In New York City, you can ALWAYS spot the tourists. Sometimes it’s the way that they travel in large groups and block the sidewalks, sometimes it’s their somewhat larger size (New Yorkers, on average, are thinner than people in other parts of the country), and other times, it’s simply the way they dress.
Old ladies in polyester, elastic-waistband pants with big, colorful sweatshirts---tourists. Guys with beer guts wearing t-shirts with funny slogans and “Get ‘Er Done” caps---tourists. And teenage girls in groups dressed up in slinky dresses like they THINK they’re characters on Sex in the City---tourists.
Most New Yorkers are actually pretty conservative in their dress. There’s a reason they wear so much black---because they have to navigate the often dirty streets of Manhattan on foot, never knowing if it’s going to rain or hail or sleet or snow. And I know few New York women who would wear any type of slinky, open-toed high heel during the day. Kind of hard to navigate the subway in Manolo Blahnik’s.
Today, as I was headed down 57th St., I saw a middle-aged Native American Man with his long hair in two braids walking down 5th Ave wearing nothing but a pair of green cotton underpants. Headed to Tiffany’s, no doubt. This, my friends, is a New Yorker.
Not that other big cities don’t have characters like this. In New Orleans, people would probably cheer him on. In Los Angeles, they’d look around for the cameras. In San Francisco, they would run him for Councilman. But in New York, people just go, “Eugh” and keep on walking.
That’s why I love New York. Because that was my reaction this afternoon as I made my way to an eye doctor appointment. And it felt good not to be alone on that one.
Last Thursday, on a routine trip to the eye doctor, they discovered that I had an ulcer in my eye. An ulcer! In my eye! I’d never heard of such a thing. But apparently it’s a pretty serious deal. Ulcers in the eye, if left untreated, can often require not only a hospital stay where they wake you up every 15 minutes to pop drops into your eye---but you might even need a cornea transplant. And this particular ulcer had bored two small holes in my eye and was already affecting my sight. Great.
And why did I not notice this before? Well, I hate to admit it, but I thought my sight was just changing due to…well, age.
The really sad part of it is that I always used to look forward to going to the eye doctor. It was always the one medical consultation I was guaranteed of walking out of with an A+.
But not on Friday. I was put on special eye drops and told that I would need to come back on Monday to make sure the medicine was working.
So, back I trod this afternoon. However, in order to make the most of my day, I left home a little early in order to have some time to walk around, stop for tea, and do a bit of writing.
Well, it was actually more like thinking. But I did come to one major decision today that will make things much easier tomorrow.
Then, with tea in hand, I headed off to the eye doctor where I was informed that the drops were indeed working and I would need to come back in on Friday to start another treatment to help rebuild the tissue in my eye.
After that, I headed to work. It was your average, boring night in a restaurant. However, someone loosely affiliated with the company stopped by to grab a bite to eat on the company card. I haven’t seen this guy in a while and he seemed surprised to see me. So surprised, in fact, that he blurted out something that I found...well, kind of insulting.
“I thought you’d be writing for Saturday Night Live by now.”
Well, obviously I’m not. And, by the way, thanks for bringing up the fact that I’m still a waitress right off the bat. And thanks once more for reminding me of my horrible Saturday Night Live experience.
You see, almost two years ago, I was really making a concerted effort to get hired as a writer for SNL. The pay was good, the people seemed nice, the experience would be fantastic, and---let’s face it, it beats the hell out of waiting tables.
I worked very hard on my submission package and somehow managed to pull that friend-of-a-friend deal and got an agent who was willing to basically send my stuff over (sight-unseen) to Rockefeller Center. No, I wasn't signed with this agent. I guess it was, what they call in the business, a "pocket deal".
Old ladies in polyester, elastic-waistband pants with big, colorful sweatshirts---tourists. Guys with beer guts wearing t-shirts with funny slogans and “Get ‘Er Done” caps---tourists. And teenage girls in groups dressed up in slinky dresses like they THINK they’re characters on Sex in the City---tourists.
Most New Yorkers are actually pretty conservative in their dress. There’s a reason they wear so much black---because they have to navigate the often dirty streets of Manhattan on foot, never knowing if it’s going to rain or hail or sleet or snow. And I know few New York women who would wear any type of slinky, open-toed high heel during the day. Kind of hard to navigate the subway in Manolo Blahnik’s.
Today, as I was headed down 57th St., I saw a middle-aged Native American Man with his long hair in two braids walking down 5th Ave wearing nothing but a pair of green cotton underpants. Headed to Tiffany’s, no doubt. This, my friends, is a New Yorker.
Not that other big cities don’t have characters like this. In New Orleans, people would probably cheer him on. In Los Angeles, they’d look around for the cameras. In San Francisco, they would run him for Councilman. But in New York, people just go, “Eugh” and keep on walking.
That’s why I love New York. Because that was my reaction this afternoon as I made my way to an eye doctor appointment. And it felt good not to be alone on that one.
Last Thursday, on a routine trip to the eye doctor, they discovered that I had an ulcer in my eye. An ulcer! In my eye! I’d never heard of such a thing. But apparently it’s a pretty serious deal. Ulcers in the eye, if left untreated, can often require not only a hospital stay where they wake you up every 15 minutes to pop drops into your eye---but you might even need a cornea transplant. And this particular ulcer had bored two small holes in my eye and was already affecting my sight. Great.
And why did I not notice this before? Well, I hate to admit it, but I thought my sight was just changing due to…well, age.
The really sad part of it is that I always used to look forward to going to the eye doctor. It was always the one medical consultation I was guaranteed of walking out of with an A+.
But not on Friday. I was put on special eye drops and told that I would need to come back on Monday to make sure the medicine was working.
So, back I trod this afternoon. However, in order to make the most of my day, I left home a little early in order to have some time to walk around, stop for tea, and do a bit of writing.
Well, it was actually more like thinking. But I did come to one major decision today that will make things much easier tomorrow.
Then, with tea in hand, I headed off to the eye doctor where I was informed that the drops were indeed working and I would need to come back in on Friday to start another treatment to help rebuild the tissue in my eye.
After that, I headed to work. It was your average, boring night in a restaurant. However, someone loosely affiliated with the company stopped by to grab a bite to eat on the company card. I haven’t seen this guy in a while and he seemed surprised to see me. So surprised, in fact, that he blurted out something that I found...well, kind of insulting.
“I thought you’d be writing for Saturday Night Live by now.”
Well, obviously I’m not. And, by the way, thanks for bringing up the fact that I’m still a waitress right off the bat. And thanks once more for reminding me of my horrible Saturday Night Live experience.
You see, almost two years ago, I was really making a concerted effort to get hired as a writer for SNL. The pay was good, the people seemed nice, the experience would be fantastic, and---let’s face it, it beats the hell out of waiting tables.
I worked very hard on my submission package and somehow managed to pull that friend-of-a-friend deal and got an agent who was willing to basically send my stuff over (sight-unseen) to Rockefeller Center. No, I wasn't signed with this agent. I guess it was, what they call in the business, a "pocket deal".
Actually, it was less than that. But essentially, he would send my stuff off, and if anything came of it, he would get a percentage of my pay cheque as long as I remained with the show.
Fine with me. The pay on a show like SNL is definitley high enough that I wouldn't even miss that 10%.
Sure, I knew it was a long shot. What I didn’t know was that my submission would get lost. Not once. Not twice. But three times over the course of about six months. Somewhere in the vast expanse of 30 Rock are three copies of my carefully written cover letter and submission package. One of these days, an Intern from The Today Show is going to stumble across my submission package and will scramble down the hall looking for Willard Scott to make sure it’s okay for him to toss it out.
I can only hope Willard is wearing a funny hat when my hopes and dreams end up at the Staten Island Landfill.
In any case, as I stood there this evening watching this guy sip at his glass of free red wine, I certainly didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that I still had a job where I was required to wear an apron. Tho, if Lorne Michaels had insisted...
But I’m a nice person and did not toss the glass of wine in his face. Instead, I quietly mumbled something about my package getting lost three times and trailed off into a sigh.
And then, he said just about the stupidest thing I’d ever heard.
“Well, you need to get yourself an agent.”
Oh really? Thanks. You know, I never would have thought of that. Wow. That’s a real revelation. An eye opener. And I'm a gal with a bum eye, so you can just imagine... I can’t believe I’ve spent all this time writing and waiting tables when all I needed to do was to walk out this door, walk into an agent’s office and sign myself up. Thanks, mister. You're the best!
Idiot. And, by the way, this is a guy somewhat connected to the business. Really, he should know better.
Agents for writers are extremely difficult to get. You can be a so-so actor with a pretty face and STILL get an agent in New York or L.A. Why? Because an actor with a pretty face can easily get an Under-Five (that means a part where the actor has under five lines) in a local soap opera and the agent will get a commission even if they completely suck. They can get small roles on any number of shows (and might possibly turn out to be good enough to get a larger role, eventually) and the agent gets a commission each time. There’s very little effort involved on the part of the agent. They simply get the local breakdowns, send out photos and resumes of their clients and wait by the phone to hear if their client has been selected for an audition.
Basically, the the odds are pretty decent that the agent will quickly see a return on their investment in their client with very little effort. Pretty good business, if you ask me. And I should know. I was the Owner's Assistant at an Agency in Minneapolis for three years.
Not so with writers.
An agent can sometimes work for a year before seeing any return on their work. If ever. There are no Under-Fives for writers. And, even if there were---well, we'd write eight lines and you'd have to pay an editor to cut out four of them. Ba-dum-chhhh.
In any case, as I stood there this evening watching this guy sip at his glass of free red wine, I certainly didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that I still had a job where I was required to wear an apron. Tho, if Lorne Michaels had insisted...
But I’m a nice person and did not toss the glass of wine in his face. Instead, I quietly mumbled something about my package getting lost three times and trailed off into a sigh.
And then, he said just about the stupidest thing I’d ever heard.
“Well, you need to get yourself an agent.”
Oh really? Thanks. You know, I never would have thought of that. Wow. That’s a real revelation. An eye opener. And I'm a gal with a bum eye, so you can just imagine... I can’t believe I’ve spent all this time writing and waiting tables when all I needed to do was to walk out this door, walk into an agent’s office and sign myself up. Thanks, mister. You're the best!
Idiot. And, by the way, this is a guy somewhat connected to the business. Really, he should know better.
Agents for writers are extremely difficult to get. You can be a so-so actor with a pretty face and STILL get an agent in New York or L.A. Why? Because an actor with a pretty face can easily get an Under-Five (that means a part where the actor has under five lines) in a local soap opera and the agent will get a commission even if they completely suck. They can get small roles on any number of shows (and might possibly turn out to be good enough to get a larger role, eventually) and the agent gets a commission each time. There’s very little effort involved on the part of the agent. They simply get the local breakdowns, send out photos and resumes of their clients and wait by the phone to hear if their client has been selected for an audition.
Basically, the the odds are pretty decent that the agent will quickly see a return on their investment in their client with very little effort. Pretty good business, if you ask me. And I should know. I was the Owner's Assistant at an Agency in Minneapolis for three years.
Not so with writers.
An agent can sometimes work for a year before seeing any return on their work. If ever. There are no Under-Fives for writers. And, even if there were---well, we'd write eight lines and you'd have to pay an editor to cut out four of them. Ba-dum-chhhh.
Basically, with writing, you either get a big deal, or you don’t.
And before you start yelling out things like “that’s negative thinking!”---no, it’s just reality.
The nature of the beast.
The fact is, agents don’t want you unless everyone else wants you. It sounds horrible, but really it's just good business sense.
Personally, I’ve been told that I’m the sort of writer that other writers like---but that the business people just don’t get yet.
And I’m okay with that.
So, tonight, on the train home from work, I did some more thinking, made some more decisions, and realized that I’ll probably be ready to start writing in another day or two. Super. I'm right on track.
Finally, a little after midnight, I got started on a batch of cupcakes that I plan to take into my doctor’s appointment tomorrow. After falling in the subway and breaking my jaw two months ago, I’m headed in tomorrow for a follow-up on how the surgery went and how I'm healing up. But I wanted to do a little something to say thanks to all the great doctors and nurses who helped bring me back to life. Hence, the cupcakes.
But not just any cupcakes—these are from a recipe I saw Giada DeLaurentis make on The Food Network for Mini-Cupcakes with Mascarpone Cheese. Giada did a Strawberry Glaze for the top, which I dutifully made, but decided was far too sweet. On TV, she was making it for a child’s Bake Sale. These were going into a doctor’s office. I needed to health these up a bit.
And before you start yelling out things like “that’s negative thinking!”---no, it’s just reality.
The nature of the beast.
The fact is, agents don’t want you unless everyone else wants you. It sounds horrible, but really it's just good business sense.
Personally, I’ve been told that I’m the sort of writer that other writers like---but that the business people just don’t get yet.
And I’m okay with that.
So, tonight, on the train home from work, I did some more thinking, made some more decisions, and realized that I’ll probably be ready to start writing in another day or two. Super. I'm right on track.
Finally, a little after midnight, I got started on a batch of cupcakes that I plan to take into my doctor’s appointment tomorrow. After falling in the subway and breaking my jaw two months ago, I’m headed in tomorrow for a follow-up on how the surgery went and how I'm healing up. But I wanted to do a little something to say thanks to all the great doctors and nurses who helped bring me back to life. Hence, the cupcakes.
But not just any cupcakes—these are from a recipe I saw Giada DeLaurentis make on The Food Network for Mini-Cupcakes with Mascarpone Cheese. Giada did a Strawberry Glaze for the top, which I dutifully made, but decided was far too sweet. On TV, she was making it for a child’s Bake Sale. These were going into a doctor’s office. I needed to health these up a bit.
After a few attempts at different icings from various ingredients in my kitchen, I stumbled across the solution with a simple mix of Strawberry Yogurt and more Mascarpone Cheese simply blended together. Yum! The texture and level of sweetness was so mild and just right.
Then I got a little crazy and decided to whip up a batch of her chocolate balsamic vinegar truffles that I’d duplicated about a month ago to great acclaim from my friends.
That’s another difference between me and Carrie Bradshaw---my kitchen is not just a dimly lit part of the set.
That’s another difference between me and Carrie Bradshaw---my kitchen is not just a dimly lit part of the set.
No comments:
Post a Comment