You never really know a person until you can sit down and have a long meal with them.  At least, that’s one of the best ways.  You can find out all sorts of things about a person by the way they conduct themselves when they’re busy eating.  It might sound a little creepy, like I like to watch people eat because I’m a sort of a spy.  In fact, I sometimes pretend I’m a spy during a dinner, especially if the conversation gets enormously boring and there’s nothing to do but make inferences about the way someone holds a fork.  There are some amazing things you can discover about a person in this way.  In New York, the restaurants are so good, that most people don’t think about how they eat because they’re so busy enjoying themselves.

The other night, however, I found myself lost in a conversation to the point where I didn’t make any of my usual observations.  He was an old friend I knew in high school, and we were meeting to catch up on our lives.  I imagined it would be the usual conversation about marriages, jobs, and kids, but he hadn’t really done any of those things.  After high school, he decided he was going to learn about the Druids, the living ones, and set out for adventures.  He’d traveled extensively in Ireland and Wales, and even part of France, and apparently got in touch with some people who taught him some very interesting things.

The funny part of this is, not only do I not remember much of the meal, I don’t even remember most of the conversation.  We must have sat for a good three hours, and I know he told me story after story.  I was amazed.  I remember being amazed.  I also remember that he did everything in series of threes.  He said it was all a part of it, and that was the correct way to begin an incantation.  He spoke about goddesses in trees, that much I know, but the rest, the rest is like a song.  It was a dinner that was just like a song, and at some point I guess I forgot to pay attention to the fork.

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The history of any kind of art in New York City is going to have a lot of diverse roots, taking influences from multiple locations and multiple ideologies.  Like the people who make up the city, the ideas and the art forms are hybrid forms from the world’s cultures, and develop together to form something that is altogether local and original.  This is certainly true for poetry, and New York has had an amazing roster of extremely talented poets gracing its streets, living quiet lives of desperation, as well as spectacular flights into inspiration.  Some of these flights have turned out to be as Quixotic as Icarus (if we can mix iconic metaphors), and some have been journeys that are marked by tragedy as well as enormous perseverance.

Aspiring poets of today usually have a fairly good understanding of the extraordinary difficulties of their profession, or calling as the case may be.  Those wondering if they might want to join in the illustrious roster of poets here often decide to explore their options, booking one of the best hotels in Manhattan, to see what the city might spark in their imaginations.  Any newcomer to the scene should be aware of certain legacies and institutions here, and the Nuyorican Poets Cafe is a brilliant place to begin the search.

The anthology Aloud! was a landmark in poetry publications, marking the importance of the contributions of this institution to the world of poetry in contemporary times.  It also demonstrates some of the best writing of these generations.  Miguel Algarin started the Cafe in 1973, as a place where Puetro Rican voices could find a home.  It evolved very quickly, and demanded larger spaces for the growing roster of poets, along with the expanding audience.  Today, it is one of the landmarks of multicultural poetic voices, developing new work in the footsteps of great poets such as Piñero, Shange, Figueroa, among many, many others.

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I’m just watching the world go ‘round. I’m just watching the people roll. Tonight the stars will replace them. ‘Til then I watch the flow. Kenny repeated these lines that grew from his original motto for the day, which in turn grew from his original intention of existing only as an observer for twenty-four hours. He woke up at 6:00 that morning, which was his typical time to rise and was immediately struck with a desire to see from a new perspective the argument he had with his girlfriend, Carol, the night before. They had been fighting pretty regularly these last few months and the one consistent theme with Carol’s complaints was that he was too stubborn to see anyone else’s point of view. At first Kenny believed that this was a manipulation tactic, but after a month or so he realized that Carol was being too consistent and sincere sounding and with little to no return on her efforts for it to be manipulation. So, after Kenny had his eggs, toast, yogurt and coffee he headed walked to Central Park and was an active observer his entire way there.

As Kenny walked he noticed numerous people in various states of transactions, conversations and business exchanges. He was amazed at how many people had cell phones and how busy most of them seemed to look. He had never given so much attention to those around him on the city street nor had he ever realized all of the details in their expressions and behavior. As he approached the park he passed the hotel Central Park and saw dozens of tourists busily walking in and out of the lobby entrance. And while these faces were also animated and busy looking he noticed most of them were also excited and relaxed seeming. He made a mental note to ponder this more later and to try and incorporate more of a vacation perspective in his regular life.

Kenny reached the park were numbers of people were jogging, walking, playing Frisbee, etc. He had never spent a morning in the park and watched a group of people in the their various yoga poses. Kenny wanted to join in, but restricted him self to observing. He noticed a single mime who was busy creating his own silent world. Kenny wondered about this and if it were true that mime’s had a different perspective based on their time spent in silence and observation. This was definitely going to be an interesting day, he thought. He couldn’t wait to experience the possible effects it would have on him and hoped they would help with his arguments with Carol.

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I don’t think I’ll ever remember the first time I heard a mambo, because they were part of everything I heard from a very young age.  It was always in the air, the neighborhood blasted it, and my mother always had it playing on the radio.  I remember she had a small photo of Perez Prado next to the telephone on the wall, and I thought he was a family member.  It was only years later when I realized it was cut out of a magazine.  Like anything else in childhood, these memories and moments all kind of rush together and then pull apart in slow and complicated directions.  Like salt water taffy, once it’s been mixed into the well of history, it doesn’t come apart very easily.

And maybe I don’t need to pinpoint memories exactly.  I like to think I have the possibility to remember today; that is, to remember the events that happen today, and in the correct order.  But that’s also a bit of a dream.  Memory is strange.  I can say that I remember the first time I found the link www.newyorkairporthotel.com, but I’m sure I have the year wrong.  In my mind, though, it has to be 2005, because that’s the year I remember that Tito Puente died.  I remember very clearly that I was sitting in the hotel bar, and I was talking to a woman who was close to my age, and had some of the same memories that I did.

When we both heard the news, we spent the rest of the evening consoling each other.  Of course, this was a kind of tribute to Puente, and he would have liked it that way.  He’d also be pleased to know that we listened to his music all night, and that we swore we’d keep in touch.  It’s a way that I will remember him that I am sure I will never forget, and I hope to pass on to the next generation my love for this musical genius.  I do remember him.  But unfortunately, I’ve learned that he died in the year 2000, and not 2005, and so I don’t really know what we were mourning that particular night, and in the end, it might not matter so much.

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Edward had been born and raised in Raleigh, North Carolina. He loved his home town and honestly hated to leave it even though the reason was that he was going to school in Southern California. He had always considered it to be one of his dreams to live and go to school in San Diego, but when he was actually accepted and planned his move he realized that it was going to be extremely difficult to leave his hometown with all its beauty, his family and friends and strike it out on is own. So naturally, that Christmas of his freshman year, he was extremely happy to fly home to celebrate the holiday.

This all happened over ten years ago and after school Edward landed a great job in Portland, Oregon so he moved up the Pacific Coast where there would be no more surfing opportunities. He laughed as he thought this and stressed the opportunity part because Edward never learned how to surf and that was one of his intentions while he was in San Diego. After he moved to Portland, Edward met a beautiful woman Lila whom he married. The two of them had twin sons two years later and it seemed to be more difficult with each passing year for Edward to visit his hometown.

The invitation arrived six months ago. It was going to be the summer of Edward’s ten-year high school reunion. He could hardly believe all that time had passed as he made his reservations with one of the hotels Carolina. He wondered how many of his high school friends would be there and was greatly hoping to see a few of them. He realized he hadn’t seen Travis in six years and Bob in eight. He wondered what everyone would look like and if anyone was bald. He checked the mirror and was relieved and then surprised to find an almost full head of hair resting atop the stranger staring back at him. He shock his head and brought himself back to the present time and smiled back at Lila who was watching him from across the room.

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The best part of that year wasn’t spent in any fancy restaurants, and no one had to spend hundreds of dollars on a new dress.  It was one of those absurdly simple evenings right after a rain, and the rain was the single most important factor in all of this.  If it weren’t raining, there would be no simple memory, and this story would be in a fancy restaurant.  We were both obsessed with dancing on sidewalks, fedora hats, and the smell of old libraries.  We were obsessed with so many things, and some might even say we were obsessed with obsession.

The best part of that adventure for that particular year started when we were checking in late for our New York airport hotel.  We didn’t plan to stay long, anyway, and it was even less time now that we were late.  There are always good reasons for lateness, and we certainly had ours, but they didn’t have anything to do with anything remotely romantic, at least not until we could see it in retrospect.  We were in a taxi, and there was a bridge, and an old man who looked a little bit like Harry Dean Stanton in Paris, Texas, and a little like my grandfather, the man who’d been part of the band of broken men crossing the country in trains back in the days of the Depression.

She wanted to give him a little extra money for his troubles, and I thought it would make a good picture.  By the time the cab pulled over, however, he was nowhere to be found.  There was only a picture on the ground where he was standing.  A younger version of himself, apparently, standing on a corner in the rain, with his arm around a woman in a pill-box hat.  It might have been leopard skinned.  They had a mischievous look behind the eyes, like they were just caught dancing in a zone where no one was supposed to be smiling.  We both looked at the photo together, despite the cab driver’s calls that we needed to get moving.  The faces in the photo looked eerily like us, like we’d found a previous version of ourselves, caught for a moment in time on a bridge between boroughs, wondering who we might become.

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For those visiting or living in the city of Boston this springtime, a wonderful world of dance will be available.  The Boston Ballet will be performing “Coppélia“  each weekend during the first two weeks of April.  Their schedule continues with two different works in May.  The first half of the month the company will perform “Ultimate Balanchine”, and the second half of the month they will perform a more modern piece titled “Black and White”.  The company has continued to strive towards excellence, bringing new levels of creativity and power to the world of ballet and dance.  The dancers of this company not only hold this true as they are on stage, but as they work in their community as well.

To be a dancer for the Boston Ballet means that one is committed to dance on a broader and more inclusive scope, working from the creativity spirit on stage, and then taking it to the people through educational programs throughout the city of Boston and the surrounding area.  Their mission is to make dance and ballet more meaningful, and more accessible to the community.  One way in which they do this is by not only performing the classics, but by creating works that reflect the concerns and the emotional impacts of the world today.  Dance can enrich the lives of all those who participate, whether it be the dancers themselves, the costume designers, the ticket takers and the audience members.

The company strives to not only be true to their existing and loyal audience, but also seeks to broaden and to reach out to new audiences.  This they do by taking shows across the city, and by offering classes to those who either may never have been exposed to this lovely world, or to those who were before not able to participate due to economic reasons.  The legacy of the Boston Ballet is grand, and that legacy is growing each day as they are not only considered one of the most respected companies in the world, but as they are taking the dance to the people.  While traveling in the city this springtime, ask the staff at your Boston hotel for information regarding the previously mentioned shows, and by all means, make every effort to see this company in action.

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Traveling in Singapore always reveals much more than the last time, and with each visit, it seems as though there are obvious things that were somehow overlooked.  It is a place of many layers, and they continue to reveal themselves in new and exciting ways the more you travel here.  Somehow, when you are in Singapore, it seems like each time, there is something new, and somehow it wasn’t seen the last time, and it’s amazing to see things like this.  It’s not only because the new revelations are so unusual, but also because they were spelled out so clearly, and the clues were always there.  However, it is not uncommon for even the locals to overlook many things, because there is so much to see, and it’s impossible to see it all.

That’s something that’s certainly the result of the multiple cultures that exist here.  Each one has its own signs, traditions, and hidden languages, and when you’re in a place that’s as fantastically baroque as this, it’s impossible for the eye to take in everything, even on a third or fourth look.  So it is that most visitors enjoy the vegetarian restaurants without considering them very much beyond the absolutely delicious food.  Singapore certainly is a lovely place to be hungry, if you can afford the meals, and there are so many places to choose from.  Of course, underneath the scrumptious tastes there are often very sacred beliefs that prohibit the consumption of meat, and this occurs in many of the cultures that are here.

If you can find your way here in October, for the nine days of the Nine Emperor Gods Festival, you’ll want to remember that in this Taoist celebration, it’s necessary to be vegetarian to see certain things.  Being vegetarian doesn’t guarantee entrance, however, and like any religious ceremony, it’s more important to show reverence than to get any kind of special access.  It is nonetheless extremely exciting to be part of it, even as a distant witness, because there is something wonderful happening when the Nine Chairs start to move, possessed by the spirit of the gods who come to earth once a year, and can grant favors for the devout.  Try to get some incense smoke in your hands, and be gentle in all things.

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Fritz was a huge Monty Python fan and he knew every film and almost every episode of the Flying Circus by heart. He was also extremely funny and always made his friends and family laugh and almost had an in instinctive knack for balancing borrowed material with his original humor. Last summer his father was sent on a business trip to Torremolinos, Spain for a week. He told Fritz and his mother about the upcoming trip during dinner on the evening following the afternoon he was informed he would be going. Fritz’s mother looked at him with a slightly puzzled expression because she had never heard of the city and thought it was odd he would be going to Spain as he had never before been sent there. Fritz, however, immediately began quoting phrases from the Travel Agent sketch in a Flying Circus Episode.

The following day, after hours and a previous night before of being begged by Fritz to go along with his father his mother investigated the city of Torremolinos and found out that it was actually an extremely popular tourist destination in Spain. She discovered that it is located right on the Mediterranean Coast, or actually it is on the Costa del Sol as Fritz informed her. The more she found out about the city the more she was interested in making the business trip a family vacation and talked to Fritz’s father that night about the idea. They all agreed it would be a great trip and made their reservations in one of the hotels Torremolinos.

Before she agreed to do this, however, she made Fritz promise to stop quoting Monty Python, at least until the trip was over. He agreed, of course, but then immediately threatened to taunt them a second time. It was a reference his mother didn’t understand. Fritz, however, did slow down on the quotes and only occasionally inserted them into his comments when they were contextually appropriate. The trip turned out to be a great vacation for Fritz and his mother and even his father was able to enjoy some quality time with them at the beach when his business meetings were finished.

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