Review- Eddie Izzard, June 17 by ceebab, literature
Literature
Review- Eddie Izzard, June 17
Eddie Izzard knows his audience. He actually made comments to that effect Tuesday night at the Tampa Theatre. It's not every comedian that is comfortable going into a 30 minute comedic argument that God doesn't exist.
Obviously, his humor is not for everyone. His breakout performance in the US was the HBO special Dress to Kill, in which he wore women's clothes, makeup, and high heels, and a good deal of his act consisted of transvestite jokes.
Now that he sports facial hair for his "Riches" character, the transvestite material has gone. The makeup is down to a more subtle eye liner and mascara only look. The clothes were downright manl
River towns are different from other towns. As Mark Twain knew, there's a romance and a mystery to a place where boats and water fowl float through town, the surface rarely freezes even in winter, and spring thaws can mean danger as well as beauty. When you grow up in a river town, it's a certainty that you know the phrase "100-year flood".
However, "100-year flood" isn't a as descriptive as it used to be. Barry Drazkowski, quoted in the Chicago Tribune (see article here), says "If we look over the past 100 years, it is not normal to get so many large amounts of rain like those we've seen in such a short period of time."
In Cedar Rapids,
Some pilgrims go to Mecca, or the Wailing Wall. Others go to Graceland or Carnegie Hall. My most treasured place on the planet is Whitey's Ice Cream.
I grew up in an area on the border of Iowa and Illinois called the Quad Cities. It's actually more than four, but the point is the cities are all clumped together. Unless you're crossing the Mississippi River to jump states, you almost have to live there to know when you've gone from one to the next. When I was a kid, a lot of people didn't go into the other cities very often. We were one of those families, at least while I was in grade school.
There was an ice cream shop right across f
A Possible Future for Hybrids by ceebab, literature
Literature
A Possible Future for Hybrids
How many cars does your family have? No, this isn't a question designed for environmental guilt. In fact, let's forget about the environment, just for now.
My family has two cars, two people. Even so we don't have a good option for taking a road trip. My car is eleven years old and has over 170,000 miles on it. My husband's truck eats over $100 per tank. You see our dilemma. You may even have a similar one.
What if there were a better option, not only for you and me, but for everyone?
Here's what I would like to see: hybrid rental cars. What if the rental companies had an incentive to have all hybrid models in their inventories?
He wakes me up. A soft "Hi, Sweetheart", his hand on my hip. It's too early to see the blue of his eyes.
He hands me my pill. When I've got it in my mouth a plastic cup appears to help me wash it down. Since the surgery, he supports my head with the other hand as I drink.
"You going?" I mumble.
I don't know why I ask, the answer is always yes, always as he sets the cup aside.
Then he kisses me. His lips are soft and taste of coffee, or toothpaste.
"I love you," I always make sure to tell him. Sometimes if I'm not really awake I tell him twice.
"I love you, too" he replies, turning to leave.
"H
Dear Paul,
It's Christmas time, and I miss you. As I do every year. As I do each time I have to sit through someone else doing "your" scene.
I think you would be flattered to know I hate to see others saying your lines, mimicking the gesture that you perfected.
My other memories of you are hazy. I remember a voice -- deep and full of sharp rocks to cut oneself on, but also friendly and often at the edge of laughter.
I remember the angular way you held you cigarette as you sat by the bar.
I remember jutting knees that divided long legs as knots on sticks.
I remember how vulnerable you looked with your hea
Review- Eddie Izzard, June 17 by ceebab, literature
Literature
Review- Eddie Izzard, June 17
Eddie Izzard knows his audience. He actually made comments to that effect Tuesday night at the Tampa Theatre. It's not every comedian that is comfortable going into a 30 minute comedic argument that God doesn't exist.
Obviously, his humor is not for everyone. His breakout performance in the US was the HBO special Dress to Kill, in which he wore women's clothes, makeup, and high heels, and a good deal of his act consisted of transvestite jokes.
Now that he sports facial hair for his "Riches" character, the transvestite material has gone. The makeup is down to a more subtle eye liner and mascara only look. The clothes were downright manl
River towns are different from other towns. As Mark Twain knew, there's a romance and a mystery to a place where boats and water fowl float through town, the surface rarely freezes even in winter, and spring thaws can mean danger as well as beauty. When you grow up in a river town, it's a certainty that you know the phrase "100-year flood".
However, "100-year flood" isn't a as descriptive as it used to be. Barry Drazkowski, quoted in the Chicago Tribune (see article here), says "If we look over the past 100 years, it is not normal to get so many large amounts of rain like those we've seen in such a short period of time."
In Cedar Rapids,
Some pilgrims go to Mecca, or the Wailing Wall. Others go to Graceland or Carnegie Hall. My most treasured place on the planet is Whitey's Ice Cream.
I grew up in an area on the border of Iowa and Illinois called the Quad Cities. It's actually more than four, but the point is the cities are all clumped together. Unless you're crossing the Mississippi River to jump states, you almost have to live there to know when you've gone from one to the next. When I was a kid, a lot of people didn't go into the other cities very often. We were one of those families, at least while I was in grade school.
There was an ice cream shop right across f
A Possible Future for Hybrids by ceebab, literature
Literature
A Possible Future for Hybrids
How many cars does your family have? No, this isn't a question designed for environmental guilt. In fact, let's forget about the environment, just for now.
My family has two cars, two people. Even so we don't have a good option for taking a road trip. My car is eleven years old and has over 170,000 miles on it. My husband's truck eats over $100 per tank. You see our dilemma. You may even have a similar one.
What if there were a better option, not only for you and me, but for everyone?
Here's what I would like to see: hybrid rental cars. What if the rental companies had an incentive to have all hybrid models in their inventories?
He wakes me up. A soft "Hi, Sweetheart", his hand on my hip. It's too early to see the blue of his eyes.
He hands me my pill. When I've got it in my mouth a plastic cup appears to help me wash it down. Since the surgery, he supports my head with the other hand as I drink.
"You going?" I mumble.
I don't know why I ask, the answer is always yes, always as he sets the cup aside.
Then he kisses me. His lips are soft and taste of coffee, or toothpaste.
"I love you," I always make sure to tell him. Sometimes if I'm not really awake I tell him twice.
"I love you, too" he replies, turning to leave.
"H
A Letter to the Foo Fighters by ceebab, literature
Literature
A Letter to the Foo Fighters
Dear Fighters of Foo,
You know this, I'm sure. Different songs (or movies, or books, etc.) mean different things at different times. It's all in who you are at that moment you're listening.
I have In Your Honor at home. The radio station here loves to play the same two songs of yours - All My Life and Best of You. So I've heard the song many times. I like the song, I like the words, but it's not my favorite song ever or even my favorite song of yours.
Wednesday I got a call from my doctor's office
Dear Paul,
It's Christmas time, and I miss you. As I do every year. As I do each time I have to sit through someone else doing "your" scene.
I think you would be flattered to know I hate to see others saying your lines, mimicking the gesture that you perfected.
My other memories of you are hazy. I remember a voice -- deep and full of sharp rocks to cut oneself on, but also friendly and often at the edge of laughter.
I remember the angular way you held you cigarette as you sat by the bar.
I remember jutting knees that divided long legs as knots on sticks.
I remember how vulnerable you looked with your hea
Of Dads and Daffodils, part 2 by ceebab, literature
Literature
Of Dads and Daffodils, part 2
Room 204
"So what is it this time? Brain tumor? Epilepsy? What's your story this time, Pop?" I wish I could stop pacing around the room, but I'm afraid if I stop moving I'll explode. He isn't answering so I look at his fat, red face and wait.
"Well, actually, it's kind of funny…." (This I doubt very much.) "I guess I ate too much of your mother's barley soup, and , well, what I thought was a heart attack was really, uh, gas." He laughed.
Trying to contain myself, I look around the room. It's exactly the same as every other room in this hospital. I should know, I've seen enough of them. They all have those dull orange curtai
Room 201
What I want to know is how he got old so fast. Eight months ago was the last time I was home and he still looked like he was in his late 30's to early 40's. Now all of a sudden my father looks his age, 52.
Even if Mom hadn't told me, I would've known something was wrong the second I walked in the room. He was watching the Waltons, for Christ's sake. He hates the Waltons. It's still on, something about John-boy's girlfriend stealing something, I don't know. It's just something to look at so I can avoid looking at the lines on his face that seem to crack and splinter into more lines every time he speaks.
Only that's
I spend three days after my birthday rooted to the bluff overlooking the harbor. On the fourth day, when I am busy picking out shapes in the clouds, the ship arrives and I dont even notice till its right there, docking. Im on my feet and leaping through the tall grass in moments; I have no shadow in the blue-gray November morning. The sky is the color of my fathers eyes, and the color of the sea.
Theres a crowd--I shouldve been early enough to avoid them--but Im small and I push through easily enough.
Nick! I shout to a crew member I recognize.
Hey, Drake, buddy!
&
Current Residence: Florida Favourite genre of music: 80's new wave Favourite photographer: my dad Operating System: OS2 MP3 player of choice: iPod Wallpaper of choice: pic of my favorite cat curled up on my husband
Don't have a lot of free time, so not here a whole lot anymore.
If I delete your pieces from my collections, no offense. Just too huge and unmanageable.
Might post a few things at some point, who knows.
I have been doing some writing, but I'm also starting to make some attempts at getting published. Therefore, if you want to see what I'm up to you'll have to look at scraps. That's where I'm putting my first drafts while I work on stuff.
I would really appreciate critique and suggestions for improvements on my scrapped stuff, as the only reason I'm putting it up here is to get help in editing and finishing.
I'm also working on my novel, but it's tough going. I have major crises going on both in my job and in my personal life -- too many and too depressing to detail here. Very draining. I'm off work tomorrow and my hubby has brought wor
I wrote my first novel last year for NaNoWriMo, and have been beating my head against a wall all year to try and make the damn thing not suck.
Recently, I read Stephen King's On Writing and it made a lot of sense to me. I've since come to the conclusion that the book sucks because I wrote it wrong. I'd never written a novel before, so I listened to advice and made outlines and character studies and yada yada yada. The result is inescapably, unsalvageably bad stuff.
So I've scrapped it.
There was one scene out of the whole ugly mess that I do love and will try to salvage enough to post here. Possibly as a short story, possibly just as i