Another actor sighting, another asinine encounter averted

Sunday, February 15, 2009

A dear friend of mine told me that by blogging, I had found my forum. If I had a dollar every time I heard that one. She said this to me after reading my first installment, where I attend a party and embarrassment quickly ensues. I whined back, “Oh, great, now I have to leave my apartment to have something to write about.” To which she replied, “Not necessarily.” 

I thought about it and tried to come up with something that I could write about that didn’t entail having to leave my apartment (I don’t need that kind of pressure) or rather, not going to an event, or partaking in some grand activity.

A few minutes later, I wrote her back. “Oh, you mean I could write about how I've spent the last three hours (and two hours last night) scheduling my new Pilates clients into three different calendars, and two different address books?! Can you say OC-fucking D! Or maybe you're referring to the hissy fit that I almost pitched at Chase Bank today because I wasn't getting my way, so I kicked the door like a fucking two year old on my way out. You mean that kind of stuff?”

That being said, I had to leave my apartment yesterday, and I ran into yet another actor while waiting for the Q train, bound for Brooklyn, where I’m currently teacher training for Pilates certification. This is coming off the heels of my embarrassing encounter with the SVU actor. 

Tony Plana, from Ugly Betty, was pacing the subway platform. I was this close to walking up to him, introducing myself, and what? Regaling him with my adorable tale of how I know him? Well, yes, because this sort of thing puffs me up and gently strokes my ego. Hey, look at me, I know famous people?

Instead, I showed restraint and let him pass me by. Just for shits and giggles, let’s pretend I did accost Tony Plana. This is how I imagine the exchange would’ve gone down.

I walked up to Tony Plana and asked him if he was Tony Plana (knowing full well that he was) but I think this approach is less ‘stalky-like’. He said that he was Tony, and I was off. I told him that almost 15 years ago, I worked for a manager in Los Angeles, at an agency that represented him. He asked me who the manager was and when I told him, he smiled knowingly. But before he could say anything, I continued my introduction by telling him that four years ago, I worked for the same manager, at a different company, that currently represents him. I told him it was the last job I had in Los Angeles, before I moved. 

“I know. I couldn’t believe it either. After 20 years in the business, I was answering phones again. I spoke to you and your wife many times.”

He didn’t seem to remember but smiled nonetheless. I continued.

“Yeah, you’d think I would’ve climbed a little farther up the food chain in all of those years, but instead I was calling you with audition times and emailing you your sides. Oh, and sometimes I replenished your headshots in the files, after stapling them to your resumes of course.”

His face took on a, “That’s pathetic” grimace. Of course I could’ve been imagining it. “That job, well, let’s just say that a monkey from one of the shows on The Animal Planet could’ve done it. Blindfolded. But what are you going to do? I was between jobs and Robert offered me the position, so I really had no choice. Oh, and don’t get me started on the pittance that they paid me. I rollerbladed or biked to work, to save on gas money.”

Tony shuffled his feet, trying to end the conversation. I think I was making him nervous.

“Well, I just wanted to say hi and to congratulate you on the success of the show. It’s fun to see people from the old days making it. Hey, you know I grew up with one of your co-stars, Vanessa Williams. Is she down here with you? I’d love to say hello.”

Perfectly Reasonable

Friday, February 13, 2009

Here’s some backstory so the following tale will make sense. Hopefully.

I moved back to New York three years ago from L.A., via Prague (whole other story-stay tuned) moved into a building along the Hudson River, befriended a guy who I met in the elevator on my first night in the building, who then promptly set me up with his friend a month later. 

I dated his friend, who I will now refer to as the man, for over a year and a half. It then took us another 10 months to officially break up. I was (and still might be) in love with the man. Ours was a passionate, loving and in the end, highly charged and loaded relationship. I had never felt this way about anyone. Tragic. Oh, so terribly tragic.

(The why’s and the how’s will follow in the coming months) Since we stopped seeing one another, he has never left my mind nor my heart. And even though, according to family and friends, I should be over him, I’m clearly not.

See below.

I emailed my friend last night (the one from above backstory) about having a Match.com session at his place. This consists of sitting in front of his computer with a bottle of wine, searching for someone that we BOTH like for him to date. And when we do find someone, I help him write funny-ass emails; the likes of which are Nobel worthy, if I do say so myself. It’s a lot easier to take chances when you don’t care if the person responds or not. They’re sarcastic, off the cuff, and pretty out there. I’m not sure if my friend shares my philosophy but he keeps letting me browse with him. 

These days, sadly enough, Match.com, is my prized entertainment. The emails usually illicit crazy, gutturul fits of laughter, that either has me running to the bathroom so I don’t pee my pants or an abdominal work out that rivals any at the gym. Or both.

But on this particular night, my friend couldn't play in the reindeer games because he was going out with the boys. I know the boys could mean any number of boys but I was convinced that one of the boys had to be the man. Oh, crap. Does this mean he’s in the building? In my presence, figuratively speaking. I reeled for a moment or two and in that moment.

I visited jealousy. Was he going to talk to strange women when the boys went out? Was he going to get someone’s number? Envy. I wish I had ‘girls’ to go out with. How come I don’t know enough girls to have a girls night out? And a whole host of other, borderline pyschotic, feelings. So what do I, the supposed grown up, do? I did what any self respecting grown-up woman would do.

I got dressed (it was nine o’clock and I was already in my jammies) and went looking for the boys. I put on lipstick, and gloss, and decided that now was a perfect time to go to the corner drugstore (what am I in Mayberry) to pick up the rest of my meds (shocking I take meds) I’m such a cliche. Meds are so 2001 but whatever. 

I was hoping, of course, that I'd run into the man and yet, I was petrified of the idea. Did I really want to run into him? After all this time, I still don’t think I’d know what to say. Even in my pretend encounters I have with him in my head, I get tongue tied. There was definitely a push-pull thing happening. I wasn't sure what I wanted, but my body was victorious and it pushed me out the door. Oh, and I also put on my super cute jeans and slutty boots, because if I did run into the man, I didn’t want to be in sneakers. They’re too daytime and casual and I wanted to look like I was going ‘out’ and all sexy like. The boots look better with the jeans anyway.

From the time I stepped into the elevator, to the time I reached CVS, my eyes were in constant motion. Looking, seeking, darting, roving. Nothing. I walked into CVS and the pharmacy was closed. Am I in New York or podunk bumfunk?! What’s the point in living in the city that never sleeps if the pharmacy sleeps. Great. Thanks a lot CVS.

I wasn’t ready to go back home, because it was early and there was still a chance that I’d run into the boys. I decided that it was imperative that I go to the food store, a block away from CVS, to get my desperately needed bag of organic raw sugar (I forgot to pick it up when I was at Fairway yesterday) I knew putting it on my list was futile because I'd actually have to look at the list and I never do.

Food Emporium, the dirty hell hole that it is, didn't have my brand. I left dirty little Food Emporium, dejected and well, feeling dirty. I swear, there’s something about that store that makes you want to shower and shed a layer of skin.

On my walk back home, twice my heart nearly leapt into my throat when I thought I saw the man. It’s a good thing I’m over the man eh. I walked slowly, lingering really, thinking that maybe... I didn’t want to look like I was just strolling aimlessly on a Tuesday night (like I was looking for them) just in case I did run into them, so I played with my cell phone, appearing to be engrossed in a very important task. 

While I was at CVS, Verizon was kind enough to text me that I was at 80% capacity in my text inbox. Ironic, no? Perfect. As I walked, I deleted. Now I looked busy and with purpose.

When I got back to the building, I took stock at my behavior and well, I’d like to say that I was embarrassed and went right upstairs. But I can’t. I made a pit stop in the mailroom. What was I expecting to find? What? If the boys were in fact in the building, my friend is going to say to the man, “Hey, dude, I know it’s 9:30p and the bars and women are waiting, but can I get my mail first?” I went into the mailroom and got my mail anyway.

I thought about it, and I was this close to doing it, but I stopped short at going down to the garage to see if I saw the man’s car. That's progress, isn’t it? And then, and only then, did I make my way back upstairs to my apartment, where I took off my slutty boots, super cute jeans, put my jammies back on and did Sudoku before falling asleep.

Another night, Another Embarrassing Moment

Thursday, February 12, 2009

I went to the Woman's Day, Red Dress Awards last night. An award show thingy to celebrate the people behind women's heart health and the Larry King Cardiac Foundation. And yes, Mr. King was there. So was his brother. It also kicked off fashion week. Whatev. A friend of mine produced the show and invited me, thinking that it would be fun. I brought my friend Joelle. And no, I didn't have a red dress to wear, like the majority of the women attending. Why? Because I refuse to go shopping. Refuse to spend money. And prefer to live in my jeans and work out clothes only to curse the day, myself, and my mother (just cuz) every time I have to actually 'get dressed' and don't have a good goddam thing to wear, which ultimately leaves me feeling like a failure, loser and naked.

Okay, so after listening to Robin Thicke, who someone in the biz called, “the soul-fullest white man in music”, Joan Osbourne and Solnage Knowles (Beyonce's little sister try to sing, and let me just say that at 22 years old, that girl should not have bags under eyes the size of Cleveland, Joelle and I hit the after party reception.

I had a couple of glasses of a champagne and rasberry cocktail and scarfed down a couple of cute, and heart healthy, mini turkey burgers. It had been a while since I ate anything substantial and those mini buns weren't going to soak up anything but the extra saliva in my mouth, so the cocktails went straight to my head. That's when it happened.

I saw an actor, that no one would've recognized but me, from an episode of Law& Order SVU, heading for the cupcake table where I happened to be standing. And then, without thinking, but knowing that the next few minutes were going to end up in a story, I went in. The following is the 5 minute or less exchange.

ME

(literally grabbing his arm) Did you do an episode of SVU?

Dani hates playing the dumb blond. Of course she knows he was on the episode. Why else would she now be making an ass of herself?

ACTOR (smiling)

Yes.

ME

You were so good in that episode.

ACTOR

Thank you.

ME

It's my favorite show. And that episode was particularly great. I’ve seen them all, so I know.

Champagne really kicking in, accompanied by the all too embarrassing red cheeks.

ACTOR

Thank you. What's your name?

ME

Dani

ACTOR

I’m Jack. Nice to meet you.

ME

Nice meeting you. Have you done another SVU?

Again, Dani knows for a fact that he hasn’t, and she presses on.

ME (cont’d)

I love how they keep rotating all of the same actors from the Law and Orders. It's like a theater repertory company.

JACK

Yeah, it's like the triumvirate. I've done the...

Dani spaces out because she can't believe that she's acting like a deranged Jonas Brothers fan.

ME

I don't even watch the other ones. Only SVU. I'm a purist.

JACK

It's been two years, so I'm due for another one.

ME

Do you want me to make a phone call? Who should I call?

Jack smiles nervously.

JACK

Yeah, well, it's such a great show. She's great. He's great.

ME

And the writing's so good.

Jack nods.

ME

And I love when they put some funny in.

Jack nods a little less enthusiastically.

ME

(laughing to herself)

Yeah, I have this whole thing with Christopher Meloni.

We have so many connections, a two degree thing... we know a lot of the same people (trailing off).. Oh, my god, I sound like a stalker.

JACK

Well, thank you so much.

ME

Yeah, no problem. Again, you're really good.

BLACK OUT

Oh, boy do I wish I could black that out. I know. You don't have to say it. I should be locked up and the key melted!

It could've been a lot worse. I could've approached the actress, Linda Dano (who I'm sure no one recognized but me) from the soap opera Another World, who was also in attendance, and told her that I met her when I was an intern at the show, in Brooklyn, in 1987. God knows where that conversation would've gone.

Music In the Subway Sounds good to me… or does it?

I had an appointment on the upper west side yesterday, (that’s code for therapy), and I got on the wrong subway. I’m not always paying attention, especially when I’m reading a book and thinking about what parent I can blame for what during my therapy session. 

I accidentally got on the E, instead of the C. It didn’t hit me until 53rd and Fifth Avenue, that if I didn’t get off at the next stop, I’d find myself in Queens. I don’t have anything against Queens, even though my ex-husband lives there, I just wasn’t in the mood for another borough.

It wasn’t the first time I got on the wrong train. And I’m pretty sure it won’t be my last. While I zigzagged through the subway labyrinthine, I came across a couple of subway musicians. 

I saw the first one at the Port Authority station where I boarded the E instead of the C. I see this man every time I’m in that subway station and yesterday it dawned on me that each time I see him, he’s singing the same song. To say that his repertoire is grossly limited is a gross understatement.

But it got me thinking about getting myself out there and performing. I’ve got a guitar and I could sing the only song that I know how to play, which is an original that I wrote called, Tom Cruise’s Braces. Sure it’s a bit dated (Tom had braces in 2002) and most people aren’t even aware of this little factoid but if the 42nd St. troubadour can sing his oldie (I believe it was from the Bob Marley collection), then why couldn’t I? 

I fantasized about the exposure that I would get. There must be a million people passing through the subways on any given day. If I could play and draw a crowd around me, it would certainly be a lot cooler than performing for five drunks at open mic night. Why not do a subway gig? I’ve tried everything else to get some desperately needed attention. 

I spend so much time in the subway getting lost, I might as well make a few bucks while I’m down there. My brother once suggested that I sing in the subway. Of course he also suggested that I bring my picture and resume to the ABC offices and, “Just tell them you want to be on television.”

Then again, not everyone wants to hear subway musicians. People are tired, hot, or frost bitten, cursing the subway delays and just want to get home without getting sneezed on by a homeless woman. Or they want to get to their office without being pushed onto the tracks by the rush hour crowds that slowly edge them over the yellow line. 

But most importantly, the majority of the crowd that would be forming around me wouldn’t be inebriated, like they are in the comedy clubs. (pause) Forget it. I’m sticking to above ground establishments. 

The second musician I encountered was at the B train at Rockefeller Station. I listened to the violinist and frankly I could’ve done a better job, and I’ve never even held a violin. All I’m saying is that a little practice goes a long way. Sure you’re playing on a smelly stage, competing with screeching trains in the bowels of New York City, but that’s no excuse for sounding like you just picked up the violin for the first time. It’s a competitive world, even below street level. 

The subway musician Susan Cagle was discovered at Penn Station, after years of practice, and she recently released an album on Sony BMG. She has a song called, Dear Oprah, which she got to sing to Oprah on Oprah. 

This got me thinking again. Maybe I should take my guitar out of its case and sing Tom Cruise’s Braces in the subway. Who knows, maybe I’ll get discovered and then be asked to serenade Tom, Katie and Suri at a party at the Church of Scientology Celebrity Center.