Spider Prophet

The lights were lowered again after the first performer for the night stepped behind stage and the host, Bob, a tall, bleach blonde, full-figured woman walked onto the stage. She explained that the next performer was making her debut that night, and that we should make sure we clap and shout especially loud so that all she could hear would be our encouragement. Not the nervous thoughts, second-guessing and rapid eye movements that one expects from a first time on stage. Especially a first time taking ones clothes off.

A few weeks ago, standing in front of the Virgin Megastore at Union Square, my friend conspiratorially informed me that she had been taking classes at the New York School of Burlesque. Classes would soon be coming to a close, but she would soon be doing a performance. Would I be interested in going? I agreed—excited to get to see what my friend had gone so far as to take courses in. Now, while I had a friend in college who threw around the term around often, and it prompted the thought of carnivals (Carnivale-style) and bordellos, I wasn’t quite sure what Burlesque meant. Was it like a stage performance? Some sort of erotic/exotic dance technique? A bunch of girls walking about in corsets and being provocative? Somewhere in the back of my mind had the notion being both more respectable and less respectable than a stripper. I wasn’t too far off.

Standing in her favorite summer outfit, a bra and panties, Bob explained that Burlesque was made up of three parts: ribald comedy, strip and dance. And that the key difference between a stripper and a burlesque dancer (aside from the money) is that there’s just more to this form of performance art. It’s just as much about the overall piece as it is about the “boobs”. After this brief explanation, Bob asked us to clap as loud as we could, for the Burlesque World Premiere of Victoria Privates!

Hoots and hollers emitted from the crowd as the stage lights came back on, revealing a girl in her 20, with black hair pulled back into a pony tail, wearing a silk robe black heels and long black gloves. And though the Y (and a few X) members of the audience were fixated on the fact that this girl was about to dance and strip for them, I found that what was much more compelling were her eyes.

Yes, I know that it’s a cliché. “You can act it out with your eyes” you hear directors trying to tell young actresses to eventually get them to disrobe. But in this case, you couldn’t do much more while looking on stage but to be pulled in by her gaze. Holding everyone in the room hostage, she started seamlessly into her piece set to “Feeling Good” (Muse cover). And if I learned anything as the robe was throw to the side; it was that gloves are the most essential piece of the Burlesque trade. Next to pasties, seven performances in total that night (three by the same person) and three of them used gloves as one of the articles to be removed. While surgical gloves seem to not be the best so a seductive removal, long black satin is definitely in—as Victoria demonstrated for us all that night.

Revealing not only the amazing black and red outfit she was wearing underneath the robe, but also the body work she had all over, Ms Privates captivated the room every turn and twist of her frame. Leaving little to guess why Bob has gushed over her in the beginning, and knowing that she had not simply, as her teacher, trying to encourage a first time performer, but speaking the truth. And though she crowd roared and applaud as Victoria pulled off her top to reveal black and silver spinning tassels, it was evident that she had the audience from the moment she stepped on stage.

I started writing again recently. Though something perhaps doesn’t require major broadcasting, I’ve been feeling so motivated that I needed to express it. It’s going slowly at the moment, but I suppose that what matters is that it is in motion at all.  But on to more amusing matters.

A Fanboys Moment

Hud went to Midtown Comics this Wednesday for our weekly comic book gathering. Though there are few titles that I read, there are the three or four books that I will make my way to midtown Manhattan to pick up. Having picked up our titles and browsing the shelves for possible future purchases, I mention to Hud:  

“Did you get my text about the BKV signing this week?” We start gabbing about the prospect of going to see a writer that we both have come to respect and whose projects we were holding in our hands at the moment. As we continue talking, we’re interrupted by a man on line to pay who says:  

“I was just walking behind him upstairs!” There is a look of understanding in his eyes, before he turns back and responds to the cashier asking if anyone is paying in cash. Jason and I look at each other, weighing our options. Next, we’re making our way to the back of the store and up the stairs when a short, bald man with a green button down shirt walks past us holding an action figure.

Jason does a 180 on the stairs, looks down at me and the man about to turn and points into the palm of his hand, mouth “That’s him”. “I think he saw me point at him,” Hud notes as we make it up the rest of the stairs. “Why did we just go up the whole way if we already saw him walk down?”  

“So we’d look less conspicuous?” I shrugged. 

We made our way back downstairs and got on line to pay for our books, noticing that BKV was perusing the aisles himself, and had been sideswiped by a fan. We kept our judgment of being one of those types of fans to ourselves as we walked closer to the register. Once we arrived, I noticed a strip of paper advertising BKV’s signing at Midtown Comics-East on Thursday. I proceeded to pass Hud the paper, and once we both paid, marveled at the fact that we’d both missed a huge poster with the BKV’s face on it, announcing the signing. 

“Fuck!” Hud says under his breath. 

“What?”

“I just pointed at the sign and turned and saw him looking at me point at the sign!” 

“Oh…” 

We made our way out of the store and downstairs to the street and laughed the moment we could hear the cars and people. We agreed that we had better leave before he came down the stairs and wondered about the two guys who seem to be following him, but lingered about trying to decide if he would remember us if we chanced a the book signing scheduled for the next day. As I started to complain about being hungry and lifted my arm in a gesture, I looked to my right and locked eyes with BKV as he walked out of the store. I immediately turned back to Hud and explained that we needed to know where to go eat, and BKV walked behind me and into the mass of people on 40th & Broadway.  

“Nice save. Where do you want to go eat?” 

“Anywhere that isn’t in that direction.” 

- Spider

Tonight is the launch of the LWC}NYC (Literary Writer’s Conference) at the New School in New York City. As an intern for the organization running the event, I get to sit in on the various panels and discussions for the next few days, featuring various magazine editors, publishers, literary agents and, of course, writers.

The second event for the season (the first being a Spelling Bee featuring notable people from the literary scene) is meant to bring together (literary) writers from all over the area. Give them a sort of fundamentals boot camp in what they can expect as they try to break into the writing world, whether you do fiction, poetry or creative non-fiction, it’s a chance to get with other like-minded individuals with similar goals as you.

- Spider

I sat in fear tonight at the Cosi’s on Union Square.

My friend Adam and I had gotten together to find him some new Magic: the Gathering cards (they get old so fast. Damned marketing schemes!). After finding our first location, Neutral Ground, closed for the day, we headed down to Forbidden Planet on Union Square. Finding exactly what we were looking for, we left Planet and tried to figure out a place to eat. I’d just finished designing some icons that I wanted to show him and upload, so I suggested the Cosi’s across the street.

I found out a few weeks ago after stumbling upon a Cosi’s on 8th Street that I love this latest chain-restaurant. Slowly growing for the past few years, more and more locations have been popping up around the city. I frequent one at one of my internships, and trek purposefully to this one between 6th & Broadway. Playing a lot of alternative/soft rock (reminded me of how much I like Dave Matthews Band), free wireless internet and it’s inception being the creation of a new kind of flat bread (that is delicious), it was destined to become a hit with me and my carb-craving self.

So we walk over to the Cosi and it turns out to be like anything but the places I’m used to. The lights have been dimmed down to the point where everything just looks like it’s a shade of gray with a hint of color. We have to wait to be seated, and once we are, for a waiter to take our orders. And though this is the usual deal at a restaurant, this is not how Cosi’s is usually run. After our drink orders are taken, we’re served our soda in plastic cups and were given a plastic knife and fork, along with out paper napkins. The internet would not connect to my laptop, and the waiter would disappear without checking on us.

I’ve only ever been to one other restaurant that does this, Atlanta Bread Company in White Plains. They do the restaurant turn over at night, but you order your food at the register and then stick a card with a number on a stand on your table and that’s it. That’s the most interaction you have with a “waiter.” you’ve already paid and you don’t have to worry about anything else. The lighting has been dimmed, but only enough so that they can bring out candles to put on all the tables. I sit down knowing that my chair is red.

Adam and I stared at each other, and then he started preparing to take the waiter down with the plastic knife. And though this would probably have been funny in any other situation (and I did laugh a good chunk that night), upsetting a vegetarian on a diet who usually does not like waiters (or waitresses) is not a good idea. Especially when he believes that the food you served him turned out to be the most unappetizing he could have expected.

It became my job to get us out of there, though I failed miserably at it as our waiter continued to dodge in and out of a back section and look anywhere but in our direction. Adam finally flagged down a waitress and asked her for our check. And though she said “Yes, of course,” nothing arrived. About five minutes, after many assurances to my comrade that we would be leaving shortly, our checked arrived with a big “Thank You!” written on the top left of the check. I can’t help but smile at it and point it out to Adam who gives me a look of disdain.

- Spider

“What’s your name?” the younger woman from earlier asks the now bespectacled woman.

“Lorraine. And this is Allan” Lorraine says, gesturing toward her companion. Allan makes no movement in response to his introduction.

“I’m Linda.”

“And you?” Lorraine asks, turning her gaze to me.

“Jose” I say immediately. I have an issue with giving out my name to people I don’t know, so I use my given name as a personal defense. I look down at her, wondering if she will pull some womanly intuition on me and read into my mind to discover that I’ve technically lied to her. But eventually she just nods and continues to discuss how much she knows about the free movie process.

“They’re happening all over the city every week. The key is to get on their mailing list” she says. I take this as my opportunity to go back to my graphic novel, or at least let it seem to everyone else that I am.

I’m relatively undisturbed until the ticket takers come. Thankfully no one gets thrown out of line, but there is a rush to make sure that everyone gets a ticket. Everyone begins flashing their computer print-outs and variously colored fliers. I try to remain still, but the line is reforming as people receive tickets. Eventually I get my ticket and move over, only to feel Lorraine’s hand on my shoulder.

“Let’s go, Jose.” The line hasn’t started to move yet, but it’s about to. I get ready, and try to figure out how to inform Lorraine that I do not want her hand, which has now moved to my arm, on me. But instead I remain silent and assume that it will disappear once we get moving. It does, though not until we’ve nearly reached the escalator. We go up two escalators, being reminded by event workers that we must have our tickets out or we will not be let in. I hold onto my little white raffle ticket and search for a seat once I make it into the theater.

I end up in the lower-top middle, a decent seat for this side of a theatre. The center seats have all been roped off for the press. As I made my way to my seat, I hear Lorraine telling the usher how rude it is to hold of seats for the press, even if it is a press screening. I make it into my aisle in time to hear the usher breathe out in exasperation.

I reach my seat and I think, Safety at last! By luck I’ve winded up next to Linda and her husband, who seem content to keep to themselves. That is, until the person behind us starts to speak and Linda turns back around in her seat.

“Hey! Didn’t you sit next to me at the screening yesterday?!” she says, a smile spreading across her face. Indeed, this  is the very same man. They continue to speak and I bury my eyes and thoughts deeper into Fables, wondering if there will be previews during this screening.

The press arrives and the movie begins, and we all laugh at the wonder of live action Disney. I forget that I’m alone and remember that I came because I thought I would enjoy the movie. An hour and forty-five minutes later, the movie ends and people begin to get up and walk out of the still dark theater. In the cloak of darkness, no one speaks to one another, choosing to leave in silence instead. I see my chance and grasp it, before Lorraine catches me in the lobby after and asks me if I want to join her and Allan for an after movie coffee. I walk past her seat, but she is so engrossed in the soundtrack and credits that she doesn’t even notice that I’m there.

I consider waving goodbye for a moment, but decide against it and continue to descend the stairs. I should make sure to bring someone next time, I think to myself. After all, human shields are a lot less noticeable.

- Spider

There is a sub-culture in New York. Yes, making that statement is pointing at the obvious, but I just recently had an encounter with this particular group: Free Movie Goers.

Working a 9-5 schedule, and at two offices in midtown, I find myself around Lincoln Center frequently. As I walk to Barnes and Noble, the streets are filled with people heading home from work, going for a stroll with the baby, or doing some early-evening shopping. Prime time for Green Peace, HRC, and jug carrying UHO volunteers to hit the streets. However, among the money collectors and outreach workers, there are also people yelling into the crowd: “Free Screening of “American Gangster” this Wednesday!” They are, what I will call, the Movie Leafleteers.

Spotted along the block wherever a movie theater is present, these young men and women withstand the chilly, and soon to be wintery, weather and give out passes for free advance screenings around New York City (usually at the theater that they’re standing in front of, but occasionally at specific locations). Passersby are drawn to Movie Leafleteers for their non-uniformed and broke appearance. They stand there hanging out passes, trying to get as many people as possible during this high-traffic period of the day. Now, one screening may be for your feedback, others just to provide a full audience for a press viewing. But either way, you get a free movie, weeks/months in advance that you won’t get in trouble with the FBI for watching.

I picked one up on Sunday for today. I called the number on the flyer to reserve my place and just showed up at the theater address. I happened to get out of work early that day, so I showed up 30 minutes before lines were scheduled to start. I figured that there was some time to be wasted, and that perhaps I would read one of the comics I had supplied for myself. I quickly realized this was not the case when I was greeted by a line that was about 40 people deep. This is not shocking, however, considering that seats are not guaranteed though you may have RSVPed for the screening. I took my place in line and pulled out a copy of Fables to read as I planned my hour-and-a-quarter wait before the scheduled showtime.

Slowly, more and more people showed up and the left side of the theater’s lobby was congested with us. As I looked up from my reading, I watched people talking to each other, not really paying attention to what was being said. That is, until I heard the penetrating voice of the woman behind me: “I always say I’m 49.”

I try not to look up and show that I’m paying attention to the conversation, but she’s got me hooked, and I think she knows it.

“That’s the age range they’re looking for. Eighteen to forty-nine. I can’t pass for thirty anymore, but I can say I’m forty-nine,” she says, winking at the man standing with her. She goes on to talk about how she heard about this particular screening, through her e-mail. “I know everyone who does this” she says. “But they’re not here today.” Nobody bothers to point out the problem with her statement. “What kind of a pass do you have?” the woman asks, pointing at my folded sheet of lavender paper.

“Oh–It’s a pass that I picked up on 66th,” I quickly respond, unfolding and showing this imposing woman the paper. Though I’ve been deemed a social butterfly for years now, my roots are firmly based in social awkwardness. Inside, I’m quivering to the core and I’m sure that she must know.

“Oh, this is the one that kicks you out if you’re black or too old” she said, remarking to the screening company’s name. “I was at a screening with a friend a few weeks ago and they started to pull people out. All they’re concerned about is having the right demographics. They let me stay in the line, though.” She made no comment on whether her friend ended up seeing the movie or not, and again, no one questioned her.

“What movie was that?” asked a younger woman from further back in the line.

“You know, I don’t remember. It may have been Big Mama” the older woman responds as she pulls out a pair of glasses, that clearly hint at her actual age, and slips them on. “Yes, I think so. I saw Rendition the week after that.”

“Oh, I saw that this weekend,” I say without thinking.

“Did you pay for it?” she asks quickly. I can hear the “tsk-tsk” at the end of the question.

“Yeah. I went with a friend who came to visit me.”

“Oh, I never pay for movies anymore. Either I make a showing or I don’t go at all” says the woman in front of me in line. She has three kids with her. I smile weakly realizing that I’ve made a mistake by admitting to paying for movies. But how can paying for movies be so bad? I think to myself. Isn’t that how most people see them? I mean, they can’t gross millions unless people are buying tickets.

I take the lull in my sentencing to look around the crowd, and that’s when it hits me. Everyone is talking to one another. Though they all showed up separately, and didn’t really pay each other any attention in the beginning, everyone who was present was now chatting up a storm. This side of the lobby suddenly fell victim to a tumult of chatter. They know each other. Suddenly, I feel even more singled out than I did arriving alone. Here I was thinking that I’d arrived a carefree individual in the mood for a free movie. Little did I know that I was infiltrating a secret society with magnitudes similar to that of going stag to your high school prom.

- Spider