Grandpa from "Little Miss Sunshine" -- Drag Show at Jacques. Count Mippipopolous from the "The Sun Also Rises" -- The Bristol Lounge.
2) What columns or columnists do you read regularly?
Dowd/Rich/Friedman, NYT * *McGrory, Boston Globe *“Coupling,” Boston Globe Mag * “Lives,” NYT Mag * “Modern Love,” Sunday NYT * “The Sports Guy,” ESPN the Mag * Rebecca Traister/Garrison Keillor, Salon.com * “Talk of the Town,” New Yorker Online * Perez Hilton and Crabbies Hollywood (not really columnists so much as snarky gay bloggers tearing celebrities apart but I read them regularly). Also surf Clint Van Zandt’s “profiling blog” at MSNBC.com from time to time.
3) Name something(s) that made you happy/laugh-out-loud this week .
Well, it’s only Tuesday but it’s already been a good week for chuckles (and hopefully for Chucklebunny, wherever he may be)
-- “Daddy, is Appleboppins pitching?” – said Caroline as she plopped down next to James to watch the Sox on Sunday.
-- This is how a woman I’m doing some freelancing for described her company’s legal department: “They are all bastard-wrapped bastards filled with bastard cream.”
-- Audrey on 24 last night. I’m confident I’m not the only one who found this hilarious. After rescuing Audrey from Cheng, Jack realizes that she has no idea who he is. She’s apparently gone batshit crazy at the hands of her sadistic Chinese captors. In the show’s final frame, Jack observes her vacantly picking at herself, twitching and mumbling incoherently. He whispers “Oh my God” in that forboding way only he can pull off. But there is no time to tend to his freshly-schizo-ed girlfriend. Doyle & Co. have created another fine mess, allowing Cheng to escape with the nuclear circuit board. Jack will have to go rogue (again) and clean it up himself. I have to admit, Kim Raver gave some good crazy. I’m sure the twitching clip will be up on YouTube at some point today.
This made me happy. My daffodils bloomed in January and died in February and showed no signs of life a few weeks ago. I walked outside this morning and, well, there you go...
4) Did anything make you mad/yell out loud this week?
Writer’s block on deadline. Total paralysis. I was incapable of finishing a simple 750-word article yesterday. James heard me scolding myself in the basement last night: "Just finish it! FINISH IT!" I need a vacation.
5) I think it’s time to ________ and ____________.
I think it’s time to bring this ship into the shore and throw away the oars forever.
12 comments:
Wow. So it wasn't just us. Jack's rogue-ness, though instrumental in the story line, has been used one too many times.
No kidding. 24 is definitely becoming a caricature of itself. The show, as a whole, has gone rogue.
1. Binx Bolling, Lear and Raskolnikov.
2. Anthony Lane and the random doctor writing extemporaneously for the new york.
3. I'm 3000 miles away from ugliness.
4. The PU Alec Baldwin blog.
5. I think it's time to finish this campy-gays are my best friends and I love Joan Didion but my husband/ man struggles to finish the crossword sensibility AND love the intensity.
##### Oscar Wilde was a great wit but horrible oracle for society; he coveted youth and beauty.
I've noticed the PU is somewhat obsessed with age: "Kim Bassinger is an old mess"....Only people who frequented Jacques would feel that way...Anna Mangiani or Sophia Loren were never "Old Burds" and neither are the ladies of the "old burds' Jake Burns or Santiago or Zorba would agree: Liz Smith is a worthless Jackass. Joan Didion loves John Gregory Dunne ( Badass of all badasses). Long live testorone!!!!
Dear, whatever you are on, please share.
Did you just compare the PU to Oscar Wilde? That’s like comparing Homer Simpson to John Gregory Dunne. Please don’t compare the asses with the badasses. Frankly, I can’t handle the pressure.
For the record, OLD BURD is a term of endearment. We burds have been calling each other that since 1990 (when we were spring chickens). We don’t covet youth and beauty, we have it.
Try not to be so black & white, brother. Behold the burnt sienna, mahogany and hot magenta. Embrace the nuance and nonsense.
Rte. 6- Cape Cod
No accusations, suggesting the same or mascara streaking could make me jump from the car any faster. The opiate compliments of a toothy mother spoken through the scripts of her doctor will not make the road more dry.
And for the first time since I lost sleep I do not crave to traverse where only, for the moment, I was allowed. It gave and gave and gave, no doubt, and for this was its only flaw in the game where European trips counterbalance the man they marry for the men they gild.
Mutual friends explained the power strokes picked up before tennis in the weary morning after casual days. But they couldn’t carry where the accesses did, and they were laced with mid-sleep trauma of which the radio speaks.
Bunched hair held and open eyes saying what it is you had thought on teenage bus rides, and the okay of it, as you stretch through night. The widening bends through the rough and altered smooth were cradled in lavishes stocked sock deep in poorly assembled drawers by a paunchy father helping the gang.
So I follow the tan and silk back down the highway and figure the faces of Friday traffic, her friends; potential seeping through the diamond-ringed fingers of cupped palms, drying white.
####You mean, something like that?
Now you're just showing off.
A work in progress?
It needs more work than I am willing to give it.
Don't talk yourself out of it. You clearly have a gift.
Would love to read more.
"For My Friends Under Tables"
Those in the know don’t long for the morning.
They begrudge it, and swollen eyed, take it on like an eighth grade bully, the glare and numb of the
Coffee rush and the post-run high. They want nothing more than a late-rise
And an ease into the day just as they grill is turned over.
Damned and Divine, they suffer through it, though.
Maybe a joke or an insufferable tirade, but they make it.
And all the while they long for the moment of reprieve, where
Something so workaday brings pause and a raspy laugh.
It is said often in the unspoken voice-over that “I”
Could do what they do, their day is not so hard, their shovel not so heavy.
And the fight goes both ways: one makes the market
The other an easy run to the highway.
But I take the former. Like St. Jerome, they sit,
Buried in translation.
What arduous work it is, to make sense of the rational.
The most scenic movies would be shot in VFW halls, exits away from the cynical cafes of Newbury Street.
The best songs are sung near caskets, and the most storied
Brawls end with a teary hug.
Because scraped knuckled and alone, the knowing, with only a
Pouty-lipped reminder of a perfumed slow-dance long ago, shoulder the night.
The PU is not worthy.
Happy to provide a forum, however.
Has this been published?
1) I'd like to go drinking with Borat...pretty much anywhere.
Jay Gatsby from "The Great Gatsby." Where would we go? How about Daisy Buchanan's? Ha.
2)Maureen Dowd, the PU and anything else by Kate Jackson, Perez Hilton, Johnny Cainer and anything that catches my eye on boston.com, cnn.com and msnbc.com.
3) The 80 degree weather made me happy this week. The waitress's response to EPB at the Urban Oasis when asked where she's from made me laugh. As does Baron's continuing practice of flying off the sofa, pressing his nose to the TV screen and barking everytime a dog or cat appears on television. It's quite funny.
4) Not yet...but it's only Wednesday.
5) I think it's time to play some music, it's time to light the lights, it's time to get things started on the Muppet Show tonight.
**OK, there's no "and" in there, but it's the best I could do.
No, those haven't been published.
PU unworthy? Hogwash. Posted proudly.
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