Creative? Me?

no, i'm a secretary. i don't know what you're talking about. as my day-job brothers and sisters will attest, working from 8:30 to 5 (or 9 to 4:30 but who's counting) saps your creativity. there are those that would argue that creating ways to kill upwards of five hours of downtime a day counts, but i don't agree with them. i write all of this because george has asked me to collaborate with him on a new short opera he's composing, and subsequently direct it when it's composed.

though i considered renting a director's chair and finding a beret, scarf, and large sunglasses to make myself feel more like a director--ooh, and maybe one of those old-timey voice-amplifier cones. what are those called?--i fear that merely making myself look like a director isn't going to work. i posed as an opera singer for six years and look where it got me. no, this time i'm going to actually have to know what i'm talking about, and i'm scared. then again, much like invention (or achievement, i can't remember) is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration, i feel like directing an opera is 5% inspiration and 95% bullshit. there's the occasional director who's done his homework and has pages of notes concerning specific stage direction (rest in peace, John Lehmeyer), but most seem to be flying by the seats of their pants. or, in the case of a certain stuttery director we all know and love, they come to staging rehearsals with the idea that "the scene will be organic," i.e. that everyone in the room is going to have some simultaneous and group epiphany and that the staging will just happen. it's either this, or he wanders the stage, wildly gesticulating, squinting his eyes, and muttering bits of the libretto to himself, making up staging as he goes along.

this is the kind of director that i don't want to be; i want to be prepared and coolly in control. i want to have that beret and bullhorn, and a vision. the problem is that i'm not exactly cool and i'm barely--if ever--in control. luckily, i have a firm grasp on concepts like jazz hands, buttons, specials, and large-scale dance routines. it's a shame that four shakespearean sonnets comprise the libretto.

ah, i almost forgot.

today is friday. i used to go to the dentist's office and snicker at people who had little signs on their desk that said things like, "don't worry, it's nearly friday," or "is it friday yet?" or "don't talk to me, it's friday" (ok, so i made that last one up) but now i understand them. i will never have a sign like that on my desk--i'm far too cool* for shit like that.

tom, george, and i are attending a party tonight thrown by 19-year-old fag extraordinaire matthew viator. the invitation says something about hags, drags, fags...i don't know what the hell. you can see the official invitation here...it's worth checking out: https://jshare.johnshopkins.edu/mviator1/fags%20-%20hags%20-%20and%20drags.jpg?uniq=6bq09l
we've affectionately changed the name of the party to "descent into viator," because that boy lives in his own world.

happy impending weekend. out.


*robert is not, in fact, cool, and if he is ever mistaken for cool it's because of his impeccable gay fashion sense.