~
Here's my recipe for the most amazing Thanksgiving dinner:
1 live turkey
3 cups fresh corn, decobbed and washed
6 potatoes, whole
1 bottle of fine red wine
Preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Take the live turkey, feed him the corn, then push him out the front door. Throw the potatoes at him to make him run away. Take the bottle of wine, sit on the porch, and laugh at all the people who have been up since 5 AM cooking for a meal that will last 20 minutes. Go back inside and warm yourself by the oven. Call your favorite Chinese take-away and watch "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and "A Christmas Story" until you pass out.
Enjoy!
~
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
Blog 20 - Woah, Woah Woah, Feelings
~
I was talking with Grasshopper the other day about the "feelings" I used to get after an audition. I knew instantly whether or not I got a role. Well, more precisely, I either knew I got it or I would stress about it...and if I stressed, I didn't get it. I know it's kind of hard to believe, but I was never, ever - in the whole of my brief, but exciting, career - wrong.
At first I shared these "feelings" with my friends...they would ask, out of politeness, how I did after an audition and I would answer them with either, "Oh, I know got that," or "I don't know!! I'm so nervous! What if they didn't like me?! Have they cast it yet??? Should I call them??!!"
I quickly learned that alternating between conceit and paranoia did not sit well with my peers.
So, I adopted the shrug and the "either I got it or I didn't" attitude...but behind the scenes I always knew. Surprisingly, my hit ratio was pretty good...I usually got the roles I auditioned for. Not because I was some kind of super-genius-talented actor, but because I knew my limitations. I knew which roles I could get and which roles I couldn't...and rarely did I venture out of my comfort zone. I didn't have to - there were few actors who were perfectly fine with playing the wacky neighbor or the character with only 3 lines. Everyone went for the leads...and I know I'm not a lead. In fact, I think I only played a lead once...and that's only because I can do a kick-ass British accent.
"Mousetrap" has to be the most boring play on the planet...why it was the longest-running show in London is a mystery in itself. But I was thrilled to get the part (thrilled as soon as I left the audition...because I knew I had it) and the fact that it was a show in LA made the role all the more sweet.
There isn't much in the way of theatre in LA...everyone does theatre to "pass the time" until they get a pilot or a speaking role in a film. God, I hated LA. The parties were the worst. Everyone walks around with their resumes in their hands, and the first thing anyone says is, "I know (blank). Who do you know? I'll introduce you to mine if you introduce me to yours."
Blech.
Theatre is the undiscovered goldmine in California. That's where you meet all of the people you need to know. By the time the run started I was pregnant with Sir Xander (two months of "morning" sickness on stage...more like morningnoonandnight sickness. The role I was playing rarely had to go offstage, so I had to wait for a moment when I knew I didn't have a line for a few minutes, walk to the back, open the door, and puke in the grass) so my career was effectively over, but had I so chosen I could have milked it for all it was worth. Because that's where the husbands and wives of the writers, directors, and actors go. If you befriend the significant other, you're in, baby. I met writers for NBC, actors on famous (at the time) sitcoms, and directors of major motion pictures. If I hadn't had to excuse myself constantly to go to the bathroom at parties, I might have even been able to impress them.
But I digress.
Grasshopper and I were talking about an audition that Xander had for an upcoming show. It's "The Trojan Women" by Aeschylus, and the role is the young Prince who gets thrown off a mountain because the Greeks are afraid that if he becomes a man he will try to avenge his father. Tragic, tragic play. She asked how I thought he had done. Quite honestly, he kind of flubbed a few times and got nervous when the director (a very charismatic and intimidating woman) was chatting with him. He clammed up in classic Tween style. Can't blame him, though - it was his first real audition.
Grasshopper asked me if I thought he got the part. "You know, I think he did. I don't know if this "feeling" thing works on him or if it's just my wishful thinking. But...it's the same feeling. It just feels like he got it."
And I was right. He did.
~
I was talking with Grasshopper the other day about the "feelings" I used to get after an audition. I knew instantly whether or not I got a role. Well, more precisely, I either knew I got it or I would stress about it...and if I stressed, I didn't get it. I know it's kind of hard to believe, but I was never, ever - in the whole of my brief, but exciting, career - wrong.
At first I shared these "feelings" with my friends...they would ask, out of politeness, how I did after an audition and I would answer them with either, "Oh, I know got that," or "I don't know!! I'm so nervous! What if they didn't like me?! Have they cast it yet??? Should I call them??!!"
I quickly learned that alternating between conceit and paranoia did not sit well with my peers.
So, I adopted the shrug and the "either I got it or I didn't" attitude...but behind the scenes I always knew. Surprisingly, my hit ratio was pretty good...I usually got the roles I auditioned for. Not because I was some kind of super-genius-talented actor, but because I knew my limitations. I knew which roles I could get and which roles I couldn't...and rarely did I venture out of my comfort zone. I didn't have to - there were few actors who were perfectly fine with playing the wacky neighbor or the character with only 3 lines. Everyone went for the leads...and I know I'm not a lead. In fact, I think I only played a lead once...and that's only because I can do a kick-ass British accent.
"Mousetrap" has to be the most boring play on the planet...why it was the longest-running show in London is a mystery in itself. But I was thrilled to get the part (thrilled as soon as I left the audition...because I knew I had it) and the fact that it was a show in LA made the role all the more sweet.
There isn't much in the way of theatre in LA...everyone does theatre to "pass the time" until they get a pilot or a speaking role in a film. God, I hated LA. The parties were the worst. Everyone walks around with their resumes in their hands, and the first thing anyone says is, "I know (blank). Who do you know? I'll introduce you to mine if you introduce me to yours."
Blech.
Theatre is the undiscovered goldmine in California. That's where you meet all of the people you need to know. By the time the run started I was pregnant with Sir Xander (two months of "morning" sickness on stage...more like morningnoonandnight sickness. The role I was playing rarely had to go offstage, so I had to wait for a moment when I knew I didn't have a line for a few minutes, walk to the back, open the door, and puke in the grass) so my career was effectively over, but had I so chosen I could have milked it for all it was worth. Because that's where the husbands and wives of the writers, directors, and actors go. If you befriend the significant other, you're in, baby. I met writers for NBC, actors on famous (at the time) sitcoms, and directors of major motion pictures. If I hadn't had to excuse myself constantly to go to the bathroom at parties, I might have even been able to impress them.
But I digress.
Grasshopper and I were talking about an audition that Xander had for an upcoming show. It's "The Trojan Women" by Aeschylus, and the role is the young Prince who gets thrown off a mountain because the Greeks are afraid that if he becomes a man he will try to avenge his father. Tragic, tragic play. She asked how I thought he had done. Quite honestly, he kind of flubbed a few times and got nervous when the director (a very charismatic and intimidating woman) was chatting with him. He clammed up in classic Tween style. Can't blame him, though - it was his first real audition.
Grasshopper asked me if I thought he got the part. "You know, I think he did. I don't know if this "feeling" thing works on him or if it's just my wishful thinking. But...it's the same feeling. It just feels like he got it."
And I was right. He did.
~
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Blog 19 - Keep on Truckin'
~
Even though I blew it I'm still going to try and keep this up. Like John, I'll call a mulligan and see if anyone notices.
I'm not sure if making an excuse will help my plight, but I'll give it a go.
This weekend was the "Christmas" weekend. My brother and his wife, Satan, came to grace us with their presence - fully expecting us to grace them with presents. (If that wasn't so cheesy I'd be proud of the alliteration....)
To be fair, it isn't my brother's fault any more. He's so dead inside that he just moves around like a robot in Satan's wake. I suppose it is, technically, his fault since he married a gold-digging, manipulative, back-stabbing, super-bitch...but it's gotten beyond his control now. He's in his own private Hades and not even the gods could save him now.
Why is she Satan? Let me wax poetic for you:
- Before they were married I was staying with my brother (and paying rent) but she knew I didn't like her and was against them getting married...so she fabricated a story that made my brother upset to get me out. He sided with her, wouldn't listen to anything I said, so I moved out. It was only later that I discovered what she had done - and felt a right fool for falling into her manipulation.
- When she walked into my parents' nice home for the first time she said, "Oh! I'm going to inherit THIS?!"
- She lied about her age by 8 years. So, when they married (Black Sunday) she couldn't have children. She had already gone through "The Change."
- They adopted, and on the first night (they were at my parents' house) of my nephew's life she said, "I can't do this. We have to take him back." If my parents hadn't stepped in, I'm willing to bet she would have done it.
- When they come to visit, she guilts my 75-year-old mother into taking care of her children while she sits on the couch and does her nails.
- After the children were born she made my brother quit the job he loved because he traveled a lot (he was a project manager for the CDC and went all over the world teaching hospitals how to use software to track infectious diseases) and she insisted that it wasn't "fair" that she had to take care of the children by herself. After he found a job that involved 4 hours' drive time with less pay she got a job where she travels...a lot.
I could go on...but I'm feeling ill just going over this.
The reason for the missed posting is because my mother is quite ill, and I had to go out there to ensure that Satan didn't over-work my mother while she convalesces. It was tiring, thankless work.
I love my nephews and I feel for them. Satan is the type of mother who treats her children with contempt. At first I was hoping they wouldn't be able to adopt another child, but now I'm glad - at least my two nephews will have each other to support.
And I'm making sure I have enough space for when they are old enough to walk away from her. They'll always have unconditional love and respect from at least one member of the family.
~
Even though I blew it I'm still going to try and keep this up. Like John, I'll call a mulligan and see if anyone notices.
I'm not sure if making an excuse will help my plight, but I'll give it a go.
This weekend was the "Christmas" weekend. My brother and his wife, Satan, came to grace us with their presence - fully expecting us to grace them with presents. (If that wasn't so cheesy I'd be proud of the alliteration....)
To be fair, it isn't my brother's fault any more. He's so dead inside that he just moves around like a robot in Satan's wake. I suppose it is, technically, his fault since he married a gold-digging, manipulative, back-stabbing, super-bitch...but it's gotten beyond his control now. He's in his own private Hades and not even the gods could save him now.
Why is she Satan? Let me wax poetic for you:
- Before they were married I was staying with my brother (and paying rent) but she knew I didn't like her and was against them getting married...so she fabricated a story that made my brother upset to get me out. He sided with her, wouldn't listen to anything I said, so I moved out. It was only later that I discovered what she had done - and felt a right fool for falling into her manipulation.
- When she walked into my parents' nice home for the first time she said, "Oh! I'm going to inherit THIS?!"
- She lied about her age by 8 years. So, when they married (Black Sunday) she couldn't have children. She had already gone through "The Change."
- They adopted, and on the first night (they were at my parents' house) of my nephew's life she said, "I can't do this. We have to take him back." If my parents hadn't stepped in, I'm willing to bet she would have done it.
- When they come to visit, she guilts my 75-year-old mother into taking care of her children while she sits on the couch and does her nails.
- After the children were born she made my brother quit the job he loved because he traveled a lot (he was a project manager for the CDC and went all over the world teaching hospitals how to use software to track infectious diseases) and she insisted that it wasn't "fair" that she had to take care of the children by herself. After he found a job that involved 4 hours' drive time with less pay she got a job where she travels...a lot.
I could go on...but I'm feeling ill just going over this.
The reason for the missed posting is because my mother is quite ill, and I had to go out there to ensure that Satan didn't over-work my mother while she convalesces. It was tiring, thankless work.
I love my nephews and I feel for them. Satan is the type of mother who treats her children with contempt. At first I was hoping they wouldn't be able to adopt another child, but now I'm glad - at least my two nephews will have each other to support.
And I'm making sure I have enough space for when they are old enough to walk away from her. They'll always have unconditional love and respect from at least one member of the family.
~
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Blog 18 - Oops, I Did it Again
~
I blew it. I missed yesterday. This is the way most of my "commitments" go...so no huge surprise here. I have a half-assed excuse, of which I'll write about tomorrow. It involves family, Satan, and a shitload of wine.
In the meantime, enjoy this little ditty I rediscovered. This is from the early '90s...but it's a timeless piece.
.
~
I blew it. I missed yesterday. This is the way most of my "commitments" go...so no huge surprise here. I have a half-assed excuse, of which I'll write about tomorrow. It involves family, Satan, and a shitload of wine.
In the meantime, enjoy this little ditty I rediscovered. This is from the early '90s...but it's a timeless piece.
.
~
The Nail
~
For the want of a screw the wire was lost;
For the want of a wire the connection was lost;
For the want of a connection the battery was lost;
For the want of a battery the car was lost;
For the want of a car her world was lost;
And all for the want of a god-damn screw.
~
The car is fixed, but I've realized just how scary it is to be attached to a 2-ton metal box. And how scary it is not to have a network of friends.
The car broke down in the parking lot of Zach Scott Theatre...I thought that was going to be just fine since I work there. "At least I won't be stranded alone," I mused.
I might as well have been in the Sahara. People I have worked with for over a year walked past me and my open hood with nothing more than a furtive glance. These are people I have partied with...gotten drunk on roofs with...bailed out at the last minute.... And they all walked by without asking if I needed anything.
I'm not taking it too personally, since everyone does that to everyone else. It's like they're all walking around in their own little personal bubbles. No one connects with anyone else...EVER. I would expect that kind of attitude from corporate monkeys, but this is a THEATRE! These are supposed to be artistic people, and artistic people, by nature, cannot survive alone. But these people, apparently, can and do.
It makes me a little sick.
Which is why I will finish the dates I committed to and then never set foot in that elitist, pompous, arrogant, snob of a place again.
~
For the want of a screw the wire was lost;
For the want of a wire the connection was lost;
For the want of a connection the battery was lost;
For the want of a battery the car was lost;
For the want of a car her world was lost;
And all for the want of a god-damn screw.
~
The car is fixed, but I've realized just how scary it is to be attached to a 2-ton metal box. And how scary it is not to have a network of friends.
The car broke down in the parking lot of Zach Scott Theatre...I thought that was going to be just fine since I work there. "At least I won't be stranded alone," I mused.
I might as well have been in the Sahara. People I have worked with for over a year walked past me and my open hood with nothing more than a furtive glance. These are people I have partied with...gotten drunk on roofs with...bailed out at the last minute.... And they all walked by without asking if I needed anything.
I'm not taking it too personally, since everyone does that to everyone else. It's like they're all walking around in their own little personal bubbles. No one connects with anyone else...EVER. I would expect that kind of attitude from corporate monkeys, but this is a THEATRE! These are supposed to be artistic people, and artistic people, by nature, cannot survive alone. But these people, apparently, can and do.
It makes me a little sick.
Which is why I will finish the dates I committed to and then never set foot in that elitist, pompous, arrogant, snob of a place again.
~
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Blog...Something
~
Battery loss is a theme for me this week. My car battery flipped out, my computer's motherboard battery fizzled, and my camera batteries died at a very important moment.
All have been rectified...with the exception of the latter. If you would be so kind, I shall rectify it now.
(This was taken 20 minutes before my car fitzed. I watch it now and think, "Oh, if only she knew what will happen when she walks out of that room....")
Special thanks to Laura, the best piano teacher in the Universe.
~
Battery loss is a theme for me this week. My car battery flipped out, my computer's motherboard battery fizzled, and my camera batteries died at a very important moment.
All have been rectified...with the exception of the latter. If you would be so kind, I shall rectify it now.
(This was taken 20 minutes before my car fitzed. I watch it now and think, "Oh, if only she knew what will happen when she walks out of that room....")
Special thanks to Laura, the best piano teacher in the Universe.
~
Monday, November 12, 2007
Blog 14 - It's All in the Tone
~
"Just give me a sec, ok?
I heard someone say that at work today, and I could feel the hairs of the person she was saying it to bristle. I think I actually heard them.
You hear that line a lot...probably many times a day. Someone asking for patience, one moment to catch up, or find your answer, or get the cream for your coffee.... There is, without a doubt, a nice way to say that line. You can hear it in your head right now.
That's why it stuns me that this particular person has to say everything in a condescending manner...like she's talking to a 5-year-old who was born with only 3 brain cells. It's not necessary. Unless, of course, she is trying to make the other person feel beneath her - which is probably the case. She has an ill-founded superiority complex, and the saddest part is that she's not very superior. Which is why, I'm sure, she has to make up for it by ACTING like she is.
It would be sad and pathetic if it wasn't so annoying.
Xander and I have a game we play...it's called "The Dude Game." Sometimes a line will get stuck between us, and we challenge each other to say it in as many ways as possible. "It's so nice." (kindly) "It's so nice..." (amazed) "It's so NICE!" (stoked) "It's so nice?" (perplexed)
The mouth and tongue create the phonetics...air pushes past the vocal chords to create the sounds...but there's something deeper that creates tone. The tone comes from your heart, and that, ultimately, shows exactly what kind of Human Being you are.
~
"Just give me a sec, ok?
I heard someone say that at work today, and I could feel the hairs of the person she was saying it to bristle. I think I actually heard them.
You hear that line a lot...probably many times a day. Someone asking for patience, one moment to catch up, or find your answer, or get the cream for your coffee.... There is, without a doubt, a nice way to say that line. You can hear it in your head right now.
That's why it stuns me that this particular person has to say everything in a condescending manner...like she's talking to a 5-year-old who was born with only 3 brain cells. It's not necessary. Unless, of course, she is trying to make the other person feel beneath her - which is probably the case. She has an ill-founded superiority complex, and the saddest part is that she's not very superior. Which is why, I'm sure, she has to make up for it by ACTING like she is.
It would be sad and pathetic if it wasn't so annoying.
Xander and I have a game we play...it's called "The Dude Game." Sometimes a line will get stuck between us, and we challenge each other to say it in as many ways as possible. "It's so nice." (kindly) "It's so nice..." (amazed) "It's so NICE!" (stoked) "It's so nice?" (perplexed)
The mouth and tongue create the phonetics...air pushes past the vocal chords to create the sounds...but there's something deeper that creates tone. The tone comes from your heart, and that, ultimately, shows exactly what kind of Human Being you are.
~
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Blog 13 - Feast or Famine
~
That's the way it is with our lives...feast or famine. Either we have ten thousand things to do or we're sitting around bored out of our skulls.
I'm not sure that's such a bad thing.
Anywhoooo... Xander's show went beautifully. He and the other kid (who was the Board of Director's son - score) were professional and focused. It's hard working with a kid, and everyone was a little nervous. But they ended up the little darlings of the night. They were able to work 5 hours each day PLUS do the show without a single hitch. So proud of both of them.
(He was asked to do a show at Zach...I don't think I mentioned that in any of my blogs here - but no one is reading these so I won't bother to explain again. k, thanks!)
Then, Xander had to get up this morning and do a piece at his piano teacher's church. I was a little nervous that I would burst into flames upon crossing the threshold, but I am happy to report that apart from a little heartburn from last night's wine, I walked away unscathed.
I have a little video to share, but the Gods had one little snicker at me - my batteries ran out during the piece. I guess it was the only way to get me. Hey! I DID get burned!
So, here it is - what little bit I got. It was a gorgeous piece, and I'm hoping they'll let me get more video of it at the next class.
That's the way it is with our lives...feast or famine. Either we have ten thousand things to do or we're sitting around bored out of our skulls.
I'm not sure that's such a bad thing.
Anywhoooo... Xander's show went beautifully. He and the other kid (who was the Board of Director's son - score) were professional and focused. It's hard working with a kid, and everyone was a little nervous. But they ended up the little darlings of the night. They were able to work 5 hours each day PLUS do the show without a single hitch. So proud of both of them.
(He was asked to do a show at Zach...I don't think I mentioned that in any of my blogs here - but no one is reading these so I won't bother to explain again. k, thanks!)
Then, Xander had to get up this morning and do a piece at his piano teacher's church. I was a little nervous that I would burst into flames upon crossing the threshold, but I am happy to report that apart from a little heartburn from last night's wine, I walked away unscathed.
I have a little video to share, but the Gods had one little snicker at me - my batteries ran out during the piece. I guess it was the only way to get me. Hey! I DID get burned!
So, here it is - what little bit I got. It was a gorgeous piece, and I'm hoping they'll let me get more video of it at the next class.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Blog 10 - Like the Corners of My Mind
~
I found my house.
No, really. I found my house.
One of you (it starts with a G and ends with a rasshopper) will be thinking that I've found the house I want to live in. That's usually what we say, isn't it? "I found my house! Here's the MLS!"
No...this really is my house. It's the house I grew up in. And it's online.
20 years ago, my parents built it in an area that held less than 20 houses combined...now they sport somewhere around 100 and it's THE place to live. I promise you it wasn't THE anything when I was growing up. It was on an island in Florida...no mall, no social life, and hardly any other kids my age.... It sucked ass. Maybe it would have been fun if I had enjoyed the beach, but I was a vampire (did I mention I was a vampire?) so the combination of Sun and sand was a deadly mix.
But it was home. It's where my persona as I know it was forged. From the tender age of 8 to the bitter age of 15, this is the place I stored everything that was important to me.
I wonder if Buttercup ever went there...did you? Do you remember it? Do you remember how god-awful ugly it was? Do you remember that it looked like the 70's drank a case of Bud and threw up all over it?
Well, it's had a face lift.
I knew it had been remodeled...when I was 20 or so I talked my best friend, Chris (miss you every day...but that's for another blog) into walking up to the front door and asking if we could come in and look around. I have to give props to the old couple living there - we were barely out of out teenager angst-phase, and our closets still consisted of black, black, and more black. I think Chris had pink hair at the time. And a lip ring. I never would have let us in, but they were amazingly gracious and gave us a grand tour.
It was heartbreaking.
Because no matter how ugly something is, it's missed when it leaves forever. That was no longer my house. "The house where I grew up" was gone forever.
Enough with the maudlin crap...time for some pics of the home that shaped the insanity called I:
This was my house...the front was never quite this pretty because - well, to be blunt, my mother has horrible taste. Grasshopper can attest to the aqua green walls and ceilings running throughout their current home. Why aqua green? It matched her bedspread. 'nuff said?
Now let's move to the living room.
Is that a fireplace? Wow...that would have been cool to have growing up. Sitting by a nice cozy fire in the 98 degree weather. That investment probably made the new owners giggle with glee.
This is the "new" look of course...the old look was, as I've stated before, puked out of a 1970's JC Penny catalog. Wood paneling, brown carpet, sectional sofa (my mother was so proud of that sofa) and a genuine television cabinet that also housed an 8-track. It was Hi-fi. Groovy.
It looked a little something like this:
That's the best I can do on such short notice. My time is almost up and we have SO much more to see!
If you look at the back of the picture, you'll see a sliding glass door that leads to...wait for the cleverness...the Florida Room. Yes, those special people get a whole room named after their State. "What could a Florida Room be?" you ask? A room with sunshine and orange groves?
Actually, it's just a closed in porch...but that doesn't sound ritzy enough when you invite the neighbors over for iced tea. Anyhoo...this is what one looks like in case you ever meet one in the street:
Ok...now I'm not feeling so guilty about my family's decorating skills. Hey! Is that a jug of Granny's medicine in the corner?
Off to the left is the kitchen. I spent many an hour washing pots and pans at that sink. We had a dishwasher, but for some reason my brother and I were forced to wash them by hand. Probably because my mother burned every meal she ever made, and the 1980's had yet to invent the Power-Washer Kenmore.
My father took 2 years to lay the floor in this house. It was parquet flooring and very expensive for the time, so they could only buy a few boxes at a time. I remember the moment he laid the last square in - he was so proud his heart nearly burst. Good to see the new owners have ripped it up and replaced it with generic machined planking. That is SO much more interesting than intricately designed parquet.
Time is running short, so let's move down to my brother's room...
This is the room I broke into hundreds of times over the years. He had all the best stuff. I stole every one of his his Journey and Foreigner tapes, and my love of Douglas Adams was born in this room. I stole his series and denied I did it. I think I blamed it on the old lady next door. Yeah, he totally believed me.
Further down the hall we come to....ready? To the room that cushioned the one and only. Yes, my room. The room where I spent hours pretending I was a teacher and, later, Madonna. The room that held the pillow I cried into when the boy I liked didn't ask me to the Dance. The room that housed various mice, parakeets, and even, once, a turtle. All my games and toys and art projects and.....
Oh. How boring. How generic. THAT is my room now?? Yuk. Seriously, yuk.
My mother, in her finest moment, decided that my room should be my favorite color. Yellow. That might have been nice, but it wasn't just a little yellow...it was ALL yellow. It looked like the urinal that the 70's took a piss in after too much beer. Yellow wallpaper with yellow designs on one wall, yellow paint on the others, yellow carpet, yellow bedspread, yellow curtains..... You get the idea. No? Well, it looked a little something like this:
Now you know why I'm insane.
Move on...the loss of my yellow room is making me nostalgic again. And I'm almost out of time....
Time for only one more stop. I wanted to give you the grand Tour, but I can't blow this BaD thing.
This is my Father's office:
Amazingly, it's exactly the same as it was when I was growing up. Apart from the lack of the pull-out Berber couch, it's like walking back in time. The door is still there...my Narnia door. That was the door I believed magical creatures lived behind. It's where my many imaginary friends stayed when I was at school. My parents forbid to open that door since it went to the attic, but my young imagination created a more bizarre, more outlandish, and ultimately more enjoyably explanation.
That was the door to another world. Maybe that world would be a better place than this one. Maybe?
Many an hour was spent in front of that door. If I was punished by my parents or if one of my friends was mean to me, I would stand in front of that door thinking that if I could just open it...just reach out and open it...then I could get away from the sadness I felt and go somewhere beautiful. Maybe. All I had to do was lift my arm...turn the handle...
But I always walked away. Maybe just the belief that I could escape was enough. Maybe because I knew it wasn't really a door to another world I could never really open it and see. Because if I had put my hand on the doorknob...if I had pulled it open...if I had seen that it was nothing but a hot, dusty attic in there, it could never again be that door to another world. And I needed that door.
Sometimes I wish that I could have walked away when I was 20. I wish I would have turned around and never put my hand on their doorknob. Sometimes I wish that I had never seen their clean, crisp whites and their remodeled bathrooms. Because now it can never be my house again.
And, sometimes, I need that house.
~
I found my house.
No, really. I found my house.
One of you (it starts with a G and ends with a rasshopper) will be thinking that I've found the house I want to live in. That's usually what we say, isn't it? "I found my house! Here's the MLS!"
No...this really is my house. It's the house I grew up in. And it's online.
20 years ago, my parents built it in an area that held less than 20 houses combined...now they sport somewhere around 100 and it's THE place to live. I promise you it wasn't THE anything when I was growing up. It was on an island in Florida...no mall, no social life, and hardly any other kids my age.... It sucked ass. Maybe it would have been fun if I had enjoyed the beach, but I was a vampire (did I mention I was a vampire?) so the combination of Sun and sand was a deadly mix.
But it was home. It's where my persona as I know it was forged. From the tender age of 8 to the bitter age of 15, this is the place I stored everything that was important to me.
I wonder if Buttercup ever went there...did you? Do you remember it? Do you remember how god-awful ugly it was? Do you remember that it looked like the 70's drank a case of Bud and threw up all over it?
Well, it's had a face lift.
I knew it had been remodeled...when I was 20 or so I talked my best friend, Chris (miss you every day...but that's for another blog) into walking up to the front door and asking if we could come in and look around. I have to give props to the old couple living there - we were barely out of out teenager angst-phase, and our closets still consisted of black, black, and more black. I think Chris had pink hair at the time. And a lip ring. I never would have let us in, but they were amazingly gracious and gave us a grand tour.
It was heartbreaking.
Because no matter how ugly something is, it's missed when it leaves forever. That was no longer my house. "The house where I grew up" was gone forever.
Enough with the maudlin crap...time for some pics of the home that shaped the insanity called I:
This was my house...the front was never quite this pretty because - well, to be blunt, my mother has horrible taste. Grasshopper can attest to the aqua green walls and ceilings running throughout their current home. Why aqua green? It matched her bedspread. 'nuff said?
Now let's move to the living room.
Is that a fireplace? Wow...that would have been cool to have growing up. Sitting by a nice cozy fire in the 98 degree weather. That investment probably made the new owners giggle with glee.
This is the "new" look of course...the old look was, as I've stated before, puked out of a 1970's JC Penny catalog. Wood paneling, brown carpet, sectional sofa (my mother was so proud of that sofa) and a genuine television cabinet that also housed an 8-track. It was Hi-fi. Groovy.
It looked a little something like this:
That's the best I can do on such short notice. My time is almost up and we have SO much more to see!
If you look at the back of the picture, you'll see a sliding glass door that leads to...wait for the cleverness...the Florida Room. Yes, those special people get a whole room named after their State. "What could a Florida Room be?" you ask? A room with sunshine and orange groves?
Actually, it's just a closed in porch...but that doesn't sound ritzy enough when you invite the neighbors over for iced tea. Anyhoo...this is what one looks like in case you ever meet one in the street:
Ok...now I'm not feeling so guilty about my family's decorating skills. Hey! Is that a jug of Granny's medicine in the corner?
Off to the left is the kitchen. I spent many an hour washing pots and pans at that sink. We had a dishwasher, but for some reason my brother and I were forced to wash them by hand. Probably because my mother burned every meal she ever made, and the 1980's had yet to invent the Power-Washer Kenmore.
My father took 2 years to lay the floor in this house. It was parquet flooring and very expensive for the time, so they could only buy a few boxes at a time. I remember the moment he laid the last square in - he was so proud his heart nearly burst. Good to see the new owners have ripped it up and replaced it with generic machined planking. That is SO much more interesting than intricately designed parquet.
Time is running short, so let's move down to my brother's room...
This is the room I broke into hundreds of times over the years. He had all the best stuff. I stole every one of his his Journey and Foreigner tapes, and my love of Douglas Adams was born in this room. I stole his series and denied I did it. I think I blamed it on the old lady next door. Yeah, he totally believed me.
Further down the hall we come to....ready? To the room that cushioned the one and only. Yes, my room. The room where I spent hours pretending I was a teacher and, later, Madonna. The room that held the pillow I cried into when the boy I liked didn't ask me to the Dance. The room that housed various mice, parakeets, and even, once, a turtle. All my games and toys and art projects and.....
Oh. How boring. How generic. THAT is my room now?? Yuk. Seriously, yuk.
My mother, in her finest moment, decided that my room should be my favorite color. Yellow. That might have been nice, but it wasn't just a little yellow...it was ALL yellow. It looked like the urinal that the 70's took a piss in after too much beer. Yellow wallpaper with yellow designs on one wall, yellow paint on the others, yellow carpet, yellow bedspread, yellow curtains..... You get the idea. No? Well, it looked a little something like this:
Now you know why I'm insane.
Move on...the loss of my yellow room is making me nostalgic again. And I'm almost out of time....
Time for only one more stop. I wanted to give you the grand Tour, but I can't blow this BaD thing.
This is my Father's office:
Amazingly, it's exactly the same as it was when I was growing up. Apart from the lack of the pull-out Berber couch, it's like walking back in time. The door is still there...my Narnia door. That was the door I believed magical creatures lived behind. It's where my many imaginary friends stayed when I was at school. My parents forbid to open that door since it went to the attic, but my young imagination created a more bizarre, more outlandish, and ultimately more enjoyably explanation.
That was the door to another world. Maybe that world would be a better place than this one. Maybe?
Many an hour was spent in front of that door. If I was punished by my parents or if one of my friends was mean to me, I would stand in front of that door thinking that if I could just open it...just reach out and open it...then I could get away from the sadness I felt and go somewhere beautiful. Maybe. All I had to do was lift my arm...turn the handle...
But I always walked away. Maybe just the belief that I could escape was enough. Maybe because I knew it wasn't really a door to another world I could never really open it and see. Because if I had put my hand on the doorknob...if I had pulled it open...if I had seen that it was nothing but a hot, dusty attic in there, it could never again be that door to another world. And I needed that door.
Sometimes I wish that I could have walked away when I was 20. I wish I would have turned around and never put my hand on their doorknob. Sometimes I wish that I had never seen their clean, crisp whites and their remodeled bathrooms. Because now it can never be my house again.
And, sometimes, I need that house.
~
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Blog...um...9?
~
I'm still writing my Blog A Day (S_ has coined it BaD) but some of them just aren't relevant here...if you don't know the people, they make no sense. Our BaD has turned into its own animal...and that's a good thing.
So, it looks like I've missed a few if you look at this journal...but since I don't think anyone is watching this one I feel safe from reprisals.
But I'll still carry on.....
;-)
...............
I was writing a message and my brain went this direction:
It's an interesting phenomena, this online friendship; this cyber-culture. Without the normal societal practices, friendship is something quite different. You cannot use sight or sound or smells or touch to make judgment calls - it's completely raw. I would argue that it's the purest form of relating to another Human Being.
With someone online, the emphasis is on communication, so you have a clearer understanding of what that someone is really all about. (I'm cutting off the tail end of the bell curve that encompasses the crazies and the serial killers, of course.) As online communication progresses, it's own language and rules of conduct emerge. We are witness to the birth of a society.
What defines a society? Language? Art? Social networks?
I could go on, but I have to return to the "other" society and make dinner.
I hate cooking. If only there was such a thing as cyber-food.
~
I'm still writing my Blog A Day (S_ has coined it BaD) but some of them just aren't relevant here...if you don't know the people, they make no sense. Our BaD has turned into its own animal...and that's a good thing.
So, it looks like I've missed a few if you look at this journal...but since I don't think anyone is watching this one I feel safe from reprisals.
But I'll still carry on.....
;-)
...............
I was writing a message and my brain went this direction:
It's an interesting phenomena, this online friendship; this cyber-culture. Without the normal societal practices, friendship is something quite different. You cannot use sight or sound or smells or touch to make judgment calls - it's completely raw. I would argue that it's the purest form of relating to another Human Being.
With someone online, the emphasis is on communication, so you have a clearer understanding of what that someone is really all about. (I'm cutting off the tail end of the bell curve that encompasses the crazies and the serial killers, of course.) As online communication progresses, it's own language and rules of conduct emerge. We are witness to the birth of a society.
What defines a society? Language? Art? Social networks?
I could go on, but I have to return to the "other" society and make dinner.
I hate cooking. If only there was such a thing as cyber-food.
~
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Blog 5 - The Importance of Being Interventionist
~
Late last night I had to rescue my baby.
His voice over the phone was the tone which sends Mothers' brains to that quiet place called instinct. Autonomic reflexes take over...vision becomes startlingly clear...breathing increases to quicken the flow of blood to the brain...not a wandering thought or unbidden image crosses the mind.... Cut through traffic just south of the "safely" line and get there as fast as humanly possible.
"Mom? I'm sick."
He was at his Father's house. I'm not saying his Father isn't a compassionate parent, it's just that...um... - ok, he's not a compassionate parent. He and his wife are lovely people, but empathy is not high on their lists of "good attributes to embody." They ignore their own crying children (SCREAMING children) and feel that showing concern creates "Mamma's boys." I've learned the hard way that even though they are competent parents, they cannot (will not) take care of Xander when he's ill.
And it's important to keep an eye on him when he's ill.
One night when Xander was doing "The Full Monty" his father brought him in with a fever. He'd had it all day. No one called me, and beyond that they didn't give him anything to reduce the fever.
I could have torn his Father's eyes out.
As the show's Stage Manager I had to make sure he went on, no matter what. As Xander's Mother I had to watch my baby writhing in pain backstage between scenes. I had to tell him he had no choice but to go on...and that killed me. I will never forget (or forgive myself) watching him throw up in the bathroom and making him hurry because his next scene was coming up.
All because his Father has the bedside manners of a troll.
You see, when Xander gets a fever, it isn't one of those wimpy 102 degree fevers - he gets those Monster Fevers. 105...106...106.4...I honestly don't know how high it could go because I've always been too busy panicking to stick a thermometer in his mouth. The first few times we ended up in the Hospital, and once the day care he was in called 911. It happens fast and it happens hard and it's fucking scary.
That's just the way his body rolls. I'm a little more used to it after 12 years, but there is always the fear of seizures or of THIS time being the one that cooks his brain. For some reason, his Father can't understand that.
So, late last night I had to rescue my baby.
~
Late last night I had to rescue my baby.
His voice over the phone was the tone which sends Mothers' brains to that quiet place called instinct. Autonomic reflexes take over...vision becomes startlingly clear...breathing increases to quicken the flow of blood to the brain...not a wandering thought or unbidden image crosses the mind.... Cut through traffic just south of the "safely" line and get there as fast as humanly possible.
"Mom? I'm sick."
He was at his Father's house. I'm not saying his Father isn't a compassionate parent, it's just that...um... - ok, he's not a compassionate parent. He and his wife are lovely people, but empathy is not high on their lists of "good attributes to embody." They ignore their own crying children (SCREAMING children) and feel that showing concern creates "Mamma's boys." I've learned the hard way that even though they are competent parents, they cannot (will not) take care of Xander when he's ill.
And it's important to keep an eye on him when he's ill.
One night when Xander was doing "The Full Monty" his father brought him in with a fever. He'd had it all day. No one called me, and beyond that they didn't give him anything to reduce the fever.
I could have torn his Father's eyes out.
As the show's Stage Manager I had to make sure he went on, no matter what. As Xander's Mother I had to watch my baby writhing in pain backstage between scenes. I had to tell him he had no choice but to go on...and that killed me. I will never forget (or forgive myself) watching him throw up in the bathroom and making him hurry because his next scene was coming up.
All because his Father has the bedside manners of a troll.
You see, when Xander gets a fever, it isn't one of those wimpy 102 degree fevers - he gets those Monster Fevers. 105...106...106.4...I honestly don't know how high it could go because I've always been too busy panicking to stick a thermometer in his mouth. The first few times we ended up in the Hospital, and once the day care he was in called 911. It happens fast and it happens hard and it's fucking scary.
That's just the way his body rolls. I'm a little more used to it after 12 years, but there is always the fear of seizures or of THIS time being the one that cooks his brain. For some reason, his Father can't understand that.
So, late last night I had to rescue my baby.
~
Thursday, November 1, 2007
I Rock.....
You're going to pee. You know who you are. I can hear the "oh my god"s even now.
First, let me post a picture of the original...it's good for reference purposes. And let me remind everyone that I had to do this costume in 24 hours. I shudder to think what I could have done in a week....
(This was at the end of the night, so the hair and make-up were failing....)
And now the costume...and the character behind it:
And some of The Posse....
Ryq would kill me if he saw this...I used one of his shirts. But since he wouldn't be caught dead on this side of the BlogWorld, I'm sure I'm safe.
The makeup would have been better, but the father of one of the kids was going bananas to get started...he wanted to Trick-or-Treat with his business partners and got a little un-festive. Business partners? Who the hell does that? No kid should be subjected to that.
The very saddest thing was that it was the father of Xander's best friend, Kyle...and he ended up not getting to go with us. His father ditched us at the "party" house...what a turd. I'm going to make sure Kyle gets some extra attention this afternoon - just so he knows I still adore him.
Sins of the Father my ass.
~
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