KVETCH KVETCH KVETCH

I know, I know, Ursula says I haven't written here since Elvis died. Well, true. I'm trying to get the book finished, and since focus is not my strong suit, everything else in my life (including my life) has kind of evaporated away, leaving my day gig and the book, and the occasional blowing off of steam. But hey, the MTV Video Music Awards were on, and it was fun to recap it last year, so here it is...

"...Hey Axl: was the "80" on your jersey your age, your IQ, or the last year you were cool?..."

THE REIGN OF KING ELVIS THE FIRST
Yesterday was the big day for my book.

Not that I'm close to finishing it, or even a draft. Ha ha ha ha, oh goodness gracious me, no. The patience thing is the hardest part of writing something this big, but that's not why today is such a big deal.

Yesterday, August 17, 2002, was the climactic day in the book.

Back in November when I made my first pass at this sucker, I was really hoping it would be finished by now. But then the record got in the way, and then I had to move, and, and and and, but anyway, now that I'm back into it, it's a big deal.

Yes, it involves Elvis. Of course it involves Elvis. The vast majority of my life is the way it is because of Elvis. I would have had to look somewhere else for the kind of bravado he showed, and all my other heroes got it from him too, so I don't know what I'd do without him in my past.

And I'm hoping the book I'm writing does the magnitude of what he meant to me justice in ways this post never could.

PROSPEROUS NEW YEAR AND HAPPINESS
So last night, I go off to get some Chinese food on the way someplace, just something quick to tide me over until I can get home (not that I can cook anything at home, but that's a whole nother story), and I stop into this place, and it's one of those places where you can see right into the kitchen, and there's these four Chinese guys, absolutely sweltering and melting in the heat (it was mid-90's outside, so I can't imagine what it was like in there. Actually that's not true. I've done that gig in stupid-hot summers like this before, and it's about as fun as you'd think.) But these four guys, who I can't see knowing a ton of English, maybe enough to get by in New York City, so not much, were singing together at the top of their lungs:

Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Próspero Año y Felicidad.
The woman working the counter was yelling at them. "Shut Up! It's not Christmas! Don't you idiots know anything! It's too hot for Christmas! It's August! Stop singing!"

Which, of course, only spurred them on.

Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Próspero Año y Felicidad.
There was one person in front of me. I doubt they knew what the words meant. I didn't know myself what that fourth line was. I had to look it up.

I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas
I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas
I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas
From the bottom of my heart
So I got to the counter, and the poor girl looked just miserable. So I did what anyone would have done. I ordered my little box of broccoli and eggplant in garlic sauce or whatever it was, and I paid, and she thanked me, and I wished her, pretty loudly, a Very Merry Christmas!

And the boys in the back all cheered, and the girl looked at me through her bangs, and said, trying very hard not to laugh herself, "Um, you're not helping."

"CAT WOMAN ON A HOT TIN ROOF" WOULD HAVE BEEN A BETTER TITLE
It's the last night of the Spontaneous Combustion festival, and no one's been killed yet, which in my books qualifies it as a good run. The play I wrote on Friday seems to have gone over well (I'll post it tomorrow when I'm back home), and the one I'm in -- well, I'm in this scene with a 12 year old girl, and I haven't freaked her out with my potty mouth or my penchant for public indecency. (I've not slept much at all since Friday, and while this is fun and great and I could do this for the rest of my productive life if circumstances warranted it, I would cut my arms off and sew them on again for a full night's sleep.)

My biggest problem with the show is that forever, from here on, for the rest of my life, my first published work for the stage will have been entitled Flashing Monkeys On Crack!

I should have maybe thought ahead about that. Still. No (other) regrets. Stay cool if you can.

SKATTIE
I didn't know Scott very well. To me, he was just some guy in Denver who emailed me out of the blue one day a year or so ago about something he'd read here, and we struck up an occasionally fervent correspondence for a while. Through him I got to know his friend Tab a little bit, and even though all our lives seem to have diverged the last few months, I still kept up with what they were doing.

Such is one reason I like personal weblogs. When written well, they're internal travelogue as work of art, and keeping them and following those of others is both low-maintenance and high-yield. For good or ill, Scott wore his moods on the outside of his body, and his sensitivity and attention to every single thing going on within six feet of wherever he was made what he wrote more human than most things I've read, online or otherwise. Most bloggers (definitely including myself) hide behind craft and pretense, couching their emotions in euphemisms. Scott had virtually no wall between himself and his audience. He spoke almost entirely in single entendre. You know how rare that is?

I never met Scott. I can barely even say I knew him at all. But that doesn't mean I don't miss him, or that I won't drink to him tonight. Oh, and keep writing, because one of us is always next.

OH YEAH
I signed on to do Spontaneous Combustion again at Manhattan Theater Source (I've done it before - here's a description of what the show is all about from last time.)

(Reading that entry from last December, at the beginning of the whole creation process I'm now in the middle of, jeezus did I ever sound hopeful and full of life back then. Now, well, I'm halfway through a triathlon. It's going well, but I'm a bit too in the moment these days to revel too much in what's going down.)

Anyway. The Spontaneuos Combustion Festival has only attracted better and greater talent, and are starting to sell out in advance. The fact that they're still letting me in the front door is by turns baffling and thrilling. Anyway, I'd recommend booking tickets if you're around Sunday, Monday or Tuesday, and book them in the next couple of days. After that, I can't guarantee anything other than huge entertainment, especially from the pieces I'm not in.

Until I start playing my own shows again next month, this will be the only chance to see me in action. If that matters, and hey, maybe it even does.

ROTATING THE CROPS
Usually, if I'm not posting here, something else is going on, and this last week away from here has been spent accommodating my return to working on the book. The obstacles I've been facing on trying to get the record done, while they will not stop me from keeping on with it, are telling me that maybe I might do well to rotate the crops now. And so, with some prodding from some friends and a professional or two, I'm back working on "Luminous Pink" again. And if it's possible, I'm less in touch with the rest of the world than before, even.

That's not true, actually. In order to keep my streak of seeing every movie with Britney Spears in it, I saw Goldmember on the weekend, along with every other person in the world. I liked her better in this one than in Crossroads, although both movies were gutbustingly funny. Way funnier than, say, Glitter, anyway.

Anyway, I'm just making excuses for myself. I'm not on hiatus, I'm just preoccupied with what I consider to be weightier issues. I'll be back. I always come back. I am the gift that keeps on giving. I am a megamillions lottery jackpot, I am a venereal disease, I am the memory of your first kiss.

If you don't see me, that doesn't mean I'm not there.