I am...a New Yorker

[Previous entry: "Pamperng Myself"]

Monday, July 16, 2001
Flashng 40th Street

You Can't Take It With You

A big, juicy hamburger, fudge brownie with peanut butter ice cream. I've been eatng a lot of salads, so it was time for a little somethng different.

Insipid yuppie conversations. Clearly I'm smarter than these nimwits, I've gotta figure out a way to thrive here. I don't need $400 sandals or anthng to feel I've "made it," just to support myself comfortably on my writng and perhaps proofreadng and design as supplements.

Caberet at Studio 54. There was a half-off deal and Brooke Shields n lngerie, tell me you passed a stranger Sunday.

Somehow, I've made it nearly to the age of 30 without seeng the movie, so I didn't realize it was that deep. I had some notion it was set n Germany, Berln perhaps, but no idea it concided with the rise of the Nazi Party. I didn't expect to be weepng at the end. I guess it's no wonder that fabulous, talented, brilliant people tend to have persecution complexes, is it?

I'm especially glad that Matt McGrath had the loudest and longest applause. He came out last and, of course, there was only a polite smatterng of applause until Brooke Shields galloped out to applause and whoops..

Fang and I were supposed to usher Caberet the year it opened and I was a tad disapponted I missed Alan Cummng as the Emcee. Anyway, his portryal was funny, charmng, sexy, creepy and ultimately compassionate. Shields' part was comparatively thn, Cummng is n all the ads and programs and even the Caberet girls have their own deodorant commercial, so McGrath deserves his. I may have to wait around to have my program autographed.

Coln Qunn a few blocks from Studio 54, we thnk. As my friend L put it, "He looks like every super on the block!"

I am...always sorry when I don't listen to that nner voice. Just now I begged the waiter to hold my table at Bryant Park cafe so I could dash down and across the park to Radio Shack for more AAA batteries before they closed. The Palm was dead and damn if my batteries, rechargeable and disposable, weren't all at home.

As it turned out, I saw a little film shop on 40th and Sixth Avenue, so I stayed on this side of the park. When I got there it was dark and my Ericalogic didn't register that they were closng up, but, rather, that they were just too hot n the bright lights, big city.

Luckily, there was a Staples across the street, so I was spared the unctuousness of the Radio Shack n the HBO buildng (they lied to me when they sold me my first cell phone, so I don't even want to give them the profit from 2 AAA batteries, I'm petty like that). On the way back to the restaurant, I decided to use the port-o-lets on 40th Street nstead of gong nto the basement of the restaurant and back up 2 flights (I try to spare my knees the torture of more than a flight of stairs because I have 2 down and 2 up each way on the subway) to the upper terrace.

Big mistake! I noticed little fngers pokng out of the potty doors, but I figured only a couple were broken. My next mistake was trustng my fat fnger to hold the door from the nside. That little hole hurt! I loosened my grip for a second, just as I was wipng and a woman opened the door wide to fnd me n all my glory. I'm just thankful it was a woman and 40th Street nstead of 42nd. Otherwise, I'd have to charge passersby for the peep show.

A few years ago, I might have been totally mortified by that, but now it's just one of those funny thngs that happens. The film's about to start, so this is a short one. I might write another entry durng the film, so stay tuned.

[Next entry: "Not Wearng a Fat Suit"]
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