Back From The Dormant: A Mission and A Music Venue

Helloooo out there!!!!!!!!!

It has been waaaay to long since I've written. You know when people used to go on vacation, their mothers would say "Don't forget to write!" Well even though this is 2013 and no one forgets to write because we live on our iPhones, it appears I have forgotten to write you for many many months. I hope this letter finds you well.

The truth is, back when I started this blog I was trying to just keep up writing and exercise that muscle of writing for an audience. Well, my practice (and revival of connections with my former editors) paid off. For those who don't know, I officially freelance for Backstage magazine—a publication about theater and film for industry professionals (actors, directors etc.). I write theater news regularly enough to have a two-page list on Backstage.com when you search my name. But enough about me.

Two very important business items (and the fact that I missed you) bring me back to The A Train. I also want to get back to focusing on living an A+ life in this city—since I think that central motivation went dormant with this blog. Alas, a Fall Awakening. 

An important date is approaching. On October 1, Congress is set to decide upon the federal budget. This past summer, the House appropriations subcommittee put forth a bill that would cut the funding for the National Endowment of the Arts nearly in half (49%, but who's counting?). While investigating budgets, and House representatives, and arts organizations across the country for the article I wrote about this potential catastrophe, I came upon an important story that did not fit into my 500-word count. 

The Cleveland Public Theater is an organization I found in my research that would be direly affected by budget cuts. Aside from producing shows regionally, this theater partnered to create the Gordon Square Arts District in Cleveland—an area that once had a lone bar that you would not want to blink at that is now a thriving haven of restaurants, bars and overall hipness. Aside from the District, CPT sponsors a program called the Y-Haven Theatre Project to help rehabilitate some of Cleveland's homeless through theater arts and performance. Executive Artistic Director Raymond Bobgan proves through his work with CPT that the arts cross all sorts of boundaries to improve our society.

You have from now until October 1 to call, write, Tweet, shout from your building rooftop to your local representative to tell them what you think about such a cut in NEA funding. I hope you'll say that it's unacceptable for these reasons:

1) For those of you who are not "arts people,"I first urge you to reconsider if you ever enjoyed a concert, a movie, a show. If you have never enjoyed any of these things (well I wonder if you have a soul) but seriously, just know this: nationwide the arts generates over $130 billion in annual economic activity, supports over 4 million jobs and returns over $9 billion in tax revenue. So even though you may think the arts are sucking us dry, the numbers say otherwise.

2) It is my personal belief that it is the arts that make us human. I am a child of the arts. I would not be who I am if music had never enriched my soul; if dance had never stretched my imagination; if theater had never made me burst into laughter or made my heart ache in places I didn't know it could; if rehearsal had never taught me the discipline to improve myself every single day; if my director hadn't pushed me to raise my expectations for myself every single night; if I had not been taught to connect to an audience. The arts made me who I am. The arts make us better. 

But if you cannot support the arts politically, at least go out and experience them! If you're in New York, I just checked out a new spot for you. Marc and Steven Kaplan, West

Hartford transplants and (full disclosure) close friends of mine, officially opened their music venue Monday night. 

SubCulture aims to bring the highest caliber of craftsmanship to its stage, spanning the gamut of musical genres. It's not a jazz club. It's not a blues lounge. It's not a cabaret. It is a home for music of the utmost quality. That is its only requirement to fit in.

Monday night I heard from jazz pianist Gregg Kallor, acclaimed singer Jo Lawry, Grammy-nominated pianist Fred Hersch, internationally renowned choral quartet New York Polyphony, and string quartet Ensemble ACJW. But by far, my favorite performances were from emerging artist Laila Biali and her accompanying jazz trio (shout out to Hall High alum Joel Frahm), and Richard Bona. Holy crap. If you have the chance to see Richard Bona perform, RUN TO HIM. Bona combines the best of funk, jazz, and African soul in his band's music, smacking you in the face with its unbelievable ability to make you groove. Think of a Cameroonian Stevie Wonder type. Just click on his page on listen. I dare you not to bob your head and dig into that beat...at your desk. I. Dare. You.

While the forward-facing concert-esque seating may strike as a bit uptight, it's only because the brothers Kaplan mean to remind you oh so subtly: You are here for the music. SubCulture's bronzed basement setting and prime location on Bleecker and Lafayette put you at the center of trendy, but if the talent they host is like the billing on opening night, these artists will be here for the ages. Choose your concerts wisely and venture into the arts underground.

Question. Answer. Malcolm Gladwell and the simple truths of storytelling

Malcolm Gladwell. Best-selling author of simple truths. In his writing, he breaks down truths that should be "self-evident" and renders them into fascinating prose. I read his second book, Blink, over a year ago. I liked it a lot. Found it interesting. Blink examined the way humans make decisions, how you can manipulate the decision of others (which is basically the business of advertising and marketing), and how some decisions are split-second and others are more of an analysis. But in terms of interesting, Malcolm Gladwell himself far outdoes anything I read in his book. 

A little over a month ago, I went to see a moderated discussion with Malcolm Gladwell as part of JCC Conversations (I told you their programming was amazing). Abigail Pogrebin, former producer for the likes of Charlie Rose, Bill Moyer, and Mike Wallace, and (now) acclaimed author herself was our guide for the evening. As it turned out, Malcolm needed little guidance to captivate his audience, but brava to Abigail for allowing her subject to tell his own story rather than forcing him in a direction she had planned on. 

Sitting in the spotlight, Malcolm's wiry figure exuded this zany energy—which seemed to split like electricity through the hairs in his afro. A literary Einstein of a man sat before me. The first thing that Gladwell said in response to how he finds such interesting people and trends to write about: "Most people are interesting." He asserts that the observer has the opportunity to find that 'interesting' piece of a person. He continued that most of us are wrong about what is interesting about ourselves. 

For example, I might think it's interesting that I have a blog. But that's not really interesting. Everyone has a blog now. What's interesting is that ever since the first grade my teachers were constantly telling me that I wrote too much and needed to follow the guidelines of length for my homework. My response back then was, but I have so much to say. SO, what's interesting is that even from the age of five I have had more thoughts than I know what to do with. (Of course, I could also be wrong about that being interesting based on Gladwell's statement that we don't know what is interesting about ourselves...but you get my point.)

Part of the reason Gladwell has been so successful in his writing, is that he has been able to uncover these seemingly obvious examples of interesting people and interesting trends, AND he has organized them in a way that puts random pieces together into a contiguous puzzle. 

For example, Gladwell spoke a lot about his upcoming book David and Goliath. Now in ancient times there were three divisions of the armed forces: the cavalry (with spears on either horseback or chariot), the slingers (like David who used slingshots and other stone-driven weapons), and the footmen (like Goliath who were basically the gruntmen or combat soldiers). Gladwell explained that this was a game of rock, paper scissors. Footmen always beat cavalry. Cavalry always beats slingers. Slingers always beat footmen. You do the math. David was always going to beat Goliath. It didn't matter that Goliath was bigger. David was a slinger, throwing a stone with incredible accuracy at 60 miles per hour. Goliath was a dead man and he knew it. 

So: Why are pretending that [this story] it's some miraculous victory?! Gladwell asks. "The whole mythology of that story is backwards. It suggests that there is something fundamentally amiss with how we think about advantage and disadvantage." Such was inspiration about Gladwell's latest study about perceived advantages (like wealth or Ivy League education) and perceived disadvantages (like a troubled childhood) in our society. 

It took a man who thinks like Gladwell to call into question a legend that has been passed down for 3,000 years and then to discover real-life examples to prove his point. 

I didn't read Gladwell's most famous book The Tipping Point until after that night. I find it fascinating how he seems to explain our own culture, our own behavior to us. In The Tipping Point, Gladwell explains word-of-mouth and practically maps a plan of how to make a trend or a product the next epidemic. I can only assume that he also used the principles of The Tipping Point to become as famous as he has. 

To listen to Gladwell tell a story, is to hear how he thinks. He spends a lot of time on details that cause him to sound like he is rambling on and following tangents. But it is precisely this attention to detail and his lack of fear of losing his audience to tangents that make him so brilliant. 

For instance, Pogrebin asked him about his mother's influence on him. Gladwell launched into a fifteen minute diatribe about his parents' marriage and how is mother was black and his father was white and his father asked for access to a library at a university in the US while he was working in the islands. The university was all up in arms because they didn't know if Gladwell's father was black or white and they couldn't reach him while he was in the Caribbean and oh-my-goodness what if he showed up and was black and they couldn't just let a black man into the library! Now that story is arguably unrelated to Pogrebin's original question, but how interesting!

Gladwell is not afraid to follow his own mind. During the Q&A portion of the evening, I asked Gladwell how he chooses the topics that he case studies, and once he selects his topic how he finds the real-life example to demonstrate his point. Gladwell's answer? Basically that he pays attention to the things the mainstream find unimportant. While watching a biography of someone famous on PBS, he pays attention to the quick mention of a side character. While reading a book, he reads the footnotes. Gladwell emphasized that he finds the facts and people that don't fit into a story more interesting than the plotline. 

You bet your bottom dollar that I've begun reading every footnote and considering each side-mention I come across. I'm trying more and more to act on my questions—to follow my question through to the answer. I want to follow my mind.

My Weeknight with Jason

Phew...that was some hiatus. After over a year of blogging, I needed to recharge my batteries. Re-evaluate The A Train's purpose.

To be honest, I'm not sure I've come to a definitive conclusion. But, I have done some things and met some characters in the past few weeks who merit a post. So let's start with them.

First of all, it should be noted that the JCC Manhattan (76th and Amsterdam) has some of the best programming I've ever encountered. Seriously, I don't even know how the get these high profile people to speak and—once they get names that people will come clambering for—manage to provide an engaging and intimate environment. Check out their offerings. In the words of Seth Rudetsky, BRAVA!

This past Monday, I attended "A Deeper Look at The Last Five Years" a conversation with composer/lyricist Jason Robert Brown. Jason Robert Brown is the musical mastermind behind such show as Songs for a New World, Broadway's 13, and Parade—for which he won a Tony. Jason Robert Brown (of the three part name trend) approached the stage with the air of a philharmonic conductor. His jet black hair flounced in the AC and I thought his serious, stiff, nerdy handshake might send our moderator flying on impact from the jerked movement. I adored it. So nerdy. So official. So esteemed.

Personally, there is nothing I find more interesting than listening to an artist explain their process, how things came to be. The backstage look. No doubt my experience from Monday will imbue The Last Five Years with even more meaning once I see it—just as hearing Malcolm Gladwell speak enhanced my reading of The Tipping Point (to be discussed next time).

This spring, Second Stage brings back Brown's stunning (and Drama-Desk-winning) The Last Five Years under his direction. A musical of just two onstage characters, Jamie and Cathy, the piece tells the story of a relationship, including its inception and demise. Jamie tells the story forward; Cathy tells it backwards; they converge only once: at their wedding. That's the two-second version.

It's a brilliant concept to say the least, one that Brown says "just hit me all at once." Lincoln Center had commissioned him to do a new work. He had no idea for this work. As he was walking from home to Lincoln Center to present his idea for said work it came to him. Now, rather than saying "Oh, it couldn't possibly have just hit him! That doesn't just happen," I argue that this is the difference between creative genius and ordinary people. After all, genius quite literally means "an exceptional natural capacity for intellect."

He had the idea that a love story could be, and should be, told both forwards and backwards. This is not the way the structure evolved. This is the way it was born. Of course, he also admits that "the idea of playing with time...Merrily [We Roll Along] and Arcadia...as a dramatic and emotional way of storytelling" seemed truthful and powerful and appealing. But really, the story—in his words—is about "Two people who cannot figure out how to be in the same place at the same time." In that case, how could he have ever thought to structure it any other way?

It is because these ideas synthesize so naturally to Brown (I'm sorry can we call him Jason? He was just so cordial and Jewishly familiar the other day).... It is because these ideas come so naturally to Jason that he is a genius. It's not odd for him. Concepts, musical phrases, sounds they just come to him. That's why he writes and wins awards.

BUT arguably, and more importantly, this is why he reaches his audiences in such a way that probe our core. If you are a Jason Robert Brown fan, you are a fan of raw storytelling. You are a fan of deep beauty in music. Not only do concepts come to him intuitively, he has a gift when it comes to human emotion. It's that affinity for truth and relatability that bears a JRB fan.

Monday night was not just a conversation, it was also a behind-the-scenes concert. (Yay!) Jason performed interludes of his own music throughout the evening. No song of his more aptly demonstrates his ability to tap into penetrating, speech-stealing, graphic emotion than in his song "If I Didn't Believe In You" from Last Five Years. 

If you listened to that linked video (which for your soul-enrichment's sake I pray you did), you know that the melody is stunning and expressive. But what always impresses me about Jason's songs are his lyrics. They bullseye a truth that—to the rest of us—seems inexplicable. I mean, in this song there is a man breaking to prove to his wife that of course he loves her, and believes in her, and chooses her. Just because he won't compromise his own success to prove it, doesn't mean it isn't true:

If I didn't believe in you
Then here's where the travel log ends
If I didn't believe in you
I couldn't have stood before all of our friends

And said "This is the life I choose
This is the thing I can't bear to lose
Trip us, or tap us but we refuse to fall"
That's what I thought we'd agreed on

Cathy, If I hadn't believed in you...
I wouldn't have loved you...at all.

Have you ever heard more unerring lyrics in terms of human truth? I'm not married, but I know many married people. My feeling from them is that at that moment, the moment they were married, they stood before everyone and made this be all end all choice. Jason captures that in words.

He talked a bit about his lyrics because an audience member commented that they breathe authenticity, to which Jason answered, "If it doesn't feel real, I can't do it." Matter-of-factly, as a singer he knows when something comes out of his mouth is bullshit. He doesn't believe in bullshit.

Not in writing. Also not in performing. As is well-known in the theatrical community, Jason's songs are notoriously difficult to sing. A role of his is insane to perform because, well, you have to be able to sing and act multiple magnum opuses eight times a week. Jason emphasized that there is a very small group of people, Olympians he called them, who can handle that. When asked if the actors eventually cast in his shows resent the difficulty, Jason shrugged "The really good ones don't resent me and the bad ones shouldn't do it."Brutal truth. Amen.

Jason's not afraid to speak his mind. Some would describe him as arrogant. I would describe him as blunt with a touch of (earned) ego. Just as in his lyrics, he doesn't believe in bullshit.

Jesse Green, our moderator, began to prompt JRB, "So I know that [your character] Jamie is a very prodigal young man and your career also took off early, but many have asked before if it's autobiographical and you've said no—." "Oh that's horseshit. Of course, it's autobiographical. It's about me and, well, my ex-wife." Yes! Let's NOT beat around the bush. All you folks who may become famous out there. Don't get cute. Call a spade a spade. Take a page out of Jason's book. Let the people who want to know the behind-the-scenes GO behind the scenes! Trust me, we will love you for it.

In between these moments of admission, discussions of his career, pieces of his personal struggles, and his writing choices, he sang, self-accompanied. JRB can sing—he's no Norbert Leo Butz—but he can sing. But, I was in awe watching him play. He commands the piano. He has tamed it, but knows exactly how to pull out the big guns. He is masterful and it was an honor to hear him play.

As to whether he'll write something for Broadway, he prefers a smaller scale. "I couldn't put up a show [on Broadway] unless it was very broad, and my shows are very specific. It's hard to produce narrow," he said. Well thank G-d this country is not one big Broad Way or we might never hear from him again.

A few days later, I tuck away his comments, his answers, his process, his questions, his knowledge to use in my own creative process.

I cannot even describe how excited I am to finally see a live production (and what should be a good one at that) of The Last Five Years and not just rely on YouTube anymore. But moreso, I am grateful to have had the opportunity to listen to Jason, to hear his thought process, to feel like I was sitting in a coffee shop talking to an old friend. Break a leg, old friend.

Place Your BID For a Night On The Town

Happy Anniversary to me. Today is the date that marks the first birthday of The A Train! 

In honor of this occasion, I feel I must return to the roots of this blog. When I first started out, I wasn't sure what this writing space would turn into and I've definitely been feeling it out week to week. But one of my original intentions was to share my New York experiences (the best things to see and do) with all of you. As you know, I keep my schedule tight here in the Big Apple. 

This past week, I managed to squeeze in some new finds!

In celebration of last week's short 2.5 work days, I felt it only appropriate to treat every night like I didn't have to show up at the office the next day. Monday night I trained down to Christopher Street to see my friend Liam Forde's show We're Having a Dinner Party at The Duplex. A bar that looks more like a giant Dollar Store with light-up letters spelling D-U-P-L-E-X in its six arched windows, I ventured inside this Village haunt after walking by it approximately 63 times. (I made that number up.)

The Duplex has a cozy little cabaret theater on the upper floor, just around the corner from the televisions blasting Ru Paul's Drag Race All Stars. It's one large in-your-face dose of theatrical love.

The theater seats about 70. The audience scrunched around those tiny wheel-like dinner theater tables, rubbing knees with strangers, just like in all of those episodes of Seinfeld and Sex and the City. Anywho, Liam and I grew up in West Hartford doing shows together and he has always been an incredible talent. I hadn't yet been able to make it to one of his shows. "No time like the present," I thought and marched in by myself to a front row nook.

Liam and his co-host of Dinner Party, Babs Rubenstein, brought down the house. Seriously, there is a reason this girl is headed off on the first national tour of Priscilla Queen of the Desert. Diva. (In a good way.) Not only did Liam sing, he accompanied Babs...and played while he sang...and arranged all the music in the show...and composed three of the original songs. I feel so unproductive. 

As much as I love theater on the Great White Way, I beg of you to go to a small little 'nothing' show of no-name emerging artists, in the tight cabaret space of a dingy cheesy bar. That ten dollar cover will buy you a night of sheer enjoyment and quality entertainment.

On the flip side, you can do what I did last night and listen to slightly established groups play their music for free as part of a festival. I went to Winter's Eve at Lincoln Square—a night of free jazz, food tastings and holiday glee. My friend Adam and I listened to the Hot Sardines play some New Orleans jazz, until it got too cold to stand still outside in November. 

Luckily, Adam had heard about the event in advance so we actually planned to go (unlike many of the neighborhood passersby who just stopped in for a few minutes).
But these sorts of events happen all the time in neighborhoods like yours! The easiest way to find out about them is to go to your hood's BID website (Business Improvement District). BIDs are the organizations that actively work to bring people traffic to specific  city communities in order to boost the economy of local businesses. One of the most famous is the Times Square Alliance. 

Check out the BID website where you live. You never know what might be going on. Or, if you live in the most uncool place and nothing is going on there, pick some of your favorite areas and visit their BID's site for a calendar of events. There is so much going on, there's no need to miss out—even if you do have to work 5 days this week.

The Cleanse

It's holiday time again, everyone! I am so stoked, I'm not even going to hide the fact that I already listened to some Glee Christmas Radio on Pandora last week.

One thing the holidays are good for aside from the obvious cheer and merriment: treats & eating. BUT, too much of a good thing is never a good thing.

For the past ten days, I've actually been on a cleanse. It started out just as a nutritional cleanse, using the Isagenix system, and has actually become a life cleanse (if that's even an expression).

Now before you all think that I've been fasting for ten days, or only drinking juices I've made from pounding fresh fruit to a pulp, or drinking molasses or something, calm down. I did a lot of research before taking the plunge and I chose a system that focuses on healthy eating and bulking up nutrition. In fact, my eating schedule has been so intense that I'm not sure I've consumed so often in a single day before this. Just check out my eating schedule here.

I decided to do this not so that I could lose weight (although I did lose a few extra pounds slash inches that did not need to reside on my mid-section), but rather for my digestive and overall health. Lately, I've been feeling lethargic and my mind has been bogged down—basically, I've been in a funk. Having completed ten days of my eleven day adventure, I can honestly say that I feel energized, lighter and healthier. In fact, if you're looking for something like this feel free to talk to me about it.

Yet, Thanksgiving is just two days away and there is no denying that I am gearing up for some delicious annual goodies. While I am for sure going to squeeze my way into the buffet line at dinner and grab a hunk of meat and a side of pie, I know that I feel better when I have a little bit of a good thing, rather than stuffing myself like a suitcase I'm taking on a three-month vacation.

I've written once before about taking care of your body, but holiday time is a precarious balance of allowing yourself to indulge without overdoing it. Eat sweets, but pay attention. You don't have to tie your hands to a chair in self-restraint, just watch your own choices. Thanksgiving is actually a great time to revamp habits—not just the eating kind.

Equally as important as treating your body nicely at this time of year: disencumbering your mind. Just get rid of all the mental baggage. For me, that meant unloading years of emotions that I had thought of, analyzed, processed, but had not said out loud to the person I needed to have hear them.

Say that things you have not yet said this year. If someone has hurt you, tell them. Don't lecture them or berate them, just confess it. If someone has helped you, tell them. Thank them for the support they have given you.

Ridding yourself of the emotions that pile up and feel like physical weight will make room for your thoughts. It will free up the energy you usually spend dwelling.

Speaking of revamping habits, I am actively revising the way I socialize in New York. Many of you know that I consider myself a Manhattanite through and through. I love this borough and I'm not sure that I could live in any of the other four. However, I've been here for (going on) seven years. Life is starting to feel routine and I want to jazz things up.

Just over a year ago, I had been living in Chelsea. Although I love that neighborhood and still use any excuse to go there, I felt isolated. I had no sense of community down there, no go-to group of friends. Every Thursday I scrambled from Friday night Shabbat dinner plans. Every Saturday afternoon, I had to work hard to invent a plan for that night.

Now, on the Upper West Side, I feel a sense of belonging. I have friends in my building and friends two blocks away, three blocks away, five blocks away. Basically, I live in a circumference of friends. There is almost always an invitation for a Friday night dinner and I have my girls who I can call regularly to ask, "What are we doing tonight?" This year, I am thankful for that. As amazing as it is to be able to depend on this, trust me I do NOT take this for granted, I do feel like I see the same people at the same type of parties week after week.

So in the interest of changing it up, I visited one of my closest friends down in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn over the weekend. My Brooklyn-dwelling friends seem to faint when I make it across the bridge.

The truth is, I have no problem going in to Brooklyn if a) I have a destination and b) if it's not going to cause me to get home ridiculously late on a school night. But, knowing that it's far, my Brooklynite friends often volunteer to meet in the middle of our two places, namely downtown Manhattan.

Well this weekend, I had time and ambition to venture out. I'm not averse to the subway system. So I offered to come to Brooklyn, and I ate the most delicious meal at Milk Bar. The Citrus Salad with grapefruit, onion and feta was tangy and refreshing and my bowl of homemade granola, Greek yogurt and poached pears dripped with flavor. Totally worth the extra travel time. But most importantly, it was a departure from my usual hangouts. Variety is the spice of life and I'm looking to turn up the heat.

After all, I started this blog as a way to help all of you experience the A+ things in life and of what this city has to offer. Milk Bar goes on that list this week.

This Thanksgiving marks the continuation of cleansing for me: cleansing my body, cleansing my brain, and cleansing my life of humdrum routine. 

So this holiday season, watch yourself and make choices that lead you down the A+ path.

Ar-GO: Where we are and where we go

Thinking back on this past week, it’s been tough to think about how to follow up last week’s post.

Do I rave about the unbelievable concert fundraiser at Lincoln Center I attended to hear a close friend perform? Do I tell you how I had an awesome time at my first trip to the Garden? (Yay tennis!) Do I confess that on Saturday I took a breather from racing from activity to activity and laid in my sweats watching movies for eight hours...and I’m proud of it?

While I could easily go on about how I now have Patrick Rafter and Pete Sampras’ signatures resting on my bookshelf, I’ll refrain.

Because Sunday night, I went to see Argo. Going to the movies—groundbreaking, I know. I had been excited to see the film since Ben’s bearded, stoic face hit previews everywhere. When he puts his name on something, I take it seriously. So, it was no surprise when everyone I knew was raving about the box office hit.

The movie itself is an incredible piece of drama, a showcase of subtly brilliant acting (thank you Ben Affleck, Bryan Cranston, Victor Garber, Alan Arkin, John Goodman, Scoot McNairy). But more importantly, it unearthed a story that desperately needs to be told.

Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel like people think our problems with Iran are new. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think the American population at large knows about the hostage situation of 1980 the way that every American should know. Or maybe I just don’t think people my age know about this cataclysmic event the way we should. 

I was never taught it in school. I was taught about the Soviets, World War II, Korea, Vietnam. Until this year when I read Lesley Stahl’s autobiography, Reporting Live, I had no clue that hundreds of American ambassadors had been held hostage for over a year in the Middle East. 

This is a MAJOR historical event and I had no idea prior to April of this year. If you knew prior to Argo, kudos to you. 

There are times when Hollywood leverages its mass appeal and reach in order to send a poignant message. In this case, GK Films educated the movie-going world about an international crisis that had been forgotten about (if it was ever remembered in the first place).

The scenes of Iranians bubbling with heated passion, rioting and protesting in the streets, the dangling bodies, the civilians clutching machine guns, caused terror to rise up within me. These Iranians hated Americans for being American. The pure loathing struck a fear that I felt in the pit of my stomach. What did we ever do? I really want to know. Why does that outspoken majority of that country hate us so much? Is it because they consider us immodest? Is it because of our diversity and (inadequate) attempt to create tolerance for this diversity?

I don't know the answer. But what’s more frightening than the question about our past is that not so much has changed in thirty years. There is more uncertainty and unrest than ever in the Middle East as the wave of the Arab Spring floods the region. There is still hate in the hearts of many. There is chanting. There is rioting.

At the end of the movie, I sat there crying in my seat. 

[SPOILER ALERT] 

It’s not a sad ending, by the way. I was crying because I was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the ordeal that so many endured. Overwhelmed by the hate and the violence. Overwhelmed by the depth of anger so many Iranians felt and continue to feel. Overwhelmed by the fact that I grew up not knowing this story. Overwhelmed wondering how many more people do not know?

I knew that the hostages made it out. I knew because I knew the history. Or, as my friend put it, “You know they make it out because no one would make a movie about an impossible operation that did, in fact, fail.” More important than whether the hostages made it out alive or not, or whether CIA Agent Tony Mendez’s crazy idea actually worked, is the history. 

We forget our history. Consequentially, it repeats itself. 

We must pay closer attention. We cannot let ourselves off the hook. 

In the wake of the election, my grandfather asked if I was happy with the result. I told him, I’m happy with the dialogue the election created. I’m happy with how tuned in and aware the country seemed to be. 

I explained, “Just like people used to ask me if I was in favor of a Hitler-like dictator, Ahmadinejad, coming to speak on my campus during my undergrad, my response was: I do not support him in the slightest, but his presence created a dialogue. Before he was invited to come, I had no clue what was going on in Iran. Suddenly, I knew.”

Now that the election is over, we cannot just go back to existing as sleeper-citizens with regard to politics, or current events, or the past that has led us to where we are and where we go.

We must stay tuned in. We must pay attention to the world. 

While the sold-out crowd spilled out of the theater, I lingered in my seat. I felt like I couldn't leave the story behind and just walk out and go home and do laundry or something. I wanted to do something. I don't know what.

Perhaps uncovering more buried history is a good start.

New York Moment: The Aftermath

Think about your house...your apartment...your car.

Now think about every little thing that could possibly be inside. The cushiony couches (the things between those couch cushions). Your new giant-screen TV that you saved up for. Your laptop and the external harddrive you back up on for times like these. Your bills. Your bank records. Your passport. The photos sitting in boxes on the floor that you meant to put in albums. The button-down you wore to work yesterday. The dress that you wore last year. Your favorite pair of leather boots that have gone way past their prime, but you just can't give them up. The slippers worn so flat their memories are more warming than the nonexistent faux fur. Everything you have ever owned or touched.

Now throw it all out. To the curb.

Unsalvageable.

And while you're at it, you're going to have to rip up the flooring of wherever it is you live because salt and natural sewage have soaked it—that smell of fishy lake seeping into the place that used to be your oasis from the outside world. This used to be home, but now it's just a fetid shell. 

Welcome to Oceanside, Long Island, where I volunteered on Sunday with an organization know as JCorps. 

The aftermath of Superstorm Sandy. The only thing you could be more sick of hearing about is the election.

While the polls have closed and the decision is final, the suffering from Sandy lingers and the fate of its victims remains uncertain. 

The first broadcast showing houses smoldering knocked the wind out of me. Mother Nature's missiles had rained down on the Rockaways and the ground seethed in defeat. I think everyone watching was in shock.

I live on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. So many people reached out to me in this past week to make sure I am ok, and I thank you all. But truth be told, I may as well have been in Colorado. My neighborhood survived virtually untouched as I watched the footage of damage in Hoboken, Tribeca, and Breezy Point. Extremely lucky.

You've all seen the pictures. And if you haven't, it's only because you're still in a power outage (because I refuse to believe that anyone with power and access to the outside world hasn't seen at least one photo).

You know the iconic images of 'our Katrina': The security camera photo of the PATH train in Hoboken; the bird's eye view of uptown Manhattan with power and downtown in blackness; the charred remains of Queens; the crushed neighborhoods of Staten Island.

But what you don't see are communities like Oceanside. Because the situation in Oceanside is not even one of the worst; and when you think of all that is going on there, and how it doesn't come close to these other apocalyptic visuals, you wonder how many other people fall outside of the ranks of "most devastated" yet still feel like their world is ending?

At the start of my volunteer day, I walked from house to house on Byrd Street asking residents what they needed needed. Supplies? Help emptying their teetering houses?

That's how I met Frannie*. She perched on her neighbor's front step, staring at her life now heaped on the front lawn. She sat frozen in her pilling sweater and stained Uggs and cried. Her husband is a diabetic. He only has a few days left of his medications. She lost her only son to cancer in January and now this storm smacked her down as water drowned his childhood bedroom. Not only does she have little left of her life, she has little left of his. Frannie needed someone to listen. She needed to know someone cared.

Since it was Sunday and the storm had exited stage left by Tuesday night, most residents already cleared out their houses. They had taken down decaying basement walls, disposed of their children's art projects. Standing on their porches, exhausted and grimy, they looked around glassy-eyed. No power. No heat. FEMA not coming fast enough. Their hands dangled at their sides as if to say Now what?

Now what?

Now we bear witness. We find the nooks and crannies of the east coast that were hit, but have not been helped. We send aid to them. We volunteer our time for them. We gather supplies. We clean out our closets to replace a fraction of what they have lost. If there is anything we can learn from our Noah's Ark, it is that we must be kind to each other.

We also must remember that this is a situation that will not clean up in a few days or a even a few weeks. Our efforts must remain strong over the long haul in order for New Yorkers to earn the label "resilient."

Seeing New York in the shape that it was last week...I was simply sad. I looked around at a city I have loved and admired all of my life—where I have lived for six years—and could not believe the state of ruin. The untouchable center of the universe had been knocked down. I just wanted to cry.

Five days later at the end of my volunteer day, I could not feel anything. I didn't feel like crying or smiling. I wasn't proud or guilty. I was spent. 

Both humbling and devastating, Sandy was a tour de force that readjusted our perspectives as she reminded us all that we are not invincible. I hope we can maintain this adjusted perspective while recuperating from the storm. 

Today I think of the New York Moments during Sandy: The way time stopped when the subways halted; the way uptowners hosted downtowners to keep them warm (and hurricane-partying); the way people gathered to help each other. The damage will take a long time to repair, but if we work to lift each other up we will rebound unlike any other city.

To volunteer:
nycservice.org
JCorps.org
Feel free to add websites and notices for other opportunities in the comments below.