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.

Walking In NY

This is where I live now. Eat your heart out, Leona Helmsley. 

Hi, Daddy. So, I just woke up after my first night in my first NY apartment (full pictorial tour to come) and I decided to walk down the street and get some coffee. On my way, I observed some things about New York-style walking that I think you may find informative. The first of which being- it would be real easy to get hit by a truck here. Or a bus. Or a cab. Or a large black SUV with some super rich guy inside. Many of the streets are very narrow and always lined with parked cars, so logically, people drive down them at 50 miles an hour, minimum. Any less and they would be severely honked at.
This makes walking a full-time job. Oh, I've tried to update my facebook status while crossing the street. Let's just say I felt the cool wind of death on my face and leave it at that.
This is what I've learned about New York pedestrianism so far:

Can you believe I captured yet another pair of hideously colored man pants? 

1) You cannot blindly follow the people walking in front of you.
The people walking in front of you are from Akron. They don't know how to walk properly in this town. They'll look the wrong way up a one-way street and then boldly cross against the light, never hearing that crosstown bus gliding up behind them. They're too busy arguing about where the real Soup Nazi restaurant is. It's tempting to glom onto the back of these groups because then you can text and not look up for blocks. Problem is, they'll clear that crosswalk safely like so many mid-western Mr. Magoo's and you'll be the dangler that eats lunch at the Yellow Cab Grill.

2) You can jaywalk...if you know how.
Real New Yorkers do it all the time. And they do it well and with panache. It's all about timing, anticipating correctly and knowing how to interpret signals. Kinda like being a shortstop, but with no mitt. And the ball is a car.

3) IPods are a bad idea for beginners. 
This one's obvious. If you're blasting Jay-Z, you'll never hear that lifesaving "toot-toot" the speeding white van with no license plates is so generously providing for you.

4) People who ride bikes here are psychotic.
There's a book called Cab Driver Wisdom which is a collection of things the author's heard NY cab drivers say over the years. The best quote in there is, "Bike messengers--they search for death."
You have to constantly be on the lookout for these lunatics. They believe themselves to be above traffic lights and they're not easy to see coming. They're like goddamn ninjas. I just had a near miss with one crossing at 42nd and 10th. Well, we were about 6 feet away from each other, but still! If I'd been walking any faster or he'd been riding any slower, I'd have a handlebar embedded in my forehead right now. Don't think I don't know this, Dad. Don't think it didn't convince me that God is watching me...from a distance.

5) In general, never give anyone the benefit of the doubt.
Sure, it sounds cynical but it's a proven fact that cynics live longer than rubes. About to cross the street because that car coming at you has it's blinker on? STAY RIGHT THERE. That blinker's been on since 2003. Maybe that driver is a specialized kind of serial killer who lures you in front of his vehicle with the promise of turning. Then... BAM! Lights out, Louise!
This rule also applies to men standing in dark doorways who ask if they can talk to you for a minute. Yes, there is a chance the two of you could have an enriching conversation about books, but that chance is Slim Whitman. Respect yourself. Make men talk to you for a minute in a well-lit bodega with a security guard standing by. And angle yourself so he's facing the security camera. Better yet, when a strange man on the street requests some light conversation from a dark alley, just give him a dirty look and say, "I'm not talking to you anymore, Jennifer." There is simply no comeback to that.

Picture Attack!

(Dad- You may want to play some Vivaldi quietly in the background as you look at this series of photos, you know, to enhance your viewing experience.)

I finally fixed my photo uploading problem. Turns out, you have to connect the phone to the computer! Man, I love to learn.

So, what I did was I went to the Apple Store on 5th Avenue, just a stone's throw from Tiffany's. (I know you'd probably love a trinket from there Dad, but let's hold off until I know I'm not going to be fired.) Guess what? This place is open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year! And it looks like Lex Luthor lives there! What more do you want from a store? A doorman, you say? No problem. He's standing right there in front.

And here's where Letterman shoots his show. This is on 58th and my hotel was on 57th. We were practically neighbors. You've gotta come and visit so we can go to a taping. Wouldn't that be fun? But you'd have to promise not to scream and cry like a Beatles fan. Dave's not into stuff like that.

Here's a man who, as far as I can tell, is voluntarily wearing red pants. I think I see suspenders under that jaunty sweater/ cape. He's probably a retired fireman who can't let go of the past. Or he's French. Either way, I adore him. I wonder if he's friends with the lady I saw on Day One who had red pants. I wonder if I'm supposed to get red pants...

Now, I know you're very against graffiti of any kind, but I thought this was cool. The entire side of the building is covered in this red writing. I chose not to capture that because I wanted to include some pavement. It was an artistic choice, juxtaposing the street art with actual street. I also wanted you to see that Petaluma isn't the only town with road maintenance problems. Look at those cracks! And those oil stains! Where am I, Calcutta?

Look at this! Just look at it! You've got stuff like this happening on every street you walk down! It's absolute madness! I tried to shimmy up a street sign to get a better shot of those ladies up there, but then I  read the sign. It was a "NO SHIMMYING ANYTIME" zone, so I got the hell out of there.

Is it a building? Is it public art? Am I going to get mugged if I keep taking pictures of buildings this way? They say the way you know someone's a tourist here is they're always staring upwards. Of course, I want to blend in like I'm a real New Yorker, so as I take these photos I say loudly to myself, "I can't believe my dad is making me take pictures of buildings for him! What a hick!" I'm pretty sure people are buying it.

I didn't take this picture, I saw it online. Isn't that crazy?! Rinse it off, New York!

The People Here Are Nice, Mace Seems Unnecessary

Hi, Dad! Can you believe it's already Day Four? Yeah, I can too. That's just how time works, right? Always has.

As per our conversation yesterday, I've been considering whether or not I should get mace and I've come to the conclusion that it's a bit much. I know why you want me to. And I enjoy not being attacked as much as the next guy, but I don't think that's the best solution.

Meleva used to carry pepper spray on her keychain when she lived in LA. Her dad gave it to her, now that I think about it. You dads! But not only did she never use it, we both forgot that's what it was. To us, it was the gray leather cylinder that you held the keys by when you were the driver. And it helped you find them when they were lost at the bottom of your purse. It was like when the coffee shop attaches a big spoon to the bathroom key. You don't lose it and you don't forget it. So, it was more like reminder spray than pepper spray. 

To the point where, I once went to pick her up at the Burbank airport and tried to bring it through security. This was before 9-11 (Firemen are America's heroes) when you were allowed to meet your roommate at the gate, if you were so inclined. It was a simpler time for America. Not for me, though. I was all mad about everything most of the time. So, when I threw my keys in the bowl, I didn't really pay attention to the pasty young security guard who looked so freaked out. I just figured he was weak and went on my way. He met me at the end of the X-ray conveyor belt, holding out my bowl of keys all wide-eyed and goes, "Um, is that pepper spray?" 

(Imagine how this guy handled 9-11! "You guys! Mitch fainted! Get him some water!)

To me, pepper spray had become synonymous with "oversized keychain." Not a weapon, unless you were going to hit your attacker on the soft spot of his temple ten or twelve times. So I answered, "Yeah, it is." Like he was a pepper spray enthusiast who wanted to talk shop. Then I go to grab the keys, but he yanks the bowl back and in a shaky voice goes, "Wait here." That's when it hit me. Mitch thinks I'm trying to smuggle pepper spray into the Burbank Airport. Maybe so that when Meleva comes off her flight, I can step forward and let her know what not doing the dishes gets you when you live with me. 

So Mitch runs away and comes back with your favorite guy, the Super Powerful Cop. I'm remembering him to look like Dog the Bounty Hunter with a crew cut, but that could be exaggeration. 

It was weird though because instead of being afraid or intimidated, I was pissed off. What a stupid way to get sent upriver! So, the cop starts asking me questions in a really sarcastic voice as he's trying to open the snap on the gray leather pepper spray cover. His sarcasm only fuels my rage and I start answering him like we're in a sarcasm contest. As we chat, we discover that the snap on this leather cover has had so much crap spilled on it over the years that it's now permanently fused closed. No matter how hard the Very Strong and Powerful Cop tries, it simply will not open. He finally gives up. I say, "Are we safe now, Barney?" snatch them out of his hand and walk away. (That last part didn't happen exactly like that per se, but I needed a button for the story.)

Point being, I don't think pepper spray or mace or any kind of, "Hold it right there while I dig around my purse to find something that I'm inevitably going to spray in my own eyes."-type item is the answer. What I need is a gun.

(I'm still working on loading all the pictures I took yesterday. The machine won't let me do it right now. But when it does, get ready for a real Ken Burns-esque presentation- including the picture I took of the theater your boyfriend Letterman shoots in which is RIGHT around the corner from my hotel. See? I'm safe. Dave's right there for me.)

Day 2 Begins

I just woke up to find that I forgot my toothbrush. Gross.

I will now bathe and begin to wander the streets of Midtown Manhattan to get a new one. Do they have a Tuttle's here, I wonder? Should I hold my money out in front of me as I walk, so people know I'm looking to buy their goods and services? Let's see if that nice man with the knife knows where the toothbrushes are kept.

Dad, I'm kidding. There's a CVS around the corner. (That's short for Long's on the East Coast.) Hopefully the hurricane doesn't hit while I'm out there. Dad, I'm kidding. The hurricane is nowhere near this neighborhood.

I have a feeling there will be some photo opportunities out there. We shall see...

The First Thing I Saw

Well, not literally the first thing. But definitely the first thing that really caught my eye. I was awestruck by that ensemble on the right! It's bold, it's fresh, it says, "Just try to look away!" It also says, "Pants and belt provided by the Ronald McDonald Collection." Her primary colors hooked me and then her blouse that doesn't quite cover her belly reeled me in!   This city is the fashion capital of the world and on my very first day living here, I got to meet it's ambassador.

Her style has that same devil-may-care attitude I had in college when I began wearing vintage men's pajama bottoms as pants. Remember that, Dad? I know it's seared into your brain forever. You got SO mad about those pants! You never did understand high fashion. I'm sure Donna Karan had to take a lot of flak from her old man, too.

What I really like about the picture is that these ladies are just blatantly disregarding that "NO STANDING ANYTIME" sign. I support it whenever someone sticks it to the man like that. That's right! Stand there, ladies! Stand there ALL THE TIME! Power to the people!

Dad! You're Gonna Love This!

It came to me in a flash today after I got off the phone with you. Instead of trying to remember all the amazing details of my everyday life in New York City, I'm just going to write this blog to you.
Don't get upset, I know new things scare you. And the word "blog" is probably very futuristic and heathen-sounding to you. But just think of it as a really fast letter. Or a really long email. And don't forget to breathe.
It's going to be fun. All you have to do is read. Maybe look at some pictures every once in a while. Then, if there's something you want to tell Duke or Woody about, you can just send them a link to this and they can look at it themselves. (I'll explain what a link is later.)

I had dinner with Don and Adam tonight at a restaurant called El Centro. It was only about six blocks from my hotel, but since it's so weirdly hot and humid here right now, I felt faint around block three. I was wearing a sweatshirt and black jeans, which did not help. And I haven't walked more than one city block since 1992, so I do take partial responsibility. Don told me that it gets hotter at the end of the day in NYC because all the heat from the sun and the cars starts rising back up from the pavement. Dang, right? That ain't never happened on Petaluma Boulevard!
Plus, all I'd eaten all day was one of those weird snack boxes they sell you on the plane. I paid six dollars for a bag of Cheez-Its and some almond butter. I refused to eat the fruit cup that was in there because I'm not five years old. Can you imagine a fully grown adult on a business trip sitting in an airplane seat eating a fruit cup? Pathetic.

Anyhow, there are a lot of people in this city. Everywhere. All the time. We walked through Central Park after dinner and the place was packed. Now, I know I promised I wouldn't go near the park anytime between 5pm and 6am, but it wasn't my fault. Adam said, "Let's walk down by the lake." So, I  figured I could either A) run straight back to my hotel and never talk to those guys again or B) keep walking and hope all my years of John L Sullivan boxing with you in the kitchen would pay off when we got jumped. I decided to roll the dice. I mean, if I'm gonna live here, I have to be ready to live on the edge!
It turns out the only scary thing that happened was we had to walk by all those poor carriage horses on our way out. Turns out, old Lady was living the horses' dream life out in Aunt Jean's field. Do you think Lady ever fantasized about standing in traffic on Columbus Circle? Don't answer, I won't be able to hear you. We're not Skyping.