(no subject)

This is high on the list of movies I must face, even if the review doesn't seem very good.
This was my New York.
And my childhood.
http://movies2.nytimes.com/2003/09/05/movies/05MONS.html?8dpc

(no subject)

Dear Planet Earth,

Being articulate does not make me secretly ugly or dangerous.

The correct response to someone who applies for a job with you, regardless of the relevance of writing skills or not to the position or appearance or not to the position is NEVER, "you write well--i don/t know if that/s good or not--we/ll be in touch".

The depths of my misery over this cannot be expressed.

-RM

~

Dear Everyone Who Wants to Recreate the Feeling of the True Moulin Rouge in New York,

I respect and honor your desire to fix what's wrong with nightlife in New York. And obviously, totally groove on your fascinations, but I just have a few thoughts for you:

1. You know the girls were courtesans, yes?
2. You do know what a courtesan is, don't you?
3. How far are you willing to go?
4. It's almost 2004, and this is no longer a bandwagon to jump on -- so go for it, if you love it, pleasepleaseplease, but otherwise, please go jump on the burlesque bandwagon that is quickly pulling away.
5. You do get that your vision and burlesque aren't the same thing, yes?
6. Wait, you do have a vision, right? Like, your own?
7. Confidential to the most recent Craigslist poster on this theme -- I get why you want your dancers to be able to speak French, but pourquois Russian?

You make my heart ache. The whole bloody lot of you.

-RM

~

(am noticing that the initials thing is sort of working for me, at least when I'm pissy)

(no subject)

Today, in the midst of great chaos I did something nice for myself. Which is finally find a scrapbook I deemed suitable. Clutching it, and those little fasteners for pictures (although almost none of what will go in there is that), I started to wander around Barnes and Nobles and stumbled into the travel section.

I do not buy travel books unless I've a plane ticket in my hot little paws. Just seems odd to me otherwise, although as soon as I got there I remembered that someone I used to love a great deal bought them almost compulsively. And I laughed fondly as I remembered him and the Streetwise maps he seemed to collect.

I settled in front of the the travel narrative books section and flipped through a few things. The Grownups Guide to Running Away from Home which seemed entirely for list-making impaired grownups who wanted to run away from home while still being grownups. Finally, finding a collection of travel essays about Australia, I sat down in a corner to read, because I had time to kill, and again, it's not as if I'd ever actually _buy_ a travel book.

At the very moment that I got to an amusing annecdote (in an essay about the history of sex in Sydney, because really, a girl should know) about the arrival of the first female prisoners on the continent, the sun shifted in the sky so that its rays passed exactly between the two escalators that had been blocking it, and illuminated just my tiny little corner. It was laugh out loud funny, and I pulled out my phone to record an audioblog post about it, but then I stopped, because the moment was quiet, warm, absurd and utterly mine, and so I enjoyed the four minutes and thirty seconds until the light retreated behind the escalators again.

At which point, I headed to the register and continued my days adventures, which has led now to me having auditions tomorrow, and sunday and monday. Which is good, but scaaaaary.

Also of note in the B&N was some random book on auditioning I flipped through which contained the author's tale of sending David Merrick a letter every week for seven months until he finally landed an audition with him. I grew up with one of David Merrick's daughters. It goes without saying that this tale caused intrigued (and horrified) neurons to fire in many parts of tiny little brain.

And my big giant head billboard still isn't up yet. Fuck you NFL.