21 February, 2006

Say what?

I'm back, watching the Olympics. Had a great time in Minnesota. I'll have a better post soon, but I just wanted to say hello and thanks for checking in.

See you soon.

17 February, 2006

February, Interrupted.

...What goes up/Must come down/Spinning wheel/Got to go around....

The forecast says sunny with temperatures approaching sixty. What else is there to do but go sledding?

The snow will all be gone by tomorrow. We should go to the park, see if there's any snow left on the sledslope, and if there is, use it all up.

The children agree that this is a fine idea, so we pack up Fluffy's Christmas snowboard and Fuzzy's Valentine's Day toboggan and head for the hill. Because all the other poor creatures have had to go to school today, it is entirely ours. The sun shines, and though there are a few bald spots poking through, the hill is slideworthy. We take turns with the vehicles, though after two wipeouts on the board, I beg off. Taking a tumble is one thing; snow up my back and down my gloves is quite another. The kids, puffy in their sodden snowsuits, invent a game. "You ride on the snowboard, and when you wipe out, I'll come down in the toboggan and rescue you." So after the wipeout, the boarder lies still in the snow until the tobogganer arrives, at which point rescuer, rescuee, and snowboard ride the rest of the way down the hill together in the toboggan.

It is warm enough that we stay for over an hour before heading home. I've enjoyed this pseudo-winter activity, but I will not mind at all sunbathing on my porch tomorrow.

No, not even a little.

(Spinning Wheel; Blood, Sweat & Tears)

14 February, 2006

Hot News

...how quiet, quiet the world can be/When it's just you and little me/Everything is clear and everything is new....

For several blissful hours, the sound of police helicopters in the skies above my neighborhood was remarkably absent. I suppose the snowstorm kept them grounded.

And yes, though some details are highlighted for drama or omitted for continuity, I'm no James Frey and this is the bald truth. This is where I live.

Still, kids in the hood like downhill sledding as well as anyone, and my son was not the only one with a snowboard. Fuzzy seemed to take to it better than Fluff; he was concerned with the safety of the hill's other occupants and sabbotaged his runs in favor of carefulness more than once. He put on his helmet and his Harry Potter Quiddich Goggles . For safety, he said.

In other news, Moira Egan was recieved well by the MWA and I want her to be my new girlfriend.

Also, I'm re-reading Lynne Truss’ fine book, Eats, Shoots and Leaves, which is about punctuation in the English language, current usage.

Seventy seven thousand customers in Maryland were without power after the snowstorm, one of them my own Coco. I visit her, bringing a book to comfort her most recent injury, a broken wrist: Infinite Jest, by the man with three first names, which is not to be approached casually.

A lot of it is him showing off his chops, haha, look what I can do with prose, nyanny-nyanny.

"That's all right, as long as it's good."

Yes. We chat about this and that, then things in general, and wander back to this and that. We talk about our dirty secret.

You may wonder what sort of dirty secrets wild women would carry. We're in theatre, fercryinoutloud, and have associated with the RenFest. What could possibly qualify as a dirty secret? Drinking? Not even. Drug use in our past or present? Expected. Predilection for kinky sex? I think our steadfast, rabid, kinky monogomy is probably viewed with amusement rather than shock. A history of abuse? We’d hardly be interesting without some. No, avant garde artistes such as we need something wildly improbable in order to shock.

Think needles.

And yarn.


(Don't Leave Home; Dido)

11 February, 2006

Not Coincidental

...it's a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in bacon...mmmmmmm....

"Cyb, you’re soaked."

Yeah. Do you think I have time before rehearsal to go home and change?

"Sure, you’ve got plenty of time. You’ll freeze in the theater if you don’t get into something dry. How’d you get so wet?"

I was helping people park for RenFest auditions. Because of the rain, everything got messed around. And then some people’s cars got stuck, so I helped push them out. I’m wearing the wrong shoes, naturally.

"Why’d you have to do that?"

Actually, I volunteered.

"Why would you DO that?"

Well, J. was out there being in charge and telling people where to go, and so I helped, so I could be with him.

"Cyb, that’s crazy. Who is this guy to you?"

My ex-partner, and I love him. He won’t spend any time with me unless there’s a reason. So I took the opportunity to just be near him.

"Cyb, that’s crazy."


This is 2003. Recently, he’s brought the incident up twice in as many months, referring to J. as Parking Lot Guy. There must be something on his mind, but I’m not sure what.

He knows very well I’d stand out in the rain to be near him, too.

09 February, 2006

Shout Out

...Don't sit there broken hearted (sit there broken hearted)/Call all your friends in the neighborhood/And get the party started....

Ah, the wonder of the Internet. Because of this marvelous invention, someone, through me, reconnected with ace chiropractor Lisa Dabbs. Because of blogging, and Tom Tomorrow's blog having been used as an example, it occurred to me to search childhood palTim Kreider and- booyah!- find him.

Hello, Tim, in case you're reading, here's our favorite sing-along. My towel's gotten a bit soggy sopping up after it rains, but when it's sunny, baby, that ragtop doesn't leak AT ALL.

Tim and Tom are both political cartoonists, and I wonder what they think of the cartoon controversy

In case you haven't seen them, here's an article that includes the drawings in question.

Check out Mike's take on the whole matter, which about wraps it for me.

To return to the matter at hand, I 'shout out' to people I am distressed to have lost track of, if you will pardon the grammar. You will know you, because I'll mention you by name, which regular readers know that I usually don't. In case you'’re Googling yourself, and really, who doesn't?

So, from the Commuter Lounge at Loyola: Jeffrey, Jeff Farrell, the Jeffster, my favorite Philosopher Doll, who did exactly one murder mystery with the company I worked for before dropping off my radar. Although possibly Noel could give me your address, come to think of it. I'm on her Xmas card list, you know, and if I am, I bet you are, too.

From Atlanta, Georgia, Mike Durbin, or possibly Durban? Mike Durban? I've been so sure it was an 'i' that I never thought to look for Mike Durban, and I've looked, more than once. Mike, come find me if you can. It's been more than ten years. I still miss you most of all, my Scarecrow. If I could find the Carter family...which maybe I can, because though my last e-mail to them bounced, I think I got, oh, yeah, an Xmas card. From like, Hawaii.

Other buddies whom I have not seen since big hair was big: Jerry Rubin and Johnny Alstrohm, where are you, you crazy guys? And what has become of Mimi/Margaret Teahan and her brother Mark? I see by the Baltimore Playwrights Festival archives that both of you represented, but have since not been in the public eye. Mimi, you were one of the most gifted actresses I'd ever met who had never seen a Marx Brothers movie. And yet you did Margaret Dumont beautifully. Where are you now? And Keebler? the Keebster? who actually was named Keebler, I think, Mike Keebler, last time I saw you, you were selling software.

Holly Johnson, from Indiana, where I spent an annoying decade in which every friend I made moved away...and then my family moved away, too. Jasonville, Indiana: the place people love to leave. I am not even saying how long ago.

Paul Belliveau, who I could find maybe if our mutual magical pal would remember to give me your e-dress. Are you still bouncing on trampolines and encouraging kiddies to tumble? You had the best biceps, bar none, and I know several drummers, so that's saying something. I remember your Chinese name, Baybau, and that you're either too smart to be so pretty, or the reverse. Whatever became of you and your self-produced solo music? I have since written lyrics for a musical that hit the boards, and I think in part I have you to thank. So, thanks, Paulie! Why haven't I seen you in twelve years? And are you still in contact with Erica?, whom I see some years at Festival, but never you. Never you.

Although, if any of you I'm seeking find this and don't feel like sending me a gMail, that's completely understandable.

Well, no, I don't understand it at all, but I'll pretend to because that's the grownup thing to do.

Not that being a grownup is one of my strong points.

(Shout It Out Loud; Kiss)

07 February, 2006

Speaking English

...don't say it in Russian/ don't say it in German....

Understood that a gown is a frock, a bar is a pub, a tire’s a tyre, a suitcase is a trunk, a trunk’s a boot, a truck’s a lorry, a sweater’s a jumper, my fanny is not for sitting, and you can knock me up without having sex with me.

Got it.


If a fry is a chip, a chip is a crisp, and a cookie is a biscuit, what’s a biscuit?

And don’t tell me a scone, because I’ve had one, and it’s not.

(Broken English; Marianne Faithfull)

06 February, 2006

Corpulent; Corpse-like

...man comes on the radio/And he’s tellin’ me more and more/About some useless information/Supposed to fire my imagination.....

Who exactly are we honoring today? We are honoring: New Orleans, black women from Detroit, black women musicians from Detroit, male musicians from New Orleans, our troops, salsa and chips, boobies, Dr. Seuss, football, cars, ancient English musicians, American excess, boobies, Detroit, Disney World, beer, John Madden, and boobies.

Honestly, other than the Vegas-style Burger King commercial, the whole ordeal was extremely disappointing.

There was a game, but you'd hardly know it.

The wizened rocker wraiths in the middle versus the chubby wholesome anthemists at the beginning almost seemed an advertisment for fast living and drug use. I mean, they looked like animated egyptian mummies, but those old fucks could move.

By the way, what is up with English artists two years in a row? Gimmie back American Janet and her well-dressed boobie, thanks.

And please, if you're going to take the time to secure rights to Dr. Seuss' Oh, The Places You'll Go and spend serious money on Harrison Ford (?!) could you please, please, take the time to correct the metre in the final line of the bastardized poem?

Ruined the whole thing for me. I am so not joking. Next year, I'm watching the Lingerie Bowl.

Or maybe I'll play.

(Satisfaction; The Rolling Stones)

02 February, 2006

Groundhog Day

...Don't nobody worry 'bout me /You got to gimme a fight /Why don't you just let me be ....

Okay, yes, the theme from Caddyshack was sung by a gopher, not a groundhog. And the difference between the two? Glad you asked.

The groundhog (also known as a "woodchuck" and "whistle pig") is a marmot — essentially, a giant North American ground squirrel. The gopher is, like the groundhog, a burrowing member of the rodent order but its closest living relatives are kangaroo rats and pocket mice.

The groundhog hibernates and the gopher does not. By the end of October, the groundhog descends into her hidden burrow beneath a stump or a rock, curls into a relaxed ball, slows her heart from 75 to 4 beats a minute, and drops her body temperature to that of her home. She is so far "asleep" that, even if we warm her, she needs several hours to waken.

Source: WonderQuest.

You may already know the dirtpig, er, groundhog's, official prognostication, but did you know you can watch Punxutawney Phil in action? Or inaction, as the case may be.

I figure he can't be the only weather-critter, but when I search 'animal prognosticators', this is what I get. Goodie. A social studies lesson, and all I really wanted was to know when I can stow away my sweaters in favor of clothes that fit into the palm of my hand.

Still, it's only another fourty-five days or so to Annual Buzzard Sunday, which I anticipate in a way that baffles all but the very closest of my friends.

(I'm Alright; Kenny Loggins)