In Five... Four... Three... Two...

Dad, I will be posting in full very soon. 

It's just that things have been busy and this website wasn't loading my videos correctly and my internet connection in my apartment is spotty at best. I have nine more excuses, which you can read on my new Excuses blog, starting in May.

In the meantime, here's a video I took from my seat in the control room during rehearsal. 

i really enjoy this ee cummings typesetting style that I didn't choose (and can't seem to change)

This 'n That

I think it's time to change the name of this blog to something more indicative of it's random, sporadic nature. It's less "word for word" in the classical Kilgariff sense and more "blah blah blah" with pictures. I just want you to know I realize I've stopped reporting on my day to day and now I'm just trying to string my iphone photos together with some kind of logical narrative. It's the hackiest kind of blogging and it will not stand. I'm onto me, big time.

It's just that my life of late has been boiled down to work, pizza and the bi-weekly New York night life moment. Let's see if I can dig out a nugget of interest for my people. Auntie Ping, this one's for you:

Can you smell the fame?

OK, here's me writing at Jerry's desk. I can't remember why, but I had to leave the writer's room that day to write by myself. There was no internet service in my office, so Tom said I could use the office he shares with Jerry. Of course, I sat at Jerry's desk because I am a rebel and an upstart, then figured I should take a picture of such an epic moment. Just so you know, there is not one personal item in or around this desk. Even that tangerine is mine. There's a good chance he's never even sat there.

But still, I know how people love celebrity desks, so I thought I'd share. 

This is a traveling see-thru antique truck. Talk about class.

So, remember my friend Lisa Leingang? She was the manager at The Improv in SF back in the day? Red head? Now she lives in NYC and she's going to have a baby in December. Aren't you fascinated by what the connection could possibly be between Lisa and this picture? THERE IS NONE!!! I was walking to her baby shower and I passed this screened-in flatbed truck full of antiques and lo and behold, there's the lion drinking fountain from Fairyland!

This is a picture from Children's Fairyland, Oakland CA. Trust me on this. 

So this became one of those bittersweet moments where I was so excited to see the lion fountain, but then I realized I was alone in a strange city where no one really knew me. I mean, I could've run into a bodega and quickly explained the magical happenstance to the cashier, but that's not really my style. I just decided to take a picture before the see-thru antique truck drove away with one of my earliest childhood memories. (I know it's not the exact same one, but it's symbolic, goddammit.)

Focus on the left side of the screen.

And finally- this picture was taken as I passed the front of Bergdorf-Goodman in a cab at night. Do you see the fashion atrocity being presented as a choice for winter wear?! Red pants! Where am I right now, Paris France? 

All right, this post has been as disappointing for me as it has for you. But I promise, my shame will be the catalyst for my improvement. That's how I did it in high school!

My eyes!

It’s the second show day of our first week of shows and I gotta say, I show am tired! (I love that joke.)

We taped on Tuesday and although it all went great, I’m pretty sure I’m not legally allowed to talk about the details in this public setting. Let’s just agree to not discuss it at Thanksgiving (wink wink).

After the Tuesday show, we went to a VERY fancy restaurant (name withheld for legal reasons) and fittingly, they had the fanciest butter I’ve ever seen. 

Like buttah...

When the waitress put the bread basket down, she started explaining how there were four different types of butter and how each bread went with a different one, blah blah blah.

I wasn’t paying attention because it was 11 o’clock at night and my eyes were burning and I could barely read the menu. When I was able to make out a word, it was either Italian or one of those fancy restaurant words I’ve never seen before, which made my attempt at ordering to sound something like this:

“Could I ask, what is machantato?”

“That’s a beef stock lightly blended with Wondra and drizzled over the meat.”

“So, it’s gravy?

“Well…technically yes.”

“All right. And what is supsinteri?”

“That’s codfish with some parsley next to it.”

“Can you come back to me? I’ve lost the will to live.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

I ended up getting a tootsie-roll shaped pasta with gorgonzola inside. It tasted like something only people who live in castles eat. Rich like you wouldn’t believe. It was delicious, but delicious in the way that eating frosting out of the can is delicious. A little goes a long way.

I started with a salad that looked like a handful of something you’d feed a goat. Weeds and clover and dandelions and lawn trimmings, topped off with just a drizzle of balsamic to help you choke it down. I decided I’d man up and eat everything that wasn’t spiky or thistled. You know, make the best of it. After about three bites, I had to stop. It was like someone had walked through a field, spilled their salad dressing and didn’t want to waste it. I realized it wasn’t my problem and the butter lady came and took it away.

The desserts seemed nice, but at that point, my eyes were closing up shop and I knew I only had about seven more minutes before I went face down in the profiterole. 
The good news is, we're going there again after the show tonight, so I'll have another chance to get it right.
(EDITOR'S NOTE: I don't know why the text gets all big like this sometimes. It's not intentional. It's actually kind of embarrassing.) 

TESTING...TESTING...CHECK ONE TWO...

Will this one work like the good old blogs? Who knows? I'm just going to throw some stuff up and see...

Here's a movie of a talented lady who was singing and playing a Casio keyboard at the Hell's Kitchen flea market I called you from last Saturday...

I only caught the jazzy vamped-out end of that number. She was either singing The Look of Love or the jingle from the Empire Carpets commercial. I wanted to film her more, but I could feel her watching me from behind her dark glasses, so I became unnerved and moved on. She was also wearing gloves, which seemed suspicious to me for a keyboard player.

Is that video going to end up being too small to make out any hilarious details? Goddammit! It's fine, it's fine. Let's just keep going...

Here's the only item at the flea market I even remotely considered buying...

One of the extras from Babe.

It could be nice over the mantel, right? I don't know. I guess I'll go back this Saturday and if it didn't get snatched up already, I'll take it as a sign that it was meant to be mine. Those fangs might just be big enough to hang coats off of. Or stick some daily affirmations onto. You know what, I'm not going to decide right now. I'll let the universe guide me.

They also had an old steamer trunk sitting open and this picture was on the inside of the lid:

This makes me wish I went to fishing school, but oh no! You insisted I study theater in Sacramento.

I think there's a chance that steamer trunk once belonged to Molly Malone and that's the sticker she used to put on all her stuff to let people know it was hers, cockles and mussels and whatnot. 

Hey, have you noticed that this is all working out great so far? Pictures going where I put them, captions for the pictures going where they're supposed to, the whole sheblog! (Sorry. That was terrible.) 

Except for how tiny that movie may or may not turn out to be, I think I'm back on track. Let's just forget that mess of a blog yesterday ever happened. 

I Really Tried

Dad- It used to be so much easier to be a blogger. I'm not sure what changed. Maybe I've begun to take this magical city for granted. Maybe I've stopped taking pictures because of the constant purple halo that keeps appearing when I use my camera phone. (It's actually my phone cover getting in the way. I finally figured that out. I secretly hoped it was ghosts.)

I haven't done anything compelling since my last post, except for one lovely day trip.

Don and Adam thought it would be nice to go to Cold Spring, about half and hour outside the city, so we could see the fall colors. We climbed a mountain. It was very cathartic.

.
That second picture is the Hudson River valley. You can't see it, but West Point is right there at the bend in the river.

I would've explained that in between photos, but it's not working and I'm getting mad.

And somehow, I've lost the ability to write captions for the pictures now. And that was my favorite part of blogging!

That and the glory. I also can't seem to control where the pictures end up when I upload them.

To be honest, I kind of feel like throwing this computer on the ground and screaming, "JUST FORGET IT!" as loud as I can.

I won't. I want to, though.

I have to stop trying to make the best of this post and just bail so I can fix the settings on this blog site.

Might need to reboot the entire system. Maybe hack into a mainframe somewhere.

I'm going to fix it and try again later. Because that's what blogging is all about.

The Sunday Guilt Edition

Oh, hi Dad! How's it going? Good, good. Me? I'm just blogging to you on my blog. You know, the way you like.

First of all, Go Giants!

Is one of these guys Barry Bonds?

I didn't get to see any of that game, but I hear it turned out well.

I spent the day on 110th and Broadway, shooting man-on-the-street stuff for the show. In the business, we call it MOS. That stands for Man On Street. We feel the "the" is unnecessary in the shortened version. Makes it take too long.

Turns out, we were shooting a block away from the cathedral of St. John the Divine. After lunch, Page took me and our two APs Hannah and Tennile (yes, she was named after Captain and Tennile) down there to look at it while the crew was setting up the shot. AP is short for Assistant Producer. That's the person who assists the producer.

So, here's what it looked like when we first saw it from a block away...

What's all the fuss about?

Then you get up to it...

That double decker tour bus really adds to the majesty.

Then you go inside...

There was a wedding ceremony taking place while we were in there, so we couldn't go up near the altar area, but we could hear everything they were saying. The acoustics were great! I could barely keep from belting out a few bars of 'Jesus Light of All the World'.

After the shoot, we walked across the Columbia campus, which was also just a couple blocks away. That's where Page went to college, so she gave me the tour, which consisted of her pointing to buildings and explaining how much better Columbia is than NYU. Enlightening.

Central Park 2: The Reckoning

This is Don and Adam. Aren't they pointy?

Two different men, two different pointing fingers. 

All right, so back to the virtual tour of Central Park.

I really liked this next part that you're about to see. I didn't know what I was walking into, I just heard the singing and hit record. And now you get to enjoy it exactly as I experienced it.

Awesome, right?
OK, then we walked out of there and found ourselves here:

Those lilly pads are the only unused surface in the entire park. 

It's Bethesda Fountain! Isn't it pretty? Here's a wide shot that some professional took:

Copyright 2004. Impressive.

That pond back there was chock full of tourists in boats. No one tipped over that I saw, but Adam said he once watched a couple totally flip their boat and then start screaming at each other, each accusing the other one of ruining their vacation. He said it was hilarious and sad. It made me think of you and Mike Christie on that ridiculous canoe trip we took down the Russian River so long ago. You guys were more fun about your flipping over, probably because you had more Budweiser in you.

And finally, my proudest achievement of the day:

I screamed out loud.

This was taken as we were walking around the reservoir. You know, the place Dustin Hoffman jogs around in the beginning of The Marathon Man? Click on the link below for a reminder.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDx6h251XFc&feature=related

Please note: They've decommissioned it as a true reservoir, probably due to rats or bad vibes, so that chain-link fence isn't around it anymore. Now they have that black wrought iron gate that reminds one of Halloween. Much in the same way that man's pants remind one of Valentine's Day. Or Pizza Hut.

I've Been Doing Things!

I would just like the other 12 people who read this blog to know that my father e-mail guilted me so bad this morning about my lack of posting that I RAN to my computer to update. (By RAN, I mean took two steps to the coffee table.) Here's the exact quote:

"Karen, this one reminded me of the blogs you use to send to me and I found it kind of nostalgic.  (Followed by an overly-forwarded email with a mildly racist joke and about seven pictures attached. Then a bunch of crap about David Letterman, all ending with...) ...and even if you don't send any more blogs (which I loved) I'm still very proud of you."

Oh my god, right? That last line chilled me to the bone. I was already starting to feel kind of bad about not updating, but now I've been sucked down into a serious shame spiral. My inconsiderate blogging has turned my Dick Butkus of a father into a weepy Michael Landon. Hideous.

All right, Dad. Back to you. 

So, Don and Adam and I went to Central Park last weekend.

That's the very famous mall of trees. It's the one they use in movies all the time. My camerawork is a little shaky there. I'm looking into getting a steady-cam for my iPhone.

What's really hilarious about Central Park is that every inch of it gets used on the weekends. People were really sucking up any nature they could get. Blankets were being thrown down on any free patch of green that could be found. It was kind of nice to see citizens really using their civic services that way, although at certain times it almost had a shantytown feel to it.  I kept expecting to hear someone complain about Herbert Hoover.

Hold on...shit. This machine isn't letting me load any more stuff and now I have to get into the shower, so I'll have to add part deux later on today. 

Get ready for: a fountain, some guys pointing to a sign, an awesome tunnel and...A MAN IN RED PANTS!!! I know! I can't wait either!

 

  

And That's The Last I'll Say About It.

Dad! You'll be so relieved to know-- the humidity is GONE! It just left overnight without an apology or an explanation and the rest of the population immediately transitioned to sweaters and scarves. I thought there'd be an official announcement or a parade or something, but no. Or maybe the parade is just that everyone can now walk around without sweat dripping down their face. It relented just in time. I was about to start wearing a towel around my neck like Rocky.

Here's a lesson I learned this weekend- you shouldn't leave the house in outfits that don't transition from day to evening. You simply don't know who you'll run into or what might happen in this town. I'd leave my apartment in the morning thinking, "Oh, I'm just going to pick up a few things." Cut to me at midnight in a rock club wearing sweats and an oversized t-shirt that says 'Real People' on the front of it. That's a gross exaggeration, of course, but an emotionally accurate one.

None of the following is going to be in chronological order. This is more of a free-form post. It may remind you of the poetry you used to enjoy at that hippie bagel shop in the 60's. In fact, if you want to change into your black turtleneck and put on your beret, that would be far out.

So, at one point I saw this:

No means go.

That's actually a very realistic New York crossing signal. It says, "Do not cross, except for you people who are going to cross anyway. You guys should totally go for it. And really use your arms for momentum." I've never noticed how the walking guy has such swimmy arms. That part is unrealistic, seeing as there's always someone at least half a foot behind you everywhere you go. If you threw your elbow back like that you could clock some businessman in the chin. That settles it, I'm swimming to work today.

I like this picture:

Reminds me of my time in Paris before the war.

It's from our walk through Washington Square Park after we had that fancy dinner I told you about. They light this thing up so nicely at night, I guess for the bums and stoners who sit around it, panhandling. And why not? After a long day of heroin and chess, looking at some historical public art can really help you wind down.

I took a short movie of our fancy dinner:

Why didn't I put this before the picture of the arch? Because that's what The Man would want me to do. (snap snap snap snap- that's me applauding for myself.)
This place had a side dish they called Crispy Goosefat Potatoes. That's when you know you're in a high-class joint; when they brag about the fat in their food. We also ate mac and cheese with truffle oil and creamed corn. There's a good chance I developed gout there. I'm fine with it.

I saw this last night as I left my apartment to go eat dinner with NYU professor and former Gap pacesetter Dawn Fraser:

Even the sky is glad the humidity's over. 

Pretty pretty pretty.

Life In The Incredibly Crowded Lane

PLEASE NOTE: I'm not sure if these videos will actually work when I post this. Because it's an all-video installment, the logic and quality of the writing depends on you being able to see them. I can only know if they uploaded correctly once I post it, so if they won't play for you, don't get mad. I'll just write another one. We can't know until we know. Such is life.

Dani (Vetere, our writer's assistant and expert NYer) and I walked to a J. Crew sample sale after work the other day. Here's what part of our walk up 7th Ave looked like:

I've talked about this before, but you really have to know how to walk down the street here. It's an acquired skill. You need to keep the correct pace, weaving through wandering tourists and packs of jerks who insist on walking four abreast, if you want to get anywhere in a timely manner. I like the part where the guy passes directly in front of me really fast. He had to get to his train! Or away from the fuzz! Either way, I was definitely the jerk walking incorrectly on his trajectory.

Next, we have a little video of the writer's room. Our intrepid host Tom Papa is actually the one taking notes here, which is kind of hilarious. Not a common practice in this business we call show. (I'm using that phrase with sarcastic intent. Please read it as such.)

And that's what work looks like to me. Chuck Martin is the writer on the left across the table from me. Laura Krafft is the one in front of from me. We enjoy ourselves quite a bit. Lots of laughing, lots of Starbucks. It's a pretty sweet deal.

I have more, but the videos aren't even loading now and I don't want to make myself late for work. Although it would be kind of a great story if I lost my job because of blogging about my job.

Coffee Problem Solved, Then Unsolved

Sonofabitch!

I'll just get right to it: I finally bought myself a coffee maker, only to open the box and find the carafe was cracked! Can you see it up there? It kind of looks like a silver, upward-pointing arrow-- as if to say, "Up yours, Kilgariff!"
But I use it anyway. I use it knowing full well I could be drinking tiny shards of glass every morning; knowing that one day the whole thing could shatter in my hand. I use it in defiance of all that is safe and sane. And you know what? I kind of feel like a badass.
I heard a rumor I can order a replacement carafe on Amazon. I guess I'll do that after it falls apart and scalds my foot. Until then, I'll enjoy starting every morning with a jolt of caffeine spiked with danger.

I knew he was real!

I do my grocery shopping at a tiny little grocery store around the corner called the Amish Market. It's like a small, unhealthy Whole Foods. I still haven't figured out what's Amish about it. The employees seem to be locals, the products are predominantly European imports or just kinda expensive. No one is churning butter in the doorway or kneading bread in any kind of presentational way. But I like it anyway. I can forgive it for being a fraud because it carries bananas that were handpicked by a mythical beast. Somehow, the Yeti giving me the thumbs up really does something for me. It's like, he believes in me as much as I believe in him.

Blueblood central!

We did our first field shoot yesterday, which started out in front of the Met. (tropolitan Museum of Art) This is an apartment building across the street. I enjoy the color and the insanely gaudy statues out front. Page said this area is the most expensive real estate in the city, which makes sense. Of course you have to pay top dollar to have a front door that embarrassing. The entrance to my building in Hell's Kitchen is similar looking, except instead of statues, we have a live homeless lady who loiters there from time to time.

If I just find a dozen more,  I'll be able to put together my coffee table book, Men in Horrible Pants.

This is the sidewalk in front of the Met, which was awash with tourists and foreigners and of course, men in red pants. I just don't see the attraction. Does he think they look summer-y? Or is he a rodeo clown on vacation? Maybe he's afraid of getting lost. Or he thinks if he looks like he's already been stabbed in the legs, no one will mug him. Doesn't matter. I'm going to stop questioning my good fortune and enjoy the bounty.

Awww, the plague!

So, I have a mouse. I saw him run across the kitchen floor the first night I was here, but I didn't want to say anything because I know people get upset. I understand why you may think it's gross, but I like it. And that's hard for me to say publicly. Remember when I told everyone in ballet carpool that I liked the smell of skunk? Cami Osborne almost fainted. Everyone else screamed "Ew!" all the way down Bodega. That was the day I learned the hard lesson of not wearing my smelling heart on my sleeve.
But mice don't bother me. At first, I thought it was a huge cockroach and I almost lost my mind, but then I realized that cockroaches don't have ears that big and I was SO relieved. Someone told me if you have mice, you won't have cockroaches, so I'm all for him sharing my home. Sure, I've done a lot of abnormal surface wiping in the kitchen, but otherwise, that tradeoff works for me.
I'm gonna go see if he wants Chinese for dinner.

Well, well, well...

I had myself quite a weekend. Got my hair done, went to see a Broadway musical, did another comedy show and had a spiritual awakening. All in all, a strong 48 hours.

What I like about it here is that people are just going for it all of the time, in many different ways. Perhaps they're shoving a flyer at you as they scream-invite you to join a gym. Maybe they're scream-complaining about sports from behind the cash register at the corner bodega. Could be that they're just smoking really fast. I find the common denominators are quickness, loudness and talking. Oh my god, there's so much talking.

You know what else there is? Food on the street. And not just your standard hot dog cart...

In case you've never seen breakfast before.

I guess this is for tourists who don't want to get involved unless they know what they're in for. I understand that. It makes sense to show your wares. But does no one working here own a camera? Walking past this table was unnerving. It gave the impression that four brunchers were kidnapped, chairs and all, in the middle of what was otherwise a perfectly lovely meal.

Here's another one of those doorways I'm so crazy about...

I must've been a stone mason in a previous life.

On Saturday night, Don and I went to see the musical Promises, Promises. It's a light-hearted romp based on the movie The Apartment. That's right. you heard me. The Apartment.

This was before women's lib.

The music is by Burt Bacharach and the book is by Neil Simon. It was really hilarious. Sure, the female lead tries to commit suicide in Act 2, but they had her up and walk-singing it off in no time. Fun for the whole family. 

C'mon, gal! Stop killin' yourself...and all that jazz!

That's Sean Hayes on the far right, who plays CC Baxter. He was SO good and the audience adored him. As I sat there, way back in the rear mezzanine because we got our tickets at the TKTS discount booth 2 hours before the show started, I realized that the audience is there to adore you and part of being a performer is that you have to let them. This has never occurred to me before. I always thought they were there to judge and dismiss me. But if you think of it the other way, which I did at my show on Sunday, then everybody has a good time. Thank you Broadway musicals for teaching me another important life lesson. I thought I'd learned all there was to know after hearing It's A Hard Knock Life on the Annie soundtrack when I was 10, but no. That was just the tip of the iceberg. 

And then it was back to work today. Here are two things I saw on my walk home:

The ground was not purple in real life.

The two boys above were just blatantly smoking a joint as they walked down the street. Like a modern day Cheech and Chong, but without the van or the giggling. I started to get kind of nervous for them, since there are cops about every four feet in this town. But then...

Don't look into it's eyes.

I happened by a butcher shop and saw this horror. I mean, is that image really supposed to make me want to buy their "quality" sausages? It's a rabid, salivating, cannibal pig! It just needs to be holding a cleaver in one hoof and it'd be the scariest sign in the history of butcher shops. The words that were on the missing part were, "Come Try Our (Quality) Pig-Fed Pig Meat (Sausages)"

All right, I've lost my mind. I'm going to lay down and watch the Lifetime Movie Network.

First Week Wrap-Up

Well, tomorrow will be the last day of the first week of the new job. So far, I have no complaints. In fact, it's pretty great. For example, I see this little sign every morning when I get into the elevator:

Comforting.

When I get to work, someone takes my Starbucks order, the show pays for it and someone brings it to me. Classy!
Laura Krafft is the other writer, so I often hear people referring to us as Laura and Karen. Heartwarming!
Our host, Tom Papa, has written with us every day and it seems two girls in the writer's room is not only not emasculating to him, but apparently he enjoys it. Groundbreaking!

Oh, you'll like this: so, this afternoon we were sitting in a meeting and we heard a guy singing one loud note of opera over and over. Our writer's assistant told us he's an NYC fixture people call The Opera Guy. She said he walks around town singing just that one note all the time. Apparently, that's the whole story. I wanted some kind of explanation about him having a psychotic break during tryouts for Julliard or being an insane Renee Fleming stalker who uses that one note as a kind of mating call. Danni, the writer's assistant, had no further information. Now, I need to know...bad.

Did you see on the news there was a tornado here today?

This picture is from a tornado that touched down in the Bronx in 2007, but I thought you'd like that old timer in the chair.

It touched down in Brooklyn and ripped up trees and stuff. We only got pouring rain in Manhattan, but by the time I walked home, it had cleared up. But guess what's back? The goddamn humidity. I won't go on about it, but if it isn't gone by tomorrow, I'll be forced to wear my hair in a bun.

I did some comedy on Wednesday night. Kind of a last minute thing for a friend's show at a place called Comix. It went well. I was very happy. On my walk home, I saw this and tried to take a picture of it. You have to look closely. Maybe tip your monitor forward or something.

It's written in lemon juice! Go get a candle!

Someone wrote the word, "HAPPY" in the cement. Can you see it? Believe me, it's there.

All Righty Then.

I still have not solved my coffee problem.
I've either been walking the three blocks to Starbucks or just waiting to get to the office to get coffee. Neither option thrills me, since I'm used to having my pot of coffee every morning the moment I wake up. I enjoy the ritual of making it, the smell, the sounds-the whole deal. Not having a coffee maker is adding to the "Where the hell am I?" feeling I get every once in a while.

Also, I don't have any laundry in my building. I have to go to the laundromat across the street, which is a pain. If I go do it myself, it takes 3 hours. If I get fluff and fold, I'm paying 10 dollars extra to have everything washed in boiling lye. At least that's what it seems like when I get it back. It's all shrunk and faded. I like to blame my shrinking clothes on the laundry mat instead of taking responsibility for eating pasta at every meal.

Speaking of, Peter Fowkes is also here in town directing a show for Comedy Central. We went out to a place called Eatery halfway between his apartment and mine. I ordered-get ready for this- white cheddar meatloaf with mashed potatoes and cheese fondue sauce. It came with onion rings on top. I think it's the best meal I've ever eaten. Here's a movie of it:

(Do you hear how insanely loud that restaurant is? A lot of them are like that. Last night after work, Page and I went out to a place that may have also been a rave. There was horrible techno music blaring and everyone was screaming their conversations. Nice and relaxing after a hard day's work. Her solution was to get a table outside. I had to nix that idea, though. I cannot stand eating on the street. People like to pretend they're dining "alfresco" but they're just eating on the sidewalk next to any other citizen who happens by. And this is New York City. It'd be cleaner to eat in the back of a cab.)

After I ate dinner with Peter Fowkes, we walked up to the Apple Store by his apartment to look at iPads. That took us right by Lincoln Center.

All of my photos are so foreground heavy. I wonder why.

I didn't really capture it's majesty in this picture. It looks more like a government building at Christmastime here, but in real life it was really pretty, I assure you. 

I bought an iPad. I'm not sure why. I'm going to try to bring it to work today like it's my laptop, but I don't know if it's the best idea. It could be a huge mistake. Much like the mistake I made yesterday of dropping off all of my laundry at the fluff and fold and THEN coming back to take a shower before work. I was forced to dry off with 2 small washcloths. I felt like Gulliver.

The First Day of Work

That's Laura Krafft, the other writer and Javier Winnik, the other EP.

It was all good. I don't want to make myself late for work, so I'll have to write more later.

Our Town Rules!

Oh, Dad! I went to see this play last night and it was SO GOOD! It was so, so good. I mean, good.
The Barrow Street Theater (down there on Barrow off 7th) is about to close the longest run of Our Town any theater has ever done and some say, one of the best. Luckily, I got to see it before it ended.
Dad-this theater experience has put anything the Harmoneers and Harmonettes ever did to shame! Yes, I'm including Music Man '76 in that statement. Do you see what I'm talking about here? Whole new level.

First, I'll show you some pictures of my cab ride over there. That's always fun.

Of course you're not allowed to stand there. It's a bus stop.

I'm very impressed by the fact that laborers like these two seem to work around the clock here. I took this picture at 7pm and it seemed like they were just getting started. When my cab stopped at the light, they were arguing loudly about something, which is why I noticed them. The guy on the left was actually yelling with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth- so old school! I wanted to get a picture of that, but I took too long, so what you're seeing here is the moment after. I've noticed New Yorkers don't really think scream-fighting is that a big deal. One second they're furiously arguing about bricks or whatever, the next they're admiring each other's craftsmanship. They get it out and they move on. It's actually very healthy.

When we turned down 8th (I think it was 8th, not positive) I noticed how pretty the sunset was, so I tried to take some pictures of it. These were the best of the bunch...

Not too bad for being taken from a phone in a moving cab.

The driver dropped me off near Barrow St. I think he didn't feel like making a left. So I walked in the wrong direction and ended up making a nice 10 block circle before arriving at the theater. It was shaming and kind of windy, but not unpleasant. Thankfully, I'd allotted myself 15 minutes "lost walking" time and arrived at the front door exactly at 7:30.

Then the really good play started.
And the way they did it was so genius because the house lights were still up and this guy walks in holding up a cell phone and then he just starts talking casually.

Photo: Stolen from the internet.

Everyone assumed it was the real house manager making a real announcement, so we were all only half listening. Everyone was double-checking their phones, some people were still talking a little bit. But about 3 sentences in, we suddenly realized this man was playing the Stage Manager and that Our Town had started. It was so awesome. It got REAL quiet fast.

Photo courtesy of Wikileaks.

This is how they staged it- two kitchen tables at center stage, each representing a household, lined with 2 facing rows of audience members. See that guy in the green blouse? He is NOT in the cast.
In this picture you can see the back balcony where the choir practice scene was going on, weaving in and out of the scene between George and Emily in the foreground. It was lovely and inspired.
(The kids are supposed to be upstairs in their rooms, which is why they're sitting on chairs up on the tables like that. It's an old theater technique. Chairs on tables trick the mind into believing that actors have gone upstairs.)

OK, so those audience members onstage were like the "walls" of the house. Then, there was a walkway behind them, in front of the first row of the regular audience that the actors used as well when they were supposed to be outside or in town or just elsewhere. That makes sense, right? I don't need to continue describing this. It was theater in the round, is all. But the round was square.

I honestly didn't see it coming, but by the end of act three I was sobbing. SOBBING I TELL YOU! I was able to do it very quietly, thank god. Except when I had to wipe the snot running out of my nose. I'm sorry! It's the truth! It was that bad. Luckily, the house lights had finally been brought down and my seat was in the corner, so no one else was made uncomfortable by my emotions.  Just me. I was forced to use every dry inch of both of my shirtsleeves, until I was basically damp from the shoulders down.

It was just acted so beautifully and so naturally, but so clearly. And they did things like, the Stage Manager would say, "You hear that?" And then he'd just listen for like, 15 seconds. Which meant you had to listen for 15 seconds, too. It really felt like something to sit in a room with 150 people and be perfectly silent. All of the timing was very purposeful like that. It made you hang on every word.

I've never seen or read Our Town before, which I know is a travesty as I claim to have been a student of the theater arts. I had this idea that it was kind of serious and dopey, so I never made an effort. Turns out, it's a really beautifully written play. And this cast was so good and so well directed, you believed every moment was real. Right from the very first line!

Here's one of my favorite things the Stage Manager says near the end:

"We all know that something is eternal. And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars . . . everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you’d be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There’s something way down deep that’s eternal about every human being."

Ahhh! Much Better.

Well, I went out for my coffee this morning and the weather is completely different. Now it's foggy and a bit chilly and there is NO humidity to speak of. It's like God heard me whining and decided to reward me for being a baby. That's my kind of higher power. A coddling, indulgent Lord who doesn't try to tell me what to do all the time. Kind of the opposite of your parenting approach, Jim.
That's right! I said it! I'm really in your face now because I live in New York!

So, Page and I went shopping at the Macy's on Herald Square yesterday and guess what they have there? (Besides an atmosphere comprised of 10% oxygen and 90% perfume sample spray mist.)

Ever been to an escalator fire?

WOODEN ESCALATORS! Can you believe your eyes?
It was like going on a very steeply sloped hayride with no hay. And with Estee Lauder's White Linen in my mouth.

The most insane Russian woman waited on me in the shoe department. I was looking at flip-flops (because of the humidity-don't make me say it again) and she grabbed this pair off the shelf and pushed them at me. "Your size. Last pair. Go try them on." This shoe looked like someone had worn it all summer, then dropped it off at Macy's as a donation. I tried to put it back, but she wouldn't let me. Her argument was that it hadn't been worn, just tried on. I had to make very stern eye contact with her (which was hard because she had frosty blue eyeshadow ALL AROUND her eyes like a gorgeous raccoon) and say, "But I don't want to." She just threw a hand up and walked away, like Laura would. I almost yelled, "Get out of my room!" after her, out of habit.

Then we had lunch at some french bistro-type place and they had Nutella milkshakes.

Hardly any carbs.

I really don't want to be fat, but it seems like New York wants me to be. The food here is so very good. They're not messing around in that department. Or in any department, as far as I can tell.


We saw these guys on the walk home.

This must not be a NO STAPLE GUNNING ANYTIME zone.

In this city, you can get a job covering ply-board with branches. I find that very encouraging. I'm really not sure what's going on here. This man could be the most famous topiary artist on the east coast. Or he's building sets for the new Broadway musical, The Shining! Or maybe David Letterman gets a fresh hedge wall put in his office every morning and this is his florist. Anything is possible here, Dad.

It's The Heat AND It's The Humidity

I have no coffee maker in this apartment. Surely you understand how unlivable a situation that is for me. For two mornings in a row I've had to get up and walk for blocks, searching for coffee that doesn't taste like hot apathy. And that would be fine-- fun, even. I like urban exploring and people watching and practicing my crossing the street. Except that it's 79 degrees with 60% humidity. At ten in the morning!

As a Californian, I cannot process this type of atmosphere. It's so sweaty and sticky and weird. You take one step outside and suddenly I'm sweating like I've been on the treadmill for an hour. I keep dabbing my forehead like Scarlett O'Hara, as if somehow that's going to keep me from looking like I just left basketball practice. And don't even get me started about what this humidity is doing to my hair! I know you get jealous when I tell hair stories. I'll just say this: I've gotten more than one compliment on my perm.

But the good news is, I live in a city where I can turn a corner and be looking at this:

Another NO STANDING zone?! I guess they have a real problem with dilly-dallying in this city.

Not the limo. I'm no longer impressed by those. Although, what's interesting is that the limo is waiting in line to go into a car wash right there. Since it's New York, the car wash is inside a building like any other business, as opposed to it being free-standing in the middle of a lot. I'm not explaining the weirdness of it very well. Maybe because who cares, really?

What I was trying to show you here is behind everything in the foreground of this picture is the Intrepid. The USS Intrepid, I think they call it? And it is quite a large boat. You can kind of see the top sticking up there. I was surprised to see it in my neighborhood. I was just trying to get one of those bagels everyone keeps raving about and then I turn the corner and see this. 

This is definitely the worst post of this blog so far. I've bored myself. I can barely continue typing. It's just that I'm SO hot and sweaty! And under-caffeinated! I want to cry, but I can't risk losing any more fluids.

Page just texted me to see if I want to go shopping. That's what I need. I'm going to get some new shoes, maybe some anti-perspirant. A linen pant, perhaps. Maybe a book on blogging. I'll get back to you when I have something compelling to report.

Seriously though, you should see my hair right now. It defies logic.