Since I am currently looking for work and no one wants to hire me to put my contacts in, I've had to find other things to keep me from pulling my hair out, rocking in a corner, etc. This is harder than it sounds. As much as I love to play Sudoku on my phone, more than an hour a day actually reverses the desired effect- instead of more logical and aware, I become less logical, and suddenly I'm living for those little boxes and the feeling of completion and total fullfillment that comes only with 9 little sets of 9 numbers, arranged so every row and column contains no repeated numbers. Even now, just typing that, I am tempted to stop typing... but I digress...
I've tried to watch the entire series of Ab Fab, but for anyone who doubts that excess can be excessive, I dare you to watch Ab Fab for more than 3 hours. I double dog dare you. By 2.5, you'll be so tired of hearing "sweety darling" and quite frankly, watching 2 drunk british women, your disgust will force you to turn it off. Perhaps it's hard for me to watch simply because I want to be working but don't have a job, and they have a job but desperately do not want to be working. In any case, I couldn't make it all the way through.
I've tried exercise, but lack of gym membership really puts a damper on my enthusiasm to work out. One can only do the plyometrics DVD from p90x so many times before one loses hope. And until today, it's been bloody hot out.
Of course, I'm still job hunting as well, but that hardly takes my mind off of not having a job.
No, I needed something else. Something like...
Housework.
At first, I was skeptical. I did a little bit of yard work because this yard needed a little bit of attention (actually, what it needed was a LOT of attention, a chainsaw and a weed whacker). I cleaned up a bit because we were having visitors over, and those visitors happened to be my parents, and my mom believes in maintaining a certain level of cleanliness (right beneath hospital sterile) for good living. (A note: this house hardly was/is dirty- but mothers being mothers, effort must be made)
And then suddenly, almost without warning, it was upon me.
Was that ME waking up and making the bed immediately? Only to be followed by loading the dishwasher and starting a load of laundry? What was happening?
Who knew keeping house could be so satisfying? I clean up the kitchen, keep the laundry some kind of caught up, make the bed, vacuum when the dog hair becomes a fine coat on the stairs. It's like the chores you had to do as a kid, only instead of them being chores you didn't want to do, now when you do them, it's like you have a job.
Let's be clear- it's not a job. It doesn't pay, there's no discount. But I don't have to go any where, I don't have to get dressed to do it, and I get immediate gratification for a) doing it and b) knowing that I'm the one who benefits from the fruits of my labor. So until there's something else to divert my attention, just call me Mr. Domestic.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
Damn-Good Day
I'm in a super good mood right now. In a matter of about 30 minutes, the day has gone from 'meh' to 'damn-good.' It almost feels like it could be on the 'best days ever' list, but I think that's just because the days recently have been sort of stressful. I'm pretty sure there are quite a few other days that have been waaaay better and (hopefully) a lot more days ahead that are gonna be even better than those. BUT this is not to diminish the damn-goodness of today.
In honor of the damn-goodness of today, I am writing letters to some of the things that have contributed to it being a damn-good day.
Dear box fan,
Quite simply, I love you. You hum along and make a nice noise that sort of sounds a little bit like if I were on an old time airplane. I find this quite comforting for some reason. In addition to your nice humming noise, you put out a very pleasant breeze. It keeps my legs nice and cool. I realize that you can't rotate or move up and down or side to side like some other, fancier fans, but that's ok. I love you just the way you are. The only thing that concerns me is when I put you on either setting '2' or '3,' you start shaking kind of violently and I think you're going to explode. The fact that the nice airplane hum becomes and angry bee-swarming sound does not make me feel any better. Consequently, I usually keep you on setting '1' because I love you, box fan, and I don't need you blowing up or making angry noises at me. Thanks for all that you do, and please don't stop anytime soon.
Love, Aaron
Dear AngelSoft toilet paper,
I've been a long time fan of yours. You're the brand I always buy. But lo, when we ran out of toilet paper, someone went and just bought some OTHER brand. And that other brand was SINGLE PLY. And that other brand didn't have any designs or softness at all. It pretty much felt kind of like office paper, only not as smooth. Yesterday, when we were at Target, I confronted someone about that purchase and we remedied things very quickly. I'm glad you're back in my life, Angel Soft.
Sincerely, Aaron
Dear Robyn,
You're pretty much one of my favorite pop musicians. Ever. Your last two albums were amazing and when I heard that Body Talk Pt 2 was coming out last week, I was pretty stoked. It showed up and I've been listening to it since last Tuesday. It's so. good. Especially recently, when I've been a little bit stressed trying to find work, it's been a positive force in my ears, particularly "In my eyes" and "Include me out." I was more than content to have it on my itunes. BUT THEN, today, someone showed up with a copy for me.
And you had signed it. Omgomgomg Yes, you had actually touched the paper that I now own. And I have your CD as an actual cd, and not just music on my computer. I am pretty stoked. You rock. 5 gold stars just for being you.
Rock On (and bring the tour to Austin!)
Aaron
Glee Season 1 Volume 2,
I'm obsessed with you. Ob. Sessed. When I watched the first volume, I literally had to force myself to go to work. I even contemplated calling in sick just so I could watch more Glee. I didn't, but I sure thought long and hard about it. And I was beginning to get nervous because the new season starts NEXT WEEK. I was concerned because I want to be able to watch with everyone else, but I didn't know what else had happened in the second half of season one. You came through for me, though. You showed up a day earlier than you were supposed to. And there are 9 whole episodes of over the top goodness.
Gleek 4 life, Aaron
In honor of the damn-goodness of today, I am writing letters to some of the things that have contributed to it being a damn-good day.
Dear box fan,
Quite simply, I love you. You hum along and make a nice noise that sort of sounds a little bit like if I were on an old time airplane. I find this quite comforting for some reason. In addition to your nice humming noise, you put out a very pleasant breeze. It keeps my legs nice and cool. I realize that you can't rotate or move up and down or side to side like some other, fancier fans, but that's ok. I love you just the way you are. The only thing that concerns me is when I put you on either setting '2' or '3,' you start shaking kind of violently and I think you're going to explode. The fact that the nice airplane hum becomes and angry bee-swarming sound does not make me feel any better. Consequently, I usually keep you on setting '1' because I love you, box fan, and I don't need you blowing up or making angry noises at me. Thanks for all that you do, and please don't stop anytime soon.Love, Aaron
Dear AngelSoft toilet paper,
I've been a long time fan of yours. You're the brand I always buy. But lo, when we ran out of toilet paper, someone went and just bought some OTHER brand. And that other brand was SINGLE PLY. And that other brand didn't have any designs or softness at all. It pretty much felt kind of like office paper, only not as smooth. Yesterday, when we were at Target, I confronted someone about that purchase and we remedied things very quickly. I'm glad you're back in my life, Angel Soft.
Sincerely, Aaron
Dear Robyn,
You're pretty much one of my favorite pop musicians. Ever. Your last two albums were amazing and when I heard that Body Talk Pt 2 was coming out last week, I was pretty stoked. It showed up and I've been listening to it since last Tuesday. It's so. good. Especially recently, when I've been a little bit stressed trying to find work, it's been a positive force in my ears, particularly "In my eyes" and "Include me out." I was more than content to have it on my itunes. BUT THEN, today, someone showed up with a copy for me.
And you had signed it. Omgomgomg Yes, you had actually touched the paper that I now own. And I have your CD as an actual cd, and not just music on my computer. I am pretty stoked. You rock. 5 gold stars just for being you.Rock On (and bring the tour to Austin!)
Aaron
Glee Season 1 Volume 2,
I'm obsessed with you. Ob. Sessed. When I watched the first volume, I literally had to force myself to go to work. I even contemplated calling in sick just so I could watch more Glee. I didn't, but I sure thought long and hard about it. And I was beginning to get nervous because the new season starts NEXT WEEK. I was concerned because I want to be able to watch with everyone else, but I didn't know what else had happened in the second half of season one. You came through for me, though. You showed up a day earlier than you were supposed to. And there are 9 whole episodes of over the top goodness.
Gleek 4 life, Aaron
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
The Enemy Sits In Plain Sight
This is a post from the battlefield.
I am sitting, at this very moment, 2 feet away from the enemy. MIA plays quietly (well, as quietly as MIA can be- essentially it sounds like an alien is attacking a pickle-bottling factory and somebody left BET playing in the breakroom but it's broadcasting on the PA system as the alien is gleefully wreaking havoc- so actually, not very quietly at all) (wow, there were alot of acronyms in that last parenthetical) from my laptop. Only my fingers and the raindrops outside the window move. We've come to a stand off. After a number of engagements yesterday and a small skirmish this morning, we're both holding our ground.
That's right. Those unassuming key-lime iced cupcakes are just sitting there, taunting me. I know I shouldn't eat them. They aren't that good. 'Key Lime' is actually good marketing for 'just like the green skittle flavor.' I don't even like the green skittles.
And yet.
They sit there, staunchly, beckoning me to eat them. I know I don't need them. I'm not hungry. Just because there is food sitting there doesn't mean I have to put that food in my mouth. Especially sweet, unsatisfying food. That tastes like green skittles.
I see you, cupcakes. And let me just say: you don't own me.
I am sitting, at this very moment, 2 feet away from the enemy. MIA plays quietly (well, as quietly as MIA can be- essentially it sounds like an alien is attacking a pickle-bottling factory and somebody left BET playing in the breakroom but it's broadcasting on the PA system as the alien is gleefully wreaking havoc- so actually, not very quietly at all) (wow, there were alot of acronyms in that last parenthetical) from my laptop. Only my fingers and the raindrops outside the window move. We've come to a stand off. After a number of engagements yesterday and a small skirmish this morning, we're both holding our ground.
That's right. Those unassuming key-lime iced cupcakes are just sitting there, taunting me. I know I shouldn't eat them. They aren't that good. 'Key Lime' is actually good marketing for 'just like the green skittle flavor.' I don't even like the green skittles.
And yet.
They sit there, staunchly, beckoning me to eat them. I know I don't need them. I'm not hungry. Just because there is food sitting there doesn't mean I have to put that food in my mouth. Especially sweet, unsatisfying food. That tastes like green skittles.
I see you, cupcakes. And let me just say: you don't own me.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
The Tire Rebellion: How I Almost Didn't Make It To Austin
Well the gigantic upheaval happened. Essentially, we threw all of my stuff up in the air, and somehow it all sort of landed at one address in Austin (sort of). I wish this were as fun as it sounds- lofting furniture and boxes into the stratosphere like ballistic bombs or pianos only for them to return nicely, softly, unharmed to the ground. Articles of clothing arcing in a steady stream across the Texas landscape in an array of colors (I'm imagining I sorted them by color, so they make a nice spectrum as they go through the air). My CDs raining down in the front yard of my current address like a prize give-away that I ALWAYS wanted to be apart of (and of course, none of them hurting anyone with their sharp edges, and no one stealing them once they're there).
The reality of the move was a lot of sweat, grunting, a storage unit and two vehicles making the two hour trek. And the whole trip was really pretty normal and boring, save for one particular thing: my tires.
Let me update you. You see, the tires on my cute and sassy little Mariah--
Yes, I name my cars. Yes, I named the current car Mariah. Yes, please sing the line from the song now. "They call the wind Mariah." Do it right now.
Done? Ok good. Now you've done it and we can be done with that. I named her Mariah because if you've seen her, she looks like a Mariah, not because of the song (or the singer, in case you were about to make THAT joke). All cars names are based solely on the personality of the vehicle and have nothing to do with people with the same names (sometime I will tell you about the absolutely fabulous Eleanor, may she rest in peace).
ANYWAY. The tires on Mariah. Apparently, sometime during the summer, the four troublesome tires of Mariah were tired of being attached to her. I'm not quite sure why they didn't like the arrangement. I mean, they had seen some pretty awesome country, only one time had I run over the curb with them, and only very infrequently did I skid to stops. I'm pretty nice to tires. And at the base of it, they were tires. What else did they think they were gonna do- get feature roles (pun intended) in an allstar, all-tire adaptation of The Wizard of Oz that would flop massively but live on to become a cult classic? Yeah, good try guys. You're tires.
Well, little did I know, my tires were gonna make a break for it. Hollywood or bust (again, please enjoy the awful pun), I imagine they said.
Only they had a small little problem. Being tires, they had no thumbs. And in case no one has ever pointed it out, it's a reeeeeeeaaaal good idea to have thumbs when taking a tire off of a car. Never mind that they were the ones attached to the car in the first place, there was the whole no thumb issue. Which meant they were stuck on my car until I decided they were freed.
Naturally, the tires began to resent me. They began to make my car wobble when I drove it over 50 mph. Needless to say, I was concerned but being the poor performer that I am, shaking car was still a running car, so it wasn't that bad. Yet.
We continued on in this antagonistic manner for a bit. I was England and they were the colonies. I would tell them (in Standard British) "I do wish you would cease with that frightful shaking."
And they would taunt me back (a la Sarah Palin) "We'll keep shakin if we wanna. We're Ameri-Cans, you betcha!"
The mavericks. The rebels.
I was unhappy with the situation, but I held the upper hand: thumbs. And I think things would have been fine, but then the unexpected happened: a friend of mine had a blow out. Like any friend would, I went to help her deal with it.
And thats when the tires decided that if I wasn't going to take them off because I wanted to, they would force me to take them off because I had to.
I was oblivious. After seeing my friends tire savagely destroyed, I thought "goodness, I don't want to see that happen to my tires" so I decided to take them to get looked at so they would stop shaking. Only, by the time I got them to guy to look at them, there dasterdly work was already done.
They had shed almost all their rubber. The front ones were better than the back at it- there was steel coming out of the front two.
My choices were grim- continue driving and have them explode like my friends or buy new ones.
I thought of the driving I had ahead of me and I chose to replace the front two. I could almost hear them laughing haughtily as I paid the man at the tire place, knowing they had won and I had suffered. The tire man assured me that the back ones would probably last a few more months and that it was better to have replaced them now then having to deal with them on the open road. I agreed, but in my heart, all I could think about was the pitiful state that my bank account was then in.
On the drive home, the shaking was gone. I felt a little better about my purchase. And my back tires were behaving. Or so I thought.
A few days later, after a long show in the canyon, I was backing out of my spot and a colleague of mine stopped me. "Dude, your tire is flat." I got out of my car and looked at the back tire and he was right. I was pretty sure I heard those tires sniggering at me. It was 11:30 in a canyon with no cell reception and no light to speak of. They had scored again. Aaron: 0 Tires:2.
Two mornings later (because they timed it so no one would be out in the canyon the next day, so I couldn't get a ride out to put the spare on, those bastards) I got a ride out to the canyon and put the spare on and drove it along at 55 mph for about an hour to the tire place. I thought I was going to have to buy new tires then and there. Lord, spare my wallet.
I was wrong. It was just a nail. The tire guys patched it and sent me on my way. For free. I felt like I'd won the lottery. I talked to my back tires. I said to them "Listen guys. I know we've had our troubles in the past, but let's just start over. I've got a big bit of driving coming up and I'd be really really grateful if you'd just not go flat or explode or anything during the trip. Ok?"
And I really thought they were agreed. I did.
The trip to Kansas and then to Houston went so well. They were wonderful. I couldn't ask for better tires. I guess the front two were putting on a good example and the back two were inspired to good behavior. Life was as it should be.
BUT THEN
(this feels like the longest post of my life, but this story is a little bit epic, and we're at the final twist!)
Picture it: we've packed up and driven all of the stuff that's going into the storage unit. I've locked the door and stopped to get my smoothie for the road. Both Mariah and the other vehicle are stuffed with my belongings. Off we go.
Fast forward about an hour and a quarter. After much hemming and hawing, I'm finally beginning to get excited about the move to Austin. We're about 45 minutes from our goal. I'm driving down a stretch of road that appears clear.
All of a sudden, the car makes some crazy pseudo-birthing noise, and behind me I see black tire rubber fading into the distance. But the car is still running smoothly. No noises, no listing. With a sinking heart, I pull over and get out of the car.
That tire. That blasted effing tire. The back right tire literally peeled the rubber off of itself and threw it away. The tire is still inflated, but it has no rubber. My car is *stuffed* with things. I feel like I'll never make it to Austin. I suddenly know that was there plan all along- to keep me from getting where I wanted to go. I hear it's triumphant laugh. I know it's over now- they won.
Almost 2 hours later, I rolled into Austin on a spare tire. Two days later, I replaced the back two tires. It was a sad day, and as a result, my bank account might have a grande mal seizure if I make purchases of that size any time soon.
The good news is, all of the old tires are gone. I have 4 new tires that are performing quite nicely and happily. And I'm getting settled into Austin.
I'll not forget, however, the rebellious tires that tried valiantly to keep me from arriving here. And next time, I'll be ready for their crafty work. You may have won this time, tires. But justice always triumphs in the end.
The reality of the move was a lot of sweat, grunting, a storage unit and two vehicles making the two hour trek. And the whole trip was really pretty normal and boring, save for one particular thing: my tires.
Let me update you. You see, the tires on my cute and sassy little Mariah--
Yes, I name my cars. Yes, I named the current car Mariah. Yes, please sing the line from the song now. "They call the wind Mariah." Do it right now.
Done? Ok good. Now you've done it and we can be done with that. I named her Mariah because if you've seen her, she looks like a Mariah, not because of the song (or the singer, in case you were about to make THAT joke). All cars names are based solely on the personality of the vehicle and have nothing to do with people with the same names (sometime I will tell you about the absolutely fabulous Eleanor, may she rest in peace).
ANYWAY. The tires on Mariah. Apparently, sometime during the summer, the four troublesome tires of Mariah were tired of being attached to her. I'm not quite sure why they didn't like the arrangement. I mean, they had seen some pretty awesome country, only one time had I run over the curb with them, and only very infrequently did I skid to stops. I'm pretty nice to tires. And at the base of it, they were tires. What else did they think they were gonna do- get feature roles (pun intended) in an allstar, all-tire adaptation of The Wizard of Oz that would flop massively but live on to become a cult classic? Yeah, good try guys. You're tires.
Well, little did I know, my tires were gonna make a break for it. Hollywood or bust (again, please enjoy the awful pun), I imagine they said.
Only they had a small little problem. Being tires, they had no thumbs. And in case no one has ever pointed it out, it's a reeeeeeeaaaal good idea to have thumbs when taking a tire off of a car. Never mind that they were the ones attached to the car in the first place, there was the whole no thumb issue. Which meant they were stuck on my car until I decided they were freed.
Naturally, the tires began to resent me. They began to make my car wobble when I drove it over 50 mph. Needless to say, I was concerned but being the poor performer that I am, shaking car was still a running car, so it wasn't that bad. Yet.
We continued on in this antagonistic manner for a bit. I was England and they were the colonies. I would tell them (in Standard British) "I do wish you would cease with that frightful shaking."
And they would taunt me back (a la Sarah Palin) "We'll keep shakin if we wanna. We're Ameri-Cans, you betcha!"
The mavericks. The rebels.
I was unhappy with the situation, but I held the upper hand: thumbs. And I think things would have been fine, but then the unexpected happened: a friend of mine had a blow out. Like any friend would, I went to help her deal with it.
And thats when the tires decided that if I wasn't going to take them off because I wanted to, they would force me to take them off because I had to.
I was oblivious. After seeing my friends tire savagely destroyed, I thought "goodness, I don't want to see that happen to my tires" so I decided to take them to get looked at so they would stop shaking. Only, by the time I got them to guy to look at them, there dasterdly work was already done.
They had shed almost all their rubber. The front ones were better than the back at it- there was steel coming out of the front two.
My choices were grim- continue driving and have them explode like my friends or buy new ones.
I thought of the driving I had ahead of me and I chose to replace the front two. I could almost hear them laughing haughtily as I paid the man at the tire place, knowing they had won and I had suffered. The tire man assured me that the back ones would probably last a few more months and that it was better to have replaced them now then having to deal with them on the open road. I agreed, but in my heart, all I could think about was the pitiful state that my bank account was then in.
On the drive home, the shaking was gone. I felt a little better about my purchase. And my back tires were behaving. Or so I thought.
A few days later, after a long show in the canyon, I was backing out of my spot and a colleague of mine stopped me. "Dude, your tire is flat." I got out of my car and looked at the back tire and he was right. I was pretty sure I heard those tires sniggering at me. It was 11:30 in a canyon with no cell reception and no light to speak of. They had scored again. Aaron: 0 Tires:2.
Two mornings later (because they timed it so no one would be out in the canyon the next day, so I couldn't get a ride out to put the spare on, those bastards) I got a ride out to the canyon and put the spare on and drove it along at 55 mph for about an hour to the tire place. I thought I was going to have to buy new tires then and there. Lord, spare my wallet.
I was wrong. It was just a nail. The tire guys patched it and sent me on my way. For free. I felt like I'd won the lottery. I talked to my back tires. I said to them "Listen guys. I know we've had our troubles in the past, but let's just start over. I've got a big bit of driving coming up and I'd be really really grateful if you'd just not go flat or explode or anything during the trip. Ok?"
And I really thought they were agreed. I did.
The trip to Kansas and then to Houston went so well. They were wonderful. I couldn't ask for better tires. I guess the front two were putting on a good example and the back two were inspired to good behavior. Life was as it should be.
BUT THEN
(this feels like the longest post of my life, but this story is a little bit epic, and we're at the final twist!)
Picture it: we've packed up and driven all of the stuff that's going into the storage unit. I've locked the door and stopped to get my smoothie for the road. Both Mariah and the other vehicle are stuffed with my belongings. Off we go.
Fast forward about an hour and a quarter. After much hemming and hawing, I'm finally beginning to get excited about the move to Austin. We're about 45 minutes from our goal. I'm driving down a stretch of road that appears clear.
All of a sudden, the car makes some crazy pseudo-birthing noise, and behind me I see black tire rubber fading into the distance. But the car is still running smoothly. No noises, no listing. With a sinking heart, I pull over and get out of the car.
That tire. That blasted effing tire. The back right tire literally peeled the rubber off of itself and threw it away. The tire is still inflated, but it has no rubber. My car is *stuffed* with things. I feel like I'll never make it to Austin. I suddenly know that was there plan all along- to keep me from getting where I wanted to go. I hear it's triumphant laugh. I know it's over now- they won.
Almost 2 hours later, I rolled into Austin on a spare tire. Two days later, I replaced the back two tires. It was a sad day, and as a result, my bank account might have a grande mal seizure if I make purchases of that size any time soon.
The good news is, all of the old tires are gone. I have 4 new tires that are performing quite nicely and happily. And I'm getting settled into Austin.
I'll not forget, however, the rebellious tires that tried valiantly to keep me from arriving here. And next time, I'll be ready for their crafty work. You may have won this time, tires. But justice always triumphs in the end.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Exodus
Faithful readers, I am in the midst of a small/gigantic upheaval period. This is the last day at my job and I have a guest and so between the packing and the drinking and the show and more drinking, I have been a bit busy.
Tomorrow we embark on what will be the beginning of what is a weeklong sojourn to my new home. I am hoping to get to post sometime mid week. I haven't forgotten you all or this blog, I promise.
In fact, I'm not even putting this on facebook or twitter, so if you read this, you must be doing it because you actually check my blog of your own desire, and not my constant self promotion. In which case, you must actually love me, or at least think i'm mildly amusing, and for that, you deserve a gold star.
More soon.
Tomorrow we embark on what will be the beginning of what is a weeklong sojourn to my new home. I am hoping to get to post sometime mid week. I haven't forgotten you all or this blog, I promise.
In fact, I'm not even putting this on facebook or twitter, so if you read this, you must be doing it because you actually check my blog of your own desire, and not my constant self promotion. In which case, you must actually love me, or at least think i'm mildly amusing, and for that, you deserve a gold star.
More soon.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
To the Artists In My Life
Serious-ish post. Still funny, and definitely positive (I think), but it's from the heart.
Right now, I work at a theatre. This theatre is in a canyon in the panhandle of Texas. The panhandle is very flat. I think, and often I feel a bit alone in this, the flatness is beautiful in it's way. It is however, in the panhandle of the state, and if you have looked at a map any time recently, you'll notice a lack of pretty much everything in that area. And that's because, there IS a lack of pretty much everything. Amarillo is the nearest city, and it's small as far as cities go.
The canyon itself is quite beautiful, but I confess, after having done the show the entire summer, I'm a little tired of it. What I once saw as an exquisite place of natural beauty has become rote, routine and non-discript. Sometimes, even, a place I resent because it's miles from town, even further from drinking establishments and hours away from any cities of size. When I go down into the canyon, I am a commuter going away from the places I want to commute to. I'm going to my job.
Most of the time, it's a pretty good job. There are the occasional occupational hazards- beetles the size of credit cards, tarantulas, getting kicked by horses, stepping in horse poop, 100+ degree heat- but then, who doesn't have a few pitfalls to be avoided in the workplace? And I'll be honest, the view of the stars is unmatched.
The show itself is simple. The plot's not hard to follow, the music is easy to grasp. The dancing is (for us, the singing ensemble) essentially step touching with a Texas flavor. After months of doing it 6 nights a week, I have it down pat. In fact, it's gotten to be something that I can do on autopilot. One could even say that it has become boring to perform.
The real deal is- I'm ready to end this job that I am very over. I'm ready to be away from this place that I don't love. In two sentences I've summed it up. Simple.
Unfortunately, it's not so simple. I'm moving to a new city when this show is over. I'm terrified. I'm excited. I don't have a job. I know two people there. I'm in love with the man I'm moving to be close to. I'm scared shitless that I will mess that up. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life. I want to do everything.
Suffice to say, my insides are doing triple sow cows.
I'm usually pretty good at projecting a calm exterior. I keep telling myself that it will all be okay and it will all work out, and for the most part I can pass it off that I believe it.
And then, art happens to me.
The cast of this show that I'm in is doing a side project, a talent show of sorts. I know I know. A talent show. Commence the eye rolling. I'll lead you. I imagined the worst memories of the high school talent show- awkward pauses, flat pitches, sad little tap numbers. In spite of that, I submitted (along with 3 others) a quartet number for the show. We got in. We pieced the number together. A quaint couple of songs to go in the (as I envisioned it) high school drama club annual revue.
Today we had the final dress rehearsal.
Wow. I cannot believe the scope and richness of the talent of the people that I work with. Words fail me. I was choked up more than once during the run through. I'm getting choked up now thinking about it. I am so proud to be on the same stage as these people.
And I'm amazed because suddenly all this change that is happening in my life and the anxiety it is causing me- it makes sense. Or it fits. Or somehow, I fit in it. And it's messy and beautiful and unfinished and then, in an instant, a moment takes my breath away. And this show we are doing- the show We are doing because we are artists and its all we have; because we have gifts that we must share, sometimes in spite of our own selves, and things that we must say because saying them is what makes us alive- this show is as much for us as it is for those smart enough, aware enough, privledged enough to be there to share those moments with us.
I am an artist. I will laugh and hurt and cry and sing and dance and laugh more because I have to and there is nothing else to do in the face of death. The chaos and harmony we create is how we fit into the universe. I count myself most honored to be surrounded by so many people with talent that runs so deep. Thank you thank you thank you, everyone.
Right now, I work at a theatre. This theatre is in a canyon in the panhandle of Texas. The panhandle is very flat. I think, and often I feel a bit alone in this, the flatness is beautiful in it's way. It is however, in the panhandle of the state, and if you have looked at a map any time recently, you'll notice a lack of pretty much everything in that area. And that's because, there IS a lack of pretty much everything. Amarillo is the nearest city, and it's small as far as cities go.
The canyon itself is quite beautiful, but I confess, after having done the show the entire summer, I'm a little tired of it. What I once saw as an exquisite place of natural beauty has become rote, routine and non-discript. Sometimes, even, a place I resent because it's miles from town, even further from drinking establishments and hours away from any cities of size. When I go down into the canyon, I am a commuter going away from the places I want to commute to. I'm going to my job.
Most of the time, it's a pretty good job. There are the occasional occupational hazards- beetles the size of credit cards, tarantulas, getting kicked by horses, stepping in horse poop, 100+ degree heat- but then, who doesn't have a few pitfalls to be avoided in the workplace? And I'll be honest, the view of the stars is unmatched.
The show itself is simple. The plot's not hard to follow, the music is easy to grasp. The dancing is (for us, the singing ensemble) essentially step touching with a Texas flavor. After months of doing it 6 nights a week, I have it down pat. In fact, it's gotten to be something that I can do on autopilot. One could even say that it has become boring to perform.
The real deal is- I'm ready to end this job that I am very over. I'm ready to be away from this place that I don't love. In two sentences I've summed it up. Simple.
Unfortunately, it's not so simple. I'm moving to a new city when this show is over. I'm terrified. I'm excited. I don't have a job. I know two people there. I'm in love with the man I'm moving to be close to. I'm scared shitless that I will mess that up. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life. I want to do everything.
Suffice to say, my insides are doing triple sow cows.
I'm usually pretty good at projecting a calm exterior. I keep telling myself that it will all be okay and it will all work out, and for the most part I can pass it off that I believe it.
And then, art happens to me.
The cast of this show that I'm in is doing a side project, a talent show of sorts. I know I know. A talent show. Commence the eye rolling. I'll lead you. I imagined the worst memories of the high school talent show- awkward pauses, flat pitches, sad little tap numbers. In spite of that, I submitted (along with 3 others) a quartet number for the show. We got in. We pieced the number together. A quaint couple of songs to go in the (as I envisioned it) high school drama club annual revue.
Today we had the final dress rehearsal.
Wow. I cannot believe the scope and richness of the talent of the people that I work with. Words fail me. I was choked up more than once during the run through. I'm getting choked up now thinking about it. I am so proud to be on the same stage as these people.
And I'm amazed because suddenly all this change that is happening in my life and the anxiety it is causing me- it makes sense. Or it fits. Or somehow, I fit in it. And it's messy and beautiful and unfinished and then, in an instant, a moment takes my breath away. And this show we are doing- the show We are doing because we are artists and its all we have; because we have gifts that we must share, sometimes in spite of our own selves, and things that we must say because saying them is what makes us alive- this show is as much for us as it is for those smart enough, aware enough, privledged enough to be there to share those moments with us.
I am an artist. I will laugh and hurt and cry and sing and dance and laugh more because I have to and there is nothing else to do in the face of death. The chaos and harmony we create is how we fit into the universe. I count myself most honored to be surrounded by so many people with talent that runs so deep. Thank you thank you thank you, everyone.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
The Food That Saved Me From Eternal Despair
Alright it's been a bit since I posted about food. And let's be honest, I really really love food. In fact, after I finished my last post, I realized that "eating" could also be something I got paid to do. (I also considered adding "drinking" to that list, but really, "drinking" professionally REALLY means you're A) a deadbeat B) an alkie or C) a writer, and while I had no problems identifying as the latter two, I didn't want to confuse the issue or the public by possibly being grouped with the former) I digress...
H'omigod. I had found the perfect job for me- Food Critic. How amazing would that be? I could eat food at restaurants (awesome), write about it (also awesome) and most importantly GET PAID (holy crap, awesome FTW!). For about 37 seconds I was pretty much not only going to have a job, but I was also going to award myself the Most Geniusest Genius EVER medal and about at least 50 Gold Stars.
And then, disaster struck.
Reality, that solidly built she-hulk in a faded floral print dress with runs in her hose, laid her massive clammy hand on my shoulder. Her large, fishlike lips moved. At first I thought she was hyperventilating, and then I thought the world was in slo-mo and I was dreaming and then I realized she was laughing at me.
And like 2-pack-a-day smoker, her voice crawled out of that mouth and into my head.
"Food critic? That's a laugh. There's only like seven of them alive and five of them live in the UK and Europe. Think again, bub."
Sigh.
I knew she was right. My shoulders slumped in despair as she lugged her way Lurch-ily into the background of my mind. Food critic jobs were hard to come by, and there might actually even be training or stuff you have to do before you can be one (I thought about researching this, but then decided it was better not to hurt my heart further). So, sadly I decided not to amend the list to include "eating." I didn't know what I was going to do with myself. Ever. Why was I even here? What was the point of living anymore?!?!
(This is pretty much my face at that moment.)
In my state of deep melancholy, I walked into the kitchen to get something to munch on. You see, there are people out there in the world who, when faced with stress or sadness, do not eat. They waste away, often tragically, to skin and bones. Sometimes, movies get made about them. Sometimes, they make the movies themselves. In any event, depression = thin.
I am not one of those sorts of people.
Faced with bad news, I go immediately to the loving support and comfort that only a drive thru window can provide. Carbs are my solace. Cheese is my joy. Despair, I banish thee in the name of all things good and true and sugary!
So, faced with reality's awful rebuke of my Genius idea (and aside from not even getting to be a Food Critic, I wasn't going to get the Geniusest Genius Award OR the Gold Stars- ugh, my life was clearly an #epicfail), the kitchen was the only logical place to go. I opened up the cabinet (oh dubbs, if you've been following since the beginning, one of my slothy roomies finally moved out- HUZZAH!) and looked bleakly at my options. 3 cans of beans, 2 cans of tuna, assorted spices and herbs, and a cup of applesauce. F.M.L. I was beginning to wonder how I could pull the blades out of my Mach 3 shaving razor and end it all.
I turned to the refrigerator. It was similarly bleak- pickles, cottage cheese, carrots, bologna. And then, just when I thought all hope was lost, I spied something small and red towards the back of the bottom shelf. It was a plastic lid on a round container. I reached in. Could it be? Was it? It WAS.
Hummus.
Hummus from above (or in this case, the back of the fridge).
Hummus, with it's smooth creamy texture and its delicious chickpea and garlicy taste. Easily a ranking food on the Greatest Foods of All Time Ever list, this treat from the gods (specifically the ones hanging out around the Mediterranean) suddenly made my day much brighter. I grasped the hummus and the carrots, tried to hold back my tears of joy, and dashed back into my bedroom. And even though I STILL didn't know what I was doing for a job, I had hummus.
My plate ranneth over.
H'omigod. I had found the perfect job for me- Food Critic. How amazing would that be? I could eat food at restaurants (awesome), write about it (also awesome) and most importantly GET PAID (holy crap, awesome FTW!). For about 37 seconds I was pretty much not only going to have a job, but I was also going to award myself the Most Geniusest Genius EVER medal and about at least 50 Gold Stars.And then, disaster struck.
Reality, that solidly built she-hulk in a faded floral print dress with runs in her hose, laid her massive clammy hand on my shoulder. Her large, fishlike lips moved. At first I thought she was hyperventilating, and then I thought the world was in slo-mo and I was dreaming and then I realized she was laughing at me.
And like 2-pack-a-day smoker, her voice crawled out of that mouth and into my head.
"Food critic? That's a laugh. There's only like seven of them alive and five of them live in the UK and Europe. Think again, bub."
Sigh.
I knew she was right. My shoulders slumped in despair as she lugged her way Lurch-ily into the background of my mind. Food critic jobs were hard to come by, and there might actually even be training or stuff you have to do before you can be one (I thought about researching this, but then decided it was better not to hurt my heart further). So, sadly I decided not to amend the list to include "eating." I didn't know what I was going to do with myself. Ever. Why was I even here? What was the point of living anymore?!?!
(This is pretty much my face at that moment.)In my state of deep melancholy, I walked into the kitchen to get something to munch on. You see, there are people out there in the world who, when faced with stress or sadness, do not eat. They waste away, often tragically, to skin and bones. Sometimes, movies get made about them. Sometimes, they make the movies themselves. In any event, depression = thin.
I am not one of those sorts of people.
Faced with bad news, I go immediately to the loving support and comfort that only a drive thru window can provide. Carbs are my solace. Cheese is my joy. Despair, I banish thee in the name of all things good and true and sugary!
So, faced with reality's awful rebuke of my Genius idea (and aside from not even getting to be a Food Critic, I wasn't going to get the Geniusest Genius Award OR the Gold Stars- ugh, my life was clearly an #epicfail), the kitchen was the only logical place to go. I opened up the cabinet (oh dubbs, if you've been following since the beginning, one of my slothy roomies finally moved out- HUZZAH!) and looked bleakly at my options. 3 cans of beans, 2 cans of tuna, assorted spices and herbs, and a cup of applesauce. F.M.L. I was beginning to wonder how I could pull the blades out of my Mach 3 shaving razor and end it all.
I turned to the refrigerator. It was similarly bleak- pickles, cottage cheese, carrots, bologna. And then, just when I thought all hope was lost, I spied something small and red towards the back of the bottom shelf. It was a plastic lid on a round container. I reached in. Could it be? Was it? It WAS.
Hummus.
Hummus from above (or in this case, the back of the fridge).
Hummus, with it's smooth creamy texture and its delicious chickpea and garlicy taste. Easily a ranking food on the Greatest Foods of All Time Ever list, this treat from the gods (specifically the ones hanging out around the Mediterranean) suddenly made my day much brighter. I grasped the hummus and the carrots, tried to hold back my tears of joy, and dashed back into my bedroom. And even though I STILL didn't know what I was doing for a job, I had hummus.
My plate ranneth over.
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