Marisa's weblog

How do I feel about Los Angeles? It kind of doesn’t make sense, but it feels nice to be here anyway.

I got this today:

Hey We have hijacked your baby but you must pay once to us $50 000. The details we will send later…

I’ve heard of hijacking vehicles and maybe some abstract concepts, but a baby?!

Is the longform name of my new cat.  Officially, just “Pinto”.  I got her last week at an ASPCA adoption event outside a local pet supply store.  They had about 12 cats in a truck not unlike what the ice cream man uses, except this had a display of clear plastic cages instead of fudgecicles.  I walked by a few times on errands, picked up an application, went home, got Nick, came back and started browsing kitties.

They were all too cute!  How would I ever decide?  I had been thinking of a tabby, but I wasn’t too serious about the color or age of the cat.   I could eliminate the bottom row of cats — they were looking to be adopted in pairs, which I couldn’t do.  I saw one black and white cat in a top row cage, sharing with a small fluffy tabby, who was getting all the attention.   “How about her?” I asked.  “She’s really sweet, 5 months, just spayed,” the ASPCA woman replied. “Do you want to hold her?”.  They took her out (I was inside the truck) and she was calm, nuzzly, purring like crazy.  She kept reaching her paw out to Nick.  It only took about 10 seconds to decide to bring her home.

They put her in a cardboard cat carrier and we took her shopping at the pet supply store next door.  Unfortunately I couldn’t take her out and let her pick everything, but I did dangle some toys in front of the cat carrier box to see what elicited a response.  The feather on a string was a definite winner (now mostly destroyed).  I bought non-smelly, odor absorping litter, high-protein food (”It makes the poop less smelly,” the pet shop owner said.), other toys, a scratching post, and other accessories.

We came home, set up the litter, took her out of the box, and right away, she started exploring.  She adjusted with no problems.  Most of the first day she followed me around, ate only a little, and played a lot.  The scratching post was a big hit, and there were no problems using the litter. As the week went on, she got more comfortable on her own, leaping into the windowsill to scare the squirrels out on the fire escape, drinking from the bathtub faucet, and acting like a crazy cat.  She is still really sweet and if I lie down, she will be over in a minute.  She purrs like crazy all the time.

This morning she found a new way to wake me up — the wardrobe I have is a cheap Ikea thing with a plastic back and sides, curtain front, and two shelves on the bottom. My bed is up against the back of the wardrobe. She sits on the shelf and paws against the plastic back, which is textured and makes noise. I think this morning around 6am, she looked at me through the wardrobe, scratched her paw back and forth, grinned, and said “checkmate. now wake up.”

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

For a few months, every time I would walk down my block at night, this cute little cat would come out to say hi.  She was small and cute, and incredibly filthy.  A few times my friend grabbed her tail lightly and she stopped, rolled over, and started to play.  At that point, I was really adamant:  I could not have a cat.  However cute and friendly this stray furball was, I could not have a cat.  My place is small and I travel a lot.

One night, she caught a huge roach out on the street.  We were like “eewww…”, but at the same time, I was impressed by her speed.  I was also suspecting that afterward, she put the roach down gently and they did the same routine for the next set of passers-by, maybe trying to play up her practical city skills.

Another night, she rolled over to play and to be pet, purring and licking my hand.  She had great colors — white overall, gray on top, stripes and spots, with a spot over her eye.  She was also small — probably less than a year old.

Slowly I talked myself into the idea.  I would adopt this cat.  I checked with friends to see who could cat-sit in my absence.  I made arrangements for someone to stay at my place while I was in Japan and train her.  I got advice from other stray pet takers-in who were teaching with me at rock camp.  I would go to the store on Monday and buy all the stuff I needed — litter pan, kitty bubbles, brush, toys, food, etc.  Then Tuesday night, we would capture her and take her home!

Sunday night, I came home from the rock camp Knitting Factory showcase, where our ladies rock camp participants performed with their bands after spending only 3 days rehearsing, learning their instruments,  and writing their song.  (It was pretty awesome.  More on rock camp later.)  I didn’t go straight to my place, but instead, took a little walk around the block to see if kitty was out.  I wasn’t going to get her that night, but I thought I could at least say hi.

I walked slowly down the stretch of sidewalk where I always see her, but there was no sign of her tonight.  I did see a woman taking the trash out, so I asked her if she had seen a cute gray and white stray kitten who was super friendly.  The woman paused and said, “Oh, that sounds like our cat!  She doesn’t wear a collar and she gets dirty from playing in the dirt by the construction next door.  She’s actually not a kitten; she’s just very small.”  I was like “Oh…,” and then I asked her more questions about the cat to see if it was the same one.  She didn’t bring the cat out but everything else matched up.

Since then, I haven’t seen the cat once, so I think they must keep her inside.  A friend of mine saw her the next day, and offered to grab her for me, since he thought I would make a better owner (it’s weird to have your cat playing outside in New York City, right?), but I said that would be wrong and I’ll just have to find another cat.

Which brings me to my new favorite website: Petfinder.  So, when I get back from Japan, I’m going to check out some local strays and bring one home!

Last week at the FB Lounge on 106th street, I saw a great jazz show by Willie Martinez, the drummer/vocalist leader of La Familia Sextet, and a formidable group of musicians.   Latin rhythms and traditional jazz sounds came together as something you could really sink your teeth into.  Catch La Familia Sextet every last Thursday at the Nuyorican Poet’s Cafe.  We went last night and stayed for both sets.

The rest of my Venice trip went well and ended up being a weird combination of work overload and lazy canal/museumgoing — not to mention dinners ending at midnight followed by a pub search or cheap hotel beers. My Italian got a bit better, or at least I got more confident about speaking it, however poorly.

After about a week at home, I took off again, this time to San Jose, CA for 2 days of a 3-day meeting.  I had to leave early (literally during the business dinner on the 2nd evening) to catch my red-eye back to NYC (with a lovely 5am stop in Atlanta).  Then after 6 or 7 hours at home, I took off again that same day to go to Scotland.

I arrived in Edinburgh early in the morning and slept nearly all day, minus a quick trip to Tesco and some unintentional work-related emailing.  Since I wasn’t really in Edinburgh, there wasn’t much to do; however, I didn’t come as a tourist, but rather a wedding guest.

The next day was the ceremony.  One of my closest and least-often seen friends married a wonderful Scottish guy.  The reception was at Hopetoun House, a huge manor near Edinburgh.  They had Celtic dancing, fireworks, great food, and a nice bunch of people who stood in a circle at the end and sang Auld Lange Syne while the newlyweds danced in the middle.  It was all very beautiful.

Or: the men wore skirts and someone screamed a poem at a sausage.

In a nod to American slang, perhaps subconsciously, one of the tables was called Loch Awe.  As in “Loch AweSOME”.  We were the adult version of the kids table.

After the wedding, I spent a night in Birmingham to see French and Saunders “STILL ALIVE” tour.  Their last tour ever.  And I got to see it. 

It was a greatest hits sketch collection of their 30 years together as a comedy team. They did the Ab Fab sketch, the extras on mobility scooters, the perverted old men, a nearly-serious song, and more that I’m not remembering right now. During the whole show, they wore giant pants up to their armpits.

I arrived in Venice yesterday morning, armed with only a backpack and Alitalia’s “we lost your luggage” toiletries kit.  You get a SkyTeam t-shirt, a little packet of laundry detergent, a tiny deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, etc.  I got to the hotel at noon and crashed.  That evening, I went out to dinner, still in a haze of jetlag and travel frustration, just looking for something not touristy and quiet.  I went to a little enoteca down the street from the hotel.  Right after I sat down, half a dozen loud locals showed up to hang out, loudly, with the proprietor.  Every time I looked up, one of them was asking me how my food was, and then speaking a bit of broken English upon seeing the blank stare that is unfortunately my only response to high-speed mumbled Italian.  It’s not that I don’t understand anything — I can read well enough and say basic things — but my exposure to the language has been so light that I haven’t learned to filter as I listen, so it probably appears that I don’t understand anything at all.  For the moment, I am scouring “learn Italian” websites in an attempt to refresh my memory; we’ll see how things are by the end of the week.

I returned to the hotel to find that my suitcase had finally arrived, and work colleagues started emailing their arrival details, so I should have both clean clothes and company today.

today at the gym, i was watching fox news (the only thing on) with closed captioning on.  they were reporting on a story about a singer who had been in a bad car accident and was in the hospital.  the caption said “…who is in a medley induced coma“

today i returned home from easter weekend around 4pm. i noticed that my apartment was not really any warmer than the outside temperature (45 degrees). i waited a few hours to see if the heat would kick in around its usual coming-home-from-work 6/7pm time. i had the heaters off while i was gone, and the guy below me hasn’t been living there, so his heat has been off too; i figured that this would explain the coldness and i just have to wait for the heat to come on. however, it never came on. i called my landlord to tell him. he said “the last time you called, i turned the heat on.” i said, “well, can you do it again?” (i had called last week when my heat was off more or less all night and all day.) he said he would check it out tomorrow. i’m like “ummm….”, to which he replied “ok, i’ll see if the guy can look at it tonight.”i attempted to warm up by drinking hot tea, taking a hot bath, and going to the gym. a few hours later, i called him again to see if he was able to contact the person who could turn on the heat. he said the guy will come if he has time. then he said that if it is 60-61 degrees in my apartment, the heat won’t come on. i reminded him of the law, which is that if it is below 55 degrees outside during the day, then it has to be at least 68 inside. not 61. 68. he said “if you don’t have heat for a night, it’s not a big problem.” i told him i was so cold i couldn’t type or work. he said “i don’t like your tone. if you want heat 24 hours a day, move to the east side.” i told him i didn’t pay rent so i could freeze. we hung up.

so, i pay $1023 per month and i don’t even have heat all the time. how about that.

is this a sign of the neighborhood going downhill? the same shitty service for higher and higher prices? i wish it luck; the inability of anyone to stay in business should be a sign that we can’t afford these attitudes.

This February, New York had its nth (8th?) annual flamenco festival. As usual, I saw some great performances. My only complaint is that ticket prices were too high and this prevents a lot of people from wanting to check out shows. Who wants to drop $50 on an unknown (to them) artist playing a style they’re only marginally aware of? Well, to those who did, it was worth it, right? To those who didn’t: I hope flamenco in New York can get less pretentious and cheaper so that it reaches you.

Tomatito was great at Town Hall with his quintet. There was a young guitar player on stage with him named El Cristi who was pretty low-key and kept things anchored. There was also a young male dancer who started a bit flamboyently — at one point, I imagined there was a Saturday Night Fever finger-in-the-air disco reference in there. He was thin, dressed in purple, and had his hair pulled back tightly. By the end of his dancing, his hair was loose and he looked like he had been through battle and was coming out strong. The singer was a woman named La Tana — from what I gather, another rising young star — who threw in a bit of Camaron’s “Bulerías del Chozas” (or did those lines predate Camaron?), to the audience’s delight. The percussionist mostly played cajon and occasionally hit a cymbal or snare drum (he had a very minimal trap kit on stage). Tomatito (for those who don’t know: he’s a very famous flamenco guitarist) was transcendent. I think this was one of the best shows I’ve seen in a long time. He played amazingly, of course, but by the end, it seemed like there wasn’t any border between him and the sound. You forgot he was even playing — it was so direct, like you could see into his head and hear what music he was thinking about. I also got to hear him as an accompanist to a singer, something he did for many years with the late Camaron. Everything fit together so well.

The next show I saw was Eva Yerbabuena’s “Signs and Wonders” flamenco ballet at the City Center. I went with my mom, who was up visiting for the weekend. We made our way through the confusion of the misdirecting signage in the lobby (where I saw an employee follow a guy outside to yell at him because he hadn’t reattached the line-control cordon when he walked outside, presumably in an attempt to get in the correct line) and to our great seats. The performance started and wasn’t at all what I expected — it was basically a one-woman show, with great musicians and four male dancers who danced two of the six pieces. The production was top-notch and the dresses were great. The stage was almost bare. The first piece, a seguiriya, had Eva Yerbabuena dressed in black, and on the stage was a stool under a bare lightbulb. It was deep and sad. Then, the four guys came out dressed in pastels and danced a farruca. I thought it was funny. Eva came out again and danced another piece, called a mirabrás, which is a style I’m not familiar with. Then the four guys, now in white (or were they in suits?), danced a bulería. It was a bit humorous. Eva followed with tangos and had a great peach and white dress. Then the four guys did a short bit before the last dance, which was a solea that featured four guys singing in loud deep voices while Eva danced. I’m still thinking about the relationship between the music and the dance in this show. The dancing was very subtle — not the typical in-your-face style, which might have disappointed some — as if it was following the music instead of the other way around.  While not the main focus, the music consisted of good examples of each style that was played, with flute and saxophone added sparsely.  It all intertwined well and probably stretched some intellectual boundaries that I’m not aware of.

The last two shows I saw were Son de la Frontera, who played Saturday and Sunday at the Skirball Center. The first night I sat in the second row and ogled their every chord. The second night I had a brave friend with me who was willing to check out a band she had never heard of. They opened with Moi de Moron singing acapella and then with Pepe Torres dancing. They went straight into Bulería Negra del Gastor. Then Raul Rodriguez chatted a bit with the audience and charmed the whole theater with only a few words about how they came to New York to play music from their hometown of Moron de la Frontera and from their hearts, and how they were remembering the past and looking to the future. A bit of backstory: the band has two albums out and each focuses on the songs and style of Diego del Gastor, a great and unique guitar player from Moron de la Frontera. Rather than straight copying, though, they add vocals, dance, and a cuban tres, and the new arrangements reflect this. Even with all the differences, it retains the clarity and directness of Diego’s style. They were so in control of the performance and they really poured their hearts out. Their setup is quite stripped-down: a guitar, a cuban tres (or sometimes another guitar instead), a singer, a dancer, and a guy on palmas (the latter three often just on compas … aka rhythm). However, they filled 80 minutes without any dull moments. I couldn’t believe how quickly it was over.

Hear a song from the show, recorded from the audience: Un compromiso/Toda una vida (Bulerías)

Go buy their new album “Cal” (cheap non-DRM MP3 download!)