Performance: UCB

Many months ago I went on a date with someone to see an improv show at Upright Citizen's Brigade. This particular gentleman had a personality that I would rate, on a scale of 1 to 10 (10 being the awesomest): zero. It was a weird position to be in, to be dating someone who was so cute, and so right on paper, but in real life contained no spark of a personality at all.

However. He could tell a joke like a mo-fo. That's why I kept going out with him. He kept me laughing the whole time! He just couldn't do anything else. I would ask him a question about his life, and he could barely answer me. Then minutes later, he would find a way to use a phrase or a word that I had used in my question as a catalyst for what I would call, "a bit". It was like dating a stand-up comedian ...who was on stage the entire time.

I gave it my all. I tried my best to get something "personal" out of him. One night I had the idea that we should go to The Upright Citizen's Brigade. Not sure where I had originally heard of this place, but I vaguely knew that Amy Poehler started it, and she's one of my idols. We got tickets to a show on a weeknight. In retrospect, I think it was their most famous show called, ASSCAT, which is a purely improv performance structured in the UCB style called, Harold. I thought if we went out on a date like this, where humor was at the forefront, it would encourage him to open up a little bit.

Well, the show was freakin' hysterical. Hilarious. One improv group after another kept us entertained the whole time. We laughed and laughed. When it was over I asked him if he would ever be willing to try such a thing. He said he definitely would. I said I didn't think I could ever do it. It wasn't really for me. It would be too terrifying, I said.

I went out with him one more time before calling it quits. The show was a good idea for a date night, but alas, he never did come out of his shell. I had to let it go before he started charging me a two drink minimum and a cover charge. But the memory of that performance stuck in my head.

This summer I decided that I wanted to take a class at UCB. I'm not sure what provoked that, it just suddenly felt like the right thing to do. I signed up for one of their intensives, which meant all day, every day for a whole week. 6 hours straight of improv class.

And, yes.
It was
the scariest
thing
I have
ever done.

Except for that one time I took trapeze lessons. The only difference between that and this was I wasn't a gazillion feet off the ground while I was doing it. The downside of that? No net. Metaphorical or otherwise.

It is TERRIFYING to get up in front of a group of strangers, with a partner you don't know, and to build together an entire scene based off of one word that is given to you, AND to make it funny.

I swear I had a stomach ache for the first three days. I felt nauseous. I didn't want to go back to class. I was absolutely certain that this thing called improv was not for me. And similar to that feeling I had when I was standing 30 feet off the ground, staring down at the cement ground below me, reaching for the bar, I had the thought, "What the hell did I just sign up for??"

But, I'm a determined little lass. And I work hard for my money. So if I spent a few hundred dollars on a week-long improv class, darn it, I was going to finish that week.

Plus, I learned a mantra this summer that really struck a chord with me:

Try something once to get over your fear of it.
Try it a second time to learn how to do it.
Then try it a third time to decide if you like it.

I would just like to note here, that I DID do the trapeze three times. And no, I did not like it.

But. By the third day of improv class, something clicked. And wow, suddenly I was INTO IT. All of a sudden I got the challenge of it, and I felt like I did have it in me after all. Once that happened, I started learning so much, so quickly. It was intense.

I realized that standing against the wall and waiting to jump into a scene is WAY scarier than actually being in a scene. So I started to jump in more.

I learned that the feeling of coming up with a great line after a scene is over and you missed your chance, is way more frustrating than being in a scene and not having anything to say. So I started to speak up more.

I learned that if you are in a scene that is sucking so bad, or if you are in a scene that is totally magical, either way, once it's over, it's over. And you can reflect on it all you want, but mostly you just have to move forward and let it go.

As the week went on, more and more good stuff started coming out of me. I started picturing people I knew in my life, and playing them as characters. I took it seriously when our teacher would tell us to, "Play to the top of your intelligence," which meant USE WHAT YOU KNOW. When you internalize that, suddenly it doesn't feel like you're going into a scene with nothing to say. We've all got a lifetime of things to say!

I got what they meant when they would tell us to use, "YES, AND" in our conversations as a way of building off of one another, supporting one another, and developing the scene.

I loved the notion that we were in each scene to, FIND THE GAME. Once we knew what the game was, we would play to it, explore it, exaggerate it. That's when the magic happened.

And mostly I loved what it meant to BE TRUTHFUL in every scene. Our teacher explained, the truth will lead to comedy (as opposed to just, "going for the joke", which always falls flat).

If we were ever stuck, he'd whisper from the sidelines, "What do you really want to say to this person?" And that was such a revelation. Such a grand experience. To say what you really want to say to a scene partner, as opposed to regurgitating what you think you should say or what you think will sound good --- is an awesome, truthful experience.

I learned so much from this. So much of it can be applied to life off the stage.

Then, as a culmination of our experience, we got the opportunity to perform for an audience on the actual UCB stage. The same stage where my comedic heroes have stood. The same stage that I sat facing many months ago, asserting I could never do something like that.

Hey, guess what?
I did it.

And it was awesome.

Life: Ammah, the hugging saint

This must be the summer of the retreat. I've already had a series of seriously intense adventures this season, that have rocked my world. Each one of them. I'll write about more of them here.

I wrote about the yoga one already, right? Yeah. That stuck with me. Still is a big part of my life. I spend most of my week in downward dog now and it's been awesome. It's introduced me to a whole new community where I live, and exposed me to some great new outlooks on life, and stuff. I feel pretty good with it, at it, in it. I think it's a good fit for me. And, I love my new yoga mat which I got at Jumakti in Union Square.

By the way, after my class one afternoon at Jumakti, I took my teacher's suggestion to heart, and went to see Ammah (spelling?), the hugging saint (accurate?) who was visiting our lovely city. I was really blown away by that. Not so much by the woman herself, but by the experience.

I don't know what I was expecting. It was nearly 10PM, and I knew I had a train to catch, so I didn't plan to stay that long. I figured I'd jump in, get my hug, and skip out of there. But when I arrived, the first thing I noticed was how commercialized the whole thing was! Ammah (which means, mother) was on a stage, with a long, long line of people waiting to receive their hug from her. But before you could even reach the stage, you had to pass by tables and tables of ridiculous product placements with her face on it. Buy Ammah on your dish towel! Your ashtray! Your boxers! OK, OK, maybe not that bad. But still, for a super spiritual experience, I was really surprised to see it so object-oriented.

I nearly figured out a way to skip the line and jump right on stage, but then I felt guilty. There were so many little Indian women with bowls of rose petals on their laps, waiting patiently for their hug. I watched on the jumbo-tron screen above my head as Ammah embraced person after person, their faces nuzzled into her bosom, their heads then bent in grateful prayer.

I asked one of the helpers what it would take to wait in line. She told me that most people got here very early to receive their ticket (like, 9AM early). But if I was willing to wait another 5 hours, I could get a hug too.

Wow.

For a hug?

Maybe it's the practical Jew in me, but all I could think was, "People! If you want a hug so bad, I'll give you one! For free!"

But, I get it. I get it. She's special. And super holy. And has a lifetime of miracles to back her up. Me, I've got a BFA and a Honda.

Tough call, I know.

Life: learn

I am taking an intensive improv class this summer in the city. And by intensive I mean, not unintensive.

Life: Gaming

Went to a very large education conference this week. Took in a lecture about Gaming and Education. Wrote notes really quickly in a free notebook I got from one of the zillion vendors who were there trying to sell me things I didn't need.

Here are my notes:

Kids produce today (music, videos, blogs), not because they aspire to be next great filmmaker or composer, but because media-modules are a form of CURRENCY within their social network.

My thoughts: This concept stayed with me for a long time, and I kept thinking about how interesting that is! And true. Kids want a certain # of myspace friends, a certain # of youtube appearances, a certain # of AIM buddies. None of that really has anything to do with anything resembling real friendships, or real budding acting careers. They know that. What they want is volume. In my days, our currency was stickers. We traded, hoarded, invested in the big ones, gave away the smelly ones. Until money starts to mean something to these kids, one cent is as valuable as one thousand dollars. Either way, they know they're getting fed tonight. BUT. Getting to the next level on the new Wii game, that gives them value in their social network.

Kids today, through gaming, learn on a NEED TO KNOW basis.

New term: GAMING LITERACY
This does not mean "let's play a specific game to learn our multiplication tables", but the understanding that Gaming is a MODEL FOR THINKING.

Gamers look for a visual representation of an underlying system.
They question: What do I need to know now in order to succeed later?

COLLABORATIVE GAMING: Recruit people who have certain skills, combine those skills to conquer the game. Gamers organically figure things out as they go along. Gamers know they need to communicate with one another in order to succeed. In recent studies, grad students are more likely to huddle by themselves and hide their research from others for longer periods of time. Middle school kids thrive on the collaboration, practically sitting in each other's laps sharing information in real time. That is a SHIFT in learning styles.

Gamers care little about visuals (design) and more so they look for DATA. They seek and desire DATA at all times in order to see how they are doing. When designing games, EMBED ASSESSMENT. Don't just tack it on at the end.

Gamers are now using the BODY as well as the MIND (Wii)

Instead of being the GAME PLAYERS, we should encourage kids to start being the GAME DESIGNERS. It requires them to think about content, and about something.

When designing games, don't put too much pressure on the game itself. Games are really about creating an EXPERIENCE for people. HOW are your players going to learn?

Site to check out: www.gamestarmechanic.com

In a recent study watching the way kids design games, kids produced DENSE NARRATIVES for their games, which came as a surprise to the experts. Kids with learning disabilities, who were normally hesitant about writing, were very driven and successful in this experience.

---> !!! The GIRLS were deeply invested in the physical space they would be playing in, and spend tons of time DESIGNING THE SPACE before they even began to play. The BOYS quickly filled the whole space with enemies, pressed play, and then realized they didn't have a game. So they had to go back and revise.

Look into beta: M.I.L.K.
Mobile Informal Learning Tool
Kids designing games solely for cell phones. Encourages turning any space into a gaming space.

As a game designer, kids learn to anticipate their player's moves. You have to figure out WHY someone would want to play your game.

In order to be a game designer, a kid has to:
-- have a theory
-- test it
-- get reviews
-- revise

Kids are very excited about building FOR EACH OTHER.

Events: Art Openings

You know that scene in Strangers With Candy when Jerry tells her friend that he reminds her of a monkey. And he gets insulted. And she says, "But why? Monkeys are hilarious!"

That's what ran through my mind last night when I was at the opening of The New Museum (of Contemporary Art -- but if you have to ask, you don't deserve to know) at 235 Bowery Street.

To make the directions simple, just take the N/R/W to Prince Street, and walk all the way away from Broadway up Prince Street, until you get to the end of options. And there in front of you, will be a big metallic building, like square blocks piled precariously on top of one another, with a big neon rainbow sign that says, "HELL, YES!" on the front. It brings the phrase, "don't worry, you can't miss it" into a whole new light. Plus, the only reason I'm telling you how to get there is because you don't even want to know how lost I got getting there. But that's the story of my life now, isn't it? Hell, yes.

By the time I reached the 7th floor of this museum, I was leaving a voice mail for my sister, saying, "This is the raddest museum I have ever been to."

Well, first I should tell you what happened before I reached the museum. A friend was having a show in the Garden State, and I stopped by her opening first. She does ceramics, and she was showing with a pastel artist and a photographer. Can pastel ever catch a break? I don't think so. It's the bedazzle of the art world. No matter how hard you shine it, it's still a rhinestone. Once I was in someone's house in Ohio, and she had framed pastels on her walls. They matched her couches. Intentionally.

The ceramics were wonderful. I love her work. Brilliant, sensitive, delicate, mysterious. Different. Definitely different.

The photography was OK, and the subject matter reminded me of quaint little thrift stores I used to frequent in my upstate NY days. But I felt like the artist never stopped saying, "This is sooo quaint" with her photographs, and so it didn't really impress me. Like, she was photographing for the sake of capturing someone else's things, but not really as a way of making her own statement. It was like her photographs were saying, "Look how the snow falls on the edges of this wooden wheel that is propped against the farmhouse." Instead of, I don't know, something else. There was little room for, interpretation, I guess you could say.

OK, moving onward. I eventually made it downtown and found myself at this little opening (all the mirrors outside caught my eye) at this big name gallery which is actually a very little space. The show was called, and let me see if I can spell this right, Nude Anthropometries Descending A Staircase. On Crosby Street.

Every inch of every wall was filled up with big paper, little canvases, note cards, and whatever. The art seemed like commentary, reactions to something, impressions of something. I don't know. I don't know what was going on there. They served a great vodka pomegranate drink upstairs though, and that put a smile on my face.

Some conversations I overheard (inspired by the art, I presume. I hope):

• "I wish you had a hoof instead of an arm."
• "This work is reminiscent of..."
• "Eva Mendes once called me drunk."

No, really, I enjoyed it. Total fun. Total energy. Lots of happy people, most as colorful as the art, staring at the art, trying to look like they got it. Or not even trying. Just enjoying it. It was full bodied, reminded me of art school days, vibrant. If I were a cynic, I would write something harsh and judgmental with big words to show you how smart I am, but I'm not. So I won't. I think art is hilarious, especially on nights like this. Who knows what we're creating, why we're creating it, why we're celebrating it. But I tip my hat to those who make it happen, and keep trying. It's hard to be original these days. It's hard to impress and make a dent in this world, beat up already as it is. But yay! for those who give it a go.

Then, onward, buzzed from the pomegranate, into the night air once more. I reached the aforementioned neon HELL, YES! and was happy to step in from the freezing night air. To celebrate their opening, the New Museum was opening their doors for free, for 30 hours, this weekend. The space is pretty fun and original as far as museums go. It's open, vast, and electric. I won't bore with you a play-by-play of everything I saw (gotta see it to believe it, as they say) but it involved the following:

• Candy
• Cardboard
• Flash animation
• Tim Allen's Disney movie, The Shaggy Dog

Overheard:

• "I think that's real mattress!"
  
• "102 dollars, please."
  
• "I'm sorry, there's no eating allowed on this floor, even though I know they gave you food on the other floor."
  
• "That was really funny. You have to watch it from the beginning."
  
• "How do you get out of here?"

I really do think this is a great museum, and I'm psyched I got to see it as a newborn. Some crazy stuff is going to go down there, I'm sure.

On the subway back up town, I came across an Asian man sitting in a corner, constructing complicated portraits of people with nothing but an origami-sized piece of paper and a scissor. It was unbelievable, and he drew a large crowd as people gathered round to watch him cut and snip his way through a piece of black paper ("in only 2 minutes!"). For a mere $8, he would cut your self-portrait, snowflake style, magically forming a total likeness of your face ("Smile! You must smile!"), which he then signed and placed inside a pre-cut beautiful matte. I mean, it was astonishing, and beautiful. The young guy standing next to me was getting his portrait done, and the result was complete before the L pulled into the station. It was more than a keepsake. It was just as valuable as any of that "art" I saw earlier in those fancy shmancy name dropping gallery spaces.

I can't complain. I can't really criticize any of this. It's all a form of eyeball exercise, taking the time to see what other people are creating and birthing. Who are we to judge so quickly and mock their mysterious reasons for fame. Who are we to say, "I paid $20 for what??" when we exit these big museums and small galleries and drink their vodka. Especially when it was all free.

LINKS:

• Jonathan Shorr Gallery
• The New Museum
• I googled everywhere for the origami subway man, but found nothing.

Artist: Sarah Walker

Sarah Walker's paintings, now showing at PIEROGI gallery in Brooklyn, are a mind bender. You don't simply see her paintings, you enter them. They seem like a vision of what the eyes sees before it registers what it is. Her images, though abstract, seem familiar. I can look at one and think that I see a cabin in a woods, the sky between the trees, an ethernet, a web. But the image she has created is more complex than that, more puzzling, more advanced than a simple representation of a thing.

Her technique is a series of layering, overlapping, deleting, rubbing and revealing. There is a sense of archival to her paintings, which you understand when you peer up close (which you must do, and are compelled to do). It's like some areas of paint are preserved on purpose, while others are deleted in an attempt to unveil their residue below. You can like one painting more than another, with no real ability to discern why. You can be drawn to one, and unaffected by another, yet the content is the same. Colors can be deceiving, shapes can transform before you.

The canvases in the gallery are embraced by simple white planks of wood nailed into the walls. It is all white, save for her work. It is simple vs. chaos. There is order, and there is nothing.

Pierogi website
Sarah Walker website

Authors: Jonathan Safran Foer

I was supposed to go to a literary event in my town tonight. But plans changed, and at the last minute I found myself back in the car, heading over the GW for a different literary event at BN on 66.

Tonight, Jonathan Safran Foer (my favorite writer as you know, second to my other favorite writer, Nicole Kraus) was introducing/interviewing/supporting another writer named Howard Jacobson. Foer is a 30-something, Brooklyn-dwelling, shaggy haired, bespeckled writer with an incredible talent and a very rich agent. His books are personal, Jewish, pondering, painful, and hysterical. Jacobson is a much older, just as funny, just as Jewish, introspective, intelligent writer from England.

I escalated all the way up to the top floor of the bookstore to grab a hot chocolate before the talk began. I had Foer's book in my bag -- the final novel I bought in Italy during my last lonely but powerful days in Florence. I devoured this book while traveling, and embraced it like a companion.

Standing in line, waiting for my drink to arrive, I suddenly noticed Foer amongst the group of patrons, talking with a friend. I knew it was him immediately. At first my mouth broke into a huge grin, and then I quickly looked away. It was almost odd. I think the gleam of seeing one of your "favorites" becomes tarnished when you see them standing in the same consumer line you are in, simply a pedestrian waiting for coffee.

I wanted to hand him my book. I want to say something. I wanted to ignore him, or call his name, or pretend I didn't notice, or smile in his direction. But, I did nothing. The line passed by me. Because of some confusion behind the counter, people's drinks were coming out before mine and I was left standing to the side watching confused cashiers try to untangle the mess of lattes and skim milks. I was in no rush. With each drink that was handed out, Foer and his friend stepped closer to the front.

And, as fate would have it (can you call it fate?), eventually he was standing next to me, and we were reaching for our hot beverages at the same time. I seized the moment.

"Forgive me for becoming a dork," I said, with a smile, "but I am a huge fan of your work." I didn't introduce myself. I didn't acknowledge him by name. I just, spoke, before I could loose the nerve, here, in the line for coffee.

He smiled, and thanked me kindly. He looked like such a modest man. Somewhat reserved, not as rambunctious as the characters he writes about. "I just loved your book so much, it meant so much to me," I said, words bumping against one another. He told me quickly that I should come to the talk downstairs so I would meet a different writer who was really great. "I know!" I said, "That's why I'm here." And then I added, "And please, tell your wife, if you don't mind, that her book, Man Walks Into A Room, just moved me so much. I mean, I just loved it so much." He said, "I'll tell her." That was it, and I turned away.

I headed down the stairs, boasting with excitement. I took a seat with the 50 or so people who had filled the room for the talk. When it began, Foer started with an introduction of Jacobson and his new book, Kalooki Nights, which couldn't have been a more effusive, hilarious and gushing pronouncement. It was honorable praise, one I imagine an author could wait a lifetime hoping to hear. Genuine reverence is hard to come by these days.

Jacobson was a delight to listen to, and I got the sense that if I were up to date on the English Jewish writer's scene, I would be falling over myself to make his acquaintance. He read a few excerpts from his book, talked excessively and poignantly about the Jewish persona and the valour of comedy (his true religion, he said). He was even bold enough to take a question from someone who asked, "When did anti-semitism against Jews begin?" Jacobson fell back into his chair and inhaled his gasp. "Could you ask me a heavier question please?" he asked. The audience laughed with empathy. It was an interesting moment because so much of their discourse seemed structured around the assumption that everyone in the audience was a bonafied kvetcher, a Hebrew school drop out, a shayna punim. After all, it was the upper west side. But apparently that wasn't the case, and the man who asked the question seemed bewildered by everything that was so nonchalantly being said about Jewish existence that evening. The room was filled with subtle references and innuendos that only a card-carrying member of the tribe had the luxury of taking for granted. But Jacobson answered the question slowly, thoughtfully, and at times, perversely. There were more sex jokes thrown around than kugel references.

After the talk, the lined formed for autographs. I picked up Jacobson's book, and once I saw others do the same, pulled out my copy of Foer's book that had been touched by the Tuscan sun.
When I reached the table, I said hello again to Foer, and handed him my book. He commented on the origin of my name, and then signed the inside cover, personalizing his signature and writing the letters of my name with a curvaceous flair. I told him to look at the back so he could see the Italia sticker marking the geographic source of its purchase. "It even has the European cover," I pointed out. I couldn't have been more excited, more filled with gratitude for this moment. It felt like it all had come full circle.

July. I remember holding the book tightly, reading it under the pink shadows of the Duomo and under the stern glares of Medusa's head in Piazza Signoria. I remember clutching it on the plane as we took off, heading back to the States, the threatening rumble of jet engines below my feet. Who would have known that 4 months later the book would be in the hands of the person who had written it, inscribing his name below the title? And then, with a twist of the pen, my own name would appear, like a final stamp of declaration that this story, my story, had really occurred.

Event: AIDS Walk 2007

Mom and Sis and I spent a Sunday afternoon volunteering for AIDS Walk 2007. We thought we were signing up for a simple stroll around Central Park, but it turned out to be a 6.5 mile walk all over the west side. We started in Central Park, then continued down the west side all the way to Riverside Park, then took a turn and came back into Central Park again. All along the way we were joined by great, passionate people, all there for the same reason: To raise awareness and money.

It was a really great day. Here are TOP 1o greatnesses, in no particular order:

1. Mom and I waited for Sis for 45 minutes, called her cell phone a million times, worried about whether we'd find her in time for the walk. Turns out, she was on the subway the whole time. And when she exited the subway, she found us immediately, in the middle of the crowd.

2 - Rumor had it, George from Gray's Anatomy was there! Where?? I don't know! I looked for him all over, tried to find the main stage, but never found him. I wanted to see George!

3 - A group of free-spirited little girls from a public school in Brooklyn (particularly, one of the last few hippie educational establishments left in our crappy system), shouting over and over and over and over again.... "What do you want? A cure for AIDS! When do we want it? NOW!"

4 - Cheerleaders!

5 - Amazing ice cream handed to us on the side of the road by volunteers.

6 - Alllllllllll the people!

7 - Never finding the team we were supposed to walk with, but running into friends at the end of the day!

8 - Walking behind a group of people led by a woman wearing a stereo system on her back, playing Motown music. Why walk when you can do the hustle?

9 - Mom willing to use the port-a-potty

10 - Finding a diner on the east side and commiserating over the loss of feeling in our legs after the long day. And taking pictures of each other across the table on our camera phones.

Show: The Lion King

On a pair of jolly yellow school buses, all 60+ of us drove into the city to see The Lion King on Broadway. Believe it or not, I was one of those few in the caravan who hadn't seen it yet. I was one of the few who hadn't seen it twice. And in some cases, three or four times.

I think I've outgrown Broadway. I know to some people that would be considered sacrilegious. But come on, how many rosy cheeked girls in petticoats can you watch sing to the moonlight for their prince to come? I wasn't exactly thrilled to be going to see yet another sing-along in the bright lights big city. Which, I realize, isn't very gracious of me to say, considering these tickets were a gift.

However, when the lights went out, and the first giraffes (aka: men on stilts) glided across the stage, my mouth dropped to the floor. This was a spectacular performance. It was hardly a "Broadway show"; more like a 2-hour art performance piece and we were the spectators at the gallery. The scenery was utterly memorizing. I spent most of the time trying to figure out, how did they do that??

The show is led by two children mainly, and they carry it well. If you've seen the Disney movie, you'll know the music. And it's tolerable, if not catchy. I really didn't like the movie when I saw it many years ago (also with a big group of kids). I felt like the movie was yet another mother-is-weak, father-is-strong typical Disney cartoon. And I barely like cartoons, regardless of their cliche hero/heroine story lines.

But on Broadway, it was a bit more touching. The animals, the set-design, is just spectacular. Really, spectacular.

Don't turn down tickets.

Museum: MOMA

Today I visited my famous friends. We're on a first name basis now, so it was great running into Pablo, Sal, Rene, and Henri.

I find it quite thrilling to see a work of art that you've studied and discussed for so many years, live and in the flesh. I think it's titillating to see the brush strokes, the pencil lines, and the canvas staples. I like getting up real close and finding the mistakes. I like knowing that it's all real.

I like to wonder whether we make too big a deal out of things, like art, and how it comes to be that a painting is worth more than a life. I like discovering how some paintings are enormously huge, and others are surprising small.

I like seeing that one painting, you know the one, the one you always think about, the one you always speak about. I like that moment when you see it, under the lights, and the frame around it isn't gold, but quite an understated brushed metal. I like how it just sits there, quietly, smug, discreet. And crowds gather round it, pointing, staring at it solemnly.

I like wondering how art really changes the world. Does it? Is it really that significant, or do we just like the drama?

I like wondering whether the world today is in a place where it can handle newness anymore. Are people still making such bold statements? Are people still breaking ground? Or is the ground so shattered that our ears are numb to the sounds of the drills and we are jaded by the fractured cement around us. If you make something new now, it falls through the cracks, silently. But still we stand, agape, at the blue paintings that changed the world 100 years ago.

I went to the MOMA by myself, because I wanted to see what it would be like to take all this in without having to hear what anyone else thought, without having to pace myself, without having to be judged for how quickly I walk through the halls. I have ADD in museums. I am judgemental. I don't like to give anyone credit that they don't deserve. I walk briskly through 3 halls in a half hour. And then I see one painting that takes my breath away in a flash, and I will stand in front of it for 20 minutes. That's the feeling of beauty. That's what it means to dive in. I save all my energy for those moments. It's all instinct. It's thrilling. I, know what I like.

I don't know if you understand what I'm talking about. But that's OK. Here are the two new friends I brought home with me today for my own home. And no, I didn't steal them off the walls.

Show: Les Mis

A friend recently offered me a "free ticket" to see Les Mis with her on Broadway. I find it amusing, that of all the years I've spent in this city, I've never seen that performance. Isn't it supposed to be some sort of classic? Isn't it "the staple" of Broadway shows? As far as I'm concerned, Les Mis is a buttoned-down white shirt, a pair of black pumps with a 2 inch heel, white rice, and a Bud Light. It needs to be in your musical theater pantry.

So, you've got your classic songs, your will-they-or-won't-they love story, your political injustice mixed in with some jolly fat people who serve spirits to the locals and comic relief to the audience. It's sweet. It's what you'd expect.

But I have to tell you, don't you just hate it when you tell people about a show you've seen, or a book you've read, or a movie you sat through, and they looked at you with wide eyes and exclaim, "Wasn't that JUST the BEST??" And you feel taken aback, for a moment, because while you did appreciate the artistry, you weren't exactly quitting your day job to follow the national tour.

But hey. Broadway is Broadway. And it's quite nice to spend a Sunday afternoon in a balcony seat, surrounded by applause, in the glow of a spotlight.

Sure, why not, let's give 'em a round of applause.

Music: Madeleine Peyroux

One of the best things about seeing a great musician live, is simply hearing them. I think it's cool when a singer's "voice" is what makes them so distinct, as opposed to just their outrageous personality, or frantic music video. Sort of like Tom Waits, or the guy from Crash Test Dummies.

Also, like Madeleine Peyroux. She's got one of those "voices" that you can practically see, as you listen. It's unmistakable, and unforgettable. It's what makes her songs so croon-like, so Billie Holiday-like. (Billie Holiday must be the most missed musician in the world. Has there ever been a more aspired to, cautiously reserved accolade than, "She sounds just like Billie Holiday"?)

I got to see/hear her live at City Hall, along with my mom, who I turned into a fan, who in turn got us both tickets to a Fall concert. City Hall is a beautiful venue, and it was certainly an older crowd than I'm used to seeing at shows.

When Madeleine sang, her voice echoed through the domed hall, and I smiled as soon as I heard her first notes. It was her voice. It was there, in front of me. I could see it.

I have to tell you, you should listen to this song and enjoy.

Show: "Vicious Circle" (Dane Cook)

Tonight my Sis graced me with one of the best birthday presents ever! Two tickets to see Dane Cook LIVE at Madison Square Garden!

The evening started off perfectly when we actually found a parking spot ONE block from MSG. What?? Yes, you heard me. Without barely a moment wasted, we turn onto 34th street, and see someone pulling out. In the middle of the infamous chaos that belongs to that area of the city, I paralleled parked my ride right into that spot. Taxis and pedestrians pushed their way around us, and Sis said, "Go for it. It's do or die."

Our seats were way... way... way up there. But because of the layout of the stadium, we concurred they actually felt like good seats. It's a huge, HUGE place, that for some reason has a level of intimacy to it. As the evening went on, it started feeling smaller.

But at first glance, I exclaimed, "HOW is he going to do this?" Can you imagine... standing in front of THAT many people, all eyes on you, for nearly 2 hours, telling story after story, hoping to get a laugh out of all of them? That is the talent of Dane Cook. He commands the stage, fills the space, and seems to be having more fun standing in front of us than we are in front of him. He held his microphone in the air and shouted, "I love my job!"

It was a fun show, a great experience. I have to tell you, I have a pretty cool sister for making this night happen for us.

Live Music: Ari Hest

Tonight I saw Ari Hest in concert. By "concert" I mean a real small venue out in the middle of nowhere. One of those places where a musician would need to have somewhat of a following in order to convince his fans that they should drive out to see him.

The stage was beautiful. It had a cascading backdrop of lights that transitioned between colors: Blue, green, purple, yellow. The movement of one color into another created these beautiful poignant moments the flowed with the music.

I first saw Ari years ago, when I was just getting into the singer-songwriter, boy-with-a-guitar genre. He had barely finished his first CD. It was a great show, in another cool venue that was most certainly not in the middle of nowhere, but nonetheless closed down soon after and is no more.

So I've been on his mailing list ever since. And this week I got a notice that he was playing near me, and I thought, I have to go.

It was such a great show. His voice is rugged, his songs are deep. He's comfortable on stage. His music can really wrap itself around you.

One of his songs, wow, I have to tell you... it was positively beautiful. It left me beaming. He said it's a duet he wants to have with Norah Jones. Someday. If he ever gets to meet her. In the meantime, he sang her parts for her in falsetto. Very funny. It's a beautiful song called "I Got You", and it's one of the best love songs I've heard in a long while. I can't wait to listen to it over and over. You can listen to it by clicking here or just watch the actual performance below. He'll let you know when Norah is supposed to jump in.

The nice part of the evening was I got to meet him afterwards, and he signed my CD. It's a new EP he has out called, Guilty Hearts. The new big album gets released in the Fall.