I love this article.
I love this cola.
I love this website.
I love this game.
I love this bar.
And I love you too.
That's all, baby. Happy Tuesday.
What a gang you piled up this year! Good job! And no condescending "emerging artist" award for folks who have been working not-nominally in the biz ten years!! (Okay okay, I'm over it. And frankly, I wouldn't kick that award out of bed.) Oh, and thanks for rocking Webster Hall again... like old times....
And that cover is killer, V.V. Gives me tingles, even.
Speaking of killer, some dude physically assaulted me during the curtain call of Gypsy last night! He grabbed my shoulders really hard and shook me, screaming bloody murder! This is after I told him (deservedly) to fuck off. Soph started shouting "she's pregnant!" and the dude's wife(?) had to hold him back. My mother-in-law grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away. I like to think the ol' chap was simply overcome with emotion at the humanity and desperation of Patti LuPone's performance... but still. He nearly caused a crazy mezzanine riot!
Bringing mêlée back to mainstream theatre, bitches... how punk rock is THAT??
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ADDENDUM: Okay, not very punk rock at all. The dude was just having a theatre version of road rage. Soph is a little tall and had the indecency to sit in front of him, so he was pumped from the start. Towards the end of the show I leaned over and made a little joke to Soph and he giggled, and the dude tapped him really hard on the shoulder and said "could you please stop moving." Then at the curtain call the dude tapped him again, really hard, and said "You are SO selfish and annoying."
Soph is the most considerate person I have ever sat with in ANY kind of theatre-- movie, off-Broadway, etc. So, rather than explain this to the fucking asshole (who should know that when you buy cheap seats sometimes you have to lean), I told him to fuck off. He went BALLISTIC and grabbed me. I've never seen anything like it.
And okay, my reaction wasn't very punk rock either. I bawled all the way home. Way to go, Callaghan.
Phoning this one in...
Hey, today is Free Iced Coffee Day at Dunkin Donuts! I have a lovely gratis Hazelnut jobby sitting here to prove it.
Also, I love this jeans ad:
And good press from DC! One and two... big ups (???) to Scott for liking the play, to Shirley for getting it, and to the cast and crew for being demented rad enough to sign on and kick ass.
What else... dude in the belly likes to punch my guts... I'm currently suffering from a pending-motherhood identity-crisis (as if you hadn't noticed)... writing has slowed to an icy halt due to emotional paralysis... and it seems to be Theatre Benefit Season, which is leaving me reeling a bit. Ours went really well, in case you are interested. If you were there you know. If you weren't, shame on you.
I wish I had more to say to you. I wish I could whip up a wistful, melancholic musing about the changing of the seasons. I wish my screenplay would sell before July so I would have some money to hire baby help. I have some real things to say but I don't have the energy to say them. The other night I wanted a drink so badly I almost got high from wishing so hard. Last night I went to a rock show and I'm scared the little dude will be born deaf.
Also paralyzing: the "To Do" List... Some grant apps to fill out. A play to finish. A play to start. A musical to start. A screenplay to start. A treatment to write. A TV idea to throw away. A novel to work on. And some sorted freelance design. And some shows to see. All before August 8, when the half-Greek changeling appears and we are rendered stupid in love with it.
Did I tell you I burst into tears in the dressing room of Destination Maternity? I was bra-shopping.
Did I tell you I spent fifteen hours the other day on our shower registry? I learned the term "BPA-free". I learned the difference between a bassinet mattress and a moses mattress (answer: none). I learned that sitting still for more than seven hours straight makes me walk like Danny Devito in Batman Returns.
Did I tell you I nearly had to be carried out of Joe's Pub the other night because of my misguided attempt at wearing high-heels with an twenty extra pounds on me?
Last night a large drunk woman approached me in some grimy hotdog stand on Delancey and asked if she could rub my belly. "I love you so much, sweetheart," she shouted at my mid-section. "I'm yo' grandmama! You gonna be just fine!" She then told me she lost her daughter to breast cancer five years ago. She said her daughter was a bitch. She was raising her five grandkids on her own. She felt cheated. All this she said with a huge smile.
The thought that cripples me the most is the fear of loving someone so much. It's too massive. I am so small.
Frustrating post detailing some dude's Odyssean journey trying to sell his laptop on eBay. Worth reading, maybe just to satisfy one's own frustrations with the inanity of customer service practices in the realm of ecommerce.
In other news... I just ate a FULLY DISGUSTING rice crispie treat slathered in peanut butter and chocolate. I knew it was gross even before I put it to my lips, but the creature in my belly insisted I follow through. Child, what hast thou wrought in me??!!
And if you don't have enough to read already today, here's an article from the Huffington Post that pretty much sums up why my support ultimately drifted from Clinton to Obama... I still think her positions on health care are superior, and I have a few quibbles with some other Obama policies, and the sycophantic nature of many Obamaphiles makes me curdle, but... how fucking awesome would it be to have that man representing our country? After eight years of humiliation and despair? Just the thought tingles me.
We now interrupt your regularly scheduled program of self-obsession and extravagant insecurity to bring you this:
Wagon puppies.
Wagon puppies.
Wagon puppies.
Wagon puppies.
And more wagon puppies.
Now go put some puppies in a goddamn wagon, please. It won't be easy. But think of all the good you'll be doing.
Aside from a couple tiny factual errors (born in Queens, raised in Jersey... I don't currently have a day job... etc.), it is relatively cringe-free. And the photo mercifully excludes the belly.
Thank you, oh Gods of Benign Press.
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ADDENDUM: You know, on a second glance, the article feels a bit, I dunno. Like, I write plays on a lark, Soph is my Baby-Daddy, and we are silly and broke and procreating like foolish little rodents. And WHEEEE! Did you know I once had a racy job???? Isn't that DELICIOUS?
Not to be complain-ey... it certainly is rare and special to get an article in the Washington Post... but it's also nice to be taken seriously. Any idea how I can encourage this in the future with reporter-types (aside from changing my gender)?
Hey DC,
We open next week... "we" meaning, they. I've worked with them in the past and they kick boooo-tay. They do. Go see it, please! It's cheap! It's rad! Maybe I'll be there! Look for the round short person stuffing reams of chocolate into her gob!
