I want to work here.

Lookingglass Theatre, Chicago.

Sending off the internship application soon.
Fingers crossed.

Un coeur qui ne comprends pas

OK, so I wrote before about finding this guy that made me happy. And he does indeed make me happy.
However, he does not want a relationship, much less a boyfriend. I'm not sure how much longer I can
really stand being someones fuck buddy, or fuck buddy on call as it were. Is it too much to ask to find
someone who is just a little interested in me? Just a tad beyond physicality, which I am constantly
being reminded of just how much I should be thankful for the attention I've been granted. I want more
than a call to hang out on the weekend, regardless of how great that weekend might be. I absolutely
want more than being placed in the second position, to be called when the soul mate decides that
maybe soul mate is not what they want just now. I really, clearly would like to find a someone who
would like me to be there with them in what ever situation arises. So far though no such luck.

Do I keep trying to find it? Do I just be thankful for what I have? Do I make demands, or concessions?
I am honestly a tad tired of getting second or third billing, being passed up for those literally to my
left or right. I am at a loss, but no less wanting of attention, or affection actually. Affection would be
brilliant. I realize that perhaps I may not be the most attractive person in the room, but I'd like to think
that I am not the least. And yet when the hour of desperation drops her inky curtain there I am, alone
watching the unfortunate pair with the unlikely and feeling a little more of the blank space inside.

It could be worse I suppose. I could be starving, or homeless, or persecuted in some forgotten land.
That is what it feels like though. Like the carrot in the middle of the all you can eat steak buffet. Picked
out sometimes, but more to add a bit of colour (pun intended) to a plate but never intended to provide
any real sustenance.

Am I content to play the part of an occasional pudding? Carrot pudding anyone?

Le Weekend

This weekend makes up for last weekend by leaps and bounds.

Friday:

A seven hour demolition of a set in one of the university theatres.
Followed by cocktails at Philips Bar. Where Laura and I unwittingly crashed a
private birthday party. The birthday boy allowed us to stay, mingle and
enjoy his bar of 3 dollar cocktails. Then it was off to 45 Tchoup, for a few
TGVs after which I chatted up a couple of people about tattoos.
When I woke up the next morning I had no idea where my ID was.

Saturday:

Woke up at noon. Stayed in bed till four.
Went to a meeting with my department head at five, who told me that I might
have to intern in South Africa instead of Romania due to language issues.
Wandered over to Whole Foods for chicken soup, the plain one with spinach
because the good one with orzo wasn't there. Blueberries for desert. Tried
to get a bottle of D'Anjou Rose also, but my ID was in my trouser pocket
from the night before. Got home ate soup, was fed internet painkillers
and beer by my roomate. The most blissful evening of watching 2 series disques
of friends followed. Was asleep by nine. Slept until seven.

Sunday:
Stayed in bed watching the day start grey and rainy and go to blue and warm by eleven.
Left bed at around noon for lunch with Garret. Who despite being a
budding minister and involved does not stop being one of the sexiest people
I know. We had lunch at the Gumbo House. Desert at Jagerhaus.

A visit to Mel, behind the bar at the Copper Monkey followed before going back uptown.
An Hour later I had a gelato date with Laura at Sucre. Brown Butter Pecan Gelato.

Afterward we raided the cigar shop across the street for discarded cigar boxes.
I might have gazed a bit too long the attendant who looked a little like Seth Rogan.
Later I tried to go back to The Pub in the quarter, it was packed and had a pleasant vibe.
But I felt sick and went home by eleven.

Monday:
Woke up at seven, got out of bed at nine for breakfast with Mel at Surreys.
The Montana Breakfast, it seems, is code for three pig platter.
Bacon, Sausage, and Ham. Served with potatoes, I of course heaped
on a side of grits because I need all those calories right. I got through
most of the meat, all the potatoes, and about half of the grits.
Later I went on an adventure through a New Orleans housing project
to get to a secret puppet show. When we got to the space it
was a seriously dilapidated warehouse. We drove around it three
times before calling to make this was the place. It had a secret knock
and everything. This is what I found inside.

Wen the light swent out I saw a story about a dinosaur who learns to love. And who can wield a light saber.
nive volt batteries, 12 volt marine batteries, painted wire and soe dark and you have a seriously
intelligent and beautiful piece of theatre. I loved it. And no there was not heat in the warehouse.

Look what Santa brought me!!!

ok not really, but a boy can dream right.

Sometimes a boys best style influence...

is a girl.

ça va pas la tête?

Je pense oui. Je serais mieux sans mon esprit problematique.
Alors.



I'm doing a fantastic job of adjusting to my new found feelings. Feeling is amazing.
Wanting to give love is amazing. Wanting to get loved is a little less amazing though, but hey.
Dennis said he'd try to get me a few dates when I get back to NOLA. I can't wait.


(I think I might be happy)
(I said it in parenthesis because saying it out loud might jinx it)
(I don't want to have to buy myself a coke.)
(unless it has whisky in it)
(and then I'd just drink the whisky)

I miss my studio.

Like water on toast..

I have been so incredibly busy. The time of the 16 hour day has returned and I am near my wits end.
I suppose it would not be as horrible as it is if the people surrounding me could behave as adults ought to.
Back biting, scheming, gossip and expected alliances abound and it makes me want to be less and less in same
space. Still as my design professor said to me on Wednesday, " You are given a ball of shit to eat. Why argue? Eat
fast and make it good. Otherwise, you complain and it just takes that much longer to eat. And you have to eat it, Baby."

I'm still wondering how long i have to wait until I can make logic as aurally stunning as this woman.

Still, since I've resolved to see this tragic turn of fortune through to the end, I intend to at the very least distance
myself as much as possible. Refusing to let myself become a rumor-fed, petty bull-shitting hack. It is a bit sad that
I find myself in this position in a University (ranked 37), and sadder still that I have to witness the enthusiasm with
which this behaviour is carried out. Speaking with a friend about this it was decided that neither of us could dare
show any sign of weakness or lack of confidence as "they would begin to circle."

On other fronts:
- I am enjoying my recent weekend outings to various pubs and bars with non-school associated people.
(Lets not poop and dine in the same place, shall we?)

- Finding loads of interesting music hidden in my computer from last year that I did'nt know I had.

-Met a cute guy who maybe thinks I am cute as well.

- Nearing completion of the Maps Project.

-Have been approved for $162 of Food Stamps from Hurricane Gustav, which is like being handed a month long free lunch voucher to Whole Foods (which is 6 blocks away.)

-Managed to do laundry and uncover my floor.

-Turned down an offer to marry and move to Milwaukee, despite reasonable arguments to convince me.

- Have begun work on my MFA application to the Yale School of Art.

J'ai besoin d'une histoire

Harmony St, New Orleans. 4:30pm



I need something of an adventure. I need a story, the sort I read as a child. All giants that snatched children from their beds, or witches that held conventions in posh seaside resorts. I'd settle for that particular witch who used to live in a house perched on chicken legs and rode a round in a spoon driven tea cup. I need a prince in blue pajamas tending volcanoes and a solitary rose.
Dour little girls secret;y resurrecting gardens or boys setting off hundreds of miles down river. I need imaginary, a transport.
I need to use my imagination because so much of what I read, or am offered to read, is entirely too possible. Deplorable people doing deplorable things and in turn being hunted down by more baddies, groups of baddies, corporations of baddies. No, thanks. I get enough of that in the newspaper or on television.
Often times I have to make due with poetry, which sometimes affords me the luxury of suspending my disbelief (If it's really good, my beleif). And I don't mean classical poetry, but rather poetic language. A little romanticism. The last book I read was about the ghost of a man, bound to his house, who passes his days observing the generations of people who move into his house (David Long's The Inhabited World). A little hokey, but it did the trick. Still A dive back into kid-lit may be in order. Perhaps I will actually manage to find a new Philip Pullman out there. Recommendations would be fantastic.