May. 05, 2003 - 4:55 p.m.
Dear Meghan:
I have found myself considerably less than literate and much less than coherent over the last few days; hence my e-absence on the scene. I hope you were not too discouraged to find no new letter from me for a few days. It was certainly not due to lack of desire to write; it was due to the desire not to write a litany of depressing anecdotes.
But since we’re here…
It is true that the show – or specifically, the Clowns – is a growing concern for me. The show itself was quite jazz-influenced last Saturday; a vibrant, relaxed and grooving vibe predominated. Then there’s the players. For each positive vibe I get from the others, I still have to wade through two to three stories of other shows people are auditioning for. Luckily, I am mature enough not to insist they and the Clowns start going ‘steady’; unfortunately, I am neurotic enough to consider their focus on other projects as a direct result of a personal failing of mine.
Additionally, and I may have mentioned it before, Scott wrote to me recently and said, more or less, ‘the five of us are really lazy but you aren’t – is that true?’ I must admit that phrase has burrowed into my optimistic spirit, forming a draining, leaking feeling. He includes himself in the Lazy Five, but doesn’t seem too inspired to do anything about it.
My earlier ‘maybe the Clowns should end’ letters were, in retrospect, representative of either my defense mechanisms or keen perceptive powers.
Likewise, the law firm gig seems to be grinding on my bones and slowly changing the shape of my face. I am now working even more, picking up various projects at every turn. If there’s one thing that the support staff army around here hate more than incompetence, it appears to be competence. Various meaningless examples could follow, but suffice to say that the old adage ‘no good deed goes unpunished’ is highly applicable to my activities. To pilfer a bit from ‘Swimming to Cambodia’, I sense there is a Cloud of Ugly which roams the world in search of random people. It found me.
At first, I thought I may be going through a variation on your recent lull – the Feeling Ordinary Phase – pondering even further that you and I are gradually synching up with each other’s emotional ebbs and flows, not unlike women who work closely together who tend to synch up their menstruation cycles. Though this is an intriguing prospect, I do not ultimately feel ordinary. I feel closer to that old sweater that everyone has… the one that was in fashion at one time, but now is such a no-no. My place in the world seems to have been regulated to the back of the cosmic closet until the fashion winds blow my way again.
Even at home, in quiet moments, I find myself the recipient of a very encompassing writer’s block. I have written about five pieces for the next show, but find myself at an inspirational cul-de-sac due to the fact I don’t know who’s hanging around for another show (I like to write specifically for people).
The second drafts are (not) coming as fast as the firsts. Having said that, I have written a new, very disturbing piece, which very much intrigues me. In it, a pastor welcomes a new parishioner somewhere on the Alaskan tundra. The dialogue itself is buoyant and good-natured, but the scene is punctuated by the occasional action of the two of them looking for and beating to death seals who happen to wander by. It is one of my ‘hypocrite’ sketches, and was inspired by a former Clown who was a 100% born-again vegetarian, but happen to have one of the nicest leather jackets I have ever seen. Her rationale: “I’ll wear them, but I won’t eat them.”
Nonetheless, my dear friend, I am quite without peaceful moments, save for this correspondence (naturally, I have to taint that by mentioning the above). I keep sensing a storm brewing, but one without the redemption of rain or cooler temperatures. Until then, I think I’ll simply focus on the unfinished songs I have clogging up my hard drive recorder.
How goes the Sarcastic Tornado? The dance production? The Thurber paper? Meghan in general?
Uh-oh,
Vincent
what they said - what they will say
