Lawrence,
Hey! Great to hear from you, and greetings dear friend. I have included my dear brother Steven in this email. He is so far away from me. Further away than even Kitgum is to Kampala. But, further still is the distance that lies between me and you, and that wonderful energy that is Gulu. Is it now a city? I heard there is a new statue in the centre of town. How exciting that is. And to think that Upland Studio will have such a long standing history in a town/city that is now forming. Lawrence, you are a great man, a real friend with such a loving and fun heart. I hope that all is going OK for you. That you are finding what matters most in life- love, laughter and comfort. You are such a dear friend. I am here now in New York City. I am a very small fish, in a veerrry big pond. No one ever recognizes me as a Mzungu anymore. It is a wonderful city though, which once had its first photo studio in a small town on the edge of a forest. The forest is now gone, in a traditional sense. Trees of steel, concrete and glass stretch high into the sky. They do not grow by sunshine and rain, however by the brilliance and competitive spirit of man, always trying to build a bigger, taller and better monument that will sketch their names into history. History that we understand is only like fleeting sand on a river's edge. What matters most, I believe, are the intimate friendships that forge far deeper than ego-fueled monuments. You, good friend, are doing that. I hope we see each other again one day, and not too far ahead. I have no plans right now to fly. I only have money enough to get by in this crazy expensive city. Oh- how I miss the days of Malakwang lunches! Pizza substitutes this as the cheap, fast lunch item in New York City. 1500 shillings buys you a slice.
Talk to you soon brother from a different mother. Greet everyone for me. Apwoyo Matek! Apwoyo Dugo.
-Jamie
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Hood Rat
I got chased by a small black dog last night late, as I was walking home from the subway at De Kalb to my new apartment. Already nervous about the area, I turned around after hearing what I still claim were audible footsteps. Behind me, it bounded in long scrappy strides to catch up. I started running to outpace it, in panic, gripping my chest. For I had realized, this was no small dog. No, it was a big black Brooklyn rat, running after me. It made its point perfectly clear, as it finally darted under a car on hydrolics. As if I didn't get the message the first time, a guy's t-shirt the next day reinforced the greeting of my new arrival to Bushwick- "Get tough or go home". Protein powder is on the shopping list.
Brazilian Ribbon
For nearly a year, I have worn a thin ribbon around my left wrist. My dad tied it with three knots in Rio’s airport. At the time, we had just finished a unique trip to Brasil, visiting my sister and enjoying the freedom that came with traveling together. It was the last day of the trip, we were boarding the airplane, and I wanted to bring Brasil’s old slave-trade tradition with me. Customarily, with each knot, a wish is made. I know this can be cheesy, but in reality I think for me, it was a profession of my largest life goals. I think most of us can agree that to proclaim ones goals seems risky, because greater than my motivation for seeing my goals come to fruition is my fear. Fear of landing short, but also, fear that my wildest dreams would actually come true. And so, I took that moment to take seriously the three-knotted goals, tied like my stomach inside, thinking about actually going for these goals and dreams.
Having just returned from 15 months in Uganda, I was enduring an internal battle. I couldn’t figure out if a life of service was greater than a life lived fulfilling one’s greatest aspirations. I had no idea where the line of selfishness existed. And so, even forging these goals was difficult. It is sometimes easier to think about others than oneself. Made even more extraordinary for me, was that my dad was tying these goals to my wrist. He was giving me the silent validation in this experiment. I did not believe that the dreams would come true after the ribbon fell off, as lore has it. At least I did not outwardly believe this, but inside, I was at least curious. Where will this bracelet fall off, and more importantly will these dreams, finally brought to surface, ever be actualized? That night in the departures terminal, I could have never predicted the place I would be sitting only nine months later.
Last night, in a cab with a girl I had only met hours prior, the ribbon fell off. It fell off quite dramatically, startled me, and made me instantly capture the moment with a deep conversation with this friend of a friend who had kindly asked me to share a cab back to Brooklyn. Seconds earlier, I had been playing with it on my wrist, as I have for countless days and nights. For nearly a year, it has symbiotically ridden my wrist; leaping into breaking surf in Australia and New Zealand, enduring tugs of anxiety in my first few weeks in New York, later slyly tucking behind dress shirts for job interviews to hide the inner hippie. It has seen, understands, has felt the joys, the anxiety, the stress, the fears, the moments of love, and thrills of dancing, thrown into the air. And finally last night, it boldly made its move. It decided, in most poignant timing, that it would not sit nicely on my wrist any longer. It had been there, firmly supportive, but secretly, slowly letting go. Through my move to New York, it has been with me, as I forged through recent months of apartment searching, friend forming and job-hunting. It has given me a connection to my family, so constantly far away, and introduced me to thousands of people along the way. As I sat, awe-struck by the timing of this ribbon’s detachment, I realized where I’ve come in the last nine months since it was first tied on. With cool breeze surging through the windows of the cab, a proclamation of a New York summer’s end, I was filled with wonder of the meaning of this moment. I have thought so many times of how the bracelet would fall off, where, when and with what purpose. Would the dreams come true that day, that week or that month? Holding it now in my hands as I did when I first handed it to my Dad, clueless of the ride it would endure, I realized that its timing signified a completely different concept of its prophecy. That night marked a clear chapter break. With a new job now becoming familiar, with new friends forged, an apartment lease signed, a successful audition for NYU’s musical completed, and the promise of an education beginning in just days, it detached. I sat in that taxi, telling this near-stranger these words, with the main theme falling on my extreme gratitude for the grace, support and luck I’d been given in this pursuit of my 3 knots. You see, for me, this ribbon’s dreams did not get released upon its detachment. Rather, in its gradual unravel, its power dissolved over the course of its stay, finally releasing after having exhausted its power. My dreams are not realized, but I am much closer than I was only one year ago. I have nothing but gratitude for the God that has allowed this wristband to come undone.
Having just returned from 15 months in Uganda, I was enduring an internal battle. I couldn’t figure out if a life of service was greater than a life lived fulfilling one’s greatest aspirations. I had no idea where the line of selfishness existed. And so, even forging these goals was difficult. It is sometimes easier to think about others than oneself. Made even more extraordinary for me, was that my dad was tying these goals to my wrist. He was giving me the silent validation in this experiment. I did not believe that the dreams would come true after the ribbon fell off, as lore has it. At least I did not outwardly believe this, but inside, I was at least curious. Where will this bracelet fall off, and more importantly will these dreams, finally brought to surface, ever be actualized? That night in the departures terminal, I could have never predicted the place I would be sitting only nine months later.
Last night, in a cab with a girl I had only met hours prior, the ribbon fell off. It fell off quite dramatically, startled me, and made me instantly capture the moment with a deep conversation with this friend of a friend who had kindly asked me to share a cab back to Brooklyn. Seconds earlier, I had been playing with it on my wrist, as I have for countless days and nights. For nearly a year, it has symbiotically ridden my wrist; leaping into breaking surf in Australia and New Zealand, enduring tugs of anxiety in my first few weeks in New York, later slyly tucking behind dress shirts for job interviews to hide the inner hippie. It has seen, understands, has felt the joys, the anxiety, the stress, the fears, the moments of love, and thrills of dancing, thrown into the air. And finally last night, it boldly made its move. It decided, in most poignant timing, that it would not sit nicely on my wrist any longer. It had been there, firmly supportive, but secretly, slowly letting go. Through my move to New York, it has been with me, as I forged through recent months of apartment searching, friend forming and job-hunting. It has given me a connection to my family, so constantly far away, and introduced me to thousands of people along the way. As I sat, awe-struck by the timing of this ribbon’s detachment, I realized where I’ve come in the last nine months since it was first tied on. With cool breeze surging through the windows of the cab, a proclamation of a New York summer’s end, I was filled with wonder of the meaning of this moment. I have thought so many times of how the bracelet would fall off, where, when and with what purpose. Would the dreams come true that day, that week or that month? Holding it now in my hands as I did when I first handed it to my Dad, clueless of the ride it would endure, I realized that its timing signified a completely different concept of its prophecy. That night marked a clear chapter break. With a new job now becoming familiar, with new friends forged, an apartment lease signed, a successful audition for NYU’s musical completed, and the promise of an education beginning in just days, it detached. I sat in that taxi, telling this near-stranger these words, with the main theme falling on my extreme gratitude for the grace, support and luck I’d been given in this pursuit of my 3 knots. You see, for me, this ribbon’s dreams did not get released upon its detachment. Rather, in its gradual unravel, its power dissolved over the course of its stay, finally releasing after having exhausted its power. My dreams are not realized, but I am much closer than I was only one year ago. I have nothing but gratitude for the God that has allowed this wristband to come undone.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
5 sets of keys
I just signed a lease to my new spot, way out in Brooklyn. I'll move in on Sept. 1st. The neighborhood is "up-and-coming, 2040". More than anything, what marks this crazy day is that I am now carrying 5 sets of keys. (I was just given my set of office keys to Roundabout Theatre Company) where I am now working. What gratitude I carry to be living in a city which 2 months ago seemed so daunting, so absolutely unbreakable. And now, temporarily homeless, my bag jingles with 5 sets of trust, love and support.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
3 sets of keys and India Arie
3 sets of keys jingle in my bag as I walk along 9th Avenue. One to unlock an apartment in Astoria, two for the Upper West Side. Blessed and grateful, I have a new spring in my step as my professional life starts shaping a shell around my forming personal life. Leaving the apartment in Harlem yesterday confirmed a new mindset. With traveler's pack weighing me down, I strolled past the Apollo Theatre. A woman sat on the corner stoop, taking the morning post of the neighborhood stairwell, which by evening would undoubtedly be full of gathered friends and relatives escaping their apartment heat. That morning, she smiled as I walked past. I greeted her, and she greeted back. Leaving Harlem at 125th, I took the A to the Upper West Side at 72nd. 50 blocks difference, I pop up to an entirely different World from where I had just left. My new home would be with new-found friends at 68th Street and Central Park West. The Doorman greeted me with knowledge of each person's room number in the building. - Apartment 3c" I had a cup of tea with my new roommate, with 2 bags of tea and a cherished jar of honey I had picked up in an ancient Lithuanian shop. Within an hour of trekking through the UWS with bags hanging on me like a packmule, I now confidently greeted the doorman on my way out, with breifcase slung over my shoulder. Heading to E. 4th in the East Village, I spent the next 7 hours with high school students at City at Peace, my internship for the last 2 months. Today I got the chance to present Invisible Children's GO documentary during this time, and there was rare silence in the room followed by many questions. Having developed a deep relationship with these 40 young adults, it was inspiring to see my world's collide. My final words punched more boldly than I usually do, "Whatever your cause, wherever you want to see change, go big. Be loud. See minds change".
After class, I took various subways, after initially going the wrong way. Arriving on 59th, I walked through a beautiful dusk along Central Park- the air is no longer sticky at night, just 80 degrees. Arriving back to the apartment, I got on the elevator. Inside, a man asked me if I lived here. I said no, that I was just visiting. He replied, "Good. I've lived here 8 years and have never seen you. I don't want to be a rude New Yorker and not know my neighbors. I'm glad you don't live here" I thought it an odd remark to end on as I walked off and opened up 3C.
My new roomie was inside, drinking a beer. He had just lost his bartending job hours before, being told over the phone on a random call he made to ask for this week's shift times. My roommate, an actor, described the conversation of that phone call... In classic New York attitude, the manager had fired him for "not being edgy enough, as the bar is trying to move in a more 'East Village" direction". (The bar, called, East of Eden, is located in Chelsea). I felt terrible, despite being heavily entertained by this well-crafted monologue. So, plans for a low-key evening were scrapped, and we went out to dinner to soften the blow of a direct New York mental beating. After dinner, we met up with his friends for one beer at 'Dive 75' where we were entertained by two larger than life actors who were celebrating a callback. Halfway through the bar, I got a call from one of the high school girls from City At Peace. She said that on her way back to Brooklyn after rehearsal, she just wanted to yell on the Subway that "People are dying in Africa" and tell everyone about what was going on. I could tell she was lonely. Her father was sending a cab to pick her up and meet him at his girlfriend's house. It was great to talk to her and we made a plan to meet about effective ways to help out northern Uganda at the next rehearsal.
Home by midnight, I went to bed to wake up and put on work clothes for my office job. Taking the A to the N, I arrived at Times Square, listening to India.Arie, who steers my ship these days. She battles the waves, hums her advice as I soak up rays starboard. Her comforting breath led me to the Church next to the Theatre, as I sat in silence for 5 minutes before arriving to my new post at the Roundabout Theatre Company by 10am. The beat goes on.
After class, I took various subways, after initially going the wrong way. Arriving on 59th, I walked through a beautiful dusk along Central Park- the air is no longer sticky at night, just 80 degrees. Arriving back to the apartment, I got on the elevator. Inside, a man asked me if I lived here. I said no, that I was just visiting. He replied, "Good. I've lived here 8 years and have never seen you. I don't want to be a rude New Yorker and not know my neighbors. I'm glad you don't live here" I thought it an odd remark to end on as I walked off and opened up 3C.
My new roomie was inside, drinking a beer. He had just lost his bartending job hours before, being told over the phone on a random call he made to ask for this week's shift times. My roommate, an actor, described the conversation of that phone call... In classic New York attitude, the manager had fired him for "not being edgy enough, as the bar is trying to move in a more 'East Village" direction". (The bar, called, East of Eden, is located in Chelsea). I felt terrible, despite being heavily entertained by this well-crafted monologue. So, plans for a low-key evening were scrapped, and we went out to dinner to soften the blow of a direct New York mental beating. After dinner, we met up with his friends for one beer at 'Dive 75' where we were entertained by two larger than life actors who were celebrating a callback. Halfway through the bar, I got a call from one of the high school girls from City At Peace. She said that on her way back to Brooklyn after rehearsal, she just wanted to yell on the Subway that "People are dying in Africa" and tell everyone about what was going on. I could tell she was lonely. Her father was sending a cab to pick her up and meet him at his girlfriend's house. It was great to talk to her and we made a plan to meet about effective ways to help out northern Uganda at the next rehearsal.
Home by midnight, I went to bed to wake up and put on work clothes for my office job. Taking the A to the N, I arrived at Times Square, listening to India.Arie, who steers my ship these days. She battles the waves, hums her advice as I soak up rays starboard. Her comforting breath led me to the Church next to the Theatre, as I sat in silence for 5 minutes before arriving to my new post at the Roundabout Theatre Company by 10am. The beat goes on.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Homelessness: Part 2
This weekend's succession of couches themed around the generational expression, "Breadcrumbs and Caviar. Breadcrumbs and Caviar is meant to define people of my generation, who are flexible in extremely variant situations. In the morning, a person is dumpster diving with vagabond artists (and enjoys their philosophy), and that evening, engaged in conversation with the owner of Dior (and respects her principle). Each situation is fun, interesting and comfortable. Specifically:
1. Thursday night: Harlem, NYC. Slept on a long couch in the living room of my artist friend's houses. The couch sat next to a wide, open window (no AC, it is hot and muggy). The view takes in beautiful rooftops glistening under tremendous sunsets. The walk to the Subway is wonderful. The streets are filled with people, sitting on stoops, talking and hustling on every corner. It is exactly as you might imagine a Harlem neighborhood to look. The people are generally friendly, although once I did get a grunt from some shirtless guy as I passed. Whites are rare but not totally uncommon.
2. Friday night: Penthouse Suite, 1 University Avenue, Washington Square Park, NYC. Not only did I stay over at the Penthouse here, I also spent the entire evening with my friend Jack, who had a photo shoot in Soho. The location was on the top floor of the Esquire House, a notorious penthouse full of the most posh commodities I've ever seen. Prior to that, I had a beer with my colleg roommate in his 3500/mo. apartment.
3. Saturday night: Homeless on 6th Avenue until 1 am. After getting kicked out of a record store at closing time, I fatefully ran into an aquaintance on the street. She offered her couch in the Bronx, as she was getting a free taxi ride. Thinking this was God-given, I waited with her until the taxi arrived. Approaching the cab, the passenger rolled down the window, and reluctantly explained that the free cab service was only for women to get safely home. My friend got in. I stayed behind. Realizing I couldn't rely on my artist friend to get up to Harlem (there is only one set of keys, and he was staying out late downtown) I called a girl from the house in the Upper Westside and spent the night on her couch. By 2 am I was inside, curled on a 5 foot couch to wake up early for church, wearing the same clothes I had worn out the night before. Fortunately I found some free perfume samples being given out at a table on the street, and my friend brought me a sandwich. My Sunday was set.
4. Sunday night: After an afternoon in Brooklyn where I danced with Parisian models in a 3-story apartment, fully decked out (and featured in the New York Times). Then after climbing two fences with said models, and finding ourselves in the front row of a live DJ (Girltalk) in the East River Park, I headed back to Harlem. Luckily, I met up with my artist roommate at a bar in Brooklyn and he passed me the keys. I arrived back in Brooklyn to a man peeing across the exit of the subway. Instead of avoiding this encounter by walking back 2 blocks underground (my feet were killing me), I jumped over his stream to his apology and made my way to my friend's pad.
Only a week left!
1. Thursday night: Harlem, NYC. Slept on a long couch in the living room of my artist friend's houses. The couch sat next to a wide, open window (no AC, it is hot and muggy). The view takes in beautiful rooftops glistening under tremendous sunsets. The walk to the Subway is wonderful. The streets are filled with people, sitting on stoops, talking and hustling on every corner. It is exactly as you might imagine a Harlem neighborhood to look. The people are generally friendly, although once I did get a grunt from some shirtless guy as I passed. Whites are rare but not totally uncommon.
2. Friday night: Penthouse Suite, 1 University Avenue, Washington Square Park, NYC. Not only did I stay over at the Penthouse here, I also spent the entire evening with my friend Jack, who had a photo shoot in Soho. The location was on the top floor of the Esquire House, a notorious penthouse full of the most posh commodities I've ever seen. Prior to that, I had a beer with my colleg roommate in his 3500/mo. apartment.
3. Saturday night: Homeless on 6th Avenue until 1 am. After getting kicked out of a record store at closing time, I fatefully ran into an aquaintance on the street. She offered her couch in the Bronx, as she was getting a free taxi ride. Thinking this was God-given, I waited with her until the taxi arrived. Approaching the cab, the passenger rolled down the window, and reluctantly explained that the free cab service was only for women to get safely home. My friend got in. I stayed behind. Realizing I couldn't rely on my artist friend to get up to Harlem (there is only one set of keys, and he was staying out late downtown) I called a girl from the house in the Upper Westside and spent the night on her couch. By 2 am I was inside, curled on a 5 foot couch to wake up early for church, wearing the same clothes I had worn out the night before. Fortunately I found some free perfume samples being given out at a table on the street, and my friend brought me a sandwich. My Sunday was set.
4. Sunday night: After an afternoon in Brooklyn where I danced with Parisian models in a 3-story apartment, fully decked out (and featured in the New York Times). Then after climbing two fences with said models, and finding ourselves in the front row of a live DJ (Girltalk) in the East River Park, I headed back to Harlem. Luckily, I met up with my artist roommate at a bar in Brooklyn and he passed me the keys. I arrived back in Brooklyn to a man peeing across the exit of the subway. Instead of avoiding this encounter by walking back 2 blocks underground (my feet were killing me), I jumped over his stream to his apology and made my way to my friend's pad.
Only a week left!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
12 days of Homelessness in NYC, Day 1
"...I feel extremely vulnerable right now"... This line concluded a ten minute speech this morning to a group of 40 "at risk" high school students. Sweaty from 90 degree weather, my hands shook nervously, having just explained my biggest life struggles in front of tough teenagers. The comment concluded a speech that each person gave about their life story. Serving as the Assistant Artistic Director Intern, I volunteered to share my story to further expand my relationship with the cast. Already stretched in life at this moment, with my guards fully down, my statement was an exhalation, a humbled release of trying to act in control.
I am homeless for the next 12 days straight. From August 18th until the 31st, I will manage to live and work, keep a consistent schedule, all while crashing in different houses around the City. Homeless in the Big Apple.Through the kindness of acquaintances, fast becoming friends, in a City that never sleeps, I will try to find rest.
Do you know that uncertain feeling of sitting in a hottub, where bubbles are all around your stomach. And they are fluttering and causing your stomach to feel a little uneasy, but excited. Perhaps you are sitting in the hottub with someone you are attracted to. That is how I am feeling right now. I feel lifted, in the air, on the brink of an exciting plunge. It is a feeling of freedom if I let it, and if I freak out, a total nervousness for the unknown.
Daunting concept unless taken day by day. In my time with Invisible Children, I've come to understand the first rule of hospitality. Don't overstay your welcome. Since I don't have long-time friends in the City (yet), I am abiding by the 2-3 day maximum stay. That means about 5-6 different houses and friend groups, on a schedule that is loosely planned.
At 8:15 am, Tuesday, I sat on the toilet with IBS. This graphic description has to be included to understand the intense worry that had overcome me on the morning I was to leave my apartment in Astoria. For the last two months, I had relied on this apartment as a sanctuary from the intensity of the City outside. After each long day, I would find solace at 31-31 29th Street, where I would walk in, turn on some music and rest. Many nights I chose to stay in, creating art pieces from material I found on the street, or collaging while sitting on the roof of the building overlooking the skyline. Living alone, I had focused on intentional living, where each decision was my own, made in sound judgement.
Now, here I sat, waiting to get the courage to walk out of the door, turn the lock and head out. It was the idea of not knowing, of not having a landing pad, or a little island to swim to that scared me. I was afraid of letting go, of trusting in the goodness of others, and the pattern in my life that I can only gratefully say is God-sent grace.
With a travelers' backpack full of the essentials, I hiked through the urban jungle. Inside the pack, I was set for anything- tuna, bread, a bottle of honey, some raisins and cans of beer- all salvaged from my refrigerator. In my hand, business slacks and a few collared shirts for my new office job, all hanging under a trashbag. From Astoria Queens, I transferred trains at 57th, where I walked near posh shops and fancy cafes to take the B train to the Upper West Side. This would be my first stay. 4 girls live here-from various parts of the US, all successful young businesswomen. I met all of the roommates the day before, when I went to pick up the key. A Monday, they were having margaritas and invited me to stay for dinner. Needless to say, we all became fast friends. Placing my stuff in a corner of their small living room, I said hello, then dashed 8 blocks in muggy sunshine, to catch a subway to the East Village to begin my day with City at Peace, an amazing theatre company for high school students, which I began this entry describing.
To be continued...
I am homeless for the next 12 days straight. From August 18th until the 31st, I will manage to live and work, keep a consistent schedule, all while crashing in different houses around the City. Homeless in the Big Apple.Through the kindness of acquaintances, fast becoming friends, in a City that never sleeps, I will try to find rest.
Do you know that uncertain feeling of sitting in a hottub, where bubbles are all around your stomach. And they are fluttering and causing your stomach to feel a little uneasy, but excited. Perhaps you are sitting in the hottub with someone you are attracted to. That is how I am feeling right now. I feel lifted, in the air, on the brink of an exciting plunge. It is a feeling of freedom if I let it, and if I freak out, a total nervousness for the unknown.
Daunting concept unless taken day by day. In my time with Invisible Children, I've come to understand the first rule of hospitality. Don't overstay your welcome. Since I don't have long-time friends in the City (yet), I am abiding by the 2-3 day maximum stay. That means about 5-6 different houses and friend groups, on a schedule that is loosely planned.
At 8:15 am, Tuesday, I sat on the toilet with IBS. This graphic description has to be included to understand the intense worry that had overcome me on the morning I was to leave my apartment in Astoria. For the last two months, I had relied on this apartment as a sanctuary from the intensity of the City outside. After each long day, I would find solace at 31-31 29th Street, where I would walk in, turn on some music and rest. Many nights I chose to stay in, creating art pieces from material I found on the street, or collaging while sitting on the roof of the building overlooking the skyline. Living alone, I had focused on intentional living, where each decision was my own, made in sound judgement.
Now, here I sat, waiting to get the courage to walk out of the door, turn the lock and head out. It was the idea of not knowing, of not having a landing pad, or a little island to swim to that scared me. I was afraid of letting go, of trusting in the goodness of others, and the pattern in my life that I can only gratefully say is God-sent grace.
With a travelers' backpack full of the essentials, I hiked through the urban jungle. Inside the pack, I was set for anything- tuna, bread, a bottle of honey, some raisins and cans of beer- all salvaged from my refrigerator. In my hand, business slacks and a few collared shirts for my new office job, all hanging under a trashbag. From Astoria Queens, I transferred trains at 57th, where I walked near posh shops and fancy cafes to take the B train to the Upper West Side. This would be my first stay. 4 girls live here-from various parts of the US, all successful young businesswomen. I met all of the roommates the day before, when I went to pick up the key. A Monday, they were having margaritas and invited me to stay for dinner. Needless to say, we all became fast friends. Placing my stuff in a corner of their small living room, I said hello, then dashed 8 blocks in muggy sunshine, to catch a subway to the East Village to begin my day with City at Peace, an amazing theatre company for high school students, which I began this entry describing.
To be continued...
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