Last night I was invited to the United Nations Headquarters to watch a premier of Javier Bardem’s documentary on the human rights abuses in Western Sahara. Before you ask why I was invited to such an important event I will remind you that I am a very important person with a very bright future. At least that’s how my daily pep talks into the mirror begin. Although I am a bit concerned, I had Chinese take out last night and my fortune cookie contained no fortune. I’m not a superstitious person, as I’m sure you’ve gathered from my intellect but I have barricaded myself in the apartment today and I’m bathing in hand sanitizer. If you get nothing from this post at least take away this bit of knowledge- they aren’t kidding when they say for hand use only.

The event was hosted by the Robert Kennedy Foundation for Justice and Human Rights. It would be hard to really disagree with anything in the name of that organization. First you have Robert Kennedy. It doesn’t matter what you’re opinion on John F. is, everyone loves Bobby. Human Rights and Justice. Who, other than Morocco (as I learned last night) is going to argue against that. So really whoever named this organization deserves kudos.

For the straight women and gay men that read my blog, prepare to swoon because Javier Bardem was there. Straight men and gay women, sorry but Penelope Cruz was not there so she most definitely did not make out with Selma Hayek who wasn’t there either.

All and all the evening gets high marks for social justice, movie stars, Kennedy kids and angry Moroccans who disagree that there’s a problem. Unfortunately, I need to subtract some points for a lack of girl-on-girl action. No worries, my comment card addressed the issue and I’m sure the U.N. will rectify this situation.

Some of you may remember that I spent time in the Sahara Desert sharing a chapstick with my Berber brother from a darker mother and I take a certain nationalistic pride in saying that I didn’t know there was a problem. Javier, (yes, we are on a first name basis) remarked that is was a shame that the world wasn’t aware of the situation going on in Western Sahara and it was his hope to change that. I think it’s a shame that I didn’t even know there as a country named Western Sahara- and there’s a very good chance that I was in it.

Who would be the quintessential New York celebrity? That one person that you saw on the street and said, “Yup, that’s New York.” My friend says Martin Scorsese or Robert De Niro- whom I was referring to as Marty and Bobby until their attorney’s threw a “cease and desist” order at me. My first choice is Woody Allen. So imagine my surprise that while walking down Lexington Avenue who should I see but the man himself filming around the corner from my apartment.

It threw a crimp in my plans because my day had been scheduled around a visit to The Lexington Candy Store and Luncheonette. My idea was to have a hamburger in this venerated slice of 1920’s New York. An old man in an apron bars my entry into the shop with a dangerous wave of his greasy spatula.

“Step off old man- I wants me a burger.”
“Get a job you low-life scum”
“Quit telling me what to do. You aint the boss of me, Perv.”
“Get out of my store Nancy-boy!”

Anyway, long story short the diner is closed because they are filming a movie in it. The old man points his spatula across the street and there stands Woody Allen with John Turturro and Johnny Depp’s ex-wife- I’m sure she has a name but, really, who cares- she’s Johnny Depp’s ex-wife. But don’t say that to her because it’s probably offensive and don’t ask Woody if you can see the Polaroids he took of Soon-yi because that is probably also in bad taste

So I guess what I’m saying is that celebrities are jerks and I didn’t get my burger.

So if I haven’t been updating this blog what exactly have I been doing? Other than the massive amount of rejection from women and job interviews- you know, the usual. I’ve been writing.

In a month long burst of creativity brought on by that nasty flu that was going around I wrote a 300 page first draft of novel. I was handwriting 3,000 to 5,000 words-a-day. I was unstoppable in an obsessive compulsive way. I dreamt about this novel, I daydreamed about it. I was researching the particulars, bouncing ideas off others. Always writing forward. That was my mantra- “Write Forward”. Don’t edit, don’t go back a few pages a see what I wrote, don’t correct misspellings, don’t re-read what was written. If the lead character’s name changed mid sentence- screw it keep going, write forward. A man obsessed. After that month, which ended yesterday, I had a rough first draft in two parts.



And yes, I’ve already cast the main characters for the movie and spent all the money I’ll make on it. And no, I'm not certain the notes taped to the wall won't take the paint off.

Can I write everyday for a month? I doubt it but I’m going to give it a go. So expect 31 crap entries. I had to look at the calendar to see how many days are in March. I should have made this resolution in February and called it done.

I am sitting in a coffee shop at Astor Place killing time before a meeting. A line of trailers runs down E. 8th Street- security guards are eyeing everyone suspiciously including me. Grown men carrying cameras with very large lenses pace nervously. Suddenly there was action. As if a gun had been fired everyone begins to run. Security is tense- they eye the men with the large lenses. The photographers run backwards, shooting a young girl that is walking toward them. She’s trying to get to her trailer but is walking slow enough so they don’t miss a shot. She smiles for the cameras- obviously pleased (who wouldn’t be?). All of this is happening in front of the table I’m sitting at drinking an espresso. I half consider getting up and getting my picture taken with her- maybe make it in People Magazine but I can’t be bothered to even take a picture myself. And the last thing I need at this stage of my life is a restraining order.

This brings me to the point of this little post. I am somewhat disappointed that I’ve never had to take a restraining order out on anyone. I’ve never had one stalker and I’ve dated some pretty reality-challenged women but they were all very attractive which….yea I’m not looking very good here. I used to kid myself that I had plenty of stalkers but that they were so good that I never saw them stalking. If I’m to have a stalker I’d like to think she’s be somewhat professional about it. But I’m beginning to realize that being stalked and having a court document that I can wave at someone while screaming, “stay 50 feet away!” will not be in my immediate future. I also suspect that I’ll never be in People Magazine and I had my chance yesterday, but really it’s the lack of stalkers that has me down.

After the hubbub died down I tell a security guard that I must be getting old, as I didn’t even recognize the young starlet.
“Oh, she not famous.” He said. “Not yet anyway. She’s a rising star.”
“What are they filming?”
“The Carrie Diaries”
I must have looked confused. So he added, “It’s the Sex in the City prequel, the Sex in the City women as 16 year old girls.”
“Jesus, you’re kidding right?”
“Nope”

So there you have it. I am stalker-less and there’s a prequel to Sex in the City. Unless, of course, Annasophia Robb is stalking me and that this was just some elaborate ruse to get near me. If I had a stalker she’d be good like that.

Addendum: I forgot that the girl from The Office was stalking me in Paris and a couple of models- so I'm doing ok. Let's just forget about this post.

By the way a photo of Annasophia Robb- seems like a nice girl- but what do I know?