Friday, December 31, 2004
Tomorrow Dec 31 is NYE and I am working it at the bar, which is usually worth a ton of money. It better be. Scott is working at his bar, too. We’ll get together for “afters” and we’ll make it up to each other … sweet.
Make-up yum-yum is even better than regular sleepy tired yum-yum.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
I can’t believe the pictures I am seeing from the news and from the web on the tsunami and the mud. It’s like a river of mud has engulfed the southern hemisphere of the world.
There may be 2 million people dead.
I can’t look at this.
If anyone’s still reading this please give to the reputable charity of your choice:
For the Indonesians:
Aceh Sumatra Relief Fund Inc.
164 Florence Street #2
Roslindale, MA. 02131
Indian Red Cross
Old No 132, New No 242,
Avvai Shanmugam Road
Gopalapuram, Chennai - 600 086
Ph: 044- 28350403, 044- 28115058
Sunday, December 26, 2004
I got a necklace, three CD’s (one from Scott, very romantic; one from Jules, one from Trey), a sweater, a bunch of cash from uncle, aunt, daddy, “Maggie” and D gave me some (I bet) lovely wine from D’s brother in France (he says his brother makes it himself – is there no end to this guy?) and cards from all over even one from Mel in Oregon.
(Melissa. Damn that reminds me I need to write her.)
“Maggie” is easily the hottest fucking piano player on the planet. I realize now it’s not just a silly girl friend crush. I want her so-o-o-o bad and I don’t care who reads this. I was never one for strange bi/lesbian tendencies but I look into her eyes and I melt.
We stayed up late last night talking about this and that and giggling till all hours on the couch and I was so freaking turned on and so crazy for her by the time I left Mademoiselle D’s to go home. I could have jumped her right then and there. Damn, damn damn damn.
She’s so easy to talk to and still so smart.
Then it got steamy. This may not be verbatim but: She mentioned some actress she was hot for, someone from like the ‘50’s (for real?!) and then I paused and then I said, “You ever kiss a girl before?”
Long pause, she looks at me kinda sideways and sips her tea… and so demurely … and she goes, “of course. Haven’t you?”
I turned totally red. I couldn’t help it.
I said, “well, not really.”
“But you want to?”
“Well… depends on the girl.”
“Well, no duh, right?”
I giggle and the giggle kind of trails off… and I look at her, and said, “But I think I will, soon.”
“Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”
“Well… I mean, ‘Maggie’, c’mon I think you know I love you.”
“Aww, that’s sweet. But I don’t mess around on D.”
A pout from me. “Not even one little kiss?”
“Now, [Yearning Heart] I think you know where that would lead, don’t you?”
“Oo! Tell me!” my eyes gleaming.
She leans closer to me. “With you, face down, in my lap.”
AAGGHHHHhhhh!!! My mind screams but I turn away. Then I look back at her and say, “Don’t be so sure. I might not like girls THAT much.”
“Liar. Want some more tea?”
Someday, I’ll get you, my pretty, and your delicious hunky husband too, both of you.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Thursday, December 23, 2004
It’s fecking cold.
D & “Maggie” and the boys are at Mademoiselle D’s, I’m really glad to see them.
I stayed over there practically all night and I swear it’s like me and her are sisters.
Sisters like where the little sister wants to totally FUCK big sister and brother-in-law.
My god if she ever read this I would die.
She brought her keyboard and he brought his guitar, the acustic one.
And they played, together, after the boys were all asleep.
I’m still gushing.
Big gushing goo.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Hello. You’re the obnoxious ass who couldn’t put your cell phone down long enough to tell me what you wanted to eat tonight. How do I know you’re an obnoxious ass? Call it a guess. I bet you drive a Hummer, I bet you spend $100.00 a week just hauling your ponderous bulk to and from work, and now you gotta “circle back” with your “man in Chicago” on this “paradigm shift” while the “iron is hot” and you can’t put your fucking phone down for one minute and 35 seconds, to tell me what (or, indeed, even if) you fucking want to eat.
Because, sir, you’re an ass.
“Are we ready,” I ask as I approach your table.
“Yeah, hang on,” you say, without looking up.
“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me,” you say to your phone, “that was wrapped up at the conference a week ago.”
Was it a week ago? I think. How time flies….
“Yeah, see if you can get Karen or Hal to re-compile,” you say, then you look up at me as if I will confirm this.
I nod, yes, damn good idea. Get Hal on it, pronto.
I start to walk away.
“Yeah,” you say to the phone, and then look up. “Hold on – [to me] hey, hon, just a sec?”
I turn and come back and smile. “Ready to order?”
You order: “KCspecialmedjumrareandanotherMGD,” and then you go back to your phone call, “No, I mean with the fimmer on the uplink…”
“That comes with fries or a baked potato?”
“Hold on – [to me] It does what?”
I give up. “OK, that’ll be right out…”
He doesn’t notice.
I have a great idea for you and your phone. Stay with me here. I want you to take that phone, and I want you to place it under the left rear wheel of your Hummer, and I want you to drive over it - forward, backward, and forward again - until you’ve pulverized it into a mound of tiny cherts, each no bigger than a nickel. Then, I want you to put the pieces into a blender and, adding a little WD40, grind them into a smooth paste. Then I want you to pour the mess onto a fireproof surface - the driveway that leads into your gated community home will do - and I want you to set it alight and burn it and I want you to scrape up the ashes with a putty knife, and I want you to bury them.
Because, you, sir, are an obnoxious asswipe.
And you must never, ever speak on a cell phone again.
“But,” you reply, “I am an asswipe, and this is the source of my power and my glory.”
Yes, it will be hard for you. For a while you can deal with your painful withdrawals by speaking into your cupped hand, which you will hold against the side of your head while you imagine that you are talking to Karen or Hal. For a while.
“But,” you ask, “will I still be an obnoxious asswipe?”
I’m thinking, yeah, you will.
Friday, December 03, 2004
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Guy in Dramaturg Class: Oh, like you’d date a nerd.
the Yearning Heart: [witheringly penetrating look] …but, sir, I AM a nerd:
A young farm hand was walking past the fenced-in front yard of an elderly lady. He had a pitchfork in his left hand, a bag of feed over his right shoulder and was leading a goat by a short rope in his right hand. As he passed the old lady, who was rocking on her porch, he doffed his hat and said, “Howdy, ma‘am.”
“Don’t you ‘howdy’ me!” she replied. “You’re just planning on taking advantage of a woman who’s all alone!”
He stopped, bewildered, and said, “Ma’am, how could I do a thing like that? My hands are full!”
She answered, helpfully, “You could lean the pitchfork against the fence and set the feed next to it. I’ll hold the goat.”
Monday, November 29, 2004
Prince Charles and Lady Di are apparently a bit confused by the whole marriage thing. It seems that on their wedding night, as Diane was making last-minute preparations to walk down the aisle, she found that her shoes were missing. She was forced to borrow her sister’s, which were a bit on the small side.
When the wedding and reception were finally over, Charles and Diane retired to their room, right next door to the Queen’s and Prince Phillip’s. Because of the renovations done to Windsor Castle recently, the adjoining walls were made of thin drywall over a frame.
As soon as Charles and Diane were inside their room, Diane flopped on the bed and said, “Darling, please get these shoes off. My feet are killing me.”
The ever-obedient Prince of Wales attacked the right shoe with vigour, but it was stuck fast.
“Harder!” Diane yelled. “Harder!”
“I’m trying, darling!” the prince yelled back. “It’s just so bloody tight!”
“Come on! Give it all you’ve got!” There was a big groan from the Prince, and then Diane exclaimed, “There! That’s it! Oh that feels good! Oh that feels SO good!”
In the bedroom next door, the Queen turned to Prince Phillip and said, “See? I told you that she was still a virgin.”
Back in the bridal suite, Charles was trying to pry off the left shoe.
“Oh, my God, darling! This one’s even tighter!” exclaimed the heir to the throne.
At which Prince Phillip turned to the Queen and said, “That’s my boy. Once a Navy man, always a Navy man!”
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
My friends sophomore Stuart and freshman Kaylie are about to lose their scholarships due to low GPAs in academics. Stuart goofed off and partied way too much, but Kaylie really, really tried. She just blew it in everything. She can’t read. She can’t do math. She’s from Sedalia, and I know their schools aren’t any worse than mine were. You can graduate after slacking your way through grade school, but you can’t expect to be anything or get anywhere.
Oleana, my part is cut; I was the wife, but they’ll so it as “booked” which means Richard will be doing our scenes Bob Newhart-style. It was a lesser role. But there are no small parts, only big egos. And mine is aching.
But it gives me a chance to concentrate on Everyone’s Doing. OK not such a great portfolio-builder.
“Maggie” and D and the boys are coming to KC for Christmas!!! I adore them. Not just in “GRRrrrr! yummm!” sort of way, either. I just love them. She’s the big sister I never had, and he’s just … a yummy guy.
I should gather my thoughts on them, and post them here while I’m thinking about it.
I first met D and “Maggie” when she had a toddler and was pregnant with their second child. I was still living with Mademoiselle D, who is D’s sister. Mademoiselle D is a story unto herself, but this is not the space for it.
D is … well, he takes a woman’s breath away. Not that he is good looking and possesses a beautiful voice (which he is, very true) but it is his manner, his way of concentrating on someone when that person is speaking. and he’s French. Ooo- la-la, I know it’s shallow but I go buttery for an accent. It’s that and his way of speaking that makes me forget what I am saying, and I end up staring at him and grinning and going … “uh, heh-heh, uh…” and looking like an idiot.
“Maggie” is disarmingly gorgeous, and very intense. She told me what her degree is in and I think it’s history, or art. But she seems to have a background in everything. She was born in China to a Korean dad and a Chinese mom. She moved to Texas when she was three. Her dad is a music teacher and she learned piano from a very early age, and she plays it beautifully. She is into classical but her passion is jazz. She knows a lot of styles, but it’s amazing when she plays ragtime.
They have a little jazz combo and I’ve heard them play. It’s amazing. They’re so cool; he leans over and sings in English, French and Italian, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and just plays; her hands are so fast and so precise. When she stands up to play she shakes her head and tosses her hair around, it’s like the piano is her lover and she is rocking back and forth on it.
(I’m crushing on them so bad, I know!)
In my opinion they’re going to be big stars in their own time.
I gotta get to bed; I’m exhausted.
Friday, November 19, 2004
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
An OLD one. I still laugh:
There’s this actor who was once a great, a legend, but now could no longer remember his lines. After many years he finds a theatre where a friend is directing a play. The director is willing to give him a chance.
The director says, “This part is the most important, but it has only one line. You walk on to the stage at the opening carrying a rose. You hold the rose to your nose with your finger and thumb, sniff the rose deeply and then say the line ‘Ah, the sweet aroma of my mistress.’”
The actor can’t wait for opening night. All day long before the play, he’s practicing his line over and over again. Finally, the time comes. The curtain goes up, the actor walks onto the stage on cue, hits his mark, and, with great passion delivers the line, “Ah, the sweet aroma of my mistress.”
The theatre erupts. The audience is screaming with laughter, but the director is livid.
“You idiot!” he cries. “You have ruined my play!”
The actor says, “What happened, did I forget my line?”
“No!” screams the director. “You forgot the rose!”
Thursday, November 11, 2004
I’ve been reading about World War II for this part I’m auditioning. The name of the play is “Everyone’s Doing Their Part.”
Never mind the bad grammar of the title. What I was drawn to was how everyone was mobilized in the war effort. There was gas rationing, meat rationing, rubber and steel rationing. There were bond drives and blood drives. There was a draft; if you were a man of military age and you weren’t in uniform, then you could forget about getting a date unless you were taken out of the conflict by being wounded in action.
Military age was anyone between 18 and 45. And it didn’t matter if you were soft and flabby, the armed forces had a place for you.
I look at this war that we’re in now. Where is the sacrifice? In WWII, everyone’s son signed up. The president’s and the opposition leader’s sons went to serve. Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret were selling war bonds.
There is no call to action here. What would happen if there were? I mean: rationing, a call to serve, and the whole bit. Would Bush have lost? Is that why he didn’t ask America to invest in this nonsensical war?
Monday, November 08, 2004
Thursday, November 04, 2004
The mood in our scenarists writing class is sombre. It’s 2.30 p.m. here at UMKC. John Kerry conceded defeat. We are seated in a tight circle of a dozen people who are all actors, with the exception of a writer and one theatre tech person. The class is devoted to study of plays, stage screen and one-off – scene making. The usual conversations on post-colonialism, religion, immigration and the implications of being American are perhaps a reflection of the demography of the class, which includes four people of African American / mixed race, one Vietnamese woman, and the descendants of Hispanic immigrants. There are three people of European descent, including me. The professor sets the tone as a Mexican American who writes about the experiences of Mexican immigrants among other things. This is one of the best, most stimulating class I’ve ever taken. But today, the mood is like a wake.
“Are we living in two Americas,“ asks the professor. “Is this our country any more?” The joke that is no longer a joke was that if George W. Bush were to be re-elected as President of the United States of America, then we are the enemy of our own government. There will no longer be a differentiation between government and country – you must love your government in order to be patriotic to your country. “Where should I go?” asks the professor. “Venezuela?”
“Where will I end up?” I think. I can keep my head down and stay but will it be in Chicago?
One student rushes out in the middle of the discussion, overcome by emotion. Two of the most vocal ones have failed to show up for class. One of them, only last week, gripped horrific photographs of the torture of Iraqi prisoners at Abu Ghraib prison and spoke with passion that shocked me.
The Vietnamese woman spoke up. She is unhappy with America and its paranoia about foreigners which has troubled her since her arrival in this country fourteen years ago. The other students protest their innocence. Is this one country or two? Which America am I in?
The culture of protest in the USA is not a new one. In a nation that has its origins in the men and women who left Europe to protest religious persecution, every era has witnessed passionate dissent against issues ranging from British taxation, slavery and the lack of suffrage for women, to capitalism and the Vietnam War. Protest in America has led to landmark movements such as Civil Rights and the feminist movement(s). The dissenters have always, as is to be expected, been a small minority who have gone against the tide and the changes they have wrought have been a product of much time and labor.
One of the places where protest has been most vociferous is the university campus. The leader of the pack was University of California at Berkeley in the 1960s when student activists against the war in Vietnam clashed with university administration over the use of campus facilities for their campaign, a confrontation that led to the Free Speech Movement. Campus counterculture peaked in 1968 when 221 major demonstrations took place in over 100 campuses across the country between January 1 and June 15.
The War on Iraq has found some of its strongest detractors on university campuses across the USA. And nowhere is the criticism against the Bush administration more visible than in this theatre department, the traditional bastion of the left-wing. But foreign policy is not the only bone of contention. In the run-up to the Democratic nomination for a Presidential candidate, the then front-runner in the race, Howard Dean, had warned that the Republicans might turn the election into a mandate on “Gays, God and Guns.” And even as Kerry prepared his concession speech on 2 November, I heard political analysts on NPR begin to talk of how moral values won Bush this election.
This, then, is Republican morality – the War on Iraq is right. Gay marriage is wrong. Abortion is wrong. Freedom to use assault weapons is right. Embryonic stem cell research is wrong.
And this is how Americans voted:
- More white men and women voted for Bush
- More non-white persons including an overwhelming majority of African-Americans voted for Kerry
- More people between the ages of 18 and 29 voted for Kerry
- More people over 60 voted for Bush
- More voters with an annual income below $15,000 voted for Kerry
- More with an annual income over $200,000 voted for Bush
- More people with no college degree voted Bush
- More with a post-graduate degree voted Kerry
- More Protestants and Catholics voted Bush
- More Jews and members of other religions voted Kerry
- More gun owners voted Bush
- More gays voted Kerry
- More married people voted Bush
- More singles voted Kerry
- The north eastern states and those on the west coast voted Kerry
- The southern states and most of the Midwest voted Bush
- More rural voters voted Bush,
- More urban voters voted Kerry
Perhaps the most interesting statistic shows that more churchgoers voted for Bush while more people who have never been to church voted for Kerry. The percentage of Republican voters went up with the frequency of church visits.
I talked to a maybe 3 dozen people at the sports bar. Most who voted for Bush, did mainly to show support for the War On Terror and because of his “superior values.”
My mother said in the (Catholic) church the priest told everyone to vote for Bush. The determining issue? Abortion. Another student says that his parents are very strict and vote Republican, and even though he is more tolerant of divergent views, he does not believe that gays should be allowed to marry. Civil unions are okay, he says, but matrimony is defined by the church as being between a man and a woman.
In a class discussion in another room it is revealed that most of the undergrads support the war against Iraq. “Because of 9/11,” say students who seem shocked that I’d ask.
Talk of 9/11 leads us to US foreign policy. Does the USA have the right to intervene in the affairs of other countries? Of course, say the students. The most vocal supporters are the two foreign students in class, one from Africa and the other from India. Of course, the US must bring freedom and knowledge to countries that do not have them. What sort of knowledge? Well, says one girl, now Iraq has American TV. When I mention the growing hatred against America in other countries, a student pipes up: “They’re jealous because we are so powerful.”
Back in the scene writing class, I ask if another country might, some day, attempt to attack the US in order to bring “freedom” to gays. I get a round of laughter, then applause,
Has the Christian Right then won these elections? Is fundamentalist Christianity in this part of the world going to embark on what looks like an inevitable duel with fundamentalist Muslims from other parts of the world? Are we who find ourselves in America at this time getting firmly entrenched in a climate of conformity and fear?
They don’t say so, but I believe that those who voted for Bush are afraid. Afraid of gays, afraid of Arabs, afraid of criminals and terrorists. This is the age of paranoia.
Those who voted for Kerry are afraid – for America.
The class talked with shame and regret of the increasing hatred for their nation around the world, particularly in West Asia and Western Europe, particularly among intellectuals across the globe, a group whose opinions are held in the highest regard in this room.
This does not feel like our country any more. You know what we are. We are the poor, the artistic, the homosexual, immigrant, peace-loving motherfuckers. We are smarter, we are more compassionate, we are more tolerant. We do not try to impose our views on other human beings, even though we know that our views are better.
A tiny part of me is impressed by the same reasons that have sent 48 per cent of America into mourning. Most of me is astonished that 51 per cent of voters in this country would rather prevent gay couples from marrying than worry about unemployment or health care, two key issues addressed by Kerry in his election campaign. But I see something the liberals around me may not. I see a passion among critics of the government that must surely match that of its supporters. It is only a question of numbers.
Four more years of George W Bush can seem like a very long time. But four years is also a very short time. The backlash will come again. It usually begins in rooms like that classroom in the UMKC Theatre Department. A room of hope.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
I AM Brigitte Bardot
You’re Brigitte Bardot!
What Classic Pin-Up Are You?
Last night “Maggie” (tingle tingle) “worked” me upstairs at Lady Ann’s for 3 hours. Geez I was a puddle. Also there was a puddle on my chair. It was so hot, and I can’t even explain why. Trust me, I was so aroused I could have gotten off if someone had touched my cheek.
Which is why it was so disappointing when Scott woke up and jumped up, got in the shower and scooted out to go shoot hoops instead of giving me a slow (or even quick) rogering like I deserve. Oh well. I had work to do, and now it’s time to dream of Maggie and get out the buzz lover.
Friday, October 22, 2004
People think of “evangelicals” (when I say “people”, of course I mean the news media which is very odd) as conservative, right leaning religious people. This is based on the term “evangelical” to mean a (politically) right conservative Christian. Isn’t that a circular definition? But a lot of evangelical Christians just might be personally morally conservative yet politically liberal. Witness the evangelicals who are against the death penalty. Look at the C of C people who pray, not for our troops, not for our president, but for our planet.
God isn’t only on “your” side. Would Jesus be a Republican? Would he be a Democrat?
Get real, people.
And when the media talk about evangelicals in support of Bush, they are referring to a branch of evangelicalism that tends toward the fundamentalist (strict definition) end of the spectrum. They tend to take the Bible literalistically not literally, as the word of God handed down. But didn’t the authors of the Bible actually sign their work? That’s why it’s called “the book of Daniel” – Daniel’s book. “Paul’s Epistle (‘Letter’) to the Corinthians” – we’re reading other people’s spam and they call it the Word of God. There’s no record of what the church in Corinth wrote back. Maybe “Remove Me” then “UNSUBSCRIBE”.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
I hereby categorically state that I am totally sick of drunken frat-boy (AND girl!) wannabes drinking and partying out on the lawn, nearby balconies, all over the apartment complex; spreading out over three courtyards, drinking, saying wooHOOO!!! and peeing in the bushes. Is the view out on the concrete that much better than inside your dingy, puke-covered pile carpeted living rooms and your drab crusty-floored kitchens? I guess it is. Maybe if you live in an apartment you shouldn’t invite 150 people to your party. Maybe you shouldn’t buy a keg at all.
I went out and told them to plase stop standing outside of our bedroom window. “WooHOOO!!!” they opined, “Let’s see your nightgown!”
There were a couple of girlie la-las with them, giggling blearily.
Where the fuck is Scott? Why should I have to deal with this myself?
I had my phone with me and I turned it on, put it to my ear and as I went into the apartment, said, “I need to report a noise disturbance, really a loud party in my apartment courtyard.”
I hated to do that but they weren’t going home anytime soon. Their parents probably would have grounded them if they did.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
A dishwasher broke his thumb really badly today. Someone closed the walk in door just as he was reaching around it to turn on the light from the outside. It is crshed. He went to the hospital. He is now out of work — they didn’t fire him but since he can’t work, he won’t get paid — and the restaurant, out of the generosity of their hearts, and the fear of any lawsuit, will give him $1000 not to sue them.
I was listening to the management talk to the owners and they were trying to figure out how to work out the “total risk of injury” among their employees.
At the risk of sounding like a complete Bolshevik, it seems to me that they figure in the total risks involved — in terms of lost time and higher insurance — of avoiding a safe workplace. It’s too expensive at $5,000 to put in a safe door, so we’ll go with the cheaper one and hope that if someone gets hurt, it will cost us less than that.
The compensation system seems biased away from safety because the manager can weigh the sure thing (reduced costs by cutting safety programs and maintenance) against the probability (which is less than a sure thing) that the reduction of safety programs will lead to more accidents.
And, should the shit hit the fan, and someone gets hurt, then the owner/investor can blame the management – whose job is is to cut costs – and fire him/her for not training employees well enough.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
- Oleanna (minor role) (David Mamet, who I think has the record for the most “motherfuckers” spoken in a single scene
- Everyone’s Doing Their [sic] Part (audition)
- School for Husbands (audition)
- Major Barbara (tech crew- “This is for a GRADE, people”)
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Bunches of stuff.
Happy Columbus Day. The Irish discovered North America, (link: http://www.castletown.com/brendan.htm) and then the Norwegians followed. The Italian explorer Colómbo (who we call “Columbus” in English) who was working for Spain wasn’t even looking for new land. He was looking for a shortcut to the Spice Islands. That’s right. He was on a grocery run and would not stop for directions. Éireann go Brách!
Mae closed, and my fac advisor loved every minute of its run. I feel like a star. The author gritted her teeth. See previous posts re: her being against a white woman playing the part.
Work, work, work. I work in a restaurant, and also in a sports bar. I’m amazed at how hard cooks work for a living. I read somewhere that it takes about 5 years for a top-level cook to be trained before they can really go on the line by themselves and be expected to work without direct, constant supervision by a manager. And the pay just can’t possibly compensate for it. I know that a lot of them are immigrants and perfect English is not really a job requirement. Hell’s bells, a lot of the wait staff are immigrants and the pay is way better. Most of the bus staff is made up of non-English speakers and they make tip percentages. So how do the cooks survive? I don’t understand the native-born cooks, why they put up with it. They maybe make $8 an hour, with no tips. They work their butts off. The heat is intense, the pressure unreal. I thank them every day. They seem to do it just for the appreciation. I know that the Hispanic guys could work construction, could coop to own businesses, and could do a million things that don’t require a high level of formal education or English skills. But they cook, instead. It amazes me.
Sunday, October 03, 2004
The Xians wrote something in the UMKC paper protesting the degenerate state of the arts that are supported by taxpayers.
They mentioned the “rumor” that the department is featuring a show “glorifying” prostitution. I sincerely hope they’re talking about mine - you can’t buy publicity like that.
I get raped, beaten, abused, treated like livestock by the social services, then I get my ovaries dug out by a heartless gang of assassins with rusty Exact-o blades.
We’re talking serious glamour. I have no doubt that otherwise stable 19-year-old girls are gonna rush right out and sell themselves into slavery after they see this one.
(I exaggerate. Mae has some fun. She enjoys herself, her youth, her sexuality … at first.)
Which got me thinking … if prostitution were not only legal, but admired … actually considered a valuable part of the community, for both men and women to do, well, would it be so bad?
I know I’d be good at it. Not that I’m the greatest in bed, but I know I can take a serious pounding. And if I had someone to look out for me, to make sure I wouldn’t get hurt.
Which brings up the fact that if prostitution were as highly prized, say, as virginity … then beating up a prostitute would be as bad as beating up a little girl.
Which got me thinking (I know, I think too much) … I think I’d like to go work at Lady Ann’s. For M. (For “Maggie” - tee hee!!) And for the thousands of guys out there who can’t get it at home, because they’re fat, ugly, married or a combination of all three.
(I think it’s kinda sad that all people really want is to be thought of as glamorous, exciting, sexy; and the only thing they have to look forward to for the rest of their lives, if they live long enough, is losing their looks.)
M’s not asking me to. There’s no pressure, I can hang out there and listen to her play piano online (she’s really - no really - good, you wouldn’t believe how good she is until you hear her) and watch all the guys go crazy for her and the girls creme for her, but … I kinda want to.
Like I said, I think I’d be good.
Online, even better since I don’t have to worry about people who don’t bathe as often as they should.
And, it might kinda spice things up for me with Scott. Actually I know it would. On a good night, like tonight, I get hot just watching it going on.
And Scott would love it … he’d reap the benefits anyway. As long as he didn’t find out.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
I’ve had it with Starbuck’s. My favorite freaking coffee shop has been Starfucked.
This once was a pleasant enough, genteel sort of place. The kind of place where they did not discriminate hiring on the basis of body art. They would hire people who looked like they bathed, and who could hold five orders in their heads at a time.
But no, it’s been Starfucked, as in bought out by Starbuck’s.
Now you can’t even get a Pitch Weekly. They don’t allow them in the store. They’re FREE for the luvva Fudd, but they’re not allowed to be distributed in the corporate death hole that is Starbuck’s.
Worse, they don’t sell a medium cup of coffee. I walk in, smile my crooked smile and ask for “a medium cup of coffee, please.”
“A Grande drip?” asks the perkyguy.
“No, thank you. I’d like a medium size cup of coffee.”
“We have Tall, Grande and Venti.”
“How horrible for you, that they make an intelligent young man like you say that to college-educated people with a straight face. I want the medium-sized cup of coffee. To go. Please.”
Vente is Italian for twenty. Grande is the name of a rio in Texas. And Tall - Why is the smallest one named Tall? for the same reason 350-lb. bikers are named “Tiny?”
I guess I have to elbow my way up to the counter at Muddy’s from now on.
I haven’t had much time for him, either, but I sure as hell am not hanging out with loser friends instead of him.
If it were my ex-boyfriend I was hanging out with in bars, with a group of jerks, he’d go ballistic.
I don’t mind her so much, especially since she’s with another guy who is a friend of hers. She’s just so skanky, and her boyfriend (who is Scott’s friend) is so loser I just can’t get it out of my mind.
This all sounds so high school. I should be glad one of us has a social life. But I’m not. I’m envious.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Monday, September 20, 2004
I was talking to “Maggie” about Mae. I don’t sound “urban” in my voice characterization and she was saying that it didn’t seem that important to the character. She doesn’t have to be so urban and I had never considered that before. The important thing, we finally worked out, was that she thinks that she’s in control of her destiny, not very well-educated, and she ends up being pushed around by events that are not in her control.
She doesn’t hate “the life”, she rather likes it. She isn’t a “victim” because she’s a prostitute. She’s a victim because she’s poor and illiterate. She didn’t get into it because she drinks; she drinks because it was easier to face the world and it gave her that feeling she once got when she was a teenager and a cute guy looked at her. I can relate on that level.
I mentioned to “Maggie” that I needed to interview more prostitutes that actually like what they do, and don’t feel like they’re victims.
Long pause on her end.
Then she said, “Why don’t you get on Yahoo, and then come check out this online chat room brothel role-playing thing we got happening?”
“Do whut huh?”
It’s called Lady Ann’s Brothel. So I did, just to look. You can check out http://www.ladyanns.com
Oh. My. God.
It’s a chat room. “Maggie” says it’s a game, but these people really get into the game of it. “Maggie” is “Maggie”* and she is a manager, like a Madame, and also she’s a piano player and … oh my god … she’s a working girl!!!
I should mention that, it’s not real. It’s all role-play and chat – you’re not allowed to ask a girl for webcam – you’re not even allowed to ask for voice chat. It all happens in the conversation box.
A client (there are male and female clients allowed) does not just enter the chat room and ask for a woman. (Only women work as prostitutes.) It’s controlled by the list. The Manager runs the list.
The Manager will say something like:
If you want to be one of the 5 people on this list, please type “I need a lady!!! J”
And the first 5 to type that gets on the list.
Then the Manager asks if there are any ladies “on the couch”. The ladies on the couch change their font to Bold, Blue, and say that they’re sitting on the couch.
Then the Manager says, for example if Roger is the first one on the list, “Kristi, please take Roger upstairs for 20 minutes.”
Then she role-plays going up to him, usually in a very suggestive way, and then they go to private message and I assume, have cybersex.
(My spell-checker suggested “cabers” and “cabernet” for “cybersex”.)
They can only go for 20 minutes, then the girl as to “come back downstairs”. 20 minutes doesn’t seem nearly long enough but the room is always full!
OK the whole brothel chat room thing sounds silly when I describe it, but it’s really not that weird.
One of the reasons I like the idea is that women are thought of as prey on IRC and Yahoo. In this one room, they’re safe. No one can send them a personal message without permission. If anyone ignores that rule, then he’ll get warned, and it might happen that he can’t get on a list.
The benefit for men is that they can get a chance to hook up for at least 20 minutes.
“Maggie” says she has lots of fun and I believe it. She’s really sexy and very articulate.
Also – she uses the Room Voice Feature to play piano for the customers in the room.
How freaking cool is that?
The bad part is, she doesn’t want anyone to know that we know each other in real life. Which, I can understand. Doing this is somewhat dangerous if anyone finds out who you are and where you live.
I’m seriously considering becoming a “working girl” there. The idea turns me on, totally. And as long as I don’t get caught by Scott, who doesn’t even know I have a Yahoo account, well, what he doesn’t know and 6¢ none the richer.
I think the idea of working when “Maggie” is managing is what is getting me going. And also, I think getting me going would really help things with Scott. I’ve been falling asleep lately before he gets home – this chat room is all hours and it would keep me up at night.
Saturday, September 18, 2004
OK not complaining about Scott but, my gosh and golly if I don’t get to see him more I’m going to go insane. I know we don’t have time to date/go out, either one of us. I just need sex. Lots of it, all at once. A nice, gentle, loving, sincere wonderful kissing sloppy yummy … ok it doesn’t have to be gentle. If he doesn’t give it to me tonight then … well I’d never go outside of the relationship. But I’d think about it.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
OK, so the Mae thing is kicking off. First hurdle was getting the part. Next hurdle was breaking to my dad that I’m playing a whore onstage. Next hurdle was convincing the author that a white woman can play the part.
This woman – the author (I won’t link to her because she may track back to this) – wrote it for herself; she wrote it with the idea that only a black woman would play the part; she says that anyone else would make it into something like a blackface minstrel show. I can dig that.
But what would she say to the people who said black people shouldn’t do Shakespeare? Or an Arab playing Othello? I don’t know.
I talked about this in an academic setting – actually in a black studies class. You could almost feel the seething resentment from other students. It moved to a talk about black culture, about the politics of diversity. I asked how come all of the black male students I’ve ever met on campus are either: 1) athletes 2) foreign, or 3) gay?
You could have heard a pin drop.
I don’t think anyone in the class had ever considered the idea that the culture of criminal behavior so prevalent today is any danger.
KB asked me “how many black men have you known growing up?” knowing I come from a small town in . I didn’t get into it with her – but my answer (“maybe six”) surprised her – I don’t think she thought there were six black families in SedgwickCounty outside of Wichita. I told her maybe she didn’t know as much about my culture as I knew about hers. (She grew up in St. Louis and lived in KC since she was in elementary school. She comes from a pretty middle-class neighborhood.)
I don’t mean that I don’t like black people or culture. I’m not going to get into that. There’s a lot I like and a lot I don’t. I’m not much for hip-hop since I like music to be something I can hum. “The day the music died was when they buried the melody,” says “Maggie” and I love that.
Me’shelle Ndegocello (help me with that, spell checker!) talks about the ‘pimp and thug’ mindset in music.
I read something once that a black man wrote – I think it was Stanley Crouch and I’ll look for the link: “Why is it OK for young black people to accept the idea that the more crude, inarticulate and criminal a person is, the more ‘real’ he or she is as a black person?” I can’t even ask that question in a Black Literature class. Hell, I can’t even talk about the bisexuality of the some of biggest names in black literature.
I don’t always agree with Stanley Crouch but he’s right about some things, especially that
is getting more and more balkanized. America
Men, women, black men, Hispanic women, gays, Reeps, Dems & Greens, artists, engineers. This globalization thing was supposed to bring us together and we’re flying apart as fast as we can spin.
Sunday, September 12, 2004
There’s this … stench … permeating our apartment. It’s very difficult to describe. It’s somewhere between burning plastic, and broccoli gas. It’s not that meth lab smell, which as someone who grew up in a farm community I have an intimate familiarity. It’s awful. Scott is not really bothered by it as much. I envy him.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
I woke up and realized it was 3 years since the WTC was destroyed.
Now I think of the anger-baiting that the elections are becoming, on all sides, red, blue, green, and between. The Reeps (OK, the Dick and his Staff) think the Dems want to win “the war” with caseworkers and therapy. Of course they don’t, but the charge is there, and no one who votes red knows enough Dems to think twice about it. Makes me want to tell the Dick to get Dicked.
Kerry says we went in to Iraq without a plan, which probably isn’t true either - the plan was probably kinda like the plan that the western Allies had for liberating Germany, only without the Soviets. Pity it’s not working…
“Maggie” (oh she’s my idol!) has three (!) cousins Over There; she hopes that they change the rules that qualify who can run for president (no foreign-born and she’s born in China … or Korea? I need to ask her) when the obvious happens and they try to push Ahh-nold for Reep president, maybe by 2012. In 2012, MM will be 40 and old enough to run; she’s quit epossibly the smartest person I know. (She’s the kind of person that if you wake her up by whispering the word ‘Mesopotamia’ in her ear, she can jump out of bed and immediately give a fascinating 10-minute improvised speech on the history, culture, and relevance of Mesopotamia. She should have been a news anchor but she hates how she looks on camera. And she’s beautiful. I’d give my legs for her eyes.)
If she runs, in any party, I’m voting for her.
Who says we can’t win the “war” with Peace, Love and Understanding? we’re not winning with guns, butter and regime change. We’ve created more enemies in the past 2 1/2 years than we did in the previous 10.
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
The Child Prince is coming to MetroLand, and it seems that not only is attendance required for all Lee Summit high schoolers, anyone wearing a Tshirt critical of our Village Idiot or in support of his opponent will not be kicked out, but forced to change clothing.
You have to have signed permission from your parent to skip the event.
I wasn't so political before, but now that this stuff is irritating me so much, I can't help myself. I really hope he goes down, and my classmates come home. It's criminal the way we have ruined our schools, our security, our standing in the world, our arts.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
You can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes.
After that, you’d better know your lines or be prepared to seriously put out.
Which brings me to MSL – she is lovely, charming, and untalented. I also have reason to suspect that she’s a whore. Nothing wrong with that. She just imagines herself to be a great talent and it wears me out to sit in class with her.
I have a great respect for whores as they provide a valuable service to the community. I actually auditioned for the part of a whore in an exciting new play. The part was written for a black actor but I think it’s relevant regardless of race or ethnicity. I also think I am a better actor than anyone else who is willing to take on the role. We’ll see how it goes.
S is back to the night shift, since it’s better money and he can’t make his rent if he works mornings. I understand – if you want to make money in a bar, and you don’t own it, you have to be bartending at night. But poor me – I’m going to go nuts if I have to only see him two nights a week.
Love is everything.
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Three Mothers, a blonde, brunette, and a redhead were all talking about their daughters.
The Brunette said, “I was looking through my daughter’s purse and I found cigarettes. I can’t believe my daughter smokes.”
The Redhead said, “I was looking through my daughter’s purse and I found a bottle of liquor. I can’t believe my daughter drinks.”
The Blonde said, “I was looking through my daughter’s purse and I found a pack of condoms. I can’t believe my daughter has a penis!”
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Two plumbers were in the pub mouthing off.
The first one asked “Have you had the new dispatcher yet? She’s fairly good in bed, better than my wife.”
“Yes,” said the other one, “She is good, but I wouldn’t say she’s better than your wife.”
Thursday, August 12, 2004
School begins soon. I am just waiting for it to start, and of course, I gotta tell this joke I just heard:
A very good looking man decided he wanted to marry the perfect woman so they could produce the most beautiful children possible. With that in mind, he set off for Ireland, to search for the perfect woman.
Shortly after arriving in County Cork, he met a farmer who had three beautiful daughters that positively took his breath away. So he explained his mission to the farmer, asking for permission to marry one of them.
The farmer simply replied, “Aye, they’re lookin’ t’ marry, so ye came to the right place. Look ’em over and pick the one ye be wantin’.”
The man dated the first daughter. The next day the farmer asked for the man’s opinion.
“Well,” said the man, “she’s just a weeeeee bit, not that you can hardly notice… pigeon-toed.”
The farmer nodded and suggested the man date one of the other girls; so the man went out with the second daughter.
The next day, the farmer again asked how things went.
“Well, “the man replied, “she’s just a weeeeee bit, not that you can hardly tell… cross-eyed.”
The farmer nodded and suggested he date the third girl to see if things might be better. So he did.
The next morning the man rushed in exclaiming, “She’s perfect, just perfect. She’s the one I want to marry.”
So they were wed right away.
Months later, the baby was born. When the man visited his wife and newborn, he was aghast; the baby was the ugliest, most pathetic human imaginable. He rushed to his father-in-law asking how such a thing could happen considering the beauty of the parents.
“Well,” explained the farmer, “She was just a weeeeee bit, not that ye could hardly tell… pregnant when you met her.”
Friday, July 02, 2004
I've moved the blog here - I don't trust the school servers. Now I can bitch about school with impunity. Also, I'm gonna graduate soon and I'll lose the space there.
Welcome, all you moved people, to the Live Journal version of the blog. I don't think I'll bother getting the old stuff here; it's too much work and I am not interested in archives. This is therapy, people!