tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140991142024-03-07T09:01:41.221-05:00East Village IdiotReflections of a fourth generation east villager bouncing back and forth from Tompkins Square Park to her outer city pad in Strawberry Fields....east village idiothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030258480344283688noreply@blogger.comBlogger285125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14099114.post-66838553823695411332013-06-05T21:41:00.001-04:002013-06-06T18:05:29.870-04:00Street<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRI9bZbV4yaLj21iXq0U-l1GVXM-Oy8Jjmw4DMnmNIAr4606pooKAAfsN3ZwqW6_UeKn4mbJW7s7Kmy3s1MhON0bmZJX40GMekuqACbcle68RGL2eK_LuEvmZSMhs9l-AsDCHx/s1600/Street_featured.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRI9bZbV4yaLj21iXq0U-l1GVXM-Oy8Jjmw4DMnmNIAr4606pooKAAfsN3ZwqW6_UeKn4mbJW7s7Kmy3s1MhON0bmZJX40GMekuqACbcle68RGL2eK_LuEvmZSMhs9l-AsDCHx/s320/Street_featured.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I have many regrets about dropping off the radar with eastvillageidiot over the winter and spring. I missed the chance to INSIST that you march over to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see the film installation <b>Street</b>. It is<b> </b>an amazingly cool work by artist James Nares capturing the spirit of the <b>real people </b>of New York City. Read more:<br />
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<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #262626; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16.78333282470703px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Street</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16.78333282470703px;">, a new video by the British-born artist James Nares, forms the centerpiece of this exhibition. Over the course of a week in September 2011, Nares—a New Yorker since 1974—recorded sixteen hours of footage of people on the streets of Manhattan from a moving car using a high-definition camera usually used to record fast-moving subjects such as speeding bullets and hummingbirds. He then greatly slowed his source material, editing down the results to one hour of steady, continuous motion and scoring it with music for twelve-string guitar composed and performed by his friend Thurston Moore, co-founder of Sonic Youth.</span><br />
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Originally, I took Ben because he was searching for an exhibit in NY that he could review for his art class. The one hour experience overwhelmed both of us. It's been a while since I've fallen back in love with the City. The fluid choreography of every day life on its streets hit such a deep chord in me. It felt like coming home. The colors and textures of each neighborhood were so vivid from the lush fruit sold outside bodegas uptown to the polished brass of midtown. Check out a clip:<br />
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http://jamesnares.com/index.cfm/film-video/street/<br />
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<br />
Don't let the title of this post mislead you. I will not be leaving the earth's orbit anytime soon. At least not by choice.<br />
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It is simply that I decided to take on a huge personal frontier. Space. Personal space, physical space and if time permits, outer space. Okay, maybe not that last part.<br />
<br />
They say all great journeys begin with the first step, which in my case, still leaves me in my apartment. Growing up with my four sisters and brothers in an East Village railroad flat then an undersized suburban home with grandparents, parents and various dogs, cats, guinea pigs and amphibians produced a mixed aesthetic perspective among us. Most of my siblings left home with an unwavering commitment to minimalism, purposeful design and profound neatness. My younger brother's stunning apartment recently made the cover of New York magazine for that very reason.<br />
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Not me folks. I got the roly-poly hippy dippy gene. Stacks of stuff everywhere. Books, instruments, clothes, artwork, sentimental objects that have no rational purpose in my home and papers hailing from all points of the universe. I would not be surprised to find the Magna Carta wedged under my bureau between dog toys and unstrung ukuleles.<br />
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Change is in the wind. And as ancient texts suggest, the time has come to put away childish things. Not in the literal sense of toys, silly behavior or a sense of wonder about the world, just all the crap that stops you from growing and evolving. Now I want my home to reflect who I am instead of the clutter or visual static that I hide behind. There. I said it. The editing process has begun.<br />
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So, I asked Brian to paint our apartment bedroom the color of butter. After the paint dried, it looked much more like a stick of butter creamed together with egg yolks. It is a rich color that exudes a sense of fruitfulness and abundance. God had a hand in painting those walls. The color is far deeper in tone than the bucket of paint we brought in. It makes all the fabric, wood and artwork in my bedroom look ripe. I cast off any stuff I did not need and it feels so liberating.<br />
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It's good to be free.<br />
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<br />
I'm still coming off of the stress and anticipation of Election Night. It was not at all clear to me that Obama would win. A beloved colleague of mine at hippie college tried to placate my fears by sharing her spreadsheet of electoral vote patterns and projections that suggested that Obama had the odds on his side and Romney would have to beat the odds. I held on to the spreadsheet like a baby blanket until it was absolutely certain that Obama won.<br />
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We New Yorkers are so very fatigued. First the hurricane, then the Presidential election, followed by a snow storm. So many people remain without power all over the greater New York area. Over 40,000 are displaced from their homes. I have stayed out of the City to avoid straining an already fragile infrastructure. We can contribute donations to families in need at the college, where they will be transported down to Long Island and Brooklyn.<br />
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It's going to be a long road back. <br />
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I cannot conceive of the damage Hurricane Sandy has cast upon our city. My words cannot do justice to the damage. See for yourself at the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2012/10/28/us/hurricane-sandy-photos.html#index">NYTimes link</a> of pictures taken by people all around the city and beyond. <br />
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The Con Ed Power Station on 14th Street and C had two massive explosions. Just a few blocks away from our building. No electricity or cell service below 26th Street or so.<br />
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Our building was not flooded. The basement was bone dry. Unbelievable, since the water was at mid- car height just a block away on Ave. B.<br />
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Is this the new normal for New York City and the surrounding region? Last year we had a snow storm in mid-October, the year before that it was Hurricane Irene. Mother Nature keeps bitch slapping us...maybe it's time to listen. Watch out New Orleans, we may soon be writing songs about meeting each other down by the levee...we just gotta build one first. Or order one from Amazon. <div class="blogger-post-footer"><script language=\"JavaScript\">
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<br />
So Hurricane Sandy is due to arrive tomorrow...I think. I can't really get a handle on a solid time frame. The East Village family homestead is perched curiously at a point where Zone A, Zone B and Zone C converge. These warnings bring me back to conversations I had with my dad who once reminisced about the wharves by the East River. They were located where Avenue C and Avenue D are before they took their position atop landfill.<br />
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Those New Yorkers living in Battery Park City (Zone A) have been evacuated. Deep down they must feel extremely stunned and annoyed. For the most part, they are too rich to be displaced and they must be struggling with this urban truth as they pack their bags. This is a tough crowd. The twin towers fell right next to them and many stayed on despite the smoke and destruction, perhaps as an act of loyalty and defiance. Hurricanes are small potatoes to these people. <br />
<br />
My beloved sister is being a typical New Yorker and vaguely acknowledging the fact that there is some sort of natural theatre about to take place tomorrow. I'm sure she has stocked up on several cans of diet coke and.....well she doesn't eat much more than that. She is probably too busy thinking about a business conference call she has scheduled for tomorrow at 10 am. Apparently people in LA don't seem to understand the implications of hurricanes on one's daily commute.<br />
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Here in Strawberry Fields it is midnight. Another ordinary peaceful evening. We got back from our house up in the woods at about 7 pm. We did all we could think of to protect it from wind and rain. Falling trees and flooding are beyond our control but not beyond our prayers.<br />
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Work at Hippie College is closed for Monday and Tuesday. Ben's school is closed tomorrow. Let's hope Hurricane Sandy gets distracted by the full moon and trails off over the horizon.<br />
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</div><div><div style="text-align: left;">If you live in NYC or somewhere nearby, you owe it to yourself to go see Charles Busch perform. I was lucky enough to grab two tickets in December to see his annual holiday show Times Square Angel at Theatre for a New City. It was so creative, funny, beautiful, authentic...the list goes on. At the end of the show, he came out on stage, wished us all a very happy holiday and sang Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. I nearly burst out in tears. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Charles Busch is an actor, playwright, screenwriter, director and drag legend. He is perhaps most familiar to larger audiences as the author of the Broadway play The Tale of the Allergist's Wife. But for me, he will always be the author and star of Vampire Lesbians of Sodom. I will <u>never forget</u> seeing that play in 1980's with my then girlfriend. Everything about it was so outrageous and well crafted. It left me speechless. I'd never seen anything like it. My girlfriend didn't get it. Some people get lost in the camp aspect I suppose. But I hesitate to describe Charles Busch as primarily a drag queen. That performance element doesn't dominate my thoughts when I'm watching him on stage. His work is so much richer than a quick laugh or spectacle. <br />
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I am so excited to see his upcoming biblical comedy Juidth of Bethulia that's slated to premiere on March 30th through April at Theater for a New City in the East Village. Go and tell me what you think!<br />
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<br />
If there was no such thing as a state of Monkey Mind, then surely Buddha would have created it upon my birth. The term Monkey Mind refers to a mind that is highly distracted by multiple thoughts, memories, emotions, sounds....<br />
<br />
Who am I kidding? I have far more than one monkey in my mind. I wonder what Buddha would think about a Monkey House mind? Would he just shake his head and throw up his hands? Or would he embrace me with infinite compassion? Probably both. <br />
<br />
And so I begin my humble first steps into the realm of the lotus blossom. While I am meditating for a few minutes, please keep an eye on our country. We appear to be in the midst of an emerging social revolution. Back to a more balanced people loving society I hope.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script language=\"JavaScript\">
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1. Return to a familiar summer home set back in the woods but close to the beach.<br />
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2. Promptly forget what day it is.<br />
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3. Promptly forget what time it is.<br />
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4. Make a list of all the spiritual cleansing rituals I have in mind.<br />
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5. Lose that list shortly after arrival.<br />
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6. Bring a list of all the fun things to do between goofing off and sleeping.<br />
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7. Complete that list.<br />
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8. Do not look at office email....ever.<br />
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Perhaps the one part of the vacation ritual that continues to spook me is how I feel for the first two days. Without all the daily responsibilities and distractions of urban life, there is no noise or static between me and my feelings. I find myself face to face with the stress that I function under and it feels like Clorox pumping through my body. It is amazing how out of touch we can become with our true emotional or physical state and then when the tipping point occurs (illness, depression), we're shocked.<br />
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I used to laugh at the 70's term "getting in touch with yourself". I'm not laughing so much any more.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script language=\"JavaScript\">
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I felt sad to be away from this overload of culture. This vibe is a natural setting for Ben. Of course, he and Brian spent a hunk of time at Rivington Guitars which was on the same block as the festival. Ben put his creative talents to work playing a beautiful vintage guitar from what he (and my husband) consider the sacred 1970's. He then attempted to perform the miracle of having my husband buy it. Sorry Ben -- your TONY award will have to wait.<br />
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While I was wandering around I caught a performance by <a href="https://sites.google.com/a/art-farm.org/www/">ARTFARM</a> . They are an incredible theatrical group out of Middletown, Connecticut that combines performance with a commitment to simple living, social justice and environmental sustainability. They performed <b>Circus for a Fragile Planet </b>- and it was masterfully done. I highly encourage people to invite them to your schools or communities. It is well worth it. Their circus set design and music was out of sight. So simple and yet spectacular in its ability to help the actors and circus performers draw in their audience to examine the most pressing environmental issues of the day in a way that is vibrant and creative.<br />
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Ben's summer vacation officially started on Thursday. He has two months of summer fun ahead of him. It will take that long for Brian and I to fully recuperate from seventh grade and to brace ourselves for eighth....<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script language=\"JavaScript\">
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Could some kind soul please tell me when adolescence ends? Is it 14? 15? (gulp) 16? I don't know if I have the emotional, physical and needless to say, intellectual stamina to make it through three more years of this.<br />
I am all for an integrated curriculum but having my son do an essay, keynote, video montage and POEM on the interdependent relationship between China and the U.S. as seen through an economic lense is pushing it a little too far.<br />
Thank goodness I now have a garden to escape to on the weekends. Pulling weeds, watering and planting is so satisfying after hand to hand combat with a 13 year old son who is three inches taller than I am.<br />
The above photo is a close up of one of the peonies growing in my garden. Make no mistake, I inherited 80% of these flowers from the past property owners. The white and pink peonies are gorgeous. I think they are the sexiest flowers I've ever seen. They are so voluptuous that their stems buckle under the weight of their round multi-layered bloom. After two weeks or so, they slowly implode and the pedals fall to the ground.<br />
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One treasure I share with Ben is driving up to CT on our own to meet his dad at the house. Ben dons his ipod and eventually starts singing in full voice along to music I cannot hear. I love how he feels free enough to sing in front of me in this way. In "real life", he is too shy to sing much. He weaves in and out of a melody, sometimes a bit off tune, lyrics dropped, sometimes the lead singer, sometimes the background. Make a joyful noise unto the Lord....now that's one line in the Bible I agree with.<br />
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Enjoy the late spring!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script language=\"JavaScript\">
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So what really happens to the thousands of poinsettias produced each year for the winter holidays?<br />
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I cannot answer that question. My guess is that a nationwide "poinsettia-cide" is practiced in silent conspiracy across this country. And what leads me to this conclusion? Last November, I purchased several poinsettias for my home. Now that I live in a space that is larger than my beloved east village double-wide on stilts, I have hosted several large holiday gatherings. I was counting on the deep red leaves to distract my guests from the fact that I still had the same sparse amount of furniture as I did in my east village double-wide. The plants made it look like a festive waiting room.<br />
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Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went as did the New Year, Martin Luther King Day, Valentines Day, St. Patrick's Day, Ben's Birthday, April Fool's Day, Opening Day for the Red Sox and Palm Sunday. Lo and behold, my two poinsettias are still thriving.<br />
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As a child of the 60's weaned on plastic, red dye number 2 and MSG, I just figured they would politely drop dead shortly after their brief use. This is not the case. Observe the picture above. Both plants are still going strong on my window sill. There is no way I have the heart to throw them out. Perhaps I should start a shelter for unwanted poinsettias? People could leave them in unmarked baskets at my doorstep. It sure beats buying more furniture.<br />
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<b>What's Cookin </b>- Two weeks ago ,I swore before God and everyone else in the grocery store that I was buying my LAST 16 oz. bag of $7 organic granola. Well, I made good on my promise. The heavens opened up and led me to a recipe for <a href="http://www.publicradio.org/columns/splendid-table/recipes/maple_granola.html">maple granola</a> that is simple and equally delicious as the granola that has been running my family into bankruptcy for the last three years.<br />
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Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I am free at last!!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script language=\"JavaScript\">
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</script></div>east village idiothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030258480344283688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14099114.post-19275842437728723182010-05-01T17:10:00.002-04:002010-05-01T17:24:32.054-04:00Spring CleaningLast night I went for a short walk. It was dark and I took a stroll down roads that wrapped around the perimeter of the village center I now live in. It's a switch to feel perfectly safe walking in darkness. I closed my eyes and inhaled the sweet fragrant smell of springtime.<br /><br />Smelling springtime at night is heavenly. There are no flowers or sunshine to compete with. The cars and sounds of day have subsided. All that's left is darkness and fragrance with an occasional rustling of the leaves on the trees. I crossed paths with three bunny rabbits on this walk. They must all get together at night and do gymnastics on front lawns.<br /><br />Which brings me to the subject of needing a housekeeper. I have never had one in my entire life. I grew up with lots of siblings and extended family in the City. All of us jammed into a small apartment building. No one was ever brought in to clean anything. It's weird to think of a stranger in my house doing the things that I feel that my husband, my son and I responsible for.<br /><br />I discovered that I am the only woman in my entire department that does not have someone come in to clean on a routine basis. They are shocked that me...their boss...is foreign to this world. And yet. I cannot keep up with my household. It's usually in a shambles unless we have company coming over. It's a bad example to Ben. <br /><br />My search for a maid begins.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script language=\"JavaScript\">
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</script></div>east village idiothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030258480344283688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14099114.post-26532639102745176692010-04-11T22:21:00.003-04:002010-04-11T22:30:15.863-04:00Exhibit A<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkIJSZv0m7nQo3s5KZB3o4eGQp4MW_FaOl-56QZiuini4pbzMgXp3cLdRq_7L3cjQSS1XXZYfc3qw40CP4zVF0rk0MEcJeAtLXpo5QNqgM8r4ZgVdgIqp8SmnWrKTqVZ8JEoW/s1600/fresh+market.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkIJSZv0m7nQo3s5KZB3o4eGQp4MW_FaOl-56QZiuini4pbzMgXp3cLdRq_7L3cjQSS1XXZYfc3qw40CP4zVF0rk0MEcJeAtLXpo5QNqgM8r4ZgVdgIqp8SmnWrKTqVZ8JEoW/s400/fresh+market.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459070773501008994" border="0" /></a><br />If you examine this photo closely, you will see a few of the Easter specials available at the gourmet market near my mom in law's home in North Carolina.<br /><br />We have before us the Holy Trinity of Meringue Pies, Pecan Pies and Chocolate Fudge Pies.<br /><br />It is my firm belief that if someone had placed a slice of each pie outside the grave of Jesus, we'd be celebrating Easter on Saturday rather than Sunday. Especially if you threw in a nice hot cup of coffee.<br /><br />Speaking of God...let's encourage that Higher Power to bring our troops home. They could all use a cup of coffee and a slice of pie.<br /><br />Peace to all -<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script language=\"JavaScript\">
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</script></div>east village idiothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02030258480344283688noreply@blogger.com1