GOOD DEEDS: HOPE NIGHT

Doing good things for other people can make the spirits rise and bring a feeling of over-all peace, accomplishment and self-lessness. I was drawn to praying for the homeless, shut in and sick before any church said that I should. Before I found out what charity was I was handing out change to those who my heart felt moved to. Whether someone has a gimmick, crawls on their knees, honorably asks for help or just sells me candy instead of knocking me upside my head- I give. I remember a moment on the train with my son when he was very young and someone was on the train asking for change. My son looked at me with wonder as I let them walk by empty handed and I did nothing.
He said:
"Mommy, how come you don't give them some money? We have change."
He was right of course. It was my time to show him an example of giving and I shrank from the chance. I thought for sure he saw me give in the past, but that moment was not the past and I had the opportunity to give in the present. I told him something about choosing who to give his money to wisely and sparingly. But everytime someone was in need in the street, I felt those big brown eyes on me, rolling over my face for a sign of compassion. I felt the steel in my face tighten the features, sending him the message: No, son, not this time, again.
Fast forward through time and I found a cause worth my time and dedication. For the past few years I have volunteered in an effort to help account for homeless populations in New York City through the Department of Homeless Services called "HOPE NIGHT." (Homeless Outreach Population Estimate)The chance came from an email I received at my job with the DOE when I was not looking for a cause to join, but once I read the description of the event, I felt quietly compelled. One by one, people at my job asked me if I read the email and I had to confess to my silent interest. We built a team of a strong few and called ourselves, "TEAM: NOT ABOUT ME." Don't ask how I was appointed team leader the first year, but for the past three years I have enjoyed a chilly night of community service getting to know my co-workers in ways that the walls of our building would never have revealed except maybe in a time of crisis. Our team escort, dedicated members of the NYPD,  prove to be helpful and at times, hillarious company. In the nine years of HOPE NIGHT's history there has never been any incidents. We are sent to remote places that homeless populations are more likely than not to camp out for teams such as 'NOT ABOUT ME' to lend a hand by offering questions to assess the state of homeless individuals and refer services through our hand-out cards.
For four hours we walk around, talk, read maps, eat snacks provided by our headquarters and ask everyone we pass questions from our strict scripts called "questionnaires."
The stories range from timid approaches to bombardment of questions from various people, including the intimidating approach of the police. After we establish the guidelines all over again, including limiting the approach from all of us to two of us, we get more and more comfortable in our method.
After we grow numb from the cold, plodding through snow and ice (even graffitti one year) we return to our designated headquarters (usually a DOE school) warm up with coffee and HOPE NIGHT Tee-shirts.
There are of course some HR perks but it is worth it all in the end. Please join us next January if you can. Feel free to join TEAM: NOT ABOUT ME if you want ;}

I hope my son is proud.

Mornin NYC!

It seems that even a simple trip to work is blog-worthy these days.

On an otherwise innocuous day, my morning commute is harmless-uneventful to say the least. This morning was not one of those days.

I could easily have foregone the 30 seconds of daydreaming in my apartment while I paraded around in my black, raw silk, 3” heels that I have never worn on New York City streets. I purchased them in Kentucky on a trip to see my son (the last time I saw him now that I think about it) and upon return, realized that my knees simply are not well enough to withstand the pressure of the pumps. But I digress…

I felt great this morning after getting my hair treatment at “The Experience” Salon on Franklin Avenue. Wearing my “Hair by Hameen,” gave me the confidence and ease I needed on a Tuesday morning. As I stroked back my blonde twists I remember thinking, “Today is going to be good, no matter what.” What the hell was I thinking?

As I descended the train station steps, I thought I missed the A Train, but it sat there as it often does. Two girls board ahead of me and quickly exit as I enter. I think it’s weird but I don’t study it, I just keep it pumping. The car is crowded anyway so I will keep walking. Let’s just see what’s up ahead…

Next car: we have a homeless man sprawled out on several seats. Ok, let sleeping dogs lie and let the sleeping man sleep I always say….ok I don’t… but this morning you bet your sweet cookie I am….I keep walking…

Here we have a sermon being delivered by a woman preaching to everyone- and no one at the same time….Needless to say I exit…to the next car…

Cool, clean (enough) and quiet. This is the car for me. If I was smart and lucky, this morning would have yielded an excellent half hour of extra rest. This morning I am neither so I get an hour of alternating screaming, crying babies. One of the precious bundles made a little stink-stink to keep us company as the train crept along. The babies were not annoying; the recurring announcement WAS:

“Passengers, we have traffic ahead due to signal problems on the express track. As the traffic moves, we shall proceed.”

After the 10^th announcement that incited another round of a crying chorus, one woman clasped her head with both hands, closed her eyes and cried out, “Oh, God!”

I had to bridle my laughter after the last two weeks of train mayhem in the city: First, the Youtube.com sensation of two women who duke it out on the train while the baby of one of the women rolls off the train and into the station. This week on Youtube.com, I watched a man commandeer a BMT #5train driving coach after climbing into the side window at 149^th street with the driver still inside of it! And did I mention that the man has been arrested over 40 times!

Eventually I exit the train after an hour of this experience that I swear started to swerve to the right toward the end of my ride. My sympathy went out to the remaining passengers during my egress.

 http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/2011/07/21/2011-07-21_new_york_subway_fight_not_even_a_baby_can_get_in_the_way_of_scrap_between_two_wo.html

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/ny_crime/2011/07/26/2011-07-26_start_train_or_die_terrifying_10minute_crisis_for_conductor_on_5_train_in_bronx.html

Find your seat for the next Purelements' Performance of "Humanity: An Ancestral Odyssey"

Recently the Blue Butterfly landed in a seat at the Thelma Hill Performing Arts 35^th anniversary season. One stand-out performance belongs to a daring new work by Purelements: An Evolution in Dance entitled, “Humanity: an Ancestral Odyssey.”

Kevin Joseph, choreographer and co-director of Purelements, unleashes “Humanity” onto the audience of THPAC without warning, and without mercy. House lights are turned on as a town crier appears from what seems to be nowhere. The vessel of the voice (Tammy Hall) descends the steps, issuing warnings of an alien species, carrying supernatural strength, who means the human race absolutely no good. Dancers appear unobtrusively, slick with the black of their costumes for skin.  With griot grace, Hall summons the greatness and antiquity of Africa, as the dancers/aliens reveal their unworldly thirst for domination. This foreshadows the intentions they have for their future prey-the human race.

The company members appear in primordial fashion, oozing from beneath the curtains, morphing in and out of shapes across the stage. It makes perfect sense that part of the mission statement of THPAC seeks to: “…furnish rehearsal and ‘incubation’ space for choreographers and dancers;” as viewers sense the hive collective of this alien force. In syncopation, the company shudders, spins, runs and thrills the captive audience with acrobatics. Among the company members, the alien Queen- masterfully played by Dina Wright Joseph- milks every move, stretches every step, and delivers a phenomenally exciting performance.  As “Humanity” is dedicated to Octavia Butler, Wright Joseph assumes the role of a parallel “Doro” from Butler’s “Patternist” series.  Danny Soto lands in a perfect split that would rival any teenage cheerleader, while company members display floor work to rival any break dancing crew uptown.  Spectators cheer on the edge of their seats while the company performs feats of wonder. There is no doubt: this is the finale of the night.

There is an ironic twist that should only be revealed to viewers, so I strongly urge anyone who hasn’t seen a solid dance performance, rife with comprehensive storytelling, to witness Purelements through “Humanity.”

BLUE BUTTERFLY VS. BROWN WATERBUG: INCIDENT AT JEFFERSON GABLES

On an otherwise uneventful Thursday night, Blue Butterfly settles in for the evening. Gently, she rustles beneath the covers while watching "Old School Killers: Twin Dragons." The only light in her cozy bedroom eminates from her laptop as the expanded view of Netflix reveals the 1973 feature.

Suddenly,while leaning on her left hand, there comes a disturbance from behind her head. The noise is familiar, yet unwelcome. Blue Butterfly rushes to the light switch on the wall exposing her suspected nemesis: Brown Waterbug. Discharging a sound of disgust, Blue Butterfly stares down Brown Waterbug. As if to laugh at her despised glare, Brown Waterbug unleashes his wings, flaunting his intention to employ his flying technique. Until this very moment, Blue Butterfly thought herself to be the only free flying creature in the room; she regrets ignoring the legendary accounts of Brown Waterbug's aerial skills.

It is fight or flight for both species in the room; Brown Waterbug makes the first move. Blue Butterfly takes flight through the house, slamming the bedroom door behind her, enclosing Brown Waterbug in the room. Blue Butterfly instantly realizes the futility of this maeuver and begins to devise a plan to lure her enemy out...and into the open...into the killing fields.

Blue Butterfly hesitates, thinking of the exposed clothes in the room where Brown Waterbug could easily hide. A flurry of thoughts flood her mind:

BB:

If I turn out the light in the room and turn on the light out here, the darkness will enfold Brown Waterbug while the greater light will attract my foe into the killing fields. There I will attack. There I will win.

In a BLINK! Blue Butterfly opens the bedroom door, slaps the light off and flits to the living room.

In silence, Blue Butterfly awaits the golden moment. Marveling at the turn of events of the evening from serenity to severity, Blue Butterfly looks up from her contemplation to behold her opponent perched quietly on the bedroom door. The trap was set to perfection.

The classic table cloth trick turns into the scarf on the clothing bin trick, and all contents fly about the room as Blue Butterfly reaches for it as her best weapon of attack.

Deep, uproarious, profane screams of insults to Brown Waterbug's lineage come racing out of Blue Butterfly's mouth. A blue scarf whips about the room as both Brown Waterbug and Blue Butterfly retreat into the room for the final showdown.

BB:

Come on out Mutha*&%&*^! You are wrecking my sleep you son of a brown b#$%%&^^% COME ON!

Blue Butterfly spies Brown Waterbug resting on another corner in the room, crawling downward into crevaces that her scarf could not reach. She can only scream a prayer that will echo down into the chambers of the walls of the room, drowning out her foe:

BB:

WHAT THE FU^&&*!!

After violently grabbing a heavy book left unshelved, Blue Butterfly eyes the room after long, hot moments of anticipation. Irony turns the wheel, and fortune smiles. It is the signature technique of Brown Waterbug that leads to its downfall.

Brown Waterbug soars to high ground all too late-Blue Butterfly spies the maeauver and hurls the novel at the target-and misses-hurling obscenities against the air. Blue Butterfly grabs a box of enclosed intoxicating oils encasing four vials of potents-explicatives! Another miss! Blue Butterfly grabs a plastic bottle of shea butter motion lotion-explicatives! more misses! She grabs a spherical jar of Jane Carter Nourish and Shine and holds it in the balance of her hand as the fate of her night is held in the balance...steady...steady...one breath-EXPLICATIVES! BANG!

A brown chunk of Brown Waterbug's thorax smears against the white wall of her bedroom. Brown Waterbug falls to the bed limp and dying.

Where Brown Waterbug musters up the strength to turn over layed beyond Blue Butterfly's comprehension. But it was shoe time.

A determined thud befalls Brown Waterbug as its wing is separated from its body now falling to the floor. She issues a final command to his afterlife:

BB:

GO TELL A FRIEND!

Chest heaving and throat coarse, Blue Butterfly sets a course for the livingroom loveseat for a celebratory smoke. Checking the corpse of the enemy, for assured victory, there, behind the bed, it is sure.

There is a knock on the front door. It is the police.

Glances of fatigue are exchanged. When Blue Butterfly delivers the tale of the battle, the officials bid the one standing a good night. Apparently, the neighbors were concerned about the "domestic disturbance."

Blue Butterfly warily lays down on the couch to recover. Work tomorrow is the reward ahead.

In the morning, Blue Butterfly cleans the mess from the night before, restoring order to the nest...and claims trophies.

The splattered partial thorax on the wall would remain there, resembling a decapitation left on the battlements as in the days of old...and a warning to others belonging to the same clan.

The wing would rest among her collection of stones and shells gathered on near and distant shores.

And now for the body...the body...surely it was...it was...GONE!

The saga continues...

Meshell Gets Off On Prince: A Review in Poetry

Meshell

Wore shades and whispered to her cohorts

Described Prince as “a weird motherfucker”

Reminisced on her own awkward phase when her parents must’ve wondered “what the fuck are you going through?”

She read the glow that held his lyrics in cyber space

Kept pointing to the screen saying, “Those are the words,”

The lights- a smoky purple/indigo haze showering the stage

We were mesmerized by her every move

She apologized for no costume changes

Or heels

Or the twins

But she played that man’s music with a woman’s voice

And grace

She

Responded to burning questioning- why not her own songs tonight?

She

Answered she would rather do the music that inspired her to make music in the first place

She picks up her guitar-one of three on stage

We went nuts on “Let’s Go Crazy”

I don’t remember the drummer’s name

I only remember that he was BOSS

His left hand played eighth-notes

His right hand played sixteenth-notes on the cymbal

His right foot banged the bottom out

God knows what his left foot did while all of that was going on

A lady next to me is thrown into hysterics

I ask in ignorance, “what is this song?” she screams, “Lady Cab Driver” into my ear, “but she slowed it way down,”

And that it was “driving her crazy!”

Her encore- “Purple Rain” in slow motion

Winding into our ears like a gospel spilled from the mouth of a prophet

After watching the movie a few times she reviews, “I’m sorry, that was some misogynist shit!”

(Shakes her head)

Ms. Meshell

Thanked us all at the end of her show for coming out and participating in this experiment

It looked like she had one last thing to say

When random shouts of “We love you Meshell!” ring out from our mouths

One escaped my lips, I know

And we left in awe of her wonder

My Visit to Rhode Island: Lessons in Love Taught by Children

It was mid May when the Blue Butterfly jumped on Peter Pan’s back and headed north, second state to the right of Connecticut- Rhode Island- “The State by the Sea”. After rushing through the city for roughly an hour with my dear friend and comrade in poetry, Barbara, we pick up her daughter, the little Princess Anna. This animated little burst of energy had only to grab her toothbrush and a pair of socks for a surprise weekend visit with her mommy who lives in Rhode Island. We three braved the wilds of Port Authority for the four hour bus ride to One Peter Pan Way in Providence, RI.

The next morning Barbara’s other daughter, little Miss Patty girl, returned from her father’s house to wake Anna with her morning greeting:

 “Wake up Anna, I’m here Anna, I love you Anna.”

(What choice words do you usually wake up to?)

I wake to the sound of the girls giggling in the next room and a myriad of birds chattering beyond the window. We needed a few more ingredients from the store to make our breakfast stellar, so after drinking my cup of Tazo Well Being Tea, “Rest,” the entertained me with a much needed DANCE BREAK!

ROCK STAR POSE!

And out the door I go.

Now, although Barbara insisted I take her three-year-old Patty girl with me to the store for directional guidance, my ego would not allow it. I'm grown! I also suck at directions whether inner state or out of the country.  (Hmm, what were those directions again?) Not even eight hours in Rhode Island and already I’m lost. Who was I kidding? Yet the walk was so beautiful I truly didn’t mind. Picture: a flock of geese take over the Junior High School football field; gardens rich with red, deep purple and bright, brilliant white flowers; long stretches of road with trees in the distance, lined-up like sentinels. One tree was split so far down the middle, it looked like it was struck by lightening, yet the leaves refused to die.

After walking for 20 minutes (by this time a highway appeared), a black angel saved me and pointed my feet in the direction from which I came, telling me to walk another 20 minutes (I walked past the store the first time, completely missed the HUGE RED awning). Breakfast ingredients were in my hand in no time and I was back at the house safe and warm. After a hearty breakfast of eggs, home fries and chicken sausages, we troupe out the door.

First stop: Furniture shopping for princess Anna’s room. After we get off the first bus, lessons in how far ahead to walk in front of Mommy, when to stop walking, the meaning of “active driveways” and patience, patience, patience were given out. As we wait the girls give me a-

DANCE BREAK!

ROCK STAR POSE!

And we are off to the bus that takes us to Providence Place Mall to buy a birthday present for a children’s party we are attending later in the day.

Bed, Bath and Beyond is always a magical place for me, but the most fun a young one can have is inside of a shopping cart. This simple act always reminds me of growing up with little my sister Shawn, doing everything together. The girls pile up in the cart and I try to spice things up:

(Using a nasal voice)

“Please keep your hands and arms inside of the shopping cart at all times. Please do not stand while the shopping cart is in motion. Thank you.”

Shopping trip success is scored, but revolving door antics lead to my voice tightening, sharpening, shortening, running out of patience, patience, patience. We rest in silence while waiting for the bus.

Birthday barbeque food does what it always does; the chicken soothes, the salad satiates, the water brings clarity, and the watermelon recharges the battery for the next 30 minute walk to the bus that takes us to the bus to transfer to the bus that takes us home (no exaggeration of buses).

After our day out, Barbara reads the girls a bedtime story- childhood memories again. Barbara and I get to finally talk as friends, sisters, poets and human beings-faults and all. She laughs at all my jokes:

Me: So, this is Rhode Island. Isn’t this one of the 13 colonies?

B: Yeah, Plymouth Rock is near here.

Me: I didn’t land on Plymouth Rock, Barbara

We rise early the next morning after the girls had to finally be separated in order for anyone to get rest through the night. After a second look at the bus schedule, the transportation route called for either more walking at 7a.m. or a cab.

I want you to guess which option I chose at THIS point in the story girls and boys.

By now the girls are fighting over a tissue paper flower that princess Anna made for Mommy. Our (ahem) transportation arrives and Princess Anna reads a book all about “Crabs.” She is such a good reader for 6! No sight reading for her, no sir, she is sounding out signs in windows everywhere we go. Literacy-YES!

Miss Patty girl is a trip, having side conversations on her imaginary phone with imaginary friends-dead serious about it too! Sometimes she has to conduct part of her conversation in the next room. I mean WOW!

The hour we spend waiting for the bus to come is filled with the girls chasing each other around Mommy; by now they have totally kissed and made up, as they feel the departure time is upon them. They hug each other to death, professing their love for one another. We all embrace goodbye, goodbye, and I leave the State by the Sea on the bus with Princess Anna who by now is crying, but still trying to be strong, so the last image Mommy sees is a happy Anna. We take off waving to our loved ones, and Anna requests I give her Mommy’s phone number. She writes it onto a piece of paper she has folded in half, creating a two-dimensional piece of artwork, containing a love letter feverishly written to Mommy- tears still glistening in her eyes. We talk, girl stuff, you know, discussing the cognitive behavior of toddlers and ex-toddlers turned “big girls,” then I read a book called “Bad Kitty vs. Uncle Murray,” which explores the differences between the domesticated feline world and the humans who care for them within their own world.

After that we are off to sleep city.

Back to Brooklyn-I drop Anna back to her father’s arms that have been awaiting her return. As I walk away feeling an awesome sense of accomplishment Anna runs behind me with her last request: “Remember to mail the letter to Mommy, ok?”

Guess what I am doing first thing Monday morning…

ROCK STAR POSE!

A Shakespeare Sunday: Macbeth in Brooklyn

In the Spring (semester) 2010, of my content,  I took a Shakespeare course at the Center for Worker's Education, a satellite site for City College. I shared my love, frustration and interest of the literature of the infamous William Shakespeare with a dear friend of mine. During the course of the next few months, our Saturday mornings were reserved for discussions, questions and readings of the plays and Sonnets of Shakespeare. We would revel in the plot twists, language, history and poetry of these writings. Since then, numberless private jokes, quotes, nicknames and such were saturated with 16th century wit. So when I looked up from my cell phone one day on the A-Train and spied the monopolized advertisement for the Shakespeare festival at BAM Harvey, I knew what I would do next...and with whom I would do it with...


So, fortune smiled on my life the following Spring, and I caught the last show on the last day of the last leg of the Macbeth Tour showcasing the dynamic acting genius that is Cheek by Jowl. Declan Donnellan directs this surprisingly lithe adaptation of the William Shakespeare tragedy. Crossing the seas, Cheek by Jowl hails from their rehearsal space in London to perform in Paris, Milan, Berlin, Madrid and Hong Kong before landing in New York at the esteemed BAM Harvey Theater in downtown Brooklyn.

The sensual performances of both leading man and lady are palpable; one is held in the patter and clenches of their celebratory kisses, as the two connive at murder . William Keen plays the valliant war hero, humble husband and slowly evolving murderous Macbeth, who receives a profesy told to him of greatness and power, delivered by three horrid witches rife with mystery and damnable equivocation. The transformation of the character is under Keen's absolute control as his booming, flippant speeches and masterful trembles work up a sweat that he later wipes or slaps off. Keen acts in every breath; you believe his every word as he pivots, struts or raises an eyebrow- the man is in character on a cellular level. The inner conflict raging within Macbeth is convincingly demonstrated through the physical war beseiged throughout Keen's body. The audience is enrapped, watching a man go mad by the ambitious quenching of his blood lust. Anastasia Hille delivers a playful Lady Macbeth, flirting with evil principalities before blooming into a woman truly at home with plotting murder. Hille portrays the hypocrisy of Donnellan's Lady Macbeth  as she sings with joy over premeditative schemes, teases her husband for his compassion and hesitation at killing, or weeps when Macbeth temporarily shrinks from assassinating the present King Duncan in order to overleap his authority and create his own time to reign over Scotland. Murder consummates the political ambition of the Macbeth household as the two conspire in loving poses, dancing while harmoniously planning the King's untimely death in each other's arms or laying atop one another. The intimacy displayed between Keen and Hille is redolent of two friends who change the nature of their relationship and consequently, the course of everyone's lives within the play.

Cheek by Jowl, an idiom for "close together," embodies the spirit of the company and the stregnth of their collective skill. The patience to act in inches, reminiscent of Japanese Butoh theater, demands the discipline of the actors as well as the attention of the audience.  The exits and entrances are unobtrusive, time-conserving and very, very quiet. Each step is arguably a dance, alternating between movements so slow they become dreamlike, and in an instant, so quick that you  get the sense that you have somehow missed something between blinks. It is fairly easy to believe that they share the same breath. The stillness is just as heavy as the riveting action. Hallucinations of daggers and pantomimed props create the sense of an alternate, intangible world upon the stage. Yet, the physicality of Cheek by Jowl rivals the imagery of this production. From the simple incorporation of wooden boxes resembling a moving Birnam wood forest, to their simultaneous kneeling stances while pledging loyalty to an ever changing king, the company epitomizes a single entity- a sole sentiment. There are surprises and mutations within the Donnellan adaptation: the three visible witches are switched out for two arbitrary voices emanating from the standing collective of actors onstage. Kelly Hotten plays the porter at Macbeth's castle and gives a "cheeky" modern spin to escape from the darkness of the tragedy-her performance was anchored by booming applause. Cheek by Jowl members randomly serve as a silent audience to the play itself, witnessing the deeds, acts, asides and deaths occurring throughout the production, providing the mood of an unspoken play within a play.

After three curtain calls the audience let the company end their tour after an amazing performance. My companion and I walked to a nearby restaurant where we supped and discussed the pros and cons of the differences and improvements from our perspectives. We both agreed on the expert skill of this production. What started as a Saturday morning conversation stemming from a class is evolving into a lifetime appreciation of literature and theater. Next stop...King Lear!