Saturday, March 8, 2008


From the week that was:

  • Odd little man who stood at the bus stop last Monday, waiting for the bus, along with myself and others.... limping on his cane, obviously disabled... we stood aside as he clambered on board first, grumping the whole time about the delay. Forgiving of his rudeness because of his physical problems, trying to be politically correct, I suppose. He stood in front of a woman, a nicely dressed black woman, who was seated where he wanted to sit, ignoring the empty seat next to her. He stood and stared at her, finally saying, "Are you going to move or do I have to just sit on your lazy ass?" She looked up, and shifted over, not saying a word. Again, no one spoke. When the bus pulled over to the stop where he wanted to be, she moved up fluidly, and off the bus, while he struggled to get going and down the steps yelling at that point he needed the bus. Our driver honked his horn at the bus starting to pull away, to let them know he had a connection, to no avail. The woman passenger made the connection, it was no fault of hers the disabled man didn't make it...he'd not said a word until after she was gone. He was still going down the stairs when the other bus pulled away, at which point he started to yell, "FUCKING N*GGER BITCH!! GOT IN MY WAY, N*GGER BITCH!! MADE ME MISS MY BUS!" Our driver shut the door on his rant, merged into traffic, the hum of conversation was still. I spoke up into the lull, "I'm sorry, disabled doesn't excuse you from being an asshole." Everyone started to talk then.... It was a shock, we had all given way for him, made allowances for his slow movements, stepped aside, given up seats.... the huge wave of racist anger took us by surprise. Perhaps it was thinking just because he was disabled he was automatically meek, weak, gentle... all of those adjectives one would attach to someone who is low on the pecking order. Never judge a book, and all that jazz.
  • I've noticed some languages sound the way they are written. This great revelation came to me after my second long (15 hours) day on the set, again on my bus, during the last leg of my trip home. The woman next to me was reading her newspaper, covered with Oriental markings, when her phone rang. She had an extended conversation that I was privy to (aka eavesdropped), whereupon I noticed the words spoken were like the words on that paper--sharply edged, precise, blunt, landing in my ear the way they lay in print. Either that or the long days may not lend themselves to logical thought process, but, do give themselves over to unique flights of fantasy.
  • No matter how you want it to happen, a 37 inch wide sofa will not fit down a 36 inch wide stairwell. End of story.
  • Will Ferrell needs to accept he has to find something new to do.... playing the same character over and over no longer works. Trust me on this one, Will.... Semi Pro sucks rocks.
  • So does The Other Boleyn Girl. Please, if you are going to do historical drama, at least pretend to know the history.... okay?
  • After 15 months in New York, I can finally say, with complete honesty, after a long study, the W train does move. Not often, which is why it is called the "Waithere Train"...however, it DOES move. Sometimes. Once. Really. It did.
  • If you wear galoshes into the city based on NOAA's weather report, it will not rain, and you look stupid.
  • While filming in a church in Brooklyn, I was reading about the various Saints listed around the Baptismal Font. Each panel of walnut had a Saint painted, with the reasons for sainthood placed beneath their likeness.... St. Thomas More-Martyr for the Faith. Mother Cabrini-Patron Saint of Immigrants. St. Christopher-Patron Saint of Travelers. St. Jude-Invoked for Lost Causes. Elizabeth Seton-Mother, New Yorker. St. Augustine-Bish....wait a minute. Hold on. Elizabeth Seton is a Saint because she was a NEW YORKER? Does that mean I'll be sainted because I've ridden the 'F' and the 'G' trains and lived to tell the tale? Is she sainted because she knew where to buy the best knish? She had an in for knock off purses? She wasn't a martyr, she was a New Yorker! If she was from Jersey, she'd just have been a woman who became a nun who did good things...never have made sainthood, I guess.
  • There is a revival of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, with James Earl Jones as Big Daddy. I may have to sell a piece of liver to go, but, I'm going. Imagine..... the quintessential Southern play, by Tennessee Williams, with colourblind casting. Word.
  • Spoke to Loo, Miss Sof, DebB, HRH, WeatherGuy and Jarhead this week. Letters from GW and Peter and my Oddship. I'm smiling.

Slow week, soft week, standing outside on the Ferry for the first time in a long time. Listening to tourists chattering, watching the city pull up out of the water the way it does, have Sweeney Todd discuss politics with me while he cuts my hair, then the great fun of street food on my way home.

What more do I need?


Bud said...

Wow, so much here to comment on. Actually too much here to comment on. Let me just say I'm thoroughly entertained and so rooting for your sainthood!

Writeprocrastinator said...

Perhaps, another "Neville Fact?"

MrHarlequin said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
MrHarlequin said...

Snippets are tiny pieces of information.

Quinippes are bite-sized chunks of FMD, but are more like nouvelle cuisine than Saturday food 'examples' in Costco. A meal in themselves, they satisfy but still leave you wanting more, from greed rather than hunger.

Moral: Don't think you can write until you can do that and don't drink mugs of expresso from your new gadget before writing comments.

MrHarlequin said...

I give up.

The word should have been Quinnets, but I can't work out how to edit it and I'm not deleting another one.

Peter Varvel said...

I am so glad that you spoke up on that bus, and I'll bet the other passengers were, too--we're funny, most of us in society, in that we'll wait around for someone else to break the ice so that we feel we have 'permission' to speak up. Unfortunately, it's usually when it's most important.
Well done.

Therapeutic Ramblings said...

About 10 years ago I was in a nursing home and this little old lady was trying to 'escape', but she couldn't get out the door. I remember pausing for a second, and the trying to squeeze past while the orderlies came to get her. As I stepped by she grabbed my hand and pulled me towards her. I'll never forget what she said,"I hope you go to hell".

Uhm....what are you suppose to say to that?