Today’s the last day of the “Play Me, I’m Yours” installation in NYC. For the last two weeks, 60 public pianos have been open from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. throughout the five boroughs. The musical instruments are stationed in parks, on streets, and even on the Coney Island boardwalk.
It’s magical.
Last week, I met up with Paul Sahner in Central Park. He and I had been following each other online for awhile. A piano near Cleopatra’s Needle finally brought us together. Well, us and a handful of other New York strangers who may not have met otherwise.
People were really polite about taking turns at the community piano. The most Paul’s ever played at once was an indulgent half-hour. That day, he kept looking around to make sure no one was getting impatient.
I recently read Sarah Silverman’s memoir The Bedwetter: Stories of Courage, Redemption, and Pee. The controversial comedian (I don’t use comedienne, and I never will) was a bedwetter until high school. She’s one of four sisters. She struggled with crippling depression as a teenager.
The book never gets weepy or self-indulgent, and I like that Silverman actually spent a few chapters just talking about her life and not trying to be funny. My critique of the book’s ending is that she was so focused on being funny that she bombed. I wanted to learn more about her, not read what could pass for the script of her TV show.
Anyway, I appreciate Silverman’s work a lot more now. Also, the book is still pretty funny in some parts:
Not sure if you know, but I was once a big Shakespeare nerd. My degree required it. Every English major had to take an in-depth Shakespeare class, and I took mine with this incredible British scholar who lived for the Bard. She was Bard to the bone.
I read a lot of Shakespeare. Then I wrote a lot of papers - at least one a week. Lemme tell you, it feels really good to get Shakespeare, and anyone can if they read closely. After that class, I overcame the doubt that sometimes told me my analysis of literature would never be smart or interesting or unique enough.
Then I took a class that required reading a lot of Gertrude Stein and I was back to where I started. I hated reading Gertrude Stein.
Anyway, what if Shakespeare’s doomed heroines had a sassy gay friend? My kingdom for a hilarious stereotype!
When I was a kid, I’d sometimes explore the woods behind my house - they belonged to my uncle and were roamed by his four horses. There was a point where the mesquite trees and brush got so thick that the house disappeared. It didn’t take much; it was a small house.
I’d gaze into my backyard from afar and try to really look. The dog shuffled to her water bowl under the outdoor spigot. Our Siamese cat stretched in a tree. My sister carried glasses of iced tea from our kitchen to my dad’s office attached to the garage.
Looking at my home this way made me feel objective and appreciative and rich.
Raymond Carver’s poem “Locking Yourself Out, Then Trying to Get Back In” reminds me of those times:
I have mixed feelings sometimes about my career of choice. I say career of choice, because I know I can do a lot of things. In the nearly five years since I graduated college, I’ve held a few jobs in different sectors and industries.
I hate the idea of choosing a college major or dream merely because it’s realistic. It’s like always wearing a helmet or waiting until you have something in writing - it disrupts the rhythm of just doing. Sometimes when you have too much to fall back on, you fall back too easily.
I’ve changed a lot since college. Loosened up. Started procrastinating. Abandoned the pursuit of A’s, straight or gay. (Do you know how many gay men I’ve pined for in my life? The number is staggering).
Here’s how I haven’t changed since college: I still live in a small, noisy space among a bunch of strangers. They also smoke a lot of the Mary Jane.
It’s so much nicer to say “No, thanks” now than “As your RA, I’m going to have to call the campus police, who will be here in 45 minutes. Enjoy eating your stash while I’m uptight on the other side of the door.”
You know, I haven’t thought about college in a long time. I should try that again sometime.
Here’s a question from Amanda T.:
My name is Amanda, too! I’m from Dallas, and I came across your site when I was looking up dorms at UT Austin. I can see from an older post that you attended there? I will be attending this fall and was wondering what dorm you stayed in, and if you could tell me anything about the other dorms. Moore-Hill is my first choice, only because my roommate picked it as hers. Thanks!
As far as I know, today is the last day of the I Am A Super Woman blogger search. I may not have to write again unless I get the job, a thought that makes me feel funny. I’ve been on the site for six weeks - I wanna stay there!
My latest post is about what I’ve learned from the experience. You’ll notice I left out “Keep the price tags on your fancy ball gown so you can return that thing and buy a new iPhone.”
Here’s an excerpt:
All I ever needed to know, I learned or reaffirmed through the IAAS blogger search.
If you want to get fancy, you could say blogging is a metaphor for life. And in the blog of life, we all just want to write with the best words and clip art. We want to be read and commented on without screwing up the HTML too badly.
I’ve blogged at IAAS for six weeks and two days now. Here are six things (one for each week) that the experience has taught me:
1) The journey of a thousand miles blog posts begins with a single step post.
It’s all about juggling high hopes/effort and realistic expectations. Don’t focus so much on the big picture that you miss the close-up pieces. Every day is an opportunity to grow and reflect. You need to take in the top 60 experience before you’re ready to handle being in the top three.
