Weekend Update

Back at work. Man, where does the fucking weekend go?

Thursday got swamped at pool, as usual, though the first 8 games were really close--at one point it was 5-3 and I'd lost 5 games by a total of 5 balls; then, the shitstorm. Too fucked up to see straight, Yahtzee killed me two games in a row, I couldn't get over the hump. 10-3. Sigh.

Fun time, though, until the next morning when I struggled my way through ENGL263 and turned what should've been a fun and easy discussion of "Gimpel the Fool" into an exercise in turgid swollen-tongued re-hash. I spent the rest of Friday reading French homework and taking a 3-hour nap. Then, off to Hamden and the Mobtown Theater for Hedwig.

Don't let the $15 pricetag fool you (as I did initially).

Don't let the location worry you (as I did initially).

Go see this musical if you get the chance. It only runs through next weekend. You might be late for Halloween VIII but I'll forgive you. It's fucking awesome. Jason Siebert as Hedwig practically channels John Cameron Mitchell as Hedwig--his performance is spot-on, and the Baltimorification of Hedwig's jokes, and the updates to include local and more recent pop culture references are largely well-done (if you've seen the movie, you may recall the joke about the fur coat. The "bitch" who confronts Hedwig about it becomes a Goucher student "whose breath smelled of hummous--and carpet"). Mr. Siebert has to play many roles, including those of Hedwig's Sgt. Sugar Daddy, his mother, and Tommy Gnosis, often jumping back and forth between characters and ad-libbing to audience cues. His singing was exquisite and note-for-note, and the unusual group of fucked-up hons gathered to play the band are all more than competent musicians, and they nailed the arrangements to perfection (my only complaint--turn up the fucking guitar a bit--I know the theater only has 40 seats, but rock out, for Christ's sake!). Just seeing the songs performed with precision and the necessary raucous punk rock edge was enough for me, but the plot and monologues and slideshow were great too. We got to meet Mr. Siebert and some other cast members after the show and tell them how great they were (Yitzhak was played by a friend of It's Australian for Beer). I was concerned going in that the Hamden Hons were going to ruin material that I find very powerfully moving and funny; instead we were treated to a very cathartic rock 'n roll comedy show full of hi-fallutin' ideas about love and gender. Brilliant! If I had time I'd go see it again.

Beforehand we ate at Grill Art in Hamden, which is a nice joint and I had a tasty little eggplant lasagna. They also have lots of good artwork for sale--many oils and chalk drawings of nudes, some of them rather "bold" (according to Eartha Quake) and for reasonable prices. I was sorely tempted to buy two oils, small portraits, one of a nude man standing by a table piled with bibelots, another of a woman in a leather chair, but one of the pair was sold already and they worked better as a set.

After Hedwig we hit Mick O'Shea's for about 45 minutes. Move Like Seamus sounded tighter than I've heard them, and this is the new lineup. For once Cha was pulling me out the door because she was pooped. I was ready to dance. I got to talk to Earthdragon a bit and see how he was doing, and chatted briefly with King Raj who immediately turned the conversation to my least fave topic: the upcoming U2 album, so I ditched him, said high to Miss Jones the fill-in bassist, who does what she always does when I say hi to her, which is sneer and turn away. Just before we left I got to chat with Damnyelli, and she kind of spilled her guts for ten minutes, and I told her what I have to tell Cha from time to time: say NO. It's ok to say NO sometimes. No matter how nice you are, how helpful you are, how charitable, you need liesure, you need space, you need "Me" time for yourself

or "We" time with your mate. Especially after buying a new house and moving--they haven't even really gotten settled in apparently after more than a month, and they're filling their schedules with side-projects and whatnot. That "advice," and a hug, was all I had to offer, given that I drank four beers in twenty minutes and Cha was begging me to leave. I almost told Cha I'd get a cab home because I was fired up to stay, and there was a huge enthusiastic crowd as well.

But, alas, we had to get up early and head to Glen Burnie and help The Nameless move. It went better than expected, and largely because his wife contrived with Cha to keep The Nameless out of our way. Whenever he tried to "help," he inevitably made things more complicated, so the women would distract him by asking him questions and demanding to know his opinion about something while the other three of us got tons done. His other brother-in-law (his wife's brother) cracks me up, because he'll say to The Nameless's face what needs to be said, ie: "Geoff and I lifted that before with no problem, you're making this more difficult with your stupid ideas." At one point he and I were hauling a very heavy safe out of The Nameless's basement; we'd strapped it on a handtruck and were negotiating a difficult turn at the bottom of the exterior basement steps. I was pulling the handtruck, the other brother-in-law was guiding the bottom and pushing, when The Nameless saw what we were doing, said "Oh, let me help," and immediately pushed the safe off the handtruck. My left nut popped and ended up somewhere in my right shoe, the other brother-in-law was flung awkwardly into the cement wall by the shifted momentum, and then The Nameless said "You guys scratched the paint off it!" The other brother-in-law responded "YOU did it by screwing up our balance, Jesus!" The Nameless slunk off while I tried to reposition my nads. But we got everything done and moved in about six hours, and their new house is on York Road in Sparks and it's on a rather lovely bit of ground (I used to pass this house often when I lived up there). A bit more than 2 wooded acres, all sloped toward the road, with a nicely constructed set of steep wooden stairs down from the front door to a Japanese bridge over a stream, and a huge deck over the garage with a great 360 view of the woods. It was nice to eat crappy pizza up there before we unloaded.

I should say that I bust on The Nameless often, but there are extenuating circumstances to his dickheadedness which I may go into some other day.

Now, I'm back at work--with tons of grading to do, and my student assistant isn't here for the second straight Sunday (I figure it's because Eskimo had her "talk" with him about how lame he is). There's nothing like being tied to this desk with no relief for five hours.