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.

Highlights and Highlighters

Paul had given me the script for the pilot "The Bridge" to look at over a week ago. He told me to look over the lines and that we would have our first read through in mid-April with the rest of the cast. I have been carrying the script around since then- without fully over looking mine lines. I don't know, for some reason, I have been a little apprehensive about getting back into acting. Acting was the only thing I ever really wanted to do with my life when I was a child and a teenager. I used to have a bag full of highlighters to- well- highlight my lines. It was one of my favorite parts about the process (besides the stage blocking, and costume fitting). Sitting quietly somewhere and highlighting each line while reading them silently to myself- this is what I thought I would do the rest of my life.

But right now, my life is full of meetings (about KR's tour, about "The Bridge" pilot, about me co-Producing the stage play "Bayard" by Laura Eason and Paul Stovell, about contracts, etc). I finally felt like the candle burning at both ends. I knew I wasn't getting enough sleep when I starting nodding off on the subway on the way home on a regular basis.

I decided it was time to balance a little more and allow myself more of a social life (and by that I mean, really social, not networking social, which I do all the time, but social-social).

The Friday before last I went to a, what I would call- kind of a "nightmare" club. As I waited outside for some of my friends to join me (they had a friend celebrating a birthday there) I heard the words, "Hey bra!" "What's up bra!" about hmmm, 45 times. All of them with stripped button up-shirts, slicked back hair, and chains. The hi-fives were out of control.

"Wha?! What the hell?!" I said to myself waiting on James.

James finally arrived with his entourage of beautiful women...giving me a long sorted explanation of why he was late. "Why are we here?" I asked him.

"Honey, I have know idea. You know I don't do Ghettorich, and this club is definitely Ghettorich."

Inside, we went upstairs, only for me to be surrounded by a few guys (in stripped shirts, with chains) who came up to me to talk. One was nice, still not my type, while his friend was kind of a jack-ass-sidekick. James saw that I needed to be rescued. "Not your type honey?" He said with a smile. He saw me looking at a guy in the DJ booth, behind the DJ. He has shaved head, nice lips, hoodie on. "Oh, I see, that is your type."

As James walked to the DJ booth a man named Paco came up to me and said (in third person) “Paco loves that pink dress you are wearing, Paco would like to see you in a lovely white dress, may Paco buy you a drink?”

I said “Yes, Paco my buy me a drink.”

Just then the man I was looking at in the DJ booth was talking to James, I don’t know what James said to him, but he starting walking toward me,

“Hi my name is KS, I hear you are in the music industry” he put out his hand for me to shack. Big smile, very polite.

“Yes, I am.”

“Nice, so am I.”

We talked for an hour, leaning against the wall, smiling and laughing; KS seems to be a genuinely happy person, as well as a genuine person. I was more surprised how sweet he was, especially since when I looked into the booth he knew all the words to Biggies songs and looked…well, kinda hard. He has beautiful blue grey eyes, and a great smile.

One thing I noticed though, when guys are available, they usually try to put their hand on my waist, or ask what my situation is (e.g. “do I have a boyfriend”). KS did not do that, which made me realize, one of two things- either I am not his type (nope, I know I was- because he was leaning in too close!) or he has a girlfriend…yep, that what it was.

“You’re looking a me different now.” He said after I asked him about it.

“No, I’m not.” I know how complicated things can be.

He still asked for my phone number, and as I walked away, I saw him looking at me. Hmmm...I wonder what will happen with that.

The next day I woke up and picked up my script. I grabbed my laundry, and went down Canal street trying to find a laundry mat. I walked in, asked for quarters, put the first load in and then sat down.
I opened my scripted, took out my highlighter, and highlighted my first line for the first time, in many years. It felt really good.

J'adore

Cédric and I
Gary St. Claire & Virginie

One of my roommates birthdays was the other night- Cédric. We went to the Blue Owl on the Lower East Side for a little "rock and roll dancing." Which of course I didn't know what the hell that meant; but apparently in France, when you say "rock and roll dancing" it means fifties swing dancing, and Cédric is AWESOME at it. He swung me around like a rag doll, so much so that I had a laugh attack and had to lay down in a booth and get it together! Good times, good people, and good cupcakes. M

Hot Sauce on Napkins (and Chinatown)

I moved to Chinatown last weekend. Canal street between Elizabeth and Mott. Why have I moved AGAIN this year (yes, three times in 12 months- no, I am not on the lamb). It's a classic story of boy meets girl in restaurant in Gainesville, boy and girl move to NYC, boy and girl break up (but remain the best of friends). Girl moves in with gay boyfriend, gay boyfriend falls in love with, well, gay man, and decide that girl should move so they can create gay love nest.

So that's why I moved to Chinatown. I now live in a lovely loft with with four lovely French people, one is an artist, one is banker, one works for a french airlines, and the last works for one of my favorite fashion houses.

I have already had many long conversations with them about French culture, the differences in dating here in America and dating in France (which apparently there is no word for "dating" in France. You become very intensely and exclusively involved out there is, well, a good roll in the hay!).

I live in what can only be described as a cubby hole. My room is small, but the location, and the roommates make it worth it. I will move into the bigger room in July...

This month has been usually stressful...and exciting. I suppose those two things can go hand and hand. The stress has come at me in waves. I am finding the need to work on my own projects. I like some of the trappings that come with my job (health insurance, good connections in the entertainment world, and free tix to Carnegie Hall, Lincoln Center, The Met), but it is also just a nine to five job, that's routine can run anyone down. I find that I don't mind routine- getting my coffee from the corner store, eating my banana and bagel and reading the paper at my office before my boss comes in (or calls me). But, I also like when the unexpected occurs, when my routine is interrupted by something-exciting, like all of the theatre and tv projects I am working on now, and managing my own artist. There is no room for boredom, there is barely time for sleep.

I am fiercely focused in my professional life, I just need to leave room for enjoyment (and relaxation).

Which brings me to, well, eh-hem- boys.

I was dancing the gay bar G with my friend James. As we danced, we were surrounded by gay men asking me "Girl, what are you doing in this club! You need to be out there letting some straight man buy you a drink- or a house!"

James came to my defense, "if you only new my girl, she needs a night off from straight boys."

James grabbed my hand and sat me down. He said' "Maya, do you know what you want?"

I said "Of course! I am producing Paul's play, I am working on his TV show, I am developing a script with you, I just got K's tour going, things are great at my job..."

James interrupted me, "You know I am talking about Maya...Men."

"You mean 'Boys?'" I said.

"Yes, honey. What do you want from these...Boys?"

"Well...I..." I looked at James looking for the answer.

"Honey, this is what I am talking about, if you don't know what you want, no wonder these poor men are so confused that are coming up in your life right now. They see this fierce women, with all of this power, and you looking at them like...hmmm...what I'm I gonna do with you. You are TOYING with them!"

"I am not!" I looked at James with a smile, "I don't think so, I don't mean too."

"Maya, you need to find a man that is going to hold it down for you, but until you recognize that...well, you are going to keep attracting.."

"Boys" I said.

"Boys honey."

I know its true. James is like my therapist, dance partner, and wise sage all at the same time, he can also bring a whole room to their knees with laughter.

So special.

This past few months, I will admit, there have been a couple of boys, a few man/boys, perhaps a man. I don't know. I am not sure what I want. I do know that I don't want to live with another man again for a long while, I don't want to do their laundry, tell them to take care of themselves. I like lying in my big bed at a diagonal (which I have been doing lately).

I like kissing. I know that. I think I am looking for a good kisser.

Yes, I know, just attracting a good kisser does not me domestic bliss, but it sure make me happy!

I found the BEST kisser this past weekend. The best I have had in quite sometime. Big lips, nice eyes...yummm....

He is a total mess though. As a sat on the couch, he put in the movie bottle rocket, and begain to jump around spastically about how good the soundtrack is (well, it's true). Then I watched him tell stories while he stood up in his living room, he paced the room. It was like he was staring in his own one man show. He does comes from a Hollywood family, he was a model, and now, he is a lost soul.

I total him, that he was a "hearty plant" you know, thrives in the darkness and doesn't need much water. He said, "Yes!!! but I am not a cactus, I need more water then that...but, if I am a cactus, I am a cactus with flowers."

He was really sweet. Dreamy, he is in his own world, it looks like a fun world, you just don't know if you will be invited to play or observe.

The other boys have been fun, but have provided much too much drama, the one from France proved to be to young, the German has proven himself over and over again to be an obstacle course with the occasional land mines, and the Swede, Jesus, has proved to be more of a headache then the rest. That's my fault. I am the one that changed the scope of our relationship. I sat with him last night on the Lower East Side eating pizza he said, "You know why it is hard for us to be just friends Maya?"

"I have know idea, K, why don't you tell me?"

"Because I am like this napkin, plan, simple, safe, nothing threatening, and you" he grabbed a bottle of hot sauce, "are like this hot sauce." He starting shaking the hot sauce all over the napkin.

"There is nothing safe about hot sauce, but it make everything, spicy and taste a bit better."

He was clearly drunk.

And with that, I hugged him, put him in his cab and walked back to my house, walking past the Manhattan bridge, down Canal street...thinking about hot sauce.

Love, Lust, Life

I am so exhausted today...I feel like I have been running a marathon, except, I don't know what I am competing for.

I know that I am needing and wanting to be creative (Kelly Rae & Ama are huge inspirations for me right now), but it has been getting a little lost in the shuffle of job craziness and boy over load. I didn't know that I would be single with a vengeance. It's hard to be creative when your mind is matters of your heart.

My heart has it's own mind, and it keeps changing itself. I am not sure what I want out of a relationship. I guess I better figure it out. I have had many beautiful experiences this year dating (yes, already!?, I know it's only February) many ups and downs, beautiful conversations, lots of kissing, hand holding, misunderstandings, arguments, lots of "go away" but more "come back!" I know, I am trying to enjoy it all, because I know I might be "tied down" again before I know it (can I get an amen from all my married folks?).

I have always thought I was strong and brave about relationships, turns out I am a complete coward! When someone is really wanted to be close to me, I run away from them like Garth from Waynes World ("ewwhhh!!"). It's hard to let someone have your heart (yes, I just got the memo on this, I know this not shocking to most of you).

I promise to not run so fast away from true love (have a happy valentine day this week!) beso- M

Kiss and Tell

(me with sandra "aka" pants at a party for "one punk under god" premiere)

I knew that I was really wanting romance, but I had no idea what I was in for. Now that I am older, I am a little bit shy about giving too many details about my romantic life (and you never know who is reading this!). But, I have to say, not to knock American men...but oh my god European men have it ALL OVER them in the romance department. Maybe it is the thick accent, and their stuggle with our language- which seems to makes them think very carefully about what they are going to say, or maybe it is the culturally differences, it takes longer to understand one another, listening to each other is more important and more intense, maybe it's their knowledge of politics and good wine, or maybe...I have no idea, but I have been blushing for over two months now. If you want details...well, you have to call me, because, (still blushing) I think you would be sickened over the beautiful words!

MLK Jr.

(a picture of my little brother Mondrian and his beautiful wife Bridget).

Hello Dear Friends & My Beautiful Family-

Today is the day America sets aside to remember the
life of MLK Jr. While my work place sees this as an
"optional" holiday (e.g. I don't have the "option" to
take the day off) I thought I would pay tribute to MLK
Jr. with a personal story of tangible progress.

While many in the media will spend the day reflecting
on (the negative) aspects of where Black Americans
are today: Black men suffer far worse health than any
other racial group in America (due to lack of decent
health care system and access) a high a percentage of
Black men are AWOL as fathers and husbands;
disappearing from our colleges (UC Berkeley's 2004-05
freshman class had only 108 African-Americans out of
3,600 students; a large percentage graduating from
high school with an eighth-grade level of proficiency
in math and reading; in prison, on probation or on
parole (a third of black men in their 20s).

I would like to focus on the positive. I can't speak
on statistics, but I can speak on the change I have seen
in one generation in my own family.

Some of you have known me for 10+ or even 20+ years so you know
the stories. But I think I have only told one or two
of you about my folks and how they met.
My mother and father met the year that MLK Jr. was
assassinated in 1968. My mother a pale Spaniard and my
father a dark African American. They fell in love on
their first date, but nothing was easy after that. My
father's life was threatened for dating my mother
because she was white. My mother was brutally beaten
at party she attended with my father because they
called her an "n" lover and told her to date "her own
race." Didn't matter to my parents though. Through it all
they went with their hearts and had us (Mondrian,
Matisse, and I). My mother used to say "Pumpkin (yes,
that was my nickname)true love is not easy, because life
is not easy, and life is love."

Mondrian and Matisse both married their wives in the
last two years. Matisse in a quiet private ceremony in
Hawaii. Mondrian in a 200+ Chicago wedding.
I drove to the Chicago wedding from New York with some
of my closest friends. I had never met Bridget's
family, but Mondrian had been in love with her for
five years. Mondrian (as most you know) looks exactly
like my father, dark, handsome and strong. He is also
hilarious, and generous. Bridget has rosy porcelain
skin, strawberry blond hair, and she is the only one that I know that is more generous then Mondrian.

To be honest- I didn't know what to expect from a
large Midwestern family. When we arrived, I realized
that beside my friends and brothers, we were the only
brown people in the room! It didn't matter, and it
never crossed any ones mind in Bridget's family.
Bridget's father burst out of the church doors with
open arms "This is like meet the Fockers!!" He gave me
a big hug and said immediately- "Mondrian is a gift to
this family and a gift to my daughter."

At the ceremony as I held on to Sean's arm (Mondrian's
best friends) as I got ready to walk down the isle (I
was a bridesmaid)- I looked down the isle at Mondrian,
and I looked at Matisse. I started to cry, because I was so happy (of course this made Matisse cry, which made me cry harder...).

Mondrian and Matisse married the women of their dreams, not as
society dictated to them, but as their hearts dictated
to them. No one mentioned Bridget and Mondrian's skin
color or how their child might be "culturally confused" (as we were told over and over again as children). No. They were only told that they were blessed to have found one another, and that they are
going to have beautiful children...

If I may say so without sounding too arrogant- My
brothers and I are the dream. We are educated, motivated, and speak our minds (an a bigoted-racist persons worse nightmare). My brother's are amazing husbands, Matisse is great father (and Mondrian you will be too).

So progress, while slow, can happen in one generation.
My children might even think it is crazy or even
unheard of that their grandparents had such a hard
time getting together...but I will remind them that
there is still much work to do in honor of a man like
MLK jr. Love and Respect- Maya

Totally Crushed Out.

(view from my offices, me staring and dreaming...)
I feel like I am wide awake these days.

Which is really frightening and so exciting at the same time. I feel really focused on my job (which it turns out that I am really good at), on playing music again (with the beautiful sophie, the talented ralph, and artistic matthew), about getting in shape (I LOVE my gym!).

I don't know, I guess change was necessary.

It doesn't mean I don't stare out of my bedroom window and cry from time to time wondering...about everything.

But for now, I am enjoying flirting (and kissing again), and daydreaming...M

Changes...

(me at johnny's bar in the village, sophie and i in black in white at "fat black", amanda with her brilliant red hair and i, matthew)

I have never been one that has welcomed changes with open arms. Perhaps because the changes that have occured in my life have not always been so pleasant, lost of loss. I once was told that excitement and anxiety were the same emotion, it's just that one is a pleasant feeling and the other is terrifying.

I am having both of those sides of that emotion these days.

Matthew and I are going our separate ways. We mutually decided this six weeks ago. It's ok. We are both the best of friends; perhaps just friends. Which is perhaps the reason we have decided to separate. Our five years together have shown us that there is nothing better then being friends with your partner, but that even with a close friendship sometimes their are those pesky irreconcilable differences that those gossip mags mention in all of those countless celebrity divorces.

Matt and I are a total comfort to each other, but we have different needs right now. We are the ones conforting each other in this, no one else. No one seems to understand us quite the way the other does, which makes this all the more frightening.
If you saw the break-up up close you would see how utterly odd we are and why we are best friends. We are moving out our our apartment December 1. He will move to Brooklyn, I will move to the Upper West Side in the city (rent controlled, thank god). For now, we are enjoying our last days under the same roof together. We have cooked dinner with each other every night discussing politics, food, and our love of the neighborhood (we are both very sad to leave the village) and for each other. We still cuddle and hold each other on the couch making promises that we will be committed friends and confidants. We still stay up talking until three in the morning and laugh at our inside jokes.
I know, some of you might say, "then why split?"
Trust us. We both ask ourselves this question and each other this question these past six weeks.
We both are feeling a loss of identity. We have been taking care of each other for a half a decade and have sometimes forgotten to ask ourselves what we want for ourselves. On the shallow side, he won't quit smoking (which drives me nuts) and I won't stop nagging him about that (and that drives him nuts).
So maybe this isn't forever, but it is for right now. There is no need for sympathy, Matt and I got it right. It has made us both embrace the idea of commitment, partnership and friendship. It has reaffirmed that I don't suck at relationships and that I could spend the rest of my life with one person.
For now, for once, it's not about dating new men for me, or longing to be in love or another relationship. I would like to nurture the new and old friends that I have, go to shows, go museums, get my hair and nails done ever week (I can now with my raise and promotion!), I would like to finally learn Spanish, keep going to gym 3-4 times a week. In the New Year I would like to drink hot cocoa with Ama on my couch, write Kelly a letter (a real letter not an email like she always make time to do), go dancing with Amanda and Sophie as much as possible, play drums as often as I can with as many people as I can, do my art projects with Sandra (aka "Pants") and of course, spoil myself rotten...
And maybe the love that I have always wanted (not perfect, but real and strong) will come to me again.

My brothers

(Mondrian at vet school in Florida, Matisse's house in Atlanta with one of his sons Justin in the front)
I am very proud of my brothers.
Of course anyone that knows me for more then one hour will know that fact. I am like a Jewish grandmother gloating over my their accomplishments, "Listen this isn't going to be a megile but did you hear? Mondrian got accepted into the vet school. Yes, it's one of the best vet schools in the country, but then, he is so very brilliant" and "have you seen Matisse's new house in Atlanta, it's GORGEOUS! So many rooms, he could fit a platoon in that house, and he has a pond in the back, can you IMAGINE a pond in the back yard!? No in New York I tell you I can even fit my khazeray in my pisk!"

I am a little proud of myself too. after seven short months at Columbia Artists Management LLC I have been promoted (mo'money and better title). I am now an Associate Producer. Cool. It seems that my boss (as crazy as he is) sees that I have it in me to become a successful producer...i like the idea of become a power player in the entertainment world, but it must be coupled with creativity otherwise it would be meaningless to me.

I of course am still trying to figure out what lights "my fire."
My fire hasn't been lit in long time. Sometimes I feel it coming back, when I walk around the village on the way to the gym or getting a cup of coffee. There is such a romantic feeling I get. I can't quite figure out what it is...

So Distracted, All of the time.

(more pics from da'party...)

I am very distracted lately and apparently looking to be distracted further. It's hard for me to concentrate because there is so much going on. It's fall time in New York with Spring like weather, so that's not helping much either. I can't put my finger on it, but I think it has something to do with the change of seasons....
It's not the job.
The job is good...My boss has become dependent upon me lately which is very nice in the sense that in a world were there is no such thing as job security this offers me a small, albeit tiny, safety net.
It's not for lack of things to do.
Last night I went to my friend Amanda's husbands television preview at the Museum of Radio and Television. It was really beautiful, articulate and honest. Amanda and Jay are such wonderful support systems to each other, they are each others confidants, and their honesty with each other with inspiring and moving.
Sitting next to Amanda in the theatre it was so wild to see this screen siren that she is on screen, and the shy women sitting next holding her jacket over her eyes cringing every time she came on screen. She has NO idea how beautiful she is (just like the majority of my girlfriends...) If you all have the Sundance Channel you will be able to see it on December 13, 2006. It's called "One Punk, Under God."
I went to Joshua's and Sandra's house after and watched the Mets game with them and Ralph. It's amazing how much pride I felt for The Mets. Something about living in NY for four years gets into your blood and the next thing you know you yelling at the TV screen and hi fiving people...Me? Yes. Weird.
Today I sat at La Rue 57 with Sophie at the bar chatting about passion and um, passion. "One can never have too much passion" Sophie says in her gorgeous French accent. Of course it attracts men like honey and the beautiful man sitting next to us starting talking to Sophie in French, with in sheer seconds he gave her his phone number...this is a typical afternoon for Sophie. She folded the number and waited until we got out side to put it in the trash can.
There has been many other odd things a foot. Things I feel I must censor as not to get myself in trouble (or judged- no, I have been that bad...but you know...I older so I am becoming a little more private;). But if you really want to know you can always call me. I am always up for a good round of gossip...xo. M

make new friends, but keep the old...

(party at george's house last friday- don't worry, I don't really smoke!)
I was a brownie (yes, I know I am still a "brownie," I'm not taking about my ethnic background). Not a girlscout, but a brownie. I didn't want to "cross the bridge" and become a girlscout (for those of you that were brownies you know what I am talking about). I thought baking cookies, and singing weird songs with my fellow 3rd graders was good enough. One of the songs we always sang was "Make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other's gold." Well since I have been living in New York I have made a lot of new friends, who I just love. But I always miss my old friends, who are much more like family, and who I always call to talk to about the most mundane things that some how make us laugh, because there is so much history between us that we know exactly why we are laughing.
It's equally exciting to met new friends so that you can discover and rediscover parts of your personality that you thought you left behind, or to discover just how much you have grown.

"Trust no one"

(Yes, I love my cat...)
"Trust no one." These are words from my boss, Mr. Grossman, at 9:00am on a Tuesday morning. Christian, my co-worker and I are called into his office. He starts with a lecture, or a "little story" as he says. He talks about the "business" and how everyone one is out to get you and screw you over...
Coupled by this lecture on paranoia, we sit in office that faces the whole of Broadway; not that you could see it. His shades are drawn, he doesn't like the sun light. Our chairs face away from the window and their is only a small light on his desk that reflect off my glasses.
He is wearing all black, black Armani suit, black Etro shirt, black socks, and black Tod's shoes. The man in black, with OCD.
He is trying to assure Christian and I that even though this business is full of scoundrels (eh, hem, kettle.calling.black) that we are in luck because he is the countries most successful concert producer and we in turn will one day be too....um, because of him, he never lets us forget that, because of him, we will be successful, and learn not to trust people...Weird.

My night was much better. I met up with Sophie, Matt, and by coincidence Adam at the Pub across the street from my house. I love this Pub, if only because it is called "The Fat Black Pussy Cat." Dennis, a pub regular, (old skool Brooklyn Italian, very Joe Pesci) told us a couple of jokes (he literally says "Bada Bing, Bada Boom); then Sophie and I swapped office gossip stories, (her boss is just extravagant as mine, but a little more suave). Amanda (she has the most gorgeous head of read hair!) joined us and we all headed to Joshua and Pants' house in Soho. Joshua and Pants (her real name is Sandra, but got the nickname "Pants" from Joshua, because apparently she wears the pants in the relationship. Love it). They are both brillant photographers, who are newly engaged. Their house always becomes an imprompt to party, which they always love and welcome. I have enlisted their services to work together on creative projects, and they have enlisted by services to help with the business side of their, well, business...if you get a chance check out Joshua's work Beso. M

Tats Cru: Tools: Paint, Nozzles, Gas Mask

Nosm of Tats Cru describes some of the essential tools used to create graffiti art. For more info on the tats cru go to http://www.tatscru.com. M

Tats Cru: The Basics: Lettering and Hand Style

BG 183, Nosm, and the other members of the Tats Cru graffiti collective introduce some of the basic skills in graffiti art. Includes defintions of "tag," "throw up," "simple style," and "wild style."

"if you fail to plan, you plan to fail"

(mural in Williamsburg,bk last fall)

I took a late lunch yesterday, and when to the sushi restaurant across the street from Carnegie Hall. Read the paper, had a glass of wine and received this fortune, "if you fail to plan, you plan to fail."
Great.
I am a crappy planner.
I tried planning early in my life. I wanted to be worshipped like Greta Garbo, were the audience waited with baited breath to find out what she sounded like (as she had only done silent movies for most of her career). Then upon hearing her sultry voice they were mesmorized.
It was not to be. I found two things about myself. I wasn't sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life pretending to be someone else(while living in poverty) and I don't like actors (this will be explained at a later date).
I didn't plan to be a religion major in college. I didn't plan to be a waitress for 5 years after college. I didn't plan to run a nightclub in Atlanta, or run my own business in New York, and I CERTAINLY didn't plan to go into Classical music management, we're now I work with Marvin "Chorus Line" Hamlisch, Bill "Rocky" Conti, and Peter "Last Picture Show" Bagdonovich. I didn't plan to fall in love with a German graffiti artist while I was still in love with my current boyfriend.
I am not sure what you can plan for. Even planning to pay bills is tricky (especially in new York).
Beso Beso

Central Park and Champagne

(Picture above are: Bethesda Fountain in Central Park and My two nephew from my brother matisse and his wife holly: justin & carter)

Robert and I went to central park yesterday to lunch with a bottle to champagne and our picnic food from whole foods. We were celebrating his new job. He will be the operations manager for a youth orchestra in New York and this is a fantastic opportunity for him. I have a few job opportunities on the horizon, none of which I will mention yet (as I don't want to jinx them!).
Robert has been a very close friend in only four month as we bonded over stress, healthy foods, and boys. We have, in a sense, a slightly prestigious job. Our orchestras and performers are some of the top performers in the world, our boss has work with and managed everyone from Rudolf Nureyev to Martin Scorsese. Yes, I am impressed by this, but I am not impressed by him. He has taught Robert and I about everything we don't want to be in this business of entertainment: Impatient, Delusional, Rude, Condescending....oh, and Crazy (not crazy like me Ama, but crazy like a serial killer).
As Robert and I sat in the park, we felt like we could do anything, that doors are about to spring open, and that artistic opportunities would flow out of Bethesda's arms; that we would eventually find a job in NY that didn't have a nerotic boss and that we might be able to work with the artists that we have always dreamed of working with...(that would be Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders for me).
My interviews are next week...wish me luck.

Hot Cup of Crazy

(Pictures above: Matt & I in-front of the "LOVE" sign in NYC. Tanya, Adam, Suzanne, and I in Chicago during Mondrian's Wedding Weekend. "The Gates" in Central Park Winter 2005)
I've had four different men cause me undue stress in the last five days: three of them where vagrants in my neighborhood, and the other one was my boss.
The first man was on the corner of 6th and Bleeker in the Village near my house. Matt and I were holding hands going to get a cupcake at Magnolia bakery. "Hey, man, give me some change." I have had many folks ask me for money before, but never demand it.
I said, "Sorry man." He said, "I wasn't talking to you ho."
Ho! Ho? Ho?!?! Wow. I would have turned around and cussed him out, but he had a crazy look in his eye, so I thought I would leave it be.
The other two men harassed me within a 24 hour period. One this past Saturday afternoon coming back from the gym. This man was older, homeless and sitting on the stoop of the corner grocery store asked me for change. I ignored him, trying to avoid eliciting another hate-laced, "I wasn't talking to you ho" response. But by ignoring this man I got an angry, "Whaddya too good for me bitch?"
I wiped around, "WHAT?!?!?"
"That's right, you heard me, you f*%king b*$ch! Why don't you go and suck a *(@)!"
"WHAT!?!?"
Now, listen, I know, NYC has it's stress and I know that people tell each other to go f&*k them selves all the time, but come on, I lived in Brooklyn for almost four years and I have never been harassed like this.
This morning alone I sat in the subway reading (flipping through) a really fantastic novel (Bazaar Magazine) and a man reached toward me with a pamphlet in his hand titled, "If you think it's hot here, try HELL."
He said, "I think you need this."
"No thank you" I said walking away from him.
"Do you not want to except Jesus Christ as your lord and savior?"
"Um, hmmm, I'm ok. Thanks." As I begin to walk away he said,
"No your NOT! Take the pamphlet b*tch."
What?!?!?
I told him, "That's not very Christian of you."

I don't know why I attract "the crazy," but I do.
I have always had (have) compassion for those less fortunate and those that are going through difficult times; I think it is easier to be compassionate to those folks, but what about those that act that way and have $18,000 worth of shoes and are the male version of Anna Wintour?
That would be my boss. He bangs on the desks like a child whining and all the while demanding phone numbers for his minute to minute phone appointments, for his car to be serviced, to schedule his weekly $600 haircuts, and his OCD behavior has made me realize this world is run by children, and not the good kind. Babies with short fuses. I am one the lucky ones as I am not his personal assistant, but a "colleague" (his word).
All of this has made realize that there is only one thing to do in this life: follow your dreams, and don't drink the (crazy) kool-aid.