Twists and Turns

So, I decided that perhaps yesterday was not the greatest to turn and go straight home, since it was a glorious 80 degrees. Normally, I prefer the cold, but even I need a break. My Skechers died a noble death after much walking, so I traipsed merrily along through Times Square. I stopped near the Howard Johnson's to look at a dark blonde, green-eyed guy handing out comedy club "flyers" in the shape of ticket stubs. What was so weird is that I remembered those eyes: they were almost yellow.



I knew this guy. MIKE DUNCAN.



He recognized me, jumped off the fire station where he had perched himself, and we began a lovely rehash of our short time together in hell--er, AADA. He was not invited back after June 1998. I told him how lucky he was. He heard about various firings and hirings. I nodded, silently. The only firing--although she who must be obeyed would call it a "demotion"--I enjoy talking about incessantly is Janis Powell. The Evil Incarnate. Unprofessional Narcissist. Talk Now, Do Later, Blame Someone Else. He agreed. I enjoyed telling Mike--now by the name of Duncan Jay--how so many of us who quit or were fired are actually doing better since we've suffered egregiously at the hands of that hole. The only place to go is up.



He's doing ok, too. He's taken to stand-up comedy. We traded jokes and barbs about various things. A pseudo-Yoko Ono walked by and I howled. We launched into "Full Metal Jacket" jokes and cracked up for a good 5 minutes. A business card was exchanged, and I've now linked him here, too. Great guy, funny as hell.



I saw another one of my "kids" as I call 'em in a Starbucks today near Lincoln Center--I believe his name was Juan or Jorge. His black curls are gone, and he's being shipped up to the Starbucks on 81st and Broadway very soon. He recognized me before I saw him. Mercury must be in retrograde or something with all these people from my past showing up.



My yummy half-day went down into the muck with a particularly bitchy incident I dare not waste space on here (do call for details, RD), and a snippy email from a coworker who could actually speak to me, but chose to "zing" me instead. Yes, everyone's true colors are coming out. And to think for just a moment I felt bad about leaving early due to a schedule glitch with H&R block? Puhhlease. I waltzed out of there without an ounce of guilt with one thought in my head, "See ya."



I went to Lincoln Center and walked up to the Advance Sales window and got myself a ticket to La Bayadere. I always go when ABT is in town, so that's my gift to myself. A homeless woman with three cats (one Kashi-colored) looked pretty sad, so I gave her the donut I didn't eat.



So, my new Skechers are blue and violet. Sparkly, too, like my favorite skater's costume. I didn't think of it until I saw a photo last night.



Mahler's 5th Symphony is on, Dexter's on my coat, I'm sipping cool water, and it's gray outside. I salvaged my day somewhat. Now, if I can only finish those damn video transfers and make some tea, all will be better.