daily show knows

al gore's the guest, and he's gained some weight in the jowls since i last saw him, so now he looks just like the dude who plays him on snl...
walk good.

entourage

why does the "aquaman" rollercoaster ride not involve water?
walk good.

fff, hardcore

this week, jj gave us a choice of flash fiction starters. i, for some reason, wanted to try using them all, in spite of knowing how little time i'd have. once i thought of it, i couldn't let it go, so i had to try, and i had to try to not only use them all, but to write 4 individual fff's that were somehow connected. so i hope i worked this out right, and i hope my writing hasn't suffered in this format-heavy attempt, and i want you to know that if i made a mess of this one, it's not jj's fault- i coulda just chosen one to focus on...
lemme know if this works or not, and big-up jj for providing the very-important weekly challenge:

It all started with a ham sandwich. if he hadn’t been so desperate for a grilled ham+cheese he’d never have set foot in the diner on the corner – not his style. he’d lived in the neighbourhood for years without ever finding a reason to venture in, and when he finally did, it was with the knowledge that if the grocery weren’t closed or he had ham in his own refrigerator, he’d happily have gone another day, another lifetime, without hesitantly standing on their seemingly out-of-place welcome mat (since when were diners attempting to be welcoming?) wondering how safe the kitchen was.
but then, if he hadn’t braved it, if he hadn’t walked up to the long counter and grabbed a menu, he wouldn’t’ve been there, perfectly positioned to catch the waitress as she slipped on some liquid mess on the floor to his left. it was his most graceful moment, he’d later tell her. somehow, he saw her foot slide out from under her and reacted quickly enough, jumping up and grabbing her before she went down.
she spilled coffee on his shirt and tie, the room-temperature end of a pot.
words fell from her, unheard, profuse apologies for the coffee spill and thanks for catching her tumbling over each other in their haste to pass through her lips – which he couldn’t stop staring at. once upright and steady, she was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen – not beautiful, not movie-star, but so pretty that she made him want to laugh out loud to release the joy he felt bubbling in his nether regions. it took him a few moments to decipher the jumble of sounds coming from this unexpected object of desire.
she stopped speaking, and smiled, thinking him confused by their collision, and guided him to a seat on the stool just behind. he managed a smile back and finally said that it was nothing – neither coffee nor catching was comment-worthy, and they could forget the whole thing.
he ordered a chocolate milkshake.
she smiled again and said that sounded like just the thing.
it felt like a million years ago now. 1 chocolate milkshake, a million grilled ham+cheeses that somehow never satisfied, and a million years ago.

How did my underwear wind up...up here? i mean, i don’t think anybody has ever gone up to their roof expecting to find a pair of their panties blowing from the vane like a faulty, or perhaps poorly-designed, wind-sock.
i had a moment’s hope when i realised they could be anybody’s – no reason to assume they were mine – they were relatively nondescript…then i realised that their very nondescriptness meant that, were they mine, as suspected on first sighting, that fact could be confirmed by checking the inside-waist, because the nondescript panties i owned that resembled this soggy windcatcher were left over from my last camp counselor gig, and had my name on them.
which these did indeed turn out to have inscribed, in the appropriate place.
at that point, i could no longer act like they were some weirdo’s crazy-stunt-leftovers, and accepted them as mine, assuming that it’d come to me eventually just how they arrived at this situation.
but he would not let it go. he kept asking, kept pestering me, as if his continuous pressing would somehow induce me to think that he was more deserving of the details than he had been when 1st denied. of course, there were no details in my memory to be divulged, but i wasn’t about to confess that – frankly, he’d already stumbled upon too much damaging information about me, even without details. and we weren’t up there to discuss my underwear placement anyway. whatever he might invent when he told this story to his 3 friends, it couldn’t be worse than the truth, seeing as i’d apparently blocked the truth from myself, it was so bad…but maybe he wouldn’t be telling anyone anything, since his questioning was obviously an exercise in avoidance. we both knew what he needed to say, and my underwear would soon be moot – for him anyway.
i racked my brain for hours after he left, to no avail, then just as it seemed that the travelling panties were never to be explained, marcia called.
apparently we’d had a night of man-hating and liberated-women-representing up on the roof, with wine. apparently, our night on the roof was the genesis of my plan to take him up to the roof and make him end it, properly. apparently we’d stripped, up on the roof, and apparently, in gathering my stuff for the naked dash back to the apartment, i missed my unmentionables. and, since i didn’t get dressed again until bathing the next morning, the bundle apparently went into the basket unchecked, the panties unmissed…

That can't be my mother...i was horrified – here i’d finally brought the man of my dreams home, and here was my mother, apparently having a meltdown.
since we met in the diner he’d been nothing but wonderful – charming, considerate, funny, smart, a good lover – except for his grilled-ham+cheese-fixation, he was as close to perfect as i cared to be around – any closer to perfect and he’d be boring.
i’d been telling my mother for weeks, warming her up to him in preparation for their meeting – i knew she could be difficult, and i knew patience was a virtue hard to maintain for him, so i wanted to smooth the waters between them until they got to know each other – once they did, i figured they’d be fine.
i’d been reminding him of everything my mother’d been through too, trying to encourage his forgiving nature as much as possible. i’d thought things were looking good. safe.
but now it was clear, my preparation was all for naught. it was not safe. it was a disaster.
i looked up @ my mother, hanging precariously, begging for her chair so she could get down before the chandelier broke – even to someone in her condition it was obvious it couldn’t hold her weight much longer.
she had no how or why to offer. she was incoherent afterwards. i gathered that she had no idea. about anything.
it wasn’t long after that.
she deteriorated faster than i could manage, faster than i could come to terms with what was happening to her. it was the hardest thing i’d ever done, watching her decline, and knowing it’d be over sooner than later was no consolation.
his excuse was that i was too busy taking care of her, but we both knew he was scared i was crazy too. that it was lurking within me, waiting to jump out @ him. he couldn’t look at me in the last days. he stopped calling, stopped coming to the diner, stopped seeing me entirely, and i think he wouldn’t have offered an excuse if i hadn’t forced him to. i couldn’t make it easy for him – it was unfair to me. i made him look at me, up on the roof, and tell me we were over because of something that hadn’t happened and might never.

He woke up, wondering where his... underwear was, then wondering why he’d be wondering that when he slept in them every night, and thus, knew exactly where they were. he sat up, rubbing an eye with the back of his hand as the dream came back to him – he’d been naked, on a rooftop, searching for his underwear for what felt like forever…rooftop…now it made sense, kind of – he’d been on a roof the night before – but it wasn’t his roof…
he finished stretching and made his way to the bathroom, the rest of the night becoming clearer by the second.
it was finally over.
he could relax.
grilled ham+cheese for breakfast, and everything’d be fine...

walk good.

wamu; 'round midnight...

"...the boom of the [killer whales'] tailslap leaves the herring impaired..."
love it.
giggled out loud, alone in the car.
walk good.

lesson #69: sextoys=tupperware (edited 5.55pm)

been meaning to get to this for 2weeks, which should tell you something about how impressed i was...
some ladies i know wanted to get together for a "passion party"- now, i was pretty sure i wouldn't discover anything i hadn't already known/tried, but i like these ladies so i figured it'd be amusing, at the least. my understanding was that somebody would join us for the night, in ganz's living room, with tips+toys to discuss+demonstrate, with the option to buy.
grims started calling it a tupperware party right off the bat- little did i know how right he was...
so i arrived. late. waiting for the brownie to kick in (sadly, it never did, but that wasn't my real gripe of the night) i met people, and observed the passion party chick through the glass doors as she sat in the backyard, drinking way too much to do her job well-
gripe #1: i know it's a party, and the involvement of sex talk+toys makes it less formal even for those working, so by all means, have a drink. but don't get trashed before you do what you're getting paid for. if i hired a stripper for a party and she started drinking, and fell off the 1st lap she tried to tickle, i'd send her ass home, sans $...
so this chick (named kylie, who teeheed over the "k-y" involved in spelling her name when people were paying for shit later) downs some drinks, then finally comes in so we can get started, and instantly makes her 1st mistake- dionne+ilana came with me, and this dionne is the same dionne of barbie-bathing-fame (i.e. also from trini)- we 3 are standing around the table chatting, kylie comes in, hears accents and says,
gripe #2: "oooh, i love jamaican women!"
dionne calmly shakes her hand and says, "hi. i'm from trinidad."
kylie was appropriately embarrassed, but needless to say, it was already over for her.
gripe #3: once we got past that and were truly ready to start, she immediately acted like we were in school and she was the teacher- there was a quiz, we had to write shit down, and @ one point, she even compared it to school- not the way to start a sex-toy party, and also just not working for her, in particular.
gripe #4: the quiz, she said, was supposed to give the group an idea of who was (relatively) experienced. but every question simply asked about sex in different locations. with the highest score (in the 300's, well above the low of 50) i was the "most experienced", but all it really said is that i'm more adventurous about location than the others in the room. and since most of the questions involved sex with a partner, it's an even less accurate reflection, because perhaps others would've liked to be as adventurous, but their partners weren't. or perhaps one's lifestyle doesn't provide much opportunity for doing it out+about. you could be fucking the entire country from the confines of their bedrooms and yours. or what-the-fuck-ever. all her quiz really determined was that i've had sex in lots of places other than my bedroom(s). nothing really indicated experience or quality (frankly, if it were bad sex, why waste time discussing location?) which indicated to me that kylie's not smart. and we know how i feel about and deal with stupid people.
gripe #5: she then called me a slut for having the highest score, and tried to say we were now even for her faulty 'jamaican' assumption earlier, which makes this a 3-part gripe.
a- who the fuck is she to call me a slut?
b- who the fuck is she to call me a slut based on some shit quiz that really just asked the same question over+over, substituting 1 place for another?
c- no, this does not make your stupidity ok. it's not even in the same realm. i'm a trini slut, not a jamaican slut, not that you even grasp the definition of the word slut, since you take it to mean "someone who has sex in places other than the bedroom". fool.
gripe #6: everything else from here on in was her trying to sell her sexware- she made us each write down 3 questions we wanted answered by the end of the night, and if she answered 1, i missed it- she focused entirely on her creams that i heard felt like bengay on the vagina, her lickable slathers that smelled and tasted like fake nastiness (pet peeve: if i wanted to taste fake strawberry flavouring, i'd suck a lollipop, not a cock; and my vagina should feel, smell and taste like nothing other than itself, since it's designed to only need regular soap+water, and some titillation- i know and respect that some may need a little more to get them going, but even so, fake cottoncandy flavouring and shimmer are not necessary). i didn't have 3 questions that i thought she could answer, so i gave my 3 chances away, and from what i gathered most of the questions in the room were technique-related, but all she did was push products. she never acted like she gave a shit about ways to truly improve the sex lives of those present, and the few times she seemed to be answering a question, she'd start with the words, "i have this cream/lotion/gel/spray/toy for that..."
she didn't seem knowledgeable about bodies, positions, chemistry, or options to assist any of the 3, just about her products. and her products were lacking. every toy she offered was hard plastic or that rubbery/gel stuff. no mention of glass or steel, or tips on how to use hands, tongues, or other body parts.
the last thing that bothered me is perhaps more subjective, but i'ma include it as a psa (keep in mind that it bothered me in this scenario because she was paid to come into a personal setting and speak directly to customers, and didn't offer this helpful info- i wouldn't expect this when buying a toy over the counter in a store or online): i think that 1st-time dildo/vibrator-buyers should know that especially since you'll prob'ly buy more than 1 as you better learn your body and what it likes, you might want to start smaller- don't necessarily buy a dildo the same size as the dick you've liked best because your body may react differently when there's not an actual other person involved in foreplay, plus, the dildo's not covered in human skin, and even the rubbery stuff may not be as slippery+flexible as real flesh.
the 1st toy i ever bought was vibrating rubber, about the size of grims, and it now sits unused on my bedside table because it's too uncomfortable. the next buy was smaller and shaped differently and i love it, and the 3rd buy was glass, and i love that.
that rubbery stuff seems closer to feel of flesh, in hand in the store, but in actuality, in a vagina, it's not, so size+shape (and lube) can be crucial; and now that i've tried it, the glass, which i rejected on my 1st shopping trip as being too hard+cold+impersonal, is lovely- easily warmed in water or hands (unless you like cold, which can also be nice) and the surface is smooth+slick, and by the time i bought it i knew what i needed for size so its lack of flex is all for the good, rather than being uncomfortable. the rubbery one i like has a nice bend (which the 1st buy didn't) and is the right size. but the things i considered on my 2nd+3rd buys that make me still love them are things that you have to experiment with yourself to learn. you may prefer a particular texture, you may want something that has flex, you may decide to go glass, but if you start a little smaller than your favourite dick and get some lube with it, you'll prob'ly get more mileage out of your 1st toy in terms of figuring out what you like because ultimately, if you can't get it in, then things like shape+texture are moot. and when you find something that really works, you may not need lube (which is how i prefer to work it, and how i know when the toy's right).
just a thought.
love good. walk good.

ps: big-up alwaysarousedgirl for links to great-looking toys!

edit: after reading keifel's comment, i think anybody who reads this post should also visit the link he provides (here it is) and i'd like to add that the hygiene factor is a big plus to the glass/pyrex toy (for me) which, of course, kylie really didn't talk about- she just pushed her "toy cleaner" product as a must, without suggesting that one use a condom- so she wanted you to buy the special cleaner, but didn't explain what the dangers are, or the options for avoiding them...

2-nil

and i have no words.
so i'm not trying.

emailing today, i had cause to mention that i'm not a good person, and it reminded me of something. tell me if you think this was bad- grims was giving me talk for it a coupla nights ago:
i had a 2-show-day saturday, and grims+jeff went by jp (i know 3 personally and know of a 4th, locally) so they left and picked me up and brought me back to jp's after my 2nd performance. they'd met jp's work peoples earlier, and i'm not good @ meeting people unless i've had time to observe and decide i want to meet them. plus, it was post-show, which means post-me+jay's-get-through-act2-scene2-joint (we're done early and have to wait through the other characters' lengthy dramatic climax to bow) so it's now 11pm, i'm comfy in my red cloth+darkers, high, and somewhat tired+hungry, and thus, brooking no shit.
so shortly, 2 of the chickies are leaving (thankfully, the 2 i'd found less-than-intriguing) and the others (who were cool) start saying shit along the lines of, "show us before you leave..."
now, apart from it being obvious, i didn't care, so i didn't ask, but the blonde giggly one they were talking to turns to me and says, "i got a tattoo earlier today..."
so i say, "oh."
and go back to making my 4-finger-fortune-teller. like i said, i didn't care. i have 5, and knew without checking that hers (from jinxproof, whose work i despise) couldn't compare to the art cheewah designed for me.
but they keep begging, and she finally raises her shirt and flashes it, retardedly placed on her torso. they miss it amid the clamourous din, so i interject and inform them that they're missing the spectacle. she refuses to flash it again, and i, finding her stupid, ask, "why did you get it if you didn't want anybody to see it?"
she mumbles something about it being for herself, so i kindly point out, "but you can't see it."
now, i thought she asked for that and got nothing but what was fair, but grims said i called her out. and it occurred to me that that's what i mean.
i often say i'm not a good person, and friends say "why?", and i can never quite explain. but this is it: i'm not a bitch, but i don't give a shit and prefer for stupid people to know i think that of them, so they don't come around me again.
this often makes me not a good person. but i don't feel bad about it.
walk good.

world cup fff

it's that time, and i thoroughly enjoyed this one, #41.
big-up jj for getting us fff'ers going. i love that dude.

A cry went up...it started slow and soft but the build was undeniable. it was the sound of life. from the lifeless masses, it was the sound of life.
nothing had moved the populace in years – decades, possibly – and now there was this sound, this cry.
the administration had decided that the populace could be more productive if injected with some sort of raison d’etre, or joie de vivre, or some suchlike foreign-sounding phrase of life-expression that gave them something to rally round. and the administration had decided the time to try was nigh.
it’d been in the planning for some time, but, of course, the populace knew nothing of it until it was time for them to be made aware. when the administration determined the time was a right as it would ever be to try this newfangled idea, it was fed to the populace, as everything else was. for their own good. because the administration knows what’s good for the populace – the administration is what’s good for the populace – the administration is by the people for the people, so what’s good for the administration is good for the people…
or something like that.
whatever.
it worked.
this had been trickled down to the populace through the filters – the same filters that insidiously “leaked” information about the “best” places to work, buy, eat, live (in that order) – the filters that ensured homogeneity, and thus control, now brought this new idea.
the populace didn’t notice it becoming part of the routine at first – the updates, the tiny amount of interest they piqued that set up the future thrill at success – at first it was just part of the landscape that none of the populace had noticed in years, too busy with commuting, working and consuming – but it grew.
as the administration’s man had said, it built slowly, but steadily, and the populace seemed to start caring without noticing, or necessarily knowing why. it became the highlight of days of sameness; hearing of progress, having something to discuss, wanting to discuss it…
wanting to discuss happenings seemed new to the populace – at least those young enough that they didn’t remember – but it caught on. soon they were talking; talking about results, stats, possibilities – possibilities were definitely new.
the talk grew from a whisper to a buzz, from a buzz to a cry, and by the time the final match was played the entire populace was watching, tuned in and turned on, as predicted.
the administration had already began the 1st round of self-congratulation in their high-rise, air-conditioned offices, based on initial reports of increased activity and productivity as enthusiasm for life had increased among the populace. they had the match on their large flat-screens, even though they knew it was all being staged by professionals on their payroll, right down to the fans in the stadium – they wanted to see the show too – after all, they’d produced it.
but as the final seconds of the match played out, the cry became a roar. the roar became a riot – the populace was finally awake and rushing out into the streets to take back the life stolen and rationed back out to them by the man, while the administration still celebrated the outcome in those fancy offices, watching the pre-written post-game interviews over cocktails, completely unaware that their empire was about to fall.

and this here's a link to one of the injustices that led to the trinidad+tobago soca warriors' loss to england in last week's 1st-round world cup match- simon crouch, if i weren't so impressed with john terry's save on behalf of allyuh team, i'd take out my varied frustrations on you...
big-up the soca warriors for some of the best football i've ever seen them play, against both sweden+england; avery, babes, even with the accumulated red card, is love still. i will be wearing my revolution jersey that grims secretly bought me.
and big-up ghana, my other motherland, for what i hear has been the best match of this world cup thus far- i missed it because i had a show, but it was nice to call fred for fathers' day and hear him happy to talk about ghana...
walk good.

sexy new link

big-up nico, for sending me to the link i've added to the sidebar. she's always aroused, and we like it that way...
walk good.
ps: i'm too sad to blog about our 2-nil loss to england.

don't say nobody told you...

pulled this from a friend's private blog, and as such, have only linked the article itself. but i'd like to echo her sentiment: read it and weep...
walk good.

rasta doh work for no cia

got called for a closed audition yesterday for a voice-over that would pay some very nice $. i got the call on my way to monday's audition, so by the time i was done auditioning and made it back home, i had the next one set up for yesterday, pre-jeans-shopping-on-the-way-to-meet-mom. so yesterday ceased to be my 1st real day off, and instead, today is.
en route to the audition, with grims+ilana in tow for the desperately-needed-jeans-shopping, i called to say i was on the way, as requested, and was unexpectedly asked if i'm a usa citizen- now, i had the side and it was obviously a cia-recruiting ad aimed specifically @ minorities and "varied ethnicities", since it asked that the voice-over-text be delivered in the speaker's "natural ethnic accent", which the casting call had said it was looking for. so i said i'm not, and was abruptly told that the cia'd called about a half-hour prior and said that it wasn't accepting non-citizens, so i was no longer in the running for this big-$-gig. boo.
now, the cia's business is their own shitty business, but i assume they can at least see the irony in their very-specific requests- they want you to have a "natural ethnic accent" but also require you to be a usa citizen...
then we went to finally get me some jeans, since i was unexpectedly down to 1 already-shredding-pair, and don't really wear shorts in dc, and hate khakis (next adventure: buying my own panties for the 1st time ever). now i'd been planning that the next time i bought jeans i was going back to levi's since the only reason i'd given them up was that i was broke in college (i was buying 2pairs of shitty jeans for the cost of 1 good pair, but the shit jeans were wearing out too fast and it seemed dumb after awhile, and i decided it's time to invest in good jeans again, since they're daily-wear for me) and something i saw about levi-strauss being one of the 1st hardcore equal-opportunity employers (racially- i don't know about sex) and insisting that black people be paid as much as white people, back in the day, strengthened my resolve. then zed mentioned the intellifit machine that resulted in her visiting us in d.c. with 5pairs of perfectly fitted levi's in different cuts, and as someone who always has trouble getting jeans to fit just the way i want, i was sold.
ilana needed pants too, so we planned our expedition to tysons corner (ewww) since they're the only local levi's store with an intellifit, and made it happen yesterday.
it was awful.
i never buying levi's again.
we each stepped into the intellifit hoping for miracles but knowing it could all be bullshit (the gremlin's not the hardest body in the world to fit), and got our printouts listing what size we needed on each cut that fit your preferences (which the machine asks for before you step in). we pulled exactly what the intellifit suggested, tried it all on, and every single pair of jeans looked like shit. then we went one size in either direction of each of our intellifit picks. then we tried on anything else in the store that sounded like it had even one of the things we were looking for in the cut/fit. then we just tried on everything.
3hours later, we were exhausted, unhappy, and unsuccessful. neither of us found a single pair of jeans in that whole levi's store that looked good enough to even pay the $20-sale-price for, far less the $50 shit we'd walked in prepared to buy, since the perfect jean's worth it.
so the intellifit was shit, the jeans all looked crappy on both of us, and on top of that, the employees were the worst. ever. worse than trini-style non-customer-service. the absolute worst. they were unwilling, unhelpful, and not knowledgeable about their own products. 1st we thought nobody worked in the store besides the intellifit, which doesn't count since it's inanimate, then some employees later gave wrong information (only after we hunted them down to ask questions) that had to be corrected by others (not that it helped, since the jeans were worthless, anyway) and the whole experience left us feeling horrible.
so we went for ice-cream, and decided to check the directory to see if there was a calvin klein store (i've had well-fitted ck jeans before), and instead saw that there was a delia's. joy! i'd had delia's jeans back when i met grims and loved them, so we decided to give delia's our last desperate energies.
we walked in, and the selection was so much smaller than the levi's store that i was almost discouraged, but a half-hour later, we both walked out thrilled, with multiple pairs of perfectly-fitting jeans that'll still last, and for less $ than levi's.
so if you're a short female, with hips, thighs+ass, and want jeans that won't drag 3inches behind you and/or be huge in the waist if they fit your hips+ass and/or die within 18months of purchase, forget that levi-strauss shit. check delia's (yes, it's not all trendy crap) or calvin klein (i've only had 1pair, but they were excellent).
next story: recent sex-toy-tupperware-party...
walk good.

fff, in a hurry

so it's not done, due to shows all weekend and trying to prep for the audition i'm currently running out the door to get to, but i wanted to at least post what i have. and if i get back from my audition before deadline, maybe i'll finish it. i promise i won't peek @ anybody else's until i'm done, or establish that i can't meet deadline...
big-up jj for getting us together:

Arm aching...arm-and-a-half, the voice in her head reminded her, ungently, as she shook out the cramp in her right and tried to ignore the soreness in what should’ve been her left. they ached for different reasons, but they both ached.
she stood under the spray, resting and considering whether there might be a better way. in the months since coming home she hadn’t yet figured out how to handle this previously-simple task, and instead faced agony once a week. it was a strain that usually left her crying into the clouds of water and steam so nobody could see, as if there might ever be company for her baths.
adjustment was about as hard as she’d expected – easier some days, worse others – but this was one of those still-unmanageable personal needs that made bad days.

walk good.

what's in a name? (edited 1.48pm)

fifa president sepp blatter is, in stereotypically german fashion, bearer of what might be the grossest name ever. but i'd like to point out that as yukky as the name is in print, when said aloud, it provides gradations of squeamishness.
an american accent softens the 2 "t"s in the last name, leading to "sepp bladder" which makes me think of a soft bag of septic waste laying out, just waiting to be stepped on.
a trini accent, which maintains hard "t"s, leaves me thinking of a septic splatter, a vomitous kind of grossness...
just a thought, but maybe he should stick with "joseph"...unless, of course, he figures that anything that makes us remember his name is a good thing...
walk good.

ps: since this is my 2nd recent post containing a word-related grievance, i might as well add that yahoomail has picked up an advertisement for some "black label series" that's driving me crazy, popping up with the text, "are you craving for chocolate?"...
surely somebody of this black label series, or yahoo, must be aware that one can either 'be craving something' or can 'have a craving for something', but not both, simultaneously...grrr!

little green men, et al

1. not that it's in any way important, other than clearing the backlog in my mind, and the details are unclear due to my similar state at the time of occurrence and right now at the time of posting, but in college, brian hagar (for some reason always called by both names) and jen (both of whom have fallen off my planet), and giri and myself saw little green men dancing around, while high (us, not the little green men- or, at least if the little green men were too, they never said).
2. and not that it has anything to do with the above (which had nothing to do with anything @ all), but does anybody know what % of computer solitaire games dealt are completely unplayable (i.e. not a single move can be made, through flipping the stack the 1st time? and what % are playable but unwinnable?
3. grims' advice to jeff, on doing mother+daughter together: "it's not your incest..."
4. i felt left out on the bus the other day because something clearly happened just before i got on that woulda made a good story. after i boarded and we'd gone a few stops (still walking distance from my house) the bus driver pulled over and hailed a police who happened to be driving by (unless the story i missed is bigger than i know and police had actually been called) and from the time the uniform boarded, people were openly telling him, "he got off", and "he over there", and "there he go", while pointing backwards and across the road. for some reason, the police couldn't grasp what was being said, and stood there, saying, "wha'?" until his ear finally wrapped itself around the sounds and inserted them into his brain. surely, by the time the police caught on and got off the bus and back into his car, 'he' got away...i just wish i knew what 'he' did before wisely making his escape on foot.
5. today's crazy-lady-on-the-bus-award goes to someone who took things to new heights, by spending the 15minutes i rode with her talking to herself, entirely in sign language.
6. richard simmons kinda looks like billy crystal, especially in the smile.
walk good.

fff, samarra inspired

big up jj, for making it nice.
i quite enjoyed this flash fiction friday.
hope you do too.

“He said little as they paddled their way along the sunken streets...” but she knew what he was thinking – what she’d been thinking too, since their return: it looked better now. and it was nicer without the people.
they’d been warned about the “devastation”; smiling at the naysayers’ insistence, and total ignorance of what made some happy.
they didn’t need much discussion to come to an agreement. they didn’t even question it, but immediately started making plans to wrap things up and get there. they were on the same page, thinking as one entity with a singular goal. they were there in record time.
they stopped a little way before arriving to get the last stuff they’d need, the stuff they didn’t want to tote cross-country. they loaded the dinghy in the back with the waterproof sleeping bags, extra socks and blankets, torches, state-of-the-art recording equipment and cookware, and non-perishables, and killed the last leg of the journey in a matter of adrenaline-fueled hours. this was the ride of their lives, individually and together. back home, but to a new home.
nobody knew exactly how come dc was alone in this, but everybody knew that whatever caused it had stuck strictly to the state lines of the district’s surroundings; precision which didn’t bode well.
they switched transportation devices @ the potomac and rode it in.
and now it was all theirs – a beautiful city of spires, busts of monuments, rooftops, treetops and deep canals – every amenity but civilisation, and the thrill of leaving the world utterly behind.

walk good.

technical recovery

i had some shit to say but was too busy to say it all week, then when i had a little time, verizon's dsl crashed, and i was busy again by the time they got it back up...
for those who don't know what "tech" (as applied to theatre) is, this post title and the previous one ("technical difficulties") are dual references: being in technical/dress rehearsals for a show is the exhausting end of the process, just before the 1st audience sees it. it's a slow and painful (but necessary) process with actors (who, by now, should know lines, blocking, character details/intentions/motivations, but may not have it comfortably set yet), director (who gets to veto every moment of the production) and the production team (set/lighting/costume/props designers and stage management crew) getting the logistics of it running as smoothly as possible. it's predominantly for light+sound cues (i.e. when the lights dim and we hear the rain, the actor will take that cue to enter and cross to the table, then him sitting down is the cue for the phone to ring...) but sometimes it's also the first time the show gets worked in the actual space, which means the director may change blocking and other business (including props), seeing costumes in the light designed for the show can prompt changes, and sometimes even the set gets adjusted/repainted at this point (but we hope never again)...
the other thing about tech is that it's looong (saturday and sunday were both 10-out-of-12's for us, which means we have a 12hour call and work 10hours each day, either an hour each for lunch+dinner or a 2hour dinnerbreak, plus whatever other tech/dress calls are on the schedule) and tedious, because tweaking lights+sound and timing it with actors is the focus, not the performing of the play, so actors come out and cue-to-cue, which literally means that instead of running the whole play and pausing for tech needs we only run the sections where there's tech stuff happening, so there's no build, no climax, no story being told, no way to really work the acting/motivation/character stuff- just repeating cue lines a million times (and since we're combining technical with performance in this process and the stage manager's figuring out exactly when to call each cue so it happens @ the exact right moment, we really do run each one over+over- i ran my quick change 9 times on saturday, which meant putting on my schoolgirl costume of camisole, blouse, cardigan, tights, skort- yes, i said skort, so there's 3 layers on both my upper and lower body, in d.c. in june- shoes, ponytail, ring, and schoolbooks, stepping onstage, delivering the last line before my exit, exiting, dumping the books, then peeling off all that shit, and delivering my 1st few lines in a different accent at the top of my lungs so i can be heard from the dressing room, while putting on socks+shoes, dress that buttons all the way up the front, turning ponytail into a bun, switching the ring to my wedding finger and picking up the coat i'm carrying as this new character, and adjusting my body language to differentiate from the previous character as i enter. as soon as i'd enter with the coat, they'd yell "hold" and i'd go back to the dressing room, take off the costume i'd just put on, get back into the schoolgirl costume, and do it all over again. 9 times, until the sound cue, light cue, and myself were all coordinated). that's tech. if we don't do that shit, the show stinks. the tech makes the magic...
...the point of all this being that even before the dsl crashed, i was @ technical exhaustion with the children's hour, and now that the dsl's back, i'm hopefully also spending my day off (finally!) recovering from tech- not that this was all a complaint- tech is worthwhile, just tiring.
opening night tuesday...

now i'ma just throw in anything else i'd meant to mention this past week:
1. adding to my technical difficulty is the fact that, unexpectedly, my wardrobe is lacking in 2 almost-daily items: jeans+panties. this might be cool since it's hot+sweaty in d.c. and i always believe that the thrill of crotchless clothing should be embraced by wearing nothing but skin underneath (you men are really missing out on the skirt/dress thing, and should investigate sarongs if you're comfortable enough in your manliness). but right now, rehearsing in a dusty, mouldy theatre isn't really the time to take advantage of my wardrobe's current status, nor does it leave me the time to go buy some new undies and jeans. we actually tried to squeeze in a jeans-run yesterday morning so i'd have pants to wear to the theatre @ 2pm, and the car broke down en route (speaking of technical difficulties)...
2. i heard that when clinton was on his way out of office, he decided to stick it to bush by getting the d.c. license plates for the presidential ride that say "taxation without representation"- that makes me happy, to think that bush is riding around with those plates, and prob'ly won't switch them out because he can't read- although i admit that i haven't seen for myself, and don't know if it's true. but i like the thought.
3. i believe that our emissions are contributing to global warming and should be reduced, but i also recognise that the ice age melted without our help...
4. it seems that 50% of all people who call in to talk radio are named steve or kathleen. and don't know the meaning of the word "brevity".
5. i hate misuse of words (and if i'm guilty, i apologise- i actively try not to be, and check myself often) and wish that people'd realise that a "pluralistic society" implies tolerance and cohesion, not just the segregated or otherwise uncomfortable existence of different peoples in the same place. so stop patting yourselves on the back.
6. not enough people in our world are aware that their whole world isn't the whole world.

walk good.

technical difficulties...

sorry.
back as soon as i have access again.
walk good.