On Jogging in Rochester. Urban Gypsies & … Boys.

Let’s talk about jogging. In the Park Ave area. I go ’bout … twice a month. These are my stories.

Urban Gypsies who involve me in their Love Triangle

Last time I went jogging before this evening, had to be a Saturday. Probably afternoon. My normal baby-jog is Vick A to Park to Berkeley; East back to Vick. Simple. On this particular jog I bargained that if I made it to East, I could walk the rest. Sun was shining. Breeze was warm. Nice stroll down the Avenue would feel good. (Out of shape.) But Roc had something else in store …

Caravan. As I round East, I see a caravan. No joke. I mean, these were Urban Gypsies. Dude with bike in full-on blue sweat suit. Check that: Dude walking beside bike as he screamed at woman with old-lady grocery cart, recycling bin ‘o’ things, and ruck-sack-tent. Woman donned all black, literally head-to-toe, with some sort of veil. (…It was 80 degrees.) She stooped down to refill what appeared to be a blue Roc City recycling bin that, already, was filled to the brim. No big. Just a couple of Urban Gypsies, right?


Well I bet you thought I f*@$ed her too! Huh?! Gypsy man brazenly yelled as I, rosy-faced and out of breath, walked by. Her? She’s a bit young, dontchya’ think? Gypsy woman retorted, things gathered into bin. (Fully expected some sort of accent. Eastern European or Irish if you will. Excuse the stereotypes… Sounded more mid-west. Rural Ohio, perhaps.) WELL I DIDN’T F*@$ her okay, I didn’t! And I didn’t F*@$ the other lady either!!!

By the time I got half way down East Ave. gypsy man was crazed. Not only was he still referring to me (at which point I decided I wasn’t so out of shape and began jogging again), but he was also over-sharing about his relationship with other-gypsy partner. All I remember thinking–and excuse the self-preservationist mind-set–was: I’m nearly the “other-other” woman at this point. If he starts hitting lady-with-the-tent, someone else is going to have to pull over and assist. Didn’t have my cell phone either, so… and it never got to that. …Gypsies. Urban Gypsies. They exist.

Not nearly as funny but it involves a Cute Boy

This evening. Twilight. ‘Twixt dawn & dusk if you will (Yeats/Mary Breen/IRL shout-out! Just go with it.) Same loop. Nearing Berkeley. Pretty popular corner. Lots of restaurants, bars, outside seating. But during a twilight jog (moon was gooooooorgeous), not so much. So OF COURSE when I round Park & Berkeley–decked out in gray stretch pant, Adidas track jacket–gaggle of guys–poof!–just appear. Poof. Like 7 or 8 (4-5, same thing) loitering on the corner.

Strategically, I avoid eye-contact. Duh. …  And not so strategically, almost B-linesmack into one. (Cute. Dark hair. Gray Henley. I mean, pretty cute. Cute enough that I’m worried he’ll coincidentally read my blog, see that I docu’ed this, and be freaked-out. That kind of cute.) Accordingly, as I almost eat his face, dude yells Hey! Are you married?Ha-haha.

Okay for one: He should be a wee embarrassed. There are so many more witty lines he could have thrown my way. Like ………………………. You goin’ my way? …Oh God, okay. So this leads to my response.

Yeah! (Indignant.)

Yeah??? Awesome, Babs. Love the repartee-under-pressure. Soon as I said it, tasted the lameness. Like old, stale gum on my tongue. Tasted it. …Continue jogging and leave it alone, right? Right????

But she’s a girl! Ha-haha. 

Topped his lameness. Could have kept on going, lame-ball was in his court. But I stole it, I stole the ball-of-lame. I mean, for all they know, I am married, and I am married to a girl. Which means I answered seriously, his un-serious question. Which makes me the lamest. …Continue jogging and leave it alone, right? Right????

That’s a joke. 

Said firmly. As though I inflicted offense upon myself. As though I am now backtracking upon my own sarcasm which–cardinal rule of wit–ya’ don’t do. Billy Shakes taught us this, no? …Oh, BarbaraEllen.

* * *

See, good thing about jogging is … Ya’ just keep moving. Like when you trip and a bunch of cars or another person notices. NOT AN ISSUE. Next car you see, next person you pass, they have no idea. Like starting all over with each step, really. So take that gypsy man and cute boy. UGH noise.

(PS : In disbelief by former spelling/grammatical error. Never again.)

Review. Geva Theatre & "Angles in America"

Geva Theatre Presents:
Angles in America:
Millennium Approaches

Geva Theatre Center
Downtown Rochester, NY

Located in downtown Rochester, directly in the arts & business district, Geva Theatre is one of many live theatres local to Rochester, NY. (Cool how they spell it the Brit way, no.) For as looooong as I recall, my mother and her best friend Elaine, have been season ticket holders where, once a month, they catch a live show & check out some fabulous Rochester eateries. (These ladies know what’s good.) PS: Geva has fabulous student deals, such as 

$10 student-rush tickets. Check ’em out here! In fact, if I recall correctly, my mother & Elaine began frequenting Geva in the early-’90’s when my mom was a student at the University of Rochester and could finagle such deals. (Don’t quote me…)

The Next Stage

Geva has 2 stages: The Main Stage & the Next Stage. The latter, primarily where my older brother (Me Broder) works, premiers more avant-garde productions. John has worked in lighting and sound at several Rochester theatres and has been with Geva’s Next Stage the longest. In fact, in this particular production, Angles in America: Millennium Approaches written by Tony Kushner, he is Sound Designer. Eeeeee!!!! That’s right. Program front & (er) stage-right. Fav musical choice is Tainted Love. Silence clips the inherent resolution ushered-in by these well-known lyrics (which in my opinion foreshadows an abrupt end to a young life) and juxtaposes the jilt of the stage lights which, in beginning a new scene, throw the audience onto the floor, incapacitated, with Prior as AIDS ravages him from the inside-out. (I’ve always told John that, whence nominated, he must take moi to the Oscars … Guess I could concede should Momslin show interest.) PS – That beauty down yonder? Jill Rittinger. Locally acclaimed actress and educator extraordinaire. (I should know. Have seen several of her performances and, oh, we graduated grad school together. She’s for-realsies. Just one of her roles in this productions is as The Angel.)

John Wilcox
Sound Designer

Speaking of Angles in America, part I of this production is a politically and sexually charged surrealist-interpretation of AIDS during its cultural onset in the 1985, ’86 NYC scene. FYI – full frontal male nudity. Just sayin’. (Who says the #Roc doesn’t have theatre?) While I could go on, and on and on and on about gay rights and all that this play has to offer, I will focus on just this. One of my fav scenes, before the first intermission I believe–’round 3 hrs long, this baby’s got 2 of those–Joe soul-searches to Harper (his wife) while Prior struggles to understand his illness with Lew, his (selfish) lover. (I hate Lew, and still do not know why I didn’t boo him during the final bow.) This is one of many scenes which juxtaposes two completely separate settings and, because they share the same theme, it works.

Jill Rittinger
(Angel, Emily, Sister Ella Chapter, Woman in the Bronx [craaaazy lady…])

The theme here is death, or maybe it’s life, certainly it’s both love and hate. Spoiler Alert! Joe, a Mormon and a latent homosexual, cryptically traverses his sexuality by confiding in Harper about how he’s always wanted to kill him. That which makes him, he. (I thought of this as Chi: life-force.) Has wanted to murder it, or (as he describes) break it into a zillion pieces and have God reassemble it, so that he no longer is. (He being the gayness.) In the congruent scene, Prior begins vocalizing and, in the real-time of the play, dramatizing his inevitable untimely death. (The dramatic-irony: that we audience members know this drama, in fact, portrays the reality of his illness.) The artistic dichotomy exposing one man’s desire to suffocate his spirit because he’s gay while the others, to stay alive in spite of his homosexuality, reveals the intricate struggle endured–or perhaps not (ahem, Lew)–by humanity. All of humanity. This play is powerful. I’m proud that Rochester and that Geva Theatre have shared it.

Creepy Mirror Phot.
(I mean, this outfit’s pretty cute.)