That's one down, Kitty Carlisle
- Hudson Hawk
I asked CSG out to dinner. She's seeing someone. I am disappointed. And so it goes. Back to feeling shitty about myself.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Her real name's Ian
Brian: Her real name's Ian
Tim: What do you mean "her real name's Ian"?
Brian: She's non-gender-specific
Tim: Oh what, you mean like a tranny?
Brian: More than that.
Tim: What, a big fat tranny?
- Spaced
I shall now recount my evening among the trannies.
Thurday afternoon I was flipping through the school newspaper to get to the crossword and sudoku (which I do every day) when I come across an article entitled "Tranny roadshow to stop in Bloomington". Well, if ever there is a heading that'll grab your attention, it's that one. So I read the article. Turns out the next night something called the Tranny Roadshow is appearing a local hipster bookstore. The article describes the roadshow as "six transgender performers bringing a range of talent including Dallas-Marie Spitzer, an acoustic folk-rock musician; Kit Yan, a slam poet; and Adelaide Windsome, a puppeteer who infuses politically charged viewpoints into her puppets." My curiousity is piqued.
The main purpose of the roadshow is to show and educate people about trannies. To demonstrate they have talents like everyone else. People of "unusual" sexual behavior or what-not are not uncommon in Bloomington, afterall it is the home of the/a Kinsey Institute. There is a sexual advice column in the paper called Kindsey Confidential. Whatever, if there is anything in this world I am not prudish about, it's sex.
I get on gmail chat and tell Coyote about this, something tells me this is right up his alley. Coyote tells me I have to go. I waver on it, Friday night is usually reserved from unwinding from the week, which involves eating takeout in my pajamas, not going out to a show. Coyote then berates and browbeats me. I carry on with a "maybe". Friday rolls around. I feel like I should go see the show, how often are you going to see something called the Tranny Roadshow. Starts at 8, I usually get off of work about 6 or 6:30. Now, one option I have is get my takeout and go home, eat it, and then go to the show. However, this is a bad idea. Thursday and Friday of last week were ungodly cold. Like minus digits cold. If I go home, I'm getting in the pajama's, and if I get in the pajama's there is no way I'm getting back out in the cold. So I turn to option two. Some coworkers of mine usually have dinner out on Friday nights. I'm invited sometimes, but usually I decline cause I'm an antisocial fuck. This night, however, I figure going out to dinner will be perfect. Keeps me out of home and by the time dinner is over it will be time for the show. My coworkers say they are going to a movie (Benjamin Button) after dinner and would I like to come. "No, I already have plans," I say. "Oh yeah, what?" they ask. "I'm going to see the Tranny Roadshow," I reply.
At this point in the precedings I was expecting a look of pure disdain/dismay/shock from them. Instead, a couple go "oh man, I'd rather go to that, I hate Brad Pitt." Well then. So not only am I going to the Tranny Roadshow, I'm conning coworkers into going to it with me. Well ok then.
We go to dinner at a brewhouse, which apparently means "place that serves pub fare and beer, but doesn't brew their own." I'm disappointed by the lack of homebrewed beer, but the burger is good. We sit around talking, me regaling them of tales I've Dirty Jobs and Mythbusters episodes. Suddenly it's 8:30 and we're late for the show. Fuck.
Some of walk down to the bookstore, it's only a few blocks away though apparently it's -140 degrees out. I saw an undergrad trip and shatter on the pavement. We get to the place and a guy outside with two studs in his bottom lip tells us that the place is packed, it's standing room only and any standing room has no view of performers. I'm shocked, who knew the Tranny Roadshow would be so popular. But screw that, I shall not be daunted. I didn't gear myself up for the Tranny Roadshow only to be denied this close. We push our way through the crowd at the door and get inside so we can thaw.
At this point I would like to remind you they are performing in a bookstore, not a venue usually designed for an audience. And it's not even a professional bookstore, it's a hipster bookstore. Which means old house with doors taken off the hinges and bookshelves propped against the walls. Kitchen converted into an office. The performance is going on in the main room/living room where there a couple dozen chairs. People are sitting in the chairs, standing behind the chairs, standing along the walls, standing in the foyer. We manage to squeeze through the people and get among the shelves in the front room and dining room. Cannot see anything. Even the doorway from the living room to the dining room is packed with people. The best I can do is stand beside these people and listen.
From here on out I am going to refer to all genders in quotation marks. I don't know what the genders were, sometimes I think I could tell, sometimes I could not. Truth is, I don't give a shit. That may seem callous of me given the purpose of the roadshow, but I feel the best response to an alternative lifestyle is one of apathy. Hey, you are different, I get that. More power to you. I don't give a shit. Live your life, I'll live mine. You're gay and want to move in next to me? Who fucking cares if you are gay, will you play music loudly at 3 AM? No? Fine, hello neighbor, now leave me alone. Apathy will save us all. But I'm getting away from the story. I might add it was a very interesting way to experience the tranny roadshow at the start, only being able to hear the person. I think so much of what we expect from trannies is visual, what they look like, that just being able to listen to them was very cool.
The first performer is a "woman" of apparently hispanic origin reading her poetry. The poetry is very angry, vaguely emo-ish. Yes no one understands you, I get it. I'm not terribly impressed, but it would take a lot to impress me. I've talked about it before, I don't get poetry. Almost all of it sounds like self-aggrandizing, overly-pretentious bullshit to me. But whatever, I listen, and occasionally there is a good turn of phrase.
The next performer comes on, introduced as the founder of the Roadshow, a fiddler from Maine. Fiddler? Awesome, bring it on, loves me some fiddle music. Person (sounds like a man) says "I'm going to do a spoken word piece for you." What? Awwwwwwww. Oh well. This person then goes on to tell a story partially involving a camping trip to Georgia with their "partner" that gets invaded by some drunken frat boys. Comedy ensues. And interesting message in the story is that masculinity seems to be tied to three things: power tools, alcohol, and penises. It's thought provoking; what exactly defines masculinity? The story is entertaining enough.
The third performer is a magician, who turns out her luggage was lost flying in from Iowa, so it'll be a short show, only the stuff she had in carry on. I'm ok with this as I can't see a damn thing, the magic show loses some appeal. About halfway through my friends decide to leave because they can't see anything. Frankly I'm impressed they lasted that long. They didn't have the same curiousity I did. But they tell me that I should come around to the foyer as I may be able to see something. The crowd there had thinned out a little and I'm taller than everyone, so I'm able to watch the rest of the roadshow from that vantage. The magician is doing really simple kids birthday party tricks. I'm serious, there was a chain of handkercheifs tied together being pulled out of a box. And you know what? It was killing! People were laughing and clapping. It's amazing how such simple tricks can still wow people. Something about magic.
The next performer comes on, the aforementioned Kit Yan, one half of the Good Asian Drivers, going to do some more spoken word. More spoken word? Blaaaaaaaaaaaaarg. Kit then performs the first piece, the majority of which can be seen here.
I'm blown away.
This "guy" is fucking awesome. "He's" funny and engaging and performs extremely well. "He then does another piece about penis standardization and government issued strap-ons, something I can get behind. As a person less than impressive in the penis area, I'm all in favor of standardization. Oh yeah, if you in any way squeamish about the word penis, the Tranny Roadshow is not for you. Anyways, Kit is awesome.
Then the last performer comes on, a "woman" strumming an out of tune guitar with a peace sticker on the body. "She" starts off saying "Ok people, what do you want to hear, come on, you've had all day to think about this." Starting off a set with this attitude is not a good approach I think. "She" sings one song, then does a spoken word piece (again with the spoken word, apparently being a Tranny Roadshow performer is carte blanche to reading your bad high school poetry) though it does start off with a great line: "I grew a beard because I couldn't grow tits." "She" then butchers a few more songs, screwing up each one at least once, usually a few times, having to pause to change keys or remember lyrics or answer "her" cell phone. I'm not at all impressed. "She" finishes up with a decent version of "Wagonwheel".
And that's it, the end of the Tranny Roadshow. I snag a free Good Asian Drivers stick from the merch table on the way out, walk through the sub-arctic temperatures to my car and go home. After all that writing, I guess it's sort of a let down of a story. You start off with promises of a Tranny Roadshow, you expect there to be something wild and crazy and out of the ordinary. Fraid not. But I went, so there we are.
Tim: What do you mean "her real name's Ian"?
Brian: She's non-gender-specific
Tim: Oh what, you mean like a tranny?
Brian: More than that.
Tim: What, a big fat tranny?
- Spaced
I shall now recount my evening among the trannies.
Thurday afternoon I was flipping through the school newspaper to get to the crossword and sudoku (which I do every day) when I come across an article entitled "Tranny roadshow to stop in Bloomington". Well, if ever there is a heading that'll grab your attention, it's that one. So I read the article. Turns out the next night something called the Tranny Roadshow is appearing a local hipster bookstore. The article describes the roadshow as "six transgender performers bringing a range of talent including Dallas-Marie Spitzer, an acoustic folk-rock musician; Kit Yan, a slam poet; and Adelaide Windsome, a puppeteer who infuses politically charged viewpoints into her puppets." My curiousity is piqued.
The main purpose of the roadshow is to show and educate people about trannies. To demonstrate they have talents like everyone else. People of "unusual" sexual behavior or what-not are not uncommon in Bloomington, afterall it is the home of the/a Kinsey Institute. There is a sexual advice column in the paper called Kindsey Confidential. Whatever, if there is anything in this world I am not prudish about, it's sex.
I get on gmail chat and tell Coyote about this, something tells me this is right up his alley. Coyote tells me I have to go. I waver on it, Friday night is usually reserved from unwinding from the week, which involves eating takeout in my pajamas, not going out to a show. Coyote then berates and browbeats me. I carry on with a "maybe". Friday rolls around. I feel like I should go see the show, how often are you going to see something called the Tranny Roadshow. Starts at 8, I usually get off of work about 6 or 6:30. Now, one option I have is get my takeout and go home, eat it, and then go to the show. However, this is a bad idea. Thursday and Friday of last week were ungodly cold. Like minus digits cold. If I go home, I'm getting in the pajama's, and if I get in the pajama's there is no way I'm getting back out in the cold. So I turn to option two. Some coworkers of mine usually have dinner out on Friday nights. I'm invited sometimes, but usually I decline cause I'm an antisocial fuck. This night, however, I figure going out to dinner will be perfect. Keeps me out of home and by the time dinner is over it will be time for the show. My coworkers say they are going to a movie (Benjamin Button) after dinner and would I like to come. "No, I already have plans," I say. "Oh yeah, what?" they ask. "I'm going to see the Tranny Roadshow," I reply.
At this point in the precedings I was expecting a look of pure disdain/dismay/shock from them. Instead, a couple go "oh man, I'd rather go to that, I hate Brad Pitt." Well then. So not only am I going to the Tranny Roadshow, I'm conning coworkers into going to it with me. Well ok then.
We go to dinner at a brewhouse, which apparently means "place that serves pub fare and beer, but doesn't brew their own." I'm disappointed by the lack of homebrewed beer, but the burger is good. We sit around talking, me regaling them of tales I've Dirty Jobs and Mythbusters episodes. Suddenly it's 8:30 and we're late for the show. Fuck.
Some of walk down to the bookstore, it's only a few blocks away though apparently it's -140 degrees out. I saw an undergrad trip and shatter on the pavement. We get to the place and a guy outside with two studs in his bottom lip tells us that the place is packed, it's standing room only and any standing room has no view of performers. I'm shocked, who knew the Tranny Roadshow would be so popular. But screw that, I shall not be daunted. I didn't gear myself up for the Tranny Roadshow only to be denied this close. We push our way through the crowd at the door and get inside so we can thaw.
At this point I would like to remind you they are performing in a bookstore, not a venue usually designed for an audience. And it's not even a professional bookstore, it's a hipster bookstore. Which means old house with doors taken off the hinges and bookshelves propped against the walls. Kitchen converted into an office. The performance is going on in the main room/living room where there a couple dozen chairs. People are sitting in the chairs, standing behind the chairs, standing along the walls, standing in the foyer. We manage to squeeze through the people and get among the shelves in the front room and dining room. Cannot see anything. Even the doorway from the living room to the dining room is packed with people. The best I can do is stand beside these people and listen.
From here on out I am going to refer to all genders in quotation marks. I don't know what the genders were, sometimes I think I could tell, sometimes I could not. Truth is, I don't give a shit. That may seem callous of me given the purpose of the roadshow, but I feel the best response to an alternative lifestyle is one of apathy. Hey, you are different, I get that. More power to you. I don't give a shit. Live your life, I'll live mine. You're gay and want to move in next to me? Who fucking cares if you are gay, will you play music loudly at 3 AM? No? Fine, hello neighbor, now leave me alone. Apathy will save us all. But I'm getting away from the story. I might add it was a very interesting way to experience the tranny roadshow at the start, only being able to hear the person. I think so much of what we expect from trannies is visual, what they look like, that just being able to listen to them was very cool.
The first performer is a "woman" of apparently hispanic origin reading her poetry. The poetry is very angry, vaguely emo-ish. Yes no one understands you, I get it. I'm not terribly impressed, but it would take a lot to impress me. I've talked about it before, I don't get poetry. Almost all of it sounds like self-aggrandizing, overly-pretentious bullshit to me. But whatever, I listen, and occasionally there is a good turn of phrase.
The next performer comes on, introduced as the founder of the Roadshow, a fiddler from Maine. Fiddler? Awesome, bring it on, loves me some fiddle music. Person (sounds like a man) says "I'm going to do a spoken word piece for you." What? Awwwwwwww. Oh well. This person then goes on to tell a story partially involving a camping trip to Georgia with their "partner" that gets invaded by some drunken frat boys. Comedy ensues. And interesting message in the story is that masculinity seems to be tied to three things: power tools, alcohol, and penises. It's thought provoking; what exactly defines masculinity? The story is entertaining enough.
The third performer is a magician, who turns out her luggage was lost flying in from Iowa, so it'll be a short show, only the stuff she had in carry on. I'm ok with this as I can't see a damn thing, the magic show loses some appeal. About halfway through my friends decide to leave because they can't see anything. Frankly I'm impressed they lasted that long. They didn't have the same curiousity I did. But they tell me that I should come around to the foyer as I may be able to see something. The crowd there had thinned out a little and I'm taller than everyone, so I'm able to watch the rest of the roadshow from that vantage. The magician is doing really simple kids birthday party tricks. I'm serious, there was a chain of handkercheifs tied together being pulled out of a box. And you know what? It was killing! People were laughing and clapping. It's amazing how such simple tricks can still wow people. Something about magic.
The next performer comes on, the aforementioned Kit Yan, one half of the Good Asian Drivers, going to do some more spoken word. More spoken word? Blaaaaaaaaaaaaarg. Kit then performs the first piece, the majority of which can be seen here.
I'm blown away.
This "guy" is fucking awesome. "He's" funny and engaging and performs extremely well. "He then does another piece about penis standardization and government issued strap-ons, something I can get behind. As a person less than impressive in the penis area, I'm all in favor of standardization. Oh yeah, if you in any way squeamish about the word penis, the Tranny Roadshow is not for you. Anyways, Kit is awesome.
Then the last performer comes on, a "woman" strumming an out of tune guitar with a peace sticker on the body. "She" starts off saying "Ok people, what do you want to hear, come on, you've had all day to think about this." Starting off a set with this attitude is not a good approach I think. "She" sings one song, then does a spoken word piece (again with the spoken word, apparently being a Tranny Roadshow performer is carte blanche to reading your bad high school poetry) though it does start off with a great line: "I grew a beard because I couldn't grow tits." "She" then butchers a few more songs, screwing up each one at least once, usually a few times, having to pause to change keys or remember lyrics or answer "her" cell phone. I'm not at all impressed. "She" finishes up with a decent version of "Wagonwheel".
And that's it, the end of the Tranny Roadshow. I snag a free Good Asian Drivers stick from the merch table on the way out, walk through the sub-arctic temperatures to my car and go home. After all that writing, I guess it's sort of a let down of a story. You start off with promises of a Tranny Roadshow, you expect there to be something wild and crazy and out of the ordinary. Fraid not. But I went, so there we are.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
He wasn't a number
In a sad follow up to my previous post, it appears that Patrick McGoohan has died. Perhaps this should go in my other blog, but I want to put it here. Patrick McGoohan was the star of The Prisoner television series which is perhaps his most famous role. However, we shouldn't overlook some of the other major roles he had. He played King William the Longshanks in Braveheart, the lead in the famous British spy series Danger Man, the villian Roger Devereau in the little known but excellent Gene Wilder/Richard Pryor comedy Silver Streak, and the spy David Jones in Ice Station Zebra, a film perhaps best known for being the object of obsession of Howard Hughes after he went batshit insane. It is an excellent cold war paranoia film.
For those interested, all 17 episodes of The Prisoner can be viewed here, legally and for free.
Patrick McGoohan had style. He had his own sensibilities and stuck to them. If producers or directors or what have you wanted him to compromise, he told them to piss off. I have nothing but respect for Patrick McGoohan. The world will miss you, sir.
For those interested, all 17 episodes of The Prisoner can be viewed here, legally and for free.
Patrick McGoohan had style. He had his own sensibilities and stuck to them. If producers or directors or what have you wanted him to compromise, he told them to piss off. I have nothing but respect for Patrick McGoohan. The world will miss you, sir.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
I didn't know my friends were so poetic
I've been emailing back and forth with a friend of mine in Georgia, still toiling away in grad school. We normally trade emails every few months, but the past couple days she's been bugging me. I mentioned that I have a crush on the cute stockroom girl, and my friend is goading me into asking her out. She asked me if I had asked CSG out yet, and I reply that it took me 3 months to ask her name. I need time to work up to asking out. My friend replies, and I'm quoting here:
"C'mon man! Rip off the band-aid, pull your nuts out of your taint, and ask her to join you for lunch or something!"
Pull your nuts out of your taint. You really have to love that line. It has the perfect combination of medieval stylized properness and blunt vulgarity.
Additionally, I googled that phrase to see if she had pulled it from somewhere (she didn't) and it returned quite a few interesting results. Such as "what's the perfect way to wipe your ass?" and "shaving your balls is harder than most other body parts".
Yeah, I didn't know my afternoon was going to go there either.
"C'mon man! Rip off the band-aid, pull your nuts out of your taint, and ask her to join you for lunch or something!"
Pull your nuts out of your taint. You really have to love that line. It has the perfect combination of medieval stylized properness and blunt vulgarity.
Additionally, I googled that phrase to see if she had pulled it from somewhere (she didn't) and it returned quite a few interesting results. Such as "what's the perfect way to wipe your ass?" and "shaving your balls is harder than most other body parts".
Yeah, I didn't know my afternoon was going to go there either.
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