Category: Awesome

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Awesome Books Drew Sentiment

At least mine were human, Agatha.

I recently remembered this game I used to play when I was a kid and couldn’t fall asleep.  I would lay in the middle of my bed and make up this family for myself – all my own children – and take as long as possible thinking up all their names and ages.  There was always at least one set of twins.  There was no father involved, I don’t think that even occurred to me.  Then I would imagine the circumstances leading to our poverty, and why my 10 children of varying names and ages, and I, all had to share a bed.  I would assign them places around me.  Usually by the time I got to this point I was tired from all the cogitating, and would fall asleep.

When I told Drew about this, he said, “You used to daydream about being a single mother of 10?” which really put it into perspective.

But kids play weird games when they’re by themselves, and I offer this proof, from Agatha Christie: An Autobiography, published in 1977:

From as early as I can remember, I had various companions of my own choosing.  The first lot, whom I cannot remember except as a name, were “The Kittens.”  I don’t know now who “The Kittens” were, and whether I was myself a Kitten, but I do remember their names: Clover, Blackie, and three others.  Their mother’s name was Mrs Benson.
          Mrs Benson was terribly poor, and it was all very sad.  Captain Benson, their father, had been a Sea Captain and had gone down at sea, which was why they had been left in such penury.  That more or less ended the Saga of the Kittens except that there existed vaguely in my mind a glorious finale to come of Captain Benson not being dead and returning one day with vast wealth just when things had become quite desperate in the Kittens’ home.
          From the Kittens I passed on to Mrs Green.  Mrs Green had a hundred children, of which the important ones were Poodle, Squirrel and Tree.  Those three accompanied me on all my exploits in the garden.  They were not quite children and not quite dogs, but indeterminate creatures between the two.

This only makes me love her more.

Speaking of kids and their trains of thought, here’s an excerpt or two from Drew’s third-grade in-class journal.  These are all responses to writing assignments.

And my personal favorite:

This is turning into Blast from the Past week.

Categories
Awesome Fiction Sentiment

This post can be summed up simply: “Everyone writes awful stuff when they’re younger. Right?”

In my “Last 5 Books I Read” post, I talked about a story I had written when I was 14, about waking up 10 years in the future in my “perfect” life, and how unrealistic it was because clearly, as a 14-year-old, you know nothing about the real world.  Also, I had bestowed upon my future self all kinds of ridiculous honors and riches, which is just silly, because in real life, 24-year-old me worked customer service at a publishing company and watched a lot of Bridezillas and shopped at Old Navy.  And was (and I still am!) really happy.  But it just goes to show you how stupid teenagers are.

Erin left a comment suggesting that she needed to see some of this story pronto (actually, she only asked for outlines, but I like to go above and beyond), because she is very smart and recognizes the potential for entertainment when she sees it.  So, I found the story where I had hidden it (on the floor in the open, no one will look there) and I bring it to you now.

My note on the top of this small pile of papers indicates that 14-year-old me felt that this “Basically needs to be fleshed out – well…I don’t know. I think it’s too short.”  26-year-old me thinks that is a less-than-accurate representation of what the final edits need to be.  Here on out, 26-year-old me will comment in [italics], not to be confused with regular 14-year-old “thinking” italics.

THE STORY I WAS VERY, VERY, I MEAN LIKE UNREALISTICALLY PROUD OF WHEN I WAS 14

I woke to a hand on my shoulder and warm puffs of breath on my face.  There was a moment of relaxation before the initial panic set in…the very beginning of a 72-hour panic session.

I sat up in bed.  The covers were thick, and they held out the freezing cold air.  [Sounds like San Bruno sometimes, actually.]  Air that was just a few degrees too low for Lakeport temperatures.  I racked my brain, trying to come up with the date, but the closest I could come was September 8, 1998, which couldn’t be right.  The weather was supposed to be warm…even in the very early morning.  It would have to be December or January to even come close to achieving the 30 degree weather I was feeling.  [What’s all this “weather” nonsense indoors?]

All of this – my inner monologue, that is – [LOL] took place in but a few seconds, and before I could stop myself, I turned my head slightly to the left and saw someone next to me in the bed!

Beyond the sleeping lump in the covers was what I assumed to be a clock.  [But who am I to say? I’m just a 14-year-old…right?]  I could see only red digital numbers communicating to me that it was 3:51 a.m.  In the corner, tiny numbers proclaimed “9/7/08.”  I assumed that was the date [oh, I can figure some things out, but I’m baffled by a “clock”], but “08”?  Maybe it means “98,” I thought.  But the question remains: who is this beside me???

Too afraid (for reasons even I did not completely comprehend) to contemplate my present situation, I looked around the room, expecting to see my belongings: CD player to my right, desk to my left, and mirror straight ahead of me.  But oh, what I saw instead…

The first thing I noticed, as my eyes grew used to the dark, was that the room was twice as big as my bedroom.  Since I saw everything in gray in the darkness of the early morning, I wouldn’t know until daylight that the walls, instead of being the ghastly pink that they should have been, were instead a gorgeous pale green.  The bed was not my twin bed, but a king-sized bed.  The closet doors were still mirrors, but they were framed with a green marble.  And of course, the format of the room was entirely off.

I could see an open door on the far side of the room, and through it I could see what appeared to be a bathroom.  A larger door looked to lead out of the room.  [And this may be one of my favorite lines:]  The entire room is tastefully decorated, I noted appreciatively, but how did I get here?

I threw back the covers and got out of the warm bed, the cold air hitting my bare legs in a shocking gust.  I shivered, then threw on a nearby robe sporting three initials in a swirly writing.  Too preoccupied to take the time to decipher these letters, I quickly forgot about them.  Although I must have recognized them subconsciously, for the sight of them sent a rush of excitement through my system, but I blamed it on my confusion about my surroundings.  I opened the ornate door and stepped into the plushly carpeted hallway.

I moved carefully down the hall, feeling like a stranger in (what seemed to be) my own home.  I stopped at the first door on the left and pushed it open gingerly.  I was looking at a beautifully furnished bathroom, with gold faucets and white porcelain.  After a few seconds of gazing in, I moved on.

A grandfather clock at the end of the hall announced the time was 4:00 am.  I jumped when it chimed its resounding bong because my heart was already going 160 mph.  I had an instinctive feeling that I was going to realize something both wonderful and hideous very soon.

I ended up in the kitchen; I opened the fridge door.  I needed a drink.

A drink? I thought curiously.  Surely I mean, like, a Coke or something.  After all, I’m 14 years old, I don’t drink.

I steered my hand away from the bottle of wine that sat on the bottom shelf and instead grabbed a Pepsi.  [In reality, 24-year-old me, oops, spoiler alert, anyway, we never had Pepsi unless the Chinese food delivery guy brought it unexpectedly.]  Then I sat down at the kitchen table.

He found me like that.  Sitting at the kitchen table with an unopened can of Pepsi, staring off into space.  I was vaguely aware of him waving his hand in front of my face and calling my name, but I didn’t come fully “awake” until he slapped me lightly on the face.

===
[And, with that little glimpse of spousal abuse, I’m going to skip ahead.  What you’re missing: a description of myself seeing myself in the mirror for the “first” time, and I’m very pretty.  And 5’8″.  Also a description of how this mysterious man and I got married – when I was 20!  “Just post-college”!  Also,  “he” pretty instantly believes me about being only 14.  And lastly, a scribbled note written to myself: “Sex Romantic scenes?  I really don’t know…”  We can only wish.]
===

All that day, I did things on the pretext of waiting for his return.  I cleaned the house, although it only needed a light dusting and vacuuming.  I could tell that in the future, or the past, or whatever it was, I kept the house nice.

I went into my writing studio [Okay, side note: The use of “writing studio” instead of “office” reminds me of this other story I wrote when I was in kindergarten, about orphans. And I just remember that because I couldn’t remember or think of the word “orphanage” I kept writing “adoption agency” or “adoption place.”  I hope that I have since learned my lesson about how, if you can’t remember the simplest word, you shouldn’t just substitute another word or phrase that means sort of the same thing], sat down at the large mahogany desk [on purpose sentence fragment?].  I stared blankly at the dark screen of the new computer.  I made no move to turn it on, however.  For one thing, I was in no mood for writing; for another, I figured if I ever got back to the past, I wanted to live each moment brand new.  I had no desire to read some of the material I had become famous for…at least, not a strong enough desire to overcome the knowledge that I shouldn’t.

So I did menial tasks to keep my hands busy.  When I had nothing to do, I sat and stared out the window at the view of Mendocino.  Living high on a hill, we had that luxury.  [Hey! I live high on a hill now!]

The phone rang about noon.  I jumped practically out of my skin.  Staring at the receiver, I tried to telepathically figure out who it was.  If it was him, I wanted to talk to him.  But I didn’t feel like talking to anyone else…especially if I would have to figure out who it was and how I knew them.

My worry of it being someone I should have known was offset by my desire to talk to him.  I tentatively picked up the phone and said “Hello?”

“Hi.”

Good.  It was him.

“I’m surprised you answered the phone,” he said.  “I thought you would have let the machine get it.”  [Oh yeah…that would have been the smart thing to do.]

“Yeah,” I replied.  “I thought about it.”  [Liar.]  “But hey, a coward dies a thousand deaths, a brave man only once.”

He laughed.  God, how I loved to hear him laugh.  [Gag me here twice please.  Once for quoting Shakespeare (it’s Julius Caesar, I think?) and once for the sappiest line yet.]

“Good point.  Anyway, the reason I called was to say three things.  One: hi.”

“Hi,” I said.

“Two: What do you think about going out to dinner tonight?”

“Sounds great!” I said enthusiastically.  “Like, where?”

“Someplace nice.  Look,” he directed me, “in the closet there’s a long black and silver dress.  It’s pretty fancy, but I think it would be the most appropriate thing you have.”  [I am now imagining Drew picking out my clothes based on memorizing my closet.  Right.]  “I’ll be home around 6:30 tonight, okay?  I’ll call right now and make reservations for 7:30.”

“Hey, what was the third thing?” I asked.

“Oh yeah.  Three: I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said honestly.  “See you at 6:30.”

I hung up the phone gently.  Sitting in the chair, I thought about how it would feel for me to miss so many years of my life…did I want to just stay here or did I want to figure out a way back to the year where I belonged?

Then I remembered the dress.  I ran to the closet in the bedroom, threw open the doors, and rifled through the clothing until I found what I was looking for — a gorgeous (obviously designer) long black dress.  I could tell right away that this was something I had saved for.  From what I could tell about our living conditions, we had an impressive amount of money, but we weren’t rich.  [Vague, vague.]  Yet this dress…I’d bet that even a princess would be exceptionally proud to own it.

===
[Even I knew this paragraph was not great, I have notes saying “New dress – mo. one?”  I’m not sure what “mo.” stands for.  Something amazing I’m sure.  I also have a note saying “Deal with $$$ better.”  I may have been trite and a little sappy, but I was no fool.

After I try on the beautiful gown, I realize that I have to go back to the 90s where I belong.  We go out to dinner, and let me just show you the description of the restaurant.]
===

Dinner was wonderful, although I hardly tasted a thing.  I was too involved with the surroundings and the company.  There was stained glass in almost every window, and chandeliers hung from the ceiling in various places.  The atmosphere was romantic, yet tasteful.

===
[I was big on “tasteful,” right?  And yet something tells me my sense was a bit off.  You can clearly tell that at this point my experience with fine dining was JJ North’s Grand Buffet in Santa Rosa.

So then I decide to tell him that I have to go home.  The foolproof way of doing this is to go to my house in Lakeport, and spend the night there.  But we’ll wait a day or two so we can hang out.  A couple days later…]
===

At 8:30 that night, we left Mendocino and headed east.  Two hours later, I was home.

And shocked.

My house was gone.  I had not as of yet thought about what I would say to the current owners of the house when I got there, but luckily I didn’t have to…

[Not sure where I thought my parents would be at this point.  I guess when you’re 14, 24 does seem a lifetime away.]

There was an empty field, grassy and gorgeous, even at night.  I regretted not bringing a sleeping bag, but hopefully I wouldn’t have to wake up out here.  If I could just go to sleep quickly, everything would be fine.

And I had the means for that.  In my pocket was a package of (perfectly safe) tranquilizers.  [I might have meant sedatives.]  I was prepared to make the journey back to 1998.  I gulped the 2 pills dry, ignoring the bitter taste.

I lay out in the field.  It was a warm night, not yet winter weather.  I stretched out my blue jeaned legs and tucked my arms behind my head.  Looking up at all the stars, I could easily imagine that I was already back in 1998…but no, because there was the sound of his Jeep starting up.  We had agreed that he should go home and go to sleep, same as me.  Waiting for him on the counter at home were 2 pills identical to mine.

My eyelids grew heavy after awhile…how long it was I couldn’t tell.  The stars were adding to my weariness and right before I slipped off to sleep I whispered his name.

“I love you…”

I barely got the sentence out before my eyes shut and I was gone.

EPILOGUE

I sat up in bed and stretched.  The air was cool but not cold, just like usual.  My cat, Gabe, jumped on the bed and pushed his wet nose into my face.

“Yuck!” I exclaimed.  The clock on my nightstand read 6:48, and music blasted out.  It was Madonna’s “Frozen.”  [LOL]

What a way to start the day, I thought sarcastically, but not bitterly [thanks for clarifying] as I threw back the covers.  I got out of bed and started my day.

An hour later, I was in my room applying makeup to my 14-year-old face.  [FYI, I don’t think I ever wore makeup when I was 14.]  I went to spray myself with body mist [a note here reads: ?really?] and the strangest thing happened.

The mirror seemed to…change…and I saw myself as an adult.  I looked older, but not extremely different.  This flash was for a split second, but I caught it.  And I reacted the way any normal person would.

Whatever, I shrugged it off completely, saying it was a trick of the lighting, the angle, the fact that I was still a little tired, you know.

Then I remembered how I had been feeling last night.  After a day of annoying peers and condescending teachers, I had been ready for a vacation.  Unfortunately school had just begun.  I remembered thinking, If only I knew there was something to live for.  Something to work for.  Something to look forward to.  If only I didn’t feel so alone.  [Drama queen?]

I knew that feeling alone was an adolescent thing, and I was supposed to feel that way.  That didn’t help soothe my ego, though.  With the way I was feeling, it would have taken a miracle to make me feel better.

I wonder, I thought, amused, if something happened that would have made me wake up in such a good mood.  Something between last night and now.  Something amazing and wonderful.

I looked back in the mirror.

Nah.

===
And there you have it.  I know it was long, but I wanted to try to get in the good parts.  I mean, everyone writes awful stuff when they’re younger, right?  I know there is a lot more where this came from…

Categories
Awesome

Motorola Laughs

Robb’s birthday was Monday.  He turned 24.  I texted him, Welcome to the mid-20s.  He texted back, Thanks, senility is already setting in.  I texted him, Do you have a nose hair trimmer yet?  He texted back, I just use my toenail clippers.  But now I have athlete’s foot in my nose.

Clearly we’ve both inherited our dad’s sense of humor.

While asking him about how the wedding planning is going (looong story there), I tried to text, Is Geremy coming?  Geremy is the oldest of our four cousins who live in Spain.  He’s a couple years younger than Robb and even though he’s spent most of his life something like 5,724 miles away, they’ve always been friendly.  We have a plethora of girl cousins, so they may have bonded young out of desperation.  Geremy recently got Facebook and so they’ve been talking, which I think is nice.  This is what Facebook is good for.

Now, I know “Geremy” is not the common spelling, so I expected my phone not to know it.  What I didn’t count on was my phone suggesting “Gerchanovsky.”  I LOLed about it and updated my FB status to something humorous and forgot about it.  But this morning I found myself in one of those internet situations where you are chatting with someone, but need something else to do in between the times they’re responding to you?  So I Googled “Gerchanovsky” to see who he was.  I figured, Famous composer, Famous chef, Famous Russian who did something.

Imagine my amusement when all that was returned to me was posts on other people’s blogs and “Yahoo! Answers” types of websites, asking, “Why does my Motorola phone suggest ‘Gerchanovsky’?  Who is this guy?”  Also an urbandictionary entry defining Gerchanovsky as “a jerk who plays with himskelf daily and cant get a gf and tends to talk in aim language such as lool wow and gthfctrgdghd or (get the hell for cars to row god dang goblins hide dope). In other words a total loser.”

Oh yeah, and one more link – to the LinkedIn profile of Alex Gerchanovsky, a Principle Software Engineer at Motorola Mobile Devices.  Touché, Mr. Gerchanovsky.  I hope someday I too can inspire blog entries by strangers.

Categories
"Other people" Awesome Exercise

Bally update

So “John” calls me 4 times in 2 days, and with some coaching from Molly and Drew I’m ready to stand up to him.  I call him back (his voicemails were all marked “urgent” by the way, which annoyed me) and get him on the phone.  (BTW, this really happened, I wish I had recorded it or something because I was super proud of myself.)

“Okay, listen,” I say, “I just wanted to call you to let you know that I was really disappointed and frustrated by the way things went yesterday.”  He starts to make some kind of “oh no, how could that be?” noise but I barrel over him.  “All I wanted was to come in and do some cardio, and you guys wouldn’t leave me alone.  I fully intended to use the free guest pass – YOUR CLUB’S PROMOTION – for a week, and then pay for membership.  You had my money.  But you kept trying to pitch to me, and now I’m not coming back in.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.  “My manager and I just wanted to let you know about the deals and discounts, and we’re trying to help you get the best rate.  It seemed like you were on the fence about it–”

“How was I “on the fence”?  I keep telling you and I kept telling you yesterday that I knew what I wanted, and you guys wouldn’t let me go.”

“It’s just dollars and cents, and we’re just trying to help you save money–”

“John, you’re still trying to sell to me RIGHT NOW, even though I’m telling you it’s not going to work.  I just wanted to let you know that your strategies were a turnoff and way over the top, and you lost me as a customer.  AND, I was just on Yelp for the South City Bally, and it looks like a lot of people have had this experience.  [He and the manager were both actually mentioned by name.]  And I think it’s worth you guys sitting down and talking about it because apparently it’s not working.”

“Well, Syche, you’re still welcome to use your guest pass through the end of the week.  So why don’t you just hold on to my number and give me a call back when you’ve thought about this.”

7-8 seconds of silence while I process what he just said, almost respond with, “Okay, bye,” then pull it together.

“Nope, I’m done thinking about this, and I’m not going to change my mind.  I’m going to find another club and you don’t have to keep calling me to “check in with me.”  It’s not happening.”  He starts talking again.  “Okay, thanks, bye.”  Click.  (In a movie or book he would hear the dial tone here, but not on my watch.)

Then I got a promo email from them with the manager’s full name in it.  I unsubscribed but part of me is wondering if I should send him an email.  That part of me is also sort of hoping John will call back today so I can give him the short prepared speech I worked on last night, which ends with, “and if you call me again, I’m reporting you to the Better Business Bureau.”  Drama queen.

Also, I’m still super sore from the (short, tiny) workout he put me through 2 days ago.  The hamstring and ab soreness?  I recognize and accept.  The backache?  I’m not so okay with.  Hoping this will all dissipate soon, as it’s embarrassing to have to go down the stairs like a 2-year-old (step, together, step, together).  I’m going to try to walk it off some today.

PPS. Would you look at that?  The promotion they kept saying was ending on June 30th.

Categories
Awesome Books Fiction

The Last 5 Books I’ve Read

You were wondering, right?

Watership Down by Richard Adams

I wanted to show the cover of my copy so that you would know why I’ve never gotten around to reading this book before.  It just looks so…Dune.  My dad gave me this book (his copy?) when I was younger and I just never tackled it.  So I decided to go for it, and Erin and I read it as part of our bicoastal book club…and I could not put it down.  Love love loved it.  The balance of epic hero tale (a la Lord of the Rings) and rabbits (a la Animal Farm) just really worked for me.  I love a good protagonist who gets put down and fights back and comes through it.  I love a happy ending.  I love a story that moves, and keeps me turning pages.  I sat backstage every night for a week reading this furiously with a flashlight, despite how the light bulbs kept burning out and the angle of sitting hurt my back and I should have been working.  So good.

A text conversation with Erin as she neared the last third of the book:
Erin: OMG why didn’t they kill the patrol??
Me: Good guys never kill the bad guys if they have a choice.
Erin: But now there has to be a big battle.
Me: [LOL] What did you think the last 100 pages was for??

Recommend recommend recommend.

Thin is the New Happy by Valerie Frankel

I know the title is kind of a turn-off because it sounds like she’s advocating losing weight as the only thing to make you happy.  But actually the point of this memoir (by a woman who’s written something like 14 fiction novels) is that after 30 years of on-and-off dieting, she needs to fix whatever is under the surface and causing her to treat herself this way.  While reading about her struggles with her mother and how screwed up her body image is, I realized that while I too had to deal with occasional comments from my mom growing up, I didn’t have it nearly as bad.  Nor did I, apparently, get as screwed up.  Also, some of her boyfriends say things to her that I can’t imagine hearing from Drew…so maybe I’ve just gotten really, really lucky.

I just picked this up at Target because of the bright colors, but I found it to be really thought-provoking.  Several people asked me about it based on the title, looking ready to rip apart the statement “Thin is the New Happy,” and I found myself waxing athletic on the actual message of the book and what I was taking away from it.

Skeletons at the Feast by Chris Bohjalian

I should really figure out how to pronounce his last name.  This was a birthday present from Drew, who dutifully noted that I’ve been working my way through Mr. Bohjalian’s oeuvre.  This was one I hadn’t picked up yet because every time I read the back, I got intimated by the setting – WWII, Holocaust, and all that.  But I got sucked in by this book, the way I have by all of CB’s books, and I wasn’t really surprised.

The 3 main characters are: an 18-year-old German girl and her good-people farming family, who are being squeezed between the Russians and the Germans as the war crescendoes; her 20-year-old British POW lover; and a young Jewish man who has managed to stay alive by killing bad guys indiscriminately and impersonating soldiers whenever necessary. 

It’s a love story and a war story and a morality tale and an adventure story all in one.  They’re Germans, but they’re not bad guys, but Anna has to figure out where she stands and how she can stand up for what she believes in.  (If she can stop having crazy sex with her hottie Brit for one second.) 

I tore through it and enjoyed it immensely, although often got all cringey at descriptions of war crimes. [Shudder.]

The Catsitters by James Wolcott

I just grabbed this up at the library because I liked the cover.  It’s about a bachelor living in New York City, and when he catches his girlfriend cheating on him (worse yet, she forgot to feed his cat while he was away for the weekend), his best friend who lives in Georgia coaches him over the phone on how to A) manipulate and torture her until she’s ruined for other men, and then B) be the perfect guy, no longer a “bachelor,” now an “unmarried man.”

He’s an actor, so I got little glimpses of the actor living in New York City, which was fun, but not as in-your-face as Christopher Bram’s Lives of the Circus Animals.  I didn’t have to tiptoe my way through constant theatre in-jokes or “show business” remarks.  I really empathized with the main character, and I adored his cat Slinky.  I sort of thought I might cry at the end of this book.

One thing I wasn’t expecting – it’s from 2000 or 2001, so there is mention of “email” and “cell phones” as things that not everyone automatically has. That made me check the copyright date.

Time of my Life by Allison Winn Scotch

Jen Lancaster told me to read books by Jennifer Weiner, Beth Harbison, and Allison Winn Scotch, so when I trooped off to the library, I dutifully picked up books by the latter two (I have read a lot of Jennifer Weiner, and for me, it’s kinda hit-or-miss).

Um, hello, is this not essentially the “novel” I was writing when I was in high school, which is me waking up as a 20-something with the perfect life?  Here are the differences between my untitled novel and Time of my Life:

-AWS actually wrote her book, and mine consisted of a compelling opening, and then mostly just outlines of how my perfect life would be.
-TOML is about a woman going to sleep in 2007 and waking up in 2000, the person she used to be, and how she uses this opportunity to explore the road not traveled.  My book was just me wishing my perfect future life.
-This book is really good and people seem to really enjoy it.  Whereas mine was really only enjoyed by me.

It was a little predictable and a little too neatly wrapped up, but I liked this story and read it in an evening and then a morning.  Fun read, and I am definitely going to pick up more of her stuff.

I kind of fudged this “5 books” thing because I wanted a range.  Other books recently read include: John Irving’s The Fourth Hand and Beth Harbison’s Shoe Addicts Anonymous.  Books currently being read include Kristin Chenoweth’s A Little Bit Wicked and Aimee Bender’s The Girl with the Flammable Skirt (short stories of the super artistic type, like nothing I could ever write but I enjoy reading them now and then).

Enough talk, I’m a-wasting my reading time.

Categories
Awesome Beauty Nature Sentiment Tomato

High School Me, You’re Welcome

Blue sky, sun, warm breeze – I’ve had the balcony door open all day enjoying being able to hang out barefoot, in a tank top – this is like exactly what I needed.  I went out on the balcony to enjoy the sun along with my tomato plant and the flowers that the ProFlowers guy just showed up with – I thought the sun might help them “perk up” more, which I’m supposed to let them do for the next 8-12 hours – and I step outside there, admire my little plants, and then look up toward the ocean – which is when I see the fogbank rolling toward me, like something from a Stephen King movie – I can actually see the horizon and then the trees and the houses disappear as it gets closer.

I grabbed a camera to try to capture this on film, because it’s actually sort of creepy but beautiful – but the camera had a hard time focusing on the rolling fog.  I got a couple shots off.  It’s still warm(ish) and still sunny(ish).  This would never happen in Lakeport, no matter how much High School Me would have freaking loved it, haha.

Tomato plant is really flourishing. I really hope we get at least one good red tomato!
Categories
"Other people" Awesome Theatre Work

WGAS closing; end of contract

I want to talk about closing night while it’s still fresh in my mind – also, I’m putting off doing Shred.

We had two performances yesterday – the matinee a rehearsal for closing, is how I think of it.  My San Francisco friends L. and J. came to see it and they said they enjoyed it but that they had some problems with it, which I’m fine with.  As long as they clapped along with This Land Is Your Land (which they did).  In the matinee, a woman sat in the front row (which is in the stage lights for most of the show) and ate an entire meal: Tupperware, fork, she had at least 2 bananas, a couple beverages.  Pretty brassy.  At intermission the house staff told her to stop, but then right before we sent the actors out for Act 2, this crazy opens up her laptop.  Headset conversation went something like:

Syche [hiding how frantic I am]: “Um…um…Heath…do you see her…with the laptop?”
Heath: “Oh. Yup. Let’s see, what’s she doing.”
Syche: “The actors are going to freak out.”
Heath: “She’s shutting it down.”
[Minutes pass.]
Heath: “Windows takes a long time to shut down.”

Finally, Crazy closed her petite, pink, bedazzled laptop and seemed to behave for the rest of the show.

Also in the first act of the first show, we had a guitar problem, so I had to go out onstage in a blackout with a backup guitar and trade off with the actor, without him knowing this was coming.  This worried me because I know it’s really distracting to lose a prop with no idea what’s wrong, but he was fine with it and later said he could hear that the mic on the guitar wasn’t working.  Anyway, lots of excitement during the first show.

For the second show, the audience flipped their lids starting from the very top, applauding and cheering and going crazy, which is the perfect audience to go out on.  We had another mic problem at intermission but everything was fixed by the wizard sound designer who was also mixing, and I guess it was fine in the second act.  After the show, the actors came off in a huddled heaving mass and cried – not teared up, but cried.  I will never forget that.

We went out after and I’m VERY glad I went, and it was all around a good time.  So to Lisa, Megan, Sam, Berwick, Matt, Tony, Chuck, and Harry – I am really really glad I had the opportunity to work on this show.  I remember applying for this job last August, and looking at the shows I’d be working on, and not really having anything to say about a show called Woody Guthrie’s American Song.  But it’s really been much more than I could have imagined.  And to Doug, Ted, and Myles – thanks for letting me tag along.

But life goes on.  And today is Day 1 of unemployment and I am going to get stuff done and take names.  Then Drew and I are going to see Toy Story 3 and have dinner at Moss Beach Distillery, which I am very excited for.  They have a ghost who steals earrings, so I’m debating if I shouldn’t wear the nice ones.

Categories
"Other people" Awesome Theatre

Musicians and theatre people are…not the same.

This was just funny and I have never mentioned it, which is a shame, because it happened nigh on a month ago.

One of my Production Assistant duties is collecting valuables.  The first three nights I trekked upstairs to the musicians’ dressing room (they’re not technically sequestered but maybe it is for the best), and knocked on their door to collect any valuables.  Two of them declined politely, but the third had something to say.

Day 1
Syche: “Do you guys have valuables?”
“Harry”: “Yeah, here.” [Hands me valuables bag.] “It’s just full of weed.”

Day 2
Syche: “Hey, do you guys have valuables?
“Harry”: [Handing over bag] “Well, I had things in my pockets.”

Day 3
Syche: “Valuables?”
“Harry”: “Nah, I couldn’t think of anything funny to say.”

LOL.  LOL indeed.

Categories
Awesome Exercise

My spirit guide totally threw me over for a mate

Today I went for a “run” out at Crystal Springs Reservoir.  When I was almost back to the car, I was getting pretty tired and had decided to stop jogging and walk when I got to “that line of shadow up ahead.”  Right before I got to the shadow, a butterfly appeared beside me and flew on at my jogging pace next to me.  I thought, “This butterfly wants to see me succeed!  He wants me to keep running!  Thank you, butterfly, thank you!”  Just then, he darted up and I saw him fluttering away with another butterfly, clearly going to make a butterfly love nest. 

Well, it kept me going for a little while anyway.

Categories
Awesome Being a girl Friends

Alcatraz

When you haven’t seen your bestie in 6 months, and she schedules a trip home with her boyfriend so he can meet her family and see California for the first time, and she makes plans to be in your zip code for a night and a day, what else can you do but agree to go with her and her boyfriend wherever they want?  Even if “wherever they want” turns out to be Alcatraz.

I learned a lot of things, that day, about the history of Alcatraz and its many uses and purposes.  Here are some interesting facts: 

In the 60s, Native Americans took over the defunct prison and lived there for 19 months, claiming the land for Indians.  In fact one of the first things you see when you pull up to the dock on the boat is “Indians Welcome” which I thought was some kind of prison threat, but was actually totally sincere. 

They do not sell souvenir shot glasses, which really surprises me, as they sell a wide variety of other things, including tin cups (“replicas” of the ones issued to prisoners) and Alcatraz salt and pepper shakers.  Also lots of cookbooks, including non-Alcatraz themes.

The corrections officers used to live on the island, with their families, and the kids would take the boat to school in San Francisco, and come home at the end of the day.  They basically never saw the prisoners.  But I think I would be nervous to have my family there, because if I was a bad guy, and I had a lot of anger, and I broke out of prison, I wouldn’t bother trying to swim to shore – I would just go to the families’ houses and take them all hostage or something.  I don’t know if that whole concept would fly nowadays anyway.  Do corrections officers’ families live on Rikers Island?  I just wikipediaed it, and while there is nothing about families living there, it does say Rikers Island is “the world’s largest penal colony” as it contains within it “schools, medical clinics, ball fields, chapels, gyms, drug rehab programs, grocery stores, barbershops, a bakery, a laundromat, a power plant, a track, a tailor shop, a print shop, a bus depot and even a car wash.”

But this isn’t about Rikers, this is about Alcatraz.  Alcatraz now is all about tourists, and flourishing flora and fauna.  Here’s a picture of a seagull real quick, just in case you’re getting bored.

The day was warm and overcast, not a great combination, but at least it wasn’t raining.  We pulled up to the dock, walked uphill for what seemed like a long time, and got to the main jailhouse.  We picked up our audio tour headsets in the shower room (they even had put in prop soap in the soap holders, to really drive home that this was where prisoners took showers in rows), and started off.

If you are planning a trip to Alcatraz, well, the headset audio tour fee is included in your boat fee.  But if for some reason you were thinking you’d go it alone, working out of pamphlets and handouts, and explaining to your pre-teen children what you think each new room is, let me just make a suggestion: pick up the headsets.  I cannot imagine walking through that building and not having the information from the source like that.  It is narrated (allegedly) by 4 corrections officers and 4 actual prisoners, and they have sound effects and stuff.  It’s actually really cool.  They take you all through the building (although when we got to the outside part we all paused our tours and took a little break) and it only takes like 45 minutes or something like that.

(At some point when you’re in cellblock C, slip your headphones off and listen to the faint echoes from footsteps and rustling bodies, but it will be the only sound, because no one is talking.  It’s kind of eerie.  Now, put your headset back on, you’re missing the story of how the one guy starved himself to fit through the bars and almost got out.) 

We kept being surrounded by the same people: the obnoxious guy who’s filming everything, and keeps just walking in whatever direction he wishes to go, without looking around him because he’s too busy staring in the viewfinder; the fiesty looking kid who chose to forego the “I’m stuck behind these bars!” shot and instead marched right over to the toilet and sat down, doing a Rodin’s “The Thinker” pose instead; the mom-and-daughter team wearing scrunchies and oversized t-shirts, who were buying armloads of stuff in the gift shop when I passed them last; the bored looking 12-year-old kid wearing a Donkey Balls t-shirt.  (I gather Donkey Balls is some kind of gourmet Hawaiian chocolate?)  Actually, I saw that kid (again) in the restaurant we finally landed in on Pier 39, and I thought, what a tacky shirt (again).  I kept wondering what brought those other people to Alcatraz.  Where were they from originally?  Were they bummed out that the weather was so gray?  Was that kid as bored as he looked or was he doing that 12-year-old thing, where everything is boring?

On the boat on the way back, the weather cleared up and San Francisco looked really nice with a backdrop of blue sky.  Don’t worry though because it definitely sprinkled a little later that night.  We got it, San Francisco, you’re famous for your fog, I know.

The best part of the entire day was getting to see Megan and meet Dennis (and then, to steal his pictures for this blog post, thanks Dennis!), oh, and also to eat clam chowder sourdough bread bowls.  I hope that it doesn’t take another 6 months to see them again.  Maybe NYC next time?

(That’s our guardian in the background.  You’re never alone.  You’ll never be alone.)