All I need is a bonnet.

Last night I did my laundry at the laundromat, and I suspect that the front-loader machines don't give you your own detergent; I think they pour in the detergent of the last person to use the machine. I suspect this because I poured in my tasteful nonscented (and non-petroleum-based, as a nominal attempt to be green) detergent, and it came out reeking of perfume. Perfume that a ten-year-old girl would refuse to wear. Why do people disdain to wear cheap perfume, but they want cheap perfume to saturate their wardrobe? Plus there seems to have been about a gallon of softener in the machine's system, because all my garb feels like baby clothes now. Waaah!

I'm Mr. Ghost; Tonight I'm Gonna Shake My Bones

I'm thinking about Halloween critters I'd like to be, not for Halloween, but for real, and I think Ghost takes the prize, especially if I get to haunt a theatre, a museum or a Victorian Mansion. If I had to haunt a grocery store or something, though, that would suck.

A vampire could be fun, although I prefer comic-relief vampires like The Count from Sesame Street or Count Chocula to scary or goth vampires.

Chainsaw killers? Although deranged hill folk hold an undying fascination for me, the last thing I wanna do is join their ranks. I like my Halloween characters defanged, as it were.

Mad scientist? Why not? Castle on a hill, messed-up hair, cackling and screwing with nature. Of course mad businesspeople turn out to be the real problem; mad scientists can only get anywhere with $$$.

A Man of Conviction

A while back I participated in a Cabaret (The Politically Incorrect one) and Amnesty International took part. They hung in the lobby and got folks to sign petitions, take home promotional goodies, etc. There were some cute women working for Amnesty International, so I decided to join. Sadly I can't find up-to-date info on when and where they meet; the one time I tried to attend a meeting, the coffee shop at which the meeting was alleged to take place was closed. Perhaps Amnesty is more underground than I thought, and I needed to make a special knock or something.

Anyway, now they're filling up my email with constant messages about atrocities and petitions and requests for money. Look, I was ready for all that, but only AFTER I got to meet some cute women. No sermon without a supper.

House of a Thousand Curses

I'm in a Halloween mood, so I saw the movie House of a Thousand Corpses recently. I enjoyed it, but nevermind that: I wanna talk about the ways folks who reviewed it on Netflix responded to it. Lots of gripes about this cult film, most of them revolving around excessive gore and profanity.

I wonder what kind of decision-making process led these people to add this film to their queues. "House of a Thousand Corpses! That sounds cute. It says here that it was written and directed by heavy metal musician Rob Zombie. I bet it's nice and tasteful." C'mon, people.

Anyway, what's with fussing about profanity in a flick like this? "I don't believe homicidal hillbillies would express themselves so crudely." Look, I grew up around degenerate, if not murderous, hillbillies, and they come in three basic flavors: uptight religious nuts, pottymouths, and uptight religious nuts with pottymouths.

I'm more intrigued by the folks who complain about more nuanced matters of tone and such. I'm a recent convert to horror flicks, and it's interesting to me that fans all seem to have really personal views on which films are the good ones. Is a film too goofy, too grim, too distanced, too manipulative? Too implausible, too straightforward? Too slick, too crude? I think horror films appeal, when they appeal, because they plug directly into the viewers' personal concerns. More formal considerations of narrative and technical qualities are insignificant next to the extent to which a film reflects the individual viewers' nightmares. Okay, that's hardly a fresh observation, but it seems that technical excellence, imaginative filmmaking, etc. are less important to horror fans (myself included) than correspondence to the individual viewers' dream life. Horror movies all aspire to be nightmares, but my nightmares are different from yours, which explains why, say, I prefer (even bad) movies about deranged hillbillies to (even good) movies about zombies. I never dream about zombies.

be kind

The title of this post is a reference to the play Tea and Sympathy. The recently deceased Deborah Kerr starred in the film, which I haven't seen. It's about a kind woman who gently initiates a less-than-masculine and sexually timid boy (homosexual? It's ambiguous) into sexuality. She's lonely and compassionate; he's all mixed up. It's a bittersweet tale. I played the boy in a college student-directed one-act cutting from the script. Playing a wimpy and sexually unthreatening guy was not exactly an acting stretch. The student in the Deborah Kerr role was a large, gentle butch lesbian, who gave a luminous performance but was probably a surprise to anyone in the audience who was expecting a Deborah Kerr-alike. I hadn't thought about the play in years, until someone mentioned it in relation to Kerr's passing. The play is a charmer, but it's the kind of fantasy about sexual awfulness averted by sexual kindness that doesn't match up to life as I've lived it. You can't spell "excruciating sadness" without S-E-X.

Macbeth Funnies

This blogpost is from a teacher who asks students to draw comics illustrating Macbeth. It's a cool way to gauge the kids' comprehension, and I think the comics he posts are pretty amusing.

Shakespeare at Sloss; or, Shakespear Eats Loss

My next theatre gig (and last for the year. Phew.)