Justice disrobes! Just in time for Pride

Lady Justice is a dyke!. At the very least, it's an extraordinary coincidental show of support: at the same time that one million raging homosexuals and voyeurs descended on NYC in various states of undress, Lady Justice discreetly shrugged off her drapes. Ashcroft must be rolling over in his grave.

I missed the great event of Pride, the parade, today; I wasn't sure I could handle it, frankly. The dyke march yesterday was a tepid precursor but I cheered it on and thus I did my small part for the freedom of queers everywhere to get drunk and get naked while under the protection of the NYPD.

Plus it's been too frikkin hot. I was almost delirious from the heat yesterday after only a few hours and I stayed out, like an idiot, for ten more. Too much to do to go home! I ended the day at Central Park, watching the premiere of the charming As You Like It in the company of -- oddly enough -- Keanu Reeves. He was scruffy and serene in person but I couldn't get over wondering what on earth he was doing there. Perhaps someone pays him to lurk around Shakespeare and make it awkward by the, er, force of his presence. Perhaps Marlowe pays him from beyond the grave.

The night before I also saw excellent theater: Doubt. Gave me shivers. No star sightings to go along with that, though. It's funny to contemplate what taglines Hollywood would give to Broadway plays if it were assigned to promote them. "Doubt: This Thanksgiving, you won't believe your eyes!" "Doubt: Catholic school will never be the same." "Doubt: When America was on its knees because it was possibly being molested by a priest, she brought us to our feet!"

punnage

I was struck by a thought the other day on my way to work: Taxi cabs unite! You have nothing to choose but your lanes!

Anyway.

Yesterday was my last at the Very Important Talent Agency. I stayed out the night before, somewhat unwisely, playing pinnochle over cocktails, but I wasn't going to sleep well regardless; I was too keyed up about the almighty Exit Interview. With the Exit Interview in mind, I dressed to be taken seriously in my gray Arden B. suit -- I even threw in a little jewelry. Perhaps thanks to my clothes, I walked out unscathed. And did I mention relieved? Very, very relieved.

On my way out, one of the boy assistants bashfully handed me a parting gift. A book! I love books. And a non-fiction book at that, which is interesting because I rarely pick up non-fiction and I certainly rarely receive non-fiction as gifts. The volume in question, Blink by Malcolm Gladwell, won me over almost immediately; I finished it within 24 hours and I'm still thinking about it. Gladwell writes like a layman, not a scholar. His sentences are clear and direct and he's careful, as he builds his points, to continually re-process information he's already introduced.

When I read non-fiction -- or did, in college -- my eye has a tendency to get lost in dense paragraphs and wander down the page for something easier to grab onto. In other words, I skim. In praise of Blink, I think I can honestly say I read every word.

Until I start my new job on Monday, I am pursuing the kind of slothful, hedonistic lifestyle that would make evangelicals indignant. And I have earned it. Bye bye, Very Important Talent Agency! Hello, future! Future, you will hopefully find me tanned, rested, and ready.

undisclosed location

Also, yesterday an Emmy-Winning Actress showed me her ass. She meant it for her sister, who was in the room, and I was caught in the cross-fire. It was by far the highlight of my otherwise giddy and totally unproductive workweek.

I accepted the casting job! I'm going to work in casting! I'm going to pursue a Career in casting and someday maybe have a Casting Couch of my own where Emmy-Winning Actors and Actresses show me their asses on command. That's what being in this business is all about and I'm so excited the pieces have finally and truly fallen into place.

If Jacko is innocent ...

I feel like that could be a good title for a poem: "If Jacko is innocent." Perhaps I will write it on the subway one afternoon and it will be all about tongue in cheek, improbable things, and all the things will add up to a profound whole. I'm reading 180 More, one of the best poetry anthologies I've ever come across, and the poems therein are much like that. Reading them this morning on the train, I was inspired to write something about how Mr. Ben bought two huge bags of Lays potato chips and was so proud of himself for making efforts at gaining weight that he forgot to actually eat any of them.

Inspiration abounds.

Life is good again: I got a job offer. Yes! In a casting office. It's pretty exciting. And right after I got the offer this morning, I got an interview offer from another job, in audio publishing, that I was also excited for. Since I had 3 interviews last week and a follow-up to one scheduled for this Thursday, all told I felt pretty desirable, and my current boss, for whom I've still been working after giving notice, seemed duly impressed. I will continue to work for current boss for another week or so even though, mentally, I have both feet out the door. In fact, my mental feet aren't just out the door: they're tapping impatiently and occasionally breaking out in dance moves to these boots are made for walking ... Soon, I croon to my mental feet. Soon ...

Mr. and Mrs. Smith go to Washington

The free advance showing of Mr and Mrs Smith that mr. ben and i attended last night attracted all sorts of irritating showbiz types and started over an hour late. It meant that for the third night running I got bare-minimum sleep and contributed to my general daziness today and lack of balance. But: it was worth it.

The onion av club agrees with me, for the record:

There's no denying the high-concept gimmickry that has summoned Mr. & Mrs. Smith into existence, but what sounds in principle like a pitch for a TV pilot instead plays like an old-fashioned romantic comedy with updated hardware. Always better as an unhinged goofball than as a bronzed demigod in period garb, Pitt gives a loose-limbed performance that ricochets nicely off Jolie's cool, unaffected sultriness. The knowing glibness occasionally spoils the fun—a problem that also plagued Liman's Go and Swingers—but it's rare that an action-comedy succeeds so swimmingly on both fronts. Rarely does a word like "deft" come to mind when viewing any film released between May and August, but Liman and company make it all look easy.

In case you were wondering, or because you have a genetic weakness for hearing the obvious stated, the hottest man alive and the hottest woman alive do indeed together equal supreme and unparalleled hotttness. Interestingly, this formula should have applied to the clunker original sin and did not - perhaps because m.andm.s has the HMA and HWA playing exactly to type and not bothering with funny accents, costumes, or plot devices.

In addition to showcasing supreme and unparalleled hotness, the movie manages to be clever, smooth, and refreshingly old-fashioned (in terms of movie conventions, NOT in terms of treatment of women. In fact, there are tons of awesome feminist throw-aways throughout). Yes, people, you heard it here first: this movie is better than the Sith. Don't just stand there gaping at me - go buy a ticket! Seriously. It took my mind off the job-search and that's saying something.

"We represent this guy's voice!"

Soon I will no longer be uttering such sentences. Hopefully my compensation will be my new ability to utter such sentences as "I am a happy, fulfilled person."

The Tonys last night were some kind of ridiculous. My brain wrangled with the idea of Wolverine and a 400-lb. Aretha Franklin singing, without any apparent irony, a sentimental love duet, but my brain couldn't cope and decided to fold in on itself instead. Other aspects of the show were less painful. Not the dresses though. WTF, Broadway? Can't afford stylists? No time to even raid costume shops? There should have been ugly contests -- then everyone could have been a winner!
But largely the ceremony was entertaining, I thought. I enjoyed the musical numbers with the bittersweet knowledge that they're as close as I'll probably get to the shows, as they cost for one ticket more than I spend in a week.

Inexplicably, the MTV movie awards seemed to be hit with a wave of fugly as well. *shudder*

This reminds me that when I was in Seattle, people kept stopping me to admire my boots and ask where I'd gotten them. "New York," I replied, which shut up those stupid nice people pretty quick. In New York, no one ever compliments your boots, unless they're trying to distract you while they steal your library card or put roofies in your drink. Chalk one up for Seattle.

short version

Well, I succumbed to the urge of unemployment. Or something like that. I'm actually looking for a new job while I finish up at the old one -- and knowing that the old one now has an expiration date on it makes it that much less wretched. Like being forced to eat a bowl of something bottomless-seeming and gross and then finally, blessedly, getting a glimpse of the ceramic below the food.

Mr. Ben, my companion, has started his summer job and it affords him, as law school did not, weekends. Weekends! So exciting. We celebrated by doing various touristy New York things, some of which we'd never done: crossed the brooklyn bridge, strolled through lower Manhattan to Ground Zero and all the way down to the Staten Island ferry. Took the ferry, peeked through our fingers at Statan Island, then dashed back to Manhattan and walked up through Chinatown, with a stop for dinner, to the Sunshine theater back in our old East Village stomping grounds and then to a new thankfully unpretentious wine bar.

It took us 12 hours and it was exhausting and wonderful, especially since the weather, after dilly-dallying for months, has finally decided to grant us warmth. It seems fitting after a day like that that the NYT should offer something cool and new yorkish like an interactive literary map of the city like so.

It feels a little funny to be looking for work again and dealing with the question of What Shall I Do again a year after I dealt with both for the first time. But I have two interviews in the next two days and I'm keeping my chin up.