You are here.

Yesterday I took the 2 train from 96th St to Penn Station after work, before my first 401 improv class at UCB.

I was entirely in my own world, standing mid train thinking about any number of a million things, when this older gentleman tapped me on the shoulder (sort of awkwardly as he was directly in front of me, although I must admit I hadn't even noticed him until he entered my immediately-personal-space bubble with the shoulder tap/poke and anyway), when he had my attention he asked,

"Excuse me do you ride the 1 train?" (to which I said yes I do), and he wondered whether he could transfer to the 1 from the 2 at 14th St or if he had to do so at 42nd Street.  He was going to the West Village.  So I explained that either way he'd have a fine time transferring, the train would come to the track right across from the one we were on at both stops, but he shouldn't worry about holding off until 14th St, that would make his trip that much quicker.

And he said thank you and I said your welcome and was ready to go back to my little lala land, but just then a girl sitting behind me to the left (who again I definitely had not noticed in the time it took to get from 96th St to about 72nd St where we were at that point), spoke up 

"Excuse me - actually, I have a similar question," she said to me, and then she asked if she could transfer at 14th St for the 1 train, because she was ultimately going to South Ferry. 

And she could, I told her.  And she thanked me.  And the older man who'd first consulted me smiled and said something along the lines of "everyone's asking you for a little help today."  To which I smiled and thought about saying something like "real New Yorker" or a remark of that nature, but I couldn't because just then a man I HAD noticed get on the train with me at 96th St and HAD passively noticed NOT be able to get a seat originally, put his hand on my shoulder in the MOST familiar way, like an uncle at a family function excusing himself as he passes behind you to get to the dessert table, and the man who hadn't gotten a seat originally gave me this look, because a seat had opened up right in front of me and he was going for it, and one can only assume that he'd just seen me dole out directions to these two other folks on the train, so he knew I was good for going ahead and letting him take that seat there....

And it was such a bizarre series of events, that I said (under my breath I guess, but aloud probablya and embarrassingly enough) "where am I?"

At which time... I swear to God... a woman walked onto the train at 42nd Street with her nose in a book, and the cover of the book said

And needless to say, I think I know the next book I'll be buying for subway reading material.

Google, Glee, and Go Naugs Go

Good evening blogosphere, happy Spring, happy Saturday!

Some things of note:

1st: Google / Googling.  Have people stopped to think about the ease with which one can be googled?  Namely, have I stopped to think about it?  I know exes have googled me, and I once had a cast mate in a show who was probably 7 years old at the time tell me he was impressed by the fact that I had three pages of relevant stories come up when he googled me, and then apparently there's a rancher in Aurora, CO who googled me just a couple months ago, but like, who else is likely to?  My artists?  My clients?  My future literary agent?  And honestly how easy is it for anyone and everyone to do?

2nd: GLEE.  So today I helped out a friend from Boston College by being a background actor for an episode of a web series she's shooting.  It was a low key and relatively fun way to spend a Saturday morning (hurry up and waiting) at a swanky apartment on the Upper Upper West Side, but the highlight was when the PA designated my role in the scene as that of a college intern trying to get a job out of the random conversations she was having at the party.  College?!  Me?!  Thank you dahhhhling... What's more, she told me, in front of a couple of the other actors, she really would have believed I was college age, and what's more, she could see me on Glee playing one of those high schoolers.  At which point my college friend told her I sing well, and so the PA went on, "go then, you should go be on Glee" and so I said "okay" much to the amusement of the other actors.  I've never had one of those moments where someone says it so nonchalantly, "you should be... go do" - I know it happens to other actors all the time.  Their family members say "you should be on Broadway," "why don't you do that soap that shoots in NYC?" but I guess I'm surrounded by practical people with more realistic expectations and somewhat of an understanding of the uphill road to being an overnight success 10 years in the making.

3rd: Speaking of 10 years in the making and life/careers/relationships and really all things worthwhile being a marathon not a sprint.  I just ran 7 miles wearing my Boston Marathon Runner shirt.  In honor of Boston 2013 being two days from now and that 7 being the farthest I've run since Boston 2012.

But I'll be darned if I don't take what I learned in marathon training/running last year and apply it to things in my life on a daily basis.  We run for our cause, we run cause we can.  In it to finish it.  A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step and all that.  Not to mention, RWE's 'what lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.'  When you set out to accomplish something, stick to it, get'er done, it is so invigorating and so inspiring.  It's addictive.

True Romance

I haven't wanted to write because I don't want to jinx it.  And you know I'm not really sure what the rules are about writing from the middle of a potentially amazing story you're in the process of living.  Whether it's annoying or inconsiderate or tactless or unnecessary or uninteresting to anyone else (aka the 8 - 30 or so who make up my blog and website's audience and would/will read this).

I mean I've gotten a kick out of telling people the story in the past three weeks.  How my bambina sorella and I had a 15 hour layover in Brussels on our way back from crashing my sorellina's spring break trip in Rome, so we booked a hotel in the Grand Place and took in some sights before settling back at the first bar we noticed in the cab from the airport to our hotel that night around 8 when we got in to Belgium.

We probably spent from 9:30pm to 12:30am in the company of our new friend.  I'd asked if he knew we were American when he heard us talk or when he'd seen that my sis was wearing a flannel shirt.  Actually, he said, at first he'd thought we may be locals.

Our blonde hair had garnered some funny pick up lines the day before in Rome ("i like your curly hair...happy women's day... love me tonight?") and a couple hours earlier as we were deciding between chocolate, waffles and french fries for our traditional Belgium street meal ("hello...can i kidnap you for 24 hours?  you can kidnap me," and of course you need to imagine that first series in an Italian accent and this second one in a Flemish accent), but in Belgium, which is like the DC of Europe - a verifiable international hub - based on the languages we were approached with we were seemingly passing as French, Irish, German, and apparently even Belgian. 

Anyway what's funny is what propelled me to book the tix for my littlest sis and me.   My netflix queue is stacked with movies that were a big deal on average seven years ago.  What was I so busy doing seven years ago I wonder that I missed so many movies I'd meant to see?  Theatre I suppose.  I did 14 shows in the two years I spent living in Boston after college.  So I didn't really have many nights and weekends free to take in films.

But now, I have and use netflix, so I'm slowly but surely catching up on pop culture.  And I rented PS, I Love You with Hillary Swank and Gerard Butler, who plays Irish but is a Scott, I believe. And I'll be damned if that movie didn't just smack me in the face with a reminder of how romantic Ireland is/was.

I decided as the credits started to roll, that, fine that was it, I would book my flight and my sister's.  Cause we had to run to Rome.  Even if just for a few days.  A ROMANtic get away.  Literally.  It would be a trip all about sisterhood and spontaneity, connecting with our Italian roots, and reveling in the fun that would be getting to go out to the discotecas together and seeing sights and speaking in our pigeon Italian.  A rejuvenating jaunt, and really just a fun little adventure.  It would be romantic even if we were all single right now and unlikely to have the time or the where-withal to pick up any Italian Stallions or ride on the back of mopeds with them to Tuscany, because what is more romantic than Europe?  All of the history, the art, the sounds that roll around in peoples' mouths as they speak those languages or as they speak English in their endearing accents be them Italian, Flemish, Irish... Southern...

That's the thing, I heard the southern accent amidst the international cacophony we were surrounded by at Churchills - the English Pub we settled on having a pint or two and eating our french fries with curry ketchup at.  And maybe it's faded from what it once was, but it was warm like a hug and low in timber like the motor of a tractor, a discernible drawl.

And then I took my coat off and in a game changing gesture decided to hang it behind me instead of putting it with my purse on the open chair to my right.

And then there was this quick exchange of eye contact.  And we were off.  And three hours later it was so cute that my bambina sorella was asking whether she should leave me alone, because of course no, I told her, there was no way I was ditching her for a dude effectively leaving her alone at 18 in a city where they speak French and Flemish, but if the connection counted, it'd find a way to work itself out. And I just had a feeling, less from the 3 hour convo and more from that momentary eye contact exchange that it counted.

I can think of 3 times in my life when I've had those exchanges.  And they've all been so crazy!  So telling.  So unique and so charged.  And I wish I were a writer with the words to fully summarize all that went on in the instances of those exchanges.  Cause if I were, I bet I'd already have a literary agent - ha - but suffice it to say, they lead to true romance.  And prove that Wall-E was write to harp on good old Cornelius Hack's hindsight.  Who knows what will happen, one day at a time and all that, I'm hardly waiting for a princess styled happy ending but I've definitely been reminded of how these two have really got it figured out: