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With laughing song and merry dance
Today, for a change: not made of fail. I spent the afternoon with a childhood friend whom I had last seen at a funeral and who is now a film editor, and the evening with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nineweaving, who fed me mussel pancakes at 9 Tastes and then showed me the English National Opera's 1986 production of The Mikado, with Eric Idle and the best Pish-Tush I have ever seen; the 1920's mise-en-scène was the kind that actually got better the more you thought about it. And I left my hat at her apartment and had to go back for it, at a quarter to midnight. At least there was an Alan Lee moon. We are now determined to hold a Palinathon next week, by which I mean that we are going to watch Ripping Yarns (1976—1979), The Missionary (1982), A Private Function (1984), and anything else appropriate to name reclamation we can get our hands on. Suggestions solicited.
Last night, for that matter, was not made of fail either; Eric and I saw Mission of Burma at the original Newbury Comics, in celebration of the store's thirtieth anniversary. All our timing went wrong and we still arrived no later than the closing bars of their first song, such that we are still in disagreement about which one it was—as a drawback, non-fatal. It was a small venue, so I could have done with a better grade of earplugs, but I'm not sorry we went, particularly since I do not have the money to follow the band to the West Coast, nicely as that would dovetail with a visit I want to make to Vancouver. There were political shout-outs. I had probably the closest view on a performing band I ever have had in my life. I am entertained that I can now recognize several of the other audience regulars; by the same token, thanks to non-club lighting, I now know what Rick Harte actually looks like. Someone photographed us afterward with Peter Prescott and (I assume) his girlfriend, but I'm not expecting us to show up in the Globe. When we stopped for a snack at Trident Booksellers & Café, I glimpsed Tilda Swinton as Horus.
If I want Alan Rickman to play Pooh-Bah just so I can hear him deliver, "I can't help it. I was born sneering," am I going to hell?
nineweaving, who fed me mussel pancakes at 9 Tastes and then showed me the English National Opera's 1986 production of The Mikado, with Eric Idle and the best Pish-Tush I have ever seen; the 1920's mise-en-scène was the kind that actually got better the more you thought about it. And I left my hat at her apartment and had to go back for it, at a quarter to midnight. At least there was an Alan Lee moon. We are now determined to hold a Palinathon next week, by which I mean that we are going to watch Ripping Yarns (1976—1979), The Missionary (1982), A Private Function (1984), and anything else appropriate to name reclamation we can get our hands on. Suggestions solicited.Last night, for that matter, was not made of fail either; Eric and I saw Mission of Burma at the original Newbury Comics, in celebration of the store's thirtieth anniversary. All our timing went wrong and we still arrived no later than the closing bars of their first song, such that we are still in disagreement about which one it was—as a drawback, non-fatal. It was a small venue, so I could have done with a better grade of earplugs, but I'm not sorry we went, particularly since I do not have the money to follow the band to the West Coast, nicely as that would dovetail with a visit I want to make to Vancouver. There were political shout-outs. I had probably the closest view on a performing band I ever have had in my life. I am entertained that I can now recognize several of the other audience regulars; by the same token, thanks to non-club lighting, I now know what Rick Harte actually looks like. Someone photographed us afterward with Peter Prescott and (I assume) his girlfriend, but I'm not expecting us to show up in the Globe. When we stopped for a snack at Trident Booksellers & Café, I glimpsed Tilda Swinton as Horus.
If I want Alan Rickman to play Pooh-Bah just so I can hear him deliver, "I can't help it. I was born sneering," am I going to hell?
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Probably, but heaven will be utterly and totally empty, and the Adversary will have totally won.
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Hee. See you there, then, and gladly!
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Tilda Swinton looks very cool in that photo; one can imagine the necklace feathers as actual feathers growing out of her.
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I know the strip; I haven't read any comics for weeks. I think it was a comparison that leapt to the mind of almost everyone I know.
Tilda Swinton looks very cool in that photo; one can imagine the necklace feathers as actual feathers growing out of her.
Yes. She has that glittering distance.
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I certainly hope not.
And if you are, I reckon I'll see you there, for one reason or other. ;-)
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Just checking!
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Well, it never hurts to check, I suppose.
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It would! It matches the Bridge to Nowhere, too.
Why hasn't Obama caught on yet?
Make T-shirts.
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Small quibble: isn't that track by Sue Harris? Or have you found another version?
Nine
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No, it was a typo. Neil Innes did the version from The Missionary, which I also have.
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Nine
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A Fish Called Wanda?
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I saw that for the first time last fall. I'd totally see it again. Thanks!
Mrs. Poole and other comparisons . . .
"Oh, Ed, I told them thanks but no thanks on that bridge to nowhere. And I think John McCain is a righteous dude."
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*snerk*eek*