Actors

are a crazy lot.  When waiting around, as we were this past week to go on in our spot in the one act competition, the discussion began on what were the titles of the two people on the subway train who are either driving or are in the middle, pointing at the sign as noted earlier and announcing the stops.  No one knew for sure.  So two different nights on my way home, at 1:15 am and 11:30 I had the opportunity to ask the person in the middle.  That job position is called ‘Conductor’.  When on another night, I asked the conductor what the motorman was called: he said “‘train operator’ and the test, if I was looking to take it, was coming up in January.”  I thanked him for the information, and texted to the actors who had been discussing this, the answer.  One of them quickly, dryly texted in return: ” that could be a good next career – good benefits but probably hard to leave for auditions”.

Magical

There are evenings and nights in the City that are beyond description.  And last evening was one of those.  Attended Neil LaBute’s new play “The Money Shot”.  About the play, loved it for the meaning it conveyed about celebrity status that we folk convey onto mere mortals.  And the deeper meaning of the play that the ‘mere mortals’ believe it and what a danger that is for their happiness and well-being.  The location of the play was at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, which is a hop and a skip from where I live.  It’s an off Broadway theatre, intimate, and yes small, but works appear on stage here before they head to Broadway proper.  It is a delightful space.  And I attended with TS a new, young friend, well-versed in all that is theatre, as a born and bred New Yorker and a playwright herself.  As we were exiting the theatre, she pointed out LaBute, standing to our right, watching and listening.  In my ignorance, I would have breezed right past.  Then outside she said ‘hello’ to other industry movers and such…  So delightful to see someone half my age so well connected and comfortable in her knowledge.  We mosied on down the street to a local cafe where we could sit outside at 10:30 at night, have a glass and a bite and talk about the play and life.  Only on the streets of New York, in the Village in such tranquility.  Why I love living here.  This morning as I was thinking about it, I paused to recall another Oregon transplant, TG who moved here right after college and stayed here until she was no longer.  She always said she loved it! I get it.

Banks & Baltimore

In the same manner that I wonder how the Mayor of Baltimore sleeps at night, I wonder about Bankers.  Those men and a few women who come up with the gouging-of-their- clientele practices.  On my checking account, I earn $.02 each month.  Think I’ll buy a car.  And now a new one.  Before traveling to any place outside of the States, I find out from the bank who their “sister institution” is so I don’ pay ATM fees on withdrawals.  Not always convenient to use this family-abroad-institution, but it does save on fees.  Balanced my checking last night and noticed that I had $18.53 in fees on withdrawal transactions.  Met with the Banker this morning.  “Oh, that is a percentage we charge on the monies you withdraw”.  Let me get this right, you take a percentage but you don’t charge me ATM fees.  I am supposed to think this is good?  And you pay me $.02 per month on my account.  Bandits.  I received a one-time credit for these fees.  Have to figure a way around this.  Any ideas?

Trader Joe’s

It was a quiet, beautiful Sunday, early afternoon, about 1 pm.  Because of the play I needed to do grocery shopping and figured everyone would be outside playing and no one shopping.  When I was ready to get into the check-out line in the store, it was the usual length, half-way to the entrance.  And there are always two lines and they actually move quickly.  When I was finished and standing by the door to leave, checking my bill, I noticed that the line had grown and was now by the entrance.  I was surprised.  But my greater surprise was coming outside and finding that there was a wait-line to enter the store to shop.  Here you see it as I leave to catch the bus, and to my surprise, it just kept growing as I watched.

Not Quite Believable

Was in Washington DC and took the DC Metro.  – their name for the subway.  The Metro has a rather lame card that can unexpectedly become demagnetized.  When it does, it doesn’t work and you have to get it signed off on, in order to submit by mail for a refund. All rather cumbersome. While in DC two [2] cards I had went south and twice a station master had to sign the card and the amount used.  Using their form I mailed in the cards and the amount owed; $10.40.  I not only submitted the cards but did the math as well, on the form.  Today a check arrived in the amount of $9.35.  Stupefied, I telephoned the office to ask why the difference.  No reasons, no answer, they will now send me an additional check for $1.05.  Go figure.

Was It?

Was waiting for the bus on 14th Street, when I noticed this man across the street from where I stood.  Then while still waiting, he crossed the street and came to stand behind me.  i watched him.  And watched him some more.  There was something -undefinable- about the way he was reacting – or not- to the crowd that had me wondering if he was a well-known actor practicing for a role.

The Man on the Train

On Amtrak Trains on the Eastern Corridor, the 2nd car in the line of cars, usually just past the business class car, is the ‘Quiet Car’.  Position tells you this, as well as the signs hanging from the ceiling about every 10 feet.  No conversations, no cell phone just quiet.  Boarded the train in DC on a trip to Charlottesville and sat down in the Quiet Car.  After a few minutes of settling in, realized that the ‘guy’ behind my seat was talking rather loudly in Bronxenese on his cell phone.  [This train originates in Boston, but picks up bodies in NYC.]  He carries on and soon a conductor approaches.  The conductor says to Mr Bronx that while he is in a Quiet Car he must be quiet and that if he wants to continue the conversation on his phone, he needs to take it to another car.  Mr B agrees and the conductor continues on his way.  3 more minutes pass and Mr B is still chatting loudly.  So I graciously rise up from my seat, look over the top of the cushioned chair and say as nicely as possible, ” You know, the conductor was right, this is a Quiet Car and you need to take that conversation somewhere else.” and slide back down my chair.  Well, did I unleash a pit bull.  He begins in a louder voice to complain that some ‘lady’ in the seat ahead of him dares to tell him to get off the phone.  After all, all the way from New York she has been talking loudly with her “friends” across the aisle, and how dare she tell him what to do.”  He continued for quite some minutes about how I was such a talker… and finally I once again look over the back of the chair to his face and said, “You’ve got the wrong person, I just boarded this train in DC.”  After that I shut him out as he continues to blow hard on the phone and to anyone within earshot of his seat.  I have the idea that he had a couple of other passengers behind me in agreement.  I continue to read my kindle book, when all of a sudden, he was standing beside my chair.  “Excuse me, I want to sit there” and he points to the empty seat beside me, next to the window.  I think to myself, “Ya gottabekidding!”  ‘Excuse me’ he repeats.  Of course, each passenger only gets one seat to claim, so if he wants to sit there, he has every right.  I am additionally confused because within the last 10 minutes while he was diatribing on, the train had made a MD stop and a young woman got on and sat next to him.  By that time, he had hung up the phone and started a loud whisper conversation with her.  I figured he was done with the loud bellyaching.  But no, now he stood beside me.  So I got out of my seat, stood in the aisle so he could pass me and sit next to the window.  Seated, he pulls out his phone, plugs it into the socket, puts on his earbuds and is quiet.  I continue to read.  Then the questions begin.  Where am I going?  I ignore him.  He asks that a couple of times.  No response from me.  Then he says “Look, a picture of my mom in the 20’s”.  I look and indeed it is some old photo of a pretty teen, could be the 20’s.  I say nothing.  Actually sorry that I looked, but the word ‘Mom’ got me.  For probably 20 minutes he alternates between silence with his earbuds in, and asking questions.  I never answer.  I am confused by his behavior and even wonder if I need to worry about his becoming violent.  After perhaps 20 minutes, he asks to leave, I again stand up so he can pass, and he returns to his seat behind me, next to the young lady.  This is a 2.5 hours train ride.  Near the end, about the height of Culpeper he leaves the lady and moves to the head of the seats and sits down to another man, similar clad in shorts and shirt.  The two of them take up conversation, completely ignoring the quiet signs.  30 minutes later the train arrives in Charlottesville.  I have to walk past him, but conveniently, other passengers who gave me knowing looks and head nods during all of the ruckus, get between me and him.  Around them he says something to me, some sort of platitude, but I do not hear it, as he cannot see me and I am not going to give him any further opportunity to ‘to interact with me’.  I leave the train; dumbfounded at his behavior, and having found no explanation for it.