... why I cannot get enough of this? I seriously could spend HOURS with the demo, just putting hairstyles on fake women. I suppose it appeals to my whole inventing-people-for-a-living thing. But the possibilities are endless! Why, just look!! I even named them....
Myrna. Has degree in textiles and talks like a gansta when she's drunk.
Abigail. Has a third nipple and dreams sometimes about riding huge animatronic pickles.
Aubrey. Her girlfriend is a pastry chef and she's allergic to nuts, a sad fact for them both.
Lourdes. The only one in her family who can't sing, which is a relief.
Sissy. Been married twice, no kids, has a hard time watching violent movies since the accident.
Freakball. A man of few words, is tired of people telling him he smiles to hide the pain.
Freakball 2. Wonders if she can be re-programmed to feel heartbreak, wishes she had more hair.
Try it. TRY IT NOW. You know you wanna.
Saw it last night. Was alternately revolted and moved to hysterics. There is something ineffably sexy about those self-destructive tattooed idiots and their homo-erotic pranks. I recommend it, though you probably shouldn't eat before you go and you will probably emerge with a new relationship to your body. The Times gave it a very weird rave as well. Go, but don't blame me if you become incredibly sensitive to touch afterwards.
I have to tell you about zee month abroad, but I want to assemble a pictoral accompaniment first, which might take a little while. At any rate, it's great to be back. Autumn in New York is my favorite. My eggplants are growing, my computer is functioning, the subletters only broke one glass, and I won a Mac Arthur Genius grant. Whoops, sorry, that was Sarah Ruhl. (By the way, holyfuckingshitohmygodhowradisthat???!!!!) AND last night I had a dream that Lindsay Lohan was playing me in a movie. A sure sign that things are back to normal.
October is on fire, by the way. So much to see. On Monday I'm gonna see Young Jean's deconstructionist race-riff on bein' Korean. Wanna come?
Oh, and on your Don't Miss List should be Berlin director Thomas Ostermeier's Hedda at BAM this fall. EVERYONE talks about this dude in Europe. I swear, they literally cannot shut up about him.
Okay. Here's your homework for next time... write a dramatic monologue based on the following looping film:
Please make it from the point of view of the booty. Thanks.
