thestagingarea.com

The man, not the toothpaste.

This story on my Yahoo page reminded me of a funny story.

Years ago, I was the box office manager at The Village Gate. The 25th anniversary production of “Jacques Brel…” was playing in the downstairs theatre. “Brel” was directed by Elly Stone, an original cast member and produced by Eric Blau, the original run’s producer.

The box office phone rings. I answer. And the following conversation ensues:

Me: Thanks for calling The Village Gate, may I help you.
Man with very strong Israeli accent: Hello. This is Topol. I would like. To make a reservation. For my wife. And my son.
Me: Certainly, sir. (Gathering of address and payment data.)
Me: And what name should we hold this reservation under?
Topol: Mrs. Topol.

Reading back over this, it doesn’t seem as funny as it did then. Perhaps it’s more about the oral tradition vs. the written tradition; it just sounds better than it reads.

Anyway, it’s still funny to me.
k.

Tags: Ephemera, NYC, Theatre by Kirk
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This weekend was filled with ghosts. This is the ghost on our door. The sign, the sign mentioned in my last post that alerts kiddies and their parents that Trick-or-Treating is allowed. I dug into my big chest of arts and crafts materials (what? doesn’t everybody have one of those?) and pulled out some plaster cloth that’s been waiting for a purpose.

And the quinces from my rant about Martha? Yes, they are still sitting around, still pretty green, not yellow… Bitch. Anyway, I found a use for one of them. I needed a stand to hold the armature for my ghost. I took a quince, stuck five toothpicks in it to make it stable on the table and then I inserted one end of a shish-ka-bob skewer into it. Part way up (and I’m going in to all this should you find yourself with an errant green quince and a roll of plaster cloth, both of which have been taunting you with their inertia; now you can give them a purpose – I have saved the day), after fashioning it into a long triple loop to give it strength and also form at the ends, I wrapped some copper wire.

So far, we have a pentad-ed quince with a skewer protruding from its top with a copper armature one third of the way down, like a cross for some bizarre religion, worshipping… I have no idea. Grilling and electrical repair?

I needed a lovely, proportional head shape. And there in the refrigerator it was: a slightly shrivelled lime. Plop on the top of the skewer it went.

From there, it was simply a matter of wetting the plaster cloth and draping it spookily on the armature. Et voila! A lovely ghost, which stayed there drying over night.

Today, I carefully slid the lime and the copper armature off the skewer, then even more carefully pried the lime from under the plaster. It worked, the head did not nod forward: no one likes a sleepy ghost. I took a magnet from the fridge and stuck the little fella to the front door. So far, so good; it’s lasted the day.

But that was the least of the ghosts filling my weekend. Ghosts don’t need to be ethereal, sometimes people and places can be as haunting as any unnatural presence. Sometimes your past can be the ether you drift in to. And sometimes that’s not such a bad thing. Sometimes a walk through that mist is just what you need to clear your head.

After work on Friday, a particularly trying day, I met Jamie for dinner and a show. It had been quite some time since we had had a Midtown rendezvous, much too long.

We met at Le Madeleine, an excellent restaurant next to the Westside Theatre where I worked for many years before moving to my present job. As we sat at the bar, drinking and having dinner, we re-connected with old friends and acquintances from the nabe. I popped next door and ran into two of my former co-workers. It was nice to be there, in Midtown.

After dessert, before coffee, I went outside to, well, smoke. More about that later. But, as I stood there, under the Le Madeleine canopy as the rain fell, I realized that in the four years I’ve been in my present job, I’ve never felt at home; I’ve always felt as though I’m spending my time in some odd, foreign world, and that’s just the neighborhood. Now, there’s nothing strange about the Flatiron area, in fact, it’s quite lovely. It’s just never felt like, me.

So then we went to the show, The Farnsworth Invention written by Aaron Sorkin. I love his writing. Some people don’t. Some people think he is too wordy. I love his wordy-ness, as does Jamie. We loved the play. Briefly it’s the story of the battle between Philo T. Farnsworth and David Sarnoff. Between them, they created TV as we know it, the box, not the programming. A wonderfully written, powerful piece of theatre; I recommend it highly.

And there, another ghost, no not Allison Janney, although she was at the theatre, no, Kelly Martindale. There she was in the Playbill. A stage manager that I adore. She was the stage manager on Hedwig…. Beyond being a wonderful stage manager, she’s just a really, really nice person. The type of person who makes you smile no matter how crappy your day is; treasure those people. She deserves all the success she attains, cheers to her!

We had arranged to meet up after the show with a friend I hadn’t seen in ages. We worked together at the Westside. So there we sat, catching up and generally having a great time chewing the fat. It was lovely to see him, much too much time had passed.

After we said our goodnights to him, Jamie and I decided to pop down the block to the place where our friend Stephen hangs out. Sure enough, though close to closing time, there he was. And so we closed down that place and moved on with Stephen to close down another.

We wound up at Don’t Tell Mama, a piano bar where I spent way too much time many years ago. Again, saw many people I hadn’t seen in a long while. And being there always brings up memories of my late friend, Bob, who played piano there for many years. He’s been gone now for years and I still miss him. A lot. Some people leave this life much too early.

And last call came and went and then we said g’nite to Stephen and promised to not let so much time pass between get-togethers. It was quarter to four in the old AM and we cabbed home.

The people you value in your life shouldn’t become ghosts. Sometimes, as with Bob, they must; they can only live in our memorys and our hearts. But those people who are still here, still very accessible, we often let our lives drift apart, waving through the mist of “too busy” or “I should call sometime”; we shouldn’t let those connections go away, break. We need to recognize when the past is a good thing to let go of, and when letting go is losing something precious: friendship.

The ghosts of the weekend have been made flesh again. They’ve reminded me of a part of myself I had lost, or rather ignored. I think changes are in the wind.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Jamie, Life, NYC, Theatre by Kirk
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Looking forward to it.

In all my previous apartments, I’ve always prepared, ready with treats for the trick-or-treating kiddies. Never had any. That’s why I always pick candy that I like. I always wind up eating it. I’m not complaining.

But this year, I think it will be different. I think, here in the Co-op, where we have a good number of kids, that we’ll get some ghoulies and ghosties at our door.

Today, I learned the secret sign. The sign of invitation. Perhaps the lack of it is why we’ve had no Halloweenian rapping at our door in years past. We have never decorated our door.

My dear, darlin’ Nathalie informed me that door decor is the code that alerts parents that your home is Trick-or-Treat-able. Who knew? It does make sense when you think about it. I can understand that parents wouldn’t feel comfortable walking the halls, ringing unknown doorbells, unbidden. Cold calling for candy, as it were.

Strange as it may seem, this is the first place I’ve lived since I moved to NYC, oh those 20ish years ago, where I’ve actually been acquainted with my neighbors, not just the ones down the hall, but throughout the building. In NYC, we’re all crammed together, door to door, floor upon floor, and it is a rare occasion when you even know the name of the person who lives next door, let alone speak to them.

I suppose that this is the difference between a rental space and an owned space. In a Co-op, where we all depend on each other to support the success, the life, of the building, there is more investment in knowing your neighbors. This can be a good thing, this can be a bad thing. In Jamie and my case, in our new home, so far, and I don’t see this changing, it’s a very good thing. I find it comforting.

As I think about it, I guess the “knowing” of one’s neighbors is not as typical as it once was, and now, I’m including suburbia in that general net. Lives have become busier. People have become more protective of… well, themselves; their time, their lives. My parents used to know everyone on their block. They still know a fair amount of their neighbors, but in the years since I’ve moved away, the neighborhood has changed, become more… transient? People move. Homes that were once owner occupied have now become rentals. Of the 17 homes on my parents block, there are only 3 that haven’t changed hands in the 45 years I’ve been alive, my parent’s home being one of those. It shouldn’t be, given how many times I’ve moved in my life, but it is very odd to me, that change, that move from settled to stopping off point. I guess I see my parent’s neighborhood, where I spent my first 18 years, as a place of stability. And of course, it isn’t. These days, stability is in the heart, not in the location.

And no one sits on their porch anymore.

I guess that’s why I’m hoping to have costumed visitors come a tapping, gently rapping at our chamber door. That memory of a simpler time, that autumnal, comforting timelessness. Yeah, I want to take off the insular shroud for awhile, even just for an evening, and wrap myself in a warm blanket of community.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Family, Life, NYC by Kirk
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And relaxing. And wonderful. And sorely needed.

That’s what our weekend get-away was. We didn’t realize how desperately we needed to stop our lives and leave town for a breather.

We left Thursday, later than expected; our flight was delayed about two hours. Well first one hour, at which point we called the restaurant at which we had a 9PM reservation. We moved it to 10:30, the latest we could make it. After the next hour delay, we called and cancelled the reservation. Ah well, disappointing, but what are you going to do?

We finally made it to Orlando at 10:30. We grabbed our rental car and drove to the hotel, The Royal Plaza. Very nice. On the Disney property and all. We found a place to eat right around the corner, nothing to write home about, the food was decent, they had a huge beer selection. Lots of beer and drink specials. In the end, it was a far more relaxed dinner than we had planned. Everything works out the way it should.

Got up the next morning and took the first Disney shuttle (8AM) to EPCOT. Got our tickets and stood in line for the opening of the gates. Countdown – 10, 9, 8… Got into the greeting area. Forgot to look for our pic and note on the slabs. At the entrance to EPCOT they have this lovely money-making gimmick, you get your pic taken and/or write some note to go with the pic and then they photo process them onto metal sheets about 1 1/2 inch by 1 inch and affix them to these monoliths, for future generations to marvel at. Last year, we fell prey to the vanity of it and had our pic taken, together of course, and wrote “Kirk and Jamie, Honeymoon January, 2000”. Somewhere on those slabs we are indeed immortalized. We just forgot to find out where. On o’ these days…

So then we went to the entrance to the main park area, where we stood waiting for the next countdown as Mickey, Minnie, Chip ‘n Dale and Goofy, paraded and shook hands from the other side of the red rope. Countdown, 10, 9, 8… And we were off into the park proper.

First things first, got to ride the fav staples, Test Track, Ellen’s Energy Adventure (Ellen Degeneres and Bill Nye – The Sciene Guy – Jeopardy and travel through time. Who’d miss that?!), Figment’s Imagination ride (Eric Idle and a purple dinosaur thing that is definitely not Barney). The big sphere thing was closed so we had to miss that this time. Oh, and how could I forget, “Listen to the Land”, a lovely boat ride through the Disney experimental greenhouses?

By this time, we were mighty hungry. So we crossed over to the World Showcase area to do what we had really come for: eat. And eat we did. We love the EPCOT Food and Wine Expo. All the different countries represented, plus some others that just set up for this event, have tasting plates of their native foods – $2 – $4/plate. With wine pairings. There were so many great things. Jamie, who has a much better memory for the food specifics, will hopefully detail more on his page. Suffice it to say that by 5:30 we needed a food break before our evening’s major event.

And so we paused to hear Starship, yes, Jefferson Airplane, Jefferson Starship, and for years now, just Starship. Honestly, I thought this was going to be a joke. I was not expecting it to be anything I would want to see. I was wrong. Mickey Thomas still has an amazing voice. They did all hits, of course. They even did a retrospective journey though the band’s permutations starting off with a lovely female singer doing, yes, at a Disney park, White Rabbit. Brilliant. They had the place rockin’. I was amazed at how much fun it was. And then it was over, and just in time, as we had to hurry on over to the aforementioned main event of our day, the South African Wine Tasting (with food).

Inside the EPCOT exhibition space, there was a band beating out a jazzy South African beat, there was delicious food, and wine, lots of wine. There were four kiosks around the room. Each kiosk had four sides and on each of those four sides was a different winery. Each winery had several different representations of their product. We tasted a lot. I have notes on the wines we really liked. At some point when I find those notes, I’ll post a list here. So from 6 to 8:50 we ate and drank.

Then we decided that we’d had enough and we should go watch the fireworks. As we paused outside the space, we started chatting with two women, Wendy and Connie, who were also at the tasting. They told us about a fun piano bar on the property and told us to join them after the fireworks. Sure, why not?

So we ohhh-ed and ahhhh-ed at the glorious fireworks display. And then headed on over to Jellyroll’s.

There’s always been this path in EPCOT that we’ve never travelled. We thought that it just led to the resort hotels in Disney proper. Well, it does do that, but it also leads to the Boardwalk, a cool little area with shops and bars. Yes, bars, Jellyroll’s being one of them.

Jellyroll’s. It’s a sizeable but still intimate space. A bar on each side of the room. A stage at the head of the room. Two grand pianos on the stage. And all night, two guys, well four actually, they switch off, playing and singing just about any song you request. They were great. We had a blast, although they never did play Jamie’s request, The Cure’s Just Like Heaven, but we survived; they played a hell of a lot of wonderful music.

And then we wound down and, unusual for us when we get going, left before the bar closed and headed back to the hotel. We had to get up relatively early the next day to drive to Sun City Center (outside Tampa) to visit Jamie’s mom, or MomFLA, as we call her, as opposed to my mom, MomPA. We settled in our very very comfy bed and realized with great amazement that we felt so very far from our daily NYC lives. I mean that in a very good way. In one day, we felt a week away from NYC. It was great and relaxing and wonderful.

And now, I’m up too bloody late writing this and I’ll have to finish the rest of the weekend tomorrow ’cause I’ve gotta get up early and go to my hideous job.

Oh, yeah, did I mention that calm, that relaxing “Ahhhhh”, that giddy smile, lasted about two hours into my return to work today. Gone, all gone.

That is, until I started writing about it tonight. I felt relaxed and happy all over again. Maybe I can make it three hours tomorrow before it fades.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Family, Food, Jamie, Life, NYC, Travel by Kirk
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Well, just when you are in need of it, more often than not, a happy little giggle moment of surprise comes along.

It’s been a rough week, well, three or so weeks. Work has been tough; too much to do, not enough hours in the day even when I’m pulling 9 or more hours a pop. Sometime it not the thing, it’s the time it takes to do the thing that’s daunting. Sometimes things seem to be designed in the most convoluted way possible, as if, in giving directions to exit a room to get to the office next to you, you said, “First, knock a hole in that wall and then scale down the outside of the building, then go around the block. Come in the street level door, take the stairs, not the elevator, never the elevator, to your floor, then go to the office.” “But,” you might say, “there’s a door right there? Couldn’t I use that?” “Not our way,” you’d be told. “Not our way.”

I believe in simplicity. I suspect, if you read me rather than know me, you might find that hard to believe. I suppose I should restate: I believe in cutting through the bull. There, that’s better. I think it has something to do with nearly dying. (How’s that for a teaser?) Here’s a problem, lets find the best way of solving it. Perhaps it’s a Virgo thing. I believe in straight lines; they get you to your destination much more quickly.

Of course, that only holds true for my work life. In my “real” life, I like curves, I like the found paths, the little-used byways. They are far more interesting and fun. But at work, I don’t like to waste time; I don’t like my time wasted. Most of the time, I feel I’m doing extremely trivial things and putting out fires. I don’t feel like I’m actually accomplishing anything…worthwhile.

Ok, it’s work. Work is work. But work can be, and sometimes still is, rewarding. But not as rewarding as it has been with past jobs. I suppose that’s why I started writing again. Writing here. Not that I have anything earth-shattering to impart, I think that much is clear, but rather that I do indeed have something to impart. It gives me some small creative outlet, and, after all, the subtitle of the site is: “Built to amuse…myself”. And it does.

So tonight, I go outside to have my evening’s perambulation and upon exiting the building, I discover happy halloween decorations lining our little dead end street. A flickering pumpkin, a couple of those big, baloon-y things with lights in them, a pumpkin, a pumkin with a cat on it, etc. Stupid things. But really quite charming. Lovely that our building does that. It made me smile. And writing about it, I’m still smiling.

I suppose that’s what gets me through life, finding and treasuring those small moments that somehow move you in a positive way. I love those kinds of gifts from the cosmos. Difficult to believe if you saw me, walking down the street with my NYC, “don’t bother me” face on, but I love to smile, and laugh. It really feels good, and generally, no one does it enough.

So tomorrow, as you’re going through your day, look around and find your blow-up pumpkin. And smile.

Oh that seems a lovely way to end this, doesn’t it? But ramble on I will. One more thing to say.

J & I are off tomorrow to visit his mom in FL. It will be a nice trip, we haven’t seen her since last December.

And it will be nice to have a getaway. We’ve been so busy with the apartment this summer that we didn’t really do much else. I’m not at all complaining. I love what we did this summer. I’m proud of the work we did on the new place and even more, I’m more proud that we did the bulk of it ourselves, quite successfully and beautifully, I must add. But it will be nice to get away for a long weekend.

And we’re giving ourselves a mini-vacation within the vacation. We’re taking Friday all to ourselves. We’re spending it at EPCOT. We love Disney. We love EPCOT. So sue us; it’s great fun. And this month is the EPCOT Food and Wine Festival. All the little faux countries around International Lake (or whatever it’s called) have tastings of their native foods. There are food events and wine tastings.

And taste we will. Friday night, we’ll be at the South African wine tasting dinner. It should be wet and tasty. And a very nice way to transition between NYC and Sun City Center, where Jamie’s mom lives. SCC is the kind of place where you are just as likely to see people driving a golf cart down the road (yes, the roads have golf cart lanes) as driving a car.

But, as I said, it will be really nice to see Jamie’s mom. It’s been too long.

And there’s a damned good BBQ rib joint just down the street from where she lives. Gotta love that.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Family, Food, Jamie, Life, NYC, Travel by Kirk
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That’s what the air is tonight. Crisp. Autumnal. The sky is clear and star-filled. And living in NYC, that last is saying something.

I think of all the seasons, Autumn is my favorite. Well, I don’t think that, I know that. Maybe it has something to do with the on-set of the end, or rather, the big rest. It’s a time of amazing energy and change. The same could be said for the Spring, which is my second favorite season. Winter being my third. Summer, dead last; so far behind the pack, to borrow a line, it thinks it’s in the lead.

I’m looking forward to the upcoming (how did the time pass so damned quickly) holiday season. I know, I know, believe me, I rail against the ridiculous, disturbing American need to start selling the holidays months before they’re here. But today, on one of my walks, in the air’s crackling briskness, I looked into the building’s little garden area: someone had decorated it with mini-pumpkins and suddenly, I was whooshed ahead to Halloween, and Thanksgiving. And it made me feel good.

Probably because this year, unlike any since I left my parents’ home 27 years ago, I’ll be celebrating in a home. In my home. With my husband and cats and, if Jamie and I ever get our act together and figure out a date, with friends over for the holidays. Oh it all sounds so traditional and mundane; so straight. It really isn’t. What it is, is glorious. There are many times when I, like we all do, get caught up in my own little dramas, petty annoyances, drudging ruts. It’s human nature; it’s what we do. For some perverse reason, it’s so very easy to complain.

But the truth of it is, I’m damned lucky. And happy. And I think most of us are. Not in some Edenic way, only the insane and the sainted live there, but all of us who have some modicum of comfort and freedom and friendship and love in our lives should take a moment each day and say thanks to whatever power we happen to belive in. An island without life is just a barren rock, and that’s no way to live.

As the performance artist, Penny Arcade, says, “You should love somebody. It’s the most political act there is. It’s the only one that truly changes the world.”

Hey, wasn’t this post about Autumn?

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Family, Jamie, Life, NYC, Politics, Theatre by Kirk
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As in, Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

What seems like a lifetime ago, I was the box office manager and website designer for the Off-Broadway production of Hedwig.

I was also a huge fan. I still am. The whole experience was life-changing in so many ways. Afterall, it was responsible for, among many other things, my one and only IMDB.com entry. Oh yeah, and without Hedwig, I’d have never met my husband.

One day, I’ll write about that. But not tonight. Tonight I’m just going to announce, because it’s still how many people wander onto this site, that I’m throwing the orginal Hedwig site back onto the web.

It’s still written in its original primitive html. It’s still a mishmash of styles. It’s still Hedwig.com. And it’s still in the process of restoration.

Some stuff won’t work. Some links will take you to places that no longer exist.

If you’re a Hedwig fan, enjoy the ride. If you’re not, what the heck’s wrong with you?

On to the site…

As for me, on to bed. Gotta get up early tomorrow to trek to NJ for my Godson, Zane’s 2nd birthday party!

Nite,
k.

Tags: Jamie, NYC, Theatre by Kirk
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Three cheers to me if I manage to get through this post with any sense of continuity. As wasted as I am with food and drink, I can’t possibly go to bed until I’ve digested a bit more.

Anyway…

I love language. I love words and how they ebb and flow and meet to create vastly more than the sum of their parts.

And to a great extent, I feel I’ve a pretty fine grasp of my own language. I can turn a phrase, toss out a bon mot or two (deux).

And in French, I can listen quite well, if not express myself past a natal level.

I’ve lately been thinking about Spanish. Zim has something to do with this, however, it’s more in my day to day dealings that I’m feeling more and more, well, Anglo-specific.

Where I work, there is a lovely woman named Nora. Nora speaks Spanish. Nora speaks little English. I’m sure it’s the same situation with me and French, that Nora understands English but doesn’t speak it well. And so, we have these brief conversations in broken English/Spanish which are comprehendible to us both, yet satisfying to neither.

More and more, it bothers me that I can’t communicate with this delightful light in my day. It makes me feel smaller that I’ve lived in NYC for 20 plus years and still can’t speak more Spanish than what I’ve learned from the public service announcements on the subway. I feel incredibly insular.

Moreso than French, here is a language that I should have been learning all along. Every day, I relate to people who speak Spanish as their primary language. Every day, I’m missing out on a chance to connect, to really experience all that is around me. One could carry that further and say, “Why don’t you learn Arabic?” or many of the other widely spoken languages of this melting pot that I call home. And indeed, why don’t I? My day starts off brilliantly with a smile and a quick conversation in English with the wonderful gentleman who works the cart where I get my morning coffee. Why shouldn’t I greet him in his native language?

There is so much to learn. When we stop learning, we die; that’s truly what death is, the end of learning. That is the death of the soul. Why don’t we make time?

Tomorrow, I’m stopping at the Barnes & Noble (no link, they do well enough) and picking up Spanish for Dummies. I’m sure it exists. It will be my birthday present to myself, and to Nora. And maybe, having started on that road, I won’t be such a dummy after all.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Life, NYC by Kirk
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Overly so. Extremely so. “One waffer thin mint” so (as the line goes in “The Meaning of Life”). But, oh, so good.

Jamie will outline the dishes in a post soon to come, but in the meantime, what a wonderful meal! What an extensive meal. Oh, so good.

If you can, I urge you to try The Riverview Garden. The food is lovely. The people are lovely. The wine is lovely.

It is in a difficult location, but if you’re willing to travel (and you so should), I urge you to do so; you won’t be disappointed.

More later. Now, after eating for 4 1/2 hours, I’m pooped.

I am so useless at work tomorrow. That is, unfortunately, until tomorrow comes, when I’ll be my usual, responsible self.

I so need a night of drag.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Food, NYC, Riverdale by Kirk
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I think Boo Radley lives in the next building. Well, not the next, because the building next to ours is the other half of the Co-op clump. It’s 4410 and 4414. Our building, 4410, was built in 1929, 4414 in 1931.

But it’s the single-family dwelling next to 4414 where Boo lives.

Actually, I don’t know who, let alone Boo, lives there. When we first moved into our new home, there was never a light on in the place. The flagstone sidewalk in front of Boo’s place all cracked and shifting, the lawn overgrown, the shades always closed.

Then about a week ago, I noticed, during one of my late-night walks, a light on, on the second story. Just a little glow. As the days have passed, a first floor light will be on, or a different second floor light. Always the blinds down. The other day, I noticed that someone, at some time had cleaned up the front yard a bit. But I don’t know who. Never saw ’em.

It’s odd the things that intrigue us, that catch our notice and fancy. I’m loath to find out who actually lives there; it’s probably someone who’s resident part time, just getting the place back into order. How incredibly mundane.

I like thinking that I live next, or next to next, to Boo. That some night on one of my walks, I’ll run into this person, look into their eyes and know: they’re Boo. “Hey Boo,” I’d say, in my best Scout immitation.

They, of course, would look at me as though I were quite off my rocker and cautiously move on.

Here’s hoping I never meet them. I like the illusion.

And maybe this will explain something, my friend Nath led me to this personality test. It’s pretty interesting; I know, there are thousands of these things on the net, but this one has a nice, different presentation. According to them I am a “Considerate Inventor”. Here’s my PersonalityDNA (their little gimmick).

I’m not going to post the rest of the report, it’s a bit long, but quite accurate.

Go ahead, try it.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Life, Movies, Moving, NYC by Kirk
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