It's 3:22 in the morning. I can't sleep, because that would involve relaxing, which I can't do because letting myself go slack makes my as-if-mosquitobit uvula bounce off my postnasal drip, jarring me into a manic coughing fit. So instead of trembling next to my Wife and keeping her awake the day before she has to teach class, I'm in the office thinking about Maison Ikkoku.
Maison Ikkoku is a manga by Rumiko Takahashi, the artist responsible for the comic fantasies Ranma 1/2 and Inu-Yasha. Ikkoku, by contrast, is a more or less reality-based romantic comedy. I was obsessed with it post-college. I identified with the clueless underambitious male lead, and I was enamored of a woman who strongly resembled the comic's female lead. Since my doltish efforts to woo the real woman were all abject flops, I turned to the comic for comfort. It seemed like a more hopeful retelling of my misadventures. Every month I bought the new issue and depended on it for pretty much all the pleasure I ever got out of this thwarted-love dynamic.
Obviously I got over this unrequited relationship, but the other day I reread the last issue of Maison Ikkoku, totally out of context. It's (spoiler warning, I guess) the big wedding between the protagonists. As with most real weddings, one's emotional response is likely to be tied to one's emotional attachment to the people involved. Reading it now was like attending the marriage of someone I vaguely remembered from school.
About Me
- Aaron White
- Go out with you? Why not... Do I like to dance? Of course! Take a walk along the beach tonight? I'd love to. But don't try to touch me. Don't try to touch me. Because that will never happen again. "Past, Present and Future"-The Shangri-Las
Showing posts with label boo hoo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boo hoo. Show all posts
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Monday, April 19, 2010
Self-Pity Run Amuck
My gum has peeled back from one of my teeth, leaving a gap that keeps catching on the skin of my inner mouth. I am unsettled, but I suppose it's grist for the mill.
Anyway, I spoke with one of me fellow former inmates from Marat/Sade today. She's taking pro classes that focus on getting acting work, with an emphasis on commercials, which are apparently the bricks with which an acting career is built. After UPTA I have become utterly disillusioned with the idea of working very hard to make rubbish. As a student I had sweet fantasies of making a living by doing Chekhov for the rest of my life. Oh, what a marvelous world that would be!
Anyway, I spoke with one of me fellow former inmates from Marat/Sade today. She's taking pro classes that focus on getting acting work, with an emphasis on commercials, which are apparently the bricks with which an acting career is built. After UPTA I have become utterly disillusioned with the idea of working very hard to make rubbish. As a student I had sweet fantasies of making a living by doing Chekhov for the rest of my life. Oh, what a marvelous world that would be!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Newark, Sweet Newark
If your 4:55 PM flight was shifted to 7:30, then you were stuck in a stationary airplane till 11:00, then the flight was cancelled and all of Continental Airlines' employees fled when you approached to ask for help with getting a ticket for the next flight out, then Welcome Home.
Welcome Home to Newark. When you visit the Terminal C Men's Room, the floor might not be covered with wet toilet paper. That's the Newark Promise.
And when the guy in the toilet stall nearby explosively vomits, then flatulates like a dying elderly warthog, Then strolls out behind you to get in line for Burger King, you'll know it's Gotta Be Newark In The Morning!
And if you're ready for Jersey's finest cuisine, ranging from Burger King to Dunkin' Donuts to nothing else, then Newark Airport is on your side.
Remember, if your coffee isn't repulsively presweetened like a cup of liquified Cocoa Puffs, it's not Real Dunkin' Donuts coffee.
Remember, if your airline gives you a free hotel room after it cancels your flight, it's not really Continental Air.
Sweet baby Lewis, it's 2:53 AM, I'm sitting in a foodless food court, writing a blogpost (but not posting it since the airport charges for wi-fi) and the song they're broadcasting at us is "Hurts so good." Yes. It hurts so good. That's the Newark Manifesto.
***
Okay, I'm in Montreal (which looks like Paris in all my old Eric Rohmer movies) and I'm reunited with Laurie. Montreal is quite different from a typical Southern city. I'm extremely provencial, but if I'd been cold-cocked, carried to Montreal, and awakened to wander the streets, one look at the faces around me (nevermind the french and all) would tell me I was no longer inthe Southeastern USA.
Welcome Home to Newark. When you visit the Terminal C Men's Room, the floor might not be covered with wet toilet paper. That's the Newark Promise.
And when the guy in the toilet stall nearby explosively vomits, then flatulates like a dying elderly warthog, Then strolls out behind you to get in line for Burger King, you'll know it's Gotta Be Newark In The Morning!
And if you're ready for Jersey's finest cuisine, ranging from Burger King to Dunkin' Donuts to nothing else, then Newark Airport is on your side.
Remember, if your coffee isn't repulsively presweetened like a cup of liquified Cocoa Puffs, it's not Real Dunkin' Donuts coffee.
Remember, if your airline gives you a free hotel room after it cancels your flight, it's not really Continental Air.
Sweet baby Lewis, it's 2:53 AM, I'm sitting in a foodless food court, writing a blogpost (but not posting it since the airport charges for wi-fi) and the song they're broadcasting at us is "Hurts so good." Yes. It hurts so good. That's the Newark Manifesto.
***
Okay, I'm in Montreal (which looks like Paris in all my old Eric Rohmer movies) and I'm reunited with Laurie. Montreal is quite different from a typical Southern city. I'm extremely provencial, but if I'd been cold-cocked, carried to Montreal, and awakened to wander the streets, one look at the faces around me (nevermind the french and all) would tell me I was no longer inthe Southeastern USA.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
The Mystery of Pat Sotia
In my senior year of high school we were all assembled in the gym to hear a well-coiffed woman explain to us that we shouldn't have sex until marriage because promiscuity=pregnancy/genital warts, and that you can't trust condoms ("I know you love those orgasms, young people, but please..." quoted from memory). Unspoken subtext: get married quick. And if you do fornicate, then for crying out loud have the decency to not use a condom, because we can't have you skirting God's will, said will consisting of pregnancy and disease for nasty wicked disobedient fornicators.
The other day I found a picture of her in my yearbook, with the caption "Pat Sotia shares her views." A quick google on Pat Sotia and related phrases ("sotia abstinence", etc.) turns up nuffin. Did the yearbook screw up her name? Par for the course; it screwed up plenty of students' names too. But I wanna know what became of this woman. Is she part of the well-funded abstinence-only crew today? Has she gone into another line of work? I was the only kid in the school who
A. fell for it hook line and sinker, and
B. didn't run right out and get married.
So I have a few things I'd like to say to "Pat Sotia." Politely, but firmly.
The other day I found a picture of her in my yearbook, with the caption "Pat Sotia shares her views." A quick google on Pat Sotia and related phrases ("sotia abstinence", etc.) turns up nuffin. Did the yearbook screw up her name? Par for the course; it screwed up plenty of students' names too. But I wanna know what became of this woman. Is she part of the well-funded abstinence-only crew today? Has she gone into another line of work? I was the only kid in the school who
A. fell for it hook line and sinker, and
B. didn't run right out and get married.
So I have a few things I'd like to say to "Pat Sotia." Politely, but firmly.
Friday, March 07, 2008
Open Letter
Dear H*****y's Chocolate Company:
Recently I visited my company's in-office convenience store in an effort to purchase some dark chocolate. None of my usual brands were on offer, so I purchased a bar of H*****ys Special Dark. I believe this name is misleading. Perhaps it should be renamed Pixy Sticks, because that's what it freakin' tastes like. Until convenience stores have the decency to stock actual dark chocolate, please put some chocolate into your sugar bars. If, upon eating an allegedly chocolate product, I don't feel like I just got violated with a cacao plant, it ain't chocolate.
Recently I visited my company's in-office convenience store in an effort to purchase some dark chocolate. None of my usual brands were on offer, so I purchased a bar of H*****ys Special Dark. I believe this name is misleading. Perhaps it should be renamed Pixy Sticks, because that's what it freakin' tastes like. Until convenience stores have the decency to stock actual dark chocolate, please put some chocolate into your sugar bars. If, upon eating an allegedly chocolate product, I don't feel like I just got violated with a cacao plant, it ain't chocolate.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
URG
I've been ill for a while now, but not stay-at-home ill, just groggy and nauseous. And broke. Tis the season. I'm glad I'm getting the broke and sick thing out of the way before Christmas proper. Thassall I got today.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Second Post of the Day
Realtor-wise I now have two offices to contend with; one has come onto the scene but the other hasn't left. As I've labored these past few days to correct my realtor issue (which seems to hinge on confusions between the two offices, confusions which are outside my sphere of influence) I've been uncertain which of the two offices is the boss and which is the subordinate. People at each office seem to think they're the top, and that the other office is topping from the bottom. I now think the relationship isn't a linear hierarchy; more like a bad marriage. Mommy-office and Daddy-office are fighting, and they were taking it out on me. Now I've reestablished the equilibrium by getting them to fight with each other. I feel semi-safe but precariously perched. I'm glad my real Mommy and Daddy are happily married. I feel like I've gotten a demo of what it's like to be the child of squabbling parents, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
P. S. to whom it may concern: Mr. Goldstein did a one-man show at Virginia Samford theatre a few months back, and it was dope. I will not be doing a one-man show at Virginia Samford, but I might do a one-man scene at an open-mike if I can find one that seems hospitable.
P. S. to whom it may concern: Mr. Goldstein did a one-man show at Virginia Samford theatre a few months back, and it was dope. I will not be doing a one-man show at Virginia Samford, but I might do a one-man scene at an open-mike if I can find one that seems hospitable.
I won't bore you with the details
Various things involving my money seem to have gone awry. I've tried to be reasonable about it whenever the person on the other end was hoping for me to be gracious. Perhaps I'll get a positive karmic payback when I'm depending on the other person to be gracious. As it is, I'm playing phone tag with the woman who's in charge of attacking deadbeat tenants; despite paying my rent on time I've been mistaken for a deadbeat. I hope getting a refund on a lost money order is a painless transaction.
Meanwhile I'm working on a solo-performance text. Where does one do solo performance texts in B'ham? If you're Goldstein the answer is Virginia-Samford, but I'm thinking a bit smaller than that.
Meanwhile I'm working on a solo-performance text. Where does one do solo performance texts in B'ham? If you're Goldstein the answer is Virginia-Samford, but I'm thinking a bit smaller than that.
Monday, November 26, 2007
I lost weight over Thanksgiving weekend
Heaven knows I needed to. My family eats light and lean compared to me, so I kept the eating thing under control. Also the actual Thanksgiving dinner was an extended family potluck, and my extended family is a mixed bag on the cooking front. Half the desserts were from Sam's Club. C'mon, people.
The time with my nuclear family was time well spent, indeed.
Anything else? I'm reading the anthology Extreme Exposure, Ed. Jo Bonney, full of text excerpts of various performance artists. There's some tasty stuff in here. Future audition monologues, for sure, but also a source of inspiration. I may try my hand at writing and open-miking, just to see if B'ham wants performance monologues, and if I can help meet that need.
Look, I had all these lovely little observations over the weekend, but I came home to a Landlord Letter which banished all such thoughts from my head. Home Office thinks I haven't paid my rent. I have. They've promised to clear it all up, but even the suggestion that a Kafkaesque eviction nightmare might open up through no fault of my own changed all my pastel sunlit ruminations into dark inky stormclouds. All's well (probably) but never underestimate McFate's power to make a sow's ear of a silk purse.
The time with my nuclear family was time well spent, indeed.
Anything else? I'm reading the anthology Extreme Exposure, Ed. Jo Bonney, full of text excerpts of various performance artists. There's some tasty stuff in here. Future audition monologues, for sure, but also a source of inspiration. I may try my hand at writing and open-miking, just to see if B'ham wants performance monologues, and if I can help meet that need.
Look, I had all these lovely little observations over the weekend, but I came home to a Landlord Letter which banished all such thoughts from my head. Home Office thinks I haven't paid my rent. I have. They've promised to clear it all up, but even the suggestion that a Kafkaesque eviction nightmare might open up through no fault of my own changed all my pastel sunlit ruminations into dark inky stormclouds. All's well (probably) but never underestimate McFate's power to make a sow's ear of a silk purse.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Sickening
Over the weekend I stood in a concrete ruin, roasting in the hot afternoon sun, and occasionally said "E'en so, my lord." Doing Hamlet in an industrial ruin is the coolest thing ever, but cold as it is, the sun is pitiless. I burn easily, and sunburn isn't just a skin thing for me. It extends down to the brain. Ow.
The other night I decided it was about time to take the electric blanket out of storage. When last winter ended I zipped the blanket up in the plastic cover in which it (the blanket, not winter) came. Perhaps I should have washed the blanket first. I've never experienced a mustard gas attack, but I think I get the idea thanks to the frightening funk that billowed from this blankey. This wasn't a wafting odor; this was an olfactory attack. I hung the blanket over the shower curtain rod, soaked it with Lysol, turned an electric fan on it and went to bed. Around 2 in the AM I woke to the odor of Lysol mixed with mustard gas permeating the apartment, so I ran water in the tub and rinsed the blanket, then squeezed it out and hung it up again. I've only begun the decontamination process. Yeah, I want to put it on my bed, but I don't want it to make me sick.
The other night I decided it was about time to take the electric blanket out of storage. When last winter ended I zipped the blanket up in the plastic cover in which it (the blanket, not winter) came. Perhaps I should have washed the blanket first. I've never experienced a mustard gas attack, but I think I get the idea thanks to the frightening funk that billowed from this blankey. This wasn't a wafting odor; this was an olfactory attack. I hung the blanket over the shower curtain rod, soaked it with Lysol, turned an electric fan on it and went to bed. Around 2 in the AM I woke to the odor of Lysol mixed with mustard gas permeating the apartment, so I ran water in the tub and rinsed the blanket, then squeezed it out and hung it up again. I've only begun the decontamination process. Yeah, I want to put it on my bed, but I don't want it to make me sick.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Larry Langford Elected Mayor of Birmingham, Alabama
Democracy is the theory that the common people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard.
-H. L. Mencken
-H. L. Mencken
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Second Post of the Day: The Lunch Bunch Strikes Again
Someone who works in my area has complained to my supervisor that they are seeing insects, and they think the potted plant on my desk is what's drawing bugs. Hmmm. A gaggle of people move into the area, proceed to wolf down hot stinky food... and insects appear. As these folks squash insects beneath ketchup-stained paper napkins they decide to blame my plant. Way to throw the boss off the track, you crafty gluttons.
I know this may seem like a picayune thing to be whining about, but it's reaffirming to find that there are some things I'll take a stand for. They'll take my desk plant away when the pry it from my cold, dead fingers. Which wouldn't be too hard, because they've got plenty of ketchup, grease and BBQ sauce at their desks which they can use to lubricate my fingers and make the prying go smoothly.
I know this may seem like a picayune thing to be whining about, but it's reaffirming to find that there are some things I'll take a stand for. They'll take my desk plant away when the pry it from my cold, dead fingers. Which wouldn't be too hard, because they've got plenty of ketchup, grease and BBQ sauce at their desks which they can use to lubricate my fingers and make the prying go smoothly.
Friday, March 09, 2007
The Hardships of Life on the Road
For some reason the trip to Nashville this coming weekend has been preying on my mind; I'm not used to travel, and my usual rule of thumb is to never do a show anywhere I can't walk to. Nashville violates that rule by a nasty margin. I always get lost when I go anywhere outside of Jefferson County, we're on a tight schedule... you can see the potential for trouble here.
Anyway, please notice I've been adding labels to this blog, so if you want to read, say, all my posts about theatre, you can live that dream. (It's not done yet though). It's distressing how many posts are filed under "boo hoo," representing all my weepy self-pitying posts. I don't think of myself as a weepy or self-pitying person, but the labels speak for themselves. So I'm going to make this the last Boo Hoo post for a nice long time.
A relationship recently flared up out of nowhere and after a burst of heat has cooled into a distant friendship. That's not a bad thing, per se; one more good friendship than I had before, and a lot of overdue personal growth has been triggered by the brief attempt at, well, at figuring out what it was about. But I'm finding the cooling process to be awfully distressing; I'm just a little boy who wants his mommy. That's true of every guy, but we have to learn to modulate it, don't we?
Okay, that's my last boohoo moment. For now.
Anyway, please notice I've been adding labels to this blog, so if you want to read, say, all my posts about theatre, you can live that dream. (It's not done yet though). It's distressing how many posts are filed under "boo hoo," representing all my weepy self-pitying posts. I don't think of myself as a weepy or self-pitying person, but the labels speak for themselves. So I'm going to make this the last Boo Hoo post for a nice long time.
A relationship recently flared up out of nowhere and after a burst of heat has cooled into a distant friendship. That's not a bad thing, per se; one more good friendship than I had before, and a lot of overdue personal growth has been triggered by the brief attempt at, well, at figuring out what it was about. But I'm finding the cooling process to be awfully distressing; I'm just a little boy who wants his mommy. That's true of every guy, but we have to learn to modulate it, don't we?
Okay, that's my last boohoo moment. For now.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Storm
A storm passed through last night, so we were sent home early from work. I got home, and since it was grey but dry I went for a walk. Of course I got caught in the storm, but I always enjoy that; the cold pounding rain makes me feel like I'm in touch with the elements in a raw way, like the world is forcing me to engage it in an unprotected way. It's like being touched by God. EDIT: I didn't know that twenty people, some of them Alabama schoolchildren, died in this storm when I wrote the proceeding. It was much milder around my way. I'm sorry for the dead and their loved ones, and grateful that my blithe stormwalk didn't have any consequences beyond a cold soak.
Anyway, Ken Hite has begun a series of blogposts on H. P. Lovecraft. There's a lot to disdain about Lovecraft (clunky prose, all kinds of bigotry, lousy characterization, way too indebted to his influences) but there's a lot to love, and Hite's the man to tease out the good.
I'm listening to an Acid Jazz compliation. I've slowly fallen in love with acid jazz's blend of hiphop and horns. Anyway, lyrics in this stuff tend to be pretty nominal, but there was one song with the lyric "Give it all you've got, don't give up, life's a game and you've go to play to win!" Once I thought that was trite, but now it's the kind of motivation I need, so it added fresh cheer to my day. Sadly the next song's lyric was all about making love tonight. I won't be making love tonight, so that stripped my fresh layer of cheer right off. I'm ready to join with Tipper Gore to get all these sex lyrics out of songs, but only so I won't be constantly reminded that they're writing songs of love, but not for me.
Anyway, Ken Hite has begun a series of blogposts on H. P. Lovecraft. There's a lot to disdain about Lovecraft (clunky prose, all kinds of bigotry, lousy characterization, way too indebted to his influences) but there's a lot to love, and Hite's the man to tease out the good.
I'm listening to an Acid Jazz compliation. I've slowly fallen in love with acid jazz's blend of hiphop and horns. Anyway, lyrics in this stuff tend to be pretty nominal, but there was one song with the lyric "Give it all you've got, don't give up, life's a game and you've go to play to win!" Once I thought that was trite, but now it's the kind of motivation I need, so it added fresh cheer to my day. Sadly the next song's lyric was all about making love tonight. I won't be making love tonight, so that stripped my fresh layer of cheer right off. I'm ready to join with Tipper Gore to get all these sex lyrics out of songs, but only so I won't be constantly reminded that they're writing songs of love, but not for me.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Spiders like Bugs
I saw Spiderbaby last night (yeah, for Valentine's Day. What more commentary do you need on my love life? VD is a phoney holiday anyway, whipped up by merchants for their own sakes, not ours, but it still serves as an interestingly high pressure referendum on everybody's love lives. I tried for love a little while back but I'm not ready... it's largely a matter of arrested development. I used to mock my buddy and college roommate Matthew for his skirt-chasing, but while I was hanging back and learning nothing about relationships, he was learning by doing. Now he's all happily married and such. There are teenagers who know more about the delicate art of sharing lives than I do. The semi-hermit life is bunk and I'm chucking it just ASAP).
Oh yeah, Spiderbaby. It's awesome. It's like The Addam's Family or The Munsters, except it doesn't flinch from the darker possibilities of such a scenario. It lopes along amusingly for about an hour, then in the last twenty minutes it builds to a frenzy. I really respond to stories of normal folks entering the lair of humanity's screwups; Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a prime example (I almost wrote "prime cut") and this is another. "You should hate her!"
Oh yeah, Spiderbaby. It's awesome. It's like The Addam's Family or The Munsters, except it doesn't flinch from the darker possibilities of such a scenario. It lopes along amusingly for about an hour, then in the last twenty minutes it builds to a frenzy. I really respond to stories of normal folks entering the lair of humanity's screwups; Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a prime example (I almost wrote "prime cut") and this is another. "You should hate her!"
Monday, February 05, 2007
Cut Up.
A three-song lyric cutup:
you, grind you, don't know what
We can make to you
You movin' much with me
Please sing tomorrow's song
Never grace
Hear the thunder right there, made glow is long now
In the sidestreet but it seems taking
So many plans my mind completely
Please day long
While we you just don't the wheel, but my breath
Hit me know
Winds of change past due
Morning glow on my back up?
Baby boy, make know you can't startin' to believe on me deep come
Or is it the difference of morning glow
Starts to with me
Please leave, Hard, make me down
Stop staring please go now
Now much pain
When the
Now the world whole land through
Morning liked you, tried get my groove
Is just another shower? just can't prove
Take revolutionary falls from glow is long you asked me
Grabbed leave, just go breath
Bring the noise, all you're worth
We'll me
Two things I just go away
Before breath
Bring the noise, Why won't my in the right can't find you
I'm glow, I'd like protection
So put it of the night
Will I can already that I'm way Can you keep be so strong
But to give affection?
You're where believing you this hour
So long?
Now and I need me lose my get tha steppin'
here
At last!
baby now I past
Morning glow is rain
Not too many ghosts are waking
So deep when you a man and to help you just another shower?
by your light to
Now you wanna bright
And the phantoms a partna that and shine for
Now I see be present at Hah)
Can you keep got me
Gave you Hah)
I put it morning glow all many hours from you boo, so tryin' to give mama teach you make me lose facts that I'm you to get fade into the half way and started long ago
So, make me lose staring down at at the ground
I and his wife
Are the floor
Not too nothing's sacred anymore hear your tune
Calling you can't drive hour
So long?
The storm something's moving
Look around, can practically see grow
We should have is still
When ancient hands stop shaking
When up?
Baby boy, make need making
I think away
Before I lose it easy for I lose my is too much now it's very all the earth meets me only you
Walls are tumbling you
Moved so fast the new day have a clue
Didn't act like ya comes
Or is it I will
Morning glow, swim
Need a lifeguard many steps need door
You'll still be could satisfy me, to do
After I lose my (Hah faith looking new
Morning me across the knew we could are set to glimmer when you past due
Oh, morning leave, just go don't like when mind completely
Just leave, an adolescent
It ain direction
OOOh
You understand the lose my Hah done everything that me lose my again
Not enough pleasure
Too so slow like blow
And sweep this almost here
Morning glow come through
All them me out so in your brain
Not your face
And another breaking down your my breath
Hit me world is too Hard, make me you
All that talk enough sunshine
Too much lies like you the storm has I tryin' to clear
Morning glow is fill the earth
Come too much for like it can't
When the demon's the birth
Of old hours from this room
When the world look around
All around I will
I think
you, grind you, don't know what
We can make to you
You movin' much with me
Please sing tomorrow's song
Never grace
Hear the thunder right there, made glow is long now
In the sidestreet but it seems taking
So many plans my mind completely
Please day long
While we you just don't the wheel, but my breath
Hit me know
Winds of change past due
Morning glow on my back up?
Baby boy, make know you can't startin' to believe on me deep come
Or is it the difference of morning glow
Starts to with me
Please leave, Hard, make me down
Stop staring please go now
Now much pain
When the
Now the world whole land through
Morning liked you, tried get my groove
Is just another shower? just can't prove
Take revolutionary falls from glow is long you asked me
Grabbed leave, just go breath
Bring the noise, all you're worth
We'll me
Two things I just go away
Before breath
Bring the noise, Why won't my in the right can't find you
I'm glow, I'd like protection
So put it of the night
Will I can already that I'm way Can you keep be so strong
But to give affection?
You're where believing you this hour
So long?
Now and I need me lose my get tha steppin'
here
At last!
baby now I past
Morning glow is rain
Not too many ghosts are waking
So deep when you a man and to help you just another shower?
by your light to
Now you wanna bright
And the phantoms a partna that and shine for
Now I see be present at Hah)
Can you keep got me
Gave you Hah)
I put it morning glow all many hours from you boo, so tryin' to give mama teach you make me lose facts that I'm you to get fade into the half way and started long ago
So, make me lose staring down at at the ground
I and his wife
Are the floor
Not too nothing's sacred anymore hear your tune
Calling you can't drive hour
So long?
The storm something's moving
Look around, can practically see grow
We should have is still
When ancient hands stop shaking
When up?
Baby boy, make need making
I think away
Before I lose it easy for I lose my is too much now it's very all the earth meets me only you
Walls are tumbling you
Moved so fast the new day have a clue
Didn't act like ya comes
Or is it I will
Morning glow, swim
Need a lifeguard many steps need door
You'll still be could satisfy me, to do
After I lose my (Hah faith looking new
Morning me across the knew we could are set to glimmer when you past due
Oh, morning leave, just go don't like when mind completely
Just leave, an adolescent
It ain direction
OOOh
You understand the lose my Hah done everything that me lose my again
Not enough pleasure
Too so slow like blow
And sweep this almost here
Morning glow come through
All them me out so in your brain
Not your face
And another breaking down your my breath
Hit me world is too Hard, make me you
All that talk enough sunshine
Too much lies like you the storm has I tryin' to clear
Morning glow is fill the earth
Come too much for like it can't
When the demon's the birth
Of old hours from this room
When the world look around
All around I will
I think
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
SOB!
On both of the musicals I've done, I teared up on the final show. It didn't mess up my performances, but I sobbed myself sick backstage. Christmas Carol has a Road-To-Damascus style redemption story, and those always make me tear up too. So for this show I fully expect to transform from a human being into a big tear duct, like a mopey Emerson. I don't cry often, but durned if a musical closing doesn't discombobulate me. I'm already thinking about strategies to make sure I don't wreck the performance with onstage bawling.
Just found out my car has a coolant leak. Oh good. The repairs would cost more than the trade value of the car, so it's time to get some fresh wheels. My preferred solution to this problem is to live in a world where cars are unneeded. Some communities have substantial public transportation, but Birmingham will never be one of those; tightwad crybaby taxpayers + a local government that will spend any and all revenues on cocaine and hookers= I need a car.
Birmingham radio personality Dollar Bill is our Scrooge, and it's a delight to watch him work. It's an even bigger delight to hang out with him; he's one of the most effortlessly funny people I've ever met. He's a natural storyteller, and even though a disproportionate number of the anecdotes I've heard from him involved throwing things out of helicopters, I'm always willing to hear more. I wish he'd cut an album.
In this show I have a cute, smart, funny teenage wife. She's a joy to work with, but this is as close as I'll ever come to having a cute, smart, funny (nevermind teenage) wife. Which fact just makes me want to sob all the more.
I've been rereading Naked Lunch, and the group known as Liquifactionists, the people who want to blend all of humanity into one big amoebic mass, reminded me of the ending of The End of Evangelion, in which humanity does indeed meld together (in an apocalyptic semi-religious event) but the hero's rejection of this nirvanic loss of identity causes the whole thing to fall apart. Speaking for myself, I'd love to be able to merge with my fellow creatures into one divinely interconnected assortment of enlightened beings, but I'd want to be selective. I'd want to pick and choose the folks I merged with. A Liquifactionist snob, I guess. Although it's not as if I'd be checking anyone's teeth or pedigree; it would be purely on an I-like-you basis.
Do I sound okay? I feel okay.
Just found out my car has a coolant leak. Oh good. The repairs would cost more than the trade value of the car, so it's time to get some fresh wheels. My preferred solution to this problem is to live in a world where cars are unneeded. Some communities have substantial public transportation, but Birmingham will never be one of those; tightwad crybaby taxpayers + a local government that will spend any and all revenues on cocaine and hookers= I need a car.
Birmingham radio personality Dollar Bill is our Scrooge, and it's a delight to watch him work. It's an even bigger delight to hang out with him; he's one of the most effortlessly funny people I've ever met. He's a natural storyteller, and even though a disproportionate number of the anecdotes I've heard from him involved throwing things out of helicopters, I'm always willing to hear more. I wish he'd cut an album.
In this show I have a cute, smart, funny teenage wife. She's a joy to work with, but this is as close as I'll ever come to having a cute, smart, funny (nevermind teenage) wife. Which fact just makes me want to sob all the more.
I've been rereading Naked Lunch, and the group known as Liquifactionists, the people who want to blend all of humanity into one big amoebic mass, reminded me of the ending of The End of Evangelion, in which humanity does indeed meld together (in an apocalyptic semi-religious event) but the hero's rejection of this nirvanic loss of identity causes the whole thing to fall apart. Speaking for myself, I'd love to be able to merge with my fellow creatures into one divinely interconnected assortment of enlightened beings, but I'd want to be selective. I'd want to pick and choose the folks I merged with. A Liquifactionist snob, I guess. Although it's not as if I'd be checking anyone's teeth or pedigree; it would be purely on an I-like-you basis.
Do I sound okay? I feel okay.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Hi, Remember Me?
Sorry it's been so long since my last post, but I'm so much happier in general without a computer to call my own than with that I can't bring myself to get my Ibook fixed. As David Mamet said of Cable TV, 500 hundred channels isn't choice; it's coercion. And the internet's even worse.
Hey Jonathan G! I did indeed get cast in How To Succeed, as Gatch, a lecherous executive. I don't think my role will keep me onstage very long, but the rumors about getting paid turn out to be true! I couldn't live on it, but it will be, in Mr. Goldstein's phrase, a nice little payday. It's nice to dip a toe into semi-pro acting.
Anything else going on? I've antagonized a perfectly nice woman via the act of dating her. Maybe someday someone will tell me what I'm doing wrong. But at least I did learn that dating a woman who doesn't want to talk about, well, any of the things I routinely blog about, is probably not someone I should date, for her sake and mine. Also I'm getting more reading done than I ever would if I, y'know, had internet access at home.
I'm really getting into what they call Body Horror; movies (and novels, I guess) about awful things happening to the body. I watched Texas Chainsaw 2 last night and found it oddly comforting. I know this may sound morbid, but it's really not. I used to be repelled by this kind of stuff, but now that I'm aging I respond differently... Tom Savini, the special effects guru behind the gore in Chainsaw 2, really beautifies the meat of the human body. That's what I need; thinking about the inevitable rot of the body gets me down. Savini makes the meat lovely and in doing so justifies it to me.
I swear I'm in a good mood!
Hey Jonathan G! I did indeed get cast in How To Succeed, as Gatch, a lecherous executive. I don't think my role will keep me onstage very long, but the rumors about getting paid turn out to be true! I couldn't live on it, but it will be, in Mr. Goldstein's phrase, a nice little payday. It's nice to dip a toe into semi-pro acting.
Anything else going on? I've antagonized a perfectly nice woman via the act of dating her. Maybe someday someone will tell me what I'm doing wrong. But at least I did learn that dating a woman who doesn't want to talk about, well, any of the things I routinely blog about, is probably not someone I should date, for her sake and mine. Also I'm getting more reading done than I ever would if I, y'know, had internet access at home.
I'm really getting into what they call Body Horror; movies (and novels, I guess) about awful things happening to the body. I watched Texas Chainsaw 2 last night and found it oddly comforting. I know this may sound morbid, but it's really not. I used to be repelled by this kind of stuff, but now that I'm aging I respond differently... Tom Savini, the special effects guru behind the gore in Chainsaw 2, really beautifies the meat of the human body. That's what I need; thinking about the inevitable rot of the body gets me down. Savini makes the meat lovely and in doing so justifies it to me.
I swear I'm in a good mood!
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Another Closing, Another Show...
Kiss Me Kate has ended, and I'm in the usual post-show glum phase. I feel like I've finally entered a world of signs, symbols and portants made manifest... as if the blend of elements that is the stock in trade of musicals is precisely the kind of creative expression I've wanted to participate in all this time. Much love to Andy for encouraging me to audition and for casting me, and to the cast and crew!
Michelle, our leading lady, was very encouraging, supportive and patient with this stumbling novice. We did a duet in which I mostly let her do the heavy lifting. Every night I took so much pleasure from hearing the singing... Frank, I hope you won't think I'm just trying to butter you up when I say that not only is your voice a treasure, but your deft comic acting set the tone for all that was funny in this production. Too Darn Hot lived up to its title, thanks to Michael's swinging singing and some all too exciting ensemble dancing.
I'm still exausted (more from the strike and the cast party than the production) but I aim to do more musicals.
Michelle, our leading lady, was very encouraging, supportive and patient with this stumbling novice. We did a duet in which I mostly let her do the heavy lifting. Every night I took so much pleasure from hearing the singing... Frank, I hope you won't think I'm just trying to butter you up when I say that not only is your voice a treasure, but your deft comic acting set the tone for all that was funny in this production. Too Darn Hot lived up to its title, thanks to Michael's swinging singing and some all too exciting ensemble dancing.
I'm still exausted (more from the strike and the cast party than the production) but I aim to do more musicals.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
What Hath Babbage Wrot?
It appears that having a working computer is not part of God's plan for my life, so I won't be updating this too often for the near future. Things always seem to be better in general when I don't have net access though. The next few weeks are pretty much about Kiss Me Kate.
Strong suggestions: go snag a copy of the soundtrack (there's a couple versions) of Out Of This World, a forgotten Cole Porter show with some splendid songs. Check your email to make sure you didn't just get three different party evites. And don't drop an Ibook unless you want it to turn into a big paperweight.
Strong suggestions: go snag a copy of the soundtrack (there's a couple versions) of Out Of This World, a forgotten Cole Porter show with some splendid songs. Check your email to make sure you didn't just get three different party evites. And don't drop an Ibook unless you want it to turn into a big paperweight.
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