I hate this musical (Guys and Dolls). It was shoved down our throats all through public school theater productions. Whenever there was discussion of the Spring play this was always a big contender.
“Well, what about Les Mis or West Side Story,” we would whine.
“OOO Let’s do Guys and Dolls!!” the leggy 7th graders with their tap lessons and gilded throats would neigh.
It the dividing line between the Jews and every one else in drama. The full-blooded Jewish girls, The Carlys and The Beccas fucking lovvvveedd Guys and Dolls and would sing that shit constantly, while some of us were trying to learn step, kick, kick, leap, touch.
The play always struck me as dopey and even then OVERTLY mawkish. To this day hearing any song from it makes me absolutely cringe.
CODA: We ended up doing some dreadful production of Oklahoma. Complete horseshit.
Maybe it’s the tinny quality of the recording that makes this particular Gershwin jam more exotic. Or because Billie manages to understate the super sentimentality of the song by not dragging out any notes. Also the orchestration is stripped down to mostly a piano and lovely clarinet playing. It’s all waltzy instead of jazzy. I just love it.
So much like Chet Baker’s My Funny Valentine or Stan Getz’ Night and Day. Billie’s version, for me, is definitive.
“ He listened for sobbing from outside the slammed door. There were none. His ear was bleeding and his face burned, but he was oddly exhilarated. He was sorry Diane was so upset, but there was something stirring about a violent tantrum. It was the sort of thing he liked to tell stories about.
Daisy’s Valentine. Mary Gaitskill 1988.
Ooof what a terrible feeling. To have your incredulity only serve as an anecdote for an artistic young man.
WGA member, striker, writer, wit-slinger, Stephen Falk talks about Nick Counter
Counter was the ultimate Big Boss Nemesis during the WGA strike of the Before Time. Stephen beat up on him. He just died. (Counter, not Stephen. Stephen cannot die. YOU HEAR ME, GOD?!?!? NEVER!!!!)
Look, I realize that this sounds like self mythologizing but I’m awake at 6am on Saturday because I have a horrendous stomach ache from consuming:
—Snickers Bar
— 7/11 Cinnamon roll
—7/11 egg salad sanwich
—an obscene amount of milano cookies and a couple of dubious chunks of a meat product called “steak bites.”
I had to walk out of my hotel room, go across the street and into the 7/11 where I bundled all of these items up in my arms and waited, dead eyed, braless, and in PJamas for the Pakistani to ring me up. I remember at one point putting the cinnamon roll down on the counter and the young black guy next to me saying “hey, you shouldn’t do that” and held the roll for me while I ravaged my pockets for money.
I snatched that fucking roll of out his hands like it was encrusted with diamonds. Blood diamonds.
OH MY GOD I FEEL AWFUL.
OMG, Bad Religion, how are you guys? You doing ok? Good to see you. You on Facebook?
niki:
A year ago now I went for a job, just a whatever job for some cash, and despite excellent scores and a very strong recommendation by the recruitment agency, I was rejected at the final stage because of my complete lack of soul.
As a person who knows all too well the repetitive nature of history, the time has come where my insatiable, and apparently unreasonable, thirst for shelter and groceries has caused me to again seek mindless employment for cash.
2009 has been an interesting year for Mr Nikolaus, but I can say very honestly that I am far less empathetic towards the human condition now than I have ever been in the past. My cold heart and dead eyes seem only to sharpen with age. To secure such employment, I will need to learn to act. I don’t need to be that great; just good enough to know when to crease my brow and lower my voice at the right cues.
While I might express the stilted emotions of Tyra Banks, seen pictured above winning an Academy Award for her work in Catwoman, I should wind up coming home with a decent pay cheque for once.
You follow Niki, don’t you?
Here's what's endearing about tumblr
The best part is, we all feel cutting edge just for being here and are thus obligated to maintain a nominal level of brevity and cleverness. Other blogging platforms let you write about hating yourself and wanting to die, but only tumblr makes you feel like genuine self-deprecation should be involved (as opposed to just a plea for attention) in order to really be justified.
I treasure Sam’s insights (and staunch insistence on biking in Los Angeles).
I punched the roof of my civic (the clothed interior part) during the breakdown of this song one night out of pure angst and excitement. I was 16 and this song is about heroin! ADOLESCENCE IS DOPE!!
