(Twenty) One For My Baby

The 21 Club is one of those storied New York institutions for fancy people (the kind of place I'd dare not darken the door.)  It's existed, in one form or another, for ninety years: from it's early life as a West Village speakeasy to it's current iteration as an exclusive midtown bar & restaurant.

According to Wikipedia, the 21 Club was at one point the epitome of cool - out-smarting the police and holding wine for Frank Sinatra (!):

"Although raided by police numerous times during Prohibition, the [owners] were never caught. As soon as a raid began, a system of levers was used to tip the shelves of the bar, sweeping the liquor bottles through a chute and into the city's sewers.  

The bar also included a secret wine cellar, which was accessed through a hidden door in a brick wall which opened into the basement of the building next door (number 19). Though still used as a wine cellar today, part of the vault has been remodeled to allow a party of up to 20 guests to dine in private.  

21 also stored the private wine collections of such celebrities as Presidents Gerald Ford, John F. Kennedy, and Richard Nixon; Joan Crawford; Elizabeth Taylor; Hugh Carey; Ernest Hemingway; Ivan Boesky; The Nordstrom Sisters; Frank Sinatra; Al Jolson; Gloria Vanderbilt; Sophia Loren; Mae West; Zsa Zsa Gabor; Aristotle Onassis; Gene Kelly; Gloria Swanson; Judy Garland; Sammy Davis, Jr.; and Marilyn Monroe."

Before I knew it's history, I knew the 21 Club as "the place with all the lawn jockeys," owing to the statues that line the facade, like tiny ineffectual guards.  Why the jockeys?  Enter, again, Wikipedia:

"In the 1930s, some of the affluent customers of the bar began to show their appreciation by presenting 21 with jockeys painted to represent the racing colors of the stables they owned. There are a total of 33 jockeys on the exterior of the building, and 2 more inside the doors."

Oh, of course.  Reminds me of how I'm forever gifting my frequented establishments with decorative anchors emblazoned with the name of my yacht, Felicity II.

Just kidding.

My yacht's name is Perpetua.

You Metcha*

A roof with a view

A friend came to town for the weekend, and wanted to spend some time in the Met.  I could relate.  Each time I visit the museum's familiar halls, I think, "Why don't I come here more often?"  I should go there more often.

Saraceno's rooftop installation / self-portrait

It was a nice day, so we climbed the stairs up to the roof and drank in those park and skyline views.  Amazing.  I should come here more often.

Statue of Diana

Whenever I visit the museum with a friend, I demand to know if they've ever seen "Please Don't Eat the Pictures," and when the answer is (invariably) 'no,' I make them listen to my plot synopsis of this adorable & underrated Sesame Street special from 1983, in which the whole gang (Cookie Monster, Grover, Luis, all of them) get locked in the museum overnight, Big Bird meets an enchanted Egyptian prince, Oscar finds some statues that really speak to him, and everyone learns a valuable lesson about art (and friendship).

[Note: this flick has never been released on DVD (much to my chagrin) (who can I write to about that?) but you can watch it on YouTube!  Start here.  It will save me from having to describe all the incredibly endearing scenes to you, the next time we're at the Met together.]

Warhol exhibit / balloon man in the park

Leaving the museum, it was still nice and light enough for a walk across the park (with more 'art' yet to be seen).  As we wound our way west, I promised myself, "I will come back more often."


*Oy.  That was uncalled for.  Apologies!

Coney Island Fun Run

Tiff convinced me to sign up for the Wildlife Conservation Society's 5K Run for the Wild, and I convinced three other friends, and then my voice teacher announced she would be running, too, and suddenly - it was a party out on Coney Island!

Coney Island Aquarium

We were running for these guys - the mighty walri!*

Fact: walri are gigantic and weird-looking creatures.

Another fact: they're in danger.  From the Wildlife Conservation Society's website:

"Like so many Arctic denizens, walruses are facing increasing threats to their survival as they cope with the impacts of a changing climate and increased industrialization of the Arctic. The sea ice that they have long depended on in summer for feeding and resting is rapidly disappearing.

As a result, they must forage in shallow coastal waters and haul out on land to rest, a risky adaptation. Food is in shorter supply near the coast, and walrus calves are prone to serious injury and death in the tight beach quarters, where stampedes can erupt from the merest of disturbances.

In addition, the surge in shipping traffic and natural resource extraction in the increasingly ice-free waters between Alaska and Russia poses various dangers, from oil spills to industrial noise that interferes with wildlife behavior and navigation."

Now you know.  We're making life rough for the walri.  Let's be kinder to them - those ugly mugs need our help!

This guy

After the 5K run, we walked around the Coney Island Aquarium and had a nice visit with their wildlife. I do love aquariums - sealife is so varied!  And fascinating!  And colorful!  And sometimes frightening! (thinking of you, hammerhead sharks)

The sea otters were nowhere to be found (sadness), but the penguins were out & about, hamming it up for the camera.  They really seemed to be eating up all the attention they were receiving.  (No judgment, penguins - just making an observation.)

The run began at 8am (crikey) and by 8:45am our crew had run the course, stretched and re-hydrated.  "Time for a hot dog?" asked Mr. SBG, and we had no good argument for not walking down the boardwalk to Nathan's.  When in Coney Island...

Walri, kraut, sea breezes, funny friends?  A good morning.

*I know the proper plural is 'walruses' but I prefer 'walri.'  Just let me have it.

Update: The Coney Island Aquarium was hit by Hurricane Sandy, but seems to be doing ok.

Christopher Columbus!*

*Said Jo March, often.

The pillared statue of Christopher Columbus, which stands in the middle of his eponymous circle and dates to 1892, will be undergoing some restoration/conservation efforts later this year.

But before that happens, installation artist Tatzu Nishi gives us an up-close and personal look at Big Chris (as no one calls him) via Nishi's Discovering Columbus exhibit.

Funky pink wallpaper

Nishi has created a temporary living room, perched on scaffolding six stories up, that surrounds the 13-foot tall statue of Columbus.  Visitors can now experience the statue not as a towering Distant, but as a coffee table sculpture that one could reach out and touch. (But one shouldn't.  No touching!)

The living room is bright and airy, papered with that charming pink iconic print.  There are comfy couches and copies of the day's Times scattered about; a bookshelf (holding real books that you can take down and read) lines one wall.  A television set in the corner was tuned to a news channel when I visited.  

The idea?  Sit down!  Stay awhile!  Make yourself at home!

Per the website, "Discovering Columbus offers both a unique perspective on a historical monument and a surreal experience of the sculpture in a new context."  Truth.

The man...and the artist himself!

In addition to the up-close views of Big Chris, you get some great views of the city below.  Central Park stretches out to the north; midtown's bustle is visible to the south.

The exhibit is open daily, 10am-9pm.  Tickets are free, but you must reserve them in advance online.  Hurry!  Discovering Columbus closes November 18th.

The view of Columbus Circle, Central Park & beyond

Here There Be Wild Cats

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Making Friends In The Neighborhood
(A Play in One Act)

Act One

Scene 1

(Evening. Kristy arrives home at her building. A group of neighborhood youths is loitering

 outside. Kristy approaches and the youths make way to allow her to reach the doorway.)

YOUTH 

Hey, what's your name?

KRISTY 

 (Unwilling to give up information without first receiving some)

What's your name? 

YOUTH 

Caliph.

KRISTY

Hi, Caliph.  I'm Kristy.

CALIPH

How old are you?

KRISTY  

How old do you think I am?

CALIPH 

Nineteen.

KRISTY  

(ignores the 15-year underestimation;
unlocks door; enters front hallway)

Good answer, Caliph.

CALIPH 

(calls after her)

Hey, do you have a boyfriend?

KRISTY  

(over her shoulder)

Goodnight, Caliph!

CALIPH 

All right, good night.

End scene.

Jury Duty:
My Day(s) In the Sun

Law & Order fans - look familiar?

I spent last Wednesday & Thursday downtown, doing my civic duty.  

Can I tell you something?  It was freakin' glorious.

First off, some real talk:  Lately my job has been rather...well...how shall we say?...[expletive] unbearable. So jury duty came at just the right time. A much-needed break from the beige cubicle. 

Fact:  Lawyers love tasseled loafers.

Jury duty was also a break from monotony. I jumped the tracks of my workaday rut. Rather than pull on the same boring work clothes, I grabbed fun dresses and skirts from my closet instead.  I left my apartment at a different time, took a different train, went downtown (where I rarely venture), got my morning coffee from a different place.

Newness, variety - all so inspiring to me (as a writer...and a human). At the court house, there were new people around me to interact with, new procedures to follow, new protocol to absorb. New murals to stare at:

The inside of the court house is beautiful.

My actual juror experience was pretty painless: a few hours each morning spent in an air-conditioned room with free Wi-fi. I read or emailed or day-dreamed. Then we were 'released' each day around lunch.

The first day I grabbed a sandwich and sat in this park overlooking the Hudson River. The second day? Vietnamese food from Baxter Street while watching some old men play chess.

The night before jury duty, while trying to view Venus' transit from the 70th Street pier, I had fortuitously run into a friend-of-a-friend.  She's a fount of knowledge about all things New York, and she clued me in to a public work-space downtown, not far from the courthouse.  

"It's lovely, but you can't tell anyone about it," she made me promise. "I don't want it getting 'discovered' and over-crowded.  It's my best-kept secret."  So, sorry folks - mums the word on where I spent Wednesday and Thursday afternoons - but it was lovely, and sun-filled, and quiet, and friendly, and I was beyond happy to be sitting there on comfy couches, catching up on overdue emails and working on writing projects.

Heaven?  A little slice of it, I think, maybe.

Looking up, downtown

On Wednesday, while leaving the court house, I held the door open for a man behind me.  In a Russian accent, he thanked me, then said, "And again, I must thank you."

I shot him a quizzical look and he explained, "For looking so good today!"  (Shucks. I just think it's nice to look nice for the justice system.)

On Thursday, while waiting in line at security, a woman (also with an accent) asked the man behind me if this was the right building for filing for divorce. He wasn't sure, but said he thought so. Then he was so bold (and kind, I think) to address her - this stranger - again, with candor: "It sucks doesn't it?"

"What, divorce?" she asked, "Yes.  It does...But I guess it's just life."

"Yeah," he admitted, "But life is hard sometimes."

"Yes," she agreed, and smiled, if wanly.

So many stories in this town...

Playing hand-ball (I think?)

Heading into jury duty, I knew I would appreciate (oh-so-very-much) being out of my office.  What I hadn't anticipated were the ancillary benefits that came along with it.

My whole perspective shifted, softened. Rather than feel defeated by a workday, I was optimistic that "Anything could happen...and just might!"  I was not so easily annoyed by people blocking the doors in the subway.  When fellow jurors didn't listen to the instructions given to us, I didn't pass judgment, just shrugged and wondered what it was like to be them.  I took deep breaths, I sat happily in the moment and feared not for the future.  I was patient, I was present, I was smiling.

The implication is clear: if jury duty (jury duty!) brings such a sense of peace and well-being and contentment, then I need to find a new job.  Post-haste.

I'm a' working on that one, promise.

Sounds about right. (As seen in TriBeCa)

Finally, a nerdy word about the importance of jury duty, delivered from a soap box: 

Yes, I was enthusiastic about jury duty because it was a vacation from work, and yes, my time in the juror pool ended up being a cake-walk.  And I think this is typical of most people's experience - sit around for awhile, get released.  

Still, more often than not my announcement of "I have jury duty coming up," was met with a response of "Ugh! That's horrible. Say something crazy/racist/ignorant to get out of it!"  

I get that impulse, I totally do.  Jury duty can be downright inconvenient for many people, plus Liz Lemon made getting dismissed look flippin' hilarious.  But the thing is, our justice system - while arguably flawed in parts - is fascinating as a whole.  And you get a front-row seat and a first-hand education in it while serving on a jury.  

Even more, our right to trial by a jury of our peers is an important one.  Many people across the globe don't enjoy this privilege; we're lucky to have it.  But it only works (well) if we're willing to show up and be peers for our fellow citizens.  So let's let ourselves be inconvenienced for one another.  In the name of justice!

Easier said than done, I know.  Enough with the civics lecture.  Shall we toast?  To chasing life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  And days in the sun.  Where and when they may be found.

Absurdity

My friend Jeffers scored tickets to a "culinary adventure" on Sunday evening and invited me along. The theme was "The eve of the 1939 World's Fair in New York City" and black tie/period costume was encouraged.

Period costume for 1939? I was stumped. It was the end of the Great Depression. FDR was president. Both Gone with the Wind and The Wizard of Oz were big movie releases. Germany invaded Poland. That was pretty much all I knew of 1939. How to translate that into a costume?

Enter: the little black dress. Scour: cheap wholesale jewelry stores south of Herald Square for faux-vintage jewels and accessories. Find: seamed stockings at an old-school hosiery store.  

Results: 1939-ish enough. Lessons learned: seamed stockings are surprisingly difficult to get on straight!  And, if given 5 minutes and 19 bobby pins, I can fashion a pretty convincing up-do.

In between class acts...a rabbi (?) dances to his own beat.

The event was held at the McKittrick Hotel in Chelsea, which is of course not a hotel at all. It's the very elaborate set of the interactive theater experience, Sleep No More, which has been playing in New York for over a year to enthusiastic (and packed) audiences.

The folks behind Sleep No More partnered with Underground Eats and chef Marc Murphy to create Sunday's festivities - entitled "Absurdity at the McKittrick." In their own words:

"This is not a seated dinner, it is literally a moveable feast: you will explore two different environments of plenteous passed plates reflecting the period, interactive stations, and theatrical serving concepts. Live music and free-flowing period cocktails will set the mood."

Sign me up!  Jeffers and I arrived at the appointed time and took our place in line with other well-heeled strangers. A man, dressed as an old-fashioned bather, exited a cab holding a beach ball. Another, dressed as Salvador Dali, exited a town car filled with cauliflower (a historical reference lost on me, until Google filled me in later).

The doors opened with fanfare at 6:30pm, and we were ushered into a dark hallway, which led to a really dark hallway, which twisted around and made sharp turns until we reached another dark hallway, which finally opened onto a room containing a giant table of crudites, next to which sat a man forlornly peeling carrots. And so it began.

A bugler with a pencil-thin mustache...and a charming chanteuse.

After the crudites room came other spaces to explore - a lounge area (pictured above), the hotel's lobby, and other nooks & crannies. And food stations - there was food e-v-e-r-y-where. Lobster, shrimp, suckling pig, charcuterie and aged cheeses, grilled sausage, pickled vegetables, cod sushi, goat cheese & mushroom profiteroles, fava bean canapes arranged on chess boards, and cubes of filet mignon on passed plates.

Tuxedo'd barkeeps liberally ladled three kinds of punches: the watermelon one was good, the Scotch & scorched orange even better, and the Spiced Rum? I could've married that punch.

As we ate our way around the hotel space, we ran into some 1939 figures of note: "Albert Einstein" was happily posing for pictures, and "Josephine Baker" was always ready for a dance. Two 1939-ish bands played in each of the main rooms; if Gelber & Manning had sung for hours without ceasing, it would've been all right by me.

Gift bags in hand, the walk back
to civilization begins.

But all good things must end, and Absurdity must, too, apparently. The suckling pigs were wheeled away, the cubes of filet and other savory foods were transitioned out, and trays of bite-size lemon meringue pies and chocolate truffles were passed around instead. Gelber & Manning packed it up, leaving just the other band to entertain. "Josephine Baker" led us in one last enthusiastic dance.

Then we drifted away - past the crudites man (now up to his shins in carrot peels) - down the dark & winding hallways - out into the light of West 27th Street, with 10th Avenue beyond, and the Empire State Building glowing blue beyond that.

A crazy-fun night of time-travel and gluttony. 

                             Completely out of my ordinary. 

Appreciated all the more for it.

Sleep No More - carved in stone
on the sidewalk outside

Memorial Day Weekend
(In Pictures)

Friday night: My friend Jeffers and I, fueled by a few margaritas, decided to go geo-caching along the Hudson.  This picture was taken from Pier I, looking south and back towards the west-side skyline.

Saturday morning: Errands in Soho took me past the Converse store.  Tri-colored high-tops in all their (old) glory = appropriately patriotic.

Saturday afternoon:  post-Improv rehearsal but pre-thunderstorm, my teammates and I headed down to the docks to see what we could see, Fleet Week-wise.  We happened upon this tall ship from Ecuador.  The men in orange jumpsuits are sailors (not prisoners) and they were very high up.  Scary-awesome to watch them drape themselves over the yardarm, furling a sail.  (Is 'furl' the opposite of 'unfurl'?  I choose to believe that it is.)

Sunday afternoon: sea-side at Brighton Beach, hanging with my friends The Russians.  Stopped in at La Brioche for cream-cheese-based pastries.  Because, when in Little Russia...

Followed that with a much-needed walk down the shore to Coney Island.  An article in the Times a few months ago reported that the wooden planks of the boardwalk may be replaced, in sections, by a recycled plastic polymer that "looks like wood."  Above is a section of said new faux-walk.  

Dear reader, I ask, Does that look like wood to you??  

Here's a section that hasn't been redone yet.  Authentic boardwalk.  I hear (I really do) the points in favor of the faux-walk: both economic (wood can cost $1 million/year to maintain (!)), and environmental (a switch to plastic reduces the use of tropical hardwood from endangered rain forests).

And yet.  There's nothing so nostalgically beachy and summery as the creaky bounce of a real-deal boardwalk.

Beach volleyball.

Know what that reminds me of?

The Olympics.  Less than two months away.  Get pumped.

On Sunshine (Cinemas)

Here in New York, we had about 3 weeks of rain (or so it felt) followed immediately by a heavy haze of humidity.  My hair has never looked worse!  Please send help (in the form of anti-frizz styling products).

Both types of weather - the non-stop rain and the lingering humidity - preclude outdoor activities and seem to call for seeking refuge in the climate-controlled environs of a local movie theater.

In that spirit, my friend Abs and I recently tripped down to the Lower East Side to see Salmon Fishing in Yemen.  It was ok - for a romantic comedy (not my favorite genre).  But the overall movie-going experience was just what Dr. Overcast ordered.

What is it about this particular movie theater down on Houston?  I don't know, but it's one of my favorites in the city.  I can't recall ever having a bad experience here.  I've seen a lot of good films here.  I've never gotten bed-bugs here (an unfortunately real concern with NYC theaters).  It feels a little like a throw-back, not like a cookie-cutter carbon-copy of every other theater.  Plus, once I saw Chris Noth leaning in the doorway.  Also, they have fancy popcorn toppings in the lobby.

So I guess I do have my reasons for favoring this theater.  Some more legitimate than others.

Also, I appreciate any theater that makes going to the movies feel like an experience - a la the "Let's Go to the Movies" scene from Annie.  (You know, the influence of that musical on my life cannot be overstated.)

Another wonderful thing about the trip down to Sunshine?  Spending time in a neighborhood I don't usually frequent.  So good to get out of the rut!  More on that later...

Here There Be Lions   

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Hey There

Chrysler Building, from a distance

Madison Square Park

Met Life Tower

The original Shake Shack, sans line

Empire State Building, in the distance

Oh, so it's some grainy, night-time, camera-phone shots taken at Madison Square Park that you're wanting?  Sure.  Here you go.

 

Public Displays 

I had a 5K to do on Saturday - one I had originally intended to run with friends in NYC.  But plans changed (as they do) and I was still in Virginia this past weekend.  So I headed over to Burke Lake to do my remote "race."

Instead of a 5K, though, the trail was 4.7 miles.  And instead of running, I elected to walk.  And instead of joining a group of friends, I did it alone.

That last part sounded good; necessary, even.  After 3 days of being surrounded by family, friends, doctors, people - this introvert needed some alone time.  I was ready to get cozy with my thoughts and sort through the muck of them.

I hit the gravel trail and started winding my way around the lake, which is good for fishing but not swimming.  I know it well: early childhood trips here to feed air-popped popcorn to the ducks. Costumed rides on the park's haunted railroad each Halloween.  Girl Scout camping trips.  Marching band picnics.  High school track practices.  Me and this lake go way back, and I revisited our history at each turn in the path.

And then I got teary, because - you know - life.  It is long and short and sweet and bitter, and sometimes you just need to have a good cry about it.

It was a sunny Saturday so there were other people out and about on the trail.  Still, it wasn't nearly as crowded as a New York street. But I found that - unlike on a crowded city street - I wasn't able to really let go and cry like I needed to.  Wanted to.  Was overdue to.

Each time I passed someone on the lake trail, I would hastily wipe away any tears.  City strangers will barely acknowledge your presence as a fellow human being - you can pass by, crying, unnoticed. But lake strangers all made eye contact, smiled, said "Good morning!"  I felt embarrassed to greet them with a too-weepy expression, I did not want an offer of help or a look of sympathy.  So I stuffed all the tears and emotions back down from whence they came and kept walking.

I'd been enjoying the fresh air, the space, the uninterrupted sleep, and other conveniences of the 'burbs. But this made me miss the city a little.  Here, crying in public is easier, and acceptable, and done.   Weird to miss that?

It's not to say I exactly enjoy crying in public, because I don't.  I mean, I'm crying, for crying out loud.  And there's usually a heartache fueling that which I'd rather skip.  But - in a place where privacy is at a premium - there's a safe comfort in the anonymity of crowded streets, where you can have a good, cathartic cry when the hurting happens.

There was a piece in the Times about a year ago, discussing public displays of sadness (the less-fun cousin of PDA's), which was a good read.  The following quote got me thinking:

"For me, it’s not that I want apathy, just privacy. To be noticed, but not interrupted. It’s comforting to be seen in our grief, there is a confirmation in it — however awkward it makes us feel. Is that part of why we live here? New Yorkers do tend to be the kind of people with both a need to be seen, and a deep fear of it. Somehow, this place satisfies both."

-Melissa Febos, Look At Me, I'm Crying 

I'm not sure this tendency is actually unique to just New Yorkers (the only tendency that seems to be really unique to New Yorkers is our tendency to think that everything is unique to us) but I did resonate with that need to be seen and the corresponding/conflicting deep fear of it.  I wonder if that isn't a basic facet of the human condition; I wonder if that isn't a driving force in most relational conflict.

I'm going to keep wondering these things as I walk home now, and maybe cry a little, if I feel so moved.  Because I'm back home now, and here, it is done.