Excuse me, Miss Yvonne...

...but before you go making out with everyone in the Playhouse, how about forkin' over the gift?


let A = "It is cold outside and in my apartment"
let B = "My bed is warm"
let C = "Pee-Wee's Playhouse is the only thing that can make me sit up in bed"

A ---> B
B ---> C
:.
A ---> C



Those proofs make no sense, but neither does Magic Johnson and Magic Screen being cousins. And that is why I love it!

Upstate worms will eat my head.

After an unequivocally terrible night at work, I treated myself to the movies and went to the Sunshine to see 'Synechdoche, New York.' Though my coworked warned me that I was completely insane, and called me a 'freak' for going on such an emotionally fraught evening, I thought it seemed like a good idea. In the end, it was. I really liked the movie, though I didn't love it in the intense way I do, say, Eternal Sunshine. Phillip Seymour Hoffman (aka 'the fat guy from 'Twister,'' right, Rinnz?) was fucking great, as I figured he would be-- I mean, so was everybody. I don't know how anybody acts in a movie, to be quite honest, and I don't know how anybody acts in a movie like this. I think it'll be a long long long time before I can ever be halfway decent on screen. This isn't really based on anything. But but but, the performances were really, really wonderful...two of the weirdest movies I've seen this year both starred Samantha Morton, and I might be in love with her. She's so strange. Jennifer Jason Leigh showed up briefly as an evil lady with huge boobs and a fake German accent. Amazing. The 'Schenectady' of the movie bore no resemblance to the real thing-- I laughed when someone said something about catering to 'blue-hair suburban regional theatregoers,' because there aren't too many of those in Schenec....but then again, there's no modern, beautiful theatre complex, either, and no one staging weird, avant-garde shows in big venues which attract large, paying audiences, either. But I'm no complaining, I'm really not. The Schenectady of the movie looked like a pretty darn nice place to live. (My one question for Charlie K. would be-- why did you not choose to use the real Schenec zip code 12345 when you showed us their address??!?!?! Chance of a LIFETIME, sir!)

ANYWAY. It was super long, there was a couple AGGRESSIVELY making out sitting in front of me, and some know-it-alls were driving me nuts afterward- but on the whole, it was a really satisfying antidote to sadness. Even though it was really sad.

After the movie, I slogged to the First Avenue L station, where I wound up embroiled in some bizarre subway talk with the three guys sitting around me. One works with Emma at a restaurant, and so I felt safe accepting part of a cookie he offered me. THIS IS WHY I CANNOT BE TRUSTED TO TALK TO PEOPLE WHEN I AM ALONE. Why do I put this stuff on the internet? Do I want people to think I'm an idiot? There was a lot of solidarity-speak re: how much the subway sucks, a brief discussion abt. rat kings (I'm a one-trick pony), and a lot of nervous laughter on my part.

Speaking of me being an idiot, I'd like to point out that I've passed the one-year anniversary of getting blackout drunk and losing my purse in the LES, and I'd like to pat myself on the back. I think I can almost laugh about it now....?

It's snowing out now, and everything looks beautiful. I wish I could stay in and be cozy all day. I make a trek to the bagel place down the street where I enjoyed a "candy peppermint" bagel, which was striped red and white and essentially tasted like it had candy canes ground up in it. Um, yum.

I'm going home on Tuesday morning. I'm glad.

Charlie Kaufman!! You harsh master.

(And I don't mean Public School!)

PS1:  Japanese Cat Humiliation.

PS2: Monkey Jockeys.

Unresolved.

Yesterday, I took myself to 59E59 to see Rough Magic's 'Improbably Frequency,' a show I had seen four years earlier (JESUS CHRIST) in Dublin.  This was when I was visiting Ben, during Christmas break of my sophomore year, and we were looking for a show to see.  He had free tickets to a new play that looked super boring-- living room set, young actors wearing t-shirts-- so we opted for the 'unwaged' tickets at the Abbey for this show that we knew nothing about.

It turned out to be one of the best and most memorable theatrical experiences of my life.  It's a musical about the Irish Free State during WWII, and though that sounds like just about the worst premise ever, it is insanely silly, inventive, hilarious, creative, exciting....I'll just go on and on, so I won't. It's got historical characters-- Erwin Schroedinger (played as a sex-crazed maniac in ledehosen); the poet John Betjeman (in a straw boater, carrying a teddy bear);and writer Myles na gCopaleen (aka Flann O'Brien). It's got shamrocks shaped like swastikas. It's got the most delightful music.  A religious service for Guiness. Sex in verse.  EVERYTHING AMAZING.

Anyway, I heard it was coming to NY and I freaked out and couldn't wait to see it. I had a few moments of being nervous-- what if it wasn't as good as I remembered it being? 

BUT IT WASSSSSSSSSSSS oh my god it WAS.  I was so delighted to be seeing it again after all this time, and it was just how I remembered it, with the exception of a few cast changes.  The bluehairs around me were half happy, half asleep-- and the quartet next to me left at intermission. Because they were idiots.  It's just so wonderful, and contains so many elements that I can only hope to have in all of my future theatrical projects.  I admire this company immensely, and am so happy that they managed to bring the show over here.  In my half-imagined, cockamamie schemes that I liked to think about late at night, the ones where I go to England or Scotland to work....I think I should include room for Rough Magic.  I mean, why not?

So, I say, GO! if you are able. It runs 'til January 4th in New York.  It's fucking great.

The week+ since my birthday has been good.  I shot a short film earlier this week, in the most incredible apartment I've ever been in.  Enormous windows, through which you can see: the Brooklyn Bridge. My god, it was beautiful.  I was hypnotized by the lights from the cars going over the bridge. I don't know how anyone could actually live there.  The shoot was fun, if totally insane and hectic.  The writer/director, a guy I know from school, did a nice job holding it together under pressure, and the other actor was a nice guy who was amenable to lots of goofing around.  That's basically all I need in a collaborator.  Well, maybe not ALL.  But I wore a crazy red dress and drank a lot of fake gin and had a grand old time.  Somewhere along the way, perhaps on Tuesday night when I walked around for ten minutes in the rain at 3 AM looking for a cab in DUMBO (not a good idea), I got sort of sick. Which blows.  But at least I'm going home soon and can be sick there.

Going home is a source of stress, of course. I don't know when I'm going to be able to go back to the Electric City, or how long I can stay.  And I have to make up my mind about New Year's Eve-- I've been thinking I might go to Boston, but I'm too lazy to figure it out. Even though my horoscope told me finalize travel plans the other day. Eekerz!

Holiday parties are building up; I hate to admit it, but Midtown looks beautiful; my shopping is not done. Ah, Christmas.

Welcome to the fold, brother.

I'm writing on the gloriously white keyboard of my brand-new (used) laptop. I bid the Tecra8200 (never heard of it? Whaaat??) goodbye and opened my arms to this puppy. As of this morning, I'm a Mac gal. Wowza!

I've been pretty bad at blogging lately. There's been a lot going on, certainly some legitimately interesting things (or so I think), but I've been too insane/manic/depressive/hungry/tired/anything else you can think of to sit down and do it.

Now is the time!

Going way back, Thanksgiving (my GOD) was a lot of fun. It was great to be home-- I had been really looking forward to it and was so happy to be in my house, in my old room, with Slinky, with a real kitchen, with a bathroom that doesn't make me into a rageaholic every time I try to take a shower. Most of the extended family was there and I was so happy to see them. Fun things included eating way too much, eating some more, verging on barfing a million times, antagonizing the Guba's dog, eating still MORE, and playing Balderdash with a combination of people who didn't understand the rules, people who understood but had no regard for the rules, very Christian people, drunk people, and people who didn't want to be playing.

A highlight was going, the day after T-giving, to The Newest Lunch in Schenec and 'secretly' 'flirting' with all the guys who work there. This has been going on for approximately six years. They must know. There are a lot of them; Ange is my main crush. When he says "Hey, how you been?" twice a year, my heart goes pitter-pat. My family makes fun; but my crush on the hotdog man is all real. Some day! I'll tell him my love. Until then....I'll take one with everything.

After Thanksgiving, my insanity incread 450% because time started to run out before MY READING. Which happened two days ago. In the week leading up to Tgiving, I spent a minimum of four hours at Cafe Grumpy in Greenpoint, scraping together change to buy cups of coffee, ripping my hair out and doing a lot of agonizing over the three words I'd manage to write. I didn't do a lick of work over Thanksgiving. When I got back to New York, I realized that the new draft still didn't have an ending and that I was in big trouble. However-- I put one together, the folks at La Mama assembled a cast, and we made it through the to day of the rehearsal. I had only a few nervous breakdowns along the way.

And then it was Tuesday, my birthday, and the day of the reading. It's easy to guilt people into coming to a reading that they wouldn't necessarily come to when it's ALSO your birthday, I have to say. My parents were there, as well a many, many of my wonderful friends from all different places-- work, school, shows, etc. I can't imagine having another birthday when I might have so many people that I like in one place. The reading went as well as I could have hoped it to go. I was pleased. And a wreck. I wrang my hands, bit my nails, and compulsively took off and put on my sweater during it. I was flushed and my heart was beating out of my chest. I haven't been so worked up in a long, long time. It felt good. At the end, I was brought onstage while people sang happy birthday, which embarassed me to no end, and which made me turn even redder. Then there was a short, relatively painless talkback in which I attempted to walk the line between charmingly self-deprecating and impressively cool. Uh, I think we can all guess which one I veered more towards. Talkbacks are the devil. The only good part was the lights glinting off my sweet kicks. I liked that.

Some folks went out for drinks afterwards, and I had a great, great time laughing and drinking and eating cookies (my mom made some shaped like Lincoln-- do you see where I get it?). My parents gave me too many presents, including a pair of saddle shoes. They are fucking awesome. (I had a fit last night at the pizza place by my apartment when Nitz and I spotted a hipster girl at the next table wearing a pair. I was like 'NO! This was going to be MY style! How dare the hipsters co-opt it already?!)

So, now I'm 23, have cool shoes, and know that I have a lot of really awesome friends. That's good.

I think I'm slowly crashing from the nervousness/excitement of the past few weeks. The proof? I slept about 12 hours last night and spent today in bed, watching Arrested Development. Indeed. Painting my nails was my biggest accomplishment.

I don't know what's next for me. I know now for sure, though I've known it before, that though it makes me insane, I'm definitely WAY better off when I'm working really hard on something. I should do something new.

We'll see.

Christmas is coming up soon, which I can't believe. Despite attempts not to, I'm falling into the trap and getting stressed out about it.

In the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger in one of his finest roles, I need to "CHILL."

Finally: We've gotten two letters to Santa here at work. The first one was from a girl who was writing on behalf of herself and her two younger siblings. The second on is from a 2-year old (a likely story!!) who asks for clothing and toys and ends her letter this way:

'Please Santa make my wish come true. I will really apprecaite it. This will be the best gift ever for Christmas and for my birthday that's in December 11th and I'm turn 3. Thank you so much. I love you Santa. I wish you a merry, merry, merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.'

I'm not sure how these people confused a beat off-off Broadway theatre with the North Pole-- perhaps it's the red facade?-- but these letters are too cute to be true.

Rain! Go away!

2 things that made yesterday remarkable:

1) I turned 23.

2) I got paid for writing. PAID!

etc + turnips.

I got home from work and had a domestic attack: I just made applesauce and mashed turnips, and got some carrots and brussels sprouts ready to be cooked. WHAAAA? Actually, it's no surprise. The original onset of the domesticity, or rather, gustatory fever, happened at the Greenmarket the other day. I can't explain it. Tonight's activities were more immediately linked to the nagging voice in my head saying "If you let those vegetables rot, you'll have wasted $10." Lord knows nothing prompts a skinflint to cook like money!

Much else to report, but it must needs wait: craft fairs, hats, insanity, work, things that are off the HOOK, etc.

Leave you with two overheards:

#1- On Bedford Ave.

Guy: What's that?
Guy holding juice bottle: This? Oh, this is my JAM. Lemon-ginger-echinacea!


#2- At work.
Guy(?): One time, I was DJ-ing a pee party, and people were literally peeing on the turntable. I was like "People, we are all going to get electrocuted! Pee somewhere else!"

Yup!

You must have put something in my coffee.

This was an unexpectedly fun, if frantic-feeling, night.

After a weird, unproductive, and bad-mood-inducing day of work in the box office, I ate an arepa and bought too much produce at the Greenmarket (about 7 pounds of apples, some carrots, some brussells sprouts, and the world's largest turnip (?!)). Here's where things get REALLY exciting, though (more exciting than turnips?!): I joined Ava at the Access Theatre to see "Call Me Anne, " Phillip Taratula's one-man show about Anne Heche in her Celestia phase. I first saw him do anything as Anne Heche five years ago (JESUS) at BU as part of his senior thesis. I think he's an extremely talented actor and is always a real pleasure to watch. I hope lots of people come and enjoy his work and that he gets rich and famous. Or whatever he wants.

I then left Ava and went to the Williamsburg beer garden to see Carla and Slavko's band, Panonian Wave, play. Some other work folks were there and we danced the hell out of ourselves. It's like gypsy-punk-Balkan and it's a lot of fun. When they were finished playing, a drunk guy pulled a Barney Stinson on me: Beckoned me over, saying "Excuse me?" and when I went over (WHEN WILL I LEARN?!), said "Do you know my friend Anthony?" and tried to hand me off to his drunker friend. Needless to say, these gents had the "best" seats in the house-- as Anthony so eloquently put it, "We were watching...the dancing....." I got out of that as fast as possible.

But! A night of dancing was a good move,I think-- I danced some of my frantic-ness away. I'm acting kind of spazzy lately, and I think it's because I'm nervous about my reading on Tuesday. I'm totally aware that in the scheme of things, a reading is not a big deal at all. Also, the only people who are gonna come will be people who like me and know me and who probably won't be too critical. I guess this is why I'm getting nervous-- because it's just gonna be people I care about, I want it to be great, I want them to really like it. This is not a healthy goal. The thing to think about is that I'm gonna hear my play, I'll hopefully learn some good things about it or what I need to do to it in the future, and then we'll all go raise a glass and bid another year of my youth farewell. This is my hope. And I hope to see you there.

BOOYAH. Now to bed. I keep feeling the urge to quote Moe Axelrod lately. I don't know if that's good or bad. I'll leave you with:


Baby, if you had a dog, I'd love the dog.

The only thing worse than blogging...

...is NOT blogging and then wanting to blog and then fakely post-dating your entry that you wrote while you didn't have internet.

Like I'm about to do.

I wrote this rant on 11.20 and never posted it. Instead of writing something new, I will post it now.

I have had the extreme pleasure of seeing a lot of things live recently. Let me recap. In my haste to talk about the shenanigans of last weekend, I forgot a whole bunch.

Last Tuesday was the opening of Streamers at the Laura Pels Theatre. I guess I've done enough (sexual) favors for Jason to warrant an invite (that was a JOKE), so I dressed up and sat in a great seat, accompanied by Lee, Nitz and Tanni, surrounded by cool-looking people who probably were no more VIPs than we were but at least appeared to have some clout. I did recognize a few faces, including (I'm convinced, though this doesn't really make 'logical' sense) Aaron Staton, aka Ken Cosgrove on Mad Men, aka the husband of former BU student Connie Fletcher. There would have been no point in trying to talk to him, and it probably wasn't even him, but I was excited anyway and wouldn't stop staring. The lesson is—you can't take me anywhere. Once I put on lipstick, I think I have a free pass to act as uncouthly as I want. AND DON'T I?!

I liked the show, though it was a completely different play from the one I remembered reading three years ago in Jim Spruill's class. I guess that's to be expected. Jason has a moment where he crosses the back of the stage, whistling, and he accepts song requests in the form of dares. I put him up to the Mad Men theme song and was not disappointed.

Afterwards, there was a swell party at the Bryant Park Grill, where we all ate and drank a lot, I bonded INTENSELY with a member of the cast who was born in Schenectady (he made me meet his girlfriend so I could corroborate all stories, past and present, about Schenectady being tough), and ultimately resulted in Jason getting yelled at by a Scottish bartender. My people know a good-for-nothing when they SEE one!

Then, this past Monday, I found myself at the Roust Theatre Company's production of Macbeth. I shouldn't probably put the full name of their company, in case someone is googling, so—if you were in the show, please, stop reading now. I'm going to be mean. Michael, this excludes you.

This was, hands down, the most gratuitous, stupid, infuriating production of any Shakespeare play I've ever seen, and I include Complicite's Measure for Measure in that assessment. And I really hate Simon McBurney, so that means a lot. Back then, in the naïve days of my youth, I though cutting a girl's bra open and then making her deliver a five-minute monologue to the audience was bad. Oh, but I had much to learn. Here's a brief tally of the horrors I witnessed inside that small theatre:

3 slit throats

1 rape of a pregnant woman

1 mentally handicapped adult getting asphyxiated with a plastic bag

3 teeth ripped out with a hammer

1 overblown, WSS-wannabe knife fight

1 vagina getting stabbed

1 anus getting stabbed

1 dead king who comes back as a random soldier in a Castro costume

3 slutty witches

infinite sexual positions in the orgy scene

Oh wait, there's no orgy scene in Macbeth? Sure there is. You know, there's the sleepwalking scene, the dagger scene, the dinner scene, the orgy scene. No? Really, are you sure? I know what I saw.

I don't need to go on. I don't care if this makes me seem like some sort of traditionalist prude, but I DO NOT AND WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS KIND OF BULLSHIT. I was actually angry after I saw it, because SO MANY people had spent considerable time and considerably more money bringing this terror to life, and for what? I doubt anyone came away with any sort of familiarity or connection with the play. Maybe a "Wow, that smoke machine was working hard" or "Wasn't that awesome when the witches were all giving Malcolm a blowjob at the end?," but nothing else. No tongues were in cheeks. (They were plenty of other places, though.) No one was winking. I wouldn't even agree with that, but at least then I would have been confident that I wasn't watching something that had been spearheaded by an absolute lunatic. That's what I think the director was, for the record.

Oh Jesus.

HAPPILY, the stains of that evening were washed away the very next, by The Seagull on Broadway at the Walter Kerr. I was absolutely astounded by this show. I had never read the play, and my last experience with Chekhov ranged from forgettable to, um…forgettable-er? I got a $25 "student" (unethical unethical unethical) ticket an hour before the show, which is a fucking steal, and for the next three hours, was totally rapt. With the exception of intermission, where the cute gay guy sitting next to me talked to me about stories of Patti LuPone telling people to be quiet from the stage (which I loved), and when the cellphone of the lady behind me rang at, you know, the emotional climax of the play. Other than that, it was perfect perfect perfect. Forgive me for being in such a proselytizing mood—as much as I could go on and on about how bad Maccers was, I could talk for hours about all the things I loved about The Seagull. I won't. I'll just say that it runs through December 21^st, and if you have time, money, and are in appropriately manageable proximity to it, you should make it your business to go see it. DOOOO IT.

The Seagull was sandwiched between working on WTTAN for four hours in a coffee shop and going out for drinks at Jimmy's corner with my friends (apparently everyone hates that bar except for me, but I could care less), and assessing it now, that is a model that I use for every day. I wouldn't mind. Writing, show, friends. Add in a few hours of rehearsal somewhere and I'm good to go.

And last night Erin and I went to the Bowery Ballroom to see my one true love, Sondre Lerche. Oh my. I….can't even talk about the way he makes me feel. He sang us a bunch of new songs, including one about lost opportunities and second chances called "Like Lazenby," as in George Lazenby, an apparently-underrated Bond. CUTE. It was absolutely ridiculous—though there were a lot of guys there, the only sounds you could here during Sondre's talking was giggling, giggling, giggling. His superpower is making all that look upon him instantly smitten. Or smi'en, as Liam said last night. :)

Note to self:

On touch-and-go days, don't listen to "Cabaret."

Party, party!

I've been out of the house so much lately, and it's been really awesome.  I've worked every day for the past week +, sometimes at two different jobs in the same day, and haven't had much time to sit around and get upset about how I don't do anything. Additionally, I've been HAVING FUN! GOING PLACES!  

Thursday night turned into an unexpected ladies' night when Emma called me after work and whisked me off (soggily, in the driving rain) to a lovely wine bar called Terroir.  Her roommate joined us a little later and we stayed warm drinking wine until two in the morning.  Much of the conversation revolved around Felicity. Am I complaining? Never, never, no not ever.  This bar was really cute, though ordinarily I'd never go because it's out of my price range and because it doesn't generally occur to me that I can go places other than dives

Friday, the train I was on after work got stuck mid-tunnel due to a "smoke problem" further up the track.  The train totally shut down for just over ten minutes...which isn't that long, but was ample time for a quiet sort of pandemonium to break out in my car.  One guy was trying to incite panic-- yelling "Get set, folks. We're gonna be in here all night. I'm not kidding. Hope you got a good book. Oh, boy. We're here for a long time."  The girl sitting across from me went in between two cars to pee, then stayed out there smoking with some old hippie types.  Someone called the conductor on the emergency intercom.  A pre-recorded message played, saying "Due to problems on the track, this train is no longer in service.  Please listen for evacuation instructions from the train crew." At that, everyone made a lot of noise.  The guy next to me ws sweating buckets and nervously laughing, trying to engage everyone around him in conversation, saying "Heh-heh, we're not really gonna be stuck here all night, right? Right?!" Of course we didn't have to evacuate, and eventually we got to the station, which did, indeed, smell like smoke.  

Saturday, I ventured to Bushwick to Asterisk for their farewell party.  I was there to see Infidels, but caught most of the sets of the Rude Mechanical Orchestra (chaos in the form of horns and dancers requesting us to sing along to a song that went "Here's the the man and his bombs, his bombs, his bombs, here's to the man and his motherfucking war games!") and Project Jenny, Project Jan (fun, sweaty multimedia insanity).  I drank a bunch of beer, thrashed around with some sweaty, hyper hipsters (I was leaning against a wall, minding my own business, and before I knew it, 'Jake the performance artist' was spinning me into the fray), got some air in the rainy Bushwick night, danced my face off during Infidels' sweet set, and at the end of the night, couldn't have been happier to be away from home at 4 AM.  I also found out that I am not the only one who, upon receiving a haircut that I'm less-than-thrilled with, fears that I look "Polish."  I can't explain that.

I've had several nightmares recently about my upcoming reading. They're like the classic actor's nightmare, except that they feature me getting to the reading, passing out the scripts to the actors, and then realizing that I never did the rewrites I wanted to.  Genuinely terrifying. I wake up all sick-feeling. 

Thanksgiving's coming up.  I'm looking forward to going home for a few days. I can't believe that 2008 is almost over. Good lord.

My favorite part of last night (besides cake):

"Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House--a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity.

Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, "We are not enemies, but friends ... though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection." And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn--I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your president too."

I can't even express how happy and giddy I am. A wonderful night, a beautiful speech, an amazing start for the most exciting (not to mention the hottest) President I feel I'm ever likely to see.

I VOTED!

And, my goodness, was it awesome. I voted absentee in 2004, which was not anywhere near as exciting as going into that booth today and pulling that big red lever and flicking those weird switches. I remember watching my parents do it when they voted in the basement of Faith Church on Eastern Ave, growing up...and let me tell you, I was so excited to do it for myself today. The whole thing took a little over an hour, and everyone in the polling place (public school lunchroom) was happy and cheerful, chatting, offering each other papers and stuff. I'll make the assumption that the vast majority of people in that room were voting for Obama-- considering where I live and the age group that was in there when I was there, I think that's a relatively safe assumption to make. I don't know if that had something to do with the general tenor of the room, or not. Whatever the case, it was so nice.

Then I trudged deep into the heart of Greenpoint to the only Starbucks anywhere around here, so I could get my free coffee. Free stuff makes me impervious to the restraints of practicality. We'll see if I actually take a trip into Manhattan JUST to get free ice cream. I probably will. Voting AND free ice cream. Come on!

I am so excited and nervous, and I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm holding my breath. I am really surprised that I am feeling so emotional about this--of course I want Obama to win, but I didn't think it would feel so personal. I'm trying to stay calm.

Anyway-- vote if you haven't yet, and do whatever weird superstitious good luck things you feel comfortable doing. Lord knows I'll be crossing my finger, rubbing lucky pennies, doing vageuly OCD behaviors, and holding my breath.

Gobama, go!

The best part of my Halloween (besides seeing Dave Rosenblatt):

(I'm walking up the Bowery to meet my friends and I see a guy rouding the corner onto Fifth Street. He's wearing a blue shirt, jeans, has a short brown wig, and is carrying this tank with a tube attached to it. The halloween spirit takes me over and I yell after him:)

Me: HEY! I love your costume!
Guy: Oh yeah?
Me: Aren't you Dennis Hopper in Blue Velvet? Lynch-Lynch! (I point to myself.)
Guy: No, but I so could be. I'm--
Me: Oh my god, you're Anton Chigur. Which is awesome because that's who I was going to be before I decided to be the Log Lady.
Guy: Which is awesome because I just finished watching Twin Peaks!

(He pretends to kill me with his compressed air machine, we go on our respective merry ways.)



I also want to note that the overwhelming majority of people who recognized me last night were gay men.

Good for Halloween.

I read a thing on Boing Boing about two guys who built a 'haunted' room-- a room that included certain environmental factors that have been reported to exist in places where hauntings have also been occurred-- things like electromagnetic fields and infrasound (whatever that is).  I really liked this conclusion:

Overall, despite the results, Chris French and his team feel the experiment was worthwhile. Given that most participants did report unusual sensations they felt that "we can indeed claim some success in building a haunted room." Just the haunting didn't come from EMF or infrasound, but instead from suggestion and a quiet, round, dimly lit and featureless white room which "may have constituted a form of mild perceptual deprivation"). 

DON'T COUGH ON ME, YOU BITCH!

The other day, I was walking up Second Avenue after work. As I crossed St. Mark's, I got a tickle in my throat and coughed a little bit. I covered my mouth. Not that that's the point. An old lady in front of me, as I coughed, turned around and yelled at me, really loudly: 'DON'T COUGH ON ME, YOU BITCH!' I was so shocked that I started laughing and said, hand still over mouth, 'I didn't--' But she didn't want to hear it, and responded by yelling 'YOU BITCH, GET AWAY FROM ME.' The most awesome response from me would have been to cough directly in her haggy face (yeah, I'm a bitch, what about it?), but unfortunately, that didn't occur to me until I was on the phone with my cousin Maddy, two blocks away, relating the story.

I've been doing a lot of fun but somewhat-misguided things lately. Last Saturday, I went with Erin and Jimmy to Coney Island in the late afternoon to see the "Creepshow at the Freakshow." Tempted with the promise of Presidents, spookiness, and freaks, how could I resist? By the time we got off the train, it was raining hard and the wind was blowing sideways. My umbrella flipped inside out more times than I bothered to count, and we were all freezing cold and wet in that really indisious, clammy way within minutes. It was kind of awesome. It was definitely ridiculous. We strolled down the boardwalk, fighting the wind, avoiding a sheet-metal sign that had ripped off the front of a concession stand. We watched as some moron trolled the raging beach with a metal detector. Seriously, dude, you could die out there. What could you find that would make it worth it? We (I) ate a hotdog at Nathan's. We went to the Creepshow. Which was exceptionally strange and actually legitimately terrifying. My favorite part were some terrific glow-in-the-dark paintings of the Presidents, in a rickety stairwell. I couldn't get a really good look at most of them, since we were being hounded by an 'animatronic' Richard Nixon who declared every one of them a different variety of Commie and had to hustle. Along the way, I was menaced by Laura Bush, Erin got touched by Nixon, and Jimmy assassinated JFK. All in all, it was sort of great, sort a mess, and I felt about it the same way that I feel about the normal Freakshow-- I admire their enthusiasm and their creativity a whole lot, and I really like how much they love Coney Island. I just wish there was an outside eye with a little more attention to detail to make everything go a little bit smoother. (I really hope they don't Google themselves and then write excoriating comments on my blog....like they did to Erin's dad. Eekerz! Leave me alone, freaks! I like you!)

Another foolish thing I did recently was walk the thirteen-something miles comprising this fair island of Manhattan. Jason and I took the train to 207th Street yesterday, walked up to 218th, and didn't stop (save for a terrific half-an-hour at Grant's Tomb and a horrible fifteen-minute lunch crouched against some planters at the Time Square Sheraton) until we reached Battery Park. Somewhere around Union Square, it became apparent that if we stopped, even for a light, it was really, really hard to get started. So we did a lot of jaywalking or pained, Frankenstein-ish lurching in place on corners to prevent our bodies from shutting down like they wanted to. Jason felt bad the whole time, saying "People run this far! On a daily basis! This is a half-marathon! What's wrong with us?" I felt bad, but in a different way. Mainly in a way that is a direct result of never exercising and wearing Converse on a thirteen-mile walk. Let's just say that I'm sort of walking like Quasimodo today. It isn't charming.

I didn't really expect this to happen, but I'm getting super nervous about the election. Not necessarily worried, just really nervous. I can't wait for next week.

I also can't wait for Thanksgiving. Pumpkin pie? Sign me up.

But Halloween is another story. Though I am very happy with my costume (thus far)....only the people at work will get to see it. :( Bummer. On the bright side, I'm sure the East Village will be overflowing with freaks for me to watch while work is slow. Good.

What's all this I'm reading about snow?

And this is where--

Last week, I went to the Connelly Theatre to see The Talking Band's latest show, which is called "Flipside." They had a show at La Mama in February called "Imminence" which I saw and really, really enjoyed. Their work feels really exuberant to me, and they do new stuff constantly, and have been working that way together for decades. I find them to be an inspiring gang.

Anyway, my favorite and I think the loveliest part of 'Flipside' found two of the characters playing one of my favorites games. All it consists of is remembering things that happened in certain physical spots, out in the world. I can't walk for more than ten feet without playing this game. Sometimes, it's the worst thing ever, if the memories are sad, or worse, if they're nice but for some reason I can't enjoy them any more. But sometimes it's the best thing ever.

zany.

Sometimes, I feel uncontrollably zany. And then I do weird things and say weird things and feel, basically, weird. Now is maybe one of those times.

I've been hard at work for the past few days on 1) making a paper (papier if you want to be pedantic) mache log for my Log Lady Halloween costume, and 2) revamping my play. I had a nightmare about my upcoming reading the other day, and I have to say that that's a first. It was like the classic actor's nightmare, only I was the writer, and when I gave the actors their scripts, they ridiculed me for not having finished any of the scenes. It was horrifying.

I've also been trying to go to sleep a little earlier and wake up a little earlier, with the goal of being more productive. I'm not sure it's working at all. In fact, I know it isn't.

My weekend was pretty darn good. Saw The All-For-Nots play in the Lower East Side on Friday night, went from there to a party where I was a little too much of a party monster, but I didn't lose any of my belongings, so I think I came out on top. This weekend, Rinnzor and I are going to take a trip to Coney Island for their Halloween/Election-themed special freakshow extravaganza...it seems like it might be overwhelmingly strange and wonderful. That's all I can hope for, at least. I hope it isn't filled with weird carny types. There's a very good chance of that happening.

I'm going to try to put this zaniness into something productive. I could be worse things, I suppose.

I can't get enough of these.

So stupid. So hilarious.

What a wonderful day. Some of the components that built a veritable (metaphorical) robot of delight for me today were, in alphabetical order:

Arepas
Auditions (2; we shall see)
Banksy's pet store
'Boogie Knights'
Coffee
Comrades
Dog wearing sunglasses
Old photos
Peter Pan donuts
Presidential kitsch
McCarren Park
Sunshine!
The Talking Band
Three-legged cat
Yoyos


You know I must be going crazy when I count the sun among the GOOD things that happened to me. :)

More noise and fuss.

Something I don't talk about nearly as much as I could: how fucking shitty my apartment is, and how the building is falling down around me, and how angry this makes me. To give credit where it is nominally due, the 'landlord/super/asshole who comes into my apartment without warning, whenever the hell he wants' has fixed some things around here recently. Things that should have been fixed literally years ago.

I just got home to find that our door was playing one of its favorite games: The Don't Unlock Game, followed by a round of The Doorknob is Falling Off! That's the only way I can describe it. I cursed and muttered, kicked the door, finally FINALLY got it open after five minutes of fucking around...only to have the woman across the hall open the door and yell at me. YELL AT ME. IN POLISH. I said "Yeah, sorry, sorry, like you never make any noise" and then slammed my door. I'm really mature, I know, but JESUS CHRIST, YOUR DOG COMES INTO MY KITCHEN AND YOU SMOKE CIGARETTES ON THE STAIRS! Don't yell at me.

This is a rant, and rants get boring, so I'll stop her. Broken door. Irascible me. Hypocritical Polish neighbor. Sometimes I hate this place.

Come on.

I woke up at 4:15 this morning to the sound of screaming. There was a woman outside my building, yelling over and over again :"CALL THE COPS! CALL 911! I'M SERIOUS! CALL 911!" It took me about five minutes to wake up the whole way, put my glasses on, and look out the window, and when I did, I saw a woman staggering down the street, picking stuff up off the sidewalk, crying and heaving. Oh, lord. I didn't know if anything was really wrong with her and I figured that it wouldn't be helpful for me to yell out the window asking if she was ok, so I didn't. She wandered down the street, in the direction of the river...but then this guy, wearing a menacing trenchcoat, I swear to god, turned the corner and started walking right for her. He caught up to her, pushed her, started cursing at her and saying all kinds of awful things...and she was crying and screaming again. So I called the cops. Ten minutes later, a car pulled onto the street and I heard one of the cops asking some girls that were talking on the corner where the fighting couple had gone. I don't know what happened; I sort of can't believe I actually called the cops. None of it was pleasant, that's for sure.

Then I spent about an hour, awake, heart pounding, convinced that there was someone in my apartment who was going to try to kill me. This might have something to do with the terrifying true-life scary stories we were telling backstage at the show last night. Just a thought.

Speaking of the show-- last performance today! And then work, work, work. I'm a busy gal lately and I both really like it and am really bewildered by it. Though last night I had a mini "I've-lived-here-for-a-year" crisis where I decided that I need to quit my job. It wasn't pleasant. I don't know how I feel about it in the light of day.

"I just keep thinking about Joe DiMaggio."

In this month's Vanity Fair, there is an excerpt from Tony Curtis' memoir. The section printed deals exclusively with Tony Curtis, Marilyn Monroe, Tony Curtis "fondling her breasts," vivid descriptions of said breasts....etc etc. But! He mentions that Marilyn dated/married a lot of guys who looked like Abe Lincoln: Arthur Miller, Joe DiMaggio (I don't really see it, but hey, alright), some other dudes I forget...

Then, unrelated, elsewhere in the magazine, there is a picture of Marilyn in a convertible... holding a portrait of Lincoln!

COINCIDENCE!?! Methinks Marilyn and I would have had something to talk about.


Incidentally, my friend Greg moved away recently, and drove cross-county to his new home in Seattle. He's been sending great postcards to our apartment: the first was the Lincoln House in Illinois, and the second was the Lincoln Monument in Wyoming. ALMOST better than what was on the front of that one was Greg's message:

"Let me tell you that there's nothing rootin'-tootin' about I-80 through Wyoming. It's a boring stretch of road. But I saw a big-ass offroading pickup with a bumper sticker: "Salmon: The Other Pink Meat." Almost as memorable as "Snatch a Kiss, or Vice Versa."

Indeed.

Funny funny.

Yesterday, I walked by the uptown Jekyll & Hyde Club, the esteemed, themed restaurant, and there was a family with two young boys standing outside. The bigger boy was coolly surveying the skeletons and gargoyles outside the building, and reported: "I've seen scary. And this is not scary."

I didn't think it was a good idea to tell this six year-old that I had been to J&H mere weeks ago.

I'll mention this a million more times over the next two months, but...

A date has been set for my reading!

Come see (or hear):

We Things That Are Now
by Yours Truly
dir. Craigy Mungavin
Monday, December 8th, 7:30 pm
La Mama Experimental Theatre Club
74 East 4th Street b/w 2nd and Bowery
Free! Free! Free!

And then come party for my birthday afterward.

Happy Anniversary...

...to me! I moved to Williamsburg a year ago today.



Mmm, wow.

Wisdom from the streets.

What I've learned lately:

I'm a "white bitch" with "nice titties."

Everything they do is so flamboyant.

I LOVE MAD MEN.
Oh my god, I love Mad Men.
It just makes me want to SET MYSELF ON FIRE!

Text message I received today:

"I am about to break Zeus's balls."




Equal to that:

Last night, there was a man on the subway playing a medley of "Summertime" from Porgy and Bess and the theme songs to "The Flintstones" and "The Addams Family"... on the melodica.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

PAUL NEWMAN DIED!

:'(

The key to what?

I'm watching this to drown out the sound of my landlord scraping paint and grunting in the kitchen. I suggest you watch it, even without grunting landlord.

(Thanks to Jeffry for the link/blowing my mind yet again.)

Huggin' necks, shakin' hands.

What do we want?
NYCADS!
When do we want it?
NOWCADS!

Mmmm....right. NYCADS is the New York City All-Day Singing (as certain readers of this blog already know, I have a fondness for acronym-izing anything that I can, including but not limited to WTTAN).

Anyway, the singing extravaganza was this weekend, and what a good time it was. Never a dull moment. The singers started rolling into town on Friday, and come Friday afternoon, my apartment was hosting a plain-dressing woman (part of the River Brethren...sect? Faith? I don't know. They're sort of like Mennonites. I hope no one googles River Brethren and gets directed here and leaves me nasty comments) and Matt, the maker of a documentary on Sacred Harp. Aldo and I rounded out this odd quartet and spent a few hours sort of entertaining... I went to work until midnight and then slept at Emma's in E. Wburg, as my bed was being slept in by an out-of-town guest (and kickass lady), Judy. I miss what was apparently a really exciting and good singing school taught by Richard DeLong and Judy Caudle. Whatever.

Saturday morning: I was supposed to get to the singing at 9, as I was head of the 'welcoming committee' (I AM very welcoming) and had to set up nametags and registration cards and such. Ryan was going to be my second, so we made plans the night before to coordinate our travel so neither would have to endure the long G-train ride alone; we took matters into our own hands and decided to ride bikes. We met at the Graham stop at 8.20 am and took off. I was a little apprehensive because I'm so out of shape and didn't really trust that I could get there unscathed, but Ryan was confident in our combined ability. Let it be said that he has an actual bike that he rides all over-- as opposed to mine, which is thirty years old and weighs about fifty pounds and is constantly falling apart in different ways. Things went just fine until we got to Fort Greene and I got a FLAT TIRE. That's never ever ever ever happened to me, in all my years of riding bikes, ever. Fuck you, Fort Greene! After three minutes of ranting, we took notice of the time, renewed our vigor by thinking of all the singing that awaited us, and started trudging towards Hicks Street. After five minutes, Ryan gently suggested that it might be faster if he carried my dead bike and I rolled his. Sadly, he was right. I am, in the words of Sven Ugendugen, a 'puny weakling.' We made several wrong turns, sweated and cursed a lot, but got to the church only fifteen minutes after our desired time of arrival...dirty and sweaty and discombobulated. It was a very unexpected 'adventure,' to say the least.

The singing was really great. Dinner was lovely, with more than enough food. Ollie Stokes was honored that I made a coconut cake with him in mind, and ate about six pieces. Greg was given a farewell card, at which point I got teary-eyed and had to think about something other than him moving, or now, the fact that as I write this, he's halfway across the country. I don't like that one bit. Afterwards there was a lot of cleanup, then a listening party for Matt's new CD, and a little composium, at which I was starting to get a little post-singing hysterical and was of no use to anyone. Then we spent half an hour tying my dead bike onto the roof of Greg's car so I wouldn't have to take it on the subway, which was amazing. So much chivalry in one day; I should have bike disasters more often. (I can't neglect to mention a previous Herculean effort when another gallant maneuvered the cumbrous Schwinn up the narrow tenement staircase of my building. It proves my point again!)

More jollity followed later-- eating street food/trying to keep up with Matt Hinton's hilarious sense of humor with Justin, Ben, and Ryan; playing stupid games and putting on wigs; lots and lots of geeking out; Sacred Harps dorks drinking. Blah blah blah. Slept at Emma's again, and managed to see her for all of five minutes.

Sunday was the monthly singing at St. Bart's, which, like last year, was populated by a lot of holdovers from the All-Day, which was terrific. Justin and I led "Sweet Affliction," which contains the words "In the floods of tribulation/While the billows o'er me roll..." Lauren maintains that I said "While the 'dillos o'er me roll" and the (cutest ever) image of armadillos curling up and rolling over me while I'm sleeping was born. Things wrapped up, and as Hugh McGraw says, we were all huggin' necks and shakin' hands. Greg left for good. Lauren, Ryan and I went to drink our sorrows away at Jimmy's Corner, and then at her house with Jesse and Judy. Sacred Harp gossip, geeking out, drinking, until midnight. Sometimes I am slightly overwhelmed by how weird and wonderful my life gets when I'm Sacred Harp singing.

But now, the party's over; Greg's in Oregon, Jesse and Lauren are back in Troy, the Boston gang is long-gone.

I guess I had other stuff to talk about, but this is pushing it. I'll stop here, with this admonition from the hallways of St. Bart's.

I dunno

Things I might have forgotten to talk about:

1) My play, We Things That Are Now (or 'WTTAN' for the BUSTAMFOP crowd) is getting a (having a? receiving a?) reading at La Mama in the early months of next year. I'll let you know more about it when I know more about it. Craig is going to direct it.

2) I just got cast in a play. Uh, sort of. I'm trying to stop talking down everything I do, because it's a terrible habit and I have the feeling that it makes me really boring to be around. So I'll just say: It's a play that some ladies wrote to celebrate the bicentennial of the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church. I play a handful of different characters in different scenes from the history of the church. The coolest thing is that I'm in one where I talk about Lowell Mason, who was the choirmaster or whatever for a while. He wrote/arranged a lot of familiar church tunes, most notable "Blest Be The Tie That Binds," which I actually sang this past Sunday. He also has a bunch of arrangement credits in the Sacred Harp.

3) Slinky Calhoun is on FIRE! People have started buying our shit. Which sounds ridiculous, but it's somehow true. Does anyone need a cross-stitched bangle? Anyone?

4) I know I didn't forget to talk about this, but; my apartment is like a funhouse right now. A really, really unfun funhouse with squirrels in the ceilings and dulcimers in unexpected places.

5) The New York City All-Day Singing is this weekend, kicking off with a singing school on Friday night at Plymouth Church of the Pilgrims, continuing with the all-day sing on Saturday from 9.30-3.30, and stampeding, hoarsely, into Sunday for the monthly sing at St. Bart's. If you're reading this and think you might want to come to any of those things, even if just for an hour or two, please tell me, because I'd love for you to come.

6) Related, this past Sunday, a bunch of singers acted as the choir for Plymouth Church sort of as a favor to them, sort of to say hello and thank them for letting us use their church for our singing. Here's us, after the service, dressed up. I like the shadow of the pointing finger on the column on the left side of the picture. (It belongs to a statue of Henry Ward Beecher.)

That's Greg, Inga and Sylvester, Diane, Violet, Anna, Justin, Nancy, Aldo, Sarah, Dean and Rachel, Anna and Ian, Ryan, and me! (Three Annas. Whaaaat?)

Verdict, plus squirrels.

After 24 hours of melodramatically wondering where that thing came from (the 'poem,' not the squirrel), boring several friends with exhaustive speculation, and reading it a million times--I guess I'll say that though I'll never know for sure, signs point to me having written it. These signs include the giant rat, the name Henry, the fact that it is bad, and its overwhelming sentimentality.

Enough about that.


The squirrel, for those of you who are interested, got into that little rotting cage of wood because our old, 'sick' (read: negligent! Am I a bitch, or what?) landlord ripped our roof/ceiling apart about three weeks ago and hasn't been back to fix it since. It was ok for about a day, and then all this rubble started falling from the ceiling. Now I know that it's because creatures have been running around above my head. Awesome.

MEET MY NEW ROOMMATE.

can you see him?

Trance?

Apparently I spent large chunks of senior year in a coma, or drunk, or living as someone else...I don't know. I am sifting through all these files I have in a folder marked "Henry and Clara," and trying to see if there's anything worth recycling as I crack WTTAN (that's "We Things That Are Now") open again in earnest....and most of them are so unfamiliar to me that it is surreal. Not only do I have no recollection of ever seeing them before, but I literally cannot conceive of having written them.

The weirdest thing, though, is some sort of poem that is stuck in between two rough scenes in a file called "to send ben." (As if the title doesn't reveal how old it is, the date says 7/2006. Wowza.) I have NO idea where it came from. I know I didn't write it. But I just have no idea where it came from. I assume the inclusion of the name 'Henry' in it was one of the reasons I noticed it; a Google search is fruitless. I have absolutely no idea. I suppose there's a chance it could be from the novel "Henry and Clara," but I don't think so. I read it over and over and am totally, completely puzzled and weirded out. The line about the rat is something I could have written, because that happened to me once. And the line about the three-legged dog is feeling really familiar. I don't fucking know! It's making me feel really insane.

Anyway, here it is. You don't know what it is, do you?

We went to the Albany Fair

And we went into the Tent of Wonder and Horror

Saw the horse-hair bearded lady and the Tartar with his head drilled full of holes

A three-legged dog; he mostly lay in the corner

A rat the size of a pig- I think it was not actually a rat

A sword-swallower covered in tattoos

But at the end, a pair of girls

Who looked to be embracing

Arms around each other tightly, so tightly, that one couldn’t turn her head to look out of the window she sat behind

Stitched together, flesh sewn to flesh, like a cruel joke made real by the punishing hand of an unkind God

My heart broke for them

To never be apart from another

But as I looked I thought

Might I like to be so with my Henry?

If I had to be so

It would be him I would choose to be knit up with

To never part, never look away

I realized I was wrong

I looked at the girls and could see only the love that they shared

That was keeping them together

Without their love, they could walk away from each other in an instant

My friend Matt and I had the extreme displeasure to work on a show last season that was a huge piece of shit, done by unfriendly, untalented people-- the best kind of theatre! Hooray! Anyway, I just got an email from another theatre with an ad for said show in it. I shared it with Matt, and this is what he had to say:


"HOLY SHIT!!! Who let that unbearable woman back on stage. We should go and demand comps and then throw tomatoes and taunt her and then maybe that awful stage manager will be there and then we can kick her ass and maybe then she’ll smile and then I can find that lighting designer and I can kick his ass and then we will take that stupid directing couple and we can throw them off the roof of the annex and then __________ will be no more and that idiot ________ will at least have an interesting story to tell. OH man. That was a really long sentence. Its just how I feel."

And I couldn't agree more.

All's Faire

My halcyon days of ghost-blogging for The All-For-Nots are at least temporarily on hold (as is the show)...so go watch All's Faire! Some of the same hooligans are responsible for it.

this week

sort of blows. no, it definitely blows.

Also this:

This real-life Pikachu was the only thing that could make me smile during a particularly black period this evening. Let it do the same to you.

Give me all my garmonbozia.

I'm just getting so lazy! I made a list in a drafted post of all the things I've been doing that I wanted to write about. I'll try to do something with it now. Who knows how far I'll get before my faulpelz tendencies win?

beer garden- The lovely and amazing Miss Meghan Dalton came to town a few weeks ago with her new beau, Derek. I got to see her a few different times, and we managed to scrape together a last-minute trip to the beer garden. We all thought we'd call it an early night....but seven or nineteen pitchers later, I found myself drunk, snapping pictures of Athena on 30th Avenue, heading to Erin and Jimmy's to watch Mad Men. My love for Don Draper grows proportionally to my consumption of alcohol. I think that's only natural.

beach- Craig, Nitz and I decided we'd take advantage of the waning days of summer and go to the beach. We got in many fights about where we'd go; one ending in me yelling "I just don't want to talk to you anymore!" and hanging up on Craig. The fight stemmed from my refusal to take the LIRR when I can, theoretically, get to several beaches via the MTA, and via my already-paid-for monthly pass. I am very, very cheap. I don't know why he hasn't learned this yet. Anyway, I eventually got my way (what a brat) and we went to Riis Beach. It seemed lovely and all was well...until we tried swimming and emerged from the surf covered in........PIECES OF JELLYFISH. One of my comrades informs me that jellyfish can be eaten. I'd like someone to eat ALL of them so I never have to deal with them on a beach again. Despite this, the day was good.

work- I'm back at it. I'm complaining. But at least I'm slightly less broke. Slightly.

play in park- Nitz and Molly and I saw Common Thread do Under Milk Wood in the Prospect Park concert grove. I guess my point in recording this is to remind myself that I actually do stuff?

yelp parties galore- Two silly Yelp parties; one at The Gutter, where I wolfed a piece of pizza and didn't speak a word to anyone, and one at Barramundi where Erin and I chugged sangria and ate the hell out of some empanadas, empanadas. What would I do without Yelp and, as Emily says, the 'free booze parties?'

erin's birthday, karaoke- happened a long time ago, wow. Wait, I already wrote about that, and my spiritual awakening at the karaoke place. Bo-ring!

blue velvet in pool- They rescheduled Blue Velvet at McCarren and I went alone and it was great. There was a grizzled old biker cowboy next to me who looked like he probably used some of Dennis Hopper's moves in his halcyon days. He incessantly rolled cigarettes, chuckled knowingly, and drank from a paper bag.

no money- I guess I felt it necessary to remind myself of the fact that I have no money?

hipster bbq- Oh! I went to the end-of-summer hipster bbq at Hope Lounge bc my friend MAtt was working and there was the promise of freee food. That promise was happily fulfilled and I had a nice time eating delicious things, watching hipsters, wondering if it was my lack of tattoos or my clean hair that deterred people from talking to me. Or the neon sign flashing "SQUARE."

auditon for bob- I went to a big audition at the New York Film Academy and I knew the reader. I went to school with him. I didn't get anything from this audition. COINCIDENCE?! No, probably not.

crown heights- My friends moved there! To a nice place on Franklin Avenue. It's nice to know that Crown Heights isn't ALL fires in the mirror. Right? RIGHT? As I walked their the other day, a guy jovially inquired what I was doing with all that junk in my trunk. Good question, sir!

playa- Along the same lines, I got some good lines from a dude on the train the other day. He asked me if I got my smile from heaven or if I'd bought it at the store (duh, at Hot Topic, I replied....I WISH); he said he hoped there was someone special in my life and that they treated me like a queen; and best of all, he asked me if I was on that train often. Good!

penguin- AND, today, a creepy dude told me "The bus is waiting for you. The bus is waiting for you. And then he opened his umbrella in my face a la The Penguin.

jekyll and hyde- I went to Jekyll and Hyde the other night. I will let that speak for itself. No-- I can't let it rest at that. It. Was. Terrific.

LES- Sang in the LES on Saturday. Tons of new singers-- tons of YOUNG new singers. Things are looking up! But I can still hate that two of my best singing friends are moving away. And I do.

Ok done! See you in three months!

SKINNY PEOPLE EAT CANDY

I just saw the rescheduled Summer Screen showing of Blue Velvet at McCarren and it was a delightful time...if delightful means disturbing, demented, deranged...etc.

My favorite part was probably the crowd's response when Dennis Hopper yells "Heineken?! Fuck that shit! PABST BLUE RIBBON!" And the hipsters roared. (They're on the same page.)

It wasn't as scary seeing it the second time, especially because it was ten o'clock when I got out and I only had to walk across the park to get home; the first time, it was two am, Meghan and I were scared witless, and I had to walk from Coolidge Corner to Kenmore Square (thanks MBTA) in the rain. Or maybe I'm imagining the rain.

Another Lynchian incident today was me spending ten of my few remaining dollars to buy 3/4ths of the first season of Twin Peaks from the video store that's going out of busines. It's on DVD...but the first disc is missing. I bought Sweeney Todd the other day and went in today and just couldn't resist. I have no business spending money on this stuff. But I do.

Logs logs logs!

On the phone, at work:

Me: Good afternoon...
Guy: Hi! Who's this?
Me: It's Anna.
Guy: Hi, Anna! This is Jon from Blankety Blank company-- I have to swing by to pick up some dorm keys later. What time are you going to be open until today?
Me: Well, I'll be in the box office until five...there should be a few people in the office after that, though, if you can't make it.
Guy: Hmm, ok...well...I think I can make you. You'll be there until five, you say? And then you're going to Williamsburg right after?
Me: Yes, I am.
Guy: Really?!
Me: Uh, yeah. How did you know? Could you hear the hipster in my voice? You knew I was wearing, like, big glasses?
Guy: Yeah! I knew you were wearing ridiculous tights...or something from American Apparel.

What?

No, what?

And why didn't it occur to me to say: Why did you ask?

TEMPT NOT

So, Erin had her birthday party last night at Planet Rose on Avenue A (can I say 'Alphabet City'? Ooh, it just makes me fee so OVER THE MOON)...a karaoke place with a strange mixture of passive-aggressive screechy girls, Really Serious Karaoke Dudes, bros with baseball caps, and our gang.

Anyway, I've never done karaoke before, and put a lot of thought into what I would sing when the moment finally came. I decided on '(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding?' by Elvis Costello and The Attractions partially as a homage to Bill Murray's karaoke in Lost in Translation, and partially because I of course love Elvis. Now, as it happens, I wound up only singing a duet with the birthday gal on 'Paradise By the Dashboard Light' which was more that fine, considering that it was the realization of long-time dreams for both of us. Good.

Now, the point of this post is not to talk Meatloaf-- the point is that my eyes were opened to the amazing possibilities of karaoke in my life last night.

They. Had. Showtunes.

They had 'The Ladies Who Lunch.'

I was like "I could ruin EVERYONE'S night right now and have the time of my life doing it!" I think that kind of thing is only hilarious in indie movies, not when you're doing them yourself, but, man....'Delilah' by Tom Jones? 'One Bad Apple' by the Osmonds? 'Que Sera Sera', in the style of Doris Day? AMAZING. I was giddy with the temptation to do a really, really weird song. How many times can you hear 'Since U Been Gone,' anyway? You know?

But I resisted. Next time? I might not be so strong. Especially if I make it to cheap drinks/sing free happy hour, some rainy afternoon, by myself, with a hankering for some oldies.

Sun on the Beach, Indeed.

Via Gowanus Lounge, I saw this picture and think it is terrific.

Spanish Guy: 1, Anna: 0

Guy: Can I ask you? Where did you get your shirt? Because I have never seen such a shirt?
Me: Oh, um, well, Forever 21.
Guy: OK. What do you do here?
Me: I'm an actor.
Guy: Are you a man?
Me: What?
Guy: You tell me you are an actor and now I am thinking that you are a man.

AUGUST, KINGS COUNTY

Recently:

Craig and I were walking by David Byrne's Wburg bike rack, "The Hipster."

Me: Oh, have you seen these? Do you know about these?
Craig: Yeah. Ooh, I'm a genius, I invent everything.
Blipster Leaving Bodega: Whoa, you're a hater. What happened to you, man?



Then I laughed so hard that I almost threw up, and Craig sulked down Bedford Ave until he had to turn for the subway.

OH MY GOD

I saw Robert Mruczek at Coney Island today.

IN THE ARCADE.


This is him:


I know who he is because of 'The King of Kong'-- and he was at Coney Island today (accompanied by a guy wearing a FUNSPOT t-shirt, for God's sake!!). I was staring and staring and took some "pictures of my mom standing by that water fountain" which of course were actually pictures of him...he definitely knew what I was doing. He was wearing a tie-dyed shirt with a wolf on it. The man defies explanation and classification.

AMAZING.


More about Coney Island later-- I went today for the first time and I thought it was wonderful. Time for this blog to stop being so lazy!!

3 beers in...

...and narcissism rears its ugly head! Selfinvolvedbot reporting for duty today, sir.

GOD DAMN!

BERNIE MAC *AND* ISAAC HAYES?!?!

Mr Gill, for you:

5 subway lines
+
4 episodes of Mad Men
+
3 Historic House Trust sites
+
3 boroughs
+
2 cops
+
1 cousin
______________
TODAY!

Now, let me get this straight...

Clay Aiken had a baby. Well, okay, Clay Aiken is the *reason* for someone having a baby.

(Okay, I shouldn't say it like that, either-- who knows how many babies were made while listening to "Measure of a Man?" Right? RIGHT??)


But seriously-- Clay Aiken and some woman...some woman named JAYMES...just had a baby. I don't understand this on any level. Clay? Jaymes? A baby? This is an equation that doesn't check.

Clay, oh Clay of my youth, where have you gone?!

(Really, I mean-- "obviously" this is some sort of thing where his friend was like "Oh lord, Clay, I'm gonna be an Old Maid, my clock is ticking, help me out here." And Clay being the nice guy, or the total FREAK, that he is...decided to help. What I want to know is if they did this the old-fashioned way or with the help of the medical establishment. Which is so far beyond being none of my business that it isn't even worth mentioning.)

Also, I realize I might be putting my personal integrity on the line by even speaking about this man. You must understand that senior year of high school, which was the second season of American Idol, my friends and I were absolutely obsessed with it and specifically with Clay. The best memory from that time, for me, is that the day after he lost was the day that my parents and I had to go in for a disciplinary meeting. For me. I was in twelfth grade, let's remember. Smooth L had screamed at me one too many times in Wind Ensemble and I finally let her have it...with only Akil as a witness. (Happy birthday, by the way, Mr. Middleton!) Anyway, I was dreading this meeting in the first place, and then on top of it all, Clay lost. That was also the day that the infamous/famous CFA class pic, which I will post (tinily) below, was taken. If you have good eyes, and can get past the fact that I'm wearing khakis, you'll see that Em and I are wearing Clay buttons. I imagine that Becky and Jess are, too.


Oh, boy. Clay. Where have you taken me?!

Not to be a bitch, BUT...

"I don't know how to be in a place where people don't know who Diane Keaton is."
-Erin

oh lord.

HANG

OVAH!



........why do I ever DRINK?



Ugh.



I'm going home today for the rest of the week. Hopefully I'll find time to write here a little bit--in between petting Slinky and reclining on the couch. It will be difficult.

Strange Interactions in NYC, Pt. 5,672

Yesterday, near the Central Library in Brooklyn, with Liam and Eleanor:

Young kid: Excuse me...do you know where there's a pet store?







TOO MUCH TO CATCH UP ON GAHHHHHH ABORT ABORT

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaack.

And have lots to blog about.


Later!

Also!

I recently got a site meter for this blog and have been loving it. I got the free, crappy version so it only tells me so much, but one of the things I can find out is where people are reading from-- and I think I know most of the people who read this blog with any sort of regularity, and the locations the meter has been telling me confirm most of those readers...but who is reading from SLOUGH?! Amazing!

Hello, whoever you are. :) Hello, in fact, to anyone that I don't know personally. And of course, hello to those of you I do.

Third eyes, trips, and TWO TINY DOGS JUST RAN BY

The other day at work, one of my favorite co-workers was talking about of friend of his from home, Japan, who sometimes 'can't go outside because his third eye is too open and it's too hard for him...he sees demons on the street and bad stuff everywhere and he can't handle it.' This was met with derision by my Israeli co-worker (who ardently believes in astrology, incidentally) but I was super into. What makes me think of this is mostly the fact that I, too, have a third eye. It is located below my left ear. I can't see out of it--YET--but it's getting there. I'll update you later.

I venture down South tomorrow! I finished packing this afternoon after much hemming and hawing and obsessing. Of course the part that took the longest was picking out the jewelry. Of course. I am taking the SuperShuttle (how super could it be? My mind turns to Arrested Development, and Tobias-- "Why would I take a limo, when for only twelve dollars I can get to the airport in this van?" to "Are you kidding, another stop?! I paid twelve American dollars for this ride!") from Union Square tomorrow and hopefully I'll get to the airport with plenty of time, etcetera. I printed out my ticket and, allegedly, my boarding pass for tomorrow, so hopefully the process will be somewhat expedited tomorrow. We'll see. From there it's a lot of schlepping, carpooling and then getting to camp at some point in the early evening, sitting down to the first camp dinner at 6:00, and then we're off. I can't believe I'm doing this. This whole thing is sort of insane. I was saying to someone today that I'm not sure when I got so nervous about traveling. I traveled so much by myself when I was abroad-- it wasn't easy as pie, but I managed just fine in Prague, Budapest, all around Scotland....planes, buses, trains. I was stressed then-- and maybe I was as stressed as I have been and just don't remember.

Anyway, one way or another, it's all going to work out and I think it's really going to be good. I was advised to avoid the following things in New Orleans-- some of them are going to be harder than others: vampires, floods (too soon?), inbreeding, teeth tattoos (that's tattoos ON my teeth-- I'm not sure about tattoos OF teeth)... we'll see what happens. And I'm so excited to see Jacob in his (new) element! And of course anticipating stuffing myself to the gills with really delicious food.

This trip. Hoo boy.

I am at work right now....for two and a half more hours. Doing. Nothing. Nothing. Going. On. So. Ridiculous.

Alright, I have to finish up intarweb stuff because I'll be without a computer for a week ("Just like the old days!" says friend...I feel like I'm going back in time in more ways than one. I literally am, I suppose!). I want to put a goofy vacation response up on my gmail but am afraid that Hollywood will come calling and be met with "I'm down South, wearing a frumpy outfit, avoiding conversion!" So we'll see.

Says my West Village-dwelling coworker:
"Gay Day and Halloween. They are the worst."

Goodbye until the 11th of July! Expect pictures and more than you'll want to read when I get back.

COME ON

The only thing more shudder-inducing than "Baby Borrowers" itself is the ad campaign:

"It's not TV, it's birth control!"


WHAT?!

Jimmy Kimmels and Bits.

So The All-For-Nots played on Jimmy Kimmel Live last night, and they were killer! I don't want to get all Larry Hu on you, but if you didn't watch it, and would like to... here's a link to the old YouTube.

AFN on JK!






As I was tagging this, "Jimmy Gortva" came up as a tag I'd previously used. Good lord!

This is a Formica tabletop.

Oh lord. Well, it's futile to hope that I will be able to put down everything that I've been doing lately-- slacker alertttttt. I'll do my best.

So the night after darts and margaritas, I went out with my friend Matt and some of his friends. This is the Matt that I staged managed for back in November, and he is supposed to be going to South Africa at some point this summer to work on a movie. There've been a lot of holdups and now I'm not sure what's happening, but this was a goodbye-for-the-summer party. I worked until ten, then went to meet him at a schmancy uptown lounge where my drink was more than I want to spend on food for a whole day. But I got to hobnob with funny people and feel vaguely special, and hear hilarious stories to be used as blackmail fodder when Matt gets famous and his current become his detractors out of jealousy or bitterness. From there we took a harrowing cab ride to a trashy bar on St. Marks that is owned and presided over by a terrifying person who Michael Peterson and I refer to as Johnny Cage-- this because we spent a scary long ride on the subway sitting across from him, frightened that he was going to kill us. JOhnny Cage seemed appropriate. And then we come to find out that he owns this bar. Of course. Annnyway, at the bar we met up with a whole bunch of Matt's friends from school that I had never met, so there was a lot of "Hi, what do you do? Oh, and where is that?" talk going on, but it was exhausting bc it was hellishly loud in there and I was just yelling and yelling. BU! YEAH, BOSTON! Right. And then it was home again, home again, jiggity jig, to go to sleep around 3 for the second night in a row.

The next day, Erin and Molly and I went to the Brooklyn Flea market in Clinton Hill (um, my new favorite neighborhood....does someone want to give me a cool million so I can set up shop there? Thanks!) and bought various and sundry junk. I bought something amazing. I post a picture later-- that's all I am at liberty to say right now. It was really cool-- lots of good vendors of different varieties, mostly really good stuff. I'll definitely go back. After this, we hit some stoop sales, walked in a very roundabout way to Fort Greene, and then I went over to Chelsea to see Lauren. We gossipped, further worried about how we're going to get kicked out of a camp (now less than a week away!) and ate tacos. Free chips at Burritoville? Satan. Then we went back to my apartment and wrote notes on the flyers for the NYC Sacred Harp All-Day Singing...the issue is that though I know who a lot of people are, they have no idea who I am. Or, as in some cases, I remember them for a very specific, small reason which they have no doubt forgotten-- for example, one guy will live forever in my mind because he publicly declared a song I led a "train wreck." I'm sure he forgot it right after it happened, but....let's just say there might be a horse head in the envelope holding his flyer.

After lots of flyering, I met up with my family that was up from Florida at Spice Market in the meatpacking district. Ooh la la! (Incidentally, Spice Market is where Molly filmed her episode of Gossip Girl [as an extra]. Hilarious.) I can't even think of the last time that I saw my aunt, my uncle, and my cousins-- so it was really great to see them for a little while. My cousin Leah joined, too...I have no excuse for seeing her as infrequently as I do except that I'm lazy. There's a big family party happening this weekend which I can't go to because I'll be en route to Alabama-- so they'll get to see each other more...but I had to do a lot of catching up over one dinner. Our food was funky and good, and the place was really beautiful. My cousins are so grownuppppp, it's really strange. It was a lovely dinner. Afterwards, Leah and I went down to the East Village for a drink. It's nice to hang out with her. Also, I can't stay away from East 4th street if I try, apparently!

On the way home, I had a little bit of a conniption fit/seemingly mysterious emotional incident. I think I was staying up too late too many nights in a row and drinking too much and that it caught up with me. I am not impervious to these forces. Sometimes I forget that if I don't take care of myself, I won't feel good. I mean, duh. But when I'm doing it, that thought doesn't occur to me. But I got home and forced myself to watch Arrested Development until I crashed, and the next morning I forced myself to call Nitz so I wouldn't lay around moping all day. I went to Fort Greene and we lounged in the heat, Craig appeared out of nowhere and Julie gave me an exploding chocolate bar. Big doings, big doings! Then I went back to the burg, rented Fire Walk With Me, and went to Queens to watch it with Erin.

That movie. Is. INSANE.

GIVE ME ALL MY GARMONBOZIA!

Really, it was insane. It was like every terrifying and gross thing from all the episodes of Twin Peaks put together into two hours of nonsensical, maddening, and sometimes anger-inducing footage. Some of it was wonderful, either in the way that the show was great or in a different way. Some of it was awful. Some of it was ridiculous. For some reason, I had it in my head that some of my questions would be answered. Obviously, I was on crack thinking that David Lynch was going to help me out in any way with this movie. I should have known better! It was a lot of Ray Wise, so that was good-- lord knows I love Leland Palmer a lot. But I missed all of my other favorite characters, and it just frustrated me and made me watch the show. Super weird.

And yesterday, I tried to start cleaning/packing/all that shit that I haven't even thought about. I am starting to get nervous about my trip, going to camp, and the attendant logistics. Which I haven't figured out at all. So instead of actually relieving some stress by taking care of things, I shunted it to the side by getting sushi with Craig, lounging in the Sheep's Meadow in Central Park, and then going up up up to 107th street to the million dollar apartment of two New Year's Eve's ago for a birthday party for Therese. It was AMAZING and so many people from school, from a bunch of different years, were there. I haven't seen such a big group of school people since graduation. It was terrific.

And finally....this week, you can see me as an extra in The All-For-Nots! Watch episode 15A and keep your eyes peeled for the disaffected, vaguely lesbian hipster dressed like a sailor...it'll be me. And while we're on the subject of the AFN-- they're playing on Jimmy Kimmel tonight. Amazing! Check it out. (The bad news being that you'll have to endure Mike Meyers before they play, so...be ready.)

I think that's it.

Somebody's got an electric guitar outside, on the street, and they're playing "Tonight I'm Gonna Rock You Tonight" by Spinal Tap. Summer has arrived?

Maybe I Just Don't See The Reason.

But...


Well, I'm certifiably intoxicated. Let's see how many (if any) typographical errors I make. Tonight, I "worked" by seeing a show, then went out for Mexican and margaritas with Emma and Matt afterwards. Delicious and way, way too much. There was a brief downpour; service was bad; Kurt Vonnegut says that semicolons are "transvestite hermaphrodites that do nothing except prove you've been to college." Sue me, Kurt. I've been to college.


Craig met up with us and we eventually extricated ourselves from the morass that is Mary Ann's on Second Avenue. We then took a detour into Alphabet City, Emma got her ass groped, and we wound up back on Second Avenue at a nondescript "Irish" bar, playing darts. I am a very, very bad darts player. I had several beers, and now my fingertips are refusing to cooperate.


In the words of the Raconteurs-- should we call it a day? Yeah? Would that be okay?

I bet you check it now!

I will sing "Violet" all day today for two different reason:

1) Apparently Cyd Charisse just died.

2) You know how sometimes cats freak out and try to run but do that scramble-y thing with their feet before they actually cover any ground? Imagine a little cat doing that... on your face. You are imagining what happened to me last night. So while it didn't take an axe-blade to split my face in two, I *could* use some Bergman cheekbones. Thank you, Rory "Slash" Calhoun.

I am falling behind and I actually have things to record! BUt for now, I'll just tell you something that happened to me yesterday.

I came out of the subway and was on the NE corner of Bedford and N. 10th, and a construction guy sitting outside the corner store yelled the following at me:

"Are those real?! Fuckin' BEAUTIFUL!"

!!! What a ridiculous and hilarious thing to yell! Gordie's gf Grace happened to be coming out of Anna Maria pizza at that same moment, and she said "Anna! Why are you like this?" and made a goofy, jaw-hanging face. I told my friend Matt and his response was "I assume he wasn't talking about your knockoff designer shoes?"

Too good.

White stone!

I had a truly excellent day today, filled with fun, sun, friends, junk food, and even a little bit of good news on the "what I'm supposed to be doing here in NYC" front.

And I found a four-leafed clover!

More to come.  Last revelation:  The Hulk seems to be a nevernude.  

good honest dirty hippie fun

Today was absolutely brutal. One of my many fatal weaknesses is my complete intolerance for the heat. I'd say it's my tragic flaw, but my weakness for candy probably is closer to qualifying for that elite title. That or my love of The Osmonds. Anyway....my moaning and groaning and repining today paid off in a SPECTACULAR thunderstorm just now! Before the rain, the wind kicked up and blew so hard through the windows that plastic dishes were literally flying out of the dish drainer. My bedroom door, which either doesn't close or doesn't open was in a doesn't close phase, which meant it was slamming open and closed repeatedly. It even shattered two of the Chinese peppers on the string hanging on the doorframe. Totally unexpectedly, amidst this pre-apocalypse wind, Greg showed up! He said "It's crazy out there. The wind is insane. There's sand and dirt blowing all through the air. I had to get off my bike. It's insane. LET'S GO WATCH."

So Greg, Aldo and I walked to the water (common sense was obviously not a big part of this venture) as it started to pour. The raindrops were huge and cold and lit up by the lightning-- they looked totally silver. Beautiful. The lightning was amazing. I love a good thunderstorm. And shivering felt great, drenched to the bone. I was wearing a dress, which supports my casual theory that whenever I try to look good, nature exacts revenge on me, saying "Who do you think you are?!", but this time I didn't give a fuck.

And now I'm back in the apartment, where it is still sweltering, but I somehow feel much better.

Things are happening. Maybe one of these days I'll do any of the number of things that I know I need to do.

never turn back!

as of a few minutes ago, i have my plane tickets for my trip below the mason-dixon. leaving the 30th of june to atlanta, then to anniston, alabama--departing new orleans on july 11th. oh my gosh. excuse me while i commence panicking. ok, ok-- excited panicking. more panicking over where and how i'm going to get the church-mouse clothes i feel like i have to wear, and how i'm going to avoid fainting dead from the heat every time i move a muscle.

217!

your man in the electric city...

i'm at home, and it sure is nice.  as much as i don't want to live here, boy, is it fine to visit! sunlight, windows, no fourth-floor walkup, my beloved slinky by my side, all my records, a non-slanting floor.  grass! trees! the overgrown pool next door, mr. dugan and mr. ziskin at the high school...old letters in a box on my bookshelf to read and smile at.  food! ha! a seersucker bathrobe that i conned off my brother, a pasticiotti from the florentine in utica (wasn't i just talking about that?), lunch at peter pause with my grandparents, my mom and my cousin...a trip to PRICE CHOPPER!! reliable urchins on eastern avenue.  YES.  a sighting of the albino girls across the street and i will be set set set.  (ret-set-set?)

i have two guests at the house right now, two singers from RI.  they sat in the kitchen as my  mom and i hustled and bustled around making things.  read: i took up space, spilled flour on the counter, and broke measuring cups as my mom made a cake for me to take to the singing tomorrow.  actually, i WAS busy making jell-o to take to the brunch i'm going to on sunday-- which will be followed by the flag day parade.  what is the jell-o in the shape of this time? well, the united states of america, natch! it's creamsicle orange and is guar-an-TEED to be patriotically delicious.  (manhattan doesn't exist in it.) look for pictures later.

right now, marvin hamlisch records are beckoning to me and slinky is perched on the table beside my bed. cares, begone! worries, flee! i  guess that's the hope, at least. 

ah, schenec.

i need to read this ten more times.

sam shepard says:

Now lemme get this straight

You say
You're tortured because you can't write
Or
You can't write because you're tortured

You say
These times have made you cynical
Or
These times confirm your cynicism

Now lemme say one thing
I'd rather rope steers
Than talk politics with you

I'd rather get skunk drunk
Under a goose-neck trailer

Your despair is more boring
Than The Merv Griffin Show

Your sniveling whine
Your dime-a-dozen solutions to crime

Get off your tail and cook
Do time
Anything
But don't burn mine

Chew every word.

If I was King Lear, this is how I would describe when you could next find me buying sushi from Trader Joe's again: never, never, never, never, NEVER! (Whenever I think of that line, I think of poor Peregrine Devlin saying it at the end of 'Theatre of Blood,' as the knives are coming towards his eyes! Aie!) I don't know why I buy it-- ever since Catherine, illustrious bassist for even-more-illustrious ska band extraordinaire Captain Destructo and the Armageddon Horns, went on a twenty-minute rant about how shitty it is (this is nigh on four years ago, mind), I've had some sick compulsion to try to prove her wrong. Catherine will always be right.

This mugginess is killing me already. I sweat doing nothing. Yesterday, I went to yoga and every time I did a downward dog, I wad blinded by my own sweat rolling into my eyes. Ugh. Yoga was a farewell date for Katy and me-- she heads to Rio for three months on Sunday. Today I took a nice stroll around Soho/into Little Italy (reminiscing about Schenec's own little Italy, of course: though it hasn't been nearly as impressive since the gay bar Blythwood closed three years ago, a restaurant, two bakeries [one of which really only deals in lemon ice and mob hits, as far as I'm concerned], a biker bar and a funeral home DO constitute a cultural district of sorts...right?); saw a lot of rich, good-looking people and hated every one of them (I'll never be anything but a stormbird in various stages of disguise, I guess); made mad dashes to the Strand (for "When You Are Engulfed in Flames" by David Sedaris), Fishs Eddy (eeeeek father's day presents) and Trader Joe's (accompanied by anxiety...assuaged when the girl directing people to registers told me that my shirt was sassy) and NOW, now, millions of parentheses later, I am at work for the most pointless shift ever. Ending at TEN.

That was really obnoxious. Congratulate yourself if you actually read that.

A few nights ago I saw "The Country Girl" on Bway. Obviously I'd wanted to see it since it was announced months and months ago, because I want to see anything by Mr. Odets. I bought the script at a bookstore in my neighborhood shortly after moving to NY, but never read it. And then I dragged my feet about getting tickets, and had all but forgotten about it. And....I don't know, maybe it would have been better that way. I certainly enjoyed going, I always enjoy seeing stuff even it's crap and I wind up infuriated ie "Rafta, Rafta" at the New Group a few weeks ago. It was wonderful to see Frances McDormand. I think she's a really good fit for this type of play, and I'd love to see her play Bessie Berger in "Awake and Sing!".... in about twenty years. I think she'd be fantastic. Morgan Freeman did not thrill me in any way. Peter Gallagher was doing a sort of schticky, slicked-back hair, smooth-talking turn, but I can't say I didn't enjoy it at least a little bit. Please. I have to fight the urge to imitate Jennifer Jason Leigh's speech patterns from "The Hudsucker Proxy" every time I open my mouth, see?

Tommorrow I'm getting on a bus in the wee hours of the morning, getting picked up in Albany (Desolation Station, eh, J. Knudsen?) by G-pa, hopefully conning my gparents into taking me and Maddy to lunch at Peter Pause, swinging by the old alma mater to get the latest gossip from Mssrs. Dugan and Ziskin, and then, HOPEFULLY, logging some quality time on the floor of my room listening to Hair and Elvis Costello on vinyl with Slinky. Phew. And then begins the extravaganza-- Albany Area All-Day Singing on Saturday, social afterwards, then brunch/singing/Flag Day parade at Jesse's in Troy (Collar City for those in the know) on Sunday.
If you made it through this mess, look at these amazing photos as a reward (thanks to Boing Boing):

One with Dinos

One with a Monocle (bought at Daffy's?)

Amazing.