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Everything but The Girl
24 June 2002
4 16:16

Time I stopped spending so damn much time writing e-mails and a bit more time writing things for my own benefit. I suppose writing e-mails is an exercise of sorts, but it doesn�t accomplish at all the same purpose as writing creatively, analytically, or even just in a documentary, disciplinary fashion. Also, I�ve allowed that last entry to remain on my most current page for far too long. It was initially the midsection of another, longer, more well-thought-out entry, but then, I didn�t have time to finish my thoughts in the surrounding sections, so I just excerpted the hallucination in the middle and threw it on the wall. Perhaps I�ll eventually add the surrounding bits to the entry, not that anyone would notice. Admittedly, I don�t update this thing often enough for anyone to really care about checking in and reading what I have to say, but I quite enjoy the fantasy of unknown persons wandering in, sitting down, reading about what�s going on in my life, and maybe connecting or being moved, at best. I do believe that�s what we�re all seeking. One thing about all the e-mails I�ve been sending lately, though, is that I have copies of many of them, and perhaps I�ll excerpt portions of some of them which are not specific to the person for whom they were intended and paste them up here at some point. Sometimes, I think I have Something to Say (as we�ve established).

So what�s been happening over the last few weeks? Probably too much for one entry to cover in any appropriate amount of detail. I�m always inclined to want to sit down and focus on a particular topic, exhaust the details of my memory, and slap the appropriate date on it, but somehow, I never manage to achieve the focus or to spend the required time on such an enterprise. It�s not like I have attention deficit disorder or anything; I�m just a very busy man with a lot on his mind and a rather short attention span. �I�m a very busy man.� I like the sound of that. It�s true, too. I�m throwing a party on Friday night, and there�s quite a lot of work remaining to be done for it. I realised yesterday that there�s quite a lot of home-furnishing that I�ve not done since moving into my new apartment a few months ago, and I decided to attempt to undertake some of it. I need a new bookcase, but I think the books are just going to be stuffed onto the ones I have now until I can find a new one that suits me. It sounds petty, but I�m very particular about certain aspects of furniture. The new bookcase must be hardwood, not veneered particle board, and that�s hard to find, especially at anything resembling a decent price. Additionally, it must be of a shade which I feel is suitable. I have no clue what shade that will be, but when I see it, I think I�ll know. I went to Pier One yesterday afternoon, thinking that I�d find appropriate furniture for my office/chill-out room, but I really didn�t. I want large comfortable floor pillows in rich shades, but I found medium-sized rather cheap-looking ones (at $40 each) in hideous colours. I want big comfortable bean-bags in soft fabrics and muted, neutral hues, and I found no bean-bags at all. In view of the fact that all of my (Technically, they used to be Rebeccah�s, but she gave them to me and said I could keep them after my Eve-of-Bastille-Day party last summer, one of my most amusing memories from which was my super-straight-acting boyfriend lying on the couch with his legs on my lap and his head in my co-worker�s husband�s lap, who despite being straight, was cool with it.) martini glasses except one had been smashed, I bought eight more. Realising that I plan on serving copious quantities of frozen margaritas (lime or strawberry, as you please), I also bought eight margarita glasses. I also snagged a wicked cool tea-light-burning lantern to hang outside the door, as well as a bunch of candles for it and all the other candle-holders, of which I must confess I have zillions. Then, there was the trip to Home Depot, where I bought some light bulbs and electric fans and checked air-conditioner prices. At the grocery store, I covered most of the munchies and mixers, though I think I�m going to buy more and actually succumb to my desire to make devilish eggs (special recipe: they�re not just deviled eggs) and that yummy vegetable-pizza-with-ranch-sauce thing Mom used to make. At Lowe�s, I realised that Home Depot fucks you pretty hard with their prices, particularly on air-conditioners. Thank Heaven I didn�t buy one. Hopefully, the weather won�t warrant one on Friday. This evening, I need to be super-productive, cleaning the foyer closet, the office, and getting things reorganized in the living room, as well as figuring out what needs to be hung where on the walls. (I haven�t called Ciaffarelli yet about having the Dali, the Hewitt and the DeLaNuez framed yet; perhaps I should do that today, but that�s even more money I�m not exactly prepared to spend at the moment.)

Speaking of money, I�m a bit concerned about the status of raises here. I�ve been in my current position for a year, a more than adequate trial period, and my salary is still off the low end of the scale in this region for a person of my background, skills and job responsibilities. Obviously, if my first July paycheck does not reflect a significant increase to the scale where it should be, I�m going to have to sit down with some partners and discuss this, which I really don�t want to do, because I always feel like an ass when I discuss money. It seems trashy somehow, petty and egotistical, and I�d just rather not do it. That doesn�t change the fact that I have a more impressive CV than most of the starting-level intern architects who are hired around here, and I make less money. Anyway, the more I write about this, the more angry I become, and that�s just not productive.

So moving on...In theatre news, my friend Peter Morris will be in Connecticut beginning Friday evening to work with the team who are doing the reading of his new play, Pro Bono Publico, at the O�Neill, as he won that prize yet again this year. The play already had a reading in the City (last week) at the Manhattan Theatre Club, who may decide to run with it after it�s presented at the O�Neill, which is superb news. I think the only thing that he�s had produced in the U.S. thus far was The Square Root of Minus One in Cambridge some months ago, but he�s had plenty of attention in the U.K., so I think it�s high time he got noticed on this side of the Pond. This morning, I had a call from Adrienne, up in Kennebunkport (well, actually, Arundel, but anyway), returning my call from last week, which was odd, because not 15 minutes earlier, I�d tried calling her, but the line was busy...Funny the way these connections sometimes work. I�m thrilled that she�s got a good cast, that the opening director of the season (another college acquaintance of mine, Bobby Cronin) did good work for her, that the tech staff (yea, even the costume designer, and she has a history of disastrous experiences with costume designers) are wonderful, and that the opening show of the season (however horribly-written it may be) is being given a good production and is selling fairly well. I have to admit that I miss working with her. I miss working regularly in the theatre, to be honest. I still want to direct, but I know that the repetition and the nightmarish disorder of politics and personalities, finance and fluff, is incredibly tiresome to me. So I�ll stick with doing a bit of music on the side, and perhaps I�ll manage to drive up to Maine for a few weekends this summer to see the shows and relax on the beach a bit. It WAS always a thrill knowing that my job was something most people couldn�t conceive of doing and something that afforded me a kind of flexibility of which most can�t even conceive. Unfortunately, I didn�t make nearly enough money to be able to support myself decently, so the difficulties seemed to outweigh the benefits, and I felt I needed to move on. Perhaps I�ll go back there someday.

In more personal news, I�m developing interesting connections with diverse and far-flung people. Lee, of course, remains based in Louisiana, and I�ve lately been unable to get in touch with him, which is a little worrisome, but I suppose he�s probably at sea someplace where his cell phone doesn�t work. Christine is, as far as I know, still scheduled to return from Louisiana in mid-August, so I�d be thrilled if I could manage the time and money to travel down there for a visit to both Shreveport and New Orleans before her return, but it seems less likely with every passing day. At my five-year class reunion a few weeks ago, I connected with Jeff from California, whom I knew in passing in college, though we were never close, and we also have been in touch since the reunion (though after his invitation about a week ago for me to fly to San Francisco for a weekend on his frequent flyer miles to hang out and see the city and my subsequent response that I don�t see how that could happen, as my work schedule promises to be maddening for the rest of the summer, and I would need to be sedated for the flight, which would render the weekend groggy, besides which, given the number of people in that area of California whom I know, a weekend would be woefully insufficient for all the visiting to which I�d feel obligated, I�ve heard nothing from him, unfortunately). Then, there�s Alex, who�s from Rhode Island, but currently in medical school at Tulane, shockingly enough, yet another Louisiana connection, and she and I have been sporadically sending each other incredibly rambling e-mails, since we connected rather strangely on Saturday night of the reunion weekend, after one of my friends bedded someone on whom I thought (mistakenly) that I was crushing, and I ended up sleeping (perfectly innocently, mind you) next to her, after much drunken chat with me sitting on an amplifier at a piano, singing badly. Finally, there�s this charming lad Justin. I don�t know if he ever checks to see if I update mine, but his diary is the reason why we began talking. He writes some amazing things; some of his images strike right to the heart of the way I feel often, and I hope that�s a conversation that will continue for a long time to come. That�s all I�m going to say for right now, apart from that I hope he, like everyone else, is taking his medicine.

I found myself thinking this morning that I desperately wish I were back in London. Annoyed at finding a detour on my route into the office, I cranked the car radio (Pink�s anthemic �Don�t Let Me Get Me,� probably my theme song was on, and I just adore her), and then when the song went off, I put in Garbage�s latest, rolled down the windows, and lit a cigarette to �Shut Your Mouth,� which is set to be their next single, though it seems that NONE of the singles off of BeautifulGarbage are getting released in the U.S., despite the success of the video for �Androgyny� (likely the weakest song on the album) on Empty-Vee. I do not begin to understand the American recording industry; all I can figure is that they�re a bunch of fucking morons with no taste and no eye for talent. But that�s a diatribe I promised not to repeat, so I�ll stop there. Back to the subject of London, though...I find it hard to believe it was six years ago that I last spent any time there. It is, in and of itself, an amazing place, architecturally, historically, artistically, socially, spiritually, which will forever carry certain resonances with me, I�m sure, as I shall always remember how it was with Fiona. I�ll always associate certain places with conversations we had, drinking orange squash (sometimes with Malibu rum) or Piat D�Or with fruit in or Pimm�s or that wonderful peach liqueur that�s the English equivalent of Peachtree (yet so much better, �cause it�s English and you�re in London, even if I have managed to forget its name) and lemonade and smoking whilst hanging out the window. No air-conditioning necessary; in fact, some nights, I recall being cold, even with her lying beside me...And I miss that, too. I�ve done a lot of rather questionable things in my life, but I think the way I treated her when we were together was the worst thing I�ve ever done. It wasn�t that I was abusive, though I was definitely very difficult sometimes, more because I�d become distant, cold, implacable, despite her infinite attempts to reach me, to warm me, to soothe me. Even now, I can�t help but think of her every time I hear Paul Simon�s song �Something So Right,� especially if it�s Annie Lennox�s cover version. �You�ve got the cool water / When the fever runs high / And you�ve got the look of love right in your eye / And I was in a crazy motion / �Til you calmed me down / It took a little time / But you calmed me down...� In all the hours we must have spent with me sitting at a piano, I don�t believe I ever sang that for her, though it was the clearest expression of how I felt about her that anyone, myself included, could have conjured. Mostly, I suppose I wish we�d met a few years later; I wonder how things would play out if we met now, or maybe even last year. But then, I�m a different person now, and I imagine she is, too. So since Fred will be staying alone at his aunt�s house right on the Thames this summer, perhaps I�ll find some way to join him for a week or so and see London again. I believed I had moved on; there are days, now, that pass without me thinking of her, finally...But I wonder what it would be like...If I�d be constantly haunted...If I�d even be able to bear to breathe there without her. (That is the sort of connection for which _I_ am searching...)

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