Open Studio Sunday at LMCC finds me making the best possible use of my time. In between fielding questions from people wandering in and out of my studio (“Do you write plays? Why do you write plays?”), I’m continuing my ongoing investigation with a frequent collaborator re: the perfect title for our play.
Sometimes your driver’s license mysteriously vanishes, and you can only imagine that it is at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, or buried in the sands of SF’s nudist septagenarian biker beach. And then you must approach TSA somewhat in the manner that a lost explorer might approach a pride of giant bear-lions. First use your charm, then use THE POWERS OF DISTRACTION.
me: they’re letting me on the plane anyway?
A: HOW IS THAT?
me: i just started flinging fistfuls of IDs at them
(Juilliard, credit card, metrocard)
like, ID after ID,
then random pieces of paper
receipts, grocery lists, love letters
and they were at first utterly unimpressed
but then they were flattened into submission.
A: I have no words.
me: I am a disaster.
And now I am boarding my plane.
me: just passed a highly conspicuous drug deal
& the guy running it paused it to ask me if i want my boots shined.
L: Oh yeah, I’m afraid so…
But what’s the connective tissue between methamphetamines and shoe shining?
The Tenderloin continues to baffle…
Swan: When God closes one door, he opens the cat door, which is hidden and hard to find at first.