THREE
I'm standing on the doorstep of the future, and I realize:
1. I've forgotten my pants.
2. I don't know how I got here.
3. The door is locked.
Why does 27 seem like:
1. Such a large number?
2. Such an old number?
3. Such a close number to 30?
I am learning that men see the phone as:
1. A way to order pizza.
2. An inconvenience.
3. The means to teach me an inordinate amount of patience.
Just because you put on a leotard:
1. Doesn't mean you're a dancer.
2. Doesn't make you look slimmer.
3. Doesn't make you graceful.
Three morally questionable things I do:
1. The occassional "borrowing" of wireless internet.
2. Speeding through school zones.
3. Pretending I don't see my dog pooping, thereby negating the use of the plastic bag I have stuffed in my pocket.
Three things I love:
1. My dog.
2. Singing.
3. Laughter...that I've caused.
Three things that annoy me:
1. The noises people make when they eat.
2. Being touched while I eat.
3. People eating off my plate.
Three wishes:
1. Smaller thighs.
2. Bigger boobs.
3. Ending world hunger, blah, blah, blah...
Three things I try to be, but will never be:
1. Neat.
2. Patient.
3. What's a good word for "not intense"?
Three reasons why this blog post is weird:
1. I'm exhausted.
2. I ate bad Chinese food.
3. There's nothing good on TV.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
My stomach feels heavy...
I like writing. I love the way I can take words and make endless combinations of nouns and verbs to communicate something. I love punctuation and structure and turns of phrase. But I do not--DO NOT--want to write any more eulogies, okay, people?
I went to a memorial service for a theatre friend this morning. I just saw him last Friday when he came to a performance of Pippin. This Thursday he was found on a trail in Marysville with a self-inflicted gun shot wound to the head. I don't know what to ask or say...I mean, "Why?" immediately comes to mind, but there's also the fear of getting answers to my questions. Maybe the one thing that made Charles give up on life will be the one thing that scares me enough to do the same. I don't know...maybe it was simpler than that, like what my friend Tim said, that maybe Charles' sweet spirit wasn't made for the hardness of this life. Either way, there is a heaviness in my middle, like a black disk, and it's pushing, pushing down on any happy thought that peeks it's head out.
Sort of like a slow motion version of the Chuck E. Cheese game "Whack-a-Mole", only a lot less cheerful...and no tickets to buy cheap, shitty toys at the counter on your way out.
So hopefully today, this will be my last eulogy for awhile...
The first time I saw Charles Bedouin was at an audition for "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" and my first thought was, "Whoa, Jon Lovitz does community theatre!" Charles was so much more cheerful than Jon, however, and every part he read over the next few days had heart and humor. He was eventually cast as the lovable Dr. Spivey...though I'm not sure the script called for Spivey to be lovable, Charles just made him that way, and inspired a very real rapport among the actors who played his patients.
I spent a lot of time with Charles backstage, and one thing I noticed about him was that he always had this little smile around the corners of his mouth that made it seem as though he was the only one hearing the punchline to a very clever joke. And while the rest of us certainly weren't the butt of the joke, we were definitely a part of it. Charles loved silly turns of phrase, putting emphasis at the completely wrong point in the sentence. He would routinely ask, "How are.........YOU?" with a tinge of Scooby Doo in the "you" and loved when you would come up with a phrase of your own to do the same to. He often would say something humorless or inane, and find it hilarious and start laughing with this Santa Claus-like guffaw (and in a way, he was a bit like a dark-skinned Santa, sans white beard and bag of toys, but full of mirth and the desire to make people happy) and then you had to laugh, because whatever joke Charles was a part of, you wanted to be a part of too.
I don't know what made my friend of such a short time decide that life was too much, but I know that if it was something he couldn't find the humor in anymore, it must have been pretty bad. I can't help but feel the joke's on us for only having known him for a few months. But I can take happiness in knowing that every memory I have of him is one of him smiling, or about to smile or thinking of a way to make someone else smile, and that's a rare thing to find in a person these days.
So, here's to Charles...thank you for happy memories, and for reminding me, even now through my tears, to smile.
I like writing. I love the way I can take words and make endless combinations of nouns and verbs to communicate something. I love punctuation and structure and turns of phrase. But I do not--DO NOT--want to write any more eulogies, okay, people?
I went to a memorial service for a theatre friend this morning. I just saw him last Friday when he came to a performance of Pippin. This Thursday he was found on a trail in Marysville with a self-inflicted gun shot wound to the head. I don't know what to ask or say...I mean, "Why?" immediately comes to mind, but there's also the fear of getting answers to my questions. Maybe the one thing that made Charles give up on life will be the one thing that scares me enough to do the same. I don't know...maybe it was simpler than that, like what my friend Tim said, that maybe Charles' sweet spirit wasn't made for the hardness of this life. Either way, there is a heaviness in my middle, like a black disk, and it's pushing, pushing down on any happy thought that peeks it's head out.
Sort of like a slow motion version of the Chuck E. Cheese game "Whack-a-Mole", only a lot less cheerful...and no tickets to buy cheap, shitty toys at the counter on your way out.
So hopefully today, this will be my last eulogy for awhile...
The first time I saw Charles Bedouin was at an audition for "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" and my first thought was, "Whoa, Jon Lovitz does community theatre!" Charles was so much more cheerful than Jon, however, and every part he read over the next few days had heart and humor. He was eventually cast as the lovable Dr. Spivey...though I'm not sure the script called for Spivey to be lovable, Charles just made him that way, and inspired a very real rapport among the actors who played his patients.
I spent a lot of time with Charles backstage, and one thing I noticed about him was that he always had this little smile around the corners of his mouth that made it seem as though he was the only one hearing the punchline to a very clever joke. And while the rest of us certainly weren't the butt of the joke, we were definitely a part of it. Charles loved silly turns of phrase, putting emphasis at the completely wrong point in the sentence. He would routinely ask, "How are.........YOU?" with a tinge of Scooby Doo in the "you" and loved when you would come up with a phrase of your own to do the same to. He often would say something humorless or inane, and find it hilarious and start laughing with this Santa Claus-like guffaw (and in a way, he was a bit like a dark-skinned Santa, sans white beard and bag of toys, but full of mirth and the desire to make people happy) and then you had to laugh, because whatever joke Charles was a part of, you wanted to be a part of too.
I don't know what made my friend of such a short time decide that life was too much, but I know that if it was something he couldn't find the humor in anymore, it must have been pretty bad. I can't help but feel the joke's on us for only having known him for a few months. But I can take happiness in knowing that every memory I have of him is one of him smiling, or about to smile or thinking of a way to make someone else smile, and that's a rare thing to find in a person these days.
So, here's to Charles...thank you for happy memories, and for reminding me, even now through my tears, to smile.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
I am not a patient person.
This gets me into trouble.
A lot.
On a different track, we may have found a dog for Jai. My friend at work had one that just wasn't adjusting well to their busy schedules, so I said we'd try taking her for a week. She's about the same size as Pip with longer black hair.
Poor Pip, he's so excited to have a sister ("Piper"...how cute is that?!?) but she's just overwhelmed right now and is not havin' it. He just keeps looking forlornly at her and trying all his best "I'm cute" tricks and the new dog is like, "Good God, if that brown dog humps me ONE MORE TIME..." I think they'll get along okay in a few days, though, once she calms down a bit and Pip remembers that there are appropriate and not-so-appropriate things to do to one's sister.
One last weekend for the show, ya slackers! Just two more performances! Christopher thought my hair was a wig! I just tried to explain that yes, my hair is really that big!
Waaaayyyyy too many exclamation points. I'm really not THAT excited.
This gets me into trouble.
A lot.
On a different track, we may have found a dog for Jai. My friend at work had one that just wasn't adjusting well to their busy schedules, so I said we'd try taking her for a week. She's about the same size as Pip with longer black hair.
Poor Pip, he's so excited to have a sister ("Piper"...how cute is that?!?) but she's just overwhelmed right now and is not havin' it. He just keeps looking forlornly at her and trying all his best "I'm cute" tricks and the new dog is like, "Good God, if that brown dog humps me ONE MORE TIME..." I think they'll get along okay in a few days, though, once she calms down a bit and Pip remembers that there are appropriate and not-so-appropriate things to do to one's sister.
One last weekend for the show, ya slackers! Just two more performances! Christopher thought my hair was a wig! I just tried to explain that yes, my hair is really that big!
Waaaayyyyy too many exclamation points. I'm really not THAT excited.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
My child is driving me insane.
What? You all didn't know I had a kid? Let me tell you a little about him...
He's about twenty-five pounds, cute as a button, energetic as all get out (okay, really, what does that mean, "all get out"?), loveable, cuddly...oh, and he loves to lick his own balls. Or the spot where his balls used to be, at least. His name is Pippin...or The Pip, or Pippi, or Pipster, or "You little bastard!!", but the latter is usually reserved for the times when he destroys molding or carpet. I heart him with all my, um, heart. But let me tell you, the last few days...
He's been hyper lately, which is to be expected, because I've been lazy and haven't been running him like I should, so I accept that some of this is my fault. One of his favorite things to do when he's real hyper is see that I'm wearing shorts, then throw his body at me forcefully and drag his claws all down my leg. He also loves to run the "track" all around the apartment, but when he's especially high-energy, he won't take the time to go around me, but will try to go between my legs or just knock me down.
But this is all "normal" hyper activity...yesterday took the cake.
Jai and I went to the North Market to pick up our lunch and then headed over to Goodale Park to eat. Pip was a perfect angel in the Market, and walked nicely on his leash, and didn't shove his nose in anyone's crotch. We get to the park, and there's no leash law there, so we let him run and water every tree in sight while we ate. He made a little dachsund friend and happily violated her under our picnic table. He frolicked and sniffed and did all those really happy things that dogs do, ending with a big, air-pawing, joyous roll in the grass. Jai and I chuckled at the insanely happy look on Pip's panting face, and made a little conversation about why dogs roll in the grass.
Dogs roll in the grass because it's instinctual. If they were in the wild, they'd roll in something to mask their scent...usually something putrid, foul, or generally stomach turning.
Pip heard the call of the wild all right.
Here he comes back to the picnic table, prancing proudly like the showdog he was meant to be (damn you, mixed parentage!) and looking at me like, "Aren't I the cutest thi--"
"Oh dear God!" I cry, as the scent of decay and deadness and all things horrid and nauseating hit my nose. The little bastard had actually found something to mask his scent...as if the scent he was currently sporting (white tea scented dog shampoo, a little of my perfume and dog sweat) just wasn't satisfactory to him as a canine. Even my hands where I touched his head had picked up the smell. I say to Jai, "And now I have to put the little bastard in my car!"
So I walk the little bastard back to the car, careful not to touch any part of him if I can help it, and I'm desperately hoping that nobody thinks it's me that smells this way. We get home and its bathtime. Two shampoos later (and many, many dirty looks from my dog, who hates all things water...yeah, he usually pees if you say, "You wanna get in the shower!?!?" and reach for him) I've got him back to "normal" dog smell, and by now, he's so exhausted, he gets right in his bed and falls asleep, looking like a perfect little angel. How could I stay mad at that?
Now, if he looked like little Daphne...that's a different story.
What? You all didn't know I had a kid? Let me tell you a little about him...
He's about twenty-five pounds, cute as a button, energetic as all get out (okay, really, what does that mean, "all get out"?), loveable, cuddly...oh, and he loves to lick his own balls. Or the spot where his balls used to be, at least. His name is Pippin...or The Pip, or Pippi, or Pipster, or "You little bastard!!", but the latter is usually reserved for the times when he destroys molding or carpet. I heart him with all my, um, heart. But let me tell you, the last few days...
He's been hyper lately, which is to be expected, because I've been lazy and haven't been running him like I should, so I accept that some of this is my fault. One of his favorite things to do when he's real hyper is see that I'm wearing shorts, then throw his body at me forcefully and drag his claws all down my leg. He also loves to run the "track" all around the apartment, but when he's especially high-energy, he won't take the time to go around me, but will try to go between my legs or just knock me down.
But this is all "normal" hyper activity...yesterday took the cake.
Jai and I went to the North Market to pick up our lunch and then headed over to Goodale Park to eat. Pip was a perfect angel in the Market, and walked nicely on his leash, and didn't shove his nose in anyone's crotch. We get to the park, and there's no leash law there, so we let him run and water every tree in sight while we ate. He made a little dachsund friend and happily violated her under our picnic table. He frolicked and sniffed and did all those really happy things that dogs do, ending with a big, air-pawing, joyous roll in the grass. Jai and I chuckled at the insanely happy look on Pip's panting face, and made a little conversation about why dogs roll in the grass.
Dogs roll in the grass because it's instinctual. If they were in the wild, they'd roll in something to mask their scent...usually something putrid, foul, or generally stomach turning.
Pip heard the call of the wild all right.
Here he comes back to the picnic table, prancing proudly like the showdog he was meant to be (damn you, mixed parentage!) and looking at me like, "Aren't I the cutest thi--"
"Oh dear God!" I cry, as the scent of decay and deadness and all things horrid and nauseating hit my nose. The little bastard had actually found something to mask his scent...as if the scent he was currently sporting (white tea scented dog shampoo, a little of my perfume and dog sweat) just wasn't satisfactory to him as a canine. Even my hands where I touched his head had picked up the smell. I say to Jai, "And now I have to put the little bastard in my car!"
So I walk the little bastard back to the car, careful not to touch any part of him if I can help it, and I'm desperately hoping that nobody thinks it's me that smells this way. We get home and its bathtime. Two shampoos later (and many, many dirty looks from my dog, who hates all things water...yeah, he usually pees if you say, "You wanna get in the shower!?!?" and reach for him) I've got him back to "normal" dog smell, and by now, he's so exhausted, he gets right in his bed and falls asleep, looking like a perfect little angel. How could I stay mad at that?
Now, if he looked like little Daphne...that's a different story.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Congratulate me.
So, a few weeks ago, I found this ad in the paper for a "public speaker" for The Bradford School. The description sounded like me to a "T" (what does that mean, exactly..."to a 'T'"?), so I called and got in for a group interview. The first part of the group interview just went over Bradford and the position, money, etc. The second part was an impromptu speech from us. I was instantly excited, because this is what I do, you know? I must have done alright, because I scored a second interview, and I aced that, as well. So, lo and behold, I'm suddenly getting paid to talk in front of people.
I've been preparing for this my entire life. My sister can attest to this...how many hours, Heather, would you say that I spent in front of the mirror per day making faces at myself? And I've always been one of those weird people who loved speech class and giving presentations in school. So, now it's all paying off!
Like I said, congratulate me. I'm amazing.
And I look really hot in a suit.
Hey! Sidebar: get your asses to see "Pippin"! Only two weekends left! (www.ltob.org).
So, a few weeks ago, I found this ad in the paper for a "public speaker" for The Bradford School. The description sounded like me to a "T" (what does that mean, exactly..."to a 'T'"?), so I called and got in for a group interview. The first part of the group interview just went over Bradford and the position, money, etc. The second part was an impromptu speech from us. I was instantly excited, because this is what I do, you know? I must have done alright, because I scored a second interview, and I aced that, as well. So, lo and behold, I'm suddenly getting paid to talk in front of people.
I've been preparing for this my entire life. My sister can attest to this...how many hours, Heather, would you say that I spent in front of the mirror per day making faces at myself? And I've always been one of those weird people who loved speech class and giving presentations in school. So, now it's all paying off!
Like I said, congratulate me. I'm amazing.
And I look really hot in a suit.
Hey! Sidebar: get your asses to see "Pippin"! Only two weekends left! (www.ltob.org).
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
I know that it's not nice to laugh at those who are less fortunate than you...but I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist.
Jai's been wanting a dog, and I'm a huge "rescue" person, so I've been perusing all the different sites and I came across this unfortunate creature. I know people say all the time, "I haven't laughed that hard in awhile!" but...
Seriously, folks, I haven't laughed that hard since the Autistic boy at work told us, loudly, that he was going to have his testacles checked to ensure he would have beautiful children.
And every time I look away, I think to myself, "This isn't nice! And it's really not THAT funny...". But then I re-look and it's all over.
Poor little Daphne...she really just wants to find her "forever home", and here I am, the calloused hag that I am, posting her poofy, homeless head for all to see.
Am I a bad person?
Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear your answer...I was laughing too hard.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Several things for today's post:
First, a rant...
Please stop putting on your profile that you "like to have fun". This is the most ridiculous statement I have ever heard, and if you have a "delete" button, I will not hesitate to use it. OF COURSE you like to have fun. If you were having "fun" and weren't enjoying yourself, then it wouldn't be classified as "fun" anymore. There isn't anyone who doesn't like to have fun, because fun by it's very nature is enjoyable. Please be more specific next time...say, "I like to go dancing with my friends" or "I really enjoy laughing myself silly when I'm drunk." I will know at this point that you're having "fun".
Second...another rant.
Please stop being rude. You are not nearly as smart as you think you are, nor are your comments being taken as "witty" or "superiorly right". You are just annoying and I want to kick you. You don't own the establishment that you put so many of your hours into...you are a volunteer, just like the rest of us, and it's super annoying/irritating/make-me-want-to-scratch-my-own-eyes-out frustrating that you think you're too good to participate in a civilized discussion with the rest of us. And yes, I'm being vague, because at this point, I'm still trying to keep the peace and hold my tongue and not be rude myself. This is what I like to call "venting"...ahhhh. I feel better. :)
Third...a warning.
If you're going to be a cast member in Pippin, please remember NOT to fall down the stairs or off the stage. Said tumbling will result in you tearing the ligaments in both ankles, bonking your head, skinning your knee and generally scaring the rest of your fellow cast members to death...especially when they've seen you fall and must still go on stage, knowing you're (sorry) no spring chicken and probably really hurt. Also, remember that falling is not such a good idea, because then your doctor won't let you come to your performance the next night and the director will have to step in for you, book in hand, and do your part as valiantly as she can. And she'll do a good job, but she really doesn't want to be stepping in for people because she generally frowns on her actors hurting themselves.
And that's all...
First, a rant...
Please stop putting on your profile that you "like to have fun". This is the most ridiculous statement I have ever heard, and if you have a "delete" button, I will not hesitate to use it. OF COURSE you like to have fun. If you were having "fun" and weren't enjoying yourself, then it wouldn't be classified as "fun" anymore. There isn't anyone who doesn't like to have fun, because fun by it's very nature is enjoyable. Please be more specific next time...say, "I like to go dancing with my friends" or "I really enjoy laughing myself silly when I'm drunk." I will know at this point that you're having "fun".
Second...another rant.
Please stop being rude. You are not nearly as smart as you think you are, nor are your comments being taken as "witty" or "superiorly right". You are just annoying and I want to kick you. You don't own the establishment that you put so many of your hours into...you are a volunteer, just like the rest of us, and it's super annoying/irritating/make-me-want-to-scratch-my-own-eyes-out frustrating that you think you're too good to participate in a civilized discussion with the rest of us. And yes, I'm being vague, because at this point, I'm still trying to keep the peace and hold my tongue and not be rude myself. This is what I like to call "venting"...ahhhh. I feel better. :)
Third...a warning.
If you're going to be a cast member in Pippin, please remember NOT to fall down the stairs or off the stage. Said tumbling will result in you tearing the ligaments in both ankles, bonking your head, skinning your knee and generally scaring the rest of your fellow cast members to death...especially when they've seen you fall and must still go on stage, knowing you're (sorry) no spring chicken and probably really hurt. Also, remember that falling is not such a good idea, because then your doctor won't let you come to your performance the next night and the director will have to step in for you, book in hand, and do your part as valiantly as she can. And she'll do a good job, but she really doesn't want to be stepping in for people because she generally frowns on her actors hurting themselves.
And that's all...
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