Manhattan Stories

Shirtsleeve weather, yes!

Lost wallet twice. Got wallet returned twice. Nothing missing.

The soldier in camo who returned self’s wallet (the first time she lost it) found her on the PATH train platform for Hoboken. She had just been about to board the train. She’d just discovered her wallet was missing. She had five seconds of gut-twisting fear. Then the tap on her shoulder.

The soldier was young and didn’t even stick around for self to say “Thank you.” She had to shout it to him across the throng. He heard her, though, because he half turned his head and smiled.

Missed Drew’s concert at Carnegie Hall. To make up for it, she ate lunch at the Russian Tea Room. Cheese blintzes and French onion soup, just like what Dearest Mum ordered for her, 30 years ago. Was it worth it?

Self is determined to work on a story self is writing about Dearest Mum, will post on carnegiehall.org/stories or on twitter #CHstories. Thinking of trekking to where Dearest Mum lived before she got married: Might have been Elmhurst. Might have been Flushing.

In fact, she did write this story. It is finished. She sent it to McSweeney’s two years ago. When she checks Submittable, it says “In Progress.” Self might as well take that as a rejection.

Black eyeliner a must because self gets so little sleep here. The city is like liquid fire. Fire! So, rim black around her eyes, please don’t look at self’s eyebags.

Last night, she was in the East Village, Avenue A. The streets were thronged with people in Santa costumes. She lived on 8th and 1st in the early 80s. She no longer recognized anything.

A young woman got up to read a piece about training in a police academy. “You’re going to be raped,” an officer whispered into her ear. How could he have known that she was raped, five years earlier, at 18.

Then another woman, reading about her hometown of Bayonne, New Jersey: “If you go to Bayonne, it’s because you live there, or you know someone who does.”

Self is also still reading student pieces for her UCLA Extension Writers Program class in Nonfiction writing.

Cacophony, yes?

A woman last night said to self, “You seem very nervous.” Which is probably why self keeps dropping her wallet. When she finally does lose it for good, self has decided, she will head straight to JFK and fly to the Bay Area.

But first, to write.

And it is fan fiction, all the way. Capitol Peeta! She has sworn. She will not abandon him on a train platform flanked by his handlers,  Tweedledum and Tweedledee. She will write this, even if it kills her.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

 

Dearest Mum, Who Played in Carnegie Hall

When she was 14 or 15. She won The New York Times piano competition.

This Manila newspaper article focuses on her fashion style. She picked out the clothes herself. The article describes her clothing choices as very “atonal.”

Nena del Rosario Villanueva

Dearest Mum had the tiniest waist: 23 inches all around. Alas, self did not inherit Dearest Mum’s fabulous figure. That honor went to self’s older sister.

Growing up, self resisted all attempts to get dressed up. Even after she started giving readings. “It’s about what’s inside,” she remembers saying to Dearest Mum. “No one has the time to figure out the inner you, so why don’t you just make it easy for them,” Dearest Mum would retort.

Self is so perverse that she continued to dress badly. On purpose.

Now, self is finally beginning to come around to Dearest Mum’s way of thinking.

Years and years later, self is in VCCA when she peeks into an artists studio and spies Drew, playing on a piano. She strikes up a conversation. Eight years later, Drew composes a full-length opera based on one of self’s novellas.

Would you believe, self missed a Nov. 19 concert in Carnegie Hall; the violinist played an original composition by Drew. Sometimes self is very, very stupid.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

Mockingjay 2: Cry, Cry, Cry

Self can’t believe it.

She can’t believe IT’S OVER!

She caught the 1:20 p.m. screening at the AMC Loews almost directly across from the Lincoln Center, a few days ago. Only a block away from Alice Tully Hall, where Dearest Mum once played (when she was still a teen-ager). So ironic that self hasn’t yet been to a concert in Alice Tully Hall but here she is sitting in AMC Loews with a bucket of popcorn on her lap, anxiously awaiting the final film in The Hunger Games franchise. But ever since Niece Georgina recommended Suzanne Collins’s trilogy to self, self has been on a Peeta kick. Yes, her favorite character in The Hunger Games isn’t Katniss, it’s Peeta. And it’s always going to be Peeta. Forever and ever and ever .

J-Law, you were awesome! Every time the camera zoomed in, your facial expressions were so on point! Thank you for your portrayal. Now there’s talk of making a pre-quel with some younger actress. Ixnay! Self would much prefer a sequel: with you again.

Woody Harrelson, you were equally great!

SPOILER ALERT!!!

And so were you, Elizabeth Banks! That scene where you bid Katniss good-bye, decked once more in your Capitol finery (How could Effie get away with dressing like that in District 13? Wouldn’t Coin have frowned on that kind of extravagance?), self found it so affecting.

It was nice to see Philip Seymour Hoffman’s smirk, one last time.

Although she didn’t initially agree with the choice of Donald Sutherland to play the role of President Snow, boy did he kill his part in this final installment. That conversation he has with Katniss near the end, when he says he doesn’t believe in waste, the part where he makes Katniss start questioning Coin’s motives, that part was made infinitely more believable because of Sutherland’s trademark sardonic delivery.

OMG, Finnick’s death was worse than it was in the book. Because it was so — graphic. And he was calling out to Katniss. And self almost couldn’t bear it.

FINALLY:

JENA. JENA MALONE. Talk about the perfect Johanna. Mockingjay Part 1 suffered tremendously from her absence. But she was back! And self loves Jena/Johanna. Truly loves her.

P.S. Julianne Moore as Coin — her pupils had a disconcerting tendency to go all to black, and she looked like a soulless witch. Which, self guesses, was the point.

Tallies: One super-hot Galeniss scene, at the very beginning. Unfortunately, instead of pressing his advantage, Gale mopes. And mopes. And mopes some more. And, honestly, if self were Katniss, she wouldn’t have waited for Peeta. Even though self is Everlark to the max, if Liam were hanging around all the time, being all loyal and supportive, she would not blame Katniss at all for switching affections.

J-Hutch, if only there were more of you Not-Hijacked. If there was one flaw she saw in the film, it was that the end didn’t allow enough time for the “growing together” of Katniss and Peeta. Self was waiting for it, she was waiting for the voice-over narration, she ached to hear J-Law’s throaty voice say “Peeta and I grow back together.” But it was not to be.

There’s a scene where hot Peeta is bent over planting primrose bushes while Katniss sneaks up behind him. The camera starts zooming in on — ahem! Never mind. But no, F-Law was extremely respectful and provided no more than two or three seconds of  J-Hutch bent over. Please!

Not even the teeniest hint of anything in the end, just that cuddling thing K and P do, then — babies! Toast babies!

Ugh! Not enough time in the end! The end! The end!

 

This Evening, Tomas Transtromer

When self was with Angela Narciso Torres in Venice Beach in November, Angela took self to A Small World, a fabulous bookstore fronting the beach. Self ended up getting poetry collections by Neruda and Tomas Transtromer.

This evening, self is looking through Transtromer’s collection The Great Enigma (Pretty fabulous, that title!), translated by Robin Fulton.

The back cover has the New York Times quoting Transtromer as saying, “My poems are meeting places.”

Oh. Wow. Self can’t even. Just. Kill her now.

Here’s an excerpt from Transtromer’s Balakirev’s Dream:

 The black grand piano, the gleaming spider
trembled at the center of its net of music.

In the concert hall a land was conjured up
where stones were no heavier than dew.

Love, love, love those images.

Stay tuned.

Also Reading Jeremy Denk’s Essay “Piano Man”

It is Thanksgiving Day, 2014.

The best decision self ever made was to order a turkey and fixings from somewhere. And now she has a chance to catch up on all those back issues of The New Yorker that have been building up since last year (and the year before, and the year before).

From The New Yorker of 14 October 2013, an essay by Jeremy Denk called “Piano Man”:

I was saved the first time from financial ruin by a stroke of luck — I entered a piano competition, in London, and won third prize. Years of grad-school indulgences (liquor, Chinese takeout, kitchen appliances) had left me with a Visa bill of forty-five hundred dollars, and I was able to erase it in a flash. All that remained of my glorious prize, of all those months of practicing, was a photograph of Princess Diana handing me my award onstage at Royal Festival Hall, which I faxed to everyone I knew.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

‘One’ : WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge

This week’s WordPress Photo Challenge is ONE.

“This week, we want to see photos that focus one one thing.”

Dear Departed Dad at 46. This picture is in the small room self calls her “Office,” the one with French doors that open to her backyard.

He was a kind and gentle father.  Most of all, he gave self roots in the soil of Negros Occidental.

In addition to self’s fascination with: a) windows and b) flowers, self is also fascinated by dogs. This one was in Monsignor “Gigi” Gaston’s house in Manapla, Negros Occidental.

And here’s a picture of Dearest Mum. Have you read the story “Lizard”? You should read “Lizard” (in self’s first collection, GINSENG AND OTHER TALES FROM MANILA).  A student at Curtis, she was only 14 when she played at Carnegie Hall.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Calling Borders (University Avenue, Downtown Palo Alto)

Late last night, self placed a call to Borders, the one on University Avenue in downtown Palo Alto.

She learned Wednesday, from a special edition of Publisher’s Lunch, that Borders had declared bankruptcy.  There was also a list, somewhere in the same missive, of Borders creditors.

Right after self read the news, she called Borders.  It was almost midnight, so of course self didn’t expect anyone to pick up.  She was wondering if she’d get a message machine with some kind of announcement, but the phone rang endlessly and self could just picture the sound in that cavernous space …

This morning, around 7:30 a.m., she tried again, and lo and behold, a man answered.

“Ahh, ahhh,” self said.  “Was just wondering what time you open today?”

“9 a.m.,” the man said.

So, around 9:20 a.m., self called again, and a friendly staff member helped her locate a book by James Barron, something she’d been looking for, for a long time:  Piano:  The Making of a Steinway Concert Grand.

Why this particular book?

Because self grew up with two Steinways in her house in Manila, that’s why!

Because Dearest Mum is a classically trained pianist!

Because self always knew that anything less than a Steinway was simply not to be taken seriously!

(Well, maybe a Bosendorfer is acceptable)

Certainly not anything as pedestrian as a Kawai!

This is just information she knew from about the age of 3!

And even though she should not be all that concerned about the fate of Borders (not as concerned, anyway, as she should be about the news that Powell’s has been laying off staff), she knows she will actually grieve if the Borders in downtown Palo Alto closes.  Because this is her idea of a perfect afternoon:

• movie at Aquarius (an indie movie, something like the Argentine weepie “The Secret in Their Eyes” or British weepie “Never Let Me Go”.  OK, let’s just put it this way:  anything that will make her eyes swell to the size of golf balls, that will give her tear ducts a truly cathartic cleansing and ensure that everything is still in good working order)
• an enormous serving of green tea and lychee gelato from Gelato Classico, across the street from Aquarius
• strolling down University Avenue to Borders, there to lose herself in the fiction stacks for an hour or so

Anyhoo, it looks like self will not have to revise this picture of a perfect Palo Alto afternoon.  Not in the immediate future, at any rate.

Stay tuned.

Self’s Recent New York Trip

Self’s last trip to New York — she wanted it to be about music.

She wanted to see Carnegie Hall, the place where Dearest Mum played with the New York Philharmonic, at age 14.

She wanted to go to the Russian Tea Room with Dearest Mum.

Or attend a concert at the Lincoln Center.

Instead, self only had time to watch one concert, and it was one she just happened to stumble on, when she gained admittance to the Whitney.

And the man banged on the piano keys (a Yamaha, self couldn’t help noticing — in Manila, in her childhood home, there were three pianos, all Steinways) with his elbows. And even struck the piano strings with a pack of cards.

Dearest Mum was a student at Curtis in Philadelphia, and self hasn’t ever laid eyes on that august institution.

Self, you are too, too wanting. Always wanting.

Embarrassment: First Memory

I don’t know how old I am. I’m hiding under my mother’s big black piano. I think it might even be the day of my birthday party. I am not, usually, given to hiding under my mother’s piano, but this day is, I recognize, something special. I know it is something special because they made me wear a dress.

I am hiding because I have a crush on one of my mother’s friends. I follow him around like a puppy. Everyone knows about my crush, and I am happy that they know.

At the same time, I’m ashamed, I don’t know why.

It’s my first exposure to something delicate, an emotion I recognize should be a secret. Why is it a secret? I know because of the way people laugh at me when they realize. The laughing at is what causes the embarrassment.

And that is why, dressed up as I am, I am hiding underneath the piano. Which is not a very good hiding place because everyone can see me. All it gives me is more exposure than I intended. Which is exactly the opposite of what I wanted to achieve.

The other thing I ask myself now is: why the piano? Why couldn’t I have hidden in the bathroom? Or under my bed? Or in the maids’ room, where no one would ever think to look for me?

My mother’s piano is a Steinway grand. It is black and the maids polish it every day so that you can almost see your reflection in it. My mother is at this piano every day. If I could, I would probably want to burrow into my mother’s lap. But she must be unavailable — hence the piano?

Conundrums: 3rd day of January 2010

NYTBR 24 May 2009: A Not Very Short List, Including a New Book by Barthelme

Let’s just get on with it, dear blog readers, for this list is longer than self anticipated it would be.  Without further ado, books self is interested in reading after perusing the 24 May 2009 issue of The New York Times Book Review :

1.   After reading Jess Row’s review of Anne Michaels’ new novel, The Winter Vault:

• Danilo Kis’ novel, Hourglass
• Alain Robbe-Grillet’s novel, Jealousy

2.   After reading Liesl Schillinger’s review of a new book by Amos Oz, Rhyming Life and Death, a novella, and The Amos Oz Reader, selected and edited by Nitza Ben-Dov:

• Amos Oz’s Rhyming Life and Death, “beautifully translated” by Nicholas de Lange
• The Amos Oz Reader
• Amos Oz’s memoir, A Tale of Love and Darkness

3.   Frederick Barthelme’s new novel Waveland, which self would have read regardless, whether or not she had read the review by Jack Pendarvis (which is very good, by the way)

4.   After reading Maggie Scarf’s review of Wendy Moore’s new book, Wedlock:  The True Story of the Disastrous Marriage and Remarkable Divorce of Mary Eleanor Bowes, Countess of Strathmore

• Wendy Moore’s Wedlock:  The True Story of the Disastrous Marriage and Remarkable Divorce of Mary Eleanor Bowes, Countess of Strathmore

5.   After reading Boris Fishman’s review of Georgina Harding’s