A Evening with Nate

Working where I work, I've come across my share of celebs. Some are well known, some think they are well known, some deserve to be most known. Nate Berkus falls in the latter category.

Rewind. 2006. My family and I just finished dinner at a quaint Italian restaurant on 8th avenue. As we're leaving the joint my cousin slaps my arm and says, "We just walked by Nate Berkus." Me: "Who?" Her, flabbergasted that I'm clueless: "He's always on Oprah, he does home design." I shake my head and smile; I hadn't watched Oprah since college, back when my schedule allowed for it. My cousin rolls her eyes. And that was my first run in with Nate.

Fast forward. 2010. Nate is getting his own talk show. Sizzle reels, decks and artwork pass by my desk. All have one thing in common; his face (an adorable one at that.) Soon enough what was once on a piece of glossy paper is now in front of me. We are quickly introduced as he is in town to meet our group and their clients at an event later in the evening. I'm assigned a specific task for the meet and greet: shadow Nate. First thoughts: easy breezy.  

We arrive at Monkey Bar and I meet Ali the photographer. She's personable, full of stories and shares my sense of humor. Instant teammate. Nate arrives soon thereafter and we're all given the lowdown: it will be my responsibility to make sure Nate meets all the clients, spends enough but not too much time with them and has numerous photo ops. Light bulb! Publicity work. Something I was once involved in but forgot about when production took over my (side job) life. Nice way to be reintroduced.

At first things are moving slowly, clients are taking their time to arrive. Ali and walk around snapping random photos. Then it seems as if everyone picks the same moment to make their fashionable entrance. They also share another goal: immediately wanting to meet Nate. Game time! The next two hours involve me ushering Nate around, learning how to catch his eye or politely interrupt him in order to move him to another client, hearing my name called from each direction by my colleagues who need his attention, holding his drinks during photos or running off to replenish said drinks. With each introduction, he is charming and engaging. He listens and you get the sense you already know him. It was all a blur for me, quite a fun blur.

At one point, when I reach to hold his drink again he says to me, "I'm growing an attachment to you." I, and the group of clients around us, laugh. He continues, "Seriously, I'm going to wake up in the middle of the night, look around and say 'Where's Lauren?'" I smile at the warmth of his joke. This is Nate. Funny, sweet and the kind of person you instantly want to be friends with. What's most important, from my own experience, is that I can't smell a fake bone in his body (and I've got quite the nose for such a thing.)  And it is because of this genuineness (and his talent of course) that I think his show will do very well. In a room of more than a 100 people, not one walked away feeling they couldn't relate to him. I think that says a lot.

By almost 9pm things were finally beginning to wind down. I was introduced to some of his good friends and family and then it was time for goodbyes. He thanked me for helping him through the evening. I thanked him for being quite the trooper. And silently and to myself, I thanked him for reminding me of something else I'm good at. 



For more info on Nate, visit: NateBerkus.com

To check out Ali's awesome photography, check out her site: AliPaigeGoldstein.com

Dan.Crew.Me - Part I

The main portion of the contest I won and spoke of in recent posts was a full day dedicated to the film shoot revolving around my essay. The chosen production company was Moxie Pictures and the director, Dan Beers. Dan, who usually directs and writes comedy created this hilarious short starring Bill Murray back in 2007.

Bill Murray in FCU: Fact Checkers Unit from Bill Murray

I didn't need to see the short ahead of time to know that Dan was super talented and shared my sense of humor. The irony, however, was that the short he envisioned for me was not a comedy. And therein lies the blank canvas that blanketed the beginning of this project. Something new for Dan. Something new for me.

It took place on December 8th. And this is how it went down...

6:00am- Alarm. The idea of getting up this early was appealing, until I actually had to do it.
6:45am- Lay on couch. Thinking I can nap just a few- buzzzzzzz! What?! It's 7 already?
7:00am- Crew arrives. Eight people make their way through my door. Steve (producer) snaps us into attention. "Make-up, asap!" He's authoritative and sounds familiar. Oh yeah, like me! Duh. Susie Sobol gets to work on my face. It may be early, but this is becoming fun again.
7:20am- Hair. Susie's finishing up my locks while Dan snaps pics for me. He's an earthy director. Has no problem taking my picture, and then promptly making fun of me.
7:25am- Kris (production designer/wardrobe) helps me sort through my wardrobe. It's cold out but a dress would look cute I say. So much for warmth.
7:30am- Three Dans and a Mike meet me in the hallway. Steve reminds us to keep library voices. Dan directs me to walk. Easy enough.
7:40am- I’m introduced to the “doggycam” also known as a “me” cam. It’s a large contraption. I’m scared. I’m told Will Smith wore this very piece. Well in that case, strap me in! I bend and twist. Oh, I think to myself as the camera points right at my face, this is…odd.
7:45am- Lauren, smile. Oh wait, never mind. Keep with the sour puss, it's more believable for morning.
8:00am- Christian snaps pics of me in the awkward contraption. Facebook! Susie I’m sweating, help! She rushes over with make-up brushes. Dan fans me. Someone feed me grapes, now! Kidding.
8:15am- All nine of us slip downstairs, hoping not to draw attention. Bump into my super in the lobby. Doh! It’s a student film… with a director that was hired. And a fully paid crew. And. Ok, yeah, it’s not a student film.
8:30am- Pile into the rented van. Susie meets me in front seat and starts touching me up while Tom asks me how to get to Lincoln. I direct as lipstick is applied.
8:35am- Dan makes my stomach hurt. Because he keeps making me laugh, not because he sucker punched me.
9:00am- Arrive in the Bronx. 241st train station. Renegade filming. Well, this should be fun!
9:15am- Down the block, Dan yells "action!" I notice. And so does everyone else on the block.
9:17am- Between takes people stop to ask me who I am and what movie I’m filming. I just smile…and run away.
9:20am- Christian buys me water and tells me to find him if I want anything to eat or drink. It’s on production’s tab. Awesome, I’ll take lobster. Oh wait. I don’t eat fish.
9:25am- There are a lot of cops around because a woman was shot in the area the morning before. Lovely.
9:45am- Up on the platform. Jesse is to my right, wearing a mask. Dan and Dan are across the platform shouting directions between trains passing. Lauren, look left. Jesse stay there behind her. Good now---skrreeeeeccchhhhhhhhhhhhh.
10:15am- Walking to the van a passerby shouts “Ducksauce!” at me. Is that a movie? A come on line? An indigenous language from Siberia? I have no idea what he meant but we’re all laughing.
10:30am- Heading to the city. Laughing.
11:15am- Stuck in cross-town traffic. Not laughing.
11:30am- Steve jumps out of the van and makes a run for it. Tries to intercept the food delivery that is happening two blocks ahead of us, which we’re about to be late for.
11:31am- Steve makes it. Food doesn’t.
12:00pm- We’re spread out in the atrium. Food has arrived and I’m talking to Jesse and Susie about the IRS and their shenanigans.
12:30pm- Dan tells me it’s time to jump into the doggycam again. I stop eating. Here? On Madison Avenue? During lunch??? Yes.
Gulp.

To be continued…

California Dreamin' Part 3

Friday (11/6)

Jaime accompanies me to the lot. Takes it in. Breathes it out. I leave him at Coffee Bean while I participate in a quick meeting. Afterward I make rounds. Goodbyes are said. Some with old friends, others with new. I'm sad. Two days in this new world and I'm sad. Melodramatic. Meet Jaime back at CB. Our lot tour guide meets us there. He's spiffy and quick with words. Reminds me of less attractive version of lead guy on Glee. Oh, and he's an actor. I have yet to meet a waiter/tour guide/gas attendant in LA who is not an aspiring actor. Learn about the golden years of film. He's such a good storyteller that I imagine Humphrey Bogart will exit a sound stage at any moment. Enter sound stage 27 where Wizard of Oz was filmed. Sound stage 15 is 40 feet high. I think it could take hours to climb a ladder and touch the top. Quick stop at the backdrop painting facility. So you're telling me that's not really NY landscape outside Peter Parker’s NYC apartment window? The set of upcoming "Priest" has an open door, we creep inside. Same with Green Hornet office. Real movie sets give me chills. Far cry for Side Job sets. One day Lauren, one day. No celeb sightings but enough history talk to keep us buzzed.

Time to drive. Up and through Hollywood we go. Land at Highland and Hollywood. Park. Walk. One block. One block? Yes, that's all "Hollywood" is. Kodak, Gruman, Walk of Fame, all centers around one city block. "Actors" (I use that term more loosely every day) swarm the block dressed as Superman, Michael Jackson or a beat up, homemade version on SpongeBob (yellow tights, yellow foam head with eye cut outs and brown short shorts, so horrible I can hardly look away.) Then I realize I've lost my boyfriend. Ah! There he is, being manhandled by a Cat Woman wannabe. $5 later. Quick snaps of various stars on the sidewalk. Faves: Big Bird and Tony Danza. Up and through Kodak theater mall. Hollywood sign in the distance. Snap! Enough of this, let’s drive!

Cruise West on Sunset Blvd. Make a right and now we’re in Beverly Hills. Is the altitude making things fuzzy or do these incredible homes really exist? The kind of homes you only see on film. Well, this is LA. We can only take so much, our mouths are dry from hanging open for so long. Back down to Sunset and across to the coast. Engaging scenery and then we wiggle our way through the mountains. Endless water before us. Stop at Santa Monica pier. Like a Jersey shore boardwalk but…prettier. Parrot on my shoulder. Dance breakers doing flips. Music all around. Sunset.

Quick changearoo at the hotel and back out again. Return to Santa Monica. Dinner time with Fayanne at Border Grill. Where better to have Mexican than California? A solid round of margaritas. Tales of jobs past. Laughs and tummies filled. Robert Hoffman passes by our table. Don’t know who he is? I wouldn’t know either had I not seen Step Up 2 and were he not dressed like a break dancer. Time flies. Food has been delish. Part ways with my West coast friend and head to meet another. Quick drinks with Chuck and his lady @ a lounge on Ocean Avenue. Awkward bodies dance behind me. It’s 11pm. The party pooper within me is calling. Time to call it a night. So much for showin’ ‘em how NY gets down. Unless it’s down to a pillow.

California Dreamin' Part 2

Thursday (11/5)

Bright and early. Have to head to the lot. Not the parking kind, the movie kind. Drive past security gate and then through a production. Completely in fear that I’ve just ruined some major blockbuster on my first day. I didn’t. Make my way into the building housing my colleagues. Like the bizarro world of my office; coworkers like that on the East coast but yet not like the East coasters. Instead of drab walls there are glass walls. Instead of broken toasters there are master chef kitchens. I like this…and yet I miss the smell and feel of NY.

Hang with Laura until I link up with one of my two bosses who parades me around like a proud dad. I blush. 15 times. I’m recognized (because my photo is on the company homepage.) Completely unnatural experience. Mini-stardom. Doubt this could ever feel normal. Walk around placing faces with phone voices. Have an ordinary chat with the co-head of the studio. Discuss things like Yonkers and why they still race horses. What did you expect? A movie pitch? :-) Meet with casting group. Head shots everywhere. Big smiles and stern looks jump at me from glossy paper. So that’s what my head shot looks like when I’m not the one looking at it. Talk about the likes of new talent. Learning session. Walk out feeling more like a producer, less like an actor. Totally ok with that.

Been around for a few hours but walking around like I stomp there daily. Out the door with Couper and Steve S to grab some lunch. There may be traffic in LA, but driving out for lunch is way more doable than…well it’s NOT doable in NY. Settle at CPK. Steve asks me all about The Work Jerks. I’m flattered and honored, because he’s a funny dude. I feel like a role model, and yet I’m not. I give all the credit to the fact that I’m surrounded by very talented people who don’t ask me to pay them (yet.) We eat and chat, frequently interrupted by my ADD BFF. I laugh. Often. This LA thing is fun.

I make it a point to stop in on my fellow assistants who I book appointments with regularly. I’m called a celebrity. I am still but an earthling, not fully in the clouds. These are my trench buddies. Hellos and hugs we share. I laugh that my 15 minutes won’t last forever. I’m then pulled away with the words “So and so wants to meet you, come on!” Damn my feet hurt! Make one last meeting with Ines, who I have never met but thanks to the homepage spotlight, have made fast friends with. I’m asked to describe NY to someone who has never been there (or maybe was only there once?) I’m stumped. Suddenly know nothing of my hometown. Am I losing myself already?

Swing back to hotel to pick up Jaime who has made Venice beach his home for the day and has a tinge of tan on the tip of his nose. My pale face stains with jealousy. Redressed, we head to Santa Monica for dinner at BOA. Immediate release of my car keys to valet. No one parks their own car in LA. Join one of my three friends who we are meeting at a table in the back. Lights low. Candles lit. And all I can think about is steak. And all I can notice is the large man sitting next to us with a hat and coat on, yet he doesn’t seem like he’s leaving. Quick glance again. Ah! He’s Brad Garrett. I inconspicuously reach for my cell phone and text the friends surrounding my table. Just as inconspicuous, they find their way of responding to my message. Then we play the game of pretending he’s not there. Food arrives! Brad who?

Filet mignon falls to pieces on my tongue. Mashed potatoes rush in after them. Brad leaves. New couple arrives. Older man. Younger woman. I think they manufacture couples like these in bulk here in LA. Minding our own business. Small commotion comes from cradle-robber table. We’re human, we look left. New woman is standing beside seated man. She says: “Funny seeing you here. Who is your friend?” Look of worry comes over man’s face. Look of “we love drama!” falls on our faces. Talk gets softer then standing woman asks if the man will step away with her for a moment. Quickly, we return to the very interesting non-existent convo we were having. Except for Couper, he makes eye contact with the girl left behind. Girl says to him: “I think that was his girlfriend.” She’s brought him in, and by default, we are now all involved. Girl continues: “This is our first date.” One of us says “Then maybe it should be your last.” Girl contemplates but man returns. Straining to hear them because my brain has been affected by wine consumption. Darn! A cookie platter is placed in front of me. Ah, sweet sugary goodness! Wait, what was I talking about?

After many laughs and reenactments by Jaime and Couper the night winded down and once again I was falling asleep standing up. Said our goodbyes and headed to valet. A Saab is parked in front of me. I recognize it as my friend’s. Were this NY, I would drive away with it as a joke. Instead, I swap tickets, grab the right car, and head to the hotel once more. Sleep finds me quickly.

A Nightmare on My Street

First off, let me start by saying this post is not about some neighborhood meltdown. No one was robbed or battered during the writing of this blog. What is it about then? A childhood fear realized in its entirety.

When I was almost four years old I was consumed by many things; Rainbow Brite, My Little Pony and chasing cute boys. (It started early, what can I say?) During one particular chase I ended up in a dark room with the only light shining from a TV in a far corner. A VHS player cranked nosily and a movie crept across the screen. I was mesmerized. By the boy I was chasing of course! But later, I was also intrigued by the screen. Something was happening. Something bad, and I couldn't turn away. A man in a red and black stripped sweater, face leaky and holed, brown Fedora draped on his skull, was creeping across the tube and he was scary. Super scary. Like scary in a way that one little 4 year old could never forget. He was Freddy Kruger. And because of him, I wouldn't sleep for the next seven years.

From the moment I saw "A Nightmare on Elm Street" I lost my sense of cool. Everything scared the crap out of me, even my Carebear if you threw a trashy Fedora on it. At first I couldn't sleep alone at all. When dawn would arrive you'd find me in one of two places: my mother's bed or her floor (if I was kicked out of said bed.) As I grew, the fear subsided, but only by spoonfuls. I had to sleep with the TV on. Then with a night light. And, on the eve of my start to the seventh grade, I gave it my best shot and went to sleep with a hope that nothing would go bump in the night, or claw me to death from under my bed (lovely.) I made it through that night (and all the others that followed.) Until tonight. Tonight I came face to face with my fear.

I was to attend the Fearnet screening of "Fear Clinic" starring none other than Robert Englund. I had to say his name 30 times before finally realizing it wasn't actually Freddy. I floated around the party, Chardonnay in my well-past-four-year-old hand, and while looking at my Blackberry, nearly walked into the legend himself. Looking very distinguished in a grey jacket with the collar popped, Mr. Kruger didn't look so menacing. He almost looked cool. He's just a man. He's just an actor. Nine years of insomnia for what?

I crept up to him. "Excuse me, Mister Englund?"
He turned to me with a smile.
"Because of you, I lost nine years of sleep."
He smiled at me, put an arm on my shoulder and said, "Sweetheart, it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it."
Then he posed for this picture...





...and suddenly...
I'm scared ALL over again.

=o)

A Case Study: Those Who Love Chuck Bass

I’m not normally one for teen dramas (outside of the time I actually was a teenager, circa the original 90210.) Don’t know where I was during My So Called Life, caught a few good episodes of Everwood, and never got into One Tree Hill (and explain to me how they are suddenly all in their mid-20s adopting teenagers?) So how did I end up addicted to Gossip Girl? Two words: Chuck Bass (or as he often likes to explain “I’m Chuck Bass.”)

During Gossip Girl’s first season, I watched an episode focused on Dan and Serena. This could easily be why I wasn’t intrigued to watch more of the show. That couple dynamic BORES me. Lowly boy loves (super) upper-class girl and that alone means they can never be, blah blah blah. (And someone please explain to me how living in a sick loft in Brooklyn is equivalent to the ‘other side of the tracks’? Do you know how much living in Dumbo BK costs?!) What I didn’t get to see was the Chuck-Blair dynamic. Lucky for me, I gave GG a second try with its season 2 premiere which revolved heavily around Chair (I’m upset there isn’t a better way to mash their names together.) Evil games, tortured souls and insane lust! Now that is what I’m talking about. That is melodramatics at its finest. That is what makes me watch television!

Although I named this blog after the character of Chuck, I have to admit that I love Blair nearly as much. I also adore their real life entities as actors much more than anyone else on the show. Leighton Meester (Blair) is by far the best actor on the show; well-rounded and doesn’t miss a beat. Although Ed Westwick (Chuck) is stuck playing the ultimate bad-ass over and over, I like him enough to be interested in seeing him try something else (something very sweet and innocent perhaps?) Regardless of what they may be capable of in worlds outside of GG, at the moment I only care about having them remain the focus of this show. One admits feelings for the other, one then publicly castrates the other, then one stops one from jumping to their death, then one runs away from the other and then…(I forget where in this vicious cycle I was!)

This leads me to the timeless question: Why do good girls love bad guys? Blair isn’t the only person in love with Chuck Bass; 95% of girls/women between 15 and 30 who I know watches the show is completely infatuated with the fictional character (5% love Nate, gag boring!) Read that carefully my friends. It’s not Ed Westwick they want to lose their virginity to in the back of a limo, it’s Chuck Bass. But he’s so…bad! Which is exactly why he’s so good; the ultimate unattainable prize. The brooding, the daddy issues, the womanizing…he’s a total mess and mortally flawed. Which is why we absolutely love him!

BUT! Do not fear, all you good boys out there! The Chuck Basses of the world may be attractive, but eventually, like the games they play, their overall effect gets tiresome. We chase the unattainable because we hope that we will be the only ones capable of nabbing the prize (Hello, Experience? Are you calling me?) However, unlike Blair, most of us come to our senses rather quickly and realize this isn’t the kind of person we want to spend our lives with. We want the guy who doesn’t humiliate us, the guy who doesn’t leave us for a Thai prostitute, and who doesn’t make us cry. So see, you good guys win after all!

And when we want our fill of a Chuck Bass experience, we just bump him up in our Netflix queue =-)

Check out Teen Vogue's interview with Ed Westwick here: http://www.teenvogue.com/industry/2009/01/ed-westwick-interview

Lindsay Lohan and My Reflection

Last year I attended an event called "Do Something" which encouraged young adults to motivate and do something for their communities. Celebs like Nigel Barker were there (where my ANTM fans at?!) The person that wasn't there was Lindsay Lohan. Instead she was next door, hanging out in a hi-rise apartment building. And the only reason I know this is because I almost got run over by her afterwards. As I leaned against the back of a cab waiting for my car service, I watched paparazzi crowding the sidewalk and suddenly found myself blinded by an onslaught of flashes. I could hardly see what was coming towards me when out of nowhere someone shouted for me to move. It took me a second to realize a bodyguard was the one shouting at me to make way for Ms. Lohan. I jumped aside just in time to see Lindsay rush past me into a black SUV (so cliche, why can't they come in bright pink?)

Tonight I attended a party where Samantha Ronson was the DJ. From the moment we received the invites, there were whispers as to whether Lindsay would be attending as well. It made me wonder how Samantha feels about being, at one time, known only for her good DJing skills, to suddenly being famous and having her picture plastered everywhere simply because she made one of Hollywood's young and troubled stars into a lesbian? confused bisexual? Neither of which I care, and for what it's worth it seems the stories about Lindsay doing blow are long gone, so, good for those ladies! But as I stood there observing those around me gawk, glare and sneak phone pics of the twosome once Lindsay arrived, I wondered what does stardom even mean anymore? I feel as though there are now only three ways into Hollywood: scandal, YouTube or somehow finding your way into a hit show or movie no later than when you're 15 years old. Who gives a crap about quality anymore? And I find that incredibly sad.

I'm surrounded by a plethora of talented people. I may even be one myself. But, logically speaking, the majority of them will go unnoticed or beat themselves into the ground trying and then wake up and realize they are 40 and still at the same place there were 15 years earlier. Does that mean they should give up? Not at all, but you must come to understand why you're doing it. I do the things I do because there's a level of fulfilment I receive when I see my articles published, my screenwriting come to life or my photos end up in random places like AM NY, that I'll never get from the 9-5 I have. But the 9-5 is what pays me. It's why I was able to afford my own home and hire a stylist. And although my family may wonder why I wear myself so thin doing so much, I'll never question myself. I'll continue to live my life this way because it's what completes me.

So Ms. Lohan, my advice to you is live up the life God has granted you and run with it for as long as you can because you can only be young and in the eye of the paparazzi for so long before you become just that crazy Hollywood kid that never grew up. I wish you the best of luck as I do to all others who are striving for just a piece of your stardom.

Interviewing Friends

When you're a journalist, a social butterfly and frequent mover through the entertainment industry, there's a strong possibility that you'll find yourself working on a magazine piece that involves someone you know. It's happened to me more than once, but the most memorable was a Bombin' Magazine piece on my friend, Bobbito Garcia.

"Bobby Fisher" of Bombin' Magazine was well aware of my friendship with the legendary b-ball/DJ/sneaker guru/entrepreneur and elbowed me in the rib while asking, "So you think you can get Bob to do a piece in Volume 3?" After consoling said rib, I replied, "I could ask." I hit up Bob who agreed to the piece as long as "you're the one writing it." Ah! Scary! But, I said, "Fine." See, here's the thing with writing. After you get passed your first artist/celebrity interview, the first time your editor rips apart your writing and you think you'll die and then you realize after re-reading what you submitted "Damn, since when did I lose consciousness of grammar?", after all that... it becomes easier. Almost routine... As long as you're not dealing with someone who knows you.

As I sat there prepping for the interview I blanked out. I couldn't think of an angle or damn thing worth asking. I knew a lot about Bob and I couldn't get out of that mindset to remind myself that not everyone knew what I knew and they would want to know. I had to pretend I knew nothing about Bob. It helped that as we drove in the publisher's Range Rover up to Bob's house, the crew (consisting of EIC, publisher and photographer) spit around random ideas, helping me to settle on asking Bob completely random associations of events and sneakers. When we arrived at his home, I was ready... sort of.

As we greeted him hello and he hugged me tightly, he mentioned how much he was looking forward to having it be me to do this. He said, "I get asked the same questions all the time. It's cool to know someone who knows me is doing it this time and has the edge to be different." GULP! We settled down at his dining table and I set up my voice recorder, starting with the most obvious questions as to where he's from and all that wonderfulness. "Lauren, you know where I'm from," he laughed. "Bob! Let's pretend I don't know you. I just need this all on record so I can pull it all together when I write." He laughed and gave in. The interview continued with laughs and quality answers. When it was all done I felt both relieved and content. Bob thanked me for such a fun interview and I left happy.

As an interviewee, Bob had provided me with entertaining information that helped me bring together an enjoyable piece. As a friend and mentor, he had given me the confidence to create something fresh and original. Thanks, Bob!

Midnight Ride with Tony Plana

I'm convinced Grand Central Terminal (GCT) here in NYC is a place where parallel universes collide. Where there's a chance you'll run into an old friend from grammar school. Where a nun will walk along side a cross dresser. And where Tony Plana will zoom past you...

(Pictured left- Tony Plana aka Papa of Ugly Betty.. and he looked identical to this photo)

The shittiest thing for you to figure out when you enter GCT is that you either just missed your train or that you didn't just miss it but missed it by enough where you won't curse yourself for missing it, and yet become grumpy anyway knowing you have 30 minutes until the next one leaves the station. I was completely engulfed in the latter as I stomped towards my train whose doors were not yet open. The God awful heat of the train tunnel sent me into a U-turn back towards the main air-conditioned terminal. Upon the first swivel of my U-turn a man, walking alone, was coming towards me. Suddenly I found every need to stop walking and grab my cell phone out of my bag as if it were ringing (it clearly was not.) The man on his way to passing me was Mr. Plana. My first reaction: Figure out what train car he's going into. Second reaction: Question why he's taking a train.

I'd heard that Ugly Betty had begun shooting in NYC just recently and, just as recently, I had mentioned aloud to the wind that I wish I could happen upon the show's set. I don't watch much TV- a)I'm too busy to commit to something every week and b) I could care less for more than half the shit that's on the tube. However, there are 3 shows I try my best to stick with and UB is one of those few. It's my lighthearted, feel good, wittily (word?)-written, girl power show and Plana's character makes my heart melt. Too bad for me, Mr. Plana had done a U-turn himself and was now walking past me into the main terminal. Apparently we shared a deep disliking of sticky heat - what we're the odds!

I gave it a few beats and then followed him out of the tunnel and into the terminal, but in the process lost him. I wondered when I'd suddenly crossed into stalker mode, but the fact that I was already reciting how I would say hello proved I was already over the edge. Ten minutes later I was done indirectly looking for him and proceeded with my return to the train that would take me home. As I passed cars I side glanced into each wondering where he'd chosen to sit. Half way through I gave up and just entered the next car. Plopping down into an open seat, I dug my phone from my bag once more and when I looked up Plana was sitting two rows in front of me. His row was blocked out by a man sitting opposite of him so to go any closer would have made me look ridiculous (not that I didn't already seem that way to myself.)

And so we rode. Me glancing every now and then to see Plana clearly going over his next script. What I wouldn't give to grab that script and run! (to what? the next car?) To know how a UB script was laid out and to have insight into the future of my favorite characters would have been ultimate bliss. But, sad for me, fortunate for Plana, I never had my opportunity. When the train reached my stop, I grabbed my belongings and lingered near his seat. Were it not for the fact that me saying anything to him would instantly give off a clue to all those sitting around who he was and potentially ruin his late night ride home(?), I might have leaned in close and opened my mouth (to speak you freaky fools!) I could have sworn he glanced my way, less because I'm an astoundingly beautiful woman (I'm not) and more so because I was wearing this incredibly colorful dress that everyone seemed to be noticing today.

Ding Dong! This is the stop for blahblah the next stop is blahblahblah.

I exited the train, never saying what I wanted to, to Mr. Plana. So here it is: You're an awesome TV dad, you show too much heart to not actually be that way in real life, and I hope your show goes on forever!!! Oh... and yay for world peace!