far away from...anything

By the time my family arrived in “San Fran-stupid-cisco” when I was 8, I was tired and irritated, especially with my dad who had decided to stop at every roadside turnoff to take yet another photograph of yet another rock in the same ocean. This time, however, I was the one with the Nikon…and the keys to the car…and the rocks and “vista points” and pictures were mine for the taking, with no one to tell me otherwise, as were the 330 miles of winding, cliff-side roads that stood between me and a much-needed few days off. I’d spent less than an hour in Los Angeles the day before, and I already knew that I preemptively needed to get the hell away.

Carmel is about as far away as I could have imagined. By the time I rolled into town, after having been on the road since 7:45am (making stops in every quaint little beachside town and crazy tourist castle along the way, mind you…), it was already dark, and I don’t use that expression lightly. The sun had set an hour and a half earlier, and those ninety minutes were filled with some of the most dangerous and un-lit, winding roads that I never thought I’d have to drive, but was half-glad to have done in the dark (the first time, at least) because I was less aware of the eminent danger and potential death just feet away from every guard rail. The city of Carmel, upon my arrival, was lit only by closed shop windows and moving headlights, for there is not a single sign or lamp to be found. There are also no street numbers, so my iPhone was having a conniption, and walking around town in a sweater, gazing at storefronts and bustling restaurants, I had the faint feeling that somewhere between L.A. and Carmel I had driven off our continent, too, and landed somewhere in Europe…or back in time.

The couple sitting across from me at dinner had either never seen a “kindle” before, or were trying to figure out the back story of this young, well-dressed, less than heterosexual man and why he was reading some Star Trek device alone in the middle of a tiny crowded Greek restaurant in a romantic retreat village for newly-weds and anniversary vacationers. I didn’t have an answer for them, but then again they never asked. I guess the finally realized it was, indeed, a kindle, and forgot about their other questions when they got their baklava.

The next day I woke up before the shops did, and thought it appropriate to start my day off with a brisk walk to the beach, during which I learned that I was merely one of the entire visiting population who had this same idea. It was gorgeous, nonetheless…people, sand, dogs, and all. The rest of the day was spent in and out of my car, walking along cliffs with my Nikon and my tripod, in and out of state parks, a cliff bar and a bottle of water in my backpack, and a rapidly decreasing number of shots left on my memory card. Lunch came to me like a oasis in the form of a café at Nepenth; a restaurant at which the view from your table spans at least twenty miles of foggy coastline, from an overpriced glass of Chardonnay all the way down to the rocks at Big Sur.

In what seemed to be a race against time, I finally made it down a two-mile off-the-beaten-road kind of road, down to a hidden beach, for what I was hoping would be a surprisingly brilliant sunset, viewed from the stunning hideaway of the rocky shoreline and crashing waves of Pfeiffer Beach. It turned out, to my great surprise, to be a magnificent sunset, one that I got to share with a fellow photographer, Tiffany from Salt Lake City, who played the “don’t get hit by that oncoming wave” game with me as we both tried to capture the perfect shot while remaining dry, with our tripods and our giddy creative jitters. I haven’t even looked at half the photos yet.

The ride home was a long one, but not in the least arduous. Only once did I actually think to myself “who the hell thought it was a good idea to put a road here?!” The rest of the six hours was spent dividing my time between looking at the road and at the scenery, counting the number of times I saw a sign that showed the “dangerous, winding road” arrow, and wondering just how far one has to travel to “get away.”

Dallas - photos

DALLAS provided me with a little less than an inspiring array of imagery. In fact, the closest thing I came to visiting a coffee shop less commercial than a Starbucks was when I stopped by the "Deep Fried Latte" stand at the Texas State Fair. And bookshops? Well, the only bookshop within biking distance was a Borders, and unless they're paying me to take a picture of their Uptown Dallas store, I'm not about to post one here. So instead of the trifecta this time around, I've included the standard shot of the theatre house from the stage, along with a few other goodies, just to spice things up a bit.

The Music Hall on the Dallas State Fairgrounds


The array of heart-stopping fried foods available for your cardiac delight at the Texas State Fair.


A "talking" (read: snorting, grunting, or burping) pig started off the pig races. These three people were....very special. Touched, one might say.


The races, themselves. There were a few spills, some hurt feelings, and I still hold to it that it was rigged so that the black pig came in last.

Minneapolis....a favorite, so far.

"Orpheum Theatre" in Minneapolis

"Moose and Sadies" from their cold-press "peace" coffee to their amazing huevos rancheros and brunch 'til 2pm, this was a favorite Minneapolis hangout...and right down the street from my place!!

"Magers and Quinn" bookellers in the Uptown area of Minneapolis. Awesome used and new book store, tons of shelves packed with books you never knew existed, and probably can't find anywhere else in town.

It’s as easy as riding a bike….

One of my first experiences on two wheels left me with a two-pronged scar on my left eyebrow and a horrified father. Luckily, it was only my first concussion, and no real harm was done. Luckily, it was only my first concussion and no re….wait, did I just say that? Anyway…just as any child has ridden (and fallen off of) a bike, so does every adult retain that feeling of childhood abandon; of hopping on a bicycle with shoes untied, racing up a hill, butt off the seat, pedaling as fast as you can to catch the ice cream truck or out-ride the bully or, in my case, both (and not necessarily in that order).

More so than the mere mechanics that the old adage suggests, we also never forget the marvelous sensation, the liberating and uncomplicated feeling of sitting on a bicycle and making yourself…move! If you haven’t ridden a bicycle in years, try getting on one and seeing how long it takes for you to smile and laugh and beam! Thirty seconds tops!

It took me one ride to realize I simply had to have a bike again, and buying one in Chicago was one of the best decisions I’ve made on tour (that, and sending my blow-up yoga ball back to PA….that was so unnecessary to lug around in my trunk). Having my bike has unleashed an entire world of opportunities that I never would have known, a whole new perspective on cities that I could not have seen by driving or even walking around, and a different respect for people who live their lives riding back and forth, saving gas and buying only one bag full of groceries at a time.

Most of my favorite days on tour have involved a multi-hour bike ride or, at least, a two-wheeled trip to somewhere “exotic” or new.Riding around town and running errands forces me to be a more active person, it wakes me up and keeps me sharp, and it tests my budding sense of compassion for all human beings; crazy, inattentive, disrespectful driver or not. Tasks in that middle ground that would seem daunting to walk but annoying to drive come as a delight, while trips one would only consider driving come as a challenge. A ride home from work at night allows me a new way to unwind, and there’s nothing quite like getting caught in the rain and being able to do nothing but pedal, laugh, and sing.

It’s a liberating feeling to be behind the…er…handle bars, just to know that you can go this way or that, stop and go at your leisure, pedal hard or coast, glide along and enjoy the sights. Somehow, the wind in your face transcends time and space; it can’t simply be from the road in front of you, but is somehow coming from years ago when you were riding a bike to keep up with the rest of the kids in the pack, get home so you weren’t late for dinner, or when you rode just to ride. It’s nice to get that feeling again, when picking up and going was, well, as easy as riding a bike. Some things we never do forget. And perhaps shouldn’t.

(and I always wear my helmet, mom)

a matter of semantics

When I first moved to New York to attend NYU, the thought of “leaving the island” was absurd. Going back to PA to visit was one thing, but leaving Manhattan to go to one of the…shudder…”other boroughs”…that was a whole different story. My first trip off the island to Astoria, Queens, during my sophomore year left me thinking two things: the train goes above ground? and, what state am I in? And yet just as Miranda from ‘Sex and the City’ eventually found her way off the island to start a family in Brooklyn, so have I and most of my friends moved a little farther away from what we all first thought was the nucleus of New York, if not the world. Manhattan.

The first few theatre gigs I took, I approached my time away from NYC with the exploratory pride of a New Yorker. “This is an interesting place, but I definitely do not belong here because I’m really supposed to be in New York….did I mention I’m from New York?...’cause I am…” Some cities I have visited offered no more than sheer tourist delight (say, all sixteen cities in Asia I toured in…I was not checking out facebook to see which friends from High School had moved to Guangzou) while others gave me a sense of impending return.

Only recently have I actually introduced the idea into my life that I will not be in New York forever. I love the city and all it has to offer, but having traveled to cities like Chicago and Minneapolis, I have allowed myself to see myself in a city other than the big apple. For the second year in a row, I spent a month of my summer in Minneapolis/St. Paul, and I couldn’t have been happier. Everything about the city sang to me, and all I had to do was close my eyes and I could see myself living there, taking yoga, riding my bike around the lake, freezing my ass off during the winter, learning to cross-country-ski, doing theatre, and being happy.

And perhaps it’s not the city that matters as much as the exhilaration of an unfastened future; that as far as I can tell at the moment, I barely know what city I’ll be in next winter, let alone in ten years from now. It’s daunting just as much as it is liberating. In the meantime, as I am soon to be without a home-base in New York (apartment drama!!), I’ll have to question where my true “home” is (a matter of semantics that my mother has been nudging me about ever since I went away to college). Right now, it’s the travel between cities that matters, not necessarily their distance from New York or Pennsylvania. Minneapolis yesterday, Dallas today, _______ “tomorrow?”s

(Minneapolis photos: above, left: Stone Arch Bridge at night; above, right: sunset near Stone Arch Bridge, Minneapolis skyline in the distance)

St. Louis...the trifecta....

The FABULOUS FOX THEATRE!!! Definitely the most fabulous theatre I've ever been in/performed in. Close to 5,000 seats, more than double the size of most Broadway houses, and some of the most stunning architecture I've ever seen in a theatre...


"Left Bank Books," a cute independent bookstore in the Central West End. I bought "the namesake" and "running with scissors" here....both used books...each $7. tough to beat that!

...and the Northwest Coffee Roasting company. They have a roaster from the 1950's in the middle of the shop where the roast all of their beans daily.

...and an EXTRA PHOTO this week! This one is of the mural I painted in the Fabulous Fox Theatre in St. Louis. Every show from the last thirty years or so has a mural on the wall, and I was honored to have painted our show's!! It's on the ceiling, so imagine looking at this picture lying on the ground...

Cleveland's triple threat

(see the post below to understand why all the photos!)

The theatre at Playhouse Square....

...the coffee shop (in the warehouse district on a beautiful 70s and sunny day riding around on my bike)....

...another coffee shop in Cleveland...this one was over near Case Western where my dad went to college. I think you could even see one of his dorm buildings from this coffee shop....

...and the bookstore....