God bless Ann Miller: The week in revue

I guess I have a lot to catch up on. Last week was pretty rough. I had taken the muscle relaxers my doc prescribed for my headaches last Sunday and I was stoned off my ass on Monday. Could barely get any work done. So I stopped taking them.

Wednesday I was meeting with my boss and could barely concentrate. I was trying to fake it but eventually fessed up to the fact that I was having major difficulties processing any of the materials we were going over. He's an MD so we talked about probable causes. I tried to blame the muscle relaxers, but as soon as I heard myself say that the side effect was lasting three days after I took the last dose, I knew that it wasn't true. (Not that that can't happen, it just wasn't the case this time.) I ended up telling him about the other meds I'm on, something I try to avoid doing ever, but like I said, he's an MD, so I figured he'd at least approach the situation clinically, which I guess he did. He asked if I needed any time off, but that seemed silly to me at the time. The conversation then turned to whether my psychological irregularities were going to affect my performance here - he threw in some jazz about the most important thing being my my well-being but, while I'm sure he (thinks he) meant it, came across as lip service. He's very matter-of-fact. It's on the the things I like about him. There are a lot of things I like about him, which is its own sort of problem but I'll get ot that some other time. Maybe. He needed to hear that I was taking some kind of action to address the situation (not crazy about that phrasing, but I was desperate to avoid the word "issues") so I figured I'd better tell him about the other meds.

Okay so that was Wednesday. Thursday I made it downtown and felt awful as soon as I stepped off the train. But I figured , What the hell, I'm already here, so I went in to work. I surveyed my desk, contemplated all the work i had to get done and went home an hour after I arrived Slept until noon. I can't really explain what was wrong, I just felt crappy. The thing that bothers me the most is that Shelby was on vacation last week, so I didn't get to see him on Thursday and maybe the whole thing was psychosomatic. Later in the day I was in the mood for some gritty crime drama and got ready to watch Hardcore, which had just arrived via Netflix, but decided to call Annika first. We ended up giggling a lot, which left me in a better mood, so I watched On the Town instead.

Friday I went to work and the headache was back. But I was lucid again, so I stayed at work. I think I took some Vicodin, but can't remember for sure. Friday night was a movie night at Paul's. Lotsa fun but very few people showed up, despite the number of positive responses on the evite. It seriously pissed me off. He puts a lot of work into these nights and people just seemed to disregard it. Anyway, it was Cult Movies 101. Started with Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, which was pretty fucking awesome. Then a surprisingly good print of Todd Haynes's Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story, which was also pretty fucking awesome. I had to bolt before Pink Flamingos. Just too damn tired.

That brings me up through Friday.

My Weekend

Friday night I watched the first act of the 1983 Broadway revival of Mame, with Angela Lansbury. very good video for its age. A really splendid production that only lasted for a month and sent Lansbury off to Cabot Cove. I also spent a lot of that evening chatting. I'm trying to not write about my adventures in that chat room for a few reasons: my handle there links directly to this blog and I keep forgetting to change that; it just doesn't seem right to reveal the activities of an invite-only chat room; and, most important, the more I write about it, the more seriously I take it and the more seriously I take it, the more embedded I become in that particular microcosm. And I fucking hate microcosms.

Anyway, my whole point for bringing the chatting up is that I'm having difficulty with other gay men who seem to be much better at adulthood than I am. It brings out my insecurities - not hard to do, granted - which have been really hitting me hard this week. And they flared up again on Friday night over some nonsense that I can't even remember today. I needed a friend and luckily Annika was home. We ended up giggling a lot. We do that sometimes.

Oh, I also referred to the fact that I watch Family Guy. A chatter made a snide comment about the fact that I watch television and I told him to bite my shiny metal ass. Later it occurred to me that people who don't watch TV are probably not going to understand Futurama references, but that's his problem.

Just sort of hung out on Saturday. Spent a lot of time cataloguing cast recordings. Finished watching Mame and realized that the second act really devolves into drag queen camp but is still enormously enjoyable. Had dinner with Josh, who is moving to Vega$. Got home and watched Chicago.

Somehow Chicago has acquired the reputation as one of the less-worthy Oscar winners. Bollocks to that. It was a brilliant fucking musical then and it remains so. It actually looks better in retrospect, considering the stage musical adaptations that have come since: Rent's problems began with most of its cast being way too fucking old, but certainly don't end there. Dreamgirls's book scenes were woefully lacking the energy present in the musical numbers. Sweeney Todd had Helena Bonham Carter acting brilliantly but singing in head voice. I was disappointed in Hairspray, which was a great deal of fun, watered down the racial context of the stage musical, which really watered it down from John Waters's original film. I think of all of those films as missed opportunities, which makes Chicago all the more remarkable, even with its occasional overzealous editing.

Yesterday was just lovely. My friend John split up with his partner earlier this year and they had season tickets to everything. So he took me to see Ain't Misbehavin' at the Goodman and it was outstanding. The original cast album of the show is easily the most played album in my entire collection, and that's saying something. I've listened to it hundreds of times and have never gotten sick of it. I brought it with me to work at the Alley and even they loved it.

John is the biggest stud I've ever met. I don't know anyone who gets laid as often as he does. It's mind-boggling. We couldn't do anything after the show because he had to go meet up with someone else. He's hooking up with two guys from Cypress tonight that he spent part of the weekend with. Crazy.

(And yes. We do.)

On the way to work...

I've been making scads of acquaintences online lately, but most of them either live nowhere near Chicago or end up as really bad dates. So I was delighted this morning to see Red Glasses on the el. His name isn't Red Glasses, nor is that his handle. But he does wear red-framed glasses and that's how I recognized him. And we both watch House, so Red Glasses is like Cutthroat Bitch. Only nicer.

There's not much else to this story. We had a lovely chat until we got to my stop. He's a cutie but has a partner, which didn't bother me this morning as much as it has recently. It was just a nice way to start the day.

Music: "Blow a Fuse"/Betty Hutton (remade as "Oh So Quiet" by Bjork)