I think I'm dying or something. The last guy who lived in my house died--some horrible, lingering illness. We bought the house because it was cheap...and also because it's a cool-looking old place, a bit creaky, with a peaked roof like a witch's hat. Right after my wife and I moved in, a couple of old ladies from the Historical Society came by and gave us some information on the house: apparently George M. Cohan used to practice piano in our living room. I'd like to know how anyone got a piano in here. It's weird to see a funky little gingerbread house like this in the middle of the city, which is why I like it. I'd have been dead long ago if I had to live in the fucking suburbs. The basement is really something out of a horror movie, with its uneven stone steps and walls, which probably leak radon into the house. And the cobwebs. I should do something about the cobwebs, and the weird black fungus, but I figure it's probably too late--the best I can do is just die here and let the next guy deal with it.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
This weekend I'm acting in another of Cyrus Leddy's weird and wonderful plays: "Destefano On the Air--Episode One: The Rescuer." The play is presented in the format of a radio serial, and it's about popular delusions of heroism, particularly as depicted in movies. It's playing January 15th and 16th at 7:30pm, at the Perishable Theater, 95 Empire Street, Downtown Providence. Admission is only $5. I've been in a number of Cyrus's plays over the years, and they're always tragically delicious. Don't be late!