Little Brett, Big City

In 1989, I graduated from Bowling Green State University. Which is a mouthful. So when people in New York asked me where I went to school. I would just say "Bowling Green."  The first time, I got a quizzical look and a "Huh?" The second person finally asked, "You went to school at a subway station?" My turn to go "Huh?" I then learned that "Bowling Green" is indeed a station on the #4 and #5 lines on the NYC Subway system, way downtown in the Financial District. I'm including a pic of the Bowling Green "head house," which is the rare, above-ground part of a station that contains escalators, elevators, and ticket agents. (Thanks again, Wikipedia.) (Wikimedia Commons/DSchwen) This little beauty is a New York City-designated landmark and is on the National Register of Historic Places. And I still haven't been there yet. 

I continued my walk through Times Square after temping that day at CitiGroup. I did not loiter in the "Crossroads of the World." Instead, I fixed my eyes ahead, not daring to engage anyone. When ultimately asked for money by a guy with nice shoes, I just scowled and shook my head "No." Two weeks in the city and I was already building up my New Yorker defense shield!  I also steered clear of the X-rated temptations on 42nd Street. OK, I peeked at a couple of the porn shops and theaters, but I felt a little sleazy in my interview suit. Better to stay focused and just get home.  Once passed that circus, the shadows in the streets grew longer. The blocks below Times Square were emptier with only grim delis and gated storefronts guarding bald mannequins. Turning one wrong corner could drop you into a bad neighborhood. I walked quickly, close to the curb, listening for footsteps or car doors opening. No one was going to surprise me. I felt relieved when I saw Macy's u

After two weeks in New York, I landed a temp job for several days at the world headquarters for Citigroup on Park Avenue. I assisted the only executive remaining in a department that had already been downsized. So I basically just edited his resume and answered his phone for $15 an hour. A welcome gig that replenished my shrinking cash supply.  I was out of the building by 5:10 my first day, walking down Park Avenue, a half dozen wide avenues away from my YMCA. The faceless yuppies that sprinted past me that morning now raced back to Grand Central Station. But I took my time, meandering through Midtown's maze, then over and down to the Westside. Most blocks, already devoid of sunlight, were quiet,  packing it up for the day.  City icons appeared unannounced. Rockefeller Plaza's concrete-ringed valley brimmed with cafe tables instead of ice skaters. Beyond that, Radio City Music Hall's marquee lit up 6th Avenue announcing that Siegfried & Roy would soon reside there for

With her unparalleled ability to create controversy, Madonna scored her seventh #1 single on the Billboard Hot 100 on April 22, 1989 with "Like A Prayer."  I remember when the video first hit MTV the month before. The Catholic Church was not pleased. Stigmata! Burning crosses! Was Madonna kissing Black Jesus?! I was just as shocked when I saw it. Madonna with brown hair! More importantly, The-Artist-Formerly-Known-As-Material-Girl had upgraded her mission from pop star to "serious artist." She was now 30 and felt she had to grow up with her audience. Her marriage to Sean Penn had just ended. Broadway critics panned her debut in "Speed-The-Plow." Her films "Shanghai Surprise" (missed that one) and "Who's That Girl" failed at the box office. She needed a change.  "Like A Prayer" signaled her new, more personal approach to songwriting, addressing her feelings about religion. She told Rolling Stone magazine: "Sometimes I&

  When I got to New York in 1989 you had many newspapers to choose from: The New York Times, The Daily News, New York Post, Newsday, Wall Street Journal...But every cool New Yorker read The Village Voice each week. I studied every page my first year there, looking for clues on how to join their ranks.  The "Choices" section listed too many ideas on how to spend my time and money..."indie" films at the Angelika and the Waverly, museum exhibits and lots of art galleries in Soho. I loved all the music club ads for acts I used to play on my college radio show like The Mighty Lemon Drops and The Mission UK.  The classifieds in the back hinted at how Young New York really lived. There were a lot of "Help Wanted" ads for telemarketers, waiters, and store clerks — more like "rent" gigs for creative types than wannabe yuppies like me. Not many posts for PR jobs.  Finding an apartment in New York looked easy when you saw the sheer volume of "For Rent

  As my mother studiously wrote on the back, this little gem is from 1972. Look at me with that natural curl. And I wasn't even wearing any mousse!  Some of you have kindly asked how "The Book" is going. Easter eggs aside, I'm on the hunt for a literary agent for my finished manuscript. (Well, is it ever finished?) Seems like I've got a pretty darn good pitch, or "query letter" as they call it in the biz. So far, I've received 11 responses out of 25 pitches. Not bad since agents get hundreds of pitches a year, and they don't owe me a thing.  Nice replies usually, but nothing solid yet because of their current workload of projects, or my story just isn't right for them. More than one has mentioned that memoirs have been difficult to sell to publishers lately. Ruh-roh. Maybe I'll turn it into a comic book.  So if you haven't already, my Easter request to you dear reader is to sign up here for future installments of "Little Brett, B