WheNever Trains

damn traffic. i thought nyc was supposed to eliminate traffic congestion right? i mean, in the subways at least. that's why i don't have a car, because it's easy and fast to get around on the subway. not today! how about adding an extra thirty minutes onto what is normally a twenty-five minute ride? sheesh. i ended up getting off a stop early and walking... and when i got there, along came the people who had waited and just gotten off. so, i made the same amount of time and got a little exercise out of it.

tomorrow, thoughts on the last moments of age twenty-three.

Let's Just Laugh to Ourselves

...so goes the line of dialogue in COMPANY, now playing at Broadway's Barrymore Theatre.

It's fine. It's a John Doyle show, and I had a really hard time with SWEENEY, and COMPANY too seems just out of place. These people interacting and living while carrying their instruments... musicians, don't freak out! I know you can speak and hold your trumpet at the same time, but you don't always carry your trumpet around with you, do you? Like, to a one-night-stand? Or your flute to a park?

Anyway, the best scenes were had when there were no annoying pieces of brass to get in the way. Angel Desai (as Marta) was far and away the greatest thing on that stage. Her "Another Hundred People" was full of intrigue, compassion, understanding, development, color, creativity, et al. She knew what she was singing about and made it very clear. And she was able to have fun doing it -- go figure!

Barbara Walsh did as fine a job as she could with Stritchy's tune, which, let's face it, no one is going to master in any way close to the best. At least she did something different and tried. Plus, wouldn't it be just great to drink like Joanne does? Goodness, that looked fun.

Mr Esparza did fine work as well. He has such a lovely character and quality to his voice, but it evoked, at least in my mind, so much TICK, TICK ... BOOM! that it was distracting. It's OK. I'll get over it. He deserves me getting over it. His "Marry Me a Little" was lovely, and after he got through that trying, stunted first half of "Being Alive," well... he sure sang it out, Louise.

Perhaps part of my dislike of the whole thing was the decision to not let the audience applaud -- not that we would have anyway, maybe, but still. Why couldn't we applaud for "Another Hundred People" or "The Ladies Who Lunch"? It's unfair to make us sit there without a release... maybe they should have served complimentary vodka stingers. Now that would have been a release.

And... does Fred Rose remind you of John Michael Higgins.










Also, Robert Cunningham looks (looks only) like a younger Joel Grey.

no human contact no more

Technology is something, isn't it?

I spent some time today sorting out my online finances. It turns out, I can transfer funds electronically, not just from my checking to my savings account, but also from a totally separate banking institution's checking account. Just with an arsenal of routing and account numbers, my passwords and some glue, one can easily click money from place to place.

It's something. It's something that we can actually accomplish so much across these invisible waves of the web. I am doing some freelance design work right now, and am actually doing the designs and getting paid for them all across the 'net, without ever having to see a person. OK, well, that's a lie. I'm meeting the guy to get paid in cash, but, I could have done it across the net.

It's brilliant. It's my goal. You know, to make enough money to pay all of my bills and never have to change out of my pajamas.

Korean Delicacies

I at kimchi for the first time tonight.

Spoilers Ahead.

I watched THE UPSIDE OF ANGER half last night and half this morning. One word=insane. The guy blows up at the dinner table! The husband didn't go off to Sweden with his secretary, he fell down a well in the back yard. Huzzah! it's hysterically flawed and fatal, and yet, I watched the whole thing.

I then proceeded to spend most of the day in my pajamas, singing in my bedroom at the top of my lungs. Now I'm hungry so I'll eat something, and then I'll probably drink something tonight since I have off until dinner time tomorrow night.

Anybody got a job for me that pays extraordinarily well and doesn't require me to keep regular hours? How could I not have gotten hired? I applied for this job this week, and apparently didn't get it. Come on! I even had an in. What've they got that I ain't got? Oh well. They'll eat their shorts next week when I'm on the silver screen next to Mr MacGuffin.

EPAs

There's nothing like wasting time.

Yesterday, I went to an EPA for BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, and didn't get seen. So, today, I decided to get up with the sun (well, ok, I was half an hour later than usual), and go to two other EPAs, one at Actor's Equity and another at another audition studio, about two avenues and nine blocks away.

The air was fuh-reezing. Absolutely bone chilling, and I had to make the walk about 5 times or so.

And, I didn't get seen for either call. No matter that I had prepared in a flash a James Taylor tune. No matter I don't have a real job so that I can spend my days sitting in hallways on hard benches and not even get a chance to audition for the role I won't get. Oy!

So, tomorrow I might get up and do it again, or I might not. We'll see.

So sleepy . . .

Denver, Brock and JJ put smiles on my face tonight when I saw your love. What, with a comment-free week, what was Beedow to expect? More is the answer. And now I got more.

So, I'll give more. My 25 days into the New Year resolution is to give more. Starting tomorrow.

Hiatus?

I spent lunchtime passing out postcards in an undisclosed location in an undisclosed city today.

[full disclosure:] Amazing how nice a lot of New Yorkers are. Instead of just walking by or ignoring me (like I would have done if the roles were reversed), many said "no thank you" and actually smiled at me. BRILLIANT.

Oh brother, I need to start writing more interesting things. Or at least having more interesting things happen in my life. Perhaps I should put 365 on hiatus until I come up with something of value.

Don't blow your socks off

Okay, crazies, let's not sneeze over everything and start sobbing into our downstairs neighbor's coat rack. Dreamgirls didn't deserve an Oscar nom, that's why it didn't get one! Bam. But can't wait for Ellen's take on things Feb 25th!

In other, and frankly, more life-important news, on my midday trip home today, the N train stopped on the tracks for, oh, about twenty freaking minutes while "workers [repaired] the tracks directly in front of this train." Goodness. And then, it decided to automatically become express, bypassing four stations it normally stops at. Whazzup wit dat?

Pooped

I'm wiped out. And need sleep. Tomorrow's a long day.

And, the subways smelled particularly of trash and general grossness tonight.

And, I like catching the subway at 49th and 7th, right next to the new Hawaiian Tropic Restaurant. Most of the glass windows have enormous draperies blocking the inside view, but at the corner, as one heads down the steps into the subway, one can catch glimpses.

...but where did he get the book from?

I was walking down Broadway at 108th street this afternoon on my way from a reading to a rehearsal. I passed a guy sitting next to a table of books. One caught my eye, as I turned back to him, asking how much.

"Which one?"
"This one," I pointed to Michael Crichton's NEXT.
"Uh, eight dollars."
"Eight?!"
"Come on, you know that's his newest book. It's $29.95 in the store."
"Nevermind. Not for eight bucks" I mutter and proceed to cross the street. Half way across the street, I turn back and re-approach the man. "OK, you got me."
"You would've got yourself if you didn't take this book," he quipped.

So, now I have Crichton's newest on the shelf, waiting for me to finish Murakami's meandering story about a boy named Kafka, children mysteriously falling down and losing consciousness in the forest, and a man who talks to cats.

blue now red, what will they think of next?

What's up with that crazy thing called myspace? Those of you who aren't on it, get it. Those of you who are, riddle me this: why all of a sudden are the links in bright red "ink" instead of the standard internet blue link color? I don't get it. I don't understand it. I just signed on the other day to a sea of red - I thought I was Ophelia, drowning in the blood of the dragon Fafner.

I Happen to Like New York

She says it all, in a 1987 rehearsal for her Carnegie Hall concert.

Another Bump in the Road

Oh, when it rains it pours. I'm in adjustment mode to this enormous, gigantic city, and I just have to keep reminding myself of that. Even though the only thing that makes me feel better are candles, chocolate and Joni Mitchell... nope, I'm still not a woman either. I'm fine, I'm just bummed. About life in general I guess. Of course, Shonda Rhimes didn't help with tonight's GREY'S episode -- ugh. I love that show. Gave me a chance to have a good cry.

On the other hand, rehearsal tonight was HYsterical, and it's for the reading I've been lukewarm about. Maybe I was just in a silly mood, but it was nice to laugh with other people. HAHA. And a pretty girl sat next to me for a while and we made music jokes (you know, "No! Not measure 23, measure 27! Ahahahahahaha!"). Oy, that's depressing now that I reread it. At least that wasn't an actual joke we laughed about -- sheesh, that would make everything terribly awful.

But, tomorrow's Friday. Which might mean drinks. Which should definitely mean drinks. Even though it's not like I've worked a full week or anything and need some sort of vacation. Quite the opposite. BUT, I am moving ahead in my endeavour (love that extra "u") to become self-employed... albeit V E R Y slowly. But if you or someone you know wants a website designed or redesigned, or needs posters, postcards, business cards, blah blah, etc., shoot me an email kiddos. beedow@gmail.com

Dear Diary

Here, now, a sort of entry perhaps I should have reserved for my locked-and-chained-pink-and-white-flowered diary:

ARGH! I'm so frustrated. I don't know what's wrong or why and it's just making me so mad. AH. OK, so, I didn't go to the audition today. In fact, I didn't go to an audition all week, and now I have to wait until Friday morning for another opportunity. And I don't know why I'm not going. Well, that's a lie. I sort of do. I'm nervous. I'm nervous to go to any audition at AEA and sit there and not be seen. WHY? For goodness sake, I should be less nervous because the odds are I won't be seen, therefore no need to be nervous. I should be nervous when I go to a non-eq call and actually am seen, because I am sucking at those and people are actually seeing me suck at those.

Of course, the hour of the morning doesn't help. If an audition starts at 9:30, and I'm told the doors open at 7:30, then I sure as hell better be there at 7:30 to get my name on the list in the hopes of possibly being seen. If I get there at 8:30, I have a zilch chance, I am assuming. Of course, in high school, I was up at 5:55am every day. But that was a long time ago.

I don't understand this. And it's frustrating because I don't have a survival job, and so all I can do it sit at home, surfing the various audition notices, trying to find out which audition I won't go to next. COME ON. I can't figure it out. And I need to stop being a baby about this and actually go. That's the only solution to not going: going.

So there. Actual insight into my life. And about twelve hours earlier than I've been posting lately. And hopefully it will make me feel better when I now go and watch my Ti-Vo'd REGIS AND KELLY or last night's infomercials. Of course, (well, maybe not of course, but truly) I am kidding. I'll now have lunch, do some reading and then head off to rehearsal.

Gracious sakes.

I never played in the dryer

I did one productive thing today, thank goodness. I discovered the local laundrymat/laundramat/laundromat (I wonder how one should spell that). I divided my clothes into three wash piles (nice clothes, whites and darks). Each wash cost only $1.25 which wasn't too bad, I thought. But, the dryer was another story.

The dryers are huge mammoth machines, so I put all my clothes into one. What can happen in a dryer anyway? I knew nothing was going to shrink. I got three quarters in (25 cents gets you eight drying minutes) before the machine started eating my quarters. It ate two of them, so I just stopped and let it run its course.

Once those 24 minutes were done, my clothes were still very wet, so I put another quarter in. GULP. Gone. So, I moved my clothes to another dryer. That machine wouldn't even take a quarter, it was jammed. So, I moved them for a third time into another machine, and put seventy-five cents in. Finally the clothes were dry.

Of course, clean clothes take up more space than dirty ones, it's true. So, my jam-packed bag of dirty laundry was now too small to fit all my clean items. So I piled my jeans on top of the bag. Of course, everything in the bag was terribly wrinkled the minute I dumped them out of the bag here at home (a quick 2 minute walk from the laundro-place). Argh. So, now I'll have to wake up early, or stay up late, or find some daytime hours to iron my clothes. QUIZ: Or wish I lived in Lake Charles, LA. Name it.

Equality Soapbox

Thanks to my DVR, I got to watch last night's episode of BROTHERS AND SISTERS tonight. I don't know why, but it struck me as a very positive episode. Positive for the country that we're living in, that apparently people are getting progressive and accepting. If a network television program (albeit in the 10 o'clock hour) can show two male characters kissing, I think we're moving forward. Probably this isn't news (I guess ELLEN did this years before, right? And I don't even know what other shows have done it... lo siento), but it struck me today.

I also saw Broadway's SPRING AWAKENING about a week ago, and it's similar. Men have been kissing (and more) on stages all over the place before, but now it's happening on Broadway, and it's grand. It's grand if only for the fact that it's equality, proof that W. isn't going to run this country into the ground.

We need to fight for equality, across the boards... race, creed, orientation, gender... we're all here and human and each should be guaranteed the rights that everyone else has. What a crazy thought that was years ago (Civil War, Women's Suffrage, Civil Rights...) and what's crazier is that today, it's still often a crazy thought. We need to respect people no matter their differences from us or others. We're all here together and we need to work together to save this planet and save ourselves from each other. If we don't start now, when will we?

So, wow. On my soapbox, and probably terribly confusing and unspecific and uncohesive and unorganized... but, you get my drift. Fight for equality, and recognize the steps that are being taken already. We just need to start jogging instead of walking.

Baby Go Boom

GREASE. You're the one that I want. Oh brother. More lame-o programming. Although this time, I knew two of the people... I can't write about this. I just can't. Maybe after I take a quaalude.

So, I'll say that I'm working on this show right now with this guy. He is nice and we're getting along well. But he had to leave rehearsal early today. His child fell off the washing machine and had to go to the hospital. Whoops!

Lounging, Movie-ing, Pubbing

There's nothing quite like a Saturday at home, is there?

After sleeping in until this afternoon, I woke up and spent most of the day in my pajamas... lounging, reading, cleaning, surfing, snacking. Then I decided to go shopping. I had originally planned to shop for some shirts today, but the prospect of not leaving my neighborhood was too much to resist. So, I just meandered down to the market and picked up some necessary milk, bread and cheese (and tomatoes and chicken, and on and on) for dinner and lunches this week.

Then, I watched MUST LOVE DOGS in that 5-7pm time slot, where it's still afternoon, but almost dinnertime, etc. It was nice. The movie was fine. One of those chick-flicks, though. But I laughed way way out loud when the kid got clocked in the face with a stick, realized he was oozing blood from his nostrils, and exclaimed: "Good Lord, that's a gusher!" HA!

Also, there's something to be said for Irish pubs. And that thing is round three. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go to your neighborhood Irish pub and order two rounds and then try to get the third. At least in my neck o' the woods, it's the surest way to bring a smile to a mopey face.

Another Close Call

Wow. This week has been full of close calls, poor posts and substandard sustenance. I hope you'll forgive me. It's not everyday a guy eats macaroni and cheese for dinner, followed by three Stella Artois' and a Magic Hat #9. Brilliance, of course. I was going to spend the evening chatting about Apple's iPhone, but perhaps Beedow should wait until he regains consciousness..... still making PROJECT 365 work, albeit by the hair of my chinny chin chin. I don't know. Maybe I'm just not cut out for this writing biznitch... although my friend tonight told me I should write. We'll see. I mean, I have some projects in the works, and by in the works, I mean I've considered them briefly in my imagination and haven't gotten much further than that... alas. Life is short and only what you make of it. Perhaps I should start making more of it.

Thursdays are Back!

SPOILERS.

Derek and Meredith are back together finally, except she snores. George and Callie kissed. Izzy went to the bank. Burke and Cristina aren't speaking. Addison and Karev were a stutter step away from making out. The Chief and the Nazi have a secret.

That's right. GREY'S ANATOMY is back. Finally. It's been so long, and I'd forgotten why I love this show. It's just great fantastical situations. Of course no one's real life is like this... if mine were, I doubt I'd want to watch it on television each week. But for those of us with apparently saner existences, we have these outlets (television, film, stage) to get into craziness. It's brilliant.

But this post wasn't. Sue me. I'm creatively lacking it seems. Hrmph.

Nothing Funny About It

Argh! Grumble, grumble. I left the apartment last night early, because I didn't want to be late. And I said to myself before I left, "Do I have everything I need?" I took one last look around the room, decided I did, and walked out into the cool night, wearing my hat and gloves. Half way to the subway, I realized I forgot my fancy clothes. I stutter-stepped back and forth, to and fro, decided whether or not I should return from whence I came to get them. Thirty seconds later, I decided I should. I booked it (!) back to the apt, got my fancy clothes, and turned around to hurry back. Now I was definitely going to be late.

I made it to the train stop just as an N train was slowing down. I hurried up the steps, only to realize I was missing a glove! Argh! Grumble, grumble. I took one off to get my MTA card out of my pocket, and it must have dropped somewhere before the turnstiles. (In which musical do girls vie to become Miss Turnstiles?) But, I didn't have time to turn around and look for it because I was already late and the trains have been weird and now I would have been extra-super-crazy late. So, I sucked it up, got on the train and sat down.

There's no punchline. I was indeed late. I have indeed lost a glove. And I do indeed have dry skin on my knuckles.

Can you hear me now?

What's up with my cell phone?

I've had it for probably about 16 months now, and it's a pile o crap. That's right. Why do these phone providers have to make us suffer? I love my service (verizon). I have zero problems--no dropped calls, few service interruptions, minute wrongdoings. But, my cell battery is junk. After a full night's charge, if I make two five-minute phone calls (and usually less), it gives me a low battery signal.

My life is OVER! It's the end of the world!

Apologies and Promises

I know, Beedow's been busy and so posts have been short and late. Get over yourselves. I've got most of the day off tomorrow and will reward you all, don't worry. But for now, to whet your appetite, my favorite wannabe from GREASE: You're the One That I Want.

Huzzah!

Don't you just love days when everything goes right? Today was one of those days.

True Story

I went to dinner tonight with two friends, one of whom I haven't seen in a long time. Just as we were about to leave, two firefighters entered the restaurant, made no fuss, and proceeded directly to the kitchen, carrying their axes. A few moments passed, and they exited, followed by a waiter carrying someone's dinner.

WHAT? (and yes, I changed the time & date... what's 84 minutes between friends?)

Beedow, MD

I'm reading BLINK by Malcolm Gladwell The following excerpts (from pages 218-19) caused me to either (a) underline them, or (b) write "wow" or "crazy stuff" in the margin.

"In anything less than a perfectly literal environment, the autistic person is lost."

"Normal people, when they were looking at the faces, used a part of their brain called the fusiform gyrus, which is an incredibly sophisticated piece of brain software that allows us to distinguish among the literally thousands of faces that we know. (Picture in your mind the face of Marilyn Monroe. Ready? You just used your fusiform gyrus.) When the normal participants looked at the chair, however, they used a completely different and less powerful part of the brain -- the inferior temporal gyrus -- which is normally reserved for objects. (The difference in the sophistication of those two regions explains why you can recognize Sally from the eight grade forty years later but have trouble picking out your bag on the airport luggage carousel.)"

I am now intrigued by autism. Perhaps I shall study it. Or, at least, finish the chapter about it.

no, not Donatello's arch-enemy

I've never had a shredder before. I have always wanted one. Always. Like, when I was a little kid, I used to ask for filing cabinets, hiliters, and legal pads for my birthday (which is coming up soon, by the bye). I got all those things, but I never got a paper shredder. I guess they were considered foolish, or impractical. So. Today I bought one.

That's right. After moving to the Big Apple, with no job and none in sight, why shouldn't I spend my very important cash that I don't have on an impractical office supply for an office I don't have? I could find no reason. So I trekked the 15 or so blocks to Staples, which, on the way there, was a really pleasant walk. I actually said sotto voce to myself, "What a really pleasant walk." In the store, I worried about the weight of the shredder, coupled with the 100 9x12 clasp envelopes and ream of pastel blue paper, that would make the 15 block walk home less pleasant. But, I decided it couldn't be that bad, and bought all three items.

Four blocks into the walk, I was done. My arms hurt, my shoulders were tight, my neck was strained, my armpits were sweating. Ugh. It was a real mess you could say. Of course, there was nothing to do at this point except hike up my dungarees and finish wading across the river -- which, metaphorically of course, I did.

I think what I'm looking for is a brilliant close to this story. You know, something like, "And then, the shredder came alive, picked me up and carried me the rest of the way home in a nifty role-reversal." Or, perhaps: "Upon getting home and opening the box, I found the shredder had actually shredded itself because of all the shifting and bumping along the walk home. There was nothing left but a pile of 5/32 x 1 inch pieces of cross-cut pieces of its former self."

Unfortunately, I don't have a brilliant close. I just came home, set it up and shredded the chinese take-out menus that were in the mailbox.

Rear Window

These are the views outside my bedroom window. In one direction, a great skyline from Manhattan. In the other direction, a bunch of windows/apartments.

I did the usual things a person would probably do on his first full day in a new city and new apartment. I spent the morning moving into my room, unpacking, putting my socks where I think looks like a good drawer for them, and so on. Then I walked down to the grocery store and got the essentials: natural peanut butter, black raspberry jelly, oat nut bread, pulp-free orange juice, carrots, a tomato, a green pepper, a bag of meditterranean salad mix, lite italiant salad dressing, utz brand potato chips, frozen ravioli, and three-cheese spaghetti sauce. My sister, Rick, once told me that a friend of hers spelled that word "spagity." Sheesh, what is the world coming to these days? And remind me, I have to gripe about punctuation someday. Then, I fixed lunch, did some job hunting, went to an audition, got the part, came home, watched Jeopardy!, made dinner (ravioli), IMed some people for the first time since college, and listened to some Diana Krall.

It was fine. And there was nothing really spectacular about it, except I found those views out the window. I only wish there weren't those other apartments. I want to look out at (the water, not at me -name that musical-) the city lights, but I don't want people to think I'm peeping on them. So, we'll see. Maybe I'll dress all in black, cork my face, shut off all the lights and peer out into the night. I think it would work.

the Short Cab

It was the perfect beginning to a life in the Big Apple.

I arrived via air this afternoon and got a cab to my new home, further locale details would constitute an invasion of my privacy (pronounce the "i" like in give).

Upon announcing my destination, the cabbie, a fat "fifty-five year old ex-cop" with grey hair and dandruff on his shoulders, muttered "shit. [pause] You're my second bad ride in a row, you know that?" We drove to the dispatcher (think Louie DePalma, except tall, black and skinny) where Cabbie yelled something incomprehensible out the window at him. Then, they locked eyes for a few moments (in a wholly unromantic display of emotion) and then I was alone in the cab while the Cabbie got what's known in the biz as a shorty ticket. We drove off.

"I can't believe this. You're my second shorty in a row. The last woman wanted to go across the street." He was a complainer, clearly. Maybe because he didn't have his breakfast or lunch, although it didn't look like he would ever skip a meal. We kept driving.

"That's where she wanted to go." He pointed across the street. "I never come to the airport. There's no money here. I waited in line two hours and this lady just wanted to go across the street. It was a six dollar fare. And now you, you're what every cab driver hates buddy," he told me. I could care less, just drive me to where I want to go.

"I waited two hours for a six dollar fare and then I came back and waited another hour for you, a twelve dollar fare."

Whatever. Anyway, the guy proceeded to explain that it was a racial issue, that he got to short runs in a row because he was white and the dispatcher was black. "I been driving cabs 37 years. Cops used to drive cabs part time years before. I know how this works, I've seen it before. If I was black, you would have had to get out of the car and somebody else would drive you. I worked how long today and I didn't even make twenty bucks."

I asked him where he usually drives. "Manhattan. I woulda made fifty bucks by now in the time you've been in this car. I am so angry. This is the angriest I've ever been in my life."

Assuming after two bouts with bad luck at the airport, this Johnny Come Lately would have gotten the hint and gone back to Manhattan to make his megabucks instead of doing airport runs. So what are you gonna do, I asked.

"Go back to the airport and wait another hour for another shorty."

I Resolve!

Success. NYE07 was a blast -- despite the fact mi amiga L'il B was, for about an hour, assumed dead. Also, these are images from the Queen City's ball/car drop.

There's nothing quite like a new start, a new beginning, a brand new day. The movies tout them, the musicals sing about them, and in real-life, we humans have a chance every 365 days to give ourselves that fake opportunity for the promise of what will inevitably become failure. Sure, we can resolve all we want about gymming, salading, and optimistiking, but how often can we actually accomplish said tasks? I admire the people who do, or who believe they do, or who at least spend the first day of a new year thinking they're going to. Even more, I admire the people who actually announce to their friends the things they're going to do to improve their lives in the next twelve months. They're letting everyone see their cards, and if they go all in with 9s and 3s, everyone will know and be able to scoff.

Well, I won't do all of that. I already look good, feel great, eat healthy, workout often, think positively, have lots of friends, practice many talents, et al ad nauseam. So I'll just give you one thing you can harp on me about -- and I hope you will: playing the guitar. I've always wanted to learn. And think it would be fun. So, I resolve in 2007 to learn to play the guitar.

And, for all you out there who won't let me get away without the following, here's a list of things that maybe I'll try to do if I remember or think about them or get bored or whatever:

+ Learn to play the piano better
+ Write a children's book
+ Write a musical libretto
+ Finish my first DVD and at least make a major dent in the second
+ Get on Broadway, or at least make a living without a survival job
+ Get a church choir job
+ Read more and varied books
+ Instead of feeling depressed, get out and do something
+ Make the most of living in a major metropolitan area
+ Win the lottery
+ Ship it