The play last night--Dollhouse, a 2005 reworking of A Doll's House--was awesome. The lead actress and her performance had a definite Amy Adams/Junebug vibe (which is a compliment), but the story allowed her to take the character all the way to breakdown and then build her back up differently. All the actors were great--you didn't realize how good until at least halfway through, because a good bit of the action is conducted from behind cheerful or smarmy facades, and it's not until the different characters cut loose that you really see what they're made of. Really, really great.
And then we went to a bar where a friend of the Lovely Emily's works: the Back Nine, where boomers go to die. It has a lovely fun bar topped with solid ice, though. I came home redolent of cigar smoke and wobbly from two and a half Long Islands (I'm probably the only the self-professed lightweight drinker who asks for four different kinds of booze in one glass), and had to wash pretty much everything I wore, slept in, slept on, or thought about. I drank plenty of water when I got home, though, so I wasn't hungover and was actually up pretty early sorting through BPAL oils, because I woke up to a bank statement informing me that I am very nearly broke. I've always been lackadaisical about money, sometimes catastrophically so, which means that I am now wondering if I actually spent all of this money myself, or if unauthorized charges were made (say, by someone who cribbed my info from an internet purchase). Part of this is related to Christmas shopping and part of it to realizing I had no wardrobe basics, but--I thought I had a fairly good idea of where I was, and this is way, way off.
So I'm looking at things to sell off--which sounds all scary and desperate, but really they're things I've meant to sell for months, if not years, and just never got around to it. I mean, I bought a couple of Weta items for the sole purpose of reselling them later; I have a ton of BPAL oils that I don't like (in addition to the ones that I do), and it's only a lack of bubble mailers that's kept me from putting them up for sale. So, because I'm still stupidly shy about actually putting something up on eBay, I went ahead and sorted out my oils (lab fresh, only tested, half full, that kind of thing) and will be putting up a sale post (on this journal) in a moment. It was unpleasant to wake up to that, but it was probably the kick in the ass I needed.
Fatah gunmen seize Palestinian parliament.
Documents Show U.S. Army Seized Wives As Tactic.
Climate Expert Says NASA Tried to Silence Him. Any time the phrase "silence him/her" is used, I automatically imagine frantic midnight back-alley chases and gun-waving Men in Black and cars blowing up. I suspect I would be disappointed on this one.
wumbawoman: "Thought you would find this interesting. Remember all that stink about Target pharmacists not having to fill the morning after RX if it was against their beliefs? Well it seems Walgreens has stepped up to the plate as being progressive in thought. Walgreens wanted all their pharmacists to sign a pledge that they promise to dispense the RX. There is a pending lawsuit because some say they got fired for *not* signing the pledge. Be interesting to follow."
Coulter Jokes About Poisoning Justice. And liberals are supposed to be the traitors?
Humuhumunukunukuapuaa Dethroned in Hawaii.
Former Ranger claims he served as Aiken's Claymate.
A detail on the last episode of Lost that you missed if you don't have hi-def TV (*shakes wee lo-fi fist*). In case you're not seeing it: far left side. It's the Nigerian plane.
Frey Says He Won't Write About Disgrace. Also, I just read in EW that Frey had said that Nan Talese refused to accept his book as fiction and then took it as memoir; I thought Talese had admitted that somewhere back there. Turns out this was Frey's claim, and Talese refutes it. James Frey: Well and truly thrown to the sharks.
And the most important trait in a mate is... Guess. Oh, c'mon, guess. Sadly, I was able to--and if you want to know why I say "sadly," look at the difference between what women look for vs. what men do.
The other day, took me aside and told me a secret. “I am not the Dread Blogger </a>,” she said. “My name is Bethany. I inherited this blog from the previous Dread Blogger </a>, just as you will inherit it from me. The blogger I inherited it from was not the real Dread Blogger </a>, either. The real </a>has retired and is RP-ing Snape’s mother over on GreatestJournal.” Then she explained the name was the important thing. You see, no one would get over flamewars over being snarked at by the Dread Blogger Bethany. So here I am, having inherited this blog handed down a long line of snarkers.Oh, and dailydigestnews has also been updated.