every now and then a beautiful young lady with enormous fake


will come into my uber, sit in the front seat and either take pictures the whole time

or touch up some intricate and fascinating make up design while yapping it up with me.

today her name was melody and she was a welcome relief because the previous passengers

well, they werent my cup of tea lets say

melody somehow picked up on that while she worked the pencil

i bet you get a lot of jerks in here, huh?

we were at a stop light. i said, all of my passengers

are the most wonderful gentlemen and ladies

and then turned to her when she laughed.

you could probably write a book, she said, focusing into the compact mirror.

i could but one should probably just work super hard to be great at their job.

well youre doing that, arent you?

part of the job is getting people where they wanna go, true, but part is doing it in a safe environment

she was all, yeah, i guess so.

and i said, i mean this isnt the nsa or nothin

to dare too confidently or not dare at all? that is the question

vivian leigh in twelfth night

Sir John Gielgud directed the play of Twelfth Night which starred Vivien Leigh and her husband Laurence Olivier. 

Leigh was a manic depressive but Gielgud didn’t know how to work with that. Here’s something he wrote in his diary about entering the job of director of the play

Perhaps I will still make a good thing of that divine play, especially if he will let me pull her little ladyship (who is brainier than he but not a born actress) out of her timidity and safeness. He dares too confidently … but she hardly dares at all and is terrified of overreaching her technique and doing anything that she has not killed the spontaneity of by overpractice.

Maybe her OCD lead her to that terrible sin of overpractice?

Since when is being prepared – or in this case over-prepared a bad thing?

When it infringes on the magical moments when freestyling and improvising, even when rocking the eternal words of The Bard.

As I approach my 560th birthday i have been thinking about writing an autobiography, a memoir of sorts.

I feel like I’ve finally lived enough of a life to have some interesting tales to tell and I’ve learned a few valuable lessons.

But the thing that keeps holding me back are the thoughts I have about some of the influential people of my life.

Gielgud’s criticism of the two-time Oscar winner is fantastic. Who knew people thought that way, especially about her? But we’d never have that realization, especially today, if he hadn’t thrown her under the bus, in a way and wrote honestly in his own autobio.

Any good bio has heavy doses of sex drugs and rock n roll and my first inclination is to write it and tuck it away somewhere until my death when it will be unearthed.

But the problem with that is what if it’s misunderstood? Who would be around to set the record straight?

What if it became a hit? Who would go on the book tour?

Maybe I’m just as troubled as poor Scarlet. Doubt it. Maybe I should just wait to bust with it when I’m 600 and say fuck it here it is.

why is jack white not smiling

jack white

– hes at a Cubs game

– he doesnt have a magical xbi-issued Cubs hat (lost it? was it stolen?)

– he is not holding an Old Style

– he has forgotten that winning is not the point of going to Wrigley Field

– he is not in the bleachers

– he is at a night game

– theres not one black person around him

– he is just realizing that Harry Caray is no longer the announcer

– the Cubs are at least two years away from a world series (but probably three)

– no one knows the words to his new hit single and thus cannot sing along

– Chicagoans are lovable but keep calling him Jack Black (honest mistake)