Why I love New York

Trash-ion-istas! All nine of you! It's true, I've neglected my bogging duties. I started strong and then just...let it slide. You'd get everything in a blog-ivorce, if you decided to go that route. I'd be left with nothing - and I'd deserve it. Because you are the good one, and I am the one that stinks, figuratively and literally lately because I'm trying out one of those "natural" deodorants? They just don't work - has anyone ever found one that's worked? Or do they just not work for me?

(wow - can you believe you even survived for 5 weeks without this blogging gold?!?!)

Yes. And so we return! To all things Trashionable. For example, Hells Kitchen Flea Market. Today! Love slinking around that joint. Makes me happy. I made off with a whole bag of great finds - all in the vein of what my friend and writing partner Greg calls my Afro-centric Queen Latifa (circa 1990) redux look. Which I'm not sure is an entirely accurate description as there's a little Hawaiian Island flar in thar too. I know. It sounds like an odd look for a 40-something white girl from the Quad Cities to be working. Or for anyone to be working for that matter. But mark my words it's happening people. Just wait for it.

Also happening? Tomorrow night - The 64th Annual Super Trashionable Tony Awards (not really what they're called). My friend Kevin Chamberlin is nominated for Best Featured Actor in a Musical for his stupendous work as Uncle Fester in "The Addams Family Musical"! It's his third nod. And on Thursday, Kevin was bestowed with another of Broadway's greatest honors; the unveiling of his portrait at Sardi's! I got to be there for the ceremony. It was thrilling, and moving and made me think about the last time I was at Sardi's.

Ten years earlier, Kevin was in a play called "Dirty Blonde" and the opening night party was held there. We behaved like excitable infants sitting at a big table in the middle of the room, eating and drinking like fools, waiting for the review to come. And when it did Kevin jumped up on a chair and read it aloud to the whole room. It was a great review and it was beautiful. And there was elation. And then, from across the room, I saw him...

Sitting with gossip columnist Rex Reed and Canadian songstress Anne Murray, is none other than the Great Charles Nelson Reilly. This must be a dream, I slurred to myself; a dream I had in the 1970's on a Friday night falling asleep watching The Love Boat. But it was no dream. It was real. I got up from my chair made a beeline for him. I said "Charles Nelson Reilly you are my best friend and you are coming with me"! I dragged him over to our table, explaining that he just had to sit with us because Kevin was the star of the show, and by the way did you hear that review bla bla bla...and guess what Trash Talkers? He stayed with us all night. Natch.

Charles Nelson Reilly's picture hangs on the wall of Sardi's. The Great Charles Nelson Reilly and The Great Kevin Chamberlin. Along side all the other Greats.

Just a pile of dust and rubble...

I went to a play this weekend with my friend Gerald, who never disappoints in the cool and swell departments. I only made him wait like 15 minutes, and for me that's pretty good considering I don't always do so well in the on-time department. Wow. This fledgling corporation that I call life certainly has a lot of departments! Where are the heads? And who can I complain to in Human Resources about the negative thoughts that cloud my otherwise sunny disposition? They are getting in the way of my productivity! Where was I? Oh yes. Gerald and I. The Play.

We went to see our friend Arthur in a production of "Uncle Vanya". He was excellent, as always (hope you are reading this Arthur), and i was genuinely moved by his obvious love of the material, as well as his co-star. She was real real pretty and he got to kiss her. Twice! Nice work Arthur. All around.

The theatre was located on Bond Street between Lafayette and Bowery. I am all too familiar with that area from my trashy downtown slink about days, but it was good to see it during the day, fully lit as it were. Good, and also disturbing. I know, I know, "Bla bla bla, things have changed so much! Where's this? Where's the old that? Oh my gawd the East Village is a mall!" I'm not one of those. I actually saw the absolute worst side of the Lower East Side, Trashaholics, and you know what? I prefer the mall. But it is still unsettling to see parts of the city you know so well, looking so different; better, yes for the most part, but way different. It's must be like when the Grandma you love gets a face lift? So like, it's hard to look at her, even though she looks less wrinkly? More smooth? But you loved those wrinkles! You spent time in those wrinkles! Or when your favorite star gets her eyes done, and she looks so weird it makes you mad? But then, in a couple of months, you're kinda glad she did it because you love beautiful things just as much as the next guy? I digress so hardcore here, Trashionistas. MY POINT?! My point is...some things change, and some things stay the same. And some things should change, and some should stay the same.

This theatre on Bond? That's one of the things that has stayed the same. It's called the "Gene Frankel Theatre" and, for those of you who don't know who Gene Frankel is, why you can look him up on the Internet, just like I did! Seriously, I knew that Gene Frankel had directed an important production of Jean Genet's "The Blacks", during the Civil Rights Era. When I wasn't busy sleeping with my professors in College, I was busy learning that. What I didn't know was that on August 4, 1973, his Mercer Arts Center collapsed. Frankel, who had been conducting a rehearsal at the time, noticed the ceiling and walls beginning to buckle and heroically led the actors and several residents to safety. Ironic, to say the least, as thrice during our Sunday sojourn at his namesake theatre I proclaimed, "This is a death trap. A death trap!" And no Gene Frankel to save us, either! Only dust covered photographs of Gene Frankel and, for some reason, Loretta Swit! And rickety stair cases, and creaky floor boards, and rat poison, and dirty toilets and holes in the wall and peeling lead paint, and god knows what other dangers waiting to bring us closer to our death!!! I was afraid, seriously afraid of the theatre, but genuinely glad that it was still there! Glad that it was still hanging on by an asbestos covered thread! A survivor among the condemned and converted. There's something to be said for that.

The Ohio Theatre is also an old theatre. It is also downtown. It is also cream filled, and delicious, and also happens to be the theatre that I called 'home' for many, many years. Not to be confused with Home, which was the first theatre I performed in here in New York City. That closed many many years ago and was absorbed by HERE, which is also a theatre that is no longer here*, but I performed in as well. At the end of the Summer The Ohio's closing. So for now, the lion share of my theatre history exists within those walls. Which means that in a few months, my theatre history will exists within the walls of a Marc Jacobs store, no doubt. For real, Friendos. It makes me sad. Erase me now. Just get it over with.

I wish all the old theatres could just stay open. Just stay open and stay decrepit and dangerous until they collapse and swallow all of the actors and audience up in a big belch of dust and rubble. That's how I want to go. When I'm 92. In a big belch of dust and rubble. OXXX

Side note: I probably will go that way whether I am in a theatre or not. At 92, your pretty much completely dust and rubble anyhow.

*Also, is Here here? Or is it not here? Comments...

Feelin

Tr-Tr-Tr Trash Talkin'

Fellow Trash Talkers Unite! Take back the Night! And what a night it was, despite the trashy talk that's going 'round this morning's papers. Last night I went to the Broadway opening of "The Addams Family". I was lucky enough to be invited by one of the stars, my dear dear friend Kevin Chamberlin (she said in her best Liza voice). Seriously folks, KC was amazing, and (no bias) the best thing in the show. Period. The theatre was packed to the gills with the requisite glitterati and it was fun knowing I could spit on Barbara Walters perfectly coiffed head at any time if I wanted to. Her face looks...interesting; kinda like it does on her TV show where she does in-depth interviews with the stars? You know, all fuzzy? Hmmmm. Gonna have to mull that one over (as if I could erase it from my brain if I wanted to). Who else did we see? Lots and lots of people. OH! Chris March from Season whatever of Project Runway was there. At the after party we pounced, shouting "We love you! We loved your...hair dress!" He was shy and even though he was alone, kinda seemed like he didn't want to talk to us. "Us? But we're with one of the stars! He's there! At our table! See? Over there! Who the 'F' are you anyway? We hate you! That hair dress was weird! Morticia wouldn't even wear that hair dress!" Actually, she probably would. It was very It. As in, It? 'Member? From the show? The show the Musical was based on? OK. I refuse to say anything more about "The Addams Family", Trashionistas OK? So don't push me. It was fun. I had fun. Chris March is still cool as hell in my book. Kevin was brilliant. So there it is.

Speaking of fun and brilliant, the BEST trashy thrifty findy-finds spot in all of Manhattan, happens to be a block from my house (not disclosing the exact location for fear it will be descended upon by stylists...too late). They had their monthly rummage sale today. Love sifting through bed-bug infested rags, despite the risk, I JUST LOVE IT! Always come home with something fresh. Today was no exception: One Oscar De La Renta 80's fitted blazer, a cute blue shift dress with polka squares (!), and a boys 70's western shirt replete with fine gold threads woven throughout...sigh. Good stuff, recycling.

Which brings me to the utmost in recycling: our girl Buttercup. You know, sometimes I can't help but be kinda glad that people throw their pets away. Don't get me wrong, it's traumatic as hell for the animals, and strays don't always make it out of the city shelter alive, which is devastating. But when they do, particularly when they end up in the care of a rescue group, who vets their potential adopters to within an inch of their lives, things get better for them. They end up in a better place, re-purposed, re-upped, re-cycled, re-trained, re-loved, and re-homed, Holmes. And that's just what happened to darling Buttercup. She's been adopted by that great family, and although we'll be sad to see her go, we're so happy for the new parents! Special thanks to all who shepherded her along, and special special thanks to Pete and Baby Bruno for opening their home and hearts one more time...we heart you Buttercup. We always will. XOXOO

"Hey now, you're a Rock Star..."

Yesterday. No entry. So technically, I missed a day. But I had an excuse. Two excuses, actually. More on that in a sec. Apologies, Friendos, although I suspect it's good to condition you (three readers) by having sporadic entries early on. Yes. That's it. I did it on purpose. Subconsciously. Is there a spell check on this thing? I hope so...

Good morning Trash Talkers! Update: Operation Buttercup. This dog is a Rock Star as the Washington Heights dog loving community already well knows, so it's not surprising that there is a lot of interest in her. Which brings me to my first excuse! Last night I met with a lovely couple who drove all the way up here to Upstate Manhattan from the Outer Banks of Brooklyn to meet her. Total Rock Stars as well, sooo nice - really know what they are doing in terms of dogging it up. I think we're in love. I know that they are, so they say, and apparently this little champion of a former trash heap has an amazing home waiting for her in Brooky - with a yard, and a summer home in the real Outer Banks of North Carolina. Would they take me too I wonder? I hope this works out...

My upstairs neighbor, Paulina, is also a ROCK STAR. All caps this time. She came downstairs last to watch over my permanent brood while I met with the prospective parents. BIG shout out to her. She is the best neighbor in the world, and one of the kindest peeps I've ever had the pleasure to know. Truly one of the good ones. Also a great photographer, designer, mom - she does it all (and well). She's taken photos of all of our fosters and I'm kinda convinced it gets them adopted way quicker (see attached pics of last mo's pick of the litter).

Now for the really important stuff. Paulina was kind to withhold the outcome of American Idol until I was back and settled in. She did, however, whet my appetite by saying there were some goose pimple moments and upon viewing I CONCUR!!!! Rock Stars on TV. I. Heart. Casey. James. It's. OK. My Husband. Knows. What?! He plays the guitar and he's just so...ahem. They all did well last night. Some better than others (Casey). Bravo to those tiny rock stars on my tiny TV. I watched until midnight. Second. Excuse.

So it's all good Friendos. THANK THE STARS Buttercup may have a home, I have a cool neighbor, and for that magical device that records things on my TV so I can watch CASEY JAMES' PERFORMANCE OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER. Shut up you. I don't care if it looses me street cred. Street cred ain't worth a damn these days. XOXOX

One Man's Trash is...

...indeed another man's treasure. But you knew that. In fact, if you're reading this you are probably a friend of mine (hello Friendo) and so you know that I am a dumpster diver from way back. I heart trolling for treasures - Trashion Treasures - of all kinds! Filthy and Fresh This blog is Trash Talk at its Finest! You better know it!!

9:10pm, Monday April 5th, 2010 - We (yes Trash Talkers, the Royal "we") are beginning our very first blog entry (what?) with a special feature: "Pick of the Litter". Hooray! This week's Pick is BUTTERCUP! This special girl was tossed out on to the cold, wet Manhattan Streets by her former owners; poor pathetic jerks that they are. The only explanation I can muster is that they must have mistaken her for their stinking trash heap, which is probably still festering, unnoticed, in their nasty ass kitchen!

Buttercup was found by the fuzz, and carted off to the filthy (not in a fresh way) high kill shelter in NYC, where she sat in a cage for 5 days surrounded by the deafening sound of dogs in distress. Sigh. Not cool, not cool at all Friendos. Before she got tossed out with the real trash (via a cold metal table - and probably a large freezer unit?) we gingerly scooped her up like the golden treasure that she is. This precious gem is being fostered by yours truly, through this amazing rescue group called Louie's Legacy - www.louieslegacy.org or you can find her on Petfinder! http://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/16080272 She's patiently awaiting her forever home. Could it be yours?

Animals treated like trash = A Trashion Faux Pas. Not cool in my book.. And my book by the way? It's the one you want to be cool in. For reals.

Aw. She's asleep. With her head on my lap. Hmmm...cold metal table...head on lap...cold metal table...head on lap...it's kind of a no brainer, no? Thank you for reading Friendos. All five of you. XOXO