Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Catchng Up and Going On

Taking up exactly where I left off, my pal John and his lady Jeanne and I (and John 's brother Charley and his wife Heather) all met up and had a lovely evening last Friday. We are all (or at least John and Jeanne and I) are getting together again on this coming Thursday with the rest of the Richard III leftovers...or at least those who have looked at my email.

Saturday, as promised, I went to the Morton Street street fair (damn near nonexistent...two tables of children selling old toys) and the Jane Street fair...much better, but oh, dear...it always makes me sad to see how much people are getting for the dresses I jettisoned from my wardrobe 40 years back.

Unfortunately (sort of...I had a terrific time), after Jane Street, I wandered into the Corner Bistro because I had to take a leak, and what with one thing and another (i.e., people to talk to), I somehow managed to get absolutely plastered, and frightened poor Joshua to death when he came upstairs and found me happily curled up under the kitchen table with a kitchen towel as a pillow. He informed me that he thought I'd had a heart attack. I fail utterly to understand how I would have ended up under there, neatly curled with my dishtowel pillow, with a heart attack. Anyway, the SOB woke me up, and by that time I'd had just enough of a nap so that I could think of navigating the spiral stairs...so I went to bed. (For some reason, when really plastered, I go under the kitchen table. No, I don't know. It just seems so nice and neat and enclosed, somehow.)

All of the above being the case, I spent Sunday in rest and rehab. Monday I went to 36th and 3rd at 10 am to pick up the location van to Long Island.

This was the damnedest holding I've ever been in. (I'm sorry...it just occurred to me that some of my readers may not know the term. Holding is where background people are stashed until needed, where the wardrobe people' if necessary, and makeup and hair people, if necessary, are.) It was this big Long Island catering joint, very, very upscale...sort of. Much Art Deco, varnished wood, waterfalls, staircases for brides to make an entrance...and this deeply amazing backyard (I'm sorry...outdoor function space) which had weirdly oversized white furniture and gas fireplaces and sofas and...it was quite odd. It sort of looked like a 1950's science fiction movie about the town of a deeply enlightened race.

Anyhow, we got there around 11 am, and were signed in, and did all the legal stuff (vouchers, I-9's...the ones where you swear you're a US citizen, or not, as the case may be) and we got checked out by wardrobe, and then we sat. And we sat. And we sat. And we had a lovely lunch. Really. Like seven different salads, and chicken, and pasta with shrimp sauce (question: if you have shrimp in your pasta sauce, why can't you take the tails off the shrimp?). And ribs, and asparagus (badly undercooked)...but you know, a ton and a half of food for every possible desire. And five cakes for dessert. Most of which, I am utterly delighted to say, involved quite a lot of whipped cream. (There was no coffee. What the hell goes on with the no damn coffee?)

At any rate, we spent the day in this weirdly appointed moonscape of a garden, and finally, at 5 pm, we were called to the set. This required another van and 10 minutes of driving, at which point we were decanted near the laundromat ( this was where we were supposed to be filming). We were then told to wait around the corner, which we did ( with a brief break for craft services fruit and cheese and dips and candy bars)...for about half an hour...at which point we were told we were wrapped and could go back to holding, sign off, and hop a van home. This occupied my day from 10 am until 7 pm...and welcome to the lovely world of background work. Frankly, who cares? I got a lovely day in a garden (albeit a rather odd one and I'm slightly sunburned), a nice meal and a snack, and transport both ways...and I'm getting paid for it. I assure you, there are worse ways to make a living. Like the Intrepid and Niketown, to name two.

I went to the networking event tonight, fully togged out as a lady (oh, you know...dress and heels and all like that there shit). Frankly, I don't think anything can come of an event which is so damn loud you can't hear each other speak. I met some very nice people, but I don't think anything is going to come of this.

And as I was exiting the event, my kid called and invited me to dinner on her...and then our friend Michael turned up...so I am now somewhat blitzed but full of food and happy.

And tomorrow I shall have to shower at the top of my lungs to prevent beer sweat in yoga class.

And it just came to me that the oddest thing happened tonight. I grabbed a cab back to the Village (the networking thing was by Penn Station),and Sarah had called and we'd made plans to meet at the restaurant at the corner of Charles and Hudson. So my cab pulled up where I asked it to, i.e., on the side of the restaurant, and all of a sudden there is this shortish, but large man in shorts and and a plaid shirt over a more than ample belly, and he's yelling at the taxi that it shouldn't be in the crosswalk. This guy is getting nuts over this, and my nice young driver is saying, Sir, the lady needed to be dropped here, and this fat toad is yelling about the crosswalk and about calling the Taxi and Limousine Commission (the taxi is protruding about eight inches into the crosswalk and not in anybody's way)..so I pay the taxi and get out while muttering, admittedly not QUITE under my breath, "You fuckin' nuisance" and all of a sudden the guy starts screaming at me: "You want to start something bitch? You wanna face me and say that?" And all the time, the guy's got his 9 or 10 year daughter with him, pulling at him, and going, Dad, let's go home.

I ran for the restaurant...but oh, my God, that poor child. Can you imagine growing up with a father like that? And I'll bet you anything, that when his daughter leaves home as soon as it's legal, he'll say, "Why would she do a thing like that?"

Love. Wendy

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