note to self memory jog

Thinking about Mary MaClane tonight, and how she always talked about how the Devil of her autobiography would refer to her as "a dear little wife" and the few and odd other places where I've heard that precise phrase.

I think it's time for bed.

(no subject)

I realized the other night that I just have to sing the fucking song I'm working on at the piano bar. It's going to suck and it's going to be scary and embarassing, but waiting until I'm sure is getting me no where fast. So the Thursday after my next lesson it is. Period.

In other news, I have an audition on Wednesday, just applied to PA for Broadway Under the Stars and have to talk to someone about a play. I almost feel productive.

la la la

I'm PA'ing for Broadway Under the Stars. Go me.