Cornelia Street Cafe
Posted: May 22, 2012 Filed under: Greenwich Village | Tags: TUESDAY TOILET TALK Comments Off on Cornelia Street Cafe“Do you have a reservation?”
Yes—I did when we chatted about it at length ten minutes ago and that hasn’t changed, even though you gave away my seat. Dumbfounded by the host’s sincerely inquisitive expression, I concluded that he must either be affected by amnesia or not recognize me with my glasses on.
It’s amazing how one simple addition to a face, like glasses, bangs or facial hair can alter another’s perception of someone or summarize one’s existence. Dan Rufolo, the leader of Friday’s band at the Cornelia Street Cafe, had a beard that was in accordance with his composer-ly piano playing and driven compositions. The drummer, Arthur Vint’s mustache encapsulated his keen wit and amplified his cowboy vibe. The goatee on bassist Bill Thoman seemed only appropriate for his suspicious nature, in which he exclaimed that I was interrogating him and writing everything down.
If you look at the picture hanging in the restroom to the left, you will see three men and a woman donning facial hair to match their pirate garb in front of the cafe. Details like this make me appreciate not only the quaint restrooms, but all of Cornelia Street Cafe, especially the shoebox diorama-like performance space downstairs from the restaurant. From oversized Christmas lights hung around the exposed pipes, to mirrors framed like windows and open candle flames that would be in violation of the fire code in another city, the venue makes you feel welcome, even when the host forgets your face and the performer accuses you of being an informant with malicious intent.
Once you walk down the stairs to the performance area, make a left and you’ll see an arrow shaped sign that says “Restrooms” on the mirror wall. The arrow leads to two small, unmarked white doors at an adjacent angle. If they weren’t at a dead end, I would have taken longer to deduce that both must be doors to unisex restrooms.
The walls are at strange angles and the ceiling is very low so a tall person may have to crouch. Every time I go, I note their very thin toilet paper and cute little sink. Regarding the restroom on the right—the last I checked, the left tap is for hot water and the right, for hotter. Turn on both to get cooler, warm water from the faucet. Both restrooms are comparable in size and features.
The all-American band also featured trumpeter Nathan Eklund (beard) and saxophonist Rich Perry (clean-shaven), neither of whom spoke a language other than English. Bill offered his Mandarin skills but only knew how to say his name and other useless things, and not our key phrase. And thereafter, he continued to speak to me in elementary Chinese, possibly so that I could not transcribe or comprehend anything he said. Tucson native Arthur translated “Where’s the restroom?” with gusto in gringo Spanish and Dan, a third-generation Italian-American, double-checked the phrase on his iPhone so that he could ask us in Italian –
Rockwood Music Hall (Stage 2)
Posted: May 8, 2012 Filed under: Lower East Side | Tags: TUESDAY TOILET TALK Comments Off on Rockwood Music Hall (Stage 2)Heading to Rockwood Music Hall late Thursday night, I worried that The Hipstones did not qualify to be featured here. Their jazz credentials are rather questionable, with a sonic description that cites “Marvin Gaye and a whole lot [of] modern day.” But this is my blog and I can write about whatever I want. And who’s to say what qualifies as jazz? That is, unless you are one of a couple prominent and outspoken trumpeters. If this makes the purist in you uneasy, don’t worry; The Hipstones, I hear, can be traced back to the acid jazz tradition.
Having given myself that pep talk and congratulating myself on being the maverick that I am, I walked into the room and cringed at the volume level. Thinking to myself, “What is this, some kind of rock concert? It’s too loud in here!”—my natural instinct was to plug my ears. It turns out I’m more of a jazz snob than I thought.
Standing by the entrance, as far away from the band as possible, I enjoyed the harmonizing of voice (Anthea White), trumpet (Josh Deutsch), tenor sax (Dylan Heaney) and baritone sax (Tim Stocker), as the drummer (Jordan Perlson) laid the groove. Theirs was a true dance music, what jazz used to be, encouraging a brave couple to get down on the floor as a guest dancer shimmied in a flapper dress onstage.
The frontwoman wore black plastic onion ring earrings as big as her face, a red dress with cap sleeves, black tights and metallic pumps covered with sparkly studs. Why was each piece of her outfit noteworthy when the supporting vocalist/ pianist (Mark Palmer) looked to be yet another bearded hipster with square rimmed plastic glasses in a newsboy cap? Perhaps the objectification of woman is so prevalent in our culture, from ads at the bus stop to comments made in jest in sermons, that I automatically sum up a woman by her physical attributes.
But the lead vocalist, Anthea, certainly had more going for her than just her outfit. With her bubbly energy and announcements made in her girlish voice, she reminded me of Minnie Mouse. I glanced over and was pleased to see Mickey peeking out from the tee under the bassist’s (Chris Tarry) plaid button-down. Speaking of which, our men’s room correspondent, KMac, will be working for the big cheese this summer. After my last mention of him eating tubs of ice cream with a plastic fork, he began to think that he’s “the star of [my] blog,” so I have been giving his ego time to deflate. Though he has fallen out of favor, he may be able to redeem himself if he gets me a ticket to Disneyland. And anyway, KMac would have disliked the sole restroom at Stage 2, since he hates trendy bathrooms.
The equipment scattered around the restroom confused me at first, and I almost thought I had stepped into the gear room. Once my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw that there was both toilet and sink, so indeed, I was in the bathroom. Right across from the bathroom was a ladder with a danger sign, in addition to curious little doors and a general air-conditioned, staged tavern-esque feel that made me feel as though I was inside an amusement park.
Though the head mouse may reign supreme in most regions of our McWorld, a different creature rules in Australia, where The Hipstones are from. No, I’m not referring to kangaroos or koalas, but the ubiquitous dunny budgies of Australian outhouses. A dunny budgie is an affectionate term for a fly that dwells in a toilet (aka dunny), named after a little English bird. What a nice way to pay tribute to your former colonizer. Frontwoman Anthea tells us how to say, “Where’s the restroom?” like an Aussie –