"Kitty, do you even know who Graham Greene is?"

Can they save their little ones from our pornography (read: famous literature)?

Citizens in Johnson County are trying to ban obscenity from K-12.

This May Cause Rioting

I almost received a beheading recently when I mentioned to my friends that I thought the 3rd Harry Potter movie was better than the 4th. Hey, I liked the 4th movie, it was exciting and beautiful, Ron and Harry continue to become better actors (poor Emma Watson. . .someday her time will come), and Robbie Coltrane is my hero. Seriously, though, I just watched Prisoner of Azkaban again, and it's totally got Goblet of Fire beat all over the place. It has what feels like a complete plot, with the proper amount of exposition, suspense, and build, and no one bellows with their face upturned to the heavens ("NOOOOOoooooOOOO!!!!"). Watch 3 again, people. I'm serious.

You're Fuckin' Right I Did

Yep, that's right. I finished it. Works cited and everything. It ain't good, but it ain't so bad neither.

Until revisions,
bebe

P.S. I ran into a friend, and for some reason he mentioned my prefered interweb signature, pronouncing it bay-bay. It was totally delightful and I was too pleased to correct him.

P.P.S. I'd better wake up Eric (who is asleep in my bed after working on his paper for class at my place) and get some Dunkin' Donuts or I might cry. Greasy sausage croissant (kwassont! kwassont!) + sugary creamy coffee = only way I'm gonna survive the rest of the day.

(re)making, or why I'm glad it's almost Thanksgiving

It's nearing 6 in the morning, and after switching the font of my paper from Helvetica to Arial, I have only two pages left to write of my paper, thank the fucking gods. I hate it when I'm just reaching and reaching and reaching to get there, because clearly that means I have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I sure don't give a fuck about Orestes or Orestes 2.0 anymore. So. . .I have two and a half hours to crank out two more pages on violent images as a device used to present the story of the house of Atreus to a modern audience.

Well, the internet is working in my room, which is fun. Atleast I have that.

In-Class Essay Makeup

This is how I spent my afternoon. Oh, Western Civilization.

Below is a straightforward question in line with the readings and discussions so far during the second half of the semester. You have an hour or so to complete your essay based on the question. Here's what I'd like to see at the end of that time.

(Yada yada yada.)

Now, here's the question.

Does God play a role in a life lived according to nature?

Good luck.

Thank you, David Dewar, for prompting what was perhaps the worst essay I have written since Mrs. Cobb's American Lit class six years ago. You got me. Next time I'll know better than to skip half of the reading, because I will remember that one time I had to answer a question about religion and nature using Chaucer and Luther, when if I'd have read everything, I would have had Augustine and Aquinas at my fingertips.

Good trick.

Four Eyed Monsters

This whole thing is way cute, and very smart. Check it out here or:

The FEM Video Blog Episode 2 "The Investment" SUBSCRIBE to this MySpace Video Blog

Windows Media Version If you want to see each episode then one-click-subscribe-in-iTunes or one-click-subscribe-on-MySpace. You can post text, audio or video comments about this episode on our MySpace Video Blog. Music in this episode by National Eye on the label Park the Van.

This Week In the Arts

This past week I made up for some lost time (read: Three Sisters black hole) and went to a ludicrous number of events around town. I only fell asleep during one of them, and even then only briefly. More importantly, I only paid for my ticket to one of them, and that one was only $6. A brief description of the week as it was:

Monday 7 November - BARRAGE: Vagabond Tales

Do I really even need to say anything?

I would have thought it was just about the coolest thing ever when I was ten.

Seriously, the show has been described as 'STOMP meets Riverdance,' and the audience was clearly eating this shit up. Okay, it's pretty cool that these guys can fiddle and dance at the same time, but it was saved from Lord of the Dance status only because they never said anything like 'He is the greatest dancer in the world' or whatever shit they say about Michael Flatley. Not outloud anyway.

PLEASE NOTE: The percussionist had a serious 80's classic rock mullet. It was the best part of the show. The second best part of the show was the sexy British accent of one of the fiddle players.

My friend that took me was marginally embarrassed about the show's. . .well, the show's existence. I do not blame him; his mother bought him the tickets.

Wednesday 9 November - Ravi Shankar: Festival of India II

Ravi Shankar has been a peaceful, talented badass for 85 years now. He has also populated the world with gorgeous, musically talented daughters (Anoushka Shankar and Norah Jones). The music was haunting and cyclical and made me incredibly sleepy. I fell asleep on my mother's shoulder and had lovely hallucinatory dreams.

Friday 11 November 8PM- The Big Funk

He's about 2 minutes away from covering her face and hair in Vaseline. Mmmm, greasy.

I got to see this show, directed by one of my favorite cohorts, Laura Leffler-McCabe, while it was still in rehearsals. I'd have probably gone to see it during the run anyway, but it was already so good before their tech week started that I new things could only go from great to awesome, and I was right. Laura, I believe, understands the idea that the best way to make theatre that is good is to make theatre that you, as a director, actually like. I got to watch good actors have clear revelations, with good timing, good jokes, and great music. Hurray for a show that I liked beginning to end!

Also, an audience member ended up with a throwing knife in her lap, which was exciting. She probably won't forget the show any time soon.

Friday 11 November 11PM- Atmosphere

1. Slug is my hero.

2. When Ant came out to spin (the first part of the set was with musicians) the bass was so heavy I felt like I was going to vomit.

It was everything I had hoped it would be and way fucking more.

Saturday 12 November - The Mammals and Arlo Guthrie

This darling of a man bears many a striking resemblence with my father. Just look at him. Dad's a little more of a wild and crazy guy on stage than Arlo, but they both know how to tell a story. I got to sit next to my pop during the show, which was totally awesome.

Now, for the big question. WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME ABOUT THE MAMMALS? I've totally been in the dark. Folk-rock-bluegrass brilliance, I tell you. Just enough fiddle to make me wanna dance, just enough sad banjo to make me cry a little. It was like all the best parts of Trail Mix without Fiona Ritchie (sad) and Irish folk music (hooray!). Not to mention they were all ridiculously cute (Pete Seeger's grandson Tao Rodriguez-Seeger absolutely included) and the bad-ass fiddle playing girl reminded me of Cara of Dusty Bookshelf fame.

WHOO! May my life always be this exciting. For real.

if found, please return to: home away from home

Just over a month after my return from the North Star State, I will again pursue a whirlwind adventure, this time with different company and a slightly more reliable car. Atch is looking at MCAD, where they wish to make her an honest to God I-paint-for-a-living artist, and I have been invited to be her driver/navigator the weekend before Thanksgiving. Thank the Lord, and apparently, screw Theatre In Western Civ. (Research paper on Euripedes and Chuck Mee? Oh, I'll get it done.)

If this summer's trip to the mountains can be referenced as evidence, we are perfect road trip buddies. We need pee breaks at the same time, neither of us feels too weird if the other starts to cry, whether it be due to stress or to nothing at all, and we both like to eat a lot of cheese. We get to drive the family Ford Focus (the make and model of which, by the way, definitely made an appearance as a Minnesota roadtrip vehicle in a series of abandonment dreams circa Fall 2004, though belonging to another owner entirely) and we have extremely complimentary music tastes. If I'm lucky, she'll draw pictures of me while I'm driving and singing along to the stereo, and really, what more could I possibly ask for?

This time around, I'm thinking of actually getting in touch with my friends in the Cities before I go, so that perhaps I might actually see them. Otherwise, I'll just wander around town as per usual, and no doubt will have a blast (and probably catch a cold).

Anyway, I'm taking a camera this time, and if anything exciting/unseemly happens, or there are any more dogs in costumes, I will have a record, goddamit.

MySpace Can Go to Hell

Roman Numeral One: MySpace makes me feel like a teenager

Capital Letter A: Not in a comfortable, nastolgic sort of way but in a way that I never felt like one when I was one.

Arabic Numeral One: Evidence (see "sending MySpace messages to cute boys")

Capital Letter B: The whole site looks/feels like a poorly organized, hipster Xanga

Arabic Numeral One: That is just not okay

Roman Numeral Two: I'm minorly convinced of my own cleverness

Arabic Numeral One: Fight me on this. I dare you.

Roman Numeral Three: I shall transfer all of my old MySpace posts to blogger, post haste (see Roman Numeral Two)

One For Our Side

Harold Pinter has won a Nobel Prize in Literature.

"who in his plays uncovers the precipice under everyday prattle and forces entry into oppression's closed rooms"

high speed taper shanked spiral flute reemer
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hemi unibal spherical rodend

there are rodends and rodends

"There are things I remember which may never have happened but as I recall them so they take place."

All of my best to you, Harold. You deserve this. Thank you for teaching us how to look at life.

Post Script: Scholars are now categorizing Pinter's plays as "Comedy of Menace," as opposed to a variation of absurdism. This is also the category (if the title of her collected works says anything about it) in which Joan Schenkar is placed. According to the biography of Pinter on the Nobel site, comedy of menace is "a genre where the writer allows us to eavesdrop on the play of domination and submission hidden in the most mundane of conversations." The similarities between these two playwrights, each writing in their own very particular style, can be seen in looking at the description above, and how it is exemplified in, let's say, Pinter's "The Applicant" and Schenkar's Burning Desires.

Post Post Script: Pinter is retiring from writing to focus on the fight for human rights.

Post Post Post Script: Thanks for the heads up, Dawn. (I should stop only listening to NPR when I'm waking up.)

L'Etoile du Nord, or Escape from Mount Oread

Wednesday, October 12, 5:00PM: All essential items packed in to back pack. Two t-shirts, two pairs of underwear, toothbrush. Collection of burned CDs, in accordance with the rules of PirateAudio. Pepperidge Farm Milanos, aka "Official Happiness Cookies" and a pair of shoes with sequins added at last minute.

Wednesday, October 12, 5:30PM: Retrieved from apartment, aka "Stewing Post," and whisked away to purchase obligatory cups of coffee. Car has been cleaned and belts have been adjusted. Things are good and getting better.

Wednesday, October 12, 6PM to Thursday, October 13, 2AM: I-70 to I-29 to I-35N to I-35WN (Minneapolis) to E. Hennepin to 15th Ave. Pit stops at "Modern Rest Area," favorite Wendy's in Des Moines, some blip on the Minnesota border. No mishaps, barring a brief ordeal involving menstrual blood and a long sleeve western shirt. Upon arrival, adorable boys apologize for lack of clean cups and two give up beds for exhausted girls to sleep in.

What? What's that? You just want to know about the best bits? Alright, that's understandable. That tactic may have turned a bit tedious. The best bits are these:

1. FOOD: Seward Cafe (cute dirty hippypunks serving delicious breakfast), Campus Pizza (even if it is in Stadium Village), Al's Breakfast (in line for 45 minutes while Ari literally almost passed out for possibly the best hashbrowns and definitely the best toast of my entire life), Devanni's (the chicken was good, the tuna was better), and Duffy's (the six of us got the last six slices they could sell before they ran out of dough. Seriously.)

2. THE BOOT: parked in lot adjacent to actual Campus Pizza parking lot long enough to eat pizza and purchase 2 cases of Grain Belt (tasty!) from the sauce shop and suffered the consequences. $120 immediately due for small man in zippy car to remove boot from front tire. In the end, bizarrely worth it.

3. THE DANCE PARTY: mixed tape made lovingly, painstakingly by boys who know music. Quarters played at 6PM in preparation. Collection jar with note explaining The Boot displayed prominantly throughout party. 1/6 cost of boot made from sweet, generous Minnesotans. Lots of dancing, until 2 noise complaints. I ♥ Dance Parties. Who would have guessed.

4. LYNLAKE: Bill's Imported Foods=dried pear halves. Vera's=good coffee/friendly barista/lotsa gays. Heavenly Soles=tiny ninjas and an employee's pug dog running around in a Yoda costume. No shit. It was awesome.

5. THOSE BOYS: adorable, adorable, adorable.

All in all, a great success. I think I may have been cured of my surliness. Thank you, Star of the North!

(Note: to those friends living in Minneapolis/St.Paul that I did not visit, please love me anyway.)

"Remember When" Mix includes Wraith Pinned to the Mist (and other games) (Of Montreal) and Chicago (Sufjan Stevens). This was psychically agreed upon, so no need to question it.

Letter to Beloved Crankypants, 1530 Naismith Dr.

Dearest Beloved,

You're exhausted, I know you are. Your skin's a wreck, there are bags under your eyes, you're drinking alone, and I saw you shout at that telephone pole. You are grapevining spastically between the goalposts of madness. I hate to see you this way, so I think it's time for some advice. Please read closely as I have only your best interest at heart.

When life is getting you down, take a quick glance at your surroundings. Could you be depressed, perhaps, because you see the same people every day? Walk up the same hill? Curse the same alarm clock? Have even the sweeter things in life (coffee, cigarettes, long walks) become bitter in the particular way the light shines down at home? Are you tired of everything, but have neither mono nor a really good excuse?

If so, pack a bag, hop in the car, and get the hell outta town. Consider these facts: people in England pay atleast 3 times as much for gas as you do. Singing along to music is much better on the road than in your room. Gas station food is delicious. And boys and girls in foreign lands (read: atleast 3 hours away) are always prettier than ones at home. Is there any real reason not to flee your own digs, if just for a short minute? If you are lucky, you will come home with a few stories and a greater sense of well being ("The world IS bigger than this black hole of a town!"), and if you are luckier, you will find a way to just stay wherever you end up.

Prepare the following:
two t-shirts*
one pair of jeans*
two pairs of underwear*
a jacket**
one toothbrush (all toiletries should be pilfered)
as much music as you can possibly carry***
a block of cheese
a box of crackers
two cups of coffee (they can both be for you, or you can share, but there must be two of them)

Alright, you're ready to hit the road! Try calling ahead to your destination of choice to find a couch to crash on, but if you don't get through, surely they'll be happy to see you, right? If you show up unannounced or plan to stay for an extended period of time, make sure to relegate yourself to the most uncomfortable sleeping quarters. Keep in mind this motto: "Call ahead, sleep in a bed!"

Go, Go, GO! There's no time to waste!

Best wishes, and call me when (and if) you return. I look forward to seeing you in better spirits.

kisses,
bebe

*It doesn't matter how long you'll be gone. It is doubtful you will ever wear more than this, even if you bring it. Any other clothing items that prove necessary can be purchased or stolen.
**Not only will this covering keep out the wind and rain, it will also serve as a pillow, a placemat, something to keep your feet warm if you have bad circulation and forgot to pack socks, and a sleep mask, perfect for blocking that pesky early morning sunlight.
***If you only have AM radio, please look into taking this trip with someone who has a better car than you. It is best to include The Beatles and a little bit of classical music, regardless of your preference for them, as well as something produced in the town which you plan to visit, if possible.

Opening NIght (check-In is in the morning, assholes)

I've been battling the urge to throw things all day.

I was a good girl, I was in bed at 11:15, pillow between my knees so my back would be less crunchy than usual, fan on medium to ensure maximum white noise haze. I put lotion on my legs and a cool mask on my eyes. I even counted slowly backwards from six, visualizing each number with its corresponding color of the rainbow (a red six, an orange 5. . .) all lazily dancing in a pretty green meadow.

And what did I get for all of that careful, loving preparation for a good night's sleep?

Half-asleep hallucinations of tap numbers, rolling around on a concrete floor, and people I love spitting in my face. Lots of sweat. Muscle cramps in my jaw.

So. I got up at 8:15, full of innocent hope that my day would be better than my night. I took a shower, I made coffee and breakfast, I listened to Of Montreal. I dressed in green and brown and gold. Things were looking up.

And then.

Ari's car had an almost flat tire that I didn't have the time or money to fill back up. I fell asleep three times in Western Civ. By the time I got back to work my arms and hands were covered with coffee and some combination of pineapple juice and cottage cheese, and my entire body was covered with sweat. My arms were sore from trying to A. carry my coffee cup in such a way that it wouldn't vomit its contents all over me, and B. carrying my stupid make-up kit/lunch/dinner because I don't have time to go home before call AND I have to eat before 5 or my corset won't fit.

Then I show up to work and before I even get in the building I see all of the people that were supposed to check in this morning (check in is in the morning, assholes) lined up to check in at 2PM. Do people not read signs? More importantly, do people not read THE CONTRACTS THEY ARE MADE TO SIGN??? So I spent the first 45 minutes of my afternoon shift literally knee deep in video equipment. Not to mention one of the guys checking in was rude to me about not having the right cable to make his field monitor work.

You know what? They hired me knowing full well I didn't know how any of this equipment works. It's not my fucking fault. I direct plays. I have used a camcorder three times in my life. Once for somebody else's English project in the 9th grade. Once when it was briefly proposed that I do a TV show for my high school. Once to video tape my 609. If you need the cable, ask for it, and I will kindly give it to you. But I'm not here to make suggestions, buddy. FUCK OFF.

And then? Eight text messages from a friend, all of which were sent to make me feel guilty about not paying attention to her. Really, I'm glad she and I are friends again after a several year hiatus, but when she starts in like this, I cannot help but flash back to similar guilt trips, along with some occasionally screaming, that led to our friendship hiatus in the first place. I understand wanting to be paid some attention. God, do I understand. Really, though, there is a limit. Especially today.

After that? You guessed it. I sat down and had myself a little cry, in lieu of throwing coffee in someone's face.

I'm going to Murphy early to do some yoga before I cinch in my waist/paint up my face/shellac my hair. Then I'm going to be a raging bitch like this is the last time I'll ever be on stage.

I have some things to discuss with karma.

The Thing About Bees

I wouldn't call it an obsession. On one hand, it is rooted in the subconscious, surfacing incrementally and unexpectedly. On the other hand, it has something to do with destiny, with the world conspiring to bring us together. Something happened one day that sealed my fate, and now I will forever be plagued.

I take it back. I would call it an obsession.

It may not be the real beginning, but as I remember it, so it is. A predatory walk through the bridled wilderness outside my childhood home. I was six or seven, and I wanted my papa to make me some lunch. This task I viewed as a game, as the grass grew tall enough in that jungle to shield my father from my view. Hide-and-Go-Seek without the shouting. I found him near the street and the Columbine, kneeling in the dirt. Pops agreed to fix me a peanut butter and mustard sandwich, and probably some apple slices with salt. Not only did I find my father, however. I also found a bee. With the bottom of my foot. For me, bee stings feel comparable to mosquito bites, and are quite possibly one of the only things on this planet I am not allergic to. However, no six-year-old is particularly good at dealing with bee sting. Especially one who's hungry and a big whiner anyway.

Most of the people I care for the most have atleast a bee anecdote in their bag. My mother spent several hours with a bee in her ear last fall. My mother's sister was stung by a bee in her teens and her leg swelled to three times it's original size. Miss Cross (who disproves the existence of karma) had a bee fly into her nose and get stuck there, where it continue to buzz until she could blow it out. Aby drank a bee with soda and got stung on the roof of his mouth. Ari is afraid of only three things in this world, and the third spot is reserved for bees and their angry waspy cousins. Atch, my favorite artista, was raised and subsists on the care of trees and bees. And on, and on. . .

Two out of every three haikus I write are about bees (including the best, #26). On the air, I talk about bees and bats. When I am in the midst of nervousness and love, my stomach is terrorized by bees, noisy and always threatening to sting. No butterflies in my digestive tract.

When I try to think of nothing, I always think of bees. Someday, as an ultimate symbolic event, bees will unexpectedly tumble from my mouth when I attempt to speak.