-01T20:53:00.002-04:00

There are times in life when one human being does something to another human being that is so hurtful one has to wonder what in the perpetrator’s past or make up might cause such perfidy.

It’s no secret that I couldn’t care less for my job. That said, I have, at the very least, straightforward respect for each of my colleagues and my supervisor, and at the best, I care for each of them as I would my friends and family. There is a manager in a different department, however, whose work ethic and actions should have left him terminated long ago. I can put up with the fact that not every incompetent jerk gets canned when they should, workplace politics being what they are. What I cannot abide is the willful humiliation of a subordinate employee IN THE WORKPLACE.

This so-called manager played the following self-described “prank” on his own employee. The employee, we’ll call him Ron, is an aspiring model and has all the requisite attitude and narcissism that go along with such aspirations. Do I like the guy? Not particularly, but that doesn’t mean I want to see him publicly humiliated; he does his job and we all muddle through. The boss, let’s call him Asshole, decides that he’d like to play a prank on Ron. Asshole puts together a fake portfolio and letter proclaiming to be from Ford Models (a prestigious modeling agency here in New York) and sends it to Ron via FedEx. The letter says that they’d seen some of his modeling work on the internet and that they’re interested in speaking with him about modeling opportunities and could he call at his earliest convenience (Asshole listed the phone number of one of his friends). Ron calls this number and speaks with the “Ford Models Representative” (friend of Asshole) and proceeds to get very excited about the possibilities of his becoming a legit model and starts telling some of his co-workers, friends, and family about it. Ron comes into work on April 1 and Asshole reveals that this was all an elaborate prank, a ruse, a real dick move. Ron breaks down crying, is beside himself, humiliated. He goes home early after speaking with the HR director (yet another friend of Asshole) and the GM. Asshole remains here to cover his shift, and apparently thinks this will all blow over by tomorrow. He proceeds to joke with his other staff member that he should have his own reality show, he's so good at pranks.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT? You ask. How is this gigantic douchebag of a human being still employed at this godforsaken black-hole of a workplace? I am asking the same questions.

And I have no answer for you, except that bad behavior seems to be rewarded around here. Someone who has such obvious contempt for his underlings that he would trample on their dreams and aspirations in public (and if you knew the context, you would know just how very public it was) has no purpose leading anything, managing anything, let alone getting paid to do so. These are tough times in this city, but I may not be able to continue to come to work here unless they get rid of this sack of shit.

I know how “stupid” it is to post about your job. They can fire me if they want. I’d be proud to sit in that HR director’s office and tell her that, if she had even the slightest inkling of what this manager (her friend, remember) was doing, she is every bit as depraved and worthless as he is, and potentially worse since it is her job to protect her employees. Och. Disgusting.

On Broadway

2009-03-05T09:20:00.001-05:00

I acted on a Broadway stage this week. Okay, a little background. My friend, Sam, was the Associate Sound Designer for a new play produced by the Roundabout Theatre Company (Broadway’s only non-profit producer) call Distracted, starring Cynthia Nixon. Sam is an amazing people person, and he had a little conversation with the General Manager of the Laura Pels Theatre (where Distracted opened last night; here is the NYT review). The result of that conversation was that The Collective was given the opportunity to have our meeting in the Laura Pels. My friend Victoria and I have been working on a scene, which Sam has been directing, from Polish Joke, a play by David Ives that we have loved since we saw it in 2002. We did that scene at our meeting on Monday. On the Broadway set of Distracted. And then Sam gave me his tickets to opening night and I went and watched Cynthia Nixon play on that same stage for two-and-a-half hours last night. It’s been a good week.

For All the Snow-Deprived

2009-01-19T17:36:00.001-05:00

Prospect Park
Originally uploaded by patbonck

For those of you whose winter has already ended or for whom winter means balmy in the mid-60s, here is a dose of winter snow. On a run through Prospect Park in Brooklyn earlier today, I snapped this set of photos. I almost stopped to sled down hills with some kids, but decided to run on since I was a few miles from home and wearing cotton clothing, which would have made for a long, cold run home.

A Poem: The Smile

2009-01-17T12:45:00.003-05:00

Across the many stretches of patched cement
On winding roads to reach your shared door
I travel lightly, leaving what’s passed behind me

You crack the door, but not to welcome me
And it’s okay, because the sun is warm today
Not icy cold and blinding, like where I came from

You peer through the sliver of openness
One round green eye flecked with flint
Shines in the sunlight, taking me in

But not letting me in, no, just looking
Weighing the costs of an encounter
Thinking how easy a debt was a pound of flesh

That is what I am thinking, not your thoughts
And all at once I see the whys and wherefores
I assumed I knew you, but I barely knew myself

Turning to go, ashamed at the recognition
I stop
And ask to see your face in full

You oblige, the reason I know not
Sun strikes you with radiant force
The smooth contours of your mask melt

Revealing what I could not have imagined
And I wonder if your view is any different
I smile without smiling, and so do you

Planting a Seed

2009-01-16T12:55:00.000-05:00

More and more often I have found myself daydreaming about having and working a garden. Throughout my entire childhood, we had a huge vegetable garden in our backyard where my dad would spend hour upon hour roto-tilling, planting, weeding, and harvesting. My four siblings and I were convenient labor, and even if we were not held to the kind of disciplined schedule that a farm kid might be, we certainly did our part, though not without some grumbling. The grumblings were instantly forgotten when snapping into a freshly dug carrot, slicing a ripe tomato, picking and eating a juicy strawberry, or steaming just-picked green beans. It was something we took for granted, and that I now miss immensely. My grandparents had a garden, and my great-grandparents, and after losing my grandmother last year, and with my dad having moved to a Stepford-esque neighborhood on a golf course, the desire to continue that tradition has been a constant. Over Christmas, I was eyeing the fallow garden in my grandmother’s backyard. We haven’t sold her house, and most of us really do not want to. In all that time of working in the yard, I always thought I’d never want to do this as an adult. And yet here I am seriously contemplating it.

The Unbearable Rightness of Playlists

2009-01-12T00:32:00.003-05:00

Sometimes a playlist drops in a song that I'd forgotten was there, but that ends up stopping me in my tracks just when I thought it couldn't anymore, when I thought that I'd developed an immunity, a new and tougher skin. But the illusion of safety dissolves, along with the distractions in the room, and collapse in all its forms takes over. And maybe I'll hit repeat once or twice, indulge the melancholy for awhile. But then new music takes its place, and maybe this one has me humming along or singing (awfully) and smiling.

A great Canadian solo artist, Hayden, caught me off guard tonight.

News...paper?

2009-01-11T22:36:00.003-05:00

My beloved Pacific Northwest has taken its hits this dreary winter: record snow, record floods, and the imminent death of perhaps Seattle's best newspaper. A trifecta of mood-killers that would drive, and if you take this Slog post at its word, has driven, the natives to drink heavily (as though that weren't always the case for a region that gets the least winter sunlight in the lower forty eight).

The Seattle P-I was always the best paper in town, especially editorially, with thoughtful and forward-thinking editorials on pretty much anything and everything Seattle and Puget Sound. And it is (was) home to David Horsey, one of the finest editorial cartoonists of (t)his time.

In destruction, however, there is always new creation, and something new will come out of this tragedy--hopefully something that embraces the utilities and speed of the web. Perhaps something like Knute Berger's Crosscut venture, part news-outlet, part blog (but, please, BETTER). The journalists who work at the P-I are some of the finest in Seattle, and if they love Seattle as much as they do journalism, some of them might just decide to stick around and try new things. It's risky, of course, but I hope some of them have the wherewithal to make a go of it.

For now, we wait to see if the P-I can come out of the coma, or whether the plug will be pulled in 60 days.

Work

2009-01-08T19:29:00.002-05:00

In an odd twist of...something, I'm back working at the hotel. Yes, the very same hotel from which I was laid almost exactly two months ago to the day. And I also had a pretty great interview at Theatre Communications Group for a Development position today. I really enjoyed the Development Director and think I would really like working with him. And TCG is a great organization (for all you readers of American Theatre or the numerous pulitzer prize winning plays they've published). So after two months of jobless flailing about, I may actually end up having choices. Weird.

Peace

2008-12-07T00:53:00.003-05:00

It snowed for a bit this evening, which made for a sort of magical walk home for me, among the proud brownstones, the streets just a bit quieter due to a reduced number of cabs flying by. I’m not sure whether a recent depressive rut is seasonal, but I do think this weather really is for me: cold nose, visible breath, woolly scarf, hands shoved deep in pockets, hot tea, and that amazing pine scent as I walk through the Christmas Tree stand on the way to and from the subway. It’s good to be noticing the little things again, to switch off that biting internal monologue and stare out the window at the swirling flakes that are now covering cars and masking the fire escape, its black iron slats turned to soft white tendrils. The snow may be gone in the morning, but I hope the mood isn’t.

Deep Thought

2008-12-03T19:43:00.000-05:00

The best things in life are not things.

Family

2008-11-30T15:26:00.001-05:00

I love you all and miss you dearly...see you in a few weeks!

Tom Stoppard

2008-11-16T00:26:00.001-05:00

I went to see a short interview of one of my favorite playwrights, Tom Stoppard, earlier this week at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. From Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead to his epic trilogy The Coast of Utopia, Stoppard has had a long and varied career spanning different media (plays, television, films, adaptations) and a far more diverse range of ideas.

The interview itself was rather unremarkable, mostly due to the moderator. David Remnick is a great writer and reporter, and I’ve often enjoyed his work in The New Yorker, where he is executive editor, but his rambling, dull and academic interview was stifling. Stoppard himself was delightful, especially when talking about translating Checkhov (his new translation/adaptation of The Cherry Orchard debuts in January). Checkhov is such a lover of humanity and potent dramatist of the human condition, and who better than Stoppard to bring Checkhov’s legendary wit and elusive humor through to us in English. He also mentioned in a curious aside that the American read on Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky is very far removed from the Russian sensibility—Russians apparently find these two dour literary titans hilarious; their works are inherently comic.

I wished for more: more on his process, more on his ideas about theatre and where it’s headed, more on his unique perspective of the American theatre (apparently, we’re much more obsessed with the “success” of things here, both financially and critically, than they are in London and the West End). I suppose that’s the dramatist’s greatest trick, though: always leave them wanting more.

NBC Election Central, Rockefeller Center

2008-11-04T16:06:00.003-05:00

Taken today with a Vado Creative that was received as a door prize.

Karma

2008-10-28T18:59:00.000-04:00

Ever had a really bad week? Just got laid off!

Carma

2008-10-27T11:08:00.001-04:00

At what point does one officially become a New Yorker? Many long-time New Yorkers say you must be born here, or put a time-frame on it (5 or 10 years). Others say you have to have some quintessentially New York experiences. Does getting hit by a car count?

Yesterday in my neighborhood, I was crossing the street , in the crosswalk, in broad daylight, white walk signal showing, when a car came whipping around the corner (one-way to one-way street turn) and just kept on coming. I backpedaled, yelled, jumped and he hit me just below the knee and I fell back, ripped up my coat, and sat stunned in the middle of the street. Thankfully, several people witnessed and stopped and offered help—I wish I could have thanked them. Someone called an ambulance and another guy acted as a kind of buffer between the driver and me. The driver was a young guy, perhaps Latino, and scared out of his mind, especially when the fire truck and ambulance showed up. Now, I was not seriously injured, but I was shaking and in a little bit of shock, so they went through the full nine yards (back board, neck brace, head strap) and took me to the ER. Better safe than sorry. I was fine, nothing broken, no head injury, no blood, but I’m certainly sore today.

I know this could happen anywhere in this country, but what do you think? Official New Yorker?

Museum of Natural History

2008-10-11T19:52:00.003-04:00

Having lived in the city for more than a year now, it's truly a shame that today marked my first visit to the American Museum of Natural History. It's gargantuan. I spent nearly five hours there and didn't see much more than half the exhibits, and some that I did see I barely glanced at due to a crush of kids or the room temperature (they must keep different exhibits at different temps for preservation purposes, because it was blazing hot in some rooms and downright chilly in others). What a treasure for kids (and adults). I can only imagine how many careers in the natural sciences, anthropology, and archaeology were launched from multiple trips as a youngster. It left me a bit nostalgic for the time before I abandoned science as a course of study. Biochemistry certainly would have suited me, since I am a pretty solitary person...perhaps if I'd made it through that period of intense boredom with science ten or so years ago. Then again, I might be a miserable lab rat today. Ah well.

Ouch

2008-10-09T19:20:00.002-04:00

I was running across the Brooklyn Bridge just before noon today, tourists everywhere, weaving in and out of people, when I bit it. The pedestrian crossing of the Bridge is made up of hundreds of one or two inch boards, so most of the crossing is literally a boardwalk. And some times there is a bulge or warp in a board, and as I just happened to hit one at exactly the wrong angle, down I went in right in front of a group of European women. I literally saw the word "humiliation" in big neon lights as I went down. I popped right back up and went on my way with a smile and a wave. I've a nice purple bruise on my palm and a scratch and bruise near my elbow and kneee, but the biggest injury was definitely to my pride. Ah well, we all need a hit to the ego from time to time. At least it wasn't on the pavement.

Residential

2008-10-09T01:37:00.003-04:00

Someone was jackhammering outside my apartment last night at 2am. I thought there were noise laws here, but aparently not, as a call to 311 (the city hotline for everything NYC) the next day revealed that the city allows such work to be done after hours to prevent disruption of traffic. I hope the drivers who were spared such inconvenience as a five minute wait appreciate the hours of sleep I will not get back. Sheesh.

Mood

2008-10-03T17:55:00.002-04:00

Summed up by a beautiful song from the Robert Plant and Alison Krauss album, Raising Sand, which is really, really good.

Through the Morning, Through the Night

Believe me when I tell you
I will try to understand
Belive me when I tell you
I could never kill a man

But to know that another man's holding you tight
Hurts me, little darling
Through the morning, through the night

The bond has been broken
The promise you gave
The words that were spoken
I can not be your slave

But to know that the trust you had in me is gone
Hurts me, little darling
Through the nightime, through the dawn

I dreamed just last night you were there by my side
Your sweet loving tenderness
Easing my pride
But then I awoke and found you not there
It was just my old memory of how much I care

Belive me when I tell you
I will try to understand
Belive me when I tell you
I could never kill a man

But to know that another man's holding you tight
Hurts me little, darling
Through the morning, through the night

Do the Puyallup

2008-09-12T23:22:00.001-04:00

I know the fair is going on back home; you know, that little taste of Americana that comes around once a year to help us say goodbye to summer? I didn’t think I’d miss it as much as I am…I could really go for a fair scone right now. There is nothing quite so bad-for-you-it’s-good as a fair scone oozing raspberry jam and butter. When the sun goes down and the rides light up the night, it’s pure youthful magic. Walking through the barns, it’s wonderful to see that, even as farmland continues to disappear in the Puget Sound area, a new generation of ranchers and farmers are continuing the great agricultural traditions that were the impetus for the first fair back in October of 1900. Plus, they sell the wackiest stuff at the fair and it's fun to see what new, useless items will be up for sale by a British guy with a headset (there must be some market research showing that the Brit accent sells in the US, because it seems like every other booth has an Englishman hocking their wares).

What I wouldn’t do just to have some trademark fair smells in my neighborhood….

www.thefair.com

Morning found us calmly unaware

2008-09-12T02:28:00.001-04:00

I have mixed feelings about the impending close of summer and onset of fall. On the one hand, there are few things better than bidding farewell to another sticky New York City summer. On the other, summer has so many associations that connote happiness--long days, beaches, outdoor dining, ice cream, free concerts. And yet the autumn is perhaps the best time of the year in the city, what with the leaves beginning to turn into their brilliant palate of colors, mild temperatures that make for amazing days outdoors, and that long-awaited discovery that soup has become palatable again.

Now for someone with whom to share these simple delights….

Where do you get that walk oh so lean?

2008-09-11T01:21:00.001-04:00

The average New Yorker walks more than a mile, and often 2-4 miles, per day. All this pedestrian movement provides ample opportunity for observing and, yes, judging, the way that people in this city walk. There are fast walkers, weaving in and out of people on the sidewalk, visibly and sometimes vocally frustrated when stuck behind a gaggle of slow walkers who take up the entire 12-foot sidewalks. The aforementioned slow walkers more often than not travel in packs and spread out, making passing impossible or requiring a perilous jaunt into traffic to get around them; tourists are their own sub-category of slow walkers, stopping every ten feet to look up or consult a map. There are lopers, who have a large stride and move their arms in long, exaggerated arcs. Shufflers barely pick up their feet, and a rhythmic scratching of shoe on pavement follows them wherever they go. Heavyset people often lumber down the sidewalk, seeming to shift their entire weight from one leg to the other with each step. Women in high heels click their way up the block while flip-floppers smack their way down avenues. Young people take subway stairs two or three at a time, while the elderly cling to the rail and drag themselves up one step at a time.

It’s rather like the freeway without vehicles.

General Update

2008-08-30T16:47:00.003-04:00

I realized that I don't use this blog as a way to keep in touch with people, though I probably should, since I am so horrible at keeping in touch through other avenues. To all those whom I have been remiss in contacting, my apologies; and a quick rundown of the last few months:

1. I did not take the job with UNICEF. It was in the IT department. It was a general services position (administrative assistant). I worked in a darkly lit cubicle. They took more than 5 months to make a hiring decision. They weren't going to be very flexible. In the end, it just wasn't right for me.

2. I took a job at a hotel in midtown Manhattan as a Reservations Agent. It is definitely an actor's side job and most of the people I work with are actors, including a very good friend who basically got me the job--that's been the best part. We have a great understanding boss. This is, interestingly enough, my first job at a for-profit company (past jobs have been for a small city, a university, and a non-profit--support Habitat for Humanity at http://www.tpc-habitat.org/).

3. I'm a member of a production company, The Collective (http://www.thecollective-ny.com/), that has been working toward a production of a new play written by one of our members. I'll have more info on that as the details get ironed out. Very exciting!

4. It's taken me more than a year to really begin to understand how this business works, and I've only just begun to learn. I had some expectations about building a life here (personally and professionally), and those have been exploded. So I'm trying to pick up the pieces and find a path that works for me. It's very slow going at this point.

5. On that personal side, I am single again after four years. If you want to know what Paige is up to in sunny L.A., you can follow her (until recently, at least) at http://www.creativesupernova.blogspot.com/.

6. Still living in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn, which is a beautiful, if slightly less quiet as of late, neighborhood.

I really do hope to talk to you soon, all you whom I've missed. I'll be in Tacoma in late September for a wedding, so perhaps we can meet for a drink in one of those lovely new bars and restaurants that seem to be popping up everywhere back there.

Cheers!

Planetary Trifecta

2008-08-22T21:50:00.002-04:00

If you live in a place where you can see stars at night (I can occasionally spot a few from my house in Brooklyn), check this out. You'll need a set of binoculars, but it's definitely worth it. It's rare to see three planets so bunched together (in terms of our viewing them, of course), and visible with just a set of binoculars. Cool!

A Complete Triumph

2008-08-04T12:31:00.002-04:00

Triumph at Comic Con in San Diego. Hilarity ensues.

Herodotus

2008-08-01T19:58:00.003-04:00

The New Yorker is an excellent magazine. Even in these times of falling subscriptions and up-to-the-minute blogs it never fails to provide unparalleled coverage and unique perspectives.

It's reviews are always interesting to read and thorough; sometimes to to the point of overkill, and sometimes to the point of obscuring the subject of the review. Thus it is with the current--excellent--article on Herodotus. The article reads like an essay on what Herodotus might be able to tell us today, though it is supposed to be a review of a new translation (The Landmark Herodotus) of Herodotus' Histories. The book itself is hardly mentioned, but no one should care, because the article is the most succinct description of Herodotus's' project and purpose I've ever read.

Just sayin'.

A few days back home

2008-07-30T17:44:00.001-04:00

Eagle Point Lookout
Originally uploaded by patbonck

I took a trip home this weekend to go to our annual family picnic and spend some time with my family. We call it the Cantalupari family picnic becuase that's where everyone hails from in Italy (Cantalupo nel Sannio). The Martelli and Masella clans get together to eat, of course, but also to catch up and play some games. Sarah, my awesome cousin, came up with kick-ass games like a donut eating contest (hilarious), a pizza throwdown, a balloon stomp, and the ever-popular water balloon toss. And Aunt Mary ran the fairest bocce tournament we've ever had. I'm biased, though, since somehow I was on the winning bocce team with Sam Di Re, Carl Martelli and Kevin. Way to go fellas!

On Monday, Aaron and Lauren joined me for a hike at Mt. Rainier on what was the absolute perfect day. It was a Monday, so the trails were deserted, the weather was beautiful, there was still some snow on the trail, and it was clear as a bell as you can see from the photo. We started from Lake Mowich, at the end of a long gravel road from the Carbon River entrance. We took the Spray Falls trail (approximately 6 miles round trip) for a nice 3 hour hike through beautiful old growth forest and across streams and creeks. Spray Falls, so named because of the mist created by the falls as it cascades over a cliff rock face, was a pretty spectacular setting. We then hiked up to the apline meadows of Spray Park. Though there was still snow on the ground at this altitude, the wildflowers were just getting ready to bloom. Another week or so and it would have been amazing! But we had a great time and it was a nice reminder of what a treasure it is to have such wilderness to enjoy just an hour away. If you click through the picture, you'll be able to view most of the photos we took along the trail.

Rural

2008-07-25T01:14:00.002-04:00

Sometimes, especially when the subway is overcrowded, I daydream of living in the country. Like here, mabye:

Pasture outside of Harrison Hot Springs, British Colombia

It's beatiful there, and people will actually stop and talk to you whether they know you or not. Not that everyone is guileless, just that you have fewer people to deal with, a manageable number, say; there's no overwhelming mass of strangers stepping over you to get where they really-need-to-be-right-now-or-else. There are tourists, but they do not ride past your house on weird open-top buses. There is advertising, but it does not oppress you from every street corner, every transit center, every building facade that has not yet been covered in the image of some impossibly hip and beautiful person listening to an mp3 player or drinking mass-produced whiskey or competing in a misguided reality show called Date My Ex.

But that's why daydreams are daydreams and reality is a city that never sleeps and gives you the opportunity to be whatever you might want to be this week. Because no one knows you here, unless you're on one of those ads. And most days, anonymity is grand.

Personal Ad

2008-07-24T21:20:00.007-04:00

Single white male. Shy and quiet at first, loud and obnoxious later. Prone to bouts of sarcasm. Cynical streak a mile wide. Thoughtful, though occasionally thoughtless. Does not easily grow facial hair. Has been accused of being "stingy". Self-identifies as a "saver". Generous with friends. Competitive to a fault. Can be moody, but what human being isn't? Enjoys red wine, but only with good company. Very close to family. Slight overbite. Loves to cook. Eyelashes have been described as "girlish" despite having never been groomed. Unable to show teeth when smiling. Catholic, though not a good one.

You are of the female persuasion. Have a wicked sense of humor. Like sports and being active. Prefer nights in with dinner and a DVD to other nighttime activities. Love to laugh. Might speak some Spanish. Like to travel in developing countries. Wouldn't mind playing board games all Saturday. Might be a little crazy. But only a little. Have shotgunned a beer at some point, not necessarily recently. Wish people would just shut up sometimes and enjoy the quiet. Really. Understand that some people have an unquenchable desire to be a stage actor.

Maria

2008-07-23T14:49:00.002-04:00

Our downstairs neighbor, Maria, works at the Long Island College Hospital just a block north of our building. She is a delightful lady, hardworking, always has a kind word for me. I can’t say the same for my roommates who when I first moved in referred to her as “Sword Lady,” since she had come up to yell at them, mostly in Spanish, during a very loud party brandishing what they described as a sword.

Not too long after I heard this story, I struck up a conversation with her and learned that she was from Colombia, that most of her family was still there and that she has two children who live in other states. She returns to Colombia once a year or every two years and sends money regularly. She can’t wait for her retirement and thinks she has saved enough to buy a small house in New Jersey. Her son and his wife will soon give birth to her first grandchild.

Last night, as I was walking home from the supermarket, I saw Maria hobble around the corner with a gentlemen carrying her bags. She had fallen in the street between blocks and thankfully he’d been there to give her a hand (it had been raining and Hicks Street is a one-way, two-lane thoroughfare to a freeway entrance). She appeared to have landed on her left knee, a knee on which she has had three surgeries in the past few years. I helped her get her bags up the stairs; she’s up just one flight, but she made her way very slowly.

And that made me wonder. What does a person do who’s been here for 20 years, whose two children live in other states and whose family lives in Colombia? What if she were seriously injured? What if she’d been hit by a car? I myself have been in a few near misses with cars, mostly on the Upper West Side, where cabs and trucks race down one-way streets at what seems like freeway speeds. And those were with a full walk signal. You could disappear in this city and people might not notice for days, weeks even. I suppose it’s possible that could happen anywhere, but I think I’ll check in on Maria more often now.

Uncle Vanya

2008-07-18T22:31:00.001-04:00

In an attempt to read more lately, I’ve revisited the small set of books I brought with me to New York. The last few days have been spent with Anton Chekhov, the great Russian dramatist, and it’s brought back some memories.

My first memory of Uncle Vanya is seeing it at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in 1998 with a group from Bellarmine Prep. We saw wonderful plays on that trip, including a great production of Les Blancs by Lorraine Hansberry and a spectacular production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that I still count among the favorite theatre experiences of my life. The production of Uncle Vanya was remarkable, especially for its portrayal of Vanya himself and I wish I could remember the name of the actor now. I remember the set very well, since it so beautifully evoked the themes and images of the play: a bouquet of roses suspended from the ceiling that withered and dropped petals as the play progressed; a gigantic hammered sheet of metal that gave large, hazy, distorted reflections of the actors and set pieces; and always central was the piano that Yelena and Sonya try to play, only to be shut down by Serebryakov. The end of the play had Vanya sitting on that piano, wrapping himself in one of Dr. Astrov’s maps, weeping. I remember sitting there for a moment, my mouth agape, as the audience around me began to applaud. Sometimes you have that experience in the theatre when you wish there were no curtain call.

I could not say the same for our production of Uncle Vanya my sophomore year at Seattle University. While it was a phenomenal experience, I don’t think I fully appreciated how wonderful a play it is, and how lucky I was to have the chance. Playing Vanya at the age of 19 was a challenge beyond my means at the time, though I had the pleasure of working with a fine cast, including a professor who, appropriately, played the professor. It was a learning experience for which I am immensely grateful. I don’t get to do those kinds of roles anymore (yet?) and I miss it more than I can say.

Jury of Your Jeers

2008-07-16T16:50:00.001-04:00

Serving on jury duty these last two days has reminded me why I’ve never particularly liked lawyers (and why I don’t think I could ever become one, at least a trial lawyer): they are full of shit. Few people (with the possible exception of politicians, most of whom were lawyers at some point) can hold forth for an hour, or longer, while saying so very little. If you value quantity over quality, you’d probably make a good lawyer. So it is with legalese, a dialect of English created solely to obscure reality and distract the hoi polloi from these two pesky things: facts and the truth.

And I wasn’t even selected to sit on the jury. Imagine my chagrin after sitting through a week or more of trial.

They continually exalted our system as the best in the world, and I am fully aware that it probably is, but that certainly does not mean it is the best it can be. I don’t begrudge the two gentlemen involved. I’m sure the guy whose knee was injured deserves a full hearing, and the defendant may have been completely without fault, who really knows. But two days to select six people seems like overkill. Had they cut the bullshit, we might have gotten through it all in one afternoon.

And the two white male lawyers picked an all male jury. Not one female was chosen to sit on the jury. Not even for the two alternates.

Redeeming the Hindenburg

2008-07-05T16:46:00.003-04:00

I, for one, welcome our new dirigible overlords.

Random Observations

2008-07-04T23:23:00.003-04:00

Random Observation #1: I’ve been watching a lot of television lately, something I’ve vowed will change, though we’ll save that for another post. Fun fact: watching the Food Network is hazardous to your waistline. And not because the programs inspire you to prepare the recipes, just that you are at home, on the couch, near the kitchen where abundant amounts of food are available, this being America, and seeing all that food incites constant snacking.

Random Observation #2: My roommate self-identifies as a “hippie.” If hippie means privileged slob who buys lots of toys (digital SLR camera, electric drum set, the latest products from the fruit-themed-company-I-shall-not-name that has taken over our lives, etc.), spends weekends in the Hamptons with his upscale girlfriend, works a side job selling premium Scotch, and never lifts a finger to clean our fucking apartment, then hippie he is.

Random Observation #3: A new hole-in-the-wall eatery opened in my neighborhood this week. There are just two items on the menu: shaved ice and dumplings. I have finally found two reasons to love New York.

Out of Place

2008-07-03T20:29:00.003-04:00

A year has come and gone here in New York. I do feel out of place, but I've always been the kind of person who feels out of place just about anywhere, except among my crazy family where we are all weird and loud and obnoxious.

And, of course, there's been a lot of change in my life over the past year or so, what with the move, and my grandmother's death, and other recent upheavals.* I've been trying to convince myself to give it another year, but I don't know if I have the heart or fortitude. And I don't know that I want it as bad as many of the people I've come to know here, who like to market themselves, and angle for work, and seek out commercial and TV spots. It's a maddening business rife with rejection, and I've never been much good at making lemonade. Mine's always too tart.

But no one ever told me it would be easy, and I'm thankful for that. And I'm especially thankful for my family, who have supported and loved me across the miles, and who think I'm crazy. I think you're pretty crazy, too, guys. And isn't that just wonderful?

And I would certainly not still be here without my dearest friends, Sam and Vic. They're the best, and I'm glad that there is a whole group of people here in NYC who know that and love them. www.thecollective-ny.com Check us out, we're pretty awesome.

It's been a hot summer already, so I'm very much looking forward to my trip home in September to celebrate with my best buddy, Paul. Paul is the smartest and funniest guy I know. He's getting married to a woman who is his equal (and probably his better) in so many ways. Welcome to the Fermans, Teresa, they are a crazier bunch than my family, and that's saying a LOT.

So until then, I'm here. And that's just fine.

*I lost the regional spelling bee on this word in the 5th grade. It was the only time I made it to regionals. I use this word as often as I can.

Wake Up

2008-06-05T10:33:00.006-04:00

Early morning subway rides are usually boring affairs, with sparsely populated cars and half-asleep people moving to or from work. This morning, however, the train was a bit more full than usual and a somewhat startling incident had the train abuzz with chatter.

Three stops after I got on, an African-American gentlemen boarded the train. He was homeless, and as he started his spiel, he shook the coins in his hat. He ended with a curiously offensive and bitter comment that I had yet to hear on a subway car: "...and if I could get a donation from one Asian person today, that would be great." He had boarded the F train at East Broadway, the Chinatown stop. An Asian gentleman sitting just to his right, upon hearing the comment, retorted: "Up yours!" The man asking for change then proceeded to make some obscene gestures and comments, and things looked to be heating up. The man sitting kept his cool, and the change-seeker went on his way down the aisle.

All of us half-asleep commuters were wide awake now. It was clear that not everyone had heard the entire exchange. Questions and comments went flying: "what did he say?" and "the guy just wanted some change, leave him alone for chrissake" and "why you gotta ask him what he wants the money for, I have half a mind to punch that chinaman". Where that last comment came from, I have no idea.

It was a lesson in mob rule, as well as both perceived and real racism. As I had heard and watched the entire exchange, I attempted to explain it to the people sitting around me. But I found that people had heard and seen what they wanted to hear and see, and I wondered if I had done the same? No, I had clearly heard that last pernicious sentence, and it had soured me. Sympathetic comments to both parties fell along racial lines, while others on the train seemed indifferent.

I certainly understand when people are down and out, and Lord knows I'd like to believe that people would help me were I in such a situation, but to express frustration at the cards you've been dealt through comments such as that is only going to alienate those from whom you seek help.

Eyes crossed

2008-06-03T23:00:00.002-04:00

"To see what is in front of one's nose needs a constant struggle"
--George Orwell

Withdrawl

2008-05-31T14:12:00.002-04:00

in the back of a pickup
picking up speed
grabbing at memories as they race by
but they’re slippery, slick as ice
frozen now in black and white
soon to yellow and fade with age
telling the story of what was
what will not be

a wall of people all around
their stories stacked to the heavens
painjoylaughtertears

smack the pavement as they crumble
from their fragile perches
heads no longer in the clouds

here the weird lament begins
braying out across the ruins
waves of sorrow
ebb and flow
the moon’s revenge

even as summer approaches
instinct whispers, “hole up!”
hibernation lulls drowsy eyes
away from the absence

dreams will nourish
for only a time
a season of discontent

ears ring with the din
that fades only as the heartbeat slows

hope for wakefulness

Boo hoo

2008-05-30T23:46:00.000-04:00

Miserable day. Tomorrow's gotta be better, right?

Parks for All

2008-05-27T20:27:00.002-04:00

As excited as I am at the prospect of a new park in my neighborhood, when I read articles like this in the the Daily News, I can't help thinking the the families in East Flatbush and Bushwick could use parkland and open space much more than the childless rich folk inhabiting Brooklyn Heights. Kids should be able to walk--safely--to a park in their neighborhood.

Brooklyn Bridge Park

2008-05-27T17:51:00.002-04:00

I regularly run along the Brooklyn Heights Promenade and recently noticed that the city has finally begun demolishing the old piers to make way for the new Brooklyn Bridge Park along the East River. Take a look at the plans here. This is very close to my neighborhood, and I hope I'm still living close by when it's finished, because the plans for it are spectacular. It would make summers in New York and in my neighborhood much more bearable!

Coming to America

2008-05-24T17:02:00.001-04:00

Picture 022
Originally uploaded by patbonck

My dad was in town for a few days last week and we took the opportunity to visit Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. It was an absolutely miserable day, drenching rain and wind made it cold and obscured the usually spectacular views from the islands. It was a godsend when we reached Ellis Island and spend hours in the museum drying off while learning all about the immigrant experience at the turn of the century. It was sobering. We saw cots that were stacked three or four high in the room, which could then be folded up to give extra space during the day. These were for immigrants who were detained. The miserable day suddenly seemed a whole lot more bearable.

Later, we were able to search for family, and I found my great-grandfather (Pasquale "Patrick" Martelli) and my great-uncle (Alessandro "Alex" Martelli). My great-grandfather arrived in 1915 at the age of 14, and was detained for awhile because he had eczema. Eventually, he made his way out west, working on the railroads and was able to sponsor uncle Alex to follow him in 1921 (at the age of 16). Uncle Alex's ship's manifold listed that his brother, Pasquale, was sponsoring him and listed an address in Oregon.

Great-grandpa's name was also on the honor wall (the only family member we could find, probably because he came here on a wing and a prayer, with no family here to speak of). The wall has some 500,000 names on it, and is set up in a giant circle with names on both the inside and outside. That's his name on the wall in the flickr photo.

Happy 125th Birthday

2008-05-24T13:51:00.004-04:00

to the Brooklyn Bridge. One of the first marvels of modern engineering, some 100,000 vehicles, 1000 bikes, and 2000 pedestrians still cross the bridge every day. Her birthday was celebrated with a bang:

Friday Evening Fishing

2008-04-28T13:39:00.009-04:00

Two men prepare to fish near slip #4 at Battery Park, here at the confluence of the Hudson River and the Atlantic Ocean. Three of their lines extend into the dark water while one prepares to cast the fourth. From this far, the bait looks large, perhaps a herring, or multiple small fish. The cast is long, some 50 yards, and the fisherman deftly reels back, keeping the bait moving. Five other men stop for a picture, amazed at this urban fishing. “Catch the big one!” they call out as they continue on their way.

Bowling Green and Battery Park are at the very southern tip of Manhattan. This area used to be a separate island of its own; the short distance between the islands, once spanned by a wooden draw bridge, was filled with earth carved out of lower Manhattan. Here, where land and sea converge, is a place of mighty contradiction. Nature and industry and history and commerce converge at this point. The boat traffic is nearly as intense as the street traffic just 100 yards away. Sailboats commiserate with ferries, speedy water taxis, tourist cruises, tugboats, and container ships. Large port cranes dot the horizon to the east and west. Amid it all, Liberty stands tall, watching over the chaotic scene as the sun sets and her torch flickers to life again. What must she think of this noisy fray?

The warm day has slowly dissolved into a cool and breezy dusk, the characteristic urban haze illuminated by the last desperate rays of the setting sun. Could the lady focus her attention on the skies above her, she would witness a scene as full of activity as the choppy waves below her. Planes and helicopters and birds crisscross the sky in patterns. Have the planes learned their patterns from the birds, or vice versa?

The fishermen work quickly now, trying to net a catch, pulling up their prize, a large fish fit for filleting (my guess, 25-30 inches). The fish flops up onto the pedestrian walkway, slowly surrendering to its fate as one of the fishermen rushes back to get his car and, I presume, more gear, perhaps surprised by their early success.

Washington's Birthday

2008-02-19T15:44:00.001-05:00

The Original "W"
Originally uploaded by patbonck

After stumbling upon some historic markers in my neigborhood, I learned that my neighborhood (Cobble Hill/Brooklyn Heights) was the site of one of the first major battles of the Revolutionary War, the first time Washington had marshalled an army of 20,000 men.

So I spent a portion of Washington's Birthday playing tourist and snapping this photo at Federal Hall in lower Manhattan. It was here that the original W was inaugurated as the first president of the United States (the building is not the original, it was rebuilt in 1833).

snow

2008-02-12T20:21:00.001-05:00

snow
Originally uploaded by patbonck

Today marks my first real snow in New York (there was a dusting one morning, but it was gone in a couple of hours). There is about an inch on the ground, forecast to be gone in the morning as rain moves in...seems a lot like home!

Year of the Rat

2008-02-11T14:51:00.001-05:00

Ugh...dragon breath.
Originally uploaded by patbonck

The Chinese (Lunar) New Years parade wound it's way along Mott Street in Chinatown yesterday. I was there to snap some photos and freeze my ass off (the day got progressively colder, and it didn't help that I stood in the same spot for close to three hours). The only godsend, and I never thought I'd find myself saying this, was the crush of people around me--our combined output of body heat kept us just warm enough to survive. Not 15 minutes after the parade, it started to snow.

Click through the photo to see the full set, including grown men in rat costumes, kung fu kids, and plenty of annoying "party poppers," spewing confetti and glittery ribbons into the air and all over the spectators.

Dreamin'

2008-01-27T23:27:00.000-05:00

Some days, especially bitterly cold ones, I wish I were here again...

Testing

2008-01-24T14:52:00.000-05:00

Just in case I decide to take a job with UNICEF or the UN in the next three years, I took the United Nations General Services Clerical Exam yesterday. It was a relatively short aptitude test, though it included several things that didn't immediately strike me as useful to clerical workers.

There were proofreading and filing sections that were generally straightforward (though with just 3 minutes for 30 questions, they can hardly expect one to finish), but then there was a section called "Sorting" that seemed to be a test of spatial aptitude. The test required that you sort pairs of shapes with acronyms in them into 4 different bins. It seemed ridiculously simple to me, and completely useless in terms of being able to carry out an administrative job, but perhaps it's designed to trip you up. Then there was an obligatory simple math section and a section that asked absolutely inane questions about an organizational chart--questions that no one in their right mind would ever be struggling with in an office environment.

Finally, there was a transcription section, a natural task for administrative employees, requiring that we transcribe several paragraphs of barely legible handwriting. I felt for the several people in the room for whom English was not their mother tongue and tried to imagine myself taking the test in Spanish...<shudder>. English is my native language and it still took me several minutes and some serious contextual guesswork to decipher what, at times, appeared to be hieroglyphs.

I learned this morning that I passed, but I'm curious to actually get my results and see how I performed on each of the sections. It had been awhile since I'd taken a test, and I was surprised at how my heart rate went up and I began to sweat; a good reminder that I'd need some serious preparation before taking the GRE or LSAT!

And Let Perpetual Light Shine Upon Her

2008-01-22T19:00:00.000-05:00

Marian Martelli Wetsch
August 26, 1926 - January 14, 2008

They came in droves to say goodbye
A testament to your reach, though you alone were proof enough
Living the dreams of those who came before you
Making possible the dreams of us who remain
You always made room in your home and in your heart
For family, friends and anyone who needed love and understanding
Tough as nails, and soft as a summer breeze
Rock of strength, and soothing embrace
As you cradled us in yours
Rest now in His arms

Baby, It's Warm Outside

2008-01-09T17:24:00.001-05:00

An official high of 62 degrees today, January 9, 2008 in New York City. One week ago, the high was 16 degrees, the lowest since I’ve been here.

On the news yesterday, they showed video of people practically swimming at the Bryant Park Pond (an outdoor ice skating rink). Very eerie.

Satire

2007-12-12T14:21:00.000-05:00

Possibly the two best (and scariest) works of satire of the Bush Years have been Stephen Colbert's bravura performance at the Washington Correspondent's Dinner and this piece from the The Onion in 2001, which is so difficult to read simply because you want to laugh, but you are struck with horror as nearly every one of its tongue-in-cheek predictions for a Bush administration have come to pass.

Being Sick Sucks

2007-12-08T13:13:00.000-05:00

Jus' sayin'.

The Devil is in the Details

2007-12-06T16:43:00.000-05:00

I saw Connor McPherson’s (The Weir, The Shining City) newest play The Seafarer on Tuesday night, in its third performance after the strike ended last week. The play is mostly good, though it ends with a too-neat narrative trick. The story centers around Sharky (David Morse), who has returned just a few days ago to this rundown Dublin suburb to care for his brother, Richard (Jim Norton, having the time of his life), recently blinded after a drunken fall into a dumpster. Also featuring prominently is Ivan (Conleth Hill, in a brilliant turn), Richard’s longtime friend and drinking buddy. It is Christmas Eve, and the gentlemen make a run for supplies (whiskey and beer, and as an afterthought, some mincemeat pies). While they’re out, we learn, Richard invites Nicky (Sean Mahon) to stop by for a game of cards, which annoys Sharky as Nicky is now serious with Eileen, his former flame. And Nicky shows up as promised with a guest, Mr. Lockhart (Ciaran Hinds, dark as ever). Long story short, without any spoilers: they drink heavily, secrets are revealed and they play a game of high (ultimate) stakes poker, wrapping up with the weak ending mentioned above.

Love (and the memory of love), even from afar, can be redemptive; the devil is bitter and lonely and hates to lose; the past is lurking just behind the veneer of the present; family is paramount, even though they can be a pain in the ass—these ideas live in this play, and all have treaded the boards in similar forms before. The true delight was watching Jim Norton—even if a bit too broad at times—and especially Conleth Hill’s performances as old friends. There is a touch of Waiting for Godot in their characters, playing sad clowns with wonderfully developed physicality, there is a whole history of the Irish dramatic tradition in them.

UPDATE: A superb review from the New York Times. Why trust my word when you can read the superlative Ben Brantley?

Cui bono?

2007-12-03T16:24:00.000-05:00

An interesting op-ed in today’s New York Times advocates for the (re)introduction of Latin courses in American high schools and universities, coming fairly close on the heels of Pope Benedict XVI’s easing of guidelines for the use of the Tridentine Mass, which further raises the point that a traditional Roman Catholic Church is one of the few places in the world where you can hear spoken Latin for a sustained period of time.

I don’t think it’s such a bad idea for kids to study Latin today, especially as it is the basis for many European languages, as well as a large proportion of English. Furthermore, I agree with the author of the op-ed that Latin offers an excellent foundation, inter alia, in rhetoric, a skill sorely lacking in today’s political realm (not to mention academia). Latin is concise, precise, and does not lend itself to verbosity (though students of Cicero may disagree). This post might have been three words in Latin.

Plus, what better way for kids to communicate on the sly and dupe the parents than with a dead language that no one knows?

Not So Real Estate

2007-11-30T16:17:00.000-05:00

Apartment hunting in New York City and environs can be overwhelming. Vacancy rates in Manhattan are close to the lowest in a decade, and that is pushing up rents, even in the outer boroughs, with the cheapest (least gouging, I should say) rents being on higher floors (in walkups at least) and situated furthest from the subway.

About 32% of the housing stock is rent-controlled, so you can imagine how much competition there is for those places (including a willingness to pay brokers 12%-16% of the annual rent, depending on the neighborhood). And many of those people are already paying an agent to hunt for them (at 10% of annual rent). After paying first & last month’s rent and a security deposit, you can end up looking at $5500 to $7000 just to MOVE IN. Factor in moving costs and furnishing, and you can easily reach $10,000.

Going Down Slow

2007-11-28T12:47:00.000-05:00

A man fainted in front of me on the crowded subway this morning. It had a swooning sense of the surreal, one of those moments where time seems to slow, as he almost floated downward, his legs appearing to gently buckle under him, still holding the stainless steel pole at the center of the car. He didn’t lose consciousness for more than a few seconds and was standing again almost faster than we could call the train’s conductor over the intercom. We tried to help: someone stood so that he could sit, someone offered a bottle of water, but he waved us off saying he had the flu and a cold. We continued to talk to him, trying to make sure he was alright—did he have medicine, could we help in any way—but ten seconds later, we arrived at 14th Street/Union Square and he was rushing off the train. Those of us in that section of the car exchanged worried glances before resuming the requisite reading, staring-into-space, or iPod characteristic of a packed train.

It was an odd experience, to say the least…hope he’s okay.

Hombre de Negocios

2007-11-06T00:42:00.000-05:00

It seems the businessman has won: Alvaro Colom de los Caballeros is the victor in Guatemala's presidential election! Though much remains to be seen, this seems like a step in the right direction. Colom made clear that he remembers the atrocities of the civil war, acknowledges the challenges that lie before him, and has hope for a Guatemala that is moving toward a better life for all its citizens. A good day for peace in Central America.

Stage Management

2007-11-04T23:49:00.000-05:00

Though I have little experience as a stage manager, and what experience I do have came more than five years ago, I’ll be stage managing an upcoming production of Eugene Ionesco’s The Lesson (let’s not tell the lovely people in the show of my lack of experience, eh?).

The play is being produced by a new theatre company, The Collective, formed by a group of young actors who have been studying together at the William Esper Studio. The three performers in the show are sharp, perceptive actors and the director seems to be working seamlessly with them. The play is iconic Theatre of the Absurd, a comedy with a dark streak a mile wide.

I’d rather be on the other side of the proscenium, but this will do for now.

Elección Guatemalteca

2007-10-26T12:12:00.000-04:00

As a destination for frequent trips over the past several years, Guatemala holds a special place in my heart. With great interest, I have been following Guatemala's presidential campaign and it's wake of violence and political fallout. Just 10 years removed from the peace accords that ended a 36-year-long civil war, this small country is in the midst of the deadliest presidential campaign since that war ended. Leading up to the presidential primary in September, 59 murders and 89 attacks on political leaders and their families were recorded (and those are just the reported attacks in a country notorious for unreported violence).

The winners of the primary, Otto Pérez Molina and Alvaro Colom, will face each other in the November 9th final election, and along with 12 other candidates from various parties, they spent nearly $100 Million US leading up to the primary. This is an alarming number for such a small (13 million) and poor country, leading many in the international community to criticize Guatemala's fractious and inefficient multi-party system. Among the candidates was the first indigenous female presidential candidate, internationally know Rigoberta Menchú. In a country with 22 different ethnic Mayan populations, her indigenous status did not seem help; part of the reason stems from the fact that machismo is still rampant in Guatemala, but more even, I think, because of those ethnic divisions.

Now that Colom and Molina are set to face off on November 9, the number one issue of the campaign has resurfaced: violence. With organized crime on the rise in the capital city and other urban areas, and the murder rate increasing at an alarming pace, Guatemalans seemed to be leaning toward the former-military authoritarian Molina, who has promised to be tough on crime and whose Patriot Party's logo is a clenched fist. During the civil war, Molina led troops in an area of Guatemala that saw some of the most brutal treatment of indigenous peoples, though as is often mentioned, he also played a key role in the 1996 Peace Accords. Colom is a bit more of a mystery, and I've seen several articles refer to him as "gentler" and seeking to reduce crime by reducing poverty and improving the quality of life for all Guatemalans (ie, more free trade and allowing more foreign business investment). Both candidates are from Guatemala's rich, isolated ruling elite.

In the end, I will always be skeptical of progress in a Guatemala that allows Effrain Rios Montt, former dictator and perpetrator of some of the worst war crimes in the Western Hemisphere, to continue serving in the legislature. This is a man who does not dare leave Guatemala for fear of being detained and charged by Spanish Courts, which have brought several indictments against him. This is a man who learned how to oppress the lowly at the School of the Americas. Wasn't Ronald Reagan prescient when he said of Rios Montt in 1982: "President Rios-Montt is a man of great personal integrity and commitment. I know he wants to improve the quality of life for all Guatemalans and to promote social justice." Some of the worst years of the civil war happened under Reagan's watch. And as if we needed any further proof that Rios Montt still has ties to US conservatives, his daughter, Zury, is married to Jerry Weller (R-IL), he of the House of Representatives who was recently called as a witness in the Randy "Duke" Cunningham scandals and is being investigated for shady Central American land deals. Birds of a feather.

Weekend in DC

2007-10-25T15:55:00.001-04:00

Spent this past weekend in Washington, D.C. visiting with an old friend and his fiance, who were likewise in town to visit his brother. Paul (said friend) and Teresa were recently engaged, and seem as happy as can be. His brother, John, and his wife Jaimie have two great kids--Crister (4) and Annika (somewhere between 1 and 2)--and seem to be doing very well. And they were so generous as to allow me to stay with them, providing a level of hospitality I do not often experience--thank you, John and Jaimie!

I took an early morning Saturday train, and this was really my first time out of the city since arriving 6 months ago. The train ride was not generally spectacular, though there were some amazing scenes as the sun was coming up. Arriving in Washington's Union Station, I then took the Metro out toward Alexandria Virgina, where John and Jamie live. Let me just say that the DC Metro is really quite ingeniously designed, incredibly clean, and even had padded seats. Though it doesn't have the character and bustle of the NY subway and is a bit more expensive, it seems comfortable and convenient.

In a stroke of luck, Brother Paul, a former teacher at my high school (Bellarmine Prep) now lives on the East Coast and visits John occasionally; and this Saturday morning he'd decided to come down from Baltimore for a visit. It was great to see him, reminisce a bit, talk politics (he's not a fan of the current crop), and get another taste of his great facility with language. I think the first time I really began to appreciate language and how words can be used was in his World Cultures history class. He now runs the library at a Catholic middle school an hour outside of Baltimore and does not miss teaching one bit!

We eventually headed into DC, since it was my first time in the area, and made it to the Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History, which would have been so cool to visit as a kid, and was just as amazing (in a different way) as an adult. After a very nice meal at a lovely Indian restaurant, we walked the Mall and saw many of the monuments at night, which is the best way to see them according to some. I most enjoyed the Lincoln Memorial--it's huge doric columns, subtly wonderful murals, and well-chosen excerpts from Lincoln's many speeches. Of course, the Gettysburg Address, but also his Second Inaugural Address, given mere weeks before his assassination. It is a mastery of American statesmanship, acknowledging the hard-fought ravages of the Civil War to both sides, bearing the burden of such sacrifice and uncertainty on his shoulders, and longing for the peace that would only come after his death. I was struck by my experience of it for the rest of the weekend!

Sunday was spent in almost total leisure (besides a woeful game of tennis), which was actually very nice. A trip to mass, a quick jaunt around Alexandria, a fresh Thai meal, and a frenzied trip back to Union Station rounded out the weekend. Just one hiccup: on the way home, we were delayed on the tracks for almost an hour in the middle of nowhere in Delware; when we resumed, we were slowed due to a signal problem, and I arrived home just after 2am. Thanks, Amtrak!

Missing You Already

2007-10-02T10:02:00.000-04:00

Stephanie (Paige to some) was here from Tuesday to Saturday last week, and shortly after the last wave at the airport, I was missing her all over again--it had been four months since I'd seen her and it'll be another four before she moves out here.

I had to work all week (the job at which I do next to nothing and where the motto seems to be "go with the flow") so we had only the evenings and Saturday to hang out and have fun in the city. Steph spent some time shopping (ahem, NYC must be shoe shopping heaven) and was able to see her friends who are living out this way--Mikey (a student at a graphic arts school here in the city) and Allison (an aspiring Veterinarian who lives in New Brunswick, NJ). She and Allison have been friends for many years, so I know it was a highpoint to hang out with her.

I was absolutely dismal at planning our short time together, so I've promised myself to redouble the efforts for her arrival in January. Lots of warm surprises and sights of New York are in store.

I Read Good

2007-10-01T15:32:00.000-04:00

The Strand Bookstore, a famous New York City purveyor of all things printed, has a service called "Books-by-the-Foot," which will provide your movie set, living room, study, or personal library with a veneer of well-read elitism, studious dedication to your field, quirky intellectualism, or whatever image you might be hoping to effect by shelves of books you've never read. After all, why choose and read the books you want when you can pay someone to help you, without uttering a word, scream "don't even try to debate the merits of the Industrial Revolution until you've read each and every book you see on that shelf" or "yes, I'm pretentious, but that's because I read Aristotle in the original Greek!" or "yes, I own every book ever written by Ann Coulter, and all books written by liberals should be burned!"

While these may provide convenient clues to your guests as to which topics should be avoided over dinner, it also seems dangerous should a guest be intimately familiar with a particular volume and begin asking your thoughts on, say, why Louis XIV is simultaneously the most celebrated and reviled of the French kings. That's when you thank God for wine and pour generously, I suppose.

What's on your shelf these days? Have you read those books? Is it your fantasy to have a leather-bound library? (snicker)

I'm now reading: West of Rome by John Fante
I finished not too long ago: 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Been trying to get though: Harry Potter y la Piedra Filosofal (1st Harry Potter, in Spanish)
Up next: Re-reading a favorite, Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie

The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Cat

2007-09-10T23:27:00.000-04:00

While running this evening near City Hall in lower Manhattan, I saw a man idling down the sidewalk with a beautiful Calico cat perched perfectly atop the ball cap on his head. It made me smile for the pure beauty and ridiculousness of it, and because it brought back instant memories of one of our first family cats: Steffie. She was a beautiful Calico and a fierce, loving mother of many--not so unlike our own.

Cannot. Wait.

2007-08-27T17:03:00.000-04:00

And this past weekend, I got the wonderful news that my beautiful girlfriend is coming to visit near the end of September. The title of this post says it all. See you soon, babe!

Old Friend

2007-08-27T16:54:00.000-04:00

It was a weekend of New York visitors! Before Emily arrived, I was able to meet Erik Hanberg and his lovely girlfriend Mary for lunch at a great Mexican place called Palapa in the East Village. They were in town to catch a show (Spring Awakening) and walk the streets.

It was great to catch up with them and hear all about their interesting side-jobs that they are hoping turn into full-time gigs. The creative class, taking over: Mary in graphic design and Erik in video production/podcasting for a Tacoma blog(it's cool, check it out: www.exit133.com). Best of luck to them!

24 Hours in Gotham

2007-08-27T16:00:00.000-04:00

Was just about what Emily (my sister) was able to enjoy this weekend. We had a great time, and I was absolutely ecstatic to have a visitor. She arrived Saturday evening, and we braved the sultry evening for our first adventure in Soho and a favorite pastime of Em's: shopping. First stop, H&M for a look at their fall fashions (Em left the store with just a couple of items, so it's probably a thumbs down for fall 2007). She then found a "hot" pair of shoes at the Steve Madden store (where we discussed moving the store to her house, or her moving into the store). After shopping, it was time for sustenance, and we took a leisurely stroll down to Little Italy. In the summer, the 5-block-long strip is closed to traffic as the myriad restaurants spill out onto the sidewalk and gelato, kitsch, and cookie vendors hock their wares in the street. It's a lively, crowded place reminiscent of a palazzo, though I don't speak from experience. Dinner was lovely, Em's was decidedly superior. She chose the sea bass, and it was perfection: delicately cooked, the fish melted in your mouth, and the sweetness of sun dried tomatoes and artichokes added a complexity of flavor and texture. Yum. I had orrechiette (ear-shaped pasta) with broccoli rabe and sausage. It was quite good, though no comparison to the sea bass. We picked up a few Italian cookies (called lemon drops, they have a sugar glaze and are very similar to cookies that grandma makes around Easter and Christmas) before heading north to the ultimate tourist attraction: Times Square.

New Yorkers, as a rule, avoid Times Square on Friday and Saturday nights, especially in August. We found out why. The sidewalks were packed with people and walking one block was like trying to wade through quicksand. On the other hand, there's nothing quite like Times Square at night, so we joined the throngs and craned our necks for the 6 blocks of flashing lights and jumbotrons. After that we needed a drink, so we headed off to Blockheads nearby for margaritas. We ambled home, full and happy, to sweat out a miserable night in my windowless room.

The morning brought beautiful weather (slightly cooler and much less humid) for our full day of planned activities. We started off on Smith St. in my neighborhood, for a wonderful brunch at a little Cuban place. We shared an omelet and fruit salad, and Em had a magnificent coco latte (a latte made with a hint of coconut milk). They also had thin-sliced fried plantains instead of the ubiquitous tortilla chips. Those were good, but the real star of the meal was the mix of salsa and fresh herbs for dipping. We asked the waitress what was in it and told us it was their special mix of cilantro, parsley, jalapeños, tomatoes, and lime juice. We called it delicious, and asked for more to slather over the omelet.

With full bellies we hopped a train headed for Queens. There were two more things on the schedule today: a quick stop at the US Open and then on to see the family. The US Open starts today, but yesterday was a free open practice, and just happened to be one stop on the subway before Flushing (our destination to see the family). So, we stopped for about an hour to check out the grounds and see some players in practice with their coaches and other players. It was fun to see the stadiums and some tennis up close. Then it was off to Flushing.

Tom, Maria and Uncle Tony met us at the train station, and we hopped in the car to head out toward Whitestone, NY and Frank & Emma's house. We met Emma's daughter and her husband and kids. We also met her daughter-in-law and one of her grandsons, though Emma's son couldn't make it down from Rhode Island for the weekend. Turns out it was Frank's birthday, and perhaps that was the reason that the bounty that was set out before us seemed even more extravagant this time. We started, as always, with pasta (rigatoni with tomato sauce, ricotta and mozzarella), but then came the barrage. Dishes kept coming and coming faster than we could dish things out and the table was literally overflowing. Green salad, cucumber salad, broccoli rabe, fried cauliflower, green snap peas, eggplant & peppers, chicken, steak, sausage, hot dogs. We stuffed ourselves while Emma goaded us to take more and chided us for not eating enough. All that was cleared, and then came two fruit plates, bread dough biscotti, a huge plate of cookies, watermelon, cantaloupe, and plates of peaches and plums. We figured this was dessert. Oh no, mi amici. It being Frank's birthday, there was a gigantic tiramisu cake, several other assorted pastries, and the ubiquitous espresso and sambuca. It was a feast of epicurean proportions.

Unfortunately, I played it a bit too cool-as-a-cucumber about getting Em back for her train to Jersey, and that made for a mad dash to Penn Station. Though I'm sure I contributed to her already too high stress level, we made it to the train with a minute to spare. That was the only bittersweet moment of Em's time here, a harried goodbye on the train platform. On the upside, she got just enough of a taste of New York to want to come back.

When I see an elephant fly...

2007-08-17T11:44:00.000-04:00

I recently found great chocolate in DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Brooklyn Overpass) at Jacques Torres Chocolates. It’s a beautiful shop in this neighborhood renowned for its spacious lofts among warehouse and industry, with an often stunning view of the lower Manhattan skyline. Check out the chocolate covered Cheerios and huge ice cream sandwiches. The stars, of course, are the little truffles in surprising and tasty flavors like: key lime, pistachio marzipan, and peanut butter mocha. My mouth is watering again. If I walk there from home (about 1 mile round trip) I can have 5 chocolates a day, right? Right?

The other thing DUMBO is renowned for is two giant buildings that say Watchtower. So you might get asked if you'd like to join the Jehovah's Witnesses if you hang out for too long. Of course, you can always say: "These chocolates are heavenly enough for me, thanks."

Who reads this blog?

2007-08-17T11:42:00.000-04:00

I'm betting no one, since I rarely post!

9 to 5

2007-07-26T16:13:00.000-04:00

Searching for a job that not only pays the bills but also the mind and the soul, is beginning to wear me down. I’ve had interviews for development/fundraising positions with Teach for America and New Yorkers for Parks. On Monday, I interviewed at UNICEF (for a temporary position) as an admin. I've signed up with a staffing agency that specifically serves nonprofits. And after two months of being here, bupkis.

Now wait a minute, you might be thinking, isn't he forgetting why he came to New York? Shouldn't he be worried about feeding his soul with preparing for auditions, reading plays, and going to see the world-class theatre on offer? Yes, yes and yes. But after five years of putting heart and soul into my previous job, I'm finding it's not so easy to get a mindless job and try to focus elsewhere.

The Martellis

2007-07-17T23:58:00.000-04:00

I had a wonderful experience this past weekend: meeting my grandmother's cousins, Tom and Emma (and their delightful spouses and children) and her uncle (Uncle Tony of family lore), a 94-year-old first-generation Italian immigrant as sharp now as ever. He remembers a staggering amount of information about our family and it's trials and tribulations. My great-grandfather Patrick (Pasquale) Martelli and his brother Alex scrimped and saved during the war years and after to send for Uncle Tony and his family. In 1955, and I think somewhat reluctantly, Uncle Tony and his family (his wife, daughters Dorothy and Emma, and son Tom) arrived by boat through New York. From there, they took what Tom described as a 4-day journey by train to the terminus of the Northern Pacific Line (Tacoma, WA). It was rough going for a time, especially to arrive in Tacoma knowing very little English an where few if any spoke Italian. Eventually, Uncle Tony's family migrated eastward (except for Dorothy who married and stayed in Tacoma) to Long Island, New York, where they still reside today. They live in Flushing, an old Italian neighborhood that more recently has become a haven for new immigrants from even further East, mainly Chinese and Thai.

So Saturday night was my first home-cooked meal since arriving in New York (I, of course, have been cooking, but cooking for one sucks). Antipasti (sharp provolone, hard salami, and another cured meat); rigatoni with a delightful tomato sauce; sauteed green beans with olive oil and vinegar; amazing grilled zucchini, eggplant and peppers dripping with olive oil; a light and fresh cucumber and tomato salad; grilled steak, lamb, sausage, and chicken; dessert of fruit with delightful cookies and pastries; and finally capped off with espresso and choice of sambuca or anisette. I was stuffed, and Tom's wife Connie (the masterful cook behind most of what made it to the table) made sure I went home with a goody bag. And all I had brought was a bottle of Washington wine! And even that was quickly forgotten when I learned that Emma's husband, Frank, makes his own wine and he'd of course brought a large bottle. His wine was definitely young, much different from commercial wine, very very strong, and I think an acquired taste. I really liked it, but I'm not sure most people would.

As lively as the food was the conversation, nearly 50% of which it seemed was in Italian. I caught a few words here and there, and Tom was so good about keeping me involved. He even told me at one point that Emma and Connie's mother, Maria, were speaking in a dialect that isn't even used or taught anymore! This was fascinating and definitely a different experience for me. Tom filled me in on much of what happened in the intervening years. Emma had gone back to Italy at some point and married Frank there. She returned to the US and found herself in New York, which she liked (there were many more Italians there than in Tacoma!) and decided to stay. Frank soon joined her, and not too much later, Tom moved out to go to Queen's College. Not long after that, Tony and his wife moved out to New York. Each of them lived with Emma and Frank in their small home in Corona (a neighborhood of Queens) for some time, with Tom sleeping on a cot in the dining room. There was even an amusing storing of Frank getting caught in the cot one night (it was one that folded up in the middle).

Tom also was able to tell me exactly where Cantalupo (the home-town of of the Martellis) is located. It is in the region of Italy called Molise and in the province of Isernia (the other provice of Molise is Campobasso). Today, Cantalupo is a country getaway spot for the urban dwellers of nearby Naples, some 150 km to the southwest. Cantalupo (the supposed origin the sweet melon "cantaloupe") means "wolf song" or "song of the wolf" in Italian. The full name of the town is Cantalupo nel Sannio and you'll see here that the population today is just 736 people. Check out this page for more information . And check out this page for the 10 most common surnames of the town--Di Re and Crivellone appear on the list (two prominent names in our family). If you search for "Martelli" at the bottom of that page, it turns up a result of 4.98, which means that 5 people in town probably have the surname Martelli. Perhaps the Martelli family does still have a few hearty souls there!

Needless to say, I was fascinated by the visit, and so grateful for a chance to glimpse our family roots. There were so many questions I wished that I'd asked my great-grandparents when they were alive, and this visit brought me closer to some answers. To Tom and Connie, Emma and Frank, and of course, the last surviving Martelli of his generation, Uncle Tony I offer grazie mille!

What's that smell?

2007-06-30T12:08:00.000-04:00

It’s difficult to describe the smells of New York City. The sweet bread smell of a bakery often mixes with the smell of fresh (or aging?) garbage on the sidewalk, or the mysterious steam that wafts up from grates in the sidewalk. And what do you call the resulting mix of smells? Sweet sewage? Delicious decay?

And when you’re packed on the subway like sardines, and everyone around you has to lift their arm to grab a bar and prevent themselves from being slammed into the wall by the lurching train operator, and all these people have just come from the subway station that is a good 10 degrees hotter than the 90-degree-100-percent-humidty of the street level, and you’re trying to keep your hands in a place that is not touching other people and wondering what that thing is that feels like a hand rubbing against your butt and you can’t turn and look because you can’t move, and the train stops in the middle of a tunnel, and the train operator crackles over the intercom and says something completely unintelligible, and you’re hoping you won’t be stuck here for long, and you’re breathing through your mouth and thinking that if you’re here for more than 5 minutes you will claw your way to the doors, pry them open with your bare hands, and brave the unknown of the subway tunnel rather than spend one millisecond more breathing in the body odor of the guy next to you, with his arm up exposing to everyone in the car (and, you think, perhaps the cars in front and behind you, it’s so bad) the glaring fact that this dude needs a shower. Stat. Ol-factory indeed. I never thought I would regret having a sense of smell. Welcome to New York.

For fun, check out Gawker’s New York City Subway Smell Map. Readers of the Gawker blog write in with what smells they’ve experienced recently at all the major subway stops. At the stop I normally use, Borough Hall in Brooklyn, the smells recorded recently were body odor, chemicals, and urine. All in a day’s commute.

Gin Rummy

2007-06-21T22:28:00.000-04:00

I'm not inherently a political person, but who can avoid it in the hyper-information age? This should be required reading for every citizen of the United States: Seymour Hersh's latest New Yorker article detailing yet one more instance of how this administration has abdicated responsibility for anything and everything that went wrong and systematically undermined anyone who had the courage to stand up to them. To ostracize and cut short the career of a decorated and devoted Army General for doing his job and telling the truth is appalling. Far more appalling that we most likely continue to treat our fellow human beings in the most inhumane of ways.

PC Load Letter

2007-06-21T22:10:00.000-04:00

I'll be starting a new job on Monday at Pace University in the Education Department as an Administrative Assistant. It's a temporary position, but could last as long as six months (we'll see if they want to keep me around and vice versa!).

My sister Anna kindly sent me some Office Space paraphernalia, so the Jump to Conclusions Mat and Innotech mug are definitely coming with me. And I'm putting the little red stapler on a neck lanyard. That's right, Lumberg, you're going to have to kill me to get it.

What as super impression this will make on my new employer! I see a raise coming before I've even started...

Talk Radio

2007-06-21T12:16:00.000-04:00

I saw Talk Radio on Broadway last week, with Liev Schreiber in the role of Barry Champlain, a fictional talk radio pioneer in the late 80s. The show was good, especially Schreiber, who deteriorates throughout the play, self-medicating with drugs and alcohol as he contemplates the sheer banality of his life's work and destroying every tenuous relationship he as with real human beings (as opposed to disembodied voices, with whom he seems to deal much easier). Talk radio is an ego-driven enterprise. Here, that ego is having a hell of a time justifying itself. Eric Bogosian's 1987 scrip is a bit dated, but you don't notice that at all once Schreiber sits down in that chair. It's fascinating to watch Schreiber take us on his trip through hell in one two-hour radio show.

I could honestly say / things can only get better...

2007-06-14T14:41:00.000-04:00

Alright, out of context, but you can find a quote for every stage of life in the canon of Elton John (thanks especially to my lovely Paige, who is Sir Elton's biggest fan).

I've been having a great time exploring my neighborhood and Manhattan, especially the parks and public spaces. I haven't gotten to Queens or the Bronx yet, but I can't ignore them for too much longer.

Brooklyn is a fascinating area, reminiscent of Seattle in ways (though it's bigger and has rapid transit). The neighborhoods each have a certain character and there are small parks and community gardens in those rare open spaces. I think Prospect Park especially reminds me of the Northwest, with a huge sprawling lawn that extends down the middle of the park, and trails on which you can (almost) forget you're in the city. The parks in New York are in densely populated urban areas, which I think is a major difference. You look at the big parks in the Northwest, with the notable exception of Portland's Washington Park, and they are invariably in the less dense neighborhoods that require driving to them. Here they are within walking distance or a short train ride away. Central Park sprawls out for a staggering 52 city blocks, making it within walking distance for a huge swath of Manhattanites.

Of course, New York does not seem to have, or perhaps has disguised through development, the stunning natural beauty that seems to be around every corner in the Northwest. The iconic sights here are the Empire State Building and Times Square rather than Mt. Rainier, the Cascades and the Olympics. Oh how I miss them all already...

Big City Blues

2007-06-12T13:24:00.000-04:00

I've been here for more than two weeks now, and literally have nothing to show for it. I haven't worked on my monologues as much as I promised myself I would. I've applied for too many jobs to remember and have received no calls or emails back. I'm sitting in my room in the middle of the day typing a blog post. Big city blues indeed.

I have been checking out the city though. Last Thursday, I made my way out to Coney Island, which is much less of an attraction to me than the HUGE boardwalk and beach. Though the wind made for a very cool afternoon, it was really a beautiful day. I walked up and down the Boardwalk, taking in the sights of seagulls and waves. If not for the thousands of people, it would be an oasis just outside the urban jungle.

Friday evening, I visited the Museum of Modern Art (www.moma.org) in Midtown Manhattan (it's free on Fridays from 4pm to 8pm). Right now, they are featuring a 40-year retrospective of the artist (sculpter) Richard Serra. Seattle has it's own piece of Mr. Serra in the Olympic Sculpture park (his is the giant hulking wavy steel plates fused together). Truly, his art is not meant to be admired from a distance, but to be experienced, to walk around his sculptures and feel how they transform the space in which they are placed. There is a real energy coming off of his works, sometimes that feels like electricity or some kind of magnetism. His work all looks very similar, but each piece has it's own, very distinct, presence. I also saw some very famous works by Picasso, Leger, Monet, and countless other artists of the modern era. I'll definitely be going back for more.

I haven't been to any theatre yet (sacrelige!), but it can be expensive, so I'm taking my time to weigh what i really want to see. I did see my dear friend Victoria in a showcase last night (a small collection of scenes by 10 or so actors). It was quite good, and Vic was great! They're having another run for "industry" folks tonight. Break a leg, guys!

Back to the job hunt...

Richard Serra's Torqued Elipse IV in the Scupture Garden at MOMA

A New Day

2007-06-03T15:53:00.000-04:00

It was hot in New York City yesterday. Unseasonably hot, unbearably hot, hotter than hell. Today is a new, and thankfully cooler, day. (Of course, everyone tells me that this is only a little preview of the summer to come, a sweltering string of unending heat and humidity that lasts well into September.)

It's also a new day, in a different way, for me. This is the first time I've lived out of my home state. I'm going to feel like a tourist here for a long time, even after I find a job and "settle in" as everyone seems so fond of saying. There will be no settling. This move has been unsettling, but in the best of ways--this city is teeming with people, many of whom are here for the same reason as I, and they're all working toward a similar goal. That's incredibly intimidating...but it's also heartening to know that others are surviving the struggle. I think it's okay if I'm unsettled for awhile.

I was so lucky to be able to ease into things here, staying with my friends (who really are more like family), Sam and Vic, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. They have a lovely one-bedroom apartment in a walkup (4 flights of stairs multiple times a day for them) that is just a block or two away from Central Park, subways, and many other amenities. It's a great neighborhood. They were just married in November, but they've been here three long years--I'm so proud of them!

The room I'm renting now is in a 4-bedroom apartment in the Cobble Hill neighborhood of Brooklyn. It's a beautiful little neighborhood, with shops and movie theatres and restaurants just a short walk away. I live with three other guys, all of whom seem to be a bit younger than I am, a bit more fresh-out-of-college, and seem to be having a great time living in the big city. And all 3 are actors at varying stages of trying to find a career (from no auditions to three-in-one-day auditions).

I was missing home today, so I found the one NYC Trader Joe's near Union Square in lower Manhattan. They had my favorite item, Just Mango (no sugar added, no preservatives or color enhancers, just dried mango slices) and all the delights of Trader Joe's back home. Of course, in true Manhattan style, the line for the checkout wound nearly around the entire store, and that was with nearly 20 checkstands. Fun as that was, it'll be awhile before I return for another 45-minute wait in line there. They have an entirely separate wine shop next door. I didn't go in this time, but when I have a hankering for some Lambrusco, I know where to go!