michael's communiqué #12|
Friends of friends,
Alright...so it's time to write a communiqué in one sitting...without any revisions. We've got about 36 hours until we're on a plane to Los Angeles and I'm sick of that damn gloomy communiqué about how Williamsburg sucks, spread across my page like some Sunday morning puke. I don't care how bad a particular cup of coffee is...I have so much more to be thankful for than any one bad gig, sour latte or dubious notdog should be able to undo. You just have to reflect upon your blessings...and be a little patient. Maybe play a song or two to help throw George Bush out on his ass, or buy Dan Treacy a guitar. Sometimes you've got to give your karma a little nudge. I mean...every little counts...when I am with you.
Last time 'round I complained about a NYC that seemed as simulated and unsatisfying as a vegan hotdog. Well Sunday I had a splendid vegan hot dog covered in pickles and toasted onions at a clever European Street food shop in Chelsea...and New York City seemed as delicious and reinvented as said weiner. So perhaps change is all about timing...and which direction you are facing. Being open to changing yourself and letting the world change you. Between Consolation and Desolation there is the dignity and inspiration of simply being alive and strutting around on two legs sound enough to carry you from one moment to the next. God's work in having forged us in poetry is finished the moment we learn our own names. We can console ourselves in that.
So I was in Chelsea because we were shooting a video/3-minute-and-2-seconds-art-film for "The Happiest Days of My Life" in the Chelsea Hotel across the street. We spent the better part of the weekend filming in an Irish cafe in Sunnyside, inside a warehouse soundstage in Williamsburg, and alongside the ghost of Nancy Spudgen in Chelsea. It was a really exciting process, and allowed me to put on my writer/artdirector hat in a collaboration with brilliant young director Jake Hensberry and his team at Fear of Fenchurch productions. I am really anxious to see the end project which features me as a kind of fallen Catholic gangster...Andrea as the young Mia Farrow, and Marsha Aliaga as the ghost of Joan of Arc in various states of undress. I'm not even kidding.
But more pressing is The Faves return to Hollywood. I'm nervous but hoping for the best. I've always fantasized about moving there after all idealism has turned to pretension like Fitzgerald losing himself in a jar of gin while writing for the movies. But you know what...I have no plans on losing my idealism anytime soon...and I've always been able to be pretentious right here in New York! So instead I'll trace Dean's steps at the Griffith Observatory...and wait for the Mission bells in San Francisco. Tell your friends to meet me on the pavement.
Last week there were a couple of strangely cool, downright Autumnal days...which occurred in a week warm with strife and melancholy for me. They reminded me of the mysteries of October, the softness of hearts like piles of leaves, and the feeling that it will all make sense somewhere, sometime. Love is so complicated and being on one's own is downright scary until you remember you never really are. Not while you've got a song in your heart.
More after California. Hope to see you there...or in Donnie Darko's dreams...
Michael Grace Jr.