Another song using the word "ass." Well, every rock star has to have a gimmick, right?

One day...

I love New York. I don’t really know what else to say about it. I love New York. I think that at some point in my life, I will need to live here for a little while. New York just feels good. It feels right. It feels like I belong here. It is really strange for me to feel that about a city that isn’t Chicago and I think in my heart of hearts, I’m still really very much in love with Chicago so I couldn’t leave it right now. And maybe it is the newness or the foreignness of New York that I am attracted to, but it really is a great town. There is so much here going on and to see and to do. And I like the people. I think I would fit in, minus my “fashion sense.” Though if I wait until I am rich and famous to come here, I can walk around dressed the way that I do and it will be my fashion statement. People will be like, “Oh, that’s just the way Kitty dresses.” And all will be good. I’ll spawn an entire generation of little girls who wear green corduroy pants and black t-shirts. It could be worse. At least I won’t be encouraging them to wear chaps with bikini tops or anything.

But I don’t feel like I need to do everything here and see everything and go everywhere while I am here. I’m happy to just be here. Emphasis on the be.

I played my guitar in both Central Park and Astoria Park. And yes, I got a few strange looks from people, but most people just kept going as if I was your ordinary, average, run of the mill crazy person. I want to be your ordinary, average, run of the mill crazy person in New York. Not necessarily the guy who walks through the subway station at four o’clock in the morning saying “fuck” a lot. But the kind who just likes to play and will play anywhere she has a chance to.

I don’t even really know what I am talking about anymore. I have had a wonderful time here. I will be sad to go home tomorrow. I wish I had gotten to see Moby at Teany the other day. I hope maybe he will be here today. I have enjoyed seeing friends who I haven’t seen in a while. I have been very happy to get to spend some quality one-on-one time with some of my friends. I have been happy to watch groups of swing dancers interacting. I have danced. I have enjoyed excellent music and good food. I have given three New Yorkers a copy of my demo disc and have very much enjoyed the accolades and enthusiasm that has accompanied the giving of the discs. I finished working on a song that has been kicking my ass for a long time and I got some ideas for another one. I have had a wonderful, wonderful couple of days and I am now very sad that it is coming to an end. I will be very happy to be home where the water pressure in the show is good and where my cat will curl up and go to sleep with me. But honestly, if my cat was here, I would stay a lot longer. I think I need to live in New York for a while. Hopefully while I am still young enough to enjoy it. I understand the intense provincialism that happens in New York now. It is a really good place to be. It feels like home.

So despite all of my current physical problems, I made it to New York without a hitch. I left my hitch at home. I might need it later, so I'm a little bit bummed about that. But anyway, I'm here. And the kind of weird thing is that as I was flying into the city last night, I got this strange feeling of, "Oh, I'm home." And then on the way to the home of my lovely hostess, everything was familiar, even though it has been a year and a half since I was last here. Kind of cool, kind of creepy.

Anyway, I have to venture out and find some guitar strings because my high E broke and I can't very well tour the New York City park system without a high E.

I will be in New York by the time I go to sleep tonight, whether my body likes it or not. So there.

I got a really amazing compliment from one of my directors last night. We were doing a practice run-through of Floss! for the new cast members and to be honest, my heart was really only half in it. I didn’t want to be at rehearsal. I wasn’t finished packing; I wasn’t ready to leave my house and not come back for five days yet, you know? So the first walk-through, I marked it. But by the time we were doing the actual run-through on which the directors were taking notes, I was fully in character and ready to go. Doing my part and making sure the new people knew where they were supposed to be and whatnot. And at the very end of the show, I was filling this one Beboian in on something and I almost forgot that I had a line to deliver downstage left, so I kind of bolted to my position, said my line, and went back to the new Beboian. The one director erupted in laughter. I don’t remember how I said the line. I’m not sure how it looked, but apparently, it was funny.

So we finish the show, come down off stage and the director says to me, “You’re really funny. When did that happen?” Now, in order for that to sound like a compliment, you first have to know that I play kind of the straight character in this group. So many of the rest of the Beboians are so crazy go nuts that I decided my character should be more reserved, quiet, and focused on the dance. And this very same director pulled me aside once in my first run and told me that he and the other director really liked the choice I had made – it offset the other characters nicely. So now to have him notice that such a character can be comedic…well, it was a big deal to me. Plus, he had this newfound look of respect in his eyes. Or it was all the wine, I don’t know. But two other times while he was giving notes, he mentioned things that I had been doing on stage and expounded on them to say that I was so uninhibited and true in my Beboian-ness that I was really funny. I wasn’t me. I was Hacamba. Which I guess makes sense because I don’t really remember doing anything funny. I was just trying to do a good show. Like Hacamba would.

So yeah, that felt good to get that kind of praise from that director. He’s not one to dole out compliments freely, so to get the “you were honest and true and had some really wonderful moments as a result of that” compliment is really amazing.

So I heard a rumor that it is Banned Book Month, or something, and in honor of Banned Book Month, someone sent my office a copy of a book called It's Perfectly Normal. I can understand why it was banned by conservative religious types -- it talks about everything kids might want to know about sex. It covers masturbation, birth control, sexual abuse, sexually transmitted diseases, sexual preferences, artificial insemination, you name it, it's in this book. There are illustrations that show that everyone's body is different. There are illustrations of sexual positions other than missionary with the man on top. There are illustrations of homosexual couples kissing, hugging, and holding hands. There are illustrations of interracial couples. There are pictures of old couples. This book has it all. And I, for one, would like to applaud the authors for taking on these topics in such a straightforward, candid manner. Their whole premise is the title of the book -- it's perfectly normal. This book tells kids that it is okay to masturbate. This book tells kids that it is okay to have sexual thoughts and feelings about persons of the same sex and persons of the opposite sex. This book encourages kids to talk to someone they trust about sexual abuse. I think in addition to having these conversations with my kids, I'm going to buy them this book. It certainly handles things much better than the books I had when I was younger.

So hats off to the authors of It's Perfectly Normal. Your book is in very good company on the Banned Book List and you should take it as a compliment that your work has been deemed worthy of banishment. I hope that one day, if I write a book, it gets banned, too.

Warning: Moment of Weakness Ahead

Because I bet you a dollar he's not thinking about me. Hell, I know he hasn't wondered where I am or how I'm doing once in the past three years. So why do I do this to myself? Why do I see him everywhere? Why can I feel him nearby? Am I that desperate to get back what I once thought I had? God damn, I'm pathetic sometimes. And no, I have not been drinking tonight. I'd probably be more coherent if I had been.

I think the moment has passed. I'll post about monkeys or something in the morning to offset this little outburst. Sorry.

I've been having all of these strange dreams and feelings about him lately. Like he's nearby or going to show up somewhere unexpectedly or something. I know I've had these feelings before, but they are unsettling. They make me wonder what I would do if I actually saw him again. Would we speak? Would it still be there? Or would he just walk on by? I'm guessing the latter. And as much as I hate to admit that, it makes me very sad. I hate to think of things as being over forever. I don't like that sense of permanence. I don't like the idea that I could never again experience what I once did. And no, it probably isn't smart of me to sit and listen to "Lost Cause" on repeat as I think about these things, but I never said I was smart all of the time.

It's almost a need to see him. I don't know why this happens from time to time, but it does. I know I've written about this crap before. Maybe a year ago? Maybe because it was getting around this time of year three years ago that I saw him last? Like revisiting someone's grave on the anniversary of their death. Something did die. Nothing tangible. But something did die. Sometimes I feel like a widow; sometimes I feel like a divorce (I don't know how to add an accent mark to the e in Blogger). And then I stop myself and tell myself that I am being overdramatic, that it was never that big of a deal. But it was to me.

I almost wish it would happen -- that I would see him somewhere randomly -- just to get it over with, you know? We're both in kind of the same business; chances are I will see him again before I die. I hope I survive it if I do.

I will be in New York in two days. And I can't even tell you how insanely happy that makes me.

I want to write a song that makes one person at my concert weep.
I want to write a song that makes an entire room full of people jump up and down.
I want to write songs that make people feel something. For such is the power and the joy of music. And such is the duty of the musician.

Everything is better with hummus. Except soggy carrots.

So two of my favorite musical artists have very different opinions on the whole file-sharing/downloading music for free issue and I myself am kind of torn.

On the one hand, Moby is of the opinion that he doesn’t care how people are getting his music, as long as they are listening to it. He is disgusted that they are now prosecuting 12 year old children for illegal downloads. He also is probably still living off of royalties from Play and now with his restaurant doing so well, I’m guessing he doesn’t have too many money issues.

On the other hand, we have Liz Phair who was recently on Bill Maher’s show saying that basically, it is stealing and those persons who illegally download music are ripping off the artists. And she is a single mother who has not put out an album in five years, and the last album she did put out didn’t do so well.

And I’m torn on the issue. I think as long as I am a wannabe musician, I will be torn on the whole thing. Right now, I want my music to be heard. I don’t care how people listen to it; I just want them to listen to it. If that means free concerts or people copying the demo discs I have given them or paying me $20 for a disc, then so be it. Actually, at this point, I would feel a little bit guilty charging people for my disc because it is just a demo and really, they are doing me a favor by partaking in my art (this goes back to the whole “does art have inherent value or is it only given value through sharing it with others” debate). But then again, I have a stupidfey day job that pays my bills and keeps me overfed and whatnot. If my sole source of income was my music, I might be pissed off at people getting it for free, too.

Where I am right now in my life, I would like to be idealistic about this and say that I don’t think downloading music should be punishable by law. If I buy a CD and copy it for a friend, that is not illegal. If I have music that nobody else does and I make it available to people (my friends, perhaps) via the internet, that is illegal. It’s a fine line and one that I think needs to be defined better or erased entirely. My mp3.com site was created so that friends of mine overseas could enjoy my music easily instead of me burning them a disc and trusting that whatever shipping company (not the one that uses a certain color in its advertisements as I am still convinced that they are the servants of Satan) I employ does not lose or damage the CD in transit. I want people to hear my music. People want to hear music in general. And I do not think that they should be punished for wanting to broaden their musical horizons on a limited budget.

Or maybe I’m just a dirty hippie.

If I could count on one hand the number of friendships I have that are based primarily on a mutual love and quoting ability of The Simpsons, I'd be a mutant with, like, 87 fingers.

I’m going to bitch for a minute because I can and because I feel like it.

My office is located on the first floor of a three and a half story building. So naturally, everyone assumes that the receptionist on the first floor is the receptionist for the entire building. And the kitchen on the first floor is the kitchen for the entire building. And everything on the first floor is for the entire building. NOT TRUE. Our receptionist is our receptionist. Our kitchen (and its contents) is ours. And while we do not mind other people using our conference rooms (if prior arrangements have been made), we should not have to staff/set up/clean up after their meetings. Think about it: you go a private place of business to use one of their rooms. If your meeting requires food, you make those arrangements. If your meeting requires tech support, you make those arrangements. If you need copies of handouts for your meeting, you make them ahead of time and bring them along. You don’t tell your guests to “help themselves” to the coffee in the kitchen. And as a guest, you don’t go barging into the kitchen to help yourself. I don’t care how many times you have been there before; you don’t go barging into someone else’s kitchen and take their food/beverages. Granted, rental spaces will often have things like food service and tech support available, but usually at an extra fee and arrangements have to be made prior to the start of the meeting. You don’t show up one minute before the meeting is to begin and say, “Can you set up the equipment for me?” I actually had this conversation this morning:

Meeting “organizer” (at 8:29, in reference to an 8:30 meeting): Do you have a minute to show me how to work all of your equipment in there?
Me (knowing that there is WAY more “equipment in there” than she will need): What do you need set up?
M”O”: I’m not sure, really. What do people usually use when they come in for meetings?
Me: They usually either bring a laptop or a disc and we turn on the LCD projector for them.
M”O”: She just needs to be able to see the screen.
Me: Is she bringing a laptop?
M”O”: I don’t think she is bringing a disc. She’s bringing those papers that you can look at on the wall.
Me: For an overhead projector?
M”O”: I think so. I talked to the other lady who sits out here [who has only been here for two years and sees you on a daily basis and you still don’t know her name?] and she said there was one in there.
Me: Well, let me check and see what there is.

So I go into the conference room to search for the most antiquated piece of equipment in there, I find it, and it takes me a minute to set it up. During which time, the meeting “organizer” asks if a specific co-worker of mine might know how to set it up. A co-worker of mine whose office is quite visible from where we are standing and at this time of the morning is quite empty. I reply as nicely as I can, “She’s not here yet this morning.” To which, the meeting “organizer” replies, “oh,” sounding very disheartened.

We all know that I need to develop a greater tolerance for stupid people. And I know that I need to not let it get to me when other people take advantage of this department and the things contained therein. It’s just irritating to start your day with stupid people hassling you about things that could have been taken care of well in advance. And the icing on the cake? They didn’t even use the overhead projector.

There are days when I love my job. This is not one of them.

I know some people who claim to be anti-social. They don't know anti-social. They still crave the attention of people. They like to be anti-social in public. Their idea of being anti-social is going to some crowded place and not talking to anyone. That's not anti-social. A true anti-social person doesn't go out. A true anti-social person doesn't even call his or her friends to see what's going on that they could miss out on.

I have decided that I am the second variety of anti-social.

So if you were a bird doctor (and no, I don't mean a vet, I mean the local doctor that pigeons take their children to when they get the sniffles), I bet the biggest complaint you would get is neck strain. Because take a look at how birds walk. That can't be good for the spine.

There are times when I wish I was brave enough to say to that random hot guy on the train or walking down the street, “You are a very attractive individual.” That’s it. Not ask him out on a date. Not exchange contact information. Just let him know that he is a very attractive person. I think that would make someone’s day to have a sort of cute girl come up to you completely unsolicited and give you a compliment like that. But then I second guess myself and I just keep walking.

There are times when I think I should drink more than I do. Do you remember about a year ago, I decided to give up drinking entirely? And what I found was that I dream more when I’m sober? Yeah, well, my dreams are getting really weird and kind of exhausting. So I wake up tired even though I know I got some good sleep (because if you get to REM sleep, that’s when you start dreaming, and that’s the kind of sleep you should be getting, right?). Like last night, for instance. In my dream, I was telling people about dreams I had in the past, but then I woke up wondering if I really had those other dreams, or if I just dreamt about having those dreams? Because those dreams seemed really real, too. A dweam wivin a dweam. Or something. What it amounts to is an overactive imagination and a hankering for a dream-catching machine so I can show people some of the crazy shit that goes on in my head when my head is left to its own devices. Or a need to drink more so I’ll stop dreaming and get some rest.

I’d like to give a little shout-out today to my Bostonian guy friend. Because he rocks.

I think we all know that I am bad at asking for help. Asking for help means relying on someone else to do something for you and relying on someone else to do something for you greatly increases the chances that you will be let down. So I tend to try to do everything by myself.

So my back was hurting really badly this weekend. I was walking around like I was eighty years old. It was very “not pretty,” as the kids say these days. I mentioned this in passing to my Bostonian guy friend as the reason I would probably not want to go out gallivanting all over town on Friday night and what does he do? He buys me heating pads. And rubs my back. And asks a friend of his for advice on things that he can do to help me. And he checks in with me all weekend on the intensity of my back pain. All without me asking.

The problem with never asking for help is that you forget just how nice it is to have someone help you with something. To have a friend who will not let you down. I was kind of blown away by his level of concern for me this weekend and it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. This is just one of the infinite number of reasons why I love my Bostonian guy friend. If you do not know him, you are missing out on knowing a truly fine human being. Thank you, honey, for being so wonderful. Thanks for being you.