Where the smokin' gun's a familiar song let loose
Hooray! It is the birthday of eramundo! Like the moon, Lunar has been known to cause madness among men, religious cult mythos, and control the tides. But unlike the moon, she's way better at it. Luny, I happily await the day you become Overlord of All Earth through sheer efficiency, solving all problems. I hope your day, and the subsequent year is wonderful.
I was in New York for a conference again. For the first time, I did not manage to meet up with Ex-Roommate Louise; nor did I get drunk and/or throw up. I feel that these situations are probably related. Still, it is a shame. But Louise has promised to take time from her busy schedule of Starving Grad Student to swing by during her winter break so we can go skiing. I expect at least one of us will fall off the lift or knock down skiing children like ninepins, and that will make up for any hijinks we missed out on in New York.
I'm still not enamored of New York, either. It has moved down on my Top Ten Enemies List, but the relationship is guarded. It is pretty to watch the snow fall, while strolling around Rockefeller plaza. The creche at the St. Patrick's Cathedral is very nice, but it has the most evil looking camel I've ever seen in my life. I would not trust the Baby Jesus next to that camel; it looks as though it would eat him.
I visited Saks on Fifth Avenue to get out of the snow for a while. While navigating through the various makeup counters, I pulled out and applied my generic chapstick; five makeup artists nearly swooned in affront. I also went to a nightclub to eat overpriced food and listen to Michael Feinstein sing a variety of holiday and show tunes. Very nice, and hearing one of the songs, I'm now convinced that there's a deleted scene in the Utena dvds, where Touga, dressed in top hat and tails, sings "Old Friends" by Stephen Sondheim to Saionji, and Saionji scowls resolutely. Possibly he sings it while dancing on the hood of the Akio car, I dunno. Anyway.
On a whim, I bought the film version of The History Boys, originally the play by Alan Bennett. I quite liked it, and now I'm waiting for the play to arrive so I can read that as well. It was an experience that I would liken to eating a very well-made club sandwich-- a classy one, mind you-- in a darkened restaurant. Like the club sandwich with its layers of meat and blendings of flavors and subtle condiment touches, there were layers of emotions and blendings of themes, and heaps of subtle references whirling gaily past my head. I totally knew they were there! I just, you know, am dumb.
But it was very good-- funny and sad and a bit sexy all at once. The gay is judiciously sprinkled throughout. I will say, proudly, that the only French I know is all the obscene and weird stuff that Louise used to teach me-- and that was pretty much exactly what I needed to follow along with the brothel skit performed in French.
So, several thumbs up, A+++++, would buy again, etc. Huh, I think this was roughly the time of year last year when I was being entertained by Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake. Clearly, I am set to establish a yearly tradition of homoerotic British entertainment.
I enjoy reading Doonesbury, and some of the recent strips have particularly made me smirk. But The Sandbox is also a good read, the "command-wide milblog, featuring comments, anecdotes, and observations from service members currently deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan." You get a really wide spectrum of voices and styles from within the armed forces, from patriotic to bitter to amused to merely observant. Give it a read.
Lastly, adding to the Things That Mildly Creep Me Out When Reading Smut
#217 - Personification of orifices, most typically the anus, i.e., "your hungry little hole."
I don't like it when orifices other than the mouth are hungry. It makes me nervous that whatever I'm reading will next devolve into genitals getting chewed off. I've watched a lot of Cronenberg films; I know how this shit goes down.
I was in New York for a conference again. For the first time, I did not manage to meet up with Ex-Roommate Louise; nor did I get drunk and/or throw up. I feel that these situations are probably related. Still, it is a shame. But Louise has promised to take time from her busy schedule of Starving Grad Student to swing by during her winter break so we can go skiing. I expect at least one of us will fall off the lift or knock down skiing children like ninepins, and that will make up for any hijinks we missed out on in New York.
I'm still not enamored of New York, either. It has moved down on my Top Ten Enemies List, but the relationship is guarded. It is pretty to watch the snow fall, while strolling around Rockefeller plaza. The creche at the St. Patrick's Cathedral is very nice, but it has the most evil looking camel I've ever seen in my life. I would not trust the Baby Jesus next to that camel; it looks as though it would eat him.
I visited Saks on Fifth Avenue to get out of the snow for a while. While navigating through the various makeup counters, I pulled out and applied my generic chapstick; five makeup artists nearly swooned in affront. I also went to a nightclub to eat overpriced food and listen to Michael Feinstein sing a variety of holiday and show tunes. Very nice, and hearing one of the songs, I'm now convinced that there's a deleted scene in the Utena dvds, where Touga, dressed in top hat and tails, sings "Old Friends" by Stephen Sondheim to Saionji, and Saionji scowls resolutely. Possibly he sings it while dancing on the hood of the Akio car, I dunno. Anyway.
On a whim, I bought the film version of The History Boys, originally the play by Alan Bennett. I quite liked it, and now I'm waiting for the play to arrive so I can read that as well. It was an experience that I would liken to eating a very well-made club sandwich-- a classy one, mind you-- in a darkened restaurant. Like the club sandwich with its layers of meat and blendings of flavors and subtle condiment touches, there were layers of emotions and blendings of themes, and heaps of subtle references whirling gaily past my head. I totally knew they were there! I just, you know, am dumb.
But it was very good-- funny and sad and a bit sexy all at once. The gay is judiciously sprinkled throughout. I will say, proudly, that the only French I know is all the obscene and weird stuff that Louise used to teach me-- and that was pretty much exactly what I needed to follow along with the brothel skit performed in French.
So, several thumbs up, A+++++, would buy again, etc. Huh, I think this was roughly the time of year last year when I was being entertained by Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake. Clearly, I am set to establish a yearly tradition of homoerotic British entertainment.
I enjoy reading Doonesbury, and some of the recent strips have particularly made me smirk. But The Sandbox is also a good read, the "command-wide milblog, featuring comments, anecdotes, and observations from service members currently deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan." You get a really wide spectrum of voices and styles from within the armed forces, from patriotic to bitter to amused to merely observant. Give it a read.
Lastly, adding to the Things That Mildly Creep Me Out When Reading Smut
#217 - Personification of orifices, most typically the anus, i.e., "your hungry little hole."
I don't like it when orifices other than the mouth are hungry. It makes me nervous that whatever I'm reading will next devolve into genitals getting chewed off. I've watched a lot of Cronenberg films; I know how this shit goes down.