costume drama

let's add beard to that, too. costume and beard drama. that's what my life has boiled down to this past week. in preparation for the upcoming holiday show (see last post) I have been cool as a cucumber in the snow. working steadily, but confidently. writing and performing what I have written is something I have experience in. wearing a costume and fake hair on my face, not so much.

friday of last week, day to finish all costumes as indicated by my pencil marked planner, was somewhat of a learning experience/debacle. i did end up finishing all costumes, save for a few snaps and the sewing of the split that ran up the back of my robe to my waist, but not without falling into a pitiful pit of despair, practically estranging my best friend/co-performer in all my flailing. I can't help but think that my costume is so pretty because I used up all the ugly during the process of making it. but I got it done. and all I had left to do is memorize my lines. and then last night happened.

my friend was suppose to drive up from white center to tutor me in the fine art of fake beards. nasty weather and an eye infection colluded in the prevention of me receiving her assistance. nonetheless, I forged ahead. i got a scrappy beard trial #1 done, and feeling kinda meh about it, I washed it off for a clean slate to try beard option number 2. I did not get to beard number 2. what happened next was a rare occurrence of my smarts brain separating from my get it done brain. in the process of applying said fake facial hair (using spirit gum and clippings from a large fake brown autonomous braid) I was rinsing my hands off in the sink. the gum was coming off easily. get it done brain did not register the fact that the gum was still wet when it came into contact with water. so when it came time to remove #1, I reached for soap and water, bending over the kitchen sink as I peeled chunks of hair off me. the hair came off with a bit of persuasion, but the spirit gum, well, turned on me. it's like the combo of water and soap chemically altered the gum, effectively amping up it's adhesive qualities, fusing it to my face in a this would be cool, maybe come in handy some day even, if it weren't my face kinda way. you know when you get a sticker wet to peel it off and just the paper part comes off? that's kinda what was happening. but on my face. rewind to last week, standing in the costume party supply store, chatting it up with the employee there about beards, I opted for the larger bottle of spirit gum and not the smaller one that came with extra packaging, presumably with directions printed on the back, and with it a small white bottle marked SPIRIT GUM REMOVER. ah ha. fast forward to last night, just after same best friend/co-performer googled 'how to remove spirit gum,' I found myself back at the kitchen sink, swabbing my cheeks with alcohol soaked hand towels for the better part of what seemed like forever. owie. file under yet another lessoned learned. . . me thinks tho, as much as I favor realism, jesus might have a drawn on beard. at least until my face forgives me.

Friends, I invite you to my show.

I am pleased to invite you to the latest project I am involved in: HOMO for the HOLIDAYS! A cabaret-esque variety show but oh so much more evening time celebration of all things fun, gay and holiday. I am joining the ranks of BenDeLaCreme, Cherdonna and Lou, Paris Original, and Fuchsia Foxxx (plus rotating celebrity guests!) as we pay homage to Winter and Queer Culture, Chanukah and Christmas, Reindeer and Snowpeople, the open definition of Family and the general sentiment of Love. That's a lot of bang for your buck.

Here are some details:

West Hall, Oddfellows Bldg.

915 E Pine St. Capitol Hill

8pm $15 Adv. $20 Door

brownpapertickets.com

Thanksgiving weekend NOV 25, 26, 27

Start of Chanukah DEC 2, 3, 4

& Christmas Eve DEC 24

Also, you should know, I'm portraying JESUS CHRIST. I sing, I dance, I eat handfuls of popcorn and talk to God. 'Twas the role I was born for, or, eh, reborn for. . .

Ok, one more thing, check out the trailer on line:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYw_uMLkJ8c&feature=player_embedded

this place rules

i spend a significant amount of time (ok well, not compared to the time spent at my apartment, but compared to the time i spend not at my apartment but at places that would be considered business establishments of the light food service as in bakery/coffee/tea shop variety and require me to purchase things like snacks in order for me to not feel bad about using their wifi, this not being one of the small handful of locations being endangered of falling off my list due to my recent acquesision of internet at my homestead) at the flying apron. i might be considered a regular. i know the names of at least 2 staff persons. i would recognize most of the rest of them in a crowd in a different context (not an easy feat) save the person in the photo who i swear i've never seen before in my life. i'm finding that my degree of comfort with being here has a certain drawback. i'm having to curb the urge to rescue uneaten portions of baked goods from the top of the oh so easy to access bus tub that sits by the water pitcher counter. come on people, these items are baked with love! finish your plates! or at the very least, take it home to compost in your yard. worms and birds practically live off love.

that's all i got today. stay tuned for my massive widespread announcement of the holiday show i am working on.

inner thoughts on my outward appearance

the other day at work, one of the dancers approached me, i was alone stage left. 'hi,' she introduced herself, smiling, hello, i said, i'm ilvs, 'you're name is elvis? really? that's so cool,' and proceeded to hem and haw about. .. something. 'you look pretty cool, and i was wondering, well, how do i go about this?' i didn't quite get the i'm hitting on you vibe, so i kept listening, 'well, we are in seattle visiting for a few days,' maybe she's gonna ask me where the gay bar is? 'and well, i'm wondering if you know where we could get some friendly green herb.' (ok, not verbatim, but close) ah ha, pot. she's looking for pot. and they elected her to talk to me because i, out of all the 6 or so stage hands, look like the hook up. what? that is not how i want to be seen in the world, nor is it how i want to be seen. cool, yeah sure maybe. pot dealer? no. i wasn't even wearing patchouli. i laughed it off in the moment, 'uh, actually, i am the wrong person to ask, i wouldn't know where to get it. you're barking up the wrong tree.' i told her i would stealthily ask around but in all seriousness, i wouldn't even know where to begin to ask. so i didn't.
i mean, i guess maybe i have a negative impression of who it is that partakes, (lots of great people smoke pot (i love bob marley, he is exempt)), or rather it's just not part of my world, i can think of maybe one person i hang out with that does. and i have no interest in it. i value marijuana for it's medicinal properties, but for it's fun times? not so much. also why you won't find me downing entire bottles of rubitussin for kicks. i have more personally fulfilling things to do with my time.
then, the next day, my coworker relayed to me that, while talking to a renter in my absence, trying to figure out if i was who they both knew, he, renter, described me as having 80's rocker hair. and that sealed it, she then knew for sure that i was the person in question. hmmmm. 80's rocker. . . pot dealer. . . not sure what to think of this.

on a side note, i have decided to partake in the 'write a novel in november' quest. foolish? maybe. difficult? yes in fact. but by the end of the month, i shall have a 50,000ish word rough draft of what is to be novel #1 of n# of novels. this, unfortunately, coincides with me running out of already written haiku to post. as in, in order to keep posting to reach my goal of 575, i must begin actively writing new ones. i have enlisted the help of 'the haiku handbook' in order to motivate me. all this to say that i am writing a shit ton right now. so, if you're gonna judge me, hopefully with detached observation and an open heart, probs my writing is a better insight, not my drugs and rock n' roll exterior.

St. Zuckerberg

ze chocolate in my belly goes zing a ling! spilling thru my blood stream! . . .

I picked up a recent New Yorker while sitting in the revamped waiting room of my therapist and started reading an article on that Zuckerberg Facebook guy and was kinda annoyed that I paid a bunch of money to some guy to interrupt me, just when it was getting to the good part, to step into the next room and talk about my feelings. It got me thinking again about how this guy is some kind of futuristic sly new age genius. Allow to explain. One of the reasons I don't do Facebook is that I already spend enough time in front of a computer, I don't need any more reasons to tappity tap my mac. Ok, another reason is to preemptively avoid any twangs of owie while checking someone's Status post break up (friend, romantic or otherwise). An admittedly weak reason. Also, I figure, if something is that cool or important, then I will get the word one way or another. But my point, I'm getting to it, slowly. Basically Facebook is set up as a social network. Fairly blatant statement. The physiological what that looks like is all us people sitting in a chair (I'm generalizing), with focused attention, thinking about our friends, for periods of a time throughout our day, ie connecting. If you take away the computer but keep the rest, the posture, the intention, you basically have the framework for massive collective meditation. Think of the potential! Think of the future! Think of the good that could come of it! Well, except for obsessing over that whole 'why did you unfacebook me?' part. I think it is safe to say we still need a little work before we can get to that point. But in the mean time, we are, whether we agree to it or not, being slowly groomed to become peaceful, powerful meditating machines. If I was more familiar with Facebook lingo I would attempt to make some Ohm/Facebook joke. But until then, namaste.