Little Pixie Magic

A Mournful Ode To The Lingering After-Effects of Asparagus Officinalis

2012-02-25T14:20:00.000-06:00

I posted earlier this week that I was on the fence about whether my next piece here would be deep and meaningful, or a rant about asparagus pee. One of my helpful friends counseled me via Twitter, and suggested that I "split the difference and write a meaningful and insightful soliloquy on asparagus pee."

And since I aim to please, here goes. Enjoy. (Preemptive apologies in case this post ... er... stinks.)

A Mournful Ode To The Lingering After-Effects
of Asparagus Officinalis
Or, "Asparagus, You Make Pee Damn Stinky"

Asparagus Officinalis, you are the worthiest of foes
So very appetizing, save for what my poor nose knows
I almost hate to eat you, for the price I'll later pay
That putrescent, lingering impact that will not go away.

I did not know your power, when I was still quite small
I just knew there was sometimes a smell I DID NOT LIKE AT ALL
I did not know why it happened, I knew not who to blame
Then I learned your dirty trick; the evil had a name.

I like that the ex-Pres is apparently
the poster boy for the 'gus-smell fans.
(I don't know who to credit for this
photo; it's all over the inter-webs.)

But damn your veggie cunning!
Your taste is still so stunning!
I find I know not what to do.
Despite the price, I can't quit you.

So I dealt with the pungent pee
Knowing 'twas not only me
Everyone was afflicted by the smell
A lovely dinner, then olfactory hell.

But guess what? I learned that's not quite true.
I can smell it - but I'm among the few
For while everyone's piss gets rigged by 'gus,
'Tis detectable by merely 25% of us. *

So to those who smell the smell, I dedicate this ode.
Causing commiseration when it's time for the commode.
And if anyone out there *likes* the smell of asparagus-pee
You can have seconds, but we'll all look at you weird...ly.

* Fact: Everyone's urine is impacted by asparagus in the same way, with scent-altering compounds triggered by the vegetable - but only about one-quarter of the population appears to have the special gene that allows them to smell those compounds. So the issue isn't whether or not your pee is smelly; it's whether you're able to smell it. If you smell a funny fragrance in your urine after you eat asparagus, you're not only normal, you have a good nose. (Source: WebMD... that's science, folks!)

Pithy Party

2012-02-24T16:15:00.000-06:00

Yep. I made this sound-bite-graphic all by myself.
And it's definitely catchier than the post as a whole.

If you have something important to say, figure out how to say it quickly or no one will care.

Jaded much? Maybe, yeah. I'm sure my writer's bias is showing, too (people are reading less? Nooooo!). But the extremely sound-bite obsessed culture we live in is undeniable, and yeah - it's scary.

Don't get me wrong: there's something to be said for brevity, and for being able to make a point quickly and clearly. However, sometimes you can't really tell the whole story without going into a good bit of detail. It's frightening to think about the way that we prioritize pithy over in-depth. Is it one quick quote? Great. An image with even fewer words? Even better! Something I can re-tweet, share, or embed with one click? That's going viral, baby!

I know I'm guilty of pithy-prioritization myself. Headlines shout loudest. I too will read a tweet, and feel informed (so wrong). I try to find various view points and educate myself on the big stuff before I form an opinion, but especially on the smaller and newer topics - there's just too much, so short insights win! Most of the time, if I'm reading a New York Times article online, it has to be pretty good to get me to click and "continue to page 2" ... and truly amazing to keep me clicking through to pages 3, 4, and 5.

And that's why I'm limiting my words here, too. Because the longer it is, the less likely it is to be read. So I'll just leave you with a question: are we too succinct these days, and losing all-important nuance and perspective? Or is the pithy-party a good thing, because it forces us to go ahead and get to the point?

Why "Little Pixie Magic"?

2012-02-23T18:00:00.000-06:00

I've been beating myself up a little bit about the fact that I haven't been sticking to the proposed "posting schedule" for this blog. Mondays, posts on running, Tuesdays, posts on cooking, blah blah blah. But I've decided to give up the guilt - and while I'm at it, give up the posting schedule.

Plenty of other things in my life are structured. This doesn't have to be.

So I'm going back to the classic approach of this blog: when something exciting or unique comes up (like, say, I decide to try dressing as a pirate for a week, or something), sure, that can dominate for awhile. Otherwise, this is my write-consistently-no-matter-what-it-is outlet. No huge overarching theme. No specific agenda. Just top-of-mind storytelling. Sometimes finding a little bit of magical truth.

Remaining true to its name.

Speaking of the name. Why is this blog called Little Pixie Magic, you ask? Well, that I can explain in four easy textbook definitions:

Little (/litl/): Small in size, amount, or degree (often used to convey affection)

Pixie (/ˈpiksē/): Whimsical fairy-like or elfin supernatural being in folklore and children's stories, especially one that is mischievous; a playful sprite.

Magic (/ˈmajik/): The power of apparently influencing the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces.

Natch (natch): Naturally; of course; that just makes sense.

Deal Breakers

2012-02-21T23:24:00.002-06:00

(image from biztechday.com)

Dear Groupon and Living Social,

First of all, a confession: I've been seeing both of you. For some time now. I'm sorry; I've been something of a deal site trollop. A cheap-deals chippie, if you will.

Can you blame me? You were both such sweet suitors, after all.

You breezed into my town within weeks of each other, luring me in with those flirty emails. The cheeky, offbeat copy! And the deals, oh, the deals!

Half off at my favorite restaurant? Two-for-one horseback riding lessons? Only $25 for a gourmet cooking class? The deals seemed too good to be true.

And, of course - they were.

For starters, you had some limits you kept quiet about. I mean, yeah, the fine print was there, but it's not like you loudly trumpeted those little details. "By the way, this coupon is only good for breakfasts, 7am to 9am, and only Tuesday through Thursday." *

But that's on me. I should have paid closer attention. I can move past fine print suddenly looming large. What I can't move past is being treated like crap. Which is what has happened far too often when I try to (heaven forbid!) actually use one of the "deals" I purchased. Here are just a few real-and-true examples of how I wound up feeling mistreated when I attempted to cash in my prepaid deal-vouchers:

Horseback riding. One of my bigger purchases - I bought a trail ride for two at a stable in Louisiana. To make a long story very short, we were not only treated disdainfully when we showed up for our ride, we were also informed post-ride by the owner that there was a mandatory $30 gratuity that "wasn't mentioned in the Groupon, but it's what our trail guides always get." Not wanting to punish the nice girl who led the trail ride, we ponied up the money. But that was pretty much all the cash we had, since as the owner herself noted, an expected thirty-dollar tip for the trail ride leader "wasn't mentioned in the Groupon."
Hair conditioning. A smaller purchase - or so I thought. I spent $18 for what was normally a $30 Moroccan oil hair treatment. That treatment basically consists of the stylist wetting your hair, coating it with the Moroccan oil (conditioner, basically) and letting it sit for 15 minutes, then rinsing it out. Guess what? The deal included the conditioning treatment only. I.e. it did not include drying your hair. And when you schedule an appointment over your lunch break and have a work obligation following, you can't walk out with wet hair. So then they tell you that the blow dry costs $20. And then you still owe tax and tip. And all told, you wind up spending close to $50 for a $30 treatment. Such a deal!
Cooking class. This was the worst, but sadly all too representative of several other Groupon/Living Social voucher redemption experiences. The cooking class promo material all said BYOB. Nowhere did it mention the $10 corking fee per person for your wine bottle. Then, when the chef started the class, he said (no joke): "By the way, any of you here using a Groupon, you should know you're putting small businesses out of business! If you don't pay full price, you should feel bad - this is a gourmet experience, so f*** those Groupons." Then, when we went to pay at the end of class, and I walked up with Groupon in hand, he rolled his eyes, said "Oh, great, another Groupon," then grudgingly took it - and informed me that above and beyond the Groupon, I still owed $20 for gratuity, plus tax - not to mention the $20 my friend and I had paid to bust open our bottle of wine.

Um, who put the gun to his head and made him dole out Groupons? Dear Chef - you should know that if I'd had a great time, I would've come back and paid full price for the next class. But since you were such a douche, instead, I've never gone back.

Get me in the door with a deal, give businesses the chance to impress, and I'd be back and loyal - sounds like a great proposal. Unfortunately, it backfired. I know that this rudeness is attributed to the business owners, and not the deal sites. But the point is that in addition to landing themselves, on my S-list, these establishments have also all been aligned with you... so guess what list you're on now, too?

So now, I'm done! The time has come for me to break up with both of you guys. But of course, as with all break-ups, there remains the question of the stuff.

I won't be purchasing more, but I need to spend what I have. So. The great spend-down of my accumulated Groupon and Living Social deals starts now.

The problem? At this point I'm scared to call and make appointments to use my deals, since people seem to hate it when customers actually purchase and then want to use their vouchers. But I've got 'em, and I don't want to waste 'em, so in the coming weeks I'll steel my resolve and cash in on all of the following: **

Dog grooming
Vehicle detailing
One-hour massage
Dinner (Thai place)
$10 at coffee shop
Eye exam + prescription glasses
Full dental exam (hey, I bought it when I was between dental plans)
Dinner (Italian)
Dinner (Italian - yeah, another one)
Hair highlights
Lunch (sushi place)
Housecleaning

So it'll be awkward. But I'll get rid of the proverbial stuff, and then - we're done.

Sincerely,
Beth

*That's a real example of a restriction on one of my Living Social restaurant deals.
** Yep. That's a lot of stockpiled deals. There might be something wrong with me.

A Writer's Prayer

2012-02-19T23:30:00.000-06:00

I Found The Missing Links

2012-02-18T10:48:00.000-06:00

The question is no longer regarding the missing links. Now, about those missing patties...

Incidentally, within twenty minutes of posting this photo on Facebook with the caption "What's wrong with this picture?", several clever friends chimed in with their best one-liners. They all deserve a hearty pat(tie) on the back for their early morning comedic contributions!

Booked (10 Down, 90 To Go...)

2012-02-17T21:01:00.000-06:00

I've done a terrible job following a regimented daily topic-schedule for this blog. However, I've done a slightly better job at meeting some of my other ambitious goals for this year... including spending more time reading, and aiming to make it through 100 books in 2012. So though it may not be in sync with the schedule, here's an update on my most recent "booking".

"Percy Jackson & The Lightning Thief" by Rick Riordan. I read the first in the Percy Jackson series. I've been meaning to read these ones for awhile, since being a kid lit author is a dream of mine. I have to say - this book was a bit of a disappointment. It was fun, and readable, but not particularly witty. I could be a biased yucky grown up here, but I think part of it is the first-person twelve-year-old-boy narrative. I loved Harry Potter, and third person writing meant J.K. Rowling could balance the children's perspective with a more sophisticated, omniscient observational arc. Riordan's first-person Percy voice is more likely to crack a fart joke and use weak metaphor. That said, it was a good romp, it knows its audience, I'll read the other ones, and I did enjoy some of the mythological twists. Still, overall - Percy's no Harry.

"Cesar's Way" by Cesar Milan. I do love The Dog Whisperer, even if I don't always agree with him. On the whole, Cesar has inspired me to cultivate my "calm-assertive"self. Truth be told, he's a better television personality than he is a writer, and a bit rigid overall, but I still liked most of the book. Some parts were harder to swallow than others ("your dog jumping up and down to greet you when you get home does NOT mean he missed you, it means he's unbalanced") but a lot of his philosophies and suggestions made some sense, and thus the book has inspired some minor behavior-modification experimentation at home (much to Dov's confusion).

"All My Sons" by Arthur Miller. I feel like I've read this play before, or at least knew the story, but somehow the ending still caught me by surprise. Surprisingly contemporary dialog and truly brutal family moments. I definitely need to add some more plays to the docket; I read this one because I was auditioning for a production of it, and am glad I had the impetus to pick it up. As a writer, I definitely benefited from engaging with this text. As an actor... well, I've heard nothing, so I'm pretty sure I didn't get the part. But the writer and reader in me still benefited from preparing for the audition.

"Locke & Key (Volume 2: Head Games)" by Joe Hill / illustrations by Gabriel Rodriguez. I read the first Locke & Key book late last year - creepy, smart, riveting. I can't believe it took me this long to read the second book! Well, actually I can. I had lots of other stuff to read, have been busy - and can't really travel with this book, because sometimes it gets scary and I need to be able to put it in the freezer. Rodriguez's illustrations are dark and detailed. Hill's storytelling is twisted and engaging, with some sharp humor pinching you between the jump scares. (By the way: if you're unfamiliar with Joe Hill, he has kind of a famous father. You might have heard of him - Stephen King? Anyway, Hill manages not to live in his father's shadow - he casts quite a spooky shadow of his own, not only in his graphic novels but also in his books like Heart Shaped Box. Scaaaaaary.)

"Stardust" by Neil Gaiman is what I'm delighting in right now. I'll save my review until I actually finish the book.

Two final thoughts before I stop writing, and get in some more reading:

I'm doing all right in keeping myself "booked," but I really do need to pick up the pace. Almost two months in, and not quite 10 books read. I need to be at about double that rate - nine books a month, for the rest of the year, if I want to make it.
There's pretty much NO pattern to what I read. Dog psychology, horror-themed graphic novel, youth adventure series, American classic play, quirky fantasy. Next on the docket is an autobiography, more kid lit, a how-to book, a history book... hmm. What am I missing? Hey, Dad - you got any sports book recommendations? ;-)

CURRENT TALLY: BOOKED!

1. "Bossypants" by Tina Fey
2. "Neverwhere" by Neil Gaiman
3. "My Life As An Experiment" by A.J. Jacobs
4. "Southern Gothic Novel" by Frank Blocker
5. "Y: The Last Man" by Brian K. Vaughan, Pia Guerra, and Jose Marzan, Jr.

6. "Percy Jackson & The Lightning Thief" by Rick Riordan

7. "Locke & Key Book 2: Head Games" by Joe Hill & Gabriel Roriguez

8. "Cesar's Way" by Cesar Milan

9, "All My Sons" by Arthur Miller

10. "Stardust" by Neil Gaiman (okay, I'm not quite done, but almost...)

One Of THOSE DAYS

2012-02-16T20:03:00.001-06:00

It all started yesterday, when my nose began to drip.

The drippy nose led to general stuffiness, which led to me taking some NyQuil, which lead to me being passed out on the couch somewhere around 9pm, all of which added up to me NOT going to the grocery to buy the ingredients I needed for an office-breakfast-party I was to attend this morning.

So I woke up a little before 7am and realized, crap! I have to go buy eggs and cheese!

My nose was still running. I grabbed some tissue, a jacket, and went in my PJs to the Kroger just up the street to buy groceries.

Came back home, made quiches, put them in the oven, went upstairs to shower. Realized I was out of clean underwear. No, wait - that basket of unfolded laundry that has been sitting there for days is clean! Went digging, and triumphantly found some underwear.

Put on my nice, brand-new business suit. First day to wear it. I'm not much of a suit person, but since I had a nice event to attend this afternoon, I decided to try it on. It looked pretty good.

Moving quickly now! Ran downstairs. Took quiches out of oven. Hot liquid poured out of the quiche (WTF?!) and all over my new dress pants (DAMMIT!).

Now running late, I desperately swabbed at my pants with a damp paper towel, put the quiches in car, and drove to the office breakfast. Had no sooner arrived and set down the quiches when the phone rang for a work-related call, which I had to take, making me miss the delicious-looking office breakfast. (Including those hot, aggressive quiches.)

Made it through the call. Started chipping away at the rest of the workday. Now my eyes AND my nose are running - but on a happier note, my pants have dried and the quiche-drippings left no stains! I decide, rather than eat lunch, to take some DayQuil and put my head on my desk for a 20 minute power nap. I set the alarm on my phone so I'll wake up in time to head out for the event.

My alarm goes off. I grab my keys, purse, head out the door - catch my heel on the mat outside the door, and go straight down onto the pavement.

Ripping up my brand new suit pants. (And beneath them, ripped up my knee pretty good, too.)

DAMMIT!
DAMMIT!
DAMMIT!

I go to the event anyway. The ceremony is lovely, the honorees are impressive, it's crowded but a community event filled with many cheerful, familiar faces. Then, halfway through, an announcement: anyone who parked their vehicle in front of the school across the street is about to get towed.

Guess where I parked?

So I left early. And as I was heading back towards the highway, some guy swings a U-ie and comes THIS CLOSE to slamming into the front of my vehicle. Thank God, my brakes worked and he juuuuuuust missed me.

And the rest of the day went pretty much like that. Now I'm home. Stuffy. Medicated. And sitting here, all alone. Why is no one here to take care of me after this miserable, Murphy's-Law day? Well, D had to take my laundry and his to the laundromat because hey, guess what? The washing machine just broke. I know, right? Of course it had to break now!

But I'm not really alone; I have the pets all over me. Plus, an awesome family decided to adopt Panda today (hooray!). And tomorrow is Friday. And soon, D will be by with fresh, clean laundry and I won't have to go searching for clean underwear in the morning. This day was frustrating, but by no means awful. Maybe it's just the Quil talking, but I still feel grateful and blessed. And maybe I'll even stay up late tonight and finish the next great American novel.

(Yeah, that last part was definitely the Quil talking...)

Funny Valentines

2012-02-14T23:40:00.000-06:00

Here's to funny valentines.

Here's to valuing genuine, daily love over annual, manufactured sap.

Here's to sap, when it's unexpected.

Here's to everyone who celebrated 'Single Awareness Day' in style.

Here's to everyone who got engaged, and here's to everyone who didn't.

Here's to love, however and wherever it finds you.

And finally, here's what my own Valentine's Day was like:

Monday, February 13:
10:30 pm: I try to go to bed early, because I have to be up at 5:30am for work the next day.
11:00 pm: Still not asleep.
11:37 pm: I whine to D about how miserable I'll be in the morning, how I'll be tired and rushed and I won't even have time to make coffee, and how, in general, I Don't Wanna.
Sometime after midnight: I manage to fall asleep.

Tuesday February, 14:
3:17am - Wake up in a panic thinking I've overslept. Dammit.
5:30am - Alarm goes off and I have to get up for real. M-I-S-E-R-A-B-L-E.
6:05am - About ready to leave. Tired, hurried, cranky.
6:07am - I go downstairs... and find a fresh-brewed pot of coffee that D had somehow managed to sneakily prepare. That's love.
6:10 am - 8:00 pm: You read it right. Almost a 14 hour workday, between travel to the Coast, shoot on location, travel back up.
8:00pm - I get home to find some flowers, a bottle of salsa (which is a metaphorical gift... someday, we're gonna take salsa lessons, for real!), and the weirdest Valentine's Day card I've ever seen.

You can experience the card (and the salsa) in the video below. Enjoy it, with love - and turn up the volume. It's totally safe for work and will likely bring a giggle.

My Vibrams Hate Me

2012-02-13T17:26:00.000-06:00

Bit of a rant this Monday Run-day: I think my Vibrams hate me.

I went for a run this morning (Week 4, Session 2, of Couch to 5k - yeah, baby!), but I ran in regular shoes. Though I own a pair of Vibrams, I didn't wear my funny little toe-glove shoes. I have once again sworn off them, for two primary reasons:

1) It's cold, and you can't wear socks with them - at least, not regular socks...
2) They hate me

When I say they hate me, I mean they hate me. The feeling is swiftly becoming mutual, which is awful, because I wanted so much to like them. I bought my Vibram Five Fingers about two years ago, after I'd been running for awhile (and before I took a year long hiatus post-car-wreck).

My inspiration for buying them was the book Born to Run, recommended to my by my then-roommate BH. I loved the book, and was also inspired by the whole "barefoot running" concept. I can do this! Natural running!

Of course, all the pavement surrounding me is unnatural, so the recommendation was to not go straight-up barefoot, but instead get the next best thing: five-finger shoes, designed to the contour of your feet, meant to allow you to move as though barefoot but have some padded protection for your running paws. I went to the fancy local upscale-outfitters store, had my feet measured to ensure correct sizing, and got my Vibrams.

I was prepared for them to feel weird. (They did.)

I was prepared for people to tease me about my weird looking monster feet. (They did.)

I was not prepared for the Vibrams to cut brutally into my heel and tear me up every time I went for a run... but, very unfortunately, they did.

I tried wearing band-aids on my heels.

I tried buying moleskin and lining the heels with that.

Nothing worked, so after a few weeks back in 2010 with the Vibrams, I shelved them. Then, a few weeks ago, I noticed them in my closet. They looked so friendly, and I thought of the book and barefoot running... and I convinced myself that I'd exaggerated the problem. That the Vibrams weren't so brutal.

Look at my poor heel! :(

And that's how I wound up, once again, with the evil little shoes cutting into my heels... to the point that after about two miles, I took the shoes off and really did run barefoot on the pavement. And now, two weeks later, my heels still hurt.

Any advice out there, Vibram lovers? I know most people who have Vibrams love them, so I don't want to slam the brand. But I did buy them new from an approved distributor, I did have my feet measured and try on multiple pairs and get the expert opinion in-store, I did everything I was supposed to do... so why, why do the shoes hate me?!

You Spelled "Motivation" Wrong

2012-02-12T22:58:00.001-06:00

All right, it's been too long since I've snarked in a post. So hold on to your hats, because here we go.

I have several Facebook friends who post motivational messages on a daily basis, so I'm quite accustomed to my newsfeed (timeline roundup? status smorgasbord? I have no idea what Zuckerberg wants me calling it these days) consisting of a slew of cheery renderings of upbeat quotes. I'm not so jaded as to be irritated by people sharing posts intended to be uplifting.

However, I absolutely cannot take these inspirational posts seriously when they contain blatant spelling errors. Or grammar mistakes. Or they simply make no sense. The only thing such posts inspire is an increase in my snark level - and tonight, I was motivated to share the snickering.

So here are ten of the worst offenders from this week... and yes, these all showed up on Facebook.*

...and commas are for people
who know how to use them.

Without the proper use of semi-colons, you might
accidentally tell someone that we are without God,
and also that we are nothing.

This one has a misplaced comma, incorrect capitalization -
plus gets bonus points for looking like a condom ad AND managing
to make the majority of men sound like douchebags. Talk about efficient!

Some things, however, are far more structurally sound.
(Also... um... is this supposed to look like a bomb went off?)

I still don't know who's awesome.
Your awesome mom?

That counts what?

This one is actually less motivational, more mean.
So I don't feel bad pointing out that what *I* noticed
was your incorrect use of "your," dear card-maker.

Sometimes people stress over a late period.
This early period is also distressing.

Are any of them due to simple problems with agreement?
(This one was just too easy - and way too nerdy. Sorry!)

3 things missing from this quote: the apostrophe,
the apostrophe, and the apostrophe.

And one random bonus image just spotted - not motivational, but misspelled, grammatically challenged, AND it seems quite urgent:

Okay, truth is I have no idea what this one is actually about.
But his nervous grimace tells me I should figure it out.

* By the way, if you posted one of these on your page, I'm not judging you. Hey, I've certainly contributed plenty of typos to the universe... and so, if anything, the errors in these motivational messages made me feel better. So thanks for the uplift! :)

Operation Write-All-Night

2012-02-10T23:31:00.001-06:00

Tonight, there is a goal: write all night... or at least, until a script gets completed.

The interesting caveat is, the script is not mine. D is participating in our theater group's 24 hour play festival, and serving as one of the writers - he has between now and 8am to complete and turn in a script, which will be performed tomorrow night. I'm not participating this time around, but I am woefully behind in my own writing, so decided to commence Operation Write-All-Night, and stay up as late as the participating writers in an effort to gain some ground on my own languishing projects.

The problem? I suck at staying up late. I really do.

I didn't used to suck at staying up late, but now, left to my own devices, I will be asleep on the couch by 11 most nights. Correction: happily asleep on the couch by 11.

Right now, it's 11:28. I'm halfway through a mug of coffee, I keep telling myself the night is young... but dear heaven above, do my eyelids ever feel heavy. I feel pretty certain that if I went to bed right now, I'd have perfect dreams. I'm fantasizing about my comforter. And my pillow! I think I am in love with it!

But I shall attempt to soldier on, and hopefully knock out another chapter, another scene, another character outline. Writers write! Even when they would rather sleep! I have vision! I have imagination!

I have to drink more coffee. Or I'm never gonna make it.

Naked in the Back of the Room

2012-02-08T17:32:00.000-06:00

Sitting there in the bright teal-and-white '50s-style diner booth, looking around the room steadily filling with people, a thought occurred to me: I'm naked.

I wasn't literally naked, of course. It's February, and this is a crowded, popular public diner, so, you know, being actually naked would be both freezing cold and inappropriate.

The amazing actors & director

All that to say, the nakedness was mental, not physical. It was all internal. On the outside, I was wearing dark dress pants, a black cardigan, strands of fake pearls. I was dressed for the part I was playing that night. A writer, sitting in the audience, waiting for her new work to be shared with an audience for the first time. Trying to look confident... but that's hard when you feel totally vulnerable and, well, mentally and emotionally naked.

However, and I don't mean to get too titillating here*, that naked sense of anticipation and exposure is also undeniably exciting.

When the play reading begins, the experience slowly unfolds as something akin to a first date.** In fact, it is very much like being on a first date. Only instead of fumbling through an unscripted exchange, you've already scripted out the entire conversation, and if it doesn't go over well in the first few moments - you're screwed, because unlike in a real conversation, you can't shift gears. The words are set. Autopilot is a go. Someone(s) else is speaking your pre-determined words. You have to hope you got it right, and that the audience will therefore get you.

And oh God, here it comes, the first joke, oh hell damn monkey monkey monkey, what if they don't laugh?

And then they laugh.

And then the actors ease into the parts even more. They are breathing life into the characters. They're doing great.

In other words, the conversation is going well. And you realize, like, whoa. You might get a second date. You might get a metaphorical phone number. They get it. We're connecting.

And all that connecting between you and the audience is made all the more magical by the fact that many of them don't even know that you're there, sitting in the back, feeling a little less naked but still plenty nervous - a writer-creator watching her creation brought to life by other people.

That's what last night's play reading was like for me. I tried to avoid too much conversation during intermission, wanting to wait until the whole story was shared (ugh, intermission! again with the hell damn monkey monkey monkey!). I still felt too vulnerable. The story wasn't finished. Don't get me started on having to deal with an audience halfway through one of my shows - or on having to do a greeting reception-line at the end of a show I've performed in - those are posts for another day.

When the second act concluded, I went up to sit with the actors and participate in the talkback. The conversation following the reading was terrific. Thought provoking. A real exchange of ideas, reactions, questions, suggestions, insights, affirmations.

The conversation clothed me. I no longer felt naked and vulnerable - rather, I felt part of a larger artistic whole, warmly wrapped in that exhilarating feeling of sharing a story.

Those are the good nights, folks. May all of us writer-types be granted the inspiration and fortitude to keep writing, be blessed with actors and directors and audiences like these, always nurture this love of story - and not be afraid of sitting there, naked, while someone else speaks, reads, or shares our words.

*Who am I kidding? As soon as you USE the word "titillating," you ARE titillating. It's magic that way.
** Yet another situation where being naked in a public diner would be really awkward.

Mini Pies!

2012-02-07T17:24:00.000-06:00

Homemade mini pie goodness!

One of the holiday gifts I've been most excited to bust out is my new mini pie maker. Between travel, work, and various evening commitments, it's been hard to find the time to make some dough, some filling, and create magical mini pies. But this week, it finally happened!

The crust: whole wheat pie crust, homemade. This was more of an adventure than it should have been. The dough got moved from a bowl, to a blender, to a tiny food processor, to the rolling-pin-finale. It shouldn't have taken so many steps. I blame Murphy.

The filling: apples in a cinnamon-sugary-glaze.

The lesson learned: we experimented with thicker and thinner crust. Thicker was actually better. For some reason, thinner crust took longer to cook. Why? I have no idea. I'm not a mini pie expert.

Yet.

Outrun By An Infant (Monday Runday)

2012-02-06T23:10:00.000-06:00

On this Monday Runday, I got outrun by a 7-week-old. Twice. (Okay, so she has twice as many legs as I do, but still.)

She will outrun YOUR FACE.

Our temporary houseguest, a little pup named Panda, has got some serious run in her. I'm used to Dov's steady little tireless trot, but this puppy has running in her blood. She's a border collie mix, and she just lays into it, low to the ground, ears behind her head, tiny paws barely touching the ground as she lopes ahead. If there were sheep around here, well, she'd catch up to all of 'em.

We actually went on two runs today - a brief half-mile run this morning, and then my Couch to 5k training plan run after work. Today was Week 3, Day 2. Sticking with the routine, woo hoo! The program is interval training, so today's session alternated walking and running. The walking wasn't as fun for Panda, but she couldn't get enough of the running. At one point, I was worried she might overexert herself, but she's gone on three runs in two days ... and not only does she put me to shame out on the pavement, she then still has energy to attack my feet when we get back to the house.

Happy Monday Runday!

How To Make a Giant Hot Cocoa!

2012-02-04T23:56:00.000-06:00

Here's how to make a giant mug of hot chocolate, in five easy steps!

Step 1: Get a giant mug and a sufficient amount of cocoa powder. You will also need a lot of milk, and ideally some giant-size add-ons like huge marshmallows and a crazy, gigantor peppermint stick. We were lucky enough to have these add-ons. In fact, thanks to a holiday gift, all we had to buy was milk! (You can, of course, make your own cocoa mix - but that's a post for another day! Tonight, novelty!)

Step 2: Heat & stir. This is basically the same process as making a regular mug of cocoa, except you use a LOT more milk and cocoa mix! Heat the milk, then stir in the cocoa goodness. Then, if you've got the 'mallows and mint, add them into the giant mug. There will be room. The mug is giant.

Step 3: Size check. Place your giant mug of cocoa next to a normal size mug, to ensure that this is, in fact, a giant mug of cocoa. Is the mug at least triple the size of your usual handy coffee cup? Check!

Step 4: Drink and enjoy! Ahhhh, you're ready to sit back, relax, and enjoy your massive mug. Well, it' not entirely relaxing, although it's very enjoyable. As my lovely model demonstrates, a regular exercise routine including bicep work is helpful in the consumption of giant mugs of cocoa. In fact, the drinking is a workout in itself, which we're pretty sure neutralizes the calories!*

Step 5: Drink again tomorrow! Enjoy some more! Because it's a giant freakin' mug and there will be leftovers. Cocoa leftovers! Amazing!

*This is not intended to be a factual statement. We just wish it were a factual statement. By the by, if you don't recognize the "not intended to be a factual statement statement", go watch this Colbert Report segment immediately. It pairs really well with a giant mug of hot cocoa.

Top Ten Thoughts On Living With A Cat

2012-02-02T21:10:00.002-06:00

Anyone who knows me knows I'm a dog person. I'm an animal lover in general, and don't have any aversion to non-canine companions. But it's been a long time since a feline and I occupied the same household. Now, having cohabited with a cat for the past almost-twelve-months, I have a few thoughts I would like to share regarding ~~living with~~ working for a cat. In fact, I have compiled a top ten list.

10. Cats think you understand them. Whether they're using their voices, their eyes, or their tails, cats assume that you understand them, and when you do not subsequently obey, they think you are defying them. You are the insubordinate, and as punishment, they will pee on your luggage. (Okay, that only happened once. BUT STILL.)

9. "Dogs have owners, cats have staff." That quote runs through my head every day when I come home and my dog comes running up to me, shaking, exuding love me love me love me! -- while the cat sits next to his food bowl and stares at me, as if to say, you're late and not irreplaceable.

This is the cat I work for these days.
He's a very demanding boss.
And did I mention the smelly dumps?

8. Cats take the smelliest dumps. I've owned many pets. Dogs. Guinea pigs. Even, yes - goats. Cats take the smelliest dumps, hands down. And they do it in the house. I am still not used to that. I am used to animals pooping in Nature, but no. The cat poops indoors. And the cat I live with has a favorite time to take a giant smelly dump: his litter box is in the laundry room adjacent to the kitchen, and he finds no time more desirable for defecating than when I am cooking. Yep.

7. Cats are the world's best nappers. I mean, they really are. Whether you're measuring frequency (how many naps per day?), endurance (how long can he stay asleep?), or agility (how is he doing that upside down?), the cat's napping prowess is unparalleled. Also, be warned! Cat-napping can be HIGHLY CONTAGIOUS and will steal hours from you!

6. Cats are sneaky bastards. Turn your back for two seconds, he's on the counter. Turn around again, he's already back on the ground, staring up at you innocently... as he finishes chewing your tuna.

5. Cats love, but they do not fawn. My dog dotes and loves unconditionally. The cat snuggles and purrs - but only if he feels like it. I'm pretty sure the cat loves me, but he loves me very much on his own terms.

4. Cats think other pets are stupid. Anyone who has ever lived with a cat + at least one other pet knows this to be true. The cat will sit there, staring at the other pet as though he has never seen anything so breathtakingly stupid in his entire life. Then he'll glance at you, as if to say, can you believe that idiot? - before licking his butthole, and then resuming his judgmental stare.

3. "Picking at your food like a cat" is a total misnomer. At least, in my house it is. Every single day, the cat yowls (YOWLS) until he's fed and then wolfs down his supper like he hasn't eaten in weeks. Meanwhile, the dog picks at his kibble. Having finished his own meal, the cat next eats the dog's food, while the dog watches sadly. Very likely, this is one of the reasons the cat thinks the dog is an idiot.

2. Cats periodically LOSE THEIR MINDS. I mean, for real. He'll be normal one minute, and then the next he just loses his shit. It's like something snaps, and the next thing you know, he's all "OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT THE HOUSE IS FULL OF INVISIBLE BLOODSUCKING ZOMBIE BIRDS AND I HAVE TO KILL THEM ALL NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!" and he'll manically attack invisible enemies, go tearing up and down the stairs, run into walls - and then, two minutes later, he's back to licking his butthole and judging the dog, like nothing ever happened.

1. Cats are irritatingly adorable. Crazy, demanding, judgmental, and greedy - the cat is nevertheless very sweet. Usually in an irritating way, like when I'm trying to type and he drapes his twenty pounds of purring, lovable cat-ness right on top of my wrists, so it takes three hours to type one paragraph. Like right now. D'awww.

"As I Schlep Traveling"

2012-01-31T23:27:00.000-06:00

A five day trip has a certain familiar arc to its story.

In the first few moments of the journey, you start outnervous and fearful, worried you left something behind, and no longer sure thatthis trip was really the right thing to do. You hope it will all go well,because at least in the beginning, you feel pretty powerless. You’re not evenwearing shoes. You put your trust in the uniformed people around you who seemto know what they’re doing.

Then: arrival! The big city! The world! So much to do andyou just want to take it all in! The first day or two is filled with energy,with the belief that it really is possible to do anything, absolutely anything.There is excitement, there is optimism, there is very little sleep.

Next, you start to prioritize. What do you really want to do? You map out a path.You realize that while there’s plenty you would like to do, there are somethings that really are more important than others. And then, of course, plentyof unexpected delights and frustrations that also fill those middle days.

(Little Pixie Magic Photography)

Suddenly you realize: time is running out! A desperation returns,whereupon you just can’t seem to get enough done in the twilight of the trip.You want to cram everything in: as much as possible, as quickly as possible.You want to try to squeeze in one more show, create one more memory, eat onemore fantastic meal.

But then, reality sets in. You’re saying yourgoodbyes. You’re thinking about what you can take with you and what you’ll justleave behind. You’re figuring out, as best you can, the path back to where youcame from, and you’re asking yourself, amI making this as easy as possible for everyone around me?

And now, at the end of the trip, sitting in the back of acab flying towards the airport at approximately the speed of sounds, I haveseveral reasons to pray. Once I’ve finished the quick prayer (the one about thecabbie having a lovely family he plans to return home to tonight, rather than adeath wish and the urge to go out in a blaze of glory), I settle into thelonger one. The grateful one.

I realize that I have reached that zen point of the trip,where I am no longer rushing around trying to check a few more things off-theto-do list. Instead, I am calm. I have accepted that this trip is over. I amglad for the experience I had, and at peace with what we could not fit in thistime around. I took a few snapshots and jotted down some words that willhopefully keep the memorable moments of this trip alive and shareable for yearsto come.

See, if all goes well, you've enjoyed the journey - but you're ready to go home.

Hallelujah, I’m a-comin’ home.

Quotes, Part I

2012-01-26T23:51:00.000-06:00

As predicted... some funny theater-people quotes have started peppering the journey....

Butch Bronx: (starts reading the plane’s safety pamphlet)

Harry Astoria: I’ve read that. It doesn’t end well.

Sabrina Queens: It'sfunny because when you were talking about angry birds. I was thinking, lookingat my car, man, I must've driven underone the other day…

Me: My new bangsmake me look like I have a moon face!
Buster Manhattan: So what's wrong with having a moon face?

Airline clerk: Wakkawakka hump the bins!
Me: Did she just “say hump the bins”?
Harry Astoria: Yes. Standard practice in Baltimore.

Sabrina Queens: Anyonewant to play in an illegal underground poker game? I can call my aunt. She's adealer.

KC: Take a pictureof the chopped liver! Put up a photo with the caption “What Am I?!”!!!

Traveling With Theater People

2012-01-26T23:38:00.000-06:00

Okay, I will be giving an honest shot to the daily posting schedule outlined recently -- but since this week I'm on vacay for five days, the blog focus will be travel adventures. I'm traveling with theater folks, so you know there will be some amusing anecdotes.

Because I try to keep the friends and family I write about(at least somewhat) anonymous, before launching into all of the amusing storiesof five days in the big city with a troupe of theater folks, I figured theyshould have pseudonyms. Since they’re all clever, and probably funnier than I am, I tasked them all with coming up with theirpseudonyms. We collectively decided that childhood-pet-name followed byfavorite-borough-or-neighborhood-in-New-York was a good system.

So ladies and gentleman, meet our cast!

· Kitty Coney (going by KC for short) – the token“director” in the group; always up for snark; married to Buster Manhattan.
· Buster Manhattan – actor and film expert; likelyto surprise you with quiet hilarious commentary; married to KC.
· Sabrina Queens – New York native, displaced formany years now; lawyer, competitive shopper, very crazy family.*
· Butch Bronx – hails from the same birthplace asElvis; funny and unassuming actor who channels Mike Nichols.
· Harry Astoria, typically referred to here as D.He wanted at first to go with “Harry Meatpacking District.” I talked him out ofit.

And then there’s me. I guess I’d be Stormy Broadway. (Hot!)But I probably don’t need an additional pseudonym. So now, you’ve met the cast.Here’s to the adventures ahead!

*Seriously, SQ’s crazy family will be a recurring theme.

Show Me The Funny

2012-01-25T11:35:00.000-06:00

Oh, no. Oh, hell!

I just figured something out: I’m not that funny.

Or rather, I’m not as funny as some of my writing mightlead you to believe. The truth is, as I am swiftly realizing, I’m notconstantly hilarious. But I pay attention. I am an obsessive people-watcher, agood listener, and an excellent conversational pick-pocket. And that’s where a lot of the funny reallycomes from: other people.

Me, I’m about as funny as your average courtstenographer.* I’m just lucky enough to live in a courtroom packed full ofwonderful lunatics, all making their cases, screaming their objections,introducing new evidence, sharing arguments, trying to win over skepticaljuries of their peers, judging, being judged, hoping to be found innocent, allpart of a glorious madcap trial. Drama! Reprieve! Condemnation! Expertwitnesses!

“My life is a courtroom packed full of wonderfullunatics.” Yep. Pretty sure that’s the best one-sentence-summary of my lifethat I’ll ever craft.

I’m realizing this because I’m currently vacationing witha half dozen theater people.** As you can imagine, this leads to some hilarity.Which I am documenting. And will share with you.

Because while I may not be all that funny, I am nothingif not generous. ;-)

*No offense tocourt stenographers. I’m sure they’re a riot.

** I know. I’mstereotyping theater people. Hey, so are you. And I AM a theater person, soit’s cool.

Monday Runday!

2012-01-23T22:52:00.001-06:00

Ironically, today is the first day in my "Monday Runday" weekly posting schedule, and it's also the first day in a week that I have not run.

The good news is, I've been running! In fact, tomorrow I'll be on Week 2, Run 2 of the Couch to 5k training program. I went through that program about two years ago, running my first 5k in January 2010. I kept up the running pretty well until October of 2010. Then I was in a massive car wreck and stopped running.

Note: not my actual running attire. Usually.

Once I was done with physical therapy, I started sporadically running here and there, along with doing yoga, 30 Day Shred, finding ways to be active. I never got back up to a 5k, but was keeping pretty fit. Then, when my work schedule got all cray-cray several months back, exercise got pushed aside. And I've put on some weight - not drastic weight gain, but enough that I can't fit in to all my clothes, enough that I feel lethargic, enough that I'm not happy about it.

So I'm running again, and I like the structure of Cto5k. I'm not starting from absolute zero like I was two years ago, and thus I'm aiming to get through a week and a half to two weeks per week (i.e. each week in the program has three runs; I'm aiming to do between 4 and 6 runs every week). It's interval training, gradually getting me back up to a 5k.

And of course, the only thing I need more than structure is a deadline. So I signed up for the St. Patty's Day 5k, meaning I need to be ready to run the distance in March.

That's the background story. On future Monday Rundays, I'll share running observations, frustrations, and hopefully, exultation.

Also, I'll run.

100 Books in 2012

2012-01-23T00:04:00.004-06:00

I'm determined to continue to read more. Since I do well with goals and lists (see last post), I decided to set a goal and keep a list (natch). And while it might be inconvenient... clearly, that's no excuse.

Here's the goal: READ 100 BOOKS IN 2012.

Here's the deal: I will periodically post an updated list (keeping a running tally here). That list will help me generate content for my designated Books-and-Movies posting day.

I already have a stack of must-reads on my shelf, BUT am always happy to expand the list, so if you have any YOU. MUST. READ. THIS. recommendations, please send them my way! By the way, I am counting plays, graphic novels, and any other equivalent works as books, because, they too are literature - and I really need to be reading more plays. Theater people, please factor that in if you have recommendations to share on the script-side!

I am off to a solid start, but that's largely thanks to a quiet, peaceful New Year's weekend wherein I finished several of the books I started in December. (They totally count for the 2012 list). Already up to five books. Succinct reviews below - and the tally begins!

"Bossypants" by Tina Fey. This was a birthday gift from my awesome parents. If you haven't already read this book, RUN! DON'T WALK! And do not drink milk while reading! Seriously, one of the funniest books I've ever read. A gem on every page, from keen observations ("there are never fewer than eight Tracy Ullman characters in any New York nail salon at any given time") to beauty confessions ("left unchecked, (my eyebrows) will grow straight across my face and onto yours"). But mostly, "Bossypants" is a hilarious here's-how-I-got-here memoir about Tina Fey's unconventional career in entertainment. It is both inspiring, and might make you pee a little.

"Neverwhere" by Neil Gaiman. I started amping up my Gaiman reading last year. What took me so long? I'll never know. But with "American Gods" and "Anansi Boys" recently completed, I shifted to early Gaiman. "Neverwhere" was delightful. I loved the world he built, how much seemed fantastic and yet how much familiar. One of his earliest works, it made me have a little more fear AND a little more faith in storytelling. (Fear of ever being worthy as a storyteller in a world where he exists. Faith that there are readers who want that sort of story.) Wicked, fun, engaging, magical. You know. Gaiman.

"My Life As An Experiment" by A.J. Jacobs. I loved A. J. Jacobs' The Year of Living Biblically, so I was excited to read the quirky human petri dish's next installment of lifestyle experimentation. It didn't disappoint. Laugh out loud funny and occasionally poignant, A.J.'s willingness to put himself through everything from Radical Honesty to outsourcing his entire life to unitasking is incredible. My favorite chapter was the one where he catered to his wife's every whim for a month. I mentioned that to D. I don't think he got the hint.

"Southern Gothic Novel" by Frank Blocker. Frank Blocker is a New York based actor, director, and playwright. I was lucky enough to see his fantastic one man show "Southern Gothic Novel" this month, and also privileged to read the script. A tongue-in-cheek yet loving homage to the melodramatic genre of the Southern Gothic novel, this nonstop script is truly a tour de force when all the kooky characters are brought to life by one hell of a committed actor.

"Y: The Last Man" (Book One) by Brian K. Vaughan, Pia Guerra, and Jose Marzan, Jr. I grew up reading comic books (X-Men nerd - hard core) and lately I'm rediscovering my love of the graphic novel. I read Joe Hill's "Locke & Key" (Book One) towards the end of 2011 - and yes, the subsequent books will likely appear on this list. I just read "Y: The Last Man" which I'd thumbed through before but never sat down to read. Fast-paced, funny, and excellent storytelling. I also love how reminiscent the art is of my favorite comics as a child, interspersing realistic, intense-detail paintings of the scenes at the top of every chapter in addition to the panel art throughout. Can't wait to continue the Y journey.

Current Tally: 100 Books in 2012
1. "Bossypants" by Tina Fey
2. "Neverwhere" by Neil Gaiman
3. "My Life As An Experiment" by A.J. Jacobs
4. "Southern Gothic Novel" by Frank Blocker
5. "Y: The Last Man" by Brian K. Vaughan, Pia Guerra, and Jose Marzan, Jr.

Daily Writing Regimen

2012-01-22T01:05:00.004-06:00

I am a list person. Having a list makes me feel like I have a plan, like expectations are clearer, like I know I can get tasks accomplished because I've laid out exactly what those tasks are. Being able to check things off a list makes me feel good. (To the point that every now and then I'll actually write "make a list" as one of the items on my to-do list, just so as soon as I've finished the list, I can immediately check off something. I know.)

It's a weird contradiction: I am an organized artist. I need to allocate time. I need goals and deadlines. I love assignments that have a little bit of structure to them - three characters, a slap, under 10 pages, go! - while leaving plenty of room for creativity.

So in looking back at my past eight months of blogging, it's unsurprising that my most successful posting periods were when I had a theme. A structure. Week in a bridesmaid dress, week without restaurants, anything with some parameters.

Why haven't I come up with an overall blog-structure?

Excellent question.

Confession: I sometimes still consider pulling the plug on this blog. While it's a tool, helping me write more frequently, it's also a crutch. If I write a blog post, I feel like it's more okay that I didn't finish another chapter of the book or complete another scene in the script. So that's part of why I haven't established a set structure for this blog. One-off opportunities like the dress stunt, fine, but anything more holistic - not worth the investment.

But maybe I've been looking at it all wrong. Having structure or some sort of posting schedule often helps me move through tasks more quickly. Maybe if I have a pattern to the blog, I won't spend so much time hemming and hawing, I'll just knock out a post as a warm-up exercise, then hit my stride and keep running with my longer writing endeavors.

So I'm going to try an experiment, at least for the next month, and follow a daily writing regimen here on this blog, and most importantly, as noted above, use it as my warm-up writing exercise. So here's the schedule:

Monday: Monday Runday! In addition to my writing regimen, I've reinstated a running regimen in my life. On Mondays, I'll post my running updates. Expect a lot of kvetching in these posts. (Just kidding. Sort of.)
Tuesday: Cooking Adventures. This will help guarantee I make something worth photographing and sharing, recipe-wise, at least once a week. So self serving! No pun intended!
Wednesday: What Else Am I Writing? Whether it's cheers or frustrations, I'll share what else I'm writing. Because I am, and will be, working on other projects.
Thursday: Books & Movies. I'm reading religiously, which is excellent - but goodness knows I also still watch p-l-e-n-t-y of movies and TV shows (mostly on Netflix and DVD, meaning I'm years behind - positive spin: spoilers are few and far between!). Might as well share what I love, and give fair warning for the crap out there that will rob you of precious hours you can never get back.
Friday: Pixie Perspective OR Someone Awesome. I'll either share some deep thoughts, social snark, or other observation... OR, I'll profile someone awesome. Because trust me, I know a lot of awesome people.
Weekend: We'll see... Yep. Wild card. And, y'know, sometimes a day off.

We'll see how this goes - and of course, as always, I am most definitely interested in hearing your thoughts and feedback! :)

Bread Pudding, Bourbon & Beyond

2012-01-19T19:14:00.002-06:00

Last night, I was lucky enough to get to attend the first-ever Eat Jackson Bread Pudding Throwdown. Upon arrival, we were all given our Official Judge aprons, and a voting card... there were 16 (yes! 16!) bread puddings vying for supremacy... and by God, I was going to taste every single one of them.

I was also going to then provide a clever write-up today, and offer proof that I did, in fact, eat all sixteen bread puddings, ensuring that I could subsequently cast the most informed vote of my life. However, there is no need for me to prove myself in writing. Because, well... the local news showed up and did a segment on the event. And I appear in the :30 spot about three times. Stuffing my face each time.

(Yeah, I'm the girl in the brown sweater. In the opening frame, enjoying some bread pudding; closer up, in the next shot, being served bread pudding and then laughing; and then again at the end... eating more bread pudding. Could be worse, I suppose. If they'd snuck up on me while I was participating in the bourbon sampling, that might've looked even more incriminating.)

With Special Guest Blogger, Google Voice!

2012-01-18T23:53:00.006-06:00

There are several topics I want to write about in the coming days. These topics include:
1) Starting a running routine again
2) Books
3) Restructuring this blog
4) Why I Need To Break Up With Groupon
5) Bread Pudding, Bourbon & Beyond

However, tonight, I'm happy to welcome a new guest blogger, Google Voice, AKA G-Voice!

By way of introduction: G-Voice is an awesome and dedicated buddy. One of its most awesome features is the voicemail transcription service. That's right - for those of you who are unfamiliar with G-Voice, if you miss a call, not only does the caller go to voicemail BUT ALSO G-Voice transcribes the call and displays it as a text.

So. Cool!

However, at this point I'm pretty sure that G-Voice's first language is not English. Either that, or I have really mumble-y friends. Because lately, my voicemail transcriptions have been... well... hilarious.

Take it away, G!

Ha! I still have no idea what any of this means, but I can say with confidence that G-Voice will likely be invited back to serve as a guest-blogger here again... also, TAKE THAT, Damn You Auto-Correct! G-Voice is gonna give you a run for your money.

Also, This.

2012-01-17T16:12:00.000-06:00

There are some people who make me happy just by showing up.

I love Tina Fey. And this instant-classic photo-bomb meme. And how it looks like in that very last moment, she's seductively smelling Amy Poehler's hair. <3

Dear Negativity Bias: Why Are You So MEAN? Love, Beth

2012-01-17T07:03:00.004-06:00

You're awesome!
You rocked that presentation.
I was disappointed in your performance.
I love your idea!
You really inspired me.

Want to hear something awful? The one critical comment in the statements above trumps the power of all four positive affirmations, combined. Thanks to the way our own minds work, our default setting is to latch on to the negative. It's a phenomenon known as negativity bias, and it's a mean little way that we automatically process information and give more weight to the negative.

In other words, even when the scoreboard says Team Positive is winning - four to one! clear victory! - well, those cheerleaders over on the Negative end of the playing field are jumping up and down, hooting and hollering, waving their little pom-poms, and claiming the game, 'cause they know the real score.

Deadly Beasts - Okay, So Yeah... Those Were Bad
Negativity bias probably helped us to survive, at some point. After all, if four out of five signs pointed to there NOT being a deadly beast about to devour us, and one sign pointed to there BEING a deadly beast about to devour us... well, better safe than sorry. Smart survival instinct probably steered us to err on the side of caution, give more credence to the negative, and get the hell out of there before becoming delicious, delicious optimist-a-la-carte.

5 to 1 = Fair Fight
In the modern world, with fewer lurking hungry beasts and more metaphorical beasties (I'm looking at you, Twitter-bird!), negativity bias can cause a lot of trouble. Study after study shows that when it comes to how we prioritize information, bad is stronger than good. In fact, it takes an estimated five compliments to "equal out" one insult (which is why since I only gave four compliments in the opening to this piece, the one negative comment had the most power).

The studies that yielded these insights often focused on behavior modification, often using married couples as test subjects. The couples who had a 5:1 or better ratio of compliments vs. criticisms tended to stay together; those 4:1 or lower tended to separate. The bad overpowered the good, thus driving a wedge between people.

Um. Your Bias Is Showing, And It's Kind of A Downer
We do it all the time. We linger on the hurtful. We prioritize put-downs over praise. We do it to ourselves, internalizing negative messages while discarding positive ones all too quickly. We judge too harshly.

When we get an essay back, our eyes are drawn not to all the unharmed text, but the bleeding red circles where we messed up. Three people complimenting our haircut makes us feel confident that we're stylin', but if one person tells us they hate it, we assume they're the one telling us the truth. After all, the emperor really was naked, right? Critics are the ones we can trust. Everyone else is probably "just being nice." Right?

RIGHT! - says negativity bias. (Even when the correct answer is 'wrong.')

Friends & Strangers: Equal Opportunity Condemnation
So we prioritize the bad, and let it determine how we feel about ourselves - and we do the same thing to other people, too. In fact, a study conducted by researchers at Ohio State University found that when presented with two pieces of information about someone we have never met - one positive, and one negative - we are predisposed to categorize that person as bad. Not neutral, not good, but bad. We assume they are the modern deadly beast, more likely to harm us than to help us.

We don't just leap to judgment when it comes to strangers. We also do it to people we know. Even after years of considering someone educated or open-minded, one misstep opens the floodgates: are they not as smart as I thought they were? Is he secretly a racist? Can I trust her after this?

Years of positive perception are called into question when something negative surfaces. We are quick to judge, and slow to forgive. We let negativity bias color or view of others. You think we'd know better; we certainly don't want our own integrity, intelligence or compassion eroded by a gaffe, miscalculation, poorly-worded joke. We want to be given the benefit of the doubt. But it's not how we're wired.

It takes effort to get the ball back in to the hands of Team Positive.

The Big Idea: Point The Finger At Negativity Bias Before Giving The Finger To An Overall-Swell Person (Yourself Included)
So all that to say ... ladies and germs, this is something we should really think about. Before we put ourselves through the ringer over someone's judgment of us, or before slapping a judgment label on someone else, we should stop and think. Is this my caveman-brain taking over? Can I maybe be a teensy bit more reasonable, instead of peeing myself* because I leap to the assumption that there's a deadly beast hiding in my sofa cushion?

Such questions might help us work a little harder to extend the same benefit of the doubt that we crave for ourselves to our friends, to our family, and yes, to that new kid on the block you've been hearing all the gossip about.

By the way -- this is not to imply that we shouldn't correct someone when they're wrong, or brush off negative acts, or ignore an ignorant statement. NOR is it to say that when we're the ones getting criticized instead of doling it out, we should just say, um, I'm awesome, that person is just swept up in a wave of negativity bias and I AM going to keep wearing these Hammer pants, dammit.

Criticism can be helpful. Don't write it all off. Hey, the emperor WAS naked! We all make mistakes!

The big idea here is to get through those critical exchanges and then move on. Be more compassionate, and aware of our judgement-prone selves. In all non-deadly-beast-level situations, let's make the conscious decision to allow those four wonderful positives to clap and jump and cheer louder and more powerfully than those mean cheerleaders over at Team Negative, wailing about that one sad negative-point.

* Worst. Defense Mechanism. EVER.

They Say Everyone's Got a Doggelganger

2012-01-16T22:04:00.001-06:00

Very cool website promoting pet adoption in Australia: you can go to the "Doggelganger" website, upload a photo of yourself, and facial recognition software allegedly matches you with your doggy counterpart. (I say allegedly because I think it's just a gimmick, no actual recognition - I tried a few times and got totally different results - but it's definitely endearing, regardless).

Here's my final result:

Wonder if there are American shelter / pet adoption sites utilizing this trick...?

Portrait of a Woman

2012-01-16T20:40:00.001-06:00

Proud to be included in Katrina Byrd's promotional poster for her new show, Portrait of a Woman. Best of luck, KB, as you prepare for this event.

Happy Beginning

2012-01-15T20:12:00.001-06:00

Remember a couple weeks ago, when I wrote about fostering? There was one of our foster babies who had yet to find her forever home, and who had to move to another foster location because she just couldn't stop throwing up? She stole our hearts and broke them, and in the post, I mentioned that she was still available for adoption, sturdier and less prone to nausea, and just as sweet as ever.

Well, a friend who fell for Zinnia while we were fostering her saw the post, and it re-opened a conversation. When first he met her, marriage and moving and all sorts of transitions were going on in his life, and it wasn't the time to take on a dog. But he hadn't forgotten her. So he talked to his wife. And they called Pippa at ARF.

And today, Zinnia went home with them.

Can't even write about it without crying. I love that little girl, and couldn't be happier that she now has a forever home. No more question marks for Zin. This isn't a happy ending. It's the happiest of beginnings, for a dog who deserved so much better than the horrible hand she was dealt as a puppy; now, thanks to Animal Rescue Fund of Mississippi and her new adoptive family, she's finally got her full house. <3

Little Piggy Magic

2012-01-12T23:22:00.001-06:00

It's time for me to Chicken-and-Pig my priorities.

See, I've been thinking a lot about one of my favorite metaphors, which happens to be a breakfast metaphor - and as we all know, breakfast metaphors are the most important metaphors of the day! Anyway, in case you've never heard the saying, it goes something like this: "In an eggs 'n' bacon breakfast situation, the chicken is involved, but the pig is committed."

(Well, in my case, I'm requiring the commitment of some soybeans or maybe a turkey, not of a pig, but for most people bacon = pig. And the pig visual is better.)

I tend to take on a lot. I mean, A LOT. I have a hard time saying no, and there's so much that excites me. So I wind up taking on too many commitments. I don't just go to the event, I help coordinate it. In other words, I am a little piggy. (Or turkey. Soy bean. Whatever.)

So, yeahhhhhhhhh. There are definitely some areas of my life where I need to shift from oink to cluck. Other areas, I might need to skip breakfast entirely. Or I guess, to honor the structure of the metaphor, I need to become the part of breakfast that doesn't always make the plate - the grapefruit, maybe?

Food for thought, anyway.

Heh. ;-)

It's Harder if the World Doesn't End

2012-01-10T19:19:00.011-06:00

Preface: I've deemed 2012 the "year of inconvenience." Other folks (allegedly the Mayans, but I think maybe they were framed) have deemed it the "year of the end of the world." Talk about inconvenient! OR - maybe doomsday is the most convenient excuse of all time. One of the most passionate essays I ever wrote addressed the topic of the world ending... and I posted it only on Facebook, never on any public blog. So I thought it might be appropriate to go ahead and share it here. Original publication date: Wednesday, May 18, 2011.

Comes in Size 42.

It's Harder if the World

Doesn't End

Surely, you've all heard by now of Harold Camping’s prediction that the rapture will take place on May 21, 2011, followed by the complete destruction of life, the universe, and everything on October 21, 2011. Camping is doing everything he can to get the word out: his extensive radio broadcast reach, buses painted with brightly-colored paint proclaiming the infamous date, billboards in major American cities.

Despite how seriously he and his followers take this thing, I’ve mostly noted the the humorous reactions surrounding this prophecy. Even Baptist preacher friends are cracking jokes about this alleged doomsday.

I'm sure there are some folks taking it seriously, and I know for a fact that some of my loved ones do believe in some form of an end-of-days scenario. But this "prophecy" is being taken pretty lightly, even down here in the Deep South. In fact, the funniest thing thus far to emerge from this whole story in my own life, is that not one, not two, but THREE of my friends who are ordained Christian ministers have posted the widely-circulated Facebook event invitation to the “Post-Rapture Looting Event," along with some tongue-in-cheek commentary. Now that's comedy!

But in all seriousness, this end-of-days buzz has led to some deep thinking for me. I did find it very unsettling to see billboards all over New Orleans last month announcing the imminent end. First, I went through all the predictable thoughts about the world actually ending: what I would do if time was running out? Would it be possible to criss-cross the globe and see all my far-flung loved ones in such a short amount of time? What would I eat for my final meal? (Verdict: sushi, and fried potatoes, and my mom’s quiche AND her mac 'n' cheese because carbs are gettin’ left behind, an avocado, some really high quality cheese accompanied by Pinot Noir, followed by sparkling water to cleanse my pallet, and then, a dirty martini, and – uh oh. That's gluttony, isn't ot? That may not bode well for me this weekend.)

But then, instead of thinking in terms of fearing the end of everything, I started thinking about another kind of fear: the fear of responsibility. The fear of participating in the ongoing work of moving towards something better. The fear of having to keep the faith, including with our fellow man.

The fear, in other words, of the world not ending.

When you stop to think about it, pushing a world-ending agenda is the ultimate cop-out. Because it’s easier to throw up your hands and say “World’s ending! Nothing I can do!” than it is to look around and realize, “The world needs me! I have so much work to do!”

It’s easier to point at the recent storms that ravaged the South, at the earthquakes in Japan and Haiti, AIDS in Africa, Hurricane Katrina, September 11, and say “See! Evidence! End of Days EVIDENCE! We’re all going soon!”

It’s much harder to look at the same things and begin to compile, quietly and faithfully, the list of things we need to address: helping our neighbors rebuild their homes, keeping all people as safe as we can, ensuring more equal health care and disease prevention education, building bridges between cultures, stamping out the flames of hatred. That kind of stuff takes some serious effort.

“God helps those who help themselves” was an important principle in my family, but it was only a partial philosophy. It barely scratched the surface. Through example (and heritage! and text! I’m not deriding such things!), my parents emphasized that God expects us to help others. That helping others is, in fact, how we help God; how we become partners in creation; how we are able to see the spark of the divine in our fellow man.

And to quote the vernacular, that [poop] is hard, yo!

If the world doesn’t end this weekend, that means neither do our obligations. And I don’t just mean our student loan payments and mortgages and work deadlines. I mean our obligation to be good people. To do our part to heal this aching world. To experience apocalaypse not in terms of the translation "end of all," but in the literal Greek meaning: "lifting of the veil." Looking square on at all of the work to be done, rolling up our sleeves and doing it. I mean the work of striving every day, to be our best selves – whether we call that doing God’s work, or being Christ-like, or following Buddha, or honoring our parents...

But it's sooooo much easier to just ignore all that! Even when that means ignoring your own pesky beliefs! See, Harold Camping is a Christian. He bases his calculation of the May 21 rapture-date from clues he gleaned from the Bible – the same book wherein he should find, regarding the end of days “...of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not even the angels of heaven, but my Father only” (Matthew 24:36, KJV). I’m not saying I’m against Biblical interpretation; I’m saying I find it odd that Camping would be more confident in his own specific calculation about the end of days, rather than confident in what his very own holy text has to say about attempting such a calculation. Reeks a bit of shifting from the idea of “man created in God’s image” on over to “God created in man’s image,” no?

Clearly, I’m not in the Camping … camp, so to speak. The world may end, but I don’t think it will happen on Saturday. After all, what kind of God would end the world on the weekend? On the Sabbath, no less? Surely, if the world is to be wiped out, God in His infinite mercy would end it on a Monday.

But seriously, folks. I do believe every day matters, and should not be taken for granted. You never know when you might get hit by a semi-truck (or two). I also believe we are called to do good, and err on the side of love, and not to pray for destruction and harbor hate. Why do I believe this so strongly? Well, as I told a dear friend the other night, I cannot imagine reaching Heaven and being greeted with: “Well, Beth, glad to have you here, congrats on getting in, but to be honest – while you were on earth, you didn’t judge folks nearly enough. You were too loving. We went over all your paperwork, and you really should have held on to a lot more hate. Persecuted at least a few people. What were you thinking?”

I take comfort in believing that God is not as petty as those who fling His name around to serve their own agendas. I cannot pretend to know, with any certainty, anything about ultimate plans and destinies - but I don't think anyone else knows, either.I don’t know of any of my friends who actuallydo think Harold Camping has it right, but I also know that not all of you will necessarily agree with every sentiment I just expressed. With all due respect and love, I decided not to let that stop me from sharing my thoughts, because life’s too short to bite our tongues when we have something important to say.

I mean, for goodness’ sake, haven’t you heard? The world may be ending this Saturday.

Love and blessings

Beth

Follow-up: The world didn't end that Saturday. Or on October 21.

A Boring Blog. But a Blog.

2012-01-10T00:17:00.000-06:00

I've been honoring my inconvenient commitments, despite their obvious... obstacle-ness.

I wrote six letters. Two to friends in hospitals, four belated thank you letters for holiday gifts. Of course, then I couldn't find stamps. But I found them tonight, and all letters will be in the mail tomorrow morning! Writing is actually kind of a pain, at the moment, thanks to the ol' wrist. Typing is easier. BUT, I felt so satisfied in writing the letters, and picturing them appearing in people's mailboxes where too often, only bills await. Besides, soon, the post office dinosaur will officially become extinct and these will be lovely pieces of nostalgia.

Only ate out once in the past several days, and totally took tupperware along. Bonus to taking tupperware, in addition to helping the planet? When I opened my fridge the next day, clear tupperware allowed me to see, be tempted by, and decide to eat my leftovers THE NEXT DAY. White boxes too often lead to being overlooked 'til it's time to toss.

Been walking whenever it makes sense to do so (even in light rain - however, pouring rain and the prospect of giant grocery bags have sent me reaching for my car keys).

Last night, I was struck with inspiration for the novella I'm working on... at about 1:30am... and instead of convincing myself I'd remember that brilliant insight in the morning (totally a lie told by my tired mind; I've lost more good ideas that way...), I got my ass out of bed, turned on the computer, and wrote for about an hour until I captured most of what I had on my mind. Then I collapsed back in to the bed, exhausted - but feeling like a damn WRITER!

And I'm also posting this quick, incredibly boring update just so I can say I blogged today, and made time for writing, despite every day this week being stacked with work. There is a light at the end of the work train tunnel, so I'm okay with the crazy workweek underway. I'm even about to go read the last chapter of the book I'm devouring. And who knows, maybe inspiration will drag me out of bed at some crazy hour.

Dear Writers: Read More.

2012-01-08T22:25:00.005-06:00

Dear Writers,

Read more.

Read because you love stories. Read because that's what made you want to write in the first place. Read because you absolutely have to read. Read for inspiration. Wonderful books will inspire you to step up your game, and write something just as wonderful. Crappy books will inspire you to stop making excuses and just freakin' churn out some crap, because reading garbage will inevitably make you think if this shlock can get published, I can sure as hell get published!

Travel-friendly
book buddy!

Feeling too busy to read? Well, as Stephen King once said, if you're too busy to read, you're too busy to write. So make the time.

Read vs. Remote. Keep a book right next to your television remote. Or your Xbox controller. Whatever your timesuck might be. When you reach for the remote, and then see the option to read instead - let reading win out. We all know that video killed the radio star (and then YouTube devoured them all). So now, let's put books back in the arena and coach 'em to win back the heavyweight timesuck belt.

Read on the go. When waiting for your food to arrive, or while eating at your desk, or while sitting around at someplace awful like the DMV - wouldn't you rather be instantly transported to Oz? Always have a book in your purse or in your backpack or on your person. (This is even easier if you have a Kindle or some other fancy e-reader.) Remember when you were that nerdy bookworm kid who refused to get into a car without grabbing her current trusty book? I do, and I'm reviving her glorious bookwormy spirit.

Read in the bathtub. And remember to be thankful that the world isn't all Kindle yet.

Read before bed. Keep a bedside space for your book, and make it sacred book space, so there is ALWAYS a book there for you to grab. This book location is also handy for when you can't sleep, and much better for you than that midnight snack or The Real Housewives of a Gated Community Near You.

Remember, we must never choose between reading and writing. Make time for both. Each enriches the other. Getting lost in someone else's story is just as important as getting lost in your own. It helps you remember what you love so much about stories in the first place.

And after all, how can we expect anyone to read what we write, if we're not reading what other people are writing?

Love,
A Fellow Writer & Reborn Reader

PS Readers, keep reading, too! We love you and need you and want to make you happy. XOXO

You WON'T Re-Post This

2012-01-05T23:11:00.003-06:00

You're probably not going to share this post with anyone. See, there are things that make people want to share a post, and this post has exactly NONE of those things. In fact, here is a Top Nine List* of reasons why NO ONE will want to share this:

"I am adorable." - Dov

9. It doesn't have the F-word sprinkled liberally throughout. No effin' way. Strongest cuss in this boring-ass post is "ass."

8. There are not tons of pictures of cute animals with hilarious misspelled captions. There is only one picture of a cute animal, with a perfectly-spelled caption.

7. There are no pictures of scantily-glad women. Just one goober with her dog.

6. Nothing in this post is a hoax. And you are not 95.

5. Nothing in this post was written on a post it / 8.5 x 11" lined sheet of paper / forehead / knuckles, then photographed.

4. There is no "Group Pride" to help generate buzz. This would definitely be shared if it provided a list of reasons you are proud to be a Southern Woman / Beer Drinking Man / Corgi Owner / Coffee Addict / Raised in a Wolf Pack.

3. It's not pithy and short. (But hey, this reason sure is!)

2. This post is neither passionately declaring my love for Twilight, NOR ripping it to shreds with equal passion.

1. It doesn't have any clever, elegant info-graphics. It just has this one totally lame, albeit accurate, pie chart:

And by the way... ASS!

*Naturally, this post cannot contain a Top Ten List, as social media addicts LOVE re-posting that sort of sh-- er, uh, stuff.

Unexpected Plot Wrist

2012-01-04T21:41:00.002-06:00

So, I have this cyst in my wrist.

And I have to get it removed... at some point.

I repeat: Owwww!

I mean, it's a tumor. It's benign, but you still can't leave it there. It's all... lumpy. Not to mention kind of unattractive, in the way and thereby limiting my range of movement. But after seeing the surgeon today - I think I'm going to delay surgery.

Because while ugly, it's not life-threatening. It's not going away, but it's not a harbinger of anything terrible. It does need to be removed, ultimately - but in the meantime, it's not awful, day to day. It's just a lump on my wrist. Typing does make my wrist stiffen up pretty quickly (not good, for a writer), but my fancy new brace does make a difference. PLUS, I am totally rocking the wrist-brace look. Medical-joint-support is the new Michael-Jackson-one-glove. Owwww!

Okay. Put simply, and because I love lists, here's why I'm postponing the surgery:

It could be a 2 to 3 week recovery period. Since I have a lot of writing to get done, AND a trip coming up, AND work... I don't want to possibly be sans-use of my right hand for 2 or 3 weeks right now.
I cover my own health insurance. No group health plans means higher health care costs. This procedure won't be cheap. Lumpy-wristed freelancer has kind of a ring to it, right? No? Hmm...
Surgery. Ugh. The doctor drew on my wrist to show me where I'd get slit open. Disconcerting.

So here's the real dilemma: I'm supposed to be embracing inconvenience. What's more inconvenient - a surgery that takes me out of commission for awhile, and costs me some fairly serious money? Or the daily discomfort of a stiff wrist?

For now, I'm living with the inconvenience of a stiff wrist. And rockin' the brace.

Fostering Love

2012-01-03T21:01:00.005-06:00

Fostering shelter pets is inconvenient, in the best possible way. Since I'm currently embracing inconvenience, I figured, hey, now is as good a time as any to finally write about fostering. So here are the stories of all of my fosters. You should know, though, that these are more than foster stories.
They are, all of them, love stories.

Pinto, The Pony!

Little Pinto with her
dashing new daddy

One hot summer day, three dogs ran out in front of my car. Two adults and a tiny puppy. I watched the adult dogs dash across the street, while the puppy lagged behind, nearly hit three times. I pulled over, put on my hazards, ran out into the street and scooped her up. Her mother came barreling up to me, barking; then looked at me as if to say, okay - take care of her! - before running off. I took the pup home, gave her a bath (the dirt! the fleas!), and introduced her to my husky Sofia. D took pictures of her and put them on his MySpace page.*

Pinto & Tallulah
Big girls now!

She was cute. Really cute. I got several inquiries, and took her over to my top-pick family. They asked me how big I thought she'd get. I told them that the mother looked about 20 lbs, sort of beagle-ish. Perfect! They wanted a small dog! They named her Pinto. And she grew to be the size of a horse. (Oops.) Miraculous coda: soon after they adopted Pinto, her new family found something in the bushes: another identical puppy! They kept both big, beautiful, be-speckled girls.

My Sofia (RIP) with little Gus.

Gus & Puck - "The Boys"
In late summer 2009, there were raids on several puppy mills, and suddenly, shelters everywhere were even more over-capacity than ever. I started getting all sorts of email requests for fostering dogs. One request forwarded to me was from ARF (more on them at the end of this post). I saw the cute, tiny face of a little tri-colored puppy and thought, I can foster one little dog. I called the rescue group, connected with a woman named Kathy, and went to her home to pick up my foster pup. But when I got there, two little puppies were waiting for me: the tri-colored one (Gus) and a black-and-white one (Puck). Uh-oh. Then came the request: "So, we were hoping... well... can you please take both of the boys?"

Gus today, with his mom,
studying The Law.

We had many adventures with "the boys," including Puck's bout with Parvo (he was nursed back to health by ARF's awesome executive director, Pippa Jackson). Gus was adopted by a lovely young couple who totally fell in love with him -- and now, more than two years later, he lives with them up in Madison, Wisconsin, where, as you can see, he helps his mom study to become a lawyer. Puck stayed with me for longer, about another two months, which blew my mind because he was so stinking cute.

Baby Puck....
So. Stinking. Cute!

By now, he was also housebroken, and had stopped chewing up my phone chargers (we went through three). One of my best friends showed his picture to her sister, a great woman with a firefighter husband, two awesome kids, and an interest in the impish, loving Puck. As you can see, he's part of the family - exactly where he needed to be.

Grown-up Puck & his gorgeous family :)

Riley / Gryf - "The Straight-A Dog"

Little "Riley"

After the boys both found homes, I was planning to take a break from fostering, but that's not what the universe had in store. I was driving home in a crazy autumn storm when I saw something small and furry run out in front of my car. I hit the brakes, put my emergency flashers on, and got out. There, waiting for me in the street as if she knew I was coming to save her, was a little Australian Shepherd-looking puppy - drenched, thin, and with a child's elastic hairband wrapped tightly around her neck, making it difficult for her to breathe. I took her home, called ARF, and was told they'd get her on their adoptable list, but had nowhere to keep her, so... I'd need to foster her.

Gryf and her boys today.

Little Riley was sweet, sweet, sweet. And luckily, I had a target for her adoption: a coworker had promised his two boys a dog, contingent on their grades: if they got As, they got a dog. He'd almost adopted Puck, since the semester was going well and Puck was, well, so stinking cute. But in the end, he held firm that Thanksgiving was the very earliest for dog-awarding. I found Riley in October. And in November, those smart boys earned their dog. They named her Gryffindor, in honor of the noble Harry Potter house, but they call her Gryf for short - 'cause, y'know, it's more feminine.

I mean, come on.

Dov (AKA The Muppet, The Bug, Show Me Your Junk Dog, Ewok, Old Man, my little heart)

Okay, I thought! I'm done! The universe cannot send me any more puppies! That's when I got suckered into fostering Dov. He wasn't a puppy. He was an old-man-lookin' muppet, who stole my heart. He was a foster for about four hours before he was just "my dog."

But I'll tell his whole sad story another day; I'm putting you through enough already. And you can rest easy knowing he gets a very happy ending ;-)

Zinnia, The Delicate Flower
Zinnia's is the story that still breaks my heart, because she is still seeking her happy-ever-after. Zinnia was a special-needs-foster: whether from abuse or being hit by a car, she had a spinal injury, and mobility issues. She was shaky on her feet, and frequently fell. Her head tipped to the side. When we got her, she had just spent a week at USM Vet School, and had (as the picture shows) many shaved patches, where she had been poked, prodded, MRI-d, all in hopes of finding some way to steady her.

Sweet Little Zinnia

Despite all this, she remained the happiest dog ever. She'd bounce around on her Bambi-like legs, fall over, grin, get up, fall over again, keep grinning.

We kept her for three months. She was in and out of the vet, on and off various meds, and threw up - a lot. We finally had to bring her back to ARF, because when she was there, she threw up less, and we'd begun to suspect there was some allergen in our house that triggered her nausea. It broke our hearts to return her, without having found her a forever home. She's a sweet girl who deserves someone who will love her, and be inspired by the pluck and positive attitude she exudes.

Hopeful note: She is still available for adoption, and she's steadier on her feet now, too, though still needs TLC. Email arfms@comcast.net if you think your home and heart has room for Zinnia.

"Princess" Gertie
If you're still reading, and not out of Kleenex yet, it's time for Gertie's story. Gertie is a gorgeous purebred Brittany Spaniel... which is exactly why she wound up exploited. She was owned by a backyard breeder, who recklessly over-bred her - including to her own offspring - and when he couldn't sell off a litter, dropped her and her puppies on ARF.

Once, a Put-upon Princess. Now, a Grateful Gertie.

Her name was not Gertie then. It was Princess. Oh, the irony!

An ARF board member took in the puppies. D and I volunteered to foster "Princess." Since the good people at ARF informed us that she didn't respond to "Princess" at all, we renamed her Gertrude, in honor of another troubled mother - Hamlet's, of course. Gertie, for short. We brought her home, and she swiftly proved to be a sweet, loving dog ... who did not do well living with our cat. We knew we needed to get her placed, and quick, but luckily I knew exactly who needed her.

We have a friend who had just survived a heart attack. Who has red hair, like Gertie's. Who is a runner, like Gertie. Who is a dog lover, but whose pets were now living with his ex. They needed each other. They found each other. And I'm so grateful for Gertie's happy ending - especially because her entire litter of puppies wound up having distemper, and each of the poor little babies had to be put to sleep. Those poor babies never had a chance; thank goodness Gertie, at least, got a second one. Lesson to all: don't buy from backyard breeders. EVER. Adopt, adopt, adopt.

Chewie, the Wookie-Dog

From skittish to smiling

And finally, there's Chewie. Chewie came into our house in late July, just as we were entering tech week for a play ("Assassins" with Fondren Theatre Workshop - which was awesome, by the way). NOT a convenient time to take in another four-footed friend. But are you ready for her story?

Her evil former owner had two neglected dogs, and one day, he decided he was just going to get rid of them. He found out that the city pound charges an "owner release fee," so rather than finding a no-kill shelter like ARF, he decided to let his grandkid shoot the dogs.

You read that right. Grandkid. Shoot. The dogs.

Luckily, a neighbor saw the kid pursuing the dog, gun in hand, and offered to take the dogs. (Probably much to the disappointment of the armed grandchild.) The neighbor brought the dogs to ARF, and ARF gave us one of the dogs, "Bitsy."

Much like "Princess," Bitsy had no idea what her name was. So we named her Chewie, short for Chewbacca, because, well, she looks like a little wookie. For the first week or so, Chewie was skittish; if you made a sudden movement, turned on the vacuum, startled her - she'd snap and snarl. It was all just warning; she never bit either of us. She just didn't know how to trust. She got along with Dov, though, and she REALLY loved Loki, the cat. (Sometimes in a dirty way. She had a tendency to sometimes... well... hump him.) After six months of fostering, she's happy, healthy, snuggle-y - and I'm happy to report that, as this new year begins, so too does her new life. She was just adopted by a wonderful couple who are head-over-heels for her. I miss her, but couldn't be happier that she found her forever home.

So in summary, yes, fostering is inconvenient; it can be exhausting, emotionally and physically. It means extra work and extra time and often, extra patience. But it also means extra cuddles, and extra joy, and definitely extra good karma. I can think of no better way to stick it to the "culture of convenience" than by recycling love, rehabilitating abandoned animals and helping them find a forever home. Pets aren't disposable. By fostering, you prove that point. You help a pet learn to love, and then you let that love fill another family's life. Highly inconvenient, and incredibly awesome.

By the way, Animal Rescue Fund of Mississippi (ARF) is the shelter with which I volunteer. They're a no-kill shelter, and a terrific group. If you have a few dollars to spare each month, consider setting up a recurring monthly donation to help all the fur babies there. It's helpful AND convenient! And if you're ready for a little terrific inconvenience in your life, consider fostering. It can make all the difference in the world for the pets you help save.

Addendum 1/4/2011: While fostering is a challenging and emotional experience, I did have some prior experience with this particular volunteering gig. Growing up, my family not only had our own dog, a smart, loyal German Shepherd mix named Stormy, but also we raised Leader Dog puppies for Leader Dogs for the Blind. Puppy raisers for LDB are given a seven-week-old puppy, which you then keep for a year, before returning it to LDB for assessment, training, and pairing with a blind partner. Always hard to say goodbye - but another truly amazing, inconvenient, life-changing (most of all, for a stranger's life) experience.

*Hey, remember MySpace?

Little "Inconveniences" (Part I)

2012-01-02T22:51:00.003-06:00

Okay. Starting now, here are some of the baby steps, aka Little Inconveniences, to which I shall commit. Five ways to incorporate positive inconvenience into my daily life!

I will rebel against the culture of convenience by:

Trendwatching:
Reusable Doggy Bags.
You heard it here first.
(If you hear it somewhere
else... let me know...)

Taking tupperware with me when I dine out - no more styrafoam to-go boxes! Nerdy, you say? Hippie-dippy? Who cares! Hipsters are probably already ironically re-appropriating hippie-ness. Or they will be. I'm either super far behind or really far ahead, and either way, I'll never know. So bring on the organic cotton skirts and the Birkenstocks with socks! I am taking tupperware into nice restaurants!
Walking wherever I can. Metro-Jackson is not the best area for walking, for many reasons. But my neighborhood is actually pretty conducive - plenty of sidewalks, plenty of stores (grocery, pharmacy, convenience), coffee shop, restaurants, even a few friends and clients are located within a mile or two. If it's not horrible weather, more than 2 miles away, or a meeting/event that requires heels or lots of stuff-to-shlep... my car can stay home and guard the driveway.
No take-out meals, other than on road trips. If I'm in town, I can eat real food. No excuses. This will likely also mean being better about shopping, meal planning, pre-cooking, and all that stuff I should already be doing anyway. Maybe when I hit Level II, I'll ban fast food even when on the road, but for now I'm keeping it realistic. Baby steps.
Writing and mailing at least one letter a week. I rely way, way too much on email and social media to keep up with people. Level II will be mailing birthday cards and presents on time. Well - okay. That's Level III. Mailing them, period, would be Level II. But for now I'm starting with just sending notes, no deadlines keyed to a specific date, just one-each-week, minimum. Best get started on this while the Post Office is not yet extinct...
One hour of dream-work a day, minimum. No more excuses. I'm 30. It's 2012. Whether it means getting up earlier, staying up later, or saying no to some other request - I will be spend no less than an hour a day, every day, working to convert a dream to reality. This will mostly mean writing, but might mean being on a film set, traveling, or working toward some other bucket-list item

Okay, so that last one sort of jumps from small-baby-step to big-old-dream-pursuit. But in a very first-bite-of-the-elephant sort of way, right?

Embracing Inconvenience

2012-01-01T20:12:00.012-06:00

I resolve to embrace inconvenience.

I wasn't sure I was even going to make a new year's resolution this year (other than the standard Start Freaking Exercising Again and Go Get a Haircut, which somehow always both surface as desperate needs by late December).

But then I started thinking.

There are many things in my life that I do, simply because they're convenient, even though I know they're no good for me. These things include:

Eating fast food and / or crappy processed food
Multi-tasking to the hilt - I mean, To. The. HILT.
Relying on Facebook to keep up with people

Goodbye, convenient lunch.

Staying in my comfort zone (and others' comfort zones)

Note: these are not all easy, they're just convenient - and that's one of the contradictions I want to explore in this little experiment. Some are big things. Some are little things.

There are also plenty of things that I don't do, because they are inconvenient. These, too, range from little daily decisions to big life-altering tendencies, such as:

Seeking out local food options / cooking ahead
Making time for focusing on spirituality, staying centered, growth
Hand-writing letters / making phone calls
Taking risks and / or pursuing passions

A lot of the convenient things I do (and inconvenient things I avoid) have to do with trying to conserve time, working too much, and/or being afraid - of rejection, of change, of letting someone else down. Looking back, though, some of the most inconvenient moments in my life have led to the biggest breakthroughs. Ends of relationships. Job transitions. Cross-country moves. Cross-town moves.

Convenience can be good. But it can also be boring. If all we do is preserve the paths of least resistance, the journey's not going to be much of an adventure. Sometimes, inconvenience is more interesting. So why not bust out the proverbial surfboard and ride that unexpected wave?

I don't mean I'm going to go seeking out trouble or inconvenience. I just mean I'm going to take a two-pronged approach to ensuring that I am neither ruled by a culture of convenience, no derailed by incoming inconvenience. Here's the idea:

I did a week in
a bridesmaid dress.
I can do a year
of inconvenience.

1) Question convenience. If something is in my life simply because it's convenient, and not because it's good for me in any other way, I need to take stock. Should I be eating fast food? Or should I maybe reconsider what I'm eating, how much I'm rushing, why I'm relying on drive-through. Maybe something - or several things - is wrong with this picture.

2) Answer inconvenience... with a grin. You know what they say: man plans, God laughs. Well, starting now, if something comes up that seems inconvenient, I don't want to get all pouty about my plan. I want to join in the laughter. It's going to be a challenge. But it certainly can't be worse than fighting inconvenience or living in a claustrophobic comfort zone.

Embrace inconvenience. My resolution, and my wish for you. May your 2012 be inconvenient in the most glorious, unexpected, and enriching ways. L'chaim!

2012: A House of Waffles

2012-01-01T12:46:00.001-06:00

My new year's resolution is to have an inconvenient year - in a good way. I'll explain what I mean at more length soon, but I haven't finished that whole diatribe yet. And it's not happening this morning, because, well, Hangover II is on (don't worry - I'm referring only to the movie), coffee's hot, and I'm pretty committed to chilling out this morning... before figuring out how the heck to prepare the head of cabbage and black-eyed peas waiting in the kitchen.

In the meantime, as a consolation prize, here are some photos from last night'ts New Year revelries, which went from Classy & Sophisticated to Waffle House & Pajamas in a matter of hours. I love this life.

See? Closed out 2011 all classy.
Dressed up, had some sake - very sophisticated.

Then, home for some eggnog and fort-building.
This is why everyone should play QUELF.

Cheers to 2012!

Mission: Waffle House!
(Because who wouldn't want to start
2012 with some covered & diced 'browns?!)

After a hilarious walk, we made it to Waffle House!
(Or perhaps to Shuffle House? Evidence unclear.)

Un-Resolved

2011-12-29T09:22:00.000-06:00

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

2011-12-28T10:04:00.001-06:00

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

2011-12-25T00:03:00.007-06:00

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:

It always makes me cry
It's truly good storytelling
The jokes still land
You sympathize with the characters
It has Jimmy Stewart in it!
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)

2011-12-22T23:49:00.000-06:00

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!)

2011-12-19T23:17:00.001-06:00

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...

2011-12-19T23:10:00.000-06:00

...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

2011-12-17T17:35:00.000-06:00

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

2011-12-16T15:23:00.004-06:00

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...

2011-12-15T18:00:00.004-06:00

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

2011-12-15T15:03:00.002-06:00

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

2011-12-12T19:26:00.000-06:00

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!

2011-12-11T15:39:00.003-06:00

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

2011-12-10T14:29:00.005-06:00

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!

2011-12-09T23:02:00.000-06:00

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

2011-12-07T00:59:00.002-06:00

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

2011-12-05T23:13:00.047-06:00

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)

2011-12-05T00:59:00.000-06:00

*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

2011-12-04T12:08:00.002-06:00

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

2011-12-03T19:37:00.009-06:00

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!

2011-12-02T16:02:00.000-06:00

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)

2011-12-01T22:31:00.058-06:00

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!

11 Days til 30: Detox Diet Day 1

2011-11-30T23:49:00.001-06:00

At least it's a colorful diet!

All right. The original purpose of tracking this whole 30 days til 30 bit was to find some motivation. Get back on track with fitness and health and all of that good stuff. Edge away from any toxic-twenties-sludge. Find the most beautiful, fit, and organic way to slip into 30.

That's all fallen by the wayside.

Until today!

Today, I began this Three Day Holiday Detox Diet. I tried to do it last year, and sort of halfway did it three times... but never really stuck with the exact diet for three days. It's not a hard diet to maintain for three days, unless, of course, it's the holiday season, you're so busy that you have no time to cook, you have work stacked up, just remembering to eat is an achievement because you're also in a show --

Yeah, so, basically I have the same odds stacked against me this year that I did last year. But I'm gonna make it, darn it! I went to the grocery store today and bought everything I needed. And so far, so good: day one down, and I'm ready for day 2! I'm also ready for bed, because I'm exhausted from literally running around, dancing, and jumping up and down at rehearsal (ha HA! EXERCISE!!!), so I will do more reporting on this later...

12 Days til 30: So Now I'm Nervous That I'm Nervous

2011-11-29T23:59:00.004-06:00

I hate flying.

I fly pretty frequently, given how much I hate it. But I really do hate it. I hate just about everything associated with flying: packing, long lines, strangers feeling you up, endless waiting, being on someone else's timetable, delays, uncomfortable chairs, the nausea and ear-popping of takeoff, turbulence, landing - and oh yeah, that whole bit on the plane where you're hurtling through the air at 30,000 feet.

I've always known that I'm a nervous flier. I take Dramamine to help with the motion sickness, and should probably take Paxil or Xanax to help with the rest of it (but I do not - though on international flights, I have vodka, motion sickness be damned). I get through it, but I don't like it. That's just how I am about flying.

Or I thought that's just how I am about flying. Turns out, maybe that's just how I am, period.

See, I was on a plane today, and in the midst of flying-nervousness underscored by a truly (comically, in fact) incompetent pair of flight attendants, my travel-mate and dear D made a comment in passing to me, about me, that made me sit up and go "Wha?!" The conversation went something like this:

I'm not even nervous here!
This is my default face!

Flight attendant #1 (as we're taking off): Ladies and gentlemen, please return your tray tables and seats to their upright and locked position as we prepare for landing.
Flight attendant #2 (whispered, harshly): TAKEOFF.
Flight attendant #1: I mean, takeoff.
Flight attendant #2: Sorry, there, folks, she's off her game today. We'll have you safely to Jacksonville in no time.*
Me: I think the flight attendants are drunk.
D: Yep.
Me: Also, does it seem to quiet in here to you? I feel like the plane engine should be louder.
D: We're not sitting near the engine.
Me: It's a small plane! All of the seats are near the engine!
D: The engine is fine.
Me: I know. You're right. I'm sorry. I'm kind of a nervous flier.
D (offhandedly): You're kind of a nervous person.
Me (shocked!): WHAT?!

At first I was indignant, but then I started compiling the evidence. I constantly worry about what people think. I'm terrified of letting people down. I hold off on making decisions in my personal life because I don't want to make the wrong one. I worry about things big and things small. I worry about deer running out in front of my car after dark (which is a perfectly legitimate fear). I worry that this whole 30 days til 30 thing is way too self-indulgent and I should be blogging about major world issues. Oh, and of course, I worry that any plane I set foot on to will burst into flame, crash into a mountain or spiral into the sea.

And now I'm worried that I'm a nervous person.

Hmmmmm. New goal for my 30s: be way, way more zen than I was in my 20s.

*We were headed to Jackson.

Blog Backlog

2011-11-29T23:22:00.000-06:00

I have bits and pieces of blogs written for each of the last few days. I'll finish and post them as soon as I'm able. Between traveling, rehearsal, and now diving back into work... it might take a day or two, but I will get caught up before the weekend (MY LAST WEEKEND AS A TWENTY-SOMETHING) hits.

Incidentally, I wish I could say that I'm going to go out and do something crazy next weekend (MY LAST WEEKEND AS A TWENTY-SOMETHING). But I'm in tech for a show and traveling for work Sunday night, so honestly, I'll probably be insanely boring. You never know, though.

Random side note: I currently have 27 "followers" of this blog. Wonder if I can hit 30 on there before I hit 30 in years...?

Good night, all. More soon. Until then, enjoy this moment of "heh" (also posted as my Facebook status earlier today):

Airport keeps paging "passenger who left his belt and leaflets at checkpoint." All I can think is that when some poor missionary knocks on a door, reaches for tracts that aren't there, and then his pants drop... he's going to have some explaining to do.

12 Days til 30: Partridge In a Pear Tree

2011-11-28T23:07:00.000-06:00

How could I not set this one to music?

The 12 Days Til 30
Set to the tune of "12 Nights of Christmas"
... the last verse.

Twelve deadlines danglin'
Eleven books a-waiting
Ten ideas brewing
Nine workouts calling
Eight lists a'scrawlin'
Seven meals a'cookin'
Six committees meeting
Fiiiiiiiive shows on staaaaaaaage!
Four calling friends
Three good laughs
Two bottles of wine
... and with just one day till 30, my guess is that I'll be - in shock that this is really me!

Okay, this was just really, really bad. But the point is to write every day, right? Even if you're stuck.

13 Days til 30: In Between

2011-11-27T21:22:00.008-06:00

Did you ever see the movie 13 Going on 30? That's sort of how I feel today. Finding it hard to believe I'm as old as I am, because I still feel like a little girl. Ironically, when I was a little girl, I found it hard to believe how young I was, because I always felt so much older.

I don't just feel in-between as far as my age, though. I feel in-between ... everything. I no longer have the excuse of "just starting out," nor have I reached any significant success markers. Instead I'm somewhere in between, swimming around the middle of my life, my career, my relationships, my writing. In between -

Hold on. Wait a minute. Not at the beginning or the end? This is where all the important character development, conflict, crises, climax and insightful humor should be coming in! At some point I'll probably look back on this time and go, that was pretty awesome! Still so much potential, and finally enough experience to not sound hopelessly naive!

Sacred excrement, Batman! Better get cracking.

14 Days til 30: Goats

2011-11-26T16:08:00.000-06:00

Today, as is tradition, the family went to an apple orchard near our house for post-Thanksgiving donuts, hot cider and nostalgia. This year, the orchard had a new feature. It looked at first like a bridge to nowhere, but upon closer inspection, we learned that it was, in fact, a Goat Feeder.

A what now, you exclaim?! How does this contraption work, you wonder? Well, lucky for you, I had my camcorder handy. So I can show you:

You are so welcome.

Today brought not only humor, but also many memories. Of autumn and cider mills and hot donuts, yes. But also, thanks to the Goat Feeder - it brought memories of goats.

See, I don't like to talk about it much, but the truth is - we sort of used to have a little farm when I was growing up. We didn't just have the indoor pets - dogs, cats, guinea pigs. We also had outdoor... well... livestock. Chickens. Ducks. And, yes, goats. It's mostly the goats I don't like to talk about, because kids are mean, and thus I was referred to on more than one occasion as Heidi the Goat Girl, or, more frequently, just Goat Girl. Which sounds harmless. But when you're 14, with a little stick-shape, a mouth full of braces, and insecurities galore, the last thing you need is for "cool kids" to call you Goat Girl. But now, years later, I can look back and laugh.

And feel a little sad that we didn't have a Goat Feeder to go with the goats.

15 Days til 30: I Cried At The Muppet Movie

2011-11-25T16:09:00.000-06:00

I cried at The Muppets. Not full-out bawling, but moments of throat-tightening, eyes-misting, heart-expanding emotion. More than one of those moments. A few warm tears. I cried.

That fact is not weird in and of itself. What's weird is that, truth be told (and don't all smack me at once or anything) - I was a little disappointed in The Muppets. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it. Honestly, it probably could not have possibly lived up to expectations. I'd really been looking forward to seeing the movie. I love the Muppets. I love Jason Segel and Amy Adams. I knew I'd be seeing it over Thanksgiving while I was up in Michigan visiting my family. It was going to be epic.

And it wasn't.

It was fun.

It had moments of nostalgia.

But it wasn't everything I'd built it up to be in my mind. Without including any spoilers - it was thin on plot, full of missed-joke opportunities, self-referential but sometimes redundantly. It wasn't what I'd imagined.

And yet I cried.

Because even though it wasn't as "epic" as I'd dreamed it would be, it was still The Muppets. It made me remember. It was familiar. It had a lot of heart. It was goofy. It couldn't live up to childhood memories, but it was its own experience. Without being flawless, it could still touch my heart. Sort of like visiting an old playground. Or coming home for Thanksgiving. It made me feel young, and it made me feel old.

I think that's why I cried. Because of the moments that felt familiar but so far away. Because of the idea of going back or moving on, taking next steps, and finding how something old fits into a new chapter. And because, like all the things we love best, it wasn't perfect - but it was enough.

16 Days til 30: Thankful

2011-11-24T18:17:00.000-06:00

I'm in Michigan for Thanksgiving.

My grandmother, who has battled through health issue after health issue this past year, looks and sounds great.

My parents, who have been caretaking for my grandmother, are glowing to have their children all home.

My siblings and their partners are all here, sharing stories and news.

Friends and extended family fill the table, eating too much food, singing songs.

In 30 years, I have never missed Thanksgiving with my family.

There are no words for how thankful I am today.

19 Days til 30: Brewin'

2011-11-22T15:11:00.052-06:00

"Step One"

Somehow, I made it almost thirty years without participating in any sort of home-brewing experience. Thanks to the Qs, I didn't make it all the way to thirty sans beer-makin' party. It was a close one, though!

The process actually kicked off a few weeks ago, prepping the concoction. Our brewmaster Nate Q led us in the process, eagerly assisted by Apprentice D. The most important lesson is "plan ahead": see, brewing takes time. So if you want to drink that same day, bring other beverages to imbibe on kickoff day. Luckily, though we hadn't brewed before, we neophytes still knew the basics, which is why we brought mimosa fixings for that morning. What we didn't know ahead of time was the second most important lesson learned during the first step in the brewing process? Never ask Nate Q what "step one is." Inevitably, the answer will be "cut a hole in the box." Lesson learned.

Then last night, we bottled the brew. This involved the use of the Ale Pail, and many bottles, collected over the past few weeks. Apparently, to brew beer, you have to drink a lot of beer ahead of time. It is a very tough gig. But someone's gotta do it.

Ale Pail. Siphon. Spilled Beer Catcher.

Nate's smile is bigger.
We're makin' progress!

So we've brewed it. We've bottled it. And in 10 days... we'll get to drink it. ;-) Thanks, Qs!

The Qs. Awwww.

20 Days til 30: An Open (Face)Book?

2011-11-21T23:52:00.003-06:00

I saw this cartoon on a friend's Facebook page the other day:

It's funny. It's also a little alarming: a punch delivered from a piece of funny ha-ha humor that immediately triggers the thought oh crap that's actually pretty true. Lets you laugh, then makes you think. We'll call it The Jon Stewart Approach.

So now I'm thinking. Have we become the generation of over-sharers? Are we all living lives as open (face)books? Have we lost our mystery? Are we all serial over-sharers?

Maybe. I think for those of us who are not social media natives, it's slightly less of an issue - but it depends on the person. I still don't feel like a social guru (despite the fact I've had job titles similar to that). Facebook didn't exist until I was 23, and I didn't join the site until I was 25. Years later, I still have reservations about sharing too much personal information on social media. If I'm having a really bad day I'm far more likely to put up an optimistic quote or a plea for more caffeine than a heartfelt confession about what's really eating at me. I still value privacy.

But what about folks born in the social media era? Kids who never knew a world without status updates?

I think the answer is still it depends. It depends on the person. I don't think social media necessarily changes who you are, so much as amplifies the reach of your persona, whatever it already is. If you're the quiet mysterious type in real life, you can be a quiet mysterious type on Facebook (or just be a lurker - or opt out entirely). If you're the gregarious life of the party, you're probably going to get tagged with drink in hand, mugging for the camera. Facebook didn't make you do that. It's just giving you a bigger audience - and hopefully, you'll learn to remove the photos that can cost you a job. <---- Maaaaaan, just typing that makes me feel old...

Speaking of old, though, I do know several people who most definitely did not grow up in the social media era, who are now Captains of Over-Sharing in the social sphere. And most of 'em were over-sharers before social hit. So the theory holds!

I think, as with - well - anything - the real key is learning to strike a balance. I certainly wouldn't want my descendants to write me off as "easily bored and hated Mondays.". Nor would I want the other end of the spectrum - i.e. for them to find digital evidence painting me as someone who was "really into vodka and danced like a Muppet." But would it be such a terrible thing for my Future Grandchildren to go through my digital files and say, "So this one time, Grandma spent a week in a bridesmaid dress. And hey, look, she wrote about things that mattered to her. And had a super cute dog. Whoa, she was in a really bad car wreck... remember when people drove cars?! And... OMG I totally get my punning from her!"

That might be okay.

PS What does any of this have to do with turning 30? Probably nothing. Other than starting to say things that make me feel old

21 Days Til 30: Tally Ho!

2011-11-20T19:43:00.008-06:00

Man! I promised a tally and have yet to post one! So here is a random, extended tally for your enjoyment.

The "21" Tally
Days til 30: 21
Last birthday I thought about this much: 21
Age when I moved to Mississippi: 21
Number that comes before 22: 21

The Workout Tally:
Days I've Let Jillian Michaels Down: every day this week
Days I've worked up a sweat at rehearsal: every day this week (and tomorrow night will be my first night off in 8 days)

The Stressful Tally:
Number of items on my to-do list for tomorrow: Close to 30
Number of lines to learn for the show I'm in: More than 100
Exact numbers used in this portion of tally-ing: 0. Or now, more accurately, 1.

Flashback-Tallies Tally:
Times I wore the Bridesmaid dress recently: once!! To an '80s party!
Times I ate out this week: Actually, amazingly, I think only once or twice? Despite a hectic schedule? I'm proud of myself. Also I was sick and ate a lot of soup.
Post I randomly re-read and giggled at: My Food Haiku piece

So, there are some utterly pointless tallies for you. Tonight I'm going over the Q's house to bottle some home-brewed beer. I may write about that tomorrow, because talk about a great thing to do before hitting 30, right?

22 Days til 30: Grateful for my Urban Family

2011-11-19T21:35:00.000-06:00

Not everyone is lucky enough to have a wonderful family they're born into, and a wonderful family they find along their own journey. I am one of those lucky few, and I want to just take this moment to acknowledge that blessing.

23 Days til 30: I Used To Be a Reader

2011-11-18T22:22:00.030-06:00

When I was a kid, I was a reader.

Where it all began...

As noted in yesterday's post, I started reading at age 4. I announced to my mother, "I'll read you the book tonight instead." She figured I'd pick up one of the books I knew by heart and recite it for her. Instead I picked one we'd never read, Danny and the Dinosaur, and read it to her, start to finish. (She was very disappointed. I mean, of course she was also proud and delighted, but she'd been hoping I would be a late reader, un-pressured, who would bloom in my own time. It was an alternative-education-theory thing.)

By six, I was putting down books like A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain and Bambi: A Life in the Woods by Felix Salten. I swear I'm not bragging. I was like a little addict. I'd sign up for summer reading programs and the librarians would tell me to slow down, because while there were little incremental prizes throughout the program, once you got over 50 books, you got a gift certificate for a free personal pizza for every 5 books you read. And they were running out of certificates for other kids. (What can I say? I loved books and pizza!)

I stayed a reader throughout high school, and even college - summers more so than during the school year, but I still read. I kept reading when I finished college. I traveled a lot for work and would read books on planes, and trains, and in my hotel room at night.

And then... grad school.

Grad school was the perfect storm conspiring to make one give up reading. I was taking a full course load, and had lots and lots of assigned reading. I also had an internship, and both years my internships required research, reading, and reviewing as well as direct service work. I was also working no fewer than three other part-time jobs (multiple teaching gigs, overnight shift at domestic violence shelter, plus working as a peer career counselor - clearly I was well-qualified since I held so freakin' many jobs). I wish I could say that "when I had a spare moment, I'd pick up a book." But the truth is that I didn't have any spare moments. And I had a spare second, I slept. With the TV on, if anything.

I finished grad school almost five years ago (yikes). The time has come... as my twenties come to a close, I want to turn a new page. Literally. I want to be a reader again. Maybe I'll even post the occasional book review here, if there's interest? .... Bueller?

24 Days til 30: Year By Year

2011-11-17T23:42:00.005-06:00

So a thought hit me: could I think of at least one defining event from every single year of my life from 0 through 29? If I spent too much time thinking about it, probably not. I'd get too caught up in nostalgia. I'd fret too much about what to include, what to leave out, whether or not that was really the most important thing to note. So I'm not going to think about it to much. I'm going to give myself 15 minutes to summarize 30 years. Starting .... now!

0. I was born. Wish I could remember more about what happened before arriving here.
1. We moved from Chicago to Michigan. Also, I started talking. No joke. Ask my mom about the time I made a lady in the grocery store scream because she asked how old the baby was, and the baby answered her - by telling her my age, in months. Ah, from the mouths of babes...
2. My brother J was born. I actually have very vague memories of that day. (He was born just before I turned 2, actually, but I'm putting him here anyway, because I was nearly two, and really, it's the only thing I remember from that general time frame).
3. My mom gave me a packet of M&M's, all my own, for "being such a good girl." Possibly the best day of my young life. I also have a lot of memories of watching my dad shave his whiskers before leaving for work.
4. My brother A was born. I'd hoped he was going to be a sister. I'm glad he is who he is. He was named in memory of my cousin who died earlier in my 4th year; she had leukemia, and I missed her. I also learned to read this year, which subsequently occupied 75% of all my waking hours for the next solid decade.
5. I was in my first production. Cinderella. You can read all about it, actually.
6. I was allowed to get my ears pierced. My grandmother did the piercing. We both cried after the first ear. My mother forced her to go through with it and pierce the second ear. We all learned something, I'm just not sure what.
7. Halfway through the year, my sister C was born. My parents offered to let me watch the birth. I declined.
8. Around the time I turned 8, we moved, again (I think for the 5th or 6th time), but this time to the place where my parents live to this day - Smallville. My great aunt lived with us for awhile; she slept in my bed and snored a lot. Looking back, we took in a lot of folks over the years. That deserves more reflection, too. Also, I was allowed to get a dog. We named her Stormy. She was a great dog, and would be in our family for the next 17 years.
9. I spent a lot of time with my best friends L and M. We were really into 4-H. Like, really. I think I also remember a trip Up North To The Cabin that summer (it was an annual family gathering) wherein I realized, whoa, some of my family is crazy.
10. I remember my 10th birthday being a huge deal. Double digits! Other than that, nothing.
11. At eleven, it was very important to me to refuse to wear a bra. (I didn't need one, but my best friend did and yet refused to wear one, and it was some strange solidarity thing to be reeeeeeeally against bras.)
12. I had my first crush. You can read about that here.
13. The good: I had my Bat Mitzvah. That deserves a blog someday. The bad: one of my best friends attempted suicide. The ugly: her mother told her that it was my fault, because I should have noticed something was wrong and "done something about it." The theme of this year? The end of childhood.
14. I wrote, directed, and produced my first play - "Through Rachel's Eyes." I also went to Israel - a Bat Mitzvah present from my aunt/godmother. Oh, and I was also named the Oakland County 4-H Queen. I got braces, which I hated, but which paved the way for a lot more smiley-Beth. Hot damn. I knocked 14 out of the park.Good thing, too, since 13 was so rough.
15. I also went to a leadership-camp for the summer. Someone told me that they were awed and terrified at the thought of being in my head for a day because I had "so much going on." That knocked the wind out of me. (I also dated my first boyfriend at 15. He broke up with me when I went away for the summer. Started dating a friend of mine. There was drama. And yes, we met through theater)
16. I GOT MY DRIVER LICENSE! When you live in rural Michigan, this is a huge freakin' deal. I also had my first kiss. (Yep. No kiss from the first boyfriend. And no boyfriend from the first kiss. I'm sure I learned something from that, too. Just not sure what.)
17. I worked at Burlington for a summer, which sounds boring but was not (yes, it'll be a blog someday, too). And of course, I left for college. Goodbye, small town. Hello, Boston. I also started dating my First Really Serious Boyfriend. 17 was kind of a big year, too.
18. For my 18th birthday, my freshman hall all kicked in money and as a total surprise, flew First Really Serious Boyfriend to Boston. In the midst of finals, there was my boyfriend, and a card signed by every person on my hall. I was floored. I will never forget that kindness. In other news, I registered to vote. And I think I went to Canada be able to have a legal drink. Later that year, I moved into a castle where I lived with three boys. 100% true.
19. Or maybe this was the year I went to Canada to drink? I forget. I blame the drink. Speaking of Canada, though, I do remember taking an awesome road trip at 19 from Boston to Niagara Falls and then on to Michigan with my friends Noah, Jasmine and Carly. The stories... oh, the stores...
20. Actually, on the cusp of twenty... several things happened. 9/11 happened. First Really Serious Boyfriend broke up with me. And I was told I had a potentially fatal condition due to a medicine I'd been on (luckily, I didn't). On every level, I was sure the world was ending - or at least, my world. My dad drove 12 hours up to Boston to walk around Walden Pond with me. That's what my parents are like.
21. Drinking in my own country became legal. I kicked off the two-year-period of my life wherein I "dated." (I recall one horrible blind date particularly vividly. Man, I have all sorts of material...) I finished college, gave a commencement speech, moved to Mississippi. My mom came down to visit me and help me set up a "home" here. When she drove away, I cried for a day. College was an easy transition. This was a harder one. This was real life.
22. I spent a lot of time driving around the Deep South. I was in my first play with Fondren Theatre Workshop. I had several plays produced or workshopped in Jackson. I started dating my Second Serious Boyfriend. The theme of this year, looking back, was clearly drama.
23. I moved from Mississippi back up to Michigan for graduate school. Hurricane Katrina happened. I felt guilty for not being there. I went to Biloxi and spent 2 weeks roofing houses. Also this year (and the next), while in school, I spent a lot of time with my parents. There was a lot of drama going on that year, in their lives and my own, so sometimes our time spent together was spent putting away a bottle of wine or ranting over coffee. But I loved all that time.
24. Still in grad school. I interned with a foundation that periodically sent me to New York. I worked night shifts at a domestic violence center. I worked four other jobs and was carrying a full course load. I didn't sleep enough. My brother J got married. I got... single.
25. I spent a renewing week in Costa Rica with a generous and dear friend. I finished grad school and moved back to Mississippi. Towards the end of the year, I started dating my Third Serious Boyfriend. I also established Urban Family Thanksgiving (more on that this weekend).
26. I started writing plays again. I started winning awards for those plays. I was approached by a production company and switched careers. I had a major health scare, which this time was legitimate, and went through some surgeries. Also, I discovered Top Chef. And a renewed passion for cooking.
27. My grandmother died, and I got the news while on set filming a short film. I couldn't make it up for the funeral. But I did make it to the unveiling later that year.
28. I survived a massive car wreck. Also, my dog appeared in Jay Leno's monologue. I became a more grateful and contemplative person (probably more because of the wreck than because of my dog's celebrity, but him beating me to late-night fame was motivational, too). I wrote a lot.
29. I wrote this blog... which is not to say that writing the blog is the most formative thing about this year, but means that if you want to read about my week in a bridesmaid's dress, my writing struggles and triumphs, my dog, my thoughts on love vs. judgment, etc... it's all right here.

Good night - and wow. I edited myself a lot even in this exercise but also realized, there's a lot I've been through, not all of which can or should be summed up in a sentence or two, so this really is quite the surface-level list... and it was still exhausting. I should have thought of this earlier, and done one full blog on each year. But then again, maybe this quick fly-through is best. (And for the record, this took me closer to 20 minutes.)

PS I'll start adding tallies again tomorrow.

***Update, the next morning:
I didn't sleep well last night, but kind of in a good way, because I kept remembering things, year by year. Inside jokes whose origins I've forgotten (or, even weirder - remembered). People who have passed away, including my hero Evelyn, and the younger siblings of two of my dearest friends, and my good friend M's father. Trips. Turning points. Making the same mistake over and over. Stopping. Learning. Thinking to myself, what a wonderful world. Y'know... I could write a book.

25 Days til 30: Rejected, Not Dejected

2011-11-16T22:21:00.000-06:00

All right, so let's get real for a minute. I figured, given three decades to get stuff done, I would have accomplished at least one of the following three Bucket List Items:

1) Be famous and / or wealthy
2) Be married, maybe even have started a family
3) Be drawing royalty income from something I'd written

Thus far, I'm 0 for 3. I guess I romanticized that whole idea that women either sacrifice career for family or family for career, but by gum, you do get one of them right by the time you hit your thirties. Personally, I blame these delusions on ... well, pretty much every cultural touchstone from Little Women to Sex and The City.

The thing is, regardless of striking out on these Big Three Bucket List Items, I've actually lived a pretty awesome three decades. So I'm not about to get sobby here. No, this is about grit. This is about powering through.

And of course, as any story of perseverance must, we start at a low point.

See, recently, I was thiiiiiiis close to crossing off one of those items from the list. I am referring, of course, to #3 (which would've inevitably led to #1, right?). I told only about three people... but Samuel French was interested in one of my scripts. I made it through the first two initial phases of evaluation, and was in the third and final phase where senior editors were reviewing my script and if they liked it, I'd be published by the pinnacle of play publishing houses. And then I heard from them! They sent me a very kind, personal, and encouraging...

... rejection letter.

On the same day that a book query I'd sent out also got rejected.

On the same day a different play I'd submitted elsewhere got - you guessed it - rejected.

And, briefly, I was dejected.

Three strikes in one day? I suck. I'll never make it as a writer. I should just scrap that crap, get an MBA and/or throw myself into an uninspiring but highly lucrative career.

Then I pulled myself together. I sent out some more submissions. I decided to re-focus on writing.

And then, I experienced a career shift, started working even crazier hours, and stopped getting much done on the writing front.

Fast forward a few months: I got word that a different play I wrote, submitted, and stopped thinking about earlier this year... was just selected for a major regional award.

And then today, I got a letter from another publishing company - not quite as prestigious as Sammy F, but still large and respected, regarding the same play Sammy F had turned down.

"We enjoyed reading this play, and see its potential," the email said. "But we generally require 2 to 3 regional productions before we consider publication. Please do contact us again when your play has seen more productions."

I was tempted to feel discouraged.

Instead, I decided that rather than to keep my cards close to my chest, and tell no one about being thiiiiiiis close to something I really wanted, I was going to go public. I posted a Facebook status requesting help in finding avenues for getting this show (and hopefully others) staged. I asked my fellow theater lovers and dreamers to help me move from page to stage to published work.

How did it work out? Well, it's only been about 6 hours, so I don't have much news to report... nor do I have much time to speculate, because, if you'll excuse me, I have eleven requests for the script and I need to respond to them. :D

Thank you, thank you, thank you all! I'll keep writing, with fingers crossed (challenging as that may be).

26 Days til 30: Whiskey at 8am

2011-11-15T22:36:00.003-06:00

Jack's an early riser.

Morning whiskey.

Sounds pretty bad, doesn't it?

But that's how I started my day today. Whiskey at 8am. Well, to be fair, it was a tea, with honey, and lemon juice, and a splash of whiskey. Medicinal, see?

So yeah. Day two of not feeling good, though I'm not feeling quite as puny as I was yesterday. Which means I had multiple reasons to raise a glass this morning:

1) After managing to survive yesterday, a toast seemed in order.

2) My throat was killing me. Nothin' like a hot toddy to help ease that pain.

3) I had another 10+ hour workday ahead, including three conference calls, followed by rehearsal. That's a lot of talking. The frog in my throat was gonna get really sick of my voice. Enhanced-tea was the frog's consolation prize. You're welcome, Kermit. Now get the hell outta here.

Also, have I mentioned I'm turning 30 soon?

Cheers.

Today's tally:
Workouts: 0, but I do run around A LOT in this crazy show. More on that later.
Healthy meals: All 3! Back to 3 meals! That's good, right? (And no, I am not counting my hot toddy as a meal.) Soup for breakfast, soup for lunch, broccoli and cheese Lean Pocket for dinner. And some whole wheat Pringles-sticks for a rehearsal snack. Not bad.
Inappropriately early consumption of alcohol: Check.

27 Days til 30: Just Making it Through the Day

2011-11-14T22:36:00.003-06:00

Man, it's been a day. Today I'm grateful just for making it through.

Here's how the day went:

7am: Woke up. Didn't feel so hot. Nose running, head throbbing, throat sore. Uh-oh. Shower didn't help.
7:30 to 10:30: Worked to get as much done on one work front as humanly possible.
10:30: Hit the road to drive to Greenville, MS for another work commitment.
11:30: Was supposed to call in for a conference call. Had absolutely zero cell signal. Uh-oh.
1:00pm: Arrived in Greenville. Worked there until 6pm. Work part went well; head felt like it was going to explode, nose wouldn't stop running, starting to feel a little loopy and like maybe I shouldn't drive home.
6:00pm Left Greenville.
6:30pm Made it as far as Indianola, MS. Realized that yep, I needed to not be driving. I've been in one spectacularly bad wreck; I have taken a solemn vow to do everything in my power to avoid being in another (not that the first one was my fault). So I pulled into a Dollar General parking lot, locked my doors, set an alarm on my phone, and napped for half an hour.
7:00-9:00pm Finished my drive home. Had a work email marked "Urgent. You must do this tonight."
9:00pm-10:30pm Worked. Blew my nose a lot. Ate some soup.
10:30pm Took TheraFlu. Passed out.

And yep... I'm retroactively posting this account. No way was I getting any of my own writing done on this kick-my-sick-ass day. Hmm. Maybe more on that later, too.

Today's tally:
Workouts: 0, but frankly, the car-nap was good for my body. And I'm sick, dammit.
Healthy meals: I skipped the first 2 meals of the day due to feeling like poo. The third meal was soup. I guess the starvation sort of evens out the lack of movement. Not that I plan on making a habit of that.
Smart adult decisions made: 1, at the very least.
Hours worked: All told, about 15.

"30 Days til 30": Public (Mile)Stoning...?

2011-11-13T22:54:00.004-06:00

So here is what happened on Days 30, 29, and 28-til-30: I started thinking a lot of deep thoughts. The sort of soul-baring and salacious thoughts that would probably draw in an audience. Some of my biggest fears and secretly-self-evaluated-shortcomings rising to the surface.

And I read this comment from a woman who is, arguably, the most loyal reader of this blog (and of my life in general... she goes by Dramamama online, but I usually just call her Mom):

I say, write down all the self-indulgent, I-thought-I-would-have-made-a-million-dollars-had-a-Tony-had-an-Oscar-had-a-Pulitzer stuff. Write it all down. Wail about it. Whine about it. Then, hide it in your own personal folder and only publish what you can bear to bare.

Wise words. So I'm censoring the last few days of reflection. Unless I somehow decide that I'm ready to risk public mile-stoning. But I'll give you a quick tally:

Three days' tally:
Workouts: 3! Yeah, baby! Two days of Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred, 1 long, frustrated workout on the elliptical machine at my hotel in Lake Charles. I also danced quite a bit at the wedding that brought me to Lake Charles.
Healthy meals: Ooh, major fail. Other than a sushi lunch on Saturday, I was eating wedding guest food. Think lots of butter, and lots of reiterations of "the diet starts Monday."
Big life-cycle events that occupied my mind all weekend: Two. Publish PostBut for now, I'm keepin' them to myself.

30 Days til 30: The Countdown Begins

2011-11-10T23:48:00.004-06:00

Thursday, November 10, 2011. It's almost midnight. The countdown begins.

In just a few moments, there will be a mere 30 days standing between me and the big 3-0.

I've been saying for awhile that I'm going to document my final month in my 20s. Call it "30 Days 'Til 30." Find a way to alleviate stress about the milestone, and instead, celebrate and even embrace it, head-on. The documentation would be twofold:

1) A daily account of all my efforts to MAKE THE LAST MONTH OF MY 20s COUNT. On the healthy side (can I work out every day?). On the splurge side (Starbucks holiday drinks are out... yes, I do deserve a peppermint mocha!). On the I-should-stop-doing-this-when-I-hit-30 side (two ponytails - that hair style's days are numbered).

This baby is about to turn 30.*

2) A daily reflection on the long journey to thirty, wherein I'll alternate between reflections on the things I thought I would have done by now, but have yet to do (or may never do)... and the things I never imagined I'd do by now, but have, in fact, done.

I'm still not certain that I'll have the guts to really dive all the way into to exploration of everything I thought I would have done, experienced, or accomplished by the time I hit thirty. Feels too self-indulgent. And too scary. Too exposed. I'm not sure I can do it, publicly... but I can at least try it to an extent, right?

And I can pretty much guarantee that the pony tails and the peppermint mocha splurges will happen.

Tomorrow kicks off the official "30 days to go." For the record, today was a long damn day. I am going to try really hard to get up and work out in the morning, before knocking out a few solid hours of work and then getting in the car to drive 5 hours to make it to a rehearsal dinner for a wedding. Where will the splurge come in? Will I get in the exercise? Will this lurking-beneath-the-surface breakout on my cheek fight its way to the surface and make me feel bitter about having to face 30 and acne?

Will I be able to make tomorrow count, and have stories to share, and the courage to share them?

Let's find out.

*Note: writing, even when in diapers! (And yeah, that's right, a photo asterisk - what?!)

Asteroid, Shmasteroid

2011-11-09T16:17:00.002-06:00

Hey, remember that time an asteroid came barreling through space, narrowly missing collision with our planet?

It was last night.

Somehow, in all the hubbub of work, elections, and, y'know, life, I totally missed this little bit of news. Ah, that comforting headline: "Tuesday Night's Asteroid: Why We'll (Almost Certainly) Survive a Close Call." * Yep, that whole galactic drama sailed right on past me. Wasn't even on my radar until the danger - and the giant freaking hunk of space rock - had passed.

Which is probably all for the best. I was already having a stressful evening, and home alone. I didn't need to start panicking about becoming the next Elizabeth Hodges, only, you know, much worse.**

It's some good perspective, though. Think about all of our near misses in life (how many times do we juuuuuuust miss disaster?). Think about the whole vast universe out there (holy s*, dude! WE LIVE IN A WORLD WHERE THERE ARE ASTEROIDS!). Think about whatever was worrying you, and then think about stuff like this, and get some solid perspective. The world is big, we are small. (I MEAN SERIOUSLY. ASTE. FREAKING. ROIDS).

So I've decided that the next time I'm feeling overwhelmed by work, concerned about political division, worried I'm getting a cold - I will take stock of the situation and realize that things could be worse. I could be smooshed by an asteroid, but I'm not! Hooray! And then I'll feel better.

Or start hyperventilating. One of the two.

(PS I know, I know. The asteroid was closer than the moon, but still thousands of miles away. This one's been on the radar since 2005. We weren't *really* in danger... THIS TIME. But the point remains: ASTEROIDS, Y'ALL.)

* That is the TIME headline. I am 100% not making that up. Click the link.
** I know, right? That WAS obscure!