With Every Fiber

I'm having one of those crazy sort of days that sort of epitomizes living in New York City.

I had a most wonderful morning in the company of my friend Hermann. And by friend, I mean "friend." He's great -- a flight attendant who wants to be an actor and is desperately working toward a green card so that he can come to America permanently. Anyway, we had a nice morning together. I met him at his hotel, where we hung out for a while, then we went for some brunch and some shopping (I desperately needed some new underwear and tee-shirts), and then I dropped him off at his hotel and did a little more shopping on my own, since he had to pack and get ready for his flight home.

So I blew some money on some new jeans and got some of that underwear I was looking for (and I can finally throw my Sunday underwear -- AKA the "holey" stuff -- in the trash, or better yet, use it as a cleaning rag), so I decided to head over to Times Square and pick up movie Tickets for Ken Bolden and some friends and I. We're going to see Open Water tonight, to which I'm really looking forward.

After picking up the tickets, I decided to head down to Chelsea and hang out at Big Cup, the famous gay coffee shop, where I could use the free wireless service to check my mail and surf some internet crap that I've been meaning to do.

All in all, you're thinking to yourself, a rather kick-ass day, no?

I have to admit that, up to this point, this day really did kinda kick some ass. Then I made the mistake of trying to get back to Times Square to have myself a slice of pizza, since I was getting really, really hungry.

(As a side note, I have no idea why I should have gotten so hungry, since I had a huge chicken-laden salad at brunch. I must have done something to work up an appetite.)

Anyway, I got up to midtown to discover that 8th Avenue -- the area I had planned to peacefully cruise for the perfect slice -- was shut down because of suspicious package. So there are cops shunting people all over the place, and Times Square is just, frankly, even more of a nightmare than it usually is, and so here I sit in the lobby of the theater, weak with hunger, unable to get anywhere that doesn't have lines of people twenty deep, and waiting for my friends.

I once had an acting teacher insist that you can't feel two things simultaneously. You can feel them in alternating waves, he insisted, but you can't feel both at the same time. I think today I disagree. I think today, as I stood at the back of the line at the Yoshiwara, as I was caving in and walking away from the twenty people in front of me, I both loved and hated this city.

With every fiber of my being.