Saturday, April 5, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Plays, Documentaries about Plays, Plays about Documentaries about Plays
Dear Readers,
Yes, the wombury left for a while. It happens. For one, my depression hit a nadir about 3 weeks ago, right around the time of my last written post, the one is which the wombury's lovely sis, the anonysis, described as "too far", the one in which I proclaimed, with the utmost sincerity, my desire to love more fully.
Since then, I've recovered my wits. The wombury is still the gracious gooey love bug as always, but through strenuous effort and increased activity, he's no longer in the doldrums, in the pit of despair like cary elwes in the princess bride.
So, what the hell has the wombury been doing?
1. Coaching Track.
What? The Wombury? Longtime smoker and semi-alcoholic? Yep, the selfsame. For your information, the Wombury's cigarette consumption in the past 6 weeks has dropped to nearly zero. (There was that moment of weakness after I caught a glimpse of my hard-as-marshmallow 2-pack abs in the mirror and just had to have one).
Now, let me tell you, the track team is the saddest little track team you'd ever imagine. We have 16 boys and girls on the roster, but only 8 manage to come to at least one of the four weekly scheduled practices, and of that 8, only one has been to every practice. And where do practice? At the Bronx Letters Training Facility? If only one should exist. We practice at St. Mary's in the South Bronx, a city park with a rinky dink track (275 meters in circumference), which attracts a rotating crop of unemployed men who use the children's play equipment for their personal home gym. In between pull-ups and push-ups they like to ogle the team as we do running drills. Note to self: never go back to St. Mary's. Ever.
2. Posting on Craigslist
Please don't feel betrayed or scandalized, but it felt so good to put a few (37) posts on the Rants and Raves section of Craigslist, which in the Wombury's humble opinion, is one of the most interesting experiments in democracy since those NAMBLA loving Greeks invented the Agora in 900 BC.
Now I won't tell you what I wrote about, or the title of any specific posts. Wait, no I will. I wrote a variety of posts from my account pretending to be my friends. Actually, just one friend, who is going through a difficult period of indecision regarding his marriage. If you're ever in need of impersonal, objective advice, post on Craigslist. Complete strangers will take the time to write full blown letters, often full of wisdom and compassion. Sometimes, however, you'll get a less charitable response, like this one: "I hope you die fucking slow death." That's not nice.
3. Putting on a Show!
The Wombury wrote a play, a la Max Fischer, for his sixth grade students to perform. It's basically a simple repackaging of all the crazy shit they say and do in class, while also honoring the Wombury's childish love of irony and postmodernism. Only the really clever kids pick up on the underlying stupidity of it. "So wait, we're doing a play about how we're going to do a play?" Those moments are precious and few.
But not only are staging a play, but we're making a documentary about making the play. So we're making a documentary about play about making a play. So far, we've lost 3 main actors due to suspension. One student grabbed a girl's behind, claiming it was an accident. Another student started a fight with kids from the neighboring middle school. A third student was removed from his role for his incredibly shitty and disrespectful behavior. The funny thing was his part was based on him, and what a disrespectful little shit he is. So now another student is playing him, but that student was almost suspended for fighting. Finally, student knocked over a podium wired with a 3,000 dollar sound mixer. It was in response to this, that the Wombury's famous temper exploded. Why? Because a week before the Wombury knocked over a light projector with his ass and had to pay 360 dollars for a new one. The Wombury kept screaming, "I will not pay for more broken appliances! Your parents will pay!"
4. Finishing War and Peace
On page 969, which means I have 56 pages until the end of the novel, not including the epilogue, which is only another 85 pages. what a dick you are mr. tolstoy.
5. Sasha is sick.
Sasha is the sister Tonkanese cat of the brother-sister tandem currently inhabiting my abode here in Mott Haven. Sasha is the closet thing I have to a girlfriend. We snuggle in my bed. She owns my shoulder. We know what makes each other happy. And she caught my 2-month long cold. Her eyes are red, puffy, and secreting a sticky fluid. She's lethargic. She sneezes. And most piteously, she coughs. I cried.
Until then,
The WOmbury
Yes, the wombury left for a while. It happens. For one, my depression hit a nadir about 3 weeks ago, right around the time of my last written post, the one is which the wombury's lovely sis, the anonysis, described as "too far", the one in which I proclaimed, with the utmost sincerity, my desire to love more fully.
Since then, I've recovered my wits. The wombury is still the gracious gooey love bug as always, but through strenuous effort and increased activity, he's no longer in the doldrums, in the pit of despair like cary elwes in the princess bride.
So, what the hell has the wombury been doing?
1. Coaching Track.
What? The Wombury? Longtime smoker and semi-alcoholic? Yep, the selfsame. For your information, the Wombury's cigarette consumption in the past 6 weeks has dropped to nearly zero. (There was that moment of weakness after I caught a glimpse of my hard-as-marshmallow 2-pack abs in the mirror and just had to have one).
Now, let me tell you, the track team is the saddest little track team you'd ever imagine. We have 16 boys and girls on the roster, but only 8 manage to come to at least one of the four weekly scheduled practices, and of that 8, only one has been to every practice. And where do practice? At the Bronx Letters Training Facility? If only one should exist. We practice at St. Mary's in the South Bronx, a city park with a rinky dink track (275 meters in circumference), which attracts a rotating crop of unemployed men who use the children's play equipment for their personal home gym. In between pull-ups and push-ups they like to ogle the team as we do running drills. Note to self: never go back to St. Mary's. Ever.
2. Posting on Craigslist
Please don't feel betrayed or scandalized, but it felt so good to put a few (37) posts on the Rants and Raves section of Craigslist, which in the Wombury's humble opinion, is one of the most interesting experiments in democracy since those NAMBLA loving Greeks invented the Agora in 900 BC.
Now I won't tell you what I wrote about, or the title of any specific posts. Wait, no I will. I wrote a variety of posts from my account pretending to be my friends. Actually, just one friend, who is going through a difficult period of indecision regarding his marriage. If you're ever in need of impersonal, objective advice, post on Craigslist. Complete strangers will take the time to write full blown letters, often full of wisdom and compassion. Sometimes, however, you'll get a less charitable response, like this one: "I hope you die fucking slow death." That's not nice.
3. Putting on a Show!
The Wombury wrote a play, a la Max Fischer, for his sixth grade students to perform. It's basically a simple repackaging of all the crazy shit they say and do in class, while also honoring the Wombury's childish love of irony and postmodernism. Only the really clever kids pick up on the underlying stupidity of it. "So wait, we're doing a play about how we're going to do a play?" Those moments are precious and few.
But not only are staging a play, but we're making a documentary about making the play. So we're making a documentary about play about making a play. So far, we've lost 3 main actors due to suspension. One student grabbed a girl's behind, claiming it was an accident. Another student started a fight with kids from the neighboring middle school. A third student was removed from his role for his incredibly shitty and disrespectful behavior. The funny thing was his part was based on him, and what a disrespectful little shit he is. So now another student is playing him, but that student was almost suspended for fighting. Finally, student knocked over a podium wired with a 3,000 dollar sound mixer. It was in response to this, that the Wombury's famous temper exploded. Why? Because a week before the Wombury knocked over a light projector with his ass and had to pay 360 dollars for a new one. The Wombury kept screaming, "I will not pay for more broken appliances! Your parents will pay!"
4. Finishing War and Peace
On page 969, which means I have 56 pages until the end of the novel, not including the epilogue, which is only another 85 pages. what a dick you are mr. tolstoy.
5. Sasha is sick.
Sasha is the sister Tonkanese cat of the brother-sister tandem currently inhabiting my abode here in Mott Haven. Sasha is the closet thing I have to a girlfriend. We snuggle in my bed. She owns my shoulder. We know what makes each other happy. And she caught my 2-month long cold. Her eyes are red, puffy, and secreting a sticky fluid. She's lethargic. She sneezes. And most piteously, she coughs. I cried.
Until then,
The WOmbury
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