I have too much work to do on the podcast admin today to do anything else. BUT, here is a thing. 

Last night, Vince wanted to go out to get something to eat, and he suggested The Ashburner Inn. I said okay. It just seems like a local pub, and I would have been perfectly happy to make scrambled eggs at home, because I was tired. But, I said okay, because we've never been there before. 

It's a sports bar in a converted old building on Torresdale Avenue. When we arrived, a ton of middle-class people were partying down to DJ Boringface or whoever this guy was. Hits from his fresh flow included Bob Seeger's "Old Time Rock n' Roll," and many other pop tunes, none of which existed before 1995. Fortunately, they had a separate dining area, which kept the party action at a distance. 

The food was variations on the hoagie, or things that can be made with hoagie-shop elements, with a huge emphasis on iceberg lettuce and mayonnaise. Vince wanted nachos. What we got was a plate of blue, red and yellow corn chips, covered in Velveeta, the mystery meat used in cheesesteaks, chopped tomatoes and iceberg lettuce. There was some salsa, sour cream and jalapeños on the side.  They had 12" pizzas, so Vince got a spinach, roasted pepper and mozzarella pizza. I wish I did. I got a wrap that was described as a Turkey Avocado wrap. It was turkey breast, a ton of iceberg lettuce, chopped tomato, bacon, a ton of mayonnaise, and not one hint of avocado. 

The menu also included a lot of buffalo sauce; buffalo chicken tenders, buffalo chicken pizza, buffalo chicken salad. But iceberg lettuce was in every dish except the pizza Vince ordered. I haven't seen that much iceberg since the Titanic. 

My yelp review will be five stars, starting with "Iceberg and mayonnaise lovers rejoice! The Ashburner Inn has finally accommodated your favorite cuisine!" 

It occurred to me, midway through the meal, that between the music, the food, and the general look of the place, that we must have time-traveled to 1991. Vince agreed. I suggested that we warn people about 9/11 and The Bush Administration, and he said, "They'll never believe you. That's the problem with being a time traveler."  

At least they had bacon. 

Time travel, iceberg: it was a Doctor Who episode waiting to happen, but I was too tired to write that spec script last night. 

Did admin stuff for the podcast today, nit-picky details like making sure things in Libsyn are set up properly. It seems too easy to be right. 

Did Day 2 of Week 1 of Couch to 5K today. It feels easier but still challenging. Took Squeaky for a walk and gave her a bath. She hated every second of it, but she seems more relaxed now. She smells like Dog, instead of Dog Who's Just Gone Swimming In Stale Budweiser. 

Today I got my rubber stamps in the mail, things I wanted for the letters to Indiegogo backers. One of them is hand-made and makes me really happy. It's a design I definitely could not find anywhere else, and I'm sort of surprised the person made it. But also grateful. 

I'm going to have to go to bed now; tomorrow's a long day at work. 

Lazy day today. Against my better judgement, I ignored the voices that said I should be house cleaning and podcast editing, and lay down for a nap. I snoozed and just had a little daydream, which became a dissection of Lysistrata and why I don't like it. 

Then it occurred to me to write a play in the style of Greek tragedy (with some comic elements) in response to Lysistrata, and as a prequel to Phaedra, about Hippolyta and Theseus. 

Ended up scribbling a couple of pages in a notebook about the idea. Theseus wants to conquer the Amazons and make Hippolyta his queen; Hippolyta will bear his son, who eventually will cause Theseus to lose the Greek throne through his own stupidity. 

Essentially, she's playing a very long game against Theseus. 

There is a lot of reading that needs to be done before I can move any further. It may be that Hippolytus' mother is Hippolyta's sister, and he was named for his aunt. 

I don't know why I want to write another play right now. But I do. I also think it's nice that this idea came out of a Sunday afternoon nap; it feels like it came from good soil. 

My friend James drove all the way the hell down from Brooklyn to play in a half-empty bar. He's playing his ass off. A bunch of dumb drunk bitches just showed up. One of them is giving him a look of pure disgust. She's blonde, with elfin looks, and I want to rip her hair out by its ugly dark roots and feed it to her. 

There's a play in this and I don't know what it is. 

I was a Kickstarter backer of The Theatre of the Tiny Clandestines. 

Today I received this in the mail: 

Pins! And a thank you note! And a story! 

OH MY. 

Which reminds me, I have my own fulfillment to do...

Maybe you've heard this already, maybe you haven't. 

Kyle Jean-Baptiste, the youngest and the first African-American actor to play Jean Valjean on Broadway, 21 years old, died either last night or this morning. He fell off of his mom's fire escape. 

I saw this video before, and it bugged me how hard these guys were on their mics (come on! let the mic do the work! it exists for a reason!), but I wanted to share it with you, if for no other reason, than letting his delivery of  "before you chain me like a slave again" resonate in your viscera, and how he sings "I am warning you, Javert" at 2:08. 

Whatever your art is, keep practicing. 

I promised to keep the bubble universe safe. I kept it on my finger. I watched it. I held it by my bedside and my place of bathing. 

Then I accidentally exposed it to Jill's voice. 

Her voice made me weep. I took my eyes off the bubble universe. Their membrane broke. 

The Hatters are free. The Tepid Witch laughs. At me. 

I failed. 

EDITED TO ADD; but after Jill's voice released The Hattervarse, Vince went into the studio to make music. 

this ring ended up on my finger today. I needed a magic ring, and now I have one. The true story involves a curiosity & antique shop, a raven-haired beauty, an odd little side street, and a missing husband dragged away by the siren song of curvaceous beauties.* Other than that, it's a very boring story. I need a better one. 

Tell me the significance of this ring, how I got it, and for what it's meant.  

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*Noise Pollution Records, Blue Bond Guitars.  

There's a weird little kid in my brain who doesn't want to go to sleep. She fights tooth and nail against it, because she thinks that night time is story time. It doesn't matter if the stories are bad or boring or repetitive. She keeps winding up the gramophone and putting the needle on the record. She's convinced that somewhere in the vast, ever-renewing record collection, there must be a good story. 

Some of her favorites include, "Why are you still so fat?" and "You haven't finished editing the podcast," and "How'd that whole grad school thing work out for you?" They're on the lower shelves and easier to find. I should get her a stepladder. or a library card. She also likes, "you should be knitting," which isn't a bad one, but it's long, and "maybe you should learn something useful, why not surf the internet?" which starts out pretty well, but ends up being a waste. 

Unfortunately, I'm a grown-up, with a grown-up's body, and I need sleep. The weird little kid doesn't come around much during the day. If I try to summon her, she hides behind the dishes and laundry and the dog. or she puts a record on the gramophone that really sucks. 

I'm trying to distract her tonight. I'm loading Euphoria by Lily King onto my Audible app. I took two Alteril. I'm hoping that maybe this will help her climb up onto the higher shelves and find something else to crank up to amuse herself. Then, maybe I can get some rest. 

I just googled Alteril and found it's been known to cause headaches, anxiety, depression or not work at all. Cripes, who knew a cocktail of melatonin, tryptophan and valerian could be so dangerous? 

...took two isolated women to the ocean and helped them swim in it.