God Does Not Want Miles to Have Sex, However the Universe is On His Side

As a firm believer in the principle of "everything happens for a reason," I can't help but feel that there is a strategy that the Higher Powers (e.g., God, Bhudda, Krishna, Ra, Mohammed, The Flying Spaghetti Monster, Zeus) have for my destiny.

Right now, a burlesque dancer named Satan's Angel is going to show me how to make pasties.

I love my life. The universe is on my side, and I do have faith.

Miles is writing an entry solely in Facebook statuses.

Miles is procrastinating.
Miles is being lazy in his bed in Glens Falls, New York.
Miles is thinking about Minneapolis.
Miles is thinking about North Carolina.
Miles is thinking about Prague.
Miles is thinking about London.
Miles is waiting on London.
Miles is shit broke.
Miles is going to Boston tomorrow.
Miles is watching the snow fall.
Miles is moody.
Miles is caring for his sick padre.
Miles is dropping his shit four years too late.

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.