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There's
passion on Manhattan. I felt it as soon as I arrived on the
island. For me, a major part of this enthusiasm radiates from
my fast-walking, subway-chasing, black-wearing, taxi-flagging
urbanite daughters. The New York I know is viewed through
their eyes and it is a very youthful place. My 23 year old
recently moved in to her first studio apartment (all by herself!),
so it was decided I'd stay with her. Between work and school,
my 21 year old is fitting me in where she can. I'm on my own
during the day (as a matter of fact, I'm sitting in a Starbucks
with my laptop, just for |
the experience.
Very civilized.) and at night, we go out. I have to say I'm a bit
flattered that 23 feels she can drag this old T-Rex around everywhere
she goes. But, apparently, this dinosaur can hang.
First it was
off to Splash (holy crap, it’s a NYC gay bar!) for Musical
Monday and a co-worker's birthday party. I like musicals as much
as the next guy, but I have to say that walking into a huge space
with wall to wall video monitors featuring obscure song and dance
numbers initially took me aback. But as luck would have it, the
DJ was masterful--he spun those show tunes in a way that no one
could possibly deny the sing-a-long fever (I, proudly, was the
only one in our group who knew all the words to “Age of Aquarius“--singing
enthusiastically while the musical Hair played around me in its
embarrassingly dated way).
One would
think that being in a group of mostly men that you would get to
sing the “Sandy” parts from Grease, but your thinking
would be wrong. Whether it be Sandy, Evita, or even Cossette,
any girl will be outdone by the men in Splash--these are seasoned
professionals, ladies.
23’s
friends are fantastic--the proper mix of “I can’t believe
you’re 23’s mom--you look better than I do” (I
had stepped into some good lighting) and “What musical is
this song from?” when anything black & white showed up
on the screen.
The next night
23 and I found ourselves at The Mercury Lounge for a concert.
23 had thoughtfully e-mailed me sound files and a link to the
artist’s My Space page in preparation for my trip. I was
ready--a true Eric Hutchinson fan if there ever was one. We arrived
and pushed our way up to the bar in the front room. Trying to
be hip, I opted not to order coffee and chose red wine (I know,
also not hip, but--hey--it’s the best I can do and it was
surprisingly hearty, warm and delicious). I had been literally
walking all day--taking in the City--and couldn’t wait to
take my wine to a table, take a load off and enjoy some good music.
I followed
23 into the showroom and --bloody ‘ell-- NO TABLES. Oh yeah,
I remember this now--the days of a big, dark room; lots of sweat
and energy. And. No. Flippin. Tables. The blister on the back
of my right foot toggled between whimpering for clemency and screaming
for mercy. This was not good.
Thankfully,
this Eric Hutchinson guy really delivered. By the second song
Mr. Blister was all but forgotten. I was loving being in a mass
of happy, swaying bodies and taking up my old hobby of watching
groupies. It's sad, but I had let myself forget the fun of it.
21, on the
one night she was free to let loose with dino-mommy, decided on
a comedy club. We arrived at the Laugh Lounge at 10:30 PM on a
Friday. The college kids at the big table (YES! Tables!) in the
corner were well lubricated and ready to rock. The place was packed
and filled with energy. Several comics took the stage, each one
a bit more risqué than the next.
It's a subtle
thing, but there is that moment when you find that you are capable
of having true adult-to-adult experiences with your grown children.
For 21 and I, it wasn't your typical teary-eyed mother-daughter
Hallmark card moment. It was laughing together in a dark comedy
club at off-color "microphone as penis" humor--finding
that the embarrassment we were feeling wasn't because the other
was in the room, but that embarrassment that all adults feel when
they are hysterically laughing at something they should be shocked
at. Not exactly a Hallmark commercial, but I'll take it.
Veronica, GypsyNester.com
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