Saturday night, Corb and I took a trip to Oz.



I can't honestly say that I attend many fundraisers for my job, but one event that I always look forward to each year is held by Crossroads Rhode Island, a non-profit organization dedicated to helping the homeless.

Their annual fundraiser is always incredibly creative--for example, one year they transformed a baseball stadium into a swinging 40's nightclub. The first time that I went with Corb, which was one of my first evenings "out" with Corb and some of my work friends, he made me promise to take him again, and I knew the minute I heard what the theme was going to be that we were in for a lot of fun.


On our way into Munchkin land...

This year's theme was "There's no place like home," and it was no easy task, since they set up the celebration inside the heart of Providence, turning the Bank of America skating rink into the land of Oz. Actually, the rink was split into two sections--with the "open bar" area representing Munchkin Land, featuring "twister" martinis and "ozsome" munchies. At the proper time, the curtains were opened up to usher us into the Emerald City.

The only problem was that we couldn't hear above the band. we spent the whole night yelling out "Huh?" or "What?" That got annoying after a while.

As you can see, my group had the most fun with the glowing emerald ice cubes. Corb and I managed to snag a few before we left for the evening. I think I might place them next to Bette Davis inside the refrigerator, just to keep her company.


My pal David, dreaming of world domination

A few of you may have been wondering how Oliver's been holding up. I'm happy to report that he's back home from the hospital, as of Friday.

They've given us a different (more expensive) diet for him to be on, and recommended that we give him lots of water. So far, he's peeing just fine. The only problem we've really noticed is that Haley hasn't exactly welcomed Oliver back with open arms...er, paws. Every time he gets near her, she starts hissing up a storm. She seems like a lover who's found out her husband's been unfaithful, if you ask me. But I don't think Oliver acted like a tomcat while he was away...he wasn't feeling well enough.


The Oz Dust ballroom

Sunday evening, I secured free tickets for the Gamm Theater's production of The Elephant Man . It was a top-notch production, and almost as good as anything I've seen at Trinity.

The play itself has a strangely eighties feel, for me, although there are also definite touches of Brecht and Albee, too (having the Elephant Man construct a model of St. Phillips church is extremely reminiscent of a device Albee used in one of his lesser-known plays during the sixties). However, it's the style of the age of new wave that shines through, for me. I'm not certain if its the play itself, however, or just the associations/feelings I have with the play.

In any event, I'm looking forward to the day that they turn it into a musical. "I am not an animal/not like Lechter, Hannibal..." Oh, come on, it'd be HUGE...


Me and my feller

For some reason, this time of year used to put me in the mood for reading Shakespeare, but lately, it's put me in the mood for listening to country music, a trait that is never exhibited at any other time in the year.

I like country music when it's witty, such as when it's sung by Brad Paisley, whose album "Time Well Wasted" I listen to, year after year. I think some of his songs are almost as clever as Cole Porter's, frankly, although I'm not sure he would be much impressed by that comparison. I also enjoy country music sung simply, such as by Dolly Parton, or with a purpose, such as by the Dixie Chicks.

What I DON'T enjoy, unfortunately, is country music that I think tries too hard. Country music is about story-telling, first and foremost, but sometimes, like all story-tellers, these cats gild the lily just a bit too much. Take, for example, "Skin" by Rascal Flats, a song that Corb loves, but which makes me want to turn the channel as quickly as I can, the moment that I hear it.

Don't get me wrong. It's really a lovely sentiment, and if it had been toned down just a bit, I think I would have liked it much better. But the minute I hear "Sarah Beth is scared to death," I just...I don't know...I have trouble. It just seems forced and deliberate, as if the person who wrote the words were consciously trying to write the lyrical equivalent of a Lifetime movie. Sort of like that god-damned "Christmas Shoes" song, only not quite as sappy.