i'm a white writer. in new york. original, no? i've been blogging since october 2002. this blog picks up in october 2008, when i moved from DC to NY...(and then I moved to Maine in 2012)

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

The winds are sometimes strange in the big city.

First, today's statistics:

6 in 60 seconds--a new record

ROACHES SPOTTED (and not the good kind)
Subset: LIVE: a baker's dozen
Subset: DEAD: way more
Subset: KILLED BY ME: not nearly enough

Did you know that, if kitchen counters aren't kept clean, and roaches turn the back of the spice rack into a makeshift jungle gym, then the tiny feces they eject get all encrusted on the counter? Let me tell you, it takes gobs and gobs of disinfectant wipes to get that stuff off.

Bit by bit, people. Much as I'd like, I can't just hose the place down, 'cause that's like screaming THIS PLACE IS DISGUSTING. And my roommate has stepped up to do the dishes more, which is awesome. She's now gone for a month, so I have high hopes that deep inroads will be made, and new tactical lines drawn on the formica battlefield.

Today I cleaned her cat's food dishes.

No wonder I haven't had an appetite lately.

That's not true. Today I went to a famous Russian deli that's a few blocks from me, and bought some baklava, some cheese pierogi, and some chopped beet salad. I also continued with the carrots and hummus theme of the week.


So last night I went to The Public and saw a LABrynth reading of a David Bar Katz play, featuring Eric Bogosian as a prophesying Jew mad with grief, who gets a whole shul to go along with his morally and literally suicidal plans. It was pretty great. I kept almost crying, then laughing. Deep in Act 2 it's revealed what propels him--he watched his wife be raped, her baby taken from her belly, a cat placed inside her, her belly sewn up, and her slow death from being clawed apart from the inside. Then he watched the soldiers laugh because the cat is still trying to escape. True story.

It almost redeems him.

See, the main character tells of the messiah coming, and he says that for God to redeem them all, they must break every Jewish law known. They go along with this, for various reasons.

Human nature's way of believing what we need to believe.

It was at this point in the play that I was reminded of George W. and his special brand of fearmongering psychopathia, how he was so successful early on in mobilizing paranoia into an almost religious frenzy.

It took us eight years, but the masses finally wised up, unlike the people in the play, who die in a fire, waiting for God to show up.

At the talkback, the question was raised as to whether the play were too offensive to be produced. I was kind of like, "It's not offensive, but isn't that why we do theatre in the first place? To offend intelligently? To provoke?" But I kept it all on the inside. Y'know, 'cause I'm new here.

Anyway, I was going to go back tonight for another reading, because, once you pay $81 for your monthly subway card, everything that's free feels freer because it don't cost nothing to get there, yo.

BUT, at 6:00pm, the chopped beet salad and the carrots and the hummus joined forces to morph into an angry meerkat trapped in my colon. Nothing foul was actually leaving my person, other than an occasional loud "piyGOOORRRRRRRphwskskOOORRRRssth." It was the kind of sound that, if it happens while someone is telling you something, upon hearing your shrieking bowel, the speaker will stop mid-sentence and look at you with a mixture of disgust and alarm.

Now, I know at least one of you reading this has sat next to me at a play and endured these unstoppable, unmutable noises and my consequent sweating and straining not to laugh at the dirty horribleness of it all. Seeing as I'm new in town, and trying to make a good impression and all, I eschewed the reading in favor of a Big Salad with a spicy dressing. I forgot to get a drink, and so the salad became rather painful. Tried to remedy this with an iced skim chai (because caffeine is best consumed at night), and then walked to Columbus Circle, where a giant gay marriage march was happening. "No 8, No Hate, Separate, Church and State!"

Oh, and I got paid. FINALLY.

1 comment:

LAByrinth Theater Company said...

Really glad to hear you enjoyed David Bar Katz's Burning, Burning, Burning, Burning in LAByrinth's Barn Series - but we'd love it if you posted a comment on our blog (and link you yours) giving some of that feedback about offending / redeeming. As you can imagine, it's something we're talking about a lot at LAByrinth. Go get those roaches. LAB.