Made some not incredibly enthusiastic attempts to go out tonight. Instead, I ended up home with my ‘puter and TV, which is fine by me. And, because I am truly a pillar of high art and intellectualism, I’m watching Madonna and Antonio Banderas kind of mess up Evita. I’m mildly annoyed at two things, one that Madonna essentially takes the song “Another Suitcase, Another Hall,” even though in the original Broadway soundtrack and the version I saw in London in the ’80s, that’s not Evita’s song. It’s the song of the lover she kicks out of Peron’s bed to make room. They give her a reprise, but it’s wrong. The second thing is Jonathan Pryce (who lacks an official site) is very unattractive and creepy. I periodically have a thing for him, but eewww.

OK, it’s Friday night and I’m reviewing a shitty musical. How far can I fall into a gutter of despair?

Truth is, I’m fucking exhausted. The cycle of endless meetings to implement what promises to be the largely excremental Peoplecrap system, followed by an evening of trying to get something actual done at work is taking it’s toll. I can’t fucking wait until the computer system is on hold for two weeks (Yup, two weeks to implement, that’s Jim Dandy, modern technology, post fin de siecle, super, cyber speed, don’t you think?) and there are no grant deadlines. I’ll just put my feet up and smoke a stogey in my office in a universal gesture of relaxation. Hope the doctors I work with are hip to cigar smoking.

In a complete 180, here’s a cheer for modern technology. Dogging and toothing in the British Isles. Why do the societies with the sticks jammed furthest up their collective rumps of repression come up with the most innovative sex games. Almost makes me wish I was a little less earthy and more reserved. Nah, fuck that, I can cope with my personal status quo.