Un-Resolved

I have mixed feelings about New Year resolutions.

On the one hand, I love them. I love the chance to re-focus, the annual assessment of priorities. Taking stock. Acknowledging that there is always, always room for improvement.

On the other hand, I don't trust them. There are lots of reasons I don't trust them: they're a laughingstock ("So much for that resolution to lose weight, huh, Bob? Hahaha! Maybe next year!"). They're arbitrary - or at least, their timing is. (If I've known for months that I need to quit biting my nails, why am I delaying discipline until January?) Also, I recently found a list of resolutions I wrote for myself in 2010. Reading through the first few resolutions made my heart soar, but then, as I continued reading it, my heart began to sink a little.

I wrote the list way back in 2009 (this was for the onset of 2010, see). So it's almost two years old now, this list. And while I managed, more or less, to keep four out of the five resolutions, the fifth one remains elusive. Still. And it really shouldn't - it's one of the more concrete resolutions, frankly.

Am I going to tell you what these resolutions were?

Nope. At least, not yet.

But don't despair: tomorrow, I WILL be sharing my resolution for 2012... which is both concrete and abstract. Clearly, despite not trusting them, I haven't given up on new year's resolutions just yet. Nor have I given up on #5.

Channeling Erma

This was my Erma Bombeck day last week:

First of all, my house was a mess. And I mean an out-of-underwear, mounds-of-laundry-hiding-all-the-unwrapped-and-unshipped-holiday presents, pets-wondering-if-I'd-lost-my-mind-HOT-MESS. I had pretty much no groceries, and other supplies were running low as well. Now, my mother always told me that as long as you have toilet paper OR paper towels OR paper napkins OR Kleenex in the house, you have not completely failed. I would like to state for the record that I had some paper towels on hand. Which could have been softer. But the point remains that I did not completely fail.

Second of all, I had a crazy amount of work to do. That's why the house was a mess, of course. Because work comes first, since no one pays me to do the dishes or keep up with the underwear. So I sat at the computer, hunkered down in the mess, bringing home the bacon and putting out fire after fire. Year-end is always either the best or the worst for work. When everyone's gone and no one is demanding anything, it's the best! When everyone is around, stressing about their own messes and focusing instead on making sure a deadline gets hit every 5 minutes, it's the worst! This year? Worst.

Third of all, I had to squeeze in a doctor appointment, because I'd found that stupid lump on my wrist. So in the midst of the mess and stress and deadlines, I had to go sit in a room full of sick coughing people to have my mutant wrist examined. Then I was told I'd need surgery. Greeeeeaaaaaaaat.

Fourth of all,* I came home to find dog poo on the floor.

Fifth of all,** the only thing to come in the mail? Utility bills.

So when I finally finished working, around 7pm, I decided to take a nice, hot bath to ease some of the stress of the day. I drew the bath. I added bubbles. I was going to GET MY ZEN ON, DAMMIT!

I picked up my book, got in to the tub, lay back - and heard the distinct sound of a pet. Vomiting.

Zen? Gone.

I got out of the tub to check on the situation. I found the first pile of vomit with my eyes. The second, I found with my foot.

And that's when I thought of Erma. I hope that somewhere up there, she's laughing at another Midwestern girl who just keeps stepping in it... and then fights tooth and nail to find the time to write about it.

PS For any of you unfamiliar with Erma Bombeck -- well, first of all, I'm sorry. You've been missing out. She is no longer with us, but her accounts of the hilarity of day-to-day life kept many people in stitches when she wrote them, and they're just as funny today. She's also inspiring because she was a journalist in the 1950s, then "quit writing" to become a housewife and mom. Only the thing was, she kept writing. She eventually went from a small local column in the late '50s, to getting national syndication in 1965, to really gaining commercial success in the '70s, and hitting her stride as a beloved humor columnist and living legend in the '80s - three decades after she "quit writing" to stay at home and be housewife. She died in 1996. The angels must have been peeing themselves with excitement for Erma to get up there.

* Why is it that first-through-third-of-all look correct, but "fourth of all" looks so weird?
** EVEN WEIRDER! 

It's A Wonderful Life

One of my all-time favorite movies is It's A Wonderful Life. There are several reasons that the movie tops my list. Just a few of these reasons include:

1. It always makes me cry
2. It's truly good storytelling
3. The jokes still land
4. You sympathize with the characters
5. It has Jimmy Stewart in it!
6. I almost always find something new to appreciate, every time I watch it

It's that last one that really gets me. This year, in watching the classic film for the umpteenth time, I once again had a new takeaway. As I wiped away the tears during the final scene, here's what I couldn't stop thinking about (SPOILER ALERT*):

Mr. Potter never gets his comeuppance.

George's friends and family rally around him, but Mr. Potter still has the $8,000.** He doesn't have a change of heart and return it, or get caught and go to jail.*** He goes unpunished and keeps the money. And George isn't bothered one bit. Potter is now simply a non-entity - a warped, twisted old man who can interfere all he likes and still not matter - justice or no.

Evil, meddling, whatever. He's just beside the point.

Thus, my wish for you, inspired by this moving movie: may you all know the wonder of your life, and may you find yourself surrounded by the love of friends and family, as your enemies simply become beside the point.

Now go ring some bells!****

*PS I almost didn't include that spoiler alert, because seriously, if you haven't already seen this movie - something is amiss. Also, well, even if you know what's going to happen, it's still good. See my list above.
** See above post script.
*** Ditto.
****Unless you haven't seen the movie, in which case, GO WATCH THE MOVIE.

Rx: Bible Thumping (Or, Cyst-on-a-Wrist)

Just in time for the holidays... I have a malady of biblical proportions!

Well, sort of.

I've been noticing a stiffness in my right wrist for the past few weeks. I didn't think too much of it, because my right wrist is also my write-wrist, which means it gets put through the wringer. Whether I'm typing, jotting down notes, sending a text - I'm definitely guilty of overworking my poor little wrist. Then yesterday, when I took a break from typing and flexed my wrist, I noticed a lump.

Scary little word, lump. And it was already very pronounced, as you can see. First, for perspective, my normal left wrist, followed by its lumpy right counterpart:

Left: normal

Right: when did I grow a hill on my wrist?

I did some frantic Web-MD searching, and self-diagnosed that I likely had something called a Ganglion cyst, AKA Bible cyst, which is, according to WebMD, "a tumor... on top of a joint or on the covering of a tendon." Why is it called the bible cyst, you might ask? Well, I'll tell you: a popular treatment of these types of tumors used to be to whack them with a Bible, in hopes that either God or the weight of the text would eradicate the growth. Needless to say, this is no longer the standard treatment. However, that fun tidbit led to this text exchange while I sat in the waiting room:

• D: See a doctor yet?
• Me: No. Still in waiting room. And they have their own personal Fox News TV. It has a framed digital feed with ads for their doctors, a scrolling ticker with local church announcements at the bottom, and Fox & Friends angry anchors spewing vitriol in the center of the screen. I think this is hell.
• D: Dear God.
• Me: Holy - ! A Rick Perry ad! They just played a real, non-parody Rick Perry ad! I'm in the mouth of the wolf! 
• D: They are totally going to smack your wrist with a bible.

For the record, they didn't.

Instead, after seeing a primary care physician today, I will be seeing a surgeon shortly after the first of the year to get an MRI that will confirm the first doc's (and my own, thankyouverymuch) diagnosis. Then a surgery will be scheduled. I'm not thrilled - about the surgery, about the limited use of my right hand post-op, about figuring all of this out when no longer on a group medical insurance plan...

...but on the up side, I have a new vocal warm-up. Cyst-on-my-wrist is really hard to say five times fast. Go on. Try it. Throw in "synovial fluid" somewhere, if you're feeling particularly daring. (And Google it if you want to enrich your joint knowledge.)

(On a Fun Note: Sushi!)

To end the day on a more cheerful note, though - here's the sushi-review I shot for Eat Jackson a few weeks ago. Note to self: wear makeup when on-camera. Consider getting a haircut.

And avoid ever making fish-face, since that's inevitably where a video will freeze. Sigh.

The sushi was really flippin' good, though. Love getting to do stuff with the good people of Eat Jackson! You can see the whole article here.

Calling it a day...

...at well-past-11pm.

So much I want to do, but no energy (or eye-power) left to do it today.

And the first thing I'm doing in the morning is going to the doctor.

Yep. Something's gotta give.

Controversy Strikes LPM

The doll in question: "Preppy Boy" from  the
Cabbage Patch Kids "Fashionality" line.
So popular, he's sold out! *

So a few days ago, I posted about a Cabbage Patch Doll that looked fabulous. I'd been talking with several friends backstage about the doll, and we thought it was hilarious and awesome that Cabbage Patch Kids had made a gay baby doll (even if they did it accidentally). 


Obviously, the packaging did not say he was gay. It was a joke about the doll's appearance - yes, a joke that definitely played in to stereotypes. No getting around that. But I sincerely thought I was laughing with, not laughing at, these stereotypes, and that smiling, trendy little doll.


However, at least one LPM reader was offended by the post, finding the post un-funny, offensive, and divisive. I was taken aback. Certainly, my intent wasn't to offend - but clearly, I did offend. And for that, I am very sincerely sorry.


But I am also nervous. Because where do we draw the comedy line?


As I said in one of my response comments, I actually think that joking around and about stereotypes can be hilarious, and even productive, when done without malice. The timbre of my post was "awesome, a gay Cabbage Patch doll!" - it was NOT "hey, let's go beat up this gay Cabbage Patch doll." I liked the idea of a gay doll on the shelf; of more of my friends being represented. I was trying to make a funny statement, with, if anything, pro-gay undertones. It's going to scare off allies if there are NO safe jokes, about any given group. 

Some stereotypes are more harmful than others, without question. But if even lighthearted ones are taboo, where does that leave us? Lots of groups - not just LGBT folks, but Jewish, black, Southern, Hispanic, countless others - laugh with and at these stereotypes all the time. Being too scared to ever crack a joke about our similarities, differences, and yes, our stereotypes, seems pretty bleak.

As the puppets sing in Avenue Q: "If we all could just admit, that we are racist, a little bit, and everyone stop being so P.C... maybe we could live in harmony!"

Also, many of my posts are about erring on the side of love, choosing love over judgement, taking the high road, that sort of thing. I believe all of those things, and try to live by them daily. I hate if I violated that with this post. But I also know that if all I did was post Pollyanna-style saccharine messages all the time, on this blog or in real life - no one would like being around me. Constant self-righteousness is irritating. We have to be able to tease, and relax, and not be on our PC-guard all the time... right?

If I'm wrong, tell me. I'll continue to apologize if that's what's needed. I just also don't want to be scare off posting anything that isn't 100% apolitical, stereotype-free, only about my own group and only positive and informational, and being too timid in my writing. 

And again... if I'm wrong... I'll own that. I don't want to offend. I thought it was made all the more harmless by the fact that the joke was on a doll, and not on a person. I would never take a picture of a real-life kid and say "he's gay." (Well, without parents' permission, I'd never put a picture of a real-life kid on my blog, period.) But maybe even realizing that means I shouldn't have posted about a doll, either. It's a fine line, though. If they make a doll with a really slutty outfit and heavy makeup,** should I not say that the doll looks like a bad drag queen? I mean, drag queens are people, too - and I say that sincerely. They are. So we're back to where-do-we-draw-the-line....

So I'd love to hear your opinion. If nothing else, it's always good to think more deeply about something. Figure out where we really stand, and how we're presenting our opinions to the world. In other words:

Advice, please! 

* Seriously, he's out of stock. Maybe my controversial blog skyrocketed demand for Preppy Boy (http://www.cabbagepatchkids.com/shop/item/64429-P333). 


** PS They make a lot of dolls like that, FYI.

M-State Haiku

I've lived for 4 years or more in three different states that start with the letter "M." So, naturally, I decided I should write some haiku about each of these three M States. See, that way, they'll have something in common - other than me, of course.

(Just a little Friday fun while I keep plotting out my next big writing leaps. Enjoy!)

MASSACHUSETTS 

"College"
I came here to learn.
Like everyone, and their mom.
Boston, college city.


"Cradle of the Revolution"
Historic and new,
seat of change, land of debate,
minds always on fire.


"Suburban Scandal"
Speaking of "on fire"
Shame about that whole witch thing
Over in Salem...

MICHIGAN 

"Michigander"
Warm hearts, friendly folks
who can name all five Great Lakes -
Midwest, I love you.


"Rejected Tourism Campaign - MI"
Yes, unemployment,
And militias, and winter -
But the lakes are nice.


"The Mitten State"
If homesick for you,
I can grab a map, and look!
You're waving at me.


MISSISSIPPI

"Mistress Mississippi"
Try to fill my heart
With such love and frustration?
No other state dares.


"Rejected Tourism Campaign - MS"
Yes, muggy summers,
Tense history, poverty -
But everything's fried!


"Mississippi: Muse"
Always singing, soft
Sometimes a writer hears her
Just a word or two...

1 Out of Every 10 Children Born in a Cabbage Patch...

All right, so I've been out of town all week but I'm working on a truly profound new series of blogs, and have many exciting writing plans ahead.

These things are all still in the works, though, so in the meantime - here's some good news! They finally made a gay Cabbage Patch Kids baby doll! *

Hooray!

Seriously! I spotted him in my
"local" box store toy aisle!

Matching shoes, belt, nice prepster pants and striped shirt. His face is flawless. He has platinum faux-hawk hair. It's like they took Ryan Seacrest and the little one from Queer Eye, and with their powers combined they made this synthetic little bundle of love. I mean, for real. Look closely. He even comes with trendy little eyeglasses.

And you'll note, this little "Preppy Boy" (seriously) baby is part of The Premiere Collection. Hells yeah he is!

Way to go, Cabbage Patch.** Way to go.

Why no one bought me this little gem for my birthday, I'll never know.

*They probably don't think they made a gay baby doll. They are wrong.
**See above. By the way, this is in no way intended to be offensive. I just think this baby is awesome.

Culture of Convenience

While I was at a work conference in California this week, I heard someone use this phrase: culture of convenience. 

They used the phrase in passing, almost as an aside. Though the rest of the speech was great, those three little words were the ones that stuck with me most. I didn't want them to become as disposable as the idea they conveyed. Culture of convenience. 

The words stuck.

More on this soon... much contemplation at the moment...

Sweet Serenade

Last night, we had a great final performance of “ECSET” - and at the end of the night, much to my surprise, I received a birthday serenade from our entire sold-out audience! Those talented little elves D and JH had crafted lyrics set to the tune of Walking in a Winter Wonderland, and handed them out to audience goers along with their programs, and got the whole crowd to sing to me.

I was very surprised and a little choked up. Another friend, DT, captured the whole shebang on his video phone and posted it online today. So here’s the video, with lyrics below, and a thankful, half-awake grin plastered across my face. (Did I mention I'm currently on a plane flying to San Diego? Working for two days and then red-eyeing it back Weds night/Thurs AM? More on that later.)

Beth’s Birthdayland
(to the tune of "Winter Wonderland")

Well, we've heard from a birdie
That Beth Kander's turning thirty,
A major threshold--
But not at all old,
Happy birthday, Beth, and Mazel-tov.

Beth's demeanor is so sparkly,
Even when she's being snarky,
She's boldly unique,
and economically chic,
Happy birthday, Beth, and Mazel-tov.

Beth's amazing talents are so many:
Writer, actress, film-maker, and more.
Everyone adores her, 'specially Danny,
So stay here with us, Beth, we all implore.

So we say in perfect "Kander"
We believe there's no one grander
She shows, without doubt,
Beauty inside and out,
Happy birthday, Beth, and Mazel-tov.

Happy birthday, Beth!

365 Days til 31!

Brunch included
blackberry grits. Yum!

So, quietly, today... it happened. I turned 30.

It's been a good day so far. I worked out (day five of 30 Day Shred! Re-started this week! Going to make it!). I then walked around feeling sore and stiff and reminded myself that this was due to a mean woman named Jillian, and not due to the onset of a new decade. I was taken out to a nice brunch. I did some shopping for a present I'll be giving a friend later today. I finished Bossypants, which I will definitely be reviewing here soon - I love you, Tina Fey!

In a few hours, I have the final performance of The Show (and exhausted as I am, I sure will miss hanging out with that awesome cast and crew every night). What better way to spend your birthday than doing something you love, with people you love? There will be no party, but there will be plenty of genuine celebration, laughter, and costume changes.

Flowers, from my parents
and from my brother <3

For now, before the whirlwind evening approaches, I am on the couch. I am wearing my new robe, admiring the flowers sent to me by my family, catching up on this here blog. I am covered in purring and snuggling pets, all of us halfway tuning in to the TV, which is on the Nat Geo Wild channel.*

My phone isn't letting me view my Facebook today** so I also just logged on to Facebook via that old-school computer portal, and was touched by all the birthday messages pouring in. Feeling all the love makes it all worthwhile. With this much birthday affection, who wouldn't be looking forward to the year ahead? And the one after that? And after that?

I'm optimistic that there are great adventures ahead. I had a pretty good ride for my twenties, all things considered - but I wouldn't want to relive them. (Nope. Not even with all the knowledge I have now.) Instead, I'm looking forward to living comfortably in my 30s, with a little more knowledge, a little less self-doubt, ever-evolving perspective, and a conscious, focused shift towards the good, the happy, the loving.

And so, with much love to all, I will share with you now the profound wisdom of the birthday tee I received from my brother. It sums up this whole birthday thing, and so many other existential dilemmas, so very poetically:

Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refrigerator

*Nat Geo Wild is the pets' favorite channel. They like Animal Planet, too, but Nat Geo Wild has more dying-animal-sounds as lions take down wildebeasts. Whenever a kill happens, their ears go up and their breath quickens. Hey, these little domesticated guys need to get their kicks somehow.
*My phone hates me as much as the pets love Nat Geo Wild.

Last Week in my 20s: The Great Pigtail Debate

Apparently, today's last-time-I-can-get-away-wish-this choice is very controversial. It begs the question:

How old can you be and still get away with wearing pigtails?

I have long felt that pigtails have a time limit. On a five-year old, they're adorable; on a fifteen-year-old, they're quirky and smart-best-friend cutesy; on a twenty-five-year-old, they can be charmingly offbeat and/or maybe even sexy, particularly when paired with a pleated skirt and a Lolita's-got-nothing-on-me smirk. PS to any fifteen year olds reading this: seriously, stick with quirky and smart for now. Wait 'til you're 25 and have established yourself as that smart, quirky woman before you try the Lolita thing.

Clearly, I am still in my 20s in this photo.

But at some point, there's a line. Much like Osh-Kosh B'Gosh (after age 5) and Slap-Bracelets (after age 15 - oh wait, was that just an early '90s thing?), pigtails should at some point be phased out of one's repertoire. Because you don't want to be wearing sparkly flowered hair clips from Claire's with your mother-of-the-bride dress, and change has to start somewhere.

The question is, when do you stop with the two-pony-tails-on-each-side-of-your-head-look?*

I have long held that once I hit the big 3-0, I am giving up pigtails.

D finds this highly upsetting, and even morally questionable.

But I stand my ground: it's not like I can wear these to work. I don't want to appear as if I'm desperately clinging to my disappearing youth. I'm ready to move on, despite pigtails being my default save-me-from-a-bad-hair-day go-to look.

So... what do you think?

*Incidentally, why are pigtails called pigtails? I mean, I understand why pony-tails are called pony tails: they look like pony's tails Thus when you wear one, it's a singular pony tail - 'cause ponies only have one tail. When you wear two, now they're pigtails. But why? Sure, ponies don't have two tails, but... are there a lot of double-tailed pigs of which I am not aware? Or is it that the two-floppy-hair sections look sort of like floppy pig ears? In which case, why do we not call them pig-ears? Or more accurately, Cocker Spaniel ears? Discuss.

Last Week in my 20s: I Gots My Makeup Did!

My friend Dustin King, a very talented makeup artist, gave me an early birthday gift: a makeover! That's definitely something I rarely (read: never) do.

Now, when I started thinking about a week of things-I-never-do, "show a sexier side" made the list, as you will recall. And of course, I started fantasizing about getting a totally smoky-eyed, dewy-lipped, hair-curled, slinky-dressed glam treatment, probably administered by a team of four. The beauty overhaul would of course be followed by a photography session with excellent lighting. With on-set lattes. The photos would be black and white and amazing, and I would wind up looking like the innocent pin-up girl... you know, the one with the big eyes who looks slightly surprised to find herself in this negligee.

Instead, when I arrived, the charming and beautifully-browed Dustin asked me what we we were doing. Full-out glam? Or a regular day-look that I could learn to do myself?

"Whatever makes me look pretty," I said in a small voice.

So we went with a day look. Which I might be able to replicate. Maybe. After I buy some makeup.

But I'm not the artist Dustin is, so we'll see. And half the fun of having your makeup done by Dustin is snarking with him while he makes you pretty. Seriously, if you ever need to feel special and/or share some snark, call Dustin. He will tell you that you have "pretty doe-eyes" and give you the latest scoop on hot news around town, on sets, all over.

Oh, and as for the high-quality photo session? That didn't happen, either. I took one self-portrait, and my friend Brent snapped another few shots on my cell phone. So you can't really see the full effect here, but the truth is, other than having some lovely golden-y eyes, I pretty much looked like me.... just, polished. And I guess it's better to not have to get a whole overhaul done on yourself to look pretty, right? My "pretty doe-eyes" and I certainly think so.

Thanks, Dustin! :)

Why do self portraits
make my nose look huge?

Smirk!

Last Week in My 20s: I invented a syndrome

I'm behind on this blog yet again - though to my credit, I HAVE stepped out of my comfort zone, and YES there will be postings. I'll backdate them, but beef-eating and pubbing-it-up have both already happened! I know, I know. I should have written about these experiences, I should be keeping up daily, and I shouldn't make excuses ... but between work and tech week for the show, there just hasn't been time. Especially since when not working or rehearsing, I'm doing my duty to promote the show.

And yes, again with the I know, I know - being busy is definitely NOT "outside the norm." BUT, on the plus side, the aforementioned "show promotions" have included making little videos. Here's my favorite- as this spot's writer/director/editor/co-star, I'm pretty proud. Exhausted, but proud. And hey, technically, I did something I never (okay, rarely) do: I invented a syndrome!

Last Week in my 20s: I ate beef

Holy cow. I eat beef.

For those of you who don't know me well, I should give you a little background on why this is such a big deal. Eating cow is something I haven't done since I was 11. See, at the tender and impressionable age of eleven, I read a book about factory farming, and swore off the consumption of meat.

"It's a phase," said my normally borderline-omnisciently-wise mother.

I didn't eat meat for the next 16 years (which I guess technically makes her correct - it was just a really long phase - dammit). Over those sixteen years, I put up with a lot of teasing. For some reason, carnivores think it's hilarious to make their hamburgers talk to vegetarians. Why, that bun-top can function as a moving mouth! "Eeeeeeeeat me, Beth!" What a hoot! Every time! 

Sometime around age twenty-seven, I decided to incorporate poultry in to my diet. It should be noted, I was never a "hard core" vegetarian. I always ate eggs. I ate fish. And damn the hand that tries to take away my dairy! But it was still a giant step to start eating chicken again.

Why did I start eating of the bird? Well, the #1 thing I hated about vegetarianism was feeling like a bother. I never found it hard to eat vegetarian at home, but felt guilty every time I'd have dinner at someone's home and they would have baked chicken for everyone else, and veggie lasagna for me. I have a remarkable amount of kind people in my life, and I'm sure they didn't feel it was a bother - but I did.

And, add to my vegetarianism that my one allergy is mushrooms (and pencillin, but that's rarely served for dinner these days). That allergy = recipe for disaster. Portabella burgers and mushroom-infused-pastas seem to be everyone's backup plans when they hear that there is a vegetarian afoot. And the only thing worse than feeling guilty about having an extra-meal made for you by your kindhearted hosts is having to turn that meal down, too, so you don't wind up vomiting all over their table.

All that to say: holy cow. I ate beef today.

I decided that, since my feelings about factory farming have not changed, I needed to spend my money on organic, grass-fed, ethical beef. Local would have been even better, but this is Jackson. Last-minute local can be hard to find. I went to our local natural foods co-op, and bought some beef.

Modifying a recipe from Alton Brown, and taking the "kabobs are an easy intro" tip from my friend MK who moonlights at the co-op, the beef was used as part of kabobs. While some would argue that I should've gone for a buttery filet or something, I would argue back: you are missing the point! I ATE BEEF!

Chopping veggies. This part was soothing.
Veggies are very familiar.

The finished kabobs!
Note: mine are the ones sans-mushroom.

I still had some reservations.

The verdict?

It was a little tough (hush, you naysayers), but tasty. I did have one moment of being totally weirded out while eating the food:

Me: OhmyGawd I'm eating a cow.
D: Yes, but not the entire cow.
Me: It's not like the rest of it is out wandering around somewhere!
D: Probably not -
Me: That would be even worse!
D: You're right. Don't worry. This cow is done for. Let's honor it by enjoying lunch.

All in all, I don't plan to jump back on the beef-eating bandwagon right away, but maybe when I have more local, ethical meat options I'll give it some thought. Until I see a live cow turn its big accusing brown eyes on me and I burst into tears.

Vent!!! (THE INTERNET SAGA)

*Note: this has nothing to do with my current 30 Days til 30 theme and everything to do with VENTING!

I am traveling for work and have hit snafu after snafu today (though, thank heaven, all travels were safe, which of course of course of course is the most important thing). I will not vent about it all, but I need to get THE INTERNET SAGA off my chest.

THE INTERNET SAGA

I needed the internet tonight. In fact, I needed it for both work-related reasons AND a desperate desire to catch up with some of my own writing - on this blog, and on the script I'm writing (which has me so excited - and yet I've been unable to touch it since September, due to being way the hell too busy) AND because I am so woefully behind on my personal emails, and wanted to take the time alone in my hotel room tonight to respond to a few particularly lovely and undeservedly neglected notes.

So I got to my room, turned on my computer - and there were no wireless networks to be found. Then, I noticed this little sign sitting next to the desk lamp:

SERIOUSLY.

Um. Listen here, hotel - requiring me to go downstairs and BUY an ethernet cable to be able to get internet is not "for my convenience." It is for your profit, and my distinct INconvenience. But I needed the web, so after trying to rig the phone cord to sub for the ethernet cable and failing, I went downstairs 14 floors to the "Impulse Retail Shop" (again: this was not an impulse purchase, it was coercion). There, I dropped $10 on an ethernet cable. I then went back upstairs, hooked up the computer, and - nothing. No internet.

So I called the "Hospitality Network Hotel Internet Support" noted on the mean little placard. I will say this: the IT guy on the phone was very, very friendly, if patronizing. I say patronizing because he was clearly accustomed to dealing with people who know NOTHING about computers since he would say things like "Okay, so if you're looking down at the bottom left corner of your screen, you'll see a little green image that says START on it. That's your start menu. Can you see that? Can you click on it for me?" Seriously.

After 17 minutes on the phone with him, he determined that I needed to download a new ethernet driver to get my computer to read the cable and connect to the internet. To do this, I would need to... wait for it ... get online.

Because, of course, it had to be a catch 22. Need the internet? Better have the internet handy, then.

So I called the front desk to see if they could open the business center or tell me where I could get wireless. "Buy an ethernet cable at the gift shop and you'll be fine," they said. I had informed them that I had done that, but that it was not working. "Call tech support," they said. I did, I explained. I just need to know where there's some freaking wireless. "Coffee shop by the lobby," she finally admitted.

So I went back down 14 floors to the lobby, and found the coffee shop. By now it's 10pm. The coffee shop is closing at 11.

I go in and order the cheapest thing on their menu. Which is a $4 cappuccino. (Seriously - even the coffee was $4, and for $4, I better get more than plain damn coffee.) The dreary woman behind the counter was washing out an espresso maker when I ordered. "No problem," she said, and then continued to ignore me and sadly wash the espresso maker for the next two minutes. And then she washed her hands for another two minutes. And then she went back into the kitchen for another two. Finally, she trudged back out and s-looooooow-ly made my drink. I paid, and even left a big desperate tip as I asked her for the wireless password.

"Oh," she said. "Our wireless is down. By the way, did you want a flavor in this cappuccino?"

YES, DAMMIT, I WANT IT TO BE INTERNET-FLAVORED FOR THE LOVE OF PETE!!!!!!!!!!!

I calmly asked her if she could check their router and try to re-set it.

"No," she said, "I don't do that. But if you want to try to get on, the password is f-r-e-e-i-n-t-8-7-5. So, probably won't work, but there you go." And she went back into the kitchen.

For those of you keeping track, I have now spent over an hour and $14 to NOT gain access to the internet.

I sat down and opened up my laptop, despite the Bleak Barista's prophecy that there would be no wireless. It was 10:15 by then. And sure enough, I can't get on the wireless. I take the top off my cappuccino. The cup is not even half full. SERIOUSLY. (This is a total side note, of course, and does not really have anything to do with the THE INTERNET SAGA, but added to my overall had-it-up-to-here-ness.) I take a sip and burn the hell out of my tongue. FOR THE LOVE - !!!!

I keep repairing my internet connection, trying different browsers, and finally - miraculously - sometime around 10:30, I get on the web.

I start furiously downloading drivers so I can go back upstairs to my room and have ethernet-enabled-internet. The driver is taking forever to download.

And then my computer blinks a message: low battery.

Where is my cord?

Half a casino length AND 14 floors above me.

And the coffee shop is closing in 10 minutes.

The driver has ALMOST finished downloading when the computer flips off. And the lights in the coffee shop go off.

Dejected, I go back to my room and take a bath to de-stress. On another hot-cappuccino-style-side note, I notice that the tub is full of SOMEONE ELSE'S HAIR. So I have to CLEAN the hotel bathtub before I can bathe in it. Oh yes, they will be getting a letter.

So then I get out of the tub, turn my computer on, open a browser for the heck of it...

... and my Little Pixie Magic page comes up.

Somehow, the almost-downloaded-driver must have finished RIGHT before the computer snapped off, and then the restart enabled it, and now the freakin' ethernet worked.

At midnight.

So I'm not going to get much writing done, and already got done the very little work that ABSOLUTELY HAD to happen tonight. Instead, here's this angry blog. And I may well REALLY take someone to task tomorrow.

Deep breath. Finding my zen. This is totally peanuts in the big picture, and I won't even care about most of it come tomorrow. But those little things really can lead to a giant headache sometimes. Thank you, and good night.

Last Week in my 20s: Had a Few Too Many

Know what's sad? I'm NOT drunk
in this photo. Just reacting to bright
flash. Sure look drunk, though.

This Saturday night, I found myself at another friend's 30th birthday bash (happy birthday, DMcC!). Since I'd already decided that having more than a-beer was something I might do this week, and I wasn't driving, I decided I'd have "a few too many."

It should be noted: I was never a heavy drinker. I've never had a problem with drinking. But certainly, in my early 20s, I drank more than I do now. Nowadays, my primary drinking habit is a glass of Pinot while watching an episode of Veronica Mars and then falling asleep on the couch. Rock-star. I know.

So I decided to try to take it up a notch for a night. In doing so, I learned a few things:

1. These days, "a few too many" =  a few.
Over the course of about three hours, I had two beers and two shots - the shots were courtesy of a very supportive friend (thanks, MK!). And while I didn't come anywhere near falling-down-drunk, I was certainly buzzing and glad I had a designated driver after drink #4.

2. Even tipsy, I now remain more practical.
After four drinks, I drank some water and clandestinely took some ibuprofen. I had stuff to get done the next day, see?

3. Drinking always leads to one thing...
And that thing is, of course, the gay bar. In my early 20s and again last night, after a few drinks at location #1, the crew I'm with decides that obviously our night would be incomplete without a drag show. So we wind up at the gay bar. Standing there watching several Amazon-tall drag queens, all with names incorporating the word of Madison (local affluent suburb), it was a total flashback to 2003.

Yep. It was fun. But the next morning, slightly headache-y despite my hydration and preemptive medicine, I realized I'm pretty much okay with that phase of my life being over. I like my red wine and quirky TV nights. And the pets love it when I fall asleep on the couch.

Cheers, y'all.

Last Week in my 20s: Raising the Stakes

I might be a little less
angelic this week.

I've decided that with one week to go before the Big 3-0, I'm raising the stakes. For each of the next 7 days, I am going to do something out of the ordinary. What constitutes "out of the ordinary"? Glad you asked! I have decided that these are my guidelines:

Each day, I must do something:
a) that I have never done before
b) that I rarely, rarely do
c) that I did in my 20s, but don't do anymore

In other words, I have to step outside of my current comfort zone. Should provide good writing fodder, yes? I thought so too. So earlier today, I mentioned this challenge to my friends at the set build for our show. They immediately offered the following suggestions:

Beth (they said), you should:
a) go somewhere and strip
b) make out with a girl
c) do something naked! 

I should say, in their defense, that they are all theater people. See, just knowing that makes the suggestions seem more understandable, right? I know. But anyway, I obviously learned a few things from their responses. These lessons include:

Things I learned about my friends:
a) they are very eager to be helpful (okay, I knew this)
b) they think I am a very giant prude who wears too many clothes
c) they are possibly all very attracted to me (eh, more likely, love seeing me turn red)

It is unlikely that I will take any of their bawdy suggestions (sorry, new-found heterosexual male readership), though I might come up with some variation on that general theme of be-less-prude-y ...  something along the lines of "show a sexier side of me," which I rarely, rarely do. I have begun to build a list of my own, which is included below - and you never know, something new might present itself. I might even be open to additional suggestions, assuming they are not illegal, cruel and unusual, OR, y'know, nude.

My tentative list:
1) Have a few too many drinks 
2) Wear my hair in pigtails
3) Eat beef
4) Prank call someone (is that even possible these days?)
5) REALLY take someone to task who REALLY deserves it
6) Gamble (this is only on the list because I'll be staying overnight at a casino later this week)
7) Show a sexier side of me (I might need help with this; someone who knows how to do makeup, someone who knows something about fashion, someone to take pictures of the extreme makeover? Bueller?)


Again, this is only tentative. The list may change. But I will step out of my comfort zone at least once, every day, for the next week. Stay tuned.

9 Days til 30: Surpassed 30 Readers! And Detox Diet Day 3 is killin' me!

Just a quick post before the day gets away from me: I'm at over 30 subscribers to this blog! Thanks, PSN and Dramamama - I credit you most of all :)

Also, I am freakin' sick of this Detox Diet. Yeah, it's only been three days. And I actually enjoy the fruity morning shake, might keep that around. But raw cold salad for lunch every day when it's cold out is unappealing. And un-sauced, unseasoned fish for dinner every night is just boring. I'm actually going to vary it up by having un-sauced, unseasoned tofu for dinner tonight instead. The madness!

Show rehearsals are kicking into high gear, work has me swamped, and I fear this may be my only chance to post today. Fingers crossed, I'll be more interesting tomorrow.

10 Days til 30: Boobs (and Detox Diet Day 2, and An Alligator)

Funny word, boobs. Say it out loud and it's even funnier. Go on, say it: Boobs. Boobs. Boobie boobie boobs. Listen to someone else say it over and over again, in a wholly unexpected context, and it's funnier still.

Some readers might have preferred another image here.
But here at LPM, we keep it family-friendly. Ish.

What brings up boobs? A good bra! Ha-ha! But seriously, folks. Today I used my lunch hour to go use a Groupon I had for a mani/pedi at a local salon. I figured this would be a nice little treat, a welcome reprieve from the unexpectedly slammed past two days of work and exhausting nights of rehearsal. But instead of being about relaxation and pretty nails, the hour was actually pretty much dominated by the nail technician's boobs.

About five minutes into the manicure, my technician grabbed her breast with one hand while she continued rubbing my hand with her other hand. I pretended not to notice, and after a minute, she returned both hands to the manicure procedure. Then, moments later - she reached her hand down her shirt. Full-out grabbing, this time. And she said:

"Sorry. My boob hurts."

Just like that. I nodded, hopefully compassionately.

"I drink too much caffeine," she explained. "I shouldn't. It's bad for my boobies."

"I've heard that can be true," I said, as she began rubbing my hands again. The manicure continued, and then she flat-out yelled:

"OW! MY BOOB HURTS! RIGHT IN THE NIPPLE, MARGIE!"

The receptionist (presumably, Margie - unless that was the name of the nipple...) stood up from behind the desk. Shaking her head, she said, "Oh, girl. It's no good when your boobs hurt. That's the worst. Nothing more irritating than a sore boob."

Seriously, the word boob was tossed all the way across the salon probably eight or nine time in the span of ten minutes. Very bouncy word, boobs. And don't worry about the nail tech. Her boob was feeling much better by the end of the hour. I know because she told me so: "Yep, the boob's feeling better now."

In other news, I stuck to Day 2 of the Detox Diet. Go me!

I also ran around like a madwoman at rehearsal. Go theater!

And I got a call from D informing me that he was driving back up to the Delta with a live alligator in his car. I tried really hard to figure out if that was some sort of innuendo or something. Turns out, nope. He really was transporting a gator on up to the Delta for a video shoot. Because that's perfectly normal, right? Just like coming home to a house full of drag queens dancing to Hedwig (which happened to me circa 2004), or having your dog wind up on Leno (2010), or finding out that all your co-workers are also prostitutes (circa 1999). Yep. Boring little life I lead.

Also: boobs!