Discovering Columbus: Face to Face with Ol’ Chris

Columbus Circle is an example of how New York City “ups the ante”, so to speak. We can’t just have a traffic rotary at the edge of Central Park, we turn that tricky roundabout into a destination, with enough distractions to make an already precarious driving situation even more so. There is always something going on the island of Columbus Circle. The man for whom the circle is named, for so long credited with discovering America, watches down on it all as a statue 75 feet above the ground.

He watches the seasons change, like the tulips that line the circle in the spring and the fountains that turn off for the colder months.

Last year he made friends with visiting elephants.

columbus circle public art — These bronze beasts were part of a public art exhibit showcasing artist Peter Woytuk. [Click the image for a full article.]

He is a spectator of both low brow and high brow performance- Columbus Circle is a haunt for skateboarders but also for ballet street performances (seriously: check out this post.)

He has a great view for star-gazing, the same stars that helped him navigate across the Atlantic. Too bad in on a clear New York City night you can only see about five stars. He takes solace in the phases of the moon.

Tourists point up at him a say “Aw, he’s so cute!” You’d think it would be grand having a monument of yourself in New York City. Columbus has been up on this parapet at 59th Street since sculptor Gaetano Russo erected him in 1892. That’s over 100 years of pigeons pooping on his head. Rain, snow, sun- all the elements beat down on his head 24/7. A little karmic retribution for Indian massacres?

This fall the Public Art Fund decided to give the old guy a break. Artist Tatzu Nishi is known for his installations which transform the views experience of an existing monument or statue. He has built an installation around our buddy Columbus, putting him into a modern living room, complete with comfy chairs, bookcases, decor, large windows with enviable views.

The public gets up-close-and-personal with the marble statue. From the ground, he looks cute, dare I even say dinky. Face to face he is imposing, threatening, massive. A completely different story.

It is free to attend, though you have to register for tickets. The exhibit has been extended from November 18th to December 2, there are still plenty of free passes for this week available online: here. I highly recommend going if you live in NYC, partially because it’s a cool thing to see and when will you ever get to see something like this again? But mostly because it’s turned Columbus Circle into an eyesore for the past month.

The structure housing this art is not pretty. Visiting the exhibit is the only thing to make it worth it. The security guards may try to push you out after 10 minutes to move the line along, depending on the time of day. But they’re nice about it and will take a picture of your back and Columbus’ if you ask them to.

So if you have a chance this week, go. Or just be thankful I went and you can live vicariously through me! If you want more, visit the Discovering Columbus Public Art Fund site which has much better pictures and much more information.

After December 2nd only Columbus and pigeons will ever experience this view!

Isn’t it funny the things we get to see only in NYC? What do you think of a work of art like this?

[I hope you had a great weekend. I have to tell you, I did something very uncharacteristic over mine: I posted on a Saturday! It’s full of beautiful Central Park pictures, don’t want you to miss it, see for yourself!]

Fall for Central Park

Stuffing yourself on Thanksgiving: it’s all-American. I’d suggest it’s an all-American cliché. When the menu consists of butter-herb turkey (didn’t even wish it was chicken), mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, green beans, and sweet potato casserole portion control is frowned upon. It couldn’t have been much more traditional or delicious. Do we stop there? It’d be entirely unAmerican! Because there is nothing more American than apple pie. Oh boy was there pie: pumpkin, peanut butter, chocolate, eggnog cheesecake, and I had to sample each one, with whipped cream on top.

The waistband of my dress was a tight when I waddled out the door. Having feasted in Queens and chosen to wear shoes that pinched my feet (they’re fabulous and new, I pray I just need to break them in), walking home was not an option. I hopped on the subway and once home promptly hopped into bed, drifting to sleep on a cloud of tryptophan.

I awoke Friday morning and felt fat. Yep, a girl cliché! Instead of whining and feeling sorry for myself, I laced up shoes that don’t pinch my feet and set out on a five mile walk. I started at 42nd Street hoping to catch a walking tour. Arriving 20 minutes late (oops), no such luck. Instead, I made my way through the sea of shoppers on 5th Avenue, soon crossing to 6th Avenue where there was more room to breath. Salvation Army bell ringers, store front windows, decorations around buildings- Christmas was coming at me from all directions. It felt odd in the perfect fall weather- a sunny 55 degrees- to still see snowflakes of all shapes and sizes. Fall gets a horendous truncation in my book. I hold on to summer until the very last moment of September 20th, a month later, it’s the day after Halloween and Starbucks is playing “Let It Snow”.

As Central Park came into view, I knew I’d come to the right place. Nature knows it’s still autumn! Brightly colored leaves against the striking blue sky, it was the perfect fall day. I know we’re all excited about Christmas, but I haven’t eaten enough butternut squash soup yet. It was glorious to just walk through the park and savor the present (meaning NOW not GIFT) season.

I was not alone in my stroll. Thousands of others were in the park taking advantage of the beautiful weather. So many people inhabit this city, stacked on top of each other, that it’s impossible to ever actually be alone. Yet New York is a notoriously lonely city. Feeling lonely but never being alone is truly a phenomenon, however oxymoronic, a New York cliché. I know enjoy alone time more than most people. I will happily go for a walk with just my thoughts for company. But on this day after Thanksgiving, seeing all the families and couples in the park, I experienced rare pangs of loneliness.

I had no headphones, no music to accompany my walk. I soon realized I’d even forgotten my cellphone- a feeling of simultaneous freedom and solitude. When was the last time you went on a walk without these distractions? I felt brave- so many of my generation are afraid of silence and their own thoughts. Not that it’s ever silent in New York. I eavesdropped on some fun conversations- a group of women discussing their figures (“You went through a really skinny phase, Justine.” “Yeah, when I was running marathons!) who confirmed the “I feel fat” post-Turkey Day cliché. A little girl whining at the park’s entrance: “I don’t want to go in there!” “Why not?” “It’s a scary forest!” That’s a true New York native. The best sounds of my walk? The crunching of leaves.

I was shocked and pleased to see boats still on the lake. This is something I meant to do all summer, and never did. For a second I thought to myself, “Go now! Get a boat all by yourself! Otherwise, chances are you’ll be waiting ’til next spring.” I didn’t do it. I can’t imagine a situation more lonely than being stranded in the middle of a body of water, struggling to maneuver a row-boat all by myself, wishing I had a man with strong arms to man my ors.

I turn into a little kid around autumn leaves. I’ll shuffle through piles that collect in the street gutters, even though it’s dangerous (you never know what could be lurking under the leaves!). I love the sound and the feeling as they scatter around my shoes. You don’t get leaves like this in California. It’s my ninth (WOW) east coast fall but I’m still making up for 18 years sans foliage. Another thing about solitary walks? There’s no one to take pictures of my back. It’s too weird to ask strangers, nor advisable to turn my back on my camera. Instead I took self portraits of my feet in the leaves. Like my polka dot tights?

I saw a lot of cute couples on my walk. I’ve been on a break from dating for almost six months in an effort to figure some things out (cliché!). Maybe it’s the holiday season, maybe it’s because I have figured a thing or two out, I want to be one of those cute couples. Have I figured enough out to not pick the wrong man for once? I’m hopeful.

The last time I went for a long walk in the park was in the spring (remember?). There are some big changes between the park in these seasons, the most surprising one was the drained model boat pond on the east side as you can see in these photos.

The most beautiful changes were obvious.

This lovely scene at the Conservatory Gardens really made me miss my family. A little girl leans on her mom as they sit on a bench admiring the pink and yellow flowers that form a circle around the fountain. The three frolicking ladies of the fountain made me think of my three best friends, who I call my sisters, all in San Francisco for the holiday. When I got home, I was greeted by text messages from each of them, sent around the time I took this photograph. There was also a picture in my inbox of our moms hanging out together. Perfect. I hadn’t thought about family on Thanksgiving, wanting to avoid that feeling of missing. This walk was the perfect time to feel those feelings. I let them simmer, wistfully smiled, and felt so thankful for my wonderfully supportive family: parents, aunts, and uncles. And sisters. Love.

I got to the top of the park and realized I should have collected leaves along my walk. Why didn’t I think about that at 59th Street!? I picked up a bright orange leaf only to discover some sort of city sludge on the bottom side of it. New York cliché #253. Collecting pictures of leaves is just fine.

I got my fall closure (I can embrace Christmas now instead of muttering it’s too early!), crunched a lot of leaves, felt lonely in a way that made me give thanks for being a human with feelings (…if that makes sense… let’s just say I’ve squashed feelings down recently and it’s no good. I want to feel- good and bad), and appreciated my family- something I don’t do enough. My Black Friday was the most colorful Friday I’ve had in some time.

Hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving! I am thankful that I can share my thoughts with you. So much thanks.

November 14, 2012October 23, 2014

So No One Told You Life Was Gonna Be This Way

They say most writers base their works of fiction on true-life events and/or characters. Not me. I never do that. Which is why I’ve developed an idea for a TV show that’s entirely original, not based on my life at all. Nooo sir. I don’t know how my mind comes up with these things!

It’s a cross between ~~Sex and the City~~ Girls on HBO and Friends. Like I said: super original.

It’s about a group of friends who all met performing summer theater together. (I have no friends like that. Nooo sir. I, uh, had to do a lot of research to even imagine what it might be like to make friends in such an environment.) There are the girls- Krystal, Torri, and Marilyn- and the boys- Jack, Mark, Tyler, and Pete. They all live in NYC (of course), most of them have for years. Our series starts when the girls move into an apartment right across the street from the boys. (So different from my life, I mean, I haven’t moved in ages.)

These apartments couldn’t be more different. The boys live in a basement apartment they call “The Dugout”. Think exposed pipes, windows that look out on their neighbor’s walls, a hallway closet that’s big enough to be an extra bedroom. Someone is always crashing on the futon or in the closet room- great guest star and cameo potential. It may be a little dark, a little hard to heat up, but it’s big (and cheap). They have a piano and the perfect set-up for beer pong. It puts the Bach in Bachelor Pad [insert laugh track].

When the girls first looked at their apartment, they couldn’t quite believe it. In their price-range, newly renovated, and close to the subway. Just across the street from “The Dugout” yet of a different world- high ceilings, hardwood floors, marble countertops, a spacious, sunny living room (but still realistic- think Seinfeld’s, not Monica and Rachel’s monstrosity). It even has a washing machine (which constantly breaks- think suds all over the bathroom floor- comic gold) and exposed brick walls. It’s a fifth floor walk-up but that means you don’t need a gym membership [insert laugh track]!

Plus it was on the same street as their good friends Jack, Mark, and Tyler! Surely they’d hang out all the time and it would be just like in beer commercials! Super fun times all around! They’re all single (except for Torri), straight (probably…), young (Pete is older but doesn’t come in until mid-season) and living in the Big Apple. It’s the perfect stage for a comedy or drama! OR BOTH! (Uh duh, it’s a TV show after all. That I made up! Ya gotta have both! It’s fiction! Fiction! I’m so creative and original!) I mean…they all met working summer theater…there’s a flare for the dramatic AND a comedic side to each of our characters. Here, let me show you: (My characters are sooooo realistic, hard to believe I made them up, isn’t it? I only wish I had people like this in my life!)

Krystal The newbie. Newly graduated from college and fresh-off-the-boat to NYC, she’s pursuing a career as a dancer. Known to complain about being “between a size 00 and size 0”. Works as a waitress at the East Village café “Violin Rods”, makes batches of empanadas when stressed. Recently got out of a long-term relationship with Jack. She wants to take a break from dating but that doesn’t stop a steady stream of admirers… will the men of NYC wear down her resolve?

Jack The goof. A film actor, he often plays lovable geek/underdog/dog roles. Constantly trying out new character voices and physicalities, each more hilarious than the last, he’s a true talent. Works as a bar tender at night and during the day walks around neighborhoods dropping off take-out menus. He sometimes plays the banjo in subway stations. Recently got circumcised at age 26- has the loss changed him?

Tyler The charmer. A former DJ, he’s decided to go back to school, to become a dental hygienist. Recites the bones in the head and neck when he’s nervous. On an exclusively raw food diet and his friends make fun of him for it. Super health conscious, super sexy in scrubs. Notorious for trying to bed his friends. Will the ladies across the street fall for his charm, good-looks, and close proximity?

Torri The rock. A student at NYU getting her degree in journalism. Reads textbooks with a PBR in hand, spouting off intellectual theory while her roommates look at videos of baby giraffes on youtube. Doesn’t get off on drama, usually the voice of reason: she’ll tell you if you’re being a douche-bag/idiot-face/Sloppy-Sally. Her steady boyfriend, Craig, is great and everyone likes him until the girls realize he never puts the toilet seat down. Deal breaker?

Mark A folk singer-song writer who is just starting to really break out into the music scene. Currently pays the bills by working at a gourmet grocery store on the Upper East Side. Hates it. He’s the type who’s bald, maybe on the huskier side, and always dating a super hot girl. Has hilarious monologues about NYC; can rant about subway encounters or pigeon shit with more conviction and humor than Woody Allen. Will he get a recording contract before his roommates tire of constant harmonica riffs?

Pete The mid-season pick-me-up. Moving into “The Dugout” mid-season (in an effort to appeal to the Boomer demographic), Pete is a good 20 years older than the rest of the cast. Has spent his career traveling around the country working as a stunt man, now he’s trying to find a reason to stay in NYC. Has a bizarre sense of humor- likes to pretend he’s hard of hearing for comedic affect. Looks at his roommates and neighbors with eyes of experience, remembering the mistakes of his twenties. Will he use his wisdom to counsel his friends or just sit and watch as they learn for themselves?

Marilyn The narrator. In the midst of a quintessential quarter wtf-am-I-doing-with-my life crisis.Works as a product tester which means she gets a lot of free stuff. This has its ups- “Free Nintendo t-shirts for everyone!” and downs- “I got a case of Kraft cheese today! I don’t care if it’s not a raw food, everyone has to eat a whole package NOW. EAT IT NOW!” Writes a web zine to fill the creative void, alienates her friends by writing about them in it (what a bitch). Makes questionable decisions like starting a no-strings-attached situation with one of the fellas across the street. Will she figure it out or will it all blow up in her face?

That’s the cast! What incredible potential for drama, right? Will Krystal and Jack get back together? Who’s teeth will Tyler clean first? Will Torri abandon them all to move in with Craig? Will he ever learn to put the toilet seat down? [Insert laugh track.] Who is Marilyn canoodling with? Will Pete ever get to use his stunt-man skills to stop a mugging and/or burglary? Will Mark’s contract fall through and he’ll take to throwing spoiled produce at everyone?

How can you not be dying to watch this show? Aren’t you amazed at my first foray into fiction (entirely fiction! It is! Why don’t you believe me!)? As fun as it sounds, I’m so glad actual real life is nothing like it! Nooo sir. The only thing it needs now (besides syndication) is a name…. There seems to be a trend in single word titles…maybe Pals? Buddies? Chums? Apartments? People? Our Street? Maybe we’ll leave the naming to the network (however, I will say my personal favorite is Chums [insert laugh track]).

November 12, 2012October 23, 2014

Grateful to Talk About the Weather

It doesn’t get much more cliché than talking about the weather.

A lot has happened since my last post. Storms, Halloween, presidential elections.

But you knew that. You’ve read about all three thing in loads of other sources. It doesn’t excite me to write about things you already know.

Every time I’ve sat down to blog in the past 2 weeks I’ve gone through the same thing, “Nope, don’t want to write about that. But how can I write about anything else?” The result? Silence on my part. Again, you knew that.

killabeefocus — I may or may not have taken this picture long after Halloween. I may or may not have, moments ago, dug my costume out of the wrinkly dredges of my laundry basket and begged my (super awesome, wonderful) roommate to take my picture. That may or may not be the fabulous(ly soft-focused) exposed brick wall of my bedroom.

I never lost power, not even for a second. There’s no excuse there. My neighborhood weathered the storm incredibly well- one tree fell down in the middle of the street, not hurting anyone nor damaging anything. I ran outside in the middle of the storm to visit friends who live across the street. I’m so lucky. On Halloween, while many people in the area had no power and others had major damage to their homes and cars, I dressed up as a “killer bee” complete with toy “buzz buzz” gun and bloody war paint. While many evacuees were stranded with tunnels flooded and public transportation shut down, I walked 80 blocks of the Upper West Side, stopped at a bar, and drank pumpkin ale and ate pie with Charlotte and Miranda.

My biggest complaint these past two weeks is that the heat in my apartment was too high. The irony. My roommates and I opened all the windows and stripped to our skivvies whenever we got home. We felt like jerks for complaining about it, but when it’s 92 degrees inside it’s hard not to. If only we could donate all our excess heat to the thousands on Long Island shivering with out it!

Then there was the election. Which seems so far away now, but a week ago I was a bundle of nerves when the possibility that Obama might not win hit me hard and left me with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my (it’s mine and still fully in my control PHEW) uterus. Working a week of 13 hour days leading up to the election left me a bit brain fried as well. But Obama won and that paycheck will be sweet: win-win.

Also it snowed. That was weird. The weather is whack.

Today it was 60 degrees and sunny. That’s the fall I know. The leaves are changing, they fixed our heat, the subways are back and most people have power restored.

fall leaves — I got a nice taste of foliage on a recent visit to the New York Botanical Garden. As a born and raised California girl, I’m still dazzled by seasons!

There is still major devastation in the Rockaways and Staten Island- I hope to have time to lend a hand out there this week. Because my life is pretty damn grand considering. My heart goes out to the many who haven’t had it so easy. Those can’t find parts of their life in the wreckage of their homes while I sit in my cozy apartment, struggling to find time to blog. I live a charmed life, I know. For that I give thanks, it is November after all.

Now I’ve covered the New York events that are too serious to be called clichés. Tomorrow we’ll get back to things that can seem frivolous business- like how my life is currently a TV show (upgrade from chick lit!), why I’ve started wearing lipstick more, and why Chinatown makes me homesick.

October 29, 2012October 23, 2014

Wait Out the Hurricane With a Good Book: “Between Two Fires”

There are few things that achieve the New York trifecta of sophistication, importance, and urbanity like attending a friend’s book release party. It makes a gratifying answer to the banal, What are you doing tonight? “Going to a book release party. For my friend’s second novel. He’s kinda a big deal.” Watching people I know succeed in the creative world provides a simultaneous rush of pride and hope. A reassurance that I haven’t yet become bitter nor jaded when I feel nothing but happiness for them.

I was first introduced to the author at his wedding. A strange place to meet someone, especially as I had no connection to the bride either. No personal connection, that is. The bride and groom met performing summer theater and decided to tie the knot in a place tied to their roots as a couple. In the spirit of community, they invited the entire current cast to witness their nuptials.

The next time I saw Chris was at the release of his first novel. I walked up to him, offered my congratulations, and reminded him who I was. “New York Cliché, I was at your wedding. And now here I am at your book release. I plan to just pop up at all major events in your life from now on. Expect to see me in the hospital at the birth of your first child.”

I checked out that first novel, Those Across the River, from the New York Public Library, resisting the urge to tell the librarian “I know the author, Chris Buehlman!” Categorized in the genera of literary horror, I must confess, it is a book I would normally never pick up on my own. Horror makes me jumpy. I couldn’t read it on the subway, the sound of a train hurtling through dark tunnels making a soundtrack to the vivid, unsettling supernatural that made my heart race uncomfortably. I couldn’t read it alone in my apartment, even if I turned on all the lights and double bolted the door. Something bad is going to happen! Why did he make me care about these characters so much if he’s just going to make awful things happen to them!? AH, I can’t stand it! It took me a long time to read to the end despite the gripping story and wonderful characters. It is a testament to the writer how much his words affected my body and mind.

I got to know Chris better this summer and now honestly can call him my friend (not just “that guy whose wedding I went to”). I was excited to read his second novel, but also fearful of the psychological toll it might take, especially as I walk the streets of Harlem alone at night. Happily, I fared much better reading Between Two Fires. In fact, I read it almost exclusively on my new subway commute. The story takes place in medieval France during the height of the bubonic plague. The disease and time period alone provide more terror than any monster the human mind has created, and that’s historical fact. The suspense of the last book that put my stomach in knots was much easier to handle. Horrible, terrible things would happen to these characters- there was never any question of it. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, as was all of Europe in the mid 14th century. The story is framed by a battle of good and evil, angels battling literal demons. The horrific events that happen to our characters are great in number yet enough good happens so despair never takes over. Hope as a counterbalance to the horror kept me glued to the page.

This is a book I would enjoy, even had I not known the author. Chris Buehlman‘s master lies in the characters he creates. They are always the focus of the story and you can not help but love them. The tragic knight Thomas, who has lost everything yet sit has so much to fight for, the angelic Delphine who bares the weight of the world on her 12-year-old shoulders, and the painfully human priest, Père Matthieu. The dialogue sparkles with humor and wit that, like unto King Midas, is the Beuhlman touch. The horror aspect features as a savory side dish rather than the main course. The historical time period and place set a fascinating stage for an epic journey filled with constant battles and miracles.

between2fires — The book is also available on audio! You can clean your apartment, organize files, what ever project you planned for this bonus-day-off-work, and listen at the same time!

Today, Hurricane Sandy has shut down NYC. Subways aren’t running, schools and businesses closed. The streets are deserted. Halloween is mere days away. If there was ever a perfect day to sit indoors with a mug of tea and a good book, this is it. Allow me to whole-heartedly recommend Between Two Fires. You can buy it right this second for your e-reader, no need to venture out into the storm. The howling wind and rain outside will provide a perfect soundtrack. You may get so sucked in that by the time you lift your nose from the page, the skies will have cleared. Find it here on Amazon where you can get a sizable preview of this well-crafted novel.

Stay safe and warm, everyone!

October 26, 2012October 23, 2014

Other NYCs: High Status of Jesterevolution

While working a summer theatre gig at a Renaissance faire, “status” was something we spent a lot of time drilling into our characters. The queen has the highest status, a beggar may have the lowest. Status dictates how all the characters treat and view each other. This character device is one you will touch on in any theatre class: it is intrinsically shown in classic theatre from ancient Greek to Commedia dell’arte to Shakespeare. As theatre reflects life and all the world’s a stage, if you are looking for it, you can easily see the “status” of people in your life. My friend Matt is one of those people who commands high status, just through his very being.

He doesn’t have a high-power job, he doesn’t wear expensive clothes, there’s just something about him demands instant respect. When I first met Matt, oh hell was I intimidated. Take-me-back-to-my-mousey-wallflower-self intimidated. And even once I got to know him, there’s still some level of that. When he complements you or laughs at one of your jokes, you feel like you really earned it. When Matt told me he liked my blog, I felt pretty damn proud. Then, of course, I said “I would LOVE to feature you in it!” So here we are. This week’s featured Other New York cliché, is my dear friend Matt. Also known as Jesterevolution. Intense (as you’ll see in pictures), incredibly talented, fiercely loyal, and frankly inspirational. Take the (metaphorical) mic, Matt.

Name/prefered pseudonym: Matt Harvey/Jesterevolution

Borough and neighborhood: Harlem/ Hamilton Heights

How are you a New York cliché? I’m a multi-craft artist surviving on the shoe string provided by my day job, and the love and support of my NYC family.

The man does not smile in pictures! No wonder I was intimidated, right? There’s a sweetheart under that mug too. But that’s more Matt than Jesterevolution.

They say no one who lives in New York is actually from New York. Where are you from? I’m actually from New York…State. I grew up in Schenectady, NY . Same state; different universe.

Bloomberg is banishing you from NYC. You have 24 hours before you have to pack up and leave for ever. How do you spend them? I start with a Coney Island sunrise, standing on a jetty I’m not supposed to be standing on, with close friends and a bottle of Jack Daniels. Then I get a bagel from literally any bagel spot in eye shot. I’d take the train back up to Midtown and walk across Central Park to the Museum of Natural History. Once in the museum I’d hit the whale room, the dinosaurs, and the monolith from Easter Island. I’d promptly get to Shake Shack for a double shack burger and soda. I’d meet up with my buddy Jake to do a quick set in the subway and then head over to Union Square. I’d hit up the Strand and grab an 80’s milkshake from Max Brenner. While consuming the delicious milkshake I’d ride the 6 train past the Brooklyn bridge so I could see the City Hall stop that I’ve been meaning to see for four years.

Then I’d switch to the N,Q,R and go to the MoMA to run through floors 4 and 5 [the permanent collection] taking an extra couple of minutes to stare at Starry Night before exiting the building. I’d take a nap on the train ride back up to 145^th st. and walk down to Riverside park. I’d look across the water and yell “I did it!”. A quick stop at Nadal for a sandwich and then, I would then head home to “The Bunker”. That’s what me and my roommates (and all our friends) affectionately call our basement level apartment. There I’d set up the stage for a final performance in my living room surrounded my people. I’d perform a set and then dance and drink the night away with true Bunker Boy style. I’d leave behind only the paper on my wall that states simply “Be Legendary”.

The average New Yorker has fallen asleep on the subway. Matt’s so productive, he schedules subway naps.

What restaurant/bar you keep going back to, even though you’ve been meaning to try a dozen others? Oddly enough, my bodega. It’s called Nadal 2 and I’ve yet to find something more satisfying than a sandwich from that place.

So you live in NYC, but what’s one super-touristy thing you secretly love? Museums. I LOVE museums.

Ever had a run-in with a celebrity (A-D List)? I’ve actually had tons. I knew I’d become a true New Yorker when I was flirting with Gwyneth Paltrow over Dark Chocolate covered sea salted caramels like she was some ordinary lady…because she IS.

You totally saw something weird on the subway or street today (you may not have registered it was weird because you are jaded), what did you see? The mariachi band. Additionally, they irritate me.

mattumbrella — Every New Yorker has experienced sad, sad umbrella failure. With this “Frankenstorm” approaching, prepare for them all to turn inside out.

What is your favorite fictionalized New York? How does it compare with reality? I think most of the fictionalized New York’s are pretty spot on. It just depends on the lens. Like, Spike Lee’s New York, is the same as Woody Allen’s but they see it differently so it seems different. My favorite lens of New York is Ghostbusters. I really do appreciate that we are all each other’s a**hole and if the going got tough, New Yorkers would fight for each other and not against each other.

Plug something! Be it something you are involved in, your significant other/roommate/cat is involved in, or just something you think is extra-special going on in NYC. I have so many things! I’d like to plug first [By The Mummers]; we’re currently on hiatus but we’ll be back at some point. Secondly I’d like to plug my music; Jesterevolution is my artist name and I’m currently crafting an album with my good friend Ivan Ooze. There is a single available on iTunes called “White Boy Wasted” that I’ve released independently. Finally, there is the Bunker Boys/ Boom Collective; we say yes when others would say no and awesome happens because of it. New York is an amazing place to create your own opportunities. Make it happen!

Thanks, Matt, for being an awesome Other NYCs feature! We’re Hamilton Heights neighbors now, I want my first sandwich from Nadal to be purchased and eaten with you. Deal?

What do you think of this series? Love it so much you want featured? Fabulous! Email NewYorkCliche@yahoo.com.

October 25, 2012October 23, 2014

It’s Not Whether You Win or Lose, It’s How You Watch the Game

We sat sandwiched on the futon, our eyes reflecting the images of balls and men throwing themselves on top of other men. “I have never seen you have this little interest in anything before,” Walter said, prying his eyes away from the large flat screen to face me. The wall of boredom lifted from my face for a moment as I smiled, my mind searching for a witty reply: Yeah, and you’ve seen me watch paint dry! or Yeah, and we’ve watched the grass grow together! Instead of spouting clichés, I merely laughed, “It’s true!”

I was duped, lead to Walter’s apartment under false pretenses: Our mutual friend from out of town, John, is visiting! We have beer! Come hang out! I’d just worked a ten-hour day of non-stop geek-madness at New York ComicCon. I wasn’t thinking straight. My only break consumed by a mad dash to the bank to procure a cashier’s check to secure the application for our dream apartment. Beer and friends sounded like the perfect end to a long, stressful day. It never crossed my mind that “hanging out” with John and Walter meant “watching football.” How naive I was, so naive.

But so was Walter. Sweet, naive Walter. Silly boy for thinking I would be someone anyone would ever want to watch football with:
Egh, some of these guys are really chunky. The outfits are so not flattering for tubbos. That quarterback might be cute though. With the tight pants you’d think we’d see cute butts! What? It’s butt padding? What a waste. Come on, real men should risk a broken tail bone to give the ladies something to watch! When did it become a trend for everyone to have long hair? It looks stupid peeking out from the helmets. It’s only the 3rd inning? Football seconds are the longest seconds in the history of time! You realize the intense homoeroticism of grown men grabbing and throwing each other to the floor, right?

That’s just a taste of the experience of watching football with me.

As I’ve mentioned before, and now made even more obvious, I am not a sports person. At all. Pick-up games of kick ball in the parking lot of my summer theater job, each team comprised entirely of actors, using collapsed beer cases as bases- that’s the most organized sport I’ve ever played. I’ve never understood football and have little desire to change that. I can count the number of sporting events I’ve ever attended on one hand. Walter let out numerous whoops, groans, and cheers as he sat beside me, riveted to the game. I was confounded: Why do you care so much? I’ve never understood sports fans.

Until this past week.

Anyone who knows me, even just by being a some-time reader of my blog, knows I hail from the heart of San Francisco. I have an intense pride for my home town, to the point of occasionally wearing flowers in my hair. So when my Facebook wall exploded with status updates that my home team, the San Francisco Giants, were in the play-offs, I found myself caring about sports. I wanted them to go all the way. I went so far as to go to a bar and watch the final 2 innings (still don’t care enough to watch a whole game) of Game 6.

Surprisingly, I do own Giants paraphernalia- an SF Giants baseball cap I purchased at Goodwill for $4 (and then washed of course!) years ago. I can count the times I’ve worn it on one hand and I’m not gonna lie, the Giants’ fanatic I was dating at the time influenced my purchase. The day of the final playoff, make-or-break Game 7, I made a decision that defied all New York cliché fashion: I wore my baseball cap outside of Yankee Stadium and not while working out.

With the black and orange hat (festive for Halloween bonus!) on my head, I suddenly had a context to strangers. I have never had so many normal guys strike up conversations with me. Most of which died with my acute honesty: “You a big fan?” he’d ask. “No. I’m big fan of the city.” I’d reply. I caught a man wearing a St. Louis Cardinals hat glaring at my embroidered “SF”. We made eye contact and he smiled sheepishly. No bad blood, no Yankees-Red Sox insanity. A brief moment of connection with a stranger, it made me smile too.

Community- that’s the thing about sports I never before understood or experienced. Uniting under a common cause, all rooting for the same goal. Fueled by beer, a backdrop of green grass. Before I thought it was just a game. Now I understand how it’s so much more. I already have plans to watch Game 4 (still don’t quite care enough to watch the whole series) with as many of my San Francisco friends as I can gather in this city. Maybe come February, if the 49ers are in the Superbowl, I might just start caring about football. Walter, don’t get too excited.