Central Park. Hands down the number one thing that you gotta do when you come to New York, before the Empire State, Rockefeller Center, even the Statue of Liberty. It is the figurative and literal heart of the city, pumping vitality into its inhabitants; without it, the city would gain 10 BMI points, start to balkanise, and finally commit suicide.
It's for this reason that I show the park off to visitors like it was my very own backyard. I still relish in the park's verdure, and in the disparate (though inevitably intertwined) cultures of the native New Yorkers and the weekend tourists.
And so on touring Central Park with an old Haligonian friend last weekend, it was with feigned surprise (I am no longer surprised when the park provides unexpected forms of entertainment) but unfeigned delight that we stumbled upon
Michael Arenella & His Dreamland Orchestra. Their hot dance jazz ditties had attracted a healthy crowd to the steps of Bethesda Fountain, including what appeared to be true aficionados of the fancy dances of the 1920s. We couldn't help but gawk and share giddy smiles, faintly aware that the city in which we were standing was intricately tied to the anachronism playing out in front of us.
CONSUMED: the steps of the Bethesda Fountain; Central Park, New York
We've all seen men in drag. But how about men in drag ... on pointe? Throw in a little mime and a lot of slapstick and you have Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo. My friend Daniel gave me his extra ticket and so together we guffawed through hilarious re-interpretations of dances from Swan Lake during their closing night. I know nothing about ballet, but I do know that I enjoyed this show.
Not having been dancing in months meant that I couldn't resist the lure of the 700 Club. The first time I visited Kim in Philadelphia, she brought me to this dive bar in Northern Liberties, only a few doors down from her own, that on Saturdays turns its second floor into a sweaty shake-a-thon. This past Saturday I was back in Philly visiting Kim, and once again we shamelessly absconded from her own party, eagerly climbing the wallpapered stairwell to join the ranks of plaid-clad hipsters shaking booty to Beyoncé. 
I'll never stop marvelling at the idea of studio-as-storefront. Even without a class in the window, I could imagine dancers in unison "performing" for the pedestrians of 9th Avenue.
Central Park. Hands down the number one thing that you gotta do when you come to New York, before the Empire State, Rockefeller Center, even the Statue of Liberty. It is the figurative and literal heart of the city, pumping vitality into its inhabitants; without it, the city would gain 10 BMI points, start to balkanise, and finally commit suicide.
