I guess I really can’t dance, I only think I can! Blame it on my darling grandson, Josh. He emailed me about the NETSational dance Team auditions. He carefully sent me travel directions to the PNY Center in East Rutherford. “Ha,” I thought, “that’s not too far.”
The problem is the site for the audition had a last minute change – after I had memorized how to get to it in the first place. Josh was watching out for me. He, again, sent me MapQuest directions to the new location, the Izod Center. Unfortunately, MapQuest didn’t know about the construction and detours going on in the area.
That said, my go-get-‘em friend, Ruth, is a wonderful driver and wasn’t fazed at finding the Izod Center. Somehow, we almost ended up going through the Lincoln Tunnel. Almost one and one-half hours later, we arrived at the huge arena, bloody but unbowed. Twenty-nine applicants were already there, registered and rarin’ to go.
We were each given a number – I was 30 – to pin on, the kind runners wear at marathons (except ours said, “Nets Dancers”). Forty of us were placed on the huge floor and were led in warm-up exercises. That part was easy for me, since I do them in the Healthy Bones class every Monday at the Bayonne Library. Next came gorgeous looking young gals (accent on young), who taught us a step-by-step hip-hop routine. I dance ballroom. I don’t know hip-hop music and I do know that “music” doesn’t send me. Boy, was I clumsy trying to learn and faking most of the moves!
The NETSational Senior Dance Team are a group of men and women ages 60 and over who perform hip hop routines at Nets home games. I wrote last month about seeing the documentary film “Gotta Dance,” and imagined myself onscreen. But, let’s face it; I’m more Fred and Ginger. Hip Hop is not my bag. Fourteen at the audition were closer. Of course, not me! Oh, yes, the drive home took only one half hour, thanks to knowing how to find the N.J. Turnpike easily.
It’s strange! The only time I wrote poetry, a full book of verses, was when my young husband of 27 years and the father of my three children, died suddenly without any warning. When I read my poems, now I am amazed. So, when my intrepid cousin, Shirley, told me that she was a member of the new Poets House, I was very interested in going with her to its grand opening. It’s a 50,000-volume poetry library and literary center in Lower Manhattan’s Battery Park City. How lovely! A glass-enclosed space, it boasts a panoramic view of the Hudson, where you can sit and read!
One of the first sights as you enter is an airy, double-height lobby installed with a shimmering mobile by Alexander Calder, the American sculptor and artist (who invented the mobile). Poets House has so much to see, to read, to relax, and to enjoy. Tables, chairs and even couches invite people to linger. A corner spot at the end of the reading room library offers sweeping views of the Irish Hungers Memorial, the Statue of Liberty (not turning her back), and the Hudson’s expanse. It took my breath away (a fine camera opportunity, too).
If you thought of poetry as something collecting dust on a shelf, forget that image. Poets House is a great, sleek, modern place, a store-of-the-art green construction. In the coming months, it will host a variety of readings and lectures. As an example, Nov. 14, kids can read, write and discuss poetry with an author. There’s such a diversity of rich holdings, a selection of books and ephemera – from rare first editions to well-thumbed reading copies.
Poets House is a world-class place for poetry – a library, meeting place and focus of inspiration. Here’s a big plus: it’s free and open to the public. To quote a favorite poet of mine, Robert Frost, “Home is the place where, when you go there, they have to let you in.” You’ll be glad you went. I was!
If you know the romantic poet who wrote, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever,” you might be interested in seeing the film about John Keats. Since it was not playing at Bayonne’s Frank’s South Cove Stadium, I had to travel to a movie house in Teaneck.
For me, it was not worth the time and miles it took to see “Bright Star.” It is not a cinematic homerun. I could not get past the leading man’s screaming arms and legs and his unromantic features. Actually, the story was not so much about Keats, but focuses more on his love interest, Fanny Brawne (no one names their daughter Fanny any more!).
For over two hours, we had to sit through repetitive, soulful toying around encounters between the physically trail men and his energetic love interest. The couple exchanging deep and delicate gazes was up close but not personal.
Nothing, about “Bright Star” was erotic. Since whatever action took place around 1819, the staging, settings and use of colors was all bright and striking. Fanny, in her proudly hand-made elegant clothing, never wears the same dress twice and her hats were wonderful to see.
When Keats died at 25 from tuberculosis, I didn’t feel involved enough to shed a tear. I suppose this chaste love story was better than going to a film that involves car chases, shoot-‘em-ups, and zombies. My preference, however, is a thinking-person’s movie. “Bright Star” made me think only about the long drive back to Bayonne – that’s all.
My love affair with actor Ted Danson started many years ago when he was bartender Sam Malone in the sitcom “Cheers.” Since then, I’ve enjoyed his television work in “Becker” and “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” But recently, I’ve been absolutely entranced by his role in the new comedy series, “Bored to Death.” He plays George, the flamboyantly narcissistic editor-in-chief of a slick New York magazine. I find it enjoyable to watch Ted Danson’s performance as a late-middle-aged questor with a cushy life style.
The story of HBO’s new comedy, “Bored to Death,” is told in the first-person narrative. Its hero – or anti-hero – is Jonathan, a writer turned private eye, a phony private eye, who attempts to scoop himself out of his lethargy and find a sense of purpose. The series is sort of a buddy picture with excellent casting of three central characters – and I do mean characters. There’s Jonathan, his best friend Ray (somehow appealing by bearish) and loonier, yet endearing George. Jonathan, a pothead and screw-up, a “periodic alcoholic, attempts to scoop himself out of his lethargy and find a sense of purpose, even if it’s one toot’s built on falseness. He needs to escape the tedium of sobriety – of facing life as it is.
It’s easy to identify with such an unacheiver – smart and full of desire – but he just can’t get it together. And, for me, there’s handsome George (that’s Ted Danson, dancing and mugging – he can’t get enough of himself. All three characters remind me of clowns. “Bored to Death” keeps a smile on my face. Try HBO’s new off-beat comedy and see if it makes you smile, too.