Three days! Three days I have been cleaning the fucking garage! And it's not even the whole garage, it's the Little Room in the garage, which is very well named, being completely little. It was like one of those midget clown cars in the circus, we kept pulling more and more stuff out of it and it never seemed to get empty.

Not to mention the difficulty we had in getting rid of things, since as far as I was concerned there was my very important vital stuff and Mom's crap that she should pitch, and Mom saw things in the exact opposite fashion. Even with that, though, I did manage to completely eradicate the 80's from the garage. The 70's reign supreme, between my old toys that I want to keep and the magazines from the time period, but the 80's might just as well have not happened, but for some of my high school stuff--magazine-wise, it's all gone.

I am really ready to come home, either I'm running around seeing friends or I'm, well, cleaning the fucking garage--it's the least relaxing vacation I've ever had. I need some sitting and not moving, but I don't think I'm going to get any of that until I'm actually on the plane.

Magazines I threw away. This is a gigantic garbage can. Full.

Doll shoes. Hundreds of doll shoes.

Not to mention dolls. Without shoes. Poor shoeless things. And headless, in some cases.

Yes, I saw the Tutankhamen tour!

Leftover elastics from when I had braces. Man, we never throw everything out.

Yes, I had a huge crush on Kenny Daly in 1978, so I practiced his signature until I got it perfect. I exhibited stalkerish tendencies pretty early.

All the stuff that I am not throwing out, books and Ting-a-Ling Bingo and my Easy-Bake Oven.

We went through my father's books, separating out the ones to keep and the ones to donate to the church. Anything that he wrote his name in, we kept. I love that one he signed in 1929--my God, he was not yet 14 years old when he wrote those words. Who the hell cares what the book is?

Stuff from my toy box.

The rest of the crap in my toy box. I ended up just upending it over the garbage can.

My baby blanket. Yes, we ended up throwing that out, too. Wait, no, Mom insisted on donating it, God only knows who'll want it. Man, I start throwing stuff out, I go wild! I should try it back home.

So Cynthia sent an email to Omar and me saying that Le wanted the three of us to do his play, Boys in the Backroom.

I knew that we were doing it again and that Cynthia was doing it again and I knew that there was a role or two that Omar could play, and I had told Cynthia to tell Le that if the director he picked turned it down that I would love to direct it, so hooray, I guess he did!

Except that he didn't, what I was being offered was an acting job. Dear God.

Okay, I had better explain the play. Boys in the Backroom is a remarkable script of Le's about a gang rape. It takes place in a bar and a group of men led by another man, a stranger, gang rape this woman that they know and the play is them waiting to see whether she was going to tell the police.

The play starts just as the last guy climbs off the woman. And that woman is me. Dear God. You have to start emotionally at lights up where you would normally be at the end of Act III. You know what that means? Preparation before the show! Like half an hour!

Omar's freaking at the idea of playing a rapist, but of course, what's interesting about these characters is that they would not have raped this woman if it wasn't for this outsider, but they did. The fact that they raped her makes them rapists, but is that who they really are? It's a play about mob mentality, and about what horrors people who think they are good are capable of doing.

Today's horoscope:
Scripted events are for those who lack imagination. Anything can happen when you know your material. Open your phone book, junk mail or search engine at random, and see what presents itself.

One year ago today:
"Sally, the head flight attendant, has just gotten flight attendant of the month, so if you want anything ask her, because the rest of us didn't get anything and so we don't feel like giving anything to you!"

* Yesterday / Index / This Month / Tomorrow *

E-Mail / In the Belly of the Hedgehog

Graphics by the resolved Saundra!

This page was written by hand. My hand. Only pussies use HTML editors.
Last Updated Fri 10 January 22:44:09 2003