March 4th, 2003

rubbah and horns

Lysistrata Project

Lysistrata was a hit. We were only going to do one show at seven, but ended up doing a second one at nine.

The seven o'clock was sold out. The crowd was large, boisterous and extremely appreciative. We were accompanied by the Groovalicious Drummings of the Funky Amazonians. :D

The nine o'clock crowd was small, quiet and listening... but seemed to have a good time, too. We were accompanied by the Groovalicious Drummings of the one remaining Funky Amazonian. :)

Our ninety-minute show ended up going to nearly two hours, even with cuts-on-the-fly. Had to stop for laughs and pregnant pauses along the way. Still, I felt like I was rushing; trampling audience reactions. I often feel that way with scripted comedy, though.

I removed my bra onstage at one point (thought that was worth noting for posterity *snork!*), and draped it upon the Commissioner's head. His SO liked it so much that she asked me for the brand and model. Heh.

Enjoyed the show. Enjoyed it a lot. A magnificent, brave, intelligent, patient and extremely talented group of people took a seat-of-our-pants staged reading and turned it into something truly remarkable.

I'd do it again, if given the chance.

The Project's organizers thank all involved:

People in Denmark take the story to heart (and play keep-away with other organs):
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    my tummy rumbling!

Sometimes, all one can do is bathe and laugh at the pancakes

Sigh. I'd hoped it was a clear sign of universal consciousness.

I'd hoped I could be the 100th Pancake Monkey.

But evidently, all the pancakes on my friends page today are merely a reflection of "Pancake Tuesday."

*disappointed ook*


Our Kleonike recited this poem to me from memory between scenes yesterday. She allowed the words to drip like nectar from her tongue, imbuing each golden orb with humour, wisdom and wit. Such a wonderful new friend she is.

It really deserves to be read out loud. Thinkspeak doesn't do it justice.

I, Being Born a Woman and Distressed

I, being born a woman and distressed
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to find
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
To bear your body's weight upon my breast:
So subtly is the fume of life designed,
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
Think not for this, however, the poor treason
Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
I shall remember you with love, or season
My scorn wtih pity, - let me make it plain:
I find this frenzy insufficient reason
For conversation when we meet again.
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Oh, that I were as pragmatic as Ms Millay.


The Hunting of the Snarky: The Anti-Lysistrata Project.
See. We've decided we don't need these peace loving women. So we non-wussies will be going around finding other non-wussies and breeding like rabbits. Once we've breed an army, we will crush the wussies remaining. Afterall, we shall be cornering the market on all violent and war-mongering parents! Both male and female! Our children shall be the elite soliders of the next thousand years! We shall conquer space! And space shall LIKE it! --duinlas


This week's lesson in my own little personal School o' Hard Knocks (I'm a lifetime member, dontchaknow) is grokking the difference between honesty and disclosure.

You see, I have very few "hard and fast" rules. Hard and fast rules act too often, in my opinion, as an easy replacement for thought. Sometimes they seem helpful-- especially if you regularly find yourself acting in a manner contrary to your dreams. A man who's a doormat to all his girlfriends might learn to adopt the "three strikes, you're out" rule, and find that it saves him some heartache. But it's a dangerous remedy, and one that really only relieves the symptoms, while allowing the disease to prosper.

I'd rather wrestle my demons and be done with them than pigeonhole them by some arbitrary system that may or may not work for the next demon. The latter is just a rote system. Where's the learning there?

Anywho, I do have one hard and fast rule-- to act with honesty. Honesty to myself, honesty to others. I've not yet found a truly good reason to act dishonestly. All the reasons I thought were good at one time or another have since vanished under scrutiny.

But honesty is not the same as disclosure. Just because one is resolved to only telling the truth doesn't mean that one must tell the truth all the time to everyone under all circumstances.

When is it ethical to tell? When is it better not to share? How might one know the difference?

It's a zillion-credit course, and I'm getting barraged by pop-quizzes all the time. Sadly, I've failed more than one of them.

I hate when the universe decides to give me a subtle hint about a lesson I've not quite learned yet. Especially when the universe has all the subtlety of a horny rhinoceros on crack.


Tonight, I will send gnutella on a quest for a copy of I Can't Keep It In by Cat Stevens (I will eventually go buy it again, like the good little consumer I am... I keep forgetting that I no longer have it).

Once that's started, I hope for a hot bath by candlelight, a bigass glass o' wine, and an evening of giving in and laughing with the universe. Life is too funny, and given the choice between experiencing pained indignation at being the butt of its jokes, and gleeful hysteria at sharing the ironic absurdity of it all, I'll take the choice that involves laughter and wine, thank you very much.

The difference, after all, is merely a matter of perception and choice.

And the universe is such a funny place... whether it's conscious of its own Tuesday pancakeness or not.
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    Shouldn't I be going to karaoke tonight?