July has come and gone now and so the tremors are felt
heralding the end of summer. That is not a tragic thing—summer is meant to be
that restorative time before we go back and attack/embrace a new school year.
And there comes that moment in summer when The Sigh happens. The Sigh is when I
wonder what joys and challenges the new school year will bring, the possibility
of transcendence, the optimism of every possibility, the rush of wonder about what
my classes will be like, and anticipation and giddiness over if the art works
will have the same magic in Art History class again. The Sigh is not the end of
summer—well, for me it always comes in July, so I guess it could be the end of summer, but it is the realization of the end of
summer, the letting go of the restorative need of summer. The Sigh is a good
thing, because it is always followed by The Smile at the wonder of school and
teaching. But naturally, one doesn’t really want to let go of summer…summer for me is time in the United States, driving a
better car, understanding all the signs in English around me, outings with
friend Sylvia, breakfasts with my dad at the diner, insane amounts of
outstanding Cincinnati ice cream, and of course, the pilgrimage to New York.
I arrived home from New York yesterday and so the
pixie dust hasn’t quite fallen out of the greying hair just yet. Visits to New
York are actually more and more like visits to the perfect small-town. I guess
I say small-town because I enjoy most the comforts of “the familiar” in New
York—time in Central Park, my favorite this, my traditional that. Spending an afternoon
with an old friend or former student is higher on the priority list than a boat
ride on the Hudson; spending an afternoon discovering a dive pizza place in
Brooklyn outranks a splashy tourist-y site.
This year I took in 7 theatrical presentations
during my summer visit—varying from the Broadway plays to experimental musicals
in a festival of new works, to a misguided work with a male drag queen as Bette
Davis, to the one-woman-descent-into-drugs-and-then-redemption show to the
free, outdoor Shakespeare, all captivating in part because I love live
entertainment. Shakespeare is not a constant for me on visits to New York, but
this trip afforded the opportunity to see two excellent productions, Love’s Labour’s Lost and The Tempest. Both productions, while
free, were more than just no cost—they were creative, provocative opportunities
to think about issues and stories and laugh
as well. Both companies that produced these shows understand that Shakespeare
is more than anything else an entertainer, an exquisite, story-telling,
fun-loving, crowd-pleasing entertainer. Both companies’ approaches to these
plays were more passionate than academic. Neither play was about The Bard as
“historical relic”—each play was about pleasing a crowd, offering an insight or
two about humans, and making us revel in theatrical magic. The enthusiasm
bubbled over in every moment of the two plays. Furthermore, each of these plays
delighted a number of children and
not just “grad students.” Both companies (The Public Theater and New York
Classical Theater) know instinctively that if presented well and with love,
children will devour hungrily the stories of the plays. Well, both audiences
simply enjoyed the fun provided.
Love’s
Labour’s Lost is a play I have never read, but the company
re-imagined this comedy of the war between the sexes as set in a spa in the
Alps for the twentysomething set. There are vows of chastity involved, breaking
of vows, horny young people, and slapstick comedy. In many ways the production
reminded me of a sweet cousin of the American
Pie movies. It was exciting and fast-paced.
Two nights later I attended a performance of The Tempest by a group known for its
gimmick of moving the audience during frequent breaks in the performance. For
example, this play began inside Castle Clinton in Battery Park and during the
next two hours we, the audience, moved seven times! There is a suspense as to
when in the action of the play we will be asked to pick up and move again. You
sit on the ground, stand, maneuver to the front of the crowd, and take in a new
setting as to how and when it enhance the play. The shipwreck in the opening of
the play was theater magic, cost them nothing, and set the tone for an exciting
and eye-opening way of doing theater. The multi-generational audience moved
along, happily moving 100 yards here, moving back there, sitting with the
setting sun over the Statue of Liberty as the comely young couple of this play
is reunited. Children laughed at the hoary jokes of the drunkards and maybe
even enjoyed the poetry of The Bard. Nah, they but they really enjoyed the
three-actor Ariel and the snarky things she/they said about the characters!
One day when I took some leisurely time in a book
store (now I know it is summer since they are so, so, so few book stores in
Jordan) I looked at a book about helping children appreciate Shakespeare and
the writer said: “Say this line from A
Midsummer Night’s Dream, and I bet you can memorize some Shakespeare. Come
on now, go into a room and say the lines, “I know a bank where the wild thyme
blows.” Nine syllables! You can do it!” The writer had such fun urging you to
say these lines over and over and imagine sitting near this bank where the wild
thyme is blowing in the breeze and bursting into flower. This reminded me of
the path I take through the park every day on my way from breakfast to my
morning tete-a-tete with great art at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Somehow
saying this line from Shakespeare, just like the walk in the park, the theater,
the moments in the Met, and the visits
with old friends, are good for the soul. Ahhh…summer…
Almost everything about the summer has been
wonderful and satisfying. How can it not be so? I set up the summer to visit
family and then friends and then family and then friends and then family and
friends…for 8 solid weeks. But once in a while a disappointing meal creeps in
and wreaks havoc in the summer serenity and serendipity. Last week, argh, that
disappointment meal was at Artie’s Delicatessen. Okay, so Artie’s is near the
entrance to the park where you go for the Shakespeare. Artie’s is a place I
have been to before, although not for some time, and I always liked the
old-fashioned deli food, the bright, retro setting, and the mom-and-pop
feeling. It felt 1950s and 1990s at the same time. Anyway, Christy and I went,
decided to split an entrée and get a bowl of soup each. From the moment we
entered the restaurant and met the indifferent staff, looked at the exorbitant prices
in the menu, to the denouement of the boring and tasteless meal, it was a
disappointment. Since my trip is so carefully crafted, I thought, oh what an
error in coming to Artie’s! Blah, blah, blah…this meal, this meal that tasted
like boiled shoe leather, was $35! We had two bowls of soup and one entrée…I
know, “New York prices” and all that, but around 2001 Artie’s was still a
pleaser. Somehow I started looking around at the other $35 meals I had and
measuring them and comparing them on some cosmic scale. The day after the
Artie’s fiasco I treated five of us for lunch at Sookk, a Thai place that I
like (umm, I ate lunch there four times
on this visit!!). Five of us had a four-course lunch—let me take you through
the meal, from the vegetable soup, appetizer, entrée and rice and coconut ice
cream…for…no way…seven dollars each! And it’s great. And the restaurant is
clean and creatively set up. And the wait staff is friendly. And five of us ate
a super meal for the same price as the drudgery meal at Artie’s (don’t get me
started on the Artie’s waitress! Okay, I’m started. As we slurped our soup, she
arrived with the brisket entrée and asked us, “Yeah, so what do you want me to
do with this plate??” I moved our soup bowls to a nearby empty table so she
could plop the plate of boiled boot on the table.) So five of us ate for that
same price.
A day or so later I met a friend at a fancy
Viennese-style café on the Upper East Side. We had coffee and sacher torte mit schlag. I chuckled when the bill
came and it was also $35. But, not a disappointment! While a steep price, here
we were being swanky in an art museum with a Viennese vibe, and a tasty
time-travelling feel to the days of Gustav Klimt.
I guess here’s the thing about the trip to New
York—in so many moments were there insights. In one moment I discussed Thurber
with a friend, with another friend we celebrated Nelson Mandela’s 95th
birthday, his longevity, his example of stamina, mercy and courage. On one day
a Met guide pointed out a thrilling new piece of Japanese art, at the Cloisters
a guide wondered how a medieval woman would approach this Madonna and Child
statue. I ventured to Brooklyn for a $5 slice of pizza (Christy’s response,
even after our 70-minute wait for the pizza: “This slice of pizza may have
ruined me for all other pizza.”) So many transcendent moments!
I go to the Met like I join my father at the diner
for breakfast—a serious hour where one gets fed, learns something new, and
catches up with old friends. There are lessons to impart and lessons to learn.
Both trips are about communication and structured days and enjoying a positive
message. Each visit with an old friend or former student is excellent. Oh,
wait, that’s not true. Hmmm… one visit was disappointing. I saw someone who
talked non-stop and never asked me a question about my life. It wasn’t like my
feelings were hurt, it just got a little dull simply hearing the person talk
and drone on. Like the plays, there was one play that was a clunker. There was
a meal that was a clunker. There was a visit that was a clunker.
I guess the difference is the feeling of
transcendence. Going out to Brooklyn for the transcendent pizza. Enjoying Sookk
and the $7 Green Curry lunch with a new colleague and old friends,
opportunities to kindle and re-kindle. The new piece of Japanese art offers a
new vocabulary and vision for the world.
And then there was the boring $35 meal at Artie’s.
Oh well, not every meal can be the salute to Nelson Mandela or the new
enthusiasm for Shakespeare comedies.
Oh, but maybe they can! That is part of the
afterglow of The Sigh that creeps in every July!
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