Thursday, August 30, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Opening Weekend
SAT 9/1 — RIVERSIDE PARK—2PM & 5PM
SUN 9/2—WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK—1PM, 3PM & 5PM
MON9/3—CONEY ISLAND—2PM & 5PM
THURS 9/6—UNION SQUARE PARK—12:30PM, 3PM, 5:30PM
FRI 9/7—COLUMBUS PARK—12:30PM & 5:30PM
SAT 9/8—ST MARY’S PARK—3PM
SUN 9/9—PROSPECT PARK—1PM, 3PM & 5PM
FRI 9/14—MARCUS GARVEY PARK—5:30PM
SAT 9/15—FT GREENE PARK—2PM & 5PM
SUN 9/16—TOMPKINS SQUARE PARK—1PM, 3PM & 5PM
For those of you who live in the NYC area, you must come out to the parks and see the show. It's FREE, get that? FREE! If you're not sure what Circus Amok is, check out the website. You can't see me here because I'm hiding behind the boat....but take a gander at the 2006 show-opener. Incredible!
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Grace Paley
Grace Paley died this week. She was 84.
In the summer of 1998 I was working in Vermont at the Bread & Puppet Theater, when I looked over to my left to discover that Grace was operating the giant head puppet with me. I had a certain kind of starstruck--the surprise of her suddenly next to me, involved in the same activity. And yet, why shouldn't she? The puppet was cumbersome, heavy, and required many small movements coordinated by four or five people, all choreographed by sound cues that included, among others, listen for the banjo-playing goats to emerge from the woods--forty yards away. "This is hard," she said.
There is a certain kind of pressure, cosmic perhaps, that you feel when a person like Grace Paley dies, if you see yourself as the kind of person with similar interests in politics, art, and personal responsibility--and if you, like me, see the lines between those three divisions as negligible, blurred possibilities, not actual divisions. She said in an interview once: "Whatever your calling is, whether it's as a plumber or an artist, you have to make sure there's a litte more justice in the world when you leave it than when you found it."
In the summer of 1998 I was working in Vermont at the Bread & Puppet Theater, when I looked over to my left to discover that Grace was operating the giant head puppet with me. I had a certain kind of starstruck--the surprise of her suddenly next to me, involved in the same activity. And yet, why shouldn't she? The puppet was cumbersome, heavy, and required many small movements coordinated by four or five people, all choreographed by sound cues that included, among others, listen for the banjo-playing goats to emerge from the woods--forty yards away. "This is hard," she said.
There is a certain kind of pressure, cosmic perhaps, that you feel when a person like Grace Paley dies, if you see yourself as the kind of person with similar interests in politics, art, and personal responsibility--and if you, like me, see the lines between those three divisions as negligible, blurred possibilities, not actual divisions. She said in an interview once: "Whatever your calling is, whether it's as a plumber or an artist, you have to make sure there's a litte more justice in the world when you leave it than when you found it."
Sunday, August 19, 2007
In the Adirondacks
The Circus has arrived in the Adirondacks--well, some of us. Various others became hindered by failing fan belts, bad directions, lack of good judgment. But the ones who made it--8 of us so far, ballooning to 16 later in the week, have just had a gorgeous meal of eggplant with mint and garlic, farfalle with pesto, fresh corn that we carried up from NYC's Greenmarket, which we sprinkled with chili pepper and lime juice. Then ginger snaps. I had forgotten how good we ate up here. Actually, I hadn't. It's a joy to come back.
We're here for a period of intensive rehearsal, intensive art making, intensive being together. In the truck are giant gold and purple bees, a giant queen bee dress, gay trucker costumes; it just goes on and on. I won't spoil the rest of it for you... You know, it's the circus.
We return to NYC on Saturday, then the 2007 show--BEE-DAZZLED!!--opens on September 1 in Riverside Park.
We're here for a period of intensive rehearsal, intensive art making, intensive being together. In the truck are giant gold and purple bees, a giant queen bee dress, gay trucker costumes; it just goes on and on. I won't spoil the rest of it for you... You know, it's the circus.
We return to NYC on Saturday, then the 2007 show--BEE-DAZZLED!!--opens on September 1 in Riverside Park.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
The Women
Today I rode the subway four times--two round-trips, in and out of Manhattan. The whole world was full of women today. There was:
--A woman with a cane, not blind, sit beside another lady, and proceed to jab her in the thigh with the end of the cane. With the motion of the train, the rocking, the shuddering, the cane would prod the lady in the leg, bunching the fabric of her skirt around the metal. The lady didn't say anything. She just let the cane-woman jab her in the leg.
--A young girl, maybe 20, crying. No one asks her what's wrong. We've all been there at some point, crying alone in the city.
--"Do you have a tampon?" a teenager asks her friend. "Do you mean 'do I have one in?'" the friend says.
--A lady crimping her eyelashes, and brushing them with blue mascara. She winks at me when she catches me staring.
--A woman with a cane, not blind, sit beside another lady, and proceed to jab her in the thigh with the end of the cane. With the motion of the train, the rocking, the shuddering, the cane would prod the lady in the leg, bunching the fabric of her skirt around the metal. The lady didn't say anything. She just let the cane-woman jab her in the leg.
--A young girl, maybe 20, crying. No one asks her what's wrong. We've all been there at some point, crying alone in the city.
--"Do you have a tampon?" a teenager asks her friend. "Do you mean 'do I have one in?'" the friend says.
--A lady crimping her eyelashes, and brushing them with blue mascara. She winks at me when she catches me staring.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
The Circus is Coming!!
New York's renowned, acclaimed, award-winning, astounding CIRCUS AMOK presents our 2007 tour of the city parks in:
SAT 9/1 — RIVERSIDE PARK—2PM & 5PM
SUN 9/2—WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK—1PM, 3PM & 5PM
MON9/3—CONEY ISLAND—2PM & 5PM
THURS 9/6—UNION SQUARE PARK—12:30PM, 3PM, 5:30PM
FRI 9/7—COLUMBUS PARK—12:30PM & 5:30PM
SAT 9/8—ST MARY’S PARK—3PM
SUN 9/9—PROSPECT PARK—1PM, 3PM & 5PM
FRI 9/14—MARCUS GARVEY PARK—5:30PM
SAT 9/15—FT GREENE PARK—2PM & 5PM
SUN 9/16—TOMPKINS SQUARE PARK—1PM, 3PM & 5PM
BEE-DAZZLED!!
*** ALL REAL *** ALL ALIVE ***
*** FREE FREE FREE ***
*** FREE FREE FREE ***
Glamorous, Gritty, Dangerous, Glorious, Acrobatic Entomologists,
Querulous Quandaries, Fantastical Fruits, Incredible Insects,
Vaulting Villains, Stupendous Sideshow Spectacular.
Querulous Quandaries, Fantastical Fruits, Incredible Insects,
Vaulting Villains, Stupendous Sideshow Spectacular.
SAT 9/1 — RIVERSIDE PARK—2PM & 5PM
SUN 9/2—WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK—1PM, 3PM & 5PM
MON9/3—CONEY ISLAND—2PM & 5PM
THURS 9/6—UNION SQUARE PARK—12:30PM, 3PM, 5:30PM
FRI 9/7—COLUMBUS PARK—12:30PM & 5:30PM
SAT 9/8—ST MARY’S PARK—3PM
SUN 9/9—PROSPECT PARK—1PM, 3PM & 5PM
FRI 9/14—MARCUS GARVEY PARK—5:30PM
SAT 9/15—FT GREENE PARK—2PM & 5PM
SUN 9/16—TOMPKINS SQUARE PARK—1PM, 3PM & 5PM
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
My Sentiments Exactly
About a year ago, I decided that I would start another blog, this one focusing on the talk-back nature of graffiti on subway advertising. At the time, my cell phone wouldn't take pictures, and I didn't want to lug around my clunky digital camera, which, since it is from 1998, still uses four AA batteries, which means it weighs about nine pounds. Or at least feels like that in your bag. Then I decided that I didn't have the energy for another blog.
You, out there--someone should do this. We'll all arm ourselves with our phones and contribute to this fight-back mechanism. I suggest that you call it: The Platform Manifesto.
This, on The Bratz movie poster. My sentiments exactly.
Seems that other people are getting in on the same act. This morning, two days after my original post, the following appeared on another platform:
You, out there--someone should do this. We'll all arm ourselves with our phones and contribute to this fight-back mechanism. I suggest that you call it: The Platform Manifesto.
This, on The Bratz movie poster. My sentiments exactly.
Seems that other people are getting in on the same act. This morning, two days after my original post, the following appeared on another platform:
Friday, August 03, 2007
Visits
Lately, I have been thinking of Meg. The armored trucks are the trigger. And it never fails that every other day, or every day, I see one parked outside of some or other business, just waiting there quietly for the attendant to do his job. They are all young men.
In September, it will have been two years since she died. I think of the time that has passed--how it has been empty, and how it has been full. I think of that long, arduous phone call with Laura--which saved me in the moment. Me sitting on the edge of my bed, periodically sobbing and asking question after question after question--none of which had any answer.
The weeks following her death, after clearing out her apartment, after the services in Chattanooga and Massachusetts, people would call or email and tell me of a moth that appeared and wouldn't leave. Or a tiny green grasshopper that sat patiently on their leg and made them feel at ease. There is Jennifer's pigeon movie. They all said what a comfort these small appearances had been, these vague, soothing messages from the natural (spiritual?) world
That first night alone in my apartment, I felt so full of Meg, so surrounded by her that it nearly hurt to take a breath--I had no more room to expand. She was in every molecule, in every painting on the wall. She was in my head, literally. She was behind my eyes, using them to peer out, to point me in various directions. All of this has only become clear to me in the last several weeks--now, 2 years later. Why hadn't I thought of all this before?
I know all this now. If everything I know to be true were to vanish, I would still have the understanding that all that pressure, all that focus and nearly/almost/bordering on physically unbearable--it was her. She was there. It was Meg.
In September, it will have been two years since she died. I think of the time that has passed--how it has been empty, and how it has been full. I think of that long, arduous phone call with Laura--which saved me in the moment. Me sitting on the edge of my bed, periodically sobbing and asking question after question after question--none of which had any answer.
The weeks following her death, after clearing out her apartment, after the services in Chattanooga and Massachusetts, people would call or email and tell me of a moth that appeared and wouldn't leave. Or a tiny green grasshopper that sat patiently on their leg and made them feel at ease. There is Jennifer's pigeon movie. They all said what a comfort these small appearances had been, these vague, soothing messages from the natural (spiritual?) world
That first night alone in my apartment, I felt so full of Meg, so surrounded by her that it nearly hurt to take a breath--I had no more room to expand. She was in every molecule, in every painting on the wall. She was in my head, literally. She was behind my eyes, using them to peer out, to point me in various directions. All of this has only become clear to me in the last several weeks--now, 2 years later. Why hadn't I thought of all this before?
I know all this now. If everything I know to be true were to vanish, I would still have the understanding that all that pressure, all that focus and nearly/almost/bordering on physically unbearable--it was her. She was there. It was Meg.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Leave Your Name at the Border
Read my friend Manuel's Op-Ed piece in The New York Times: Click here.
Among other things, he writes:
Among other things, he writes:
The corrosive effect of assimilation is the displacement of one culture over another, the inability to sustain more than one way of being. It isn’t a code word for racial and ethnic acculturation only. It applies to needing and wanting to belong, of seeing from the outside and wondering how to get in and then, once inside, realizing there are always those still on the fringe.
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