And this was only their sound check.

"Yellow," as performed during the sound check on The Today Show. If you listen closely, you can hear my heart explode into butterflies.

Oh! the things I'll do for Coldplay

Chris Martin on The Today Show, Friday

It is an absolute blessing to live in New York City.

On Friday morning, I rose bright and early---at 2:30 am---to head uptown to Rockefeller Plaza and get my ass in line to see Coldplay on The Today Show. An hour later (goddamn the subway at 3am), when I arrived on 5th Avenue between 48th and 49th, the sight that I saw was not surprising: a line already around the block decorated with sleeping bags, board games and a hint of marijuana in the early morning air. Without complaint, I plopped myself down, ceremoniously blasted the spankin'-new Viva La Vida album on my iPod, and passed out on my backpack until about 5:45. When the sleepless line finally entered the concert area and became a restless crowd, it was 6am, the sun was out, and I came to the realization that I would be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a myriad of sweaty people for a solid THREE HOURS. (Note the title of this post.)

Though I was exhausted and uncomfortable, I was thrilled that at any moment, my favies would be coming out and rocking my life with their sound check. I killed time by shifting my weight back and forth, taking off my sweater vest, and reading Steve Martin's Born Standing Up---which became my trademark item to wave at the camera whenever it swooped over my head. Finally, to the near-orgasmic delight of the crowd, the four came onstage at around 6:20am. "This is the sound check, so we're going to sound like shit!" said Chris. When they started off the (early early early) morning with "Clocks," I felt like I was at Woodstock. Suddenly, I was family to the hundreds of people around me, yet I was completely in my own head. Every note and every word was so special---I felt like we were all being given this gift of a live, un-broadcast performance that only we got to experience. They capped off the sound check with "Yellow," which was slower and sadder than I'd ever heard it, and peaced out until two hours later, at 8:30, when they came back for the broadcast performances.

Again, they kicked it off with "Clocks," which was huger and even more gorgeous than their sound check version. I jumped and pumped my arms and sang along and screamed when they finished. It was one of those all-encompassing concert experiences that made me want to wave my arms high enough so that they would see me and just me while simultaneously totally allowing the crowd to swallow me. Also, the fact that I'd gone by myself let me just listen to everything going on around me, which was relaxing and invigorating at the same time. There was no one there to say, "Wasn't that great?" or "Ugh, I wish we could see better!" or "Damn, I'm tired." There was just me, other sweaty people, and Coldplay.

They played four more great ones: "In My Place," "Viva La Vida," "Lost!" and "42." "Lost!" is definitely my favorite on the album, so that was a great four minutes for me! I just rocked the hell out and shouted the chorus. (Oh, and speaking of four minutes, Chris Martin gave us a little cover of Madonna's "Four Minutes" during the sound check. It was the sexiest.)

"42" was their encore, and they finally called it quits just after 9am. I was just drunk with happy. There is just nothing like a live show, especially when you know the music so well that you can appreciate all the little nuances that are truly spontaneous and---well, live. Oh my God. Coldplay. Coldplay, be more amazing, except you really can't.

Check out the videos of the performances---really, you must---at The Today Show website. Photo credit: People.

One of my summer goals

To jog around the reservoir in Central Park. Just like they do in Sex and the City. (Jokes.)


I took these last summer!

Stop reading this blog, go see The Fall

I saw The Fall for the second time tonight and it blew my mind again. Two words: Four years. (To make.) Another two words: 18 countries. (That they filmed in.)

It's gorgeous and it's a dream. Leave your house and go see it about now-ish.

The day I met Steve Martin

Steve Martin at the Public Theater Gala, 6/17/08

Two things: One, I have not blogged in approximately 56 years. Two, I met Steve Martin.

On the 17th, I volunteered at the the opening night of Hamlet, which premiered following a gala attended by dozens of people a smidge more famous than me. I congratulated myself for keeping it cool around Kathleen Turner, Andie MacDowell, Alec Baldwin, mayor Bloomberg, Jerry Mitchell and other sexy people, but there was one person in attendance for whom I nearly passed out: Steve Martin.

Please let me preface this very true story with a little history of my (one-sided) relationship with Steve Martin. I love him. Clearly, as you can see at the left of this blog, he has said---in my opinion---the most brilliant things. And my favorite movie of all time is L.A. Story, which is actually an homage to many Shakespeare plays, Hamlet included. Honest to God, I can speak along with the characters in the movie. I have never gotten tired of watching it. And let's not forget my other favorite Steve Martin movies: Father of the Bride (oh, you know it's a classic remake), Bowfinger (hilarious with Heather Graham), Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (brilliant), Planes, Trains and Automobiles (RIP John Candy), Roxanne (so touching), and even The Out-of-Towners (Steve + Goldie). Also, Steve Martin's books and plays are so dear to my heart. The "Dear Amanda" short story in Pure Drivel is so funny, I will never, ever forget it. And don't even get me started on his SNL appearances ("To My Love" and "King Tut" never get old). Oh, and the Annie Leibowitz portrait of him hangs in my room at home, with the postcard version taped to my wall in New York City.

My adoration for him is just limitless.

Okay, back to the story. So who saunters in to the gala in a fedora but Steve Martin and his lovely, lovely wife, dressed in similar outfits. And though my job is to show guests to their seats, I swear to myself that I will not let this party continue a minute longer without my speaking to Steve Martin.

One minute turns into two, and before I know it, I've wasted forty minutes eying my Steve Martin from afar. I want so badly to speak to him, to tell him how much I admire him, but there seems to be no good time: someone else is walking up to shake his hand, or he's visiting the buffet, or he's seated, eating dinner. For forty minutes, I spot no good time to non-creepily approach his table and give him my heart.

Finally, I metaphorically slap myself in the face, take a deep breath, and walk confidently over to his table. I plan to not tell him too much, just that L.A. Story is my absolute favorite movie, and that maybe I love him.

When I reach his table, I speak. I squeak. "Excuse me! I am so sorry to disturb you! But I just had to come over here! And tell you! That I love your work!"

He turned to look at me, smiled (!!!!!), and gave me a very calm, very decent "Thank you."

"L.A. Story is my favorite movie!" I continued.

"Oh, really!" He said. Hah-hah, take that, other Steve Martin fans. Bet you haven't seen this frequently forgotten classic, co-starring a very young, relatively undiscovered Sarah Jessica Parker.

"I watch it with my dad all the time! I could probably say all the words! From it! From the movie!"

He smiled again. "Thank you."

"But I won't! I'll let you! Eat! Your dinner! Thank you so much! Thank you so very much!" And then, before I left, I---reached out---and---patted him on the shoulder.

I patted Steve Martin. He seemed to be okay with it. Afterward, I quickly hurried back to my position---as quickly as one can move in the grass with heels.

So there it is. That is my story, my time with Steve Martin. It was full of exclamation points, just as I would have predicted.

The Annie Leibowitz portrait, 1990