Dear Dad #1, or a Brief History of Franken's Win

My father pissed me off as I was walking out of my parent's apartment a few minutes ago.  I had, forgetting my own rules that I'm not allowed to talk to my father about PRS (politics, religion, and sex), told him that the DFL candidate from Minnesota, Al Franken, had won the election by decree of the Minnesota Supreme Court and that his Republican adversary, Norm Coleman, the incumbent, had conceded.  He then embarked on an impassioned rant about how Franken was a joke, an idiot, and how he had stolen the election because the votes kept being counted until the Democrats won.

Usually, I don't like to take the bait.  But, I didn't have my facts in front of me and it's been awhile since I've tried to make sure my stance was politically accurate and that my indignation could stand on its own.  So, here we go with a brief time-line on how Al Franken became the 100th senator in the 111th Congress.

On November 18, 2008, the State Canvassing Board of Minnesota certified that Norm Coleman had beaten Al Franken by 215 votes of the more than 2.8 million votes cast.  This percentage of less than .0075% triggered an automatic and mandatory recount since the margin of victory was less than .5%.  The recount began on November 19th and was concluded by December 5th.

On December 16th, the Board began ruling on more than 1,300 individual ballots and reallocating 5,300 ballots from whom the challenge had been withdrawn.  Some of these ballots were improperly rejected absentee ballots or contested ballots (from both sides).  Coleman consistently rejected the most ballots and was not in favor of ruling the entire batch of previously rejected absentee ballots into the complete count.

Coleman's term in the Senate expired on January 3rd, 2009, leaving the seat vacant.  On January 5th, the recount was officially certified with Franken holding a 225 vote lead (the total number of votes changed being 430).  The next day, Coleman filed an election contest that prevented an election certificate from being filed.

On March 31st, a three-judge panel recounted improperly rejected ballots.  On April 7th, 351 more ballots were counted.  These recounted ballots expanded Franken's lead to 312 votes.  April 13th, the panel dismissed Coleman's case and ruled that Franken had won.  Coleman filed an appeal with the Minnesoa Supreme Court and oral arguments took place on June 1st.  The ruling on June 30th certified that the court unanimously declared Franken the winner.  Coleman then conceded the election.

In short, here are some talking points over the issue:

• The total margin of victory swung by approximately .015% of the vote.  In an election with over 2.9 million votes cast, this margin of political change is minute.  Thus, a change in victor, while surprising, isn't outside the realm of mathematical possibility.
• To my understanding, Coleman initiated both lawsuits that forced delays in seating the 2nd senator from Minnesota.  

So, there we go.  And, if anyone doesn't like courts and canvassing boards deciding elections on the Republican side, that's how Democrats felt in December of 2000.  

Court TV

Okay, so I've already written about my (slightly) neurotic obsession with QVC as a child.  However, this wasn't the only channel on television that I ever had a fling with.  In fact, my next thematic obsession was to swing from campy to carnal--I became a Court TV addict.

I'm not such a fan of truTV, Court TV's new name and format.  It adds in reality shows that I don't care about.  I basically need a channel devoted to playing reruns of Forensic Files, The Investigators, Masterminds, and any other show like this (I'll take a Psychic Detectives in a pinch).  For some reason, this sort of televised misery told in a systematic, unemotional way lulls me to sleep.  Some people watch the news or reruns of Sex and the City, but give me misery, mayhem, and the guy who says "blunt force trauma" in that oh-so-special way.

I started my true crime kick when Court TV did a special one Christmas when I was spending a lot of time at my G'ma Helen's house.  Late at night, they were doing a "12 Serial Killers of Christmas" special.  I got introduced to all of the big names in mayhem and terror:  Dahmer, Gacy, Bundy, Eichmann, BTK (before he was caught), the Boston Strangler, the Manson Family, the Son of Sam...a motley crew of death dealers.  Anyone who had ever had a well-publicized trial was fair game.  Their televesion introductions made me want to know more.  This was something different, this was something...dare I say it...cool.  Although I liked the story of Eichmann being abducted from Argentina by the Israelis to stand trial (and that his final meal was a bottle of red wine), the stories that affected me the most were Dahmer and Gacy by scaring the absolute shit out of me.  What Bundy did to co-eds, these two freaks did to me.

But, regardless of how they scared me, I wanted to know more, like a violence junkie.  Because, as GI Joe knows, knowing is half the battle.  Plus, the stories, well, I just had to know more.  Motives, methods, victims, styles, years, numbers...if I could quantify it, then maybe I could understand it.  Because when you're nine, you think that everything can be understood if you just get enough information.

That makes me sound like a creep, but most people are interested.  I just put my fascination from a young age up front.

I eventually became fascinated with all sorts of true crime statistics and stories, but those are tales for another day.

A Fantastic Ph.D In Horribleness

Brief update today.  I, being a Whedon-flunkie, just got around to watching Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog.  Can I just say that I absolutely loved it?  Of course, given my Buffy and Dollhouse obsessions, this "crazy, random happenstance" surprises no one.  Although, as clever as the web marketing, superhero musical, writer strike/innovation combo is, that is not the single thing that impressed me the most.

The bonus features on this DVD are why I must own it asap.  The ten application to the Evil League of Evil are hilarious and give me one of my new favorite catch-phrases (from Princess Zombie):  "I learned that there was a Zombie King and I may be evil, but I'm not going to sleep my way to the top."  They're all pretty funny, but I have a special love of Princess Zombie, The Preacher, and a special shout-out to Broadway Dork for being a for-real Youtube video-maker who can make fun of her self.

Lastly, the track called Commentary! The Musical plays the movie with all of the principal film-makers, writers, and actors in the same room, singing commentary about the movie, each other, and life.  I want the soundtrack to the commentary possibly more than to the actual web series itself.  It's hilarious, and anyone who appreciates the movie, metafiction, Joss Whedon, or gratuitous contemporary musical theatre must check that track out.

Suffice it to say, I've seen this movie four times in the last 24 hours.  And I Can Hardly Believe My Eyes...I love it.

True Life: I Love Jewelry on TV

I'm going to start doing what I say I'm going to do on this blog, otherwise, what's the point in making promises? You become the stereotypical bad father from a television children's comedy, and my metaphorical children would thus be abandoned and have to fend for themselves, engineering a world in which their imaginations are as good as the love and care that they have been deprived of from a caring parent.

That metaphor got dark in a hurry.

So, yesterday, I said that I'd spent a good chunk of the last week watching television that sells jewelry. My favorite network (there are at least 10 on the south Georgia extended satellite package) is by far the Gems TV. They employ a reverse auction system. Basically, what they do is they start at a price and they keep lowering the price until the entire stock of a gemstone is sold.

Okay, now I know some of you don't compulsively watch the Gems, so here are some terms to be aware of:
-Let's Play the Game-This phrase starts every game. A game is any round where jewelry is sold. No, it's not a commercial; it's a game. Commerce is a hobby that you can be good at.
-The Crash-this is when the price drops dramatically (usually around 70-80%) from the original start price. In some games, the price might crash multiple times.
-AAA Tanzanite (Triple A Tanzanite)-The single most expensive gem sold on TV. Usually starts at a list price of about five or six thousand dollars. A purple cut gem, it usually actually sells for about a thousand dollars. The realization that someone bought a 1k piece of jewelry on TV is truly it's own reward.
-The host-Each host hosts for FOUR HOURS by themselves and they talk and yammer and sell as much jewelry as possible in that time. They don't go to the bathroom, they don't take a phone call, nothing. Sometimes, they talk to the unseen producer or the phone bank people. Occasionally, they'll yell random names of "shoppers" out to encourage people...I doubt these names are real. I guess they sit on a bucket and piss while smiling on camera and selling saltwater black pearls.

Why do I love the game? No idea, but I have ever since I was a young child. Flipping channels one night in the giant house in Panama City (it had three stories and I have no idea what the street name was), I stopped on QVC selling a ring that had five different colored gemstones in it (pink, green, orange, red, and blue). It was horribly ugly and gaudy, but I loved it. I started watching QVC so I could see it again. I never did. But that didn't matter, I was hooked. Toys, Star Wars memorabelia, vacuums, make-up...it didn't matter. I wanted to watch people sell things. But jewelry was always my favorite.

I got so into this selling (and QVC would sell multiple things at once) that I kept a record in a notebook of everything that was sold. In columns, I had, in order of item introduction: item number, description, type of item, cost, and flex pay cost. I would keep records for hours. It was fascinating. I'd get up and watch it. I never did quite like HSN as much. And I didn't like outdoor shows. But I'd slug through them for the chance to look at some truly tacky things.

Why do I watch this for hours now? Because I like seeing "beautiful" things. Not all of it is tacky and awful but enough it is that I wonder who buys it. Who wears it? Do they have a lot of it? Do I need citrine in my wardrobe? Is iconocline a real gemstone? The questions, the path...that's what's important. And to find the answers...

Well, I just have to play the game.

Slamming Repetitive Towns

I spent the last four days in Swainsboro/Twin City area with my best friend Mandy and her mother Neta (pronounced, if you're me "Net-uh"). Sometimes, I do things that when I look back on them, I know that some people will judge me pretty hardcore for. Basically I watched a lot of Golden Girls and therapy TV (Obese and Pregnant, I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, Intervention, etc.) these past few days. I also, although Mandy usually abstains, love to watch television that sells jewelry (stay tuned...that's going to be tomorrow's post).

Anyway, I just wanted to put a brief observation about my drive home today. I forgot to reverse my directions on Google Maps, so when I tried to come home and the dual-highway I was on split and I took a wrong turn, I ended up in Alma, about forty miles away from where I needed to be.

I didn't notice my error for about twenty miles and then it took me another twenty to get back on the right path. The reason that I didn't notice is that every depressing town of less than ten thousand people in southern and middle Georgia looks the exact same. The same weathered "cash stores," the same discount retailers, the same lack of fast food places, the same overabundance of trailer parks on the outskirts of town, the same bleached, dead feel to downtown It's like watching the same bad story happen again and again. And maybe it's a little sad to go over the junction of some highway and some state road and not just suspect but know that this junction...this crossing of asphalt paths, is the only reason this town still exists.

One of three things happens to all of us: we either end where we start, we blow far away, or we go as far as we can or want or until we get uncomfortable or tired, and we settle. We say that these trees are nice enough...this town is good enough. And we give up in the middle of home and a dream, living and attending the First Baptist Church and attending the women's auxillary until the end of time. Once is bad enough...it's a bad southern tragedy...a ghost town of flesh and blood. But to see it every thirty miles, as some sort of sociological deja vu...

The pretty town squares aren't enough. The regional cutesieness isn't enough. Why is your town here? What makes it special? Why should I stop? And if I shouldn't stop, why should anyone? You know, in Star Wars, there is a city that takes up the whole planet of Coruscant. I've never forgotten that name because it reminds me of a future of efficiency and usefulness...instead of an aborted attempt at urban maturity.

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I use this service called Zemanta to add links and pictures with Creative Commons licenses to my blog. I just started using it, but this picture came up as my first random picture today:

Image by Stuck in Customs via Flickr

The image is called "Roadside Beauty Salon." Like the sky, which is probably not real, but it seems like the place where you'd get your hair did at the end of the world.

British Movies, Bakery Mirage

Something about Swainsboro puts me in the mood to watch British movies. Well, scratch that. I might not be in the mood to watch British films, but it is films from Brittania that we end up seeing. And I have enjoyed every single one of them. The last time I was up here, we watched Billy Elliot, The Calcium Kid, and Millions. Please give me a well-written story with some good lines and a lot of heart. Tonight's fare of Run, Fatboy Run continued in that tradition.

It's basically about a fat guy who has just been let back into his son's life after he left his pregnant wife at the altar about eight years ago. The ex-fiance is now dating a new guy from the financial district who runs marathons. To prove to his ex-fiance, his friends, and his son that he isn't a loser and that he is just as good as the new guy, he vows to run in and complete the Nike marathon that is going to take place in three weeks.

Favorite quotes:
"I thought I'd rather ruin one day for you than the rest of your life."
"I have a rash...in my scrotal area."
"I know you're not going to fall back in love with me. But I'd settle for your respect. I'd settle for you smiling when you think about the time we had together instead of thing that it was a waste of time."

I think I saw that Michael Ian Black wrote it and David Schwimmer directed it. Will have to check in on that to make sure, though.

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Yesterday, I bought a crapload of things at the bakery graveyard for things that are past their expiration date at the Wal-Mart. Love it and it's 40% off. Today, Mandy and I went back and there was no bakery graveyard. Damn mirage of deliciousness.

Questions on Life, Writing, and Obama

Okay, I'm working on a really sketchy internet connection up here in Swainsboro/Twin City at the manse of Mandy's mother, whom I have always called "Net-a." So, I'm probably going to be making comments over the next few days that don't have appropriate links or research, but trust me, I've read up on it, and if you want some confirmation or links, shoot me a comment.

Questions that I'm struggling with in my life:
--I worked almost my entire life to become a mature, responsible adult. Now that I have graduated college (which was always the penultimate goal of attainability beyond which lie only wild dreams), I'm afraid that I didn't allow myself the chance to have a childhood because I thought that I was better than that. Is it possible to go back? And if not, then what's the use in regretting what didn't happen? You gotta dance with the girl you came to the dance with.

--Why is Shorter so anti-box wine? Five liters for $14 as opposed to a 1.5 liters for $9...as they say in Smash when you opt of out of Brawl because you don't want to fight on Norfair or one of the crappy levels that your host has built: no contest.

--What should the subject of my next play be? I'm thinking that I want to swing at another comedy...I might finally get around to doing The Tift Theatre Proudly Presents. I mean, it was conceived about twelve feet below where I'm sitting right now. My mother runs a community theatre in small town south Georgia. And the band of misfits, town icons, freaks, and normal citizens that have come to inhabit her circle are a dramatic farce begging to be exploded and placed on the stage. You know what, I'm going to map out some characters tonight before I go to bed.

--Why am I unable to live up to the promise of my "devil may care" last days at Shorter? I already feel like I want to apologize to those that I perceived to have wronged by not being my best self to them. Damn my upbringing. Damn my soul.

--Why did President Obama defend the Defense of Marriage Act (DoMA) with rhetoric from the Bush administration? Why hasn't he appealed Don't Ask, Don't Tell (DADT)? Why hasn't he made a public, bold statement of support to the GLBT community that was not only words but married to actions? Why hasn't he publicized his personal views on these issues? What are his views on the dramatic speed-up of the legalization of gay marriage in Iowa, Vermont, and possibly New York? There are no answers, and the man that made me toast a new generation of politics and say that, for the first time in a long time, I was proud to be an American, has let me down. I need a vote of confidence. I need progress on something. Anything.

--What should the first movie Jamel and I review be? I haven't forgotten about our project, but I've been unexpectedly busy the last few days.

Okay, I'm out. I'll talk to everyone soon. Oh, in the LA update, the house fell-through for financial reasons and lack of two roommates, so now I'm once again on the prowl. If you hear of anything, let me know!

2009 Tony Awards: My Recap

Okay, so I came a little late to the 2009 Tony's...I didn't see Bret Michaels get creamed by the set in the opening number because I've been battling a nifty bit of insomnia. Here's my rundown on how I thought the evening went (from the perspective of a home viewer in Georgia).

First off, I didn't expect Liza at the Palace to beat Will Ferrell's You're Welcome America for the Award in Best Limited Engagement. I expected the liberal leanings of the theatre voting lobby to easily shoo this performance to victory. However, when I said that I didn't expect Liza at the Palace to win, my friend Kate immediately responded with the accusation, "You didn't expect Liza Minelli to win a Tony Award?" Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a little foolish.

As was to be expected, Billy Elliot: The Musical walked with practically every award that it touched, coming to a grand total of ten for the evening. I couldn't watch the kids accept their awards because it made me uncomfortable not being able to know if they won for being the best performers the year, for their novelty, because they were little kids, or some bastardization of these reasons. They are impressive dancers, but are they the "Best Actor" of the year? Not in my opinion. Further, I find the music to the show forgettable, so I'm glad it shared the award for Orchestration with Next to Normal. Also, I didn't think they're performance was that great. I thought that the staging was awkward and compressed and that, out of context, this number lacked any of the emotional heaviness that usually makes it a compelling end of the first act.

Also, whoever presented the award for Best Featured Actress in a Play was an ass. He starred in A Man for All Seasons (I think it was Frank Langella). The category he would have been nominated in had occured immediately before his presentation. However, he hadn't been nominated. He spent about five minutes talking about not being nominated, took out his Oscar acceptance speech, and a press clipping that was a full page ad for the show in a major newspaper. Deprecating jokes can have their place, but this just seemed bitter and churlish.

Further, the sound for the Guys and Dolls revival performance of "Sit Down, You're Rocking the Boat" had sound issues (as did the beginning of the song from Next to Normal, it seemed). So, Benny sang the song with a handheld. Frankly, if Guys and Dolls continues to be revived and the show continues to be nominated for Tony Awards, can it please choose a different song to portray. Perhaps one that features the leads (Lauren Graham, we love you!). Or any of the leads.

My last complaint goes to the strange acceptance speech given by Alice Ripley. Congrats on the win, but this was just strange:



I loved the performance by Next to Normal. Congrats to Angela Lansberry for tying the most Tony Awards (excluding special awards) ever won at 5 last night for her Blithe Spirit win. I thought Neil Patrick Harris was great as a host (and if you like B'way showtune spoofs, listen to his closing song here.) And congratulations to Hair for an appropriately sexy and rocking performance and win for Best Revival. I leave you with their performance.

Billy Elliot Wins Tony...Did I See the Same Show?

Maybe I'm going to get shot for this, and I'm going to do a more complete rundown tomorrow morning, but am I the only person who has ever seen Billy Elliot: The Musical that didn't like it? I liked the movie and I think that the show works well with what it's got, but I think it's both overly-sentimental and ultimately forgettable. Although, I will have to say that the boys who play Billy are amazing.

Congratulations to all the winners at the 63rd Tony Awards, and look for an update on what I liked (Angela Lansberry, Next to Normal) and what I didn't (the road pieces, the presentation for "Best Featured Actress")

Views on a Judge, Hope, and a Drunk Club Girl

I am not built for sleep. Once upon a time, maybe, but not anymore. I'm so used to going a million miles every day and squeezing everything from every moment that having an abundance of time makes me go crazy. Tonight, I was hanging out with Mandy, Ty, and Andrew and I got really tired at about 12:30, so I came home. I was just going to check my e-mail...and then I got sucked in and I've been doing stuff for the last five hours (I also swept the house because the dirt on my feet was grossing me out). So, anywho, I figured I'd update.

I have a couple of brief thoughts, some serious, some not, to catch you up on my current state of mind:

Nomination of Sonia Sotomayor to the Supreme Court will probably pass. I am begrudgingly supportive of this move. I like that she is a hispanic woman who has a rise-above past and a solid basis in legal theory and practice. I appreciate that she has been a sitting judge for many years. I, however, wish that the chance had been taken to establish a much more progressive or liberal canditate for this office...the conservative slant of the Roberts Court is unlikely to change in the near future, so what is the harm in stacking it to the left to balance it out? What is the problem with a legislative battle for confirmation as opposed to her just sailing through? Democrats have the power...why aren't they trying to use it?

The more I hear the song "Just Dance" by Lada GaGa, the more I'm concerned for the main character. This woman has lost her phone, drink, man, and keys, she doesn't remember the name of the club, she can't see straight, and, at some point, her shirt got turned inside-out. Her solution to this dilemma is to "just dance." I feel like this girl needs help...maybe a taxi home...a good counselor to work out some deep-seated emotional problems. Actually, I was talking to Mandy earlier, and she said that she thought that the cops had busted in during this song, and this girl was the only one still dancing because she was so blasted and that the second verse is her continuing to dance as the entire club gets put in jail. Interesting theory...but it doesn't lessen my concern.

I support the general message of President Obama's Cairo speech. I think it's a good step towards diplomacy. However, I'm getting a little tired of the lack of tangible planning that is visible to the American people. So far, there is no tangible health care plan, immigration reform, education initiative, or withdrawal plan from Afghanistan or Iraq. Don't Ask, Don't Tell has not been repealed despite the ease of its dismissal (having been enacted by executive order). And I'm little tired of platitudes. Further, the President's bungling of his support of same sex marriage on the federal level during his recent NBC interview has only served to sharpen my suspicion. I feel like something tangible should be done...and if nothing is...well, hope can only sustain national pride for so long. I need something to be proud of...something daring. Something...audacious.

I'm going to go to bed, eat lunch with Mandy in a few hours, and send her off to Twin City.

College Advising

I have a lot of critiques about Shorter College which, on a long enough timeline, I will air all over this blog.  But don't get me wrong:  I loved college.  When I go back, I'm going to love it some more.  It was by far the best four years out of the twenty I've lived, and it doesn't hold a candle to high school.  Yet, for all of my praise and all of my critique, something that has proven to be a hassle for so many of my friends was never an issue for me.  And that's the subject of today's post:  College Advising.

Full confession:  I was a double major and for every semester after my initial semester at Shorter, I owned my advising.  I registered for classes before meeting with my advisor and I only met with them so they could sign off on my forms.  I had done a graduation check-out a class plan before either of them had thought about it.

I had two advisors, so whenever one of them gave me an answer that wasn't going to work for me, I ignored it and went to the other advisor and tried to receive a more favorable response.  Also, I often requested blank reforms because both my advisor and I were in a hurry, and I would fill it in with different information than I had admitted (for instance, I used a blank add form to jump from 18 to 26 hours one semester).  And everything was good.  And everything was fine.

Every semester, I had to go by the Provost's office and smile while he smiled his chilly shark smile at me and asked me how many hours I was taking...I mean, I was managing a paltry 3.9 GPA, so I understand why we each needed to take time out of our busy lives to go through this rigamarole every semester.  But whatever.

I understood academic advising so intuitively, that I advised several of my friends and build class plans for them in under twenty minutes based off of a transcript a degree requirement sheet.  I understand that professor advisors are busy, but it really isn't that hard...it takes a little time up front, but its nothing once you sit down and work on it.  And my advisors tended to be good at this, they just didn't have to be for me.

Contrast this with my friend Elizabeth's story at ABAC:  She arrived her first day to register for classes to be told (after she had paid) that her degree program had been cancelled.  Or take Ty at GCSU who had all of his summer classes cancelled and most of his department's faculty leave in the same month.  Or Mandy at SCAD who have not only pushed her a quarter behind on graduation due to not realizing that a pre-requisite should come before her other classes, but now, she's pushed furhter behind because her summer quarter classes have been cancelled.

For those of you about to enter college or are already enrolled, do the following ASAP:

• Plan your own class schedule:  no one knows your goals like you do.
• You can do more than your advisor says is full-time:  no one ever fell apart at 12-15 hours.  Pump it up and get out early.  Don't pay for more than you have to.
• Contact your department to get the degree requirement sheet:  Course catalogues often have out-dated lists.  Check the website and compare it to the class requirement sheet for your entrance year.  If they don't match, get an answer from the Registrar's Office before being forced into classes you may not need.
• Keep the plan updated as you move on.

You know, there are a lot of things I didn't appreciate about Shorter College, but at least my education was never sabotaged by an ineptness in simply trying to get me in classes.  At least they're good at that.

Stories from the Past: Coming Out Cow

My senior year of high school, the theatre director a TCHS declared that we would do a one-act version of the three-hour Sondheim monster Into the Woods.  Because I didn't sing, I would be the Narrator for  the play, and she had planned to enlist all of the pretty, preppy, show choir kids to play most of the parts.  The traditional corps of the department would serve as back-up artists and crew...which, while crappy, was better than an earlier idea to dress them all up as trees and have them dance around as different parts of the scenery.

Just like this...but made of dancing high school theatre kids.  Image via Wikipedia

Anyway, I had decided months ago that I was going to come out before my senior year started because I was tired of living the lie.  So, on Sunday, August 8th, 2004, I told my parents, which is another story for another day.  It intersects with Into the Woods because I was working on that show at the time.  In fact, I was the theatre intern with my friend Alisabeth.  Between us and Mandy, we were given the job of doing the cow.

For those of you who aren't very familiar with Into the Woods, it's a musical mash-up of the stories of Jack, Cinderella, Rapunzel, and Little Red Riding Hood all going into the woods to get their dreams.  Okay, well, Jack obviously has to have a cow because he's going to the market to sell his cow for food for him and his mother.  Now, there are two ways that you can do this.  You can either hire an actor to play the part of the cow or you can build a cow prop.

We, sadly, attempted the latter.  It was maybe the most dangerous weapon that I've ever seen on wheels.  Made of two-by-four, chicken wire, plaster, paper-mache, and white paint, more people bled on this cow than I would have thought possible.  It was a hot disaster.  The casters wouldn't stay straight, the back of the cow buckled, and it needed so much plaster to make it look like a cow verses a box covered in chicken wire that that was what I was assigned to do with Alisabeth for the second week of school.

Friday, we were sitting out in the courtyard outside the drama room.  This was right after the outdoor furniture that had been used at the previous year's prom had been donated to the school but before they screwed on that brass nameplate that dedicated it to that kid that died.  Alisabeth and I are slathering plaster on the cow and talking about the election.  She had proven to be mostly conservative, and this being 2004, my senior class could vote for the first time, and it was shaping up to be an important decision:  you could either vote for President Bush or you could vote against him (Kerry not actually counting as a canditate because he stood for nothing).  Although we could agree on the upcoming pro-liquor referendum for Tift County (which was dry at that time), we eventually ended up on thornier subjects.  Like gay marriage.

Obviously, I defended gay marriage against her arguments, but at the same time, I had to admit to myself that it looked like it was going to be an uphill battle, even for civil unions.  I mean, two of the four states to have same sex marriage have happened in 2009, and this was five years ago.  If I'm not mistaken, Massachusettes was the only state to have anything like this going on.  My fervent support made Alisabeth ask me if I was gay.  To which I immediately replied "no."

I started to kick myself and got really quiet. I guess Alisabeth was either embarassed that she had asked and I wasn't or didn't know what to say because she knew I was closetted.  I actually surprised most people when I came out.  And I had promised myself that although I wasn't going to throw myself a "coming out" party like a debutante, I also wasn't going to deny it any longer if anyone asked me.  And this was my first test, and I had already screwed it up.  After another couple of minutes of silence, I back-tracked:

"Wait, scratch that."
"Scratch what?"
"I am gay.  Not many people know.  Don't spread it around."
"Okay..."

We talked about my coming out for a little bit.  I didn't want the news to get around because I was afraid, this being the deep South, that I'd be harrassed.  But, I didn't trust this girl, and the circle of people who knew was getting big.  Soon, it was going to explode.  But for now, I was just another guy covered in plaster, trying to make a cow for the musical theatre.  And the future was a story for another day.

By the way, the cow never did become satisfactory.  Instead, we dressed up a short girl like a cow.  She did a much better job than a plaster representation.

Reccomended: Abandoned Theatre Photos

For all of my fellow theatre people, check this photo project out.

www.abandonedtheaters.com

It's a set of about thirty pictures (it's only as a slideshow, so I couldn't tell exactly how many there were). I thing that they're beautiful in a completely destroyed way. Plus, it reminds me of how many different performance spaces there are in the world. I wish I could recover one of the sites and make it awesome again, but sadly, I don't have the contracting skills or the money.

One day, though...

Weekend Recap: Catie and Paul Move-In

Alternate title: Golden Child Proves Pyrite, Lives in Sin

Okay, so here's how this weekend went.

First off, I rolled out of bed at my parent's apartment at 11 AM. I would rather have gone home, but my mother didn't want me to drive considering that I had just finished a margarita roughly the size of a fish bowl. Had to be real fast when I didn't have my ID and all that, but anywho, spent most of Friday evening with my parents, having dinner at Sonny's, have a drink, and then headed to their apartment. Plus, I couldn't go home until I taught my little sister all of the yoga poses that I know and a basic tango step. I mean, you have to keep your priorities straight.

Rolled out, packed at my house really fast, went and got about six inches of my hair chopped off, and got on the road. By the time I got to Macon, they were mostly done moving in. I hung some curtains and went on an expedition out into the middle of nowhere to get a table. But, for the most part, I just stayed out of the way. Catie, I have always known, is anal-retentive about where her stuff goes. Turns out, so is Paul. While we were getting the table, her mother and sister unpacked the kitchen. In the 24 hours between then and when I left, most of the stuff in the kitchen had been moved to a new, better location. Plus, the tension between Catie and her mom (who doesn't agree with Catie moving in with her boyfriend whom she is not married to) could have been cut with a knife and slathered on corn, so rich and creamy was its texture.

Anywho, we did dinner at Ron and Chang's, a combination Chinese and home-cooking diner. It was really good, and I think orange chicken, mashed potatoes, and okra is a too-long-overlooked dinner selection.

One of my other friends that I've met that was hanging out after the move is what really piqued my interest though. She's been dating this guy for about six months now, and they've gotten to the point to where they don't know exactly whether or not it's going to be super long-term. Well, that's putting it mildly. My friend wants to breakup with her boyfriend because she misses the chase. She provokes him into fights so that maybe things will get bad enough that they'll just fall apart. She wants out, because she doesn't believe that this is forever. I mean, she hadn't gone so far as to delete the naked picture of him from her phone, but she was bored and this girl who had never done the relationship was ready to move on.

And then, in a moment that I think is beautiful, we were sitting in the living room, bitching the past year, and she started smelling the blanket she was wrapped up in. When I gave her a look of "what-the-hell-are-you-doing," she explained: "It doesn't smell like (boyfriend's name) anymore."

"You are a veritable bundle of contradictions," I responded. I mean, maybe I get it. It's new and whatnot, but right now, I can't explain it. And it's mostly intriguing me.

The thing that I love about going to hang out with my best friends is that there is never an agenda of things that we're going to do to have a good time together. There doesn't have to be one, and to make one would fly in the face of what makes us such good friends. It makes me sad that I don't carry a tape recorder to record what's said and what we talk about while I'm with them. Since I don't live with any of these fantastic people any longer and we're spreading out to the corners of the known world, I feel like I should write down every witty thing said in case I never get to hear it again. Plus, it takes a while to break in new people so that you know that you can talk about anything, transitioning easily from the concept of reach-arounds and how best to prep for anal sex into what is metaphysically troubling us about the future and our friendships. Whatever, this is getting a little heavy for what I wanted to write about.

Later on, I had poured with too heavy a hand, and since the world wouldn't stop spinning, I made myself throw up so that I wouldn't go too far down the rabbit hole.

Next day, did Mexican, Lowe's, came back to apartment, read Remains of the Day, played some Wii, went home, watched Forensic Files with mom, came home, went to sleep in the recliner in the living room with my glasses still on.

Songs of My Life

I, like almost everyone else on the planet, have certain songs that take me into very specific places in my past. They're not even all songs that I necessarily like, but as soon as the introductory music starts, I'm taken back. A few examples:

"The Ocean Breathes Salty" by Modest Mouse--This just came on my Pandora station (a modified Hold Steady group). This is the song that I quoted on the title page of Edgar's Ashes. I was exhausted, sitting in the Mac Lab, writing out Matthew's storyline in maroon crayon when this song came on. Modest Mouse didn't usually come on that channel, so I had to tab over and see what was playing. And I loved it. Sure, it's from an album that a lot of people didn't really enjoy, but the line "You waste life, why wouldn't you waste death?" became the dedicatory quote for the play. And hearing it takes me back to those exhausted, middle-of-the-night writing marathons where I was putting that show together. It feels like a burned mouth from too much coffee

Eddie Izzard's Definite Article CD--For a while in the spring of 2007, I fell asleep every night listening to spoken word stuff. It usually was an Eddie Izzard CD, because I enjoyed it but I knew the CD well enough that it wouldn't keep me awake. I did this for a few months until I slung my mp3 player across the room in my sleep and broke it.

"You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morrissette--My senior year in high school (2004-2005), I began listening to this CD non-stop for about two months while I was doing errands around town or driving to-and-from school. Mix that in with my expressive interpretations and the fact that it looked like I was screaming at invisible people in my car when I was driving led to some interesting conversations with people that I knew that had seen me driving. I eventually had to take this CD out because it was making me too angry and it was starting to make men piss me off as a general concept. Needless to say, that wasn't going to work any longer.

"The Pineapple Song" from Cabaret--This song actually has little to do with me, but it does go into that same era when I first got a car in high school and I fully believed that the most important part of driving was what you were listening to. I permanently cured my brother of worrying about driving with reckless drivers because I would veer into oncoming traffic if I didn't like the song tha twas on. Well, I would always sing full-out. And after a few months, he started lightly singing along. Then, I wouldn't sing a certain song or whatever, and I catch him singing. And the moment that I knew that I had infected him, at least a little bit, is when we were driving home from the S-curve in front of The Little Pantry and he asked if we could listen to this song because he thought it was hysterical. Score one for musical theatre.