Revelations

I've stumbled upon some brilliant revelations this week.

#1: No matter how hard you try to break one, a curse is still a curse.

#2: The most major setback the theatre industry is facing is not the internet, lacking attention spans, rock musicals, stunt-casting, the melding of singer-dancer choruses, or 800 producers above the title.  It is, in fact, the audition studio.

Who decided it was a good idea to make performers sing in a concrete wooden-floored box?

I had the fortune to audition this week on a stage.  In a theatre (albeit the basement of a church, but that's practically the definition of off-Broadway these days).  Facing a rise of seats with the casting director and director occupying the house seats.

And I performed my a** off!  With 110% tonis (RIP, JPT)!

We're performers.  Not monkeys in a box.  We deserve to strut our stuff on a stage.  In a theatre.  It doesn't have to be under stage lights or on a set, but I think we truly have lost something from 50 years ago when you went to the Stage Door to audition.  When people booked their debuts on Broadway.... on Broadway!

People can be great auditioners and terrible performers.  Because moving the audition (or at least final callback) from the stage to the rehearsal room denegrates our technique and the energy of a performance to merely another interview.

Not that I can't work it in a box (don't get me wrong), I just think we deserve the chance to truly strut our stuff.

But who am I to tell producers how to spend their money?

#3.  Great friends and great conversation continue to challenge and excited me.  And through these great friends I'm aware what terrible trouble our society is in.  ("with a capital T and that rhymes with....")  As hate fills our hearts further and further every day in internet comments, where people hide behind the guise of anonymity on their couch and say things they would never dare to actually confront someone with, we slowly are turning the tables on ourselves.

People are fighting words and sound bytes and each other, instead of taking a stand for the true ethics of a gracious society.  Now that morality has replaced ethics, I wonder how hate became a form of currency.

#4.  Evan's coming to visit.

GRIN!

I Heart NY

New York was intoxicating yesterday!

Seriously.  It was just so perfect.  The 5:30 AM Dunkin' Donuts run and the sunrise from the N train.  The 81 and sunny weather.  The celebrity sightings and the 10-mile walk.  The stripper pole being pulled by a bike.

Wait, what?!

That's right.  I saw THIS:

AND a white fluffy dog being walked with black sneakers on, AND a side-by-side tandem bike, AND people swimming in dumpsters.

Too bad I didn't get photos of those things.  But I promise they really did happen to me.

Though I'm pretty sure that after he passed me and I said "Hi, Zach Braff" under my breath, that Zach Braff dinged his bike bell to acknowledge me.  Either that or to tell the crazy pedestrians crossing the street, but I'm sticking to the former!

Oh and I saw Adrien Brody and Malcolm Gets too!

So after I worked on my feet for 8 hours, I'm not really sure why, but I decided I couldn't possibly do anything inside so I should finally check "walk across the Brooklyn Bridge"off my bucket list.  So I did.

But since I was fighting 800 million tourists, I decided after a slice of pizza in DUMBO, that I would then walk across the Manhattan Bridge.  And I did.

Back in Chinatown, I stumbled upon a Taiwan Tourism Event, but it was really just an info session in Mandarin for the residents at 33 Bowery with like 2 tables of food.  Kinda felt out of place there, but it felt so good to use my BGP!

Then it was still too nice to stay inside, so I thought I might find the pedestrian bridge to Ward's Island from 103rd Street and cross that.  And I did.

And finally, I figured I'd walk home across the Triborough.  So I did.

10 miles later, I saw the most beautiful views of NYC, found my favorite new secret spot, swung on an incredible swing set, and felt like I was on top of the world (on the Triboro).  So why did I leave my camera at home yesterday morning?  Right, because even Bklyn knows I'm Japanese and therefore...

Kate and I then escaped to Mojave, our Brazilian hideaway right here in Astoria, as well as Jason and Christina's for some fun and laughs followed by Beer Garden pitchers.  It seriously just doesn't get better than that.

Today was rainy and cool, and despite a cab driver who I thought might leave the engine in the middle of the 59th street bridge (the only one I didn't walk across yesterday), we managed to get a new beautiful rug for our French cafe living room and new leafy curtains for me!  So we indulged in a viewing of P.S. I Love You and cried and then obsessed over the ridiculousness of Ninja Warrior.  How do those guys do it?

Honestly, it's weekends like these that remind why I love it here.  It's good to be home.

Subway Shoes

I love random subway encounters that surprise you in the most delightful of ways.

Tonight, after returning from the "romantic Tokyo bistro" izakaya Zenkichi in Williamsburg (which was delicious, by the way), I had to transfer trains at Union Square.  So I plopped my rear down in one of the wooden benches and began reading...

Next thing I realize is that three pairs of skateboarder-ish shoes and legs have stopped around me.  I'm not quite sure if these hoodlums are about to ask me for money or attack me, but I'm pretty sure this encounter will at least be uncomfortable.

Next thing I know, hoodlum one asks me, "Where'd you get those shoes?"

I pull up the tag and tell him they're Pumas.  He says, "I see, but where'd you get them?"

And I tell him in Japan, and his look bums over as he walks away.

And as he progresses down the platform, I hear him call back, "Those shoes are (some 2010 word that means the same thing as fly, sweet, awesome, or radical)!!"

And I smiled.

For all the looks I get for my fashion choices, the best are the myriad of reactions to anything from overseas, from love to hate.  And that one just made me smile.

You never know when stereotypes will come crashing down and surprise you.

Family and Friends

Since the reunion, I went camping in Moab to avoid the rain, and marveled at the red canyon gorge, the desert heat, and the unbelievable night sky.

My family took the most amazing 4.5-mile hike to Morning Glory arch and splashed in the river crossings along the way.

My mom, sis, and I did a drive by of Arches National Park in 75 minutes, keeping us salivating for more.

(for those counting, that means we did 3 National Parks in 2 different states across about 350 miles in 6 days!)

I ate 100,000 calories in a week.  Or at least it feels like I did.

And I had a wonderful last day in Denver.

4 people eating lunch at Chick-fil-a for 8 bucks.  Seriously.  Their coupons are that awesome.

Jordan and I visited my best childhood friend Meghan at her house down in Littleton last night, so we figured we'd beat the traffic by heading to a happy hour down in Littleton, and maybe hit up some of my old stomping grounds along the way.

So we pull up to Dewey's American Grill for happy hour, which we had scoped out online through yelp! and westword, and it looked reasonable.  It even had a second Highlands Ranch location.

Turns out...

a nice young lady was waiting for us as we got out of our car to tell us that Dewey's closed that morning.

WHAT?!  A Tuesday, they just up and closed?  

But, she gave us each a free drink coupon to go next door to Big Papa's BBQ for their happy hour, and we gladly indulged.

12 bucks later, we'd split 5 beers, chips and queso, and hush puppies.  God, I love how cheap the west is.

But the creme de la creme is that when we relayed this story to Meghan, she thought it was crazy because...

Big Papa's is catering her wedding!  What a clever coincidence.

That guerilla marketing really worked out.

It was also amazing to reminisce about our childhoods as Meghan showed us the slideshow for her wedding.  Yes, we played dress-up a lot.  And yes, believe it or not, I have already been a groom.  To her bride.  For Halloween.  When we were 5.  

Let's just say it was classic and people DUMPED their candy bowls into our sacks.  We made out a lot better than when those jerks stole my pillowcase full of candy in the greenbelt behind my house a few years later.  

So we giggled and laughed and walked down memory lane and I can't wait for her wedding.  I can't wait to sing and to celebrate such a special time with one of my favorite women and her amazing family.

And did I mention that I slept in a Harry Potter closet back at the reunion?  Priceless.

Green Table

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for PC.

Not the computers (I'm a Mac convert, 3 years running), but political correctness.

But I'm absolutely appalled at the fact that we can no longer refer to the Native Americans I loved and revered in 3rd grade as their proper Navajo name...

The Anasazi.

It's just so perfect.

Ancestral Puebloans?

CRAP. I'm calling you out on your B.S. Mesa Verde. Seriously.

See, when I was in 3rd grade in Colorado, we learned all about the different tribes of Colorado, including a heavy focus on the Southwest. You East Coasters spent all your years debating Confederates vs. Yanks, but we went back 800 years to the Indians.

And they say there's nothing historical more than 400 years old in the New World.

See we went on a week-long field trip to Crow Canyon, which was pretty much the coolest place ever. One week sleepover trip? Check. Archaelogical digs? Check. Visiting the cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde that you fantasized about in class? Check. Following in your brother's footsteps? Check.

It's ironic. I looked forward to two things from my older brothers before high school, going to Crow Canyon and the mine in Georgetown, and both nearly didn't happen. I remember tears. Distinctly.

But on that field trip, and a second visit to Mesa Verde with my family a few years later while camping in the San Juans, I never got to do something I had dreamed about for years. Going down inside the kiva at Spruce Tree House.

Sure we explored Cliff Palace. And yes we got to see Spruce Tree from afar. But I never got to go inside that darn kiva. And that's all I wanted.

Well, 20 years later, my inner 9-year-old finally checked off his bucket list and I got to explore the inside of a restored kiva. With roof fully intact.

And, well... it would've been better had I been 9. Which is why I'm so glad I was with my 9 year old cousin. It was awesome to see his face and remember why I wanted so badly to be there.  I actually think it was the igloo pool at the onsen that ruined it for me.  Dang it, awesome Japanese baths.

The real highlight of the day was actually visiting the lesser known Balcony House with our incredible guide. Well worth the $3 admission fee.

We actually got to climb 30 foot ladders, go into various rooms and sections of the ruins, and squeeze our way through 18-inch wide tunnels and caves. It was phenomenal. The views were spectacular, and I actually learned quite a bit from our guide.

He capped off the tour with an excellent point that we all are different and learning about each other and we have a respect for how these people lived and how they've been preserved for 800 years. Part of our search for security should be preserving and respecting that and coming together to celebrate our differences.

Thanks Mister Corsica, SD for providing me a lot of hope for the future of Middle America.

And thanks Anasazi, oops I mean ancestral Puebloans, for reminding me that we all are on our search for the Center Place now that we've reached the 4th world through the sipapu.

What a great day.

Oh. And we played kickball in a field full of horse poo.

And we kicked those Bardwell's butts back to SD as revenge for the water fights on the river. 11-4. 

Premonitions

I had a dream sometime recently. I'm not really sure when, but I'm guessing it was about a month ago. I must have been subconsciously thinking about coming home and camping, because I remember in the dream centering around travel down the I-70 corridor.

In the middle of the dream I spent quite a bit of time at these two slanted overpasses over a big left curve of the highway around the hogback.  They led off to Vail or Grand Junction or something random, but they were probably about an hour up the valley from home.

The crazy part is...

Those bridges really exist in real life as I pictured them in the dream, and I've never seen them before.

Because they're brand new. Not even open to traffic yet.  In fact, they're bridges to nowhere.

And they're not an hour from Denver, they're 8. In Durango.

They didn't really seem that significant when we passed under them on the way to the reunion two days ago, but today I found it really interesting that they were in sight distance of the hospital where my grandmother is staying. A proverbial gateway to seeing her.

I don't really know why or how or what this means, I just know that it's monstrously intriguing to me. The simple fact of having seen these images in my dreams and them coming to life.

That's remarkable. Maybe tonight I'll dream about a billion dollars.

Manic Monday

I should've known it wasn't a coincidence when both Kat and Lauren called today. Especially since we'd already been to the hospital once today.

I don't know details, but I found out before bed tonight that one of my former professor's health has taken a turn for the worse. And I'll just have to wait till morning to find out the details.

A fitting end to a day that started with a shower in the dark (short-circuit from too many appliances at once) followed by the news that my Grandma had fallen in the shower and broken her hip.

It seems whenever my family gets together, somebody ends up getting hurt, and since my cousin is 8 months pregnant and not here, unfortunately someone else ended up in the emergency room.

Don't worry, my Grandma pulled through surgery just fine, but we're all now worried about the length of the rehabilitation and the changes that will mean for her and Grandpa. Not to mention how we're gonna get her back from these great orthopedic surgeons in Durango.

That's right.

I'm at a family reunion an 8-hour drive from Denver in Durango, CO. I've been to the amazing Sand Dunes National Monument outside of Alamosa and gone sledding with my cousin in the hot sun.

I've driven over Wolf Creek Pass and nearly wiped out with all the momentum of a fully packed car.  I've played kickball, frisbee golf, and beer pong, and eaten way too much delicious food and washed it down with way too much delicious beer. I've met my gorgeous new niece, seen distant relatives for the first time in almost ten years, and laughed my way down memory lane. I've met new members of the family, and hugged my favorite old ones.

It really has been a good two days in spite of today's events.

So I'm thankful.

I took some me time on the way home at the end of the night and just marveled at the stars. It's amazing what you can see on a cool, dark, clear, moonless night at 8000 feet. I forgot how stunning the Milky Way was. I feel privileged to be the rare New Yorker who has seen it so clearly so many times.

We watched old videos that my great-uncle Art had of Delmont, SD in 1940. The fashion, the hats, the farms, the stature, and familiar faces much, much younger brought so much joy and reflection to my heart.

What a blessing to look back on people you actually know in black-and-white from 70 years ago, pre-WWII. What will my descendants think in 70 years when they find my old videos on this laptop? Or will they even care?

I hope they do, and I hope they remember their loved ones as fondly as I do. Phillip, the young handsome cousin I never really got to know. Art, in a plaid shirt and wide, short tie with a goofy grin on his face. Long hair too! Auntie Babe, with shoulders and a stature that football players strive to attain, yet with the grace of the rest of her 98 years still ahead.

What a joy to be a part of this family. With tons of prayers for one of its beloved members.