This Filthy World

I just got back in from seeing John Waters' one man show, "This Filthy World." It was great, and I wish I would have known last week that three seats for the seminar he'll be doing tomorrow morning would open up. I could have asked for the day off. Instead, I'll be outside the city having not nearly as much fun. I should go into far more detail, but those won't be fully imprinted until I've reminisced far too many times with fellow attendees. Among the highlights was learning that one of his favorite directors, if not his absolute favorite, is Joseph Losey who, if I haven't already mentioned my affinity for his work here, is also on my short list. My friend Devon intends to ask him about Boom tomorrow; he should also mention Secret Ceremony.

Other highlights:

I learned what a blossom is in certain vernacular circles.

A lovely idea for getting your young girls to stay away from pregnancy.

An awesome quote I think I'll muddle, but someone will correct me. He mentioned Michael Jackson and how Jackson has a burn unit in his house that is full of children. We were asked to imagine being a child in that burn unit, looking up at a little window and "seeing Michael Jackson up there dressed like Joan Crawford. He comes down the stairs and stands next to you, 'Does it hurt? Would you like some ointment?' And he pulls out his flaccid, polka-dotted penis and drops an oily load on your leg." How can you beat imagery like that?

I also have three new goals in life thanks to John Waters (listed in order of likelihood):

1. Touch myself while voting.
2. Have sex on Waters' grave.
3. Steal John Waters' body.

With three new goals for life, I'd say this evening went rather well.