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.

Better yet-- I'll wear shades on sunless days.

For once, I'm happy to say that things have actually been going on. I've been doing stuff. Hard to believe, I know, but....sometimes the seemingly impossible can occur.

Monday night, rehearsals started for The Civil Wargasm. I didn't really realize it or admit it to myself before they began, but I was really pretty nervous. I did a lot of fast and dirty rewrites on the play, and before now I hadn't touched it since I was in London, and even then not really. I always read everything out loud and of course I know how the Platonic ideal version sounds, in my head (I just struggled to come up with "Plato"-- my instincts first said "Diogenes? No....Hegel?"), but hearing it read by actual people is always different. But Pat has assembled a good cast and they all seem psyched to be there and about the material--one of the actors bought Confederates in the Attic! Cute. I was running on hyper speed and made at least five un-funny jokes about doing crack and things like that. Hilarious.

Before rehearsal, Erin and I made an exciting trip to Pearl for some arts-n-crafts nonsense and then met up with our Mormon lookalike buddy, Professor Andrew Clayman. He really looks Mormon these days. We had a surprisingly less-than-excellent dinner at Excellent Dumpling House (Erin fretted: "This is NOT a good Excellent Dumpling House initiation for you, Andy!") while catching up on who's got kids (one of Andy's students is pregnant and we were reminiscing about the old days of girls doing crossword puzzles in gym class...or playing ping-pong) and who's in Schenectady blah blah blah. It's the same conversation we always have. It's cute to see Andy these days because we all always joked that all he ever wanted to do was become the new Doctor Wolos and thanks to something, possibly good karma, that's essentially exactly what he's done. It's nice when things work out well for people. (But only people I like, of course.)

Yesterday, I went to a brutal yoga class where the teacher actually touched me-- this usually doesn't happen because the classes are so big and there's no way they can pay attention to everyone. But I lucked out and got their early enough to be in the totally La Boheme upstairs studio-- you can see rooftops and chimneys out the window--with the crazy crazy man who is some sort of BMOC in the world of Yoga to the People. As usual, I thought I was going to die, but felt great afterwards. All the instructors have their own spiel and he likes to talk about doing what your body wants to do-- and he said "Why not let yourself be guided by what feels amazing?" And I wanted to yell "Hear, hear!" It's something for me to aspire to-- so often I guide myself by what feels horrible. Why? Why do that? Seek out the good.

I got a text from the illustrious Gabe Levey yesterday asking if I'd read stage directions in a reading he was in later in the night. I said yes, and though it eventually fell through, I went to see the reading and then went out with him afterwards, which was totally wonderful. Lee met up with us and we did major catching up. The best news is the Gabe is going to start working in the box/as house manager at La Mama! Amazing.

Though that reminds me of all the anxiety that's creeping into my daily life about my planned trip to Boston for the month of May. The specific anxiety that comes with the phrase "I'll see if I can get out of work that night/day/week/month" is a kind that I don't like at all. Not one bit.

And now, today. Work, and then a grant-seeking workshop with Katy, and then hopefully, if the stars align in my favor, seeing Slaughterhouse-Five at 59E59. It involves perfect timing, the MTA being sweet to me, retrieving my student ID, and pulling a scam. As usual.

I am realizing anew that life is much better when I am working. Working on my own stuff, I mean. It is better to work. Yes.

Also, being in the rehearsal for Wargasm made me remember just how much I like acting and how I want to do it, uh, now.

What a life. Right?