Wednesday, April 28, 2010


You Okay Honey?

Damn, I'm old.  And enjoying every minute of it.

Can't be back there at the Nederlander Theatre on April 26, 1996.  Wasn't there for the 5,124th and final performance.  Never met Jonathan Larson, but consider him my friend.

Through the years; me.  At once Mark; in turns Roger.  Mimi:  Never really  got her (but in so many ways, am).

Sondheim inspired.  Amazing.  Bold.  Dramatically Dead Jonathan; like a Gower Champion whose 42nd Street was not yet paved.

And now it comes again, after all these years, back to haunt me, this RENT.  In my own now-claimed town.  Outdoors?  In a field of summer?  Absolutely.

I kind of hope it rains.  Okay, mists.  8:15 each evening thirty minutes prior to curtain. Just enough to try and put out the candle that can never be extinguished. 

I'll be there on the front row of dreams, taking a call from Alexi Darling.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

No Room for Doubt

Don't get me wrong.  I have issues with Paul, on many levels. But I love these words attributed to him:

"Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known  to God."

About anything, the Pauline author says, have no anxiety.  ANYTHING.

But (big but) everything by prayer.

Supplication with thanksgiving.

Supplication defined:  "to provide something".


Crispy night, tonight.  Tom was in the midst of making a very ordinary meal that involved, well, Spain.   He is so tired, this lover of mine.  Friday.  Evening.

Then, the request came:  "can we have some of that, it would make Jason so happy".


This boyfriend, this fresh-faced boy who is trying to do everything that is right and good for his own home.  His own relationship, comes to fetch something well and right from Tom's kitchen.  For Jason.

"Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your
requests be made known to God."


Grant, dear Mother and Father God, that all your children have blessings like the yondering, wondering Greg and Jason and how they have blessed us tonight.


Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Our Bodies Our Shelves

"When the lights went off the accompanist kissed her.  Maybe he had been turning toward her just before it was completely dark, maybe he was lifting his hands."

Opening lines of a novel intrigue:  Does one read into it the author's intent?  Did some savvy editor find this particular gem to place just in the right place?  Straightly forward. For readers, nay, browsers, let's pretend.  Journey.  An independent bookstore, daring to spend some time alone in the sloe.gin.fiz. of what remains of true shelves. Or, even, venture sometime, to a local public library, when you're hungry.  Feed.

That. First. Sentence. Utterance of what's to come.

Long before the 140 characters of Twitter:  I remember.  I remember when sentences gave a glimpse of Promise. 

"I have been afraid of putting air in a tire ever since I saw a tractor tire blow up and throw Newt Hardbine's father over the top of the Standard Oil Sign."

"Of all the things that drive men to sea, the most common disaster, I've come to learn, is women."

"It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love."

"I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a Dumpster."

"Anneth was dancing in her tight red dress and everyone was watching her, the way she closed her eyes and felt the music running up and down the backs of her legs, the way the curls trembled down in her eyes as she threw her hair about, stomping her feet with one leg proudly thrust through the high slit that ran up one side of her dress, and it was like seeing joy made into a human form that could travel across a dance floor--- it was like seeing the music itself."

There is so much noise in the world right now.  And, goodness knows, we are all so busy.  And. Hungry.

There is time for that first promising sentence.  Surprise yourself.  And it doesn't cost one. red. cent.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

R2D2, Where Are You?

"-the future seemed to be teasing us, rubbing against us, frotting us irresistibly...The future blew into our ears and whispered to us we could do everything..."
-StJude's Diary May 20, 2002

We're online, in line, for anything.  Everything.  iPlugged, hairWeaved, deToxed, boToxed. 

Technology.  Was knowledge intended?  And if so, when did knowledge leave from that word?  Techknowledgey.  Doesn't look right, spelled that way, does it?  Anything you can do iCan do better.  iCan do anything better than you. 

The heirloom of July tomatoes?  Ordered from, from my iPhone: check.  There's an app for that.  (sorry Louis' PowerHour, I don't listen to that station anymore since Jack sent that offensive tweet).  I'll be sure to post a picture of them when they start to grow.  Want to taste?  Text me.

Am I alone in missing the monthly Kentucky Theater refridgerator calendar?  Prob.  BRB, gotta check the daily showtimes on Facebook and Twitter. 

Are we more connected than ever before, in this now-expected techno is everything world?  Txt 1 4 yes, txt 2 4 no.

I'm a friend of  :) , but really, really like a smile from a stranger on the street.  Every now and then.  When I'm not on the phone. 

"...we could map the primate wired-in stuff and REWIRE it- we could mutate ourselves smarter and kinder.  We could mutate... and solve all our problems, personal and scientific.  We could- - -
No more.  Our future is here."    StJude's Diary   May 20, 2002