Oct. 29th, 2008

Tuesday, 11 November
7:30 pm
All Souls Church
1157 Lexington Avenue (at 80th Street)

The Young, The Tender, The Brave:
Music of Courage and Loss in Wartime

featuring the songs of:
Stephen Foster, Charles Ives, Irving Berlin, Kurt Weill and composers of the big band era


It's free. I'm going. Let me know if I might see you there.

(A lot of my childhood memories involve sad, sad war songs sung by random bands in random bars my parents took me to or involve watching old movies featuring cameos by the Andrews Sisters with my dad on Sunday afternoons. So this is, aside from the obvious occasion, just one of those things for me, as opposed to whatever supposition some of you may have been harboring; that is all).

sundries

Oct. 29th, 2008 04:32 pm
- I have the best lunch and you don't:
really fucking spicy tandoori chicken with spinach
basmanti rice with saffron, candied orange and pistachios
cranberry lemonade
chocolate coconut bar for dessert
and I am eating it with chopsticks

- Fuck, it's cold out. I was being low-key about getting the coat altered, but now I need to get on that because it's fucking cold out and I hate my parka, and it's now parka weather.

- People are examining our office space. Which would be less annoying if it weren't SO GODDAMN DISTRACTING.

- Hey, it's the Obama 30 minute infomercial tonight.
I think my heart is breaking (and by golly, I am surprised by that. truly!)

http://community.livejournal.com/tennant_love/2612569.html
While my heart is breaking over Doctor Who, I have some serious AWESOME to report to you as regards my own acting career...

I will be performing in THIS:


Veteran voice actor Tom Wayland and others, will read from some of the most politically charged excerpts of THE SANDMAN written by *New York Times*best-selling author Neil Gaiman, in honor of the 20th Anniversary of THE SANDMAN.

Hosted by the CBLDF and Vertigo, the dramatic reading will be will be held it the Helen Mills Theater in New York City on Saturday, November 8 at 7:30 pm. Tickets are available for a $50 donation to the CBLDF. Only 100 tickets are available to this special reading event.

THE SANDMAN is a series that is often hailed as one of the finest achievements in graphic storytelling and which Norman Mailer famously praised as, "a comic strip for intellectuals." This very special evening will bring two of the series most beloved stories to life with a multimedia presentation that marries comics and live theater.


About the stories being performed:

Three Septembers & A January, originally published in THE SANDMAN #31 / Trade #6

The story of Joshua Abraham Norton the first, last and only Emperor of the United States of America that incorporates an explanation for his strange career centering on a challenge between Morpheus and Despair.

The Golden Boy, originally published in THE SANDMAN #51-56 / Trade #8

A revival of a 1970s DC character named Prez, it's the story of the US's first teenage president that considers how we view our leaders—while they're in office . . . and once they're gone.



__________________________
About the CBLDF:

The Comic Book Legal Defense Fund was founded in 1986 as a 501 (c) 3 non-profit organization dedicated to the preservation of First Amendment rights for members of the comics community. They have defended dozens of Free Expression cases in courts across the United States, and led important education initiatives promoting comics literacy and free expression. Neil Gaiman serves on the Board of Directors of the CBLDF, and has raised over $150,000 for their work through his events and charitable appearances. For additional information, donations, and other inquiries call 800-99-CBLDF or visit http://www.cbldf.org or http://www.myspace.com/cbldf

To purchase tickets to the event click here.


This also features my buddy/catsitter [livejournal.com profile] airspaniel and was put together by [livejournal.com profile] redstapler

ETA: casting has been announced -- I am playing Delirium, Desire and The Assassin.
I don't remember Dan's sister's name, just that she had huge blue almond eyes and thirteen studs in each ear and that their parents beat her head against the ceramic sink in their home when she dyed her hair blue. They thought that she and Dan were fucking and that Dan had made her gay.

Dan was my boyfriend. My ill-advised, mentally-ill, university-is-such-a-clusterfuck, gay boyfriend. One time (brace yourselves, because I am seriously not making this shit up), he halucinated being under assault by flying chihuahuas with batwings who were the minions of Satan. Another time, he said there were worms crawling out of his body. And eventualy, it all seemed so bad and so real and so not funny I told the Resident Assistant and that was the end of that.

This isn't a nice story, but it's so old I can't really be ashamed. I was someone else then, entirely, and in a lot of ways, she's dead.

Dan was from Philadelphia, and he taught me to love that city. Most people don't get it, but I love it there. It's sort of eternally stuck in 1984, all punks and liberty spikes and I love it. More than once, I went up there with him to see his friends, to visit his beautiful, watery sister and to stay in his parents's home.

The house itself had been built in the late 1880s I think, and an addition, that included his rooms (he had two and a bathroom in which the water had been shut off, up the back stairs from the kitchen), had been added in the 1930s.

I hated Dan's rooms. They felt wrong, and I couldn't stand to be in them. The outer room was manageable, especially if I wasn't alone. The inner room was intolerable to me, and I ran screaming from it in random terror more than once.

Now it's easy to call that hysteria -- nothing rational was going on around me back then, and I was 18, frightened of everything and out of my goddamned mind and dating an abuser (he once gagged me with a sock and threatened to gouge my eyes out with a spork for grinding my teeth in my sleep) from an abusive family, but the fact remains, that room was wrong, and he eventually told me that a young boy had been raped and murdered there not long after the 1930s addition and that the house had then been sold during the War.

I'm pretty sure the problem with the room for me wasn't the boy, although I thought I saw him in that shut off bathroom once, huddled, naked, in the empty tub.

Here's the thing. Like all little goth boys of that year, Dan loved The Sandman (let's face it, he probably wanted to fuck Morpheus's brains out) and tried to get me into the comic. But it was hard for me. I wasn't Death. I didn't want to date Morpheus. I wasn't special like Delirium or hot like Desire and I wasn't as normal or odd as any of comic's mere mortals.

So I thought the stories were good, but it wasn't really me. I mean, I just wasn't cool enough for it. I knew that. Dan's sister knew that. Dan's best friend that he was fucking since I wouldn't put out knew that. Everybody knew that. Except Dan.

He tried so hard. Pleaded with me really to get it. And the only part that I got, back then, was the parliment of rooks. I was that bird who would be let go or pecked to death. Because I was a storyteller and always before a jury.

So I when I tell you I have an affinity for birds, this is what I mean. A parliment of rooks, the crow I talked to on top of a car in New York City years later, the clouds of grackles rising up from the roofs of service stations in the Texas dawn.

I thought I was that rook then, because I thought I was dying. Because I thought a ghost in Dan's house would rape me. Becuase I thought I was damned for not saving his sister and trying, stupidly, to help him. Because I was ashamed, that I only broke up with him when he took a swing at me (the first, the only) in public and missed. I've always had pride, above all else.

And that was The Sandman for me: a pretty goth girl with an ankh and combat boots and a bunch of birds.

Eventually I grew up and became friends with all these people who are friends of Neil's and I never wibbled and wobbled and oooh'ed and aaaah'ed about it, because his stories hadn't saved me. They didn't even condemn me. They just sort of bore witness, even though they, by and large, probably had better things to do. They certainly saved a lot of my friends. In the end they may have even saved Dan. Or his sister. I don't really know, but would like to think so.

Today I tell stories for a living, in a hundred different modes. And in a couple of weeks, I'll get to help tell two of the stories from The Sandman in a charity effort to make sure that difficult stories are always available to be heard when they are most needed. That they will always save and entertain and bear witness.

No matter what's changed in my life it still comes down to a parliment of rooks and a boy who may or may not have existed, who may or may not have been raped and murdered, and the girl I may or may not have once been.

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