Molly Ringwald's Iced Coffee
[... Crumblord awakens after a long stint in the Bermuda Triangle ... where am I? Where was I? It's all a blur ... Amnesia, yes, that's it ... that must be it.]
Don't you just love when you install something on your trusty, reliable, sweet-tempered Mac (Finale 2005, I am looking in your direction) and in the blink of an eye, not only is your address book gone, but also all your Firefox bookmarks AND all your saved passwords and login information.
Like, for instance, for Blogger.
There was a time when I never used address books, paper or electronic. I just remembered everyone's address. But no, I thought, I should make use of this nifty feature. Everyone else does.
Everyone else also knows how to back it up. So I'm getting a .Mac account and hoping not to be heartbroken and locked out of every login ever again.
Anyway.
To dip my toe back into the blogwater... I was riding the train home to Baltimore, oh, a few weeks ago, clacking away on my computer, when a family boarded the train in Philadelphia. I wasn't really paying attention, since I was editing music (in Finale! GRRR) on my laptop. Then I heard the father making loud calls on his cell, saying something about "They sent the wrong version of the script to my office ... there's been a rewrite ... I don't want to read it till I see the right version..." My ears perked up ... script? Hmmm?
The woman behind me, speaking with a French accent, asked the conductor "if there wasn't somewhere that man could GO to make his calls." Informed that alas, we were not in the "quiet car" where cell phones are forbidden, she stoically replied, "Well then. I shall move."
She did.
I looked over, and who was the Maker of Loud Calls? None other than M. Night Shyamalan, and Family. (In his defense, he made only one call -- okay, somewhat loud -- and it was nothing compared to some of the braying that goes on normally.)
He was with his beautiful wife, and their two lovely, well-behaved daughters. One sat reading a Harry Potter book, while the other climbed about on her seat, surveying the train. I gathered that they hadn't really traveled by train before, as M. Night -- oh, let's call him M. -- repeatedly exclaimed how much better it was than flying. You can walk around, you can eat, you can multitask, he said. I don't know if they were going farther than D.C. or not -- but it's not a long ride, really. And it beats driving, and certainly beats the hassle of going to an airport to fly such a relatively short distance.
He went on to talk about casting for whatever project he was working on. Yes, I'm an eavesdropper. He mentioned the difficulty they were having finding an actress for a role. He talked about one actress who had come in (sadly, no names were mentioned), and how her eyes were mesmerizing.
Mrs. M. Night Shyamalan said, "I don't like to hear you talk about women in that way."
She really was lovely -- it's hard to convey the tone of what she said -- chiding but loving at the same time. Perhaps teasing him a little.
Anyway, the M. Night Shyamalans were off to a vacation, it sounded like. Good for them.
It was the first in a trio of celebrity sightings; the two others took place in the East Village near where I teach. One was Arye Gross, who used to be on Ellen and who I think is now on Entourage, a show I never watch. The other was Molly Ringwald, sitting in Starbucks looking like she had just come from the gym. She had no makeup on, and looked gorgeous. I was trying not to stare (unlike the friend who was with me, who kept saying "I JUST watched Pretty in Pink LAST NIGHT!" over and over) but it appeared that she had a little girl with her. I am not part of the Molly Ringwald Web Ring so I'm not up on her personal life, but if the girl was hers, congratulations, because she was well-behaved and also adorable. It was one of the hellishly humid days we had earlier this week, and still Molly Ringwald looked cool and comfortable as she slugged down her iced coffee. I was splurging on a Mocha Mint Chip Frappucino ... note to self, do not make that mistake again.
Okay, so now that I've remembered what the hell my login name and password were, perhaps I won't vanish for quite so long next time. If anyone ever returns to this tumbleweed and dust-bunny strewn corner of the universe ever again ...
Oh, to finish off my M. Night sighting ...
The thing about the train ride was, it started off like an ordinary train ride ... but I did have the sense that something was wrong. Something was off, something was different. It was just a feeling, a dread in the atmosphere. On the surface, everything was normal.
And then, at the end of the ride, there was a tremendous, jaw-dropping plot twist which changed my perception of everything that had happened up to that point.
But of course, I can't tell you. You have to ride the train yourself.
Don't you just love when you install something on your trusty, reliable, sweet-tempered Mac (Finale 2005, I am looking in your direction) and in the blink of an eye, not only is your address book gone, but also all your Firefox bookmarks AND all your saved passwords and login information.
Like, for instance, for Blogger.
There was a time when I never used address books, paper or electronic. I just remembered everyone's address. But no, I thought, I should make use of this nifty feature. Everyone else does.
Everyone else also knows how to back it up. So I'm getting a .Mac account and hoping not to be heartbroken and locked out of every login ever again.
Anyway.
To dip my toe back into the blogwater... I was riding the train home to Baltimore, oh, a few weeks ago, clacking away on my computer, when a family boarded the train in Philadelphia. I wasn't really paying attention, since I was editing music (in Finale! GRRR) on my laptop. Then I heard the father making loud calls on his cell, saying something about "They sent the wrong version of the script to my office ... there's been a rewrite ... I don't want to read it till I see the right version..." My ears perked up ... script? Hmmm?
The woman behind me, speaking with a French accent, asked the conductor "if there wasn't somewhere that man could GO to make his calls." Informed that alas, we were not in the "quiet car" where cell phones are forbidden, she stoically replied, "Well then. I shall move."
She did.
I looked over, and who was the Maker of Loud Calls? None other than M. Night Shyamalan, and Family. (In his defense, he made only one call -- okay, somewhat loud -- and it was nothing compared to some of the braying that goes on normally.)
He was with his beautiful wife, and their two lovely, well-behaved daughters. One sat reading a Harry Potter book, while the other climbed about on her seat, surveying the train. I gathered that they hadn't really traveled by train before, as M. Night -- oh, let's call him M. -- repeatedly exclaimed how much better it was than flying. You can walk around, you can eat, you can multitask, he said. I don't know if they were going farther than D.C. or not -- but it's not a long ride, really. And it beats driving, and certainly beats the hassle of going to an airport to fly such a relatively short distance.
He went on to talk about casting for whatever project he was working on. Yes, I'm an eavesdropper. He mentioned the difficulty they were having finding an actress for a role. He talked about one actress who had come in (sadly, no names were mentioned), and how her eyes were mesmerizing.
Mrs. M. Night Shyamalan said, "I don't like to hear you talk about women in that way."
She really was lovely -- it's hard to convey the tone of what she said -- chiding but loving at the same time. Perhaps teasing him a little.
Anyway, the M. Night Shyamalans were off to a vacation, it sounded like. Good for them.
It was the first in a trio of celebrity sightings; the two others took place in the East Village near where I teach. One was Arye Gross, who used to be on Ellen and who I think is now on Entourage, a show I never watch. The other was Molly Ringwald, sitting in Starbucks looking like she had just come from the gym. She had no makeup on, and looked gorgeous. I was trying not to stare (unlike the friend who was with me, who kept saying "I JUST watched Pretty in Pink LAST NIGHT!" over and over) but it appeared that she had a little girl with her. I am not part of the Molly Ringwald Web Ring so I'm not up on her personal life, but if the girl was hers, congratulations, because she was well-behaved and also adorable. It was one of the hellishly humid days we had earlier this week, and still Molly Ringwald looked cool and comfortable as she slugged down her iced coffee. I was splurging on a Mocha Mint Chip Frappucino ... note to self, do not make that mistake again.
Okay, so now that I've remembered what the hell my login name and password were, perhaps I won't vanish for quite so long next time. If anyone ever returns to this tumbleweed and dust-bunny strewn corner of the universe ever again ...
Oh, to finish off my M. Night sighting ...
The thing about the train ride was, it started off like an ordinary train ride ... but I did have the sense that something was wrong. Something was off, something was different. It was just a feeling, a dread in the atmosphere. On the surface, everything was normal.
And then, at the end of the ride, there was a tremendous, jaw-dropping plot twist which changed my perception of everything that had happened up to that point.
But of course, I can't tell you. You have to ride the train yourself.
posted by crumblord at 9:44 PM
4 Comments:
Maybe he realized he wasn't wearing any pants. Although he has had some personal experience with that particular plot twist and should not have been so astonished.
I think you'll find it's "The Molly Ringwald Web Ringwald"... thank you, I'll be here all M Night...
Aah, you're back. In your absence I may or may not have blamed you for David's leaky roof woes. And you weren't even around to defend yourself. I'm so mean :D
Great post! Glad you're back!
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