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That · sunny · dome! · Those · caves · of · ice!
Intermittent dribblings about my life & times. Ain't it a thrill?
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Need to waste a bit of time? Do this thing! And/or this! I'm intrigued to see the results, so don't be shy.
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For those of you who are fans of Homestarrunner, this item might have significance. I wonder if free savings is included. Haha. (Here's the cartoon, if you need a memory refresher.)
And then there's David Brooks. I don't like David Brooks. His op/ed column is always filled with teeth-grindingly irritating drivel, and is an oozing pustule on the otherwise porcelain complexion of my daily New York Times reading experience. David Brooks is, however, a source of amusement in that he is an inspiration for colorful invective from the blogging public. When I searched for "David Brooks is a(n)" on Google, the resulting hits showed the phrase to be finished in these (among many) entertaining ways:
dweeb
joke
incredible ninny
putz
rat
fucker
prick
big weenie
effin' jerk
empty sophist
con that failed (shouldn't it be "who"?)
spineless loser
hypocrite
piece of shit
racist thug
turd
spoon (huh?)
vegetable (a cabbage, apparently)
douchebag
doosh (sic)
waste of time
waste of space
shill
wierdo
out of touch jack-off
twit
obbnoxious twit
moron
effing moron
liar
goddam liar
dork
ultradork
shrieking loon
raving bloody loon
idiot
uninformed idiot
blithering idiot
fucking idiot
complete idiot
very articulate idiot
neurotic, self-obsessed idiot
tool
huge tool
massive tool
pretty reliable conservative tool
mindless tool of the vast, right-wing conspiracy
ass
asshole
asswipe
jackass
uncritical ass
horse's ass
disingenuous ass
holier-than-thou ass
disingenuous punk
idiotic, lying, disingenuous, asshole (get 'em all in there!)
communist (huh?!?!)
wannabe hack
dictionary-definition hack
toadying hack in any number of words
facile, mean-spirited panderer
gigantic hemmeroid
smamry dick (sounds like a disease. heh.)
whore for the Republican Party
reductivist dittohead
Mets fan (maybe his only redeeming quality)
intellectual money-launderer
thousand times more detestable than Ann Coulter (it's a toss-up)
smarmy, inbred, fancy-boy
sock puppet for the Heritage Foundation
and, my favorite,
confirmed ass hat
Of course there are lots of favorable ones too, but they're not nearly as much fun.
Allrighty, back to work. Happy afternoon to you all.
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Well, well...hello again. After a week of pure distilled goodness at home over Christmas, it was back to the grind in Beantown. January's been an interesting month, and by interesting I mean none too good. Not that there hasn't been good things, but on the whole I've been feeling less than premium. Bad, even. Which of course exacerbates my reclusive tendencies and I go offline. (Well, inasmuch that I don't write emails or update the LJ or go on IM or call anyone or see anyone. I have been lurking around everyone's LJs and blogs and MySpaces and all that jazz.) But now I'm feeling a little better and am even Taking Steps to increase the likelyhood of continuing to feel better. Which means I might actually log into IM and answer emails and make telephone calls. Don't get too excited about that, though--I'm really lax on that stuff even when feeling top o' the world. As all of you well know.
Anyhoo, even though I'm glad to see the back of January, it did feature some fun & cool cultural events:
- finally saw Annie Hall. Now, my experience with Woody Allen movies up to this point had been confined to ones he'd directed but wasn't in, and bits of early ones he'd directed and been in. I liked the former and didn't warm to the latter. But Annie Hall was wonderful. It totally lived up to the hype. I don't feel like going into a big thing about it now, but it you've seen it, you know what I mean. If not, see it. You'll know what I mean. 1977 was an interesting year for movies, though--AH, Saturday Night Fever, Star Wars, The Goodbye Girl, Close Encounters, Smokey and the Bandit...a weird mix. The late '70s just seem to have been an odd time. Even though the '80s certainly had their moments, I have a feeling people were glad when the '70s were over. My mother was, anyway. But I digress...
- saw Huun Huur Tu, the super-cool Tuvan (it's in Central Asia near Mongolia) throat singing group at the Somerville Theater. The music itself is amazing, and these guys's performance was really intense. A very neato experience
- saw the Huntington Theater's production of Dangerous Liasons After the Huntington's wonderful production of The Real Thing a few months ago, I was really looking forward to this one. The set and costumes were great, but the two leads (Valmont and Madame de Merteuil) really rather missed out on the subtlety the roles require. The can't admit they love each other, and instead play a chess game of sex & deceit, using the other characters as pawns. The scenes between Valmont & Madame de Merteuil should seeth with layers of emotion and deviousness and all that other good stuff. The actors, while certainly not bad, just didn't quite deliver. Ah well. The other actors were quite good, especially the gal who played Madame de Tourvel. But despite its flaws, it was on the whole a decent production and soundly entertaining. Well worth the $15.
- saw Syriana, which I really enjoyed. I had a tough time keeping track of who was who and what exactly was going on, but it's still an interesting and exciting picture. An excellent cast with sound performances all around. And Alexander Siddig has lovely big melty brown eyes. If you haven't already, see it.
- went to the Cambridge Brewing Company's barleywine night for a selection of CBC barleywines and tapas. Verrrry tasty. If you live here, I highly recommend it. The CBC has good food (try thre bread pudding. It's totally rad.) and the 2005 is a great batch of barleywine. Yummy! Good beer is the only kind to have. Bad beer is evil in liquid form.
- saw Match Point, which was just great. If I hadn't known it was a Woody Allen movie, I wouldn't have known it was a Woody Allen movie. Well, the typeface & style of the opening & closing credits gave it away as a Woody Allen movie, but even so. Not that there's anything wrong with Woody Allen movies (see item #1 above), mind you. Anyway, it was a fantastico movie. Unfolded at a leisurely pace, yet had suspense and tension. Solid performances all around, and great dialoge. The scenes between Jonathan Rhys-Meyers and Scarlett Johannson--the ones where they talked, anway--were awesome, and full of crackly dialogue that bounced back and forth like a tennis ball. The bit where they first meet is, like, right out of a Howard Hawks movie. Right on. So yes, go see it! You won't regret it!
Aside from that it's been pretty much work, life, blah. I actually spent more than $0.02 on a pair of shoes and bought a pair of Dansko clogs. They're a neat metallic gray color and I think they're pretty keen. Erm...what else... oh yes, I finally watched the episode of Spaced--the TV show that Simon Pegg, of Shaun of the Dead fame, did back around 1999ish--that my favorite Hot Latin (hi, Matt!) sent me. It was mighty funny. And between Spaced and SotD, Simon Pegg does the best "holy shit, what was that?!?!" face. Possibly ever. Also on the disk was an episode (the 3rd, I think) of Dr. Who, featuring doctor #9, Christopher Eccleston. I'd never seen any Dr. Who before (but had heard a lot about it from a variety of sources), and I'd never seen Christopher Eccleston before (well, he was in Elizabeth, but I saw it so long ago I don't remember him). Let me just say, then, that Christopher Eccleston is totally rad. Like, totally. Rad. And he's got a great schnozz. Dr. Who is good fun, and I'll definitely have to jump on the bandwagon. Especially since cutie mccutestuff David Tennant is the tenth doctor! (Peter--how can I get a hold of copy of Casanova?!?)
Lots of fun things on the docket for February: a potentially weird/awesome concert at the Gardner tomorrow; Fritz Lang's M at the Brattle on Sunday (yeah, you heard me, bollox to the Stupor Bowl. Fritz Lang PWNS football.); The Tingler (Scream! Scream for your lives!), Gaslight, and Gone with the Wind (!!!!YAY!!!!!), also at the Brattle this month; the Extreme Beer Fest (quality, craft-brewed beers with high alky contents. The one last year was a boozeriffic time.); the Belle & Sebastian/New Pornographers concert; and who knows what else. But I'd say that looks like a month full o' goodness.
Let's hope it lives up to the expectation.
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Happy mindbendsday Wednesday to y'all! Nothing too interesting to report...the folks are coming in to town today, I'll be going back to Ohio in a coupla days, and I'm doing pretty well in dealing with my current emotional upheaval. No breakdowns--yet, anyway.
On the menu today are a few tasty links, farm-fresh and with all-natural casing:
All right. Time to actually do some work.
Over-and-out.
Current Mood: |
 confused | |
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Serious badness have been averted, which is good. Instead, though, is sadness, which is not good. *sigh* I suck.
Current Mood: |
 melancholy | |
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It's been a very boring day at work, so you get two entries for the price of one. The theme this afternoon is Unfortunate Things about Boston. Now, I love Boston & surrounding environs. It's a wonderful city, and I can't think of any other place I'd rather live. That being said, there are two things in particular that irritate me about the place, one only comes up a few months out of the year, the other is sadly year 'round.
The first Unfortunate Thing isn't even peculiar to Boston. Indeed, it affects all of the poor saps who live on the East Coast. What is it? you ask. Well, it's the fact that it's 4:00 in the afternoon and it's nearly dark. The sun is sinking low, and the sky will be pitch black in fifteen minutes. Utterly depressing.
The second Unfortunate Thing is a blot on the Boston landscape, an unsightly pustule on the lovely face of this fair city, an abomination in every possible definition of the word. That's right, I'm talking about the big, repulsive heap of concrete poo that goes by the name of Boston City Hall. This is what it looks like. To build this monstrosity, the Powers that Be demolished old Scollay Sqaure. Granted, by the 1950s Scollay Square had turned into a seedy redlight district, full of burlesque houses and divey sailor bars, but even so, it had life. Color. People. Now there is only acres of empty, soulles concrete with a huge pile of ugly in the middle of it. I feel bad for the folks who have to work there--one can only imagine what it looks like inside. Just in case you're wondering, Old City Hall is still around. It's perfectly fine, too--a solidly 19th century neo-something edifice. To urban renewal I say humbug.
All right, kids, that's all. Thanks for your patience.
Current Mood: |
bored |
Current Music: |
Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring played by a jazzy sax ensemble | |
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This past weekend was an interesting mix of goodness and badness. I really don't like badness; it makes me nervous.
Friday I got to flake off of work early for the Press holiday party, and those of us without cars got to hitch a ride on a Harvard Shuttle. Despite the Hahvahd mystique and individual seats (burgundy, of course) set side-by-side instead of two-person benches, it still smelled like a good ol' school bus. It had been years since I'd ridden in a twinkie, and it totally took me back to marching band away games. *sigh* The memories! Anyway, we finally got to the director's house after the bus driver took a few wrong turns. It's quite a place--very impressive. We were greeted by attendants who divested us of our wraps, then welcomed into the party by the hostess. The next thing I saw was a cute lad proffering a tray of drinks, which was definitely a welcome sight. Happy holidays indeed! I spent the afternoon schmoozing with my lovely co-workers and stuffing my gob with tasty, tasty foodstuffs. I spent the ride back to the Press in a food coma, then tottered home to snooze away the evening. I was supposed to meet up with Mike, but had to back out due to feeling tired, unwell, and sensing a cold coming on. Blegh.
Saturday morning I got up and out and met Mike at the MFA for the Ansel Adams exhibit. It was just wonderful. I'd never really had any strong feelings about him, but seeing the Yosemite stuff in the larger context of the rest of his stuff really made me appreciate his work. The Yosemite images have become so ubiquitous--totally overshadowing Adams's other pictures--that they are easy to write off as "great" without really knowing why, or passed over in a "been there, done that" sort of way, doing a major disservice to all of his work. Or at least this was my relationship with Adams's photography, pre-exhibit. So yes, I highly recommend it. If you're in Boston, it's well worth the visit. Mike and I then lunched at Symphony Sushi, enjoying the sublime goodness of their sweet potato maki. He had to go clean up for the holiday party that night, so we parted ways.
I snoozed some more, then left for Club Newton (his place, so named 'cause it's on Newton St.) around 8:00. The kicthen was actually clean and the Christmas tree was all decorated. Very festive! I was feeling rather asocial (haha, howzabout that, Peter! :-)) and retreated into Mike's room until people I knew showed up to the party. Mike's buddies Ian (co-worker at the Law Library) and Eric (former temp mate) and Jones (pal from college) were there, so I chatted with them while snarfing down munchies (mmm cashews!) and drinking Sam Adams 375 Colonial Ale out of complimentary mugs, courtesy of Wolfman (Mike's roommate, Seth). They're good fellows, and lots of fun to talk to. I was starting to feel tired and weird again around 1:00, and holed up in Mike's room again, dozing off to the sounds of the party escalating into drunken debauchery. Aside from talking to the aforementioned folks, these sorts of parties really aren't my scene, and the whole thing made me rather uncomforatble. This was partly due to my already wierd state of mind, which had been gnawing at me all week (and still is, I think). The other parties at Mike's place hadn't affected me so strongly, but then again, those parties didn't go on until 6 in the morning. Yup, that's right. I woke up again--still in my clothes and contact lenses, mind you--around 5:45 to the sound of bumping music and drunken idiots. Mike was still out there, which rather irritated me. How could he participate in this lame-ass behavior? I really just wanted to get out of there, and was getting ready to go when Mike finally came in. He, thankfully, wasn't drunk and had apparently been trying to get people to leave for three hours. Even so, I told him that I wanted to leave and was going to, but then he got angry at this and started interrogating me about it, refusing to believe that the only reason was because the place was giving me the heebie-jeebies. I wasn't trying to pick a fight and hadn't been angry at him before, but I was rather after this, and told him so. Mr. Rational & Emotionless then decided to "play my game" and started yelling (well, not exactly yelling, but talking loudly in an emotional way), to which I responded with bemused annoyance. I stayed to get him to cut it out. It was all very trying, especially because I wasn't mad at him, just freaked out by the party. We conked out on good terms just as the sun was coming up. A series of bizarre dreams ensued, and I woke up from the last one crying. Not an auspicious start to the day. Mike hadn't slept well and was a total zombie, so I left around 1:00 (Sunday afternoon) so he could clean up and take a nap. The apartment, by the way, was trashed. Someone had puked in the bathroom and did a poor job of cleaning up, and someone else decided that it was a cool idea to write on the wooden kitchen floor with a grease pencil. Idiots.
Feeling as rumpled in spirit as in appearance (I never did change out of my clothes to sleep), I felt an intense need for a change of scenery. I'd just sit around my apartment doing nothing if I went back home, so on a whim I decided to take a trip to the end of the blue line, to Wonderland. I'd never been there, and some Wonder sounded like a good proposition. It turned out to be just the thing--I crossed the T stop parking lot, crossed the road, and all of a sudden the Atalantic opened up before me. It was cold but sunny, and the beach was really lovely in the winter afternoon light. There was even a partial rainbow ring in the clouds around the sun. The smell of the sea isn't really apparent in the wintertime; it just smelt cold, but the wind was very refreshing. I spent nearly an hour walking up and down the strand, picking up a few pretty rocks tossed up on shore, looking out to sea, and watching a few folks walk their dogs on the beach. The big, ugly hotels were deserted, as was the old Wonderland Ballroom. It all had a feeling of windswept solitude, and it was wonderful.
Back home before sundown ('twas getting cold!), and a quiet evening in. Made some pasta, watched Pirates of the Caribbean for no reason (Orlando Bloom really is boring. I don't understand what the fuss is all about), read the Quills screenplay, and took a shower. My lovely roommate, Lisa, made some ointment and was very excitied about it. As she should be--homemade salves are pretty darn awesome. Talked to Mike, then went to bed whilst listening to an old broadcast of Quick Fry (featuring Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie, and Jim Broadbent) on the BBC website. Good stuff.
So yes, here we all are on Monday afternoon. It's sunny, work is fine, and I'm feeling OK-ish. Time for some random fun:
- The quote of the day concerns none other than that pillar of acting skill and easy butt of jokes & insults, Keanu Reeves: "He has the expression of someone who's been given an epidural but still suspects there is a large rodent gnawing on his genitals." This one is from James Lileks, Minneapolis Star Tribune writer, witty chap, and something of a wingnut.
- A cause that I will support whole-heartedly.
- This is one for the movie buffs.
OK, that's enough blah blah from me. Merry Monday to all, and to all a good afternoon!
Current Mood: |
 okay |
Current Music: |
Classical guitar-y goodness | |
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If there was any day to stay in bed, this would be the one. But I'm at work instead. This morning--ah, there's a story! I'm really tired, I feel a cold looming on the horizon, I look like shite, and the commute to work was HELL. Because only about five people between my house and the T (subway, for non-Boston folk) shoveled their bit of sidewalk last week, the already hazardous ice became even worse from the rain (still coming down as I type this) that had frozen on top of it. It took me almost 20 minutes just to get to the T--a walk that usually takes 10. Then the brick sidewalks down Linnean St. were just as bad, if not worse. See, the rich folk who live in the beeeg Victorian houses in the neighborhood around the Press don't bother to shovel their sidewalks. Or, excuse me, get someone to shovel them. These people! I almost took a nasty spill on numerous occasions, and spent a good deal of the time cursing vehemently the people who hadn't shoveled. They will rot for this! They should be glad I didn't fall down (which would have included not only a bruised behind, but getting sopping wet as well), 'cause then I would've gotten really mad. Walking up to your ankles in a puddle and slipping on ice at the same time should be illegal.
So now I'm at work listening to Beethoven's 6th symphony, trying not to get sick, and waiting for the Press Holiday party to start. It's at the Director's house in Acton, and the word on the street is that it's a helluva shindig. But like I said, I look like absolute ass and am in no mood for partying. *sigh* At least I can snooze on the ride there. Maybe I'll be alive by the time we arrive. And at least it's the weekend.
Potential for badness on the horizon...wish me luck and the good sense to be something other than a total nincompoop.
Current Mood: |
 irritated |
Current Music: |
Beethiven's 6th symphony, the "Pastoral" one | |
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I really don't have anything to report, but I just re-read Tom Stoppard's The Real Thing (which I saw at the Huntington the other month. Fabulous production.) and feel the need to spread the Stoppard goodness. This one makes my knees go wobbly:
"I love love. I love having a lover and being one. The insularity of passion. I love it. I love the way it blurs the distinction between everyone who isn´t one´s lover. Only two kinds of presence in the world. There´s you and there´s them."
Here's a random link-o-goodness. These dudes are retahded, but funny:
http://www.channel101.com/shows/show.php?show_id=152."
And another random link, just for the hell of it:
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/12/14/movies/14fien.html."
Current Mood: |
 flirty | |
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OK, so I'm sitting in my cozy little office at work listening to lovely medieval-y music on WGBH and watching it blizzard outside. But in addition to a shload of snow, we're getting thunder and lightning too. Weird-tastic!
Went to the Iron & Wine/Calexico concert on Wednesday. Now, before I launch into my thoughts on the music, let me digress a bit on the subject of concerts. Namely, this business of no seats. As in, you pay to stand up for three hours. I dunno when this came into fashion, but it's apparently been the thing to do at rock/indie/whatever-the-kids-are-listening-to-these-days concerts for some time. This is, in my humble opinion, a whole heap of very uncivilized pain-in-the-ass. Maybe it's cool for a bumpin' rock show where folks want to dance, but for folkie happy-clappy music, it's totally unnecessary. I HATEHATEHATE it. OK. Rant over. So yes, Iron & Wine, accompanied by Calexico and Señor Salvator Duran, played at Avalon on Wednesday. After thoroughly enjoying the I&W concert I went to this summer (it was a sit-down venue, too) and the I&W/Calexico collaboration on In the Reins, I was really looking forward to this show. Work, however, left me knackered and supper left me with agida, so I wasn't as much in the mood as I'd have liked. And I was wearing inappropriate footwear, which is death at a stupid stand-up venue like Avalon. The opening act was a weird duo of dudes doing strange songs. Meh. Calexico was great, though. The singer had a cool voice, the trumpets were awesome, and a few of the songs featured accordion, which is a sure-fire way into Jeanine's heart. I'd never heard any of Calexico's stuff before, and now I'm tempted to go out an purchase an album or two. Good stuff. The Señor (not to be confused with the Senor) came out and sang a song with 'em, then did a few numbers on his own. He was very warmly received, which is good because he was awesome. It's impressive to see someone sing and play the guitar and stamp his feet at the same time. Iron & Wine finally came on around 9:45-ish. Their performance was rather hit-and-miss...some of the numebrs went really well, some were a bit lackluster. The cool--or annoying, depending on how you look at it--thing about I&W is that the main dude, Sam Beam, likes to do songs live in a totally different way than the album cut. The songs usually stand up well to an alternate arrangement, and it must liven things up when on the road. The set picked up when Calexico came back on with I&W and they did songs from In the Reins. I eventually managed to snag a seat (there was a bench thing along the wall), which made everything much better. It wasn't the best concert I've been to, but it wasn't the worst, and it was, on the whole, a fine evening. For those of you not familiar with Iron & Wine, you should be. It's great stuff. Beautiful tunes and lyrics, some more up-beat stuff on the more recent albums (shouldn't it be alba? Latin endings!)...good listenin' for all.
Nothing else to report. Now I'm just waiting for the time to pass so I can get the heck outa here. If it hasn't been cancelled, I'll be going to a production of Arcadia tonight. Yay Tom Stoppard!
This is a really poorly written entry. Time to shut up. |
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jaybird1981's journal
