You can kind of see the other major injury area in this picture. (It doesn't come out with a flash because of the white fluorescence of my skin.) I also discovered two things when I took a shower--I can feel where my head bumped the side of the bus, and I have a big bruise on my tailbone. It's apparently where I fell, but not where I sit, so I didn't notice it until I saw it. Shake your heads again with me, how can I be walking around? I put an ace bandage on my foot, and I'm not even in pain.

Congratulations to my friends who are moving up in the world starting next Tuesday. Liz Maestri will be working in development for the Brooklyn Philharmonic, and John Miras will be an assistant D.A. in training in the Bronx. Hmmm, jobs, what would that be like?

Every day and in every way, I'm getting better and better. Like you all, I guess I half expected some major damage to manifest within 24 hours of my accident, but I'm feeling ever better. I realize now that keys to my survival were that the bus was starting around a corner from a stand-still, and that it probably only moved four feet from the first impact to the last. No, no, don't get me wrong--still considering myself very very lucky!

As for the chicken, it wasn't perfect, but it was pretty good, and I'd never cooked with fresh thyme before--that stuff is gorgeous!

For the rest of my life, if I ever complain about bad luck, you all have permission to punch me in the mouth and say, "Remember when you got run over by the bus?" A Washington Trails bus, ironically enough. I was on my way to the theater at an intersection, and when the light changed, I entered the crosswalk, not seeing there was a protected turn. The first sensation I had was that I was watching a movie where a pedestrian gets mowed down by a giant white tour bus. Yes, as the ER doc said later, "Like 'Final Destination'!" Then my foot hurt, then my leg was hit, then I thought, "What's happening? Stop it, how do I make it stop?" then I got conked on the head and finally thrown back on to the pavement. Several people ran up to help me, and I said, "I didn't have the light, did I?" "No, but he should have seen you!" Well, it would have been nice if he'd seen me, but I was where I shouldn't have been. A perplexed Andy Rogers said later, "but you're the one always telling me I'm walking where cars can't see me." Ah know, right? So I stood up, saw my glasses, intact, on the street and put them on, picked up my soda and some people helped me sit on the curb. The driver stopped and showed me his license and gave me his company's number, and I could tell I was miraculously unhurt, except for my foot. Well, enough of that, it was time to get to the theater, so I thanked everybody and went along my way. (To very reasonable questions that were asked later, such as "Didn't anybody call the police?" and "Why aren't you arriving in an ambulance?" I just say I dunno. I guess I was confused. I remind you that my mother sat through the end of a movie after her heart attack.) So I got my ticket at will call and thought I should look at my foot. There was a big blue lump, so I thought there may be a variance in outcome possible if I got some intervention. I went back to will call to return my ticket (they said I could come another day) and they googled emergency rooms for me.

When I got to Roosevelt hospital, I decided to call someone, to keep me from making dumb decisions, and especially, to help me figure out how to get home. Poor Andy was the first to answer his phone...fifteen minutes into a first date. "I swear I'm not one of those people who arranges for a friend to call and say they've been hit by a bus when I'm on a first date!" he said fakily before leaving. I'm really glad he came, because you kind of get forgotten in the hubbub, but Andy doesn't let himself get forgotten, and he'll keep you company till the cows come home, or the ER remembers you're there. Later, we called John Miras, who'd been in a movie (and thinking I was calling him because I was in the same theater, goofing on him) earlier, but who came right over and drove me home. In his father's town car, no less.

So, can you believe my foot's not even broken? That I was run over by a bus, and I got off that lightly? That I literally walked away, and the sorest part of my body this morning is my shoulder from reaching back to break my fall? Oh, and the little bungee cord on the front of my fanny pack broke. I have an ace bandage on my foot, some ointment on a 7" abrasion on my thigh (I didn't even have any knee or ankle impact) and crutches. I am one of the luckier people alive today.

You know what? I'm so lucky, I don't even need anything. I made a major grocery haul to Fairway yesterday morning, and today I will endeavor to make a perfect roast chicken, with lemons shoved under the skin and fresh thyme I got from my phlebotomist.

There was a heat advisory today, so after getting off the subway a stop early--a new exercise discipline--I bought a drink and sat in Bryant Park to cool down before going to the library. Right away, this guy came up to my table and threw a bag of Skittles down. "Oh, no thank you," I said. "Why? Are you watching your weight?" Hmmm. "Yes." He picked up the candy and said, "And how you doing that, by drinking," he bent over, "diet peach Snapple? You know what? All you need to do to lose weight is eat seven times a day. diet Snapple, that has even more calories in it than regular Snapple, they don't tell you that." "Thanks for your help," I said, because by then he was yelling at me from the next table down. "This is what you need to drink to lose weight," he shouted, pointing to some random woman's vitamin water. "Okay!" So I just got back to my daydreaming when he came by again and waved the Skittles at me. "You really need to buy you some of these!" A few minutes later as I was walking to the library, I suddenly wished I'd asked him why he was all up in my grill! What was I doing but sitting in the shade on a hot day drinking iced tea?

Mission accomplished at the lion library--outline and draft for a "My Turn" column for Newsweek to reject.

I assume because of my rare review of a show in this blog, the horrible Idol: The Musical closed a few days after I saw it. I vow to use this power sparingly, but in this case, it had to be done.

You know, I read descriptions of about a hundred plays in the NY Fringe Festival, and there are only a few subjects playwrights seem interested in exploring: unearthing a deep family secret, after which, of course, nothing will ever be the same, gender-bending, bad love affairs, and talking about the war in Iraq while seeming to talk about something else.

One month on South Beach, and I've lost 16 pounds. And as Dr. Agatston foretold, it was noticeably in the gut area, so I no longer feel like the monster from "Alien" is going to bust out of my stomach when I bend over to tie my shoes. More importantly, I haven't knowingly gone off of it at all, I find it very easy to stick to. Now I have to start reintroducing starches and fruit and I'm nervous! For lunch I had a piece of whole-grain bread (the kind with extra oats glued on top) with peanut butter and a salad--still have to get in two cups of vegetables per meal. I no longer have to eat snacks, but I still have to eat breakfast. Well, here's my delicious diet breakfast for anyone who's interested: Half a cup of V8, a pot of tea, and Creamy & Delicious Scrambled eggs. Non-fat cream cheese (good stuff) supplies the creamy, and a scallion provides the delicious.

And anyone out there who's ever struggled with dieting, buy The Beck Diet Solution. It's not a diet, it's about why people go off diets and how you can change your thinking and stay motivated. And although you know I know everything, I learned a lot from it.

I got to wondering what, exactly, my perfect purple penumbra portends. Remember, what I was thinking about when I was "read" was what to ask my colorist to do to my hair.

Purple: This color can indicate that an individual has a tendency of being intuitive. The deeper the purple hue, the more passionate and strong willed the person is. Purple also can reflect intense erotic imagination, and a tendency of being overbearing.
Purple: indicates spiritual thoughts. Purple is never a strong point in the Aura. It appears only as temporary "clouds" and "flames", indicating truly spiritual thoughts.
The purple shades often reflect an ability to handle affairs with practicality and worldliness.
purple and yellow cool, impartial person who heals but is unaware of it
Essentially having a great deal of purple in your Aura shows that you are a highly spiritual individual, or are concentrating upon matters sprititual.
Purple is associated with power, both earthly and spiritual. In healing, purple is used for mental disorders and also for becoming one with Spirit. In the aura purple signifies higher spiritual development.
Gold represents understanding and luck. Remember though that nothing comes from nothing, It is the most powerful healing color, but so powerful that many are not able to stand it initially and must be conditioned to it via other colors. In the aura it represents service to others.
GOLD AURA COLOR: The color of enlightenment and divine protection. When seen within the aura, it says that the person is being guided by their highest good. It is divine guidance. Protection, wisdom, inner knowledge, spiritual mind, intuitive thinker.

This should be the best dye job ever!!!!!

I was standing in front of the library drinking an iced coffee on my dinner break when a guy came up and talked to me. My thoughts are in italic.

"Excuse me, may I for a moment interrupt your peaceful beauty?"
Okay. I was just scanning passersby looking for a model for the hair coloring job I hope to get for my class reunion, but you seem more amusing.
"I say beautiful because you have a beautiful purple and gold aura."
Go, Vikings!
"Really, you have the most perfect purple aura I've ever seen, no cracks. I'm a psychology student at Columbia University . . . "
I thought socialism was the dumbest thing they taught up there, but auras?
"And I volunteer at this fine institution."
You have no idea where we are, do you?
"As you may know, our horrible federal government in order to send ever more money over to the war, has recently cut all funding to feeding the homeless."
That seems improbable. I wonder if he'd enjoy my lecture on the enumeration of powers of the federal government as outlined in the constitution and tenth amendment. Liz didn't seem too interested when I laid it on her recently, so I'll hold off.
"I mean, our wonderful federal government!"
I guess he was expecting some kind of reaction I didn't give. Poor fella, if you only knew with whom you're dealing!
"Fortunately, the Gay Men's Health Crisis has generously offered to help us by matching every $2, $5, $10, or $20 donation we can collect."
Beware of mission creep . . . But I pulled out my reticule.
"Oh, thank you. Where are you from, sweetheart?"
Damn this backpack! I don't want to look like a tourist, I want to look too badass to risk messing with! "Brooklyn," I said, handing over two bills. Single bills.
"Really? Oh, wonderful, wonderful, one of us, helping our own."
It does not appear I'll be getting a receipt for tax purposes.
"Seriously, if I'd met someone as beautiful as you years ago, I wouldn't be gay today."
Hmmm, I wonder who I could be saving from that fate right now? Or is he saying I look mannish? Because one reason I grew out my hair was because I got called "sir" twice. And finally, as he walked away, By the way, "Mr. Charity", your meth mouth gives you away!

You know, I could shave my head right now if I wanted to. I'm that free.

I walked over to the library yesterday and finally caught the farmer's market at Grand Army Plaza. I didn't see any celery, which I needed, but bought shallots, a zucchini, an eggplant, and two green peppers. On the way back through the park, I saw a woman carrying a big iguana on her hip like a toddler, yelling, "It's my baby," to anyone who made eye contact with her. She switched to raising and lowering it over her head like a barbell, then tried to put it on the branch of a tree, but it was too heavy. Let's not worry about what she gets out of showering her love on a lizard. What I wonder is what in the iguana's DNA enables it to make any kind of sense out of being carried around by a . . . primate. Yet I also laugh, because I'm reminded of Bert Parks singing, "There She is, Miss Komodo Dragon" in the movie "The Freshman".

This morning, I went up to Seinfeld country to see "Moliere" (the script's a mess, but Romain Duris is bitchin') and sought Ollie's Noodle Shop for lunch afterward. There's a cute provenance to how I came to eat there at the first time, with my cousin Patty. We'd gone to see the new wing of MOMA and such good travel companions are we that neither of us actually wanted to go inside, we just wanted to see what you can see for free. We did each buy a print from a sidewalk display, and surprisingly, Patty knew a lot about printmaking and was able to talk to the artist about his process. (And I say surprising not because it's uncharacteristic of Patty to know things, but because I presume that if I don't know something, it must be unknowable.) I think I was the one who wanted to see Lincoln Center and by then, we were really hungry. I had the name of a restaurant on Amsterdam, but Patty--again with the knowing of things!--had a New York address decoder that told her we were 30 blocks south of it, not the three I thought we were. So we were trudging up Broadway, seeing nothing but variations on Starbucks and McD's when we found ourselves behind three teenage girls. One of them was carrying a big artists' portfolio, and they were all talking about how starving and broke they were and they should go to Ollie's. We cleverly engaged our mad tailing skilz and followed them to Ollie's, which turns out to feature the kind of Japanese noodle soup they ate in that terrific movie, "Tampopo" which I'd wanted to try ever since seeing it. It was good and cheap, although the girls, after many consultations on their cell phones, decided to eat someplace less good but more cheap. Anyhoo . . . my basil shrimp wasn't cheap, but it was okay, and I really had a hankering for seaweed salad. You gotta get your two cups of veg at lunch on the Beach, you know.

No, it's not a shiny fresh-scrubbed floor. My apartment flooded again yesterday and I'm kind of expecting it to again tonight, though I learned of another drain I can shove my hand in to to pull out any obstructing gunk. The bright side, and granted, it's not exactly blinding, is that the plumber has quit blaming me and supposedly they're installing a sump pump and a pipe out to the sewer.

How can you mess up a premise like Idol: The Musical? Apart from the opening scene which was a nod to the bomb worshipers in "Beneath the Planet of the Apes", there were no laughs, and very little Clay Aiken! Before I went, I read that the entire cast was replaced a week ago, which can never auger anything good. I was somewhat interested in how much one character looked like Carla Carpio, one of my receptionists, but when she took off her wig and goth garb, even that little flicker of interest was extinguished. Really, really, shockingly bad for off-Broadway. Go see "The Bourne Ultimatum" instead--it's spine-tingling!

I bought a big ol' cheesy keepsake of my first year in New York--a poster of Playbill covers from all the shows that played on Broadway in the '06-07 season. There were 67 and I've seen 23 of them, three more than once. Man, I got whacked but good by the lucky stick this year!

Hey, "Top Chef" fans... I haven't been to Craft yet (I told Andy that's where I want to go when we sell our screenplay, but now I'm thinking I should pick another milestone, like one that just rolls around on the calendar without my having to accomplish anything), but I've tasted Colicchio. Ew, that didn't come out right.

After working for a few hours in the library Saturday, I needed to eat before seeing "Rescue Dawn", so I went to one of the 'wichcraft kiosks in Bryant Park and bought his anchovy salad. I liked it a lot and will have it again. Here's the flavor line-up for you profilers: bitter frisee, caramelized onions, a soft-cooked egg, fresh, meaty anchovies (not the super salty leaches you put in caesar salad), croutons, and a parsley vinagarette. I rejected the proferred crostini and, because they were about to close, free cookies. Damn you, South Beach! Yes, I really liked that salad, and it was not what you expect to be eating in a park, it was so not all pre-made and mushy-tasting.

There's only one part of New York I've found so far that I really don't care for--SoHo. My movie was at the Angelika (where Ross and Rachael saw "How Stella Got Her Groove Back", for you potential World Series of Pop Culture wannabes). So SoHo has expensive and/or trendy stores (Prada, Pottery Barn), Balthazar, Rachael Ray's favorite restaurant, which I admit was pretty good, and a lot of twenty-somethings with money. Nothing interesting to look at.

I was almost to the subway entrance when a guy cleaning up a flower display at a bodega shoved one too many pails onto his side of the cart, which meant one rolled over and one fell out--onto me. I laughed when I pieced out what had happened then thought the guy would be scared that I'd yell at him, so I smiled and gave him an "I'm not a dick" wave. "Hey lady!" some guy walking behind me yelled as I hit the stairs down to the subway, "count your blessings, that could have been piss. Welcome to New York!" I bristled at being mistaken for a tourist, but I was carrying a back pack. And the water--actually, because it was so hot, it was pretty refreshing.

Greetings from the 5th avenue "lion" library. I finally bit the bullet and reloaded the operating system onto my desktop, so now it has gigantic fonts and a recycle bin and that's it. It can't even get to the 'net through Explorer. Constant thwarting, this has been! I'm just thankful I'm not a one-computer household and now that I have an ethernet cable, I can hobble along with the Toshiba.

This thing with my apartment is the weirdest, I haven't heard from my landlord whether they're going to fix my flooding or not. Meanwhile, yesterday, I noticed mildew creeping up the wall from behind a base board. Kind of bolsters my opinion (in opposition to the plumber's) that the flooding was seeping in under the base boards, doesn't it?

Yes, I'm at the library, which means I'm doing work. Yesterday I was working on the musical, so when I got home, I checked out the WWE for inspiration. There are two guys who are like 50s greasers, combing their greasy pompodores, accompanied by a girl sidekick on roller skates. Another guy has, as part of his costume, a Breathe-Rite brand nasal strip. I'm also reading Amity Shlaes' new book about the Depression, and I think the question is the same for both--where is the bottom!?