Rockefeller Center – Clownmommy

Clown Families Riding the Subway to Brooklyn

I spent most of the day in Manhattan with my kid because there is no school this week and it was a good day to have a midtown lunch date with The Daddy-Husband who works at Rockefeller Center. We ate noodles at the Sapporo Japanese restaurant on 49th Street (We used to eat at Sapporo East all the time when The Kid took Japanese language classes at the 14th Street Y in the East Village. Then there were virtually inevitable side trips to Toys R Us Times Square (www.toysrustimessquare.com) and FAO Schwarz® on 5th Avenue. My Kid did an art project, bought some bedding for her doll and added “Cookie Monster” to her menagerie because last night we watched the “Cake Boss” episode where they made a replica of the Sesame Street set out of cake and fondant.

So after I, being a cultural Catholic, “got my ashes” at Saint Patrick Cathedral and My reluctant Kid got a blessing, we had dinner at The Brooklyn Diner (ironic right?!)

On the C train riding home we found ourselves in the same car as Dick Monday and Tiffany Riley and their kids, in town for the New York Goofs classes and on their way to the hosting home of yet another New York Clown Family.

“Hello.”

“Do you like my hat?”

Actually that is not how we greeted each other– that’s some Dr. Seuss text…

So anyway…

It was fun to run into another clown family out and about in New York City.

We’re everywhere.

You’d be surprised!

Tristan, My Go-To Store is Gone!

Ever since The Husband started working at Rockefeller Center I have been shopping regularly at the Tristan store conveniently located in his building. I went there because it was in his building and it was a good place to pass the time when he was delayed in meeting me for lunch. But, I discovered that the clothes were flattering and not that expensive and I began to buy there the kind of clothes that made me feel as though I belonged in that part of town. (When The Husband worked in Chelsea I could wear jeans to his office no problem.) I got a brown suit and a black tweed dress that looked kind of “Madmen” and a long black cardigan with colored flecks in it and some cute tops… And now my go-to store is gone. I am shocked!

That store has been there the whole time we have been in New York, I got a cute sundress there on sale back when I was still pushing a stroller.

Is this really my life?

The Husband took My Kid to school in Brooklyn Heights on his way to his office at Rockefeller Center. After the cleaning lady arrived at the apartment my old clown college roomate and I went out for coffee. She’s New York for a production meeting. We had time for breakfast at Junior’s before she got on the subway. We talked about her work as a puppeteer (she’s been hired for a commercial) and my work as a clown (in rehearsal for Clown Axioms at La MaMa Experimental Theatre Club). Is this really my life?

Ash Wednesday

People can’t usually tell my religion by looking at me. I don’t wear a hijab, the Muslim head scarf or a wig like certain Jewish women. But, I identify with these women and feel self-conscious discomfort on the one day a year I wear a big sign on my forehead that says “I’m Catholic.”

I was startled to see a woman on the subway with a big black mark in the center of her forehead. I thought Ash Wednesday was next week. Just yesterday I was thinking to myself: “I think I’ll give up alcohol for Lent since I registered for that Pilates class.” But, I thought it started next week, and bam– Ash Wednesday is today!

In Midtown there were lots of people with ashes on their foreheads. I was in Rockefeller Center. St. Patricks Cathedral is across the street.

I overheard a young woman calling someone on her cell phone, “I’m just calling you to remind you to get your ashes.”

And that is how it is done–in a New York minute.

Usually a church service is produced around the event of the distribution of the ashes (ashes to ashes and dust to dust–just in case you forgot) though not necessarily a mass.

Overhearing a comment on the efficiency of the operation I took note of the time I got into the line that stretched down the block from the entrance to the cathedral. 1:33pm. At 1:43 I entered the church and by 1:46 I was done.

There were ushers passing out programs and guiding us into line. There were 3 priests in my aisle. They looked young though, maybe seminarians or grown men in alter boy costumes. (You wouldn’t think this was the religion I grew up with, I keep running into these situations that are so foreign to me.) They were taking shifts and rotating from the different stations, there was a container of wipes so they could clean the ashes off their fingers when they were relived. They seemed to rotate around the cathedral like lifeguards changing chairs at the city pool.

I tried to take in the silence, or the canned music or the gregorian chant or whatever it was that filled the space. Then my cell phone rang. Before I left the building I stepped into the tiny gift shop and bought some books on Easter and Lent for My Kid.

I was thrilled to find contained therein the same recipe for bunny salad made of pear halves on a lettuce leaf, decorated with almond halves, raisins, red hots and cottage cheese that I had proudly prepared for my family at Easter when I was in 3rd grade.

And so the calendar of the church marks the passing of the years and the changing of the seasons.

After a workshop with Chris Lynam

Last night, Jef organized a workshop with Chris Lynam, a clown who is in New York for the Broadway run of Slava’s Snowshow. It’s always good to meet new clowns. After the workshop, there were three conversations at once around the table at the diner. Jef and Chris were talking about working with Slava and working on their own work. I was talking to the only other woman from the workshop about writing and the other guys were talking about guys being goofy.

Walking to the train at the end of the evening, Chris mentioned another clown, Thomas Kubenick a Czech clown who has his own show that he tours around the world. It’s good. I’ve seen it. I met Thomas for the first time at Movement Theatre International in Philadelphia in 1990. He was at that time assisting Boleck Polivka who taught a workshop. I met him again when he showed up at the workshop I was taking with Ctibor Turba at his studio in Nectiny, Czechoslovakia (right before it turned into Czech Land–that’s what the locals called the Czech Republic–and Slovakia) I’ve been around a while, but it’s only been in the last year or so that I’ve gotten a handle on what may be my particular style…

I’m pretty much the opposite of Amy G. Chris took a call from her about a gig at a club. Organizing and coordinating are so not my thing that the passing mention of a woman I know putting together an evening of acts apparently caused me to have a nightmare. I had a dream, last night, about running a theatre space–like Annex where Allison Narver, Andrea Allen and Gillian Jorgenson have all been artistic director or the Brick where Audrey Crabtree is the face of the organizers of the New York Clown Theatre Festival. In this dream which was more like a nightmare, brought on perhaps by conversation about successful theatrical clowns and the women behind them, (I was reminded of the organized women behind the careers of monologists, Spalding Grey and Mike Daisey and cartoonist Gary Larson, not to mention the countless women who work as personal assistants, executive secretaries and stage moms (The Husband, My Kid, My Sister and I all saw Gypsy this week.) These passing bits of conversation caused me to have a nightmare about being in charge of an art space like Celebration Barn, currently run by the Amanda Huotari. In my dream there 4 toilets on the second floor that were all overflowing and unusable. The Marley dance floor in the rehearsal hall had been scrubbed with Comet by someone’s helpful visiting unsupervised mother and was now ruined… It was a nightmare.

Now, disorganized person that I am, I’ve got to hurry and help My Kid, (who is alternately yanking on my body an falling on the floor to prove the point of gross parental neglect) get dressed in a manner appropriate for both ice skating with her aunt at Rockefeller Center and hooking up at the Museum of Natural History with old Seattle Annex friends and their offspring, who are visting from Chicago.

Gotta go.

Living in New York

My Kid had a field trip to the American Museum of Natural History. Robotics Team checking out the Global Warming special exhibit. Kid back to school with her team, I walk down Central Park West. Grandstands being erected for Thanksgiving Day Parade. Cold grey rainy birthday again–no wonder I went crazy producing outdoor parties for my July baby. Checking out the Billy Rose collection at the library of performing arts in Lincoln Center. Rush to Brooklyn Heights school for kid pickup. A train to F train up to Rockefeller Center where The Husband now works. Wandering around like tourists as is our want. Times Square Marriott 8th floor lobby for a drink. Ruby Foo’s for dinner after the theatre rush has gone. Home to Brooklyn on the subway. A path of least resistance.

A New York Election Night

I was a nervous wreck all day. My Kid was home from school so I wasn’t able to hike around the city checking out the energy of the lines outside the polling places. I can go walkabout on my own, but My Kid requires a destination.

Finally, around 6 pm I got her on the Q train heading to Times Square where I’d heard people were gathering. There were people with Obama signs gathering in the center of the square. That was interesting to me. But, we went into Toys R Us. I bought my kid a toy stuffed rabbit and a tube of sugary goo from Candyland in advance payment for patiently waiting with me.

I half hoped that the election would be such a landslide it would be called right at 7:00 pm when the polls closed. That’s what I was hoping for when rushing out of the store. No such luck. Early southern states with 5% of the vote counted were going for McCain and I got scared.

We joined the crowd in the triangle watching the ABC broadcast on the big screens and the backs of Cokie Roberts in blue and Donna Brazile in red and two, non-random white men but I didn’t know who they were. My Kid was the only little kid there smack dab in the middle of Times Square, most other parents had more sense. She kept asking when Daddy would be there. But, Daddy was delayed at his office. Times Square wasn’t so crowded that he couldn’t find us. When he joined us we watched some more. I tried to tell them I could have stood there in Times Square cheering the small victories and waiting for the final result all night and if they wanted to eat dinner they needed to take the initiative. I was willing to leave Times Square after Obama won Ohio. We walked towards Rockefeller Center. We ate at McCormick and Schmicks. My Kid was having desert and we were waiting for the check when we heard screams in the kitchen. The restaurant was almost empty and the manager had just announced that the doors were closed, no more new customers, they could start their closing chores. Then we heard shouts from the kitchen and all the waiters moved towards the bar where a silent TV glowed election information. A waiter asked and the manager gave permission for the sound to come on. “The lady’s crying.” We’d already moved our desert and coffee to the bar and I was crying.

After McCain’s concession speech we left the restaurant and went to Rockefeller Center to watch Obama’s victory speech on the giant TV’s. So many cheering people. So many honking taxis. So much happiness!

My Kid was melting. We had to go home.

When we came up out of the subway station at Lafayette we could hear drumming and cheering. It was a scene in the street between Ralph’s corner grocery and Moe’s bar. So many young adults dancing in the streets. The Husband was carried My Kid home while I took a quick detour to check it out. When I got home I made The Husband go out and check it out.

So much happiness.

There were police but they were just hanging out. There was nothing for them to do, everyone was so happy. All the mob did was dance and cheer.

Every time a car went down the street it would honk and everyone would cheer.

We lay in bed listening to the waves of cheers that continued till 3 am.

Such a happy night!