I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
A few of you have reached out to tell me that my blog isn’t working, yet you are still trying to read it to get things back to how they used to be when you first fell in love.
Those were the good times, right? Back when my blog didn’t roll its eyes and sigh at everything you did? Back when you still went nice places?
Guys, I’m working on it. Bear with me.
I find myself putting off creative work when it starts to feel like, you know, work.
I love writing when I’m done with it. But it’s work when I’m doing it. It’s quiet and lonely. It hurts my head sometimes.
Then I start thinking of all the other things I need to do before I can work on writing. Usually this involves the sudden, preposterous realization that the world is going to get hit by an asteroid that will wipe out the human race if I don’t organize my hallway closet right now.
Great news: I’m not dead, and neither is my Internet.
The Time-Warner guy came yesterday to bring wireless back into my life. Giddiness ensued. Have you ever seen a cable guy smile genuinely? It’s magical and available for a limited time only.
I have some stuff to blog. Tonight I’ll be busy with week two of my fiction class, though. So in the meantime, please enjoy the photograph my friend Mike took a few weekends ago.
I recently went on one of the most bizarre dates of my life. It was at a lively restaurant where my date and I had some trouble hearing each other.
Him: You keep licking your lips.
Me: Really?
Him: Yeah.
The weather in NYC changed abruptly in the last few days, so fast I think it deserves a letter in its file.
“A letter in its file” - that’s an allusion to NYC public school teaching that I’d like to dedicate to Dr. Richard Kimball, whomever he may be. Last night, I talked to a friend I taught with at my second school in Harlem. She cringed as she recalled threats of mythic letters in mythic files.
Because really, who possibly cares enough to store these letters? Especially when it’s not like something serious happened? My friend, she of the letters in her file, never mistreated anyone. Her bulletin boards weren’t colorful enough, and she argued that she’d been told the opposite and besides, that stuff didn’t really matter. That’s what got her in trouble.
My comedy class instructor Dave walked up to me and whispered, “Are all your people here? I’m thinking you’re next.” Someone was onstage talking about cooking shows or something, and I shook my head.
I wasn’t ready to go up. A few hours ago, I was. Even 15 minutes ago. But now I was starting to feel like maybe I’m not funny. For whatever reason, this wasn’t a concern in front of strangers at an open mic two weeks earlier.
This time, people who know me were there. And people who ostensibly know me, blog readers who ventured out from behind the computer monitor to support me in real life. I felt so appreciated and excited and forgetful.
I got home from comedy practice last week to discover that the wireless network I’ve “borrowed” for the last year is now password-protected. So are the weaker ones I never used, including the network mysteriously called “GrandmotherLikesThat.”
A few days later, lemme tell you: Granddaughter Doesn’t Like This.
I’m performing stand-up comedy tomorrow. A lot of other events, including AdWeek 2009, are harshing my buzz and killing my crowd. It’s somewhat difficult to convince a friend to risk his or her job in order to see you crack jokes for five minutes.
But if you can make it, I’d love some laughter.
Who: Me (and others) with a microphone
What: Trying to be funny and not pee our pants
When: September 24th, 6:00-8:30 pm
Where: Broadway Comedy Club at 318 W. 53rd Street (between 8th & 9th Ave.)
How: RSVP in advance at 212-714-4513. Mention that you’re seeing the show in the big room downstairs. There’s a $12 cover and two drink minimum.
Why: Because you’re ready to move our relationship to that next level. Or you’re bored.
Summer was so fraught with stress and heartache and change that it could’ve been autumn. It wasn’t. That starts this week. It’s my favorite time of year.
Let the leaves - and any other living thing - reveal true colors. Bring on tights and boots. Apples. Chilly nights. I’m ready for the NYC I first fell in love with.
