More Shelby Positions

This is called Hide Face.
It's pretty self-explanatory.








This is Measure. When she sleeps like this I always want to take
measuring tape and see how long she is, because she's fully
stretched out and she looks so long! She's scared of tape measures, though, so I never measure her.










This is Tummy. I hesitated to put
this picture up, because it's not the
most becoming one of my precious feline,
but it is one of her positions, so up
it goes. Sorry, Shelby. Mommy won't
give you so many treats.









Last but not least, this is my favorite position. It's called Slug,
because to me she looks exactly like a slug, a blob of fluff and fat.
When Shelby is in the slug position, it means she's in
a very deep sleep. I never disturb her when she's in Slug.

You may have noticed that all of these pictures were taken
in the same room. It's the bathroom, one of her favorite
places to rest. Good night, Shelby, sweet slug dreams!

Language of the future

I have said to many people:

"I'll send you the link to my blog."

I say it, and they understand it. Amazing. I still can't believe it's a real sentence.

New Position

I name Shelby's positions. I've never done this with my cats before. It's just that she rotates the same 5 or 6 ones over and over, and they're so easy to name. This is the first position I named. This is Sasquatch. She looks so regal and puffy when she does this. She is alert and in charge.








This is Crosspaws. She does this when she relaxes a bit and lets her guard down. Her left ear is slightly back; she was a little annoyed at me for taking this picture in her relaxed state.









This is Lady Godiva. Notice the rear left foot position. I have never seen a cat extend a rear foot this way. I've seen dogs do it, even a rabbit once, but never a cat. Such a lady.






This is the rarely seen Crosspaws Lady Godiva Combination. Again, note the extension of the rear leg, this time the right one. She is elegant and relaxed, and expects me to admire her and feed her salmon flavored treats.


More Shelby positions, including my favorite one, next time!

Next Time You See a Kindly Old Man...Think Twice

Yesterday I was on the subway, and I sat across from what looked like a kindly old man, about 70-75 years old. He was wearing a suit, had a tan that would make George Hamilton proud, white hair, and a big gold ring. I was wearing a tee shirt and a skirt that made the tattoo on my calf stand out.

As I sat down, then man looked at me and made a face that said, "Wow, I didn't expect to see that huge tattoo, but there it is!" He smiled at me, and I smiled back, kindly old man that he was.

He mouthed to me, "Beautiful." I assumed he was still talking about my tattoo. I had my earphones in my ears, so I removed them and said, "Thank you." He nodded and smiled. I smiled. I started to realize perhaps English was not his first language.

He got up to get ready for his stop, and he stood next to me because my seat was closest to the door. He patted my arm and mouthed, "I love you." Okaaaaaay, now you're getting creepy, old man. He gestured with his head toward the door, as if he was saying, "Would you like to get off with me, and perhaps we could, you know...?" I looked at him incredulously and said, "What are you thinking?" and I shook my head. Ewww. He went to touch my face, saying, "Beautiful", and I dodged him and slowly moved over to the next seat. He got off the train, and I sat there with icky feelings.

Why did he have to cross that line? Why couldn't he have just been a nice old man? How can someone make a stranger feel nice and then yucky in a matter of minutes? Eww and eww.

As I was getting off at my stop, a young man came over to me and said, "We had your back, you know. On the train, we were watching what was going on, and we were ready to step in if you needed it. Notice, I am telling you this as you're getting off the train, I'm standing a respectable distance from you, I am not touching you..." I laughed and thanked him. I hadn't known that other people were paying attention. I ranted a little bit about creepy old men, and he assured me that not all men were like that. I know, I know, but all it takes is one. I thanked him again for looking out for me. He wished me a nice day, and we parted ways. It was sweet of him to "have my back", and it gave me a little more faith in mankind.

How was your commute today?

Pac Man In My Chip Bag

I got a bag of chips today and this was in it. I didn't do anything to it, it was just this way. Adorable, don't you think?

Don't Steal This Idea

I'm want to start a new job. My title will be Clothing Adjuster. The job description is this: when I spot someone in my travels whose clothing needs adjusting, I will adjust and get paid on the spot however much they want to give me.

Examples include tucking a tag back into a shirt, fixing a cuff that has gone astray, pulling down a shirt caught under a baby Bjorn, and straightening a collar. These little fixings can mean the difference between getting that job or not, and how well a date might go. Depending on how comfortable the client is, I might go a step further and straighten out that part or hand over that much needed toothpick. I can think of at least two celebrities who could have used me before the paparazzi came flashing over. With the services of a Clothing Adjuster, no one's nipple need be exposed for the world to see.

Whether someone wants to give me one dollar or ten, I will take pleasure in giving my fellow commuters' appearance the slight adjustment they might need.

No Way

Just after I wrote the story about the black bug (see below), I took a shower. As I was rinsing my hair, I looked down and saw that I was sharing my shower with a big black ant, I'm not kidding. They talk to each other during the night, I'm sure of it. They plan these things.

A Bug's Life, Part 2

I seem to have a lot of encounters with insects, or maybe everyone does; I just choose to write about them.

Last night Shelby looked up at the ceiling, something she never does. She prefers to keep her center of gravity and her eyes close to the floor. Things with six legs do not interest her. Things that fly are slightly more interesting.

Up there on the wall, close to the ceiling, was a ghastly creature. It was black, long and skinny, with a pointed end and wings that made a horrible buzzing sound. I didn't know what it was, but I knew what it wasn't. It wasn't a fly, a mosquito, or a bat. It flew close to the wall so I could whack it easily if I was brave enough to. After determining that my fearless landlordwas not home by going out onto the porch and seeing that the livingroom light was not on, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands.

I grabbed the broom and whacked at the bug. No dice, it continued to fly and buzz. It flew over to my loft bed, buzzing annoyingly around my pillow. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep unless this thing was dead. I whacked it over the bed, but my positioning was awkward and it got away easily. It landed on the dresser near the TV. I hit it with the broom and it looked like it was out for the count. Just to be sure, I crept up close to it, and as I did, of course it buzzed and jumped up, causing me to scream and jump back (readers, do you sense a theme in my life here?), and it dropped down somewhere where I couldn't see it. This thing would just not die!

I asked Shelby, "Did it die, or just disappear?" She didn't know and didn't care; she was only interested in avoiding the broom. I picked up things on the floor gingerly to see if I could find a carcass. I flicked and jumped, flicked and jumped. I could not find it. I couldn't go to bed knowing that it might buzz again, so I looked for about 30 minutes until I deduced it had finally met its maker. I slept with one eye open.

This morning I got up and did my Sunday morning thing: had breakfast, read the paper, did a load of laundry. When I came back inside from the laundrymat, there was that fucking bug, alive and kicking, sitting right on my dining room table. I swear I saw it stick two legs in its ears and give me a raspberry. I took the movie section of the newspaper, rolled it up, and smacked it with the faces of Colin Farrell and Jamie Foxx in a still from the new movie Miami Vice. It landed on the floor and I blew on it. Damn if it didn't kick a back leg at me! I hit it again and this time a wing came off, so I knew it was really dead. I took a picture. If you can identify this bug for me, I'll give you a hundred dollars. Well, not really, but I'll be very grateful. I've got to know what this bionic creature is. Till then, I'll check for holes in my screens.

Piles

I'm going through my piles of paper in one of the three places paper piles up in my apartment. I pick up each piece of paper and read it carefully. I sort it; Trash, Things I want to buy, Misc. I discover a piece of paper that I had written on the last time I went through my piles. I had written a list of exactly what I came across as I organized, just for kicks. I think I made this list in January 2006. Here's what the list said:

1 lei
1 Thanksgiving edition of Spare Change newspaper
4 framed pictures
10 magazines
2 mirrors
4 strings (Shelby's playthings)
9 notes to self
info sheet on flu vaccine
3 pads of scrap paper
box top ripped off so I could remember the name of the store
flyer from May 2005
1 Ziploc bag of plastic grass from sushi dinners (to be used for art projects)
tax exempt form from work
11 receipts
1 envelope of photos
card game
1 birthday card (birthday April 2005)
6 work flyers
1 order confirmation from May 2005
16 letters to friends in Japan I had hoped to visit (written in March 2005)
1 itinerary for Japan
2 postcards from The Gates exhibit in NYC
1 leather-bound notepad
1 roll of clear contact paper
1 pair of pedicure socks I've been meaning to give to a friend for about 3 months
13 articles
3 out of date flyers
3 credit reports
2 expired T passes
6 pamphlets
7 coupons
3 books
1 Metro newspaper
1 catalog
2 pay stubs
1 tiny plastic box
1 pink wig
1 giant Ziploc bag and 1 giant coffee filter for my collection of Big Things
1 candle holder
5 business cards
2 Ziploc bags of art supplies
1 candle
1 computer owner's manual

And now here I am again. Do I need all this stuff? I am very sure I could take a big trash bag, throw all the stuff in there and never miss it. But I love to sort and go through things, so I will. I find it fascinating the things that pile up. As long as I keep going through things and throwing away every few months, it doesn't get out of hand. This time it's all paper; no pink wigs or leis. I can't wait to see all the things that will go in the Things I want to buy pile...Christmas in my head!

A Bug's Life

Today I was at the T station waiting for a train, and I spotted a huge beetle walking slowly on the platform. It was brown, about 2 inches long, and it had these pinchy horn things on the front of its head. It moved very slowly, but steadily. I grabbed my camera from my backpack and waited for it to make its way to the yellow safety line so I could get a good background for my shot.

I took the picture and watched as the beetle continued to the edge of the platform. Suddenly it fell off the edge and landed on its back, poor thing. I hate the sight of a bug on its back, all six legs flailing in the air, helpless. I looked around for a stick so I could flip it over, but I couldn't find one. I decided to just flip it over with the toe of my sneaker. I touched it with my foot, and it grabbed onto my sneaker, causing me to scream and flail about with my two legs. I looked around, thinking it might be on me somewhere, but as it turned out it had landed on my backpack. I wanted it off, but I sure wasn't going to use my foot this time. I spotted a man sitting on a bench nearby and decided to ask for his help, even though I was embarassed as hell, because he had seen the whole thing.

I dragged my backpack by the strap towards him, and discovered he was someone I knew; a former parent at my preschool. We exchanged greetings and I asked for his assistance. He said he thought it was a mouse on the train track that I had been screaming about. At that moment the train came, so I asked him if he could just flick it off quickly so we could get on the train. He flicked it just as the train pulled up and the doors opened. The beetle landed safely on the platform under the bench. On its back.

"Alex! Look over here!"

Whenever I lug things back and forth to the basement of my house, I pretend I'm a famous actress and the paparazzi is hiding in the bushes, ready to take snapshots of me in my not-so-glamorous form. I'm usually wearing something that can get dirty, and even if I'm wearing socks I slip on my sandals because it's easy to.

I know I look like a schlump carrying a big blue plastic container or my sleeping bag wearing socks and sandals and having my hair in disarray. My alter ego comes out--this is what movie stars really look like: no makeup, no fancy gown and glittery borrowed jewelry. They look like you and me. I always fight the urge to throw my hand in front of my face to ward off the flashing of the camera bulbs.

You've seen the photos in People and Us magazines. "Real stars buying coffee! Shopping at Walmart! Cleaning up dog poop! Schlepping stuff to the basement!" This is what life is really about, not just take after take of kissing Leonardo DiCaprio. Or Johnny Depp. Or that young strapping fellow from Desperate Housewives.

Don't get me wrong, fantasizing about the red carpet has its place too, but it's fun to imagine the ordinary life of people who don't have an ordinary life.

Moosed

Since I've lived in New England I've wanted to see a moose. I've been to Maine many times and seen those ubiquitous yellow signs with a black moose silhouette, but never one up close and in person. Recently I paid a hundred bucks to stay in a lodge in Maine and go on a moose cruise, sort of like a whale watch. See moose we did, but we also encountered other strange creatures.

My friend Denise and I went on this cruise. We got on, and there were about 12 people; couples, some kids, Denise and I, and this woman close to my age who was by herself. We started chatting with her; she was from Bar Harbor, Maine. She had come on the cruise to get away, because it was raining in Bar Harbor. She left the kids and came down for the day. She was really nice and easy to talk to.

The cruise got started, and the Captain, this guy I'd say was in his 60's, asked everyone where they were from. Everybody went around, and when he got to the woman next to us, we said where she was from so we could say the Maine accent: Bah Hahbah. We thought we were pretty funny.

The Captain spewed off facts about the lake and pointed out interesting tree and rock formations. We came to a rocky wall of sorts, and the Captain told us that sometimes young bull moose fell off the land near the wall and they'd be floating dead in the water for 2, sometimes 3 weeks. I was startled by this information, mostly because there were children listening on this cruise. Of course the kids were probably fascinated, because one of them asked if the moose died when they hit the water, or did they die by drowning. The Captain said that was a good question, and he wasn't sure. But come to think of it, there was this bridge in Quichee, Vermont, where 15-20 people jumped to their deaths every year, so maybe they died when they hit the water. Shocked and horrified came close to how I was feeling at this point.

It didn't stop there. He went on to tell the story of a young woman who was free climbing the rock wall last year who got stuck. By the time people noticed her and went to rescue her, she let go and...you guessed it, fell to her death. I was bursting by this point and wanted to know if anyone else thought this guy was morbid or was it just me. I confided in the Bar Harbor woman, saying that every story the Captain told ended with death. She sort of laughed it off. I scrambled to get a piece of paper to jot down the details of this Moose Death Cruise so I could blog it later. All I could find was a band-aid, and Bar Harbor commented. "You're writing on a band-aid." I told her why; I just could not believe all this guy was saying.

Finally the topic turned to something more humane, Maine geese. Whew. He talked about how many geese were in the area, and how they had 4 or 5 eggs at a time. Ahh...life! Unless, of course, the water rose too high from rain, and then the eggs might roll into the lake and...well, you know the rest.

Thank god about that time someone saw a moose, so we were all spared the details of the demise of goose offspring. The cruise went on without any more horror stories, and we actually saw a couple of female moose and babies!

At the end of the cruise, Denise asked our new friend if she'd like to join us for dinner. She declined, saying that she was going to meet her husband for dinner. We parted ways, but saw each other again a few minutes later in the dining room. We saw the woman greet her husband with a kiss and sit down at a table on the other side of the room. Guess who her "husband" was? The Captain. Ewww, I was so weirded out. What???

I had many questions. Why had the Captain and this woman pretended not to know each other at the beginning of the cruise? Why had she sat silently while I dissed her man the entire time? And why the heck, when we asked her to dinner, did she not simply say, "No thanks, the Captain and I are having dinner"? I surmised that she and the Captain were indeed married, just not to each other, and the whole family owned lodge kept their dirty little secret. Denise didn't want to hear it, but I was sick to my stomach. This, right after I had met those other weirdos in New York. What is it with people??

We ran into her in the gift shop after dinner, and it was a perfect opportunity to confront her. I didn't, though, fearing that she'd get the front desk to charge extra to our bill or put something in our food. We just sort of made small talk and fake laughed. Yick.

What makes people act this way? What reason could she have for her behavior? What could she possibly gain? Some people are so strange, I just do not understand. Any theories?

My friend Amy, after hearing the story, remarked, "Well, you saw some moose. Sounds like you saw a coupla loons too!"

Prince @ Bryant Park 5 (last one!)

So Benny and I go into the library, and we run smack into this other fan, Angie. I remember seeing her at the concert, and Benny acts like he knows her. He asks how she is, and she says she's not doing so well. Prince is playing at this restaurant tonight...and Benny says, "Oh yeah, what's that place called? Butter, yeah, that's right." ( all morning he's been telling people the name of the place and suddenly he can't remember the name? Hmmm...)

Angie is agitated, and says she needs to see Prince tonight, but she doesn't know if she can change her plane ticket, she came all the way from Minnesota, can she change her plane ticket? she has to go to her hotel room and get her stuff. She's sort of wandering around, and she has tears in her eyes. Weird.

Benny and I go through the motions to sign up for free computers. I get one for noon, and he gets one for 12:05. It's now around 11:45. Angie comes up to me, still with tears in her eyes, and I'm curious, so I ask her what's wrong. She says she doesn't know if she can tell me, it's such a long story...and then launches into it. Something about how she knows Prince, see, her dad is a musician, and she once was at a concert, and Prince asked her to go onstage, and she didn't want to, so he got mad, and then she was at a club and he was there, and he called her name: Angie, and that new song, "Fury"? It's about her.

She needs to go see him tonight, she's gonna kick his ass, she left 2 kids at home, she doesn't know what she's gonna do, maybe she can use my cell phone. #1, how does she know I have a cell phone, and #2, and I ask her, why does she want to use my cell phone? She doesn't answer.

She says she knows I think she's crazy, everyone does when she tells the story, and this time I don't answer. I ask her why can't her dad the musician help her see Prince, and she says they're not talking right now. She doesn't know what she's gonna do, she left 3 kids at home...I say, "2 or 3 kids?" she said 3, she has an 18 year old at home...I say, "18! Wow, if you don't mind, how old are you?" (she looks not more than 30) She says, "I'm not that old!"

I start getting a weird vibe, and I decide that I'm going to ditch Benny and Angie. I say that I have to go to the bathroom so I can use my cell phone and pretend a friend has called me and I have to go home, can't go to the concert. Angie goes with me. I go into a stall, wait a few minutes, and come out, expecting Angie to be waiting for me. She's not. I make the phone call (to my voicemail), and Angie still doesn't come out. I go around the corner and there's Benny. I ask him if he's seen Angie, and he says that she went back to her hotel. Okay, weird. Pours her heart out to me and then doesn't say goodbye. And how is she going to get a ticket for tonight without going online?

I tell Benny that my friend called and reminded me I have a party to host tonight, oh god, I had forgotten, so now I really do need to go home, the decision has been made for me. He says, "Hmm...maybe I should go too. I can go to the bus station with you." And I say, "Well, actually, I'm gonna go to my dad's house before I go home..." and he gets it and says, "Okay, well, maybe I can use your computer at noon because your time is first." And I don't want to give him my temporary card with my name on it, don't want him to have any of my info, so somehow I hem and haw my way out of it, and we hug goodbye and I'm outta there.

And on the way to the bus station I pass the internet cafe at noon, and I think to myself that I can just go in there and get a ticket myself, but then I don't want to run into Benny later at Butter, and be alone at 1:00 in the morning with him. So I decide not to, I'm just going home.

I take the first bus I can and get right on, and as we're driving away, I theorize that Benny and Angie were working together and they were trying to scam me. The phone call he made to meet someone later? Her, at the library. Too many things didn't add up. They thought they had an easy mark, a lone woman with 2 hours of sleep. But they didn't know who they were messing with. Born and raised in NYC, and I watch Dateline religiously, besides. I ain't no fool! Humph! My life and sanity is more important than a concert that I might not have even gotten a ticket for, anyway. I arrive home and sleep for 11 hours.

The next day I get an email from the Prince fanclub, reviewing the show at Butter. Prince played a 3 hour set (not 3 song, 3 hour), with celebrities and fanclub fans surrounding him. I want to vomit. I get depressed all day, but console myself with the fact that I had to listen to my gut and I probably wouldn't have gotten a ticket anyway. I pride myself on my ability to know when something's amiss. I ain't no sucker.

Next time I will pack a nice outfit and bring a friend.

Prince @ Bryant Park 4

Benny and I went to get breakfast, but he had to make a phone call first. He used a pay phone, something I haven't seen in awhile. He talked to someone and arranged to meet later. When he got off the phone, I asked what he did for a living. He said he was in real estate; he followed up by saying that he didn't like to carry his cell phone with him. Hmm...never met someone who had a cell phone and didn't like to carry it, much less someone in real estate.

He had driven here from DC, and he was planning to stay the day. He told me and had told other people that Prince was planning on playing that night at a restaurant called Butter. Prince fans could buy a ticket for $121 by logging on the official website at noon. How come I didn't know this information? The announcement was made on the website at midnight the night before, when we were all in line. We hadn't met Benny till the morning, when he showed up in the front of the line with a gym bag full of handmade tee shirts he had made. I bought one, and let him cut in front of me. I had asked him if he had more, but he said they were in the car, so I just bought what he had. He was charming.

We stopped at a place to get something to eat. I told him I had to eat cheaply because I had given him all of my money to get the tee shirt. He offered to buy me something, but I declined. He saw some more fans in the place and went over to tell them about Butter. What a schmoozer. We talked about plans for the day. I told him I couldn't really afford to drop $121 for a ticket, and besides I didn't have a place to stay, I would be wandering the streets all day on 2 hours of sleep, dragging a sleeping bag around with me. He said he was going to get a hotel room and I could use it to take a shower or whatever. He was going to buy a cheap linen suit for Butter. Maybe I could get myself some shoes, let my hair down, then I'd be ready for Butter. Thanks, Benny.

I noticed his wedding band and asked if his wife was a Prince fan. He said she wasn't. She was home in DC, pregnant with their first child. This was his last hurrah before becoming a stay at home dad.

It was around 11:00, and I still needed to think. We passed by an internet place, so we went in to check out the website. I logged on, and indeed, what he said was true. Tickets went on sale at noon. What was I going to do? He suggested we go over to the public library, where logging on was free. At least we could try to get a ticket.

I hemmed and hawed. At one point I said that I thought I'd just go back to Boston, and he said, "Yeah, you know, I might just go back to DC too. Should we just go to the bus station?" I thought he had a car? Hmm...I wasn't sure what to do, and he suggested we just try the public library. Okay. I was thinking on 2 hours of sleep. Fuzzy.

Prince @ Bryant Park 3

About 6:00 Benny worms his way to the front, as do a couple of women I've chummed it up with. It's very hard to tell people that no, they can't cut in line and stand with me. The pregnant aunt and her nieces call me over, wondering where I've been. I go back up to my original spot and thank them. They remind me of the alliance.

The park opens up at 7:00. It's very organized. A man announces that they will let people in 10 at a time, and we are instructed to walk, not run, to the stage. We listen to instructions. I hang with my new pals and we gather together behind the VIP section, pretty close to the stage. I make new pals. A woman in front of me tells me and this other woman that we need to have her back, because if Sheila E comes out, she will fall backwards. We promise to catch her. Her pal who works with her at the post office has a nice digital camera, which he uses to capture all the beautiful female Prince fans in the audience.

The stage is set up with big black screens so we can hear what's going on behind them but can't see anything. We hear the sound check, the same song (Get on the Boat) about 5 times. We get excited every time. In between sound checks, the newest CD (3121) is played. My favorite jam (Black Sweat) comes on, and I go crazy. Black fans see white girl kick it and are surprised and impressed.

8:30--concert starts. Prince comes out looking like a baby's nursery. He has on a light pink suit and a turquoise shirt. Only Prince can work an outfit like that. He looks as hot as ever. He and his protege play 3 songs. Sheila E comes out, and we have to fan the fan in front of us. She swoons, but doesn't faint. After each song, during the commercial breaks, Prince messes with the sound system. He is not satisfied. We don't care. Sounds good to us.

After 3 songs, Prince exits and we chant, "More, more, more!" He does not give us more. That's it. Half an hour. Way too short. We are told how to exit safely. I stand in a daze. The crowd thins. I think I see Frenchie, a contestant on American Idol, season 3. She got booted off after it came out that she had been on an adult website. She showed America what was what when she got hired to be in Rent on Broadway.

I ask my new friends who wants to get breakfast. Everyone has to go to work, but Benny says he'll get breakfast with me. We leave the park.

Prince @ Bryant Park 2 (long, but interesting)

Robin got in line with me for a little while, we caught up, and then he went home. I began schmoozing, seeing who was who and what was what.

The first guy in line was Sean, who worked at the library right at the edge of the park. He got there at 5:45. Next was a man, and then two women, all of whom were not very talkative. They got there at 7:00. Next was a husband and wife team who were very talkative. A lot of fun. And right in front of me, a pregnant woman who brought a canvas hammock, so help me god.

Then came me, and then Rosalie, a woman from NYC, and behind her, a man who was originally from Israel and travelled a lot. I went around and said hi to all these people and said, "Okay guys, now, let's form an alliance!" Someone said, "What is this, Survivor?" and I told her it sure was, because we needed to stick together when people wanted to cut in line and once we got to the stage we shouldn't let anyone in front of us. We all agreed to watch each other's backs.

I became the unofficial line counter, just because I was curious. I walked up and down the line with a little notebook, taking notes and counting. People thought I was from a newspaper or from Good Morning America. I liked that, and didn't always say that it was just for my scrapbook and blog. Here are some of my recordings:

11:45 pm--19 people in line, including folks from New Jersey, Washington DC, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. After telling them I had travelled from Boston, I shouted out, "New England represent!"

1:00 am--Rosalie and I went around the corner to check out the VIP section. These were people who had won tickets to be the first people to go in. There were 6 of them when we first checked it out.

People often identified themselves by usernames from Prince's website. "Hi, I'm Utopia 7." "Hi, I'm Rosalie." "You're Rosalie! Girl, I dissed you last week, but what you said was crazy!" I was told if I wanted some free entertainment, go to the chat room and watch the fun.

After we met the VIPs, we went back to our section and I cuddled up in my sleeping bag (sans pad) and slept for 2 hours. I woke up at 3:00 feeling...well, not exactly refreshed, but good. I decided anyone who was in line after 3:00 was not a diehard fan because they didn't exactly spend the night. There were probably about 50 diehard fans.

A drunk homeless man came to our section with a sign that said, "Why lie? I want a beer." I thought it was funny. He chatted with us for a few minutes. I decided to take a picture of this scene for my scrapbook. Big mistake. I think I must have set off a Post Traumatic Stress episode in him, because when the flash went off, so did he. He started talking at me and pointing his finger. Rosalie tried to calm him down by making small talk, but he wouldn't leave me alone. I dealt with it by sitting Japanese seiza style and going into a trance, staring straight ahead and not saying a word. You can't talk sense to someone when they're ranting. I was fully aware of the man, and was waiting, waiting for him to actually touch me with that pointy finger so I could get up and kick his ass. Luckily for him, his friend came along, whispered something in his ear, and boom, they were gone. Rosalie told me she had my back, but she hadn't realized I had a pit bull within me.

3:15 am--78 people in line, plus 11 VIPs. I chose people at random to tell what their number was. One guy who was proud of being from Brooklyn was number 35.

4:10 am--105 people. I goofed when I told Mr. Brooklyn that he was 45. He said, "What? Last time I was 35!" Oh boy. We had people sneaking in the front already.

5:00 am--260. After that I stopped counting.

At 5:32 the park sprinkler system came on, waking those who were sleeping and soaking people's things. We all became a little more aware.

One and a half hours till the park opened.

Prince @ Bryant Park 1

This post is gonna take awhile. Lots of stories to tell. I'll try to keep it interesting. Not gonna worry about grammar this time.

Took the Greyhound bus to NYC right after work on Thursday. I was worried that I would be late, but realized there was nothing I could do about it. I would get there, meet my friend Robin who would walk over with me, and get in line. All I could do.

I arrived at around 8:15, earlier than scheduled. Sweet! I waited for Robin. And waited. And waited. As I was waiting, I noticed a group of young Japanese men sitting down with a guide book and a cell phone. How did I know they were Japanese? I can spot 'em a mile away; I have Japan-dar! Plus I recognized the writing on the book. I went over and asked if they needed any help. They said they were trying to find a hotel, but they were all booked. They were Japanese, currently living in Canada. Bankooba. Translation: Vancouver.

I asked if they knew Prince. Huh? Oh, Prince, the singer! Uh, yeah, why? I told them that I was camping out for the night to see him; I didn't have a place to stay either. Wanna hang out with me to see Prince? They respectfully declined, and I respectfully wished them luck and went back to waiting.

A few minutes later they came over and asked if I knew a certain hotel in Chinatown. I did not. They showed me the place and asked if I knew the best way to get there. I did not. I called the place and asked; got the info, and told them what to do. They were thankful, I did my good deed for the day, and went back to waiting for Robin, which by this time was going on 45 minutes.

Robin came breezing in. Turns out he was waiting across the street in the other bus building. Oh well. We (or rather, I) booked it over to the park, stopping at McDonald's on the way to grab a bite to eat. Yep, more crap to digest. Yes, I read Fast Food Nation. Yes, I still eat at McDonald's when desperate times call for desperate measures.

Got to the park and asked where the line started. Was directed to the spot. Where I was not the first in line. I was eighth. Good enough.

O+> All Night Long

I'm going on an all night adventure. Prince is having a free concert on Friday morning at 7 am as part of Good Morning America's summer concert series. It's in Bryant Park, a small park in New York City. He and his new protege, Tamar, will play 2-3 songs. Short concert, but worth every hour I spend sleeping on the sidewalk.

I'll leave from work tomorrow and catch a Greyhound bus, which will arrive at 8:30 pm. I hope that's not too late. My plan is to scope out the park and see where the line starts, and then park myself there with my sleeping bag. At first I thought I would be the first one in line, but now I'm not so sure. The woman at Bryant Park said she's been getting a lot of calls for this concert. No surprise there. Well anyway, I'll be one of the first in when the sun comes up.

I'll bring my backpack filled with a notebook, umbrella, camera, Yoo Hoo, and Doritos. Organic food gets the big heave ho for this excursion. The big item is my sleeping bag, but it's light and semi-compact. And warm.

Tune in Friday morning to Good Morning America, 7 am, and see magic right before your eyes. You might even see me in the front row! Next blog will continue the adventure...wish me luck!

Go See the Doctor

I went to see the ear doctor today. Or so I thought. Turned out he was an ear, nose, and throat specialist. See, I've been having this throbbing pain in my left ear for about 5 months, and while not severe, I know it's not normal. My primary care physician didn't find anything, so I took it upon myself to take it to the next level.

First I had an ear test, which found that I had normal hearing, not bionical, as I had suspected and hoped. Next I went in to see the doctor. He came in and asked me a few basic questions: how old are you, do you smoke, do you drink, tell me about the problem. I told him, and he proceeded to look not only into my ears, but into my nose and throat too. Guess they're all connected, duh.

Then he started with the tests, which started out weird and got progressively weirder and more painful. As he began each test he told me exactly what he was going to do, which is usually comforting when seeing a doctor, but not this time.

He asked me to pinch my mouth shut. I felt like I was going to give him a kiss. Ick. Then he asked me to raise my eyebrows. What? Then he said, "Now, I'm going to put my hand on your face and push, and I want you to resist me. Right side--resist. Left side--resist. Good!" Eww! "Stick your tongue out and say 'heeeeee...'" What the hell?!

Then he said, and I am not exaggerating, "Now I'm going to stick my finger down your throat and you will gag. You're supposed to." Great. He did, and I did. Wonderful. Then he stuck a depressor on my tongue and told me to just relax my tongue. I had to stop him at that point and say, "Can you just wait a minute? After I gag, I usually need time to gather myself." This doctor's affect was very flat. It felt like he was going through motions and didn't treat me like the freaked out patient I was.

Finished with the ears and the mouth, he moved on to my nose. He looked up my nose and said that it looked good. Nice compliment. Then he retrieved this contraption from a cabinet that looked like it was from a 1950's science fiction movie. It had a turquoise handle and a long narrow wire thing that stuck out of it. It looked like a skinny gun. At the end of it was a small conical thing with a hole in it. The doctor said to me, in a voice that indicated this was the most normal thing in the world, "Now, I'm going to give you a little spray in your nose to make it numb." He approached my nose with the ray gun, and I held up my hand and said, "Now just wait a minute, please. Now what is this? And why is my nose needing to be numb?" Turned out my nose needed to be numb because the final step was to have an instrument stuck up the inside of it to look around closely. Oh, joy and celebration!

So I allowed him to spray my nose, and that wasn't so bad. I asked him if I was going to feel the instrument in my nose; I expected not too, since I was supposed to be numb. He said, "Oh, you'll feel the instrument in your nose." The one time he shows some emotion is when he's about to inflict the most pain on me. Thank you.

He went back to his magic cabinet and pulled out a black wire with a tiny light at the end of it. We'd moved up to 1980's science fiction. He showed me that it was flexible; when he pulled the end of it, the lighted end rotated around like some electronic worm. That thing was going into my nose. I could hardly contain my excitement.

He put that thing in my nose and oh my god, not only could I feel it, but it hurt! Ouch! I raised my hand, and he said, "Yes?" and I told him that that was just my way of expressing discomfort. He continued. I thought about how much better I liked getting tattooed, and I remembered to go to my "special place" that I went to whenever I needed to not feel pain, like at the tattoo parlor and the dentist. Come to find out my special place could not be reached when being probed by Captain Hook Junior's claw.

He finally finished my session of torture and told me the conclusion of my visit. There was nothing wrong. Perhaps it's just a muscle spasm, and, while annoying, is not anything to worry about. In other words, I had just spent $30 in co-payments and I would just have to live with throbbing pain in my ear. Doctor, I don't know how to thank you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to listen to my iPod really loud, throw up, and sniff some cocaine. Stimulate the senses a little bit, ya know? Have a nice day.

Do You Fluevog?

So it's 6:45 pm and I'm on the train going home. I read my free Metro newspaper and I see a blurb about John Fluevog, the famous shoe designer, being at his store today in Boston from 11-8. I love Fluevogs; they are so chunky and funky. Problem is, they don't fit me quite right. I decide to hop in anyway just to catch a glimpse of the designer and maybe tell him I appreciate what he does.

I go into the store, and there he is, behind the counter. Whoa. There's not too many people in the tiny space, so I could go up to him, but I get nervous. A clerk comes up to me and asks me if I need help. I grab the shoe I'm in love with and tell her my plight. "I really love these shoes, but they don't fit me. The heel always rides up." She says, "Did you try them with the heel pad?" Yes. "With the...?" Yes.

The shoes look like something Minnie Mouse would wear. They're high heeled Mary Janes, red and pink leather, with the funkiest cartoon heel you ever saw. I tell the clerk I just want to tell Mr. Fluevog how much I love his shoes, and she says, "Go 'head, tell him!" and I say, "No, I'm too nervous." She laughs and encourages me. He starts coming over, so I muster up my courage and walk up to him.

I stick out my hand. I say, "Hi, my name is Alex." He says, "Hi, I'm John." Ohmygod he said hi I'm John! While holding the shoe of my dreams, I say, "These are my favorite shoes...but...I can't wear them because my heel is really narrow, and..." and I just sort of trail off. He says, "Oh." I quickly recover. "I might buy them anyway..." and he says, "For bookends, or art or something." "Yes!" I reply, a little too enthusiastically. Nevermind that I have no intention of paying $186.00 for shoes I will buy as bookends because they don't fit me. I say thank you, he says, take care, and I go up to the clerk. "I did it!" She laughs. We say goodbye.

I met John Fluevog. While wearing black Converse low tops with flames on them. How's that for hot?