Tuesday, 6 August 2013

[The Life of Shaun #477] Losing my religion

One of the things Londoners and New Yorkers have in common is a connection to their city that goes far beyond a place to live, work and play. When you say "I am a Londoner" or "I am a New Yorker", it is a statement about who you are, not where you live. The facts of life in the city, its geography and character, its joys and its miseries, they become the threads of a commonality binding us to it, and it becomes almost a religion. You either get it, are a believer, and stay; or you don't, can't hack it, and leave.

I absolutely loved my time in New York, and it made me the person I am today. The freedom, the people, the experiences, they were life-affirming and life-changing. I remember being on a flight home a year or two after moving there, and for the first time ever I understood what it felt like to be going home. New York was my life.

I still love New York, but I don't miss it. I remember the first time I realised that; I actually felt a little guilty, like I was cheating on a lover. And I suppose in a sense I was. But I knew then I would never be moving back. I had found a new religion.

Cheers,

Shaun

How to Live in New York City

DEC. 20, 2010

By RYAN O'CONNELL info

Move here when you're 18 or 22, maybe even 24. Come from somewhere else-the north, south, west, Xanadu- and come to realize that everyone living in New York is a transplant. Even the ones who grew up on the Upper East Side end up moving into a place downtown, which, as you'll soon discover, is like moving to a different city.

Discover the cruel and bizarre world of New York City real estate. End up spending an obscene amount of money on something called a broker's fee, first and last month's rent and a security deposit. Cry a little bit in the leasing office but remind yourself that you're so happy to be here.

Picture hearing a man playing the saxophone outside your bedroom window. End up hearing a lot of sirens instead. Figure it's okay because it's New York and you're still so happy to be here.

Go out to bars in the Lower East Side because the Internet told you so. Fall in love with a bar called, Max Fish, and always stay out till four in the morning. Eat a falafel and have someone pay for a cab back to your apartment. Watch the sun start to rise while going over the Williamsburg Bridge and feel like your life is becoming some kind of movie.

Eat bad pizza but trick yourself into believing it's good because it's made in New York. Do the same thing with bagels and sex.

Meet people who will be your best friends for three or four months. They'll help you transition into city life and take you to weird bars in Murray Hill. It will be like the blind leading the blind but once you get a firm grasp on things, you can stop returning their phone calls.

Watch your life in New York go through phases. Spend a summer in Fort Greene with a lover and get to know the neighborhood and its rhythms. Once the fling ends, forget the blocks, parks and restaurants ever existed and don't return unless you have to.

Encounter a lot of people crying in public. Watch an NYU student cry in Think Coffee, a business woman in midtown sob into her cellphone, an old man whimper on a stoop in Greenpoint. At first, it will feel very jarring but, like everything else, it will become normal. Have your first public cry in front of a Bank of America. Cry so hard and don't care if people are watching you. You pay good money to be able to cry in public.

Work long hours at a thankless job. Always be one step away from financial destitution. Marvel at how expensive New York is, how when you walk out the door, $20.00 immediately gets deleted from your wallet. Understand that even though no one has any money, everyone is privileged to live in New York City.

Go home for the holidays and run into old friends from high school. When you tell them that you live in New York, watch their eyes widen. They'll say, "Oh my god, New York? That's so crazy. I'm so jealous!" Have a blasé attitude about it but deep down inside, know they have good reason to be jealous.

Go home and feel relieved to be away from the energy of the city, that punishing 4:00 a.m. last call. Spend the first two days eating and sleeping, getting back to normal. Spend the last two days feeling anxious and ready to get back to your real home. Realize this city has you by the balls and isn't going to let you go.

Someday you might grow tired of it all though. You might start crying in public more often than you'd like, have a bad break-up and want to pack it all up.

Certain moments of living in the city will always stick out to you. Buying plums from a fruit vendor on 34th street and eating three of them on a long walk, the day you spent in bed with your best friend watching Tyra Banks, the amazing rooftop party you attended on a sweltering hot day in July. These memories might seem insignificant but they were all moments when you looked around the city and felt like you were a part of it all.

When you leave the city, you probably won't come back. Eventually your life in New York will seem so far away and sometimes you'll even wonder if it really happened. Don't worry. It did. TC mark

Image: Joisey Showaa.

Tagged Bank of America, How To Live In NY, Max Fish, New York City, NYU, Tyra Banks, Upper East Side,Willasmburg, Williamsburg

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Saturday, 3 August 2013

[The Life of Shaun #476] Getting back in the saddle

Before I went to Chicago to be with Mom, I can't remember the last time I didn't have a trip planned, with tickets bought for somewhere. I always enjoy having something in the calendar to look forward to and plan. But when I went to Chicago, I didn't have any idea how long I'd be there, and there was a bit of a mental block, too; it was hard to think about after, and making plans would acknowledge that there would have to be an after. Then when I first got back to London, being grounded - at home, in London, with my friends and routine - was comforting.

As 2013 moved on, I got my feet wet with UK city breaks, Manchester for a boys' weekend, Liverpool with Dad and Mary Keany. Last weekend I went to Ireland with Rachel for a wedding, which has set the ball rolling: Brittany, Dorset, Tunis, Vegas/SF/Vancouver and India will roll me out of 2013 and put a happy ending on a year that sorely needs one. It feels really good to have these trips on the books.

Ireland was great, as it has been each time I've been there. I grow more fond of Dublin each time I visit. It's an understated city, not much to see or awe, but the people are golden. Everyone is so friendly and warm, outwardly optimistic, and number one on everyone's priority list is to enjoy life - my kind of people. We saw the sights and drank the beer, and then my heart was broken: Siam Thai, which I've plugged before, has closed. It was my favourite thing about Dublin and was honestly reason enough to go back. But, fortunately, it turns out it hasn't so much closed as undergone mitosis - the owners parted way, each taking one of the three locations. The one in central Dublin, Red Torch Ginger, has stayed faithful to the old menu and was sublime - the best Thai food I've had outside of Thailand. It was so good we went back for dinner again the very next night. It's the one must-do I tell everyone who's going to Dublin. I need to get that return trip on my books...

Wanderlustfully,

Shaun

Rachel enjoying the six-hour stay at Gatwick Airport that RyanAir so lovingly bestowed upon us

Irish sunshine in Temple Bar - it's even stronger than British sunshine

Me, after Jameson, on the famous Ha'penny Bridge

Lots of stoic grey stone in Dublin

Rachel in a cell at Kilmainham Gaol, the prison where Britain kept, and executed, several IRA leaders

The core of Kilmainham Gaol

Proclamation, by Rowan Gillespie, a memorial to the executed leaders of the Easter Rising of 1916. Ironically, the weight of Irish opinion was not behind the IRA movement, especially after the damage inflicted on their capital by the revolution. The executions, however, enraged the populace, and turned the tide towards the independence movement.

O'Connell Street, Dublin's great thoroughfare

Jesus... in a glass box... in a traffic island...

Reminder in the car, in case you forget

The view outside our hotel in Killarney, where we went for the wedding

Killarney's quaint downtown

Wedding bus selfie!

Dingle Peninsula, where the wedding reception was held, and where the Atlantic Ocean meets Ireland

Me, Dingle behind

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Wednesday, 10 July 2013

[The Life of Shaun #475] Our Town

The first time I heard Our Town was in 1993. I was living in Paris at the time, and I listened to the BBC World Service as it was the only station in English (but also brilliant - I still listen to it now). They broadcast the play over the air across three days, and I remember waking up at a silly hour to hear the final segment.

I finally saw it nearly a decade later when I off-handedly mentioned to my friend, David Bell, that Our Town was my favourite play. He quickly poured me a cocktail and introduced me to the amazing PBS broadcast of it (with Frances Conroy and...some other people).

I saw it live for the second time tonight with Rachel Klem in a little theatre pub (they are common here) on Upper Street called the King's Head Theatre, and it was fantastic. In this sort of setting, it was a casual and intimate affair, but if you know the play, you know it lends itself to that. I had to allow myself some leeway from the PBS masterpiece: I am pretty sure the accent mix of Southern New Hampshire has never had such a cosmopolitan twang, the racial mix of the time was certainly less progressive, and there were two actors who just didn't fit.

But all that quickly gave way to the play - and the play is really quite special. Perhaps it's my place in life, or the fact the play has been under my skin for twenty years, but I loved it. It's such a simple, earnest, beautiful 100 minutes. It's perfect.

To all the Londoners, I whole-heartedly recommend it. It's an easy and quick after-work thing to do (7:15-9:15, with interval), it's cheap, and it makes for a great night. The show is on through next week, and the details are here (don't worry about not being able to buy online anymore - there are definitely seats):

https://kingsheadtheatre.ticketsolve.com/shows/873494844/events

To everyone else, get a torrent of the PBS version and have an enchanting evening at home.

Cheers,

Shaun

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Sunday, 2 June 2013

[The Life of Shaun #473] Happy birthday to Pops!

Dad has been staying with me for a month, in transit from the temporary home in Chicago to his next temporary home in Bali - at least for a couple months. He'll be joining Lisa and Danai there, who are there to be near Lisa's husband as he's flying in Southeast Asia currently. After that, the plans get...fuzzy.

Dad and I have been packing in his stay here with exploration, new neighbourhoods, restaurants and pubs. This week has been the climax of the visit as it's been Dad's birthday weekend. I entered a charity raffle at work for football tickets and won a pair to England vs. Ireland at Wembley. Dad's become a massive football fan and Liverpool supporter in the past few years, so he was thrilled. Despite the 1-1 draw, it was a really good night - Dad was beaming.

This weekend I took Dad to Liverpool for his birthday present, and Mary Keany joined us. What a difference some sunshine and 15 degrees make! I went to Liverpool about a year ago, and it was awful. It was freezing and pouring, so it was an exercise of running from one hen-night-infested bar to another. This time the sun was out and, though not warm, it was near-to-warm, which, gauging from how Scousers dress, is about as good as it gets on the North Irish Sea.

Liverpool actually turned out to be quite charming, especially by day. It's a very agreeable, mostly pretty, walkable city, and the Beatles' legacy has ensured that there is an ongoing permeation of music and performance around the city. We had great food, great pubs, heard great music and went on great walkabouts. If it weren't for the dire state of the gay scene, it'd've been a perfect city weekender.

Now Dad's time in London is drawing short - leaves for Bali on Wednesday. It's been great having him here, hanging out with him and taking this trip. I hope he makes his way back here soon.

Cheers,

Shaun

A little plug: Of the many performers dotted around Liverpool and its watering holes, I took cards from two to look up when I got home. Dave Pilla was playing guitar and singing on one of the pedestrianised city centre streets, and he sounded great, so I tossed £1 into his case and took his card. I just downloaded his premier CD from his site (just £4) and love it. So, if new artists and music is your kind of thing, check him out at http://davepilla.bandcamp.com/album/dave-pilla, have a listen, and support him by buying his album if you like it.

Pops outside Wembley.

Pops and me at his birthday dinner.

Liverpool is very popular with hen- and stag-does and all that implies.

Typical pretty city centre street

Matthew Street, where The Beatles famously began at the Cavern Club.

Radio City tower in the city centre.

The Liverpool riverfront from Radio City tower.

Liverpool is the only UK city with two functioning cathedrals, the Catholic one on the left, the massive Anglican one on the right.

Dad, Mary and me for Thai dinner at the very respectable Chaophraya.

Dad at the Cavern.

The Liver Building, one of the "three graces" that adorn Liverpool's riverfront and give it its recognisable façade. I liked this one the best, both for the building, and because of the liver birds at the top. It's said that the female liver bird is looking out to the port to see if the sailors have made it home safely, whereas the male liver bird is looking into town to see if the pubs are open.

The Catholic cathedral...

...and its inside. The iPhone can't do it justice, but it really is a very impressive, beautiful, warm, calming space.

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Saturday, 11 May 2013

[The Life of Shaun #472] Good night, Mama

Lara and her kids left Chicagoland for Italy last Friday; Dad, Lisa and Danai arrived in London on Monday, ending this American chapter of our family's story.

Today, just after Lisa and Danai left to reunite with Lisa's husband in Laos, my last six boxes of possessions, lovingly stored by Rachel Klem in these intercontinental years, arrived from America, ending all material ties to my mother country.

After Lisa left, I went through the old slides and photos my sisters had scanned to CD, then I helped Dad arrange his things into the space left by Lisa and her departed luggage, moving clothes, stacking suitcases and sorting miscellanea, when I picked up a pair of headphones and the box they rested on from the floor, when Dad said, in the casualest breath, "Those are Mom's ashes". It was as if those words were made of lead, as I suddenly felt the heft of the box in my hands. I rather uncomfortably held them and moved towards the hallway, where we have bookshelves, as it seemed like the only appropriate direction to go when you're holding someone's ashes was towards a shelf.

I'd known they were bringing Mom's ashes to stay with me, as our family's scattered and in flux for a while, but in all the chaos of the recent weeks, I'd honestly forgotten about it. And suddenly, mid-sentence about where to store a pair of headphones, I was holding Mom's ashes - holding Mom - in my hands. This big life and personality, every memory of her, was unexpectedly in a 6" x 6" box in my hands.

I'd felt uncomfortable and unsure about Mom's ashes living here, so I never thought about where they would actually go. I walked her ashes towards the shelves in the hallway, but they are filled with books and board games, and I couldn't imagine Mom there. So I brought them into my room, where I cleared a snug space for them on my bedside shelves, where I can sleep next to Mom again for awhile. I'm no longer uncomfortable or unsure; I'm just glad to have her near.

Cheers,

Shaun

Mom and Dad, the day this crazy Coley story officially started.

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Tuesday, 30 April 2013

[The Life of Shaun #471] Kerr, a drag queen star in Las Vegas, dies

Russ texted me this morning to let me know that Kenny Kerr had died. It might seem odd to mourn the death of a drag performer I'd met only tangentially a few times, but with her a little piece of my past dies as well. When I first started going out in Vegas, Gipsy - that little "club", with a rainbow painted across the front and slot machines in the bar, on the Northwest corner of the intersection that served as Vegas's gay core - was everything to me. It's where I met my friends, where I was out at least four nights a week, and where I finally started living the life I wanted. And Gipsy wasn't separable from Kenny Kerr, who would often be there, sometimes performing, sometimes just there, but always a presence.

So hearing he died brings back all those nights - those many, many nights spent there with Russ, coercing Mike Odynski to have just one more - and all that grew out of it. Suddenly this epochal period that normally seems so remote behind the years of life, in ever more distant cities since then, doesn't seem so far removed anymore. And for just an instant - a fleeting instant - I feel like a Vegas boy again. Only this time grateful rather than resentful; for all that Vegas lacked that I needed and fled to find, it's still where the foundations of my life were laid. But it's just that little bit less fabulous now.

Viva Las Vegas,

Shaun

Posted April 28, 2013 - 6:59pm Updated April 29, 2013 - 2:01am

Kerr, a drag queen star in Las Vegas, dies

REVIEW-JOURNAL FILE

Kenny Kerr, in an undated photo, performs at the Plaza. Kerr, best known for his female impersonations, died Sunday. He was 60.

By MIKE WEATHERFORD
LAS VEGAS REVIEW-JOURNAL

Kenny Kerr, the bad girl that Las Vegas fell hard for in the '70s, died Sunday. He was 60.

The star of "Boy-lesque" was the Strip's first must-see female impersonator, pulling a locals-heavy audience into a tiny casino called the Silver Slipper for 11 years with his deadpan stare, cutthroat wit and killer gowns.

"It's now to the point where there are three things you have to see: Lake Mead, Hoover Dam and 'Boy-lesque,'" Kerr said in 1988, when the show wrapped its long era at the Silver Slipper in anticipation of the casino's eventual closure and demolition.

Kerr's impressions of Cher and Barbra Streisand were matched by his comedic skills as the show's saucy host.

Drag was still somewhat taboo when Kerr came to town in 1977, but by then, he had already been impersonating Streisand for years.

Growing up in Blue Anchor, N.J., he was 16 when a couple who saw him shopping at a mall noted his resemblance to Streisand. They soon had him riding the bus into Philadelphia to perform at night while he was still attending high school.

"These people had a show of the sort I do now and asked me if I wanted to work in it," he recalled in 1982. They talked a lot of money. ... Most of my contemporaries had jobs for minimum wage or less."

Going out on his own a few years later, Kerr and his original cast showcased their act for free at the Sahara and caught the attention of Herb Kaufman, the owner of Wonder World discount stores.

The Slipper show quickly became a low-cost novelty for locals to take out-of-town visitors. But it arrived fresh on the heels of Anita Bryant's anti-gay crusade, and for years Kerr said the question "Are you gay?" was one he had to dance around.

"It's a question I can't win by answering," he said in 1982. "If I said I am gay, there are an awful lot of narrow-minded people out there. And If I said I'm heterosexual, a lot of people wouldn't believe me."

Kerr kept working after the Silver Slipper era, with long runs at the Sahara and Plaza followed by smaller casinos and gradually diminishing returns, as the rival "La Cage" revue proved fierce competition and the shock value faded over the years.

After spending much of the 2000s in Palm Springs, Kerr returned to Las Vegas and forged on in clubs and the Onyx Theatre as recently as last year, after the death of his longtime partner and a serious illness.

"One thing about troubles is you quickly learn who your good friends really are," he told the Review-Journal last year. "People are always trying to stab you in the back. But lately I've been surrounded by so much love. I wasn't aware of all the love that's out there. I now appreciate the kindness that comes my way."

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Monday, 22 April 2013

[The Life of Shaun #470] Manchester 2013

...I had my first trip since coming home. It was odd upon getting back; since I didn't know exactly how long I would be in Chicagoland, I didn't make any future travel plans. I'd be lost trying to remember the last time I didn't have a confirmed trip on my books. But Marco and Jan came to the rescue on this one and agreed to a boys' weekend away to the capital of the North.

My lamentations about the decline of Manchester's gay life from an undiscovered delight to suffering the same (though milder) Northern disease that seems to be taking hold everywhere outside the M25 remain valid, but Manchester still holds a special place in my heart. I'll never forget the unbridled joy that seemed to flow forth on Canal Street on my visits there over the first many years. So while it's disappointing to see the changes, I still enjoy its company. And to be fair, some bars along Canal Street have started implementing firm no-hen-night/stag-do policies (though stag-dos are not the problem - few straight men want to spend their last night of freedom trolloping from gay bar to gay bar), so perhaps there's some fight in the community yet.

Anyhoo, to Manchester we went, glitter headbands and matching sassy tee-shirts be damned, and had a very good time. I went to my current favourite bars, discovered some new ones, and succeeded spectacularly in showing Marco and Jan what a Manchester hangover felt like. However, going with them there was very different from my previous trips with Russ. Apparently there's a whole city out there beyond the train station, Canal Street and the path between the two. Who knew?! And what's more, Marco and Jan (well, Marco) wanted to go see it as well. So I can safely say I discovered a whole new side to Manchester this weekend.

Next time? I'm going with Russ again.

Cheers,

Shaun

View of Manchester from the flat we rented.

Machester Town Hall (lovely, innit?)

Random agreeable architecture

Jan was a little less keen on standing under his own power than Marco

Two old pub buildings in the city centre. Apparently, they were picked up from elsewhere and moved here to save them.

In 1996, the IRA bombed Manchester's city centre, destroying much of it, and setting off the regeneration that has allowed it to clearly become the main city of the North, and arguably on the way to usurping Birmingham as Britain's second city. This is Exchange Square, part of the redevelopment, and designed by Martha Scwartz.

This is the pillar box (mail box) that survived the blast and serves as its memorial. I was really quite taken with this. Had this been in America, there would likely have been a shrine built around it, with water features, jagged glass sculptures, gardens, poems etched in walls, all of it drenched in red,white and blue light features. Here, they simply allowed the box to remain in service, inconspicuously standing on a through street (you'd never know what it was if a local didn't tell you) with a small bronze plaque reading: "This postbox remained standing almost undamaged on June 15, 1996 when this area was devastated by a bomb. The box was removed during the rebuilding of the city centre and was returned to its original site on November 22nd 1999".

The Northern Quarter, Machester's Dalston...

...where we had great Lebanese food at The Cedar Tree, and were completely beguiled by the decor...

...though they didn't quite seem to get the meaning of vegetarian.

Last, but certainly not least, Canal Street, before the boys have come out to play.

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[The Life of Shaun #469] Half truth

I haven't written in a while, but there really hasn't been much to write about. The first week back was a bit surreal; everything felt a little false. Being back at work, going through the motions - it felt like trying to pretend nothing had happened. Then things got better, and then they got worse, and then better again. And that oscillation has been the rhythm of my life the past few months. Hardly the stuff of gripping reading.

I've been dreaming about Mom a lot the last two weeks - most always about wanting to relieve her pain - so I know there's processing going on in the back of my head as well as the front. Who knows where that's leading, but the one thing I can tell you is that the people who say to tell those close to you that you love them every day, they are right, but they're not telling the whole story. I bore this advice in mind and told Mom every day - many times a day - and I know she died without any doubt about how much I loved her. But what nobody tells you that it doesn't matter. Regardless of how much you tell someone you love them, even if you tell them till you are blue in the face every single day, it still doesn't matter. The first time you want to tell them that you love them, and you can't, it aches in a way you couldn't understand before.

But it hasn't all been macabre and painful. My friends have been great, and Mary Keany an absolute treasure. Her mom died of lung caner a little over two years ago, and she approaches me with a care and delicacy - and sometimes the tough love - that only the commonality of our sorrow can allow. But everyone's taken care to fill my diary and my days with the life I love living here. And with that more positive note...

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