Ahhh ... Florida

I was driving behind a flatbed truck on Sanibel Island on Sunday morning, mesmerized by the flurry of breast cancer stickers, war ribbons, and Republican party endorsements adorning its shiny rear end. 

One sticker featured a picture of Obama - with a clown nose superimposed on it. Another said, "Real Christians are never pro-abortion", and another that read, "IMPEACH OBAMA!"

Isn't it a bit early to be crying the impeachment wolf? It's only been, like, 65 days.

I wondered if the fat guy (or gal) driving the truck carried a gun. I wondered if they were drunk. I wondered what would happen if I just drove past them with my hand on the horn, giving them the finger. Just 'cause.

And then the truck pulled into the church parking lot, its driver ready for morning mass.

Naturally.

Disaster

While on a JetBlue flight to Florida, I flipped through the channels on my little seat TV and found myself absorbed by a marathon of the "Airport" disaster films from the 70s. I took a sick pleasure in watching these movies while all the newborn babies visiting their blue-haired grandparents cried and screamed and wailed around me.

Misread

Riding the subway and reading the Times, I came across the headline:

"Finding Fame in Autism in the Internet Age", which was accompanied by a photo of some young rockers jamming.

I stopped to think about this.

"Wow, this is great! Finally, kids with Autism have found not only fame, but an outlet for their creative energy. Music is the key. And now kids with Autism have the internet to thank for their fame and they can share their stories with other kids with Autism. This is a major breakthrough! Why did it take so long to figure out that music and Autism go together like bass and drums?"

Then I went back to actually read the article, and I was confused after the first few sentences. I looked at the headline again and again, and then I realized that it actually said:

"Finding Fame in Austin in the Internet Age"

I either need to get my eyes or my brain checked. And soon.

Commitment-phobia?

I direct many shows here in NYC. And, as with 99.9% of shows, there are tickets to be purchased via some website that you click on, choose the date, and purchase your tickets. It's quite simple. 

As of late, many of my colleagues find it important to either e-mail or call or text or Facebook me this question: "Should I make a reservation?"

Why, oh why, wouldn't you make a reservation? Would you go to a third world country without getting vaccinated? Would you go on a long driving trip and not put gas in the tank? Would you show up at some hot Broadway show like "Wicked" and just expect to get tickets? Would you go to a wedding without RSVP'ing? Doubtful.

Here's the lesson: When someone sends you information about their show or event, go right ahead and take out your calendar, pick a date, call some friends, and make the reservation. It will assure you a seat, and it will help the performers and producers and directors and theater owners know that you are coming.

And, while I'm at it, please don't ask me to make the reservation for you. I already did my work. All you have to do is click.

Thank you, and enjoy the show.

Dumb Ugg

While waiting outside for a meeting today, I saw a man in his late 30s walking down Prince Street ... in the bike lane ... wearing Uggs ... working on his computer. Really. Actually typing things into his computer as he walked in the street in the bike lane, while wearing Uggs.

And then, 10 minutes later, he walked the other way, computer still open and resting on one arm, with his CELL PHONE in the other hand ... engaged in conversation ... about what he was reading from his computer!

Men should not wear Uggs. 

Charity begins ...

I went to a Simply Red concert at Radio City Music Hall last night, and behind me were two lame-brains from somewhere in the Tri-State area (but, clearly not Manhattan).

These two lovebirds spoke loudly through the entire opening act (the very talented Martha Wainwright) and loudly commented on how much they didn't like her; even after a roof-raising rendition of "Stormy Weather"!

During the intermission, the jumbotrons on either side of the stage, showed ads for upcoming shows as well as ads from various companies. One of them was for some children's charity. The gal says to her meatball, "There seem to be, like, soooo many charities these days, right? It's like ... crazy. Everywhere I look, there's another charity."

Need I say more? Or, should I start a charity for idiots?

Bum's Rush

Today I saw one homeless guy shoving a bottle of poppers under another homeless guy's runny schnoz.

"C'mon!" he grunted, "It's poppas. Poppas. You done poppas? It's poppas!"

The poor victim weakly sniffed and stumbled away.

Whether you are homeless or not, poppers are dangerous -- and best used on a dancefloor in the 80s.

Is it me?

As I walk, run and bike my way around town, I wonder if New York City is getting old, or if I'm the one getting old ...

Well, I guess that answers that.

Halloween in March

I live across the street from Madison Square Garden. Today was a Rangers game. I am always amazed at the throngs of adults who wear Rangers uniforms as if they: 

a) Are on the team

b) Know someone on the team

c) Are dressing up for Halloween

Sorry, but I think that wearing any teams' uniform, after the age of 16, is weird.

Now, where is my Planet of the Apes T-shirt?

All Ears

Overheard on the street - Woman in late 20's on cell phone:

"What you talking about?! I'm listening to you! My ears is wide open. I said, my ears is wide open. That's you problem, you don't listen! Let me talk, then!"

I give this couple a week.

Bed Bath Bull

The employees of Bed Bath & Beyond are told to say hello to every customer they encounter. I recently spent 30 minutes in the store and was greeted over 2 dozen times. I'm a pretty friendly fella, but it takes alot for me to greet and acknowledge 27 people I don't know. Unless I'm at a party in a loft in Soho.

When I checked out, the employee handed me my change without looking at me or saying thank you.

I said, "Thank you ..."

Silence.

"Thank youuu ... ?"

She glanced in my direction, "You're welcome."

I paused. I thought about all those friendly greetings I got minutes before by her co-workers. 

I said, "No. You see, you say 'thank you" to me. Me. The one who gave you my money."

Silence.

I suppose the floor employees are jealous that the cashiers can be so cold.

Fingered

I brought my brand new Singer sewing machine into the shop for repairs. The man who worked there, Jameer (Jimmy), had two thumbs on his right hand. Two thumbs. He fixes things.

I brought my empty ink cartridges to get refilled at Cartridge World. The man who worked there, Carlos, had no fingers on his right hand. No fingers. He refills cartridges.

I won't be looking at anyone's hands for the next few days. I just can't handle it.

Rocked:Part 2

Last week, on the NBC show 30 Rock, two characters took the subway to a "dangerous" part of Queens. They got off the X Line (fictional) to Zargonia Station (also fictional). The area they wound up in looked more like a Mad Max setting than anywhere I've ever seen in New York City. With gangs of child-crooks roaming the sepia toned streets, I thought they might have taken a tip from Slumdog Millionaire. Or Oliver.

Seeing as how the show is set in NY, and shot in NY, and they work in the very real 30 Rock Building, you'd think they could find and use a real station in a real part of town. 

It reminded me of a scene from Friday the 13th VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan. There's a shot of a subway station smack-dab in the middle of Broadway ... which doesn't exist at all. I know that because the location was across the street from the movie theater I was in.