Moldy Infinite

Umm..excuse me, Manhattan? Umm...I was just wondering if you could do something for me...

Well, first off, I am about to ask you a favor, so I want to preface my imploring with an apology for calling you the Big Crab in the past...even though you have proved yourself to be that to the nth degree within the short yet seemingly long 48 hours that I have been back in town. The favor is...

Could you please stop punching me in the face while you sarcastically yell, "Welcome back!" I mean I can only take so much of your moldy sarcasm, your futile key points, and your trashy antics...I am on a Fung Wah bus going out of town to visit my family for the weekend in Mass, but I promise to come back if you just ease up on me a little.

I arrive at the Arrival Gates (JFK airport...I call it the arrival gates because of the Ani song in which she speaks about the beauty of families reuniting at the airport...) at 10:40 AM. The flight is perfect-besides the fact that my bus call out of Fort Myers, FL is at 4:30 AM after getting 3 hours of sleep because my closing night show of White Christmas was the night before-it is impossible to wind down quickly after a show..especially one that includes goodbyes.

I get on the A train up to my apartment (a two hour trip), and when I arrive, I am greeted with a clean apartment and a wonderful note from my subletters thanking me for the experience, wishing me luck, and mentioning a "minor" problem. They write that the water damage in the front closet ended up being worse than they thought. Of course, they weren't looking in the front closet constantly because the front closet is our storage space for all of our things while we are away. Well, needless to say, I rush over to the front closet, open it, and start to gag when the moldy vapors start attacking me! After I recover from the initial blast, I take a step toward the closet, turn on my red hall light (this is a gradual way to examine the damage..a little lovely reddish hue on the three inch mold growths seems to make it more bearable to start), and give it a initial diagnosis: serious water damage that was done during the rainy months of October and November. I think that this is a pretty solid diagnosis based on the redwood mold forest growing in the damp dark.

Now, the next step is to remember what items I packed in the large wardrobe boxes that could potentially have met fatality. As soon as I remember that my boy's Apple Hi-Fi, three external hard disk drives with A LOT of significant data stored on them, a doumbeck drum, and some of my favorite clothing is packed tightly in the box that has the scariest amounts of mold formations growing out of it that look like the most evil gargoyles sticking out their tongues and laughing at me, I rush to get a stool to stand on so that I can start ripping apart the box. After I rip off the tape that covers the box while sneezing myself silly, I see that all of the clothes have dark green moldy splotches on them. These are the clothes that are covering the expensive electronics-needless to say, after I carefully unwrap the devices, I can see droplets of condensation on all of them left over from three months ago-not a good sign.

I immediately lay all of the items-including a 600 dollar Sony digital camera-ouch-and put them on a flannel sheet to air out. I haven't touched them since then for fear that I will short something out or get electrocuted. My boy is coming back to NYC on Monday with me after spending a weekend in Mass with my family, so I will let him sort that out. He is going to be a little upset when he is barely able to open the front door to the apartment because of the moldy items that are drying out in the front hallway...well, at least we will be on the same page after he is undergoes a mold attack.

So, the moldy redwoods prove to be the first instigator for a flood of tears that I try to suppress. Yes, there is more. The next morning, I wake up really early, make some extra strong french pressed coffee, and start my brain a'bubblin. I immediately put a thousand things on my plate including but not limited to stopping by my agent's office all the way downtown, going to a Kiss Me Kate audition, getting taps put on my new LaDuca tap shoes, and signing up for work study at Bikram NYC. I am running frantically around the apartment-or should I say, obstacle coursing because of the moldy hurdles airing out around the apartment that I have to jump over and run around-all the whilst sneezing like a mad person. I finally have everything together for the audition and my meeting with my agent, so I run out the door, go to Wamu to deposit some checks, and jump on the A train to Columbus .

It is not until I open my bag in the Duane Reade in order to get money for the water that I am buying that I realize that I do not have my keys to the apartment. Now, I did this once before, and it wasn't such a big deal because my superintendent, Perfecto (I know-awesome name), let me into a first floor apartment, from which I climbed out of and up the fire escape to my apartment and opened the window from the outside to get in. Unfortunately, I know that this is not going to work this time because I hadn't taken a moment to open any of the windows since I had arrived. I know that the super doesn't have a spare key...so, I call my boy.

I go absolutely a-wall-telling him about what is going on with the water damage and my looming homelessness or my imminent poverty if I decide to pay a locksmith hundreds of dollars to change the lock. Also, I will miss my audition if I have to go all the way back up town to accompany a locksmith while he spends too much time doing something for too high a price! My boy calms me down, and says something that sounds much like the chord of heaven ( C chord, right?) He says, "I think that I have a copy of the key." He goes and checks, and, sure enough, he has a copy. Just as he is about to ask me the question of where I am going to plant my homeless butt for the night while I wait for the key to be overnighted to me, I get a text from my good friend Tanny asking if I want to hang out with her and her cousin. Hmmm....not only do I want to hang out, but I also need a place to sleep! Another heavenly chord chimes now. I had been supressing my second flood of tears for the day, but now I am releasing tears of joy. I tell my boy that I will call him back after making plans with Tanny and will text him the address where the key needs to be sent. Phew!

I get off of the phone with Tanny, walk ten blocks to LaDuca to get taps and rubbers on my shoes, and then rush over to Ripley to make it to my audition on time. As I am walking to down 8th ave, I realize that my Equity card is no good. In order to get into an Equity chorus call, you have to present to the monitor an up to date, paid for Actors Equity Association union card. It just dawns on me that even though I paid my dues on time online, I never got a new card because all of my mail has been forwarded to my mother while I was on tour.

Twice a year an actor pays dues, and each time this happens, you get a new card that is a new color...hence, a monitor can see an expired card from 10 feet away. My last one was pink...I will find out soon what my next Equity color is in about 3 hours when I arrive in Mass where all of my mail on tour has been going. The only solution to this problem is to go to the Equity building in Time Square in order to get a temporary pass after they look up my file on the computer and confirm that I have paid my dues.

I immediately do a 180 (I think I hear my tires screech! :o) and begin to power walk in the opposite direction toward Equity confirmation..hail ye great actor temple! I have accepted at this point that I am going to be late for the audition. Many times the monitor will keep the call "open" meaning that he or she will allow some plus tards to slip through the cracks after the start of the audition. I jump in the elevator at Equity and press 14. This elevator is not a straight shooter...in fact, it seems to enjoy the sensation of stopping...at least 7 times before we get up to 14....really? So, I go up to the desk, and a nice woman quickly writes out a temporary card for me. I rush to the audition, and guess what? It has been closed.

The good news is that I find out there is an non-Equity call the following day. This is kind of a bummer because I want to get to Mass early in the day so that I can have a solid 5 days with my family in Mass, who I hasn't seen me in 3 months, but I decide that this is what I am going to do because I have to feel as if I have accomplished something since my Manhattan return. I decide to stop by Bikram NYC for a work study interview, which goes smoothly, and I head toward my savior friend's abode in Chelsea after a short meeting with my agent.

Tanny, her cousin and I have a smashing time at the Trailer Park on West 23rd, where there is a toilet on the front sidewalk, and a blow up doll smoking a cigarette inside. I decide not to eat because I picked up a lovely chicken pesto sandwich at Au Bon Pain (you should try it-and request it in a wrap) earlier, so I get a soda water and cranberry juice..oh, and by the way, they charge for refills there, so watch out. With tip and tax, I end up paying 8 dollars for a soda. We have great conversation at her place after time at the Trailer Park as I sit on her new furry rug from West Elm. I don't get quite enough sleep because I decide to go to the men's open call in the morning at 9 AM, but this is OK because starbucks always has the strength to keep my eyes peeled and my brain alert for a little while...and I know that I can sleep on the long commute home to MIddleboro, MA later on.

The overnight package is supposed to arrive by 12 PM at Tanny's, so I go to Kiss Me Kate hoping that they will see women at the men's dance call (I don't want to go to the women's call because it doesn't start until 2 PM, and this would cause me to miss my bus back to Mass). Luck is starting to be on my side, for now, because they will see the five women who have shown up at this dance call. I do the Jack Cole-esque combination that ends in a back lay-out (basically this means I kick my face and then arch back and throw my head back while keep my leg in the air). I get a call back! Yay! I sing my song very well, and I am on my way back to Tanny's by 12:45 PM.

This is a good day. Finally, things are going up hill after the Hades that I was living in the previous day. I get back to Tanny's and the priority mail envelope has indeed arrived bearing a precious key shipped all the way from the Rockies (my boy is in Colorado teaching his trombone part to the next player who is coming to take his place on the Hairspray tour). As I walk to the C train to quickly get back up town to get the Christmas presents and clothes for the weekend, I hungrily rip open the thick envelope to find the shiny silver key that fits oh so snugly into my front door lock...I am so happy that I want to snuggle with it...(clear throat)...just kidding..haha!

I run down the subway stairs, go through the turnstile, run over to the trash barrel on the platform to throw the envelope away, and this is when things start happening in slow motion. The key is resting in the crease of the cardboard. and as I turn quickly to put my bag down before throwing the envelope away, the key goes sky diving into the trash. I really see its every move as it dove into the trash. This key's motion into the trash can is that of an olympic diver's when they do the play back in slow motion so that you can see all of the twists, turns, and somersaults. Of course, no matter how slowly it seems to happen, the key word (no pun intended) here is "seems". It actually happens all too quickly. I immediately try to stick my arm into this smelly trash can to fish for my key because I can't see it. Of course, it doesn't land on the surface of some newspaper visible from the top-this is an olympic key after all-she's crafty (beasty boy quote)

I realize that my go-go gadget arm attempt is futile because the 4 foot tall trash can is fortified like it is made to go to war or be a bomb shelter for a little kid. My arm can't even reach the top layer of trash. I yell through the subway gates with my hands around two iron bars and my face squeezing through (subway prison?), "Can someone help me? I dropped my key in the trash!" I see both of the men inside their little glass box look at each other and chuckle as one man walks out of the glass box and onto the subway platform.

He unlocks the padlock that is holding the chain that keeps the side of the trash closed (did I mention military style?) I mean, I know this is meant to keep homeless people from trash picking, but does all of the Manhattan budget have to go into trash cans? He opens the side of the bomb shelter, and takes the flimsy aluminum, Oscar the Grouch trash can out of the Pentagon. I mean, this rin-tinny can is about half the size of the tanker, and seemingly abashedly whispering, "Put me back where it is safe." as it stands naked on the subway platform free to be picked out of...and picked on. Oh well, I don't hesitate to plow through Oscar's insides in search of my precious Olympian. We search through coffee soaked newspapers, fast food containers, and wet plastic bags (that's the worst), and, finally, as I am shaking out the life section of USA Today, my key drops on the ground with a thud (too tired this time for olympic tricks).

I grab my key and press it so tight in the palm of my hand that it hurts a little (just as a reminder that its there) for the 45 minute duration of my trip home to Inwood. I walk into my apartment and say hello to my moldy forest-I can't say that I have accepted the mold's presence as a non-threatening one, but after the two days that I have had, I have to laugh and take the mold more lightly. I am choosing to see moldy cumulus happy clouds instead of moldy gargoyles for now until I get back to my home in NYC on Monday and disinfect the entire apartment.

Oh, you Big Crab, you have really dropped a bomb on me this time! I am in the New Year of 2008 state of mind in that everything that is new is also infinite. I have been thinking of the theory that every moment is frozen in time and lasts forever in the energy that makes up our cosmos. What reminded me of this theory is the fact that the number 8 rotated 90 degrees becomes an infinite sign. I kept telling my friends that this is the year of infinite. I can't say that I always knew what exactly I meant by that each time that I said it besides referring to the symbolism of the last number of this year, but now I think I have an idea. Everything that happens this year will last forever within my energy field and the entire cosmos. My moldy forest will exist with me forever like a file on my big hard disk..and so will the page of the life section of the USA today from which my key emerged. I believe this is true for every year. Of course, these events are always becoming slightly skewed and altered in our own minds depending on how we want to remember them, but the cosmos remembers every minute detail...every event is historic, even the most seemingly insignificant microscopic event affecting what someone decides to have for lunch next week in Indonesia. The Butterfly Effect is a very optimistic piece of my philosophy on life.

Also, this year is the year of the Rat. I am the Rat...googoogajoo...and this is supposed to be a foundation year or a set-up year for the next decade. I am not an orthodox astrology-er (noun-person who studies astrology-hey, why can't I be Shakespeare for a moment?), but there are elements that intrigue me and cause me to step back for a moment and meditate on what the stars and planets have to say. I have really good feelings about this year of infinite. I am fresh off of a national tour with a great cast, so I feel happy and more skilled from that experience. My agent is really supportive, and my boy and I are in a great place as far as starting the year of infinite together coming straight off of tours that have kept us apart for a long time. Our little apartment is the restaurant at the end of our universe, so we need to go in there on Monday like gangbusters and tell that mold who's boss...

Oh, and again, Manhattan, please, I don't need another "welcome home" when I return to the city on Monday,,,your moldy sarcasm, futile key points, and trashy antics are enough to last a lifetime-to infinite and beyond~