2002-11-01 - 3:28 p.m.

Update, me? Surely you jest. I would have thought it would be plain to all and sundry that I no longer consent to fill you, the little people, in on my privations and vicissitudes, and that my absence for so long should have been admission enough to that effect!

What's this? You simply MUST hear tell of my doings and goings-on, as well as my ruminations on such. Well, all right. Twist my arm.

Basically, since last I attempted that whole updating thing, my life had gone on in a similar, although not quite identical, vein as previously described. I was right to think I read too much into the 'cold front', or as we in Florida like to call it, 'The God-Damned Tease' It's November First, and it's a humid 83 degrees. Somebody shoot me. The romance with the co-star has failed to develop, but not for lack of possibility or attraction. She digs me, no question, and many dates have ensued, and our on-stage chemistry is blooming as a result, but nothing to force the issue. Before this week, I was waiting until I had a morning I didn't have to get up early for (children's theater runs on an unholy schedule) to make a move. No sense sliding suavely between the sheets only to get up at 6:00am and leave her house in a fit of caffeine-deprivation. Ruins the mood, don'tcha know?

So I finally had such an opportune night, and what happens? I come down with some mystery illness, probably from one of the snotty little basdtards at the kid's show who forgot to at least wipe his hands on his sleeve before being pressured by his mother to shake my hand (as part of 'baby's first stage show', no doubt). Or maybe one of the techies sneezed at the wrong moment, I don't know. Either way, I'm communicable, and have trouble singing and talking, and just in time to open the show in Coral Gables. Joy. It also means I'm not getting nowhere with Niki (beautiful woman previously referred to) until I recuperate.

I sound bitter about the kid's, but actually, I love them. As long as they're 8 or younger. They laugh at silly things, and have fun, and enjoy being away from school, and don't care if you know it. 10 year olds, tho, give me hives. They're 'cool'. You can tell because they boo rather than cheer. They don't like you (even if they do), they don't enjoy themselves (in case someone else isn't enjoying themself, you can never be too careful), and they don't want to be here (wherever 'here' may happen to be). It's a tough age, I remember well, but that doesn't make them any more tolerable. The quality of our performances can be called with pinpoint accuracy during the curtain speech (when the director, or whichever actor isn't too hung-over, primes the kids by leading them in a practice-laugh): if they respond well, and have fun, and like making noise, we'll have a great show; if not, Thespus and St. Vitus combined couldn't help us. And it's always the ten-year olds who don't want to make any noise not immediately identified as cynical. Well, they'll hit puberty soon, and discover the true horror of adolescent posturing, and that's revenge enough for me.

Aside from that, this week I'll be pulling in almost $400 from acting. It's a real threshold experience for me: I'm making more at acting than I would at working. Ha ha ha.

So, I open the Coral Gables show tonight, God help me. The reviewers will be coming tomorrow night, and God help them. It's really awful, but maybe we'll be able to fool them into thinking it Art. 'I say we praise what we don't understand!' Thank God for Godot, it really blazed the trail for us wackos.

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