Monthly Archives: October 2009

Dear People Waiting in Line for Overpriced Last Minute Costumes

Why are you WAITING IN LINE for OVERPRICED COSTUMES?! 

It’s last minute.  That’s good.  Procrastination is good.  You get to hang out in line with guys who wear khaki shorts despite the late October temperatures:

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Buy why pay $50 for a Wonder Woman costume that’s all synthetic and cleavage? It’d be more cost effective and less desperate if you just emptied some red and blue bottles of finger paint just below your bosoms and let it trickle down some.

Although…it must feel pretty damn cool to have to make it past a bouncer before you can buy your Kate Gosselin wig.  Way to go.

Anyway. Happy Halloween!!!!!

Willem Dafoe: spoiled and obnoxious (in the best sort of way).

I read an article in The Village Voice about the Richard Foreman play that Willem Dafoe is starring in.  This one bit about their director-performer relationship struck me:

Foreman says of working with Dafoe: “It was very easy then. It’s very easy now.” But Dafoe notes changes in their mutual dynamic. “I feel a lot of respect from him now,” he says. “It emboldens me.” Rehearsal may have actually rendered Dafoe too bold. “I’m feeling very engaged—in fact, I’m feeling overstimulated,” he says. “I find myself being very obnoxious in the room and having fun and not censoring myself—I’m like a big, spoiled kid.”

That state of overstimulation that Dafoe describes–it really needs its own word.  It’s such an interesting state.  It’s a wonderful place to be–to become so comfortable with the people you’re working with, especially in a creative environment, that you hold nothing back.  I think silliness often requires a lot of support.  I love the way Dafoe talks about it because he makes light of how after the fact, once you’ve come down from this creative, carefree high, you feel sort of guilty and ridiculous.  That you got carried away and maybe not everyone around you felt that. 

I need more of that state of overstimulation without a name.  Thanks for bringing this to my attention, Willem.  I owe you one.

Meryl Streep would’ve done James Bond better and you know it, Brosnan.

Well, I’m baffled.  The weeks have passed, I’ve gone about my life, and every so often I’ve thought about that thing, that blog I keep.  I’ve considered updating it.  But nothing really struck me.  And the longer one goes without updating, the more pressure builds up to make the comeback post a doozy. 

So, here’s the deal:  This post is not a doozy. 

I’m baffled because of all the things (or, in this case “people”) to compel me to update, for whatever reason, Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan took the cake:

It’s genius.  I would seriously write a dissertation just about that scene.  And I’d relate it to Pierce Brosnan’s silly version of masculinity, as well as Meryl Streep’s reputation as the best thing ever.  (Why do we even have that expression about sliced bread?)  And all the while she’s singing an ABBA song and frolicking up rocks.  OH! OH!  And I could devote an entire section to that red shawl she wears.  It’s like Brosnan is her bull and she’s playing an age old game.  It says, I may be a mature woman, but I’m verile and fiery.  It says, I want to have sex with you, but I could just as easily burn you and rob you of your cojones.

Anyway.  It really is my intent to have less of these annoying posts that are prefaced with an allusion to the fact that I rarely post.  Sorry about that.

The Man and stuff.

Something about documentaries chronicling the ways of corporate giants really gets me off.  I can’t even tell you how many satisfying nights I’ve spent watching Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Price.  So you can imagine how excited I was when I noticed “The Age of Wal-Mart” while Hulu-surfing.  I had no idea they did away with the blue smocks.  They should also consider doing away with the Wal-Mart chant (it brings me back to that cult I almost joined). 

Also getting me off these days is my Flintstones vitamins:

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Now more complete with Choline!

Wikipedia says:

Choline is a precursor to trimethylamine, which some persons are not able to break down due to a genetic disorder. Persons suffering from this disorder, called trimethylaminuria, may suffer from a strong fishy or otherwise unpleasant body odor due to the body’s release of odorous trimethylamine.

And here I thought the fishy odor was just my vagina.

Despite my repugnant odor, I still scored a business card from a man on the subway earlier tonight.  We were chatting about Halloween costumes.  He said that he’d thought of his early this year: “It just came to me!”  He was so excited, so I wondered why he didn’t share it with me.  When I pressed him on the issue, his voice went low, and he said, “Well, it’s not really…”  “Appropriate?”  “Yeah.” 

It’s also not good.  It’s one of those “punny” costume ideas.  You know the ones.  The ones that never live up to the funny part.  All I’ll say is that it involves this jersey:

See where this is going?

See where this is going?

Silly me I still took his card.  And turns out…he’s got a really sweet job.  One that comes with prestige, benefits, and a blue smock.  By Armani.  Or someone. 

That said, I would never write about him or his Halloween costume if I actually planned to call.  I’ll take documentaries over a douchebag anyday.  YouknowwhatI’msayin?

Sign of the times

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This is my way of saying I intend to begin posting again.  Thanks.