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Monday, December 20, 2004


This was a good weekend for lying around in my underwear, which is something I really need to do a lot more of. To heal the whips and scorns of time. I'd hoped to get some writing done. I finished the short scene I've been working on for like a week. I'm not the American Demigod I was in college, when I could toss off the first draft of a full length epic in about a month. Curse you, Economic Reality! This play is all about individual confrontations between two or three of the dozen or so characters. That's probably what most of my plays are about. So I know who has to confront whom and what has to be done, I'm just not sure what order it all happens...It's so hard to get the facts right when you're making things up.

I'm three weeks away from Rock Star Death age. My life pissing away decadent period begins now.

My friend Eamon is in town and we ate at one of Evanston's trendier new restaurants last night. Our long haired waiter kept asking whether we wanted "fries or fruit" with our burgers and things, obvious proof of the hippie homosexualism of the place. "I guess we know which America we're in now." Eamon snorted, and proceeded to hold forth on why cats are a poor investment. I love Eamon.

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Replies: 2 comments

I intend to be so strung out on heroin over the next several months that just about anything can happen.

"Rock Star Death age"...LOVE THAT! Have you decided if you want to choke on your own vomit or die in a plane crash?

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