Don't give me songs, give me something to sing about.

Possibly despite my better judgment (which is a good thing sometimes), I went to the drag show at Northwestern. I mean, sure, I love to support my friends and lovers in their artistic adventures and I like dragging Damon along with me when I do, but I must confess I was struck yesterday with this strong feeling that I wanted to see the campus again.

Keep in mind, I have never in any moment of my life ever had any school pride when it comes to my college. Sure, I like the access to resourses the university brought me, as well as the location and the fact that I found amazing people in my life, but I don't ever feel like the correct response to this gratitude is to don a purple cap and say "go cats!" In fact, I pretty much hate Northwestern, and I would only mildly defend it to a non-Northwesterner who criticizes it. Contrast this to my feelings towards the South, which is an area of the country I never anticipate living in again ever in my life (never say never) and I could write books of essays on my people, but god forbid someone northerner or midwesterner or anyone else says anything remotely disparaging because I'll school them hard and fast.

Anyway, so yeah. I had no ptsd flashbacks when we got out of the car, but I had this strange feeling of cockiness. Like looking the campus made me think, "fck you bastards, I got out and I'm a better person now." Which isn't exactly how I feel, but I'm sure there's a thread.

But the student center felt the same, the same level of familiarity and foreigness. The new buildings were ugly and monstrous and changed the landscape, which is how everything new on the campus was the four years I was on campus. And while walking with Damon I stopped at the echo point in front of Annie May Swift and cracked jokes at the frat boys guarding the rock but was interrupted by one of their cell phones ringing. No one I knew had cell phone when I was there. I guess time has passed.

The show itself was lowkey and probably frustrating to the performers, but I yelled and clapped. A lot. Especially when Sisqo Paul busted out with the Sisqo thong song dance moves from the video and Damon and I nearly had an aneurysm because we whooped and hollered in our excitement and encouragement. Damn, I'm a sucker for good dance moves in a performance.

And Cynical Gay Professor was the MC of the show, and he looked fabulous in his makeup and tux and pink feather boa and I told him "I'm a sucker for a boy in eyeliner" and he said "me too" then told me in a 3 minute conversation that he and Craig broke up (again? for good?) and he's bought a new place and we should go out soon and gave me his card and I still don't know if he knows who I am or not. Or what the motivation for drinks were. I mean, I don't mean this in a "I can't believe he likes me way" but I wasn't sure if it was 'post-breakup looking for new social outlets drinks with old friend' or, you know, drinks. And I feel sort of crazy for even thinking this because, I mean, it's HIM. It's not like that, right? Not five years after dinner parties and thrown martini glasses and putting lesbian music in the ethnic section of the CD's? Which is why I think he doesn't know who I am.
Or maybe I just forgot how to read him and I'm way off base. There's only one way to find out, I suppose. I'll e-mail him next week.

We want the pie.

At this time I'd like to welcome back to the show my D'Angelo concert t-shirt which has written large scrawl across the front "F*ck the Slice", except the U is written and there a red asterick on top of it, so it's only partially censored. I pulled it out of the bottom of a seldom used drawer.

I never wore this shirt around my ex because she made me paranoid about being publicly indecent. Today I hesitated briefly before wearing it to work, then decided in my world it's casual Friday, which is different because yesterday I could wear jeans and t-shirt but today I can wear one with "obscene language" on it. My shirt is rated PG-13.

Also, this morning while taking Sophie for a couple turns around the parking lot I suddenly remember last fall when I made a post offering to have people parody my journal. Click HERE to read it. Big ups to the genius of those who took time to lovingly skewer me.

I find it amusing that I've since recanted my distaste for the word "hott" with multiple t's. However you still can't make me say I "heart" something. That has never found it's way into my vocabulary.

The server is still down at work. Which means the only thing I CAN do is internet related. Woe is I.

Benign dictator

So a few days ago I'm writing about the really bad mixtape from ten years with some Crash Test Dummies song, then today I go into the sandwich shop and it's PLAYING in the restaurant. I walk up to the counter immediately and place my order right at the T.S. Eliot line. I can hardly believe it.

This goes well with Wednesday in Walgreens after dinner when they were playing some Hootie in the Blowfish song and I thought this is horrible shopping music and doesn't make me want to browse at all. Seconds later, the song ends and Boz Scaggs's "Love Look What You'd Done To Me" comes on. Much better. The only song that would have been more appropriate is Jewel's "Standing Still", which plays in every grocery store in every city whenever I'm shopping.
My powers are growing.

Locked archives

I took a stroll through the Art Institute to look at their posters, since as I mentioned recently, most of the stuff on the walls belongs to MelRo. I'm toying with another Rothko print or two, possibly an orange one to match the couch. For some reason it amuses me to by art that matches the furniture, but it's not the typical art-that-matches-the-couch sort of thing. Like there aren't sailboats and seagulls. It's Rothko.

Then I saw a print of this....
( La jeune martyre )