"ganja queen"

"ganja queen"
on hbo

dear god
i don't think i've been this affected
by a documentary
in as long as i can remember

and i watch a shit-ton of documentaries

witness the story of schapelle corby
a 27 year old australian woman traveling to bali
on holiday with her family

and the ten pound bag of marijuana
that's discovered in her suitcase
upon their arrival

in indonesia
the penalty for drug smuggling
is execution by firing squad

the hell that schapelle is put through
during the circus that surrounds her trial
as carried out in a third world country
is arguably a fate worse than death

"ganja queen" is as riveting and harrowing a tale
as could ever have occurred
in real time
on this planet

it will shake you to the core
it will challenge your beliefs about justice
it will leave you forever changed

i cannot fully put into words
how hauntingly powerful this story is

find it any way you can on hbo
or hbo on demand

this is simply a film
that is not to be missed

church of the holy trinity

a church
on the upper east side
magnificent

i stopped by last week
after a work out at the gym

originally wanting to just quickly peek inside
because it's where charlotte had married trey
on "sex and the city"

but upon my arrival
i was pleasantly surprised to find an episcopalian church
quite similar to the one i'd grown up in

but quiet
and cool, like wet stone
alive in a way few empty buildings are

as i entered the sanctuary i couldn't help but notice
the calm sunlight as it streamed through the
bafflingly beautiful stained glass

a flyer towards the back invited parishioners
to join both pastors and clergy atop the church float
for new york city's gay pride parade

a banner hanging near the entrance read
"we do not tolerate torture"

women with strollers sat in shadows
as their children enjoyed the afternoon sun

gardeners tended to the lush life
bursting in abundance all around them

a couple of homeless men slept inside
on unused church pews
no one seemed to mind at all

i'm certainly not a huge fan of organized religion
but the church of the holy trinity on 88th between 1st and 2nd
had certainly made its case

there was a spirit within the walls
amongst that garden
beyond those gates

but i think what moved me most within that space
was not the fact that i was in a church
or even the bible stories
depicted in the stained glass all around me

i was inspired by the beauty of a simple afternoon
the powerful artistry of architecture
and by people's profound ability to believe


from my point of view
a place of worship can be anywhere
but more often than not i feel a direct connect
within a theatre

earlier tonight i watched the movie "fame"
for the very first time ever in my life

jesus christ
is that movie thrilling beyond words

even now that every scene
seems both classic and cliched
i was moved as a viewer

but moved especially
because on some level i'd lived it

i'd lived it first as a child
daydreaming to the sound of the songs being played
on my parents' old record player

and then i lived it for real
as a drama major at new york university
smack dab in the center of it all

"out here on my own"
"i sing the body electric"
"is it okay if i call you mine?"

thrilling

having friends who'd gone to laguardia
high school of the performing arts
i'd always intended to see the movie

but somehow i had always imagined it'd be
a lot more of the dancing and singing on cars
and a lot less of the heart and the hurt
that comes with being an artist
just growing into yourself

it really hit home to me
a not so revolutionary but ultimately uplifting viewpoint
that some of us may be students of drama
or music
or dance

but we're all really just students of life
learning more and more each day
striving for something that feels bigger than ourselves
and going nowhere without the support
of the people all around us

we may not all live forever
but we're all alive right now

the age of reckoning

this past saturday
as i sat with my dog on a beach towel
in the middle of central park

waiting for SEVEN hours to get tickets
to the public theater's production of "hamlet"

i had more than ample time
to people watch

so for seven hours
more or less
that's just what i did...

being that this is new york city
there was every age, color and variety on display

certainly plenty of other theatre folks
like myself
waiting in line

but also tons of moms and dads with strollers
business types wearing their best conservative casual chic
ladies on horseback, kids on bikes
and more joggers than one could have ever imagined

it's curious that out of all these people
the two that stood out most
were a father and son who were running together
just as naturally and casually as could be

there was nothing special
that i noticed
about the two of them

just a dad and a kid
on yet another saturday morning run

but here they were

and to me they seemed the perfect illustration
of time gone by

one had his looks
his youth
his hair

the other had intelligence
a world view
and priceless life experiences

i suppose i remember them now
because i was struck by the fact that
This Is The Payoff

as we get older we gain so much..
character, confidence, a richness of being
but in essence we lose ourselves

or at least we lose ourselves as reflected back to us

we lose the way we'd once looked to the world
and the way we'd once looked in the mirror

there's a quote from christopher hampton's play
"les liaisons dangereuses"
that "vanity and happiness are incompatible"

and the older i get
the more this seems to be true

we are at the mercy of time...
even at the prime age of twenty six
i'm cognizant of that fact

i don't look like i did at eighteen
but the day will come when i'll think to myself
that i don't look like i did at thirty

or at forty
or at fifty
and so on and so on

a life lived wishing for the impossible
is a doomed one

and i don't intend to lead a doomed existence

i believe
that the father and son
each has his own story to tell
his own experiences to discover

we can pass through this world
jogging side by side
surrounded by the lushness of nature

ever changing
ever evolving
ever growing old

but always alert to the fact
that this is our body
our shell

and not at all who we really are
inside...

Flight Down Memory Lane

I stopped.

I stopped because I was procrastinating. Procrastinating to prepare myself for what the day held in store. It was in that moment of stillness that I turned to look out the bedroom window.

From across the alleyway I saw a pigeon sitting in the neighbor's flower pot, just beneath their windowsill. The bird shook its feathers, cooing and cawing. It was an insanely mundane sight. But I was flashed immediately back to my old apartment on Spring Street.

There I stood, an innocent at 23 years old, in the window of my former home, staring slack-jawed at my fire escape as a bird's nest appeared, twig by twig, another branch each day.

Perplexed, amazed, I'd become it's daily watchman. I hadn't yet seen an actual bird touch down. But the proof of her work was incontrovertible. A home was beginning to form.

It was truly a magic day when finally, finally... three tiny eggs arrived.

Over that sparkling summer a million things changed. Only one of which was witnessing the mother bird at last. Some time later, her babies hatched. That was just around the time that Matt arrived. But by Autumn both he and they were gone.

Only Matt returned that next summer, a Graduate from College, for what seemed to be forever... The birds, on the other hand, I never saw again.

It is now 2008 and summer arrives once more. As usual, it's gonna be a scorcher. I say, give me spring for eight months straight if possible. I could wander the streets of Manhattan in these temperate breezes until the end of time.

But as The Byrds themselves sang. "To everything- turn, turn, turn. There is a season- turn, turn, turn."

We all turn. We're turning as a culture. As a country. As a people. Each of us adapts to life's obstacles and barriers in our own way. In essence, each adapts to life itself.

I miss and don't miss that old bird's nest. I miss and don't miss my apartment on Spring Street. I miss and don't miss that time of ultimate innocence.

I'll always miss Matt. But I'm getting to the point where I no longer miss what we had. The destructiveness of being in love with an addict is bafflingly painful. And by the end, he seemed more in love with his addictions than with me.

There is no turning back the clock on life. We can return to streets and cities, but it will never be the same. It's because of this, I think, that we're so lucky for those little reminders, however fleeting or obscure.

A bird. Well, a pigeon I suppose, perching in a neighbor's flower pot. A vast expanse of memories. All mine. Washing in and out on the shore of consciousness, as impermanent as sand, a nest, the flap of a wing, sunlight, memories and life itself.