Bunny bunny bunny bunny bunny, bunny.

- Black coffee with honey and a little bit of salt.
- Oatmeal with peanut butter and soy sauce and sesame oil and sri racha.
- Baked yams.

I'm excited for Autumn. I've taken my air conditioner out and I keep the windows in my room open. I don't have to water the houseplants as often. One of them, the oldest one actually, died this summer while I was in Berlin. I need some new ones. Some that will grow in the winter.

I found a moth in my room last weekend, and then a few days ago I found some sweaters with holes in them. Not too terribly torn up about it (ha) because it gives me an excuse to buy new sweaters, but was a bit bummed to see that one of them began munching on my much-beloved CdG Homme jacket. So I'm taking it to the fancy couture dry cleaners to get steamed and repaired today, will probably end up spending a third of what I paid for the damn jacket but c'est la vie. I don't actually own any other wool, so I'm not freaking out about cleaning. Should I be? I freak out about so many other things and I really can't bother right now.

I still need to get my winter jacket and my suit dry cleaned but I take those to the cheaper place. I'm going to a wedding next week, I'm a little bit excited and nervous and so happy for dear heart Lizzy's Happy Day. And that my date is the most beautiful wonderful genius in the world, Miss Bobo Rosa. I can't wait to see her.

Last night I was really, I gotta say, overwhelmed with goodwill and happiness and peace and excitement. I'm not trying to brag or act like I'm really special or something, but I am trying to find ways to be grateful and graceful. I realize, now that I am pretty much basically a grown-up adult person (for the most part, depending who you ask, whatever), that I've somehow managed to stubbornly hang on to this small-town suburban fanboy naivete. I can't get over things, I'm so often wide-eyed and jubilant and really impressed. And I like feeling like that. The world has humbled me many times but I still think things are amazing with some regularity. I guess the upshot of having being overly emotional (mental disorder, even) is that while bad things feel HORRIBLE, it also allows for good things to feel WONDERFUL. I don't know if I would have it be a different way, not that I could.

Yesterday morning I went to the NY Art Book Fair, which was typically overwhelmed. It was great, there's always so much great stuff. There's just too much. I'm kind of glad I gave myself a little bit of a time limit for checking everything out. I had gone for the opening on Thursday night but missed the actual opening and only made it in time for the after party. Funny how that works. I went to sound check at Joe's Pub and basked in the glorious sunshine. I took a little nap and played with the cat and really was just so into Sunday.

Then I went around the corner to Soloway for the opening of the new Wynne Greenwood exhibition, "More Heads". It was pretty fantastic, I must say. There are some videos of heads and some sculptures of heads and a soundtrack. The place was PACKED so I didn't get the chance to listen to much of the soundtrack, but it's right near my house so I'll definitely go back. I got to say hi to Wynne, and I remembered that I'd been following her work fro the last 15 years, since I saw her old band MeMe America open for Miranda July in Berkeley. So nuts! I am and remain a huge fan. The exhibition is interesting; a tonic reprieve from what seems like the ubiquitous noise of the NY art world. Just heads, you know? Not conversations, not a debate, not even a monologue. Just heads. Faces and shapes populating a space (physical space of the gallery and virtual space of video). Greenwood's work has often wrestled with the notion of how to inhabit a space, how to make a space and then use it. How to locate yourself within the confines of a discourse, a history, an aesthetic, a relationship. The subtly gorgeous formalism of arranging the heads feels like an even-handed, earnest way of relaying these questions. I liked it a lot, am going to go back, and so should you.

After the opening I went over to Joe's Pub to perform in Aftershocks, the benefit for the Afterglow Festival. Maybe it was the whiskey they had at Soloway's opening (bien joue) or the whiskey they gave the perrformers at Joe's Pub, but was feeling really expansive and thrilled that this is my life. I get to go to a Wynne Greenwood art opening near my house, then pop by Joe's motherfucking Pub to do a number from the show I made with Miss Molly Pope, SalonSalon:

Also performing on the bill were our hostesses/den mother and father Quinn Cox and Stella Starsky, Erin Markey, Michael Cavadias, Dan Fishback, Santiago Venegas, Chris Tyler, Becky Eklund, Joseph Keckler, Lady Rizo, Amber Martin (who covered Laura Nyro's "Woman's Blues" and broke my fucking heart), Jill Pangallo (my hero!), Mike Albo, Dane Terry, Nath Ann Carrera, and Angela DiCarlo. Really, really amazing stuff. I feel so humbled and gobsmacked to be on that bill. A literal dream come true.

Photo of Miss Erin backstage, wearing her FUNX t-shirt, of which I'm UNSPEAKABLY jealous. After the show last night I high-tailed it home and didn't get quite enough sleep. I'm exhausted!

Saturday I rehearsed ENCOURAGER in advance of my performance this weekend at La MaMa (more on that tomorrow), and had a meeting with Catherine, the artistic advisor for my second year as an Artist in Residence at BAX. We were talking about performance and being loved. I'm interested in making a new show in which I'm loved a little bit less, onstage. She made this really good point that a lot of people come to performance because they want to feel loved, but at a certain point, you need to risk not having that love in order to make new (and maybe better) performance. I had never heard it put that way but I was really excited by this. I feel like I've always felt like performing was where I could determine whether or not I deserved love, and possibly get it. There, onstage. But at a certain point, fairly early on, like as a kid doing theater, it did occur to me that that thing of getting love and attention onstage for your own edification, was kind of an exercise in diminishing returns. There is something else there, on the other side of that need. I aim to find out! So I had a good meeting, an okay rehearsal, I was really hungover, and then went with Sister Pico to this cool reading of excerpts from Chris Krauss' book Aliens & Anorexia including reasings by Arianna Reines and Emily Gould. It was way cool, I was really glad I went even tough I haven't read her books yet, and had to stand in the back. I like living in New York, this reminded me of how much I like it here. We went out for margaritas and nachos afterward, and I came home for a quickchange before meeting PLD and sundry friends in the East Village for a new lounge party. Friends of friends were hosting, we got to drink from the free bottle of vodka. Again-- maybe not such a big deal for some other people. Maybe some people only ever drink from free bottles of vodka. I came of age in the suburbs. I was tremendously impressed. I can barely deal with the glamour. After some real nice times at that lounge place, we went in search of dumplings in the Lower East Side, but it was raining. Pouring. Eventually we gave up. I got a sandwich and ate it in bed and felt pretty great about that, falling asleep, drunk, listening to the rain.

Friday night I had dinner with my dear friend Isabelle, whom I hadn't seen in a while and who I love very much. And then I went out for drinks with Hillary, another college chum who I haven't seen in even LONGER. I'm friends with such gorgeous, funny, sweet and fantastic people. I feel really lucky.

Tomorrow Bobo arrives in town, and Thursday my parents arrive in town. And I perform on Saturday. I can't even fathom how to get on with things. Dropping my coat off to be rescued today and then rehearsing and eating soup and hopefully sleeping.

I want to buy a new cardigan and a new button down shirt and a new pair of shoes. All I want is to buy clothes. And to sleep. Deeply.

This Deerhoof song pretty much changed my life when I was in high school. I guess I just didn't know how punk rock could be so, you know, organic. Naturalistic? It's easy. It's like the Shaggs or Beat Happening or anything else, it sounds at first like it could be just noise. Just fucking around. It could be an accident. But it's not-- I saw Deerhoof play a lot around the time their first and second albums came out (they used to put out like four albums a year, actually), and as jazzy and jammy and loosey-goosey as they were, they are also pretty fucking precise technicians, too. Something about the energy captured in this song. Maybe it's because they were a couple? Maybe it's the simplicity of the lyrics? I don't know. I was already a vegatarian but I loved this meat video. I had a VHS of the Kill Rock Stars music videos and I remember taking it over to my first boyfriend's house to watch during a sleep-over (which was after we went to go see the Butchies and then dumpster-dove gigantic bags of popcorn from the movie theater). I loved this video and thought he would too, I guess he did, but he was freaked out at the stop-motion animation in the Satisfact video that came on later. Creepy crawly scary Matthew Steinke genius. I should have known.

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