I haven't felt the ping of inspiration to write much of anything lately. Don't know why, but there just hasn't seemed to be a wealth of topics on which to turn my keenly observant eye. I blame it partly on the weather, and that fact that I'm always drunk.
It really does just seem to be raining all the time now in New York and I have to say that I strenuously object. I know that no one really prefers rainy weather, but I have to take particular exception on behalf of New Yorkers - it really is so much more of a pain in the ass here than most places. You constantly have to do this umbrella-pedestrian cirque de soleil type maneuvering all the time to keep from putting out someone's eye, all the time trying to protect your own head from getting punctured by someone else's wayward rain gear. And it only needs to rain for about fifteen minutes to back up all the gutters on the island so you're always having to gauge the depth and width of these massive lakes on every curb you come across. Generally the wind is also blowing so hard that it flips your umbrella inside out at least a couple of times a day so that you wind up wrestling with it and cursing at it and ultimately tossing it into the closest garbage can, until you realize a block or two later that any protection is better than nothing, at which point you have to slink back to the garbage can and fish the thing out and in the meantime you've gotten soaked and your umbrella has gotten something all over it which looks like pesto but probably isn't.
A lot of women here have taken to buying these really brightly colored rainboots with stripes and hearts and flowers and yodas and stuff like that all over them. It's definitely a good solution to ruining your regular shoes, but...nah. I tried a pair on once and I looked like Dakota Fanning's troglodytic older stepsister. This isn't a good look for a grown woman, let's face it.
And here's something else I've been thinking about lately - what's with all the freakish spitting? Everywhere I go, men are expactorating onto the nearest available horizontal surface; the sidewalk, the street, the freakin' subway tracks. The subway tracks! EWWW! I mean spitting in general, ew, but the subway tracks, that is some serious repugnance. And they never look embarassed, even when I shoot them this look that says, "You and your spittle disgust me." Nothing from them, not the merest hint of sheepishness. If I got caught hocking a loogey (which is an enormous 'if') you can bet I'd have the manners to look like I felt bad about it.
Yeah, that's right. I was raised classy.
Good news on the career front: I'll be doing another stint at Shenandoah Shaksepeare (now the American Shakespeare Center - insert awe here) starting in Januray. First off is a VERY funny play with a VERY funny guy, Paul Fidalgo. I.LOVE.PAUL.FIDALGO. He is brilliant and funny and amazingly talented and kind of easy on the eyes. I mean I don't want to do it with him or anything but I'm very excited to be working with him.
(Paul, did that joke cross the line? I don't need to get beat up by any women who have laid claim to you, especially since the only one I know of has at least eight inches on me. And fights with swords. Please advise.)
I think you can visit his website through my links page...anyway the show is GREATER TUNA and we are the only two people in it. Sort of a star vehicle, if you will. We each play like eight or nine people. After that is another Actor's Renaissance Season! Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the theatre! ROMEO AND JULIET, TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE and two other plays you haven't heard of. Good times. And my Christopher will be there for part of the time, which is happiness pie for me. Not to mention I get hang time with my Ma and Chaz, two thumbs up.
Before that, in December, I'm doing an original Christmas show with the VERY funny Joe Wack (no more sex jokes, he's married) and I'll have a link or something up for that soon...if I can figure out how....damn my useless liberal arts education!
Comments (7)
You are the sweetest. You just keep sayin' all those pretty things about me (I have already done so for you on my blog a couple weeks back right here: http://paulfidalgo.blogspot.com/2005/09/renaissance-tuna.html#links).
As for crossing the line, since the phrase was clearly "I don't want to do it with him," I'm pretty sure you're safe as safe can be.
Posted by Paul | October 27, 2005 6:44 PM
Posted on October 27, 2005 18:44
i only partly take offense that there was no mention that you get to also work with the smart, talented, handsome, witty, caring (or something like that) rene thornton...how come paul gets all the love...dammit i'm a leo...i need attention!
Posted by Rene | October 28, 2005 2:21 AM
Posted on October 28, 2005 02:21
jessica you are HILARIOUS! i've missed reading your ramblings...can't wait to see you in december! hope that the show is going well...
xo, melissa
Posted by Melissa | October 28, 2005 9:57 AM
Posted on October 28, 2005 09:57
Hey Jess! Listen, here's a little-known fact about your dear old Auntie Jan. I once bought a pair of these bright red rubber galoshes with the old fashioned buckle thingies like the ones I had when I was a kid. I got them wicked cheap at Marshall's, figuring they'd be really practical during slush season here in Maine, especially for the dreaded Recess Duty. For those of you who don't know, slush season occurs several times a year interspersed between turkey hunting season, Christmas shopping season, snowplowing season, unclogging the storm drains season, and mud season. Anyway, the one time I wore them happened to be the same day I had to go to the surgeon on my lunch hour to have a breast lump checked out. I find myself sitting topless on the examining table, while this doctor stands a couple of feet away looking at my ta-ta's while saying, "Raise both arms over your head. Okay, now put both arms straight out to the side. Okay, now put both hands on your waist." And I look down and realize that I am wearing these totally stupid red and green plaid knit stirrup pants (Who the fu-- invented stirrup pants anyway, and why did we all jump on that fashion bandwagon??) and my red slush season galoshes...and nothing else. And I began to laugh. I mean hysterically. I just roared and screamed until the tears were streaming down my face. It was probably a combination of nerves what with the possibility of breast cancer looming over me, and this man I'd never met before asking me to do a topless arm dance for him. It was just too weird!! I never wore those boots again, although I am ashamed to say that I did get lots more mileage out of those ugly stirrup pants! I guess the spitting phenomenon has not reached Maine yet. But we do have the snot rocket phenomenon up here. All the skiers do it...you press a finger to one nostril and blow your snots out the other. Then repeat on the other side. Snot rockets save you a ton of money in Kleenex. I bet even Martha Stewart does it when she comes to Maine! Love you tons, Sweetie. Keep writing! Oh, BTW, I did not, THANK GOD, have cancer. Just a lot of lumps. Which is icky enough!
Posted by Auntie Janice | October 29, 2005 8:42 AM
Posted on October 29, 2005 08:42
jess, your aunt is hilarious! no wonder you turned out the way you did living with a family like that...hahaha!
mel
Posted by Melissa | October 31, 2005 1:03 PM
Posted on October 31, 2005 13:03
Oh, I'm so glad I stopped by your blog. You are a wise, witty woman and I had totally forgotten how synched up your philosophies are with mine; in this instance, synched up vis a vis spitting. I hate spitting. I hate that sound... that preamble to the loogey. You know the one? "Hock" I believe is the onamatapoetic term (I wonder if I even got close to spelling that right). Anyway, I've just about broken Husband Don of the habit (I called him "Husband Don" here in case you didn't remember what my husband's name was, but I kind of like it. It has a cool, kitcshy, Amish kind of "There's a hole in my bucket" ring to it. I think I'll try it out at the next party we go to, which may be years since we're new parents and broke like a joke). But before I broke him of the habit he'd always tell me that he had to do it... that the only alternatives were even grosser than expectorating in a public place. But, here's what I don't get: women don't do it! I have never ever seen a woman hock up a loogey and expel it into subway tracks. And I see dudes doing it at least once a week. And why is that? Of all the manifold differences between the genders, I'm pretty sure the basic respiratory system operates independent of the y chromosome. I mean, genuine feminism rejects claims of gender superiority as condescending. But, what else could it be? Why do guys do it with such prideful indifference? I don't get it. Anyway, I should probably carry on working, shouldn't I? Miss your guts! And promise to stop by and read your ramblings with great frequency!
Posted by meg | November 4, 2005 5:45 PM
Posted on November 4, 2005 17:45
Jessica Simpson, where has your love gone? It's not in your music, no.
Posted by Konrad | November 9, 2005 9:13 AM
Posted on November 9, 2005 09:13