#$&%@*!!!

Ah, Guardian blogs! Letting me down, at last! Today's batch featured this just-plain-insane entry from a man whose last name is "Pulver," which puts me in mind of a verb describing what I'd gladly do to him if I saw him onl the street. (Alright, not really, but please. Pulver? There's a divorce lawyer near Erin's apt. whose name is"Tracey Bloodsaw." How can that be her real name?! Every time I walk by the sign, I say to myself "Blooooodsawww" in a Vincent Price voice.)

Anyway, here are some key sentences from the entry entitled : 'Should Tim Burton Have Cut Sweeney Todd's Songs?'

"It wasn't what I was expecting. I'm no Sondheim maven, nor am I much of a fan of musicals in general. In fact, the only Sondheim tune I know I've heard is Send in the Clowns. But I really wasn't prepared for the cavalcade of horribleness that was the Sweeney Todd music. (I'm presuming, rightly or wrongly, that it's been lifted pretty much intact from the stage show.) Sweeney Todd the film pretty much grinds to a halt whenever the music starts swelling; the plodding melodies and uninspiring lyrics seeing to that."

"Personally speaking, I still enjoyed Sweeney Todd the movie a great deal. Edit out the songs and there's plenty to get excited about."

And finally...

"The Todd story is colourful and gory enough, you'd have thought, without the need for such pedestrian warbling. (Once again, I stress this is not the fault of the performers, who acquit themselves perfectly well. It's the songs themselves.)"


Oh, dear.


In happier news, I leave today for the Keystone Convention in Christiana, PA! (My mom said "At least it's an appropriately-named town.") Jesse, Lauren, Rachel and I are leaving at prime rush-hour-out-of-NYC and who knows when we'll arrive at our destination. (We've got all four parts in the car. Dorks dork dorks!)

Speaking of dorks, Lauren summed up the theme of the Time Mag article in this succinct statement: "Jesus Christ is a Superstar. He got that way thanks to punks, Jews, Buddhists, freaks....and geeks." You have to say it in a Poindexter voice for it to work. (I use that word at least once a day. My cousin used to have a cat named Poindexter-- they called it 'Pointy.')

The downside of Keystone is that I have to wear clothing there, and since it's a convention, #1, it theoretically should be nice clothing, AND , since it's a convention, #2, I have to have two DAYS worth. I don't really own any nice clothing, per se, so I spent the better part of an hour last night ripping everything out of my closet and throwing it around the room. Then trying it on. I settled on a dour, dour black skirt and shirt outfit which I'll pair with black stocking. But so no one mistakes me for a witch (it's literally what I wore for my "Halloween costume" at temp-work this year, minus the striped knee-socks) or a Quaker I'll wear red high heels. And I'll smile.

Anyway, I'm so excited to go away and to see my friends and to eat very-unhealthy Sacred Harp food and see people from everywhere else. And sleep in a a farmhouse basement. And be inappropriately dressed. And try out three of the four parts. And get anxious about what song I'm gonna call. Etc etc etc. Fun and games.

Finally: a guy who works here brought in some junk from his apt. that he's welcoming people to pick over. One of the things is a beautifully-embossed book from teh late 1800s called "Conscience Tales," or "Flemish Life: Four Stories." It's by a man who is going by the name "Hendrick Conscience." Certainly not one of MY forbears!
Non sequiturs galore!