No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2002-03-15 - 3:25 p.m.

The abound-iness of randomness

Randomness abounds.

I found out the reason that my mail stopped coming is that Exactimundo Software didn't have my apt number on my W2 when they sent it (morons) and the people at my apartment complex wrote "no longer at this address, return to sender" on it (asshole morons). So not only was my mail screwed up for weeks, but I didn't get my W2. I really need to start paying more attention to these details.

Next monday I'm going to open mike night and I'm playing and singing all by myself. Just me and my guitar and my harmonica and my voice. I'm not just crazy enough to be doing this, but I also am planning on singing one of my own songs. I'm gonna suck so much ass. But I'm forcing myself to do it.

Sometime in the past couple of weeks I showed RockGirl Joe vs the Volcano for the first time. When I asked her what she thought of it, she turned to me and said "you have a soft, gooey inside". I had no response to that.

I found an audition notice on the web today. It's for a touring production of King Lear. Paid. Cash Money. It plays in Colorado Springs, and then tours a couple other cities around the state. I'm trying to decide if I should audition. I think I could be a kick-ass Edgar. I already know I can be Edmund.

Did I mention that thing? About randomness?


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