Billy Elliot

Last Friday (holy crap, why am I only just now getting to writing this??), I saw the best thing on Broadway right now (with the possible exception of South Pacific). I say that with confidence even though I haven't seen everything on Broadway.

Last Friday was the annual support staff outing for the law firm. All of the partners' were out of town for their annual meeting, which meant we could go party while the associates fended for themselves! (Okay, so there were 5 staffers on, just in case). The partners generously treat all of us non-attorneys to dinner, drinks and arcade games at Dave & Busters in Times Square followed by a Broadway show. Each year there are 5 choices for shows, which we rank in order of our preferences, and preferences are recognized in order of who responds first.

Since the support staff outing was within 2 weeks of Mr.'s next shelf exam and coming along would mean violating his 2 week rule, I made plans to bring my work friend who recently left the firm to have an actual career instead. As soon as the list came out, she and I figured out our preferences. Most of my coworkers were remarking that they hoped they liked the show they were seeing. I was confident Billy Elliot would be phenomenal, and it didn't disappoint.

The opening number, admittedly, is a little weak vocally, and this is not a show you see for the brilliant singing. However, the music is catchy and enjoyable. It's hard to go wrong with Elton John (well, except he does take the melody from the bridge in 'I Dreamed a Dream' from Les Miserables and put it into 'The Letter' in this show. Oh well, it's a good melody).

The story, as those of you who saw the movie (I did not) already know, is heartwarming and perfect for the stage, despite being a little predictable. I won't go on about the plot because I'm assuming everyone knows the premise.

So yes, this production has triple-cast the physically challenging title role with three brilliant young men. I had the privilege of seeing Kiril Kulish perform the role. I was completely captivated. He totally blew me away with his dancing talent. He was performing choreography that would be impressive for an adult professional dancer. And he's barely 14. When I got home that night, I looked him up on youtube to watch his past competitions because I couldn't believe it. I also discovered a video of him playing a difficult Chopin Fantasie on the piano and became angry at myself for not being more dedicated to dance and piano when I was his age.

I realize I'm totally rambling, but go see it. Soon you will not be able to get tickets because I have a feeling it will sell out very quickly. Go. Seriously, go now. If you have any appreciation for dance whatsoever, you have to see this show.

Warehouse Galleries

The summer before I moved to New York, I would drive around my Midwestern town listening to a Lisa Loeb tape after a rough break up and dream of spending my evenings listening to singer songwriters in tiny hole-in-the-wall venues.
While I don't do that sort of thing as often as I had once dreamed, I do still enjoy those little hidden warehouse like venues and discovering emerging artists.

Last Friday, STM and I attended the menswear show for Kesh, a young British designer, held at Anonymous Gallery on the Lower East Side. The actual show started roughly 75 minutes after the scheduled time, and the other audience members were robed in all sorts of eccentric attire. Perhaps that was intentional, as Kesh's quirky men's line seemed tame in comparison.

The show, of course, lasted but a few minutes, and we went to dinner afterwards at B Bar. The atmosphere was great, and the food was alright.

Overall, an eventful Friday evening girl's night out.

911

Last night I was in the financial district for a NY Cares Day Team Leader Orientation. As I walked up Wall Street to the train back to the borough, for some reason I did what I rarely do as a New Yorker - I looked up.

When I did, I saw the image on the right and remembered the day.

September 11, 2001, I was in my AP Government Class, which, as a senior AP, was a class where the nerds could hang out and just debate each other silly. The class where, just a week prior, the faux sexist and I discussed how the Taliban was even more extreme than he would prefer.
That particular morning we were discussing vocabulary. It was a slow morning for our well-intentioned young teacher who just couldn't seem to drag answers out of us.
Then his TA, another senior, came back from the office and told us the world trade center was on fire. At first I figured it must have been some office fire that got out of control. I think many of us were just happy to stop talking vocab and turn on the news.
We then learn it was from a plane. Weird, some private pilot flew into the tall skyscrapers. Right?
Then the other plane hit. That's when we realized it was real. The school was put on lock down. Clearly Al-Qaeda wasn't going to attack us in the middle of a cornfield, but this sort of thing brings the crazies out. Everyone who ever dreamed about placing a bomb threat was now doing so, making the already chaotic day even more so.
We stayed in my AP Government class all morning, watching the news as the third plane hit the Pentagon and the fourth went down in Pennsylvania.
We watched as we learned the Taliban was likely responsible. I had known about their horrendous treatment of women, but I hadn't realized they hated us. I was pretty sheltered and unaware at that time.
Lockdown ended in time for our third period class. For me that was choir.
At that time, I had already decided I was going to try to come to New York for college. I was looking as NYU and Marymount Manhattan College, in that order. A good friend of mine in the year below me was interested in those two as well, so we had planned a college visit trip to New York with our mothers for mid-October during fall break. I saw my friend in choir. This city we had been obsessing about as we planned our visit was now under attack.
Fourth period (after lunch) there was a bomb threat, and they evacuated us to the football field.
We returned for roughly 20 minutes of fifth period, I think, and that was the end of the day.

I was glued to the news that evening. I knew it was big. I knew it was awful. But it seemed so far away. It didn't seem real.
A month later, my friend, our mothers and I made our trip, despite the gasps of shock and horror from other adults in the community that our moms weren't just flying but flying to New York with us so soon.
My friend's mom was a teacher, and her students made a sign for us to place at the site expressing their thoughts and prayers. As we walked down there we saw the roads were blocked off to cars. Pedestrian traffic only. There were fliers everywhere with pictures of missing people, posted on lamp posts like advertisements for a concert.
Throughout the visit, everyone was still talking about it. We'd walk down the street and the party behind us would mention so-and-so who lost her uncle or this person who was there. It became real.

I've spent every September 11 since in this city. As the years go on for those who were here, it becomes a more distant memory. Particularly for those who were here and were fortunate to not lose a loved one.
For me, I think it gets more real each year. First I just lived in New York. Then I lived just a 10 minute walk from the site. Now I work in a skyscraper and truly have context for who would have been there that day. 8:46 am. Janitors, security guards, receptionists. Eager young analysts and low-level professionals getting a crack on the day or still working after a long night. The old secretaries who always take the Express Bus in from an outer borough to arrive 30 minutes early every day. The guy selling donuts and newspapers. The mail guys and gals preparing for their first run of the day. Most people who are in sky scrapers at 8:46am are people who work hard, people who are responsible, people who are probably under appreciated.
It's weird to work in these buildings and think, 'What if it had been this one?'

Depending on where Mr. ends up for residency, I will probably be spending the 9th anniversary away from this city. Never fully inside but never fully outside either, I wonder what the shift will be like.

For today, though, my thoughts and prayers are with those whose loved ones were lost, for those who were here and in DC 7 years ago, and for all of us as we continue living.

Always feels like a race against father time...

...In the streets of New York.

On Monday, I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood instead of going to the gym on my lunch break.  I work in a 'shiny' area of the city, full of high end retail stores.  It's probably my favorite neighborhood of all with the crisp, clean smell that gently wafts from the doors of the high end shops, the artful ads, the smartly dressed business men and women walking in a streamline fashion.  

It's not the preferred neighborhood of most people I know, though.  You see, New York (or Manhattan specifically), is just a bunch of little neighborhoods squished together on one tiny little 34 square mile island.  There are countless names - some of them familiar, like Harlem and Times Square, some of them better known to New Yorkers, such as Murray Hill and Tribeca, and even some yet that many New  Yorker's wouldn't be able to locate on the map like Manhattan Valley or Turtle Bay.  Each has a unique personality developed through the shops, the restaurants, the real estate prices, the inhabitants, and the entertainment, just like any other town.  Except these are not towns - these are neighborhoods of sometimes only a few blocks.  So, despite this being the 'big apple', there's nothing all that terrifying about moving here from a small town.  You just need to find the neighborhood where you belong and make it yours.  The rest of the island's neighborhoods are simply like neighboring towns - great to take advantage of and visit but not necessarily home.

I had started out with a point I had wanted to make, but I like this better.  Let me just finish this off with a statistic, though, that I learned in my buying class last night:

The average 30 year old woman in Westchester County has 3.2 children.

The average 30 year old woman in Manhattan has 0.8 children.

Not surprising, but fascinating nonetheless.

Friday Night in the City

My friend from work turned in her timecard yesterday.  It's time to start her 'real job'.  While I'm sad to lose a lunch buddy, it's always reassuring to see people make it out.  That doesn't mean I hate my job.  No, quite the contrary.  I really enjoy working at the law firm...I just don't want to work there forever.  The danger of working a job that you love is that you'll do it forever and never move on to a career.  I have too much pride for that.  I love the law firm and all they've done for me, but I want to do something that I've chosen, not something that just happened to fall in my lap.

Anyway, since it was her last day, she was invited to happy hour by one of the attorneys.  Not wanting to go alone, she invited me to come with her.  I felt a little awkward wearing my rain boots, but it was happy hour, not a club, and besides I'm married, so what does it matter?  My friend also kept insisting that the boots were super cute.

We stopped off at her apartment first and ordered in Pizza 33.  Best. Pizza. Ever.  No joke.  I've been to Grimaldi's, Lombardi's, and Patsy's, and while they are all phenomenal with incredible ingredients and toppings, Pizza 33 also has delicious crust.  Seriously, go there.  Like, yesterday.

After the best pizza ever, we headed out in the sprinkling rain - you know the type that is hard enough to be annoying but not hard enough to be the jerk with umbrella? - to happy hour at Borough.  I was relieved to find a casual, chill atmosphere, and while I still felt silly wearing my rain boots, I didn't feel terribly underdressed.  I had much more fun than I expected to have.  We played some pool.  I hit about 3 balls in on purpose, all in the last game.  Unfortunately, I also scratched about 6 times.  I get the mathematics of pool, but I totally suck at the mechanics.  I ended up staying an hour later than I expected and realized I miss going out.  Not clubbing, because, in my opinion, it's not worth it in New York (too crowded and expensive), but just hanging out, playing pool, doing stuff you can't really do in our neighborhood in the Borough.  My friend, I think, felt the same way.  And since she's a granny like me who likes to go to bed at a reasonable hour, I think she'll make a good going out buddy in the future.  And I'm totally down with being her wing-woman.

On Calls and Curtain Calls

It's a quarter after midnight, and I just got home.  Mr. is not yet home.  He was on call today, and it looks like it's a late night.

As you see, it was also a late night for me, but for a much more enjoyable reason: I saw Boeing Boeing on Broadway!  Ah, the rough life of being married to a guy who's never home, always having to find ways to amuse myself...

Okay, really a sorority sister wanted to take advantage of her employer's theatre discount, so a few of us headed out after work tonight to see this brilliant comedy revival.

Boeing Boeing is about a man with 3 fiancees, all flight attendants, and the hilarity that ensues when an old friend stops by for a visit.

The show was great, but it has only a little to do with the writing and much to do with the acting, timing, and staging.  This production features respected performers Bradley Whitford, Christine Baranski, Gina Gershon, Kathryn Hahn and Mary McCormack, but the man who made the show with his deadpan delivery was Mark Rylance, playing the friend.

Far more seasoned critics have reviewed this piece, so I'm not going to do so here.  I just want to give it a thumbs up, declare it a must see, and to remind anyone who might be curious to always try to see a show with its original cast.  It truly makes a difference.

Mr.'s home now, and I'm ready for bed.  Good night!  

Black Weekend

Mr. worked every day this weekend with his on call day on Saturday, so I was left to my own devices.

On Saturday, I caught an afternoon matinee of the documentary American Teen at Sunshine Cinema on the Lower East Side with one of my sorority sisters.

First, the theatre - I've always gone to the Angelika or Quad Cinema for independent films, but Sunshine is so much better! The lobby is still quirky, giving you the full experience, but the seats are actually a) comfortable and b) above ground. Woot.

Anyway, American Teen is about a few of the high school archetypes in a small Indiana town. Having grown up in an only slightly larger Midwestern town, I was curious to see how fair the portrayal was. I suspected the stereotypes would be exaggerated, but they weren't. This was a genuine slice of life look at seniors in high school.

What I found especially interesting (and accurate to my personal experiences) was that with one exception, there was very little intermingling of the groups despite the small size of the community. While Megan, the princess, was definitely a mean girl, her victims were often within her same circle. Likewise Jake, the geek, wasn't tormented by the jocks but by a more popular band geek. It's an accurate look at the pressures your typical American teenager faces. It's definitely worth checking out if you're as fascinated by the every day as I am.

After the movie, my friend and I grabbed some coffee, then dinner. It was fun to talk about just about everything and anything. I ended up getting home around 10 that night and felt bad abandoning Mr. ... until I got back to the apartment and realized he hadn't been home yet. The only thing that sucks worse than having to work the whole weekend is having to work late on the weekend. Poor guy; welcome to medicine.

Sunday morning I finished Peony in Love, which I had started on the subway on Saturday. It's set in 17th century China and is a fictional work about actual women who had all married, and widowed, the same man.

It's well written in first person with a voice that sounds like that which you would expect from the character. Perhaps because of the setting, very different from anything I've experienced, I wasn't drawn emotionally to the story. However, I was still captivated. I simply couldn't put it down and had to know what happened next.

It kept me interested - I'd recommend it if you need something to read on a plane.

After I finished the novel, I made and ate lunch, did the dishes, went grocery shopping (which I would stop doing on Sunday afternoons if it weren't so darn convenient!), made dinner (chicken parm - shockingly easy!), did the laundry, and worked on my scrapbook.

Mr. came home and took a nap. Only 5 more days until he gets a day off.

Go Yankees!

Okay, so I'm really a Cubs fan, but since I've lived in New York for 6 years and the Cubs are in the National League while the Yankees are in the American League, I feel I'm allowed to root for the Yankees once in a while. :)

For a good part of the summer, Mr. has been watching baseball on tv (or rather, has had the tv on baseball while he studies), which has been a little less than thrilling for me.  I may have played softball for 6 years and understand the rules of baseball better than those for any other sport, but I can't watch it on tv.  It's just sooo slow.

However, I absolutely love to go to games!  Tonight we were invited to join another med school couple at the Yankees v. Twins game.  The weather was great, the game had its exciting moments, and the Yankees won.  The best part of the night, though?

Dippin' Dots!  In a Yankees cap!

There used to be a Dippin' Dots stand in the mall in my hometown, but I haven't had the delicious treat in years.  I'm not sure why ice cream is so much better when served in tiny little spheres, but it is.

Okay, okay, and while Dippin' Dots was great, the real high point of the night was getting to spend some time with the Mr., just relaxing and hanging out.  I know that these times have to be few and far between, but it's nice to know we can still have them every now and again.

Hopefully it's not unrealistic to hope for at least one baseball game per year in the future.