Everybody's talking like they can't sit down, and looking like they can't stand up.

Sometimes, in the morning, I get up when real people get up (not 10.30), and go out, and do things that real people do, like walk around or drink coffee in a cafe. And it is lovely. Today, the nip in the air is nice, the sun is nice, the flowering trees are beyond nice, the dogs, the people, the company, the everything.

Last night I went to BAM to see Endgame by Samuel Beckett. So I've decided that I'm really, really not very into Beckett, at all at all at all. At least not right now. Honestly, I don't know what the play was "about," what I was theoretically supposed to be getting out of it, and I'm not that interested in trying to figure it out or dedicate much thought to it. I was mostly there to see the four actors (Elaine Stritch, Alvin Epstein, John Turturro, Max Casella) because I like each of them individually (ok, except maybe A.E.) and wanted to see them together. Weirdest cast ever.

ANYWAY, my point is that the evening would have been sort of unremarkable (or perhaps even remembered negativgely, since the fucking guy next to me couldn't stop sniffling (aka ruining my life) AND the bar of the balcony was running right through my field of vision) EXCEPT for the fact that something terrible and terrific happened. John Turturro, Hamm, spends the whole play in this big heavy wood chair that has wheels on the legs, and early-ish in the play he asks Clov, Max Casella, to wheel him around the room so he can feel the walls. Clov doesn't bring him close enough, so Hamm yells at him and Clov almost rams the chair into the wall, to get back at him. when this happened, the bag leg's wheel fell off. M.C. picked it up really calmly, and eventually tried to fix it while still delivering his lines. He seemed nervous and they adapted some business involving moving the chair, and I thought the result was actualy hilarious and probably better than what it was supposed to be. But what do I know. Anyway, this goes on for some time, MC fiddles with the wheel again, and it seems like everything is copacetic.

20 minutes later, Hamm has this massive speech where he's telling his dad an installment of this crazy story he's making up. His dad is in a garbage can, further downstage. J.T. flings his arms open and the chair, as if in slow motion, hurtles backward. The audience gasped louder than I've ever heard any gasp, JT smacked his head on the stage, and MC came running on. Staying mostly in the moment and in character, he assessed the situation and JT starts yelling "I don't need my chair to finish my story! I need to finish my story!" and starts wriggling out of the chair and crawling over to the garbage can. MC starts trying to get the chair righted and then this stagehand runs on and wheels the chair off. For the rest of the story, JT sat next to the can, and from the back of the stage, you could hear hammering and drilling and stuff. Which is hilarious, because Endgame is sort of supposed to exist in a VACUUM. Or something.

The conclusion of this hilarity was at the end of the story, someone coming over the God mic, saying "Ladies and gentlemen, we'll hold to bring the chair back on, it is fixed" and a stagehand whisking it on. They could have not said anything, and I wish they hadn't. I am also fully confident that they would have figured something out if they HADN'T taken the chair away and I kind of wish thay they hadn't.

It was wonderful. Later lines in the play had new, funny significance all of a sudden, and I don't even (or only) mean cheaply funny. It was wonderful to watch them adapt and scramble and compensate for the accident. And it made me think about all the stupid things that have gone wrong in shows I've been in.

Work has been silly lately-- two nights of drinking on the job raised morale a little bit. Had to watch one of the worst things I've ever seen in my life...but it was a fundraiser to, you know, stop GENOCIDE, so I look like a bastard if I complain about the shittiness of the thing. I don't care. It was super shitty. My friend Matt at work texted me from the sound board "I'm glad you're here to see this-- it's the real cultural atrocity."

Today, I will hopefully coerce Nitz to see the cherry blossoms with me, then we will hopefully go see Jhumpa Lahiri read at the Strand, then I will come home and hopefully binge to excess on Twin Peaks. These are my hopes.

The same old way...

Indulge me in a minute of brain-picking ranting:

I'm getting so if I don't have to work, and I don't have anything planned, I get a little panicky. THIS is how much I've let myself neglect myself. While it's unrealistic to assume I would spend every waking minute that I'm not at work pursuing my career/art/whatever (ok, it's really not that unrealistic), I should hope I'd spend SOME of my time doing that. I mean, for me. Jesus! Isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing? Isn't that what I WANT to be doing? But all I do is watch tv, cross-stitch, mope around at the computer, have solo dance parties, or let the dirty dishes pile up around me.

The point is, I think, that I need to maybe adjust my attitude about solo time and try, just try, to be a little more motivated or productive. Or, at the very least, be easier on myself when I'm not either of those things. Because if I"m not doing anything, I may as well try to feel okay about it.

Right?

Man, I don't know.

This being said, I've been lucky to see friends lately. After work on Friday, I took a walk with Ben and ate some Pomme Frites. He was dropping a play off in the LES somewhere so he stopped by. Or maybe it was: he was dropping a play off, and walked by. I don't know. Either way, it was an interaction far more pleasant and civil than any of our previous ones, which was good. Yes, good. After that, I went to the Strand and blew $20-something on books and some squared Moleskines for x-stitch charts. Then I went to Forbidden Planet and bought the newest American Splendor. Some part of me really loves going in that place and looking at the bizarre mix of people in there. Fanboys and girls, Japanese cutie pies, fat old dudes, hipsters, all kinds. I love it. Then I read A.S. in Union Square while a man in a suit stared at me. For half an hour. Stared. At. Me. I tried to ignore it but eventually it became too much.

Craig got out of work and we met up but he had a searing headache and I was tired of carrying my books and we couldn't agree on anything to do so it looked like a classic Anna/Craig passive-aggressive encounter was about to occur, but he finally gave in to the temptation of Red Stripe in my fridge and came back to Wburg with me. Gossiping and drinking ensued.

Yesterday, I had a brief but fun visit with Joanna and Justin, singing friends from Boston. We walked around Thomson Square Park and they expressed shock and horror at every hipster/weirdo we passed. They don't coime to NY much. He doesn't leave the plantation much. :)

Today, I met up with Emily (one night only, folks!), Julie, and Molly for breakfast at the hip and delicious Egg on North 6th. We had to wait about 45 minutes, but it was no big thing and we were obviously happy to catch up while waiting. I had eggs and grits and they were....mmmmm. Uh-huh. It was wonnnnnnderful to see them. After, Julie and I went to Brooklyn Industries where I bought a bag, thinking "I'll return it in a few days, when common sense kicks in." Too bad she stamped FINAL SALE on my receipt. Looks like I'll have to keep it. Rats.

Tonight was work, watching tv on the computer, reading boring boring boring verbose thick unexciting (but I am halfway through so have to slog through) "Atonement," and eventually drinking beer with Chriz and Elliot, listening to Lily Allen, in the box office. I get paid for this? Give me a break.

Now? Twin Peaks.

the sad state of my life (abridged):

me: god damn. elvis costello was 24 when he made 'armed forces.'
Erin: damn
me: i want to scream
Erin: no. we have Etsy.

New stuff...

...on Slinky Calhoun!

Dios mio.

Gahhhhh.
I'm in a little mood so I thought I'd remind myself of all the wonderful things I've been doing lately and hopefully, that way, feel a little better.

First, my cell phone came back to life. Frankenphone?

This weekend was fun. I did stupid things like shop and spend money (on ridic dresses and jeans that are too tight and such like....stuff I'll probably return but the point is that I bought it in the first place. I'm making progress.) Stayed up late late on Saturday then woke up (late) to go to a birthday brunch for Molly on the Upper West Side, accompanied by Julie, Michael, Craig, and one of Molls' roommates. It was really nice to see people, to eat frivolous food, to be out somewhere...nice. Then I killed two hours at the Columbus Ave flea market, trying on vintage frames and buying old postcards. (The guy next to me, unfortunately, bought up many of the ones I wanted...turns out he was from Troy and we had similar tastes. Bummer. AND he was unfriendly and didn't want to talk about the Capital District. Screw him.) After that it was to St. Bart's for a quick hour and a half of singing- the group was sparse but well-intentioned, and I tried my best to sing alto. It went better than it has in the past. And then I went to work!

Yesterday I futzed around, went to the Farmer's Market, ran into Jess and Mikey who were on a "domestic errand," then went to a free reading of three short plays written by JR Baitz, S. Ruhl, and L. Kron in honor of Earth Day. They were at NYU. I hate NYU. Craig met me there and we snickered at a man falling asleep in the front row and marvelled at how bad some actors are. (Am I a bitch? I don't care.) Then we got free coffee, sat in "Homeless Park (Lebewohl)" and listend to a guy wearing headphones rant about how his landlord "screwed him," then belatedly decided to get sushi. We did. I wanted to barf. Then we went back to my apartment, listened to Gershwin, read personal correspondences (not our own), drank beers, and reminisced about the good places people used to live in Boston. It was, after all, the most Bostonian of all holidays-- Patriots' Day! Or Marathon Monday.

[I feel somewhat better now. (The source of mood is the impending (so I think) ream-out I'm going to get from my boss. Maybe it won't happen. Maybe it will. I think it will. I don't feel like feeling bad today.)]

I'm reading 'Atonement' and I'm finding it really hard to get through. As I told Craig, I think 7 of the last 15 or so books I've read, and this is going back a ways, have been K. Vonnegut books, and I've gotten used to being able to blaze through them. So all of this detail, this incessant detail about the smell of the grass and the look of the sky and the feel of the silk and the quality of the light....it's beating me down. I was going to give up but I hate doing that, AND nothing had really happened yet (though I was 90 pages in) and I didn't want to put it down without having given it a really fair chance. Then this review exceprt on the first page caught my eye: "...with one of the most remarkable erotic scenes in modern fiction..." So I had to keep reading. Obviously.

I'm going to push on with that. Then hide under the counter to avoid the diatribe.

Obviously...

I am without a cell phone. Again.

This time?  Let's just say I made a nice pot of cell phone soup today. Here's the recipe:


Ingredients:
One cell phone
One bottle of water (make sure it has a leaky cap)
One bar of goat's-milk soap (bought at Bedford Cheese today)

Place all ingredients into rubber chicken-shaped purse.  Get on the B61 bus.  Sip your water right before you get off the bus, but make sure you don't close the cap tightly. Sit on the  bus, reading and gazing out the window and the beautiful day. Put water bottle back into your bag.

Shake it up a little bit.

Get off the bus in Fort Greene, by the Walt Whitman Projects. Notice the water dripping onto your foot. Plunge your hand into your chicken-shaped purse to find....cell phone soup! Yay! Tasty AND incommunicado!

So, yes. That's what's happening. After a fit of rage and then a fit of crying, I seem to be mostly over it. Ugh. When will I be a grownup?!

(Also, to my own...whatever...it WAS an accident. At least I wasn't wasted this time, right? Eh.)

Watch out if you're unzipped!

I told Craig that I'm going to Alabama for a week in the summer. He said:
"You dig up old veteran's graves, hug them, tell them it is ok they seceeded, you forgive them, and then bury them again?"

He knows me too well!
(Given, a year ago RIGHT NOW is the period of time where we'd be at CFA together until approx. 1:00 in the morning every day. Doing work. But also jumping over chairs, running away from perceived ghsots, and/or using BUSTAMFOP money to buy hot dogs.)

So, my parents were in town! I neglected to mention that. They arrived on Monday morning and we immediately started picking at each other. But....in a loving way? Right? We ate a disgusting amount of fried Polish food of all different varieties at Kasia's, then went to Brooklyn Heights where they each uttered their catchphrase, "Look at this joint!," at least five times apiece. I knew they would like it there. We walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and then wandered around Chinatown trying to buy I <3 NY t-shirts to send to Evan in Africa. I nearly lost my mind because of the Asian ladies GRABBING ME and yelling "You want bag?" but this was redeemend when I saw a Jesus-on-the-cross statue that said "THE PRINCE OF PEA" underneath. There just wasn't room for that "CE," I guess. And it made all the difference.
After this we yelled at each other some more, jovially...then had more food at Island Burger. Then we were dismayed to find out that the L train wasn't running....at all...from Manhattan to Brooklyn....so we took an epic trek involving the 6, the J, and walking fifteen blocks. More yelling ensued. Then they drove me to Erin's, where Erin, Jacob and I consumed large quantities of the Champagne of Beers and played Karaoke Revolution until Frenchie pounded violently on the ceiling. (The remarkable thing was that he wasn't sent over the egde by Come Sail Away, or Bohemian Rhapsody, or even Rihanna's Unfaithful-- no. It was My Heart Will Go On.) I mean, it WAS 1:30 AM on a Monday, but wtf needs sleep?

Next morning I bussed, belatedly, back to the burg, beaten there by Brother (cousin, Amish joke) Matthew. Parents got there after being stuck on the BQE for an hour and a half. Good moods prevailed! No, actually, everyone was happy after we had donuts at Peter Pan. We ate at Kasia's again, so Matt could have Polish food, and everyone went their separate ways. I immediately rode my bike around the neighborhood, trying to remember to use the handbrakes and not futilely jam my heels back when I needed to stop. It's going to take some getting used to. Later, I rode it to the Greenpoint library and checked out some Walt Whitman. Obviously this is some sort of phase. Erin and Jacob agree that I'm getting spoiled by my 'hood. I think they're right.

And now I'm at work. Let's hope I actually do something productive today.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh sometimes theatre is so GOOD!

I just got back from August: Osage County and it was everything I wanted it to be and much, much more.

(And hey-- maybe I'll move to Chicago! Some day. We can't all be Kathryn Erbe or John Malkovich, I know; nonetheless, I think I'd give a finger to be a Steppenwolf member. Hyperbole? Let me check. Mmmm.....nope!)

Histrionics aside, the show was amazing. The script is behemoth and intricate and incredible--never slow, always engaging, full of twists that afterwards I thought 'But how didn't I see that?' but at the time never OCCURRED to me (and that's a good thing). The performances knocked my socks off. Deanna Dunagan is unbelievable. They're all unbelievable. It revved me up, and made me excited. I have to see more good theatre. It makes me remember why I am doing all of this. Sitting in my room? Doesn't remind me.

All I can say is: Eeeeeeh!

...and some links.

This warms my heart while making me jealous AND hopeful. I love him.

This is very, very bad. They're right across the street! I don't like it at all.

This is basically the best thing ever. Could that cat rock more?

BA DUM TISH!

thought i posted this DAYS ago. didn't.

(I guess I wrote this on Saturday? Whatever. It's currently Tuesday.)

It's another beautiful day here in Williamsburg. Lots of folks on bikes, a million different varieties of ballgames going on in the park, and people wearing as little as they can without looking like total idiots. Sometimes failing that respect. (Says the girl who just went outside wearing a lime green turban/cloche from Saks circa 1965...)

Life's been pretty good lately.

Faithful friend Rinnz and I saw The All-For-Nots at the Annex in the Lower East Side. We got there way too early, of course, even after I derailed us with an unintentional detour to Avenue D (scenic, and teenagers hit on us). We alighted to the upper area to "quietly judge people," in Rinnz's words, endured a shit-tastic screamo band from Miami Beach (they kept yelling 'Miami!' as if anyone gives a fuck) whose guitar player kept waggling his finger manically while he sang. I don't know about you, but that doesn't appeal to me.

Annnnnyay, bitchiness aside....the AFN played what I thought was a great set, and people were really enthusiastic. (I briefly considered seeking out fangirls and selling them secrets. It didn't happen.) I felt like I was playing dress-up a little bit, in my snazzy hip Brooklyn Industries dress (who am I), wearing high heels, but I got over myself and even managed to dance a little bit. (I was determined to be the complete opposite of myself the last time I saw the AFN--or rather, AFTER I saw the AFN last time (meaning a wasted idiot), so I was concentrating on keeping it together, mentally AND physically... aka being a bit of a stiff.) But they sounded awesome, they really did, and it was great to see people enjoying them. I talked to Brian a little bit and he said that two of his friends had just asked him who writes Larry's blog. A tee-hee.

(Sort of on the same note-- and I'm not going to dwell on this-- there was a vitriolic blog entry about the show and the band posted a few days ago which specifically mentioned that "the band's annoying fake manager has an annoying real blog." I would be lying if said I didn't feel a momentary twinge of something akin to pride. As my friend said "Well, I mean, you wanted it to be annoying, and it is." Success? Other than that: fuck bloggers. Um, not me, though? Whatever. I'm not a real blogger.)

After that, I made my way in the misty rain to Kettle Of Fish on Christopher for another excellent installment of Middle Earth. Since it was already almost midnight, the crowd was thinning out, but we lacked in quantity we made up for in quality. Lots of fun and friends and drinks and darts....later in the night lots of pizza and fries and teenage black drag queens, not making it up, and even later, lots of creepy borderline-sexual harassment on the subway platform by a CRAZY Italian man who told me 'You're killing me slowly. I like the pain.' (Someone said: "What is it with you and these foreign guys?!" I think they can tell I'm an easy target.)

And then it's been work, work, whatever, sitting around in the park, sunshine, good people, decadence, and things like that.

I can't really complain.

Crackling in the stratosphere.

Clifford Odets says, in his journal: "Then I went to bed, thinking that it had been a comfortable but a dull day and night. What do you want? Fireworks all the time? Yes, that is exactly what I want."


Yes, that is exactly what I want.

My head might explode...

...from how much I love Liam!

The dazzlingly-witty Mr. Mulshine sent me a card full of wonderful things (i.e. a Pleasure Chest "Wish List" sticky notepad), but the most wonderful thing of all was the card itself. Please find the cover here...




And read his accompanying critical analysis (emphasis on the "anal"):

"Don't you love the photo? I find it delighfully silly and utterly queer (in all senses of the word!) at the same time, sort of like two Wilde-ian fin-de-siecle lovers in a drunken attempt at Fat Joe's 'Lean Back' dance. At least that's how I like to think of it. The confusing part: Who goes into a photo studio and poses like that, that long ago? I mean, they really went to quite some trouble, what with the backdrop and all. Fun things to note: the fallen hat, the crumpled hat, the half-on jacket, the fancy buttoned shoe, the undone collar, and the moustachioed guy's arthritis fingers. Or are they just foppishly splayed? Guess who's spent too much time looking at this photo?"

Gulag romance?

My prison-camp-hottie of a neighbor (he's from Eastern Europe) just introduced himself to me (I guess he's forgotten the time I borrowed his phone for half an hour) and kissed me on the cheek and said 'Maybe some time we will go out for a drink.'

I mean....

Cats on Leashes!

Oh, for the love of god! I can't even keep up with this stupid blog. Which is ostensibly written for myself. Sort of. I mean. It's written for you. (And you. And you!) Whatever, anyway, I've been working on the most epic post ever about my terrible/wonderful night at La Mama but it got so long that I felt like I would be imposing on cyberspace to post it. So here I'll just blurt out everything else I want to say.

Sondre Lerche has a wonderful song called "My Hands Are Shaking," shaking from "carrying this torch for you." Unrequited/unfulfilled love in a cute Norwegian accent. One of the lines is "My sheets are tearing, from sleeping in too long, sleeping in too long with you." Well, I certainly have been sleeping in, though not with you (or you, or you, or anyone else), but when I woke up this morning, my pillowcase had a big rip in it. I don't know.

A few days ago, I was leaving Erin's apartment and it was kind of drizzling and I was kind of sad, I don't remember why (I'm not sure I knew at the time) and I was walking to the train and an old man who had nice clothes on and a hat was approaching the corner at the same time I was. I stopped so we wouldn't run into each other, and then he looked at me, tipped his hat, and let me go by. I immediately got a huge lump in my throat, and choked out 'Thanks' before passing him. I don't know if it was because it was such an unexpected moment of niceness, or because he was so cute, or what. Again...I don't know.

Yesterday I spent the afternoon with Craig, walking around Fort Tryon park, arguing about where the Bronx starts and Manhattan ends, and marvelling at the fact that he has a couch and two armchairs in his room. In his room!! Not to mention a bed and a tv that's about as large as my stove. We saw a lady walking a cat, on a leash, in the scurf next to the road, underneath a construction site....near to where someone's tire had been somehow ripped off their car. This city, this city... Then I got a call telling me I didn't have to work, which was a wonderful surprise, so I went to dinner and a movie with Nitz, Miss Molly, Craig, and Julie. We saw 'The Band's Visit,' an Israeli movie from last year, and it was greaaaaaaaaaaaat. Then we all went to Molly's and drank a lot of cheap wine. So many nice surprises yesterday. I DO know that.

Our eternal houseguest has departed. I can't say I'm sad. So I won't say anything.

The weather's been nice and a little disorienting. Two days ago I was too cold to take as long a walk as I wanted at 7:00. The day before that, a stroll at 11:00 was mild and lovely...after the monsoon had ended, that is. Today is gloomy.

Here's a sample of what I've been eating lately. I am taking a page from Joseph Cornell, from the looks of it: doughnuts from Peter Pan. Star Crunch cakes. A beer milkshake. Sushi. Candy. Bowls of cereal at midnight. HobNobs. Endless cups of tea. I'm going to disintegrate! No one can live on a diet like that!

I'm going singing tomorrow, which I'm really, really happy about. I can't stay the whole time, and I have to run right from there to the lesbian extravaganza of stress at LM, but I am glad to be going at all. I keep thinking of a line from a song in the Sacred Harp: "Give me a calm and thankful heart, from every murmur free." They're talking about Jesus, of course, but that doesn't mean that I have to be thinking about Jesus when I say it!

(Then again, I don't know if I really want a "calm" heart. Only sometimes do I think that would be nice. Generally, I think I am appreciative of my manic, frantic heart.)

Ahhhh! There is cereal to be eaten. Goodbye!

eFlux Capacitator?

Guess who fell for the Gmail April Fool's joke?

I did, I did!

AMAZING.