Sonnet XXIX.
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee,—and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Happy Valentine’s Day, folks. Or as I read on another site, “Singles Awareness Day.” Ha. (Is there a ribbon I can wear to support the cause?) But really, I don’t get the big hang-up (commercially fed by Hallmark and DeBeers, of course) over being single on this one day. It’s a holiday all about love, period. I’m all for it! Well, any excuse for a night on the town, eh?
Speaking of other holidays—or at least in my book — last weekend, Feb. 8, was the birthday of the rebel himself, James Dean. I thought to remember it beforehand, but it slipped my mind on the actual day. Here’s to you, Jimmy.
Time waits for no blog. Seriously. I feel like I’ve got a backlog of anecdotes. Not that I have to post everything, but in my head I’m constantly formulating how to describe events throughout the day, in order to write them down, but only now and then do I have the time and energy to do it. But anyway.
On Tuesday I went to Linens N Things, but only after I arrived there did I realize I had left my 20% discount coupon at home. (Which reminds me, that coupon expires tomorrow!) So I was good, and left the store. Then I passed the Pottery Barn. Giving in to its orbital gravity, I went inside. Very spring-like. Lots of tulips, which I love. I ended up getting a pair of silver metal vases, with a dark wood casing, nicely matched to my other few pieces of furniture. Finally my place is starting to come together.
When I brought the vases to the counter, the salesgirl was like, “Oh! I love these!” I replied, Monica-like, “I know!” Whether or not she really loves them, positive reinforcement from sales staff does go a long way in customer reassurance. It’s akin to the “Excellent choice, sir,” delivered by your sommelier, upon choosing the 1999 Chilean Cabernet. Not that I’ve had that pleasure.
I gave into impulse further yet. I’ve always loved the music at Pottery Barn, and though I thought it beneath me to buy one of their CD compilations, I couldn’t resist the French chansons that were playing at the time. So I got the CD titled Paris Café. My favorite track so far is the first one, “Sous la ciel de Paris,” sung by Karrin Allyson. Fabuleux.
Taking one’s pants down. Last night as I was walking home from the metro station, I noticed at least three guys with pants that were too short. (Well, one of them had some swank vintage sneakers, so I’ll forgive him for showing them off, intentionally or not.) A sartorial word to the gentleman reader: unless you’re trying to pull off a certain look, I’ve always subscribed to the general rule that the front hem should come down to at least the top of the shoe, so as to create a break in the crease. I’m just sayin’. Exceptions apply, and your mileage may vary.
Non sequitur: anyone remember that Cake song “Hem of Your Garment”?
One song glory. This weekend I’ll catch Rent before the tour moves out of town, and get in on the traditional Rent front-row rush-ticket deal. Here at the Warner Theatre, they’ve got two systems going: a ticket lottery for some performances, and a first-come, first-served system for others. If I try to see it on both Saturday and Sunday, then I’ll get a feel for both.
The last time Rent came through D.C., I stood in line for half a day waiting for the coveted tickets (others ahead of me looked like they had camped out since dawn or something), and I lucked out when a generous ticket-holder came by and offered up a free single ticket. There’s a snowstorm forecast for this weekend, though, so I’m not anticipating a rollicking fun time in line. Ah, la vie bohème. Who wants to come brave the elements with me?
TV notes. Homer Simpson was on Letterman last night to do the “Top Ten Reasons I, Homer Simpson, Am Excited To Be On This Show.” It was great. The Simpsons, one of the best programs on TV in my humble estimation, marks its 300th episode this Sunday night at 8 p.m. Also, that night at 7 p.m. ABC airs a new TV production of The Music Man, starring Matthew Broderick, with Kristin Chenoweth and Victor Garber. But back to Letterman, tonight’s guests include Rufus Wainwright, scheduled to sing “My Funny Valentine.”
The last word.
Oh, what a shame that your
pockets did bleed on St. Valentine’s
And you sat in a chair thinking:
‘Boy, I’m such a prince!’
— “April Fools”
Today, suffering from a bit of cabin fever, I went out to the supermarket. Thankfully the sidewalks had been cleared, and the sun was out, so the short walk was actually kind of pleasant. I came back, ate my chicken salad and foccacia, and watched Citizen Kane on DVD. Great movie. I can see why it holds such an important place in movie history. Released in 1941, it was innovative for its day, and was the forerunner of emergent film noir. As director, Orson Welles had unprecedented control over every production detail–today we take a director’s authoritative role for granted, but back then, the idea of director as auteur was only starting to take hold. (Can you tell I’ve listened to the audio commentary?) I wasn’t taken so much by the plot, as the look. It’s beautiful. Every shot seems meticulously composed, as if each frame could be a finished photograph in its own right. Definitely one to watch again and study.
The dead and alive. The latest 
