Notes From A Grumpy (And Drenched) Playwright

It was pouring this morning in New York and since I couldn't for the life of me find my umbrella, I've shown up to work completely drenched from head-to-toe, so I'm a little crankier than usual. I'm hoping that won't come across in today's post, but if it does, feel free to add little smiley-faced emoticons, IMHOs and LOLs in the text where you feel like I'm being particularly ornery.

Though I don't actually want to get into it too deeply, I wanted to point out that I understand Patrick's (and Leonard's) frustration at this mentality. I was just a bit...let me be polite...perplexed at "Lucretia's" complaint that she hadn't won an Obie because she had received too much positive coverage from the New York Times.

Seriously. Words fail me.

I mean, there's shit you can complain about and there's, well, that.

I'm vaguely reminded of a quote from Dave Sim in regards to going into any endeavor solely for the sake of fame, fortune and glory:

"I take it as a given that people who are mindlessly obsessed with accumulating as much money and as many material possessions as is humanly possible - I would include fame here as well - are just, well, pitiable. I would assume that any reasonable person (I don't think wisdom is required) would see them the same way."

Now, I'm not so much attacking "Lucretia" as I am expressing utter bewilderment at her mindset, or more accurately, at the mindset when it comes from someone working within the New York theatre scene.

Are people seriously going into this field for the sake of winning awards? Really?

Do people who receive favorable coverage of their work in the New York Times really have the nerve to complain about not getting accolades? Really?

Again. Words fail me.

Okay, enough on that. It's time for the obligatory plug...

* * *

This Saturday Nosedive Central is having a fundraiser get-together at Nice Guy Eddie's on the corner of Avenue A and East Houston Street. $20 cover, open bar from 9 p.m. until midnight, relaxed drunken atmosphere. It should be fun.

Why?

Because the folks at Nosedive Central are fun. I mean, not me, of course, I'm cranky and rude. But Pete, Patrick and my sister (for example) are a barrel of laughs.

We hope to see you there.

* * *

I'm still working on the first entry of the promised horror film essays; I've just been a little bogged down with other things of late (including going out of town). With a little luck, I'll have my first posted by the end of this week. If you don't see it up here by Friday, well, I guess come to Nice Guy Eddie's Saturday night and give me shit about it.

Oh. Fuck. My. Ass. Is there a...? There is. There's a hole in my shoe.

God. Dammit.

Okay, that's it for me. I have to write my review for I'm In Love With Your Wife for Martin after I find a new pair of socks (and shoes, for that matter).

Stay dry, folks.

Needing a towel,

James "Drippy" Comtois