I don't spend my days thinking about you.

But I sure do spend my nights that way.

Santa (my mom) has agreed to get me therapy for Christmas, and it's a fantastic idea. I'm really quite excited about it, and I plan to make my intake appointment tomorrow. The idea that I'm going to actually get the professional help I need without a giant financial burden is a huge weight off my shoulders.

Maybe next year Santa Obama will bring me health insurance.

Hustle for Health Care

A little unemployment is looming ahead while I try to break my way into set life, so the time had come for me to once again take up the mantle of the Giant Disco Party. When I put this project down I had been trying to think of the right cause for my party to benefit. Today I was laboriously updating my wrap files when a Twitter update from Barack Obama flashed onto my screen. "In August, the health insurance reform debate comes home. This is the moment our movement was built for."

"BOOM!" went the lightning in my brain.

So this fall, Kyle the Girl will present to you:

The Local 0 Hustle for Health Care (Working Title).

Now I need to find a worthy universal health care advocacy group that can help make my voice heard, not to mention the rest of the nonunion film industry workers (Local 0), not to mention the millions of other Americans without health coverage. I believe everyone has a right to health care, and I'm appalled that America doesn't lead the way in that particular enterprise.

So. Anyone know any liquor marketing reps? A good DJ who might donate a few hours? Someone with an amazing raw space downtown? A few cool people to invite?

Thinking about it further, I'd love to make it a little carnivally. I know a lot of circus-freak type people who could really make a cool vibe... Or maybe I should just stick with the disco thing.


kyle the girl
(on iPhone)

Slowin' My Roll

Welcome, new old readers, to the safe little nook of privacy in which I now write. See? I wasn't avoiding you, I was just safeguarding myself against the beady, prying eyes of toothless people from my past.

Anyway.

So I chose my half marathon. It's gonna be in Staten Island (I know) on October 11. The reason I picked Staten Island (here's the part where I justify) is timing. I could have rushed and ran in Queens, but this way I've afforded myself a few more weeks of training. Since this last job worked me until I contracted the flu (they quarantined me to my apartment for three days and I almost lost my mind), I think it's okay to admit that I fell off the wagon for a few weeks there. I got back on tonight with a jaunty 5 miler that took me over hill (Cobble Hill) and dale (I think 4th Avenue qualifies, right?).

But, like I said, I came down with the flu. I showed up to work Tuesday and the President took one look at me, felt my forehead, and put me in a cab. I thought it would only last a day. I thought they were overreacting. I can't afford to not work. So the next day I showed up, did my thing, then all of a sudden at noonish I couldn't remember my name, much less what PO I was working on or where to sell short ends of film stock. I had no choice. I melted into a feverish puddle on the floor and then slithered downstairs and somehow took a subway home. All I really remember is the glorious moment when I fell into bed.

The Pres said go to a doctor. The catch-22 is that I can't really afford a doctor if I'm not working a full week. How many people reminded me this week that I don't have health insurance? How many needed to?

The long and short of it is that, between more running and a grim reminder of the fragility of my nonunion body, I am making a vested effort to slow down a little. I am staying in tonight. I have 3:10 to Yuma on Netflix and a whole binder full of menus to choose from.

That's right, it's Saturday. And I'm staying in.


And it's such a relief.