Late night post

It's late, and a school night, and I must to bed, but in the interest of being able to pretend that I am updating regularly, let me excerpt an email I sent today to Joiner:

hi [Joiner],

i'm feeling very random and incoherent today. bad for work. but keep reading for
a really discombobulated email...

saw julia roberts in soho on saturday!

did NOT see keanu reeves at union square cafe, even tho [The Ringleted One] said she's seen him there twice and he lives down the street. bummer. after seeing barbara [walters] and julia, i sort of expect to see mega famous people everywhere i go.

still in LURVE with liev schreiber. i hate you, naomi watts.

(but keanu should still call me, esp. since his new movie is coming out and
looks cool)*

i too went to a gay bar this weekend, and heard the BEST little gay boy
folk/acoustic guitar/singers/songwriters. one of them sat next to me after he
was up and i told him he was the best one so far, and he said i was sweet and
shook my hand. aw! (jay brannan -- totally going to be big someday -- he really
is an amazing singer.)

And so on. Saw willthethrill's dad tonight -- he's here for a deposition. It's been about 5 years since I've seen him, and 8 since we worked together at Club DOJ. Now he's a father and about to become a partner at his firm (I really can't imagine him NOT getting an offer to become partner).

The best thing about being in New York was seeing my friends so often (and even then, not often enough). And all those who come here, for business or pleasure.

Man! Just when I had washed my hands of this town, The Ringleted One comes in and shows me the delights of downtown, I have a perfect weekend, fireworks go off in
Central Park for no apparent reason, willthethrill's dad comes into town, and the city seems sweet and laden with promise.
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* Addendum: Oh, and Stephen Colbert, you should still call me too. I got enough love for all kinds in my big big heart.
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And some more blather

Just had to get this thought down -- I've been walking around in a Macbeth/Liev-haze today and this past week, and I wanted to own up to it (yes, 30 years old and still crushing on actors!) and own it as well. Because yes, Schreiber is insanely hot, but it was his magnetic performance that made him hot, you see. He inhabited his character, he was Macbeth. Schreiber was the show, the show was Schreiber. So I'm not as embarrassed as I might be, because it was the show, in its magnificent setting, in the most perfect of summer nights, that shook something awake that that night.

You know that feeling. That perfect aria. The perfect punk song. That view from the top of the mountain. The faint scent in the air that makes you raise your head and breathe in deeply. That brief glow, copied in half a dozen other places for half a second, in a darkened field of fireflies. That touch of the sublime, in whatever form tickles your particular tastes, after which you can't quite come back to the world, caught in an elevated state of appreciation and awareness made almost painful by your knowledge that it won't last. That inevitably, you'll touch down, back among the mundane, until the next time something beautiful prods you awake again.

I used to be more of a dreamer, more in touch with that awareness, that ... awakeness, if that makes sense. Didn't we all? Does it have to be so infrequent now?