Come Copy Me: Copycat Night at Otto's

A lot of things have kept me in after my nights in the salt mines: morning job interviews, morning angst, general unease, but last night I went out to Otto's Shrunken Head, a mangy yet adorable bar with a back room for rock and roll, situated on the eastern heel of 14th St. (And also the site of my baby shower almost 17 years ago--I had a live dj spinning only songs containing the word "baby." There are a LOT, you know.)

Late night coffee shop

Left work at 9 pm, and made my way up the 1st Avenue bike lane instead of continuing on home. I was starving, so checked out an Avenue B coffee shop--still open at 10 pm (because the back room becomes a bar featuring a fireplace with glowing fake log) and picked up a mozzarella sandwich that the bald but luxuriously bearded barrista offered to drizzle with balsamic. He actually said, "Do you want me to drizzle this with balsamic?" So much energy at 10 pm. I stood out on the sidewalk, eating, making crumbs for rats and vermin. My bike locked up under a streetlight on B, I was heartened I got carded at the door at Otto's, which tonight was featuring bands participating in the bi-weekly eight-year long Copycat cover series. (I've so far only attended the Kinks' installment.)

Otto's has a photo booth.

Tonight was New Wave night--and I'm already getting neurotic by how much text I'm generating here--so I'll make this short. The thing I love about NYC is that I can be a middle-aged woman alone--a mom, even--out late on a week night, and I'm invisible in a good way. I fit in. No one cares. At least I like to think so.

Probably not.

Michael T's band went on first. Michael T might be as old as me: he's an androgynous, flamboyant front man, who does a lot of the Bryan Ferry segments in the performance arty tribute thing he belongs to: Kate Loves Bryan. (See video above!) He also has his own band called the Vanities. Tonight, he and his band covered The Cars, Blondie, Bowie, Ramones, Vapors--and Michael T provided necessary context and metadata.

I stayed an hour, bike down Ave B at eleven. Did not see any rats.

My fellow late night, mid-weekers

I Can't Go Home After Work, Dude. Am I Right, Lara?

This dude seemed happy to pose for me.

Last Tuesday, the streets here in downtown Manhattan were too icy to bike to work, so walked about two miles from the river to the East Village. Only 30 degrees around 9 pm. Not cold for this winter. Warm! Warm enough to have a conversation while walking with my hand out, holding my phone.

I'd been out all day, since before the sun, and I wasn't heading home. Heading home, would make me feel like work had won the day.

I wasn't going to let it.

Heading uptown, I ended up in the basement of Three of Cups, where a one-off Keith Richards appreciation night, called Keef and Shit: a night to celebrate the undisputed kind of cool was kicking off around 10 pm. The thing was going until 4:00 am. This was a Tuesday night. The fact that NYC, way past Guiliani time, planned to stay up way late on a school night made me very happy.

This Keef thing was also being hosted by Cynthia Ross, a cool girl rock musician who used to date another cool kid, Stiv Bators of the Dead Boys.

Because I'm super dorky and I'm at this thing alone, I sit at a bar and take notes, just like I used to do in NYC when I'd go out alone in 1989.

Here's what I wrote by votive:

Notes by low weak candle

My transcription:

Bowie's "Waiting for the Man." Long-haired dude in an oversized pimp hat. Hendrix's "All Along the Watchtower." Small boisterous group sings along to this. I want someone to take my order for pizza. Stones' "Star Star"--"Way back to New York City / Where I do belong" Now those dudes are singing exuberantly to "Star Star." Rod Stewart now. I just asked the gravelly voiced girl bartender for a pizza. She told me to order upstairs. Alice Cooper's "Hey Stoopid." Omg, Faster Pussycat. Now finally, the Stones. There are cheers. "When the Whip Comes Down." "Just My Imagination"--Keith's great backing vocals here. This song is so good.
____________________________________

So now you know if you ever see me sitting and writing in a notebook, what I'm writing is pretty stupid. But it was really stupidly fun to sit there and I wasn't tired AT ALL. AND (see above) I got a photo of the dude in the pimp hat, channeling Keith on my way out. Plus, Keith on the wall below:

I'll be doing a stay-out-late post every week, if this one wasn't too dull. Let me know!

Friday Night: Wordswork

One of my fave things to do is stand on the sidewalk and peer into the East Village Radio booth,  much to the horror of my offspring.  I really ask for so little out of life.

Another Friday night finds me at home.

Save for a quick writing trip earlier out to a tiny coffee shop where everything is served in robin's egg blue cups and saucers, I spent most of the day and night in my grungy tenement working.  Writing and working for free, which is what adjuncts often do.

Around lunchtime, my friend who works in midtown decided to come down from his office and bring lunch in.  And then he had to travel all the way back.  

Tonight, plans were thwarted right and left.  

Twenty-nine degrees outside.  The coldest it's been all winter.

I put some words together.  I heard Barbara Streisand sing Bowie's "Life on Mars."  It's been a strange evening.

Words:  21,819

Shopkeeping

Spent a good part of today assessing our (almost) year's worth of blogging.

As I sat there, I felt very negative about it.

I feel like I devoted a lot of hours for little pay-off.

What kind of pay-off I was expecting, I have no idea.

I wanted to move away from tightness.  In some ways, I have I suppose.  In others, no change.

I will really get my assessment together soon.

This photo was taken outside of my long-time favorite toy store.  The owner, Paula, decorated this bush with biodegradable balloons.  Dinosaur Hill's been open since 1983.  It's weathered recessions and online shopping.  It has the friendliest staff you will ever meet.  Often, you could pet one of Paula's dogs.

I just read Rumer Godden's The Story of Holly and Ivy.   This post is a tribute to shopkeepers and their shops.  (Demi Moore's daughter's named after her--I bet you were wondering.)

Is that what I've been doing on my blog all year?  Keeping shop?  Staying open in case anyone drops by?

Meet Painter Extraordinaire Darryl LaVare

I first noticed Darryl in the East Village years ago.  At the time, I only knew of her as a popular afterschool babysitter and a gal who always looked fabulous:  punk rock tee, leather biker jacket, tiny pleated mini, and pointy boots.   When I finally did formally meet her, I was touched by her warmth and openness.  As is so often the case with my fellow mother friends, I didn't realize until later that Darryl was not just a well-loved caregiver, but also a fabulous artist, trained at the Rhode Island School of Design, which she left her hometown of Memphis to attend in 1986.  After graduation, she moved to New York City and right into the lower east side:  "177 Ludlow St."  Says Darryl, "I was in NY so much throughout college that people just assumed I lived there."  While in New York working on her own career, Darryl met many artists and musicians who would go onto be famous, if they weren't already:  the dashing experimental filmmaker Nick Zedd (who she dated!), Rockets Redglare, John Waters, Jim Jarmusch, Richard Kern, and respective members of Bad Brains, the Butthole Services, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Stone Temple Pilots, to name a few. 

Currently, Darryl is bringing up two lovely daughters and is on a roll with her art.  Check out many of her paintings whose images are featured here.  "Like" Darryl's artwork here!

Are you in a tight place?  If so, what are you trying to do about it?
What comes to mind for me is that I feel like I’m trying to face my fears.  There was a time that I was afraid to paint.  For many different reasons, I’ve been taking action and trying to face my fear of failure.  In the past, perfectionism prevented me from making art:  I didn't want to start something if it wasn't going to be brilliant.  I’m trying to let go of some of that.  I’m trying to have faith and have the courage to face my demons and just do it.  I’m trying to be led by unknown forces.  Do the footwork and be led by the universe or a higher power.  I pray—for lack of a better word—to have the insight and the courage and the wisdom to see where I should be going.  I’ve been feeling good about that.  I’m not religious, but more spiritual.  And I find the more that I do it, the more it works.  It could be a side of me or an intuition I’m tapping into, I don't know, but if I put it out there, people seem to have ideas for me.

What inspires you?

I’m inspired by other friends going through their creative processes.  And I’m trying to inspire other friends.  It’s basically a group of artists who are supporting each other.  For my art, I'm definitely inspired by people, human nature.  Right now, I'm doing a series of Tompkins Square Park riots, punks, police, homeless people, and right now, protestors.  I really think that the Tompkin Square Park riots of '88 came about as a result of class war like the Occupy Wall Street movement.  The paintings I’ve been making look new, but they're about these riots that are now a part of history.  Usually, for my work, I choose a theme and I do a series.  I work from photographs.  I try to take the photographs, but for this current series, Clayton Patterson let me choose from some photos.   He was there during the riots and took lots of photos, so I’ve been working from those.  My latest paintings are from photos I took from the Williamsburg Bridge.   In these have included my daughters.  I like the combination of the graffiti, the sky, and the bridge together.

What do you want to get done this year?  (Or next?)
I’d love to have gallery representation.  That's my big dream.  That would make it possible for me to spend more time painting and showing.  This year and next, I plan on continuing to paint.  I also hope to again teach the art and mural classes at my kids' school.  And I should have my website done soon!

What's your favorite legwear?

I always, always wear black leggings.  Last year, I bought so many different colors and textures of stockings--and sometimes I layered the lace and the leggings--but usually I just wear the black leggings. 

New Museumazing: An Avenue C Jaunt

I was very touched by my visit to a just opened NEW MUSEUM today, Lara.  I feel very deeply moved when anyone organizes a bunch of info for permanent display.  The idea that I grew up far and away from museum centers and did not see a bonafide art museum until I was 24 years old (the art gallery in the HFAC doesn't count) kinda blows my mind.  

This new NYC museum called the Museum of Reclaimed Urban Space claims the storefront of a still operating and famous squat in the East Village on Ave C.  And the Museum (or MoRUS) seems largely put together by earnest 20-somethings and is both cerebrally and visually stimulating.  It's tiny, but impressive and not quite finished.  I was touched by the large sticky notes detailing still unfinished projects, and they still don't have proper curatorial cards.  C must visit, if he has time, Lara.  But that's not all . . . .

The have a cute gift shop, too.

The stairs to the lower level

Sticky notes

Continuing down C, we spotted a raging Oktoberfest celebration complete with live polka music and gigantic steins.

We ended our Ave C jaunt at Bikini--a Spanish cafe staffed by a gregarious vaguely androgynous young man from Valencia.

Tight Place Dairy

The B&H man kept calling us "sweetie," and I didn't even care.

 After work, after picking my kid up on our designated corner, I convinced her to go to B&H Dairy with me, a tight place of a restaurant on 2nd Avenue in the East Village.  You can't get flesh there: no burgers, no meat.  In the tradition of kosher restaurants, the "meat" restaurant is across the street (and there you won't find any butter, can't ask for a glass of milk).

We go because I love the cold borscht and my kid loves the matzah ball soup.  We both tear through the huge hunks of challah they chop off for us, slathered with butter--because, Lara, there is a lot of butter here, which cracks me up, because B&H stands for . . . "Better Health."

If the counter stools are taken, if the tables lining the wall are filled, you have to angle your body to get in.  We did, laden with packs, and got the last two counter seats.  We know what we want without menus, and we got our soups in 30 seconds. The server put it down with such haste, it sloshed.  Everything was messy and good--and cheap.

There are walk-in closets bigger than this.

So fascinated by this "Kosher Certifications" even after 17 years in NYC

On the way back from escorting another kid somewhere, I insisted of getting out of my mental tight place--feeling so circumscribed, Lara--but kid obligation, that I decided to try and find Thoreau in my local used bookstore.

This edition carries an inscription from 1971.  It sounds like the receiver was headed for some kind of peripatetic world tour.  So jealous (unlike Thoreau who refused all invites to Europe).  But having the Dairy around kind of makes me feel like I'm living a little.

Why I don't want a Kindle.

Sending You to Zucker Bakery is Today's Good Deed

Next time you're in NY's East Village please visit Zucker Bakery, a brand new bakery/cafe on East 9th Street owned by a woman with long dark hair (the fabulously named Zohar Zohar) who ran out when I was sitting there this morning and came back in with an armful of fresh flowers for the three tables.

See how lovely this place is already?

Also, she didn't seem to care that my laptop was mucking up the visuals of her small, lovely space.  I've never seen anyone pull off a doily so well--not even my dear departed grandmother. (Sorry, Helen!)  She even provides outlets for computer users, which is rarer than you might think.

She played Prince and REM.

And look at the stunning tea service I was given and the food?  Well, read the cut and paste (below) from their website linked (above).  (I can't remember what the food in my photo was called, but it's the only savory thing on the menu right now.)  Lara, won't you come with me when you visit?:

Established in 2011, [Zucker Bakery] owner and chef Zohar Zohar took a long break from the kitchen and the ovens to raise her sweet kids--after working for many years in top NYC restaurants for famous chefs, Daniel Boulud, David Bouley and friend pastry chef Johnny Luzzini, who also inspired her deserts and style. In her new venture Zucker Bakery – a family owned home-style bakery and coffee shop – Zohar bakes her one-of-a-kind cookies and sticky buns known as Roses. Mrs. Zohar’s baking is influenced by her Israeli family and friends of European and Moroccan backgrounds.

I also love how the website mentions that she's a girl like me trying to get back in the game.  I'm going to do what I can in my own humble way to help her do it.

The one con?  The bathroom is behind the counter, and I always feel a little bad about asking to use it.

Smithereens Scene/Tights on Film

Yesterday, I met with a friend at Cafe Orlin to talk/strategize about some "big picture" stuff for 2012. It had been awhile since I'd gone there, and I can't go to Cafe Orlin, a vintage East Village cafe, without thinking of Susan Seidelman's 1982 release Smithereens--a film I first saw on a big clunky rented videotape (on a clunky rented VCR) in Provo, Utah's University Villa apartments, years before I would visit New York or know what the "East Village" was.
In the film, the Cafe Orlin scene is as follows: an increasingly desperate Wren (Susan Berman) tries to cozy up to Richard Hell (largely playing himself), who she hopes will be her ticket out of New York, or at least provide her with a place to stay for the night. Conditions inside the cafe soon deteriorate when Wren's self-delusions run up against that of another female sycophant who hopes to get a piece of Hell for herself, and it's not very feminist when the scene culminates in a cat fight much to an escaping Hell's amusement. Note, that Susan Berman wears sheer back-seamed tights with the tallest high tops ever. Also, please note that the soundtrack's by one of the best bands from that era, The Feelies. (And sorry about the weird colorization and editorial comments. I couldn't find another version!)
So-I think my meeting went a lot better. There was no fighting. No self-absorbed rock musician present, although that surely would have been fun. It was at least inspiring, which as you remember, is one of the things that is free in 2012. Along with the TIGHTS we are GIVING AWAY! Won't you enter the contest? See yesterday's co-post!

Girl in a Tights Place

Here are tights I've collected over the past two weeks: tights both sheer and textured.  

Let's not forget this blog is fueled by tights.  Tonight, I'm in a both a tights place and a tight place.  Trying to work my way out of one of them.  Searching for inspiration--and advice if you have any.   Any kind will do.