Little Women

Good news! I'm playing Beth in LITTLE WOMEN at the Engeman Theater. (Same theater as OLIVER and WONDERFUL LIFE) Rehearsals start Monday. I can't wait to get started. The show runs March 12 - April 19.

Beth is the second to youngest daughter of the March family.

Here's the website for more info. Click on "Show Schedule," then scroll down to find LITTLE WOMEN. Click on the link for tickets if you're interested in show times and prices. Would love for anyone who's able to come see the show!

I'll update with more info on cast members and let you know how the process is going as we go along.

8:42 AM:

Got up at 6. Put on a cute little audition dress. Layered up. Threw my dress shoes in my bag. Pulled on my UGGS. Tromped over to Starbucks. Got a double tall skim caramel macchiato. Tromped over and down to the subway. Went to my audition. Found out they weren't seeing non-Eq. Turned right back around. Tromped over and down to the subway. Am home in my cozy apartment.

It's OK. It MIGHT be possible that in the rush of the morning routine...I didn't shave my legs.

TMI?

My Christmas and my iPhone

I hope you all had a very merry Christmas, or a Happy Hanukkah, for all two of my Jewish readers. Here's wishing you all a Happy Happy New Year.

My parents left yesterday. Something about people leaving in a cab...the goodbyes are brutal. You have to rush all the bags in the trunk and then rush all the hugs because the cab is holding up traffic. Then your parents rush into the cab, and the cabbie rushes away. HE doesn't care that you're still waving, or yelling one last "I love you," or telling your dad how to work the credit card machine in the cab. He's just gone. Pedal to the medal. Your parents have vanished.

BUT, the good news is my brother and his wife are still with us. We saw the Nutcracker tonight at Lincoln Center. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I've never seen the Nutcracker like this. Words can't explain. I want to see every single ballet the New York City Ballet puts on from here on out, for the rest of my life.

The other good news is that my parents left me with my Christmas gift: the upgraded iPhone with the fast and furious 3G internet. It's awesome. I've downloaded a free game of Sudoku and have been playing non-stop. I'm an "Expert" now. Record of 38 minutes.

If any of you know my husband, you know that he is a Mac FANATIC. He got his iPhone last year and tried to convince ME to get one, too. But I, the more patient and logical one, said to him, "Nope, nope, nope. I'm waiting till they upgrade. Those suckers always upgrade and you're left with the crappier one if you bought it too soon." My mom and I went to the Apple store to purchase my new prized item. Seth came along. Here's how it went along the way there.

ME: Ready to go to the Apple store, guys?

SETH: Maybe you should just take my iPhone, and I'll get the upgraded one.

ME: Pfshhh. No.

Here's how it went when we got to the Apple store:

MAC GUY is setting up my account. Then he tells me all about my iPhone.

ME: Ok.....Cool.....Ok.....Yeah.....Ok.

SETH: (interrupting MAC GUY with some computer language I don't understand): 110000101 10010010 0100010 001 010100 101010001 iLiberty 01010010 0100 010101 01101 0001 11101. iLiberty 0101 0111101 1111 000101 101 10001 0101 101010101.

MAC GUY: (distracted from helping me. Turns to Seth): Yeah! 0101001 0101 01010 1000010 10111 001 1001 000 11011 111 11 iLiberty 1111 1001 1010101.

SETH: iLiberty...iLiberty....iLiberty.

MAC GUY: 100101 101 1010101 01101 1010101 10100101 0001 10100101 001 101 1011.

SETH: 0111010 1011 1010110 iLiberty--

ME: HEY! Shut up! This is MY iPhone. MINE. MY time.

This is how it went when we got home from the Apple store:

SETH: Hey, can I see your iPhone?

ME: Pfshhh. No.

It's not that I'm selfish. It's that I told him so. And since I told him so, I have no mercy.

If you lived with Seth, you'd understand the glory in an "I told you so." But seeing as you don't, you may all go on believing that I'm selfish, and that I've lost the meaning of Christmas, and so on and so forth. But I'll go on playing Sudoku and pulling up this here blog faster than he can.

Christmas Time is Here

My parent's arrived yesterday, after two delayed flights and their luggage lost. The good news is they're here. And Laguardia located their luggage. Laguardia over the holidays is never fun.

My parents are staying at our friends' apartment. Our friends, along with their toddler, left this week to see family, and they offered their home to my parents. Our friends live just a block away from us. It's perfect.

We'll be shlepping around the city like crazy tourists. Macy's and Saks today. The Mac store. (Yessss.) And the musical, White Christmas, tonight. My brother and his wife get here the day after Christmas, and my entire family will come see my show on Sunday.

It finally feels like Christmas.

Merry Christmas, folks!

Umbrella Walking

It snowed yesterday. Quite a bit. All day long. I don't know how many inches, but it was a lot. This is me out in the snow.


Note two things in the picture above. 1) The UGGS. 2) The Umbrella. The UGGS turned up useless by the end of the day because surprisingly and unfortunately, UGGS are not waterproof. My socks spent the latter half of the day drying over the heater in our living room. The Umbrella however (yes, with a capital "U,") was my hero.

Umbrella walking in New York City is not an easy task. It is not a task like crossing the street, which becomes more instinctual with time. Umbrella walking simply sucks. Each time. Every time. It is not fun. It is painful. And it is unfair. All this because people don't give a rat's boohiney about how their umbrellas invade your space, or poke your eye out, or scrape your head, or catch and pull your hair. It's each man for himself. Stay dry no matter the cost.

I have often wondered, why am I the one who always moves my umbrella out of the way for YOU. Why am I always the one who sees the man or woman about to pass me and lifts my umbrella higher than the oncoming traveler's so that the two umbrellas do not interlock and mangle themselves to pieces. Why do I have to get extra wet because I'm avoiding a gazillion little pokey things that could have a detrimental effect on my face.

And fancied friends, I have come up with a solution to my quandary, and the answer lies in that picture you see at the beginning of this post.

See how that Umbrella is very LARGE?

Hmmmm? See it?

That's the solution! That's the answer! You see, before yesterday I was walking around with a rinky dink umbrella that flipped inside out with every gust of wind. It was a mere child's thing! Useless. Weak. UNmenacing. Shrinking back from every bully umbrella that came its way. A disgrace to the umbrella race it was. A disgrace to the umbrella race.

But NOW. I've upgraded. Yesterday I was walking along and all of the sudden a man next to me said, "Woah!" and had to do a Neo (you know, like one of those slow motioned back bends) to avoid my Umbrella. As I walked the block I noticed those around me swerve and duck and dive and maneuver, while I peacefully walked along on the ever so beautiful white winter day.

I returned home with wet feet and both eyes.

My Umbrella. My hero.

That's Entertainment

Warm day today. Like, 64...66 degrees. Very odd for this time of year. But, you don't really care about the weather in New York City. Do you?

Mayor Bloomberg is making budget cuts for all New York City agencies, which includes the Sanitation, Police, and Fire Departments.

A slew of Broadway shows will be closing early 2009, Gypsy being the latest to release its news. Grease, Hairspray, Spamalot, Spring Awakening, 13, Boeing-Boeing, and Young Frankenstein are some of the others joining it in its farewell.

But you don't really want to hear about how the hard economic times are affecting New York City. Do you?

Wouldn't you rather hear about which movies I've watched recently?

Here they are, all fantastic:

Moonstruck

Sleepless in Seattle

Fargo (Oh geez, Margie)

27 Dresses (not AS fantastic, but still pretty good)

The Prestige

Sullivan's Travels

Rear Window

Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf

A Streetcar Named Desire

Here's a list of the ones on my Netflix queue, coming up!:

Strangers on a Train

The Birds

Psycho

Notes on a Scandal

Billy Elliot

A Cry in the Dark

All About Eve

Gigi

The Philadelphia Story

Anyone got any great movie ideas, old classics or not-so-old classics that I should add to my queue? Or just ones you love?

Up and Running!

Oliver officially opened this past Saturday at the Engeman Theater in Northport, NY.

If you're around and would like to see the show, just click on the Engeman link above for tickets.

All is well! The show's going great. Here's a few pics. Hopefully more to come.

Our set.

The boys.

"I'd Do Anything" That's me back there standing with Oliver and Fagin



Me as Bet

Me as a "Buyer"

Opening Night Extravaganza:

Me and Michelle DeJean (Nancy)

Me and the boys, Troy (Dodger), Larry (Charlie), and Jake.

Me and Neal Benari (Fagin)

Me and Steph (Charlotte) and Rob Gallagher (Bill Sykes)

Me and Oliver!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!

Rehearsal: Day One

Election Day!

But on a less stressful note, guess who I'm singing duets with in Oliver?

Her name's Michelle, and she's Roxy in the musical, Chicago on Broadway. Or she was until she took time off to be in this show. Where I'm singing DUETS with her.

How cool is that?

OK, geek moment over.

Our first rehearsal was good today. I'm gettin', ahem...ge'ing my Cockney accent on.

Our Oliver and Dodger are the cutest little guys you ever saw with really great voices and really great hair.

I met a guy named Neil, who is our Fagin, and when he introduced himself to me, I didn't know whether he'd been on B'way or not. Since he was Fagin, one of the LEADS, I figured: probably. But when I started to ask him, I thought twice about it because what if I asked, "So what Broadway show did you just finish?" and then what if he said, "Uh...never been on Broadway." I would feel awful for making him say that, so what happened kind of went like this.

Neil: Hello. You're our Bet?

Me: Yes! Hi, I'm Amber.

Neil: Hi. Neil.

Me: So...what...uh...(and here is where I thought twice)...brings..... Uh.

NEIL: What brings me here?

ME: Haha. Probably the same thing that brought me here.... Yeah.

He kind of laughed.

ME: So...wherrrre...arrrre you from, Neil?

NEIL: New York.

ME: Grew up here?

NEIL: Yep. Born and raised.

ME: Great! (And I'm thinking, Dangit. He's probably this big Broadway star and I should know who he is and I don't and I've insulted him. I should have just asked what Broadway show he did. Change the subject, dufus.) I really like your glasses.

Ugh. That was stupidly painful.

But yeah, he's done a few things here or there.

Anyways, rehearsal was fun.

What's New

I have good news.

I booked a show!: the musical, Oliver. Guess all that 6 in the morning stuff pays off. I start rehearsals on Tuesday. I'm playing Bet, and the show's in New York. Which is maybe the best news of all, because I sure like doing shows and sleeping in my own bed at night.

It's the same theater I worked at last year, the one that the New York Times reviewed. It's in Long Island in a town called Northport, so it's a ways out. The theater provides travel, through train or van. But we rehearse at a studio in Manhattan.

My cousin's wedding was beautiful. I'm back home. I'm really tired. The whole extended family went to a karaoke bar AFTER the reception on Saturday, and I'm not sure I've fully recovered. Have you ever been to a karaoke bar with your aunts and uncles and cousins and MOM and DAD? It's kinda weird. I have stories to tell about my weekend, but I'm just so tired.

We're 6 days away from election day.

Seth's birthday is on Friday, and we're celebrating at a friend's house with Halloween cupcakes. Seth and I are going to our very favorite restaurant in NYC on Saturday. TABOON. Mmmmm. Ooh I need to get reservations for that.

I'm behind on laundry, and cleaning, and errands, and my dry cleaning has been at the cleaners for a week now cuz I keep forgetting to pick it up.

The other day, the 7 yr old boy I babysit asked me what a "bagina" was. (Yep, that's how he said it: with a "b") After saying WHAT?? I asked him where he heard that word. He said at school, and that his friend said it was girls' underwear. I said...mmm wellll I think that's a good question for your parents. He asked why he had to ask his parents. I said just because.

That's what's new with me. Getting ready for a new show and discussing the word "bagina."

Confession: Nanny No-No

What's wrong with me?

I'm babysitting my friend's little boy this week, remember - the heart stealer?. He and I were running errands yesterday, after undergoing the painful process of getting a one-year-old AND his stroller down a flight of stairs in a walk-up building, out two heavy doors, and down another mini-flight of stairs outside.

When we came to a corner and waited for the street light to change at the crosswalk (my rulebook for walking in NYC is modified with babies in my care), a guy sitting on a fire hydrant (couldn't tell you why he was sitting on a fire hydrant) says hi to my friend's curly haired, blue eyed toddler.

He says in a manner much to personal for strangers on the streets of New York City, "Hey little guy! Hi! Ohhhh...WOW!...what beautiful eyes!"

Then the stranger looks at me and says, "WOW! Congratulations!"

Now, aside from the fact that that is the weirdest way to say somebody's baby is cute, like the parents have won some providential prize or something, overlooking that fact, I say with a sheepish grin,

"Thanks."

The light changed. I got my white walking man. I crossed the street.

THANKS? Thanks. THANKS! What? Now why in the world did I take credit for a baby that's not mine?!?! I've been thinking about this long and hard since yesterday, because the second I said thanks and crossed the street, I debated turning around and saying, Ummm...actually.... And though I myself KNOW I am not in any way, shape, or form a nut nanny, I can't help but think: Hand That Rocks the Cradle.

I realize I committed the biggest babysitter crime EVER.

So it's necessary I evaluate the possible reasons I would commit such a hanus crime, and here's what I've come up with.

I'm either

A) A nut nanny

B) A woman whose biological clock is ticking and...it's about. that. time.

or

C) A suspicious New Yorker who just wanted to get across the street without telling a strange man her life story.

I'm gonna go with C.

That has to be it.

City Sights

I don't have pictures for some of these:

**A woman in a bright pink button down blouse and white dress pants with a large white "Coach" or something of the sort handbag, lying on the ground, face down in the flowers that are sold on the side of the corner mart. She lifts her head, clearly drunk, and tells us over and over how her husband is such a jerk. Her well-to-do husband comes out of the corner store, sees his wife, shakes his head, and exclaims in a heavy New York accent, "What's wrong with you?!?!"

**A man in the back seat of a cab with its window rolled down yells to the driver, "STOP HERE. HERE!!! YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GOING!!...YES I DO! OH I'LL TELL YOU WHY!!! BECAUSE I'M AN AMERICAN, THAT'S WHY!!!" He gets out of the cab and storms away.

I saw this guy, from the TV show House, crossing the street. Love that show.



And this guy, going into a gym.



This nifty little Smart Car, which I absolutely love.



And as I was shlepping across town for auditions the other day, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the the shiny windows. It was the first cool day we had, on the windy side, and I forgot that on days like those you need a scarf. I improvised.

Confession: Walk Rage

As of today, I am a true New Yorker.

A while back I wrote about the different ways of crossing the street in New York City.
Today, I followed #7 in the rule book: Walk Rage.


As I crossed the street WITH THE RIGHT-OF-WAY (oh yes, I had the white walking man), a big white van took a right turn, right into me. Now when this happens, because believe it or not, it happens a lot, what ensues resembles a game of "Chicken." Who will give first? The walker has the right-of-way, but the driver , because he's turning right on a green light, doesn't want to wait on the walker, and consequently "fakes" driving right into the walker, attempting to scare the walker into stopping and letting the car pass, EVEN THOUGH THE WALKER HAS THE RIGHT-OF-WAY.

Now, see, when a driver does this to ME, I ALWAYS win. Because I take #7 in my cross walk rule book seriously. If I have the right-of-way, then I have the right-of-way. That's all there is to it, and they can wait. You might be thinking, hmmm...that's a bit severe considering she could get run over. But the thing is, if you keep walking, the driver has no choice but to stop, because surely they won't run you over.

Today, the white van almost ran me over. We played our little game of Chicken, and he didn't stop, and NOT ONLY did he not stop, he and his Hispanic friend in the passenger seat laughed at me and waved. This I clearly saw, since their windshield was a foot away from my face.

I stopped. I raised my hands in the air. I...(oh c'mon now, don't judge me)...cursed. And as I lowered my hands and the white van passed me, just inches away from my toes, a series of thoughts went through my head in a split second.

That *&#$^ almost killed me.

I had the right-of-way.

How dare they laugh.

And....

instead of bringing my right arm down to my side as I did my left, my right arm suddenly acquired a will of its own. And....

I hit that van.

Really hard, with my right hand.

Right on its fat white side.

And man, did that feel good.

In Honor of Victims and Their Loved Ones

Conversation tonight with a 7-year old boy in New York City:

He turns 7 on Saturday, Sept 13.

The 7-year-old boy I babysit for had just been put to bed. I see his little frame in the doorway to the kitchen, holding his stuffed rabbit and rubbing his eyes. He hears something in his room, some kind of creaking, he says. We go listen. Nothing. I explain the nature of the walls in New York, how sometimes you can hear the plumbing from the person above... I tuck him back into bed. He says:

7 yr old: Today's a sad day.

Me: What?

7 yr old: Today's a sad day. I saw it on the T.V. in the taxi.

Me: .....You're right.... Today's a sad day.

7 yr old: What were those called?

Me: What were what called?

7 yr old: Those buildings. They were called....ummm.

Me: The twin towers?

7 yr old: No, what was the building called?

Me: The World Trade Center?

7 yr old: Yeah! The World Trade Center! It fell to the ground. What made it fall to the ground? Was it like an asteroid?!?!

Me: .....Well...kind of like that.

7 yr old: Maybe the sun! Maybe the sun CAME DOWN! And CRASHED into those buildings!

Me: ....You know what? This isn't a nice thing to think about right before bed. You need to think happy thoughts before bedtime.

7 yr old: Yeah... Cuz nothing like that would ever happen around here.

Me: Right... Nothing like that.

7 yr old: Was that like....a REALLY long time ago?

Me: That was seven years ago.

7 yr old: Is that a really long time ago?

Me: That was, like, right before you were born.

7 yr old: Oh man. I wouldn't have wanted to be born when that happened.

Me: Yeah.

7 yr old: But that wouldn't happen anywhere around here, right.

Me: Right.... But you shouldn't be thinking of sad things right before bed. Just happy things. Think about happy things.

7 yr old: Yeah. OK. Happy things... Love you. G'night.

Me: Love you, too. G'night buddy.

While Running with Imogen

Yesterday, with my new running shoes on, Imogen Heap blaring through my Ipod, I headed downstairs to walk-slash-run the park. ('Walk" being the operative word.) On the way down the stairs, I ran into the older man who lives right below us. We greeted each other. I removed one ear bud just in case he was in a talkative mood. He was.

He commented on what a nice day it was. He had just finished the 5 mile trail. Oh yeah? I said. I'm just about to do that myself. With an expression that denoted pain and exhaustion, he said something in return that ended with what sounded like the words: "at the end there." I chuckled, because at the very time of his response, Imogen kicked it up a notch in my left ear, and I had no idea what he said or what to say back to him. So I chuckled.

He says, No I'm serious! I laugh even louder as I head down the stairs. Good to see you! I say. Yeah, he says grumpily. As I stepped out of my building I realized he might possibly have said something like, "I fell to the ground and the ambulance came and they had to revive me at the end there." Or...."I collapsed from heat exhaustion at the end there." Or...."I accidentally ran into a cyclist and broke his neck at the end there." Or...."You know I live below you and you're a really loud walker and I wish you'd walk more quietly up there." It occurred to me that he might consider me a very evil person now.

It was a crowded day at the park. Not only were the meadows jammed with picnic-ers, the trail was jammed with runners and walkers and cyclists. Occasionally, I had to use quick thinking logic to maneuver through and avoid injury. At one point on the trail, a point where I was running down hill and uncontrollably gaining speed, I came upon two very slow walkers, strolling along on that beautiful afternoon. I couldn't run around them to the right due to the two cyclists approaching me from behind on my right. I edged toward the left curb to pass the dawdlers, and as I approached, at the very last minute, the couple (the girl being closest to the left curb) dawdled to the left, blocking my way. I had no choice. I had to do it.

"On your left." is what I meant to say, loud enough but calmly enough. Due to the downhill-ness and Imogen Heap blaring in my ears, and the fact that I'm in awful shape, what came out was,

"ON YOUR LEFT!!!"

The girl jumped a mile in the air, quickly stepped to the right, stopped, and then cringed her shoulders to her ears, waiting to be trampled flat.

I didn't run her over.

And later, the WALK-slash-run in me satisfied, I waited at the crosswalk to head home. A taxi pulled up, out of which a forty-something man in a suit appeared carrying two duffle bags. Imogen was finished blaring in my ears. This time I heard plainly.

"Wow, it's a gorgeous day!" he said, to my surprise, addressing me.

I attempted a polite chuckle to acknowledge the pretty day. (Apparently, I chuckle when I don't know what to say.) A cyclist sped toward us. I guess the forty-something man knew the cyclist and addressed him by name.

"George, it's so beautiful here!"

The taxi sped away but the forty-something man in the suit stood and looked at me.

"At my place in Southampton it was raining cats and dogs!"

I gave him a sarcastic smile through pursed lips that said, "You don't impress me. Get over yourself," looked away and crossed the street as fast as I could.

Very eventful day in the park.

Schmooze City

Well, fancied friends, I have once and for all been introduced to High Class USA. A night of shmooze is what I attended last night. All for a good cause, mind you. But shmooze, none the less.

My friend invited me as a guest to a benefit for ACD research: a cocktail party with hor d’oeuvers and specialty drinks, a silent and live auction, after party lounge with champagne and desert, and drum roll please, a concert by Kristen Chenoweth. You can imagine my glee when my friend texted me and asked me to attend. Kristen Chenoweth?!?! Oh boy. My friend (who does my hair) was doing Kristen's hair for the event. So I texted back Yes! and she said they'd email me an invitation.

I never received an email invitation, so yesterday I called my friend to get the details and to tell her I didn't receive the invitation. She said they'd send it, but she didn't really believe that they would. Lo and behold, at around 4 PM, I checked my email and what did I find? An invitation attached to an email which read,

Our apologies Amber. We thought you had this information..

You are confirmed for 1 seat for the show. The attached document will give you any information you need. Otherise, please email....

Thanks! We look forward to seeing you tonight!

...Well! Thank you! I graciously accept your apology! I look forward to seeing you tonight, whoever you might be.

And then I realized. I don't really know what ACD is, and if I'm attending a benefit for ACD research I better know what it is, right? So I googled, "What is ACD?" , and here's what I found:

"ACD stands for Automatic Call Distribution. It is a service that enables a call to be placed on hold until an employee is available to take the call."

Surely not. Surely I'm not attending a benefit for telephone technology? So I looked again and found this:

"What is a CD? We are all familiar with a CD, but what exactly is it?"

Hmmm. Not very helpful.

The invitation also said "Broadway concert cocktail attire a must." Ohhhh-kaaaay. Broadway cocktail? What the heck does that mean? I asked my friend, and she didn't know either. I searched my closet and found a black and white dress, or I could go with a red dress.... Geesh. Which one should it be? Seth finally said the red dress might look like I was trying real hard to draw attention to myself, so I went with the black and white dress. It was an excellent choice. I would have looked like the last burning flame amongst the ashes in that red dress. Thank God I didn't wear it.

My friend had to be at the benefit hours early to get Kristin ready, so I arrived alone. In fact, I spent a good bit of the evening alone surrounded by very shmoozy people. I didn't know what to do, except just walk around or stand at the bar. Once I perused the silent auction table and pretended like I had a lot of money. That was fun.... Once I sat next to a woman who looked nice and started talking to her. She was a doctor, and then I found out what ACD was. It's a respiratory disease that babies are born with. Their lungs don't operate properly, and they usually die within 2 months from suffocating.

OK, so not a telephone technology benefit. That was confirmed.

These people were at the party.

Actor Bradley Whitford
Writer/Producer Aaron Sorkin
I didn't talk to those guys.

Actor NiCole Robinson
I talked to her but I think I called her Amy. Dang it.

And finally, the lovely, Kristin Chenoweth.

Who is the epitome of effervescent joy on stage, and wow, what a singer.

I took a picture with Kristen and got her autograph. I told her she was lovely. She told me I looked lovely. I told her the story of how I met some of her relatives on a plane ride to Tulsa, OK. She said she had lots of relatives and had no idea who I was talking about.

I think we could be great friends.

Thank you, Kathy, for a wonderful night!

City Sights

Gray's Papaya, 37th and 8th Ave.

I just wanted to eat my cookie.

Check it out.

Who says?

Funny how there's a mold that every societal subgroup creates to which all in the group are expected to conform. Who creates it? How does it become what it is? Who says?

Someone once said that New York is the city of misfits.

I think it's true. And then again, it's not. A social class system permeates the island. The elite should do this and the poor should do that. The West Side's like this, and the East Side like that. A child should be raised this way, and eat this, and wear that. They should go to school here (says the Cat in the Hat.)

Before I pay further homage to Dr. Seuss, I'll stop there.

This city is full of people who don't fit many other places. But at the heart of the island, people are concerned with who's in and who's out. It's almost as if it's made up of three kinds of people. People who are "in," people who desperately want to be "in," and people who could care less about being "in," about rules and status and labels.

We belong to the third group. The misfits. The ones who don't care about being "in." But by saying it, we're fitting in. You know what? It feels really good to fit into that group.

Unnatural

It's not natural for a dog to poop on the pavement.

Just plain dadgum unnatural.

I hate walking by a dog taking a crap on the sidewalk in Manhattan.


HATE it.



They look horridly embarrassed: ears back, necks out, beady little eyes, glancing ashamedly at passer-bys. The dogs hate it, too! No grass or shrubs to hide their gross contorted excrementing bodies.

Ugh.

Gross, gross, gross.