I've been hard-pressed to find time to write about my own little foibles as I've attempted more and more to channel "writing time" into my writing of various fictional accounts! But I had a little breakthrough yesterday with my film scriptie and now I am timid to get back to it lest I find that my hand is stifled! And also I had a great day yesterday which I will share with you now.
I went to the Met to meet up with some friends around 7; we wanted to catch a few exhibits that were on their way out after this weekend, and I hadn't left Brooklyn since Tuesday due to a weird little stomach bug that left me couchridden with movies like
The Invention of Lying
A Room with a View
How I Got Into College
Harriet the Spy
so I got all dolled up, lace and lipstick in the style of many painted ladies, and took the rush hour train uptown. The Met is beautiful in the evening, when the big skylights can't compete with that affectatious Museum Lighting. Everything gets mad dramatic.
So I'm wandering around, looking for Karina/Taylor/R-Mard and who do I see but good ole' Nicky, bartender extraordinaire, taking a tour of the Picasso with his famiglia. It's easy to forget that Manhattan is two zillion people crammed into ten miles, and often you'll find familiar faces in odd places. I find my friends and we all bounce around, positing about crazy people that may or mayn't spit on Famous Artworks, reminiscing on that girl that fell onto The Actor, and pausing for pictures of the terracotta Face of Jacqueline. Then, a farewell to my incidental bartender bump-in and a hello to the American Woman exhibition, which is CLOTHES THROUGH THE AGES. I freaked.
Great. Then, that hipsters and handballs photography exhibit, which we chose to view because the name rings true to our interests. Then hello to dear Scoville! And some statues in that Grand Hallway. One of my favorite games is to vocalize the noises the statues' mouths were making when they were frozen in stone (that's how all the statues are made, duh). It's almost as fun as making up titles to Neil LaBute plays.
These are the Stories of Our Lives
We Once Did What We Do Now
Beethoven, or Someone Like Him
Once Upon A Time, It All Went Down
We sat on the steps after the museum closed and decided to walk through the park until they kicked us out. But hold that thought! Because here comes an empty limo who offers us a cheap ass ride back to Bushwick. So yeah. We do that instead. We go down the FDR and I look out on Roosevelt Island and that creepy TB Hospital, we roll down windows holding champagne glasses full of sprite, smokin ciggies (I smoked half of one to get the Full Experience), listening to very loud Classical Music or whatever is playing on Delilah. Pitstop at the Opera House, where we pick up Solari and Ellie, who bring us some Brasilian rum to mix with our provided Coca Cola. Five minutes more to Castlebraid. Nary does Bushwick see such style.
There was a rooftop CD release party for a great band. There is a girl who plays the violin in it, and maybe, I decide, I'll do that too. They're building a hammock space on my roof, and someone was giving away free salad. I ate that. Enter lovely Neisler! We all went down to my apartment, freestyled a bit, walked to the Opera House, and I fell asleep on the couch under the guise that I was taking a short nap. Everyone always knows it's the end for me when I decide to take a short nap. Even I know. But I do it anyway, and everybody lets me. And that's why them nap-letters are my truest, bluest friends.
I wrote this play recently that's going up as part of a short play festival that Fresh Ground Pepper is doing, called James Franco Brings the Light of God to the Linguistics Department at the University of Buffalo. I've been 'sessin' (an abbreve for "obsessing," entre it in the record!), yeah I've been sessin over James Franco since I read that New York Magazine article about him. Because he does everything he wants to. Like take a picture with a bear head, you know, 'cause. And also get like 8 masters degrees and stuff.
I've taken it to heart by deciding to do everything I want to.
For example, I'm moving to Paris, France for a month to make a bit of my screenplay. I'm going to let people read it and want to make it. And also Mary Wulihaus and I will be documenteering our visit so that people can want to make the whole process happen more often. I need to refluent my French and learn more about cameras. So I'm doing that too. And people are going to come and stay in our letted flat. All of it excites me. It will take money, which I'm saving, and Balls, which I have decided that I have.
I am going to apply those Balls to other things I want to do in the future. If I want to write a novel or novella or chapter book about this really magical day I had at my work the other day ("The ass is the best part"), if I want to start a gypsy folking edward sharpian band with whoever else wants to, if I want to write a musical with required really ugly dances or take off work to workshop plays in hilarious parts of Tisch with dear old Johnny K, if I want to ride more ferries and eat more Rockaway Tacos and make brooches a more permanent part of my existence, I probably will. If I see a piece of furniture on the street that I want to pick up, like that white wooden cabinet with the molding and the glass panels I saw on Bushwick Avenue, I probably won't pick it up because of the bed bug thing. But I will definitely note it down, remember it, and have someone build it for me later. Or I'll learn how to build it myself.
