Close Encounters of the West Side

With every block I brave through the island elements of Manhattan, I enjoy New York less and less. In spite of the relief that I'm experiencing with the onset of autumn, I'm still constantly annoyed with the ubiquitous rotten sights and smells of the streets. Any nascent New Yorker can attest to the unapologetic lack of personal space. You just don't know suffocation until you're stuck on an express train (which stops every 30 blocks instead of every ten) standing next to a sweaty person who refuses to hold off on reading the paper with pit stains the length of Long Island.

My NYC pet peeve, insofar as it can really be one, is riding the goddamn subway. I hate it. It may sound snobbish, but I don't want to be pressed up against the type of people who ride the subway at non-commuter hours. It may be trendy transportation for the masses, but the masses smell (and often act) like asses. Riding the train may allow privileged Americans to feel more "cultured," as one friend once put it, but I already know what it's like to be poor. I don't want one more reminder.

Last night, however, I was feeling adventurous. In the spirit of saving what little money we have, Daniel and I opted for the train on our way to see one of my favorite comediennes, the venerable Susie Essman. She's performing until tonight in Times Square.

As soon as Shabbat was over, we hopped into the shower; moments later, we were running down the stairs in the station where we auspiciously caught an arriving downtown train. Once we arrived, we learned that we were first in the first-come-first-served queue at Caroline's, the venue. We were seated front and center!!! This would mean, of course, that Susie would have to pick on us. I've watched enough of HBO's One Night Stand to know how it happens.

And, pick she did! It helped that our neighbors were also Jewish. She picked on them first, and, when the time came for her bother me, Ms. Essman seemed genuinely surprised to be just one more Jewess in what she called a "Jew Fest."

"Oh, my God, you're a gay Jew from Texas, and you lived to tell the tale! You are gay, right?!?" she shouted at me as the hundreds of people turned toward me. I should have been mortified, but how? I was fucking in love. I was conversing with Susie Essman, the woman who had bought the rights to the F-word. Now, how many of you have actually had a conversation with one of your heroes? That's what I fucking thought!! (And, parents don't count. That's just cheese. Sure, all our parents are heroes. Shut the fuck up, and answer the question truthfully.)

Yeah, so, we conversed. I also inadvertently brushed up against her en route from the restroom after the show. She ascended the stairs to the street as I waited on Daniel to finish in the men's room. Minutes later, I looked around 50th and Broadway, searching for the vixen's vehicle. "Like a hunted celebrity, she got away," I thought. Go figure.

I reluctantly conceded to taking the train home. "It wouldn't be that long of a ride from Midtown West," I rationalized to myself. Mindful that every drink we had that night cost more than one cab ride home, I pouted less regretfully to the platform. And, then, we stumbled upon the night's encore. Oh yes, Ms. Essman was there with a man who was either her hot bodyguard or her sexy boyfriend. I lit up as I realized that we would converse one more time!

Trying to play it cool, I waited until she yelled "hello" to me. To me! Daniel had the great idea to check the stop she took. I figured that it would bee too stalker-esque to actually ride in the same car as Susie. He guessed somewhere in the West 70s since she had mentioned TO ME during the show that she was an Upper West Grrl like me. But, where else did she descend the train but at 103rd Street JUST LIKE ME!?! Playing it cool, I let her walk ahead as she continued uptown on Broadway. I was elated: homegrrl's my neighbor!

In the post-close encounter bliss, I realized that, maybe the subway isn't so bad after all. Look who rides it! It did occur to me that Ms. Essman may have been making a statement. Maybe she takes cabs as often as I do. Maybe she just makes a point of taking a cab when she performs less than a block from a subway stop. Maybe it makes her seem more "like one of us." No matter. I may still hate the train, but, at least now, whenever I wait for the subway at *our* stop, I'll feel more like one of her.



P.S. Happy Birthday to Lourdes Maria Ciccone Leon, daughter of THE Madonna, and to my late Uncle Danny!!! זכרונו לברכה.