hackneyed 2007 wrap-up post

So...New Year's? Not my current favorite holiday.

Though I AM looking forward to this new year, very, very much. 2007 has been a long fucking year. Lots of good stuff happened, lots of lousy stuff happened... I think it's safe to say that it was definitely my most dramatic, action-packed year yet. I don't know. I experienced some of my proudest moments ever-- WTTAN, BUSTAMFOP in general, graduation-- and some of my worst personal-life moments to date. I turned 22. I moved. All sorts of things.

Anyway, here's something to ring out the old:

Hark! From the tomb a doleful sound
Mine ears attend the cry
Ye living men, come view the ground
Where you must shortly lie!

Princes, this clay must be your bed
In spite of all your towers
The tall, the wise, the reverend head
Must lie as low as ours.

Great God, is this our certain doom?
And are we still secure?
Still walking downward to the tomb
And yet prepared no more.

A song of cheer and happiness from the Sacred Harp. Really, though, Plenary (162 for the dorks) is one of my favorite tunes to sing, and we sang it twice today-- once in a small sing we had at home, and once on the street as we were leaving dinner. It's a gorgeous melody, and a familiar one, and those words really mean something, I'm not sure what, to me. They've stuck with me since the first time I sang that song, which is probably just about a year ago now.

I guess to conclude, if this what I'm doing-- this past year has taught me that nothing is more important than surrounding myself with people that I love. It's the only thing that makes everything worth it. And I'm finding out how hard it is to do that sometimes, but also how the payoff is always a great one.

Here's to 2008-- and what I hope will be a year of unprecedented love, courage and inspiration-- a year of being easier on myself, and trying to be more gentle in all that I do. And, of course, a year of... productivity!

Happy New Year, ye brave, happy few.

And what a charming gut it is.

Ah, the holidays! I've passed a lovely few days here thus far.






You know what? I thought I wanted to write this right now. But I don't. I want to watch Barton Fink.









-CHET!

God, that's good!

I saw Sweeney Todd last night. It was a big night for me. I've been looking forward to it in a way I've never looked forward to anything before....with the exception of meeting Brian Stokes Mitchell. So there was a lot at stake.

I'm extremely happy to be able to say: I loved it! I had a great time and I thought it was wonderful. So many great details and things from the show as I know it...and a lot of really inventive, creative, beautiful new stuff, too. And the blood-oh, the blood!

The Times gave it a really nice review-- the nicest movie review I've read in a long time, I think. Here's a link.

Flavorpill, on the other hand, turns up the snark dial ten 90 degrees and comes out with this:

Even if you don't care for the self-important saccharine of composer Stephen Sondheim; even if you claim a chemical aversion to the movie-musical genre; even if you profess disdain for the indulgences of director Tim Burton; and even if (and this is the biggest caveat of them all) you experience that rare immunity to the great beauty of Johnny Depp, Sweeney Todd cannot be dismissed out of hand. The film adaptation of the now-legendary Broadway production about a barber (Depp) out to avenge his wife and child by, uh, making meat pies out of wrongdoers with his accomplice Mrs. Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter) is great, oddly not-guilty fun.

– Lisa Rosman

Sorry...do you know who Sondheim is? People call him a lot of things, but I doubt the word "saccharine" has EVER been applied to ANYTHING he's ever written. Lisa Rosman...who are you? Yeah, great.

Anyway....it's wonderful and I really look forward to seeing it again.

NO MORE EMO!

I'm done being emo. It's boring. (I realized I've watched way too many eps of SVU and that I need to chill the fuck out. [Chill the Fuck Out! Remember that party? Was that where the cops threatened us with the paddy wagon?])





Anyway, Thom linked me this really nice article about the All-For-Nots show that Rinnz and I went to earlier this week. Check it out.

I don't want to kiss you, I don't want to touch.

So....I was feeling shitty this morning. Then, all of a sudden, I felt a lot, lot better. I talked about my shitty night to Ava and Katy and Emily and Erin and Nitz and they all really made me feel a lot, lot better. I got really jazzed up about feeling better, and I even made plans to CLEAN MY FRIDGE. Wow.


But now, all of a sudden, I think I feel worse than I have yet. A whole NEW crop of fears has surfaced-- basically, I remembered that I spent a significant part of my night in the bar talking to this Indian man in a bad Scottish dialect. Why? I'm a fucking moron, that's why.

What the hell else did I do? Katie very unhelpfully added "and he was getting touchy" about this guy. Thanks, thanks alot. Thanks for letting me stay in that situation, Katie. Thanks, Anna, for being such an idiot.

I have never hated myself so much. I'm going back to bed.

I know these posts are already old and boring. I know. But I just keep thinking that if I keep talking about this, I'll feel better and get it out of my system. Bad choices, bad choices, bad choices. Why do I make them? God. This kind of shit will NEVER happen to me again, EVER.

I'm trying to let Elvis soothe my worries. He's sort of helping.

great

Well, I've really outdone myself this time.

Last night, I got so completely drunk that I don't remember large chunks of time....ripped my jeans...ruined my coat....and left my purse (wallet, keys, cell phone, purse that I LOVE) in a cab.

Yup.


Now, all I can do is feel bad for myself, cry, feel sick, and not know how to live my life without those few, tiny, relatively insignificant things.

My mom is like "Honey, stop beating yourself up. It could happen to anyone." And I know she's right-- I'm just so upset with myself for drinking so much, and I feel so fucking stupid to have let this happen.


Ugh. This really blows.

The cabbie found my purse and called Katie and told her he had it. Unfortunately, that is all that seems to have happened. I am hoping and wishing that he'll call again.

Sometimes I just don't understand the way I behave.

...when both the talk and people are so nice.

Two links that make me smile today:

#1

and

#2 .

Enjoy them.

also: the best email i've gotten in a long time---

from: justin k. rivers
to: me
subject: silent movie


"anna, if i do a silent movie film noir someday, will you be my heroine sidekick?"

ISADORA DUNCAN!

Maybe I'm losing my mind, but I've heard wind chimes at least four times tonight. I know it's really windy outside, but...it just seemed so strange. When's the last time I can remember hearing them? I don't know.

Nitz, Marie, Michael and I saw Katy in Bread & Puppet's Divine Reality Comedy (Divine Comedy Reality? I don't goddamn know) tonight at Theatre for a New City. The space is an amazing cavern with charmingly ramshackle things everywhere. The show was absolutely insane but we had a good time. Then I went home with them and we ate ice cream and watched "Boggled," one of my all-time favorite eps of Felicity. God, what a girly girly girly combo of things to do. I will always love Noel Crane. And I will always hate Ben Covington.

I had a late lunch in Williamsburg with friend Thom. He thinks I talk a lot. It's nice to know people that live above the poverty line-- if it was up to me, I'd be eating egg salad and falafel for the rest of my life.

Tomorrow, certain essentials need to be taken care of: buying food (I have none), going to the bank to check on all my moneys (I have none), eating a donut at Peter Pan bakery "while I'm on Manhattan Avenue," return my vastly overdue library books (I have two). Later, Rinnz and I are going to the Mercury Lounge to see the All-For-Nots. "Way downtown," as Rinnz says.

The high point of my day might have come after Michael and Marie asked me if I remembered the famous person who was killed when her long scarf got stuck in the wheels of her car. I said it was a dancer and that any other time, I'd have known her name. Of course I couldn't remember it. I left the apartment and then I heard a window open, and Julie yelled 'ANNA! ISADORA DUNCAN!' and it echoed all up and down the street. I don't know why, but I just thought that was wonderful.

He wouldn't want us to give it away.

Ahh! In the New York Times, for all to see, Jesse Green reveals what we've all been thinking:

"FOR months now, in anticipation of the Dec. 21 release of Tim Burton’s “Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street,” theater buffs have been worrying themselves sick about what would happen to “their” masterpiece when it was remade as a film. Would it still be alive despite drastic cutting? Would it still sing, despite the casting of stars not known for their voices? Or would commercial pressures and Hollywood habit leave it just another corpse on the heap of butchered theatrical translations?"

I like that in one paragraph he manages to both potentially alienate the "theatre buffs" who consider Sweeney "their" show (sure, "we" think that, but if you say it like *that*, "we" look like snobs, man!) AND hook them. Or at least me. Alright, just me.

But I do love that he chose to use the phrase "worrying themselves sick." And of course, I screamed when I saw the article online. Dear god.

I want to say that right now, Aldo's listening to Bing Crosby crooning "White Christmas" and I'm listening to Sweeney.

Nitz gave me a fabulous book for my birthday called "How I Became Stupid." It's about a guy who's so unhappy being intelligent that he decides becoming stupid will make his life easier. He writes a manifesto and this is part of it that made me laugh:

"Nothing anoys me more than those stories where, at the end, the hero is in the same situation as the beginning but he's gained something. He's taken risks, survived adventures but, in the end, lands back on his feet. I don't want to be a part of that lie: pretending I don't already know how all this will end. I know full well that this journey into stupidity is going to turn into a hymn to intelligence. It will be my own personal little Odyssey-- after my share of trials and dangerous adventures I will end up back in Ithaca. I can already smell the ouzo and the stuffed grape leaves."

Today-- Bread and Puppet with Nitz. Tomorrow-- not working. Excellent.

witrh a lust for saving water....

all i need to say right now is that dean/rachel, greggo/jen, jesse/lauren, aldo/allie and i just had a night of margaritas and subsequent, resultant sacred-harp-on-the-street. (to be fair, allie and jen were innocent bystanders.) we sang ballstown, stratfield, schenectady, detroit, and sherburne in and around union square. some people waiting to get into a club on university taunted us.


i'm sorry--- you're WAITING to get into a CLUB on UNIVERSITY, and you're taunting us?


riiiiiiiiiiiiight.



anyway, it was a lovely night. i am lucky to have such funny friends. more when i'm coherent.



(also....i drink too much? probably.)

Are you talking to me, madam?

Whoaaaaaa......if anyone at all read the post that was here until right now, I apologize. Fluke!


Anyway, guess who I was in a room with tonight?

STEPHEN SONDHEIM.

Yes, that's right. The master himself! I made eye contact with him for a hot millisecond. My gaze said 'I love you,' and his volleyed back 'Why the hell are you staring at me?'

This transpired at the first night of 'kiki baby.' Also in attendance was Dan Winerman and the lovely Farah....we did some catching up. He asked me where all of my classmates are and said 'What the hell are those people doing in Boston?"

I started my job at La MaMa today and it was swell. I got some work done, did some cross-stitch, met some fun people, and hung out with Ava and Matt Nasser for the better part of the day. Life's tough.

Day off tomorrow, kiki in the early evening, hopefully good times with that gang, then I pray to god that I'll get a good night's sleep before I have to go steam clothes on Saturday at 7.30 am.


And here's a nice item about the All-For-Nots, taken from Thom. Check it out.

I just watched His Girl Friday for the first time. Thank you, Netflix. Next will be After the Thin Man...and I have a feeling It Happened One Night might lull me to sleep tonight. Something about witty, beautiful people in black and white is hitting the spot for me right now. It's so stylized and wonderful....and the rat-a-tat of the dialogue is just so appealing to me. I always joke that I could have been a huge success as a movie actress in the late 30s-early 40s--to watch these movies, you'd think none of the quiet, subtle, sensitive stuff (all the stuff that's too hard for me to do) existed in these worlds! I love it. Rosalind Russell strides around looking fabulous and cracking jokes, Cary Grant flutters his fingers and makes weird noises, all the while being vaguely misogynistic...I eat that stuff up. And actually, it's funny that I saw Dan tonight, because he's really into that sort of period stuff, too. We geeked out about Jennifer Jason Leigh in Hudsucked Proxy for like a million hours during Rhinoceros tech. Ah, if only I'd done THAT for showcase....New York theatre would be at my feet! I'd be a star, I tell you! A star!

No.

Goodnight.

introducing...

the all-for-nots!

two good rules:

Thom:
okay, wait. here we go.

first, the rules:

no dictionaries.

Thom:
also, this is not in PLACE of the work i'm/we're supposed to be doing. it's in ADDENDUM to it.




He's talking specifically about Scrabble, but I will henceforth apply that second rule to everything I do....that isn't work.


Also! In my wiki travels tonight (every night a new adventure), I came across this:

boodalam

I always thought Joe Keohane was being a smartass, but apparently not-- Brutalist architecture IS a real thing! Hmmmph!

Seeking out the taciturn.

Excuse me while I tune in the shine of the light-night dial.

Ah, that's better.


So, yesterday was my birthday. I turned twenty-two. It doesn't feel much different than twenty-one....but of course I say that every year. I went out last night to Jimmy's Corner, accompanied by Erin, Jimmy, Mikey, Jess, Andy, Josh and Katy. We had some beers and had a fine time, despite the dismal weather and my waning spirits. The birthday festivities had sort of been going on all weekend- and though I love to party, I was feeling some sort of weird pressure (self-imposed, of course) to have THE MOST FUN EVER and, uh, it was getting me down. Life is hard. Anyway, Rinnz knitted me a great scarf, and Jess and Mikey brought me some imported candy, which will be necessary to get me through the weeks until Christmas.

I got a job at La MaMa today, working in the box office. I start Thursday. It seems that if I can figure out the schedule and all the difficulties related to the schedule, that it'll be a pretty easy and possibly fun and beneficial job. Everyone was really nice today. Seems good.

Tomorrow and the next day, I'm going to be a crunch-time slave for "Kiki Baby," the workshop of a new show by Lonny Price that friends Matt and Isaac are working on. I'll be the John Frattalone, the Kim Ramirez....coffee runs, etc. But I'll get to be in a rehearsal room with Lonny Price! Veanne Cox! Malcolm Gets! etc etc etc.

Alright. Back to work.

A healthy eight hours!

From 5:00 am to 1:00 pm!

It's been a while since I've done that. Ah, youth! Too bad tomorrow it'll all be gone, gone, gone!

Work was very silly yesterday. I met up with Craig at around 8:30 in Times Square, which was a terrible idea but also a good idea, and we just wandered around and chatted. I was so happy to see him. He walked me over to the theatre where I saw....

'Things We Want.' It wasn't great by a long shot but it was good enough that I enjoyed myself and didn't fall asleep...which felt like a very real possibility as soon as I sat down. Paul Dano was really pretty good- he had the most to do, sort of. I don't know-- the play itself wasn't good. Josh Hamilton had to play two diamaetrically opposing parts of the same annoying, completely unbelievable character, and he did so in a way that, uh....made my flesh crawl? I couldn't stand him. I guess it served him as the play wore on, but at that point I was so done watching him that I didn't really care. Peter Dinklage had a fun part and got to do a lot of stumbling around and running into things, which people in the audience kept responding to with "Awwwww!," in a "How CUTE!" way. Iiiiiiiiiiiii don't know about that. And Zoe Kazan....her part sucked so much. It had so much promise in the first act and then all of a sudden fifteen minutes later she's walking around with no pants on and pretending to give Josh Hamilton a blowjob. Whatever.

For me, the frustrating thing is....of course I love to go to the theatre, even if it's bad, usually even if I KNOW it's going to bad. I'd usually rather see even bad theatre than do a lot of other things. And I really believe that and feel that, because I think everything has merit, even if it's just to show me what I have to spend the rest of my days combatting. To be dramatic about it. So I see things like this play-- certainly I'd rather watch that than Cats or those readings I saw the other night-- and I dont' expect everything, or really anything, to be perfect, but-- this play had what I thought were some serious, serious issues. Did everyone responsible for getting this production disagree with me? Because the thought that goes through my mind is-- Well, if they liked this piece of crap, then they'll fucking LOVE *my* play!

Which of course has absolutely no basis in logical fact. But you know? I know in my brain that it's all based on a myruiad of factors which have absolutely no part in my life. But in my not-brain, in my...heart? (what?), I don't know, I just think "What I have to say is so much BETTER than this!"

And maybe that's at the core of everyone who is stupid/ballsy/cocky/generous enough to enter into any sort of artistic pursuit. Who the hell knows. It's 2:00 and I just woke up.

After the show, I made the epic trek to Katy's house in Queens. I don't even know where in Queens I was. All I know was that the directions involved things like 'Okay, now you see those train tracks? Walk over them.' I wrote her address down incorrectly and wound up a few blocks from her house, amidst these dark, creepy, overgrown houses with freaky statuary and/or junk in the yard. I forced myself to have a second wind, and the night wound up being very nice-- the Boston caravan arrived around 2, and Pat and Ollie were there when Craig and Nitz arrived. We did Hannukah, and Pat and I each got a birthday cupcake. Everyone was so beyond exhausted that the punchiness level was sky-high, and almost everything made me laugh literally until I was crying. (THAT's what's on the other side of tiredness, Elaine!) Billy drove us home pretty smoothly. I went to bed at 5!

Today, I'm dedicating most of my day to watching Arrested Development with Meg. Because I can-can-can.

i've been awake for a very long time.

Yes!

So recently I've become addicted to using Google Reader and have been reading a lot of blogs lately. Today's hit is from the good old Guardian. It is of particular interest to me and to this blog...if this blog had thoughts and feelings. Here's part of it:

"In this country we are terrified of appearing pretentious. Somehow it has become theatre's cardinal sin. Be boorish, loutish, crude, superficial, snobbish, elitist or just plain boring, but please, whatever you do, don't be pretentious.

Fuelled by this paranoia, the meaning of the term has been allowed to mutate and expand, its tentacles stretching outwards, moving beyond claims of "exaggerated importance" to encompass anything that might be intellectually or philosophically dense and challenging, or even just not immediately accessible. A quick scan of the responses to Katie Mitchell's Attempts On Her Life finds the production described variously as "pretentious in the extreme", "pretentious rubbish" or, more imaginatively, "pretentious arthouse crap" - a phrase that moves beyond a single production to castigate an entire genre of work. This gets to the heart of the matter, suggesting a lingering distrust (or, indeed, contempt) for the idea that theatre should assume it can be anything other than undiluted entertainment."

That's sort of encouraging, isn't it? At least to pretentious arthouse types like me.

I'm working reception at a law firm in midtown today. I think I drank curdled milk this morning. Then I washed it down with grapefruit juice. This could mean disaster. We'll see.

I saw a show at the Sonnet Rep last night-- a comedy called "Proximity," written by Jerzy Gw------- (I can't attempt to spell his last name), who I met through the MUDasMAN folks and who I saw as Davey in Lt. of Inishmore on B-way. Jerzy wrote one of the four MUDasMAN pieces that I just worked on. He's a nice guy. Isaac Klein and I met up for the show, so it was good to see him. We were supposed to go out for a drink after, but I bailed, and I fear Isaac will never forgive me. I liked the play. It had a ton of great ideas in it, and it was goofy and fun and the acting was good. I like going to small shows, and I like being able to support people my own age who are doing what I hope very soon to be doing.

And tonight-- a big party! I'm seeing "Things We Want" at the Acorn (Peter Dinklage!!), and then heading to somewhere in Queens for a party celebrating my birthday, Pat's birthday, Hannukah, and the fact that Emily and Meghan are coming in from Boston! I have the sick feeling I'll be up very late tonight, but I think it'll be worth it.

All for now.

friends + beer + latkes + music = fun.

also! in the look book this week:

this guy!

the first week i was here, i must have seen him three or four times on the L. the third time, he had chatreuse eyeshadow and spike heels on.


amazing.

Hysterical butterflies.

My GOD, it's fucking cold outside! I almost didn't make it out of bed this morning. I huddled under the covers for at least half an hour after my alarm went off (why was it set so early to begin with?), and then the thought of showering was sickly hilarious, and I could hear my joints screaming as I sat in front of the heater. Oh, god. I don't do well with heat, but....I've never lived in a freezing room before. (Except for the time in high school when my room was so ungodly cold and we couldn't figure out why...until someone realized that the top half of my storm window was slightly open. A family of geniuses.)

Anyway, I'm working today, which is EXCELLENT. I've been going completely nuts for the past few days. I'm worried about work and money, as usual. I hate having to worry about that. I feel like I'm on edge all the time...will I be able to pay rent? Won't I? I volunteered for this lifestyle....but that doesn't mean I have to like it. (Whatever.)

So, Broadway is shuddering back into life after the strike. The shows that were supposed to open are finally opening, and I imagine things'll be back to total normality before long.

The Farnsworth Invention opened last night, and here are some things from the NY Times:

"With billionaire parents now producing bar mitzvah celebrations and sweet-16 parties as if they were major motion pictures, it’s only a matter of time before this spare-no-expense approach is applied to their kids’ school projects. Imagine that Mr. Hedge Fund, with money to burn and many favors to call in, imports a crack combination of writer, director and actors to put across Junior’s oral report with envy-making, A-worthy flair. The resulting effort might well be something like “The Farnsworth Invention,” the new play by Aaron Sorkin that had its strike-delayed opening last night at the Music Box Theater. This information-crammed, surface-skimming biodrama about the creators of television suggests nothing so much as a classroom presentation on a seven-figure budget."

Damn, Ben Brantley! This man can write a zinger like no one else alive today. But you know....I sort of agree. The kind of facile nature of the show was what bugged me the most about it, and I think he's right- that it's more like a report- albeit an earnestly presented one- than a drama.
This is big: "Having made a great success in television, Mr. Sorkin knows its pitfalls and limitations inside out. But it’s hard to avoid the impression that, for all its high-reaching ambitions, “The Farnsworth Invention” often shares the glibness and reductionism of which mainstream television is regularly accused."

Yikes.

The view from the office where I'm working (near Union Square) is amazing. I can't really see it from my desk, of course...but it's beautiful from the bathroom. ;) Much like in CFA! I can see the Williamsburg Bridge, which is kind of fun.

Tonight, I'm going to a Yelp Elite event--- oooooh, so fancy. It's of course turning into more of a headache than something fun...but we'll see what happens. Supposedly, there'll be free drinks. Disaster. After that, there will potentially be latkes and singing at my apartment. I hope. I need something to warm that place up.

Finally, the title of this silly post refers to what was going on at my temp agency this morning-- the funny receptionist who shares a name with one of my good friends (always good for a double-take) was bouncing off the walls about some butterflies that he had ordered online. Excuse me-- some caterpillars. Not butterflies yet. He ordered five for the office and five for his sister/niece in Syracuse (yes!), but was realizing that no one was going to be in the office to receive them, and that they might freeze or something. There was also much discussion of releasing the butterflies into the wild, in order to brighten someone's day....this idea was met with a lot of disapproval from a girl waiting to work, who said "If you let them out...they're going to...end...pretty quickly."

Anyway, I told gchatting friends and friend Thom suggested that the sentence "The receptionist was slightly hysterical about some butterflies he had ordered online" might make a good kick-off for a writing exercise. If only my BUSTI kids had looked at life that way.

To end- Justin Knudsen makes me laugh:

me: and what is this business about crispin glover suing zemeckis? why did he do that?the guy is nuts

Justin: i dont know i kind of what to sue him too though for perpetrating The Polar Express
me: oh god yeah
Justin: did you see it? the hobo looks like tom waits. but its Tom Hanks. and the magic hobo doesnt actually do anything, even though he's the only cool thing about it. my sister rented it and made the family watch it. disaster. a trainwreck, if you will.

C-c-cold.

I left the house today and remembered that it is actually better to go outdoors than to sit at your desk/lay in your bed for over 24 hours.

The most exciting moment of the day, thus far, came during my visit to Sunrise Market on St Marks. I found, completely unexpectedly, my most favorite of all oddball delicacies- COFFEE JELL-O! You thought it didn't exist, right? That is, you thought it didn't exist anymore- not since the days of Jell-o molds at the BRTC softball games and Plymouth Rock brand mixes from the Niskayuna Co-op. But you were wrong! God, it's delicious. It's pre-made, not a mix. And, get this- each individual cup comes with....MILK! Insane. Amazing. I can't believe it. (I know that none of this means anything or makes sense unless you went to high school with me. Just trust that this is an incredible discovery.)

So, Jesse and Carrie have posted what I think is a really fun and cool way to share some of the music that they wrote over the summer on their tour of New York State. Check out this song map and listen to some tunes. (If you're gonna look, go to Schenectady (yellow dot) and listen to "Died, 1825," which is a really charming tune about a mock-funeral that Union College boys held on the opening day of the Erie Canal. I'm singing in the recording but I'm in no way audible. Just pretend you can hear me.)

I think I'm going to a free reading tonight of a new play at The Mint. What? Theatre? What I'm here to do? Yeah right! Didn't I move here to answer phones and watch tv?

Ridiculous.

Sometimes, I think of things I've done in the past, or places I've been, and wish HARD that I was doing that thing or in that place, instead of being where I am or doing what I'm doing at the moment. Right now, I'm thinking about the pond that Julie took us to in Maine this summer. The water was so unbelievably clear and warm, and I just swam for hours and hours. I wish I was doing that right now...in the sun. Oh, how lovely.

let it.

So, I set my alarm rather ambitiously for some time in the 9:30 range- who was I kidding?

Anyway, I had one of those wakeups from a movie at 8:15- my eyes snapped open, I sat bolt upright, and-- SNOW! It's snowing. It looks beautiful. I was mentally unprepared for this. (But I was sort of asking for it. I was reminiscing to myself yesterday about when there is snow on my birthday, and thinking 'Thanks, climate....leaves are still on trees for THIS b-day.' But maybe not.)

Of course the fact that it's snowing relieves me of all duties outside my apartment. I spent most of the day yesterday indoors, and it looks like today's heading there too. Station Agent and cross-stitch, anyone? Please.

Also! This is funny. These pictures came to my attention yesterday. Flashback! My favorite is the one of Slinky with Frankie's question attached-- what's he play? I also like the one of my arm with my tabs written on them....does it make me punk or just lazy that I never bothered actually learning the songs we played?

Elvis...get me through the cold days, buddy.

Edit: Speaking of botling awake, I forgot to relate the charming story of how I awoke at some weird time in the late night/early morning the other day to hear sexual SCREAMS coming from the apartment below me. They're notorious, but this time was beyond. In the words of Paul Simon: Remember- one man's ceiling is another man's floor. (And vice versa.)

PANDER-A DOT COM

I had forgotten how awesome pandora.com is. Product placement. Good.

I went to Union Hall last night with Rinnz to see Meowskers. We caught the last few minutes of Quintus' set, and they were really pretty awesome. They play with Meowskers all the time, but I had never heard them until now. I chatted with the singer after the set...he asked me about theremins (it makes me sound a LOT cooler to leave that statement out of context, so that's just what I'm going to do). Meowskers sounded great. Ben was there. (Ben, do you read this? I think Clam and Thom are my only readers. I'm not worried.) So that was a little awkward. Though we had a nice conversation about the impending release of Sweeney Todd....Ben had good perspective on just how much this movie means to me.

After, I went to Nitzi's and we watched some super old-school Felicity. The pilot is so nineties, it's unbelievable. And of course that means it's so enjoyable.

The Lower East Side sing was PACKED today- at least 30 people! Wonderful. Lots of new faces. Aldo was sick and couldn't go, so I was in charge of setting up the lights and stuff. (Someone asked me if I was a "technician." Why didn't I say yes?) Made me feel important. I had a chance to catch up on a lot of gossip with Lauren, which is always good. We sang "Schenectady," and my standard homesick musings found listeners in the newbies.

I've been reading scripts all night. A lot of what I've been reading takes place in a car...which makes me think about my own car opus, The Civil Wargasm. And I've been thinking about The Civil Wargasm a lot lately, for many reasons-- not the least of which being the fact that I found the perfect guy to play Robert Lee Hodge. He was in the MUDasMAN shows. He just moved to California. But when he's back....oh BOY. I better rewrite the damn thing before then. I gave the script as it is now to this actor and he thought it was funny. Good. Who wants to play Tony?

But this writing thing.... I feel so stupid about it sometimes. I mean, I tell a bajillion people, random people that I meet wherever, that I'm "an actor, yeah...and actor and a writer." And god knows I'm not doing any acting (though Common Thread asked me to be in their new show-- I haven't given them an answer yet), and I don't know when I will....so I always have these dreams that something will just click within me and that I'll be able to drop all the affectations ("Why don't I write on a typewriter? I can only use felt-tip pens!") and actually WORK, work HARD, and just write and get stuff done. And it doesn't matter if it's crap, because as Ed Wood tells us, when you rewrite a script, it just gets better and better...but I have to write the crap first so that then I can make it better. And I have so many ideas, or at least I used to, or at least I think I used to.....but when I sit down at the computer it's all I do to number the pages without giving up on myself.

Ugh.

I just want to listen to Rhapsody in Blue all day.