As luck would have it, I was able to attend a performance of the New York Classical Theatre’s production of ‘King Lear’ in Battery Park last evening. It so happens that my uncle’s partner Andrew was playing the part of The Fool, so the incentive to see this production was greater than normal.
The New York Classical Theater performs classic plays for free, outdoors in New York parks. The company performs in Central Park and Battery Park. The audience must move with the actors and the plays are staged in several different areas of the parks.
Seeing Shakespeare in the park is a great experience, especially the way it is done by the NYCT. The audience moves frequently at the cues given by actors that are incorporated into the dialogue of the play. Sometimes the action will move directly behind the audience, and people in the back row find themselves in the front row and must quickly sit down or scramble out of the way.
The Bard’s great poetic words are a joy any time or place, and Andrew was outstanding as The Fool. If you do not see some free Shakespeare this summer in New York, you are missing out.
My latest column is now online on Kotori Magazine’s Web site. It documents a fine evening several weeks ago when a friend and I organized a group to drink in Hell’s Kitchen’s finest dives.
The victor of the night was most definitely The Holland Bar. There were some bars we didn’t make it to. Rudy’s is a great bar but it was way too crowded. Collins Bar was not on our itinerary but I’ve been there and it is indeed a fine place. Siberia was shuttered.
Hell’s Kitchen is a very interesting neighborhood and I’ve always been fascinated by its dive bars. They, like quality dive bars everywhere, are a dying breed. Support them at every opportunity.
Let me know if you disagree with any of my assessments here or if there are any glaring omissions.
My latest Notes from a Polite New Yorker column is now online at Kotori Magazine. I was inspired by a former co-worker’s request of things she should do before she left New York.
I kept my list to 10 things, and tried to be more general in some cases. The list of things one should do before leaving New York could be endless. It would be an interesting exercise to try if you haven’t tried it.
Some things I thought about including but didn’t:
Eat a pastrami sandwich at Katz’s Deli. I didn’t think I could include Katz’s without including the Carnegie Deli, and that would bring up the Second Avenue Deli as well (though it is no longer on Second Avenue). Then I’d want to include a trip to Grey’s Papaya on 6th Avenue and 8th Street, and my list would get bogged down in a food fight.
Visit the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Visiting the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island are great and interesting, but it can be very time consuming, expensive and aggravating. You will pay about $15 for a ferry ticket to a private company to take you to Liberty Island, a national federal park. Swaggering U.S. Park Police will bellow at you as they hustle you through metal detectors so you will know how important they are. You’ll have to go to Liberty Island and take another ferry to Ellis Island. If you stay on Liberty Island, there will be very long lines to visit the Statue of Liberty. The Statue’s crown will not open again until this July. From the Staten Island Ferry, you can get great views of both the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, for free.
Go to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. St. Patrick’s Cathedral is a nice Cathedral, but so is the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, and so is Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral. There are a host of synagogues, temples, churches and mosques that would be interesting as well. Once you’ve been to The Vatican, no other Cathedral will really impress you as much.
Yesterday, I had a business lunch with some colleagues. We met with two investment bankers and their group’s communications director at a nice restaurant in the World Financial Center not far from our office.
The lunch went well. We chatted amicably, the conversation was pleasant and the food was fine. I asked a few questions that were in keeping with the flow of conversation and everyone left in as pleasant a mood as possible.
But for some reason, while I was dutifully making eye contact and nodding my head and trying to concentrate on the things our lunch guests were telling us about the state of today’s financial markets, I couldn’t help but think about Terry Funk.
Terry Funk is not a journalist or investment banker, but a professional wrestler. You might know him better from some of his movie appearances. I first became acquainted with his work as a pre-pubescent wrestling fan watching the WWF on Saturday afternoon television. Terry Funk was also an early champion and big help to the original, independent, ECW, which made me love wrestling again.
He is more than 60 years old and has retired from pro wrestling several times. Although he has been wrestling since the 1960s, he is considered one of the originators of “hardcore” wrestling, and has left a trail of broken tables, dented chairs and bloody barbed wire in his wake.
So while the people on the other side of the table were explaining the industry verticals of their firm’s unique investment banking platform, all I could think about was Terry Funk battling the Sandman and Big Stevie Cool in a three-way dance, only to face Raven; Or Terry Funk battling Sabu in a barbed wire match. Then my thoughts drifted to how Terry Funk could crash through one of the nicely set tables at the restaurant, whether the dining area had a high enough ceiling to do a proper ladder fall, or what Terry Funk was doing at that exact moment.
I’m not exactly sure why my thoughts drifted to Terry Funk, but I have some ideas. Maybe it’s because Terry Funk represents a great artistic ideal. He has given his all to a part of show business that has chewed up and spit out more famous superstars, he has the respect of his peers and die-hard wrestling fans everywhere, and has done some great work doing what he loves.
Perhaps my brain was telling me to do as Terry Funk would do. Not kick my coworkers and the investment bankers in the face, put them in a sleeper hold or poke them with a branding iron. Follow my dreams, dedicate myself to doing what I love and let the chips fall where they may.
Late last week the company I worked for announced that everyone in the company whose pay had not been cut already was getting a pay cut. The pay cut goes into effect this week. At the rate things are going, I may get a chance to follow some of my crazy dreams.
But I won’t wait around for that. I’ll try to follow my dreams anyway, go down life’s road with the idea to go for it, try for things and not lead the conventional life. Maybe I’ll fail, maybe I’ll succeed. Maybe I’ll get to meet Terry Funk.
This past Tuesday evening, I wound up using a branch of my gym that is in midtown, near Carnegie Hall. It was about 8:30 at night when I left the gym and started walking to the A train.
I had crossed Broadway on 57th Street and was continuing west when I noticed an older woman stopped and began walking alongside me. I thought nothing of it at first, I figured she happened to discover she was heading the wrong way and was simply anonymously going about her life like me and 8 million other people. Then she spoke to me.
“Excuse me,” she said in a very pleasant voice. “You remind me of someone who used to work around here.”
I remained pleasant in return, and told her that I was not the person she thought I was. I have never worked in the midtown area.
“You remind me of someone that used to work around here.”
I am, but didn’t respond to the question because I don’t want to discuss all things Irish with strange women on the street.
She continued, “I live very close by, if you care to come over.”
“No thank you,” I said. She stopped and turned away as I continued walking to the subway.
Was I just propositioned by an elderly prostitute? I thought to myself as I stoically walked away. This woman was old enough to be my grandmother. She was neatly dressed; this was no bag lady or escaped mental patient. Maybe with our aging population and downturned economy, the elderly are selling their bodies to pay for what Medicare doesn’t cover. Maybe she was an eccentric million-heiress who wanted to bed a younger man, and if I had followed her home and done the deed she would have sent me on my way with millions in untraceable cash.
My real thoughts on this strange invitation ranged from religious fanatic to crazed lunatic to just sad lonely old person. She may be all three, but she was most certainly lonely and old. Unfortunately, the person who does accept this elderly woman’s invitation for a visit will probably not be a benign hurried commuter.
Loneliness is a big part of life, even in a city teeming with millions of people. The woman is one I’ll probably never see or hear from again. I will likely never know her name or who she was or when and how she dies. I only hope she finds the help she needs if she’s mentally ill or some companionship if she isn’t.
I write a column called 'Notes from a Polite New Yorker' as well as short stories and poems. My writing has appeared in Ask A New Yorker, GetUnderground.com, Knot Magazine, The Black Table, Too Square, and other web sites and print publications.
