fr_defenestrato: (boognish)
How is 'miscellany' pronounced?

Uh-oh: On the Metro intercom this morning I heard, '[Jane Doe], please see a station manager or any Metro personnel immediately... [Jane Doe], please see a station manager or any medical personnel immediately.' Sic. And maybe sick.

Is it too soon to start referring to New Gingrich as a 'notorious papist'?

My new (used) piano was delivered last night. It is comely and dulcet; however, it does need a tuning and some action adjustments before I declare my undying love.

Speaking of undying love, I actually wrote a Monday sonnet on a Monday. Separate post.

Having successfully freecycled my old piano this weekend, and fresh from a lot of 'Isn't freecycle great' chit-chat, I told a freecycle moderator, 'Fuck you, you fucking fuck' this morning. I dunno about other localities, but the DC moderators are all about threats and guilt and punishment: You MUST follow the rules or your account will be moderated! Big fucking brother fucking asshole motherfuckers from the shiniest gated communities of hell.

Needless to say, I was kicked out of freecycle.

It looks like I will be reading some poetry at Art-o-Matic, thanks to the invitation of [livejournal.com profile] peregrin8 and her friend Jamie to share an performance slot. We're scheduled for 6 to 7 p.m. on Saturday, May 30 (location not yet knowed). The triad performance has been dubbed 'eaten'—which Jamie came up with but which coincidentally encourages performance of my poem 'Dining Out for Dummies', written maybe 2 years ago...? Anyway: yay!

Marathon countdown: 80 hours 55 minutes!
fr_defenestrato: (jesus bird)
Why WILL you keep handing the microphone to assholes who insist their big imaginary friend is going to beat everybody up if they don't get their way? I mean, frealz here: you're CONTINUING, even now, to spread the Good Word of people who believe some super-powerful, super-smart, invisible being full of ultimate love purposely knocked down the World Trade Center because he was mad at us? FUCK YOU.

*Sigh*

So, if you havenae heard, marriage has been literally redefined. I leave it to the reader to identify what's still wrong with this picture. Show all work.

If you want to cheat, Joe. My. God. will tell you all about it. (BTW, if you don't subscribe to this blog, you lose. Not even kidding: my big, imaginary friend says you'll spend all eternity in the engine room from the original Star Trek series playing Parcheesi with Ann Coulter, Emanuel Swedenborg, and Dr. Phil.)

Oh, and: I hadnae seen this phrase before, but, in covering the Webster redef, Dan Savage refers to 'Talibangelists', which I think is brilliant.

[Many thanks, incidentally, to [livejournal.com profile] badrobot68 for his posting these links, for his recent propensity to post photos of his legs (under the guise of showing the progress of a bruise on his knee, but whatever), and for generally for existing in the first place. May he be with me in Heaven as soon as possible.]
fr_defenestrato: (23)
Last night I watched God Said, "Ha!", which came in yesterday's mail disguised as a movie marathon DVD. Hadn't seen it since it were new. Julia Sweeney is not Spalding Gray, but her storytelling is mostly effective and the story she tells affecting.

Speaking of movies, on Tuesday night I watched Full Frontal, Steven Soderbergh's penance for Ocean's Eleven. Much of the script was improvised, and at one point a character, who's a theater director, is telling his lead actor (playing Hitler), 'I don't care what you do offstage. You can eat the ass out of a dead wolf for all I care.' Alarum. I watched again with Soderbergh's and the writer's (Coleman Hough) commentary, and the only thing either said about this line was that it was the only line that made Hough's mother laugh out loud. Hough didn't claim to have written it, and my impression was the whole scene was improv. So I head to my library and pluck from the shelf P.S. Your Cat Is Dead (James Kirkwood, 1970) and, sure enough, exactly as I remembered it, there's burglar Vito Antonucci tied to the kitchen counter, complaining, 'I'm so hungry I could eat the asshole out of a dead wolf.' I've never doubted that Kirkwood originated the phrase, but has anyone our there in LJland ever heard/read this phrase?

Speaking of the history of words and phrases, can I just tell you how much I hate the term ‘matrix’? In a generic sense, table, matrix, and array are all synonyms, but matrix has a broader structural meaning... table salt and jello are matrices, or in matrices. Your PC display is a matrix. But somewhere in the last decade or so the American officeplace started calling every bleeding ordered data array a MATRIX. Stupid fucking Wachowski brothers. Stupid fucking Keanu.

[Optional aside: the original meaning of 'matrix' in Latin was 'womb' or the carrier thereof... Speaking of wombs, Julia Sweeney discusses the removal of hers in God Said, "Ha!". But that would be all 0000 GOTO 0000 so... onward...]

Speaking of The Matrix, I swear to fucking Christ I will travel to Hollywood and cut into little tiny pieces the next screenwriter or director who puts out any movie in which any character is referred to as 'the one' foretold in prophecy.

Speaking of prophet-foretelling, I really want to see Jeebus Christ Superstar, even though it stars an 80-year-old Jeebus. Who wanna go wif me? It plays next Tuesday, 3/17 through Sunday 3/22.

Speaking of Christ, the Cheese Lords are singing a Tenebrae service on Wednesday, 20090408, at the Franciscan Monastery in NE DC. I mention this because, of all the church services that we used to sing, Tenebrae is the only one we've retained on an annual basis—because it's weird and dramatic and grim. It's all about the upcoming sacrifice of the only begotten blah blah fucking blah, and so the playlist is DARK: all lamentations and behold and see if there by any sorrow like unto my sorrow and stuff. Also, late in the service they outen all the lights in the church and everybody makes a fuckload of percussive noise, 'symbolizing the earthquake that followed Christ's death'.

Speaking of the end of Jeebus's life, it is now Day 16 of Lent and therefore Day 16 of my non-drinkiness. Cheese Lord rehearsal last night presented some temptations but all in all was manageable. I am a little more worried about going to Manahatta this Saturday for a party of the old Steve Wolownik/U. Penn Balalaika Orchestra gang, they with all the flavoured vodkas, etc. But I promised pierogi and I haven't seen these folk in several years, so... I go. Wish me luck and dryness.

Speaking of this weekend, I'm also planning to lunch with Mr. Greg 'Stop Calling Me the Mayan Houseboy' Orlando on Sunday: the first time I shall have seen him in about 13 years. His loathing for me (based on a shady house rental deal in 1994) seems to have abated somewhat. This is ancient history, but I once intensely loved this very odd man and cried a lot when he cut me out of his life. Greg's catch phrase back in the day in Newark, Del., was 'Donde estan mis zapatos?'

Speaking of shoes, Muntadhar al-Zeidi got sentenced to three years in prison for throwing shoes at one of history's most virulent and successful criminals against humanity. *Sigh.* Honestly, it was an act of simple assault, and should be punished under the law. But Zeidi's still a hero to me; I only wish he had thrown the anthrax shoes.

Speaking of accessories, [livejournal.com profile] madknits knitted me a hat and sent it to me. It arrived in Tuesday's mail and I wore it briefly yesterday, even though the weather was quite warm. It is gorgeousness and gorgiocity. I need to DL some pics from my camera and then I shall show it off good'n'proper.

Speaking of pictures, at 8:30 tonight the motion picture Cool Hand Luke is playing at AFI Silver. You goin'?

Speaking of invitations to outings in the D.C. area, Crooked Still and Railroad Earth are playing the Birchmere next Thursday. Who like da bluegrass/roots music?

Speaking of bluegrass/roots music, I don't believe I've EVER told someone to turn music off because I found it 'painful' to listen to it.

Three men went a-hunting, and something they did find;
They came upon a porcupine, and that they left behind.
The Irishman said, "It's a porcupine," the Scotsman, he said, "Nay."
The Welshman said, "It's a pincushion with the pins stuck in the wrong way."
fr_defenestrato: (Misanthropic)
1. March is question month. G'wan, ask me stuff.

2. Little Anthony and the Imperials is celebrating their 50th year of making music. But someone stole my record player. Now how do you like that?

3. Having been recently re-singled, [livejournal.com profile] sunsmogseahorse really, really needs to stick his cock up my ass right the fuck now.

4. I woke up early this morning and took Metrorail and -bus out to the ass end of SE DC, to the DMV office in Penn Branch Shopping Center. I meant to be there at opening, but it took more than an hour to get there, and a middling line had already assembled by the time I walked in. Still: only about 5–7 minutes to get sorted and assigned a number (C009); filled out my application for a renewed/replacement driver license; and maybe another 10 minutes waiting to C009 to be called. The moment of truth.

See, I woke up earlier this week to a walking nightmare, whereby I found myself in possession of neither a driver license, a birth certificate, nor a social security card. To get a replacement social security card, I learnt, I needed to supply a birth certificate. To get a replacement birth certificate, I needed to supply a driver license. And in order to get a replacement driver license, I needed to prove my social security number.

So up to counter #6 I step and explain that my previous, about-to-expire license had been pinched, in my wallet, in Nwalins, Loosyana, just a week and change ago. I offer my passport; the clerk tells me that's fine but I also need to prove my social security number. Having grabbed everything I could find on paper from my filing cabinet at home, I had with me my annual 'Your Social Security Statement' 4-pager. She gives this a cursory look and says, 'But is your number printed on here anywhere?' I open to page 2 and say, 'Well, here it says "only the last four digits are shown to help prevent identity theft"...'

She look at that sentence, and at the last four digits of my social security number.

And she says, 'That's fine.' And a moment later: 'How will you be paying?'

Less than 5 minutes later I am OUT of the damn DMV with my new driver license in my wallet.

Pinch me.
fr_defenestrato: (brother voodoo)
I just did a weird and growed-up thing: I bought myself renter's insurance. A bit late, considering I've been living in my current apt. almost precisely a decade (March 1 is the anniversary). $148 per annum. Not bad.

I also paid for a Yahoo!-owned webspace to go with the domain I'm already paying for, gordongeisephoto.com. So far nothing's there, but I'm in the process of transferring my entire photo site (hosted for years on www.mwmw.com, maintained by my former upstairs neighbor Mr. Feckless) to this space. It's not quite a superfluous site, even given my flickr presence, since the model shoots I've done are all watermarked and I haven't put most of them on flickr. Plus this Yahoo! space has design tools that may well lift the burden of making each new page (e.g., for movie marathons) by writing in html using Notepad.

Saw the eclipse last night: after Cheese Lord rehearsal a bunch of us bundled up and stood outside... We caught it just as the bottom right edge was starting to get a little light back on it... and while I'm sure I've looked at a total lunar eclipse in the past, it must have been my childhood and my memory is pretty much non-existent. So I was completely unprepared to have earth's moon actually look like a sphere hanging in the air. I'm sure I have never, ever seen the moon looking all 3-D like that.

Near future plans: dinner and bear night at Cobalt with Paul Friday... a lot of musical stuff this weekend I have to choose from... Dayton, Ohio next weekend to sing for the wedding of Lord Dan the Moribund Bachelor... and the weekend after, that off to San Francisco.

Even with my buying dinner tomorrow night I still kinda owe Paul a birthday present. I'm thinking Margaret Cho's upcoming show in April...

In other news, soon to be posted on the [livejournal.com profile] groovy_garathon community, WE HAVE A LIST for Movie Marathon 45. Not a schedule yet, but a list. Hooray!

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