I'm testing the photo-posting capabilities here. This is what i look like. Well, sort of. This is what I looked like right after disguising my blue hair. (i think i took this shot because agent smith had never seen me as a brunette. it was short-lived as hair experiences go.)

i open my mouth and the whole world gets smart

the sign on The Job's conference room fridge says "Please Label Your Food."

the post-it note below it says "Why? Can't you tell what it is?"

my food within is all fastidiously labeled "mine."

nobody said it was easy

trying to escape
chewing, biting, shredding my
pretty fingernails

you make me skip like a broken record

i think there's something wrong. asserting myself did not used to make me feel frightened to the point of nausea this way. i wonder when i replaced my spine with a freakin' slinky?

it made such a horrible sound

yesterday i was at The embassy on my third day of Stay At Home Sick, so naturally i was watching Reading Rainbow.

the theme appeared to be "carousels and legacies," which was just dandy with me; love me some carousels, and the legacy bit brought in a lovely quilting segment.

levar "best job in the freakin' world" burton got to ride the painted horses by himself. He and i appear to look for the same things when choosing our mount: outer ring, must go up and down.

at the end of the show, they let the kids in. i suppose that's only fair, but....

...hey! what the? when did it become necessary to safety belt children on to a carousel?!?

and in crappier television

yes, i'm ashamed, but totally in thrall to project runway. that wendy is a fuckin' beatch, yo. and not terribly talented, neither. we hatesss her.

how to comfort the egomaniac in your life

less effective: "it's ok, because we all make mistakes and still love you."

more effective: "it's ok, because when Wagner debuted most of his works, people were totally bewildered as well."

he threw me in to teach me how

i had a quite quite disturbing dream about a week ago, one i actually awakened myself from, which is somewhat rare.

one of the minor disturbing incidents was getting into an argument with my father.

for the first time in my life, sleeping or otherwise, i won the fight.

i won it by asserting that i was nearly thirty.

jesus christ, i'm nearly thirty.

what a wicked game to play

try substituting the word "funk" for the word "fuck" in everyday conversation!

(or do it th'other way 'round...whichever'll be more disruptive!)

((i assure you this is hIlarious at 3am.))

it's getting late, to give you up

um, i was really rather drunk (on 2 martinis, a shot of burbon, and some misc amount of knockout punch) so i can't be sure, but i think mr.d and i were having a conversation on the way out to nemesis where he opined that my food texture issues would make it hard for me to survive in the post-apocalyptic world (or maybe it was just a world after the trucks stop running?) and i said that in the face of starvation i would eat earthworms and berries and raw squirrels if i had to, so that would be alright.

i can scream as loud as your last one...

pretty, neat, things.
- fog on one side of 520, but not the other
- a large old harpsichord
- frozen pink octopus. in a bag.

it seems the interestingness of the world around me is inversely proportionate to the level of self-involvement i'm nursing on any given day.

in the meantime, i seem to be torturing my friends.

sorry.

...but i can't claim innocence

omega ladies
your end-days fun-time gals don't
cater to alphas

always through such strong resistance

between what i won't talk about, can't talk about, and am utterly sick of talking about, i'm at a sore loss for subject matter these days.

hmm.

i had to buy lunch twice yesterday, because of all the things there are to be picky about in this world, i apparently choose to be choosy about tuna salad.

see what i mean?

my sister left me a "call me back i'll be home all night" message sunday (tech day). fortunately, when i called her on break, she just wanted to tell me she'd ordered my bridesmaid dress. which, in light of the play i'm working on, is kinda funny in a coincidental sort of way.

speaking of the play, and the tech, and blogging where these people will read it eventually, A Big Thankful Shout-Out to: King Comte, Molly, G., and John Galt. they have all done lots of not-their-job tasks which have made tech for the play not only possible, but damn cool. thankyouthankyouthankyou.

and love is not a victory march

cassandra knows this:
true advice has no value
to whom it concerns

hear the voice of the dj, don't understand just what does he say

this morning i was reminded of why i don't generally listen to radio on my way in to The Job.

nah, not quite true. i usually avoid morning radio because it bores me. with all the talking. today, however, i found myself irresistibly, appallingly fascinated.

in line for micky-d's, digging for my debit card, paying, all that, i hear a "confession" from a girl who stole $400 from her roommate via a credit card check.

okay.

she's making this confession to score concert tickets.

um, okay.

the djs decide that to get the tickets, this girl must confess to her roommate on the air. and she agrees.

oka...what?!?

yes, shamefully, this is the point where i was hooked. aaaaaand i turned up the volume.

so, they call the guy. and the guy is mad. and the girl is defensive. pretty much as expected.

and then the guy pulls out the crazy: he suggests this girl, who stole from him, who he is mad at, can make the whole thing up to him by having sex with him. otherwise he'll be calling the police.

because that makes sense.

this is the point where i am unhooked. i also begin to doubt the "reality" of the entire exchange. (in fact there may be some causality between B and A there.)

note to self: get travel cd case from the booth. never, ever, drive without it again.

come down and waste away with me

when i've had a really bad day, or string of bad events, and am relating my woes, agent smith has a quote for me.

"it could be worse. it could be raining."

(actually, this is nothing too unusual, as most of his conversation consists of movie quote-age.)

anyway.

this morning, i was snug and cozy in ze bed. however, i had acrobats to feed, so i responsibly headed out into the cold cruel world.

i had pre-ordered their lunch, so all i had to do was pick it up, and drop it off in the green room. i would be stuck at work until time to fetch their dinner, but all-in-all, not a horrendous day in artist hospitality land.

suuuure, riyght.

food delivered, me at my computer, coffee/ovaltine drink close to hand. cell rings: It is PoolShark, making sure all is well. just as i'm starting to say i have everything under contr...

"Raej! Only eight people have eaten and the food is all gone. Is not nearly enough. Ok?"

Ok. Chinese food for 10 teenage acrobats right now? sure, no problem.

(yes, PoolShark hears all of this.)

i promise food, i get boss' boss off the phone, i call the restaurant, i order food, i find the interpreter, i explain that food will take an hour, i promise snacks in the meantime, i throw on my coat, i think how quickly the day got crappy, i think

"it could be worse. it could be raining."

i walk outside. into the sleet.

lunchtime exchange

her heart was cold as
a hot pocket, please defrost
my love, somebody

i'll fly away in the mornin'

~ ok, i'm sorry, and tragedy is tragedy and all, but in the midst of on-going disaster and pestilence and starvation all over asia, the headline "California Mud Slide Death Toll Mounts to Six" is just, yeah, a bit overstated.

~ as i waited for the desk lady at the senior center to finish gushing with the elderly lady ahead of me about their various fun-fur-yarn scarves, i realized i was witnessing the death of a trend.

~ number of teachers to whom i gave my personal cell phone number yesterday, with instruction to only call me in case of snow cancellation: ten.
number of teachers who called before 7:30am to say school had not been canceled on account of snow: only one, surprisingly. i was expecting at least 3.

my apartment looks upside down from there

yesterday i'm standing on the stage at The Job, trading light, exhausted banter with the stage ninjas, and watching the artists' road manager relate, via translator, the running order of the show.

the new year is off in Wile E. Coyote fashion: 23 people, 8 shows, 8 meals, 6 school matinees.

oh, and apparently it might snow tomorrow.

so, i'm looking at this group of teenagers, dressed fashionably in puffy coats and scarves, and idly listening to the exchange:

"flashing knives"

"闪动的刀子"

"ropes of justice"

"正义绳索"

"chair stack"

"椅子堆"

suddenly 15 heads snap upward. and suddenly i Know: they're gauging how high the grid is. because they're going to build something using only chairs and their bodies. and it'll be high enough that they might. actually. be in danger of hitting. the light grid.

it was eerie. like, doing-laundry-with-superheros eerie.

today, they were rehearsing the chair stack. and, impressive as that act is in performance, they usually have their game faces on.

when they don't, it's downright scary. like, this-person-could-fall-and-be-seriously-injured scary.

it's enough for this wide eyed wanderer

"so, would you say that was deadly theatrrr?" i asked mr.d as we walked away from the lion king.

"it's hard, a lot of it was pretty deadly." he said.

"but then everything else totally wasn't."

"exactly."

but i'm getting ahead of myself.

first: puppets! giant puppets! dozens of giant amazing fucking fucking PUPpets!!! stilt puppets and shadow puppets and skeletal antelope bicycle puppets! puppets puppets PUPPETS!

yes, i did cry during the opening scene.

on a more annoyed note: couple sitting in row M, seats 7&8 last night at the paramount? you are BAD THEATRRR GOERS. showing up 10 minutes into the show? is bad. leaving right at the start of the standing ovation? also bad. repeating lines audibly throughout the entire performance? very VERY bad. i hear seattle has a kick-ass professional women's basketball team. perhaps you should look into them, hmmm?

nothing really exciting in my world today. did this after following a link from Bradley's Blog:

You Are a Snarky Blogger!

You've got a razor sharp wit that bloggers are secretly scared of.

What kind of blogger are you?

moi? a snarky blogger? quelle surprise.

candy on the beach there's nothing better...

the elderly lady threw me a wary look, a look which said "you ought to feel ashamed about brushing your teeth in the community center restroom, you brazen hussy."

i avoided her gaze, an avoidance rife with "look, my own lips are curling away from my teeth. it's nothing but kindness to my co-workers and such to make sure my mouth experiences regular trips of minty freshness."

for good measure, though, i made sure she saw me wipe off the sink area with a paper towel when i was done. "see? considerate! cleaning! back off, lady!"

i also tucked my toothbrush up into my sweater sleeve as i bounced back to the office...but not quite far enough: "I'm Crazy ToothBrush Hand! Give me some candy!"

beats working

my friend media man used to claim that, based only on the length of the rehearsal period, he could predict the exact point in the theatrrrical process at which i would begin to feel like a worthless faker and that everything i do is a piece of shit.

however, he never shared this formula with me. so all i know is.

i fucking hate theatrrr. dear god, please, please give me something else to do that will make me happy.

all i did was dream i was safe and sound
or
weekday update

- probably going to be buying a ukulele soon. any advice?

- work is a giant nun hitting me rhythmically with a ruler of death. but not in a bad way.

- second most strangely cool thing that happened new year's eve: the doctor taught me three uke chords while i was very very drunk.

- oddly, i remember the finger positions, but not the song.

- the play is progressing. i promised a finished script by this evening. this may have been insane of me.

The Last Rites of Barney Fife, part 2

The Story of The Little Girl and The Machine.

Once upon a time a little girl had wandered far and away from home in search of love or adventure or both, god willing. She was picking her way over, under and through the snagged undergrowth of the deep dark forest when she came upon a marvelous machine.

It was complex with springs and many toothed-cogs, and shone like joy wherever the shafts of sunlight found it. From what little of it she could see between the leaves, it seemed almost to grow out of the trees and vines.

“I’m so hungry and weary,” she bemoaned as she stumbled into its clearing, having fallen into the habit of talking to herself as solitary travelers are wont to do, but before she time to elaborate her discomfort, whir and click click and whoosh, the machine produced a cup of water and a dish of pudding and a marvelously squooshy cushion. As the girl sat and rested, she wondered aloud where she could spend the night. Whir and click click and whoosh, the machine produced a snug little tent, just perfectly sized for a little girl. As she was drifting off to sleep, she murmured sleepily how such a marvelous machine had come to be here in the snagged undergrowth of the deep dark forest. . .but she feel asleep before she could notice that the machine remained silent

Days passed and the little girl found that the machine could do anything she asked it to. A new dress? Whir, and click click and whoosh, and there it was, just the colour she wanted. A pony? Whir again, and click click once more and whoosh and whinny. How had the machine come to be? To this, the machine had no reply but silence.

More days passed and the little girl began to find the marvelous machine would do what she wanted it to before she had time to ask. More time passed and the marvelous machine began to do what she wanted before she even wanted it.
After many many days of this, the need to know just exactly how the machine worked began to completely occupy the little girl’s mind. And the machine became increasingly silent as this one desire overtook all others.

One bright morning, the little girl began idly poking at the edges of the machine. Whir and click click and whoosh, a large shiny cog fell off of the machine into the snagged undergrowth below. The little girl grasped it and turned it to and fro, but she couldn't tell quite what it did. She continued her poking, and whir and clickclick, a dull spring gave way. She shook it up and down and took it over to a shaft of sunlight to study it better, but she was no wiser than before. And so on through a hinge and a rod and so on and so on.

She continued like this until she suddenly looked around her: the machine was in pieces all over the forest floor, and the little girl still hadn't learned how it worked. Worse, having been so concentrated on taking it apart, she had no idea how to put it back together again. So, she sat down and she wept a little and then she tied the first shiny cog on a string around her neck to remind herself to never, ever do that again. And then the little girl went off into the snagged undergrowth of the deep dark forest to look for another machine. The End.

of course there she was
we're wearing the same hat so
what coincidence