Proud To Be..... Free or Me?

It's gay pride week here in good old NYC but today in Brooklyn a parade past by my street and I thought 'could it be? A small gay pride march through the streets of Dyker Heights Brooklyn?'

Well, don't be fooled by the name, it's made up of over compensating macho men and loud bossy mothers, I mean women. Mostly Italian, some Greek, Jews and Irish off springs. Meaning it's a typical melting pot (of over bearing straightness and American family values). Not just on the street but in my own home. - You have me, the off spring of once Jewish immigrants from the late 1800's - who came over from Russia. You have GT, born in Greece but raised in Brooklyn and wants nothing to do with his birthplace. And living in the apartment below us is his elderly mother who is Greek and although she has lived in America for 30 something years, can't speak English. There you have my Brooklyn.

So hearing the bagpipes marching down my street I ran out excitedly hoping to see the local branch of the national Transgender Irish American League proudly portraying who they are but a lass that wasn't what I found. Only the usual off spring of once upon a time Irish or Scottish immigrants (like I know the difference by their skirts?).


The parade was made up of random clubs and groups of either boy scouts, various cars with a flag on them and some women with strollers - all toting the American flag. So, I guess it's an American Pride Parade? I'd much rather have drag queens and boys in sparkly shorts throwing out condoms and beads to the crowd, not neighbors watching their neighbors prance around with a flag - of a country we all live in - down the street.



But when I got back upstairs to excitedly tell GT about it he rolled his eyes. "You shouldn't be proud to be born somewhere," he said with disdain.
Then all the sudden a flood of American pride shot through me. "How can you of all people say that? You weren't even born here, but you're here now."

Having spent a year away from America I realized how awesome home is.

Okay, I know we have a lot of fucked up situations going on including Iraq but you know what? So do other countries. They aren't perfect at all. Not only that - their TV sucks - so why else did our forefathers come here? (if not for the TV, cheese burgers with a side of apple pie?)

The world outside our large island may care more about theater, and cultural issues, they may also speak other languages but if they had a world separated from the rest I guarantee they'd end up like us too. (I know that because we - Americans - are all bits and pieces of them!)

Not to say I think we should only speak English - in fact I hate that I can't understand other languages and that I was never really taught the truth about the world outside - but I can't blame that all on our education. If I really wanted too I could have studied on my own - but I'm American right? So I'd rather blame someone else and not do anything about it myself and I'm proud of that.

I didn't choose to be born here but my family did choose to immigrant here a few generations back because life as a Jewish person and life as a Russian wasn't particularly easy. So they gave up their home, came here so I can now sit on a leather couch and blog away on my laptop computer about how hard my life is (or isn't.) So yes, I say I am proud even though I was just born here. So what? Gay pride week is about being proud of who you are - most would say you are born gay - so I was born American. Can't I be proud too? I wasn't oppressed or anything like gays - blacks - native Americans or even middle eastern immigrants are now or other Jews were and are but does that mean I can't be proud at all? DO you really have to over come something in order to be allowed to show some spirit? I guess the neighborhood consensus on that is no. But what about everywhere else?

Welcome to the Club

Well, I never made it to find those work pants. So be it. I did have time to see three shows though which is a way better way to spend my money and time:

Neil Labute Reasons to Be Pretty - where my awesome sudo cousin Ilana is the assistant director. Not only that - this off b'way show is now headed to B'way (thanks to the August producers!) and well so is she!! Which is the coolest thing since slice bread.

The next show was Christopher Durang Marriage of Bette and Boo where the understudy for the character Matt was Ben H. who was in two plays I directed - one I wrote. Ben came straight from school to NYC and after doing only a few fringe shows - (two of mine) he got his Off Broadway debut (while in mine). He has been working ever since. Seems everyone is taking steps up the ladder.

The last show was Caryl Churchill's Top Girls - don't know anyone involved in that show but it was a great play. That opening scene was so funny - you don't realize how funny it can be from the page. The best part was after the show, LMB and I were leaving the theater and a tourist - with a thick southern accent said "Oh lets try that Top Girls Club over there." Um sir, that there is called a b'way show - what you are seeing is a Marquee! Not and entrance to a club! I so wanted to follow him and his family gang to the door and listen as they try in vain to get into what they think is a club.

Today I started my job as an agents assistant - luckily his old assistant is staying around for a few days to get me up and going - which is a huge help. So far so good. It's a lot to take in but that's expected.

Okay it's time to watch mindless TV and avoid my writing. (Better not get into the habit of that -I have a thesis to write)

New Job = New Clothes

Having spent the last year as a student I basically only own jeans and sweatpants. I realize that's not a good enough excuse but that's all I have to give.

So when I had my job interview with in 24 hours of my return to NYC I was in a bit of a panic of what to wear. I really could have used a reality make-over-show at that moment but unfortunately I think they need more then 24 hours notice. Any of my fashion conscious friends would have been helpful too. Suddenly, I missed living in an apartment with several people because there was always a gay or an actress - same thing really- ready to fix me up in a fashion emergency. But a lass I'm in a domestic phase of my life where the only on hand help was my boyfriend, try as he might he'll never be the gay man of my dreams (even if he does do musical theater in between his metal gigs.)

So after tearing my closet apart I found something workable. But now since I actually got the job I need more then just one workable outfit. That's when I called the gay man's poodle, B. She wasted no time, even took a half day at work, to take me to Loehmann's and beyond in search of something appropriate yet still young looking that I could parade around the office and the city in. I mean, just because I'll be working as an assistant doesn't mean I have to look like a little old lady in long skirts and button down shirts or in really tight short skirts with loads of boobage. Neither was what I had in mind.

Most of the places I have worked at recently were much more casual, that's why all my boring old corporate attire had been dumped somewhere between LA and Midtown. Here in my Brooklyn closet only frumpy and dumpy remained.

After my last penny was spent I had acquired a good starting place. The only thing missing now was a pair of black pants. I didn't think it would be so hard to find them but who knew? I've looked all over downtown and couldn't find anything that fit. I'm 5'4 and apparently no longer a size 8 to 12. I've shrunk to a 4. Well sort of - a size 6 is too big and a 4 is a tiny bit too small. Add my short stature and you have a very comical image of me swimming in pants that pinch me at the waist and flood me at the feet.

I won't give up though. Tomorrow's mission is to find the most - perfect - fitting - pair - of black pants that ever were - even if I have to start at canal street and work my way up to 89th. (Just a random street.) Along the way I'll meet my boy toy while he waits for an equity call. A new jukebox musical to the tunes of Journey - I swear they wrote that for him. They just don't know it yet. So while he's searching for an in to be seen - I'll be hording through every clothing rack imaginable praying to the fashion Gods for something that fits.

Start Spreading The News

Less then 24 hours of my return to the Big Apple and I had a job interview. Less then a week in the Big Apple and I had the job.

I thought it would take a few weeks to get my life straightened out after having lived in London for almost a year but as it turns out time isn't what I needed, just a bit of luck and a polished resume. Life seems to find it's course quite matter of factually when it has too.

I start my new job on Thursday and I have to say I'm actually pretty excited about it. It's nice to go after a job you want and get it with no muss or fuss. I was expecting I might have to settle for something out of my field, if only to make money so I can start paying off my loans and next years tuition. (Though I may be home in NYC I'm still technically also a grad student with tuition payments and thesis work to do at a school in London.)

Now add agent's assistant to the list. Not just any department but the theatrical one and not just any small agency but a top tier.

Just like that my life in theater has taken a new twist. No more London show hoping and class taking, life has moved on to NYC thesis writing, show hoping and hands on show business - deal making - contract approving theater training.

Now if only i had something to wear!

BACK OVER THE POND

I'm back in good old NYC well actually it's more like BK.

Getting here however turned out to be more difficult then I thought. I knew packing up my dorm room wouldn't be fun. I went to London on the Queen Mary 2 and had 5 - 75 pound bags -with me - as I thought I was going to stay two full years abroad. Of course one week in and life changed. I rekindled my relationship with GT and even decided to live together when my year of classes was up. Not only that but I'd have to fly home at the end since I would be flying back and forth every spring/winter break - which meant my Queen Mary 2 return fund had vanished - little did I know my one way return ticket from London to NYC by plane would be the same amount as a trip on QM2.

I attempted to off load a lot of my stuff to friends- okay just HR2 - in London and take more of my stuff back on my sprig break - that way I wouldn't be stuck with what would have been seven large bags. I got my stuff down to 4, which means I had to pay 60 pounds each for two of the bags - and a taxi - also I had to arrange for a porter to help me get my bags from the Taxi to the drop off area inside.

All went according to plan until I hit the drop off desk. It would seem my internal scale was off. Two of my four bags were several Kg over weight. But in terminal five - with their fancy equipment - the machine won't take the luggage if it's even a fraction over - they don't charge you extra like some airlines they just refuse to take it. So the porter, check-in-woman and myself opened my luggage and started moving objects from one bag to another. 20 minutes later, and the whole airport new what I had packed but we got the right combination eventually and all my bags just barley made the cut off. I felt bad for the Porter because each time he had to lift my bag on and off the scale until we got it right. I only had five pounds to tip him with. I didn't know it be such physical a job!

Well, I laughed my way through security which took no time at all and wondered around the new terminal five at Heathrow. There I sat at what I thought was my gate. A women came and asked me if she could do a survey. I said sure.

She asked why are you flying to Tokyo?

I corrected her. I'm headed to NYC.

She smiled and said okay lets continue anyway. She did. After she walked away.

But then came back. "are you on flight 177?

Yes.

You need to be at gate 35.

I suddenly looked up and saw everyone else sitting by me was Japanese.

Well at my gate with obvious new yorkers I headed to the plane. My fear of flying has gotten a lot better. I didn't need to drink the two little bottles of wine they give, I just wanted too. MY TV screen didn't work but I had a laptop so I was still amused. Only one small section of turbulence when we got closer to NYC. Other then that great flight.

Off the plane however at baggage claim I didn't quite think through how I would get all four bags and me to the lobby where GT was waiting. I got a cart they aren't long. SO I had to stack my 70 pound pages on top of each other until they were taller then me. After I had to push this cart past people waiting for their luggage and up to costumes. I couldn't see, I couldn't steer but the Customs Agent definitely found me amusing after asking the typical questions - with a smirk - he says do you have a boyfriend hidden in those bags?" "No, he should be on the other side waiting for me." "He Should be." and I thought there were better ways to answer that question but I didn't want to test the Customs Agents sense of humor. So he let me go and I wondered out to where all the people wait for you. There was GT shaking his head as he say me, bright red form exhausting pushing this cart with all my might, in my disheveled hair and travel clothes. My first words to him "Help I can't steer." Just like that I slipped back into my normal NYC life. We made it home, I even unpacked in two days time but you plan and plan and still things never go as they should.

If Your Happy and You Know It Clap Your Hands

I was in the bank yesterday closing out my account and the banker man asked me ' excited to go back home?'
I jumped up with a huge grin 'Oh Yea!'
He took this in. 'Was it really that bad here?'
I didn't mean it like that. It wasn't bad here, it just wasn't home.

I've made countless enemies on those red monster double decker's to last me a life time. It seemed I couldn't go anywhere without getting into it with a driver, old lady, crazy old man, gang of 12-year-olds and other foreigners like me but ones who don't speak English.

This last time I was trapped towards the front of the bus by the luggage holder - hanging on for dear life - as these drivers like to pretend they are on a race track- when a stop was up a head- This guy from somewhere like Russia maybe jumps up to get his huge bags - which were in front of me but to do that I had to let go of the pole and stand in the middle - left only to my own balance. I wasn't prepared to do this. Not until the bus had come to a complete stop.
But he didn't understand when I shouted in his face 'I have nothing to hold on too. Stop!"
as he lifted the bag and barreled me over anyway - his obnoxious ignorant grin in my face nodding his head yes.
I'm sure the look I gave him was universal, but still that stupid grin looking at me while maliciously knocking me down with his bag was more then I could handle. The driver would have waited for him to exit when the bus stopped but he didn't understand me as I yelled this to him. So I yelled some other things like 'fucking crazy bastards' and got off a stop early anyway. Just like that I was in a bad mood all day. Because of some arsehole who can't understand universal notions.

There I go again! And the anger is back.

So when a bank teller says 'Are you excited to go home?'
Of course I am because if you shout at a New Yorker at least they know to shout back - in whatever language they speak - they don't have creepy polite grins on their faces while they push you down. When you're angry - you show it. When you're happy - you show it. I just don't have a place in this polite society.
It's so repressed it makes me want to shout in everyone's faces - but I'll save it for home I guess. where they appreciate it more.

For me? You shouldn't have, but since you did....

SURPRISE!

So HR2 took me on a wild goose chase all over London. We began at Trafalgar Square where we meet, had some lunch. Then we jumped on a boat, went down the Thames to the Tower Bridge area. Walked to these hidden docks and had Pimm's at the Dickens's Inn. Some wonderfully old pub that may have been an Inn once? If not they did a nice job making it look old. After we walked past the tower of London, over the London Bridge (where I learned some idiot in the US bought it thinking it was the Tower Bridge and now in some lake somewhere in Michigan? is the London Bridge - which is just a concrete block.)
LONDON BRIDGE

TOWER BRIDGE

On the South Side bank we headed to the 'Britain at War Experience' - under the bridge. It's this little sudo museum where you see a bunch of stuff from WWII. We even got to play in a bunker and dress up like solders and play with mannequins. Perhaps I shouldn't be so excited about that? Any who we emerge 20 min later and head to the tube where strangely enough a WWII bomb was found! What are the odds? It was very trippy. Luckily they defused it and London was saved, 60 some years later.

We headed over to the Circus School to meet Sticky Victor (she's gonna kill me for that). Had a nice bitter shandy. Then they gave me gifts. A London Starbucks mug, a chocolate bar, a box of instant cappuccino packs, a small bottle of bailey's, a small bottle of whiskey and asked what does this all equal. I said breakfast. They said an Irish Coffee. Truly people who know me well.

After some of Sticky's friends from work came and chatted us up. But the girls were looking at there clocks and frowning. So off we went for what HR2 called phase 5. Wandering the streets we ended up in Brick Lane.

Here we found an out door garden and they wondered looking for a free seat until I saw J from class and all the others. Sticky pointed to them "There!" and surprise my whole class came together to have a drink and of course when in Brick Lane - Indian food!

After another round we headed to a restaurant where we had the entire bottom floor to our selves. After a large amount of yummy food there were more presents! This time is was a tin can with a million little wrapped gifts inside. Each had a little saying like "For your romantic reunion with George" and it was a 'I Heart London" condom. The rest were very PC, which could be why i don't remember them all but it was a snow globe - more candy - British themed pencil- eraser - key chain - stress ball and a other fun things.

After most people headed out and a few of us went to a bar found down an alley with drunk people everywhere. This bar was huge and dirty but with a really cool decor. O had a little dance off with herself which quickly caught every ones attention. Russians are a little bit more out going then the Brits but as soon as she was in her groove it seemed the whole bar broke out in dance. "They just needed some one to start it" she said in her thick accent. But after half a drink we had to leave, trains would be closing soon and frankly i couldn't fit anything else in my swelled belly.

So I headed home and thought if only the Atlantic wasn't so big.

Journey Home

I guess the jokes on me.

This last full week of Londonhood went by extremely fast. I felt as if I had only just started my work experience at the Lit agency and it was suddenly over. Not only that I have three classes left - of not just this term but for my entire master program! A year just zipped by. And to think I almost didn't finish the first term.

I wasn't liking London, didn't have any friends yet, the dorms were a horrible shock to my system - as it is like living in a jail cell, the school was only 2 nights a week then and that was all I had. Not to mention the realization of how much money this is all costing me and will it ever be worth it? But I have to say I think my writing has come a long way since September. Not only that but my over all general script knowledge has increased ten fold! I've never read so many stage plays, screenplays, TV shows - mostly plays - in my life. Still I want more. So that's a good indication I chose right.

I remember when I first started college as an undergrad in 2001, it was at Roosevelt's Performing Arts Conservatory as a musical theater major in Chicago. I literally lasted one day and had a panic attack. It just wasn't the right place for me. So I dropped out and majored in film at Columbia College down the road. And though I do enjoy film production I really wanted to study playwriting even back then but felt it was useless as I had so many outside voices telling me at least with a production course you can get paid work. Boy did I get it - for the lowest pay and hardest work! Not worth it. I should have started in lit back then. But I have so many random and wacky adventures because I didn't that I can now write about, or put into my characters and their journey's.

So in the end I think the decisions I made were all very valuable. The only one I regret is not looking for an apartment here in London. I will not miss my tiny four walls, cot bed, shower over the toilet that doesn't drain, the heat or the noise. But I will miss what's out side of it. London.