9/29/2006 09:28:00 AM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

I've uploaded some of the pictures of Watching Porn to a Flickr set.

Larger-than-life thanks to Scott Pakudaitis for taking them in his role as a Fringe photographer.

|W|P|115954045657970768|W|P|Pictures of Porn|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/27/2006 09:35:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|So after the great time I had acting in King Lear for Cromulent, I've been thinking about doing it more often. Of course, this means memorizing monologues, sweating out auditions, etc. Fortunately, I've already got a new headshot.|W|P|115941110395912912|W|P||W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/28/2006 02:36:00 PM|W|P|

Alicia|W|P|Very nice - I'm sure you'll get lots of audition calls with that one! :)9/28/2006 10:08:00 PM|W|P|

Anonymous|W|P|better than any of my headshots. my most recent one is 9 years old.
i didn't know you did the Cromulent Lear. I got cast but had to back out.9/29/2006 08:29:00 AM|W|P|

Bill|W|P|Ah, you were supposed to play Goneril? Ha ha! I was Oswald. I would have been sniffing you.9/27/2006 06:03:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

Two pages this morning.|W|P|115939828451373469|W|P|Inertial reversal|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/27/2006 07:24:00 AM|W|P|Bill|W|P|"But I learned a valuable lesson: There is a difference between theory and practice. To listen to what Strasberg said was amazing. To see it was terrible." -Stephen Sondheim|W|P|115935993849686642|W|P||W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/26/2006 09:48:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

The New Vision Tarot.

They take the standard deck, and give you a different perspective on the cards. Most of them are given 180 degree perspective change.|W|P|115932569596602708|W|P|Want This|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/26/2006 01:03:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|So the mysterious project I referred to earlier was this: whilst cleaning my bedroom I came across a pack of glow-in-the-dark Tarot cards (major arcana only) that I'd bought years ago. Having no use for them (you can't even mix them in with a regular deck), I made up a list of some of my friends who are writers, randomly selected a card for each, and sent 'em out. The instructions were just to write whatever the card inspired; a monologue, a story, a play; about the card, from the card's perspective, or having nothing to do with the card. So far I haven't gotten anything back. Addendum: But it's early yet, and I've had a couple of people tell me that they're excited about it. One person who hadn't gotten his yet in the mail asked point-blank where it was. Rawsome. I swear to God the draw was completely random, though you probably won't believe me when I tell you that the first card I drew, for myself, was the Magician.

Crap. It wasn't even reversed, which would have been fine. I could have made a joke about that. A major talent, master of the four elements, harmony, power. All things I want, but am afraid I do not and will never have. And on top of that, drawing it for myself for a creative writing project makes me look like a lying asshole. I would draw that. However. I did a few minutes of research on the history of the Magician, and found out something interesting. He's a fraud. Because originally he was not the Grand Wielder of the Forces Cosmic, he was a street hustler.

Behold the original form of the Magician, Le Bateleur. The Juggler. Look at that: he's not about to cast a spell: he's about to entertain a crowd on a shit-covered street for pennies. He's going to juggle the wand, play cup-and-balls, and is that his bag of tricks sitting next to him, or has he cut a purse with the knives? He's not going to bend the universe to his will with an incantation, he's going to run a bunk with a patter and sleight-of-hand. But that doesn't matter, because to the observer he's going to be doing magic. Get it? He's not a demigod, he's an entertainer. An illusionist. What he does only looks impossible. It's just a matter of skill and not looking backstage. I feel so much better. That's what I do now.|W|P|115929409256931811|W|P|Tarot project|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/26/2006 05:58:00 PM|W|P|

Scrappy|W|P|I'm doing mine, I'll get it to you before I leave on tour.9/26/2006 09:56:00 PM|W|P|

Bill|W|P|Woot.9/28/2006 02:35:00 PM|W|P|

Alicia|W|P|OK - where's my DAMN card???9/28/2006 05:24:00 PM|W|P|

Bill|W|P|I sent them out about a month before we had our Tragic Hardee's news.9/25/2006 11:32:00 AM|W|P|Bill|W|P|John M. "Mike" Ford is dead. I'd read one of his books, spoke with him on several occasions, and once gave him a ride home from a convention. I doubt he remembered who I was, if only because he was usually surrounded by a tight circle of laughing people. Still, when I found out today that he was gone, I was pissed off. "Fuck," was my first thought. And now, hours later, it still is. Fuck. I didn't know him well, but he was a hell of a lot of fun to talk to. I find myself thinking of him in Twilight Zone terms: a strange little man who it'd be easy to overlook, but if you spent a minute in his company, you quickly realized that no, he's actually one of those Secret Agents of God put on the earth to make sure things keep running the way they should. I'd come across his poems or one of his short stories and enjoy it thoroughly and think, "I really have to seek out more of his stuff," but never get around to it. I can't ever remember if I told him how much I loved How Much for Just the Planet, his Star Trek novel of which, almost 20 years later, I can still remember great chunks. By a remarkable coincidence, if you believe in coincidences, this weekend I finished the two books I was reading and wrote three pages for Imaginary Conversations. I was feeling rather self-satisfied, and now this, so I realize how little work I've been doing and how much this man was loved and respected by those who konw him. And I find myself thinking of myself. And so to work.|W|P|115920324591993016|W|P|John M. Ford|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/23/2006 01:26:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|Observations: Shredding junk mail, while necessary, is not especially fulfilling. I actually have quite a few fond memories of college. Soy sauce + chicken nuggets = salty goodness|W|P|115903616148584697|W|P|Drinking and shredding|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/23/2006 04:28:00 PM|W|P|

birdchick|W|P|You got the shredder working??

Don't drink all the gin, I'll want a martini waiting when I get home Sunday night.

kiss, kiss9/25/2006 11:58:00 AM|W|P|

Bill|W|P|You'll have Mr. Drinkee Gin-style liqour beverage drink and like it!9/23/2006 12:39:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

|W|P|115903350812636363|W|P|Fall|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/21/2006 03:43:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|The nostalgia continues. In the wave of catching up with my college chums, my buddy Marty posted a link to online copies of our yearbooks. Oh, God. Thanks, Marty, thanks for reminding me of what an absolute tool I was. All right, let's get this out of the way right now:

That poor girl. She's about two seconds away from stabbing me to death with her mortar board and I can't say as I'd blame her. This one, on the other hand, is a rather happy memory:

From our student-directed productions: Michael Scott cast me in Snow Angel after he saw my ten-minute play, Monkey Trap, which I think was the first play I ever wrote. A little background here: comedy had always been my defense mechanism; keep 'em laughing, and they won't tell you what they really think of you. So anyway, Mike cast me as a guy who's girlfriend has left him, so he solicits a prostitute and forces her to reenact their relationship. I'm not sure if it was my first dramatic role, but it's the one I remember most strongly. I should be clear, here: I enjoyed college. I had a great time, and it really allowed me to grow. And I made some really good friends. But in some respects, I was such a fucking moron. And I can prove it:

|W|P|115887210763667241|W|P|When I was thin and stupid|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/21/2006 07:46:00 PM|W|P|

Alicia|W|P|The girl with the threatening mortar board... Karen Swinehart! Too funny!9/21/2006 07:54:00 PM|W|P|

Bill|W|P|Oh, God, it is, isn't it.9/21/2006 09:37:00 PM|W|P|

Scrappy|W|P|After seeing those pics I heart you even more.

And also understand how THACO came out of your head. :)9/21/2006 10:01:00 PM|W|P|

birdchick|W|P|You're still my sexy, sexy nerd.9/19/2006 04:40:00 AM|W|P|Bill|W|P|I went to college in a very small town. How small was it? It was so small, it had only one bar (called, I shit you not, the Regal Beagle). It was less of a pub where wacky misunderstanding occured and more of a tar-papered box. It was so small that the population of the town was halved when school was out. It was so small that there was only one fast food place within walking distance of the campus. And now that's gone. Hardee's, I sing a lament for you. My friend Cindy sent out a mass email to inform us that you are now a Rite-Aid. Alas.

Things must have seriously changed in the sleepy town of Ada, Ohio for this to have happened. I can only imagine it happened because of (gasp!) competition, which means that the town fathers were pursuaded that it might be a good idea to perhaps (double gasp!) allow some more businesses to take advantage of the student population. But let us not look back in anger. To be honest, when I first got this email, I couldn't have cared less. I'm not someone who looks back at my college days as the best of my life. But, as lost friends (and people I don't really remember at all) have been sending in their regrets, it's started a little flashback montage for me, almost against my will.

Frantic studying sessions for Shakespeare I (which was an English dept. course), in which, having duly purchased The Riverside Shakespeare, we referred to a book of synopses as "the real book."
Angry, angry conversations between two tables during a hellish production of Anne Frank.
The look of fear and wonder on an exchange students face as I told him to put away his money; in America, the refills are free!
Alicia demanding(!) to know how I always got hot, fresh fries.
"We're going to throw a party. What can we do with two cans of pudding?"
After going through a very tough patch, sitting with Cindy, who had been doing her student teaching and therefore almost entirely absent, and having her remind me that we were friends and therefore everything was going to be okay.

I haven't been back to school in a long, long time; mostly because there's only one or two people there I'd want to talk to; I don't have much emotional attachments to buildings. Except one, now I find, and it is, alas, gone.|W|P|115866058843699629|W|P|Cue "Yesterday"|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/19/2006 09:43:00 AM|W|P|

Mimi|W|P|Free refills caught me by surprise too.

For some reason, I don't miss college but I do miss high school.9/19/2006 10:47:00 AM|W|P|

Bill|W|P|Free refills and the 1st Amendment: two reasons why America is great!

And high school? Oh, lord, I've permanently deleted High School from my memory.9/19/2006 11:26:00 PM|W|P|

Scrappy|W|P|I admit I loved college. My five year reunion is next month, and I was actually thinking about not going on tour so I could go. But then I realized that's a really stupid idea.9/17/2006 06:46:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|I don't get Post-Fringe Blues so much as I just stop feeling creative. There is a destructive part of me that will try anything—anything—to stop me from being creative. And after the Fringe, this part of myself coos in my ears that it's time to take a break, relax; I've worked so hard, after all, that I owe it to myself to take some time off and let the sense of fulfillment and satisfact wear away and be overtaken by a vast sense of emptiness and unreast that is, after all, my natural state and hey look! there's a Three's Company mini-marathon on that I've only see twice before. Inertia's a bitch. So, yesterday night I put together the first few pages of Imaginary Conversations. Today I sketched out the changes to the structure I'm going to make for the THACO DVD. The DVD is the thing that's terrifying me. I've never done anything like that; other than creating a few very short films by myself (and one of those was a complete "learning experience," if you catch my drift). And the worst of it is, everyone's excited about doing it! I had a friend volunteer to do sound for it the other day. My actors periodically ask me about it. Everybody tells me that it's a great idea, that the show was funny, and they're sure that it'll sell. Curse them all! Why can't they mock and spit on me, telling me it'll never happen. Why must they encourage me? Man, this is just like when Kevin invented glow-in-the-dark wallpaper on You Can't Do That On Television. Ahem. So, time to leap into the void again, trusting that the net will appear.|W|P|115853735375809063|W|P|At long last, love|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/16/2006 09:49:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

           INTERVIEWER
     So what inspired you to create 
     what many are calling an 
     undisputed masterpiece?

          ARTIST
     Spite.

               (Beat.)

          INTERVIEWER
     Spite.

          ARTIST
     Also pettiness.

|W|P|115846151986991854|W|P||W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/18/2006 06:25:00 PM|W|P|

Anonymous|W|P|I love this.9/15/2006 06:01:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|I'm having trouble completing this post because I realize how stupid it's going to sound, trying to describe the show to you. But here goes. I first met Darrell in grad school. He was everything I was not (charming, popular, a born networker), but for some reason or other, we became good friends and stayed good friends, even as his star rose in the department and I endured the two worst years of my life. Since Shazz had no interest in Hamlet, Darrell was the first person I called, and he said "yes" almost immediately. I snagged the tickets off eBay for their face value plus a promise to send the seller a program, and we were all set. I took a shuttle flight to Chicago, met Darrell, and we walked around the Pier waiting for the show to start. I have to say that they created the "event" sensation well. The production was (as I recall) two hours long, performed without an intermission, and they hammered over and over that if you were late to the production, you would not be admitted, and if you left the theater at any point during the performance, you would not be let back in. I should have been pissed off, but instead I was terrified. The whole process of getting into that seat (second balcony, as I recall, stage right) had been like a jumping puzzle, always one slip away from becoming impossible, that I was sure that now was when it was going to get screwed up. At the risk of being gross, I'll tell you that I made trips to the bathroom three times before the start of the show. The theater was a large, cavernous space, jam packed with people. A huge thrust came out of a proscenium, raised just above the level of the floor. Minutes before the show started, a line of students was let in. They each carried a pillow, and sat in a ring around the thrust. The set for Hamlet was a giant yellow/orange square of carpet with a few rolling settees. It was huge, covering the entire thrust, and creeping up into the arch, with the back of the stage engulfed in darkness. And then it started. I never thought I'd laugh at Hamlet; the play or the character, but Adrian Lester had me belly-laughing (intentionally) at this character I've read over and over again. He wasn't playing a metaphor, he was playing a human being. They took the script completely apart, rearranged scenes, reassigned lines—in a beautiful, astonishing moment, the play ends with Horatio, cradling Hamlet's body and surrounded by corpses, staring out into the rapidly increasing darkness and whispering, "Who's there?"—the first line of the play. Can I explain to you all using all the bullshit phrases I picked up in grad school? How present everyone was? How they let go of ever preconception of the most overproduced play in the English language and found something new? Probably not. But you can watch the DVD version. Some things are different in that production (notably the ending), but also the severe cutting of the gravedigger scene, which is too bad. Seeing this show... I was in a real bad place, artistically. I wasn't writing, I'd been fired from a couple of jobs. I was becoming your typical theatre drop-out; all I was missing was a job in a book store. Seeing Brook's Hamlet reminded me that being an artist is about doing the things you think are interesting. That I didn't have to worry about being a success, I had to think about doing the kind of shows that I wanted to see. And that's been kind of my pole star. So what's the best show you ever saw?|W|P|115834132490113351|W|P|The Best Show I Ever Saw, part 2|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/15/2006 08:54:00 PM|W|P|

Heidi|W|P|Off the top of my head, a student-directed production of "'Night Mother." It was staged in the little theatre of my small Midwestern college. The director was a friend of a friend. Part of his "design concept" was to have three seats for the audience in the corner of the L-shaped kitchen.

Now I had read this play. I knew that it involved a mother trying to prevent her grown daughter's suicide. But when the director greeted us at the door and lamented that no one was sitting in the onstage seats, we agreed to sit there.

There.

A front row seat to an emotional play. By the end, I was bawling and I didn't care that the full auditence could see me, even though we were in the shadows. I never learned how the actors felt about us being there.

Was it the best show I ever saw? Probably not. But it certainly had an effect on me.9/11/2006 02:13:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|The Best Show I Ever Saw was Hamlet, directed by Peter Brook. I'm ashamed to admit that I came late to the Peter Brook game; my teachers assigned The Empty Space multiple times in college (and grad school), but like most of their required reading, I skimmed it, then bullshitted my way through the discussion. Theatre teachers are notoriously easy to get off the topic. So, at some point in my late 20s, realizing that I had basically blown off the theatre training I'd spent so much time on, I went back and reread TES and realized that "hey, this guy's a genius." Rough theatre; popular, crowd-pleasing. Holy theatre; that which connects us with something bigger than ourselves. Immediate; the marriage of the two. Deadly theatre; boring theatre, theatre that kills theatre. About five minutes after I digested this I found out that Brook was doing a production of Hamlet that was touring the US—had already started touring the US, in fact, and was going to be in Chicago the next month. That's how I remember it, putting down the book, going on the internet, and finding out the production was going to be in Chicago. It was, of course, sold out. But some kind soul who couldn't go had put her tickets up for sale on eBay, and—and this is what absolutely kills me—she was observing the anti-scalpling laws and selling them for what she had paid for them. It worked out to about a hundred bucks. We didn't have a lot of money. Plus, I had to figure out a way to get down there, which meant flying, since Sharon would need the car and I'd have to get back to work (which was temping) as quickly as possible. If we scrounged, and if I found someone who could go to Chicago with me on short notice, I could do it. Sharon couldn't go, as she was working her regular job. I have to thank her for letting me do this; more than letting, helping me do this. That's how it is when you're married—sometimes when one of you wants to do something, you both have to make a sacrifice. Somehow we figured out how to come up with around $200. And luckily, I found someone to go with me...|W|P|115800200376889696|W|P|The Best Show I Ever Saw, part 1|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/11/2006 09:27:00 AM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

Early morning uptown

|W|P|115798518853274766|W|P|Looking south|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/11/2006 06:42:00 AM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

|W|P|115797530248490582|W|P|Faster than the human eye|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/10/2006 05:18:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

Picking shows for the "Fringe Encore at the Guthrie," or FEG, if you will. You probably won't, but it delights me no end.

It went well, very sociable in this suddenly Fall weather, and they umphed the drama by making it every fifth ball chosen that got to perform at the "Big Blue Box*." I forget which numbers where drawn, only that theatre pals the Ministry of Cultural Warfare were, alas, next to last. Sorry guys, just tell people you decided you're "keeping it real." That's what I do, as I ~~cry myself to sleep each night~~ work furiously on my next groundbreaking play. *Note the blue box from which the numbers were drawn.

|W|P|115792707348621745|W|P|The Robin and Leah show|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/10/2006 11:33:00 AM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

Because my eye is still twitching no matter how much I drink, I give you a nerdy cat picture taken by someone else.

|W|P|115790633684455020|W|P|Displacer Beast|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/09/2006 03:24:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|My left eye won't stop twitching. Sharon says it's because of stress. "Well," I say, "you'd be stressed, too if you had a insulated suitcase full of healthy Guatemalan kidneys, a Glock, and directions to an abandoned airfield."|W|P|115783358006345655|W|P||W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/07/2006 09:27:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|You should totally go and pay to see A Heap of Broken Images, because it has a reference to THACO in it. After that, you can leave. Relevant info: When: Thursday, September 14th at 9 pm Where: Center for Independent Artists How Much: $10, $8 for Fringe Button wearers. Get tickets now. Heap was a lot of fun, and one of the best shows I saw at this year's Fringe.|W|P|115768265447146355|W|P|Grrl-a-marketing|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/07/2006 12:48:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|Holy mac 'n' cheese, this is a big pile of wonderful crazy:

Beowulf: Fiction or History? Only one manuscript of the original poem exists. People found it, partly burned, in England about five hundred years after Beowulf lived. No one knows who originally wrote it. Many literature books say that it is fiction, one of the earliest examples we have of an English novel. But if someone were writing fiction, he would not name so many real people; he would invent characters as novelists do. And if someone wrote it long after the events, he would not know all those real people who lived in Beowulf’s time.

All my friends who play bards are grinding their teeth right now. And I didn't even mention the part where he talks about dinosaurs on Noah's ark. Link via Lore Sjoberg|W|P|115765147388991254|W|P|Crazy/beautiful|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/07/2006 11:09:00 AM|W|P|Bill|W|P|Two scenes from this morning: There was a fire down the street last month; the apartments above a vaccuum repair shop (people get their vaccuums repaired?) and a poster/frame store went up. The shops were spared the fire, but had massive water damage. If the fire doesn't get you, the firemen will. This was the pile-up in the window of the Frame store:

I have to guess that some of that stuff, particularly the poignant, face-down stuffed animal, came from the apartments upstairs. The bus stop was a mess as well. Some anti-Bush group has taken to throwing their handbills on the ground, perhaps hoping that their littering will convince me of how serious they are about politcal reform and/or the $5 party they're throwing. This is in addition to the normal trash that people leave laying around because they're goddamn pigs.

Archaeologists say that every piece of trash tells a story. If so, I'm pretty sure I can guess the story of this little pile:

"Hold up, man, hold up, this one should work. Okay, let me try it again. Okay, one more time. Okay, let me try this one. One more time. Something must be wrong with the machine because I swear I just got this one ten minutes ago."

|W|P|115764570892237686|W|P|City Life, pt. 2|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/06/2006 05:42:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

|W|P|115758287357991401|W|P|You are what you eat|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/06/2006 05:41:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|Sent out the first part of an entirely different project. Something I had come up with years ago, then forgot about, then remembered when I was cleaning up my bookshelf. I think it's a really cool idea, and we'll see how many other people think so as well. Oh, I'm so mysterious...|W|P|115758254878620318|W|P|Project 1|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/05/2006 04:45:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|Worked in some new bits for the THACO DVD. Sketching out what I want it to look like visually. Listing vignettes for Marriage. Felt good. So tired.|W|P|115749305156042047|W|P|In a hole, in the ground...|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/04/2006 06:42:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

The birthday party of Allegra Lingo turned out to be quite the to-do; Lots of fun Fringe folk tured out including Leigha Horton and Kate Hoff, flanking the birthday girl in the photo above. It's been about three weeks since the end of the Fringe and already it feels like forever. Got to catch up with Matthew Everett, who's getting his show produced in PA, as well as Matthew Foster, who took time out of his drinking with theatre artists to discuss how we should organize more drinking amongst theatre artists. I got to meet the Zoe of note; a auspicious meeting: her dog sniffed my butt. Man, everybody was there, even our new Fringe overlord who snagged a monkey shaped cupcake through the fence before disappearing into the night. Okay, fun time over, monkey-cakes digested and beer enjoyed. Now to get to work. Right... after... this... nap...|W|P|115741366404234468|W|P|Winky, Inky and Clyde|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/05/2006 11:46:00 AM|W|P|

Scrappy|W|P|Thanks for coming yesterday! I'm still hungover.9/05/2006 08:27:00 PM|W|P|

Anonymous|W|P|"Don't you know, in this new dark age, we're all light." -XTC9/04/2006 12:11:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

Went to the State Fair today because the Shazz was on KARE-11. Next to their barn (the old birthing barn), I took this shot outside the restroom building. Seemed very album-covery.|W|P|115739022921109442|W|P|Pay phone|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/04/2006 07:39:00 AM|W|P|Bill|W|P|There's a scene in Kurosawa's Dreams where a painter meets Vincent Van Gogh (played by Martin Scorcese). Van Gogh is standing in the middle of a field of sunflowers with his easel, and he turns around, looks at the painter and says, "Why aren't you painting?" Rough night last night. I was woken up repeated by theatre dreams, and I don't think they were entirely caused by the crummy burger I had on the way back from Duluth. The only one I remember distinctly was MoCW director Reid Knuttila "reminding" me that my remount of THACO opened in two days. Two days? Shit! I have to get a theatre, get the actors, write the show... And then I woke up. Went back to sleep and I think I had a dream about doing publicity photos for Imaginary Conversations from a Real Marriage. At any rate, I was agitated about getting the perfect image for the poster. So agitated, in fact, that I woke up. This happened about four times. Okay, already; I get it. I need to start writing again. I need to get cracking on the DVD version of THACO. I need to finish the rewrites on Watching Porn and talk to theaters about doing a remount. I need to take me list of ideas for Imaginary Conversations and start writing them out. Let me sleep!|W|P|115737453815089238|W|P|Theatre dreams|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/01/2006 05:44:00 PM|W|P|Bill|W|P|

The problem with Vanilla Soy and Double Stuf Oreos is that the cookie never gets fully soggy. Perhaps the soy molecule is too big to penetrate the dense Stuf nucleus.

Seriously, that Oreo was floating there for like, five minutes. Real milk would have reduced to a dense syrup on the bottom of the glass. God I miss milk.

|W|P|115715098983817348|W|P|Soyreo|W|P|dynayellow@gmail.com9/02/2006 11:33:00 AM|W|P|

Mimi|W|P|......I feel sad about the cookie!9/02/2006 01:21:00 PM|W|P|

Bill|W|P|That Oreo is somehow a metaphor for our souls...