you'd have to be a robot, not to sing or dance a little while working at a nightclub. i mean, the whole purpose of my work environment is to get people moving. so yes, i'm monitoring the bartender's pours, convincing customers their drink is not too weak, so therefore, no, i will not add a free shot to it, and sniffing down the trail of that funky smelling smoke, all while shaking it.
go ahead, try and have a serious discussion with the diva who can't possibly buy her ric-dic priced bottle of liquor unless she's seated on the (closed) mezzanine level above everyone else, while Jay-Z is balling so hard in the background. try doing that without bouncing your shoulders.
i understand you're upset...do doot do doot do doot do doot..but this is the best table on this floor...ball so hard....and if the mezz does open you'll have the best table up there.... do doot do doot.....no, hookahs aren't included in that pricing....ball so hard this sh*t crazy....here have some velvet rope to section you off from everyone else.
better? good.
i work in a pretty pop oriented club. even on the reggae nights, we hear a lot of the same tunes. it goes without saying, some djs are better than others. you can tell the gifted ones when all the crowd is dancing, jumping, singing along, one song cutting to the next in quick ten second bursts. those are the special djs. and that energy can't help but infuse you.
every night i got to bed with one song or another stuck in my head. it's there when i wake up, too. it's with me in the shower. on the subway. while i'm trying to write (but end up blogging about addictive songs instead). the brain crack of this week is Ke$ha's Die Young. go ahead, kiddies, have a listen. get a little. it's good for you.
suffice it to say, i've heard Juicy J's Bandz a Make Her Dance ALOT. it's not my favorite, but it's one of those songs that puts you in a trance like state. i have no idea what the lyrics are, but i'll void checks, call for drink specials, wipe up the bar all with a side to side jerking motion accompanying that beat. hello, i'm the dancing GM. it just can't be helped.
so it was kind of perfect last night, when one of my bartenders showed me the below video. Stephanie Tanner, i get you. the moves are yours, but you can't help syncing them to that damn soundtrack.
do doot. do doot.
what? where was i? do doot. do doot.
Harlem.
i've been in nyc for 3.5 years and i've never gone. commute wise, it's further than Buffalo is from Rochester. but more than that, i've never had a reason to go. sure i'd read about great restaurants. but there are lots of terrific new restaurants an hour and half closer to my house.
on Wednesday, all that changed.
a month ago, i sighed up for NYCares a volunteer collective in the city that's pretty cool. every week they post tons of events that need volunteers. usually it's a one time deal, so the commitment level is minimal plus you get to participate in lots of diverse projects.
i chose to "over winter" a rose garden in Harlem, which means cutting back perennials, planting bulbs, and in this instance going wayyyy uptown.
stepping off the train, i ran into (no, not literally) a man selling sweet tea, lemonade, and fruit punch from three giant plastic vats that were sitting on top of a busted looking shopping cart. nice. even better? a woman was buying it.
that was it. signed sealed delivered. i was in love.
Harlem might be the best place on earth. first of all, every street i saw looked like this:
so basically, it looks like Park Slope but with a Manhattan vibe.
the day was sunny and warm. my volunteer site wasn't far from the train, but i saw a little of Harlem's restaurant row on Lenox Avenue (which further down in the city is known as 6th Avenue). in Harlem, the sidewalks are wide, the Avenues are tree-lined, the rents are supposedly still affordable.
volunteering was terrific. it reminded me of my Buffalo days. the woman who revived the Harlem Rose Garden, Caroline, did so for the same reasons i started community organizing -- self-interest. the building she owns is right across the street from the plot of land where the city planned to build a high rise.
but a little self-interest in your property and neighborhood leads to good things for everyone because what in 1992 was a vacant lot filled with building debris, is now this:
three hours later, the garden was winter ready. i'd spent time talking with a VERY chatty Korean chica who was visiting the states before finishing her degree and, you know, decided to volunteer while she was here. pretty awesome. i watched enviously as Caroline chatted with a revolving door of neighbors who came through to say hello. i remember having that connection with my old neighborhood. sometimes it was exhausting. more often, it felt great.
mostly though, i found ways to garden near Felix.
Mom, be prepared for Corrie's hard sell on why you should immediately adopt a pug. they might be the best dogs ever.
main thoughts? i could live in Harlem. sure, i'd need to take more trips up there first, and yes, it's really far from everyone i know and love here, but it felt good, right, being there.
but all good things... and a quick train trip, i was back to Union Square for a friend's birthday dinner at ABC Kitchen.
i arrived at the restaurant only to find that the entire place was closed. not strange, because my restaurant doesn't open until immediately before serving either. the burly men standing outside with ear pieces? also not strange. i figured they were doormen.
so yes, i was the first person in the restaurant when the doors opened because i am always unforgivably horrifically early. and yes, i said i'd take the table instead of waiting at the bar because i wanted to sit down.
which meant that for about ten minutes, i was alone in the restaurant, sitting immediately next to......
Jay Z.
i shite you not.
"oh dear," i laughed, picking up my menu, wishing i hadn't just come from gardening and worn something more spectacular than A FRICKIN' T-SHIRT. not like i wanted to pick up Jay Z, i know, hello Beyonce, life of jets, yachts, supermodels. meanwhile, i can't even spell yatch. but why the hell didn't i bring my cool Spain skirt to change into?Jay Z would be all: i'm gonna buy that nice girl in the nice skirt dinner. or a fancy cocktail. um. no. didn't happen. whatever.
so there i sat. casting tiny glances at Sir Z and the two enormous gold chains that hung from neck to belly that would probably sustain my current lifestyle for at least 5 years or so, until it finally occurred to me to wonder who he was dining with.
i laughed again.
hello Kanye West.
nice jacket. did you wear it while volunteering today? oh no, right. just to your fancy music awards thingy.
so yes. it was quite a day. throughout dinner, whenever i tried to look at my birthday celebrating friend, Jay Z's head was sitting on her shoulder. at one point our eyes met, and mine did the horrible crikey!-i-just-made-eye-contact-with-jay-z flick away thing. sigh. and she's wearing a t-shirt, he probably thought.
i left ABC Kitchen loving this city, top to bottom, wanting very much to expand my depth of what i was doing here, work in the city, or at the very least, be a baller. which is entirely possible for a YA author, right?
