Celebrit-A-Go-Go

I saw some very amazing people recently. I'm of course, talking about my Maine friends Carla and Andrew (and also Tara, who gets another, upcoming post). Carla and Andrew visited in February during Carla's birthday. In celebration of which, we attended a taping of The Colbert Report.

I had never been part of a live studio audience before, but I have to say this was a good introduction, albeit a little surreal. There we were, after hours of waiting, sitting in our seats, and on the set below us was Stephen Colbert, telling jokes, interviewing people, and saying the most horrible things in character in order to make us laugh. Colbert, the guy whose audio book I owned, and who I watched every night when I had cable.

Colbert was the second famous person I've seen since moving to New York. The first was David Blane, making an appearance in Times Square to raise money for Haiti. I hadn't planned on seeing Blane--I was wandering Manhattan on my day off, when I saw a crowd of people and television cameras. Wow! THE David Blane! Amazing!

Who the hell is David Blane?

I made it my business to Google him a few days later, when I remembered there was a guy people thought was famous doing coin tricks in Times Square. Turns out, Blane enjoys suspending himself in water and locking himself up in a cube for days at a time in order to, well, I don't know why. Here's a(nother) photo I took:

Notice, he's not contained in a block of ice, and he hasn't set himself on fire. He's just standing there, being famous, but at least he's raising money for earthquake victims this time. It's not about being weird.

I got a lot closer to Blane than I did Colbert, but I found Colbert a lot more entertaining, and judging by the cheers, Carla and Andrew had a fine time as well. The next day, after the taping, we went out for brunch near Central Park. The pancakes were fine and the sausage was sausagey, but the most important part of brunch came while I was in the bathroom line, where I over heard:

"Tony Bennett is here, eating. He doesn't like to be bothered, though."

I walked back through the restaurant.

And there he was. Tony Bennett. Eating, and not being bothered. He wasn't at a table secluded from everyone. He was just ... being a normal guy. So I didn't bother him, just glanced briefly, before telling Andrew who, likewise, looked but didn't bother.

I don't consider myself big on Hollywood. I don't read People, I stay away from E! (barring "The Soup," I can't be bothered with extraneous punctuation), Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood, or whatever.

I am, however, as susceptible to curiosity as the next guy, and within many people, there is an unconscious, lingering question that is rarely answered: Are the people we see on TV, whether we care about them or not, really real?

where'd I go?

… I muttered somethin’ underneath my breath
She studied the lines on my face.
I must admit I felt a little uneasy
When she bent down to tie the laces of my shoe …

Lately, I can't help but notice the lines in my face. Where did these bags under my eyes come from? I'm getting older, a little bit each day. Pretty soon I'll be feeling around the back of my head for a bald spot.

Indecisivenessitudeish

People, and by people I mean "women," find confidence and decisiveness to be a turn on, which means that I may very well lead a celibate life. I'm thinking of even trademarking "I'm not marred to the idea," although I could go either way--what do you think?
I have decided that if I do attend the screening of The Room, it may be easier because:

1. I have a place to crash that's closer to the theater
2. I will be taking a friend, good ol' Oleoresin Capsicum
3. I may just splurge and take a cab anyway

But, as Blume once said, "Then again, maybe I won't." (That's right, I quoted Judy Blume. Fuck yeah!) Maybe I'll be too tired to see a movie that starts at midnight. Maybe I'll be awake, but too groggy to appreciate just why people around me are tossing plastic spoons at the screen. Besides, director Tommy Wiseau is difficult enough to understand when one is completely awake and, let's face it, sober.

Maybe I don't want to be intimidated by reports of violent crime on the subway, and go see something I enjoy. Maybe I'm being bull-headed by taking a needless risk just to go out on a Friday night.

Maybe I can just do whatever the hell I feel like when the moment comes, and just be OK with that.

Maybe I'm making a lot of fuss over nothing.

(Thank you all to those who gave advice. Your input, as always, is genuinely appreciated.)

Going slightly mad

The other day on the subway, I sat across from ruthless North Korean dictator Kim Jong Il. Either that, it was somebody's Korean grandmother. Tough call.

Speaking of crazy people …

I have tickets to see a special screening of "The Room," widely credited with being the "Citizen Kane" of bad movies (having seen the Riff Trax version, I'm inclined to agree with that assessment). The screening will feature a special appearance by the film's writer/director/star Tommy "You're Tearing Me Apart!" Wiseau.

The problem is, like many cult film outings, this is a midnight showing, meaning I wouldn't get back to Astoria until well after 2 a.m. I don't mind staying up late. What worries me is having to take the subway back.

I had a scary experience a couple of Saturdays ago where I was riding the train back from a party.* Riding in my car at about 2 a.m. was a very loud, angry and potentially violent man whose incoherent shouts included insights about Obama, 9/11, Caucasians and Chinese people (why the Chinese were singled out over Asians such as the Japanese and Laotians, I don't know).

I understand running into the occasional hoodlum whacked out on crunk juice and crack is par for the course of living here, but I'd rather avoid these situations if I can. It shook me up, some, and I'm thinking of ditching the movie. I'd take a cab at least part of the way back, but I'm very short on funds, now. I'm open to advice.

* For some reason at this party, sticking a copy of the Wall Street Journal into a light fixture seemed like a really important idea to me.

Rain

I bought a cupcake.

This in of itself isn't unusual. The cupcake came from a bakery in Astoria that looks like it could have once been a hair salon, but I've never gotten so much as a follicle in my brioche. Plus, the sweets there are pretty amazing.

I felt I needed a cupcake because it's rainy, its Friday and my weekend plans have been cancelled. So, obviously, red velvet cupcake.

Rain, I think does strange things to New Yorkers, who can usually navigate the city streets on foot with the greatest of ease. Maybe moisture gets in their brain stems or something, but the weather seems to turn people clumsy and awkward, and before long they're banging into each other on the streets like human pinballs.

A lot of people around here use umbrellas, which I hate. They make people take up a lot of room on the sidewalk, plus they have these pointy spokes that are on about eye-level and can easily result in a Kill Bill-scenario. Add to the fact many can't be bothered to raise their umbrellas above eye-level, which means they easily run into people, which means it's all the more tempting to create a Kill Bill scenario of your own.

Warning: Gross. Do not watch if you're Barbara or possibly Carla



During the rain, trains run late, they're crowded and generally miserable. Getting off at my subway stop, however, and into pelting rain, I still felt kind of lucky. Right behind me is the Flatiron building, ahead is Madison Park, and not too far in the distance is the Empire State Building.

But my destination is my office -- a row of desks and eight hours in front of a monitor. At least my desk is next to the windows. Which allows me to see the rain, which, when you're inside, is kind of nice.

Tiredness

As much as this whole new/brave new world is wonderful, it doesn't leave a lot of time for writing. It seems like after a day of work, a day of shooting, a day of exploring, eating … there's hardly any energy left to connect with friends, let alone enough to blog. Which might explain why there aren't nearly as many entries on this as I'd planned. I'm hoping that will change, that once I get more settled, there'll be something left in me by the end of the day to harness a creative spark.

But for tonight – movies on Netflix, left over desert, and sleep.

On the subway

I used to own a car, but now I don't. And I'm cool with that. I was prone to frequent fits of road rage that had me flipping off fellow motorists, as well as police officers and any roadkill I saw, so I don't miss driving. I do miss the car itself, as it was a shiny blue Mustang. God, I miss that car. …

Since I sold that beautiful, beautiful car, it's been up to the Metropolitan Transportation Authority to get me where I'm going, and my choice of ride is the subway.

I like the subway. I honestly do. For $2.25, I can ride as many trains as I want and can easily get to four out of five boroughs.

Right now, the MTA is under a lot of criticism for their proposed budget cuts. Some subway lines (including the W, which I use) are on the chopping block. Alternatives include laying off workers, raising fares and sacrificing small children to their bloodthirsty god. I personally prefer the latter two choices: I would rather pay a bit more to keep the current level of service, and less children mean more seats for me.

So, while I do enjoy these subterranean trains, there are a few things that confound me:

1: Weekend schedules. On a trip to Brooklyn last month, I had boarded a train, (I forget which one, the M, Z or π ) only to have it hit a couple or stops and then start going backwards. If I had been more observant, I would have noticed the train had been designated as "shuttle" for the weekend, but this was in February, and most of my concentration was spent on not having my limbs fall off due to frostbite.

2: Garbled communication. On trains that do not have an automated voice or display that tells you which stop is which, you're pretty much at the mercy of the conductor who announces stops over a loudspeaker that was built circa 1925. For whatever reason, the mouths of conductors are injected with large amounts of Novocaine. These combined factors ensures that no rider will ever know where he or she is on any given train. Many riders will depart the train, thinking that they're on 42nd Street, only to find they have, in fact, arrived in Miami.

3: Other riders. I don't like to be touched, usually. I'm a big fan of my space, my bubble, whatever. If you're a close talker, I'll be in contact with you just long enough to shove you violently backwards. That being said, it's common to be crammed in with a lot of people and you find your backside is constantly brushing up against some guy's briefcase ... oh, God, please tell me that's just a brief case.

4. Late trains. When a train is late, especially at rush hour, it usually means that when it does finally arrive it will be packed with people. The crush only gets worse as the 5,000 riders waiting for the train on a platform all try to cram in at once. Why the trains are late is never made explicitly clear. We don't know what kept them, but late trains will often arrive at the station bedecked in Mardi Gras beads, filled with confetti and smelling of cheap whiskey.

5. Blocked doors. A lot of trauma could be avoided if people didn't crowd around the entrances to the cars. I'm not sure why they do this, other than to get a great view out of the windows of the subway doors. As for me, you see one darkened tunnel, you've seen them all. Younger riders can be forgiven for blocking the subway doors, despite the pleas from the automated voice asking them not to. Young people are stupid and thoughtless, and I've come to terms with their nature. But I can't abide some dude in a suit blocking the doors when people are trying to exit the car. In these situations, I find the best recourse is to politely but firmly deliver a sharp elbow to the solar plexus. As you step over where they lay on the ground, writhing in agony, make sure you them, "That's what you get, you filthy bastard," so they know it's all in good fun.