Bikes on Broadway

 

I have been biking in Manhattan for more than a decade. I have had 3 bikes stolen and three destroyed while locked on a street pole. I survived a double concussion after being thrown from my brand new bike while impacting in a pothole in the dark on West  47th Street in 2005. For this I was dismissed by the City of New York City as a 'nuisance case' thanks to Mayor Koch's prior cause law for streets and sidewalks. If someone else had shown prior cause to my accident, I would have benefitted compensation. I digress. I just want you to know I am an experienced rider. I wear a helmet, and use lights at night. I obey the crosswalk and lights in bike lanes and I would hope that all pedestrians, cyclists, commuters, cabs, and commercial vehicles could get along and obey the same rules and to be kind and courteous.  

I had hoped to see an ease in congestion and an awareness of our cyclists with an educational forum for cabs, and commercial drivers, but I am not feeling it. In general I feel very safe with MTA bus drivers and in many cities bus and bike lanes are one and the same. But in NYC cabs and more often than not the bridge and tunnel folk who drive into the city HONK at bikers from behind! This is startling and ineffective. I think honking should be banned in the city primarily because drivers do not use horns for danger but rather impatience and warning? You needn't warn right of way traffic that you are behind them? That defeats the purpose. There are bike lanes and most streets are wide enough for cars to pass without a startling horn. A car is no match for a bike AT ANY RATE so don't honk. There is plenty of room to pass. You need n't honk at a car as you pass so please don't honk at a bike.

Another thing cabbies and livery like to do is cut off bikers and pull into bike lanes to let their fares exit.   In general this is very dangerous. On more than one occasion I have seen a food delivery person on his bike upset because his delivery bit the dust with a car door surprise.  (Have you noticed? They must wear a helmet and safety vest by law). I would hope that all taxi-cabs would have bike warning stickers affixed to their windows and cabbies receive mandatory bicycle awareness training as a part of all of the 3K miles of bike lanes and thousands (9000) of Citi-bikes now gracing our streets. Mayor MIKE Bloomberg, do you read me?

Ocean Grove, New Jersey

Beyond my weekly pleasure trips to Trader Joe's for provisions and the bliss I feel after my monthly steam rolling at Turcica.com or my Sonic Yoga classes each week, my physical get-aways from the city are to this heavenly historical haven on right coast in Ocean Grove, NJ. My friend Gloria has a sweet spot a block from the beach in this historical Methodist Victorian picturesque town. It is fun to go down to the beach for the day or overnight. A leisurely 90 minute bus ride along the shore was my preferred way of travel.  I can see from all reports this will never be the same.

Anyway,  I had been wondering how they fared after seeing the boardwalk at nearby Asbury Park and the damage.
 I was grateful this morning after looking for their beach cam, (of course it is toast) when I stumbled upon Paul Goldfinger's Blogfinger site. With pictures and video of familiar sites around town and the fishing pier before and after the wrath of Sandy. I discovered that there were no lives lost. Just the fishing pier which can be rebuilt washed away. Lots of tree's and other damage,  Not sure about Gloria's 32 Beach St, sweet spot.



I have practiced yoga out on that pier more than once and it was haunting to see it this way.



This is how I remember it:

Brother Sun Sister Moon

Brother Sun at thirty three, the age of Christ, walked by me today on Eighth Avenue.  I hadn't seen him for a decade, I wasn't sure it was him at first but I had imagined meeting him this way. Sunshine, shaved head, long novitiate robes. The strong profile. This was the face of a young man whom I had known intimately as an even younger man and here he was standing before me after I followed him down the street, pushing a stroller with Tilda of Switzerland and her banana.

I had just caught a glimpse of him as I crossed the street but it was enough to recognize the deep soulful brown eyes and a hint of a smile as he was taking in the city and the humanity that pulses in the streets of New York. As we crossed in opposite directions, my eyes followed him walking steadily westward. I must have said something aloud. Even a quarter block away, I could judge his profile as the wind carried his name. Does he have a spiritual name now? How do I address him? In the Vedic tradition the monk is known as a Sannyasin, so that's what I called out to him as I briskly retraced my steps to follow his smoke grey robed form, and I caught up to him and I couldn't see anything else. Tilda waited patiently, eating her banana in her stroller as I called out to him in his given name. His voice had matured, it was more resonant than I remember. Years of breathwork and meditiation can only improve upon a natural baritone. When I knew him back then, we shared midwestern roots, a love of music and song, and our graduation with intact family among other things. Since then he had travelled the world post Sept 11, to the Vatican, to India, and Mother Teresa's Mission and on to Tibet. He seemed clear and calm and happy. He had found himself and arrived at his destination as it were or perhaps more accurately he was sure footed on his path. I asked him if I could hug him, unsure of protocol and he laughed and hugged me simultaneously. He said a word in Chinese to me that described our meeting as: fate, chance, and destiny. Here in NYC to retrieve his visa now that he is an official mainland Buddhist monk. I didn't ask him his spiritual name. I feel as if I will see him again or know him again in another place and time as  it was, so it will be. Godspeed Sannyasin you are clearly Brother Sun. Much love from your Sister Moon.

Ha! Exactly! B-lah-g Review

I had the great good fortune of being invited to see a play written by one of my TRU friends, the 'Living' Playwright Rich Orloff. He is an internationally produced and prolific writer but this was my first opportunity to see his work at The Workshop Theater Company in a Co-Production with The Foolish Theatre Company.

'Ha!' plays in their Jewel Box Space which was beautifully designed and set by Meagan Miller-McKeever. She is a clever girl because Ha! is actually three plays in one and the first thing we notice is a projection monitor up center and two long columns of light on a black and white checked linoleum floor in a fully curtained black box theater space. She makes the most of this space allowing plenty of room to play for this ensemble of character actors who are featured in this trio of gem's directed flawlessly by Ric Sechrest.

First up is 'Oedi' a borscht belt telling of the tale I am personally familiar with apart from school learnin' because this Jayebird was nearly named Jocasta.
The earnest and honest actor Mike Smith Rivera portrays Oedipus with simplicity and just the right amount of silliness you might not expect from an ethnically diverse clown. Orloff's writing supports the straight man of this piece with the zingers from the players. As an audience we are immediately engaged and listening for the next line to watch this politician become undone by his own doing. The second bit of the evening is 'News from St. Petersburg'. A Russian Revolution story told with just 4 of the 5 cast members. Part Chekhov, part Woody Allen, the news is about everything we surmise is going on in the world outside this wintry drawing room. Jarel Davidow shines as brightly as the tea set he juggles. As Sasha as he brings the world of the servants from offstage on in their response to the news from St. Pete. Watching theater veteran; Evan Thompson as master of the house (Fyodor) is a delicious and engaging treat.
After Intermission and a chance to buy my pictured mug is 'The Whole Shebang' which comprises the 2nd Act. This delightful romp into the hemisphere was for me the most engaging and thought provoking piece. It takes a look at being human, and the world as we know it as 'God' is up for review for his MU (Master of the Universe). This is the time for us  two legged creatures who only use part of our brains to say to ourselves: 'man, that is funny, I wish I had thought of it!' or just listen and laugh along at this intelligent and intergalactic theatrical thesis presentation.
Don't miss the play in this incarnation. Audience go-ers crave this kind of pick me up. This is rare, smart, silly and engaging theater.

Now playing at 312 W 36th Street 4th Fl. Tickets available www.workshoptheater.org. $18.00/15.00 seniors and students and a discount if you find me on facebook in my status updates. Thursday, Friday, at 8pm and Saturday 3 and 8pm and Sunday thru the 15th. See it this week!

Falling

Fall, for me has always meant letting go. Letting go of summer, letting go of something or someone I love, and falling into school and a refreshed sense of perspective to begin again. The fall that I was sixteen I lost a high school boyfriend to leukemia, a disease that at the time was untreatable, the chemo and radiation took him just weeks after his diagnosis. Processing that loss at a tender age has resulted in my personal persistence creatively. l have persisted because he can not. A brilliant composer and concert pianist, I recently visited his 91 year old mother in a truly beautiful Wisco care facility. I had always looked forward to the first day of school when growing up, it meant new clothes, new beginnings and a chance to start over, to begin again. I moved to NYC to attend NYU for my MA, 12 years ago on Labor Day weekend and right into a beautiful room with a view of the WTC just blocks away in the West Village for my first semester of classes. Within weeks my 16 1/2 year old cat Garp passed after seeing me safely settled. The animal love of my young adult life had dropped his kitty body in a kundalini spiral a week before Halloween. I haven't been able to enjoy the festivities of that day since. Instead I appreciate All Souls and The Day of the Dead thanks to my friend (Rose Portillo) who celebrates in style annually in her Silver Lake home. Ten years ago I was signing up for an equity principle audition across town in the basement of St. Peters on the morning of Sept 11, 2001. I had just looked at a copy of a Vedanta magazine and spied a picture of my friend Swami Advaitananda whom I had met in India two years prior. I stroked the glossy magazine and thought how close he was to me. I didn't realize until later the significance. The morning was gorgeous and clear and I didn't mind waiting to go in and sign up. Our line moved slowly down the stairwell and into the building, someone was listening to their radio walkman and shouted out that a plane had hit the WTC, we thought he was joking when someone else chimed in about a 2nd when we knew it was not an accident but that the city was under attack. People began to leave the line, actors have temp jobs at places like WTC and we were all wondering what was happening. I took the bus across town because I knew the subway line I would have rode ended at WTC. I could see the smoke and the towers down the avenue's as I got close. I ran up to my 5th floor walk up for the best view I could get to see the top third of the towers just 2 miles away in the clear September morning. I sat on the rooftop of my West 47th street apartment on my knees and prayed and watched them burn then before my very eyes. One of my neighbors would come up and report what he had heard on TV, I held my phone's both land line and cell and my Dad was first to reach me before I hopped on my bike to find away to volunteer. I am pretty sure I took a drag of a cigarette and had a shot of alcohol before 11 am to brace myself for what I had seen. Later that night when there really was nothing to volunteer for and the Red Cross was filled with hundreds of helpless people like me I returned home. I lit a candle, I opened the door to the roof and the front windows of my apartment and I prayed again for the transmigration of souls. I prayed for their release and for their peaceful ascension northward.

It was 6 years ago on Labor Day that I sustained a double concussion while riding my brand new bike down west 47th street here in HK. It was a loss that slowed me down for the better. I don't recommend it as an alternative to yoga and meditation but I have managed to reframe it and I still ride a bicycle, despite that fall. Four years ago was the biggest loss to date. As a single person of a certain age, my creativity, and my work, family, and sense of knowing and growing are truly important to life and love and I lost my Dad suddenly to heart disease 72 hours post surgery; losing him was exascerbated by my Step Mom's estrangement from the family. I am still working to make peace with it but since then I will always associate the beauty of fall and the changing of leaves with my Dad and the day I spent with him prior to his surgery, just the two of us tooling around running errands in my rented convertible in southern door county peninsula. Leaves changing, cheese purchased, taking a different way home. When we got back to the house, he held the ladder while I pruned the deadwood out of the trees over the bluff... Man, I miss him every day but I am continually trusting my ability to let go and fall gracefully. There is a season turn, turn. Falling to my knees with grace to stand up begin again and move forward.

Cacophony photographers of all media on the Rd carpet ensues.

McQueen tartan clad men flank the entrance to the Metropolitan Museum's Costume Institute Ball