(no subject)

Long-time readers will perhaps recall that once or twice I've mentioned that I've been looking for a girl named Marilynn who was a younger friend when I was in DC and who I met through her mother through charity work I did at the end of high school/beginning of college. We lost touch when I moved back to NYC, and I was too insane and ungraceful to return her phone calls.

I got an email from her today, ten years later.

She's in Australia.

Marilynn, NIDA and Rufus Wainwright; also, God Hates Crawfish

Been writing with Marilynn and confronting my whole NIDA thing in a big way. I really, really wish that I weren't turning 33 this year, it makes every decision seem like The Biggest Deal Ever, in a way it wouldn't if it was 32 or 34. Grrrrrrah!

Meanwhile, after long-term agressive resistance (never a good sign for me not being swept up in something after everyone is already over it), I'm listening to Rufus Wainwright's Poses, and I love it. It strikes me as one of those things where he has a sense of humour about his shit but no one else has noticed, which always pulls me in. That though, and an interview rahalia_cat pointed me to where he talks about the fate of male singer-songwriters has left me pensive. The deaths of Jeff Buckley and Elliott Smith (who I wasn't a fan of, but just had a particular place in my old life) rattled around in my actual life in such strange ways, I find myself listening to this voice on my little tinny headphones on my crappy walkman and thinking how nervous all that breathy fragility makes me, and certainly attempts to be clear-headed on all things are not easily met by me walking down the street with a wry and abusrd have smile singing, "where is my master the rebel prince?"

I mean, come on, I really need to start asking better questions, don't you think? Although that would kind of make an awesome random poll question. Maybe I'll come up with one made of song questions later.

I'm going to see Batman Begins tonight. That, at least, is easy. Hopefully there will be room at N~ tonight afterwards. Which reminds me, I think it's time for one of those late night meditative walks. Maybe that will sort this shit out.

Why is there a flock of Hare Krishnas harmonizing outside my window? And why are they being followed up with the barber shop across the street blasting On Broadway? Can I just note that EVERYTHING is really freaking me out lately?

I have an audition today but I don't know what for because the cellphone cut out when the guy told me. How fucked is that?

P.S., God Hates Crawfish (a band name if I ever heard one) via jane_etrix. The photo of the sign expressing gratitude for 9/11 particularly galls me.

Phone Post - post-audition ranting

my voice

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