"...I stole at least fifty packs of Equal from the bar. Starbucks can breathe easy..."
Frantic Fingers, May 1, 2001
Attention, fingers. You have exactly one hour to write this hoax. That's right- I have lots to do and no time to do it, so crank out this bullshit so I can get back to business. I'll be watching Conan if you need me.
The train to Richmond, Virginia was fine. The seats were comfortable and aside from the five minute wait while the gate agent wondered if, because of a clerical typo, she would or would not add two hundred dollars to the cost of our tickets (she did not, after tears welled in my eyes), the trip down on Friday was relaxing. Much better than renting a car and driving, Gennady and I agreed as we watched trees and rivers and the sky.
This gig is fun all by itself, but the best thing by far is the hotel, which is a four star pre-Confederacy estate with bidets in the bathrooms and beds so high they come with polished wooden ladders.
Fingers- you will be stopped in 46 minutes, mid-sentence if necessary. No pressure. The shows weren't packed due to great weather and, well, headliner Laurie Kilmartin is not yet a draw. (People, I invite you to read SELF magazine, page 90!). But the crowds were great and I didn't do a drop of material. I hate so much of my old road act that I can barely get the jokes out of my mouth. If possible, I skip the '90's one-nighter chunks altogether and play with the crowd.
On Saturday, we woke up late, walked to and worked out at the YMCA, and ate at the 3rd Street Diner- an old-style restaurant which was a hospital during the Civil War and now serves a mean Mac n' Cheese. Further down Grace Street, we shopped in a stores like Exile and Asylum. A six dollar ring I bought at Urban Artifacts fell apart as soon as I was too close to the hotel to return it and the coffee house we'd set our sites on was closed by 3 pm.
Thirty two minutes, little digits.
Our ride back on Sunday started with on overbooked train, and Gennady and I and twenty other passengers were invited to stand until Washington D.C., just three hours away! Or, we could go to the dining car, which was five cars up- and locked, we discovered as we all marched with our bags towards the dining car. Opening the door took a half hour and when we finally got in, the seats were sticky and vinyl. The conductors were bored with our outrage and since we didn't even get a free drink, I stole at least fifty packs of Equal from the bar. The Starbucks on 93rd and Broadway can breathe easy for weeks.
Sunday ended with a lick filled reunion with Pinky, who stayed with her best friend and fellow pit bull mix, Suzie. Mark and his boyfriend Bo (yes mom you read that right), are as crazy about Pinky as their dog Suzie is. Mark, a professional musician, played the violin while Pinky stared with her head cocked, and Bo showed us the apartment, which is exquisite and beautiful. The textured walls are painted green and yellow and blue, and sashes of wallpaper sneak up on you here and there.
Pinky led a Suzie-like life, including two three hour walks in Central Park, and complete access to a basket of dog toys furnished with toys from exclusive Upper West Side pet shops. Once, a long time ago,
we were the cat's meow. Once,
we were the Coast Guard who rescued Pinky from life in a kennel. Once. And now, our ingrate dog has forgotten her ASPCA roots. Now she turns up her nose at our basket of toys which includes pieces of unused carpet and my old bras, and is technically not in a basket but a cardboard box.
"Pinky," I said to her, "I know a hundred kennel dogs that would love to chew on my black Maidenforms." She rolled over and thumped her tail against our dull, white walls and I had to agree with her.
Six minutes. Tick tock tick tock.
Walking home from the bus stop on Monday night, I saw a shadow duck away into the church that's two streets down from the apartment. I leaned into the tiny alleyway and asked, "is anyone there?"
A hand grabbed mine and I was pulled into the darkness.
"Gennady!" I screamed to the empty streets and I saw the glint of cold steel in the moonlight. The knife felt sharp against my throat.
"What do you want?" I asked. I felt a punch in my back and I fell over int-
Ding Ding Ding. Time's up.
