"thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown" king lear: i, iv

Separated at birth?


You probably recognize the gent on the right as Yul Brenner. On the left, however, you may be scratching your head.

Let me help you out.



Ok ok ok! It's an inexplicably head-shaved Joey Lawrence.


He's appearing on Dancing With The Stars, apparently. I know this only because I was trying to figure out why on earth I kept seeing that Daddy Warbucks-like picture of him everywhere. Now I know. But I don't know why he would choose this look, and it troubles me.

No answers on Wikipedia's entry on him; although, according to them, apparently I am supposed to call him "Joseph" now. I'm not sure he gets it -- if you're a child actor who's grown up, you will be your child actor persona for the rest of your life. Sorry. Even I use the names "Little Opie" and "The Beave" to refer to the actors who played those two characters, despite the fact that I wasn't even born yet when their shows were on tv.

I think my favorite thing on the Wikipedia entry for Joey Lawrence is this line: ..."he played the character Joey Russo, a dim-witted young man who frequently uttered the phrase 'Whoa.'" I don't think this gives the full impact of how utterly dumb that catchphrase, if one can even call it that, was. I worry that future generations won't get it.

"fortune's cat" all's well that ends well: v, ii

So I'm catching up on my world news a little, reading some of Ye Olde BBC Worlde Newes, which I do from time to time to see how those in other parts of the world view us, and I stumbled upong this: US Hypoallergenic Cats Go on Sale. A snippet:

US biotech firm Allerca says it has managed to selectively breed [the world's first specially-bred hypoallergenic cats ] by reducing a certain type of protein that triggers allergic reactions.

The cats will not cause the red eyes, sneezing and even asthma that some cat allergy sufferers experience, except in the most acute cases.

Despite costing $3,950 (£2,104), there is already a waiting list to get one.

So, let me get this straight. They can't make a saran wrap that actually sticks to any kind of container's lip or that doesn't unwind from its cardboard tube without unravelling unevenly and ripping, but they can selectively breed a cat that won't make someone's allergies flare up? So, they're saying that they can't, say, oh, I don't know ... find a cure for cancer (just brainstorming here), but they can make specially formulated cats?

I'm not the only one who finds this to be an astonishing misuse of funds, right?

And please, tell me I'm not the only one to be astounded that there is an actual waiting list of people ready to pay more than the in-state admission costs for some state schools for one of these cats?

Not to mention the whole can of worms this opens up. Just think: in as little as 15 years from now, they could have "selectively bred" a whole army of super cats, cats whose genes predispose them to attacking humans, pillaging PetCos, and ultimately conquering humans and subjecting us to an all Yarn-Based entertainment industry. The Horror! I mean, I'm a cat person and all, but, people -- where does the madness end?!

"a most notorious pirate" measure for measure: iv, iii

Many thanks to Adam, who pointed out in his blog yesterday that today is National Talk Like a Pirate Day. I actually saw a dude walking down the street today dressed in full pirate gear. It was pretty awesome.

In honor of this fake holiday, here is my favorite pirate joke. (It's, uh, also the only pirate joke I know.)


A guy on vacation in the Carribbean walks into a bar. Sitting at the back corner of the bar is what appears to be a real, honest to goodness pirate - he's got it all: parrot on the shoulder, hat, eye patch, peg leg, hook for a hand, the works. The man approaches the pirate.

"Excuse me, sir," he says. "Are you really a pirate?"

"Aye, that I be," replies the pirate.

"Wow!" the man says. "You must have had such an interesting life and seen so many things! Do you .... do you mind if I ask you how you got the peg leg?"

"Yargh," the pirate says. "That was indeed a terrible day. A rival pirate gang captured me and made me walk the plank. A huge shark grab hold of me leg and was going to drag me down into Davy Jones' Locker, but I managed to escape with only the loss of me leg."

"Wow!" the man says. "And how about the hook -- how did you lose your hand?"

"Aye, that be a terrible day as well. I was on the banks of the Nile, digging up a chest of treasure. I had a precious gem in my hand when a great big crocodile, attracted by the gem's glittering, lunged out of the water and chomped down on me arm, taking the gem and me hand back into the Deep with him."

"Holy crap!" exclaims the man. "What about your eye? How did you lose that?"

"Yarrrrr! That be the worst of them all, ye scaliwag!" the pirate exclaims. "I was lying out on the deck on a clear autumn night, looking up at the stars as we made our way to safe port, when all of a sudden ... a seagull flew over and shit in me eye!!"

"A seagull shit in your eye?" says the man. "Well that doesn't sound so bad; how did you lose the eye from that?"

"Yaaarrr! It was the first day with me hook!"

"i will resist such entertainment" the tempest: i, ii

I try not to be too high and mighty about this, but I've given up television. We don't have one at our house, and I rarely watch it anywhere else. Yes, I will watch it if it's on at someone else's house or if I'm housesitting or something. But my life no longer revolves around shows. At first it was a little strange, but I've gotten to the point now where I rarely miss it. Once in a while I'm bummed if I'm missing a Pats game, but I have class all day Sundays anyway now, so at this point I really don't miss it. All in all, getting rid of tv has freed me up not just in the sense that I'm not sitting in front of the tube, tied to a schedule there, but also in the sense that I have a lot more brainpower to devote to other things now (such, in my case, as they are).

I found this article disconcerting: TV for the Time-Pressed. Basically it's "if you only watch one show per night, these are the ones to hit." Again, I don't want to come off like I'm on a high horse, even though I know it probably will, but it just seems sad to me, the idea that even if you're time-pressed, one might feel as though at least a show must be watched. I mean, if you're short on time, wouldn't watching tv be a good thing to discard from the schedule? You could instead take a little "me-time," to think, or read, or just be, without stuff being fed into your brain. Maybe my attitude about this is similar to a phenomenon some former smokers have mentioned to me, where, after they quit smoking and were out of the first couple weeks, they got to a point where watching anyone else smoking made them mad. Anyway, I'm not trying to convert anyone, not really ... but I will say that I feel my mind working much more clearly now than it did when I was at my peak of tv-watching hours.

On another note, here's a little interchange I witnessed yesterday. I was boarding a bus from my school's campus that was heading downtown. There was a large group of undergrads all around me, waiting for their buses as well. As I was boarding, a young woman leaned up the stairs behind me and addressed the crotchety old angry bus driver:

Woman: (somewhat confrontationally) Does this go down to the Hospitality Campus?
Driver: (short-temperedly) What does the sign up there say? Huh?
Woman: (scornfully) Pssh! I don't know, I guess I can't read.
Driver: (with equal contempt) You're real smart, guess that's why you got to college.
Woman: (back turned, leaving) Pssshh!

and ... scene

"what revels are in hand?" a midsummer night's dream: v; i

*Sigh* It's never a good thing when I start yelling back at the radio on my way home from work. I won't get too much into what it was that made me yell at the innocent NPR reporter who was simply delivering the news that I found so abhorent -- in fact, insert your own yell-inducing topic if you like. But it got to the point where I was actually yelling - not in my head, but out loud, directing my gaze at the radio as if it could hear me and might heed my anger, changing the news it was telling me. Some people call it passion, others call it fucking bonkers. When I realized what I was doing, it felt like the latter. So I turned the channel and settled into the thrall of pre-programmed Corporate Radio, those fucking bastards. Oh, right, I forgot; I Have Opinions on that, too. I'm glad my work week is over; put it that way.

The upside of today was that there was a big crate of pumpkins outside the store today, which means it is almost time for my favorite holiday; you guessed it, Arbor Day.

Haha, no, no, of course I'm just kidding; everyone knows Arbor Day is in April. Of course I'm talking about Halloween. I. Love. Halloween. Sadly last year I did not get to "do" anything for Halloween because of work, but even on the years when I don't get to do anything, I still love it. I love the feeling of fall at that time, I like the first few weeks after we change the clocks and it gets dark early (I get tired of that pretty quick though). I like the feeling of Halloween being one of the last nights of outdoor revelry before we all hunker down into our homes for the winter. I'm a dork. I know it.

More than anything, though, I love the stuff that has to do with Halloween itself - the pumpkins on all the stoops, which, a day or two before the holiday, sprout glowing faces; the scarecrows in the yards, those all-out folks who build a whole horror story in their yards, and the costumes. Oh, the costumes!! I'll tell you something about my childhood - my birthday is at the end of August. With no real holidays between my birthday and Halloween, I would often spend the whole of September and October dreaming about, brainstorming for, and building my costume for Halloween. I never had anything super spectacular, but it was always well thought out and, well, my parents always said my costumes were neat. It was doing the work that was fun. Sometimes I would finish my costume well before Halloween and I would get bummed out, having to look at it wasting away in the corner of my bedroom, waiting for that one glorious night when it would get to shine!! And then it would all be over too quickly, one fleeting night, sometimes even so cold that the costume was obscured by the sweatshirt my mom would make me wear. Actually, after a while, I started thinking of costumes that would work well with a sweatshirt.

Recently, the most fun I had for Halloween was when my husband, one of our dear friends, and I decided to hit the town as the I-Don't-Care Bears. Instead of the warm and fuzzy Care Bears, with character names such as Cheer Bear, Friend Bear, Wish Bear, or Do Your Best Bear, we were their ne'er-do-well cousins: Boozy Bear (my husband), Druggie Bear (our friend), and Special Bear (me). Boozy Bear was all black, with a belly emblem of a variety of alcoholic beverages, realistically rendered with eye-popping detail on the martini's olive spear and the beer's foam. Druggie Bear was in all purple, with a belly including a syringe and a lifelike bag of a suspicious crystaline substance. As Special Bear, I was dressed in all yellow, and on my belly was a short school bus. The topper on my costume was the helmet I wore, with stickers on it proclaiming that "God made me special." No doubt I, if not the three of us collectively, are going to hell for that one.

Halloween: Best. Day. of. the. Year.

"i see a woman may be made a fool" the taming of the shrew; iii, ii

This is great; from MSNBC.com:

Call it Paris in Blunderland.

Richard Branson threw a lavish Mad Hatter-themed 21st birthday party for his son Sam at his Oxfordshire estate on Saturday, and invited Paris Hilton to attend.

The partying heiress agreed and wanted a starring role in the party dressed as Alice, according to reports.

When Branson found out, he ordered the 60 waitresses who would be serving at the party to also dress as Alice, according to the London Daily Mail, which says he pushed the prank further by pretending to mistake Paris for a waitress and ordering a drink from her.

The bash was attended by the U.K.’s A-list, with such guests as Princes William and Harry, Kate Moss, and Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie. “It was one hell of a party,” a source told the Mirror. “Paris found herself looking more like Tweedledum as she was surrounded by dozens of other Alices.”

But perhaps the prank’s on Branson. Hilton’s rep tells The Scoop that “to the best of my knowledge” the heiress wasn’t even at the party.

I sincerely doubt Paris Hilton has even read Alice in Wonderland, so that to me makes her desire to be the star of the show dressed as Alice that much funnier. Seriously, who is Paris Hilton that she thinks she ought to be the star of this party, being thrown for someone else's birthday? I love the fact that Branson, rather than simply saying, hey, that's not appropriate, took the wind out of her sails in such a big way.

As for the last paragraph in the piece? I simply choose to ignore it, for my own guilty gratification. Hmph.

"it is my father's music" the winter's tale; iv, iv

So tonight I went down to a local tavern called Bovi's and listened to their regular Monday night act, a jazz band called the John Allmark Orchestra. These guys really know what they're doing. My father knows pretty much everything there is to know about jazz -- he grew up in NYC, going to clubs to hear Miles, Coltrane, Charlie Parker, and all the rest when they were in their prime -- and he seems to think trumpet player John Allmark and his band are the bees knees, at least in terms of local music, but even just generally. Tonight, Allmark took a solo and my dad leaned over to me and said, "He was just born to do this."

The band finished up their set with a version of "West End Blues" by Louis Armstrong; they did it in a somewhat more modern blues style than the recording at the above link ... and anyway, hearing that style of music, for some reason, one of my favorite scenes in a crappy movie popped into my head.

The scene is from Adventures in Babysitting. Chris has followed her asshole boyfriend into a blues bar (this being Chicago and all), and when she's ready to leave she finds herself trapped, confronted with an agressive band, whose leader insists that "nobody leaves this place without singing the blues". AND SO SHE DOES! At first everything she says to try to explain her way out of it is agressively punctuated by the band with the classic blues riff "da-DAH-da-da-dah!" - but have no fear, she gets into it quite quickly - she does after all, have quite a lot to sing the blues about.

THEY JUST DON'T MAKE MOVIES LIKE THIS ANYMORE! I'm sorry, you would never see this happen in a movie today. Not even close. The only teen movie I can think of that even approaches this kind of lighthearted goofiness is maybe "10 Things I Hate About You," with its funny little scene where Heath Ledger sings "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You" over the school stadium PA. But that's SO NOT EVEN CLOSE.

Of course, some people would say that it's a good thing that they don't make movies like this anymore.

But not me! I love how absurd they are! I know they're not Good Movies. But they were made with such earnestness that I find them impossible not to love.

I know almost all my posts so far have referenced some dumbass bit of 80s pop culture, and if that irritates any of the 3 readers of this blog, well, too bad. This is the culture that shaped me, for better or worse! And I look on it fondly.

Oh, one other thing I feel I have to mention: there is an enigmatic listing on IMDB when you search for "Adventures in Babysitting" - it has the 1987 movie I referenced earlier, and a TV pilot version that came out shortly after that, but then it says "Adventures in Babysitting (2008)." When you click on it, it says that info is only available to members of IMDBpro. But all I can assume is that Hollywood has yet again shown itself unable to come up with new ideas and is about to remake this movie! Can you even imagine how they will update this movie? It will be horrible!!! Part of what made the movie great was that it came from a time when you could still believe that a group of kids from the suburbs would be awestruck by The City and all the dark dirtiness that lives and thrives there. Nowadays, cities are all Disneyfied anyway; there's nothing to be scared of. Just pop into the nearest Johnny Rockets if you're lost in a city and the waiters will serenade you with "YMCA" until your mom can come pick you up. I don't smell boxoffice sucess with this one, but I saw "Snakes on a Plane" at the 10pm pre-opening show. So what do I know.

"marvellous sweet music!" the tempest: iii, iii

I'm not going to be shy about admitting that I am a child of the 80s. I was born in the late 70s and my predominant childhood memories are all in the 80s. Since I wasn't a teenager in the 80s, my perception of being a teenager in the 80s was shaped by the movies and music and television that was all around me. My babysitters all watched MTV - yes, we were able to be transfixed even though "all they did" was play music videos. By the time the 90s had rolled around, I was already well into the world-weary preteen years, already looking back at what I thought was my wasted childhood and my inability to return to those halcyon days. The 80s were a simpler time, a time when technology still seemed to hold the keys to the future, when we could still say "cool!" when we saw a computer in someone's house, but it was the turning point, too, a time when somehow there was a balance between naive wonder at the world before us as well as a new understanding of the problems of our world, and how we as a generation would have to face them, and use the new tools at our disposal to try and make the world a better place. Even though every generation says this, it was a unique time that shaped my view of the world today.

(Oh, a side note before I continue. To the very sweet, very friendly, very young people that I seem to encounter a lot lately as the new school year gets in full swing: You are adorable. You are fresh-faced and naive, and your determination and upbeat attitude is refreshing to me. My only advice to you in dealing with folks of "my generation" -- who, let's face it, are really only about 8 to 12 years older than you -- is this. If you're going to ask my age, that's fine, I will answer gladly; I'm not one of those women who won't reveal her age. But when I reply gamely "Twenty-nine," try to avoid widening your eyes and saying "Wow!" It tends to be off-putting. And the half-hearted follow up of "you don't look twenty-nine" barely covers things. Just letting you know.)

Well, back to my original point. I'm a child of the 80s, and my perception of life has been shaped by that fact. So, it is with a little trepidation and a fair amount of embarrassment that I admit the following fact about myself: I often think in music montages. That's right, you know those scenes popularized in the teen flicks of the 80s where, to get the point across of some kind of dynamic action taking place over the course of time, the only sound is a catchy song with lyrics that barely tie into the plot and the scenes show the progression of action happening quickly so we can get to the happy denoument. Well. Sometimes - ok, a lot of times, and it happens even more now that I have an iPod - I'll be doing a very normal, everyday thing, such as laundry, and I'll imagine it all going down as a musical montage. As I pull up to the laundromat, the opening riff of Adam Ant's "Goody Two Shoes" will play in my head, and every mundane action as I do my wash will appear in my head as a cut shot in a montage set to that song. It's .... well, let's face it, it's a little pathetic.

The culprit for this disorder is one of two movies:

The Breakfast Club, "We Are Not Alone" (Karla DeVito). This one was key because it was about teens and high school, and I was very influenced by anything I thought older kids were doing. At first glance, this scene doesn't seem quite so much a montage as it is just a crappy dance scene, but it skyrockets into montage range when they do the cuts of different characters dancing on the railing. Highlights include Judd Nelson dry humping the sculpture, Molly Ringwald showing off her super-cool princess outfit as she dances on the landing, and Emilio Estevez playing air guitar in all his stonewashed-jean glory. These kids didn't have much in common, but crappy pseudo-rock brought them to new levels of understanding.

The Karate Kid, "You're the Best" (Joe Esposito). Possibly the gold standard by which all movie music montages must be judged. It has a lot going for it, from the clenched fist of approval from the Cobra Kai Sensai, to the twitchy-classic-jock-neck-cracking performed by the bleach blond Cobra Kai lackey before he enters the ring with Daniel-san, to Mr. Miyagi's passive onlooking, joined by a chipper Elizabeth Shue. What makes this montage so spectacular is that they show the match officials moving Daniel-san's name placard up and up on the tournament standings chart, to indicate him moving effortlessly through to the championships. Most important, they chose a song that really kicks it into the next level through the use of switching between major and minor keys, really building up the tension and getting you ready for the all-time classic Sweep-the-Leg Moment ("Put him in a body bag, yeah!") that follows shortly after. You can't beat this top-notch montage.

In any case, this problem is one I'm going to have to live with. So, fresh-faced youngsters, if you catch me bopping my head and singing to myself as I carry out an everyday task, just chalk it up to the fact that in my head, I'm living it up in the old days. Just try not to say "Wow."

"a bountiful answer that fits all questions" all's well that ends well: ii; ii

I'm fascinated today by the idea of internet quizzes. I saw one today on someone's myspace page that was "which zodiac fairy are you?" and I couldn't resist, so I went ahead and took it. The questions were "1. When does your birthday fall (most important)" and gave a list of the normal divisions of months associated with the zodiac we know. "2. What is your favorite planet or formation??" (the two question marks are as they appeared in the quiz) and "3. What is your favorite color?", giving a list of absurd colors, none of which really fit the bill for me. So I answered as well as I could and was given a zodiac fairy that doesn't match up with my actual sign and didn't really match up with my character traits either. I reanswered several times and finally came up with a list of traits that fit me, which also happened to be my zodiac sign as well. Huh. Of course, the questions were not answered correctly for me at that point, but I got the result that seemed right, so I guess it all worked out in the end. Maybe I was learning something about the way I answered the questions in the first place!

So it got me wondering about these internet quizzes. Am I missing something about myself? Maybe there are sides of me that I don't see clearly, sides that only a quiz written by someone ten years my junior with some basic knowledge of the internet can reveal to me! So I started poking around to see what I could learn about myself.

My Geek Profile states that my highest Geek Level is in Music, followed by Movies, with smaller Geek Level showings in the areas of Academics, Fashion, and being a Gamer, and I have no Geek Levels in the areas of General Geekiness and SciFi. Not too much new there, although I would have thought a lifetime of watching Star Trek and TNG would have gotten me something for SciFi. Shows how much I know.

Could I pass 8th Grade History? Well, yes, I could, which makes sense, because I did. Although I am embarrassed to admit I missed a question (they don't tell you which one though!)

What kind of coffee am I? According to this quiz, I am iced coffee. "At your best, you are: hyper, modern, and athletic. At your worst, you are: cheap and angsty. You drink coffee when: you're out with friends. Your caffeine addiction level: medium." Hmmm. This is interesting. I never knew I was cheap and angsty. Heck, I didn't even really know there was such a word, but this internet quiz has proven otherwise. "Hyper, modern, athletic;" I kind of sound like a hybrid car, don't I? It's also good that this quiz told me when I drink coffee, because I hadn't noticed.

What's my Hidden Talent? Now this one sounded promising, and it delivered! All I had to do was click on the picture that appealed to me most, and presto! it told me what my hidden talent is!! "Your natural talent is interpersonal relations and dealing with people. You communicate well and are able to bring disparate groups together. Your calming presence helps everything go more smoothly. People crave your praise and complements." Now I know! Maybe I should try to get a position at the UN or something! Thanks, internet quiz!

Finally, in starting up this new blog, I thought I should find out What Kind of Blogger I am. And - readers beware - apparently I am a "Snarky Blogger," which means that I've "got a razor sharp wit that bloggers are secretly scared of. And that's why they read [my] posts as often as they can!" So things are off to a good start for me! I'll try not to disappoint, Dear Reader.

"but what care i for words?" as you like it: iii; v

I say I'm a recovering English major in my profile, but it's not entirely accurate. More correct would be to say that I'm an English major who's found her calling not to be in reading and writing English, but who still harbors a crush on it as a hobby. I get a kick out of the written word; it's pretty astonishing to think how language has developed and evolved and devolved. I try to be observant of language patterns in our changing culture, and so I read a lot of different, and in some cases, crappy, literature and media. Along the way, I often pick up amusing anecdotes that have not so much to do with language, but more about how absurd life can be.

Like this.

If, like our president, you're not what we call a "reader", here's the Reader's Digest: A British biographer named A.N. Wilson wrote a biography of the British poet John Betjeman, who had, apparently, stated late in his life that he wished he had had more sex. He was married and it was assumed his sex life was dull. Well, the biographer received a letter that supposedly revealed an extramarital affair between Betjeman and another writer; it was apparently a love letter from him, and Wilson printed the letter in the biography saying there had been this affair. Ok, here's the thing: it was a hoax. The letter was a fake, and not only that, but encoded in one section of the letter, using the first letter of each word, was the sentence "A.N. Wilson is a shit." Nice!!!! But ok, here's the other thing: the letter came from an unknown correspondent using a French return address, but the letter was postmarked in London.

Now, I'm not a fancy-schmancy biographer or anything, so maybe I'm overthinking things, but it seems to me that before actually publishing a letter received from an unknown person in a book about someone else, one might take care to research the contents of that letter, and perhaps check other sources to corroborate, or, at the very least, cast some degree of authenticity on the whole matter.

What's worst about the whole thing, for this dumb-ass biographer, is that it seems that he was informed of the hoax by the Sunday London Times, who pointed out the nasty encoded message to him, and he was left lamely saying "I should have smelled a rat." Smelled a rat? No, good sir, it is not that you should have smelled a rat, it is that you should have simply done your job.

* * *

Well, I am trying to finish up a book about Shakespeare, so I'll close for now. Shakespeare: now there's a guy who liked to play with words. If he didn't find a word he liked for what he was trying to express, he just made one up! And a lot of them stuck! To name a few: impartial, jaded, gloomy, premeditated, frugal, and zany. I find that to be ... well .... transtounding.