Talk is Cheap, Listening is Free

“Yes! And..” This is the first rule of improvisation. You accept your scene partner’s offer (for example: We’re bloggers updating our blog!) and build on it (Yes! And if we don’t post by the end of the day, New York City will collapse!) It’s teamwork, crucial to trusting your partner, and as long as you Yes! And.. your scene won’t suck.

Sounds easy enough. The problem is, especially as New Yorkers, we have the opposite utterly engrained in us: “No! Fuck off!” If we Yes! Anded the world, we would be conned, abused, and likely sold into human trafficking. Yes, but the concept of being open to saying yes isn’t a bad one, as long as you combine it with a healthy dose of street smarts. At the least you’ll end up with a better attitude. You may even end up with the prospect of a date and something remarkable to write about in your blog. Of course I speak from experience.

I was walking home through Central Park when I saw something out of the ordinary from all those other sitting in the park in the beautiful spring weather.

He was a friendly looking guy seated by a cardboard sign with the words “Free Listening” drawn on it. I couldn’t help but smile. We exchanged “Hellos” as I walked by him. I got about 10 yards before I stopped dead in my tracks. “You can’t just walk by a sign like that!” I thought to myself. “Yes! And.. I will turn around, talk to a stranger, and see what he’s about.”

“Well you caught my curiosity. I didn’t get too far. This is my double-take.” I said to the guy with the sign.

“Glad I caught your attention,” he smiled, “Thanks for stopping.” He was younger than me, likely still in school (yes, I learned, and he’s studying nutrition not psychology.) Growing up in San Francisco and going to a small liberal arts college in Massachusetts, I have seen a lot of people with signs. Many of these sign holders are attention seeking: annoying at best, dangerous at worst, even if their sign is for a good cause. The sign holder seated in front of me was quite the opposite: calm, unthreatening, his demeanor inviting.

“So what’s this about?” I asked, an entirely unoriginal question, one he was asked no less than four times in the moments I stood talking to him. He just decided one day to sit in Central Park and offer his ear to anyone who wanted to take it. A lot of people just want someone who will listen, he’s a good listener, he made a sign, and there you go. That’s the short of it. “Do you just listen, or do talk too?” I asked. The Listener laughed, “Sure, I talk.”

Perhaps surprising for an actress, though certainly not for a blogger, I much prefer writing down my stories to speaking them aloud. I was much more interested in hearing his story than telling him mine-I already know my stories. He tried several times to get me to a story, I mostly resisted and instead asked questions. He was quite obliging with answers.

He started sitting in the park with the sign summer 2011, really just for fun. The day I met him was the first time he’s sat in 2012. You will find him on weekends when the weather is nice. He doesn’t have a schedule, but he usually tweets his location (@thefreelistener). He generally sits by the south end of the park, he listens to a lot of runners and tourists. He’d never charge for listening. There is no “catch”. He doesn’t do it to pick up girls, to the dismay of some ladies. He’s never turned anyone down. Yes, he’s had some ranters and ravers. He listened to a guy who sat for an hour telling a string of one-liner jokes that got uncomfortably racist. Yes, he is sort of similar to the “Free Hugs” people, but he never invades personal space.

“Do you have a blog?” I asked. Of course I was thinking about blogging
“Not yet. Everyone tells me I should. I’ve been thinking about starting one.”
“You should. I’d read it. You’d have great stuff to write about. Though, I guess you couldn’t exactly blog about what people tell you. Is there listening confidentiality?”
“Haha, yes there is! That should be the fine print on my sign. Do you have a blog?”
“Yes I do,” I said, “And I’m going to write about you in it, if that’s all right.”
“Go for it. What’s your blog about?”
He had me. You want to get me to talk? Just ask me about my blog. So I told him all about New York Cliché. He wrote down the URL and promised to check it out. I promised to follow him on Twitter.

We kept out promises.

Followed later by:

Newyorkcliche.com, inspiring bloggers (maybe just one) since April 8th.

I haven’t even reached the best part of this story. Stay tuned.

Next Post: Talk is Cheap, Listening is Free, Good Vibes are Priceless

Easter Flowers All Around NYC

Easter: a holiday I don’t really know what to do with. I don’t believe in Jesus, I don’t have kids. Since my first Easter away from home, it’s been a day where I feel like I should do something, but I don’t really know what.

The Easters of my youth were classic: dying eggs, a basket from the Easter Bunny, egg hunts, church, a fancy spring dress, Easter dinner with roast beef. In college, most Easters were spent rehearsing for plays, which always opened around beginning-mid April. The most I celebrated was by giving up something for Lent. Not for religious reasons, but to see if I could handle the challenge. I successful refrained from meat, corn syrup, eating outside the meal plan, each for a string of 40 days. Last year I went to a Passover Seder. This year, I’ve decided to celebrate spring. That’s something I can fully get behind. It’s a glorious day and there are flowers everywhere.

plumblossoms — Cherry blossoms on Fifth Avenue

tulps&purple — Tulips and street art on Park Avenue

tulpsntree — Tulips in Washington Square Park

meshadowtulps — Tulips and my shadow: am I making a peace sign or a bunny shadow puppet? Your call!

Can you tell tulips are my favorite (gentlemen callers, take note)? Now I’m off to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Happy Easter! How do you celebrate?

April 5, 2012May 26, 2016

A 20-Something in a Toy Store

FAO Schwarz. A place where dreams come true. Second only to Disneyland. Immortalized by Tom Hanks in the movie “Big”. A New York cliché.

This childhood mecca is directly across the street from the building where I am temping all week. Ah temping, almost as cliché as waitressing. Every day I have a mandated hour-long lunch break that I don’t quite know what to do with; it never takes me an hour to eat lunch. The gorgeous weather of last week has cooled to typical early spring weather: chilly, windy, April showers. Not wanting to stay in the office but seeking refuge from the outdoors, I found myself wandering around the legendary toy store.

I thought perhaps “Visit FAO Schwarz” would be number four on my list of “Ways to Feel Like a Kid Again“. Turns out, this couldn’t be farther from the truth. It might, in fact, be number one on the list of “Ways to Feel Ancient at Age 25”. I wandered the aisles all but muttering to myself these choice clichés: Back in my day… Little hooligans! Kids these days! You want to cry? I’ll give you something to cry about!

I have yet to be bit by the baby bug (as I’ve mentioned before.) However, I am no longer adamantly anti-kids. Two of my favorite blogs, Fraught and NYC Taught Me (recent discovery, her photography is fantastic) actually make motherhood look pretty fun. I sometimes wonder how I’ll know I really want kids. This week I figured it out. When I go to FAO Schwarz and am not over come with the urge to smack every child in the store, that’s when I’ll be ready. Presently, that day seems miles away. I would never actually hit a child, but simply overhearing all the whining around me drove my patience. FAO Schwarz: my new birth-control.

But in the end, it’s still a toy store. It’s fun, even at my advanced age. I should’ve just worn earplugs (help me, I’m turning into my mother). FAO Schwarz is celebrating its 150 anniversary this year. It hasn’t been around that long for nothing. In celebration of the milestone, they have exhibits through-out the store displaying old toys from their history. You can buy toys and learn some history at the same time!

FAO Schwarz barbie — Who knew Barbie’s middle name was Millicent! Think she’s embarrassed?

FAO Schwarz mr. potato head — Mr. Potato Head has certainly evolved from his original prototype. They certainly took “Potato” literally for a while.

FAO Schwarz legos — LEGOs have come a long way too. They were never my favorite as a kid, but put me in front of LEGOs now and I am sure I would play with them.

FAO Schwarz teddy bear — Teddy’s haven’t changed much in 100 years. Bear cute-ness appears timeless.

Did you learn something? Were you quiet and well-behaved? No crying/whining? I’m so proud of you! Since you were so good, I’ll let you pick a toy!

Would you like a train set? Classic and timeless. Oh, you think it’s old-fashioned and boring? You wish it was Thomas the Tank Engine? Remember, no whining or we’re leaving. Let’s look for something else.

Oh look! How about a puppy that’s almost the size of my apartment? You’re afraid it would crush you and you’d suffocate to death under it? Me too. Moving on…

Who doesn’t want a $1,500 jewel encrusted Etch-A-Sketch? Perfect! What? It’s the most frivolous thing you’ve ever seen? You’d rather have an iPad? My, my, aren’t we practical.

Ooo, it’s a life-sized goat! Did you know I directed a play in college called “The Goat or Who is Sylvia”? Did you know one of the props I needed was life-like goat carcass and I actually considered buying the very goat you see here? Too bad $349 was approximately the budget for the entire show. What’s that? Its utters kind of freak you out? Tough customer!

Wow! Look over here! You can design your own muppet! Now that’s cool. You get to pick its color, eyes, hairstyle, outfit, everything! How neat, your very own, original muppet! What do you do with it? Well…uhh…you could do some sort of street performance with it. No? But you’re interested in other job options? Let’s see…

Here we go! You could be the doorman, constantly posing for photos! I thought the men who wear those hats aren’t suppose to smile…

Or you could be Spiderman! How cool is he? No one can tell if he’s smiling behind the mask! Oh, you’re not a man? Me neither…hmm…we seem to like our gender roles here, but maybe we can find something…

Yes! You can work in the baby doll nursery! Wow, I bet this woman hates kids at the end of the day. Also, I bet one jewel-encrusted Etch-A-Sketch she’s a strugging actor, like me!

Uh oh. My lunch break is almost over! Awww, I have to go back to my temp job. Look, you can see the office out the window, as well as the reflection of the LEGO section!

Before we go, you have to take a spin on the Big Piano. It completes the FAO experience. Did you have fun?

When was the last time you were in a toy store? Ever been to FAO Schwarz? If you’re a parent, how do you handle toy stores?

March 29, 2012May 26, 2016

A Date with My Elementary School Nemesis: Running Uphill

I know I will never be a kid again, I’m no Benjamin Button, but I have discovered a few ways to feel like a kid again.

See the Wednesday matinée of any Broadway show (excluding Book of Mormon). Sit in the orchestra. Notice that 90% of the audience is well past retirement age. No one can feel old in this audience. If you are 20-something, you feel like a child.
Order something from an ice cream truck. Something with rainbow sprinkles, strawberry flavored, in a novelty shape, or all of the above. Walk down the street eating it. Focus on how good it tastes, not the looks strangers are giving you or the fact you will probably get some on your shirt.
Go on a date with your Elementary School Nemesis.

elementaryschool — This is an actual picture of my second grade class! I believe it is the only picture that exists (on the internet anyway) of me and my Elementary School Nemesis. Taken almost two decades prior to our date.

We had a lot of ground to cover, both literally and metaphorically. It was the first day of my visit to San Francisco, his last. Both of us hungry to take in our home town, the city where we had both been born and raised. But first we were just hungry. So we headed down the hill to North Beach, San Francisco’s “Little Italy”.

As with any trip in a city of your past, our walk was full of reminiscences and memories. “Hey, that’s the tree where I saw my beloved pet parakeet for the last time”, and “See? That park is where I broke my arm 3 times” (he spent most of third grade with his arm in a cast. I never signed it.) More fun however, were the things we remembered from our mutual past in elementary school.

“I remember a poem you wrote about bees.” I said.
He laughed, “How the hell do you remember that? I don’t remember that at all.”
“I remember because the teacher read it out loud to the class instead of my poem. I was way jealous.”
He laughed again, even harder, “Of course you remember that.” He grinned and took my hand.
I smiled, “I never expected that story would make you want hold my hand.”

“Do you remember that Russian kid, Victor? In second grade?”
“Yeah, I think so, why?” I replied.
“That kid could barely speak any English but man, he was good at math.”
“That’s a random thing to remember.”
“Well, I copied off all his tests.”
“You didn’t!”
“Yeah I did!”
“Aw man, I wish I’d known that.”
“Why?”
“Because I so would have told on you.” I said and we both burst out laughing. It was too true. He squeezed my hand. There we were, holding hands: the little poet who cheated on tests and the little tattle-tale who wanted everything she did to be the best in the class.

“When I mentioned to my mother I was seeing you, she said, ‘Why? So you can push her in a mud puddle?'”
“You better not!” I cried, surveying the bone-dry ground for possible traps.
“I think you’re safe…for now,” he said. It was funny, we still pushed each other’s buttons (to use the cliché) like we had all through elementary school. The big difference was now there was chemistry, the pushing was blatantly flirtatious.

We ate lunch at a little café with drawings all over the walls. After a thoroughly satisfying pasta, we wandered around North Beach. Passing Washington Square Park (yes, there are parks with this name in both San Francisco and New York), Nemesis sighed, “Man, I wish I had my frisbee!”
“How SoCal of you,” I teased, “You wanna kick off your shoes? Toss a frisbee around the grass? Smoke some grass?” I’ve lived in NYC long enough to make fun of Californians, even though I’ll always be a proud native of the Golden State. “I’m so glad you don’t have your frisbee. I beyond suck at frisbee.” See? I still talk like a Californian. But I play frisbee like a New Yorker.

The way back to his car was, of course, several blocks up hill. We were tired by the last block, the steepest so far. “Oh these hills!” I said, “Gotta love them.”
“I’m going to kick this hill ass,” Nemesis announced and then began running up the incline. I giggled like a kid and chased after him.
I didn’t have a hope of catching him, “This isn’t fair! You had a head start! I haven’t been through basic training! Your legs are half a foot longer than mine!” I wheezed. He stopped and waited for me, grinning. No sooner did I reach him then I saw something, and started running again.

Near the top of the hill there was a Christmas tree placed by the curb, waiting for trash collection (this dates my story and forces me to reveal this all happened months ago, in January.) On top of the tree was a Christmas wreath. When I saw that wreath I couldn’t resist. It was the perfect shape. I ran to grab it. Holding it triumphantly in my hands I yelled to Nemesis, “Look, it’s your frisbee! Here, catch!” I said, and chucked it towards the ground by his feet. He covered his face, afraid I would hit him. “What! You think I would throw it at your head? Who do you think I am?!”
“I don’t know! You said you were bad at frisbee!”
Then we were both laughing and a moment later we were kissing. Nemesis and Cliché standing by a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

[Want more on Nemesis? See my previous posts: A Date with My Elementary School Nemesis: “Backgro und” and “He’s in the Navy“]

March 26, 2012April 29, 2016

The Sky is Gray So Color My Face. Holi Hai!

I celebrate the arrival of spring with picnics, walks in the park, and blasting “Good Day Sunshine” as I pack away heavy sweaters to make room for sundresses in my closet. This is pretty standard for women in my age bracket in New York City. We celebrate spring with an iced coffee in hand, displaying freshly manicured toes, as we walk our winter coats to the dry cleaner.

All over the world people are celebrating the turn of the season. Some by hiding colorful eggs, others by eating bitter herbs, others by throwing colorful powder in each other’s faces.

The thought of having anything thrown at your face may make you cringe, but as I learned yesterday, it’s much more fun than it initially sounds.

Yesterday I found myself at NYC Bhangra’s Holi Hai festival. This Hindu celebration of spring has a religious aspect to it, but like an Easter egg hunt, that was not the focus of this festival. As I learned from Wikipedia (excuse my source) traditional Holi allowed for a loosening of rigid social structures. A joyous day where all people (men, women, rich, poor) enjoy the presence of each other and “no one expects polite behavior” (yes, I’m quoting Wikipedia). A main tradition of the festival involves colored powders, representing the return of color to the natural world. These are thrown in the air and smeared on people’s faces for good luck. The result is a colorful, messy, mad scene.

celebrating_Holi,_c1788 — It’s a tradition that has been carried on for centuries, as you can see in this 1788 painting (image courtesy Wikipedia).

At first I tried to resist the colors. I was working a promotion. I was wearing my roommate’s new blazer. I hadn’t planned on getting messy. That didn’t last long. One of the guys walking around with a tray of colors came up to me and said “Happy Holi!”, dipped his hand in color, and brought it to my face. I let him.

color tray — These guys let me take their picture, but I paid a price: smears of green and pink on my forehead. Worth it.

Normally a stranger coming up to me and smearing sh*t on my face would send me into a fit of rage. But with the positive energy of the festival, the feeling of excitement, the togetherness with strangers who would normally avoid eye contact, how could I not participate? No one gets more excited about the return of color than me. Besides, as the cliché goes, “When in Rome…”

I was not alone in this experience, by 4PM it was a rare face that was not coated in color.

And it wasn’t just young people either. There was good diversity, both of age and ethnicity.

Fabulous ladies and plenty of families.

There was lots of music, dancing, and food.

These tiny dancers were adorable and did a very good job with their performance. I bet that’s where these lovely ladies got their start!

An incredibly fun festival. The perfect day to inject with color: it overcast and cloudy, the first gray day New York had seen all week. I wish every cloudy day we could throw color at things!

I left the festival with a big smile on my face. It only grew bigger as I walked home and noticed how many people were staring at me. I had color smeared all over my face! Some of them were jealous, some of them thought I was crazy. If you saw me, or any one else with a colorful face yesterday, now you know why!

Happy Holi!

I love learning how other people celebrate spring! What about you? How do you celebrate the season?

March 23, 2012March 30, 2017

Spring is Here! Take a Walk in Central Park

There is a tangible energy change on the city streets. The sentiment of “I’m cranky, cold, and you’re in my way” that has been emanating, all winter long, from those I share the sidewalks with is gone. Now there’s a smile on everyone’s face, or at least a twinkle in their eye, and an overwhelming feeling of, “I’m just happy to be alive and outside!” You might think they put Paxil in the water. It’s amazing what some sunshine can do.

The city is nothing short of glorious. The weather sunny mid 70s. Everything is green, apart from the brilliant blue sky and the colorful flowers that are blooming everywhere.

Yesterday was the warmest day yet, anyone short of the undead wanted to spend as much time as possible outside. I took full advantage of my unconventional work schedule, complete with a picnic lunch and a leisurely walk through Central Park. It was a truly fantastic day. If you are sitting at a computer right now, don’t fret.

Pretend you’re walking with me through spring in Central Park!

Follow me!

You know it’s spring when water returns to this pond- don’t fall in!

Notice the sidewalk chalk? Not my handy work but I love it.

Up the stairs and under these incredible blossoms! Can you even believe how perfect they are?

New York City’s very own castle. This walk just got more magical.

I’m positively skipping and jumping for joy. Spring is here!!

Happy Spring everyone! Hope the weather is as lovely where you are and you can make the most of it this weekend!

March 20, 2012October 23, 2014

The Good Part of a Classy Date or Everything Happens For A Reason

The theater never starts on time. The tickets may say the show starts at 8pm, but the curtain always takes a bit longer to ascend. When I see a show I pick up my tickets at 8, get in my seat by 8:05, and I’m watching the show by 8:10. I’ve done this dozens of times, it works for me. However, a curious chain of events lead me to realize the shocking possibilities of picking up tickets early. It started with a rainy evening and an exceptionally late date. It ended with champagne and decadent desserts in a room full of world-class performers and eclectic, rich, old people.

I had been waiting in the rain for nearly 15 minutes when I finally received a text message from my date, the man whose tardy arrival was making my feet soggy. Instead of the “hey I’m here!” I was expecting, my date informed me that he was at least another 15 minutes away. “So sorry! :)” Squashing the urge to grab the next man to walk past me, shake him by the shoulders, and scream “WHY DOES YOUR GENDER SUCK!??”, I pondered what to do with the quarter-hour. “I know!” I thought to myself, “I can use this time to pick up the tickets! I’ve never picked them up early before, it will at least be a new experience. When he finally gets here we can grab dinner and won’t have to get back until 8:05!” I patted myself on the back. “Brilliant plan.”

The lobby area of the famous concert hall is warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold and wet on the opposite side of the glass doors. I fold my umbrella and felt a blast of the central heating. Ahhh. My body begins to relax from its former huddled-under-umbrella pose. This was an even better idea than I originally realized.

As I am a full hour early, no one else is picking up tickets. I waltz up to the box office window. “Hello!” I smile at the teller, my mood improving as steadily as the warmth in my hands, “I’m picking up tickets under ‘New York Cliché’, please.” The man behind the glass takes the ‘C’ envelopes and shuffles through them. “Can you repeat the name please?” “Cliché?” I reply, my up-word inflection betraying a lack of confidence. What if I got the wrong day! What if Lenny forgot to reserve tickets? I start to worry. He shuffles through them again. This time he pulls out an envelope. Phew. “Here you are,” he says, handing them to me, “8 o’clock curtain, the house should be open in about 20 minutes, and you’re invited to a champagne reception after. Enjoy the concert.”

Champagne-Reception-cropped — You know my weakness for free booze. Besides, what New York City gal doesn’t love champagne?

Champagne reception? Lenny didn’t say anything about a reception. But sure enough, tucked in the envelope, next to the tickets, is an invitation to a champagne reception, following the concert, with the conductor and performers. Wow! Apparently Lenny is an even better connection than I realized! Tickets in hand, I wait for my date inside the lobby. It’s an incredible improvement to my previous waiting-place. This along with the prospect of dinner AND a concert AND champagne and I’m almost in a good mood when my date finally arrives (total tardy time: exactly 30 minutes late). We have just enough time to grab a quick dinner. He leads me to a funny speak-easy-esque burger joint, hidden away in the lobby of a hotel where you would never find it unless your date knew exactly where to look (and he did).

We return to the venue at exactly 8pm and hustle to find our seats. Our tickets are for the lower mezzanine which turns out to be all box seating. Each box has its own area for coats and an attendant. Oh my, it is fancy. My date laments he feels under dressed. He thought a blazer would be enough, he regrets wearing jeans. I, on the other hand, feel perfectly dressed in a lovely $6-amazing-thrift-store-find dress. “This is the fanciest date I’ve ever been on,” he whispers in my ear. Yes, and I’m not sure you deserve it, I think. Guess I haven’t forgiven him for making me wait in the rain!

There is confusion when we arrive in our box. Apparently people are already seated in our seats…The ushers don’t know what to make of it. They apologize profusely and kindly ask us to wait. A well dressed woman introduces herself to us and says there’s been a “SNAFU”, duplicated tickets or something of the sort. She apologizes and tells us that there are extra seats in the conductor’s box. Would we mind terribly sitting there? My date and I look at each other in disbelief. No, no, we wouldn’t mind at all.

That is how I found myself watching an orchestra performing the works of Beethoven, Mozart, and Hayden, from the conductor’s box. The music was incredible, the sound unbelievable, the experience surreal. Even my date’s repeated dozing off couldn’t put a damper on the evening. I rather enjoyed the opportunity to slap him awake (yep, definitely haven’t forgiven him.)

After the performance, we followed the crowd to the champagne reception. It appears everyone seated in the lower mezz was invited. As we wait in line for champagne, marveling at the performance we’ve just seen, and the bizarre situation with the ticket, I check my phone for the first time in hours. There’s a text from Lenny: “The tickets are under my name” sent at 7:36 PM. That’s when it all starts coming together. The box office gave me tickets for someone else named “Cliché”! A “Cliché” who is important enough to be invited to private champagne receptions! We’re not supposed to be here! This is what happens when you pick up tickets early!

Needless to say, we didn’t leave. The people watching was too good- how do the best instrumentalists in the world take their coffee? How do old rich ladies manage to pull off gold sequined berets with magenta slacks? How can that gentleman really be wearing a full-on pirate-esque eyepatch? We spent the rest of the evening sipping champagne, eating an assortment of desserts (raspberry tarts, puddings in ceramic cups with silver spoons), and being 30 years younger everyone (and at least 30 times poorer).

ladyglam — I don’t know if I will ever be a rich old lady, but I look forward to being a fabulously eccentric old lady.

If my date had been really into me, he never would have been 30 minutes late. If my date hadn’t been 30 minutes late, I never would have picked up the tickets an hour early. If I hadn’t picked up the tickets early, I never would have picked up the other “Cliché’s” tickets by mistake. If I hadn’t picked up the other “Cliché’s” tickets, I never would have had an incredible concert from the conductor’s box nor been granted access to the as-fancy-as-it-was-exclusive champagne reception. Everything happens for a reason!

What else did I learn? Always pick up your tickets early and if he is 30 minutes late, he’s not worth your time.