All Work and a Play

I wrote an article that was published in Columbia's The Eye this week. I had a great time working on it, and my editor was very supportive. However, the article that is published online is not what I had in my final draft. I'm really proud of my original article, so it's posted here. Hope you like it. (Read the published version here.)

Those of us who major in the arts are a little crazy. We know that decent-paying jobs in the arts are few and far between, but that’s easy to ignore while we are safe in our college bubble. I’m majoring in film studies, and part of me doubts that I’ll ever direct a film or write for television. Once I graduate and the real world slaps me around a bit, I’ll probably have to let go of my lofty artistic dreams and settle into a reliable job. These college years may be my last opportunity to work on productions of any kind. Then I’ll have to be—horror of horrors!—a grown up. And grown ups can’t just get involved in theater productions and film shoots.

The After Work Theater Project’s Evan Greenberg would beg to differ.

Evan is the creative director of the After Work Theater Project, a program in Midtown Manhattan that stages productions of popular ensemble musicals (they just finished Hair). The twist—the cast is made up of working adults of all ages, races, and professions, many of whom have little to no theater experience. For a “tuition” on par with that of a gym membership or a child’s summer camp, adults from any walk of life can be part of a complete staging of a musical with real sets, costumes, and a professional creative team.

Eric Piepenburg reviewed the project in the New York Times in February with an article entitled “The Audience Pays, but So Do the Actors”. Of the participants, Piepenburg says, “Every performer got something that many a struggling actor strives to achieve by skill alone: a New York stage credit.” Though the overall tone of the article is positive, lines like these show the disconnect between the performing arts and “the real world”—the ominous realm after college, where your only role is that of an adult.

When I ask Evan about this skepticism, he is understandably frustrated. He didn’t start the project to further anyone’s theater career. It’s an after school theater program, except this program is, literally, after work. But Piepenburg hints that this program for adults seems ridiculous. “When I look at my cast of Hair, I see big kids,” Evan tells me. “I don’t see the line that people draw between kids and adults, it just doesn’t exist in my world.” He loves theater; the After Work Theater project lets him keep theater in his life as he offers the experience to anyone that missed out.
Evan never dreamed the project would have such a striking effect. The main purpose of After Work is to give people a chance be part of a theater community. Regardless of the quality of the show, just being in the musical makes the participants feel like kids again. The cast formed a strong, exuberant bond (complete with sleepovers, hair braiding, and pre-performance chants, according to Evan). Some felt that the production was life changing; some fulfilled dreams of being on stage; some had just moved to New York and found friends in a new city. Many said that it was one of the best experiences they had ever had. “It really does regress you to another time. I don’t know why we don’t operate like that anymore, and I don’t know why theater is the key to bringing that back, but it really does do that for people,” Evan says.

Theater can be therapeutic, as anyone involved in Varsity Show would agree. When I explain the After Work Theater Project to members of the crew, I expect a bit of snobbery, but all I get is immediate approval. “I think it’s great, a program that can give the arts to adults who otherwise would lose that or would never have found it,” says Laura Quintela, CC’14, co-producer.

Everyone in the show is so eager to share their love for theater that they can’t get the words out quickly enough. They take pride in their completely original production, but they still feel the camaraderie of more than a hundred Varsity Show groups before them. Ally Engelberg, BC’15, co-producer of the Varsity Show, says, “I have dedicated my entire life to this show, and I feel great about it.” Everyone I talked to finds the same pride and joy in their work, despite the time commitment.

When they look to the future, they are uncertain but do not despair. Gina Borden, BC’14, is a choreographer for the show. She loves to dance, and she expects that after college she will continue to dance unpaid. “The great thing about New York City is that there are so many opportunities for not prominent choreographers and dancers to perform. Even if you’re not getting paid, you will be able to find a group of people that you can work with on a weekly or monthly basis,” Gina says. Whatever happens, she will find a way to incorporate dance into her life because she can’t do without it.

All this passion and dedication for theater almost fell on deaf ears. I want to make films, and I love the arts, really I do, but I had never felt the emotional draw that everyone kept describing. What was it that made theater just as exciting for a college dance major as it was for a 65 year-old lawyer at After Work? Fortunately for me (and my editor, and you) I got my answer the weekend before I wrote this article. One of my film TAs invited me to help on a graduate film shoot. I arranged snacks, ordered food, and made coffee for the two days of shooting at a film studio in Brooklyn, and it was the best weekend I’ve had in a long time.

When I asked Evan Greenberg about the power of the performing arts, he explained, “It’s a collaborative art that we’re talking about. It’s really much more than the art; it’s the art as a mode of connection with other human beings”. That’s what I saw at the film shoot. There was an incredible amount of work to be done—they had to build the set from the ground up—but the teamwork was seamless. Being a part of the film shoot was like being a tiny gear inside a beautiful clock. Seeing all the gears align themselves and then seeing the final product was one of the most exciting things I’ve done in college.

The After Work Theater Project, the Varsity Show, and the many other creative opportunities all over the city create a feeling of community based on building something together. Every individual is a valuable part of a wonderful production. According to Nick Parker, CC’14, lyricist for the Varsity Show, “It’s almost like discovering what is best about yourself.” Some people don’t need that kind of community in their lives, but I can’t understand how anyone wouldn’t want it, and how anyone could live without it once they felt it. The participants of the After Work Theater Project can’t go on without it, and neither can the crew of the Varsity show, and neither can I.
   

Rev Coffee, Smyrna, Georgia

Rev is a few minutes away from where I went to high school. 

To get there, I drive past my school and the McDonalds where we would use coupons to buy free fries; I pass the park behind the school where the students would go to smoke, very uncleverly nicknamed "Crack Park"; and the library where I read to little kids in Spanish; and the parking lot in the back of Moe's where we would stand against my car and I taught everyone how to do Rihanna's dance from the "Rude Boy" video. Wow, this started out sarcastic, but now I think I'm tearing up. Only kind of kidding.

Me. It's instagrammed,
so I'm a little hard to recognize. 

I didn't go to Rev today to update this blog. I was meeting up with a friend from high school.  I won't lie--I was dreading it. I've kept in touch with a lot of my friends from high school. We talk, we write each other letters, we leave inspiring posts on each others' Facebooks.  It's all very heartwarming. But I hadn't seen this friend in almost a year, and we had been best friends, I'm talking attached-at-the-hip annoying besties. Then we ended the year on a bad note. So now we awkwardly text each other and meet up at neutral locations for very limited time increments to "catch up", like we're old people or something. 

So I'm nervous. It's been like forever. She might be a different person now. Am I different?  To myself I'm still pretty much the same chick that I've always been. Maybe I've changed. Maybe we've both changed. Like from Bridesmaids. 

What is up with this generation?

I was the un-latest I've been for anything since I came home for vacation. Only five minutes. That's practically early. My friend was already there. She had a snickerdoodle latte (so that she could say 'snickerdoodle', she said) and I just had some plain coffee (it was only 2pm, so I had just woken up) and I burnt my tongue and she told me about her party-going and I told her about my lack of party-going and everything was, as we say in the south, peachy. I regretted not keeping in touch. We used to have so much fun. As I'm thinking this, she says it. We both talk about how awkward this all was. "Well, let's just stop that," I said. She agreed. Now we're sending each other pictures on Snapchat. As Captain and Tennille said, Snapchat will keep us together. 

Bringing it full circle. Kinda. Not really.

Well, this hasn't really been about coffee, has it. Let me put a picture of some coffee, to make things better. The moral of the story is that things can stop being awkward if you just stop letting it be awkward, friends are friends, and nothing ever really changes. I discovered this while drinking coffee, so that counts. 

Awkward, no awk-ing!

Max Caffe

Fate has been planning that I come to Max Caffe. 

I don’t know why, but I know that it has. First, a friend of mine mentioned that I should try it for my blog next, so it was on my radar. Then I was on the M60 to go home and the bus stopped at 125^th and Amsterdam and refused to go any further. So I walked home from there and passed Max Caffe. Two days later, here we are. I’m hoping that this means that the coffee will taste like destiny. [Note: Max Caffe is on Amsterdam between 122nd and 123rd]

I’m already a bit upset with fate. This place is crazy expensive, and they’ve stopped serving frittatas (I get that it’s 5 in the afternoon, but whatever). A regular coffee is $2.50, and the second cup is still $2.50. (Note for non-coffee drinkers: A glass bottle of Coke is $3.25, and you don't even get to keep the bottle!) When the waitress told me this, I gave her the sassiest face that I’ve ever given a restaurant employee. She was very confused and apologetic, poor thing. Then, when I gave in and ordered another stupid cup of coffee, it never showed up. I’ve been trying to flag down a waitress for about an hour (read: two minutes).

Still, I found out why fate had me come here. It’s not because the coffee tastes like destiny. It’s because my roommate is crazy.

She volunteered to come to coffee shops with me after my last sob-story post, but she had to stop at the lab she works at to do something lab-related. I don’t know what, I’m a film major. So I went ahead to Max, and I was that girl holding a seat for my invisible friend—“No, this chair is taken, someone’s coming to sit with me, I swear”—while she was off being a crazy person. The following is an example of what crazy people do. Don’t try this at home, kids.

My roommate was at back edge of campus looking for a staircase that went down to the street. The staircase was roped off, so she went around the back of the science building hoping to find another exit. It led to a dead end. However, she did see an open window, so she jumped through it, dropped eight feet (so she guesses) and landed inside the deserted building. I would explain the reasoning, but I that would imply that I understand it. She then took some sketch stairs down to the first floor, hoping to find a way out of the building and onto the street. There were no doors on this floor, so she went back upstairs and entered another strange room through an unmarked door that turned out to be an emergency exit. She didn’t immediately see any other doors in this room either, and the one she came through didn’t have a handle on this side. After looking more closely she found another door, went through it and found herself in what she calls a shaft-like shipping garage thing; she crossed it, found an elevator, took it upstairs, and exited a different building than the one she entered. She then decided to cut her losses and exit campus the normal way, even though it meant doubling back three blocks.

My roommate, people—she’s basically Alice in Wonderland. If you’re confused, know that you are not alone. All I know is that my roommate is one insane bada** and I’m dressing up like her for Halloween.

In other news, I am not impressed with this café. Why are there two ‘f’s in Max Caffe? Why is there a weird love-nesty room in the back that can be separated by a curtain? What is the wi-fi password? What would destiny-flavored coffee taste like? It is a pretty place though, with brick and stone walls, dim lighting, and vintage flower-patterned couches. It’s not as loud as the Hungarian Pastry Shop, but it’s just not doing it for me. When I was at Cool Beans (see http://daydrinkwithme.blogspot.com/2012/08/cool-beans-marietta-square.html ) I felt focused and determined, and also like the fifty-foot woman, which is a little weird. Now I’m just tired and sad because my bill is going to be so atrocious (Note: it really was obscene). Two cups of coffee and I’m ready for a nap. It shouldn’t be this way. 

Ah, I see that I haven't posted any big thoughts here. Well, I have no big thoughts. It's been a rough week, in the middle of a rough month, and it's going to be a really rough night. I used to like October. Then I went to college. I wanted to integrate politics and Halloween and economics into this post, but I haven't done much of anything really. Oh well, there's always next time. By the way, leave me recommendations, they would be much appreciated! 

The Hungarian Pastry Shop

I’m not the only one in here trying to do work, so I have no illusions about my originality or anything. 

However, it does seem to be all older students. So, ha!

The Hungarian Pastry Shop is on 111^th and Amsterdam. I would prefer a seat outside but they are all filled by many, many babies, so I’m inside. The lights are dim (sad face), it smells like coffee (smiley face) and there’s no wi-fi (it’s called the 21^st century, people, enter it). So I’m writing this on Word. This coffee had better [insert crude sexual reference here].

The Hungarian Coffee: American Coffee, Almond, Cinnamon, and whipped cream (I think that’s it). It’s a bit underwhelming; I always forget that I prefer the simple coffee.  It’s thick and heavy on the cinnamon. I’ll go get a regular coffee in a minute. The croissant is as luxurious as a starch can be, even though these prices are not all right with me. But that’s my reaction to basically everything sold in Manhattan.

I would report on how the HPS is as a work environment, but that would involve me working, and if I wanted to do that I wouldn’t have a blog.

Okay, enough whining. I am an adult. I’m going to go refill my coffee and then do some actual work and report back. Right…now. Now. Now. Okay, but actually now.

(Note: The coffee refills are free, but there’s no cream or milk available. And to wussy coffee drinkers like me, milk is very important. )

…

So I’m sitting here in the almost dark reading Epicurus, and though I rather like Epicurus, I’m thinking how many things I would rather do than go to my philosophy class. I guess this is my sophomore slump; I see what I want in life, finally, and now I just feel like I’m wasting time and bushels of money. My last post was full of enthusiastic plans, but now I spend too much time in libraries or alone in coffee shops and I’m tired.

Accurate depiction of me at the coffee shop today

And all this philosophy I’m reading, all these old guys sitting around trying to figure out how to be happy, has me thinking. Everybody seems to think that they can structure the world to make people happy. Plato tries to make a perfect city and Aristotle talks about virtues and justice; the world tries monarchy and democracy and communism; we follow the rules of Christianity, Buddhism, the law; we make communication easier and faster and always with us (except in this wi-fi-less pastry shop), but happiness is always elusive. Maybe it’s not something we can construct at all. Maybe it’s just a capacity that you have. It’s either easy for you to be happy, or it’s very difficult, or somewhere in between, and that’s all.

I say all that here because no way can I say it in class. I said last post that I'd get to thinking big thoughts at college, but I’m no philosopher. I’m just some chick reading Epicurus in a dark coffee shop, and I’m not pretending to be anything else.  So let me get back to it.

The emphasis here should I guess be on the pastries, since this is a pastry shop, see what I did there (not a thing, that’s what I did), and there seems to be many more pastry types available than what’s on display at the counter. That’s not fair, how am I supposed to know what to pick? What, am I expected to read all the pastry descriptions and make a decision based on that? Hogswash! There are many variations of what looks to me like baklava, so I guess Hungary does baklava too? I usually associate baklava to Greece. Is Hungary close to Greece? I’m just a film major, comrades. I’d look it up, but I can’t get on the internet. (Note: Hungary to Greece: https://maps.google.com/maps?client=safari&q=hungary+to+greece&oe=UTF-8&ie=UTF-8&hl=en )

All this griping about the lack of internet is really just a reflection on the fact that my phone is broken this week. I only have a dumb phone, but I feel distant and disconnected. No one can contact me, not that people do that often anyway, and I can’t contact anyone else. It’s so strange. I’m fairly certain that people lived without cellphones or even home phones for thousands of years, but a few days with nothing and I feel like a dinosaur. I’m only two blocks from my dorm but I can’t tell my roommate about the group of men that whistled at me on my walk here.

Hey girl, can I get you some coffee?

In other news, the carrot cake looks delicious. And the elderly British couple eating it is talking about the deli from When Harry Met Sally, seeing Bring It On (“quite a load of fun”) and Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark (“the biggest load of garbage I ever saw”) on Broadway. These are the things I take for granted, being lucky enough to have this time in New York. So let me stop faux-losophizing and complaining about technology and be happy that there are so many more coffee shops in this city that I can try, also with foreign men (though hopefully young, attractive, and shirtless foreign men in the future).

Cool Beans, Marietta Square

My hands are shaking and all my goals seem clear and attainable. 

I'm also making a lot of typos. Because of the hand shaking thing. But overall, I feel pretty good. A good coffee place should do all of this, I suppose. My first time coming to Cool Beans was maybe a month and a half ago. They give out those brilliant frequent flyer cards, which I always take as a challenge. Challenge accepted. Since then, I think my feelings for this esteemed roastery have verged on the passionate. First of all, it's in Marietta Square, one of my favorite places. Second of all, they play some hipster music mix that I do not recognize at all except for 'Psycho Killer', so I'm never distracted by a jam and the noise floats pleasantly to the back of my mind. Third of all, some chick took my seat, which actually did not make me happy, but it's good for Cool Beans. It got so busy at one point that I almost lamented that it had become so main stream. Just kidding. I never let such disgustingly hipster notions develop. 

What I really like about coming to do work here is that I feel like anything is possible. I get really focused, really wired, and the obstacles that usually seem huge now seem slight. As if the white chocolate honeysuckle latte (who came up with that?) contains a magic serum that turns me into the fifty-foot woman and I simply crush the obstacles under my very large feet. Okay, that third coffee was a mistake. 

Cool Beans was the inspiration for this blog. I get so much work done here that I want to keep doing my work in coffee places, which should be simple enough in the Big Apple.  Ew, I can hear a couple kissing next to me. I'm going to vomit. Okay, they left...only to be replaced by another couple. This is VILE. 

Anyways, I hope to keep letting you know where the coffee is strongest and most inspiring. I know this project is just going to increase my dependency on the stuff, so I hope my most noble sacrifice is appreciated. Which is silly, because this blog will maybe be read by two or three of my close friends, but I guess that's not really the point. What is the point, then? I'll think about that in two weeks, when I'm an elite college student again, because philosophizing is really all poor liberal art students like me are good at. Right now, I'm in Georgia. So. 

And by the way, I got the last stamp on my Cool Beans frequent flyer card today, so I'll have just enough time to come out here again for my free coffee. See what I mean? Coffee really does help me achieve my goals (to drink more coffee). 

What's the what

Coffee is very important. I may or may not be completely under coffee's control. This blog is about all the different coffee places I go to and how they contribute to the coffee drinking experience. If you have any suggestions for coffee places in the Atlanta or New York City area, let me know!
Also, feel free to let me know what you think of the blog. Constructive criticism is valued, while assholery is generally frowned upon.