Content will be pretty light this week, as it's the final week of school and the first week of summer theatre. So I'm a pretty busy dude this week.

In the meantime, please go read The Blog Heard Round the World. It is the funniest damn stuff I have read in quite a while.

Oh yeah, and X-Men 3 sucked mutie balls. Not even the inclusion of my childhood comic-crush, Kitty Pryde, could save it.

The Glove Compartment isn't Accurately Named

Items found in my car's glove compartment after a long-overdue cleaning session:

-Two books of matches and a lighter

-A man-bracelet

-Several copies of Yahoo! Maps directions to various places

-A receipt dated 7/21/00 from a Red Roof Inn in Rochester, NY

-A Massachusetts Uniform Citation also from the year 2000; issued when I was caught reading a map while heading down Rt. 128 from Boston to Providence's airport.

-A worn map of Illinois

-A three-inch stack of napkins from various fast-food restaurants

-A pair of tweezers

-Expired gift certificates to Oberweis Dairy (I don't each much ice cream)

-One container of Tic-Tacs, unopened

-15-20 cassette tapes, including lots of Camper Van Beethoven and a live Wilco concert from November, 2000.

-A Blockbuster Video receipt. Film rented: Kill Bill, Vol. 1

-Several recall notices from Pontiac Motors

-Current (and expired) proofs of insurance and registration

-A warranty slip for a Monster FM Transmitter for my mp3 player

All that, and yet, no gloves. Think about it, won't you?

Won't You Be My Neighbor (Mr. Rogers vs. the US Senate) on Transbuddha

This literally brought tears to my eyes. In 1969 Mr. Rogers went to Washington to stop President Nixon from cutting PBS's budget in half. And he got what he wanted simply by doing what he did best: speak as a kind, decent man who saw the inherent good in all people.

There was no one like Fred Rogers, and the world is a sadder place without him. It's amazing how his words about quality children's television competing with the "bombardment" of everything else is truer today than it was in 1969, when he only faced competition from a few other stations.

The video seems to indicate that Rogers succeeded in winning over Congress and saving PBS's funding. I hope he did, because it's a wonderful example of how sometimes our country and our government can do things right. In the midst of the Vietnam War, as the country tore itself apart, Mr. Rogers sat in front of angry senators and spoke about making each child feel special and unique, and how to control "the mad that you feel."

Beautiful.

Thanks to GorillaMask and Transbuddha for passing the clip around.

Okay, so here's what I think's gonna happen on Lost tomorrow night:

(This is spoiler-free and just my theory, but don't read any further if you're not into speculation, or if you're living in Ireland and are a few episodes behind. Or, if you could care less about the show.)

Jack and Co. are gonna go after Walt because Evil-Michael said so, there'll be some big confrontation with The Others, and secrets will be revealed. My theory:

They've all been "tagged" by some big shadowy group (Dharma, or the Hanso Foundation, or both) and have been tracked for several years by this group. They've been part of a huge experiment that has been monkeying with their lives for a long time, and have been divided up into "good" people and "bad" people.

How'd they get onto the island? Somehow their lives were manipulated in such a way that all of the passengers (or at least those that were Tagged) were designed to be on that plane and were brought to the island for further study and, perhaps, judgment.

The people that are behind all of this include several of the "fathers" featured on the show: Jack's drunk pappa, Kate's military officer dad, and Locke's kidney-stealin' father. All are part of this group that probably decided to volunteer their children as subjects in this experiment.

Now, there's about a million holes in my theory, but it's the same case with most of the plot on the show this season (very inconsistent writing, if you ask me), and so this is the theory that I'm going with right now. After tomorrow night it will probably be blown to bits, but I thought I would get it out there before the big finale. Which better be good; all too often I've been frustrated by this show's lazy writing and dead-end plotlines that have been too characteristic of the second season. Of course I still tune in every week and obsess about every little detail that's thrown at me.

Namaste.

Dogg got married!

Honestbush, this one's for you.

Tonight, just a few minutes ago, was Tina Fey's last night on Saturday Night Live.

Not that you could fully tell; she didn't get the opportunity to say a proper goodbye, instead letting the words "Thank You" emblazoned on her chest do the talking.

So tonight I salute the absolutely, positively, unquestionably sexiest woman in entertainment (with apologies to Natalie Portman, who has to come in second in the voting this time around.)

For the past several years, Tina Fey has been one of the few intelligent women out there in the pop culture ether. After being overloaded with one stupid blond whore after another, there was always Tina Fey with the brown hair and the glasses and the blue blazer and the intelligent, witty jokes on Weekend Update, the only real bright spot on SNL in the post-Will Ferrell era.

She was the first female head writer on an extremely male-dominated show. She wrote the only decent Lindsey Lohan movie (Mean Girls) that has appeared as of yet (although can I count A Prairie Home Companion?) Over and over again she fought against the pop-culture zeitgeist that tried to convince women that the key to popularity and respect was to show your tits and act like a complete moron.

This fall NBC will premiere her own show, 30 Rock, a 30-minute behind-the-scenes look at a sketch variety show. Not to be confused with Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Aaron Sorkin's 60-minute behind-the-scenes look at a sketch variety show.

Regardless of the fact that the entertainment industry seems to have a horrible habit of coming up with the same exact idea twice in a row over and over again, I look forward to 30 Rock, only because it will hopefully offer up that rarity in entertainment: the smart woman who refuses to act like a dumb slut just because that's what is popular.

And so the Tina Fey era on SNL is over, and I take this opportunity to praise a smart, sexy woman who did some things right. My old friend Randy used to say, "Where's my dye-job girlfriend?" when he would see some cute punk chick with purple hair. Instead I say this:

Where's my smart woman with the kick-ass glasses and killer sense of humor?

Eli's coming. Hide your heart, girl.

Hey all you Limelighters out there, and friends of Limelighters!

This Friday at 7:00 at OEHS is our summer kick-off fundraiser, starring the Brothers Aguilar in a caberet-style evening of showtunes and plenty of plugs for the upcoming summer season.

I highly, highly, highly encourage you to attend, along with as many of your friends and relatives as possible. We need to be able to afford all of the fancy digs we're using now. So clear your calendar and put off seeing The DaVinci Code until Saturday.

Oh, and if you're interested in helping with the show, let me know. We need people to come out between numbers and help promote our shows.

And for those not in the know, that's a picture of Adrian as Bottom, the weaver, from our 2003 production of A Midsummer Night's Dream.

I will download the occasional album from iTunes, but most of the time I still like to buy the actual album, especially if it's from one of my favorite artists. I suppose I like the library quality of having several Wilco albums all lined up on the shelf together, even though I hardly seem to actually use them anymore.

Thanks to a big-ass hard drive on my computer, and my now-ancient mp3 player, I listen to almost all of my music in a purely digital format. The only time I really listen to music on a CD is when I'm at work or if I put something on in the living room, but I know even those situations are not long for the world. Pretty soon I'll just plug in my player to the stereo or the wall or I'll just tell my TV/computer/media center unit to start playing my library of music on shuffle.

The future is now, and for the most part it's pretty cool. Although I was a bit disappointed when I couldn't find an early Bob Dylan album at any of the big box stores that (incidentally, it seems) sell music. Owning 7-8 Dylan albums already, I wanted to be able to add The Times They are a-Changin' to the collection of "hard" music I already owned, but instead had to click a button and order it online.

I suppose it's not so bad. There isn't much tactile enjoyment in owning a CD, anyway. Ever since albums went out of favor it never made much sense to get excited about a piece of plastic and a tiny booklet that was impossible to read most of the time.

Now I can go to the artist's website and look at album art and read lyrics while the songs emanate from my computer's speakers.

And no amount of digital technology can reproduce what it must have been like to hear this song for the first time, in 1964, and be astonished at what a 23-year old kid from Minnesota was creating.

Oh, I'm sailin' away my own true love,
I'm sailin' away in the morning.
Is there something I can send you from across the sea,
From the place that I'll be landing?

No, there's nothin' you can send me, my own true love,
There's nothin' I wish to be ownin'.
Just carry yourself back to me unspoiled,
From across that lonesome ocean.

Oh, but I just thought you might want something fine
Made of silver or of golden,
Either from the mountains of Madrid
Or from the coast of Barcelona.

Oh, but if I had the stars from the darkest night
And the diamonds from the deepest ocean,
I'd forsake them all for your sweet kiss,
For that's all I'm wishin' to be ownin'.

That I might be gone a long time
And it's only that I'm askin',
Is there something I can send you to remember me by,
To make your time more easy passin'.

Oh, how can, how can you ask me again,
It only brings me sorrow.
The same thing I want from you today,
I would want again tomorrow.

I got a letter on a lonesome day,
It was from her ship a-sailin',
Saying I don't know when I'll be comin' back again,
It depends on how I'm a-feelin'.

Well, if you, my love, must think that-a-way,
I'm sure your mind is roamin'.
I'm sure your heart is not with me,
But with the country to where you're goin'.

So take heed, take heed of the western wind,
Take heed of the stormy weather.
And yes, there's something you can send back to me,
Spanish boots of Spanish leather.

The album is great, by the way. I've only really gotten into the early acoustic Dylan over the past year or so, although I've known many of the songs on Changin' for quite a while. "Boots of Spanish Leather" has been a favorite of mine for a long time, and it's amazing how a song can look fresh and different as time passes and events in your life cause you to see new meaning in old lyrics.

One of my all-time favorite movies, Heat, may just become a video game.

I don't play a lot of video games, because I lack the patience, to be honest. I hate having to play a level over and over again in order to move through the game, and I can never seem to find the cheat codes that I want.

This is why I've never gotten past the first few levels of many games.

But I'm digging this whole Movie-into-Game trend, for some reason. Many people may feel that it demeans the movie, but I love the idea of being part of Neil Macauley's heist crew, or helping Vincent Hannah take. him. down.

I say this now, but even the chance to play a Jedi or a hobbit in a game hasn't kept my interest for very long. But I always keep telling myself, "Play more video games, play more video games..."

Yahoo article here.

I really want this shirt:

Weekend Round-up

I had this marvelous plan for the weekend, where I would lock myself up in my house and get all this work done for summer theatre.

And that pretty much didn't happen.

Friday night found me not sitting in front of the TV watching the rest of No Direction Home, but drinking way too much Jack Daniels at my friend Jessica's place in the south suburbs. Hadn't seen her or her gang in forever, but I was hurting pretty bad the next day.

Since I was already up that way, and the weather was practically perfect, I drove into the north side of Chicago to do some theatrical research. There used to be this great script store in Lincoln Park, and whenever I needed to decide on a play or a particular adaptation (which is what I'm working on right now), I'd head up to Lincoln Avenue.

Well, they don't exist anymore, and a far inferior shop has replaced them. I can never seem to find it, either; I always drive right by it and wind up in what can only be called The Doggie District. It's a section of Belmont Ave. where there is nothing but dog care shops. Weird.

Well, long story short, I didn't find what I was looking for, but it was nice just driving into Chicago on a nice day. I would have bummed around there a while longer, but since I was a)extremely hung over and b)wearing yesterday's clothes, I got on the Ike and headed home, where I more or less spent the rest of that gorgeous day lying in bed trying to make the after-effects of Jessica's party go away.

Some of the Limelighters wanted me to come see their spring musical, so I did that. It was okay, but it's always hard to watch a show with my crew in it when it's not actually my show. Kind of like watching your wife sleep with another guy, I guess.

And then Sunday. Ahh, Sunday. More gorgeous weather and a desire to get the hell out of the house once again, which between you and me and the rest of the internet, is a welcome change from my hermit-like tendencies I had been having.

You can drive along Butterfield Road and come across no less than three forest preserves, but I wound up at the Morton Arboretum, a place where Grandpa John used to volunteer.

After rather impulsively deciding to become a member, I wandered towards the crabapple trees and took some pictures, before hiking a couple of the trails for a couple of hours.

I didn't get much of anything done that was on my list of things to do, but I didn't really care. The sun was shining, the pack was on my back, and the crabapples were in full bloom.

A great day.

The deadline is set.

If I don't have fairly definite plans to move to either the UK or Ireland by June first, then I have to pull the plug until the next window of opportunity opens.

Here's where I'm at so far...

*I was approved for a leave of absence from work for a year, but since having that approved by the board, I decided it would be best to rescind the request, since all of the pieces in the Moving-to-Europe puzzle weren't coming together as quickly as I wanted them.

*I have been selected to join a professional register of teachers looking to work in the UK. I had a long phone interview and had my references checked by an educational recruitment agency, and they are currently shopping my resume (or CV, if you prefer) around to different schools. This is good and bad at the same time. Job placement with these agencies tends to be in the rougher London schools, so we'll see what they come up with.

*I have purchased a round-trip ticket to Dublin (with a connecting flight to Bristol, England) for August 1st through the 15th. I found a very cheap flight a month or so ago, and figured that this could either be my (one-way) ticket over there, or at worst it would be the Consolation Prize for not being able to actually move there. Plus, this gives me a chance to visit possible places to live if I decide to put something together for next year.

*I have someone that can act as a "landlord" for my house while I am away, and can take care of any problems my renters may have, if I were to simply rent my place out, which is what I prefer to do.

So, a lot has been taken care of, but much more has to happen in the next thirty days. Mainly, umm, things like getting an actual job and finding someone trustworthy to rent my house out for a year.

Regarding finding a job, this bit of discouraging information was posted on a very informative message board I subscribe to:

There really isn't a demand for primary school teachers anymore - too many people have qualified and there aren't enough jobs going around for all and competition for posts is particularly high. Many UK qualfied teachers are doing short-term supply work and are unable to do their induction year because of the lack of jobs. Really the main opportunities are in the big cities and especially London, where there is a slightly higher demand (mainly for secondary teachers) because the high cost of living stops people from wanting to live there.

So there's that. And there's lots of other bureaucratic stuff that is getting in the way, like work visas and other bothersome bits that conspire to keep me stuck in the states.

I'm not very encouraged with the direction my job is going, so there really isn't much that's holding me back, work-wise. Lots of other things are holding me back, though, so this isn't an easy issue for me to decide. Summer's coming and that means more theatre, which still excites me and energizes me, no matter what the level of cheese it entails.

Plus there are friends and family to consider, and I have spent a lot of wonderful moments with them lately, which really weighs on me.

But then there will be a moment or two where I'll see myself walking past the River Corrib in Galway, or riding on a GNER train north to Leeds, or studying Viking relics in York, and I'll think that it's a life that I want more than anything, at least for a little while.

So we'll see what happens, folks. 29 days to go...