KristyWes

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 19:03:00 +0000

Monday Night

Monday night was a heart-full kind of night. Bittersweet, happy, nostalgic, gratifying.

I had an Improv show, but not just any show: the last class show of the highest-level class offered at my theater. I did it; I finished the training program; I'm an Improv 'graduate'!

6 weeks of classes + 2 weeks rehearsal time + 8 weeks of shows = 4 months we've been working at this thing, my classmates and I.

(Add to that all the time spent in lower level classes + plus required electives + plus practice groups + yadda yadda. You get the point. This was a long time coming.)

I've been looking forward to this class being over. Though a good experience, it was also a tiring one - claiming two nights a week for the past two months. I wanted those nights back, I wanted free time, I wanted flexibility in my schedule again.

But - as the end approached - I got all sad and sentimental. I was going to miss my classmates, miss working with them and laughing with them and seeing them regularly. It's not goodbye forever - I'll see them around. But it won't be the same - can't be the same - as these past 4 months when we were teamed up in pursuit of this common goal.

But back to Monday.

The (super silly, super fun) reggaeton warm-up exercise our teacher taught us. The theater, packed with friendly faces. The Monoscene, the strongest one we’ve done to date. My line that came from nowhere, from the ether (maybe the best line I’ve ever said in an Improv show?) and that ego-fueling feeling of standing on stage, listening to the laughter you just effected. Walking off stage, my part done. The joy of getting to watch the rest of my classmates be their freakin’ hilarious selves.

After the show: hugs and smiles all around. The feeling of accomplishment, the relief of ending well, ending strong. The walk around the corner to the bar, catching up with a long-lost friend. Drinks all around, words of affirmation, Cajun french fries, Knicks vs Nets on the tv, talking about the past, wondering about the future. Re-hashing. Mingling. Meeting new people and talking about Spain. Learning what a ‘water back’ is and talking about love. Looking around and loving all the people I saw sitting there.

Staying out way too late for a Monday.

Going home smiling, thankful.

Very, very thankful.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 17:47:00 +0000

Mid-Winter

Upper West Side

The past couple of weeks have been...exhausting? discouraging? annoying? Something along those lines, I guess. Work has been unbearable. Sleep has been elusive. I feel brittle, like a branch that has no give. I have more questions than answers. It hasn't been the easiest of seasons.

But. There have been some bright spots. You wanna know what they are? Good, 'cause I'm gonna tell you:

This album by The Milk Carton Kids. Minimal acoustic loveliness. The more you listen, the harder you'll fall.
Late-night Rummikub games with my roommates at the kitchen table.
Updated resumes and phone interviews.
A couple of new creative projects on the horizon (looking forward to something is a key to happiness, don't you know?)
Back-stage moments before Improv shows. Energy is high, music is loud, and camaraderie is palpable, as we group-hug and say, "I got your back."
Any activity that forces me to be fully present (aka unplugged) - the gym, reservoir runs, voice lessons, etc. I so appreciate these breaks from the whirlwind.
New hair color. Because sometimes a girl needs a MediumReddishBrown change.
Dark chocolate with sea salt from Zabar's. Because chocolate is a healthful necessity in the dark days of winter.
Speaking of dark days - they're fading: there's a sliver of sun left lately when I leave the office each evening. Sweet daylight. I'd like to see more of you, but I'll take what I can get for now.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 14:27:00 +0000

FunFactFriday:
Ye Oldest(?) Synagogue

(ScoutingNY did a blog series last week about the lovely, lovely island of St. John. Which made me think about my own trip there, last January. Which reminded me that I never posted this particular set of pictures. So here you go - one year later - one more look back at the island.)

On our last day in paradise, my friends and I took a boat from St. John back to the main island of St. Thomas. I had a later return flight than the rest of the group, so I killed a couple hours wandering around Charlotte Amalie before heading to the airport.

The main drag of the town is lined with high-end jewelry and souvenier stores. Neither is really my scene, so I visited the local synagogue, because... well, because of course I did.

Here's a fun fact for you: What is the oldest synagogue in America? According to Wikipedia, that's a difficult designation to define. Oldest congregation or oldest physical building? Oldest that's been consistently used as a synagogue, or oldest that was at some point converted for other purposes?

Apparently there are quite a few synagogues vying for title of "oldest," but the synagogue on St. Thomas claims to be "the oldest in continuous use under the American flag." How about that!

Still, that designation seems a little wonky to me, because St. Thomas wasn't acquired by the US until 1917, so technically this synagogue has only been under the American flag for the last 95 years. But titles aside, it is quite old: the congregation was originally founded in 1796 (when the island was under the control of Denmark) and was housed in two buildings, each subsequently destroyed by fire. The current building was erected in 1833 and has been holding weekly services ever since.

Check this out - the synagogue has sand floors! At first I thought this was just an island-y touch, but apparently there is deeper symbolism. Per their website:

"The sand on the floor is a remnant of the days of the Marranos, Jews during the Spanish Inquisition who were forced to convert to Christianity but who secretly continued to practice their Judaism. Since practicing Judaism was punishable by death, they met in cellars with sand covering the floor in order to muffle the sounds of their prayers."

Wikipedia suggests a second theory: the sand represents the Israelites' journey through the desert.

I visited just as the head rabbi was showing another group of tourists the Torah collection housed in the synagogue.

Several of the scrolls are very old and historic. I just tried to find more information about them online, and instead stumbled upon this Travel/Bar Mitzvah site. Did you know that, in addition to destination weddings, people also have destination Bar/Bat Mitzvahs? Apparently they do. File that in your fact folder.

Aha - here is an article about one of the Torah scrolls that St. Thomas has in their collection - dating to 1771, the scroll was used by Jews in Czechoslovakia, before being stolen by the Nazis, before being rescued by a group in London, before somehow ending up in the possession of a couple from New York, before being donated to the St. Thomas synagogue. What a journey!

Looking up: chandelier and ceiling relief.

The St. Thomas synagogue is beautiful, if a study in contrasts. The well-maintained mahogany fixtures and refined architectural elements seem in contrast with an unfinished sand floor. And the troubled past that the sand floor recalls - as well as the sad history represented by that rescued Torah scroll - seems in contrast with the idyllic, sunny paradise that waits just outside the door.

It's a mish-mash of joy and pain, of loveliness and hardship. A testament to perseverance. And a nice place to visit, if you want to sit in the shade for a bit and think about how all that is a lot like life itself.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 04:37:00 +0000

A Day For Love

(Original source; doctored with love)

I recently learned that February 15th is Phil Collins Day. Happy Phil Collins Day, everyone!

Before you start trying to convince me that you don't like Mr. Collins' music, let me say something:

Yes, you do.

You know you do. I know you do. How do I know? Because I like it, too.

Is it cheesy? Yes. But is it also amazing? Double yes.

Groovy Kind of Love? Takes you back to a middle school dance - forgetting all the intense awkwardness and just remembering the (mostly imagined) sweet moments.

Another Day in Paradise? Synthesizers shed light on the problem of homelessness. You can't dance to this song, but you can do a slow snap, while looking thoughtful.

Separate Lives? A cheesy duet par excellence.

And Against All Odds? C'mon. No really, c'mon. I want to simultaneously karaoke and ice-skate to this song, while playing a drum set in the rain. They just do not write songs like this anymore. I seriously love it.

Apparently there is an annual Phil Collins Day celebration in Brooklyn - last year there was a parade, this year there was a confessional booth (where you could record your tale of love/woe to be later played for Phil, a man who knows a thing or two about heartache and pain.)

I had an Improv rehearsal tonight, so I couldn't make it out to the party. But next year, when PCD rolls around again, let's take to the streets to show Mr. Collins that he'll always be in our hearts.

He would do it for us.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 04:47:00 +0000

Weekend Snapshots

Made some Valentines. And a mess.

People-watched on the subway. Saw a man in high heels. And not ladies' high heels. I'm talking man heels. He got off the train at Lincoln Center, presumably for a Fashion Week event.

So fellas - get hip and get heels. Their future is now.

Speaking of fellas, this sign was hanging on a door down the hall from where my Improv team rehearses.

Male models? Drawing classes? I think I see what's going on here. (I did not knock.)

Also, "Fleur & Scum"? No, probably "Fleur & Sam." But really - "Fleur"??

Sometimes pizza is a weekend necessity. I'm pretty sure.

After Improv, I headed uptown...

To watch Downton!

CJ & Em invited me over to convert me, and now - like everyone else on the planet - I'm obsessed. Consumed by it, really.

Will Matthew & Mary make a match? Will scheming Thomas get his due? What is Mr. Bates' secret-secret? Can Lord Grantham find a way to fight the entail? Can Daisy ever learn to love electricity??

Don't you dare tell me.

(PS - how much do you love that British reserve? So much is said in silences and sideways glances. And is anyone able to stare out a window quite like a Brit? I think not. They are the best at poignant window-staring.)

It snowed on Saturday morning as I took my lap around the Reservoir. The running path was emptier than usual (nice!), and the water was dotted with flocks of ducks and Canadian geese, all floating with their heads tucked back under their wings (that's their snow strategy, I guess.)

Nothing stuck though, on Saturday, which was mildly disappointing. When I came out of church on Sunday night, I found I had missed a little snowfall while inside. But some of it had stuck around, which made me happy to see.

More snow, please! It covers the grey of mid-winter, and makes this city easier to love.

So that's about how my weekend went. More or less*.

*Not pictured:

A trip to the gym

A theological debate with my roommate

A phone call to discuss Excel spreadsheets

Sleeping in!

A culinary experiment with parsnips & spaghetti squash

4-6 cups of coffee

Other stuff (I don't tell you everything, you know)

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 16:04:00 +0000

Here There Be Lobsters

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 22:43:00 +0000

Boldness, Crystallized

My five-year anniversary at The Firm recently came and went, and it maybe kinda-sorta wrought a minor crisis of purpose. This job was initially supposed to be just a stop-gap situation before grad school, but here we are - five years down the road - and I have no exit strategy.*

This anniversary is not stirring up feelings of "Hooray!" so much as "Oh crap."

But - as is so often the case in life - there is a silver lining, and it is this: I just received an email from The Firm, notifying me that I get to pick out an anniversary gift for myself. Exclamation point!

Perusing the gift catalog for something other than a briefcase or golf club covers, I ran across this listing for wine goblets (as pictured above). I need/want Waterford crystal about as much as those golf club covers (read: not at all), but I was intrigued by their accompanying description:

"Waterford Caprice White Wine Goblets (set of 4). Remember the last time you were bold and daring? Recapture those moments of confidence with these exquisite stemware pieces."

Wowzer. "Recaptured confidence" seems a big promise for a wine glass to make, no? And, am I to understand that using Waterford crystal will make me bold and daring - just like I apparently used to be??

I've clearly underestimated and under-esteemed the power and panache of Waterford.

*Yet. YET!

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 23:35:00 +0000

Like the Wind

I've started running again.

Not a lot, because it makes my knees angry. But just enough, so I can feel good about the 5K I'm running at the end of March. I want that race to feel like a goal well-achieved, not a hurdle barely-survived.

I used to run a lot, back in my high school track days. But I never really liked running. I liked being on a team - that sense of belonging. And I liked having run, much like Dorothy Parker liked having written. But I rarely enjoyed the actual act of running, in the moment.

After high school, I gave up running almost entirely. Except when I was mad. Like, really mad. Like, there is no other way to respond to this emotional state than just to run like hell.

That kind of running is immensely cathartic. This new kind of running - this methodical, goal-oriented kind of running - is different. It's not entirely unpleasant. I think I'm enjoying it, though I'm not entirely sure yet. Give me a couple more weeks.

The past few Saturdays have been blue-sky lovely, so I ran around the reservoir in Central Park. Hard not to enjoy those views, at the very least. Yup, there are worse ways to spend a Saturday morning.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 14:39:00 +0000

In The Manic Whirlwind

Grand Central, last month

This is an older article, but new to me: writer Anne Lamott discusses how to find the time to live a significant, lovely life.

The parts I found most convicting?

"...you have to grasp that your manic forms of connectivity—cell phone, email, text, Twitter—steal most chances of lasting connection or amazement. That multitasking can argue a wasted life. That a close friendship is worth more than material success."

and

"They look at me bitterly now—they don’t think I understand. But I do—I know how addictive busyness and mania are. But I ask them whether, if their children grow up to become adults who spend this one precious life in a spin of multitasking, stress, and achievement, and then work out four times a week, will they be pleased that their kids also pursued this kind of whirlwind life?

If not, if they want much more for their kids, lives well spent in hard work & savoring all that is lovely, why are they living this manic way?"

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 04:35:00 +0000

Public Service Announcement

Everyone: cancel your plans for Saturday night.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 04:33:00 +0000

Sunday in the Park, With Snow

Literary Walk is my most favorite, favorite part of the park.

Just look at those trees!! Old and gnarly and beautiful in any season.

CJ and Em on our walk to church.

Balto is totes used to this kind of weather.

I think he thrives on it, being Siberian and all.

*Not pictured: a man practicing his fly-fishing casting with a neon orange line. Not in or near a lake - just standing on a path in the middle of the park. Says the city of New York: to each his own.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 03:53:00 +0000

Snowandering

Scenes from Saturday morning errand-running...

Football fever - not cooled by the snow

Air-conditioner repair man gets a day off

Cathedral of St. John the Divine

Columbia University

Nussbaum & Wu: you want their black & white cookies

Riverside Park winter sports

The Hudson River and Jersey, beyond

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 13:47:00 +0000

Class Notes

Shepard Hall, City College

My weeknights are filled with extracurricular activities right now. Here's what kept me busy this past week:

1) Hebrew - We're reading through 2 Kings; this week we got up to King Josiah and his sweeping reforms. Very exciting stuff. If you find biblical history to be exciting. And I do.

After 2 Kings, we'll move to Isaiah. I'm SO excited to dig into this book: although the Hebrew will be harder to translate (prophecy being filled with idioms & poetic imagery), there are so many familiar, oft-quoted texts in Isaiah. So many we recently heard or sung during the Christmas season. Looking forward to reading them in their original context.

At the end of class this week, as my teacher and I were chatting, she started to ask, "So when are you..." - her standard preamble to one of two questions. Always the same two questions, lovingly asked and sometimes preceded with the disclaimer, "Now, I don't want to "Jewish mother" you, but..." So I readied myself to hear either (a) ...when are you going to Israel? or (b) ...when are you going to seminary?

It was the latter, this time around. I answered as I always do, "I don't know. Maybe some day." Maybe some day.

2) Improv - I've been in an Improv slump lately, of Pauline proportions. Meaning, when I get on stage, I don't do the things I want to do, and I do do the things I don't want to do.

I can't seem to break old habits (reverting to playing the same types of characters, making the same types of choices in scenes) and though I can picture where I'd like to take things (being bolder, playing freer) I don't see myself making much progress in that direction. It's frustrating.

I read something somewhere once (I'm not 100% that it was even in relation to Improv) that said when you feel like you're hitting a wall, the answer isn't to quit. It's: keep butting your head against that wall until you break through it.

I don't think that advice works for every situation, but I'm willing to try it for this current wall, which I suspect is made of fear, and thus worth shattering. Onwards, again, into the wall...

3) Voice lessons - We'd been working on Christmas music before the break, so at my first voice lesson of the new year, a new song was in order. My teacher suggested Stars and the Moon from Jason Robert Brown's "Songs for a New World." I wasn't familiar with it, but now I kinda love it! The first chorus actually reminds me of my relationship with God, sometimes:

"He said..."I'll give you stars and the moon and a soul to guide you
And a promise I'll never go
I'll give you hope to bring out all the life inside you
And the strength that will help you grow.
I'll give you truth and a future that's twenty times better
Than any Hollywood plot."
And I thought, "You know,
I'd rather have a yacht."

I don't want an actual yacht, but my metaphorical yacht is all the dreams I'm clinging to with closed fists, convinced that This. Is. What. I. Really. Want. Unable to trust that God might have something twenty times better.

Oh, life. So much to learn.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 21:21:00 +0000

Voices

Self-portrait. Kinda.

From Henri Nouwen's Bread for the Journey:

"The Still, Small Voice of Love

Many voices ask for our attention. There is a voice that says, “Prove that you are a good person.” Another voice says, “You’d better be ashamed of yourself.” There also is a voice that says, “Nobody really cares about you,” and one that says, “Be sure to become successful, popular, and powerful.”

But underneath all these often very noisy voices is a still, small voice that says, “You are my Beloved, my favor rests on you.” That’s the voice we need most of all to hear. To hear that voice, however, requires special effort; it requires solitude, silence, and a strong determination to listen.

That’s what prayer is. It is listening to the voice that calls us “my Beloved.”"

All other goals aside, this is maybe my most fervent heart-hope for this winter season. Or, really, year. Or, really, life. To determinedly seek that solitude and silence necessary to hear that still, small voice. To stop listening to the "you should be's" and pay closer attention to the "you already are's."

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 14:19:00 +0000

This Guy

There's a silver-haired gentleman who rides his Segway up and down Park Avenue. I'm a little bit obsessed with him.

Occasionally he segs on the sidewalk (as pictured above), but usually he's in the street, zipping along with the cabs and bike messengers. One time I saw him and his Segway inside the now-defunct Borders on 57th & Park. (I like to think he was buying a biography on Teddy Roosevelt. I have no evidence to back this up - it's just what I choose to believe.)

Despite his modern mode of transport, he assuredly seems to be the sort of gentleman who belongs to a bygone era. Case in point: I have never seen him without a hat. He is well-groomed: he wears nice trench coats or driving jackets, and his trousers are always well pressed.

The wooden canes hanging from the Segway's handlebars hint at a mobility - rather than modernity - motivation for riding such a device. I wonder about his story: where he came from, what he's seen, the life he's lived, and continues to live. What indomitable spirit within prompted him to consider a Segway, rather than retirement, when walking became difficult?

I wish I knew him, so I could ask him all my questions. He probably isn't the sort of fellow who would care to answer them, though. He'd probably rather tell anecdotes about golfing with a Kennedy in the 60's, or maybe he'd lecture me on the importance of a diversified investment strategy, or offer criticism/praise for this season's line up at Carnegie Hall.

Or maybe I have him pegged all wrong, maybe he's nothing like what I imagine.

That would be ok, too. I like surprises.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 15:50:00 +0000

I Say, I Say

I know we're all getting tired of the "Sh*t So-and-So Says" trend, but I thought this video was pretty funny. Probably 'cause it relates to ME. (narcissism: alive & well)

Most of these phrases have (perhaps regrettably) come out of my mouth at some point in my 6.5 years in this city. Except the bits about Pat Kiernan - didn't know who that guy was. Had to Google him.

I don't own a TV.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 19:05:00 +0000

And So Can You

Lower East Side

If you've missed the NY Times piece on Stephen Colbert that's been making recent rounds on the internet, check it out! Or don't. I'm not the boss of you.

The article is long-ish (or is it? I'm so ADHD-addled by social networking that I no longer have a good frame of reference for what constitutes "long." In any case, it's over 140 characters) but it's a worthwhile read, as it offers interesting insight on Colbert's career arc, his political machinations, and his studies in Chicago with the shadowy character Del Close, father of long-form Improv.

Admittedly, that last part might not interest you as much as it interests me.

But here's something that might appeal to a broader audience - arriving in the second half of the article, amid a biographical sketch, Colbert reveals the lesson his mother taught him on framing tragedy and rising above it:

"In 1974, when Colbert was 10, his father, a doctor, and his brothers Peter and Paul, the two closest to him in age, died in a plane crash while flying to a prep school in New England.

“There’s a common explanation that profound sadness leads to someone’s becoming a comedian, but I’m not sure that’s a proven equation in my case,” he told me. “I’m not bitter about what happened to me as a child, and my mother was instrumental in keeping me from being so.”

He added, in a tone so humble and sincere that his character would never have used it: “She taught me to be grateful for my life regardless of what that entailed, and that’s directly related to the image of Christ on the cross and the example of sacrifice that he gave us. What she taught me is that the deliverance God offers you from pain is not no pain — it’s that the pain is actually a gift. What’s the option? God doesn’t really give you another choice.”"

Interesting thoughts from a funny, funny man.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 22:15:00 +0000

Frigiderriere

Central Park on Sunday

It was COLD in the city this weekend.

I suppose I don't have license to complain about the cold, though, as I've already complained far too much about the heat. So - don't take that as a complaint. Take it as a statement of fact. It was COLD. That's all.

I walked across the park on Sunday afternoon, heading home from Scrabble before heading out again to church. The park was relatively empty. Not entirely empty (very few places in the city ever are) but empty relative to its normal weekend busyness. There were some requisite joggers at the Reservoir, some dogs with their owners and, of course, me. But few others.

I passed the now-abandoned tennis courts, crunched over what-used-to-be-grass, looked up at naked trees. A couple of them had retained their leaves, but the leaves were mud-brown and appeared frozen. When the wind blew through them, it sounded like paper rustling or ghosts hissing; there was hardly any movement.

I felt lucky to live so close, to be able to watch the park cycle through the seasons. Even in her tundra-like state on Sunday, she was a very pretty park.

* * *

Later that evening, in a drafty old church building downtown, the pastor paused mid-sermon. "I'm sorry for speaking so fast," he apologized, "But I am freezing."

Just stating the facts.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 04:10:00 +0000

Conversing

Cafe Lalo, uncharacteristically uncrowded at 2am

My weekend involved a whole lot of good food and good conversation. Can anything better be hoped for, in the dark days of January? I think not.

Friday night found a teammate and I splitting tapas and red wine on the UWS, before moving to nearby Lalo for Viennese coffee and continued conversation about Improv theory, interfaith holidays, workplace dating, and "my condition" (as JJ would term the single Christian life).

Saturday night I trekked to Greenpoint, where Beks made me a belated birthday dinner of open-face steak sandwiches and spinach & mushroom salad with bacon dressing. (Bacon dressing! I think I could be convinced to eat a piece of cardboard if it was covered in bacon dressing.) We discussed conspiracy theories, Paula Dean's triumph over agoraphobia, and playing the cards that life has dealt you.

Sunday morning I took the subway to Gramercy for brunch with Kat, who was in town visiting for a few days. The brioche french toast came with lemon curd (yum!), and the coffee came with conversation about our past, present and futures, as well as talk of travel, books, and church politics.

Man, I loved this weekend. Thanks, friends, for breaking bread and sharing good words with me.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 16:17:00 +0000

Still Beginning

"New Year's Day: Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual."

- Mark Twain

The past couple of years I've extended my reflecting and resolving time long past the first of January. Maybe this is attributable to my Myers-Briggs type - as an INFP I tend to get excited by the start of a project (rather than the completion of one) and the new year is like one BIG project. So I stay in the planning phase, and procrastinate moving on to the actual doing phase.

I don't know. Whatever the reason, I'm lingering in a New Year's state of mind.

This has involved tinkering with my goals (adding, deleting, adjusting, re-thinking) and creating space: removing no-longer-friends on Facebook, unsubscribing from newsletters that clutter my inbox, emptying cabinets, filling bags of stuff for Goodwill, etc. Purging, divesting, and otherwise making room for the New Year.

I've also been reviewing the past year - looking for lessons and themes, deciding what to celebrate and what needs to be grieved before I can move on from it.

This past year wasn't terrible (at all), but - because it ended with some heartache - I'm tempted to look back on it through a lens of loss. Flipping through my calendar & journal & blog has helped me paint a better (more accurate?) picture.

2011 was a year of some pretty awesome feats of bravery: I conquered a deep-seated fear and sang on a stage, in front of an audience. I fulfilled a long-time travel goal and walked 75 miles, by myself, across Spain. And I swam with sharks and barracuda in sunny St. John. Fun stuff.

In Improv terms, I completed three classes (including the highest level at my theater), worked with four different indy groups, and performed in 41 shows. (So that's where all my free time went...)

I saw some good theater (The 39 Steps), some okay theater (Anything Goes), and some hilarious theater (Improvised Shakespeare). I also saw Chita Rivera at Town Hall, attended a french-horn recital at Carnegie Hall and an accordion extravaganza in the East Village. (Note to self: see more live music in 2012! My 2011 included regrettably few concerts.)

I moved. I took up Zumba. I karaoke'd (multiple times). I went on some awful dates; I went on some great dates. I (ever-so-briefly) stalked a shoe salesman with soulful brown eyes. I spied on James Marsden on set at 30 Rock. I handed out valentines to veterans, and played bingo with seniors. And Scrabble, of course. Lots of Scrabble.

There were rough times, too: scary family stuff in the spring, sad family stuff in the summer, hard church stuff, the aforementioned heartache. Rough stuff, but looking back on it now, I'm so grateful for the friends and community who carried me through it. Really, really so, so thankful.

Mental pictures of 2011 I want to keep: Singing the Pina Colada song while riding in a jeep on St. John. Celebratory dancing with my Improv team. Staying at a friend's birthday party til dawn. Surprising myself. Hanging out with my fave toddler the day her sister was born. Leaving a lecture at JTS on a sticky summer evening, passing an old man & young boy playing chess on the sidewalk. Feeling beheld. Long walks in Harlem. Pink sunrises in Spain.

I cried a fair amount, but I also laughed a ton. There was so much beauty, in 2011. I choose to remember that.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 04:50:00 +0000

Happy NHTD!

January 11th is National Hot Toddy Day.

Nope, I don't know the historical origins of this holiday. Do you really need to know them, in order to celebrate the sweet union of whiskey and honey?

Didn't think so.

There are many variations on a hot toddy, but here's how I made mine:

2 oz bourbon
1/2 tsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. honey
lemon juice (to taste)
strips of lemon peel
cinnamon sticks
hot water

Mix the first four ingredients in a glass. Drop in the lemon peel and cinnamon sticks. Top with hot water. Stir. Let it steep for just a bit. Enjoy! (that's an order)

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 21:41:00 +0000

The Haps

Looking up on 34th Street

Bullet points:

My week-days are bananas for the next 6 weeks. Despite best intentions to pare down my schedule, things imploded a bit - especially with Improv. I'm committed (no way out!) and it's unavoidable (for the interim) so I'm just going to have to get through it.

But I'm looking forward to February, when I can take a little break and re-evaluate how I'm spending my time.

All that to say - I'm super jazzed when each weekend rolls around. Mini-breaks!

This past weekend was especially fun: I had good friends visiting from Boston. (MadDawg, Slayer, Kujo and The Pulse: Has it really been ten years since we all met? Crazy talk.)

So fun to see these girls, fun to have them at my Improv show, fun to hang out, eat food, drink coffee, reminisce. Sad to see them go. :( Come back soon!!

I invented a new word: hilarifying (= hilarious + terrifying). A lexiconical addition deemed necessary by this article/video. Totes hilarifying.

I can't seem to sleep past 6:45am anymore. I've been waking up every morning at that time, for no good reason. Or...maybe there is a good reason? Maybe I just need to figure out what that good reason is? Hmmm.

Lately I can't get enough of the old song "These Foolish Things." Mostly been listening to the Billy Holiday and Dave Brubeck arrangements, but just discovered an Etta James version that knocks my striped socks off. I think I played it at least 20 times yesterday.

Sadly, I can't find this particular version on Youtube to share with y'all. (Begging the question - does something even really exist if it's not on Youtube?) There's an earlier Etta rendition out there - perfectly good, but not as soulful as this later version I'm loving. Etta's voice is lower, slower and full of life-lived in the latter recording. It sounds like she just feels it more. Love that. Sigh.

Lastly, if you have many, many hours to kill, may I direct you to this site? Full House Reviewed is chronologically re-capping every episode of Full House, and it's pretty funny (if a little NSFW). You're welcome!

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 20:37:00 +0000

Getting Past It

Window reflection, Frank Lloyd Wright's Robie House

“Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard. I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbably beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.”

- From Starlings in Winter, by Mary Oliver

This poem could be my prayer for me, for 2012:

to move past what hurt about last year

to dream big, audacious things for the new year

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 04:57:00 +0000

Animals In Evening Attire

This year's holiday window displays at Bergdorf Goodman were weird and wild, per the usual.

I can never quite figure out just what Bergdorf is trying to sell with these displays.

The aesthetic is something like... The Great Gatsby meets The Chronicles of Narnia meets someone's acid trip.

I didn't even know that my life was missing a tiny albino monkey in a cape and turban, until Bergdorf pointed that out.

Now I can't sleep for the knowing...

Oh, hats. Suddenly my own hat collection seems entirely inadequate. Also, the number of occasions in my life suitable for wearing hats is entirely inadequate.

Bergdorf, thou hast ruined me. Ruined me good.

I think these particular windows aren't so much selling merchandise as making a statement: humans and animals can - nay, must - live together in harmony. And haberdashery.

This last window reminds me of the Chrysler building, in the best possible way. No snark, just love, for this silvery sequined vision:

B.G. - you did good: fantastic and fantastical. I can't afford you, but I'm content just loitering outside on your sidewalks each December. See you next year.

Last year's windows shown here.

noreply@blogger.com (KristyWes) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 03:46:00 +0000

I.M.o.M.

His out-of-the-blue text read "Wanna have lunch?" Since I believed him to be in Boston (where he lives), I was confused. Ummmm.

"Are you in NYC?" I asked. My friend Zim replied that he was. He's an International Man of Mystery - you never know where he will turn up.

A few hours later - we met at a divey (but decent) Chinese food place and caught up on life. "What brings you to New York?" I asked.

"I'll tell you, but I'm going to edit bits out."

"You're going to lie to me by omission?"

"Yes, I'm going to lie by omission."

Mysterious.

I met Zim through church, shortly after moving to Boston ten years ago. Our friendship was cemented through parties, retreats, brunches, and movie nights (Zim was horrified to learn that my roommates and I had never seen Indiana Jones; I was horrified to learn that his favorite comedy was Jingle All the Way).

When - four years after arriving in Boston - I set my sights on New York, Zim helped me make the move. On a sunny September morning we caught a Greyhound bus from South Station, dragged my suitcases through the subway, dropped them at my friend's Upper East Side apartment, then wandered through the Frick collection, watched roller-skaters in Central Park, and checked out the dinos at Natural History. We parted ways at Port Authority - he bussed back to Boston while I stayed and figured out life here.

Or tried to. Am still trying to. Haven't quite got it figured out yet.

Which I confessed to Zim on Thursday, as we discussed purpose and career goals and life ambitions. Then we moved on to lighter topics: dipthongs vs. monophthongs (see napkin scratchings, above), his family back in Africa, avoiding blue comedy in Improv shows, and a scientist who has figured out how to stop the aging process.

Zim was especially excited about this last topic - the endless possibilities of a (potentially) endless life. My head hurt pondering all the ethical and practical logistics of it.

We are very different, Zim and I. I'm so thankful for friends who challenge me to look at the world in new ways.

Zim: here's hoping your mysterious ways mysteriously bring you back to NYC again sometime soon.