New York City is smaller than "New York City."

Laura and I just went to a performance of Christopher Durang’s “The Marriage of Bettie and Boo” tonight, which was – really – a pretty great show.  Part of the greatness was, in part, due to fact that the woman from Airplane! (Julie Hagerty) and the man who had the line “Touch my heart . . . with your foot.” in Annie Hall (John Glover) were both in it.  

Anyway, the reason I’m posting now is actually because of what happened after the show.  We were waiting outside the theatre so Laura could say hi to one of the actors she knew in the show, and while we were waiting she recognized another actor she’d worked with several years back who was also waiting.  So, we went over and said hi, and he introduced us to the woman he was with – “Winnie Holzman.”  I’m terrible with names, in part because I’m neurotic and often focusing on other things when introductions are happening, so the name slipped by me without a second thought.

When we got home about a half-hour ago, Laura mentioned that the woman we’d been talking to was a playwright, and then repeated her name “Winnie Holzman.”  This time – sitting comfortably in front of my computer – the name rang a bell in my head, so I quickly Googled it and confirmed the bell’s suspicions.  We’d been talking to Winnie Holzman – the writer and creator of “My So-Called Life,” which – if you ask me or Laura – is one of the most well-written and well-acted television shows that ever was.  For one season was, but still was.  Laura had always thought that this Winnie Holzman playwright she knew of might be the MSCL woman, but it never really occurred to her that it – indeed – was.  I find the meeting bizarrely coincidental because we’ve been haphazardly watching the show on DVD since I moved in, and some of the episodes have commentaries by Winnie Holzman.  Laura doesn’t find it bizarrely coincidental at all, but she’s lived here longer than I have.

The only thing I remember talking to her (Winnie) about was reasons the name “Soot” is funnier than the name “Mud” for a character.  I could explain, but there’s really no reason to.

New York City is smaller than “New York City.”

Vincent Bugliosi

gum disease advice

I have been living in this big city for about a month now, and have yet to locate the elusive employment that will (hypothetically) provide me with money with which to pay off my incessantly interest-ing pile of debt. It gets closer, however, as I finally have my website up and some promising contacts from my well-connected girlfriend (henceforth referred to as “Laura” or “L”). Beyond that, I’m going to a temp agency on Monday to prepare for worst-case-scenario scenarios, although I’m told that my editing/tech/office skill set is a lucrative one in the temping business – yay.

My website, by the by, is here: Feel free to gander and argue.

I have exactly two pairs of pants without holes in them, which is also something that employment will eventually take care of, although it seems like something that requires my immediate attention in order to obtain the solution. There’s a word for a situation like this, but I don’t have it on me.

I went to the dentist yesterday because of a mild toothache, and was charged $100 for one x-ray (no cavity) and advice about my (apparent) gum disease. The x-ray cost $25, you do the math for the advice. That is the first and last time I will ever pay someone to talk to me about gum disease. Everything is, apparently, more expensive in NYC – although, truth be told, I’ve never priced gum disease advice anywhere else.

I’ve got too much to do today to justify persisting with this drivel, although I love you all for staying with me – especially through the dentist paragraph. You got gusto.

I took this from the roof of our apartment in Hell's Kitchen.

"soaked in surgical spirits"

Hello again.

Hello again.  

Yes, it’s me – do you remember me?  I started putting words here on the Internet in 2003 (which was, incidentally, quite a while before most everyone else did (I AM A TRENDSETTER)), and – at the time – I was a fairly aimless twenty-nine year old, preparing to find my aim (or some semblance of it) in South Korea, of all places.  Now, almost five years on, I find myself a surprisingly aim-filled thirty-four year old, living in the heart of New York City with a life that I never would have imagined possible were it not my own.

It is only by embracing the inevitability of change that we are able to mold it into the life we desire.

No promises on the upkeep of this blog, only that it will continue to exist and be considered as an outlet for my whirling absurdish.  I would call this new thing “whirling absurdish,” were it not such a stupid fucking name for anything.  I’m embarrassed to have spent two (nay, three) sentences on it now, and this seems to be – if anything – a good excuse to stop now.