Yann's photo of Cyrus, me, and the rest of the class Wednesday morning at graduation. It's up on the J-school web page, www.jrn.columbia.edu! 

Arthur article

I haven't written a post in ages, probably because I've been writing so much for school. School's finally over for me, though --- I turned in my last assignment on Wednesday. As soon as I figure out how to cut and paste it here (it's a radio documentary about the Russian platza) I will.

Life is good. I have no complaints, except that I just ate stale Chips Ahoy! and my allergies are making me grouchy. My time at journalism school is coming to an end, and I am starting my first job at a daily newspaper in about three weeks. I'm searching for an apartment, singing and playing around town, and freelancing more than ever before. Speaking of which, I just wrote this short ditty for Dave Cuomo's new startup, Urban Folk. I'd appreciate any suggestions that you, in this void, have for the piece. (That and I don't feel like writing anymore. It's time to go out.)

Arthur explained

At night, after everyone has fled home from a long day of work,
New York City is still eight million people thick. I became one of
the eight million in August, when I moved to Manhattan from
Rochester, the medium-sized city in Upstate New York where I’d
grown up and gone to college. About a week before I moved in, the
longest relationship of my life dissolved. I was distraught, but
oddly comforted by that number: eight million.

The graduate program I was starting had a reputation for being
tough, and I’d just started to write and perform my own music. I
knew I’d be busy. I hoped early on, though, that I’d find a new big
love. I figured I’d have little trouble, sharing sidewalks with
millions of men.

This isn’t the story of how lucky I was. It’s not the story of
the one who got away. It’s more of a cautionary tale about how my
idealism turned into realism, and how a guy – first name Arthur,
last name Unknown – became my best-ever song.

We met on the subway at 11 p.m. He looked at me like he thought
I was a movie star. His name was Arthur and he was in acting school
at NYU. I thought he was cute.

That’s how the song, which I call "Arthur," begins. I’ve sung
it at various bars around town, including the Underground Lounge, C
Note, and the Sidewalk Café. The lyrics are true-to-life, and while
I’m a little freaked out that Arthur might one day hear it, or read
this Urban Folk article, I’m not so freaked out that I’ll scrap it.
After being trained as a reporter, it seems frivolous to write
songs that aren’t honest. Arthur is more literary journalism than
hard news, but it’s a rough account of what happened that night.

What happened that night, which happened to be the night of
Valentine’s Day, was this: I shared a few dances and a sandwich
with a 20-something guy named Arthur, and then we parted ways. As
the chorus of the song explains, he licked mustard off of my
fingers, then he never called.

For me, the kicker was how into me he seemed. Arthur talked
about synchronicity with respect to our meeting each other, and he
asked if I liked musicals as he punched my number into his phone.
As an actor, I have to reason that Arthur does this sort of thing
now and again to brush up on his skills. As a musician, I have to
stop complaining to my friends and sing about it.

Many of New York’s eight million become more self-centered
after having been here. They insulate themselves with, rather than
introducing themselves to, sidewalk-strangers. They take what they
want from you and they leave.

When people tell me they relate to this song, it makes me feel
good. I think a lot of them, like me, figured that finding love in
a city of eight million would be like playing the world’s easiest
dating game. We were wrong. Now that I’ve been schooled, I’m
writing a few theme songs.

Two guys on a bench, Coney Island Boardwalk 

Katarzyna and Alex in shadows at Ballroom on Fifth