"In the world which is upside down, the true is a moment of the false."
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| rock and roll means fuck "In the world which is upside down, the true is a moment of the false." |
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Monday, September 01, 2003 dorks on parade and sartre corrected in unremarkable seaside town. 
it is said that sartre once remarked that, "hell is other people". not quite. hell is actually an uncomfortable proximity to other people while those people are engaged in something referred to as "competetive theatresports". i came to this conclusion earlier today after regretably accepting free tickets to something called the improvaganza! being held in our fair city on this otherwise lovely holiday weekend. "Improvising might be a nightmare for some, but watching other people make stuff up on stage is always enjoyable." once again, not quite. the 90 minutes i willingly gave to the observation of such tragedy, time that is gone forever, sadly, were some of the most excruciating minutes i've ever, ever endured. it was a wretchedness that seemingly would not cease. some disclaimers: i was a theatre geek. i started doing community theatre when i was 11. my first part was in a vonnegut play called "happy birthday, wanda june" that was directed by a fellow who referred to himself as "the last remaining beatnik" in his bio. my dad played the part of a vacuum cleaner salesman who was a suitor my 'mom'. it opened a whole new freakin' world to me. i was hooked. i was prince, nay, king of the theatre geeks in my high school. i was good. i was writing one act plays that our drama club was taking to competitions all around the state in 10th grade. by my senior i had a posse. i kid you not. of course they were all other theatre geeks and, therefore, pretty insignificant in the social darwinian dynamic of a large suburban high school. but, hey, at least we weren't band geeks, who in the strange and curious social milieu of said suburban high school, are so untouchable as to be almost radioactive. plus i had the dual notoriety of being not only czar of theatre dorklandistan, but also to be achingly, achingly in a way that one really has to be 17 years old to really achieve, punk rock. i somehow became the "crazy punker guy" that it was "cool" to be tight with. the straights, the social ladder higher ups and whatnot thought it was cool to have me at their party. whatever. anyway, i digress. what i am trying to say here is that i have a rather bulletproof understanding of the genus thespia dorkus majorus. these are my people in a sense. i sometimes feel like a monarch in a voluntary exile. *sigh* after what i witnessed today, i have to say that should i ever choose to reclaim my throne, these folks will indeed be the first against the wall. the display of well intentioned but irretrievable wretchedness which i was subjected to today, of my own volition i'll admit, is just inexplicable. it was all delivered with an almost evil "old college try"-type cheerfulness and vigor that i was actually quite taken aback when it produced a suprising depth of sympathy with these poor, poor folks, however. you know how sometimes you go see a band or a play or some such performance and they are just so bad you feel sorry for them? they're trying the best that they can, but, for whatever reason, what's coming out is just rank-ass high holy suck? maybe some folks boo and you wish they'd just give those performing a break and let them finish. ever seen a performance that was so awful it made you feel uncomfortable? i have. anyone who has seen "whose line is it anyway?" has some understanding of what is involved here. except this has somehow regrettably become a competition. troupes of 4 or five unfortunate dolts compete as teams with other troupes in a yuk-yuk attempt at something approaching professional wrestling. another departure from the "whose line...?" model is that often the television show is actually funny. the troupes were creepily similiar. they usually consisted of one person who could possibly be construed, on a good day, as funny. not funny ha-ha. more like one chuckle-bob hope funny. funny that is digested and processed in about a quarter of a second. they generally had an even male/female membership. they could all be described as ZANY! they have names like "bob!" or "jennifer!" or "greg!". they all had at least one member who was painfully uncomfortable and almost never part of the action. one girl in particular comes to mind in this respect, "liba!". she was mid/late twenties, very small, very honky, painfully dorky, (dorky in that post-grad "i know more about carniverous plants, lesser pitcher plants in particular, than all but about 4 people in the entire history of the world" kinda way.) and in way over her head. naturally, i immediately fell in love with her. i couldn't help it. i have this thing for dorky white girls, for wonky-types. i make no apologies. of course she could hardly compete for my affections with one of the judges. good golly. i've seen her before, on the bus actually. just absoluetly gorgeous, stunning in that dorky white girl kinda way. honestly, one of the most beautiful women i've ever seen. and here she was as a judge of this horrid, horrid affair. it got me to thinking about the twisted rationalizations we sometimes find ourselves constructing to make dating someone who may have some rather disturbing culture/character flaws but, nonetheless have got something else that's just too yummy. "ok, so maybe she's a republican who owns not one, but two limp bizkit records. maybe her fave film is the 'how will we explain this to the future?' despicable mess that is 'patch adams'. maybe she doesn't know who tennessee williams was. but, my god, that ass!" it was disconcerting to say the least. the various teams were constantly asking for suggestions for occupations or motivations from the audience. this is how the fuel the 'zany-ness!'. (admittedly, there were about 20 people in the audience that weren't other 'improvaganza!' competitors. plus, i think most of us were there with free tickets.) towards the end of the competition one of the troupes asked for a title of a beat poem that was never written. i replied "the ass master's tale, dig?" rather loudly and before anyone else said anything. everyone laughed. this was ignored and they asked for a common household appliance. someone said 'toaster'. so, they made up a beat poem about a toaster. it was the saddest thing i have ever seen. result: tragedy. regardless, i am glad that these folks have found some sort of outlet. i really am. i just want to say to some of them: maybe you really are a CPA. maybe you should leave those thespian dreams back in 1987,1977,1967 where they belong. what i witnessed today was sad in so many ways. hell, i want to weep at the very thought. sometimes i ramble. sorry. pulp: "sorted for e's and wizz" "...and you want to call your mother and say, 'mother, i can never go home again' cuz i seem to have left an important part of my brain somewhere... ...somewhere in a field in hampshire, allright...." posted by downtown | 3:31 AM |
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Cost of the War in Iraq
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