kevin sorbo

You'll be happy to know that my subconscious priorities are exactly where they need to be.  Last night my dream was set in a classroom.  I was a student and the teacher asked what the phrase "up the ante" meant.  In my mind, I gave a surprisingly accurate definition (surprising because I was dreaming and there is only so much control you have in these things) to which the teacher somewhat disagreed.  Another student raised his hand and gave a response that would more closely describe the word "sacrifice".  For some reason, I made no effort to defend my answer or debunk the one that followed mine.  I was content to just sit and wonder why, that as an adult, I felt compelled to answer any teacher's question.  (Old habits die hard?)

The teacher then abruptly changed topics and started talking about Top 5 lists--a topic, as you know, that is near and dear to my heart.  He began his list with Robert Downey, Jr.  I, of course, whole-heartedly agreed.  His number two, however, was a different story.  Kevin Sorbo.  What?  How on earth can you jump from Robert Downey, Jr. to Kevin Sorbo?  Even in my dreams I knew that this was offensive and promptly began to debate his pick.  Lucky for him, my alarm went off and my dreamed ceased to be.  The disbelief I felt at his decision, however, still lingers.  Obviously. 

Disclaimer:  I have nothing against Kevin Sorbo.  I do not find him to be offensive.  I just have my own standards for my Top 5 list and he would never be on it.  Ever. Ever.

trauma on the train

Riding the train in New York City creates lots of "What just happened?" moments.   Yesterday, I was traumatized by several:

Morning Commute:  Morning commutes are always tricky.  They are early.  They are crowded.  Add Mondays to those qualities and this particular type of commute turns out to be the worst.  Until you get phlegmmed....and then it is worse than the worst.   I was minding my own business, standing so others can sit and this woman coughs, hacks something up, and it lands on my poor, exposed foot.  I was praying that it was perhaps a bit of bagel that she had recently consumed, but upon further investigation and to my ultimate horror, I discovered it was phlegm.  I tried wiping it from my traumatized foot onto the back of my pant leg (gross, I know, but I was in shock and couldn't figure out a better alternative).   Apparently, it didn't work, because ten minutes later, I dared to look down again and found that it was still there.  I made another attempt, this time with the sock from my other foot and found success.  Needless to say, I sanitized when I got into work but I was still grossed out...as were all of my colleagues with whom I shared my tale.   At least it was better than the vomit from another one of my train rides--although, that is debatable.

Rush Hour Commute:  Now this one was cra-zy.   Rush hour is just as bad as the morning commute except you are tired for different reasons.  Tired of stupidity, tired of people, tired of stupid people.  All we want to do it get on the train and get home.  So when a seemingly intelligent woman boards the train with a huge suitcase, you would think that she would move into the middle of the car (there was a room and she didn't get off for several stops).  But no, she boards, plops her giant-ass suitcase on the ground and stands in the doorway--preventing passengers from getting out and getting in.  Enter the first "What just happened?" moment.  Somehow we all boarded and then a solid round of musicians made their way through the train car.  First a Mariachi duo assaulted the silence and then the drummer that guilts you into looking up/smiling at him, donating, or giving him a round of applause performed his bit.  Unfortunately, the musical show didn't end there.  Some child's toy played the world's creepiest version of "Rock-a-bye Baby" all the way home.  And finally, somewhere in between the Mariachi duo and the "Happy" drummer, a tall, lanky man who clearly didn't have any control over any of his appendages, walked from the door to the middle of the train, all the while holding onto the horizontal pole on the left-hand side, knocking in the head, every single passenger (including me, of course) that he passed.  

In the end, my train riding for the day left me with a little PTSD and the ever-present question of "What just happened?!"

the next chart topper....well, almost....

The other night I had yet another "this has gotta be a hit song" moment while dreaming.  I distinctly remember thinking--in my dream--that I had the beginnings of a pretty fantastic could-be chart topper.  I believed in its potential success so much that I remember struggling to wake up so that I could somehow record the words and the tune to be worked on at a later time.  Somehow I roused myself from that sleep, rolled over, unlocked my phone, found the voice recording icon and made a twenty second recording.  I tried to post my embarrassing attempt but I can't figure out how to share the downloaded "song".  But if you're really curious, let me know.  If I'm feeling especially good about myself that day and think you could use a laugh, I just might text it to you because something as embarrassing as this needs to be shared with someone besides my sister.

But be fair warned, if you don't think it's a winner, I don't know if I trust your taste in music.

a little DOE ridiculousness

dear sally, you have to meet noel!

Living in New York City definitely has its perks—pretty reliable public transportation, delectable restaurants that can fit any budget, culture galore, diversity that makes the heart sing, and convenience at every corner.  Another perk for us common folk is the saturation of movie/television/music stars that live in or visit the city on a regular basis.  I’d like to say that I am not the type to get star struck, but let’s face it—my ability to crush on just about any type of good looking man makes New York City—a city crawling with beautiful faces and recognizable personalities—a perfect breeding ground for stars in my eyes and butterflies in my stomach.

A couple of months ago I had yet another stop-me-in-my-tracks moment.  I LOVE THIS CITY!!!

For those of you who know me, you might recall my deep love for the now decade old television series, Felicity.  (I actually blogged about my Ben vs. Noel dilemma awhile ago.)  Please note that I faithfully watch this 4-season series every year.  I don’t know why, but I love it.  And if I’m going to put it all out there…it’s part of the reason I wanted to move to New York.  Yes, I know it’s cliché.

Back to the story…I was out with my friends—Tami, Christian, and Scott.  We had decided to catch a movie after dinner at Momofuku’s one night (the Ginger Scallion Noodles were to die for) and found ourselves at the AMC theatre on 19^th and 5^th Ave.  I bought my ticket and was the first to enter the theater and then from across the room, I saw him by the concession stand.  I stopped.  I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of this beautiful man.  His casual look and clean-cut hairstyle got me going in less than two seconds.  And though he wasn’t facing me dead on, I knew the second I laid eyes on his neck, shoulders, and back, that it was him.  Pathetic, but true.  In an effort to subtly tell Tami who I had just spied, I found myself getting that nervous/excited/throw-up feeling at the pit of my stomach, quickly working it’s way up.  Don’t worry, I didn’t hurl.  All I could say was, “It’s Noel, Noel.  It’s Noel.”  The room was loud as it was bustling with people for some premiere so it made it difficult to hear my sputterings.  Finally, I was able to link my brain to my words and I nodded towards where he stood and was able to articulate that Scott Foley was there.  Scott and Christian didn’t bat an eye.  Tami quickly rose to my level of excitement.  (In the picture below, he is one centimeter left of the stream of light coming from the center of the ceiling.  Brown hair, black shirt.  Kind of like Heaven parting and saying, "Here he is!")

Long story short, we weren’t in the same theatre—obviously—and I didn’t actually dream that we would see him again.  I convinced myself that the one time spotting was as good as it gets.  We left, as the credits began to roll in our theatre, and to my astonishment, the premiere crowd had just recently excited theirs as well.  Stars were lining up to for photo opps in front of the step and repeat and there didn’t seem to be any sort of security.  The famous and layman were all mixed in there together. 

My eyes, of course, were fixed upon only one person from the premiere, however.  He wasn’t in the movie, clearly just there for the screening, so he headed for the door pretty quickly.  We dutifully followed a few paces behind.  He ended up near some telephone booths right outside the theatre.  And the best part about this was that he was all alone.  Perfect opportunity for us to approach him.  In that instant, I turned shy.  I didn’t want to be one of those fans that annoyingly seek out and approach actors.  I was above that and I wanted to respect his privacy and attempt at a normal life.  One could argue, I suppose, that by going into this type of work, you automatically forfeit that right to normalcy, but hey, I like the guy so I wanted to give him a break.

Luckily, I was with Scott, who wasn’t as taken with him as I was and he stepped in for me.  (THANK YOU, SCOTT!!!) (Don’t be confused, we’ve got two Scotts in this story.)

“Hi Scott, this is my friend Malia (points towards me, Scott Foley looks in my direction and smiles).  She’s a huge fan.  Can she get her picture taken with you?”

I inched my way closer to Scott Foley.  “Of course, sweetheart.”  He smiled his crooked grin and stuck out his hand for me to take.  He looked deep into my eyes and in the sweetest Noel voice you can possibly imagine, he said, “My name is Scott.  Nice to meet you.”  “Hi, I’m Malia,” was my reply.  At this he put his arm around me while Tami readied her phone to take a picture.  I couldn’t get over how beautiful he was in person.  I mean, I knew he was gorgeous.  I’ve studied every inch of his face for years, but in person, he was beyond DREAMY! 

She snapped the picture.  I was ready to say thanks and give Tami her turn, but Scott asked me if I wanted to check the picture.  I was surprised by how thoughtful he was.  Again, I was starting to feel guilty impeding on his personal time, but I guess that comes with the territory.  Still the same, I was impressed that his kindness was genuine.  I took a look at the picture and quickly decided that I needed another attempt.  After all, this was a historic event and compared to him, I looked like I had just spent a night on the streets.

“Can we take just one more?” (I purposely turned to look up into those beautiful green eyes again.  I needed one more peek while I was this close.)  “Sure, sweetie,” was his once again melt-me-in-my-tracks reply.  A did a mental cha-ching in my head.  I got TWO terms of endearment!  Sigh.  Again, he put is arm around me.  I wanted to just nestle into him but decided against it.  He is a married man, after all. 

We snapped the picture and then Tami took her turn.  I still wasn't that pleased with the final product, but I'll take it.  I seem to always look like frump girl when I want to be opposite of frump girl.  Que sera, sera.  We thanked him whole-heartedly and walked away, in the opposite direction, giving off the air of “No big deal”, all the while DYING inside.  The Noel/Scott Foley high lasted quite a while and even now, if I think about it, it makes me grin from ear to ear.  Scott Foley, you are a dreamboat.  You made my night and you warmed my little heart.  Thank you!