OH. EM. GEE.

I just found out the man who actually SAID many of the things I've thought [even as a child...especially as a child...] is dead.

I think we should make a new version of the Bible. A George Carlin version...an After GC version...

I'm so sad the world will not hear more of his 'brain droppings'.

OMG...Goodness...God....George.....

A moment of silence. Or a guttural yelp.

Today is Friday the 13th. Most people think of Jason and bad luck on this day. I think of Mary Kay.

Once upon a time when I was a Mary Kay Lady I was told...and passed on to my other ladies...that Mary Kay opens a cosmetic plant somewhere in the world every Friday the 13th.

I'm not positive I believe this.

I think there would be children in Somalia wearing pancake foundation and bright pink lipstick.

There is something wrong with me.

I was on the subway. I am sitting, grateful for the cool air, with my cell phone still in my hand. I just found out a good friend's husband left her. I'm in shock. Sad and angry.

I am going to call him.

I try and I get some older woman who sighs and tells me the number is no longer his and she doesn't know where he is and she is tired of hearing about him. [She gets this a lot.]

So I hang up and walk. Get on the train. I slowly sit. I almost fall when the train starts, settle, then look down at my hands. I hear a sweet, calming sound to my right. A bird? A flute? No...a harmonica. Soft....sweet....sad melody. So beautiful...I actually almost start crying. I look up and it is.... A MAN WITH ONE ARM. HE IS USING HIS GOOD ARM FOR THE CHANGE CUP. THE LITTLE, GIMPY THING TO HOLD THE HARMONICA TO HIS LIPS. HIS EYES HAVE COME FROM ANGELS...PUPPIES......HIS MELODY IS PURE MELANCHOLY.....

I literally almost bust out, crack-up, bite my cheeks, hold my hand to my face, bite my palm laughing!!!!! What the be-jesus is wrong with me???!!!!!

NOT BECAUSE IT WAS FUNNY. NOT THAT....ANYTHING BUT THAT.....but maybe the timing? THE TIMING I TELL YOU. I was so sad....so sad for my friend and like out of a movie...this sad tune fills the air...and it is coming from THIS...this sweet, beautiful, sad, little, one-armed man with sweet, sad eyes....begging for money...playing....PLAYING BEAUTIFUL MUSIC ON THE ONE INSTRUMENT HE CAN MANAGE.....NOT FUNNY.....NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He stands in front of me while I DIG in my wallet for change...dollars...twenties!!!...anything!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mint?

I shake my head at him....'nothing...I'm so sorry....' and watch him continue on down the train.

He never stopped playing.

Ode to an Ambitious Girl

I have counted on her in many ways since I left home. Nursed through heart ache, heart break, success, poverty, bad luck and good. Catharsis and love and gossip.

She can actually read minds.

She's given me money, because she wanted to see me get what I wanted. No strings attached. She cooks for many and always used to leave me a plate. Never expecting me but knowing I'd show and always late. I've felt encouragement, love, enlightenment. We've shared secrets, smiles, wishes, lovers. And I've watched her...grow, learn, live, share....energize, enthrall, inflame and inspire. I admire her.

And he - a beautiful moth...we all thought could be trusted...who would KNOW her, he with wings of gold but promises of air - he dared to fly beside her....

...and couldn't keep up.

I'm so saddened for my ambitious friend, this ambitious woman. Her soul is there for all of us who dare shake hands with it.
Be careful with her, world. She is a true gift.

Characters/Caricatures

There is an odd[?] gentleman and his mean[?] dog at our dog run. He is there everytime I've taken Stewart and is there almost everytime Greg takes him. When I first heard about the man, Greg started the conversation with, "My arm is sore right here where this Indian guy's dog bit me."

Sounds like the begining of a bad joke.

But sure enough, upon my first encounter with the 'Indian guy'...he had long dark hair, with feathers in it...lots of turquoise jewelry...and a mean dog named after Bruce Springsteen. I'm from Texas and I haven't seen anyone dressed like this since I saw a musical about Plymouth Rock. At Six Flags.

Apparently, Stewart is Bruce's type as we can't keep him off his back. And when we reach for Mr. Springsteen's collar, he barks and bites. He must not be 'out' yet. Stewart is, but Bruce is not his type.

Of course, Bruce is 'just playing'.

Of course.

Indio [I swear this is his name.] tells us this everytime Brucie goes for a limb.

Indio is too busy chatting up the other dog owners, taking pictures with his cell phone and mopping up his freshly spilled beer so the dogs don't lick it up. [For reals.]

Then there is the sweet little old lady who walked by us the other night...just a little purse on her shoulder. She looked a bit off[?] and it kind of[?] made sense when she asked for change. She thanked us, walked a few feet forward while looking down at the change in her palm. She turned back to Greg, held out the 'foreign penny' and told him it was of 'no use' to her. Beggars can be choosers.

Our neighbor - just out of college - vibrant, young, spunky, full of aerobic life - teaches voice lessons for his living. We're not positive it is him, but someone sings "Sandy" at the top of his lungs morning, noon and night...complete with the last line leading into the song: "You can't just walk out of a drive in!"....over and over and over and over and over again.

The same way every time.

Poorly.

It is so ironic, it is adorable and I hope he never reads this. Or that he does and it wasn't him.

Greg is about to go out of town for five weeks for a gig in Vermont and while I am so excited and proud for him, us and everything getting a gig like this signifies...I am only now coming to the realization that I will be dealing with the New York Cityness of my life on my own.

I welcome it and I am a little afraid. I'm not necessarily a Bruce Springsteen fan and I don't like Coors Lite.

Disneyfied.

I stepped off the train this morning and was hit with a warm, bright yellow light. It felt nice but strange. Like when you get a little neck rub from someone you don't know very well and didn't pay. I looked along the ground and all around me at what seemed a reflection. I actually paused mid-step and did a 360 check with my eyes - scanning which building the bright reflection was coming from - "... this is SoHo...there aren't any giant, glass paneled buil....wait...it can't be...."

Yep. The ACTUAL sun is out.

Sometimes it is so surreal to sense something natural in this city it is one's first instinct to assume it unnatural.

Can you imagine going back in time, sitting down next to a Cowboy on the range, looking up at a harvest moon together and saying, "wow...that looks so.... fake..." He would look at you the way everybody looks at George McFly.

The Joy of a Hobby

Since I quit acting my acting has never been so good.