The most irascible aspect of growing up is the zero spontaneity. If at any time in my 20’s I wanted to leave town, catch a last minute flight, hop a train to Montauk, I would be sitting on the beach by 10:11AM with a towel, a bottle of Stoli, covering myself with all the books I haven’t yet read, toiling away in the sun.
When I first moved into the house where the backyard looked out upon this island I had a pang of desire not unlike an older married man having a crush on a younger girl. Continue reading hurt
It’s either cause you’re too tired or there’s not much energy in you, but the normal stuff you say just doesn’t come out right. Also, looking back it’s not normal stuff you’re saying to the check-out girl at Dagostino’s…
Her: You have a Dag card?
Me: No, I can use a phone number, right?
Her: Go ahead.
Me: Look don’t memorize it, ok. I have a girlfriend.
Her: Go ahead.
Or the super in your building… Continue reading Some days you’re just not funny
This performance has influenced my writing and acting for too long and it’s time to say goodbye. My instincts are clouded by romance, lethargic movement, classical music, suffering and longing, and all because I want to be as talented as Mozart but as gentle and wounded as Salieri.
I blame Ron Cohen and magic mushrooms. I took both Continue reading Amadeus
Some of you might remember an earlier post of mine where I brag about a play of mine, being put on in Vegas by a friend and brilliant playwright, Ernie Curcio. Well, Ernie sent me an email and I opened it last night to find out his wife, who also acted in the play, committed suicide.
The article is here. Her name is Barbara Ann Rollins and I have seen her perform more than once and I was always jealous of how strong she seemed on stage, seemingly doing nothing.
Men who drive motorcycles and surround teenage girls, on the way to school, while taking out spray bottles, squirt guns and jars containing skin searing acid, and throwing them in the girls faces, should be hung upside down with rusty nails through the thin-skin of their balls.
A man, who accused the president of Chechnya of participating in kidnapping and torture sessions, was shot and killed on his way out from buying groceries.
I love happy endings.
Terry Schreiber told me to read Murder in the Cathedral, by T.S. Eliot, after watching me do a scene from Becket, by Jean Anouilh.
To sum up… Becket was the Chancellor of England made so by King Henry II (his best friend). Due to power struggles between the King and Church, King Henry ordered Becket to be ordained as the Archbishop of Canterbury (a step below the Pope), in order to have ‘one of his men’ dipping his hand toward the King’s favor. Unfortunately (for both), Continue reading Prufrock, Caulfield, Becket