In approximately 60 hours, my friends and I will be headed for the Great North, to spend a week outside Accordion City. In celebration, I would like to post some lyrics of which I am rather fond: Welcome to Canada, It's the Maple Leaf State. Canada, oh Canada it's great! The people are nice and they speak French too. If you don't like it, man, you sniff glue. The Great White North, their kilts are plaid, Hosers take off, it's not half bad. I want to be where yaks can run free, Where Royal Mounties can arrest me. Let's go to Canada, Let's leave today, Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait. They've got trees, And mooses, and sled dogs, Lots of lumber, and lumberjacks, and logs! We all think it's kind of a drag, That you have to go there to get milk in a bag. They say "eh?" instead of "what?" or "duh?" That's the mighty power of Canada! I want to be where lemmings run into the sea, Where the marmosets can attack me. Let's go to Canada, Let's leave today, Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait. Let's go to Canada, Let's leave today, Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait. Please, please, explain to me, How this all has come to be, We forgot to mention something here. Did we say that William Shatner is a native citizen? And Slurpees made from venison, That's deer. Let's go to Canada, Let's leave today, Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait. Let's go to Canada, Let's leave today, Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait. "Oh, Canada", Five Iron Frenzy.

My dad puts up with a lot of crap for and from me.

My dad has always respected my opinion-- even if he goes on to show me how I am totally wrong.

My dad has what my friends refer to as "The Voice of God". It is used in three situations: a) When he wants to be heard, b) when he's preaching, and c) when he's laughing. I can recognize that laugh from anywhere.

My dad has two wardrobes: One for work, with suits and clericals, and the other for the off-hours, with worn jeans and t-shirts advocating socialism and equality of sexuality.

My dad has a killer blog. (Need I say more?)

My dad's music collection is approximately seven times larger than mine.

My dad is the only guy I know who calls his son "Dude".

My dad has always been there for me.

Quite a fun concert, with excellent performances on both Ben's and Rufus' parts. Thanks to Dan, Sherri, Justin, Hilary, Timmy, Elizabeth, and Julie for making our little picnic loads of fun.

Rufus Wainwright and Ben Folds, tonight at Ravinia. I'm gonna be there. Life is sweet.

I woke up this morning, and felt a compelling need to listen to John Rutter's arrangement of "For The Beauty Of The Earth." I can only imagine that it had something to do with my dream, because I haven't thought of that song for ages. It would help if I could remember my dream, though. Maybe I should stop eating pizza as my late night meal.

I'd intended to write up a large post about the play this morning, but somehow it doesn't seem quite right, so I will be brief and concise. We did a fabulous job. I am immensely proud of and thankful to everyone involved. I'm grateful to everyone who came, especially those who came on extremely short notice. I'm going to miss this over the summer. Even more so, I'm going to miss the cast members who are leaving next year: Carli, Tyler, Grace, and possibly John. Tunes (Yes, they're back!): "Oh! You Pretty Things", David Bowie (iTMS); "Ain't No Mountain High Enough", Marvin Gaye & Tammy Terrell (iTMS); "Mary Jane's Last Dance", Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (iTMS).

Sorry, all. I only just last night realized that my site was set up not to accept anonymous reader comments. That has been remedied, and you are now free to belittle me as you have in prior posts.

On a friend's recommendation, I downloaded (legally) the soundtrack to Avenue Q, and it has immediately rocketed to a place on my top five musical of all time. The irreverent yet wise blending of elements from Sesame Street and Rent is hilarious, touching, understandable, and fun for not quite the whole family. Puppets, people, and Gary Cooper all share in the delivery of amusing looks at society ("If You Were Gay," Everyone's A Little Bit Racist," "Schadenfruede"), touching reflections on relationships ("Mix Tape," "There's A Fine, Fine Line," "The More You You Ruv Someone"), not-quite-so-touching takes on sex ("The Internet Is For Porn," "Special," "You Can Be As Loud As The Hell You Want To (When You're Making Love)"), and quirky thoughts on why we're here ("What Do You Do With A B.A. In English," "Purpose," "For Now"). One of my favorites is a song which carries a friendly kick in the rump for when you need it the most: "There Is Life Outside Your Apartment."

Summer has struck hard, with the sort of oppressive muggy heat that saps your energy and leaves you in a state of near-entropy. I myself would like nothing more than to be able to sit in a tub of ice water for the day, a la "Body Heat" (maybe without Kathleen Turner, although I can think of one or two acceptable replacements), but since I have things that need to get done, I content myself with taking work in small increments and listening to Tom Petty b-sides in between. [Edit] Of course, right after I wrote this, a nice cool breeze picked up outside, making most of what I wrote fairly redundant. Oh well.

...Whatever you want to call it, this is the week before the Big Show, which means four-hour rehearsals every day, in full costume. It's gonna be a long week.

Someone (who I am now convinced is a member of my karass) just came back into my life, and while this is a good thing, the timing involved on scares me on a few different levels. There are just a couple too many "coincidences" for me to be completely comfortable. I'm not saying that there's some sort of huge plot, just that the specifics match up bizarrely well.

I am insecure. I feel depressed. My suburn is peeling, I feel grotesque. I sit listening to dark sad music by artists such as Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, The Talking Heads, Depeche Mode, Moxy Früvous, Stone Sour, and Everclear. I lie in my bed, reading select passages from High Fidelity and I leave my glasses off. I fester in my own discomfort, because I haven't got the energy to change.