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Wanderings and Wonderings of J. Jennings Moss |
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I've seen my share of Mama Roses. My first was Joanne Worley, the Laugh In comic with the huge smile and the even bigger laugh. Then there the film Roses: Rosalind Russell in the original, Bette Middler in the 1993 TV version. Just a few years ago, I caught the tiny Bernadette Peters fill those big, sensible heels.
But it wasn't until last night that I really saw Mama. As brought to life by Patti LuPone at the NYCity Center, Rose is a driven, hard, seductive, and funny matriarch. LuPone doesn't fall into the trap the role leaves for other actresses. She doesn't chew the scenery, she's alive in its world. She's almost subtle, a word you don't often think about when contemplating Rose.
By the time LuPone steps onto the bare stage and sings Rose's Turn, you feel for this woman who invested everything in her daughters simply to satisfy her own ego. You want her to rise up and claim what's hers. Sing out Patti.
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To get back into the working world after 18 months off, I joined the newest Conde Nast venture--Portfolio. I'm a freelance editor on the web site, Portfolio.com, where I'm editing the homepage and helping set up the site's coverage for the 2008 presidential election.
I'm also writing again. The first real story I've done in months ran this week. It's all about the producing pair behind the movie version of the musical Hairspray. This is a story long in gestation: I first met one of the producers, Craig Zadan, eight years ago. Though we haven't kept in touch, Craig's been on my mind in some way ever since I met him. I'm glad Portfolio gave me a way back to him and his business partner, Neil Meron. The two are responsible for making movie musicals a commercially viable form of entertainment again.
Here's one of the teases that ran on the Portfolio.com homepage.
Read the story by clicking here.
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Walking home from work today, I made my usual trek--off the R line at Broadway and 8th, down 8th as it transforms into St. Marks, right on First Avenue and then a jaunty left and into my apartment. But today I had musical accompaniment as I strode.
At Astor Place, a single guy on a saxaphone warbled his way through Gershwin's "Summertime," a fitting song when it's hot and humid out, though not so sweet when placed in the hands of an amateur. The saxophonist, a young black guy of around 20, wasn't deterred. This was practice.
A little over a block later, at 2nd Avenue, was a five-piece band set up just outside the pizza place on the corner. I've lived in this neighborhood for five years, I've passed by that corner a couple thousand times, yet I don't think I've ever looked at the name. Today, though, they had a sign: Under New Management. I got that, but no name. The band, I'm sure, was brought in to trumpet (no pun intended, well, maybe it was) the change in merchant.
I listened a bit. The drums were a bit too loud. The unknown tune kind of, sort of, bordered on tuneless. The singer had a bit of a screech to his voice. No stopping here.
As I walked down 1st Avenue, the most peculiar thing happened. As the music started to fade behind me, I sensed it picking up again in front of me. It felt like someone was turning a balance knob in my head. Soon it became clear why.
Another band was set up on the corner of 1st and St. Marks, a foursome playing jazz beneath some scaffolding next to the Tribe bar. The band -- two kinda hippish black guys, two pretty nerdy white guys -- smoked. It wasn't music I knew. That didn't matter. It was lively, fun, and artistically sound.
I watched the other people who had stopped to listen. Toes tapping, some mild attempts at street dance, smiles. Other people never stopped, too wrapped up in their own journies. Some had headphones to drown out the natural soundtrack. Too bad for them.
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Examples of strange sightings on subways:
-- Last night as I was headed home from work on the MTA's R line, a blind and toothless man got onto the crowded train and started to sing acapella. He tapped his way through the car, trying to keep his balance while he held onto a tip jar. He sang minute-long snippets of a number of songs. I can't get his rendition of "Do You Think I'm Sexy" out of my head.
-- Another blind man, another subway car. One morning a few years ago, I got onto a train that was packed with surly, sleepy, caffeine deprived New Yorkers. A man with an accordian entered one end of the train and without hesitation or apparent concern, he started to play his instrument and politely push his way through the crowd. No clue what he played.
-- A couple of weeks ago, I heard a commotion on the other end of my train. I looked down to see what looked like a flash twirl around a subway pole. It was a boy, maybe 10, being twireld around the pole by a man in his late teens or early 20s. They were a breakdancing pair and they put on a show in the middle of the train. I couldn't see much, passengers blocking my view. Just every now and then, I saw the boy get flung in the air. And then there was applause.
I gave my change to the singer and the accordian player but not the breakdancers. I'm not so fond of breakdancers.
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My time in Paris is done.
A great adventure, though I long for the company of friends. I simply need to go home.
Au revoir Paris.
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Searchers in the Philippines found Julia's body today in the northern mountain area where she had gone hiking.
Her friends and I'm sure her family had been bracing themselves for this conclusion. Yesterday, a police official suggested she might have fallen off a cliff.
But the news today suggested it may be far more horrific. Her body had been buried, suggesting a criminal act and not unsteady footing took her life, although authorities said its possible debris from a fall covered her.
Julia was an amazing woman. I met her soon after I moved to New York, when I freelanced for People Magazine. She quickly took me under her wing and we became fast friends. When she got sacked from People (as did I and some of my other favorite people at the magazine), I introduced her to a friend of mine at FOXNews.com, where she got hired. Then I brought her into the ABCNews.com family, though she was jettisoned with a round of layoffs. Later, she got me in to see the executive editor at Star Magazine, though it wasn't the right fit. When I moved into my no-pet apartment in New York, she adopted my cat Sammy.
She kept pursuing a career in news, no matter how many bosses told her to get lost. She was the best kind of journalist, the kind that always asked questions, that was never satisfied. It was this quality that didn't curry favor with her employers as she applied the same tenacity to her work environment as she did the job itself.
So I was surprised with her plan to join the Peace Corps more than two years ago. But I was so proud of her and admired her commitment to changing her life 180 degrees. Few people would have taken that chance. I don't think I would have.
Julia always wanted more. A few years ago, when she began to worry she wouldn't find the right guy and she wouldn't be able to have the family she wanted, she asked me if I'd be interested in fathering her child. She said she didn't want me to be just a donor, she wanted me to be a dad and we would raise this child together. She even had a name if it was a boy, Jack. I can't remember why she chose it but I liked it immediately, it was my dad's name.
I couldn't do it, it wasn't the right time, I was still too involved with me. I wonder now what were things would have stood if I had said yes, if I had started an "alternative" family arrangement with Julia. Would she still have joined the Peace Corps or would she be at home in Brooklyn getting Jack ready for pre-school? A foolish question on my part, I know, but still I ask it.
At least Julia got the chance to reinvent herself, to forge her own path, to create her own reality. That's more than many people get to do in a lifetime.
I will miss you Julia. We all will.
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Our good friend Jamie Davis has been known as the "high-class hobo." Well, it seems, Jamie thinks I deserve the same title.
So be it.
I bought a four-day museum pass for 45 euros. Gets you into any one of about 40 museums and monuments in and around Paris. Many of the good ones -- the Louvre, the Picasso, Notre Dame -- but not all of them. You can't go to the top of the Eiffel Tower on the pass.
So, for the next four days, I'll be posting very short items about each of the places I visit. One line of text to go with one photo. Plus, the price I would have paid if I paid each ticket seperately. I'll also give the time I visited and the length of time I stayed.
Day One
10 a.m. Towers of Notre Dame. 45 minutes. 7.50 euros -- The cathedral itself. 20 minutes. Free.
It's either smog or haze but from up here, you can barely see the Eiffel Tower and its probably only a couple of miles away.
11:30 a.m. Musee d'Orsay. 90 minutes. 7.50 euro.
The art was cool, a mix of a little of everything over the past 200 years; the building was amazing, an old train station that upstages the art at times; and the crowds were annoying, I really don't like student groups.
3 p.m. Pantheon. 45 minutes. 5.50 euros.
Big imposing building rising from the left bank that's used as a crypt for really, really important people -- lots of room left in the tombs below -- also where Leon Foucault constructed his pendulum to show the earth rotated.
Total time spent in cultural places: 3 hours, 20 minutes.
Amount I would have spent if I bought each ticket individually: 20.50 euros.
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I've posted a big selection of Paris photos on the Sights & Sounds page of RedHeadedArmy. I'm in the process of organizing them and giving them names but there they are.
And here's one new pic from yesterday, taken at le cafe-theatre de la magie, which is on the other side of Place du Marche Sainte Catherine from where I had lunch the other day.
Look closely at the image of the puzzles. A bit of magic!
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I'm back on my feet. I made it out of the apartment today without trouble, although the 5 euro cup of tea I ordered at a recommended bistro nearly put me back in my sick bed.
This will be short as I'm off to a magic show. I wanted to share one photo I took today. If Paris is the city of love, this is the photo of the city.
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Nothing like being sick in a foreign land. No English-language TV for solace, no stockpile of DVDs to pass the time, no tried-and-true deli with amazing chicken noodle soup close by.
I'm finally getting over one of the worst head colds I've ever had. My sinuses were so inflamed, I thought my head was going to explode. My appetite began to return to today and I made it outside to hunt for soup. I'm in the middle of the old Jewish sector of the city and thought it should be easy to find. Nope. No matzoh ball soup (already made) to be had. I settled for roasted chicken breasts and pound cake.
And to pass the time, I spent a lot of time on You Tube, watching assorted clips of favorite shows, musicals and comedy specials. One show I revisted was "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." Good times.
I came across one blogger's 10-best list ... it has clips to watch and enjoy. http://www.afterellen.com/blog/malinda/my-top-10-buffy-episodes
Ok ... with luck, I'll be able to get out and do something tomorrow.
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