Saturday, January 17, 2009

Just got back from the V. Woolf, which was very meta, as it was all done tongue-in-cheek play within a play style: Virginia Woolf originally wrote Freshwater as an at-home theatrical for the Bloomsbury set to lampoon various eminent Victorians, and so this production retained the silliness and deliberately amateur air intended. It was kinda ridiculous - and far from riotous, unless, like the Bloomsbury set, you find Victorian manners to be the most hilarious thing in the world - but a good time nonetheless. There was also a scene involving some anachronistic bunny-hugging and turkey-trotting, which really got me wanting to learn turn of the 20th-C dances.

Both the L and the 7 down, so getting home a hassle.

Now, there's a party but I am not see, I'm feeling down. I got an email from my dad yesterday - very thoughtful, very loving, very considered - in which he said taht while they're very proud of me and feel me to be a talented writer etc., they've been surprised and disappointed by the tone of some of my work - which is hard to read. You see, I am not uniformly proud of the quality of work I do - it's hard to be, at high volume - and had already been feeling down about this, and wondering how to better it. Then too, I was frustrated, because I've asked my folks repeatedly not to read a site that's quite explicitly not for their demographic. I care a lot - too much - about my dad's opinion, especially knowing how uncompromising he's been in his own work choices, at times to the detriment of his career and financial prospects. I also hate, by the way, communicating via email! It's really the surest way to misunderstanding and bad feeling: all the coldness of the written word, with the impetuosity of unthinking speech.

I also yelled at someone on the subway, which made me feel bad. He was making a big fuss over the little hat I was wearing and kept coaxing me to turn around "just one more time" I guess so he could admire it, while I was trying to decipher a complex set of heiroglyphs about the 7 train's weekend route. Finally he stepped between me and the sign and I lost it and yelled, "Leave me alone, mister!" That was uncalled for. If you're going to wear a jaunty hat, you have to be prepared to deal with the consequences.

1 comment:

Bonnie said...

Oh, I've missed your blog and am thrilled to find so many new posts.

Shocked however, that your parents would be anything but proud of the work you've been doing. I think all your Jezebel posts read as thoughtfully considered and infused with charming personality.

But I hope her didn't read the garlic post. Just because the thought of my father (an avid follower) reading something on a similar topic prevents me from posting such things on my own blog.