From my, um, “private” collection.
“Hey bitch, wait til’ you see my dick
Wait til’ you see my dick
Hey bitch, wait til’ you see my dick
Imma beat dat pussy up”
—
Patrick McGoohan
[video]
I really only woke up at 12pm so I missed a good chunk of sunshine. The time I got, though, I was grateful for.
The thing that strikes me when the weather finally turns is the smell of the subway. The trains are slightly more pungent, but in a good way. People shed their layers, or overdress by mistake, and the fragrances they douse their bodies with rise off their skin. The stations, when empty, are still cool, not heated through by summer sun, and give off a sweet, moldy smell that reminds me of 307 West 26th on a breezy afternoon. Before the theatre opens, on days like these, the scent, although most likely unhealthy, is addicting. I think few people know it. The interns know it, the managers, people who sneak in during off hours to steal stage time for their videos. I’m not sure there are classes that take place there still. It has to happen when it’s not too cold or too hot, and before the space fills up for shows and the audience overwhelms it.
Last year, the East Village also smelled amazing on the first warm day. Just cigarettes and coffee, I think.
[video]
Also, here is a partial screen-shot of my email tab.
Michal Ian Black: "Mad Pimpin" -
(via Hal Phillips)
This just happened to fall into my internet hands on the eve of the theatre’s biggest panic fest: a ranty post about feeling like a failure in the comedy business from a veteran many of us admire.
I know it applies, I’m sure it applies, but I also just think it’s super fascinating, and so I’m posting it.