Me and Kitty McGee

I never wanted a cat. I grew up with cats. I love them. Hands down my favorite domestic animal. However, I just don't want the responsibility. A few years ago a friend at work was in a position where he had to get rid of his cat Doc. A big, beautiful, pure black cat. Erica had always wanted a cat and thought that it would be fun, so we talked about it, and decided that we would take him. He was a fun new addition, and we really enjoyed him. Then Erica left. The cat was pretty much her idea, and now I'm the one stuck with him. I never wanted a cat, but he's mine now. Life's fun little circumstances.

The thing is, we get along great. We play, we fight, and he really seems to enjoy my company. If I'm home, it doesn't matter what room I'm in, he's generally there with me. Ususally. He follows me around. During the night I'll wake up and find he's sleeping right next to me. If I sit down to watch T.V. he'll jump up on the couch and cuddle up and purr. Like cat's do. So last night as we're watching C.S.I. I bend down and kiss kitty on the head and tell him that I love him. A tender moment between man and beast. He looks up at me as if to say "FAG" and gets up and walks away. Ah the freedom of cat hood.

So last night at around 2 a.m. I decide on one more cigarette before going to sleep. I take my book with me out on the balcony, light up a cigarette, and start reading my book. I feel kitty rubbing my ankles as I'm reading and smoking, but really thinking nothing of it. A few minutes later I flick my butt away, close my book and look down. Kitty is absolutely covered from head to tail in cigarette ash. His black has become grey. He doesn't give a shit. He's just hangin out feeling good. And feeling good is good enough for me and kitty McGee.

So said my director

So there is a part in the first scene of BENT where I am hurriedly putting on my pants. Yesterday the leg of the pants got caught in the suspender strap. I couldn't get my leg in. Ah the joys of live theatre. I'm hopping around on stage in my boxers trying to get my leg into the pants. I hear a few titters in the audience and just assume it because I'm making an ass of myself. Not the first time that's ever happened. After the show T.J. came up to me and said...in quotes..."your pecker popped out." Hooray...my first wardrobe malfunction.

Apathy

I wish that I could stop caring. I wish that apathy were freedom, because sometimes giving a damn feels like slavery. Everything hurts, and there is no cure. Whoever said time heals all wounds should have his neck broken, see if time fixes that motherfucker. Everyone is broken. Technician heal thyself. My desire to be better does not seem equal to the task of actually becoming better. The bleeding continues. Sometimes faster than I thought possible. Smiling through the pain is still just lying. Who cares. Honesty is overrated when empathy is empty. Please...for the love and sake of whatever mythology you choose to believe in...don't ask for my honest opinion. I'll give it. Ulitmately however, it's still just my opinion, and quite frankly, it shouldn't matter that much to you. Some things do matter, but it's very likely you've forgotten what they are. It doesn't matter how long you live. It won't be long enough. And apathy may not be freedom, but it sure the fuck is easy.