One of my most vivid/terrifying/later hilarious experiences during my travels was on a night train from middle-of-nowhere Switzerland to Paris with my roommate. The midnight trip disastrously begun when train officials could not find our reservations on the full train. After begging to sit up in the dining car, they let us on with another (seemingly crazy) woman who was ranting about the flaws of French government. After a day of skiing ungroomed trails on the Swiss Alps, we were both about to collapse.
In short, the conductor threatened to kick us off the train at the next stop, the crazy lady found us empty bunks to sleep in, we made it to Paris, and ran off the train with train officials dashing after us screaming in French.
The crazy lady asked to take pictures of me for a documentary she was making about colors that was being made in Hollywood by Martin Scorcese. I said no, and went to look for a croissant.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Movie Theater with couches? Yes, please.
Slalom around hunched RISD students, weighed down by canvases and creativity, and make your way to the striped awning of the Cable Car Cinema on South Main Street, Providence. The tiny store-front lacks the pomp and circumstance of a 20 screen multiplex, as well as the main-stream movies, and the teenagers giggling at the latest Katherine Heigl catastrophe.
The cinematic treasure trove offers unusual films in an unusual setting. Enter the cafe area to find every indulgence you could possibly imagine...Vosges chocolates, Silver Star Bakery croissants, PB&J, fresh squash soup, grilled cheese. The mind reels! No need to ruin your handbag sneaking in last nights pasta or a Starbucks latte. The Cable Car Cafe runs the gamut of fancy coffees AND beer and wine.
The black and white checkered floor gives a retro vibe, as does the large texaco sign above the tables and chairs in the little dining area. One might even divulge in some reading (nonchalantly perched on a book rack) while waiting for a flick to begin.
The Cable Car has been dedicated to quality obscure films since 1976. It shows films that will give you the conversational edge in the realm of art, culture, and existentialism. The coolest part? Sinking into the black leather couches with your Brooklyn Lager in the cup holder. Grab an early seat and check out the murals - 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea meets the Wizard of Oz? - you decide.
The cinematic treasure trove offers unusual films in an unusual setting. Enter the cafe area to find every indulgence you could possibly imagine...Vosges chocolates, Silver Star Bakery croissants, PB&J, fresh squash soup, grilled cheese. The mind reels! No need to ruin your handbag sneaking in last nights pasta or a Starbucks latte. The Cable Car Cafe runs the gamut of fancy coffees AND beer and wine.
The black and white checkered floor gives a retro vibe, as does the large texaco sign above the tables and chairs in the little dining area. One might even divulge in some reading (nonchalantly perched on a book rack) while waiting for a flick to begin.
The Cable Car has been dedicated to quality obscure films since 1976. It shows films that will give you the conversational edge in the realm of art, culture, and existentialism. The coolest part? Sinking into the black leather couches with your Brooklyn Lager in the cup holder. Grab an early seat and check out the murals - 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea meets the Wizard of Oz? - you decide.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
The Avon Theater...Providence, RI
"There is no geographical solution to an emotional problem," my friend told me as we drove off of the URI campus and headed east toward the towers. "You know who said that," he asked. "Tony Soprano."
I mulled this over, and as it did at first seem profound in a simple and slightly rhyming way, my mind gradually came to reject it. I did support that this bold statement could be true for the brokenhearted. Whether a broken heart resides in the frozen tundra, or basks on under an equatorial sun, it will not be mended based on its longitude and latitude. However, in the past year, I have learned that my emotional problems are, in fact, in direct correlation to my geography...
This very day, I had woken up in my oversized colonial in the suburbs of Narragansett, Rhode Island. While many people (especially middle-aged house wives) would leap out of bed everyday to cook breakfast in my brand-new granite counter-topped kitchen, the quiet drives my mind into a frenzy.
Where my suburban environment induces feeling of boredom and depression, it takes only a drive to Providence to elevate spirits and renew inspirations.
"I need cities," I told my friend.
"They are like drugs," he said. "You keep going back for a fix."
"Well, Tony, I do have a geographical solution to my emotional problem." I said. Ha!"
Tyson grabbed an old record company flyer that was plastered to the floor of my car and wrote down the Tony's saying. Writers always carry pens. Each writer has their own tick - the mid-sentence chew, the finger twirl, and then there's always the nervous tap.
Our Monday evening destination was the Avon Theater on East Providence's Thayer Street. The old single-screen movie theater is just a stone's throw from the coffee snob's haven of Blue State cafe and the Providence youngster's uniform shop - Urban Outfitters.
As we slipped, glided, and slid our way from the car, Rhett Butler, Marilyn Monroe, and a few of their friends gazed down at us in black and white from the brick side of the building. Inside, the price is written in white on a small black sign that sits on the counter. The $9.50 admission did not cause grumbles from patrons, as it does at huge cinema multi-plexes. Perhaps this is because the Avon takes a movie and makes it into a nostalgic viewing experience - complete with old-fashioned tickets (the kind that come in huge rolls and are still used for raffles) and glass coke bottles.
The theater itself boasts red velvet seats, a shade or two brighter than the curtain on the stage. Pre-show piano music invites you to sit down and take in the surrounding conversations. The exquisitely miss-matched couple behind us discussed their favorite Jane Austen and J.R.R. Tolkien novels, girl and boy respectively.
Before the feature began, dancing popcorn cartons appeared on the screen, singing that "the popcorn can't be beat, so let's all go to the lobby to get yourself a treat!" There was a slight shakiness to the picture to remind you that this place does not embrace the modernity of most theaters. We sat back against the plush velvet, and enjoyed The King's Speech. I would go into the wonderfully endearing and inspiring film, but that's for another time...
I mulled this over, and as it did at first seem profound in a simple and slightly rhyming way, my mind gradually came to reject it. I did support that this bold statement could be true for the brokenhearted. Whether a broken heart resides in the frozen tundra, or basks on under an equatorial sun, it will not be mended based on its longitude and latitude. However, in the past year, I have learned that my emotional problems are, in fact, in direct correlation to my geography...
This very day, I had woken up in my oversized colonial in the suburbs of Narragansett, Rhode Island. While many people (especially middle-aged house wives) would leap out of bed everyday to cook breakfast in my brand-new granite counter-topped kitchen, the quiet drives my mind into a frenzy.
Where my suburban environment induces feeling of boredom and depression, it takes only a drive to Providence to elevate spirits and renew inspirations.
"I need cities," I told my friend.
"They are like drugs," he said. "You keep going back for a fix."
"Well, Tony, I do have a geographical solution to my emotional problem." I said. Ha!"
Tyson grabbed an old record company flyer that was plastered to the floor of my car and wrote down the Tony's saying. Writers always carry pens. Each writer has their own tick - the mid-sentence chew, the finger twirl, and then there's always the nervous tap.
Our Monday evening destination was the Avon Theater on East Providence's Thayer Street. The old single-screen movie theater is just a stone's throw from the coffee snob's haven of Blue State cafe and the Providence youngster's uniform shop - Urban Outfitters.
As we slipped, glided, and slid our way from the car, Rhett Butler, Marilyn Monroe, and a few of their friends gazed down at us in black and white from the brick side of the building. Inside, the price is written in white on a small black sign that sits on the counter. The $9.50 admission did not cause grumbles from patrons, as it does at huge cinema multi-plexes. Perhaps this is because the Avon takes a movie and makes it into a nostalgic viewing experience - complete with old-fashioned tickets (the kind that come in huge rolls and are still used for raffles) and glass coke bottles.
The theater itself boasts red velvet seats, a shade or two brighter than the curtain on the stage. Pre-show piano music invites you to sit down and take in the surrounding conversations. The exquisitely miss-matched couple behind us discussed their favorite Jane Austen and J.R.R. Tolkien novels, girl and boy respectively.
Before the feature began, dancing popcorn cartons appeared on the screen, singing that "the popcorn can't be beat, so let's all go to the lobby to get yourself a treat!" There was a slight shakiness to the picture to remind you that this place does not embrace the modernity of most theaters. We sat back against the plush velvet, and enjoyed The King's Speech. I would go into the wonderfully endearing and inspiring film, but that's for another time...
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