Andrew J. Lederer

i've encountered the phenomenon of comics who are agitated and at a loss because they have no sets to do between now and the start of their festival run.

i find this sad.

if i know i'm gonna be doing 24 days of shows starting in just a few days, i feel great about all the performances i've got ahead of me but also excited about the free time i've got before they begin -- time in which i can do anything. (or nothing.)

(anybody wanna do somethin'?)

ran into andy ofiesh of the gilded balloon's naked comedy showcase hangin' with the underbelly's walsh bros. outside the not-yet-open purple cow last night. andy looked beautiful, like he's on top of the world. the walshes looked excited.

today, ran into melbourne comedy festival boss susan provan's husband mickey outside the in-the process-of being-assembled gilded balloon. he accompanies phil nichol and steven k. amos and has been to singapore since i saw him just over a week ago in montreal. i basically went to sleep and came here in that time while he's lived an additional life.

steve ullathorne was also at the balloon. he's usually not here at the beginning of the fest but his photos will be on display at the gilded, so he was setting things up and seemed exhilarated. (he's also producing barry cryer's ronnie-goldenless show.)

tony woods seems lonely.

new york's "dangerous" rick shapiro (this year's doug stanhope, according to some) seems ready to discover and take on new worlds (but needed to be shown how to use the weird edinburgh showers).

leon from spank! seems creatively ambitious.

and i'm at the good, ol' forest cafe, using the intermittent but free wi-fi.


it is begun.

but i'm in london.

(more later.)

from central park as darkness descends and the fireflies flutter about. (i'm using the free park wi-fi.)

the new york dispatches now end and soon you . . . (i'm getting kicked out of this part of the park. see you in/fom edinburgh.)

just got back from montreal.

before going there, i went to this amazing, multi-borough event, ending in coney island, with about 14 fire dancers performing on the beach to about 2000 revelers plus music and swimming and dancing . . .

before that, i dog-sat for a weekend in the shadow of the brooklyn bridge, went to the hamptons for a few days, sat in the street for 25 hours waiting for an iphone that wasn't even mine, spent time with relatives in the maryland/virginia/dc area, went to boston on the fung wah bus.

had 180-plus people at the david cross show at the (new york) green room, saw pieces of movies outside in bryant park and the somewhat post-apocalyptic mccarren pool and free concerts in prospect and asser levy parks.

and this is only since early june; only last month.

still, i feel like i'm not living enough life.

part of it is that i've been having a hard time hanging onto new york. i've felt it slipping away from me.

on wednesday, i sat at the south street seaport, working on my edinburgh show, looking at brooklyn across the river, while salsa legend johnny pacheco played behind me.

i wanted to check out the screening of "the matrix" on one of the west side piers but i also wanted to walk home across the brooklyn bridge.

so i started to let go; to not try to do everything.

i walked across the bridge, the skyline surrounding me in the dark night sky.

there were new lights on the woolworth building. glad i got to see 'em before leaving for scotland.

i walked up myrtle avenue, past fort greene park. (fyi -- just learned that keri russell moved into the area.)

had a couple of white castle hamburgers.

can't do everything, though.

so, last night i didn't try to catch any of the movie being shown beside the brooklyn bridge in empire-fulton ferry state park. (it was "being john malkovitch".)

and i didn't check out the celebrate brooklyn show in prospect park.

but i did go to hippiefest in coney island, part of borough president marty markowitz's seaside concerts series.

it's a free series that draws the most cretinous, misshapen, brain-damaged attendees of any i've encountered, all dressed up in a perplexing sense of entitlement. (one woman thought a good place for a tourrette's sufferer was in a prime position fairly near the stage.)

all the neighborhood schnorrers come out for each show, even if they can't possibly enjoy the artist, so last night saw the spectacle of decrepit ancients obliviously yapping through quasi-psychedelic sounds. (it was kind of an am hippiefest.)

hell, the actual hippie-era guys aren't young but these were women who might have dated winston churchill, if he had been a brainwave-challenged denizen of southern brooklyn. (they couldn't spoil my enjoyment of colin blunstone, though -- he's really great.)

boy, remember when i couldn't wait to get back to the uk?

now, i'm in love with new york again.

or maybe i just feel like i haven't had enough of it.

like i don't know it enough.

like i haven't lived enough new york; like i'm not living enough life.

tomorrow, i leave for edinburgh.

my sisters and me stop looking at our mexican comic books when we crossed the border from mexico into the u.s., so the border guards wouldn't think we were mexican kids trying to illegally enter the country.

and they were terrified i'd make a joke/say the wrong thing.

they knew me well.

these are things i told the customs guy the other day when returning to the u.s. from canada:

that i was from "los estados unidos". (he made me restate this several times until i finally satisfied him by saying it in english. but even then, i only said the "states united".)

that i lived in "hymietown".

and when he asked me if i had anything to declare, i said something like, "i declare i love u.s. customs officers because they look after us and protect us." (i think he liked that.)

you used to be able to zip across the border but not anymore.

our bus sat waiting for two hours at the border station before we even went inside. (though, once in, i got through immediately despite my flippant?/silly?/funny? attitude. it seems my parents' pre-terrorism paranoia was unfounded.)

if they're gonna treat every single person as a potential terrorist, they should at least have the personnel to do it expeditiously. delaying people for two hours is an insult.

the canadian border station (in and out in half an hour) at least had snacks.

propensity for late night promenading. last night, i saw a couple and their two very young children leaving a park at around ten after eleven, which, you'll have to admit, is pretty late for such things

i was in williamsburg because i'd gone to see an open-air screening of "ladies and gentlemen, the fabulous stains" in the part of williamsburg (it may have been greenpoint) that's inhabited not by earnest chassidim but by ironic hipsters.

my friend says i'm a hipster, but a failed one because my enthusiasms are hipsterish but i don't wear the right clothes. he's a big believer in wearing the right "uniform" but i think it's to my credit that i'm a mixed bag of interests and aesthetics.

for instance, the irony thing can be taken too far for my taste.

there was one girl i saw after the screening, smoking a cigarette while ironically wearing a shirt that said, "don't smoke live." (okay. maybe she was wearing the shirt straightforwardly and ironically smoking.)

i got annoyed at the level of ignorant, self-destructive arrogance it took to wear a shirt that acknowledged the terminal prognosis of cigarette smoking while laughing it off as if if it were just more oppressive bullshit from humorless authorities who just don't get it.

i mean, smoke if you want to, but don't pretend it's a frivolous thing to do. (the girl gets a few "exoneration points" because she wasn't sure whether the shirt meant "don't smoke, live" -- there was no comma -- or "don't smoke live, implying, perhaps, that a band named "don't smoke" was performing somewhere.)

meanwhile, not ironically intended -- though it should have been -- was the awning outside the nearby "park luncheonette", which proudly said, "established 1931" even though they eliminated virtually every vintage detail and took something that was rare and wonderful and turned it into just another somewhat chi-chi restaurant -- it's no longer a luncheonette at all.

it only gets exoneration points if the same family that ran the place a few years ago, when it had a classic lunch counter and served egg creams and other delights, are still there, running the place as best they can. otherwise, it's just being run by a bunch of clueless fucks trying to get mileage out of the proud history of a place they willfully destroyed and they deserve no indulgence.

and neither does the friend (actually the same one who accuses me of being a hipster, as if that will bother me) who, seeing me talking to a girl, will say something like, "c'mon. there'll be plenty of pussy available after we get this done." or, "get your face out of the pussy. we got things to do."

i can't believe i have a friend who (non-ironically) talks that way. (he is, mostly, a good guy, so maybe he can have some indulgence points.)

honestly, it may be to my discredit in the world of "pulling", but i don't see women as "pussy". i'm (often) interested in what they have to say and i'm offended by the notion that they're merely female humanoid masturbation implements available for male pleasure.

wow. there i go being sincere again.

maybe i'm more chassid than hipster.

Positive:
Steven K. Amos
Hannah Chambers
Billy Connolly
David Cross
Mickey D
Debra DiGiovanni
Susie Essman
Zach Galifianakis
Reginald D. Hunter
Karla (Marion Austin Oberle and Megan Kellie)
Janette Linden
Howie Mandel
John Mendoza
Eugene Mirman
Phil Nichol
Bob Odenkirk
Fiona O'Loughlin
Kristen Schaal
Brent Schiess
Holly Schlesinger
Chris "Shockwave" Sullivan
Olivia Wingate
Glenn Wool

Inconclusive:
Joanne Astrow
Steve Bennett
Alonzo Bodden
Jimmy Carr
Amelie Gillette
Richard Herring
Dom Irrera
Eddie Izzard
Andy Kindler
Jessica Kirson
Catie Lazarus
Mark Lonow
Susan Maljan
Al Pitcher
Brett Vincent

Negative:
Greg Proops
Jeff Singer

at one of andy kindler's legendary "state of the industry" addresses.

he was very funny and -- despite my fears -- didn't do anything i couldn't have done, which meant i could sit happily through the whole thing rather than being forced out of the room by discomfiting jealousy.

but decided to go to the afterparty at theatre ste catherine 'cause it was my last chance to see a girl i'd become interested in and, also, it effectively marked the end of the festival.

still, i delayed entering the venue, standing out front as the night threatened to be displaced by day.

fortunately, before too long, a (friendly) eugene mirman showed up and encouraged me into the room.

but going in didn't mean i was ready to interact with anyone, so i ended up on the balcony, looking over the scene as kevin mcdonald from the kids in the hall, god's pottery, phil nichol, various attractive comedy industry women and a host of others danced, drank and otherwise embraced the waning night.

unexpectedly, on my shoulder, eugene mirman's hand appeared.

he wanted to know if i was okay.

i said i was and suddenly it was true.

i had been watching the attractive redhead i was interested in dancing, realizing nothing was to come of my interest, and had become a little depressed but soon i was on the dance floor, undulating with the others, feeling almost happy.

when i left, the sun was mostly shining as kristen schaal, standing out front with a cute girl from avalon management, smiled "good morning" and "goodbye".

i felt almost normal. which regular readers will know is, to me, an elusive and treasured state.

the hookers tried to entice me as i strolled toward the hotel, but they had no way of knowing that my self-esteem was now far too high for them to prevail.

ran into greg proops in the hotel elevator.

the only time he's ever met me in a meaningful way -- and we haven't met that many times in total -- was when we did jeff garlin's show at bang together about 9 years ago.

no reason he should remember me after all that time but he did think i was awesome that night (which i was), so i said hi and reminded him how we'd met.

unfortunately, i was insecure when i met him another time and he was kind of dismissive to me (forgetting that he thought i was awesome), so i was insecure this time, remembering how that had gone.

he said he remembered me but i suspect my palpable insecurity connected his memory to the later (bad) encounter even as he hung the negative feelings on the details of our (positive) original interaction.

still, he was (superficially) friendly, so i introduced him to the producer of provenza's chat show, joking that they were "arch rivals" (since proops is doing his chat show here as well).

proops said he'd heard provenza's show had gone well, which he damn well should have heard, since last night's entry (featuring eddie izzard, billy connelly, louis black, louis ck, dave foley and kevin mcdonald with danny bhoy, jimmy carr and others watching) was one of those great shows -- truly magical -- that danced on the head of pinheaded comedy angels.

i said the show had been "unbelievable" but told the vaunted ironist he didn't have to believe me, a bit of wordplay that seemed to go completely over his head.

yeah, alright, it was insecurely delivered, but he still should have gotten it.

and maybe i was standing there with a tight neck spoiling my lovability, but who is he to judge me, with his large, seemingly expanding head and his ossified, never-gonna-go-farther-than-he-has-in-show-business stance.

i know i haven't demonstrated that he judged me ill but, damn it, it felt like he did and, on top of that, his uptight wife shuddered when i said, "hello loveliness," upon being introduced to her.

and what do you know, anyway? you weren't there.

now, richard herring -- he's nice.

and he just told me he reads this blog.

in the street, talking to glenn wool. (glen had to surreptitiously ask me, an american, his name.)

then, kids in the hall, mr. show and jim jeffries on provenza's chat show. un-fucking-believable. a party. so funny. (they spoke about other comics as freely as if they were not being broadcast.)

up 'til 5:30 with phil nicholl, glenn wool, stephen k. amos and others.

reg hunter arrived today.

ran into howie mandel for the first time since my l.a. days and used him to bounce off notions that made john mendoza laugh.

had a "smoked meat" sandwich.

all in all, good times in montreal.

i wanted to enter canada to get out of fighting the vietnam war.

bus ride to montreal.

is collaborating with "mystery science 3000"'s frank conniff on a project called "cartoon dump". i'm kinda feeling left out, though jerry says i'd be involved if i was in l.a.

well . . .

maybe.

i mean, i'd be involved in some way, even if it was just offering advice and cheering the thing on.

but maybe that's why it's good i'm not out there. should i be working on vintage cartoon-related projects with my animation enthusiast friends or should i be doing my own thing as i am in the uk and in new york?

of course, last night, when i saw earl okin at birdland, i wanted to be on the stage there, singing.

now, there seems to be marijuana smoke drifting in my window, threatening to further misdirect me.

i don't remember how i wanted to end this.

my friend leaves for montreal this morning, then edinburgh on sunday.

i bought him a roll-n-roaster sandwich and coney island t-shirt yesterday. then went to see the conclusion of "to sir with love" in bryant park, 'cause i wanted to precede my own trip to the uk with the experience of seeing lulu, in london's east end, singing to sidney poitier, on a big screen, outdoors, surrounded by skyscrapers, in new york.

i'll arrive in montreal tomorrow, then edinburgh in a couple of weeks.

i think it's kind of cool that last week's bryant park movie took place partially in montreal while this week's was in the uk -- an omen of some sort, i would guess.

and i sort of started my journey after last night's movie by heading over to birdland to see british bossa nova king,earl okin, who'll be in montreal and edinburgh as well. missed his song but at least i showed up -- that's all that matters, right?

tomorrow at about this time i should be in canada.

i made it out of the house -- showered, flossed and more or less ready to face the day -- while it was still morning.

this makes three days in a row. (if i'd gotten out between 12 and 1, i was prepared to tell myself that, since we're now using daylight savings time, i had technically still made it.)

i'm fighting off depression and the resultant inactivity. last night, i was walking on the coney island boardwalk, feeling sorry for myself. (it's a good place to feel that way.) i gotta say, the astroland fireworks and my friends' burlesque show made me feel a lot better.

but . . .

now, it's today.

there's lots i wanna do.

but a part of me just wants to stay rooted to this spot.

a loud, boorish, fat woman was sitting to the side of the park, complaining about the pre-show speakers and oddball local acts.

then, when her favored act was to be introduced, she whistled piercingly, partially deafening me.

i asked if she could pull back on the whistling and she said something like, "there are 60,000 other square feet here."

when the show began, the whistling instantly resumed.

well, i took it as a personal insult. i said something and walked away but then i thought maybe she hadn't heard me, so i pushed past people, went right up to her and said (i think), "thanks for chasing me away, you noisy crone."

i took a new and better show-watching position (house left) and immediately felt guilty.

after all, words are powerful. maybe the old crone didn't see herself as a crone.

was this a croning offense? should i be making her see herself as an aged hag simply because she whistled?

once, in santa monica, i had a waitress who was, quite frankly, a cunt. (it's not too extreme a description of her.) she had an ultra-obvious nose job she probably thought made her look beautiful.

i could've said, "nice nose job," and shattered her soul.

but i did not.

giving the girl a permanent complex in exchange for a one night of nastiness would've been unduly harsh justice.

i said nothing and was proud of my deep, strong humanity.

humanity that escaped me last night.

i went back and told the woman that i was sorry; that i had not thought she was a crone; that i was merely trying to hurt her.

she smiled and said, "i am a crone."

i told her to get such thoughts out of her head.

she said she'd thought i was kidding about the whistling and, suddenly, all was well with the world.

you know, my father used to like to say that "words once spoken can never be taken away" (mostly so i could feel extra guilty about something i'd said to him).

i demand that he retract those words.

as i sit back down at the tea lounge, the guy to my right has a gigantic notebook computer with an additional, separate keyboard -- i'm surprised he didn't bring his stove to cook himself lunch -- and he's using the monstrous desktop replacement to . . . look at baseball statistics.

meanwhile the guy to my left has disgusting, little, crumpled-up napkins (i'm usually good at generating them) edging into my area.

outside, though, it's much nicer.

the leaves have mostly abandoned spring's light colors and turned the deep, dark green i associate with new york.

the dark foliage was like a "welcome home" when i used to return here from l.a. and it was particularly welcoming at governor's island the other day.

seconds away by ferry from both brooklyn and manhattan, the island was, 'til recently, the home of the coast guard, but it's been sold back to the city by the federal government for, like, a dollar or something and the city is now trying to figure out what to do with it.

i'll tell you what they should so with it -- nothing.

it used to be you had to have permission to go to there, so most people have never been. (i did a gig at the officer's club once, so i'm special.) why not just let people romp quietly amidst the beautifully landscaping and lovely, old structures and not build the casinos and luxury hotels that have been suggested?

of course, i know why -- the place has to generate money; to pay its way.

but i can dream, can't i?

anyway, i was there to catch a performance by the venerable folk singer, odetta. i didn't know what to expect, but she was awesome, as much a blues singer as a folk artist.

she did a "house of the rising son" that was both chilling and heartbreaking and as she moved toward her soulful conclusion, some security guard was standing to the left of the stage with walkie-talkie blaring.

i asked if it was possible for him to turn it down or move further away.

he ignored me.

i called him an obnoxious idiot or something similar and, a moment or two later, i noticed he had moved farther away.

god, the idiot to my right just nearly spilled his drink all over the table where everybody is using their computers.

then, having narrowly averted disaster, he left to be a bull in some other china shop.

now, "dirty napkin boy" has also departed.

i wonder if i'm capable of getting anything done today. (ulp -- now the girl to my left is talking on the phone and obliviously gesticulating with papers, banging 'em down onto the table repeatedly, abandoning them, hitting the table with her hand, then going back to the thing with the papers. now, a wizened woman with an enormous baguette has joined the assembled. oy, also a separate keyboard.)

i gotta get some iced tea.

i'm going to the montreal comedy festival!

. . . but as a behind-the-scenes guy helping friends with a show rather than as a comedian.

oh, well. maybe i'll become pals with some big-name comedians and they'll take me under their wings in edinburgh and help me in some way, making montreal, even in this non-ideal fashion, an essential component of my rise to the top.

(i was asked by my friend if i wanted him to try and get me on one or more of the jfl shows, since i'll be up there already, but i'm so out of shape as a seven-minute-chunk performer i'd probably be wiser to hide 'til edinburgh where i can control the context in which they see me.)

been reading this blog.

i've been getting hits from someone using comcast broadband in maryland and he just moved to maryland and his e-mails seem to have been coming from the same range of ip addresses.

just looked over the last month or so of posts and i haven't written anything i wouldn't want him to read in that time.

but what happens when i want to?

stop noticing things. but after a day indoors, my walk through fort greene and prospect heights this morning reminded me just how beautiful brooklyn can be.

it couldn't be a more perfect morning -- warm, breezy, not a cloud in the sky.

a blonde woman named kate was ahead of me on line a little while ago and was talking amiably with the counter guy about her daughter and the start of summer and when she walked away, the counter guy said, do you remember her on "oz"?

i said no and he said it's the kind of thing where you can never look at her the same again. (now i wanna go watch "oz".)

i love the sun. (especially with my new spf 45 sunblock on.)

how inspiring it is to hear an orchestra live. (a good one, anyway.)

physically feeling the sound, hearing the individual instruments, noticing the slight imperfections in timing, watching the gesticulations of the conductor . . .

i know they pick "populist" classical music for this kind of thing (the piece was, in many ways, like a score from an old hollywood movie) but so what? there was a mass of people spread across a great lawn to hear a fine orchestra.

that's a good thing.

the fireworks were cool too. in fact, i was practically at the spot from which they launched them, which was occasionally scary but often thrilling and beautiful.

and perhaps the most beautiful pyrotechnic effect was a series of beautifully delineated, colored stars rising like water in a fountain into the night sky. ironically, the smoke they left behind eliminated our ability to see the actual stars in the sky.

i walked back to the tea lounge through the brownstone-laden streets of park slope (quite londony, actually) feeling good about life. and now i have time to work on my show for the fringe.

but that would be work and i feel too good to wanna do that.

plus, the management here has decided, despite the fact that the place is filled with people at their laptops and it seems like everyone has purchased something, to play loud, pounding "chasing away customers" music.

4 people left just now.

i bet the owners aren't here. this seems to me the kind of thing employees do.

nothing wrong with the music or the volume -- at another place or time. it's not "working on my fringe show" music though.

maybe it'll be good press release-writing music.

managed to to catch a little of the audrey hepburn film "wait until dark" in bryant park last night. even got there in time for the mass standing, dancing and clapping that traditionally greets the now-archaic hbo logo before each summer monday's film. but it's hard to cut loose when you're off to the side and not with anybody -- you feel conspicuous.

but i got to swing and sway a little as i described what was going on to people who got concerned when i stood up in front of them.

sunday, i briefly witnessed the italian "feast of giglio" in williamsburg, brooklyn. a bunch of guys stand under, lift and move a very tall religious statue up and down the street, apparently all day, while others eat sausage and peppers and play at shooting gallery-type games.

on a platform around the statue, also lifted and moved by the men, are a brass band, playing italian (and other) songs and an italian tenor, plus a galley-master kind of guy who urges on the pack animal-style humans on whose shoulders they're being carried.

it's the kind of thing you would have expected to see in little italy before most of it became the soho-esque "nolita". of course, williamsburg is fast being transformed now too and though the architectural backdrop for this spectacle was classic, the revelers were marching toward demolition sites where the area's deracinated future lies waiting. i think the feast got more publicity this year than in previous years and it's both ironic and typical that this celebration may become a well-known institution even as its neighborhood authenticity is eaten away.

from the feast, i walked a few blocks to the long-abandoned mccarren pool, which looked like a post-nuclear relic until last year when they began filling it not with water (which it hasn't seen -- except in rain -- for decades) but with bands, djs and swim-free pool parties.

i didn't stay long; just long enough to fully relish a dry pool filled with hipsters. but it was long enough to be glad i'd gone.

didn't go to mccarren tonight, thought they're showing the robert mitchum film, "night of the hunter", which i would like to see. no, i think i'm gonna walk over to prospect park, where the new york philharmonic is playing for free.

i've missed a lot of the concert but i can catch what i missed in central park or elsewhere over the next few days if i really want to. the fireworks probably haven't been set off yet, so maybe i should hustle to see them.

gotta write my edinburgh show, though.

although, i don't really have to write it. i've lived it over the last year. it can be found between the lines of this blog (though not this post).

still, there's some creative wranglin' to do.

nah.

not now.

i'm gonna go to the park.

my friend says it's 'cause when he was a puppy, his owner didn't want to pick up after him and kept him in motion as he shat.

all i know is, i don't even like the idea of feeling warm dog crap on the other side of a plastic bag -- to have to follow a trail of it only serves to heighten and extend the ordeal. (and don't get me started about non-solid excrement. how do you even clean that up?)

time was -- when i watched a different friend's dogs in l.a. -- i didn't clean up after them, so disgusted was i by the notion of coming into any kind of contact with their waste.

but that was l.a. -- nobody walks there. this time 'round -- in new york city -- my sense of responsibility to my fellow man prevailed.

also, it was live earth weekend. i owed it to al gore to be a good citizen.

but from an ecological perspective, wouldn't it be more responsible to leave the biodegradable and nutrient-rich fecal matter where it lands and not use an environment-destroying plastic bag?

attention green movement: watch out for your shoes.

and this was a big, old chocolate lab, who turned 11 years old yesterday.

(big and old.)

but such spirit.

and lovable.

i sang happy birthday to him and gave him a birthday rub. (his graying hair was flying.)

someone else is looking after him now. i'm gonna miss him.

(he smells bad, like a dog should.)

staying in a new apartment in an old building in the south street seaport area.

decided to experience 7/7/7 while the day was new, so me and bear walked through a a tiny piece of the financial district and past the still-smelly (i like it) former home of the fulton fish market.

we watched chinese people doing tai chi at the waterfront, with three bridges and brooklyn heights across the river as their backdrop.

we ran a little. (i think it nearly knocked the old dog out.)

i think both bear and i will experience the next part of 7/7/7 lying down.

hours on the iphone line last week, there was one thing i told my line-neighbor i wanted and it wasn't the iphone.

what is was was, well . . .

i was kinda hoping i wouldn't be seen by anyone i know.

now, i'm not talking about people who already knew i was in line -- i was delighted when a friend drove by in a cab around 4:30 am and handed me a burger through his window. i'm talking about people who might think less of me (yes, even less) or mock me for my actions. (maybe even behind my back.)

i feared it would make me look bad to be out there all night, sleeping in the street. and what i thought would come off worst was that i was being paid to wait.

what a needy guy way to make a buck.

so, of course, after a night and many hours had passed -- the sun and time baking me into a potentially unappealing creation -- writer and comic todd levin, a basically nice guy who, i believe, already saw me through a veil of pity, came strolling by and stopped to say "hi".

he was on a break from a temp job -- a normal guy's way to make money -- and it was all i could do to act like i was cool; like my life and adventures were okay,

but you know what? i think i succeeded.

a little.

then -- damn it -- british comic and television host simon amstell came strolling by. what was he doing in the states?

i got that neck compression/rigidity thing that defines me when insecurity takes my helm and suspected he was assessing me badly when -- after our brief, perhaps uncomfortable, interaction -- he continued down the way, saying god-knows-what about me to his pal.

now, i gotta be extra comfortable around him in edinburgh to make him see me the right way.

but, you know, the kicker is, the line was fun. it wasn't onerous at all. i probably had a better time during those hours than anybody in the "normal" world of visiting tv presenters and struggling writers who take temp jobs to make ends meet.

if only they would know that.

because it's not my favorite cut of meat, but also, my mother always felt it was bad form to order the most expensive thing on the menu when someone was taking you out.

when i was a kid, it was generally my uncle eugene treating me when i ordered the most expensive thing and he never seemed to mind. and uncle eugene was footing the bill last night.

but i was polite and ordered rostbraten with onion rings. (actually, the rostbraten was only a dollar or two cheaper, but, money aside, there's something about ordering filet mignon that sounds like you're taking advantage.)

i thought what i got would be good, but it was only adequate, while the filet was beautiful -- slightly charred on the outside and soft and red on the inside.

fortunately, before i could be fully consumed by by the "life is unfair" sense of being gypped that had welled-up within me, my cousin let me have a piece of his filet plus the giant mushroom cap that accompanied it.

my life became instantly richer and brighter and the taste of his steak even carried over to mine for a number of bites.

next time, i'll order the filet no matter what my benefactor has to pay.

( . . . and something else will turn out to be better.)

decided to play the role of the adult who pretends to be tapped into kid things but isn't.

referred to harry potter as harvey porter. claimed to have read all the books, such as "harvey porter and the axis of schmutz" and "harvey porter and the doll's breakfast".

sat in the theater waiting for "ratatouille" to start and was given two sour patch candies by my cousin sarah. pretended i was the cranky, old guy who tastes something wonderful and melts, becoming a warm. loving participant in life where once he was just a mean, old cuss.

she didn't seem to be buying the scenario (or my playing of it). then, we watched the film and the very same notion played a major part in the denouement.

i gloated.

on long island.

my uncle's place in sag harbor.

we've been having breakfast by the pool. the pool guys just finished working a little while ago.

i think we're down the block from one of the lesser baldwin brothers.

gotta wait an hour at least before we go swimming, the pool guy said. (not 'cause we've been eating -- he's not our grandmother -- 'cause of whatever stuff he put in the pool.)

interesting breakfast conversation: starbucks business practices and the london terror plot. (no, we don't think they're related but maybe that would be a good conspiracy theory to promulgate.)

my cousin josh and his girlfriend just came down. we can't find any fireworks closer than montauk but going to see ratatouille has been discussed.

should be a good 4th.

happy independence day, all.

god knows how long it had been there.

many decades, i guess. probably under different names.

it's the diner where mary jane worked in spiderman 1, outside of which she gave spidey the upside-down kiss.

i'd walked past it for years and always admired it, but had never gone in; maybe i didn't have money or i'd eaten somewhere else or i had an appointment or . . .

i finally entered, though.

yesterday.

the last day.

it was a timeless, metal-covered, rail-car-inspired, american diner, smaller than i expected, with a counter where you wouldn't be surprised to find a film noir detective tolerating a stale donut and some poisonous coffee before getting cold-cocked by a guy he thought was on his side. i asked for a malted and was told they couldn't make one, so i shifted to egg cream, then milkshake, but they were out of fixin's and were never going to replace them.

still, that hot beef sandwich on a nearby table looked good. it came with mashed potatoes, but the guy and his girl also had chili cheese fries with gravy. (wow.) i settled on an iced tea and some damn good fries, which i gobbled while watching the owner say goodbye.

"when the door comes down at 11, there'll be no more moondance diner -- forever -- finished," he told one regular.

then, he practically danced as he added, "i saved the diner!"

well . . . sort of.

the landlord would be building expensive apartments where the hash-house now stood but the diner itself was to be moved to a museum in pennsylvania where it would serve as a reminder of how things used to be.

but before that would happen, the owner went outside and sat awhile, smoking and sharing a last moment with his young son in front of his diner until his beautiful wife came out and they left. though it didn't feel like it at that moment, his whole life was still ahead of him.

clearly visible, through the somewhat grimy windows, was a city where there was no longer room for a gas station or a diner or a one-story structure taking up space where a developer could build into the sky.

i paid the counter guy, who was gracious and caring, despite the fact that he no longer had to induce anyone to return, and walked out of what was now part of the workaday world but would soon be an exhibit showing the way we'd lived.

in a vanishing new york somewhere inside a lost america.

who interviewed me on the iphone line said something like, "you waited in line for this, did you wait in line for 'last comic standing'?" implying that i should have.

but if i had auditioned for "last comic standing", i would have gone up and talked about the judges, they wouldn't have thought it was funny, the crew and other people one step back would have been laughing and i wouldn't have gotten on the show.