skating away on the thin ice of a new day

Posted on November 10, 2008 by Exile on Pain Street

The ice skating rink at Bryant Park—New York City’s only FREE ice skating rink—is open for business. From now until mid-January, you can skate in the shadow of the Empire State Building and the Public Library.

I don’t participate in winter sports. I tried skiing for a few years in high school but it seems the focus was more on how much weed you can smoke on the chair lift than honing your downhill skills. Consequently, I never advanced past snow plowing. Plus, I never had the proper equipment or clothing so the sport never took. I’ve never been on ice skates either, but I do enjoy watching the skaters at Bryant Park.

The music they play over the PA systems tends to be very, very bad Broadway show tunes. Not cool ones that later became American Popular Standards; songs by Gershwin, Sammy Cahn and the rest of those guys that were recorded outside of the realm of musical theater by the likes of Sinatra and Billie Holiday. The songs they play at the Bryant Park rink are crappy, obscure forgettable show tunes that only annoying musical theater purists could identify. It’s nothing an iPod can’t cure. Pop in your ear buds and suddenly the skaters are gliding gracefully while Ella Fitzgerald sings Midnight Sun.

* * *

I had another meditation class last night but I wasn’t feeling the vibe so I snuck out early. After a lovely opening meditation, they tried to tell us what happens after we’re dead. Fix your karma or you’ll be reincarnated over and over again until you get it right. Horseshit. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; nobody knows what happens after you die. No. Body. If they keep annoying me with this stuff I might stop going altogether. If I want to hear fairy tales about the afterlife, I’ll go back to the Catholic Church.

Meet the New Boss. Not the Same as the Old Boss

Posted on November 10, 2008 by Exile on Pain Street

On Friday, Barack Obama gave his first press conference. There’s a television in the lobby at Benevolent Dictators, Inc. It plays the business news all day but broke for the press conference. When it started, everyone got up from their desk and went into the lobby to listen. Everyone. Even the people who didn’t vote for him (and at Benevolent Dictators, Inc., there are quite a few).

I couldn’t remember the last time people gathered around a TV to watch a George Bush press conference. Come to think of it, I can’t recall President Bush ever giving a traditional press conference whereby he made a statement and then took questions from reporters. So this was a real treat. And I don’t believe people were watching and thinking to themselves, “Oh, there’s our new black President.” I think they were concentrating on the content of the conference with little thought about the pigment of his skin. At least, that’s my Pollyanna wish.

* * *

Me: Big yawn.

7-Year Old Daughter: Yawns. Dad, yawns are contagious.

Me: That’s true and nobody knows why.

7-YOD: I think I know why. When someone yawns, the yawn flies out of their mouth and goes up the nose of someone else and makes them yawn.

That’s not possible, right? Because I find that disgusting.

The Old Ball Game

Posted on November 8, 2008 by Exile on Pain Street

I saw a great play last night with CB. He liked it too, which counts for plenty because his standards are a lot tougher than mine. It was a drama with lots of yucks about baseball during the steroid era called Back Back Back.

The two principal actors were stand-ins for José Canseco and Mark McGwire. CB isn’t a baseball fan and initially I was concerned that he wouldn’t find the story very compelling, but there was nothing worry about. The acting is so good that you are pulled in whether you’re a baseball fan or not. The play ends with the Canseco/McGwire doppelgängers getting ready for their Congressional hearings and you really do feel the weight of what they did to baseball and each other. You never hear the word “steroid” spoken. Great plays like this make up for dogs I occasionally sit through.

The play was presented by the Manhattan Theater Club and I’m very happy that this is such a strong show. (Although, it’s still in previews. For all I know, the critics could trash it when it opens, but I can’t imagine that happening.) They’ve opened two other plays this season that were both panned by the critics, so they need a hit. Producing plays must be nerve wracking. All those weeks (months?) of rehearsal and preparation and all it takes it a handful of bad reviews on opening night and that’s it. You’re through. Pow. Right in the kisser.

* * *

The play was in midtown and before it started I sat outside for a while across the street from Radio City Music Hall on the ledge of a fountain. It was so freakishly balmy out that I could sit comfortably without a jacket on.

I watched the tourists and traffic flow up 6th Avenue. Radio City is an art deco masterpiece and it’s already all lit up for Christmas. A crowd was pouring in for the evening performance of the annual Christmas Spectacular.

The out-of-towners were having their picture taken with Radio City as a backdrop and I obliged three different families who handed me a camera and asked me to take a photo for them. Everyone was so happy and excited to be in New York that I got all stupid and gooey inside. What a punk.

Does This Sound Like a Satisfying Evening to You?

Posted on November 7, 2008 by Exile on Pain Street

Currently at the SoHo Rep, you can pay $65 per ticket to sit through a drama where following events are acted out on stage:

A scene opens with a woman in a fetal position on a bed. She unfolds her body to reveal blood between her legs, the result of a bite from her menacing lover.

A man violently rapes another man while holding a revolver to his head.

After the rape, he sucks out his eyeballs and eats them.

The play is Blasted by Sarah Kane, a British playwright who, at 23, committed suicide. With all that darkness rattling around inside her head, it’s no shock that she met with an untimely end.

Surprisingly, (or, perhaps not) the entire run is sold out. There is a nightly queue for cancellations. People are clamoring for tickets. I wouldn’t go for free. I can certainly handle heavy drama. That’s not the issue. But no matter how compelling the plot is, I can’t help thinking that the violence depicted is just as gratuitous as that in Saw or any of the other torture porn films. It’s not for me.

Critics and audiences are hailing the dramatic and courageous performances of the three actors involved. The lead actress said that the preparations, “messed with my head.” Yea, no kidding. I think all the posturing by critics is load of horseshit. They’re just voyeurs, whether they want to admit it to themselves or not.

As Randy Newman sang in A Few Words in Defense of Our Country:

But wait, here’s one, the Spanish Inquisition
They put people in a terrible position
I don’t even like to think about it

Well, sometimes I like to think about it

Is Charlize Theron the Dumbest Woman on Earth?

Posted on November 5, 2008 by Exile on Pain Street

How far out of touch with reality can one Hollywood starlet be?

Swiss watchmaker Raymond Weil paid Ms. Theron a reported $20 million to ~~shill~~ be their spokeswoman and wear their watches exclusively.

Here on planet earth, that’s an extraordinary amount of money to do nothing. And by “nothing,” I’m not speaking in metaphor or allegory. All she had to do was pose for some pictures and wear a stupid wristwatch when she went out at night. What could be easier? Well, guess what? She couldn’t do it. She was photographed at a film festival wearing a Dior wristwatch, was sued, and a judge ordered her to give all that money back. A contract is a contract!

What happened? Did she forget? Not care? How arrogant. How dreary.

* * *

I hit a triple on my train home last night. I knocked out three—count ‘em—three cell phone calls at one time when I activated my cell phone jammer. I’ve hit hundreds of singles, a handful of doubles, but this was my first triple.

It never gets old.

* * *

The U.S. Presidents from 1776 to present.