Insider's Scoop

It's fun to live in New York when good things happen. I was lucky enough last weekend to score passes to two movie screenings. I will divulge a little here; not a lot, but enough to make you wish you were me (if you didn't already).

AMERCIAN GANGSTER
Yeah, this comes out in a week or so, but it was nice to see the foreign press screening of it here in the city. I guess I hadn't been reading up on it, so I had know idea it was about drug trafficking, but, okay. Once I woke up (after the first very slow twenty minutes), I really enjoyed it. Do I recommend? Yes if you want to see a good film in the long line of standard/middle-of-the-road gangster, mafia, shoot 'em ups.

BABY MAMA
This one isn't scheduled for release until April 2008, but I got to sit in and be a test audience for it. It's another comedy from Tina Fey, but it's essentially pretty sappy. I wanted it to be like Wedding Crashers, but it wasn't. I don't know why I wanted that, though, because I should have said, "oh, it'll probably be a morality play like Mean Girls." And it was. But it was a funny morality play nonetheless. With the likes of the UHMAZING Amy Poehler, Steve Martin and Sigourney Weaver, this has some really brilliant moments. I won't spoil my favorite, but remember this: it's when Amy offers to pay Tina for gas money.

Also, I finished the second season of WEEDS at three in the morning. I love it. And what an ending. That's good, because it was sort of getting lazy and sloppy I thought, but they sure pulled out the big guns (pun intended).

While I go spend the rest of my day off catching up on network television (Brothers and Sisters, 30 Rock, The Office and maybe Private Practice), I want to know what have you been watching?

Splash.

Last night, I was walking with a friend of mine (we'll call him Tim) through Times Square after a really great (!) masterclass, which I should write about because it was amazing, but then this happened, which took the cake:

EXT. NIGHT. CORNER OF 42ND STREET AND BROADWAY.

Tim: Watch out!
Me: What?

WE HEAR A SPRAYING SOUND, LIKE IF SOMEONE WAS WASHING THE SIDE OF THEIR HOUSE, SPRAYING WATER AT IT FROM A HOSE.

Me: Oh shit.

THE TWO GUYS MOVE TO THE SIDE AS A PUDDLE CONTINUES TO FORM UNDERNEATH THE HORSE WHO IS DRAWING THE HORSE-DRAWN CARRIAGE.

Tim (in a Southern drawl): Well, I can sure tell when a horse is pissing on my boots.
Me (in a Southern drawl): Hey, have ya ever seen a horse piss before?
Tim: Yep. In the middle of Times Square.

Sleeping on Air

I moved into a new apartment about a month ago. Of course, as the world-weary traveler I am, I move from place to place with a large suitcase and a couple of duffle bags - not much. Definitely not enough to furnish a room, let alone an entire apartment.

So, my parents are driving in today, bed in tow. Last night was the final time (for the forseeable [?] future) that I will sleep on my air mattress. However, I want to take a second to expound on the virtues of the air mattress: compact. multi-faceted. fun. semi-comfortable. easy. breezy. beautiful. covergirl.

I am excited, because I will finally be able to arrange this bedroom into something that looks like a human actually lives here, and not some strange hobbit who needs everything close to or on the floor - what things we take for granted! I never knew how appealing shelves were until I didn't have anything except the floor on which to put everything I own. (Notice how I avoided the dangling modifier.)

Underground Old Woman Hatred

The other morning I was standing on the subway platform waiting for the train, which took FOREVER. Like that kid from The Sandlot, you know, "for-ev-er." Anyway, there was a little old lady with a pen in her hand in front of a Chase billboard. She looked around to make sure noone was watching, which, of course, I was. Anyway, she drew a large swastika on the person in the ad. Then, she drew two smaller ones near the bottom of the sign.

What? Not the image of graffiti artists that I had in mind, but, to each her own I guess. Either way, what was I supposed to do? Stop her? Nah, she might have been wielding a sharp kitchen knife under that floral-print blouse.

The Good the Bad... and well, i'm not ugly

There's some days that being in a big city is fun. Like today. The new mega-expensive musical, YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN is loading in currently. So, I walked by the loading dock this morning and saw lots of sets, costumes, etc. Woohoo, said I. Then, I had to let Bill Pullman into the building, and Judy Ivey came by to drop off some stuff, and Dallas Roberts walked out for a smoke break. Ah!

On the other hand, there's some things that aren't fun. Like this guy I work with. He just answered the phone "Yep, yep?" Are you serious? "Yep, yep." Oh for crying out loud. We all think he's going to kill himself, or someone near him. Which basically means I need to watch out for number one, or else I might be running around with my head cut off. Of course, the weirdo leaves this weekend to go back home to "figure some things out." Yeah, we've heard that one before. Go get a pickup and a dog and drive around or something, that usually seems to work, Bucko.

Leaving on a jet plane...er...trailways...

This is it. The end of the road and the beginning of the highway. I have spent all of 2007 in New York so far. And tomorrow I leave for the mountains for the summer. Keep your fingers crossed that I'll be able to communicate with y'all still... and that I don't fall into the river and get rushed into the ocean and end up in the Bermuda Triangle somewhere. I guess if I did, though, it would be okay, because I could say hey to Jack and Kate and Sawyer.

...the temperature's rising!

This is oppression if I've ever seen it. I'm done with it and there's no holding me back. All of a sudden, it happened, too... like wam-bam-thank-you-ma'am, all at once the cold air breezed away and WOOSH! we're having a heat wave.

I visited the NYC once in mid-August and thought it was pretty hot, yeah. But now I'm living through it. And working through it. And spending my days in it. UNFAIR. I am going to do my best to never actually spend a summer in this city in my life if I can help it. And hey, so far so good.

I leave town one week from today for the tropic clime that is the Pocono Mountains. Of course, where I'll be working is supposedly internet-free... no, not no-cost-internet, but no internet at all... so updates my be fewer and farther in between than normal, but hey, sue me.

Graphic Subway Ride

Well, I thought I would talk about the last production in the City Center Encores! series which I saw last night, STAIRWAY TO PARADISE. I was going to write about how Ruthie Henshall (the only reason I wanted to see it) got shafted by getting only two songs two sing. Plus no one knew who the hell she was. How can you not know someone who has done so much, she doesn't even need to include the 10th anniversary LES MIZ concert in her bio?! Amazing.

I was going to say that although actress-turned-celebrity Kristin Chenoweth did too much and was just sticking to her usual antics that everyone so adores, she was very funny in her sketches and songs with clowns Kevin Chamberlin and Christopher Fitzgerald.

I was going to say all that. I was going to say I even enjoyed Jenn Gambatese.

But then I got on the subway to come home and I was leaning against the third door of the third car, just like I always do. And I was looking around at people, scoping out the general situation, just like I always do. And then I saw it. My stomach realized what was happening before my mind did. Mister Subway Stranger's (see yesterday's post) brother was holding his hand in front of his mouth. His eyes were wide and there was a look of panic behind them. As he moved swiftly to the door, waiting patiently for it to open, he was holding the vomit inside his mouth. Some of it escaped, though, and was dripping down his lips, over his chin and onto the floor of the car. TERROR! AWFUL! GROSS! SMELLY! YUCKY!

So, once I saw that, I couldn't write about the concert anymore. Tomorrow: blueberry muffins, or how I learned to eat something other than Timbits for breakfast.

Going Down in History

On the train home last night, after a long day of work and rehearsal, and before another long day of work and rehearsal, I smiled. Why? Because a strange weirdo was singing "Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer." Brilliant. Some people on the other side of train even started singing along. I was about two shakes away from adding "like a lightbulb!"

Sorry, I'm Texting . . .

A boy and his dog just walked by me. There's a man big coat sitting on a bench across from me. A kid is standing near that pole listening to his headphones and sipping a smoothie. There's a suit just talking to himself, strike that, to the person on the other end of his bluetooth headset. A girl sitting against a concrete wall is scratching her neck while an old geezer stares.

Of course! You guessed it. I'm in the JetBlue terminal at New York's JFK. (Why am I here? Well, it's a surprise, and Mom, if you read this in the next couple of hours ... well, there goes the surprise.)

What a shock! Remember the days when a person in a strange surrounding (like this, an airport terminal full of strangers) would have to actually read a book to keep busy. Or, better yet, speak to the guy sitting next to him. Say hello and make friends with that person who just might be a friend of a friend or something. But, no, not in today's "advanced" day-and-age.

Today, we sit here (probably 60% of the waiting passengers) with our laptops on. The other 40% are divided between their cell phones or mp3 players. The ones who aren't involved there are watching Grey's Anatomy or Family Guy on one of the flat panel televisions hanging from the ceiling. (I, of course, already checked and found out that Grey's was a rerun, otherwise, yes, I would be there too.) It's distressing.

It is distressing, well, and exciting I guess. Sort of exciting because from that first paragraph you thought I could have been talking about Bryant Park. But, from the rest of this, it's clear that it isn't a park. And, even if it was, do you think it would really be any different? We're not in tune with each other anymore as people. We would rather all turn on our electronics and "talk" to someone who isn't even here or play tetris again than actually try to become involved with someone else in the room.

"Of course, Beedow, you're such a hypocrite! You complain about the inhumanity and non-connectedness of this world, and here you are, sitting in the middle of it all."

I agree, o sage master. To combat this, I think fate dealt me a little jab. The woman next to me sneezed. I said, "bless you." She said, "thank you." Just a little humanity, folks, that's all I'm asking.

Tomorrow, how I stoped thinking and wound up not at the airport ninety minutes before my flight. Whoops!

Spring Fling

So sue me, it's getting longer and longer between posts. Alas, the tasks and toils of this thing we call LIFE have gotten to me and keep me otherwise occupied, which is not always a bad thing, nor, however, is it always a good thing. In either case, I'm here now for you, and what a day (!) we had, am I right?

The weather was gorgeous ... what I like to call coat-less, pant-less weather. That's right. I wore short pants and short-sleeved shirts today. It was lovely. I opened the windows in the apartment and a breeze flowed through. I was scheduled only one day at work this week, and the majority of auditions are finishing up for the summer season these weeks, so things are winding down. I was finally able to sleep in today, and I did -- until noon. I had lunch, cleaned my room, went to an audition, came back, cleaned some more, went to rehearsal, came back, cleaned some more and now I'm writing about it for you.

It's what they call spring cleaning. I wish I could call it a spring fling rather than clean, but you know how things go. I put on my iPod playlist called "Public," which is the one I use when I'm somewhere someone says, "hey Beedow, play your iPod for us." It contains generally acceptable music in the public lexicon of musicology, and actually is perfect for a warm breezy day. It reminds me of our drives in the van last year on the road -- a little Mayasiahu or however the heck one spells that.

Horns are blaring outside, people yelling, and it's a fantastic soundscape.

I'm excited this week -- at the possibilities unfolding in the future. I've got a couple great things in the works and others are just waiting to bust at the seams, all of which would make me happy and could keep me employed theatrically through a year from now, so cross your fingers. Surprises, seals, stories and songs are swell, so some say.

Guns on the Street

So... I've given up on the story here, at least for a while. The whole point of writing them was to have a soapbox on which to write about the insane presence of armed police officers in Times Square last week. I don't know, maybe they're always there, but usually avoid the area like the PLAGUE!!!!!! and don't know what happens there daily. In any case, twice last week I had to walk through and past the clusters of cops with big guns, dogs, and the like. WHAT?

What sort of country are we living in? Do we really need that? Were they just protecting me that day? From harmless bums on the street? Or was it because they were concerned Iran might decide to bomb us? And if so, what good were their guns going to be? Hrmph. Either was, I was put-off by them.

Have a safe week.

$ob $tory

What's the deal with money? Everything is so expensive nowadays.

I begrudgingly went to my audition this morning for a theatre I've been told never to work for, and they didn't even give me a callback. BAM! Ridiculous. So, I then meandered through the city trying to decide what to do next. I ended up spending about $80 in the next few hours, on simple necessities.

Stamps
Oh brother. Remember when first class stamps used to be like $23 cents? Sheesh. I bought two books of postcard stamps today because I just ordered some postcards with my picture on them to send out to casting people to remind them who I am, right? Well, it now costs $0.24 to send a postcard. That's almost a quarter! Are you kidding me? It's insanity. And don't try to send out a headshot to anyone or it'll cost you upwards of sixty cents -- $0.63 to be exact. And for cripes sake, I send out a bunch of them every week. No wonder I don't have any money. And, I had to stand in line for about twenty minutes to spend $22 on postage.

Vitamins
I went to replenish my supply of multivitamins, supplements and the like at GNC, using my member card. Now, thank goodness I have that, because I saved just under ten dollars today because of it. However, is it really fair to charge me thirty bucks for 180 vitamins? Of which, of course, I have to take two a day. So that's 30 bucks to get me through 90 days... which turns out to be $0.33 repeating each day for multivitamins. Oh brother.

Groceries
Come off it! There is no way I should have to spend over thirty dollars on orange juice, tomatoes, bread, mac&cheese, soup, apples, oranges, bread, cheese and turkey. For crying out loud! I just need to survive here. But, $35 later, the kind man who didn't speak my language (which is FINE! ... for today at least) just didn't have enough smile to make it worth it.

Finale Ultimo
What makes the whole tragedy sad, though, is the simple notion that I CAN'T AFFORD ALL OF THIS. I'm an actor. Which means my days are full of auditions. Which means my nights are full of rehearsals. Which means there is no time for a real job. Which means I can't make any money. Which means the jobs I do have a few and far between. Which means I now am beginning to realize why they came up with the whole starving artist mentality. I guess I'll just have to stop buying things, stop auditioning, get a job in a cubicle somewhere, begin hating my life and then be able to buy things again which won't make me happy anyway because I'm stuck in corporate America doing something I don't want to be doing next to fifty other people who feel the same way and are just spending their time updating their myspace profile on the boss's dime....

Love and peace. Beedow.

Limp as a Puppet and Simply Fantastic

I feel twitchy and bitchy and manic ... but alive / I feel wicked and wacky and mello ... / Partly Jane Fonda and partly Jane Austen, but alive! That's the thing! Alive!

First off, name that musical and who sang the song originally.

Secondly, it is so refreshing and freeing to not even think about this blog or dream about it or worry about it or whatever. I feel free (oh, what a word, oh, what a word!) and alive! So, let me fill you in on my week.

I saw an ambulance trying to get down the avenue, and wowza! what a terrible time it had. You'd think people would be empathetic enough to get out of the way of an ambulance. But no. Instead, watch them cut and dart in front of it, take long turns in its path, and otherwise try to block it just so said car can make the light or get to the liquor store before it closes. Come on! Get out of the way of your friendly, caring neighborhood emergency vehicles.

The New York lottery is over 275 million dollars this week. Two friends and I purchased tickets and agreed to give each other $500,000 each if any of us win. That's kind. What I couldn't do with $500k. Jeepers.

I saw the final dress rehearsal of Terrence McNally's SOME MEN last night off-Broadway. Despite the nudity, I enjoyed the production immensely. I think McNally brought up an array of valid arguments and points, and presented them to us without shoving them down our throat like another playwright may have. I recommend it.

My roommate has hooked me on LOST. Now, I realize a lot of people are hooked, and have been for three seasons now... as long as I've been wowing about GREY'S. But, for whatever reason, I never got involved until now. Let me say, all of you who were blinded as I was and haven't yet joined the ranks of those who adore this show, go to your nearest neighborhood video store and purchase seasons one and two on digital-video-disc and watch them all as fast as you can. Of course, I'm only halfway through season one, but it is just DYNAMITE. I'm loving it and actually think about it while I'm away all day... can't wait to get home and pop in another DVD.

Lastly, there was a brilliant ad in this week's Village Voice for a bar offering BORAT giveaways. Made me laugh. Check it out, it's in the bottom right hand corner of the right page... don't know the page number though.

Have a lovely weekend. I'll check in soon.

Norma's Back at Last

Some days, a person just feels complete, you know? For me, it was today. And lately, I guess, in general. I think it's this city. There's something electric about it that I can't escape, and I don't think I really want to. It's so wonderful.

Today, Millie and I went to see the matinee of the Durang/Melnick musical ADRIFT IN MACAO at Primary Stages at 59E59. I saw the production back in its Philly tryout and enjoyed it. I think I enjoyed it a lot more there, even though here my seats were significantly better, and cheaper. Either way, it is still so fun, and Michelle Ragusa is a dynamo: there's no stopping her, and it's so exciting to see such a fabulous performer onstage.

Anyway, my point. I was reading the program, thinking "oh, Alan Campbell is in this." (He's the original Joe from SUNSET BLVD on Broadway.) Literally thirty seconds after I mentioned it to Millie, I turned to see who was walking up the aisle to sit in the pair of empty seats next to me, and it was none other than Glenn Close. GLENN CLOSE. Next to me. Immediately in the seat beside me. Her knee was touching mine.

Some backstory and facts:

1. the first CD I ever purchased was the American premiere recording of SUNSET starring Glenn Close and Alan Campbell. Today, I sat next to her and we both watched his performance.

2. As a kid, I loved the circus. In college, I got to play the lead in BARNUM which starred Glenn Close and Jim Dale. Today, I sat next to her.

3. A few weeks ago, I made banana bread for a Tony winner. Today, I sat next to one.

4. Years ago, I saw Betty Buckley perform a concert from the fourth row. She replaced Glenn Close in SUNSET.

5. Alan Campbell and Lauren Kennedy made their Broadway debuts in SUNSET. Now they're married.

6. Elaine Page was a replacement Norma in SUNSET. Now, she's a replacement Chaperone in London's DROWSY. I saw Page perform SWEENEY with the NYC Opera (in 2003?). I sat next to the original Norma today. I made banana bread for the original Chaperone a couple weeks ago.

7. AND, if I'm not mistaken, I saw STUDIO 60's Sarah Paulson at work yesterday. Those lips are unmistakable.

8. This is too much. New York is grand.

Laundry in the Afternoon

I was just doing some laundry this afternoon. Minding my own business. When I took note of instruction numero uno on the dryer:

1. Check inside of machine for children, pets or other foreign objects.

What?! Check inside the dryer for children? And pets? I think I'd notice immediately when I looked at the dryer, since there's a glass door on it, if a child or an animal were inside, wouldn't I? Wouldn't you?

And what makes the instruction-writer automatically assume that only foreign children and pets are likely to crawl inside a dryer, whose opening is perched approximately four feet off the floor? Why couldn't they be indiginous children or pets?

And who brings their kids or dogs to the laundromat (there's that blasted word again) anyhow? That's what nannies and pounds are for. Call a sitter, latch your adorable drooling pooch to the lamppost and wash your stockings. Don't subject the kids to waiting around in the oven-like room of washers and dryers. They don't want to be there and you don't want them there. Plus, since they're technically not allowed to play inside the dryer, it's no fun for them.

Hmm. Actually, there weren't any signs that said not to allow your children or animals (or other foreign objects) inside the dryer. The sign just said to check for them. Maybe you should check to make sure they're there. Or, because most children actually do play inside of them, you should check in case you've lost yours.

Also, there were no similar signs on the washing machine. So, by the sin of omission, I guess it's technically permitted to not check the washing machine for children, pets or other foreign objects. Which therefore means it is generally accepted to let them stay inside the washing machine throughout the complete cycle.

I don't really think we should do that, though. Because they could drown. Or, they might look like prunes when they come out. Worse, how would we best dry them? We know they're not allowed in the dryer, so we'd have to go back home and get a towel.

That's why I don't have kids.

Or pets.

Or other foreign objects.

President's Day

Or is it Presidents' Day? Or perhaps Presidents Day? Even the New Yorker don't have a clue. Wow.

Anyway, BONE CHILLING today here in the Big Apple. Ridiculous.

I was up and out of the house early today, in order to signup and try to be seen for three different auditions. I was seen for two of them, and one callback! Zinga! Also, what's amazing... is I saw at least seven people I knew today. One in an elevator, others in jam-packed holding rooms, or walking down the street. It is amazing that in a city so dense, a person can always find someone he knows. Wowza.

And now off to see Mr Sorkin's bombing backstage boobtuber.

Only Downhill from There

Before my day became perhaps one of the worst ever (long story, but maybe I should consider changing careers), it was essentially fantastic! I worked, I did some time at the library, I had a fantastic audition, saw Millie for coffee, and then I was having dinner.

At dinner, my new favorite place ever (CHICKEN BAR on 45th and 8th), I was sitting, having a Number 3 (crispy chicken, lettuce, tomato, mayo, honey mustard, fries, and coke -- with ice) and looking out the window down 45th street. The lights were glowing, the traffic bustling, the people moving. And these girls were stopped waiting to cross the street. And one looked at me, and then said something to her friend who then also looked at me. I, of course, looked away because I figured they must be mocking me for having hat hair, or mayo on my chin or something. But when I looked back, one blew me a kiss and crossed the street.

(and then later, I saw her friend give her ten dollars)

She was wearing a cute blue hat.

It's amazing how, in a city of 8.1 million (or 18.7 if you include the surrounding areas), it's still easy to see someone you know or recognize almost daily. Today, after quite a bout with the drink last night and having succumbed to its day-after queasiness, I made my way in to rehearsal on the Q train. Why the Q? Because this weekend begins a lot of crazy maintenance work on the tracks, and the Q was going in and out of Queens all weekend.

Anyway, at 5th Avenue, Michele Ragusa quickly stepped on, and made her way to the very front of the car. Now, this woman, you will remember, is the one I raved about in last season's Philly production of ADRIFT IN MACAO. She spent a couple months in the Queen City last season doing BAD DATES and now is in the big city to do the off-Broadway mouting of MACAO. And not a soul on the train clammored after her for a photo or autograph.

Now here is a woman who is making a very decent living as an actress, and yet, is still anonymous enough to be able to ride the train and not be worried about anything. Of course, maybe that has to do with New Yorkers not caring about anyone or anything. Or, the fact that no one on the train goes to theatre. Or, maybe they just thought she was terrible and didn't want to say anything. But most likely, it's just that they didn't know she was anyone special, and let her be.

That's what's nice. I like that feeling where a person can be onstage and so special under the lights and in front of the applause, and then walk out the stage door, scurry into the front car of the Q train and blend into the city and no one is the wiser.

Also, if anyone can find me the photo of Ms Ragusa from the Feb 12 issue of THE NEW YORKER (p6), I'd be grateful. I can't seem to find it online.

Directions Anyone?

Check this place out: hopstop.com.

It speaks for itself once you get there. It's a MapQuest for those of us using public transportation. There's nothing like it. It makes me happy. It gets me excited. It delivers me to my destination. What else is there?