The hour badly spent

Tim Hadachek has spent all semester wooing his own doucherie. It’s pretty clear now that he’s fully in love with it and will never let it go, no matter what psychologists recommend. In the matter of HRC’s appointment to Secretary of State:

Hillary is burdened by the curse and blessing of her husband, Bill. On one hand, Hillary would not be where she is today if she hadn’t married a future president. On the other, Bill appears to still carry the lack of restraint that led to his impeachment.

A blowjob much too awesome for the nation to ever forget. Was it somehow special, or are all blowjobs really like this? Take some time to savor that question.

For example, compare the presidential campaigns of Obama and Clinton. Obama’s campaign was airtight; if there was internal conflict, we certainly didn’t hear about it. Some reporters even nicknamed him Barack "NoDrama."

Clinton’s campaign, by contrast, had more leaks than an old faucet. The Clinton camp might as well have invited the New York Times every time a senior adviser was fired. Often, these snippets of info took the form of a Hillary aid criticizing Bill for being reckless and uncontrollable.

Why should we expect Clinton’s gig as Secretary of State to be any different?

This election was an epic clusterfuck, the likes of which mankind has never seen before and will most certainly not see again for at least two years. Hillary ran a piss-poor campaign, but she had a job way before she became President of Harlem. Her goings-on there were probably far more relevant to her Cabinet appointment than some moronic off-the-cuff campaign-trail comments Bill made a zillion years ago that everyone’s forgotten about. We were sure the slinging of irrelevant mud would disappear after Nov. 4, that there was a glimmering hope for change we could believe in, but it’s almost as though one side has a vested interest in keeping political "science" at the level of finding the right table to sit at during lunch in middle school.

Obama has said he wants to assemble a "cabinet of rivals" in the same spirit as his hero Abe Lincoln. Indeed, there is much to be said for avoiding the current administration’s case of groupthink — it’s important to have different types of people advising you.

But Lincoln’s style is not one to be modeled. Civil War historian Chris Pinsker said Lincoln’s cabinet "nearly destroyed the president" and that they were a "plotting, feuding bunch."

Which is better for fostering democracy: an insular cabal of yes-men, or a team of opposing viewpoints trying to build a consensus? It doesn’t matter! To Hadachek, Democrats are wrong no matter what they actually do! Which leads to "critiques" without substance. This elephant is heckling at a game his team has already lost. Without anything constructive to add, wouldn’t it would be more fun if he just shut up and left the ballpark?

[Source: K-State Collegian]

First, the headline: "’Noises Off’ displays play within a play." Although descriptive, it somewhat misses the point, and the "play within a play" concept is not fully explained in the report. That concept is: "Noises Off" farcically reveals the behind-the-scenes antics of "Nothing On," a play performed within "Noises Off."

Of course our description sounds more satisfying, but it’s probably because we’re so pompous. It’s a bit technical, but Noises Off was an extremely complicated production. The headline should probably include a touch of the play’s bedroom humour, giving readers a feel for what was really going on. Something along the lines of ‘Noises Off’ tickles audience until they splooge laughter. You get the idea.

Then there’s the lede.

A man walked lazily across the stage in front of the red velvet curtain. He rubbed at his eyes as though he were just waking from a rough slumber. The man, identified as Tim, yells offstage and the curtain rises to reveal a quaint living room.

Tim, played by Greg Myers, is just one of the many eccentric characters in the most recent KSU Theatre production “Noises Off.”

We see this technique all the time. Amanda Keim is trying to draw you in with a soft introduction. The lede is a special time for a reporter, a unique moment wherein she can demonstrate her style, her attention to nuance, her own true observations; this is the only time she can pretty much editorialize and get away with it.

In keeping with the ambience (we hate that word) of Noises Off, Amanda’s lede should have painted a picture of the stage in all its magic and zest. Unfortunately, Amanda described a scene that was so uneventful, so unlike the rest of the play, that she flat out failed.

Also. "Eccentric" is another word we hate. It might sound impressive, but it’s so general-purpose that it doesn’t actually describe anything.

There were a few more technical problems in the article, articulated nicely in comments left at the Collegian’s website.

To have "Jack McFarland" comment at this blog would make our day.

The lights begin to flash across the stage and Tim yells at the controller to calm them but it is no use. The lights continue to flash and a character claims he is about to suffer a seizure. This ignites the first burst of laughter from the audience.

“It’s pretty entertaining,” said Joe Asley [ed. note: ha ha ha, we kept the misspelling], freshman in history. “They’re too dysfunctional to complete their rehearsal.”

That’s how we know it’s funny; we’re being told of the laughter. Just in case we’re not totally convinced, some freshman gives us an eye-popping description: "It’s pretty entertaining." Ho hum. The Hour Badly Spent believes it was more than "entertaining."

There was a lot of humor packed into Noises Off. It’s a shame that Act II, with all its manic irony and brilliantly timed physical humor is not given any treatment. Instead, the reporter just fixated on sex.

The character Brooke was named a favorite by audience members. She was an attractive and tall blonde who appeared to be very distracted.

“[My favorite part is] probably how dumb the blonde girl is,” said Abi Wilson, sophomore at Manhattan High School. “It’s really funny and it really makes the play.”

Brooke could be seen spacing off and as the night progressed, she was so involved in the performance that she managed to tear her black pantyhose. As Brooke’s pantyhose took a hit, more than one of the male leads was found dropping his pants.

“Sex maniacs everywhere!” exclaimed Roger, played by Michael Wieser.

Come to think of it, on principle, we have no problem with this.

[K-State Collegian]

Among English majors — well, the fun ones, not  — there is an unspoken race to make sex the topic of conversation. Wednesday afternoon, in the process of reviewing for an impending exam, I found out that winning isn’t everything. Rhymes With Fairy and I discussed Alan Seeger’s poem, "I Have a Rendezvous With Death."

I have a rendezvous with Death    
At some disputed barricade,    
When Spring comes back with rustling shade    
And apple-blossoms fill the air—    
I have a rendezvous with Death            
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.    
It may be he shall take my hand    
And lead me into his dark land    
And close my eyes and quench my breath—    
It may be I shall pass him still.            
I have a rendezvous with Death    
On some scarred slope of battered hill    
When Spring comes round again this year    
And the first meadow-flowers appear.    
 
God knows ’twere better to be deep            
Pillowed in silk and scented down,    
Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep,    
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,    
Where hushed awakenings are dear …    
But I’ve a rendezvous with Death            
At midnight in some flaming town,    
When Spring trips north again this year,    
And I to my pledged word am true,    
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Pompous English Major: It’s a strangely erotic poem.  It’s written in the language of love, with sexual imagery. I think exaggerating the erotic with the valorisation of Death mocks Romantic ideals.
Rhymes With Fairy: Erotic? I don’t see it that way.
Pompous English Major: "Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep?" Come on. That’s clearly a wet dream.
Rhymes With Fairy: No! I don’t wanna look at the poem like that.
Pompous English Major: "I close my eyes and quench my breath." Come on. It’s an orgasm.
Rhymes With Fairy: Fine, you’re right.
Pompous English Major: Well, what do you think of it?
Rhymes With Fairy: I hate you. [ed. note: not really]

In a letter to the editor, fundie virgin Clareen O’Connor expressed shock and awe at a sex education ad.