Remember That Time I Dropped Out of School to Become a Mime?

Mimes kill conversation.

Oh, lord, what am I doing...

Piss Broke and Pooped!

Exactly what the title says.

I'm exhausted. I've taken on way too much stuff, and my energy is just...blah. But I did see a couple good shows this week. Saw "Next to Normal," which has a killer first act and a second act that needs a bit of re-tooling/shaping up, but it's very good. And also saw "Sunday in the Park with George," which was beautiful in every sense of the word. The show is not my favorite, because it's so dependent on the audience's intelligence that it almost makes my brain hurt. But this production was so much clearer than others I have seen. Pretty much as perfect as it will ever get.

And the designs were out of this WORLD incredible.

My acting class in the city is fun, but I don't know how much more I can afford. I might have to say good bye to it for now, because I need to buy my text books still...

Oy gevalt.

I need a nap now. I played services at The First Church of Christ, Scientist this morning.

I didn't know the Messiah had a High-ah degree.

Toodles for now.

Love,
Miles

I Think I Used to be Smarter

I found this poem I wrote about a year ago, and can't help but feel like my brain is on the decline sometimes. Oh, how smart I was last year!

A Sweet Ditty


If older mem'ries of you rise anew
And sorrow strains upon my puerile face,
I'd hate to think of what I'd done for you
And how you put me in such horrid place.
But yet your visage's now quite clear,
the sadness comes (and here I go again)
and flesh below the cheek becomes all tear
while I peruse the scrapbooks of our zen.
Do you recall the very time and day
When first you told me how you loved me so?
I said to you, "dear, that's a dang'rous phrase."
Oh! You and I most cert'ly did not know.

That last bit just might cause you, dear, to slay me;
I fucked your mom and gave her crabs from Haiti.

The Child Knows Good Theatre Etiquette!

Today, I was at the Soto Velez seeing a new show a friend of mine had worked on. It was matinée performance for the children of the school in the adjacent building. The kids were bouncy and didn't seem to want to settle down until fifteen minutes after the curtain was supposed to have gone up.

So when the lights finally went down, it was a relief to myself and the two adults I was sitting with in the way way back behind these wonderfully crazy kids. As the room became dark, one of the kids continued to talk, and was interrupted by his friend who yelled at him, "shut the fuck up."

Stifled laughter was heard in the ensuing moments.

I Need An Assistant

The joys of being a triple major are coming down on me this present week. The work isn't particularly challenging for any of the classes, but the thing is, it's a LOT of menial tasks.

Memorize this piece in Italian.

Read this.

Memorize this sonnet.

Say this.

Move here.

And occasionally, "hey can you play this entire Gilbert and Sullivan Operetta for me at a moment's notice?"

None of these have ever really posed a problem for me. These are my natural abilities, and I've bullshitted my way through this for three semesters. But now I've suddenly gotten myself into a position where these two Rehearsal and Production Credits are the hardest I'll ever have to earn.

I CAN'T SEW. I can NOT sew to save my life. I need help. Badly. I can design costumes, fine. Pick out fabrics, brilliant. But ask me to put a precious fabric to a sewing machine and I quiver, because I'm horrible at it.

And I have five dance costumes to fix and ameliorate by Monday. I stared at the sewing machine and cried quietly today.

I think I have to boo-hoo to Andrea.

Concentrate on Now.

This weekend, for the first time in my life, I was fired from a job.

I understood, entirely, even though it was only my third night there. I just wasn't able to grasp the menu and keep up with the other waitresses. It was embarassing. About two hours before the end of my shift, I knew my co-workers were complaining about me and began to have an anxiety attack. Since we weren't swamped, I informed one of them and she told me to step outside.

This job was sort of the culmination of my frustrations with life. I'd been putting a lot of pressure onto myself to figure out what I'm doing for a career, and just forgetting to take time to breathe. So as I'm standing outside in the autumnal cold, my co-worker Amy came out to check on me. And despite the fact that I know she was frustrated with me, I felt like I connected with her on a personal level.

Because basically she said in two minutes the exact words I had needed to hear for months. She was a bit older than me, married, and in grad school. The vibe of cool and knowledgeable exuded from her. She said to me, "Miles, this isn't the end of the world. Just take time and relax, we're here to help you."

Of course, it was much more elaborate and profound to me than that; I wish I knew the exact words. But after we had spoke, I just stopped being tense. After months of struggling with it, I just stopped.

Sometimes I think I was fated to work there if for no other reason than to hear those exact words I had needed someone to say to me.

As we were cleaning up that night, my boss called me upstairs. I knew what she was going to say and was prepared for it. And frankly, I'd had enough of the job. I respected everyone I worked with, but that job just was NOT for me. I slowly walked upstairs and she gently let me go. I went down, grabbed my coat, and clocked out without saying good night, even though I wasn't really upset with anyone, just myself.

But, dear Amy, wherever you are, I hope you know that I am forever grateful to you. And that if I could ever just go back and say "good night, and thank you so much," I would.

And now I have relaxed, and I am just going to concentrate on the here and now.

Courtney Love's Halloween Party

Friday night, to commemorate the arrival of friends Braden and Samantha from the tundra of SUNY Oswego, I threw a party. I decided it would be a really great idea to make it a costume party and require that people come dressed as their favorite drug addict.

So I was Courtney Love. Because that bitch is a MESS and doesn't even TRY to hide it. I wore high heels and a red slip, mussed up my hair and smeared lipstick all over my face.

By request from my friend Brian, I performed my signature number, "The Ladies Who Lunch."

Three hours and twelve drinks later, I did it again. Both of these are shortly going to be available on either facebook or Youtube.

The best costume of the evening however, goes to Stephanie Scerbo. Everyone was raving about how amazing her costume was, I thought she was Violet from Peanuts. She wore a plaid formal dress with a bow in her hair.

Laaaaaaaame.

I was like, "Stephanie, where the fuck is your costume?"

She looks at me and said, "I'm JonBenet Ramsay, you dick."

I died. DIED.

On a weirder note, however, one of my token straight friends had an episode. I had no idea what was going on until it had already happened. I saw a cluster of people huddled around the bathroom and puddles of blood everywhere. My first instinct was that it had been a fight. I saw the back of Matt's head as he bobbled like a slow-moving metronome back and forth. My heart stopped. His girlfriend, my close friend Sarah, who I've known since childhood, was sobbing.

But if you and your loved one were both drunk and one of you was bleeding profusely, you'd probably be sobbing as well.

It turns out it wasn't a big deal, but the most amazing thing is that Brady took complete charge of the situation and handled it with the most efficient and graceful professionalism. I would have been dumbstruck. We had a sober driver take him to the hospital for stitches, and he is fine. He had burst open a wound he'd gotten in tech class.

And that was my Friday night.