ATC in NYC

Did everyone have to read that book Shiloh in fourth grade? You know, the one with the boy who gets this dog and then the dog dies. If you didn’t have to read it, that’s pretty much the plot (sorry…), but if you did read it then you will be able to relate to a most unfortunate event that happened to me this week.

My iPod kicked the bucket. For the second time this year. I sent out to have it fixed this summer, so $50+ and four weeks later I get it back with the understanding that I had a hard-drive failure. So I reloaded all my songs manually (I didn’t save them to my computer). And what happens this week? The mean hunter (or the car driver… I really don’t remeber the specifics of this Shiloh book…) comes and shoots my poor mp3 player. And now I am a sullen boy without his trusty companion, a must-have in this city.

I really think those sneaky Apple programmers plan on this. They give you just enough time to enjoy your iPod before they push a button that makes it break from Seattle or wherever the crap their sterile, sleek offices are. And the worst part of the entire ordeal is that I still want to turn around and give Steve Jobs $250 for another one. How long do you think I can hold out?

A city of strangers? I think not. Last night I had dinner with a voice-over actor, a Grey’s Anatomy-esque doctor, a television commerical operations technician, a settlement house worker, a nurse, a business journalist and a professional gambler. And I only knew two of them before I arrived. Oh, I met a blue dog, too (further affirmation I desperately need to get a doggie of my own). These types of things don’t happen in Nashville. At least not to me…

In other news, I will have you all know that the tremendous joy that comes from not having to worry about a weekly gas charge, oil changes, insurance, parking fees and sundry expenses associated with owning and operating a motor vehicle in the city is completey shattered when you have to fork over $76 (!) for a monthly MetroCard. Logical reasoning tells me that this is still more affordable than the alternative, but it still made me cry a little on this inside when I had to do it for the first time the week.

In the latest entertainment news from New York and the nation…

1. Whoopi joins the cast of The View | Plans for a third installment to complete the groundbreaking Sister Act trilogy are, sadly, shelved.

2. O.J. Simpson out on bail | After all, he has an entirely new (albeit less interesting) chapter to tack onto the end of If I Did It.

3. Oprah questions Timberlake on Spears’ whereabouts | She then pauses dramatically, mugs for the camera and tells the studio audience to look under their chairs!

4. Reba named Billboard’s Woman of the Year | Which just goes to show you can do great things even if you do not have a visible upper lip.

5. Dan Rather sues CBS for $70 million | Insiders place their money on CBS as Section II of the lawsuit (entitled “Katie Couric is just a smelly girl with cooties”) seems to have some holes.

If you ever wonder why the fattest cities in America are down south (when I lived in Houston I think we won the thing like eleven times), it’s because you have to walk everywhere up here. And I mean everywhere. For the first few weeks, I was completely exhausted when I got home from work. Now, I’m just slightly exhausted. Maybe by the end of my tenure here I can settle for being partially pooped.

But that is one of the coolest things about living here. Every day is an accomplishment. I was chatting with a friend from Nash Vegas this weekend and she asked me what my favorite part of being up here was. My mind raced through all the shows I have seen and the street smarts I have already acquired. But I landed on the feeling I have every time I emerge from my little Subway tunnel in Rockefeller Center coupled with the assurance I have going home knowing I have worked another day in this crazy place. I’m only 20! Let’s put this into perspective, people…

And it doesn’t hurt to have absolutely gorgeous autumnal days like the one that just came and went. Silly me, I was waiting for the end of October to bust out the argyles. However, temps in my neck of the woods have already slipped to the high 50s. It’s enough to make a kid want to take a walk in Prospect Park and pretend he is an amateur photographer with his Nikon point-and-shoot even though he can’t get the flash options to work in his favor to save his life.

It’s called beating the system, America. If you are willing to wake up at 4:40 on a Wednesday morning, catch a train to Manhattan, wait in line at the Eugene O’Neill Theatre for 3+ hours and present a valid student ID, you, too, can see Spring Awakening from the front row for under $30. Completely worth it. I would be lying if I said I loved it. You would be incorrect to think I hated it. So you might as well just read my review:

It would be misleading if I ruminated on the complexities of the adolescent angst musical Spring Awakening as if I knew exactly what it were trying to convey. I don’t. And I don’t think it does either. Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater’s radio-ready score has copulated with a nineteenth century cerebral German drama to give birth to a lovechild of sexual discovery, both liberating and intimidating. But somehow, this mishmash of social taboos in pre-war Germany has met the Dawson’s Creek generation to proudly declare that it doesn’t know what it is trying to convey, frustrating the audience in the very same manner as its conflicted teens. >Continued…<