BLOGGO

He said he often forgets what he writes and showed genuine surprise at least 3 times while reading his own words (from plays and his new book, Suburbia). “hmmm…I like that.” Jamais vu is what the French would call that, I think. He also noticed he had several repeating themes (”leitmotifs” is what eric begosian would call those, because he did). One was donuts. Who cares what the others were.

Because he’s a generalist (writes plays, monologues; acts ; directs), his mother never knows what to tell her friends what her son does. But now he’s on law and order. The mom likes the clarity that comes with this current activity. “He’s on Law and Order” is all she has to say now.

At one point in the Q and A he was handed a small yellow post-it by a suited man who worked at the bookstore. It was awkward timing. Eric reached for it, read it instantly, grunted “hmm”, and continued talking.

My understanding of this is that it said: “Watch out for the whale”

Just in time.

Anonymous commuter legs. Don Delillo wrote about commuters using their “retractable commuter faces”.

Becoming neutral to the world is tough. Either end of the balance will do. The fulcrum slides between being so subtle that you become the paint on a wall, a faded brass light sconce, the potted ficus that needs a little water, neutral beige to the senses that can’t get a bead on you to the other tilt of being so gilded with hubris that you look belongingly and enter a different blind spot — anonymity by acceptance. I have a new friend, S, who is very adept at this latter tilt of invisibility. It’s primarily why me, and 3 others (M,J,and S), attended (the final hour) the United States - Mexico Chamber of Commerce Northeast Chapter celebration of Mexico’s 196th anniversary of independence at the Puck building in Soho. I think it’s about wearing a black jacket, being tall, and maybe being German too. The celebration was about being fed delicious tamales and other treats washed down with wines and other spirits all while, at one crazy cliché point, shouting in unison: VIVA LA MEXICO!!!

3 times. By then, I was fully invested in this party and was shouting loud enough to stir the soul of Emiliano Zapata…although he’s got more to do with Mexican Revolution (civil) than independence…still, I woke him up. I woke up the dancing skills of the caterers too, with whom we shared significant dance floor space waiting for the someone to finally kick us out. By now, I wanted to be caught.

The guy stopped me on the street in Carroll Gardens, under the blue-tarped scaffolding, with some hand gestures and a:

Sir. Excuse me. Sir. You gotta help me.

(yep. heard this before.)

What’s that magazine? The one where it’s got nice drawings of ladies…artistic, ya know…and articles…good articles…kinda high society, ya know, classy…..with beautiful naked ladies…(he paints the sky with lyrical lines between both of us…smiling while he does it.) It’s not Playboy.
(okay. nope. didn’t hear this before.)

Later that night, I’m sharing free drinks, and laughy ha-ha’s, and chicken finger food with an exuberant soul of a woman who was first discovered by LL Cool J at 16, as a dancer, a dancer he was so impressed by that he tasked her with picking the rest of his back-up dancers for an upcoming tour. Later she danced for Mary Blige and Whitney Houston. She spent a good portion of one conversation defending the character of Bobby Brown. Had him out to be a classy guy. Maybe a guy that reads that magazine the guy earlier in the day, is talking about.

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Then, in the morning, I order a double espresso and I do this by asking: Can I get me one of them double espresso’s please? The guy makes it and places it on the counter and I ask how much it is and he says: