Fool's Gold Coast

Seek and Ye Shall Find 42

Addressing your recent search engine queries.


mortician jobs gold coast
I'd start by looking up Queensland funeral homes.

hot august night peter byrne
Evidently, Peter Byrne is an Irish Neil Diamond impersonator who recreates Diamond's famous Hot August Night concert. YouTube has a few clips, including one of Byrne doing Neil doing "Play Me."

the anguish language
I don't know. German?

cclit swaye
"Cclit" is a short play by Michael Ira Swaye; in certain fonts, its title looks an awful lot like "Celit."

Ryan Jarosch
Imagine a sexier Ray Bolger. Jarosch recently played the Harvey Fierstein part in a local production of The Torch Song Trilogy, a role for which he just received a well-deserved non-Equity Jeff award nomination.

Desire Under the Elms Pablo Schreiber nude
Assuming the production hasn't changed since the Chicago version, you get to see his butt.

Thanks for stopping by!


ELSEWHERE:
My short reviews of Tympanic Theatre Company's Musing and Fellowship for the Performing Arts's Mark's Gospel are in this week's issue of the Chicago Reader.

The Gold Mine 90: April 28, 2002

Stuff I've dug up.

Here's an excerpt from a diary entry I wrote on today's date seven years ago. I was 22.

4.28.02.Home.12.22AM.Sunday.
Of all the unwelcome surprises Orange has sprung on me--the breaches in fidelity, the (probably ongoing) fling with cocaine, the utterly repugnant debasement of my Arkansas bed with my parents' house-sitter--none has been more unwelcome than his hastily planned and apparently extremely imminent relocation to this city. I can't think of much that I could desire less. He must positively exult in torturing me. I can think of no other possible explanation for why he would want to do this to me--and I do consider his move something done to me and not something done for his own sake because there is absolutely no reason why Chicago should be the city cursed to have his foul visage haunting its dark streets, save for his obvious goal to drive me mad.

. . . And Then There's Bea

Very sad news indeed: Fool's Gold Coast icon Bea Arthur has passed away in Los Angeles at the age of 86. Here she is with Angela Lansbury, performing "Bosom Buddies" from Mame, in which Arthur played caustic Vera Charles, the role for which she received the Tony.

Error Message

An e-mail Chicago Reader arts editor Tony Adler forwarded to me yesterday:

To whom it may concern:
I have just read your review entitled: “Language Arts - Side Project Theatre's Cut to the Quick is a festival of short works that’s all about words.” In the final paragraph of the review, Thompson calls Michael Ira Swaye’s play “Celit”, when in fact the title of the play is “cclit”. This may need to be corrected.
Thank you!
Whitney Valencia

Oopsies! Here's what I wrote to Tony by way of explanation:

You know, that title gave me trouble when I was writing the review because I didn't know what "celit" means. According to the Internet (Google's translate feature, to be precise), it's a Czech word meaning "face," which made a kind of sense to me in the context of the play. But looking at the program again, I can see how my poor eyesight and the font might have combined to produce the error. I'm not sure what "cclit" means, either, but I'm assuming Whitney Valencia knows whereof she speaks since she's actually in the play. You can see the title for yourself--and the serif that tripped me up--at The Side Project's Web site:
http://www.thesideproject.net/detail.php?show=103
Terribly sorry.
Z

Here's a link to the review in question:
http://www.chicagoreader.com/features/stories/theaterreviews/090423/

I regret the error and am grateful to Whitney Valencia for bringing it to my attention.

On Not Getting It

A certain subset of Kito's friends terrifies me. It has to do with their sense of humor, which I do not understand. Not getting a joke has always bothered me, perhaps because I have, in social situations, the brain of a timid, insecure, oversensitive tween and, therefore, I can't help thinking that if you're not in on the joke, then there's a very good chance you are its butt.

I suspect, however, that this particular group could shake the confidence of a much stronger person than I am, seeing as how their brand of comedy relies primarily on a one-two punch of derision and inside references. So, for example, one of them will say something seemingly innocuous--"You're going to Charlie's with us, right Zac?"--which will somehow prompt a chorus of snickering as though the speaker has said something terrifically, wickedly witty. And I just sort of stand there stupidly as my brain churns away: "Well, obviously he's saying I don't usually go to Charlie's, which is true. But why is that funny? Am I lame? And to a comical degree? Or is this like that thing the popular kids do in high school where they invite a geeky kid to one of their parties and then they laugh when he thinks he's being invited for real? Am I being picked on? Have they discussed my aversion to Charlie's among themselves in a conversation that led to a fuller discussion of everything wrong with me and now merely mentioning Charlie's in connection with my name serves as a kind of shorthand for all my faults, some of which are hilarious? Are they making fun of someone else? Are they making fun of anyone? Should I be laughing too? Should I come up with a retort? I DO NOT GET IT!"

You're probably wondering where Kito is in all of this, but he's not much help because, frankly, I'm not entirely sure he gets the joke himself. On Saturday, for example, he and I were with this group at Sidetrack. I was trying to tell the story of how I had managed to wrangle a free drink from a fellow in front of me in line at the bar (I correctly identified a song by Biggie Smalls, but that's another story). "I got this drink for free," I said.
"Why?" said Kito.
"Obviously for the way he looks," said one of his friends, gesturing to my face and clothes, the sarcasm oozing from his pores.
"Is it me, or did [redacted] call me ugly?" I asked Kito when we left.
"He didn't mean it in a bad way," he assured me. "He was just being funny."

Evidently the line between comedy and assholery is razor thin.


ELSEWHERE:
My review of The Side Project's Cut to the Quick festival (part two) is in this week's issue of the Chicago Reader.

One Thing after Another 10: Very Special 10th Installment Spectacular

"Hi, everybody," says Olive, to you. "Welcome to One Thing after Another's Very Special 10th Installment Spectacular. I, as you know, am Olive Bloch (heroine)."
"And I," says Andrew, joining her, "am Andrew Malchance (deceased)."
"Frankly," says Olive, "I'm a little surprised to see him here."
"As the main characters of this feature," continues Andrew, "we thought we'd each do something special to celebrate this important milestone."
"I composed a haiku," says Olive. "What did you do, Andrew?"
"Um, came back from the dead?" says Andrew.
"Oh," says Olive. "Would you like to hear my haiku now?"
"I do not care," says Andrew.
"Poem for a Red Letter Day," says Olive: "A Haiku by Olive Bloch.

Day after day, it's
One thing after another.
Hoo, boy, I tell ya.

Thank you."

This has been One Thing after Another's Very Special 10th Installment Spectacular.

The Gold Mine 89: April 21, 1994

Stuff I've dug up.

Here's an excerpt from a diary entry I wrote on today's date 15 years ago. I was 14.

April 21, 1994
I am currently writing a play based on my grandmother's annual garage sale that she holds with three of her friends. When I complete it, I intend to start another about fear set in World War II.

Today I went to see the University of Arkansas production of Romeo and Juliet. It was overall pretty good. However, there were two weak links: First, Paris, the young man who is desperately in love with Juliet. The part should be played by someone large, handsome, and strong. Instead, it was played by a short hick. The next "missing link" in the play was the portrayal of Juliet's nurse. It is most people's favorite part in the whole play. However, it was played by someone who didn't quite fit. Overall, however, it was a good interpretation, and that's all that's important, I guess. I went with my English class.

I Want to Be Alone

I think I am entering a reclusive period. The great big world seems especially great big of late--immense, really, and unfriendly to boot--and my impulse is to withdraw. It's all so loud and fast. I'd like to retreat to some cozy den redolent of woolens and old books. Better yet, I'd like to retreat to one of the afternoons in 1983 when I was three and then four years old and my Granny Jewel would babysit me at her place in the Foxfire apartment complex while my mom ran errands and such. Granny would give me a snack of bread slathered with Country Crock, and my God, it tasted like hydrogenated happiness.

(What, you were expecting madeleines and tea? I'm from Arkansas, for chrissakes.)

First Things First

At my previous apartment, I only kept out my favorite books because I didn't have enough shelf space to display the entire collection. The remainder filled up the closet in the entry. For the new place, however, I purchased some bookcases from Ikea, and now the whole gang is back together again.

To mark this glorious reunion, I put together the following monologue, made up of the first lines of the volumes in the 20th/21st century drama section (in case you're wondering why certain important works aren't represented, it's either because I don't own a copy of the play in question--Death of a Salesman, for example--or the play appears second or later in a volume of collected works--as is the case with Long Day's Journey into Night, for instance--and for the purposes of this exercise I took the first line from the first play in the book only).

Squeezed into one paragraph, the first lines--spanning the years 1910-2004--read like the ravings of a schizophrenic recluse who has gone off his meds. For that reason, I have named the speaker "Zac."

ZAC: (stirring the fire in a futile attempt to start it into flame) I wonder what can be keeping him so long? (sighing heavily) Gosh, I wish we could sit this way forever! (calls back pleadingly) Aw, I'm full, Ma. And I said excuse me and you said all right. (calling) Elli, Elli dear, do come out. It's so lovely. You're so wrong I ain't laughing. This play is called "Our Town." How the hell can you line up a squadron in a place like this? (shouting above roar of water) One of those no-neck monsters hit me with a hot buttered biscuit so I have t'change! Dick! What are you doing up here? Pee Wee! (giving up again) Nothing to be done. (fixed gaze, tonelessly) Finished, it's finished, nearly finished, it must be nearly finished. Why do I do this every Sunday? You wouldn't have known it, but something amusing has just happened. Hello! God, it's good to see you again! Come on now, boy, it's seven thirty! Sit down. Well . . . for example . . . he would stand over me and clench his fist. Jesus . . . I've been to the zoo. (An announcement from nowhere; to no one in particular) I'm ninety-one. (Calling offstage) What time are they coming? The term 'mystery' was already in use by the second and third centuries AD. Did you hear about Skippy and the new kid? So? By the rivers gently flowing, Illinois, Illinois. John . . . John . . . John. (on phone) And what about the land. Lovely day dear. (seated, tossing glove on the table. Short pause) May, look. (Unwrapping the cupcake) Jessie, it's the last snowball, sugar. The Nature and Purpose of the Universe. Day One. Landfall. Weclome aboard Celebrity Slaveship, departing the Gold Coast and making short stops at Bahia, Port Au Prince, and Havana, before our final destination of Savannah. Butterfly, Butterfly . . . Philoctetes. Hercules. Odysseus. Hummmm. An then my my grandfather, N. Carnacion, uh, was a gringo hater 'cause he had run-ins with gringos when he was riding. HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH HUH! (He speaks sonorously, with a heavy Eastern European accent, unapologetically consulting a sheet of notes for the family names) Hello and good morning. In the Hall of Deputies, The Kremlin. January 1986. Aleksii Antedilluvianovich Prelapsarianov, the World's Oldest Living Bolshevik. "To stop too fearful and too faint to go." Da Da, Ma Ma, Ba Ba, Ba Ba. (to the audience) The designated mourner. Sometimes to tell a secret, you first have to teach a lesson. This is from De Profundis by Oscar Wilde. Oh, and this market she took us to! (In false familiarity, waving and nodding to the audience) Hi. How are you feeling today? Great. That's just great. But why? What? "Life is very long . . ."

ELSEWHERE:
My short reviews of The Disciples of Clyde's Saturday Morning Movie Club and Corn Productions' Storefront Theater Musical are in this week's issue of the Chicago Reader.

The Garden of Edies

Last night I attended an advanced screening of HBO's Grey Gardens, a decent but unnecessary biopic that stars Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore as Edith Bouvier Beale and her delightfully insane daughter Little Edie, the Tennessee Williams-esque figures who are the subjects of my favorite documentary, also called Grey Gardens. Just in case you were wondering, here are the types of people who attend an advanced screening of a movie about Grey Gardens:

gay people
people with an idiosyncratic fashion sense
crazy people
crazy people with an idiosyncratic fashion sense
crazy gay people
&
crazy gay people with an idiosyncratic fashion sense

HBO's drama premieres on Saturday.