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...)