Urban Survival Tip #3

Last night, I saw one of the best shows of my life at the Highline Ballroom in Chelsea. The Ryan Montbleau Band, which happens to be one of my favorite bands, opened things up with a set that included most of their feel-good foot-stompers, including one of their best numbers, "Honeymoon Eyes."




The band was cooking. Great solos from the keyboard player and the viola player (yes, viola), and then there was Ryan Montbleau himself, all cool charisma and playful intensity, who just totally rocked the place.

Then. THEN. Oh, man. Trombone Shorty and Orleans Avenue took the stage and proceeded to scramble what remained of my functioning brain cells into disbelieving goo.

Trombone Shorty is from New Orleans and almost literally sang with his trombone (and his trumpet, which he plays just as well). This guy's raw ability and presence is absurd. And the band was an exuberant, criminally talented bunch of guys who looked like they would have to lie about their ages to join the military. Seriously, the guitarist looked like he might have been fifteen, and he was shredding like a mini-Hendrix, sparkly shirt and silver jewelry and all.



Most of the crowd was wearing Mardi Gras beads and Saints jerseys, and I don't think I've ever seen an audience so beside themselves. After making me almost die from an overdose of awesome with a cover of "Let's Get It On," the band finished off their epic set with a bring-down-the-house rendition of "When the Saints Go Marching In" during which they came down onto the floor and played their way out around the room. People were practically weeping.

And get this: I saw all this - at a swankified place in Chelsea where tickets were about 30 bucks a pop, more for VIP tables - for free. I even got a free T-shirt out of it.

And how, you ask, did I manage this? The answer brings me to your third Urban Survival Tip: selling merchandise.

Like many people of limited means, I want to take advantage of all that New York has to offer, but often find myself stymied by how expensive everything is. I can't emphasize enough how much a little research and resourcefulness can pay off if you want to get out and experience some culture. In the last few months, I have seen a free Barefoot Truth show at the Canal Room, free NY Gilbert and Sullivan Players' performances of "Pirates of Penzance" and "The Mikado" at New York City Center, and then last night what was, again, possibly the best show I've ever seen - all for free. And I just had to sell some T-shirts to do it.

A free show usually isn't the only perk, either. I got to mingle with the actors and musicians. I was invited to an opening night afterparty. Barefoot Truth gave me some free CDs as thanks for helping out. NYGASP even paid me 50 bucks to run the merch table and coordinate the other volunteers one day.

So get on mailing lists of all your favorite bands. Check their websites for upcoming performances and see if they need a hand. Make friends at theaters and ask if they need volunteers.

We could all use a little more awesome in our lives. And FREE awesome is even better.

Barnes and Noble

My last Urban Survival Tip was eerily timely. Last night's episode of Saturday Night Live had an excellent suggestion, one that I have used in the past but didn't think to include.

The origins of Barnes and Noble:



There's a Borders by Penn Station that I used just the other night!

Urban Survival Tip #2

It’s one of those perfect, sparkling Sundays in New York City. You rouse yourself and meet some friends for brunch. You drink some water to cure your Saturday evening indulgences, then a cup of coffee that your well-intentioned server is kind enough to top off a few times. Since it’s so nice out, you decide to go people-watching in the park, after which you’ll walk the river trail, grab a hot dog from a street vendor, and window shop on St. Mark’s Place.

That’s the plan, anyway.

By the time you reach the park, your bladder has started to nudge you and say, “Hey, genius, maybe that last refill wasn't such a hot idea.”

By the time you hit the river trail, a small child appears to be tap dancing on your kidneys with every step.

Finally, you reach St. Mark's place. You waddle past a store window, spy a small water feature in the display, and keel over dead in a puddle of urine.

Which brings me to my second Urban Survival Tip: KNOW YOUR PUBLIC BATHROOMS.

In retrospect, hitting Dunkin' Donuts was a poor choice.

If you're used to popping a squat behind any old tree, this may seem odd at first. Be patient. It took a little adjusting for me, but I'm starting to figure it out. Here are a few nuggets of my hard-won wisdom.

1. Have a game plan. Plan your route through the park to pass by one of the restroom buildings, have a sit-down lunch or hit a museum.

2. Keep a mental (or actual) Rolodex of restrooms in places you frequent. I spend a great deal of time way out in Canarsie, Brooklyn, because it's the neighborhood I report on for school. There's a McDonald's a block from the L train station on Rockaway Parkway that is my go-to place to pee. If I venture too far from there, there's always the beach.

3. Know your standbys. In addition to fast food joints, there's always Starbucks. A good percentage of city Starbucks still have public restrooms that are ostensibly for customers but do not require you to borrow a key from behind the counter. I've bolted for the restroom, done my business, and then made a show of browsing the shelves before leaving more times than I care to admit.

You're wondering if all of my urban survival tips will have to do with bathrooms. It's anyone's guess at this point.

Urban Survival Tip #1

In my experience, if you find yourself in a pinch somewhere in the middle of civilization, a willingness to forego some of society’s more frivolous conventions can be a real advantage.

For instance, I packed a yogurt in my lunch recently and found that the kitchen at my school was out of spoons. In the wilderness, I would have simply picked up a stick and whittled myself a utensil. Since there is a dearth of woody debris just south of Times Square, I peeled off the tinfoil cover and fashioned it into a scoop. Worked like a charm. Then there was one morning last week, when I got out of the shower and couldn’t find my hairbrush. In a rush to get to class on time, I pulled a Little Mermaid and used a dinglehopper. Effective, efficient, and probably caused less breakage to my hair.

Today’s urban survival tip is one I’m sure most women will be able to relate to. You’re at a concert, or a bar, or an airport, and you have to pee. Bad. You’re at the point where you’re even breathing carefully, lest a particularly jolting inhale cause you to wet yourself. You waddle up to the ladies’ room – and alas! There are twenty-five women ahead of you in an unmoving line.

And -- naturally -- there’s no line for the men’s room.*

We’ve all done it. We’ve all stood in that interminable line, shifting our weight and stealing resentful glances at the occasional guy who breezes right through the door. We’ve all ground our teeth at the sound of that merry stream. 

My advice to you ladies? Do what I did at an Arby’s somewhere between Boston and New York this afternoon and tell that long-suffering line of women, "I'm going in."

1) Maybe I’m unusual in this respect, but after months of playing fart baseball in the wilderness with a bunch of teenage boys who subsisted on a diet of whole grains and rehydrated chili, I just can’t get too worked up about bodily functions, mine or anyone else’s. So if a dude wanders in to use the urinal while I’m in the stall, I’ll just wait patiently for him to do his thing, zip up, and depart before I mosey on out. (You don’t want to startle the poor guy into early-onset prostate issues.) 

If a man walks in just as you’re leaving, give him a saucy smile. If you’re shy, you'll save face because you seem confident.  If you’re like me, and find that an irrepressible streak of mischief surfaces in such situations, you can delight in his discomfort when he stammers out a “Sorry!” because he thinks for an instant that he’s the one in the wrong place.

2) The other women won’t judge you. In fact, they’ll probably thank you for it. I guarantee you that most of them have been eyeing that door the whole time, wishing they had the nerve to just go for it. They just need a little push. You can be their William Wallace. (After I emerged from the little boy’s room at Arby’s today, the next girl in line smiled at me and was in there before the door had started swinging shut.)

#3 Public men’s restrooms aren’t that bad. Okay, sure, some of them are atrocious. But there’s a rule I just invented that says that on a scale of one to ten (if one is a bathroom at the Ritz Carlton and ten is a Tau Kappa Epsilon bathroom on a Saturday morning), the men’s room at a given establishment will be only one or two points more disgusting than the women’s room. Girls are gross, too.

Try it. It will set you free.

*Sporting events are an exception. Often the line for the men’s room will actually be longer because of all the beer that has been consumed since 8 a.m. Guys, crash the ladies' room at your peril.