New Yorkers Depressed Me, But Then I Saw Hedwig

New Yorkers are a diverse bunch. A bunch of what is the question. 

True New Yorkers know that their city is a lot of things; vibrant, culturally exhaustive, a melting pot of peoples, and they know that if you can make it here, you can definitely make it in Toledo.

However, New York City is also home to foul mouthed men on bicycles, men who think that having pet rats (plural) is sexy, men who think that urinating in public is au courant, and men who think that walking four across a New York city street is acceptable. 

New Yorkers have Jesus

Side Note: New York City can also boast having Jesus as its tenant. I had no idea that JC was now a casting director.

But I digress.

The other day, I rode my bicycle downtown, along the Hudson River, on the bike path. I was pedaling at a nice clip, feeling my long and luxurious hair blowing in the wind, because I’m too cocky (read: stupid) to wear a helmut, when I saw a yield sign, and pedestrian walkway, up ahead.

I had about three seconds to decide if I was going to gun it, forcing the pedestrians to stop for me, (which is not what the signs means) or stop and yield to the pedestrians, which is what the sign means.

I put on the breaks and just as a mother and child were about to walk, what do I see coming at us, from the opposite direction, but this doucher, I mean man, Tour de France-ing himself right through the crosswalk. I yelled, “Come on dude.” Forever a California girl I suppose. “Fuck off!”, he yelled back and kept riding.

This Lance Armstrong prick told me to fuck off. I don’t think anyone has ever told me to fuck off. I’ve gotten a, what the fuck. That’s so fucked up. Fuckin’A he’s great in bed. But never has anyone told me to fuck off. I took it in, let it go and pedaled on, hoping that Lance would hit a little rock and fly off his handlebars. What? 

Another day, I decided to bike up to the George Washington Bridge. At around 96th street, I noticed something laying in the middle of the bike path. It was a dead rat. Pretty, right. But if that wasn’t gross enough, there was another rat laying a foot away. It was like they made a suicide pact.

When I got home, I started packing my bags (if only in my head) because I don’t want to live in a place where dead rats rain down from the sky when I’m trying to suck in some fresh air. Ain’t nothing fresh about that nasty mess. 

Let’s stay with the rat theme for just a moment. Last week I decided to watch the sunset over the Hudson River. I’d been working all day, and thought it would be nice to sit by the water, and watch the sun sink behind Jersey.

The sunset was lovely, but as I walked back to my apartment, I passed a man on the street. This man had three live rats spread out along his shoulders and neck, wearing them like a friggin’ scarf.  

If that wasn’t disturbing enough, this classy pet owner had dyed each of the rats a different color. It was a rainbow coalition; red, pink, and blue. I thought I was going to throw up. “Ben, the two of us we look no more. We both found what we were looking for.” -Michael Jackson

The other day, I looked out of my sixth story window. My building is one of several in the area that looms over the Port Authority bus terminal. What I saw was a train wreck and I could not look away. This doesn’t often happen when you live in New York, because you quickly become desensitized and it takes a lot to shock. 

I was talking on the phone and just as I was about to say something extremely witty and important, I saw a man, who I can only assume was a bus driver (why else would he be on the roof of the Port Authority bus terminal) confidently, and nonchalantly, unzip his fly and relieve himself behind one of the buses.

Thank the sweet, casting director Jesus, that my floor is level with the parking lot, so I was spared having to see his details, if you know what I mean. Didn’t he notice the other thirty-one floors towering majestically above him that would be able to see his details? 

New Yorkers and Port Authority

Perhaps in his mind, the back of a bus, behind a small wall, out in the open, is just like an actual toilet, in an actual bathroom, with an actual door, that you can actually friggin’ lock. 

Walking to the theater yesterday, I encountered what can only be described as a New York City no-no, as if all of the above mentions were yes-yes’s or maybes. There’s no excuse for the following.

I found myself behind four men walking four across in a chorus line. You do not do this in New York, unless you’re actually in A Chorus Line. There’s an unspoken two-person max. And in some places, you have to go single file. I’m certain that they were not New Yorkers, or they hadn’t been living here for very long.

New Yorkers walking

New Yorkers have places to go and people to see. We do not have time to navigate around, or through, sidewalk mongers.

I finally arrived at the theater, took my seat and everything from the past week melted away, because New York has Hedwig and The Angry Inch, and Neil Patrick Harris! Tears of joy shed? Check.

Thank goodness New York is full of all sorts of men.

New Yorkers have Hedwig

I’m over at The Hollywood Journal today. Check it out.

Dani Alpert living the dream with Courtney Love in the Hollywood Journal

PhotoCredit: HollywoodJournal

Several years ago, or maybe it was a decade (who can remember), my then writing partner and I wrote a spec screenplay that received all kinds of Hollywood buzz. And Courtney Love took notice. 

You know, the buzz that first time writers dream about while writing in dark corners of Starbuck’s that don’t have restrooms. I had always wanted to be in the running, a contender, on the radar, in the game. I was living the dream. READ MORE HERE about my special time with Courtney Love.

Are You Listening?

Every day, the universe sends us people to give us messages. But all too often, we are dead set on a goal or destination and we don’t listen. Instead, we say, “He doesn’t know what he is talking about,” or “Oh, I never listen to her.” And we just keep going and going and going, even if we aren’t getting the best results. -Karen Berg

Someone once told me that I was pollyanna, that I sometimes lived in a fantasy world. I received this and internalized it as pure negativity and judgment. I didn’t understand why these traits were so bothersome, and why there was a spotlight on them.

We can’t hear what we’re not ready to hear.

I have perspective now and I can hear those comments with different ears, (they’re still the size of satellite dishes), and a less defensive heart. Is there any truth to what was said to me? Yes.

This is a lesson, a hard lesson, in opening our ears, mind and heart to what we hear from people, for these people give us messages that are often to help us change ourselves for the better.

Are you listening?






Kardashian Watching

The Kardashians Got My Parents Talking



I wish I didn’t overhear the following conversation between my parents the other day.

My dad was in the family room, watching television. He yelled for my mother to join him. She did. Again, this is only what I heard, for I could not see them, nor could I see what they were watching.

Dad: “You know the Kardashians, right?”

Unintelligible mumbling.

Dad: “I mean Kim, she’s not bad but the other two? They’re not even good looking.”


Dad: “This is the best that they’re ever going to look.”

At this point, my eyes are rolling and at the same time, I’m feverishly writing because this is just too good and I don’t want to miss a word.

Mom: “This is what you called me in for?”

Dad: “It’s the end of civilization. I thought you’d like to know why.”

More unintelligible mumbling.

Dad: “Oh, and they’re all married to rappers.”

I think dad was trying to show off.

My mother walked out of the room and back into the kitchen, where I was sitting. I can only guess that one minute of the Kardashians was one minute too long.

I expected to hear the channel change but I didn’t. I continued to hear Kim Kardashian uptalk about what, I do not know.

Something was wrong. Why was my dad still listening to that vacuous dreck? (is that redundant?) Could he seriously be watching, Keeping Up With The Kardashians on E!? For the record, I just googled Kardashians, because I didn’t know what channel their show was on. For the record.

I walked into the family room to investigate.

Whew, the Kardashian clan was being interviewed on CNBC about their baby clothing line. What a relief. Sort of.

As I walked out of the room, my father bellowed, “It’s a good thing that they’re business people because they’re not going to make it as models.” Who was this man?



Diamond Headstand

What’s In a Voice?

The thing about having a pole in your apartment is that you really don’t have as much room as you think you do, and in your enthusiasm to master a move, you just may smash your pinky toe into the baseboard. Be careful. This has been a public service announcement.

What’s In a Voice?  

He had a sexy voice. It made me weak. I could hear him smiling when we spoke on the phone. I smiled. It made me giddy, every, single, time. I saved a voicemail. The effect on my heart was constant. It rendered me powerless, miles and oceans away. It surprised me. Its hold confusing.

It’s quiet now.