Thursday, August 1, 2013

So what does $35 get you for food in New York City?


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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