Forgetfulness - Billy Collins Animated Poetry

Another animated poem from Billy Collins. I love the technique employed in this one.

Puttin' on the Ritz - Young Frankenstein.

The original in all its black and white glory!

Seekrit Mystery Date: Revealed!

I have a cool boyfriend. Because he took me on a pretty damn good SMD: I, in my pretty summer dress, and Ivan sporting his utilikilt (with optional tiger tale) walked to the Paramount theater and saw a performance of Mel Brook's new musical "Young Frankenstein" which is playing here first before heading to Broadway. According to what Daniel the Fire Guy told us at the Georgetown Old Skool carnival back in June, Broadway producers like mounting shows first at the Paramount (Hairspray premiered here, I think) because the stage itself is rather shallow. They figure if they can make it technically work here, it'll work in any other theater it goes to. And, really, can you get any further geographically from NYC?

Anyway, it was a lot of fun although not the best musical either of us has ever seen - the first act lasted forevvvvver with 95% of the dialogue lifted directly from the movie. Only the ending was rewritten to meet the convention of a theater piece. Unsurprisingly, the best song was "Putting On the Ritz" written by Irving Berlin and they performed the hell out of it. But what made the play for me was the amazing cast - almost all multiple award winners: Roger Bart as Frankenstein, Megan Mullaly as Elizabeth, Andrea Martin(!) as Frau Blucher, Sutton Place as Inga, and Shuler Hensley as the Monster. These were actors at the top of their game turning so-so material into gold. Or silver. Without question better than regional musical theater.

Seekrit Mystery Date

I'm very excited! After hours of anxious wondering, the sun has finally made an appearance and it's looking better all the time for wearing a pretty dress tonight.

"Why?" you ask.

Because Ivan is taking me on a seekrit mystery date. I think he said we were going downtown and I know he said that we are walking and I'm fairly certain that a pretty dress is not a requirement, but I've been living in jeans, shorts and tank tops all summer so it'll be a nice change of pace. Besides, how often does one get to go on a seekrit mystery date? The one concession to my usual standard of dress is that I will be wearing my brown Chuck Taylors. Because we will be walking. Maybe downtown. Maybe not. I don't know - it's a seekrit mystery date.

On the other hand, if it turns crappy again I'll have to come up with a Plan B worthy of an smd.

The Dead - Billy Collins Animated Poetry

I suggest you watch this three times: Once with your eyes open. The second time with your eyes closed so you can actually focus on the words. The third with your eyes open again. Enjoy!

Living Small in Paris

335 square feet. 2 rooms. Paris. What more could you want?

Living Small

The topic of living small has come up a number of times over the last couple of weeks so I thought I'd share this article: The art of Living in Small Places.

When you start thinking about the idea's behind small living, you naturally start with questions: Does living small mean living without? How is quality of life affected? Do I really need all this crap? How much do I really need to survive without feeling like I'm deprived? How small is small? What is too big?

Do I have answers? No. Well, at least not answers that I'm willing to stand behind 100%. What I do know is that I would like to own my own home some day and with the housing market being what it is, some creative solutions will have to come into play to either be able to afford something or to creatively some up with solutions so you don't have to worry about the money aspect too much.

So, my first questions to myself that I want to answer? Do I really need all this crap? And how much do I really need to survive without feeling like I'm deprived?

Answers coming soon!

Countdown!

Ivan leaves for Burning Man in 5 days - on the 13th. He's figuring on biking about 50 miles per day on his recumbent carrying just the essentials: water, some Cliff Bars and Goo, a couple changes of clothing, tools, tent and sleeping bag of the 'watch how small I can roll up into' variety, and a credit card.

The latest development of his trip is that last night he fulfilled a long and deeply held desire by purchasing an iPhone. The idea is that this will allow him to chronicle his adventure to the desert online on a daily basis. I haven't actually seen this iPhone yet, but he has promised that I can watch him rub it all over his body. Seriously, he wanted one that badly.

I leave for Burning Man on August 25 with our friend Mark McB - 17 days. I fluctuate between being 'ok, whatever' about the whole thing and being panicked in a 'dear lord jesus, what am I going to wear?!' kind of way. So far I have two pieces of clothing: a simple, white short sleeved dashiki that I can wear as a short dress and a long, black faux velvet jacket with high slits up the sides and faux fur around the neckline and wrists. Ivan commented that he thought it might be too nice to bring to the playa, and it might be because it's dead sexy.

Whatever. After he leaves I'll focus my energy on completing the wardrobe because right now we need to make sure we've got everything ready for the actual camping part: food, shelter, tools, etc. Conditions out there are harsh and having all our physical needs met is priority one. I'll have more about that in a later post.

Charles Simic, New Poet Laureat

Here are a couple of poems by our new U.S. Poet Laureate:


This Morning

Enter without knocking, hard-working ant. I'm just sitting here mulling over What to do this dark, overcast day? It was a night of the radio turned down low, Fitful sleep, vague, troubling dreams. I woke up lovesick and confused. I thought I heard Estella in the garden singing And some bird answering her, But it was the rain. Dark tree tops swaying And whispering. "Come to me my desire," I said. And she came to me by and by, Her breath smelling of mint, her tongue Wetting my cheek, and then she vanished. Slowly day came, a gray streak of daylight To bathe my hands and face in. Hours passed, and then you crawled Under the door, and stopped before me. You visit the same tailors the mourners do, Mr. Ant. I like the silence between us, The quiet--that holy state even the rain Knows about. Listen to her begin to fall, As if with eyes closed, Muting each drop in her wild-beating heart. Watermelons Green Buddhas On the fruit stand. We eat the smile And spit out the teeth.