Monday came and went and I ended up in the Emergency Room at Sibley.
About nine in the morning, I decided that I needed Claritin-D since it was a high pollen day. By ten, I was on an ambulance to Sibley. If you don’t need to hear the details, then you can probably skip the rest of the post. If you love details very much, then please go on.
On Monday, a pill got stuck in my throat, I went to the hospital, and three hours later it was cleared without intervention. Continue reading
Evelyn Evelyn perform at the 9:30 Club
It had been a while since I had been to the 9:30 club, so when Jason had a favorable review of Amanda Palmer’s ninja gig, I figured I had to go.
Jason and I met up at L’Enfant Plaza and met Jessica at Duffy’s around the corner from 9:30 for dinner and drinks before the show. Duffy’s is a hole in the wall with decent food. I am only marginally troubled by the fact that I left my roast beef sliders in their car after the concert. They were delicious. Continue reading
Really, there’s not much to say. Other than I brought my AlphaSmart NEO and typed for the entire musical. Here’s are a few snippets of what I wrote during that period of time:
First cat enters the stage, and another and another. Ironically, there are birds chirping. People are doing what I suppose are cat like things are on stage, striking cat like poses.
Oh wait, one looks like Tygra from the Thundercats. This has promise.
No, forget about the promise I talked about just now, this is really awful. Really. Awfu–Oh my hip thrusting.
The reality is starting to actually hit me: I’m watching CATS and there is this oppressive sort of walling in I’m experiencing.Annnnnnnnd more hip thrusting.I wonder if the other performers hate this guy. He’s a total douchecat.
So without further ado, CATS: the delayed liveblog stream of consciousness rant. It’s long, I’m warning you. For the “Too long; didn’t read” version, I give you this:
There are many reasons why it’s bad, dance numbers are too long, it feels dated, pompous, without substance, there is no story to speak of, and other than the costumes, there’s not much to it. Watch someone singing Memory on youtube and you’re done.
I didn’t like it, but now I feel qualified to use it as a metric when calling a musical, “bad.”
Next up is reading Twilight.
As much as I would love to wax poetic on the critical path analysis and the project plan for the new direction for Lots of Monkeys dot com, I decided that a more hands on approach was necessary to get a feel for WordPress 3.0 before I made a decision on what I could do in terms of importing my twitter feed and deciding on content types and page types.
But wow.
Shiny.
Some things are just too petty to have actually worried about, but I did.
It’s crazy.
But maybe I have gone too far. Let me explain. I have a time machine. Â It’s just a bankers box, not too heavy. Â It is filled with books and folders. The folders are filled with printouts. Some of them are dot matrix printouts, neatly stapled. The books are a ragtag bunch. Some are spiral bound notebooks and some are honest to goodness leather bound journals.
The interesting thing about this time machine is the labeling. On it, an earlier version of me has written, “Box o’Inspiration.” Then, below that in all caps, “USE ME, DAMMIT!” Then below that in smaller letters, perhaps as an afterthought, “Stop running away.”