Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea. —Henry Fielding

26 October 2004


As I pulled onto Interstate 210 in this ridiculous weather, The Sorcerer's Apprentice began to march out of my car stereo. Magic? No. Lame. I'm a commuter and I'm wet and cold and I hate traffic. It takes a hundred years to get anywhere.

Rehearsal was not good today. It wasn't bad, either, but it wasn't a good day. I lectured Courtney and Celeste a bit. Why is it that these two don't know their lines? I told them there was no reason in the world for that and they needed to figure their shit out. I told them they were wasting the time I give them. Hopefully I don't see books in their hands tomorrow.

Sally and I had a meeting with the lighting designer affectionately known as Buenaluzer. He did exactly what I wanted him to, so I won't be complaining about him. He says the show will be focused on Saturday and we will be building cues on Sunday. This means Q2Q on Monday and no tech with the actors, just like I like it.

CFO was in a little after 9:00a today and went home sick at 12:30p. Hooray, hurrah. My day got nicer the moment I realized she wasn't coming back.

I was kept awake last night by lingering worries about something I did about a month ago at my old job, but it got fixed today by my brother... it was kind of his mess, so it was good he cleaned it up. I shall sleep peacefully this evening.

There is this person at Cal Poly—this student—that I don't exactly have a crush on, but that I seem to want to impress. I say this after pondering my behavior this evening. I hate when I am the way I was tonight. I was funny and clever, but too funny and too clever for my own good. I feel arrogant and I hate it. I know I am arrogant on occasion. Like, I know that that's true. But I try not to be. I try to quell the impulses that tell me to act like I'm some kind of brilliant lunatic. This is for other people to notice and point out. It is not my job to make a show of my cleverness. And then I think about Judith and I just tell myself to shut the fuck up. I mean, Is what I'm saying essential? Or interesting? Or even helpful? Couldn't I begin to think about how necessary my voice is... and alternately how unnecessary my voice sometimes is?

They Still Have Not Fixed the Motherfucking Elevator in My Building. What in the Fuck Is Going On?

Might I possibly see two (2) movies this weekend? How is Friday, Allan? I hope it's good 'coz it's the only night I'm free.