Theoretically it's spring in New York, but those of you who live here know that it's been behaving much more like any ol' day in London; cold, winy, dreary rainy... the kind of weather that gives a body the blahs.

But there's a way around it -- stay underground, where the weather's dandy!

And that's what I did today with my friend Josh. We BUSKED. Me for the first time. (Busking, for you suburbanites, is playing music in a public place for free, with a hat or guitar case out for tips.)

We didn't have the best spot in the universe, and we figured out quickly why that platform was available at that hour - constant train traffic, which means no stable audience and lots of noise.

But nonetheless it was great fun. Josh is a *hoot*: a thoroughly delightful person, excellent guitarist, and a terrific singer/songwriter in his own right. (And, lucky women, he's single, and looking. Sign up on the right, line up on the left. Myspace/joshuafox.)

We did the busking partially just 'cause, and partially because after a family-related hiatus of several months I have a great local gig on the L.E.S.this coming Friday at 7:30pm, at Googie's above the Living Room (154 Ludlow between Stanton and Rivington.) So I sang and handed out flyers and gently willed people to come to the gig.

And I have to say, busking was a grand experience. Yes, there's noise, and incurious people, and for us not so much money this time around, but overall people are kind, and interested. Folks will loiter sort of near by, some looking, but most pretending to not look -- checking phones, looking for trains -- but standing so they can see, and hear. I could hear my voice echo down the platform, and see people even waaaay down there turn -- and listen.

And you can see, obliquely, that you are positively affecting someone's day. Which is cool. Which, actually, is everything.

And here's the kicker: in addition to a (very) few bucks, we got the best, most apt tip of all, especially for an inaugural busking experience: a small, sealed bottle of brandy, tossed in the case by someone as he hopped onto the train.

Most excellent brandy, too. I am sipping it as we speak.

You know that guy who invented Post-Its accidentally, while trying to invent something else?

I wonder if it always works that way.

Sometimes I start out to write a song, and it turns into a something else. Usually it turns out to be nothing at all, or it stays a fragment in a notebook.

This one came out as a poem, and it might stay that way. I keep tinkering with it. It may just get different punctuation, or it may end up slashed into bits that get made into other things. Or it may be thrown out all together. I’m not really sure. But this is what it is for now.

-Elaine

*****

everybody hates me
except
my imaginary boyfriend

she was fond of saying
and it was mostly true

She was a pill and a half
only the unreal could accept her completely

He loved her,
her imaginary boyfriend,
with a patience surpassing all sanity

He saw her conflicted thrashing
and longed for her
the more deeply
(so she said)

He proffered himself, unconditionally,
if she would deign to stay

And so she deigned -
but half-heartedly

She wanted/not wanted
a simmering kettle-corn-ucopia of desire
eager for the projected bliss
of not being
but fearful of the near-miss

She walked the world as if holding
razor blades to her wrists
waiting for the jostling
which would result,
in some unexpected moment,
in release
with her acquiesence
but not her effort

then one day
he appeared in the flesh,
her imaginary boyfriend,
(not as tall as she’d expected)
gently lifted the blooded blades from her fingers
and embraced her

and the sun caressed her face
as if for the first time

-efr 3/08

Hello, my tasty little dumplings!

Many apologies to whoever reads this little blogling, that I have been so absent from musing for so long. Life is like that, right now. Ah well. There it is.

Anyhoo... today we have a whimsical list of things for which I am grateful. Why? Because.

1. The elevator in my building.
I am on the 8th floor, and as of some time today, we will not have an elevator for a month. At least! If we are Lucky. So I have been noticing the elevator a LOT this weekend. I went up and down it yesterday like 6 times. (I know! Who goes joy riding in their own elevator? It was because of laundry, and coming and going -- but you can bet I will gratuitously ride the new elevator. In fact I may set up a wee chair and wee table and hand out cocktails in celebration. Why not.)

2. The Dancing Queens.
My wonderful neighbors went back to Sweden, but while they were here they were SO MUCH FUN, and so smart and warm and lovely, and I loved every minute of having them around. I learned the hug massage, and some ballet tips, and where to dance ’til you drop, and that I look surprisingly good in rocker chick tees and too much sparkly eyeshadow (who knew?).

3. Caffeine. Because it makes me feel brilliant and *alive*.

4. Indoor Plumbing. (Yes, related. Enough said.)

5. Local bars, and friends who will go to them with me.
I don’t have a schedule which allows me to become a regular at a local bar, but at some of the local places here, in various neighborhoods, you don’t have to be a regular to be treated like one. Bartenders will let you re-arrange the chairs, bring in outside food, even comp a round if you hang out long enough. And the actual regulars will make you feel welcome, come over and chat about the game or the gov or the weather or whatever. And maybe if you’re lucky the owner will queue up great songs on the jukebox and look the other way when you can’t help but dance. (There are draconican laws in NYC prohibiting dancing unless there’s a cabaret license.) And the intoxicants are cheaper at a good local place. Extra props for that! Not that I don’t love occasionally draping myself in frippery and hobbling on dangerous heels to a $20-per-drink cocktail lounge. I do. I just find I have more fun more often at a humble watering hole. So cheers to that.

6. Music music music music.
Because, at the end of the day, it is everything. The well, and the water, sadness, solace - all the inchoate, un-expressable expression of our deepest, most human desires and loves and experiences and truths. It’s so important people will create it without compensation. It’s that essential. I think it’s worth more than all the algorithms in all the hedge funds in the world.

So there you have it.

What’s your list du jour?

-Elaine

A (fourth annual) blessing for the new year...

May your 2008 begin with extensive lounging
be filled with laughter, enough sleep, and absolutely exquisite chocolates

May the strength of your friends' love uproot your sorrows
and plant lightness of being in your heart

May the world conspire to bring your desires to fruition
And be improved by all you dare, and dream

And most of all, may your contentment bloom to its fullest
and suffuse your labors and loves with unshakable joy.

Happy New Year!

-Elaine

How wonderful is it when delightful people do generous things, out of the blue.

Last week I got an email from a stranger telling me I have a gift, and thanking me for sharing it.

Then I got a call from an old friend who said so many complimentary things that I'm amazed my head didn't swell enough to trap me in my room for life.

And then there is Mike Stephens, singer and songwriter and podcaster, who has never met me in real life but who has kindly championed my songs on his podcast with almost no assistance from me, and is putting one of them on what promises to be a terrific compilation CD coming out soon, with proceeds going to charity.

It's a fabulous idea, and what's more amazing is that it's not still in the idea stage - he's actually gone and made it happen. It's a huge effort to put together a recording for some people (okay, me) so I'm always in awe of people who just up and do it.

Three cheers for Mike, and I'll keep you posted about the CD when it comes out.

While I'm all aglow with love, kisses to all of you who have taken the risk this week to say one true and lovely thing to and about another person. It's amazing how it can change the tenor of one's day.

....and the adjective is.....


Scintillating!


'Scintillating' is what I am turning this year. Y'all came up with some terrific and surprisingly similar words; sublime, sexy, shimmering, positive, that sort of thing, but I think "scintillating" captures it all. Thanks to Deanna Julian for the winning word (also a fine performer, check her out in my friend list).

So I'm going to be Scintillating for the next year.

Now, I can't say I have a good start on being scintillating. Mostly I've been Anxious - but then I have years of practice with that. I imagine some of that will clear up once some other areas of life settle down. In fact I think I'll hold off on dazzling you all with my scintillocity until, hmmm, let's say August 6th. Gotta work up to shining that brightly.

In performing news... almost immediately after vowing to lay low, I didn't. Josh Fox and I did a little fill-in gig over in Williamsburg at Spike Hill. Nice place! We'll be going back for sure.

I debuted a new song of mine there with which I am temporarily *completely* besotted, so if I can strong-arm Susie into playing it, I'll sing it at her show tomorrow. (Susan Day Lewis, the Duplex, 4 - 9pm. 7th & Christopher in the west village.)

Otherwise I'll probably sing her favorite, Faust Revisited, which, if you only visit me digitally, you have not heard yet. I am working on figuring out how to record a bunch of new songs so they're radio ready, truly top shelf, but on my independent artist budget. so if you know any fabulous producers here in New York to recommend, please be in touch!

My songs and your producing savvy... now THAT could be scintillating.

-Elaine

It's Shameless Self-Promotion time:

For those of you in NYC: round up your friends and hightail it to my gig tonight!

It's at Googie's Lounge inside The Living Room, 154 Ludlow between Stanton and Rivington. 9:30pm. NO cover charge.

For one thing, it's gonna be a doozy of a show. Usually it's just me and Joel up there, but this time it's gonna be me and a bunch of friends playing their hearts out with me. (All of whom, by the by, you can check out in my Friends group.)

It'll be me singing, plus
-guitar (Joshua Charles Fox)
-piano (Susan Day Lewis)
-additional vocals (Greta Larson)

AND
-Genevieve from LA
-and I think also her friend Amy Clarke.

So that's a lot of eye candy. ; )

Secondly, I'm taking a break after this. If I make it to California maybe I can put together a show in SF. But I'm gonna lay low for a little bit here in NYC. Gotta get some other parts of life better nailed down, and also I'm tired of the draw stress; maybe there's a smarter way to do this, and so I'll give myself some space to try to figure out how.

Lastly, today is my birthday. I figured, what better way to celebrate than to sing and play with friends? So I scheduled this gig, and that's the plan. Hopefully more people will show up to listen than will be on stage.

On the birthday subject:I've decided to eschew a number this go around (numbers are SO last year) and turn an adjective instead, and then try to be that adjective all year.

So: any suggestions?

C'mon. I KNOW there are some things you all would like to call me. ; )

-Elaine

It's hot as Hades here in New York.

It's like the sticky inside of a turned-off oven -- which is not as bad as it WILL be. Soon it will be like a fully functioning furnace, day and night and day, and oh what blessed relief the subway car will bring, and oh what stench the subway platform. We should all be hosed down and squeegied off before entering public buildings in August. I guess August is why the Hamptons are such a mythically big deal.

Tonight I got home from being stood up (fortunately stellar friends, a great dinner before and a free bottle of prosecco afterward intervened to make the night fun) and met with oneathose HUGE palmetto bugs in my living room as I was settling in for a little Scrubs.

(Aside about Scrubs: I'm addicted. And about 2 years behind the current season. I know I should just buy the whole series and watch it whenever I please, but instead I let the Scrubs episodes from 11:30 - 12:30 be my relaxation du jour. I love that show! And I love the Russian roulette about it airing; at what point in their lives will I cozy up with them tonight? Early Dr. Dorian, when Zach is still acting realistically, and so perfectly captures being frustrated, self-conscious, and powerless? Or later, when the guy who plays Turk -- and why don't I know HIS name -- has shown once again how well he acts AND sings and moves and how talented he is? What come-withs will be around? Is Blond Doctor extra thin or normal? What is WITH The Janitor? And who is sleeping with whom? I love it all.)

Anyway... back to Insect Trauma.

I didn't catch the stupid bug. Which is problematic, because it certainly can fit under the door to my bedroom. Shit... it can crawl up walls and across the ceiling. It may crawl on me in my sleep, which is so utterly oogie I can barely type it.

However, I ALSO didn't hyperventilate and dissolve into a puddle of hysterical vertical person-shaped sobbing, which is what I did upon my LAST encounter with a palmetto (which by the by is a GIANT cockroach) shortly after I moved here last August.

I was not chill about it. I was wigged out for days.
So I'm making progress.

If I can become not-hysterical at the sight of a cockroach the size of my hand, shrug, and go to sleep anyway (because what is the Plan B, anyone?) then maybe other things can change as well.

Hope springs eternal, especially in the spring.

So grab a can of Raid, put on your thinnest, coolest cotton jammies, and join me in a sticky slumber.

I am unused to spring.

I remember it, fondly, but haven't experienced it much, living as I did in perpetually cold northern California. I was reacquainted with it last May when I was in New York for the Tony Kushner show, and it is definitely part of what made me fall in love with and move to the city; the cherry trees dripping pink petals everywhere, obscene peonies spreading themselves wide to the sun, and (best of all) half-naked people meandering and lolling about, SO pleased to be shed of multiple layers, not yet wilted by summer humidity.

But last year I wasn't living here. I saw spring and left, and everything remained bright and beautiful in my memories. I'd forgotten about spring's fragility. The cherry trees bloom only briefly, and then that's it, for a whole year. Tulips too. The park continues to be lovely and refreshing and fragrant and colorful, but every time I walk in it whole sets of plants have bloomed, wilted and died, every few days. I missed some entirely last week. I missed most of the cherry trees this year, in fact, thinking I could always visit them a few days later, weren't they around in mid-May last year, didn't I have a whole month?

No. No, I didn't. They bloom when they bloom, and you take time to see them, or you miss them.

Everything has its season, as the song goes, but the season is so short for some creations, and some days that is hard to bear. Some days it's so hard not to shake your fist in the air in anger, or cling to what is precious to you. What if it is the last time you will see it? What if it breaks, or dies, or changes beyond recognition? Why should something so beautiful, or someone so wonderful, or someplace so important, not be spared?

I've been stuck in that mindset for a while, in the place where the beauty of the blossoms makes you sadder than happy, aware of your impotence to have any meaningful impact on their fate.

But a couple days ago on the train, with the sun streaming in the windows and a good book on my lap, something small shifted inside. 'And yet,' I thought. 'Everything is okay.'

Which makes no sense, really. Everything is not okay, in one sense. The world is a disaster, our government is running the country into the ground, the planet is in peril, people we care about are dying, or dead, or in danger. There is immense suffering, malevolence, and unhappy accidents, and any of them could happen to any of us.

And, worse of all, whatever it is that you love, or crave, or rely upon – it will NOT always be there, unchanged, waiting to reassure, providing stability and safe haven.

I didn't design it this way, certainly wouldn't if I could.

But I can't change it. I'm not sure what I can change, frankly. These days I'm not even certain one's sphere of influence extends entirely to oneself.

But there is a still this: one can spend the rest of spring bemoaning not having seen the cherry trees in bloom. OR, one can go to the park every day and look at new flowers, and see how things are for them.

This is how it is: gorgeous, awe-inspiring, irreplaceable things flourish here, but also die, and living in a state of chronic debilitation about their loss does not change that a whit. Curling into a ball emotionally doesn't protect them, doesn't ward off future loss, it doesn't even necessarily inure you to suffering. It mostly prevents you from appreciating what remains.

I had a lovely walk today in the park. And guess what? The roses smell delicious. They're pink and pretty and flouncy, and they're dangling on bushes all over the place.

I recommend them.

I think there comes a point when we all need to step back, evaluate all our blessings, enumerate to ourselves and others how fortunate we are, remind ourselves of the miraculous daily delights we enjoy and the misfortune we are so lucky not to experience, of our health and well being and fortitude and good fortune to live and breathe... and then immediately collapse into a nice delicious self-pitying wallow.

I shall lead the way.

The ways I am blessed are almost too numerous to count, and you would think me churlish for wallowing in the deep end if I list them, so suffice to say I am one Lucky Duck.

Let's get to the fun wallow part now, shall we?! Break out the marshmallows and chocolate!

Blessings aside, I am miserable at times, as I suppose all people are. I am miserable tonight. I'm exhausted, sad, lonely, worried deeply about someone I love, worried about changes in my life, unsure of the path ahead, missing music, missing certain people. I'm deflated and breakable.

But when it comes down to it, we are ALL so fragile, aren't we? We care about the fate of other people who impact us. We care SO much about the opinions of others. We care about our projections of their opinions even more, perhaps.

Do they think X about me, that I think about myself? Does this thing I despise in me make others despise me as well? Could anyone ever forgive this habit I have, that I have tried and failed so many times to reform, or do they hate me as much as I hate myself for my repeated failures? Can my body, with its unfixable imperfections, ever really and truly be desirable to another human?

You see it over and over, if you look. On reality T.V., in the way people talk about themselves, even in the way people walk, or sit on the subway, or defer to others as they pass on the street.

We all just want so much to find someone, some one other human, somewhere, who will love us AS WE ARE, warts and all. Not as we hope someday to be. Not as we strive to be, wish we were, thought we might become, and yet aren't. As we *are*.

I look at married people and think, *they* have that, that love and partnership for which I long. But who knows? They may look at me and my incredibly supportive family and friend group and think, *she* has that. The grass can always be greener.

Power comes from experiencing that kind of unconditional love. The power to survive, at least, but also to transcend. Power to transform the petty pains of being on this earth into something greater than the slow-building bitterness of separateness and small injustices.

Why should this be what we desire, I wonder? Why should communion of this sort, requiring participation from outside ourselves, be the thing on which our happiness hinges? I'm sure many seekers will say it isn't, and I must assume they are right. God or yoga or Allah or some internal deep well provides all.

But let's be frank. It take a lot of practice to get to a place where no one affects you but you and your Whatever. Most of us aren't there. Most of us are deeply affected. Maybe the point is to be affected, even.

I wish I had answers instead of questions and yearnings. I don't, certainly not tonight. I do have a significant number of as-yet uneaten cookies which are up for grabs, and a good half bottle of whiskey, and strategically stashed dark chocolate (home, office, purse), to which you are welcome (and the stashing of which I strongly recommend as a general practice).

I am going to go to sleep to finish off my wallow, with a lovely warm cornbag on my belly, and in the meantime I invite you to wallow as your needs dictate. Wallow in your blessings, wallow in your grievances, wallow in your inexplicable longings and indefensible desires.

Let's hope that we all awake refreshed and clearer of mind than before, counting our blessings, awake to the love around us, aware of our own strength, and ready and willing to support the lucky duck in the line ahead of us, wallowing off into the deep end.