Stompin' at the Savoy

The History of Love is by Nicole Krauss.

Not Nicole Kidman.

It's an easy mistake to make, but I am here to set the record straight.

Krauss. Not Kidman.

Oh, Nicole Kidman's done plenty. I admire her work wholeheartedly. I thought she was fantastic in Eyes Wide Shut. Also in To Die For.

But she didn't. .. oh whatever. Today, I got nothing.

Spring Is Here

This weekend I:

- Played my 9/11 song for my friend Chris
- Listened to my friend Chris's 9/11 song
- Bonded with Chris over how we feel generally about 9/11 songs (we don't like them)
- Reminisced with my friend Chris about people we grew up with in Ottawa
- Made Chris watch three episodes of Extras (but he liked them)
- Made the coffee too strong and was a nervous wreck all weekend
- Liked Chris's new songs about his new girlfriend
- Got help from Chris on an unfinished song about my ex-boyfriend
- Laughed with Chris at Justin Timberlake dancing in a giant soup cup on SNL (though I wouldn't
have laughed on my own)
- Had insomnia
- Rode in Chris's car with Chris, swore off cars for good
- Drank good beer and ate nachos with Chris in a pub in Soho
- Was able to ride in car again briefly
- Saw Chris's friend Dan Bryk play at the Living Room
- Took subway home -- cars terrify me

Rim Shot

Did you know the doldrums were a real place? I didn't. But that's a picture of them, at left. I guess people go sailing in them. It looks like they're somewhere between South America and Africa, in a place where those two aren't too far apart (perhaps this is nonsensical, but that's what the map seems to show).

I hate to sound like a broken record, but I am feeling totally hopeless. The comedy writing dream seems laughable. Rim shot! Well, laughable without being actually funny. The fact is, New York is chock-a-block with aspiring comedy writers -- they are everywhere -- they literally make up about 30% of any subway car you're on.

This was brought home to me this morning when I Googled How to Break Into Comedy Writing in New York and there was an ad for a class at The Pit called "How to Write for the Daily Show." It's sold out. It promises to teach you the tone of the show and how to choose the kind of material they use, and then you get your work read by the producer who looks for new writing talent.

Sounds exciting, right? It makes me want to buy an old beater of a car and take off for the hills and live in the mountains like Ted Kascinzky, but with less facial hair.

I hate the feeling of being part of a feeding frenzy for something so popular.

I was surprised how good looking Ted Kaczinsky (sp?) was when he was finally caught. He's on my mind lately as I think a fair bit about running away to the wilderness and trying to eke out a livelihood from the woods.

People in the woods would be interested in some lively TV parodies, wouldn't they?

Well, the snow looks pretty today. Last night at my video store, the owners had put out a big heart of Valentine candy on the counter, free for customers. I got a good piece -- milk chocolate caramel. I walked slowly, eating it, trying to be in the moment, in the Buddhist way. It worked, because it was really good chocolate.

Poem #4

Hillside gossip godship sails
The question sits like butterballs
on the table
The guests sing or cry if they are able
Like everything from the silver balloons
It had such grace, was gone so soon
Showed a toughness, an enduring fiber
They all sat ringside but they all were fighters
Each with a string of wins and losses
The shoulders squared that bearing crosses
Drag through private life not bold nor brawn
Just muscled enough to hold what’s put upon
Just enough to go that extra step
To put the ball over at the net.

What Is Going On?

I seriously think I am losing my mind.

I've been working again for about two weeks. I think it's making me sick. I feel very queasy. A week ago I also had a violent episode of sickness while working at another office building.

All these comedy writers I read about are out there putting on shows and getting up onstage in costumes and just being vigorous people with good attitudes. I don't feel capable of that. I feel weak and crabby. I want to vault to easy success. Not toil in the trenches. I'm not a good person. I don't have good attitudes. I never have.

"What about the camcorder, La Misma?" It's back in the box. The last thing I got stuck on was the instruction: "Make sure your camcorder has a memory card." How? Apparently you need a memory card to install the software that allows you to make the films in I-Movie. But why would they have sold me a camera incapable of doing that when I specifically asked them, "Will this work with a Mac?"

I'm afraid to find out the camcorder doesn't have a memory card. It's like that thing where if you don't open the box to check, the cat could still be alive, because it could be alive or dead as long as you don't know.

Argh

Today at work (where I used to work, where I'm working again freelance), someone told me that "micturation" doesn't mean spitting, it means urination. At first I thought he was wrong, he was mixed up, but he forwarded me the Merriam-Websters link and there it was, a definition exclusively concerning urination. I accused him of faking the dictionary entry, but weakly. I had to face the unpleasant truth.

God! How embarrassing. Not just that I've thought all this time I knew exactly what that word meant, and had included it in my "favorites" in my bio for this blog. I was also dismayed thinking about all the people who might have read my profile and been put off. How many dates could I have gone on if I hadn't said my passion was going to the bathroom?

But also, such confusion! What's the fancy word for spitting, if it isn't micturation?

The fancy word for chewing is mastication. Therefore the fancy word for spitting is micturation.

I feel the way I did when I was younger and I pretended to be someone called Mary Ellen Memesis, and I wrapped up clothing belonging to family members and gave it back to them as Christmas gifts, signing them "with love, Mary Ellen Memesis." No one thought it was funny at all, and it turned out memesis didn't mean what I thought it did, which was "imitation of life." I thought giving people things they already owned was a form of imitation of life. But it wasn't.

A Real PSA

If you're ever lying in bed, and you live in a studio apartment, and your bed is near your kitchen, and you notice a pressing, unpleasant, all-pervasive smell, kind of human, but funky and close and a little -- yes, a little bit like something rotting -- though, as you lie there analyzing it, it also smells like a diaper pail, not a really raunchy one but that close, human, vile diaper smell, but then you go back to it's like something rotting, there's no way around it, what the freak is it? What it is is, you forgot to throw out the water you steamed your broccoli in, earlier.

Everybody Is Ignoring Me

Just kidding! Just trying to get Anonymous's goat. S/he often seems to think I overreact to things. I dislike being told I overreact even more than I dislike being confronted by giant poisonous snakes spitting venom at the gates of HELLl!!!!

Anyway. The theme of this post is wasting time. The image to the left comes up under "Wasting Time" in Google Images Search. I could have used a clock dumped into a glass of water but I figured, why not some eye candy.

Last night I watched 20/20 about a kid so damaged by a religious cult that had encouraged sex between adults and kids that he had made a suicide video tape and was planning to find and kill his mother.

I couldn't tear myself away!

Midway through, though, I began to feel damaged and sick myself. My stomach got a knot of anxiety. The images of the children looking happy in sexual positions with the adults were totally gross.

My attitude changed from "Why ... how ... how could they ... why is there such ignorance and evil in the world... ?" to "I'm implicated because I'm watching, I'm witnessing this."

Where's the pleasure in that?

Law and Order was a really good episode about an Ann Coulter clone. I wanted to watch it but I was too fascinated by the sickness on display at 20/20.

TV is so hopelessly alluring that I'm worried about my addiction to it.

I hardly ever do anything else anymore! I used to read, play guitar, go for walks.

Now it's TV, 24/7.

That sucks -- it's not as bad as being systematically abused by a group of revolting religious cult people but it sucks in its own way. I have to try and create something, not just ingest.

To that end, I finally bought a camcorder this week. I'm going to start making short movies. If I can get past the million technical challenges it will pose.

Help me, Jesus!