It has been a partly-sunny (or was it partly-cloudy?) weekend of NPR, The New York Times, long runs in the park, and long walks through the city alone with quiet thoughts. And it has been a weekend of allergies: pasty, puffy, itchy eyes; a runny nose; pills, sprays and drops.

Chris and I went running Saturday morning, a soild 7+ miles around Central Park. The park is in bloom. Puddles around the reservoire were filled with pools of pink petals. Trees are filled with green. After the cold, dark winter, it is most welcome. Afterwards, I took an express train downtown to pick up my tickets for the Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca was quiet, peopled mostly by handsome couples pushing strollers. I had expected to find the streets clogged with festival goers, but apparently, it hadn’t started in earnest. The box office was open, though, a sparse warehouse with a few posters taped unevenly on cement walls. A young grad-student looking woman handed me my tickets in an opaque orange envelope. Here’s my schedule:

1) ‘This So-Called Disaster’: Documentary on the making of Sam Shepard’s latest play, ‘The Late Henry Moss.’
2) Life… Or Something Like It: Screenwriting panel discussion with Stephen Gaghan (‘Traffic’), Ron Nyswaner (‘Philadelphia’), Kimberly Peirce (‘Boy’s Don’t Cry’), more.
3) Altered States: Documentary panel discussion with D.A. Pennybaker (‘Don’t Look Back’), Chris Hegedus (‘’), more.
3) ‘Lustre’: An aging loan shark confronts a New York losing its soul.
4) ‘The Lucky Ones’: A reporter for FAME-TV delves into the spiritual to determine who are the real lucky ones: the beautiful people, or the everyman.

I chose films and panels that I felt would inform the making of my proposed Mr. Rogers documentary, and illuminate the duality between MTV and me. I’m excited. This festival feels populist and accessible, not isolated and insular like Cannes or Sundance. It makes me feel like anything is possible. I’ll keep you posted.

I walked all the way home: north through the cobblestone streets of SoHo to Houston; over to Broadway (clogged with shoppers); up Sixth through Chelsea (where I stopped at the flea market on 26th); over to Ninth, past the Port Authority, past Hell’s Kitchen Park (my favorite); into D’Agastino’s (where I purchased beer, yogurt and milk) and up to my apartment. I poured a cold beer, grabbed a fistful of pretzles, and sat on the fire escape to watch the sun fall over New Jersey.

Today has been even quieter. Again, I woke early, my itchy eyes and clogged nose leaving me unable to sleep. I read a while, waiting for the sun to warm the gray skies, then went running in the park. Again, I fell asleep reading the paper, then burst out into the city, energized, just after noon. I sat in one of my favorite spots — in front of the reflecting pool at Lincoln Center — and finished the paper. But not for long. I sprung a bloody nose, and headed home to save my t-shirt.

Which is were you find me now: WNYC’s Evening Music on the radio, ‘Breathless’ paused in the DVD player; tired, itchy, swollen and medicated. But hopeful. Which is a pretty good place to end this Daily Journal entry. Ta da!

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