| [ |
mood |
| |
 good |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Scissor Sisters "I Don't Feel Like Dancin'" ( <3 ! ) |
] |
Howdy, all (or none, if that's the case, xoxo),
Worrrrrd. You almost forgot I'm your #1 stunnah, but then I surprise you with a DJ entry like, 92 minutes after my last one. Uggh, frankly, I was about to test the durability of my room's walls with my goddamn head -- because I'm sitting here memorizing a Shakespearean monologue for class tomorrow where I have to write the whole thing down for credit. I didn't even realize professors assigned things like this anymore. Are there teachers that still make uppity students wear dunce caps too? Might the University of Iowa be slowly converting into a little red schoolhouse? Should my guerilla-style typing fingers be promptly given the ruler? Don't worry, The Daily Iowan will cover this developing story right after Drew Tate dies of old age.
Just to placate myself, let's see how much of this mangy monologue I've got covered:
"The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the final entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend to mortal thought, unsex me here,
Fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direct cruelty. Make thick my blood.
Stop up th'access and passage to remorse
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake me of fell purpose, nor keep peace between
Th'effect and it. Come to my woman's breasts
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers.
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief. Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell
That my keen knife sees not the wound it makes
Nor heaven peeks through the blanket of the dark
To cry "Hold, hold,"
(Enter MACBETH)
Great Glamis, Worthy Cawdor,
Greater than both by the all-hail hearafter
Thy letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant present, and I feel now
The future is in the instant."
Okay, that only took like three peeks at my cheat sheet. I'm a fucking scholar. Look up to me, Daum residents. You're probably smuggling twenty pounds of crack into the building everyday, but whatever, your RA just learned how to memorize gobbledygook. Pass the pipe this way.
It's also not everyday you meet a theater major who calls Macbeth "gobbledygook." Pleased to make your acquaintance, though.
Also, the past two days have just been sort of weird -- I returned to Iowa, and I felt isolated immediately. I think it's because I had so much to do upon my return, including an 8-page paper and RA stuff, that I didn't even get to reacquaint long with all my buddies here. Not to mention I had to edit the paper minutes after Dad dropped me off. And by the way, how about Dad and I were nearly killed on the way to Iowa when, on I-80, our back windshield FLEW OFF THE CAR. Clear off! Not a trace of it left! It landed in the road behind us, and there we were with no back windshield. The Jetta had turned into the Jed Clampett model. We braved the rest of the ride to Iowa City, hoping it wouldn't rain. As far as I know, Dad's alive, so I hope he got that fucking thing fixed. And maybe he can sue too, because, you know, he's like a lawyer.
But what a random-ass Saturday I had the night before I went back to school. Brent, that guy I mentioned in the previous entry from Galesburg, drove in with his fucking 10-person tank van (which was painted a ravishing muddy gray), and met up with me at -- where else -- the Lemont train tracks. He knew immediately to compliment my new H&M scarf, so things seemed headed down the right path from the get-go. He met my exotic family, toured the Virtel mansion, and then I had to give him the patented Louis S. Virtel tour of Lemont. This includes a class-A ride in Laser and tour stops accompanied by my prize-winning commentary: "This is Chipain's. Once a day I drive past this beautiful fresh market, consider revisiting my old coworkers, just before yelling 'Not a chance in hell, asshole' to anyone who can hear me. Next, on your right, here's where PT lives and thrives. I'll give you three guesses as to what 'PT' stands for. Here's a hint -- he's not a pancreas toucher..." Really educational. I told Brent he could register this cultural experience as an internship on his transcript. But anyway, of course Lemont has nothing to visit, so I took Brent to the most impressive locale I know -- the Starbucks on Bell. Brent was kind of antsy about having to go to Starbucks, I felt, and later when we discussed SJP he flat-out said, "I can't believe I'm at a Starbucks talking about Sex and the City." Brent, dear, I can. And I'll be doing it 50 years from now if all goes according to plan. Get on board.
I hadn't seen Rachel all break, so I took Brent to meet her. We all hung out, played Scrabble at my house, took the party to Jimmy Johns (ANOTHER incredible stop), and then Brent basically went home. It was fun, and it also was seven hours long. I napped afterwards. Brent's really nice and smart, so it's a shame he and I will never live in the same state at the same time. Boo that. And I do mean to suggest that Galesburg is an enclave not officially recognized in Illinois. Full of damn indians, that's why.
One of my residents just came in here and asked me what I thought of Madonna and the Malawian baby pseudo-scandal. Well, first things first: this is the kind of stuff I frankly don't care about with Madonna. Unless David Banda is going to appear in a sexy music video dressed as a leather daddy, I'm not concerned. However, I will say that Madonna has turned the adoption into two things seemingly anathema to one another -- a call to action, and a publicity stunt. For instance, in regards to the call to action, how many people even knew what Malawi was three months ago? Madonna successfully introduced a huge world problem to America, single-handedly. I can't rag on that. However, she's on shit like Regis and Kelly talking about it. Though it may help the cause, her exposure with this, at times, seems tasteless. It's not a sentiment unfamiliar to Madonna critics, but with this story, I'm reminded of when she had her first child, and the flack she took for it. Lourdes was called a publicity stunt. But then, before I question her '96 photoshoot with baby Lola, I begin to rescind my cynicism. Because Madonna's done a lot of great things that start as grand PR gestures before people realize she's doing something badass. Case in point: the Sex book. While she couldn't have promoted that book with more vulgar theatrics, the book itself is hilarious. It's witty. It also has Vanilla Ice in it, and I'm sorry about that. But I'll say it -- it's arty. However, Madonna also constructed what I consider one of the worst, most mindless PR stunts in recent history: the Britney-Christina lip-lock. What the fuck was that? Awful. Not smart. Not meaning anything. And the performance of "Hollywood" sucked. But anyway, the baby adoption thing -- in the end, Madonna's defended her decision aptly. Something to the effect of, "I didn't break a law. And if I did, good for me. It's a stupid law." Right on, Vadge.
Only two weeks till finals, which means I have less than two weeks of classes left. Sweet fucking salvation. I'm banking on an A for Arts and Culture Reporting, an A for Media & Health, an A- in Shakespeare, and an A- in Elements of Design. Kiss my ass, nay-sayers.
Also, I'm restless and want to choose my Songs That Became Mine During 2006. Legally, I own them all. The rights and everything. I'm goddamn Michael Jackson. Let us count the favorites, in no particular order (besides of course, the obvious #1...)
1. Kelis "Bossy"
2. Prince "Black Sweat"
3. George Michael "Father Figure"
4. Dixie Chicks "Not Ready to Make Nice"
5. Dixie Chicks "Favorite Year"
6. Madonna "Vogue (live)"
7. Garbage "Stupid Girl"
8. Jessica Simpson "A Public Affair" (DON'T EVEN HATE.)
9. Sinead O'Connor "Three Babies"
10. The Veronicas "4Ever"
11. Madonna "Causing a Commotion"
12. ABBA "S.O.S."
13. Aimee Mann "Winter Wonderland"
Sigh. A fine collection. A good person would burn that disc for me (wink).
Anyway, I better post this and get back to work. I've decided to let the, er, screamy comment on the last entry stick around -- though it's like a fucking albatross over that entry, which I hate. Oh well, Mary got her chance to raise hell in heels, so that's that.
Off I go to shake some spear and likely hit myself with it. Love you guys, thanks for listening.
Xoxo,
Louis
|