Turning down the Hustle a few notches.

The living room of the loft
My room before I moved my stuff in
the roof of my building...

I got sick for the second time this month. Maybe it's the fact the weather went from 57 degrees to 28 degrees and now to 74 degrees had some thing to do with it, or maybe it's producing the opera, the play, the television show, and managing of an international artist while working a full time job that did it. It could also be the late club nights that I have had lately that usually involve Mark, Anica, Nyree and I dancing until 5am, taking a disco nap and going to work two hours later, or maybe...

Or maybe, I have finally over done it. Laying on my couch in the living room of the loft, Kev makes fun of me in one of his text messages, "You need to introduce a cup of orange juice in your life...maybe turn down the hustle a few notches..." I laugh, then cough, sweat, then spit into my tissue, and crawl up into a little ball saying, "why god, why." Kev always makes me laugh. Our conversations are like highways that take the shape of cloverleaves, overpaths, and off ramps, you never know where they are going to go, but it's just fun to be on the journey.

I guess one of the good things about getting sick, is that all you can do it sit there, flip through bad gossip rags, stare at the ceiling (which is not hard for me since it is only two feet away) and think.

What did I think about? Turning down the Hustle.

Those of your that have know me since highschool (Christina and Chandra) and those of you who know me from College (ladies) know that my Hustle has always been turned up to 11. Starting a non-profit while DJing at the college radio station while double majoring in Theatre and Religion, minoring in Womens studies, taking dance class, and playing in a band...what the hell was I thinking! I was worse in highschool, started a club to help the homeless, played on the basketball team, was in a play ever semester, and worked a part time job (gotta have the cash flow for the car!). I am not the only one guilty of this (Kelly). We were both ordered to throw away our day planners because we had schedual our lives down to the min. in college. Atlanta is when things got out of control: the nightclubs, the party throwing, playing in bands, touring, throwing festivals, film events...ah, I'm not complaining...those were all fabulous times.

These past few days, I have been mostly by myself thinking about all of this. Walking around Chinatown, trying to enjoy the beautiful weather inspite of the flu, and thinking about how once again, I have stepped off the path that I had cut out for myself long ago: to live a creative life. When I get sick, I get vulnerable, and yeah, a little lonely. I think of all of my girlfriends, and wished they were all beside me walking through Chinatown. I think of you all at different points.
I thought about Abernathy when I passed a wheelbarrel full of ginger root. Because she loves ginger, and if she saw that it was only 75 cents a pound (fresh and golden), she would have bought two big bags and would've still been stuffin that sh*t in her purse. I think about Ama when I walk through Little Italy and pass all of the beautiful espresso machines, because Ama, like me, will risk a panic attack for a great cup of coffee, I thought about Kelly when I sat on the roof of my loft, because it was sunny out, the breeze was blowing, and I thought, this is what Kelly must wake up to in California, lucky lady...

I didn't mean to get away from working on my own things. I really do get excited about other peoples projects, and feel in some small way, that I can help. However, it's my fault if I over do it (and if I can't say "no" to picking up a project), they rarely put the type of stress on me that I put on myself, and most of you know, that lately I only come in three flavors: lightly stressed with a nice toffee coating, f*cking stressed out with pralines, and look-out stress (which means I might start crying or yelling at any min) with macadamia nuts.

It's time to stop the madness. Matt came over yesterday to take care of me. In classic Matty fashion, he brought me a can of Split Pea soup with Bacon, and two rolls filled with pork. Now Matt and I only dated for 4 years, but I feel that he would remember that I am a vegatarian. "Fuck" he said, "I swear I didn't do this on purpose." I know you didn't Matt. He made me a hot toddy (sans meat) and we went up and sat on the roof. It was dusk, a perfect night. We watched the planes fly over head, we talked about nothing and everything. It was very Wayne's World (me being Garth to his Wayne). He said, "Maybe, you could just be like this this summer, you know Maya, you don't have to always accomplish something, achieve something...you could just be for a little while."

That had never really occured to me before. Just be in New York City? Unheard of...So I will try, just to be for a little while, and write (and kiss), and sleep, no more picking up projects....for a little while. M

''The miracle of another human being''

(you can click on the photos to make them bigger!)

This past Thursday night in a small gallery in New York City, on West 44th street and Broadway, I had my first reading in many years. It was an excerpt reading from Virginie Sommet's "Only in New York Darling" in English & French. I read in English (of course) while Virginie read the excerpts in French (as it was originally written).

Virginie is simply an exceptional women. She is parts Andy Warhol, Bjork, and Simone De Beauvoir. A sculptor, writer, and performer all in one. On top of ALL of this she runs the loft that I live in- in Chinatown. It's part apartment, part bed & breakfast, part social gathering. Every morning I wake up to a flurry of, "Bonjour," "Bonjour, Ça va?" "Oui, Ça va, et toi?"

We each have our times when we can get into the bathroom and shower (mine is at 6:30am). Virginie wakes up every morning to put on coffee for the bed and breakfast, and we are generally greeted in the morning by her warm lush voice, "Good morning darling..."

In the mornings, I rush through Chinatown, to the D train, through a massive crowd of Asian people. Every morning as I turn down Bowery from Canal street, past the Manhattan bridge. A Chinese women holding tickets always asks me, "You want to go to Boston today?" and everyday I say to her "Work, I'm going to work." She smiles and says "Oh, ok!" I realize these are the only words she knows in English.

Friday was a blur, and Saturday was the art gallery show for Gary St. Clare (Virginie's partner). He creates artwork that captures the sexiness of a blacksplotation film, layered with urban street sensibilities, and a lush sophistication. With champagne in hand we all toasted Gary for both his great work and his birthday, where Virginie surprised him with six different types of chocolate cake!

I walked around the gallery with Marlon, a brilliant conductor with his own orchestra, "Ensemble du Monde" talking about working together on theatrical project and how we both longed for more free time and warmer weather.

Sunday- I made time for laundry and walked around the city looking for all black Converse. I find a small coffee shop to call my little brother Mondrian to ask him how he & his wife's pregnancy is coming along. They are expecting twins in the fall, their first children. He is calm, deliriously happy, and I tell him to talk to Bridgette's stomach and tell the twins I can't wait to meet them.

As I left the coffee shop and walked outside, there was a small snow flurry- it put me in a romantic mood. I came home, put on my new black Converse, laid in my bed, and put my feet on my ceiling. Yes, that is how small my room is. Length wise, a decent size. Height wise, another story. As I put my feet on the ceiling, I looked at the room and how Virginie had decorated it. The walls are a champagne color with twinkle lites. Some of my grandfathers painting rest against the walls and even though the room is small, it is warm to me and feels cozy. My mind turns to thoughts of someone that is quickly becoming more special to me with each passing day, suddenly there is ''extra push of color'' even on this grey day.
Conversation with him is voluminous, strong, and it flows. It's so mysterious how we all come into each others life. I can't put it any better then Craig Lucas did from Prelude to Kiss: ''Never to be squandered...the miracle of another human being.''
In the middle of my daydreaming, I get up and I hit my head on the ceiling, which I do constantly, (cussing every time I do it) and wait, patiently, for July when I move into the big room down the stairs.

The Struggle Between the Two

Over extended this month. I put my head down sometime in December, and put my head up and it is April. I have been running around town like a crazy person trying to get everything done and it just occurred to me yesterday...You can not have two meetings at once.
I have double scheduled myself twice this week and it is only Wednesday.
The other night, after going to the grocery store and getting my hair done, I ran into the liquor store to get a bottle of wine, when Sam (KR's tour manager) called me- "Maya, we just checked into the hotel room, we are on the way to the radio station now, did that show get confirmed in Atlanta?" As I tell him "Great!" and "Yes it did" the man behind the counter rings me up. I run out of the store, down the subway stairs, swipe my card, and realize that I don't have my Blackberry on me. As it is like a third arm to me these days, I realized it right away. I run back up the subway stairs, run down the street, praying that I left it at the liquor store, and that no one stole it.
Right when I walked in- the man behind the counter hands it to me.."You better slow down honey! You don't want to lose this." He says with a smile.

"Thanks! Thank you!" I say running back out of the store.

I really didn't mean to make myself this busy. It wasn't my intention. I just knew that if I wanted to make the kind of money that I want to make WHILE trying to produce and be creative all at the same time, that there is not much time for sleep and even less time for play.

Of course I tried to ignore all of that this last week.

After meeting KS the week before, I looked him up on Myspace. Sure enough he was there and 21!?! Oh god. What? There is no way! He didn't seem 21. God, when did I become a cradle robber?
This is the second time this year I have attracted someone under 23 (and have been attracted to them). Either they are mature beyond their years, or I am..ehem...immature beyond mine. I think I know the answer to that. Dang.
As Drew Barrymore said "I am a women in business and a child in relationships." I don't want this to be true, but apparently I don't know what the hell I am doing in matters of the heart.
I wrote him anyway. He has a great sense of humour, incredible sweet, and a warm laugh. "There is no harm in getting to know him" I say to myself.
We go on what I consider an unofficial date.
A date to me it is-well, when you make time to linger over dinner and talk to each other about each others lives. Not meeting at a bar for a 20 min conversation that the two of you had to schedule in in-between your other meetings (what KS and I did). We both realized that we live busy lives, that we have a few of the same interests (mostly music) and more importantly- we are attracted to one another.
Later that week we schedule a time to basically bump into one another- which we did. I was have drinks with Anica, Nyree, and Mark at Diva and he and his brothers friends were celebrating his brothers birthday at the next door pub.
The evening started with good conversation, followed by a long drive around Manhattan (we both didn't know how to get to the L.E.S. in a car- subway yes. Car, no.) topped off by dancing (which he is great at), ending with a marathon kissing session (which he is even greater at) in the vestibule in front of my apartment building.
I went to bed that night (um- morning) with a smile on my face at 5am, only to be woken up by the one man that can wipe it off at a moments notice- The German, who calls me at 8:30am.

"Hi D." I said still half a sleep

"What you did last night? You still sleepin'?" He said in his German/Bronx accent.

"D, not all of us are German and wake up on a Saturday morning by 8:30am."

"Did you get my text last night?" He said.

"Um..no, I didn't see it." Of course I did, but it was 3am, and I was dancing with KS, I didn't want it to change my good mood. "What's up D?"

"You want to get brunch with me? In an hour?"

"D, that's not brunch that's still breakfast, how about 11am."

"Ok mamita. See you at 11am."

D and I have been dancing around each other for three years. I swear, every time I am about to start crushin' on someone else- he calls, he texts, and he emails. He knows that I won't be as available to him (and lord knows- he's never been that avail to me).

We meet at Astor place at 11am, well 11:15, I am always running 15 min behind these days. He looks beautiful as per usually. He comes over and gives me a long hug, he never does that.

"You alright D?" I said rubbing the top of his shaved head.

"Yeah, I'm 'aight. Let's go eat."

I see the tattoos around his writs, he has fully sleeved arms, legs, his back is fully done, he reminds me of the Berlin wall, only in the three years I have known him, I have never been able to tear down his wall.

We sit across from each other smiling, he wants me to do all the talking- "I thought you said I talk too much?" I say to him. "I never said that, I like when you talk. Tell me something new."

"Wow, you are being way to agreeable today- what's going on?" I say reaching out to touch his hand.

I sense his loneliness. I love D. I'm just not in love with him, not anymore. He senses that. We sit on a bench after brunch and I hold his hand. He scares me sometimes, his moods, how deep they run, how quiet he gets. I make him laugh, we talk about work, we talk about the future, we know we always want to be in each others lives, but not as lovers anymore, just as friends- too many complications if we tried to go back there. Graffiti artists are notorious bad boys and he is not exception to that rule. We are passing ships to one another. When he meet me, I had a long term boyfriend, when I broke up with Matt, he has a serious girlfriend, when he broke up with her...our patience with each other had wained.

I walk him to the train. He leans against the shell of the Astor place subway stop, he waits for something. I don't know what, for me to say something, for me to hug him. I lean in an give him a small kiss good-bye.

"I'll call you." He says as he starts to walk down the subway stairs.

"I know D." I just never know when, and I need just a bit little more then that.