you walked me down 14th street

Summertime...

What the fuck is going on, dude?

I feel very disconnected from my life, man. Kinda floating above it, glancing at it, and giggling. Brother is over, listening to angry Eminem tracks (it's a nostalgic thing, I gather). I'm hangin out in a cowboy hat, from PJ's collection (he used to sell hats and soap for extra cash...), and anticipating an evening of Chinese food and Batman Begins. I am surrounded by a pile of incomplete work and emails.

We're producing a show at NP in August, that PJ is directing. The title being tossed around was "Will It Hurt?" but it strikes me as inappropriate (despite it being apropos of the content) and makes Sessoms think of anal sex, so at the moment, it's still without a name.

Ah, we've moved on to bluegrass. The original version of "Man of Constant Sorrow." Highly recommended.

Out and about in the village with Sessoms, Rye and eventually Boss proved highly successful, and soothed my soul. Going out and getting plastered is not the answer to life's problems, but it definitely helps on occasion. Especially when dancing, wicked DJs, ghetto mixes of Smirnoff and vitamin water, purple shirts and intrigue are involved.

Ah, we've moved onto the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. Brother proves to be a mildly skitzophrenic DJ.

I did manage to snag a new bread job, thanks to my ever-generous friend Mr. John Gallagher, who helps me out more than I feel I deserve. (Oh no, Brother has returned to the living room with months-old dregs found in various drawers - "We don't have to scrape the bowl!" he declares gleefully) Other things on the ol' noggin':

-How to keep Jive in the country...what is life without a giddy blonde to take you out to watch soccer and speak Italian? What is life without long, bi-or-trilingual messages about lord-only-knows left on your voicemail?

-Rufus Wainwright's "14th Street" on a constant loop

-...occasionally interrupted by Pat Benatar wailing "We Belong"

-celebrity chefs

-the Grand Guignol and how to recreate 19th century blood effects

-Gas prices. If I'm assistant to the director on "Digger" and Ariel in the Tempest, I will, presumably, be driving. And thus, filling a gas tank. Blast!

-your mom...


xoxo

{it's not even near} twilight

Today was one of those whatever-can-go-will-go kinda mornings. Trying to put together one scene for the United Way showcase has proved exceedingly difficult, what with students getting grounded, the boss going on spontaneous vay-cays all the time, and the fact that "Finance" (whoever they are) has become mysteriously incapable of cutting me or my associates a check. Alls I know is: tomorrow at 4 PM, my contract with the Grand Street Settlement will be complete (for now) and although it's been an exciting ride, I'm not disappointed.

A new gig would be nice, though, and I am on a fairly dedicated search for the next project.

I've been doing a lot of Bikram (read: hot n sweaty) Yoga at this shmancy studio in Union Square. It's a nice place to be, if you're rich and pseudo-spiritual, or unemployed and trying to branch out. I fall into this second category. They have a pretty sweet deal on a month of unlimited classes, so several times a week, I go and sweat my sillies out - sometimes next to Casey from Make Me a Supermodel, and his girlfriend, sometimes next to 9 year old children who are better at it than me, and their moms. The thing I like about Bikram is it is usually such a task to just get through it, that I give up, I have no inner monologue, I just listen and sweat and move and sweat and listen, and drink a whole lot of water. Sometimes I think Dear God, I am going to die, let me out of this stinky box full of sweaty people, but then when I leave the room at the end of 90 minutes, I feel incredible. Renewed, relaxed, and like I could give a shit if we have to do a different scene at the United Way Showcase because Adeline's Dad is punishing her.

Need to get a move on. Peace.