61 Local

On the last day of last month, I went to check out the new concert series at 61 Local in Brooklyn.  Upstairs to the restaurant, the small yet open-feeling room with exposed brick walls was the perfect space to showcase bassist John Hébert with dancer Angelle Hébert.  That is, except for the splinters from the hardwood floors that got into Angelle’s skin.

I was lured to the show partly because its start time at 6pm.  I needed to get home early so that I could continue my online search for acceptable orthopedic sandals before retiring to bed.  Granny-chic in Birkenstocks was acceptable in Berkeley and heels were fine when I was driving around LA but Manhattan has presented the impossible challenge of looking sharp while walking around for miles in gross weather.

The two bathrooms are located on the first floor past the dining area by the broom closet and a door marked “do not enter” with a skull.  The ladies room had that Brooklyn hipster vibe with a mustache painted onto the mirror above the sink.  A stick figure girl and boy on signs made of paper towels were pinned to each door.

Having run into the Pride Parade on my afternoon-long detour down from the Upper West Side to Brooklyn, I was reminded that the signs may not be so cute to those who don’t fit within the two-sex system.  In fact, if I were intersex, those signs might induce anxiety each time I had to use the bathroom.  The restaurant’s restrooms are for individual use though, so it matters less whether you identify with the anatomy depicted on the sign or not.

Sensing the synergy that I anticipated from the brother/sister duo, I was surprised to learn that they had never performed together before.  Their performance was full of sonic and motor tics that gave me an indeterminable itchy sensation, similar in that way to Yayoi Kusama’s pieces at the Whitney last summer.  Speaking of which, I’m going to check out this year’s hit exhibit, Rain Room at MOMA, and get on the Cronut bandwagon while I’m at it.  It’s going to be a long morning of waiting in line but I’ll make sure to wear sensible shoes.

In this period of eating pastries and museum-hopping with friends, I’ve taken up Chinese to feel slightly more productive.  While I don’t expect to become fluent, I’ve been enjoying learning about the culture and practicing sounds new to my tongue.  ChuánXī from mainland China, who is teaching me Mandarin, tells us how to say, “Excuse me, where’s the restroom?” –

Nín hǎo, qǐng wèn xǐ shǒu jiān zài nǎ lǐ?