Another Magical Moment in NYC

Very frequently I have magical moments in NYC. Often when these happen, I think about my blog (I'm not sure if that's good or sad) and how I should really write this is all down as soon as I can when it's fresh to just tell the world all about it. You know those moments that are so full of happiness, wonder, or just a warm feeling of contentment that you yearn to have everyone you know experience it as well.

I have a small one for tonight, which I will savor from a night that overall was pretty damn shitty. I was out with a "friend," or "lover" or whatever you want to call him 'cause he certainly would run like the wind if I dared mentioned, "boyfriend." That's okay, I'm not ready for that word either, but I still resent the fear in its use.

ANYWAY! Me and this handsome, but "in one of his moods" (as my grandma used to say about my grandfather's many infamous episodes) guy and I are walking home. To cut him some slack, he did have a some justification for his mood, which will I will relay another time, hopefully soon. It involves a wave of water and a plate of veal parmesan.

One thing I like about him is that when we're together, we walk. A LOT! I have walked more with him around NYC than with everyone else combined (except when just with myself whom walks quite a bit!). Usually the conversation flows without much effort and contains a lot of laughter, but tonight it was strained and his moodiness was unnerving. I've never been good at carrying on the conversation by myself. I'm the kind of person who can bounce well off of people. I'm a "responder." If you're in a good mood, hey, so am I! If you're bummed out, I feel it. It makes me sound like I have no mind of my own, perhaps I don't. Maybe the fact that I am cut from the same cloth as the Corsican Brothers makes me feel everything from those close to me too much. I'm getting pretty tired of it, really. I used to kind of see these "empath" qualities as a gift, now I just want to be left alone to feel my own feelings without being preoccupied with whether the person with me is hot, happy, worried, having fun, etc. This happened recently when a friend was here and his surly and sulky ways made me just totally resent him. Have a bit self-respect, and respect for those around you!

ANYWAY! Walking down one of these dark side streets, perhaps on about 4th street heading toward Avenue C, we hear jazz music playing, surrounding us, but yet unclear from where it was coming from. Then we come upon a gate that enters into a kind of community garden. These tiny community gardens dot NYC and seem to be lovingly and fervently cared for. A sign posted said there was a small concert, free to the public. We walked inside and sat on a large wooden box. The place was surrounding by trees, particularly weeping willows that made a dreamy canopy around the intimate crowd. People were sitting on tree stumps, logs, and some random folding chairs and makeshift benches.

Unfortunately, the tiny band of men, complete with one playing the double bass, were just ending. They pointed out a woman named Evelyn-something in the crowd -- a portly black woman who must have been pushing 70. She stood up and took the microphone and began singing the sweetest version of "What a difference a day makes" that I ever heard. The people swayed to the music, the willow branches swayed to the wind, and I was enchanted. These are the moments that I just live for in NYC. The moments that you probably wouldn't be able to experience in other places. I felt like I could have sat there all night, with my eyes half-closed in ecstasy. Yet, it was then over, and my companion was eager to get going, and we were off. Then the spell was broken and I was brought back to the reality of the date I was on.

Well, sadly I can't do much for him, but I can tuck away this tiny gem of the night as another wonderful NYC memory, the kind I constantly seek out and yearn for and that just seem to happen, especially now in the summer when it's warm and so many fantastic experiences are free. I love New York.

READ IT! The Final Confession of Mabel Stark by Robert Hough -- A+

I don't think I've given a book an A+ since Matthew Kneale's English Passengers. I had just finished Wicked and loved it, but then I read this one and it was one of those rare books where you miss it when it's away from you. I carried this book with me everywhere I went, cracking it over while riding elevators, waiting in line (for anything), and even while walking down the street. Though a fiction book, it's written about the real life of Mabel Stark, a tiger tamer during the heydey of the circus (first half of the 20th century). Despite this woman's unbelievable life and circumstances, you buy it, every word. She has an insight into people (especially men) which is refreshing, insightful, and always amusing. You cheer her on through her several marriages and tut tut through her even more numerous tiger-inducing injuries. Despite the multiple scary attacks from her striped beasts, you are swept up in her deep passion and understanding for these creatures (even if once in awhile you think she needs a reality check). This book was good from beginning to end and only had one part which was a bit too predictable (though still one of the most poignant moments in the book). I loved it. You'll enjoy it. Buy it, read it now!

Finding an (INEXPENSIVE) Apartment in Manhattan -- Someone Get Me Out of this Nightmare!!

So, my roommate surprised me and was very friendly and laid-back about my wanting to move out. Course, there are some benefits in it for him too (he and his girlfriend can finally be alone), but it also puts a burden on him for paying more rent. I was relieved that it didn't turn ugly, like I feared it might.

ANYWAY, now the apartment search begins. It's no secret that Manhattan is a very expensive place. Always being resourceful and independent, I figured I could find a nice place for somewhere around $800.

Well, the good news is that I have, though none of them will impress anyone with their style or luxury. I've looked around and around, and been to several apartments in my price range, but I found that the neighborhoods scared me, and that's probably a sign not to move there. Not to mention that if I want to live in Manhattan, I have to live so far up north that it doesn't even feel that much like Manhattan (140th - 200th street!!). I can live with that, especially with the help of the express subway train. But here's where it gets tough, the fees! It's ironic that you can be so poor and have to pay such awful fees. Obviously if you're looking for an $850 apartment (the bottom of the barrel), then maybe you don't have a lot of money to be throwing around at greedy brokers? No one gives a shit. People are dying to live in NYC and always will. It's not hard for them to get people to pay $2000+ per month for a one-bedroom. My $800 hopes are a joke. Here's how it works itself out:
$800 = first month's rent
$800-$1250 = security deposit
$1000-$1500 = fee.

In the end you are spending $2000-$3000 just to move in to a place. It's depressing the fuck out of me. I'm sleeping a lot, and when I'm awake, I'm on Craigslist reloading the page every 10 minutes to find that steal of apartment. Rest assured there are others doing the same as I.

I even tried calling up my credit card to get an increase. Now, I have only one credit card, a Capital One, which absorbed the balance of my evil American Express card. I have only had it a few months, but I've been paying them a good amount every two weeks, always above the minimum, so I was hoping to call up and talk to someone about an increase. Well, how sickening is it that you can ask AND be rejected by a MACHINE on the phone!?! I called up and pressed '1' for a credit increase. I waited to talk to someone, ready to plead my case (I need the money to move in! My payments will continue just as they have!). There was a pause, where I was soon to discover was the moment when the machine was "thinking about it" before it came back and basically said, "Fuck off, J!" No human being, just a machine. Boy, I really am a poor, pathetic bastard.

Seeing as I come from a genetic chain of people who are forever teetering on bankruptcy, there's not a single blood relative who can help me out. I can probably come up with $1700 myself including what's left on my credit card (which would also mean I will be eating dust for two weeks until the next paycheck comes), but that still leaves me short about $1300. FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

There is one option. Crawl on my hands and knees to my roommate and ask to borrow from him. He might do it. He's always been generous to me in the past, which is part of the problem; I still owe him money. My god, this SUCKS! Where is my long-lost wealthy (dead) aunt? Where is that secret trust fund? Where is that valuable jewel I can sell? I HATE BEING POOR! And yes, I live in New York.

Seamus Egan and Waking Ned Devine -- Wrong!

So my roommate and I watched Waking Ned Devine tonight. It was a lot of fun seeing this movie again. I can't believe it only made 24 million here in the U.S., though I suppose that's rather impressive seeing as it only cost 3 million to make (and that it also made over 6.6 million pounds in the UK).

I'm also delighted to learn that David Kelly, who played the plucked-chicken-looking, unbearably sweet Michael Sullivan, is going to play Grandpa Joe in the upcoming version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I am so excited to
see that movie; the original is one of my favorite movies of all time. Too bad the new one's not a musical though! Those are some of the best movie sing-alongs in the universe, along with films like The Sound of Music and Grease.

And whoever said, on the webpage about the soundtrack, that Seamus Egan made a cameo in this movie (playing the flute at the funeral and the bodhran in the pub) was wrong!! My roommate and I took a good, long look, and I'm certain it wasn't him. I actually would have preferred it be him, but oh well. I'll just have to wait until that movie American Wake finally becomes available. He's got a real part in that one.

Vindicated ... Sadly.

A little while ago, a friend and I had a long discussion about giving "charity" to total strangers, which, if you live in NYC, you are solicited for every single day. It could be someone asking for pennies or dollars. It could be someone with a disability, homeless, or even the best -- just playing music.

What had happened was this: my friend, let's call him, "Adam," had returned home very early one morning from a weekend trip to Manhattan. As he got out of the car, a woman, one of his neighbors, approached him and began to tell her woeful tale: her father-in-law, living on Staten Island, had had a massive heart attack and was in the hospital. She and her husband didn't have enough money for gas to drive out there, which they wanted to do immediately. Could Adam possibly give her $40 for gas, and she would pay him back shortly?

Now, Adam isn't what you would call naive. In fact, he can be rather suspicious of people to the point of impolite. Immediately skeptical of the women's story, he followed her to her house, went inside, looked at her driver's license and waited as she showed him her utility bill as proof of her residence and identity. Finally, he somewhat reluctantly handed over the $40 and she left.

Now, despite the fact that Adam has intense methods, he also has a giant heart, and deep down he yearned to believe the woman and do good. It was a few hours later he relayed the story to me, full of doubt, but hoping, really hoping that the woman was for real and that he had truly helped someone out and not been scammed. He was seeking some sort of vindication from me, hoping I'd dispel his worries. After hearing his story, I felt the same mix of emotions, suspicion churning with hope. I tend to be more open to woeful stories than he, but am also probably much more fervently willing to seek "vengeance" against those who cheat others.

He then began talking to neighbors who were communicating similar stories of the same woman. She had borrowed from several others and not paid them back (though it was later discovered she had actually had paid one back). A few suspected her of being a con artist of sorts. Hearing this, I was incensed since I always take such things personally (as I always did in Bangkok and Europe too). Now even more uneasy himself, Adam waited for the woman to return and immediately began calling her, confronting her with this information. Flustered, the woman promised to pay him back and in various increments over the next several days, did pay him back, more due I believe, to Adam's relentlessness than to her own fastidiousness. He never felt completely right about the situation and we talked for awhile about giving money to people here in NYC and the eternal desire to help people out while simultaneously worrying about being played for a fool.

Now, I do give money. I'm not going to lie; I don't give that much. "Charity starts at home" and I'm always fighting to break even. I like to give to the homeless "representatives" with their empty water jugs who ask only for "pennies" which is a good way to give them loose change without feeling like a cheapskate. Besides, they're always polite and friendly, which is something everyone is receptive to. I also like to give money, usually just a buck, to musicians. Today I spent a wonderful time in Union Square (talk about it later) listening to a wonderful musician named "Dorian" playing guitar and singing. I feel if I really enjoy the music, then I should be willing to show my appreciation with a dollar.

Anyway, as we were talking about this, I told Adam of the one time I had ever not given money and had felt bad about it long afterwards (to the present, actually). This was back when I had that second job at Barnes & Noble, and I was leaving work late one night after we closed up. A shaky white man approached me, and at my startled look, he reassured me that he was a gay man and so wasn't interested in doing any harm to me. He then went on to nervously tell a long story about how he was a documentary filmmaker who had all his film canisters/equipment nearby in an apartment that he couldn't get into, etc. etc. I can't even tell you the rest of it, though I have to tell you, even though I always try to be polite, I had to finally say, "What's the point of all this? Do you want money?" The man chattered on for a time before asking if he could have some money, that he swore up and down he'd pay me back, that I'd go to heaven for the good karma, that he wasn't homeless or a freak, etc. He seemed pretty believable, though looking back, I should have been suspicious of his rattling and vibrating. At the time, I literally only had $5 to my name, along with some scattered change in my pocket. I was eating dinner through the vending machines in the employee break room, so I was reluctant to part with the only money I had in the world. Reaching into my pocket, I shuffled around with some "effort," and brought out all the change I had, which couldn't have been more than about 25 cents, and handed it to him. He was obviously disappointed to receive so little for his elaborate story, and mumbled a "thank you" as I rushed off.

As I was walking away, I was feeling bad, not good. Payday was only a day away, so I could live without that five bucks. Thinking the guy was actually for real, and actually THINKING about that stupid karma comment, I walked away with guilt for not being willing to give. Though I have given up religion long ago, I still carry many of its lessons and superstitions with me. Not to mention reading old Irish and Scandinavian folktales, I had ridiculous images of 'faerie folk' or 'angels' who test the heart of humans by disguising themselves as a person in need. Yeah, yeah, I know, but crazy things dart through your mind when you're feeling guilt, it doesn't mean you're berzerk-o.

The combination of my story that had happened a couple months ago, and Adam's story, led to my reaction later that day. I was crossing 6th Avenue at 14th street when someone was holding out a small red card to me. Normally, I never take what's handed to me, since as a stand-up comic once said, "It's like the person is saying, 'Here, you throw this out.'" Anyway, for whatever reason, in part because the man handing it out looked to be in pretty bad shape, I reached out and took it, not even breaking my stride. But I felt my arm being pulled back --- the man was not letting go! I wheeled around, still holding onto the red card. The man was making a pained face and pointing down to the card that we were both still holding. I read it. It announced that he was deaf and was trying to feed his family. It said it was offering the alphabet in sign language as a small little teaching tool and if I could give anything for it, it would be appreciated. I flipped it over and sure enough, there was 26 hands displaying each letter. Just before I left Thailand, I had taught my 6th graders how to spell their names in sign language for fun during "summer school."

I had met many deaf "beggers" while in Thailand and this man didn't seem to be faking it. At that moment, I felt my heart just clench. I had Adam's story still in my mind and the anger that it had caused in me. I looked at the man who seemed to truly need money. I reached into my bag and handed him a dollar and he thanked me by nodding his head and doing "thank you" in sign language. As I walked away, I started breathing heavily. I had an overwhelming feeling to weep. I couldn't even articulate in my head exactly why. I knew it was connected to the whole Adam story, but I just felt so awful. I entered my gym then and went up to the locker room, spending a bit of time composing myself in the bathroom stall.
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So, today, I'm walking toward Union Square after having worked out and spent a fairly pleasant time in my new Chinatown place-to-eat-super-cheap. I got a Tasti-Delite ice cream (I swear I will never eat that stupid ice cream again!), and am crossing the street. Suddenly a man appears in front of my face, startling me, and causing me to halt just as I reach the curb. Shaky, the man starts, "Hi, don't worry, I'm gay so I'm not here to harass you, I just want you to know..."

Oh. My. God.

I couldn't believe it. My one hunk of burning guilt for my own personal greed. Here he was, months later, spilling the same schpiel. I wanted to throw up.

"Look," I said, pursing my lips, "You told me this same story two months ago..."

A cloud crossed over the man's face. He looked down in disgust, turned away, and walked off. He didn't even try to deny it.

As I walked on, I felt a heaviness descend upon me. Perhaps the guilt was better -- it let me believe that at least there were good people out there and that I had screwed up. Now, my sole source of legitimate charity was nothing but a hoax. He was still out there; still doing it. I know the guy is obviously down on his luck and trying to get along, and yet, I feel so angry about it. Anyway, my guilt was misguided, and yet I don't feel better. I've been vindicated...sadly.