Life is like Tetris.
Really.
Some pieces fit. And some do not.
We eagerly await each misshapen piece as it falls from the sky, and as it falls at an alarmingly accelerated rate, we lay down those pieces as our foundation the best we can.
We look up in anticipation of the next piece of the puzzle. What will we be given? How will we use it? Will it fit the way we need it to... the way we want it to?
Some pieces fall from the heavens and slide into the valleys as though they were always meant to fill those voids. These blocks make sense, they are a smooth and shiny YES giving us affirmation that we are moving in the right direction.
And some of those pieces just don't make sense anywhere.
Sometimes we look up and we find ourselves face to face with a piece of the puzzle that just doesn't fit. We look for a place to hide it or disguise it; sometimes we try to jab it in a corner or fling it unobtrusively into other pieces, though they don't make any sense in those places either.
But it's the best we can do with what we are given. It's just the best we can do.
.........Some pieces fit together better than others.........
And honestly, once we have turned that rapidly descending piece around in the air 5 or 6 times desperately hoping it will swan dive amicably and pleasantly (and maybe even beautifully?) into place, there is little more we can do.
The pieces of the puzzle will fall. And sometimes there is no use fighting the blocks that don't fit. Because they either do or they don't.
A wise Russian princess once said to me that when something is going to work it just will. Effortlessly. Easily. It will just work. And if we must try so hard, well, it probably won't. It's not supposed to....Trying to fit a square into a circle? Try as we might, it's not going anywhere. Why do we fight so hard to make the ill-fitting pieces fit? Human nature. We want the impossible. We want order. We fight the chaos.
And then we must embrace the chaos. It is a beautiful thing.
When more and more pieces stop fitting, the blocks build up until the complications reach the sky. We twist and we turn and we writhe and we look for ways to fix the poor turns and ill-landings that we've designed on our own, and the pieces fall faster and faster with more intensity until we reach:
GAME OVER.
The pieces tell a story. They are our own pieces. It is our story.
Sometimes the game is just over. It is time to start over. We tried to make the pieces fit, and well, heck, they just didn't.
But there is always the next game.
And the next high-score to beat.
And when those pieces do fall magically and effortlessly into the right places, life is sweetly ours to enjoy
round
after
round.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Fragile Plant
On my window sill sits a very fragile plant.
You would think that its slender stems and paper-thin leaves would not survive the harsh winter drafts and lack of sunlight. You would suppose that its abuse and frequent water-deprivation from its sometimes less than doting owner would leave this poor plant hopeless and for dead.
But you would be wrong.
This little plant is stronger than it looks.
On the sometimes too-often occasion when it is found drooping and sullen with cracked leaves and broken stems, its owner has almost given up on it. "This plant needs far more attention than once thought!" the owner proclaims. The owner marvels at how the slightest lack of care can make it crumble.
How much care living creatures need. Sometimes not even immense care. Just care in general.
Acknowledgment of existence.
And when the owner blesses it with holy water trying to revive it (overdoses it with water, really, guilty and trying to make up for the weeks of ill-treatment and abuse) the fragile plant does the unthinkable.
It rises once again.
It comes back to life.
This unthinkably strong plant fights for its life, drinks in the water and remains. It reaches deep within itself and finds the strength to stand up tall and and survive.
And what's crazy is that this fragile plant, every time it is knocked down, comes back stronger than before.
Yes, it is weathered now. It has tears and rips in its precious pink-veined leaves. It has a few broken stems and several crackled limbs. But in its battle to survive, it somehow comes back stronger and fuller.
And after every war, the fragile plant seems to bloom. It says, 'Look at me! I'm still here! I took the abuse, I took the ill-treatment, I have lived through this war, and here I am! And I am beautiful and tall and lovely and I stand stronger this time because I lived through it. And I'll do it again too. And I'll come back. Lovelier and brighter because now I know how."
This fragile plant is a hero.
It is innocent and damaged at the same time. It bravely sports its scars and cuts and battle wounds.
This fragile plant is a reminder to us all.
We should all be as strong as this fragile plant and let ourselves bloom in the night after the battle has ceased.
Because all we need to do is drink in the water. And the strength we thought we lost?
It lies within our crackled leaves.
You would think that its slender stems and paper-thin leaves would not survive the harsh winter drafts and lack of sunlight. You would suppose that its abuse and frequent water-deprivation from its sometimes less than doting owner would leave this poor plant hopeless and for dead.
But you would be wrong.
This little plant is stronger than it looks.
On the sometimes too-often occasion when it is found drooping and sullen with cracked leaves and broken stems, its owner has almost given up on it. "This plant needs far more attention than once thought!" the owner proclaims. The owner marvels at how the slightest lack of care can make it crumble.
How much care living creatures need. Sometimes not even immense care. Just care in general.
Acknowledgment of existence.
And when the owner blesses it with holy water trying to revive it (overdoses it with water, really, guilty and trying to make up for the weeks of ill-treatment and abuse) the fragile plant does the unthinkable.
It rises once again.
It comes back to life.
This unthinkably strong plant fights for its life, drinks in the water and remains. It reaches deep within itself and finds the strength to stand up tall and and survive.
And what's crazy is that this fragile plant, every time it is knocked down, comes back stronger than before.
Yes, it is weathered now. It has tears and rips in its precious pink-veined leaves. It has a few broken stems and several crackled limbs. But in its battle to survive, it somehow comes back stronger and fuller.
And after every war, the fragile plant seems to bloom. It says, 'Look at me! I'm still here! I took the abuse, I took the ill-treatment, I have lived through this war, and here I am! And I am beautiful and tall and lovely and I stand stronger this time because I lived through it. And I'll do it again too. And I'll come back. Lovelier and brighter because now I know how."
This fragile plant is a hero.
It is innocent and damaged at the same time. It bravely sports its scars and cuts and battle wounds.
This fragile plant is a reminder to us all.
We should all be as strong as this fragile plant and let ourselves bloom in the night after the battle has ceased.
Because all we need to do is drink in the water. And the strength we thought we lost?
It lies within our crackled leaves.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Great Expectations
Maybe Shakespeare was right..."Expectation is the root of all heartache..."
Well, no one can actually confirm it was Shakespeare who said that. But most people give credit to the Bard.
Buddha agrees:
He believes that expectation is essentially evil, that attachment to high expectations leads us down a path of lows when expectations are not met.
"It is not the outcome that stole your peace - it is your decision to have expectations and emotional attachments to a specific outcome that stole your inner peace..."
Buddha didn't say that directly. Some chick on some Buddhist website said that.
I suppose most of us could be considered Buddhist failures.
I am guilty, as well. I might as well be the biggest Buddhist failure there is. It's a gift really. An uncanny knack for misreading most situations.
Well, let's ask the question then:
Maybe.
But would that be any fun? What would happen to the daydreams and the hidden smiles? The hard work and the reached goals? The challenges met and the obstacles conquered?
Let's pick at it from another point of view. As an actor, we are always thinking, always wondering, always looking for an answer, always fighting for the outcome. We, as characters, hope and want things to turn out certain ways. Maybe we need expectations to drive us ahead, painful as they might be at times. These same painful expectations can also be unspeakably beautiful.
Most characters (at least the interesting ones), by Buddha's standards, are dismal Buddhist failure rejects. They are probably the worst of the worst. They have wild expectations and attachments to outcomes. Love, sex, death, drugs, future....the great plays are laced with expectation.
And so is real life.
Life is laced with expectation. And while Buddha and Shakespeare might be right, what are we to do about it?
Really.
How hard it is to separate what we'd like to happen, hope might happen, and think might happen from our minds and souls.
If we never expected anything, would we simply be pleasantly surprised when things DID go our way?
Would there be disappointment? Would we feel joy without the dreaded but wonderful 'expectation?'
Shakespeare wrote play after play full of shattered expectations. Life is drama.
The truth is, it is human to expect. It is human to attach ourselves to people and to desired outcomes.
We may not always get what we want.
But how sweet it is when we do.
Well, no one can actually confirm it was Shakespeare who said that. But most people give credit to the Bard.
Buddha agrees:
He believes that expectation is essentially evil, that attachment to high expectations leads us down a path of lows when expectations are not met.
"It is not the outcome that stole your peace - it is your decision to have expectations and emotional attachments to a specific outcome that stole your inner peace..."
Buddha didn't say that directly. Some chick on some Buddhist website said that.
I suppose most of us could be considered Buddhist failures.
I am guilty, as well. I might as well be the biggest Buddhist failure there is. It's a gift really. An uncanny knack for misreading most situations.
Well, let's ask the question then:
Is it possible to hold expectations at bay?
Maybe.
But would that be any fun? What would happen to the daydreams and the hidden smiles? The hard work and the reached goals? The challenges met and the obstacles conquered?
Let's pick at it from another point of view. As an actor, we are always thinking, always wondering, always looking for an answer, always fighting for the outcome. We, as characters, hope and want things to turn out certain ways. Maybe we need expectations to drive us ahead, painful as they might be at times. These same painful expectations can also be unspeakably beautiful.
Most characters (at least the interesting ones), by Buddha's standards, are dismal Buddhist failure rejects. They are probably the worst of the worst. They have wild expectations and attachments to outcomes. Love, sex, death, drugs, future....the great plays are laced with expectation.
And so is real life.
Life is laced with expectation. And while Buddha and Shakespeare might be right, what are we to do about it?
Really.
How hard it is to separate what we'd like to happen, hope might happen, and think might happen from our minds and souls.
If we never expected anything, would we simply be pleasantly surprised when things DID go our way?
Would there be disappointment? Would we feel joy without the dreaded but wonderful 'expectation?'
Shakespeare wrote play after play full of shattered expectations. Life is drama.
The truth is, it is human to expect. It is human to attach ourselves to people and to desired outcomes.
We may not always get what we want.
But how sweet it is when we do.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The Sugar High
I might be in the process of overdosing on Sour Patch children.
The back office is full of sugar. Sugar is in every corner. I feel like a puppy in a cage stuck behind the front desk with bundles of sugar-induced energy, wanting to run around in circles or salsa dance deliberately in front of the fish-tank glass walls, but I am trapped behind the front desk with only twelve check-ins left and three hours ahead of me.
The football players look at me cross-eyed when I ask for their identification--they assume I should know who they are, but I truly don't. This makes me laugh. Quiet little laughs. Behind their backs, of course, when they can't hear me.
I try to take a pencap off of a pen for a guest to sign their registration card, and for some reason, I fail miserably in removing the cap. "Well that's on there tight!" I exclaim. I give the guest another pen while my German supervisor removes the pencap with one great tug. "It's all the potatoes!" she smiles at me. The guests laugh.
I dash to the back for another piece of candy, because candy calls to me at the best of times, and when it is taunting me from a mere 100 feet away, I almost certainly will succumb to its peer pressure and sweet siren calls.
"Eat me.....! Eat me.....!" the candy cheers.
I eat the candy! In one swoop! Gone! FFxzzzz popppp whooooooosh.
Those who know me know I have crazy little silly sessions that often last for 10 minutes at a time, giggle fits and swooshy limbs and lilts of nonsensical laughter towards jokes that only make sense to me.
Some people would say these are special times. Yes.
Women walk around in the lobby in clothing they should seriously re-think.
Some women should not wear mini-skirts. There. I said it.
I feel the sour patch kids wreaking havoc. They are playing hopscotch and jumping rope and want to make fools of themselves in a kickball game. They are listening to smooth jazz playing and are getting bored. They are starting to irritate me.
They are ready to go to the bar. My stomach is getting upset. But nooooOOOOoooooo, don't let them win!
Onwards! Onwards to the bar with the sour patch kids in mini skirts and the pups in cages about to be freed!
Two hours and 20 minutes left.
The sugar is wearing off.
I feel a calm now.
Well, calmer, at least. And a little gross.
I am clearly crazy.
Love,
K.xxxx
The back office is full of sugar. Sugar is in every corner. I feel like a puppy in a cage stuck behind the front desk with bundles of sugar-induced energy, wanting to run around in circles or salsa dance deliberately in front of the fish-tank glass walls, but I am trapped behind the front desk with only twelve check-ins left and three hours ahead of me.
The football players look at me cross-eyed when I ask for their identification--they assume I should know who they are, but I truly don't. This makes me laugh. Quiet little laughs. Behind their backs, of course, when they can't hear me.
I try to take a pencap off of a pen for a guest to sign their registration card, and for some reason, I fail miserably in removing the cap. "Well that's on there tight!" I exclaim. I give the guest another pen while my German supervisor removes the pencap with one great tug. "It's all the potatoes!" she smiles at me. The guests laugh.
I dash to the back for another piece of candy, because candy calls to me at the best of times, and when it is taunting me from a mere 100 feet away, I almost certainly will succumb to its peer pressure and sweet siren calls.
"Eat me.....! Eat me.....!" the candy cheers.
I eat the candy! In one swoop! Gone! FFxzzzz popppp whooooooosh.
Those who know me know I have crazy little silly sessions that often last for 10 minutes at a time, giggle fits and swooshy limbs and lilts of nonsensical laughter towards jokes that only make sense to me.
Some people would say these are special times. Yes.
Women walk around in the lobby in clothing they should seriously re-think.
Some women should not wear mini-skirts. There. I said it.
I feel the sour patch kids wreaking havoc. They are playing hopscotch and jumping rope and want to make fools of themselves in a kickball game. They are listening to smooth jazz playing and are getting bored. They are starting to irritate me.
They are ready to go to the bar. My stomach is getting upset. But nooooOOOOoooooo, don't let them win!
Onwards! Onwards to the bar with the sour patch kids in mini skirts and the pups in cages about to be freed!
Two hours and 20 minutes left.
The sugar is wearing off.
I feel a calm now.
Well, calmer, at least. And a little gross.
I am clearly crazy.
Love,
K.xxxx
Friday, April 2, 2010
Joy Chronicles Part II
1. Sundresses
Ahhhh, the smooth fabric, the vibrant colors, the feeling of freedom after winning the winter-war against the binding persecution of pants.... Yes, there is a certain feeling of delight that occurs once the sun shines brightly enough for one to sport a sundress. It is a feeling of sheer JOY. When the weather reaches heights of warmth, fellow Chicagoan females (and some males) unite and decide to abandon as many articles of clothing as possible. And that is where the sundress comes in. There is nothing quite like walking around town with a soft, wafting, airy dress billowing around your legs. Not only is it freeing and feminine, it is full of spirit and promises of summer.
2. Hearing the ringtone on your phone after forgetting what it sounds like
Sometimes you put that sucker on silent. Or vibrate. Sometimes you just don't remember what your tones sound like. Yes, you might have put in some thoughtful time deciding what you wanted your ring tone to be when you first got your phone, weighing the pros and cons of rock versus a rotary-sounding jingle, but practicality set in when you realized you had to turn your phone to silent more often than you'd like. At work, at rehearsal, during shows, etc....It turns out not everyone likes hearing your perfectly picked out resonation.
Time passes and you don't even realize that you, yourself, have forgotten what tone you once picked. But then comes that fateful day when you turn your phone to the normal setting, and you are taken aback when the joyful techno song starts playing!
Why this might be the first time you've heard your tone in a month and a half! Joy starts rippling through your body, a smile perches on your lips, and you ROCK OUT at your desk, doing your signature dorky fist bump move so that it is visible to the construction workers meddling away outside your apartment through your open window. Yes. Dorky techno ringtones. YES.
3. Human spirit and comradery as observed underground
You enter the subway and hear the sweet melodic warblings of a 20-something male artist, his guitar and his gravelly voice enthusiastic, yet somewhat gritty, like he's been through it. Yes, he knows about life. You lean against a pillar, waiting for the train to arrive, when all of a sudden, you see another man obviously enjoying the music beyond his control. He is MOVED by it, loves the sounds, the echos, the artist's voice, the guitar riffs. He watches and listens, soon giving the singer some money.
And then, when the singer gets to a musical interlude, the moved man steps next to him and breaks out into free verse!
Yes, engulfed by emotion, the moved man joins the singer and creates one of the most awesome acts of human spirit ever witnessed. At first one might wonder if the man is crazy, but it turns out he is an artist too, full of poetry and life. The singer's guitar paired with the man's spoken poetic word creates an impromptu slam poetry event never seen before. Underground, uninhibited, completely spontaneous. And all because of artistry and appreciation.
The train starts to roll into the station and the moved man shakes the singer's hand, smiles vibrantly, and boards the southbound red-line train, his day obviously altered in ways he hadn't expected when he left work 15 minutes earlier.
4. Saying hi to people you don't know
Maybe it's because you were taught to be friendly, or maybe it's because you are from the Midwest, but every once in awhile, you say hi to people you don't know. Sure, New Yorkers scoff upon such consideration, but Chicagoans and nice girls from Michigan believe otherwise. When you walk down the street and say hi to someone you don't know, you change that stranger's day just a little bit. They might think you are crazy, they might smile back and say hello, they might wonder if they actually do know you, but the point remains that most strangers appreciate a random act of kindness like that. In fact, your smiling mug might just make their day.
5. Finishing a race you never thought you could run
So you want to run for miles and miles when a year and a half earlier you were hobbling to the copy machine at work? Impossible. Sit down and eat a donut.
But NO!!!! You will persevere.
You run here and there and fight fatigue and lack of training and aches and pains. And you tell your knees to grow a pair and just do it. You yell at your hip and say STOP screaming at me to slow down...And race day comes and you've had just 5 or so hours of sleep and you did a show 4 nights in a row and have worked every day the past week, as well, but you say, GODDAMMIT, I'm running this race....
You get to Grant Park and join the other 25,000 runners, knowing you are running this 8k for so many reasons, but the biggest reason is to prove to yourself you can do it. You can take an injured body and heal it once again. Every mile marker, you throw your hands up in the air in excitement. You gladly accept the high-fives of strangers cheering you on. You take on the Gatorade and cups of water that the volunteers are handing out like they do in the movies. You smile broadly at the old lady who is ringing the cow-bell to encourage runners to the finish line.....
....and as you near that finish line, you are overwhelmed. You are dazzled with yourself. You have broken your own physical limits, you have refreshed your soul, you possibly shed a tear or two as you cross the finish line. Because you did it. And you did it for yourself.
Ahhhh, the smooth fabric, the vibrant colors, the feeling of freedom after winning the winter-war against the binding persecution of pants.... Yes, there is a certain feeling of delight that occurs once the sun shines brightly enough for one to sport a sundress. It is a feeling of sheer JOY. When the weather reaches heights of warmth, fellow Chicagoan females (and some males) unite and decide to abandon as many articles of clothing as possible. And that is where the sundress comes in. There is nothing quite like walking around town with a soft, wafting, airy dress billowing around your legs. Not only is it freeing and feminine, it is full of spirit and promises of summer.
2. Hearing the ringtone on your phone after forgetting what it sounds like
Sometimes you put that sucker on silent. Or vibrate. Sometimes you just don't remember what your tones sound like. Yes, you might have put in some thoughtful time deciding what you wanted your ring tone to be when you first got your phone, weighing the pros and cons of rock versus a rotary-sounding jingle, but practicality set in when you realized you had to turn your phone to silent more often than you'd like. At work, at rehearsal, during shows, etc....It turns out not everyone likes hearing your perfectly picked out resonation.
Time passes and you don't even realize that you, yourself, have forgotten what tone you once picked. But then comes that fateful day when you turn your phone to the normal setting, and you are taken aback when the joyful techno song starts playing!
Why this might be the first time you've heard your tone in a month and a half! Joy starts rippling through your body, a smile perches on your lips, and you ROCK OUT at your desk, doing your signature dorky fist bump move so that it is visible to the construction workers meddling away outside your apartment through your open window. Yes. Dorky techno ringtones. YES.
3. Human spirit and comradery as observed underground
You enter the subway and hear the sweet melodic warblings of a 20-something male artist, his guitar and his gravelly voice enthusiastic, yet somewhat gritty, like he's been through it. Yes, he knows about life. You lean against a pillar, waiting for the train to arrive, when all of a sudden, you see another man obviously enjoying the music beyond his control. He is MOVED by it, loves the sounds, the echos, the artist's voice, the guitar riffs. He watches and listens, soon giving the singer some money.
And then, when the singer gets to a musical interlude, the moved man steps next to him and breaks out into free verse!
Yes, engulfed by emotion, the moved man joins the singer and creates one of the most awesome acts of human spirit ever witnessed. At first one might wonder if the man is crazy, but it turns out he is an artist too, full of poetry and life. The singer's guitar paired with the man's spoken poetic word creates an impromptu slam poetry event never seen before. Underground, uninhibited, completely spontaneous. And all because of artistry and appreciation.
The train starts to roll into the station and the moved man shakes the singer's hand, smiles vibrantly, and boards the southbound red-line train, his day obviously altered in ways he hadn't expected when he left work 15 minutes earlier.
4. Saying hi to people you don't know
Maybe it's because you were taught to be friendly, or maybe it's because you are from the Midwest, but every once in awhile, you say hi to people you don't know. Sure, New Yorkers scoff upon such consideration, but Chicagoans and nice girls from Michigan believe otherwise. When you walk down the street and say hi to someone you don't know, you change that stranger's day just a little bit. They might think you are crazy, they might smile back and say hello, they might wonder if they actually do know you, but the point remains that most strangers appreciate a random act of kindness like that. In fact, your smiling mug might just make their day.
5. Finishing a race you never thought you could run
So you want to run for miles and miles when a year and a half earlier you were hobbling to the copy machine at work? Impossible. Sit down and eat a donut.
But NO!!!! You will persevere.
You run here and there and fight fatigue and lack of training and aches and pains. And you tell your knees to grow a pair and just do it. You yell at your hip and say STOP screaming at me to slow down...And race day comes and you've had just 5 or so hours of sleep and you did a show 4 nights in a row and have worked every day the past week, as well, but you say, GODDAMMIT, I'm running this race....
You get to Grant Park and join the other 25,000 runners, knowing you are running this 8k for so many reasons, but the biggest reason is to prove to yourself you can do it. You can take an injured body and heal it once again. Every mile marker, you throw your hands up in the air in excitement. You gladly accept the high-fives of strangers cheering you on. You take on the Gatorade and cups of water that the volunteers are handing out like they do in the movies. You smile broadly at the old lady who is ringing the cow-bell to encourage runners to the finish line.....
....and as you near that finish line, you are overwhelmed. You are dazzled with yourself. You have broken your own physical limits, you have refreshed your soul, you possibly shed a tear or two as you cross the finish line. Because you did it. And you did it for yourself.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Jaws, Blobs, Hot-Chocolate, and 3-Legged Dogs
Between my jaw, work, tech, and rehearsals, the month of February flew away: Thoughts and observations from the shortest month of the year. Thank God it was a short one.
1. My Jaw.
How on Earth did I dislocate my jaw. I don't know how it is possible to awaken with a tight jaw in the morning and have a disclocated jaw by nightfall. There I was, eating a popsicle when all of a sudden I was consumed with pain. Unable to eat regularly anymore, but attempting anyway, I attacked the popsicle the best I could. It was a sugar free fudgsicle. I will never forget this brand and will probably always associate dislocated jaws with fudgsicles now. By the next morning I could neither eat solids, nor could I function within the realm of societal standards. Talking was a chore, rehearsal was a nightmare, work was even worse. Laughing and smiling? Out. After realizing I had the inability to chew a mere noodle, I decided it was time for a doctor. My HMO proved feeble and I was sent all over the city with no answers. X-rays in hand, two doctor visits, and a hospital trip later, I still had no official answer. The dentist told me my jaw "probably" dislocated while I was eating and then snapped back into place sometime in the next day or so. After 2 weeks of soft foods and billions of pain-killers, here I am, jaw functioning and practically back to normal again.
WEIRD.
**********************
Sidenote: I really like the Dunkin Donuts ad that claims their hot chocolate is better than mittens. Really like it. Because I love mittens. But I might love hot chocolate more. I'm not sure. I actually think I might love hot chocolate and mittens equally. Equality is best. Just ask Switzerland.
**********************
2. The Blob.
The Somewhat Gelatinous Blob From Beyond the Grave has given me joy in many ways. I took on this project not really knowing what to expect and I ultimately accepted the role for many reasons, but one of the major reasons was to have a world of ridiculousness in which to escape. After the way my autumn went down, I figured I could use something to brighten up my winter. Compensated or not, I was going to be Midge, the president's daughter, and I was going to laugh and make friends and tackle a project that seemed out of the ordinary to me. I am so thankful for this project. After lots of hard work and research, the BLOB cast has created a crazy absurdist melodramatic world that works and I'm so pleased with how it has turned out! Yes, very thankful to be a part of this.
************************
Sidenote: I kind of wish I knew a 3-legged dog. How cool would that be? I wonder if they can do everything that 4-legged dogs can do, just with a little more effort. Are they like blondes and do they have more fun?
************************
3. Shamrock Shuffle.
Okay, am I really running in the Shamrock Shuffle or is this just a cruel joke I decided to play on myself? I thought I could get it together, but sleep deprivation, a cold, a misplaced jaw, and rehearsals have kept my training schedule at bay. Sure, I've gotten up to 4 miles, but I have not cracked past that marker yet, and the race is in ohhhhh, 3 weeks? I would like to invent a button I could press that would allow me to magically have the endurance and strength to run this race without messing up my knees and my hip again. That's what the training was going to be for, to make sure I didn't rip up my body. Well. I'm just going to light a candle and hop back on the asphalt starting Thursday. That's right! I'm going to kick this cold, and I'm going to blaze down the street in my joggers and mittens. With a cup of hot chocolate.
**********************
Sidenote: What do you do when you are dehydrated but your body NEEDS caffeine? It is evil. Do you simultaneously drink coffee and a gallon of water at the same time? Isn't there something that will pep you up without dehydrating you? Perhaps this is a drug I am not aware of. Perhaps I should get on drugs.
**********************
1. My Jaw.
How on Earth did I dislocate my jaw. I don't know how it is possible to awaken with a tight jaw in the morning and have a disclocated jaw by nightfall. There I was, eating a popsicle when all of a sudden I was consumed with pain. Unable to eat regularly anymore, but attempting anyway, I attacked the popsicle the best I could. It was a sugar free fudgsicle. I will never forget this brand and will probably always associate dislocated jaws with fudgsicles now. By the next morning I could neither eat solids, nor could I function within the realm of societal standards. Talking was a chore, rehearsal was a nightmare, work was even worse. Laughing and smiling? Out. After realizing I had the inability to chew a mere noodle, I decided it was time for a doctor. My HMO proved feeble and I was sent all over the city with no answers. X-rays in hand, two doctor visits, and a hospital trip later, I still had no official answer. The dentist told me my jaw "probably" dislocated while I was eating and then snapped back into place sometime in the next day or so. After 2 weeks of soft foods and billions of pain-killers, here I am, jaw functioning and practically back to normal again.
WEIRD.
**********************
Sidenote: I really like the Dunkin Donuts ad that claims their hot chocolate is better than mittens. Really like it. Because I love mittens. But I might love hot chocolate more. I'm not sure. I actually think I might love hot chocolate and mittens equally. Equality is best. Just ask Switzerland.
**********************
2. The Blob.
The Somewhat Gelatinous Blob From Beyond the Grave has given me joy in many ways. I took on this project not really knowing what to expect and I ultimately accepted the role for many reasons, but one of the major reasons was to have a world of ridiculousness in which to escape. After the way my autumn went down, I figured I could use something to brighten up my winter. Compensated or not, I was going to be Midge, the president's daughter, and I was going to laugh and make friends and tackle a project that seemed out of the ordinary to me. I am so thankful for this project. After lots of hard work and research, the BLOB cast has created a crazy absurdist melodramatic world that works and I'm so pleased with how it has turned out! Yes, very thankful to be a part of this.
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Sidenote: I kind of wish I knew a 3-legged dog. How cool would that be? I wonder if they can do everything that 4-legged dogs can do, just with a little more effort. Are they like blondes and do they have more fun?
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3. Shamrock Shuffle.
Okay, am I really running in the Shamrock Shuffle or is this just a cruel joke I decided to play on myself? I thought I could get it together, but sleep deprivation, a cold, a misplaced jaw, and rehearsals have kept my training schedule at bay. Sure, I've gotten up to 4 miles, but I have not cracked past that marker yet, and the race is in ohhhhh, 3 weeks? I would like to invent a button I could press that would allow me to magically have the endurance and strength to run this race without messing up my knees and my hip again. That's what the training was going to be for, to make sure I didn't rip up my body. Well. I'm just going to light a candle and hop back on the asphalt starting Thursday. That's right! I'm going to kick this cold, and I'm going to blaze down the street in my joggers and mittens. With a cup of hot chocolate.
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Sidenote: What do you do when you are dehydrated but your body NEEDS caffeine? It is evil. Do you simultaneously drink coffee and a gallon of water at the same time? Isn't there something that will pep you up without dehydrating you? Perhaps this is a drug I am not aware of. Perhaps I should get on drugs.
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Thursday, February 4, 2010
Peanut butter motorcycle-riding hypercolor trainseat takers.
1. Why is there nutritional value for unpopped popcorn seeds on the back of the popcorn bag? Who is actually eating these kernels straight from the bag? And where do all of the calories and fat content disappear to once the kernels have been popped? One piece of popcorn has considerably less calories and fat than one individual kernel. This is very confusing to me. I need to consult a nutritionist.
2. There is nothing more disheartening than getting to the bottom of the peanut butter jar and realizing you can no longer easily dip your vegetables or crackers. No, now you have reached the point where you must jam your entire hand in there, inadvertently but inevitably covering your knuckles with chunky and/or smooth peanut butter. The whole ordeal is a sticky mess, and let's face it, always just a bit awkward. Well, I have an idea. Instead of fisting the peanut butter jar, why not have a plastic container that is constructed in two pieces? Once you are halfway done with the jar, you can twist off the top plastic portion of the jar, leaving yourself with a much smaller jar that the lid still twists onto. This will create a much more efficient and enjoyable peanut butter dipping experience. I would not pay more for this, but I DO know it would change my peanut butter world considerably. I need to consult a packaging engineer.
3. Whatever happened to hypercolor t-shirts? Where did they go? I want one. I want to wear a hypercolor t-shirt into a bar and see what would happen. I was too young to wear hypercolor to a bar when hypercolor was in. But now I am old and hypercolor has gone. I want it to make a come-back. I want to start the comeback. I am going to find a hypercolor shirt and wear it to a bar. Would it be a conversation starter? Would people try to do rude things? Would there be a fight? Would I win? Does Katherine gotta cut a bitch? THE WORLD MIGHT GO CRAZY! I need to consult a fashionista.
4. Man on train was taking up two seats. Watched as another passenger business man said "EXCUSE ME," and crawled over him, as the man taking up two seats refused to move.
Business man says, "Oh, I'm sorry, are you paying for both these seats?"
Two-seat-man says, "Ohhhhhhhh, fuuuckkkk you."
(Picture two-seat-man as a middle aged white balding guy with glasses and a winter hat, reading a stack of papers, and looking like he's probably an asshole Republican who likes to ride motorcycles in his spare time and spit in the street cuz he thinks it's cool.)
Business man goes, "You fool! Don't you know you're only supposed to take ONE SEAT?"
Two-seat-man turns up his music and ignores him.
The two men ride in disgruntled silence the rest of the way north.
I don't need to consult anyone on this. I just thought the whole exchange was very funny.
2. There is nothing more disheartening than getting to the bottom of the peanut butter jar and realizing you can no longer easily dip your vegetables or crackers. No, now you have reached the point where you must jam your entire hand in there, inadvertently but inevitably covering your knuckles with chunky and/or smooth peanut butter. The whole ordeal is a sticky mess, and let's face it, always just a bit awkward. Well, I have an idea. Instead of fisting the peanut butter jar, why not have a plastic container that is constructed in two pieces? Once you are halfway done with the jar, you can twist off the top plastic portion of the jar, leaving yourself with a much smaller jar that the lid still twists onto. This will create a much more efficient and enjoyable peanut butter dipping experience. I would not pay more for this, but I DO know it would change my peanut butter world considerably. I need to consult a packaging engineer.
3. Whatever happened to hypercolor t-shirts? Where did they go? I want one. I want to wear a hypercolor t-shirt into a bar and see what would happen. I was too young to wear hypercolor to a bar when hypercolor was in. But now I am old and hypercolor has gone. I want it to make a come-back. I want to start the comeback. I am going to find a hypercolor shirt and wear it to a bar. Would it be a conversation starter? Would people try to do rude things? Would there be a fight? Would I win? Does Katherine gotta cut a bitch? THE WORLD MIGHT GO CRAZY! I need to consult a fashionista.
4. Man on train was taking up two seats. Watched as another passenger business man said "EXCUSE ME," and crawled over him, as the man taking up two seats refused to move.
Business man says, "Oh, I'm sorry, are you paying for both these seats?"
Two-seat-man says, "Ohhhhhhhh, fuuuckkkk you."
(Picture two-seat-man as a middle aged white balding guy with glasses and a winter hat, reading a stack of papers, and looking like he's probably an asshole Republican who likes to ride motorcycles in his spare time and spit in the street cuz he thinks it's cool.)
Business man goes, "You fool! Don't you know you're only supposed to take ONE SEAT?"
Two-seat-man turns up his music and ignores him.
The two men ride in disgruntled silence the rest of the way north.
I don't need to consult anyone on this. I just thought the whole exchange was very funny.
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