Art Nouveau Ho

I have been living in my new house for about a year now. The changes it has wrought in my life are fairly astonishing.

Having a living room which doubles as a rehearsal venue means that I'm meeting all sorts of artists. Not that I have to be super-close friends with everyone who uses the space, but it's always cool when that happens spontaneously.

My friend mothninja's show The White House was a particular boon; the director and the AD have both since used my place to rehearse other shows, which has been good. Some of the alumni from those are coming over on Friday for a Shakespeare reading-and-working session. That play also introduced me to a circus artist whose aerial hoop class I joined, which has been an enormously fun skill to acquire. And then she moved to LA and left a bunch of her stuff with me, which means I now have an aerials rig in my living room. Hell yeah.

All sorts of people have been using the space, but there's a core of artists now who come by regularly enough that it feels a bit like having a family. To a long-term bachelor like me, that's a fairly mindblowing concept. Obviously these things work best when one doesn't get emotionally overinvested, but I am grateful for and happy with the friends I've made. To say nothing of the dividends of the free-rehearsal-space-for-free-catsitting exchange.
( CAT UPDATE within )
So... a family. At least for now. The new house sort of attracted the life that goes with it, and that life turns out to be pretty damn awesome. Obviously I could still wish for more work, but at least the downtime's not being wasted.

An Appeal to Cats in the Business of Love
by Thomas Flatman

Ye Cats that at midnight spit love at each other,
Who best feel the pangs of a passionate Lover,
I appeal to your scratches, and your tattered fur,
If the business of Love be no more than to Purr.
Old Lady Grimalkin with her Gooseberry eyes,
Knew something when a Kitten, for why she was wise;
You find by experience the Love fit's soon o'er,
Puss! Puss! lasts not long, but turns to Cat-whore.
Men ride many Miles,
Cats tread many Tiles,
Both hazard their necks in the Fray;
Only Cats, when they fall
From a House, or a Wall,
Keep their feet, mount their Tails, and away!