The weather here has been miserable all day. Gray, rainy. Not the warm, gooey sort of gray and rainy that makes you wanna curl up by the fire with someone you love, but the insipid, torpid sort that drains the life from every living thing and makes you wonder, “What’s the point?” Thanks for the pick-me-up, Mother Nature. Your timing couldn’t be better.

On top of that, I’m surrounded by artists–the needy sort.

Luckily, we start working on Camille this week. Few needy folks or egos in our group, mostly because none of us are actors.

Does that make sense?

Goodbye, Frank.

I am officially bored.

I am officially uncomfortable.

I am officially a boy-kisser.

I am officially uninterested in the fate of my first true love.

I am officially unable to recall my first true love.

I am offically a fascist, in my own way.

I am officially tired of dealing with artists.

I am officially glad that it’s Carnival time.

I am officially looking forward to the Krewe du Vieux parade this weekend.

I am officially not ready for the Society of St. Anne Ball.

I am officially unprepared to begin directing Camille.

I am officially in love with Jonno.

I am officially not in love with Will and Grace.

I am officially thrilled that we’re having houseguests for Mardi Gras.

I am officially excited by tornadoes.

I am officially uninterested in “twinks”.

I am officially frustrated with my external modem.

I am officially in search of an official to propogate my official pronouncements.

More writing for other people who [hopefully] won’t mind if I post my latest piece here.

Chance sighting: as I sat down at my desk, I happened to glance over at the circa-1951 Big-Ass Dictionary that’s so big-assed the only place I can find to put it is the floor of my office. An entry at the top of the page caught my eye. It dovetails nicely with Andy’s anti-consumerist rant from yesterday:

Say’s Law (n.): a statement in economics: production creates not only the supply of goods, but also the demand for them.

Funny, I don’t remember learning that in Econ 101. But then, it sounds a little too marxist for Mississippi classrooms.

Congratulations, papist webheads! You’re about to have your very own patron saint to watch over your travels down the world wide internet superhighway thingummy. I just hope you remembered to say the appropriate prayer before logging on today.

Two questions, though:

• Do you have to say the prayer if you’ve got DSL?
• Will his feast day be 01/01? (nyuk, nyuk…ugh)

As sturtle.com nears the one-year mark, it’s time for me to reconsider my hosting options. I’m at Easyspace right now, and they’ve been very reliable, but I’m considering a move to ReadyHosting: they’re cheaper, and they offer more stuff. Only thing is, it’s hard to get an idea of ReadyHosting’s reliability from their client list. The oh-so-gooey comments are a little staged, if ya’ know what I mean. Anyone had any personal experience with ’em?

Four Things

1. Never underestimate the power of cigarettes and coffee as dieting aids.

2. After a month-and-a-half hiatus, Jason and Gladys are back. We’ll see how long they hold out this time.

3. Everyone probably already knows, but I just discovered it yesterday: they’ve opened up the Stortroopers goth wardrobe. Therefore, three new and improved avatars (Jonno didn’t care much for my version of Fat Tuesday boyfriend, so he created his own):

mardi gras me

my mardi gras jonno

jonno’s mardi gras jonno

I still can’t seem to get Jonno right, but the eerie likeness to me is, well…eerie.

4. Last night I had the strangest dream. I sailed away to China…in a little rowboat to find ya’…. No seriously. It was odd.

My friends Jim, Kim, and I were extras in a movie about the Israeli army. Wait, let me clarify that: we were extras in a movie musical about the Israeli army. And all the dialogue was in Hebrew. Go figure.

Next thing I know, we’ve been asked to help coordinate a shoot for a horror flick. They want us to pull in an audience full of people for a free screening of some Christopher Durang movies (which strikes me as odd, because as far as I know he’s only made Beyond Therapy, and he hated it) so they can get some good crowd shots for the film. So we’re standing outside a movie theatre, herding people in from off the sidewalk. There must have been a masquerade party nearby, because an unusually large number of folks were wearing costumes–especially chicken costumes. Like the kind schmucks have to wear when they’re handing out flyers in front of Chick-fil-a. (Again, go figure.)

Anyway, we do a pretty good job of rustling up a crowd, and when we finally go in, the theatre’s packed. The only place I can find to sit is next to Mary Garlington (Lu-Lu “For a Quarter I Will” Fishpaw in Polyester). Actually, it’s so crowded, Mary and I have to share a seat. And we do. With room to spare (see #1 above).

So we’re watching these Durang films, and they all look vaguely like low-rent versions of The Year of Living Dangerously, complete with cheesebag Maurice Jarre-esque soundtracks. After a bit, I decide I’m tired and wanna go home. Timo razzes me as I get up to leave, jeering that I’m always prone to flake out early. (And I am. You gotta problem with that?)

I leave the cinema and head off to retrieve my car from a valet parking lot. And as I’m waiting for the guy to bring ’round my vehicle, I’m set upon by some theatre queen who’s telling me all about his latest production (One Flew Over the Cukoo’s Nest, I think) and his night out at the Roxy in New York, and I fall asleep in the middle of his story. (You would have done the same.)

Then I woke up.

You’d think this’d be the last place on earth anyone would come for info on clit piercing. But of course, you’d be wrong.

Holy crap! Must…obtain…Itchy & Scratchy action figures….