It's been a pretty good Thanksgiving weekend, a time which traditionally counts as among my favorite times of year going back to 1995. The holiday itself isn't a huge deal, since my family is pretty much a bunch of loonies, with a couple of exceptions, but it's also the time when all my friends who aren't in Chicago come back to Chicago, and that rules.
I'm getting ready for the party I'm having for them to start. Hopefully my party will not suck.
I've seen some cool spectacle type things in the last few days, I just came back from seeing the Nutcracker on horseback with my high school friends Eamon and Nora, right now I've got enchantment and wonder pouring out of every orifice. I'm not sure what was more entertaining, the amazing death defying stunts the horse riding actors were performing or Nora's horrified reactions to them.
On Wednesday night, I saw the movie version of Rent. I missed the boat on Rent a bit, being a theatre kid who grew up in the '90s, I really should have become a diehard Rent fan, which a lot of my friends did, but for some reason, I don't know, I was always too busy. Some of the songs, like "Seasons of Love" and "La Boheme" I like but don't know that well, so anyway, I went into the movie pretty fresh, not knowing much more than there's some heroin and some hustling and some AIDS.
And I of course wept like a weakling babe. Rent is so good. Maybe it's all Broadway bombast and emotional manipulation but what can I say? I openly invite you to manipulate my emotions, that's what they're there for.
However, I saw it with a group of huge Rent fangirls who were much more focused on the quality of the film adaptation than the show itself, which they already knew too well. So basically there was no one to share my manipulated emotions with. But whatever, I can bottle those up. Sometimes.
Hm...maybe that's true somewhere. But not in my America.
I like the mixture of complexity and simplicity. I can live with that.
Joey never really stood a chance against you. Guess he was a bit of a workout sometimes.
My plans were one of two things: either very simple or extremely complicated. Your plans usually held the complexity that made them fun and the simplicity that made them successful.
"Clearly the brawn..." Growing up with Joey has served me well. My husband recently learned the latest cop techniques for taking down unruly citizens and used me as his practice partner on weekends home from the police academy -- he has yet to take me down. Complained about the bruises he gets after. Never mess with a Zbilut.
Oh my God, I just looked up this Schemer Drucci guy, at some point he had a plan to kill a bunch of rich and powerful people and make himself President of the United States! You've got to respect that.
Yeah, okay, that's probably true. I just know I didn't really want to hurt them, my mother eventually did find out about it and told me I could have seriously hurt their soft little skulls and I felt very guilty about it. But of course, I never hit them anyway.
I was the "idea man"? I always thought we shared that responsibility pretty equally, although you were clearly the brawn.
Oh no, you were most certainly the idea-man, the "Schemer" Drucci of South Evanston. If anyone came up with the idea, it had to have been you.
Your aim may not have been all that great since your wit has always been your best weapon... However, do not pretend that you did not act on the most primal thoughts so carefully camoflaged now! You meant to hit them. We all did. We were defending out territory. And we were intelligent eight-year-olds. Woefully under-supervised and under-engaged eight-year-olds.
You're right, not all.
Sigh, I'm fairly certain that beyond cheering me on, you put me up to that pear throwing incident, while I concede my aim was probably horrible, I'm sure I didn't really want to hit them.
The "rodents" she refers to were actually younger and much less cool children from a nearby private daycare center that would always overrun the park in back of my house, the teachers felt no compunction about ordering us off of swings and such, despite their total lack of authority over us. The park was supposed to be for all of the good taxpaying children of the community, and they treated it like their private territory, so one day we threw pears at them, not our finest hour.
I hope your soiree goes swimmingly. And please correct the statement that "all" your out-of-Chicago friends return home at this time, for I am unable to. (Maybe you forget that I was there whilst you wielded overripe pears at the rodents, cheering on your horribly bad aim.)
Instead, I sit here, reading your posts, while my husband plays video games in his undies. (It's sad because he's not an idiot, he just plays one.) It's funny how our lives at age 27 don't even come close to the ideas we had at age 9. Of course, it's difficult to get into the world of elephant training...
Were I in Chicago, I'd let my husband continue his game and I'd be at your party, thrilled to death that conversation still exists.
Party on, fearless leader.
