Miscellany

1. I've been getting off the subway a couple of stops early these days, in an effort to get in some extra waddling before work. Each morning, I pass Lincoln Center and the ABC Studios. On Monday, a very sweaty man wearing a headset came up to me and asked:

"Excuse me, Miss, would you be at all interested in attending a taping of the Tony Danza show?" (Well, he didn't so much ask as plea, but unfortunately there is no existing punctuation to indicate pleading.)

I hated to have to tell this desperate man that I was on my way to work and therefore could not afford the time to watch Mr. Danza's TV magic. But I did, and he said he completely understood, but his body language told me he was crestfallen.

Is there anything not utterly desperate about the Tony Danza Show? I've seen exactly three minutes of it, and he pulled out all of the stops - singing, dancing, bad jokes, audience repartee. On Saturday Night Live, Fred Armisen does a brilliant imitation of TD, in which he actually puts his hands together and almost begs for applause between jokes. It's dead on. But the little production guy running around the streets of New York at the last minute, accosting random single pregnant walking women in search of a potential audience - that's a new level of desperation. I almost wish I had taken the day off to help this guy out.

Walking past the ABC Studios provides a good deal of morning entertainment, actually. Whether it's some teenage weirdo watching television in the window in an effort to beat a world record, or a black-clad cowboy with a picket sign mourning Peter Jennings, there is always something to look at in wonder.

2. This morning I was walking along 14th Street and saw Uma Thurman. I think she's now officially the celebrity I've run into most often. She was on a cell phone and mock-window shopping in front of a 99 cent store. I am writing this here because I am too chicken to contribute to Gawker Stalker, one of my favorite features on Gawker.com, in which New Yorkers post their random run-ins with the famous. Mine always seem insignificant to me, until I read that someone spotted one of the Queer Eye guys or a cast member from the first season of America's Next Top Model or something. Still, I can't bring myself to do it.

3. Britney Spears gave birth yesterday. That bitch was three days early, while my best friend is one week late and counting. Maybe smoking during pregnancy really is a good idea? My mom smoked and I was eight weeks premature - no fuss, no muss, all little and cute. But I won't jump on the bandwagon that criticizes Brit for eating Cheetos. I myself have had more than my fair share of Cheetos cravings lately. But I favor the Baked Cheetos - which are heart healthy! It says so on the label!

September 14 Also Marks the Day Francis Scott Key Wrote the Star Spangled Banner

Today I am 34 years old. I don't feel any different. OK, fatter, but not wiser. I still can't believe I'm in the same age group as any of the characters on Thirtysomething. I guess that's because that show was set in the 80s, when 30 was 30. Today, 40 is the new 20, so 30 must be the new 10. I guess that makes me 14. That sounds about right: no self confidence, rapidly changing body, sober, bad hair, worse attitude, fear of boys (if only the one in my belly), inexplicable love of Ashlee Simpson... yeah, 34 is definitely the new 14.

Except this morning, when my husband asked if I wanted to ditch work and go to Seaside today to gorge on cheesesteaks and play air hockey and Ms. Pac Man, I made the 34-year-old choice. That's why my birthday fun has so far consisted of eating an ordered-in diner breakfast at my desk while typing this. Tonight I'll get a haircut and go to a nice restaurant - maybe I'll even splurge and have a sip or two of wine. Woo hoo!

My mother left a message on my voicemail at work this morning. She said my horoscope predicts it will be a very good year, one that will leave me "twinkling with money, or something like that." Does that mean I'll be inheriting some gold bullion, or just hauling HG's change bucket to Commerce Bank in desperate need of grocery cash? Horoscopes have a way of working every angle.

Happy Birthday to me.

Blog Jones

My new online addiction is this screenwriter's blog from a guy named Josh Friedman, who apparently wrote the first few drafts of the screenplay for the most recent War of the Worlds, as well as the upcoming Black Dahlia movie and some piece of crap Keanu Vehicle called Chain Reaction (no, I haven't seen this particular piece of crap Keanu vehicle, but all of his films must carry that obligatory moniker). Reading this blog is, for me, like seeing Real Genius for the first time when I was a wee teen and realizing that I was not alone. Not that I was one of the geniuses but that if I strove to be one there would be other people who understood what the hell I was talking about (understand that my best friend at the time constantly would constantly remind me that I should try to play down my intelligence because guys don't like smart girls). And maybe one of those people would look like Val Kilmer and have a great sense of humor. The genius of Real Genius is it had that effect on everybody. Kilmer's character was this ideal guy in whom guys saw themselves and girls saw their soulmate - if only somebody understood.

I don't know why, but this reminds me of a story a coworker once told me about, which I call the Legend of the Rockabilly Rocket Scientist. This coworker claimed RRS was a best friend's boyfriend, but I think he's an urban myth. First: He's a rocket scientist. And: he's rockabilly (not my preferred choice in a man's personal style, but pretty adorable in rocket scientist). But wait: He and said girlfriend backpacked through Europe (awesome!) and in a charming little rustic town in Italy or Spain or Belgium or some other sufficiently charming little rustic European country, he proposed. But wait: Turns out he wanted to marry her then and there, and he was so sure she would say yes, he had been trekking with a wedding dress in his backpack!! But wait: They married in the little town with all of the residents as onlookers, and then there was some sort of fireworks display or something. And, just in case you forgot, the man behind this unbelievably lovely, thoughtful gesture happens to be a rockabilly rocket scientist.

Sickening, right? As much as I love that story, I don't think I could bear it if it happened to me. Remember that Sex in the City episode about how women these days cringe when exposed to romance? I know I do. I like the idea of romance, but one time a guy recited a poem on a date and I honestly felt like I was imploding. And it was a poem I really liked that I can never hear - or think of - again without instinctively wanting to plug my ears and start humming to myself. HG is good at non cringe-inducing romance, but when we were at the Steve Malkmus concert in Battery Park and I had to sit down, he sat down with me and rubbed my pregnancy swollen feet. It was the sweetest and most selfless gesture, but I couldn't handle it. This is why more rockabilly types aren't romantic - they figured out that girls like distant, weird assholes with greasy hair, chain wallets and bad taste in music - latter-day Fonzies who will mumble and treat them badly. Rocket scientists have also probably figured this out but are smart enough to keep to themselves and watch Star Trek or Star Wars or Nova... I have no idea what I'm talking about anymore.

Oh, the screenwriter. I don't know or care what he looks like and I don't think he's my soulmate but I like his writing. It makes me want to be a better writer - or it makes me want to be a screenwriter, I'm not really sure. But the point is, he completes me. He had me at hello. Wait, wrong Tom Cruise movie. Whatever. I don't know any lines from War of the Worlds. My only complaint is that he hasn't updated in a week and I'm starting to get really antsy about it. I guess this is how my readers would feel, if I had them. I've gone back and read his archive, but the site is pretty new so there wasn't much there (what is there is great - I recommend reading from the beginning).

Am I the only one who can't find enough to read on the Internet? I have about six sites that I check every day and it's just not enough. I try to find new blogs that will entice me but they seem few and far between. I know that there is good stuff out there if I could only find it - I landed on the screenwriter's site randomly and I can't remember life before he was there. Are there more like this? Please advise.

I still don't want to see War of the Worlds.