April 30, 2003
Who is that masked man?
Remember the mask quest?
Well, it's been solved.
Special thanks to the bizarre yet fabulous folks at Abracadabra.
It's a day of links!
So this is what we went to war for?
And here is another quiz, because I know you love 'em. I didn't do so hot on this one - 25%. I'm not much of a Simpsons expert. I like it, but I don't watch enough TV to have that big of a clue. So sue me...
And in the highly competitive world of science fairs, don't forget Cockroach Boy.
And just to keep a smile on your face, here and here are two fucked up news stories from Yahoo. The thing that scares me the most about the second one is the thought that people are stupid enough to actually need this invention.
I promise, I'm not making this shit up.
Yes, but did they have old lace, too?
Our President is a Brilliant Man.
No really, I mean it. Really.
Ok, well, maybe I'm being just the teeeeeeniest bit facetious. Or sarcastic. Or both. Alright, he's an imbecile. Just read the article.
Because you love to be quizzed...
Here is another quiz for you. I will confess that I missed two of them. Then again, it is rather late at night and I should be going to bed.
And just in case you're curious, my super-cool mom is the person who put me onto this link, so you have her to thank for it.
April 29, 2003
I Need Your Advice
I have been invited to a Masked Ball next week. I know what I will be wearing from the neck down (my tuxedo.) But I have to either find or create a fabulous mask between now and Monday the 5th.
I have a couple ideas of where to start but I would be much obliged if any of you fabulous NYC area readers have any suggestions. I am a hotel concierge and I know a lot about fabulous things in the city - but elegant masks are not a common request...
Speaking of guest requests, I'm not really supposed to divulge these secrets, but I figure an occasional totally anonymous tidbit can't hurt.
So someone who shall remain nameless but you've probably seen on television asked for adult movies the other night. He seemed embarrassed to ask, but I was like, "Sure thing. Porno, comin' right up!" I mean, a man who needs porn? That's something to which I can relate!
Someone's Turning In Their Grave
But I'm pleased to be able to bring you this lovely image (which I found at Reverse Cowgirl. For those of you not in the know, reverse cowgirl has nothing to do with the ladies who wish they had not accepted roles in Urban Cowboy, it's a sex position, mostly for straight porn, wherein the girl is sitting on the boy's lap, facing away from him. Got it?) SO, indeed, the lovely ladies of Reverse Cowgirl bring us this:
April 28, 2003
Chandarella of Harlem
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's Jenna Bush's homework! (Link found via Gawker.
April 27, 2003
The Wheels on the Bike Go...
So I was leading a group of cyclists this morning, and shortly after we got into New Jersey (I know, I know), I was riding toward the back with another guy, the rest of the group was already at the top of the hill, and I hear a "Bang" "Ping" "Clockety clockety clockety clockety" "Oh shit."
One of my spokes had broken, and it was, of course, knocking against the frame of the bicycle. So after figuring out that I had nothing which I could jury-rig a solution for it, I sent the other guy on ahead to try and catch the group.
Another cyclist came upon me and kindly suggested that we should merely break the loose spoke off, which we did. However, I was afraid of fucking the wheel up too badly if I tried doing much riding on it - so I rode back to Manhattan and promptly took the subway from the GWB back home.
What a shame. There were some nice guys on the ride - and it was beautiful weather out, too. And since I was the "leader," I feel bad about ditching, but I didn't really have a choice. Oh well, now I have some spare time to clean my apartment. Whee!
I Love My Landlord
Just like most New Yorkers, I have a tiny little apartment. Most of the winter this year was spent shivering, as my landlord kept forgetting to turn the heat on. At one point, I even had to call some tenants' right board to report him for not heating our apartment building.
Now, it's spring and it's warming up.
And the heat's on in my building. I have all the windows open, and the fans on to try and circulate air... and I feel like I'm trying to sleep in some sort of tropical hell. Chocolate is melting, the sheets are covered in sweat, and we get to wait until Monday to complain!
April 26, 2003
Delusions of Grandeur
When I was little, and my family would come visit NYC on vacation, I used to imagine that one day I would move to NYC and actually live here, so that I could eat a hot dog from a street vendor or see a Broadway show whenever I wanted to.
And now, every once in a while, while I'm walking home from work, I realize or remember that I used to have such a dream - that I would be walking home from work, in New York City - and that's what I'm doing right then, at that very moment - walking home, along 57th Street.
But then I remember that my dream from my youth (hell, my dream from now) was that I'd have a 2,000 square foot loft in SoHo that I could actually afford. And an office with a window and a view.
Oh well. At least I can get a hot dog whenever I want to.
April 25, 2003
Home, Sweet Home
Well, my return flight on Virgin was much more pleasant than the outbound. I think that part of the problem is JFK Airport. Indeed, neither passport control nor customs were any fun. But Heathrow was fine. They have an upscale luxury shopping mall at Heathrow Terminal Three. Hermes, Ferragamo, it was like a cross between Fifth Avenue and Bond Street. But all I got were some Cadbury Creme Eggs. Yummy.
Then the flight was made that much cheerier by the fact that there was quite the gorgeous flight attendant, named Alastair. I stared, that was for sure! He was quite the cutie. There were a couple of cute guys on the plane, too, but I had to sit next to some fat chick. Oh well.
Then I got home and discovered that my cellphone does not work very well on the highways through Queens. I got disconnected from multiple calls; that was annoying. But I made it home safely. Part of me still wishes I was on vacation, but I have bills to pay, so I might as well go to work. Which I have to go get ready to do now. Hopefully something funny will happen and I'll end up with a nice story to tell you...
April 23, 2003
The British Museum Has Lost Its...
I've been quite perturbed about the Iraqi museum thing since I first read of it. But it wasn't until today that I had a really personal context in which to blog about it.
I went to the British Museum this afternoon, and I was looking at all kinds of wonderful things (and some freaky ones, too - unwrapped mummies give me the creeps). They had a beautiful gold helmet from Ancient Mesopotamia. It was over 4,000 years old, according to the label. But wait, the fine print read: Copy. Original in The Iraq Museum, Baghdad.
Ouch.
It really brought home the great cultural, artistic and anthropological losses that the world suffered when Baghdad's museum and library were ransacked. And I think it's both America's fault and an illustration of how our priorities in the war were misguided.
The military said that they just didn't have the resources to defend these locations from looters. I'm sorry, but I think that if you're destroying a political regime and not fighting a war against a country's populace, then part of your duty is to maintain their cultural history - and preventing the looting of museums is an essential part of that. All the museums of Europe made it through the world wars relatively unscathed. The Hermitage survived the USSR's dissolution just fine, aside from some budgetary issues, I assume. But from what I have heard, there's not anything left in Baghdad's museum or state library, which had been two of the richest resources of information, art and artifacts about one of the most ancient developed civilazations on our planet.
I shed a tear today for that loss, and for our contribution to allowing that loss to occur.
(And the title of the entry? It's a Gershwin reference - A Foggy Day.)
Lucky Me
London is known for its dismal weather. London Fog coats, "A Foggy Day in London Town," and so forth.
It's been sunny and dry almost my entire visit - there was one day where it rained for just a little bit.
And now that I'm preparing to go back to NYC tomorrow, London's forecast is calling for rain daily -- starting on Friday.
I don't usually have this kind of karma - how did I get so lucky? Well, I'm not going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth; I'm going to go to the Britsh Museum to see if it really has lost its charm.
Lucky Me
London is known for its dismal weather. London Fog coats, "A Foggy Day in London Town," and so forth.
It's been sunny and dry almost my entire visit - there was one day where it rained for just a little bit.
And now that I'm preparing to go back to NYC tomorrow, London's forecast is calling for rain daily -- starting on Friday.
I don't usually have this kind of karma - how did I get so lucky? Well, I'm not going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth; I'm going to go to the Britsh Museum to see if it really has lost its charm.
April 22, 2003
Fancy a spot of tea, love?
Last night, while sipping Earl Grey in my lovely hotel room, I realized part of why I can never have a satisfactory cup of tea at home in NYC. It's because I haven't got a proper tea cup. So as you can imagine, I rectified this situation today at Harrods. I purchased a lovely pair of Spode tea cups and saucers. I feel elegant now. I got two, mind you, and a (not so expensive) tea pot as well, so if any fancies a cuppa... well, play your cards right and you might get to sip outta a fancy cup.
April 21, 2003
Sharing is Good
So I thought I'd share two recent Google searches with you that resulted in people discovering The Jon Blog.
Search 1: 9th Grade Gay Porn
Search 2: Theatre or Theater and "Flesh Colored."
Man, I love the internet.
UPDATE:
I checked out the 9th Grade Gay Porn search results as I was posting it to searchresults.weblogs.com, which I found courtesy of Nina's comment. And there was a frightening post from a Born-Again Christian who has "conquered" his love of Gay Porn. Check it out: I'm not making it up.
Stones In My Pockets
The bathroom scale here in my swanky hotel room only measures you in Stones or in Kilograms. So odd. I still have no idea how much a stone is.
April 20, 2003
"Mind The Gap"
It's funny, to be here in London. I have been taking some time to observe some of the differences between here and there. Some of the things seem to just work so much better, while there are a few NYC things that I dearly prefer over London (such as the smoking thing... I hate when people light up a cigarette when I'm trying to have dinner!).
The subway is one of my big points here. They have variable pricing based on how far you are going. This means that, like in DC, you have to swipe your card (no tokens here, either) both going in and going out. But they don't have any horrid cages at the turnstiles like in NYC so you don't feel quite so trapped. And the platforms are all clean. They also have basically one point of entry into each station, so that there's really not as much reason to bicker about how many toll-booths are needed. One station? One toll both. And you can understand every announcement they make on the PA system. And get this: They have a monitor that displays (accurately, mind you!) how much time until the next train gets to there. Now, the Underground is not open all night. But when it is, they do say fabulous things like, "Mind the Gap."
The theatre tickets here are cheaper than on Broadway - but you have to pay for your program. But when you stop at the concession stand to buy one, you can also buy chocolate or soda to take to your seat. And they have ice cream at intermission. Because Brits aren't as nasty as Americans - they understand that it's bad manners to spill, so they simply don't.
Why can't we be more like this? I guess it's because we're American and we don't want to have to be responsible for anything. Or maybe it's because we haven't got a queen. I want a queen... MUMMY!!! I Want a QUEEN!!!!
Easter in India
Well, not exactly, but I had two very Indian activities today here in London. One was curry for dinner. Not terribly exciting, I know, but it was rather good. The other "Indian" thing I did today was see "Bombay Dreams," which is a great big Bollywood style West-End musical. It really was not a terrible show. It was not the best show ever, but there was a lot of energy, fun costumes, good dancing, interesting music, and lots of water on stage (evidentally, wet saris are a big part of these movies?). Another interesting thing they had in the show were Eunuchs. Now I'm not sure how common or prevalent these are in India, but they were all over the stage in this musical. Think Indian drag queens. Or I guess they're more like post-op transsexuals? Anyhow, they were quite fabulous.
It's amazing how once you dug through all the convoluted plot twists in the show (including that fabulous development so perfectly described in the screenwriting lesson scene from "Sunset Blvd." - "Noone dies except the best friend.") (Spoiler Alert -- skip a bit if you don't want to find out the plot - but there's a little naughty gift for all of you at the end of the entry). Basically, it's the story of Akaash. He's a bum from the gutter. His best friend is Sweetie, a Eunuch, who is fabulous. His idol is Rani, the greatest Bollywood diva. Sweetie, with her crowd of transgender and lesbian buddies, have figured out a way to crash the Miss World pageant, which Rani will be attending, and so they invite Akaash along (but they make him wear a sari.) Meanwhile, Madan is the director of Rani's films, and he is in jail (he was framed by JK, who's in the Indian mafia). And he's due to get out of prison. And he's in charge, somehow, even though he's in jail, of said Miss World pageant. So, JK the Mafia man wants to rig the pageant, so he tells Madan to fix it, and Madan tells his daughter, Priya, who's going to be actually running the pageant, to take care of it. JK gets Madan out of jail to go to the pageant and help. So of course, at the pageant, Priya and Akaash fall in love at first sight. Trouble is, Priya's engaged to Vikram, a slimy lawyer who represents everyone in Bombay, both in civil AND criminal cases. He's the one who tells the slum dwellers, including Sweetie and Akaaksh, that the land they live on has been sold to become (what else) a movie theatre. So once Priya and Akaash fall in love at first site, he is also discovered for his true calling: to be a movie star! Trouble is, he can't act - that is, until he gets some private coaching from Priya to teach him how to play his love scene with Rani. And of course, because he's pretending it's Priya up there with him, the movie is a raving success. Too bad that JK has become pissed off at Madan (I am still not sure why) and has him assasinated at the premiere of the movie. Of course, he then picks up the distribution rights, earns tons of cash, and rakes in the glory, too, when Akaash and Rani are named Best Actor and Actress for that year. But wait, there's more. It gets better! Sweetie, who has been abandoned by Akaash because he prefers the glamour of Bollywood, confronts the evil Vikram, because one of her fellow slum-dwellers stole his wallet which contained papers proving he had lied about the sale of the slum to the cinema-builders. Vikram offers to buy her silence, but she refuses. So he kills her, then hides the body. By the time Akaash found out that Sweetie had been waiting for him, Vikram has already run off to hide the body. As he's waiting, Priya invites him out for a drink, but he declines because he's waiting for someone. "A girlfriend?" she inquires. "Maybe," is his reply. Oh my ;-) Does that mean he's bi? Or what?
Anyhow, after a denoument involving an escape by helicopter, Akaash saving the slum from demolition, and a pair of numchucks, Vikram ends up beaten up, JK escapes to his evil lair, and Priya and Akaash walk off into the Bollywood sunset. Then the cast comes on and does the token megamix/reprise of the big production number, "Shakalaka Baby."
One really interesting thing about it was... have you ever heard that theory that there are only like 16 or something possible plots in the entire world? I'm not totally sure I agree with that, but this one did, after a fashion, have the same plot as "The Wizard of Oz." Akaash is from the slums, he dreams of going to Bollywood, gets there, loves it, but realizes that all he really wanted (well, except the girl) was what he had right there at home in the first place.
Damn, I have never shared the plot of a musical like that in here before. I apologize if you find it dull.
As a consolation prize, I will now tell you the other exciting thing I did today.
You see, I'm much less inhibited, for some reason or other, when I'm on vacation than when I am at home. So I have no problem going to places like the Sauna. (In Europe, they call it a sauna. In the States, a bathhouse. But whatever. Gay men go there to fuck.) So of course there were throngs of gorgeous Brit boys with very perky asses and such. Yummy. There was also this one guy who totally was into me - and he was OK looking - but he was like, so into me that it was kind of disturbing. And since I didn't really like his intensity, I said no. Trouble is, he didn't seem to understand the WORD "No." I was sitting in the hot tub (mmmm) and noticed he was cruising me from the other part of the room, so I conciously avoided him and thought he could tell. But he signaled to another guy in the hot tub, who got my attention, so I had to be like, "No!" That was sort of not fun. Otherwise, it was all good. I didn't really "do" much but I did strongly engage my voyeuristic tendencies, which made me a happy camper.
Tomorrow I have lots more fun things to do, which will probably include shopping. There's also an exhibit of shoes by the amazing designer Manolo Blahnik that I want to see. And I'm going to "Ragtime" tomorrow night, which I am very excited about. I love the score, and this production is evidentally much more minimal (that's not proper English but you know what I mean) than the Broadway production was, and it makes it more about the score and plot, which is supposed to work quite nicely. I'll let you know.
And hopefully I'll have more sex, too!
April 19, 2003
London Calling
A word to the wise:
British Airways is friendlier than Virgin Atlantic. Faster check in, nicer flight attendants, better food (and prompt food service, too, so that you can go to sleep early in the flight, rather than in the middle. On my Virgin flight the other night, I didn't get my nasty fish until after watching "Igby Goes Down" in its entirety. Not that I'm complaining about "Igby," mind you. It was a lovely film. But who ever heard of the only food choices being "Codfish or Vegetarian Pasta"? Oh wait, we're talking English cuisine here. Nevermind. At least they didn't have blood pudding. Maybe that's only on the flights from UK...). Not to mention the fact that they only had middle seats left, even though I had requested a window when I had bought my ticket and so forth. And, even though Virgin and Continental code share, you can't buy your ticket through Virgin and get frequent flier miles on Continental. You can only do that if you buy the ticket ON Continental. Trouble was, Continental couldn't confirm me on the flight, so I had to buy it on Virgin. Oy... But now I'm here, on the other side of the pond, in Jolly Old England.
Land of mediocre food and bad fashion sense. Although there are some really cute boys, and yesterday, when it was warm, a lot of them were wearing short shorts (and yes, the song came to mind...)
Anyhow... I'm off to see "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" but since I've moved to the second hotel of my itinerary - the one with free, high speed in room internet, you can expect to hear much from me. And hopefully my typing will be coloured with plenty of bloody English words...
April 15, 2003
Yes, Virginia, there really is a 6am.
I do not like being awake this early. Especially after I didn't get to bed until around 2:45am or so. But it will all be worth it when I get out of work at 5pm, and hop into that town car that will take me to the airport where I won't sleep much on the plane and then I'll land at 7am in London and have no idea what time it really is.
In other news, a co-worker of mine was asked to write a 800-1000 word essay for a newsletter, describing a conference he attended. He emailed me a copy of his 1700 word essay. Never have I ever had quite so much fun with the red-line function in Word. "Afterwards, we were whisked outside onto the roof of the building in the cold, winter night’s air and we directed our eyes upward to the sky as a fireworks display made many a jaw drop. I am sure that everyone in town [not involved in the conference] would have been curious as to what in the world was happening this January night over the rolling ocean surf!" became "Then we were treated to a jaw-dropping fireworks display." A savings of 52 words right there. I revised him right on down to 935 words.
Go me!
April 14, 2003
I hate when...
...you get woken up by the phone ringing, and then you run to answer it, and it's "Phil, from 'The Neighborhood' with MCI..."
Someone told me once that they said to a telemarketer, "Wait, hold on a minute... can I get your home phone number and call you back later at a time that's not convenient for you please?"
I'm not the only one...
In an odd way, it was disconcertingly comforting to see that one of my neighbors had, just today, thrown out his (her?) Christmas tree. Can you imagine? Oh, it's April. I better get rid of the tree.
I thought I was the only pack rat who didn't clean his apartment often enough.
I don't know how, but I never really inherited a cleaning gene. I hate to clean. I mean, my apartment is not disgusting, it's not like there are plates growing mold in the sink (not right now, anyhow). I have piles of clean clothes against one wall, and some other clothes on my sofa, and a stack of porn videos on a another chair. Wait, I know. I'm not messy, I just don't have room for all my stuff.
The odd thing is, most homosexuals (yes, I'm stereotyping here, but aren't stereotypes based on truth?) seem to be clean freaks. I guess that makes me a bad homosexual. Hmm, maybe that explains things.
Speaking of explaining... My mom's exact words to me when I came out to her (in the late spring of 1992) were, "Well, that explains a lot of things."
I guess it makes a little more sense in the context of how I came out to her. I went to college in Houston, and one summer, I got an internship at the Alley Theatre, which is the local professional LORT theatre there. So of course the dorms were closed, which meant I had to find someplace to stay for the summer. I had met this very nice gay couple through the campus gay organization, I think. They lived together, but E. was not out to his parents. G. was. But since E. wasn't, they had a two bedroom apartment. The second bedroom, never used, was E.'s. I proposed to them that since it wasn't getting used anyhow, that I might as well pay them some rent and use the spare bedroom. They thought that was a lovely idea (especially since I was a sweet young thang back then, and they were one of those couples who played around).
So I was on the phone, explaining the living arrangements to Mom. "Well, you see, the main bedroom has an air conditioner in it, and the second one they don't really use in the summer because you have to use a fan and the air conditioner from down the hall in the living room, so they're giving it to me for really cheap and..."
"Well, it just sounds to me like they might be gay or something," said Mom.
"So what if they are?" I retorted. I think I hung up on her fairly quickly after that.
She called back. "It's fine with me if they are gay... (I think she said something else here but I'm not sure exactly what). I just sometimes wonder if you are, too."
Now, Mom had asked me over the previous Christmas when I had been back home, and I hadn't said yes, but I also hadn't quite said "no" emphatically enough. So it's not like it was a huge secret but it had not been confirmed to her, yet, either. But I couldn't bring myself to lie about it to her again, especially since on the trip home I was planning about a week or two after this phone call, I'd planned on sitting them down and giving them "The Talk."
"Yes, Mom. I am gay."
"Well, that explains a lot of things."
See, I told you so.
April 13, 2003
Tea for two... for them.
In February, I wrote in my (other) blog about how the members of my "core" group of friends had all went and got themselves boyfriends. I tried to provide you with a hyperlink to this, but my blogger site is so fucked up that I couldn't even make that happen.
Anyhow, one of these guys has totally disappeared from my world. One moved in with his boyfriend a couple weeks ago. Another told me that he's going to move in with his boyfriend, and they're going to have a commitment ceremony. And today, on the phone, the last one told me that he, too, is moving in with his boyfriend!
What have I done to deserve this? All my best friends have gone from single to not. Bleah!
Another friend of mine, a relatively newer friend, has accused me of not working hard enough to find a boyfriend of my own. I guess part of the problem with this is that the sum total of the previous advice I have been given is that you can't go out looking for a boyfriend. "They sneak up on you when you're least expecting it." (Sort of like a mosquito?) So for him to start telling me that I have to pursue guys more actively was sort of funny advice. I'm not 100% sure what to do with it. I mean, there's a great part of me that would rather not be single. But there's so much going on in my life that doesn't seem conducive to finding a boyfriend in the first place. I mean, I work evenings and weekends. And, I have to confess, I'm a bit of a restaurant snob, and I have this vision of an ideal husband who is a bit of a restaurant snob as well. And the gay men I've been able to meet don't seem to feel the same way I do about that. And I know I'm blowing it out of proportion, but aren't I allowed to make it an issue if I want to? It's not like it's a key factor, but it's a part of the overall package. Although it's possible that I've envisioned myself this dream-world boyfriend who can't possibly exist, just so I don't have to set myself up for rejection again and again if I set my standards lower?
In other news, I was watching VH1 have a special on the 80's this afternoon before I went to work. It was riveting! I could hardly turn it off to leave the apartment on time for work! They had snippets from Nine to Five and Xanadu. Oh... it was fabulous, I tell you. Too bad I had to turn it off and go to work. I could have watched that all day long!
April 12, 2003
In Touch
I think that most gay men know that there's a porn magazine called In Touch. So you can imagine how suprised I was to walk by a news-stand on the way home and see a copy of a "People" magazine clone, gossip-rag, called "In Touch."
They must be run by all straight people. Which means that this magazine must SUCK. And now that I have In Touch for Men's website up on my screen... Um... I have to go now...
School Daze
I guess everyone likes to be inspired to write about something because they read something they felt they could comment on or relate to. So, I was just reading Tin Man's blog where he talks about his freshman year high school. It was very odd... a friend of mine had told me I should start reading his blog a few months ago, and I have been... and then today, he shared an experience that I have a sort of similar experience with... He was a freshman, but I was in sixth grade. So here goes.
I was a geek when I was little. I probably still am, on some level. I had a really tough time at the public school I attended from second grade on. I was fairly observant at the time, as a Jew, and I was (unbeknownst to me, I think) a budding homosexual. I didn't really like any of my teachers, except the music teacher, and I hated most of my classmates. And to say that I was socially maladjusted would be an understatement. So the straw that finally broke the back was not my math teacher, Mr. McKee, calling me "the rabbi," or the fact that my favorite recess activity was staying inside and cleaning chalkboards. It was the fact that they held auditions for the 6th grade musical, which I'd really been looking forward to, on a Jewish holiday. They let me have a "make-up" audition, but only the music teacher was there, and so it didn't really seem to count very much - and I didn't get a part. I was devastated, and the walls seemed to be crushing in around me. So I went home from school in tears (again, according to my mom. Going home in tears apparantly was a favored activity of mine. I have blocked this out. Probably for good reason.) When I got home, I told Mom that I didn't want to go back to that school. Ever!
My sisters, at the time, were attending the local private school. First thing the next morning, my mother called the admissions office and voila, I had an appointment/interview. Of course I was accepted, and I started right away. But man, let me tell you this: If you ever have a kid who's in just about ANY grade in school, the worst possible time to have him change schools would be the week before Valentine's Day. I got exactly ONE Valentine. (Hey, that's more than I got this year!) And I was socially inept, so you can imagine that I made a really good first impression.
Luckily, a few new people came the next year, for seventh grade, and then a few more for 9th grade. Although one of my best friends left to go to Boarding School in Delaware. He actually ended up at the same school where they filmed Dead Poet's Society.
I still don't have very many good memories of school - a few special teachers that really meant a lot. Luckily, I had a great French teacher, and I now speak French pretty darn well. That's pretty much the main thing from high school that still makes any difference in my life. It's amazing how education doesn't last. I guess it's probably different if you're in a professional career like medicine or law... but for those of us who work in hotels? Well, let me just say, one of my colleagues doesn't even have a high school diploma. Not that there's anything wrong with that, mind you, it's just sort of a viewpoint on what is a degree really for, anyhow?
Hmm... this entry seems really rambling to me. I hope it makes more sense to you.
And I also hope I'm a better adjusted person socially now. I think I am.
Thank Ru Very Much
I was reading Rupaul's fabulous blog this afternoon, and found this crazy link to this very sexy gay online comic strip. Check it out here.
April 11, 2003
La Bo(re)heme
It's amazing what a bad director can do to a good show. And being stuck in the audience between a bunch of blue hairs and a guy who feels compelled to use his BlackBerry while Mimi is trying to die, well, that doesn't help.
There are three productions of "La Boheme" in the city right now, and as of last night I have seen them all. Let me just give you the advice that if you're not sure which one to see, between the three, that you would do best to skip the City Opera production. I was kind of sad that it didn't work.
Musically, it's fine. The State Theatre still has its terrible acoustics, but the cast was uniformly strong and the conductor, well, I really enjoyed his interpretation of the score. Oddly, this Boheme has the strongest Mimi I have heard in all three versions (and I've heard two of the three Broadway Mimi's).
The set and the direction are what create the most problems. For example, in Act I, the apartment where the bohemians live is actually removed from the stage right at the start of the love duet, and the moon comes in. And it starts to snow. Now, this would be beautiful if it made dramatic sense in the context of the snow (She suggests they follow his friends to the Cafe Momus, he flirtingly replies that it might be nicer to stay here, where it's warm. Except they're nowhere, in a snowstorm.) I have also never heard noisier stage snow. Ever. It sounds like it's pissing down rain on them. It was so distracting that (the people sitting near me and) I began to laugh.
Act II's staging was basically a distaster, and so was Act III. First of all, they brought in that damn noisy snow again. Second of all, it's supposed to be set by the gates to Paris, and there's a tavern there where Rodolfo, Marcello and Musetta are staying. But in this version, it's just sort of set in this bizarre-I-can't-tell-you-where, but there's a big train engine. It makes NO sense.
Then, in Act IV, Marcello and Rodolfo are supposed to be working together (on separate projects, in the same room). But the director has placed Rodolfo in a chair on the roof of the apartment, and Marcello is downstairs repainting it. Makes no sense when a housepainter curses his paintbrush. He's supposed to be having artist's block because his mind is preoccupied by Musetta, hello?. So their big duet takes place with them not even in the same room!
Oy. Go see the Baz version, or, even better (especially musically, and for the beautiful staging in Act II and III) the Met Opera version. And if you see it at the Met, look out for Jere; he's one of the fabulous Soldiers On Parade.
April 10, 2003
Dream a Little Dream
I had a strange dream last night, as often happens, especially when I've stayed up too late. I don't remember all the details, of course, but I do remember that my old Mac IIsi was in the dream (that's the computer I had when I was in college, mind you!), and a bowl of rotten or bruised peaches. One part of the dream involved being with a number of people, I don't remember who they were, but we were on top of a large skyscraper, but there was an outdoorsy type area including a small amusement park up there. There were also some people who were participating in a triathlon race. They were getting off bicycles and then running off in the direction from which they had come. Not a very safe triathlon, if you ask me. And who has a bike race on top of a skyscraper? I don't even want to think about where they had done the swimming part of the race.
Then there was a part of the dream (maybe it was a different dream?) where I was at this really bizarre cross between a swimming pool (not for triathletes) and a prison. Just because they had bars to keep you from going from one part of the pool to the other. The were open most of the time, but there was a lockdown moment. I guess that's like, adult swim from hell? Anyhow, some of my college friends were there, most of whom I have not spoken to for years.
It's possible that thinking about college was influenced by the fact that the cute guy I met at The Lure last night and I had both taken classes, at different universities, from the same professor. And when I got home last night, I looked up that professor on the web and sent him an email: "Two of your former students were discussing you in a gay bar last night!" He replied back, and was very glad that we had met up. I think he thinks I was telling him that we had had sex, which is not the case, as I mentioned to you last night.
Anyhow, I hope you're not too disturbed by my dreams. I know I'm not.
It's the last midnight!
Tonight, I saw the new Broadway revival of "Gypsy," after which I went to the final "Pork" at the Lure. I can't believe it's closing.
"Gypsy" was fine. The two biggest problems are 1: Jerry Robbins' estate and 2: Bernadette Peters.
I wish the estate had let the creative staff have a bit more leeway in the production; you could tell that their hands were tied. This doesn't compare at all to Mendes' work on "Cabaret." He really took the show and turned it around and pointed out so much of the grit and grime of that world and that time; but you can tell that he was not allowed to do that for this version of "Gypsy."
The supporting cast is strong (although as Louise, Tammy Blanchard seems to be channelling Millie for a portion of the evening, at least in the looks department), and my favorite number, "All I Need Now Is The Girl" did not live up to my expectations. The strippers are a lot of fun, and "Gimmick" was great. But there is no chemistry between John Dossett and Bernadette. When he finally walks out on her, it's like "about time already!"
Bernadette is a wonderful performer. I sincerely hope that she's able to find the character of Rose. Because as it is, right now, she's Bernadette up there. Sure, she's giving 100%, but she's giving her all - as Bernadette Peters. Not that watching Bernadette Peters is boring, mind you, but she just doesn't seem like what I imagine Mama Rose is. You don't get the sense that she knows what Mama Rose is.
At the end, the applause felt... obligatory, as opposed to last night, at "Nine," where it was a thorough, heartfelt ovation. "Nine," oddly enough, has some directorial issues of its own. It is not as tight as it could or should be, and David Leveaux actually manages to allow Laura Benanti to get lost on the stage. I thought that was against the laws of theatrical physics, but I guess when you let Chita Rivera dance and you let Jane Krakowski wear a rhinestoned flesh colored miniskirt, Laura's demure skirt melds into the background a bit too much.
Did anyone else who saw the show find the water as distracting as I did? I mean, it was beautiful, but it really took away from the other stuff that was going on as it was pooling and swirling. It made a lot of noise, and you just sort of had to wonder about how they got it there. I mean, it sort of makes sense, with everything being set in a spa and all, but still...
Anyhow, not too much to say about the evening at the Lure. I had fun. I met a few cute guys, including a cast member of "Urban Cowboy." We had a really interesting, albeit short, conversation about the play. I said, truthfully, that everyone in it is obviously working their asses off, and it would have been nice to see what they could have done if they'd been given good material to work with. I meant it as a compliment to him, as a performer, and I think he took it that way. I also met a really interesting guy who's a stage manager. We didn't click in any sexual way, but we had a great conversation. It was really weird, all these guys were running around with their cocks out, and we were discussing college, the hankie code, the various cities we've lived in, and the war in Iraq. We shook hands and exchanged numbers. I hope that he and I will become friends; the potential seemed to be there this evening.
April 09, 2003
It's so nice to be back home where I belong!
Well, I'm relieved. It's very nice to finally have a blog again. Although there's a ton of work involved. There were some lovely entries (both from myself and my fabulous guest blogger, Jere) which you never got to read because, as I hope you figured out, MyPorN encountered severe technical difficulties from the lovely people at Blogger who don't like to provide you with technical support unless you have paid them.
So instead of paying blogger, I paid the fabulous people at Dreamhost and Bulletproof FTP and bought a couple books on HTML, CSS and PERL at Barnes & Noble. Hmm... probably would have been cheaper to just pay for BlogSpot*Pro. But isn't it cool to have my own .com?
It's creepy to watch this on the news - they are trying to pull down this statue of Saddam Hussein... oh wow, they just covered his face with an American flag! What a bizarre image.
Now that the statue is toppled and I have a start of a template design for the site, I have an overwhelming desire to take a nap.
I'm gonna have to think of a title for every damn one of these now?
This is my first entry in my NEW and improved blog.
I promise the next ones will be more interesting. Consider this a test of the emergency blogging network.
It'll be better soon.