Spur-of-the-moment decisions can be fun. I don't make many of them, but last week when my friend, Mary, announced that she had a bit of an advenure planned in the form of a day trip to New York, I decided to go with her. That evening, I managed to figure out a plot point for one of my writing projects, so I'd be willing to say that this would have been a good idea even if I'd had a terrible time.
I got on the train about noon. The coach I chose also held what appeared to be an 80s cover band, complete with retro spiky hair and unfortunate outfits. They got off in Philadelphia, and one of them made silly faces at me as they gathered their equipment. I was unable to determine this person's gender from its squarish body, and bleached blond hair pulled back in a clip, but I'm pretty sure it was a man.
The train kept to its timetable and I emerged in New York's Penn Station a few minutes early. Although Mary and I know each other fairly well online, and I have seen photos of her, I wasn't positive I had picked her out correctly when I looked around under the big schedule sign. The problem was that she said she'd be wearing red sandals. She was sitting on the floor reading and I couldn't tell whether the sandals were red or not, so I called. When I saw the person I thought might be her reach for a phone in her pocket, I knew I was right.
(My fleeting thought was to approach the person I thought might be my friend and ask if he shoes were red, but if I'd been wrong, I would have been flustered; calling seemed more prudent.)
We decided to get coffee and wander downtown which was fine. The mild temperature and partly-sunny sky made me feel a little like an idiot carrying an umbrella, but I'd seen the dark clouds over Wilmington, so I took a "better safe than sorry" position and carried it, anyway. (I'm foolish enough that I might have left the thing on the train if I'd seen sunny skies the whole from Washington.)
Our plan was to find the flower market, but we failed in that. I have no native sense of direction--seriously, I thought we were walking north when we were walking due south--and it turned out that we walked a few blocks too far south, and we were too far east. (The flower markets are in Chelsea, around Ninth Ave between roughly 27th and 33rd Streets.)
Anyway, we made our way to Union Square to catch the subway to lower Manhattan, and our ultimate destination, which was Pace University. The purpose of the adventure was a scheduled taping of "Inside the Actor's Studio" with House star Hugh Laurie as the guest. We joined the line after getting caught in a thunderstorm--yay umbrella! Only our thighs got wet--and then we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The line was fairly comfortable. We chatted with a few of the people around us. Occasionally somebody would walk by with food, and the smells tempted us both to go out and forage, but we didn't. I wasn't that hungry, but if a vendor had passed us carrying falafel, I would have been the happiest person ever.
I have to admit that, although I watch House crazy regularly, I wasn't all that interested in Hugh Laurie. I mean, he does a very good job with the character, but I wouldn't say he's a TV crush or anything. All that changed when he took the stage. I was charmed by his long, loping gait. How does a person manage to walk with self-deprecation? I have no idea, but I've seen it happen. He did not seem like an actor in PR mode; he seemed like a guy talking about his life--including his life on stage--and I was quite taken in by that. He has had an interesting life, and for the most part, he seemed comfortable with James Lipton's questions. He at least attempted to answer them coherently, and he succeeded, for the most part.
