Tavie
dave foley
mark mckinney
e.mail
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blogs i like:

amy
andrew
carl
barb cooking blog
boing boing
caroline
cartoon brew
chris
cityroom
consumerist
erin
gena/ deadly stealth frogs
gothamist
jim hill
kids in the hall lj
kithblog
matt k
mike t
nathan
post secret
rynn
sarah
sarah c
sean
tea rose
toby
tom


webcomics i read:
american elf
american stickman
elfquest
lolcats!
masque of the red death
the perry bible fellowship
toothpaste for dinner
ultrajoebot
xkcd

Other places to find me:
me on the tumblr
me on the flickr
me on the formspring
me on the twitter
me on the ravelry
me on the myspace

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my 'currently-reading' shelf:


i want:
wish list

i've read:
goodreads list

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Sunday, November 18, 2001
He had such an unbelievably believable presence on the stage. But he was also some sort of ethereal creature-- tall, slender, graceful, passionate, heartbreaking. Visually stunning, emotionally wrenching: he was every single critic's cliche. Honestly like something from some other world. His Leontes was terrifying. (Me to Gina after a particularly poisionous Shakesperean outburst: "He's scaring me.") He spewed venom that was almost palpable. You had to flinch back from some of it. He thundered and murmured with equal skill. He made me cry. Twice. Hard. (Me to Gina after a particularly heart-wrenching Shakespearean outburst: "I hate it when the children cry.") Don't laugh, but he was like nothing so much as a silver, beardless unicorn: ageless and awe-inspiring and blinding and elegant and beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. (Okay, laugh then. You're just jealous 'cause you didn't get to see the show.)




Look for my upcoming review of "Scooby Doo: Stagefright!": Scooby's Knob, or: Me Love Shaggy. Coming soon.