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Posts Tagged ‘Times Square’

• Stand-up Sellers and Seducers

Posted in Relationships & Dating, tagged , , , , , , , , , on February 7, 2011 | 7 Comments »

[This is the Introduction of the nine part Safa Boy Series]

The pests of New York City are notorious. Sewer rats, pigeons (“flying rats”), squirrels (“rats with cuter outfits”), bed bugs, cockroaches,  and the guys who sell comedy tickets in Times Square. Tourists fall for their crafty sales pitches, locals avoid them, I fell for one’s charm and good looks.

Like bed bugs in a street curb sofa, they infest the area, preying on all those they come in contact with. A walk on Broadway from 42nd Street to 50th guarantees multiple accostings:  “Do you like stand up comedy?” “Want to be part of a taping of a live show?” “What are you doing tonight?” At best they are obnoxious, at worst aggressive to the point where you buy a ticket just so they leave you alone. That’s probably how they make half of their money. The other half comes from sales made by promises of headliners who never show and exorbitant drink minimums they neglect to mention.

Note: this is NOT the guy I fell for, but he is an example of those who sell tickets out here!

But don’t shoot the messenger, it’s not the ticket seller’s fault, he’s just desperate for money and likely unable to get a job anywhere else. Anyone can get a job selling comedy tickets- it’s under the table and solely commission based. This means a lot of them are total weirdos, lack social skills or social security numbers, and/or have no capacity for any semblance of “professional appearance”.

I know all this because I’ve been working promotions in Times Square. Remember my Disney on Broadway days? Well currently I am promoting an Off Broadway show that is nowhere near as successful as The Lion King yet somehow they pay me as much as Disney did. Thus I am exceedingly familiar with Times Square’s many promoters- the Scientology flier team (also notorious), the slinky Chicago dance team, the sketchy guys who promote strip clubs, the sweet Irish fellow who promotes Pandora jewelry, the comedy promoters who’ve been out there since my Mary Poppins days. You’d think turn over would be high but it’s not. New promoters are obvious and often don’t last long.

The moment I spotted him, I was instantly attracted. If you look up “My Type” in a dictionary his picture would accompany this description:

Male. Above average height, 6′+. Fit, slim build. Ample dark hair, esp. black. Often of Italian ancestry. Positive energy. Bright eyes, tangible “twinkle”. Roommates may describe as “goofy”. Possesses uncanny ability to make questionable statements-”I’m a working traveler”; “I’m couch surfing while I look for a place”; “I’m sorta in between jobs”; “I’m a virgin”- sound romantic. Dimples likely, great smile imperative. Will induce outrageous flirting and impaired judgment.

He’s selling comedy tickets and so, knowing what I just told you, I keep my distance. Best to stay away, not risk temptation, merely admire from afar. Eye candy to get me through a shift sounds better than chocolate anyway. The only chance for failure with this plan is that he approaches me. Given my luck, of course that’s what happens. He flashes a brilliant smile at me before opening his mouth to introduce himself. One word out of his mouth and I’m a goner. Looks that make me swoon accompanied by a British? No. Australian? No. ….uh what then? South African. A South African accent. I’M A GONER.

[To continue The Safa Boy Series, click for Part One]

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• A New Leading Man Scene ii

Posted in Relationships & Dating, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 6, 2009 | Leave a Comment »

So we see Gypsy and both more or less (him more, me less) hate it. “Not my kind of theatre,” I say and he agrees. Which is fortunate- can anything happen between two actors who have completely different theatrical tastes? (I’ll let you non-theatre types in on a little not-well-kept secret- the average actor is grotesquely obsessed with “their craft” and therefore )I’m thinking no. But who cares! Clearly with our mutual dislike I don’t have to worry about that now! Anyway the date can only get better as we walk away from the theater discussing our disappointment (too presentational, didn’t believe it, blahblahblah- we are both in full on snob mode and I like it) and find ourselves in the heart of Times Square. It’s Friday night and it’s in full shows letting out, swarming tourists, traffic jam form. “Want to go for a drink?” Heehee! look at me on a date that’s going well!The subtext of my “Yes.” response. “I don’t really know a good place to go around here.” ” Well we could always just go to Toys R Us and ride the Ferris Wheel.” I say, being cute, prompted by the iridescent seven-year-old’s paradise looming in front of us.

This is it. It's inside the store. It's ridiculous. I should hate it on principle, and do but part of me still wants to ride on it.

This is it. It’s inside the store. It’s ridiculous. I should hate it on principle, and do but part of me still wants to ride on it.

“Let’s do it.”  This plan absolutely adorable, even romantic, in theory. But as we make our way down the escalator of the store, actuality with its long lines of screaming spoiled brat children and insanely overpriced tickets make us decide the idea is better left in theory. Better left in lue of beverage.

“Have you been to the bar on the top of the Marriott? No? Okay, that’s where we’re going. It’s one of those revolving restaurants and the view’s amazing.” So goes Adorable Idea in Theory #2. Have I stumbled across the last hopeless romantic New York? Is that, contrary to popular belief, not an oximoron?

After a struggle with elevators and coat checks we discover that Theory #2 is also better left in theory- 45 minute waits and double digit cover charges (surprise- romance is easier achieved with a wad of bills) are not my style, nor his. O-m-g we just have so much in common! Third time’s the charm and we settle down at the bar on the third floor of the hotel at a window seat that is conveniently vacated just when we want it to be, overlooking uptown Broadway (it’s a great view here too), sipping wine (him red, me white…maybe we don’t have as much in common as I thought…), talking about same sex summer camp experiences, Maine, singing, being only children (haha! Nevermind yes we do!) and I am genuinely having a good time with Cute Theatre Boy and it’s really nice.

It’s almost one when we leave the bar and walk over to Grand Central (we both take the Lexington line, this was clearly ment to be). I’m searching the sky for the moon which I know is somewhere in the sky as I saw it rising on my way to meet him.

“Wow, look at the moon.”

I'm a total sucker for a full moon, any well-placed moon really.

I’m a total sucker for a full moon, any well-placed moon really.

I point straight up above our heads as we stand on the street waiting for the light to change. It’s a full moon, big and bright,  not obscured by building or cloud. The hopeless romantic in me- who has been stirred from her usual dormant state by the night’s proceedings- is looking up at the moon and looking at the boy next to her and wanting  a first kiss in the crosswalk of Madison Ave, surrounded by whizzing cabs and smoking manhole covers (what kind of cliche would I be if I didn’t want a kiss under the moon?) But I’m an old fashioned girl (what kind of cliche would I be if I wasn’t an old fashioned girl?) who waits for first kisses and so the light changes and we journey on sans lip action. We go inside Grand Central and again are staring up at the stars, this time the golden constellations of the painted art deco ceiling of the Grand Concourse.

ceilingcentral

“Did you know they restored this whole thing not all that long ago? It was a mess. If you look over there, they left a square of what the whole this looked like,” he says and points to a small black square in the north west corner. Wow I can not imagine this whole view blackened. He takes my hand and we star gaze, identifying constellations and zodiac signs (he’s a Scorpio which after thorough searching we discover is not represented in this sky though my sign Cancer is. Whatever that means.  Good thing I’m not into astrology.) A man aproaches us, he’s at some level of intoxication but not messy, “You guys from around here??” he slurs. “No, we’re just visiting for the weekend from Montreal,” responds Cute Theatre Boy. “Oh New York’s a great city,” says Drunky. “Yeah we went to the Statue of Liberty today, it was swell.” This continues on for several minutes. “Well you kids have a good night,” and lonely drunky stumbles off. I give my date a look that prompts “Don’t worry, I only lie about things that don’t matter. It’s fun to mess around with strangers.” I decide to believe him. After all he is an actor, an affliction I must sympathize with. He squeezes my hand and pulls me in and we’re kissing in the middle of the terminal, under the stars, total New York Cliche, and it’s lovely.

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• Stories left from Summer

Posted in Survival Jobs, tagged , , , , , on December 19, 2008 | 2 Comments »

Sometimes when I’m surrounded by the silicone preserved bodies of the exhibition I now work at. Sometimes when it’s 22 degrees out and it’s been raining all day. Sometimes when I make some trivial mistake and my boss makes me feel like a five year old little girl. Times like these make me miss the warm, sunny days of standing among swarming tourists in humid as hell Times Square.  These days I spend a lot of time alone with my thoughts and my cadaver pals. It gets boring, and I a girl who strives to avoid boredom at all costs. In Times Square, thousands of people past me everyday. It’s hard to be bored in that environment, even if only 1 in 1,000 interact with you. A few of my favorites who beat those odds:

The Woman Who Hated Mary Poppins

I’m standing outside the Times Square subway station, passing out fans par usual. Ok, let’s spill. They are Mary Poppins fans. I spent the summer working for Disney. Now you know the full truth. Anyway, this woman in full Obama regalia- buttons, hat, t-shirt- is walking past me. I offer her a fan a KABLAMO she explodes MARY POPPINS IS RACIST! YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE A WHITE LADY A UMBRELLA AND SHE’LL KNOW HOW TO TAKE CARE OF KIDS! ALL THE PEOPLE I KNOW WHO TAKE CARE OF KIDS ARE BLACK! THAT SHOW IS RACIST AND FASCIST AND YOU’RE RACIST AND FASCIST! FUCK YOU! Before I can even open my mouth she disappears down the subway stairs. Lucky she did this to me and not some undecided or Republican voter, I know there are people who would have condemned Obama by association.

The Jesus Freak Searching for His Disney Princess Soul Mate

It’s late afternoon and approaching the end of my shift. I have a bunch of fans in my bag that I’m not going to finish passing out in the next five minutes and I’m a couple of blocks from the office so I decide to pack up and go back a little early. Cue me being a klutz and spilling dozens of fans all over the ground. Great. Few things feel tackier than hunching over to gather little blue fans of the sidewalk, knowing the dirty little secret that they are not going in the trash but will instead go back in the bag and later be passed out to the unsuspecting public. I’m picking up fans. Cue someone stopping to help me. What? I’m in New York. This must be some tourist from Say-hello-to-everyone-in-town-help-your-neighbor-with-his-gutters-ville. New Yorkers don’t stop on the street to help klutzes. That’s the opposite of the cliche. Unless they happen to think the klutz is a pretty girl…Shit.

He’s short, extremely Italian, and promptly introduces himself to me as Vinny. The street is clear and I thank him for helping me and damnit just as I feared, the guy does not continue on his way, but instead starts to make small talk. Aw damnit, I’m a pretty girl. Have you accepted Jesus into your heart? Cue small talk veering in an extremely atypical direction. Great, Jesus freak. Well at least that makes him more or less benign. In theory anyway. Nope Vinny, I’m what you call agnostic. Not into the organized religion thing.  Jesus loves you. He’s the way to eternal salvation….Yawn. I’m walking down the street trying to escape this as indirectly as possible, I’m representing Disney = I’m technically employed to be nice and cheerful and not a bitch, but Vinny’s walking along with me and yammering away with completely stereotypical Jesus Spiel until I want to get to know you, maybe we could do something together sometime? Ugh. Vinny, I have a boyfriend (total lie, but it often gets the job done). That’s okay. I don’t believe in boyfriends and girlfriends. I only believe in soul mates. Jesus has been showing me visions of my soul mate. In the vision she’s a Disney princess. And today when I saw you on the street, blonde hair, blue eyes, your Disney shirt- I think Jesus lead me to you. Well Vinny, you certainly win points for the most original, unlikely to be duplicated EVER pickup line. Wow. I managed to shake free fromVinny by promising I would friend him on myspace. I remembered the url long enough to look it up and have a laugh. http://www.myspace.com/vinnyao. Pretty much what you’d expect from a Jesus Freak I guess. Can you believe his name really is Vinny?

 

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• Frankenstein is My Friend

Posted in Survival Jobs, Theatre & Performance, tagged , , , , , , , , on August 21, 2008 | 3 Comments »

The truly technical term for my line of work is “street team member.” Any show with any kind of budget these days has one (including the guy who stands on the corner for “Private Eyes Gentleman’s Club”. Total creeper.) You see us loitering street corners dressed in the-show-that-owns-us paraphernalia handing out fliers or fans or yelling ear catching jingles. Fortunately working for “the man” sells itself- it’s possibly the most recognizable brand name in America- so I never have to yell anything or make any kind of pitch. I’m still out there acting my ass off however, as the model cute/friendly/helpful/happy-go-lucky street team member. It’s quite the role, not really my type per say but I rock it.

All the different street teams are pretty buddy-buddy out on the streets. There’s a shared “omg tourists suck and it’s hot as balls” that really brings people together. We watch each others backs against the weirdos and share stories about the ridiculous things people do. We’re all in the same boat (although I’ve learned “the man” pays $3 more per hour than the non-man…)

Then there’s the street team for Young Frankenstein (the musical). No cute-friendly-helpful bullshit roles for them. They’ve got a tiny team -only two guys- who are dressed up like Frankenstein (the monster) and Igor from the show. They get to run around Times Square as their monster characters scaring tourists, posing for pictures, teasing everyone, and hell having a jolly fun time.

Frankenstein, as he is a newly created monster of course, doesn’t really talk to people- he growls and grunts, bears his fangs and basically sends them to Igor if they have any questions. That’s the way to deal with silly tourists. Now imagine my surprise when one day he comes over to me, drops the character: “God, can you believe how fucking hot it is today? Woo!” He has a tenor voice with a decidedly gay inflection. Totally cute! OMG, You can talk! I blunder back- immediately realizing what an idiot I sound like.

From then on we’ve been friends. I’ve learned that he has a major cooling system inside his costume- completely with fans (the lucky bastard), that Igor wears glasses but he can’t wear them in character so he’s wandering around half blind, that Frankenstein also teaches dance. They’re two really nice guys. It never gets old watching them scare people, or teasing traffic guards, or dancing like no one’s watching (but everyone is) to Sexy Back outside Virgin Megastore. But my favorite moments are when they’re out of character and you see Frankenstein texting on his cell and Igor sucking down a Sunkist. Those are the moments I wish I had a huge state-of-the-art camera strapped around my neck with the telephoto lens in my fanny pack.

I’m still working the ushering gig at night. This means I’m working 49 hours a week. Which is draining as all hell. That and two+ hours of travel time a day…well now you understand the sporadic nature of my updates. The plus side is ushering just got a lot more fun. The Shakespearean tragedy has been replaced by an awesomely energetic rock musical. So the energy in the theater is completely different (it’s tangible, trust me), the audience is completely different, and the show is a whole hour shorter so sometimes I get some sleep.

People like this play, it’s gotten much better press, and has sort of become the must-see play of the summer. This leads to a much more star studded audience. One of the first nights it started raining during the second act. Rain means we ushers really have to work for our money. Rain means every audience member in possession of an umbrella wants to put it up to keep dry, makes sense right? The problem is people behind an umbrella can’t see the stage. Rain means a loosing battle asking patrons to please put the umbrellas down. Now imagine having this battle with Mary-Louise Parker. Yep. Light rain has begun to fall, an umbrella goes up and before I realize who’s under it I’m poking under it informing Ms. Parker that we have to ask her to put it down because it blocks the view of those in back of her. “Well what am I supposed to do?” she asks me. “Uh, get wet? I’m sorry!” I say before I run off to fight more umbrella battles. Awkward! Especially because I really admire her as an actress and love Angels in America and Weeds. Her date was her co-star from Weeds, Justin Kirk (Uncle Andy) so in spite of my the awkwardness, it was pretty cool.

In attendance we’ve had Joan Rivers (who tried to help me do my job. I’m trying to get a woman with crutches to her seat, which is proving slightly difficult, and Joan pipes up “Where are you trying to get her to?” Let me worry about that, thanks. Girl looks even worse than she does on tv), Sandra Oh, Jay- the first winner of Project Runway, and Kevin Kline. I listened to Zach Braff sing to his girlfriend (according to a little imdb search they weren’t officially together at the time of my sighting which I think is funny cause I could’ve called up trashy gossip magazines and caused an “are they back together??” story) as they exited the theater. After observing him throughout the show (he was right in front of me, I couldn’t help it) I gotta say the man doesn’t do much acting on Scrubs. He is JD, JD is him, one and the same.

Along with the celebrities I still keep running into people I know. From high school, college, you name it. Still it surprises me when I’m walking into the theater one night and hear a “Hi!” directed towards me. Especially when it’s coming from a (though seemingly harmless) man I’ve never seen in my life. The look plastered all over my face is ugh, why do random men always talk to me but I’m supposed to be in friendly-helpful staff mode so I reply, “Uh, hi.” He laughs, “Oh, you don’t recognize me!” He then bares his teeth and growls. It’s Frankenstein! Sans costume, off the clock! I get to see him for what he is: sweet, cute, charming, little gay man by night, scary green monster by day. Arguably my favorite star sighting yet.

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• Working the Streets

Posted in Survival Jobs, tagged , , , , , , on August 16, 2008 | 5 Comments »

I got a day job.Here is my office:

Here are others who occupy the building:

The most famous. He's sold out though (not that I blame him)- he now has Viacom (literally) all over his ass.

The most famous. He’s sold out (not that I blame him) and now (literally) has Viacom all over his ass.

The [deflated/aged] Naked Cowgirl. Not only knocking off the Naked Cowboy but also knocking off a previous Naked Cowgirl. Girl should not be running around in skivies but hell, power to her.

The [deflated/aged] Naked Cowgirl. Not only knocking off the Naked Cowboy but also knocking off a previous Naked Cowgirl. Girl should not be running around in skivies but hell, power to her.

Lady Liberty. She (he? who knows?) is scary cause you can't see her (his? see my point?) face!

Lady Liberty. She (he? who knows?) is scary cause you can’t see her (his? see my point?) face!

Spiderman. Yep, he's dressed up like Spiderman and runs around posing for picture. Again, not a big fan cause you can't see his (but you can tell that) face.

Spiderman. Yep, he runs around posing for pictures. Again, scary cause you can’t see his (though you can tell that) face.

Yes ladies and gentlemen, I am working the streets. Oh God, we always joked the only thing a theatre BA would qualify you to do was suck cock and that “Become a whore.” was a fun answer to “So what are you going to do after graduation?” but we never actually thought you’d do it! What has the Big Apple done to you!?Unbunch your panties. I have not plummeted from the Prudy Judy side of the spectrum to the lowest ring of the Slutty Butty side (although events from the previous weekend make for speculation ummm… that’s another story!) No, I am not a nooner hooker. No, I am not running around dressed up as Giselle posing for pictures with tourists. Although that is not a bad idea….I’d be awesome at pretending to be a princess and totally fulfill childhood fantasies to boot.Can't you see me?

So what the hell am I doing? I am working for “the man” (and that’s the biggest hint I can give) of the theatre world. Doing publicity for Broadway shows. That’s what I tell people, especially if I’m trying to sound like I have a fancy grown up job. “Publicity for Broadway”- sounds like a career,  right? Ha. This “publicity” = me standing on a street corner, wearing a blue visor and t-shirt, looking like a camp counselor (Just an observation: fewer people wear visors than ponchos these days, they aren’t even favored by tourists) passing out fans. The fan is the brilliant summer alternative to the pamphlet. It’s a piece of paper attached to a popsicle stick- that makes it a fan and thus a souvenir. A free souvenir. That makes people want them. And they don’t just get shoved in a pocket like a pamphlet. People wave them around, literally all over town. I’ve seen them up in Central Park, in Chinatown, it’s crazy. Crazy, brilliant advertising. So I stand there, hand these out to people “Is it free? Really?? AWESOME!”, answer stupid tourist questions, smile a lot, people watch like it’s my job, and get paid $18/hr. Compared to what I’d be making as a prostitute, that’s nothing. But it’s pretty sweet for the amount (really lack there of) of effort I put out.

My actually like my coworkers. I was a little apprehensive at first because they are very musical theater- jazz hands, fan kicks, and all. It was a bit much for me on first reaction. But now it’s simmered down. We all share a tiny room stuffed with boxes of fans- close as hell quarters- and I don’t as of yet have urges to kill any of them. I don’t even flinch when they call me sweetie/baby/darling 20 times a day. I somehow find it endearing. Though I’m not spouting pet names out to all my casual acquaintances, I can see it happening in the future and I have to ask myself- is that risk worth the $18/hr? Only cause we’re in a recession.My coworkers know more about the theatre world than I do, which is a cool and rather unusual experience for me. For the most part they’re older than me, too. Which I greatly prefer. I don’t feel like I’m wasting my life yet, it’s just not prime. It’s also awesome because most of them are working actors. One just finished filming a network-ABC-tv show. One just quit to go on tour with Cats. Several have been in Off Broadway shows. My supervisor was up for the part of Simba in The Lion King until he befell an awful throat disease (he’s bitter and amusing). It’s great to be around working actors. And here we all are working for the theatre man in menial labor tasks. I’ve got a bright future: I always wanted to see the lights of Broadway. Now that’s my job. Perhaps this gig is the closest I’ll get. Time’ll tell.

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