The First Dudes (Duds?) of 2013

They say if you want to meet new people, try going to a bar alone. I have tried this at my neighborhood bar with less than favorable results- I didn’t talk to any one, the place was too crowded to actually sit at the bar, every one was watching the Knicks game rather that conversing. I imagine I will try again sometime- an earlier hour, at bar with a better singles scene, on a night when a New York sports team is not playing.

It’s a lot of variables though, if you ask me. Want a place where you’re guaranteed to meet a man, or five? Just work a party on New Year’s Eve where your entire job is to look pretty and stand alone in a hallway wearing a sash that says “ASK ME”. (For more on that party see yesterday’s post.)

It’s a struggle to look pretty wearing a cumbersome fabric sash with a balloon attached. Not exactly my perfect New Year’s Eve outfit but at least my dress was cute. I hope I don’t run into anyone I know crossed my mind, quickly dismissed with I don’t know any one in SF any more! Wrong. That thought alone all but guaranteed I’d run into someone. Not 15 minutes in I spotted the little brother of one of my best friends. “Hey Max!” I said, hoping he was enough to fulfill the guarantee. It took him a moment to place me and then we had the conversation you have with all people you haven’t seen in a while and were never close to- where do you live, what are you up to, blahblahblah.

“This is my friend Scott,” he said, indicating the guy he was with.

“Hi Scott,” I said as we shook hands.

“This party reminds me of a bar mitzvah, don’t you think?” Max smirked.

“Yep! Makes me rather glad I’m working and not attending!”

“You should hang out with us when your shifts done. Are you gonna be in this area all night?”

I shrugged, “Can’t say.”

“Well we’ll find you. I gotta find the rest of our friends. See ya.” Max said, and went down the hall.

Scott made no motion to move. “Don’t loose him.” I said.

Scott was clearly unconcerned. He stood there and stared at me. I wondered why he hadn’t followed his friend and then I nearly smacked myself in the head it was so obvious. Scott was looking for his first lay of 2013. He had no game, no conversational skills. I couldn’t tell if he was stoned or stupid. If I had been looking for my first lay of 2013 (and I wasn’t) this shorter-than-me-in-heels, conversational dud with over processed hipster hair still wouldn’t have had a chance.  Had I not been working, I probably wouldn’t have said all that (I’m not that mean) but I might have said, “Nope, not gonna happen.” But I was in friendly! Info Gal! helpful-to-the-max! mode. And also stuck at my station. And so I started asking Scott questions, which he answered (in single sentences) but made no attempt to turn into conversation. Fun? No. Better than telling people to keep the bathroom line single file? Yes.

“Hey, I have a question,” someone (blessedly) interrupted our painful exchange. Eager for distraction, I gave the inquiry my full attention. The question came from a guy my age. Cute and better dressed than most guys in our peer group, he wore a blue checkered shirt set off a pumpkin orange tie and topped with a black blazer with subtle paisley stitching. It was not an easy ensemble to assemble and damn did he look sharp in it.

“How’s your night going?” he asked. “Can you help me get to the stage in the USA room?”

“Sure…the USA room is down the hallway and to the left,” I replied, doing my job. “The stage is in the front of the room, so if you persevere through the crowd I’m sure you’ll make it.”

“That’s where my date is,” he said, showing me the text from her stating her where-abouts. Of course a guy that well dressed had a date. “Ok, this is weird to ask,” he said, “But your sign says “ASK ME” so I’m just gonna take advantage of that.” He paused, “Do I smell okay?”

I laughed, “You smell fine.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “I really like this girl and I don’t want to blow it. You’re sure I’m ok?”

I’d never seen a guy so honestly expressing nervousness, not to mention freely sharing his feelings for a lady. It was genuine and madly endearing. I hope someone talks about me that way to a random girl in a hallway who he’ll never see again.
“You’re fine. You look great, you’re totally charming,” I said, patting him on the shoulder, “It’s New Year’s Eve, and she’s lucky to have you as a date.”

“Thanks,” he said and squeezed my arm, “Wish me luck! Have a great night, happy New Year!” With that he disappeared into the crowd, off to get the girl.

My faith in the male gender restored, I grinned and looked around. Scott the Conversation Dud had disappeared. Win-win! I never saw him again, but I saw many others also on First Lay of 2013 missions. Several followed Scott’s pathetic attempt:  a co-worker who just made things uncomfortable, a cocky fellow with his hand bound in ACE bandage who ignored my question twice- “What happened to your hand?”, a guy who was actually rather sweet and had gone to the same high school as my 9th grade boyfriend. All approached my “ASK ME” badge with the same question, never uttered but clearly burning in subtext: “Will you sleep with me?”

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Sober New Year’s = Judgement & Snark

They tied a balloon on my back, gave me a pep talk, and sent me out into the trenches. The things I saw- the transformations, the tears, the fallen. Things that make me never want to drink again (almost). I watched them arrive, joyous party revelers who politely asked me where coat check was and wished me a happy New Year. Mere hours later they were unrecognizable, transformed into slurring monsters who approached me with slow jerking movements. I was helpless against their screams of rage about bathroom lines, their hands gesturing in anger, sloshing drinks all over dresses- their’s and mine.

All I wanted was to run away. To flee the scene of butt cheeks mere centameters from hem lines, of make-up so distorted by sweat it would have scared trick-or-treaters, of reeky breath hissed into my face- “How come you’re so gorgeous?” That’s easy! Because I’m the only person around who’s not shtfaced! When the man in the suit arrived at 12:45AM and signaled my release, I made a bee-line towards the nearest exit, thankful I had paid attention to the “in the event of an emergency evacuation” briefing. But before that signal came, I was stuck. This is what it was like working on New Year’s Eve. A sober anomaly, I spent the night answering the occasional question, but mostly silently observing (and judging) the metamorphosis from classy event to sloppy shtshow.

"Drunk girls" via a google search and allcomedypics.com. See? Doesn't this make you consider never drinking again?
“Drunk girls” via a google search and allcomedypics.com. See? Doesn’t this make you consider never drinking again? I have totally been each of these girls at parties in the past. My sober experience hasn’t gone so far as to inspire a No More Drinking resolution, but I’ll consider my intake more closely.

And so my first post of 2013 begins with the satire, wit, and flare for drama you’ve come to expect (or at least hope for) from New York Cliché.

Ok, fine, my night really wasn’t that bad. It sure could have been a lot worse. The clock struck midnight and I cheered and high-fived the whole EMS team. We stood in the deserted hallway for the first moments of 2013 relishing the quiet. The calm before the storm. While I was almost done, their night was just beginning. My heart went out to them and I said a silent prayer that no vomit would touch their beings so early into the new year.

My night began at 5pm when I arrived at the hotel sweaty and red faced. Of course I’d been running late- whenever I book a job largely based on my head shot I spend about 15 extra minutes making sure I look like that headshot. I ran almost the entire way to the hotel, which thankfully is all down hill from my parents’ apartment, in less than 15 minutes. This was completely unnecessary as we sat around for almost an hour doing nothing. Then we toured the event space. It was huge.

The rooms were each given a theme for part of the world: “Asia”, “South America”, “Australia”, “Europe”, “USA”, “North Pole”. “This is awkward,” I whispered to one of the other girls, “What about Africa? That’s kinda like, the big missing elephant of the rooms, no?” “Yeah!” She replied, “And the rest of North America? I hope none of the guests are from Canada or Mexico!”

The USA room: Statue of Liberty on the left, Golden Gate Bridge on the right: that's my kind of USA.
The USA room: Statue of Liberty on the left, Golden Gate Bridge on the right: that’s my kind of USA.

Once we were familiar with the space, we had nothing to do until 8PM except eat sandwiches they provided. It was like stocking up at the supermarket before a hurricane hits. An hour before guests arrived they gave us pageant-like sashes to drape over our shoulders reading “ASK ME”. This was then topped with a star shaped balloon that read “ASK ME Official Party Tour Guide 2013” I laughed- it was way too much for even a sober person to read off a balloon.

Hotels often have mirrors every where which made it easy to snap a picture of myself and many balloons (only 2 stayed with me the whole night).
Hotels often have mirrors every where which made it easy to snap a picture of myself and many balloons (only 2 stayed with me the whole night).

We all looked pretty silly with our felt sashes and balloons. They’d never have use wear this junk in New York, I thought. That was kind of my  catch phrase through the night (no doubt to the annoyance of my co-workers). My other comparisons:

1. They had a fashion show during the party: none of the clothes and hardly any of the models were up to New York standards.

  1. The traffic flow of the event was horrendous and no one really said anything- in NYC we all would have complained about that the first year the party was thrown and someone would have been hired to fix it.
  2. It was an open bar but they didn’t serve ANY food: never would happen in Manhattan.
  3. By 12:15 one in ten girls had taken off her high heels and was walking around barefoot- in NY it might have been on in fifty, we’re clearly more accustomed to wearing heels.
  4. They paid us in cash at the end of the night. In NYC I fill out independent contractor forms and wait 6 weeks to see a check.
The Taiko drum rehearsal was pretty thrilling but it was performed in the "Europe" room. In NYC they would have had it is "Asia" where it makes more sense!
The Taiko drum rehearsal was pretty thrilling but it was performed in the “Europe” room. In NYC they would have had it is “Asia” where it makes more sense!

So that was my New Year’s! Judging wasted party goers, comparing New York and San Francisco event scenes, standing beneath my balloon in my station between “Australia” and the bathrooms. All night women asked me where coat check was and men hit on me. Want to start the year feeling superior and like everyone wants you (even when you’re snarky to them)? Work a New Year’s Eve party in San Francisco.

New Year’s Eve from New York to San Francisco

We all have mixed feelings about New Year’s Eve. I usually try to steer clear of blanket statements, but I’m confident with this one.  There’s always pressure to end the year with a bang, to start a new one right. Hopes, resolutions, and reflections. It’s a night chock o’ block full of clichés: count downs, noise makers, Auld Lang Syne, midnight kisses. That uncomfortable feeling when the clock strikes and the first moments of a new year are spent avoiding eye contact with a fella you really don’t want to kiss. The feeling of loneliness when the fella you do want to kiss is in another country, another state, or just didn’t manage to show up before midnight. It is a night notorious for high expectations that are rarely met.

My expectations for New Year’s Eve will never be met because they come from watching When Harry Met Sally at age thirteen. The party in the last scene- that’s how I think all adults are supposed to spend NYE.

Sally’s outfit is exactly what I wish I had every year when I rifle through my closet full of clothes thinking I have nothing to wear! Why the hell don’t I own elbow length gloves?! That party is just the right amount of fabulousness, complete with champagne and a disco ball. Sally thinks she is starting the year dateless, but instead her year ends with the perfect, grand romantic gesture. Bah! My New Year’s will never live up to that! I might as well stay home!

Though no one has ever declared their love (or even given me a decent New Year’s kiss), New York City has given me consistently great New Year’s.

2008/2009 The night was spent with five of my best girl friends from college. We had a lovely, reasonably priced dinner  at an Italian restaurant on the UWS. We were the perfect number of people to share a table, feeling classy and just the right balance of low key and fun. We rang in 2009 over beers at the Dead Poet (still one of my favorite bars). Taking the subway home, my cell phone fell down onto the tracks. On New Year’s Day a police man jumped down to recover it (and did NOT get hit by a train), making my first really-cool-New-York moment of 2009.

2009/2010 This was the year Miranda, Charlotte, and I all lived together. We were excited to spend New Year’s together. A snow storm preceeding the 31st lead to the brilliant idea of staying at home and a spur-of-the-moment house party. About 12 people showed up which turned out to be a really fun number. The first moments of 2010 were spent on our roof, blowing smoke rings and noise makers. The door back to the elevator locked on us and we had to climb to another entry-way to re-enter our building. In the hallway we heard the sounds of another party. We looked at each other: Yep. Let’s crash it. Miranda and I were the only women to be found between the four walls, and my first really-cool-New-York moment of 2010 was being called fabulous over and over by 60 or so gay men. Lost my unlimited metro card in a hungover state the next day- didn’t buy another one for 2 whole years!

2010/2011 The Off year, to say the least. I was supposed to work an event in Times Square that night, but police surrounding the area wouldn’t allow me to reach the hotel where the event was taking place. I went home, dejected, and changed into party clothes. I went to a party my friends were throwing up in Hamilton Heights, hoping Safa Boy would join me before midnight. He didn’t. I spent the first hour of 2011 smoking and drinking a huge cup of champagne. I spent the second hour of 2010 throwing up thanks to this disastrous combination. I left the party without making a scene and waited for Safa at the subway stop. Promptly upon his arrival, I threw up- half on the subway platform, half on his pants. My first super-not-cool-but-super-New-York moment of 2011! Got home only to discover I’d left my keys at the party. Continuing the trend of always loosing something on New Year’s Day! I somehow made it to work a promo the next day at 10am. BAM.

2011/2012 Last year! Worked my interactive theater job until 10:30 PM. Made friends with a 4 year-old who only spoke Russian but still thought my character was hilarious. She taught me how to say “Happy New Year!” in russian, I taught her how to say it in english. After work I waded my way through the craziness of Times Square which reached all the way up to my job at 57th and 6th. Ended and started the New Year at a party full of good friends. Danced, drank responsibly, made good choices, no vomiting or loosing things!

And this year? It’s my first year not in NYC since I moved in 2008! I’m ringing in the New Year 3 hours after my beloved city. Weird. 2012 ends and 2013 starts in San Francisco. When my only good friend in the city told me she wanted to ring in 2013 doing midnight yoga, I was stuck with a predicament. Did I really want to start a New Year feeling shitty about how inflexible I am? No! And suddenly, it hit me- why was I not working NYE? With just 3 days to go, I wondered if I could find a job. And I did! Answered an ad on craigslist looking for models- something I would never do in NYC, but figured I’d have a shot here in less image-conscious San Francisco- to work a huge swanky party in downtown SF. That is where I’m off to now! I’ll let you know how it goes!

newyear

How are you spending your New Year’s? Hope it’s great! See you in 2013!

Quick Christmas Cheer!

empirestateXmas

As magical as NYC is during the holidays, the cliché goes: there’s no place like home for the holidays. I’m spending Christmas in San Francisco with my parents! I’m off to eat the amazing croissants my mother makes every Christmas morning, and open presents (we’ll see how fun that is as my parents always ask for wool/cashmere socks…).

Happy holidays, dear readers! Wishing you and yours the merriest of days.

The view from the end of the street I grew up on. Beautiful all year long and even more so at Christmas time.
The view from the end of the street I grew up on. Beautiful all year long and even more so at Christmas time.

Christmas Clichés: The Radio City Christmas Spectacular

 

The Radio City Christmas Spectacular is the epitome of a New York cliché. I’d lived in the city for over four years and I’d never been. I started feeling guilty: “And you call yourself New York Cliché!?” A quick search on the internets and I found $20 tickets. They were front row center…of the 3rd mezzanine, but still good seats. They were for 11am on a Wednesday….but I have enough friends with weird schedules to find a date. The main thing was, they were cheap, I was free Wednesday morning, and excited to see just what this show would be like.

radiocity1
Radio City doesn’t stop you from taking picture like most theaters in NYC.

I’ve seen ballets before, attended operas, there is a box under my bed full of playbills from plays and musicals. This was my first spectacular. There is nothing else to describe it. Even the crowd outside is a spectacle. At least a dozen traffic cops are employed to maintain the swarms of people who see this show. On the last Wednesday of November at 11am, it was relatively calm, when I peered down at the orchestra, it wasn’t even at 50% capacity. But the week before Christmas? It’s hard to imagine. Saturday the 22nd this show performs six times, in ONE day! It boggles my mind! There is no Rockettes “B Cast”- the same ladies perform every show. Unbelievable stamina, you’d think they were plastic machines á la Barbie. But no, they are real-live human beings fulfilling incredible dreams. Magical.

rockettes

That was the most magical part of the show for me. Watching women who have dreamed of being on that stage since they were seven. Who maybe played with their Rockette Barbie and said, I’m going to be just like her one day. The talent and beauty, but more the drive and dedication is jaw-dropping.

This number "The Parade of Wooden Soldiers" has been performed since 1933! Utterly classic, astonishing precision.
This number “The Parade of Wooden Soldiers” has been performed since 1933! Utterly classic, astonishing precision.

It is a show made for children, but I certainly enjoyed it from the adult perspective. For me the show was all about The Rockettes, I couldn’t help viewing most of the scenes they were not in as filler: okay, so this is their costume change/water break…are they back yet? As a child, and I could feel this from the energy of the kids around me, the dancing is the boring part (except for those aspiring Rockettes in the audience, and you know they’re there: read about one little girl’s audition process in this fabulous blog of a former dancer) and the scenes in between of Santa are the best part. In the auditorium full of children, one with amazing acoustics, you can hear the vocal reaction. When Santa makes his first appearance, everyone under 5 couldn’t contain their glee: Santa! they squealed. Before the curtain rose, lights began spinning in snowflake shapes, swirling us into a magical blizzard. The collective gasp of children as this happen was magical and put a huge grin on my face. I didn’t stop smiling for the entire production. You want to relive childhood? See this show.

radio city christmas spectacular rockettes
In this number, the Rockettes dress up as Santa. Pretty funny to see these gorgeous, amazingly fit women masquerading as fat old men!

It is built for the attention span of the modern child. Set pieces have mostly been replaced by a gigantic movie scene. An entire scene revolved around a video game (I hated it. Don’t get me started.) We were even given 3D glasses as part of the viewing. Of course, I hated this on some level- let it be live performance! I didn’t come here to see a movie! I HATE 3D! Still, the holiday spirit was too over whelming for me to turn into a theatre-critic-grinch. I had to remind myself- it isn’t theatre, it’s a spectacular! Still, it’s a nice mix of modern and classic. Many of the scenes, like the Toy Soldiers above, have been performed for generations. The last scene is a gigantic nativity complete with real sheep and live CAMELS.

radio city christmas spectacular
The cast sings “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”. It is astonishingly unPC for 21st century New York City.

It was certainly an enjoyable show, an enjoyable morning. Worth any disease I caught from the sniffling children around me. Now I’ve seen a spectacular, seen a show at Radio City Music Hall, seen The Rockettes. When I go home for Christmas (and I am this year!) I’m going to try to dig up my old Barbie. The nostalgia of childhood is delicious at this time of year, isn’t it? Makes me want to visit Santa himself….

Radio City music hall

Have you ever seen this show? What’d you think?

Why I Blog: I Like Playing with Fire

I am aware that sometimes I walk on thin ice. I click the “Publish” button on my side bar, knowing full well I’m playing with fire. These texts are in my message history, “I wrote about you in my blog. Let me know if you hate it.” I look at the collection of stories I’ve told here, the comments I’ve received, the depth of my writing, how my style has evolved over the years, and I am proud. Occasionally so proud that, for a fleeting moment, I wish my name was attached to it. Why doesn’t the world know I wrote this? It’s good! Look at me, I’m clever! At the core of newyorkcliche.com is the desire to write, not the desire to be read; no doubt this is obvious. I spend hours crafting each entry. I do it for myself, yes, but I send it out into the world hoping others get something out of my writing.

Why I Blog
Hey world, do you?

Is this blog a labor of love or an accident waiting to happen? I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, in the wake of a hostile Facebook message I received this week. It left me a little shocked, a little horrified, and a little amused. It was sent by a fellow I never expected to hear from again. One I wrote about three years ago. Having met him at the grocery store, I gave him the moniker Trader Joe’s Crush. Long time readers may remember him. I remember him as sweet and kind, not a guy to lash out angrily with an aggressive “F– you!”

I can’t be surprised my blog has stirred up a bit of drama. This blog is about living in New York, from my unique (yet cliché- a paradox?) experience. Yes, often, it gets personal. Honestly, those are my favorite posts to write. A friend once told me it was”too personal”, that some entries made him uncomfortable. And you know what? I took that as a complement. I’m an artist by profession. I want to make my audience (that’s you!) think, I want to push the envelope. Affecting people is my passion. Even if the effect is discomfort because you feel like a voyeur outside my window, able to see through my sheer curtains. Is that how you feel reading my blog sometimes? My hope is that you can relate when I get personal. That’s why I share my fears, struggles, mistakes. I like the self-discovery element that can come through writing. Even more than that, I like to think readers can benefit from my experience. I really hope you do.

Where I truly tread on dangerous ground however, is when I write about other people. (No, duh.) I’m well aware of this. Back in the day, I used to say I write what I want, I don’t use real names, the person I’m writing about probably will never see it and if they do and don’t like it, they don’t have to read it! I’ve changed my tune these days. Now when I write about someone, I’ll tell them to read it with the disclaimer: “Tell me if you hate it.” No one has ever asked me to take down a post. More often people say, “Write about me in your blog!” Now some people have figured it out: if you talk to me about my blog, I’m much more likely to write  about you.

All the boys I’ve written about here, aside from a few dead-end dates, end up reading what I wrote about them. Usually because I told them to. None have had much to say, aside from complementing my writing style, or really seemed to care. Except the boy who found my blog while we were dating, confronted me about it when I broke up with him, and apparently still thinks about it three years later. Here are the blog posts I wrote about him in 2009. Here’s the Facebook message he sent me this week:

tjguyFBmessage

So, dear readers, Trader Joe’s Guy wants you to think of him as an asshole. I hope, for his sake, maybe you will. Me? I can’t. When I look at this message, all I can imagine is a nice guy whose girlfriend just left him for the cliché “bad boy”. He’s hurt, he’s looking at past relationships for insight, he’s looking for someone to lash out at. I’ve re-read the entries I wrote about him- I said nothing bad, I hardly call him a nerd. I’ll never think of him as an asshole (further proof men like being “assholes”!) Did someone miss the attention? He had to know that I would write about this, I have to assume he wanted me to. When a person says “Fuck you” to me, in word or in action, I stop caring about their feelings. Shocker, right?

This blog could be exclusively about New York cliché attractions and events. That would be safer. Perhaps that’s why you came to my site and you will find plenty of that here. I like letting you walk a mile (or five) in my shoes, showing you NYC as I see it. The sights of the city- some iconic, some strange– most of which you’d never find anywhere else in the world. You sit back in your deck, where ever you are in the world, and let the back of my little blonde head be your New York tour guide. Is that what you’re hoping for, disappointed I’m instead pontificating on blogging drama?

My intent is to entertain, to affect, to relate, occasionally to inform. That is why I blog. I desperately hope I succeed on these levels. I never blog to be mean, I never blog to passive-aggressively get a message to some one. I can write any thing I want about myself, especially with my shroud of anonymity. Although while no Google search of my name will lead you here, plenty of people know the face of the girl hailing a cab. People who know me know I am writing this. I know on some level, it affects their opinion of me. One friend said he didn’t realize how smart I was until he’d read my writing. I made a dumb blonde joke and thanked him. I like to hope it’s always for the better but I’m not that naive. I accept that, I’ve made my bed and I’ll lie in it.

Have you ever had blog drama? Have you been on the other side- where someone wrote about you? What was that like (I have no personal experience with that!)

On a happier note- it’s Christmas time in the city! radiocityYou know what I want for Christmas? I want you to read my blog. That’s what I want. The best Christmas present ever would be feedback. I asked a bunch of questions in this post. I’d love to hear any of your answers or really, anything you have to say at all. Especially if it’s, “I don’t think you should have posted this.” Even if you want to say, “F— you,” that’s you prerogative. (Though I would encourage you to find a more creative/respectful way to say such a thing as I do not react well to disrespect). A simple, “I get something out of your writing,” means the world. Yeah, it’s a little corny, but you can just say you copy/pasted it.

Other NYCs: My Precipice Producer/Director Friend

In the small world of New York City, there are certain people you see all the time. You know the same people, you travel in the same circles, you work in the same field, all of the above. You bump into each other on the street or at a party and you have plenty to talk about. It’s like your on the precipice of a bone-fide friendship- if the wind changed direction, the tides would turn from merely Facebook friends to let’s-hang-out friends.

That is the cliff I stand on with Laura, this week’s featured Other New York cliche. We see each other on a regular basis, we have very similar interests, a ton of mutual friends, but we don’t know each other all that well. As luck would have it, she reads my blog (which I was flattered to find out) and volunteered her time to answer my little questionnaire. Now I know her a little better. Not only is she lovely, passionate, and compassionate (you don’t need to know her well to know that!), she’s got some great stories to tell. Here, I leave her to call the show blog:

She still has gorgeous headshots even though she’s usually on the backstage side of the theater.

Name/prefered pseudonym: Laura

Borough and neighborhood: Crown Heights, Brooklyn

How are you a New York cliché?
A struggling artist, working multiple jobs, trying to make it in the big city?

Also I’m one of those women who always carry their heels to an event and have flats stored in their purse. So you will often find me on a corner before an opening or interview trying to switch shoes while standing on one foot.

They say no one who lives in New York is actually from New York. Where are you from?
Upstate New York. The real upstate. Ithaca. It’s one of my favorite places this time of year. The leaves and the angle of the light make everything so beautiful.

Bloomberg is banishing you from NYC. You have 24 hours before you have to pack up and leave for ever. How do you spend them?
I’d get a group of my close friends together and walk Broadway. Start early in the morning and go from the top of Manhattan to the bottom, exploring places along the way, talking, debating, exchanging ideas, with maybe a few detours to Central Park, the Met, and the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Hopefully we’d start early enough to get to Battery Park in time to watch the sun set. It’s one of my favorite things to do in the city regardless of weather or season.

Then we’d go out somewhere (a bar/restaurant, preferably one where you could find both karaoke and swing/latin dance music possibilities) and play til the 24 hours were up.

At Coney Island, making sand castles and sipping a soda from Nathan’s #newyorkcliche

What restaurant/bar you keep going back to, even though you’ve been meaning to try a dozen others?
Heartland Brewery. My friend Amanda and I have been to every one in the city. It’s been our go to place for almost 3 years, even though we keep saying we should find somewhere new. I always get their raspberry cider.

Hot dogs or pizza?
PIZZA. Hot dogs are sketchy. I like “Sicilian”  pizza. The kind with the thick crust and lots of cheeeeeese!

So you live in NYC, but what’s one super-touristy thing you secretly love?
I love Macy’s! It’s so silly but I love shopping at Macy’s. It’s what I do when I’m bored in midtown. I love wandering their floors looking at things, especially the 8th and 9th floors (furniture and household goods), and the evening gowns section. I never buy anything but it’s fun to kill time there.

A visit with Santa at Macy’s Santaland.

Ever had a run-in with a celebrity (A-D List)?
Yes, literally.
I was interning on a show. It was opening night and I’d been sent to drop gifts off at the theatre before half hour. I was in a hurry to get back to the office so I bolted out the stage door and ran into Matthew Broderick, the show’s lead. Nearly knocked him back onto the sidewalk and probably scared the crap out of him. It scared the crap out of me. You couldn’t see anyone coming through that door. I ran away very quickly after that….

You totally saw something weird on the subway or street today (you may not have registered it was weird because you are jaded), what did you see?  
A guy in a tunic in Times Square doing something that looked like it was from the Ministry of Silly Walks.
Later I saw a friend of mine posted that it was part of an SNL skit taping he was working on. Go figure.

Location scouting in Queens! So urban and rural at the same time (plus I’m glad she made it out alive).

What is your favorite fictionalized New York? How does it compare with reality?
I don’t know that it’s my favorite fictionalized version but when I was young I loved all the old 1930’s musicals there were set in NYC. The ones where the Vaudeville star made it to the Great White Way. I liked the idea that you could “get” there, that it was possible for the underdog artist to make it. And I loved the beauty and epic-ness of them with all the giant Ziegfield Follies type musical numbers.

I think I was almost disappointed the first time I walked into a New York theater and realized just how tiny it was. It was nothing like the movies.

Plug something! Be it something you are involved in, your significant other/roommate/cat is involved in, or just something you think is extra-special going on in NYC.
I’m producing/directing a short film called The Ticket Seller! It’s a sweet little short about the power of choice in a person’s life.

We have a lot of great artists working on this project already and will be doing casting in the near future.

CHECK US OUT here: https://sites.google.com/site/theticketsellershort/home

Thank you, Laura, for your insightful answers and being such a great feature. (Sorry it took me a while to publish it!) I’m really looking forward to seeing the progress with your The Ticket Seller project- it was awesome to see an audition notice on Playbill this week. Hope you got a good turn out! Good luck with everything!

What do you think of this series? Love it so much you want featured? Fabulous! Email NewYorkCliche@yahoo.com.