Tag: NYC

The Heiress

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Washington Square is a character in The Heiress.
Washington Square is a character in The Heiress.

In New York, it’s always about the real estate. The dude from Downton Abbey still coveted a spot on Washington Park North.

Even in 1880, when Henry James wrote Washington Square, the story upon which The Heiress is based, the gentleman caller loved Catherine Sloper for her Greenwich Village real estate, 16 Washington Square.

I love the story of The Heiress and oh, all right, I love all girl/women empowerment stories! I took a seminar about Henry James in college. In one of his prefaces, James wrote that it was far better for an artist to never marry so that the artist could focus on his or her art, sublimating sexual urges for creative ones.

I wrote about this in another blog post: Work pays better than marriage.

James never married and was incredibly prolific — coincidence? ….He thought marriage was deadly to artists, particularly writers.

I love the fierce independence, social awkwardness and artistic drive of Catherine Sloper, our hero.

The acting in this production of The Heiress was awesome. When I saw it Tuesday night, I kept thinking, ‘Man, that Jessica Chastain can act! She looks nothing like the CIA agent she played in Zero Dark Thirty,’ which I had just seen the day before. (Zero Dark Thirty was wonderful, too, in terms of fricken’ amazing women who can do so much with tenacity and surveillance, much more effective war-time tools than torture!)

‘Chastain’s a great actress,’ I thought. ‘Great actors can make themselves look so completely different.’ After the show, my husband informed me that the understudy, Mairin Lee, had gone on for Chastain that night. Wow! I’ve got to read the playbill before the show apparently! I did not know that.

In 1995, I saw this show with Cherry Jones and Michael Cumpsty (love them!). What I remember from that performance is how Jones sat alone at the end, completely satisfied and completely alone.

As we left the theater, I told my husband, ‘Even if Catherine had hooked up with the dude from Downtown Abbey and the marriage didn’t work out because he might’ve just loved her only for her apartment, she still might’ve gotten some awesome children out of the marriage. And that would be wonderful. That is wonderful.”

curtainI saw this show with a cool bunch of fashion, mommy and travel bloggers and before the show, we had pizza and schmoozed at John’s Pizza on 44th Street. Yummy. (Disclosure: I wasn’t paid to write this post, but was given the ticket and dinner.)

The real estate on Washington Park is not permanent. You only get to live there a little while on 48th street. (The show runs until February 10th.)

Even briefly, you can join Dan Stevens of Downton Abbey and Jessica Chastain (or her replacement) and live like Catherine Sloper.

Sure, you may be plain and witless, but you get a glorious, delicious home and hot guys itching to marry you.

Just remember James’s word to the wise: marriage may derail your creativity.

For more info, visit www.TheHeiressOnBroadway.com
The Heiress on Twitter: @TheHeiressBway and Facebook 

Thanks for the ticket, Mama Drama.

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Voting in New York City

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by the people, for the people

Anti-government people, you must remember that government is by the people and for the people. So if you’re anti-government, you’re anti-people.

Democracy is a beautiful and messy thing. But it is our best mess, way better than a crappy monarchy. (I really can’t stand how infatuated the world is with the spoiled and inbred English monarchy. People, that’s why we revolted! In the U.S., no one is born superior or more royal. We are a country of equals.)

Waiting in line to vote.

Yesterday I stood in line for two hours and fifteen minutes to vote in a part of the country that pundits and politicians are quick to write off. I wasn’t alone. Millions voted. It was our right. And we made a difference.

What talking heads say on the perpetual news channels matters not one iota, compared to how simply and elegantly my single vote matters. Your vote matters. Every vote matters.

Tight quarters as we waited to vote in NYC, but the people in line with me were even-tempered.

Many voters in line with me were old and in wheelchairs. Many carried books. Some carried dogs or babies. One guy talked to another about Bikram yoga. I talked to the science teacher ahead of me about teaching middle school kids.

Another voter complimented our over-worked poll worker’s equanimity. Yes, there were some crabby people too, but they were a minority. And negative people, overall, lost to optimistic people last night.

In an age of increasing distrust and cynicism over big and traditional institutions, like banks, universities, political parties, religions, we have to return to trust and optimism in the value and ideals upon which this country is based, our simple, elegant, democratic truth: that all are created equal.

And as we treat one another equally and make a positive difference close to home, our small actions ripple to impact this vast country.

This election reminded me to love my neighbors, even the crabby ones, and to love my community and my country (and your country) − this messy and beautiful democracy.

the shining city upon a hill.

Remember Abraham Lincoln’s conclusion to the Gettysburg Address:

…that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

 

Fleet Week

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I feel sorry for all the sailors dropping anchor in New York City’s harbor for Fleet Week this year. They’ve hardly had one sunny afternoon with all this rain.

But let’s face it, the sailors look for sunshine at the piano bars after dark in Manhattan during Fleet Week. That’s when the men and women in their crisp white uniforms laugh and smile and sing.

If you’re a New Yorker long enough, you know where to find the sailors. They flock to Marie’s Crisis and Don’t Tell Mama’s. As well they should. No more fun can be found on land nor sea than singing show tunes in New York’s cabaret scene after hours. I think my workplace chums are planning to go out and sing with the sailors tonite!

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New York Is Beautiful

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It’s true that New York is beautiful. Every night, we have an incredibly sunset. This is my view of the West Side Highway.

The sunset was especially lovely.

But today’s bill at the gas pump was not so pretty. WTH! (This is the MOST I have ever paid for gas!)

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Angels on the Tree

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the tree in our lobby

When my twin girls were in the nursery school at the YMCA, we received a small scholarship for having two enrolled at the same time —  it was something like $11,000 per child instead of $12,000.

We loved the Y. The girls had a great time going to school and learning to play. And we remain great friends with families from that class.

Around this time of year, the preschool staff put up a Christmas tree where you could pluck a paper angel off the tree and buy a present for a needy family. Feeling quite charitable, I went to pick an angel. And there hanging on a paper angel was my family’s name and the ages of my kids — for everyone to see. I grabbed the angel. I waltzed into the office.

“I don’t want anyone to think of us as needy,” I told S., the school director. I felt so ashamed. Seeing our name on the tree made me rethink my attitude towards my family and myself.

Me? I am the giver and the do-gooder, not the recipient of charity and generic toys. S. apologized. She said that all families that received scholarships were on the tree, but they would take those angels off.

So I remember this experience every year around this time. I felt shame when I was perceived as needy. And I don’t think most families are thrilled to be hanging on a Christmas tree. Sure, I would’ve gotten some free presents, and being cheap, that’s sort of appealing. But I would’ve had to pay with my pride. That’s expensive.

It was made worse because people knew us. I worried that if my angel stayed on the tree, we would become social pariahs. We would not be considered equal to other families. We would be helped, but we would be looked down upon.

One deadly sin in this society is to be a charity case. Families like ours have plenty of needs, but please don’t cross the line and consider us needy.

Woken in the Night by Neighbors

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Where the party was.

I woke last night at 1 am and then again at 2:30 am because of shouting on the street.

Due to some massive and elaborate scaffolding outside my window — another city hazard — I couldn’t see what was going on, so I crept towards my front door.

My husband was asleep on the couch. He often falls asleep in front of the TV (Parkinsons!) So without back up, I headed across the lobby in my barefeet and pajamas (PJ bottoms and a red tee shirt from the Rethink Church campaign emblazoned with the message, “Impact the Community”).

One of the doormen, E., appeared at my side. Doormen are great back up!

E. said he’d already called the cops once.

It was a drunken party on a stoop across the street.

“Guys,” I yelled, because there were about 12 guys shouting and one woman in a red dress shushing.

“C’mon, keep it down,” I yelled. “We have kids sleeping around here,” I said that. I did. I played the “kids’ sleeping here” card.

E. told me, “A group of people, led by the woman in the red dress, got out of a Columbia University ambulance. They were honking and yelling and left the flashers on in front of the building.” That must’ve been my 1 am wake up call.

We turned to go. The guys grumbled, but began to disperse.

One ran across the street to catch me.

partygoer attacked the pillar on the stoop

His eyes were glassy. “I was having a party and my friends started destroying the pillar on the steps.” He wanted sympathy. I did too.

“Okay…Be neighborly,” I said. “Quiet the party down. People are sleeping.” I’m a huge fan of sleep (and I’ve written about Mommy Needs Sleep.)

If you live in the country, the sounds of nature, like dogs and birds, may wake you, but here in the city, it’s laughter, yammering, stolen ambulances and vandalism.

To cover your back you need back up.

I woke last night to the sound of thunder. How far off I sat and wondered – Bob Seger

Harry Potter Line Up

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image

On the way back from a mani-pedi and on the way to pick up the girls from Monte Carlo (the movie), I noticed our neighbor was waiting in line for Harry Potter (the movie).

She’d gotten there at 5 and the movie starts at midnight. It looked like a fun, festive scene. But I’m glad I’m in bed and not waiting in line for two more hours.

“It’s going to be amaaaaaazing,” our neighbor said.

“Yes,” I said. “It will be.”

Flowers in Riverside Park

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Sometimes I don’t really feel like getting going in the morning. I’m in a groove with my writing and I don’t feel like waking the kids or setting their cereal on the kitchen table (I know, I know, they’re spoiled and they should do that themselves).

To cheer myself up, I think, “Hey, you’ll get to ride past the flowers in Riverside Park.”

There is no garden lovelier. It was the backdrop for the reunion scene in the movie, You’ve Got Mail.

When they were making that movie, I rode by on my bike. I stopped to watch them set up the shot. They were adding fake flowers throughout the garden. They were covering up the vents.

I chatted with the designer who was dressing the garden.

“Why are you adding more to the garden? It’s so lush.”

The designer agreed, “But we have to because we want things to be blooming in there that wouldn’t be blooming in there all together this time of year.”

That’s Hollywood for you, messing with nature.
When the movie came out, the garden did look good. Almost as good as it looked today.

Big Flowers on Park Avenue

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We were heading to the North Meadow in Central Park to watch a Little League game. The North Meadow is an oasis where white-petaled trees grow out of Ice Age rocks.
We saw these whimsical sculptures in the middle of Park Avenue.
It was hard to get a good picture from the cab window. I said to the girls, "That's New York for you. Look around you. Something new and beautiful every day."

Light at the End of the Tunnel

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I am standing waiting for the subway.
As if by magic, the subway light appears, filling the tunnel. Every morning.