Because I didn’t know anyone in New York City yet, I was also the play’s director and cast all my friends in the parts. The play happened right after Sept 11^th and it was such a scary time.  I was totally afraid to put on a play during such darkness, but there was light in this play and with these people. Plus, I was urged to continue. The play brought levity to a dark situation, so I learned that theater, my theater could heal the heart. I could make people laugh.

My roommate Gabe was our co-director and lighting designer. My other best friends were my actors. Somehow we filled those seats for every single performance. I remember sitting in the full audience feeling the energy and hearing the laughter. There’s nothing quite like it, hearing your own words being interpreted by actors. I felt so inspired…like if I can do this, I can do anything. You can’t go too far without good friends in this life. I love all my friends who helped with that production and I certainly haven’t  forgotten how much fun we all had. In December my 50^th production/and or reading/public performance of my work will be produced in New York City since that crazy show back in 2001. Follow this link for updates. My play He Says His Name Is John, a one-act I wrote while commuting to my job in White Plains in 2007 is getting a small production at The Looking Glass Theatre’s Winter Forum. I wrote this play when I was working for Starwood Hotels and I took the train to work everyday. The only free time I had back then was during my train commute. I wrote this play in the first few months of the job. By the end of two years I wasn’t writing so much, I had been corprotized.

Where are we 10 years later? I married that boyfriend who lived on 10^th street a few years later. We now have a toddler and another baby girl on the way. We still live in NYC. After 8 years of living in the West Village, in an apartment we inherited from a couple “who were too afraid to stay in the city after 9/11”, we moved to Battery Park City, a stone’s throw from where the Towers once stood. We live in a fancy “green” building with recycled central air and triple filtered water. 10 years ago I couldn’t even go down here because it reminded me of 9/11 and it felt dark and uninhabitable, like some sort of war zone. Now I live across the street from the buzz of the new “Freedom Tower.”

Because I’m so close to it all, I don’t think about it so much anymore. That is, until today. I watched a special on the show Sunday Morning. It talked about the strength of the new building. A 747 full of fuel could fly into it and it would survive.  The program also focused on the stories of the victim’s families. So many people lost someone that day. Just like all the other New Yorkers, I remember seeing the images of the “lost” all over the city and one image in particular is still vivid in my mind. It was of a man with white hair and a beard. He looked like Santa. He could have been someone’s dad, someone’s grandpa, someone’s husband. Maybe he was someone’s everything. His photo was plastered everywhere. I must have seen him 100 times in different places. For some reason it was his story, a story I made up that had me so sad. His story was the story of so many.

I can remember wanting to help, but feeling helpless. I can remember that I couldn’t stop crying. When I’d try to stop the tears welled up and I cried even harder. Days turned into nights, then weeks of this. Nothing but shock, tears and fear. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who died.  My roommate Gabe was supposed to be there that day but decided not to go to work. He was lucky, so many were not.

Back then I was afraid to travel, afraid to still live in New York, afraid I’d never get over the shock and horror of watching it happen right before my eyes. But like so many, I’ve moved on. I had my first play produced a month after September 11^th, and became a graduate student in playwriting at a NYC university the next fall. Did the experience influence me? My writing? Yes. I think, for me anyway, the party kind of ended on 9/11. That summer of debauchery was over. Suddenly, on 9/12/01 the reality of what I was in New York to do became clear and present. I wasn’t 100% sure of myself before 9/11, after 9.11 I had to be.

I feel there is an analogy between the Internet business and 9/11. The Internet business was so frivolous and new before 9/11. It was one big party with money being thrown around for and at anything with a dotcom sounding name in the title. No one really knew what was happening or what they were doing. I was part of this world. I worked for a few of these companies. It was how I made my way to New York City from San Francisco in the first place. Just like New York in 2001, there were a lot of vapid Internet parties, and yes, they were related and intertwined. The Internet business changed after 9/11 and by 2003 it had officially become something new and better. It was no longer vapid and full of cheap frills. Finally business owners figured out how to make money by using the web. Web 2.0 it would be called.  New York might as well be called “New York post 9.11″ or “New York 2.0.” The new New York was not nearly as hard and edgy as she once was, but the people making up her dreams are and will be (Paris Hilton aside).

All around me I was allowed to engage in political discussions and activity like never before, so that’s when I decided to start The Pop Cycle.

One minute I was getting  my hair done, the next minute the girl tells me she’s from Alaska. So I decided to take action and launched into my very first interview on September 17th with Melody Olsen, a hairdresser.   Normally I asked people a few key questions, which are:
“What do you like most about New York?” “Who are you going to vote for?” Why?
And my favorite, “What’s the craziest thing that ever happened to you in New York?”
My other rules: You had to be sitting across from me (no phone or emailing responses for the most part) and I had to take your picture on the spot.
Some of the late interviews that didn’t make it into the post were too great to toss, so I will at least try to mention them here.
Last Friday I was out with my friend Marisol for a stroll around my hood.  Marisol just started a new job as a theater teacher for an urban school in NJ.

Marisol

We got coffees at Joe’s and ended up at Sheridan Square, a sinister little drug park located right off 7th Ave and Christopher.  To be candid, I wouldn’t sit in the park if I were alone; it’s full of Crack dealers.  But Marisol and I decided it was the best location for me to take some notes during The Pop Cycle interview.  Just as I was taking her photo, an ominous looking man walked up to us and asks if he can take our picture (with my camera).
“Only if you promise not to run away with my camera,” I said.
“Me?” he said.
Hmmm.  He actually seemed nice enough.  So instead of Marisol, I turned my attention to my first criminal.

Jose

Who: “Jose”
Where: Sheridan Square, NYC
Occupation: Ex-convict
Marisol asked Jose about his necklace which seemed to have some symbolism.
“How’d you know about that?” He said, seeming shocked.
“I’m a Latina,” she said proudly.
Marisol, who has light skin and beautiful brown eyes doesn’t necessarily look Latina, but just talk to her and you’ll get it.  When we first became friends as students at the then Actors Studio Drama School, I was shocked by her stories.  Marisol had seen her fare share of violence while living in LA.
“I was trying to fit in and be part of group, it was very close to a gang situation.”
“Jose” was in gangs too, but his were more dangerous. So I asked him a few questions:
“The gang life was great when I was young.  I was driving a BMW.”
“And what about prison?” I said
“I don’t know…I was stabbed four times in prison and shot twice on the streets of New York. You tell me, what do you think is safer?”
Now Marisol is reformed from her gang teenage days. Standing before me is a proud Latina, a teacher, a wife and a woman who, with persistence and hope gets what she wants.
“I pray as often as possible,” said Marisol.
“So do I,” said “Jose.”
“And what are you doing now?” I asked “Jose.”
“Enjoying my freedom.”
“Oh yeah, who are you voting for?”  I ask
“Obama.  But I can’t vote.”
Next up:

Ricky

Who: Ricki, owner of Snip and Sip
Ricky is my hairstylist who not only has the coolest looking shop in New York – he’s also the most amazing hairdresser.  Seriously, he makes me look fab.

Snip and Sip Window dressing

Francessco Rulli

Who: Francesco Rulli Owner of Filmannex.com

Where: Union Square, NYC

He told me outside of September 11th, the craziest New York adventure was “having children. They are like little monsters.”  He said this in a loving way, actually like someone who sees things through a lens, like a filmmaker.

On election day, I ran into my old friend Kate Sessions at Joe’s, so I sat down and chatted with this North Carolinian native, before we both ran off to watch election results.

Kate Sessions

Who: Kate Sessions
Where: Joe’s Coffee House, West Village
Occupation: Actress
The most exciting thing about Kate at this very moment is that she absentee voted in North Carolina.
“I always do,” she says with a twang.
So, to cut to the chase – what’s the craziest thing that ever happened to you in New York?
“When I first moved to New York , I was working late at a bar, standing behind the counter, and at three in the morning, a bullet came through the ceiling above, just missed me, hit the bar, ricochet to the mirror behind me, smashed it, and then flew into my metal shaker, which I used as my tip cup.”
I was pretty much speechless after hearing this story.

So, I am done for now.

Who:  John Van Ren
Where: Perry and 7th Avenue
Occupation: Painter
To me the corner of Perry and 7th is an intersection, but apparently to this painter it’s magnificent.  Oddly enough it’s right here on this corner that I watched Tower One crumble to the ground 7 years ago.  It was all death and horror on that day and not something I’ll ever forget, but today I’m finding life and re-birth, despite the economic crisis.
“Look up!” John tells me when I have walked over with my camera asking about his painting.
“Why this corner?” I ask.
“It’s the volume I think,” he says with intensity.
“Do you see how complex those buildings are?”
I don’t see it as he does, but I’m starting to.  There’s beauty in this city, it’s just a matter of where you find it.
“Do you see that little red door, the way it just pops out?” 
I look up and to the right and I see it – a building, then another and one that is red and a little door jets out of the top. I never would have looked and thought about the city the way he is right now if he hadn’t pointed it out to me.  So, I’m thankful, very thankful.
I spent the rest of the day feeling a surge of love for this city that I haven’t felt for a long, long time.  Dark clouds began to engulf the west village and as the light faded, I snapped some shots.  Enjoy.