I Moved My Blog

It's official.  I'm leaving Blogger behind and moving the blog to Wordpress.  Check out the new digs at www.wthomasadkins.com.

See you there!

Why I Will Never Use the Basement Laundry Again

Tonight was going to be just any other night, coming home, doing the laundry, going to bed.  So far, so good.

I had just finished washing my clothes and had one load in a dryer, waiting on one of the other three to become available.  Another tenant arrived and removed his clothes with 18 minutes left on his machine.  He told me he was done and I could finish off the time remaining if I'd like.  "Thank you!" I said and loaded my clothes into the dryer.  Even if I had to add time after the initial 18 minutes passed it was worth it to get a head start on finishing this chore.

He took his dry clothes and left and after no more than two or three minutes a woman entered, marched to the dryer that I had been gifted and then turned to me, finger pointing at the dryer, screaming that I had stolen her dryer. I explained that the gentlemen before me had finished and allowed me to us the remainder of time that he had on it.  She continued screaming, flailing her arms wildly, and repeating that I had stolen her dryer time.  In her yelling she said that she had added quarters for the machine beneath the one I was using and that it was broken and that the one I was in was somehow using her quarters.  I tried to explain that it would only do that if she pressed the start button on the active dryer and that I was only using what was left of the previous user's time.

She launched into a full verbal shriek, threatening to beat me.  She marched up to me, got in my face, and screamed that if I didn't take my clothes out of that dryer right then she would "kick ass".  I backed away from her, at this point nearly pinned up against one of the folding tables.  I managed to slip away and began to hastily remove my clothes for fear that she would actually fulfill her threat and turn physical.  Once I had removed my clothes and put them into a rolling bin I turned to see her run toward me, trying to shove her groin at me, screaming at me to "get in there" and pointing to her crotch.

I asked her to stop, explained that if she did come closer I would call the police.  "Call the police!  I'm from this neighborhood."  Not sure what that could mean I decided to leave the laundry area and find the superintendent.  I walked through the basement to his apartment and knocked repeatedly on his door.  I was shaken by the incident and incredibly afraid that she was insane and would snap even further if I didn't get help.  But he did not answer his door.  At this point I just wanted to get my belongings.  I was frightened for myself but also worried about what she might do to my wet clothes so I returned to the laundry area to watch them.

My first load was drying so I took a seat and tried to ignore her.  She continued to try and egg on a fight which I simply ignored.  At this point she remained on the opposite side of the room staring me down.  From her seat she still continued to yell at me so I decided to step away to where I could get cell phone reception and and call the realtor's office to see if I could get any assistance.  The office was closed but I left a voicemail message on their legal departments answering service.

I was afraid to stay but afraid to leave my clothes behind.  I stayed, but kept my distance and focused on my dryer, watching the timer tick away.  After some time she stepped out, "If you need me the super knows which apartment is mine."  She said this calmly, but sternly, as though an entirely new personality had just arrived.  She walked away and I waited a few minutes until I heard the elevator open, her step in, and it closed.

At this point I grabbed my belongings, dry AND wet, threw them into my rolling cart and hurried back to my apartment.

I also sent a detailed email to the agent assigned to my rental account at the realtor's office.  I thought it was important that someone in their office know about this incident in the event that something else happens in the future.

As it is, I'm not going to be going back to the building's laundry room.  I'll take my clothes to a public laundromat or pay the extra cost to drop it off for wash and fold service somewhere.

The moral of this story: If you happen to live here and someone goes completely insane on you grab your dripping duds and get the hell out before they completely snap and you become a headline in the Post.

Angels in America - An Emotional and Challenging Revival

Sofia Jean Gomez and Michael Urie
Photo by Joan Marcusk

I didn't have the privilege of seeing Tony Kushner's Angels in America when it was first produced on Broadway.  Friends had gushed about the production telling me how tragic it was that I didn't have the opportunity to come to NYC and drink in the poetry and majesty of it all.  It wasn't until years later when HBO produced the film version that I became familiar with the story of Prior, Louis, Belize and the Pitts.

But I instantly loved it.  It wasn't an easy love.  The story is hard, emotionally.  I find myself wanting to squeeze Prior and tell him its OK.  To warn him that Louis is going to hurt him.  To keep him safe and help him through his sickness.  But also to not watch as the pain unravels and the ache of loneliness overwhelms him... and the others in the story.  To say that I'm thankful that I haven't lived through that torment is an understatement.  I can't imagine how I would handle it, much less survive, even after knowing very dear friends who have lived through the fear and agony.

And then, last night, I got to meet the story in person.

The Signature Theatre is currently running the fourth extension on their production.  This intimate 160-seat theater sets each audience member no further than 30 feet from the stage.  You might as well be in Prior's bedroom, watching silently as the drama unfolds... and you'd be thankful for the opportunity.

It is incredibly hard to express exactly how I feel about the show.  I'm not sure why.  This is true of the show on the whole as well as for the characters... in particular Prior.  Michael Urie (Ugly Betty, The Temperamentals) is an epic Prior... both funny and sad, hopeful and hopeless, dreaming and awake and I suppose this is what makes expressing my feelings for him so difficult.  The character is a paradox in form and feeling and I feel as juxtaposed about him as he seems to feel but at the same time ache deeply for him to get better, to find love, to find peace.  The others are equally as stunning, particularly Billy Porter who is a generous and caring Belize.  He's exactly the person you want fighting for you when you are desperately in need.

I find myself lost for words in describing the effect that this production had on me.  I want to talk about it, have a dialog, work through issues... and yet I can't find my voice.  At the risk of running on and rambling nonsensically I'll simply suggest you go see it before it ends on April 24th.  Then let's talk... face to face.

How We Got Cable -or- The Cat Came Back & Other Old School Nickelodeon Greats

I was so excited when we finally got cable.  I had begged and begged my mother to get cable because, as a child of the 80s, cable signified something special.  Your house was suddenly the house other kids wanted to hang out at after school because you had channels they only dreamed of.  I really wanted Nickelodeon and Disney Channel (née The Disney Channel... before they dropped the "the").  Those channels enticed me more than MTV because they had things I could envision myself doing, be that Double Dare or The Mickey Mouse Club, whereas MTV was all about big hair, acid washed denim and loud music... none of which I was into... ok, maybe the acid washed denim.

But even after all my persistent pestering my mother still refused, "We don't need cable."  But Mom!!!!!!


That is until one day when I came home from school and she was on the phone, "Yes, no, tomorrow is fine.  Thank you."  Click.

"Who was that?" I asked... nosy.

"Did you know," she started, and then choked up a little.  She was suddenly very excited.  "Did you know that The Monkees are on cable?"

Subway Moments: The Mumbly Guy and the Zombie Apocalypse

My commute this morning was longer than the usual 25 minute ride due to some malfunction between 72nd and 59th Streets. So for 20 minutes we sat there waiting in the darkened tunnel for something, anything, to happen. Most of this time I spent reading Kathy Griffin's book but part of my mind was paying attention to the mumbly man sitting next to me.

Since 168th Street he had been sitting next to me quietly talking to himself and seemingly very engaged in some sort of argument with one of, what could have been, many voices in his head. He'd fidget back and forth, his dirty North Face coat bumping me slightly as his disagreement continued on unintelligibly.

The only five words that I was able to ascertain from his garbled diatribe were:

1. subway
2. vibrations
3. happy
4. zombie
5. apocalypse

The first three seemed to go together, which is disconcerting enough and might explain his squirming back and forth. The last two were said together and seemed to instill him with abject fear... which got me to thinking:

If a zombie apocalypse were to happen I would definitely not want to be stuck underground in a subway car!

Let's imagine for a moment that you are trapped in a subway car, deep inside a tunnel, the power has probably gone out because, for whatever reason, zombies seem to be able to cut the power whenever they appear in movies. So it is dark, your surrounded by other people who are going to panic, and the doors are probably locked shut since there's no power to crank them open again.

Now, let's say a zombie gets on the train and, in the ensuing chaos, bites someone. This is going to happen... it's just too likely that someone is going to be idiotic enough to get caught by one of these slowly moving monstrosities (I'm assuming of course that the zombies will be like those in a Roger Corman film and not the super-sonic runners in modern takes like 28 Days Later).


As Hollywood has taught us, being bitten by a zombie is a sure way to become a zombie yourself. So now there are two zombies. And those two zombies will bite people as they crawl through the car and eventually make their way through this horrifying smörgåsbord to you.

Rationally, if a zombie got in the car you could get out. They aren't smart enough (in theory) to unlock a door, open it and lock it behind them, so in theory you could leave the same way they got in. But that's assuming you could get past them. But even if you got out of the car you'd then be in a dark tunnel and have no sense of who might be right next to you. There's very little light down there when a train isn't barreling through the passage so it is quite possible that millions of zombies have fallen down into the tracks and are ready to devour you. Unless you have some super-human skills or are as clever scripted as the Hollywood action hero... you're probably going to be either a zombie or zombie food if you're stuck in the tunnel.

All of this ridiculous worry rushed through my head in a matter of seconds and all because of the mumbly man next to me who spoke, albeit briefly and incoherently, about a zombie apocalypse while I was riding the subway with him. This might be a form of hypochondria so that I took on some of his "crazy" as another person might assume they had a cold because the person next to them sneezed.

So here's hoping we avoid a zombie apocalypse completely... and if we do someday I pray I'm not on the train. Just seems like a bad idea all over.

Baring it all in NYC

Yesterday, while walking back from a quick trip to the 34th Street Duane Reade, my friend Ginger and I were witness to something I didn't think occurred in New York City any longer.  Sure, back in the 70s and even up into the early 90s, you might see sights like this on any street in Manhattan.  But the city has tamed itself as time has gone by and while there are still homeless people, questionable (if not downright criminal) street vendors (anyone want a Parada Purse or a Birking Bag?) running into this moment was completely unexpected.

On a day that was otherwise sallow and void of entertainment the Universe smiled down on us in the visage of a middle-aged woman in fur.  Her blonde hair was fried from years of over-treatment and the Farrah cut was clearly from a time gone by.  Her fur coat ran in brown and grey streaks to her ankles and her conservative black pumps clicked awkwardly across the icy sidewalk.  She walked briskly as though she was expected somewhere and seemed oblivious to the crowd around her... very New York of her.

But as she approached us, crossing the street toward us as we crossed toward her, a miracle of hilarity took place as a gust of wind whipped up and blew her fur coat open revealing the complete lack of armor underneath.  Two globulous orbs of middle-aged flesh exposed themselves, pointed and pert in the frigid air.  Stunned, Ginger and I stared.  Hours seemed to pass by in what was merely seconds and I found myself shaking my head "no, no, no" while Ginger flashed red and put her head to her chest to hide the laughter that was erupting from within. The bossomy miss gathered her coat together, not quickly as though from embarrassment but with consideration and care from the fact that she was cold and wanted to ensure that her chest be kept free from the icy chill.

"Did that...?" Ginger began.

"Yes, yes it did."  I replied.

"But..." Ginger tried again.

"I know."

"Let's just enjoy the moment." We agreed.

What had begun as a bleak and dreary Thursday had turned into a scrumptious feast of hilarity thanks to the button-less wonder.  So, here's to you Universe!  You know just how to turn a frown upside down... and it is all in the shared amusement of accidental exposure by two friends.

"Pre"-rush Tickets for Broadway?

Most adventurous Broadway lovers are aware of rush ticket policies for many Broadway production. Playbill.com even keeps an up-to-date list of these available for people who have the flexibility to try again and again for tickets to their favorite shows.

A lot of rush policies are good day of meaning you buy the rush ticket an hour or two before the show (if you are one of the lucky people who waited in line). Usually these rush tickets are heavily discounted ($20 - $35 in most cases) and you take your chances as to whether you'll get into that particular performance.

But what if you could buy a "pre"-rush ticket even further in advance? Here me out...

What if you could pay a little bit more, say $40-50, weeks in advance but not for a particular day? Imagine it as a sort of "standby" ticket or pass (similar to a gift certificate). It guarantees that you have a ticket for that show some day but that day is up to you. You could call or visit the box office on the day you wish to attend and, pending availability, they would exchange your pass for the actual ticket. Done!

Benefits for you:

1. Your ticket is paid for. You took care of that already. You don't have to stand in long lines and pray you'll get it.
2. You still take your chances but your whole day doesn't hinge on whether you get in or not... it's done that morning.

Benefit for the show:

1. They have your money. Granted, there are some accounting questions here. The show can't really count your purchase until you've received the goods in exchange but they could earn interest off of it... couldn't they?
2. They can worry less about further discounting tickets day-of because they will have a group of committed consumers who will be happy to call or visit day of and exchange their slightly higher priced pass for a ticket to the show that day.

Issues:

What happens if the show closes and you still have this pass? Well, it could happen. But if the show isn't considering your pass income until you've seen it (which they shouldn't) then the income could pass on to the show you do choose. For example, if you bought your "pre"-rush ticket at a Shubert box office it is conceivable that you could use it at another Shubert box office if your show closes. Or, worse case scenario, you get a refund.

I'm curious to know if you have any thoughts on this. Would you buy a "pre"-rush ticket/pass/standby voucher for a little more if it meant you didn't have to worry about rush day-of? Is this even necessary? Just throwing an idea out there to initiate a conversation. Share your thoughts!

Cutting the Cable (aka Hey, TV is on the Internet!)

Let me start out this diatribe by explaining that I have almost never been happy with any cable provider, any place that I have lived.

Service is questionable, customer service is most often exceedingly failing and tech support is, at best, awake.  So, having heard of the growing trend in cutting the cable from such excellent shows as Leo LaPorte's The Tech Guy and Revision3's Tekzilla, I decided to go all out and give up my connection to over 100 channels (most of which I never watched anyway).

So I called Time Warner Cable here in New York City.  My two-year price lock guarantee was up this past November so I explained that I would like to cancel my cable TV service but keep my Internet service.  Most of the television that I do watch is available online anyway, so why was I paying over $100 a month to watch stuff that was available online??  After a bit of tug-of-war with TWC's customer service (they insisted that I had a 3-year price lock guarantee and that I was committed to another 12 months of cable TV service... no, that took 2 days of struggling with various customer service supervisors until they admitted they had coded my price lock wrong) I successfully cut cable TV out of my life and have not looked back.

With the increasing ability to watch TV online through Netflix, Hulu or even via the specific channels (Fox and Syfy are particularly good at posting their content online... usually within a day or two of its broadcast release) I'm able to watch what I want, when I want it on my computer.  And with an old Macbook Pro connected to the TV I can access everything on the big screen just like I had with cable.  Of course, thanks to "set top boxes" like the Roku or Boxy (neither of which I have since the Macbook Pro can do all that they can... and more) anyone can get the Internet on their TV.  And if you have a gaming console like the Xbox 360, Playstation 3 or Nintendo Wii you can access a variety of services (Netflix in particular works incredibly well on each).

So, to all those out there who are suffering from poor service and high cable bills... look to the Internet and see if you can live without your wired connection to your cable TV provider.  It is really pretty wonderful to think that you've turned your back on an industry that has, at least in my experience, turned its back on its customers.

For more information on how to live without cable check out Lifehacker's post from earlier last year.  It's a pretty thorough primer for those looking to cut the cable.

Surviving Jury Duty

New York County Supreme Courthouse
Taken from flickr user: wallyg

I've been told that it is an honor to serve on a jury... to fulfill a service of dedication and respect for the law. Until you are called to do it. Then it is mostly just waiting and fidgeting.

I recently spent a short (thankfully) day and a half in the jury duty selection process. While I ultimately wasn't kept on as a juror I did discover several key "needs" in the time I spent in "processing".

(Note that a very special episode of Jury Duty: Day 2 appears at the end of this post. Don't pass it up. Stick with it. You'll be glad you did.)

1. Bring entertainment: Day One was filled with me and about 100 others slumped over in waiting room chairs desperate for ANY news of what we would be doing over the course of the next several day. I had one book... which wasn't enough.
• Sub-tip 1: Bring two books. You will get through them.
2. Connectivity: You are going to feel isolated. You are going to feel like you've fallen in a well and no one can hear you and if they could, they couldn't reach you all the way down there. Bring a smart phone or a laptop... you are allowed. The Jurors Assembly room I was in offered free Wifi (even though it didn't work the first day).
• Sub-tip 2(a): Don't forget your charger. Trust me. Loosing charge is an epic fail.
• Sub-tip 2(b): Get there early enough that you can grab a chair near an electrical outlet. They go quickly because everyone else already though of this before you did and rushed in to grab the coveted seat(s).
3. Stay Low/Keep Quiet: There's nothing worse than Yappy McTalks-a-Lot sitting next to you while you're trying to find out just who murdered who in Book 48 of the Sookie Stackhouse novels. I mean, come on people, I'm clearly reading and your concern over your spider ferns should you be here for more than a week is far beyond the last thing I want to think about. I feel your pain, really I do. But shhhh.
• Sub-tip 3(a): This goes for your composure with the staff in the Assembly room too. Just shhh. For example: When I was handing my ballot back to the woman at the desk I opened my mouth to ask "Is that all?" meaning Am I now excused? But before a single syllable could pop free I was given a glare that sent icicles down my spine and into my shoes. "Do not ask me what you're gonna ask me." I see Susie Sunrays is not quite herself today. Thank you for your time.
4. Tell the Truth: If you do ONE THING during your processing for jury duty just TELL THE TRUTH. Once I was called into the courtroom for the general interview (with 59 other people) I was stunned at how many people simply couldn't serve because of this or that reason. We were all asked, one at a time, if we had any prejudices or past experiences that might make it difficult to hear the case without pre-judging the defendants. A good HALF of the room "just couldn't do it". And I'm sure a number of those people had legitimate issues but I couldn't a number of folks who claimed they had issue turn to the person next to them and wink once the judge dismissed them. I mean really. Not only am I pretty sure you just committed perjury but you also thinned the herd and gave me a MUCH greater chance of getting called. Thanks.
5. Be Patient: I was astonished that I was dismissed after a day and a half. Simple trials can last one to two weeks and more difficult ones can go on for months. Just settle into the fact that you are there, there is nothing you can do about it and try to embrace what 40 people have been telling you, "It is a great honor to serve on a jury. You are a part of a long tradition of justice." Again, thanks.

Now, those five points may seem dreary and tiresome. You might think, "God no... not me. Please, make me run laps, make me drink wheatgrass, make me watch Glitter twice in a row... anything but jury duty!" But do not forget that there are dozens and dozens of other people there from whom you can garner much entertainment. I give you an example in the form of one potential juror who sat behind me during the interview process.

Judge: Can you be completely impartial in considering this case?

Potential Juror: Yes ma'am your honor. I am so impartial. I don't even try to guess who did it on Law and Order until the last duh-duh because they're gonna trick you with a surprise and all this time you mighta thought it was this one guy but then, oh no no, they fooled you and it was this other guy the whole time. You can't never tell.

Judge: You do understand that this is not TV and there are very rarely, if ever, surprises at the last minute, correct?

Potential Juror: Yes ma'am your honor but you don't know. This one here (pointing to the prosecuting attorney) could be real slick and all.

Judge: (Exasperated) You are dismissed.

So enjoy that. Cherish it. Because contrary to the notion that "this is not TV" it might just be better than TV. It might be real drama sitting right behind you in the jurors' box and you might laugh on the inside while you are stone cold, stoic on the out.

A Little Tree Goes a Long Way

I was pretty bummed at not having a Christmas tree this year.  It is such an iconic piece of the holidays and yet, because of time, money, moving, etc., I just decided this year... no tree.

I accept that not having a tree is a failure on my part to get into the spirit but it still pestered me.  The apartment still isn't quite set up and my feeling was that a tree deserved to be placed in a home where it had a dedicated space, near comfortable seating, where people could enjoy it.  Without a sofa and without time to sit and stare at it I felt a tree would be mistreated and feel uncared for.  (Yes, I was anthropomorphizing the would-be tree... it's part of the Spirit of Christmas.)

But then today, sitting on my desk, I was surprised by a little Christmas tree from one of my dear friends.  Along with this little tree was a note with a quote from A Charlie Brown Christmas.  So this little tree revived the joy I had lost in not having a tree and inspired me to decorate and find more Christmas cheer this holiday season.  So, here's to you little tree.  Let's hope I can keep you green for a good long while.

And now for your viewing pleasure...

How the Christmas Tree Stand Nearly Ruined Christmas

‘Twas two weeks before Christmas when all through the house
My mother was flustered and starting to grouse
“Where the hell is the stand for this dag-nabbit tree?
We had it last year so where could it be?”
The fresh tree had come from the vendor in town
But stood propped in a corner causing the family to frown
The Christmas tree stand had gone missing somewhere
And no stone was unturned in our search for it there
“We’ll have to adapt,” said my mom in a snap
And she started to dig through a closet of crap
“Ah ha!” said she as she pulled out a bin
“This wash basin will do, “ and she drug out the tin.
Now how could a washbasin solve our quandary?
Did we plan to scrub Christmas with dirty laundry?
“Quick, grab the cat litter,” she said stern and quick
“What the hell is it for?” I asked, “What is your trick?”
She lifted the tree toward the bin with one hand,
“We’ll plug the tree in the bin and surround it with sand!”
The logic was simple and couldn’t be truer
But I imagined our problems would not become fewer.
The cats were quite curious as I brought her the bag.
They questioned its travels as cross the carpet it drag.
Mom snipped open the fresh bag of cat litter clay
And poured it around the fresh pine in the tray.
She filled and she filled till up to the brim
Did the sand ‘round the tree then she said, “Now let’s trim!”
The tree seemed unsteady but stayed still in the room
And she started to decorate while I collected the straw bristled broom.
I swept round the base as the tree came to life
And the missing tree stand no longer caused strife.
The tree was quite pretty all twinkling with light
And we sat down to watch it long into the night.
But here the story took a most sour of tone
When our genius new plan would cause all to moan.
For one little kitty had seen our tree glitter
And this new place to crap was made of the litter.
There lie the poo all fresh in its place
And our beautiful tree was now a foul stenchy disgrace.
So the lesson to learn during this time of year
Is to think twice ‘bout your plans before you commit to the cheer
For you may think its genius and be hero today
But the crap underneath is just cause for dismay.
You can sing all the carols, dress all your gifts in the wrap
But there is always that something that on your genius will crap.
  © 2010, W. Thomas Adkins

Dammit... my basement is haunted

I just recently moved from one pre-war building in Washington Heights to another and have been so busy getting settled into the place that the question of "Is my basement a Hellmouth?" never had a chance to pop into my head.

That's not to say that the basement isn't creepy.  ALL BASEMENTS ARE CREEPY!  There's something about "let's put the rest of this place underground because that seems like a good idea since people like to be in cold, damp, dank places" that just makes them uncomfortable.

This basement is pretty big.  The building has two "towers" so the basement stretches under both with an odd sub-courtyard in the center - unreachable due to the multiple locked doors barring entry to this "yard".  When traveling down the elevator you come out into this thin hall and turn left, duck past the fly strip and make a left at the garbage bins.

Then there's another long hall where you step past (or over) a wooden trap door that can't be much more than 2'x2'... where it leads I don't care to guess.  Wander past this door and hang another left and you end up in ANOTHER hall, narrower this time, which then t-intersects with the laundry "room" - which is mostly a narrow hall to the left of the T where the washing machines sit and then to the right of the T is a square area where the dryers are housed.

I was alone around 9pm a few nights ago, gathering my dry clothes from the machines and preparing to head back through the labyrinth to the elevator and to my apartment.  But as I was folding a pair of corduroys I suddenly got an uncomfortable chill.  There is one window that faces out into the courtyard and it does have a broken pane but a sign has been plugged into the hole... and while there is a slight draft from this window, this chill didn't feel like a gust of wind.  It was more electric.  (Side note: I enjoy watching ghost shows and paranormal investigations on TV so I am aware of the theory that high electromagnetic fields can affect your nerves and the basement is probably chock full of them but...)

The chill was unnerving and I decided to finish folding my clothes upstairs and dumped the rest of the dried pieces into my cart.  But before I could turn to head back through the basement I heard and felt a breathy gasp in my left ear.

Seconds later, though they felt like hours, I had made it to the elevator and was on my way back to my place.  Whatever had happened was brief but taxing and I'm hoping that if there is something or someone down there it was only curious and didn't intend to scare.

But I think I'll be doing laundry with my roommate from now on... or dropping it off at the cleaners on the way to work.

Drag Him to Broadway!

Patrick's submission for the La Cage
aux Folles photo contest.

So this weekend my friend Patrick found out that he is a finalist in the La Cage aux Folles photo contest.  SWEET!!  Several friends (including me) have been actively asking people to vote for him so that he can win a walk on role in this amazing Broadway production.

Which brings me back to this blog... I'd love for any (and all) readers to click his photo on the La Cage Facebook page and click the "like" button beneath it.  Now, if you don't see the "like" button just go to the top of the page, click La Cage Broadway's Profile link and "like" that first... then come back to the photo of Patrick and the "like" button should appear.

Whichever contestant has the most "likes" by Tuesday, November 23rd at noon will win the walk on role.

So, go, "like" and then "share" the photo with your friends on your Facebook wall and encourage them to vote for him too.

Thanks folks!  And don't forget to go see La Cage on Broadway.  It is a truly spectacular show and one you definitely do not want to miss.  Promise!

Corn-mazing!

View of the Queens County Farm
Museum Maize Maze from above

Last weekend was a-MAZE-ing.  (Excuse the dreaded pun but it had to happen... regardless of how corny it may be.)

The Queens County Farm Museum sets up the "Amazing Maize Maze" each year but I had no idea.  I don't remember how I heard about it... probably Gothamist or AMNY, but regardless of how I heard I'm ecstatic that I did.

If you head out on the E or F Train to the Kew Gardens/Union Turnpike Station and then hop onto the Q46 Bus (eastbound on Union Turnpike) to the Little Neck Parkway stop you can walk the 3 block to the entrance.  It's a bit of a trek (unless you have a car) but once you're there you discover this quaint little farm in the middle (or edge) of Queens and suddenly you're thrown back to the late 1800s and the smells (some good, some meh) overwhelm your senses.

But the main attraction and point of this post is the Amazing Maize Maze which doesn't lie.  You start out by getting an 8' tall flag that represents your team.  We were "Jack and the Cornstalks".  Then, after a brief "Stalk Talk" where the officiate tells you about the maze, where to find clues, map pieces, etc, you are clocked in to check your time and sent on your way.  You wander through the dense corn, searching for mailboxes that will give your pieces of the map and hunt down clue cards to nudge you in the right direction.  We clocked out of the maze at 47 minutes... not bad timing.  Some people took upward of 2 hours while some teenagers made it through in 16 minutes... but they didn't bother with the clue and mailbox hunts.

Anyhow, the maze is still running until November 7 so go.  Now.

Ghosts of Drag Queens Past and Present

Back in college I was doing a production of La Cage aux Folles and had not yet seen a real drag show. My mother had. But not me. In fact, when I got the word that I was cast in La Cage I called my mom and squeeled, "I'm in the show!"

"Oh yay! Which drag queen are you?"

"Oh, I'm not a drag queen. I'm a townsperson."

Quiet. Then my mother replied, "Oh," slight disappointment pierced the phone line, "that's good too."

So here I was, not playing a drag queen in my first professional show, but surrounded by friends who were who were aghast that I'd never been to a real drag show. So they whisked me away to one of the few gay bars in town (which was only five minutes from campus by car) and we entered into this dark, smoky bar with low ceilings and sticky floors... the Carousel II. I never really knew why it was called the Carousel II. Rumors were that the Carousel I had burned or that they had once lost their liquor license and it was easier to get one as a new business then to reapply as the old. Regardless, here I stood, nerves trembling (partly from excitement, partly from fear) in the Carousel II.

A spiral stairway led up to the show floor and we climbed up, the thumpa-thumpa music getting stronger and stronger. At the top of the stairs was a tiny room with an even tinier stage tucked in one corner. Short, round tables were scattered around the edge of the stage, accompanied by three or four chairs each, and dozens of other chairs were pushed against the back wall. The place felt crowded, although I was informed by my friends that this was not crowded. We pressed through the masses and found a spot against the back wall. I hopped onto a small ledge while the others took the chairs or stood to see the show.

Now, from later experiences I would learn that drag shows almost never start on time. It's epidemic. If it is scheduled to begin at 11:00pm you might as well get there at 12:10am because you'll have plenty of time to get a drink before the first queen appears. So after 45 minutes or so the hostess came over the speakers, "Ladies and gentlemen..." and so the show began.

The main lights dimmed (more, if that was really possible), other lights shifted to the mylar curtain that was pulled open at the back of the stage and a soft piano began to play. I know this song, I searched my brain. What is this??? Ah, yes. ABBA.

Onto the stage marched this massive drag queen. Her wig was a silver nest of brillo pads and in lieu of a traditional gown she wore a homemade, hugely oversized, "S.O.S." box.

Granted, the costume was a little rough, you could see staples here and then and sometimes, where glue was intended to hold it together, it was peeling back. I imagined she had it in her closet and thought, "I should drag out this old gem and see what I can do with it." So, in my imagination, she dusted it off, picked up some new steel wool at Wal-Mart and headed on down to the bar. As she sang she tosses "samples" to the audience. I remember dodging an oncoming brillo pad as it zipped past my head and hit the back wall... one of the perils of a strong performance I supposed. But even with the risk of injury and the homemade costume I remember thinking that this performer was putting on a great show. I had expected nothing more than a tired queen in a sequined JCPenney's gown but not her. She had put thought into her act. I was sure she might come out next as a tube of Aquafresh or Big League Chew and really wow the audience.

But after her big number she disappeared into the darkness backstage and didn't reappear. Instead a skinny queen in a sequined JCPenney's gown did and I knew right then the difference between Drag and drag. There has to be a show. There has to be drama and heightened reality. It has to be big, bold, glamorous. It has to be something you remember fourteen years later.

So when I saw the current Broadway revival of La Cage aux Folles (my first time seeing it staged except for what I saw from the wings back in college) I knew I was in for the S.O.S. pad and not the cheap, sequined gown.

So instead of me giving a lengthy review of the current show, just know this. Go. I promise you will get a Broadway quality S.O.S. pad performance and not a cheap, sequined JCPenney gown. Now go! GO!

Discovering during Columbus Day Weekend

Columbus Day Weekend (which, didn't we decide it would be Discoverers Day at some point in my elementary school days?) meant a much needed 3-day weekend but, coming right after payday also meant a much broke weekend. So, what do you do in NYC when you have just paid your bills and looking for something fun and interesting to do?

Well, we decided to go exploring (much like Columbus himself) and found ourselves traveling the F train to Roosevelt Island.

We'd never been (the closest I'd been was watching Dark Water, the slightly scary, mildly boring 2005 horror movie starring Jennifer Connelly) and I figured it might be interesting to look around and see what the odd little strip of land had to offer. You arrive on the island on the south end where some beautiful new high rise condos have been built and where a massive Duane Reade sits across from a cozy little Starbucks. But as you begin to walk north the "new" wears away and suddenly you are in this dark, almost ghost-town valley of buildings that feel dead. We saw less than 20 people as we walked along the island. The whole place has this sort of post-apocalypticness to it... as though it has been evacuated due to a zombie plague.

Not fun. Not interesting.

So, we climbed down into the F and took off for a place that was fun, interesting and familiar - the village.

At Ofrenda's we grabbed some Bloody Maria's - their take on Bloody Marys. Mine was fine but Ren didn't enjoy his. So, after remembering that it was National Coming Out Day, we headed around the corner to The Stonewall Inn (epicenter of all things 'gay rights') and discovered that the well drinks were two-for-one. Fantastic! Of the seven people in the bar we were the quietest... but we were tired from our promenade through NYC's quietest and most gloomy neighborhood.

This weekend will be a corn maze, pumpkin harvest extravaganza... so that should make up for the blah of Roosevelt Island. Here's hoping!

A Reason for a Prick

Rick Moranis in the 1986 film version.

Back in college we had to do an "audition" as our Musical Theatre final exam.  It wasn't for a show, just a practice audition to prepare us for the "real world."  I sang "Grow for Me" from Little Shop of Horrors.  Jimmy was playing the piano while Richard (the then MT professor/choreographer) sat cross-legged on a stool with his clipboard, questioning our talents.

At the point in the song where Seymour nips his finger on the Audrey II's thorns I skipped any physical indication of injuring myself and continued on with the song.  When it was over they both just stared at me. 

"What?  Was it awful?" I asked, desperate for some sort of praise.

Richard shifted on his stool, tapped his pencil against the clipboard and looked at Jimmy.  Jimmy, with glasses shifted down on his nose, glances half at me, half at nothing, and says "I can't believe this."

At this point I'm sweating.  Was I that bad?  CRAP!

"I don't think I can say this," Richard sighed, staring at his clipboard.  

"WHAT?" Exasperation was setting in.

"I just," pause for drama, "I just..." WHAT? "I just think you need a good prick."

Stunned silence.  Jimmy, with lips pinched, trying not to smile, returns to the piano as if he's on the hunt for some long lost key that was lost eons ago.

Gay humor by my professor.  And not the last time it would happen.

My Best Friend's Gay Wedding... and other adventures

Last weekend I was honored to be an attendant in my best friend's wedding (not the movie, although that too would have been delightful).  Steve was marrying Jay and it would be my first gay wedding.  Of course, politics what they are and since the Berkshires are beautiful this time of year, the wedding was held in Massachusetts.

The wedding was held on the grounds of The Inn at Laurel Lake, a quaint B&B, overlooking the lake near The Mount.  As if by magic the weather was beautiful, as were the grooms... the wedding party wasn't so bad either if I do say so myself.

Stephanie, Steve and I (pictured) were inseparable in college.  We were in shows together, partied together, got into zany adventures together... it goes on and on.  In one such moment of foolishness we decided to begin working out together.  This usually meant that Stephanie and I would wander around the gym gossiping about the other members while Steve wandered around the gym offering to spot would-be athletes.  What always followed was ravenous hunger and we would race across the street to one of the campus cafeterias and eat our weight in Chick-fil-A waffles fries.  One evening we were just stepping out of the Bubble (as the gym was called at UT) and as we began across the street Stephanie went flying face first onto Andy Holt Avenue.  A trip to the ER followed in which Steve and I watched an awards show on the waiting room television while waiting for Steph to be bandaged and released.

But that was umpteen years ago and the wedding was the first time the three of us were together since our school days.  It's amazing how time passes so quickly and if you're not careful it can zip right past you.  Thankfully, regardless of how many miles are between us, we three have stayed close and had the chance to share this amazing day.  In a way I feel like we renewed our vows as best friends.  So, a second toast to the blushing grooms and a new toast to future mishaps together.  Cheers Steve and Steph!

"Heathers: The Musical" or "Why I Love a Moviecal"

I had the best time last night at Joe's Pub.  Months ago I heard that a team of creatives including Tony Award nominee Laurence O'Keefe (Legally Blonde) and Kevin Murphy (Reefer Madness) were putting together Heathers: The Musical, based on the 1989 film, and immediately got on the horn (in this case, Facebook) and declared that everyone in my circle was going to go with me.

With the kind of expectations I had set for the event it was entirely possible that I was going to be disappointed.  But this amazing cast, which featured Annaleigh Ashford (Legally Blonde, Wicked) as Veronica and Jeremy Jordan (West Side Story) as J.D. along with an amazing trio of Heathers played by Jenna Leigh Green (Wicked) as Heather Chandler, Corri English as Heather McNamara and Christine Lakin (Reefer Madness) as Heather Duke, totally lived up to everything I had hoped for. And while Director Andy Fickman (Reefer Madness) wasn't part of the cast per se, he did provide biting and witty stage directions while periodically reminding the audience that "it will look awesome in a fully-staged Equity production."

Fully-staged or not, the show was a blast.

Several friends scoffed at the prospect of seeing "another movie turned musical" and complained that "there's no new stories" and "I don't want to see what I've already seen... done poorly".  Well friends, I scoff at that notion.

Movies-turned-musicals are a part of the fabric of the American theatre. Take for instance the following:

• All things Disney - Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King, Tarzan, The Little Mermaid
• Billy Elliot
• Catch Me If You Can*
• Cry Baby
• High Fidelity
• Legally Blonde
• Nine
• Nine to Five
• Shrek
• Sister Act*
• The Wedding Singer
• Xanadu
• Young Frankenstein
*planned for Broadway

And of course, many of our Broadway classics were based on other material to start too.

• Cabaret was based on John Van Druten's play I Am a Camera which was based on Christopher Isherwood's novel Goodbye to Berlin
• Damn Yankees is Faust
• Guys and Dolls came from Damon Runyon's short story The Idyll of Miss Sarah Brown
• Hello, Dolly! came from Thornton Wilder's The Merchant of Yonkers which he later retitled The Matchmaker
• How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying came from a how-to book of the same name
• Kiss Me, Kate was inspired by and uses the original Shakespeare play The Taming of the Shrew within its own story
• Man of La Mancha came from Miguel de Cervantes' Don Quixote
• My Fair Lady comes from Shaw's Pygmalion which Shaw took from Greek mythology
• Oklahoma! came from Lynn Riggs's 1931 play Green Grow the Lilacs
• South Pacific came from James Michener's Tales of the South Pacific
• The Pajama Game came from Richard Bissell's The novel 7 ½ Cents
• The Wiz came from The Wizard of Oz (with references to both the MGM film and the original Baum stories)
• West Side Story comes from Romeo and Juliet which Shakespeare himself based on the story of Pyramus and Thisbe from Ovid's Metamorphoses
• and of course, Wicked came from Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West

In the end, the old adage may prove true, that there are no "new" stories to tell... just variations on old ones that we revisit, reorder and retell from time to time.  

Aside from the problem of "we already saw that" there is the second issue that many commercial producers have to consider.  If you're piling tens of millions of dollars into a Broadway musical, you want as close to a guarantee as possible that some people will want to see it... and the familiar starts to look like a safe bet.  "Did you like the movie Legally Blonde?  Then you'll love the Broadway musical!"  I believe it is far easier to get people into a show if you're offering them something that they can relate to.

So go buy a ticket to a "moviecal" and enjoy.  I'm pretty sure you will... if you liked it's predecessor.  

"Park"ing Failure - The Governors Island Food Truck Fair

So, we went to "Parked" yesterday on Governors Island, thinking we were in a for a fun Labor Day weekend adventure.

We were wrong.

Starting out we were lucky enough to get to the ferry at the Battery Maritime Building at a decent hour, so the line to get on the boat wasn't atrocious.  However, as the line moved into the terminal the staff was clearly unprepared for the number of people vying for a taste of the food truck fest.  The orderly line soon devolved into a chaotic mess, with the ferry terminal staff arguing over the system and eventually telling the crowd to amass near the door to the boat. People who had been waiting longer, like us, where now just part of the mess and once the doors were opened the stampede pushed us, squeezing through the bottleneck, as though there was gold to be had as you boarded the ferry.

Once on the island we were directed to Colonel’s Row where the trucks were parked, only to discover that some thousand people had already made it there and were corralled into massive lines.

We filed into place in the line for Hallo Berlin and waited some 20+ minutes when, realizing the line wasn't moving, Ren headed to the front to see what was causing the clog.  Turns out only one person was serving under the white tent and so each order was taking several minutes.  We scouted around, considering the other trucks in attendance (Red Hook Lobster Pound, Van Leeuwen Artisan Ice Cream, Hermelinda Mexicana, Kelvin Natural Slush Company, Rickshaw Dumpling and The Cinnamon Snail) but saw that the lines were as long or longer.  In particular, the Red Hook Lobster Pound line spread beyond our own line and far behind the beer stand.  Weighing our options we gave up.  Our 40 minute subway ride plus 20 minute wait at the terminal plus 10 minute ferry ride plus 20+ minutes of waiting for German sausages that were slow coming resulted in over an hour and a half of stomach grumbling hanger.

We cut our losses and decided to explore parts of the island that we'd missed previously... and to search out the regular food carts that we knew were dotted around the island.  After tromping around for a bit we ended up near St. Cornelius Chapel where we found a lovely Greek husband and wife team who were thrilled to have customers who had drifted from the frustration of the "Parked" event.  Handing us our food with a huge smile we then enjoyed our lunch on picnic benches and breather a sigh of relief that we had escaped the crowds.

Getting home though was another matter.

The line for the ferry back to Manhattan wasn't so long, but the wait was.  The larger of the two ferries arrived, deboarded and then sat still at the dock for 20 minutes.  We could see the second and smaller of the two ferries leaving the Manhattan dock and heading our way.  After 10 minutes it too arrived at the island and deboarded.  Then the staff decided it should let the bicycles and pedestrians cross the exit path from side to side and then finally we were allowed to climb on board for the journey home.

All in all, a failed Labor Day weekend adventure.  The ferry system and the "Parked" administrators needed to be better prepared for the crowds.  So much could have been done to make the event fun and spectacular, but in the end it was a terrible bust.  Next time, we'll just go straight to Hallo Berlin's Hell's Kitchen restaurant and skip the madness.