What’s that? There was no FOOFARAH last week and you’re losing the will to live? Well, me too, so let’s get things back on track with a double-dose of Foof this week…or at least, until I run out of Jameson’s. First, tho, I have to remember how I even do these things…wait, I got it…
FIRST AND LAST CHANCE TO SEE: The UNDERCURRENTS festival plows through it’s second and final week, and while Carmen Aguirre’s BLUE BOX has already wrapped, you still have time to see LIVE FROM THE BELLY OF A WHALE, WEETUBE 5400, HIGHWAY 63: THE FORT MAC SHOW, FALLING OPEN and AND THEN IT HAPPENS. Naturally, you will see all of them. Don’t argue!
Over at OLT, TRANSLATIONS opens up for bizness, while PACK OF LIES rounds out it’s run at the Ron Maslin in Kanata. And on the 22nd, Third Wall’s EMPTY SPACE series continues, this time with readings from Vaclav Havel. Who as I now understand is NOT, in fact, a hockey player. Plus the debut of [title of show] on the 16th over at Academic Hall, from Broadway Off-Broadway. Don’t miss it!
So, apologies for missing last monday’s edition, what can I say? I’m just not getting enough Vitamin D over here. I guess I could use some more sun…take it away, Stranglers!
Aside from that goodie, I’ll be listening to some new vinyl whilst scratching away at the Foofarah this evening…the WHITE WIRES’ second lp, and a collection of Japanese Psych rock, both courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood Birdman Sound, who you should totally go and buy some wicked tunes from soon. A bunch of other folks did recently, and it was awesome. You should be awesome too. And speaking of Friendly Neighbourhood thingamajigs…
COMIX: I’m still on my epic old-school comic binge, having just wrapped up the first 50 issues of FANTASTIC FOUR (still only halfway thru Stan Lee and Jack Kirby’s legendary run together on the book) and closing in on the first 30 of AMAZING SPIDER-MAN. It’s easy to see why they grabbed the youth of the day…nothing like their adventures had ever been seen on the racks. Just finished an issue where Peter Parker’s Aunt May threw away Spidey’s uniform, so he had to buy a cheap knockoff from a costume shop. It didn’t fit right, and he had to keep using his webbing to make it stay on. When he got it wet, it started to shrink on him. Now, I love Superman, and I’m wearing his symbol on my tee-shirt right now, but you bet your sweet Aunt Petunia he never had to deal with bullshit like THAT. So let’s hear it for classic Marvel, gang, with some help from Joey and my fav’rit rock’n’roll super-team:
AUDITONIZING: While I’ve been pretty idle actor-wise the last long while, I HAVE booked my first audition of 2012 and I plan to make good on it. I have to prepare a 1-minute monologue for it, and I’m gonna dig thru my collection over the next few days to try and find a gooder. I realized recently that I really, really do need to make this happen…I need to get on a stage soon. I’ve been trying to figure it out, and I think…indulge me for a minute on this, or skip ahead to the next video if you like, I’ll understand. Basically, I never feel like I’m allowed to speak. I know, that’s insane and terrible, but that’s how I feel. Maybe I’M insane and terrible, but I always feel shut out somehow, even when I’m TOTALLY not. I never phone people because I’m convinced I’ll somehow be bothering them if I do. I won’t join people in conversation, because I’m sure they’ll hate me for interrupting. Please don’t try to talk me out of this disposition, it simply will not work. That’s just the way I’ve warped over the years.
But if you get on a stage, then…then you get to speak. Then you get to let things OUT, even if they’re not your words. I think that’s it…or at least part of it. I want permission to speak. I want permission to ROAR, dig? And, God of your choice willing, I want permission to mime. I’d like that a lot, I think.
And now, as an antidote to how almost-heavy that got, here’s Mojo Nixon:
WRITING: Hey, there’s a word I used to have more in common with! I mean, okay, I DO still write a fair amount, non-fiction wise, in the form of this here blog (remember when I used to call it a ‘Chud’? Where did those carefree days go?) But I used to write-write ALL the time. Nothing that can really be called very useful in the traditional sense (cough*fanfiction*coughcough), but goddammit, I would sit down at the ‘pooter for HOURS at a time, smashing away on them keys, getting into good writing grooves, brainstorming, improving, fucking DOING IT. And I have no ding-dang idea where all that went. I have this theory that I’ve let myself get distracted by too much nonsense (foofarah?), and that what I really have to do is just sequester myself at regular intervals and, at possible pain of disfigurement, get the job done. I need pressure, I need motivation, I need a deadline. I need to create stuff again, or I AM dead. More to come.
Serious again. Dance break!
Running out of shit to say…got my first ever UNDERCURRENTS volunteer shift tomorrow nite, which I’m stoked about. People keep treating me like media these days? Which is cool and all, and it actually gets me free tickets to stuff…but on the downside, it gets me FREE TICKETS TO STUFF. Which means I’m not PAYING for those tickets, which means I’m not contributing in a real, concrete way to my supposedly beloved theatre, and am stepping close to that abyss of ‘critic’ that I am loathe to go down. So it really makes me feel good to do something like spend a night working the front of house or whatever…so I know I’m not a total parasite. Plus which, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and I can’t think of a better way to spend it than at the theatre (and I’m totally bringing Valentine’s treats for the gals in the box office). Because drinking whiskey alone in a corner is, quite frankly, getting cliched.
Not that I’m above cliche…just rereading some of my fanfiction and, oy vey, do I dig on the melodrama! Watch out, Buffybot! Plot devices at 6 o’clock!
Ahem. Sorry, almost gave away the secret identity there. That’s all for the Foofarah this week, folks, here’s some distracting music to play you out (did I yammer enough this week? And more importantly, did I catch the Prettiest Hobo’s bus home from school?)…this tune is from the amazing Wim Wenders non-fiction flick PINA, which I don’t seem able to shut the fuck up about. Peace, love and soul,
The Visitor (and Winston)