Front-of-House Publicity

Attack of the Homo Zombies

The state capitol building in Albany is a monumental late-19^th century  pile of limestone and granite sitting high on a hill above the Hudson River.  One ascends the steps with a sense of the power of the place, but it also endows the visitor with his/her own feeling of importance for having the freedom to enter such a building that they, in essence, "own."  

Across the street is the Empire State Plaza, a bizarre and strangely seductive conglomeration of 1970s modernism dreamed up by Nelson Rockefeller.  It houses the state office buildings, a museum and The Egg—an elliptical performing arts center.  The plaza itself is acres and acres of terrazzo slabs and reflecting pools and imbues the visitor with all the confidence of a flea wondering what's that funny powder settling on my head?  The place literally looms on a precipice above the highway like some "galaxy far, far away" fortress.  And it’s usually completely empty (so I guess its seductive powers are not universal.)  Strangely, no one has ever filmed a futuristic zombie flick there.  It’s ripe.

 

Next Tuesday the plaza will not be so empty.  It’s Equality & Justice Day, the annual lobbying day for LGBT rights.  As I’m a volunteer with the Empire Pride Agenda (the local host for the day) I shall be working the event that morning before heading off to work at the Damien Center.  I volunteered—and really hope I’m assigned—to board the out-of-town buses to welcome the participants and give them their initial instructions and directions for the day.  I’m so shy, so standing in front of a bus full of LGBT folks (in a jolly mood, no doubt) will be simply torture.  (I’m picturing myself holding a clipboard with my glasses on a chain around my neck.)  When all the buses are checked in I’ll head over to the registration tables and try to remember if “R” comes before or after “V.”

 

The day should be very exciting for several reasons, not least of which is Governor Paterson’s submission last week of a marriage equality bill.  That, and the just-released poll showing that New Yorkers support same-sex marriage with a clear majority, has changed the entire dynamic of the day.  It’s gone from we lobbyists visiting legislators with our hats in our hands to striding confidently into senators’ offices with the reminder that if they vote against this bill they stand a good chance of being defeated in the next election.  Even the Republicans.  (Although, not necessarily in my good old Greene [red] County.)

 

At the volunteer meeting yesterday we were told that a) absolutely no more people could participate in the event because it’s already overbooked and b) there could be up to 100 people in each legislative visit.  When I did the AIDS Awareness Day lobbying event there were, you may recall, five of us in our group.  I simply can’t imagine a group as large as they’re anticipating, but I can imagine the impact on the legislators when they see 100 exuberant people stream into their offices.

 

The times they are a-changin’.

 

 

 

Unrelated: I’m substantially breaking confidentiality rules to relate these two charming incidents that occurred during member intakes at the Damien Center recently:  

 

One fellow drily responded to my query, “Have you had unprotected sex with someone who is HIV-positive,” with:  “Apparently.”

 

After another person gave me their birth date I said, while trying to calculate his age in my head, “and that would make you…”

“A Leo,” he answered.

Margo and Molly and Greg. Oh. My.

So, Craig, my friend who was going to stay at Idlewild while I’m away had to pull out.  Tch!  Something about Hollywood…?  a job…?  big bucks…?  I dunno; some mess like that.  Craig!  We hardly knew ye!

 

Exit Craig; enter Craigslist. 

 

Yesterday AM a car pulled into the driveway with three wayward youngsters looking for a place to escape the city for a few months during the grueling heat of the summer.  A couple and their friend.  Hmmm…  They got out, looked around and I sent them on their way to scope things out and get a feel for the place.

 

After a few minutes they came, like supplicants before the rental deity, asking if they might be allowed to… was it too much to hope for… 

 

I was merciless.  I ground them into powder.  They twisted and squirmed like putty through my fingertips (to blend several metaphors.)  By the time I was done they were begging me just to allow them to leave with even a shred of humanity left.  If only I would point them in the direction of the Thruway!!!!

 

OK, maybe it wasn’t quite like that.  In point of fact, I fell in love with the entire trio and I had to catch myself from offering to pay them to stay here.  We drank tea on the deal (as Greg observed) and that was that.  No fuss, no muss, no polishing the polish. 

 

Margo promises me she’s going to keep an Idlewild blog so I can enjoy the summer with them vicariously.  And Greg promises me he won't gut any large animals on the down side of a steep slope.  (You had to be there.)  And Molly promises to promise me something. They'll be spending a lovely "Jules et Jim" (in obverse) summer here in the country.  

(I suppose I made that last part up, but it is a sweet thought...)  

 

Which, of course, raises the point that the end of May (my departure date) is nigh approaching.  I’m doing as much work on the camper as I can and making whatever logistical arrangements need to be made for an extended leave.  (Which aren’t much, surprisingly.  My first long tour of the country--for two years with “Cabaret”—was before everything one needs to do could be done online, and it turns out one can pretty much walk out of one's house and pull one's door behind oneself and things more-or-less takes care of themselves.  Especially since one has one's very own M-G-M-more-stars-than-there-are-in-the-heavens residents in, uh, residence.)

 

I  am planting all the pots on the deck, even though I won’t be here to see them spill over with blooms.  It’s the existentialist in me, I guess.  T’maters, too.  Last summer, when I was working on the house, I’d walk out the front door to get a 2x4 or a tube of caulk or something and grab a Ripe Red on the way to the truck and eat it like a' apple.  I’m hoping I can get nasturtiums in before I head out.  They simply cascaded o’er the pots last year.  

Sigh…

 

[Note to self:  Quit it, will ya?  You’re not going to be here and you’re going to be somewhere really, really wonderful.]

 

And I will be.  All the details will be revealed once I settle into a routine on Saba, but my situation is going to be one that if you saw it in a Lifetime TV movie (I’m seeing Diane Lane in my role.  Or maybe Gabby Hayes.  Without his teeth.) you’d roll your eyes because nothing like that could ever happen.

 

Yup, if I were superstitious (I’m not) I’d be waiting for something terrible to happen (I’m not) to show me I’m really just dreaming all this (I’m not.)

 

Pictured below:  the Doyenne-In-Residence at Idlewild this summer.

Below her:  Jeanne Moreau.

Below him:  The Raimenteuse of Rivington

 

Sigh…

Serendipity-doo-dah!

How amazing to be in the position of planning and anticipating two disparate, equally wonderful projects.  Canned Ham is inching along when I get a chance to work on it, but mostly, as I glance at the calendar I see that the end of May and my departure for Saba are galloping towards me like a stallion trying to impress the mare on the other side of the pasture (unless the farm is in Iowa, and then it could just as easily—and legally—be another stallion.)  Fortunately, the one major concern I had—who would stay in my house while I’m away—has been taken care of.  My friend Craig, who was the star of a movie for which I wrote the music a thousand years ago when someone who inhabited my body was a composer, is going to move in to spend an Idlewildean summer in the Catskills.  Craig is a writer and director, in addition to holding a SAG card, so he’ll be able to use the cute little shed behind the house that I whimsically dubbed “The Writer’s Studio” for its intended purpose.

 

So many friends have expressed remorse over my leaving my cabin for Idlewild.  “You’re going to miss it so much,” they say.  Well, no.  I’m strangely unsentimental in that respect.  Possessions, y’know?  They’re things.  But yesterday, when I was walking the grounds of Idlewild trying to figure out where to place outdoor furniture and deciding what flowers should go where, I did in fact have a twinge of remorse that I won’t get to spend the summer here.  That Craigster is gonna be one happy fella.

 

But Saba…

 

“Serendipity” is the discovery, or acquisition, of something wonderful while searching for or heading towards something unrelated.  Serendipity has struck once again.  Through reasons which will be elaborated upon in due course (but mostly due to the very generous intervention by one who is for all intents and purposes a [very handsome] stranger) while I am helping out at El Momo I will be residing—not in one of the cottages on the premises as planned—but at another house just down the hill.  To repeat, all will be revealed in time, but a truly remarkable opportunity has presented itself and I have been offered a sweet little apartment of my own on a larger property.  My presence there will (hopefully) be a help to the proprietor of the place but the recipient of the bulk of the good fortune will be… me.

 

Here is the view from what will be my roof terrace.  Please, everyone, take a moment to hate me.