tradition…. tradition!
And now, because I did it before and am feeling like doing it again, here is the soon-to-be-traditional “Drinking at Yuki’s Place Memorial Haiku”. Yes, I know you were anxiously awaiting this. Here it is.
*ahem*
He keeps threatening
To spill it on Mike’s carpet
And barf on the floor.
Jeremy can do
No wrong. He has lightning feet
And makes us look bad.
Absinthe tastes like my
Mouthwash. We haven’t seen the
Green fairies. Jet’s pissed.
Grunk and I are white.
No, seriously, we’re WHITE.
We have no rhythm.
Much talk of spewing.
Much setting fire to sugar.
Much falling over.
Jet is still pleading:
“Faster music! Slower Steps!
I’m going to barf!”
A little advice:
When sampling the green fairy
Avoid stale donuts.
fete-ing the farsical friday five
1. What’s your favorite piece of clothing that you currently own?
Hand-knit striped Bolivian lamb’s wool sweater that I bought in the St. Olaf bookstore my freshman year of college. It’s often stinky and it’s incredibly scratchy but I’m so attached to it - even though it’s brightly colored, which normally would have no place in my wardrobe. It’s really, REALLY warm.
2. What piece of clothing do you most want to acquire?
This would be a two-way tie between a nice pair of knee-high boots and a real, honest-to-god leather jacket. I’ve had a couple of leather jackets in my life, but one I got at a garage sale and it was falling apart, and the other one is suede and fringe and not appropriate for most situations. Nate always used to tell me that you have a love affair with your first nice leather jacket, and I want to know what love is. (I want it to show me.)
3. What piece of clothing can you not bring yourself to get rid of? Why?
I have a new one of these every few of years, and it often seems to be boy-clothes. For a long time, it was this ratty, nasty-ass tangerine-yellow shirt that Joel had owned for about ten years, before giving it to me the day of the Northfield Monsoon (when we surfed down the hills in the mud all day). Eventually, I gave it to B—, and then gave it to Bailey to sleep on. At the moment, it’s probably my green cords. (Notsomuch boy-related.) They were my favorite pants in the WORLD … about twenty pounds ago. Hopefully, I will never be able to wear them again - but I can’t seem to send them on to another home.
4. What piece of clothing do you look your best in?
My black patchwork jacket, I think. It doesn’t have the sentimental value of the Bolivian sheep, but it’s probably the item I wear the most. Paired with, of course, the skirt that Gillian keeps threatening to steal RIGHT OFF MY BODY. (She’s even suggested that she’ll just crawl up underneath it and sneak it away when I’m not looking. I said I’d be down with that.) {Brief Gillian side note: She remembers what she was wearing on just about every single day of her life. Ask her sometime. She belongs on Ripley’s Believe It Or Not.}
5. What has been your biggest fashion accident?
This is a moot question. I don’t believe in fashion accidents. Yeah, you might look at pictures later and say “Wow. Look at that.” - but if it achieved the desired effect at the time, who cares? I say wear what makes you happy. Self-expression is freedom, and all that. My freshman year of college, I did the goth thing. Black hair, black clothing, fishnets, combat boots, dog collars, black lipstick and nail polish, the whole nine yards. At the time, that’s what made me happy. My sophomore year of college, I had my skater punk phase. Shaved head of blue hair (with shaggy burgundy bangs), nose ring, fourteen earrings, tattoo, huge wide-legged pants, enormous sneakers, wallets with LONG chains, baggy shirts, you know the drill. *shrug* Wear what you like. If people have a problem with it, then it’s their problem.
won’t you take me to TOWNIE TOWN
Look at the cutie picture I got today of my favorite punk-ass bitch. Just LOOK at how cute he is. I want to pinch his little cheeks, and then (homage to Sjet, of course) bite him in the thigh and push him into traffic.
In other news, Ernie officially hates me. I even wrote him a POEM, for god’s sake. What more does he want?
Had a brief discussion with the big Z last night as to the distinction between getting a little “somethin’ somethin’” and just “somethin’”. Definitely something to ponder. How many somethin’s do you like to get, and why? And how would you define the difference?
Time for food. High on coffee right now. Forgot breakfast. Stressed out from doing everyone’s job PLUS my own - while not being allowed to take any overtime. Woozy. Guh. Is it 5 yet?
that darn silver lining
Brief momentary diatribe on the nature of “the silver lining” in the grey cloud:
My mother has been telling me this all my life. Look for the silver lining. Everything happens for the best. There’s a reason for all suffering. Yada yada yada.
It’s occurred to me recently that this is just an excuse to justify your entire life to yourself. You can’t ever say you made a bad choice, or you made a mistake, or that you should have done something else, because EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR THE BEST, you see. You’re better off where you are. You’re better off having done what you’ve done, because it makes you the person you are today.
What if I’m not a very good person today? What if my life WOULD have been better? Let’s use this example, and forgive me if I’ve told this story already: My little brother got an ear infection on our way to my audition for the French Horn Studio at UWMadison. I had been practicing four hours a day for months - I was at the top of my game. I was SO good right at that moment in time, and I was more prepared for that audition than I’ve ever been for anything else in my life. However, because he was sick, we had to turn around and go home. By the time I got around to my rescheduled audition a couple of months later, I had spent all the in-between time rehearsing for two different plays, and I’d completely lost it. I showed up to that audition and couldn’t get out three notes at a time. It was embarassing, and I obviously didn’t get in. Now, my parents had only allowed me to apply to two schools - Madison (the school I wanted to go to) and St. Olaf (the school my parents wanted me to go to). As such, I only got in one place, and VOILA, my college experience.
Now, some might say that this happened for the best because now I’m doing something I love, and I wouldn’t have gotten into theatre if I had spent my whole college career playing French Horn as part of a pretty freaking prestigious studio. To a certain extent, I agree with that. My life is good. I am doing something I love, and something I am passionnate about - a passion I never would have discovered if I hadn’t gone to St. Olaf. However, I would have been a damn good horn player, and I would have been a damn good high school orchestra conductor when my time came. I would have had a completely different life than the one I had now … but who’s to say that it wouldn’t have been as good? Maybe it would have been better - not more fulfilling, certainly, but maybe less hard.
I am by NO means trying to say that I’m unhappy with where my life is gone, or that I’m dying under the weight of useless regret, or whatever - I’m just saying that sometimes, hiding behind the veil of “The Silver Lining” and “Everything happens for a reason” essentially means taking the easy way out, and not taking full responsibility for your actions. I refuse to say “Well, this is for the best, so I won’t worry about it”, because if if I DO worry about it, maybe it’ll teach me that next time I need to get off my ass if I really want to achieve something and reach my dreams. I’ll just give myself a good healthy dose of tough love … and maybe next time I’ll be able to say “There. That went exactly as I’d hoped.”
{Confidential to my nunchuck-toting high-kicking little brother - I hope you know that I don’t blame you for any of that, and I never did, no matter WHAT I may have insinuated to the contrary. I was angry, and it was stupid. You’re awesome. I miss you. Come visit me.}
Pilgrim’s Progress
Two things.
ONE. Lori K. Davis, you will IMMEDIATELY provide me with a link to your blog. Pronto, kitten! Don’t make me beg!
TWO: If you’re blatantly fucking with me, I’m not going to feel remorse for you when you become the squirrel.
Good night.
Messenger Theatre, v 2.0
[03:14 PM] swansong: even happy people can benefit by knowing that every silver lining has a touch of grey.
[03:17 PM] 750ml: every cloud has a silver lining with a grey lining with a silver lining with a grey lining … ?
[03:18 PM] shignition: a mickey covered in whipped cream shrouded in mystery stuffed in a bootsock.
[03:19 PM] virelai: um.
[03:19 PM] virelai: no.
[03:19 PM] virelai: please no.
back in the saddle
In the past couple of months, I’ve asked a lot of the people I love the same question - How long does it take to feel single again? I heard everything from a month to a couple of months to - my favorite - half the length of the relationship you’re getting over. (No way in hell was I going to sit around in mourning for TWO YEARS. Wasn’t going to happen.) I have gotten some incredibly sage advice from a lot of people - but the end result of it was always the same. Just wait. It’s different for everyone, you’ll know when it happens, be patient. I didn’t want to be patient. I was tired of sitting around and waiting for it to just happen.
Of course, they were right. They said that one day it would just hit me, like a bolt of lightning - I would be free. And last week, that’s just how it happened. BANG and there I was, looking at the world anew through what felt like completely different eyes. It’s like when you’ve got a wound of some kind … despite yourself, you keep touching it to see if it still hurts. One morning you wake up and accidentally bump it on something - and miraculously, you feel no pain. That’s what this was like.
As a result of that … epiphany … I was put into a situation where I wasn’t entirely sure that I trusted (or understood) my own motives for what I was thinking and feeling and doing. In retrospect, of course, my intentions were good and my motives were pure, but the brief moments of self-doubt at the time were just enough to throw me off course. Let this be a lesson unto you, children. Carpe Diem. Quit doubting and start loving already. Jesus.
Along these same lines, I came up with a rather appropriate (I thought) metaphor regarding my life. I’ve said it once before, but it bears repeating. *ahem*
I’ve only been driving for a couple of years. For a long time, I was totally paranoid of everyone on the road. I was convinced they were out to get me. I drove slowly to avoid pissing people off, and I was terrified that I was going to be in an accident. (I’ve lost two people who were very dear to me in car accidents, and I was convinced that it was only a matter of time until it was my turn.) I let people cut me off, I let EVERYONE in front of me, I was a driving doormat.
After awhile, I got sick of it. I gradually evolved to the point where I now drive more offensively than defensively. When I’m with other people, I’m a very safe driver. However, when I’m alone and I’m speeding down the highway with my windows down and my radio turned up, I stop caring so much about the rules. I’m the one who cuts people off. I get so wrapped up in what I’m doing that I cease to really pay attention to people around me. There’s something very joyous and very decadent and not a little bit reckless about it. The rules simply cease to exist.
My life - and my dealings with people - have followed a similar evolution. I’m just afraid that while I’m cruising along, singing along with the radio and sticking my hand out the window, I’m going to run over a squirrel who somehow got in the way of my joyride. And I don’t want any of my friends to be that squirrel.
So, there it is. Thank you for instinctively getting what I was trying to say, even when it wasn’t coming out correctly - and for understanding that my intentions were where they needed to be, even when I was doubting them.
It’s going to be a fun ride.
Friday Five’s Late Night Show
Here are some extra tidbits I found while researching for my answers …
Interview with Gary Gisselman. He was my department chair back at good old Olaf, and a pretty important guy in the Children’s Theatre scene. He’s part of the reason I wanted to work here.
Erik and Nickie. Erik Wallin was the tall skinny frosh that we all adopted. He was the fop in The Illusion my senior year, and with his heeled shoes he was 6’5” or something. The other guy in this pic is Nickie McKeever, who used to date one of my roommates. He was such a sweet boy, and he was always so good to me - you know, the cute and sensitive and talented all-around good guy. The anti-Peter in many ways … but I won’t talk about him now or I’ll just get angry. I hadn’t seen or thought of them in a long time - but here they are in Haugen, the blackbox where I spent so much time during college.
Big D, who once did a strip-tease outside my window for my suitemate’s birthday. He had little horns on and a collar and cuffs and a tail and he did the whole spankin’ stripper dance while Glo and Ariane and Julie Shmoolie and Dian and Anne and I just about wet ourselves. That was a good night. Kristina Mitchell, another student in that Non-Majors class. Gorgeous and smart and very intuitive about what acting was all about.
Then, here’s Alexa and Jesse (in pic #7, which is inconveniently not labeled so that I can link directly to it). Alexa was another adopted freshman who’s apparently making a big name for herself, and Jesse St. Louis was the theatre department’s prodigal son. Kept leaving and coming back and leaving again - not just the department, but the college as well. He was in The Heidi Chronicles with me my junior year, but dropped out midway through - and was replaced by Nickie McKeever, of course. Alexa and Kristina Mitchell and Liz Simmons and I were the “Altoid Bitches” during Our Town, by which I mean we were all nonspeaking townspeople and had way too much free time on our hands. Next, here’s good old BK - the tall dude second from the left. He’s a damn good playwright for someone of his age, and will be a real force to be reckoned with in a few years.
Here’s Adam Hegg playing Caliban. He also played the narrator when we did Our Town and is better at dialects than just about anyone I know. And here’s my darling Kater Patater Skater Fellater … she’s the feathered one in the middle of picture #7 (also NOT labeled). It just makes me feel very old and far away to see these people that I used to be so close to going on with their college careers and spending time in those theatres which used to be my home. I barely communicate with any of them anymore. Of course, that’s probably my own damn fault.
Finally Fantastic Fleeting Friday Five
Here we are, once again …
1. What is your current occupation? Is this what you chose to be doing at this point in your life? Why or why not?
I work for the Seattle Children’s Theatre, an organization I just can NOT say enough about. Yes, there are problems (as there are with any arts organization) but they do so much of it right. We recently had a design presentation for what’s going to happen here next season, and the sheer brilliance of some of it just astonished me. It’s a good place to work, the people are laid-back but passionnate, I feel at home here. Of course, my job is a mishmash of two jobs (and at the moment, three jobs) and essentially I’m someone’s go-to-guy all day … I obviously don’t want to stay in my current position forever. I promised to stay in this job for at least 12-18 months, at which point I would start considering the possibility of moving to a different department, but I wouldn’t want to leave the theatre. It is exactly what I chose to do … in March of 2001, I left my job at the architect consulting firm. The people there were nice, but I really wanted to be doing something that I cared about in an industry that I wanted to STAY in. I quit so I could start temping and looking for something permanent… and apparently, I quit during the month that Seattle’s “recession” began. I temped for ten months and went on probably thirty interviews (and spent at least a solid month out of work completely) before I was finally offered the job here. I decided that I wasn’t going to settle for a job that was only partially right, and I made myself very broke in the process, but I think it was worth it. On a larger scale, this is not my ideal job, no. But it’s closer than anything I’ve had yet, and I’m trying to appreciate the baby steps.
2. If time/talent/money were no object, what would your dream occupation be?
Easy. I want to have Dona Werner Freeman ’s job - my college acting teacher and mentor. She teaches acting to college kids during the day, and occasionally directs a mainstage or blackbox show. At night, she acts professionally in Minneapolis. It would be the perfect dichotomy for me - I could still perform and keep that side of me alive, but I would also have a “paying the bills” kind of job that I loved. Also, that kind of work is fulfilling in a way that nothing else is for me. Here’s an example - I TA’d a semester of Acting for Non-Majors, taught by Dona. One of the students in our class was a girl named Kelli Hulshof, who had so much natural talent and was willing to work so hard. I spent a lot of time working with her, and eventually coached her and her partner through a scene from Extremities, which had been the first scene I’d done in my first acting class as well. Being able to connect with her at that level - and seeing her progress right in front of my eyes - was a really rewarding experience. That’s Kelli in the picture at the far bottom. She’s come a long way. I want to be able to do that for the rest of my life.
3. What did/do your parents do for a living? Has this had any influence on your career choices?
My father has been a clarinet professor and erstwhile band director at Eastern Illinois University for … a very long time. My mother was a grade school teacher for a long time, and currently teaches preschool at my family’s home. (Top half of house = house, bottom half of house = preschool.) My parents are both teachers, and one of them is a musician. It’s no big surprise to me that I grow up doing something arty and wanting to teach. Maybe it’s genetic.
4. Have you ever had to choose between having a career and having a family?
The week before I graduated, Dona took me and her other TA (good old Sarah Truesdale) out to lunch. She warned me not to let my career become my life… and she cautioned me against making some of the mistakes that she’d made. She stressed over and over again how important family and friends are, and how easy it is to forget about that when all you’re concerned with is your next audition. She said that she was glad B— and I had each other, and that we were so good for each other, and that she was thrilled with the idea of us someday having children, and what wonderful creations they would be. She told me to keep in touch and to keep my wits about me out in the world and to remember what was really important. I have never personally had to choose between career and family. However, someone dear to me had to make that choice - and family lost.
5. In your opinion, what is the easiest job in the world? What is the hardest? Why?
This is so relative. Teaching is the hardest, most important job in the world. It’s also often the easiest, because teachers (at least, the good ones) are more passionnate and motivated to do their work than most people out slogging through jobs that they don’t care about. Real, dyed-in-the-wool teachers love what they do, and to some extent the buoyancy of knowing that you’re making a difference can make it seem not so hard. Of course, I’m sure you could say the same about anything. Acting is hard. You’re poor all the time, you flit from place to place, you get no respect, you have no insurance, you live off stipends and yet are expected to always be beautiful. At the same time, in the middle of a really amazing performance you are the happiest person in the world, and everything flows from a place in you that is very easy and natural and honest. So, the answer is I Don’t Know. Easy and Hard is what you make it.
Pet Haiku Opera
I wrote this during my lunch hour. Ahem.
Kasmo:
Sometimes I think I
Have become people so I
Stand on two legs too.
Jack:
Stupid fucking dogs.
Bark and chase and fetch and play
While I beauty sleep.
Piper:
How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways - uh oh.
I guess dogs can’t count.
Kasmo:
Stop sniffing my butt!
I don’t care about you … but
I pee where you’ve peed.
Jack:
Stupid fucking dogs.
Fighting over cat food, when
It is clearly mine.
Piper:
I love your earnest
Expression and your floppy
Ears and stumpy tail.
Kasmo:
I taste your spit on
My chew toy when I fetch it.
I don’t seem to mind.
Jack:
Stupid fucking dogs.
Cats care not for silly love -
Then we can’t get hurt.
Piper:
I throw you my bone
In vain hopes of attention.
You’re crushing my heart.
Kasmo:
I howl when mom leaves
Because I love her so much.
Do you howl for me?
“original mythic skyscape”
All right, Yuki and Mike, I am tired of waiting for you to wake up and come have lunch with me. I am fed up, and I’m not going to take it anymore! Plus, I have to go to Sudden to pick up 1600 little green postcards, so I have to leave anyway.
Here is my question for Mr. Lee - this crazy guy I know is doing his one-man show at the planetarium tonight, and I’d really like to go. Okay?
blog mcblog mcblogblogblog
There are many things I would like to post right now.
In the name of friendship and decency, you will be getting none of them.
Okay, a few of them. To wit:
Mike is here. As Jen said, he still has vaguely weird hair, which is oddly comforting. (Not weird for HIM, mind you. The same hair he had last time I saw him, five years ago.) Oban is good. Glenlivet 18 is better. Pernod is … like shoving a box of flaming Good’n’Plentys into your mouth while sniffing a bottle of rocket fuel. I like Haikus. Good night.
things so complicated
Spent the weekend painting the dining room. Yes, the ENTIRE WEEKEND. Patti and I spent several hours at good old Home Depot, our hands full of mismatched paint swatches and brushes and edgers and rollers and paint trays and paint sticks and special texture roller refills and dog food bins and switch plates. We made fun of the preppy girl buying the gallon of high-gloss baby poop brown. We watched the bratty little boy get dragged repeatedly up and down the aisle getting spanked by alternating parents while the other one gave the paint-mixing-guy a hard time. We almost bought a ladder. We taped and painted and edged and detailed and wiped and moved furniture and dripped on each other. Two days later, I have a dining room that’s Serape-colored Suede (special texture paint!) with Chimayo Red trim. Some time in there I managed to pull and/or pinch something in my back, sprain a toe, and paint my bedroom door green … that is, the color of green that the living room is going to be painted THIS weekend. And then I’m painting my bedroom blue, and … gah. Home improvement is so tiring. Bob Vila must be exhausted.
In other news, Piper is in love with Kasmo. Pathetic, desperate, last-ditch-effort love. He, on the other hand, could not care less about her. She follows him around the house, barking frantically (in her high-pitched “Pay attention to me, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD” bark) and he just looks away. He is driving her slowly insane. Last night, she sunk to new lows. Patti and Jennifer had gone to dinner at Luau, and Patti brought home two rib bones for the dogs to chew on. Kasmo finished his in under a minute flat, and went back to his “Hey, I’m going to poke you in the armpit and thigh and nose and left ear with this toy until you throw it for me” game. Piper would run into the living room, throw her bone at him, pick it up, and leave. Then she’d throw the bone into the living room from the bedroom, come out and get it, look at Kasmo expectantly, leave. Then she’d just run right up face to face with him (the bone sticking out of her mouth so that it almost bumped him in the nose), and when he didn’t seem to care she would leave. Repeat this cycle ad nauseum - and of course, I’m narrating the whole thing in the background in my Piper Voice(tm) - “Here’s my bone! I love you!”
In other news, I’m sleepy. I’m also hungry, grumpy, and several other dwarves. I expect I’ll be to dopey by the time Mickey plops himself in my world… that is, of course, if he didn’t get so sick of waiting for Yuki to pick him up at SeaTac that he decided to fly back to Korea.
oops!
Nicknames inadvertently left off my list:
Peaches, Pickle, Duckling, DA ‘licia, ‘licia.
Thanks to Molly for reminding me!
frollicking festival of friday five
The Friday Five Folks are moving this week, so I’ll do an old one instead! This one was originally posted Friday, December 14th (2 days after my birthday!).
1. What did you want to be when you grew up?
Many different things. When I was really little, I wanted to be an equestrian. This gradually shifted to veterinarian, which was my goal from third grade all the way through my freshman year of high school. It was around this time that I took Teddy to the vet, and had to watch the vet inform an old man that his dog had passed away. The man, who had to be at least 80, leaned on the counter and sobbed as the vet handed him the empty collar, and at that moment I knew with absolute clarity that I couldn’t do that. I didn’t want to have a job where I had to deal that directly with death, so I went looking for something else. From my sophomore year of high school until about a week into my first year of college, I wanted to be either a professional French Horn player (in a symphony or similar) or a band director. Olaf sucked that desire right out of me … at which point I dropped my music major and ended up majoring in theatre. My life goal now is to co-opt the life of my college acting professor. I want to marry someone wealthy but wonderful, have adorable children, teach acting to college students all day and act professionally at night. Okay, I could vary it a little, but that’s essentially the goal.
2. Do you have any nicknames?
God, I’ve had so many nicknames in my life. Ali (occasionally toothless Ali), Sissy, Punky (which I actually thought was my name when I was about three), Ines (and eight years later, Inez), Abe, Shiggy, Barta-baby, Scylla, Freesia, Monkey, Heidi, My Special Girl, etc etc. (One Townie, who shall remain nameless, calls me Leeshie Bar-tah). It’s still sort of odd to me to have people call me by my actual name.
3. If you could change something about yourself what would it be?
Jesus. Do you want the real answer, or the answer that will make you feel like I’m a decent human being? You know what, I’m going to plead the fifth. I’ve got to draw the self-disclosure line somewhere.
4. Have you ever bought anything from an infomercial?
Yup. I bought the whole Winsor Pilates video set a couple of months ago while I was up at three in the morning bored and watching TV. They’re … okay. Nothing miraculous.
5. How do you plan to spend your weekend?
Well, I’m so glad you asked! Tonight, I’m going to Swanky B Studio (at 800 Morerand) to do a workshop presentation at 8:00. You should come see it! I’ve been working for the past couple of weeks on this exceedingly odd (but very fulfilling) pseudo-generative-movement-kinda project with Pinky Budraitis, GJ, ZZ, Comte, Jaye, and The Girl. It’s been a really good time, although it’s exhausting work (both emotionally and physically) on top of it being a week which has not been easy for me for unrelated reasons. So, that’s tonight, after which we’re going drinking (huzzah!) and then who knows. On Saturday, I’m driving Patti somewhere to pick up a cleaner for her art deco couch which is covered in Kasmo fuzz. Then we’re going to paint the dining room, maybe? And then maybe to Nanny-Tiger’s in West Seattle for her BBQ, if I’m not total toast by then. On Sunday, I’m going to do yet MORE painting, and also go to BWC! Then, I am going to collapse in a painty, mosquito-bitten pile and sleep right there for three or four days. I’m really looking forward to that part.
who says it doesn’t pay?
Excerpted (and edited) from an all-staff email this morning:
This week 3 cars have been stolen during the business day in our vicinity. Two belonged to Pacific Science Center staff and were parked in the lot at 2nd and Denny and one belonged to someone from Intiman, parked in the Mercer Garage. When he complained to the police dispatcher that he had to wait at the site until an officer could meet him, he was told “Sir, crime is not convenient.” A playwright, he responded “Can I quote you?”
now my empty cup is as sweet as the punch
Remember my ugly black dresser? The one I got while garage-sailing last August? It’s finally painted. B— was over last night, and he dragged it down to the top of my garage, where I covered it in crackle coat. Then, we went inside to watch a bit of Sliding Doors. After an hour, I had to go back down there to do the actual paint coat. (Of course, by this point it was dark and the mosquitos ate me alive.) The crackle can said to sponge it on, which I did - but it didn’t quite work. It’s pretty, but it just looks sponge-painted, and there’s not much crackling going on. Of course, I don’t really mind - it wasn’t intended to be high art, it was just supposed to be less ugly. Which it is, so I suppose I’ve succeeded.
Next: Our Dining Room (this weekend) and Our Living Room (next weekend?) and Our Porch Trim (next weekend?) and Our Porch Floor (no idea when) and My BedRoom (perhaps ALSO this weekend)! The house is coming closer and closer to really feeling like ours. I’m also trying to decide if I want to bother painting the INSIDE of the drawers, because I also have this pale mauve-y color that would be good for the insides but would be way too pink for the outsides… and then I would call it done. We’ll see. I can’t do it this week, because I’m seending all my free time with Budraitis!! Oh well. Maybe next week.
Woke up this morning to the sounds of NPR and the smell of coffee and freshly baked cinnamon rolls. I love my housemates. I crawled out of my room and they were out on the porch - and for a moment, I was very happy to be alive. Of course, by the time I got to work, that had worn off.
*********************
thought i knew my mind like the back of my hand
spent so long convincing myself I felt a certain way. finally started to believe it. getting over, getting on with, getting through. feeling better. learning to create again. learning to thrive again. starting over.
the gold and the rainbow, nothing panned out as i planned
unsettled. shattered. thought things were one way. waiting for the other shoe to drop. waiting for the sky to fall. “yeah, sure. go ahead and tell me. i’ve got twenty minutes.” i was prepared for a multitude of things, but not this. not this.
they say only milk and honey’s gonna make your soul satisfied
i needed to keep that. i needed the hate to validate myself. to validate the new life. i needed you to be bad so i could be good. i wanted someone to blame.
i better learn how to swim cause the crossing is chilly and wide
you can’t do this. you’re not allowed. it’s unfortunate, it’s unwanted, it’s unnecessary. you were right, it’s unfair. you don’t have the right to do this anymore. not after everything else you’ve done. i won’t let you break things again.
and there’s always retrospect to light a clearer path
every five years or so I look back on my life and I have a good laugh
you start at the top, go full circle round, catch a breeze, take a spin
but ending up where I started again makes me want to stand still
like laura ingalls, but different
This weekend was odd to the extreme. Here are some highlights:
*taping paint swatches to walls
*playing a new game with two frisbees, a kong, a ball, and two dogs
*the rebirth of the “Sin Bin”
*sharing Sjet’s love of Dewey Decimal with the world
*Cockatoo = “PENIS! And the number after one!”
*dodging phone calls from the ex
*relationship heart-to-heart with my darling N.G.
*being thrown to the ground repeatedly and liking it
*coming home from work to find a huge box from Godiva sitting on my doorstep
*reclaiming the maligned Raoul
*falling asleep with my face in G.’s crotch
*singing camp songs in the dark while watching the northern lights, indoors
*coming home from a party to find all the kitchen cabinets organized and labeled
*wearing a nightgown, going to some navy barracks, and getting blackberry brambles caught in my underwear
*a new appreciation for “Free Monty” and all that live therein
*remembering, in an unexpected way, that I do in fact have quadruceps
As mementos of said odd weekend, I have a sliced-open left instep, bangs that are an inch shorter than last week, a temporary paunch full of chocolate and beer-brat, motel-style signs on my bedroom door, and this fabulous faux-sunburn that gets mottled around the edges (where the nightgown had macrame.) Also, a verbal agreement with a certain G. for an impending trade-off of certain body parts.
Today, my morning boss is back for a meeting and visit. In the three hours she’s been here, she’s already gone to bat for me (with a coworker who inadvertently hurt my feelings) and won. She is, as the kids say nowadays, “Phiggity phat.” Stay tuned for the further adventures of the SueBee.
Current Music:Sarah McLachlan ReMixed, Fear
freesia’s freaky deaky friday five
1. Do you have a car? If so, what kind of car is it?
I do! My darling Zoe, who recently became an official Washington resident, after having contraband Illinois plates for nearly two years after moving here. She is a 1999 Mercury Tracer, four-door, white, automatic, adorable. She was a graduation present of sorts from my family, and she is the one true love of my life. Aside from my dog, of course. She needs a bath in a major way, but looks pretty damn good considering everything she’s been through.
2. Do you drive very often?
All the time. I live in Greenlake, I work in Queen Anne, and I spend the majority of my free time somewhere in Capitol Hill. Plus, since I have a dog, I often drive home for lunch to spend a little time with her while she’s stressing out about the fact that people are MOVING INTO OUR HOUSE.
3. What’s your dream car?
This shifts daily. For awhile, my dream car was a big jungle jeep - something huge and buff and sort of khaki. Essentially, I want my head to be as far from the ground as possible while driving, without resorting to monster truck tires. Of course, this is the “dream” car that would never be my “actual life” car. On a slightly more realistic level, I would love to have a mini-SUV. My friend Shawna has one that I just love, and the … what is it called, Aztec? I like those too. However, I will probably have my current car for a long time, if it holds out, and when I need a new car, it will be something cheap. (I can always dream.)
4. Have you ever received a ticket?
Parking or Speeding? My driving record is impeccable - no tickets. Of course, I’ve only had my license since I was 21. Now, if we’re talking about parking tickets, B— and I somehow managed to rack up 31 of them. I’m only claiming six - but that’s still a lot of parking tickets. Since I’ve been living on my own, I’ve gotten … ZERO. This should probably tell me something.
5. Have you ever been in an accident?
Yes. As for how many, that depends on how you define “accident”. If cars actually hitting isn’t necessary, three. If it is, then two. The first was during Interim Break my sophomore year at Olaf. Joel and I were driving out to Madison to visit some friends of his, and my Caitlin. On the way, it was blizzarding, and there was a full inch of black ice on the road. We’re going 70, weaving through traffic that’s going 30 because they can’t see where they’re going. Joel decides he wants to take off his coat, so he hands me a sleeve to pull on, and momentarily looks away from the road. The next thing I know, the car is in a full spin - Joel’s checking the side mirrors, the back mirror, counter-steering, all while telling me that it’s going to be fine. He never even breaks a sweat, despite the fact that Grace (his car) manages to make three full 360s before we slam into the ditch. I - as is my MO when I’m freaking out - burst out into frantic laughter, which stops after a minute when I realize “Holy SHIT, we’re in Minnesota in January in a blizzard and we’re stuck in a ditch! I’m going to be an Aliciasicle!” My eyes get big and I turn to Joel, who hands me a cigarette and says “Don’t worry. We won’t be here long.” Before I even have the chance to light up, a middle-aged woman in a huge SUV pulls up and says “Hey, need some help?” and tows us to safety. The second was on our way to see Todd Coulter in Angels in America up in Minneapolis senior year. Dian Hermes was driving us in her little car, Pip Gengenbach was in the front seat with her, and Gloria Gamboa and I were in the back. Some asshole pulls into our lane from the right - we must have been right in his blind spot, because his back bumper was maybe even with the back of our front doors. Dian swerves left - and the guy who was in that lane pulls a hard RIGHT and slams right into the left rear wheel well, right next to me. This sends us into a screeching 180 in the middle of 35-E, which should have caused a pile-up considering how FAST the traffic was going, but miraculously didn’t. We come to a complete stop - nobody is breathing, and Pip says “Ow. I stubbed my toe.” The best part was that just as the guy was coming into our lane, he threw a glance back - too late - and actually made eye contact with Glo. She looked up at him, pointed at him, and was saying “What the FUCK?!” as Dian started swerving. The guy saw the whole accident, and just kept driving. In the end, the guy who hit us was really nice, and we only missed the first few minutes of Todd’s show. The third time was the very first week we were in Seattle. We were on our way to Bumbershoot when we were sidewsiped on I-5 North, a block south of the Seattle Center Exit, by a migrant worker with no permanent address, no brakes, and no insurance. That’s all I’m going to say about that one. Several weeks and $3000 worth of damage later, he’s State Farm’s problem. I’m just glad there was a cop there - she was attending to a fender-bender less than 30 feet from us when it happened.
easily distracted
I made myself a banner! The original idea was that people are always commenting on my constantly-changing exterior, so I would put pics up there as the changes occurred. I’m still messing with it - not sure I like the solarized pic, it’s not quite the right size, etc etc. Any suggestions? What do you think?
banana fana fo fana
In case you missed Spin the Bottle last Friday, here is a brief overview of Gude escaping from a bodybag and Hot Topic novelty straight jacket while being tickled by beautiful women, to the sounds of Melt Banana.
tuck’s medicated pads
So.
I have 3 spare free tickets to see Tuck Everlasting on Wednesday.
Pacific Place.
Seven O’clock.
D’ya wanna go with me?
If i knew you were coming, i’d have baked a…
So, Mickey is coming to visit. What should we do with/to him?
Gene has suggested Monkey Torture, rolling him down Mt. Rainier in a barrel, and taking him to Pike Place Market and turning him into “FishBoy” with the cast-off seafood.
i just can’t get enough
Three entries in one day? Am I crazy?
My friend Casie asked me these questions in an attempt to figure out what her “style” is - she’s a designer and wants to create her own personal brand of smoove. I answered for her, and then she returned the favor! I thought her insights about me were really interesting, so here they are …
1. If you were to describe Me in five adjectives, what would they be?
I couldn’t do it in five. And since I made up this game, I pick six:
bold, jovial, artistic, dramatic, gregarious, affectionate
2. If I was a color or set of colors, what would they be?
Dark green, bright orange, and dark purple. Together they make a unique, daring statement that you can’t ignore and can’t stop looking at. They have echos of disco and early MTV, but the combination can be fresh and unmistakably in style when worn with confidence and without reservation. No matter what—these colors are always interesting.
3. If I were an abstract shape, would I be rounded or pointy? Tall or short? Thin or fat? (and no, that’s not a trick question.)
You would be curvy and more short than tall. And the shape would be covered in alternating stripes of vibrant colors. It would have many different “arms” that keep on branching out with endless beautiful colors. In fact, the shape is shaped kind of like a “funnel cake.” There is no middle, beginning or end—just swirls and swirls that go on forever.
4. Now pick a real shape (like rectangle, square, circle, oval, diamond, rhombus, your choice ; ).)
You would be a classic circle yellow smiley face.
5. If I was a texture, what kind of texture would I be? (as in like; wet cardboard, cotton, a shiny metal surface, puff paint on a sweatshirt, scotch tape, etc.)
One of those dark red, soft velvet seat covers you sit on in nice theaters. You know the ones I mean? They’re smooshy and fun to feel?
6. If I was a food, what kind of food would I be?
A dill pickle. They’re the best part of a hamburger and the thing everyone stares at in wonder at sandwich shops. I used to eat entire jars of dill pickles. Not your typical snack, but festive, and so much fun to eat!
Questions? Comments? Concerns? Snide remarks? Your opinion matters!
this one goes out to the one i love
sjet -
I have something to share with you. I can’t use destroyer plane, as that belongs entirely to you. I can, however, use incendiary pulp. It originally came from Mickey, but it is now officially mine. I have claimed it in the name of Spain. Feel free to borrow it when you need some variety and a regular destroyer plane just won’t do.
the friday freesia funky five
1. What is your lineage? Where are your ancestors from?
My father’s family is Mostly Polish, with some Czech and a sprinkle of German. In a word - Bohunk. You remember that scene in 16 Candles where she’s talking to her dad, and she’s crying, and he’s comforting her, and we think he finally Gets It, and then he says “We’re upset that your sister is marrying a Bohunk too.” That would be us. My mother’s family is all 100% Danish. The result? A naturally zaftig, square-jawed girl with a taste for polka/big band music who loves beer-brats, fried potato dumplings, and pebberner (peppernuts).
2. Of those countries, which would you most like to visit?
Off the top of my head, I’d say Denmark. I did a Danish Language Independent Study in high school (with Dr. Nokkentved! Three cheers for Doc Nok!), and found the language to be complicated and beautiful. He grew up in Copenhagen (which, for the record, is roughly pronounced KEUH-bn-haown) and helped me translate a newspaper article from the early 1900s which was written about my Great-Grandfather. It was one of the few moments in my life where I actually felt like I had a culture of some kind. Of course, that didn’t last long.
3. Which would you least like to visit? Why?
Germany. This is the sole responsibility of the most unpleasant roommate I’ve ever had in my life. She’s not a bad person, and she was fun to hang out with until I moved in with her. I won’t, however, even begin to go into details about how bad living with her was for me, and how many nights I cried myself to sleep because of how shitty she made me feel about myself. In any case, she grew up in many places, including Germany. She was constantly talking about how great things were in Germany, and how stupid America was, and how much she wanted to be back there. I got sick of hearing about how dumb Americans were, and how lame my country was, and this quickly turned me off to the idea of ever going to Germany.
4. Do you do anything during the year to celebrate or recognize your heritage?
Only at family reunions. Some of you may know this story, so you can skip to the next question. My grandfather headed up a dance band in the 40s - early 60s. Lawrence Welk type stuff - my father played at both of his own proms. They toured through North Dakota, South Dakota, Montana, Minnesota, Wisconsin. The band was entirely made up of members of my family - when my father came along, they needed a clarinetist, so he learned how to play it. Now he teaches clarinet at EIU. There was an opening, he filled it. My Uncle Doug came along, they needed a trumpet player, etc etc. Everyone was involved - and as such, all of my aunts and uncles are musical. Most of my cousins ended up majoring in music as well. I was the only one that started majoring in it and then quit, though - which is something I was always really embarassed about. Everyone has good pitch, etc etc. Maybe it’s genetic. In any case, every time we have a family reunion, we dance. Everyone busts out the instruments, everyone sings, we just take over the garage of whoever’s house we’re reuning at and play and sing and dance. I’ve done the polka, the tango, the bossa nova … if you want to learn, there’s an uncle somewhere who will teach you, if he’s not busy playing the tuba or the piano or the trumpet or the clarinet or the saxophone or whatever. And then we eat fried potato dumplings and grill beerbrats and talk about the good old days. Now that I don’t have any grandparents left, I don’t know how this will change. These reunions always centered around my grandmother - my last remaining grandparent - and she passed away a year ago this spring. The next reunion will definitely be different. I just don’t know how yet.
5. Who were the first ancestors to move to your present country (parents, grandparents, etc)?
Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m really not sure. I want to say that it was my great-grandparents on both sides. It’s been awhile.
capacity for rational thought
Well, the Stage Door cast list came out today. All three of the actors who got the roles I auditioned for are better suited for them than I would have been. I hate it when things make sense and I am forced to be objective. It makes unreasonable, uninformed, melodramatic depression nearly impossible.