So David Wells gives up two solo shots in the first, then pitches seven and a third innings of shutout ball. I didn't see that coming. I was terrified at first. But I guess there's a chance that Wells doesn't suck. If this becomes the norm for him, I think the Red Sox will have the AL East in the hat once we get Schilling back. I mean hell, if you can hold the Yankees to two runs, then you will win ballgames if you've got the muscle that the Sox have in the batting order, especially now that Renteria is starting to come back into his own. And we can expect better numbers from most of the rest of them down the stretch ("we," for the purposes of this post, refers to me, Saije, Mickerdoo, and anyone else who knows who Big Papi is, and/or has ever asked themselves, "What would Johnny Damon Do?"
I am, in short, happy with the results of tonights game, and happier still that I was actually able to watch it out here in Chicago.
5.27.2005
The End of an Era
I was inwardly debating whether or not to write about this here, as most of the people who read this blog really have no way of comprehending (nor do I have the means of expressing) what this means to me. But its what's on my mind now, so I figure I might as well put it somewhere. To not alienate either the portion of my audience that isn't aware of the situation I'm about to write about or give the portion that is yet another redundant recap, I'm going to tell the story as it relates to me personally.
I went to a Catholic all-male high school, run by the Jesuits, an order of priests whose principles of education are paramount. Despite my lack of affection for the Catholic Church, I have nothing but respect and admiration for the Jesuits, as they are the epoch of "walking the walk" rather than merely "talking the talk."
I pretty much wasted my time there the first two years. During the second I crashed something awful. Various circumstances were involved, but the long and short of it was that I was extremely depressed and almost failed out of school.
I come in Junior year with the same kind of malaise. A bunch of my friends mention that they're going to be joining drama. I figure I might as well give it a shot. One of the best decisions of my life. My first roles onstage, were bit parts, but what was important was the learning experience. The BC High Dramatics society was in the charge of two great men and brilliant educators, Kevin Kynock (henceforth known as TGO, or The Great One) and Chip (no nickname would suffice)
TGO is an incredibly well-experienced man of the theater. He was no stranger to the Stratford Shakespeare festival, and actually worked with the Royal Shakespeare Company, in addition to various academic honors. He served as artistic director, and through his efforts had always manage to cast every student who wanted a role, and moreover did so in a way that never seemed to weaken the show, as he made sure that everyone got to where they needed to be by the time the curtain first went up. Later on, he taught me and the 8 others in his Dramatics Seminar the fundamentals of directing, producing, and acting. I will never forget the things I learned from him.
Chip is without any doubt the greatest mentor I have ever had, the most knowledgeable man I have ever met (architect, onetime skateboard coach, onetime heavy metal singer, the list goes on...), and easily the best teacher I have ever known. From him I learned not only about stage design, costuming, prop work, carpentry, dramaturgy, and acting, but also about Life, the Universe, and Everything. I stayed after school every day and volunteered my services at first so that I could spend time with him and learn from him. My passion for theater now is mostly due to him, and if there is any truth to what they tell me about my breadth of general knowledge in my improv class then he's got a lot to do with it. When I needed to talk to him about personal matters he seemed to be able to see straight into my soul. He knew me better than was natural for someone I'd known for only so long
Working with these two men over my Junior and Senior years of high school had an enormous and profound impact on my life. It changed the very way that I look at the world, and the people in it. The program did not merely instruct me in the ways of the theater but helped me to develop and grow as a young man. For me, who had previously been in a pit of despair, it was deliverance. I do not know where I would be without it, aside for the obvious fact that there's no way I'd be studying theater, and that I probably wouldn't be writing. As I've said before, there are hardly words to explain what the Dramatics Society meant to me, but lets put it this way: Other than the Boy Scouts, it is the chapel of the only memories of my teenage years that I cherish.
And it has been desecrated. In fact it may be lost for good.
This year, TGO fell ill. He had to withdraw as Artistic Director. As if he was waiting on this, an English teacher by the name of Adrian Hernandez who I had as a Senior and know personally jumped at the job. He was given it because the administration looks kindly upon him and does its best to ignore all the good that TGO and Chip had done. What he lacks in actual knowledge of theater he makes up for with his big-as-a-house ego. He sees the school's theater as his canvass rather than a place where education is supposed to occur. Let me explain this as concisely as I can. To be a stage manager or a green room manager or a house manager, you go through three years of training; learning by doing under TGO and Chip's program. The title is not given lightly. Therefore, when Hernandez said that he was bringing in some of his English students to do these jobs for his production of Dead Man Walking, it was an enormous insult. Even more so when he didn't train them to do the jobs. With about a month of traning in the general area I knew more about stage managing than the student he brought in did by the time the show went up. Actually, I think I know more about it than him.
Hernandez did everything wrong. He didn't communicate with his tech crew, he abused his actors... the list is far too great to be posted here. Suffice to say, it was a travesty. And for the show to have even gone up was the result of an astounding effort on the part of Chip, who should have really been given the job as artistic director, and those of his students who hadn't been completely swept under the rug.
The show went up. It was still a travesty, and it still sucked, but it went up. Nothing fell apart, and nobody died, and Chip took great pains to make it so. He went through hell to do his job, to the extent of actual hazard to his health, for the sake of his students. And he was rewarded with termination.
Let me make this clear. The descision to fire him came as soon as Hernandez was made director. The administration, who have in recent years been playing fast and loose with Jesuit ideals, simply lied to him about it. Because they needed him. They needed him to make Dead Man Walking possible. They allowed him to take great pains to make it work before firing him.
That, ladies and gentlemen, isn't just wrong. It's downright evil. And I hardly use the word.
So now the theater at BC High is solely in the charge of a total sleaze, and he wants to erase the every memory of what Chip and TGO built there. He even wants to tear down the stage, parts of which I built. He's told the existing crew that there was no garuntee (read: no hope) that they'd keep their positions.
It's gone. The theater I knew, and loved, that nurtured me, and meant so much to me will no longer be known and loved by anyone. It will no longer nurture, nor mean anything to anyone.
my prolonged silence on this blog has partially been because I've been unable to think of anything else.
I waxed poetic on the subject soon after I heard of it:
Let us raise a glass to the times we shared
And to those who made them great;
Hold dear the spirit imbued upon us
and carry it boldly into the future
I shed a tear when I finished writing that. However, I have to say that TGO put it much better:
Remember the good times, and everything you've learned
Take them with you
And leave the shit behind.
As much as I try to take his words to heart I still feel like a part of me is dead.
And my heart goes out to the Sophomore at BC High I know must exist now who's in the same pit of despair I was, but won't have Drama to pull him out.
I went to a Catholic all-male high school, run by the Jesuits, an order of priests whose principles of education are paramount. Despite my lack of affection for the Catholic Church, I have nothing but respect and admiration for the Jesuits, as they are the epoch of "walking the walk" rather than merely "talking the talk."
I pretty much wasted my time there the first two years. During the second I crashed something awful. Various circumstances were involved, but the long and short of it was that I was extremely depressed and almost failed out of school.
I come in Junior year with the same kind of malaise. A bunch of my friends mention that they're going to be joining drama. I figure I might as well give it a shot. One of the best decisions of my life. My first roles onstage, were bit parts, but what was important was the learning experience. The BC High Dramatics society was in the charge of two great men and brilliant educators, Kevin Kynock (henceforth known as TGO, or The Great One) and Chip (no nickname would suffice)
TGO is an incredibly well-experienced man of the theater. He was no stranger to the Stratford Shakespeare festival, and actually worked with the Royal Shakespeare Company, in addition to various academic honors. He served as artistic director, and through his efforts had always manage to cast every student who wanted a role, and moreover did so in a way that never seemed to weaken the show, as he made sure that everyone got to where they needed to be by the time the curtain first went up. Later on, he taught me and the 8 others in his Dramatics Seminar the fundamentals of directing, producing, and acting. I will never forget the things I learned from him.
Chip is without any doubt the greatest mentor I have ever had, the most knowledgeable man I have ever met (architect, onetime skateboard coach, onetime heavy metal singer, the list goes on...), and easily the best teacher I have ever known. From him I learned not only about stage design, costuming, prop work, carpentry, dramaturgy, and acting, but also about Life, the Universe, and Everything. I stayed after school every day and volunteered my services at first so that I could spend time with him and learn from him. My passion for theater now is mostly due to him, and if there is any truth to what they tell me about my breadth of general knowledge in my improv class then he's got a lot to do with it. When I needed to talk to him about personal matters he seemed to be able to see straight into my soul. He knew me better than was natural for someone I'd known for only so long
Working with these two men over my Junior and Senior years of high school had an enormous and profound impact on my life. It changed the very way that I look at the world, and the people in it. The program did not merely instruct me in the ways of the theater but helped me to develop and grow as a young man. For me, who had previously been in a pit of despair, it was deliverance. I do not know where I would be without it, aside for the obvious fact that there's no way I'd be studying theater, and that I probably wouldn't be writing. As I've said before, there are hardly words to explain what the Dramatics Society meant to me, but lets put it this way: Other than the Boy Scouts, it is the chapel of the only memories of my teenage years that I cherish.
And it has been desecrated. In fact it may be lost for good.
This year, TGO fell ill. He had to withdraw as Artistic Director. As if he was waiting on this, an English teacher by the name of Adrian Hernandez who I had as a Senior and know personally jumped at the job. He was given it because the administration looks kindly upon him and does its best to ignore all the good that TGO and Chip had done. What he lacks in actual knowledge of theater he makes up for with his big-as-a-house ego. He sees the school's theater as his canvass rather than a place where education is supposed to occur. Let me explain this as concisely as I can. To be a stage manager or a green room manager or a house manager, you go through three years of training; learning by doing under TGO and Chip's program. The title is not given lightly. Therefore, when Hernandez said that he was bringing in some of his English students to do these jobs for his production of Dead Man Walking, it was an enormous insult. Even more so when he didn't train them to do the jobs. With about a month of traning in the general area I knew more about stage managing than the student he brought in did by the time the show went up. Actually, I think I know more about it than him.
Hernandez did everything wrong. He didn't communicate with his tech crew, he abused his actors... the list is far too great to be posted here. Suffice to say, it was a travesty. And for the show to have even gone up was the result of an astounding effort on the part of Chip, who should have really been given the job as artistic director, and those of his students who hadn't been completely swept under the rug.
The show went up. It was still a travesty, and it still sucked, but it went up. Nothing fell apart, and nobody died, and Chip took great pains to make it so. He went through hell to do his job, to the extent of actual hazard to his health, for the sake of his students. And he was rewarded with termination.
Let me make this clear. The descision to fire him came as soon as Hernandez was made director. The administration, who have in recent years been playing fast and loose with Jesuit ideals, simply lied to him about it. Because they needed him. They needed him to make Dead Man Walking possible. They allowed him to take great pains to make it work before firing him.
That, ladies and gentlemen, isn't just wrong. It's downright evil. And I hardly use the word.
So now the theater at BC High is solely in the charge of a total sleaze, and he wants to erase the every memory of what Chip and TGO built there. He even wants to tear down the stage, parts of which I built. He's told the existing crew that there was no garuntee (read: no hope) that they'd keep their positions.
It's gone. The theater I knew, and loved, that nurtured me, and meant so much to me will no longer be known and loved by anyone. It will no longer nurture, nor mean anything to anyone.
my prolonged silence on this blog has partially been because I've been unable to think of anything else.
I waxed poetic on the subject soon after I heard of it:
Let us raise a glass to the times we shared
And to those who made them great;
Hold dear the spirit imbued upon us
and carry it boldly into the future
I shed a tear when I finished writing that. However, I have to say that TGO put it much better:
Remember the good times, and everything you've learned
Take them with you
And leave the shit behind.
As much as I try to take his words to heart I still feel like a part of me is dead.
And my heart goes out to the Sophomore at BC High I know must exist now who's in the same pit of despair I was, but won't have Drama to pull him out.
5.24.2005
Well, can it?
Oh, the ragman draws circles
Up and down the block.
I'd ask him what the matter was
But I know that he don't talk.
And the ladies treat me kindly
And furnish me with tape,
But deep inside my heart
I know I can't escape.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Well, Shakespeare, he's in the alley
With his pointed shoes and his bells,
Speaking to some French girl,
Who says she knows me well.
And I would send a message
To find out if she's talked,
But the post office has been stolen
And the mailbox is locked.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Mona tried to tell me
To stay away from the train line.
She said that all the railroad men
Just drink up your blood like wine.
An' I said, "Oh, I didn't know that,
But then again, there's only one I've met
An' he just smoked my eyelids
An' punched my cigarette."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the senator came down here
Showing ev'ryone his gun,
Handing out free tickets
To the wedding of his son.
An' me, I nearly got busted
An' wouldn't it be my luck
To get caught without a ticket
And be discovered beneath a truck.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the preacher looked so baffled
When I asked him why he dressed
With twenty pounds of headlines
Stapled to his chest.
But he cursed me when I proved it to him,
Then I whispered, "Not even you can hide.
You see, you're just like me,
I hope you're satisfied."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the rainman gave me two cures,
Then he said, "Jump right in."
The one was Texas medicine,
The other was just railroad gin.
An' like a fool I mixed them
An' it strangled up my mind,
An' now people just get uglier
An' I have no sense of time.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
When Ruthie says come see her
In her honky-tonk lagoon,
Where I can watch her waltz for free
'Neath her Panamanian moon.
An' I say, "Aw come on now,
You must know about my debutante."
An' she says, "Your debutante just knows what you need
But I know what you want."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the bricks lay on Grand Street
Where the neon madmen climb.
They all fall there so perfectly,
It all seems so well timed.
An' here I sit so patiently
Waiting to find out what price
You have to pay to get out of
Going through all these things twice.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Up and down the block.
I'd ask him what the matter was
But I know that he don't talk.
And the ladies treat me kindly
And furnish me with tape,
But deep inside my heart
I know I can't escape.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Well, Shakespeare, he's in the alley
With his pointed shoes and his bells,
Speaking to some French girl,
Who says she knows me well.
And I would send a message
To find out if she's talked,
But the post office has been stolen
And the mailbox is locked.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Mona tried to tell me
To stay away from the train line.
She said that all the railroad men
Just drink up your blood like wine.
An' I said, "Oh, I didn't know that,
But then again, there's only one I've met
An' he just smoked my eyelids
An' punched my cigarette."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the senator came down here
Showing ev'ryone his gun,
Handing out free tickets
To the wedding of his son.
An' me, I nearly got busted
An' wouldn't it be my luck
To get caught without a ticket
And be discovered beneath a truck.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the preacher looked so baffled
When I asked him why he dressed
With twenty pounds of headlines
Stapled to his chest.
But he cursed me when I proved it to him,
Then I whispered, "Not even you can hide.
You see, you're just like me,
I hope you're satisfied."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the rainman gave me two cures,
Then he said, "Jump right in."
The one was Texas medicine,
The other was just railroad gin.
An' like a fool I mixed them
An' it strangled up my mind,
An' now people just get uglier
An' I have no sense of time.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
When Ruthie says come see her
In her honky-tonk lagoon,
Where I can watch her waltz for free
'Neath her Panamanian moon.
An' I say, "Aw come on now,
You must know about my debutante."
An' she says, "Your debutante just knows what you need
But I know what you want."
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the bricks lay on Grand Street
Where the neon madmen climb.
They all fall there so perfectly,
It all seems so well timed.
An' here I sit so patiently
Waiting to find out what price
You have to pay to get out of
Going through all these things twice.
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Moving on...
I'm going to leave the post below up for a couple of more days
Ok, so there's a new something availible at Writings of the Wombat. Its from the play, which I should have finished by now. I have written more, but its all very rough draft. I figure that when I finish it I'll make an anouncement to the effect that anyone who wants the final draft can email me for it.
I will also have more material to post there shortly
Also: I thought I was going to have something to say here, but couldn't think of anything.
System of a Down's new album, Mezmerize, rocks hard. I still don't quite know what makes them so awesome.
That is all for now
Ok, so there's a new something availible at Writings of the Wombat. Its from the play, which I should have finished by now. I have written more, but its all very rough draft. I figure that when I finish it I'll make an anouncement to the effect that anyone who wants the final draft can email me for it.
I will also have more material to post there shortly
Also: I thought I was going to have something to say here, but couldn't think of anything.
System of a Down's new album, Mezmerize, rocks hard. I still don't quite know what makes them so awesome.
That is all for now
5.20.2005
Ok, I know this is late, but...
This is hardly the only written piece I've submitted late this week.
Star Wars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith.
I cannot claim to be capable of reviewing this movie with any semblance of objectivity. Star Wars has meant too much to me personally for that. I can only review it as a Star Wars movie. And, as a die-hard fan, I present this review as I would want to recieve it: free of spoilers.
As such, it is excellent. I will have to re-examine both movies, but I think I rate it above Return of the Jedi, which would have been the second best in the Original Trilogy (next to Empire) if not for the goddamned Ewoks. Originally the plan was for the Wookies to have aided the Rebels on the forest moon of Endor, but Lucas put the Ewoks in to sell the movie to children. (Note: if the death of one of the good guys during a climactic battle evokes an "awwww..." from the audience, then you've done something wrong.)
But thats enough of that. Ok, so I lied. One more thing. There was some vindication for that error in Episode 3, because the scenes with the Wookies were amazing.
So lets take this blow by blow.
The plot: Clearly the most thought-through of the prequel trilogy. It's as strong a plot as any of the OT. Most importantly, Anakin is a much better-written character this time around
The dialogue: Let me put this lightly. There is a difference between being a master storyteller and a master writer. No one ever accused Lucas of being the latter. That being said, the dialogue was largely decent with one or two exceptions where it stuck out sorely as well as just about every scene with Padame and Anakin.. There were, however, some great exchanges, and a few great and memorable lines, some of which right-wingers are bitching about. Like this one:
Amidala: So this is how liberty dies. To thunderous applause
and this exchange:
Anakin: If you're not with me, you're my enemy
Obi-Wan: Only a Sith Lord deals in absolutes
The Acting: Most of the cast weren't really, but that's like saying, "Nolan Ryan didn't pitch his best game today." There are six occasions where this could have honestly said about a no-hitter. The cast is made up of great actors, and though they weren't at their best, I have no complaints, except Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman, and only in the scenes in which they appear together. And I only partly blame them, because when good actors give poor performances, it is usually the director's fault. It was, after all, Lucas who decided that they didn't need a few more takes to get the scenes right.
That being said, Christensen excecuted the transition from Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader spot-on; from somewhat arrogant yet loyal Jedi Knight, to a conflicted and troubled man trying desparately to reconcile his loyaltees, to a man possessed by the Dark Lord of the Sith.
For that matter, McGreggor squarely bested his previous two performances as Obi-Wan, and throughout the last act brilliantly portrayed a man betayed by his former student, whom he loved as a brother.
When she didn't appear in one of those alltogether unfortunate love scenes with Hayden, Natalie Portman played a solid Amidala. Also, let it be known that the acting did work for me when Anakin and Amidala were in conflict.
Everyone else on the cast more or less did their job.
The visuals: Mindblowing. there really isn't more to say on the subject.
The war scenes: Wookies fighting droids, Jedi fighting droids, Clones fighting droids, Clones and Jedi fighting droids side by side, and Jedi and others flying against the droids in badass snubfighters. All were amazing to behold; well planned and well excecuted.
The music: Yep. Still John Williams. 'Nuff said.
The humor: For the first time in the entire saga, C3PO and Artoo Deetoo go through a movie without being annoying. The humor in Revenge of the Sith was more effective than in any previous Star Wars. And this is in fact important, because withot humor, the story would be too painful.
The fall of the Jedi: Ok, so if you're at all familiar with original films, you knew already that by the end of the movie the only Jedi remaining alive would be Obi-Wan and Yoda. Thus, the rest of the Jedi are killed by the end. I won't spoil how it happened, but when it did happen it was beautifully painful. Especially since you knew it was coming. I'm not afraid to admit I shed some tears here.
The duels: There is more lightsaber duel footage in this episode than in any other. They were some of the greatest examples of filmed swordplay that I've ever witnessed. The last one was the greatest. Hayden Christiansen and Ewan McGreggor are phenomenal swordsmen, and they show it. Remarkable speed, footwork, and range of technique. The ones not involving either of those two are only slightly less awesome.
All in all, this movie is more than worth seeing. Like Anakin Skywalker, the prequel trilogy lost its way, but redeemed itself in the end.
Star Wars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith.
I cannot claim to be capable of reviewing this movie with any semblance of objectivity. Star Wars has meant too much to me personally for that. I can only review it as a Star Wars movie. And, as a die-hard fan, I present this review as I would want to recieve it: free of spoilers.
As such, it is excellent. I will have to re-examine both movies, but I think I rate it above Return of the Jedi, which would have been the second best in the Original Trilogy (next to Empire) if not for the goddamned Ewoks. Originally the plan was for the Wookies to have aided the Rebels on the forest moon of Endor, but Lucas put the Ewoks in to sell the movie to children. (Note: if the death of one of the good guys during a climactic battle evokes an "awwww..." from the audience, then you've done something wrong.)
But thats enough of that. Ok, so I lied. One more thing. There was some vindication for that error in Episode 3, because the scenes with the Wookies were amazing.
So lets take this blow by blow.
The plot: Clearly the most thought-through of the prequel trilogy. It's as strong a plot as any of the OT. Most importantly, Anakin is a much better-written character this time around
The dialogue: Let me put this lightly. There is a difference between being a master storyteller and a master writer. No one ever accused Lucas of being the latter. That being said, the dialogue was largely decent with one or two exceptions where it stuck out sorely as well as just about every scene with Padame and Anakin.. There were, however, some great exchanges, and a few great and memorable lines, some of which right-wingers are bitching about. Like this one:
Amidala: So this is how liberty dies. To thunderous applause
and this exchange:
Anakin: If you're not with me, you're my enemy
Obi-Wan: Only a Sith Lord deals in absolutes
The Acting: Most of the cast weren't really, but that's like saying, "Nolan Ryan didn't pitch his best game today." There are six occasions where this could have honestly said about a no-hitter. The cast is made up of great actors, and though they weren't at their best, I have no complaints, except Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman, and only in the scenes in which they appear together. And I only partly blame them, because when good actors give poor performances, it is usually the director's fault. It was, after all, Lucas who decided that they didn't need a few more takes to get the scenes right.
That being said, Christensen excecuted the transition from Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader spot-on; from somewhat arrogant yet loyal Jedi Knight, to a conflicted and troubled man trying desparately to reconcile his loyaltees, to a man possessed by the Dark Lord of the Sith.
For that matter, McGreggor squarely bested his previous two performances as Obi-Wan, and throughout the last act brilliantly portrayed a man betayed by his former student, whom he loved as a brother.
When she didn't appear in one of those alltogether unfortunate love scenes with Hayden, Natalie Portman played a solid Amidala. Also, let it be known that the acting did work for me when Anakin and Amidala were in conflict.
Everyone else on the cast more or less did their job.
The visuals: Mindblowing. there really isn't more to say on the subject.
The war scenes: Wookies fighting droids, Jedi fighting droids, Clones fighting droids, Clones and Jedi fighting droids side by side, and Jedi and others flying against the droids in badass snubfighters. All were amazing to behold; well planned and well excecuted.
The music: Yep. Still John Williams. 'Nuff said.
The humor: For the first time in the entire saga, C3PO and Artoo Deetoo go through a movie without being annoying. The humor in Revenge of the Sith was more effective than in any previous Star Wars. And this is in fact important, because withot humor, the story would be too painful.
The fall of the Jedi: Ok, so if you're at all familiar with original films, you knew already that by the end of the movie the only Jedi remaining alive would be Obi-Wan and Yoda. Thus, the rest of the Jedi are killed by the end. I won't spoil how it happened, but when it did happen it was beautifully painful. Especially since you knew it was coming. I'm not afraid to admit I shed some tears here.
The duels: There is more lightsaber duel footage in this episode than in any other. They were some of the greatest examples of filmed swordplay that I've ever witnessed. The last one was the greatest. Hayden Christiansen and Ewan McGreggor are phenomenal swordsmen, and they show it. Remarkable speed, footwork, and range of technique. The ones not involving either of those two are only slightly less awesome.
All in all, this movie is more than worth seeing. Like Anakin Skywalker, the prequel trilogy lost its way, but redeemed itself in the end.
5.18.2005
I Have Betrayed My Heritage
I have been a Star Wars fan for 12 of my 19 years. I cheered when the Special Editions came out, but I maintain that Han shot first. I have played more Star Wars games than I can count, including video games (from the Atari to tha Gamecube and the Xbox), card games(both incarnations), and the tabletop RPG. I enjoyed Episodes 1 and 2 despite their obvious weaknesses, and went back to see Episode 2 on an IMAX screen. When Episode 2 came out I bought a spare lightsaber so that I could have one to stay pretty, and another to do battle with my friends, and I kept at it even after my friend Tom and I simultaneously gave each other huge freaking welts on the face. I've in the face of two thoroughly disappointing prequels kept the faith that the third would live up to its title. According to most reviewers, my faith will be repaid at midnight tonight.
And I don't have tickets.
You have dissapointed me for the last time
UPDATE 9:30: I GOT TICKETS!!! Review soon to follow at around 3:00 Central
And I don't have tickets.
You have dissapointed me for the last time
UPDATE 9:30: I GOT TICKETS!!! Review soon to follow at around 3:00 Central
5.17.2005
The Mars Volta: Frances the Mute Tour
My good friend Steve (notice the lack of link... he is not to be confused with Steve Shepard of Last things Last fame) gave me the greatest birthday gift ever: An invite to see The Mars Volta live with him at the Riviera. It was the best concert I have seen in my life (Sorry Blues Traveler, there's no shame in second place)
The band is like a prog-rock rebuttal to jazz-rock. Where Jazz-Rock was always heavy on the jazz, and the rock was rarely if ever taken for a walk, These guys take the improvisational nature of jazz, as well as a few of its instruments (the percussions, the sax, the bass clarinet, and the keyboards were decidedly jazzish) and applies it to hard rock.
but we're getting ahead of ourselves
First: The venue. (the following is the gist of a conversation whose exact words I don't remember)
Me: Ooooohhh...
Steve: Yeah, this is a really nice venue
Me: looks like an opera house, acts like a rock club. We need to play this house.
Steve: How? We're actors! You can't have a bar and a mosh pit and do theater!
Me: hold on... Yes, that's it!!! We'll both stop saying, "I'm going to pick up the guitar" and actually learn. Then we'll recruit the rest of the band and perform Hamlet the Rock Opera.
Steve: no.... yes!
(noted once again, you have my garuntee that that is not how the conversation went, but that was the gist of it)
We notice the speakers. The enormous, taller than me with another me on my shoulders speakers. I can't speak for him, but my ears at that point simultaneously climaxed and recoiled in shock.
Ok, so cut forward to the curtain rising. The Volta take the stage.
THERE WERE MORE HUGE SPEAKERS BEHIND THE STAGE.
the concert began with a drum solo.
they STARTED THE CONCERT with a DRUM SOLO.
What followed was two hours of pure awesome. Onstage were seven dudes. I'd look up their names, but I'm exhausted from the concert, the observance of which I poured much of my energy into as well as a rather long but enjoyable walk afterwards in search for food (yes this was late but we'd both left for the show soon following afternoon classes and had yet to eat, so we stopped for some Thai food) as well as a longish walk to the nearest station, so I'll put them in when I'm more awake.
On Keyboards was a dude whose piano-playing manner could only be described as this. Imagine that Ray Charles' piano-playing body motion was caused rather than merely accentuated by heroin use. He rocked harder than any other keyboards guy I've ever seen.
the Percussionist: (not to be confused with the drummer) The only honest way of describing this guy is that he was basically a one man percussion ensemble and not in a goofy Dick Van Dyke way, but in an awesome way.
The Drummer: The man who started the show (WITH A DRUM SOLO... I'm never going to get over this) Enormous energy from this guy. The Volta in many if their songs tend to change volume and tempo rapidly and dramatically, and it is this guy's combination of finesse and power that allows for it. He managed to in the course of a song remove his shirt without breaking rythim. I have no clue how he managed it Also, on the bass drum was half-red, half-blue rectangle bearing the words liberte ou le mort in white letters. Don't know why I noticed that in particular.
The Bass Guitarist: Easily the least interesting of the group, which says nothing for his skill, but he pretty much stayed in his place on the stage, with his back to the audience. Doesn't mean he didn't jam something feirce
The Lead Guitarist: Dude once again has a high energy level. Odd thing is that he plays the lead guitar, but he dresses and moves like the bass guitarist from The Band. In any case, he was, as they all are, incredible.
The Other Guy: Not intended as a belittling. Let me explain. This guy was responsible for smokin' sax solos, bass clarinet riffs that melded incredibly well with the bass guitar, and beautful jazzish flute solos. Once again, he rocked hard
Cedric, the lead singer: I will do my best to properly describe him. When he isn't singing in a way I defy any living being on this planet to replicate (incredible range, and when he screams he doesn't lose pitch; in fact he has easily the most melodic scream I've ever heard) he dances across the stage in an exuberant manner that causes me to accuse him of crimes. A lot of times it looked like he'd tripped, but in actuallity it was just him dancing. (I couldn't see his feet due to the crowd) I know that it doesn't sound too great, but the way he danced was truly amazing. Also, way he twirls the mic by the cord (its not quite as simple as that but there are no words to describe what he does) suggests at least an hour of practice daily. Its too bad for him that rythimitic gymnastics is no longer an Olympic sport, because they'd almost have to create a Microphone event for him. As for his voice, it goes higher than I knew a male voice could, yet still doesn't neglect the lower register. I don't possess the words to describe how awesome he sounds.
These seven dudes rocked my socks (quite literally in fact. I could actually feel them vibrating) for two hours. Let me clarify this. there was no silence. Ever. It was two hours of solid rocking. The guys caught their breaths in turn while the others were playing. If you look at the Volta's albums, you'll notice a lot of points in which it calms down for a while. It is my theory that the reason they do this is so that they don't have to stop playing at their shows, which I find brilliant.
So for two hours Steve and I were grooving on some amazing music. It is worth mentioning that we are both eccentric headbangers. He kinda bobs head furiously as opposed to actual banging (though the feriocity is equivalent) whereas I in an attempt to lessen the strain on my kneck drove from the knees and midsection. So instead of a stiff kneck I wound up with an aching back and aching knees. I guess it was a failed experiment. But I'm not complaining
I've said this before, but youse guys need to check out the Mars Volta. You will not be dissapointed.
In summation: they rocked.
They rocked so hard.
The band is like a prog-rock rebuttal to jazz-rock. Where Jazz-Rock was always heavy on the jazz, and the rock was rarely if ever taken for a walk, These guys take the improvisational nature of jazz, as well as a few of its instruments (the percussions, the sax, the bass clarinet, and the keyboards were decidedly jazzish) and applies it to hard rock.
but we're getting ahead of ourselves
First: The venue. (the following is the gist of a conversation whose exact words I don't remember)
Me: Ooooohhh...
Steve: Yeah, this is a really nice venue
Me: looks like an opera house, acts like a rock club. We need to play this house.
Steve: How? We're actors! You can't have a bar and a mosh pit and do theater!
Me: hold on... Yes, that's it!!! We'll both stop saying, "I'm going to pick up the guitar" and actually learn. Then we'll recruit the rest of the band and perform Hamlet the Rock Opera.
Steve: no.... yes!
(noted once again, you have my garuntee that that is not how the conversation went, but that was the gist of it)
We notice the speakers. The enormous, taller than me with another me on my shoulders speakers. I can't speak for him, but my ears at that point simultaneously climaxed and recoiled in shock.
Ok, so cut forward to the curtain rising. The Volta take the stage.
THERE WERE MORE HUGE SPEAKERS BEHIND THE STAGE.
the concert began with a drum solo.
they STARTED THE CONCERT with a DRUM SOLO.
What followed was two hours of pure awesome. Onstage were seven dudes. I'd look up their names, but I'm exhausted from the concert, the observance of which I poured much of my energy into as well as a rather long but enjoyable walk afterwards in search for food (yes this was late but we'd both left for the show soon following afternoon classes and had yet to eat, so we stopped for some Thai food) as well as a longish walk to the nearest station, so I'll put them in when I'm more awake.
On Keyboards was a dude whose piano-playing manner could only be described as this. Imagine that Ray Charles' piano-playing body motion was caused rather than merely accentuated by heroin use. He rocked harder than any other keyboards guy I've ever seen.
the Percussionist: (not to be confused with the drummer) The only honest way of describing this guy is that he was basically a one man percussion ensemble and not in a goofy Dick Van Dyke way, but in an awesome way.
The Drummer: The man who started the show (WITH A DRUM SOLO... I'm never going to get over this) Enormous energy from this guy. The Volta in many if their songs tend to change volume and tempo rapidly and dramatically, and it is this guy's combination of finesse and power that allows for it. He managed to in the course of a song remove his shirt without breaking rythim. I have no clue how he managed it Also, on the bass drum was half-red, half-blue rectangle bearing the words liberte ou le mort in white letters. Don't know why I noticed that in particular.
The Bass Guitarist: Easily the least interesting of the group, which says nothing for his skill, but he pretty much stayed in his place on the stage, with his back to the audience. Doesn't mean he didn't jam something feirce
The Lead Guitarist: Dude once again has a high energy level. Odd thing is that he plays the lead guitar, but he dresses and moves like the bass guitarist from The Band. In any case, he was, as they all are, incredible.
The Other Guy: Not intended as a belittling. Let me explain. This guy was responsible for smokin' sax solos, bass clarinet riffs that melded incredibly well with the bass guitar, and beautful jazzish flute solos. Once again, he rocked hard
Cedric, the lead singer: I will do my best to properly describe him. When he isn't singing in a way I defy any living being on this planet to replicate (incredible range, and when he screams he doesn't lose pitch; in fact he has easily the most melodic scream I've ever heard) he dances across the stage in an exuberant manner that causes me to accuse him of crimes. A lot of times it looked like he'd tripped, but in actuallity it was just him dancing. (I couldn't see his feet due to the crowd) I know that it doesn't sound too great, but the way he danced was truly amazing. Also, way he twirls the mic by the cord (its not quite as simple as that but there are no words to describe what he does) suggests at least an hour of practice daily. Its too bad for him that rythimitic gymnastics is no longer an Olympic sport, because they'd almost have to create a Microphone event for him. As for his voice, it goes higher than I knew a male voice could, yet still doesn't neglect the lower register. I don't possess the words to describe how awesome he sounds.
These seven dudes rocked my socks (quite literally in fact. I could actually feel them vibrating) for two hours. Let me clarify this. there was no silence. Ever. It was two hours of solid rocking. The guys caught their breaths in turn while the others were playing. If you look at the Volta's albums, you'll notice a lot of points in which it calms down for a while. It is my theory that the reason they do this is so that they don't have to stop playing at their shows, which I find brilliant.
So for two hours Steve and I were grooving on some amazing music. It is worth mentioning that we are both eccentric headbangers. He kinda bobs head furiously as opposed to actual banging (though the feriocity is equivalent) whereas I in an attempt to lessen the strain on my kneck drove from the knees and midsection. So instead of a stiff kneck I wound up with an aching back and aching knees. I guess it was a failed experiment. But I'm not complaining
I've said this before, but youse guys need to check out the Mars Volta. You will not be dissapointed.
In summation: they rocked.
They rocked so hard.
5.15.2005
I remember now...
I hate to bump my answer to the challenge (see below) down, but there are few things I forgot to mention.
One: This is one of the cooler, weirder things I've heard. Its called Symphony for Dot Matrix Printers. As the title suggest, it's music performed entirely by dot matrix printers, with mics and amplifiers attatched to the printers and the power supplies.
Two: Another musical something, though of a different nature. I'll let this one speak for itself
Three: As it happens, I was born approxamately 18 years, 364 days, 18 hours, and 20 minutes ago, which is to say that sometime around 6 o' clock EST tommorrow (I forget the precise time) I will be exactly 19 years old. Don't know quite how I feel about that. Maybe I will in a few hours.
Peace, love, and tossin' bricks,
EW
One: This is one of the cooler, weirder things I've heard. Its called Symphony for Dot Matrix Printers. As the title suggest, it's music performed entirely by dot matrix printers, with mics and amplifiers attatched to the printers and the power supplies.
Two: Another musical something, though of a different nature. I'll let this one speak for itself
Three: As it happens, I was born approxamately 18 years, 364 days, 18 hours, and 20 minutes ago, which is to say that sometime around 6 o' clock EST tommorrow (I forget the precise time) I will be exactly 19 years old. Don't know quite how I feel about that. Maybe I will in a few hours.
Peace, love, and tossin' bricks,
EW
5.14.2005
My response
I have here my answer to Sammy's challenge. I tried to do this with as little narcissism (not that I find anything wrong with narcissism) as possible, but I'm not sure how well I managed. All of the below are quotes about Douglas Adams, with whom I find myself to be very much alike in terms of personality, from the introductions to the book dedicated to his memory, The Salmon of Doubt. It was reading his work that inspired me to begin writing, and if I can aspire to be anywhere near as good a writer as he was there is no measure to how happy I would be.
He treats writing as a performance art... He needs an instant audience to bounce things off
He has a passion for technology, but has never really been the (stereotypical) nerdy science-fiction type. He is relaxed, gregarious, and a solidly built two meters tall. In fact, he has more the air of those English public-school boys who became rock stars in the 1970s
It was an epihanous moment for him when he discovered that being funny could be a way in which intelligent people expressed themselves--"and be very, very silly at the same time"
"I love deadlines," he has said. "I love the wooshing noise they make as they go by"
He treats writing as a performance art... He needs an instant audience to bounce things off
He has a passion for technology, but has never really been the (stereotypical) nerdy science-fiction type. He is relaxed, gregarious, and a solidly built two meters tall. In fact, he has more the air of those English public-school boys who became rock stars in the 1970s
It was an epihanous moment for him when he discovered that being funny could be a way in which intelligent people expressed themselves--"and be very, very silly at the same time"
"I love deadlines," he has said. "I love the wooshing noise they make as they go by"
5.13.2005
a few passing thoughts
But first, some blog-related notes.
Sammy has issued a challenge; to find in a book or a magazine article a passage that describes us, and post it. She told me that we are allowed to mix and match, so long as we cite each source. Mine is likely going to contain passages from the Salmon of Doubt, as there are a lot of similarities between myself and Douglas Adams (our height, ethos, penchant for procrastination, and several other little things).
Also, I have been remiss in my linking, as I have thus far forgotten to link to my friend, fellow Bostonian and Eagle Scout (huh... I don't think I've mentioned that here before) Mike Maher aka mickerdoo
As you can see, Ive updated the site with a photo. There is a longwinded (me? longwinded? call the New York Times!) rant on the matter of photography in the post below.
There was something else, but it's left me.
So moving onward
The other night I was treated to three amazing performances at Gourmand open mic. First up was this dude Seth who was rockin the bass guitar like you wouldn't believe. Had a relay pedal going so that he was able to record and loop 3 complementing basslines on top of each other and was wailing both with strings and vocals on top. He's doing a free show tonight, and I think I'm going to check it out.
Then came Julia who I had the pleasure of meeting beforehand, and in fact I sat with her and her friend Jenna when Seth was performing. Along with being extremely cool, she sang beautifully and played the keyboard.
Then came Edelle, an Irish exchange student who sang jazz. There is nothing quite like hearing an Irish girl sing if you're me, which I personally am, and she was exceptional. I talked to her afterwards and she claimed to have been impeded by alcohol. I tried to express to her how much I wanted to hear her sing at the top of her game if this was true. Not sure I completely got it right but I think she got the gist.
all in all, it was pretty sweet.
Sammy has issued a challenge; to find in a book or a magazine article a passage that describes us, and post it. She told me that we are allowed to mix and match, so long as we cite each source. Mine is likely going to contain passages from the Salmon of Doubt, as there are a lot of similarities between myself and Douglas Adams (our height, ethos, penchant for procrastination, and several other little things).
Also, I have been remiss in my linking, as I have thus far forgotten to link to my friend, fellow Bostonian and Eagle Scout (huh... I don't think I've mentioned that here before) Mike Maher aka mickerdoo
As you can see, Ive updated the site with a photo. There is a longwinded (me? longwinded? call the New York Times!) rant on the matter of photography in the post below.
There was something else, but it's left me.
So moving onward
The other night I was treated to three amazing performances at Gourmand open mic. First up was this dude Seth who was rockin the bass guitar like you wouldn't believe. Had a relay pedal going so that he was able to record and loop 3 complementing basslines on top of each other and was wailing both with strings and vocals on top. He's doing a free show tonight, and I think I'm going to check it out.
Then came Julia who I had the pleasure of meeting beforehand, and in fact I sat with her and her friend Jenna when Seth was performing. Along with being extremely cool, she sang beautifully and played the keyboard.
Then came Edelle, an Irish exchange student who sang jazz. There is nothing quite like hearing an Irish girl sing if you're me, which I personally am, and she was exceptional. I talked to her afterwards and she claimed to have been impeded by alcohol. I tried to express to her how much I wanted to hear her sing at the top of her game if this was true. Not sure I completely got it right but I think she got the gist.
all in all, it was pretty sweet.
If I could bore you for a moment...
I have an odd relationship with photographs.
I've a large extended family, specifically on my father's side. My father is the oldest of fifteen. Those fifteen have scattered about the country and are now located in places like LA, San Fransisco, Minnesota, Conneticutt, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts (which holds more of them per square mile than the rest) Collectively, they have through various means produced about forty human beings whom I proudly refer to as cousins, and a couple more who I will, when pressured, admit are my cousins. I am close with many of them, and am well aquainted with all of them due to the fact that every Christmas, Fourth of July, wedding, graduation etc, a good portion of us gather, the number of which and distance travelled depending on a largely abstract value I refer to as the Travel Necessity Index.
Now that I've provided the background, I'll move on to what, in fact, I am actually talking about. Photography has a certain prevalence in my extended family. One of my aunts is a professional photogropher, and a brilliant one at that. Most of the rest are well accomplished amatuers, as are a couple of my uncles. My father, having recently discovered the digital camera, has become something of an enthusiast, and is in fact the one who takes most of the photos at the aforementioned gatherings, when in fact amongst the amatuers, he is quite frankly the least accomplished. Still, there are indeed hundreds, perhaps thousands of photos from said gatherings
And there isn't a decent photo of me amongst them. Usually this isn't something I lament, but when I looked for a portrait for my profile, or when a member of our blogging crew makes a drunken request for a photo with which I wish to comply, it becomes irksome.
There are a few reasons why amongst the online database of photos that my family keeps there isn't a single decent one of me.
When my family gathers, the photos tend to happen when I'm off somewhere else. When I do get photographed, whether at a gathering or otherwise, it tends to be under one or more of the following circumstances:
I am wearing a tux, some sort of uniform or other formal dress. I'm told that I look good as such, and I really don't know whether or not that's people blowing smoke up my ass, but as Shakespeare noted, "The eye sees not itself except by some other means, by reflection." Perhaps its the posing in those situations that puts me off. I don't know what it is, but I take horrendous photos under those circumstances:
I am at the beach, where for some reason seems to pre-empt the usual rules when it comes to gatherings. However, they usually occur after I have just come out of the water. As much as I love the beach, I hate the feeling I get when I come out of the water. The feeling of salt water slowly drying in my admittedly excessive hair is detestable to me, and my expression and manner on the whole reflects this in the photographs.
When I do manage to show up in photos at gatherings, I am not alone. there is usually a small someone standing on my hands, clinging to my leg, sitting on my lap, hanging off of me, or making some crazy pose in front of me. In short, I serve as a backdrop, and thus am usually out of focus. (those photos are usually the most fun though)
I am in costume during or after the photo shoot for a play, in which case the photos are either taken by my father, and thus are poorly timed and make poor use of lighting, or are taken by someone else, in which case I have no access to them. There have, in fact, been excellent pictures taken of me in costume, but I never manage to get copies.
When a picture of me is taken by any of my photographically competent relatives, it is promptly lost, with the exception of some photos of me as a kid.
There is one other reason I have no good photos of myself, and that is my lips. When they're moving, even a little bit, they never seem to draw focus, but they're pretty big, and that is more often than not captured in photographs, no matter what I do with them.
So what I'm trying to say here is that photos have been a problem for me. As an actor eventually I'll need a headshot, so maybe there's a chance that'll be good, but I shudder at the prospect of being denied auditions as a result of a bad photo.
In conclusion, I have settled, rather lamely, with the photo I am uploading as I am writing this.
This post was entirely too long.
I've a large extended family, specifically on my father's side. My father is the oldest of fifteen. Those fifteen have scattered about the country and are now located in places like LA, San Fransisco, Minnesota, Conneticutt, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts (which holds more of them per square mile than the rest) Collectively, they have through various means produced about forty human beings whom I proudly refer to as cousins, and a couple more who I will, when pressured, admit are my cousins. I am close with many of them, and am well aquainted with all of them due to the fact that every Christmas, Fourth of July, wedding, graduation etc, a good portion of us gather, the number of which and distance travelled depending on a largely abstract value I refer to as the Travel Necessity Index.
Now that I've provided the background, I'll move on to what, in fact, I am actually talking about. Photography has a certain prevalence in my extended family. One of my aunts is a professional photogropher, and a brilliant one at that. Most of the rest are well accomplished amatuers, as are a couple of my uncles. My father, having recently discovered the digital camera, has become something of an enthusiast, and is in fact the one who takes most of the photos at the aforementioned gatherings, when in fact amongst the amatuers, he is quite frankly the least accomplished. Still, there are indeed hundreds, perhaps thousands of photos from said gatherings
And there isn't a decent photo of me amongst them. Usually this isn't something I lament, but when I looked for a portrait for my profile, or when a member of our blogging crew makes a drunken request for a photo with which I wish to comply, it becomes irksome.
There are a few reasons why amongst the online database of photos that my family keeps there isn't a single decent one of me.
When my family gathers, the photos tend to happen when I'm off somewhere else. When I do get photographed, whether at a gathering or otherwise, it tends to be under one or more of the following circumstances:
I am wearing a tux, some sort of uniform or other formal dress. I'm told that I look good as such, and I really don't know whether or not that's people blowing smoke up my ass, but as Shakespeare noted, "The eye sees not itself except by some other means, by reflection." Perhaps its the posing in those situations that puts me off. I don't know what it is, but I take horrendous photos under those circumstances:
I am at the beach, where for some reason seems to pre-empt the usual rules when it comes to gatherings. However, they usually occur after I have just come out of the water. As much as I love the beach, I hate the feeling I get when I come out of the water. The feeling of salt water slowly drying in my admittedly excessive hair is detestable to me, and my expression and manner on the whole reflects this in the photographs.
When I do manage to show up in photos at gatherings, I am not alone. there is usually a small someone standing on my hands, clinging to my leg, sitting on my lap, hanging off of me, or making some crazy pose in front of me. In short, I serve as a backdrop, and thus am usually out of focus. (those photos are usually the most fun though)
I am in costume during or after the photo shoot for a play, in which case the photos are either taken by my father, and thus are poorly timed and make poor use of lighting, or are taken by someone else, in which case I have no access to them. There have, in fact, been excellent pictures taken of me in costume, but I never manage to get copies.
When a picture of me is taken by any of my photographically competent relatives, it is promptly lost, with the exception of some photos of me as a kid.
There is one other reason I have no good photos of myself, and that is my lips. When they're moving, even a little bit, they never seem to draw focus, but they're pretty big, and that is more often than not captured in photographs, no matter what I do with them.
So what I'm trying to say here is that photos have been a problem for me. As an actor eventually I'll need a headshot, so maybe there's a chance that'll be good, but I shudder at the prospect of being denied auditions as a result of a bad photo.
In conclusion, I have settled, rather lamely, with the photo I am uploading as I am writing this.
This post was entirely too long.
5.12.2005
Death would be too swift
Its been a common complaint against me that I tend to blame others for my problems. Its something that I admit to. I make too many excuses, I do. But I have to say, with 8 pages due tommorrow, that the loud, distracting sex that my roommate is having on the other side of that goddamned collapsable wall, that even my headphones at full blast can't drown out, isn't my fucking fault.
I can't take it someplace else, either, because the door is on the other side, too.
I am not asking for sympathy, I'm asking for suggestions as to how I should repay this act. Because one thing is certain: This aggression shall not stand.
And yes, SuperKate, I stand by what I said earlier that if I'm not getting any at least someone should be. But it has to be someone I like as a person.
I can't take it someplace else, either, because the door is on the other side, too.
I am not asking for sympathy, I'm asking for suggestions as to how I should repay this act. Because one thing is certain: This aggression shall not stand.
And yes, SuperKate, I stand by what I said earlier that if I'm not getting any at least someone should be. But it has to be someone I like as a person.
5.11.2005
5.09.2005
God Damn its Uncomfortable.
Ok, so they said that they'd turn the AC on here come May. We needed it beforehand, but they insisted not until May. And its May. And the AC still doesn't fucking work.
The managers of my building seem to have found the "Make the Wombat Kill You" checklist, and are working their way down.
I still haven't seen Hitchhiker's Guide, even after I hyped it for about a year. I feel like a titanic ass.
I have, however, seen all of the recent Simpsons and Family Guy episodes, and overall I'm pleased. It's looking increasingly like the Simpsons are going to go out on an upnote.
Also, I need to find some good audition material for my audition for Into the Woods, which goes up at Columbia next year.
Did I mention that it's fucking hot in here?
The managers of my building seem to have found the "Make the Wombat Kill You" checklist, and are working their way down.
I still haven't seen Hitchhiker's Guide, even after I hyped it for about a year. I feel like a titanic ass.
I have, however, seen all of the recent Simpsons and Family Guy episodes, and overall I'm pleased. It's looking increasingly like the Simpsons are going to go out on an upnote.
Also, I need to find some good audition material for my audition for Into the Woods, which goes up at Columbia next year.
Did I mention that it's fucking hot in here?
This Weekend: A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing
actually, come to think of it, there wasn't much sound and fury. And though now I'm telling the story, I don't consider myself an idiot, except in the Kevin Millar/Johnny Damon sense.
Speaking of the Red Sox, today's loss nonwithstanding they seem to be doing seem to be doing well with their top two starters out of action. The Yankees are jockeying with the D-Rays for last place and I couldn't be happier. I know it's early in the season, but its still damned fine to see. The Orioles are annoying, but hell, I'm in general pleased.
The Celtics got eliminated, but hell, three Boston teams in the playoffs, two of which win it all? I'm not complaining. Last time that happened was 1986, the year I was born, and the year that they all made it to the finals, the Celtics being the only team to bring home rings. Odd, that.
On to other things.
Saije has updated her blog after a drought of nigh two months. And has once again proven that she kicks my ass with her sheer blogging productivity. *tips cap*
Oh, and to follow SuperKate's example, I'd like to note that I'll be in Boston from June 4th to the first week of September. If anyone reading this finds themselves in Boston during that span of time, don't be a stranger.
Update: 11:51 PM: In the last few minutes of my weekend, and after nearly three hours of baking in my crappy oven (I'm never going to do this without thinking about Mitch Hedburg), my potato was ready. I cut it open and stuffed it with butter and cheese. There are worse ways to end a weekend.
Speaking of the Red Sox, today's loss nonwithstanding they seem to be doing seem to be doing well with their top two starters out of action. The Yankees are jockeying with the D-Rays for last place and I couldn't be happier. I know it's early in the season, but its still damned fine to see. The Orioles are annoying, but hell, I'm in general pleased.
The Celtics got eliminated, but hell, three Boston teams in the playoffs, two of which win it all? I'm not complaining. Last time that happened was 1986, the year I was born, and the year that they all made it to the finals, the Celtics being the only team to bring home rings. Odd, that.
On to other things.
Saije has updated her blog after a drought of nigh two months. And has once again proven that she kicks my ass with her sheer blogging productivity. *tips cap*
Oh, and to follow SuperKate's example, I'd like to note that I'll be in Boston from June 4th to the first week of September. If anyone reading this finds themselves in Boston during that span of time, don't be a stranger.
Update: 11:51 PM: In the last few minutes of my weekend, and after nearly three hours of baking in my crappy oven (I'm never going to do this without thinking about Mitch Hedburg), my potato was ready. I cut it open and stuffed it with butter and cheese. There are worse ways to end a weekend.
5.06.2005
Awwight!
So I've been feeling a lot better. Thanks to everyone who expressed their concern. All that remains is a slight sore throat that I'm fighting down with water and cough drops.
Some changes
I've permalinked my writing blog
I would like to extend my warm welcome to Coyote Mike and BeakerGirl, whose presences now grace my sidebar.
Today was AWESOME. First it was lunch with my fellow BC High alumni Steve and Nathan, and Chip, our Dramatics teacher. I'd not seen any of them in 3 months, and hadn't seen Nathan in nearly a year, so it was great. On top of that, the four of us form a very interesting conversation dynamic. I wish I could offer up an excerpt, but I can't think of one that properly explains it. I should have recorded it.
Anyways, after that, I had a conference with my Fiction Writing teacher, whose two criticisms on my work were, "I want to see more imagery," and, "I want more of this stuff"(thus far I've only turned in 35 pages) The rest of it was overwhelmingly positive, which is always great to hear. Then I hung out with friends at Gourmand. I feel like I need to be doing something exciting now. Maybe I'll go out and paint the streets red with the blood of the innocent... or maybe go see a movie... I don't know.
UPDATE: SAIJE IS BACK!!! ^_^
Some changes
I've permalinked my writing blog
I would like to extend my warm welcome to Coyote Mike and BeakerGirl, whose presences now grace my sidebar.
Today was AWESOME. First it was lunch with my fellow BC High alumni Steve and Nathan, and Chip, our Dramatics teacher. I'd not seen any of them in 3 months, and hadn't seen Nathan in nearly a year, so it was great. On top of that, the four of us form a very interesting conversation dynamic. I wish I could offer up an excerpt, but I can't think of one that properly explains it. I should have recorded it.
Anyways, after that, I had a conference with my Fiction Writing teacher, whose two criticisms on my work were, "I want to see more imagery," and, "I want more of this stuff"(thus far I've only turned in 35 pages) The rest of it was overwhelmingly positive, which is always great to hear. Then I hung out with friends at Gourmand. I feel like I need to be doing something exciting now. Maybe I'll go out and paint the streets red with the blood of the innocent... or maybe go see a movie... I don't know.
UPDATE: SAIJE IS BACK!!! ^_^
5.04.2005
Not happening... not happening
I've got a sore throat, a fever, and a headache. This correspondance will be short, and my apologies if I didn't comment on your blog. Mike('s America), if you're reading this, then I had a lengthy rebuttal for your last post that I was going to issue here, but it as well as my work on the play and short story I really ought to be writing now have been cut short by feeling of utter crappiness. I apologize if I never get around to writing it, as I think you'd have enjoyed firing back.
All of you (or most of you) will be glad to know that Saije emailed me and will try to make with the blogging this weekend. She's been busy with her work on Books For Soldiers.
I think that's it. Well, even if that isn't "it," that's all I'm going to write, excluding this last sentance and the one word after it.
Peace
All of you (or most of you) will be glad to know that Saije emailed me and will try to make with the blogging this weekend. She's been busy with her work on Books For Soldiers.
I think that's it. Well, even if that isn't "it," that's all I'm going to write, excluding this last sentance and the one word after it.
Peace
5.02.2005
MY BLOG IS DISAPPEARING!!!
hey, you guys? when I try to look at my blog I get a blank page... can you see this? If so, could you shoot me an email? Thank you kindly
UPDATE
It turns out its a minor glitch... I need to add "index.html" to the end of it when I type the URL
UPDATE
It turns out its a minor glitch... I need to add "index.html" to the end of it when I type the URL
5.01.2005
ARGGHH
Both Patrick the playwright and EsotericWombat the blogger are trapped in the depths of an enormous case of writer's block. Patrick the playwright needs a rough draft done by Tuesday and has yet to figure out all of the plot of his piece. EsotericWombat the blogger can't think of anything to say that doesn't involve huge, large-fanged ad hominem attacks directed at that horrid, libellous bitch Ann Coulter.
More later if I can think of anything
More later if I can think of anything
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