"You're not the only one with mixed emotions..."

So, a lot has happened in the world of Joe since my last blog post. The big thing, I s'pose, is that on Friday, the theater what is producing my show announced to the world that they were, in fact, producing the show. Yes, kids. The BLACK SUITS is a secret mistress no longer. My show has graduated from being the brother in THE PILLOWMAN whose parent's keep chained up in the hidden torture room to being Billy Crudup, the other brother... who is a writer... a writer whose refusal to change his words leads to him getting shot in the head by Jeff Goldblum .

At any rate, as many of you have already emailed/called me about, the blurb that appeared on all the theater websites was CLEARLY not written by me and makes the show sound kind of drag-ass. It is not. For those of you who were exposed to the Suits back in the day at NYU, please know that it is not that different. Two years have made it a better show, but it's still the same show. All the same songs and characters and it's still funny and loud and energetic and has lots of heart and stuff. For those keeping track- the latest version of the script has 34 uses of the word 'Dude," 68 uses of 'Man,' and whopping 113 uses of 'Fuck.' (Which includes all iterations of the F-Word... "motherfucker," "fucking asshole," "Fuck Sucker," etc.)

For those of you who have never seen/read/heard the Black Suits, this is what it's really about:

THE BLACK SUITS is a rock musical about a Long Island garage band. It’s about the friendship between a lead singer who gets panic attacks and a guitar player who sets things on fire. It is about dreams of fame, escaping the suburbs, blood, Pop Tarts, drug runs, The St. Anne's Battle of the Bands, blue hair, and the undying, transformative coolness of rock and roll music. Fuck, yeah!

Sound good? Sound enticing? Awesome. Buy a couple-a tickets. Incidentally, tickets will probably go on sale in ten million years, when the show actually opens.

So, yeah. I am, of course, very stoked about my show being produced, it's just the thought of having to wait Another year makes me sad and sort of sick-feeling. My cousin Doris Anne says I have no patience. She is very correct.

Moving on from matters theatrical, does anybody know of a bar that happens to have a piano where I can go and play just for the hell of it? I'm not talking about a piano bar. I'm talking a pub or honky tonk or maybe even a what-have-you where they just Happen to have a piano in the corner that is begging to be played by me. If anyone knows of a bar that fits this description, lay it on me.

I hate umbrellas.

In case anyone hasn't seen me lately, I am now sporting a full beard. I love my beard. It feels the way I imagine Bob Ross's hair might feel. Well, the way it might've felt when he was alive. Not now.

Dunkin Donuts is so crowded today. It must be this kickass too-cold-for-spring weather. I love this weather so much. I'm trying to desperately cling on to the winter- I miss it when it leaves. I actually said that to someone yesterday, and she replied: "Joe- you're crazy!" And then I was like: "Grandma, Fuck You," and I totally punched her right in the face. Oh grandma. Will she ever learn not to back-talk? Nah, probably not.

-joe