I can’t be the only one who, when reading Uncle Vanya, thinks of Wallace Shawn.* Brilliant casting. I’m reading and adapting my own little play this morning, and realized that I would very much like to play Vanya. Perhaps only in Act 3, but I feel so much for him. Maybe I just need someone to offend me so much that I would have an excuse to try to kill them.

Ideally, people shouldn’t be identifying with Vanya. We should all be treated better than that. But, as Dorn says in Act 1 of The Seagull, “What can I do? What?”

 

*Vanya on 42nd Street

WELL HELL(O) TO ALL OF US on this beautifully frozen apocalyptic morning!!!!*

In my excitement to slough off my newfound existential worry for the future of humanity, I’ve decided to stop going for sane and going for entertaining. JOIN ME in my dipsy doodle down the bunghole of the present and into the musings of my high mind** of better days.

• The 1990s smells like new CDs.
• FOAL-idge is, sadly, a correct pronunciation of foliage, although it’s non-standard.
• Peas=corn, but in a pod. Ergo: ear=cornpod.
• In Catholicism, you confess your sins. But if you forget your sins, they go away. That smells suspiciously of bullshit to me.
• Are Cenobites the equivalent of Hell’s engineers?***
• Did EVERYONE watch Saved By The Bell?
• Trump has a cumulocombover
• invent an instrument with a triple or quad reed. Why stop at two?
• most bands are tribute bands for themselves.
• everyone knows how to act, but the audience makes them forget.
• Briny Swine
• Is “The Tick” a retelling of “Man of La Mancha?”
• The U.S. is #1 in lobbying! U S A! U S A!
• the term “self-defense” is rhetorical.
• It would be awful to have a dog that’s a douche.
• singing is HARD
• kitchen tips are beef tips made of kitchen.
• do a play in the 0th dimension
• performance art: cutting through a tomato (it’s like ASMR for your eyes!)

Well, kids, that’s it for today. That was from Book #2, “The Blue One.” Hope your minds are all blown now.

 

 

*5:00 pm but what even are facts

**Sometimes while on The Marijuana, I am called by the universe to record notes.

***I’ve learned since then. No.

Good morning!

Every time I go to Atlanta*, I come back.** But when that happens, for some reason I fall into a sinkhole that is very tricky to get out of.

In the past, I’ve had things go wrong with my flights. I’ve misread the ams and pms, or I’ve missed it completely because security at Hartsfield-Jackson is truly a jungle of annoyances that can take anywhere from 10 minutes to 3 hours to navigate. So what I have done is sat at the gate for the day and sobbed for three hours. And then–voila! I’m fine and I come back and go about my life as I did before the trip.

But the last couple of times, flying has gone absolutely smoothly, with no delays or midair crashes or outages of my first choice drink. So instead of a purge and brisk renewal, I’m like a balloon someone is letting the air out of with a squeak. My chest is depressurized and my brain is clinging to all the terrible things happening in the world and my body is sinking into anxiety attacks at random times. It’s horrible.

It’s been a week, and it still sucks. My life is a bundle of joys that right now I’m looking at from the outside.

Mostly I just wanted to tell any other depressed people out there, I see you. I’m sorry life sucks right now. You don’t have to have ‘got this’. Ask for help if you need. Hang in there. Look at cat pictures. Call the suicide hotline: 988.

 

*To visit family, which is a major culture shock, although often very nice.

**Because that’s how traveling works.