Stand-up · Tragicomic

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( Санкт-Петербург! )

***

Can we just talk about how AWESOME Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is?  The way it's set in some weird hazy amalgam of the US and the UK in some weird hazy amalgam of the 1970's and no time at all?  The fact that Violet Beauregarde is the girl who played Lolita in Lolita, My Love?  How Wonka is actually a total jerk half the time?  How Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse cooked up a score more ingenious and original than anything they ever contributed to Broadway (thanks surely, in part to Walter Scharf's spectacular arrangements)?  How much of the movie consists simply of sketches regarding the pursuit of the golden tickets?  How literate and slyly subversive the whole thing is?  Right down to Mrs. Teevee's self-assured mislabeling of Mozart as Rachmaninoff?

I LOVE IT.

***

People on the ship have started to notice my weight loss.  That's nice.

I got a little soused before our last set tonight.  I've become such a lightweight since I stopped drinking regularly.  I hope nobody noticed.  I also think the next time I smoke up I should drink some before so I don't get so paranoid.

***

The Times had a really interesting article on friendships between gay and straight men today briefly touching on what they called 'the awkward crush.'  It was... interesting?  I guess people are surprised that gay men and straight men can be friends these days?

I guess that's pretty funny to me, since I have let me see.  Only one good gay friend that I know in person. Maybe one good gay friend who I met online.  So all the rest of my friends who are male (a small number, I grant you) are straight.  The vast majority of the people I interact with on ships are straight men.  Like, f'reals, I'm baffled at how I'm expected to be friends with gay men.

On the Times Comments page some guy talks about how he and most of the gay men he knows are alienated by the 'campiness, femininity, passion for fashion and obsession with their body' that gay men are notorious for.  Where the hell is this?  Apparently Montpellier, France is the land of the butch.

***

ON A SIMILAR NOTE.  40 years since Stonewall.  It chokes me up.  A lot.  Surprisingly.

I talk about gay things a lot on here, don't I?  How lame.

***

( Helsinki and the Kiasma )

***

So I've realized that part of why I am considered unmasculine by people is because of my love of musical theater.  And of course this is bunkum, of course there's no way in hell I'm not going to like musical theater anymore, but it just means I have to work extra hard in other areas to be strong and sure.  Which is a cliché in its own right, the guy in a feminine occupation, or with a androgynous name fighting hard to be perceived as manly.  What a chore.

***

I saw a young guy with a beard last night while we were playing in the Queens Lounge and for some reason, it occurred to me, that if I looked like that, I wouldn't have to spend so much time working on my body.  I still don't know why or how sexual value can turn on a beard, but somehow it seems it can and does to me.

***

( Chillax Stockholm )

***

Okay, you will wonder how the hell I didn't mention this before, but on the gay cruise coming up, we're having a very special guest entertainer we'll be playing for:

CHITA RIVERA.

***

So I'm reading the collected Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen, because it was the only Scandinavian material I could find in the onboard library.  Did you know he was bisexual?  Apparently he was in love with his friend Edvard Collin his whole life; it went unrequited, and this is what the Little Mermaid is about.  It's a gay parable.  How could I never realize this?

Of course at the end of Andersen's tale, the mermaid kills herself.  Or more specifically, her heart explodes.

***

A man is always in control of his emotions.

***

Pride month is over.  I have no pride.  Woo.

***

So my weight has stalled at about 188 lbs.  Which is weird, I guess.  I'm not surprised lately, since I've been eating like a pig, seeing what difference it makes.  I guess I could eat less again to really try to hit my target goal of 180.  Hm.

***

So, Justin won't give me so much as the time of day now.  I ran into him last night in the PO Bar, off-duty and I looked at him and smiled and nodded, and he barely even glanced at me.  This would be tremendously funny if it weren't so utterly devastating.  I guess this is what I get for — y'know, I don't even know how to moralize this one.  You're on your own, kids.

***

I'm not much of a man.

***

Okay, this thing about Justin, it's bullshit.  It's just me being a needy little pissant.  I wasn't saying hello to him anyways, so all I'm fucking pouting about is the fact that he doesn't want to say hello for me to ignore him anymore.  Fuck me.

***

I get really frustrated by people (mostly straight men) who discourage me from wanting to be more masculine.  Most of the time it's under the guise of "Accept who you are" or "Love yourself," but once again, let me call bullshit.  Whatever became of the great American dream of self-improvement?  Swish isn't encoded into the 'gay gene.'  If you want to be swishy, be swishy, BUT AT THE SAME TIME, if you want to be manly, be manly!  Am I right?

If you don't like the way your room looks, you paint it.  If you don't like your body, you go to the gym.  If you don't like the way you sound and act, you choose to sound and act differently.  I don't see how one of these can be a crime against yourself, when the other two aren't.  I think that loving yourself is not at odds with choosing to change some small things about the way you comport yourself.  I don't think I'm hurting myself by striving to be more masculine, and I think Alan would back me up in this.

FURTHERMORE, I think part of it is these straight men trying to keep you in your place.  Masculine gay men FREAK THEM OUT, because 1) they are like them, and this feels like an assault on their own sexuality (if he's gay, then I could be gay!) and 2) swish is the only think a lot of them know, and they think gay men are supposed be this way, and when they aren't it makes them uncomfortable because they've lost their bearings in a way.

ANYWAYS, this is what I think and the next time someone tells me to love myself the way I am, I'm gonna punch them in the face.

***

Okay.  Michael Jackson.  My world is not shaken like some people on my friendslist.  For the most part, I wasn't terribly aware of MJ for the longest time.  In fact, back in elementary school, when MJ was BIG NEWS, I consistently got Michael Jackson confused with Michael Jordan.  This is pretty indicative of how removed from the world I was.  I remember catching part of an MJ concert on TV once and just being confused.

It wasn't till I got to college had my pop epiphany that I realized what Michael Jackson was.  What he meant.  I downloaded Thriller, and then Off The Wall, and then Bad, and finally Dangerous.  I know Thriller backwards and forwards now, and I think Off The Wall is my favorite.  And I cannot tell you know many times I listened to/watched the music video for Black and White my junior/senior of college (dark days).  Suffice it to say that it remains among the top played on my Last.fm page.

At the same time, he wasn't really doing anything these days, and for me it feels less like a loss, and more like a reminder of time passing.  He was a landmark in our cultural landscape and it just makes me think of how he's been replaced (by woefully insufficient JT of all people) and how we're all going to die soon, and the best we can hope is to make some tiny fraction of the mark people like Michael Jackson leave.

***

leo_girl informed me that Monday is the 40th Anniversary of Stonewall.  WOW.  Good things and bad things.

Let me also add that this means that it's been 40 years since Judy Garland died.  HOW EMBARRASSING THAT THIS IS WHAT THAT REMINDS ME OF.

I did some deadlifts yesterday and my BACK HATES ME FOR IT.

I get really mad when people try to give me weightlifting advice when I see them using BLATANTLY IMPROPER FORM on their own exercises.

***

So June is Pride Month, and I'm trying to figure out what I'm proud of.  I guess I am proud to be gay, because at least I am not straight.  Even if I am often attracted to straight men, I would not like to be one of them, as they are so often stupid and boring.  Gay men may be stupid, but rarely are they boring.

At the same time, I am proud to be not like many of the gay men I see.  I am proud to be different.  I am proud to be a man, even if I do not look or sound or act like one.  I am proud to be smart, even if if something being smart hurts me.  I am proud to possess taste, because I am realizing that it is a rare commodity.  I am proud of the insights I feel I gain from being gay.

But I am worried of being a cliché.

I'm still figuring it out.

***

Have I ever explained how much I hate the word "showtune"?

***

So, I finally just bit the fucking bullet and asked Dimitri if I could join him for my after-dinner tea.  And of course now is the post-tea-discussion self-loathing section of the evening.

There's something on with Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse doing a film noir ballet.  I wonder what this is.  Seems ambitious.

Anyways, the conversation.  I was visibly nervous (I was shaking), and I can only hope that it was endearing rather than disappointing.  He, of course, was cool as a cucumber.  He must have done this before.  I don't like that.  And I guess if it's a turn-off that I'm so nervous and out of my element, then clearly, this is not the relationship for me.

He is indeed Australian, and he asked me a lot of questions, during the course of which I gradually became less nervous.  He is from Melbourne, and he has very small round teeth.  I told him I loved Melbourne.  As an acupuncturist he has much control over his schedule and he works on commission.  He ate two fruit bowls while I sat with him.  He still pals around with that casino guy which of course makes me wonder what's going on there.  Part of me wonders if he's the type who goes after straight guys, in which case I would be rather uninterested/ineligible.  Or if he's just putting all his ducks in a row to move on to me after casino guy leaves which also is not too appealing, just being another notch in the bedpost, another body in bed.

I guess I'm mainly frustrated that he was not as nervous as I was, seeing as how he was the one who has been giving me all the signals up to now, and I feel like I just played into his hands.  I don't want to play any games.  And then the other part of me feels ashamed for just settling for somebody, when I've always really wanted it to be with somebody.  Does that make sense?  I'm paraphrasing Company here because George Furth describes it well.

At this point, I just pretty much want to divorce myself from the whole thing.  Ball's in his court.  If he wants me he knows where to find me.  I don't want to play into anybody's hands.  I've expressed my interest in him as a person, he can do what he wants with it.  My self-confidence is far too fragile to stand to pursue somebody.  Especially just somebody.  Sigh.

The movie is The Bandwagon.

***

Okay.  So maybe this proves my theory that relationships come about when one is desperate, lonely or horny enough to settle.  Or maybe it's more along the lines of the Valley Of The Dolls theory that in relationships are formed by one who wants and one who is wanted.  Maybe it's simply me decided that I can hang around waiting for some untouchable straight man god to come out of the blue and love me, or I can just get some practice in and to hell with romantic preconceptions.

I know I'm not supposed to sweat this, but it looks like I am.

I'm not sure that any games are being played other than those I am inventing in my head.  I don't know what's going on, I just wish I could cut all the bullshit and talk simply  Like any good nerd, I'm hating this smalltalk shit, and would rather just figure out what's going on, who wants whom, why, and what's to be done about it.

God, I hate my voice lately.

We were in Estonia today, and although it was pleasant, and medieval and reminded me of Prague, it was mainly wet, cold, rainy and miserable.

I changed $20 and didn't spend it on anything.

I've also lost 10.4 lbs.  Look at me.  Don't worry though; I'm still hella-unattractive.  Well, that's not true.  I don't hide from mirrors all the time anymore.

My roommate on Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: "We get it; you do drugs. Is that the whole storyline?"

***

Is it wrong that I'm exorcising my disappointments through listening to 13?  Why is everything so hard?  Why am I so late?

The Producers: Okay, yes, the gay jokes, the foreign jokes and Matthew Broderick are in bad taste nowadays, and as a whole the movie is pokey, but some bits of it are really, really funny.  And I still maintain it's funnier than the dated and offensive original.

***

Um, so our President... he went to see a Broadway show.  Can you imagine George Bush going to a Broadway show?  Can you even do that?  Our president is supporting theater.  Is supporting LINCOLN CENTER THEATER, no less.  Fuck yeah.

I started thinking about Theo again, but this time I know why: he's the devil I know.

Okay, so there's a guy who works at the spa who has been gazing at me all sad and dreamy like for a few days now.  He looks to be around my age, and has an Anglophone accent.  He also kinda dresses like a hipster, which I mean is clearly points to you in my book.  Nobody else I've ever met on a ship does that.  He's pretty stubbly, and I guess I've snubbed him to date, but I should probably stop, because to be perfectly fair, he is rather cute.  I can't imagine what he sees in me.  I'm just afraid he'll be swishy as hell.  I mean, after all, he does work in a spa, as (I thought) a hairdresser.

Then today, I went to get a haircut, and I noticed a little bio in front of the spa.  I think he's the acupuncturist.  Which, you must admit, is butcher than hairdressing.  Piercing people with pieces of metal all day?  That's fierce.  Anyways, if he is who I think he is, his name is Dimitri Something-Greek-looking-opoulos, and i think he's Australian.  Anyways, that's what's going on now.

Today was Edinburgh, and I couldn't get off, but no worries, we'll be back twice, and once for an overnight.  And during that overnight will be the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, the Largest Fringe Festival IN THE WORLD.  Which means I'll get to hang out with a bunch of crazy-ass artists, just like I did in college.  I'm excited.  I'm excited a lot these days.  I seem to live in perpetual anticipation.

I'm also excited for Newcastle tomorrow, which is supposed to be Northeast England's hipster capital, and has a bunch of free art museums and stuff.

OMG THERE IS AN ELEPHANT BALLET ON TV.  I think the one cup of coffee I drank earlier is getting to me.

***

I realized what the show we play tonight reminds me of: SHOWCHOIRS.  I think the Daniel Presents' were better than this show, albeit a little less polished.

Why do I get so moved listening to Fiorello!?  Why doesn't everybody know about this show?

***

So far, I have lost 8.5 pounds.  If I continue at my current rate (1.6 lbs a week).  I should be down to 190 next week.  That'll be 10 lbs!  Go me!

I AM UNSPEAKABLY EXCITED FOR EDINBURGH.  Why?  I DON'T EVEN KNOW.  MAYBE BECAUSE IT LOOKS AWESOME.

I bought the chapters for Edinburgh from Lonelyplanet.com, and how awesome is it that you can even do that?  Downloaded them and printed them up.  I'm gonna do that for Cherbourg, London and Amsterdam too.

I blew up my alarm clock when I didn't realize it wasn't dual voltage.  Have you ever done that?  Do you know what it's like?  At first you are confused when your appliance doesn't work, and then all of a sudden you hear a loud pop, and a sickening plume of smoke drifts out of it, accompanied by the smell of melting plastic.  And then it is dead.

***

Pennies From Heaven: First off — does ANYBODY even remember this movie?  It was one of the lost movie musicals of the 80's, but this one was actually not a massive failure (A Chorus Line)/embarrassing reminder of the Zeitgeist (Flashdance).  In fact it was pretty good.  This one stars Bernadette Peters and Steve Martin back when they were a Hollywood couple (YEAH, BET YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT), attempts to revive the Astaire-Rogers genre with more grit, and is really pretty smart.  Right now they're slyly referencing "Nighthawks."  Bernadette is pretty remarkable on screen.  We tend to forget that in the morass of her later years (Troop Beverly Hills).  And I'm so glad that you can tell that Steve loves musicals just as much as I do.  Maybe even more.  It's pretty sweet and sad and you should see it.

***

GUESS WHAT.  I HAVE IPM TOMORROW. SO I DON'T GET TO SEE EDINBURGH.  BOO.

I decided not to say hi to him today, and instead ate alone at a window overlooking the ocean.  It was rainy and cold today.

And then, because my day couldn't get any better, my glasses broke.

I have not seen Justin in about a week, and I am starting to worry.  Maybe his contract was over.  Maybe he got fired.  Maybe because I did not smile at him, he became clinically depressed, and threw himself off the side of the ship into the briny Baltic Sea.  These are the things I think of.

***
( Oslo, pt. 1 )

***

I asked one of the kitchen staff members about Justin.  He is still here, but he is being switched around to different stations.  For a while he was in the main galley, where I would never have seen him, but apparently he's back in the Lido somewhere.  I guess I need to find out where now.

I would never have been able to ask someone something like this is college, because I would be too afraid of being found out, but I'm not afraid of that anymore.  I don't care if Justin finds out I've asked after him.  I think I might prefer it he did, actually.  Let him know I'm interested in where he is and how he's doing.  So what if I'm secretly motivated to get to know him because I am attracted to him?  Does that make my interest in him as a person any less legitimate?  Yes???

***

I discovered where he is in the Lido today.  Starboard Side Sandwich Bar, circa 12:30 pm.  He got a haircut.  I thought about going up and saying something to him, but I couldn't summon up the courage.  Besides, he was busy.

***

I've started having dreams about making out with old guys.  Like, geriatrics.  My libido is spinning OUT OF CONTROL.  Everybody keeps telling me that I'm not gonna find somebody on ships, but I don't know if I can wait that long.

***
( Oslo, pt. 2 )

***

There is no time here
There is no beating heart

There was a light
but it went down in flames

And there was an anticipation
till it was spoken and unraveled

*

What's a boy to do
with a face like a record
on long-play?

Should he shop at the greengrocers
and hide his face behind the brooms.

Does he slink in the library,
entombed between the tomes,
grinding mutely with the concrete walls.

Can it be he camps in the graveyards,
whistling Dixie at the grackles
as he tosses breadcrumbs over his shoulder.

*

Mainly it is to hide
like a leapfrog with his dead eyes
and flaccid lappy tongue;
he sleeps alone but not by choice.
he is rounded down to zero;
he is insufficient funds;
he is insolvency unbound
and his buttons flap in the stiff breeze
his thumb extended like a weathervane
as he hopes to hitch a ride
to the left behind side.

The ocean is eerily limpid out here.  We're cutting through it like shears through satin.  I feel like it's teasing us, saying "I could swallow you without a qualm, but I'm going to play your friend for now."

We reach the Azores tomorrow.  The Azores are a Portuguese-owned archipelago out in the Atlantic.  Since this is a repositioning journey, this is the only time we'll be there, and I feel like I should devote my time towards exploring and stuff, but I'll probably spend most of it just buying supplies.

And then a few more days till EUROPE!  The Continent!  The Old World!

Have I mentioned how I feel like the old man on board since I'm instructing all the n00bs on proper protocol?  I had a flash today of becoming like Dan R. on the Volendam and I decided to keep my mouth shut from now on.

We got a schedule of our itinerary today from here to 10/10/09.  We reach Fort Lauderdale after Europe and New England/Canada on the 10th of October.  I don't get off till 10/24.  Does this mean I have to spend two weeks in the Caribbean?  Will I have been here through three different itineraries?  The thought nauseates me.  I'll really be the old man and the sea then.

More on gay men on the ship.  Ridiculous: Sometimes I am uncomfortable around gay men because I'm afraid that they will hit on me.  Obviously this wouldn't be a problem if I was attracted to the kind of gay men who hit on me.  Conversely I feel more comfortable around straight men because I don't have to worry about that, but they are the ones who worry that I am attracted to them.  Ridiculous.

Also: I think part of why I don't like them is because they are comfortable with who they are in their sexuality in a way that I am no.  I have embraced the fact that I'm gay, but I don't know how to be the gay man I want to be.  I mean, I could be a queeny bitch but I don't think I'd be happy with myself or happy at all like that.  I feel oppressed.  Why are things this had?  Why do I have such a problem just being me.  It's this ship.  It's this world.  Ugh.  I don't feel safe enough to be me.

Kinda like how I want to fuck some of the guys on here, but am horrified at the prospect of actually dating them or even waking up beside them.

Last night I went to the OB and just sat at a table and stared at nothing, drinking my diet sprite, for about half an hour.  I was too tired and wasn't much interested in trying to make conversation with the people there (because that's pretty much what is it out here, trying to make conversation).  But then I go back to bed and can't fall asleep till 2 in the morning.  Wtf, circadian rhythms?

I really came out of my shell last night at late night buffet when they started talking about George Crumb and John Cage.  Apparently our drummer had never heard of 3'44"?  I've been hearing about 3'44" since middle school.  Honestly.  I've been reading Catcher in the Rye (and if one more person asks me if I've seen Conspiracy Theory, I will punch them in the nose) and our keyboardist came to me and told me he's only read about 5 books in his life (I could die) but that was one of them.  Super.

***

Thoughts of cutting myself keep presenting themselves to me darkly.  I really have no idea what's bringing this on.  Maybe it's these European longitudes that lead me to such melancholy.  I don't know.  It's ridiculous.  I'm getting depressed from being depressed.

I feel like I should just suck it up and try to make friends with somebody on here.  It should be like this, y'know?  I shouldn't have to pick who I'm gonna settle to be friends with, I should be naturally drawn to people.  Sigh.

***

One of the passengers told me I was handsome.  That's encouraging.  That crazy old Australian women have the guts to tell me I'm handsome and wink at me.

So I've been in a funk the past six days (obviously) and then we docked in the Azores yesterday.  I got off the boat, and let me tell you, I transformed instantaneously into a giggling maniac.  EUROPE.  Not Europe proper, sure, but EUROPE.  Tiny cars driving on the wrong side of the road!  People speaking to you in poor English and scowling at you for talking too loud!  Not being able to read any signs!  Cafés!  Cathedrals!  Cobblestones!  €!

I was seriously walking down the cobbled streets, my heart in my throat.  EUROPE.  I was so glad I came all of a sudden.  Even if I hated my life on the ship, I would be able to get off and explore the Old World.  Who cared that I was alone?  Who cares that I am ugly and out of shape?  I can lose myself and forget it in Europe!  And just listening to people speak Portuguese!  Have you ever heard it?  It sounds like a crazy mix of French, Spanish and Chinese.  I couldn't find anywhere to change my money since it was a Saturday so I just walked around Ponta Delgada, taking pictures of fountains and cafes and my first two Cathedrals!  With their Romanesque ceilings and gilt apses and relics.  I saw ancient manuscripts with pneums written on them and I COULD SING THEM.

It was really just -- sensational.  And we overnight in Lisbon tomorrow!  I can't wait.  I mean, I don't think I'm gonna go to a bar like everybody seems to want to (I always feel loneliest in bars) but maybe I could see a play or an opera or something.  What do people see in Lisbon?  I want to SEE IT ALL.

I also need people to tell me what to see in London and Paris (leo_girl, I'm looking at you).  EUROPE.

Also she is trying to blackmail me into liking David and I think this makes her a shitty friend.

What makes Moulin Rouge! so magnificent a work of art, is that it does what any good musical does, it makes you more keenly aware of being alive, while at the same time transcending the horror of everyday life.  I guess you could extend this criterion to any work of narrative art.

I find that really depressing.  To have a valid critical point of view and to have it dismissed as a mere symptom of my sexual orientation.  Can you understand that?  It's like, how great that you like musicals, but you only like them because you're gay, not because they're legitimately America's greatest contribution to world culture.  It's a kind of dismissal.  It's great that you like musicals, but I don't have to really consider them at all, because I'm straight.

It's basically the same thing as my parents ignoring things I said growing up, blaming it on my ADD.  God, how dehumanizing.

I wish my turkey neck would go away.

***

I don't know why I get so paranoid about the stupidest shit.  The other day I called one of the cast girls fat in front of Cole, the queeniest little queen this side of the Mississippi -- Kim said her NYC friends would call him a fembot -- got huffy and left, and I was worried for about 24 hours that he was going to tell the cast about this, and they would be up in arms.  Like, painfully worried.  I lost sleep over this, despite my labored explanations to myself that 1) the cast barely gave me the time of day anyways, what were they gonna do about it 2) we are not in 9th grade anymore, why should this matter, etc., etc.,  I don't know why I do this, but it doesn't make me feel good about myself.

I can't believe my contract is already over.  These two and a half months have just flown by.  Not that I'm not eager to get the hell out of here, it's just, y'know, God, I'll be 23 soon and still nowhere near NYC.  I'm still nervous about the Eurodam.  I really hope that Second City comes through, because not only would I probably be making more money for less work, but the cruise line would have a younger clientele, I would be working in theater again, and we'd probably overnight in more ports.  From this perspective, it seems really win-win.

I'm still really interested in queercore, at least ideologically.

I've also been thinking, if Erik Boyko can get through a year at sea without bitching about it, where the fuck do I get off?

***

Homfg, guys, it's finally happened:  Google has invented a simple AI. Her name is Cady, and you can read about her here.  God, the things that have happened in my lifetime.  It's amazing.

A New York Times user comment on Ionesco's Exit The King: "Theatre of the Absurd, indeed! More like Theatre of the Boring."

Armando's right, sometimes I even scare myself with how well I can place these old movies, even ones that I've never seen.

***

Day 60: still fat.  I keep telling myself, like the Beatles say, I've got time.

Have you ever caught yourself imagining what people would say about you if you went off on one of those machine gun killing sprees and were then apprehended, and then wondered what brought that on?

It's kind of amusing to even me how much I get on virtuoso directing.  Tonight I was watching The Shining with Armando, practically gagging in orgasmic throes of passion at Kubrick's unforgiving gaze and technique.

***

Okay okay okay, really disconcerting.  I got into an elevator with one of the chefs, and he was perfectly clean-shaven, except for a beauty mark on his left cheek, which had a lock of hair growing out of it that I SWEAR TO YOU WAS 5 INCHES LONG.  Ugh.

Good god, the beach is an intensely demoralizing experience.  Remind me never to go again.  I guess I'm not as fat as I used to be, because my lovehandles don't flop over on themselves, but even so.  Why are all the gay men from my ship total uggos?  Tell me why.  The movies make it seem as though the gay men are the handsome attractive ones, but it never seems to be that way in real life.  Hollywood, are you less honest than you seem?????

I got a full-body Swedish massage, which is normally $120, but I get it half-off as crew. I got into a robe they provided for me, took a shower and waddled down to my booth to fill out a form listing what I wanted from this and any medical issues they needed to be aware of.  The lady who gave me the massage was named Krassi and she had a fierce Eastern European accent I had a lot of trouble deciphering.  Apparently she is new.

We decided that since I spend so much time playing piano, she would work on my shoulders especially.  She left the room and I hopped under a towel and stuck my face in the little loop.  She came back and in and spilled lots of warm smelly oil on me and rubbed away.  I noticed that she used her whole forearm a lot.  Also, she moved the towel down and pulled down my underwear a bit and spent a rather surprising amount of time on the top of my buttocks.  Who knew I had so much tension there.

Then she did my legs, then I flipped over and she did the tops of my legs and then my chest and stuff.  Even a bit on my face.  I was a little surprised at her lack of hesitation in grappling with my flesh like that, but that's pretty silly really, I mean she's a professional masseuse.  This is her job.  And most of the time she's probably working on 80 year old women whose bodies are way more terrifying than mine.

Once it was done she told me that she could sell me some oil to use myself (I'm not buying any oil, lady) and then suggested that I come back for just a back massage because I was still holding lots of tension there.  It was nice, but it wasn't really magical.

I had a whole lot of trouble sleeping last night.  I keep waking up with a start and checking my clock.  David makes me really afraid of missing stuff.  I hate him.  He is so painfully uncool.  I can't wait to get out of here, but I'm worried that I won't have enough money and all this fucking shit.

***

Okay, this is embarrassing:  I'm watching Moulin Rouge! and crying.  And I'm not even to the crying parts.  It's like, the beginning.  And I'm crying.  Ridiculous.

***

I am a little bit ill.  I've got a fever and am sore.  I hope this is gone by tomorrow a) since I want to see San Juan and b) can't afford to be quarantined and not get paid for a few days.  Sigh.

***

Another night of fitful sleep.  At least I feel a little better.