I should have known it was coming...

Sitting there in the cinema for the first night's showing of Brokeback Mountian, we /all/ knew it was coming. As sure as Summer follows Spring and day follows night, it would arrive. And we were right. Not long after, you could rent Bareback Mountain. Or Bareback Mountain.
We needn't go into detail. The Wikipedia article is dandy because it treats something so awful with such sincerity. Glitter For Brains did a delightful comparison of the first porno with the actual film here. (You may have to scroll down a bit, but it's worth it).
What none of us expected was that these wouldn't be enough: now, you can watch Bi-Back Mountain! I have no idea what to say to that one.

Having sat through that, here's something almost worth a giggle:

This one guy insisted on seeing Brokeback the night it came out, so we humped down to the Village (where else?) for an evening show. The cinema was packed with not just every homo in the city, but his boyfriend and best girl friend as well. We all crammed in early to get good seats and watched the commercials that flashed on the screen before the previews.
"Beware of Brain Disease!" cried the screen in its best 1950s/Red Scare voice. "It killed Joanthan Larson, and it was COMPLETELY DETECTABLE!" Jonathan Larson* wrote Rent.

At this point, I should mention that my date and I had just been to our favourite little restaurant downtown called Tea and Sympathy. Wine was consumed.

"Well," I said, thinking it to be in a subtle whisper, "if it killed off Larsen, how bad can it be?"
It was not a whisper.

The entire auditorium -- 300 or 400 people -- went deadly silent. I knew I was going to die. My date had mysteriously disappeared. The tension increased and I came to know how riots started.
Then, without warning, the film began, sans previews. The audience, too busy anticipating the imminent cowboy sex, forgot me. And I made it though one more day.

For them such as are interested...


I've done up a rather nice Flikr site. Not only does it have a wider selection of pictures from Henry V, but also has all the pictures worth looking at from my vacation in Vermont, as promised. There are even a few other random pictures culled from the computer hard drive. They're all

here.

In case you're curious, the random photos are: where I work (the Time Warner building in mid-town Manhattan), my place (in the sun), across the street (in a big snow), the Bronx Zoo tigers and Sebastian, the Hound of Rock.

I've had the past two days in a row off, which is virtually unheard of. How have I spent it? Creating he above-mentioned Flikr site, trying unsuccessfully to turn a nice little paper on William Davenant's life into a better Wikipedia article, and a nerdy run downtown to the Strand, Forbidden Planet, the Virgin Megastore and Jim Hanley's Universe. This netted me a New Mermaids copy of Kyd's Spanish Tragedy from the Strand and The Resurrection Casket and this month's copy of Doctor Who Magazine from Jim Hanley's Universe. You see where my priorities lie.

The last two were in lieu of the hardback version of Target's novelization of Inferno that was on sale for $20 and worth about twice as much: Que sera, sera. I had seen it a week ago, but decided I'd only dish out that much cast if it were there today, when it would become clear I was destined for it. As I'm not, I'll revel in the fact I own pristine copies of The Dying Days, Lungbarrow and Cold Fusion. Don't worry: if none of the past paragraph is intelligible to you, it merely means you have a life and can't be arsed with the minutiae of Doctor Who fandom. Good on you.
Nevetheless, the seasan finale of the new Doctor Who is tomorrow night, when Rose Tyler is to die, in and amongst the fan-wanking spree of combined Cybermen/Dalek alliance. I can't lie: it's got me harder than Ayor's Team Training,* if only for knowing that Russell T Davies has had then same idea as me floating around in his head since 1985 or so.

In other news, when some guy and I went to go see the film Superman Returns (or, Can Someone Named B. J. Routh Be Anything Other Than Corn-Fed Iowa Porn-Star Goodness?), there was a trailor (trailer? I'm never sure about such things) for a film called Flyboys.

I was lucky enough last year to take a Theatre and War class with Erika Munk, a writer for the Village Voice, a professor and Yale and editor of Theater whose done (and edited) really top-notch work on war and its representation. It was Awful, and it's worth noting that positive representations of it are rare as hen's teeth -- with reason. I was disturbed to see the preview for the film (to be fair, perhaps not the entire film) to be gung-ho for the War. There is nothing in World War One to be romanticized or celebrated. I can't help feeling this film desecrates the deaths of the millions of soldiers who died.

If you disagree, nose around this site, which contains music, film footage and diary material from the war. It's compelling, and fascinating and horrifying. I love the music and audio selections, but even they can be dismaying -- look at this , or this , this. It certainly counters the charms of K-K-K-Katy or Take Me Back to Dear Old Blighty or Keep the Home Fires Burning.

In other news, I finished reading Coriolanus today. More of that later.


*Oh honestly, with that name, if you expected this to be a link to anything other than gay porn, you need more help than I can give. Besides, it's /really/ good porn.

Meanwhile...

Wondering what I've been up to since my last post?

1) I directed a production of Henry V. Here are pictures.

In the interest of fair representation, I need to note the set and lights were designed by Eric Ketchum, costumes by E. A. Burlingame and staging by me. The cast list is here. Questions about cat listing can be posted to me.


Number two? A vacation in Vermont and Montreal. I'll post pictures from that tomorrow.

K-9 and Co...

Dear Blog:

I thought the worst part of tonight's Doctor Who episode ("School Reunion") was when I had /genuinely/ inappropriate thoughts about David Tennant as the Doctor, with his glasses and assumed role as a teacher. So Hot.

Turns out, I managed to wake up some guy with my generally inappropriate giggling when K-9 appeared, and then proceeded to bawl like a baby when... later events in the episode transpired. But still, it makes me generally doubt our relationship when Sarah Jane Smith returns in a series of Doctor Who and he says "Uhh, yep" instead of dancing a happy dance.

I will end this post saying it was my favourite episode of Doctor Who ever, including "The Pyramids of Mars" (mentioned in tonight's story) and "Genesis of the Daleks" (also mentioned).

Stop the Dog's Addiction!

So on Saturdays, I work late. I don't get home till close to (or after) midnight. This guy always makes a tasty meal of sausages and peppers I can look forward to, as well as downloading new episodes of Doctor Who.

Within a few minutes of me getting home tonight, we found the dog munching on some verboten substance. I was afraid of prying open the dog's jaws to discover the culprit, as the dog has maimed me before. That guy -- who's suffering from a pulled muscle in his chest -- couldn't.

Soon after, Sebastian gave up his chewing. He'd gotten ahold of a coffee bean out of my jeans cuff and couldn't handle it.

We await the puke.

Quick! Breathe fast!

It's my Spring Break right now, which means I'm getting a quick breather from classes, rehearsal, teaching and work. Well, all but work, anyway.

Henry V is going reasonably well. It's had about as much superfluous drama as you might expect (college theatre is only one step away from high school theatre, after all) but there are quite a few quite nice moments to be had and some of the actors -- the actual, real world, professional actors we have in to fill the ranks -- are a joy to work with. It's the thought of work with people like them again that makes it worth going through, really, although there is some joy to be had watching young actors discovering their own thing. Even if it is a bit malicious, nine times out of ten they discover things like that when they do what I suggest...

Because of the undergraduate desire to skip out on rehearsal, we're about a week off from my ideal. If there were no Spring Break, we'd be absolutely on target, but as it is we'll be missing about a week of time we need. It's funny: despite the fact I'm a trained and (somewhat) experienced director, my producer won't believe me when I say we're behind. Granted, we may just be ready for opening night, but part of directing is a) working with gut feeling and b) being able to realistically judge what's going on with your production. Both of these tell me we won't be where we should be for opening night. We have a week of rehearsals left, but these are all dress/tech rehearsals where the actors get use to costumes/lights/sets/props -- not so much a chance for them to work their acting skills. My job should be done by now; it isn't.
Still and all, I can't completely blame myself for what hasn't been done, and feel like I've given a decent shake with what I have done. And as all people in the theatre know -- and as Philip Henslowe said in the lovely film Shakespeare in Love -- "the magic of the theatre" will prevail. I hope.

Other than the play -- and it's a bit hard to get past that for me right now -- life is pretty good. I read a lot, or as much as I can. I've been going through a bit of a Sarah Vowell phase. I've read her first two collections, Take the Cannoli and The Partly Cloudy Patriot. I'd be reading her last one, Assasination Vacation, had some guy not loaned it out to some errant associate at his job weeks ago.
If she weren't a girl, I'd probably be madly in love with her. Her take on life is vaguely similar to mine (we have vaguely similar histories) but she has what I think is a very unique and modern voice. I'd be happy for people to say -- and they have -- that she speaks for my generation. Interestingly, the title of her fist books takes the same root as a Gilmore Girls gag.
I plan to spend the next week away from school and reading. Since my last post, I've finished reading all the books mentioned and am now on to:

Good King Henry: another life of Henry V -- emotionally well rendered and very engaging, but lapses into the old mistake of using 'thee's and 'thou's to prove its characters are from a few centuries ago.

The Empire of Glass: a Doctor Who story featuring Shakespeare, Marlowe, Galileo and the Doctor's... vaguely defined relative. Fairly fun, til you realize the plot hinges on a poorly-researched Roanoke colony plot line. Especially galling when you've spent as much time on Roanoke Island as I have... the number of colonists is wrong, it suggests that Marlowe -- Kit Marlowe -- went there with them, and worst of all, that there are cliffs on the Island!
Right, pedantry all and not worth counting, but it does have Marlowe falling for Stephen "Blue Peter" Taylor. As if.

The Messianic Legacy: what with all the excitement about the Da Vinci Code film, why not go back to its (legally determined) source? The sequel to the Holy Blood, Holy Grail book whose first 25 pages provide all the plot of Dan Brown's "book", this work tells you all the secrets the of Super Secret Sectet Society, The Priory of Sion. While parts of it are quite well researched, one of the authors /was/ a writer for Doctor Who. Go fig which bits are fake, but when the blood line of the aliens from Sirius gets metioned, have a care.

Rescripting Shakespeare: Written by a professor at Carolina with no practical theatrical background, this is a book about modern productions of Shakespeare that alter the text from the "standard" texts and the trade-offs directors incur. I'm only on page 12, but there seems to be a lot to be said about this from an actual, practical director.

The Crying of Lot 49: I've felt far too smart of late. I bought this book this week to cure that. I'm only on Chapter Two, but I do want to go 'round saying "I've got a penchant for Pynchon."

In the meantime, I'm playing this ridiculous and frustating game called Kingdom Hearts, the bastard offspring of Walt Disney and Final Fantasy... Any help?

And remember, Series Two of Doctor Who begins tomorrow night with "The New World". Whoot!

Oh yeah. That was me. In a previous life.

Life is busy now, and stressful. I often think I can measure my stress complications with how many books I'm reading. Currently, it's:

Seneca's Oedipus (for class)
George R Stewart's Earth Abides (out of curiousity)
Sarah Vowell's The Partly Cloudy Patriot (cause it's class)
George C Wolfe's The Colored Museum (for the class I teach)

and for Henry V:
1 Henry VI
The Merry Wives of Windsor (for the third time)
and Baldasare Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier

This is more than enough. In addition to this, I'm managing a small fracas about a loose blade in rehearsal, someone stealing my props, and an eighty-year old quitting my show (just how mad can you get at an octogenarian and not do damage to it?).
And on top of that, my dog appears to have a seizure disorder AND the Sci-Fi network can't even edit Doctor Who for shit:

Rose: Why do they keep tryin' to kill me?

The Doctor: Dunno -- we skipped the bit where the Autons try more than once!

I got sufficiently pissed to quit watching Rose... here's hoping they do better with The End of the World...


However...
In looking up something completely different on teh Internets, I found
this article from The Friends of the Heroes.
It's my interview of Richard, the drummer from Belle and Sebastian. I hadn't looked at it in years, but it's well-informed, smart, and fun to read. Sadly, I think it's the previous release of me, back when I had some cool points.
I don't feel like that now. Nice to know I was there, for a bit.

Ain't this nice?


Please to get this for me!

"Dame Judi put out my eye in a bar-fight!"

So, my biggest concern right now is directing a production of Henry V at La Chasseur college. Somehow (black magic, I think) the Theatre Dept there picked it up as one of their main stage shows for this semester. Which puts me at the head of a show with a budget of -- well, I oughtn't to reveal the exact budget, but it's along the lines of a reasonably-priced economy car.
We did a workshop version of it last Decemeber in a rehearsal space (imagine the theatrical version of the rough draft of an English paper). I'm very excited, really. We've got some really wonderful actors and many more students who are willing to work hard, but it's all a bit... exacting?
We've had a number of actors drop out (read "Run screaming for the hills..."), but I can just maintain the belief that they're lazy bastards unfit for doing the work of the Bard. The rest I have a lot of faith in* and have seen them do some fine work.
Right now, we're in a bit of a dire strait finding enough actors to tote the load... The cast hovers at 26 or so, but I feel like I need another five or six to be comfortable. I feel a great deal of pride in my support staff: I couldn't imagine a more capable or supportive producer; my assitant director may just prove better than me; my PSM is a freshman with better skills than I've seen in many professional stage managers. My lead actors, too, are three shades of faboo: Henry is incredibly smart and so dedicated; one of the three leads is a beautiful girl from the Bahamas who will floor eveyone when she realises what she can do; the rest of the cast is equally exciting...
I need to sit down with my Canadian friend with the knack for 20th Cent drama to straighten out the funky ideas in my mind that may well be aired here.

Scotland's For Me!

In other news, Friday was the Belle and Sebastian concert! It wasn keen because it was a Belle and Sebastian concert featuring their new album The Life Pursuit. (I almost typed in DCW...). It was not keen because it was the first concert in years I didn't see with Laura Llew. I'm just getting over the bruises she put in my arms when they played "Slow Graffiti" in Durham and it'll be some time before I won't look for Indiana Marple at a B&S show.
Although to be fair, I did almost start a fist fight and was accused of feeling up a drunk straight girl. No easy feat, considering my hands were in my pockets...
As regards TLP, "Suki in the Graveyard" may be their best song in ages!

Now please forgive me, I've got to catch up on the poorly-planned Intro to Theatre class I TA for...

Blimey

So the past few days have been a bit fraught, and I haven't quite gotten around to watching the second half of The Quatermass Experiment. (I intend to do so shortly after finishing this...) In the meantime, though, I have discovered this:

David Tennant is just a bit more popular than I thought...

I can't say I'm quite surprised. What is it about him? Merely the fact he's the new Doctor Who? I don't think so -- if anything that would make me think twice about him. The last even remotely fanciable Doctor was Peter Davison in 1980 when I was only 2 or 3. And he was so blandly Tristan Farnon in space that no-one but a coked-out Sanda Dickinson ever gave him much of a thought. My working theory is that he's terribly /accessible/. In theory, anyway. If you went to a really good party, he wouldn't be the hottest guy there. But he would be the hottest one you could reasonably expect to go home with. Because you could think "I'm in there", he becomes much hotter than, say, an Eastern European porn star or a social-climbing film star cum rent boy (though who can split the difference?).
And well, the accent is pretty desirable. If a recent DWM is to be believed, the question "Am I wearing a wee beastie?" is one of the most oddly desireable lines in recent history.

Hello. I'm back.

I decided to start blogging again. I've had the idea running around in my head since about Christmas, but it's only tonight that I got up the gumption to do it. So here I am.
I got lost today. Surprisingly, it was the first time in months. I left work today (I work in the Time-Warer building on Columbus Circle) and decided to go down to the Drama Book Shop. I'd had a particularly rough day at work and decided that the Arden Shakespeare edition of King Henry VIII would make it better. The Drama Book Shop has a decent collection of the Arden editions, so off I went on the B train.
Now, I took the B train for two reasons. One, there's a stop at Columbus Circle. Two, I'd never actually taken the B train and assumed it stopped (along with the 1 train and the A and C trains, which also stop at Columbus Circle) at Time Square. It doesn't.
It does stop at Bryant Park. I figured I'd better get off the train after it past 7th Avenue and 47-50 St. Fortunately, one of the exits out of Bryant Park station is on 40th Street, or god only knows where I'd be now. After walking two blocks in the wrong direction -- I /know/ the whole grid system by now, but being dyslexic, my idea of left/right/east/west can be a bit dodgy -- I turned around and finally found the shop and purchased my bardolic (ain't that a great word?) joy.
Luckily, I knew my N line a bit better and was off home.
I'm off to finish watching the BBC's new Quatermass Experiment, which I downloaded last night. Accordingly, I imagine I'll have something interesting to say about David Tennat tomorrow night. Man, blogger has changed a lot since I last used it.
Till then -- Obey the Basset!

The Ears Call to the Ears...

It turns out our Bess loves our Chris more than the rolling hills o' Scotland.

I am Switzerland. Without the Banks.

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Your personality type is SLOEI

You are social, moderately moody, moderately organized, egocentric, and intellectual, and may prefer a city which matches those traits.

The largest representation of your personality type can be found in the these U.S. cities: Washington DC, Greenville/Spartanburg, Boston Area, Nashville, Indianapolis, Miami/Ft. Lauderdale, Pittsburgh, Tampa/St. Petersburg, Memphis, W. Palm Beach and these international countries/regions Ukraine, Middle East, Israel, Slovenia, Croatia, Switzerland, Romania, Belgium, Denmark, Hungary, South Africa, Poland, South Korea, Guam, Hong Kong

What Places In The World Match Your Personality?
Powered by CityCulture.org

I am scared by the fact that Spartanburg, SC matches my personality type. I've been there. There aren't many there like me.

Now Here's an Uncommon Thought...

Wow, that guy at Forbidden Planet was /really/ cute.

(It's true, he was.)

My old boyfriend is away this weekend, give rise to all manner of licentious thoughts. Since money is way tight right now, I'll be spending the weekend at home, watching DVDs. I'll be watching Harold and Maude and Odd Man Out (an old British film that's mentioned in Pinter's Old Times and features William Hartnell) and catching up on Monarch of the Glen series three and season three of Gilmore Girls.

Speaking of the WB Series, after watching all of season two, I am convinced that Dean started to take steroids (to improve his softball game, natch) at the end of season one. Nothing else easily explains his slip from relatively acceptibilty into Neaderthal-like stupidity and anger. Most of his season two dialogue can be condensed down to grunts and points.
It's no wonder Rory fell for Jess. Let's face it, between Jess and Logan, the girl has a good eye for cock.

Jaylemurph Goes to the Movies

Now, in a complete rip-off of the Glitter for Brains site, our triumphant return in a review of Batman Returns.

We begin in the lovely (and quite distinctive) Wollaton Hall, Nottingham. For Reasons That Remain Unexplained, this paragon of Elizabethan architecture is now Wayne Manor. Around the grounds, a young Master Bruce Wayne and a servant girl frolic about. While hiding from her, young Bruce falls through the rotten planks his doting, fabulously wealthy parents have used (For Reasons That Remain Unexplained) to cover an old well.
Cue the Bats.
The young master Bruce is Deeply Emotionally Scarred by them.

For Reasons That Remain Unclear, we cut several years forward to a prison camp in Tibet. For further Reasons That Remain Unlcear, several large Asians commence to be beating an Anglo. We assume this to be an older version of young master Bruce.

For even more Reasons That Remain Unclear, ymB is put into solitary confinement. For still further RTRU, Gary Oldman appears from behind a door.


Gary Oldman: *foams at the mouth a bit. EVIL BAD! ME STOP EVIL! YOU STOP EVIL NOW! BRING FLOWER TO MOUNTIAN TOP!


Bruce Wayne: Uh, okay.


For yet more RTRU, Bruce is released into the wilds. He picks a flower and begins the Arduous Trek up the Himalaya. At the top, he finds a monastery. Gary begins a long stretch of turning Bruce into a Ninja/idea/crime fighter. Unfortunately, rather than using a Rocky-style montage, it is drawn out over 20 minutes or so and features some blather attempting to be Eastern philosophy as might be found in Sports Illustrated.


For more RTRU, we cut back to the life of young Bruce. We meet his kind and loving father, who patches him up. Then we meet his dainty mother and we're off to a night at the opera.

Rather foolishly, Papa picks Der Fleidermaus.
Young Master Bruce flips out.

For (you guessed it) RTRU, rather than leaving through the main entrance, they go through a side door into a dark alley where they meet an Evil Criminal. Exit Mama and Papa through the bullet holes.


More blather about THE LEAGUE OF SHADOWS that purges evil from society.


Cut to The Evil Criminal's trial. It turns out he gets shot before Princeton student Bruce gets the chance to do so himself. He feels Angry and Cheated.
He is told he will never be really sad or angry til he is poor. He renounces his wealth and becomes a petty thief. For RTRU, he winds up in China and is caught and sent to a prison camp in Tibet.


The rest of the film is somewhat of a blur. Bruce leaves Tibet, claims his inheritance and decides to Fight Crime in New Y-- Gotham City (a mere stone's throw from his Nottingham estate). Fortunately, Wayne Enterprises hoardes ill-concieved Super Hero equipment. He helps himself.


There's something about a mob-boss and a Super-Kettle and Bad-trips, but by this point, all I noticed was Cillian Murphy, who plays an Evil Hott Doctor. So hott in fact, that he remained hott after belching forth maggots and bats. As far as I could tell, he was the focus of the film. Anything that was not him was not worth watching.


The rest of the movie featured Christian Bale moping about and speaking raspily. For the record, Batman deafeats the bad guys and makes solid plans to continue Fighting Crime with his pal, Lt. (later, presumably, Commissioner) Gordon.

The End.

"People who stand in front of the [subway train] doors need to be beaten within an inch of their life and left for dead on the platform!"

Damn, New York is making me violent.

(What's worse: the person I said this to saw nothing unusual about the remark.)

Girls With Glasses Are Sexy Young Lasses

Ah yes. Laura Llew is sexier than you, and not because of her stint as a lesbian porn star. It's her shirt. She has worn it and Rory Gilmore has followed.
I want one, now.

"I don't remember Bojangles holding Shirley Temple's brains in her skull while they were tapdancing!"

It is A Fact that Emily Gilmore is the best part of Gilmore Girls, and it rules when she gets drunk, but she has finally supplied me with a Life Motto: "When a woman gives birth to a crack-baby, you don't give her a puppy."

Also, just how big is Miss Patty going to get? I have a lingering mental image of Patty the Hutt, the muu-mmu'ed form with Lorelai in the Leia slave bikini on a chain and Sally Struthers as that little thing with the ears.

Would it have killed Amy Sherman-Palladino to unbutton or maybe take off Matt Czuchry's shirt in that make out scene? Or possibly, a few minutes of hard core gay porn after that "kissing a man" bit? I mean, Rory's an active girl. She could deal with another boy around.

Tomorrow is the first quiz for my classes. Time to realize that, hey, you /do/ have to do the homework.

And for your viewing amusement: The Meatrix, the most amusing film I've seen at work.

Best. Valentine. Ever.



Yes, I stole this from Miss Laura's site, but she'd never post this one.
On a related note, some bastard looked at this and said, "Oh yeah. I need to call Jake."
On a related related note, I found out that an undergrad in one of my (where I'm student, as opposed to teacher) has a wee crush on me.

Also, the dog has taken to rooting out my socks from the laundry and sniffing them. All the time.

The Years Go By...

Yes, we all saw those movies/pictures of Simon Rex that got him canned from MTV. And really, who wouldn't want to see them?
But he's on "I Love the 90s: Part Deux" looking pretty rough now, and there's no-one willing to pay to see that, however much the smack says so.

Man, he looks so bad I can't even find a picture. Can anyone else?

Waste Your Time...

...with this ingenious device.
For the record, it has guessed Romana from Doctor Who, Lorelai from Gilmore Girls and Cpt. Peacock from Are You Being Served? but not gotten Brendan Small from Home Movies, Nathan from Queer as Folk or Archie from Monarch of the Glen.
Alas, alas Thursday when I will no longer have time for such shite.

Confessions!

After so long, I have decided to inlcude some shocking confessions about me:

*I hate Rachel Ray. I know, it makes me a Bad Person, but her cute little self makes me want to hit people. This one guy, however, adores her and her show is often to be seen in our apartment, generally provoking mean comments from me like "Is that a highway on-ramp or was she trying to show off her thigh?"
Also, she tips like a bitch. "My dinner was $12.50, and with tax and tip, that comes to $12.75! Hee hee!"

*We have a hound. Just after Christmas, that guy got a basset hound and named him Sebastian. I call him many other things: pooch, hound, and after he tried to rip my face off the first day he was home, Savage Hound of the Wild!
For those who are interested, the scar is healing nicely.

*Tivo: I don't hate it all that much. I have sworn for some years now that Tivo is evil and would reprogram you brain, like an I-pod. Nevertheless, I got this for someone as a Christmas present. Since then, it has been... useful. Its ability to pick stuff on its own to record is still wonky... soccer shows in Mandarin, Who's the Boss and a Latvian talkshow.

*I /really/ like the Canadian TV show, Degrassi: The Next Generation. I used to watch it with irony, but now it is gone. I used to refer to the characters by type names: Fat Chick, Jewish Kid, Black Dude, etc. I now most of the kids first and last names, like Paige Myckelchuk. For the record, there are only two people on the show I want to sleep with.

*Last year for Christmas, I got Stephen Malkmus' autograph for Miss Laura Llew. He may, somehow, have gotten the idea she was dying of cancer. This is very, very not true. He kept reading things into what I was saying... Yikes.

*I have, with a heavy heart, decided I will not be able to accept sexual favors from my students. Yes, I will be a TA this semester for THEA 101. Office hours, grading exams, the lot. The first day of class is next Monday.

*Ever wonder where those model/actors in Bel Ami movies go? Turns out, once they get a little too old or a little too bitter, they become bus boys at the Veselka diner downtown.

*Decimalized currency, female prime ministers and the new Ice Age: all things accurately foretold by Dr Who. There's a foot of snow on the ground and I'm cold as fuck. Amusingly though, the snow is almost as deep as the dog is tall. He has to jump around through drifts to pee. Also, he likes to eat snow, but only on the run.

*Man, you cannot find somebody selling bootleg movies when you need one. I've been looking since before Christmas for one to send as a belated gift.

And who will feel some pity and send me a copy of that Arcade Fire album?

What Better Way to Come Back...

... than puberty style? Here, the BBC answers your questions with informative cartoons. Presumably this was to help re-acquiant older Doctor Who fans with their genitals after excessive exposure to the perly new assistant, Billie Piper.

As In What Jesus Doesn't Do

I have class Wednesday nights, so I don't watch ABC's Lost program. But some fucker does, and I sometimes see bits of it.
This week was apparently about Dominic MoinaHobbit's heroin addiction.
LIES!
He's too pudgy to be a smack addict. Have the writers of this show never seen Trainspotting/been to Williamsburg/hung around professional dancers?

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!
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."

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 Nationstates.net 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.

Just for the Record:
or, Why I'm not blogging at the moment

In the past three weeks...

Papers written:
1) 10 pages for History of Theatre Theory, on the relationship
between Addison's Cato and
Neoclassical Theory as formulated by Castelvetro.
2) The use of The South as Fictive Perfection in the Early Works of
Tennessee Williams, 5 pages.
3) Three page book report on The Restoration Stage, G E Bentley, ed.
4) Four page paper discussing the experience of seeing the Chester
Mystery Plays.
5) Three page book report on The Chester Mystery Plays
6) Four page paper discussing the experience of seeing a Greek
Tragedy

Plays read: The Second Shepherd's Play, The Farce of the Worthy Master Pierre
Patelin, Everyman, Boesman and Lisa, Mandragola, The Cid, The Portrait,
The Curse of the Starving Class, Cato

Books Read: The Chester Mystery Plays, Feminism and Theatre, The Cid Controversy, The Restoration Stage

Selections Read from: Hartnoll's The Theatre: A Concise History, Nagler's A Source
Book of Theatrical History, Gerould's Theatre/Theory/Theatre

Did I mention I work full time?

Tonight On A Very Special "Jack and Bobby"

Jack pleasures himself for the entire hour while watching a re-run of "Smallville."

Thank you, WB.

A Note from Work...

Sweetheart --
He isn't "metro". You're just a "fag hag."

Love,
Coffee Ho Jay

Also:
Since when is it absolutely de riguer for all cute indie boys to have Asian girlfriends? It always makes me think of that line from Queer as Folk with the fag and his Asian boy -- *in effeminate Manchester accent* "Perfect Boyfriend -- Shags like a rabbit and doesn't speak a word of English!"

Tina! Come Get Some Ham!

I'm still waiting for something interesting to happen. In light of any coherent entries, here are some bits and pieces I've been collating for a while:

I'm really disappointed about not meeting new people. I can't complain (much) since I'm too broke and too busy to go anywhere or do anything. Things are sloooowly thawing at school and I'm getting to know my fellow students.

I *have* made one friend, Sniffle-Kitty. He's a black and white tom-cat that lives up the street. The first night I moved in, he was hanging out by the sidewalk. I bent down to pet him and he sniffed my finger quite thoroughly. Since then, every time I pass by, he'd sniff me and then let me pet him. Today, I made him purr for the first time.

At work, I ran into someone from my home-town. A friend, actually, and someone I did many plays with at the Hickory Community Theatre. Go fig.
(Actually, also on the first night I was here, I saw a couple I had gone to college with, somewhere in the middle of Astoria. Not that I a) particularly liked them or b) stopped to talk to them. But still, who'd think it'd've happened that quickly?)

I have developed a very embarrassing personal rash. That necessitates buying a special creme. Ugh.

I keep noticing Important Buildings around my daily walks. In the past week, I've noticed that the CBS Corporate Building, the Ed Sullivan Theater and M Hotel are all just a few blocks from work. I also found a subway stop that knocks off about 20 minutes of my commute. (I had been taking the N train to the 1/9 at 42 Second St. up to 59th St, which was at the door of the Time-Warner Building. Now, I just get out of the N train at 57th St and walk two blocks.)
Speaking of Important Buildings, last week I drug some bastard down to One Federal Plaza, to pretend to be Sam Waterston on the steps of the courthouse. Then we went to the Virgin Megastore, where I bought The Belle and Sebastian single, Wrapped Up in Books. I am still repenting buying it there, but it was out at Kim's.

This week at school: Medieval Theatre -- Mystery Plays! Morality Plays! Auto Sacramentales! All poorly written and tediously liturgical. However, I now know what that I will be writing one paper on Addison's Cato for my theory class and on the role of the South in Tennessee Williams' early plays.

I set off the smoke alarm making quesadillas, after being spurred on by Napoleon Dynamite's grandmother. They were still edible, though. The biscuits turned out much better, even if they were only the Bisquick variety.

So, still not much interesting happens to me. Much. Every once in a while, I'll be walking around and realize "Hey, that's important!" like when I figured out that the CBS building is on my way from school to work (if I don't cut through the Park).
Last week, this one guy, his friend Alex and I went to Williamsburg to see Of Montreal. I'd seen them before and was looking forward to seeing my first show in a month. I quite liked Williamsburg, even if I probably shouldn't. It reminded me a bit of home. There were actually fairly young people walking the streets, which there isn't really in Queens. People were even vaguely friendly, and the club, Northsix, was exactly the same as every other hipster club ever.
The opening acts sucked, though, so we stood around and laughed at people -- the Fat Hipster, the Sad Kid (who was there alone and drinking). I hadn't eaten all day and had been up since 6 am, so the Coke and Bourbons probably weren't the best idea. Prompt at midnight, Alex got sick so we left before the set was over.

That one guy's family was here this weekend, so we went out to a little Italian place. Whoot for nice food.

At work today, somebody offed themself. They jumped off the fourth floor balcony in the atrium of the Time Warner Building. Now, I didn't see it, but I walked by as they were using paper towels to get up the last of the blood and repaired the tile he cracked. (Apparently, he lived, but left crippled and twitching... And don't look at me like that. If he wanted to make his death a public spectacle, I can be catty.)

Ugh... my first paper is due Wednesday. It's a simple little 3 page response, but two weeks from this week, I have about 25 pages worth of papers due.

Hi.

So, I moved. It's been a few weeks, and everything is pretty much settled down. The apartment is mostly arranged -- we're waiting for some bookshelves, since we only have one and we've got another oh, 300 or 400 books left to put up.
Other than the floating book issue, the apartment is nice (tho' it was dirty as hell when we moved in). It's not too small, and is nicely appointed with cheap Ikea furniture and other assorted furniture. We've even managed to borrow an air-conditioning unit for the bedroom, so we can stay cool.
Work is largely identical to my old job (being the same job for the same company, it would be...) but more complex... I have to run a cash register, roast coffee beans and be knowledgeable for about three times as much product, so it's challenging, I suppose. We live about a mile from the subway, so the worst part of work is getting to the subway station on Ditmars Blvd on time. The train ride in isn't as bad as the walk to the station...
Class is also pretty good. I take classes in History of the Theatre, History of Theatrical Theory and Significant English Plays of the 20th Century. The last is taught by Stanley Kauffman, a famous critic and theatre scholar. Classes with personal remeberances about Samuel Beckett rock. Besides that one class, we've been studying Greek tragedy in the other two classes. So far, I've read The Suppliant Maidens, Prometheus Bound, Agammenon, Antigone, Alcestis, Medea (not to mention the Poetics and The Clouds). I haven't been reading much else.
Sadly, between work and school, I don't get around to being very interesting. I saw Philip Seymour Hoffman -- and I only know who he is in the vaguest sense -- at the Barnes and Noble on Union Square. We've been to the Park. And that's about it, really.
Tomorrow is pay day (my first here) and I get the money from selling my car, so fun things will transpire.

Fun Fact: Park Avenue isn't actually on the park. It's two streets away. Stupid.

Wrapping Up

Things are getting packed up -- all my books, most of my clothes.
My last ever WXDU radio show was Thursday night. It went well (for a change). I was surprised how sad I was after. My last Music Staff meeting was last night. It was enjoyable -- Ross Grady left the engineering closet open, so I spent my last night at the station going through old vinyl with Courtney, Georg and Viva. We found all kinds of weird stuff -- Sesame Street Disco, C W McCall's (of "Convoy" fame) album, even the original release of the Timelords' Doctorin' the TARDIS.

I work the rest of the week, and then take a trip to see my parents in Hickory next Monday. There will stay much of my accumulated crap and the Little Red Car will meet its maker. Then on Thursday or Friday, I will (shudder) drive back here, pick up a few remaining things and drive to Wilmington, to this one guy's house.

After that, we shall move into our Gloriously Sophisticated Apartment in Queens. Yep, that guy played Great Provider and found a flat in Astoria. So no New Jersey.

Also, please note the cool new thing on the Side Bar. Please poke your pin in!

I Knew It.

It was announced today that in spite of the previous definite announcement, the Daleks will be returning this season along with Doctor Who.
Previously, the estate of Terry Nation, the creator of the Daleks refused to allow the Beeb to use the metal meanies, but after coming to their senses, have agreed to. Nation's estate is unlikely to make that much money again, even with the occasional use of the Daleks by Big Finish and BBC Books.
It is the best thing for both, after all. Who can imagine the Doctor /not/ fighting the Outer Space Robot people that launched his career? And where else is a dead hack going to make wodges of cash?

I've been perusing the official BBC Doctor Who site daily, as, excitingly, they have a picture each day of the filming in Cardiff. Today also was an annoucement of several new actors, including Ian Holm's wife, who was recently knighted. Or damed. Or whatever they do to girls.
Also there was this: my dream job and concrete evidence that I should have gone to Glasgow University when I was given a chance.

This very linky post was brought to you by a very geeky guy.

Also, I registered for my other two classes today after being restricted by the Hunter College Immunization Fairy. My classes: Theatre History One, History of Theory and Criticism and Major English Plays of the 20th Century. They probably all sound boring as crap, but I'm excited.

Responses?



Category X - The
Changeling
Witty, amusing and a bit weird, you're welcomed
into most social groups, even though you don't
'fit in' perfectly .

What Type of Social Entity are You?
brought to you by

"If You Can't Cry, At Least You Can Have a Respectable Panic Attack"
Lorelai Gilmore

Yep. That's how I feel right about now.

Turns out I didn't die from my hangover -- I even ventured out to Wendy's about 6 pm for food.
Mergefest was quite nice -- all except for the first night, when a lady spilled beer on me 15 seconds after my arrival. I was an hour and a half late and missed one of the two acts (the Rosebuds) I really wanted to see. I did see the Essex Green (and Sasha Bell pleasing stopped everyone during one song and refused to go on playing it), but was in a foul mood and went home.
Friday night was Camera Obscura night. Many people were there that night that I knew, so it was much better. One friend, Alicia, was ill so I took her home. (I was worried I'd miss CO, since I once missed part of an Essex Green set a while back for her. But I didn't.) The CO set was super, super -- they even played Eighties Fan, which almost no-one recognized since it's not on Underachievers Please Try Harder, but set me into transports of delight. Afterwards I properly met Gav, their bassist and Sinister person of long-standing. Also there was Miss Lyndsey, also of the same. We all sat and smoked and drank out back of the Cradle in a most companionable fashion. When the show was over, we went over to Aruni's where we met some Bowlie forum people (terribly nice) and continued to drink and smoke. To excess.
Saturday was spent recovering.
I had no plans to go to Sunday, the final day of the festivities, but I did. I'm no big fan of Lambchop or David Klingour, but I am (now even more so) of the Clientele. Not the least because I apparently resemble Alasdair, one of the boys in it. Enough so that one their roadies chastised me for hanging out in front of the Carolina theater three minutes before they started, and enough for one of the CO boys to talk to me five minutes before he realized. I also saw Mr Damo after the show, having been studiously ignored during it. Then again with the Aruni's and the drinking.

Life has been pretty quiet elsewise -- Mergefest was a relatively good send off for me, I suppose. The first night had a slightly funereal aspect to it since I knew it was my last Cradle show, and would be the last time I saw a great many people before I go.
Now I'm in the midst of packing up -- boxing things up, throwing them away and giving/selling furniture. It's just now sinking in I'm leaving and it's not a happy feeling right now. I'm extremely anxious about so many things, things I could completely forget about over the weekend. The reality of the situation is that things are really coming together nicely, and I'm sure everything will be fine, but it is so easy to obsess, obsess, obsess. Money is always an issue. And time. But that's life, I suppose. Right now the realest thing for me is getting up and going to work each day, and knowing that I'll see some guy soon.

I've been reading a lot lately -- novels I've had for years that I suddenly feel the need to devour. Since my last post, I've finished Faulkner's The Unvanquished and Truman Capote's book (not a novel, but a collection of biographic/journalistic sketches that's really wonderful) Music for Chameleons. I'm currently reading Salinger's Franny and Zooey and have pulled Absalom, Absalom!, The Reivers, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Arden of Feversham and Valperga before New York.

Arden is a Renaissance play of unknown authorship (Marlowe and Shakespeare being lead contenders, and I'd bet a hound's tooth it's Kit) about an early 16th Century murder near Canterbury. Valperga is Mary Shelley's second novel (1823) subtitled The Life and Adventures of Castruccio, Prince of Lucca. It's a love story set in 13th Century Italy, near Florence and features Ghibelenes and Guelphs, gays and albinos. I wrote my English honors thesis on it. Specifically, how the relationship of Edward II and Piers Gaveston affects the perception of the title character. Dull stuff, really, but it amuses me.

I'm going stir-crazy again since my car is not for social use any more. IM me! The screen name is jaylemurph!

Also, take my Friendtest. I updated it!

Can you die from a Hangover?

Tonight's Mergefest was largely what I thought it would be. As in saw many people, met many people, was out drinking til 6 am. Upon awaking, my mouth tastes like bad Chinese food, rum and cigarettes. The effect lingers after brushing.
I may have to leave the house for consumibles, but I just kinda want to crawl in a corner and whimper til tomorrow.

All right. So the cows stampeded. But then what?
 
The story from BBC News. A car with a woman in it is stampeded.
Okay.
But note how brief the story is and how many questions go unanswered.

Where did the cows come from?
Why did they stampede?

And most importantly, What became of these stampeding, car-destroying kine?
  Are they on their way across the Atlantic to Destroy Us All?

More tomorrow abour MergeFest.
IF WE'RE STILL HERE!

Dum dum dum...

 

Not Even Jersey City Is This Bad...
 
The place: Durham, NC
The date: one day, 15 July 2004
 
The Story, No 1:  Castrator Runs Off During Trial
The Story, No. 2: Who Needs Juries?
 
So after an eight-day work week, I've had to past two days off. All the time alone has made me weird -- today Cyd the Stuffed Cat was dancing to Looper's "Mondo 77".
I've also been studying Art History and Linear Algebra (I can now multiply matrices). And reading -- The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and The Magician's Nephew.  

Dear Canada:

Please explain what this means to me.

Love,
Jay


You're Alberta. You're always up for a good time
and are the life of the party. There is an aura
of excitement about you and you try to have fun
wherever and whenever you can. You're quite
popular and understandbly so.


What Canadian Province Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

"There are some places Flipper just doesn't need to go.
-- me

Interestingly, I think the high point of my Friday night was Laura telling me I ought to become a sex toy reviewer for a site that says -- and I quote:

"We're interested in the positive aspects of sex toy play and want folks who appreciate the pleasure-potential of a marble-colored dildo or a vibrator that looks like a dolphin."

Erotic Undersea Adventures aside (and how often can one say that), life has been pretty quiet. The car, miraculously, is still chugging away. Just.

The highlight of the weekend was when we went to go see the Tiger Movie, Two Brothers.
Tigers, tigers, tigers! I woke up that morning asking "Know what today is? TIGER MOVIE DAY!" I turn into a four year old about tigers and was greatly impressed. There was growling. There was play. There was cute, fuzzy, striped tiger cubs.

Anyway. (We also watched Spellbound and laughed deliriously at the first girl's father's rancher boss. "He's a... uh... hard-workin'... a hard-workin... a hard-workin Mexican.")

Both my roommates are gone this month, so no-one's around. It makes the being stranded at home a little better, since there's no-one to tangle with. It also makes it lonely. Lonelier still since I can't go out, both because of the lack of transportation and lack of money.

And I think it's making me a little weird.

Someone mentioned John Titor, a alleged time-traveler who was active on the internet in 2000 and 2001. His story is just plausible enough to be considered and just ridiculous enough to be dismissed. For instance, he references (and predicts) some surprising accurate physics and provides some interesting evidence (scanned pages from his time machine's manual) but claims he survived The Second American Civil War AND World War Three and arrived in a 2036 Corvette.

I thought I'd investigate the physics behind his claim. Unfortunately, while I do have a good grasp of general physical theory, this sort of rigorous study (about Kerr fields and Minkowski space) is beyond my grasp of the necessary math. I am consequently learning linear algebra so I can learn the physics. Nerdy, hunh? At least I'll be ready when the bombs drop.
And I've already mastered Gaussian Operations!

I've also (perhaps as a related subject) started listening to Coast to Coast AM. It's sort of an alternate news programme, of the sort that takes UFO abduction and the Mothman seriously. Very X-Files-y. It's nice to listen to late, late at night, when it doesn't freak me out.
Currently, they're talking about subcutaneous microchips and how the government is USING THEM ON US KNOW FOR TRACKING!
To be fair, they do a lot of legitmate non-traditional reporting, like the new Infantfish.

I've also been reading a lot -- Meat is Murder, The Man Who Tried to Save the World and Dr Who: Empire of Death. And listening to classical music like Vivaldi and Beethoven.

However, I removed an error on my Financial Aid paperwork and applied for federal loans, so I hope I get me some money.

Seperated At Birth?

Belle and Sebastian's Sarah Martin
(The one in the back)

And

Gilmore Girls actress Melissa McCarthy.

Top Four Words I Have Learned...

...from watching French* Subtitles for Gilmore Girls: Complete First Season.

1) Desole -- Sorry
2) dingue -- Crazy
3) Fou -- Crazy
4) Tu plaisantes! -- You're kidding!

Okay. So it isn't /French/ French. It's Quebecois. But now I can be quirky in Montreal AND Paris.

Also, I picked up a copy of The Da Vinci Code last week at the used bookstore on Franklin Street. My god, is it awful. The writing is about on par with a talented fourth grader's. Rather than artfully slip in exposition (and there's a lot that needs to be), Dan Brown hammers it in clunky, completely unbelievable dialogue. The prolixity is in humourous contrast to the elementary French spoken by the French characters.
This is aside from the incredible thickness of the protaganists (It's an anagram, dammit, just like the first fourteen clues were!) -- the world's least convincing Art Historian and cryptologist.
Then again, if you can tell them apart, you've done better than I: the author does little work in making them believable as characters or even noticeably different from each other.
You may also want to ignore the research the author did -- apparently consisting solely of cracking open a used copy of Holy Blood, Holy Grail. Which he cites in the story (authenticity or lack of creativity -- you be the judge!) and whose authors are condensed into another unbelievable character (he's British 'cause he's stuffy!) with a name that's another tired anagram. It is Sir Leigh Teabing, which comes from Richard Leigh, one author of the Holy Blood book and Michael Baginet, the other.
And since he's English, he must like TEA.
The book's overweaning feature is its cocky assurance that this sort of juvenile thinking isn't just clever, it's genius. Of Da Vinci stature. It isn't. It gets a lot plain wrong (the word for a papal bull in French would never create a pun for a bullish person, since the words are different bulle and taureau where we have just 'bull') and a lot close to.
If this is the work of genius it commonly ascribed to be, we're all in a lot of trouble.

I did get on the same trip a compilation of pre-Shakespearean English drama -- it includes Gammer Gurton's Needle, The Shoemaker's Holiday and some liturgical plays. Actual clever stuff and worth reading.

For the record,


I had to go through my archives to find that dream entry. It was weird. Old boyfriends, old dreams, old writing...
Makes you think.

You know...

Carly Simon should totally do an Amish version of "You're So Vain" and call it "You're So Plain"...


Oddish

I've mentioned before about recurring dreams -- go to the 9/25 entry. I have my Doctor Who book one. I have my teeth one (though not lately -- I think I have enough real things to worry about right now).
I had one last night that I've had a few times, but this one was the most vivid of the series.
The Hasty Heart is a bad play, so bad that the 1949 movie starred Ronald Reagan. (I can't even be bothered to tell you the plot, but you can read it here) but it was my first paid gig in the theatre. I played an Australian named Digger. I was in it 8 years ago, after my freshman year of college, at a little school in the town my parent lived in. Anyway.
In this dream, I'm doing the play again. Now. And I have absolutely no idea what my lines are. (The dream prompted me to try to remember some, and I can't.) And I'm about to go on stage. But rather than being upset about it, I'm totally down with it. I'm reading the script and happy to go on and make shit up. Weird.

I feel bad about whining about my birthday. I actually had a really good time. Helen and I went to Outback Steakhouse in honor of Helen's visit. We had the World's Skeeziest Waiter (tm). When he oiled his way up to us the first time and asked "You guyz evah been to Outback b'fore?", Helen and I burst out laughing.

The rest of the night, the Skeeze worked his way closer and closer to Helen, eventually sitting on the seat next to her as he took her entree order. "Do waiters usually do that?" she asked. We lost again it again when he showed his observant side: "Do I detect an accent?"
I was just glad she was too polite to demand I pay her dry cleaning bill.

After that, we were all pretentious and went to Chapel Hill's wine bar and played video games to balance things out. I played Galaga - the world's most advanced form of fun. (Giant. Space. Bugs. What more do you need for fun?) Ms Pac-Man was also played.

Then we went to The OCSC.

On our way home, we stopped at the Harris Teeter, where Helen got me a cake. Yay! It was the first one I'd had in years. It was a chocolate/yellow marble cake with chocolate icing. So good! Then I watched an episode of Dr Who.

My Haul? I got a totally overpriced Dr Who coffee table book called Doctor Who: The Legend which I've been poring over ever since. My parents got me a third Doctor video, The Ambassadors of Death. Miss Helen got me a little spiny anteater keychain and a marvy little book called "50 Places to Eat Southern in New York". Very savvy, no? Miss Laura Llew also mailed me the lovely and below-quoted book Meat is Murder.

Yay!

Dear My Computer:

Why do you have the address for IanSomerhlader.net? I have never navigated you to this site, nor have I even heard of it before you showed up in my history bar. But there was this picture there so it is okay. Please feel free to find such sites for me in the future.

And Just in Time:

ADVICE FOR RECENT ARRIVALS
Dos & Don'ts & More Don'ts for Gay Boy Refugees
Where we learn I am not a Strong Black Woman.

"I want a badge that says 'SHUT UP ABOUT YOUR BAND'!"
-- me

So, I'm growing tired of Chapel Hill. I think I've lived here too long not to be a) a dirty hippy b) a post-graduate student or c) washing down my valium with wine as I pick up the kids from soccer practice.
Or maybe I'm just sick of hipsters in general. I have not discussed my birthday in any great length not because it wasn't fabulous (which it was) but because of one slight incidence that upon reflection, made me peeved.
I called seven people inviting them out to drinks that night. None showed. I had a really good time though, and the free flow of booze kept the sound of me cursing Dirty Hipsters to a minimum. The event nevertheless brought home to certainty my working assumption that hipsters are relatively shallow, undependable and flighty group. As does the fact that not one has called since my car died.
Yeah, I'm fine, actually. Thanks for asking.

Then there's the people I work with. Mostly good people, it's true, but then there's this story.
Dan the Man is one of the cashiers I work with. Dan the Man is special, as in the Olympics. He disappears every year for a few weeks to go to Viet-Nam, his homeland. Not too long ago, he came back with a wife.
Who didn't speak English.
Now, while I can't imagine the hijinks THAT household got up to, it appeared that it had an issue. Dan the Man's Wife has a sister left in Hanoi. DTM's Wife apparently constantly worries over her and sends her money from the Nail Shop she works in. But they want her to come over to our country. Specifically, they want her to marry a nice American boy to make it nice and legal.
They've been cogitating over this for some time. Recently, it came to Dan the Man's simple mind.
He'd pay our co-worker C-Space to take marry her.
C-Space needs money, you see. He has nowhere to live (he rents the living room of an apartment where I used to live, if that tells you anything) and no money. Why no money? C-Space has los problemas con drogas. He likes the coca leaves. A lot.
Yeah, Dan! Marry your sister in law off to the local cokehead.
Honestly, it sounds like the set-up for a new FOX sit-com...

Announcer: "He's mildly retarded! She can't speak a word of English! Together they're SPECIAL WED! Friday nights only on FOX!"

DTM: "Honey! C-Space and I are in jail! Send help!"

C-Space: "Ohmanohmanohmanohmanohmanohmanohman!"

DTMW: "Me rove you rongtime!"

DTM: "No sweetie! Get a lawyer! A law-yer! Like Matlock!"

Fresh Original and X-citing!

Even Weird Girls...

...Like Gay Porn.

Goddam Furris. Have some real sex.

"Until my twenty-first birthday I went by the name of Steven Morrissey when I drank. People in-the-know called me Steve-o."
Joe Pernice, from the 33 1/3 book Meat is Murder

Damn. Wish I wrote that.

...And the shoe goes bam

The verdict on my car?
"The engine's blown. We can't fix it." Apparently, a fuel rod has blown and the oil pan is leaking into the water system, a problem endemic to Neons.
They should have just patted my head and said "It's too sick to live, sweetheart."

This news is of course incredibly depressing: I can't afford a new car. I was crying last night at work because I didn't know what to do.
However, having slept, things did look better today. The car still works (barely), so I can get back and forth to work at least temporarily. I'm looking for places that buy used cars (the body at least is in good shape) to try to sell it and buy a used one to last for the next few weeks. At best, I can wait till my car officially dies, and then have it towed to the perspective buyer.
But I'm still pretty disheartened. I'm too frightened to drive anywhere other than to or from work. My parent's assistance? Offering to buy a classified ad in the local paper. They left today to go to St Louis, as well. Nice to know they're at hand to help me as I freak out...

In other news, I finished The Eleventh Tiger today. It was pretty good; the characterization of the TARDIS crew was vivid, even if it took the relationship between Ian and Barbara far too far. It picks up subtext and dashes ahead...
The plot was workable, if not fascinating. Unnamed aliens orchestrate the apparent revival of Qin Shi Huangdon, the first emperor of China. His growing concern over his identity is a nice twist, even if the super-powerful but mysterious alien intelligence isn't for David McIntee, the author.

Song of the day: "Be Like the Bluebird" from the score of Anything Goes. Specifically, from the 1989 London revival. Why this song has been stuck in my head all day is beyond me (though I did listen to the album on Sunday) but its placidly uplifting message has helped my mood. Anticipation of the new Cole Porter biopic out soon? (Psst: click on the link and you can hear some of the music from the disc...)

Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop

So, in a sign of amusing lack of patience, my car was fuming smoke from its tailpipe yesterday the whole last mile home from work. This impressed on me the need to take it to a mechanic for a diagnosis.
Surprisingly, the car made the trip back to Chapel Hill and the mechanic next door. It's currently in dock, waiting autop-- examination.
I have no money to repair it. I was so nervous about it that my hands were shaking and I was in what Southerners call a state of distaction. Until I thieved a glass or two of wine from my cafe....

I hope I can make it home with the car.

ReLaunch!

So it's been a while. I've been busy. I worked on a play for Burning Coal theatre in Raleigh, The Man Who Tried To Save The World. I was the dramaturg and assistant director. What with my day job and all, I was working 18 hours a day. Not much time was left for anything else.
Allow me to go over some salient points that will lead up to my relaunching of this site:

--I applied to graduate school, at Glasgow University and Hunter College in Manhattan. I got in both places.

--Hunter College gave me money to go there.

--I'm going there.

--Which means I'm moving to New York.

--And moving there with my boyfriend.

Which means this place will be an opportunity to document that. What with me being from a small town in North Carolina originally and a small city there now, it's sure to be filled with all manner of comic misadventures, like Green Acres in reverse.

*thumps pitchfork twice

Some Common Questions Answered

Aren't you excited?
Yes. Sometimes. Right now, my car is going through the last stages of its protracted death (complete with death rattle), and I am very poor, so right now I'm pre-occupied with managing to ge the car fixed somehow, still make it to work, and still save money for the upcoming move. I have visions of the whole thing falling through, and me working a crappy job at Whole Foods Market forever.
Vivid visions.
At night.
When I should be asleep.

Aren't you scared?
Not really. I'm too stupid to be properly afraid of New York at this point. I don't even regard it as hell, as all well-brought-up Southern boys should. It still seems kinda cool.
I am concerned about getting around. I have no -- and I mean this literally -- no sense of direction. I can't wait for amusing stories of me wandering the city lost.

Aren't you happy?
I got into grad school. That was the big thing, the thing that proved something to me. Making it work out will make me happier.

Nervous about Moving In With Someone?
Not until married people/people in LTR tell me how good it is. "Oh," they say "it's great you're moving in together," in roughly the same tone as the pod people who say "Jooooiiinnnn Uuuussss" in bad 50s films.

Tell Us Your Specific Plans!
Uhh, thanks Parent/Well Meaning Friend/Nosy Customer as soon as I know something, I'll pass that on...
It may be just a few weeks away, but the plans are still sketch. Saves ruining plans, anyway.

So there. Plans for the future.
Send me money now and I'll name a stupid occurrence after you -- "The Laura Llew Wandering of Queens"!

A Thought From Work...

Every once in a while, I'll see a gay couple with a screaming kid. I think, "Wow, they've been through a lot to have a kid. Legal stuff, red tape, adoption agencies..." I cut them some slack.
But almost every time I see a straight couple with a whiny kid, I think, "Jesus Christ, if he had just pulled out, he'd have saved all of us the irritation."

Meanwhile, check out the Law And Order Coloring Book!

Damn Damn Damn!

I just spent a whole hour writing a re-lanuching post, then I deleted it by accident as I looked up a web address.

Check back here tomorrow when I'm not pissed off and re-write it.

Which Doctor Who are you?


this quiz was made by Auntie Krizu(:>)