Showtune Tuesday: Reality Bites

I was chatting with a friend about the upcoming Denver Gay Men's Chorus concert and how we are singing songs from movies, and she said, "Cool! Like Reality Bites? Alas, no. That would be awesome, but for now we'll have to be content with singing this number in our cars, showers, and bedrooms when lazily getting dressed.


Dear Bitchlog

Dear Bitchlog,

I don't want to write today about things I remember or stupid boys. Something new, I thought. Great Objects in History and their point of view. What did it feel like to be the fruit that was eaten and started this whole mess?

Maybe I don't want to write in my voice for a while, so I could be these things that don't often have voices.

The bullet going through JFK's brain.

The Bomb. Doesn't it have a nickname? Little Boy?


The Play's The Thing

I need to get cracking on that "Don't Ask Don't Tell" Shakespearean comedy (working title: Fort Dix), otherwise it won't be relevant. Paul Rudnick's New Yorker piece was good for a laugh.

Showtune Tuesday: Cold Mountain

I didn't learn about Sacred Harp singing until January, but the DGMC is singing this song in the May concert. It's been in my head for a few weeks.


Running Commentary #7

Yesterday I ran a 7K race with exciting results: a time of 37:29. According to a prediction chart from Runner's Edge, I would be able to beat my previous half-marathon time by about a minute. That's good news. I wish the margin were a little wider, but it's encouraging!


Boobs of Hanover Township

Thunder and Lightning.
Pebbles and Bam Bam.
Gene and Kelly.


This Week in Life/Internet


More Sassy Gay Friend.

I thought of that time when Andrea was driving. A trooper had pulled over a car on the opposite side of the highway, but Andrea slowed down in response. I pointed out that he couldn't get to her, and she told me, "Where there's a mouse, there's mice."

Someone said, "You are an old person in a much younger person's body" because I quoted The Pink Panther Strikes Again. I was okay with that.

I got lots of picture messages of Imme, a.k.a. the cutest person on Earth ever. I keep thinking about my grandma and need to call her. I called my Dad at work on his birthday, but the jackass who answered the main line connected me to his voicemail. I left a message, but the whole thing made me incredibly sad, and I had a 30-second breakdown. Thank God I was in a "huddle room."


Showtune Tuesday: Dirty Dancing

I can't embed it, but it's well worth the leap.


Diatomic Molecules

The mnemonic device coined by Tim M in PACT Science, circa 8th grade, for diatomic molecules:

Helium / Here
Iodine / Is
Oxygen / Oscar
Chlorine / Coming
Fluorine / From
Nitrogen / Natalie's
Bromine / Bedroom


Welcome to Shirley

Of course, I'm predisposed to enjoy a book written about the town where our family has had a summer home since my father was a boy.

Welcome to Shirley reminded me of The Devil in the White City in the way it weaves two stories together, though in this case one of those stories is a memoir. The other half of the story deals with the Brookhaven National Laboratory and its impact on the town, and my only wish was that the book had footnotes or a section on "further reading." The author did a good job of giving an Earth Science lesson and raising questions about the link between radioactive leaks and illness. Ultimately these questions are unanswered, but here is what I do know: 1) this story is partly a how-NOT-to guide for scientists interacting with the public, and 2)there are multiple reasons we do not drink from the tap in Shirley.

Some surprises about the book included the history of its founding by Walter T. Shirley (and the tidbit that he ran newspaper and radio ads in Italian to attract "recent immigrants who couldn't make ends meet in Brooklyn or Manhattan"); the history of the of the lab and the site selection process (and the Penn connection via Associated Universities, Inc.); the story of the girl that was brutally stabbed in the wildlife refuge (and St. Jude's raising bail money during Sunday mass for the suspect! Ugh!); and Anna Wintour's involvement in the Save the Forge River organization. (A Dubs is pretty much the last human being on Earth I could picture in Shirley).

I enjoyed the details of growing up in Shirley. The campaign to change Shirley's name to Floyd Harbor in an effort to increase property values was great. I was fascinated by the idea that, as a child, the author did not have a concept of the town's perception by the world at large. She only saw her loving family and neighbors. My favorite passage:

From conversations around town, I gathered that we had an image problem. Living in Shirley said something about you. We glowed in the dark from the nuclear experiments at the Brookhaven National Laboratory. Our hair was teased higher and we had to put clothes on layaway, even at Fashion Bug. We bought three-day-old bread and cakes at the Entenmann's outlet. We talked louder and had bad grammar, said undaweaya instead of underwear, liberry instead of library. We preferred Spandex to natural fibers and smacked our gum.

So the story of Shirley has been written. (I hope there's room in the world for more: To the White House?) The Author's Note talks about the message she received from family and friends: "Shirley isn't worthy. I wrote mainly to suggest that it is." I'm glad.

Showtune Tuesday: Man of La Mancha