I Want Your Psycho, Your Vertigo Shtick!

I did it! The pop music blog I have been thinking about and brainstorming and hemming and haw-ing about for MONTHS is up, in its most nascent, bare-bones form but up nonetheless! I said it would debut Monday, December 14, 2009, and here it is, Monday, December 14, 2009 with one hour to spare, and not only is it up, it's up with the first Playlist of the Week and an entry accompanying it that took almost two hours to put together.

Sure, it still needs a ton of work and it's just getting started, but IT'S HERE, and I made my self-imposed deadline, and I couldn't be happier with myself! Woohoo! Here's hoping this will be the start of something truly fun and exciting!

VertigoShtick is here!

Five Great Musicals (By Request)

My friend Lauren asked me for five favorite musicals as she attempts to beef up her musical theatre repertoire for auditions, a task which those who know me well will know suits me comfortably. As I tend to do, I definitely went a bit overboard with it, but I thought I'd share what I came up with for her on here in case anyone else wants a gander.

5. Rent: Rent revolutionized Broadway with then edgy themes, rollicking rock-flavored music, a compelling and tragic behind-the-scenes story (the writer, Jonathan Larson, died of a freak aneurysm the night before ...its first Off-Broadway preview), and a ton of HEART. I sang a duet from Rent three of my four years in HS for big end-of-year concerts ("I'll Cover You" is a sweet love song between a man and a drag queen; "Take Me or Leave Me" is a raucus breakup song between two lesbians; "What You Own" is a powerful ballad of finding one's purpose after everything). It's a bit dated now but still packs an emotional punch and has some great tunes ("Out Tonight" is as thrilling to see performed live as the Queen of the Night's arias in The Magic Flute, and "Seasons of Love" will always be a glorious, if bittersweet, anthem).

4. Into the Woods: Clever story, insightful characters and, of course, brilliant music by the master himself, Stephen Sondheim. Follows well-known fairy tale characters interacting comedically in Act I and tragically in Act II. I recommend watching the DVD of the original Bway production with Bernadette Peters and Joanna Gleason (Vanessa Williams starred in the revival). "On the Steps of the Palace" is one of the more difficult and impressive female solos around, as is "Moments in the Woods," but "No One is Alone" is definitely the signature ballad.

3. Kiss Me, Kate: An oldie but goodie by Cole Porter (a master of the clever lyrics and jazzy Broadway tunes of the 50s) which was revived splendidly in the early part of this decade (that cast recording is stellar); a take on Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew with a modern twist. Best part, though, is the endless list of great songs: "So in Love," "Too Darn Hot," "Another Op'nin, Another Show," and the second act showstopper "Always True to You (In My Fashion)" (done amazingly on revival cast album by Amy Spanger). I saw it on Broadway and it remains atop my list.

2. Sweeney Todd: Another Sondheim masterpiece, only this one is a gory melodramatic opera about a homicidal, throat-slitting barber out for revenge. The music is incredible, and the lead roles of Sweeney Todd and the sinister Mrs. Lovett are gifts to seasoned veterans (Angela Lansbury was the original; Patti LuPone did a revival). I recommend the DVD of the San Francisco Symphony Concert production from a few years ago with George Hearn, Patti LuPone, and Neil Patrick Harris. Incredible.

1. Avenue Q: This is perhaps the closest any musical has ever come to perfection. On the surface it's an irreverent spoof on Sesame Street, where puppets and humans coexist and deal with being 22 with a useless college degree, no money, and seeming lack of purpose. But it's really a sweet love story and a touching, HILARIOUS, and most of all completely true and relateable fable about growing up. "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist," "The Internet is for Porn," and "If You Were Gay" will have you rolling in the aisles, while "There's a Fine, Fine Line," "Purpose," and "I Wish I Could Go Back to College" will tug your heartstrings (and impress any casting director). Beat out Wicked for the Best Musical Tony and deserves every bit of it; recently closed on Bway only to reopen immediately Off-Broadway, and with any luck it will run until the end of time. It's truly incredible. I will fly to New York with you to see it again, and I've seen it twice already.

Update (and Conclusion?) on the Great Gaga Saga

Earlier this morning I posted an SOS of deceptive desperation in an attempt to decipher a particularly gnarly lyrical quandary at the hands of the fabulous and frighteningly phenomenal Lady Gaga (for reasons I can only promise will prove themselves in the near future). I'd foolishly hoped for a swift and solid resolution, but instead found the road to truth even thornier than I'd anticipated. I also learned a little and laughed a lot along the way, and most importantly, I am 99.9% satisfied that I have finally uncovered the answer to my shticky little question.

Since most of the good stuff took place via Facebook, however, I wanted to document some of the madness highlights here for posterity.

First, Alecia (the friend I wrote about earlier who originally alerted me to the existence of this discrepancy) helpfully provided this: "So go to the second interview on this link at around 2:30 she talks about the song. (Link to Interviews) I knew I heard it somewhere!! And it sounds like schtick to me still :)"

And indeed it did; however, Gaga's explanation did not make entirely clear why exactly the lyric might be one or the other, instead educating the ignorant masses about Hitchcock (and, unexpectedly, clearing up the other lyric in the song I hadn't gotten and in doing so redeeming herself from my idnignant response to her assumed omission of my favorite Hitchcock film, Rear Window...more on this in a moment).

Then one of my music industry connections (the fabulous country sensation-in-waiting Brittany McDonald, whose absence from your music library should be rectified immediately) pointed out the inarguable habit of lyrical non-clarity the Gaga has possessed since "Poker Face/Puckerface/Fuck Her Face."

Alecia's stance was all but verified by a helpful response I received from a user on YouTube, who explained, "It's 'schtick' according to the CD book, but it's meant to be a play on words, since the next lyric 'want you in my rear window, baby you're sick' is alluding to anal sex." While I imagine I would have gleaned the salacious hidden meaning of the newly discovered lyrics without much prodding, but the confirmation of an official publication of the lyrics as being extant was, really, exactly what I had said earlier that I would require as proof.

After "shtick" (alternately spelled "schtick" by more than one respondant) received endorsements from a few more of my particularly pop-aware friends, Chris sealed the deal with what reasonably purports to be as close to a facsimile of the supposed "CD book" as I'm likely to encounter without schlepping to Best Buy to buy the damn thing with the money I don't have for the CD player I don't possess. In this case the spelling "shtick" was used, and for my secret purposes I decided I preferred it as such.

The residual exchanges (the main quest being complete) amounted essentially to a jocular namedropping parade of other notable marble-mouths of the airwaves (Mick Jagger, Bob Dylan, and Britney Spears appeared in various contexts). And really, I have to defend my confusion once more here: say what you like about Gaga, but you can't deny that she didn't help in this search for lyrical absolution with her delivery - as artistically intriguing as her unique enunciation was likely meant to be (and, indeed, is).

Long story short: in the second verse of "Bad Romance," Lady Gaga sings the following:

I want your Psycho,
Your Vertigo shtick;
Want you in my Rear Window.
Baby, you're sick.
I want your love.
Love, love, love,
I want your love.

In the simplest vernacular, this seems to mean something like "I enjoy how fucked up you are and would also like to receive anal sex from you if that's possible." Or, classic Gaga.

Believe It or Not, This Is REALLY Important

OK I am at my wits' end...does anyone know if the official lyrics to Lady Gaga's single "Bad Romance" (from The Fame Monster re-release) are published anywhere? Like in liner notes or something similarly official-esque and ostensibly from the horse's mouth or close to it, not MetroLyrics or other user-compiled information (often rife with mondegreens)?

Barring that, if anyone knows anyone who knows anyone who knows someone who knows one of the writers? Hey, this is L.A.; I wouldn't be shocked in the slightest if I happened to know someone who knows someone (etc.) like that. If so, I need your help to solve a seemingly frivolous but in fact deceptively consequential like you wouldn't believe. (If I ever figure out the answer, you'll soon see why...but at this point I'm not holding my breath!)

I cannot get a definitive answer to this question:

The second verse of "Bad Romance" begins thusly:

I want your horror,
I want your design,
'Cause you're a criminal
As long as you're mine.
I want your love.
Love, love, love,
I want your love.

Following the most fantastic grunt, she continues: "I want your Psycho/ Your Vertigo _______"

And here's where my advanced degrees in history and early modern literature and all the practice I've had doing research for minuscule details have to this point failed me. Does Gaga want "your Vertigo STICK" or "your Vertigo SCHTICK?" Clearly this obscure couplet is in reference to perhaps the two most famous films of Alfred Hitchcock, and wanting one's "psycho," capitalized or not, at the very least fits into the gist of the rest of the song's lyrics. Now, my first instinct was "stick," despite that word pairing making little sense; perhaps my instinct was based on the prominence of the word "stick" in a previous single, "LoveGame" (in that case as half of a rather catchy euphemism for a somewhat salacious part of the male anatomy).

The friend who originally made apparent a discrepancy in our respective hearings of that lyric just happens to possess the musical taste and Gaga-specific appreciation and experience to suggest to me the possibility of the oh-so-rare occurrence in which I'm wrong and someone else is right; plus *SPOILER ALERT* the film Vertigo centers around an especially thorough, sinister and ultimately fatal deception...and in a relatively avant-garde mainstream pop song it's conceivable that the word "schtick" might arguably serve such a reference.*

I've heard compelling cases for both and I'm simply baffled. (Full disclosure: for reasons entirely unrelated to "Bad Romance," lyrical continuity or the preservation of English grammar, I'm hoping that "stick" turns out to be correct. Not enough, however, to proclaim it is so when there is some chance it might not be.

HELP ME LADY GAGA-KENOBI! YOU'RE MY ONLY HOPE!

(In case you wonder why I exclude MetroLyrics, an example: the site currently seems under the impression the lyric in question is "I want your psycho/Your vertical stick..." Seriously? As my mother always says, "It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.")

For reference, in case anyone hasn't yet experienced the mindblowing fabulousness, here's the video.




*If you have not seen Vertigo, what on earth is the matter with you? Rectify this immediately. Buy it used from Amazon. Put it in your Netflix queue. Here's a link. No, I mean do it NOW. It could not be simpler.

Did you do it?

A Bipolar Day in Los Angeles Town

Today has been what Karen Walker might call a "Fiesta del Failure."

It began with an inauspicious (and, on the plus side, increasingly rare) incident of oversleeping and therefore tardiness to work and to my first student appointment of the day, which is easily in the top three mistakes I hate making more than any other at this job. Then I breathlessly went to start up my computer while trying to minimize the obvious fountains of sweat erupting from my every surface as my lateness had required parking on the street and walking in rather than my usual, morning overheating-prevention parking spot at the Parking Center and soothing preparatory tram ride to the office. This effort was put on hold as I found my desk crawling with the ants left over from the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull...not unsurprising, in hindsight (and, to be honest, at the time too) as my desk habits, while mostly far from unacceptable, might not impress Emily Post; plus, despite Sam having had candy of every sort out in a bowl on her desk for months and never an issue, my bowl was apparently the Studio 54 of the ant world (in a way, still is, having closed its doors and therefore had a large effect on the eventual disappearance of its clients in the area).

This was a) gross - my keyboard looked like my old ant farm from middle school; b) embarassing - I was already late, and despite how pristene I not only got my desk to be prior to this week (the first in a typically intense period, twice yearly, during which every one of my 371 students comes by the office at least once) but had against all odds maintained all week thus far, and this particular student is one to whom I really want to come off as useful, helpful, and under no circumstances even bordering incompetence; and c) unfair (in a childish, not-actually-unfair-in-the-real-world kind of way) - I've gone out of my way to try to prevent such fauna visitation ever since a furry friend showed up in the office last year. Also, when I went to try to find some ant killer (there were SO MANY ANTS) I learned that not only did the main student affairs office have its own visiting army, specifically of interest to Formicidaean tourists was apparently one of a rather high-ranking official.

This was all before 10am, and the next five or six hours featured my own personal brand of "Oh my god where the fuck am I, what am I saying and who am I supposedly saying it to" brand of escalating self-consciousness and overcompensation, forgetfulness (on a much greater scale than usual if possible), and so on. Frustration mainly at the simultaneous emergence of all of my nervous habits, great and small, common and rare, not only on a full morning of appointments, but now I was doing them out in the main room. That meant a full morning of trying to focus on the student at hand and remembering and maintaining our specific rapport/relationship/rules of operation that usually allowed me to connect better and earn trust and approval (which we all know is like oxygen for me), while also keenly aware that my next appointment, usually a new sophomore at this early point in the advisement process (they snag appointments like Miley Cyrus tickets), could witness the whole disjointed symphony that I become after starting a morning in that way (as, I suspect, would most people, but it didn't happen to "most folks" did it?).

Being late meant parking on the street despite my recent purchase of a Parking Center pass. Thursdays were a big reason behind that sale, being street cleaning days and requiring me to park either in China (which is how far away the parking center might as well be when I'm running late) or to manage to sprint four to eight South LA blocks back to my Portia by noon to escape the parking nazis (i.e. Los Angeles' response to its financial shortcomings due to the Republicans... oh I mean the State and city budget deficits. ... Okay, they're synonymous). I admit this moment offered a hint of victory, as no ticket had yet reached my car at 12:05 as I climbed in and to my delight and ironic appreciation I saw the street sweeper turn the corner behind me and wait politely as I moved out of his way. I figured that I'd at least finally got the benefit of one of my numerous previous ones, as most of them have been bestowed upon me long before I actually blocked any street sweeper and all too often arrived to find within seconds of the restricted time (welcome to living on Ellendale). So ha.

Of courser, then I mixed up two students' appointment times in my phone despite putting them in there in the first place as part of a great new effort to never miss even an informal and irregular appointment due to my natural human inclination toward routine; today this resulted in skipping the one I thought was canceled while attending the one that was.

And all that happened before lunch. The rest of the day offered no additional mishaps, perhaps knowing the damage had been done once seeing my attitude towards this particular day as the kind Nellie Bly would sing about washing right out of her hair.

And suddenly I got a one-two punch of messages about great news for two different women I know, one a student who recently sought my help with making some major academic and personal career decisions, and the other a former classmate whom I have adored since meeting her the first day of college in Dr. Amy Richlin's Latin I class at USC. And as trite and nearly vomit-inducing it sounds, even to me as I type it, I exaggerate in no way when I say I felt all of the ugly from up to that point in my day immediately vanish, or lose all effect on me, or whatever you might call it. Even though both of these bits of happy news will likely mean I will soon see a lot less of each of them, "I'm so happy they're so happy!"


And that's a nice feeling.

Through the Open-Source Looking Glass

Well, Mr. Gates, much as I appreciate your continued support for the arts and other plebian concerns with pittance from your national economy-sized net worth, I now bid you and your virus-ridden, "ooh, Vista's totally ready for distribution" operating system and step through the open-source looking glass to a wonderland called Ubuntu. Don't bother to write (there'd probably be a virus attached to your email anyway). Catch you on the flip side.

(Somehow I feel like this needs a heavenly choir and parting clouds a la The Simpsons..."Uuu-buuun-tuuuuu" doo, doot doot de doo, doot doot, de do do do do...)

Here goes...

But Oh, the Synergy!

As yet another part of my recently launched effort to explore new topics, audiences and venues in my writing in order to put myself out there in hopes of landing a paying gig or two and make a few AdSense pennies in the meanwhile, I have just launched the first piece in my newest effort, creating my own content on HubPages. The gist of this community, from what I've gleaned through cursory preliminary exploration, is compiling "hubs," which are user-created pages on literally any topic imaginable; in other words, HubPages embodies the entire purpose of the Internet, theoretically offering an infinite amount of knowledge accessible with the click of a mouse. Many writers go there because of its centralized web advertising facility, maximizing the (admittedly still pithy) possible revenue without overtaking the content.

The site's introductory materials advised writing on subjects on which one has particularly thorough and extensive knowledge, and after some thought I came up with the topic for my first hub, called The High School Senior's Guide to the College Visit (my sister had just come to USC a few days earlier, and I do have a little experience in the arena). I figured it was good timing, and I know from experience how many parents can be about the college application process, especially with first children (such as me); I could see such a guide proving to be somewhat useful and comforting to the moms who sit on the computer for days on end to make sure they're doing everything right, the way my mother did (and thank goodness for that!).

Since it's my first foray into the hub world, if anyone has a minute or two to go check it out (and maybe write a comment or two about how brilliant this D. B. Salter is...haha) it would probably bring you good karma. Just sayin'.

*Pbthbthbth* On Being Poor!

It's official: this whole paycheck-to-paycheck, late bill payment, haphazard grocery budgeting, "I'll be back on track once the next payday comes" excuse for living has lasted far longer than it should have and is a situation that I can and will no longer endure. Blaming certain publishing companies and their unacceptable accounting and payment process, however much they might deserve it, is both unproductive and an inaccurate assignation of total fault when in truth they are not the only culprits.

It's not like I'm spending C-notes frivolously left and right, I should note, although my recent thrift is more the result of actual absence of anything to spend in the first place than the adoption of a more frugal lifestyle. The rare times I do have a positive bank account balance I find that that money is almost entirely spent on obligations like loan and bill payments, not personal things almost without exception. So where is all my money going? I make enough money to pay my rent, bills, and three different loan payments each month and still have a couple hundred to spare, and yet since I moved to my new apartment I have yet to actually go through a month's pay after beginning in the black. The main culprit is actually a repeat offender: I have paid Chase bank enough money in overdraft fees to single-handedly bail out Lehman Brothers, and it infuriates me that in effect that policy has created a quicksand situation and made it exponentially more difficult to return to financial solvency.

ENOUGH!

So how to turn this tale of woe inside out? I have a few ideas that I want to write down and publish as both a checklist and a documented public challenge to myself.

1. After all these years, I am so excited to finally tell WaMu/Chase to kindly fuck off and that I will no longer be financing their corporate retreats. I've been intending to reopen my USC Credit Union account, now that it is part of the Co-Op of ATMs and therefore accessible beyond the campus, which was the main reason I switched to WaMu in the first place. None of this overdraft bullshit packaged as inexpensive short-term loans (although I have used it to my advantage more recently, but only because the stupid system kept me in a position that made it necessary), which means no more excuses for even the occasional imprudent impulse as I will no longer have such an unhealthy option.

Why haven't I done so yet? Because I've been waiting to get a positive balance in my Chase account to transfer it over and meet the $100 minimum opening deposit. But not anymore: the instant I receive my godforsaken paycheck from the publishing company not to be named - or the rebate checks making their 6 to 8 week journey my way - I will not, as originally planned, essentially waste it on the black hole I call my Chase checking account, but rather use it as the opening deposit to the USC Credit Union. The second my account has been reopened, I will switch my direct deposit from Chase to USC, meaning the second paycheck of the month that is supposed to be my rent paycheck can actually be my rent paycheck for once instead of my Chase overdraft fee paycheck. And since I'll then be using the Credit Union for any purchases, I can take my sweet time bringing my Chase account up to zero without incurring any additional overdraft fees. I think they've collected enough extra money from me over the years to be able to survive while my account sits tauntingly overdrawn and inactive.

2. Pay bills on time! This, of course, will be much more doable once #1 has been completed, and I will therefore avoid late fees and other extraneous expenses.

3. Build upon my blog set: I have seen my earnings for the Adonis Complex blog steadily beginning to grow as I continue to post content and spread the word wherever I can (with photoblogs, the archives are as important if not more so as daily updates, and with each daily post the archive grows and with it grows the blog's marketability). I am working on a huge project to really launch my new entertainment criticism and analysis blog, Heckle and Snide, which will hopefully attract its first visitors and cultivate a regular following as well. There are a couple of other blogs on the horizon, but for now I'm focusing on getting those two fully up and running...not to mention this blog as well, which I had intended to serve as a followup to my first LiveJournal now that I've reached an entirely new chapter of my life, a world away from the life I chronicled in the previous journal. For the moment I look at this as my personal yet public diary more than anything else, and time will tell what direction it ends up taking.

4. Explore possibilities of supplemental income from part-time work on nights and weekends or from freelance writing. The buzz has it that Disneyland may finally start hiring for part-time weekend positions next month after nearly a year-long freeze on such positions, so I will certainly be looking into that aggressively. When and if GayWired returns with its new ownership and likely new style and content, I have made clear my desire to be a part of what sounds to me like a much improved publication far more suited to my taste and ambitions with writing. And I don't suppose I have anything at this point to lose by continuing to prod my former editor, who now edits Advocate.com, to take me on in some freelance capacity, especially since I actually really want to write for that particular site (as opposed to merely writing whatever for whomever for the money and exposure). I'd rather be a broken record that gets noticed than deferential, overly polite and ignored.

5. Start saving for various special treats, such as a trip to NYC to witness the earth-shattering diverging of my two favorite human beings, by which of course I mean the upcoming revival of Stephen Sondheim's A Little Night Music, starring...Catherine Zeta-Jones. Because it occurs to me that although unlike some of my friends and acquaintances I do not have the means to pursue my passions wherever and whenever they might occur, there is for everyone that one person or event or place for whom/which a person will do whatever it takes and make sacrifices he would otherwise never imagine. That's only human; just because the only time I've followed a pipe dream like that ended up in incredible disaster doesn't mean all such departures from every comfort zone I have in search of something beyond my limited notions of the possible will have such results. And if that isn't a perfectly legitimate splurge, especially if made possible by my own newfound financial responsibility, I don't know what is.

So there it is: I am officially resigning from eternal poverty, overdraft quicksand and personal irresponsibility, effective just about immediately. My reward, should I succeed, besides of course the bliss of financial stability, will be the love of my life looking out into the audience directly into my eyes while singing "Send in the Clowns." Yep, that'll do for an incentive.

Oh Em Gee, Did I, Like, Just Go Back to Fourth Grade?

This is just too amazing not to document somehow.

I was chatting online with a few guys, one of whom was decently attractive-looking but had almost no info and no paid membership (red flags 1 and 2) and was extremely pushy and soon crossed over into overselling, right about the time I had invited another guy (who unlike the former seemed mature, relaxed and potentially fun) to hang out, which I told the pushy guy so to provide a reason for not following through on hypothetical interest and therefore not come off as a flake. He wrote back and said I ought to cancel on the other guy in favor of himself, which I told him I didn't want to do, and he retorted something about the ludicrousness of me thinking the guy I'd made plans with was hotter than he was, and that he supposed I'd never know in that case. I felt no need to dignify that predictable reaction with further response, but a few minutes later, he did, in the form of this:

well dude to be honest you kinda look like a
little fem and i really like to fuck other
masculine dudes like myself so it probably wouldnt
have worked out anyway goodluck though

Normally I'd just laugh to myself and be done with it, but my anti-confrontational instinct, normally on overdrive, had apparently stepped out for a cigarette break, allowing me to for once put in an ounce more effort for the final word. I am at an utter lack of regret for it too.

Oh wow, an insult at me to make yourself feel better, I haven't seen that trick since elementary school. Looks like I really missed out on a real winner here. My loss.

Grow up, dude, seriously.

Game, set, match.