I guess tonight was Fat Tuesday. If I were a good Catholic I'd have known that well in advance.
Several weeks after Hurricane Katrina, I attended a fundraiser by and for the Chicago theatre community (to the extent that the "Chicago theatre community" is capable of acting monolithically) it was spearheaded by my friend Jared, a New Orleans native. It was a lovely, moving night, on which I met several New Orleans evacuees, and we shared some laughter and some tears and some alcoholic beverages. There was a storyteller there, an evacuee who spoke some lovely words about his home city, about it's historical resilience, how it had endured disaster before and would again he defiantly proclaimed that they *would* return home and that they *would* hold Mardi Gras come the Spring. There was a standing ovation, and I found myself drunkenly (and tearily) shouting a promise that I would be there.
At the time I think I sort of meant it.
Not really. But I am an official Family Resource Specialist, having passed through three weeks of rigorous training at the Taking Care of Children store. Today was my first post-training day. If I really were a Jedi, I imagine I'd be doing rather more flipping out and killing people and rather less staring blankly at a monitor screen.
The new job pretty much blows, as most of them do, but at least I don't feel quite as drained as I used to when I came home from my old job at the Adult Education store. This is because of the *sweet* half mile from my apartment commute, which will only last until May 1, when the Taking Care of Children store moves southwest of the Loop. Dear God, that will suck. I fantasize about escaping the new job to a newer job before that happens, but knowing the inertia that inevitably sets in, I probably won't.
I feel pretty much recovered from the pall of deathly illness that's been hanging over me all week. I was recovered enough to go the the Twinters bash on Saturday night, where I lost the second round of my ongoing dance off with longtime rival Samantha Raue. I think maybe Michelle needs to be replaced as judge. Anyone who thinks I lack style has no objectivity or taste whatsoever. A hot girl recently told me I'm an adequate dancer. That's right! Adequate! In your face, other hot girls.
In any case, I still DESTROY Sam every time we arm wrestle.
You know who's NOT funny? Old people.
This saddens me, as I would like to be at least as funny as I am now when I am old. But I don't think it's gonna happen. The funny is a quality of your person that deteriorates like everything else with age. There goes the coordination, there goes the eyesight, there goes the funny.
I started to watch a Monty Python special they're airing on PBS, it's a series with each episode hosted by an original Python, doing an introduction to some of their classic bits, the new material sounded exciting, but sadly there was Eric Idle, embarassing himself by being not at all amusing.
This guy was brave, brave Sir Robin! The Nudge Nudge Wink Wink Guy! He sang all those funny songs! Now here he is doing stale transvestite bits that utterly lack the soul of his original transvestite bits.
Although somehow I do suspect that Cleese will do better.
But Idle has followed Mel Brooks's lead by going to Broadway and saying "Hey, remember how hilarious I was in the seventies? I was pretty hilarious wasn't I?"
Of course, they've both made kazillions of dollars doing so.
But what shall it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul?
Well, I suppose there's the world. That's something. I don't have that.
I woke up feeling fairly horrible this morning and called in sick to the new job. It's a pity to have missed one of my training days, but February is traditionally a time for me to feel awful for at least a brief period. It's better than last February where being sick plus being in Hamlet robbed me of the power of human speech, making me as the beasts.
That feral quality may be the thing I most need to destroy my enemies...by biting them. But alas I cannot reach my enemies when I am ill, alone in my room...so, so impotent...
Another funny thing that some might think is played out, is Behind the Music parodies. But I just saw the last couple of minutes of one on a sketch comedy show called Robot Chicken, that was about Electric Mayhem, the band from the Muppets.
That was reasonably inspired.
Between the Cheney shooting and the SNL rap video, this past winter has been a banner season for the lost, venerable art form of the Aaron Burr Joke. I noted in the 9/30/2004 entry of this blog (which I would link to if I hadn't forgotten how to use Greymatter) that Aaron Burr jokes are the highest form of humor and I stand by that. Mother in law jokes are the bottom of the pyramid that is comedy while Aaron Burr jokes represent the pinnacle.
It's been an unusually warm winter in Chicago. Which means today's typical February weather is horrifying. Only polar bears and madmen are venturing out on the streets of my city tonight. But to see Tom Schorsch's Irish band I will join the ranks of the mad...
Seems like all the action on this website has been in the comments section lately, the new job has been sapping some significant energy. Hopefully there will be something shiny and exciting soon.
I don't think the Dick Cheney thing has been fully explored.
So frequent correspondent Theresa Winters is throwing a Valentine's Day party tomorrow, to which she only invited people who are, in actuality or her perception, "single". Such an honor to be on that list. It sounds suspiciously like an anti-Valentine's Day party, and militant anti-Valentine's day sentiment, as we all know, is intrinsically irritating. So I wasn't going to go.
But she's talking about showing Serenity.
Motherfucker, Serenity's a wonderful movie. Not that I don't own it myself...
It fits a certain anti-Valentine's Day theme, or at least the character of Kaylee does.
"Goin' on a year now I ain't had nothin' twixt my nethers weren't run on batteries".
That's the kind of observational wit that sci-fi action movies just don't have anymore...
Oh my God, Dick Cheney just shot a man!
What will it TAKE for America to WAKE UP?
I have a new job. It seems to be a hard job. I hope I don't lose this one. Of course, that's what I thought about my last one at first and it lasted three and a half years. I hope I'm doing something significantly more three and a half years from now.
Because I'm being trained with nine other people in a classroom/lecture sort of environment, and also because it's oddly not downtown it doesn't feel like a job yet, more like school. Specifically summer school. Which is where I used to go after I failed something, usually math, which happened every year of high school. Summer school is where I was not really any better at math but was extremely charming. I used to be charming, I don't know if I remember how to do that anymore.
People who know me probably recognize that I'm an uneasy cocktail of grandiose ego and crushingly low self esteem. I often feel that I'm not that smart, but then I also feel like I'm kind of smarter than most other people. This actually isn't a contradiction, just an acknowledgement that humans are a rather dumb species. My lot in life is to learn the minutiae of bureacratic systems. This is very boring and difficult for me. There's a weird, contradictory feeling of "God, I'm so dumb" mixed with "God, I'm so above this".
My good friend Tom Schorsch has a blog at theuo.blogspot.com His latest entry is about how peanut butter sandwiches are better for you than casual sex. A tough sell, but I will tell you that I love peanut butter sandwiches. Anyway, I commented on that, then I went off on a tangent about that neo-Nazi cop killer kid (because I *love* writing about neo-Nazi cop killers for some reason) It's the sort of thing I usually write here, so if you enjoy that aspect of this blog (and I don't know if anyone does) go there.
It's actually mainly about the kid's MySpace site (God, MySpace is so weird, and I'm fucked if I understand a damn word that anyone puts up on it) which isn't there anymore, it's some wanker now. But I recap, you know.
I've forgotten how to link to things obviously. Something about CTRL SHIFT ADD but I don't remember what exactly. That's some evidence for the "I'm dumb" theory.
From this day forward, I will never again tolerate nice things said about John McCain in my presence. Infidel dog!
During my couple of weeks of unemployment, the greatest pressure I exerted on myself was towards getting a job. And that was manageable. Now that I'm back to being employed we're back to status quo and the greatest source of stress is writing and how I'm not doing it, or at least not doing it very well. I've got two completed but mediocre scripts I need to turn into masterpieces because that's what they deserve to be. But I, their creator, am failing them.
It's a lonely, depressing Saturday night with not much human contact. Hopefully to be slightly alleviated by watching the American President. Although it'll probably just depress me when I think about how good a writer Aaron Sorkin is.
Speaking of American presidents, the funnest thing I did this week (among a few other reasonably fun things) was my on the fly attempt, with my roommate, to create a State of the Union drinking game. You know, drink every time he mentions "choice" or "accountability" or whatever. Obviously, "Human animal hybrids" has been a laugh line since Tuesday night, but I don't think anyone has captured that the funniest thing about it was not only the phrase but the delivery, the completely earnest, look them in the eye determination with which the President says most things. Our Commander in Chief is not afraid of the human/animal hybrids and he wants to make sure they know that. I for one, feel better knowing that.
I'm not sure when it's going to stop being awesome.
State of the Union party at my place next year. The State of our Union will be STRONG AS STEEL.
By the way, everyone, I now have a job.
I just read in the Tribune that drug smugglers have been surgically implanting heroin in puppies. Fuck you, drug smugglers. Seriously.
I must now break my silence. Recently here at www.whatjailislike.com/adg certain insinuations have been made. Misleading and completely unfounded insinuations.
"If Rory knew how to post photos, rest assured he could give everyone a visual update of What Went Down After Most People Left. Yes indeed, there was a little 'Brokeback' action going on. Oh yes..."
Now, the person who made this comment has evoked a certain recent Academy Award nominated motion picture with the apparent intent of implying that I engaged in certain well not entirely heterosexual acts towards the end of my recent birthday celebration. As my following argument will demonstrate, this implication, I can only say in the strongest possible words, is so much falderal and hokum. Just because, (and my quotation marks will indicate the highly dubious nature of all these constructs) I "kissed" "another man" "on the lips" does NOT mean that I engaged in any kind of same gender, you know...activity.
What people, especially females, in our debased contemporary culture do not understand, is that there is a Bond Among Warriors.
When two men have been in combat together (and being in a play together is very similar) they...understand we're talking about two guys who've been on the field together and stared down the Beast together. Okay? They've been through Heaven and Hell together. There are unspeakable terrors to be shared...as well as unspeakable rewards.
When two men clasp each other on the shoulder, ordinarily I might find that somewhat suspect, but not when we're talking about Warriors. Who have a bond. When two warriors do that, or indeed "kiss", that's not in any way gay, that's cementing the bond, acknowledging the solidarity that is created when you place your life in another man's hands. That's not gay, it just isn't.
When two warriors hold hands, they're not holding hands in a gay way, they're silently commemorating wounds endured and remembering the screams of their fallen comrades. Older cultures understood this. Advanced, older cultures that were not gay.
And when two warriors...tear each other's clothes off and "make love" that's possibly the *single most profound* expression of their heterosexual manhood. And if you don't understand why that is, you never will.