endless rain into a paper cup

I met Julie Taymor at the New York Film Festival premiere of Frieda. I didn't buy the book, so I asked her to sign my journal. She was kind of a bitch about it, but I liked her anyway. How could I not? For an aspiring female theatre director, there's not a lot of folks out there to idolize. There's Taymor and there's Zimmerman. I'm sure someone more academic than I could list off a bunch more, but the directors I know about are mostly...well...men. So Taymor takes the cake.

I saw Across the Universe tonight. This is not my review of it. I had a wonderful art-experience, and that is all I would like to say. If I go into further detail, I'll start critiquing, and I would rather not ruin the experience by picking it apart.

Man and I are on a vacation, of sorts. I don't know how we're managing it, but we are. HAIR Part II ended and we are tying its' loose ends, while slowly floating through New York, Woodstock. There's talk of Austin soon. We have good company meetings. We watch a lot of movies. We learn to exist with each other on a regular basis, which neither of us is accustomed to. Mostly we talk about work, and the shows we want to put on, and the sort of empire of artmaking we are interested in creating with the people we love. He has a mouth on him, that boy. Boy oh boy. Today we were down at the Public, passing costumes back to Mr. Rado, and Jim politely asked, sorta excited, if we were coming. Man explodes:

"You mean paying 200 dollars or standing in line all morning? FUCK no."

I blush, but sure enough, Jim stammers something about maybe being able to get us some. I won't count my chickens, but it was sort of a nice surprise to be even worthy of consideration.

I am worried about my friend, who I love, and who is sad right now. I wish I knew how to fix things for her.

There's a lot of things on the horizon. Plenty of plays and such. Right now I'm coasting, and craving a cup of tea.