GLEE! For all you Gleeks out there, get ready to be green with envy. I finally got to see Glee Live last night from front row first mezzanine of Radio City Music Hall. It was the last performance of their tour and included all the show's top hits, as well as video cameos from Sue & Mr. Schuester and a special encore song with Jonathan Groff.
But I won't bore everyone with all the Gleetails (let's face it, those who don't love the show hate it), so let's move on to some more updates.
The apartment's starting to feel much more New York. Two days ago, our freezer and dishwasher started leaking and, consequently, some floorboards are popping up. We called maintenance and within an hour, two plumbers came barging in. They muscled the fridge out, yelling loud Italian phrases, and then pushed it back; I managed to catch the words "broken pipe" before the mustache'd duo dashed away and slammed the door behind them. [That's the last I saw of Mario and Luigi, so I'm hoping they'll return tomorrow. In the mean time, George put a few coffee mugs under the drips (which I've only had to empty once). So yeah, we're coping.]
Hmm... what else have I been up to...?
Well yesterday, Whitney (marvelous soprano star/friend from Saskatchewan) flew in and took me to the best bagel place you can possibly imagine. I mean, it's so good I shouldn't even be telling you about it. The bagels are nothing short of warm doughy miracles, and the cream cheese tastes like children's dreams. Afterwards we went shopping down Madison and got frappuccinos in Trump Tower. Between the leaky apartment and 5th Ave couture trips, my life feels like an awkward cross between Carrie Bradshaw and Liz Lemon.
Today was Memorial Day, so the roommates and I took a subway to Chinatown/SoHo to do some exploring. We winded down a couple markets, strolled through Little Italy, and ended up in Battery Park. 'Twas my first glimpse of Lady Liberty on the Hudson, and she was lookin' fine.
Tomorrow's my first day at work (eek!), so the NYC honeymoon is officially over. I'm glad I came a week early to do all this adventuring; two broadway musicals, Late Show with Dave Letterman, Glee at Radio City Music Hall, off-broadway's Avenue Q, movie premieres, Macy's sprees, and afternoons in Central Park were great to experience before going back to the grindstone.
Wish me luck with the new job! Penn Plaza, here I come...
P.S. Don't forget to vote on May's CBAs! The poll closes tomorrow at 12:00a.m. EST.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Creative Begging Awards
New York street salesmen/salesladies are some of the most blunt people you'll ever meet. But to stand out of the crowd, they really need to have a little extra somethin' somethin'. To honor these people, I'm going to nominate the best ones for a brand new type of award: the CBA (Creative Begging Award). At the end of each month, you can vote on who you think deserves it and I'll announce the winner on the 1st of the following month.
Here are the street pitches that have really shone in May:
NOMINEES
1. Obama Condoms Guy: favorite slogans include "Step right up and get your stimulus package", "For all your hard times", and "Don't want no mama drama? Get yourself Barack Obama".
2. Random African American: he stands on the corner of Broadway and 42nd holding a sign that simply says "Hug a black guy or you're racist."
3. Elmo: A guy dressed up in a grungy Elmo costume holds out his empty red palms. He pleads, "Elmo needs a dollar. Do you have a dollar for Elmo?"
To vote for who you think deserves this month's CBA, leave a comment on this post (you don't need to be a follower or have a Google account to do so).
Good luck to all the nominees, and may the best creative beggar win!
Here are the street pitches that have really shone in May:
NOMINEES
1. Obama Condoms Guy: favorite slogans include "Step right up and get your stimulus package", "For all your hard times", and "Don't want no mama drama? Get yourself Barack Obama".
2. Random African American: he stands on the corner of Broadway and 42nd holding a sign that simply says "Hug a black guy or you're racist."
3. Elmo: A guy dressed up in a grungy Elmo costume holds out his empty red palms. He pleads, "Elmo needs a dollar. Do you have a dollar for Elmo?"
To vote for who you think deserves this month's CBA, leave a comment on this post (you don't need to be a follower or have a Google account to do so).
Good luck to all the nominees, and may the best creative beggar win!
One Short Day In the Emerald City
I must be part leprechaun, 'cause my luck is unbelievable! For the past two days I've been trying to get tickets to Broadway's top selling blockbuster -- Wicked -- through the Gershwin lottery. Ever since RENT started this tradition, most Broadway shows have these so-called 'lotteries' where people can show up on the day of a performance and toss their name in a draw for affordable tickets. In Wicked's case, the winners get front row seats for $26.25 (not bad, considering average tix run about $120).
Unfortunately, since Wicked is by far the most popular show on Broadway, the lottery is notoriously hard to win. They draw thirteen names from well over a hundred people in line. Odds of about one-in-ten.
Well, third time turned out to be my charm.
The process itself is always the same. Everyone lines up outside until a buff little black munchkin comes out and announces that the lottery is about to begin. Five minutes later, another guy sets up a table and golden ticket barrel inside the theater doors (I call this man Mr. Shades, because he always wears the same kickass sunglasses along with his same cool hat, same scruffy beard, and same checkered shirt). Everyone then writes their name on a piece of paper and hand it to Mr. Shades, crossing themselves and sending up tiny prayers. Over the next thirty minutes, we mingle and make friends with fellow fans. I've met some pretty nice folks and some pretty weird crackheads in these crowds, but everyone gets along fine...
Until Mr. Shades returns to announce the winners.
Suddenly everyone claws their way back to the front of the line with violent ferocity. The winners are then declared (when my name was called out second last, I threw my hand up and shouted "finally!") and the thirteen lucky people get to come forward while everyone else shoots them envious, evil glances. Winners even get this super elite button:
But as awesome as winning the lottery was -- as amazing as sitting in Gershwin's front row is -- today's highlight didn't come from the show. It came from a Wicked-related experience, yes, but not the performance itself.
Earlier this week I got a ticket to "Behind the Emerald Curtain", a backstage tour of everything Wicked (can you tell I'm a little bit obsessed?). So early this morning I woke up and headed down to 50th. At the end of the tour, the guides announced that they had a special trivia game. They drew names out of a box and a young boyfriend/girlfriend couple got to go up on stage. The guides then said they had three trivia questions, and if this couple got two out of three of them right, they would win a special Wicked prize.
Question 1: Who played Dorothy in the original Wizard of Oz?
The couple umm'd and uhh'd for a few seconds, then answered Judy Garland.
Easy enough.
Question 2: What is the diameter of the underdeck cogs used to move Wicked's upstage set tracks?
Obviously no one had any clue. But whatever.
For the third question, the guide turned to the girl and said "You're one for one. You need this final correct answer to win the big prize. But this time, why don't we let your boyfriend ask the question?"
Everyone in the audience gasped. The young guy turned to his girlfriend, smiling. Her eyes ballooned open.
The boyfriend said a few rehearsed words, then got down on one knee and pulled out a ring. Center stage. Gershwin theater. Wicked's sets and lights all around, an audience literally on the edge of their seats.
Now THAT'S one hell of a proposal.
And, needless to say, she said yes.
Unfortunately, since Wicked is by far the most popular show on Broadway, the lottery is notoriously hard to win. They draw thirteen names from well over a hundred people in line. Odds of about one-in-ten.
Well, third time turned out to be my charm.
The process itself is always the same. Everyone lines up outside until a buff little black munchkin comes out and announces that the lottery is about to begin. Five minutes later, another guy sets up a table and golden ticket barrel inside the theater doors (I call this man Mr. Shades, because he always wears the same kickass sunglasses along with his same cool hat, same scruffy beard, and same checkered shirt). Everyone then writes their name on a piece of paper and hand it to Mr. Shades, crossing themselves and sending up tiny prayers. Over the next thirty minutes, we mingle and make friends with fellow fans. I've met some pretty nice folks and some pretty weird crackheads in these crowds, but everyone gets along fine...
Until Mr. Shades returns to announce the winners.
Suddenly everyone claws their way back to the front of the line with violent ferocity. The winners are then declared (when my name was called out second last, I threw my hand up and shouted "finally!") and the thirteen lucky people get to come forward while everyone else shoots them envious, evil glances. Winners even get this super elite button:
But as awesome as winning the lottery was -- as amazing as sitting in Gershwin's front row is -- today's highlight didn't come from the show. It came from a Wicked-related experience, yes, but not the performance itself.
Earlier this week I got a ticket to "Behind the Emerald Curtain", a backstage tour of everything Wicked (can you tell I'm a little bit obsessed?). So early this morning I woke up and headed down to 50th. At the end of the tour, the guides announced that they had a special trivia game. They drew names out of a box and a young boyfriend/girlfriend couple got to go up on stage. The guides then said they had three trivia questions, and if this couple got two out of three of them right, they would win a special Wicked prize.
Question 1: Who played Dorothy in the original Wizard of Oz?
The couple umm'd and uhh'd for a few seconds, then answered Judy Garland.
Easy enough.
Question 2: What is the diameter of the underdeck cogs used to move Wicked's upstage set tracks?
Obviously no one had any clue. But whatever.
For the third question, the guide turned to the girl and said "You're one for one. You need this final correct answer to win the big prize. But this time, why don't we let your boyfriend ask the question?"
Everyone in the audience gasped. The young guy turned to his girlfriend, smiling. Her eyes ballooned open.
The boyfriend said a few rehearsed words, then got down on one knee and pulled out a ring. Center stage. Gershwin theater. Wicked's sets and lights all around, an audience literally on the edge of their seats.
Now THAT'S one hell of a proposal.
And, needless to say, she said yes.
Friday, May 28, 2010
RIP Gary Coleman
When I heard yesterday that Gary Coleman had passed away, I knew I had to get tickets to off-broadway's Avenue Q IMMEDIATELY. Avenue Q -- an R-rated version of Sesame St., puppets and all -- has been a guilty pleasure for the past few years. One of the main characters is, yep, Gary Coleman (played by a woman who at times sings songs like "It Sucks to Be Me" and "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist"). I wanted to experience the show on an emotional night for the cast, and wanted to see it before they changed anything.
Before the show began, I took my seat in the very last row of the theater. New World Stages is relatively small so I still had a great view, but something was particularly special about my seat last night. I noticed a man coming in right before 8:00 -- it was Jeff Whitty, one of the writers/creators of the Tony award winning show that I was just about to see. He took a seat at the very back and the lights went down.
The show was scream-with-laughter funny, second only to The Producers in my opinion. The first time Gary came on, there was a mixed audience reaction of cheering, nervous laughter, and a few "ooooohs". I chose to cheer, and it caught on. For the rest of the performance, Gary was Gary -- a funny character the audience loved, not an awkward joke that I think the actors and creators were fearing he'd become.
At the end of the show, the lights stayed up and Jennifer Barnhart gave a straight-from-the-heart speech in honor of Gary. She said that although they joke a lot in the show and poke a lot of fun at him, sharing laughter and fun is what Gary loved about life. She said she'd continue being the best damn Gary Coleman she could be, and wished Gary goodbye ("but only for now...").
As the audience shuffled out of the theater, I pushed past the crowds to where Jeff Whitty was still sitting alone at the back. I tapped his shoulder and asked if he was the writer of the show -- he turned around, eyes red, a few tears coming down, and nodded. I said thanks for making me laugh so hard, and we went on to talk about what would become of the show. He said he wants to leave it as is, that Gary is so part of the show it would feel wrong to change it.
I'd say I have to agree.
By then, more people were starting to swarm around us, so I said another quick 'thank you' and took off out the theater. It was great to meet such a down to earth guy (not everyone with Tonys are stuck up divas!).
I expect most of you readers hadn't heard of Avenue Q before this blog post. That's ok, I can't say I'd heard of Mr. Coleman (I had, but barely). So instead of making up some stranger's salute to Gary, I'll let the insert I got in my playbill have the final word here. I think it says it best.
Aveunue Q: The creators, producers, and company of "Avenue Q" fondly dedicate this performance to the memory of Gary Coleman, whose tremendous gifts brought delight to audiences around the world. While everything in life may be only for now, we suspect that Gary's legacy will live on for many years to come. Gary's memory will certainly endure in the hearts and minds of those of us who live on "Avenue Q".
Before the show began, I took my seat in the very last row of the theater. New World Stages is relatively small so I still had a great view, but something was particularly special about my seat last night. I noticed a man coming in right before 8:00 -- it was Jeff Whitty, one of the writers/creators of the Tony award winning show that I was just about to see. He took a seat at the very back and the lights went down.
The show was scream-with-laughter funny, second only to The Producers in my opinion. The first time Gary came on, there was a mixed audience reaction of cheering, nervous laughter, and a few "ooooohs". I chose to cheer, and it caught on. For the rest of the performance, Gary was Gary -- a funny character the audience loved, not an awkward joke that I think the actors and creators were fearing he'd become.
At the end of the show, the lights stayed up and Jennifer Barnhart gave a straight-from-the-heart speech in honor of Gary. She said that although they joke a lot in the show and poke a lot of fun at him, sharing laughter and fun is what Gary loved about life. She said she'd continue being the best damn Gary Coleman she could be, and wished Gary goodbye ("but only for now...").
As the audience shuffled out of the theater, I pushed past the crowds to where Jeff Whitty was still sitting alone at the back. I tapped his shoulder and asked if he was the writer of the show -- he turned around, eyes red, a few tears coming down, and nodded. I said thanks for making me laugh so hard, and we went on to talk about what would become of the show. He said he wants to leave it as is, that Gary is so part of the show it would feel wrong to change it.
I'd say I have to agree.
By then, more people were starting to swarm around us, so I said another quick 'thank you' and took off out the theater. It was great to meet such a down to earth guy (not everyone with Tonys are stuck up divas!).
I expect most of you readers hadn't heard of Avenue Q before this blog post. That's ok, I can't say I'd heard of Mr. Coleman (I had, but barely). So instead of making up some stranger's salute to Gary, I'll let the insert I got in my playbill have the final word here. I think it says it best.
Aveunue Q: The creators, producers, and company of "Avenue Q" fondly dedicate this performance to the memory of Gary Coleman, whose tremendous gifts brought delight to audiences around the world. While everything in life may be only for now, we suspect that Gary's legacy will live on for many years to come. Gary's memory will certainly endure in the hearts and minds of those of us who live on "Avenue Q".
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Manhattan Fit
As a healthy college kid (ignore my lack of muscle mass for a second), I would say I'm reasonably fit. Unfortunately, "reasonably fit" doesn't cut it in crazy New York City. There's a whole different kind of fit out here, and it's very unique.
I call it: Manhattan Fit.
After four days of strutting the streets and avenues of Midtown and Chelsea, after hours of carting grocery bags up and down the garment district, of standing in the scorching sun for Broadway tickets and hustling through Central Park, my body was begging to stop. My legs were rubber, my skin was red, my toes had blisters, my blisters had blisters, and my biceps could barely lift themselves.
But no more! Today marked the beginning of a turnaround -- my physique is starting to adapt to the New York regime. Manhattan Fit is all about toning five key areas: legs, feet, arms, skin, and wardrobe. See, New Yorkers need strong legs and tough feet to walk the streets and hop subways all day. They need bulging arms to carry their shopping bags and bejeweled designer totes, and they desire dark skin slipped inside the sleekest outfits for optimal sexiness and femininity. In fact, if New Yorkers were Nazis, this would pretty much be their Aryan race:
Hopefully I don't come back looking like that. However, my callouses are hardening quickly, my sun burns are browning nicely, and my hamstrings feel better than ever. In fact, thanks to my height, my long legs are the envy of everyone I pass on the sidewalks. I've seen them staring; New Yorkers would kill for a pair of these.
In related news, my favorite pass time is listening to music while walking to and from my various destinations. Every time I take out my prehistoric iPod Video, though, I get a few pity looks. Don't you know how much faster those beautiful legs could go if they weren't weighed down by that anchor?
But for every person on the sidewalk in NY who gives you a look, there are five dozen others who will stampede right through you without glancing up. Oh, with one exception: at every crosswalk, mobs gather on opposite sides waiting for the light to turn red. They stare each other down, pawing their hooves. And when the light blinks red to stop the traffic, everyone charges into no-man's land, slow motion, screaming at the top of their lungs.
I've seen some grim casualties.
Anyways, back to Manhattan Fit. Up until today, I've worked out four of five key areas (legs, feet, arms, and skin). This afternoon I finally got to area five: wardrobe. Macy's had awesome sales -- 50% off most shorts and shirts -- so I stocked up on summer-wear and headed back home. At this point, I know what I'm after. I don't really window shop any more and, in New York fashion, I never buy something unless I know it's on sale. I've also learned the quickest way to get home, which, for some strange reason, was filled with marching protesters today. But instead of re-routing my path, I marched with the protesters for two blocks (calling out "Free Gaza!" three or four times for the heck of it) and then parted down 6th.
All in all, I'd call it a successful day. I'm not completely Manhattan Fit yet, but it's still only week one. Gimme a full summer and I could totally chisel my way to that hot body above...
Or not. I have a feeling Canada wouldn't let me back in.
I call it: Manhattan Fit.
After four days of strutting the streets and avenues of Midtown and Chelsea, after hours of carting grocery bags up and down the garment district, of standing in the scorching sun for Broadway tickets and hustling through Central Park, my body was begging to stop. My legs were rubber, my skin was red, my toes had blisters, my blisters had blisters, and my biceps could barely lift themselves.
But no more! Today marked the beginning of a turnaround -- my physique is starting to adapt to the New York regime. Manhattan Fit is all about toning five key areas: legs, feet, arms, skin, and wardrobe. See, New Yorkers need strong legs and tough feet to walk the streets and hop subways all day. They need bulging arms to carry their shopping bags and bejeweled designer totes, and they desire dark skin slipped inside the sleekest outfits for optimal sexiness and femininity. In fact, if New Yorkers were Nazis, this would pretty much be their Aryan race:
Hopefully I don't come back looking like that. However, my callouses are hardening quickly, my sun burns are browning nicely, and my hamstrings feel better than ever. In fact, thanks to my height, my long legs are the envy of everyone I pass on the sidewalks. I've seen them staring; New Yorkers would kill for a pair of these.
In related news, my favorite pass time is listening to music while walking to and from my various destinations. Every time I take out my prehistoric iPod Video, though, I get a few pity looks. Don't you know how much faster those beautiful legs could go if they weren't weighed down by that anchor?
But for every person on the sidewalk in NY who gives you a look, there are five dozen others who will stampede right through you without glancing up. Oh, with one exception: at every crosswalk, mobs gather on opposite sides waiting for the light to turn red. They stare each other down, pawing their hooves. And when the light blinks red to stop the traffic, everyone charges into no-man's land, slow motion, screaming at the top of their lungs.
I've seen some grim casualties.
Anyways, back to Manhattan Fit. Up until today, I've worked out four of five key areas (legs, feet, arms, and skin). This afternoon I finally got to area five: wardrobe. Macy's had awesome sales -- 50% off most shorts and shirts -- so I stocked up on summer-wear and headed back home. At this point, I know what I'm after. I don't really window shop any more and, in New York fashion, I never buy something unless I know it's on sale. I've also learned the quickest way to get home, which, for some strange reason, was filled with marching protesters today. But instead of re-routing my path, I marched with the protesters for two blocks (calling out "Free Gaza!" three or four times for the heck of it) and then parted down 6th.
All in all, I'd call it a successful day. I'm not completely Manhattan Fit yet, but it's still only week one. Gimme a full summer and I could totally chisel my way to that hot body above...
Or not. I have a feeling Canada wouldn't let me back in.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
And God blessed Broadway with TKTS
Fact #1: Broadway is expensive.
Fact #2: Students are poor.
If it were up to me, I'd see every rock concert, broadway musical, comedy night, movie premiere, awards show, and off-broadway play I could possibly fit between eating and sleeping. Unfortunately, my bank account and I respectfully disagree. That's why... drumroll... TKTS is my new favorite company.
TKTS sells day-of tickets to Broadway and Off-Broadway shows for up to 50% off. The only down side? Long lines. I hopped over to Times Square at 1:30 (was tenth in line) and didn't get my ticket to American Idiot 'til 3:15. It was 100 frickin' degrees, and the ledge I was sitting on was volcanically hot (I think I actually smelled my ass burning). Was it worth it? Absolutely.
American Idiot -- based on Green Day's best selling album -- was an explosion of energy. I don't know what the actors do for a warm up, but it must consist of electroshock and/or steroids because they are, in all ways, pumped up and electrifying. My favorites were John Gallagher Jr. (Spring Awakening) and Tony Vincent (Jesus Christ Superstar). Great characters, awesome actors. If anyone's a Green Day or Rent fan, you have to see this. Not as good as Rent, in my opinion, but strong enough to win this year's Best Musical.
Anecdote: Periodically throughout the show, I noticed a woman in the row ahead of me jotting down notes on a tiny sketch pad. After the curtain call was over and everyone was headed out of St. James, I asked her if she was a reviewer. She looked around cautiously and lowered her voice, whispering "Maybe." As we swam like salmon through the mobs of people, I asked her what other shows she recommended. She gushed about a couple newer plays and I made some mental notes. At the exit I turned to say a quick thank you... but she had totally vanished, gone in the grungy 44th St. air like the Phantom of the Rock Opera.
So what else do I have planned, you may wonder? Well, next is Glee Live at Radio City Music Hall this coming Sunday. After that, I got a ticket to Dee Roscioli at Birdland Jazz on June 28th (she played the Elphaba I saw in Wicked last summer; amazing, powerful voice). Myself and some other SNL fans are going to watch some improv at UCB (probably on June 6th) and the Sunday after that is the Tony Awards, which is a red carpet I cannot miss. Also, I discovered that Christina Auglera, Rascal Flatts, Carrie Underwood, and Lady Gaga are performing at Rockefeller Center for free throughout June/July, so that's pretty cool.
Oh, and I guess I'm starting a job or something on Tuesday too.
Right. Can't forget about that.
...But, rumor is, I can get discounted theater tickets and free museum passes through my internship. So, by the looks of things, this summer's just getting started.
Fact #2: Students are poor.
If it were up to me, I'd see every rock concert, broadway musical, comedy night, movie premiere, awards show, and off-broadway play I could possibly fit between eating and sleeping. Unfortunately, my bank account and I respectfully disagree. That's why... drumroll... TKTS is my new favorite company.
TKTS sells day-of tickets to Broadway and Off-Broadway shows for up to 50% off. The only down side? Long lines. I hopped over to Times Square at 1:30 (was tenth in line) and didn't get my ticket to American Idiot 'til 3:15. It was 100 frickin' degrees, and the ledge I was sitting on was volcanically hot (I think I actually smelled my ass burning). Was it worth it? Absolutely.
American Idiot -- based on Green Day's best selling album -- was an explosion of energy. I don't know what the actors do for a warm up, but it must consist of electroshock and/or steroids because they are, in all ways, pumped up and electrifying. My favorites were John Gallagher Jr. (Spring Awakening) and Tony Vincent (Jesus Christ Superstar). Great characters, awesome actors. If anyone's a Green Day or Rent fan, you have to see this. Not as good as Rent, in my opinion, but strong enough to win this year's Best Musical.
Anecdote: Periodically throughout the show, I noticed a woman in the row ahead of me jotting down notes on a tiny sketch pad. After the curtain call was over and everyone was headed out of St. James, I asked her if she was a reviewer. She looked around cautiously and lowered her voice, whispering "Maybe." As we swam like salmon through the mobs of people, I asked her what other shows she recommended. She gushed about a couple newer plays and I made some mental notes. At the exit I turned to say a quick thank you... but she had totally vanished, gone in the grungy 44th St. air like the Phantom of the Rock Opera.
So what else do I have planned, you may wonder? Well, next is Glee Live at Radio City Music Hall this coming Sunday. After that, I got a ticket to Dee Roscioli at Birdland Jazz on June 28th (she played the Elphaba I saw in Wicked last summer; amazing, powerful voice). Myself and some other SNL fans are going to watch some improv at UCB (probably on June 6th) and the Sunday after that is the Tony Awards, which is a red carpet I cannot miss. Also, I discovered that Christina Auglera, Rascal Flatts, Carrie Underwood, and Lady Gaga are performing at Rockefeller Center for free throughout June/July, so that's pretty cool.
Oh, and I guess I'm starting a job or something on Tuesday too.
Right. Can't forget about that.
...But, rumor is, I can get discounted theater tickets and free museum passes through my internship. So, by the looks of things, this summer's just getting started.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz
would blog today, but I'm way too tired from lounging in central park all afternoon. i know, i know. tough life.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Celebs
Hey bloggies, gonna keep this entry quick and to the point (just how New Yorkers like things).
After a tasty lunch at Wonjo (a Korean BBQ), Andrew and I headed to the Ed Sullivan theater for our Late Show with Dave Letterman taping. We got our tickets with an hour to spare and moseyed back to Time Square, taking seats on the red steps to people watch. Both left and right were tourists lined up for the TKTS cue; up ahead were news crews shooting stories; and right below was a sub-par rapper failing to impress the yawning crowds around him.
Fast forward to the Late Show. CBS had loads of pages and warm up comedians to get us amped with energy, which only added to the ultimate rush when Dave erupted from behind the set thirty feet in front of us. The main celeb guest was Jake Gyllenhaal (he and Dave were hilarious together), and the band was mind-blowing. Sitting in the actual studio audience is a little weird, though, because the stage is infinitely smaller than what it looks like on television. Crazy camera magic.
Not much more to add tonight. I strolled up and down the Sex and the City 2 premiere a couple of times, but didn't manage to catch a glimpse of Sarah Jessica Parker. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't, though -- I think I'd have felt compelled to yell some obscure line from Hocus Pocus, in which case she might be offended that I consider Sarah Sanderson her finest acting achievement.
Anyways, off to bed -- my legs are burning from all this walking. No wonder everyone in Manhattan's a bloody stick.
After a tasty lunch at Wonjo (a Korean BBQ), Andrew and I headed to the Ed Sullivan theater for our Late Show with Dave Letterman taping. We got our tickets with an hour to spare and moseyed back to Time Square, taking seats on the red steps to people watch. Both left and right were tourists lined up for the TKTS cue; up ahead were news crews shooting stories; and right below was a sub-par rapper failing to impress the yawning crowds around him.
Fast forward to the Late Show. CBS had loads of pages and warm up comedians to get us amped with energy, which only added to the ultimate rush when Dave erupted from behind the set thirty feet in front of us. The main celeb guest was Jake Gyllenhaal (he and Dave were hilarious together), and the band was mind-blowing. Sitting in the actual studio audience is a little weird, though, because the stage is infinitely smaller than what it looks like on television. Crazy camera magic.
Not much more to add tonight. I strolled up and down the Sex and the City 2 premiere a couple of times, but didn't manage to catch a glimpse of Sarah Jessica Parker. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't, though -- I think I'd have felt compelled to yell some obscure line from Hocus Pocus, in which case she might be offended that I consider Sarah Sanderson her finest acting achievement.
Anyways, off to bed -- my legs are burning from all this walking. No wonder everyone in Manhattan's a bloody stick.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Exploring the Concrete Jungle
Time to pick up where I left off: New York City itself. Yesterday I spent the first night at my genuine Midtown pad (“The Vogue”) on 6th St. -- same street as Radio City Music Hall and NBC, and only a brisk ten minute walk from Times Square. Needless to say, the apartment’s in a great area. In fact, last night my roommate, his buddies, and I took a trip up to our roof (there's a tonne of trees, chic benches, and a cigarette smoking body guard up there) and were blown away by the view. To the right is Macy’s flagship store in Herald Square, and to the left is the towering Empire State Building, all lit up in blue against the glow of the city’s shimmering skyline. The Chrysler building twinkles in the distance, and the rows of cars zoom through the streets like blood cells through the throbbing heart of the city. Hate to go all poetic here, but this roof view has def-in-ite-ly been a summer highlight so far.
One sec, I need to take a step back. I mentioned my roommate – Andrew’s his name. He’s from North Dakota, he’s doing an internship at ABC, he loves cheesecake, he’s my age, and he’s half-Asian. Awesome guy. Also, he’s brought along his North Dakotan pinochle posse who consists of an electric engineer, a guitar star, and an a capella songster slash Princeton grad. All awesome guys, too. [For curiosity sake, I asked Andrew if he knew who Canada’s “President” was, to which he answered, “Don’t you guys have an emperor or something?” ... Close enough.]
The rest of the North Dakota crew is only around ‘til the start of this week, so they took off touring NYC today while Andrew and I got down to work. Groceries work. We took the subway for the first time from Penn Station at Madison Square Garden down to 14th to a place that’s popular for its low prices (Western Beef). I expected grocery shopping here to be a lot different from home, but I was still surprised by the tiny two foot wide rows packed with people.
Everything in Manhattan is thin, even their store isles.
Also, an important lesson I picked up is that New Yorkers never pay full price. If an item's not labelled, they’ll yell to the workers asking if it’s marked down. If it’s not, they’ll drop it like it’s laced with anthrax. So, after bracing myself for exorbitant prices, I was pleasantly surprised by the low grocery bill that the cashier handed me.
On the way back from the store we got slightly turned around (“lost” is too strong a word), and ended up dragging our grocery bags around most of lower Midtown. We were hot, tired, and hungry -- one time a guy got in my way with his camera lens and I actually thought "Outta my way, tourist!". Guess I'm a bona-fide New Yorker.
Eventually we wound up back at our apartment around lunch – arms sore but spirits high. Next was the Bed, Bath, and Beyond saga, in which we trekked up Broadway twenty eight streets for a pillow and comforter (I refused paying Macy’s prices). Lucky we did, however, because in a burst of randomness we popped into the CBS Late Show theatre to toss our names in their television ticket lottery – an hour later I got a phone call announcing we’d been chosen!! So at 1:00 tomorrow, Andrew and I will be sitting down to have Dave Letterman, Paul Shaffer, and some awesome guests entertain us for free.
I Heart NY.
One sec, I need to take a step back. I mentioned my roommate – Andrew’s his name. He’s from North Dakota, he’s doing an internship at ABC, he loves cheesecake, he’s my age, and he’s half-Asian. Awesome guy. Also, he’s brought along his North Dakotan pinochle posse who consists of an electric engineer, a guitar star, and an a capella songster slash Princeton grad. All awesome guys, too. [For curiosity sake, I asked Andrew if he knew who Canada’s “President” was, to which he answered, “Don’t you guys have an emperor or something?” ... Close enough.]
The rest of the North Dakota crew is only around ‘til the start of this week, so they took off touring NYC today while Andrew and I got down to work. Groceries work. We took the subway for the first time from Penn Station at Madison Square Garden down to 14th to a place that’s popular for its low prices (Western Beef). I expected grocery shopping here to be a lot different from home, but I was still surprised by the tiny two foot wide rows packed with people.
Everything in Manhattan is thin, even their store isles.
Also, an important lesson I picked up is that New Yorkers never pay full price. If an item's not labelled, they’ll yell to the workers asking if it’s marked down. If it’s not, they’ll drop it like it’s laced with anthrax. So, after bracing myself for exorbitant prices, I was pleasantly surprised by the low grocery bill that the cashier handed me.
On the way back from the store we got slightly turned around (“lost” is too strong a word), and ended up dragging our grocery bags around most of lower Midtown. We were hot, tired, and hungry -- one time a guy got in my way with his camera lens and I actually thought "Outta my way, tourist!". Guess I'm a bona-fide New Yorker.
Eventually we wound up back at our apartment around lunch – arms sore but spirits high. Next was the Bed, Bath, and Beyond saga, in which we trekked up Broadway twenty eight streets for a pillow and comforter (I refused paying Macy’s prices). Lucky we did, however, because in a burst of randomness we popped into the CBS Late Show theatre to toss our names in their television ticket lottery – an hour later I got a phone call announcing we’d been chosen!! So at 1:00 tomorrow, Andrew and I will be sitting down to have Dave Letterman, Paul Shaffer, and some awesome guests entertain us for free.
I Heart NY.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
NEW YORK CITY
...center of the universe -- I finally made it! First flight boarded at the eye-popping hour of 5:30a.m., but (if you haven’t heard) morning departures have become tremendously trendy. Well... maybe not, but I guess I’m so used to red eyes and restless nights curled up in airports that it felt wonderful to be part of the in-group boarding at 5:30 versus the horde of zombie arrivals just crawling off.
Now, two words.
First. Class.
I don’t know how many of you anonymous internet readers have flown first class before, but it was 100% new to me. For the coach-proletariat out there, let me attempt to articulate the dream world that is ‘executive seating’.
‘Whatever,’ you’re probably thinking. ‘It’s just extra leg room. Comfier chairs. Pssh, so what?”
Nooooo no no no no. You don’t understand. First class is so much more – it’s extravagantly extraordinary, yes, but a little spooky at the same time. For example, I was looking out the window before we’d taxied out and thinking about how thirsty I was. Not a second later, I heard a voice asking, “Orange juice?”. I turned to see a flight attendant offering a glass (not one of those cheap plastic cups, but a real glass glass) with a pitcher of OJ.
First class flight attendants can read minds.
I cocked an eyebrow – you’re good – and took the glass, not betraying more than a quarter smile. Minutes later she returned (determined, I’m guessing, to gain my approval), holding out a steaming towel on the end of two tongs.
I slowly plucked the hot towel from the tongs and just held it. What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Subtlety, I looked around at the other first-classers for hints. One woman was wiping her hands with it, so I wiped my hands. Felt good, I guess. Then I folded it up and the flight attendant swooped in with her tongs and took it away. Touche, Attendant. Touche.
Shortly after the towel cleansing ceremony, our plane was up in the air. And after take off, I found myself staring out the window feeling hungry. I looked over at the attendant, focusing all my brain power on sending ‘steak and eggs’ signals, and I swear I saw her roll her eyes. Defeated, I went back to staring out the window when, suddenly, a familiar voice asked “quiche or scrambled?”. I spun back around to see the flight attendant taking breakfast orders. Five minutes later, I had a full tray of sausage, scrambled eggs, yogurt, bread, and hashbrowns sizzling on the tray in front of me. They closed the separator curtains so that the lowly cabin people couldn’t so much as smell our delectable dishes, and I proceeded to wolf down the whole platter while watching two episodes of 30 Rock. First Class, how have I gone all these years without you?
The part of my trip that I was most anxious about was crossing US customs. As a person entering the US to work, the hoops one has to jump through are tiny, constantly moving, and streaking with flames. I was armed with my passport, DS-2019/J-1 Visa status, SEVIS registration receipt, and a buttload of other forms. After lengthy questioning, the officer handed me my visa, looked deep in my eyes, and said in the gruffest African American accent I’ve ever heard, “Protect this with your life.” The tone of this warning was so soul piercing that I believe not only would I be kicked out of the USA if I lost the visa, but my spirit would also be cursed for all eternity. I took the passport delicately, as if it was a shred of my being, and have since considered sleeping with it every night.
So that’s how my story starts. I’ll end this chapter with a cliff-hanger of sorts and continue when I have a few more Manhattan tales to tell. Keep an eye out for more blogs – they could be funny, they could be sad, they could be scary. Beats me. After all, this is a story where even the author doesn’t know what happens next...
Now, two words.
First. Class.
I don’t know how many of you anonymous internet readers have flown first class before, but it was 100% new to me. For the coach-proletariat out there, let me attempt to articulate the dream world that is ‘executive seating’.
‘Whatever,’ you’re probably thinking. ‘It’s just extra leg room. Comfier chairs. Pssh, so what?”
Nooooo no no no no. You don’t understand. First class is so much more – it’s extravagantly extraordinary, yes, but a little spooky at the same time. For example, I was looking out the window before we’d taxied out and thinking about how thirsty I was. Not a second later, I heard a voice asking, “Orange juice?”. I turned to see a flight attendant offering a glass (not one of those cheap plastic cups, but a real glass glass) with a pitcher of OJ.
First class flight attendants can read minds.
I cocked an eyebrow – you’re good – and took the glass, not betraying more than a quarter smile. Minutes later she returned (determined, I’m guessing, to gain my approval), holding out a steaming towel on the end of two tongs.
I slowly plucked the hot towel from the tongs and just held it. What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Subtlety, I looked around at the other first-classers for hints. One woman was wiping her hands with it, so I wiped my hands. Felt good, I guess. Then I folded it up and the flight attendant swooped in with her tongs and took it away. Touche, Attendant. Touche.
Shortly after the towel cleansing ceremony, our plane was up in the air. And after take off, I found myself staring out the window feeling hungry. I looked over at the attendant, focusing all my brain power on sending ‘steak and eggs’ signals, and I swear I saw her roll her eyes. Defeated, I went back to staring out the window when, suddenly, a familiar voice asked “quiche or scrambled?”. I spun back around to see the flight attendant taking breakfast orders. Five minutes later, I had a full tray of sausage, scrambled eggs, yogurt, bread, and hashbrowns sizzling on the tray in front of me. They closed the separator curtains so that the lowly cabin people couldn’t so much as smell our delectable dishes, and I proceeded to wolf down the whole platter while watching two episodes of 30 Rock. First Class, how have I gone all these years without you?
The part of my trip that I was most anxious about was crossing US customs. As a person entering the US to work, the hoops one has to jump through are tiny, constantly moving, and streaking with flames. I was armed with my passport, DS-2019/J-1 Visa status, SEVIS registration receipt, and a buttload of other forms. After lengthy questioning, the officer handed me my visa, looked deep in my eyes, and said in the gruffest African American accent I’ve ever heard, “Protect this with your life.” The tone of this warning was so soul piercing that I believe not only would I be kicked out of the USA if I lost the visa, but my spirit would also be cursed for all eternity. I took the passport delicately, as if it was a shred of my being, and have since considered sleeping with it every night.
So that’s how my story starts. I’ll end this chapter with a cliff-hanger of sorts and continue when I have a few more Manhattan tales to tell. Keep an eye out for more blogs – they could be funny, they could be sad, they could be scary. Beats me. After all, this is a story where even the author doesn’t know what happens next...
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