I was invited by Terry Teachout,  the chief theater critic of the Wall Street Journal, for lunch and a viewing of “Thurgood” on Broadway. We met this afternoon at Citron on the Upper West Side. I hadn’t seen Terry since July, so he caught me up on the excitement surrounding his opera and his Louis Armstrong book “Rhythm Man.”

After lunch we caught a cab and raced to midtown. In the middle of a traffic jam, we ditched the cab and walked to The Booth theatre. Mr. Teachout was exhausted (read his blog and you’ll know he’s always busy) so he prayed that the play would be just 90 minutes with no intermission.

We were in luck, the play clocked in at 100 minutes. It was a one-man show with Laurence Fishburne, who you may have seen in films like “The Matrix,” etc., playing Thurgood Marshall. History books, (and teachers) have a way of skipping to the triumphs, so I knew nothing of his road to the Supreme Court. I’m glad I went.

After the show I waved Terry goodbye, and he was headed home before another play that evening. I’d be filling a theater seat again, Tonya  had invited me to so see the Akram Khan Company at City Center.

I raced home to change, as the temperature dropped a bit. I ended up eating a rushed dinner standing up, something I hadn’t done since Fashion Week. I arrived in midtown early enough to take a walk past Carnegie Hall.

I met Tonya in the lobby of City Center. I was going to the show completely ignorant to Khans company, the program, or the performers. They were a pleasant surprise.

The program was short, just one piece, “Bahok.” Conceptually, the work was fantastic. Eight strangers trapped in a layover. They wait, they interact. They tell their stories about home.

I was discussing with Tonya afterward that a lot of the movement seemed a little too loose to have been choreographed. Just moving to move is okay…sometimes. I found the choreographed portions with more defined movements and narrative more engaging. I also liked that the topic was deep, and easily accessible. I kept thinking back to my layovers, and the strangers I spoke to and connected with before parting. I thought about home. One of the dancers kept asking “where do I come from?” “Bahok” was profound enough that I turned it over in my mind on the chilly ride home.

I’m so late these days with news, but I’m dying to see the Philip Glass film that premiered recently, “Glass: A Portrait of Philip in 12 Parts.” The trailer is above.

 At the risk of being hated by his wife, I’ll admit I’ve always had the smallest little crush on Philip Glass.

My big idea for the moment: why don’t ballet companies, orchestras, galleries, etc., have performance schedules that you can import easily into your iCal, Palm, phone, computer or iPhone calendar and automatically places the performance dates and casts?

Does anyone know of any arts organizations that already do this?

I love this video more than you will ever know. Someone, while on vacation to Russia, filmed their tour of Tchaikovsky’s home! I’ve always wanted to go, and though I still vow to, this video makes me more excited.

Don’t you just love You Tube?

If the fact that I write this at 6 a.m. is any indication: I’ve been increasingly busy. I have a few new projects that I can’t post about (but will if I’m allowed since the newest one involves both dance and books, yet again and in a new way).

Yesterday night Tonya and I hit a dance photograph exhibit in Lower Manhattan (the Explore Dance founder was there!), had dinner at a Vietnamese Restaurant, and on Saturday after my library duties I spent all day outside at Bryant Park enjoying the weather with a new friend.

More on those events later.

The weekends are reserved for the first of my (now two) dance related book projects. I headed this afternoon to the Lincoln Center Library. On my journey from the subway and through the lower level of the MET, a man walking behind me whistled the introduction of Prokofiev’s “Prodigal Son.”

The music repeated through my head as I scoured the shelves at the library. It was a dead-end trip, the library had none of the materials I wanted. I could of stayed and done some peliminary research for the second dance book project that I was recently handed, but instead decided to go home.

I walked past Avery Fisher Hall, still humming the music from “Prodigal Son.” Then suddenly I spotted a familiar face standing by one of the pilars, talking with another fellow.

It was NYCB dancer Damian Woetzel! He was holding his dance bag, standing turned out, nodding with that fluffy hair of his blowing in the wind. I stopped walking and my mouth hung open. The man he was speaking with knew that I knew who he was, but Damian was so engrossed that he hardly noticed me.

I ran and hid behind a pillar and dialed up Dione, who is in love with Damian. I kept peeking to see if he was still there, and he was. Dione never picked up, and she wasn’t at home, so I hung up the phone, whispered “Darnit,” and watched as Damian parted with his friend and crossed the plaza toward New York State Theater.

In an otherwise worthless afternoon, that was my glimmering ray of happiness.

So this is the New York “spring.” Today was 70-something degrees, and on the commute from work I carried my coat in my arms.

Spring has a definite soundtrack for me. I recall vividly warm spring sunsets in Mobile, listening to Prokofiev’s “Summer Night” (you could call a “spring” in Mobile “summer” it was just that hot at times). So every spring I listen to “Summer Night” and Carl Orff’s “Carmina Burana.”

I’ve added Sibelius to the list for obvious reasons, and after having experienced a New York winter, I can say that I know how he felt when writing his Symphony No. 1.

In the winding construction that leads to the Lincoln Center Library, I passed an older man also on his way to the library.

“Have you seen that?” he said, pointing with his cane to a poster from the Jerome Robbins exhibit (that I posted about here) at the library. “You should go. You look dancerish.”

“I used to be,” I laughed.

“You look dancerish, and a little musical theatre-ish. Like you’re a vocalist,” he said.

“No. I’ve only been in one musical,” I said. He laughed.

“Well, you have to be a triple threat these days!”

We continued to walk to the library together.

“You know, musical theatre has gone downhill. That’s what I hear. In the old days, people got all of their drama audibly from the radio, they weren’t used to all this big stuff. Now, you see these musicals with helicopters and that’s all everybody cares about,” he said. I enjoyed how candid he was. ”I hear they did that with ‘Wicked’ you know? The guy who wrote it just took all the songs that were at the bottom.” He reached down to his gut, as if to dig up garbage.  “He took all those bad songs and people just loved them.”

As we approached the entrance I told him about the dance related book project I was helping with, and he wished me good luck.

On the elevator I laughed to myself. That’s the 10th time that’s someone’s asked if I was dancer since moving here.

All day I moped and cried and slept. In the afternoon I was prepared to hit the library for research, but spent an hour looking for my research materials that were hidden under a pile of clean clothes.

I left an hour late, and arrived at Lincoln Center when the library was near to closing. I stomped my foot outside of Avery Fisher Hall like a child, and tried to think of something to do instead.

So I walked to Time Warner Center, where I usually take my Friday evening strolls. Upon recalling that the Museum of Modern Art was only a walk away, I started toward midtown.

The walk was pleasent, if not for my presistent crying. I spotted Megan LeCrone, but even spotting a City Ballet dancer was not enough to cheer me up.

I thought MOMA was on the wrong street, so I walked to 5th Avenue to shop at Bergdorf’s. I only spent less than thirty minutes there on the 5F floor scanning contemporary designers. I got to see the Elizabeth and James line for the first time.

I exited Bergdorf’s and headed to MOMA. It was crowded because it’s free every Friday night from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m.

The galleries were amazing. Every painting in their collection was something I’d seen before, which lets you know just how famous the artwork is, big names like Warhol, Roy Liechtenstein, Willem de Kooning, and Monet.

I hadn’t done any reading on MOMA to find out what pieces were in their galleries. So as I wandered, each room was like a small but pleasing surprise. Then suddenly, I turned a corner and there it was. A work by one of my favorites: Franz Kline. I’ve always loved his work, viewing my first Kline in the pages of Vogue Living hanging on a wall. His work is simple, but for some reason it means so much to me. It is twisted and complex, speaking without speaking at all.

I stood starring at his “Chief” for five minutes of more, and when I had exhausted the paintings returned for one more glance. I smirked my way back to the first floor. I had just seen a Kline in person.

I hit the MOMA store, where some toys by a new designer aquaintence of mine, Goran Lelas, were on sale. I wished they had a print of the Kline to purchase.

On the bus ride home I looked at my reflection in the mirror to find I’d had a bug squished on my face all night long. I cried and ate hot dogs for dinner.

Just flipping channels this afternoon, I stopped on Nick to see if I could catch “Ned’s Declassified” and caught their newest show, “Dance on Sunset.”

It’s part competition, part dance instruction. I only watched the first half, where a team of dancers taught the audience choreography. I knew I HAD to blog about it, so I jumped online to find tons of articles, even one from New York Daily News (readable here).

Below is the preview of the show that was featured on Nick. The first full episode is available via the official site!