New pix0rs here, here, here, and here.
Regarding what we have taken, over my strenuous objections, to calling Fucktoberfest: General consensus seems to have us meeting at 11:30 at the wall to carpool over. Reminders from Wednesday's meeting: Entry fee is a 2-liter or a 6-pack. And if you think I won't throw you out for not coming in costume, look in my eyes and think again. I'm wearing That Dress. It's really just an excuse for me to walk around with a gun stuck in my garter, but you don't need me to tell you that.
I'm a generally unfuckwitted, liberal, tight as fuck, pathetically simple-minded, dribbling child!
See how compatible you are with me!
You heard it here first.
Nice little throwdown we had last night, on six hours' notice. Jacob, wherever you are, we hope you not dead. As for tonight.....C-to-the......oh, you all heard it last year. Meet at 7 at the wall. Bring $5. What else....ummm....go Vawls!!
Reading: Not a damn thing. Shame!!
Seen: Dial M for Murder
Bahstan was lovely. (Sidebar: I was in Chicago the night the Cubs lost Game 7, and in Boston the night the Sox0rs lost THEIR Game 7. Thanks, Sutekh.) (Speaking of Sutekh, we found a site claiming to be his home page, but it was obviously created by an inferior life form. A more fitting interwebular shrine to O Most Holy And Terrible Sutekh, whom we worship unquestioningly, is in the works. Now.) But Back to Bean-town. I had a lovely few days, though I came back broker and with horrible skin (the cruel Yankee air was not kind to my magnolia complexion, but really, what can you expect from a town that doesn't understand the concept of iced tea?). And Nick bought me new duckies!! And I could have conversations containing words of more than three syllables, which would be a refreshing change from Some Universities I Can Name.
OOOOH!!! And I got my transcript back from UM. Passed everything. They didn't fail the American students who only took half-modules; they just gave us Cs instead, since we only took half a class by their "standards", but it doesn't affect my GPA, so whatever. (Also, I appear to have accidentally withdrawn from my Rom/Vic Film/Lit class. The hell?)
This is getting lengthy. Onward!!
Oh!! I guess this is as good a place as any to mention what most of you have already heard: I'm writing a musical. The name of this musical is...It Puts the Lotion in the Basket, Charlie Brown. *pause for cringes and howls of perhaps derisive laughter* This in addition to the stage musical adaptation of Valley of the Dolls Joan and I are concocting. (Also, New Thing: ACT Inspirational Messages du Jour.) In other Holly/Harlowe Comedy Collaboration news, we're submitting an alternating series of advice columns to the Beacon: Ask Sutekh and Ask The Bee. (I'm told that the Bee advice thing has been done by the Onion, but I didn't know that when I thought of it, so the hell with it.) Joan's will go something like this:
Dear Sutekh,
My boyfriend and I are having intimacy problems. What should I do?
Dear Reader:
SACRIFICE UNTO ME, O MOST HOLY AND TERRIBLE SUTEKH.
Mine will be more along the lines of:
Dear Bee,
I want to break up with my girlfriend. Do you think it's a good idea?
Dear Reader: SWARM.
(Tomorrow's inspirational message, by the way? Protect Our Eggs.)
I'm about to be in some academic hot water if I don't get my ass caught up in History and Russian, but I'm laughing my ass off day and night. It's four in the morning and I'm watching Sports Night and type-type-typing my happy little hands off. (I read somewhere on the inter-web that Kim from SN is doing Sorority Slut porn videos now. Sad clown.)
What else? I feel an inordinate amount of affection for my fish. I am surrounded by people who love me to a ridiculous extent. (This one freshman of ours, Stewie? Slept at the foot of the bed Joan and I were sleeping in one night to keep our feet warm. I could seriously get used to this kind of devotion.) Speaking of Stewie, he has a friend named Dallas whom I referred to as 'Dynasty' earlier tonight. I knew it was a damn TV show, but nooooo, I will apparently never hear the end of this one. My future husband has a website. Also, in defense of my having seen Brown Sugar? It was on HBO, and I'm pretty sure Joan and I were drinking at the time. Also, it contains one of the Best Lines Ever: ProtaGirl is at ProtaGuy's wedding; and she luuuurves him, and he's marryin another woman and all that, and when he says "I do", Queen Latifah, who's playing the Sassy Best Friend, leans over and goes "He don't mean that shit". We were In The Floor. And if that doesn't about cover things, it needs to, because I have a hot date with my blankie.
The dawn of our empire may require the sunset of your lives,
Script Kitty
Reading: Music
Seen: Mystic River
Watching: Sports Night
Madeline!!
This just happened:
"Tell the story." "But with consonants this time."
"Dickon will give you a ride on his pony...and then the pony will go grazing."
"Joan, I would fuck you silly."
"'Joan, I would fuck you silly??? Do you KNOW who would say that?!? A CLOWN!!!'"
"She seems to have an invisible touch..."
"GO, GO, GO!!!"
"This is like being in a Navy commercial!"
That's not the half of it, either.
So we were just smuggled into a boys' dorm. Not precisely sure how we're going to get out. Mad love to: Walter for distracting the desk girl, Danny for distracting the cameras, and Stuart for doing the actual smuggling. Mwah.
Reading: Script.
Seen: Mystic River
Quick notes: Started rehearsal for SG . Two days in, and these cats are blowing the roof off. Everybody come see this show; 'twill be quite a spectacle. Am now in Boston on five-day frolic about town with 'Bus. He is taking a math test; I am readying myself for a trip to the New England Aquarium (with the rightfully-MyPod). I know some of you were wanting to pick me up at the aeroport on Sunday morning, but don't bother, because I have to go straight to rehearsal from baggage claim. V. scruffy. Still not king.
Currently reading: How to GAMIT
Last seen: Kill Bill
So it appears that Ad"V. scruffy. Still not king."rock has beaten me to the Movable Type bandwagon, but I really am working on getting there. It's lovely, really.
I had something else...oh yeah. I forgot to say anything about the Best Weekend Ever. Not last weekend. The one before. Occupants: Holly, Joan, John, Melissa, and everyone else who revolves around us like so many planets around four dazzlingly brilliant suns. No, really. Activities: Clambake, football, filming, IT, drinking, swimming on the last really warm weekend of the year, hot-tubbing, shopping, steak-and-veggie-grilling, and bed-hopping. Things escalated to such a frenzy of decadence that the Fab Four spent all say Sunday saying "Best. Weekend. Ever." to each other, and little else. Then Joan's mommy came home from Baltimore and found the fifteen shot glasses in the dishwasher. Nobody's perfect. It may have also given said Fab Four pneumonia, but only one's come down with it so far.
Friday I will be seeing Intolerable Cruelty and Kill Bill. Most are welcome. I'm looking forward to that only slightly more than I'm looking forward to Monday, and starting a show with Marta and Ron and Joan and Jay and Joe and Czyz and Harmony and Fisher and Brian and whoever the hell else got cast. Also: No Wildebeest from my SMP class!! She got cast in Steel Mag or some shit, glory be. And aside from actually bringing Fat Bastard in, things have nowhere to go from there but up.
There's more, but it'll have to do for now. I have to go watch The Hand of Glory (working title mentioned as a joke, then bludgeoned into the actual film by Joan) get skewered by a bunch of plebeians. Holla.
Reading: The Radicalism of the American Revolution by Gordon Wood
Seen: Brown Sugar
I always have an inordinate amount of fun whenever I party with the Chatty kids. I think it's because, with only a couple of exceptions, I don't have to pretend I like anyone. That, and my friends have hottttt friends of their own. So I had a fandamntastic weekend, and came back to a mountain of stressure. But if I make it through two midterms, a prompt book revision, and keep my bank account balance above zero, (horrid that these have to come during my last week of freedom), I'll have the Kill Bill premiere on Friday, BT on Saturday, and Sunday to recover before I get sucked into the whirling vortex of the CBT Christmas show. Hit it.
Reading: My history books
Seen: Escape from New York (spee-yack)
It's October. October makes me high. Pennywise has been bitch-slapping me up and down, but it's October now and October's mine. Bradbury and smoke and leaves and sunsets and long nights in the corn mazes and lots of stars. In spite of everything, I'm doing better than I ever remember doing, even in high school. I'm taking giant steps in physical comedy, and doing great work in my film classes. I have the best friends anyone could ask for. (I'm watching Shibboleth, so excuse the schmaltz.) I regret that I haven't been writing down what's been happening, but a lot of it's moving too fast to document. But I'm all right. I'm alive; I have my girls and my boys and my family and my fishy, and it's October.
Ten feet tall and bulletproof-
H
P.S. Snarkinging
Reading: Schott's Original Miscellany and a buncha scripts
Seen: Secondhand Lions