NY ♥ FAGS!

I was interviewd by a cute Asian boy (I'M NOT RACIST! SOME OF MY BEST FRIENDS ARE ASIAN!) outside Brooklyn City Hall this morning at the WBC protest. This is what was said:

Him: "That's a very interesting sign [GOD HATES THE G TRAIN]. What's the message you're trying to convery here?"
Me: "Just how ridiculous these guys are. If they can presume to know what God hates, why can't I? If I hate the the G train, then God must hate the G train."
Him: "Do you hate the G train?"
Me: "Yes."
Him: "Why do you hate it?"
Me: "It's never on time."
Him: "So are you religious?"
Me: "No."
Him: "Were you ever religious?"
Me: "Yes, I was raised Catholic."
Him: "Are you gay?"
Me: "Nope. I'm straight."
Him: "You know, a lot of straight people don't care enough to be doing something like this. What made you decide to come out here?"
Me: "Well, I have a lot of gay friends, but even if I didn't, I just think it's an important issue. It's like not letting black people sit in the front of the bus. If they want to get married, let them get married. What's the problem? It's not like any gay guys are trying to marry THEM. Oh, and I love art projects."

I ♥ NY. :)

Boo.

Devastatingly, due to lack of funds and insufficient prep time, I had to forgo an elaborate Halloween costume this year. Now if you know anything about me at all, you realize just how devastating a tragedy this is to have befallen me. However, like a phoenix in a wig and fake blood, I shall rise from the ashes of this finery failure and emerge next holiday in victory and even greater splendor! You know, since I have a whole extra year to work on the thing now. LITTLE DEAD RIDING HOOD LIVES!

So anyway...since I had no other plans, I decided to go to the parade in the Village. And even though I would only be watching, I couldn't betray the spirit of my favorite day of the year by just wearing everyday clothes. I had to do something...

Everyone who knows anything about me at all: "So are you getting dressed up?"
Me: "Not really."

"Not really" = sequined top hat with feathers, old prom dress, Mardi Gras beads, striped stockings, leopard print heels; elaborate face paint.

Elderly gentleman on the street: "That's a very striking costume!"
Me: "Oh, this is just what I wear every Sunday..."

The beginning of the parade was AMAZING, but it slowly tapered off into random people simply walking by wearing costumes. Since I consider myself something of an expert on all things Halloween, and because I'm just a judgemental bitch...

Presenting:

THE BeccaGo HALLOWEEN 2010 "I WISH I HAD THOUGHT OF THAT" AWARDS!

Best Group Costume: Zombie Golden Girls
Best Family Costume: Darth Vader (dad), Princess Leia (mom), and Yoda (baby)
Best Couples Costume: Where's Waldo? and Carmen Sandiego
Best Individual Costume: Up (guy in an aviator cap holding a bunch of balloons with a dollhouse tied to the strings)

And, just to prove that the "sexy" costume craze has gone FAR too far:

Top Honors go to...

SEXY BEDBUG!

Trick or treat, bitches! :D

City Of Dreams

Last night I saw Eddie Izzard at Madison Square Garden. Physically getting myself to this performance entailed leaving my apartment at 6:30, walking a block and a half to catch the Q, going all of 6 stops, getting off the train at Herald Square, and walking another 2 blocks to the Garden. This got me into my seat by 7:30, half an hour before showtime, giving me plenty of time to settle in and watch the Jumbotron: Mr. Izzard had his Twitter page up live onscreen and his avalanche of @replies was scrolling by for all to enjoy. There were the expected sorts of comments:

"@eddieizzard Hello from Row G, Section 202!"
"@eddieizzard SHARON WILL YOU MARRY ME?"
"@eddieizzard DAD I'M GAY"
"to the guy in the blue checkered shirt sitting in front of me: shut the fuck up. you know who you are. @eddieizzard"
"At the @eddieizzard show at MSG. Brought my flag in case anyone tries to claim my seat. :)"

But I also noticed some people who seemed to be Tweeting from out-of-town:

"In NYC this weekend to see @eddieizzard! Best birthday present EVER!"
"@eddieizzard: We came all the way from Kentucky to see you. You better be good! LOL"
"Baltimore loves @eddieizzard!"
"Can't believe I'm in Madison Square Garden right now waiting for @eddieizzard! Loving this trip to NY!"

I swear, I even spotted someone claiming they had flew in from Turkey to see their favorite action transvestite in, uh, action. Man, I thought, people have crossed oceans to get to this show. Made an entire vacation of it. I merely crossed a bridge and walked a few feet. It started to occur to me, skimming these many abbreviated missives, that I had begun to take for granted my plum position on this planet.

This realization put me in mind of a thread on one of my message boards (can it — my entire social life is conducted online, ok?) in which the merits of different states as places of residence were being debated. Because this was the Interwebz and the board members were from all over the place, each arguing for their own home state, things were starting to look ugly for New York: "It's dirty. It's so expensive. There's too much crime. The weather sucks. New Yorkers are rude."

I could not let this stand, this disparagement of my beloved locale. By God, I was born and raised here! As those who know me well know, if the issue of citizenship is ever in question, I am a New Yorker first, an American second. Thus, I mounted my defense:

"I live in Brooklyn. It's not the greatest neighborhood in terms of trendiness or gentrification, but the lack of tragically hip art students could be a selling point, and I'm not afraid to walk home alone after dark. Plus, my apartment is huge by NYC studio standards, and the location is of ultimate convenience — walking distance to the subway, supermarket, library, laundromat, pizza place and Prospect Park. And by 'walking distance,' I mean from 3-4 blocks to literally right next door. And it's only about a 40-minute commute to midtown Manhattan.

My expenses — rent, utilities, food, phone, cable, laundry, transportation, even my therapist — come to less than $2,000 a month. Even with my crappy salary, that still leaves a few hundred to play. I suppose a big chunk of that is that I don't have a car anymore (not even necessary), my loans are paid off, and I have no credit cards. But I also don't make any money off of poker, and my daddy doesn't pay for squat.

Granted, it gets noisy, the weather can get crappy, and yes, sometimes people can be rude, but I think this is more than made up for by the fact that I LIVE IN NEW YORK CITY! This place never sleeps! I have access to some of the greatest shit in the world! Some people give up everything just to get here; some spend their whole lives just dreaming of it. For my whole life, I've been lucky enough to live no more than an hour's train ride away. So fine — maybe I'm a little biased, but damn it, I fuckin' love NY!"

Never hurts to remind myself of that. :)

How To Win Friends And Analyze Myself To Death

Disclaimer: I am possibly the most socially awkward person on the planet.

It's like reverse stage fright — put me under a spotlight in front of hundreds of people and I'll sing, dance, strip or tell jokes without shedding a drop of sweat. Sit me down across the table from a co-worker at lunch or let me loose at a party without a wingperson, however, and I suddenly become Rain Man. I flounder when it's one-on-one. It's embarrassing and crippling to practically every aspect of my existence, from my career prospects to my love life. I mean, first dates are hard enough to get through without a Greek chorus of hyper-critical mental patients screaming at you from inside your own head and rendering you essentially immobile, you know?

Luckily for you, loyal readers, I come off much more charming and witty in writing than I do in real life.

Um...right?

Anyway, I can basically boil it all down to one simple diagnosis: I don't know how to talk to people. Unless the occasion calls for an Eddie Izzard quote, I have no idea how to start conversations. Even simple ones. For example, the girl standing next to me on the subway is wearing the same shade of blue nail polish as me, and I can't even bring myself to say, "Hey, nice nail polish!" I rationalize this to myself by noting that she's listening to an iPod, and something so trivial is surely not worth interrupting her musical interlude. Then I think, well, I could still do the mime version (point to her nails/point to mine/thumbs-up), but I still don't because...uh...well, I have no idea, really. See?

Of course, there was the time I actually worked up the nerve to say something to that guy on the train with the saxophone case. What I said was: "Hey, is that a saxophone?"

"Why, yes it is," he says and smiles.

"Oh. Cool."

*facepalm*

So tonight on the way home from work, I notice that the boy with the Elvis Costello glasses sitting next to me is reading a book by Gregory Maguire, and it trips this train of thought: "Hey, Gregory Maguire — isn't that the guy who wrote Wicked? I wonder if this guy's read Wicked. Or seen the play. I liked the play. The book was too weird for me. I didn't even finish it, which is also weird for me. Maybe I would have liked it better if I hadn't seen the show first..." And suddenly it occurs to me, hey — this could be a conversation! And he's not wearing an iPod! Here's my opening! But wait — what if he's reading because he doesn't want to be disturbed?

I agonize over this conundrum all the way from Bleecker to DeKalb, at which point my potential bookworm friend exits the train and I cease agonizing and commence kicking myself for not taking advantage of the opportunity instead. Thus, the vicious cycle.

So, what I'm asking for, loyal readers, is your help. What am I doing wrong here? How do normal people talk to each other? Where is that fine line between "friendly stranger" and "annoying and/or creepy stranger" located? The future health of my social life, never mind the possibility of me ever getting laid again, may depend on your assistance. Please, find it in your heart to contribute to the cause. Thank you for your time.