"Better to be lucky than to be good."

I have so much to write about New York, but it'll all have to wait because, tonight, THIS happened:



Yeah, I met Bunk FUCKING Moreland (a.k.a. Wendell Pierce) from The Wire. To borrow one of his own phrases, FUCK FUCKIN' FUCK! Sorry. Can you tell that I am out of my mind about this? The whole thing is probably not a big deal to those of you who haven't watched The Wire. If that's the case, I have to ask WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU? Do you not spend every waking moment in front of the television like I do? Do you hate great writing and acting??? Do me a favor. Turn off your computer, pull on your sweatpants, run to your nearest video store, and rent all five seasons right this moment. When you're done watching them (don't sleep till you're all finished, now), come back to this blog entry. I promise, even through your sleep deprived state, you, like me, will be excitedly dropping the f-bomb left and right, going "THE FUCKING PQK MET FUCKING BUNK MORELAND." Or perhaps it'll be done more enviously, like "THAT FUCKING PQK? SHE HARDLY EVER UPDATES! WHAT DID SHE DO TO DESERVE THIS?" After all of your ranting and cursing, you should probably check into a hospital because watching 60+ hours of television without food or rest cannot be good for you. Once you recover, though, I'm sure you'll thank me.

And how did this meeting come about? This evening I was treated to a play called Broke-ology. My benefactor (which makes it sound like I have a sugar daddy... which I do) told me that it was going to be a musical-- turns out, it wasn't. As much as my falafel-clogged heart loves a little song and dance, it did not go unsatisfied and it's strings did not go un-pulled. The play was amazing-- probably one of the best that I've seen so far-- and Wendell Pierce was the lead. After the show, it took me and my companions a little while longer to get up to the lobby (they're a bit older, you see) and who should be standing there when we finally arrived? Wendell and the rest of the cast (who were also freaking amazing, by the way)! Did I pounce like a crazy person? Maybe. Why do I look that way in the photo? Because I balled my eyes out at the end of the play. Seriously, there's a chance that people were embarrassed to be seen with me, I cried so hard. So, yeah. I don't look stellar, but that's not the point. The point is BUNK FUCKING MORELAND.

New York Post Lacking in Transitions

Hi friends! It’s been awhile and BOY have I missed you! I’m sad to say that some serious things have kept me away from the internet. A week ago Thursday, a good friend passed away after a long battle with ALS. I’ve tried to write a couple of posts regarding this remarkable woman, but they never came out right. This small mention will have to do until I can write something more profound and elegiac (which might be never). Needless to say, the loss has thrown my preparation for finals into pandemonium and I’ve been scrambling to catch up even with hand full of extensions.

Onto happier news, I am currently watching Seinfeld in my tiny New York hotel room and trying to calm my nerves for my big interview tomorrow. I cannot express how much I want this, but I’ll try… I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT I WAAAAAANT IT! Again, I’m not so sure what I can reveal about the job itself, but I’ll tell you that it would be for a very popular comedy show with an amazing writing staff. Okay, I’m working myself into a tizzy.

New York is awesome, but I gotta tell you that I’m a little mixed about seeing such beautiful people mixing about with us normal folk. Honestly, a girl can’t swing a mediocre arm without hitting a pack of super models. Just kidding. My arm is certainly not mediocre. Despite being surrounded by the prettiest humans on the planet, I feel so comfortable here—all of my city-related anxiety slipped away within my second lap around Union Square. I’m sure life gets harder when you actually live here and can’t afford to drop thirty bucks per meal. If I get the internship, I guess I’ll find out seeing how it’s unpaid and all. If I’m lucky, they’ll give me a subway pass and a “good luck.”

As you probably know, I’m not above getting into pop culture and the world of celebrity. Celebrity sightings so far? First, I saw the not so famous Maria Thayer from Strangers with Candy and, more recently, an episode of 30 Rock (double squee!). Then, as my friend and I ate Indian food at a sidewalk café in the East Village, Julia Stiles walked by holding a potted orchid. This wouldn’t have been so weird if she wasn’t just going into a restaurant with some dude.

“Are orchids the new thing that celebrities carry?” my friend asked. We both agreed that it should be.

Back to Julia. She was very pretty and was wearing an enviable blazer. She also seemed to know the people of the neighborhood. I don’t know why this surprised me, but it did and it was pleasant to see (or at least try to see out of my periphery—I’m not that rude, people). It wasn’t the best celebrity sighting ever, but the seventh grade Pop Quiz Kid would have died of joy. I used to live on a diet of Ten Things I Hate About You and idolized Stiles’ Kat Stratford. So, high-five to twelve-year-old me.

Okay, bed time. Wish me luck tomorrow.

Shanaynay says, "Oh, no. You didn't."

A couple of nights ago, I had a dream in which I was involved in a car chase with Martin Lawrence. I'm not sure who was chasing us, but I am sure that the dream was filled with a lot of "straight-laced white cop teams with loose-cannon black cop and comedy ensues" movie clichés. Having thought about it for a few days and momentarily gotten over how much I hate Martin Lawrence (Big Momma's House 2 aside), I've decided that this can go down as one of the best buddy-cop dreams in history.




On a related note, this is the first time that I've ever published a photo of myself on this blog! And yes, that is my real body and is in no way Monique.