transatlantic mojo
8.12.2005
a whole lotta nothin'
I've done sort of fuck all for the past week, except cobble together a first draft of my play, which I thought I'd be more overtly joyful about but really all it's done is highlight exactly how much I have to do to make it an actual theatrical text.
Still, I did give myself a little post-mailing-of-the-draft-to-the-director treat by...
going to Blazing Salads and eating yummy tofu pizza.
I AM SUCH A DORK.
I'm also a broke dork, given the impending visit to New York, so I have to delight in little things. Like arguing with Joe on his blog about the value of Big Brother. For the record: IT HAS NONE. ABSOLUTELY.
After the Fringe launch party on Monday, I'd wanted to post something called "Things I shouted today" and then I never did because I'm a lazy git. Here were the three things I shouted that day that I found shout-worthy:
In response to a Charity Mugger whom I have passed twice already, RUNNING, trying to make it back and forth from my apartment to the copy shop before it closed so we could have fliers for the Fringe party, who asks me chirpily on the third zoom by, "HI! Can I talk to you for a minute!" I yelled, without breaking stride, "DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CAN TALK RIGHT NOW?!"
Later that night, in response to Joe leaving the Fringe party early because he was sick:
"It's God's punishment for mixing 18-year-old Jameson with Diet Coke!" (No, I am not over that yet, and I won't be until Joe gives me the abused bottle so I can provide it with the loving appreciation it deserves.)
And then, later at the party, to a bunch of misguided dancers trying to make sense of a terrible dance remix of "My Baby Just Cares for Me", this (aided by the free beer):
"YOU DO NOT CONGA TO NINA SIMONE! YOU DO NOT CONGA TO NINA SIMONE!"
They ignored me. Or couldn't hear me over the butchered Nina. ¶ 11:08 AM 0 Comments
Still, I did give myself a little post-mailing-of-the-draft-to-the-director treat by...
going to Blazing Salads and eating yummy tofu pizza.
I AM SUCH A DORK.
I'm also a broke dork, given the impending visit to New York, so I have to delight in little things. Like arguing with Joe on his blog about the value of Big Brother. For the record: IT HAS NONE. ABSOLUTELY.
After the Fringe launch party on Monday, I'd wanted to post something called "Things I shouted today" and then I never did because I'm a lazy git. Here were the three things I shouted that day that I found shout-worthy:
In response to a Charity Mugger whom I have passed twice already, RUNNING, trying to make it back and forth from my apartment to the copy shop before it closed so we could have fliers for the Fringe party, who asks me chirpily on the third zoom by, "HI! Can I talk to you for a minute!" I yelled, without breaking stride, "DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CAN TALK RIGHT NOW?!"
Later that night, in response to Joe leaving the Fringe party early because he was sick:
"It's God's punishment for mixing 18-year-old Jameson with Diet Coke!" (No, I am not over that yet, and I won't be until Joe gives me the abused bottle so I can provide it with the loving appreciation it deserves.)
And then, later at the party, to a bunch of misguided dancers trying to make sense of a terrible dance remix of "My Baby Just Cares for Me", this (aided by the free beer):
"YOU DO NOT CONGA TO NINA SIMONE! YOU DO NOT CONGA TO NINA SIMONE!"
They ignored me. Or couldn't hear me over the butchered Nina. ¶ 11:08 AM 0 Comments
8.02.2005
BREAKING NEWS: Ireland enters the 21st century; Mr. Unpronounceable O Cuiv cries salty tears in a pub in An Daingean
Ye ancient Celtic gods! The changes this place is going through! First the IRA finally realizes both violence and balaclavas are dumb and passe, and now...
Is Ireland next to allow gay unions?
I certainly friggin' hope so, because it's about time certain friends of mine here got to be here legally with their life partners. ¶ 8:48 PM 2 Comments
Is Ireland next to allow gay unions?
I certainly friggin' hope so, because it's about time certain friends of mine here got to be here legally with their life partners. ¶ 8:48 PM 2 Comments
looky thar, mama! I done made it onto teh internets!
Finally, the feckers at OverheardinDublin.com post one of my stories.
's about time. And it's not even one of the funnier ones I sent in. Those two are as follows:
1) Erin, directrix extraordinaire of la Hedwig, told me this one during rehearsal one day. Her first time in Ireland, she was somewhere in the country, staying with a family for a few days, and she wondered aloud one afternoon about whether or not tanning beds were popular or easy to find in Ireland. The mistress of the house, a gravel-voiced chain-smoking Proper Irish Mam, told Erin to wait right there; she came back with a tube of self-tan, slathered some on Erin's arm, and rasped, 'Wait a few hours, you'll be tan.' Erin said thanks. Mam, in reply:
*takes drag off cigarette* 'I just saved you from cancer.' *exhales smoke in her face*
Irish medicine at its finest.
2) Last month, on day two of the shoot for Vittoria's short film (on day one I got stripped naked, painted white, and ran around amidst fake smoke in a pigtailed fuzzy red wig in Vittoria's mother's dungeon [long story]), we were in a laneway just behind Christchurch, and attracting a lot of local characters since we were again painted white with crazy red wigs (though, thankfully, we were clothed). Most were just down and out, mouthy, blotchy, lumpy, off-their-heads types who all thought they possessed delightful, sparkling wit in commenting on how weird we looked, but then towards the end we attracted two little boys, probably about 8 years old, who immediately started trying to direct the film as though it were a porno. 'You start humping her! You take all your clothes off!' etc. The one non-Matthew Barney-esque character was a nun, in full nunly regalia, so we thought we could get the kids to quit being dirty by convincing them she was a real nun. They weren't exactly buying it. They were having far too much fun trying to get us to have sex with each other.
We ran into a problem with one shot--the nun had to run straight towards the camera and fill up the whole frame with her black costume so the director could use the shot to cut to something else, but her gleaming white crucifix kept getting in the way. One of the boys suggested that she use the bible she was carrying to cover the crucifix and it ended up working great. The boy then exclaimed, 'See?! Deh Boible CAN be useful!'
The nun cracked up laughing and that ruined any illusion that she was the genuine article. But we let the kids stay anyway. ¶ 11:41 AM 0 Comments
's about time. And it's not even one of the funnier ones I sent in. Those two are as follows:
1) Erin, directrix extraordinaire of la Hedwig, told me this one during rehearsal one day. Her first time in Ireland, she was somewhere in the country, staying with a family for a few days, and she wondered aloud one afternoon about whether or not tanning beds were popular or easy to find in Ireland. The mistress of the house, a gravel-voiced chain-smoking Proper Irish Mam, told Erin to wait right there; she came back with a tube of self-tan, slathered some on Erin's arm, and rasped, 'Wait a few hours, you'll be tan.' Erin said thanks. Mam, in reply:
*takes drag off cigarette* 'I just saved you from cancer.' *exhales smoke in her face*
Irish medicine at its finest.
2) Last month, on day two of the shoot for Vittoria's short film (on day one I got stripped naked, painted white, and ran around amidst fake smoke in a pigtailed fuzzy red wig in Vittoria's mother's dungeon [long story]), we were in a laneway just behind Christchurch, and attracting a lot of local characters since we were again painted white with crazy red wigs (though, thankfully, we were clothed). Most were just down and out, mouthy, blotchy, lumpy, off-their-heads types who all thought they possessed delightful, sparkling wit in commenting on how weird we looked, but then towards the end we attracted two little boys, probably about 8 years old, who immediately started trying to direct the film as though it were a porno. 'You start humping her! You take all your clothes off!' etc. The one non-Matthew Barney-esque character was a nun, in full nunly regalia, so we thought we could get the kids to quit being dirty by convincing them she was a real nun. They weren't exactly buying it. They were having far too much fun trying to get us to have sex with each other.
We ran into a problem with one shot--the nun had to run straight towards the camera and fill up the whole frame with her black costume so the director could use the shot to cut to something else, but her gleaming white crucifix kept getting in the way. One of the boys suggested that she use the bible she was carrying to cover the crucifix and it ended up working great. The boy then exclaimed, 'See?! Deh Boible CAN be useful!'
The nun cracked up laughing and that ruined any illusion that she was the genuine article. But we let the kids stay anyway. ¶ 11:41 AM 0 Comments
I was touched by His Noodly Appendage
Yum yum. Today is delightfully sacrilicious!
On trees, mountains, midgets, global warming and pirates.
And...
Jesus Raves!
(inspired by the pacifier) ¶ 11:32 AM 1 Comments
On trees, mountains, midgets, global warming and pirates.
And...
Jesus Raves!
(inspired by the pacifier) ¶ 11:32 AM 1 Comments
8.01.2005
and just when I get fans, too.
My valiant attempts to impose a deadline on myself for the first draft of my gestating play have kept me away from posting, because every time I have an actual writing project to focus on the mere thought of writing anything else fills me with paranoid dread, as though I needed to conserve my energy and time and any semblance of talent I might have for this Very Special Work. The flip side of this is that when working on one project is the only thing I think about, I lose my goddamn mind because I'm housebound all day with only the internets for company and seven hours rocket by and I don't write anything and I get bored and lonely and become convinced there's nothing good in this city, ever, under any circumstances, and I'll never be happy and I'll never finish writing and I'll never do anything ever.
Also, I'm broke again, which is just depressing de facto.
Oh to have stories of Magic Eye mishaps and peeing lesbians to write about! Oh to be fabulously witty like Mimi Smartypants who makes anything seem interesting and quirky! Oh to FINISH MY FREAKING FIRST DRAFT ALREADY!
I'm better today. So much so that I would like to openly rant to Joe Roch, burgeoning blogger extraordinaire, for his egregious, blasphemous insult to those who appreciate fine whiskey everywhere:
Joe mentions on his blog (it's at the Magic Eye/lesbian link above) that he spent most of Saturday night pounding back some 18-year-old Jameson, which, for the uninitiated, is basically liquid gold. It smells like autumn and home and smoky nights and warmth. It's like drinking a fine wine: there are so many layers and flavors that it makes regular Jameson, which I will happily drink straight on any given day, taste like lighter fluid and pain.
Joe has just informed me that he drank most of the bottle of this sweet, magical nectar of the gods by mixing it with Diet Coke. DIET FUCKING COKE AND 18-YEAR-OLD JAMESON?! AND THEN! He informs me that he then got so drunk on it that he threw it all up!
I reappropriate Ferris Bueller: 'A man with priorities so far out of whack doesn't deserve such a fine whiskey.'
Joe, you're one of my closest friends, you're a badass rockstar genius for what you did with Hedwig, I love you to bits, but this is unacceptable. Whiskey Protective Services might need topay your apartment a visit and liberate what remains of this precious creature, as well as its 12-year-old sibling, and send them to a home full of whiskey-loving people who appreciate their talents and thus prevent them from being subjected to further abuse at the hands of a misguided malcontent.
Diet fucking Coke. Feh. ¶ 2:51 PM 1 Comments
Also, I'm broke again, which is just depressing de facto.
Oh to have stories of Magic Eye mishaps and peeing lesbians to write about! Oh to be fabulously witty like Mimi Smartypants who makes anything seem interesting and quirky! Oh to FINISH MY FREAKING FIRST DRAFT ALREADY!
I'm better today. So much so that I would like to openly rant to Joe Roch, burgeoning blogger extraordinaire, for his egregious, blasphemous insult to those who appreciate fine whiskey everywhere:
Joe mentions on his blog (it's at the Magic Eye/lesbian link above) that he spent most of Saturday night pounding back some 18-year-old Jameson, which, for the uninitiated, is basically liquid gold. It smells like autumn and home and smoky nights and warmth. It's like drinking a fine wine: there are so many layers and flavors that it makes regular Jameson, which I will happily drink straight on any given day, taste like lighter fluid and pain.
Joe has just informed me that he drank most of the bottle of this sweet, magical nectar of the gods by mixing it with Diet Coke. DIET FUCKING COKE AND 18-YEAR-OLD JAMESON?! AND THEN! He informs me that he then got so drunk on it that he threw it all up!
I reappropriate Ferris Bueller: 'A man with priorities so far out of whack doesn't deserve such a fine whiskey.'
Joe, you're one of my closest friends, you're a badass rockstar genius for what you did with Hedwig, I love you to bits, but this is unacceptable. Whiskey Protective Services might need topay your apartment a visit and liberate what remains of this precious creature, as well as its 12-year-old sibling, and send them to a home full of whiskey-loving people who appreciate their talents and thus prevent them from being subjected to further abuse at the hands of a misguided malcontent.
Diet fucking Coke. Feh. ¶ 2:51 PM 1 Comments
