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Day out of Days


New York, September 13, 2005

'Tonight at Noon' has started and I was so involved for days, hours, nights that there was no time left.
On 9/11 I did have a day off and my wife and I decided to go and join people at Ground Zero to take part as quiet participants in the calling of the names. We arrived by subway which I had never done before. It was just so deeply sad and moving. The next moment I got a call from the production that they would like to shoot with me since one of our last leads to take part in the feature had not gotten in on time. Planes, trains & automobiles. So we decided to grab a coffee and a small walk to Battery Park together where my wife took a doubledecker bus. We waved. Then I got a call a little later that I did not have to come in so soon. I thought well shoot I'll come in early. Got in a cab and sat in it for about an hour as it was trying to find its way out of the amazing traffic knot that had accumulated there. Then the cab dropped me at the address I had been given. But it ended up being the West Village instead of East. Had to take another cab. So all in all I had less than an hour before going to work. Or what I was told. I was able to welcome Connie Nielsen who I had worked with before on 'VOYAGE' and that was and is nice. She is a solid actress. Solid as in gravely good. Then I waited in a chair on the flat roof of a small brownstone until I could get to down below.

I knew I had to work this afternoon but it did slightly dim the pleasure since I had gotten a ticket for the U.S. Open which I knew for pretty sure I was not going to make it. I had never been there to watch a game and this would have been
the first and likely only time. But that's life. Things hardly work out. Just swallow. Hard. It said $195 on the tickets. I had gotten them through a certain hustler. Great. Paid $400 for each. Omg. Yep. A possible little screw over. Swallow again. Anyway, the producer walks up and says that they think they might not get to my scenes before five. O go, o well, yea. I see. I understand. I had not told him about my tickets. But he said. We could push it to another day. I say, "We coming back to this locations?". 'Yes', he says, "It's your call!".

It so happens and I tell him about the U.S. Open and that I'd be very happy not to shoot. He tells me fine. I jump in a taxi. Get uptown to hotel and keep calling my wife who seems hard to reach on the airy and noisy busfloor. She calls me back and I tell her we are going to the games. She yells. We take another cab to Flushing Meadows and sit high up in the crowd and in the setting sunlight as the men's finals start.

What an event. Splendid. As I break away for some water and an ugly sausage and some nasty fries the twenty or so young black boys and girls who sell this stuff discover my face and all come up with O MY GOD THAT S THAT S UHM DAMN UHM WHATIZ NAME WHATS YOUR NAME UHM and another comes in and does the same. I mean happy, loud and crazy excited screamy stuff. And they all need pictures from twentynine cameras and cellphones plus autographs for better measure. Fun. Strangeness and beauty of this life. The game is over. We walk away slowly and drink a late cappuccino and sit next to the fountain until the masses have dissolved and now we figure what and how to get back.

We walk over to some busses that are idling and ask. Big black girl does 'OMG' again and just tells us to wait. A few minutes later a van appears and offers us a ride in. We get to the hotel around 10pm. Exhausted and excited .A full day. High and low.

Rutger

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