Actual News!

Well, my, my, my.

So I got the role I auditioned for last Saturday...isn't that cool? I haven't done a damn thing since my last show closed Thanksgiving weekend. I'm playing two roles. I cannot figure out why in the name of God I ALWAYS seem to be playing two roles, and I prefer to think that they just can't get enough of my enormous, scintillating talent. Anyone else who has any other ideas on the subject can just shut up. (Oh, you know...ideas like, it's cheaper because they then only have to pay the Equity showcase stipend to one person instead of two...no, no, it's my talent, of course.)

In fact, this one looks interesting - I'm playing a hash house waitress with a heart of gold AND an alcoholic foster mother who is ignoring the fact that her husband is trying to get it on with the foster children. These are both extremely playable. Of course, one never knows - I've been in some real ghastlies that looked extremely good at first. One never know, do one?

And then our friend Vicky called to ask me to do an art installation for her on Thursday night, wherein I'll sit in a waiting room for four hours. Yes, well - I can't quite get used to the new world of art. In (I think) Germany at the moment, there are six or seven people sitting around a museum for five days or something with lice in their hair. This was described by the participants (or one of them) as, "Well, we are living in the museum and the lice are living in our hair." Um, okay. I think I'll go to the Met and look at some nice Impressionists. This doesn't sound like art - this sounds like people in need of Rid and a cootie comb. And probably apartments.

Meanwhile no temp jobs. Sarah suggested that I call Liz the crazy temp lady, and I think I will...God knows there's not much money in it, but clearly not much is better than entirely none, right? And the jobs I get from Liz are a hell of a lot more fun than sitting in a damn law office all day. For Liz, I've worked the Big Apple Circus, stuffed gift bags at the Apollo Theatre, and invariably been given free lunch...you can't beat that. And on most of her jobs, I can wear jeans. This is also cool. Although Liz, bless her, is certifiable...when I was working for her full time, I used to get these bizarre calls, like "Wendy! How tall are you? No, sorry, you can't be over five feet." Click. Or, "Listen, can you stand on Madison Avenue in a carrot suit for four days?" Like I said, it doesn't pay much, but it's certainly interesting.

So in an excess of boredom, I slept most of yesterday, with the result, of course, that when I went to bed last night I read my way through three books (I'm a freak speed reader) and finally fell asleep at 5:45 this morning in full daylight. This is not particularly useful.

And I've been reading CNN - due to the fact that my grandfather was a newspaper man, I think, I'm a total news freak. The latest thing to catch my eye (aside from that truly horrific story of the man who kept his daughter in the basement for 24 years and fathered seven children off her, while his wife seemingly knew nothing about it - what on earth did he tell her about why her daughter suddenly disappeared, I wonder?) is a story about yet another high school kid with plans for blowing up his school and everyone in it. The kid is quoted as saying, "I want to die and go to heaven and kill Jesus." For some reason, the authorities seem to think it might be a good idea to get the kid a psychological evaluation. You think, maybe? Gee. I wonder how long it took said authorities to figure this out.

I also wonder precisely what this kid was taught about the whole concept of heaven. I realize that I come at this with the dregs of my Catholic girlhood dragging behind me in tattered folds, but somehow I can't quite imagine how ANYONE could contemplate killing X number of people with the idea that he would then go to heaven. Unless, of course, the person is a fanatic suicide bomber. But they don't believe in Jesus. So you kind of have to assume that this kid has some sort of Christian background, and...well, you see my problem.

Of course, I don't understand any of what goes on in schools today anyway. I guess what I really don't understand is exactly how we became so horribly willing to settle everything on earth by killing somebody. In my day (could you get me my walker, please?), if you had a beef with somebody, you met up with him after school and fought him - you know, like punching him. And it's not like there weren't guns around - we had (well, no, not me) things like zip guns, and there were switchblades, but nothing like the wholesale slaughter we have now. And I assure you it wasn't that we didn't have drugs. I have a ghastly suspicion, and it seems to be being brought out in research recently, that all these damn drugs people seem to casually feed their kids these days are backfiring badly.

I just feel that present parents are a whole hell of a lot better than pills for a kid. I certainly believe that if you have a real problem, then see a doctor. But I would be damned wary if somebody started prescribing shit for my three year old - and you better believe they're doing it. And you know, if you feel that your lifestyle is such that both of you have to work 14 hours a day...why are you having children and handing them over to nannies? Why bother? If you never see your kids, what on earth are they there for? Kids need parents...not doctors or nannies.

Oh, well. Armageddon will arive whether we like it or not, so we might as well enjoy ourselves until it gets here. Now I have to figure out how to play drunk. What a great excuse for a beer.

Love, Wendy