Thursday, October 30, 2008

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Curiouser and Curiouser

I guess it's really true what they say: There's them - then there's the rest of us. Some people are special - the rest of us just take up their empty spaces and get to eat the leftovers they dump out back in the alley.

We at the Marigny Theatre toil away with a group of dedicated artists in relative obscurity in a tiny theatre space that's struggling to remain afloat in the current economy. We think we do good work, we thoroughly enjoy what we do, and we get pretty decent reviews. Often, though, those reviews don't appear in print until after our final performances. That's just a fact of life that has to do with our scheduling as opposed to the publications' scheduling and the fact that we cannot afford to advertise in some of them. For that reason, they may not feel a need to assist us in a way that could result in a financial upswing for us. That's tit for tat, and we accept it as part of the game.

But my eyebrows rise when I run across a review being posted on the Internet prior to its publication by its writer's employer. My eyebrows rise in wonder that these owners would approve and allow work that bears their own copyright to be disseminated by a secondary source for all the world to see before they have had the opportunity to publish it for themselves. Isn't that why they are paying the reviewer? My eyebrows rise up to my hairline when the review appears in contradiction to the offending website's own rules regarding copyright infringement.

But then most of us aren't special. As it now stands, we are all just ... I don't know - what? Dregs? Idiots? Retards, to use one favorite derogatory of some of those special people?

One thing I do know we are, we're all just suckers and marks. Suckers being used by a ruthless gang of second-rate grifters, thugs, and bullies out for whatever they can coax from the paying public before moving on, leaving what's left of the landscape bereft and dry, seeking greener pastures to dehydrate elsewhere.

What the Cat Drugged In

One of my jobs around the house is to wake up first, very early, and slip outside to unplug the holiday lights Bobby has strung up all over the front courtyard. I had no sooner opened the door this morning and stepped out into the chill autumn air than I caught sight of this:

My initial primordial instinct was to frantically pump my legs up and down like I was running in place, waving my hands in the air, and screaming like a girl. However, since I didn't want to wake the neighbors and have them rush out to find me screaming like a girl, I ran back into my living room and locked the door behind me.

Eventually, I calmed down enough to consider getting rid of the body. I had every intention of putting it out on the street - in the trash, not laid out on the sidewalk - but I didn't know where one of those scooper things to pick it up with was. (I wasn't going to use the one we have in the house. That one's for picking up glass and stuff, not potentially plague-carrying rodents.)

I thought of calling the CDC, but that would have put me on the television news. Then everybody would have known I had almost screamed like a girl.

It finally occurred to me to just leave him there. My neighbor Joe's girlfriend would be getting up soon to go to work. She would surely see it laid out there in the open. Then she could start pumping her legs up and down like she was running in place, waving her hands in the air, and screaming like the girl she already was. Joe would rush out to save her, and he would get rid of the rat.

He was kind of cute, though, wasn't he? (I call him a "he", but I didn't get close enough to check for junk or lady parts, so I don't really know for sure.) And no matter how bad he may have turned out, I'm sure his momma always loved him. Some other mice will miss him. Life is hard on these streets, and who can say they'd never sink to the level of a rat to survive?

Monday, October 27, 2008

Friday, October 24, 2008

Does the RNC Know Something We Don't?

Like what she must look like in the morning?

Who was the highest paid individual in Senator John McCain’s presidential campaign during the first half of October as it headed down the homestretch?

Not Randy Scheunemann, Mr. McCain’s chief foreign policy adviser; not Nicolle Wallace, his senior communications staff member. It was Amy Strozzi, who was identified by the Washington Post this week as Gov. Sarah Palin’s traveling makeup artist, according to a new filing with the Federal Election Commission on Thursday night. ...
Let's ship Fred Radtke off to wherever that governor woman is and fix her up right.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Idle Thoughts

  • I can count the number of my friends on the fingers of my two hands, and that's just right by me. Too many, and your life gets all fuzzy and unfocused. Besides, I'm not a joiner. I follow that old Marxian axiom about not wanting to belong to a club that would have me as a member.
  • I rewarded those friends this week by sagely avoiding an ugly lynch mob forming in the twilight of the town square of a local website. There a band of semi-literate sycophants bravely stood foursquare behind their rabble-rousing leader to demand the shunning and the subsequent ouster of a nuisance neighbor of theirs who just really bugged the hell out of them. Don't get me wrong. I personally think the webmaster should have expelled the offensive member long ago - he had cause - but he should have done it quietly and privately. Then all the rest of these good people wouldn't have had to show the world how truly awful they really were. But all's well now. The trap's been sprung on the neck of the mouse. Now they can ballyhoo themselves and each other without the serious concern of anyone else stealing their thunder. I wonder, though, if lightning strikes in the forest, and no one is there, is there thunder?
  • This week, I also pulled a post of mine from a website I contribute to. My thoughts were apparently too foggy to make my point, and people thought I was being critical of a person for taking a stand they considered righteous. I considered this person's stance to be righteous, too, but I questioned the apparent change - to me - in the man, a swelling of pride and subsequent arrogance as he took on his personal establishment. The problem in communication is mine. Rather than shoot a bullet at the heart of a target, I prefer to whisper and intimate (Verb: 1. to make [something] known in an indirect way). I'll have to work on that, I guess.
  • Overall, I'd say the aging process is overtaking me. I find myself divesting, nesting with fewer things to distract my attention. I'm beginning to discover how many things - ideas? - I once would have considered important enough to die for are just not that important in the greater scheme. Maybe the secret of life is just to try and make it more comfortable for that little handful of friends. And to keep shooing all the others off your stoop.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Ya Gotta Wonder

What is it about me - or "us", for that matter - that when I spied this headline:
I knew the story was going to be about Reggie?

What He Said Last Night

"That delivery boy is so dirty, he's supporting his own eco-system."

Monday, October 20, 2008

It's the Little Things

This morning, the little piece of rubber cement or whatever it is that made my chipped tooth look whole fell out of my mouth.

I have since sunk into a downward spiral of depression at the realization that I am now an old man who will soon be helpless and have to be looked after and cared for. In no time at all I will be bedridden. I will waste away alone and die a horrible, lonely death, only to have my rotting body found weeks later by some maintenance man who wonders why I never seem to open my door any more, and then I will be forever forgotten.

Oblivion. Oblivion is all that's left for me.

Most "Say What?" Quote of the Day So Far

Father Geoff Farrow writes:
I would like to post more frequently; however, I've been very busy giving interviews, writing for newspapers and doing radio shows.
I think he likes doing all that stuff.

That's why martyrdom is problematic. There's always the question buzzing through the crowd standing around the flaming pyre, "Is this guy really this selfless or is he really just brazen?"

What's that? You don't know Father Geoff? Ask him, he'll tell you who he is. He's the priest who single-handedly took on the man (his bishop) over Proposition 8 in California. Now, common sense and a little knowledge of history will tell you that when you're a priest and you're going to be taking on the man, you're going to lose.

Ah, but losing can be the winning ticket. And in losing, Father Geoff won. But then, was there ever any doubt? Any suspense over the outcome? Now the good father has a bigger congregation than he ever would have enjoyed had he quietly went about his business which was doing the bishop's bidding.

At first, I was impressed with the battle. It's easy to be impressed. We all root for the underdog. But now the guy won't go away. He seems intent on becoming the groovy conscience of California.

It's all kind of cynical.

Consider this. Say you're a Catholic (or, if you're not a Catholic, face it, you know somebody who is, so pretend to be one). How often do you do what your bishop tells you to do? See my point?

I mean, I was raised Catholic by my Sicilian mother who was raised Catholic before me by her Sicilian grandmother who refused to ever let her go to confession.

"What?" she used to say in Sicilian. "You want to go in there? It's a dark box. There's a man in it. You're a girl. What's that say to you?"

Old-world, peasant wisdom.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Bobby's Been at It Again

The main house of our building may be uninhabitable and still not repaired from the fire of a few months ago, but that won't stop Bobby from decorating for the season.

You Know They're Old When They Start to Embarrass You

My big brother Jimmy turned sdoieujy-nfjga last Friday. I tried calling him to wish him a happy birthday, but he wasn't home. Apparently, he was on his way to do this.

Being of Two Minds

I'm not altogether comfortable posting this picture because I didn't take it - a young lady friend did that - although I played with it to bring it to this level of legibility. But I really like it, so what the fuck.

Saturday, October 18, 2008


It's after 10 AM, and no one has gone to the theatre forums on that website to cream over the great American musical that opened here last night. You know the one I mean, the one the producers, the director, the ever-changing cast have all been smooshing in our faces for months like soggy meringue pies telling us we've been waiting for years to experience it, we'll love it, it's "important", and it's good for us.

Just wond'rin' ...

(Oooh, I didn't say that.)

Update, 3:50 PM: Still nothing on the forums.

Update, 7:08 PM: Nada. Hmmm ...

Update: 5:18 AM, 10/19/2008: Ah, a spurt. But wait, this guy's in the show. Doesn't count.

Update: 8:29 AM, 10/20/2008: [Yawn]

Where I Do My Thinking

Tuesday, October 14, 2008


I'm missing the good old days of this old blog when I could write about something I was doing without the whole world knowing who I was or what exactly was aggravating me. In other words, upon whom I was dumping. I was anonymous then - at least, to most.

Having been raised a Catholic, there are naturally times in my life when I experience a compelling need to confess. Say, a transgression, an aggravation, a bad thought, any-fucking-thing. But Catholic confession implies quiet seclusion, impersonality between confessor and penitent ... and a sense of anonymity.

I don't have that anymore. I don't have that here. As a result, I want to climb to my second-floor balcony so I can shout my exasperations to all of creation from up there.

Come to think of it, who would pay any attention? That might just be the place to do it.

I'm just sayin'.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Things I Love

  • My Posse
  • People Who See Me as Both the Second Coming and the Cat's Meow
  • All Their Friends Who Agree with Them
  • And All Those Other People Who Know I Am Always Right

Things I Hate

  • Cliques
  • Narcissists
  • Narcissistic Cliques
  • Cliques of Narcissists
  • And All Their Friends

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Deep Thoughts

In the life of every man, there comes a moment when he pauses and reflects and faces the realization that he has pissed his life away down the rotten sewer of some dark, dank alley of the cosmos.

Only then can he come back to himself and say, "Today I am a man."


Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Thursday, October 2, 2008

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