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!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
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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