…is the title of the latest song I put up on the Lo-Fi EDD Sessions page.
You might ask yourself “to what extent is this a cynical attempt to garner attention for stuff he’s doing by creating a song that is almost designed to show up in various Google searches?”
Good question.
I’ve made a little MySpace Music page where I’ve been throwing up little recordings of some of my songs as I go. They aren’t the greatest recordings (hence the name) but I’m upgrading them as I can. Check it out:
I guarantee that there is no noun that someone somewhere has not suffixed with ‘job.’ You should probably just take my word for it.
An unfinished song.
Two fires and an angry sea set me forth from the haven that had cradled me,
Made me long for a love that I’d have never believed in if I’d stayed.
Still I search but I don’t know anymore, will I be happy if I find what I’m looking for?
And I don’t look in the mirror because I know what I’ll see: two fires and an angry sea.
How do you tell a story to an audience that doesn’t hear?
And though I know I’m not ready for the things I don’t have
I die a little each day from the wanting so bad
Two fires and an angry sea burned a hole in my soul and drowned the best part of me
And I try to fill the void with the words that I sing but the pit remains.
I look but in my heart i don’t believe anymore that I’m ever gonna find what I’ve been searching for,
And I know now what I am but I don’t know what it means: I am two fires and an angry sea.
Two fires and an angry sea.
Why is it that when I go to a website to see a trailer for a movie or game that I’m interested in, they make me watch a commercial for something else first? Can’t I even watch a freakin’ commercial without having to sit through a commercial?
You know what I mean.
It was Thai.
* The tire thing ended, shall we say, explosively. It was inevitable, and I have to give huge thanks to Tanya (with an assist to Brendan) for pulling my ass out of that particular fire.
* I’ve been auditioning for shorts n’ student films, which I had initially resisted. I was persuaded that it’s a good way to make connections and looks good on a resume. Besides which, I need a reel, so why not get as much good stuff as I can?
* Carla posted some pics from Don’t Gag Me! on her myspace page: www.myspace.com/carlasabah
* I’m so close I can taste it.
Some things I’ve realized over the last few days:
Westward Expansion opened on Friday and seems to be going over well. One of the things that drew me to the Alliance in the first place was the quality of the people there. I’m not exactly the Old Man of Los Angeles Theatre, but I’ve been around enough to know that far too many companies are either vanity projects for one giant ego, giant balls of bickering or some other ugly little collection of neuroses (that’s what ACTORS are supposed to be.)
I say this so you know that when I say I love being with this cast, you will hopefully take it as something other than ‘what people always say.’ I don’t always say those things, but I really like these people.
I like the show, too, although I always have trouble discerning the ‘read’ - I’m pretty happy with the work I’m doing, everybody else is doing a good job, and Cecil’s a hell of a writer. The first review should come out this week or next, for what it’s worth. All in all, I expect this show to do well, artistically and otherwise.
Go see it. Right now. Well, not RIGHT now, but, you know, soon.
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I spent a good portion of Sunday at the Southern California Regional Bikram Yoga Championship, essentially by accident. Fun fact: Bikram is a dude.
I went along with Carla after rehearsal, in the interest of doing something I hadn’t done before. I need to get this out of the way right now, lest it give me a tumor: nothing in the world - nothing - can smell as bad as a giant room devoted to Bikram yoga. I don’t care how bad your bipedal snow cow smells, inside or out, this is worse. Apparently, they heat the room to 105 degrees for Bikram, which is oriented more towards strength and flexibility than other yogic disciplines. The room could probably hold, oh, 18,000 people. that’s 18,000 people bending and sweating in 105 degree heat. Hence the smell.
When I wasn’t wondering if my nose would shut down before I went into shock, I was admiring the competition. It works like so: each hopeful gets three minutes to perform seven poses (five compulsory, two they choose themselves.) The question of ‘competitive yoga’ was dealt with by explaining that, even though there were other people up there, it was still really about competing with one’s self. All I know is that the only pose I could have complete was the Rabbit, which could just as easily have been called the ‘Nap.’
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I woke up in the middle of one of those dreams that are so soft and sweet that an extra hour of sleep would feel like the most precious gift. Even in a car.
Of course it was about her. One of her, at any rate.
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I realize now that I’m just sort of moody, but I’m really hoping to develop it into full-on brooding.
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A strange happening in the night: I was awakened around 3-ish by the sound of shouty fighting right outside my window. This was odd, because my window is a driver’s side Toyota window, which placed the shouting directly in the street. The combatants were a couple who were allegedly attempting to park.
So the guy opens his door and bangs my car. I’m sure this happened in the service of some subtle dialectic point which I couldn’t quite hear from right next to him. He didn’t hit the car that hard (and if you’ve seen the left side of my car, then you know it would be undetectable visually) so I didn’t really do anything about it.
So dude storms off, leaving chick to parallel park behind me. I would never traffic in stereotypes, but god DAMN girls can’t parallel park. She hit my rear bumper three times. Again, between my sleepiness and the fact that she wasn’t hitting me very hard, I decided not to worry about it. After all, the last thing I need to do is start an angry discussion that will sooner or later include the disclosure that I live in the damn thing. I have a feeling that will generally suck up most of my credibility.
The thing is, it would have been really funny if I had come screaming out of that thing as soon as they woke me up, blankie a-flappin’ in the wind, screeching some automotive equivalent of ‘you kids get off my lawn!’ Ha ha!
I would have been shot so many times.