I Love New School
I'm pissed off. I've been complaining about my slavery class and the expertise of my "world-renowned" Prof. Blackburn. You may remember my suspicion of his being a few drinks into the night on our last day of class. His class is also the grade I've been waiting for. I found out the other day that he was having problems with ALVIN, New School's archaic-ass, Web-based system from which we can access all kinds of information about our existence at the university. I was told on Wednesday that Mr. Blackburn would have the grades in and that they would be posted on the site by Friday. I checked. I have an incomplete in that class. This is very interesting seeing as though I handed the bloke my 25-page paper on the last day of class. I watched him bring it to within three inches of his face so he could read the title. Clearly, it's a mistake. But it's the principle of the thing. We are asked to be detail-oriented. We are expected to take care of our shit. At what point in life are we allowed to relinquish all responsibility? It's just frustrating. So I have to wait till Monday to figure it out. I love New School. I love New School. I love New School.
Next. August Wilson. I took myself uptown tonight to the unnecessarily four-floor Barnes & Noble on 66th and Broadway. I got there around 4:45, ready to buy his play Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, so that I could be prepared for the discussion/signing that I was attending. I walked in and asked where I may position myself for the exciting event only to discover that Mr. Wilson had cancelled. Hmm. Ok. So up Broadway I went. I saw a movie theatre and resisted the urge to see Chicago again. I then decided to just get back on the train and go back downtown to Union Square, a 'hood to which I'm much accustomed. I got off at Times Square to transfer and decided to go up to the street because I had managed to stay away since moving here. There's something about Times Square. The lights, perhaps. But I went, of course, to the TKTS booth. I suddenly had a craving to see a live performance. I first thought of Chicago. So I went over to the Shubert to check on student rush tickets. They do sell them but they were sold out this evening. I would have to line up at 8:30 a.m. to get the $25 seat. So, heading east on 45th St., I discovered the Royale Theatre and Ma Rainey's Black Bottom. I went in to inquire about student rush tickets. They don't do those; they simply call them "rush tickets." They're always on the side and they're $20. So I saw the show. Whoopi Goldberg was great to see like that. She got something in her throat during one of the songs and had to clear it and we all joined her in laughter. It's still in previews so it seemed ok. There was more audience participation because a recurring line in the play comes from the character Cutler: "one, two, y'all know what to do." So every time he said this after a while, some people had to say it with him. It was tolerable. What wasn't tolerable, was the woman next to me bitching about the heat (it wasn't that hot) and fanning her damn self. And she whispered to her friend. I don't get that. Then the two people in front of me who enjoyed an occasional moment between one another. The just-past-middle-aged couple during the second half seemed just a little uncomfortable with the dialogue I think. That was enjoyable for me. The woman didn't applaud at the end. I don't think her husband did, either. Whatever. I waited by the stage door for a half hour but no one came out. And the day started out with my interview flaking for the story I'm writing. I just can't wait till my court appearance next Friday.
