Final rehearsals begin...



For the last eight years (save last year) I have roughly spent the months of January through March directing a play. It started long ago with the musicals at Sandwich High, then I moved on to create Limelight, where I think I've directed a dozen shows or so over the past five years.

I still love the huge summer season, but it's getting tougher and tougher to commit myself to shows during the school year. Work gets more complicated, my personal life gets neglected, and I find that I just don't have the mental energy to concentrate on both school and theatre to the extent that I desire.

So One O'Clock From The House will most likely be the last winter show I do for a while.

It's a good show. Not as powerful as The Crucible or as polished and perfect as Midsummer, but it's a good show. In so many ways, the exact show we needed to do for right now. Nothing too overwhelming or exhausting; auditions for Romeo and Juliet are only a couple of months away, and I need everyone at the top of their form for that one.

We get bigger and bigger and better and better. And if all goes well, a brand-new auditorium awaits our performances. After five years, I think we're ready.

And whither then? I cannot say.

Asia's talk of moving got me thinking about my own impending move this summer.

I'm finally warming up to the idea of buying a house of some sort. I've held off for several reasons, most of them usually had to do with money and whatnot. But I'm doing well enough, salary-wise, that I can finally commit to buying something for real.

Still, it's a big thing. I keep thinking of that old Northern Exposure episode, where Chris Stevens debates buying a house, and finally decides that "there's two kinds of people: Buyers, and Renters. I'm a renter, man."

I've been a Renter most of my life. I always thought buying something meant that you were Permanent, stuck, and of course that oh-so dirty word, grown-up.

Buying a house was that thing that my married friends did, the ones who had kids and didn't go out any more. For me, renting was just one more way to stay in Neverland.

So I'm looking, and looking, and looking. And for what I can afford, there ain't much. High taxes everywhere, and most everything seems to be a slight variation on the standard Boring Vertical Townhome.

I hate vertical. I hate high ceilings. I hate white walls.

But the townhome seems to be the standard first step towards being a homeowner. I suppose I should just bite the bullet and but one of 'em, but to me, they're just hideous. So bland and treeless and everything is exactly the same as everything else.

But it's silly to continue paying rent for the tiny rectangle I live in now. So do I go with the townhome with the name like Winston Waterway or LakeMeadowForestGlen, or for the old and quirky home that's most likely a big money pit?

I need a plan.

Want to get the most blog hits you've ever had?

Just put tits on your site.

Just ask xtx, right?

The best comment wasn't even posted. Perhaps I'll share it with you another day.

Seriously, what is with people posting anonymous carpings on this blog? Have some balls, people. Back up what you say.

A few sites of note that I'd like to share with ya'll...


This is a great site that a guy showed me a while back.

This is one of my favorite bloggers right now. Bella, I'll have that answer about Timothy's arms any day now.

She has a great story about the Gates in Central Park, if you're interested in a first-person description.

And that is Jiro, Japan's favorite performing monkey. In traditional attire.

Japan is one fucked up country.

But not as fucked up as this blog. Seriously, Laird--this site is for you, if it's not by you.

Time to go watch Lost now. It's the Fat Man's origin show...

One final bit about the Oscars:

It was all about the Breasts this year.

I submit Exhibit A and B for your consideration.













I'd like two pickets to Tittsburg, please!


(With apologies to my many female readers out there. This is the only blog-worthy thing I could come up with today.)

Stupid Smarch weather!



That's it. That's all I got right now.

It's quiet out there today.

Too quiet...


No emails, no mountain of work pressing down upon me.

Dreary weather.

Wait. Did Clint Eastwood bring Flat Stanley to the Oscars?

I have to admit, I just can't get cynical about the Oscars. I just love movies too much for that. There was a time in the mid-90s that I didn't like the movies being honored (I'm not a Braveheart fan; Heat should have won that year), but for the most part the "best" movies get their due. To an extent.

I wouldn't have expected Before Sunset to get any recognition, but it received a Screenplay nomination, and that's saying something.

Brad Bird got an Oscar for The Incredibles. And Charlie Kaufmann got one for Eternal Sunshine.

and Cate Blanchett looked faaaaabulous.



Hilary Swank won for playing white trash yet again, but I should feel happy that a girl from a trailer park has made good. I just don't want to have to look at Chad Lowe's wistful, damp eyes for quite a while. She should be required to bring brother-in-law Rob to the next awards show. Chad's just too...milquetoasty.

I had plans to write a big long post about how much I hope The Aviator wins tonight.



But I never got around to it. And no one comments on my movie writing anyway.

Duder and the Missus and Prince Fan are on their way over. I'm sure most everyone is watching the Oscars as well. For what they're worth.

Go Marty...

I would like to introduce you to the world's worst comic strip.

Perhaps you've stumbled upon it in your local paper, nestled somewhere in between Broom Hilda and The Lockhorns.

The horrificness of it extends beyond the 3rd-grade quality artwork or the watered-down Sealab 2021/Zap Brannigan-style humor.

Click the strip and judge for yourself.

And look carefully at the winner of the "Draw the Monster" contest. It's a guy I used to work with on a small newspaper that never went anywhere.

I hope he sent that drawing in as a joke, because if a guy my age is submitting monster cartoons to third-rate comic strips, then my life is looking so much better in comparison. (All apologies to Mr. Adrian...)

Things are happening. Yes indeed they are.

The Way to the Future is beginning to be laid out before me.

Many decisions to make over the next few months.

The referendum passed, which raises taxes, but allows for my department to continue its existence. Now we are about to overhaul the program, of which I may play a central, guiding role for the foreseeable future.

Limelight approaches its Fifth Anniversary. A huge summer program dominates my thoughts, including the burning question: where will we be performing all these show?

Meteorological Winter ends this weekend. Soon warm winds will blow through the Midwest, and everything will begin again.

Money is finally being tucked away, but for what purpose?

A home needs to be bought.

Another graduate degree is to be pursued.

I need new socks.

A relationship that feels horrifically real hangs upon the edge of a knife. Some days I'm out of the game, other times I'm back in it with a stack of aces up my sleeve.

But the wanderlust stirs deep within the Tookish part of me, while maturity and the middle thirties and settling down and finally getting Serious looms ever closer.

Many, many decisions to make.

A customer drinks a beer at a pub. Regulars at a 15th century British pub said they had bought their drinking hole to save it from being converted into houses(AFP/File/Nicolas Asfouri)

That's the most beautiful story I've heard all week...

I'm in one of those moods lately where all I want to do is disappear and go back to the pubs and damp streets of Galway. Wander around the Quay and the River Corrib. Maybe rent a car and visit someplace new.

God I fucking hate this time of year. Wet and brown and miserable weather and no sun and absolutely nothing green or alive wherever you look.

Bleh. Too much work and theatre and not enough play for poor whiny Brian. I'm just a cranky little shit these days. And you, dear readers, have to put up with it because that's what this blog is here for: to get it out of the system.

There. It's out. All is right with the world again.

I still would rather be in Galway...

From Texas Biscuit by way of Bella by Barlight:


1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.

This is what I found:

"Terrified, I put my feet against the rocks to pull away. The pain was severe. Whatever had my wrist had the strength of Timothy's arms." - The Cay

It's a novel that my students are reading right now. Ok, back to work I go..

As long as I'm going against the popular opinion this week, I might as well say that I saw Million Dollar Baby this weekend.

And I didn't think it was all that great.

I know it's supposed to be Eastwood's best movie, his masterpiece, his crowning achievement, but I disagree. I still can recall sitting in the theatre, watching Unforgiven, and there was this moment (probably when English Bob is getting his ass kicked by Gene Hackman) where Bobby Bandito and I turned to each other and said, "Man, this is a good movie."

That doesn't happen very often, and it didn't happen with Baby.

It was very, very good, don't get me wrong. But as a fan of many of Eastwood's later films, I have to say I prefer Unforgiven, A Perfect World, and maybe even The Bridges of Madison County to Million Dollar Baby.

(I know I'm going to catch hell for that last one, but I'm feeling dangerous tonight. I couldn't believe it myself, but it's a really good movie.)

Baby just seemed too recycled for me. Underdog makes good + tragedy. Eastwood playing a character haunted by estranged relationship with daughter (done many times by him.) Morgan Freeman's wise narration.

A wonderful film, Clint. But Marty has you beat with The Aviator. That's got my vote as Best Picture this year. If you don't count The Incredibles.

More on The Aviator tomorrow...

Lots of talk about Hunter, obviously. Here's a good quote that balances my rant out nicely:

I think it is improper and disrespectful to whine about this suicide. Thompson was in the game for a very, very long time, and I think it is a safe bet that he was never comfortable. This was a profoundly tortured guy, the smoke from whose ears always made a whole lot of exciting colors that we all enjoyed. It was a great brain to watch but you wouldn't want to live in it, I'd aver. He was a butch motherfucker and I'd bet cash he stuck it out significantly longer than he really wanted to. Let's face it, HST was not one for the nursing home -- he'd have just stolen everyone else's barbiturates and hurt people trying to arm-wrestle.

From Salon.com.

You'll have to forgive my calling Hunter S. Thompson a pussy because he committed suicide, but it was the topper to a tough week for me. If you read back through my entries, I wasn't all that chipper of a person these past several days, due to many things, but all related.

I could get all theraputic on you and detail it, but I'm not that personal. But my reaction to Hunter's suicide was directly linked to the conversation my students had last week about their increasing frustration with the dark side of reality. And it unleased this terrifying fear in me that I may never actually be a happy person!

But that's bollocks, to use an English phrase. Happiness comes and goes in the best and worst of us.

If you could combine the Four Noble Truths, the Serenity Prayer, and the films of Wim Wenders, you could come up with my basic philosophy on life.

1. Recognize that there is suffering in the world.

2. Realize that you can't cure all of it, jackass. Do what you can in your own part of the world.

3. Recognize your own suffering.

4. Do something about it.

5. Discover what is beautiful in life, at least to you, and embrace it fully and completely.

6. To hell with everything else.

Just call me Existential Bri. I am sitting under the goddamn lotus tree right now, people!

I'm not going to write some big long thing about Hunter S. Thompson. Other people who read more of his work can do that.

I didn't read him much because he scared me. He didn't scare me like Ann Coulter scares me; he scares me in a "There-but-for-the-grace-of-God" kind of way. I always figure Hunter had figured out the dark side of America pretty well, and that's what made him kind of crazy.

And now look at him. Look what the bastard did to himself.

Did the world do this to him? Could he not take seeing Bush and the neocons for four more years, or the possibility of John Ashcroft becoming a Supreme Court justice, or more war in Iran or Syria or North Korea?

How close are the rest of us to this fate? I hate the world sometimes, but I've never wanted to take a gun to my head over it.

But why do it now, at 67? What did he know now that he didn't back then? What made him give up?

How the fuck do you do that to yourself? And how do you keep others from doing it, from giving up?

Last week I listened to 10-year olds having existential freak-outs, and I can't get it out of my head. How do I tell them that everything's going to be ok? Everything's gonna be alright? You can't tell a ten-year old that the world's a horrible place. They can't handle it.

And it wouldn't be the truth, either. I think.

But what the fuck, man. What the fuck is the matter with this world? Didn't Hunter say that after 9/11 America had a "national nervous breakdown"?

"It's fuck your buddy, cheat on your wife, call your mother-on Mother's Day."

Bombs for Democracy, pop songs for tsunamis, and a a nation more concerned about getting the bling and being a "rich girl" than helping the poor right here on our streets.

Fathers and friends walk out on your life, and the best girls are always taken.

Sorry, Hunter, but you took the pussy way out. The world is a shitty place sometimes, but that's the coward's way out. There is always something worth getting up for the next day.

If you're looking for some new Wallpaper for your computer, I suggest going here:

Sounds like my webmaster was a little bored and decided to make a retrospective.

Matt, thank you so much. You don't know how much I needed that right now.

Jesus. Look at that kid.

Sad little face. Cool '70s tee.

What the hell was I being all mopey about in Kindergarten? I should have been playing with my Star Wars toys and praying for a Big Wheel for my birthday.

Maybe I was all-too aware that my parents were headed for their first divorce. Maybe I was unhappy with the Carter administration. Maybe I had a crush on a girl in my class and I was sad she had rejected me for some fat kid who brought his own Play-Doh to school.

I haven't changed. I'm still that sad sensitive little kid that worries too much and desperately wants everyone to like him.

There's plenty of things about me that have changed, especially lately. Mostly the stuff that I purposefully changed to avoid being myself. (i.e. "I think I'll be a sarcastic asshole for the next ten years!") But it's amazing when you realize how much of Who We Are is hard-wired into us before we even turn five.

I used to get these massive stomach cramps when I was in high school and college. I would be doubled up with so much pain that I couldn't get out of bed for an entire day. I remember one time I called my grandma just to talk to her, hoping that it might take my mind off the pain.

That might have been caused by Divorce #2. Parents remarried each other, and decided to try it again. Unfortunately...

My dad was a real shit. Never was a good father his whole life. Then one day the roof caved in and he was out of the house for good.

Went through a rough period that I call The College Years, where I traded one hell for another, but eventually Dad was just Gone.

And it actually felt great to finally have him out of my life.

But it never goes away. You never forget. Things like last night's Lost and holidays and old neighborhoods bring it back when you don't want it back.

But you deal with things, you commiserate with your sister, and talk about the goddamn dreams, you talk to the right people, you sometimes take the right pills or drink the wrong stuff, and you sometimes stop and look around and see where you're at in your life. Sometimes, it's not a good place. So you figure out the good decisions from the bad ones, and move forward.

I don't blame everything bad in my life on my failed father figure, but he did mess me up pretty good. The level of anger and sadness that has resided in me because of him is legendary. There are those out there that have understood, and I thank them for being there, all those years, good and bad.

And a hearty Piss Off to those who never did get it.

Did anyone notice how often I used the word "man" in yesterday's post?

I need a stronger vocabulary...

In the wire reports today...

In his first public appearance as U.S. spymaster, CIA (news - web sites) Director Porter Goss told the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence there was an emerging terrorist threat from experienced fighters now battling U.S.-led forces in Iraq later joining international militants.


"Those jihadists who survive will leave Iraq experienced in and focused on acts of urban terrorism. They represent a potential pool of contacts to build transnational terrorist cells, groups and networks," Goss said. (Full story here.)

So that's what the Iraq war was. A Masters Degree in Terrororism against America.

Oh what a world, what a world...

Man, today is just a heavy day. Hard to get out of bed, hard to face the cold, dreary sky, hard to go to meetings with head bowed low, weighted by furious thoughts racing round my brain.

Some 5th graders today, in class, launched into a side discussion about the world, and its cruelties, and how helpless and frustrated they feel about the unfairness of it all. Even though I can be a bit cynical and jaded at times, I'm actually quite positive when it comes to teaching and the things I say to my students. But these guys were pretty deep today, trying to understand why bad things happen to good people, frustrated that they know about all this suffering in the world, and that they can't do anything about it.

Man, these kids are too young to be having an existential crisis. But that's what comes with the territory of being "gifted" I guess; sometimes you're able to figure things out a bit faster than everyone else.

Hard for me to know what to say back to them, either. I can't smile and say, "Oh, don't be so silly! The world is a perfect, wonderful place kiddies!" They're too smart for that. But you have to be so precise with what you say to students. My response is some watered-down version of the Four Noble Truths (but you know, without it being all "religiousy",) and I tell them we can pick up the discussion over lunch. I think some of them just need to talk it out, and they don't get that opportunity to do that in their regular classroom as much.

Man. Too heavy of a conversation to have on an already heavy day.

Mr. and Mrs. Duder came over and we ate and drank and lounged around. I made a chicken and The Duder and I smoked our pipes while we watched the Grammys.

It's almost like they're forcing us to like popular, corporate music. Here's Tim McGraw and Usher and Bono and Alicia Keyes and Gwen and every other crap band like Hoobastank and Maroon 5!!!! Love them! You'll never hear from Los Lonely Boys after tonight but they're the greatest band ever! Buy! Buy! Buy! Forget about all those other small bands out there that make so much better music than the shit we're peddling tonight! The future is John Mayer, not Badly Drawn Boy!

Okay, thank you for letting me rant. I've been keeping that inside for quite a while now.

At least Loretta Lynn won for the great Van Lear Rose. Some justice in the world. And U2 wisely didn't sing "Vertigo." And Kanye West was pretty fucking cool, I gotta say, even though I've never heard a single thing he's done.

Should I be happy that Wilco won for best Alternative Album? Yes and no. A Ghost is Born isn't their best album by a long shot. They should have racked 'em up years ago with Being There and Summerteeth. But don't get me started. (But did they show this award? Did I miss my chance to see Jeff and Co. onstage? Must have been one of the many that were given "earlier," in order to let fucking Black Eyed Peas play yet again.)

When it comes to the Grammys, all you need to know is this: Elvis Costello lost the Best New Artist Award to the Starland Vocal Band.

'Nuff Said.

One of the more cliche parts of blogging is that when someone famous dies, many of us feel compelled to write up our own obituaries and remembrances. I'm certainly guilty of it from time to time, but I try to only do it with people who really meant something to me.

The playwright Arthur Miller died, and while I certainly can't claim him to be one of my favorites (I've really only seen or read one or two plays by him), I did have the good fortune to be able to direct one of his plays a few years ago for my fledgling theatre group.

In the summer of 2002 I chose to do The Crucible for two reasons. One, because I wanted to push Limelight forward into more mature storylines, lest we get pidgeonholed as "kiddie" theatre. I wanted to prove we could tell the Big Stories, along with the family fare of Stuart Little and The Hobbit.

I also chose to do The Crucible because of the direction I saw America turning in the months after September 11th. Fear and suspicion laced our shattered emotions, as potential and real terrorists were rooted out of caves and airliners alike. America dug in and got ready for war. And a play, originally an allegory about the Communist witch-hunts of the 1950s, spoke to a different witch-hunt, and it's meaning could be found in a single line of Judge Danforth's:

"You are either with this court or you are against it."

I certainly wasn't going to shake the White House back into reality, or cause a stampede of protest against various human-rights violations being occurred in the name of "justice." But in my own small little corner of the globe, I had to say something, had to give people something to think about.

Such a dark play for such young actors, many of them barely into their teens. Yet many of them remember this as their favorite play, the first time they were able to dig into something real and solid. (I still find it funny that in a play about adultery and government-sponsored execution, no one said a word about it being too much for the actors. But the next year, if you let a 14-year old kid say the word "fag" in a play about catty junior high kids, people freaked out!)

Limelight came into its own that summer, and we proved exactly what we had set out to do: we weren't just for kids. The following plays would see older and more experienced actors joining the ranks, and we topped ourselves the following summer with A Midsummer Night's Dream. But that's another tale for another time.

You'll have to forgive me if I tell a theatre tale or two over the next few months. The Limelight Theatre Company is celebrating its Five-Year Anniversary this summer, and so I want to take a moment or two to look back and put some of the shows into proper perspective.

And I'm telling you now...wait until you see what we have going on this summer. Sure, it's not Broadway, or Steppenwolf, but it means a great deal to many high schoolers and collegiates, and parents, and that is all that really matters.

K talked me into watching Chocolat this week. She thought I might like it. And I did, actually. Very chick-flick-ish, but a good story nonetheless. Free spirit blows into conservative town and wakes up everyone's life a bit with her chocolately confections.

Got me thinking about Lent, though. You see, in the movie, everyone in town is basically forced into attending Mass every Sunday, and living this dour, excitement-free life, especially during Lent. Binoche's character doesn't attend Mass and doesn't give up anything for Lent, because she simply does not subscribe to that philosophy.

And you know what? Neither do I. I don't attend church any more, not out of laziness, but because it's just not for me. I have other things in my life that bring me spiritual joy, and I "sacrifice" other aspects of my life and "give up" certain things from time to time, and this causes self-reflection and pontificating on the Big Issues, just like Lent does. (And believe me, if I do much more analysis of my life right now I'm liable to turn myself completely inside-out.)

There's no reason for me to just decide to give up something for Lent. And it would be a disrespect to the faith of many for me to hand-pick parts of a religion just for the hell of it. For me, you're either In or Out when it comes to Christianity. No half-assing it.

So I'm not giving anything up for Lent, because it's not necessary. I've already sworn off of plenty of delicious vices in my life. The daily pleasures of hot coffee in the morning and a couple of glasses of red wine with dinner are nothing to give up for six weeks. They are to be embraced and savoured. They are part of who I am. You might as well ask me to give up showering for six weeks, or worse, stop reading the Tribune every day.

Fat Tuesday is over and the season of Lent begins.

I think I know what all of that means. I was a good Lutheran church goer for many years. But giving up something for Lent was never something that was all-important in my house, most likely because we weren't Catholic. But I also don't think my dad was ever very good at "giving up" things, and so I figure that must have been the general tone of the house.

I don't think I've ever given anything up for Lent, now that I think about it. I've quit things over the years (I've been trying for a long time now to not be such a jackass), but never really set anything aside as some sort of offering, or sacrifice, to God. "Here, Lord, is two months' worth of frozen pizza that I have boldly chosen not to eat, but instead offer up to you as some sort of penance/reflection tool/something or other about sacrifice and fasting."

I'm not mocking Lent, so don't start firing off the angry comments. I'm just trying to wrap my head around the reason for it. I know most religions involve fasting in their practices, and I can understand why it gives people a reason to reflect on their lives and God and whatnot. It's just something that I've never done before, and hence, have never really understood.

So maybe I need to give up something for Lent. Since we're already halfway into the day, there are certain things that are already out: eggs, coffee, and there's no way I'm throwing out the leftover pizza in my lunch bag that's calling my name as I speak.

Cigarettes? Already quit those a long time ago. Alcohol? As part of the "Don't be such a fucknut, Brian plan," I don't drink much of it anymore, but I admit I do enjoy the relaxing glass of wine I have after a long day of teaching and play rehearsal. It's like my little treat.

I have wanted to try weaning myself off caffeine, so maybe I could grandfather coffee out of this little experiment. Would it be okay if I gave up coffee and stuck to tea?

I don't know... coffee. That's a tough one. Maybe even tougher than booze.

How about Whining and Pining for impossible love? Can you give something like that up for Lent? No, I'd be out by dinnertime.

Chips? I do love salty snacks. But they would be easy enough to give up, and wouldn't turn me into a raving caffeine-starved lunatic. But I've mostly given those up anyway, for dieting purposes.

I'm going to think about this a bit. Feel free to comment and let me know if any of you gave up anything. (And you can avoid the obvious jokes about porn and self-pleasure; let's be grown-up here!) Maybe I'll try giving up something for a day or two, and see if that works.

Coffee. Chips. Pizza. Allkeehall. It should be something important, that by giving it up, gives me greater insight into my life. Or God, or however it works.

(Reading this over for grammatical errors, I notice I sound a bit shallow regarding fasting and God and self-examination. Trust me, I'm not. I take all such things quite seriously. I just didn't feel like writing an Important Entry about the Need to Improve Myself. Better to just take it light-heartedly.)

Happy Chinese New Year, by the way. It's the Year of the Cock! Which must mean wonderful things are in store for yours truly.

It's late on a Saturday night and I'm about to go to bed. I'm trying to post comments on Blogger but I'm having no luck. So here's what I would have said:

Bella: Great post on Friday. "Everyone's shit is brown." If only more people were like your Sylvia.

Kristine, from Maimed by Rock and Roll: You love Wilco and Neil Gaiman? if you weren't living in the Phillipines I'd marry you.

And while I'm at it, I'll just send out messages to other bloggers that have wised up and committed to HalsoScan (sorry, Pops--you know it's inevitable!)

Tony: We disagree on the whole Sosa thing, but sorry to see you've been inflicted with an anonymous blog-stalker as well. At least I know I'm not alone.

Sylkk: So glad to see you'e putting up pictures of yourself--you are a beautiful person, even in pink!

Ran into Li'l Ricky tonight, a guy I've known for 20 years or so. Used to live a block or two away from each other. Birthday parties and early MTV and Def Leppard videos. "It's gettin' bigger! It's gettin' bigger" he used to cry out when that one video with the sword would come on. Then we'd all watch the pseudo-porn on Cinemax and try and figure out what all that meant in our inexperienced 6th grade minds.

We toasted the long-lost Coconut, mourned our friend Mike's divorce, and caught up with each other. Last time we had seen each other was when we went to a Wilco show back a few years ago.

Band was playing at Don's, the place was packed, and I could have stayed there all night, drinking with friends and family, but I packed it in early. No sense getting all toasted and then trying to brave the back roads home.

Talked to another friend from way back today, on her way to Vegas. I wonder what she has in store...?

And K called me, too, to gush about Million Dollar Baby. On her way to dinner with her dad, to the same exact place I was about to dine at, but they changed their minds at the last minute when there was no parking to be found.

And now I await her call, to have another 3+ hour conversation with her, as we both try and figure out what to do about this wonderful and horrible situation we're in.

Rice: U.S. Attack on Iran 'Not on Agenda' Now

By Saul Hudson

Full story can be read by clicking here.

LONDON (Reuters) Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice began her first foreign tour as America's top diplomat with a double-edged pledge Friday that Washington had no immediate plans to attack Iran.

"The question is simply not on the agenda at this point -- we have diplomatic means to do this," she said when asked if Washington was considering military action to force compliance from Tehran on its nuclear program.

That's from new Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice's joint press conference with British Foreign Secretary Jack Straw, held earlier in London.

I want to believe this, I really want to believe this. I want to believe that they're not going to play the same game they played with Iraq. Talk talk talk about "diplomatic means" but wind up blowing 'em up real good.

If they couldn't find WMD's in Iraq, maybe they'll find some common sense instead and NOT solve these little problems in the desert with bombs and dead babies.

The elections in Iraq are good and promising and all, but I still am uneasy about the road we took to arrive at them. Were all those purple fingers worth all the bloodshed and bombings and horrific destruction?

Remember, this war wasn't about purple fingers in the beginning. It was about WMDs, plain and simple. Was that just a ruse? Bush's cunning way of bring hope and freedom to the Mideast? Like how Lincoln made the Civil War about "preserving the Union" in the beginning, only to make it about something much higher and grander in the end: the liberation of a large section of Americans from slavery.

Oh man, my head hurts. I did not just compare Bush to Lincoln, did I?

To paraphrase Jon Stewart, my entire worldview would implode if Bush ends up the Lincoln of our age.

By the way, Jack Straw is just about the coolest fucking name ever.

If I could have anyone's hair, I would want Neil Gaiman's hair.

And his writing abilities.

In case you were wondering, I'm still here and everything. It's a busy time for me, as I've said, and so I haven't felt much like blogging all that much. Lots of paperwork and rehearsals and stewing about THE FUTURE, and I find that my brain doesn't seem to have anything interesting to say about any of it.

When it comes to free time, I find I'd rather sit with a book and a beer than stare at a computer screen for an extra hour of my day. And there's no sense prattling on about my love life or what movie I watched or what mood I'm in.

So forgive me if the entries come a bit fewer and farther between over the forseeable future. Much to do, much to do. "I'm a busy man," as Barliman said.

Peace, everyone. Talk to you soon.

Looks like Sammy Sosa is getting traded to the Orioles for Jerry Hairston. (Click the pic for the full story.)

I would gladly take Jerry Harrison for Sosa just to have him gone.

I hate to trash him, but he ruined it for himself. Too much ego, too much salsa music.

Hope he learns from this and plays well in Charm City.

So long, Sammy.

Nineteen years ago today I was in eighth grade, on my way to lunch, when I heard the news.

Did you hear? The space shuttle blew up."

The guy who told me that was your typical burnout with a bad moustache, so I figured this was his variation on the usual "Nerdman" taunting he gave me. After Mr. Davis confirmed the news, however, I believed it.

I lived in Florida at the time, and so during lunch recess we looked up into the eastern sky and saw not a cloud, but the smoky trail of the remains of the Challenger, falling to earth.

I always remember that day very well, and every January 28th I think about how much astronauts in general have been my heroes. In another few days, we'll commemorate the 2nd anniversary of the Columbia explosion over the southern portion of the United States.

We always remember Gagarin and Glenn, and Armstrong and Aldrin, but it's also important to remember Gus, Ed, and Roger, McAuliffe and Onizuka, Chawla and McCool, and all the others that lost their lives in the pursuit of something grand and wonderful.

Aside from some Cold War paranoia, the exploration of space has been about the pursuit of knowledge, and the quest to better understand who we are as a species, what are place in the universe is, and where we are going as we rotate and revolve in the grand cosmos.

I don't exactly consider myself a sports nut. I'm certainly not a jock. I have to admit, I can tell you who was on the X-Men in 1984 better than I can tell you who was on the '84 Bears. (Now the '85 Bears, that's another matter.)

I love baseball, but I've never been able to keep up in conversation with some of my more die-hard fans. Once we move away from discussing the Cubs or the Red Sox, my knowledge base fades faster than a cheap Wal-Mart t-shirt.

Basketball is tricky; ever since Michael left town there hasn't been much reason to pay attention. I can't tell you much about the NBA or the NCAA right now, other than the fact that two teams from Illinois are kicking some serious ass right now.

The Fighting Illini, the number one team in America, played a terrific game against Wisconsin the other night. They improved their record to 20-0, and broke Wisconsin's home winning streak of 38 wins in a row.

I can't tell you how great it is to see all the anchors and sports pundits and even Dick Fucking Vitale talking about Illinois more than Duke or North Carolina or all the other tired names.

The Chicago Bulls are finally showing some signs of life again. After a 0-9 start, they are now two games above .500, and have a decent shot of being a playoff contender. Looks like they finally found a coach that knows what he's doing (apologies to Bill Cartwright; he was a fan's coach, not a player's coach.)

And baseball will be starting up again soon. The Cubs haven't figured out a way to get rid of Sammy, so we may be stuck with him for another year or so. I asked Tony Pierce (another loyal Cub fan) if they should get rid of him, and he thinks they should keep him. I disagree--Sammy is a plague in that clubhouse, and I fear for the morale of that team if he waltzes in, turns up the volume on a brand-new boombox, and spends another year pouting about how no one respects him.

Sammy's been MIA since the last day of the 2004 season, when he took himself out of the lineup and high-tailed it out of Wrigleyville while the last game was still being played. He's been hiding out in the Dominican Republic ever since. I hope he never comes back, to be honest, but if he does, he's going to have some serious mea culping to do. If he comes back, I want to see a humbled, hungry Sammy, ready to prove himself all over again.

And that's about as much Sports as I can talk about intelligently, folks. I guess the Super Bowl is this weekend, but I could really care less. I don't even think I watched last year's. But if the Duder's invite me over, I suppose I can handle drinking beer and eating salty treats this Sunday.

As everyone knows, they announced the nominations for the Oscars this morning. You can find all of the nominees here, if you're into that type of thing.

The Aviator racked up 11, and it seems to be the early favorite to win. That's fine with me; it's easily the best film out of the top five, and Marty's more deserving of winning an Oscar for this than for the overstuffed Gangs of New York from 2002.

Also glad to see Natalie Portman getting a nomination, although it's a shame that once again Hollywood honors someone for playing a stripper. Her performance in Garden State was worthy enough, in my opinion.

And in a perfect world Before Sunset would have received multiple noms, but I can be happy that the tradition-bound Academy honored it with a Screenplay nomination.

And while it's a shoo-in for Best Animated Feature, I really could argue that The Incredibles was the Best Picture of the Year, period. Finding Neverland has the emotion, The Aviator has the grandeur, and Sideways has the gravity, but The Incredibles has it all. Is there nothing more exhilarating than watching Dash's face as he gets to let loose? His walking on water scene moved me more than anything Mel could have shown me in The Passion.

Biggest Disappointment: nothing for Fahrenheit 9/11. The lesson of 2004 is, being controversial can rake in the bucks if you're preaching to the converted, but forget about anyone standing next to you if you're on the losing team.

Second Biggest: no nomination for Paul Giamatti, which should only enhance his ability to play put-upon sad sacks.

And seriously...the Counting Crows are now considered Oscar nominees?

A bit more on Carson, if you don't mind:

Aside from the tributes and accolades that have been appearing all day in the mainstream media (TV and newspapers), some blog discussion has focused on whether Johnny deserved his "greatness" since he didn't have much competition. Or that in the later years he wasn't clued in enough to youth culture.

I personally enjoyed the fact that as late as 1992 the Tonight Show band was a big band led by an outlandish guy named Doc. I liked the fact that Johnny didn't pander to whatever youth was into at the time, unlike Arsenio Hall. He did what worked for him, and kept his dignity intact.

But here's why he was great at what he did. Apologies to Pops, on whose blog I posted this bit earlier, and double apologies to Randy, who originally came up with this revelatory fact back when we would watch The Best of Johnny Carson at the video store we were slumming at back in the early -90s.

Remember that old clip from Carson's early years, when Ed Ames was showing Johnny how to throw a tomahawk? Where the hatchet winds up sticking out from the crotch of the Cowboy? (You can watch it here if you've never seen it.) Ames is clearly embarrassed and goes to remove the hatchet, but Carson grabs his arm and pulls him away, allowing the moment, and the laugh, to build and build. Ames is in tears, the audience is rolling, and Carson just calmly plays with two of the tomahawks, waiting for the kicker. Then, as the laughter dies down, and the audience can hear him clearly, he ad-libs, "I didn't even know you were Jewish!"

The man had class, and he knew comedy.

Thinking about Carson makes me think of my grandpa, who always was a sucker for a good joke (or a bad one, preferably), watching the opening monologue with my grandma in their respective recliners, having a few laughs at the Reagan jokes before going to bed.

Grandpa was a funny guy, when he was in a good mood. I miss his silly jokes and plays-on-words. He was a lot like Carson, in a way. Midwestern, unassuming, knew a good joke when he heard it.

I'm going to do something I never, ever do, and watch The Tonight Show tonight. It'll be hard watching Jay whinny his way through the tributes, but I'd rather watch that than an overblown Entertainment Tonight feature. Maybe Ed and Doc (or even Tommy) will be on. Or the potato chip lady.

Johnny Carson died this weekend at 79, from complications from emphysema.

So long, Johnny. You were one of the greats. From one Midwesterner to another, I bid you a heartfelt goodnight.

Somehow I've gotten into the habit of announcing blogger birthdays on here, which I suppose is nice of me, but at the same time it makes me feel like I'm some sort of old-timey weatherman on the local news throwing out birthday greetings while pretending to be pointing at Des Moines.

Anyway, it was Tiff's birthday the other day. Happy Belated Birthday, Tiffany. She's a regular commenter on here, and a Limelighter director. You should check out her blog; it's pretty good, especially since she joined the hordes of people leaving Xanga.

Kate, who is not K, but who is also not really called Kate, treated me to a movie today. We braved the snowy streets and stinging wind to finally catch Sideways, a movie that I think must have been on Jim Gland's Top Ten list of the year. It's about a thirtysomething balding loser schoolteacher that is pretentious about wine. It was like looking into a mirror!!!!!!! Except substitute "wine" for "hobbits."

Speaking of K, things are going dangerously well between us. Lots of talking, lots of flirting. But I don't want her to be another one of these girls I crush on, date for a bit, then break up with because they don't like Belle and Sebastian enough for my liking. I like her too much for her to become another casualty of my bad habits. And I also don't want to get all swoony on her and then have her walk in to work one day with an engagement ring on her finger. So we had an extremely long talk, and made sure we both knew where the other one was coming from. 'Nuff said.

It stopped snowing sometime early this morning, I think, but the wind keeps blowing it all around. When I got my paper I had a clear sidewalk, but after returning from the movies there was a rather large drift developing outside my green door.

Time for a fire.

Ten inches of snow is expected to drop on the Chicagoland area this weekend, so it's time to hunker down and dig in.

On my list of oh-so exciting things to do this weekend:

-Report Cards
-Mucho paperwork
-Theatre prep
-Post new pictures on Buzznet--I'm getting sick of looking at the same damn photos of my face.
-Finish Long Way Round, which is Ewan MacGregor and Charley Boorman's account of their travels around the world on their motorcyles. Then dig in to another good book.
-Eat some food, drink some wine, make a fire in the fireplace. I'm in the mood for simple pleasures this weekend.




Mr. President, you botched the job royally the first four times around the sun. You have four more. Please try to actually make us safer from terrorists and respected by the world. The voters gave you a second chance, not necessarily to do what you seem to do best, but to correct the mistakes of your first term. Ball's in your hands, Sir. Don't drop it.

I have no idea how my name wound up on this, but it is just about the coolest thing ever.

Thanks to Bobby Bandito for the link!

Got a funny email from man behind Waking Up in Bliss today. He had one question for me:

"What's up with the pipe?"

The pipe is just a bit of a laugh, really. I originally bought it back in May when
The Duder and I smoked 'em in honor of a fellow teacher's retirement. (He was a big pipe smoker.) I probably smoke it once a month or so just to try it out and pretend that I'm a furry-footed hobbit or some sad excuse like that. I dunno. Maybe it's one of those things I do to be silly, but comes across as being something else.

So....the inauguration is tomorrow.

Not sure what to say about it. Most people already know I'm not looking forward to another four years of Bush and the Sunshine Factory.

Four more years of shady wars fought for the wrong reasons.

Four more years of an economy that is going nowhere.

Four more years of anti-Americanism spreading around the world.

Four more years of the environment going to hell in the name of preserving precious American jobs.

Four more years of torture being, you know, perfectly acceptable in the right circumstances. I guess if we want to start getting accurate information (see "WMDs") we need to beat it out of people now.

Four more years of the Bush twins making idiotic speeches to the masses.

Four more years of the rich getting richer and the poor getting less and less of the American pie.

Four more years of people getting angrier and angrier at the way the government ignores their plight.

Four more years for the Democrats to figure out how to actually win again. (Come here to Illinois; they're doing pretty well for themselves right now in Springfield.)

Four more years of Dick.

Four more years of the corporations dictating what's right for America.

Four more years.

And it all starts tomorrow with the most expensive Inauguration in history, as troops line the streets and the protestors are hidden away. As we celebrate America's military might, as we celebrate an America that doesn't remotely resemble the America I thought I lived in.

Comments are on for a bit; enjoy 'em while they last.

Only have a couple of minutes for a quick post. I need to get home in time for the broadband guys to come and hopefully fix my modem problem.

Busy times for me right now. And yet nothing really new to write about.

So I guess I'll just leave it at that.

My sister wrote me the coolest email today. She wants me to turn the comments back on. I told her they'll be back on soon. Best to take a break right now.

Mark, those lines were from The Return of the King. Come on, is there any other book I talk about on here?

Sorry, gotta run. This could qualify as the lamest post I've ever written.

I've been so busy worrying about You-Know-Who that I haven't talked much about anything else, so I'll use this post as a wrap-up of recent events in the life of Brian.

On the Love Life
The night out with the Urban Violinist was nice, but it wasn't meant to be. Since it was just a fix-up I wasn't too concerned about how it went one way or the other; she thought there was too much age between us, and I had to agree. 25 isn't young, but I guess she thought 33 was old, and that's fine. I agreed. I've dated girls younger than me, older than me, and way too young for me (and I've taken my fair share of criticism for that.) You never know what works and what doesn't. You just have to try.

Called the Actress yesterday, and haven't heard back from her. I didn't really feel a connection there, and I don't think she did either. We'll see. She's in the middle of a play, and I'm just starting one, so we're both in Play Mode. Hard to start a relationship with all that going on.

On Community Theatre
I've gotten two phone calls from a local yokel theatre group that wants me desperately for the role of the Gentleman Caller in The Glass Menagerie. I've told them that I'm way too busy to add an acting role to my schedule, but they won't let up. Here's the kicker: an ex-girlfriend is playing the part of Laura. She's married now, and that would just add to the weirdness. So no thanks.


On Tonight's Belated Holiday Staff Party
Spent the evening at a third-rate country club drinking cheap drinks and overpriced buffet food, and I had a blast. Got to know some of the other staff a bit better, laughed our asses off, and somehow earned the nickname "Butter Crotch" from the girls. Plus the Cute Republican was there, who I shall now rename K. I think it does a disservice to her to keep referring to her as a "Republican." Too derogatory, you know?

It may be cliche of me to once again have a crush on a fellow teacher, but I can't help it. She's so lovely. Loves books, loves teaching. Sarcastic as hell and has the cutest hook in her nose.

I'm talking to one of the finest chaps I know right now, my dear Freddie. Tonight's lesson: "In the end, you just have to go with what makes you happy."

And as he said...

"For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: There was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach."


Whoever you are, wherever you are, I wish all of you peace and happiness. I bless you, and call you Elf-friend.

Namarie.

Yes, I'm such a geek.

This was my favorite comment:

Oh, but I read for the ENTERTAINMENT of it all, darling. I must apologize; apparently I hit a nerve. To make amends, here's a $0.10 psychiatry session regarding your depression: You never tried. Nope. Not even a little. You went straight to your backup, which, I mean teacher? Isn't that a little unoriginal? You just never had the stones to give it a shot. And now, (using your penchant for pretentious musical quotes) "It's not dark yet, but it's getting there." Community theater, Bri? Little one-off's about your life "adventures?" It would be tragic, and I admit most people would be bored to tears: balding thirty-something who never invested anything in life tries to find a girl to listen to him try to be "cool" while she fights back the urge to stick a gun in her mouth. Again, you've lost most of the audience, but I think it's lovely. The trying to mask the tragedy. Goosebumps. Please, Brian, more audio files. That nasally monotone just does something to me. Don't worry,
Jim Gland | 01.13.05 - 4:26 pm | #

Will the Real Slim Shady Please Stand Up?

The evil spirits seem to have delivered their coup de grace this morning as I awoke to a faulty broadband modem. My precious internetssssss isn't working, dammit!

So I stopped by work to fill out a little paperwork and to post a brief update. The connection may come back in a couple of hours, or I may be out for a few days. In light of everything that's been going on this week, maybe it's a good idea to take a blog break for a few days.

Thank you to everyone that commented Friday night and showed their support. It was a nice change from some of the other stuff I've been receiving.

I would like to be able to say that I can just shrug it off and say it doesn't bother me, but that's a lie. It bothers me very much to receive anonymous criticism.

I am not going to get into a public debate with you, Myrt. Nor am I going to allow you the luxury of sitting back and firing in mystery comments to me. That is a cowardly way of going about your business, and I ask that either you simply stop reading this blog, or else direct your criticisms elsewhere, where we may debate one-on-one.

I am going to respond to one thing, though. You referred to me as a "balding, thirtysomething teacher who never invested anything in life."

While I may be balding, thirtysomething, and a teacher, I disagree with your accusation about never investing in life. While I freely admit I didn't settle down and get married in my mid-twenties like most other people I know, I have chosen other avenues to devote my life.

I have given every bit of my life towards teaching children for the past nine years, either in the classroom or on the stage. I invest everything I have into making sure I do the best job possible. My students know this, and my actors know this.

I am proud of the work I have done. I am proud of the young people that have grown into successful men and women, and I am proud to say that I remain close to many of them today. I am proud of the parents that come in and find themselves redefined due to the creative opportunities they suddenly have in that "community theatre" you sniffed at. I am proud of all the kids that have found a bit of happiness, a bit of a challenge, and a bit of an awakening about their own potential, from the work I have done.

Maybe I haven't been able to work out my own life as much as I need to in the process, but I wouldn't change any of the time I have invested into these people for anything. They are everything to me, and I stand by the relationships I have developed with them, from those fifth graders I never see again after that last day of school, to the Tech Crew boys off at college, to parents and kids I have become extraordinarily close to, no matter what people may think.

How much longer any of that will last, though, is uncertain. I do have another life, of friends and family, and friends with families, and forward progress on my own life. And it needs attention, too. And I know that all too well.

So Myrt, I take away your ability to childishly throw rocks at me from behind a tree. I've got a life to live, so either leave it alone or, if you have anything valuable to add to it, you know where to find me.

Well, after a day of making a jackass out of myself for pestering people about these stupid comments, I'm just going to let it be. Myrt, Jim Gland, or whoever you are, I say once again: stop hiding behind anonymous postings and talk to me like a man. Or a woman.

You think my life is a joke? Welcome to the club. I have plenty of criticisms of my own about where my life is and the decisions I've made. But don't fuck with Limelight. That little community theatre group that you seem to have so much scorn for has meant a lot to many, many people I know, and I would not have you sneer at it in my comments.

I'm not exactly having the best week.

Dating life isn't exactly going as I would like it to.

Some anonymous person has suddenly decided to make my life hell. Thought it was maybe one of my friends fucking with me, but nope.

There is a very real possibility that my job will be eliminated due to budget cuts. I won't be let go, I'll just have to go back to being a classroom teacher.

On the plus side, it was my niece's 5th birthday yesterday. And a couple of friends of mine had their first baby yesterday. So there are good things in this world.

Something very strange is going on.

As I explained earlier, someone's been lashing out at me on the comments. I honestly have no idea who it could be. I will admit I have a couple of friends that I'm on the outs with, but it's not them.

It's apparently some anonymous person that doesn't seem to like me all that much. Maybe it's someone I know, maybe not.

But I turned off the comments because if it is some disgruntled person from the days of yore, I don't think our grievances should be played out on the comments page. Plus, not even leaving a name is kind of a pussy way to go about things. And I'm getting tired of having to constantly check them to see what my latest put-down is.

So whoever you are, either leave me alone or step out from the shadows, Harry Lime.

Oh, wait! Was that too pretentious for you? Was I failing once again at being "cool?"

Fuck you.

I apologize for this, but I have to turn off the comments for a bit. I've got a strange blog-stalker that just won't leave me alone.

Probably some unfinished business with a ghost from the past. I don't feel it's exactly appropriate to duke it out in blog comments, so if you guys don't mind, I'll take care of this and then I'll be back. Feel free to email me if you ever need to.

Thanks,

Brian

The rain is driving downwards and the lighting flashes brightly tonight.

The thunder rolls and the wind howls.

It's crazy out there right now.

Drove through the same exact weather this morning on the way to the conference. The Eisenhower was backed up most of the way, but by the time I was walking up Wabash the rain had receded to a slight drizzle.

Spent the day in an office suite discussing reading strategies and other education-type things that I won't bore you with here.

Fog lingered around the skyscrapers all day; the temperature was warm, in the high 50s. Damp, though. Irish weather.

And now the gods are throwing down again, saturating the ground with new rain as the old snow melts into the earth.

24 hours from now it'll drop 45 degrees as a deep freeze sets in.

If the gods truly delivered their judgment through pressure systems and seismic shifts, I'd say they're pretty pissed right now.

Eli could be on the move again.

Is it just me, or is everyone's life going haywire right now?

Agree, or disagree?

I need to send out birthday greetings to SuzyHighSchool, who isn't even in high school. Care to explain the story behind the name, Amanda? Hope you have a grand birthday, wherever you are.

Sorry if you tried to follow the Trib link to the story on the Gay Rights bill that passed the Illinois State Senate earlier today; I believe it passed the House today, as well. Today I'm proud to be living in a semi-progressive state.

For the next two days I get to drive my ass up to Wacker Drive to attend a conference for teaching things. Major flooding is predicted. I'll try and get some photos.

Finally, I may be a pipe-smoking, tweed-wearing pretentious cock, but at least I put my face and name to what I say. Myrt, whoever the hell you are, it would be nice if you did the same. If you don't like the stuff I write on here, you can always just, you know, not read it.

Oh--for all you Limelighters out there, FYI: if you haven't signed up yet for the Winter show, we're pretty much all filled up. Get on the waiting list if you still want to join up.

Good news coming out of the Illinois Legislature:

Gay rights bill advances
Illinois Senate OKs bill; House approval expected

By Ray Long and Christi Parsons, Tribune staff reporters. Tribune staff reporter Erika Slife contributed to this report

SPRINGFIELD -- For the first time ever, the Illinois Senate approved a controversial measure Monday that would ban discrimination against gays and lesbians in matters of housing and employment, clearing a long-standing hurdle to passage and inspiring one key sponsor to proclaim a victory for "fundamental freedom."

With only two days left in the term of the outgoing General Assembly, the Senate sent the House the proposal under pressure from Senate President Emil Jones (D-Chicago), Gov. Rod Blagojevich and the governor's sister-in-law, gay activist Deborah Mell.

Senators passed the bill 30-27, with one member voting present.

The measure now heads to the House, where sponsors vowed to pass it. The lower chamber pushed the same measure through committee Monday and now has it queued up for a floor vote on Tuesday.


You can read the rest of the story here, or in your daily Chicago Tribune.

I'm a huge fan of Michael Mann's films. I still remember being completely and utterly amazed at the graceful action of The Last of the Mohicans, and being blown away by Heat, a true masterpiece.

Collateral was pretty good this year, but I just got around to seeing Ali tonight. While it's not his best, I've watched the first ten minutes over and over again.

It's some of the best stuff I've ever seen on film. A young Ali practices in the gym while Sam Cooke blows 'em away in a club.

Meh. I can't describe it very well here. But it's soooo good. Go check it out if you never saw it. Just for those opening credits. It's like movie geek porn for me.

It's a New Moon on Monday, everyone. Does that portend evil tidings, or am I just remembering the old Duran Duran song and that kickass video where they're riding around some eastern European city on mopeds.

Duran Duran were on mopeds. Not the city.

Well, let's get to it...

Friday night was spent eating Thai with the Blond Tornado and her husband and their two kids. They prepped me for the big date in Andersenville, since they knew it well. (Andersenville is a neighborhood on the north side of Chicago; it's the Scandinavian neighborhood.) Dinner at Andie's, not Reza's, they said. And go to that cool hippie coffee shop on Clark. Kopi.

Saturday was spent prepping for the winter Limelight show and getting ready for the date. Full disclosure here: I haven't been on a date in a year and a half. I've been on sabbatical from romance, you see. So I was a little nervous.

I don't actually live in the city, so it took me a while to get up there, but I found it easily enough.

She was lovely. A mane of brown hair combined with sophistication and intelligence. She's a violinist with the Chicago Civic Orchestra, and is finishing up a graduate degree at DePaul. Talk flowed easily throughout dinner.

Had coffee at Kopi (her suggestion, coincidentally) and then we called it a night. Took my time getting home, and just enjoyed the quiet of driving Lake Shore Drive late at night. Took a detour and drove down Michigan Ave. to look at the lights and the shops and the people.

Sunday was more theatre prep and typical Sunday errands. Had my first solo date with the Actress. Our schedules don't mesh so well, so we haven't had many opportunities to get together.

After two nights of rice and exotic Mediterranean and Asian cuisine, I was ready for a burger and a beer. And that's exactly what we had. We chatted about our respective theatre companies for an hour or so, and finally got to know each other a bit better.

She's nice, and real cute, but I just don't feel it, you know? It. It just isn't there.

I could kind of feel it with the Urban Violinist, but our phone conversation last night revealed that while I was a lovely gentleman for driving all that way and buying her a nice dinner, she just wasn't interested.

So how do I feel about all that? I'll let Casey McCall, alongside Dan Rydell, answer that one:

"You know, sometimes it's worth it - taking all the pies in the face. Sometimes you come through it feeling good." -Dan
"Yes." -Casey
"And how was your day?" -Dan
"Sometimes you just stand there, hip-deep in pie." -Casey

Happy Saturday to you all. Hope the weather and your spirits are all fine, wherever you may be.

I've got a script to read and block out and a date to get ready for. A lovely dinner in Andersenville.

Much to do, much to do. No time to write.

Asia had a good comment early this morning: I'm only as fucked as I wanna be. This will all work itself out over the next few weeks. Hopefully. I don't like the idea of having dates with multiple women, or having to "choose" if it gets to that point.

But no point in worrying about that now. They may all wind up not interested in me, if such a thing is possible.

Ok, gotta go. It's go time.

So it's no secret I've developed this little crush on a girl I call Cute Republican. She's undatable for two reasons, though.

1) I work with her. Kind of. 2 days a week, so it's not too big of a deal, but I really don't want to date any more people from work.

2) She has a boyfriend. But from what I hear he's a mope and things aren't going too well in that department.

The Republican part doesn't bother me, even though I've never seen any actual evidence to confirm that. Most info I have on her has come from the Blond Tornado.

So I try not to think about her. There's a bigger reason I don't need to get a crush on her, and that's because my biggest problem with women is that I get attracted to Unattainable Women, most likely so that I can avoid ever having to get into an actual committed relationship. Yeah, I'm messed up like that.

But I've gotten together with the Actress a couple of times, and that's gone well. We were supposed to have our first Alone Date tonight, but the snow forced an emergency rehearsal tonight for her.

And this Saturday I have a date with the Urban Violinist, someone else new on the horizon. Blind date of sorts, so we'll see how it goes. We've talked on the phone a few times and so far so good.

So I was doing pretty good about not thinking too much about my lovely co-worker until today, when she was able to convince me to go to the office holiday party.

And then I walked into her room after school. Up until this point I figured her for someone with horrible taste in music. Celine Dion, bad country singers with name like Toby or Kenny. I don't know why, really. Maybe it was some unconscious form of making her less attractive to me.

Because, really, I don't need to be focusing on her. I have many other options before me.

And then I walked into her room. Her stereo was on.

"Is that....is that Zwan?"

"Yep. I love this album."

I am fucked, people. I am so fucked.

Calling all comic book geeks!



V for Vendetta was one of those comic books that came out in the 80s when comic books first started getting cool. When they started getting dark and fucked-up and told really intricate stories.

Stories like Watchmen. The Dark Knight Returns. The Sandman.

V wasn't necessarily in the Top 5 of that period, but it was a pretty cool story. A Fascist England and a neo-terrorist that takes them down.

I don't know how it'll play today, but it would be something to see that Guy Fawkes mask suddenly appear out of the darkness...

Click here if you want to read more about the original comic book; click here if you want the story about the film, getting set to film in Berlin in March, with Natalie Portman in talks to play Evey.

One of the gifts I received for Christmas was a travelogue called McCarthy's Bar, written by a guy named Pete McCarthy. He's famous in England for different travel shows he does, I guess. Anyway, I had never heard of him.

The book is great. McCarthy travels like I do: alone and often in pubs, chatting up people and always trying to get past the touristy artifice, moving from one B&B to the next, all the while filling your gut with Guinness and fried pork products.

He also focuses a lot on the modern marketing of all things Irish, and how much the place has changed from a struggling near-Third World country dominated by the Catholic Church to a modern, wealthy "Celtic Tiger" that was recently voted "Best Place in the World to Live" according to the BBC.

I did a search to find out if he had written other books, and after discovering one more he published a year or so ago, I came across an announcement of his untimely death from cancer at age 51.

It was a bit of a shock, especially after just putting down his book. I had spent a week inside the guy's head while wandering around western Ireland, reading his thoughts and feelings about craic, Singapore noodles, and how Irish sing-a-longs usually had more to do with Neil Diamond than with "The Wild Rover."

He also wrote extensively about the pull Ireland has on him and so many others (including me.) Even though he was English, he felt instantly at home amongst the Irish, and he spent the length of the book trying to reconcile his feelings about the place.

Anyway, it's a good book, and if you like stuff like that, I recommend it.


Lest I forget, it was Florida's lovely Sylkk's birthday, yesterday. Birthday greetings from all of us (well, me) at The State I'm In!

This is a brief bit I wrote a couple of years back while in Oxford. In honor of the Professor's birthday, I post it here for all you Hobbits out there.

8-1-02
2:20 PM
The Eagle and Child Pub
(The Bird and Baby)
Oxford, England

Sitting under a picture of Professor Tolkien. This is where he, Lewis, and others met to drink beer and talk about their books they were writing. It's just a small pub, the table's a bit sticky, but they have a respectful number of pictures up of the fellows. I'm sitting in the same room as them.

Just got back from visiting his and Edith's grave in Wolvercote Cemetery in N. Oxford. Long walk up the road, but found it pretty easily. Got to the roundabout, found an Ordinance Survey map at the BP, and one free look later, walked Five Mile Road to the cemetery.

Little brown signs direct your way to his grave. A few items dot it, including a white cigarette lighter in a plastic Ziplock bag. Two large bushes are planted in the bed of his grave.

Under her name, "Luthien" is inscribed; under his, "Beren." She died the year I was born, 1971; he died two years later.

It was quite silly, but I got quite emotional as I said a brief thank-you to the Professor for his book, the one thing that has given me the greatest amount of joy in my life.

I have to admit I was a little bit dismayed at the U.S.'s "paltry" initial donation of $5 million in relief aid to the tsunami-ravaged areas of southern Asia. Then it was $35 million. Now it's $350 million, with more promised.

I could go into a rant about why the White House was so stingy at first, but I won't. I honestly don't know why they didn't give much at first. Maybe they didn't know how bad it was, maybe they're a bunch of cheap bastards.

But I was happy to see the sight of President Bush and the formers Presidents Clinton and Bush standing together, urging people to give what they can to relief organizations. It is times like these that make even me put away my partisanship and hope that all nations and all peoples are working towards only one goal, and not using such incidents to further their own political capital.

Because we have an enormous opportunity here to do some good. Yeah, we're the biggest and the baddest and we always seem to be telling the rest of the world what to do, and our reputation across the world is at an all-time low thanks to Iraq and the reelection of President Bush.

But we can also be the biggest and the baddest when it comes to delivering aid packages quickly and efficiently, mustering the American people to donate to places like the Red Cross, and mobilizing a huge network of helicopters, soldiers, and aircraft carriers.

We can even be the biggest and the baddest when it comes to celebrities kicking in large sums of cash. I got nothing wrong with Miss Congeniality donating a $1 million. If that starts a trend, then it's a good trend to start.

It could be very easy for all of us to sit back and sniff at Sandra Bullock, or wonder why Bush is so cheap, or why President Carter wasn't invited to participate, but this isn't the time to do such things.

This is the time for America to do what it can do best.

This is the time for America, and the world, to do some good.

Winter Storm Watch Remains IN Effect From Tuesday Evening To Late Wednesday Night...

Heavy Snowfall Is Expected Across Northern Illinois Along And North Of Interstate 80 With Sleet And Ice Accumulations Expected South. This Should Begin Tuesday Night And Change To All Snow Across Northern Illinois And Northwest Indiana On Wednesday. Snow Will Continue Into Wednesday Night Before Diminishing To Snow Showers By Thursday Morning.

There Is Potential For Heavy Snow Of 6 Inches Or More. Check Supplies Of Food And Fuel. Check The Latest Forecast Before Making Travel Plans. Motorists Should Remain Alert To Changing Weather Conditions...And Take Necessary Precautions If Travel Is Necessary. Make Sure You Have An Adequate Supply Of Food. Check Prescriptions To Ensure An Adequate Supply Of Medicine Through The Duration Of The Storm. Check Furnaces And Fuel Levels...And If Travel Is Necessary... Make Sure Your Car Is Winterized And IN Good Working Order.

Oh yeah, I am so fucking ready for this. Time to load up the fridge, start a fire, and let it fall.

Wait a minute. There's nothing in my fridge and I'm out of beer.

'Scuse me while I head to the Jewelssssss...