… i’m drowning in bits and pieces …

I’m in note-taking, web-page saving, article clipping, “quick write that down before I forget it”, flashes of insight unconnected to anything remotely resembling a point, sort of I cannot get a grip on the through-line and am drowning in bits and pieces mode.

Or, so I thought when I woke up this morning. And then I started laughing. Because I suffer from nearly disabling anglophilia, and the Brit meaning of “bits and pieces” has to do with a man’s sexual organs.

In which, I am not drowning. Not even close.

This also means I’m having difficulty writing coherent blog entries/essays. And don’t get me started on the novel – or – WAIT, DO get me started. Thing is, this writing in fits and starts – or – rather – torrential seizures of scenes and dialogues and discursive digressions of description and backstory – can be terrifying. But, I have always written in bits and pieces, piled it into stacks of notebooks and pretty gift-boxes full of notes and clipped articles and photos, and then, as I get further along – or, years later by accident or fate – the pieces fall into place, as if some version of me who is bigger (please god, no, not any bigger) and wiser knew all along what the end result was meant to be.

That’s as close as I get to faith. Anymore, anyway. But there are some bits and pieces (not my own) I wanted to share. So, here goes.

FRANCES FARMER IS MY SISTER … a blog you need to read ….

My friend and favorite reader of my still-unagented and unpublished novel, Whitney Trettien (follow her on Twitter here – she’s something of a genius and zeitgeist interpreter) turned me on to writer, Kate Zambreno, and her “Frances Farmer Is My Sister” blog. Whitney couldn’t have known how OBSESSED I am with Frances Farmer, most of which has to do with the film, “Frances” for which Jessica Lange should have won the Oscar and which was the beginning of my continuing love affair and worship of the Divine Ms Lange. As if that weren’t enough, Ms. Zambreno – a few days ago – wrote a glorious entry about publishing and working on a book for ten years and being told it was shit by various people. READ IT HERE. GLORIOUS.

BOBBY STEGGERT IS OPENING ON BROADWAY AND FROM MY HOME TOWN … oh yeah, and he’s gay so what?

Bobby Steggert, Krystal Joy Brown, Zachary Unger, Kate Baldwin in BIG FISH: THE MUSICAL

Bobby Steggert, Krystal Joy Brown, Zachary Unger, Kate Baldwin in BIG FISH: THE MUSICAL

Of the many, MANY things I have done in my many, MANY decades and travels, one was spending decades teaching and directing young people in theatrical ventures. Frederick, Maryland, has birthed and sent into the world an oddly large number of gifted and talented thespian types and I managed along the way to work with or teach or cast quite a few of them. Impossibly however, never, ever did I work with or teach Bobby Steggert – even though some of (many of) my good friends and longtime students were close to him, worked with him, etc. In fact, I never even – impossible as it may seem – saw him in a show until I saw him in “110 IN THE SHADE” on Broadway – which I didn’t even know he was in until I got there. I’m an Audra McDonald stalker and had gotten tickets to see her. If you knew how small Frederick is and how TINY the theatrical community here – it would STUN you that I had never seen him in a show while he lived here. But, there it is. Now, he is opening “BIG FISH” on Broadway (CLICK HERE) – Andrew Lippa – oh my – and, well – though I had ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WHATSOEVER TO DO WITH ANYTHING ABOUT HIM EVER – I am quite proud of him, and practically EVERYONE I KNOW HERE already has tickets – I don’t – housesitting and not getting published, not big money makers – BUT STILL, I am even more proud of Mr. Steggert – who I’ve actually never even met or, rather, never been introduced to-  because he has done the Quinto thing and said, “Yeah, I’m gay (CLICK HERE) – who didn’t know and I never hid it, so what?” Evolution. Amen. (FOLLOW BOBBY STEGGERT ON TWITTER HERE)

AND FINALLY … about those “bits and pieces” …

I was not gay enough for him - and - I suspect - not gym enough either

I was not gay enough for him – and – I suspect – not gym enough either

I’ve never been particularly gifted at games and competitions. I find winning and losing to be awfully alike, and awfully, awfully pointless, and awfully awfully awfully likely to cause unpleasant behavior in people (myself, included) – so this whole meeting people and trying to connect and such – which I have NOT done for years and years – has really – well, once again, the whole thing seems so pointless to me and the arbitrariness of it all is just fucking non-sensical and self-defeating and – I think – full of hate. People and their qualifications about what they want and who and what they think they are. This whole “fem” and “hwp” and “ddf” and “straight-acting” and “are you gay/bi/straight?” thing is – too much.

I would, honestly, rather amuse myself. I have been told that I am “straight acting” – WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN? I spent my YOUTH being thrown into lockers for NOT being straight enough. Now, I’m not GAY ENOUGH for some people? WHAT? This judgmental shit – this inability to get past the categories to a person – I can’t stand it. And I have ABSOLUTELY NO TALENT for it – obviously – I have ALWAYS found myself attracted to essence – AND PLEASE – before you start – I’m not saying that I don’t have a physical type that makes me crazy lusty – but the people with whom I have “fallen in love” and with whom I have spent “soul time” – have always sort of defied categorization – and that has always been a PROBLEM. So, I thought I’d try to – you know – FIT IN with my people.

I was unwilling to commit to

I was not straight enough for him and unwilling to commit to “punishing” him and calling him “bitchboy”

Nope. They don’t want me either. The latest two rejecters of my bits and pieces (so to speak) have put me over the fucking (or, non-fucking actually – not to mention non-reading – NO ONE IS VERY SMART OUT HERE EITHER) edge. I quit.

Guess I am doomed (blessed?) to spend the remainder of my life like I did this morning – waking up alone, laughing at my own jokes and references – because I’m the only one who gets them. Oh dear. Oh my. Oh well.

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