35 years old this Friday June 1st.
Does it mean anything? The past ten years? In 1997 at this time, I was just two months and one summer class of German II away from graduating from FSU.
I wouldn't want to solely live in the past, still I wouldn't mind one of those out of body flashback experiences.
Sometimes aplace can seem special and essential even though you have to leave it. So much of Tallahassee, Florida in the mid nineties was like that to me. I lived in an apartment the same size as the one I live in now, it had central air and the rent was a whopping 235 dollars a month. I spent most nights at the Epitome coffeehouse which was this sprawling basement coffeehouse with access to this new this they called the world wide web. Also, they had the best black bean quesadilla I ever ever ate.
I use to spend my days at the University library which had more books that the Harold Washington. I would listen to John Zorn on m walkman and read articles from the Performance Art Journal and Yale: Theatre from back in the sixties and seventies.
Did I have more hope back then or was it a different quality of hope? I still hadn't gone to NYC. I still hadn't written a complete play or conceived of any of the things I did under the monkier of The Mammals. I still hadn't seen a Fellini Film, A Guy Maddin Film. There were untold treaures yet to be encountered. I remember thinking (god I hate the way this sounds) but I remember looking at my reflection in the glass of the Path train from hoboken to NYC thinking "I'm looking at the future of American Theatre". I look at my past reflection, I think about that kid and both have a little spasm of embrassment as well as a longing for youthful bragidociousness (sp?).
I have things I would not trade and that would prevent me from jumping backwards in time. The scripts I have written, the work I've done in the theatre...I wouldn;t want to lose those.
Yet there is melancholy
I'm not old, but any stretch but shit I'm out of shape.