thanksgiving....

 here we are, Thursday morning--holiday! How many thanksgivings have I lived through? After going out for coffee and a bagel, at about 6:00, thought about Long Days Journey Into Night. Went through my character analysis, as if I was instucting actors whom I was directing. Discussed the father: James Tyrone. Have always seen him played "straight up", that is with a kerind of upstanding manner. I see him as an actor from the very beginning of the play--his concern for his wife Mary, and her health problems is all a front. He does not know how to empathize with other people; he has never learned. And Edmond, the youngest son, is usually played as a straightforward young man looking for focus---no, there is an ugliness inside of him, an understanding that this family has given him nothing. He is also going to be the playwright who creates these characters who face their ugliness. Had to get all of that out of my system. Of course, I will never direct a production of the play. Will I ever see another production of it? Do I want to-need to. With a lot of plays that I have thought about over the years, there is a sense of completion--or maybe saturation---don't need to live through them watching others perform them on stage. I felt that way after seeing The Iceman Cometh at BAM several years ago. When the next production came to Broadway I had no interest in re-exploring it. 

Two days ago I began to tutor a first grader in reading. Very intense---lots of concentration needed, "harder" then tutoring math. His mother wants me to work with him every week day. As of now, that is possible. Also may be adding another one or two students. Time goes from being "empty" to being "cramped". Structure made stronger. 

Thanksgiving dinner with my cousins in Prospect Heights at around 5. Not sure how I will fill the time up before that. Prospect Heights---thirty years ago there was no name for it. Just a part of the larger Crown Heights neighborhood.  I remember visiting my friend Fred, who lived on Saint Johns Place in Park Slope in the late seventies and eighties. I would get off the subway and walk south on Flatbush. On one side the Park Slope side---safe. To the left---a world which I did not want to enter. Well things have really changed. Now I walk east of Flatbush towards my cousins apartment house with ease. 

That is all for now---will report soon.

after a harsh weekend....

 24 hours of no heat on the coldest evening of the year---things are leveling off. Kind of drowsy today---had the chance to see Gnit, at its final performances---would have been a lot of fun---but just could not do it---still tired. On Thursday, got myself to the Tank, to see a very strong one woman play performed and written  by my friend Zoe. Beutifully done--full of wonderful eclectic energy--I was really very impressed and happy for her. My first post pandemic and post illness play---made it without any problems. Of course, it was only an hour. Still, augured well for future play visits.This was followed the next night with the hell of cold weather coming into the window, with three heaters keeping me warm, but aware that the heat in the apartment house where I live had been arbitrarily cut off. Did not sleep much; tutored on Saturday morning---then returned to the cold---finally at around 5, heat restored. No reason for this catastrophe given. Slept very soundly once the heat was on. 

Somehow, a few minutes ago, my thoughts turned to Graham Avenue in Brooklyn. Why? Visited a few bars on that block--played trivia at a bar near there--the blocks near the L train full of bars and cafes and pizza places. At one time, if I wanted to see what was there, I just went. Harder to go there now---however have made two visits to the new Drama book store. Larger and for me, more inviting then the old store---one can just bring a book, sit down at a table and read, with or without coffee, plus their play selection is enormous--everything from "hits" to totally obscure work. Lots and lots of shelves.I found several books devoted to plays performed by the Group Theater in the thirties, that were not written by Clifford Odets. They are pretty obscure now, still, at some point I would like to read them, or some of them, just to see what they were like.

Still reading the Henry Roth autobiographical novel: A diving Rock on the Hudson---his story of his childhood and early teens. Still drawn in with so much power to his events---the relatives and friends who he is around. The echoes---the echoes from my childhood. Again, even though my  parents were totally assimilated Jews--I hear their relatives---or the people around the neighborhood, with their accents, their lack of assimilation, their sense of being out of place and the rage that came with it. Trying to put my finger on it with words---hard.

So this blog ends on that note---more to come soon.

Sunday morning...a week

yes, a week later---lots has happened in this time period. Two days at Friends, and at least two more this week. Getting "re-integrated"---seeing all the old faces, the warm greetings, the tasks at hand. Energetic---a complete contrast to the reality of the pademic and illness that has dominated my life for the past--what---nineteen or twenty months.  But it is Sunday---one more day until I go to work---and what is the agenda for today?

A good question. Perhaps a movie at the documentary festival over on 23rd street. Then what..? A visit to Formerly Crows, a bar owned by the gentleman who owned and ran South fourth street bar for the years that I visited there. At formerly Crows, I can probably watch a football game, something I have not been able to do these previous Sundays. That is one idea...any others...? Well, now I have the monthly pass, so I can basically ride the subways as much as I please---no extra cost. It means that the whole city is available to me. But how far do I want to go. Brooklyn seems a little bit out of bounds, at this point. Gosh! Remember the pre-pandemic Sundays when I took the subway to Cobra Club in Bushwick, then walked over to Molasses book store--then maybe the DeKalb avenue bus into the BAM area, then a stop at the Fiction Center---then---finally---around 7 or 8, and remember you left for Bushwick around 11, returning to the "barren" upper west side. Can I do that now,,,? Probably not---stamina and some medication issues.  Still, must get out---"see the world"---not just "hunker down" in the apartment as I did yesterday. Still some friends in off Broadway and off off plays. Only one week left....will I get to them?  Trying to figure that out. Hamilton's, a coffee sonhop I used to go to near 145 street has reopened as a coffee shop and bar. Seems like the place I might be welcome---nice to know it is there.

Continuing with Henry Roth's first novel of the group of five that he started in his late seventies. Penetrating---I have to stop reading for a while--the images and language really get to me. For the rest....

A Friday with Verdi,,,,

 or at least his overture to Giovanna D'Arco. For those uninitiated, Giovanna D'Arco is an early opera by Verdi, possibly his fifth or sixth, not really sure---out of the monotony of being home on a Friday evening, remembered my interest in the opera and found the overture on Youtube. Quite amazing! Early part has soft inventive, somewhat introspective qualities, while the finale of the overture is a true "blood and guts" Italian march---totally accessible. And that is the great thing about Verdi.; he could create music that could go from soft and gentle to open excitement. How many operas did Verdi compose before the "earliest"  ones that are done in the opera houses all the time: Rigoletto, Traviata and Trovatore. Probably about 13. A part of me would like to explore them all---but I wonder if I really have the concentration to do it. They are all there---in full--on youtube. But I hate sitting in front of the computer for a long time. Still, I am curious; there is so much Verdi that I would like to know from his early period. We will see how it plays out.

Actually I attended a concert version of this opera in spring of 1966. I remember it well---it was the year of my "infatutation" with opera--I was doing standing room at the Met at least two or three times a week. This concert version at Carnegie Hall had Teresa Stratas and Sherrill Milnes---both young exciting singers at the time---in the leads---I don't remember who the tenor was. Did not make a great impression at the time---but I simply had to see it. How would I describe the Spring of 66 in my life? It was a time of ease and discovery. I was working at the Department of Welfare on Tremont Avenue in the Bronx---interacting with other young workers---all of us in "transition', taking an acting class with Milton Katselas (very supportive) and falling in love with the world of opera. A calm had settled over my life, and I was feeling very relaxed about things. I remember a mild, spring Saturday evening, walking, by myself, through the streets of the upper west side, near the rooming house where I was living on west 94 street. A feeling of tremendous calm came over me---it was as if I was comfortable in my own shoes---no dates, no involvement--just myself. I think I was surprised by that feeling, but it was indicative of that whole time. This would change in mid July of that year, when I quit the Department of Welfare, because I thought I wanted to auditon for theater work full time, and I presumed that I was ready. At first, relieved, but then long days followed with little to do--tried to do some part time work on shape ups or same day hirings---usually did not go well. More chaotic, more pressure, but I continued. Should I have stayed at the Department of Welfare a little longer. I liked the life--but if was a year after I was "humiliated' at Yale, and I was anxious to prove that the "humiliation" was wrong. What happened after that---well that is another story, possibly to be discussed in another blog post.

Just found out that one of my students tomorrow has canceled. A little more financial pressure because of that--but maybe also some time to explore. Will keep you posted.

Spring 1959....

 A Facebook post of Broadway shows running in late 59, got me to rememeber two musicals that i saw in March and June of 59, respectively. This was my Junior year at Science, the first year in which I traveled independently, and interacted with different students in each class. First year at Science my class was, like about half the sophmore class, put into the Science Annex, about 6 blocks east of the main building, and treated like a junior high school class---that is traveling the whole day with the same students from class to class. Made some good friends from that class,but in retrospect, feel cheated---limited contact---treated as if we were still in Junior High School. At the "old buiding" on Creston Avenue where I experienced the first part of my junior year I remember the rush--the hurly burly---other students desceding on you from all different angles. Totally different from the year before.

The musical were Flower Drum Song (March of 59) and  Destry Rides Again (June of 59). Not interested now in appraising the shows---trying to return to that time in memory. The Bronx! Still mostly Jewish and safe. Neighborhood after neighborhood. Fifteen and a half---constricted by my family---trying to figure out  who I was with my female classmates. I had just "broken up" with the first girl I had dated for a couple of dates--now every conversation that I had with a female classmate of mine, left me with a sense of wonder and possibilities.  A classmate from history---we found ourselves walking to the D train together--a great conversation--she was attractive and a year older---seemed to know her way around the school better then I, but now we were talking to each other. When it was over--"it" being the conversation---I felt like "wow!"; I could not believe this happened. No continuation---of course I saw her around school_--but it did not matter. I returned to my apartment in the Bronx---turned on the radio---tried to do homework---but it was hopeless. I play our conversation in my mind over and over. But the boundaries! Dreaming of this woman and others while trying to please my parents by getting good marks. Was I trapped?And all these women classmates who fascinated me lived in Manhattan---wanted to be there more and more---was this part of it---because they lived in Manhattan, and I in the Bronx, did I endow them with a kind of mysterious erotic energy? To be raised in Manhattan! Then, in the fifties! Amidst the grime, the gangs, the different streets, while I was raised in the Bronx--completely safe and predictable. This dream of mine would not end well---(when has it ever?)---the girl sitting next to me in English---the nice cameraderie--my expectations of a romance---the unavailability---my insistence in my head, all during senior year, that a romance with her was possible---"the plumetting to earth" (Williams).

Not where I wanted to go. I simply wanted to recapture the feeling of myself at that time. Riding home from Flower Drum Song with my brother and parents---yes that is it! Still part of the family unit. "Trapped" in it? Waiting for the next "interaction". Should have been "free-er". But how...?