Friday night after work I went to rehearse with Jeffery and Cole for their new live show at Joe's Pub. There's another performance this Friday night, please come out. We had a nice time doing a li'l read through. The cast is the VGL Boys, moi, the fucking incredible Rachel Shukert, and we were joined for the first performance by Susan Blackwell. Really nice times. Check out this cool interview I did with them at East Village Boys.
Trudged through the rain home to eat and shower and change into fancier clothes. Went to the Dossier party at the TriBeCa Grand and got sort of emotional. Or something. I guess the emotion I was feeling was "stubborn". If there's one thing I hate in the world it's waiting in lines, so when I find myself waiting in line I have to really psych myself up for it, like "I AM IN THIS LINE BECAUSE BEING AT THE END OF THE LINE IS WHERE I AM DESTINED TO EVENTUALLY BE". It was a ok-amount-of-fun party, but I was sort of over it sooner than later. Someone asked to take my photo as I was guzzling a vodka soda. Cute.
Ran into the impeccably-dressed boy genius Max Vernon and his gorgeous friend Lisa, who were also debating leaving. We went outside for a smoke and bonded over our love of Laura Nyro. Tendaberry is his favorite as well as mine. A sort of drunk but very nice girl in high heels and a big fake blond wig stumbled over to us. She had not been inside the hotel, where everyone was wearing black. She interrupted us to bum a smoke, then invited us to join her at a speakeasy around the corner. We followed her three dark and wet blocks (I wondered, had she stumbled all the way to the hotel just to bum a smoke? it seemed like fate that she'd run into us, so we sort of felt obligated to follow her). We got to the speakeasy, which was of course invisible from the outside, but gorgeous and huge inside. Filled with girls in wigs and men in business suits. Max and Lisa and I had these really weird drinks made out of vodka, coconut juice, lime and basil. It was delicious and bizarre. We took a cab up to the Bowery Hotel, where Lisa whispered some kind of secret password to a doorman and we were whisked into the nightclub upstairs. Who knew? There were a lot of models there, it was a good time. I eventually said goodnight to the kids, caught the train to Brooklyn and went to Sugarland. Romantic interlude.
Saturday I had a mean hangover. Bobo and I went grocery shopping in matching outfits. Someone recognized me on the street, it was very sweet and a little bewildering. I don't know if I will get used to responding to "Becky". Strange. I finally had the chance to cook myself a meal for the first time in weeks, and went out to the Tim Hamilton video presentation, of two films by Collier Schorr. It was really cool, and they gave everyone free t-shirts / tank-tops (see previous post). How nice.
After the show Ptrick the Witch and I met up with Pico to get Mexican food and margaritas. My hangover lifted! We went to the party at our friend Roy's house. It was a super duper time. All of our friends were there, almost. It was really too much fun and I drank a lot. They made this really good punch from apple juice and ginger vodka and I kept thinking that seasonal meant special meant scarce so I should really down as much as I could. I have kind of a crush on one of the guys at the party but I'm really chicken shit and I think he knows I like him, so it made me feel awkward, like he was silently mocking me. I diffused the situation by getting so drunk I couldn't stand up, then more by getting so drunk I couldn't even sit up. I made (what I think of as) a graceful, swift exit into a taxicab and home for the night.
Felt pretty okay in the morning, actually. Woke up and smoked a joint on my roof, wearing short shorts and my t-shirt with panda bears on it. I smoke a pink cigarette and listened to Dusty and the Thrones. I made a conscious decision to really acknowledge the feeling I was having right then: glamour. It sounds fucked-up, but it's true. I never like my body or the places I think to put it, but Sunday morning in mottled sunlight stoned and hungover with Dusty complaining about not having to say you love her back, I thought "it's okay, right now it's okay, for like a second." That was really nice.
I saw the September Issue with Isabelle in the afternoon. It was just okay. Ran downtown to Joe's Pub to do the show. It was so much fun! I was so excited to get to go backstage at Joe's Pub and perform and it was just so cool. Thrilled to be in it. We're performing again on Friday night, so come check it out.
I'm having a really hard time organizing my thoughts lately. I'd like to blame this on Mercury being Retrograde but I'm not positive that's the reason why. I feel really petty, mean, easy to anger. And unproductive: I've got a lot of work to do, a lot of people to get back to.
I think maybe it was cause I just finished Juliana Hatfield's pretty amazing memoir, When I Grow Up. It was sort of unnerving. She writes very clearly and easily about complicated emotions. She perfectly describes the feelings of an adult tantrum, she articulates antisocial depression so well it's hypnotic and dangerous. I don't like to really talk about it, because our culture is biased against all forms of unorthodox thinking, but as you may know I am a Crazy Person. After a lot of work and time and money, I am happy to say that I'm now A Lot Less Crazy, almost Not Noticeably Crazy. But reading Hatfield's memoir really brought a lot of those feelings back to me. Sometimes without meaning to, we operate under these fucked-up assumptions about the world. Hatfield puts it really well when she's getting into a fight with one of the members of her touring party and feels sad "What right do I have to never feel upset? What right does anyone?" It's hard. You don't notice what you're sort of ransoming to the universe. You think the world is basically a painful and mean place and that people are selfish and if not exactly out to get you, will bruise and destroy you without mercy. You think that your birthright is suffering and that complaining only makes it worse. It sounds ridiculous when you verbalize it but there it is. This book made me think a lot about these things.
I am trying to be very clear about what is actually happening and what has happened, might or might not happen, or is otherwise beyond the realm of things I should bother worrying about. To put it another way: I have written down every sweet thing every boy has ever said to me and the lists I've been keeping feel a lot heavier and negative ('heavative'?) than they ought to. I guess that's the problem with remembering anything, ever.
I have always impressed my lovers with my memory. I'm bragging, but it's true (so that technically makes it okay). My first boyfriend was amazed that I would remember every single thing he'd said to me at a party weeks beforehand. I had a detailed memory for dialogue because I was always ready to point out someone's insufferable hypocrisy. How could you say that you really liked me when at that party I heard you tell your friend Cameron that you thought that girl Lisa was a babe and if you were single you'd go out with her? (Aside: my first boyfriend was Bi. More later.) I still remember everything. I've almost put effort into forgetting: drinking and smoking and having my tooth taken out, which I'm told is supposed to affect memory but mine remains painfully clear. Joke about broken glass. Joke about cooking with broken glass. A 1970s joke about the Sylvia Plath cookbook, it uses broken glass. "Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Insert head."
Anyways I'm wishing I didn't remember so much. That's probably why I never dream. Too many memories. Everyone says I do dream, I must because doesn't everyone? My problem is that I have dreams, probably really cool ones (I've got a really great imagination) but I just don't REMEMBER my dreams.
Getting a massage tonight. That ought to fix it.