Don't Worry

Yesterday was a pivotal day.

I've only had one other day (night) like this in my life. In college, I was dead asleep and someone was knocking on my door rather loudly. In college you assume that it's just some drunk idiot and you don't respond. Turned out it was Former-Favorite-Ex-Boyfriend's friend, who finally yelled "Leah, sweetie, T was in an accident."

Everything changed in that moment. When confronted with the idea of losing someone forever, your feelings for them crystallize in a way that is truly overwhelming. You can't think about anything else but him, of him being in pain, of him being sad, alone, afraid. You can't think at all, really. Then you start thinking about yourself - you have those selfish thoughts like "What would I do without him? What would life be like without him? Would I survive if he was gone?"

This happened again yesterday.

Upon hearing about this I immediately ceased functioning. People kept saying "Don't worry, things will be fine."

But how do you know? How can you assume things will be fine? I am a fatalist.

I was in a meeting with my boss. I had my phone with me, which I never do at work, because I was flipping out and waiting for D to call. It finally rang and I said "I have to take this... its an emergency..." and just ran out of the meeting in high-television-drama style.

I thought hearing his voice would comfort me, but it didn't.

He said "Please don't worry, everything is fine."

"I am going to worry and there's nothing you can do about it."

I was a wreck. My boss said "Would you please go home? You're scaring the hell out of me," and I was like "No, no, it'll be fine. Don't worry."

Don't worry!??!?! Who am I to tell someone not to worry when I am having a meltdown about the thing I am telling them not to worry about? The words "don't worry" are empty.

Bench Buddy was directly involved in all of the drama (long story I don't want to get into) and he kept saying "Don't worry, it's going to be fine... you should go home and drink lots..."

I finally convinced him to get a drink with me after my boss demanded that I go home, after which I went home and drank Tropicana Twisters with Rum because that's all I had available to me. I compulsively cleaned while worrying and flipping out to the point where Roommate had to talk me off the sabotage ledge.

Sabotage, you ask? Yes. I hit the point of no return yesterday, where I thought "If something happened to him, or worse, if something happened to us, I would throw myself off of a bridge."

I guess I didn't realize how I felt until yeserday.

I envy the people who haven't been massacred by love and who don't worry about this sort of thing and who don't think about bridges.

I was drunk and sloppy and emo and sweeping and saying "Roommate, I don't know if I can handle this again. Like seriously, if this falls apart, I can't go through this again."

She was stellar, not because she had advice, but because she understands sabotage and she told me not to do it. She told me she would kick my ass if I do.

Today I am less worried, but still thinking "What if what if what if what if...."

My energy level right now, as Bench Buddy just said about himself, is 11 out of 10. I am giddy because D is here and fine and seeing him is the best thing in the world and he apparently got cuter overnight.

Bench Buddy's energy level is escalating because he is looking forward to karaoke and because we are listening to disco music.

We cannot contain ourselves.

Dear god.

This day cannot go by fast enough.

TheGatesTheGatesTheGates

Since I didn't get my act together and see The Gates for long enough to photograph them for you, here is a wonderful photo essay on them:

http://www.supermasterpiece.com/features/kutner/gates/gates.html

Anonymous

I write a blog. I also read blogs when I am bored at work. I've narrowed down the blogs I read to include about 5 or 6 New York-centric blogs. They range from personal weblogs that allow me to be a voyeur to blogs that focus on local news and/or politics to pop culture/gossip/who's wearing what blogs to comedic/observational blogs. I try to keep up with them all on a daily basis, but obviously can't. I wish work didn't interfere with my side projects.

Anyway, I am truly excited today because...

I was reading a certain blog that I enjoy - its a very popular local blog about the music scene - not only what's going on in NY (upcoming shows, show reviews, show recommendations, show photos and show gossip) but what's going on in the indie music world. What's coming out when, what you should listen to, who's saying what about what, links to new videos and songs etc. Love it. I read it every day to find out what's going on and what I missed and what I should be experiencing in NYC.

I was curious to see if they'd gone to The Kaiser Chief's show this weekend, and more curious to see if they had any photos so I could put a link to it on my blog so you could all see just how amazing this show was. Sadly they'd only attended last night's show at the Mercury Lounge. There were photos, but I really wanted photos from my show. I read the review, and then at the end, they're like "For reviews of the Saturday night show at NorthSix, click HERE, HERE, and HERE."

I thought "Sweet! Maybe these people have photos!"

I read the first review, which basically said the same gushing things as mine. The second review was cute - the girl met the band but didn't say much and felt like a bit of a tool. The third review... was MINE!

Weird. But cool. In a weird way. I feel exposed. And happy. And, well, not so anonymous. This is a confirmation that people I don't know read my blog. Or have at least stumbled upon it. Obviously this is a possibility - its public, and at first I thought "How dare they link to my blog! How dare they tell the world to read this!" and then I thought "Well, it's out there, published for the world to read, so I guess the world can read it if they so choose."

I'm fairly certain nobody will read it other than people who went to the show at NorthSix and who also read this other blog, so the odds of anyone stumbling upon my review are slim.

Then again, what are the odds that I would stumble upon my own blog?

Bizarre.

Blogging about blogging. Again.

I am giddy!

It Is Valentine's Day....

... and I have been listening to Magnetic Fields' 69 Love Songs. This is the second time you are reading a shout out to 69 Love Songs on this blog, so I apologize. But if you still haven't listened to it, you owe yourself an apology.

D and I are not celebrating Valentine's Day because we think it is stupid. This involves not buying each other gifts and not purchasing a card and not contributing money to anything that is in any way Valentine's Day-like. Consequently we cannot go to dinner or a movie or a show or really anything that could be misconstrued as a date. When this was initially discussed, I thought this meant that we wouldn't even see each other tonight, but he said "No, that would be stupid." We discussed this about a month ago, and then I accidentally made an appointment to see an accountant tonight about my taxes. Even though we are boycotting Valentine's Day, I still feel weird about doing my taxes instead of seeing D, so I am not going to go. In truth, I am not going because the tax dude sketches me out and refuses to tell me how much this might cost, so now I guess its going to be a date for me and TaxAct Online, one federal and two state returns! Bliss! But I am telling myself that I am going to do my taxes by myself because D is more important.

Anyway, last night I was like "So, tomorrow's the not-big day... what are we going to do?" and he had no idea what I was talking about.

Then he was like "Oh, that's tomorrow? WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?"

Panic. It's weird when you are forced to stay in. When there are tons of things to do in the city, sometimes you value being able to stay in and watch Some Kind of Monster. But when you're confined to the inside, you start freaking out.

"We can't even rent a movie!" D said, because his TV monitor just died. "We could cook dinner together..."

"That's extremely romantic and sort of a Valentine's Day cliche, isn't it?"

"Shit."

So I don't know what we're going to do. I think ordering a pizza is very non-romantic, so maybe we'll order a pizza and play poker and have a fight and discuss how awesome roses are every day other than today.

I bet a lot of people will be eating chocolates and snuggling teddybears and carrying roses while walking through The Gates, although its disgusting out today. I walked by The Gates yesterday and, well, they're orange Gates. I thought saffron was something other than hideously bright orange, but I was mistaken. I was going to photograph them for the blog but ended up spending time with my friend A from Boston and then all of a sudden it was dark and I couldn't see The Gates at all.

OK. Work beckons. I hope you all have a nice day, whether it involves candy hearts or not.

"Oh My God I Can't Believe It....

.... I've never been this far away from home."

Just got in from seeing The Kaiser Chiefs at North Six and then a failed attempt at an after party and then an equally failed attempt at attending a birthday party at an overly-and-offensively populated hipster bar in Williamsburg.

R didn't have a ticket. Nobody's ever heard of this band, so I figured it wouldn't sell out. Despite this, as a compulsive planner, I got my ticket in advance. Apparently between my getting my ticket and the show, they were "written up" in someting so every hipster had to attend the show. Also in attendance was James Iha, which was weird, because before the show R and I were discussing the most disappointing shows we've ever seen, and I was like "Oh man, Smashing Pumpkins SUCKED" and then I had to look around and make sure James Iha wasn't standing right behind me, sitcom style.

Whoa. I just gave everything away.

Anyway, R didn't have a ticket, so we went for drinks and got smashed and planned to go to the show about half an hour before The Kaiser Chief's predicted start time in hopes that someone might have an extra ticket.

So we did, and after like two seconds R had given up. I said "Look, I'll go in and get my ticket and see if there really aren't any."

I went in and said "Do you have an extra ticket?"

"No."

"Not even one?"

"We have minus twenty tickets right now."

I went out and told R there were minus twenty tickets, and then asked him if anyone had an extra ticket.

He said "No," and I was like "Well, did you ask anyone for an extra ticket?" and he's like "No."

I said "Hmmm... so you're sure none of these people have an extra ticket?"

Then some dude's like "I have a ticket."

Me: Awesome!

R: Why do we care if you have a ticket?

Dude: I have an extra ticket.

R: In addition to the one that you'll be using to get into the show?

Dude: Yes, I have a ticket.

Me: You mean, you have a ticket aside from your ticket?

Dude: I have a ticket.

R: You have a ticket that you're not using?

Dude: I have an extra ticket.

R: A ticket that you can sell me?

Dude: Yes.

I don't know why we were being such idiots. I guess because it was too good to be true. Apparently all you need to do is declare that a ticket is needed and one will materialize. We were so grateful to this dude, and both, without discussing it, assumed we'd hang out with him during the show and buy him drinks, but he disappeared.

The show was amazing. Absolutely fucking amazing. Could be top 5. Very enthusiastic and flawless performance, and only affirmed my desire to be frontwoman for a Brit Pop Band. I bounced around a lot. One thing I've noticed about shows in NYC - people do not dance. I don't know why. I guess people don't dance for the same reason people assume other people are fucking with them when they say they have an extra ticket to a show. Edgy New York. Jaded. Pompous.

But yeah. The show kicked ass. I want to see The Kaiser Chiefs once a week for the rest of time, and to see lovely British boys with their overly styled messy hair and ties. Delicious. Mark my words, readers: Kaiser Chiefs - next big thing. Hopefully not flavor of the week. My only complaint is that the show was too short, which could be due to lack of songs, which is of mild concern to me. But only mild, because the songs they do have are, each and every one of them, excellent.

There was an after party for the show at this place which claimed to have free pizza but did not. We stopped by but there wasn't much going on (band wasn't there yet) so we went to my friend's birthday party at another bar, but he wasn't there. It was sort of a party-at-a-house followed by dancing-at-the-bar, but there was a good chance that people would be too drunk after party-at-a-house to actually make it to dancing-at-the-bar. I couldn't find him there - there were tons of people and hipsters and smoke - so we stayed for only about 20 minutes because the taller people were unruly and knocking us around. Hopefully my friend wasn't there and then I won't have to feel bad about leaving. I guess I don't really feel bad. I tried. We were going to go back to the after party but I am trashed and R didn't want to drink alone. I am so responsible.

I should probably sleep, although I think the multiple rums/cokes are going to keep me up all night.

Find of the Century - Again!

http://www.grilledcheesenyc.com/

I don't know what makes me more excited about this - the existence of a grilled cheese themed restaurant or the knowledge that someone on the planet who isn't me thinks that this is a good idea!

Find of the Century

Bench Buddy just discovered that we can listen to Indie Pop Rocks without ITunes on SomaFM!!!

Consequently we have been trying to get our computers to play in stereo for the last ten minutes, but no matter what we do my computer is milliseconds ahead of his. Why? Don't know. You'd think they would be in sync. We've been playing "One, two, three... NOW." Then it was "One, two, three.... NOW" and then me starting mine an arbitrary amount of milliseconds later, but no matter what, mine is still ahead. Curses.

This would not happen if we were allowed to have ITunes.

Head Shot

http://villagevoice.com/news/0506,murphy,60897,6.html

I am glad someone wrote this article. I've been peeved with the way the media has been obsessed with the Nicole duFresne murder, plastering her head shot everywhere, referring to her as "an actress" and "a beauty."

People are murdered all the time in NY. They aren't usually, however, pretty and white.

It is an awful thing. Truly awful.

The sensationalism, as well, is truly awful. The drama - she died in her fiance's arms! Why was her fiance so quick to talk about this? Why wasn't he just, well, sad? I'm surprised we haven't seen his head shots yet.

Or, maybe people are obsessed for good reasons, to teach New Yorkers what NOT to do in a mugging. My mother, frantic, was like "Oh my god - do you live near there? Do you go out there? Oh my, oh my, oh my." I said "Mom, seriously, the resurgence of McGruff the Crime Dog has taught me not to antagonize muggers. I'll just give them the money instead of taunting them. You have nothing to worry about."

Seriously. I saw a picture of McGruff the Crime Dog somewhere online with a list of things to-do and not-to-do while being mugged.

This is a terrible thing, and scary, and upsetting, and sad, and she didn't deserve this, antagonism towards the mugger or not. This is not, however, non-stop-updates worthy.

Bah. I just think seeing her headshot non-stop is deranged.

Imaginary Heroes

We watched a movie called Imaginary Heroes last night in class. It was magnificent. It starred Sigourney Weaver and Jeff Daniels in a story about a family that falls apart after a tragedy. Each member of the family falls apart in a different way, and without communicating it. It was charming, affectionate and difficult. It oscillated between comedy and agony. It was consistently powerful. It had emotional depth along with an interesting story.

I cried like a baby during one scene. It was one of those instances when you're watching a scene in a movie that you know you'll never, ever forget. One of the cool things about this movie is that the viewer finds out information as the characters do, so you are unprepared for certain things, as are the characters.

You must all see it.

The special guest was... Sigourney Weaver, who is stunning to look at. I was starstruck for the first half, but eventually it seemed normal to be in class with Sigourney Weaver.

She talked about the differences between theater and film, the differences between living in LA and NY (she was raised in NYC and has no intention of ever leaving; she spoke about how people in LA are solely focused on the business and what other people are doing and movies and film and there's really nothing else but who knows who and who's seen where and who can hook you up with whom; whereas in New York, people have all sorts of jobs and whatever they're doing, they think its the most important thing in the world), directors who yell, what she looks for in a screenplay, and fame. She was elegant, and humble. She said that she looks more for being part of something amazing, rather than how many lines she gets or what part she'll play. She said she looks for scripts in which she'd be willing to play any part because she believes so strongly in the story.

In the second Dawson's Creek moment of my life, D was waiting for me outside of class after just having returned from Savannah! I was so surprised to see him, felt like I hadn't seen him in weeks, and couldn't believe that he was cuter than I remembered. When we got to his apartment, he gave me a present and we acted like we hadn't seen each other in weeks.

Does anyone else out there have any Dawson's Creek moments they'd like to share? These are moments of romance and drama seen only on TV and in movies. You know, rose petals, being chased through an airport after a breakup, being serenaded by a boy outside your bedroom window while you still live with your parents, thinking the relationship is over until you are tracked down at your prostitute friend's apartment by a rich man who is afraid of heights, you know. Think Hugh Grant or Julia Roberts or Katie Holmes. Think formula. Think tears of joy.

I am also wondering if my jealous tendencies, like my irrational romantic tendencies, are the result of having watched too much TV as a child and too many movies as a grownup. TV and romantic comedies make you play into these false ideals of romance and what can and should work and what can and should be expected.

As M and I have discussed, on TV, whenever a man and woman are alone together on screen, you know they'll end up together, regardless of who they are and regardless of whether or not they should. This often leads to everyone sleeping with one another like on 90210 or Melrose Place, and inevitably to cheating. Throw someone new into the mix and you know its bad news for Brandon and Kelly. It always is! No new character can be trusted!!!!

Where am I going with this? No idea.

I guess I am just wondering if anyone has experienced any television episodes in their real lives.

That is all.

Other People's Blogs

I don't particularly have anything to say. I had to wake up early today. Meetings meeting meetings. I am tired.

Consequently I am reading blogs, mainly New York-centric ones. There is so much going on in NY. There are blogs about blogs. I like the music ones, who was spotted at what show, etc. David Bowie goes to all sorts of hipster shows in NYC. As does, apparently, David Byrne.

This is fabulous reading material:

http://www.davidbyrne.com/tour_journal_04.php

Enjoy.

Strangers Part Deux

While pretending to watch the Superbowl at Bench Buddy's loft last night, my mood snapped. Because my skin is not thick enough yet, I had to leave the party early, miss the Pats win, and spend an hour commuting home listening to extremely sad music while plotting my return to Boston.

When I got back to my apartment, some dude held the door open for me. Very nice. People in my building are prone to slamming the door in your face. Ah, New York. Anyway, he took the elevator up and I took the stairs, as I fear the elevator and wanted to walk off my mood as much as possible. When I got to the top of the stairs, he was waiting for me! He'd opened the door (you have to unlock it) for me.

The kindness of strangers, again, has profound effects on your mood. Just as I was thinking that everyone is mean and manipulative and out to get me, somebody did something nice and unnecessary and improved my mood ten-fold without even trying to do so.

He said "I won," and I said "But you risked your life getting in that elevator." He said "Did you watch the game?" and I said "Well, I was at a function where the game was being watched but then realized that I wasn't watching it and that my time would be better spent reading a book." He said "Yeah, I work at a restaurant and everyone was watching the game and I left as soon as I could. Drinking a beer by myself is better than watching some stupid game I don't care about."

I should have said "Well, if you want company for that beer, let me know," but instead I just smiled and walked away and felt better about the world.

Dreams

I have a theory. Well, its not really a theory. Just an inconclusive observation.

I think I have more dreams - or am more likely to remember dreams - when I read before going to bed.

This being said, I read before going to bed when I have time to read before going to bed, which generally means that tons of sleep is had on this sort of night. So it could be that I remember more dreams because I have more dreams when I get more sleep.

Regardless, it seems like my dreams are most complex when I've read prior to falling asleep.

Last night I had a recurring dream. I have this dream maybe once or twice a year, and have been having it since I was a child. It's gotten more developed and elaborate as I've grown up. It involves dinosaurs, which I love. I do, after all, sleep with a stuffed dinosaur that I've had since 5th grade. In the dream, however, dinosaurs are coming! It's on the news and we are all warned to stay inside and fight them off if we can, but we really don't have a chance.

When I was little, the dinosaurs would come to my parents' house, and we'd all be huddled in the basement as a family, helpless, watching their feet pass by the skinny basement windows as our house shook. Eventually a dinosaur (think velociraptor) would get in and make its way down the stairs and into the basement, cornering us. Usually it would attack one or all of my family members, except me, and I'd wake up shortly thereafter.

As I grew up, the dreams would take on a more aggressive approach. We'd try to come up with ways to get out of the house to avoid the dinosaurs or we'd try to devise weaponry out of household objects to take them down. Sometimes we'd just watch them from inside and they'd never get in, sometimes they'd get in and be upstairs and we'd just be freaking out downstairs, sometimes they'd actually get down into the basement and we'd be screwed, sometimes we'd climb onto the roof and watch them from above.

In all scenarios, I am in awe. I love dinosaurs. I am in awe, but the most scared I've ever been. I am scared for my family and afraid that my home will be torn apart by dinosaurs.

In all scenarios, its usually my siblings and I battling, devising plots, holding onto each other tightly. I think in the more recent instances of the dream, my parents are away on vacation or at work or busy with other things.

In last night's episode, my siblings and I were trying to figure out ways to battle the dinosaurs, as usual. It was raining this time - which was new - so our observation was obstructed. We had no idea if/when they would be arriving. We couldn't predict anything. We were, moreso than usual, helpless. We were arguing and frightened and panicked and desperate. My mother was around. She refused to do anything. She was in her room, cowering, saying there was no hope. She couldn't do it. Don't even bother. It is the end. My father was there as well, and he kept saying that he knew what to do - he knew exactly what to do - but he wouldn't help. He said "You guys can do this on your own. You don't need my help." We kept saying we needed help - whatever help could be given - but he was like "No, I'll just take care of myself."

My siblings and I held onto each other for dear life, waiting, the three of us, no parents, for our house to be torn apart by dinosaurs. Which, in this dream, it was. We were fine, but the house was destroyed. The three of us were left out in the rain with no parents.

It's interesting to see this evolve - so obviously - over time.

I wonder why I was so afraid of my home being torn apart as a child. There was no reason for me to be having this dream back then. We all make sense in the dream now.

I don't know if this is a larger metaphor - I think it is obvious and represents something you love having the potential to be really scary and destructive.

Anyway, recurring dreams. Weird. It's wasteful to have dreams you've had before. But still interesting to see them change ever so slightly.

My other recurring dream is the prom-dress shopping dream. I haven't had that in a while. It's awful. Even worse than the dinosaurs.

OK. I have to work. Happy Thursday.

Maroon 5 Is Responsible For All That Is Bad In The World

Bah.

I am dead tired.

Why? Because of the most dreadful band ever, Maroon 5!

I will get to this later.

First things first - I had my first impulse-buy class night and it was awesome. We watched Swimming Upstream, with Geoffrey Rush. I wouldn't recommend the movie. I had many issues with it, mainly that the characters were all one-dimensional, which were voiced by other members of the class. This class is awesome because

(1) Nobody has seen the movie before, so you avoid that film student nonsense where people have seen the movie a million times before and already know everything - this format selects for an immediate and therefore visceral response to a film, and makes for interesting discussion

(2) You don't know who the guest is going to be while you are watching the movie -
after the movie, there's a 15 minute discussion, after which they say "And I am pleased to introduce blah blah blah..."

(3) Last night, Blah Blah Blah was the writer of the film, Tony Fingelton. The film is actually his life story - he was a famous swimmer in Australia, but the movie focuses more on his family.

(4) It was super cool, because everyone was talking about how the characters were so one-dimensional and then the character himself appears!

(5) It's great, because you can have any question about a movie answered. For
example, the professor had asked "By a show of hands, do you guys think that his father loved him?" We then got to actually ask the dude if he thought his father loved him. People asked all sorts of cool questions such as "Did you get to decide who would play you?"

(6) It was interesting to hear about the trippiness of having your autobiography
made while you are still alive. And I imagine it must be interesting for the filmmaker to hear a film class talk about his/her movie. I am loving this class, and can't wait to see who is there next week!

What I don't love, however, is Maroon 5. No sir. I've hated them since day 1. The dude's voice = nails on the chalkboard. The video where he is making out with that chick is unsettling. Hate hate hate. Sorry if you like them. It's just that every now and then a song will come out that makes you want to have a seizure, and that song, whatever it's called I don't even know - the one that goes "this love has taken its toll on me... blah blah goodbye... so many times befo-o-ore...." is my seizure-inducer.

After class last night I went to see The Arcade Fire at Webster Hall. The Arcade Fire is the band du jour amongst hipsters.

I hadn't been to Webster Hall since my other life. I went there with The Sandwich and Certain Someone years and years ago to go dancing. For only $30 you get to dance in the biggest meatmarket on the planet! Yipee! Luckily Certain Someone paid for all of us.

(Digression: The Webster Hall Scene From Another Lifetime is actually, with hindsight, a very pivotal night of my life. If I hadn't gone to NYC with Sandwich way back when, I'd never have witnessed the weird fight that broke out between Sandwich and Certain Someone at Webster Hall. The fight made me feel very bad about our visit and prompted me to ask Sandwich for Certain Someone's email in order to apologize. If I hadn't had Certain Someone's email address, I'd never have contacted him and offered to buy him a drink the next time I was in NY in order to apologize for Sandwich's inappropriate behavior. Had I not seen Certain Someone the following year, I'd probably not have contacted him when R and I went to NYC this summer. Had I not seen him this summer, I'd never have spent so much time in NYC and would never have fallen in love with it. I wouldn't have looked for a job here and I wouldn't live here now, and I'd never have met D. So, moral of the story, Webster Hall isn't completely evil, nor are ex-es.)

The venu is cool. I was dead tired after class and dead tired from the night before (open mic, stayed up all night, blah blah) and famished because I only had a bagel for dinner. We got there at about 10:45 and figured Arcade Fire would be going on shortly, but no! Their crazy violin-playing friend from Canada played three songs.

They didn't go on until about 11:45. Why? Because freaking Maroon 5 was supposed to play Conan but cancelled, so The Arcade Fire got to play instead, thus messing up their entire show and creating an irritable audience that The Arcade Fire kept berating for being so quiet.

Sorry, Arcade Fire, but it's hard to be enthusiastic at 1 am on a Tuesday, especially when some people have been there since 8:00!

Oh adult-rock-show, where are thou? Start at 6:00 pm, everyone has a seat, there is no painful opening band, and everyone is home and in bed by 10:00.

I am too old for this.

Irritability aside, I didn't like the show. I've actually been lukewarm about them. I really liked the CD upon first listen, but the more and more I listened to it, the less and less I liked it. I almost sold my ticket, but at the last minute thought "Well, maybe a live show will make me less lukewarm about them." No such luck.

My issues:

(1) The reason the Arcade Fire is at all good is the production. The production is elegant and bizarre and unique and, well, a bit subtle. Live its all crescendo and each element is screaming at you, which makes it hard to listen to.

(2) The music was too big for the venu. Very hard on the ears.

(3) All the songs are far too long. Like 8 minutes. And the set order was flawed. It didn't have a good flow.

(4) The performance-art-ness of it was unexpected, and unnecessary.

(5) I was tired. I really don't know how much of my opinion is influenced by fatigue. I was unimpressed, but then again, class was so awesome that anything that followed was almost guaranteed to be anticlimatic.

6) There were tons of rude people at the show. Freaking New York. I didn't check my coat because I am cheap now. We were on the upper level and there are couches there, and a bunch of girls were kind of lying on one. They had a pile of coats on the back of the couch. I said "Do you guys mind if I throw my coat here?" and they looked at me like I had 14 heads. They were mortified that I could be asking such a thing! They looked at me as though I'd just asked if I could sit on them. They looked at me bitchily and didn't say anything for like 30 seconds while they looked at each other and rolled their eyes, taken aback by my audacity, and finally they were like "Yeah, well, I guess." I was like "You know what? Don't worry about it. I'll just put my coat on the floor behind the couch" and they were annoyed by that as well! I put my coat down and D grabbed it and stomped away and was like "Those girls suck," which is funny, because my feeling was that I should put my coat there because they suck whereas his feeling was that I should not so as not to have to deal with them. Other people were angry at D for being tall. Maybe everyone was just overtired.

So there it is. A good Tuesday. Tonight I am going to bed at 9:00 and I can't wait. It's all about the little things, folks. Like reading Sandman before going to bed. Sweet.

Alright. I'm putting my blot in primary and I am out of here!

Retirement

Dear Open Mic,

It is with the deepest regret that I write to inform you that I will no longer be a performer of music. The past week has been a fabulous experience, and I am saddened that my illustrious career will be coming to an end. My time with you has been of great value to me, both on professional and personal levels. You have been nothing but kind, encouraging, and supportive.

It took me a while - an entire week - to realize that this is not the right fit, and that I must seek fulfillment elsewhere. I do not have the appropriate skill set to serve your needs. This is detrimental to your organization as well as to my self esteem.

I wish you continued success in the future. I hope that the other performers in the organization will continue to pass out their very professional CDs and flyers, that they will shamelessly promote their professional gigs while the little guy suffers anxiety attacks, and that they will buff up their mailing lists. They are all extremely, obscenely, ridiculously and amazingly talented and I know you will all go far in life.

Thank you, open mic, for giving me this opportunity to realize that I should remain a studio musician. (Or, perhaps, just play open mics in places that are not New York City.)

Sincerely,

Leah

Houses and Friendsickness

The weekend is over. I don't know where it went.

Not much happened. Practicing for the open mic, shopping in Soho for sweaters or shoes and buying a tube top instead (tax free in NYC this week! yeah!), not making any of the phone calls that needed to be made, falling harder for the boy when I thought it was impossible.

An awesome girl from work, P, had a housewarming party yesterday. We met prior to the function in Queens for fabulous Indian buffet at a place called Jackson Diner. The food was delicious but I didn't eat much, as I was overwhelmed by the coworker-on-the-weekend factor, and preoccupied with concentrating on not smiling too brightly or obviously at D.

There was a girl there of whom I am not terribly fond. I was holding one overheard conversation against her, a conversation in response to which I'd formed a very concrete and unfavorable opinion about her. I decided to give her a chance at this function, because if awesome P likes her, why shouldn't I? I was sitting across from her and she did her best to interrupt me as often as possible and disagree with everything I said, just on principle.

The conversation turned to internet dating, and how she's doing it, and how she's not successful. Heh. I wanted to say "Nobody in their right mind would date you, internet or not!" but didn't. She kept saying things like "I won't date musicians, artists, or vegetarians. God. You know what that says about a person."

I said "Well, have you tried Craigslist? I feel like that's a better indication of someone's personality - like it removes the math from the personals and is more like a first impression, you know, like it might be a better predictor of chemistry."

She was not having that. Everyone on Craigslist lies! Is a psycho! How could you ever know about someone if they're not answering specific questions?

I said "Well, how can you know if people are telling the truth on Match.com?"

"Well, I've never had a problem. I think if people want it to work they have to be honest."

Whatever.

I made the mistake of telling her about my "Do-Not-Date-This-Man.com" website, which has been revised to be an all-purpose review-of-dates website. So you could put the good, the bad, the ugly. And she's like "That would never work. People would never be honest!"

Dear god. This is clearly a girl who dates for money and status and is just all around ridiculous. Love is out of the question if the man is passionate about what he does but doesn't meet a certain salary requirement. I'd heard about this sort of girl in New York but hadn't encountered it until yesterday. I wanted to slap her. The thing is that I'd figured this all out about her based on that one conversation I'd eavesdropped on months prior. Sometimes stereotypes are around for a reason.

Early in our relationship, D said that he thought that someone at work had a crush on him. I don't know why he told me that. It actually bothered me at the time, and he wouldn't tell me who it was because he could tell that it bugged me. He said he had no interest, blah blah, etc. Anyway, long story longer, I managed to figure out based on certain clues yesterday that it is this girl! So now I just think its really funny. Heh.

Anyway, after brunch we all went to this girl's house, but she lives in East Guam, Queens, so it required... drum roll.... driving in cars!!! Yipee!!!!! I was giddy. I was even more giddy when I learned that another girl from work, M, and her boyfriend G, had rented a minivan because they were going to IKEA after the party!!!

I was blissed out the whole time. I was blissed out to the point that I didn't even care that G was listening to Elton John's greatest hits! I was thrilled to be in a car! I was thrilled to put on a seatbelt! I was thrilled to be able to sing along to songs with others!

I was even more blissed out when we got to P's, because she has a house! An actual house!!!! I literally rolled around on her carpets. They were so plush and soft and luscious and new and fabulous. I watched Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle for the second time in a month while seated in front of their fireplace. Sigh. I too could have this if I wanted to live an hour and a half outside of the city but, alas, it is not worth it. Oh well. It was a day of houses and transit.

So here's the thing. It's not that I'm homesick - I do miss things like rugs and friends with cars and dinner tables and comfort. I've determined that I am, in fact, friendsick. I miss specific friends, but I more miss having close friends at all. When I hang out with these people, it is so clear and painful to me that I have no close friends around here. Nobody in this entire city knows me well. It's a strange feeling. I'd like, for example, to discuss my relationship with D with (a) someone who knows D and (b) someone who knows about my past and (c) someone who knows how crazy I get about relationships. I'd like to discuss my friendsickness with someone who knew me before. Everyone here knows me from September 2004 through the present. There's nothing before that. It's quite bizarre. I realize close friendships come with time, but it would be nice to have at least one familiar person.

Sigh.

Someday I'll have my very own carpets and tons of friends to invite over for dinner.

Sigh.

Monday.

Yeah.

Fat Black Pussycat

Last night was $4 martinis. An extremely cost effective way to get drunk and homesick and experience your first psychotic girl episode in years. Awshummmmmm.

Hope you all have stellar weekends.

Leo

I saw The Aviator last night.

Thoughts:

1. It was stylistically all over the place. Very uneven. I would give anything to have the old Martin Scorsese back.

2. It was overambitious. I wish he'd made this movie 15 years ago. I wanted the entire film to be like the meltdown scenes. In this movie, they stood out as old-school Scorsese, which was great, but then the movie would revert back to overused conventional crap. Blah.

3. It didn't have much depth.

4. It didn't really have a beginning. Or a good story arc.

5. I kept thinking it was over, but it never was!

6. The Howard Hughes character didn't make sense - he had no emotional depth whatsoever - sometimes he was neurotic, sometimes not. Sometimes OCD, sometimes not. Sometimes germaphobic, sometimes not. Very inconsistent. Without explanation. Did I care? No.

7. I still, apparently, have a crush on Leonardo DiCaprio. His eyes are so blue. I wanted him to be more nuts. I wanted psychotic camera angles and fucked up music and, well, I guess I just wanted it to be Taxi Driver. I thought, however, he handled greatly what he was given.

8. Cate Blanchett is exquisite.

9. And you can imagine how thrilled I was to see Jude Law! Delicious. I spent the rest of the movie wondering if he would reappear.

10. The star cameos, though, were a little distracting. Rufus Wainwright? Gwen Stefani? What? Willem Dafoe? YES!

11. The editing was atrocious. It seems like they didn't get all of the footage they needed, and then just threw things together. There was one scene in which Howard Hughes and his recently hired 15-year-old girlfriend were at a table discussing the future of TWA with somebody or other. I don't really know, because I couldn't concentrate on what they were saying because the editing was killing me! The girl was eating ice cream, and the spoon kept disappearing, or she'd have it, and then it would be in a different place. Howard Hughes was sipping coffee, and the same thing was happening. He's be drinking it, and the shot would be over-the-shoulder and the coffee was gone!!! And its nominated for best editing! Wtf!??!

12. The period piece-ness and epic-ness were nice. People love a good epic. This is the only explanation as to why it is nominated for 11 academy awards.

13. It had the token gory Scorsese scene, although it caught me off gaurd because I forgot I was watching a Scorsese film. You know the kind - blood all over the face, loud sounds of violence, that sort of thing. I wish the entire movie had been like that.

14. The story, though, man! Does anyone know anything about Howard Hughes? I need to pick up a biography or at the very least do some reading today. I don't know how much of the movie was true. I don't know much about him at all, other than the fact that he funded my research at UMass and thanks to him I got $1000 for writing my senior thesis. The idea of an eccentric, brilliant billionnaire who throws money around without thinking into inventions and movies thrills me. Does this happen anymore? What ever happened to the rich and neurotic eccentric who pursues his passions without consequence? What happened to inventions? Have we stopped evolving? This guy was nuts - he's like "Build a bigger plane!" and didn't care if it was practical or cost effective or possible. He was focused and obsessive and could be, because he had money, which gave him complete freedom. It's also weird to think of a time when there weren't passenger planes, and how some nut job was like "We could fly people across the Atlantic!" and people were like "Noooooo! It cannot and should not be done!"

15. This was a harsh review, and far more harsh than I actually felt. I wouldn't recommend it, but if you really want to see it, I wouldn't discourage you either. It's a very interesting story, and the acting is superb.

I guess 2 out of 5 stars. Well, maybe 3 out of 5. Yeah. 3 out of 5 stars.

Suit

I went to listen to Douglas Coupland talk last night at the Barnes and Noble in Union Square. I don't know why I was expecting him to be wearing a suit. I suppose its because he's successful, but really, he's a nut. I should have known that from his writing. Why would he be wearing a suit?

Some thoughts:

1. His new book, Eleanor Rigby, sounds cool, at least based upon the excerpts that he read.

2. I am thrilled that he is currently working on a sequel to Microserfs! It is called J Pod, and he read from it last night. Bonus! He read a part in which the protagonists start talking about Ronald McDonald, and decide that it would be funny to write personals-style letters to Ronald McDonald to explain why they would be the ultimate mate for him. It was very funny. I can't wait.

3. Douglas Coupland is a spazz and very normal. The most bizarre thing about him is that his reading-out-loud style sounds exactly like his speaking-style, so I kept getting confused as to what was being read vs. what was not being read. Very casual, very spastic. I wonder if he always read out loud that way, like in elementary school. I hate reading out loud. See previous posts about ulcers and neuroses. The thing about reading out loud in school is, though, when you get that post-traumatic-stress-blocked-the-experience-out thing, you have no idea what's going on because you essentially missed everything from the part you read. Then you are confused and can't catch up, on top of being traumatized. Awesome.

4. The Q & A was weak - only three questions - but the third person who asked a question was like "I saw you about ten years ago and you were talking about how the 30's were the best years of your life. Can you reflect, now that you're in your 40's, on that?" He then went on to say that the 30's are, in fact, the best years. He said "And 26 is the worst year. Anyone? Does anyone agree that was the worst age?" Preach on. So true. 26 was the worst year ever. He still feels that the 30's were great, and that 40 is too close to death and people treat you as such. He told some 40's related anecdotes, but said "You know, amongst people in their 50's and 60's, the age that they think of themselves in their minds is 33 or 34." Interesting. So things pretty much peak at 33 or 34, which is scary. Only 4 or 5 more years!!!! And then stagnation.

Hmmmmm. Well, I'm not sure how old all of you readers are, so I'm not sure that we have data on this yet. I wholeheartedly agree with Douglas Coupland that 26 sucked, as did 27. For me, I think my early 20's were the best - the first two years out of college. Man. I loved that. And I have also liked 28, and think 29 will be even better. I feel like most people probably like the college years best. But man, 11 was awesome!

Fear Not Conquered, But I Am Still Alive

My.

Well.

Hmmmmm.

So.

Yeah.

The open mic.

Right.

I left work at about 6:30 last night, thinking "I should probably eat." I sat, the only person in Subway, staring at my sandwich for about an hour while listening to Lollybanger originals on my IPod, trying to drown out the hip hop by concentrating on lyrics, chords, and crescendos. I ate 1/3 of my 1/2 sandwich, and felt like I was going to vomit. I contemplated forcing myself to, but thought better of it, because could it really be good for your singing voice to be throwing up before a show? No, couldn't be good.

I headed over to D's. He really wanted to come. I don't know why he wanted to. Because I can't say "no" to him, I allowed it. Prior to the show, I talked to my Sister, whose band had a show last night as well. She was just as nervous as I was. It was lovely to have someone to share irrational nervous energy with. Unfortunately I had to cut her short because I was afraid that the longer I spoke with her, the less likely I'd be to brave the cold to go to an open mic that was torturing me before I even got there.

Bless D. He distracted me during our journey with deliriously-told stories of his weekend ski trip. He'd just gotten off the plane. He was unshaven and incoherent and adorable.

The open mic was at the same place we saw Primer last week, so the build up was agony. I swear it took 10x the time to walk there that it did last week. I guess time goes really slowly when you feel nauseous.

The place was beautiful. They had a grand piano and tables and lights and a bar and a swank menu. It would be a great place to play if one was confident.

There was nobody there, so there was no excuse. None. I went to the sign up table, where sat a bunch of encouraging people who all knew each other. I said "This is my first time" and they were all enthusiastic and cute and encouraging and I have no idea what I said to them because I was freaking out. I kept bumping into them and the waitress and tables.

I was #7. The hostess got up to introduce things, and turned out, since there were so few of us, we'd each get two songs and then a third if there was time. Two songs! I'd only prepared one. Shit. Shit shit shit. I have a million songs but can't remember how any of them go.

Boy #1 was very, very cute. He sang funny, theater-ish songs. He was very good. I enjoyed him.

Oh god. The second guy. Karaoke, basically. Dude wants to be Usher. He had backup tracks being cued by the sound guy, who had no idea what track to play. Unbearable. Remember the guy who sings karaoke in the Harvard Square T station? That kind of thing, only originals. Think Stevie Wonder meets Billy Ocean but sung in the style of a very bad Michael Jackson. But, he was enthusiastic. He was happy. He danced like Carlton.

The third guy was a keyboard playing bluesy guy that, well, yeah. Cheese. Utter cheese. Randy Newman-y. But blues.

The fourth woman looked exactly like Helen Mirren. For a moment I thought that she was Helen Mirren, because in NY you never know! I fell in love with this woman instantly because of her age. Her music, however, well. Yeah. One song she just wrote last week and it had no words, so she played and sort of did this weird jazz scat thing. She was an amazing pianist, though. Her lyrics, however, were trite. All of their lyrics were trite. I guess the average musician writes for the average listener.

The fifth girl was the anti-me. She got up and in the sweetest and most sincere voice said things like "This open mic is so magical" and "I am so excited to be here, with all of you, you're all so talented, some of you I've seen before, and some of you, wow, your very first open mic! Is she here? Yes - that girl in the back - its her very first open mic! Isn't she brave?" Awsummmmm. She played piano and was very good, and sang about things like love and optimism. Anti-me. I could be friends with this girl, but I imagine she now hates me based on our music.

The sixth dude was hippie boy with guitar. Don't know what he was singing about because I was number 7, and I couldn't function. He seemed alright. Generic. Fine.

OK.

The hostess called me up and I stumbled onto the stage utterly delirious. She said something about "courage" and I basically fell onto the bench and played a few keys to get my hands to stop shaking. Someone from the audience yelled "You'll have to move the microphone."

Shit. So it begins. Damn shortness! So I was like "Where to?" because I had no idea where a mic should be. I said something like "Yeah, this is my first one, I am having a million micro heart attacks, and this song is called 'Climb.'"

Readers, you might remember this song from the summer - it is a My Mundane Life in Song greatest hit! The song about being on the rooftop and feeling lonely. It's my favorite song I've ever written, and man did I murder it on stage!

Murder. Over. I'll probably never be able to listen to it again.

First of all, the freaking microphone. God. How are you supposed to play with a microphone in front of your face? It threw my whole game off. I had to hold my body differently and worry about the direction of singing. And it made me so nervous. Sometimes it actually physically interfered with my playing. Like I had to play around it. I will never make this mistake again. What I should have done was about half way through the song just stopped and moved the damn thing, but instead I kept playing and sucking and dying and being mortified.

Second of all, my foot shaking! GOD!!!! There were people sitting so close to me and all I could think was "They can see my leg SHAKING!" I'm talking violent shaking. Not a quiver. Like no control of the foot with which I am attempting to play pedal.

Third of all, the singing. I just couldn't play and sing and shake and have micro heart attacks and remember lyrics and chords all at the same time!

Fourth of all, I was so nervous that I didn't even play the entire song. I played a really stripped down minimalist version of it. I played the entire length of the song, but I didn't play depth. I left out the high end (which is my favorite part) because I couldn't reconcile the high end with the goddamn microphone.

Fifth of all, I messed up. Lots. Off key. Missed notes. Wrong notes.

Yeah.

So. When I finished, I was like "Well, you could just walk off the stage right now, or just do another one. Like you'll ever see these people again!"

The problem with this is that I don't know any of my own songs. The only song I really know is "Drone," which is from "Plumb Forgot." Raunchy, raw, completely inappropriate for this audience which had a dude who was 60-ish years old. I said "So, I have a million songs and don't know how any of them go, so I am going to give this one a shot. The lyrics are questionable - I prefer to think of them as raw - and I hope not to offend you - it's called 'Drone.'" Now, it would have been awesome if I'd said that calmly - banter-ish - but instead, I said it really antagonistically - insinuating that if you are offended you are an idiot. No control. NONE.

Shit.

I moved the microphone because I figured out during the 5 minutes of torture where it should be. And then I fucking ROCKED "Drone." I think I did. I closed my eyes and wailed. I played it a little fast, but whatever. I think it sounded ok. My voice was sort of cracking towards the end - because its long - and I got the final "jazz chord" completely wrong - like wrong key, wrong chord, took me three tries to get it, but whatever. People laughed with me. I finished it, and then ran off the stage and would have run straight to the bathroom to cry had D not been there.

D said it was good. Right. I was like "You're not objective! It was terrible! I can't believe this!" I was totally depressed, and sent text messages that said things like "Disaster" and "Never again" and "Sucked ass" and "Dreams shattered." I couldn't look at D. I felt like I was an embarassment to him. I was afraid people were thinking "Who's that loser boy with that girl who sucks?"

It felt disastrous. I let myself down. I don't know. I was expecting it to be terrible, but I guess I wasn't prepared for it. It's hard to fail. And it's hard to fail at something subjective, because you can't be convinced otherwise.

Except....

I was morose, down, and beaten. D was exhausted from skiing and planes. We were both thrilled when the third round was over (luckily I didn't have to play the third round, but, if I go next week, I get four songs because of it) and were scrambling to get out of there. D handed me my scarf and I sort of turned around to put it on and Boy #1 was standing there.

He said "I really liked your stuff."

WHAT!??!?!

I said "Wait, me? You liked my stuff?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, shucks, I liked your stuff too." OK, I didn't say "shucks," but that's how I felt.

He said "You have a nice contralto."

Right. Contralto.

I'm like "Sorry?"

"Contralto?"

"What?"

"Low, like your low voice. I really like what you do with it."

Then I was babbling and saying things like "Yeah, well, I'm not really sure how to use it because I don't know about arrangements and I left out the high end of the first song completley which kind of sucks because its complimentary to my voice and I was so nervous and your stuff was really funny."

Awwwshummmmmm.

And then this boy changed my life. I swear he did. He said "You know who you remind me of?"

And I thought it my mind "How awesome would it be if he said 'Cat Power?' It would be so awesome if he said 'Cat Power,' because that would be such a compliment and then we could be friends because we have similar taste!"

"No?"

"Cat Power. Like what you do with your voice and your arrangements..." and it was everything I could do not to hug him. I was gushing.

I was like, in the style of valley girl, "Omigod, are you serious? I love Cat Power! She is my favoritest favoritest!"

"Have you ever seen her live? She wears these... blah blah..." don't know what he said, because I was thinking "Don't tell him how much that means, don't tell him how much that means."

I said "Yeah, well, I'll have to check her out some time. Yeah. Word. Ummm. Are you playing next week?"

"Yeah, probably."

"OK, well, yeah, then I'll see you then!"

"Cool."

Shit. So basically I am going to play the open mic next week even though I am scared shitless and will suck again because I want to be friends with this boy who writes funny songs and I want to tell him how what he said made my month.

D was psyched for me, but said "Yeah, I guess that's cool, but its not cool that he's so cute. And now we get to have an awkward New York moment where the three of us are standing on the same platform together waiting for the train for hours." Luckily that didn't happen, and I got to tell D that he is, in fact, the cutest.

I was totally manic-depressive-manic. After I spoke with Boy #1 I was NUTS. On a cloud. The high. Yeah. He's objective. He didn't have to say anything.

My overall feeling is this: My performance was, by far, the worst. Everyone else was pristine, professional, polished. My content, however, both lyrical and music-wise, was the best. Bench Buddy said "Emo but bad is so much better than professional pop." But still. I really sucked. But I still believe in the music. Which fell upon deaf ears, I think, in that audience.

Do I care? No. I don't care if they don't appreciate me.

I do care, however, that my performance was weak. I could be better. I think I need practice, but in order to get that, I have to repetitively torture myself. Is it worth it? Really, what's the point? I want the high, right? Can I get the high? Is that the point?

People. What is the point? Please remind me.

I am going to go back next week. There are good things:

1. The piano - rad.
2. You get two songs in a row, so I can play a stupid easy song first and warm up with it - so "Nuclear Football?" "I, Robot?" Thoughts?
3. One thing I hadn't thought about as far as originals go, nobody knows how they are supposed to go. Like the fact that I left out two layers of "Climb" really doesn't matter, right? Nobody knew it was missing except me.
4. Might make a friend. I think I can I think I can I think I can.

Bad things:

1. Could suck again.
2. Not sure what to play - playing "Drone" broke D's heart a little bit - I hadn't considered that at all - I hadn't considered the fact that I affect someone now - my songs are all so, well, angry and sad and the past. How awful of me. But it allowed me, again, to tell D that he is the cutest and the best ever and that maybe, just maybe, I can write a happy song. Or, maybe I'll sing "Thirteen." Oh. That would be the cutest.
3. Could suck even more.

But see? There are 4 good things and 3 possible bad things.

I should do it.

This entry was so long.

I love the blog. I love that the blog shares all these new experiences with me.

Blogs. Sigh. I am sitting on a song about this blog, actually. God it would be funny if I'd actually do it. I've been working on it since the train ride home for Thanksgiving.

OK. I should eat.

Thank you for reading, and thank you for all of your encouragement!!!!

Ulcer

Right now:

1. Trying to get over irritable morning commute. I tried a new trajectory this morning and, again, met with bizarre placed snowbanks that had me backtracking away from my destination at least four times. I almost got run over by a truck. I had to let two L trains go by before there was space for me. Bench Buddy said "It's awesome to live in Brooklyn, but it's at times like these that you realize that nobody cares about Brooklyn." Preach on. Irritable.

2. Trying to suppress open-mic induced ulcer. Every time I think about it my stomach flares up and I feel like I am going to vomit. It's not for 9 hours, but already I am freaking out. I suspect this will be the sort of thing where they call out "Leah" and I pretend like I am not there. I'll look around with everyone else and shrug my shoulders and wonder why this person signed up and left prior to being called! How dare they give up such a valuable opportunity?

3. Trying to convince myself that my impulse buy just now was the right thing to do. I got an email from NYU about this class - basically, you go and preview movies before they come out and then the professor interviews the director or star or both. Very cool. Very New York. The problem with this is that you don't know what the movies are, so you're paying lots of money to potentially see awful movies. I think, however, that bad movies could be worthwhile if you get to listen to Bruce Willis discuss the badness afterwards. There are screenings on Tuesday nights and then random ones on the weekends, and you could also get invited to premiers and other previews. And you might be invited to participate in focus groups. I wouldn't be agonizing over this except that money is tight these days. But, again, why live in NY if you're not going to do things like this?

4. Trying to forget ulcer by doing things such as writing blog.

5. Trying not to fantasize too hard about proposed collabo between Bench Buddy and myself in which we would perform Brick by Ben Folds at the open mic. Bench Buddy would sing in the style of Bright Eyes. I would not have an ulcer because all eyes would be on Bench Buddy.

This ulcer really needs to cease. As a kid, I'd have ballet and piano recitals and feel like this every time. One time I dropped and broke a plate the morning before a piano recital because my hands were shaking so badly. My family would always say "It's so cute - you can tell you're nervous because your foot shakes." Yes, cute, thank you. Thanks for noticing I was having a meltdown on stage and thank you even more for pointing it out. The problem with doing an open mic is that your meltdown can be two-fold - you can fuck up on the keys and in your voice. I could forget the words. My voice will quiver. My hands will be shaking. What if I forget the song completely? I think I might write down the words just to be safe. I am playing a long song so that I'll have time to acclimate over time. Maybe the first two minutes will be a disaster, but hopefully I'll be comfortable by the third minute. Man. My voice shakes a lot when I do karaoke, but only the first song. Only the first time. Maybe this first open mic will be a disaster but all future ones will be stellar. Maybe it will be such a disaster that I'll never want to do one again. Maybe it will be ok because I can look at the piano or close my eyes and I'll feel like I am at my own piano, alone. Karaoke is tough because you are forced, usually, to look at the people, and you're constantly thinking "Do they think I suck? Do they want to leave? Can they tell I'm having a meltdown?"

I should stop having an ulcer because I might not even be able to play. This could be the sort of open mic where people are rabid and they all get there an hour early and scramble to sign up. I am going to get there half an hour early, just so I can have a drink, see what's going on, decide if I really want to do this.

Is it true that there are people who don't have stagefright? Is it true that some people like public speaking?

Bench Buddy said he started smoking to deal with doing standup comedy.

I really wish I smoked. I wish I wasn't so anxious. I wish I wasn't challenging myself like this. I wish I had more confidence. I wish I had a beta blocker.

Sigh.

OK. I am going to do some math. I am glad to have that out of my system. Thank you, readers, for putting up with my self-indulgence.