Monday, September 20, 2010
Telegram Italiano
Pressing PAUSE.... the place of the in-between
A place considered a "dirty nightmare" is the spot I chose; good old Penn Station. Although the stench of Penn Station is off-putting, I feel the most connected to myself here. When inside this underground dungeon I am overwhelmed by emotions. I find memories, sentiment, and hopes I have safely tucked away in the heart of Penn Station. I feel like as human beings, we leave little bits and pieces of ourselves in unlikely places. We can't carry the burden of every emotion or experience we have had, so we hide them in places, books, songs, and other people. I find much of myself each time I return to Penn Station, especially after being removed from it for a couple of weeks.
There is something so extreme about Penn Station that makes it so endearing to me. I observe the extremes of lifestyle within a matter of minutes. Its a place where I love to make up stories about the people I see and try to figure out where I fit into their lives (or don't). It's where I first discovered my sense of independence and purpose. I have always known I am a New Yorker at heart. All my life I could wake up at 5:15 to hear my Dad tiptoeing around and readying himself for work. Before grabbing his keys I would hear the "clink" of the breakfast dishes being placed in the sink and his fast footsteps to be sure to make his train. He'd drive to the train station and transition to his New York life. I lived for the days when I could tag along on "take your daughter to work day" or on a day that my mom would take me and my siblings in to enjoy the city. Something about New York feels so right to me.
When my parents and I decided freshmen year that I could take ballet classes at a school in New York on the Upper West Side I could not have been happier. The whole week I looked forward to the train rides, subway adventures, and walks through the hustle and bustle of Lincoln Center. There was so much to see and so little time! I'd begrudgingly get back to the reality of highschool and all its components on the train ride home. I get reminded of my young self every now and again while sitting in Penn Station. I watch young teenagers thrilled to be in Penn Station buying candy from Hudson News or taking a cab to whichever destination they have (because they'd have no idea how to get there any other way). It seems so glamorous and exciting to them, and was overly shiny and glamorous to me. Its that anxious, hungry, and limitless attitude that I like to remember when I'm sitting, exhausted in Penn Station waiting for that 11:11 train to board. After a long day of high school followed by traveling into the city for rehearsal or class only to return was exhausting, but SO incredible! I would never in a million years trade that for a more ordinary high school experience. Some people may think I missed out on some high school experiences…. I see it differently. I allowed myself to do what I was DYING TO do.
Penn Station acted as my buffer between these two very different worlds. It was like being in neutral territory. Hours upon hours of sitting in this place of the in-between has provided me time to think, reflect, and scheme. Right on 34th Street, Pennsylvania Station would be considered at the heart of the midtown hustle, yet I considered it a home base of sorts. Throughout the past four years, I would attend dance performances as much as possible. I just associate that feeling of pure inspiration and desire to dance with sitting in Penn Station. Utterly overwhelmed and ready to dance the next morning, my friday nights following performances made Penn Station a place to think about my goals and future. It made things seem limitless….
Energy is pouring out of each traveler. Its like this intangible electrical buzz that has everyone in the station moving and going. Very different people; different hopes, desires, and lifestyles all coexisting together. Collectively this pack of characters all are trying to achieve the same goal; getting somewhere… both physically and conceptually. This place has its cast of characters. The man sitting next to me speaking Spanish on the phone. The man standing at attention tapping his toes waiting for the train (because God forbid we New Yorkers wait for anything). The woman with a Prada purse and a briefcase drinking a soda from McDonalds. A man who sits oblivious, playing on his kindle with a beer in his hand and popcorn balanced on his feet. Where do I fit in? I don't, but that's Penn Station for you. That's New York for you. I was always so entertained by the looks I got from business women while I stood in the NJTRANSIT concourse with my bun on top of my head and a highlighter in my hand trying to read Shakespeare for english the following morning. The novelty of being unknown in Penn Station never wears off. Its exciting to see yourself mixed in with a group of new people each day. Or observe the same man on your train three times in one week.
Penn Station resonates with the me. It brings me back to my roots and reminds me why I am here and what my passion to dance is really fueled by. It iis a place of discovery and identity for me. Isn't that funny? The unlikeliest of places…
Lower East Side and Alphabet City
This Saturday, I ventured down to the East Village to have dinner and see a show with a new friend of mine. The moment I stepped out of the metro at Union, I saw hundreds of tourists exploring the city for the first time, taking lots of pictures, and just stopping to stare at the wonder that is New York City. At first I was annoyed by the large presence of people not moving, but then—as cliché as it sounds—I thought about how lucky I am to be living in the city that I had dreamt about living in my entire life, and I began to look around Union Square with a sort of new light. I walked through all the artists selling paintings, and various marketplaces that were all along the perimeter of Union square, and waited for my friend.
When I finally met up with my friend, he took me to a restaurant near the theatre called S’Mac. It was a very interesting place that makes all different kinds of Mac and Cheese. It reminded me of Noodles and Company that I used to go to all the time with my best friends, Adele and Kathleen. I got the “All American,” which was basically the classic Mac and Cheese. Inside was very crowded, so we took our food over to a park, where we ate, and stared at a beautiful church—I believe it was the Saint Mark’s.
After we finished eating our Mac and Cheese, we walked around Alphabet City until it was time for the play. While we were walking, I realized how different this part of the city was from what I am used to, living in and mostly hanging out in Midtown and the Upper East Side. The buildings were mostly less than 10 stories, and it felt more like being in a completely different city, rather than a different part of the same one. It just goes to show how large and diverse this city truly is. New York is, I believe, the greatest city in the world to live, and I honestly cannot believe that I now live here.
-Elliot
The Fountain of Peace
A dot and I dash,
a dash and a dot,
a great big question mark.
Dark creeps in,
sound comes out,
this is what Harlem's all about.
Tight squeeze,
cool breeze,
a thought in you're head and now you freeze...
It can make your blood grow cold.
Sun in the sky,
birds in the tree,
party just down the block.
Strange new face,
different race.
"God bless you beautiful. You make my day!"
Things aren't always as they seem.
Despair on the sleeve,
hope in the heart,
all good things need a start.
Struggle for bread,
dream in the head,
work so hard until you're dead.
A tiny surprise can change your life.
Alphabet City
What am I Doing Here??? --Darius A. Journigan
Then there was me; scared and scrawny, sitting all alone staring up at the map telling us which stop we're at. Totally oblivious to my surroundings. When I finally had the courage to look away from the map, I saw that the train had been filled with what appeared to be an entire gang. Black and Hispanic men in loose fitting jeans and black tees, most wearing dark sunglasses, all wearing nice shoes and shiny gold watches or chains. Of course at this point I was aware that I was getting closer and closer to the Bronx, the place that, though I have never been, I've seen many movies about. Enough to form a totally biased opinion of the place. So, naturally I was terrified. I slowly and discreetly slid the rainbow wrist band off of my wrist and uncrossed my legs assuming what I imagined to be a very "straight" posture. I counted down the stops until I was there.
After 157th street, I was getting anxious. Would someone follow me off of the train and into the station? What about once I arrived and he wasn't there waiting for me? -- As the train came to a stop at 168th I bolted out of the train (at a brisk walk, never a run of course), up the stairs and out onto the streets. It reminded me of Detroit's east side, and though I remained cautious I felt increasingly more confident. I looked around me and inhaled a lung full of the polluted air of New York City. It relaxed me, and I was ready to continue the walk to my friends apartment. Unfortunately, after my first few steps through Washington Heights I lost the confidence I gained upon arrival and ran (again, briskly walked) across the street and straight into the arms of my friend who had watched the entire length of my mental preparation and laughed at me the whole night.
Maybe one day I'll be able to take on New York's transit system alone at night...maybe. But until then, I'm perfectly content with dragging friends along with and walking as far as I have to!
~*D.A. Journigan*~
Taking it All In
I love it here. I love everything about it-the crisp air that fills my lungs with each breath, the motherly structures that envelop me everywhere I go, the fascinating people I come across at every turn. It’s all I could ever ask for, honestly.
Just the other day I found myself wandering about not really going anywhere, not really looking for anything. I was just there in its midst, taking it all in, absorbing every ounce of the city block by block. There were little family owned restaurants that had been there for generations, pets that look like their owners, chic exclusive boutiques, glossy window displays, cake shops, apartment complexes, Laundromats, trees, birds, cars, people. Things. Everywhere. All around me. The city was my universe. Every corner I turned led to another section of the grid that was just as interesting and unique as the last.
I eventually made it to the oasis of New York-Central Park. Not that the city itself is a desert; Central Park is just a bit of a culture shock when you’ve seen nothing but steel and concrete for 20 blocks. I found a patch of grass to lie down in and shut out the world for a moment. I awoke in a haze and surveyed my surroundings. I saw a small dog chasing something, a couple completely captivated by each other’s company, a baby who had barely begun to walk, an artist absorbed in the ambience... So many different people converging on this one insignificant hill in this enormous piece of landscape.
I realized how many small encounters happen by coincidence in this city. You never know who you’re going to run into from one minute to the next. New York, like I said, is it’s own little universe. You never know who will show up in your corner of it. I find that not knowing is exhilarating. It keeps you on your toes, and that’s why I love it here.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Grand Central Station
One of the best parts of New York City is all the different people walking down the streets; some are going home to have dinner with their spouse and chidren, some are walking to a corner bar, and some are on their way to important meetings.
The most entrancing place to observe the everyday journeys of thousands of people is Grand Central Station. While not the most beautiful or exciting place to spend a day, I spent a great deal of time in the hustle and bustle of Grand Central Station over the weekend and what I have learned from spending time in a train station is that people are constantly leaving the lives of other people. They say goodbye to each other in crowded, grimy places. Hopefully they will come back to each other, but all too often the final goodbye happens in air ports, bus stops, and train stations. A goodbye is inevitable at some point, but I have been experiencing a prolonged goodbye.
Tomorrow should be the last day I spend time in Grand Central Station in a while, on my way to say one last goodbye. An 11:39 a.m. train ride with dread coursing through my body. Time to end the prolonged goodbye... A 4:12 p.m. train back to New York City with a dull aching sensation in that unidentified, immeasurable depth of my body.
"If I am really a part of your dream, you'll come back one day." - The Alchemist
Bundled up in a world of Hope.
The first night we were here, my roommate and I decided to do probably the dorkiest thing we could think of and go down to Times Square in the middle of the night just to eat ice cream and run around. Did you know that the Coldstone in Times Square is open until 2 in the morning? Well it is :) Just like everything in this wonderful city at our fingertips, it's just one more place that welcomes you with open arms at any moment of day, night, morning or anytime in between. Being at Marymount and living here is the first time that I've ever felt like my dreams of pursuing theatre as a career are possible. At my school we were always shot down when we talked about having dreams like that. But for some reason, that one night, our first night here, with all the possibilities before us in the entire world, standing in Times Square at 1:30AM as one day turned into another, anything felt possible. That was the first of many moments like that. In Times Square especially, the lights are always so bright, like little stars reminding you that you can do anything you want and be whomever you want. Everything felt perfect in that one instant. I felt tiny and humbled by the experience of standing in this giant mecca of the theatre universe, but at the same time like I could accomplish anything I set my heart to. That's what this city is for. You come here to learn and grow and become whoever you decide to be, and mostly to make your wildest fantasies come true. No one knows your past, but everyone is a part of the future ahead of you. That's what's so inspiring about it. I love it here. I promise that I'm going to treasure every moment I spend here. Because really, how could anyone not?
I've always wanted to be here. Right where I am right now. Typing about my first week's experience LIVING the New York City dream. The first thing I learned here was to be grateful. Not everyone is as lucky as us. Not everyone gets to do what they love every day of the year. This is what everyone wants. And now that's just our everyday life. How kickass is that?!
The Philosophy of Borders
A brown haired, green-eyed girl meanders around the only part of the city that isn’t shaped in a square. The layout grid of the rest of the city doesn’t apply to this spot. Yes she’s a little girl, but why is it that “little” people are fascinated with every detail that the “older” more “adult” people completely and utterly ignore? It is because of ignorance or lack or arrogance? One can never know, but on this particular day, Annie noticed how the narrow road in Central Park curves. The streets don’t usually turn this way, she thought as the turned the curve to yet another grassy area. She could tell she was nearing the water because the smell of algae was filling the air molecules around her. She knew the exact spot in which the smell would envelop her. That moment quickened the pace of not only her steps, but also her heartbeats.
The water was a mystery. What was underneath its surface? A whole other world with its own shops, schools and restaurants, thought Annie. Someday, she continued, I’ll get a snorkel and some goggles and go live in that world under water. The world would be one in which everyone would be happy to see her and invite her in for a blueberry scone and some tea. It would be easy to make friends, and even easier to keep them. Instead of flowers, from the ground would sprout lollipops of every color of the rainbow. You can pick any color you want, and as soon as you pick it, another grows right in its place.
Every Sunday, Annie anticipated being in this spot. You see, by now she has reached the exact spot where she stands in expectation of a certain feeling. It’s an awe-inspiring feeling of happiness, wonder, and eagerness. The very sentiments that seem to escape the “adults.” Annie closes her eyes, takes a deep breath from the tip of her toes and imagines the lollipops. Maybe, she thinks, if I close my eyes and open them as fast as I can I’ll see the world underwater. Ever since Annie read The Little Princess, she knew for a fact that imaginary worlds go to sleep as soon as a human looks in its vicinity so as not to be seen. But Annie wanted so badly to see. She wanted to join it, not destroy it. 1, 2, 3, OPEN! Nothing. I guess I wasn’t fast enough, she thinks.
“Annie! Annie!” came a familiar yet distant voice from around the curve. Annie knew who it was and that she should probably answer, but she wasn’t at all concerned with the sound of her name. The distressed voice would soon get close and the distress would subside. The voice was that of her father. Annie has never been able to understand her father. The way he acts puzzles her, and she doesn’t like his job, rather she doesn’t understand it. He’s a painter you see, he paints landscapes. His paintings are quite famous.
It’s just that Annie can’t understand why he would want to paint on a piece of paper or a canvas because no matter how big the piece of paper, you can never illustrate the entire picture. It’s only visible in one dimension and angle. Annie hated for the land to be robbed. It doesn’t look like that in real life, she would often think. One specific day Annie’s father painted a very specific spot. Her spot. “It doesn’t look like that Daddy,” she had said. “Yes it does Annie. Don’t be a child,” he had replied.
From then on, she didn’t like any of his paintings. In Annie’s humble opinion, and it is humble, no one can contain the beauty of nature in with paint on a piece of paper. If you want to see the art of nature, go outside. In her case, it’s go to Central Park and look up, look down; look at the water because the majesty is everywhere. It encircles her every Sunday.
Eventually, Annie’s father finds her. He tells her not to run off. “I have work to do,” he explains. As they get farther and farther away from her spot, she closes her eyes and whips her head around one last time as fast as she can to see if her friends are waving goodbye. They’re so fast, she thinks.
Let’s go back in time, not to another century, but simply to a different time. A young boy, whose green eyes resemble Annie’s, stands in a particular spot, eyes closed… 1, 2, 3, Open!
My First Weeks In The City - Alexandra Schwartz
Without the rain, there would be no rainbow...
"Without the rain there would be no rainbow". This is one of my favorites quotes. I often find that I enjoy rainy days more than sunny ones. Half of this might be because I just really love wearing my rain boots, but I also find that it makes me find the beauty in things I normally would not. I seem to enjoy rainy days in NYC even more than anywhere else. There is something enchanting about the darkness of the buildings and the clouds in the sky. Walking around for our FYM project it was interesting to find the beauty in the things you never notice. The shape of the windows in the building, the way colors pop against the gray of the buildings and the reflection in the puddles.
faded.
"131 West 71st Street between Columbus and Broadway please". I can't tell you how many times I've heard my Pop say that to cab drivers. As i sit here, in front of the place where my childhood memories lie, I begin to reflect; I begin to remember various pieces of information that make me the person who I am today. I grew up here, on the Upper West Side. My school was a five dollar cab ride away. My tutor was a five block-walk away. The doejo where i took karate classes for six years was an eight minute walk away. In my eyes, everything was accessible to me. Yet, when I moved to California, things weren't so easy to get to. I missed that about New York. There's a church with a red door next to my old brownstone. There is (and always was) a homeless person sleeping in the door way of the church. Our dog walker who walked our dog Hymie for 15 years got married on Halloween in that church. As I examine the remains of what used to be my home, I take notice to the left side of the brownstone. I was eight years old when we arrived home late Sunday night only to find the word "fag" graffitied in black paint on the side of our house. I'm sure you can imagine how my gay dads felt about that one...There's something about my brownstone that's different now. It's not as happy...it looks darker, lifeless almost. My Pop loves animals and was so hurt when he saw that the new owners of the house had put up chicken wire on the ledges of the windows to keep the pigeons away. The gate leading up to the doorway that the city of New York made us take down is now up again leaving bystanders with the notion that they are not welcome here, kind of like how i feel right now. I rang the intercom buy no one answered, when we lived there, the house was never empty. I love this area, but understand why my parents felt raising five children in New York was impossible. I feel at home here, on this block, in this neighborhood. It's familiar to me in ways that school is not. When I'm alone at school, I feel like an outsider. I feel like I can't completely be myself. I don't like feeling that way. Part of me wishes we still owned our brownstone. I would be living there today, and would bring life back into in ways that the current tenants clearly are incapable of. This six story home once seemed like a castle to me, but now it is only a memory that fades each time I attempt to refresh it.Mission "I'mPossible"
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Gabrielle Donnelly, Creative Narrative
I want to get married here. This is, by far, my favorite place in the universe. There’s nothing quite as peaceful, no part of Manhattan quite as open and quaint. I do some of my best thinking here. Somehow, the fresh air and open space clear my head and allow me to feel alive. Without any doubt or question, I am happy here. Central Park is nice, but there is no unity; no sense of placement in the universe. There are so many different parts and areas, each with their own unique feel and characteristics. Each time I go there, I feel like I’m visiting somewhere new. Central Park is a great place and makes for an amazing experience, but when I feel lost and need to find myself, Bryant Park is where I go.
So often, I feel as though I’m a spark in the universe: a million tiny parts floating out in different directions all searching for different things. Part of me is at home with my family; parts are all searching Manhattan for different adventures and glories; a part of me is at school studying to be the best performer I can be; parts are searching for things and people I’ve lost and who have lost me. But all of these bits of oblivion have one thing in common: they are all searching to discover who I really am and where I belong.
When I feel lost, as if all of the bits of my spark have floated too far from one another, I come to Bryant Park. Maybe it’s the huge, open lawn nestled inside one of the busiest parts of the city that makes me feel like I’ve found a sanctuary amongst chaos. Maybe it’s the way the surrounding buildings create a sort of fence around the park, making me feel tucked into the peaceful bed of grass. Maybe it’s the way the sunshine reflects off of the water in the fountain as visitors make their wishes on pennies, or the way children’s faces light up when they see the Carousel. Something about Bryant Park makes me feel as though all of the pieces of my being have come together in one definite location, reuniting under the sun on the welcoming grass, discovering new things about themselves. Here, I know who I am and all of the answers to the questions I can’t find within myself anywhere else.
Today, I find myself sitting on the patio of the park surrounded by four of my best friends. We are all working independently; three of us writing, one drawing and one taking photos. The sound of the water splashing into the big marble fountain lulls us all into a state of concentration and comfort. We are all focused on separate things, but here, we are together. In fact, we are more of a family as we sit here silently than we ever have been before while talking and sharing ourselves with one another. Today, I’ve found another part of myself within the walls of Bryant Park. I’ve discovered that life is a series of codependent relationships: all things, people and forms of life need other things, people and forms of life to function and survive. The people I’m surrounded by are the ones who help me grow, succeed and live my life the best way possible. We support one another and care for one another in the truest, most honest way. Today, all the bits and pieces of the spark that is me have come together in Bryant Park only to realize that, no matter how spread apart they may be, little parts exist within each of the people I love. Together, as a family, we create and define one another and exist as a sanctuary amongst chaos. We all live busy lives in such a hectic place, but a visit to Bryant Park, the small patch of grass nestled within the giant city, helps us come together in one definite location. Here, I find myself, we find each other and we leave not as sparks floating in different directions in space, but as one bright light.