Wednesday, July 27, 2005
don't talk to me about this.
i haven't felt so bad in a long time.
i got home from a brilliant, lovely day of getting paid to do what i do--the only times, lately, that i get paid for this stuff is when a good friend of mine hires me to be sort of a resident improvisor for a company that works with advertisers and uses improv to come up with brand mascots--to find out that San Francisco Slim, the guy who likes to have sex with nineteen year old virgins while they're sleeping, is trying to find me again.
he called my parents. he googled me and then emailed a theatre company i worked with and asked them to forward a message.
the message said that he'd heard i was going to be in san francisco this weekend, and that he'd LOVE to see me.
and i have not felt so bad, not in a long time.
it took over an hour to get home last night, after the lovely day, including a twenty-five minute wait on an underground platform where the temp was above a hundred, even before figuring the humidity (this one guy had a thermometer, and kept announcing how hot it was). i was already cranky, and rehearsing my speeches about, see? see how this place is unliveable? and then there were these messages, and i spent the whole night crying like a jackass, trying to figure out one thing that would make me feel better about this admittedly awful thing that is not nearly as bad as awful things that happen to other people, and that i swear up and down is no longer the most important thing to have happened to me.
usually after a lot of cogitation and some un-sent letters, i can find a way in, sort of a point of entry. and i can gradually hollow out a small space, and it gets better from there. it eludes me, with this. there's really nothing but anger, and fuckeduppedly, i don't think it's him i'm angry at.
the monkey and i stayed up too late trading secrets about bad, bad things, and i cried out most of the hydration i'd managed to insert into my subway-braised body, and the a/c-less bedroom stayed at ninety-seven for most of the night. i'm still trying to think of one thing that will make me feel better, short of ordering a hit on this guy, and i'm really not coming up with much.
it seems not right that there are a few things that happen to you that put you in a different category. like you lose a parent and then you are Tragedy's Child. or you find out you're addicted to something and you have to start living your life as One Who Deals With It. i would give anything not to be the person who hung around after it happened, who walked to the kitchen and drank a pint glass of water and then decided to go back to bed.
a long time ago, maybe more than a year, i posted here about my anger and disbelief that seymour hirsch had referenced, in an address to the ACLU, tapes he'd viewed of abuses in Abu Ghraib that were more horrific than what had been released to the press. he specifically mentioned the screams of boys being raped. i got angry and scandalized and did a little research and called in to the Brian Lehrer Show and posted my indignation here. i mentioned that the only reference i could find on the web to hirsch's claim was through Al-Jazeera. i was offended that no one thought the remarks were newsworthy. and someone commented here that he'd trust the american institution over Al-Jazeera, anyday.
via bitch.
i got home from a brilliant, lovely day of getting paid to do what i do--the only times, lately, that i get paid for this stuff is when a good friend of mine hires me to be sort of a resident improvisor for a company that works with advertisers and uses improv to come up with brand mascots--to find out that San Francisco Slim, the guy who likes to have sex with nineteen year old virgins while they're sleeping, is trying to find me again.
he called my parents. he googled me and then emailed a theatre company i worked with and asked them to forward a message.
the message said that he'd heard i was going to be in san francisco this weekend, and that he'd LOVE to see me.
and i have not felt so bad, not in a long time.
it took over an hour to get home last night, after the lovely day, including a twenty-five minute wait on an underground platform where the temp was above a hundred, even before figuring the humidity (this one guy had a thermometer, and kept announcing how hot it was). i was already cranky, and rehearsing my speeches about, see? see how this place is unliveable? and then there were these messages, and i spent the whole night crying like a jackass, trying to figure out one thing that would make me feel better about this admittedly awful thing that is not nearly as bad as awful things that happen to other people, and that i swear up and down is no longer the most important thing to have happened to me.
usually after a lot of cogitation and some un-sent letters, i can find a way in, sort of a point of entry. and i can gradually hollow out a small space, and it gets better from there. it eludes me, with this. there's really nothing but anger, and fuckeduppedly, i don't think it's him i'm angry at.
the monkey and i stayed up too late trading secrets about bad, bad things, and i cried out most of the hydration i'd managed to insert into my subway-braised body, and the a/c-less bedroom stayed at ninety-seven for most of the night. i'm still trying to think of one thing that will make me feel better, short of ordering a hit on this guy, and i'm really not coming up with much.
it seems not right that there are a few things that happen to you that put you in a different category. like you lose a parent and then you are Tragedy's Child. or you find out you're addicted to something and you have to start living your life as One Who Deals With It. i would give anything not to be the person who hung around after it happened, who walked to the kitchen and drank a pint glass of water and then decided to go back to bed.
a long time ago, maybe more than a year, i posted here about my anger and disbelief that seymour hirsch had referenced, in an address to the ACLU, tapes he'd viewed of abuses in Abu Ghraib that were more horrific than what had been released to the press. he specifically mentioned the screams of boys being raped. i got angry and scandalized and did a little research and called in to the Brian Lehrer Show and posted my indignation here. i mentioned that the only reference i could find on the web to hirsch's claim was through Al-Jazeera. i was offended that no one thought the remarks were newsworthy. and someone commented here that he'd trust the american institution over Al-Jazeera, anyday.
via bitch.
