Marching to the Beat of Your Own Drum

Photo by myself in Union Square.

These photogenic fellows were busy looking cool on a sunny day.

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I love collecting stories about creative people who find their way away from convention to their life path. I find their tales inspiring.

Today I listened a segment of Fresh Air on NPR. Demetri Martin was the guest, a young comedian who has his own show on Comedy Central and was a correspondent on the politically provocative Daily Show with Jon Stewart.

After graduating from Yale, Martin had a full scholarship to New York University's law school. After a very short time he wanted to quit. He eventually did, only to perform his first stand up routine at the comedy club down the street from the law school.

Martin's family protested his departure from school. Here's what he had to say:

'It’s weird to make a decision where everyone in your life disapproves, pretty vocally and directly. They said, 'You've got one year left. Just do it.' I had a full scholarship so I didn’t have to pay for it. I ignored them. They asked, 'Why don’t you just get the degree so you can have it?' And I said, 'You don’t understand. I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do and now I know. I have the answer and it’s dumb to waste any more time.'

My boyfriend Mark and I watched part of his show tonight and thought much of it was funny and original. It's hard to believe that at one point, this quirky fellow was wondering what he wanted to do.

To hear the Martin's interview on Fresh Air, click here.

Related posts: On A Public Mugging, or a Gimmick Gone Wrong, Old Hands, New Beginnings and The Curse of the First Born.

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The Meal O'bama Cart, Midtown

Photo by myself in Midtown, around 37th Street and 8th Avenue.

You can get chicken schwarma and falafel from the 'Meal O'bama', a sidewalk food vendor in Midtown.

Incidentally, here's an article in the Times describing how many businesses have renamed themselves to include the President's surname.

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Yesterday, I took some photos of the big fountain near Columbus Circle. It was a nice, sunny day, and I'd been in the area for a site visit.

Then in my delirium, I went to the subway station and promptly boarded the wrong train. I wound up on 8th Avenue, near Penn Station. Walking several blocks to the office, I spotted the Meal Obama cart and took the photograph above.

The photos of the fountain turned out nice, but...eh. How many times has that fountain been photographed? It's a recognizable icon in the middle of a very touristy area.

Next question - how many times has the Meal O'bama been photographed? Why do I consider the Meal O'bama much more interesting than an over-publicized fountain?

There is a message in there somewhere, about what you plan on doing and what just happens, and about doing what convention tells you versus what sparks your interest at a particular moment in time.

And to complete the story, how poetic is it, that Meal O'bama is parked next to a Hallmark store?

Here's a night view of the fountain that I took on another occasion.

Related posts: A La Carte, On the Menu and Come and Get It.

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On 8 Million Stories and St. Mark's Place

Photo by myself on St. Mark's Place, a very popular hang-out for the kids in the East Village.

This street has become more sanitized and gentrified, believe it or not. The neighborhood is active at all hours. At bars and music venues nearby, you can catch emerging bands for a modest cover charge.

Though you can still get piercings, t-shirts and tattoos, the vibe here has become more Hello Kitty recently.

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Last night I happened upon an inspiring source of images from New York, in the Times, no less. The paper has taken advantage of their online format, in that they're no longer limited to a certain number of printed pages.

The series 1-in-8 million shows interviews and photo-essays of regular New Yorkers. It's a fascinating, striking view into the lives of all sorts of people.

The black and white photos are superb, as are the stories of these New Yorkers, told in their own voices. Meet a precocious high school cheerleader who studies several languages, or a gentleman who works with mens suiting at Saks Fifth Avenue. There's a 90-year old woman who makes mozzarella cheese in Williamsburg and a man who's owned a drugstore on the Lower East Side for 40 years.

Each person is so remarkable and beautifully presented, I wish I could meet them in person.

An interview with a new New Yorker is added each week. I'm completely hooked.

Related posts: Buying in Bulk, Tis the Season and Shopping on St. Mark's Place.

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The Trains are Hopping

Photo by myself in the subway, in Brooklyn.

Tonight, the fellow in the doorway and the blurry guy inside the car were two street performers on my subway ride home. I wish I'd been able to take a photo of them in full action, but the ride was stop and go.

Dancers bring along their own boom box. They often do back flips, handstands, push-ups and splits in the middle of the cars. For some reason, I rarely see kids dancing in the subway stations these days, but I've run into many of them performing in the cars, where there is often just a sliver of space between the aisles.

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Little things make each day interesting.

Tonight, it was the dancers on the subway. Yesterday, it was the police car pulled up at the house next door for the fourth day in a row. (Mark and I suspect domestic problems).

It's easy to feel that life is routine, when you overlook the subtle details. I wonder what little thing will make tomorrow special?

Related posts: On If You're Happy, Clap Your Hands

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Here's to the Human Condition

Photo by myself, on the Upper West Side, at Broadway and 78th Street.

The Apthorp comprises a whole city block. A courtyard in the middle provides space for cars to turn around on the ground floor, and allows in air into apartments far from the building exterior.

While I was taking this photo a passing pedestrian asked me what I what kind of building this was. He probably thought I was taking a photo of an embassy.

Ah no, it's just a lowly apartment building.

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Today I was finally able to listen to the complete NPR podcast about Buddhism from the other day. That was followed by a podcast about a man talking about the lobotomy that was performed on him when he was 12 years old.

Listening to both these interviews, one concerning the Dalai Lama's philosophy and the other concerning one man's childhood experience, was illuminating. It helped me take my life in perspective.

We all have our situations, our shortcomings, challenges and fears. We have our strengths and the issues we're trying to overcome.

It's really just the human condition. The key is to remember that no one has it easy, even though it may seem that way from the outside.

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Old Hands, New Beginnings

Photo by 1115 on Flickr.
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I have a favorite anecdote I tell people when they’re despairing.

Long ago, I’d read an article in Art News about an accomplished woman painter. By chance, she sat in as a substitute teacher for a friend hers who taught a pottery class. After that one class, she was hooked. She changed media at the advanced age of 70. She became a sculptor and is now known for making large scale urns that are often placed in the landscape. Moral of the story: it’s never too late.

I’ve tried to find out more about her, but I’ve long since thrown away that magazine. Internet research has resulted in nothing. The world of large scale clay urns in the landscape is bigger than you’d think. But it doesn’t matter who she is. She can exist as an idea, and that is enough.

She’s the idea that your future is separate from your age and that we live in a world of unlimited possibilities. She’s the idea that our worlds can shift at any time, as long as we’re open and willing. She's the idea that it takes guts to really live. And she’s the idea that we can change, due to a chance event, our own wills, or a little bit of both.

The story of the woman potter is compelling because her discovery occurs at the age of 70, and for most, that's a long way away. This is proof of the ironic truth that it's the space of not knowing the future gives us hope. It’s when you think you know everything, when you think that life is already mapped out and inescapable, that things become really dismal.

Related posts: Ms. Annie Proulx.

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Ms. Annie Proulx

I was messing around on the internet this afternoon and discovered that Annie Proulx, the woman who wrote both ‘The Shipping News’ and ‘Brokeback Mountain’, did not start writing fiction until the age of 50. That's five-zero. She won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction for the former, and I remember reading the latter when it was first published in The New Yorker, as a short story in 1997.

It's pretty amazing that I can vividly recall that reading experience almost 10 years ago, when I can't remember the names of countries or the presidents of those countries or people I've met the day before. But that’s what reading a short story can be at times, a distinct experience with its own memory. And that's a fact both humbling and hopeful to a struggling writer of short stories.

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