Young Manhattanite

Poetry is made up of the moments between life and breath. If you’re looking for something deeper, try a burrito.

What’s poetry?

I miss Sparklemotion.

I miss money.

As you might imagine, the folks at work couldn’t have been giddier over how the big profile of Zach Galifianakis in this Sunday’s New York Times magazine begins:

On a blustery Wednesday night this past December, the newly opened TriBeCa branch of New York’s 92nd Street Y was host to a stand-up comedy show, but you’d never have guessed it from the goings-on backstage. The only people in the modest, disconcertingly spotless greenroom were the opening acts: two smartly dressed, well-spoken, polite comedians in their early 30s, both of whom could have passed for architecture students, or graphic designers, or even grass-roots organizers for the Obama campaign. No entourage was in evidence; marijuana was alluded to, but never actually smoked; gourmet hummus and He’brew ale were partaken of, but only in moderation. And the headlining act, the reason for the capacity crowd buzzing with controlled impatience in the 300-person theater just a few feet down the hall, was not in the greenroom at all. He was crouched just offstage with his back to the curtain, running intently through “Joy to the World” with a trio of young tuba players he’d recruited that morning from Craigslist, looking less like one of the great new hopes of American comedy than the leader of a severely underfunded marching band. He didn’t look like a comic at all, in fact, and he certainly wasn’t acting like one. Which, as it turned out, was precisely the point.

“What I call the ‘geography’ of a room — its size, its layout, the overall feel of the place — really determines how far you can push things,” the comic in question, a cherubic man with a fiery red beard and the distinctly unshowbizlike name of Zach Galifianakis, told me in the greenroom a short time before. “I love to do shows in unlikely places, because the audience’s expectations are less fixed. If you’re going on right after a guy with suspenders and a skinny, 1980’s-style comedy tie, who’s been striking crazy poses — doing the same type of material that worked in 1991 — there’s no space for trying unconventional stuff. A place like this, on the other hand, is more of a blank slate.” Galifianakis took a deep, unsteady breath (the first sign of nervousness he’d shown) and stared down intently at the tips of his New Balance sneakers. “Which is lucky for me, because I have no idea what I’m going to say to those people out there.”

I miss you.

Somewhere someone somehow gives a shit about Jay Leno’s last Tonight show.

Chloe Safier asked the question in November 2007 for New Voices: Why is there no Jewish American Girl Doll?

It’s curious that American Girl has yet to respond to consumer demand for a historical Jewish doll. Why was the Tasha project tabled? Was it poor timing, coinciding as it did with the purchase by Mattel? In an e-mail, Jevens wrote that dolls take years to develop, and that many are in process at any one time. Is Tasha’s launch imminent? Only time will tell.

For now, Jewish girls and boys remain deprived of the opportunity to see their own American story mythologized and legitimized within the diverse rainbow of ethnic dolls who celebrate their unique culture alongside their American identities. Without Tasha, they’ll just have to settle for those Jewish role models readily available: Sarah Silverman, Amy Winehouse and, on a good day, Bette Midler.