Do or do not; there is no try.

On Broadway, design teams tend to test out plays that are experimental, or even simply strange. This month however, the team behind U2 and The Lion King are presenting a $65M musical spectacle, that was better left in the trash.


Spider Man opens in early January, where it will most likely gather highly negative reviews; the worst of the season, I suspect.


What Bono and The Edge (seriously, get real names) and Julie Taymor, Tony winning designer of The Lion King are presenting, is in a word....ridiculous.


The show runs close to three hours and contains one tuneless emo song after another. The actors run back and forth, changing into million dollar costumes and some even fly back and forth attached to million dollar wiring.


To say this is all style and no substance, would be a massive dis-service. The whole thing is crap.


Ok. Ok. The flying is kind of cool. Who doesn't want to see Spidey fight The Green Goblin, high above, often making their way into the Mezzanine. The sets are also quite beautiful. Including one scene set from the sky's point of view, in a downward/street facing/between buildings fight.


That's it though. I swear. The lyrics are beyond absurd. At the same time, they are all also cookie cutter songs, which can be taken in and out of any show. Generic at best.


The "story" is as follows:


Peter Parker, a geeky teen, is attacked by a special spider, which gives him super powers.
Yea yea we all know this one.
Let's skip to the silly.


So, The Goblin is defeated early on, in Act One. In Act Two, however a new "Spider Woman" villain named Arachne, becomes enraged when Peter denys his identity and decides to cause a power outage in NYC.


She enlists the help of six other villains (some real, some made up), whom help to cause havoc in the city. There is also a song about shoes. I'm not kidding.


All the while, there is a "Geek Chorus" telling us the tale, from their own imaginations.


The second act is completely devoid of any interesting flight, and it ends very suddenly. So suddenly, in fact, I suspect the show simply has no ending, and they chose to only drop the curtain.


Lots of wasted talent here. Jennifer Damiano, as Mary Jane gets to show off her beautiful voice for about 10 minutes in some of the most bizarre songs ever performed. Reeve Carney, as Spidey can't act for shit and has a nice enough voice. I suspect, however that he will not last long. Neither will the some 12 stuntmen that play Spidey in the air. This show is simply two exhausting to perform eight shows a week.


They have since announced they are canceling more previews to fix the show's many many problems.
Kudos!


I plan to return with popcorn in hand, after opening and await the closing notice with the rest of them.

Put a Little Love in Your Heart

On the Subway, love exists over the sound of changing tracks and beat boxers. This time of year, people tend to become just a little bit nicer to their fellow man. Even if it comes from the strangest of places sometimes.


We've all seen them. "Don't Blink!", they shout as they flip around the poles with loud music blaring. Convinced that we are going to get hit in the face, we turn our heads away in disgust and annoyance.


Or the Latino family wearing sombreros that board and begin playing accordions and guitars accompanying soulful Spanish lyrics.


So why on the subway, the other day, did I happen to see a little old lady dancing to one of our Beat Boxing fellow men? She liked it. So, sue her!


This woman must had been pushing 85, and yet she stood up and began to groove to the music. Our artist had to sustain his laughter, while barely containing the smile on his face. This man reached out to someone. She tipped him $10 on his way out and gave him a hug.


Love exists in a more traditional way of course. We start to notice couples, and even friends, holding hands and shopping bags. Shopping is like war and these people just survived it together.


Never mind "Loving yourself" On the subway, we think about ourselves enough.


Consider the story of the man above.
The letter he scribbled frantically on the A train was a genuine apology for hurting someone he loved. The man sat in silence prior to his prose. I turned around and then turned back to see him writing it. Inspiration had struck and our Romeo had started his letter to Juliet.


I still wonder what became of this man and his love.


I posted this photo for three reasons:


1) It looks cool.


2) It was cool to watch.


3) Have you ever seen such a prominent example of the impulse of love?


Can we not picture this guy walking back and forth in his apartment and wondering "How the hell can I fix this?"


I hope Romeo's letter went over well and they are back to riding the rails together, hands held and dropping quarters into magician's buckets.

The Curse of The Theater.

On the subway today, a man and woman smiled as they recounted a play they saw on Broadway. They sang songs and recounted noteworthy lines while holding hands. Adorable right? Instead of sending my heart and soul a flutter, it reminded me of my curse.


It started with Gabe. I was 16 and he was my first boyfriend. We were together for four months. That's a few years in teenager terms. I couldn't tell you what we talked about or why we stayed together as "long" as we did. But, I remember it being a really nice relationship. That is until we decided to go to the theater.


At the time, I was a huge fan of Rent. Rentheads. That's what they called us. Some of us frequenting the show several times a week. At only 20 bucks a pop it was doable. It was the thing to do. So, I decided to share this with Gabe. Introduce a part of my life that may or may not have been extremely embarrassing.


Within days of seeing the show, things went downhill. I'll spare the details except to say: He faked his own death and was eventually hospitalized. Gabriel was a regular Don Juan.


What had caused the tables to turn on our otherwise perfect existence? Was it just teens being teens? Relationship running it's course?


It doesn't stop there. My fifth date with David in the winter of 2006 was destined to be like the others. Non stop conversation and laughs. A true understanding of one another. We were in sync. That is until we went to see Hairspray on 47th st. The next day, David texted me to say he was not looking for anything serious.


Isolated incidents, right? These things happen. Wrong.


Eric and I were seeing each other for a good month. We became intimate fairly fast but it seemed to make sense to us. He lived a ways away but we were making it work. That is until we scored front row seats to Wicked. Cut to two days later and I'm on the couch in my pajamas eating a pint of Ben and Jerrys' Phish Food.


Up until recently, I was seeing a great new guy named Rocky. I've grown older and more realistic with my dating. Not everyone I meet is "the one". This guy was no exception but, I happened to have a very nice time with him.
We would wander the streets of New York City until Four in the morning. Often crossing bridges into Brooklyn and getting lost on purpose. There was no shortage of mutual smiles when we met up and and no shortage of longing when we parted ways each night.


Then, I won tickets to Time Stands Still. A play about a Photojournalist's return from war and the effects it has on her family and friends. We both enjoyed the play. As all of my past victims have. We even made it a week after that night before Rocky did a 180. His communication skills suddenly faltered while his availability shrunk. I sat up long hours waiting for him to call back or show up to our plans.


Finally, I ended things. The first time the curse took a hold of me too.


So what is this? There is no way to speculate why guys are suddenly turned off to me after witnessing a live performance.  Do I exude some sort of pheromone that I ordinarily do not while watching these? Maybe it is the theater itself. The so called "gay" stereotype that sits behind it...


These people on the subway seem to be able to function in a relationship and see plays. So why is there a negative stigma on me?
Coincidence...or curse?

Paranoia

On the subway the other day I encountered a woman with a message. A message that scared the hell out of me and showed there may be a higher power far below.


It was right after work. I jumped on the A to head down to the LIRR. A woman dressed in average clothes saw a cigarette behind my ear. "Can I bum one?" the woman said. "I lost my pack".


Ordinarily, I am cheap about these things. Cigarettes are very expensive in the city and I get asked about 10 times a day. But, this was a rare case. The woman seemed sane, clean, and above all..stuck next to me at least until the next stop. I better pony up quick to avoid an awkward train ride.


I handed her the cigarette and said "no worries." The woman got off at the next stop. But, not before relaying a little advice to me. She looked right at me and said "be careful out there." She then took a pause and followed up with "I'm serious about that." With that, Yoda exited the train to go creep out her next new friend.


I have never been a superstitious person. But, this really got to me. For the rest of the day I watched my step and paid attention to my surroundings. On the LIRR, a man got on at Flushing and got off at the next stop without presenting a ticket. "What if this guy put a bomb on the train?" I thought. "This could be it. This could be what that crazy woman was talking about!" I actually stayed nervous for the remainder of my voyage.


Why were these woman's words so powerful? Was she really crazy? Or did she really mean it in a general way and I took it to an extreme? I have no idea and I will never know. The day continued without incident. Plans I had later that night did not work out and I wasted a subway ride to Chinatown. Big whoop. I headed home and went to bed without incident.


Last night, I was driving home at Two A.M. from New Jersey. I set my cruise control to 80 MPH and settled into my 30 Minute drive. I suddenly recalled that woman's advice. Maybe it was not relevant, but I was not going to take any chances. I got out of cruise control and decided to go just a bit over the speed limit. Within a few minutes, I ran over a part of a giant truck tire. It came out of nowhere. Hidden on the dark highway by the night sky.


So, had I stayed in cruise control what may have happened? Was that the reason I was warned? Does fate exist? Again, no idea. But, it's interesting to think about. Here's to the freaks on the subway...

Disconnected Modem

I stepped onto the A train at 5:00PM Friday, the 1st of October. Anyone who rides the rails can tell you that the hours of 5-6 are.... a nightmare. Never will you have such an ambrosial bouquet of sweat, cologne, and onion breath packed into the sardine cans that take us to and fro.

What a great place to people watch...

I stood for my 20 minute journey back home and noticed a lucky mid-20's bastard to my left sitting comfortably. My first visual was that this guy was a "thug". I am not going to bother explaining why I thought this or what the definition is even. Just, go with me here.

Anyway, this "thug" was sitting quietly and not bothering anyone. The bass from his mp3 player was audible but not loud by any means and his hands were folded. He looked like he had been riding awhile and still had a long time ago. Everything was very common about this guy until I noticed the bit of tattoo on his left arm. Which was also right around the time I noticed he looked rather sad.

The tattoo became more and more visible and miserable as he moved about and as we moved about. I eventually reasoned it to be "RIP MOM" with no visual on the birth date but the death date was clear: 10/1/2003.

Now I feel like King Ass hole III. Here I am calling this guy a thug and wishing him to be drawn and quartered for his luxury seat, and he is currently "celebrating" the anniversary of one of his darkest days. I judged a book by it's cover and felt guilty immediately.

Then, the reason for this entry hit me. How disconnected are we from one another? NYC is a given. We are each an independent machine puttering along and far more important than the other. We all do it.

Here is a prime example of how connected we really are without realizing it.

This guy had a mom and a dad. I hope his father is still with him. But, we know his mother is still not. This guy has the same pain and anguish we all share. He rides the rails for an hour a day just to get home like many of us do. He goes home to his apartment and wishes his mom was there to tell her about his day and the last seven years she has missed. But, he cant.

In the suburbs; things are a little different. People are arguably a bit closer to one another, but the judgement still takes effect. A disabled person at the grocery store, a senior citizen greeter at Wal-Mart, and god forbid that feeling when you see a minority pulled over by the police. 

We want to think we are all so important and so different from one another. In opposition of conformity, we develop individual styles and interests. Some wear Mohawks and some pierce their face. Isn't that conformity, anyway? Just be you. Find a shirt you like? Buy the damn thing. Don't worry if it's not a "label" or "this season" On the other end, do not worry if it has a severe shortage of animal stripes or the color purple.

I know a woman who wears teal...every day. Every damn day. Why?. I wonder if it's your favorite color?

Tell you what: I'll get you a teal casket when you pass on and that pretty much covers it, right? Take the deal and wear mauve.

I got off the subway at my stop and the grieving thug stayed on. He will continue his day the same way he does every day. After all, it's just a Friday. The dark gloom that hangs over his weekend will fade just in time for next year's anniversary. When he wears a long sleeve shirt, no one will really truly know him without digging deeper.

Next time you are on the subway, or in the market, or laughing at that poor schmuck getting pulled over think about this: they are in the same private hell that you are living. Memories of good and bad fill their head just as often as your own. They are not better or worse. Only different. But, exactly the same. ......and if you are reading this; please stop wearing teal.... thanks!

The Terrible Twos

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