Entries from April 2005 ↓

Ok, so, officially my excuse is that I was in school full-time and working full-time and didn’t have any time to get it done. Truth is, I just procrastinated, as I always do.

But my taxes are done and in the mail. However, I almost didn’t make it.

I don’t do my own taxes. I haven’t for the last 18 years when they first started getting complicated by unusual employment situations. First, I was a contract worker responsible for my own withholding, then later when I had a regular situation I had outside income and related deductions. Finally when I was a full-time actor, I had a slew of I-9’s and 1099’s and estimated tax payments and it just all got too confusing.

My tax preparer is a guy I found when I lived upstate. He works for the state comptroller’s office and does tax preparations on the side. I trust that he knows what he’s doing. But because we live 150 miles apart, I’ve got to get him my information in time for him to do both the state and federal forms and get them back to me in time to get them in the mail before the deadline. I just made it this year.

Monday, I put my information in the mail to him. Knowing it was gonna be close, I included a postage paid Express Mail envelope. He got the stuff Tuesday and started working on it that day. I got a telephone call from him Wednesday letting me know what the situation was and trying to see if there were any more deductible expenses (there were). He sent out the Express Mail envelope on Thursday, and it came today. Problem was, I was at work when it came.

I got home about 5:55 and there was a slip in my door saying they’d tried to deliver, and were holding it at my local post office four blocks away. They close at 5:30. I hustled over there, and sure enough, the doors were locked. There was a guy standing out front who seemed like he was waiting for someone inside. He too had an attempted delivery slip and said one of the postal workers was inside looking for his package. Soon a female postal worker came to the side door and motioned him over. I went with him but she looked like she was not having it. By now another customer had walked up hoping to get to her post office box, further annoying the postal worker. In our sweetest, most polite voices, we both pleaded our case. “But you see, it’s my tax forms from my preparer. He sent them overnight and I need to get them to send them in on time,” I charmed. She hemmed and hawed but finally bit and went back inside and came out with my package. I thanked her profusely and promised never to say another bad thing about postal workers.

Then I raced down to the main post office here in New York and joined the circus of late filers. And I do mean circus. All the tv stations were there, print media, BillionairesforBush.com demonstrators, people opposing the West Side stadium, and even people handing out free deodorant.

I used to sit at home and watch that story on the news and now I was a part of it. I felt so proud. I’ll do better next year.

Regular readers know I haven’t had a lot of free time lately, but that’s soon to change. To fill my now open schedule I want to get out and enjoy the arts, namely theatre, a museum exhibit, possibly a dance festival and if it comes anywhere near New York, a new film from Great Britain.

I’ve already bought my ticket to see a new stage production from playwright Neil LeBute, This Is How It Goes, at The Public Theater. Directed by outgoing artistic director George C. Wolfe, the show stars the immensely talented Jeffrey Wright, Ben Stiller and Amanda Peet, the play is getting good reviews and causing quite a buzz among regular theatre-goers.

Also high on my list is the Pulitzer Prize winning play Doubt, from John Patrick Shanley. Set against the backdrop of a Bronx Catholic school in 1964, the play deals with a strong-minded nun who is faced with a difficult decision: Should she voice concerns about one of her male colleagues, a priest who may have abused a young student, even if she’s not entirely certain of the truth? Sounds controversial and timely.

A star-studded cast brings a revival of David Mamet’s 1984 Pulitzer Prize-winning Glengarry Glen Ross back to Broadway. Alan Alda, Liev Schreiber, Jeffrey Tambor, Frederick Weller, Gordon Clapp, and Tom Wopat take a behind the scenes look at a cut throat real estate office.

Some other shows have also caught my eye:

– Monty Python’s Spamalot is the musical theatre adaptation of their hit 1975 film, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, starring Tim Curry, David Hyde Pierce, and Hank Azaria.
– Denzel Washington is Brutus in a modern adaptation of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.
– James Earl Jones makes his long-awaited return to Broadway opposite Leslie Uggams in the revival of Ernest Thompson’s acclaimed drama, On Golden Pond.
– Kathleen Turner and Bill Irwin are eating up the stage in the Broadway revival of Edward Albee’s 1962 classic tale of dysfunction in a marriage, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
– And uptown, Andre Deshields is appearing as Caligula at The Classical Theatre of Harlem.

I may or may not get out to see them, but they all sound like great shows.

What also seems like a must-see is the new exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum on the late visual artist and icon of the 1980’s Jean-Michel Basquiat. After a youth spent as a graffiti artist, the Brooklyn born Basquiat became one of the most accomplished artists of his generation, with work sold in the top galleries in SoHo. But an addiction to heroin caused this bright light to dim all too early at just age 27. The exhibition of his work runs until June.

I don’t know if or when it will make its way to New York, but there’s an interesting film out of Great Britain, Bullet Boy, that may do for England what Boyz n the Hood did here in the U.S. Although a fictional story it’s shedding light on a growing problem in that country of gun violence in the inner city. It has received praise at some of the top film festivals, so keep an eye out for it.

The Jacobs Pillow Dance Festival has released its 2005 schedule. Some 19 companies will perform from June 21 to August 28 in Becket, Massachusetts, including the Martha Graham Dance Company, Mark Morris, Savion Glover, Ronald K. Brown/EVIDENCE, and my favorite company, Garth Fagan Dance.

Finally, because I am the unofficial press agent for the sensational Billy Porter, anyone in or around western Pennsylvania should catch his one-man, autobiographical performance Ghetto Superstar at the City Theatre in Pittsburgh, his hometown.

At least for the time being, I have my weekends back. I finished culinary school on Saturday. It was a long day too. Because we lost a day to snow several weeks ago, the entire schedule was pushed back. We had to have our final class, then our written exam, then the practical exam from 9-5, followed by our graduation reception from 6-8. It was a 12 hour day, but a fun and successful one.

For the record, I got a 97 on my written exam and a 93 on the practical. If you’ve ever seen Iron Chef that’s kinda how the final went. We were given some ingredients and told to create something in 2 hours. I also got an A- on my module project (which will become part of my restaurant concept for my management studies).

Then the reception afterwards was a lot of fun. Family members came from all over, along with good friends from far and near . They told us our graduating class probably had more invited guests than any previous one.

I still have to complete 210 hours of an externship somewhere, but that will happen after I rest. For a few weeks at least I’m sleeping in on Saturday and Sunday.

Update: In the words of Emeril Legasse, “Never trust a skinny chef.”

Catholicism was my parents’religion. More accurately, it was my father’s; mom converted when they married. Nevertheless, growing up I never viewed it as my own. The weekly practice of going to church was foisted upon me whether I liked it or not, with the admonishment, “This will be good for you.”

As a very little boy, it was all confusing, mysterious and a little bit spooky. We put on suits and ties in those days, masses were still at least partially performed in Latin and our church, St. Mary’s, was this big old Gothic structure with high ceilings, stained glass windows and a cavernous echo effect. Half the time I had no idea what was going on.

That was to be rectified by studying for my first Holy Communion. Where I grew up, if you were Catholic, but attended public school, once a week you got out of school an hour early to travel across town to the Catholic school for religious instruction. There were kids from all across the city, who I didn’t know, and you could count the number of Black faces on the fingers of one hand. At about age 7 or 8, this was my first introduction to racism.

It was the first day. We were getting an orientation from a nun. A kid behind me started in with racist comments I still remember to this day. He told me how he hated niggers and how his father hated niggers and how he was gonna beat me up when class was over. I was terrified. I didn’t know anyone in that school and certainly hadn’t done anything to that kid.

When I told the nun after class ended, she didn’t believe me. She wanted me to point the boy out, but I had been too scared to turn around. Given that, she said there wasn’t anything she could do. That may very well have been true, but it forever colored my impressions of the church. When I looked to it for comfort and a sense of peace, it often failed to deliver. All subsequent discussions of religious values and church teachings from that point on, were looked at with a jaundiced eye and would only grow more so as I got older and began to understand the Catholic position on issues of particular importance to me.

I must say however, if there was any moment when I was willing to give the church a second chance, it was when Pope John Paul II became the pontiff. Until that time, Popes were always Italian, quite parochial in their world view, cared little about matters beyond the Vatican, Italy or Europe, and if they spoke English, it was minimal. They were inaccessible to all but the most devout.

With the United States in upheaval over civil rights, women’s rights, and gay rights, the all-White, patriarchal system of the Catholic Church always struck me as out of step. Our secular political changes created a set of expectations we wanted to see in all facets of our lives, including our religious institutions, but the church was slow to change.

But John Paul II seemed different, at least at first. He spoke several languages. He was a writer and had been a performer. He was Polish, and the first non-Italian pope in 500 years. More importantly he was interested in reaching out to the growing base of Catholics in Africa, South America, and Asia. He was willing to reach out to Moslems and Jews, even acknowledging the church should have done more during the holocaust. He seemed genuinely interested in touching real people with messages of hope.

But in reality the basic message had changed very little. Church views on the role of women haven’t changed, they still can’t be ordained as priests. Priestly vows of celibacy remain, despite the diminishing number of men interested in the profession. Homosexuality remains the great taboo, despite the presence of openly gay Catholic groups.

More recently the Pope and the church have been uncomfortably quiet on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict; the US invasion of Iraq; the priest sex abuse scandal in this country; multinational corporate greed and what used to be core issues of poverty, hunger and health care.

In my personal search for a spiritual base, I have come to doubt the ability of organized religion to fit my needs. Beyond perpetuating its own existence and furthering what seems to be an increasingly divisive political agenda, I am not sure what role the Catholic church plays in engendering a sense of humanity and compassion for all mankind. Perhaps a new pope will bring a different vision. I won’t hold my breath waiting.

by Cordell Boone
Guest Contributor

With a few dollar bills and a pocket of change, I headed towards the cafeteria downstairs in the building were I work to get a cup of green tea. It was my way of trying to stay healthy, although the amount of honey I used counteracted my good intentions. I then stopped at the newspaper stand to get a muffin to compliment the tea–banana nut and full of calories, another act of self-sabotage.

While there, I picked up a sympathy card for a friend whose mother recently died. After calling him a couple of times only to leave messages on his machine, I decided to send a card, to let him know that my thoughts were with him.

This morning the news broadcasted the [then] imminent death of Pope John Paul II, while at the same time providing follow up stories about the very public death of Terri Schiavo and the battle that ensued between her husband and family at her deathbed.

Death, an act once considered very sacred and private (which still is to some) has started to become a public media circus. It seems as though families and nations alike have been recently using the act of death as a means to further their own agendas. Death has been used for political purposes to raise public consciousness, as done by groups like ACT-UP. This past Sunday, Christians around the world celebrated Easter, the most public and some would consider revolutionary death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

As I watched television and read the paper, these recent events reminded me of the Jim Carrey movie, The Truman Show, where a man finds out his whole life is just a tv show, on display for the whole world to see. Look at the action that President Bush took as a sign of support to the Schindler family, and a show of his own belief in the “sanctity” of life.

Is all of this done for the benefit, or at the expense, of the deceased? What would they have to say about the attention being paid to the way they died?

Rarely, do I hear about a person’s life except in death. Until Johnnie Cochran’s death this week, I didn’t know about some of the work that he did pre- O.J. And I doubt many of us had heard of Rashawn Brazell or Sakia Gunn until tragedy happened to them.

Here’s a thought: Why don’t we take the time to celebrate people’s lives while they are still with us instead of after they have died? And wouldn’t it be nice to do so without motive, rather than after they have won an award or done something noteworthy? Why not celebrate each other’s lives publicly and allow people to die privately?

I hope that by sending my friend this card, I allow him the privacy he needs to grieve, while simultaneously letting him know that I am with him in at this very private time.

Cordell Boone lives in Albany, N.Y.