The other day, I get a text message from one of my best friends, Kevin, who always educates me on obscure musicals.
"Get online ASAP. I have to Dorothy Loudon song to end all Dorothy Loudon songs."
I'm in a class, so I don't get online right away, but I'm thinking about it on the way home. Dorothy Loudon is a class act, she's so peppy and clean, and just an old fasioned Broadway star. I absolutely love her.
So later, when I heard the song "Have a Nice Day," I was absolutely taken aback at the use of racial slurs flying out of her mouth. It was obscene, and the audience was laughing hysterically. What's even funnier is that this song was penned by Jerry Herman, the squeaky-clean composer of such old-school hits of Broadway, such as "Mama," and "Hello, Dolly."
Naturally, I played this for my roommate, Marisa.
"I can't believe that this was written by the man who wrote 'Hello, Dolly!" I exclaimed.
"That doesn't really surprise me," she replied, doing her nails while waiting for her hair dye to set in.
"Why's that?"
"Well, isn't 'Hello, Dolly' kind of a racist play?"
"No, it's like the most beloved family musical of all time."
"But it's got all white people in it, right?"
"Usually, yes."
"Well, there's a start."
"Just because a play has only white characters in it doesn't make it racist. 'The Importance of Being Earnest' is a satire making fun of white people and is in no way racist."
Without taking a pause, she then said,
"Well, it could be."
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Oh, yes. Here we are!
I'm sitting here, inebriated, in my freezing bedroom at 3:15 in the morning. It's been an interesting day, in terms of mood swings. They went from good to shit and back again in no time.
And as I continue to sit here, just finished tally-whacking, I couldn't help but think about my high school years, randomly. And what a long, weird journey it's been. With former loves, and an estranged group of friends, and a dysfunctional family, I wonder how I made it this far.
Right, Captain?
Aye-aye, sir.
And as I continue to sit here, just finished tally-whacking, I couldn't help but think about my high school years, randomly. And what a long, weird journey it's been. With former loves, and an estranged group of friends, and a dysfunctional family, I wonder how I made it this far.
Right, Captain?
Aye-aye, sir.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Wilde Tampons
A few days ago, I was alphabetizing my books and out of my copy of "Sense and Sensibility" came two photos, both from my trip to Ireland two years ago.
One is of myself next to the "fag on the creag," Oscar Wilde, with a tampon.
The other is from Kilmaheim Jail, graffiti an inmate had shared with the rest of the world:
BEWARE OF THE RISEN PEOPLE
THAT HAVE HARRIED AND HELD
YE THAT HAVE BULLIED AND BRIBED
Sometimes I try to care.
One is of myself next to the "fag on the creag," Oscar Wilde, with a tampon.
The other is from Kilmaheim Jail, graffiti an inmate had shared with the rest of the world:
BEWARE OF THE RISEN PEOPLE
THAT HAVE HARRIED AND HELD
YE THAT HAVE BULLIED AND BRIBED
Sometimes I try to care.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Of White Trash and Women
Last night was the official first party in my new apartment. Members of the Theatre Department showed up dressed as white trash, the scum of the earth. We put on "Pink Flamingos" as the guests arrived and served Pabst Blue Ribbon and other disgusting beers.
Later, I spent alone time with a woman for the first time in I-don't-know-when. It was interesting and fascinating--I knew I was sort of turned on, but also insanely curious about the anatomy of a woman that I'd previously left unexplored. It was like trying a new ethnic food almost. I had a good time, and now I am certainly positive that I'm a hundred percent homosexual.
I woke up around two this afternoon to the sound of my phone ringing, I picked up and saw it was my father's number. "I just came home," he told me, "to find that your mother has moved out."
She apparently bought a house two months ago that is a couple streets over and never told anyone.
Despite my ability to see this coming from a mile away, my heart still kind of sank.
Later, I spent alone time with a woman for the first time in I-don't-know-when. It was interesting and fascinating--I knew I was sort of turned on, but also insanely curious about the anatomy of a woman that I'd previously left unexplored. It was like trying a new ethnic food almost. I had a good time, and now I am certainly positive that I'm a hundred percent homosexual.
I woke up around two this afternoon to the sound of my phone ringing, I picked up and saw it was my father's number. "I just came home," he told me, "to find that your mother has moved out."
She apparently bought a house two months ago that is a couple streets over and never told anyone.
Despite my ability to see this coming from a mile away, my heart still kind of sank.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Marisa and the Bird
My roommate Marisa is obsessed with our bird, Yoey. He was a hand-me-down from a friend of ours who lived here last semester, and Marisa was more than happy to take him in.
One morning, I staggered down the staircase to hear the sounds of the bird screaming bloody murder and Marisa cupping him in her hands and blowing on him incessantly.
"It's to keep him from biting me," she explained.
She moved over to the couch and let him out to plop around next to her.
"BE SOCIAL!" she yelled at him as he fluttered around. The bird can't fly to save its life, so he tumbled to the floor and perched on a cable wire. A spell later, he begins to waddle across the hardwood floor towards the kitchen. Marisa had decided it was tim for him to go back into his cage, and gets on her hands and knees trying to coax him back into her hands.
This clearly does not work, as the bird hates all human beings.
So she begins to chase him on her hands and knees until finally she gets him and proclaims, "I GOTCHA YOEY, I GOTCHA!" After letting out an "ouch," she begins blowing on him again as she places him back into the cage.
"Fuckin' bird," she says.
One morning, I staggered down the staircase to hear the sounds of the bird screaming bloody murder and Marisa cupping him in her hands and blowing on him incessantly.
"It's to keep him from biting me," she explained.
She moved over to the couch and let him out to plop around next to her.
"BE SOCIAL!" she yelled at him as he fluttered around. The bird can't fly to save its life, so he tumbled to the floor and perched on a cable wire. A spell later, he begins to waddle across the hardwood floor towards the kitchen. Marisa had decided it was tim for him to go back into his cage, and gets on her hands and knees trying to coax him back into her hands.
This clearly does not work, as the bird hates all human beings.
So she begins to chase him on her hands and knees until finally she gets him and proclaims, "I GOTCHA YOEY, I GOTCHA!" After letting out an "ouch," she begins blowing on him again as she places him back into the cage.
"Fuckin' bird," she says.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Man Night
My sexual preferece can best be described as 'grey area.' I think masculinity is funny. I think feminists are funny.
I'm not too sure where I belong in the grand scheme of things.
HOWEVER, tonight was a night to remember-- we at the State University of New York at New Paltz's Theatre Department call it MAN NIGHT.
Man Night is a watered-down version of a tradition handed down to us by men of honor and distinction who have gradutated in recent years. It is typically held at a house called "No Fro," which has since become inhabited solely by women. So we took it upon ourselves to bring it to another house, which we call "Oakwood." Anyone in the department will know what this is.
So we, of legal age and such, all pitched in for this party. And upon arriving at the house, my sleeves were immediately seized by a knife wielded by a buddy and ripped off. At this, I laughed.
However, the living room had been raided by a group of women from NO FRO and they had taken all of our cheap beer and in its place, put a bottle of champagne with a sign that said PUSSY BITCHES and put pink balloons and banners that say IT'S A GIRL everywhere. I found this amusing, but as I had put in money towards the beer, I was a wee bit prickly..
Oh, did I mention that if we did anything "less than manly," beer was poured all over us? I didn't want to eat the kielbasa until it had cooled off, so beer was poured on me. I laughed.
As the group of us "men" headed over there, in sleeveless shirts (many ripped by knives), we chanted and grunted. I lowered the pitch of my voice as I chewed on toothpicks. God, I felt so manly.
When we got there, the girls were all dressed as "men," sporting menswear and painted on goatees, bandanas. It was a sight to behold. Our goal was to steal their cat...didn't happen, but I got two shitty beers and a shovel from them.
We got back to the house after the raid. Apparent the "stolen" beers were in someone's room the whole time, so what the hell? A joke gone too far, but funny nonetheless. Some women came by later, but we drenched them in kool-aid and such. At this point it was two in the morning, and I staggered onto my bicycle and went home.
But if this is the most I'm getting out of my education, I'm glad I'm having a fucking great time.
I'm not too sure where I belong in the grand scheme of things.
HOWEVER, tonight was a night to remember-- we at the State University of New York at New Paltz's Theatre Department call it MAN NIGHT.
Man Night is a watered-down version of a tradition handed down to us by men of honor and distinction who have gradutated in recent years. It is typically held at a house called "No Fro," which has since become inhabited solely by women. So we took it upon ourselves to bring it to another house, which we call "Oakwood." Anyone in the department will know what this is.
So we, of legal age and such, all pitched in for this party. And upon arriving at the house, my sleeves were immediately seized by a knife wielded by a buddy and ripped off. At this, I laughed.
However, the living room had been raided by a group of women from NO FRO and they had taken all of our cheap beer and in its place, put a bottle of champagne with a sign that said PUSSY BITCHES and put pink balloons and banners that say IT'S A GIRL everywhere. I found this amusing, but as I had put in money towards the beer, I was a wee bit prickly..
Oh, did I mention that if we did anything "less than manly," beer was poured all over us? I didn't want to eat the kielbasa until it had cooled off, so beer was poured on me. I laughed.
As the group of us "men" headed over there, in sleeveless shirts (many ripped by knives), we chanted and grunted. I lowered the pitch of my voice as I chewed on toothpicks. God, I felt so manly.
When we got there, the girls were all dressed as "men," sporting menswear and painted on goatees, bandanas. It was a sight to behold. Our goal was to steal their cat...didn't happen, but I got two shitty beers and a shovel from them.
We got back to the house after the raid. Apparent the "stolen" beers were in someone's room the whole time, so what the hell? A joke gone too far, but funny nonetheless. Some women came by later, but we drenched them in kool-aid and such. At this point it was two in the morning, and I staggered onto my bicycle and went home.
But if this is the most I'm getting out of my education, I'm glad I'm having a fucking great time.
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