My arrival back home on Wednesday morning was eventful, to say the least.
The red eye earns it's name for many reasons...the main one being, well, you have red eyes. Try as you might, you can't really sleep, your body is trying to re-adjust to east coast time, you take some kind of sleeping aid and in the back of your weary mind, you think, "I can't sleep, I have to work!" so, you never fall to a full sleep...plus, there is that concern of snoring...and sleep drool.
A friend of mine once met a great guy in first class on the red eye from LA to NYC...they chatted, flirted, discussed meeting up, had a drink or two, even exchanged saliva and she drifted off, her head falling over onto his very expensive suit coat that he'd not yet removed. Upon arrival, she felt him not in a gentle way, nudging her to move.
She was unable to easily do so...seems she'd drooled during her snoring session that had started somewhere over Denver. Mixing vodka and her sleeping pill was a no-no. She'd drooled over his shoulder and down the front of his suit. Did I mention it was very, very expensive? She had to peel her face off of the fabric, the entire time muttering apologies and offering her card to pay for the cleaning...
Needless to say, the date never happened, nor did he take her up on the cleaning. I believe she said the air was rather frosty around him, and she sat in her seat until the clean up crew boarded.
Where was I? Oh, yes.. the flight.
It started to go poorly when I was ticketed, had the flight changed, talked to countless United personnel, all of them cooing over the terrier, all of them looking at my boarding and ticketing information.... and then was stopped by the Wicked Rulekeeper of the West; Raoul.
"Excuse me, where is the dog's luggage marker?"
"What?" I tend to say 'what' quite a bit in life.
"The luggage marker? The one they gave you to show you paid the $85 for the dog to fly."
"I wasn't given a marker. I paid the money at JFK, and I walked on"
"Ohhhhhhhh...well, that was one way. You have to pay again."
"What?" (see what I mean?)
"You have to pay again."
"The woman told me it was round trip."
"No, it is one way."
"You mean, she's carry on luggage, I've talked to at least three people who have looked at my itinerary, who've played with her, the woman who changed my stuff at JFK and charged me then and told me it was a round trip fare... all of them were wrong, and you are collecting my $85 AGAIN???"
"Only if you want to fly home." The bastard had the nerve to smirk.
"WHAT??"
There went the cab ride home.
We had a spare seat between us, and a Guido in front of me on the trip home. I am quickly becoming a real New York person, as the Guido was rude, had on all the Guido paraphernalia, and was all I've read they are on certain blogs that will remain nameless *coughCAJUNBOYcough*
Making the 'A' train as it arrived was a blessing... I only had to go to 181st, up to the old flat, sleep for three hours, then, back down to Tribeca, work, back up to 181st, get the keys for the new place, take a cab with my suitcases that were left because my new landlord had moved the big cases and settle in.
Easy peasy.
The car had four people in it, counting myself. I was on the long seat, towards the front of the car.. this is important. On the little short seat by the front door was a woman and her companion... I settled in, put on my wonderful vintage red raybans and closed my eyes...no people watching for this woman.
"AHEM"
"What?"
I looked up to see the woman bent over me the way a parent bends over a child, with that same look...
"You may not realise it, but, this train will soon fill with commuters, it's the 7A train, and, your dog may get nervous. Perhaps you should put it in the case."
"Oh, I appreciate your kindness (I actually did) but, she's a train dog..she rides it every day. See? (she was already asleep on my lap). She's been in the case for over five hours, and needs to be out so she can stretch. But, thank you." I smiled...glasses on, I settled back.
She didn't go away.
"To be honest, I'm nervous with your dog out."
"What?"
"I'm nervous. I'm worried she might get violent."
"Ummm. you are a good, what, 10-15 feet away? The dog is sleeping. I promise, if she gets upset, I'll put her away. Thanks again." Glasses back on.
She stood her ground.
And raised her voice... understand, the dog never moved.
"THIS IS AGAINST THE LAW!!! IF YOU DOG GOES CRAZY AND BITES ME, I COULD SUE YOU!!"
"First off, I've checked, she can sit on my lap. Secondly, if you sue, I hope you wear a size 8 1/2, because all you will get is 25 pairs of shoes."
"YOU ARE A LAW BREAKER!!! YOU SHOULD BE ARRESTED!!!! THIS IS DISGUSTING!!!"
By now, we've picked up other passengers, who are listening. The terrier has opened one eye.
And I've had it. I stared hard, and didn't raise my voice, but, I did project it.
"Lady, rape is against the law. Molesting children is against the law. Electing George Bush and letting our young men and women die in Iraq is most definitely disgusting. If you think that my ten pound dog sleeping on my lap is the worst thing you can be upset about, your priorities are fucked up. Go sit down, and worry about something that has a huge impact on society, like people who tear the tags off of their pillows and mattresses."
She backed off...her boyfriend yelled... "SHUT UP, YOU!!"
I said, "Fuck...and, let me think about it...hmmmm...yesss.... oh, right...you." Glare done, glasses on, terrier still snoozing...I think I won.
This means I've lived in three of five boroughs, met a Guido, been called mamiii, and had an altercation on the train.
Oh, yeah, and my big cases didn't get moved, so, I have to take the 4 down, switch over to the A, go uptown to the old place, and move one at a time, bringing them back here, where I pull them up five flights of stairs.
Ich bin ein New Yorker....or in my hood, it's Soy un Nuevo Yorker.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Saturday, May 12, 2007
The Bronx
The Bronx.
Well, it's certainly different from Washington Heights. And Tribeca. And it's very different from the land of the Utes.
Yes, indeedy.
The first thing I've had to get used to is being called Mommy by everyone. Men, women, kids...everyone calls women Mommy. The second thing is getting used to people being irritated I don't understand Spanish. They tell me the amount of my purchase, and I stare. They tell me again, I stare harder and say, "Que? No habla Espagnol." That much lets them think I DO habla. It's getting better, but.... Next is the don't leave home after dark... I don't care if the terrier has a bladder that is bursting, she goes to the courtyard, and that's it. The neighborhood along with the six flights of stairs tends to let me convince her to do her duty before we go upstairs at eight.
I've also found I am whistled at quite a bit. Now, this is surprising. It's the whistle and the "Hey, MOMMY!" that throws me. Ya know, you just don't think of a whistle and the word mommy as sexy.
I'm finding my way around... the train this way sucks. Interesting that the 'A' was always on time, always running along, always stopping and never a train stop was messed up or roped off. Friday, my stop was blocked downtown, as were the next three stops... we had to ride all the way to Woodlawn, then go back downtown. I got on the train at 12.45 and ended up in Tribeca at 2.15. The return was worse. It took 2 1/2 hours to get home. We stopped in tunnels, we stopped on platforms, we were told to get off the train because it was malfunctioning, then, put back on the same train.
Two and one half hours.
I don't know if it's because it's going to the Bronx and they figure who cares or what, but, there is a difference in how people are treated and how the line is run.
The terrier and I were not happy.
Oh, and I have roaches.
Ew.
I don't see me staying here long... I love having a place all to myself, and I don't mind the walk up... I love the shopping near by, the smell of fresh peeled oranges as you walk down the street... the cheap pedi's, the language floating by. I love Fordham Road, there is so much to see on it, people walking about selling things I know fell off a truck... snowballs, fresh tamales, papaya places (whatever they are) a huge .99 store...my block even has a tree! Still, I'm too far away from where I work, it takes too long, and... I don't feel safe to feel honest.
One of the joys of subletting... I only have to move three suitcases and the dog.
Back to craigslist.... four moves in four months. I'm becoming a pro.
Well, it's certainly different from Washington Heights. And Tribeca. And it's very different from the land of the Utes.
Yes, indeedy.
The first thing I've had to get used to is being called Mommy by everyone. Men, women, kids...everyone calls women Mommy. The second thing is getting used to people being irritated I don't understand Spanish. They tell me the amount of my purchase, and I stare. They tell me again, I stare harder and say, "Que? No habla Espagnol." That much lets them think I DO habla. It's getting better, but.... Next is the don't leave home after dark... I don't care if the terrier has a bladder that is bursting, she goes to the courtyard, and that's it. The neighborhood along with the six flights of stairs tends to let me convince her to do her duty before we go upstairs at eight.
I've also found I am whistled at quite a bit. Now, this is surprising. It's the whistle and the "Hey, MOMMY!" that throws me. Ya know, you just don't think of a whistle and the word mommy as sexy.
I'm finding my way around... the train this way sucks. Interesting that the 'A' was always on time, always running along, always stopping and never a train stop was messed up or roped off. Friday, my stop was blocked downtown, as were the next three stops... we had to ride all the way to Woodlawn, then go back downtown. I got on the train at 12.45 and ended up in Tribeca at 2.15. The return was worse. It took 2 1/2 hours to get home. We stopped in tunnels, we stopped on platforms, we were told to get off the train because it was malfunctioning, then, put back on the same train.
Two and one half hours.
I don't know if it's because it's going to the Bronx and they figure who cares or what, but, there is a difference in how people are treated and how the line is run.
The terrier and I were not happy.
Oh, and I have roaches.
Ew.
I don't see me staying here long... I love having a place all to myself, and I don't mind the walk up... I love the shopping near by, the smell of fresh peeled oranges as you walk down the street... the cheap pedi's, the language floating by. I love Fordham Road, there is so much to see on it, people walking about selling things I know fell off a truck... snowballs, fresh tamales, papaya places (whatever they are) a huge .99 store...my block even has a tree! Still, I'm too far away from where I work, it takes too long, and... I don't feel safe to feel honest.
One of the joys of subletting... I only have to move three suitcases and the dog.
Back to craigslist.... four moves in four months. I'm becoming a pro.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
The Divineness of In-n-Out
My bags are packed, I'm ready to go...and not out of Burbank as I'd hoped.
I've got to drive to Burbank, turn in the car I've driven twice, take the shuttle to LAX and leave at 11P. Sometimes, award travel sucks.
My treat for being put out this way is....an In and Out burger. Ohhhhhhh, yes, an In-n-Out burger, the hamburger that is perfect in it's pure simplicity. For awhile, I turned my back on this bit of culinary wonderfulness... I'd had a bit of a breakdown, and something I'd yearned for, looked to, cracked up during and was ruined because of my hitting that brick wall....the sobbing afterwards took place in In-n-Out napkins and when they ran out, into the paper bag itself.
This did not leave good memories for me.
I'm good now...and I want to make it up to In-n-Out, with a classic burger, heavy pickles, no onions, small fry and a diet coke. Comeon... you've got to make up the calories somewhere. The fries are made fresh right there... the buns, soft bits of yeasty dough baked and sliced. The meat...oh, yes!
In-n-Out, a trip to WalMart... perhaps a swing by Borders. After all, I did pay for three days of use on the car....might as well drive at least a half of a tank worth of gas before I turn it in.
I've got to drive to Burbank, turn in the car I've driven twice, take the shuttle to LAX and leave at 11P. Sometimes, award travel sucks.
My treat for being put out this way is....an In and Out burger. Ohhhhhhh, yes, an In-n-Out burger, the hamburger that is perfect in it's pure simplicity. For awhile, I turned my back on this bit of culinary wonderfulness... I'd had a bit of a breakdown, and something I'd yearned for, looked to, cracked up during and was ruined because of my hitting that brick wall....the sobbing afterwards took place in In-n-Out napkins and when they ran out, into the paper bag itself.
This did not leave good memories for me.
I'm good now...and I want to make it up to In-n-Out, with a classic burger, heavy pickles, no onions, small fry and a diet coke. Comeon... you've got to make up the calories somewhere. The fries are made fresh right there... the buns, soft bits of yeasty dough baked and sliced. The meat...oh, yes!
In-n-Out, a trip to WalMart... perhaps a swing by Borders. After all, I did pay for three days of use on the car....might as well drive at least a half of a tank worth of gas before I turn it in.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Green, Green Grass
Now, I love New York. I do. However, being here in LA has been great in it's own way. I lie outside in the hammock under the huge trees in my brother's backyard, enjoying the spring breezes and the smell of everything in bloom. I miss green.
Last week, on my way to dress rehearsal, I passed a vendor selling lilacs, and cried...my house in the land of Utes has a back garden that is surrounded by eight foot tall lilac bushes, which should be blooming right about now... at night, the scent would drift in my room, letting me know summer was on the way. I'd sit on my back deck, or lie in the grass, watching Orion make his appearance low in the sky, another offering of the season to come.
In New York, the only stars I see were during Tribeca, or the occasional ones walking about in the Village.
I had real food last night... real food, the kind you cook yourself. My brother is the grill king, creating sauces for meat, seafood and veggies, and we had all three. The last thing I remember before everything went black and dreamland hit was all of us making fun of Sly Stalone's face in Rocky Balboa.
Some people should understand face lifts don't mean you pull all loose skin back into a tight little knot under your hair. He was scary.
Today will be spent doing....nothing. I may wander down to WalMart for old times sake, trying to remember how to drive a car... here in LA, I'm often told by other drivers that I'm #1 in their book. I will buy some books, pick up cheap jeans and prepare for my return to my end of the country.
Or, I'll just sleep in the hammock and rouse myself for dinner tonight. I think we're having ribs.
Food is always a good thing.
Last week, on my way to dress rehearsal, I passed a vendor selling lilacs, and cried...my house in the land of Utes has a back garden that is surrounded by eight foot tall lilac bushes, which should be blooming right about now... at night, the scent would drift in my room, letting me know summer was on the way. I'd sit on my back deck, or lie in the grass, watching Orion make his appearance low in the sky, another offering of the season to come.
In New York, the only stars I see were during Tribeca, or the occasional ones walking about in the Village.
I had real food last night... real food, the kind you cook yourself. My brother is the grill king, creating sauces for meat, seafood and veggies, and we had all three. The last thing I remember before everything went black and dreamland hit was all of us making fun of Sly Stalone's face in Rocky Balboa.
Some people should understand face lifts don't mean you pull all loose skin back into a tight little knot under your hair. He was scary.
Today will be spent doing....nothing. I may wander down to WalMart for old times sake, trying to remember how to drive a car... here in LA, I'm often told by other drivers that I'm #1 in their book. I will buy some books, pick up cheap jeans and prepare for my return to my end of the country.
Or, I'll just sleep in the hammock and rouse myself for dinner tonight. I think we're having ribs.
Food is always a good thing.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
LA
I'm in LA this past few days, visiting the brother, having a some down time, and seeing a play.
So far, the ratings are good, good, and excellent.
There is even less parking in LA than there is in New York, so, the play issue was a bit difficult....it was held at the Geffen theater. I won the tickets last summer when I attended a session on critics and film at the Hammer Museum...the play was delayed from March 'til now, and with not seeing my brother for a year, points expiring on my frequent flier miles, it seemed a good idea to put it all together.
The best thing about flying out of New York is you can take the train. The worst thing about landing in LA is you can't. It cost $7.00 to get to the airport, and $75 to get to his house.
He doesn't believe in picking people up.
The terrier and I slept most of the flight, arriving at 11P LA time and the wee hours of the morning on our body clock time...with that in mind, I'm glad we did the driver thing on arrival.. I'd have fallen asleep on the freeway somewhere. As it is, I get lost every time I come here, and that's when I'm wide awake.
Yesterday was spent adjusting, renting a car...always a fun time...and spending an hour to drive 16 miles into Westwood. There are signs everywhere saying "Public Parking".
They lie.
Around and around I drove in my little rented car, every single parking space filled...some cars with an inch or two of dust on them, they'd been there so long. Like New York, once you find a good spot, you tend to buy the house near there rather than move the car.
Spying a Ralph's...my favourite name ever for a store...I parked, in spite of the huge sign saying "THIS IS NOT PARKING FOR THE GEFFEN!! VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED!!" Sometimes, I live on the edge.
To be safe, though, I bought a book, to show I was, indeed, a patron of Ralph's. I even used to restroom, to double my claim of the space.
Trying to look nonchalant, and as if I wasn't moving towards the Geffen next door, I moved towards the street, catching up with a nice man...Marvin. We fell into conversation, and it turns out he was from Queens. He'd moved to LA because he was tired of New York winters. He just upped and moved one day, he told me... had a yard sale, packed his bags and moved. Well, first, he'd gone to Florida, to help out his Momma. She'd had a stroke, and needed some care. I asked if she was okay, and he said, yes, she'd recovered nicely. With that, he'd moved here, and was happy. We walked along the block, chatting about the differences of the two cities. I commented I noticed I walked slower here in LA.. he said that was the first thing he had noticed when he moved, he automatically moved at a slower pace. He did miss the train system, though. We shook hands at the corner, and he complimented me on my shoes one more time as he crossed the street.
I had time to kill, wandering down Westwood towards the Hammer, remembering the last time I'd been here, the amusing, dry, entertaining two hours I'd spent in the talk there with the LA Times film critic and a well known playwright/director/screenwriter.
Time to go collect my ticket... we mingled about in the courtyard... there was a nice man who was writing a book and needed information on graveyards in Boston. For some reason, he asked me if I knew anything. I know I'm aging, but, please. He was older than I.... still, he was entertaining, and the five of us, two friends...one from Bulgaria and one from the UK.. the man, his wife, and a woman from Topanga Canyon...all chatted about film and the cost of apartments in LA vs New York, the Kennedy assassination (which the man said would have a huge bit of information coming out next year), and had anyone ever seen any of this playwrights work before. I said I had, and I thought they would like the work...but, as always, enjoyment of work is subjective.
It was an hour and forty minutes, no intermission. It was cathartic for me...allowing me to close doors and open windows on a personal level. I laughed and spent a goodly part with silent tears. The lead actress wore the skin of her character so perfectly, you forgot it was a play. I forgot to look...almost...for tech glitches. Her closing monologue came from my heart. It was smart and dry and the words were rich. It cut so close to me personally, I hope to never see it or hear it again.
There are times in your life, when you stand at a crossroads, wondering where to go...what should I do, how do I handle this pain in my heart? And, out of nowhere, a word or a song or a book...or a play....hands you the answer.
The universe is funny that way.
So far, the ratings are good, good, and excellent.
There is even less parking in LA than there is in New York, so, the play issue was a bit difficult....it was held at the Geffen theater. I won the tickets last summer when I attended a session on critics and film at the Hammer Museum...the play was delayed from March 'til now, and with not seeing my brother for a year, points expiring on my frequent flier miles, it seemed a good idea to put it all together.
The best thing about flying out of New York is you can take the train. The worst thing about landing in LA is you can't. It cost $7.00 to get to the airport, and $75 to get to his house.
He doesn't believe in picking people up.
The terrier and I slept most of the flight, arriving at 11P LA time and the wee hours of the morning on our body clock time...with that in mind, I'm glad we did the driver thing on arrival.. I'd have fallen asleep on the freeway somewhere. As it is, I get lost every time I come here, and that's when I'm wide awake.
Yesterday was spent adjusting, renting a car...always a fun time...and spending an hour to drive 16 miles into Westwood. There are signs everywhere saying "Public Parking".
They lie.
Around and around I drove in my little rented car, every single parking space filled...some cars with an inch or two of dust on them, they'd been there so long. Like New York, once you find a good spot, you tend to buy the house near there rather than move the car.
Spying a Ralph's...my favourite name ever for a store...I parked, in spite of the huge sign saying "THIS IS NOT PARKING FOR THE GEFFEN!! VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED!!" Sometimes, I live on the edge.
To be safe, though, I bought a book, to show I was, indeed, a patron of Ralph's. I even used to restroom, to double my claim of the space.
Trying to look nonchalant, and as if I wasn't moving towards the Geffen next door, I moved towards the street, catching up with a nice man...Marvin. We fell into conversation, and it turns out he was from Queens. He'd moved to LA because he was tired of New York winters. He just upped and moved one day, he told me... had a yard sale, packed his bags and moved. Well, first, he'd gone to Florida, to help out his Momma. She'd had a stroke, and needed some care. I asked if she was okay, and he said, yes, she'd recovered nicely. With that, he'd moved here, and was happy. We walked along the block, chatting about the differences of the two cities. I commented I noticed I walked slower here in LA.. he said that was the first thing he had noticed when he moved, he automatically moved at a slower pace. He did miss the train system, though. We shook hands at the corner, and he complimented me on my shoes one more time as he crossed the street.
I had time to kill, wandering down Westwood towards the Hammer, remembering the last time I'd been here, the amusing, dry, entertaining two hours I'd spent in the talk there with the LA Times film critic and a well known playwright/director/screenwriter.
Time to go collect my ticket... we mingled about in the courtyard... there was a nice man who was writing a book and needed information on graveyards in Boston. For some reason, he asked me if I knew anything. I know I'm aging, but, please. He was older than I.... still, he was entertaining, and the five of us, two friends...one from Bulgaria and one from the UK.. the man, his wife, and a woman from Topanga Canyon...all chatted about film and the cost of apartments in LA vs New York, the Kennedy assassination (which the man said would have a huge bit of information coming out next year), and had anyone ever seen any of this playwrights work before. I said I had, and I thought they would like the work...but, as always, enjoyment of work is subjective.
It was an hour and forty minutes, no intermission. It was cathartic for me...allowing me to close doors and open windows on a personal level. I laughed and spent a goodly part with silent tears. The lead actress wore the skin of her character so perfectly, you forgot it was a play. I forgot to look...almost...for tech glitches. Her closing monologue came from my heart. It was smart and dry and the words were rich. It cut so close to me personally, I hope to never see it or hear it again.
There are times in your life, when you stand at a crossroads, wondering where to go...what should I do, how do I handle this pain in my heart? And, out of nowhere, a word or a song or a book...or a play....hands you the answer.
The universe is funny that way.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Trippin'
Sausage fed.
Leashes gathered.
Sunglasses in place.
Thoughts lord knows where.
I strode along, humming John Prine, thinking of things I had to do, knowing every step of my usual walk....
....except for the bit of walkway that sticks up right there. Yeah. In front of the two handsome men who were talking in their shop doorway, next to the construction site. Across from the Grand, where a ton of people leaving to go places, getting into limos, off to the Film Festival, the airport, people I don't know... I know that, but, at that point, you figure you know everyone knows you then... my little black flat clipped it and I went from upright person to flat on my breasticles.
There was no planning, no 'OOPS!' no nothing. No wrinkle in time. Boom.
The dogs stopped, surprised the leash went slack. The men ran forward to see if I was breathing.
I had two choices; lie there and look wan, having them help me up, and ply me with water, fan me, and delicately walk away.... or roll on my back and laugh.
I did the second. I mean, what can you do? I was sprawled out on a sidewalk in SoHo, in front of people who had luggage that cost more than I make, with two tatty white dogs, two handsome men leaned over me, and a construction crew looking over.
I laughed, popped up, and said, "Well, lets just act like nothings happened, and I'm chatting with you." We stood there and one said, "How 'bout them Yankees?"
I took the leashes, did my walk, looking out for cracks that can break your back... and when I went back on the Grand side, the door guy shot me a grin.
Cheeky sod.
Leashes gathered.
Sunglasses in place.
Thoughts lord knows where.
I strode along, humming John Prine, thinking of things I had to do, knowing every step of my usual walk....
....except for the bit of walkway that sticks up right there. Yeah. In front of the two handsome men who were talking in their shop doorway, next to the construction site. Across from the Grand, where a ton of people leaving to go places, getting into limos, off to the Film Festival, the airport, people I don't know... I know that, but, at that point, you figure you know everyone knows you then... my little black flat clipped it and I went from upright person to flat on my breasticles.
There was no planning, no 'OOPS!' no nothing. No wrinkle in time. Boom.
The dogs stopped, surprised the leash went slack. The men ran forward to see if I was breathing.
I had two choices; lie there and look wan, having them help me up, and ply me with water, fan me, and delicately walk away.... or roll on my back and laugh.
I did the second. I mean, what can you do? I was sprawled out on a sidewalk in SoHo, in front of people who had luggage that cost more than I make, with two tatty white dogs, two handsome men leaned over me, and a construction crew looking over.
I laughed, popped up, and said, "Well, lets just act like nothings happened, and I'm chatting with you." We stood there and one said, "How 'bout them Yankees?"
I took the leashes, did my walk, looking out for cracks that can break your back... and when I went back on the Grand side, the door guy shot me a grin.
Cheeky sod.
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