Statues

On Sunday, the American Theater Wing gave out the Tonys...to many of the wrong people. A jukebox musical (although supposedly the best of the genre) won for best original musical, and Michael Cerveris and Patti LuPone got dicked over by the dude who plays Frankie Valli and LaChanze. Admittedly, I haven't actually SEEN Jersey Boys or The Color Purple but, first of all, I'm so sick to death of people winning for impersonations--fuck Philip Seymour Hoffman in Capote, fuck Jamie Foxx in Ray...hell, fuck Johnny Depp in Pirate of the Caribbean; they're all great actors, but why give them their top accolades for channeling real people?--and second of all, I hear from my most trusted sources that neither of them was as awesome as the Sweeney Todd folks.

But despite the slightly unfortunate outcome, the evening was stellar. I dragged V and brought Adam to Greg's party in his apartment. The guest list was: Greg, me, V, Adam, Megan (Greg's roommate), Mike (Greg's other roommate), Rob (Mike's boyfriend), Ashish and Rachel (Greg's friends, a couple), Stephanie N. (awesome glee clubber whom I don't see enough...and Greg's friend), and Courtney and Marcello (roommates, and friends of Mike and Rob). I think that's it. It was great...what can I say? Watching theater with some of my favorite dorky men...making brilliantly hilarious catty comments with Greg and Vaughan...eating the delicious finger foods...staring at Mike's seriously overpumped arms...what else could one ask for in an evening? Well, deserving winners, I suppose, but not much else. Good times, great oldies.

But no KOOL 96.7! It's gone with the wind (say it with the long I). There is now no New York oldies station, and that's really, really depressing. I suppose my classic rock station is now as oldies as it gets. Shame, that.

So, today's been one of those hideously annoying days of perpetual pseudo-deja vu. About once every 45 minutes my mind quickly remembers a scene...whether it's from a dream or real life, I can't quite tell. But before I can actually place it or absorb what it is, it's gone, and I can't remember the glimpse I got. It's really quite frustrating. I know from experience (this happens from time to time), that try as I might, I will never be able to figure out where the scenes are from (they're all from the same thing, I think). I just need to accept it for the day, and I'll wake up feeling normal. Still, it's always disturbing when your body or mind betrays you. It's like feeling seriously nauseated...a constant you always count on is suddenly disturbed beyond your control. While the snippets feel intimately familiar when they come into my mind...who's to say they're actually from something, even a dream? It's wholly possible that they're just made up but have familiar feelings associated with them. It gives you perspective on how much of consciousness is controlled by hormones and not by actual thoughts. Creepy.