Wednesday, March 05, 2003

Blah, Blah, Blah...
Or, Warning: Bitchy Post Ahead

I'm very susceptible to outside influence. I've been moody of late, as in the bipolar sense of ecstatic one minute and hiding under the bed the next and I'm listening to this morose Sinister mix tape. I just got two. One is Grr-eat and one is currently making the idea of slitting my wrists attractive again.

I'm not going on about how generally disatisfied I am or how much I want a boyfriend or a career. I waste far too much time here whining and whining is UNPRODUCTIVE.
Although I think I realized one of the reasons I like having a boyfriend. Yeah, I imagine there are more, like sex, but it's been so long I forget exactly what that is and why exactly it's desirable.
[Here I had to get up and change the CD. I'm listening to my Best of Edith Piaf album...]
Contrary to what you may gather here, I do not in fact talk about myself very much in person. Almost everything I talk about is what my friends have done, current events and obscure historical events/perspectives. At best, you might get the odd story of what I did five or ten years ago.
What you'd never, ever hear me discuss is how I feel, let alone why. Ever.
Unless you just happen to be the person I was going out with*.
That's what I miss. Talking about the way I feel to somebody who (presumably) understands. I feel like I know a lot of people and none very well. I certainly don't feel like anybody knows me very well. (Oh yeah? What am I most afraid of? See?)
I think the word I'm looking for is "intimacy." Yep. Got none o' that in these parts.

Intersexual Relations

There's this boy I kinda like at work. (No, of course I haven't talked to him like that. I like him.Though we do talk about music some, since he works at WXYC.) His best friend at work is a lesbian. I was talking to her today about him (Me: "Is he going to be at the Big Boring Meeting tonight? Her: Why? Me: No reason. Her: YOU LIKE HIM! Me: *stutters and ineffectively denies it*)
As I got back into our little cafe, the [straight] cashier asks: "Who are you talking about?" I refused to discuss the subject.
In thinking about this little exchange, I realized I'm pretty cynical about my relationship with straight people. At least at work. Especially straight boys. Often they'll ask what boy I like. I never tell them. I've never met boys that question did creep out at some level. They phreak if they think it's them, like I'm going to try to rape them in the workplace. And they suspect any innocent boy I might like as an automatic fag, which I don't necessarily want to happen to them.
It just doesn't do much good to ever answer that question at work.
Straight girls I will talk to, but I have to know them very well. I tend to think they'll immediately run and tell said boy and create the whole situation over again.
Gay girls and boys are different. I fee like, wait, I know, they know the score. It's a bit moot as I think I'm the only gay boy at work, but there are very many girls at work. A LOT.
Isn't this dumb? I should have a bit more faith, but I *do* live in the South. I do have some experience in such relations and they all tend to support these views.
Also, this generally only at work. Outside it's a bit different. I'm hoping this is some attempt at professionalism.
Ha! The professional coffee-boy!

People, you need to comment more. I need feedback.

Book of the day: Thus Was Adonis Murdered, Chap. 5. I read this at work tonight during a store meeting about health care benefits and other general crap. The Prepared Foods Supervisor stared at me the whole time. We ARE paid for these meeting, but they're after we close (9 pm) two hours long, incredibly tedious and unabashedly repetitive and aimed at 6th grade level. I therefore brought a good book. I imagine I'll get bitched at tomorrow.
Oh well.

Word of the Day: Zeugma: the imagistic version of syllepsis: She went home in tears and a sedan chair. "Zeugma" is from the Greek word "to yoke". My antedeluvian book Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1929) says that only tired old Drama Critics use it in tired reviews for hackneyed comic effect.
Yeah. Gotta remember that.

This post brough to you by: Edith Piaf, "La Vie en Rose**", "Milord", "Le Piano Vieux", "Toujours Aimer", "Mon Dieu", "Hymne l'Amour"; Mozz, "You're the One for Me, Fatty"; Sara Vaugh, "Key Largo".

*Notice the past tense here

Tuesday, March 04, 2003

Fuck it all

This is the third time I've started to write this damn post. I keep going to fetch an address for a link to Duncan Sheik site's and losing the text at Blogger Editing.
Damn you Ducan Sheik! Damn you to hell! You shall get yours!

First things Second, now

Poked by Brian I went to this site, the video for a cute little novelty act.
It's great! It'll get stuck in your head and you'll sing it to yourself at work. At least, I did.
I need to get hardcopy to play on my show. I figure, Brian may be able to book 'em in New York, but I can play 'em in Durham.
I think I went out with one of these girls in high school*; I know for damn sure I did in college.
Anyway, the blonde's gay boyfriend is hott. If all goes to plan, I too shall fit into blue vinyl pants by June.

Housing Authority

I found a new place to live today. In Durham, in a nice, quiet little neighborhood near down town and my radio station. It's a house and it has hardwood floors, piano, cheap rent and they'll take my cat. I move in April.
I don't like not being down the street from Henry's or Cat's Cradle or the Orange County Social Club, but they're still close and I've not been frequenting them as much lately because of my poverty. And now I have an excuse to hang out in Durham places.

We're the Coolest Place in 1996 in 2003

The above was my response to being in my store Thursday. Two-thirds of the late Ben Folds Five were there (D*rren Jesse and Robert Sl*dge) and a Squirrell Nut Z*pper, Ken M*sher was around since he works there now. It was unintentionally catty.
They all were talking again together on Sunday, and I got waved over by Ken. We talked local music for a bit with me thinking "If only this had happened when I was a senior in high school..."*** We all began to deride...

Duncan Sheik or,
No, I Don't Really Care If He Reads This

First of all, a review if his newest album (Daylight, I think. I can't be bother to find our for certain. I DO know the single is called "On a High" because I was assailed by it when I visited his website for some addresses) from the Lost at Sea website here.
It equally applies to David Grey*** or John Mayer**** as That Heterosexual Dave, who gave the address site, himself quipped.

I have a particular distate for Duncan Sheik as I used to have a wee crush on him. Think about: a tall, pale, dark, melacholy boy who plays the acoustic guitar and moans about being alone. Definite crush matieral, yes? Here he is, as he would look: Just look! Note especially his tasteful lack of shown apparel.
Imagine my surprise when in fact, he looked like this: scroll down till you see his pic.
Eek! Talk about misrepresentation! If I were England, you'd better believe the Trade Descriptions Act would be invoked!
There's also a story about him being locked in a limo at a party by four girls. With that pic, I can believe it!
This is to say nothing about the progressively whinier, poppier music he creates.
I still like some of his older stuff (his last release, Phantom Moon, all acoustic music, is still good, but it was written as the soundtrack to a play and none of the lyrics are his own.)
He plays the Cat's Cradle in three weeks. I'm so there in heckle mode! I'm not bothering to get advances tickets as I can't imagine it selling out and I couldn't bare the smirks on the faces of the advance tix salespeople.
Duncan also claims to be working on a musical adaptation of Frank Wedekind's play Spring Awakening. It's all about teen sexuality -- its highlight is a circlejerk -- and has been censored since it was written (I'm relatively sure the unexpurgated version's not been done). Stop drooling, Andy.
How exactly this lends itself to faux-indie crooning, I don't know.
This bit does segue nicely into...

I'm in Transports of Delight, Yo!

Everyone's favourite concert venue just released its Spring Schedule here. Coming up this season: the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Cat Power, Arab Strap, Bright Eyes, Yo La Tengo, the Delgados and Spoon!
*Wiggles butt in rock anticipation mode*

Mundanities now

Book of the Day: Thus Was Adonis Murdered, Sara Cauldwell. This book makes me feel smart ans witty, like I could just manage to be one of the characters. They all seem terribly familiar. And I know some about the Art History of Venice, even if I've never been there. (Which is almost just as well as I understand the canals smell terribly.) I love the working of sex and gender into the story, in a way that lets you speculate what Britian would have been like in a warmer climate. A bit wordy, but worth it.
I suspect the narrator is female (you can't tell) merely ona hunch.

Dr Who of the Day: Doctor Who and The Enemy Within, or as it's more popularly known, The US Telemovie with the Pertwee Logo. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. All that was bad about the show cobbled together, then dumbed down and padded with needless action shots for the American audience. It has huge problems with script (how does the Master get in the TARDIS being the most glaring) and the show's history (Oh yeah, the Doctor's half human. We forgot to mention that.) Fannish pedanticism as that seems, it's worth noting. The NAME of the show is Doctor WHO. He is never called anything but "Doctor." He is supposed to be mysterious and alien. Not human. It's the basis of the show.
He certainly doesn't snog the girl!
And wasting 80% of the budget on the console room was silly. Even if it looked good.
Which was a shame, because Paul McGann was quite good. He provided an excellent basis for the Doctor in the BBC novels, a real foil to the dark, manipulative Doctor who followed him.

Word of the Day: syllepsis, in grammar, it is when one word performs to syntatical functions or a single word acts in two roles: "Pan with sheep, the Pythia with Laurels crowned." In more modern days, people confuse it with Zeugma.

Recommended television: Not Boomtown. Man, there's only so much plot you can cram in 52 minutes. The actors have so much going on they stop acting and just emote all over the place.


*Not literally. Just the type of girl

**Vowels removed to prevent errant googling. Well, how would you feel if you googled yourself only to come up with my bitchy remarks?

***Yeah, I listen to him, too.

****But NOT HIM. Ugh. He's a ponce royal.