As if riding the bus with creepy people wasn't bad enough:
http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/americas/07/31/canada.bus/index.html
I'm not sure I'll ever take Greyhound again, let alone sleep well at night, ever.
I've been working in the Hamptons this week, all week, with a group of awesome theatre techies at the Watermill Center's annual benefit. I'm not sure how to impress upon you how brutal this workweek is each year, except to tell you that one girl needed stitches midweek, my legs are one giant bruise, and I feel like I've gained five pounds of muscle, all of which is completely exhausted. However, it's one of the most enjoyable gigs I get to do, and this year we were all put up in a swanky Hamptons summer home, complete with tennis court, swimming pool, basketball court, jacuzzi, two dishwashers, two refrigerators, wifi, three living rooms, a hammock, bocce set, and one bathroom for each of our eight bedrooms. Enjoy some photos below:
The event's theme:
Howard Stern and wife:
Andre with Rufus Wainwright:
Rachel Zoe:
Beefcake:
So there's this website where one can procure the services of Steven Heward, DDS. Mr. Heward creates miniature etchings on false teeth (one can never have too niche-y a niche), which he then pops into willing people's gross, novocaine-numbed maws.
Here's an example of some artwork:
If you go to his website, you'll notice that there are MULTIPLE teeth with Amy Emphysema Winehouse on them, as well as a few featuring Tiger Woods. Okay, so some people are idiots. For the more sane patients, there are also Simon Cowell teeth. Simon Cowell. Really? I'd take Paula Abdul over him any day.
I could totally see getting a tooth tattoo of Abraham Lincoln, just because that really is kind of funny. I think I'd tire, though, of all the "you've got something stuck in your teeth" comments. I'll just go get a grill instead.
Yeah, that's right. It's a grill made of candy. You can now apply candy directly to your teeth, thus forgoing the years of effort trying to get a cavity the old-fashioned way. Crowns, anyone?
Some delightful summer fun in Washington Heights:
These kids, accompanied by many adults, are not only running through the spray from the fire hydrant, but also aiming it on full blast at passing cars, causing some to skid and many drivers to curse loudly out their windows.
For those of you who come to my blog looking for Rex Parker's (amazing) blog, it is located HERE.
If you're looking for the New York Times Crossword, it can be found HERE.
Those wishing to contact Brendan Emmett Quigley about his brilliant and aneurysm-inducing Friday puzzles can click HERE.
Those looking for gay bachata, I have no idea where you'd find that. All apologies.
"God bless him, bless his heart, president of the United States -- a total failure, losing all credibility with the American people on the economy, on the war, on energy, you name the subject," Pelosi told CNN's Wolf Blitzer in an exclusive interview.
In the interview, Pelosi said the president was in no position to criticize Congress and brushed aside the criticisms as "something to talk about because he has no ideas."
Hey folks- it's not often that I do a plug for a TV show, but if you haven't seen it yet and you have cable, then start watching Mad Men. It's a show about the Golden Age of Advertising, and it's valuable not only for its insights into the lives of copywriters and secretaries of the 50's, but also for its comedy, fashions, and acting. The cinematography is gorgeous, the plot line is solid, and nothing comes off as fake, which is impressive for a period show. Mad Men was created by the same dramatic genius that came up with The Sopranos. It airs on AMC, and the next season starts on the 28th, I believe. If you want to catch up on the plot, iTunes sells individual episodes for something like two dollars.
Watch it.
I had the (dis)pleasure of overhearing a rather lengthy conversation a few days ago between two men (who shall remain unnamed). Two of their main topics were illegal immigration and Hurricane Katrina. The older of the two suggested something akin to the following, to curb illegal immigration at the Mexican border:
Have every American buy a landmine which they can place at any point along the border. Depending on the amount of "beaners" (yes, he actually said "beaners") they kill, they receive a monetary reward. It was suggested that this would get people really "interested" and involved in the problem. This man also said that he wasn't "...racist, just anti-illegal!"
On Katrina, the same man had the following to say: "Yeah, it was ALL the government's fault, yeah like we planned on a fucking hurricane coming through. And you know what, we gave them $1500 credit cards, and those niggers (yes, he actually said "niggers") went out and spent it on sneakers and jewelry and shit!"
He went on to call Barack Obama a "commie socialist" and John McCain "not conservative enough".
This was easily the most embarrassing and awful conversation I've heard in a long time. One forgets, living in a liberal enclave like NYC, that people like these still exist, in frighteningly large numbers. I'd like to see what this man would have done with $1500 after his entire home was carried away, his parents drowned, and his workplace was obliterated. I wonder if he would have spent some of that on landmines. I mean, seriously, what are you gonna do with $1500? Invest in stocks?
1. GET A REAL AGENT.
Judging by the vast amount of scripts I read with the names of prestigious literary agencies emblazoned on the covers, it is not hard to get an agent. Therefore, you should not have your best friend (who works at some law firm in Tulsa) write you a letter of recommendation in which he pretends to be your agent. We have Google. We use it liberally when we smell bullshit. And your best friend is a terrible liar. So.
2. KEEP YOUR BIO SHORT.
Really short. No DOB, no hobbies. Don't tell me where you went to school- it can only hurt you. If you went to Yale and your script sucks, we think "is this all Yale could do?". If you went to Yale and your script is awesome we think "well, yeah, but my dog could write like that for $40k a year if he grew up a privileged fuck too"). Do we really think these things? Well, I can only speak for myself, but I can't be the only jaded bitch out there. And your script should speak for itself.
3. DON'T TELL ME.
If you have submitted your awful, awful play to the Pulitzer committee or the Nobel prize committee or some other such ridiculous thing, do not tell me. Wait, I take that back. Continue to tell me these things. I like a good laugh.
Every two weeks or so, my meeting with the literary manager (LM) goes as follows:
LM: So, anything good this time around?
Me: No.
So, give me something good to read, something that has representation, something that's not set inside an apartment, something that isn't thinly-veiled autobiography. Thanks.
If you need more advice, see my other posts on this topic: here and here.
It was with a pained stomach and no small amount of sadness that I returned to NYC last night via Delta Stupid Airlines. For the past 7 or so days, I had been living the bohemian lifestyle of a Seattle native- paying only $3.oo per pint of imported beer, walking empty streets without apprehension, and navigating an inscrutable public transportation system. I'm almost certain that Seattle has a higher per-capita homeless ratio than New York, having been asked for money, cigarettes or both in excess of ten times a day there. Either there are more of them, or they are more vocal about the whole thing.
Now, the bus system: I'm sure that if you've lived in the city for a decent amount of time, it might make sense (perhaps a little more than Obama choosing Trent Lott as his running mate), however, to the uninitiated and tired, it proves to be quite frustrating. Here's why it sucks:
1. Fares are different throughout the day.
In the morning, one could pay $2.25 for a ride. In the afternoon, $1.75 or $1.50. Sometimes, just to make things extra fun, the fare is free. One generally discovers this after dropping all of one's change into the fare box.
2. Sometimes you pay as you enter, sometimes you pay as you leave. You generally, once again, discover this after paying, upon which the bus driver will growl at you for being a dumb tourist- didn't you know that on every other Tuesday with a full moon it's "pay as you leave"?.
3. The stops are rarely announced, at least not at a volume that allows you to hear them. Which is good, because I really was just taking the bus for a scenic fucking tour.
4. The maps and schedules. Oh, the maps. They have so many numbers and colors on them, but never the numbers you're looking for. The last stop listed on the schedule for the #72 bus is 3rd Ave-Pike Street. Is that the last stop? Of course not, you fool! You just missed your stop.
5. There is no "uptown". I discovered this after missing my stop (see above), and was stuck at a station where all of the entryways were labeled "downtown". After searching in vain for an uptown bus to get back to where I was supposed to be, I called my friend, who informed me, incredulously, that there was no such thing as "uptown" in Seattle. "Downtown" refers to a district, not a direction. I was supposed to know this...how?
As to the homelessness, I found this: "Yet, among the four metropolitan areas identified as having a high rate of homeownership and a low percentage of minorities, Seattle was estimated to have by far the highest per capita rate of homelessness." Another website tells me that Seattle is just slightly above New York in its homelessness rate. And Seattle is a highly educated city. Weirdness.
Now, let's talk about airplanes. Specifically, the processes of boarding and disembarking. There is an overhead storage space above your seat. It has ample room for your asininely large luggage. Lift your rolly monstrosity to the cabinet, and slide it in. Repeat this action with the luggage of your thirty idiot children and lazy spouse. Be seated. Simple enough, no? Apparently not, because it took me half an hour to get off of the plane at JFK.
I've been MIA for a while, and that's because I've had a strange journey to the land of Seattle, where homeless folk are abundant, there is no "uptown", and thrift store spring from the ground in copious amounts, like dandelions. Update coming soon- stay tuned for an angry rant on the Seattle bus system.
So, I have this tracking program for my blog which tells me where my visitors come from, physically and interwebbily. Of course, most of my traffic consists of New Yorkers, but I do get some folks from Israel, Kansas, Germany, and a few places I've never heard of. I've found that some of these people find me on Google, with the following search terms:
- "long-armed sumatrans"
- dr. zizmor bunion
- "gay bachata"
- gay bachata NYC
- bran
- cover letter playwriting advice
- "New York Times" "Chain reaction"
- luis lara malvacias the kitchen
Now, I get the most joy, I think, from the fact that someone turned to my blog for playwriting advice. But the fact that I came up first on Google for "gay bachata", well... that's incredible.
