Reduction Sauced To Boredom and Insanity in Providence
March 9, 2009
What is going on around here? A full page ad for Karaoke as the entertainment offering at the hippest new downtown restaurant, open-mike nights at places too cheap to pay entertainers. To Do Listings for meatball nights, wine tasting, Tapes bars, singles nights, Donny Osmond or another truck tour of “Grease” at Providence Center for the Performing Arts, and oh dear, not another Salsa night!
Clubs with half a dozen TV sets blaring third tier sporting events, throbbing, faux leather ultra-lounges; pricey, overly designed theme restaurants suggesting Paris in the ‘20’s or Rome during Nero’s reign. We’re all dressed up with nowhere to go, unless we want to eat. And eat. And eat.
Who doesn’t like a good meal, but how much can a person consume without exploding? We’re being reduction sauced to death, meatballed to madness. Swimming through olive oil en route to the gym, we are still starved. Starved for stimulation.
Why is Providence such a bore? Its sum continues to remain smaller than its parts. Lodged between Boston and New York, with easy access to moneyed Newport and the ocean, an Ivy League school and a top School of Design, it seems improbable that the mainstream restaurants, theaters and nightclubs continue to thrive, while those attempting the unique soon close up shop.
The artists are here, I’ve seen them. The intelligent are here, I’ve spoken with them. The misfits, rebels, and bohemians who might be in Paris, or New York, if they had more money- they’re here, too. Gay men keep the nights alive despite the cold and recession, forgotten musicians keep music alive despite exploitation and lack of venues. The mayor, a lover of arts and beauty, stands firm against corruption and ignorance. The journalists and columnists wrestle with silent censors; the students and youth rehearse their garage bands and provide us poetry slams and they are adorable, but it is not enough.
The Renaissance that Mayor Cianci inspired several years ago has left us a beautiful waterfront, loads of calories, struggling artists and little else. In 1998, Buddy said in an interview, “Cities have to breathe. They have to smell like a city, feel like a city, sing a song of a city with symphonic proportions.” It breaks my heart, but Providence is singing the blues. How can we shake it up again, bring back the gritty edge, the unpredictable eclecticism that makes art worthwhile?
It’s common knowledge that the general population, called general for a reason, doesn’t like surprises. These dull minds, with a taste for status they can never achieve, crave the nouveau as packaged by Madison Avenue. Scurrying around like desperate squirrels in search of a fat nut, the masses demand suggestions from glossy magazines and the local rags. They need to know what and who they should worship and in what order. The fewer choices, the happier they are. Their limited imaginations avoid challenge.
The monstrous Providence Mall, front and dead center, is the cities beacon. The pastel mausoleum still hums with activity, even during this recession, in the middle of an ice-storm, with glassy eyed hoards spending 10 dollars on a movie ticket and 4 dollars for bottled water before they head to the food court for pizza, Chinese food and ice-cream. Down the street, next to a busy hair and nail salon is a bawdy sports bar, a proper coffee shop, a near empty Jazz club offering, again, Vinny at the keyboard or Bob on guitar.
Why is Providence the East Coast’s answer to Toledo? Is there a secret organization of inbred plebeians undermining our efforts? A good old boy network invested in hiring cousin Vinny or Uncle Bob so that Aunt Brenda can keep her Jaguar?
Who or what continues to suppress the avant-garde within these city limits? Pawtucket offers us more sophisticated alternatives.
I need to know. I love this city very much, and keep returning to it again and again, as many artists do. We need to save it from the timid minds who suffocate the spirit of this great place. The recession may be a good time to do it. With nothing to lose, proprietors may be willing to take more risks. It is written that this should occur. It is, after all, Divine Providence.
The Joy of Doodling Around
March 5, 2009
I tried an experiment this past week. I decided to not do anything that I didn’t want to do. I found that I wanted to floss my teeth and vacuum out my car, do laundry, go to the library, read Charles Dickens, have my dog tested for Lyme Disease, go for long walks, write a piece for my blog, talk to renters about the house in Vermont, deposit rent checks, attend weight lifting and yoga classes, have a friend over for dinner, move furniture, and doodle around with my oil paints. I did not listen to music, rehearse, learn new songs, call club owners for gigs. I did not return 80 percent of my phone calls. I did not listen to the frenetic clicking in my head, I did not worry. I did not watch the news or listen to the radio. I mostly doodled around. I loved the doodling most of all. Have you doodled lately? Doodling can be painting, writing, sewing, climbing a mountain. It is doodling because it is done only for the sake of itself, to kill time, really. Nothing comes of doodling, except more doodling and a calming of your mind. Your mind, released from the practical, pragmatic schedule of your life. Nothing to do and nowhere to go. The places to go, the things to do, can wait, at least a week. Even if you work at a job you detest, you can doodle at work. The boss doesn’t have to know it. If you are working on a project of no importance which includes filing, typing, copying and conference calls, just doodle your way through it. Typing, just watch your fingers move and press against the keys as though you are massaging the tips of your fingers. Filing, the file cabinet is a Top Secret Department of Wonders, between A and Z – there’s a message and while you’re filing, try to figure it out. If your copying you can always cut and fold some reports so that they look like clouds with words in them. Conference calls, — doodle through them — speak in different accents, or try remaining silence when the other party or parties assume you will speak. Lower the bar. Raise the bar. There IS no bar, so you can doodle with it. Better yet, quit your job and join a tent city. Responsibilities? If you die tomorrow, everybody you are responsible for will make out just fine. Let them start making out just fine now, while you’re still alive. My doodling makes me remember that everything I do is basically insignifigant, so why not doodle instead? What’s the difference between doodling and singing in a gay bar for 100 dollars? Doodling is more productive in that it is effortless, relaxing, immediate, Doodling allows your inner true self to emerge — to swim up through the muck of who you think you are, want to be, were, or never were and never will be, but who cares? Nobody. Nobody cares. That is their gift to you. Take it.It’s not my Fault I was born me.
February 22, 2009
Tonight, a call from a friend who wanted me to get dressed and go crash some Providence Oscar parties. A Providence Oscar Party? Think of it. The damp cheeses, the gaudy jewelry, the Rhode Island accents. I suppose the flat screen maxi-t.v. set is front and center, and the couches are set right, so that the women can chatter about the fashions on the stars and the men can stand far enough away from them to enjoy a cigar and a glance at the bodies of the stars. Celebrity obsession. Have you ever seen a celebrity in person. Except for Barack Obama and Audrey Hepburn, they are mostly pimpled and pale, gaunt and vacuous. I worked as an extra on Working Girl and spend several days standing near What’s Her Name– you know, Tippy Hedren’s daughter – and she was very nice because she was very high on coke. On camera, as Mike Nichols gazed at the Daily’s, she looked sweetly plump. In person, with her head in her hands between takes, trying not to vomit, she was red-eyed, bloated, blotched and bleached. I saw first hand what cameras could do, and editing, and several takes of one scene. I understood publicity, and marketing and money. I remember passing Mike Nichols in the hall. He stopped and said, “Well, you are particularly beautiful.” There I stood, in panty hose, dull suit, with over-sprayed hair and a plaster of face numbing make-up, unable to answer because I had lost myself in the role of an insignifigant. Being an extra kills your personality, let alone your talent. I merely smiled blandly at the greatest film director in the world, and shuffled past like a cardboard cutout. That being said, I enjoy watching movies and the Oscars, but I don’t think that getting dressed up on a Sunday night in Providence in order to “crash” an Oscar Party full of fluffies is a can-do. Even if a local celebrity or two shows up. Would might that be? Kitty Litter? Buddy Cianci? I have long ago come to understand that no introduction, no connection, no job offer, no party can take the place of focused work and honest performance, even if the honesty demands that you remain unknown.
Getting Ready for Mardi Gras
February 7, 2009
Doesn’t take much to make me happy. New Orleans, breakfast at noon, lots of jazz, a warm sun at my back, shrimp gumbo extra hot, and Howard is able to walk again without freezing his feet. A beautiful house in the garden district all to myself, people who becomes friends after a hello. I am singing here for a few weeks with friend Del on whorehouse piano, up and down Bourbon Street and in little out of the way clubs on the side streets of the Quarter. I am housesitting and doggie sitting for a wonderful friend who is visiting Belize — Her funky house is full of Indonesian voo-doo and hot sauces. I’m learning some new music for upcoming gigs in the cold and grey north where my friends are about to have a nervous breakdown, like I almost did. Well, I’ll have it when I get back. Remember, rice and hot sauce is cheap, and so is the rental of a cold water flat. Don;t forget about public transportation and if you’re worried about money for your retirement, if you sell everything you own, which is always a good plan, you can take the money and put it under your mattress, and if you run out, get a cyanide capsule. There are alternatives to recessional suffering. There is another life out there that you’re missing because of your fears and habits. Oh, dear, I feel, at this very moment, that I am catching a bad cold. Now, that’s life!!!!The Special Gift of Recession
January 24, 2009
You’ve heard the phrase, “nobody knows you when you’re down and out” and although the opposite is also true “nobody likes you when you’re up and rich” – this recession offers you the opportunity to collect critical date on friends, family, acquaintances and business associates. Yes, you can finally find out who your friends are. Read more
Trapped on FACEBOOK
January 15, 2009
Sub-zero temperatures encourage me to stay indoors and write? no, read? no, clean? no, use my cell minutes? no. I check my Facebook page and feel an overwhelming desire to communicate with my so called 156 “friends” – communicate my loathing for myself and Facebook, them, the weather, the world, modern civilization. If I can wean myself from TV, chocolates, sex and expensive face creams, why can’t I extract myself from Facebook? Read more
The Gypsy in My Soul
January 9, 2009
As the recession deepens and job losses mount, I am entertaining my artist friends. I’m not working so I have lots of free time between reading, painting, walking Howard, writing and drinking. Having lived close to the edge for years, the economic melt-down feels like another day in paradise. The paradise of reality. I was tired of being a dancing monkey in fur for the Bourgeois. It’s nice to take a long break and focus on entertaining my constituents and friends privately. Who needs a nightclub or restaurant to have fun? They’re all going under anyway. Why demand employment and add insult to injury? The best thing I can do for the economy right now is not look for a job. We artists are in a good position now. We don’t have any debt because we never had any credit. We know how to live on 5,000 dollars a year, maximum. The only big change I’ve had to make is in the quality of cheese and wine for my soirees.Believe me when I tell you that the best part of your life is about to begin. Stop crunching numbers and face the music. Find out what you really wanted to do with your one and only life and do it. You might have to sell that antique candy dish, but did you really need it?
“No cares, no strings…. My heart has wings…
If I am fancy free and love to wander, It’s just the gypsy in my soul”
January 9, 2009
Featured Article:
Dumb- Ster
The cop looked in the dumpster and noticed a picture of his wife. He had just received a complaint from the Olympic Sports store that someone had dumped bags of garbage in their dumpster. That someone was me. I’d cleaned out a few drawers of hometown memories that morning, – high school notebooks, graduation pictures, diplomas, clippings and headed into what I thought was a free-for-all dumpster tucked behind a strip mall. After I threw the bags into the dumpster I took a walk with the dog and when I returned to my car I was met by the policeman and the assistant manager of the Olympic Sports store. Read more »