kerouac says

i watched some of the drama desk awards on public television today while recovering from jetlag. one of my least favorite things about myself is that i cannot watch an awards ceremony that involves acting laurels without rehearsing my speech. i know that lots of people do this, but i would really like to be one of the ones who doesn't. at least, i would like not to move myself to tears when i go into the bathroom to watch myself rehearse it in the mirror. i mean, that is so fake.

for a few years, when i was in my early twenties, i couldn't watch the oscars. i got this terrible feeling under my sternum, like i was going to pound starlets in the eyeballs with scissors. it receded, but i wonder if it isn't a telling example of what it'll be like if i'm off the market in a PhD program. it's when i'm not getting to do the acting that watching the commendations gets me feeling all macbeth.

i still think the grad school try is a good idea. but i'm starting to be frightened of what it'll be like to realize i am not ever, ever going to be a company member at ashland or a guest victim on law and order. when i thought about what i wanted to say in my so fake thank you speech, i wanted to say: there was this time i thought that it wasn't going to work out, and it made me really sad.

it does make me really sad. being a professor or a dramaturg or a literary manager somewhere nice and maybe getting to have a baby would make it better, but i wonder if it would ever not make me sad. i hope it wouldn't make me the kind of sad that leads to bitter old age and a drinking problem. i don't think so, but you never know. i also tell myself that going back to school doesn't necessarily represent the End of the Affair; that i can still audition for some stuff and when we move, eventually, as i am sure we will, to a more liveable city, i'll be the kind of well-employed lady who can also be in plays.

i was telling the one who's least afraid, one time, that i know i need to get over myself and my ideas about failure, but the best way of getting over it would be to become successful. i still think that's true. so as much as i'm looking forward to the familiar bosom of academia . . .

come on, world. i'm working hard, and you have one year to discover me at the drug store soda fountain. one year, motherfuckers.

*item: when i see a famous person in new york, chances are two in four that it is parker posey. and this time, like my mother, i recognized her dog first.

me: oh, that dog loves me.

pause.

me, whispering: parkerposey.

monkey: what?

me: that's parker posey.

monkey: you always think you see parker posey. that woman's butt is too big to be parker posey.

guy walking by her on the street: oh, hey! parker!

*item: the best one makes me laugh so hard.

her: . . . so, it's about time. i've got to get off the pot.

me: or, you know. shit.

her: right. but the point is, i can't just keep sitting on the pot.

me: but isn't shitting the preferred outcome?

her: i think they're equal.

me: but the whole reason you got on the pot was to shit, right?

her: . . .

*item: i met a crazy old guy in the lobby of my shrink's building and i was nice for once in my life and then it turned out he's an agent and wants me to come by later so we can talk about him representing me. chances that this man is a nutjob are high, but . . . you know. yay.

*item: the show went okay, despite the fact that i couldn't interact with the audience because i was blinded by the first electric and could see only a hazy screen of amber stage light. a guy may want to publish part of it in a trade paper as a first person essay. the producer didn't show, but lots of people said nice things and i have a date to do it again in september.

*item: amsterdam. see you not next week, but the week after.

the monkey left for st. louis today.

it's okay. there's a lot to do. boxes to put away, couches to buy, amsterdams to travel.

still, though.

the show happens tomorrow, and actually, it's going to be fine. i'm pretty sure, at least. and since some guy who saw the last thing i did and decided he likes me (and is also a producer at this really great place) may be coming to see it, i hope i'm right.

send vibes.

i have a slot in a performance series next week to do some bits of a one-woman show i've been purportedly writing for six months or so. in reality, i worked for six weeks barfing up material while taking a class, got the slot, and then ignored the deadline. actually, i had the original performance date pushed back because i thought we were moving house in april, only to realize that we were actually moving in may, the week before my rescheduled go-date (which is a day after the monkey leaves town).

i'm bummed, and sort of disgusted with myself. i don't get a lot of stage time out here, and i've goofed this opportunity to be a very small rock star. i've reluctantly scaled down my expectations and started to memorize the text i've got, and it's going to be fine, but it could have been better. it could have been definitely very good, and maybe it will only be, like, okay.

and really, the worst part is that realizing my mistake doesn't make me want to buckle down and get it done. i want the Redemption Fairy to sprinkle some stuff on me that resolves the bad feeling so that i can go have a cookie. i am twelve.

in my head, i ran all over hell and half of georgia today screaming we're moving in two days! it's that important. closing tomorrow; moving on friday. if you want the new address, and you're the sort of person who would normally have it, you should already know or be able to find the email address you can use to get it.

like, if you wanted to send beautiful postcards from urban planning school in wales.

i have this part-time telecommuting job working for g00gle that involves looking at a lot of random webpages, and today i ran into this:

"wishes are like goldfish with propellors."

no idea, but i feel certain it's true on one of the seven levels.

(moving!)

metropolitan diary: last week the monkey and i were in one of those old bars with lots of dark wood where you *could* drink something other than a shot and a beer, but no one does, and it was packed, and just about the time i realized i was having to yell to make myself heard across the tiny table, the bartender yelled, "QUIET!" and everyone sat there silent for a few seconds, and the vibe was sort of shocked-and-chastised, and then some guy started clinking his spoon against his water glass, crying "speech! speech! speech!" and the whole bar joined in, but the bartender didn't give a speech, he just bounced the loud English guy who'd drunk so much he thought it was polite to put his head in my pizza.

you were all so nice to leave comments. sorry i was lost in other stuff and didn't notice.

item: the one who is least afraid is not afraid to get married. i am thrilled.

also my parents are in italy. they sent me emails their first day; my mother about losing her debit card and a hundred euros before she even stepped on italian soil, and my father about zooming around florence on a rented bicycle. "twisty streets. death haunts every corner," he wrote. i asked him please to be careful, since my recall of italy was of dodging a lot of taxis as a lowly pedestrian. "no death problems," he wrote back. "i'm learning how."

me, too. i've spent the last couple of weeks telling most of the important people that i'm applying to the performance studies program at tisch this fall. i don't know why it's suddenly so clear, but i haven't been so happy in a long, long time. i'll still be on the pavement for a year, all early morning auditioning and shit, and i'll keep sending postcards of my face to all the usual suspects, but come next june i fully expect to be a co-ed once again. i keep reminding myself i do have to get in first, and all my letters of recommendation and academic writing samples are seven years old. there's a row to hoe ahead, but: happy is worth a lot.

and, we move this week. closing is set, finally, for thursday, and everything moves the next day. beefy guys are coming to carry our boxes. packing is never disneyland, but it is oddly uplifting this time around. us. our home. for reals.