Old Faces, New Places

Three weeks into my residency as one of New York City's 8 million fine, upstanding Samaritans, I had a visit from the people who make up my humble family unit of four. (Shout out to the missing Papa-unit.)

Sometimes in this hustle and bustle its easy to forget where you come from. There is no forgetting where you come from when you are staring at the past, present, and future that is in your mother's eyes. 

There is no hiding. Especially the wax in your ears.

Harrison, a model in patience.

We had dinner at the Taverna Kyclades, which is touted as the best Greek restaurant in Astoria. I had the best grape leaves I've ever had in my life. Like an explosion in my mouth.

Every mouthful was warm and savory. I could have easily filled up on grape leaves and a salad, but no, us as the only Stupid Americans in the place ordered three full entres only to be too full to eat them. We watched plates of unidentified-delicious-looking small plates at the tables around us. Next time, I'm going there with a Greek person and letting them do the ordering. 

That evening Mom and I saw La Cage aux Folles starring Harvey Fierstein. I was generally underwhelmed by the show, however whenever Harvey was onstage, the entire room was riveted. No matter how much glitter he was wearing, no matter how ridiculous the story, he brought a realness and a presentness to his performance that was exceedingly honest. It was compelling. I was happy to have seen a real master perform. He filled up the room with comedic silence; which is no easy feat. 

Later that night, Harry and I caught up with one of his old friends that lives in....surprise!....Astoria. I swear, everyone lives here. If you don't live here, maybe its time for you to move.

Just when I thought that maybe it would be a calm and unremarkable evening, the bartender started doing magic tricks. I swear; no one and nothing is as it seems in New York City.