Some of you may already know the story of my botched attempt years ago to attend Shakespeare in the Park’s Twelfth Night, starring Julia Stiles and Jimmy Smits. And pre-megastar Zach Braff, Christopher Lloyd, Oliver Platt, and Kirsten Johnston. For the record, that experience is partially why I strongly dislike Julia Stiles: when the performance was rained out, she did not sign anyone’s Playbill, even though most of the rest of the cast graciously did. Stupid rain. In any case, since then, my love for Shakespeare has only grown, and in my days of theatre withdrawal and post-OSF grief, I have been yearning to go to a Public Theatre show of Shakespeare in the Park.

This summer, they’re doing The Merchant of Venice and A Winter’s Tale. I wasn’t super excited about either, to be honest, since I’m not a huge fan of WT after a horrible viewing of it at a state Thespian conference years ago, and I am not as familiar as I should be with Merchant. But, since I’m in New York and I’ve been wanting to do this for years, I knew one of my goals while here would be to see the show. As it happens, Al Pacino is reprising his role as Shylock.

Tonight, I went to sit on the standby line in the hopes that I could get a ticket. If you’ve never tried to get tickets to a Shakespeare in the Park show, let me just say that when we got tickets before, it was because my mother and I arrived at Central Park at 8:30 in the morning and waited for 5 hours until they handed out the tickets. We were not the first in line. So, waiting tonight for only 2.5 hours wasn’t too shabby, compared to last time. I settled in between an Italian couple vacationing (I was thrilled! So many Italians in NYC, che fantastico!) and a pair of friends who apparently go to SitP all the time.

Walking up to the theatre, I had noticed that there was some sort of event going on, and my linemates informed me that tonight was some sort of gala: press, VIPs, family & friends of the cast and crew would be comprising most of the audience. The box office monkey came out and told us that he had no idea how many tickets they’d be able to give out tonight. I waited. I wasn’t going to leave until I either definitely did not receive a ticket or got into the theatre. It turned out, that was a good idea.

Around 8:04, the line started moving, and they ended up having quite a bit of tickets left over. Not only did I get to see Merchant, I also was totally starstruck by all the celebrities milling about in one place. I saw Jonathan Groff (probably the most exciting person I saw, actually), Naomi Watts and her husband, Liev Schrieber, Kevin Spacey, James Gandolfini, Peter Dinklage, Lou Reed & Laurie Anderson, Lucy Liu and Kate Walsh. I’m sure there were more there, but those were the ones I remember.

It took a few minutes for me to calm down once the show started. I’m not even kidding, I was so excited I was shaking. The production itself was really wonderful. I thought the staging was great, the set was really cool and utilitarian, and the acting was, overall, pretty dynamite. I especially liked Bassanio and Launcelot (Jesse Tyler Ferguson, of Modern Family, if anyone watches that). Al Pacino wasn’t too bad, either.

I have always adored languages, and Shakespeare’s English is no exception. I left the theatre so happy and light I could have flown back to Chelsea. Instead, I took a cab.

I got lucky again on Sunday for the West Side Story matinee rush. Front row, center again for me, and I was digging it. These are some thoughts I wrote down immediately after the show:

In the Heights was so different in terms of experience. West Side Story is much closer to my heart because I listened to the record over and over again when my parents bought me a record player for Christmas when I was 14. I also feel that West Side Story is more about the dancing than a lot of other musicals, which you could see in the performers’ bios. Many of the cast members, rather than listing theatre experience, listed their dance experience.

The relevance is still so great, even 53 years after the original production was first staged. In 1957, it was revolutionary in its characterization, but today we continue to face similar issues with intolerance. Sometimes it really feels like the world has taken a step backward. If lessons learned in something like West Side Story can still be applied, it speaks volumes to our progress as a culture.

Some cool updates to this revival’s re-staging:
Lin-Manuel Miranda (that’s right, you remember him from In the Heights fame and glory) worked with the production to translate a lot of the script. For example, in the Tonight Quintet, which features the Jets, the Sharks, Maria, Tony & Anita, the Sharks sing basically their whole part in Spanish. Bits of scenes among the Puerto Rican characters were changed into Spanish, as was most of “I Feel Pretty” (“Me Siento Hermosa”).

I liked that aspect a lot, mostly because it engages the audience in a more real way. Those characters wouldn’t speak English to each other when alone, and when they do–as is the case often with Anita and Maria–they had it built into the character. As someone who prefers America to her native land, Anita is trying to become proficient in English and encourages Maria to do the same. It reminded me of my own Abuelita, who was always practicing English. My grandmother almost never speaks Spanish to us, and certainly my mother wouldn’t have become bilingual had it not been for Tita teaching them Spanish. It also reminded me of all the immigrants who always have been the founding fabric of our country. Most of them come to America because they still see a life of opportunity here. They work hard. They want what’s best for their families. Is that so different from what everyone wants? But I digress…

The other aspect that I liked, that really goes along with the above point, was the casting. Basically everyone who was a Shark was actually Hispanic. Maria, Anita, Bernardo and a few others were actually from places like Venezuela and Argentina. No faking an accent for our main character (sorry, Natalie Wood), she already had one. Overall, I just thought the performance was more genuine than the movie version, although I can’t compare it to previous Broadway productions.

This post is not to claim that the show was perfect. It was not. But I enjoyed it nonetheless. I cried when it was sad, I laughed when it was funny, and I got my Playbill signed afterwards.

Life is all about choices. That is pretty obvious. One thing that’s impossible to miss here is homelessness, and that also presents us with choices.

Today on the train, there was a woman who started making a speech as soon as the door closed. Her name was Alexis. She was a 33-year-old homeless female. A few years ago, she lost her home, her daughter and her grandmother in a fire. Since then, she has been in and out of shelters, riding the train. She did not steal. She hadn’t had anything to eat since the morning before. Could we please help her get a meal?

That was her speech. It was hard not to look at her and feel really sorry for her, but I didn’t know what choice to make. I had an entire dinner in my bag, since I was planning on eating in the park. I had a few dollars, too. Should I have given her a granola bar? We arrived at my stop before I could make a decision. As I left the station, I felt guilty. I didn’t need that granola bar in my purse. Why didn’t I give it to her? Was it because if I gave it to her I’d feel like I needed to give to every homeless person begging on the street or on the train? Does that even really matter? Or was it because part of me didn’t trust her? Did I think she would misspend the money I might give her?

A few days ago, there was a man in the Times Square stop asking people coming down the steps for a dollar for the train. I had just won some tickets so I was feeling good. I gave him a buck, and he was very thankful. I had seen a man before me give him a dollar, too, so I assumed he only had $0.25 to go until he had enough fare. It happened that I returned to that same stop about an hour later and the guy was still there, still asking passersby to give him a dollar for the train. That kind of put a bad taste in my mouth–was he really going to spend the dollar I gave him on the train to go home? Or was he going to spend it on something else, something I assumed would be less positive on his road out of poverty. There was no way I could know, but it made me feel a bit like my small kindness had perhaps been misused. Maybe I’m making assumptions; maybe his train was a path train to Jersey. That seemed unlikely, though.

So, when I saw Alexis on the train, a tiny voice wondered aloud if she would be using any money she received on something other than food. I had seen women like her on the subway before. One had flat out asked for food, though, not for money. “If you have any leftovers, please consider sharing them with me. I am diabetic and I have to feed my family, but shelter food is not enough.” Maybe I would have been more inclined to give had she just asked for food, but I guess she would take what she could get.

One of the greatest lessons in my life that I have learned is that a little kindness can go a long way. Cliche, perhaps, but absolutely true. Tonight, for example, I had a really nice cabbie. He was a Haitian immigrant who lost some relatives in Haiti, but was still hopeful for the future. He was confident that the universe still has a plan for him, and even in the face of disasters (hurricane was his choice of words) we would do what we were meant to do on this earth. His kindness to me was sharing nice conversation, and reminding me how small that kindness can be to brighten someone’s day. Maybe next time I’m on the subway and I hear someone’s story, I will make a different choice.

This Saturday I reconnected with a friend from high school and went to Coney Island with him and a friend of his to see the 2010 Mermaid Parade. It originally started as a way for the residents to bring back an old tradition of celebrating mardi gras, that had ended in the 50’s. Since its revival in the 1980’s, the Mermaid Parade has grown into the nation’s largest art parade. And what an experience it was to see it!

We arrived around 1pm, about an hour before the parade was slated to begin. We stood in line for a long while at Nathan’s, but I’m glad to say that I ate a Nathan’s hot dog on Coney Island–check another to-do off my food list. Very tasty. Jorge, my friend from high school, is a generous spirit and befriends everyone. That includes a very drunk but completely harmless construction worker who was there also to watch the parade.

After waiting for probably an hour or so, the parade finally reached our spot on the boardwalk. What a sight! There were all types of people in all kinds of sea-related–and not-so-related–garb. Costumes of every variety paraded past us: families, people making political statements about the BP spill, a couple bands, belly dancers, lindy hoppers (!) and even a pole dancer float. (Seriously.) A lot of body paint, and a lot of naked bodies painted. A couple of naked bodies NOT painted. Stilt-walkers. Popeye. Lots of cute literal sea creatures, like fish with halos and wings. Get it? Angel fish!

We were enjoying the parade, and it had almost finished going by, until our section of the boardwalk somehow got very crowded. It was a very popular event, for sure, but for some reason the crowd just behind us was starting to get a little raucous. Granted, it was a parade, people had been drinking. But when a fight breaks out right behind you, and there is literally no room to move, we went the only way out: jumped the barricades and joined the parade. The three of us were quite shaken; someone behind us reportedly broke an elbow, we saw another man try to jump the barrier and face plant instead, smacking his head quite hard on the ground. A man in the throng behind us was threatening to beat up some girl who had harassed him, and when that moment of panic set in, we made like trees and got the heck out of there. Our drunk friend was actually the most visibly anxious out of all of us, muttering “We gotta get outta here, somethin’ bad is gonna happen,” in a very thick accent.

So, we did. After wandering around for awhile, we ended up in Brighton Beach, a Russian community. Dinner at a Russian restaurant included some tasty Russian crepes, meat dumplings, a cheese thing with filo dough (I think), etc.

Overall, it was quite an event. I really enjoyed being able to watch how much creativity went into a lot of those costumes. The girls standing next to me weren’t so impressed for some reason, and remarked on it as they were leaving. Something about how some of the costumes were cool, but most were just tacky. Give me a break. If you regularly see someone make a spine fish out of dyed, blown-up rubber gloves, let me know, but otherwise, just take a minute, soak up the sun, eat a hot dog, and get inspired to create some sweet sea creature costume art.

Today marks my half-way point until I have to go back to Tucson. I’ve had such an awesome time in New York so far, and I hope I can cram in as much as possible before I leave. I especially still have a lot of places to eat, so today I checked another one off my list: Shake Shack.

Located in Madison Square Park, Shake Shack is only a few blocks from my NYC “home” and is home itself to some of New York’s tastiest burgers, shakes and hot dogs. Part of Danny Meyer’s restaurant group, Shake Shack is basically just a stand in the park that serves up fresh, delicious fare. The line usually winds halfway through one side of the park, but we arrived around 11:30 and didn’t actually wait that long. I got a ShackBurger with everything on it, as well as a chocolate shake. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Yum.

I was going to take a photo of my food, but it was so good that I forgot. 🙂

“They say the neon lights are bright/On Broadway/They say there’s always magic in the air” and regardless of what the rest of that song says, those lyrics rang true this past Tuesday when we won super duper cheap rush lottery tickets and went to see In the Heights.

It was my first real Broadway show. My family had gone to an Off-Off Broadway show a number of years ago, Prince and the Pauper, which was fun, but not quite the same. I wanted to go to a show that I had heard of before, whose cast had perhaps performed during the Tony awards. I wanted that magic. So, we got dressed up, and took a cab up to the Richard Rodgers Theatre on 46th. It was all I had hoped for.

Written by a native of the New York City neighborhood Washington Heights (also an alumnus of my cousins’ school, Hunter College High School), the story of In the Heights is about love for one’s home, accepting one’s origins, and reaching for one’s dreams. Other than West Side Story, I had never heard of a musical that featured so many Hispanic characters or so much Latin music, which lent the show a flavor and spice that Broadway definitely benefits from. The performances were energetic, the dancing was hot, and the seats were ridiculous. (Read: front row, center.)

Although we didn’t see the original cast perform (only a few roles were reprised by their original actors), we did get to see Corbin Bleu, of High School Musical fame. I had no idea that’s who he was as we were watching, all I knew was that his name sounded familiar. It could have been the fact that I kept thinking of cordon bleu, but whatever. Jordin Sparks, an Arizona native and pop star, will be joining the cast in August.

You can watch the original cast’s 2008 performance at the Tony Awards here.

If you’re wondering, they won Best Musical, Best Score, Best Choreography and Best Orchestrations.

Going to the show inspired me in a few ways. First, it inspired me to go to another show! Heck, if I can win some more $26 front row tickets, what am I waiting for!? I’d still like to see West Side Story, American Idiot, perhaps Memphis and definitely La Cage Aux Folles. Next week will be busy. It also inspired me by reminding me how much I love theatre and music. I never ended up even auditioning for any musicals in high school, which now I sort of regret. At the time, it just seemed like it would have been too overwhelming, just another extracurricular on my already long list. However, musicals really do combine three of the things that make me supremely happy: singing, dancing and acting. So, who knows, maybe eventually I’ll check that off my bucket list and try out for a horrible community theatre production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat or whatever else is available…

Yesterday, Italy played Paraguay in the World Cup. The Times had done an article the previous day about where to go to watch certain teams, recommending restaurants or bars where they’d be showing the games of specific teams. I figured that, since I was the only one in this current household who was interested in the World Cup, I’d go to one of the Italian places mentioned, have a nice lunch and then head out to catch up with my cousins. So, that’s what I did. I took the train downtown to Scuderia, and was seated at a table by the big screen, next to a man and his young son. The restaurant was somewhat full but the game hadn’t yet started so there were still a few empty tables around.

I decided I was going to go all out and order whatever I wanted. I was paying, after all. So, I ordered an antipasto of arancini stuffed with rice and cheese, a panino with eggplant, speck, taleggio and champignon. Also, a glass of chardonnay from Puglia (and eventually I ordered a tiramisu that was enormous and almost as good as Alba’s). About halfway through the rice balls the game started. People were pouring into the restaurant. The manager, who had greeted me in both English and Italian (yes, I took the cue and reveled in speaking my favorite second language) was running around like a mad man trying to set up tables, coordinate big groups, and make sure everyone was happy. Waiters were also literally running to serve patrons. The kitchen, placed directly under the big screen tv, was churning out primi and secondi like their lives depended on it. Families and friends were watching the game intently, many dressed in their Italian blue jerseys, yelling “dai, forza!” when Italy took shots on goal. Snippets of conversation in both languages spilled off tables.

A few minutes into the game, a man and a woman walked up, clearly to meet the man and his son who were seated next to me (their family, I learned from a brief conversation, was Sicilian). By this time, the restaurant was very crowded, so one of them pulled up a couple stools and sat at my table. I had no problem with this at all. It seemed to match the overall atmosphere of the place–very communal, very loud, very Italian.

Paraguay scored and a slight sense of urgency and horror fell over us. Halftime came around, and I knew that I would have to leave soon to catch my train. My tiramisu eventually came as the second half was starting. I pulled my debit card out to pay for my meal, when the waiter waved his hand. “That man has paid for your meal,” he told me.
“Ma quale?” I asked. Who in the world would have done that for me? I hadn’t noticed anyone making eyes at me or anything! I turned to where he was pointing, and it was the man who had sat at my table with his date (they had moved so they could sit by each other and were now kitty corner from me).

I thanked him, and he thanked me for letting them sit at my table. It turned out that he and the other man were both in the restaurant industry. I couldn’t catch his name, but apparently he’s involved with running or managing or cooking for Pastis, a restaurant in the meat packing district. I was so taken aback. New Yorkers get a bad rap. It was a really wonderful, generous surprise. Plus, it saved me a good chunk of change.

Overall, it was a wonderful experience. But it was missing something; rather, it was missing a whole lot of somethings. My friends. I can just imagine how much more musical it would have been if I had had my other italophiles with me, as well as my favorite Italians. So, amici, I say this: I was thinking of you all during the Italy game, wishing we could have been watching it together, enjoying good food, good drinks, and excellent company. And cheering for gli azzurri, naturally. Un bacione a tutti!