11th, 12th and 13th Night

We've had two rainouts, so while our first performance on Governor's Island would have been our 13th show, now it'll be our 11th. This is the final weekend to see Twelfth Night - and the only chance to see it in the new setting: hope you can make it on the 11th, 12th or 13th night!

Well, actually they will be in the afternoon - family friendly matinees down south of Manhattan, a short ferry ride from a building right next to the Staten Island Ferry Pier. You'll know you're there when you see the blue flags.

Got some more shots from the show. May entice you to show up, or just be a record of what you're missing.
There's music...



Dancing...


Romance...

Yoga...


Violence...



Intrigue...




Just Plain Craziness...



Seemingly random amalgams of characters...


And of course, Twins Love...


How could you resist? It's guaranteed to be the most fun you've ever had with your clothes on*. Friday, Saturday and Sunday (August 29-31) at 2 p.m. on Governor's Island. Bring a blanket or a beach towel. Check out the Olafur Eliasson Waterfalls while you're there.

*Not a Guarantee

Behind the Times

Once again I've been a slacker blogger. The good news is that that's because I've been doing a lot of things that keep me sufficiently busy that I don't have as much time to write about the things I've been doing. Hopefully this week I'll have time to post about the show I'm in, maybe one or two of the shows I've seen, the beach, my bro-in-law's visit, the McCarren Pool Party...

Yeah, probably not all of that. There are a ton of photos though - I'll be sure to post some.

Meanwhile, here is an abbreviated bit of sports-related Magic 8-Pod. It's outdated - played it back when the Olympics had just gotten going, so we'll see how it fared vis a vis the way things turned out...

How will Michael Phelps do? Welcome - The Who, from "Tommy"

As in - welcome to the top of the heap, Mike. Where no one has gone before. Nicely done.

What's the deal with these pre-pubescent Chinese gymnasts? The Greatest Romance Ever Sold - Prince, from "Rave In2 the Joy Fantastic."

This was the remix/b-side version of that song, with Eve doing a come-hither-type rap. Hmm, not sure what to make of this one. I mean, we could imagine the U.S. team and the Chinese team:

Finally face 2 face
Checkin' each other up and down

But then, being a Prince song, it goes places that... um, no. Maybe we're better off just thinking of it as a comment on the Selling of the Olympic Dream, or the Selling of Capitalism to the East. Or something.

How are the Red Sox going to do in the Post Manny Era? Absolutely Free, The Mothers of Invention, from "We're Only in It for The Money."

Hehehe. This works on a few levels - the Sox can now be free from the media circus of Manny (as fun as it was and is) and be free to concentrate on Baseball. And - the title of this brilliant album may shed some light on Manny's Mysterious Motivation for wanting so badly to be traded.

OH! This leads me to a current, live-as-I-blog 8-Pod opportunity:

Now how 'bout catching the Rays, guys? Dark Chocolate - Dan Bern, from "Smartie Mine"

Hmm. This is cryptic enough. Dan loves him some Dark Chocolate in this song (don't we all?) Promises offered, unrealized and met with unyielding loyalty anyway (Sox fans know well about that):

Who'd believe that you once saved my life
When you're split in so many pieces?

Of course it gets sensual (this is a song about chocolate, people, what did you expect?) And then it resolves (over-obviously?) focusing on the bittersweet aspect of the title/subject.

Great. Being a Red Sox fan with post season hopes is a bittersweet experience. How original.

Just take it pitch by pitch, guys. Those Rays have to crumble eventually. Don't they?

Golden Years

Today I'll post on a topic that several people seem to be talking about (meant to post about it yesterday when it would have been truly topical, but didn't get the chance). That topic being: some of these Chinese "women" gymnasts appear to be pre-pubescent.



I might buy that some of these (supremely, amazingly, stunningly talented) athletes are 16, but take a look at Deng Linlin:


I understand that there are cultural and genetic elements at play here, but if she's had a period, I've had one too.

The Olympic Committee (and the international community) claims that its hands are tied with this, because they have passports that show them to be 16.

Really, folks: how many 16-yrs olds have just lost a baby tooth?

I can't be the only one who's wondering, though, if there's a reluctance to pursue this question with more vigor because no one wants the, um, inconvenience of follow-up questions about child labor in general, particularly in the Host Nation of the Olympics...

Those are the questions really worth asking, of course. The life of an 11-yr-old Olympic gymnast, while demanding in ways I can only imagine, has to come out ahead of the life of an 11-yr-old in a shoe factory in all kinds of ways. What with the gold medals and all.

Rehearsals, etc.

The opening of Twelfth Night fast approacheth. We had some weather-related frustrations this weekend, but also got in some good cuts. If you're in town, hope you can make it. Here's the postcard:

One thing that the postcard doesn't mention for some reason is that we also have a weekend's worth of matinees at Governor's Island: August 29-31 at 2 p.m. Another thing not noted on the card is that it's probably a good idea for you to bring a cushion or a pillow, because those concrete steps are pretty unforgiving.

Here are some shots from a rehearsal (no costumes involved) and a couple candids:


RJ having a moment.

Action shot of Annie, Raushauna and Sean

Richard being pensive.

Loren relaxing between scenes.

Justin taking care of business with David.

This is kind of 'Shakespeare for People Who Don't Like Shakespeare': plenty of broad jokes and wacky costumes. And Led Zeppelin. Lots and lots of Led Zeppelin. Hopefully, people who do like Shakespeare will enjoy it too...

Restaurant Week!

That's right, folks, it's time once again for that week that comes only once a year, when some of New York City's best restaurants offer Prix Fixe deals for lunch and dinner, allowing regular people to go there without missing a rent payment or skipping out on the phone bill or something. Except it now happens twice a year. And it happens two weeks at a time. So it's sort of like "Restaurant Month, but we broke it up so it happens twice." But that doesn't exactly roll trippingly off the tongue, now does it?

But I'm not complaining! Having a broader target for this kind of thing is all good. This time round, Cory and I went to 5 Ninth. I'd never been there before, but it's one of Cory's favorite places, and now I know why. I've never been all that good at writing food porn, but for today, I'll give it a try...

It's a beautiful space that appears to have been a townhouse or something in a previous life, down on 9th Ave at that funky corner of Gansevoort and Little West 12th (you know - that block where everyone looks like a model? Probably because they are models?), simply but elegantly furnished, with some great garden seating in the back (and what seemed to be a nice upstairs dining area too, though I didn't get a lingering look at it). We had a drink at the bar first - I made the HUGE mistake of not looking at their cocktail menu before I ordered a simple Gin & Tonic, and so missed out on some really great offerings that I wouldn't have come up with on my own. Cory had the "house cocktail" which changes every so often, and yesterday involved armagnac shaken over ice with lemon and kummel (do you know this? it's a liqueur I'd never heard of - caraway is the predominant flavor) then poured into a cocktail glass and topped with Champagne. Yum!

We decided that it was worth the wait to be out in the garden, and once we got there, we were served by an entire battalion of waiters, waitresses and bussers. There was some training of a new employee going on, but that's no bother in my opinion. All were pleasant and knowledgeable; although our frontman wasn't totally up on the wine list, he just grabbed the host, who handled our questions adroitly without any of the snob effect that sometimes accompanies people who know their wine. We got a very interesting bottle of Albarino, a wine I wasn't familiar with. From Galicia, it was as promised dry, very slightly effervescent, with hints of grass - perfect for a summer night, especially well-suited to seafood.

The 5 Ninth Restaurant Week menu changes every few days, so it's not up on their website, but that's a good thing too - that way nothing gets stale, including the kitchen's attitude. Cory started with the local greens, about which she had no complaint; I opened with the roast pork belly. If I'd had any doubt that I was in for a meal and a half, that ended the moment I bit through the bib lettuce into the tender delicious burst of flavor within. I've said it before, and I'll say it again (before I finish this entry, I'll wager): yum! Cory's main course was cod with an edamame puree, and I had the truffled ravioli, which were round but not overplump with delicate cheese filling, covered in an amazing basil sauce and truffles, and which coyly hid some roasted grape tomatoes.

I was starting to wonder what good thing I've done recently that allowed me to deserve such a meal.

We got around to dessert, and as valiantly as the fruit salad strove for our attention, we both went for the inevitable chocolate pot de creme. I have now three times tried and failed to describe this dessert without resorting to a sexual reference. For now, I'll keep it simple, and allow myself a reference to the Dark Knight zeitgeist. Holy yum, Batman!

Didn't bring a camera (wouldn't have wanted to shoot the food anyway; as deserving as it was, that would have injured the evening) so you'll have to make do with the descriptions and the website link. Anyway, hope you've enjoyed reading about it - I enjoyed writing it, but not anywhere nearly as much as I enjoyed the event.

Happy Birthday Nelson Mandela

Yep, he's 90 today. 90! That's very exciting.

There's nothing I can really add to this man's story, which hopefully you all know well already. Truly and I think indisputably one of the Great People of our time, he personified integrity, self-sacrifice, devotion, persistence, effective activism and wisdom. Here's a report of the tributes from AFP.

I love how he describes himself as "a retired old man who no longer has power or influence." Nicely done.

So, my irreverent addition to the celebration will be a reblog to a very funny political cartoonist's site having nothing particularly to do with Mandela at all. Brian McFadden writes and draws Big Fat Whale, and finishes off with a pithy comment-on-the-commentary as well. Here's a link to the archives for your amusement and edification; the whole site is worth investigating. Meanwhile, here's today's entry:

OH - and I did call in sick for rehearsal last night. First time maybe ever (not counting when I was in school - I punked out a couple times back then). The Cal Ripkin Jr. impulse lost out to the 'take care of yourself - it will be better for you and for the show' impulse. Not sure what the hell that hygienist did to my jaw, but it's still a little sore. Much better than yesterday, though, so I'll be back in the game tonight.

New England Dreamin'

Seriously experiencing New England envy today. I know, I know - I was just there a few weeks ago, but I didn't get to the ocean at all. I'm wanting to be away from the fluorescent cubes and the steamy streets and the control freaks, swimming in that cold water.

It's unlikely I'll get up there again this summer. However, a beachy day-trip closer to home is a must!

Meanwhile, half of my face is numb and my jaw is throbbing from a trip to the dentist. Ugh. Don't know if I'm going to be able to rock the Shakespeare tonight.

School of Rock

Oh, I've been a baaaaad blogger lately. Twelfth Night is in full rehearsal swing; some great people involved, I'm thrilled to say. Not that it's been without its challenges - there have been many. Always an interesting experience to deal with a whole group of new personalities and processes.

And it's the end of a long day right now. The only reason I'm up and able to tap away at this entry is that the All-Star Game is in the 13th inning and I don't feel like sleeping through the end of it. Might be sorry 'bout that call tomorrow, but I'm going with it.

SO - have you seen The School of Rock? The Jack Black movie about the guy who takes over a middle school classroom under false pretenses and turns them into a rock band? Or maybe you've even seen Rock School, the (gasp) documentary about Paul Green, who actually did start a music program for kids in Philadelphia. Well, this year's batch of those real-life kids took a mini-tour to New York several weeks ago. I caught their Jethro Tull set (I know, I know - it was the show that fit into my schedule) at The Cutting Room. Dr. Green makes sure his students understand the importance of theatricality: costumes and attitude shared center stage with musicianship. When covering a band like Tull, that meant medieval references, wizards, knights and animals, and a healthy dose of cross-dressing.

I felt kind of weird taking pictures, because the light was too low not to use a flash, and flashes are a pain to performers. But by the end of the set I relented, since so many people (I'm guessing they were mostly parents) were taking flash photos. Here's the best of the bunch - Aqualung, as sung by this, what, eleven-year-old? Complete with English accent, I should add.



With apologies to John Hall, I'm sorry but: I love this kid's energy! He totally sold this song about an old homeless guy with a snotty nose ogling the children. He put himself out there and hit it out of the box.

Which I wish someone would do in the Stadium tonight. It's now the 15th inning, and I just want someone to win it. Preferably via another J.D. Drew knock. Sheesh! So much for that asinine World Series home field advantage nonsense, right?

FISA Petition

Ok, I'm not going to spend a lot of time on the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, (the current 'compromise' version of which offers retroactive immunity to telecom companies that have broken the law in monitoring conversations, emails, etc. and grants all kinds of intrusive powers to the government going forward) under the assumption that you've read about it elsewhere. God knows you've had the opportunity to.

What I will do is include a link to a Petition to the Senate floating around the internets (one of several) and invite you to sign it. I did, and included the following comment:

This Independence Day, I'm choosing to defend the Constitution, and invite the Senate to do the same. In fact, didn't you take some kind of oath to that effect?

Holla to Russ Feingold, who's leading the legislative fight. Wisconsin represents.

Cabanas

Up the Beach, a burst of color.

Abandoned Beach Patrol

No safe-keepers; no one to keep safe.

Steel Pier

No time for a real post, but I want to put in just a couple images. The dayjob brought me to Atlantic City this week, and I had a little time the first day I was there to hit the Boardwalk (via a Jitney bus that passed by a bunch of streets I know from playing Monopoly growing up)



unattended snack shack with the steel pier amusement park on the horizon




wonderwheel in fading dusk

T-Day: The Next Generation

Ok, life has been crazy busy. Dayjob stuff is just nutty. Personal stuff keeps happening. Acting stuff in the works as well (of course, once I got cast in a show and my dayjob explodes, that's when about five different theaters want to see me all at once).

However, I made time for a trip to New England in the midst of it all. Had plans to visit the Cathedral on Lansdowne that could not be put off.


And then, a trip to the Berkshires to see Sue & Kevin and the newest addition to the T-Day contingent. Ladies and Gentlemen: Max Killam.

He has a superhero name; he has a superhuman smile. Moi, I'm happy he's around.

So, here are a couple photos of the proud parents, including one particular guy's first-ever Father's Day.


I don't know. I'm no expert, but I gotta think that's better than a necktie.

HellGate Love Letter

This was the performance piece we saw a couple weeks back on the East River. Put together by the Alice Farley Dance Theater and produced in conjunction with the environmental activist group Solar One, it was a fantastic tribute to an earlier era in New York, and a great example of the kind of thing that continues to make the city singular. Loaded with poetry both verbal and visual, it started with a dance by these gals:


They were Spiney Star Fish, and they were accompanied by a couple guys who wandered around the crowd playing music through these crafty speakers hanging around their necks.



While this was going on, programs were distributed which included poetry by Lorca and Whitman, odes to New York - both the man-made and the natural sides. Characters named Gallus Mag and Sadie the Goat came out and delivered the bulk of the evening's text: a mytho-poetic incantation, reminders that these canyons of concrete and steel are surrounded by rivers, and right on the edge of the power of the ocean.

Here's Gallus mag in all his glory:


As you can see, the costume design, makeup and other visual elements (not least of all the park, the river, and the view of Brooklyn and Queens on the other side) were a big part of this show.

The crowd was herded up and down the path as different etudes emerged involving dance, text, and ever more expressive costumes. I was impressed by this River Cactus.


Dancers sprang from every rock, tree and rail.



There were many characters I didn't get good shots of, including this Sea Horse, but his unicycle costume is so rad I can't resist putting this picture, however blurry.



It even involved some tricked out kayaks.
And in keeping with the idea that nature is cyclical, it ended at the place where it began...
See those kayaks in the background?
Very cool event. By the way, the name "HellGate" comes from the Dutch word "Hellegat," which means both "Hell Gate" and "bright passage" and was the name Dutch settlers gave to the East River Strait.

Ok, I don't know why I'm not able to format this particular entry any better than I have. My html skillz evidently leave a lot to be desired. Hope you can make heads and tails of it. My main point is: All hail public art in New York outside in the summer!

catching up

Yes, yes, I know, I haven't posted here for a while. I've been busy! Doing many things of interest, including getting cast in a production of Twelfth Night that's going up in August. Details to come later; for now suffice it to say that it's one of my fave plays, and I'm looking forward to the experience.

Also, I've finally entered the world of digital photography. It's been a long time since I've been behind a camera in any kind of serious way, and I have essentially no experience with digital, so look forward to a learning curve. But in theory this will be a really good outlet for the visual side of me, and ought to add a dimension to this blog as well.


Nothing terribly special about this one - just your basic "there's the Empire State Building in the distance beyond a bustling park in Hoboken on Memorial Day."


Kids playing in the fountain on the edge of said park. Tough place to fill your watergun, but I'm guessing he made it work.



From a performance piece on the East River the day before. This rates its own post, which I'll try to put together soon. For now, I won't mention her name (or publish your comments if you do) because I don't want to identify with paparazzi or trigger any blog alerts, but I don't think it's out of line to point out that one of the Famous and Beautiful is giving our Spiney Starfish the eye...

No X 4 = Yes

Yesterday was a pretty exciting day for Red Sox fans: John Lester pitched a no-hitter. Always a stunning event, the story is especially incredible with Lester, who was diagnosed with lymphoma 2 years ago (!) and made a recovery sufficiently strong to pitch the 4th and final game of last year's World Series and then this extremely rare achievement of a no-hitter. Kind of a lot to have done by the age of 24, don't you agree?




But let me take a moment to focus on the other guy in that photo. Jason Varitek, Captain of Red Sox Nation, center of the team, and one of the best catchers in baseball. Last night he caught his fourth no-hitter. Count 'em: four. More than anyone else in the history of baseball. On any team ever. I don't want to get too carried away here, but this man arguably has as much to do with the Red Sox Championships as anyone else, including Ramirez, Ortiz, and Francona.

I mean, sure - it's 10 times easier to catch a no-hitter than to throw one. But a great catcher, a strong veteran leader who understands his pitcher, the batters and the game in general can go a loooong way in helping the event. And look at the authors of the no nos he's caught: Nomo, Lowe, Buchholz and Lester - first rate pitchers, yes, but not exactly a who's who of Cy Young winners (though he's called the shots impeccably for future Hall of Famers like Pedro Martinez and Curt Schilling, too). You better believe that Varitek's help calling pitches, leading the team and keeping the hurlers centered had something to do with those games. Did you see the game earlier this year when Buchholz, barely out of his (part of a) rookie season, shook him off three times in a row? Tek let him throw the fastball, and it got shelled for a double. The look on Jason's face afterwards was priceless: "I've been around here a while kid. Helped you get through that no-hitter in your second start last year; don't you think I know what pitch is gonna work?"

And it bears repeating: nobody has ever caught 4 of these gems. Not Yogi Berra, not Johnny Bench, not Roy Campanella, nobody. Has Jason been lucky? No doubt. Has he been helped by some great defense? Hells yes. But I think that this record is more important than the attention it's going to receive, and tells us a lot about the success of the Red Sox.



There's no way Varitek will make the Hall of Fame. He's never hit .300, his RBI production is not that great, and neither is his arm (especially in his early years, people could steal bases against him with relative ease). But don't be surprised if people who know a lot more about the game than I do mention him as one of the great catchers and team-leaders of his era, if not of all time.

Robert Rauschenberg

I don't really have the time nor the knowledge to write a full tribute to Robert Rauschenberg, who died on Monday, but, especially in light of this morning's entry, I have to put down a few words about this artist who had the staggering ability to see beauty in the commonplace, and share it with us. He was a master of possibility, a portrait of persistence, an inspiration on many levels, and one of the great lovers of life.



In addition to the very good Michale Kimmelman article in the Times, there is an interesting remembrance from Jim Lewis in Slate, which yields a perspective on death that I like quite a bit: "I'm working on my fear of it. And my fear is that after I'm gone, something interesting is going to happen, and I'm going to miss it."

Ummm... yup.

It's the Little Things

Sometimes the details just line up and mean more than the sum of their parts. Today I had a friendlier-than-usual exchange with a fellow bus passenger, and I was having one of those Good Commute Tunes days (mostly indie rock, with more Sinatra than chance would seem to demand). But it was a cloudy damp day, and my head was aching dully, so it wasn't exactly an ideal morning.

Then I had one of those moments that's hard to describe. After a note-perfect Guided by Voices song, and a Sinatra tune I actually bumped forward about halfway through, I got the beautiful, plaintive 'Raincloud' by Leah Siegel. Had me in a nice place, and then just as she sang '...the way you feel the sun crashing down on the horizon' the sun broke through the clouds and cast a light that was, let's not be overly dramatic and call it 'miraculous,' but it was stunning. And it drew my attention to one of those buildings that I've surely passed dozens (hundreds?) of times but never really noticed - one of countless structures in New York which have a singular beauty but which all too often blend into undeserved obscurity because of the simple volume of Big Buildings on this island.

But not today. Today, as Leah's guitars made the case for love, I took in the levels of this building, noticed how the details catch the light, saw where arched windows had been bricked over, caught a sign that has probably been hanging in a window for 30 years or more.

Don't have a photo to share with you guys about it, but I wanted to recognize the moment.

And in other news, it's Free Iced Coffee Day at Dunkin Donuts.

Reality. Check.

So in the wake of my recent whinefest, I checked Love Puppy's tumblr, which gave me a well-deserved shoulder shake.

I'm back.

See, that didn't take long!

Monday is the New Monday

Holy crap this is the Mondayest Monday I've had in a while. Very good weekend, but I'm not even in the mood to write about it because it's pissy and rainy and cold, I had pretty bad sleep, the computer network at the dayjob is superslow (and keeps kicking me off my email - very annoying) and I'm in pain from tendonitis.

Harrumph!

Got here in such a good mood too! I'll write later when, I don't know, the stars realign or something.

Happiness

Maybe it's that it's such a sunny beautiful day, or maybe it's just a feeling that the people in my immediate circle could use a little extra jolt of joy, but I'm digging this viddy from Goldfrapp:



Ok, it's silly, but it's fun silly. Irrationally fun, no? Plus, it's got to be harder than it looks to pull off that hopping...