And just like that a wind whipped up seventh avenue past all the buddhas and petals and the clouds grew gray and I said: “Uh oh, here comes Gary Oldman,” by way of quoting Coppola’s Dracula. Sure enough, when I got home there was an envelope of books from Conrad in Pittsburgh where he has me doing some work for a show at The Mattress Factory… I have a month to whip something up. No prob and I’ll be showing you the results as a running gag… should be an owl’s Halloween hoot (wait for punch line book).
So the sweety says, “Shure, but he’s not Gary Oldman.”
“No, but hopefully he can hold his own.”
Then we went to A&S to buy pork… what with it being Passover and all.
And Gary Oldman can even play a midget, or dwarf, or tree gnome I suppose, as I just watched him do in a lovely subtle large/small performance in TipToe. He was acting like E.T. and you could watch is heart light. Here’s my impression in the cracked mirror.
And so the whole thing was feeling like a witchy incantation (something to do with seeing Stevie Nicks on VH-2): by the pricking of my thumbs, something theatrical this way comes (beat) and so the last book was this one and when you combine contraception and riding broomsticks… well that’s wicked that is:
Grand Army Plaza is, as always, a great set and setting for a monologue on U.S. history.
