For those who are new to reading this blog, I am a freelance worker and my prospective income has taken a bit of a pounding lately due to some unexpected schedule changes by my main client. As the reality of having to find new freelance accounts sinks into my inertia-bathed brain, I did a bit of work on speculation this week, hoping it will bring in some extra cash. I was pleased with the result, and hope the potential client for it will be, too.

Still, I sometimes feel befuddled by anxiety and don't know where to start. I have to make "to do" lists to remind myself of steps to take. And I haven't made that list yet today...

A problem with working at home is that you can get easily distracted. I get less distracted when I have a specific task to accomplish; but when I have to do something more amorphous such as pitch my talents or ideas, I just want to bury my head in the metaphorical sand and read a film buff magazine. Oh yes, here's an article I MUST READ NOW about a rare Bela Lugosi film...

I go onto the classified ad site craigslist looking for potential freelance opportunities, and then when I've read enough of these grammatically-challenged ads offering no compensation for enormous amounts of work, my attention swerves to the always fascinating "Casual Encounters" and "Women Seeking Men' sections. Mm, a twentysomething Asian babe has fantasies of being a "slave girl" to a "white master"...however, that's not me. I'd rather be submissive myself to a haughty Asian chick and please her exactly as she'd like...

Why couldn't I get a job doing that?

Because I bet they're all taken, and understandably so.

Nonetheless, I'll keep my eye out for any ads like, "Evil Geisha seeks White Fool."

All right, I'm just horsing around. I really have to do something productive today. I can throw out a quip or two here, but when I really start to feel like I'm just goofing around with my day instead of making strides, I get depressed.

Sir Cranky depressed is not a pretty sight.

So let me make that "to do" list now. I'll check in again tomorrow.

When it’s raining here in New York, it can seem terribly dreary. For me it turns the afternoon prematurely into night, as I close my blinds so people on the street won’t see into my lower-floor apartment when I turn the lamps on. I live in the midtown area, and thousands of people go by every day. When I get ready to take a shower, I also close the blinds so I won’t shock the eyeballs of passersby as I strip down to my hairy soft nude bod...

You know, I think I take a certain pleasure in portraying myself in this cartoonish way. My actor-writer friend Sid told me I describe myself a little too harshly sometimes. Well, anything for a laugh...

About three decades ago, I considered doing stand-up comedy, since I’m not a bad teller of jokes (something I learned from my late father), but the idea of having to work professionally for chortles and guffaws felt way too strenuous and nerve-wracking...

It’s like when I’m writing here; if I’m not trying to be funny, I frequently can be; but when I stretch for the chuckle, it sometimes doesn’t work. It’s one thing to fizzle on a blog; I don’t think it would be fun in a crowded (or even an empty) club.

Years ago, I had a night job, and when I got off at 11 p.m. I’d still be wound up, so I’d go over to the Improv, a famous comedy club near Times Square where many rising stars, like Richard Lewis of Curb Your Enthusiasm, would practice their craft. Lewis acted as emcee for the shows sometimes, and he was a scream. It was a great bargain--as I recall, I sometimes got two solid hours of comedy for the price of a couple of beers. There was another guy who was very funny named Ed Bluestone, but I lost track of him. Elayne Boosler was another up-and-comer I’d frequently see there--and I found her pretty sexy, too. I kept imagining taking to the stage myself, but could never make the leap. Besides the hot talents, I saw lots of bad comics who couldn’t get a laugh even if it meant saving their grandmothers from the electric chair, and their situation seemed pathetic indeed when they would be met by stony silence or nasty hecklers.

I guess if I really wanted to be a comedian, I would have become one. But I definitely admired stand-up comics when I was growing up. Everybody from Alan King to Myron Cohen to Pat Cooper to Shecky Greene to Jackie Mason to Jackie Vernon to Joey Bishop...all those guys we’d see on the Tonight Show, Ed Sullivan, and other tv venues. Don Rickles, Buddy Hackett, Woody Allen, George Carlin, Richard Pryor, Bill Cosby, Totie Fields, Flip Wilson, Mort Sahl...and the great impressionists Frank Gorshin, David Frye, and Rich Little. Loads, loads of laffs! I'm know I'm forgetting some names...

I didn’t catch Lenny Bruce until long after he’d died, in clips in documentaries or on recordings. Of course, he’s the writer and star of one of my very, very favorite films, the low-budget 1950s trash classic Dance Hall Racket, which I’ve written about on this blog.

I stopped going to the Improv when other things beckoned my interest, but I’ve never lost my admiration for people who can tell a story and give me a good laugh. I don’t keep up with modern comedians, but when I recently saw Lisa Lampanelli do a bit on a cable tv roast, she was unbelievably funny. I’ll have to catch one of her shows sometime!

I went to see the 1974 movie California Split yesterday at a revival showing downtown at the Film Forum. What an excellent film. I'd seen it a few times back in the 70s but hadn't viewed it since; still, so much of it was vivid in my memory.

It's about two gamblers played by George Segal and Elliott Gould, and their various adventures and misadventures playing poker, craps, roulette, and so forth. We see their friendship with two hookers played by Ann Prentiss and Gwen Welles, and observe the contrast between Segal's anxious character and Gould's raffish rogue, and how their personalities affect their outlook on gambling.

George Segal's character in the movie has always reminded me a lot of myself. As I am conflicted in my relationships with strippers and women in general, so is he in his relationship to gambling. I wish I were more like the un-introspective, happy-go-lucky guy that Gould plays.

The movie is available on DVD, but I'm glad I saw it in a theater again. Although the subject matter was mundane, the screen was just eye-filling with beautifully etched scenes and faces and sounds, from the click of poker chips to the warbling of a cocktail lounge singer. It was like a time machine back into the 70s, not just with the clothes and cars but the jazzy cinematic rhythms of that era. Directed by Robert Altman and written by Joseph Walsh, the movie really puts you into its milieu of backroom poker games, Reno casinos, and shadowy bars. Yet the film feels improvised; rather than feeling as if it's following a corny, predestined "story arc" (to use a contemporary screenwriting term), California Split gives you the feeling of characters just living their lives.

There's a great scene where sad sack Segal almost makes love to lost soul Gwen Welles, who's taken a night off from hooking; you could have heard a pin drop in the theater when they were sharing the screen in a tender closeup. But then the scene goes in an unexpected direction that, while frustrating the romantic in me (the late Welles was a real honey and it sure would have been nice to see her take her clothes off!) was nonetheless in keeping with the realism of the movie.

Yes, this beautiful actress (who according to the Internet Movie Database, was born the same year as yours truly, 1951) died in 1993 of cancer. She was also in Robert Altman's classic Nashville.

Isn't it funny how I end up focusing on the actresses? Ann Prentiss, who played the other hooker, is actress Paula Prentiss' younger sister, and she sounds and looks a lot like sexy Paula, but is still her own unique self. There is one scene where Segal and Gould pretend to be vice detectives to scare off one of the girls' clients that is extremely funny even if it's also a bit cruel to the poor client.

I guess I'm withholding details about the story because I don't want to spoil it for you. Even on DVD, without the enfolding sensation of the big screen, California Split is worth watching; so if you haven't seen it, give it a try.

They were shooting a movie this morning up at Columbus Circle, and as I came back from breakfast I had to stand aside with a bunch of passersby so we wouldn't walk into camera range. There was one guy across the street who continued on his merry way, despite the production assistants waving to him to wait. "I don't have the time," he said, and kept walking. I wonder if he ruined the shot, or they could just take him out digitally...I thought he was an asshole for that, but maybe I'm too acquiescent. A lot of New Yorkers get quite miffed by having to wait for movie crews to do their thing...

It's been a beautiful day but I've spent the rest of it indoors. I feel slightly guilty for that, but since I was enjoying just hanging around and reading, what the hell...

I'm going downtown in a little while to meet a friend to see a film and have some dinner, so I will finally get out of the house...

I really like just "being," but I always feel I "should" be "doing something"...I even hesitated to write here this afternoon, as I feared it would break the flow of my just relaxing...

But I started to feel a little at sea, without putting down a few daily words.

It's funny how I always try to justify my pleasures. I actually enjoy staying inside on Sundays sometimes, despite the nice weather, because I get weary of all the crowds in midtown...I suppose if I just wanted to stay inside for its own sake, that would be okay...but instead I have to justify it by framing it with what I did: reading...

I find it hard to accept that sometimes I am accomplishing my purpose on this earth simply by "being"...

Because I certainly spend enough time "doing."

So far I'm succeeding in just relaxing this weekend, a plan I mentioned in yesterday's entry. Had a leisurely breakfast, followed by a walk in the cool autumn sunshine downtown in Chelsea. For those of you who don't live in New York, Chelsea is a busy and lively neighborhood halfway between Greenwich Village and Times Square, known as much for its varied shopping (everything from Home Depot to boutiques), its constantly sprouting huge new apartment buildings, and lots of hot restaurants and clubs.

There's a grizzled old guy who wears a captain's hat and sells used paperback books out of his truck in the area, and I browsed at his table for a few minutes. That's where I found a copy of The World of Suzie Wong last summer, a book I enjoyed immensely. But nothing caught my eye this time, so I crossed the street over to Barnes & Noble and checked out their always inviting assortment of new books. I didn't buy anything, though...instead I stopped at a large newsstand and found the latest issues of Shock Cinema and Movie Collectors World, two publications about vintage flicks that I regularly read.

Something of interest in my midtown neighborhood today were the auditions for the "Hottest Mom in America" contest, which were held at a studio a few blocks from where I live. I was coming home from breakfast and I saw all these attractive women in a long line that snaked around the corner. The ladies were of every conceivable type, more than a few displaying low-cut decolletage and bare midriffs, and they were waiting to go upstairs for their auditions. One gal was even dressed in a belly dancer's outfit. There was also a street fair on the avenue, and guys were standing around with their cellphones snapping photos of the gals. Video crews were also interviewing the ladies about their hopes for the contest. One very tanned babe, about thirty-five with long jet black hair and deep cleavage in her black bustier, was mugging for the camera and making like a boxer, throwing jabs at the camera. There was one black gal in the line who wore a short skirt, and the backs of her knees were so strong and sexy looking...hmm...she gets my vote...

Just had a nice chat with my old writer-editor friend Mr. Stetson on the phone. He lives outside of the city. He left me a comment on yesterday's post and I called him up, and we covered a lot of territory on sundry topics. I think we actually solved the age-old question of "What do women want?"--but until I can verify our findings definitively, I won't post our conclusions. It was good talking with him, we go back a long way and share an irreverent attitude about the absurdity of the world. Sometimes there's nothing as good as sharing a few hearty laughs with an old pal.

So, I actually am relaxed, blogging away, and sipping a shot of Emmett's Classic Cream, the tasty Irish liqueur. I guess Sir Cranky CAN chill out when he puts his mind to it...even though with this cold I caught, I haven't stopped blowing my nose for the last hour! Poor nose!