Lookin' out my back door
Think not of this as tragic, but more a humble beginning: the fire escape's newly verdant state is a vast improvement from before. Please note the check cashing sign in the background, and not pictured in the distant background, a Conway, or as it is sometimes locally referred to, "Conways." Conway is a downmarket department store where you can buy all-synthetic versions of modern urban fashions as well as cute cheapo ripoffs of current underwear designs, and about half of their stock is usually found on the floor.
We had quite a show from the makeshift back yard, as many cop cars, ambulances, and fire trucks assembled at the subway entrance, sirens blaring. Considering there's already a cop shop down in the neighboring subway station, we assumed they were just calling in reinforcements to hang out on the corner, or jibe each other over their cars' loudspeakers, which from what we can tell is what they spend a lot of their time doing.
But then journalists arrived with cameras and notepads, followed by news trucks from every network. Turns out two subway workers were struck by a G train; one had died (the second such death in a week) and the other is now in stable condition. Cheekiness aside, that's one pretty terrible way to go/get injured.
Later I went to Julie's swinging bachelorette pad for her screening of All That Jazz. Have you ever heard of two men having sexual intercourse with each other? This was gayer than that. And I got some insight into why I don't have a gay bf. I think it's partially due to my not liking too many things typically considered gay. Like movie musicals (though I did enjoy ATJ!). And Liza. There was a lot of Liza talk last night. Don't get me wrong; she's great, but I don't consider the matter much further than that. Last night's revelers spoke an unfamiliar dialect of choreographers and dancers and musicals. Therese and I briefly spoke in our rock dialect of how awesome it had been at the Flaming Fire show the night before at Southpaw when they'd played "Holy Diver," and how much Kate's vocals had kicked ass, but surprisingly no one else had anything to chime in about Dio. Eh, it's like the old saying goes, You say Bob Fosse, I say Ronnie James Dio.