i hit my sexual peak during harold night...

[GoldDustWoman]

Sometimes, it's just that simple.

It's been a shitty couple of days.

Went to the theater tonight.

Caught the "Midnight Hive" (the Swarm's midnight sketch/improv fest.)

Laughed my fucking ass off.

Considered how lucky I was to be a part of all of this. All of this.

Actually got a little blown away.

Sometimes you've got to find the funny, but it's so much more.

Fucking thank you, a million times over.

Thank you all.

 

[GoldDustWoman]

putting the improv back in the improv journals, OKAY?!

"You're only responsible for 50% of your scene. Then again, you're responsible for 50% of your scene, ASSHOLE."

- paraphrasing one of the first thirty-seven commandments

at times, I have found myself in two-person scenes where I've been in the position of providing waaaay more than my share - the names, the scenery, the location, the justifications for myself and my scene partner, heightening along the way - Believe me, I'm not begrudging anything - and I'm sure I've been guilty of this myself - because one of the tenets of my Improv faith is to make sure that you're making your partner look good. clearly, though, my partner was NOT holding up their 50%. Funny scenes all, laughs were heard echoing throughout the room, but still - it took a hell of a lot out of me - I didn't feel like I had a whole lot to give when I could have and I really disappointed myself.

although, sometimes, I must admit, I dream of a Big, Strong, Powerful scene partner, who will sweep me up into his arms, with a Fine, Powerful initiation, that I can gracefully step into and just Be -

oops.

mixing improv and life at the speed of sound, or 65 wpm, whichever -

bybye for now!

 

[GoldDustWoman]

bedtime stories

once upon a time, there was a girl from Long Island, who went to a little elite private university (a well known nerd incubator) on a big fat scholarship on a hot steamy day in August. She hopped out of a cab at the gates of the pretty pretty place, with the clothes on her back (sleeveless purple tshirt, striped shorts, and reeboks, big red plastic glasses, lots of messy fuzzy brown hair, mismatched earrings), a ratty K-rock tote bag, a grocery bag with soap, shampoo, and drugstore stuff, and nothing else, since her clothes and stuff were allegedly arriving by UPS (being without a custodial parent with a car at the time), ditching her custodial parent in the cab and racing off in the haze and dust towards the bricky dorms. She bounded up the stairs, dumped out her few articles of clothing, arranged a couple of books, her lucky stuffed penguin (Opus) and duck (free with a pair of those ugly speedo rubber boots), and nervously started knocking on doors, determined not to be the shy freaky geek she used to be. She also noticed, absently, that she did not in fact have any of her other stuff, and would probably be sleeping bare-mattressed for a while. Maybe her roomate would be cool, and lend her some sheets, some towels (She'd scored a copy of the "official Preppy handbook" - she knew her roommate was from Vermont, and imagined, awestruck, that she'd be a mythical, smooth-haired goddess who'd teach her how to smoke and have lots of money, sweaters and designer cotton sheets). Eventually, she came back to the room, maybe an hour or two later, after making the rounds. What she found was not the mythical prep-school goddess she'd imagined. What she found was an oddly pasty family of five - two roundish parents, two longish (but oddly doughy) teenage boys, and one sort of dumpy pale chick, with pale pale skin and straight, assymetrically cut black black hair and dark dark eyes, the kids all wearing T-shirts (the boys in black), all silently staring at her. The girl had a massive stereo unpacked, with the hugest speakers she'd ever seen, and the Beatles posters were already up, and she was methodicaly hanging Pink Floyd posters on the wall, very very carefully. Our heroine was momentarily stunned, and took a deep breath, introduced herself, and started nervously introducing herself, and in rapid-fire Long Island-ese, started introducing everyone (sight unseen) on the floor. Five pairs of silent New England eyes (three pale blue, two dark) stared silently back, unmoved. Our heroine, still stunned, nervously asked to borrow a towel until her stuff arrived. The mom-statue handed over a pale pink-striped towel silently, and then backed away. Long-islander thanked her nervously and backed out of the room.

They didn't speak for about two weeks.

One night, Long Islander came home horribly, horribly drunk, after witnessing the "Beastmaster" beer-off competition at a neighboring dorm, and then looking at the stars atop an off-campus apartment house. Long Islander and Vermonster then started to talk. And talk. And talk. They ordered some delivery food, and talked some more. Long Islander eventually admitted being freaked out by all the posters. Vermonster eventually admitted being freaked out by the stuffed animals.

They were inseparable for the next sixteen and a half years.

About a year and a half ago, they abruptly had a fight, and haven't spoken since.

Isn't that something.

THE END

 

[GoldDustWoman]

quotent quotables

"No one speaks of pavilions anymore, and that saddens me."
- Sandra Bernhard, Without You I'm Nothing

"There's a force in the Universe that makes things happen. And all you have to do is get in touch with it, stop thinking, let things happen and be the ball."
- Chevy Chase (Ty), Caddyshack

"Welcome to my job."
- George Carlin, Occupation: Foole

"It's showtime."
- Roy Scheider (Joe Gideon), All That Jazz

 

[GoldDustWoman]

Steal this Post

When I started this journal, I created a new identity. I was convinced that I would remain under cover of electronic darkness forever, never to be spotted, tagged, seen, heard, identified in any way.

However, any one who really, truly feels that way has no business at all starting an online journal, for goodness sake.

Jeez.

Oh, sure, eventually people figured it out. Smart crowd, improvisers. And, since I've started this journal, I've met lots more awesome people in the improv community, some of whom are active in the IRC. I've given up the game, and tell people my "irc name" with only a mere shudder now. (Maybe that's affected my journaling style, but that's another post for another time.)

I'm glad that people are read my journal, and am grateful for the support, comments, and cool stuff that have come from that. I sincerely hope that there's things worth reading in there.

Just wanted to clear something up, that for some reason has come up a bunch of times recently.

I will not write anything specifically about anyone who I believe, with a reasonable degree of certainty, is someone who is active on the IRC, that I think won't be a good thing to be writing.

Basically, if you think something's actually about you, it isn't.

It's entirely possible, that the more I edit this, the less I make sense. A girl's gotta try her best. Just stay with me here, okay?

I would never use this forum, this journal - a haven, a retreat for me - to make anyone feel bad, or awkward, or singled out. That ain't right.

I've often referred specifically to other journals (like the adorable "Applesauce" thing, "Billy Merritt's improv party," the "House of Harold") because they're funny or enlightening or both.

I've tried to make references to all kinds of improv experiences/scenes and such as generic, or broad, as possible, and they certainly incorporate bits and pieces of experiences, relationships, interactions that I've had. Otherwise, they wouldn't be part of my world.

But you know, I think we've all in the course of human/improv experience had a lot of common events and experiences that we can all see in my embryonic improv life. (I mean, hey, who hasn't had impure thoughts while rubbing imaginary sunscreen on a classmate?)

So maybe, in a way, it is about you.

And scene.

 

[GoldDustWoman]

I'm gonna get back to you on that -




you ever notice, that when you're stresssssssing about something, your bodily drives tend to all hit you up at once??

Got a deadline? A big paper due? A performance coming up SOOOON?

Well? What's a gal to do, but...REGRESS??

PUT STUFF IN YOUR MOUTH?!!
EAT! DRINK!! SMOKE!!! FUCK!!!!!!!

well, three outta four ain't bad......

YOWZA!!!!



well, I AM at the office!!! although, back in the DAY, it wouldn't have stopped sweet thang little ole ME!
:jump:

bad!bad!bad!

 

[GoldDustWoman]

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains.

Why Annie Savoy in Bull Durham is the best movie character EVER -

If I were Susan Sarandon in Bull Durham, and oh, how I wish I was, my "ohh my" signature quote would sound SO much cooler, and convey the breathless excitement of someone who has just, in thirty hot seconds, been seduced, body and mind, without one single solitary stitch of clothing being removed...I've even got the quote in an earlier post, goddammit, it's all about what Crash Davis (the Kevin Costner character) believes in, it's his whole little speech that ends with "slow wet kisses that last three days."

okay, I won't make you go back. Here it is:

"Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."

Oh my.

And then he walks out.

And then she gets to fuck Tim Robbins.

And then she gets to fuck Kevin Costner.

(Circa 1987)

And she gets to be smart and funny and sexy all at the same goddamn time.

And, she gets to LIKE BASEBALL.

Oh my indeed.

****************************************

Sometimes I will watch something, someone who just exhibits pure genius, says something completely brilliant, wonderful, inspiring, performs something so true, brings an idea to life before your eyes, brilliant, comic, ethereal genius...

ohhh my...

an ohhhh my moment is the one that sends shivers up your spine, that makes your mouth curl into a smile while dropping open at the same time, one that makes you lean forward in your seat, maybe make you shudder, cross your legs, a little bit....

maybe you'll take that moment home with you, maybe you'll carry that moment all the way home with you, maybe you'll take that moment all the way...

ohhhh my...

sometimes they're SNAP FLASH there in an instant and gone....

sometimes you remember them forever.....

sometimes they happen to you because you, YES you, were there to create them...ohhhh me ohhhh my.....

Brilliance is the force that carries us through life...it can come from expected and unexpected places...It is exciting and terrifying simultaneously.

Never forget it when you find it. Let it reside in your head, heart, gut, groin, traveling to where it feels safe and sound but always ready, on file, part of your essential data banks.

Never stop seeking it. Never. NEVER.

Ohhh my.

****************************************************************

"Well, actually, nobody on this planet ever really chooses each other. I mean, it's all a question of quantum physics, molecular attraction, and timing. Why, there are laws we don't understand that bring us together and tear us apart. Uh, it's like pheromones. You get three ants together, they can't do dick. You get 300 million of them, they can build a cathedral. "
- Bull Durham (more Annie Savoy)


all movie quotes from IMDB

 

[GoldDustWoman]

Happy New 5764 - where has 5763 gone??

seems like just yesterday. time flies.

wow. had I spewed what I wanted to spew last night, i would have been incredible eloquent on the subject of me - i would have also, of course, been fairly buzzed and probably way less eloquent than I believed. It's the curse of the mature drunk.

Time of year - in the five minutes of fine jewy (non-food related) education my mother gave to me, she tells me that this is the week, between Rosh hashana and Yom Kippur (the one holiday I actually manage to observe - I'm skipping class, I actually do fast, and will probably even find another place to go to services - the wandering jew am I) that "the book is open" - and for the life of me, i'm still trying to figure out what, where this fucking book is. I am so going to whatever the equivalent of hell is. (Mom: don't curse, not this week. Me: Fine. Please note that most every conversation with my Mom is like a snippet of a Mamet play.) Apparently, we're supposed to forgive, repent, look back, reflect, sort of a big slow build to the big old day - get the big whammy of Kol nidre and the looooong fast. I love the idea of Yom Kippur - one day, one big suffer, one giant vulnerability, the hugely powerful and beautiful service - bam bam bam, whip down the list, hit 'em all, line 'em up, knock 'em down. One big reveal.

I will slow the fuck down, I will not go to work, I will take it easy, take a deep breath, leave me alone, go away, it's my time.

Last year, I wandered past this ancient synagogue on 6th street - well, the building was about 100 years old or so - The big burly guy who was guarding the outside saw me, with my little scarf in my hand, wearing a jacket and (gasp) pants, tentatively eyeing the place. I was considering wandering up to Town & village on 14th street, but he stopped me and said - Come on in here. I was nervous, but looked in, and it was super-Orthodox - segregated men and women, with a white sheet down the center aisle, all chanted and I couldn't understand - he said, Go upstairs, to the women's section, nobody's up there. So I threw on my scarf, grabbed a prayer book, slipped upstairs, and it was like being transported in a time machine, all by myself, on these old wooden benches (the congregation was so small, they all sat downstairs), and I listened to the singing, chanting and praying, and followed the best I could remember (fortunately the book was still bilingual), and felt like I was in some tiny little village in Europe hundreds of years ago listening to some otherworldly rites, but I knew that they were somehow part of me, and I was mystified and drawn in and crying all at once...It was somehow unreal, but extreme. Another woman, sort of young, joined me towards the end - she was from Toronto, and didn't know where else to go, so she came here too, we talked a little afterwards and I learned that about her.

This was not the original topic. I had another topic, but this has done worn me out.

What's that joke Jon Stewart does (comparing the efficient Jewish way of atonement?) - oh yeah, "even in sin you guys pay retail!"

 

[GoldDustWoman]

A: Want another one?
B: One more?
A: We really shouldn't.
B: Yeah, it's really bad for us.
A: It's really bad.
B: One more. Just one. Then we're done.
A: Just one.
(Takes cigarette. Lights cigarette. Hands to B.)
(Lights cigarette.)
A: We're really pretty far gone.
B: I know. It's a lot, it's almost too much.
A: Yeah, I know. Almost.
B: But it's good. Really good.
A: It's incredible. I don't want to stop.
B: Me neither.
A: I never want to stop.
B: Never.
A: I can't imagine life without it.
B: I know what you're saying.
A: And, it's so much better, with us.
B: It's definitely better. It's really something, something special, incredible.
A: It's incredible, with us, what we have.
B: Fuck yeah.
A: I can't imagine.
B: Neither can I. I can't.
A: We can't stop. We gotta keep going.
B: We're gonna.
A: Fuck yeah.
B: Yeah.
A: One more?
B: One more.

 

[GoldDustWoman]

A: What do you want?
C: We need to talk.
A: Talk about what?
C: Talk about you.
A: About me? Why?
C: You need to hear this.
A: I don't want to hear it.
C: You do need to hear it. Someone needs to tell you.
A: Why should it be you?
C: Because I know you better than anyone.
A: Fuck you.
C: Fuck yourself. You need to hear this. You're in too deep and can't see yourself.
A: What do I need to see? What do I need to justify to you?
C: I didn't ask you to justify anything. See how defensive you are?
A: I'm not defensive. You're confrontational. Go fuck yourself.
C: You don't know what you're saying. You stumble blindly along, into a world that's not your own. Who gives you the right?
A: I have as much right as anyone.
C: No you don't.
A: I'm doing the best I can.
C: No you're not.
A: Who the hell are you?
C: I am "No And, the Denier of All." I believe you use me in your scenework, you should know me best of all, after all, I'm your best character.
A: Fuck you. I play well with others.
C: Bullshit. You trounce on others brilliance with your lack of grace.
A: I support the endeavors of others.
C: You overpromise what you can't deliver. You can't be everything to everyone.
A: I am proud of what I do.
C: You attempt to drag people and force them to pay for your many shows, yet you are still afraid to spam people with invites.
A: FUCK YOU
C: There you go, introducing an argument that I am not agreeing to.
D: Boy, this is a shitty scene. I hope this is some kind of freaky exercise.
C: Nice walkon, smartass. Who the hell are you?
D: Your worst nightmare. I'm here to justify you just when the audience is beginning to wonder. Of course, I'm a little late, but she always takes a little to long to get to the point.
C: Well, get to it.
D: Yes, I will. I'm glad you agreed to be part of this Reality Therapy Seminar....
E: Oh, this must be the Group Game. I'm going to start butt-humping someone!
F: Oooh, ahhh, oooh, aaaahh....
E: See, she's really a well-meaning gal, with a true fondness for comedy and theater..
D: And a genuine respect for her teachers and her peers....
E: She works hard, and has demonstrated commitment and drive and talent...
F: Ooooh, aahhhh, oooohh,,, ahhhh....yyesssss...
C: But, as soon as she faces her fears and doubts....wait, I'll take over from here...
F: She will undoubtedly grow and mature both as a performer and a person.
C: Ohh,ooooh, aahhh, grunnttt....yyesss...oooh...
D: Don't you agree?
A: Fuck you all.
BLACKOUT

 

[GoldDustWoman]

under no circumstances should "American Splendor" serve as a metaphor for your personal life.

 

[GoldDustWoman]

Low blood sugar, old time religion and electronics

A: Hey, you stop a minute -
001: who, me?
A: Yeah, you - the one reading this entry. Before you stop -
001: How did you know I was reading?
A: I have many untapped and useless skills. Some of them involve code. Now, forgive me for having shortened your name, but I don't like to type binary, it gets annoying.
001: Huh?
A: Forget it. So, what do you think?
001: Well, to be honest, I was waiting for more of the sexier parts. Seriously.
A: Is that the only reason you read?
001: Yeah, it's all about the journal titles. Come on, if you'd have titled this journal accurately, no one would bother -
A: Like what?
001: Oh, something like "quasi philosophical ramblings of a neurotic thirtysomething." Or, "self-effacing mildly amusing ramblings of a neurotic thirtysomething." Or, "a peek into the underwhelmingly desperate love life of a neu-
A: Okay, point taken. But I reallly did start off with the best of intentions - incredible creativity - passion -
001: True. We all know - well, some of us know, not most of the folks who read this trite piece of trash - what the real "story" was. But since you have no intention of telling that -
A: Absolutely. That tale's been told, more than twice told, it's old -
001: Well, than, what's the point? You no longer enjoy the veil of anonymity, yet at the same time, who really cares what you have to say? But then again, they do, don't they. Some do. But should it matter? Why should it matter?
A: Points well taken, my electronic friend. It's nice to have someone finally call it out. But it's somehow gotten harder to journal with an open hand, I'm not -
001: I know what you're saying. You've got to kill the unease that lurks within, you've done a fair job of squelching it in performance -
A: you've seen me perform?
001: Yeah, your New Team shows were pretty fun, actually. And, by the way, you should be working on your standup routine right about now, isn't THAT true?
A: Well, I can't think funny on an empty stomach.
001: Sounds like a good rationalization for breaking the fast, don't you think?
A: I'm not ready to rationalize just yet.
001: But we digress.
A: it's been a long day, i do need to pack it in.
001: Come on, I'm getting into this new "dialogue" form you've been working on. And, you've only had, what, a couple of sketh classes?
A: Very funny.
001: Seriously. You've got a lot going on. Maybe at any given time, you have a given set, a fixed volume, of creative energy, drive, skills. you expand it, stretch it to the point of transparency, pour it out over the surface of the outlets you have to express - the more you give to one area, the less you have to cover others. Shifting sands, balancing spinning plates, juggling balls - choose your metaphor - I know I've mixed several -
A: Okay, okay. following your mixed metaphors is making my head spin worse. Sheesh.
001: What I'm saying, is - well, forget what I'm trying to say. Just try actually learning a lesson or two. Seriously. This is the time for forgiveness, atonement, isn't it? Please. Try to cut yourself a little slack. Try to cut the world a little slack. It's really okay. You're really okay.
A: I'm going to finish reflecting now, thanks for stopping to chat.
001: Go do that, I'm going to fix myself a nice snack, maybe some frozen pizza, some nachos -
A: forget you.*

*expletive deleted

 

[GoldDustWoman]

Serious Questions, Perhaps Hypothetical

Is it better to fake the punch or make the punch?

Is it better to make out or fake out?

What's a girl consumed with newfound awareness of physicality to do?

SERIOUSLY. HELP AN IMPROV CHICK OUT HERE!!!

PLEASE.

WHEN DOES COMMITMENT TO THE SCENE GO OVER THE TOP?

These questions are BUGGING ME! BUGGING ME! They're not necessarily stopping me, they're just FUCKING BUGGING ME!

 

[GoldDustWoman]

you say F, I say ma -

Physics is the purest of all the sciences.

Newton's first law is the most widely misinterpreted one of all.

Inertia does not mean you are sitting on your ass.

Inertia means that, if you are sitting on your ass, you will remain on your ass until acted on by an outside force, yes that is true.

But - consider the other sides.

Inertia also means that if you are hurtling forward, crazily and rapidly and constantly, you will continue to do so until acted on by said aforementioned outside force.

And again -

If acted on by an outside force, and acted on by an equal and opposing force, you're doomed to run in place for all eternity.

You can look it up.

There's a fine line between physics and philosophy. At the tiniest of levels, Newton breaks down. Tiny, but measurable, observable, countable levels. All that you count on in your day to day life about how the world works is shot to hell, and a world of almost-indescribable magic rises up to take its place.

Beyond that tiny (but measurable, observable, countable) world, is a deeper, tinier, barely imaginable world. Barely imaginable - or wildly imaginable - depending on your point of view.

Entire universes may exist in the tiniest of worlds.

Could happen. Could be true. It's unimaginably wonderful to think about.

The purest of escapism.

Purer than the 'prov. Sheer absence of carbon-based life forms can be a goddamn refreshing change of pace. Ahhh, sometimes I enjoy bringing out the vulcan side of me.

ready to geek out?

The Elegant Universe gets a little math-y but is completely awesome. I'm re-buying it right now, and no you can't borrow it. But I'll Amazon-refer it to you for that discount if you message me. Kip Thorne's stuff is a little easier on the left brain. Stephen Hawking's stuff is cool, too, and he was on Star Trek, how cool is that.

i need to balance out my shopping cart. maybe a nice cookbook. i've been coveting "roadfood" by the Sterns for a while. return to the world of the humans. or, maybe "i, robot." next chapter of the deep geek journal will of course be a primer on the laws of robotics. stick around. seriously. and you thought all I ever thought about was sex.

but then again -

"all jocks ever think about are sports. all nerds ever think about is sex."
- Revenge of the Nerds

 

[GoldDustWoman]

More questions.

Suppose you are a male improviser.

And just what would happen, pray tell, if I (clearly a female), playing

(a) a male character to your male character

(b) a male character to your female character

started the oh, so, classic maneuver - the grande-mal improv butt-fuck. Throw you over a chair, slam you into a wall, clear off the back line, have my wretched way with you, whatever. And just keep going, and going, and going, first beat, second beat, on and on. Whatever the scene called for.

Somehow, when two actual guys do it, it's cute. Adorable. Some guy improvisers have had weeks of succesful Harold-scenes spring forth entirely from their grinding writhing pelvises. (Pelvi?)

Aha, now that little gutpunch don't seem so bad, do it??

Hmmm.

I just get the feeling it would bother some people, and it wouldn't bother some people. I'm just sayin'. (Nothing to do with sexual-preference, by the way, let me add that. I don't believe so.)

What Would Elvis Do?

Uh Huh.

 

[GoldDustWoman]

Fucking Hormones can Blow Me

I took a pregnancy test yesterday. Neither of the lines showed up.

Not one line. Not two lines. No lines whatsoever.

Does that make me less than pregnant. Nonpregnant. Unpregnant.

That's fucked up, my friends.

Nothing like being tired, nauseous, dizzy and overly busty for no good reason.





seriously kids if this ever happens to you, take another one. the second one worked fine. no little improvisers on the way. whew. fortunately, i get them supercheap at the company store. $3.50 for the 2-pac. amazing! why are these things so friggin' expensive? the first one was probably broken. but it makes for good imagery, no? if I paid full price I'd be pissed, let me tell you.

 

[GoldDustWoman]

Yeah, it's been a while.

I'm just feeling deeply uninteresting lately. So sue me. Go ahead, I'm a friggin' lawyer. HA!

Sometimes I forget that.

I wish that I had a profession that was conducive to having very cool flyers designed and printed up for me. With an innovative font especially designed by Dyna Moe.

But I don't.

But the problem is, I actually think I do. Or could, anyway. Have an interesting and succesful professional life. Which means, that I have to completely re-design my professional life.

Which requires time, energy, patience and attention.

WHICH MEANS I HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!

But then, I wouldn't have a dime to my name for a very long time.

sigh.....

Long Range Planning and Self-Discipline are not my strong points, people.

I'm fucking smart, very seriously, brilliant. Creative. Capable of intense focus. I'm innovative and a quick study. Aggressive and confident when I need to be, in a professional capacity. Those are my strong points.

I am also impatient. Hard on myself. Unbalanced in the sense of running the physicochemical engine for hours, without letting it cool down. Suffer from a short attention span. Insecure at all the wrong times. However, I have improved on some of these things, with the wisdom of the friggin' ages. But some of these qualities continue to haunt me in unproductive ways, and this has got to stop.

If anybody knows anybody who embodies all the things I ain't got, call me. I've got an unpaid thankless internship for you.

I can only promise you great gobs of shiny future joy.

********************************

Part II of this bifurcated post -

Partial Movie Review (remember what I said about my attention span? It was late, I was channel surfing.)

REAL WOMEN HAVE CURVES is the movie for you IF:

1 - You are a woman

2 - You are at least 25 pounds overweight

3 - At some time in your life, your family's net income was less than $50,000.

4 - The percentage of college educated people in your family is not greater than 50%

5 - The rate of dysfunctional relationships in your family is greater than 50%

Use these categories as a guide.
Otherwise, you will likely not like this movie.

I liked this movie a lot.

 

[GoldDustWoman]

somebody pull out an improv gun and -

My boss is on the phone with me, forcing me to simultaneously Internet-shop with her while she runs down all the latest celebrity rumours. Keep in mind, I had actually called her, some time ago, to ask work questions. Just for the record.

Nothing else to report.

She wants me to come to LA and visit.

Why would I ever want to do that? Ever?

Nothing else to report.

Elvis has left the building and taken my creativity with him.

almost, almost, almost geared up to write about where all the good men in improv have gone, and why we want to tear their clothes into tiny shreds after they step off stage even though it's so terribly terribly wrong -

but I'm just not in the mood. ever since I got stuck browsing for fucking candles. not the cool kind. not the romantic kind. the kind that come in frosted glass holders with little fake lampshades and stink like fake berries and pie. and cost, mind you, an awful lot of money.

 

[GoldDustWoman]

News Flash/Baby Wants Saltwater Taffy

all improv crushes hereby suspended except one -

I'm busy emptying out the junk drawers.

"I ain't got time to bleed." - Predator

****************************

If this were 1903, and not 2003, and one were of a certain social class, it would be quite appropriate to spend a quiet month at the seashore following a trying patch of life, sitting on a solitary rocking chair on a porch, with a bit of embroidery, nothing too taxing, gazing over the ocean, perhaps in the company of a gentle spinster aunt or cousin who would bring you tea and cakes and not make demands on your time or conversation.

 

[GoldDustWoman]

Last night was really something.

Thanks. To all who made it possible.

Most of you know who you are. Some of you may not.

Some of you may be surprised to find out who's on the list.

At any rate, it was a fine fine first time. Always remembered, never to be seen again. Alas. Guess that's why they call it improv.

(Guess that's why they have battery chargers. HA!)