Tags: Florida,Life in General,Theatre
Ok, so I had the most amazing dream last night, which depressed me when I woke up and realized where I was. So I am at a dance competition (which is odd in itself) and my turn comes up. The odd thing is that I am in one of those hotel rooms used during conferences. Even odder is that I am dancing on a tilting platform. But the weirdest, but best part, is that Gwen Verdon is one of the judges. I thought I was going to die. I do this jazz/tap routine with a cane. I am doing things I never thought I could: machine gun riffs, flipping off of walls, split switch leaps. I get done and the entire room erupts in applause and I jump off the platform out of breath and Gwen Verdon gets up, with another judge I could not recognize, and they escort me to the back of the room where they close a curtain around us (like in hospitals–those privacy curtains). They start talking to me but I am so out of breath and focused on breathing that I can’t understand what they are saying. The room clears and more people come in and I am asked if I am ready to do my performance again, which leaves me confused, I thought it was a competition. I say, “I don’t think I can do it that good again.” And I finally hear Verdon say, “Yes you can. And you’re going to be great. You always will be.” I look at her, she smiles, and I wake up.
If I was ever more determined to leave Florida, it is now. All I need is that flippin green card in my hand for my freedom. Even with all the recent problems in NY, I still want to go there. I have been obsessed with living there ever since my first family vacationed there. I remember everything so vividly and I want to be engulfed by that city.
Frighteningly accurate Piscean traversing the rhetorical hills and mountains of NYC and beyond while negotiating life in the 30s. Jack-of-all-trades with divergent tastes and proclivities tending too many creative irons in the fire and, thusly, prone to fits of malaise, neuroses, and some light paranoia. A writer, an actor, a baker, a candlestick maker. Ersatz Caucasian with pop cultural obsessive tendencies. Quietly opining with no stick leaving safe no topic - least of all, himself.
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