Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!

June 2004


30 June 2004 2304

I'm An Acquired Taste, like, I dunno, cigars, or monogamy ...

Hah. So, Birthday Dinner with Ashley June. Somewhere between discovering that Krispy Kreme doesn't count as a fast food, and listening to her BEG the waiters to sing and embarrass me, and going through old middle school pictures, and dancing wildly enough to prompt a carload of boys in a convertible to turn around and gape, and cruising past Tinseltown in the Escalade blasting Madonna, we really hit our stride. Most easygoing and unpretentious evening, Ever. See, Ash is my own personal Hive. When we start blurting the same random things or displaying the exact same pained but determinedly polite expression, or communicating volumes using entirely one-syllabic bursts, cutting each other off, pitch and volume raising, hand gestures going mad ... I remembered why Ashley's my best and longest-lasting friend. I love telling people my best friend is a cheerleader and watching their mouths drop to the floor. But yes. My best friend is a varsity cheerleader, a blonde, a prep, and does her best to shatter all stereotypes of all three of these categories. Rock on, darlin. So, it's amazing how much attention two girls in tight black dresses get at Macaroni Grille, especially when they say it's a birthday night out. We had waiter after waiter falling all over themselves to, well, wait on us, and chat us up. Wunnerful. (And so much nicer than those two HORRIBLY creepy workers who hit on me at Wal-Mart on Monday and traumatized me so much that I actually ran down the aisle away from them.) And the bow off of my present is currently in my hair. It's hott.

Went back to set-building at the Playhouse today. Only different than before ... Funny chemistry, now. But that's okay, I still get the same simple satisfaction from seeing a job done. Oh, and from shredding a paint roller, in a way that Tony didn't know was possible, and then in printing the entire paint room in my white handprints. Oh, and I definitely moved a platform away from a set of steps, and then jogged up the steps, and nearly fell when I jumped off into nowhere, and had to grab for the handrails and crosspieces and stuff. Too Stupid to Live, I know, I know.

I kinda got nuthing today, so instead I'm gonna give you kids your daily dose of cynicism. Mother Teresa: A Saint or A Fraud? (Thanks to Guitar Sam for links and interest. Those crazy TiP kids) I'm not sure how far to believe this guy's claims, but I'm definitely intrigued. He does have very compelling arguments, and several positively scathing lines ("One of Mother Teresa's biographers says, with a sense of absolute wonderment, that when Mother Teresa first met the pope in the Vatican, she arrived by bus dressed only in a sari that cost one rupee. Now that would be my definition of behaving ostentatiously. A normal person would put on at least her best scarf and take a taxi." and "Very rightly is it said that she tends to the dying, because if you were doing anything but dying she hasn't really got much to offer."). And at least he's perfectly straightforward ("I'm an atheist. I'm not neutral about religion, I'm hostile to it. I think it is a positively bad idea, not just a false one."). Also, can someone find the THIRD entendre in the book title The Missionary Position? I've got two ... and I'm stumped. But yeah, it's definitely an interesting new angle, though I'm sure it's spinning something awful.

Oh, I keep forgetting. SAT II scores back. Take That, Collegeboard. Math 2C - 800. Chem - 790. Columbia, Love Me! No, Really! Lov--Hey, wait! Where're you going?! sigh. It's over by November 1st. I'm just gonna keep chanting that to myself.

John Kerry Looks French.


28 June 2004 2340

Okay, K eiran, I'm ready to give it all away. Saw The Frogs at Lincoln Center, met Chris Kattan and Nathan Lane

(jealous yet?), watched all the old blue-hairs walk out. I wasn't really sure what to expect of that show, and it's a good thing I didn't waste any time or energy preparing for it, because it would have caught me off-guard anyways. I don't know what the critics have to say about it yet, since it's still technically in previews, but the Lincoln Center regulars (I hadn't thought about how you can have season tickets to Lincoln Center like you'd have them to the Playhouse. I Want That!) HATED it. It's too off-beat. My only complaint was that the second act began to drag when Nathan Lane got preachy. It's ABOUT a playwright brought back to change the world, the play itself doesn't have to do that! The rest of it was very witty and fun, and, come ON kids, NATHAN LANE. He's brilliant. It was so surreal to be sitting there seeing him in person. More so when I stood outside the greenroom door chatting with him. CHATTING with NATHAN LANE. And Chris Kattan, of course, who is creepy and weird, but a nice guy. And he was wonderfully funny in this show, the first thing I've ever liked him in.

In other news, I also met Hugh Jackman.

(Jealous NOW?) He's gorgeous, don't you agree? And I have lots more pictures, but not enough energy to deal with a picture page just yet. Oh, to round out the four shows I saw, Movin' Out has an amazing cast of dancers, and a platform for the band that slides up and down and upstage and downstage, and giant light trees like elevators. And it's a show to rock out to, like Rent. Also? I just love to wander the streets of New York, even if Times Square is a theme park, and okay, all right, it is. Such crass commercialization. It's beautiful.

So, today, all I was supposed to do was unpack and put my clothes and the suitcase away. Well, the suitcase is still on my floor, because putting my clothes away inspired me to clean out my dresser and box up winter clothes, which led to me going through my shoes, which led to cleaning out the closet, which led to dragging everything out from under my bed and going through it. Wow, I keep an awful lot of stuff. It's fun, though, because I can completely recreate my personality and environment at any point in my life with the notes and drawings and excuse notes I know I used for skipping and ticket stubs and pictures. I found my ORHS library card, which I haven't seen since three days after they gave it to us. I found my notebook from 7th grade, and was struck by its decorations - we were so wrapped up in being accepted by each other that the approved way to decorate your notebook was to have everyone ELSE sign it. I found handfuls of Lip Smacker lip gloss, that we all HAD to have, and we couldn't use the same kind all the time. Everyone was always watching and keeping mental score, and it mattered So Much. Funny, now. Notes in intricate patterns, all from Kelly (where IS that girl?!), Jaimee, Jessica. A collection of pictures I printed off someone's website, probably Erin's, years ago, the highlight being Andrew Miller in drag. Why'd I ever need that in the first place? Your guess is as good as mine. That Email that Peterless Pan sent me H2$ summer, which I just might post here out of amusement. The rainbow collection of hair ribbons I Had to have, for that interminable period of time where we couldn't step outside unless our hair was tied back in a ponytail and coordinated with a ribbon. Abysmal, I say.

There were a couple of things that got me the most. One was a collection of colorfully decorated collections of inside jokes with people, that I've completely forgotten now, that seemed like the biggest things at the time. Ashley's the only friend I've retained from those days. God, middle school is a waste of time and spirit. Another was this notebook of poetry. Let me state once and for all that I Should Not Write Poetry. Anything that I ever write that's any good is completely a ripoff of someone else's. But it's funny, even reading the ripoff, even knowing the original by heart, I can still return to exactly what I was thinking when I wrote it. And the one I liked best was this collection of pictures from magazines that was for some assignment, where the pictures were supposed to represent us. I have holiday ornaments, an Abercrombie boy, a piece of a red curtain, a heart surrounded with ribbons and knives (don't know WHERE I got that), and a picture of New York City lit up at night. I think I did good.

Anywho, having just coached Laura on how she and Sarah can sneak to the boys' floor, I'm having a renewed wave of jealousy. God, if I'd been at GSIS with Sarah and Laura? We'd have been unstoppable. NAIMUN 05, guys, that'll be all us. And I missed the wonderful reunion, and now I can't go visit GSIS04 at all - we've been banned! Thanks, Austin. Just kidding, man. I love you. And I would have done the same thing. Instead, my last act of defiance is instructing this year's GSISers on the virtues of RC Night Out. Yeah, what? If they want to get Blanched, hey, it builds character.


27 June 2004 1922

Whoa.

Um. New York stories continued soon, not yet. I know you're all waiting with baited breath. Admit it. You're waiting for the pictures, anyways. As well you should be.

How many bullets? No really, I want to know.


24 June 2004 2325

There's just nothing like New York. There really isn't. I'm still reeling.

So, I'm home. I'm not really sure what to say, honestly. Huh ... Driving in New York is terrifying, even if you're not driving, more so if your driver likes to speed up on sidewalks and through blocked off areas to get to red lights faster, and more so every time you almost hit a pedestrian or bike or street cart. But of course, I always appreciate everything more when I'm aware that my life might end in the next minute. It's funny, the hierarchy of cars that yield to each other. Semis and buses beat out shuttles and vans, beat out taxis, beat out the beat up cars, beat out the nice cars that the owners don't want to crash. And the dump trucks trump all. It looks like a mess of crazed people laying on their horns and ignoring all lines and dividers and traffic lights - and it is - but at least there's a set order of dominance. Like a wolf pack or something.

The UN, Columbia, the Met, Columbus Circle, the Lincoln Center ... all astounding. Especially the Met. I could have amused myself in there for weeks and weeks. Heck, I spent half an hour in the rooms with Degas and Lautrec, only. And another half an hour completely mezmerized by the insane collection of ancient far eastern art. And of course, Mother and I HAD to wander through Central Park, because we weren't taking enough chances at being mugged, walking back to the hotel at midnight every night. No, we had to get lost in a secluded area. We're just bright like that. But, trees in the middle of the skyscraper forest? It was just too tempting.

Anywho, the shows, the shows. Monday night was, of course, Rent. Kickass. I watch that show without moving or speaking, grinning all the way through the first act and a little bit beyond, every time I see it. Though Scary Spice wasn't as good as the girls I've seen play Mimi before, she could handle everything but the highest notes in "Out Tonight," which she kinda roughed over instead. But then I got to meet her - a real, live Spice Girl - and that made it all okay. I'm going to say this about all, well, almost all of the people I met, but she's SO sweet. She stood and signed handfuls of pictures from this one, obviously crazed, fan, who'd gotten ahold of her baby pictures, and some old Spice Girls pictures, and all sorts of stuff. I'd have been kinda disturbed by that were I her, but I suppose she's used to it. One thing that was a little distracting was that she had a British accent - NOT appropriate for the part - but only when she was speaking. And she only has two spoken paragraphs. Couldn't anyone be bothered to teach her to say those two paragraphs in the accent in which she sings the rest of the show? It is, after all, Broadway. Huh.

Next day was Columbia and The Day Of Walking 100 Blocks, when the guy got shot on the subway (Busy station! Lots of people! Just ... shot! And the guys got away! I love this city.) and we, by which I mean Mother, decided to stay off it at least for 24 hours, but we still had to get back to our hotel at 48th and Broadway from Central Park and the Met somehow. That's a lot of blocks. But, it was all worth it when I got to collapse in the mezz at Studio 54 - yup - and spend 105 uninterrupted minutes feasting my eyes on Assassins. Easily, this is the best show I've seen, ever. In addition to being a Sondheim masterpiece, this production has the perfect ensemble cast, and is very witty, and just dark enough. It's not getting talked about like it deserves. Seriously? Wonderful. The carnival setting is pure brilliance, and adds a lot to the atmosphere. I could gush over this show for ages, but I'll just leave it with, I got to chat with the Tony Award Winning Michael Ceveris. And he's enchanting. Also bald, with an incredible moustache, which definitely gives him a look like none other. But still, enchanting. And also with Dennis, the other actor in this cast nominated for Featured Actor. TOLD you this show was good.

And then we headed over to see ... well, I'll tell that later. Right now ... bed.

Happy Birthday Joan (Moo)(Hurricane)!!

Loves you, Real Mother.

Last Read: 1984, and damn proud of it.
Reading: Vonnegut's Player Piano

You always said how lucky you were that we were all friends.
But it was us, baby, who were the lucky ones.


21 June 2004 1911

New York, New York

Updating from an internet cafe on 42nd Street in between an awesome international dinner and a show of Rent at the Nederlander. Even though I've seen it three times, I'm excited to go back ... for one, it's the only thing playing Monday nights, for two, I Heart It, and for three, I'm going to see a real live Spice Girl! (Hurl insults and tomatoes as you will, I'm reverting to 5th grader mode and I'm thrilled) This somehow had much more draw than the idea of seeing a real live NSYNCer. Can't tell ya why.

UN today, was amazing, would say more except it's rather loserly of me to spend my week in New York inside this computer geek building. I just came in to check tour times for COLUMBIA, which I'm now visiting tomorrow. Score!

I love EVERYTHING.


20 June 2004 2301

The end of an era, really. I kissed the playhouse goodbye this afternoon, and I meant it. I may go back to design sound or build sets, but this was My Last Show, in the sense of commitment and dedication. This is the last one that I'm putting my heart in, the last one that I'll be with from start to finish. And I'm nearly okay with that. It was a really damn high note for all of us to go out on. Best Little Whorehouse, Ever.

I'm done talking about that until I get my pictures back because I'll get all teary-eyed. I'm marking the end of that era with a trip to New York in approximately 5 hours, so I should go pack. After I scrub off the radioactivity from swimming. Thanks, Oak Ridge. Also? Croquet was obviously meant to be played in the dark, because that's what the stripes are for. Thanks, John. Snakes and Spiders, eeeek.

Oh, and waiting for me when I get back, besides all your shining faces, will be this. But before that, I'm seeing this. What's not to like, indeed! Nathan Lane, Sondheim, second performance ever ... what's up! Envy me.

It's over, Ed Earl, Jesus!


20 June 2004 0227

It's over, I think. It's been non-stop since I got home. I mean, I knew tonight was going to be bad, but I thought it was going to be because of ... other anticipated Fraughtenation, not ... this. I was gonna be great - I had the cute dress, Chris was coming, all that stuff. This was not in the plans. I'm so sorry, you guys.

Holly, Joan, John, K eiran ... I've got two thumbs and would kill for any one of you. You meant the world tonight. I love you all, very much. And Casey and Chris, too, you were great. I'm really touched that you guys were so solidly there for me. I can't thank you enough.

Love and kisses.


19 June 2004 1418

Hello, g'mornin, how've you been?
Yesterday left my head kicked in.

I was in such A Mood last night that I only now want to write about it. And it's not going to be funny. So, those of you who read this page just because I occasionally get a joke right, stop. There is nothing here for you today, and yes, I'm going to be grouchy about it.

I'm upset because I've gone so long without thinking myself into a funk. By which I mean, it's been a long time since I last I upset myself using solely silence and the wanderings of my mind. But last night I did it so well and so perfectly that I was unable to get myself out of it until just a minute ago, with a particularly upbeat song that just made me grin and grin until I wasn't Off anymore. (Tara said once that the way music controls my moods is not good and perhaps I'm going crazy, but I've gotten kinda used to it. At least now I sorta know what to do. Thanks, New Radicals. Anyways.) I mean, I couldn't even bring myself to get in my damn car and drive until Casey'd calmed me down sufficiently, and for that, he is my hero today. Everyone else jetted off to points unknown- which I understand totally, I would have too had I had the option - but Casey just stood there and was a good sport about the thunderstorm hanging over my head. And then I drove to get lost, and did, and ended up in front of Holly's house because I missed the turn out to Emory Valley and almost stopped and ran in to get a hug but didn't, because she was leaving anyways. So I did a three-point turn in the middle of the road, instead, and screamed along with the music.

Now, what the hell is wrong with me? No, really. It started with Holly asking me why I don't talk about Chris more, and I said I didn't want to bore them with my high school whatever it is, and she said they bore me with their college whatever it is, and that's true, except I'm interested, and I guess the difference is I figured they didn't really care so much one way or another. Which they probably don't. Anyways, that triggered a veritable hurricane of thoughts and questions and blah blah blah, and I don't want to bore anyone with them more than I have already. Highlights, however, include me retreating to the paint room and burying my face in foam, me kicking the set and hurting my toe, me falling down the stairs while stomping and pouting, and me being a little more bitter and needing to act a little less during "No Lies."

Oh, and in the middle of My Funk, which I didn't feel like discussing because it's all so stupid and so that made it worse, I got sick AGAIN. I am SO tired of feeling sick during this show. It's been at least four or five nights, and I swear, I ate enough yesterday to not be lightheaded. I might have even eaten a fruit or a vegetable. Probably not both, though. So now I'm pissed and I'm just having a damn off night AND I don't feel like standing up. Oh, and my hair didn't curl well.

So I guess maybe it's time for this show to be over. We've had a great time, it's been fun, I've met new people and re-met, it feels like, old ones. There's been fun and jokes and whorehouses within whorehouses, but it seems to have run its course and is now ready to leave. Now, don't hold me to this, because tonight might go awesomely and tomorrow I'll be all upset and whatnot, but right now? I'm ready for something new.

That something, incidentally, will be NEW YORK, for which I have not yet packed. And we're seeing the SECOND show of The Frogs, with Nathan Lane and written by SONDHEIM. I'm thrilled. I'm beyond thrilled. Be jealous of me, ye less fortunates. And Chris comes to the show tonight. Can't stay down any longer, can I ... ?


15 June 2004 1631

Don't Touch That Dial ...

The truth will set you free, apparently. No, really. Maybe there were some miscommunications there after all, but it wasn't between the people we thought. I'm so glad that's all out of the way and understood and done with. It made what would have otherwise been a really crappy Opening Night party into something tolerable and almost pleasing. Opening Night, however, rocked my socks off. The polar opposite of preview, we were so ON. Except, with Mrs. Missagia in the front row, some of us were feeling a little guilty and/or uncomfortable. I mean, this woman was Genny's third grade teacher! She has to write me a college recommendation! But hey, it's all just Volunteen work, right? That's what I thought.

Saturday show: Also good. Sunday show: What can go wrong, did. And some stuff we thought couldn't go wrong did as well, just to keep us on our toes. It worked - we're on our toes. And pissed. Oh well. Harry Potter again put me in a much better mood. I'm Harry Fucking Potter, Destroyer of Worlds! I will Fuck Your Shit Up! Like Bellsouth! ....Chemical Burn! Highlights of course including the part where I started laughing so hard that I choked and had to leave the theatre, and then went skipping down the hallway to hug Sewell, who, as always, acted as though my stage makeup, hair, outfit, and actions were perfectly normal and acceptable. Good man.

Speaking of Chris-es, the other one's home! I'm so excited. Feels like weeks since he left, too. Of course it has been NINE days (not eight, darlin, and 8+3 doesn't equal 10, either.). And I have many many new shotglasses to add to my collection, including a few that are going to force the collection to make the move from my window ledge - where they sparkle when the sun hits them! - to somewhere less prominent. Thanks, Tequila.

So, Ronald Reagan, Ray Charles, and The Bijou in a week! It's like Christmas, but with funerals. "Consider it a gift to the theatre." Suckers. They almost had me fooled for a while there, what with actually going through with Mame, and getting some astronomical donation from a bank that's now wishing it'd never heard of the Bijou Theatre. Again, suckers!

On the topic of What The Fuck, Yahoo just decided to give me 100 megs of storage instead of ... four. Right. Um, they did it right after I completely cleaned out my email, but I'll take it.

Governor's School. I Miss It. I'm incredibly jealous of all those that get to go this year, though Moving Crew of '03 can never, ever be recreated. Melissa, Austin, Hunter, Mark, Maggie, Patrick, Reed, Darby ... I love you.

GSIS 04, Beat That, I Dare You.

"You're a three-alarm fire on wheels."
"I don't think she meant that as a compliment..."
"Too bad, I'm taking it as one."

Onward, and onward.


10 June 2004 0120

It Puts the Lotion in the Basket, Charlie Brown.

I would like to note for the record that this is the THIRD time I am attempting this post. I don't know why I'm trying, but I Can't Stop. And after the day I've had, I can't be funny twice, let alone three times. So take what you damn well get.

So, Preview. It went. I fell. Holly and V and Ragan were insulted. Tony stressed. Caesar was pretty, and Joan was insecure about her wonderfulness, as usual. Those last two parts were normal, at least. And on top of that, we've all been dealing with explosions and fireworks and ... what's the plural of apocolypse? There have, however, been a few shining moments of brilliance. Like when Joe and Cush, after the show, presented me with a hacked off flower-like Thing and said, we pulled it up in front of Cush's barbershop! That's love, right there. Misdemeanors = love, we decided. And then they gave me the REST of the flower. It's not a flower. It's a goddamn beanstalk or thin bush or SOMETHING - the thing's nearly as tall as me! So I wandered around with that, proudly proclaiming its origins, and saw James and Jessica and Sandra, all of whom I miss dearly, and took a picture of Cush with the flower-thing between his teeth, and 'twas all sparkle and shine and whatnot. Spencer suggested I replant the thing in my backyard, and I figure, why not? since I do have all the roots and indeed even some of the dirt. Thanks boys, I Love You.

Saw Harry Potter today. So much better than the first. Alfonso Cuarón may be the best thing to happen to this movie franchise since Alan Rickman developed that voice. Snape gives me cold chills. The first two movies pained me to watch, but this one held me Rapt And Attentive for the duration, with occasional squeals of delight. But of course, to go along with one dream fufilled, we have one dream ruined. The Polar Express movie is a blemish on the face of this good town, much like Miss Mona and the Chicken Ranch, and likewise, must be shut down. Why CGI? Why dancing butlers? Why fireworks? Why not stick to the BEAUTIFUL story that is already there? Because it's not full-length movie material? Fine, maybe it should stay in book form only, then! Stop screwing with my childhood, Hollywood! God.

In other news, my longest-standing and most resiliant grudge has disappeared without a trace, and without notice or warning. I don't know what did it, but it's definitely gone. It's kind of like lunchtime when you're not hungry but you're looking for the Hungry that Is Not There - I keep looking for the twinges of jealousy/rage/spite/anger and the urges to Put Someone Through A Wall, and they're simply absent. It's odd, I almost feel empty. But in a good way.

And it's funny, when the bus stopped, I got off and walked away ...


9 June 2004 2355

I'm 17!

Yey. And I've had a great day. I'm going to get my one complaint out here at the top so the rest of this can be as cheerful as I was ten minutes ago. And the one complaint is as follows: I cannot live in a house where I am not allowed to celebrate my birthday with my friends, where the truth is punished, where the automatic answer to everything is NO, where I'm not trusted if what I'm saying just doesn't seem likely (note: the truth does NOT always make sense!), and where anyone who does anything my parents don't approve of has serious character flaws that can never be changed or resolved. I cannot survive like this. Something's gonna give, and it's gonna be soon.

That aside, I had a WONDERFUL birthday. Props to the boys who went to Cantarito with me, which is, of course, EXACTLY where I wanted to spend my birfday lunch. I think they should name a table after us, because we're there so much. I wore the skirt that blows up when it "winds" (Funny story. Yesterday, I said "I got the boys to promise go to lunch with me by agreeing to wear the skirt that blows up when it winds." To my credit, I was trying to not repeat "blows" twice in the same sentence, but saying "is windy" would have worked better. Anywho, I'm pretty. So very pretty. Holly just shook her head, and shook with laughter.). And that was lovely, despite the fact that too many of my boys are out of town and/or unreachable. Sad day.

And then I spent two and a half hours curling my hair, and it looked Damn Good, and was off to the playhouse for our last rehearsal. As soon as I entered the door, I was hit with this enormous outpouring of love and adoration, and it really made my day, y'all. I got two sets of poker chips and cards (and one was in a REALLY pretty bag that I'm going to, no joke, hang up in my room) (so now we have NO excuses for not playing poker, All The Time), and a card V made with a drawing of Me As Fayrene on the front, and a magnet, in the spirit of the show, that says "Good Clothes Open All Doors" (or, you know, NO clothes. Or hot pink lingerie.).

Genny and Holly are neck-and-neck in the Best Card Competition, Genny's entry being a BRILLIANT religion card that had me laugh until there were tears in my eyes, and Holly with a card that was a Direct Shout-Out. I can't believe she found something so perfect. It's US, no kidding. ::satisfied sigh:: OH! I FORGOT THE CAKE. HOW COULD I FORGET THE CAKE?!?! Joan made the most delectable three-layer choco-licious cake any of us have EVER had, and decorated it with Barbie. And they sang and we ate and all was good. I got a disgustingly large amount of attention and I LOVED it. Thank you so much, guys. I love you all.

Speaking of loving, this show still hasn't been anything but wunnerful. We've got dance routines worked out for all our backstage numbers, now. We march and sing and emote and Holly's boobs dance and Genny's inevitably seductive and I'm just having a rip-roaring good time. And notes with Tony is like having a stand-up comedy hour, with the occasional song, and gratuitous cursing. Highlights from the past two nights include:

Like a HORSE (demonstrating how Barrie's handjob motion should be done)

Be happy boys, happy boys. You're going to get FUCKED!

Business or Pleasure, Sheriff?

Tony: I need Motherly Beaver
Ryder: You already told me to look at the pie ...
Holly: I'm pregnant.

You WANT to get plowed.

You like taffy.

Hey, maybe I'll buy some hair!

This does not, however, mean that the rest of the cast has not been funny. Oh, we've got funny coming out of our ears. (and if you want to SEE funny, touch Caesar's ear. It's a fucking laff riot.) We've got:
Are you talking about our mothers or your breasts, because it's really not clear.

I think we should end this show with a communion.
Yeah, and then God is going to smite the Playhouse. The entire building.

I like my men like I like my marshmallows ... crispy, and stuck to the end of a fork.

It's Santa Claus, and he's pissed.

Everything's comical these days, seriously. I get stomachaches from laughing so hard at the comedy routines backstage ... or just the boys' chair dance, you know, whatever. I wish I had something other than the show to talk about, but at the moment, I really don't. It makes me feel so very warm and fuzzy and cuddly, especially today. Roo.

I think it's funny that now, when I'm no longer proclaiming how mature I am, people decide that I've grown up. I guess tooting your own horn really doesn't have much of a purpose. And building bridges is much more fun than burning them. Coming from me, the queen of Spite And Grudges, that's really saying something. It's a new experience for me, and I'm rather liking it. We'll see how that goes. I'm going to go decorate my room with my wunnerful birfday cards, and snicker again at ... everything. Hugs and kisses to everyone who called or emailed me today, it made me very happy. Come see the show! Tis this weekend - tomorrow for free, and then Friday and Saturday at 8, Sunday at 2. Next week, Thurs, Fri, Sat at 8, Sunday at 2. I'd come to a Sunday show if I were you, because there's nothing more fun than watching the walkouts and disgusted reactions when it's the bluehaired crowd. People are either going to like this show, or they're going to leave in a huff, and they're going to do it immediately after Mackenzie .. well, you know. It's about four minutes into the show, and you'll know it when you see it. He's been practicing. Heeh. I'm SO excited. Info and tickets and maybe pictures.

It's past Baby Whore's bedtime.


7 June 2004 1015

I can't sleep any longer, despite being dead tired, despite the hella-rehearsal we had last night, despite having no Mother here to bitch at me for being lazy. So I figured I might as well update this thing.

So, Hell Week hath begun. We rang in Monday morning at the playhouse. We were called at 5 15 and they let us go at 12 23. Disgusting. But, the show is going REALLY smoothly. The insane delays we had were just for the lighting designer to write his cues - I mean, HONESTLY, how dare he? Just because the entire show's mood and tone and sense of location depends on lights! Selfish.

I had two interesting run-ins with He Who Must Not Be Named - one where Reeva put both mine and Holly's feet in our mouths FOR us, and we scampered away, and then another 7 hours later when he offered to ... do me a huge favor? Does not compute. There was also a Distinct Lack of Careening on our trip to Sonic, despite what certain other people might tell you. Ahh, the beauty of ancient tires. I'd like to say that the squeals were just for effect, but I'd be lying. "Could you had the big ones to the two in the back?" Hah.

Let's talk about costumes, for a minute, and how Nick has appropriately dubbed me Baby Whore. I really am - I wear shades of pink and pigtails. And that part is Adorable. But then, at the end, when V gets her hott slinky black skirt and Sarah gets this horrendous and yet perfect shirt with ruffles, I get .... alligator pants. No, really. Joan's calling me JoyZilla, and it's very appropriate. I go from light pink babydoll to ... trapped in REPTILE SKIN? Nooooooo!

So, I Love Acting. Especially during Tech Week. I'm not running around doing anything, no one's dropping anything on me, I'm not frantic, I'm not getting yelled at, there's nothing that requires hours of my sweat and tears, and nothing's my fault! Or, if it is, I can easily make it appear to be the fault of a crew member. It's Beautiful. I think you have to be a techie first to really appreciate acting. The glory of responsibilities consisting exclusively of signing in, sittin' pretty in lingerie, and singing my little heart out in harmony. What's so hard about that? That's right, I said it.

We were trying to figure out why I wasn't called to the photo shoot on Saturday when they took pictures of ... hookers working ... to show as slides at the top of the show, and then we realized, dude, isn't that illegal? And indeed, yes it is. Thanks, Late Birthday. I'm still working on the 17 thing, so me in that photo shoot would have been nothing if not Jailbait. Hott.

Maaa-aaame. Holly and I did it, we went. And, honestly? It didn't deserve the review it got. That review was written like Doug suddenly thought he worked for a satire paper, but it is not so. And it's all based on a personal vindetta, which is entirely unfair to the show. Because, all in all? Not bad. The first act is long and mediocre, due mostly to the little boy in it, who cannot hold a pitch and remembers only periodically that he should be acting. Long + mediocre = sorta painful. But Eugenio was wonderful and Dana as Herself was BRILLIANT and Kaitlin was adorable, and so we lived through the first act. And are we ever glad we did, because the second act picked up like whoa. Shorter, snappier, little kid gone - it had everything going for it. So I'm not sorry I took a Saturday night to see that, though the house manager demanding a song from the band for the remembrance of Ronald Reagan was a bit disturbing, as was seeing Chevy led out running to sign autographs. But hey, yeah, go support the Bijou (though I can't say that Holly and I did, as we were comp'ed), it deserves it.

Four of my favorite boys have left THE COUNTRY just in time for my birthday. Selfish. But, in regards to Chris, there's been a surprisingly small amount of fire in my direction recently. Hey, I ain't complaining. Except for about the fact that he's Not Here. I'll complain about that. :(

Snarky:

"Nothing Surprises Me Anymore, I woke up this morning with a penis!"

Watching the boys count and concentrate as they strip.

"It pleases the court!"

"Um .... Five?"

Steve Belding grabbing a kitchen chair to dance with.

The End of Innocence

"He wasn't bisexual YESTERDAY!"

"Cooooome What Maaaaaay"

Little Ho-Peep

Me: Genny, have you seen my sheep anywhere?
Genny: Is that a euphemism for something?
Me: Yeah, I think I see some sheep peeking out from under that lace, what do you think?
Casey: AHHHH I'm going to jail.

Oh, Props to Holly's Moo and Roo for cooking out for us again and It Was Good, and then sitting through the endless stream of Hive-ness. Best Funny? The Pass-Off.

Catch Me.


2 June 2004 2312

My God, Tony Cedano (I feel that I must differentiate) is BRILLIANT. Today, to solve the problem of a sort of mechanical movement and boredom that has set in to the whore dance, he brought us EIGHTIES MUSIC by "some big lady, I don't know," and basically told us to break it down. And, oh yeah, Whorehouse got her groove back. V and I turned into sex kittens - a direct quote - and Holly added a hot new hair thrashing sort of move, Batboy's finest. It was divine intervention. There's a fine line between brilliant and crazy, and putting a country Will Rodgers dance to outdated pop is surprisingly on the correct side, and PERFECT. The boys were not nearly so successful as the ladies, sadly, as they concentrated too hard on their own fabricated rhythm to really get into Xtina, Tony's song of choice for them. Appropriate, though.

I have no comments on the other assorted horror/brilliance of this past week other than a motley collection of quotes:

It's gonna be SO queer.

You've been rode hard and put away wet. Hard, like those people we see in Applebee's.

I'm warming you with my body heat!!

Guess who else has been breached? .... eminently.

... John's Dad.

Make no mistake, this is a drill squad captained by a gay man.

I smell gunpowder ... is that bad?

Is it anything that Bacardi Razz can't fix?

Squelchy Claus came early this year.

and, as always, and I mean it now more than ever:
Loveless Copulating Goin' On

There's stories and controversy and funny and all sorts of things but I haven't time. I just came to say hiiiiiiii. And if you're keeping up, which you should be, you know there's a week until my birthday. And life is Beautiful, with a side of Awkward. Which is, all things considered, okay by me.
back