straight up with a twist

Sometimes a martini takes three hours to go down, especially when you're going head to head, downing gin with fearless and underrated legend T.S. and having such a conversation as impedes normal motor function.

I had almost forgotten how passionate I am about theatre theory, and lit and life and making unpopular choices. Funny how easy it is to get lost on the seventh story of a gray-walled office building in New York, stuck in the stagnance of living paycheck to hopelessly acquired paycheck, forgetting what it is to make bold strokes.

Yeah man, I learned to tango—albeit poorly. I walked away from the machine that turns out the factory-issue networking actor wannabes (because I am incapable of promoting myself) and if that means I don't make a career out of bad productions just because it's a quote unquote career, so be it. There's no rule that says I can't produce my own work and sound my barbaric yawp in my own key and cadence. (Sorry, Walt, for the paraphrase.) And in the meantime, I will figure out a way to pay the bills that won't suck my soul out of my nose.

Sometimes it just takes a little "hell yeah" from a lady who once sat on stage in nothing but a bonnet as a naked Mrs. Blake over tea and newspapers.