Excuse Me?

We had a very good run last night.

Was getting pretty frustrated for a while there. Things felt really vague and I didn't have a very clear picture of where the characters were going, y'know? Night after night I'd try the scenes in a different way, but to no avail. It still felt wrong. Fuzzy.

Did some work on the script yesterday afternoon, relationships and intents were clarified, and last night in the run it all clicked. I followed my new instincts in some of the scenes and POW! they took off in different--and better--directions that excited everybody.

And the thing is, while everybody else is all busy trying to make these elaborate and ridiculous backstories or trying to bend our Brechtian universe to make it make sense and be all literal, I stand by my rule of thumb in acting: Simple, simple, simple.

Everyone must've been REALLY happy with the way things went last night because I got an invitation to a party this evening.

"Hey Forky, do you smoke the ganja?"

"Excuse me?--er--I mean, no. I don't. Sorry."

"Oh. Okay. I was just thinking we could all get together tomorrow after final dress and have a little party to decompress before opening."

"Well, maybe. Kinda sounds like fun. I'll think about it."

May the Lord strike me dead if I go with them. And considering I'm the only Christian in the joint--uh--cast, that would be a really great witness. I can't really think of a worse way to spend the night before opening...High and drunk (and penniless) in some far-away apartment in Brooklyn.

Don't get me wrong, I TOTALLY appreciate the invite. Hey, I recognize kindness when it's offered to me. I'm aware that I'm something of an oddity to these folks. I mean, look at my hair. I'm a hippie on the outside but a clean-cut, church going Republican on the inside. And I'm in a show with naked lesbian boobies. Yeah, that IS odd, come to think of it.

I mean, seriously. I'm here to act, not rant about how I think the president should be shot or how religion makes people into unhappy, repressed freaks. So excuse me if I just sit here and nibble on these baby carrots and do some ab flexes. I've got a show to focus on. Harumph.

And for the record, I'm not being some holy roller here. I'm not turning down the invitation JUST because of the whole pot element. Forky has been around the block. Well...he's been TO the block just so he could say he went there. But only once. For the record.

No, I'm not turning down the invitation just because of pot. I'm turning it down because I freakin' hate lesbians.

WHOA! Okay, I'm joking. Seriously. That last bit was totally meant for shock value. I'm not going to the party so I can get a good night's sleep. Seriously, guys. The ladies I'm acting with are really great, really fun, and have a lot of really cool unresolved pain from childhood abuses that they haven't dealt with.

GEEZE! I did it again! MAN, I hope I never run for president or vice-treasurer or something like that! I see these opportunities to say inappropriate things and I just can't resist. Of COURSE I'm kidding!

Seriously.

No. SERIOUSLY.

Waa

New note.

"Forky, in this and this scene, I want you to have a complete emotional collapse. I want tears streaming down your face in torrents. Can you cry?"

Uhh...


Well, THIS was certainly unexpected. Can I cry? Let's see. I used to cry all the time as a wimpy little kid. Whenever my brother picked on me, I'd shoot tears out of my eyes the same way those weird tree frogs do when they're about to be eaten. I was so good at crying on cue I'd sometimes trick my friends by turning on the waterworks. Those were good times.

But one day all that stopped. The floodgates closed. The dam was built. The drains were clogged. Now I can only seem to cry when I really feel like crying. And when I do, it ain't pretty.

I have to be able to cry buckets by tonight. Holy crap. What do I do?!

Suggestion time. Meanwhile, I'll sit here in my room and try to work up some tears. Hey, if nothing else, I should be able to score a halfway decent ab workout doing this. Do you use your abs when you cry?

The Abs Are Back in Town

Never one to graciously share the spotlight, I made an executive decision at dress-tech last night.

We've got three pairs of naked boobies on this stage...

...I decided we needed three pairs of abs on this stage too.

Yes, folks. Raise a glass of protein smoothee and eat some baby carrots.

The abs are back.

March of the White Death

It's coming...

There's no stopping it...

Unless we all prostrate ourselves and pray earnestly for it to stop...

But the odds of THAT happening...well...

D.C. has fallen to the blizzard...

Noo Yuck is next.

Seeing as how Noo Yuck City feels like the entire world simply HAS towhat's going on within its narrow shores, you'll probably see our Winter Snowpocalypse all over the news tomorrow.

I used to really love the snow. But that was when walking out in it was totally optional. Here, marching over fields of sludge is the only way you can get around.

The storm is supposed to begin tonight. Possibly before we're even out of tech rehearsal.

I've written a poem. It may be the last one I ever write.

Snowflake, snowflake,

Stay away

That is what

I have to say

Don't fill the streets

with icy slush

Which I step in

when in a rush

Snowflake, snowflake

come to me

only when

I go to ski.

Fin

Weekend Update

This coffee tastes like lima beans.

*gack!*

But you come to expect things like that here at Café Netto. At least the coffee is hot. Not like Café Lame-o which I tried a couple of times. Every time I went, my coffee was lukewarm. And, like the Lord, I vomited it out of my mouth.

No I didn't.

I needed the caffeine.

But if I HAD I'm pretty dang sure I would have gotten some RESPECT.

I really need internet access in my apartment. I'm sure I'm costing my parents a fortune in internet charges. So much for being an independent young man making it on his own.

And this show I'm in? Yeah. It's ANOTHER one of those off-off Broadway "Hey guys...Can you bring your OWN costume from home?" sort of shows. So everyone, please join me in saying "Thanks, Mom and Dad!" I went on a very reasonable shopping spree yesterday and picked out my costume. And if I may say, I look like QUITE the badass in all black and ruffles.

Wait, NO! NO RUFFLES! Just...all black. Yeah. Like the Dread Pirate Roberts.

So while I'm busy putting clothes ON for just about the first time in my life, the thesbians (how do you like that? I made that word up myself)--the thesbians are about to take their clothes OFF.

Yes, folks, today is our first day of tech. From 1pm to ?pm, we'll be at the theatre. Which is why I needed to get a jump on the day. Even though nobody's said anything about me needing a six pack for this show, with all the shirts and brazeeers flying, who knows? They might need some hot abs.

Oh...who am I kidding? Those thesbians would be totally intimidated by that. There's no way they'd allow me to show them up by looking super hot. Which I can. And do. And will.

Seriously, in this business of show, less is definitely more. If you're a little doughy around the middle, keep the shirt on. That little bit of pudge is not flattering. It's distracting. Wow, I can't believe I said that. How shallow of me. (Uhh...need to pull the old bait-and-switch, quick) At least, that's what Queen III was saying to me just the other day. Yeah. That's it. That's what she said. I'm just quoting her. Verbatim. En Excelsis. Deo.

The all-but-absent costume designer will probably pitch a fit over some of the executive decisions I've made in regards to my super-cool outfit, but all I've got to say is this: "Where were you when you were supposed to be DESIGNING this show? Maybe they should call you the 'costume suggestion girl' instead. That would be WAY more accurate. You just sit back and relax, baby doll. I'm about to make you look really good."

In all seriousness, though, it IS a little...oh...I don't know. I'm mentally preparing myself for the soft porn sequences, but come on. I'm a good church boy from Texas. Seeing that stuff will probably make all my hair turn white like Jean Valjean.

Gotta run to the gym. Wish me luck this weekend and please, please, help me thank my parents who have proven themselves to be true blue patrons of the arts--by supporting me. They read this blog. Or didn't you know?

No Time To Dish

What is it about Café Netto? Why is it I can't seem to get any dishing done? I've been here for almost an hour applying for jobs online and updating my mybook and facespace profiles...and by the time I get to my blog updates, I'm too tired to say anything about the show I'm in.

So I won't say anything. Nothing. Nothing about the lesbians. Nothing about Brecht. Nothing about the fact that the people producing it seem to be completely unaware of the strong moral core of the show and that, by making it as shocking and offensive as possible so's to stretch the narrow minds of the people who come to see the show, they're actually making Brecht's point about destructive decadence, the downward spiral of sin and moral decay, and the ugly, filthy, nasty side of mankind even MORE powerful.

So bring on the lesbian nude scenes! I've got no qualms!

Guess What Today Is? Part 2

I wanted to create a new one, but I have limited internet access at Café Netto. So we're just using the one from last year.

The Old One

Be like the decadent Germans of pre-WWII! Go nuts today! Be irresponsible! And when you get to hell you can say, "At least I had some fun before I got here!"

Just don't kill anybody.

Dishing

I've promised many folks that I'd do a little dishing on the unique theatrical situation I find myself in, but I have to keep moving this morning. Maybe later.

Oh, and put your fears to rest. "Unique Theatrical Situation" is not some kind of code for "Lesbian Porno."

What the CRAP?

It's so freakin' COLD outside!

Today and tomorrow I'm working at Nofriendoland from 9-5. I figured I'd get up, make a sandwich, go to the gym, and then go to work.

Well, the sandwich plans fell through because the kitchen was so freakin' COLD. I'll buy a cup of soup instead.

And the gym plans are about to fall by the wayside as well. It's not freakin' COLD in Café Netto!

For real. Someone told me that when it gets this COLD, you're not supposed to be out in it for more than fifteen minutes at a time.

I know what you're thinking. I used to live in Alaska. I should be able to handle a little nip in the air...a little Jack Frost...a little chilly willy weather.

But let's face it, folks. I've become a HUGE wimp since my young Alaska days. And if you knew what a wimp I was in Alaska, that's really saying something.

How come life can't be more like in The Jetsons?

Who Has More Fun Than Me?

I think I've managed to remove all links to this blog from my various pages across cyberspace. That's a good thing because sometimes I have things to say that...well...you know.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

In all the hubbub of the past few days I've completely forgotten to mention my two-day stint at the Wustminister Kennel Club Dogg Show! Yes! It was just like the movie! I wasn't witness to this one, but one of the workers said she saw a married couple by the water fountain shouting, "Calm down!" "NO! YOU calm down!" "NO! YOU calm down!"

At one point I was walking to the bathroom and I accidentally brushed up against a woman.

"DON'T PUSH! I'M WALKING TOO!"

"Oh! So VERY sorry ma'am! Well! We're all just having LOTS of fun today, aren't we?"

"WE DO WHEN YOU DON'T PUSH!"

Yes, tensions were high at the dog show. It really was a wretched little temp job. For two days, me and four other people worked NON-STOP...no, really...NON-STOP filling thousands of plastic bags full of doggie treats, doggie din-dins, and doggie yum-yums. 8-5. One 30 minute lunch break. The crowds never ceased. Everybody from the dog owners to the spectators came to get a doggie bag.

We really liked hearing things like, "Could I get more Porterhouse Steak flavored dog food? He's not going to eat these biscuits."

Sure, ma'am. After all, this is a supermarket, not a free sample booth. GROAN!

And how many Jersey women did we have?

"I haaav ah vaarry hungry dooowag. Kood I gaht some foood? I haaav ah vaarry hungry dooowag."

Then perhaps you should go buy your dooowag some food, ma'am. What, does Fido only eat when there's a free sample booth??

It also smelled. A lot.

But still, it was quite an experience. I mean, seriously. Many of the dogs were really beautiful. But most of the owners were really freaky. Dog people. You know.

We had this one woman who kept coming back to our booth.

"Could I get a bag for my dog?"

"Could I get a bag for my friend over there?"

"My aunt is on the other side of the building. Could I get a bag for her?"

"Could I get a bag for my aunt's friend?"

"I have a shelter for dogs. Could I get another bag?"

Honest to Dog, I'm NOT making that up. It really went down just like that.

Next week I'm back at Nofriendoland for two days. They're having a President's Day event tomorrow and Tuesday the new Cronic the Hedgehog game comes out...yes...for Nofriendo!

In the meantime, rehearsals for the show I'm in continue to move along rather smoothly. I'm still a little freaked out that the first performance is March 1st, but hey. That means it'll be over soon. At least I didn't have to commit three months of my life to an over-long rehearsal process. Pop in, hop out, lickety-split.

That's all for updates for the moment. I'm wearing sneakers again so say a little prayer that I don't accidentally step in my FIFTH ankle-deep puddle of slush-sludge. You'd be surprised how easy it is to do that.

I Might Have Overreacted

The clock is ticking...I have a mere 30 minutes left on the clock here at Café Netto. And the warm-up suit-wearing dog is nowhere in sight.

Okay, so I might have overreacted about how much everybody in the show hates me. In fact, I --what is wrong with this spacebar? It's getting all stuck...first apostrophes, now spaces. What is with this City??

(As I was saying) In fact, I seem to be quite the hero. At least I was yesterday. It's nice to leave a building to the chorus of thesbians saying, "[Forky], you're a rock star!" The best thing is that none of them have any idea how neurotic and terrified I am of this whole thing. I mean, come on. COME ON!

I've developed a slight cough. I think I might be coming down with something fatal. That would make the most sense. If my life were a movie, that is. Can you see it? Young man who looks vaguely like Jesus...abandoned and penniless in the big, cruel City, cut down by the consumption just as the big break was about to hit. Who will miss him? Who will throw rose petals into his grave? Who? Who? WHO?

The weird thing is I never get sick. I'm usually the picture of health. So it must be serious.

Time's up. Well, no, actually, I have 15 minutes left. But you know. Waste not, want not, I always say.

It Snowed

It snowed. Sort of. It was more like icy shards than snowflakes. Still, it managed to really pile up.

For some reason this computer at Café Netto wont allow me to use apostrophes. Please forgive me. Im not being lazy and Id rather not type at all if I cant have my good grammar on display. But Ive stories that Ive got to tell. This blogs not going to wait for a dumb apostrophe key. Were moving on.

Im a little annoyed with my friends here. Not one of them warned me.

The snowplow goes up and down the streets and clears them off. Great. The taxi cabs can still scream through the avenues. But the plow leaves mountains of snow along the sidewalks, so if youre a presbyterian--er--pedestrian, youre kinda screwed. You have to leap over the mountain, walk through it...this is when you come to be really happy for the waterproof boots you bought in the waning summer months.

But nobody warned me...

Youll leap over one of these snow mountains onto what you think is more snow.

SPLOOSH!

Nope. That wasnt snow. That was icy sludge with some snow clumpies on top. Thats not solid ground. Its water.

Twice I did this yesterday. TWICE. The second time, I was ankle-deep, no joke. ANKLE DEEP! And when you find yourself suddenly in the sloosh, you cant stop. You have to keep moving forward. So SPLASH SPLASH SPLASH you go through the pool.

I reached the other side and announced to Noo Yuck, "THEYRE WATERPROOF! THEYRE WATERPROOF!"

I swear, this City is eating me for lunch.

In other news, the show I(dang stupid apostrophe key!)ve suddenly fallen into is also eating me for lunch. Im desperately playing catch up, but theyve been rehearsing since January. First performance is March 1st. I think the leading lady is annoyed with me and even the stage manager, my former director, looked VERY grave as I ran ashamedly out of the theatre at 5. I don--do not know what I did wrong, but it doesnt seem good. Its making me a little nervous.

Maybe they shouldnt have changed their concept so drastically here at the last minute. I mean, when you go from--

Well...I wont spoil it.

V

Happy V Day! Heart graphic here!

Sorry I left you all hanging there. I'm going to leave you hanging a little bit longer. My schedule has been turned upside down, what with the unexpected fame and fortune thing.

Back to memorizing lines...

Oh boy...

Was I ever mistaken...

Long post to follow.

Fame and fortune are still at my fingertips, just not quite how I initially imagined they would be.

At all.

Hopped Up

I'm at Morebucks again, getting myself hopped up on their special, chewy brew. About curtain time, I start getting that wacky quivvery feeling. Seems to work well for the character.

There I was, shaking my fist at the heavens, cursing the day I was born, and thinking of ways to make my carton of soymilk into a fast-acting poison when I got an email from the director of our little show.

Seems the Off-Broadway theatre she's interning at is in DESPERATE need of a handsome, twenty-something actor--the guy they cast took another job. And she recommended me. Highly.

I have an audition tomorrow at 10:30am.

In other news...

I've decided that they came up with putting milk in coffee because grown ups felt too silly asking for ice cubes.

Prize Winner

I'm sitting at Morebucks Coffee instead on Café Netto. Which is different for me. The odds of seeing the sweatsuit-wearing dog are much slimmer, for one.

For another, they don't have computers here, so I'm typing this post with my fingernails on my teeny Knackberry keyboard.

Last night was dress rehearsal. It was okay. We got/had to watch everybody else's plays which was surprisingly less painful than I thought it would be. It really took me back to the Friday workshop days at Alma Mater U. Each of the plays are about 10-15 minutes long, and none of them are gonna set the world on fire.

Still, we were all kind of excited about showing off in front of each other.

Our group would probably have been more excited if we weren't missing our leading lady. You know--the one who wants to know how Abe Lincoln got her address.

Our director freaked out. I've never seen anyone smile so wide.

One play after another ticked by. And still, Leading Lady didn't show. No phone call. No text.

Three more plays till our turn.

Two more.

Vvvvvvttttt.

Vvvvvvttttt.

Hark! A cell phone vibrates in the middle of play number three!

"Where are you?!" we heard our director whisper frantically from the "lobby". "I've sent emails! I called you all day long!"

The third play ended and the director came in to give us the news. Leading Lady was just leaving work and would be here in an hour.

Nice. Way to be a team player, LL!

The last play before intermission was frighteningly short.

Intermission began.

We set our set up as slowly as possible.

"We can't wait any longer!" Said the stage manager. "The show must go on!"

Just as we were about to lose our pride before our fellow actors, I noticed that most of them were wearing scarves and hats. They were leaving!

"Hey!!" I shouted internally, "We sat through your crappy show! You have to sit through ours! Even if we ARE missing a fourth of our cast!"

But they left.

The director grabbed a script and sat at the front row to read LL's part.

We started our show...and I got this really sick sinking feeling when I looked up after saying my first line and saw Leading Lady standing in the aisle, all bundled up, hat on her head and mittens on her hands.

For real.

Okay. Time to go. Off-off Broadway waits for no man!

The Day the Music Died?

I understand both sides of this argument. I do. If you watch closely, you'll observe your average moron's walk through the City looks a whole lot like those cartoons where the dog is charged to protect a baby--which, delighted by a passing butterfly or some such critter, promptly totters off to the construction site next door and narrowly misses death at every turn.

Walking in and out of moving traffic while lost in your own musical world is comperab--

Oh my gosh. Where's my camera?

Sorry. I had to stop for a second to look at the dog in a FULL-BODY WARM UP SUIT.

Ahh, this City.

Back to what I was saying.

Thing is, you can pass a zillion laws to protect people from themselves. But somewhere, somehow, idiots are going to find ways to get themselves killed.

Maybe they should make dying illegal. Problem is, people are inevitably going to do it and they can't be fined because they'll already be dead. So it's lose-lose any way you slice it.

One Act

A disturbing scene from a weird one act play

Tonight is dress rehearsal for the off-off Broadway one act play festival.

I will soon be making my Noo Yuck debut as Abraham Lincoln.

Nothing New To Say

It's a sad thing.

I'm sitting here at Café Netto, killing as much time as I possibly can before our 10pm tech rehearsal in Schnooklyn. And as the clock ticks down on my purchased internet time (thanx, Mom!!1!), I find that I have absolutely nothing to blog about today.

Well, that's not entirely true. I could always say a thing or two about the Off-Off Gawdway show I'm doing. I haven't said a thing about that.

We're currently running 12:43. That's twelve minutes, forty-three seconds. Sometimes if the main actors feel like emoting a little more (or forgetting their lines) we can go as long as 12:52, but really, there's not much variation.

It's a really off-beat piece. Kooky. It doesn't make much sense. All of the sudden, I show up as Abraham Lincoln.

And what does our leading lady ask our director?

"How does my character know he's Abraham Lincoln? Have I seen his picture somewhere before? Where did he get my address?"

Yeah. It's a nutty, cartoonish seven page one act. The kind that you just have to give yourself over to the madness of or it won't work. And she wants to know how Abraham Lincoln got her address.

I KNOW! It's enough to make you pull out your hair, strand by strand!

Not that I'd do that. Not after all the trouble I've gone through to grow mine out.

Yes, I have a confession to make.

I really like having long hair.

I know! Isn't that weird? Nice, normal, nothing-going-on-upstairs Forky likes the hippie look.

I never gave much thought to conditioners or blow dryers or rinsing my dead protein strands ONLY in cold water, but dag-yo. I do now!

The thing is, folks, in the words of Mama Rose, you've gotta get a gimmick. Every actor in this un-Fair City looks exactly the same. So what if I did something a little different? What if I came into an audition looking vaguely like Prince Valiant? That'd turn some heads for SURE. Or at least raise some eyebrows. And in a town where million-dollar dreams are made and broken in fifteen minutes flat, that's about all you can hope for.

And then I got this nutty idea...what if I grew a goatee?! After all, one of the many characters I play in our 12 minute production is Abraham in the Desert. Even though he talks about My Fair Lady and fingerpainting, it couldn't hurt things to grow a little scruff. Help the audience out a little, right? At least LOOK the part, right?

Actors do this sort of thing all the time. Want to change your look? Just do it and tell everybody, "It's for a show."

"Forky, are you sure you should be eating that? What about your abs?"

"Oh, it's okay. The director wants me fat. It's for a show."

"Wow! How glamorous! What dedication!"

So I walk down the street, my conditioned hair billowing in the breeze, my facial scruff looking all scruffy. Then I start thinking, "Y'know, Noo Yuck is a scary place. I don't want to get mugged. Maybe I should do something a little crazy like mutter to myself."

So I walk down the street, my shaggy 'do billowing in the breeze and getting snagged on my facial scruff, muttering to myself as I walk along down the poop-strewn thoroughfares.

I haven't been mugged yet.

But I do have a little problem.

Everyone thinks I'm a bleeding heart hippie!! I'm not! I mean, I'm all about recycling, but this global warming stuff? I was having a conversation with a friend of mine who is distressed by how the news is reporting the global warming junk from Paris.

According to him (I wouldn't know--I'm the most uninformed person I know), while the global warming report said that, yes, global warming is occurring, they actually scaled back the severity of their predictions from the first global warming report. So instead of the world's average temperature being 10 degrees hotter by 2100, they dropped it down to 3. But because it's a political issue now, they news media is making it out to be the apocalypse and firing weathermen who don't agree with the "facts" of global warming.

It's like the Spanish Inquisition, only with Science. What the crap?

What the crap indeed.

But I digress.

Thanks to my ample mane, people think I'm going to vote for Hillary. I want to send those folks a powerful message.

Would somebody PLEASE help me track down one of those "Dubya" buttons? You know, the black ones with the big white "W" that all the kids were wearing when the Prez was running for his second term?

Cluck

I'm standing here at Everycity BBQ waiting for the gang from Numbtindoughland and arrive. We're having a reunion of sorts. Couldn't have been THAT bad if I'm still willing to brave the freezing gales to hang out with a bunch of ex-co-workers.

Everycity BBQ is the most affordable restaurant on 42nd Street. For what you pay, you get a ton of food. The Chicken Caesar isn't just $3 more than the regular one because there are a couple of strips of rubbery chicken on top. No, at Everycity BBQ, when you order the Chicken Caesar, you get a Caesar salad with an entire piping hot slab o chicken breast plopped on top.

It's exquisite. Like black velvet paintings.

The chicken here is so good that just about everybody in the restaurant (a cavernous space that covers half a city block) orders some kind of chicken dish.

It leads me to wonder...

...How many chickens have to die? When will our hunger for them be sated?

P.S. The first Sunday of every month, Numbtindoughland encourages young and old alike to skip church and participate in a video game tournament. I'll save the details for another post, but yours truly just might be the third-best Gii-Truck racer in all of Noo Yuck.

Who knew? I don't even own the bloomin' game.

Regular

I have GOT to switch to a lower-fiber cereal. I have been farting all damn day!

Fortunately, the gas has been oderless which is a very good thing. The people around me have no idea there's a gas leak occurring right next to them.

It's CUH-HOLD!

It's official.

It's freakin' FREEzING up here!

A Confession

I have a confession to make.

So I moved to Noo Yuck. It was surprisingly easy. I had braced myself for a perilous uphill battle. I worried myself into indigestion. I prayed that God would open the doors and, if this move was part of His divine will for my life, that He'd glide me into a warm little nook, easy as pie.

And whaddya know?

Getting the apartment was a relative snap. Work (and "work") popped up out of absolutely nowhere just when I needed it the most. Heck, I even got cast in an off-off Broadway show after only about seven auditions.

Yessir, things really seem to be going my way.

But the thing is...

...ever since coming here, I've been wrestling with something. And that something is a real, clear, definite sense of direction and purpose.

I know, I know. This isn't anything new for anybody reading this. In fact, I'm probably just really dense. After all, weren't we supposed to struggle with this--this massive question of "Who am I? What am I doing here?" back in Philosophy 101 while reading Pieper and Kierkeegaaaard?

Maybe it's that I'm second-guessing my decisions. Maybe it's that I'm almost out of money. Maybe it's that nagging voice of my mother in my head telling me, "If you don't make money you'll never be happy (and, for the record, you'll never make enough)!" Maybe it's that new Broadway reality show, which prompted my Grandmother to ask me the other night, "Honey, I never realized how difficult it all was. I don't know how you can do it."

I mean, don't you feel like you would/could/should be doing something...I dunno...MORE with your day than just waiting for something to happen? Waiting for someone to say, "Hey! You're swell, kid! Sign this contract! We're gonna make you a star!"?

Going to the gym helps. Signing up for swordfighting workshops help. Auditioning for Shakespeare Festivals helps. But still...all that feels so...small. Wasn't I supposed to do something BIG?

I thought, "Okay. The doors to Noo Yuck swung wiiiiide open. I'm pretty dang sure I'm supposed to be here. Alright God. I did it. I made the move. Any minute now, you're going to tell me exactly what to do next. Any minute now. Any minute. I'm ready. Whoo boy, am I ready. Yes. Ready. Ready to go. Any minute now. Any minute...

any minute...

any minute now..."

Honestly, folks, I got it in my head that someone in this City knows EXACTLY what I'm supposed to do next. I don't know where that came from, but it's there...That hunch that if I just ask everybody I meet, "WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?!" I'll finally stumble upon the person who KNOWS. He's out there. I just have to find him. And once I find him, he'll tell me JUST what I'm supposed to do.

Am I rambling?

Holy carp. I just yacked for 40 minutes. Better wrap this up. At Café Netto, time is money.

Enjoy the picture of my niece below. Doesn't she look just like a cookie? Or a starfish?

Queen Mab