Growing Up On A Field of Dreams

Whenever I share pictures of my hometown San Francisco, many ask "Why did you leave?" There's never a hesitation to respond that my sails wholeheartedly rode the winds of passion for theatre towards the East Coast.  My life in the theatre, however humble, has been a gateway to international travel, a balanced corporate life with matching skill sets, perennially produced cabarets, and my new experiences as a Broadway show investor.

As a young musical theatre hopeful, I would dim the living room lamps, open the curtains overlooking our quiet street, and bask in moon glow as I sing thru the score of "Cats".  This palatial home sits nestled amongst other Victorians in San Francisco's Inner Richmond cul de sac called Ewing Terrace. My recent yen for the warmth of home prompted a Christmas baking frenzy of shortbread cookies, as well as a google search of this stately sounding address of my youth - Ewing Terrace.

The search yielded an intriguing history of Ewing Field, which was a professional baseball field of the San Francisco Seals for only one season in 1914. I am far from being a baseball aficionado, but can relate to the fog that clouded the vision of many a baseball player and fanatic. That fog would roll down from University of San Francisco's Lone Mountain campus and greet me as I walked home from school. Somehow I don't think Seals owner Mr. Ewing had as fond of a recollection as his team played a lousy opening day game on May 16th 1914 due to the cold and fog that would symptomatically keep spectators away and confuse the ballplayers themselves in subsequent games. The team abandoned Ewing Field to return to Rec Park in 1915, leaving this $100,000 (approx 70m today) facility to its short lived reinventions until a spectator's lighted cigarette caused its demise in 1926.

Ewing Field stood vacant from 1926 until 1938 when the Catholic Church sold it to Heymann Homes for $150, 000. The old ballpark was demolished to make way for ninety five homes which sold for $7500-$8000,  sporting a subdivision with an "attractive pillared gateway entrance" and its homes with "gardened terraces similar to Presidio Terrace." Apparently, somewhere underneath one of the houses near Anza Street, probably still buried, is the historic Ewing Field time capsule - an iron chest containing names and photos of team players and other baseball memorabilia. It was buried a mere three feet beneath home plate on opening day 1914, so who knows how much further would I have had to dig to find such a treasure. 


"If you build it, they will come" is the frequently quoted line from the iconic 1989 baseball film, "Field of Dreams" starring Kevin Costner. Well, Mr. Ewing built it, and the Seals and their fans came. Although it was a relatively brief amount of time, his dream was nevertheless realized, and his field ensconced in San Francisco's baseball history.

There were many a nights I would fall asleep looking out my bedroom window onto our garden terrace and Anza's streetlights. While a part of me now thinks "If I only knew then...", the other part of me pays homage to Mr. Ewing's love for baseball ~ letting the time capsule serve its purpose (as it has for me) in being a field of dreams for those now living in my home on Ewing Terrace.

TRICK OR TREAT

My earliest recollection of Halloween was 1983 at the height of Michael Jackson's "Thriller". As a recent transplant from the Philippines to San Francisco I was well aware of the concept of Halloween, but never participated until then ~ and what a treat it was! Where and when else could you knock on a stranger's door and receive candy? Certainly not in Manila for fear of being branded a beggar and certainly never in my formative elementary years.

Fast forward to 2011 to my condo complex-wide sponsored Hallway Halloween for our condo-mmunity's children. In addition to the the typical fare of store bought candy, chocolate dipped Ritz Crackers and white chocolate drizzled brownies were the perfect personal touch. The unexpected ritzy treat's sweet and salty combo was appreciated by the parents more than the kids, but just as well for showcasing the fruits of my labor born of my recent baking hobby. Based on the parade of toddler trick or treaters, I learned that our condo-mmunity is comprised of young parents with the most adorably costumed children seemingly on their maiden voyage of this American tradition.

"You guys win!" cheered one of the parents who snapped away with his camera. One would expect that a grown man who buys a child's medium sized Superman costume at Target would look to be a trick on me, but to my most pleasant surprise it was the best treat of all to have this fit like a glove (except the legs which were slightly shorter, hence the cropped pics). My dear cohort Tonya joined me as Wonder Woman, making it so much more memorable for the Hallway Halloweeners who were greeted by Super Friends!

Coming of Age

As far as birthdays go, a tween may look forward to the monumental age of thirteen for the excitement of adolescence, eighteen for the aspiring graduate, twenty one for a chance to saddle up to the bar, or even twenty five to rent a car (at least in the USA). These milestones marked with their own traditions, folklore, and the occasional instruction manual have thankfully been a part of my healthy journalling habit since the age of eleven.

I fondly look back on them, reading thru old journals as a detour from house cleaning. Thirty was a particular highlight. I was doing exactly what I prepared for all my life, touring twelve cities in Italy as a performer in "Hair" as Teatro Smeraldo's audience of two thousand in Milan sung "Tanti Auguri" (Happy Birthday) at curtain call.  As a family member said ~ "That is something money cannot buy".

As one who has advanced past these benchmarks, increasing age becomes only a number, but the yearly celebration is time to take stock of the blessings of friends and loved ones. I've taken it upon myself to turn my birthdays into creative challenges, weaving my penchant for travel, food, wine, song & dance into this year's "San Francisco Birthday Restaurant and Karaoke Bar Crawl". Inspired by Guy Fieri's "Diners, Drive Ins & Dives" on the Food Network, I listed several restaurants, some of which were featured in the aforementioned show, and invited friends to join me in this tastebud tour ... tasting the world thru my buds.

I'm glad to report it was time well spent at each establishment. From Evergreen Vietnamese Restaurant's delectable minced chicken with basil & green peppers, the Salvadorean pupusas of the Mission's Los Panchos, the delicate dance of pomegranate & chicken flavors at La Mediteranee, to the "Madmen"-esque interior and perfectly temperatured meats of Harris Steakhouse ~ these epicurean delights paired with good wine and shared with great friends / family is a tradition worth upholding and even reinventing as we come of age.

We Will Never Forget

September 11th 2011 started as a cloudy day and much trepidation about going into the City. Noticeably increased security of rifle carrying guards patrolled train stations as well as the streets a few days before. Commemorative television programs populated the airwaves, bringing us back to the same day ten years before. I've come to expect a lack of or restless sleep around this time every year, perhaps I'm psychologically revisiting that day of infamy. Sometimes I think that maybe I am somewhat sensitive to the souls of those who perished, still crying out in anger, pain, seeking peace. Somehow my body returns to the fears and physical reactions felt that very day when the world lost its innocence.

I was running late to work that day in 2001, quickly glanced at my usual view of World Trade Center right before taking the PATH train.  Someone said that a small plane that crashed into the top floor a few minutes before (which explained the billowing smoke), so I called into work explaining this could potentially delay me further. Onlookers slowed their motion in curiosity at this sight, but with a lack of alarm as it didn't seem that grave of a situation. 

By the time I exited at the last Uptown PATH train station at the 33rd Street station, the slowed motion of previous onlookers was replaced by the frenetic pace of Manhattanites. There was nothing normal about this frenetic pace as it was downright panic with people calling loved ones on their cellphones. It didn't take long to see the root of all this as I turned around at the sight behind me. The usual view of World Trade Center that welcomed me into Manhattan after a twenty minute ride was no longer. Widening my eyes as if just waking from a dream didn't clarify the cloud down town, but it confirmed the tragedy that was unfolding.

Although about two miles away, I ran to seek shelter in my then office at the New York Press alternative newsweekly to find the staff gathered around the television. As if we weren't in enough shock, a communal gasp came as soon as the second plane hit, and everyone saw in each other's eyes that we were now under attack. Some felt anger, shock, to downright nausea speaking for myself, at which time I had to be excused. Not knowing what to do or what was to come, some coworkers had to take a drink at the neighboring bar. Some of us walked to Bellevue Hospital to perhaps give blood for the anticipated injured, but were turned away as there were sadly more casualties than injuries.

Masses evacuated from lower Manhattan, and the whole island following this tragedy including myself. I walked uptown further to meet a friend in Central Park and hopefully safer ground even further to his apartment in Washington Heights, then across to New Jersey. However for the next few days, safety seemed nowhere to be found as fear struck not just the cities and people affected by this act of terrorism, but the nation as a whole.

Fear alone has a way of not just taking hold, but incapacitating and disabling an otherwise able bodied person. Not only was I in bed for the next three days feeling extremely tired and sleepy, but sought at least the feeling of safety under the covers clutching my favorite pillow. Plunged into what now seems like a trauma induced depression, this was surely one of a kaleidoscope of responses not just to the immediate tragedy, but to lingering fear which was an equally intended target. Like an earthquake, my psychological ground shook violently with aftershocks of media flashing further reports and developments, until I forced myself to venture back to the world of the living (and might I add with much guilt for those who were no longer).

"Others came back to work a day after, why didn't you?" asked my boss. I had no answer for this, nor wished to do so. Clearly an over achiever as an NYU Stern graduate of only three years, my younger boss had the daunting task of remobilizing a magazine as this monumental tragedy brought us to a grinding halt. It seems she did so in a timely manner without much negative impact to the business, but resuscitating the intangible morale required of her far much more than her impressive credentials. In hindsight, recalling the varied ways we all had to cope and move forward, she may have tried her best to refocus an otherwise astute, and I'd like to think, efficient Credit Manager towards the daily operations. However, I found myself paralyzed by her question even more than my fear. Prior to the end of that business day I knew this was no longer the choice environment for a majority of my waking life.

It was ironic for many that I boarded a plane to San Francisco shortly after so I could be with family. My contribution to the spike of alcohol sales promptly began then onboard as a coping mechanism, and has continued since as a mere culinary compliment mind you. For hours on end I ensconced myself on Mom's couch, fluffed amongst pillows for a month. Mom became alarmed, and in the tradition of my boss asked a question I couldn't seem to answer, "Why did you leave your job?"

Death and destruction may have had something to do with it, and getting my head around this reality two train stops away as a part of daily life. Yet that was half of the equation. I asked myself the next question "Why did you move to New York?" to which I automatically responded "To be an actor."
That seemed so glib, but the ensuing question of more depth was "What does being an actor mean in post 9/11 apocalyptic world and why do I have to participate in it?" I could posit as much as scholars, but I knew my answer would lie only upon returning to New York and a more active pursuit of creating.

Risk was the name of the game, with a mound of credit card debt, unemployment, and the daily reminder of World Trade Center's crematorial fumes. Yet step by step, I rebuilt my life just as the brave and unwavering rescuers and rebuilders did at Ground Zero. Following my streak of irony, I accepted a temp position at a financial firm despite the recruiter's question "Would you mind working Downtown?" My newfound daytime position afforded me the mounting of my zany cabaret "Andy, the Musical" reformatted as a talk show simply to create and entertain at a time when we all really needed it. Shortly after, the opportunity to see ninety one cities of our country in nine months presented itself via the National Tour of Rodgers & Hammerstein's "Cinderella" so I left the comforts of home again. And by home, this time, I meant New York (which I now add to San Francisco & Manila). After a successful year on the road doing exactly what I loved and needed to be doing, I've taken a permanent position Downtown and am busier than ever creating "in my own little corner, in my own little chair". Did you ever come out of dark and difficult moments, dusted yourself off, thankful you survived, and said to yourself "There's no other way I would've learned that lesson"?

The beams of light signifying the Twin Towers serve as a reminder this time every year of those we lost. For many who long to reunite with their loved ones, ten years do not mitigate their loss and doubt if any length of time will. Yet out of respect, may they also rebuild, renew, and reinforce hopefully from what they have found.

Come on Irene

You have twelve hours to evacuate your home, pack a "go bag",  and seek higher ground from an impending hurricane's storm surge with anticipated floods soon to ravage your zip code. GO!

Two gallons of water, a can of Progresso Clam Chowder, Cup o' Noodles chicken soup, two bottles of red wine, one Chardonnay, Spicy Cheez Puffs, Double Stuff Oreos,  Sees' Candy Awesome Chocolate & Nougat Bars, a family size bag of Doritos Nacho Cheese flavor, a pack of Parliaments, dried cranberries and 30 vanilla scented tea light candles ~ these are to have been my sustenance away from home during the unforgettable Hurricane Irene of 2011.

As a veteran of Filipino typhoons, gusty winds and rain are all too familiar and dare I say sometimes comforting. Many were asked if they felt these evacuation measures to be exaggerated, and for once New York / New Jersey residents were in accord with a resounding "no"as they heeded the warning.  Ironically, the rain was hardly my motivation for following Jersey City's highly suggested voluntary evacuation.  The anticipated flood at next morning's high tide, compounded by high risk of being unable to descend to a potentially flooded first floor is a different story. It was at that point I welcomed a dear friend's invitation to be their hurricane refugee for the duration of this calamity.

Unlike a dramatic movie's exodus scene from catastrophic consequences (complete with cars embroiled in traffic), this was a leisurely twenty minute drive to the higher grounds of Weehawken, New Jersey.  Two miles prior to reaching my destination, turning onto JFK Boulevard East,  I was reintroduced to the a most breathtaking Manhattan skyline from Hamilton Park (pictured above). Rain clouds, mist, and increasing winds provided more than ample  foreshadowing of what was to come: a sit down dinner with good friends, an excellent dvd movie "The Conspirator", and zany photographic fun involving the cats of the household.

This afternoon's venture outside to investigate thankfully yielded bettter news. Damage, though clearly apparent in several areas, was thankfully not as severe. Now onto tomorrow's commute to work as that's surely a whole disaster of its own.

Shake Shack Was All Shook Up

"What a beautiful day" has got to be the plainest Facebook status. But it was simply that - a beautiful day. Tuesday August 23rd commenced with a pleasantly warm sunrise. It was the kind of day that anti depression drug commercial film crews wish for in order to film the after effect - that kind of "happier" day. Precipitation was nowhere in sight, humidity was on vacation, and only the sun remained with a gentle breeze - at least that's what I absorbed from my ten minute breather before heading back into my office. 


At approximately 150pm I rolled my chair back to reach for something on the floor,  and noticed a vertical bounce building from underneath. The San Franciscan in me leapt to attention and identified the movement as emanating from the earth. Emergency crisis announcements advised that we stay in our seats. However, I took the more visceral approach and darted for the closest exit with droves of similarly rattled co workers. 


This was an historic 5.9 magnitude earthquake that hit Virginia and was felt as far as Manhattan. Located about six kilometers of Mineral, Virginia the magnitude was initially 5.8 but since then has been upgraded. Suddenly, the East Coast was caught off guard by something unusually Californian. 


Suddenly I was transported back to San Francisco during the equally historic earthquake of October 17 1989. The World Series was interrupted, a portion of the Bay Bridge collapsed, and I was at King Norman's Toy Store on Clement St. where the ceiling had cracked open and I climbed out from under the rubble of board games Life and Risk. 


Thankfully, I was jolted back to the safer reality of the current temblor which reported no serious injuries. A sigh of relief followed by a string of jovial Facebook messages from San Franciscan friends gave me comfort. And why not mark this historical quaking moment with a densely packed chocolate shake from our office's neighboring gourmet burger brilliance, Shake Shack, right?!


Alas Shake Shack was all shook up! The adjacent edifice that houses this fiercely rebranded burger joint was under construction and had to undergo more extensive post tremor examination prior to allowing public access. So no chocolate shake (pout). Yet I happily return to my desk albeit sensitive to the slightest vibration. 


So where were you at 150pm yesterday Wednesday August 24th? Did you feel the earth move under your feet? 

A Favorite Facebook status ~ revived from this day last year 2010

Dalai Lama says "The purpose of our lives is to be happy." 
Dalai LIM. A says "Find your passion so you find your purpose." 


And once you find your purpose waste not a single minute. So grab that shot of cappuccino, get excited til you just can't hide it, and run the like the wind. Perhaps it's just me and my usually sleep deprived self,  harkening back to memories of my early 20s when my mom would, like clockwork at every New Year's Eve, sit at the foot of my bed and advise "When are you going to change? You waste so much time, and it's worth much more than gold. Wait til you realize this, and hope it's not too late." Love my mama for this, and I'd like to think I "got it" in time. 


To Everything There is A Season, as sung by the Byrds in the 60s. May we find our moments, our pace that echoes our heartbeat, while pushing the envelope and challenging us to be the best we  were meant to be. Living this motto in the moment would mean getting out of bed now that it is three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. Freshly French pressed coffee can only assuage one's guilt for so long, not to mention a dwindling box of French macaroons - well you can call it an empty box now.


Checking in on my passions as follows in chronological order: Performing (singing, dancing, acting), Photography, Baking, Blogging/writing. One wouldn't ask a parent of four children "Who's your favorite?" I think mine is apparent, but each of these purposes was born in its own time, with its own personality. So I will nurture them in the hopes that they, like children, become my pride and joy. That for all the world's drudgery and dismay, I have contributed towards a fruitful future.