Showing posts from July, 2014
Yes, I know, I keep vanishing. Sorry. I've been cooking a lot lately, among other things, so here is what I have been feeding Jazmin over the past few weeks. It's not so much a recipe as it is an algorithm for making a basket full of things from the grocery store into the kind of food that will convince your parents it is totally safe for you to live on your own after all.

Ingredients (things in parentheses are optional):

Some kind of [COOKING FAT]
3-6 servings of [MEAT]
1 large onion
1-3 cloves of garlic
1 box of [STOCK]
(One or more [HERBS & SPICES] of choice)
(Some kind of [BAKING MIX])


A large [POT]
A [LID] for your pot
A [CUP] to measure with
A large plate
A medium sized bowl
A knife that will cut vegetables
A thing to cut vegetables on
Tongs or a spatula


The ideal meat for this recipe is the kind that is on sale for 79 cents a pound. As a practical matter, any muscle tissu…
I went to see one of my friends in a show a while ago. He didn't want to spoil anything for me, but he did warn me that his solo number would be kind of intense.

Intense how? I asked.

You'll see, he said.

He started out on his knees. His character had just seen his entire world end, literally and figuratively, around him, leaving him with the now-useless remnants of everything he'd spent his life working for.

He hit himself. He clawed at his precious papers and flung them into the audience. He threw himself at the stage like he was angry at the floor. He peeled away his clothes like he was peeling away his skin, and when that wasn't enough, he took his tie and wrapped it around his neck and twisted--

It's only a show, I reminded myself. But that was my friend up there. A friend I almost didn't get to meet, because something not too far removed from that had happened, once.

He looked my way a couple of times. I couldn't tell if he was seeing me. I couldn'…
Hello, tumblr. I have no idea who found the fleebwanger story or how, but thank you for passing it around? You did give me a small heart attack when I noticed that my visitor count shot up fourfold over the course of about 24 hours. I thought the Blogger stats page was broken. I also don't know who's been tweeting or re-tweeting things, because the links aren't searchable and don't trackback properly to your posted statuses.

I haven't been posting much lately, because I'm potted in work, involved in some theater productions, and sorting a few things out. Sorry! I'll fix it sooner or later. In the meantime, you can also find me on Facebook and Twitter. I think I technically have a tumblr and a Pinterest and a bunch of other things that I've signed up for, poked at for a week, an then totally lost interest in. I only regularly follow the newsfeeds of people I know IRL (or have known online for a long time), but I do peek in on the wider world from ti…
When I was a kid, I used to think that sitting by the bedside of someone who was sick or suffering was something people only did in movies. Like in The Princess Bride, where the frame story is a grandfather reading an adventure novel to his grandson, who is home sick from school. Or maybe something that people used to do in Good Middle Class Homes, where Mother's "only" job was to keep the house and tend to the kids, but which had slowly died out under the pressures of modern life.

Certainly, no one did it for me. I learned early on that it wasn't much good to ask my parents for comfort. I remember my mother running herself ragged when I had the chicken pox, but it stands out to me, because I can't remember her ever doing that before or since. The main result of pestering either parent for help was that they'd stand around being crabby, especially if I tried it in the middle of the night. When I was ten or so, I decided that I could just hold my own hair back…
Two of the Sirlesque boys are twins, a fact which is brought to our attention by a minimum of one randy drunk woman per show, when she finally realizes why Jack and Danny look so much alike.

People for some reason seem to think that being twins basically makes you the same person with two separate corpora. I've no idea why, other than possibly cognitive laziness. I've known a few other sets of twins in my time, most of them in college. One was a set of fraternal twins who were no more alike than any other pair of siblings very close in age, and as I recall, the sister spent a great deal of time wanting to smack her brother across the back of the head to make him shut up. Another pair were identical girls, although you'd be hard-pressed to notice that unless you got up close and stared a lot. They made a lot of disparate sartorial choices. One of them went blonde and wore a lot of neckties, and the other one was a borderline-anorexic weeaboo who was terrified of getting any…
I am stuck. I want to write things, but I'm not sure I can. The stuff that goes into this blog goes around and around the inside of my head in a sort of a queue; the monologues have a priority, and right now there's a bunch of harmless fluff all jammed up behind some important things. The important things have to come out first, before the harmless fluff can run free, but I'm not sure I can get the important things out, because a large proportion of the ones currently standing at the front of the line are technically not mine.

People tell me things. A lot. They pretty much never remember to explain why they decide to tell me things, but I have the nagging feeling that one of the reasons is because things that are told to me in private conversations also stop with me. There are a few mandated-reporter-type things that I'll pass on to your loved ones and/or the authorities no matter what I've promised you -- I am totally okay with you being pissed at me for thwarting…