xtcian

3/19/03 Brooklyn, NY Wow, so

3/19/03 Brooklyn, NY

Wow, so many things swirling in my head at once. First off, since a diary is supposed to give off the flavor of the day's events and perhaps I will be reading this years from now, inshallah – I should mention that we went to war tonight. My fatigue on the subject is such that I can barely talk to anyone about it anymore; I think I've been mired in a Celexa-addled somnambulism. I mean, I've ranted and kvetched and waxed historic and belched forth flames of acid, but it never really made me feel any better, and it always inspires a flood of emails from people telling me to fucking relax.

Tonight at dinner, Rick Gradone told me that Geminis always get fed up when they feel they aren't being listened to; somehow, his astrological acumen is the only celestial viewpoint I can stand. The minute anyone else starts talking about their moon being in Libra with Leo Rising, my eyes glaze over in disgust, but I think Rick's just dreamy. Plus, I've always had this irrational lust for the Tarot, which is arguably just as oochie-goochie-goo as astrology (albeit with better pictures).

Tessa and Rick discuss storyboards at Two Boots in Park Slope

While we were bombing the shit out of some palace in Baghdad, we screened a pretty-damn-close cut of The Pink House with the new edits Jessie and Tessa had accomplished while I finished these Salon articles. And God, does it rock. Just having Rick in the room reminded me that yes, when I wrote that stupid line in 1999, it actually was funny, and may be funny again someday soon.

It's truly stunning how much vicarious pleasure you can get from an audience's response, even long after it becomes deathly boring to you. I remember being in the pit orchestra for "The Sound of Music" for three months of rehearsal ("The Lonely Goatherd" still gives me goiters), but the whole thing came back to life when the audience showed up and started laughing.

Tonight we joined the rest of America in front of the warm, crackling glow of CNN to watch the playback of a war so abhorrent that it beggars description. I'll say this now: please, soldiers, get this shit over with and come back home. And to Providence, Yahweh, Allah, the Buddha and Warren Buffett I ask: please keep my family, friends and faithful readers of this humble prose safe from harm in the coming weeks and months.