Was it my pink polka-dot shirt?

Today, as I was crossing through Washington Square Park, a man stopped and said to me, "Well, my my, you look so prim & proper!"

Well, aw crap. That was sooo not the look I was going for.

Ain't No Thing

When I was sitting there in the Hilton Theater last week, taking in "Hot Feet" - I thought to myself, with not a little hubris, "I could write a musical like this. How hard can it be? Just take a group of pre-existing songs, borrow a fable, combine, and voila!" I am not a very inventive-creative type person, but I can borrow/steal ideas like nobody's business. (Actually, that is somebody's business; namely, copyright lawyers.)

I have actually thought of 2 ideas for musicals in the past, the specifics of which I am not at liberty to disclose on this public forum. Let's just say Cher, salty sailors and tax evasion figure prominently. It's just a matter now of sitting down and ironing out the little details of the shows, such as dialogue and plot.

I have also, in the past, tried my hand at song-writing. I think the results were quite good, but I'll let you decide for yourself. The following is a song I wrote about a parasitic worm that briefly lived in a roommate's leg. (I should explain that the worm's nickname was "Fat Bastard" and that he liked bacon.) Read over the song, then let me know if you'd ever pay good money to come see a show I had written.

Ode to Fat Bastard:
You are a worm, a little worm
You live inside of me
I give, and you are takin'
And you're crazy for the bacon.

Chorus:
Fat Bastard, Fat Bastard
I met you in Belize
under the palm trees
I brought you back home
like some garden gnome
that went and bit me!

Fat Bastard I cannot catch you
You're too icky and small
I feel you when you're shakin'
Like you're crazy for the bacon.

Go on and get out of my leg
I don't want you no more
My love, you are forsaken
Cause you're crazy for the bacon.

(repeat chorus)

Earth, Wind, Fire, and Me

Last night I went to see the new Broadway musical, "Hot Feet" with a friend of mine who reviews plays. For those who don't know, "Hot Feet" is based on the story of the "Red Shoes" and set to the music of Earth, Wind, and Fire. It made me want to dance!

We had really good seats (for free!) and right after intermission we (and by "we" I mean my friend, who knows things like this) noticed that Marian Seldes was sitting right in front of us. Yet another famous person sighting that I can only credit to being with my friend, who is in the habit of seeing famous people and actually recognizing them.

HateItHateItHateIt

So...I hate my job. And since the moment a few weeks ago when I gave myself license to be unhappy in my job, I have been in an ever-increasing state of discontent.

Lately, in the mornings on the train, I have to force myself to exit at the stop for my office. I keep entertaining thoughts like, "What if I just stay on the train? I won't get off and go to work. I'll just keep riding. Yeah, I'll just ride up to the Bronx like J.Lo. And when I get there, I'll turn around and come back. And I'll just ride the subway all day, and it will be a kind of experiment, where I deprive myself of natural light and air, and also do some intense people watching/eavesdropping, and I'll use my findings to write a book, or at least an article, so it won't be a wasted day." So far I haven't given in to this escapist fantasy; instead I sigh a big self-pitying sigh, exit the train with other workaday commuters, and drudge up the stairs to my building/"jail."

As you may have noticed, I have a very bad attitude. My attitude is much worse than my actual job. I mope and fight back pitiful tears and roll my eyes and quit (in my head) several times a day. I can't imagine that I am a very pleasant person to work with or for lately.

I am beginning to realize what an ungrateful jerk I'm being, too. I mean, at least I have a job at all. And it's a fairly cushy job at that, when you think about what so many people in the world have to do for a living. I'm a spoiled kid from the suburbs who has had so much just handed to her - now complaining about the trivialities of her white-collar management position. Ick.

So I will try each day to have a grateful heart. I will try, try, try to focus on the positive aspects of my job. (Um, I'm sure there are some. I'll think of some...). I will keeping forcing myself off the train in the morning.

And I will try to spend an hour a day updating my resume, reading "What Color is Your Parachute?", and searching monster.com. Because enough is enough. :)