louder ≠ more truthful

Computers waste my time. I’m sitting here, incredibly frustrated at the present moment, waiting for some God-knows-how-many gigabytes of files to copy from one hard drive to another. Staring at it doesn’t help. Ignoring it doesn’t help. And this painfully slow and infuriating procedure is keeping me from sleep and keeping me from my love. Every minute I remain awake means one less minute of sleep after a very, very long day.

Sure, this is all my fault anyway. I set up the appointment to copy files after a very long day of teaching and rehearsing. I choose to remain awake instead of kicking the client out and saying, “come back tomorrow when the copy’s done.” And ultimately I choose to be frustrated. I just really want to go to bed now.

Please, people: if you ask someone to do something for you, you know, like a really cool job that is paid with money, please be sure that you want him to do it. Asking someone if he wants a particular job (and he responds with an enthusiastic “yes”) only to take that job away from that person soon after is not cool. Not cool at all. In fact, it is decidedly uncool.

Why can’t people just get along?
Why can’t people simply let others live
and laugh
and love?
Alone. In peace. In their own joy.

What purpose does hurting others serve when those you hurt are happy?
What good can come from tearing a person apart on the inside?
What good does pain
and anguish
and hatred
bring to anyone or anything?
Ever?

Ever?

Why I hurt so much now I cannot disclose.
It is too personal.

But now I hurt
When just moments before
I lived
And laughed
And loved

There is this girl
And she sings real nice
And she smiles real big
And she keeps it real

There is this girl
And she works real hard
And she walks real tall
Even though she’s real short

There is this girl
And she has a dog
And she makes good french toast
And she reads this blog way too much

And I love her

The person who said “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” obviously wasn’t a very good shot.

http://www.denverpost.com/theater/ci_12513230

John Moore writes the following about our little show:

I was driving from the Denver Victorian Playhouse’s simple, mostly wonderful staging of “The Fantasticks,” when onto the iPod shuffled a tune by that most melancholy minstrel of indie rock, Conor Oberst.

“The love I sell you in the evening by the morning won’t exist,” he sang. It was a piercing lament.

And it was pure “Fantasticks.”

There’s a reason this bittersweet little miracle of a show, which cost $1,441 to mount Off-Broadway in 1960, went on to become the longest-running musical in history. It’s the same reason “The Fantasticks” can still sneak up on you and shoot an arrow through your core, 49 years later.

Ok, admittedly, the title is dramatic. But I am just so tired of picking up pieces of so-called “indestructible” dog chew toys—whether that’s before the dog has eaten them or after—that I am tempted to give them nothing at all. Or at least nothing that isn’t edible. Dogs will eat anything, and frequently do, and I just don’t feel comfortable feeding them plastic. But these toys are cheap and plentiful and colorful—all attributes the human owners notice and about which the dogs couldn’t care less. Unfortunately certain dogs don’t seem smart enough to learn not to eat anything and everything so we must limit what they can put in their mouths: at least those things that humans have artificially created for their pets, for their owners, to clean up after they are obliterated, regurgitated, or expelled in one form or another.