Leave a Trace

Yesterday, the wakeup call came at 5:45 a.m. (4:45 Chicago time) and I kicked into gear: getting my stuff together, packing my bag, visiting my blog, checking out the news, taking a hot shower (I pointed the nozzle at my lower back and let the hydro-therapy do it's magic). Living in a hotel is an 'anonymous' experience, you have access to a room, but it is not yours, you fill it up with your things, but they don't really belong there. How was it that Warren Beatty and Howard Hughes spent all those years living in hotel rooms?

N.Y. -- Brooklyn and Manhattan -- amazing. The cityscape is so large, so all-encompassing, you can't help but feel small, insubstantial: how to make a mark, leave a trace? The flight out of La Guardia was all blue sky, smooth ride. Easy landing at O'Hare. Happy to be home.

We shot video yesterday afternoon, I think we captured some nice images of Wahid playing 'Rashid.' Tonight we will review the tape. I will have to do some creative editing around sounds at Peter Jones: slamming doors, heavy footsteps, the el, the train, music, laughing, talking. Where is the sound of silence when you need it?

Last night, I took a hot bath, really sunk into the tub, sipped a glass of Australian Shiraz (a light smooth taste) and read 'Will in the World.' Jack Kerouac used to spend hours in the tub, reading books. It's a great way to 'absorb' literature. Went to bed early. This morning feel happy, 'sunny,' refreshed. Today is a long 'Goodbar,' rehearsal. 'There's no place like home.' 'Home is where you hang your hat.'