Touching the Hand of God

Today I "shook" two hands that many would only dream of touching. I almost wet myself when I touched one, the other was nifty, but meh, didn't excite me.

A month ago I booked tickets for the Dr. Oz show, intending to go with my mother. Her flight, however, left the day before the show taping so I was left with two seats in the audience at 30 Rockefeller Center to see this glorified television doctor talk about health fads... at least I thought he was over-glorified. My mom loves this guy, but I never saw the appeal. Then I went to his show taping and was forced to watch an entire episode. He's actually quite an informative cat. On this particular episode, he talked about internet weight loss scams, asthmatic peoples, and self-defense, among other things. Seeing the magic behind the show (aka the amount of times he screws up and says "let's run it again") is interesting to witness. Later that day, however, I saw a true master practicing his craft.

Thanks to an incredibly generous friend, I was able to obtain a ticket to see a live taping of The Colbert Report. A dream. Seeing this show live was an utter dream. The taping began at 7:00pm. I got in line at 4:00. I wanted to be as close to Stephen as possible. I wanted to smell him (yes, my passion for Stephen is on the creepy side). If you ever watch the show, you'd be surprised how small the studio actually is, unlike Dr. Oz's ample space. Whenever Stephen runs from his desk to the interview table (by the fireplace) he over-exaggerates the run to make it seem father away than it is. It's actually like five steps.

Enough about the studio. Let's talk about how I was giddy as a school girl with a new My Little Pony. I almost cried when Stephen walked onto the set. Before the show, he always does a meet and greet with the audience. The fantastic part about this is he does it out of character. The narcissistic, cocky character that is Stephen Colbert gets set aside for a short moment and we get a view of the real Stephen.

The taping itself was a site to see. As is mentioned to the audience multiple times before we even enter the studio, Stephen is an improv actor. He did, after all, begin in sketch comedy. Therefore, to properly fuel Stephen, the audience is encouraged to laugh, hoot, holler, and enjoy themselves. Which is why you can hear me give an audible 'whoot' after Stephen mentions Boy Scouting around 3 minutes 23 seconds into the episode.

Once the cameras start rolling, Stephen just flows and never skips a beat. He takes about a 10 minute pause wherever a commercial break lies in the show. At that point, his director, producer, and make-up artist come to the desk and I assume brief each other on the following segment. Besides these little pauses, this comedic genius seems practically flawless. Even when his guests match him in whit. Such as tonight, Brother Guy Consolmagno, who talked about the Catholic church encouraging exploration of extraterrestrial life, and Sherman Alexie, a native American author who is fighting to keep books in print.

After the taping, Stephen sincerely thanked the audience for being a part of the show. I like to think that thank you was directed specifically at me. I proved it by diving over four chairs as he left the room to give him a high five. I'm never washing that hand again.

No Longer the Tourist

Once you've played tour guide in a new city, you no longer feel like the tourist. You feel grounded. You feel a bit more like your actually there. I had such an opportunity with my mother's visit to NYC around Thanksgiving.

From our first night, we hit the city hard. Which I was happy about. With all the work lately, I have not had the opportunity to try many new things around the city. So I was more than pleased to galavant around Chinatown and Little Italy on our first night. All the Italian restaurants had just put up their Christmas displays for the season. Quite a site. We shared a delectable Italian seafood dish at Trattoria Canta Napoli on Mullbery. I also ate my weight in bread. I always overdose on the oil and balsamic vinegar.

After the meal, ma had to do some shopping of the unsavory sort. Although I feared for my life, we did, in fact survive.

We then journeyed uptown to see the night-turned-day monstrosity that is Times Square. Besides just taking it all in, we met some fantastic characters. One of them even tried to take advantage of my mother. We also had to use a public bathroom. Which would have been a problem were it not for the Charmin NYC Restrooms where we couldn't help but to "Enjoy the Go."

The next day was more getting around the city, seeing what there is to see. We started at my favorite grocer here in the city, the Union Square Green Market. The weather is getting cooler and a few of the farms have packed up shop for the season, but I can still find everything I need at this wonderful one-stop green shop.

We also just so happen to catch the opening day of the Union Square holiday market as well. Local retailers, human and dog alike, set up shop for the month of December to make Holiday shopping all that more convenient and not to mention fun! Oh and it was here that I had my first Waffle and Dinges treat, drenched in Nutella, an unhealthy but savory morsel.

The rest of our day consisted of visiting Rockefeller Center, St. Patrick's Cathedral, and then heading up to 76th street and Central Park West to watch the Balloons get blown up for the Macy's Parade the following day. That was quite a site. Seeing Kermit the Frog bent over in front of the Energizer Bunny. However, that was a great pre-show to our next destination, the musical Avenue Q. Parental discretion is advised.

The following day was a highlight of my mother's visit. The Macy's

Thanksgiving Day Parade. We woke up quite early, but it paid off as we got a solid spot standing right outside of Carnegie Hall to watch the floats and Balloons as they turned down 7th Avenue. My parade highlight reel would include Spiderman and some other rock'n balloon, Yo Gabba Gabba having their own float, the Roots (with Jimmy Fallon, who I could take or leave), and finally Cindy Lauper in a pretty pink castle.

The remainder of my mother's days in NYC were sprinkled with some work schedules that I couldn't ignore. However, we did take the Staten Island Ferry to see the Statue of Liberty, saw the play Our Town, and took a trip upstate to see the theme-park where I was employed this summer. Overall, I was a successful tour guide if I do say so myself. But whether I was that great or not, just lovely to spend some time with me mum.

Back at Penny's

A week ago I had an incredible experience on this Penny's stage. I simply couldn't sit by and let that performance be a one time thing. So I made my way back to Under St. Mark's Theatre for the open mic themed "Why Art?" Truly a unique theme for an open mic and there were plenty of unique answers. Here's my last minute excuse for an answer. But it made for a nifty little performance...

(video to come soon)

In the meantime, check out some of the Penny's message boards:

169 Bar

After my first performance in New York City, at Penny's Open Mic, I was ready to have my actual first gig, a jazz set at the 169 Bar. It's been a while since I've sat down with a group of musicians with whom I have never played, said alright here's the key and tempo, and then away we go. It was nerve-wracking. Especially because these were some fantastic musicians. Band leader and pianist Isamu McGregor plays some mean keys, while keeping the tight drummer and ridiculous chic bass player grooving in the right direction. All three were very chill, welcoming people.

My set with them was only three songs long. But that's all I needed to get my feet wet in NYC's jazz open mic world. We did the standard Honeysuckle Rose, a Kurt Elling chart called In the Winelight, and finished up with Michael Bublé's version of How Sweet it Is. A fitting ending cause it was pretty sweet to look out into the audience and see some good friends of mine, new and old alike, supporting me. Thanks guys and gals.

A Penny's Worth of Music

There are two audio tracks here.

(1) Acoustic Open Mic - New York, New York

(2) Penny's Open Mic Podcast

Be sure to check out both. (Excuse the low quality on the podcast, had to make it fit on the site)

Thanks to Penny and all the open mic performers.

Almost Famous

Today was full of brief encounters with fame. It all started at my place of employment, which is where most of my days have been beginning or ending lately. In all honesty, can't really complain about that. Especially on a day like today.

In the shift briefing, our main topic of discussion was the craziness that was to begin that evening. At 7pm, actors Jason Schwartzman and Meryl Streep joined with director Wes Anderson to plug their new film The Fantastic Mr. Fox (apparently children's books made movies are all the rage now, and they all happen to be my favorite children's books). Customers started lining up at 3pm to catch a glimpse of these super stars, watch a few exclusive clips of the film, and do a little Q&A as well. The questions were interesting as most were directed at Wes, and rightfully so. The man is an innovator, and this film is testament to that. Much of his discussion was about working with animation for the first time, specifically stop motion puppets. Meryl and Jason had there share of talk time as well. Meryl chatting in her cheery adorable-even-for-a-60-year-old kind of way (even when she stopped the interview to politely ask the photographers to stop their annoying picture clicking) and Jason was just like the characters he plays, quite and subdued, yet witty.

Playing security guard for that event made the shift go by all the quicker, and before I knew it, I was sitting in the days end meeting. All the employees gathered on the store's glass steps to talk out the day. In our ten minute meeting, three separate tourists walked by our large glass doors to shoot a couple shots of us stunning computer specialists huddled together in our new red holiday shirts.

I guess I can't blame them really. It seems it's harder to run across an employee from our store than it is a Harvard Graduate....statistically speaking.

As if running into three Hollywood icons and getting paparazzi'd wasn't enough, I had more cameras in my face after work. A friend invited me to a video shoot for a band that he promotes. The band is actually part of a "reality" show that will air on the CW this spring. So upon walking into the bar I had to sign a waiver, and succumb to the bright lights and cameras that swarmed the bar. The band only played three songs, one of them twice just so they could get all the right shots. Meanwhile, the "reality" of it all was that the most attractive women in the bar were escorted to the front in order to have a pleasant backdrop for the shows characters in the audience, who were quite attractive in their own right and actually really friendly people too.

Yes, I got a taste of Hollywood today but I'm glad it wasn't a full serving.

When You Say Wisconsin....

Sometimes I just can't help but to miss that state between Minnesota and Lake Michigan. Such as this past Sunday. I had a fabulous Halloween Saturday night, but Sunday just about topped it with my first visit to Kettle of Fish, a cosy little bar with all the comforts of home.

When entering the bar, my friends and I quickly came to the realization that we probably weren't going to get a place to sit. However, upon venturing to the back of the bar we discovered the game watching den that was reminiscent of every basement in Wisconsin: couches lining the room, a fireplace, Packer gear hanging from wall to wall, a television that faced each corner of the room, and most everyone in the bar was enjoying a tasty Leinenkugel's Amber, the premier Wisconsin beer on tap.

For a good idea of what that Sunday entailed, smell the cheese.

As much fun as it is to enjoy the Packer game and return to my roots, there are other times I look back at Wisco and for as proud as I am to say I'm from there, I can still only say, wow...

Night of the Living Dead

Tonight's the night. You still have some time incase you haven't been preparing for the Zombie Attack like I have. After all, I do live next to a cemetery. For a few quick ideas from some young bright minds, see the following video:

However for a more professional, well informed approach, you still have time to read The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks. He breaks down the zombie attack to the "z" (get it, like to the "t"?). I'll spare you a lot of details but give you his basic 10 Lessons for Surviving a Zombie Attack:

Organize before they rise!

They feel no fear, why should you?

Use your head: cut off theirs.

Blades don't need reloading.

Ideal protection = tight clothes, short hair.

Get up the staircase, then destroy it.

Get of the car, get onto the bike.

Keep moving, keep low, keep quiet, keep alert!

No place is safe, only safer.

The zombie may be gone, but the threat lives on.

I Helped a Pigeon

Why did I do such a thing? Those things are flying rats. Disease ridden filth soaring above your head. I normally don't thrive on the misery of animals, but while traveling Europe my friends and I had a kitty going to pay the first person who attempted to kick a pigeon and actually made contact. Don't know who actually won that money, but I gave who ever it was a run for their money. Long story short, I hate those birds. Yet, I helped one survive.

I was on the subway platform, the J line, Myrtle-Wyckoff stop to be exact. This stop is above ground, straddling the road along the way. I was staring out over Manhattan when this bird got a bit too close to me. I heard him before I saw him. He was shaking his head vigorously. Good, I thought, this little p.o.s is having a seizure, one less rat in the sky.

Upon further investigation, however, I saw what the bird was trying to do. He was attempting to break apart a large piece of bagel that he couldn't quite get down his little gullet. He would shake, set the piece down, pick at it a bit, then grab hold again, and shake again with all his might. This continued for some time. One of his intense shakes sent his remanence of bagel my way. He took a couple steps toward me. I shifted my weight, and he took this as a sign of aggression and subsequently backed off.

I felt sorry for the guy. He was only trying to get by like everyone else in this over-crowded city. So I stomped on the bagel bite, grinding it into the ground, breaking it into pieces. I then took a few steps away from it, letting the bird know it was ok to advance toward the food. As he nibbled, he glanced up at me and did one of those cute animal head tilts (any dog owner knows what I'm taking about) as if to say thank you or perhaps, why the hell did you do that. I'm not quite sure, I don't speak pigeon.

As I thought about that bird on the remainder of my subway ride, I found myself comparing his life and my own. I'm like him in a lot of ways. Sometimes I need help from strangers just to get by. Sometimes I flap around with the rest of the flock not exactly knowing where to go. Sometimes my neck and eyes dart from side to side to ensure there is not any danger... mostly when I run. But lately that hasn't been a problem since I've been running in a cemetery.

Oh yea, to take this post in a completely different direction, I have been living in a new apartment for the month of October (which is right next too a cemetery). And I'll be here till next October. That's right, I walked the plank. This is no longer a little experiment to see if the city suits me. I'm here... well for a year at least. But I'm going to give it my all in this year. See what I can make of myself here. Hopefully, I'm like the pigeon in some ways, finding opportunity where least expected, but I also hope that I'm not like him as well. I hope to keep my feathers relatively clean and not have to get my food after it's been stomped on by a stranger.

Our Precious Town: A Play Review

Scroll down the page, and you'll see a post in which I relayed a story to you. Yes relayed, not copied. It's a story about living in the present, not taking for granted the life we live everyday, not letting this gift we've been given slip away before it's too late. So too is the message of Thornton Wilder's Pulitzer Prize winning drama Our Town.

Not-so-ironically, I was given tickets to this show by the same man who shared the story Precious Present with me. I had seen the play before, back in high school, but at the time I thought the show was boring and drawn out. After all, I was young and the acting in the show was... well, high school. So before I went to see the show this evening, I read the play.

In reading the story, I got the gist. The first two acts are pretty basic: a simple town, with simple people, living simple lives that include the usual dramas that accompany most people's lives. A narrator, or stage manager as he is referred to by Wilder, guides the reader through the story: the first act introducing the town and the people in it, followed by the second act's journey of love. The third act is the bombshell. The reader doesn't see it coming. It's not really a plot twist or something like that, it's more of a revelation. A heart-wrenching revelation.

I don't want to give it away, but give it a read. Better yet, see the play.

Best play I have ever seen. Period. Even though there was a period at the end of that sentence, I feel it necessary to once again write the word Period for emphasis. If given the opportunity, see the play at the Borrow Street Theatre in New York City. If you're really lucky, you'll see it with the incredible cast I saw it with. Just for my own purposes, I'll list the prominent characters here... incase I lose my playbill.

Stage Manager...................................................Jason Butler Harner

Mrs. Gibbs..........................................................................Lori Myers

Mrs. Webb.........................................................................Kati Brazda

Doc Gibbs.................................................................. Armand Schultz

Joe Crowell, Jr. .........................................................Jason Yachanin

Howie Newsome............................................................Adam Hinkle

George Gibbs.......................................................James McMenamin

Rebecca Gibbs................................................................Jacey Powers

Emily Webb..................................................................Jennifer Grace

Simon Stimson..............................................................Jeremy Beiler

Mr. Webb.............................................................................Ken Marks

The show has minimal scenery, a couple tables at best. The show takes place in the early 1900s, yet no period costuming is used. A lot of the show is placed on the imagination of the audience, but the acting allows it to be so. This play is not about scenery or razzle-dazzle. It's about people, it's about life... and how we need to live in it while we are living it.

Not Much of a Challenge

I designed a little game for your time-wasting pleasure. Copy and paste the following code into the game to play my designed level. 23de53c21141ed1b5824341a91674c00

"I hate to disturb your ride but..."

No doubt if you've been on an NYC subway ride, you have heard one of these suspiciously similar speeches by a supposedly unfortunate soul. Goes something like this:

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I hate to interrupt your ride this evening but I'll just take a moment of your time. I am a (vet, homeless person, etc.) trying to get by living on the streets. I don't drink, do drugs, or steal. I am simply asking for your help with any spare change or extra dollars you may have on your person. Have a good night and God Bless."

As soon as the train is in motion the speech starts. More often than not, their sob stories aren't that obtrusive, lasting a minute tops. Majority of the time, I'll listen, staring at my book or iPod acting like I am immersed in whatever I am doing. But I'm listening. Afterward the individual will walk around with a hat or bag, hold it out in front of each person in the car, and 95% of the people won't give anything, including me.

Giving money to panhandlers and beggars is always a touchy subject. I've gotten in heated debates with friends over the topic. The one, more selfish, view being, "It's my money, they've made their mistakes, they are just going to buy more booze, drugs with it." The other mentality being, "these people haven't had the opportunities I've had, I don't know what it's like to have those hardships, help your fellow man." Tough decision really. But I think I've made up my mind.

I don't do it. Especially when they all these subway stories sound like the same cookie cutter speech. Like there is a meeting somewhere they all attend to learn the best ways to manipulate people into giving them money.

However tonight on my way home I heard a speech on the train that had me digging to my bag's bottom to find some change. I couldn't even see the man during his speech as my chair was facing the other direction. But there was an urgency in his voice, a true-sounding cry for help. He said he had been kicked out of his home by his family for being HIV positive. Now he was on the train trying to get money for him and his dog. Maybe it was the dog part that got to me, but I wanted to give him some change. If not for his situation, for the gifted acting and delivery of his speech. In my opinion, worth twenty-five cents.

For more on the topic, check some articles:

NY Times

Tripcrazed.com

Legality

Working at a Fruit Company

Today I started working at this fruit company.

I'm the one in the middle.... except with male parts, and I'm not as good at arithmetic.

Today I Heard a Story

It's by Spencer Johnson, M.D.

The Precious Present

Once there was a boy who listened to an old man. And, thus, began to learn about The Precious Present. "It is a present because it is a gift," the contented man explained. "And it is precious because anyone who receives such a present is happy forever."

"Wow!" the little boy exclaimed. "I hope someone gives me The Precious Present. Maybe I'll get it for Christmas." The boy ran off to play. And the old man smiled. He liked to watch the little boy play. He saw the smile on the youngster's face and heard him laughing as he swung from a nearby tree. The boy was happy. And it was a joy to see.

The old man also liked to watch the boy work. He even rose early on Saturday mornings to watch the little laborer mow the lawn across the street. The boy actually whistled while he worked. The little child was happy no matter what he was doing. It was, indeed, a joy to behold.

When he thought about what the old man had said, the boy thought he understood. He knew about presents. Like the bicycle he got for his birthday and the gifts he found under the tree on Christmas morning. But as the boy thought more about it, he knew. The joy of toys never lasts forever. The boy began to feel uneasy. "What then," he wondered, "is The Precious Present? What could possibly make me happy forever?" He found it difficult to even imagine the answer.

And so he returned to ask the old man. "Is The Present a magical ring? One that I might put on my finger and make all my wishes come true?" He was told, "No."

The Precious Present has nothing to do with wishing.

As the boy grew older he continued to wonder. He went to the old man. "Is The Precious Present a flying carpet?" he inquired. "One that I could get on and go any place that I liked?" The man quietly replied, "No."

When you have The Precious Present you will be perfectly content to be where you are.

The boy was becoming a young man now, and felt a bit foolish for asking. But he was uncomfortable. He began to see that he was not achieving what he wanted. "Is The Precious Present," he slowly ventured, "a sunken treasure? Perhaps rare gold coins buried by pirates long ago?" The old man told him, "No young man. It is not."

The richness is rare, indeed, but...the wealth of the present comes only from itself.

The young man thought for a moment. Then he became annoyed. "You told me," the young man said, "that anyone who receives such a present would be happy forever. I never got such a gift as a child." The old man responded, "I'm afraid you don't understand."

You already know what The Precious Present is. You already know where to find it. And you already know how it can make you happy. You knew it best when you were a small child. You have simply forgotten.

The young man went away to think. But as time passed, he became frustrated and finally angry. He eventually confronted the old man. "If you want me to be happy," the young man shouted, "why don't you just tell me what The Precious Present is?"

"And where to find it?" the old man volleyed. "Yes, exactly," the young man demanded. I would like to the old man began. "But I do not have such power. No one does." The old man continued, "Only you have the power to make yourself happy. Only you."

The precious present is not something that someone gives you. It is a gift that you give yourself.

The young man was confused, but determined. He resolved to find The Precious Present himself. And so, he packed his bags. He left where he was. And went elsewhere. To look for The Precious Present.

After many frustrating years, the man grew tired of looking for The Precious Present. He had read all the latest books. And he had looked in The Wall Street Journal. He had looked in the mirror. And into the faces of other people. He had wanted so much to find The Precious Present. He had gone to extraordinary lengths. He had looked for it at the tops of mountains and in cold dark caves. He had searched for it in dense, humid jungles. And underneath the seas.

But it was all to no avail. His stressful search had exhausted him. He even became ill occasionally. But he did not know why. The man returned wearily to the old man's side. The old man was happy to see him. They often laughed out loud together. The young man liked to be with the old man. He felt happy in his presence. He guessed that this was because the old man felt happy with himself.

It wasn't that the old man's life was so trouble-free. He didn't appear to have a lot of money. He seemed to be alone most of the time. In fact, there was no apparent reason why he was so much happier and healthier than most people. But happy he was. And so were those who spent time with him. "Why does it feel so good to be with him?" the young man wondered. "Why?" He left wondering.

After many years, the once-young man returned to inquire further. He was now very unhappy and often ill. He needed to talk with the old man. But the old man had grown very, very old. And, all too soon, he spoke no more. The wise voice could no longer be heard. The man was alone.

At first, he was saddened by the loss of his old friend. And then he became frightened. Very frightened. He was afraid that he would never learn how to be happy. Until, he finally accepted what had always been true. He was the only one who could find his own happiness. The unhappy man recalled what the happy old man told him so many years ago. But as hard as he tried he could not figure it out. He tried to understand what he had heard.

The present has nothing to do with wishing...

When you have the present you will be perfectly content to be where you are...

The richness of the present comes from its own source...

The present is not something that someone gives to you...

It is something you give to yourself...

The unhappy man was now tired of looking for The Precious Present. He had grown so tired of trying, that he simply stopped trying.

And then, it happened! He didn't know why it happened, when it happened. It just...happened! He realized that The Precious Present was just that: THE PRESENT. Not the past; and not the future but THE PRECIOUS PRESENT

In an instant the man was happy. He realized that he was in The Precious Present. He raised both hands triumphantly into the cool, fresh air. He was joyous...for one moment....

But then, just as quickly as he had discovered it, he let the joy of the present moment evaporate. He slowly lowered his hands, touched his forehead, and frowned. The man was unhappy-again. "Why,"he asked himself, "didn't I see the obvious long ago? Why have I missed so many precious moments? Why has it taken me so long to live in the present?"

As the man remembered his fruitless travels around the world in his search for The Precious Present, he knew how much happiness he had lost. He had not experienced what each special time and place had to offer. He had missed a great deal. And he felt sad. The man continued to berate himself. And then he saw what he was doing. He observed that he was trapped by his guilt about his past.

When he became aware of his unhappiness and of his being in the past, he returned to the present moment. And he was happy.

But then the man began to worry about the future. "Will I," he asked, "be able to know the joy of living in The Precious Present tomorrow?" Then he saw he was living in the future and laughed - at himself. He listened to what he now knew. And he heard the wisdom of his own voice.

It is wise for me to think about the past and to learn from my past. But it is not wise for me to be in the past, for that is how I lose myself.

It is also wise to think about the future and to prepare for my future. But it is not wise for me to be in the future, for that, too, is how I lose myself.

And when I lose myself, I lose what is most precious to me.

It was so simple. And now he saw it. The present nourished him.

But the man knew it was not going to be easy. Learning to be in the present was a process he was going to have to do over and over... again and again... until it became a part of him. Now he knew why he had enjoyed being with the old man. The old man was totally in the present when he was with the younger man. The old man was not thinking about something else pr wishing he was somewhere else. He was fully in the present. And it felt good to be with such a person. The younger man smiled at himself, the way the old man used to smile. He knew.

I can choose to be happy now, or I can try to be happy when... or if...

The man choose NOW! And now the man was happy. He felt at peace with himself. He agreed to savor each moment of his life...the apparently good and the apparently bad... Even if he didn't understand. For the first time in his life, it didn't matter. He accepted each of his precious moments on this planet as a gift.

I know that some people choose to receive The Precious Present when they are young. Others in middle age. And some when they are very old. Some people sadly never do. I can choose to receive The Precious Present whenever I want.

As the man sat thinking, he felt fortunate. He was who he was where he was. And now he knew! He would always be who he was where he was. He listened again to his thoughts.

The present is what is. It is valuable. Even if I do not know why. It is already just the way it is supposed to be. When I see the present, accept the present, and experience the present. I am well, and I am happy.

Pain is simply the difference between what is and what I want it to be. When I feel guilty over my imperfect past, or I am anxious over my unknown future, I do not live in the present. I experience pain. I make myself ill. And I am unhappy.

My past was the present. And my future will be the present. The present moment is the only reality I ever experience.

As long as I continue to stay in the present, I am happy forever: Because forever is always the present. The present is simply who I am, just the way I am...right now. And it is precious.

I am precious.

I am the precious present.

It was as though he could hear the old man talking. And then he smiled. And his smile widened. And he laughed. He felt a great joy. He knew he was listening, not to the old man... but to himself! It felt good for him to be with himself - just the way he was. He felt he knew enough. He felt he had enough. He felt he was enough. Now. He has finally found The Precious Present. And he was completely happy.

Several decades later, the man had grown into a happy, prosperous, and healthy old man. One day a little girl came by to talk to him. She liked to listen to "the old man," as she called him. It was fun to be with him. There was something special about him. But she didn't know what it was.

One day the little girl began to really listen to the old man. Somehow she sensed something important in his calm voice. He seemed very happy. The little girl couldn't understand why. "How could someone so old," she wondered, "be so happy?" She asked and the old man told her why.

Then all of a sudden, the little girl jumped up and squealed with delight! As the girl ran off to play, the old man smiled. For he heard what she had said..."Wow!" she exclaimed. "I hope someday someone gives me The Precious Present."

Meeting Captain Reynolds

Three weeks ago I visited the Apple store in Soho for a Meet the Filmmaker event with Mike Judge. Today I was thoroughly entertained at a similar Meet the Actor spectacular featuring the ever witty Nathan Fillion.

He was there to plug the second season of Castle, which starts this upcoming Monday on ABC. Honestly, I've never seen it. But after the clips I saw today, perhaps it'd be worth giving this season a try.

A good majority of the audience members were die-hard fans and knew the whole gamut of Fillion's career from his small role on the sitcom Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place to the internet cult classic Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog.

I, however, knew Nathan from only one role. Perhaps the best and shortest lived sci-fi of all time Firefly.

Fox made a mistake by canceling this one of a kind show before it could finish a full season back in 2002. It's a show about a ship named Serenity, a firefly class transport. Malcom Reynolds (Nathan Fillion) captains the ship and it's crew of unlikely characters as it drifts along the outskirts of the galaxy taking on whatever jobs come their way, often of the illegal sort.

Serenity travels from planet to planet finding these assignments. However, oddly enough, each planet looks like an old western town with a few futuristic mechanisms and weapons thrown in. But that's one of the most unique parts of the show. It's a brilliant mix between a Sci-Fi and Western with a sarcastic bite of humor that I'm sure Fillion himself is responsible for from time to time.

Besides the western-like themes throughout the show, there are other aspects that make this series shine brightly in the galaxy of television programs. The show alludes to the fact, though never addresses it directly, that China became a huge world power before Earth was all but abandoned. This is evident in many of the characters' clothing as well as their choice Chinese phrases, often muttered as obscenities. Also, each episode is carefully crafted with unique plot lines and anything but average story telling. And even though it's a sci-fi taking place in a galaxy that may or may not be far, far away, the show feels human. That's a credit to the characters.

Firefly, even its short lived fourteen episode season, has some of the best character development I have seen in a series. Beside Capt. Reynolds is his first mate, and fellow solider in the "great war," Zoe, the warrior woman of the ship. She's married to the pilot, Wash, a timid sort, yet he still holds his own with the crew. Kaylee, the engine mechanic, is the cute little country girl who knows her way around every piece of machinery on the ship. Jane is an uneducated warrior type used for the dirty work. On top of these, there's a shepherd (a preacher), a companion (high class prostitute), and a brother and sister pair of fugitives that join the crew as well. The ship is aptly named, as all of these characters struggle together and in their own unique ways to find serenity.

Brilliantly crafted show. But don't take my word for it....

But sadly enough, Nathan didn't even get to talk about Firefly till the very last question of the Q & A. "Nathan, first off, can't wait for this next season of Castle. However, I find is interesting that in this hour neither Firefly or Serenity (the movie made after the show was canceled) has been mentioned," asked the final audience member to speak. At this point, the moderator handed Nathan a $1 bill, because Nathan knew this Q & A couldn't go all night without someone asking about Firefly.

Wow, I didn't expect this blog to turn into a plug for this show. But as I was writing this post, I stopped for a while to watch an episode so it's greatness is fresh in my mind. As for the interview with Nathan Fillion: in summary, I was pleased all around. Have you ever seen an interview with an actor on Conan or Letterman and were disappointed because the character they play is more interesting than the actor in real life? Well, this was not Fillion. Hilarious and witty the entire time. Worthy of watching this Monday in Castle.

Firsts and Lasts

I'm learning. Today I learned more lessons than I think one day should allow. Yet, in a bizarre, glass-half-full kinda way, it was a fantastic day.

Today began in Port Chester, approximately forty miles north of the city. That's where Jacob's studio is. I made my way there last night, crashed, and went right to work this morning. Following my day of office organizing, I decided it was time to get my bike into the city. It had been chilling in Port Chester since the summer let out. So I biked to the train station and wheeled my eco-friendly mode of transportation onto the train.

I was sitting peacefully next to my bike when the conductor came by. "And you have your bike permit as well correct?" he asked as he punched my ticket. I gave a nervous giggle as if to say 'Haha, nice one.' But he continued to stare at me. "Wait, are you serious?" I said. "Yes, you need a permit to transport a bicycle on any public transit." I explained that I was a newbie to New York and this was my first time attempting to get a bike into the city. This conductor was the kind of person I can get along with in the world. The kind that doesn't try to make trouble for people. "Well, when you get to Grand Central make sure you get yourself one if you want to take it on the subways." He was a live and let live individual.

Unfortunately his fellow conductor wasn't such a person. A few minutes after he continued down the car, another conductor came by. This one was on a "I-have-little-power-in-my-life-so-what-little-power-I-do-have-I-am-going-to-exercise-while-I-can" power trip. I don't like these kind of people. But I tolerate them and act as civil as I can with them.

"Who's bike is this? It's blocking the aisle," he said (even though it was well out of the way). I told him it was mine. "Where's your bike permit?" he said hastily. I explained that I just talked to the other conductor about this, it's my first time, yadda yadda. "Well, get one, it's illegal to travel without one." He then stormed off down the subway car. His ego boosted for the day because he got to yell at someone.

That was the first and last time I will take a bike on the Metro North Rail.

Upon arriving at Grand Central, I decided not to go to the information desk and get a permit. I didn't feel like paying for one, even though I didn't know and still don't know the cost. However, it's the whole principle. Why should I pay extra? Some people's luggage on that train took up more room than my bike. I figured I'd try my luck and bike from Grand Central to Bushwick.

That's the route. Only 7.4 miles. It most certainly did not feel like 7.4 miles, more like 20. Wasn't that bad till I got to the Williamsburg Bridge. I never thought that incline was going to end. While I'm pedaling as hard as my jean-constricted pants will let me, I'm getting passed by the intense road bikers who probably ride that journey twice daily. Now that I think of it, I was so hellbent on getting across that bridge that I didn't even stop to enjoy the view from it's peak. Once I got to that peak though, it was an easy coast down, so easy that it was hard to keep control.

I made it over in one piece and now had to make my way through what I thought was going to be an easy journey through Williamsburg to Bushwick. Take a look at the map. It's not that hard. Sadly, it is that hard when you're a moron and take a few wrong turns. Then before you know it you're getting pulled over by a van full of NY Police Officers.

My first time biking in the city and I'm getting nailed by the NYPD. Apparently, you are not allowed to ride a bike on any city sidewalks. I had an inkling that was the case, since no one else was riding a bike on the sidewalk, but I figured it was more of a strong suggestion. Nope, it's a law.

An officer gets out of the passenger door and asks for my ID. He barely takes a look at it and then passes it to the other 5 cops sitting in the back of this large van. I suspect they were all in training. Each took a look at my driver's license, discussing it amongst themselves. Presumably a training on how to identify fakes. As they all perused my picture, I again played the newbie to NYC explaining this is my first time riding a bike in the city.

It seemed such a minor infraction that it wasn't even worth showing the rookies how to fill out one of the tickets. The last guy to look at my license asked, "Green Bay huh? You a Packer's fan?" "I kinda have to be,"I replied as the instructor cop handed me back my ID telling me they'd let me off with a warning this time.

That was the first and (hopefully) last encounter I'll have with the NYPD.

I got home just in time to shovel down some food before I met a friend for a drink. We guzzled that drink and made our way to the Williamsburg, where we stopped for another drink at a wonderful establishment that serves all there beverages in styrofoam cups. Which makes it extremely convenient for carrying alcohol out on the street. It just so happen that a few representative for a rum called Sailor Jerry. Had quite a few rum & cokes against my better judgement. After all, how great can that rum be. The guy is a sailor. Many ranks below Captain Morgan and Admiral Nelson.

That was the first and last time I will drink Sailor Jerry...that is, unless it's free again.

We were good and toasty for a DJ set with Calvin Harris at the Williamsburg Music Hall. Long story short, great show, great dancing. However today, my body is sore in ways previously not thought imaginable. My legs and back kill from both an intense NY bike ride and a night of intense dancing. Oh and chalk my neck up for dance related soreness too. And my ears are still ringing.

That was the first and last time I bike across NY before I go to an all night dance concert.

And that'll be the last time I go to a concert without ear plugs. I need my musicianly trained ears to last me a while.

Lessons well learned I guessed.

Baby Face

Look at this picture. Happy Shawn. All scruffy, thick mutton chops gracefully framing the patchy stubble of my cheeks and chin. Granted, I'm no beauty queen pretty boy, but I enjoy this look I've got going for me.... correction, had going for me.

Thanks to my new job, I look like a prepubescent boy. Unhappy Shawn.

I thought high school would be the last time I'd be asked/told to be clean shaven, but alas it's back haunt me. The first thing my now boss told me in the interview last week was, "How attached are you to these (points to the sides of his face)? Cause we shouldn't continue this interview if you can't part with them."

I debated walking out right there. Then I thought about the fairly large rent check I just wrote out and figured I can part with them for a while. It'll grow back.... right?

Where I Go, Thus Far

As a continuation of my last post, here's a little more detail for those of you who may not be that familiar with NYC. I know I wasn't before I got here.
I also figured it'd be convenient for stalkers, murderers, and rapists if I left them a detailed map of where I'd be at around town.

I'm Gonna Make a Brand New Start of It

...Or at least attempt to. Then again, I don't know about a brand new start. I am, after all, going to pursue the same career fields I've been into. So I guess you could say, I'm gonna make a solid attempt at making a go at what I already do... but that doesn't quite flow lyrically like Frank would want it to. Whatever. It makes for a good title for this post, ok?

I've been living in Brooklyn for a week. A decent week at that. Settled in a nice apartment in the Bushwick neighborhood. Got job to pay the bills at a swanky literary club...Actually, Now that I think of it, I'm going to outline the week below. Not so much for you, the reader, but for myself. It's been a long week. I should figure out what I did with myself.


Sunday 8/30 Sleeping Through Flights
After a long night at Alpine Valley for a Jimmy Buffet concert the night before, I awoke at 6am to catch a 7:40 flight from Milwaukee. Got into White Plains around 3pm and chilled at Jacobs for the night.

Monday 8/31 Waiting to Move In
Took the North Metro Rail into the city and subsequently to my apartment. The previous tenant staying in my room wasn't totally moved out. Spent most of my day helping him move out and moving myself in.

Tuesday 9/1 Audition and Apple
Today I had my second audition here in the city, the first having taken place earlier this summer. This particular audition was for PGT Entertainment. Will anything come of it? Meh, we'll see. But the experience is necessary. Afterward, I spent sometime at the Apple store sitting in on their free lectures.

Wednesday 9/2 A Filmmaker and a Further Moving
Chilled at the apartment got a little more settled. Later that night, went back to Apple store for a Q&A session with animator/writer/director Mike Judge. Even though the interviewer/moderator was an idiotic bimbo who knew nothing about Mike or his work, it was still a sweet event to enjoy.

Afterward, I took a train back up to White Plains. Later that night, once his kids were asleep, Jacob and I drove the rest of the crap I had sitting at his house over to my apartment. Before getting to the apartment though, we had to stop at Jacob's favorite pizza place in the city, Joes.

Thursday 9/3 Got a Job, Discovered a Park, Found a Music Venue
I intended on sleeping in this morning, however, I was awoken by an old high school friend who now lives in the city. We grabbed a coffee before I went to my interview at The Lotos Club. It went well and I start this Wednesday. We'll see how that goes. After the interview, I made my way to Crown Heights (which borders Prospect Park) to meet up with another friend from WI who moved to the city. We took a good long walk through the park and slipped a few Coronas.

That night I had my first encounter with Williamsburg, which I was told is "where it's at." It is. I went to the Music Hall of Williamsburg to see Elizabeth and the Catapult. Basically, a much less mainstream Regina Spektor.

Friday 9/4 Flatbush and Fish & Chips

Pretty chill day. That night caught up with yet another friend. This one from UWSP. We grabbed dinner. She showed me around Flatbush, another fantastic upcoming neighborhood of Brooklyn. It's actually a bit on the British-side. Quite lovely. We then got lost as she attempted to drive me home, seeing as how there are no trains that run north and south in Brooklyn. It's messed up.

Saturday 9/5 Where Tight Cuffs Meet Jew Curls

Went back to the Prospect Park area. Took a good walk. Listened to some good music as I walked. Found a fantastic farmers market at the north end of the park, right by the Brooklyn Library. After my time there, I went back over to Williamsburg to gallivant around Bedford street. The sidewalks had tables sporadically set up to sell books, trinkets, jewelry, you name it.

While taking a look at this tables, I discovered how cool people can be in NYC. I was looking at some jewelry, specifically a leather necklace with a large charm on it. I asked the little old woman the price. $5 she replied. I was really only interested in the leather and told her such. She replied, "Oh, I can just give you that for free." I told her, "here's a dollar at least, take something." With a sharp turn of her head she yipped, "no." I thanked her again and off I went.

My other favorite place I shopped was a neighborhood sale in which all proceeds went to charity. Most everything was kinda junky, but much is was also right up my alley. My purchases include a couple cloth-knit ties, the coolest playset ever, and some bitch'n new shades.

I decided to walk back from Williamsburg to Bushwick as they border each other, and I figured I should see what kind of a walk it is. Little did I know I was about to discover how neighborhoods can drastically change by just a single turn.

As I mentioned, Williamsburg, very "where it's at." The artsy crowd that inhabits the area are total hipsters (see picture at left). Some have their issues with these ankle-hugging jean wearing bunch, but I dig 'em, these neo-hippies who carry the spirit of the 60's and the wardrobe of the 80's. That's Williamsburg, at least the nor then part of it.

I began my walk southeastish to get back to Bushwick. I continued straight down Bedford St. I don't know exactly what block it took place, but suddenly I was the only person with a t-shirt on. Everyone else was hardcore Jewish and gussied up for the Sabbath. I felt out of place, but also very relaxed. I stopped one of the men with the big fur hats on. "Can I ask you a few questions about Judaism?" I said respectful. "Umm depends what the question is. I only have until the next intersection." He was more than happy to enlighten a clueless non-Jew. Their whole way of life fascinates me.

I finally made it back to my apartment, legs aching from the day. After resting them and watching Entourage for an hour, I got a message from yet another friend from good 'ol Stevens Point. I grabbed a few drinks in Manhattan with a few Pointer actors and actresses whom I knew from their roles in UWSP productions.

Which bring me to today, which was pretty lame. Did some job searching online, prepared some job materials, and watched another season of Entourage. Went for a run and found a cheap gym a few blocks away. And now, wrote this post.

A pretty solid first week.

Little Instructions

Back in the day, when I was a wee lad, I used those little tear-away-by-the-day calendars. I was also quite a pack-rat. Which is why I recently found two consecutive years of these tear-away days in my closet.

One such year was a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Calendar year.... I'm glad I saved those. The following year I was given a Life's Little Instruction Calendar (Volume XI in case you're wondering), and I'm even more pleased that I saved these. Here are gems of instructions. Take 'em or leave 'em.

On Relationships
Really go out of your way to see to it that anyone invited to your home has a wonderful time --- Ask friends who they'd choose to play themselves if a movie were made of their life --- Write a personal note in every book you give --- Remember, even the most sincere apology can't erase harsh words said in haste or anger --- Take a walk in the woods with someone you love when it's snowing --- Unless you're at the beach, remove your sunglasses when talking to someone --- When conversing with others, remember you expose not just what you know, but who you are --- Contentment is found in relationships, not in places or accomplishments

On Yourself
Write twenty poems and have them bound in leather --- Buy an expensive bottle of wine and compare it with a cheap one; you might be surprised by which you like best --- Never underestimate your abilities. You are capable of things undreamed of --- What qualities do you most like in your friends? Acquire them. Practice them. Make them your own. --- Keep your mind curious, your heart pure, and your enthusiasm twelve inches taller than you are --- Your potential is determined by your dreams; your value is determined by your actions --- Wave at couples sitting on front porches --- Your mind is the muscle that most needs exercising --- Carry authority and confidence in your posture and voice --- Maintain a touch of mystery

On Growing Old
On your birthday, try something you'd do if your age were your shoe size --- Compliment all women with beautiful gray hair --- Don't die muttering "if only..." --- Leave precious memories alone and undisturbed; trying to relive them often results in disappointment --- Go back to the house where you grew up and ask the owner if you could just look around.

On Random Betterness
Support your local diner --- Winning is simple, take just one more step when all the others have quit --- Don't waste time trying to reason with a dog --- Don't hurry past beauty --- Be different. Be fair. Be first --- Carry authority and confidence in your posture and voice --- Don't attend every argument you're invited to --- Life is hard; don't get soft --- Be willing to attend to the small details that make the difference between "done" and "well done" --- To discover good, reliable people, undertake a difficult task with a group --- Don't weaken the power of future compliments by telling someone (especially children) he or she is doing a good job when they're not --- Be the reason someone smiles today

Currently Carrying the Most Meaning for Shawn (yes I enjoy referring to myself in the third person)
Having a good idea is like holding a quart of ice cream on a hot summer day; you've got to do something with it right away or all is lost --- The happiest you'll ever be is when you're working hard for something you really care about --- For somethings to make sense, you have to live a long time --- Learn to accept praise without suggesting you don't deserve it

A Musical Review: Altar Boyz

Since first arriving in New York, I’ve heard raving reviews about this off-Broadway show called Altar Boyz. This post is another such raving review.

But first a definition is in order, off-Broadway. I myself had a vague understanding of the word, but as I have learned, it has a concrete, simple definition. An off-Broadway show is a one in which the theatre holds less than 500 people. That’s it. Doesn’t mean the quality of the actors, sound, lights set, or any aspect of the show is anything less than fantastic. Because these shows are often in small venues, it requires the show to do a little less with sets and such, but the show itself can be just as entertaining as those flashy big staged shows.

Off-Broadway does, however, mean more risks can be taken. More risqué subject matter can be addressed. More absurd plots can be explored. Such as a group of four Catholic school boys, and a Jewish one, forming a Christian boy band, creating a show that is a completely mockery of Catholicism, Christian Rock musicians, and boy-bands. This is Altar Boys. In my humble opinion, it’s absolute genius.

As an audience member at Altar Boys, you are actually an audience member at the boy band’s final performance of their cross-country tour. Their goal is to spread the good word of God through their hip thrusting gyrations and tight vocal harmonies. At certain points throughout the show, they use their “Soul Searcher 5000” to scan the audience and see just how many souls they’ve converted.

They nail every hilarious boy band member persona: the ever-diligent leader, the obvious yet closeted gay, the Spanish conquistador of women, the recovering muscular alcoholic, and of course, the Jew. Each has a quite a back-story which is uniquely woven into the show.

With just a very talented four piece band on stage and the five vocalist/dancer, this show makes the off-Broadway community proud.

Old McDonald Wrote Some Music

It was my first day in Playland park. I was sporting a gondolier's hat, a red and white, vertically striped vest, black shorts, and white shoes. My job was to entertain. Walk up to people sitting on a park bench and play them a song. This was my job, six times a day for fifteen maybe twenty minutes at a time. This was my job.

By the end of day one it was already a tiresome burden. I had done five of my "strolls" and had one more to do. "I should just skip it," I thought, "who'd know?" But it was my first day. I'll just get it over with.

Across from the carousel of fast horses, right next to the cotton candy stand, was a man holding his daughter. Simple enough, walk up to them, play You are my Sunshine or some other crap and be done.

"Hey guys! Having fun in the park today?!? Care to hear a song?" I said as I forced out a smile.

"We'd love to sing a song!" replied the man, "How about Old McDonald?"

We began singing and to my surprise the man started throwing in some harmonies. Most amusement park patron don't do that. Once we got through a verse and a chorus I began to dish out the usual park employee over-excited mindless chatter.

"Nice harmonies you threw in there!"

"Well, I'm a musician, a composer actually."

With that phrase the entertainer-patron facade was broken, and I really began talking to this guy. Turns out he's a freelance composer in the area, is just beginning a huge project for NBC, and is in need of an apprentice. We exchanged contact info and two nights later I was in the car, listening to his CD he gave me, and getting lost on my way to his place in Yonkers.

I had no clue what to expect. Being mugged, raped, find out the guy murders Dalmatian puppies, or sells coke and only writes music on acid flashbacks... all were possibilities. Then again, finding a professional grade studio in some guy's basement and a stellar musician who writes great stuff and is quite successful was a possibility as well.

What I found was Jacob.

We've been working together ever since that first meeting. Three, four, sometimes five nights a week we meet and work on scoring this NBC pilot. Just last night we met with the director of the project on which we are nearing completion. He seems pleased. I've even had the opportunity to write some of the music myself, instead of just taking a back seat ride. I may even get some on-air credit for it. We'll see.

Blessings in disguise are interesting. Especially when you have to peal off many layers of the mask. And even then, the blessing staring back at you may be in the form of a short-haired Jewish guy from Port Chester. Scary.

A Musical Review: 9 to 5

A rainy Saturday is a blessing when you are in the amusement park entertainment business. We had one such glorious day on Saturday June 20th, and time away from the park cannot be wasted when you work six days a week. That’s why a group of us took the train into the city to see 9 to 5.

The show is written by Dolly Parton, which made me skeptical. I’m not the biggest country fan. However, I would barely classify this show’s music as country. It was musical theatre with a country flare and a huge flame of hilariousness.

Main character Violet Newstead, played by Allison Janney (may remember her from Juno, Harispray, American Beauty etc.), brings out her fair share of dry, sarcastic humor throughout the show. While Janney’s singing voice isn’t quite Broadway quality, it fits her part, monotone and strong. Perfect for the persona of a widowed woman in a man’s business world. Her acting, on the other hand, makses up for any shortcomings she may have.

The other main supporting actresses, Stephanie J. Block and Megan Hilty, were both part of the original Broadway cast of Wicked, and their unmatched acting and singing shown brightly. Hilty plays the seemingly bimbo-like secretary. As the show develops, so does her character, displaying a misunderstood office beauty. Block plays character Judy Bernly, a timid woman entering the business world after being left by her husband.

All three meet up and inadvertently take the CEO of their company hostage, resulting in no-so-cliché comedy, and a better work environment for everyone.

For a show that takes place mostly in what would seem to be a dull office setting, the sets were anything but mundane. Plus, the intense amount of dance and tight choreographed movement on stage is the same caliber as any other dance intensive show like West Side Story or Footloose.

Today was all around a surprising day. Didn’t expect to have off work, and didn’t expect to be so highly enjoying Dolly Parton’s country twang turned Broadway musical.

Intoxicating Jazz

I've come to truly enjoy Fridays at Playland. Not because it's the end of the week,(sadly, I still have two days till my day off). But because I get a chance to chill on the boardwalk along the Long Island Sound, enjoy the sun set with a bottle of wine, watch some fireworks, and listen to the elderly men of the Milt Gerver Big Band play the live jazz that I long to hear.  

Back in Stevens Point, WI, some of my favorite Friday nights we spent listening to the River Cities Jazz Band  as they entertained a mixed crowd of older folks, some 40 year-olds, and a hand full of college-aged jazz enthusiasts. The crowd on Playland's boardwalk, however, has mostly blue hairs and wrinkly skin. But you'd never be able to tell that by the movement on the dance floor. They are all shake'n like it was their first sock-hop. I figured this out not only by seeing, but experiencing it as well. 

A couple Fridays ago, my roommate Pip and I were listening to the fantastic band when a couple of ladies next to us were getting ready to leave. "Leaving so soon?" we enquired. "Well, we have no one to dance with!" they replied. If that wasn't an invitation to dance, I don't know what is. We took these young-at-heart ladies for a slow dance. I danced with Betty. The song was just about over. I could see some tears swelling up her eyes before she said, "We lost our dance partners a few years ago."  I almost melted as we finished our dance in silence because I didn't know what to say.

After that dance, our lovely ladies left. But I was quite pleased we had that dance. Put things in perspective.

A few of us cast members stayed till the night's end. As the band played their closer "New York, New York," our dance captain showed up the entire crowd with her high kicks and Rockette  style moves. The vocalist and band leader came up to her after the show and exclaimed, "You're going to Hollywood baby, no doubt about it," in his classic Brooklyn accent.

Indeed, I've come to love these Fridays. A night to take in life. 

What does America Run On?

I had no idea that America ran on Dunkin' until I started this journey out east. I was under the impression that all Dunkin' Donuts closed down long ago because a tobacco outlet now stands where the only one existed in Green Bay, WI. Apparently, Dunkin' fuels America everywhere else. However, they do not fuel me.

Carvel, on the other hand, took me on a wild ice cream ride that I've never been on before. Perhaps these do exist in the mid-west but I never had the pleasure until last night. The creamiest, richest soft-serve known to man.