Tuesday, January 29, 2008

the joint is rocking


The whole apartment is shaking from the construction they're doing at the old Theatorium site. Glasses rattling in the cupboards, floor vibrating low and ominous. There are some old buildings around here, built over a hundred years ago for poor people, so I'm just waiting for one of them to drop. It's happened before, about ten years ago we had two buildings on Stanton Street go. One just leaned out onto the street about four feet one morning, the Leaning Tenement of Stanton Street. Housing authorities came in and tore it down that afternoon. With people's shit still inside. Citing safety concerns, they wouldn't let the tenants back in. Some folks ignored them and ran in and grabbed what they could. Most didn't, just stood in the street in quiet, sad shock. The building was gone by sunset.

Nice words from Chicago about Fatboy in TimeOut Chicago. Love it when a critic gets to write "fuck" seven or eight times in a review, can tell they love it, too.

Gearing up for the Overlord Workshop, re-working some sections, mapping out some stuff I'll send to the actors before we begin.

Saw the Idiot give his State of the Union address last night. Was half-hoping he'd just stumble in drunk, shirttails out, crying a little bit and just keep repeating:

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm a... you know, an idiot. I'm just an idiot. I'm sorry. Sorry, Daddy. Sorry, Jeb, I really fucked up your shot, I know. Should've been you, Jeb. You're the smart one. I'm sorry. I'm such a stupid dumbfuck. I really fucked everything up.

Laura shouting at him off-screen:

George! George W. Bush! You come back here!

The Idiot bursts into self-pitying tears and tries to hug Pelosi, she pushes him away. He vomits in Cheney's lap. Camera cuts away to reveal Obama and Kennedy French-kissing in a moment of unbridled passion. Camera cuts to show Clinton aiming what appears to be a large blowgun at Obama and Kennedy, placing a feathered dart into its wooden shaft. The Idiot, competely distraught now, starts tearing off his clothes and throwing his shoes at the assembled press. The commentators are silent, stunned. Russert finally summons:

Well. You don't see that everyday.

A man can dream.

Answer to yesterday's quiz:

Happy Go-Lucky Nazis.

Just like the sound of it, somehow.

No comments: