I was reading a magazine the other day, and there was a product advertised in a jar. Said product was baked brie. Can someone explain to me A. WHY you would put baked brie in a jar, when you make baked brie by putting a chunk of brie in an oven? and B. I think these people should hire a translator, because this jar says Baked Brie. Under that it says Camembert Au Four. Well, au four is right, that meaning in the oven in French, but surely you ought to know whether you're putting brie or camembert in the damn jar?
But I do think I've just come across my all time favorite overblown restaurant description of a dish. This comes from the restaurant's actual menu and I don't feel like going back to it, so you'll just have to be satisfied with the fact that it's a French restaurant here in Chelsea. Which is extremely expensive. They offer the following:
New York State Steak Frites (Organic, Grain Fed), butter maitre d'hotel, french fries. watercress mustard dressing with bearnaise pepper and roquefort sauce. (sic...sic as a dog. Pace Dorothy Parker, whose line that is.) (She's talking about Winnie the Pooh.)
I think someone should do something about this chef. Mellow pills would come to mind immediately, but first I think we should stage an intervention by taking all his/her ingredients away and forcing him/her to make a steak with some salt and pepper on it. Maybe. Clearly this boy/girl has major problems. I can't even begin to think about what this conglomeration might taste like. And actually, I don't WANT to.
Um, Jane? What happened?
Love, Wendy
Monday, July 4, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Unexpected Bugs
VERY unexpected. There I was, minding my own business, on Tuesday, June 7, very early in the morning. I had grabbed a cab to get to lower Broadway for a Boardwalk Empire shoot for a 5 am call. The set was absolutely spectacular. There's a tiny alley/street that runs behind Broadway at about Walker Street called Cortlandt Alley (of which I had certainly never heard) which had been tricked out to be a tenement block of the 1920's...which was only fitting, because that's what it WAS in the 1920's. There were pushcarts and laundry strung between the buildings...just amazingly great work.
Well, I felt a little nauseated when I got there, but I swallowed a few times and took some deep breaths and it all went away. Then I got dressed and haired and made up, the usual stuff, had my breakfast, and we started the shoot.
After a while it occurred to me that something was very, very wrong. It was a fiendishly hot day, and I had been placed right in front of the door to holding, where the air conditioning was blowing out, which should have been ideal, right? Unfortunately, as the morning wore on, I discovered that the damn air was giving me the chills, which should NOT have been happening.
I lasted until lunch on purpose...they can't very well be expected to stop a shoot for one lousy background actor. I mean, they would have DONE it...but it would have been damned expensive in terms of time and stuff, so I just got through it, and as soon as lunch was called I left.
I then proceeded to spend five solid days flat on my back with the worst case of flu I've ever had in my life. I mean, like running 104. I couldn't even get downstairs to smoke a damn cigarette...for me, that's SICK. Thank God for Sarah, who came in and out delivering necessities like Diet Coke and chicken soup.
I am now completely well again except for a lingering cough, which is getting better. Never again!
So yesterday I went out to shoot something called Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in Brighton Beach, the deep Russian part of Brooklyn. What a damn screwed up shoot. I picked up the van at Varick and Canal, we got out there around ten, and they didn't use us until about 5 pm, which is in no way unusual. What was HIGHLY unusual was that there was no Crafty. Crafty is Craft Services, and it's the life blood of a shoot. It's your breakfast, it's your lunch, it's the all day snacks all actors count on so they won't have to go home and cook/pay for dinner. So we all had to go get and pay for our own breakfasts, which didn't improve anybody's mood much. The mood had already been pretty much lowered by the news that the agency had given all of us the wrong information when we called in to get our call times...they said wear a layered spring/summer outfit and bring a winter coat, hat, scarf. Turns out we needed two spring outfits. So all of us were dragging around all this damn heavy winter clothing for nothing.
And when we got lunch, it was catered by the Russian restaurant we were using as holding. Unfortunately, with the exception of things like caviar and blini and Beef Stroganoff, Russian food is pretty ghastly. Nine million mayonnaise laden salads and unidentifiable things wrapped in pastry and covered in breadcrumbs...all served cold. Well, at least it was ballast.
So we did the shoot, went back to holding and were wrapped around 6:15 pm or so. We all got signed out and went out front...only to be told that all of a sudden there wasn't any van to get us back to Manhattan. There would probably be a van at 10 pm.
Well, this was completely unacceptable, because the Brighton Beach subway stop is elevated...two flights up (and I wasn't hanging around until 10 pm). There's no way I can do this on a humid summer day hauling a heavy tote bag. (Please do not ask me why the HELL I didn't think of car service, but I didn't.) Luckily, after I stated my problem, the nice guy who was the background wrangler dragged my bag and me to the subway and carried it all the way upstairs for me (jumping the turnstile in the process, bless him), and I got back to West 4th Street which has an elevator.
I sincerely hope that it occurs to somebody that I deserve a pay bump for this, because I sure as hell wouldn't have even submitted for the job if I thought it was going to involve subway stairs.
Growl. On the other hand, even without a bump for transportation, I made a decent chunk of money. So there.
Love, Wendy
Well, I felt a little nauseated when I got there, but I swallowed a few times and took some deep breaths and it all went away. Then I got dressed and haired and made up, the usual stuff, had my breakfast, and we started the shoot.
After a while it occurred to me that something was very, very wrong. It was a fiendishly hot day, and I had been placed right in front of the door to holding, where the air conditioning was blowing out, which should have been ideal, right? Unfortunately, as the morning wore on, I discovered that the damn air was giving me the chills, which should NOT have been happening.
I lasted until lunch on purpose...they can't very well be expected to stop a shoot for one lousy background actor. I mean, they would have DONE it...but it would have been damned expensive in terms of time and stuff, so I just got through it, and as soon as lunch was called I left.
I then proceeded to spend five solid days flat on my back with the worst case of flu I've ever had in my life. I mean, like running 104. I couldn't even get downstairs to smoke a damn cigarette...for me, that's SICK. Thank God for Sarah, who came in and out delivering necessities like Diet Coke and chicken soup.
I am now completely well again except for a lingering cough, which is getting better. Never again!
So yesterday I went out to shoot something called Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in Brighton Beach, the deep Russian part of Brooklyn. What a damn screwed up shoot. I picked up the van at Varick and Canal, we got out there around ten, and they didn't use us until about 5 pm, which is in no way unusual. What was HIGHLY unusual was that there was no Crafty. Crafty is Craft Services, and it's the life blood of a shoot. It's your breakfast, it's your lunch, it's the all day snacks all actors count on so they won't have to go home and cook/pay for dinner. So we all had to go get and pay for our own breakfasts, which didn't improve anybody's mood much. The mood had already been pretty much lowered by the news that the agency had given all of us the wrong information when we called in to get our call times...they said wear a layered spring/summer outfit and bring a winter coat, hat, scarf. Turns out we needed two spring outfits. So all of us were dragging around all this damn heavy winter clothing for nothing.
And when we got lunch, it was catered by the Russian restaurant we were using as holding. Unfortunately, with the exception of things like caviar and blini and Beef Stroganoff, Russian food is pretty ghastly. Nine million mayonnaise laden salads and unidentifiable things wrapped in pastry and covered in breadcrumbs...all served cold. Well, at least it was ballast.
So we did the shoot, went back to holding and were wrapped around 6:15 pm or so. We all got signed out and went out front...only to be told that all of a sudden there wasn't any van to get us back to Manhattan. There would probably be a van at 10 pm.
Well, this was completely unacceptable, because the Brighton Beach subway stop is elevated...two flights up (and I wasn't hanging around until 10 pm). There's no way I can do this on a humid summer day hauling a heavy tote bag. (Please do not ask me why the HELL I didn't think of car service, but I didn't.) Luckily, after I stated my problem, the nice guy who was the background wrangler dragged my bag and me to the subway and carried it all the way upstairs for me (jumping the turnstile in the process, bless him), and I got back to West 4th Street which has an elevator.
I sincerely hope that it occurs to somebody that I deserve a pay bump for this, because I sure as hell wouldn't have even submitted for the job if I thought it was going to involve subway stairs.
Growl. On the other hand, even without a bump for transportation, I made a decent chunk of money. So there.
Love, Wendy
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Unexpected Pleasures
Well, what a nice week.
There I was on Wednesday, minding my own business, trying to take a nap about 12:30 pm (due to a slight hangover brought about by hanging out with my kid on Tuesday), when a text message popped up, saying Can you be at Steiner (i.e., Steiner Studios in Brooklyn) by 3 pm for Boardwalk? Well, of COURSE I can. I thought it was a costume fitting (I'm in need of a summer costume for this season), but no, it was actual work. Yay!
It was painful actual work. The scene was somebody beating somebody up in a men's room in a below ground speakeasy, and what we were doing was walking back and forth on a catwalk above this bathroom...I presume the intent was to show that this brutal thing was going on and we were all oblivious and just walking around on the sidewalk. The result is that I must let you know which episode my ankles are starring in.
The painful part comes in where they had a metal bar connecting the two sides of the catwalk on one end, into which we all walked at one point or another, except of course my pal Marissa, who's about 4'10" and could walk right under it. Problem was, at various points I was supposed to be talking to her as I walked, so of course since she didn't duck...yup. Clang. In the van coming back to the city, we all decided that we were going to have T-shirts made: I Got Concussed On Boardwalk Empire! And the best thing about it was that in the middle of the day I got an email asking me if I was available for this coming Tuesday for Boardwalk.
Then Thursday my pal Jiggers played a set at the Bistro, so I went there again, and met a bunch of the people from his job at the New York City Ballet (fund raising phone work). Great group.
Friday night I was hanging out at home around 6:15 or so, tastefully attired in my sweats with my hair hanging in my face (always elegant, that's me), when the phone rang and it was Jiggers, saying that he had an extra ticket for the ballet at Lincoln Center that night! You have never seen such a quick transformation scene. Off with the sweats, into the shower, on with the good dress and shoes, comb the hair, slap makeup on the face...and out the door to find myself sipping champagne on the terrace at Lincoln Center by 7:40 pm. We saw Jewels...it was wonderful.
So it was a delightfully unexpected week...may there be more of them!
And I found the absolutely best thing in the New York Post, in their Strange But True column. Seems there was an arrest in Naples, Florida at a children's birthday party, where one woman bit another (what interesting children's parties they must have in Florida). Now I quote:
"The woman initially denied she did it, but she was identified as the biter - because she was the only person at the party with a full set of teeth, according to police."
As you can imagine, this just made my day.
Now I have to do something about this damn apartment. You would not believe the mess I've managed to get it into. (Well, actually, if you've known me for a while, yes, you would.) I decided that I should really get the books in some sort of order so I can find things when I want them, and to that end most of the books are now out of the shelves and all over the place. Then I found some boxes because I threw out my original moving boxes, and I'm still trying to get it together to pack up Sarah's stuff, and of course until I do that I won't have the space on the shelves and in the closet in the other bedroom, and...all of this gives rise to an uncontrollable urge to lie down and read a book. I don't think God ever intended me to keep a house, because I'm really quite lousy at it. Clearly I'm a person who was made to have many servants. Unfortunately, until my staff appears, I'm going to have to do something about this wreck myself, damn it.
And did I mention that there's a pile of ironing to be done, too? And the kitchen to be properly organized? Oy. Ah, well...I'll get to it tomorrow. Right now I'm going to read for a while. Well, gee, it's just about ten past eight. That's nearly nine, which is almost ten, and you wouldn't want me to start cleaning in the middle of the night, would you?
Love, Wendy
There I was on Wednesday, minding my own business, trying to take a nap about 12:30 pm (due to a slight hangover brought about by hanging out with my kid on Tuesday), when a text message popped up, saying Can you be at Steiner (i.e., Steiner Studios in Brooklyn) by 3 pm for Boardwalk? Well, of COURSE I can. I thought it was a costume fitting (I'm in need of a summer costume for this season), but no, it was actual work. Yay!
It was painful actual work. The scene was somebody beating somebody up in a men's room in a below ground speakeasy, and what we were doing was walking back and forth on a catwalk above this bathroom...I presume the intent was to show that this brutal thing was going on and we were all oblivious and just walking around on the sidewalk. The result is that I must let you know which episode my ankles are starring in.
The painful part comes in where they had a metal bar connecting the two sides of the catwalk on one end, into which we all walked at one point or another, except of course my pal Marissa, who's about 4'10" and could walk right under it. Problem was, at various points I was supposed to be talking to her as I walked, so of course since she didn't duck...yup. Clang. In the van coming back to the city, we all decided that we were going to have T-shirts made: I Got Concussed On Boardwalk Empire! And the best thing about it was that in the middle of the day I got an email asking me if I was available for this coming Tuesday for Boardwalk.
Then Thursday my pal Jiggers played a set at the Bistro, so I went there again, and met a bunch of the people from his job at the New York City Ballet (fund raising phone work). Great group.
Friday night I was hanging out at home around 6:15 or so, tastefully attired in my sweats with my hair hanging in my face (always elegant, that's me), when the phone rang and it was Jiggers, saying that he had an extra ticket for the ballet at Lincoln Center that night! You have never seen such a quick transformation scene. Off with the sweats, into the shower, on with the good dress and shoes, comb the hair, slap makeup on the face...and out the door to find myself sipping champagne on the terrace at Lincoln Center by 7:40 pm. We saw Jewels...it was wonderful.
So it was a delightfully unexpected week...may there be more of them!
And I found the absolutely best thing in the New York Post, in their Strange But True column. Seems there was an arrest in Naples, Florida at a children's birthday party, where one woman bit another (what interesting children's parties they must have in Florida). Now I quote:
"The woman initially denied she did it, but she was identified as the biter - because she was the only person at the party with a full set of teeth, according to police."
As you can imagine, this just made my day.
Now I have to do something about this damn apartment. You would not believe the mess I've managed to get it into. (Well, actually, if you've known me for a while, yes, you would.) I decided that I should really get the books in some sort of order so I can find things when I want them, and to that end most of the books are now out of the shelves and all over the place. Then I found some boxes because I threw out my original moving boxes, and I'm still trying to get it together to pack up Sarah's stuff, and of course until I do that I won't have the space on the shelves and in the closet in the other bedroom, and...all of this gives rise to an uncontrollable urge to lie down and read a book. I don't think God ever intended me to keep a house, because I'm really quite lousy at it. Clearly I'm a person who was made to have many servants. Unfortunately, until my staff appears, I'm going to have to do something about this wreck myself, damn it.
And did I mention that there's a pile of ironing to be done, too? And the kitchen to be properly organized? Oy. Ah, well...I'll get to it tomorrow. Right now I'm going to read for a while. Well, gee, it's just about ten past eight. That's nearly nine, which is almost ten, and you wouldn't want me to start cleaning in the middle of the night, would you?
Love, Wendy
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Sickened
Let's catch up a bit before I get around to the sick part. The street fair was terrific, as always, even with a few splats of rain, and I got my Italian sausage sandwich...I allow myself two a year. One at the BBC, and the other at Gay Pride Day. This usually fulfills my cholesterol needs for the year (combined with the full Irish breakfast at Fiddlesticks on St. Pat's).
Other than that, I have spent another two days at the law office, coming off as a heroine this time because I saw a roach, knocked it off the file it was on, and stomped the thing to death. Um, have I mentioned that we're not exactly talking about an elegant law firm here?
I spent Memorial Day weekend doing NOTHING. It was hot, I kept dozing off, I kept thinking I ought to be doing something...and I didn't. So there.
Now to the title of the post. Sarah now only works at the Bistro on Tuesdays, so I trotted over to spend some time with her, and they've got a new waiter, who is just adorable. I believe I may have mentioned that there's a waitress there who reminds me of a Golden Retriever; well, this kid is like nothing so much as a baby Saint Bernard whose paws are still too big for him. Adorable.
So I came home, after various lovely chats and bar camaraderie...to be chilled to the bone and sickened on my own front doorstep.
Now, before everyone leaps up in hysteria, let me say that this was because of a conversation. I got out of my taxi and there was a young man with a bunch of luggage in front of the building who clearly belonged to somebody in my building, and, because I was smoking a cigarette, I engaged him in conversation. (You know, me and Jane Austen - the only people left who ever use that particular phrase). I asked the usual questions from an old broad to a young man...where are you going,will it be fun, are you excited...
This kid frightened the pants off me. He was majoring in political science and economics. He didn't give a fuck about either discipline, and when I (taking the cue of politics) began to talk about grass roots politics...and then when I tried the 60s...his eyes glazed over. I said why are you studying this? And he said, "Oh, you can make a lot of money."
If this is the future of politics, would anyone care to join me in building a lovely log cabin in Central Park? Sorry, off the grid in some Godforsaken spot is NOT an option (no taxis = no me)...and we better wire the log cabin for HBO.
I think the worst part about it is that he was black.
Also, I think I need a shower now. That child was deeply slimy.
Love, Wendy
Other than that, I have spent another two days at the law office, coming off as a heroine this time because I saw a roach, knocked it off the file it was on, and stomped the thing to death. Um, have I mentioned that we're not exactly talking about an elegant law firm here?
I spent Memorial Day weekend doing NOTHING. It was hot, I kept dozing off, I kept thinking I ought to be doing something...and I didn't. So there.
Now to the title of the post. Sarah now only works at the Bistro on Tuesdays, so I trotted over to spend some time with her, and they've got a new waiter, who is just adorable. I believe I may have mentioned that there's a waitress there who reminds me of a Golden Retriever; well, this kid is like nothing so much as a baby Saint Bernard whose paws are still too big for him. Adorable.
So I came home, after various lovely chats and bar camaraderie...to be chilled to the bone and sickened on my own front doorstep.
Now, before everyone leaps up in hysteria, let me say that this was because of a conversation. I got out of my taxi and there was a young man with a bunch of luggage in front of the building who clearly belonged to somebody in my building, and, because I was smoking a cigarette, I engaged him in conversation. (You know, me and Jane Austen - the only people left who ever use that particular phrase). I asked the usual questions from an old broad to a young man...where are you going,will it be fun, are you excited...
This kid frightened the pants off me. He was majoring in political science and economics. He didn't give a fuck about either discipline, and when I (taking the cue of politics) began to talk about grass roots politics...and then when I tried the 60s...his eyes glazed over. I said why are you studying this? And he said, "Oh, you can make a lot of money."
If this is the future of politics, would anyone care to join me in building a lovely log cabin in Central Park? Sorry, off the grid in some Godforsaken spot is NOT an option (no taxis = no me)...and we better wire the log cabin for HBO.
I think the worst part about it is that he was black.
Also, I think I need a shower now. That child was deeply slimy.
Love, Wendy
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Monsoon Season
Look, could all my readers get together and started collecting pairs of animals? I've got my carpenter friend working on the ark...40 cubits, as specified...and no, I don't know what the hell a cubit is either (note: line only works if you remember Bill Cosby's standup act).
You will now have to excuse me for being quite vulgar, but I am going to paraphrase Samuel L. Jackson: I am tired of these mother fucking drops from this mother fucking sky. It has now rained for four straight days, we get a brief break over the weekend, and it's then going to rain for another nine days. E-FUCKING-NUFF! I have personally mildewed.
Meanwhile, now that I have impolitely vented my spleen about the weather, last week's three day law firm job wasn't that bad. Looking back, I realize that I haven't mentioned this.
I'm not on partial unemployment at the moment, so I was quite startled to get a call from the Department of Labor a couple of weeks ago. Being a cynical New Yorker, my first thought was that they had decided that I shouldn't have been getting unemployment and now wanted me to pay it back. But no...they had a job for me. I really did NOT want to go to an office job, and I CERTAINLY didn't want to go to a law firm, but as it happens, it wasn't at all bad. The reason that the Department of Labor called me is that my name turned up on their database as someone who could use a Dictaphone, which is evidently a dying art.
Anyway, it's the first time in my life I have ever been profoundly grateful for the no smoking in offices rule. You have never seen such a mess in your life...and I know messes. There were thick heavy files stacked on every single available surface to a height of at least a foot in all cases...including on the floor. Horrendous. But the work was very much my sort of thing (hand me the stuff and leave me alone, thank you very much), and the guy I was working for actually wrote a check for me, had me endorse it, ran down to the bank and paid me in cash...and gave me paid lunch hours. So, altogether not bad. Horrendously underpaid, though. Legal work used to be $20 an hour...I was getting $12. But since I wouldn't have been getting anything otherwise...why not.
Then I got a call on Tuesday to go shoot Arbitrage (some financial thriller with Susan Sarandon), which was great, but annoying. I called in on Tuesday night as directed to get my call time, and was told it was 1 pm. Terrific! Actually it didn't matter what time it was, because we were shooting on 28th Street and 11th Avenue, meaning it was about a five minute taxi ride away (I could have walked, but not in the aforementioned monsoon). However, on Wednesday morning they called me at 6:30 am to tell me the new call time was 9 am. Obviously I had no problem with that...five minutes away, right? What I DID have a problem with, however, as did all the other background people, was that they proceeded to leave us sitting in holding until about 5:30 pm. But as usual, breakfast, nice lunch, and the company of a lot of cops and retired cops (a lot of cops moonlight as background people and actors in general), who are generally good company and tell great stories. And the earlier call time and the long wait meant that I not only got fed, but a little overtime as well.
Then I went and met my pal Caesar at Sarah's bar, and then I came home and fell into bed. Today I have done nothing whatsover. I may make another stab at getting Sarah's stuff in order tomorrow, but I haven't decided yet.
And on Saturday the greatest street fair in the world occurs, the Bedford Barrow Commerce/Ye Older Village Faire! Yay! It's also supposedly the Rapture and we'll all going to die. Well, personally, if I'm going to die, doing it with great food, cold beer, good music and a bunch of friends seems to be exactly the right time and place. See you on the Other Side! (Bring beer.)
Love, Wendy
You will now have to excuse me for being quite vulgar, but I am going to paraphrase Samuel L. Jackson: I am tired of these mother fucking drops from this mother fucking sky. It has now rained for four straight days, we get a brief break over the weekend, and it's then going to rain for another nine days. E-FUCKING-NUFF! I have personally mildewed.
Meanwhile, now that I have impolitely vented my spleen about the weather, last week's three day law firm job wasn't that bad. Looking back, I realize that I haven't mentioned this.
I'm not on partial unemployment at the moment, so I was quite startled to get a call from the Department of Labor a couple of weeks ago. Being a cynical New Yorker, my first thought was that they had decided that I shouldn't have been getting unemployment and now wanted me to pay it back. But no...they had a job for me. I really did NOT want to go to an office job, and I CERTAINLY didn't want to go to a law firm, but as it happens, it wasn't at all bad. The reason that the Department of Labor called me is that my name turned up on their database as someone who could use a Dictaphone, which is evidently a dying art.
Anyway, it's the first time in my life I have ever been profoundly grateful for the no smoking in offices rule. You have never seen such a mess in your life...and I know messes. There were thick heavy files stacked on every single available surface to a height of at least a foot in all cases...including on the floor. Horrendous. But the work was very much my sort of thing (hand me the stuff and leave me alone, thank you very much), and the guy I was working for actually wrote a check for me, had me endorse it, ran down to the bank and paid me in cash...and gave me paid lunch hours. So, altogether not bad. Horrendously underpaid, though. Legal work used to be $20 an hour...I was getting $12. But since I wouldn't have been getting anything otherwise...why not.
Then I got a call on Tuesday to go shoot Arbitrage (some financial thriller with Susan Sarandon), which was great, but annoying. I called in on Tuesday night as directed to get my call time, and was told it was 1 pm. Terrific! Actually it didn't matter what time it was, because we were shooting on 28th Street and 11th Avenue, meaning it was about a five minute taxi ride away (I could have walked, but not in the aforementioned monsoon). However, on Wednesday morning they called me at 6:30 am to tell me the new call time was 9 am. Obviously I had no problem with that...five minutes away, right? What I DID have a problem with, however, as did all the other background people, was that they proceeded to leave us sitting in holding until about 5:30 pm. But as usual, breakfast, nice lunch, and the company of a lot of cops and retired cops (a lot of cops moonlight as background people and actors in general), who are generally good company and tell great stories. And the earlier call time and the long wait meant that I not only got fed, but a little overtime as well.
Then I went and met my pal Caesar at Sarah's bar, and then I came home and fell into bed. Today I have done nothing whatsover. I may make another stab at getting Sarah's stuff in order tomorrow, but I haven't decided yet.
And on Saturday the greatest street fair in the world occurs, the Bedford Barrow Commerce/Ye Older Village Faire! Yay! It's also supposedly the Rapture and we'll all going to die. Well, personally, if I'm going to die, doing it with great food, cold beer, good music and a bunch of friends seems to be exactly the right time and place. See you on the Other Side! (Bring beer.)
Love, Wendy
Thursday, May 5, 2011
OK, Already - I'm Back
I'm back. And a very happy Cinque de Mayo to one and all. That, by the way, is the sum total extent of my Spanish, except that I am able to say, Sarah has diarrhea. No fruit, no vegetables, only chicken. This came about because we had an au pair named Cecelia from El Salvador when Sarah was still too young for day care, and she spoke no English. I managed to get along with a Spanish phrase book, but to this day I live in fear that I will someday be invited to an elegant gathering at the Spanish Embassy and have absolutely no conversational opening except, Sarah has diarrhea...
It's been an interesting couple of weeks or so. I got an absolutely fabulous invitation from my old pal Marty for April 26th, which I jumped at. There is an organization called Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS, which has made tons of money for AIDS research, and twice a year they do these extravaganzas which are basically for the industry. This one was the annual Easter Bonnet Competition, wherein various Broadway shows make Easter hats and do take-offs on shows, and it was just a delight.
They had a takeoff on Glee, they had a monologue from Robin Williams, the casts from Mamma Mia, Billy Elliot, La Cage Aux Folles, Priscilla Queen of the Desert...it was all just marvelous. Sutton Foster was there, and Harvey Fierstein, and Daniel Radcliffe. The Cage Aux Folles gals did a heartbreaker of a number. They all came out in full drag, of course, and sang I Am What I Am very quietly, while they stepped out of the line to speak the names of various cast members who had died of AIDS over the 25 year life of the show. It was deeply moving. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. And of course, this being an industry show, there was every in joke you can possibly imagine. In the Glee number, which opened the show, Artie, the kid in the wheelchair on the show, was played by a guy in a Spiderman costume. Spiderman came in for a LOT of ribbing.
Saturday I went to do my weird job at the Long Island car dealership, which was even stranger than I thought it would be. First of all, nobody in the way of actual customers CAME to the car dealership for quite some time, so there was the decidedly odd spectacle of 15 actors wandering around trying to sell cars to each other, which was deeply strange. Then some people actually showed up, and I did my agreed upon bit of the dotty grandmother buying a car for her grandson who was graduating from high school. You should have heard my masterly dithering. "Well, I promised him if he got on the honor role in his senior year I'd get him a car, but I'm just so concerned about his safety...are you SURE these are nice safe cars?" I'm amazed nobody called the men in the little white coats on me.
And yesterday I got back on Boardwalk Empire! Yay! Not out on the boardwalk, damn it. We were shooting at the Henry Street Settlement on the Lower East Side. Thank God we were indoors, because it was chilly and pouring all day. Are we ever going to have anything resembling a nice warm spring? I looked at Weather.com, and we're STILL not getting out of the 60's and the "possibility of showers." I'm getting violently tired of this.
Anyway, what we were supposed to be doing was watching a Charlie Chaplin film. When you see the scene, remember this...you will see a theatre full of people smoking (1924; we were still allowed) and eating popcorn and thoroughly enjoying the movie. What we were looking at was a white curtain thing with a cross made out of black electrical tape stuck on it for us to focus on, while someone walked back and forth behind it with a piece of black something or other to make the light flicker on our faces as it would had we actually been watching anything. I'm here to tell you that a black electrical tape cross is EXTREMELY dull to look at and react to. For six hours. However, the popcorn was nice and fresh...it shouldn't be a total loss. (You know, eventually I'm going to ruin all your delight in the magic of movies here...sorry.)
And the best news of all? Sarah actually came and picked up a piece of her belongings! I'm so thrilled. She came and got the big old microwave from the old house, which is now hers since this apartment came with one. One can only hope this is a harbinger of things to come...such as the rest of her stuff leaving. But by God, it's a start!
And the wedding. Oh, wow. Glorious. I have seen every one of the Family weddings I could, not to mention Queen Elizabeth's coronation, because I love all that pageantry. Limos are so boring. I want to trot by the adoring populace in my horsedrawn carriage with the palace guard riding beside me.
That dress was so unbelievably beautiful, and so well suited to Kate. Simple, elegant...just absolutely perfect. And of course, the unvarying spectacle of English hats. Good Lord. Fergie's daughters, of course, took the prize, what with Beatrice in that pretzel or music stand or WHATEVER the hell she was wearing on her head. I kept looking at it and thinking, WHY? Why on EARTH would you do that? There was an amusing Facebook thread about the hats which started with someone saying, Where do they get them? The answer is Philip Treacy, who's been making hats for the English nobility for about a hundred years now. But I liked some of the answers that came up...particularly someone who said, Aretha's of Detroit. My response was The Ministry of Silly Hats. I was thinking as I watched the various extravaganzas on peoples' heads, how does it feel to be sitting behind one of those things and trying to see what's going on, or worse, sitting next to one of them and having the explosion of feathers or the cockatoo in full plumage or whatever the hell piece of nonsense tickling your ear through the whole wedding?
The Queen looked lovely. That color is so nice on her. And I hadn't realized that Prince Phillip is going to be 90...good Lord. Camilla looked lovely too, although I wish to hell she'd do something about the Farrah Fawcett Majors hairdo. And Princess Anne looked like a very well bred horse. This is because Princess Anne ALWAYS looks like a very well bred horse. Dressing her up has never, ever, helped. She really is at her best in riding clothes.
Altogether a MOST satisfying occasion, and they really looked in love with each other.
And of course, the other bit of news...no more Osama bin Laden. I do wish I could be happier about this one. The problem is that while I'm thrilled we finally got him, I'm somewhat concerned about possible retaliation. I mean, is it like cutting off a lizard's tail? The lizard thrashes around quite a lot, but eventually it grows a new tail. I wonder what's going to follow bin Laden, because something surely will. Right now I believe his forces are probably in disarray, but I cannot believe he didn't have a picked successor. We shall see.
I would MUCH rather dwell on Kate's wedding dress...wouldn't you?
Love, Wendy
It's been an interesting couple of weeks or so. I got an absolutely fabulous invitation from my old pal Marty for April 26th, which I jumped at. There is an organization called Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS, which has made tons of money for AIDS research, and twice a year they do these extravaganzas which are basically for the industry. This one was the annual Easter Bonnet Competition, wherein various Broadway shows make Easter hats and do take-offs on shows, and it was just a delight.
They had a takeoff on Glee, they had a monologue from Robin Williams, the casts from Mamma Mia, Billy Elliot, La Cage Aux Folles, Priscilla Queen of the Desert...it was all just marvelous. Sutton Foster was there, and Harvey Fierstein, and Daniel Radcliffe. The Cage Aux Folles gals did a heartbreaker of a number. They all came out in full drag, of course, and sang I Am What I Am very quietly, while they stepped out of the line to speak the names of various cast members who had died of AIDS over the 25 year life of the show. It was deeply moving. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. And of course, this being an industry show, there was every in joke you can possibly imagine. In the Glee number, which opened the show, Artie, the kid in the wheelchair on the show, was played by a guy in a Spiderman costume. Spiderman came in for a LOT of ribbing.
Saturday I went to do my weird job at the Long Island car dealership, which was even stranger than I thought it would be. First of all, nobody in the way of actual customers CAME to the car dealership for quite some time, so there was the decidedly odd spectacle of 15 actors wandering around trying to sell cars to each other, which was deeply strange. Then some people actually showed up, and I did my agreed upon bit of the dotty grandmother buying a car for her grandson who was graduating from high school. You should have heard my masterly dithering. "Well, I promised him if he got on the honor role in his senior year I'd get him a car, but I'm just so concerned about his safety...are you SURE these are nice safe cars?" I'm amazed nobody called the men in the little white coats on me.
And yesterday I got back on Boardwalk Empire! Yay! Not out on the boardwalk, damn it. We were shooting at the Henry Street Settlement on the Lower East Side. Thank God we were indoors, because it was chilly and pouring all day. Are we ever going to have anything resembling a nice warm spring? I looked at Weather.com, and we're STILL not getting out of the 60's and the "possibility of showers." I'm getting violently tired of this.
Anyway, what we were supposed to be doing was watching a Charlie Chaplin film. When you see the scene, remember this...you will see a theatre full of people smoking (1924; we were still allowed) and eating popcorn and thoroughly enjoying the movie. What we were looking at was a white curtain thing with a cross made out of black electrical tape stuck on it for us to focus on, while someone walked back and forth behind it with a piece of black something or other to make the light flicker on our faces as it would had we actually been watching anything. I'm here to tell you that a black electrical tape cross is EXTREMELY dull to look at and react to. For six hours. However, the popcorn was nice and fresh...it shouldn't be a total loss. (You know, eventually I'm going to ruin all your delight in the magic of movies here...sorry.)
And the best news of all? Sarah actually came and picked up a piece of her belongings! I'm so thrilled. She came and got the big old microwave from the old house, which is now hers since this apartment came with one. One can only hope this is a harbinger of things to come...such as the rest of her stuff leaving. But by God, it's a start!
And the wedding. Oh, wow. Glorious. I have seen every one of the Family weddings I could, not to mention Queen Elizabeth's coronation, because I love all that pageantry. Limos are so boring. I want to trot by the adoring populace in my horsedrawn carriage with the palace guard riding beside me.
That dress was so unbelievably beautiful, and so well suited to Kate. Simple, elegant...just absolutely perfect. And of course, the unvarying spectacle of English hats. Good Lord. Fergie's daughters, of course, took the prize, what with Beatrice in that pretzel or music stand or WHATEVER the hell she was wearing on her head. I kept looking at it and thinking, WHY? Why on EARTH would you do that? There was an amusing Facebook thread about the hats which started with someone saying, Where do they get them? The answer is Philip Treacy, who's been making hats for the English nobility for about a hundred years now. But I liked some of the answers that came up...particularly someone who said, Aretha's of Detroit. My response was The Ministry of Silly Hats. I was thinking as I watched the various extravaganzas on peoples' heads, how does it feel to be sitting behind one of those things and trying to see what's going on, or worse, sitting next to one of them and having the explosion of feathers or the cockatoo in full plumage or whatever the hell piece of nonsense tickling your ear through the whole wedding?
The Queen looked lovely. That color is so nice on her. And I hadn't realized that Prince Phillip is going to be 90...good Lord. Camilla looked lovely too, although I wish to hell she'd do something about the Farrah Fawcett Majors hairdo. And Princess Anne looked like a very well bred horse. This is because Princess Anne ALWAYS looks like a very well bred horse. Dressing her up has never, ever, helped. She really is at her best in riding clothes.
Altogether a MOST satisfying occasion, and they really looked in love with each other.
And of course, the other bit of news...no more Osama bin Laden. I do wish I could be happier about this one. The problem is that while I'm thrilled we finally got him, I'm somewhat concerned about possible retaliation. I mean, is it like cutting off a lizard's tail? The lizard thrashes around quite a lot, but eventually it grows a new tail. I wonder what's going to follow bin Laden, because something surely will. Right now I believe his forces are probably in disarray, but I cannot believe he didn't have a picked successor. We shall see.
I would MUCH rather dwell on Kate's wedding dress...wouldn't you?
Love, Wendy
Friday, April 22, 2011
Spring Spheres
The above is what this post was going to be about, sort of, until I just found out the story was a spoof...although it could happen, so I might as well write the post anyway, right?
Supposedly, a school in Seattle banned the term "Easter eggs" and decided they should be called "Spring spheres." I found this disquieting (obviously) but also amusing...would you send your child to a school that was not aware that an egg is an ovoid, not a spheroid?
But I got thinking (somehow) abut the burkha ban in France, and the ubiquitous "Happy Holiday" greeting over here and one thing and another like that.
Has anybody but me noticed that whenever anybody is expected to change the name of their holiday for politically correct reasons, it's always the Christians? As far as I know, Passover remains Passover, as does Hanukkah; Ramadan is Ramadan and the Eid is the Eid...so stated in all newspapers, on TV news, etc., etc. It's seemingly only things like Christmas and Easter that draw people's wrath. This seems terribly odd to me. If we're not allowed to say Christmas, why isn't EVERYTHING just the "Holidays?" And obviously you'd have to say "The Fasting Month."
It's all just so damn silly.
As far the burkha ban in France...well, that's pretty silly too, because unless they aren't reporting it (and I would think they would), this is another one of those things that looks like equality and fairness and is anything but. I mean, if you ban the burkha, wouldn't you also have to ban Orthodox Jewish dress? Frankly, if I had to wear those clothes, I'd sure as hell consider myself an oppressed woman. No, I'm being facetious...what I mean is that Orthodox Jewish women wear their clothing for religious reasons, as do observant Muslim women. I don't see a difference. You cannot be oppressed by a piece of clothing unless you feel yourself to be. If you consider it to be an integral part of your religion, then surely refusing to allow you to wear it is the worst form of oppression? And where do you stop? Are cloistered nuns who still wear the habit going to be deprived of it?
I can, I suppose, understand some people's fear on seeing a heavily veiled Muslim woman, but people...none of the Muslims who have attacked America have been women.
I wonder what they're going to rename Easter...the Rabbit Romp? Eggs for All Day? Chocolate for God? Oh, wait...are we still allowed to say God?
Love, Wendy
Supposedly, a school in Seattle banned the term "Easter eggs" and decided they should be called "Spring spheres." I found this disquieting (obviously) but also amusing...would you send your child to a school that was not aware that an egg is an ovoid, not a spheroid?
But I got thinking (somehow) abut the burkha ban in France, and the ubiquitous "Happy Holiday" greeting over here and one thing and another like that.
Has anybody but me noticed that whenever anybody is expected to change the name of their holiday for politically correct reasons, it's always the Christians? As far as I know, Passover remains Passover, as does Hanukkah; Ramadan is Ramadan and the Eid is the Eid...so stated in all newspapers, on TV news, etc., etc. It's seemingly only things like Christmas and Easter that draw people's wrath. This seems terribly odd to me. If we're not allowed to say Christmas, why isn't EVERYTHING just the "Holidays?" And obviously you'd have to say "The Fasting Month."
It's all just so damn silly.
As far the burkha ban in France...well, that's pretty silly too, because unless they aren't reporting it (and I would think they would), this is another one of those things that looks like equality and fairness and is anything but. I mean, if you ban the burkha, wouldn't you also have to ban Orthodox Jewish dress? Frankly, if I had to wear those clothes, I'd sure as hell consider myself an oppressed woman. No, I'm being facetious...what I mean is that Orthodox Jewish women wear their clothing for religious reasons, as do observant Muslim women. I don't see a difference. You cannot be oppressed by a piece of clothing unless you feel yourself to be. If you consider it to be an integral part of your religion, then surely refusing to allow you to wear it is the worst form of oppression? And where do you stop? Are cloistered nuns who still wear the habit going to be deprived of it?
I can, I suppose, understand some people's fear on seeing a heavily veiled Muslim woman, but people...none of the Muslims who have attacked America have been women.
I wonder what they're going to rename Easter...the Rabbit Romp? Eggs for All Day? Chocolate for God? Oh, wait...are we still allowed to say God?
Love, Wendy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
