Trains

I'm telling you guys...the subway system in NYC is SO EASY.

Once you understand that the trains pretty much just go up and down (and that in Manhattan, downtown doesn't mean "where the most tall buildings are") it's a breeze.

Express trains stop at the white dots. Regular trains stop at the black AND white ones. And if you wind up going the wrong direction, simply disembark, walk across the platform, and catch the next train going the opposite way.

But these other trains...these actual TRAIN-trains?

Forget it. Using them requires a whole nuther level of understanding and observation.

I *naturally assumed* the train I was just booted from was headed to Manhattan.

I mean, don't all roads lead there? Isn't Manhattan like Rome?

Apparently not. As the Irish-Italian conductor so brusquely informed me. Nicky O'Carlo. He's a tough guy.

In other news, Heaven's sprung a leak. How'm I supposed to move all this junk if Manhattan keeps doing its best impression of Seattle?

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Oh yeah...

And did I mention the sculpture of moi that's waiting for me...in Philly?! How the crap am I supposed to get there? If I don't pick it up soon, the sculptor is going to throw the cast away. And then my mother will be without a Christmas present.

I mean geeze! It just doesn't stop!

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It isn't any fun

Moving sucks.

It really does.

I don't know what else to say on the matter. Just that moving all of your worldly possessions on foot makes me feel for people in the old days. You know. When people moved things by covered wagons or something.

Because just when I think I can make some serious headway, I have to stop and remember, oh yeah, I don't have any of the large pieces of furniture I need to put these things anywhere.

And I don't want to call the man-with-a-van guys yet.

So I'm concocting a plan to move these giant pieces of furniture...by myself. It can be done. It's *only* two blocks. I mean...how hard could it be to move a computer desk two blocks to the east?

This is stupid. Why don't New Yorkers have pickup trucks?!? I need one, stat!

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Moving

I've got the keys.

I've got the apartment.

The problem is, we've also got a severe thunder storm warning.

No sooner had I finished trip #2 (I plan to start sleeping over here TONIGHT--the previous tenant left her air conditioner) than the rumble of thunder shook the buildings in Midtown and the raindrops began to fall.

Here's hoping it clears up after an hour or so. But according to weather.com (full 3G signal on my Blackberry--whew! I forgot to check that when I looked at the place) it looks like we're in for stormpocalypse. AGAIN.

Which is okay. Because this summer it seems as though every dog owner in the City is leaving their plastic baggies at home and the sidewalks become poopwalks in no time flat. So it's nice that the Lord is trying to keep things sanitary.

I think the rain has let up a little. Time to make a break for it...

More later.

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Back from Drama Camp

Back from Connecticut. And I'm pretty sure those red spots on my ankles are ant bites. Because Lord knows I didn't set foot in the stupid Connecticut woods. I don't have a death wish, you know.

The retreat wasn't as dreadful as I thought it might be. In fact, it was a kind of fun bonding experience with a bunch of strangers. We got all the big group scenes staged and had a swell time living in this weird barn-like building that was built to be a hippie yoga/meditation/interpretive dance studio.

And...I guess that's all there is to say about that.

Just a few more days before I get the keys to the new apartment. Really anxious to see what the catch is. Because there's GOT to be a catch. The more I think about it, the more suspicious I'm becoming. Because it's so close to Times Square, it's a really decent sized studio, it's quiet, it's clean...and for some reason, it's cheap. That's why I'm suspicious. A place like this? They could have gone with $1675 at LEAST.

But then, after having heard about the weirdly wonderful deals people have been finding all over the place--what with the economy and all--maybe I should just quit asking questions and be happy I'll soon have an apartment that only needs one air conditioning unit to cool the whole thing off.

Theatre Retreat

Finally, the South Carolina Videos

They're a little on the quiet side so you might have to turn them up a notch or two.

These videos include a tour of the new house and, of course, twelve minutes and fifty-nine seconds of completely inappropriate baby antics!

Wait, what?

I was just informed the town of Mystic is very near Old Lyme, CT.

They're talking about going hiking in the woods later.

I want the city.

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Choo choo!

On the Amtrak to Mystic, CT. Home of Mystic Pizza and the Draco's Egg structure where we'll be rehearsing.

At one point the train stopped for several minutes and some guy came on the intercom and mumbled something in a very low voice that nobody could understand. I don't have any idea what he said, but my imagination happily filled in the blanks.

"Two trains have collided on the tracks ahead of us. We may be stranded for days. Please be patient."

I took that opportunity to drink it all in. The woods on either side, the narrow car, the feeling of the seat I'd be stuck in for the next three days.

It was just like 'Murder on the Orient Express'! Only without a world-famous detective. Or a really cool train. Or snow. Or a murder.

Next stop on the Broadway Express, Theatrecamp, CT.

Rapture.
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Calm Before the Theatre Storm

One down, two to go.

It's another one of those days where I wonder why I spent so much time coordinating my outfit this morning since it would spent the vast majority of the day folded up in the corner.

I'm trying to enjoy myself. See, tomorrow morning it's the 7am train to Connecticut.

I think the idea of having a theatre retreat is bizarre. The only retreats I've ever been on have been church-related and generally involve a little ponderous soul-searching or some meaningful moments of worship.

But not this retreat. No, this is a *theatre* retreat where the cast of the play hopes to knock out most/all of the scenes so we can cut back on rehearsals when we get back to Manhattan.

And there may be some substance abuse. But I don't know. Whatever. I'm not messing with that crap. Especially not with a bunch of strangers. Because that's really what they are to me. Strangers. I don't play video games with them = I don't know them.

I understand the director/playwright team thought this would be an awesome opportunity for everybody to do something fun and unusual. I get that. That's cool.

The issue I have is they planned the retreat to go from Wednesday evening to Sunday evening.

And if you know nothing about New York, know this: it's expensive.

And I'm not cancelling three modeling gigs so I can take the weekend to make zero dollars for a play I'm doing for free. In fact, we aren't being fed either. If we want to eat this weekend, we have to buy a weekend's worth of food at the nearby grocery store.

But who knows. May have the time of my life. The train ride should be fun.

And I have 'Coraline' on my iPod so if things get really bad I can relish in a stop-motion near-Christian allegory about the nature of temptation and how evil works.
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Don't Eat the Model

The loony art instructor forgot she requested a model for today so I'm sitting here waiting to pose while this class of freshmen girls finish their paintings of two dozen donuts. With sprinkles on top.

These art schools are so weird. I wonder what their parents would say if they knew what their kids were doing with their money.

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Another Finished Painting

Consider the lilies of the field...

Click for larger image!

Do you see the twist here? That Solomon is considering the lilies of the field? The lilies Jesus was talking about were probably bright red and not at all like the Easter lilies you're thinking of. If you look closely you can see them in the distance and also a couple on the dish I'm holding.

I'm only making $12.50 an hour. And in this town the cost of living is just WAY higher. I should ask for a raise. Especially since palace dress code is toga without any underpants. It's kind of embarrassing when the Shekinah Glory blows past. But hey, those concubines are kinda cute.

I'm also King Solomon's body.

It's good to be king. I think I'm going to use my kingly staff to skewer some bread and figs since they put the table so far away. Why'd they do that? And why did that pale slave put flowers on my dish? Does he think I'm going to eat those? I wouldn't consider those lilies of the field! And I really wish he would put on some underpants. Maybe I need to make it a little more clear that the no underpants rule doesn't apply to the dudes too. Hmm. Well, I don't want to embarrass him by telling him that in front of my concubines. I wonder if she remembers the time when we first met...


Maybe we'll make the cover of a Bible study! Or at least a daily devotional!

I'm Through: Nickhoalle Edition

I'm through.

I know I've said it before.

And each time I came back for more.

But this time I'm really through.

Nickhoalle is no longer a part of my life.

So I'm sitting there, getting everything ready for the week. Sending out emails to Nickhoalle and Alvin about our training sessions and my availability for the next few days.

Now, I've got a *lot* of stuff going on this week. Modeling all morning and day, all week long for a summer workshop at Fancy New Art School.edu.

In the evenings, rehearsals, more modeling at Art School for Talentless Rich Kids and teaching the group gym classes.

And finally, on Friday is the weekend retreat to a place called "Draco's Egg" with the cast of the play. The idea is that, when people aren't drunk or high or talking about how much they love Obama, we'll knock out all the major scenes for the show and not have to rehearse so much in the coming weeks.

Yes, things are packed pretty solid this week.

I looked at my schedule and, sorry, Nickhoalle, but I can only fit you in two times. I'm swamped.

Email sent.

Nickhoalle, who missed a session and never called to tell me she wasn't dead, and who suddenly skipped town for a week-long business meeting, emails and calls back.

"You WILL give me three days this week and you WILL give me a better selection of times to work out. You work for ME!"

Readers who have been following my many misadventures will remember Consuela back at Eventual Practical Financial Services.

Consuela and I butted heads a number of times. There were a bunch of "I'm quitting TODAY" moments where I made sure I had all personal affects in my messenger bag as I left the office for the day.

But I was also seeing a therapist named Eddie at the time.

"Fork, is quitting your job because you have a conflict the *mature, adult* thing to do?"

"............."

"Fork...?"

"Nooo. It's not."

For a while now, I've been struggling with how to deal with Nickhoalle, worried that she was another Consuela. That I needed to be mature and just push through this. I mean, sometimes you hate your job. Sometimes you have to work with people who don't like you.

But you know what guys? Today helped me see that maybe this *wasn't* actually a Consuela situation where I was being an indignant child.

After all, being told that I'm Satan, asked if I hate my life, that I'm not as big as her *other* personal trainers back in Dallas, that my hair is ugly, that the exercises I give her are all stupid (and please know, 42nd Floorers, I stay up the night before our sessions working on routines that I hope this woman will like), that I'm trying to make her look like an idiot, being told I don't know what I'm doing, that exercises I give her don't work, that she won't won't WON'T do a warm-up or stretch beforehand, that I'm wasting her time and money, and threatening to take her business elsewhere if I don't give her exactly what she wants...

Having her call me a liar (from her email: "I understand you being busy, we all are, but I don't feel like you're fitting me in.") and demand that I give her more days and options made me realize something.

Life is too short to hate waking up in the morning because you know that, at some point in the day, you have to deal with an extraordinarily hateful hag from heck.

ESPECIALLY if you still haven't been paid for a *single session* of training you've done.

That's right, folks. Vinnie, the gym owner, has been on vacation and the manager Chris fed me some line about not being able to get on the pay schedule until Vinnie gets back from wherever the crap he is.

No, this isn't Consuela all over again. This is something different.

But you know, maybe right now is the wrong time to be a trainer. After all, with my schedule the way it is, I can't consistently meet with clients the same time every day. Sometimes I simply have weeks like the one coming up. And there's nothing I can do.

It'll be another thing when I finally move to Cackalackee and don't *have* to be at auditions or modeling gigs. But that's not how things are right now.

So I emailed Nickhoalle and told her I'd be talking to the gym manager about finding her a trainer who would be able to work with her schedule and...specific tastes in working out.

So that's it. It's over.

And...

...Man.

I'm...

...I'm SO HAPPY.

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Housey Update

Guess what?

I got the apartment. WOOT!

Tomorrow I hand over two cashier's checks for first month and security deposit, sign a piece of paper, and they hand me a set of keys.

Expect a video tour of the new place in the next day or so. It's pretty incredible.


View Larger Map

Building number is 347. See that little grove of bushes? See that little walkway to the left of them? Well, at the end of the walkway is a gate. Inside the gate is an enclosed courtyard and a two story house (maybe a carriage-house in days gone by). My new studio (with a real kitchen area, two large, south-facing windows, an air conditioner, and a big bathroom with a REAL BATHTUB) is on the second floor.

Which means in addition to the cheap rent, the rent stabilization, being one/two blocks from most major subways, having a grocery store, my gym, a Duane Reade, Broadway theatres, the restaurants on 9th Avenue, I don't have to worry about neighbors clomping around upstairs. Here's hoping the next-door neighbor is a quiet Puerto Rican lady with no sub-woofers.

Normally, living right between 8th and 9th avenue would SUCK because of the tourists and all the people going to the restaurants on 9th. But because the apartment house is OFF the sidewalk and tucked away behind the Scientology building, it's REALLY quiet. That's what really sold me on this.

Now, it would be AWESOME if I could know for sure that there aren't dead kittens in the floorboards, but I guess that's part of the risk you take when you move into a new place, right?

Healthy Update

UPDATE!

Got a call from the doctor who treated me for Good Tyme Lyme (that sounds like a new color of a Crayola crayon--or something you put in a margarita). And guess what? Remember how we weren't QUITE sure if it really was really REALLY Lyme disease because the blood tests came back negative?

Well, you can all breathe a sigh of relief because the blood test they did the day they gave me the antibiotics came back WAY positive. The lab technician also mentioned something about the bacteria having a huge party and dancing to Michael Jackson's disco albums.

I told the doctor the "day three and pox-free" thing and she was really happy the antibiotics were working so well. I think she was excited that it actually was the dreaded Lyme disease after all and not something boring like hay fever. The fact that we caught it super-fast was even cooler.

So yep. Turns out I was absolutely right in my diagnosis/paranoid suspicions. Thanks, internets! Maybe I should add "Web M.D." to my name.

And you know, this whole thing makes me wonder...why the crap are they reforming the health care system? I mean, I don't have proper insurance like everybody else with "real" jobs, I have this green card that says "self pay" that ACTS like insurance. I use it exclusively at this Hell's Kitchen clinic. So all I do is flash this card, pay $40, and I can be seen and treated rather quickly for Lyme disease.

So yeah. It's not ideal, what with the occasional runaway taxi and falling pianos, but then again, I always look both ways when I cross the street so I'm not THAT worried.

If they have a Health Care Tea Party in New York, somebody sign me up. I can't imagine what would have happened if I had to wait nine months to see a doctor.

This guy is kind of a freak, but the video is pretty interesting.




In other news, it looks like Nutty is going to have to call up Yoko and figure out some new living arrangements because this little Forky is going Wii Wii Wii all the way to a new studio apartment.

Well, to be perfectly accurate, I MIGHT be moving to a new apartment. I'll find out in two or three hours once the credit checks go through. Other than that, it just depends on what the landlady thought of me in the little "interview" we had this morning and if she thinks I'll be a good fit in the building.

Mom and Dad Fourchette were good enough to act as guarantors. If you have a guarantor, they pretty much don't care about YOU unless you seem like a dirty, bugle-playing drug addict with four labradors.

If everything goes through I'll post another update with all the deets on this place. No sense in typing it all up if Yolanda is just gonna call and say, "I sorry, is no good for joo." Let's just say, it's so practically perfect in every way, I almost wonder if there isn't something DREADFULLY wrong with the place. Like dead kittens hidden in the floorboards or something.

It's right behind the Midtown offices for the Church of Scientology. The comic potential here is a little mind-boggling.

She's Alive. She's ALIVE!

Don't worry folks.

Nickholle is alive.

And the first thing she said to me?

"Your hair isn't as curly as it was last time. What, did you actually *brush* it? Curly hair is so ugly."

I wonder how long it takes to learn to become a court reporter. They say it's America's best-kept job secret.

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Day Three and Pox-Free!

Well folks, here we are at full day number three of the Doxycycline and I'm happy to report that, aside from some lingering hip pain (the bacteria is known to attack large joints for some reason), all the rashes are gone or diminishing,

the lymph nodes are back to their mostly normal size,

neck is no longer stiff,

fever/chills have FINALLY abated--I can actually sleep the whole night through for the first time in a month and a half--and, most importantly,

my muscles have stopped shrinking. Do you have any idea how much time and money I've spent getting them to their pre-Lyme size?

Funny to think that one bacterial infection and BOOM you're back to having the arms of a Japanese schoolgirl.

So yes. The Lyme disease, the pox, whatever it was, appears to be withering away thanks to a ten dollar bottle of aqua-colored antibiotics. It looks like I'm cured!




At least until the sequel. When they discover that...something survived...

Nickholle?

Nickolle didn't come in for her training session this morning.

I called and emailed. Nothing. Which is weird because she has a Blackberry and usually responds within minutes.

Oh I know. Since we met at 11 on Monday she probably got confused and thought we were meeting at 11 today instead of 8.

It's 12:30 now.

No Nickholle.

You know what's funny? During our last session two days ago we were doing box push-ups. She finishes and says, "Wow! These really get your heart going, don't they?"

"Yes. They're a really good exercise."

"Wow. My heart is just pumping! I can really feel it going! I don't think I've ever worked this hard before."

"Yep. That's why I'm here."

"My dad just dropped dead in a gym. Worked out every day of his life, was in great shape, but this thing in his heart killed him. Same thing happened to his father. And I'm JUST like my dad. Look like him, act like him, everything. And he was at the gym working out when suddenly he fell over dead. They tried to revive him three times but it didn't work. I bet I'm going to die in a gym too."





Still haven't heard from Nickholle....

Good Lyme Charlie

Whoops. Maybe I spoke too soon.

The magic wonder pills haven't quite cleared up the constant ache in my hip. And the spots are still there. I guess you can't expect something like this to heal overnight but still. It would be nice.

Since the tests came back negative (which, it turns out, is not unusual if the tests are performed at the early stages) it makes me wonder if we diagnosed this thing properly. Especially since I got the tick off within 24 hours of being bitten which typically reduces your chances of contracting the disease a big, fat ZERO. Generally needs two to three days. Hmm.

Can't think of what else it could be though...any ideas? The most creative diagnosis wins a prize!

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Rosemary's Lyme Baby

Remember that scene in that creepiest of creepy movies, "Rosemary's Baby" where Rosemary, who has experienced an unusually painful (and evil!) pregnancy, starts to suspect the witches next door have something to do with it ("Pain is a sign that something is WRONG!") and she threatens to go to a real doctor, not the witch doctor? And suddenly the pain stops?

That totally just happened to me. I don't know if it had anything to do with my threatening to go to a "real" doctor in case it turns out the one yesterday misdiagnosed me...

...Or maybe it's just the antibiotics are working.

Either way, something sinister is *probably* going on. I think I may be carrying the devil's bacterium.

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Twist of Lyme

GUESS WHAT?!

The results are in!

The nurse was both horrified and intrigued!

More blood was drawn! An EKG was performed!

I am the lucky carrier of borrelia burgdorferi! a.k.a. LYME DISEASE!

Named for the tiny town of Lyme, Connecticut, Lyme disease was finally "discovered" in 1975 when a bunch of housewives banded together to figure out why all their little children had been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis.

The doctor who went over all my symptoms and checked out all my target-shaped rashes had the TIME OF HER LIFE. She said she specialized in infectious diseases or something like that and I was the second-ever person she'd seen who had (by her estimation anyway) the classic, textbook case of Give-This-Kid-Some-Antibiotics-STAT! Lyme disease. Big smile on her face the whole time. And since I was the textbook case, I got the textbook treatment.

Quoth I: "There's a rash on my foot, one by my knee, one on my groin by my lymph node, and one on my shoulder that's new as of this weekend."

"You probably didn't know you also have a HUGE one on your back, did you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, you probably can't see it. But it's very large and very pronounced. Wow. This is so cool. Does your liver hurt?"

I guess the guys at the lake this weekend thought I just had a target-shaped sunburn on my back. Or maybe that the target was to show New York theatre where to aim when looking for a bright new star. Or maybe to show people where to direct their gifts of money and expensive electronics.

I suppose what they say is true:

I get lyme with a little help from my friends.

Fortunately, one EKG later, my disease-loving doctor got a $10 bottle of Doxycycline into my rashy hands and the first of 42 pills has been ingested.

Hopefully it won't turn out like this. (watching) Oh man. That's not even funny. Oh my gawd. Uhh...I wonder if I can take two of those pills...

Okay! Start sending your get-well gifts and care packages!

Back in Town

And not a moment too soon. Seriously, y'all. Something's still wrong. VERY wrong.

On Thursday before we started our six hour drive to Upstate New York Land, I called the clinic and left a message on the Queen Nurse's voicemail asking her to call me back if they had received the results from my blood test.

Well, somewhere during the drive up I wound up with a voicemail from her.

"Yes, your lab results ARE in and...umm...we really need you to come in first thing Monday morning. We'd also like to know how you're feeling right now--if you're okay. So yes, please make sure you come in on Monday morning and tell them we need to see you so you can make sure to be seen."

Well THAT was fun news to get after having JUST arrived at our lakeside retreat for the weekend.

With the extremely spotty phone signal we had at the cabin, I used my schmartphone to rule out viral meningitis, although my neck and jaw were/are extremely stiff and painful to move. The low blood pressure and the curious large red circular patches appearing all over my body are unusual as well, as are the sudden "itchy attacks" that happen once a day for about twenty minutes on the tops of my feet. And, of course, those nutty nodules are all starting to swell again.

It really makes me wonder why the idiot doctor I saw two weeks ago didn't just go ahead and prescribe some generic antibiotic even though he was pretty sure it wasn't lyme disease.

Anyway, pictures and videos of the wacky weekend to come. If I don't die first.

Getting Out of Town

It's time for another nutty Fourth of July adventure. This time it's a return to the rustic charms of upstate New Yuck with Jimmy Crack Corn and company. We leave this afternoon, drive five hours, and get there just in time to go to bed. It's going to be awesome!

That is, if I don't die of viral meningitis.

Oh, and there's one hurdle I have to clear before I can depart on my weekend of fun.

Another session with Nickoalle.