Friday, October 29, 2004

The * Being

Congrats if you recognized that quote from Doctor Who and The Pyramids of Mars; more if you realize Sutekh is the name of a crappy techno band.
Kneel... Kneel before the Might of Sutekh!*

You're the Indie Guru!
You're the Indie Guru!
Take What sort of Hipster are you? today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Personality Test Generator.

You're practically too cool for words. You've got more indie rock knowledge in your pinky finger than Guided By Voices has songs! You went to your first Mudhoney concert when you were 14. You knew Green Day before they sold out to the masses. You can name every side project Lou Barlow has been in, complete with all album and song titles. You throw out words like "Thurston," "lo-fi," and "Kill Rock Stars." You wear jeans, old band tees, Converse. You hang with other gurus and people you can lord over. You're intelligent, but big-headed. Passionate, but hot-tempered. You will one day rule the earth.

*Whomp* My Name Is
*Bib* Ny Name Is

So last night was the Grad School party. It was also the night for celebrating one of my professors' retirement. The very professor, it turns out, who endowed by grant. Being a Solemn Occassion, evry single award winner since 1993 was there. They were an impressive lot, a professional director, the head archivist from the New York Public Library Theatre Archive, a CUNY PhD candidate, etc, etc.
And me.
They all spoke at length how Prof. X had touched their lives and affected their work. I stood to the side with my fellow first years, drinking very cheap white wine and hoping I wouldn't have to speak.
This turned out to be the least of my problems.
When the last of the past fellows had spoken, the head of the college announced it was now time to award this year's prize.
The 90+ year old professor stood up, squinted at the envelope and said:
"I'd like to award this year's prize to...
... Joel Anders!"

Just to make the situation more comfortable, the current head of the graduate program hissed in the world's sotte voce, "IT'S JASON ECKARD!"
The august professor stared at me for a second or two, threw down her hands and went "Oh, him!" and said to me, "You got it" and sat back down.

Not that I'm complaining too much, mind you. The money was spent today on the rest of my textbooks for the semester, and rent and groceries to keep me alive (and a Dr Who book and Belle and Sebastian vinyl), and the esteemed professor was 91 years old, but still...

UPDATE: the situation was not healed in class today when the chair of the department demanded one "Joshua" to read alound. When (after a minute or so) I looked up to see why no-one was reading, said professor was looking at me.
"My name isn't Joshua."
"Oh," he said. "Read it anyway."

Tuesday, October 26, 2004

Practice, Practice, Practice...

I realized today that the big red sandstone building I think looks at my subway stop for work (at 57th and 7th) is, in fact, Carnegie Hall. Go fig.

It was near this very corner today when I was approached by a campaign worker for the Democratic party. He was all eager, running up to the unlucky and pestering them. He was also pretty cute. When he zeroed in on me (I had sadly neglected to wear my headphones) I tried to escape. No joy. After he asked me "Are you registered to votem, sir?", I had a momentary image of giving him head. (He was cute, okay.) I laughed quickly because that was a fairly grossly inappropiate thing to do. He asked me if I thought the election was funny. Pissed off, I decided to tell him The Truth.
"Okay," I said. "I'll tell the truth. I've already voted. I voted Democratic. I'll sit here and talk to you as much as you want, but be aware, the whole time, I'll be thinking about having sex with you."
I was pestered no more.

My glut of papers is /finally/ over and I can start to peep back out at the world, even though I still have yet to finish (or really begin) Sue Ellen Case's Feminism and Theatre. I already dislike the book: I find some of her propisitions distaste and frightening. She doesn't like the Oresteia, the only complete Greek tragic trilogy, and is willing to drop it from the canon. It seems a little hypocritical given her zeal to add forgotten Women's work.
Tomorrow night is the graduate students' Party. The college apparently is ponying up money for wine and cheese so we can mingle and meet each other outside of class. I hope it's their chance to hook me up with my promised grant, before I miss my rent. Speaking of which, it occured to me (in another Carnegie-esque flash) that my Theatre History professor is the very person for whom the grant is named. So no falling asleep in /that/ class.
I'm currently reading a selection of primary sources on Restoration drama: Dryden's criticism, contemporary accounts of actors, personal recollections, etc. It's really, really interesting (if you're a sad bastard), but makes me want to use Capital Letters for No Reason and stress my points with Italics.

I was delighted to notice that they put Jack and Bobby and Smallville back to back on the WB. It makes sense to me, as does this week's ads with Tom Weller running around with no shi... Feeling up his nipples. Also, I'm still puzzled why, given the stars and audience, last week on JandB, they did a scene in the girl's locker-room. Title 9 people. Title 9.

In the three minutes of free time I have daily, I have discovered a new way to waste time. You can go to and rule your own country. I have two; the Empire I delight in and the republic I think should actually exist. Well, sort of. I only agree with limited democracy and would have a series of intelligence tests to determine level of participation in elections, but they don't let you be that specific in formulating a government.
You can visit my countries The Most Serene Republic of San Giorgio (my original name, The Republic of St George, after my own real country, was taken) and The Holy Empire of Eckardia.