Yes, we're doing Shakespeare's Tempest as a Celtic musical for this year's Capitol Fringe Festival. If you're missing the Renaissance Festival, come listen, you'll hear all the same songs. Sneak in a cheap bottle of Linganore and wear a corset for the sense memory rush. Better still, bring rotten vegetation to hurl at me as I attempt to sing, for that extra period authenticity.

It's a good show, it's Cap Fringe, easily the most interesting thing to do in DC in July, and it's a chance to catch what we do in a shiny black box theater with a bar, downtown.

Saturday, July 11 @ 3:30 PM
Friday, July 17 @ 5:15 PM
Sunday, July 19 @ Noon
Saturday, July 25 @ 6:00 PM

The Warehouse Theater - Mainstage
1021 7th Street NW DC

http://shows.capfringe.org/shows/92-The-Rude-Mechanicals-The-Tempest--A-Musical.html
for tickets

Drink every time there's a completely pointless lens flare. Half an hour in, you'll be cheerfully spewing into your popcorn and slurring to the stranger sitting next to you that he really is your friend.

In interesting news, science just took a considerable step forward; researchers at Manchester University have succeeded in synthesizing two of the four "building blocks of RNA from what was around on the early Earth and is still around in interstellar space and in the atmosphere of Saturn's moon Titan." Fuel for the 'primordial soup' theory of the origins of life on earth.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/science/found-the-origin-of-life-1684584.html

Exhibit A: Spy Day. This Saturday. A scavenger hunt, by the sound of it, in which we pretend to be international men of mystery.

http://www.thingstododc.com/eventframed.php?show=205

Exhibit B: Black tie gala at the Austrian Embassy. Saturday, July 18. Mostly for those of you who actually know how to Viennese waltz without looking like an idiot. Which is not me, but is many of you.

http://thingstododc.com/events.php?show=1288

Let me know if either of these things appeals. I'm not 100% sure they do, myself, but I could be persuaded if there was interest out there.

Wow.

Just...wow. I was a huge fan of the original series, grew up on it, and I'm an extremely happy camper. I love what they've done with the place.

(Potential spoilers beyond this cut)

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Stuck here at the repair shop, while my car is given a thorough overhaul, I'm forced to watch a large screen television, Clockwork Orange style.

It's not that there are toothpicks propping my eyes open; my head isn't being forced or fixed in place. It's just that I can't look away.

The TV is on ESPN2, and we're watching The World's Greatest Fishing Show. Indicating that there are other, less good fishing shows out there to compare it to. Fishing shows that, you know, suck, as opposed to this one, which is exciting. Because watching other people fish is exciting. It's a sport. Like football, with less tackling and group showers.

There are four fishermen onscreen, all sporting jackets covered in corporate sponsors, like racers, only slower. Much. Slower.

One of the fishermen has some sort of pink and white unicorn thing on the front of his sponsor jacket, and is apparently being sponsored by 'My Little Pony.'

Everything these guys are doing has me absolutely crying with laughter. They're as deadly earnest about their craft as I am about acting. The music is dramatic, the tension is building, there's only an hour and a half left in their fishing match, and it's "anybody's game." My heart is in my throat. Apparently there's actual strategy to the catching of bass. The announcer's voice comes on at the commercial break: "Coming up, a flurry in the final minutes!"

Oh, good! I have a flurry of fish catching to look forward to!

Okay, we're back after the commercial break, and a graphic of the earth exploding fills the giant flatscreen. Holy fuck! This fishing is so exciting the earth just exploded!

Thrilling music with a driving jungle drum beat underscores the scene. "Oh, god!" one of the fishermen cries. "Incredible! We've got a shot at this. It all comes down to this, man."

"41 seconds!" cries the referee. "35 seconds! Give it up, boys! Ten, nine, eight, seven..."

They weigh in the fish they caught, to determine the winner of the Calabamich Cup. The first team, Team Calabama: 34.6. "We're still in this!" Now, Team Michigan. My heart is in my throat. My pulse is pounding. I don't think I can stand the suspense. "31.15." Team Calabama goes nuts. The winners! The greatest fishermen on the World's Greatest Fishing Show! Never let it be said that America doesn't lead the world in anything anymore!

Next, the screen informs me, I have the Toyota Bass Diamond Drive to look forward to.

Joy!

I'm sorry for all the things I've missed in your lives lately, all the people I haven't seen, talked to, written to, all the people whose birthdays and celebrations I've missed. Work's been more batshit insane than usual, and that is really saying something. Still, I need to figure out how to do better.

My grandfather died two days ago. I'm not saying that for sympathy; he was more than ready to go, so riddled with Alzheimer's that he didn't recognize anyone around him, and for his sake, I'm actually glad it's over. Getting your adult diaper changed three times a day isn't life, unless you're David Vitter. But I missed a last chance to see him, because I had a Saturday meeting at work, one of the kind you can't and don't dare get out of.

I really need to figure out how to do this work/life balance thing better. Trust me, I'm feeling my inadequacy as a human being on this one. Thank God I don't have kids.

Hey, all,

I've got two tickets to what sounds like a cool, swankish black tie affair at the Italian Embassy this Saturday, and I can't use them. Anyone want them? I'd hate to see them go to waste.

Or maybe Shep can have my baby. I'm easy.

It's just that he's the last sane man on Fox I-Hesitate-to-Call-It-News. And he's clearly gunning to lose his job there. You'd have to see his mockery of Glenn Beck Friday to really, fully appreciate the awesome sexual mojo of manliness that is Shepard Smith:

http://thinkprogress.org/2009/03/13/shep-smith-beck-mockery/

And then you'd have to see Glenn Beck pretending to cry on Glenn Beck Friday, to get the full blast of creepy, pederastic weirdness:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rM4xqnukQrM

Okay, was anyone else's inner director trying to help Beck out, there? "Okay, Glenn, I'm not believing you. It's not real. Find something that really makes you cry. I don't care what. Pretend your dog just died. Pretend O'Reilly's ratings are higher. Anything. And...go."

He'll be replacing Bill Kristol in Op-Ed. Whether you're liberal or conservative, this is good, good news. Douthat's young, but well worth watching; he's got the kind of intellect you want in a loyal opposition, and he's got a talent for considered and rational polemic. Brooks, but better.

I'm looking forward to this.

Rush Limbaugh? Not even on the list.

Seriously.

He's obnoxious, yes. A sexist, racist windbag, certainly. An idiot? Assuredly. A sweaty, repulsive reptile with erectile dysfunction? Absolutely. But a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool lunatic? No, I don't believe he is.

There are worthier candidates to choose from, over in Right Wingnuttia.

Exhibit A: Chuck Norris. Who is busy declaring his candidacy for President of Texas. Not that there is a President of Texas. But he apparently dearly hopes there will be one, and he will be it, just as soon as Texas secedes from the union in a glorious Second American Revolution, establishing a nation of good Christian values. Personally, I'm all for it, as long as they take Oklahoma with them. Go, Chuck Norris. You pump my nads, particularly when you tell me to remember the Alamo.

http://www.worldnetdaily.com/index.php?fa=PAGE.view&pageId=91103

Exhibit B: Glenn Beck. Who is busy declaring Chuck Norris' candidacy for President of Texas, and pimping the glorious Second American Revolution, which was treason and cowardice when Left Wingnuttia was talking about it, but is now apparently perfectly acceptable.

Better still, he believes we're going to create a Master Race using stem cell research. I love this. "So here you have Barack Obama," said Beck on his radio show, "going in and spending the money on embryonic stem cell research, and then some, fundamentally changing - remember, those great progressive doctors are the ones who brought us Eugenics. It was the progressive movement and it was science. Let's put science truly in her place. If evolution is right, why don't we just help out evolution? That was the idea. And sane people agreed with it! And it was from America. Progressive movement in America. Eugenics. In case you don't know what Eugenics led us to: the Final Solution. A Master Race! A perfect person. The stuff that we are facing is absolutely frightening. So I guess I have to put my name on yes, I hope Barack Obama fails."

This is beautiful. Let us deconstruct, for a moment, this elegant sorites, this ecstatic polysyllogism.

Spending money on stem cell research is giving great progressive doctors money. [Vacuous Truth]
All great progressive doctors are geneticists. [Vacuous Truth, Faulty Generalization, Association Fallacy, Red Herring]
All geneticists are working on eugenics projects. [Vacuous Truth, Faulty Generalization, Misleading Vividness, Parade of Horribles, Association Fallacy, Red Herring]
Progressive movement in America is eugenics. [Accident, Misleading Vividness, Parade of Horribles, Association Fallacy, Red Herring, Slippery Slope]
Eugenics is the creation of smarter people than Glenn Beck. [Illicit Major, nevertheless true.]

Anything to add, there? Fire away.

Exhibit C: Sean Hannity. Last month, he ran a poll on his website. It asked readers what kind of revolution they'd prefer: military coup, armed rebellion or war for 'succession,' (sp).

"#3 seems most realistic," he opined, "since it does present an opportunity for more homogeneous states to sort of capitalize on their homogeneity. However, it would likely lead to mass migrations of the minority partisans out of the rebel states. Of course, that may be fine with those states. Yet it seems that the ultimate paradox in any rebellion for freedom from within is that the ultimate goal is to impose the will of the rebels on everyone else through force. It seems the very foundation of representative democracy is shattered if we accept that we exchange the power of ideas for the power of the sword upon each other. Nevertheless, I am still very interested in your own preferred form of revolt."

That page has since been removed from the website, but before it was taken down, "armed rebellion" seemed to be the most popular choice of the three.

Better still, he isn't giving up hope; he's back to calling for armed revolution over the prospect of a carbon tax: http://forums.hannity.com/showthread.php?t=1361431

Sean, you are so plucky! I just love you, and I want you in my bed.

Anyway, there are loads more to choose from, and an unfortunate dearth of David Frums, David Brookses and Christopher Buckleys to balance them out. Go ahead and vote for your favorite.

Sort of. I've got two articles in here, one of them, I dimly recall, originally written as a response to a Republican troll on a blog:

http://www.harpercollins.com/books/9780061358432/It_Looked_Good_on_Paper/index.aspx

The article on the Alternative Minimum Tax is interestingly dated; it talks about 2008 as if it hasn't happened yet. Bloody slow publishing industry; that article was cutting edge when I released it. Ah, well. I'm still pretty proud of the fact that it called the current situation dead-on accurately, with regard to Bush's tax cuts and the current shortfalls in GDP receipts.

God, being the only person in the office late at night is creepy. I'm just saying. I'm starting at shadows and listening keenly for small sounds.

So I have a little brother, Fred. Though I love him, he has long been the bane of my existence. He's ludicrously good looking, but that alone does not rate my ire. He is absolutely, seriously, unfailingly perfect.

Never a hair out of place. Never a pimple. Never so much as a wrinkle in his shirts. No matter where he is, or what he's doing, Fred is pressed, well-tailored GQ Man.

My coworker, Jason McJury, reminds me overwhelmingly of Fred. They are both perfect. They never have anything green in their teeth. They never look rumpled.

Exhibit A. I took off from work a few minutes ago, and popped in to ask Jason if there was anything he needed before I headed out. I looked like a refugee from a war. Hair all over anywhere, a great tangling bird's nest on my head. Eyes bleary and unfocused, with bags under them that Kathy Van Zeeland would stick charms on and sell for far too much money. No makeup. Lips as gray as my skin. Wrinkled jacket and trousers, scarf tossed haphazardly over the lot.

And what sight greeted me, in Jason McJury's office?

Well, I'll tell you.

The green shirt was pressed and perfect. The tie was still on, and straight. There wasn't a hair out of place. He looked as bright-eyed and together and cheerful as if we hadn't just spent sixteen hours working like dogs, rapidly going on seventeen, like Liesel in The Sound of Music.

Jason McJury and my brother Fred serve dark alien masters.

The latest thing in nerddom: Star Trek cologne. Better still, one of them is going to be called Pon Farr. I want that one. If they make one for green Orion slave girls, I am likewise all over it, like a chick on a guy wearing Axe.

http://www.toplessrobot.com/2009/01/who_wants_to_smell_like_a_rutting_vulcan.php

Spock: (slaughtering Kirk in the mad grip of Pon Farr) Die, cockblocker!!!

McCoy: Dude. You just killed your wingman.

Spock: Sadness.

Courtesy of my roommate, Necroluth, who never posts, but frequently tunes me in to the funny.

...because it made me laugh on an otherwise shit-tastic night spent at work.

Go see Harry Potter nekked. Because I can't. And it's actually a really good show.

http://www.expressnightout.com/content/2009/01/vengeance_is_everyones.php

They like us! Sniff! They really like us!

I feel all dark, beguiling and amused now. It's funny; I tell myself I don't care, but I do. Very little destroys you like a bad review or picks you up like a good one.

Okay, so I found myself inserting the words 'unless you're gay' after every one of Rick Warren's sentences. And Elizabeth Alexander was full of epic poetry fail. And Chief Justice Roberts should have taken some fucking notes up there with him.

But we have a President. The Decider-in-Chief now comes in 'cool.'

From Slate Magazine's Jacob Weisberg:

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