Among their other children's shows, Elden Street does an annual show called "Something Different," which is fables and fairy tales from around the world, told by a troup of six or seven actors in a fun and high-energy style. It's theater for kids, so there's at least one chase through the theater and the house. This year's stories included "The Tiger and the Pit," "The Tortoise and the Hare," "Hansel and Gretel," and "Peter Cottontail."
7-year-old Samantha and I headed out with the necessities for the day - I had the car keys and she had her Disney Princess Ariel cell phone (which was much admired at the theater) and $10 in "mad money," provided by Stacey. She took a call on the Toll Road - from Krista, I think - and explained that "I'm going to see a play, so I can't talk right now. I'll call you *after* the play." Krista is probably still waiting for her return call.
Sam likes to sit in the front row, so we got there nice and early, which gave us time to hang out with Mary Ann and Sally, something I always enjoy. This also meant that Sam got to learn about headsets,which will serve her well when she becomes a Stage Manager. She also got introduced to Dave in the lobby (where he was avoiding vocal warm-ups) and he was informed of her Stage Management tendencies.
We took our seats at 10:42 and the first "how soon?" question happened at 10:45. We were joined in the front row by Ashley and her Mom. Sam was showing Ashley her cell phone and mad money and asked me what "mad money" was, so I explained about having enough money to get home if one gets mad at one's date, which led to a discussion among the four of us about how old is old enough to date. Sam opined that 16 is a good age. Ashley - who is nearly 5 - said that she already *has* a boyfriend. (Tragically, this relationship is doomed, as Ashley and her family are moving to Connecticut soon.)
Sam asked at about 4-minute intervals when the show was going to start. I told her that it would start after Miss Holly closed the curtains at the door and the lights went down over the audience, which happened at 11:08. So, basically, Sam and Ashley were pretty darn patient: 10:42 - 11:08 is a long time to wait for something to start. (Next time we'll remember to bring one of her books.) After the show, Dave asked Sam if they'd missed any cues and she said, "Well, you started 8 minutes late." (Okay, in the interests of full disclosure, she wasn't wearing a watch and I was, so she got that piece of info from me. At 11:08. She passed it on to Dave over an hour later. I stand by my assessment of her theater future.)
The show was just terrific. Lots of energy, lots of jokes - both good jokes and dumb jokes - for the kids and the adults, and engaging actors. I think that "Hansel and Gretel" was my favorite of the day, simply for the sight of Dave in a big, pink, fluffy skirt with matching hair thing. (And gentlemen in England now a-bed shall think themselves accursed they were not here to see Dave in the big, pink, fluffy skirt with matching hair thing.)
Director Holly was committed to cross casting, so the man in the story of the tiger in the pit was played by a woman, the tree was played by a human, etc. And in "Hansel and Gretel," the woodsman was played by a woman as were Hansel and Gretel. Vivian - the woodman's spoiled, nasty fiancee - was played by Dave in the aforemetioned BPFSWMHT. (Note: guys ~ community theater is an excellent way to meet women. Just keep in mind that you may be doing it while wearing a BPFSWMHT.)
After the show, Sam asked Holly if she could go backstage because she got a backstage tour her first time there and as a future stage manager she needs all the behind the scenes info she can get. Holly refused on the (completely legitimate) grounds that the evening shows props were making the backstage area a bit of a hazard, not to mention that Sam might be a hazard to the props... So Sam found Sally and got a tour of the booth. (Another reason to keep bringing her - I'd never been in the places she's getting toured through. Thanks, Sam!) And she got to climb down the circular staircase, too.
And then it was off to McDonalds. Sam, it seems, can navigate the mile-with-four-turns to the McDonalds after having been there twice before. Another data point for that whole Stage Manager thing. Stage Managers are filled to the brim with useful information. We split a couple of Mighty Kids meals and headed home.
The Reluctant Dragon goes up in June. I've already invited Sam.
18 April 2005
15 April 2005
No creepier than the rest of modern life, I guess
Deb sent me a link to something called ZabaSearch this afternoon. And like a lot of "How to be a Stalker from the comfort of your own home" sites, you just type in a name and state, hit search, and you're provided with a list of possible hits. ZabaSearch gives you the name, as much as they know of the birthdate, address, and phone number. Click on the name and you can "search the web" for further information, click on the address and you can see a satellite image of the neighborhood. Part of the "search the web" feature is a link to an image search.
So just for fun, after I typed in my own name, I typed in the names of a few other people. I was able to retrieve photos of folks I barely know, addresses of same, some date-of-birth info. Most of the stuff I got was about what I'd expect, some was educational. (Hmmmm. I didn't realize she was older than me.....)
But, you know, outside of feeling like a minor Law and Order character for a few minutes ("Interesting. Can you open his e-mails for us?" "Sure, this system is pretty simple." "Thanks - hey, Ed - look at this!"), most of this same stuff is available many, many places on the web. Heck, as a comparison, a few seconds with Google Image Search gave me the company name, address, and job title of the wife of a friend. I can find out on line how much my neighbors pay for their houses. AOL is happy to tell me when my buddies are on line - in fact, AOL used to tell me how long they'd been on line, so I'd know at a glance if Mollie had been on for 10 minutes or 3 hours. And AOL will still tell me if an e-mail I've sent to another AOL member has been read or not. They aren't yet able to tell me "yep, read that, and deleted it, so forget getting an answer," but that day will come.
There is, theoretically, an opt out on ZabaSearch, but - again - the information is already out there. The only way to truly opt out is to have an unlisted phone number and no e-mail or webpages and to work for a company that doesn't believe in posting its staff's pictures on the internet. Creeped out as I am by the thought of anyone with a few bucks and some idle curiosity (or not so idle) ordering a "background check" on me, there's not that much I can do about it. So I'm going to keep my paranoia in reasonable check.
We don't yet live in glass houses, but, thanks to the web, we all have great big picture windows. And no curtains.
Wave to the people - they're watching you!
So just for fun, after I typed in my own name, I typed in the names of a few other people. I was able to retrieve photos of folks I barely know, addresses of same, some date-of-birth info. Most of the stuff I got was about what I'd expect, some was educational. (Hmmmm. I didn't realize she was older than me.....)
But, you know, outside of feeling like a minor Law and Order character for a few minutes ("Interesting. Can you open his e-mails for us?" "Sure, this system is pretty simple." "Thanks - hey, Ed - look at this!"), most of this same stuff is available many, many places on the web. Heck, as a comparison, a few seconds with Google Image Search gave me the company name, address, and job title of the wife of a friend. I can find out on line how much my neighbors pay for their houses. AOL is happy to tell me when my buddies are on line - in fact, AOL used to tell me how long they'd been on line, so I'd know at a glance if Mollie had been on for 10 minutes or 3 hours. And AOL will still tell me if an e-mail I've sent to another AOL member has been read or not. They aren't yet able to tell me "yep, read that, and deleted it, so forget getting an answer," but that day will come.
There is, theoretically, an opt out on ZabaSearch, but - again - the information is already out there. The only way to truly opt out is to have an unlisted phone number and no e-mail or webpages and to work for a company that doesn't believe in posting its staff's pictures on the internet. Creeped out as I am by the thought of anyone with a few bucks and some idle curiosity (or not so idle) ordering a "background check" on me, there's not that much I can do about it. So I'm going to keep my paranoia in reasonable check.
We don't yet live in glass houses, but, thanks to the web, we all have great big picture windows. And no curtains.
Wave to the people - they're watching you!
13 April 2005
Just a little heads up
I adore finding The Flibbertigibbet on people's blogroll. Outside of the being recognized as an actor off-stage (which has happened to me), finding a link to me - me - ME is the coolest thing ever.
So I'm going to return the compliment and update my own blogroll, which is where the heads up comes in. If I read you on a regular basis, you could end up on my blogroll. If you don't wish to be there because you'd prefer that strangers not read your stuff or whatever, just drop me a note and ask me not to list you.
So I'm going to return the compliment and update my own blogroll, which is where the heads up comes in. If I read you on a regular basis, you could end up on my blogroll. If you don't wish to be there because you'd prefer that strangers not read your stuff or whatever, just drop me a note and ask me not to list you.
Why David won't be the very first person I thank when I win a Tony
Because he's only willing to stipulate that I'm the finest actress of my generation if we narrow the definition of "my generation" to the 24-hour period in which I was born.
I will thank him, of course. Probably second or third.
I am so put upon.
I will thank him, of course. Probably second or third.
I am so put upon.
12 April 2005
Heading for the pokey
David in Steamboat is raising money for MD - at least that's the excuse he gives for his upcoming incarceration.
He seems like a good guy, so I'm going to chip in to release him back into society. Society can thank me later.
http://turningyourorbitaround.blogspot.com/
He seems like a good guy, so I'm going to chip in to release him back into society. Society can thank me later.
http://turningyourorbitaround.blogspot.com/
Brush up your Shakespeare
From today's Writer's Almanac. And while they may be the Jeopardy! plays, I'm still glad that I recognized each of them because otherwise the Professional Organization of English Majors would rip off my epaulettes.
(Jeopardy! uses Ockham's Razor - the most obvious answer is usually the correct one. So for years some of my friends and I have referred to obvious answers as "Jeopardy! answers.")
"Shakespearean Sonnet" by R. S. Gwynn.
With a first line taken from the tv listings
A man is haunted by his father's ghost.
Boy meets girl while feuding families fight.
A Scottish king is murdered by his host.
Two couples get lost on a summer night.
A hunchback murders all who block his way.
A ruler's rivals plot against his life.
A fat man and a prince make rebels pay.
A noble Moor has doubts about his wife.
An English king decides to conquer France.
A duke learns that his best friend is a she.
A forest sets the scene for this romance.
An old man and his daughters disagree.
A Roman leader makes a big mistake.
A sexy queen is bitten by a snake.
(Jeopardy! uses Ockham's Razor - the most obvious answer is usually the correct one. So for years some of my friends and I have referred to obvious answers as "Jeopardy! answers.")
"Shakespearean Sonnet" by R. S. Gwynn.
With a first line taken from the tv listings
A man is haunted by his father's ghost.
Boy meets girl while feuding families fight.
A Scottish king is murdered by his host.
Two couples get lost on a summer night.
A hunchback murders all who block his way.
A ruler's rivals plot against his life.
A fat man and a prince make rebels pay.
A noble Moor has doubts about his wife.
An English king decides to conquer France.
A duke learns that his best friend is a she.
A forest sets the scene for this romance.
An old man and his daughters disagree.
A Roman leader makes a big mistake.
A sexy queen is bitten by a snake.
11 April 2005
Just for Brett
Brett believes that I see people from my high school everywhere I go. Sort of like a Sixth Sense for Blair grads. So here's another one.
I was in the grocery store this evening, picking up a few things and noticed this tall, red-haired man, who looked vaguely familiar. "Boy," I thought to myself, "that sure looks like Charles." We ended up in the same check-out line. He was wearing a lanyard with a badge and according to the badge, it's the same Charles, alright. He's a grad student at Maryland. I'm guessing in one of the "really hard" sciences.
(Of course, the worst day for Brett in that respect was when Olendar brought someone to a party at Brett and Cate's and I looked familiar to her. In Brett's own house, I ran into someone I knew in high school. Really, no where is safe.)
I was in the grocery store this evening, picking up a few things and noticed this tall, red-haired man, who looked vaguely familiar. "Boy," I thought to myself, "that sure looks like Charles." We ended up in the same check-out line. He was wearing a lanyard with a badge and according to the badge, it's the same Charles, alright. He's a grad student at Maryland. I'm guessing in one of the "really hard" sciences.
(Of course, the worst day for Brett in that respect was when Olendar brought someone to a party at Brett and Cate's and I looked familiar to her. In Brett's own house, I ran into someone I knew in high school. Really, no where is safe.)
Outside of Google, possibly my best research tool
Savoynet is - ostensibly - an unmoderated electronic mailing list dedicated to discussion of W. S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan, the operas they wrote, British culture and musical theater of their time, and related matters. Our listowner, Marc, does his level best to keep "related matters" reasonably narrow, but now again something that is pretty much off-topic, but still pretty darned interesting wanders in. Today it was "glass records."
Savoynetter David posted, in response to a question about glass records:
I learn something new every day, I swear.
Savoynetter David posted, in response to a question about glass records:
In the rec.antiques.radio+phono newsgroup, Jim Mueller said in 1998:
It sounds like [glass records are] "instantaneous" records. There were two kinds (AFAIK, I'm not an expert). The cheap ones had a paper core with lacquer coatings while the good ones had an aluminum core. They were used with home recording equipment to make records that could be played immediately, just like we use cassette tapes now. Audiodisc was one of the brands that made these.
Cutting a record requires a lot more torque than playing one so the turntables for this purpose had an off center drive pin to ensure that the disk didn't slip. This pin fit into one of the extra holes you mention. There's no magic to three holes, one is enough.
Some of the recorders cut in the conventional way, from the outside in. However, some did it the other way, starting at the center. Try both to find the one that works.
Since these were recordable records, they are soft and easily damaged. If you have any thought of preserving them, play them with a modern low tracking force player. Even then, their life will be a lot shorter than conventional records.
You can find these disks with all sorts of stuff on them. I have a pair that seem to be a voice letter someone sent home during WWII.
If you find one with no grooves, that means it hasn't been recorded yet. Also, during WWII, these disks were hard to get so some inventive souls found a way to record on used X-ray film!
I learn something new every day, I swear.
How to torture English people
I auditioned on Thursday for Round and Round the Garden and, as it's an English comedy, English accents are required. Clare was being kind enough to run the auditions and Clare is English, so she was trapped in a room listening to Americans bringing out their very best "I grew up watching Monty Pyton and I love Ab Fab" attempts to sound English. We ranged from very, very horrible to not all that bad to pretty good. And the director was wise enough to say that he was more interested in acting choices than in vowel sounds, so if maintaining an accent this early on was an issue, just don't worry about it.
Years ago I auditioned for another English accent required show. I could either act or maintain what I thought sounded like an English accent. And even then, it wandered all over Great Britian and up and down the American Atlantic coast. I vowed to improve. So I listen careful to any one I meet (or hear on the radio) whose accent differs from mine. Sometimes I don't remember what they said, just that the word "combatent" got pronounced "COM-ba-tent" instead of "com-BAT-ent."
And I got better. I'm still not great, but on a 1 - 10 scale, I'd give myself a 6: I miss the most obvious traps, but I'm not fooling anyone who actually has the Queen on their money. And my accent isn't specifically located, i.e., it's not Nottingham or Cambridge, or what-have-you. I basically just go for clear vowels and short consonents. And if I'm ever cast in something that requires a very specific accent, I'll beg a boon from one of my England-based Savoynet friends (Bob is Welsh, f'rinstance) and ask them to tape my lines so that I can copy their accent.
I mentioned to Clare later that listening to us all evening must have been special kind of hell for her. And while she didn't say so, the deep breath and lack of comment was all the confirmation I needed.
Years ago I auditioned for another English accent required show. I could either act or maintain what I thought sounded like an English accent. And even then, it wandered all over Great Britian and up and down the American Atlantic coast. I vowed to improve. So I listen careful to any one I meet (or hear on the radio) whose accent differs from mine. Sometimes I don't remember what they said, just that the word "combatent" got pronounced "COM-ba-tent" instead of "com-BAT-ent."
And I got better. I'm still not great, but on a 1 - 10 scale, I'd give myself a 6: I miss the most obvious traps, but I'm not fooling anyone who actually has the Queen on their money. And my accent isn't specifically located, i.e., it's not Nottingham or Cambridge, or what-have-you. I basically just go for clear vowels and short consonents. And if I'm ever cast in something that requires a very specific accent, I'll beg a boon from one of my England-based Savoynet friends (Bob is Welsh, f'rinstance) and ask them to tape my lines so that I can copy their accent.
I mentioned to Clare later that listening to us all evening must have been special kind of hell for her. And while she didn't say so, the deep breath and lack of comment was all the confirmation I needed.
10 April 2005
Bitter - table for one!
Okay, I stole that from Bridget, but, damn, it comes in handy.
I find that when I don't get something I want I wander around singing You Can't Always Get What You Want to myself. (And following the example I got from The Big Chill, I also want it played at my funeral.)
But the best way to find the entrance ramp for the Getting Over It and Moving On Highway is to recall my favorite Matt Groening cartoon. This guy - or very large, bug-eyed rabbit, I forget which - is spawled on his couch answering quiz show questions. He is obviously a bitter, disgruntled, drunken slacker. Finally he yells at the tv "Idiot! Those prizes are rightfully mine!" So I chant that few times in between choruses of the Rolling Stones. It really works.
But - and this is a big but {fail to insert big butt quip here, just don't do it}, one of the really positive things about The Audition Where I Was Brilliant, The Finest Actress of My Generation, and Yet Not Cast Because the Director Went Another Way is the amount of positive feedback I've gotten, both first and second hand. So no matter what else, thank you and merci to Andy, Bill, Dave, Laura, Lisa, Sally, and a couple of others. I really owe you guys.
....but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need....
I find that when I don't get something I want I wander around singing You Can't Always Get What You Want to myself. (And following the example I got from The Big Chill, I also want it played at my funeral.)
But the best way to find the entrance ramp for the Getting Over It and Moving On Highway is to recall my favorite Matt Groening cartoon. This guy - or very large, bug-eyed rabbit, I forget which - is spawled on his couch answering quiz show questions. He is obviously a bitter, disgruntled, drunken slacker. Finally he yells at the tv "Idiot! Those prizes are rightfully mine!" So I chant that few times in between choruses of the Rolling Stones. It really works.
But - and this is a big but {fail to insert big butt quip here, just don't do it}, one of the really positive things about The Audition Where I Was Brilliant, The Finest Actress of My Generation, and Yet Not Cast Because the Director Went Another Way is the amount of positive feedback I've gotten, both first and second hand. So no matter what else, thank you and merci to Andy, Bill, Dave, Laura, Lisa, Sally, and a couple of others. I really owe you guys.
....but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need....
09 April 2005
Because Bill is also a guy
Independence closes on April 30th.
I have a matinee on the 24th. You don't.
I have a matinee on the 24th. You don't.
08 April 2005
Solace
I auditioned recently for a show and, although called back, wasn't cast. Here are the two songs (well, one and part of another) that have been running through my head since.
From The Mikado by W.S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan (1885)
(I won't describe the entire plot, but, basically, Ko-Ko, Pitti-Sing, and Pooh-Bah are bewailing a nasty turn of events.)
The Mikado:
See how the Fates their gifts allot,
For A is happy--B is not.
Yet B is worthy, I dare say,
Of more prosperity than A!
Ko-Ko, Pitti-Sing, and Pooh-Bah:
Is B more worthy?
Katisha:
I should say
He's worth a great deal more than A.
Ensemble:
Yet A is happy!Oh, so happy!
Laughing, Ha! ha!
Chaffing, Ha! ha!
Nectar quaffing, Ha! ha! ha!
Ever joyous, ever gay,
Happy, undeserving A!
Ko-Ko, Pooh-Bah, Pitti-Sing:
If I were Fortune--which I'm not--
B should enjoy A's happy lot,
And A should die in miserie--
That is, assuming I am B.
The Mikado and Katisha:
But should A perish?
Ko-Ko, Pooh-Bah, Pitti-Sing:
That should be
(Of course, assuming I am B).
B should be happy!Oh, so happy!
Laughing, Ha! ha!
Chaffing, Ha! ha!
Nectar quaffing, Ha! ha! ha!
But condemned to die is he,
Wretched meritorious B!
From Duran Duran's "Ordinary World":
Papers in the roadside
Tell of suffering and greed
Here today, forgot tomorrow
here besides the news
Of holy war and holy need
Ours is just a little sorrow
It's all gone away
I love the Duran Duran because it's the only pop song I can think of that points out that our tragedies are, compared to so many other people's, just unhappiness, not earth-rending at all. And on the plus side, I'll get to hear Maureen sing the first one because she did get cast in her first lead in the show for which she auditioned. Good on ya, Maureen!
From The Mikado by W.S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan (1885)
(I won't describe the entire plot, but, basically, Ko-Ko, Pitti-Sing, and Pooh-Bah are bewailing a nasty turn of events.)
The Mikado:
See how the Fates their gifts allot,
For A is happy--B is not.
Yet B is worthy, I dare say,
Of more prosperity than A!
Ko-Ko, Pitti-Sing, and Pooh-Bah:
Is B more worthy?
Katisha:
I should say
He's worth a great deal more than A.
Ensemble:
Yet A is happy!Oh, so happy!
Laughing, Ha! ha!
Chaffing, Ha! ha!
Nectar quaffing, Ha! ha! ha!
Ever joyous, ever gay,
Happy, undeserving A!
Ko-Ko, Pooh-Bah, Pitti-Sing:
If I were Fortune--which I'm not--
B should enjoy A's happy lot,
And A should die in miserie--
That is, assuming I am B.
The Mikado and Katisha:
But should A perish?
Ko-Ko, Pooh-Bah, Pitti-Sing:
That should be
(Of course, assuming I am B).
B should be happy!Oh, so happy!
Laughing, Ha! ha!
Chaffing, Ha! ha!
Nectar quaffing, Ha! ha! ha!
But condemned to die is he,
Wretched meritorious B!
From Duran Duran's "Ordinary World":
Papers in the roadside
Tell of suffering and greed
Here today, forgot tomorrow
here besides the news
Of holy war and holy need
Ours is just a little sorrow
It's all gone away
I love the Duran Duran because it's the only pop song I can think of that points out that our tragedies are, compared to so many other people's, just unhappiness, not earth-rending at all. And on the plus side, I'll get to hear Maureen sing the first one because she did get cast in her first lead in the show for which she auditioned. Good on ya, Maureen!
Because Casey is a guy, too
Okay, so last year I was the production minion for a show at the Stage. And because I liked the guys in the show and because I liked the production, I saw quite a few of the 14 performances. (To David's unending gratitude, I am no longer off book for most of the text and, therefore, no longer quote it incessantly.) Anyway, the guys were usually pretty glad to see me - I was Mary Richards to their Lou Grant, Ted Baxter, and Murray Slaughter. Or not, but I like the image. Perhaps I was Anybodys to their Riff, Tony, and Action. No matter.
After one Sunday mat, Dave was walking me to my car and he asked me - as he asked after every performance - "Will we see you again?" I looked at him for a moment and asked back "You ask me that every time you see me. Why do you continue to ask the question when you don't listen to the answer?"
"Leta, I'm a guy. What do guys think about?" "Uhm...food, sports, and sex." "Right answer, wrong order."
A few weeks later I was asking my friend Michael to explain something to me and he started his explanation with "Well, what do men think about?" and I told him the above anecdote. He actually said - before I could - the "right answer, wrong order" line. (And not - as many of you are thinking - because I'd told him the story so often that he's memorized it. Ha!)
What brings all this to mind? Sweet, darling Casey is in a show. And every time I talk to him - since he was cast a couple of months ago - every time I talk to him he asks if I'm coming to see it. And I've dutifully told him that yes, David and Maura and I will be there on the 10th. That, yes, I have a reservation, because, yes, I know that the show is selling out. (I was starting to feel like Molly Bloom with all those "yeses.") So I told him the story. And while he says he's not that much into sports, he gets the point. Casey has sworn that between now and Sunday, he will remember that I am coming. On the 10th. With David. And Maura. And reservations.
After one Sunday mat, Dave was walking me to my car and he asked me - as he asked after every performance - "Will we see you again?" I looked at him for a moment and asked back "You ask me that every time you see me. Why do you continue to ask the question when you don't listen to the answer?"
"Leta, I'm a guy. What do guys think about?" "Uhm...food, sports, and sex." "Right answer, wrong order."
A few weeks later I was asking my friend Michael to explain something to me and he started his explanation with "Well, what do men think about?" and I told him the above anecdote. He actually said - before I could - the "right answer, wrong order" line. (And not - as many of you are thinking - because I'd told him the story so often that he's memorized it. Ha!)
What brings all this to mind? Sweet, darling Casey is in a show. And every time I talk to him - since he was cast a couple of months ago - every time I talk to him he asks if I'm coming to see it. And I've dutifully told him that yes, David and Maura and I will be there on the 10th. That, yes, I have a reservation, because, yes, I know that the show is selling out. (I was starting to feel like Molly Bloom with all those "yeses.") So I told him the story. And while he says he's not that much into sports, he gets the point. Casey has sworn that between now and Sunday, he will remember that I am coming. On the 10th. With David. And Maura. And reservations.
This can't be true
I've had a couple of occasions in the last few weeks where I have thought that I am the least crazy person I know.
And I am frequently a total mess. So my math must be off somewhere.
And I am frequently a total mess. So my math must be off somewhere.
Filling the Godzilla poetry gap
Bill Chance attended a poetry workshop and wrote what is probably the finest poetry I've ever read about 600' tall, fire-breathing lizard.
http://www.dailyepiphany.net/blog/
http://www.dailyepiphany.net/blog/
07 April 2005
Okay, I really *don't* need any more t-shirts
But I'm thinking of having one made. It'll quote something Paul said months ago and which I repeat to the computer every time I see that one of the blogs I consistently check has had no recent entries:
Dude! Update!
Words to live by, my friends, words to live by.
Dude! Update!
Words to live by, my friends, words to live by.
Awake
At 3:00 am, I woke up. No reason, really, just woke up. It happens when I'm stressed or for no apparent reason.
I've learned that lying there with my eyes closed will get me back to sleep about as fast (and much more boringly, with lots of thoughts of "dammit, I'm awake") as getting up and doing something. I'll be awake until about 6:30 or 7:00 and then be wiped out when the alarm goes off at 7:20. And I'll be tired all the next day. Which really is too bad, because I got in late on Tuesday night and got to bed around 2:00 am, so I'm already short sleeped.
And my boss just loves it when I nap at work, especially at the front desk....
I've learned that lying there with my eyes closed will get me back to sleep about as fast (and much more boringly, with lots of thoughts of "dammit, I'm awake") as getting up and doing something. I'll be awake until about 6:30 or 7:00 and then be wiped out when the alarm goes off at 7:20. And I'll be tired all the next day. Which really is too bad, because I got in late on Tuesday night and got to bed around 2:00 am, so I'm already short sleeped.
And my boss just loves it when I nap at work, especially at the front desk....
06 April 2005
Embracing my inner priss
Hi. My name is Leta. I am ... a priss. (Hi, Leta!)
I admit it; I'm a priss. A girly-girl. I run and throw "like a girl." I'm not fond of getting dirty. I don't like eating watermelon from the rind because it's sticky. I refer to my undergarments by old-fashioned, faintly ridiculous terms like "underpinnings." I don't wear big, clunky boots unless I'm hiking; don't mind wearing pantihose; like make-up and perfume; and like to wear skirts. I lift my skirts when climbing stairs - even knee-length skirts - giving the odd impression that I believe that I am likely to trip over them. When I express shock, dismay, what-have-you, my hand flies to my throat and my fingers rest on my collarbones for the next couple of sentences.
I refer to my favorite beverage as "a nice, hot cup of tea." I read cozy murder mysteries. Unlike my mother and sister, I have never enjoyed fart jokes. I generally don't belch when people can hear me. I have no problem asking men to open jars after my best efforts have failed. I hate carrying heavy stuff. I give great back-rubs to both men and women. I'm very tactile and touch people pretty often as I talk to them. I call people "Sweetie," and "Honey" more often than a Baltimore diner waitress.
My condo may not relect it often enough, but I enjoy cleaning and I regard the tidiness (or lack thereof) of my living spaces as a reflection on me. I'm territorial about my kitchen and, although I can both use a power screwdriver and clean a kitchen, if I had to chose which one people thought I was incapable of doing, I'd chose the former. It bothers me that David's house is both cleaner and better decorated than mine.
I don't mind spiders and snakes, but I don't like stepping on bugs, especially big ones that make noise when stepped on. I believe in catch-and-release when it comes to tiny wildlife (like bugs). I coo over babies and small children and cute animals. I flirt with most living humans and I bat my eyelashes when I want something. I talk a lot and most of my conversation is, um, not deep.
Let's be clear, though. I don't decorate with angels or embroidered up-lifting twee sayings. "Floral" and "ruffled" aren't featured in either my decor or my wardrobe. I hate fussy clothing (like blouses) and love comfy clothes (like sweaters). My favorite clothes are from The Territory Ahead, Eddie Bauer, and Victoria's Secret. I think that the door should be held by the first person who gets to it, regardless of sex.
In any generation except the one of which I'm a member, none of this would be remarkable, but I grew up in one of the transitions between the girly-girl and the all-around-competant-woman. The guys I know really admire women who wear big boots and use power tools. Especially women who own their own power tools and bring them to strike. (I'd rather clean the dressing rooms than disassemble the set, frankly.) The day of the girly-girl has given way to the day of the grrrl. Like dial telephones and hand-written letters, I'm a quaint holdover, but not cool.
And - outside of wanting to be all things to all people - I'm okay with that. Finally.
I admit it; I'm a priss. A girly-girl. I run and throw "like a girl." I'm not fond of getting dirty. I don't like eating watermelon from the rind because it's sticky. I refer to my undergarments by old-fashioned, faintly ridiculous terms like "underpinnings." I don't wear big, clunky boots unless I'm hiking; don't mind wearing pantihose; like make-up and perfume; and like to wear skirts. I lift my skirts when climbing stairs - even knee-length skirts - giving the odd impression that I believe that I am likely to trip over them. When I express shock, dismay, what-have-you, my hand flies to my throat and my fingers rest on my collarbones for the next couple of sentences.
I refer to my favorite beverage as "a nice, hot cup of tea." I read cozy murder mysteries. Unlike my mother and sister, I have never enjoyed fart jokes. I generally don't belch when people can hear me. I have no problem asking men to open jars after my best efforts have failed. I hate carrying heavy stuff. I give great back-rubs to both men and women. I'm very tactile and touch people pretty often as I talk to them. I call people "Sweetie," and "Honey" more often than a Baltimore diner waitress.
My condo may not relect it often enough, but I enjoy cleaning and I regard the tidiness (or lack thereof) of my living spaces as a reflection on me. I'm territorial about my kitchen and, although I can both use a power screwdriver and clean a kitchen, if I had to chose which one people thought I was incapable of doing, I'd chose the former. It bothers me that David's house is both cleaner and better decorated than mine.
I don't mind spiders and snakes, but I don't like stepping on bugs, especially big ones that make noise when stepped on. I believe in catch-and-release when it comes to tiny wildlife (like bugs). I coo over babies and small children and cute animals. I flirt with most living humans and I bat my eyelashes when I want something. I talk a lot and most of my conversation is, um, not deep.
Let's be clear, though. I don't decorate with angels or embroidered up-lifting twee sayings. "Floral" and "ruffled" aren't featured in either my decor or my wardrobe. I hate fussy clothing (like blouses) and love comfy clothes (like sweaters). My favorite clothes are from The Territory Ahead, Eddie Bauer, and Victoria's Secret. I think that the door should be held by the first person who gets to it, regardless of sex.
In any generation except the one of which I'm a member, none of this would be remarkable, but I grew up in one of the transitions between the girly-girl and the all-around-competant-woman. The guys I know really admire women who wear big boots and use power tools. Especially women who own their own power tools and bring them to strike. (I'd rather clean the dressing rooms than disassemble the set, frankly.) The day of the girly-girl has given way to the day of the grrrl. Like dial telephones and hand-written letters, I'm a quaint holdover, but not cool.
And - outside of wanting to be all things to all people - I'm okay with that. Finally.
The Quotable Me
***
After being asked if I was going to Buxton, England this year to attend the annual G&S Festival, I replied that I couldn't because "[my mortgage holder] won't let me, for they are a vain and jealous god."
***
Lisa and Laura and I were sitting together at an audition recently. The room was filled with people with elevated blood pressure, taking things much too seriously. Usually in this sort of situation, we try to remind ourselves that it's only a play and that the worst thing that could happen would be not getting cast. So, I turned to Laura and said, "So, what's the worst they can do to us? ... Well, actually, drag us through the streets behind a huge carriage, covered in tar and feathers, with signs stuck to our butts that say 'Has no talent and wasted our time.'" The three of us found this idea to be pretty stress relieving. Lisa even asked on her way out if she had a big sign on her butt.
***
In an e-mail exchange with Laura and Sally, after Sally decried her busy schedule and promised to have more available time in the near future, I wrote back:
"You know, that very phrase 'Things should start to calm down for me in another month' is probably the biggest lie I tell on a consistent basis."
Admittedly, this more a statement of fact than an amusing quip, but I'm going to quote myself, I might as well go for it.
After being asked if I was going to Buxton, England this year to attend the annual G&S Festival, I replied that I couldn't because "[my mortgage holder] won't let me, for they are a vain and jealous god."
***
Lisa and Laura and I were sitting together at an audition recently. The room was filled with people with elevated blood pressure, taking things much too seriously. Usually in this sort of situation, we try to remind ourselves that it's only a play and that the worst thing that could happen would be not getting cast. So, I turned to Laura and said, "So, what's the worst they can do to us? ... Well, actually, drag us through the streets behind a huge carriage, covered in tar and feathers, with signs stuck to our butts that say 'Has no talent and wasted our time.'" The three of us found this idea to be pretty stress relieving. Lisa even asked on her way out if she had a big sign on her butt.
***
In an e-mail exchange with Laura and Sally, after Sally decried her busy schedule and promised to have more available time in the near future, I wrote back:
"You know, that very phrase 'Things should start to calm down for me in another month' is probably the biggest lie I tell on a consistent basis."
Admittedly, this more a statement of fact than an amusing quip, but I'm going to quote myself, I might as well go for it.
01 April 2005
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