"Green Eyes" (Erykah Badu, Mama's Gun)

Congratulations to Elizabeth Meriwether and her upcoming Yale Rep show, which I'ma have to see since I missed its premiere in New York.

But I retain my right to jealousy. Liz was a year behind me at big blue, and now she's gonna get a play up at a theater where not all that many Yale School of Drama playwrights get plays up, proportionally to the number of useless degrees handed out. (Lewis Black graduated from YSD as a playwright, now he's a standup comic who doesn't write his own Daily Show segments and whose shit I'm basically tired of.) That shit is impressive in sheer terms of speed success. Two years out of college I was drunk alone on the old, itchy-ass couch watching a World Series I had no real rooting interest on eating pickles. (But two years out of college was...oh yeah, last year.)

Time to begin working again on my 1185-page magnum opus again. It's a bildungsroman about a young man, Notebooks of the Artist as a Young Man. It also literally consists of my notebooks, not even typed out, just as they are, illegible and coffee-stained. It's a harrowing tale, with fragments of like 14 of my more unfinished/unfinishable plays. Pulitzer Prize, here I comes!

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