By Forrest Gander
for Jean-Luc Mylayne
Or the vision that holds
at its razorpoint
the feathers of a bird
goes blue. Each sleepless-
ness framed, behind,
by this whine
of insects. So a shutter,
the very oracular
interior of that
openness into which bird
inserts itself. Its song
there is wind. Comes
the visible and
its remainder, a
blur, what? Tittering
at lower and lower
luminance. That the
accompaniment might be
We had a rainy, dark morning -- not that I'm complaining, since the area desperately needed the rain and it was kind enough not to wash out our day at the Renfaire yesterday -- and I had a bunch of paperwork-related chores to do, some of which I discovered I couldn't finish without information from Daniel (the college application process has piles of minutiae, and the "common application" is only partly so). I also had a Shutterfly coupon for ten free holiday cards that had to be used by Monday night, and half_elf_lost had generously given me a code she had for a free photo book, so I spent much of the afternoon working on a book about the rescued bird for Adam.
For most of the rest of the afternoon, I folded laundry and watched Up in the Air -- a movie I had avoided thus far because middle-class male mid-life crisis movies often give me hives, even when they're allegedly well-acted like American Beauty or have nice scenery going for them like Sideways. This one is not as detestable as the former, but it's pathetic and shallow and Clooney at his most charming isn't as good as he was in Syriana, Michael Clayton, etc. In fact, the best performance by far was by Anna Kendrick, who is probably better known for the Twilight films. I was actually hoping Clooney's character had some dark secret in his past -- abuse or a tragic accident -- to explain his pathological self-absorption, but apparently we're supposed to accept it as a not-uncommon lifestyle choice of the smug and overpaid.
We watched this week's Merlin, which has the sense of humor of a ten-year-old boy, which did not stop me from laughing at both Uther and Arthur's headgear at various moments -- Tony Head in a bald cap is kind of scary, but Bradley James as Bottom in A Midsummer Night's Dream is priceless, particularly braying. The goblin itself bugged me -- a cross between Dobby and some kind of bizarre ethnic creature, though at least this series doesn't have The Lord of the Rings' white skin=good, dark skin=bad problems -- but fine, I can laugh at Morgana having the farts. We had fake chicken and biscuits for dinner and paid some attention to Monday Night Football, but turned it off for Stewart picking on Colbert's congressional testimony.
The Renaissance Man explains chamberpots on the Lyric Stage.
Local hammered dulcimer virtuoso and Maggie's Music founder Maggie Sansone plays Celtic tunes for incoming Fairegoers.
Bellydancers from Wine & Alchemy share their stage with a young visitor who decided to join them.
Fight School: Reloaded has moved to the Globe Theatre, allowing for a bigger bar brawl.
Michael Rosman, the Squire of the Wire, juggles knives while balancing on a plank on a bowling ball.
The Thane of Glamis and Banquo try to make sense of the witches' (or in this case, witch's) prophecy in Macbeth in 20 Minutes.
One of the Aerial Angels performs above the heads of her audience.