Taking a Sneaky Stroll onto the Set of Law & Order

In addition to mentioning the artist who lives in my building, my landlord also mentioned that my favorite show since I was like 12, Law & Order, often films in and around my neighborhood. Though thrilling, I took this with a grain of salt since the guy was trying to get me to sign a lease.

But it was that fact that was in my mind one bitterly cold night as I began the descent toward my apartment (my apartment is like on a 45 degree hill). I immediately noticed cars parked bumper to bumper the length of my long street. This was unusual since parking is not allowed, EVER, here. My first thought was that there was a party nearby. Not a big leap in logic since I am assaulted day and night with blaring music coming from cars, so loud to completely drown out my TV sitting 6 feet away, and maddingly, from a neighbor who makes my walls shake at 3 in the morning, even on Sundays.


As I walked slowly downhill, I noticed a large sign in the windshield of one car featuring the name and logo of Law & Order. I literally paused midstep and stared. Suddenly, the words of my landlord came back to me, and additionally, the two large trucks I had paid little mind to as I passed them atop the hill came into focus. I suddnely was keenly aware of the humming of generators, and the group of beefy men hauling large cables and equipment.

Two men who were standing there looked at me with interest at my strange behavior. So, I began walking again, thinking thinking thinking. I couldn't let this opportunity pass me by. I had to figure out a way to get closer. I entered my building, and placed my two heavy grocery bags down just inside the door. If anyone was going to steal it, at least I'd have it narrowed down to the seven other units in the building. I turned around, and walked out, huffing and puffing my way back up the hill toward where I saw those trucks -- standing in front of "The Grinnell," one of the only fancy shmancy apartment buildings in the area.

It was unbelievably cold, and i tried to look confident as I walked up to the men working in the trucks. I asked them if it was Law & Order and they said it was. I paused. Now what? Then I remembered -- I had an aquaintance who worked for the show. Someone I've only had email contact with, but perhaps this was my chance to finally meet her. And besides, her name was as good as a passport, wasn't it?

I asked the men about her, and they jerked their thumbs toward the inside of the building. They were friendly guys and didn't seem suspicious of me at all. Good. So, I walked on and about every 15 feet someone stopped me, and I would once again announce my friend's name, like some sort of secret password. And just like in a relay, each checkpoint pointed me to the next spot. I got as far as deep inside the building where I could see the catering table set-up and a bunch of actors standing around.

It's funny that I say that, because it wasn't something i expected. I mean, when I walked in, it was just SO obvious they were actors and not workers on the set and I I can't tell you why. It wasn't their clothes or anything, and I can't even point out what it was. They just looked different.

I also remember the smell of the buffet, Mexican food, was revolting to me. I think it was the contrast from coming in from a bitterly cold night into a stuff, warm room with the smell of tacos in the air.

I was standing there for a few seconds, kind of stunned since I knew i was "in" the place now. I was excited, and really looking forward to meeting my email pal, now that the "getting in" part had been taken care of. Then I also thought about the actors I might see, and for a heartwrenching moment, I realized that Jerry Orbach would not be there (this was not too long after his death). It suddenly made the whole effort pointless. As much as I adore this show, and will always be faithful to it, without him, it has lost a lot of its charm.

Then I heard someone yell, "That's a wrap!" I turned to see the proclaimer, someone who looked like he was in charge, with the clipboard and headphones with mic. He turned, eyes focused on me and narrowed, and so I decided I might as well approach him. If anyone would know, it would be him, since a person like that either knows everything or at least thinks he does.

When I asked after my email chum, he told me she wasn't on the set that day. I was crestfallen. Here I was, at the end, and nothing. And it was getting on in the evening and obviously they were hauling ass to get out of there. I stood there a minute more, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of one of the main actors, but no dice. I turned around, and walked home.

Oh well.

Revolutionary Artist as Key Buddy

When I moved into my current apartment, the landlord boasted several times of an "artist" in the building. I was intrigued of course, since art is so close to my heart (and stupidly was given up for many years). The first night I moved in, I met his wife, since we went well into the night -- it was the worst moving day of my life! I approached her and apologized for our disturbance. I think she thought I was weird. It was pretty awkward.


Anyway, one day I finally met him, and found out his name was Wadsworth, which I thought was pretty cool. A black man, most likely in his sixties, with shoulder-length, thin grey dreds. He just looked like an artist. We rode the subway downtown and chatted. He said he did sculpture, which was a big of a bummer for me. I've never really been a big sculpture fan. I guess I'm boring in that I do like paintings the best.

As weeks went by, I saw little of Wadsworth. There are only 8 units in my building and I rarely see anyone, which I find kind of weird, but figure it has to do with our varying schedules.

I did a little Google research on Wadsworth and discovered that he did have some fame in the art world, and for paintings (it seems sculpture is something he moved onto later in his career). I even found a book on him, entitled, "Wadsworth Jarrell: The Artist as Revolutionary." Intrigued, I looked for his various paintings on the web, finding some, many of which featured famous black activists from the 60's as well as many paintings of jazz singers. I was fascinated -- this guy was for real. I loved his paintings too, not only were they beautiful and interesting, they were all painted with bright, dramatic colors, which is another thing I prefer about paintings.

I thought it'd be fun to buy a poster of his work off the internet and then have him sign it, but I had a lot of trouble finding one to buy. Finally, when I saw him in the building, I mentioned it and he let me know that he had several posters left over from an event in Atlanta. He said to come buy on the weekend.

But I never did. As often is the case in my life, I was broke and the money I thought I'd have for the poster was just not available. So, I let weeks go by, thinking NEXT paycheck I would contact him.

I think a couple of months went by before I finally did, and the reason had more to do with a recent raise and a bonus than anything. Wadsworth led me to his studio, which was simply the apartment directly above the one he lived in with his wife. Densely packed and messy, I loved it immediately. On one wall, stretching nearly its entire length, was one of his paintings featuring jazz musicians. It was absolutely stunning and I spent most of my time that day staring at it.

I got to spend a few hours in that studio with Wadsworth and learned a lot about him -- all interesting. After attending the Art Institute of Chicago, Wadsworth began meeting with other black artists, including his wife, Jae (she did fashion/textile design). The art was not just art but a social statement. And they called themselves, AFRI-COBRA (African Commune of Bad Relevant Artists -- Coalition of Black Revolutionary Artists).


"So, it's like a school of art then." I said.

Wadsworth paused and smiled, "Yes, yes, that's what it is. I'm surprised you got that, hardly anyone else gets that or thinks that way."

Wadsworth showed me a black and white photo of the original members of AFRI-COBRA which also included his wife with their young son on her knee. He pointed out different members and what they did, and noted if they were still alive or not. It's one of those moments when you fear aging and the day when you will look at a photograph and wonder who are the few still left alive?

Wadsworth pulled out the book I mentioned above, which was filled with his works in their bright colors. Later I would read in this article that they were "coolade" colors, and were to be associated with African-Americans.

All this time he was pulling out canvases and showing them to me. They were all gorgeous. It was so interesting to see the original painting that you've seen in a book or on a poster and here it was, right in front of me. I'm talking about this one in particular: http://cat.middlebury.edu/~slides/inactive/HA202pk/pkma036.jpg

He had several versions of his paintings through lithographs and screenings. He showed me how they did all these types of printing and some of the history of things. I was really wanting one, but they were all thousands of dollars, so I would have to be happy with my poster.

One thing that interested me was a funny, colorful, tall pole of a man, that was leaning up against some paintings. Hard to describe, really. He told me that there was a set of them, I think there were about a half of dozen. And they were of famous black jockeys from years ago. Digging through a storage closet, he pulled out more of the piece, including its little white cap and the matching bottom portion. It was pretty cool. Wadsworth told of how people had tried to buy just one (they're a set) or had promised money once they were sent (no way would he do that!).

I asked him about his life as an artist. One thing that has always interested me is simply making a living as an artist. As I've mentioned before, when I was a child, I had some real talent in art, but thinking it would only perpetuate my life in poverty, i completely turned away from it -- a choice I now deeply regret.

Wadsworth stated how he's never regretted becoming an artist, not even for a second. Beyond the person satisfaction of being a painter or sculptor, he said it provided so many wonderful opportunities throughout his life, many of them all-expenses-paid, including traveling all over Europe and a lengthy trip to Africa.

Wadsworth continued pulling out paintings and continued to dazzle me. He also had two large pieces in progress which were a sort of painting - sculpture mix. Lots of colors and textures were used. Underneath it all seemed to be a light painting of Michaelangelo's David.

He finally did find the poster and opened them all carefully, trying to find one undamaged. I was expecting the black marker, stylish strokes of a John Hancock-like signature, but instead he took a blue pen and signed it in a modestly on the bottom right. I found a fairly decent poster frame at Target and it now hangs on my wall, behind my beloved bowl chair.


Finally, beginning to feel less like a neighbor, and more like a groupie, I made my exit from Wadsworth's studio. Since then I've kind of wished I hadn't been so self-conscious and had stayed even longer, listening to his stories and the background to many of his paintings and sculptures.

And I have only seen him a couple times since that day, one day to hand him over my keys. With the colorful array of neighbors in my building, he was by far the best choice, being both truthworthy and likely to be around. I needed someone in the building since I'm notorious for locking myself out of my apartment. Surprisingly, I haven't done it yet in this apartment, but I'm not stupid; I know that day will come.

I feel really lucky to have had the chance to meet and get to know a famous, lifetime artist. I could chalk this up to just another one of my "only in New York would I have this opportunity!" things, or maybe i'm just lucky (though i've never really been lucky, unfortunately). The guy who lives above me, diagonally writes horror stories. Maybe I should go knock on his door...

The Cowboy Who Rode Into the Sunset and Out of My Life

How often do you think about “the one that got away?” A lot? Perhaps your love life sucks just as much as mine does. For me personally, I hadn't thought of him all that much, just once in awhile when I heard Tracy Chapman's song, "The Promise."

Well, that is, until recently.

Strangely, all of the sudden, a few weeks ago, “The One Who Got Away” (we’ll call him “Towga” for short) entered my mind in a blaze of fire, and has been burning away in there ever since. I can’t explain it. I don’t feel especially lonely. Boyfriends (and sex) are always great, but I’ve been through drier patches than this one by far (and have even had a recent offer for a naughty tryst in a nearby city with an ex). I’m enjoying my apartment even more and am no longer a slave to wicked pharmaceutical side effects. What gives? I don’t know...yet. Maybe I’ll figure it out later.

So, what do I do? Of course, Google! I plug in Towga’s name. The results are disappointingly meager. Two hits. One’s from 1999 and a state I know he doesn’t live in anymore. The second one shows the school he teaches at now, though it’s over a year old, and doesn’t offer an email address (that's what I’m really after). Why don’t people update their websites, damn it!?!?

Being the talented cybersleuth that I am, I didn’t give up there. And besides, now I was on a mission, no no, a CRUSADE! I tried people searches, phone directories, teacher pages, etc. I received some results, though what I was truly looking for, and not finding, was an updated email address. Too bad there is no “white pages” for email, though I doubt that would really fly anyway, seeing a) as they change so often and b) how most people wouldn’t want that so public (think of the spam!) I even paid $15 for 3 months of Classmates, thinking if it didn't work, at least I could now email all those people from high school I'd fallen out of touch with (and have already had one really nice letter from a friend from 19 years ago!).

Now in this search, there appeared to be one teeny weeny glitch. A wife. In the whitepages, he is listed with her. He's married? No! When I knew Towga well, years ago, he had been divorced. I think I will never forget the comment he had made:

“I married a drunk and made her drunker.”

That comment has always struck me since you don’t often see such honesty (and self-blame) from a divorcee.

But I get ahead of myself. Let me introduce dear Towga. I guess I met him nearly 10 years ago -- it was on the internet (yeah yeah, i know). He was a bit older than me, one of the first, since up until then, most guys I liked were within 1-2 years of me. He was going to grad school in Biology. (Brainy men always drive me wild with desire!). But he had something most men didn’t, he was a real cowboy! Yeehaw! He raised horses, and you could tell it meant the world to him. One of these people for whom horses are more than a pet, they are part of the fabric of his being. I was both admiring him and envious of him. I’ve always loved horses so much and make it a point to try and ride them when I’m vacationing somewhere (both on the beach in Thailand and in the woods in New Zealand), but they’re something you only have if you own a farm or you have a last name like Hilton or Onassis.

We flirted off and on for years, and then in 2000, it started to heat up. I think I screwed it up though; I’m not sure. There’s such an ugly side to me when I’m in a relationship. I think it’s one of the reasons I never try hard to be in one – for the most part, I hate who I am. There's a really beautiful side to me (well, anyone!) when in love, but unfortunately for me there is also a dark side. I’m better than I used to be, but still not where I’d like to be.

Anyway, we were both seriously toying with me visiting. I had a car then, and was desperate to do it, but was also languishing in insecurity. The thought of showing up, after a long drive and just disappointing him was something that plagued me, in an irrational way (and at times still does). Then one night online when he suddenly disappeared while we were talking about this, my emotions high (I might actually get in the car tonight and do this!), I sent off a pissy email. Stupid. It was soon after this that he cut off contact with me. And I had some mongo huge regret to deal with.

I couldn’t get a hold of him after that; I knew that I had disappointed him (and myself) by being one of these emotional pissy girls. My passion is something I cherish most of the time, but there are times when its taking over of my mind and body is not a good thing. I’m actually someone who does not usually get angry, and very rarely raise my voice in anger, but when I do, it can be fierce, and it’s usually only with a significant other (great!). At one point he sends a quick note that he wanted to talk to me, that there were some things he wanted to tell me, ... I was hopeful! But I never heard from him again.

SIGH

Now, we fast forward to the present. Towga is swirling around in my consciousness. I still can't find him, but then I have a brilliant idea! When browsing the crappily made pages of the high school he works at, I notice the familiar school address, something like teachername@schoolname.k-12.stateabbreviation.us. My other friends who are schoolteachers in other states have email accounts with the same format. I’m a genius! I’ll just use the format they use (first initial+last name@school.k-12.us-state.us and it should get to him no problem! I was almost overwhelmed with hope and suspense. I wouldn't have to wait long. After 60 seconds, it bounced back. Failed again.

I let some time go by. All this searching was beginning to make me feel like a freak. In my zeal to locate him, I had used another fantastic website, ancestry.com ($1 for two weeks, and then a 30 minute hard-sell phone conversation to 'cancel'), which didn't help me much with him, but did finally give me the push I needed to start working on my own family tree -- something I've wanted to do for some time. For my one dollar, I managed to map out all branches of my family back to the home countries (Norway and Germany). Not bad! If I had more money, I'd go further, but for now, that's very satisfying. If you ever want to have some fun, check out your relatives on an early census (1930 ore eariler, the 18th century ones are a real treat!).

But Towga? No, stuck at square one. I have only one option left, but I'm not really interested in doing it. One, this "final" step will confirm that I'm a stalker psycho, and two, it involves talking on the phone, something I've never really enjoyed, despite my two X chromosomes.

What is it? To call the high school he works at and try to extract a current email address from them. I pondered how to do this, since nowadays acquiring "personal information" is not such a simple task.

I let another day go by.

And another. This is just stupid.

Then I remembered my old friend Andrea, a cute pixie of a woman, but by no means a supermodel. She had no fear asking men out, and was often successful. When I asked her in disbelief how she could be so fearless, she replied, "Well, if he says 'yes,' that's great, and if he rejects you, then you have a great story to tell for a long time!" I smiled. Fantastic, and absolutely right. Not that I followed her advice to the letter, but since then, I have taken a few chances I might not have, "just for the story." And I do love to tell a good story.

So, okay, if I call up and it's a disaster, then I'll have something to write in my blog!! Well, the truth is, I don't lack for subject matter -- I still have a post-it next to me right now with 5 things I still haven't written about which are inching further and further into the past and farther from my mind. But, if this was a crash and burn scenario, it would at least INSPIRE me to write, and it's not the ability or subject that stifles me, it's my ever-fluctuating inspiration and motivation. What's more motivating than a devastating event? Spread that misery around!

So, I locked myself in my boss' office (no, she wasn't around), and after mumbling a mantra of courage before my trembling fingers picked up the phone, I steeled myself for a cool response – expecting some sort of resistance from my inquiry I was surprised that it went differently, almost too well. Let’s listen in:

Her: Hello! Noname School.
Me: Hi, um, I’m trying to reach one of your teachers, if he is still working there.
Her: Sure, what’s his name?
Me: Towga.
Her: Oh yes, he’s teaching a class right now. If you hold on, I’ll go get him and see if he wants to take this call.
Me: *panic* *splutter* Um, no no, don’t get him, I mean, that really isn’t necessary, this isn’t an important call. I just knew him at HisUniversity’sName. (Yes, a TOTAL lie. Like I would say ‘off the internet!”) (sidenote: I had pondered pretending to be a parent of one of his students, but that seemed too dangerous, and so, that plan was scrapped).
Her: Okay, here, you want his cellphone? Let me give it to you.
Me: Oh, um, okay, sure *fumbles frantically for paper/pen*
Her: *rattles off number*
Me: Um, *pause* do you have an email address for him? (too scared to actually phone his cell)
Her: No, sorry.
Me: Um, (still not wanting to call) could I leave you my name and email for him? You could stick it in his box or something.
Her: Sure.
Me: *rattles off my impossibly long name with equally impossible long name@yahoo.com* Um, thanks so much. Bye.
Her: Goodbye.
Me: *faint* *continues to tremble*

Now, that happened a couple weeks ago. Thinking I'd get an email that same day, I experienced a tiny stroke each time I heard Yahoo's unsettling gunshot sound signaling a new email. Yet, that first day went by, and then another, and another, and still another. I began to feel the crippling disappointment of every email being a NOT HIM email. Of course, my friend did nothing to dispel my mild hysteria. When I relayed to him the gist of the phone call and how I had left my message, my friend quickly replied, “Yeah, if he ever gets it.”

!!!!

Gah! Don’t tell me that! Of course, that became the only thing allowing me to keep a shred of dignity. I first tried the “Maybe he doesn’t have access to the internet” as my excuse for him, but quickly dashed that one seconds later when I realized how ridiculous THAT was.

Okay, it looks like I'm going to have to call. I just HAVE to know. I just have to put this to rest. It's that important.

I wanted to do it Wednesday, but the expectation that my heart just might explode in my chest kept that from happening. Thursday? Feeling better, still can't do it. Okay, Friday, this is it. I waited anxiously until, wonder of wonders, all 5 surrounding workmates had cleared out for lunch or meetings. Once again, locked myself in my boss's office. Stared at the phone, and then, heart hammering, called.

He answered, and for a moment I was thrown off. He sounded old. Not like "older than me" which I expected, but old as in "old man's voice" old. I said hello and told him my name (hoping that he actually remembered it, since he knew me mostly by my online "handle"). Luckily, he did. Immediately, I could hear the familiar sounds of an active classroom, and asked if he was teaching now. He was (and he answered the phone?) and we decided I'd call back at 5pm for him (6pm my time).

Tick tock tick fucking tock.

So, once again, after most had left for the day, I locked myself in another colleague's office and called. At first the conversation was a bit rough, and I agonized over the possibility of having to carry the conversation. But as time went on, he loosened up more and then the conversation got nice...flowed along. We talked for over an hour and a half. It was one of those conversations where you're like, "Okay, I should go now" and then one of you just kind of launches into another subject/story and you're both off again, chatting away. That happened about three times before we really did hang up.

As I mentioned, he is a high school teacher, and as he talked, he stirred up all of my own memories of teaching, and how amazing and fulfilling it felt when you really loved it, when you really got into it, and when you knew you were really good at it. It has been about a week now since that conversation, still, that tug in my heart to teach is still there. But I live in NYC and the thought of teaching here (lion taming) scares the shit out of me. I admit, I hate a difficult class and the whole icky discipline part. By the time I left Thailand, I had made it a fine art, but I was also almost exclusively teaching one particular class and so knew each individual very well. It's different when you have several different classes.

Well, the big question still hangs in the air, doesn't it? (ARE YOU REALLY MARRIED?). I didn't say it like that, I do have some dignity! But I did let the conversation flow into asking him about kids, and he said, "No, but I do have a stepdaughter, and she has her own children, so I'm actually a grandfather." Woah.


OH NO! :( Step-daughter = comes with wife too. NO! NO! NO! NO!

So, there you have it, folks. He's married and has (step) grandchildren. Sheesh. The guy's only ten years older than I! You'd think he was a senior citizen.

At the end of the call, I urged him to login (to our little internet home) and make sure not to be a stranger again. After I hung up, I doubted he would, at the very least, it wouldn't be soon. He sounded happy, content, with his teaching job and his 24 horses (yes, TWENTY-FOUR) horses. Oh, Towga, I missed my chance, and now you're unattainable. Well, I'm a bit bummed, but glad I went through all of this. It's true, it's always better to know than die wondering.

"I'm not gay, I'm English" - The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, Take 2

Yes, I'll go along with the crowd; I love this show! Admittedly, I don't watch it every night since it comes on at 11pm and I have been trying (with varying degrees of success) to get to bed at that time. So, I called up, like in April 2004 for tickets, which they eventually sent me for September.


In September I left work a couple hours early and rushed over to the studio which was so far west that if you're not careful you'll fall into the Hudson river. If it weren't for the modest Daily Show awning, I would have thought I was in the wrong neighborhood. No glamour here! But how much glamour does a studio need on the outside? If I've learned anything from NYC, it's that shitty exteriors do not equal shitty interiors. Just look at the meatpacking district.

I've written before about how back in September Adam and I got bumped from the show and then were lead like ponies to the Colin Quinn Show (not cancelled). After several calls to the show's ticket line, I was delighted to get a real person (who then accidentally hung up on me!), and then after several more tries, got a real person again who patched me through the first woman who apologized profusely and then gave me VIP tickets for November 29th. Hooray! Finally!

This time, Adam was not coming. The real reasons why escape me, and I find that every time I think of him and his sabotaging ways, I get so filled with overshelming resentment that I have to distract myself with something else. Lucky for me, Rowan could come. Rowan (meaning "little red-haired one") is a pretty amazing woman, and I'm pretty sure she scarcely realizes or believes it. Lovely, fun, and brainy. Hard to lose there.
Rob Corddry


This time, determined not to be at the end of the line, Rowan and I got their early. The VIP line was completely empty. I was elated to be the first in line instead of dead last. The regular line, like last time, was already formed and snaked around tbe building. I guess VIPs don't feel the need to hurry.

It was dark and unusually cold and my stylish shawl was not much of a shield against the sharp wind. We chatted for an hour, nervous and excited. At some point the door opens, and a gruff old man allowed us to use the bathroom since we wouldn't be able to during the show, and knowing me, and my unwilling familiarity with bathrooms, I knew I better go. I'm going pee at The Daily Show! WOoooo!

Soon, we were all ushered like cattle into a room and sat in seats according to our place in line. Several interns, pumped with their power and prestige, gave us the laundry list of "NOs!" for the show. No photos, and no autographs (despite the fact that I had lugged Jon Stewart's weighty "America" book along with me). That was disappointing. Well, maybe I'd nab a t-shirt or something during the warm-up session I expected ahead.

I was wrong. The Collin Quinn show had a charismatic man doing a lengthy warm-up, along with tossing out tons of goodies, and then Collin's own long and winding stand-up. The Daily Show basically had crew members who ordered you to clap, yell, and scream as loud as possible. They reminded us so often, that I actually started to feel real pressure. Like, what if we weren't loud enough? What if they were disappointed in us? Hey, it was Jon Stewart; I wanted him to love us.

The set was tiny, and surprisingly some distance from my front row/corner seat. I can't tell you what Jon Stewart said when he came out, because it wasn't much nor memorable. Despite this disappointment, the show began and so did all the excitement.

It was great fun to watch the show. One of my favorite parts was the sketch when "correspondant" Rob Corddroy did his report from the Ukraine. I was surprised to see this filmed just a few feet from Jon Stewart sitting at his desk, with Rob standing perpendicular to the desk, the left side of his arm to the audience. Behind him was a blue screen, which when shown on the monitors reflected the masses of protesters in Ukraine -- pretty realistic looking! You could tell that his standing a few feet from Jon the whole time, not being able to look at him, but still having him in his line of sight, must make keeping a straight face tough. Rob was great, and when he was over, his serious "reporter" face got all cute and sweet and he turned and waved to someone in the audience he obviously new before he exited the stage. Sometimes it's fun to see how the sausage is made!

From where we sat, we had a good view of one of the stage doors, which was wide open. Keeping one eye on it, we saw Jude Law (the guest that night) walk by, and we giggled and smiled like 15 year olds (just like when we saw The Boy from Oz).

So, Jude Law comes on and it was such a surprise. First of all, stars are always smaller/shorter than you think they'll be (and yes, Jon Stewart is tiny, 5'7 to be exact and with me being a 5'8 female, that's short to me). Jude Law was hardly an exception. But it wasn't so much his height and weight that surprised me as his shape. The best way I can describe him is as a human lollipop. He had this giant head (with those enormous steel blue eyes) and a stick-thin body. Looking as if Carson from Queer Eye dressed him (I've never liked Carson's style which has always seemed a bit ridiculous to me), with stylish blazer, jeans and boots, Jude plopped down on the seat, crossed his legs, and immediately displayed his broad, gleaming smile which I think just might have been wider than his body.

Another strange appearance moment was simply the way he sat. With those crossed legs, he jingle jangle bob bob bob his leg up and down the whole time which gave him this gay dandy feel to his well-known hetero leanings. Confusing for this American to watch. But as Hugh Grant says, "I'm not gay, I'm English."

As much as I poke fun, it was a lot of fun and a great experience for Rowan and I. We laughed, we got to drool over Jude Law, and be a part of a show we both admire and enjoy.

But the story doesn't end here. In just 2 weeks, me and another friend (Lily) will be going again. Hooray for connections! I always complain that I've never really had "connections" for anything (photo, connection for tickets, long schpiel about honesty in politics, etc. *CRY*), but hey, I have one to get tickets to The Daily Show. I could do a lot worse. :)