it is not my birthday

This Blog Is Officially Read-ONLY

2007-05-26T00:53:00.000-04:00

After a long long time of not posting here, I've gotten around to declaring this content read-only.

My current blog, actually active, and in which I post daily, is hanging out at Frivolous Motion.

Please feel free to read through this one, though there isn't much of interest, most likely.

And I'd be delighted if you checked out the new one. It's really quite a departure from this.

Thanks,
Kevin

on money and pastries

2006-03-17T12:30:00.000-05:00

This, roughly, is what I eat for breakfast every morning before work. Occasionally I'll skip it, occasionally I'll have a small coffee with it. But generally, I can be trusted to shell out one dollar for a large croissant from the vendor cart on 47th street between fifth and sixth avenue.

It's tasty, and I haven't gotten tired of it after a month and a half--the only trouble is I must pay cash. And I can't use a twenty because they can't make change for it--which means--sad story--I must buy something else before I can buy breakfast--breaking my twenty, and ensuring that I'll end up spending much more of the cash than I really ought to. Alas. Otherwise, I'm happy to report that I have been cash free for months now. All my purchases (with the exception of the croissant, and the occasional drink at a bar) are made with my Bank of America issued Visa Check Card. There is something, I think, beautiful about the magical realm of imaginary money. Not holding the bills and coins does not, as you might wonder, make it easier to spend too much money. Instead, it frees you from being weighed down by heavy pockets, counting, and being robbed. Not carrying cash feels healthier somehow, better for the environment, better for your mental well-being. I think if people removed themselves from the concrete, perceptual reality of everyday living a little more often, they'd feel lighter, happier, less hardened. Life is more than what we can perceive with our five senses. Like the money you spend with an ATM card (not a credit card--that's money you don't have, which is different)--you can't see it, hear it, smell it, or touch it, but it has a very real effect, when all of a sudden you have purchased something with it. Maybe, even , you purchased too much, and suddenly you're in big trouble from something that, perceptually, didn't exist to you except in your mind (whose faulty memory caused you the trouble). I don't know where I'm going with this, but it seems important. More and more, the physical card is disappearing as well. After all, credit card companies have been saying for awhile that really, it's just a number. Not the card. Even more metaphysical. Awesome. I can buy things online easy as pie, and now that I've committed my number to memory (including the security number on the back), I don't even have to consult the card. Direct depost to direct spending. I can't wait for the time when money no longer changes hands physically, but exists solely in the digital world--always in transit. Mmmm.

For now though, I'm glad it hasn't reached that point yet. I still like to eat my croissant every morning. Even if the saturated fat is killing me.

i want to be famous

2006-03-11T23:50:00.000-05:00

will you make it happen, please?

or, I could just be rich. either way would be completely satisfactory.

signed,

Kevin

seventh heaven gets me every time

2006-02-14T18:58:00.000-05:00

Tears in my eyes, I wonder how I'll do at the Jeopardy teen tournament I just switched to (it being seven now, of course). Will I be able to see the answers? Or might I have to throw out random questions-waterblindly shooting at an unlikely coincidence?

I have no idea.

Not even one about what I just wrote.

But, I've been reading frequently lately, and that feels good. I also feel like I am actually "getting it" in a way I hadn't before.

My new favorite computer program is Adobe Illustrator. But Photoshop is still up there, as are Garage Band, Pro Tools, and Final Cut Pro...

Happy Valentine's Day.

Adorno is God.

I feel patriotic. I did my taxes yesterday. Luckily, this bastardized country didn't charge me for all the crappiness I and the global community have had to endure. That's right, gimme all my money back! Alas, I suppose I can't actually have a say in the business of the country until it starts to keep my money...but oh well...

sand in my pants
itchy like hell
where'd it come from?
there's snow on the ground.

salvation army, woooooooooooo!!!!!!

2006-02-05T17:50:00.000-05:00

CS Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters"

wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

for you all....

2005-12-23T22:50:00.000-05:00

Merry happiness-time.

Make a little peace for yourself every now and again.

My present to you: my love, and my thoughts, and my bank account number:

0049900700233

what the fuck?!

2005-12-20T02:23:00.000-05:00

transit strike the week of Christmas?!!

fuck you, TWU

seasons greetings,

Union Buster

check this out...

2005-12-15T11:26:00.000-05:00

still under construction, but Last Hour Films...

only the homepage and the "films" links are running right now, but check back periodically for a trailer of the soon-to-be-award-winning documentary, "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead."

(please forgive the popups--they are courtesy of the free hosting site --not chosen by me-- and we'll hopefully find something better soon).

peas.

Casper's Haunted Christmas

2005-12-13T19:33:00.000-05:00

I am a soldier in the war against Christmas. I enlisted four years ago, after having graduated high school and moved from the southwest to the northeast for a liberal arts education. Boot camp was tough, but I came out of it a hardened Freedom Fighter, and have joined the ranks of the liberal elite in a Shock and Awe campaign against a holiday celebrated by the vast majority of Americans, who, nonetheless, feel persecuted by our insignificantly-numbered coalition.

Recently, however, our good works (advancing inclusiveness and respecting diversity) have fallen victim to a smear campaign. We have been accused, wrongly, of such inane tactics as requiring Christmas trees to be referred to as "Holiday trees." Aside from the utter falseness of these charges, the fact that so pointless and senseless a tactic might be attributed to our coalition is downright insulting. Christmas trees are Christmas trees, and there is nothing wrong with calling them such. Jews (and black people) don't have trees associated with their holidays--if they did, then a government would not be able to discriminate by displaying only one type of tree. As it is, however, there is nothing whatsoever religious about Christmas trees, despite the recent assertion to this effect by the Christian religion, whose cries foul are somehow rooted in this falsity. Why, oh why, do they care about trees? Or, for that matter, displays of Santa and his reindeer?

But the most vile charge against our coalition is perhaps that we have caused retailers to require employees to greet customers with a generic "Happy Holidays!" instead of "Merry Christmas." This charge does have its basis in reality, but our group has little to do with enacting such a policy. Christian-folk have subsequently called for a boycott of Target stores, and Wal-Mart (a wasteland of low-prices and high-morality) is, reactionarily, requiring employees to say "Merry Christmas," despite the fact that Christmas is weeks away from the day after Thanksgiving. Such a phrase, as well as being exclusive, also sounds stupid uttered in early December. It is not Christmas until December 25th, though I will allow for this phrase being used on Christmas Eve, and the now-rarely-observed "12 Days of Christmas." Would you instruct employees to say "Happy Easter" as early as Valentine's Day?, or more absurdly, "Happy 4th of July" in June? The greeting "Happy Holidays" is one that encompasses a series of holidays, being the only appropriate greeting for a period of time designated for shopping and feeling the "holiday spirit." "Season's greetings" works as well, I suppose. "Happy Jesus' Birthday," the so-called "real meaning of Christmas" just sounds stupid when it is not his birthday (we'll forgive the fact that December 25 is also not Jesus' birthday--it is merely observed then).

Stupid stupid stupid, and we, the coalition in the war against Christmas, are proud that retailers have come of their own accord to this fact--realizing that it is in their best (fiscal) interests not to exclude customers shopping for EIGHT (8) FREAKING DAYS of gift-giving! -- not to mention the black people shopping for Kwanzaa gifts who could, we very well know, quite easily decide to rob the stores causing them offense, as they do all the time, that's how they all have such nice clothes and iPods and jewelry. Duh.

In closing, Christians--fuck off. No one gives a shit. Lots of people like Christmas, and lots of people like Jesus. It's your own damn fault that not even your people put the two together anymore.

Is it weird that, to celebrate Jesus' birth, Christians decorate the very tree that their Lord and Savior would one day be nailed on--his life ended by crucifixion?

I think it's a little weird.

before work

2005-12-12T10:15:00.000-05:00

A little madness
A little kindness
Makes for happiness.

~Chinese Fortune Cookie

Amen.

two asterisks in the snow

2005-12-09T11:15:00.000-05:00

*blink

and you will miss it all.

*close your eyes

and you just might see.

at the Raether Library and Information Technology Center

2005-12-02T20:14:00.000-05:00

Having just witnessed "S," conceived by Mitchell Polin, I found myself waltzing over (like the good ol' days) to the Cave, armed with my gracious lover's student identification card, should I wish to gain access to some edification-for-cheap(free). Tragedy, oh tragedy, dear reader, that my somewhat-semi-ailing body should find revolt at nearly all the proposed selections--all except one--a cold 20fl. oz. bottle of Aquafina brand Purified Drinking Water. Not wanting to call attention to my false identification by making a $1.00 purchase with a "meal," I sucked it up, and pulled a rather crumpled, but still functional George W (Washington, not Bush) from my also-crumpled, if slightly less functional brown leather wallet.

Now, after having removed my shoes and given up my nose-hair-tweezers, I made it through airport security by flashing my old-school Trinity ID to gain access (albeit illicitly) to the Raether LITC, and sit in front of a lovely Gateway PC, wasting away the hours, and sipping on my Pure Water with its Perfect Taste. Every time.

In the long fight for a boring office job, there has emerged a glimmer of hope (as in the trailer for M. Night Shamamalamadingdong's "The Lady In The Water," which if you haven't seen, you should--if you're the self-mutilation type); I have been called by one of the staffing agencies I've solicited (the "sketchy one" in my earlier post) having been granted an interview by his client at a Manhattan architectural firm. After lots of "Hey, I'm gonna recommend you for this job"'s followed by no call notifying me of its status--a phone message offering me an interview is a pretty awesome development. Now comes, however, the difficulty of fitting it in around my Coach schedule, and my appointment for a physical for the NY Psychiatric study in which I'm participating.

But, if all goes well, I'll have an interview, kick ass, and no longer be a slave to changing schedules weekly, and holiday/weekend work--freeing me to actually try to do some more of the things I love (like build kites, eat Rhesus Peanut Butter Cups, and cry in slow motion).

I must find something to occupy more of my time right now--I have approximately three hours left before the evening performance of "S" will end (as it has just begun), and fear, in my boredom, that I may be drawn to taking awful online surveys and modifying profiles on any of close to half-a-dozen "friend network" websites I have, at one time or another, signed up for. In my quest for the perfect public persona, each of these sites represents a slightly different version of Kevin M. Keating--some sexier, some edgier, some artsier, some even more conservative than others (the latter to soften the impact of my radicalism on family members who may also utilize such sites). But which is me? Or which most closely represents the me which exists currently? Or the me that you, personally, might know? The fun in lying--or in bending the truth--comes not in deceiving, but in creating a new truth--true to me at that moment, and true to the You that reads it. Or perhaps, sadly, now that the truth has been revealed, you will take all my words with some salt (I recommend Kosher--big benefit of living with a semi-Jew). This, probably, is a good thing.

Words are incomplete signs, signifying, rather crudely, the most vivid and indescribable of thoughts. Valiantly we attempt (in writing) to more closely mirror what we want to say, what it is our minds--our imaginations--our senses are showing us in Technicolor. Try as we may to increase our vocabularies, learn other languages, express our thoughts with non-verbal codes of signs (art, photography, music, etc.), we are doomed to fall short of perfectly translating thought from one person to another. Some of you might argue that the nearer to perfect translation, the greater the action--the greater, if you will allow the jump, the artist, or the writer, or the orator. Problematically, this is contingent entirely upon the recipient of the translation, and upon a completely immeasurable quantity called "understanding." "Wow--I understand exactly what so-and-so is saying in such-and-such painting" is a statement rooted in subjectivity. How can one ever know that they "get it"? But, what if the artist says, "Yes, Frank, you do get it!"? Again we have the confusion of language--only this time exponentially greater, since to arrive at this point we have had the following exchanges:

1. Artist has thought (I will not, for now, go into the problem of "selecting" or singling-out of a thought, but keep this in mind--are our thoughts ever pure even to ourselves, or might they be clouded, changed by the subjective organs we have for comprehending them?)

2. Artist translates thought into painting. Translation limited by skill with paint, and all manner of environmental/financial/etc. complications.

3. Artist thinks to himself, "This is what my finished painting is about" (even if he is of the school that refuses to attribute meaning to his own work--stating that the audience defines and creates it infinitely).

4. Person sees painting. Translation is here interrupted by various environmental conditions yet again, distorted by Person's perception of "past" events, and the setting in which the painting is viewed.

5. Person thinks that the artist is thinking one thing. Surprise of surprises!! It is what Person himself sees when he looks at it!! Wow!! (Even if it's not--who among you would ever admit otherwise? save for an occassion in which you are [feel] superior in some way to the artist).

6. Person translates thought into words, "Artist--I get it! You were going for this, this, and this!"

7. Artist hears this, translates it into ,

You know, this is getting exhaustive--I think the point may have been demonstrated in the sheer frivolity of these past seven conditions.

Naturally, each of these seven conditions may be broken down in to an infinite number of sub-conditions, wherein we examine (more precisely and exhaustively) each of the various subjectivities that come between one thought and its translation. Imagine an electrical current running through a series of resisters--emerging through each one the signal suffers, decays, and is no longer the same current we started with. Such is the way with communication.

What then, is the point? How are we to communicate? Why engage in such an ultimately fruitless endeavor as talking, or writing, or painting, or singing, or anything, if ultimately, it is not understood--if there is, after all, no hope of a true, complete connection between two bodies? Why? Why say, "I love you" if the other person will never know what you mean by it (and in this day in age, even be suspicious of your intentions)?

I will leave you, tonight, with these questions, dear readers, to ponder in your dreams, to respond--if you are so moved--with answers or questions of your own, or with the words "I get what you are saying, Kevin"--hoping that, with the spirit of the holiday among us, we might pause a moment and reflect on the things we find so necessary to our well-being, and wonder how we might show that, or say that, or be that.

Q: What does it all mean?

A: Yes. No. I don't know. I love you.

day off tomorrow (sort of) at last...

2005-11-29T21:55:00.000-05:00

If only I didn't have to wake at six a.m. to go to the second part of the screening for the alcohol study, and later hand out fliers for three hours...

Oh well...

The weekend shall come soon enough, and I will be at Trinity to see the Fall Theater production, and Tina, and whomever might be around.

Ah.

Nothing creative tonight. At least at the moment.

Currently Reading: Liveness--Performance in a Mediatized Culture by Philip Auslander

Rock on.

algo mas

2005-11-29T02:16:00.000-05:00

A man walks into a room. He carries a chair.

Turning to the window, he speaks, "What the fuck are you looking at?!" and begins to destroy his body with the chair.

When the man has beaten himself to a bloody pulp, he remains still. The chair wanders off left (toward the kitchen) and the window shade lowers, as if to blink.

it's 2:00 a.m.

2005-11-29T02:00:00.000-05:00

So sorry, regular readers, that I have been so lax in posting lately. Long hours (and no days off) at Coach make for a less-happy blogging experience. I write you know, even, mere hours before I must rise to do the things I must do prior to heading off to sell some handbaggy goodness. Last week I somehow managed to have the second highest sales volume in the store, so I'm pretty proud of that, and think it goes to show just how far from my super-shy, super-reserved, super-quiet, non-gregarious days I have come. Well, maybe I could still do to talk a bit louder, but it's been working for sales so far.

Fred Savage (from The Wonder Years) stopped in Coach on Saturday, which was quite the treat for me (as one of the only associates who knew who he was), and I talked to him just enough to find out that, no, he did not need help finding anything.

Jewel's "Hands" is fast becoming one of my favorite songs. Or maybe I'm lying. I hear it several times a day, which usually happens only to songs I particularly enjoy; but being on the Coach Holiday playlist, it is one of about ten songs that play repeatedly, and for which I now know note-by-note.

Christmas Muzak already? It is after Thanksgiving, after all.

I'm now listening to some J.S. Bach (The Goldberg Variations) before going to bed...hoping that my children will be smarter because of it. Or at the very least recognize some classical music when they hear it--unlike much of the population, who couldn't tell you the difference between Stravinsky and Tchaikovsky if their life depended on it.

Tragedy, I say. Tragedy.

Books I will one day write:

I Respect That You Like That, But You Should Know It Is Crap

and

I Know You Think It Sucks, But You Are Wrong

my hands are small, I know, but they're not yours, they are my own

thanksgiving in brooklyn

2005-11-24T15:33:00.000-05:00

I eat Pilgrims for breakfast.

And Dominos 5-5-5 deal for Thanksgiving.

warning:

2005-11-21T00:47:00.000-05:00

So I just got an emailed response to my half-joke inquiry to a posting on Craigslist looking for a "straight man for jack-off site"--to which I attached my picture--and the person in charge (named Jimi Sweet) is interested in setting up a date for a shoot after Dec. 5.

Here's the question I'm posing to you, dear readers: Do I go for it?

The shoot, as far as I know, pays $300-$500 or something along those lines--and the site launches in 2006 (showboys.com)...

I can't believe I'm actually considering this, but it seems like "fun," and is definitely along the lines of those crazy things that I tend to get myself involved with from time to time.

Don't tell my mom.

On a random note, this means that every job for which I have sent a picture (upon request), I have been offered. If only they were more awesome and more full time...

This is the picture:

I'm not sure what this means, but it's interesting to me.

Weirdness.

Tina will be here in two days now, to spend the Thanksgiving holiday, and, in spite of having to work at Coach much of the week, I intend to have a grand time, and take advantage of the loveliness that is New York City during the holidays. I'm so excited just to be here experiencing all this, and so thankful to God and to all of the people who have supported me and continue to be there for me in my journey here. May you all be blessed and continue to feel God's grace in everything you do. You light up my life. It is people like you, Ben, Franklin, Madison, Gregory, Mom, Dad, Christopher, Loyd, and Suzanna, and Tina that Jesus is speaking of when he says, "My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" All honor and glory is yours, Almighty Father, forever and ever. Amen.

G.E.E.R. up for the Holidays!!!

Greet
Engage
Enhance
Reinforce

Hells yeah.

I'm now back at 3 W 57th Street (instead of the 595 Madison Coach) to save the store, as one of the more fabulous new employees, apparently. We'll see what I can do. Hopefully the holiday shoppers will have the good sense to avoid this much smaller location on the Friday after Thanksgiving, but who can tell....

I am now done writing. Please leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you, and have a wonderful day.

A Very Merry Time

2005-11-16T22:32:00.000-05:00

The Story of the Man Who Walked For a Living

Once there was a man who walked for a living. Every morning he would wake up, do his duty (as all hygenically-sound men of his time were known to do), and start on walking. After walking for about four hours, he would stop, look up at the sun (which was by this time directly overhead), and turn to his right. Then he would turn to his left. If, by chance, there existed a place of refreshment over either shoulder, he would stop there for lunch. If not, he would turn around and walk until he returned home again, hungry and thirsty for want of a proper break at noontime. Infinitely wise from his lifetime of walking, the man--before bed on the days he went hungry--would think to himself, "Tomorrow, I shall walk somewhere else."

fin.

segue...

So, it seems that this South Park Creation thing has created an explosion of interest, and procrasticreation at work and in the late-night-ness, how exciting! If you send me your folks, I'll be happy to post them here when I get a chance, and add them to the giant mosaic of people we know/knew/want to meet/be/etc...A very merry time, indeed.

Long day at Coach today. Was "asked" to stay two hours after my shift was to end because they were understaffed for the day, which, additionally, added up to a very tough morning with me as the only associate on the floor for three busy hours. Insanity. And leather.

My eye is twitching.

My iPod is dreaming.

Perhaps you are, too.

more...too tired to actually write recently

2005-11-16T02:21:00.000-05:00

the gang so far

2005-11-15T15:06:00.001-05:00

meredith made these

2005-11-15T14:22:00.000-05:00

Meredith

Caputo

Rossini

Bamberg-Johnson

Barison, again

Hannah, again

rah

2005-11-15T00:50:00.001-05:00

druuuuuuuuuuuuuuunk

2005-11-15T00:23:00.000-05:00

Whoo Tropical!!!

meredith was correct

2005-11-14T23:52:00.000-05:00

and asked me to make him:

Mr. Bird Sex on the Moon Boy

guess who I am...

2005-11-14T00:36:00.000-05:00

Comment with the right answer and a suggestion of another person to make and you'll win everlasting happiness. Especially if you read my blog regularly and comment often...(wink)

Professor Mitchell Polin

2005-11-14T00:21:00.000-05:00

We'll meet at the Tap for class tomorrow, okay guys? Be prepared to discuss Susan Sontag's "Against Interpretation" in relation to the semiotic analysis we've been working through recently...

more--parents and others...

2005-11-13T23:44:00.000-05:00

Dennis W. Keating

Rev. Julie Lynn Platson

Tina takes her education seriously. And she'll fuck you up.

Yeah, I live in New York...

lotsa fun-more to come

2005-11-13T22:51:00.000-05:00

I made these using this:

Reverend Ben A. Johnson

Scott Superboy Troost

Shannon S. Fillion

Bailey Bruck-arrr Triggs

Jamie-Lynn Fontaine

Emily J. Tucker

Me in the wintertime (note ice cream)

Greg Polin - he made himself

Jeff A. Keating

Meredith McLean Alcarese Klimt

Tina in the wintertime

Mo-Chan

Hannah and her thesis

Tina and Me in the wintertime

christmas is coming soon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

have you heard?

2005-11-12T18:30:00.000-05:00

I eat slow-motion for breakfast.

You're sexy, by the way...

2005-11-12T01:14:00.000-05:00

Did I neglect to say that?

I am tired and sore and bored and can't believe it's only Saturday because it's felt much later in the week all week. Whoa. Dinosaurs are cool.

Veterans Day has no apostrophe because it's not a day FOR veterans. Thusly, I don't want to hear anyone say that in a VD speech ever again.

Unless they're saying that VD is for veterans who fooled around overseas and raped Vietnamese women.

Moral of the story...don't steal anyone's Levi's jeans.

it is nearly time

2005-11-10T21:48:00.000-05:00

The hour approaches when I will leave my humble apartment to board the subway on my way to the as-yet-unopened 595 Madison Avenue Coach flagship location, to work from midnight to 8:00 a.m., getting the store ready for it's grand unveiling next week, just in time for the holiday shopping season.

This is going to be a trip. My first all-nighter in some time. At least I'll be doing stuff the whole time, and not alone...though who knows what lameness could be working alongside me?

My intent is to post when I get home, as cracked out on hundred/thousand dollar handbags and accessories as one could humanly be.

And then sleep till I am dead.

And smile.

Two new things for next week:

one: becoming part of a paid research study on alcoholism and shit
two: interviewing for a job with an executive search firm

The lovely people upstairs are showering right now (10:07p.m.) and our bathroom is leaking again. Big J.C.

Case for killing people who compare college/professional/amateur theater productions to their high school experience - Ever hear a college or pro football player saying, "Dude, my high school team was so badass, we had, like, people waiting in line for all the shows, and once there was this agent who told me I played awesome, and I was in the paper for being the top scorer in my first game ever....etc..." without subsequently seeing him get his ass kicked by the rest of his teammates? Didn't think so.

Fuck stupid kids who think high school theater (and high school, in general) is the best thing ever.

For all their arrogance and pomposity, don't forget that their lives must really suck now.

seeds of a book of practical advice

2005-11-09T22:06:00.000-05:00

Rules for the theater--in no order, just a little brainstorming. Some are for actors, some for directors, some for other people.

1. Never let someone give you crap for having your back to the audience. If they do, turn around slowly with you middle finger extended toward them, and continue turning back to your original position.

2. Never make an actor do something s/he cannot do. It will look like shit. Do not risk it.

3. Always make an actor do something s/he nearly cannot do. It will look amazing, even if s/he fails.

4. Improvisation is a fine rehearsal tool. But you are not good enough to rely on it in performance. Ever.

5. Acting is not pretending. If you are pretending, you are not acting. Or doing anything remotely interesting.

6. Acting has nothing to do with becoming a character. Or staying in character. Or anything to do with character. You are you, and, as yourself, you have the capacity to do everything. The sooner you accept that and are able to deal with this fact, the sooner you will start to be decent.

7. If the audience claps and congratulates and compliments you after the show, it does NOT mean you are good. Probably the opposite.

8. If you want to make an audience happy, the easiest way not to do so is by being happy. Be normal, instead.

9. Same for sad.

10. If you feel a need to elicit a particular emotional response from your audience, hold yourself back. If you can't, there's jobs well suited to your fascist bullshit in the psychology profession.

11. For the last time, life is not a linear narrative. If you think it should be, is easier, or makes people feel better, you're wrong. All it does is make people feel like crap because their lives aren't as "perfect" and "simple" and straightforward as the fascist version of reality you have presented them with.

12. Theater IS real life. Real life IS theater. Neither imitates the other.

13. You will always want to do what you did the first time. So don't fuck up. Improvisation with kill you in this way. What is funny in improv is NEVER funny again. The reason it's funny as improv is because you have made a fool out of yourself. When you present this as polished performance, it's not funny. It is pathetic.

14. If you do not always think about your body, you will suck. I don't mean trying to dance, or trying to do acrobatics. Pay attention to your physical presence--this includes your voice.

Corollary to 14. Your voice is NOT separate from your body. Nor is your "mind." It is all physical.

15. If you have intimacy issues, if it's difficult for you to touch or kiss others, if you need to rehearse normal, human contact, there are plenty of professions for which you would be better suited. Don't torture yourself solely to have people clap for you. Remember, clapping is bullshit (see 7).

There will be more to come, as well as revisions to and explications of the aforementioned rules. Please feel free to comment with your thoughts. Eventually these rules will become a full-length book addressing many elements of making theater--from finding scripts, to casting, to stage design, directing, and audience etiquette. It's intended to be a practical guide--humorous, contradictory, but completely serious, and functional.

You are all beautiful people.

mmm.

2005-11-09T00:56:00.000-05:00

to

try

ask

now

tired

when

if not

never

if then

forever

why not

ask then

which two

might kiss

might right

may not say

sand or snow

under or never

sandal or candle

right to say again

true-to move away

to ask and be asked

tired and ready to go

blinking, thinking - be

whoa couch...I mean coach

2005-11-08T23:37:00.000-05:00

Who knew that selling handbags and shoes could be such a sexy job?

Or something. It's actually pretty good, and the other employees are fine people...

Got a couple of days off to rest before working a midnight to 8am shift on Friday. Rock!

Nightmares are cool! Having lots of them is really really sweet like whoa.

I have an interesting (to me) idea for performance, which involves each of the words in a sentence being sounded simultaneously, recorded to overlap, amplified in different spaces in the room. A conversation is carried on in this way as performers indicate with their bodies (perhaps not) that they are speaking. This could be understood visually in terms of stacked words like the conversation below. What I find interesting about this approach is that it treats language as a physical object in space, and the understanding of "the sentence" as a structure for communication is frustrated by the inability to hear each word separately. Instead, one's understanding of the sentence is particular to the section in which they are seated, their active role in attempting to hear more than one word (how many could be heard simultaneously is a good question), and the physicality of their hearing organs--how attuned they are to certain frequencies, etc...Linearity is a myth, and, particularly in the theatre, the falseness of speaking scripted text is lame...rarely do people know their entire sentence before it is spoken, yet this happens all the time on the stage, to an undesirable effect......let's work with this a bit and see what happens...

[the example I promised]

A.
Hi,
B,
how
are
you
today?

B.
Good,
you?

A.
Okay.

B.
Just
okay?

A.
Well...

B.
Is
something
wrong,
A?

A.
Well,
kinda...

This simple exchange illustrates the effect nicely, though it simplifies it a bit. The reality is that that words are not heard simultaneously, though they may be recorded and played as such. Minute differences in the length of time it takes for each word to travel to ones ear from remote speakers place the words on varying levels of intensity and importance and recognition for each audience member. Additionally, the pitch of each individual word situates it differently in the space of the theatre relative to the others, and influenced also by the position of the speakers.

This fun stuff, paired with non-recorded text or music makes for happiness and love. Trust me.

I'm an insane-o. This post, I'm sure, is far from coherent. But, that is, after all, part of the point. So, I have now managed to justify the craziness...ah...

your hair is winter fire

2005-11-06T21:45:00.000-05:00

january embers
my heart burns there, too

So reads the "haiku" in Stephen King's "It," and that's all I have to say about that.

Our bathroom ceiling is leaking. Water from above drips through our light fixture whenever those above us shower (which is, thankfully, disturbingly, not all to often--though today was a long one)...Ideally this will be fixed soon, as well as the lack of gas we're still dealing with and taking our landlord to court for (as a tenants' association).

Lots and lots of leftover food from the awesome party last night with folks from Mr. Polin's hospital--spring rolls, salmon cakes, tenderloin kebabs, SUSHI!, and some Peking duck--plus gin/vermouth/lime juice and a case of Sapporo premium Japanese beer. Like whoa, friends. Like whoa.

On the Third Day He Rose

other rocks:

jesus werewolf--perpetuates the myth of the white Jesus, no?

Zombie hanging on a cross?? Sexy image.

Self-Mutilation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery

I am touching your mom right now

Warning!! Extremely unsensitive, anti-pc, potentially offensive joke is below...

Q. What did the rapist dressed as a fireman on halloween say to his victim?

A. "Stop, Drop, and Roll, bitch..."

or

(sung)
"I will be your hero baby
I will kiss and cause you pain
I will haunt your dreams forever
I will take your breath away..."

or

"Bet you wish I was killed on 9/11"

or

"I may be a fireman, but you're gonna extinguish my flame."

or

"Is that a third degree burn or are you just happy to see me?"

I have a problem.

whoa.

It's time to stop this craziness.
New York Knicks 0-3 so far for the season. Luckily I'm not paid based on their performance. Rock!

wow

2005-11-05T01:44:00.000-05:00

how quickly the seasons change

half a bottle of beringer white zinfandel (gag) later...

2005-11-04T18:53:00.000-05:00

My perception of time is off right now. It feels far later than it actually is, and something tells me that it can't just be because I woke up around five this morning. And drank that wine. There's something else that must have interfered with my circadian rhythms to cause such a difference, but what could it be? Perhaps it was working the half day--waiting (in vain), the final hour, for Jay-Z to come out of the Mandarin Continental Hotel and photograph with out Knicks gear--an anticlimactic ending to a super-amazing-really-freaking-cool-experience-not-to-be-missed-or-something-I-am-a-liar three days of "Promo" work for the New York Knicks. Home opener tonight against the Wizards!! Limited tickets still available!!! Whaaaa!!!

Perhaps, however, it has to do with watching commercials I have never seen before, on channels I've never tuned in to. Or not watching television as I read (rhyme with dead to match tense) mindless ultra-crap from the Pahrump Valley Times newspaper. Or that I read yesterday's USA Today today. That's pretty creepy.

So yeah. Little crazy fucked up now bo peep.

Tomorrow night, I hang out with Mo.

Next week, I work two 4-9 shifts at Coach, and a scary 6pm - 3am Friday shift to help get the new store (Coach's biggest worldwide) ready for its grand opening the following week. Insanity. Just the thought of trying to get back to my apartment at 4am on a Saturday troubles me. Not to mention (but, to mention it) what it will take for me to prepare myself sleep-schedule-wise for that kind of shift. Sure, I normally don't have trouble being up that late on weekend days (or at least, I didn't in the past--working at 5:30 every morning this summer somewhat modified my insomnia schedule), but it just seems potentially problematic. Oh bother.

I also might get to put in an extra day of "Promo" for the Knicks on Tuesday (before my Coach shift), which just sounds oh-so-fun. This sweet "Promo" stuff sounds like it would be a great partner to a full-time job at Coach--getting called every now and again to put on some sweet costume and make a fool out of myself in public to serve some capitalist vehicle. It's right up my alley. Particularly my insane outgoing personality and enthusiasm and love of acting. But especially (and legitimately), my love of thrill, of putting myself in situations for which I feel extreme discomfort, anxiety, and trepidation--like talking to strangers on the streets of New York City--and managing to tap into my well of desensitization to suitably distance myself from the perils and emotional struggle of the task at hand. Translation: I am able to make myself not care.

It's beautiful. And it's good money. And I get to keep the clothes. And you know (or will find out, dear readers) how much I love love love love love the kitsch of pop-cultural/commercial/marketing/promotional paraphernalia. I am, you may recall, the greatest word-of-mouth-promoter of Holiday Spice Pepsi AND Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper (note the lack of period in the abbreviation of doctor--very key), among others.

Anne Rice's newest novel is about the young years of Jesus. Amazing. I always felt there was something that eerily connected Him in my mind to Vampires and Zombies and other Un-Dead. And now, the connection being realized by a vampire-author-turned-hardcore-jfreak, I can finally see what I have always felt. Jesus--upon being raised from the dead--was not Alive alive (human), and not Dead dead (ghost/spirit), but rather Alive dead, or Dead alive -- or, more commonly Un-Dead, as in Zombie...His wounds were still visible, and could be physically felt. It was Thomas, if I remember correctly, who touched His holes (see--more connections to the eroticism of Vampirism)....Further: during the events surrounding his death we have--eating of His flesh, drinking of His blood, ritual, cleansing, mass paranoia, mysticism, deification, apocalyptic talk, royalty, betrayal, mind-control, hysteria, belief, faith, crosses, gold, suicide, visions, masturbation, religious/political unrest, class division, special numbers (33 is, after all, closely related to 666--especially when you add a final 3 for the number of those crucified--or the number of days before He rose, or Peter's denials, etc...), etc...

And, naturally, here follows a proposal for a feature film: "My Dinner with JesusZombie"

Time is slowly beginning to right itself. Whatever that means.

Cause I seriously have no fucking clue.

go knicks! clap clap clap...

2005-11-03T19:00:00.000-05:00

Back from day two of what those in the business like to call "Promo" work....gag. The people I work with are, to be nice, really lame at what they do, and seemingly have trouble following the simplest of instructions. It's funny, at least, to watch them stand mutedly and try to hand out season schedules to New Yorkers who could care less about them. It's funny, also, to pretend I actually know something about this year's Knicks team.

And my 2XL Knick shirt looks awesome awesome awesome. I'll be sure to get some pictures of the amazingness that is my costume. And hopefully something with me and the giant life-sized cutouts of Knicks players. Wow like whoa.

A few more hours of endurance tomorrow morning (leaving again at 6:00a.m. for the festivities) and I'm done with "Promo" work for the time being. It's exhaustingly easy work, lets me construct subtle personae, and pays well, so I imagine this won't be my last time. Even though no one should ever be put through working with people who do "Promo" for life. They are just not impressive individuals.

I have just turned down attending a concert with my friends, partially out of exhaustion, and partially out of a deep hatred of the music that the band plays. I've seen them before, a couple times, and even though I'm friends with one of the members, I basically think they're not very good. I am such a snobbish ass. Particularly when it comes to performance.

Speaking of that, I don't clap anymore.

Ever.

Except in the most exceptional of circumstances.

Or the most ironic and amusing of circumstances.

Clapping is bullshit. Unless it is deserved. I'll usually give three or four clap motions after seeing a play or something...less after bands finish songs...

I refuse to stand for an ovation.

I haven't ever seen anything that good.

I am a dickwad.

But it's out of respect for the performers as growing artists and human beings.

Brilliance.

a little light

2005-11-01T18:09:00.000-05:00

I can't believe I just wrote a post like the one below. But I have.

To redeem myself, here are some final thoughts:

Topics on my research/performance docket:

1. Horror and Fright elements used in live performance. See: haunted houses as theatre, gory plays, heavy metal concert theatrics, michael jackson's face. Cinematic tools used live (done all the time in experimental performance)...the perfect blend of visual, textural, and sound elements, with attention to shadow, color, loudness, and precise timing...creating the sense of real or imagined danger, somehow stronger because it could be...is...real.

2. Fuck Richard Schechner.

3. How to eliminate the idea that pregnancy is a good thing. Questions to ask: What is being done by continuing the human race? How does it benefit you?? Be honest, you're selfish. Why give up your dreams right when you're about to reach them by giving life to a creature that will ultimately, also, fail to realize his/her dreams by giving birth...it's an endless cycle of unfulfillment, and denial. "But part of my dream is to raise a family," you say? Bullshit. That's society talking. The American Dream is a fascist ploy that ultimately results in only disappointment and despair and reinforces our belief in the legitimacy of the biggest bullshitter of all time, Sigmund Freud. Also--consider: fetus as parasite, a sexually transmitted cancerous parasite that often manages to survive on its own after a prolonged period with the host--vomiting, fatigue, fatness, lactation, hormonal imbalance, and intense physical pain are all negative negative negative side effects of being infected with child. Further: increased population is contributing to poverty, famine, global warming, war, and all sorts of blight--how far are we from a time of state-mandated birth control?? etc...

4. Kevin Michael Keating and the Vino Tinto Love Song Band -- me and Shannon Fillion...we're gonna record an album...and we're gonna be the next big stars at a Williamsburg hipster spot near you. P.S. Also to research--how to kill hipsterism and burn Williamsburg to the ground.

5. Two cola-themed solo performance pieces -- call them companion pieces if you will. The first, "Oneify" (pronounced Oh-nee-if-I) starring The Glamorous Woman -- "Even cool people cut themselves sometimes, but it still hurts." The second, "Ray Charles of Light" starring the Spectre of Sir Ray -- "Do you know what it's like to go blind and still be afraid of the dark?" Beautiness...Maybe add a third--a performance triptych...polar bear, anyone? Hmm....

good for the moment.

(I like the sound of that)

a long day of employment tests

2005-11-01T17:23:00.000-05:00

After being gone for close to eight hours today, I am finally home, and thusly, feel that it may be time for a bit of reflection.

Stop one, Essex Temporary Services, proved to be as sketchy as the name--hopelessly old computers, a series of tests on Microsoft Office 97!! (I had no recollection that was such a crappy program) and a good ol' "for the first 65 working days, we pay you a reduced rate of $9 an hour"...to which I responded, "That's is absolutely not going to work." I managed to convince them to do some stretching and get me an absolute minimum of $12 (which is what I'd be making at Coach starting next week, on much crappier hours, including holiday weekends)...so perhaps they might find something halfway decent, in spite of being a lame company.

Later, I would end up at Clarity Temp, a much sleeker, emptier office, with much nicer and more attentive employees...I had a nice talk with a girl named Laura, who assured me that she could find something of a much better range than the Essex dumbos, and none of that funny less-pay-till-you're-perm-bullshit. She asked if I had taken the employment tests before, and I said yeah, but of course Essex hadn't provided me with the results, so I had to take a similar set of tests again. Grammar, spelling, and language started the exam, followed by MSWord, Excel, and Powerpoint (2000), and a typing test. Turns out I rocked all of it, in spite of using Powerpoint maybe once before if at all (scoring a sweet 95%)...and did disturbingly well on the typing test even though my fingers were freaking out and it felt like I was stumbling through it...62WPM and no mistakes...Definitely not used to the real keyboards anymore, though, being spoilt by the flat one on my sexy iBook. Laura, impressed, promised to call soon, so we'll see.

Still no word about the Bloomberg job, unfortunately, but oh well oh well oh well. I guess I can't complain--I mean, I am employed. But is it so much to ask for a simple, 9-5ish M-F office job? That's really all I want. But naturally, my resume leaves me both over- and under-qualified for that.....and my personality is seemingly unfit for such menial tasks (even though I love them)....at least according to the Caliper test administered me by W.P. Carey, and the sole reason that I'm not working at Rockefeller Center right now for a hotshit real estate investment executive.

Sooooooooo, I came home (hopping onto the Franklin Avenue Shuttle along with every schoolkid in Brooklyn), and ate some candy. Which I've been doing a little too much of these past several days.

Checking out Craigslist for the hell of it (after trying to procrastinate on lame websites for as long as possible, it's only a matter of time before I'm looking at jobsites as a form of time-wasting) and found an amazing posting, which I will reprint here for amusement.

||||Knicks Street Team

Reply to: casting@vincentpartners.com
Date: 2005-11-01, 4:43PM EST

The Kincks' season opener is coming up and the Knicks Street Team needs help getting the word out right. Looking for energetic outgoing people ready to get to work right away. Shifts are as follows and we need you to commit to every shift. Only apply if you are free for the next 3 days!

Wednesday, Novermber 2nd: 4-7pm (3 hours)
Thursday, November 3rd: 7:30-9:30am, 10am-Noon, 2-5pm (7 hours)
Friday, November 4th: 7:30-9:30am, 10am-Noon (4 hours)

Please send HEADSHOT, PAST EXPERIENCE INFO, and CONTACT INFORMATION to casting@vincentpartners.com for consideration. All emails without the necessary information WILL BE IGNORED. If you are not available for ALL shifts do not respond. Your email WILL BE IGNORED.
this is in or around All Over City
no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Compensation: $15/hr ||||

Needless to say, I sent my resume, a black and white semi-profile shot of me freshman year of college (taken by one Abigail Moldover), and wrote a nice little enthusiastic-sounding thingy emphasizing the relevance of my past experiences, including, naturally, my month of street canvassing with the Federal Fund for Public Interest Research. Rock and Roll. And, of course of course, I was called five minutes later and offered this sweet action job (for which I will receive a Knicks hat, shirt, and bag--I think to keep) and an extra couple hundred bucks that I certainly hadn't planned on earning (and which would be really really exciting right now).

What else could I possibly be doing at 7:30 in the morning on Thursday and Friday anyway?? Surely not sleeping.

Now, I'm sitting here, listen to my brother's phone buzz every couple minutes, watching him play some awesome soccer game on PS2, and thinking how tragic it is that America's Next Top Model isn't on until tomorrow night. Like Hamlet-style tragedy, folks.

weeping for Tyra.

performance 3:07:06 p.m.

2005-10-31T18:07:00.000-05:00

Place a stuffed rhinoceros on a similarly colored couch, and cover it with a patterned blanket from Mexico.

Stand nearby and point to two lumps on your hand saying, "My cancer is turning me into a rhino."

If someone is offended, offer the stuffed rhino as consolation.

Questions you may be asking:

Q. Does it have to be a rhino? Can it be a teddy bear? Or dog?

A. Yes.

Q. What if I don't have lumps on my hand?

A. Keep smoking and point to the lumps on your lungs.

Q. What does a rhinoceros have to do with cancer?

A. What does the moon have to do with water?

this is now my real blog

2005-10-28T20:21:00.000-04:00

god, how I shudder when I say-write-type that word.

halloween approaches, the un-dead stir from their hiding-spaces, and the people of the earth silent-scream...