Apparently, the comedy in the park ran its length and disappeared. You remember those budding enthusiasts:
Why did the formacophiliac, zoophiliac, and buttsexual walk into the park....because that's where the psychologists are
but seriously folk.
You can't make this stuff up--only in NYC. Only in Carl Schurz park.
On Saturdays, at 3PM, a small group of wanna-be comics gather in the park to offer up their gags at the open mic. Most of what ensues is more gag-worthy than giggling.
A formacophiliac who brags about his mini-zoo--lice, cockroaches.
A former zookeeper who talks about platypus sex--how can you not kill with cloaca talk?
A druggie who talks about how anal eroticism alleviates the constipation of opioid drugs.
Just in case there aren't enough freak shows on the telly to keep you engaged--Shriner's Children, St.Judes, Wounded Warriors--by comparison, they are the legitimate acts in the burlesque show. You want to see the geeks and the freaks---come to the park and see them live- if you wanna call them living. On any given day, 3/4's of them are young, white males, detoxing from their over-liquid diet and complaining about the problems of sober dating. Most of them have no health insurance and make jokes about pretending to be victims of a fire in order to get relatively routine medicines. Since only about 6 people show up on average, that means the other two make jokes about not being model Asians (since they work as busboys....when they work).
Even with insurance, they probably wouldn't be in psychotherapy-because men don't.
But at least they would have the option.
But, fear not, gentle souls, ballet is a midseason replacement.
Every Saturday afternoon, a professional dancer leads a drop-by troupe of dancers in basic ballet moves, accompanied with musical clips. Great moments in New York's pandemic. Lots of talent on display.
With the exception of yours truly. I can barely move, let alone jete. I can barely balance, let alone twirl. But I can jump and jive and show joyous attitude. I can move and I can fantasize. I can ignore the awful facts that I will never see 23 again. So what. I'm alive.
Another great moment in NY: Yesterday, I was walking in the Gramercy Park Area. I saw a young man slumped backward on a bench in an inverted U: head grazing the pavement, legs forward, sprawled on the bench. I thought he was a marionette, he didn't seem human. I started to take out my phone, but two gentlemen were already talking to 911. He was breathing. One gentleman took the man and with his hands pushed him up to a sitting position. Since the bench was divided by handrails every 18", he couldn't put him in the recovery position and if he took his hands off him, he lolled backwards again. So he used his hands to keep him up and patted him on the back. The gentleman was NAD and AMS. When he opened his eyes, they were little crosses. His mouth was grinning idly. Drug paraphernalia was underneath him and he had urinated all over himself. He was disoriented and sleepy.
Finally, EMT's came and we all dispersed. I wish I had asked the names of the young heroes. Bill diBlasio should know.
And finally---oh yeah, drugs are so glamorous. They really help you relax.