ALLIES Press!

The press release for ALLIES went out this Friday! Check us out on:

•Variety
•Playbill
•Broadway World
•Theatre Mania

And if you haven't already, please visit the ALLIES site to reserve tix for our concert reading!


P.S. For you oldtime blog followers (all 3 of you), what most amuses me about the press release is the synopsis (which I wrote myself), featuring the full name of the character I named after Numbers...'seductive,' and 'secretive' ol' Numbers...sounds more like Swank, actually.

a little supernatu naturalitee

I FINISHED THE GREEK PLAY.

Now to finish all the costumes for Footloose, all the performance of Metropolitan Operas, and attend all the first year final-scenes this week, without losing my mind, killing someone, or crying in front of Blackstone's. Again.

RTC was invited to a theatre networking event that I will post info about very very soon. I think all actors, designers, etc. should go to this thing - I was invited by Emily Oh, who, since Alice, has taken on marketing as her thang. And she's quite good at it too. You can check her out at emilyowenspr.com.

Also, after being very very wrapped up in Final Pros over at NP (where the whole gang is kickin' major ass - Sessoms, Daisy, Boss rock the house with full preparations; uber-sexy Stormy & can-I-drool-on-my-lap-over-him-any-more Swank play a married couple that hate each other; Sweetheart steals my heart, of course, as a very unusual bum)...I was thrown back into HAIR-ville today, after not thinking on it for a whole four days. That's a lot for me! I toured around Central Park with Stone, Man's best friend from Arkansas, who's been living here since the days when Man & I actually lived in one city. Throwback of all throwbacks. Much like Man & I, yet much unlike Man & I, he's with the same gal as he used to be, and still hackin' away at a theatre career. He did HAIR in Summerstock a few years ago, and just got back from playing Riff in an Illinois company of "West Side Story." Man recommended highly that I take him on, and although I was sorta full up on white boys, my instincts said this was a must-take. I invited him sight-unseen since 2002, and today, I realized why. We met on the corner of 96th, and from across the street, it was like "Oh, yep. There's my missing peg."

I can't explain it. I wasn't missing a character, or anyone at all. But Stone's got an energy that will complete the Tribe. So as far as I know, we're fully cast, and ready to roll on May 15th.



So other readers out there in Retroland...if you'd like to come see Final Pros, check out the Second Year website for all the info you'll need.

I'm in Metropolitan Operas, which runs on the 7th & 9th at 7:30 PM, and the 11th at 2 PM. It's a tico tico experience.

second morning

There's a thing I do that I think must be very specific to freelancers and people in the arts. It's called the Second Morning.

So you get up for the first time. You're running just barely on time to make a morning appointment for your Bread Job, an audition, a rehearsal, a something. The Something takes an hour or two, you finally eat something. You head home. Then, when you put your key in the door, the Second Morning begins. It's still very much daylight, and it's although it's 2 or 3 or 4 PM, the house is still in a state of 10 AM. You make coffee. Maybe you even get back in your pajamas. Take that shower you didn't have time to take when you breezed out for the First Morning. You check your email.

I love Second Mornings. I'm already on the go, so I'm more inspired to do all the personal work I have to do - theatre paperwork, character research and the like - but there's not that nasty time factor when there's a pressing outside world appointment impending. The outside world has been handled. Now all I have is a show to attend tonight, when the sun is down. The day is mine, and I can face the rest of it in sweatpants.

-----------------------

The Playhouse time is fairly complete. I got a strange cameo role in the Final Plays - I'm the Madonna in a Pintauro short called "Fiat." I am slightly disappointed, but I think it might turn out to be a surprise. And I can't look a gift horse in the mouth here. I'm involved in three other productions that require my immediate attention, and I've totally neglected them in favor of being a Nei-Play slave. Now I've been given the time to work on these things. And get a real job. So, to add to the list I made months ago, 2007 shows now include:

#6: "Footloose" at Talent Unlimited High School
I will be: the costume designer

#7: Undetermined Real Theater Company Straight Play, starring Sessoms
I will be: the director/producer

and work for "Greece is the Word," (formerly known as "Untitled Greek Mythology Play") at Hunter Elementary, and the RTC production of "Hair" are in full swing.

-------------------------

Mom & I are each other's primary collaborators. I usually have a second and a third floating around, and it seems the primaries in 2007 are definitely Sessoms and Swank. I got very lucky, because...they both kick major ass, for very different reasons. The things I have in development for 2008 and beyond seem so much more possible because of the two of them.

Last night, after our final Gary Ramsey presentation (oh thank heaven!), Swank, Sweetheart, Daisy & I met up with Sessoms at Blackstone's...in daylight, which was truly bizarre. The bar was full of suits, so we ate our food, drank our beer and headed up to my place. Boss & Metro are in Disneyworld, so it was a weird Maggie Moon-hosted party, and Swank became my co-host (I bought eggs to dye and halfway through our shared bottle of Hypnotiq, had a very difficult time figuring out how to hard-boil them, so he assisted). With Sessoms came the ever-mysterious Professor and another first year, Goldlist. Somewhere along the line, far into the alcohol, past the egg-dye, the SceneIt! and the altercation with my {gap-toothed lazy bitchass} next door neighbor, Sessoms & Professor are in the bathroom having one of their talks, Daisy & Sweetheart are thumbing through my Hippie book together, and Swank and I are dancing about. Goldlist exclaims, in frustration:

"This is just great. Here I am with the adorable redheads, the glam-rock biters, and the crazy drama couple. Great."

Later, when it was nothing but the biters hanging out, I spilled my life dream for Swank's perusal. He got a grin on his face that made me feel like a magician.


Today, I got a job at the Central Park Boathouse. Looks like Daisy, my old directorial pal Nikki, and me shall be hash slinging hostesses this summer. Unless something more lucrative comes along.

I'm imagining myself living in abundance...

i got the noise to make you scream and shout

I'm so excited. We had our second Hair rehearsal. Everyone is "Walking in Space." I can see this show taking shape already, like some weird dream I've already had and am now piecing together - plucking stars from the corners of my life, and putting them all in a pot together. They look so beautiful. They sound so beautiful. I'm expecting ecstatic madness.

Despite a touch of the Nei-Plague, and some weird schedule changes (Pinter was absent, which is very odd...perhaps the Nei-Plague really got him?), today was something of a significant step in the right direction. After leaving Sess's apartment (we had "Godot" rehearsal, which makes me SO ecstatically happy. She and I should really do the whole show, with Sweetheart & Swank as Lucky & Pozzo), I called up Man and gushed, as he and I are apt to do to one another:

"Dude, I am SO COOL!"

"Dude, you ARE so cool. And I am so cool!"

"I know!"

And we confirm one another's coolness, and we feel good. And then he has to go stand on an amp and be tech director again, and I have to get to my apartment and make some dinner and do my paperwork. It's a random, but life-affirming process.

But I'm not done gushing. So I call Swank, and as soon as he picks up the phone, I know he's got the same thing going on in his stomach as I do. He's listening to "Walking in Space," and reading Michael Butler's website.

"Can you feel this? It's happening."

"I know. It's really going to happen."



It's really going to happen.

Oh my God.

when you cut the lights out, think of me

SCISSOR SISTERS.

Swank shows up at five thirty. I have a corset on, and my pajama shorts, and I'm running around whining that I have nothing to wear, even though my closet is like a costume shop. By 6:22, the lunar eclipse has occured without my watching, I'm doing Swank's eyeliner, and we have finished one bottle of champagne and half a bottle of Hypnosis, which looks like liquid Smurf.

We hop the train to MSG. I don't know how we make it into the venue, because all of New York is blurry to me. Swank tries to convince a clerk in Duane Reade to let us use the bathroom, but I say no...no...we're almost there...and whirl us around Pennsylvania Station to the Garden Theater entrance. We ticket, we escalate, and every ten seconds, I am sure that I'm going to lose him, so I become all catlike, and sharp within my fuzziness - I can spot a dirty blond in eyeliner from a mile away. We stand in line for more drinks - not my idea - pop a half a pill, and make friends with everyone around us. Mitch in a red hat. Jim, from Boston, who saw the Sisters at the Siren festival, like Swank and I had planned to do last summer.

We try to find seats. At one point, I am crawling along the floor, attempting to find our seat number. The people around me start mumbling to each other - "Did she fall?" Swank turns and picks me up.

"Did you fall?"
"I'm just trying to find our seats!"

This is folly, because even though I read the ticket four times, I can't figure out which number is our seat number. And it's dark, and I'm surrounded by grown-ups. Swank sits us down, someplace, the wrong place. We make more friends. HE makes friends, rather, and introduces me to them. He vanishes several times. People come by and say that I am sitting in their seats. By way of further crawling about, I find the real seats. Swank finds me. The Sisters come on with "Paul McCartney."

Throughout the night, they play "Laura," "Tits on the Radio," "She's My Man," "Kiss You Off," "Filthy/Gorgeous," (complete with monologue!) "I Can't Decide," "The Other Side," "Lights," some other stuff, and as encores, "Take Your Mama" and "I Don't Feel Like Dancin'." I'm in singalong heaven. I drunk dial Man, and probably a lot of other people.

Later, after convincing Swank that he is not a drunken idiot (although we probably both are), a slice of pizza, random Irish pub with random concert people, we finally cab to Jon's. Italiana is walking to get cigarettes, and cries out when she sees us. Inside is a room full of friends! Stormy, Daisy, Sessoms, Hugh, Spunky & Sprightly, Kiwi, Swedish Steel (what he was doing there, I'm not entirely sure...), a whole bunch of others...

It was grand.

I'm tired.

I have work I gotta do.

aquarius

Today is audition day!

We've had a few meetings about "Hair" already - this is lined up to be my first, fresh outta school, pro production. Somehow, this production seems to have fallen into place without my pushing particularly hard. Some shows are a grind from day one, but this one has something of a guardian angel. Although I've placed ads on craigslist, done the networking, hunted here and there...I don't have to endlessly search and toil for my team like I did for Alice. I think it's aided by the fact that people who like "Hair" are incredibly passionate about it, and itching to get it on stage.

I've run a few auditions before - mostly upstate, with Out of the Nest - but all of them have been quite casual. Waking up this morning and realizing I need things like clipboards and nice earrings this time around...peculiar. I'm used to wandering into some beat-down theater in whatever bizarre outfit I've thrown on, and jumping around with nervous teenagers. By the end of the day, I'd have a cast, and we'd go get a pizza. Today however, I'm going into the professional space I've rented, and sitting behind a table with my choreographer & co-producers. Daisy D., Sessoms & Swank will all present, as will Cali - my school family has of course bled in a bit to become my cast and crew.


---------------

Well, Swank flaked. Not surprising. But not everyone.

Note to all actors: when you are nervous, we get nervous. THAT'S why everyone says "Don't be nervous." Not because you look moronic. Not because we don't understand. Because it makes us shifty too. And then everybody feels icky.

But for the most part, damn. What a splendid turnout. And what awesome voices.

Sooo much work to do. Gah.

kissy kissy

"This is what I'm not thinking about over break," I say to Daisy, Sessoms, and first-year Spot. We're eating pizza at 1:37 AM, and I am about to make my journey homeward, after they return to Gooding's house party.
I hold up one finger. "Fairy princesses!"
Second finger. "The land down under!"
Third. "New Jersey."

The last week before break has been fascinating both years at Nei-Play. The first year, I concluded my scene with D with a crying fit and a broken window. The next day, I sat cuddled up with D & Beaux (who, at the time, was the unattainable object of my affections) in a flight suit. This year, as an homage to myself, I wore it on the same day. Only, last year, I can't remember that I did anything after the morning classes other than drink some of Mrs. Sugarman's punch, say goodbye, and go home to my apartment.

This year, I honored my budding alcoholic tendencies by hitting up the liquor store on the corner of 54th with a good portion of the Second Year class. Jersey, our class champagne-freak, ventured into the cooler and emerged with a sleek black bottle. My eyes widened. The night before had featured champagne as well, and it seemed like as good idea as any. Swank, already drunk off of two bottles of wine he & Jon ganked from the school's alumni party (and consumed during the afternoon video presentation in the theater), saw me hovering by the cooler and he and I dove in for the remaining two bottles. Then Jon, crowing to the crowd, led the way to his apartment.

Jon is one of my few male friends that I can honestly say I have never had any sexual tension with. We've never made out. We've never gone on any awkward psuedo-dates, or exchanged weird looks. Occasionally we joke around that we should just get married and call it a day. But the woman who marries Jon is gonna have her work cut out for her. He's a five foot powerhouse, uber-talented, for sure...but in that short, muscley frame (and underneath his newly shaved mohawk) there lies a bottomless well of pure Southern-bred male chauvinism, disrespect for all emotions that don't coincide with his own, and the staying-power of a sandcastle. I've heard him speak of a girl like he was reading me the gospel, and two days later, he won't even remember her name. This is all exceptionally bad news for Stormy, who is head over heels for every inch of our Mississippi boy, and every other weekend, is in his good graces. Then there are days like yesterday...

At Jon's {expensive as hell, but completely trashed} apartment, we get to drinking quick. By 2:00, everyone present is smashed. A second wave of visitors arrive to find me with my flightsuit around my waist, standing on Jon's coffee table, screeching for the Van Halen to be turned down so I can make a speech. I raise my champagne bottle and toast the class of 2007. Everyone cheers. Swank, Jersey, and Jon all make their own speeches. Sessoms and Boss are gawking.

"What in the world have we walked into?," Boss asks me, smiling. Out steps Kiwi, from behind her, with no other first-years in sight.

Oh no.

For the next five or six hours, at least once an hour, I will be informed "Man, that boy adores you." "Gosh, Kiwi really likes you." "Oh, it's amazing how much that Kiwi is into you."

I guess I'm coming to realize that.

But I'm not unhappy to see him, and I'm celebrating, so I slap him five, hand him a beer, and return to the fray. The fray starts peeling clothing off. Suddenly, there's a half-clothed orgy occuring on Jon's bed, and Swank, Jon & Sweetheart are running around imitating monkeys. Sessoms turns to me at a crucial moment, and says she needs to go home and shower. I take the opportunity to not get into further trouble - I've lost my champagne bottle at this point anyhow - and head out into the early evening, drunk as fuck.


I am coming to understand why so many people in our profession have terrible drug and alcohol habits. It seems like every single day, there's a gathering, and the liquor is a-flowin, and in certain rooms, so's the ganja & coke. Now of course, it is perfectly possible and acceptable to attend and not partake. However, you will then get to be witness to everyone else's blitzed-out behaviour, which, on certain nights, is amusing, but on others, not so much. The other option is to stay home. Which, on this final week, just didn't seem like an option at all.

Later, I will hear from Stormy that she is not in Jon's affections at the moment, and it's driving her insane. Later I will hear that Swank bit Sessoms on the back. Later, I will curse at myself for being so wobbly-headed, I left my scarf on the bus. I will comfort myself with a burrito.

The title of this post does not pertain to any feature of my own evening. Come second round of party, at Gooding's, I sat quietly and DJ'd, my eyes at slightly-hungover half-mast. It refers to the actions of my girlfriends. Sessoms and Spot. Daisy and Hugh. Martha and Jive. They are all beautiful, and deserving of their get it get it huggy kissy lovey lovey. I also just wanted to post that picture from long ago, because I think it's cute.

--------------------------

Now I'm up in the serene hills of my hometown, rather freezing. I have two sweaters on. It's actually winter here, unlike the Pretend December happening in NYC. I blew way too much money on Scissor Sisters tickets - a stupid thing to do during the holiday season, but how could I help it! - and I have mass Christmas shopping to do. I keep querying the old Tarot Cards: what's to come of this career I'm trying to found? Looking back on recent posts, I seem only to document my party life, though most of my waking hours are spent working my tail off to make some theatrical headway.

Which means, some class headway? Some what? The work I've been doing at the Playhouse is solid, and I'm reasonably proud of it. But all semester, I've still been lacking in that "KA-POW" moment of fantastic, which certain people have been blessed with. Jersey turned to me at Jon's, after she'd been through her bottle, and said:

"Maggie, I just wanted to say, no bullshit, I think you're brilliant in this way that you just don't give a fuck. You get up and you take a risk, and whether or not it works, you just do it, and it's fantastic. I mean really."

High compliment yes. But strange nonetheless. Can I build a career based on risk-taking, with moderate success? No one can be a genius every day, but I'm not asking for that. I'm asking for a real day in the zone.

Then again, I think about the flow of life at Nei-Play and remember that those who hit their high notes in first semester collapse in the second. And since I've been doing steady and solid, maybe I'll peak just perfectly - and pull out all the stops in our shows for the public.

---------------------------

Me and my ego aside, my class is brilliant. We've had a rather bad run-in with our more connected (industry wise) teacher, which makes me very sad because...goddamn. Everyone is so talented. So hard working. SO fun to watch. And when we shut up and act, holy hell. It's a force to be reckoned with. As Sessoms said, as she took in the crowd at Jon's, swigging back their drinks and singing the praises of one another:

"God. It's actually scary. Everyone in this room is going to be a star."

---------------------------

This break is gonna be worth it. I have a feeling we're in for a tilt-o-whirl season, come January 3rd.

christmas party

Can you have an emotional hangover from a party?

Aren't parties supposed to be...I don't know...fun? Sometimes they're fun. Sometimes they're just not. I keep counting my uh, chickens, or something, on last night, and something ain't adding up. Which could have something to do with why I've been randomly sobbing today, in between Christmas shopping, calling everyone I know, and taking a shower at Sessoms house. Because when I awoke this morning, the situation was:

Item - One (1) Kiwi, in his chic black boxers, asleep on my living room futon.
Item - Two (2) useless showers, because of complete lack of hot water in the building.
Item - Two (2) cupcakes, baked and iced last night, that I proceeded to consume as I surveyed the scene.
Item - One (1) Boss asleep with
Item - One (1) Metro in her room.
Item - Twelve (12) items of clothing, discarded in angry, exhausted huff.

What the hell, dude? I keep coming home from these functions in angry exhausted huffs. Or I come home face-meltingly drunk, and make with the drunk dials.

Okay, so it wasn't all a waste. In fact, there were some fine moments. Swank & Sweetheart's Queens apartment was the locale for this fundraiser, and it was decorated excellently. Daisy D. and I showed up with mass amounts of baked goods I had spent the day creating. By the end of the night, Daisy D. and Hugh were going at it like there was no tomorrow in every darkened corner - I had more than one "EEK!" moment, where I opened the wrong door and discovered Hugh atop my friend. We applaud this union, be it a one time or no, because it is a nice finger in the face of Vegas, who treated our dear Daisy like shite.

Sessoms and the Professor had their usual brush with the dramatic before she somehow, three drinks in, stumbled into sickness, and spent the rest of the soiree yakking on the roof. Oof. The Professor, on his way down the stairs with Girlfriend, grabbed my arm and said to me, most seriously:

"She's really sick. Please go up there."

Ay-ay Captain. Jon & I are due for a cigarette and a chat at this point (I've already had angry, dramatic run-in with Swank, who is being a dickface to me for reasons I can't even begin to understand, other than occasionally, the man seems to have a period), and we find Sessoms on her rooftop corner, covered in Nelly's jacket.

Nelly is actually the adorable first-year boy who hooks up with Jeff, one of our two uncloseted Second Years, both of whom I adore.

The cast of characters gets crazy at these functions. It's like fucking War and Peace.

Why would that jacket matter? Why at all?

Because at 4 in the morning, I am standing there with a mop in hand, a smattering of the strong around me, cleaning the party off the floor. I've spent ten minutes helping locate Nelly's jacket, then sent he and Jeff off to Brooklyn to get down. Swank has vanished into the Astoria night with a small man who would give Nelly a run for his money in a Fae contest, and Sweetheart turns to me.

"Okay, be honest with me, Maggie, because I'm so confused. Have you ever hooked up with Swank?"

I proceed to burst into tears.

I wish Beaux had been with me the whole night, like was once maybe, kinda sorta, vaguely planned. Hell, I might not have gotten to have my fun "Let's Get It On" dance moment with Numbers, but I definitely would have avoided the Foyer of Ultimate Doom conversation with Kiwi, and I definitely, DEFINITELY would not have been there, crying, with a mop, at 4 in the morning. No. I would've been the one getting some in closets. I would've awoken the next morning perhaps still with cold water, but one of those cupcakes would've been for Beaux, and my Christmas tights, tube dress, and pretty underwear wouldn't have been such a complete waste of time.

show me now

Swank and I have the whole school to ourselves, after Sessoms and Stormy leave for the diner. He asks if the auditorium is free, and we head down there to run songs for Shetler tomorrow. A nice amount of alternating between "I Got Life" and "Show Me" (from Hair and My Fair Lady respectively) cools down the day, and I spend most of his singthrough time climbing through the costume rooms in the basement, hunting for a high-necked peach dress. It's musty, disgustingly disorganized, and makes me sneeze, but those cramped rooms remind me of the places that made me love theater to begin with. It is always the deep tunnels and high rafters that make me go all gooey for a particular venue - the dirty dressing rooms at Bearsville, for instance, or the peculiar balcony at Byrdcliffe. What is rickety, old, and collapsing is what I find most gorgeous. These new theaters with all their functioning equipment...eh.

I can almost smell the day I move into the off-Broadway house that needs a good gut-renovation. And you know? I'm gonna make sure they clean out as little as possible. It ain't a good space until that used feeling hangs in the air.

call on me/call on me

This afternoon, I woke up and stumbled towards my bathroom mirror. After a good three minute stare, I turned around, fetched my camera, and took the best re-creation photo I could manage.

It's been a weekend, let me tell ya. And it ain't over til it's over.

About my last post: I found out that Argentino is actually from Venezuela. Oops. Nevertheless, he remains out of school, in hospital care, but I hear he's doing well.


I began said weekend with a glass of water at Local, our first-year watering hole. Then Fubar came. Then Jon's apartment, with Swank leading the way. Then we journey down to the West Village, as suddenly the earth-melting weather turned back to normal December-style and my flimsy white faux-leather jacket was not helping out with the 60 mph wind gusts...oh no. But we journey to...somewhere...into a pub that existed during Prohibition, and is thus concealed - no sign, no markings, no nothing, just a black door and the number 86. But it's groovy, and even though I'm not wild for beer, I drink it cuz they make it there.

The evening winds up with the reasonable return-home time of 1:15 AM, a few phone calls, and lights out.

The next day, I've given up my work post, so I spend it relaxedly, practicing my dance, hanging with the bro, and when it gets to evening time, I'm still pretty tired. I'm thinking of flaking on Ms. Nasty. But she is turning 21, but I've gotten us on this list...for Anna Rexia is hosting Rated X downtown...and the Boss is getting the dance party started...and everyone's comin up to the el barrio pad...

Oh, and before I know it, it's 5 AM, and I've gotten nothing but free drinks, and a free shot of JD, and Metro won a hundred dollars in the hot body contest, and I've danced onstage with people I ran into from FORDHAM of all places, and I'm stumbling over myself at Fat Cat as we go to drop off Ms. Nasty with Dee, his boyfriend Mee (I'm serious, those are REAL names), Martha & her first-year boy, Jive, and then Kiwi and I go and crash out on this couch where there's jazz being played...

And I am spilling into my bed with a brownie I baked days ago for a bake sale that never happened.



Now, the laundry, and the homework, and the realization that I have to perform tonight.

typical tuesday

It's ten-fifteen, and although I could be memorizing Shakespeare, I instead bask in my time to slack. There've been a total of maybe three or four slacking hours in the last week, and man, are they glorious. The feel of my ass planted on the couch...my bare feet on the wooden floor...my pajama pants...iTunes shuffling...full stomach. Sweet relief.

Film classes keep us 2nd Years at the Nei-Play til 10:30 or later, twice weekly. But we are finding out what faces to make and not make on film, and improvising off of small movie scenes. Gooding and I went up as Thelma and Louise, and I found out that my old Chicago City Limits skills are more than a little rusty. Note to self: do not riff on silver dollar pancakes ever again.

The Boss has hooked up for serious with Metro. Although I psuedo told the story before: last year, I hijacked him in the hall, where he stood, looking confused and holding a broshure. I invited him to one of Gooding's famous apartment gatherings, and he was initiated as we all did what we do best: got smashed, talked about acting, sang songs, and talked about how much we love each other and the school.

What a bunch of...theater kids!

Metro was the talk of the town on orientation day, and somehow, the Boss and he wound up hitting it off better than ever at the bar that first night...

So Boss is out most of the time, and during the days, I barely see her face - completely peculiar! Most days are spent chatting away with Sessoms and Daisy D. - especially as we assemble our Halloween gear. Tonight, I stood in a pair of the tightest red Beetlejuice pants I had somehow shimmied into (hoorah for stress-induced diets), lacing Sessoms into a mother of a red corset, discussing the purchase of shimmer makeup to make me entirely...shimmery. The same man who's been in Trash and Vaudeville forever told Sessoms to "have a nice weekend" as she paid...

Jimmy Webb: Oh. It's not the weekend. Christ, look where my head is at.
Sessoms: Well this stuff (indicates corset and mini-skirt) is for the weekend.
Jimmy Webb: That explains it.

We giggle out of the store with pink bags in tow, and have a few more laughs about Professor, Numbers, and the others in the ever-expanding cast of characters that make up our day.


Other Typical Tuesday Moments:

Boys Locker Room Basement.
I'm sitting with Swank & Hugh, and a first-year named Jessy comes by with his bookbag. He's a C-Grouper, so he's something like extended family. He makes some reference throughout conversation, about reaching out and touching me. He also makes some reference to his girlfriend.

Swank: Go ahead, touch her.
Me: Yeah.
I present my chest.
Swank: Go ahead.
Me: It's really okay.
Jessy: Naahh...I can't do...that.
Hugh: You better get used to this stuff. That's what Pinter's all about, so that's what next year is all about.
Jessy: I know! I've had Pinter! Six weeks this summer!
Me: So go ahead. Swank, go ahead, show him it's okay.
Swank plants a hand on my right breast.
Hugh: See?
Jessy: You guys are boyfriend and girlfriend, right?
Me & Swank: Nope.
Hugh: They're really not.

Jessy stood for another moment, stuttered, and left the room.