Christopher Walken, the Musical

I saw Hairspray tonight, and man, it was fun. I've not seen it in any other incarnation, so don't ask me if it's better/worse than anything in the past, but it stood on its own well. It also reminded me of something very, very important.

Christopher Walken is frickin' fantastic.

Many of you may have seen him dancing in the Fatboy Slim video for Weapon of Choice, and if you haven't, well, by golly, what are you waiting for? Apparently, he used to dance on Broadway, too. However, the first time I remember seeing Christopher Walken, he was... Puss In Boots! How cool is that? It was on the Disney channel, that I remember. I had supposed it was lost to the abyss where obscure movies go, but Google came to my rescue.

Firstly, for immediate gratification, the treasure vault known as YouTube had a few clips strung together.

Isn't it deliciously bad? The blonde kid is Sean Connery's son, if I remember correctly. Anyhow, great memories. However, I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be great if this was available on DVD?" Well, apparently, it is. I am totally buying this within the next 24 hours!

Man, I feel so happy now.

Bawdy times at Half-Price

After waking up at 6ish this AM, I was faced with either trying to sleep until a more reasonable hour (like noon) or arise, so I went with the latter. I made a few attempts at being productive, and then gave that up for lost and went out for food and amusement.

After a stirring meal of chicken and dressing at a much loved cafe, I meandered over to that haven of literature that is known as Half Price Books. The one in Dallas I like to go to is enormous, a veritable warehouse of obscure books, records, magazines, and movies, plus they have a coffee shop. It's the kind of place you could wander around in for a few hours and emerge with either an armful of books or just read them in any random corner of the store with a cup of joe for company. I actually made a couple of purchases today, but I wanted to talk about what I didn't buy.

There is an area dedicated to music, covering musical history, theory, performance, etc. Stacks of songbooks and sheet music are found in this section, and while idly scanning through their selection I came across The Dirty Song Book. Interesting, I thought. Would anyone with a sense of fun be able to resist a quick perusal? I didn't think so.

The author of the book gave his reason for its existence as being frustrated that nobody wants to acknowledge in print that dirty songs are out there. You sing them at pubs, at summer camp, during cattle roundups, and while on shore leave, and yet no one has made an anthology of these classics? Unacceptable. This book is his gift to society.

I'll admit, I don't really know any dirty songs right off hand. The closest thing I can think of is something about "Comet, it makes you want to vomit", not really anything bawdy, you know? Flipping through the pages of this book was an educational experience. I'm already regretting leaving it in the store, if only because I don't think some people will believe that it exists. However, I have found evidence of it online, so it makes me feel a bit better. Also found online is a website that has an extensive collection of field recordings and lyrics to dirty songs.

So, all in all a good day so far.

Random link: Because sometimes our inner geek needs caffeine

I love a rainy night

Dallas has been getting more than it's fair share of rain recently. It's kind of like how my parents described living in the rain forest of Peru - one second, it's sunny, the monkeys and birds are making a racket in the trees, not a cloud in sight, then BAM! A clap of thunder, and a cloudburst soaks everything. Every afternoon. As if God turned on the sprinklers. An hour later, everything is sunny again, but much more damp. This is pretty much what we've been seeing down here, minus the monkeys.

Someone drew a depiction of what we can expect the region to evolve into if this becomes an ongoing pattern, and I will share it with you.

The original drawing was found posted on pegasusnews with an accompanying article. Mainly, this whole post was an excuse to post a drawing that I thought was funny. That is all. I'm going to bed now.

Table for one

I truly, truly hate eating alone, enough that I will often forego a meal if I can't find company, instead lying on my couch and staring at the ceiling fan. I'm told this is unhealthy. However, is it not true that a dish of herbs eaten in the company of friends is greater than a mighty banquet eaten alone? I think it is. It's not just the food, it's the conversation, the time spent ruminating on the course of the day, observing the people and activities around you and being able to split a dessert with coffee so you don't feel guilty.

When compared to that, a solitary meal seems pointless. It makes me feel heartsick. Reading makes it a bit better, so sometimes I'll go to a coffee shop with book in hand to sip and munch. It would still be improved by a friend sitting across the table doing the same.

My arrival to Dallas a few years ago was spurred by an unusual set of circumstances which I will elaborate on some other time. It's been a period where I've both made new friends and solidified friendships from the past. Alcohol was introduced to my palate. My wardrobe has been upgraded from the t-shirts and tapered leg jeans that have been in my closet since 1995. It's been a great ride. However, let me reflect back on one particular incident from August of 2005.

Amy knows how to throw a great party. That's just one of many things that make her a spectacular person. This particular party was one of the first that I remember, as well as being the first where a considerable portion was lost to an alcohol induced blackout. Thankfully, I had my digital camera with me, and other alcohol affected folks were gracious enough to record the antics of the crowd long after I was reduced to a giggling mess on the floor. But this isn't just about being a tumbrel, this is about the beginning of a friendship.

Ian and Amy have been friends long before my arrival to Dallas. I'd met him a time or two at other social events, and we'd had friendly chats, but that was the extent of it. This party marked a turning point. We were both trashed.

There we are, with a couple of other highly affected friends, in Amy's house. Good times!

The next morning, I woke up on the floor of the bedroom covered by a quilt. Someone was next to me. We both turned and looked at each other. "Gigi?" "Ian?" Then we went back to sleep for a few more minutes. Eventually we got up to breakfast with Amy and another straggler. And you know what? He hates eating alone, too.

So, besides the fact that I miss hearing his impressions of people, singing Liz Phair, Natalie Merchant, and Joan Baez loudly in the car, gritting our teeth when Dallas-ites are seated next to us, and wondering why people are so frustratingly dumb in general, I miss my dinner buddy.

September seems a long way down the road, but it'll get here soon enough. When it does, I'll be starved, let's get some food.