Losing my religion

Wow.

So.

Since I last blogged, my situation has drastically changed. Number 1, I have left behind the perilous and rocky landscape that has been my teenage years - I am 20. Great. Number 2...it's kind of hard to actually write it down, since that would make it true. I got unceremoniously dragged from New York, on a last-minute 8am flight from JFK on the morning of Saturday April 24th. Which meant that a fair portin of my 20th Birthday was spent packing.

Though we did manage to get in a delightful final meal at Marissa's (Duane Park) with what was probably THE BEST food I've ever eaten, I was still pretty cut up about losing two things that are very important to me in one fell swoop - my 20th and my City.

Lynne and Rupert had a very, very good reason for grabbing the last-minute flight when they were offered it so of course I understand why it happened. I just wish I could've stayed a couple more days to say my goodbyes. I knew all along that whenever the time came for us to leave I would never be ready. But at least I was prepared to not be ready. I wasn't ready for this, at all.

It felt a bit like being told there was a hitman coming to find us and we had to go into hiding. Throwing things into suitcases, giving away our food to the dancers next door, leaving all the big toys behind for some other kids to find and enjoy, trying to clean the worst of the mess in the kitchen and bathroom. And then leaving the building in pitch black at half past four in the morning, hardly any traffic on our perpetually busy corner of 7th Av and piling into a big gleaming SUV to be sped through the weirdly empty streets, across 6th, Broadway, Madison, Park, Lexington, all the way over to FDR. Past so many of my havens and familiar sights. Madison Square Park, dark and deserted, and then the glimpse of the illuminated Manhattan skyline, through a corner of window not taken up by suitcases as we drove through Queens. It all happened so suddenly I barely had time to catch my breath - didn't have time to register in my brain that we were leaving. Everything went smoothly through JFK, we sat down for a decent breakfast (coffee, almond croissant, orange juice), we looked at the lovely blue seeping through the dawn sky. What a beautiful day, isn't it exciting to be going home? We can sleep on the plane, everything is great.

Except that it wasn't great, because I was leaving, and this hit me like a mallet in the face when I was in my cushy seat at the front of our section of the plane, next to a window, lots of legroom and a very quiet seat neighbour. Lalala isn't it great. It was, til we started to taxi down the runway and I swear I could see the Empire State Building reaching high above the landscape between us and NYC. That was about when I reached my limit, and I'm not ashamed to say that the floodgates opened. I would like to give a grateful mention to the very kind air hostess who discreetly brought me a handful of tissues and asked if I was ok, all the while probably thinking that I was a crazy person. It's actually really sad for me to write this now, so I'm going to hand over to my faithful companion the LBD, one of the things that got me through the tough times.

Maybe its kind of good that i didn't get the chance to say my goodbyes. To do a final lap of honour round all my favourite haunts, to make sure they are imprinted on my memory to last me through the next 6 months. I wanted to eat my farewell breakfast in the Malibu diner. They're gonna wonder what happened to the weird silent girl with the pink hair. I wanted to watch the sun go down in the West over the Hudson. I wanted to go through Times Square and instead of passing through not seeing (because it has become so familiar to me in the past few weeks) I was going to look up at the lights and reel at the sheer surging energy of it all whirling around me just like I did the first time I ever saw it.
I built relationships here. Some stronger than others. But in 2 months I've made acquaintance with people from every walk of life. And not just people - I think Bleecker St will miss me. I think Washington Square, Strawberry Fields and a lot of 23rd St will miss me.

What I'm trying to say is that having to leave like this, suddenly, like someone on the run from the law, is a good thing. Cos I'm fairly sure that if I tried to say my farewells I wouldn't be able to tear myself away. And if i did it would bloody hurt. So I will say goodbye from the strange limbo that is the aeroplane - I am neither here nor there so letting go of there is not so bad.

Goodbye, New York City. Thank you for all that you've given me. Noone can ever know. I have so much love for this crazy, beautiful place, probably because it welcomed me easily with open arms and loved me right back.
I will miss you so much:
2am pancakes, classes at BDC, freshly squeezed orange juice, music everywhere, Rickys, Duane Park and its party people, cheesecake, the subway especially the indomitable 1 train, the East River, the West river, bridges, John Lennon memorial and the Mayor of Strawberry Field, the Empire State Building, beautful Greenwich Village apartment buildings, Greenwich Ave, Bleecker, Canal, Mercer, Lafayette, St Marks Place and Bowery. Milkshakes, Americans, guitarists, the NYPD and NYFD, chance encounters, bookbook, movies, Friday nights on my fire escape watching Chelsea come out to play, iCarly, this blog, my NYdentity, the Longacre Theatre green room, walking past Hair every week, vintage, stylish men, City dogs, Union Square steps, the NYU buildings round Washington Square, the Boathouse in Central Park, the outside of the Met, the Times Square crazy homeless man with the beer signs, menupages restauraunt search and Seamlessweb online ordering, wide pavements, wide Avenues, pop tarts from delis, chocolate Nesquik, ordering Chinese or ribs or cake at 10pm, the smell of the Subway next door everywhere in our building, Stanley the Super, Marisa Paul and Griffy upstairs, BRGR around the corner, the incredibly strong smell of pot coming from the 4th floor at the weekends, singing loudly in the street and noone caring, the New York public library on 42nd st, the moon but no stars, reading, men in heels, deep graffiti, paintbox buildings, Yellow Rat Basterd, Cafe Angelique, Cafe Champignon, Toasties, Malibu, World Coffee, John's Pizza, Rosa's Pizza, Aunt Butchie's Cupcakes, Fresh and Co. Helpful strangers. The Calvin Klein ad I passed every Monday, Thursday and Friday. Lincoln Centre fountain. Alice in Wonderland, Shakespeare Garden, buskers on the train, buskers in the park, uptown Lexington, the Lower East Side, South Ferry terminal, $10 psychics, $6 manicures and $3 cherry pie, hearts painted on sidewalks, Father Demo Square, Hamlets, gherkins and coleslaw with everything, deli sandwiches, buffalo chicken, the shop windows of 5th Avenue, night time exploring, walking, cheap cabs, sunny days, my neighbourhood, Clearview Cinema, good coffee no matter where you look, rappers freestyling basing their lyrics on people walking past, expecting the unexpected. Being a small part of history.

This was about where I caught sight of the view from the window and couldn't write anymore.

Bye, Big Apple. Be seeing you soon.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

NYce

Latest news: On Monday we were here til May 1st (YAY TWO EXTRA WEEKS) then by Wednesday it was April 28th (bugger, lost 3 days). Although I will be dead happy to go home and stuff I wasn't exactly devastated to learn that we couldn't fly home at the appointed time on the Tuesday just gone. I am possibly the only one who feels this way though.

Highlights of the past few days have been:

In the Heights
Kick Ass
Starstruck Vintage
25th St Flea Market
Breakfast


So, let's start at the very beginningaverygoodplacetostaaaart

Even though those were not written in order so maybe it isn't the beginning but here we go.

In the Heights is a musical by Lin-Manuel Miranda. It's won a bunch of awards and it currently stars Corbin Bleu who was in the ubiqitous High School Musical.

In the Heights tells the universal story of a vibrant community in Manhattan's Washington Heights – a place where the coffee from the corner bodega is light and sweet, the windows are always open, and the breeze carries the rhythm of three generations of music. It's a community on the brink of change, full of hopes, dreams and pressures, where the biggest struggles can be deciding which traditions you take with you, and which ones you leave behind.

So that's the basic premise - story is a lot about showcasing the heavily Latin culture of Washington Heights through music, a bit (but not as much as I expected) of dance, ideologies and accents. Oh and clothes. Although I was hoping for more dance I really enjoyed it. The acting was all really good, especially Blanca Camacho who played Abuela Claudia and Andrea Burns who played Daniela the very Latina gossiping hair salon owner. The whole culture is woven in really well, maybe it's good that there are no big dance numbers - they'd throw in loads of salsa, some commercial hiphop and maybe some other latin or Spanish styles - maybe some rhumba, flamenco even. But it would be like stamping a big label on the whole shebang saying 'THIS IS A MUSICAL ABOUT INNER CITY LATIN PEOPLE, THEY CAN ONLY DO THIS' Instead, scenes are linked by brief musical interludes that dip in and out of South America. Members of the ensemble stroll across the stage talking on phones or interacting with each other then suddenly break into a few steps as they go. This method effectively prevents the characters and story from being overpowered by their heritage while still allowing it to influence and inform the events that play out during the show's course.

Hmm, haven't written a night-before-its-due-in-somehow-got-an-A English essay in a long time but...that last sentence is a fair demonstration of how I did it!

Anyway Corbin Bleu was very good, I've only ever seen him playing an afroed and cocky teenage boy who dances very well. Which is essentially what he was in real life at the time. So I wasn't expecting miracles, but I really liked him. He made a thoroughly likeable Usnavi. That's why I liked him.

Kick Ass - GO SEE THIS MOVIE. Ok it stars Aaron Johnson who is clearly a fool and a twit cos he is having a baby with 40-something artist Sam Taylor Wood who he met when she directed him in Nowhere Boy the Lennon biopic. Which only came out a few months ago. Good going Aaron, you're a really smart 19 yr old guy, have fun THROWING AWAY YOUR YOUTH. Sorry if anyone finds that overly judgemental and yes its the noughties but really. Such a waste. He's scrummy.

In spite of his obvious mentalness he is really, really good in this film. It's a great concept and has tons of air-punching 'yesss!' and finger-splaying 'noooo waaaay!' moments, and the Chloe Moretz who played Hit Girl/Mindy is my new idol, she rocks. Go watch.

Starstruck Vintage - my new favourite haven. Don't remember if I've previously mentioned this but vintage shopping in New York is haaaard. Luckily I am passionately dedicated to doing it so I do not mind the Googling and the ensuing traipse around the East and West Villages respectively looking for internet-recommended spots that have, unbeknownst to me, shut down.

But then I found Starstruck on Greenwich Ave and fell instantly and irrevocably. Staff are one very helpful old bloke who sings along to all the oldies hits on the radio and one shabbily cool woman who gave me the hair compliment (I've never been complimented so much in my life, if I'd known pink hair would do this I would've done it years ago). They have a great selection of jeans from the $25s for nicely battered stonewash denim from a decent brand like Levis or Lee to the $175s for the real golden oldies, flowerpower bellbottoms made from that weird stretchy denimy fabric with rainbow striped panels at the bottom to made the flare even more voluminour. Bellbottoms are my new clothing obsession. As I can't afford the beauties from Starstruck I will be sewing floral panels into the first jeans I lay my hands on when I get home. There's a big reason for my fixation which I will detail soon. Anyway I left Starstruck with an item I've had my heart set on finding for weeks now - a wine-coloured corduroy jacket, slightly on the big side, striking buttons. Dunno why I wanted one. Just felt that it would somehow complete me a little more. It does so I wasn't being completely irrational. And I luuurve it.

All this talk of shopping puts me in mind of that time I went to the flea market on 25th st (once again, our neighbourhood strikes gold) and bought two fantastic vintage dresses at the bargain price ooooof $mumblemumble. ok so I won't actually be announcing the price on here. There are parents reading y'know. But I will say I got money knocked off, one because of my excellent haggling skills and careful looking over of the garment (so parents can rest easy, I remembered to check it over for damage first. On discovering damage I said I'd buy it anyway for less money. So I'm getting there!) and the other because the lady was just very nice, I spose. Anyway I'm super glad I bought them both. Now if someone could kindly get married this summer that'd be great - I need another summer wedding to wear one of these dresses to. Maybe my own wedding...yep, I think I'd quite happily get married in the second one. It is wonderfulwonderful.

AND I somewhat made up for my sliiight flamboyancy with the cash by going to the thrift store across the street and purchasing a beautiful 100% cotton Indian tunic dress thing and a pair of jeans by Paper Denim Cloth. And yes, by going to buy more things I was in fact getting back some of the money I spent in the market. It was a thrift store. That's just how it works.

Breakfast - ah, breakfast. An ode to breakfast is due I think, will start on something tomorrow. Can't wait to start making everyone at home eat giant breakfasts with pancakes and bagels and jam and potatoes and fruit and eggs and chocolate chips and strawberry milkshakes, they're so awesome I can't even say. If everyone had an hour to eat a really really delicious breakfast every day and work started an hour later instead, I'm sure offices would become twice as productive.

Right, I'm all a bit confused about where I am with pictures. Trying to get them from camera to computer with internet to laptop via memory stick is proving a tad inefficient.

For now, enjoy this sign which I in my immaturity and uncouthness (still only 19 y'know. Well, New York time anyway) found hilarious.

There is NO WAY that this was not done on purpose. Surely noone is that naive. Snort.

And here's the Dakota where Lennon lived and died too soon, and where Yoko Ono still owns apartments.

I'm pretty sure its the room on the left with the white curtain that was John's piano room.

And here are some pretty nice upside down trees. Cos I was upside down when I took the pictures.

And now I have 4 New York Minutes of being a teenager so I am going to bed with my hot Nesquik and my Norse Myths and seeing out my teens in styyyyyle! Much love to my peoplesxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

How do you get three girls sharing a room to go to sleep?

It's not a riddle. I'm really asking. Begging, actually. It isn't possible! Trying to remember all the techniques parents used on me and my homegirls when I was little but nothing springs to mind...maybe the answer is 'give up before you start crying'.

Done.

So, how 'bout that volcano huh?

The last time Eyjafjallajökull erupted, it continued belching the Earth's unsettled insides for 14 months, from December 1821 to January 1823.

Scientists do not expect Eyjafjallajökull to keep northern Europe's airports closed for 14 months, but they suggest that Eyjafjallajökull's impact on world travel might not end with the end of this current eruption.

Moreover, Iceland's "Angry Sister" hasn't even awoken yet. The three times in recorded history when Eyjafjallajökull has erupted, its neighbor, the much larger Katla, has followed suit.

Data do not yet suggest that a Katla eruption is imminent. Yet, in some respects, it is the far greater concern, both in Iceland and beyond.

Katla: the sleeping sister

Katla has erupted 16 times since 930, in 1755 exploding so violently that its ash settled on parts of Scotland. In 1918, Katla tore chunks of ice the size of houses from the Myrdalsjökull glacier atop it, sending them careening down its slopes and into the Atlantic on floods of melted glacier water.

While Eyjafjallavökull is virtually anonymous in Icelandic lore, Katla is one of the "Angry Sisters" along its even-more active twin, Hekla.

Oh hellfire. So, Eyjafjallavökull (anyone believe that's the real name? Maybe this is all a big hoax to make English people say funny words) erupts, then Katla looks over, goes 'call that an eruption? EAT THIS, impossibly-complex-name!' and blasts off showering brimstone and treacle umpteen times further out than it is already. At the moment its looking something like this.

In 1973, an eruption near the nation's primary fishing port split the island of Heimaey in two and required its entire population to be evacuated to the Icelandic mainland by fishing boat.

On 1783, one-quarter of Iceland's population was killed when Laki erupted – an eruption so massive that it changed global weather patterns, bringing record snow to New Jersey and drought to Egypt.

And in the 1755 Katla eruption, the volume of floodwaters from the Myrdalsjökull glacier were estimated to be equal to or greater than the discharge of water from the Amazon, Nile, and Mississippi Rivers combined.

Ok folks, there it is. There are people suffering in airports. There are people struggling to find accommodation, running out of money, needing to get home for work commitments. But unless you have a really serious problem (like one man I heard about who is stuck somewhere and running out of insulin and can't get hold of any - THAT'S a real reason to complain about a flight, Fates be with him) just take a second to pity the poor people of Iceland who have had to flee their homes. They have main roads that are totally obliterated by floods triggered by the volcano.

This guy is searching for his cattle, lost in the ash clouds. That could be his livelihood, gone. Compared to those people and those cattle, we are lucky. And I'm well aware that compared to many who are stuck in airports or on foreign soil, I am extremely lucky - at least I speak the language, I'm with people I know and I have somewhere to live. But seriously - poor Iceland. Big natural disaster, little country.

***

Yes, turns out I will not be returning on Tuesday. Thank goodness - I'd've needed to start packing last week. I realise that that was not a recognized contraction. Stream of consciousness writing = goodbye grammar rules. I am remaining in New York, possibly until Friday. If this is the case then I will be celebrating (I hope!) my 20th Birthday in NYC. I'm pretty cool with that. Just as long as they don't, in an act of mistaken kindness, schedule my flight for the 23rd its FINE! I am NOT spending my 20th anniversary of being alive sitting in a metal tube with hundreds of strangers. 20. Twenty. Twenty. 20. 20. 20. 20. Oh Jesus, I thought that repeating it would make it lose its meaning and thus render it less scary. Nope. TWENTY does not go away. Oh my God I had not even thought about it. Whew, sudden meltdown occurring. Distraction technique -

Tonight is the official opening night of La Cage Aux Folles. Here's how it goes on Broadway - they do the previews, when the show is open for a paying audience but no critics. Then come the critics, mostly all on the same night I think. Then comes the opening - this is the one with the celebrities, the photographers, the pink carpet and most importantly the big giant afterparty.

I'm keeping track of things on Twitter, pictures are being posted regularly. No sighting yet though of Lynne in her beautiful Alice Temperley, Christian Louboutin and vintage jewellery (rented from my old unobtainable friend, New York Vintage) but I'm refreshing the page religiously.

But whatever, let the parents party - WE (that's myself, Iris and her two cousins Molly and Hattie) do not need showbiz glam. We've got popcorn, Alice in Wonderland (Disney not Burton) and a bit later on when the girls are sleeping soundly, all being well, I will have a big foil tray of BBQ chicken and ribs.

***

Finished my ribs. I ordered from Dallas BBQ specially, ate my cornbread while thinking of my dear Dad hanging out in Texas for an extra week. It's nice to have family on the same side of the Atlantic at least - got an uncle aunt and two cousins in Arizona too. Speaking of family, today I wish my Grandpa a BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY and lots of loveXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Also Happy Birthday Jesse 'Speciaaaaaaaaaaaal', my fellow Aprilian who is 4 days older than me. It's exciting when your mates' Birthdays are really near your own. Dunno why but it is, admit it. Have a good one NIPPER.

Right here's some LBD mutterings.

In New York, I am:

• The go-to girl for directions. Something about me inspires people to ask me to point their way. This is a big first for me - sense of direction is not something I am known for. Must be the manner in which I stride confidently around, looking like I know where I'm going. This is easily achievable when, like me, you have not planned anywhere to end up. With no destination in mind it is very difficult to be lost.
• A recognised regular at the Malibu diner - they now greet me with a 'how are you today?' as in opposed to how was I yesterday when they saw me last.
• A face at Duane Park http://duaneparkcafe.com/ - a face with connections nonetheless, who needs neither ID nor funds to drink the bar dry...if I so chose. Haven't. Yet.
• A friend of City Treehouse. I think they welcome and pity me in equal measures.
• Working hard - not the employment thing. The other thing. The exploration. It is hard work to enjoy New York, I tell you. I don't know how people can take holidays here for a week, two weeks. I can't fit even half of it into seven. I think the way I have experienced this...experience so far can be summed up with Luke 11.9 - Seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. Well I've sought until my knees crack and I pummel on every door I pass, and tell you what - Luke was right and its almost like he knew NYC was going to happen and he made up that reference especially for it.
  

I think consonants relax as they go West...go from India to the USA saying the word 'cheetah' in the different accents and see if you get where I'm coming from.

Well. There's three girls asleep and there's about to be one more. I'm cream crackered. And I know exactly why but I'm not going to go into that just now. There is much to review including Hair, In the Heights, J&R Music World, 25th st flea market, Alice's Teacup and more.

Happy daysxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Icons

Florence and the Machine played at Le Poisson Rouge on Bleecker St on the 8th - and I only just found out! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK
I'm sorry Florence I still love you. This won't happen again. I'm trailing yo' every move.


On the plus side, here's my new favourite website -

http://www.latfh.com/

'Look at this fucking hipster' - ahhh, balm to my soul. Those oversized glasses make me die a little inside. I will comment no more because I guarantee someone will read this and decide I'm a total hypocrite and maybe I am but I would just like to say - people who were probably born wearing American Apparel shiny leggings and have neon coloured plastic toy replicas of everything imaginable and wear those painfully lame forehead band thingies...suck. There is a line, and it is a sad fact of life that some people cross it.

So...getting a backlog of pictures and LBD pages.


Here's the other side of the City, the Upper East Side, taken from Carl Schulz park.

Here the river obsession ends, I swear. On the other side you can see Queens and Roosevelt Island.

So, on a whole 'nother day, this happened:
There has been a brief hiatus in my explorations while I lived life on the edges of the City (sunny days at Riverside) - but now I'm back in my New York dreamland. Travelled to the edge for a final farewell visit, then plunged back into the middle of things. After me and Iris went to Hippo Park , Lynne was kind enough (and perceptive enough to understand the desires of a 19yr old Vogue addict) to let me go with her to the Alice Temperley store in Soho, where she would be trying on her La Cage opening night dress. Wow oh wow.....it honestly physically hurt me to be in the presence of so many beautiful, oh-so-divinely beautiful clothes and not be able to have them. I promptly fell in love with the entire new S/S line and mentally wore it all over NYC; to the cinema, to the park and at home to the pub. Sadly it will never be...unless I suspend my principles and find a wealthy chap who will buy me the whole collection - for Temperley, its an idea that I am seriously entertaining. Go look on the website, you'll understand. Lynne's dress is a gorgeous confection of flowy black silk with a bouquet of gathered fabric cascading from the left shoulder - it is wonderful, and I can't wait to see her on opening night with the shoes (not sure I should join her on that shopping trip, it may sink me into an abyss of yearning despair) and earrings et al cos she's going to look AMAZING, which she deserves to cos she will be a hit, no doubt. So, once finished with being materialistic and fashionistic I went swinging down Greene St, basking in the sun and the extreme chicness of the Village. Was so wrapped up in NYDW (NY Dreamworld) I could forget about the peanut butter stains on my dress, the tarmac marks on my legs from kneeling on the playground floor and all the other unsightly flaws to my appearance - unwelcome in the Village you understand. Spent a good 40 mins in bookbook, a great Bleecker St bookshop with lots of things on sale and came away, after much deliberation, with 4 cracking books for $20. Can't wait to read them on the Staten Island ferry - today's planned destination.

But first I will sit in my wicker chair outside a gelato shop (yes gelato is actually just ice cream...just rollin' with the lingo) opposite Father Demo Square, being a trendy intellectual with my notebook, my Norse Myths and my huge red Tibetan canvas bag. Eating my tiramisu ice cream with whipped cream on top (yyyyyyup!) and watching the beautiful people go by.

So, after that happened, this happened -


This is the actual Brooklyn Bridge, not the Williamsburg one. Wasn't as great a day for weather but still some lovely views to be had - you can see the S of L, on which more later, from the Brooklyn Bridge. Who knew?

And here we have the Southernmost tip of Manhattan - Tribeca, Wall St, financial district n all that. The Skyline.

What's that tiny pinnacle in the distance you say? Well. After this happened, this happened...........

.......And I took a little trip across the bay. Because I had seen How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and the bit where they are on the Staten Island Ferry is really nice. Also, it is free, I like the water, and it gets you a nice view oooof........

From sea to shining sea, like Lady Liberty.....yup, that is the aforementioned S of L. The weird angle was necessary due to the many hands with cameras and bits of ferry that got in the way when I tried to do it straight. Here's a few more in a similar vein. It's a lovely lovely view in real life. I've decided I really, really like the Statue of Liberty - when I put my finger on why I'll let you know.

See? Bits of ferry invading my photos.

Anywho, these are all taken from the front of the ferry. Do an about turn, walk the entire length and go out of the back doors and you will be rewarded with this.....I am really enjoying using the ellipsis instead of finishing my sentences it heightens the suspense so very well...ooh I wonder what's coming next..........

Well, it is Manhattan being attacked by what look like giant birds.

Nah, its that most-famed of skylines. And it is getting further away. The ferry takes about 25 minutes to get from the South terminal to Staten Island. I find it entirely bonkers that Staten Island, which is so close to New Jersey all along its west coast it is practically attached, is part of New York City. When it is a 25 minute journey.

http://maps.google.com/maps?q=staten%20island&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wl

Look how far away it is from Manhattan! Whose idea was that?????


When the ferry docked it was almost dark and the Island was quiet. I had no knowledge of the area or any particular agenda in mind, so I just wandered, enjoying the peace and the seasidey-town only scarier feel of the place. It was a little like a shrunk-down, toy village version of Manhattan itself. The same kinds of buildings only much, much less densely packed, and smaller. Endearingly so in some cases. I think it must be a nice place to live - I could see a few people still in offices working but I thought 'well when they are finished they can go home to their nice suburban house and their family' whereas in the main hub of NYC people who work in offices either never leave their offices or when they do it is to go for dinner, go for drinks or go home to an apartment full of people having dinner and drinks. It was quite nice to know that life pauses, in some parts of New York. Maybe that's why they hung on to Staten Island, so they wouldn't lose all sense of average reality.

So after doing nothing and going nowhere for a while (also a novelty I enjoyed) I wheeled round and headed back to the ferry terminal. Thoroughly enjoyed the return journey in spite of the freeeeezing winds gushing through the mysteriously wide open windows. This became less mysterious when I went out on deck for a photo opp - the wind out there was mad, I could barely push the door open and when I got out there I could neither hold my camera still nor stand the temperature so I scarpered back in and found a post close enough to be able to see everything outside but not so close that I got chills.
I was lucky enough to see the Statue with her torch aflame - sadly there is little evidence of this as I did manage a few blurry pictures and some less blurry videos but the wind in said videos is insanely annoying, so I will spare others. Instead here's a nice quiet video of the ferry coming into dock, and the lit up skyline approaching. (Ditto with the skyline by the way - photos all came out too shaky. Ever tried taking pictures of a far off cluster of teeny lights whilst on a moving object being boshed about by gale force winds? Don't.)

And finally...I am 20 in exactly 7 days! Gooood grief!xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Well, I tried...

Put yourself in my (really skanky) shoes: it's sweltering hot outside, I'm completely parched, I'm sharing a box with La Cage veterans two of whom are under the age of 10 and I look like a boiled ham thanks to the extremely sweaty inter jazz class I just took.
But no matter - thanks to the beautiful, perfect performances given by the cast, I was able to transcend my surroundings and go to a place where nobody cares where you've come from or what you look like, as long as you're happy to come along for the ride.

The notorious and dangerous Cagelles: they defy expectation, convention and in many instances biology. The demands of this show are enormous - the dancers do not just dance. They cover every theatre discipline, they throw huge beachballs in choreographed sequence, they rollerskate, they hang from cage bars, they perform acro stunts, they lift and throw each other and themselves, they dance on very small circular tables in the first row of audience, they shamelessly flirt with theatregoers...and they do it all in high heels. And in case I didn't mention it before, they are all men playing women. Well, men playing men playing women technically. I have met each one of them backstage and I can confirm that they are all perfectly cast.

Know what? Anyone who is expecting an all-encompassing 'review' review that covers all aspects of the production and lots of imagery and stuff will be disappointed. I'm hoping to see it again, so I will be able to do a more comprehensive one. But for now I just have to get this out of my system: Doug Hodge.
His rendition of 'I am what I am' stirred in me something pretty powerful. The look on his face when he sang - no, not even he. She. Zaza, the name of the drag La Cage headliner that his character Albin plays (get your head round that if you will). It was like watching someone - a real someone, not someone being someone else - haul out their soul and wave it above their heads in defiance, and it was heartbreaking. The look on Zaza's face told me that she was giving herself to us the audience, every last molecule of her very confused and confusing being and she couldn't give any more if she tried, and all just for us that one audience. As if she would never again give that much because it was all for us and afterwards there would be nothing left. Phew.
Now stick with me, I'm not crazy - I feel humbled to have witnessed such a special moment in Zaza's life. Yes, her life - it was her life, or at the very least the lives of the thousands of Zazas that she represented - homo, hetero, metro, tranny, outcast, underdog, minority, nutcase, the shunned, dazed and confused everywhere. That's pretty amazing, to be able to stand on a stage and throw wide your arms and declare, on behalf of everyone who has suffered at the hands of those bitter evils Bigotry and Prejudice, 'I AM WHAT I AM'.

I am what I am
I am my own special creation.
So come take a look,
Give me the hook or the ovation.
It's my world that I want to take a little pride in,
My world, and it's not a place I have to hide in.
Life's not worth a damn,
'Til you can say, "Hey world, I am what I am."
I am what I am,
I don't want praise, I don't want pity.
I bang my own drum,
Some think it's noise, I think it's pretty.
And so what, if I love each feather and each spangle,
Why not try to see things from a diff'rent angle?
Your life is a sham 'til you can shout out loud
I am what I am!
I am what I am
And what I am needs no excuses.
I deal my own deck
Sometimes the ace, sometimes the deuces.
There's one life, and there's no return and no deposit;
One life, so it's time to open up your closet.
Life's not worth a damn 'til you can say,
"Hey world, I am what I am!

Gosh. Sorry, I honestly did mean to write a cracking full-blown review, but I have not recovered from the big smackintheeye that was Doug Hodge's performance. Mindblowing. Astounding. Sublime. Awe-inspiring. Superlatives, superlatives, superlatives. He made me switch from laughing to crying approximately every 5 minutes. I am lucky to have seen it. When I've finished reeling and put my brain back together I'll do a real write up. I want to beat the critics so I have til Thursday!
Glad to share my thoughts, I realise they may seem a little more like ravings much of the time. Much love, a little hope and lots of glitter (I can't help it, the songs in this show are sooo quotable)xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

PS I'm watching an episode of Frasier right now and it is one where he meets celebrities and gets all starstruck and name-drops a lot. Haha I've spotted the irony, can you???

How did I not see this before?

Charlie and Lola is a childrens TV and book series created by Lauren Child. It is a charming series featuring the long-suffering older brother Charlie and his ever-so-slightly off her head little sister Lola. It is Iris' absolute favourite so I have watched and read a LOT of Charlie and Lola in the time that I've been here. There's something mighty familiar about it though and I've only just put my finger on why...

My dad's in Texas!!!!!!

....that is all. I am very excited about this, even though we are still in different timezones, but I can see Dallas and New York at the same time on the map without zooming out loads which you can't do with the UK. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Review..La Cage...must...write....

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWN.

Here's my review of La Cage Aux Folles.

This production is

Nope...not gonna happen. Sleep. *THUD*zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tap thang

This is a combo I did in a class a week or so ago...it was originally done to 'Standing in the way of control' by Gossip, but strangely 'Heard it through the grapevine' by Mr Marvin Gaye seemed to match tempos, if not styles, fairly well. Sorry about dodgy sound quality - my camera is not built for close-up tap recording. This apartment floor however is a dream to tap on, and I bet whoever lives downstairs now hates me.
It's pretty straightforward but works your rhythm muscles (in my case badly).
You can tell that the beginning bit is not part of the routine, that is just me taprovising. Which is hard, which is why it is rubbish.

It's a bonanza, it's a mad extravaganza...

Where have you heard that phrase before?
Well, I let it slip a coupla blogs back. It's a line from the title song in La Cage Aux Folles, which I was lucky enough to be able to see yesterday for the first time.

Sadly in between starting this blog entry and the current time of writing, many events occurred that prevented me from writing the lengthy and voluble review of La Cage that I had planned. And now I need to go to bed. But fear not, most of said review is already jotted down in my LBD so tomorrow I can dash it all off super quick. It is going to be a very important blog entry, because it so fanfuckingtastic and also moved me quite a lot, and provided me with yet another idol.

Betcha can't wait, huh? Huh???

So for now...New York continues to pretend it is in fact the Sahara desert, it is insanely warm, I can wander round at night in shorts and remain a very pleasant temperature. You can almost feel the heat being trapped and reflected back by the atmosphere.

I grabbed a couple of things from American Eagle on the way home yesterday (cos I'm still short of hot-weather clothes having brought almost exclusively cold-weather ones with me...dammit) and got a discount cos the sales girl made a mistake on the till and they didn't make me pay the full amount cos it wasn't my fault. Yay!

I saw someone I know today. His name is Jack Pryor and he went to Perins and he was in the year above me. He didn't see me but I almost went headlong into his friend as they rounded the corner. I think I actually froze with surprise for a second, right in the middle of Times Square, cos I was so gobsmacked to see someone I know. Not just someone I know...someone who has come from the same 10 square miles as me in England. And then our paths managed to cross in this huuuge city. The odds of that are pretty darn slim if you ask me. So...hello Jack Pryor...welcome to New York, I guess!

Kelsey G said 'hello, how are you?' to me in the street yesterday as I was waiting outside te stage door for Lynne and Iris. Yes, it made me feel really cool and awesome. Yes, it would make you feel cool and awesome too. In my defence it wasn't just because he is y'know Dr Frasier Crane and like all famous n stufffff. He has only been introduced to me once, a little while ago, and hasn't seen me around much since, so the fact that he recognised me and was friendly enough to greet me and enquire after my well-being...well its always nice when someone unexpectedly does that, isn't it.

Aaaand I got to be the doorman for about 5 minutes at the Longacre Theatre. Doormen all over Broadway are fast becoming my allies and friends. It was a good time.

Riverside continues to dazzle and mesmerise me. Something else does now as well though - strawberry milkshakes, especially from BRGR. Mmmmmmmmmmm.

Proper La Cage rave tomorrow, its the review everyone has been waiting for...it could make or break this production!xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Did you ever?

B-Boys in Times Square Soul Brothers on the subway

This is Travis, the super cool dog who lives in Hamlet's Vintage on Bleecker St. He may just be the best dog in the city. He is super furry and super chilled and is my new best pal - true to form, I have made a better job of bonding with the canines than the homo sapiens. I do love this dog.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lay down my burden down by the riverside

Each time I discover a new bit of NYC I think to myself 'well this is the best bit. Here's where I belong'. Then I find a new bit and have to think it all over again.

Riverside Park is one such place. I have fallen head over heels for it. Well, really I have fallen for the pathway that runs along directly beside the Hudson. I get the sense that everyone along that path is working towards the common interest - peace, and freedom. The runners are there to get away from traffic lights and packed streets holding them up. Readers are there to dive into a book without being yanked out every 20 seconds by manic beeping from impatient cabs. Mothers are there to get a break from kids. Kids are there to nap. Old men sit on benches and gaze at the view and look like they are there just to be. And I am there to...well...be in awe of such an truly worthwhile piece of city.


Couple of pics of me...maybe it's kind of narcissistic to put pics of myself. Maybe it is more narcissistic to think that it's narcissistic to put pics of myself. Narcissistic has now lost its meaning due to repetition...pictures are go! Anyway its my blog I can be on it if I like.

As you can see it was another lovely, beautiful day.

That's New Jersey across the water. I realised the last time I was on Riverside that I can look at NJ and see America. Manhattan is an island. I come from a country which is also an island. Islands I can handle. But beyond New Jersey is this big, giant landmass that contains anything and everything. Commonly known as the USA. Boggles the mind a little bit, when you're small-town like me...not even small town. I'm sub-small-town. I'm teeny village. Near some small towns. Near a small city. Takes a bit of brain-stretching to expand my teeny and small thoughtscape around the concept of being so close to such a lot of country.

It's out theeeere!

Cherry walk

I walked and kept walking and ended up in Morningside Heights. 125th St, the beginnings of Harlem. Yet another new place I can say I've been. There was a small pier leading out further across the river which allowed for these lovely views.

Here's a bit of Harlem which didn't surprise me as it perhaps should have. I am no longer surprised by the diversity of the landscape, architecture and mise en scene of all the different bits of this place. I am now always prepared for change.

Pink everywhere, help wanted:

Question, aimed mostly at Jess:

How the hell do you do your pink without getting in an almighty mess?
I've just redone my pink ends and the bathroom looks like I committed a bloody murder in a gay bar. What is to be done???

Hmm. Let the cleaning mission beginxxxxxx

Easter Sunday bloody Sunday - Over the Brooklyn Bridge

Finally made it.

Walk to 14th, take the L train to 1st Ave. Emerge from underground, blinking into the blazing sun that has baked the outside air to scorching perfection. Walk. Walk some more. Look at street names. Feel the vibes of the area. Judge where you are using cafe names, the shops look on the outside, the apartment buildings and the people. Do not consult your map.
(This is the City equivalent of using landmarks, animal tracks and the direction of the wind to navigate.)

Found myself a few decent vintage placs, amazing-looking coffee shops and a nice park. Also found myself the beginning of the Williamsburg Bridge, on Clinton and Delancey. Across I walked, dodging slow-moving fellow peds, endless bikes and even more endless Hasidic Jewish families, walking 6 abreast and taking up the whole width of the bridge. That's a mum, a dad pushing a double buggy containing 4 todddlers, another unidentifiable adult and 3 kids varying in size but not appearance. I am newly fascinated by Hasidic Jews . The way they express their faith - in particular their traditional dress - has me curious. Of course I respect their religious choices, and also their generally calm and peaceful demeanour, pride in their communit and strong family bonds. (Except the ones in the Mitzvah tanks, they were a little aggressive and annoying). But why oh WHY do they have to wear so much black, long sleeves, trouers, tights, dress shoes, heavy satin coats and huge furry hats on a day like today? Do lightweight material versions of their garb not demonstrate the same piety? They must all be dying under all that. And how do the women run after their multiple children in those long skirts?

I understand religious purposes, I understand tradition and symbolic clothing - but it makes me break out in a sweat to look at them - surely they could introduce sandals into the dress code? Slightly more seasonal headgear, maybe? I dunno. My fascination will continue and I will do my research. Maybe I'll find the answers to my perfectly legitimate wonderings.

Stopped to breathe in the Hudson and the view on my way over the bridge. Wow. Not until you see it from a distance do you appreciate how very tall the Empire State Building is. The river looks fantastic from that high. Lazy and cool and green.

Sadly I can take no pictures because I dropped my camera in a sink.

***

Still in W'Burg. Having taken a slight detour through all the Hasidic neighbourhoods (MAN there's a lot of Jews here!) I finally found the bit of Williamsburg I was looking for...the bit I was told about. Thrift and vintage places, one-off cafes, skateboarders, girl wearing ankle soks slacks and braces. This is where all the yoof have been hiding. Had a v. enjoyable stroll down Bedford Ave and spotted a small but vibrant purple awning on a side street. On closer inspection it turned out to be 'Rockin Raw', a rawfoods cafe which was advertising an open back garden. I peeked through and glimpsed a little corner of elysium that looked sooo inviting after all my striding around. I went in, took a table in a sunny corner and ordered lentil chilli and a glass of sangria. No I.D. Success! Ahem. Not that I measure my achievements by my ability to illegally purchase alcohol. But y'know.
Who knew that you could do this in New York? It feels almost like Kefalonia or somewhere - it is that hot, the outer walls of the building are pastel green, there's a dry and gnarled tree giving shade to the left half of the garden/patio. Also to my left there is a humming noise of uncertain source which puts me in mind of cicadas, possibly where I got the Kefalonia association. The fences bordering the place are ramshackle and greenery-festooned. A restored-antiquey looking dresser stands to the right of the open door that leads back into the cafe, its shelves filled with bell-shaped glass jars containing tea lights obviously waiting to be set out as the light fades.
Imagine a really gorgeous pub garden, combine it with a European cafe and a Meditarranean back yard then chuck in a bit of English eccentric-hippy sensibility. Soaked in sun. That's where I am. I am going to sit in my (astonishingly comfortable) iron garden chair and sip my sangria. It's 5pm so the sun is hanging, straight ahead of me, at what I imagine to be a 45 degree angle from the Earth. Shadows are lengthening, light is mellowing. There is only one man up to the task of underscoring this moment for me. Everything's gonna be alright.
Sing it Bob.

***

After I woke up from my happy stupor (brought on by delicious food and sheer relaxation, not sangria) I made my way out of Brooklyn and back to Manhattan, with my usual lack of any kind of plan. And here's what happened...

Ok so...in the Bowery Poetry Cafe (I know right, I'm like, a beatnik or something yah?) Anyway I like the vibe in here, it has a nice cafe bit out the front with tea and cakes and a room behind a tatty velvet curtain with a bar where performances are held. And, Judith Light who plays Claire Mead in Ugly Betty is literally 2 feet away from me. Right in front of my table. She looks disgustingly, impossibly young and lovely. It seems all the cool older ladies hang out on the Bowery.
And now apparently I am going to see a band, in the dimly lit back room of the BPC. Guh???
Old mingle with young trying to be old. Girls with the super short haircuts, like Agneyss Deyn, stand around with wine glasses looking trendy and clever and matching. Also annoying - for some reason that haircut makes me angry.

The band in question were Snarky Puppy. Now, I looked them up today and it turns out they are kind of a big deal. They hail from Dallas, Texas (though the frontman and bassist did say 'when we're in New York we say we're from Brooklyn to sound cooler'). So I'm slightly embarrassed a my judgement of them from last night. Possibly they were having an off night or were overtired or something but I just couldn't get into it. They were an 8-piece for the night though I think overall there are more members. Anyway the drummer was amazing but after a while it sort of stopped making sense - I couldn't hear where the beat was supposed to be and where the music was supposed to lie over the top of it. Maybe I just have a crap ear but it just seemed a bit overambitious. This was confirmed when the other percussion guy, on a second drum kit made up of different stuff...drummy things...I know nothing about them, humour me...anyway the other drummer guy kept screwing up his solo really obviously, you could tell cos he grimaced, cursed and his bandmates laughed. The bassist frontman guy annoyed me a little as he was doing this really annoying thing where he kept throwing back his head and laughing and generally trying to make it look like he was having the best time in the World. For some reason this annoyed me. Obviously. May have just been tiredness induced grumpiness though. As individual players they were all amazing, they just didn't seem to be functioning too well as a unit that night. Annoying as the annoying guy was, he could slap bass.


Note to TLOGs: bass solos are awesome, we need some. We don't have the most badass bassist around for nothing. Likewise drums - insanely good drummer, tick. Solos needed.

So anyway check out http://www.sonicbids.com/epk/epk.aspx?epk_id=80687 for a bit of Snarky Puppy info and the reasons why I should have been more appreciative.
Also this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJnAymG7i5U courtesy of Thee - this didn't happen on Sunday night but it looks like fun!

Little lights

Title refers to what my day has been made up of. It's been a good one, thanks to regular but random happy incidents lighting up my path through the day.

It reminds me of a poster that's on the subway which features this rather lovely little poem:
The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood And saved some part Of a day I had rued.

It's by Robert Frost, and every time I see it makes me smile. Of course I wasn't particularly rueing my day today but had I been doing so, it is the kind of little occurrences I am about to detail that would save some part of it. Here are my dusts of snow from a hemlock tree:

French toast for breakfast with blueberries lavishly heaped on, eaten in the wide open French windows of Cafe Champignon.

Walked past none other than PATRICIA FIELD, stylist of Sex and the City (and Ugly Betty, Confessions of a Shopaholic and The Devil Wears Prada) and New York LEGEND, and also a heroine of mine. I couldn't believe my eyes. I saw this vibrant red hair coming towards me, naturally glanced towards it and saw her face underneath...I did a massive double take, stopped walking, took off my sunglasses and just stared shamelessly at her. Evidently noone else around recognised her (philistines) so I got a few funny looks for stopping dead on the spot and rotating slowly around to follow her as she passed. She spotted me gawping. She very graciously acknowledged me, then smiled a bit as she went on. I seriously thought about chasing her down the street. But I had a sleeping 3 year old in a pushchair and the pavement was crowded. But I saw her, I really did and she saw me, and I am SO grateful that I paid attention when I was getting dressed this morning!

A sample sale that I found selling lovely things. I bought two. Serious bargains, the both.

Chinese couple having their wedding pictures taken in Times Square. It was one of those bizarre weddings that they seem to love having - no guests, wedding dress erring on the OTT side. Not my personal opinion of a fairytale wedding, yet for them that's exactly what it seems to be. Can't help thinking 'do they not realise there are ways of making it sooo much better?' I know I'm entirely ignorant with regards to their own taste, motivation, traditions whatever etc. But that doesn't mean I can't wonder. Anyway they looked like they were having fun so.

Ballet class - only person who can pose turn properly! Ahahaaa! Although they called them pique turns. I cannot keep up with the lingo over here - petit developpes are pas de cheval, retires are racourcis, retires are sometimes coupes, battement jetes are degages...bah! They are all the same French words with all the same translations whichever side of the Atlantic you're on - how can there be so much variation in which steps are allotted which names? Either the RAD have been feeding me lies in the Grade notes all this time or America has pulled another number on a European language. Oh well. In change and variation, progress. And it doesn't half work my brain out.

Hmm lost my drift there...ah yes, I was v. happy in ballet because I was the only person who could pose turn and pirouette...that's right, I can pirouette in New York! Really really! Might be something to do with the fact that I've been wearing the right shoes but still. Here I must acknowledge the prepping I've had for these classes from my VG Dance teachers - if I didn't have to struggle through various pirouettes at least twice a week, if we weren't always doing pose turns and if we weren't always doing free allegros, I would be like many of the other people in my class - nervous, unable to follow quickly, unable to jump high. I may not be the most flexible person, I may not have the most turn out, but dammit I can pick things up fast and I can jump! Thanks Vanessa and Victoria, best ballet teachers!

The doormen at the Longacre Theatre (home of La Cage...it's a bonanza it's a mad extravaganza at La Cage Aux Folles! ooooh lyric spoiler alert) who are so nice and friendly every time I bowl in, either weighed down with bags, pushchair, child or all red and sweaty from a class. They don't bat an eyelid. Even got a little Kinder Surprise-style egg with sweets inside from the morning guy today.

Also today me and Iris went to see a production of 'The Velveteen Rabbit' by the Manhattan Children's Theatre. We were late but the nice guy on the desk let us in. I really really enjoyed it, it was so sweet. In a little tiny theatre where the stage was on the floor. It actually reminded me achingly of my drama A level days. Very tranquil watching, and also a teensy bit tear-inducing...well I don't know the story, turns out it is really sad!

Icksnay on the picturesay for today...no matter, I paint you ze picture wiz ze words. Mais oui.

Wishing you all the dust of snow from a hemlock treexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Easter Bunnyday tomorrow!

Ain't nothin' finer than a real fine diner

This is copied directly from my LBD (little black diary). I jotted it down a couple of weeks ago, in a moment of beatific inspiration. Or sugar-induced dizziness.

Sitting in a green and turquoise diner, 'Centrefold' is playing overhead (na na nananana, nana na na nanana na na!), eating pie with a filling to match my hair. Either this is my very happy 1980s dream, or I'm in a movie and about to be murdered by a guy with a bad mullet.

Words can't express how much I love diners. I'm going to miss pancakes/waffles/French toast soooo much.

Three days later, in a different diner...

Eating my breakfast in my now favourite diner, Malibu on W 23rd st. I LOVE it. I came in here with a late night pancake craving and it was super quiet and the staff treated me very well. Now I'm here for Sunday breakfast (at 1.45pm) and it is totally different but just as nice. The pleasant buzz of chatter is mashed up with the sound coming from the basketball game on the TV above the counter. I am eating my waffle and making idle notes but am secretly absorbed by the conversation to my left between the manager and a couple of hefty bald guys, one with a baseball cap. They all speak with strong Noo Yoik accents, and every sentence is structured along the lines of - 'And so I says to him I tells him, you can't just leave ya truck there y'blockin the whole street that's watchya doin' is what I told him. And he says buddy, he says, I am tellin' you buddy I got a load to haul by 2 o'clock'...
Made for most interesting listening, mostly cos it made me feel a bit like I was in an episode of some sitcom. Happy Days is no.1 suspect.

My order generally goes something like this:

Chocolate chip pancakes with fruit salad and bacon on the side.



Hello Diabetes!


(kidding...nobody worry)
peace and maple syrupxxxxxxxxxx