Teamteacher’s Weblog

There is no greater harbinger of summer than diving into a pool and going for a swim. I’m posting this clip because Loudon Wainwright’s “The Swimming Song” is now my official summer anthem, and the Summer Olympics are a mere month away.

In other words, Ian Thorpe countdown: 37 days.

My decision to take a car service home rather than the subway arises solely from self-interest for my personal safety. I call a car when I’m incapacitated, exhausted, or stranded far from a subway, as I was in Greenpoint this evening. I generally consider a car service a safer option than the train. There are no random crazies riding along with you, and you know that the car service isn’t going to magically decide to turn into a A,C when it was originally running on the F. Tonight, it proved quite the opposite, and I ended up tipping the driver not because her service was exceptional but because I managed to step out of the car of my own volition and not via the jaws of life.

Louise, my steadfast charioteer, picked me up in Greenpoint, and no sooner had she revved the engine than the infamous song, “Bootylicious” began blasting from her speakers. Not only was she playing the music at an alarmingly loud volume, but she was turning it up and down to the rhythm of the beat (of the night). At first, I was amused, but as Louise started to navigate the busy roads of Brooklyn on a Saturday night, I realized that the party wagon might have been a more dangerous choice than walking home through Bushwick in the dark.

As we swerved lanes in time with hip gyrations and fits of laughter, I cracked a nervous smile. She was a professional, I remembered; pilots probably also sing loudly and scream, “Bitch,” at drivers that cross their paths. When “Survivor” came on next she shouted, “And I used to call my ex-boyfriend and just turn this up on his answering machine. I’m a survival, you know?” My favorite line of that song is the subtle, yet oh so specific, “I’m not going to compromise my Christianity,” with which I even managed to lip-sync along.

Thumping beats blasting, Louise said, “Why you call your night so early?” I mentioned that the next morning I had a plan flight, so I wanted to be bright eyed and bushy tailed. She cackled and said, “You call Louise for your trip. I go to Laguardia. I go to JFK. Louise go anywhere.” Frankly, I don’t think I ready for that jelly.

Has your old trick to find the “real” Ray’s pizza worn thin with prospective love interests?  Have you been searching for a frugal excursion that will guarantee at least some over the sweater action without going to Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs and trying to pass it off as ironic? Proving that thrifty can be thoughtful, I’ve got a cheap date idea that is certain to impress.

Begin your date at the Brooklyn Promenade in Brooklyn Heights at sunset.  Take the A,C to High Street or the 2/3 to Clark and walk East until you hit the river.  Stroll North while checking out the grandeur of the NYC skyline and pause for requisite photo opportunity.  Walk hand in hand down into DUMBO where you’ll find Grimaldi’s pizza.  Call ahead and pick up a large regular pie.  The lines outside the door signify that yes, it is a tourist destination, but also that the pizza is damn good.  Jump to the front of the line and get your pie to go.  Then, head down Water Street until you get to the Brooklyn Bridge Park.  On display you’ll find Olafur Eliasson’s majestic NYC Waterfalls project, an art installation piece that brings the fabled TLC pop hit to life before your very eyes.  Devour your pizza slice by slice while taking in the bridges, skyscrapers, and gently falling water.  The crust might be thin, but the art is sky high.

As my 6th graders prepared to rise to the highly anticipated 7th grade, I passed out an assignment due on the first day of school in the fall. I asked every student to write a journal entry every single day for the entire summer. Many teachers told me that this was too much work, so in solidarity with my students I have decided to blog about my summer vacation.

I leave New York tomorrow for Oberlin, and in the past few weeks I have been trying to suck all the culture of this city dry before I head off to the heartland. I have recently seen “Spring Awakening,” “Rent,” “Sunday in the Park with George,” “Top Girls,” “Jesus Hopped the A Train,” “Avenue Q,” and “November.” Living here has been a great way to reconnect with theater, and I’ve been spoiled rotten going to all these great shows.

I was most looking forward to seeing “Spring Awakening,” which I was told would be an incredible pleasure to watch. The NY Times said something about it changing the face of musical theater, so needless to say I was amped when I found a ticket. The place was, of course, packed with tourists and a concession stand that sold $4 water. It turned out the water wasn’t the only thing in the theater not worth the price.

“Spring Awakening,” for all its hype about being a new kind of musical, revisits well worn territory, and not very well. Like an angstier than average John Hughes film, it tells the story of a group of high school age students in 19th century Germany who are fighting established norms and value systems in their community. Duncan Sheik’s pop score lends a touch of anachronism to the tale, clearly rendering it a parable for our time. I thought “Footloose” had pretty much covered this ground back in the 1980’s, but nonetheless the players in “SA” go from naive to pregnant and hopeful to suicidal all within the span of a couple of hours thanks to the oppressive and insensitive elder figures in the community who refuse to talk to them about sex or listen to their concerns. “Spring Awakening” manages to confront issues of homosexuality, BDSM, domestic violence, abortion, and suicide, and it ends up sacrificing depth for breadth. Each vignette felt more like an after school special than a scene from a play, and the number of themes and directions weakened my attachment to the characters.

Perhaps it’s just my newfound position as a teacher, but I was left wholly uninspired by the saga of angry teenagers and their battles with parents and community expectations. For a play about awakening, I left rather drowsy.