Thursday Night

At Melbourne University I took a creative writing class called 'Journals, Diaries, Autobiography'. The professor had a favourite line, 'Begin with now...' she would say. When in doubt, 'begin with now'.

To begin with now:

It is 8.03pm. I am sitting alone in a converted loft apartment in an area of Brooklyn the hipsters call 'East Williamsburg', and those too cool to be hip acknowledge as what it is; 'Bushwick'.

I am drinking my second glass of Cavit pinot grigio. Cheap at double the price.

An ice cream truck keeps driving past. Would not have imagined this industrial neighborhood to be his demographic. He keeps it real by mixing up his electronic musak, and I keep thinking my mobile phone is ringing.

I am in Brooklyn because a dispute over the long standing 'open wardrobe policy' I have with my crazy scandinavian flatmate flared up on Monday due to an overdue pair of black pants on her part, built up frustration on my part, and aforementioned craziness (again on her part) drove me out of the west village in search of some peace. So here I am at Zay's apartment, while he is out at a Laure Anderson concert with his boss.

It's 8.07pm. School finished on Monday. On Tuesday I began to have guilt at not being productive enough so I read through the day's casting breakdowns and discovered the perfect acting job for the summer; 'Black Comedy' a British farce being performed in the Berkshires. I even knew the director. Perfect! Today, I went in for an audition. 'Twas not perfect. Though I couldn't even tell you what was actually wrong with it. Just sometimes you know, and sometimes you don't, and today I knew, and the reaction was a very polite 'ho hum'. David Mamet says when you're done (performing, auditioning, whatever), you should wipe your feet at the door. I did; the door to a wine store.

Time to myself extremely weird. I guess this is the come-down from the high of school. Need to make a list of intelligent books to read, need to figure out my tax, need to find a way not to spend forty hours a week in the admissions office, need another glass of wine.

8.13pm. A guy outside the window keeps yelling 'Noooo....' loudly and weirdly. This is definitely not Williamsburg. Makes me think of the stalker phone call in 'The Bodyguard', and my father's subsequent impression of him at frighteningly regular intervals.

To end with now:

It's 8.21pm. The ice-cream truck is back, and the musak has looped back to 'Music Box Dancer'. It's actually kinda catchy. I am considering changing my cell phone tone.

Winter, Spring, Summer....


To begin; a haircut:

Above photo: taken the day of haircut, cut by my very favourite six hundred dollar hairdresser. A frenchman who works out of a salon in an upper east side brownstone, and thank god a friend, so for me, not $600. Not even anything like it.

The haircut was in service of the show, 'Limonade Tous Les Jour', by Chuck Mee, performed after four months of rehearsal with Austin Pendleton at 59E59 Theatres, Tuesday, April 24. My New York debut. Quite a night. Smashing, sold out crowd. Lots of compliments followed by lots of vodka on the roof top bar of the Peninsula hotel on fifth avenue. Famous for its rooftop bar, and people who can afford $21 martinis. And those who every so often like to pretend they can.

One performance only, unless we get picked up for a full season, which is looking, if not likely, then at the very least highly possible. There are a couple of producers 'talking'... a lot of which goes on in this town. Recommendation: keep fingers crossed but do not hold breath.

On a slightly related note, Austin, my 'co-star' or scene partner (depending on levels of pretention) is about to be awarded a special 'drama desk award' for being 'the renaissance man' of the New York theatre. Never met a real live one before, but can report that acting opposite a bona fide renaissance man is a highly gratifying experience.

Above photo: taken in an apartment on the Upper West Side that I spent 5 weeks looking after, for a playwright off on an artist's retreat. A playwright with two cats. Two psychotic cats, 'Bailey and Scout'. However a very timely 'time-out' from the village, and the joys of sharing a one bedroom apartment with high maintenance scandinavian. Also a good way to meet a real live playwright. One that gets to go to 'retreats'.

Above photo: taken by aforementioned Zay. Still around. Still lovely. Super lovely. This was taken Easter Sunday eve, before surprise solo easter egg hunt he prepared in lieu of my being home to attend highly competitive annual Handley Family hunt. Next update I promise a photo of him.

Two weeks left of school, and nine subjects left to pass. Actually, eight. Finished off dialects today with Russian presentation. Then the long, stinky New York Summer. Not sure of plans yet. Invitations to LA, Seattle, Long Island, London and a Lake House in New Hampshire. Also possible I will spend forty hours a week in a windowless office earning $12 an hour. Possible, but fingers crossed highly unlikely.