Brooklyn from 6 to 9

I went out to BAM last night to see the 1962 Agnès Varda film Cleo from 5 to 7. A few weeks ago, on a friend's recommendation, I'd seen Big Dance Theater's Comme Toujours Here I Stand, which was based on the movie, so I was excited to see the original. 

The story is simple: a beautiful but vain and spoiled singer travels around Paris for 2 hours while she waits for hospital test results that will tell her if she has cancer. There are fabulous costume changes and kittens and singing and a bedroom swing, but ultimately it's about mortality and living in the present. I loved it. 

Traveling around Fort Greene in my own present, I got my BAM ticket early then paid a visit to a new independent bookstore that opened recently in the area, Greenlight Bookstore. It was clean and very well-lighted place, beautifully stocked with friendly staff, and I had a happy browse. 

My next stop was to Cake Man Raven to sample his famous red velvet cake. I thought I'd eat my sweet while I watched the movie, but it was too crowded to publicly chow on such a large wedge comfortably. Really, it's a huge piece, my seat neighbors did not need to see or smell me working on this:

I had a few bites before I went in [and texted my friend J. a review: "delicious!"] and then saved the rest for home. I gobbled up half—total yum—then dumped the leftovers. It was a gift to myself for that night only. 

Lattes of love

I am procrastinating about working on a post about my first 6 months of unemployment. Please stand by.

 

Because it would feel negligent to not use at least some of my now-copious free time for good, I've started volunteering at the Housing Works Bookstore. I'm a barista in the café for four hours a week, a pretty glamourous gig as far as free work goes. I've been taught how to use their old espresso machine [I call it Fredo], I'm working on improving my foaming technique and not scalding myself repeatedly. Every time I make a customer a cappuccino and they don't spit it out, it's a victory. 

I like the customers. The bookstore itself is a charitable organization, the books are all donated and the staff is almost entirely by volunteer. Thus, visitors to the café are generally pretty chill, relaxed about services and product rendered. We're in Soho but we're not in "Soho," and everyone who comes to my counter seems to understand that. Of course I'll give them my best, but for me, the relaxed vibe presents the opportunity for a more social interaction. Remember in The Wrestler when Mickey Rourke goes to work in the supermarket deli and he just comes back to life being around people again? He flirts with the old ladies and makes football jokes with the guys, being in service gets his light shining again. 

That's me in the café. It's so fun to play with people and flirt and make them happy. I haven't become a hermit since i've been out of work but I've missed how much I can shine when I'm working with others, when I can perform a service and make someone smile. Here bubbie, have a brownie, we just made them. Let me bring your espresso to you, sir. The Wifi password today is "danceparty." I've started wearing red lipstick for my shift, it makes me feel that much yummier, and for four hours I can be a lush and happy dispenser of sweets. I'm doing good, and it's doing good for me. 

Wasting money

I bought a large tea with milk and sugar for $1.50 from the bodega across the street even though i have tea bags at home, because it tastes better with whole milk and because i wanted to have it made for me. 

*Eye roll*

Pizza, due

I was close enough to Artichoke this morning and I went back for the margherita slice. There was a line this time and it was fun, I enjoyed everyone's enthusiasm and how something so simple felt like an event. The pizza itself was good, but unremarkable; unlike the dip slice, is not worth making a special trip for. My heart still belongs to my local, Sacco. 

Okey Dokey Artichokey

Finally got down to Artichoke for the spinach & artichoke slice my friend S. has been going on about for weeks. He knows i love spinach artichoke dip and he claimed it was just that, on pizza dough. And it was! Mine wasn't as gooey as the pic shown above, the crust was actually more well done than I like. Still, delicious, and vaguely obscene, like having ice cream for your meal instead of dessert. So rich that it feels a little naughty. 

Of course the guy pulled a fresh pie out the minute I'd finished gobbling my slice down, it looked outrageous but no could do, too heavy on mah belly for a double. I'll be back—was worth a special trip, and I need to try the margherita. 

RIP, Irving Penn

This week's second devastating loss. I loved his work like I loved my Nano, but longer. 

About 15 years ago I wrote him a fan letter, I bought special paper at Kate's for the task: heavy and translucent with silvery stars. Dreamy paper for my dreamy words. I was embarrassed, but I was afraid he would die and I'd regret not doing it; I never heard back but now, I don't regret it at all. In 1997 I flew to Chicago to see his work at the Art Institute, the first time I would travel for art. 

Rest in peace, sir. I'll really miss you. 

[shown above: Truman Capote, New York, 1965]

Be Here Now

I've started a meditation practice this week. I figure learning how to be present and grounded in the moment can come in handy now, when I'm prone to making terrifying mental leaps to a bleak, impoverished future. I've made a few feeble attempts at meditation in the past but couldn't ever seem to quiet the jibbering thoughts the Buddhists call "monkey mind" and the physical fidgets that would set in within what felt like the first minute. But I'm feeling really tolerant of myself lately, squishy and open to new experiences and feelings, and I feel comfortable finding my own way to just sit there. That's all it is, really—just sitting there. I went to an intro "class" at a local meditation center this weekend and I felt frustrated by how goal-oriented my fellow sitters were, overly concerned about how they should do it and what was supposed to happen. I felt like they were missing the point entirely: you're just sitting there, present in the moment. That's all that happens. Does it really matter if your eyes are open or closed, or where your hands are? It's not mattering to me right now. I sit up straight and make myself comfortable, close my eyes and Just. Sit. There. For 15 minutes, I let my stomach hang out, breathe through my nose, and remind myself that I'm right there on that pillow. Grounded like a tree, there and then, totally tolerant of whatever happens. I give myself gentle corrections when my thoughts zip off into the future or the past, I try to ignore the passing of minutes and my dog who sits up in front of me, mirroring my posture, wanting my attention. I'm just sitting there, and when I'm done, I feel quiet, relaxed, and gifted. I gave myself 15 minutes in the moment. I hope with continued practice I can give myself more, that I'll learn to tolerate more. 

But that's jumping ahead.