10-27-01

Last night I was at a party. This girl I know whom we'll call Angina was sitting next to her friend, a guy who wishes to remain anonymous but for the sake of argument we'll call Bambi. Bambi and Angina had smoked some illegal substances. Angina was fine but Bambi was apparently a bit out of his mind. Bambi was looking at Angina and going "T…T…T…T…
" "T…T…T…T…"

Finally, she turned to him in exasperation and said, "Why are you ticking? Why are you ticking?"

He paused and swallowed, then said, "Trying…to say something…but I can't get past T."

Riiiiiiiiight.

If anyone .

I was interrupted in the middle of that thought, and now I have no idea what I was going to say. But I did talk to a monkey with wings last night, and that was really cool. Happy Halloween, everybody.

The Audition, a story

Janet stood in her bra and panties looking in the mirror. Her head had become a donut sandwich. Her hair was flattened into a piece of what looked like wheat bread, and her face was toroidal, covered in white powder. Her chin had become the bottom piece of bread. She stared at her reflection, wondering how she could see now that she had no eyes only a big hole. She tentatively reached through the hole, straight through herself. She pulled out her hand lightly dusted with white powder and examined it. She shook it a little, pixie dust raining down onto the floor.

"Fuck!" Janet said out loud. How can I go to the audition looking like this? she thought.

Janet picked up her comb and tried to brush her hair, but it started to tear out chunks of her bread. She freaked out, seeing bits of her bread on the brush, and crumbs on the floor. She dropped to her knees, scrabbling to collect the crumbs she had torn out of her hair, "Omygodohmygodohmygod."

She wadded up the crumbs with the bits on the brush and tried to press it back into her hair. That looked even worse so she gave up. She grabbed her toothbrush out of habit then realized she had no teeth to brush. She noticed the bathroom clock, 8:15; she had to be at the audition in 15 minutes. Jesus. This wouldn't have happened if her head hadn't turned into a goddamn fucking donut sandwich. Jesus.

She realized she couldn't wear her usual audition outfit so she dug through her closet and yanked out a button-down oxford that Bill had left. She grimaced with painful recognition, as she put on the shirt but had no time to indulge in self-pity. She squeezed into her tight jeans, slung her purse over one shoulder and ran out the door. Outside her apartment she got lucky and hailed a cab within seconds. She gave the address of the theater, and they were off.

It took all her self-control not to scratch at her donut head. She went so far as to lightly press into it with her finger, feeling the springy baked dough.

"Nice costume," said the cabbie. She abruptly yanked her hand away from her face.

"Mind your own goddamn business," she replied.

"Ah, shit," he said, and they drove the rest of the way in silence.

Why am I bothering to go to this audition? she thought. Because. Because I might as well. Because maybe this is a dream. But then why go?

They arrived; she threw money at the cabbie and dashed into the theater.

A woman sat behind a cheap folding table checking people in. Some actors where seated and a others were pacing around the room reciting monologues. Janet rushed breathlessly to check in.

"I'm sorry, I think I'm late for my audition." The woman looked up at her with a smile that slid into shock.

"Ah. Ah. Hold on a second." She jumped from her chair, jarring the table, and ran through a door to the theater. Janet turned and saw all the actors staring at her with expressions of horror, shock, disbelief, and even disgust. The woman returned through the door dragging a man by the arm. She practically threw him into the room. He was carried by his momentum a few steps toward Janet but then stopped in his tracks. He stared at her. His face was expressionless. He stared…through…her. Then something creeped into his eyes and his face. A smile. Wonder. A child-like spark.

He spoke carefully to Janet. "Would you please come into the theater and audition for me right now?

Sandy, do you have the sides?" Sandy, the woman who had been behind the desk, picked up the sides from the table and handed them to the director who handed them to Janet.

"Please?" he asked, gesturing toward the theater door.

Janet took the script from him and walked slowly toward the door. She pushed it open, as if in slow-motion. Inside the proscenium stage to her right, the raked seating to her left. The house lights were dim, a spotlight trained on the center of the stage; she saw motes of dust floating against the beam.

"Please?" he asked again, open palm toward the stage as he moved to sit in the middle of the house.

Janet took the steps one at a time, walking carefully toward center stage. It dawned on her that she was still clutching the script in her hand. She smoothed out the pages and looked at the words.

"Take your time!" the director called out.

She read the page quickly then slowly. Then quickly again.

"We eat our donut sandwiches and shine our moon faces by the quantum light. We dance until we are the light, the moon, our faces, the donut sandwiches. This cup, every cup, the inside of this cup and the outside of the cup are the same. This cup contains the entire universe. It contains my fate, my face, your hate, your love, my light. I…am…a…donut…sandwich."

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