On a very sad note: Ever since the weekend of the wine tasting, I’ve been enjoying one cocoa covered almond a day. Today: the last of the bag has entered the pits of my stomach. Good memories, good chocolate.
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| Pussy VonKatt, Ornament, Empty Chocolate Bag |
Little Blog! I am so very, very sorry that I have neglected you in the last 5 days. It isn’t fair. I know. You really shouldn’t even want me back, but I love you. I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?! Just love me back, damn it!
Clearly it doesn’t matter either way: I get what I want. And what I want is to continue writing like a mad man all over the place.
Right. Well, I guess it’s not out of the ordinary for me to speak to inanimate objects like a blog or a piggy bank or my jam jar full of water. Really, I will talk to anything that will listen. Except human beings. I usually just write my feelings to them. I said in tenth grade, during a speech for Dave Lundquist’s class, “I’ve always been better with my hands than my mouth…(pausing here for innuendo tension and laughter) my writing hands and speaking mouth, that is.” Yes, I remember things like this.
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| Steve Mostly Sleeps |
Pussy VonKatt is disappointed in me. I can tell because her tail is starting to look a little less bushy and her wires are starting to peek out at the ends. It’s not a great look for her, but then again, when was she ever a beauty. I guess that’s in the eye of the beholder, right? Anyway, looking at her now I also see my beetle nail clippers (aptly named Beetle Nail Clippers) and the small ornament of the World’s Largest Tin Family from my grandma. They are the little things that remind me that home is just an ocean away.
Speaking of my grandma, here’s a story that she would appreciate.
So, I was leaving class on Wednesday after a very successful session of creative writing. We were writing discussing an interesting method called “writing back.” Basically, it’s the process of taking an already established story and writing about a non-featured character and telling their story. It’s very Gregory Macguire, author of Wicked and Confessions of an Ugly Step Sister. Anyway, I wrote about Free Willy’s opinion of Michael Jackson. It was mostly about Willy being pissed that Michael Jackson stole the idea of being both black and white from an orca whale. I thought it was funny. And I never think I’m funny: mostly I’m just odd. Anyway, the story: I am walking up the escalator at South Kensington tube station because I have no patience and love the way my legs look in motion. When they’re still, they don’t do much for anyone, least of all me. So I trip about a quarter of the way from the top (of course) and in the process I lose one of my flip flops. Yes, it was the middle of November, less than 4 degrees Celsius, and raining, but my goodness do I despise socks and shoes; just like my granny. I was unable to locate my shoe before getting to the top so I was basically dropped off at the top of the moving staircase in a heap of peacoat and jeans where I waited for my shoe to be delivered to me. It was an epic moment. I thought that my grandma would appreciate my choice of footwear though, so this one’s for you!
Chester Drawers is a character I’ve been creating during my time in London. He also goes by the name: Level Up Kid. He’s hilarious and I think you’ll probably have the chance to meet him very soon. If you’d like to read a short snippet of his life, you can find it here:
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| Because Kelly and I Drink Together |
Oh, I have another tube story! So, I am leaving from Playwriting around 1-ish—play is going to be great, thank you—and I decide that instead of reading on the bus, I would tube it back and go for a run. Boy am I glad that I did. I have adopted this new policy of standing on the tube as often as I can; who knows why, really. So I am standing against one of the faux-glass walls and the tube arrives at Leicester Square. Suddenly, there are children everywhere. They’re crawling, they’re dirty, they’re eating off the floor (okay that’s a lie, but they were definitely doing things that made them seem like tiny monsters). On walks four women with strollers, three of them preggers…very, very preggers. I swear they were the four girls from the British version of the pregnancy pact after one of them went to community college instead. They proceed to shout and scream at the little creatures running around everywhere and talk loudly to each other about their sexual encounters. I see that one of them has a ring on, but quickly feel less relieved when she starts to suck on it. That’s right. It was a mother fucking ring pop. My first thought was, “holy shit where did you get that can you buy me one please I just want one so bad!” It probably looked way better on her, with the matching velour track suit, than it would have ever looked on me. I got off at South Ken and one of the kids hopped off behind me and hit the back of my leg with her pig tails. (This immediately reminded me this girl that was in the caf at Gustavus one time. She turned rather quickly and her wet, braided hair slapped me across the face. It was not amusing.) Anyway, pregnant mom #2 was pissed at the child and chased after her, hopping onto the platform. Luckily they both made it back onto the train with some time to spare.
I really, really did want a ring pop.
Thursdays are always the best. I get to go to a delightful class with a dynamite professor and see a show at nighttime. Nothing wrong with this picture. The piece we saw last Thursday also happened to be the show that I am writing my paper on and doing a presentation for. Obviously, they’ll be great. But on to the production! For anyone not familiar with the play Blasted, I advise you against reading this paragraph as it may spoil the plot for you and spoil your appetite. Written by Sarah Kane, deceased, Blasted is an anti war play that all other anti war plays should be measured against. Here are some of the less than appealing aspects of the play: rape, masturbation, sodomy with a gun, excessive swearing, suicide, the sucking out and eating of a man’s eyes, urination, the death of a baby, and the eating of a dead baby. How’s that for light-hearted? The play was rough. Real rough. The production was fantastic, but the subject matter is not exactly a feel-good night at the theatre. That’s okay though. Not all plays need to be Legally Blonde or My Romantic History. Seeing Blasted is an experience. I was not offended by anything that happened on stage, far from it really. I was prepared for it as I had read it a few times over, but I was not at all ready for the audience reaction to some of the more sensitive material. When a soldier rapes and then proceeds to use the gun to ‘clean the victim out,’ the last thing you should be doing is laughing. Yet, that’s precisely what happened. This leads to three possible conclusions: A) People were laughing because they were uncomfortable; B) People think that sex between men, complicit or not, is humorous; C) People find rape and sodomy funny. None of these options are particularly comforting. I was a little outraged, to be honest. Audience aside: amazing production of a compelling, devastating play.
Oh, speaking of bad things happening to gay men: I had a drink thrown in my face on Saturday night and was subsequently called a faggot! Isn’t that great! Nothing like a little ignorance and douche-baggery to get you through the night. I was pissed, but handled it well: danced some anger away before succumbing to ‘I HAVE TO LEAVE, NOW!’ It was a wakeup call that just because London is much more accepting of my sexuality, doesn’t mean that everyone is ready to open their minds to love, love, love. Whatever, I’m better for it. So: thank you, Ignorant Dude, for reminding me that “I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be, and more woman than you’ll ever have.” No, that quote doesn’t quite work, given that I am not a transgendered individual, but I tried. It’s probably the only time I’ll ever get to use it too…Harry Potter is Epic. It’s slightly more epic because I recognize locations. I can’t say the scene from the film, but it’s the depiction of “A Place to Hide” in the book. 19…that’s my bus y’all!
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| No relevance: just pure magic |
ZOMG!
So, Thanksgiving happens to be right around the corner back in the states. In an email I recently received, a relative of mine called it our forgotten holiday. You know, I couldn’t agree more. I always used to go to Illinois for Thanksgiving to visit my family down there. Cousins, uncles, and other family would fly in from the east coast and Ohio and Florida to visit and we’d all just enjoy each other’s company. But people have grown. The triplets are seniors. SENIORS! Some family has passed on, two divorces have plucked at some seams, age has made fools of us all really. But that doesn’t mean you love your family any less. I don’t see them very often anymore, and that’s not fun. Not fun at all. But I still love them all and care for them deeply.
I was lucky enough to spend my summer in Walker; despite my protests that it would be the worst. I had amazing co-workers. I had my parents and my brother. I got to stay with my grandpa and Karen and enjoy my time with them (what very little I had—when I left, they were already booking into NOVEMBER!). I got to see my grandma in August. I was very, very fortunate. I guess this paragraph is a little irrelevant. But when is missing your family ever irrelevant?
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| RAINBOW TREE! |
I saw some antique golf clubs at the Portobello market this weekend when I went shopping with Izzy, Ben, and Garrett. It made me think of a time when I was very little and my grandpa brought me out to Tianna. He’s been to the golf course so many times that this would probably seem silly to him now, but I can still remember sitting with him in the golf cart in the garage getting ready to go to the driving range. I learned how to smack a ball that day. I can’t do it for shit anymore, but I think I probably could have been good. I remember everything about that moment, down to the salmon shirt and the brown loafers my grandpa was wearing. Silly, huh? I guess the holidays just bring out the reminiscent side of me.
How did it get to be passed 2 in the morning? This is awkward… I more to say, but maybe this is just a two parter...
Peace, Love, and Coffee.
PS. A very heartfelt congratulations to Jake Ferguson and Natalie Sheard on their engagement! Immense love to both of you.
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