kerouac says

it's the kind of day that makes you want to tell everyone you love to wear helmets at all times and stay inside the house.

i never learn. by the time i signed up for the tap dancing lessons, the class was full. by the time i decided i needed the giant down duffle coat, it was sold out.

and make no mistake, it's needed. cold cold cold. snow snow snow. but i do have my excellent, life-saving (and yet remarkably attractive!) snow boots. it's a small mercy when the bad weather waits for the after-christmas sales.

it was the monkey's birthday in the middle of the snowstorm. it was attended by the best one, our other thanksgiving guest, and his friends the romanian underwear designer, the french hair colorist, and the drunken lesbian from DC. roller skating came up, and two of the party asked if i would relay their requests for sonya's hand in marriage. the monkey became a drunk skunk, and was very hard to put to bed, but all in all it was a nice time. the nicest. he is the nicest.

i was interviewed last week for a story in the real estate section in the times. if you search on my name at the times online, you should be able to find it. the monkey said he'd waited his whole life so far to be referred to as "Mr." in the new york times. one small mission accomplished.

we've decided.

the monkey and i are taking tap dancing lessons.

. . . the universe shows me to be on the faithless and ungrateful side of neutral. something good happened last night, and i'm feeling a little shamed by my whining. not too much, but i'm taking an occasion to be thankful.

and if you can think a good thought around 3:20 eastern, it'd be much appreciated.

is it human nature to claw our way towards the things that make us less liveable people? as if i weren't enough of an envy magnet, i occasionally troll the information autobahn to feed my green-eyed monster.

so dumb. as if the doings of other people has anything to do with where i am myself. but still, every resolution i've made to stop stabbing myself in the eye with my own pride eventually goes unheeded.



you should need a license to google.

i feel that the latest string of woe-is-me posts is a bad idea, karma-wise, so let me also say this: steve zissou is a reason to continue going to the movies. it may or may not interest you to know that the actual zissou lives in queens, as do i; i may or may not stalk him.

something about wes anderson movies entirely moves me. it's something to do with all these terribly depressed people moving on, or forward, or in circles, or sideways, in the face of huge, honest sadness and badness . . . they always seem very human and tender to me, and honest--partially because of all the contrivances: the antique typewriters and desk fans and intercoms, the siamese cats and spotted mice, the pastel palette and ubiquitous anjelica huston. i just love them. and i love that they make me hopeful and sad at the same time. and also, mostly, i just want the people who are doing me harm to get the hell off my boat.

i spent another day at the casting director's office yesterday, as a reader. the sweet day job guys gave me the day off, and then another few hours this afternoon when i'm going back to audition for a morgan stanley commercial. she said, "you know what, you should go out for this. they're looking for real actors." i think that was a compliment. it may also have meant that i'm not pretty enough for normal TV.

because, man, the television actors are pretty. they are unreal pretty. and most of them would not have gotten a part in my school plays in college, because as actors, most of them make good pretty people. i always figured extreme good looks could make up for a certain deficit in talent, but these kids are gorgeous and really lamentable, so i guess it sort of works the other way: only the very, very able can surmount the obstacle of mediocre looks.

there was one woman who was beautiful and really good, though. way better than i would have been able to do with the script involved. and she was wearing the same sweater i was wearing. this gives me hope.

but anyway. think good thoughts around four pee em eastern standard, if you've a mind. despite my whinging, it is a very good thing to get to go out and attempt to earn a living.

**edit: sorry about the unclosed tag. i have zero blog cred.

if you are a man doctor, and you are going to be talking to women about periods, you should maybe get to know some and ask them what periods are like. maybe also a little reading. and then when someone who comes in for her HIV test results happens to mention that she had some spotting--which happens to practically everyone, i mean really, it happens to all of us at some point, sometimes lots, usually when we're wearing new underwear--you should really lay off the "it might be uterine cancer" bit. christ.

also: HIV negative.

today i waited in line for two hours out in the drizzling cold. and lame it was, because very few other actors showed up looking for an audition slot, so we could have come at ten a.m. instead of seven and gotten the same place in line. i missed my sleep, i had a bizarre and troubling pain in my neck and shoulder, and by the when the sign-up time came and went and the Equity monitor had to sign us up on the cold wet street outside the theatre because no one showed up on time to let us in, i started fuming. it didn't help that the monitor was rude. we signed up and then hightailed it into the just-opening barnes and noble to sit down somewhere warm and spend my last three dollars for a hot chocolate.

and then i got inside the theatre, finally, and i was feeling ill-prepared and cold and achy and angry and could really see how the whole experience was going to work out in multiples of bad: so much effort and early alarms and waiting and rain only to deliver something mediocre is way worse than just plain mediocrity alone.

except it was good for once. not just for once, because i've been quite happy with my auditions for the last few months, but for once the person in charge thought it was good, too, and instead of looking at me with casting director game face (which looks a lot like "you have something hanging out of your nose"), she looked at me and smiled and said, "wow. that was really good. really very good." and then she sat me down and talked to me for a few minutes and wrote things down and confirmed my phone number and made me watch her write a large "VG" on the top of my resume and circle it.

and then she told me i was pretty.

for reals.

and then she thanked me for starting her morning off so well, told me again how good it was, and i left the room. and i made it about four minutes before running-eth over with big dorky tears because sometimes when something good happens unexpectedly, it's like being punched in the guts.

i don't care if she was lying her ass off. i don't care if she complimented every hack who came through the door, or if she just wanted to get into my pants. everyone should have a morning like that.

this is kieran otis murray; we met face to face last week. i knew him back when he was inside a belly.


i absolutely adore him.