"We have three scenes to film, big scenes. We have a song to write, so let's get cracking. Kelly, I want you to do makeup. Oscar, I would like you to do costume design, obviously. Phyllis, I would like you to look around town and see if we have any celebrities in our local area." -Michael Scott
I was trying to think of a way that didn’t make me sound like a snob and full of myself to tell ya’ll my good news, but then I said, “why not?” so I am going to brag to my heart’s content. This may be the only time in my life I get to say it...
I’m an executive producer.
Yes. That’s right. Found out today.
It has a nice ring to it. Tracy Barnes; Executive Producer, NBC Universal.
I need business cards. HaHa. Maybe one day.
I told my friend, Stephen, this was the best thing to happen to me since I got boobs. To which he replied, “Inappropriate.” I think that really means, “Congratulations.”
6.26.2008
6.24.2008
"Ideas are like beards, men do not have them until they grow up." -Voltaire
I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t even know if I want to grow up. Growing up implies you have learned from mistakes, taken chances and jumped off the deep end into a life of paying taxes.
I believe it was the great Bob Dylan who told me, "May you grow up to be righteous, may you grow up to be true. May you always know the truth and see the lights surrounding you. May you always be courageous, stand upright and be strong. May you stay forever young.”
I happen to like the small dependence upon my parents with which I still cling to. I like to think it makes them feel closer to me; that we still have that bond. Ha. I’m sure they are counting down the days until I graduate.
In many ways I don’t want this life of mediocre responsibility to end. I am in charge of my few bills, my dogs, my terribly paid jobs, my grades and myself. Come December I’ll need a 401K and a cheap place to live. Right now I fret about what I’m going to do on Saturday night. In a few months I have a feeling I’ll be going into work on weekends.
I see so many homeless people here, who have made a career of it. I wonder what their stories are, how they ended up this way. I wonder how many of them had a tragedy, or if it was just laziness. I wonder if they have a disability, or if their only friend is Bad Luck. And today, I wondered how many of them just couldn’t take the plunge into the Real World and somehow, through their avoidance of responsibility were thrust into the harshest world of all. This makes me positive about the fact that the Real World eventually finds everyone, whether they are prepared for it or not.
My summer class met for it’s mandatory weekly meeting yesterday. We went to the New York Public Library to listen to an author speak. She writes for the New York Times and has just published a book. As an aspiring writer, I was extremely excited to hear her.
She was young. Mid-twenties. Mousy. Wearing the author’s typical black drab. She wore round glasses in thin frames which she constantly took off and placed the ear piece of in her mouth, pensively, before quickly putting them on top of her head and then immediately, deciding she desperately needed them, would put them back on her face. This was an excruciating process that went on for an hour and a half.
I was let down for some reason to see the unoriginality of it all; the black, the glasses, the waif-like appearance. And then she spoke and I began to think I was heading into the wrong career.
Like the authors portrayed in movies, she was arrogant and had funny ways of pronouncing the strangest words; almost as if she did it on purpose. People in the audience would nod in agreement and chime in as she made what they believed were ‘smart’ comments on life and the world in general. I couldn’t stand it. She was everything I did not want to be in an author. She was everything I did not want to be in a speaker. I did not want to become her. She made me scared of the Real World.
Hopefully, our parents have deemed it a mission to brace us for the inevitableness of life; if only for the fact they will grow sick of us when we are thirty living in their basement, never venturing outside because the sunlight hurts our eyes. But, I like to think on top of that is my parents’ desire for me to do better; to make something of myself which they can brag about in line at Walmart to my retired sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Schwitzer. Yes, the one who always spoke with her eyes closed and wore tragic knitted sweaters with teddy bears and snowmen.
When I begin to think about my parents’ dreams for me, I immediately see them wanting me to have a job. A real job. Not the kind where I sit at home and write all day. I know they also picture a wedding. This is almost scarier than getting a real job where I don’t just sit at home and write all day.
Marriage.
Marry.
Wed.
I used to be that girl who talked to her girlfriends about her dress and what colors she wanted and how she was going to do her hair. Yes, I was that girl. Sometime around high school I came around. It’s not that I don’t want to get married. It’s not that I’m not a romantic. I think it’s just that I’m not as hopeful anymore. I think as our innocence goes, so does our endless amount of hope that everything will turn out alright and that your life will end like the fairytales your mother plopped in the VCR to distract you so she could have and hour and thirty minutes to herself.
I am a firm believer that Disney did distort and perhaps ruin my perception of men. They are not valiant, they are not rugged and handsome at all times and they are definitely not all good dressers and princes. I remember also being disappointed that carpets couldn’t fly me across town and that no one could really talk with animals. But that’s another blog post all together.
My good buddy (I use the term loosely, as we have yet to meet), author Sloane Crosley, makes a good point in her book, “I Was Told There’d be Cake.”
“I have never pictured my own wedding. I do want to get married. It’s a nice idea. Though I think husbands are like tattoos-you should wait until you come across something you want on your body for the rest of your life instead of just wandering into a tattoo parlor on some idle Sunday and saying, ‘I feel like I should have one of these suckers by now. I’ll take a thorny rose and a “MOM” anchor, please. No, not that one-the big one.’”
I have friends who have taken the plunge, and God bless them, they are the brave ones. I envy them. I gave all my love to Rocky and Rolley to have any left for a real man.
Loves of my life.
I believe it was the great Bob Dylan who told me, "May you grow up to be righteous, may you grow up to be true. May you always know the truth and see the lights surrounding you. May you always be courageous, stand upright and be strong. May you stay forever young.”
I happen to like the small dependence upon my parents with which I still cling to. I like to think it makes them feel closer to me; that we still have that bond. Ha. I’m sure they are counting down the days until I graduate.
In many ways I don’t want this life of mediocre responsibility to end. I am in charge of my few bills, my dogs, my terribly paid jobs, my grades and myself. Come December I’ll need a 401K and a cheap place to live. Right now I fret about what I’m going to do on Saturday night. In a few months I have a feeling I’ll be going into work on weekends.
I see so many homeless people here, who have made a career of it. I wonder what their stories are, how they ended up this way. I wonder how many of them had a tragedy, or if it was just laziness. I wonder if they have a disability, or if their only friend is Bad Luck. And today, I wondered how many of them just couldn’t take the plunge into the Real World and somehow, through their avoidance of responsibility were thrust into the harshest world of all. This makes me positive about the fact that the Real World eventually finds everyone, whether they are prepared for it or not.
My summer class met for it’s mandatory weekly meeting yesterday. We went to the New York Public Library to listen to an author speak. She writes for the New York Times and has just published a book. As an aspiring writer, I was extremely excited to hear her.
She was young. Mid-twenties. Mousy. Wearing the author’s typical black drab. She wore round glasses in thin frames which she constantly took off and placed the ear piece of in her mouth, pensively, before quickly putting them on top of her head and then immediately, deciding she desperately needed them, would put them back on her face. This was an excruciating process that went on for an hour and a half.
I was let down for some reason to see the unoriginality of it all; the black, the glasses, the waif-like appearance. And then she spoke and I began to think I was heading into the wrong career.
Like the authors portrayed in movies, she was arrogant and had funny ways of pronouncing the strangest words; almost as if she did it on purpose. People in the audience would nod in agreement and chime in as she made what they believed were ‘smart’ comments on life and the world in general. I couldn’t stand it. She was everything I did not want to be in an author. She was everything I did not want to be in a speaker. I did not want to become her. She made me scared of the Real World.
Hopefully, our parents have deemed it a mission to brace us for the inevitableness of life; if only for the fact they will grow sick of us when we are thirty living in their basement, never venturing outside because the sunlight hurts our eyes. But, I like to think on top of that is my parents’ desire for me to do better; to make something of myself which they can brag about in line at Walmart to my retired sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Schwitzer. Yes, the one who always spoke with her eyes closed and wore tragic knitted sweaters with teddy bears and snowmen.
When I begin to think about my parents’ dreams for me, I immediately see them wanting me to have a job. A real job. Not the kind where I sit at home and write all day. I know they also picture a wedding. This is almost scarier than getting a real job where I don’t just sit at home and write all day.
Marriage.
Marry.
Wed.
I used to be that girl who talked to her girlfriends about her dress and what colors she wanted and how she was going to do her hair. Yes, I was that girl. Sometime around high school I came around. It’s not that I don’t want to get married. It’s not that I’m not a romantic. I think it’s just that I’m not as hopeful anymore. I think as our innocence goes, so does our endless amount of hope that everything will turn out alright and that your life will end like the fairytales your mother plopped in the VCR to distract you so she could have and hour and thirty minutes to herself.
I am a firm believer that Disney did distort and perhaps ruin my perception of men. They are not valiant, they are not rugged and handsome at all times and they are definitely not all good dressers and princes. I remember also being disappointed that carpets couldn’t fly me across town and that no one could really talk with animals. But that’s another blog post all together.
My good buddy (I use the term loosely, as we have yet to meet), author Sloane Crosley, makes a good point in her book, “I Was Told There’d be Cake.”
“I have never pictured my own wedding. I do want to get married. It’s a nice idea. Though I think husbands are like tattoos-you should wait until you come across something you want on your body for the rest of your life instead of just wandering into a tattoo parlor on some idle Sunday and saying, ‘I feel like I should have one of these suckers by now. I’ll take a thorny rose and a “MOM” anchor, please. No, not that one-the big one.’”
I have friends who have taken the plunge, and God bless them, they are the brave ones. I envy them. I gave all my love to Rocky and Rolley to have any left for a real man.
Loves of my life.
6.22.2008
Like, Omigod, Omigod you guys!
Front row center.
Right up there.
That's where Savannah and I sat during Legally Blonde: The Musical.
It was awesome! Savannah and I, in true Elle Woods fashion, got dolled up in our pink dresses and looked fabulous. The songs and cast were great, I am so glad we were able to see the original cast before they left.
Sav and I also went and saw an improv comedy group at The Upright Citizen's Brigade Comedy Club. I don't know if you remember the Amy Poehler comedy of that same name on Comedy Central, but it was based off this club. It was a great show. The writers behind 30 Rock and The Office got together to perform.
Monday morning is tomorrow...definitely not ready for that one. We have our class, another thing I'm not looking forward to. Why is it the weekends go so fast and the weekdays go so slowly?
Right up there.
That's where Savannah and I sat during Legally Blonde: The Musical.
It was awesome! Savannah and I, in true Elle Woods fashion, got dolled up in our pink dresses and looked fabulous. The songs and cast were great, I am so glad we were able to see the original cast before they left.
Sav and I also went and saw an improv comedy group at The Upright Citizen's Brigade Comedy Club. I don't know if you remember the Amy Poehler comedy of that same name on Comedy Central, but it was based off this club. It was a great show. The writers behind 30 Rock and The Office got together to perform.
Monday morning is tomorrow...definitely not ready for that one. We have our class, another thing I'm not looking forward to. Why is it the weekends go so fast and the weekdays go so slowly?
6.21.2008
“I’m coming over, but it never was enough. I thought it through and my worst brings out the best in you. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” –TBS
Some things I miss about home:
• My dogs.
o Loves of my life. Everyone has a dog here, it seems. And small dogs, like Yorkies are just the right size for cardboard size apartments.
• Inexpensive food.
o It gets pretty rough on the wallet eating out here. Although, my roommate and my friend Steve and I found pizza by the slice for only $1 the other night! It was fabulous.
• Taco Bell.
o Yeah, I know. You people think I’m crazy. But, seriously, there is a TB on every corner in COMO and we take that for granted. There is like one TB here and there was an expose done on it because there were rodents dining…after hours, if you get my drift. Due to that little fact, I have yet to grab a burrito from there.
• Having all my shoes available.
o I kid you not, I brought a whole suitcase completely devoted to my shoes up to New York. However, it wasn’t enough. The process of determining which shoes to bring was difficult and I feel some valuable players were cut from the team. Sacrifices were made and now I must make do.
• My feet being clean.
o I swear my feet are always dirty here. Wearing flip flops is like inviting grim to gravitate to your lower limbs. It’s because most of the city has a fine layer of filth blanketing it; like a house that hasn’t been dusted in months (my crappy apartment).
• Not knowing what I was missing out on.
o Now that I’m in NYC, I know how great it is. All of a sudden, I find myself constantly thinking about how soon I’ll be leaving and how sad that makes me. I don’t want to go back to driving my gas guzzling SUV, or back to all the people who broke my heart or treated me poorly, or my crappy little apartment, or my last semester at Mizzou.
I feel like I came to New York as one of those girls trying to escape her baggage and those small town things that held her back. Now, I am scared to death of going back to that lifestyle. People don’t really know me here, and I don’t really know them. And for some reason, that is comforting.
Lauren and I make a cute couple.
Here is proof that Boyz II Men is still around. I actually saw them perform so it's legit.
The City view from Brooklyn.
• My dogs.
o Loves of my life. Everyone has a dog here, it seems. And small dogs, like Yorkies are just the right size for cardboard size apartments.
• Inexpensive food.
o It gets pretty rough on the wallet eating out here. Although, my roommate and my friend Steve and I found pizza by the slice for only $1 the other night! It was fabulous.
• Taco Bell.
o Yeah, I know. You people think I’m crazy. But, seriously, there is a TB on every corner in COMO and we take that for granted. There is like one TB here and there was an expose done on it because there were rodents dining…after hours, if you get my drift. Due to that little fact, I have yet to grab a burrito from there.
• Having all my shoes available.
o I kid you not, I brought a whole suitcase completely devoted to my shoes up to New York. However, it wasn’t enough. The process of determining which shoes to bring was difficult and I feel some valuable players were cut from the team. Sacrifices were made and now I must make do.
• My feet being clean.
o I swear my feet are always dirty here. Wearing flip flops is like inviting grim to gravitate to your lower limbs. It’s because most of the city has a fine layer of filth blanketing it; like a house that hasn’t been dusted in months (my crappy apartment).
• Not knowing what I was missing out on.
o Now that I’m in NYC, I know how great it is. All of a sudden, I find myself constantly thinking about how soon I’ll be leaving and how sad that makes me. I don’t want to go back to driving my gas guzzling SUV, or back to all the people who broke my heart or treated me poorly, or my crappy little apartment, or my last semester at Mizzou.
I feel like I came to New York as one of those girls trying to escape her baggage and those small town things that held her back. Now, I am scared to death of going back to that lifestyle. People don’t really know me here, and I don’t really know them. And for some reason, that is comforting.
Lauren and I make a cute couple.
Here is proof that Boyz II Men is still around. I actually saw them perform so it's legit.
The City view from Brooklyn.
6.18.2008
"The worst part about getting bags under your eyes is finding shoes to match." -Adrienne Gusoff
Having lunch with Savannah today got me thinking...
I know. That's never good.
Why is it that shoes and men have such power over us? Is it the beauty of a pair of stilettos that make them must have? Likewise, can a beautiful man make us drool the same way we did for those red Marc Jacobs pumps we eyed in Greenwich Village? Like a gorgeous pair of shoes, gorgeous men often boost you self-esteem, making you feel all the more attractive. However, they often grow uncomfortable, troublesome and begin to wear on you before the day is done.
I find myself packing away my nice heels in my purse and walking to work in my comfy sandals that I have had forever. I only pull out those beautiful heels when it is necessary and as soon as work is over, I'm ready for my worn in flats. Are women that way with men as well?
Do we only wear our nice men out at certain times? Will we always go back to what we know and what is easy?
Sometimes I'm afraid to wear my designer shoes out in the city. It's dirty, and there is trash and mud everywhere. I don't want to expose them to the grit of the Big Apple. I don't want to see them scuffed. I think I am afraid to see the men in my life scuffed as well, as if some flaw will make them unwearable.
Recently, an old pair of shoes showed back up. A pair I was sure I had left in Missouri where they belonged. I had loved those shoes, worn them everyday. They fit perfectly. Other girls had envied me when I wore them in public. But one day I looked down and the shoes were all scuffed up and I was unable to ever wear them out in public again. Like a bad penny, I threw the shoes out only to have them walk back months later.
Over the time they had been gone, I began to forget how flawed they were. All I remembered were how great the shoes were when I first bought them. But once they showed back up, clicking their heels at my door, I remembered all the blisters they caused and the time they decided to venture out onto some other girls' foot. Damn shoes.
And that's when I realized nothing beats a pair of comfortable shoes. They may be sandals, or tennis shoes, or slippers. You probably put them on everyday and don't appreciate them. They don't scuff, they don't give you blisters, they just support you. And all a girl wants in the end is to be supported.
I know. That's never good.
Why is it that shoes and men have such power over us? Is it the beauty of a pair of stilettos that make them must have? Likewise, can a beautiful man make us drool the same way we did for those red Marc Jacobs pumps we eyed in Greenwich Village? Like a gorgeous pair of shoes, gorgeous men often boost you self-esteem, making you feel all the more attractive. However, they often grow uncomfortable, troublesome and begin to wear on you before the day is done.
I find myself packing away my nice heels in my purse and walking to work in my comfy sandals that I have had forever. I only pull out those beautiful heels when it is necessary and as soon as work is over, I'm ready for my worn in flats. Are women that way with men as well?
Do we only wear our nice men out at certain times? Will we always go back to what we know and what is easy?
Sometimes I'm afraid to wear my designer shoes out in the city. It's dirty, and there is trash and mud everywhere. I don't want to expose them to the grit of the Big Apple. I don't want to see them scuffed. I think I am afraid to see the men in my life scuffed as well, as if some flaw will make them unwearable.
Recently, an old pair of shoes showed back up. A pair I was sure I had left in Missouri where they belonged. I had loved those shoes, worn them everyday. They fit perfectly. Other girls had envied me when I wore them in public. But one day I looked down and the shoes were all scuffed up and I was unable to ever wear them out in public again. Like a bad penny, I threw the shoes out only to have them walk back months later.
Over the time they had been gone, I began to forget how flawed they were. All I remembered were how great the shoes were when I first bought them. But once they showed back up, clicking their heels at my door, I remembered all the blisters they caused and the time they decided to venture out onto some other girls' foot. Damn shoes.
And that's when I realized nothing beats a pair of comfortable shoes. They may be sandals, or tennis shoes, or slippers. You probably put them on everyday and don't appreciate them. They don't scuff, they don't give you blisters, they just support you. And all a girl wants in the end is to be supported.
6.17.2008
Relationships are often so hard to tame. A Prada dress has never broken my heart before. No emotional baggage, just big bags filled with Dior.
There are a few things in this world I know I will never be. Never. Without a shadow of a doubt.
1. I will never be a socks with sandals person.
2. I will never be a Hannah Montana fan.
3. I will never date a smoker.
4. I will never like the Yankees.
The last statement is the one we will focus on. Being in the crowded Big Apple, I am surrounded by people all the time. The subway is packed, the streets are packed, the restaurants are packed. And I'll be damned if I can't go five minutes without seeing someone with a Yankees hat on.
Maybe I'm bitter. I'm a Royals fan to the core. Die hard. New. Blue. Tradition. And you can bet I was at a sports bar rooting them on when they spanked the Yanks.
Yankees fans drive me nuts. It's like they are drunk all the time. I can't say I blame them. You'd have to get me on something to like the boys. But they are loud and boisterous, unrestrained, and downright bitchy. Of course, so are most New Yorkers.
It's not because they aren't good that I don't like them (hello, I'm a Royals fan after all), its their personality, it's the personalities of their fans. I don't want to be like that. So, don't worry Missouri, I will not fall in line and jump on the Jeter bandwagon.
One of the hardest things to get used to is the men in New York. They are disrespectful, hormonal, and very vocal about what they are thinking. They also have a bad habit of following you and that really creeps me out. Every time I go out there they are; shouting obscenities, telling me what they'd like to do to me, staring at me. And by no means am I trying to draw said attention. Just the other day, a guy in a pedophile white van slowed down alongside me as I walked and drove slowly along staring at me out his window until I reached the subway.
I thought someone was going to jump out and pull me in. I would have been on one of those milk cartons.
In spite of that, I think I could do this whole New York thing. I think New York suits me. Okay, it more than suits me, it fits me like a glove. Thank goodness Savannah feels the same way. With the exception of the occasional wrong subway car choice, we float perfectly about the city. Unlike COMO, there really isn't a shortage of things to do. But there is always a shortage on money. I wish I had enough to do all the things The City has to offer.
Legally Blonde: The Musical is set for Sunday. Shakespeare in the park should be coming up one day this week. I'll keep you posted. Every Monday night they show a different movie in the park and Sav and I have vowed to go whenever we can and picnic it up.
I thought I would miss Columbia more. I thought I would miss people more. But I seem to be doing alright. I just miss my dogs like crazy.
Sav and I went to Greenwich the other day. We went to the famous Magnolia Bakery from Sex and the City. The cupcakes were awesome! Greenwich is such a beautiful part of town. There are cozy bookshops, and parks where children laugh and expensive high end clothing stores like Marc Jacobs and Coach and Gucci, run by fashionable gay men. I wish I could afford to live there. Maybe after my second book makes it.
1. I will never be a socks with sandals person.
2. I will never be a Hannah Montana fan.
3. I will never date a smoker.
4. I will never like the Yankees.
The last statement is the one we will focus on. Being in the crowded Big Apple, I am surrounded by people all the time. The subway is packed, the streets are packed, the restaurants are packed. And I'll be damned if I can't go five minutes without seeing someone with a Yankees hat on.
Maybe I'm bitter. I'm a Royals fan to the core. Die hard. New. Blue. Tradition. And you can bet I was at a sports bar rooting them on when they spanked the Yanks.
Yankees fans drive me nuts. It's like they are drunk all the time. I can't say I blame them. You'd have to get me on something to like the boys. But they are loud and boisterous, unrestrained, and downright bitchy. Of course, so are most New Yorkers.
It's not because they aren't good that I don't like them (hello, I'm a Royals fan after all), its their personality, it's the personalities of their fans. I don't want to be like that. So, don't worry Missouri, I will not fall in line and jump on the Jeter bandwagon.
One of the hardest things to get used to is the men in New York. They are disrespectful, hormonal, and very vocal about what they are thinking. They also have a bad habit of following you and that really creeps me out. Every time I go out there they are; shouting obscenities, telling me what they'd like to do to me, staring at me. And by no means am I trying to draw said attention. Just the other day, a guy in a pedophile white van slowed down alongside me as I walked and drove slowly along staring at me out his window until I reached the subway.
I thought someone was going to jump out and pull me in. I would have been on one of those milk cartons.
In spite of that, I think I could do this whole New York thing. I think New York suits me. Okay, it more than suits me, it fits me like a glove. Thank goodness Savannah feels the same way. With the exception of the occasional wrong subway car choice, we float perfectly about the city. Unlike COMO, there really isn't a shortage of things to do. But there is always a shortage on money. I wish I had enough to do all the things The City has to offer.
Legally Blonde: The Musical is set for Sunday. Shakespeare in the park should be coming up one day this week. I'll keep you posted. Every Monday night they show a different movie in the park and Sav and I have vowed to go whenever we can and picnic it up.
I thought I would miss Columbia more. I thought I would miss people more. But I seem to be doing alright. I just miss my dogs like crazy.
Sav and I went to Greenwich the other day. We went to the famous Magnolia Bakery from Sex and the City. The cupcakes were awesome! Greenwich is such a beautiful part of town. There are cozy bookshops, and parks where children laugh and expensive high end clothing stores like Marc Jacobs and Coach and Gucci, run by fashionable gay men. I wish I could afford to live there. Maybe after my second book makes it.
6.15.2008
I don't do sadness, not even a little bit. Just don't need it in my life, don't want any part of it.
Lost.
No, not the hit television series on weekly. Lost, lost. The kind where you get that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach and everyone around you looks like they might be out to get you. That is where you would have found me yesterday. Somewhere between the Bronx Zoo and 30 Rockefeller, I was hopelessly lost.
Shooting for Channel One is awesome. Not only do I get to do real work, but I also get out of the office. So, I headed uptown; past Yankee Stadium, past 86th street.
As soon as the cab drove off, I knew I was in trouble. The Bronx is a far cry from Stuy Town or Rockefeller Plaza. Immediately I saw there were no cabs driving up and down the street. But I didn't worry too much and went ahead and got what I needed on camera. Everyone who saw me on the street would shout, "Are you with ABC?"
To me, this is quite demeaning. ABC? Gross.
When it came time to leave, all these white town cars pulled up and asked if I needed a ride. Makeshift Taxis, which I later learned were called "Gypsy Cabs," with cameras attached to their rearview mirror. None of them took credit cards, which is what I was given to help with transportation. None of them even really spoke English.
So, I was stranded and lost in the Bronx with thousands of dollars worth of equipment.
Somehow I ended up on the subway, dragging in a huge tripod and camera bag. People gave funny looks. I was on the subway for over an hour before I finally made it back.
Savannah got us tickets to the Musical Spring Awakening. Being my second musical ever, I only had Spamalot to compare it to. And let me tell you, this was no Spamalot.
Spring Awakening boast R rated themes and 8 Tony awards, including Best Musical.
If it could be considered racy, this musical had it. Nudity, suicide, abortion, sex, homosexuality, abuse…the list goes on.
However, there was something very remarkable about the production. I can see why it won so many awards. The acting was amazing and the songs were really good.
I was not too much of a Republican to enjoy it.
On the list for next week: Legally Blonde, The Musical.
Old people coming back into my life have caused me to reflect on the past. Ironically, I think a Spring Awakening song lyric can some it up better than I could say.
"They say you go blind and maybe it's true.
We've all got our junk and my junk is you."
New York Sky Line from the Brooklyn bridge.
Roomies..
No, not the hit television series on weekly. Lost, lost. The kind where you get that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach and everyone around you looks like they might be out to get you. That is where you would have found me yesterday. Somewhere between the Bronx Zoo and 30 Rockefeller, I was hopelessly lost.
Shooting for Channel One is awesome. Not only do I get to do real work, but I also get out of the office. So, I headed uptown; past Yankee Stadium, past 86th street.
As soon as the cab drove off, I knew I was in trouble. The Bronx is a far cry from Stuy Town or Rockefeller Plaza. Immediately I saw there were no cabs driving up and down the street. But I didn't worry too much and went ahead and got what I needed on camera. Everyone who saw me on the street would shout, "Are you with ABC?"
To me, this is quite demeaning. ABC? Gross.
When it came time to leave, all these white town cars pulled up and asked if I needed a ride. Makeshift Taxis, which I later learned were called "Gypsy Cabs," with cameras attached to their rearview mirror. None of them took credit cards, which is what I was given to help with transportation. None of them even really spoke English.
So, I was stranded and lost in the Bronx with thousands of dollars worth of equipment.
Somehow I ended up on the subway, dragging in a huge tripod and camera bag. People gave funny looks. I was on the subway for over an hour before I finally made it back.
Savannah got us tickets to the Musical Spring Awakening. Being my second musical ever, I only had Spamalot to compare it to. And let me tell you, this was no Spamalot.
Spring Awakening boast R rated themes and 8 Tony awards, including Best Musical.
If it could be considered racy, this musical had it. Nudity, suicide, abortion, sex, homosexuality, abuse…the list goes on.
However, there was something very remarkable about the production. I can see why it won so many awards. The acting was amazing and the songs were really good.
I was not too much of a Republican to enjoy it.
On the list for next week: Legally Blonde, The Musical.
Old people coming back into my life have caused me to reflect on the past. Ironically, I think a Spring Awakening song lyric can some it up better than I could say.
"They say you go blind and maybe it's true.
We've all got our junk and my junk is you."
New York Sky Line from the Brooklyn bridge.
Roomies..
6.08.2008
Barry Manilow digs my street.
I live on Avenue C.
It is in a district called Stuyvesant Town; Stuy Town.
Apparently, Barry Manilow has also been in the area. Judging from his lyrics, I think he enjoyed it.
"Hey, Hey, Hey everybody now
Come go walkin' with me now
Walk up Avenue C now
Chicks all lookin' so pretty
they don't give me no pity
Avenue C is the grooviest in the city.
I never dug an avenue more enjoyable to me
C Avenue is groovy,
Yes it was groovy as it could be.
Walk with me down Avenue C
Man I really hope to say,
Come on baby, while we ramble.
Walk beside me while we ramble.
You dig it too I feel you do.
What a scenic hike.
It's a walk that you're bound to like
Y'got A on the one side
B on the other
C in the middle
Baby." -Barry Manilow
A couple of things strike me as odd when reading these lyrics. First, it is not a lovely walk. There is garbage piled on the street and it smells. And they say that it used to be worse. Where the heck was Manilow walking back then? The only thing he got right is that is is quite the 'scenic hike.' And by hike, I mean it is quite far from the subway and there are lots of odd people who like to chill out on the sidewalk.
Finally, I don't know if it is just my poor education or maybe Manilow is dyslexic, but I thought it went A, B, C. But, Manilow, in his infinite wisdom, corrects society by claiming 'A on the one side, and B on the other. C in the middle."
A, C, B?
Nice Manilow, very nice.
Sav and I out and about, eating Mexican.
It is in a district called Stuyvesant Town; Stuy Town.
Apparently, Barry Manilow has also been in the area. Judging from his lyrics, I think he enjoyed it.
"Hey, Hey, Hey everybody now
Come go walkin' with me now
Walk up Avenue C now
Chicks all lookin' so pretty
they don't give me no pity
Avenue C is the grooviest in the city.
I never dug an avenue more enjoyable to me
C Avenue is groovy,
Yes it was groovy as it could be.
Walk with me down Avenue C
Man I really hope to say,
Come on baby, while we ramble.
Walk beside me while we ramble.
You dig it too I feel you do.
What a scenic hike.
It's a walk that you're bound to like
Y'got A on the one side
B on the other
C in the middle
Baby." -Barry Manilow
A couple of things strike me as odd when reading these lyrics. First, it is not a lovely walk. There is garbage piled on the street and it smells. And they say that it used to be worse. Where the heck was Manilow walking back then? The only thing he got right is that is is quite the 'scenic hike.' And by hike, I mean it is quite far from the subway and there are lots of odd people who like to chill out on the sidewalk.
Finally, I don't know if it is just my poor education or maybe Manilow is dyslexic, but I thought it went A, B, C. But, Manilow, in his infinite wisdom, corrects society by claiming 'A on the one side, and B on the other. C in the middle."
A, C, B?
Nice Manilow, very nice.
Sav and I out and about, eating Mexican.
6.01.2008
'She looks like the real thing, she tastes like the real thing. My fake plastic love."-Radiohead
Canal Street.
If there is a Heaven on Earth, Canal Street might be it.
I came. I saw. I bought. Canal Street has been conquered.
I managed to walk away with two great (suspiciously great as a matter of fact) imitation Chanel and Dolce and Gabbana handbags...with matching wallets. They are fantastic. I am so proud of myself for my haggling.
It is actually a sensory overload. Located in Chinatown, as soon as you walk up those subway steps and onto the street people are pushing iPod minis, fake rolexes (a.k.a. a Folex), and shouting, "Chanel! Louis! Gucci! Prada! Tiffany Jewelry!" There are more shops crammed into the sidewalks than pimples scrunched on a junior high boy's face.
It caught my eye. Somewhere in between the third store and when I had to go back to the ATM, there it was. A Dolce and Gabbana knock off crafted at some magical knock off sweat shop. Hot pink with an animal print, it was my heart's desire. I could never afford the real one and here was an almost identical replica hanging in front of me. I got the matching wallet as well.
People look at you differently when you are walking with a designer bag, fake or not. I don't know if they are contemplating mugging you because you must have money, or if they genuinely see you as a league apart from the ordinary. I'd like to think (for the sake of my new purse) that it is the second. Mostly because when I walk around with it, I feel different.
My fake plastic love. My fake reason of importance. My fake purse which gives me fake confidence.
And I don't mind one bit.
Which makes me wonder what is wrong with me? As Jane Austen once wrote:
"Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us."
I think Fergie, in all her infinite wisdom (HA!), might have the answer.
"Love’s like a runway but which one do I love more
No emotional baggage, just replace it with Dior
Love’s like a runway, so what’s all the fussing for
Let’s stop chasing them boys and shop some more
I know I might come off as negative
I be looking for labels, I ain’t looking for love
Relationships are often so hard to tame
A Prada dress has never broken my heart before"
-"Labels or Love"
Is it that we redirect our feelings into a penchant for shopping? Purses will never tell us we look fat. Shoes will always be there for us. Designer sunglasses care about our well-being; that's why they have UV protection. Yes, I believe we are transplanting our feelings from men to Gucci handbags, from work to Dolce and Gabbana dresses, from homework to Pashmina scarves and from our parents' nagging to a bottle of CoCo Chanel.
Tomorrow is D-day. I start the 'ol 9-5. Wish me luck. Here's to hoping I don't get mugged.
If there is a Heaven on Earth, Canal Street might be it.
I came. I saw. I bought. Canal Street has been conquered.
I managed to walk away with two great (suspiciously great as a matter of fact) imitation Chanel and Dolce and Gabbana handbags...with matching wallets. They are fantastic. I am so proud of myself for my haggling.
It is actually a sensory overload. Located in Chinatown, as soon as you walk up those subway steps and onto the street people are pushing iPod minis, fake rolexes (a.k.a. a Folex), and shouting, "Chanel! Louis! Gucci! Prada! Tiffany Jewelry!" There are more shops crammed into the sidewalks than pimples scrunched on a junior high boy's face.
It caught my eye. Somewhere in between the third store and when I had to go back to the ATM, there it was. A Dolce and Gabbana knock off crafted at some magical knock off sweat shop. Hot pink with an animal print, it was my heart's desire. I could never afford the real one and here was an almost identical replica hanging in front of me. I got the matching wallet as well.
People look at you differently when you are walking with a designer bag, fake or not. I don't know if they are contemplating mugging you because you must have money, or if they genuinely see you as a league apart from the ordinary. I'd like to think (for the sake of my new purse) that it is the second. Mostly because when I walk around with it, I feel different.
My fake plastic love. My fake reason of importance. My fake purse which gives me fake confidence.
And I don't mind one bit.
Which makes me wonder what is wrong with me? As Jane Austen once wrote:
"Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us."
I think Fergie, in all her infinite wisdom (HA!), might have the answer.
"Love’s like a runway but which one do I love more
No emotional baggage, just replace it with Dior
Love’s like a runway, so what’s all the fussing for
Let’s stop chasing them boys and shop some more
I know I might come off as negative
I be looking for labels, I ain’t looking for love
Relationships are often so hard to tame
A Prada dress has never broken my heart before"
-"Labels or Love"
Is it that we redirect our feelings into a penchant for shopping? Purses will never tell us we look fat. Shoes will always be there for us. Designer sunglasses care about our well-being; that's why they have UV protection. Yes, I believe we are transplanting our feelings from men to Gucci handbags, from work to Dolce and Gabbana dresses, from homework to Pashmina scarves and from our parents' nagging to a bottle of CoCo Chanel.
Tomorrow is D-day. I start the 'ol 9-5. Wish me luck. Here's to hoping I don't get mugged.
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