Monday, May 05, 2003
this morning started off shitty. the doctor's appointment i had to come back from new york for this morning got screwed by bad appointment keeping, and then i wasn't called for rehearsal--i even accidently payed for a day's extra parking at the airport lot where i left my car. apparently, every force but my own knows i should have stayed in new york an extra day.
but the truth is, how could i care? it is sunny, and i'm in a coffee shop with pigtails on drinking yerba mate, listening to love songs too loudhhh. shhh. don't tell, but i'm young today.
the city was the home it's been lately. the best one and her best one and i sat in a bistro and talked about summer (and i was told about the very phenomenon alex wrote about yesterday, the one where you find an empty subway car in the summer and it's for a reason, and the reason is: stinking bishop. www.brokentype.com. pretty links will have to wait until blogger has better mac support). and i saw the monkey's show.
he is so good. i know i'm supposed to think this, but i am proud and relieved that i can say it with no blush whatsoever. he is really good. it's like dating kevin kline.
we're more like family these days. a good thing, the best inevitiability, although he mentioned missing october. i suppose i miss it a little myself.
and when i say family, i mean the conjugal family. i mean, your emergency contact who you also get dirty with at nighttime.
in the ladies room during the interval of his show, there was a woman at the next sink who belched seven times (i'm pretty sure it was seven, but you only start counting after the person has belched inordinately, so it's a, howyousay, guesstimate). after the show, chris said to me, "so, the belching lady was there tonight," and my jaw dropped. apparently the poor woman had some head trauma and now comes to all the shows at this space and belches and gets crushes on the male actors and asks to touch their chests. they've all learned to smile at her and say, "i'm married."
when i came to the space to see the matinee, i made lovely eye contact with an elderly man as i turned the corner, and just as we broke the smile, he farted. i was so glad for him that we weren't still looking at each other, and then he farted again. apparently, the upper eastside is just gas haven.
also, i was wearing a strapless dress, and this lady came over to where the monkey and i were sitting with his Nicest Friends, and said: "i don't suppose any of you have a pen?" and then she looked at me and said, "well, i suppose *you* don't," and mimed taking something cylindrical out of her (imaginary) cleavage. well, really.
i was an usher at the matinee the next afternoon and the first patron into the theatre gave me a piece of candy "as a present." these people really exist, and they live in new york.
ooo, ooo, ooo. i sing every song.
but the truth is, how could i care? it is sunny, and i'm in a coffee shop with pigtails on drinking yerba mate, listening to love songs too loudhhh. shhh. don't tell, but i'm young today.
the city was the home it's been lately. the best one and her best one and i sat in a bistro and talked about summer (and i was told about the very phenomenon alex wrote about yesterday, the one where you find an empty subway car in the summer and it's for a reason, and the reason is: stinking bishop. www.brokentype.com. pretty links will have to wait until blogger has better mac support). and i saw the monkey's show.
he is so good. i know i'm supposed to think this, but i am proud and relieved that i can say it with no blush whatsoever. he is really good. it's like dating kevin kline.
we're more like family these days. a good thing, the best inevitiability, although he mentioned missing october. i suppose i miss it a little myself.
and when i say family, i mean the conjugal family. i mean, your emergency contact who you also get dirty with at nighttime.
in the ladies room during the interval of his show, there was a woman at the next sink who belched seven times (i'm pretty sure it was seven, but you only start counting after the person has belched inordinately, so it's a, howyousay, guesstimate). after the show, chris said to me, "so, the belching lady was there tonight," and my jaw dropped. apparently the poor woman had some head trauma and now comes to all the shows at this space and belches and gets crushes on the male actors and asks to touch their chests. they've all learned to smile at her and say, "i'm married."
when i came to the space to see the matinee, i made lovely eye contact with an elderly man as i turned the corner, and just as we broke the smile, he farted. i was so glad for him that we weren't still looking at each other, and then he farted again. apparently, the upper eastside is just gas haven.
also, i was wearing a strapless dress, and this lady came over to where the monkey and i were sitting with his Nicest Friends, and said: "i don't suppose any of you have a pen?" and then she looked at me and said, "well, i suppose *you* don't," and mimed taking something cylindrical out of her (imaginary) cleavage. well, really.
i was an usher at the matinee the next afternoon and the first patron into the theatre gave me a piece of candy "as a present." these people really exist, and they live in new york.
ooo, ooo, ooo. i sing every song.
