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Saturday, January 31, 2009 - 23:39:56
Makin' It Up as We Go Along
For reasons that we'll get to in a minute, I decided to attend an improv class at The Public Theatre done by Josh and Matt, two of the guys from ImprovLittle Rock. I called Friday morning to see if I needed to sign up in advance and spoke with Josh, who nicely told me I could just show up and gave me directions. So, I didn't need to give him my name in advance, although he did point out that "If you tell me your name, then, we'll know who you are when you get here." True enough. Anything else I needed to know?
"That's it. Just show up at three. Come dressed...in clothes, and yeah..."
I had assumed that was a given and wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he specifically pointed it out. From the way he said it, I don't think he was expecting that to come out the way it had either. Still...what? Was the class starting now? Was this a pop quiz to see how well I could roll with the punches?
"So, don't come naked?" I asked. He laughed and confirmed. I was starting to suspect he might be kind of awesome.
Thursday, January 29, 2009 - 22:50:25
Stuff I've Learned from Reading
I stole this format from Lindsey Millar, but I like it. Here are some of the weird things I've picked up from what I've been reading lately:
"The Robber/Sanchez must be pure evil and inhuman [to make a joke about the death of Felix Leiter]. James Bond ought to kill them, preferably in a similar way or at least in some fashion equally, if not more, gruesome. Yet when Bond responds to the death of a villain with such nonchalance we laugh or giggle and generally take pleasure not only in the death but the way in which Bond responds to it, namely, with such lightheartedness that he might have just flushed a fish down the toilet instead of dropping a defenseless Blofeld wheelchair and all down a smoke stack." The essay "Don't You Men Know Any Other Way?" by Jacob M. Held from the book James Bond and Philosophy. There are some intriguing essays, although, one of the essays that addresses sexism in Bond films seems to conclude it's nothing to worry one's pretty little head about.
"In horror, the man who does not take care of his teeth is obviously a man who can, and by the end of the movie will, plunder, rape, murder, beat his wife and children, kill within his kin, commit incest, and/or eat human flesh (not to speak of dog- and horsemeat, lizards, and insects), and so on and on." Men, Women, and Chain Saws by Carol J. Clover. I picked it up because of the title. It's very academic, so reading ten pages sometimes took half an hour. Still, she made some points I hadn't expected but found very interesting.
Sunday, January 25, 2009 - 22:12:25
They Call it Trivia for a Reason
Thursday, January 15, 2009 - 20:51:18
Baby, It's Cold Outside
Sometimes I think I'd like to live in a big city like Boston or Chicago, but this is always the time of year I know that's probably never going to happen. The only way I'd make it through winter in Boston is if I had a blanket made of Irish Catholic men I could take everywhere I went. I'm a wuss, and I know it, but it's more than just that I don't like cold weather. Bitter cold--much like tequila--makes me mean. At my last job, I got into a little tiff with the guy who was in charge of the thermostat in our building and refused to let the heat get above 68 or even to understand why we would want it any warmer. At one point, I glared at him and willed laser beams to shoot out of my eyeballs, reducing him to a smoldering pile that I could use to warm my hands and feet.
This week, I went to work in the computer lab, and one of my coworkers was doing some research for a patron. When I came up she handed him and his search over to me telling me that he was looking for a British lady who was a jewelry thief who was on the Montel Williams show "a while back." My uncle's wife's son, actually used to edit some of the episodes for Montel, and I wished--not for the first time--that I could meet him. Maybe he could help to pin down "a while back" because I'm not even sure that show is on the air anymore.
I guess I should mention that this sort of request is not uncommon. When I worked in a bookstore, people would come in and say, "My mom used to read me this book when I was a kid. It had a blue cover, and I want to say there was boat on it. It was about this thick [holding their fingers 1/2 an inch apart.] Do you have that?" All you can do is ask a lot of questions and try not to scream. Once a guy came in looking for a particular fiction book, and all he knew for sure was that it had a short title, maybe four or five letters. And I will always remember him because, damn it, we found that book.
Thursday, January 08, 2009 - 00:03:12
For You or For Me?
Last week, my mother asked for some book recommendations. She had some time between semesters, and she wanted to pick up a few things to read. I sometimes get a little nervous recommending things because I don't want to suggest something I love to someone I love, only to have them hate it. I've done it, and I've had it done to me. I disliked a movie called Dogville so much, I actually called my friend Ali, who had recommended it, and yelled at her a little.
Picking out books for my mom is especially tricky. When we go shopping, sometimes she holds something up and asks what I think about it. I always ask: "For you or for me?" Because those are two different answers. I have an idea what she likes, but I'm not sure much of what I'm reading would appeal to her. Months ago, I'd given her some mysteries I liked, but she was in the mood for something different now.
A few years ago, my Grammy discovered Jan Karon's Mitford series about an Episcopal rector living and working in a small town. She cornered me at a family gathering to tell me about them. "Oh, they're wonderful. They're so funny and sweet. They're just nice books. They're not pornographic or anything. They're just really good, nice stories." She placed it on the sofa beside me and patted it affectionately. My first thought was that I've not only read some books that probably fall within her definition of "pornographic," but I've read a fair number of books about pornography. And strippers. Not to mention burlesque and an excellent book about brothels in Nevada. Oh, and once I watched American Pimp with a stranger on his laptop as I was flying home for Christmas. What can I say? I'm a naturally curious person, but I don't tell my Grammy this.
She left the book with me and headed into the kitchen, so I was pretty sure that was her way of suggesting I check it out. I flipped through it a bit and glanced over at Mom, who'd been reading the series as well. "Would I like this?" I asked her, holding it up for her to see.
"No."
Sunday, January 04, 2009 - 21:46:39
It...It... Flames, FLAMES...On the Side of My Face
So, the end/beginning of the year has created an odd rhythm of working a few days and having a few days off. I kind of liked it, since I don't think I ever had to work more than three days in a row, but as usually happens when I get a little time off, I feel like it ruined me just the tiniest bit, too. What's going to happen on Wednesday, when I realize that I have to get up early for a fourth day in row. That just seems indecent.
This year, I decided to opt out of New Year's Eve parties, settling instead for a movie night with pizza, beer, and my friend Julie. Say what you will, but it beats the hell out of all the years that I spent barhopping up and down Dickson Street in uncomfortable shoes and cute, but not terribly warm tops looking for the right place to spend the eleven seconds or so that the holiday is all about. I wouldn't even object to a party with people I know, but for most of college my friends and I somehow seemed to end up at parties where we didn't know more than a few people. Sometimes it turned out interesting, like the time that we rang in the New Year at someone's parents' house. At midnight, his mom came down and gave us champagne and made us all eat 12 grapes before 12:01. Another year, I wasn't so lucky and got stuck at a party that was so bad that I pretended to smoke cigarettes on the patio just to have something to do. There were some drunken charades, and by 11:30, my friend Autumn and I decided to just go home. If we timed it right, we could be on the couch in our pajamas when the ball dropped. It's a real hit-or-miss holiday for me, is what I'm saying.
I did go to a brunch on New Year's Day, where I ate as much bacon in one afternoon as I normally eat in a year. No black eyed peas, though. Through a weird coincidence, most of that delicious bacon was cooked by a girl who was one of my residents at Arkansas Governor's School several years ago. I was her R.A., which made me feel just the tiniest bit old. It wasn't as awkward as the time I ran into one of my students at a party, where, in order to avoid a girl who was ranting angrily about I can't remember what, my student and I drank beer and discussed The Price is Right. Still, I spent a few minutes thinking about what the age difference must be if I was, in essence, her camp counselor. I remember her being a really sweet, really great student and she seems to be the same in that respect. Her boyfriend (now husband), whom I also knew from back in the day, is still a good egg. The guy carries a periodic table of elements around in his wallet, and I just have to say, I think that's awesome.
In this weird little string of days off, I've also finished a couple of books, discovered that Pop Rocks comes in holiday flavors, watched a few minutes of He-Man while I was browsing at Hastings (dude, that show is terrible), and I just found Clue playing on TV (God bless Madeline Kahn). I'm not ready to go back to work. I think we should maybe be allowed to ease back into a regular workweek. We could start out working 25 or 30 hours a week, and just add 30 minute increments, until sometime in mid-February, we're ready to work 40 hours.
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