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Friday, February 28, 2003
... and all the day you'll have leg cramps
Walking back to the office with lunch in hand (Friday tuna melt special from the deli!), I espied a shiny penny on the corridor floor. Wishing good luck for myself for the balance of the day, I stopped to pick it up. It was on my bad-ankle side and I had lunch in the other hand so rather than bend at the knee I did a sort of jack-knife maneuver to the side to snap up Mr. Lincoln. Result: thigh cramp. Ow. Just imagine what would have happened if I had passed that good luck charm by!
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
4:05 PM
Can you say "Lasting Impression"?
News of Fred Rogers' death was the main topic of discussion today on various e-mail lists and in the office. Reactions ranged from genuine sorrow ("I owe him my childhood!") to acknowledgement of his influence but with a footnoted "he was too lame for me/my kids". Me, I was just a little too old for his show and probably wouldn't have liked it even if I hadn't been -- too low key for me -- but I do recognize that the man spread a positive message in a gentle way and friends and neighbors, there's not a thing wrong with that. His impact was certainly evident in 1987, when he spoke at the BGSU commencement (when I got my M.A.) The other speaker was the PBS obverse to Rogers' reverse, William F. Buckley. The highlight of the day was when Mr. Rogers led the entire stadium in singing Won't You Be My Neighbor. I can't remember what song Buckley sang.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:30 PM
... and to all a good bite
About a month ago I put procrastinating Christmas-decoration-taker-downers on notice. I'm pleased to note that for the most part I was obeyed. Major exception: Bob & Edith's Diner, the "south side" branch near Four Mile Run. Bob, Edith: that Santa, sleigh and reindeer need to come down from the roof five minutes ago. Check that calendar behind the cash register! I'm afraid that for every day past March 1 that Santa and Company remain up there you will be assessed a fine of one steak-and-egg breakfast, payable directly to me.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
11:13 PM
I'm not sure why this pleases me
The interview disc of the Hard Day's Night collectors' edition DVD features, among others, comments by the actor who played the kid Ringo meets while wandering around London. His name wasn't familiar to me, but his grownup face certainly was although I couldn't place it right away. Then it dawned on me; he's the postman on the Britcom Keeping Up Appearances. IMDb.com confirms.
I don't even want to think about what actual useful knowledge might have taken up the grey matter space that I used to make that connection, but I'm hoping that this seeming mismanagement of my brain cells is in reality a trait that will help me avoid senile dementia in years yet to come. I'd be quite prepared for that eventuality.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:10 PM
Thumbs up
Bad: a snow shovelling-induced skinned thumb knuckle.
Good: Liquid bandage stuff. Provides cushioning, is waterproof, and elastic enough to allow for knuckle movement.
Bonus: The fumes from the aforementioned liquid bandage stuff provide a measure of anesthesia. Especially if you unwittingly sleep with that hand curled under your nose.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
7:44 PM
Going to work would have been less painful
The federal government was closed today, which meant I would have no students to teach and no one to help locate their "any" key, so I stayed home. Just as well; I'm not giving up the parking spot that I excavated all by myself yesterday until absolutely necessary. In case I wasn't hurting enough from that endeavor, today I spent 2 hours clearing my 10' x 16' terrace of 2 feet of snow. One of the downspouts was frozen solid so I feared a deluge if I hadn't cleared the deck before the predicted warmer temps arrived in a day or so. Compare today's photo with yesterday's and send me a muscle relaxant, willya?
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
5:52 PM
"Observe the snow. It fornicates."
Not only was improv class cancelled yesterday due to apocalyptic levels of snowfall, the entire shopping mall where the improv place is housed was closed. That's a buttload of snow, people. I spent an hour this afternoon digging my car out and should probably get some of the snow off the terrace. Leakage is no longer a problem but there's so much out there than when it melts I'm afraid that there will be a re-enactment of The Poseidon Adventure in the building. But I am just now getting feeling back in my fingers and toes, so maybe tomorrow.
Special thanks to Cecil Adams for today's title.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
6:33 PM
The snow must go on
And because it does, today's improv class is cancelled. Eight to twelve inches of snow are expected and from the looks of things that expectation is being met. The condo lot hasn't even been plowed yet, which means I couldn't get out even if I wanted to. It's a narrow, sloped driveway and impossible to navigate, not to mention impassible, when covered with more than a few inches of snow. My mom, Ohio born and raised, would call me a wimp because of my homeboundedness today. Even though I lived in Ohio long enough to learn how to drive in snow, the difference in topography and the quality of snow removal around these parts renders one's driving skills and willingness to get out there moot. So instead of curling up before a class full of cracking wit, I'll curl up before a DVD player full of crackling movies. Pass the hot chocolate.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
12:48 PM
Gotta go back and practice that innocent look in the mirror
When I arrived for tonight's ComedySportz show it was still early; there were only two other spectators seated, a mom and teenaged son. Absolutely no other sign of life in the place. We exchanged smiles and brief pleasantries. After a few minutes Mom got up to use the ladies' and admonished Junior a little too loudly to watch her purse and be sure to take it with him if he had to get up before she got back. Did I mention that I was the only other person in the room?
Perhaps she had overheard the ticket-seller, who recognized me as a student entitled to free admission, tell me that I didn't have to pay for my ticket and drew the conclusion that I robbed my way in?
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:58 PM
Just a few things that need saying
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:20 PM
The Hoarse Whisperer
I just received confirmation that the class I was scheduled to teach tomorrow has been postponed, hallelujah. I wouldn't have been able to talk through it otherwise. See, I just got back from a get-together with some of my fellow improv students where we spent about 3 hours practicing some of the games and working on that elusive character development thing. I am hoarse from the combination of playing and laughing. That would be the case even if we just did some of the warm-up exercises, like our new favorite, "Big Booty" (it's not what you think) (or maybe it is), which is great big fun. Some of the group were still going strong as it neared 11pm, but I had to call it a night because of my early work call. That and I knew it was time to quit when we were doing "Limerick" and I clutched on a rhyme for "did". We've learned that if you're gonna fail, fail big, so I just started singing "Feelings" and cracked everyone up. Thank you, goodnight and goodbye!
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
11:46 PM
Why my tongue is bright pink tonight
I stopped by the drugstore after improv class this afternoon for a few things and on a whim (improv does that to you) bought a bag of Strawberries & Creme flavor Creme Savers Soft Candy, which I had never tried before. A bit later, the person in line in front of me at the garage exit seemed to be attempting to pay with some sort of unusual currency such as bird droppings, judging by how long the transaction was taking. So more out of boredom than actual desire, I broke open the bag of chewy candies while I waited. And waited. Suddenly I didn't mind waiting so much. Yummy! When it was finally my turn at the booth, I impulsively (again, it's the improv influence) handed a red-and-white wrapped candy over to the attendant along with my ticket and cash. Once on my way, I somehow managed to polish off about a third of the bag on the 10-minute trip home. Dang. These things are so good, I began to regret the gesture of sharing one with the garage attendant.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:18 PM
Join the club
Just for a change I ordered the veggie club instead of my usual turkey club. Anticipating a sandwich full of loose pieces of mushrooms, onions, peppers and so forth instead of a more stable and stationary slab of meat, I opted for pita bread instead of the traditional 3 layers of wheat bread, the better to contain the contents. In that I was thwarted by a sandwich maker who unpocketed the pita with a flick of her knife, only unbeknownst to me until I was back at my desk and ready to tuck in. Oh, well. Taking care to lean over the styrofoam container, the better to catch the fallout, I had a further surprise when 3 bites in I chomped something unexpectedly hard -- a frilly toothpick, another traditional club sandwich feature. I would have imagined it was unnecessary in a non-layered format, but the deli lady apparently felt it was integral to the mix. Given my propensity for stupid injuries this story could have turned out a lot worse than it did. Suffice it to say that my future lunchtime adventures will remain traditional, clubsandwichwise.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
1:26 PM
Another sin paid for, I hope
Friend Marty and I caught a movie this afternoon to kill time between work and the ComedySportz show at 8. We had the theater to ourselves for the 5:05 showing of Adaptation, except for an older man who came in during the opening credits and sat a few rows behind us. And cleared his throat and coughed a wet, hacking cough throughout the entire movie. Marty and I were there on free passes scored from a previous cinema outing in which the print of whatever movie we saw had a grain line right in the middle of it. We contemplated asking for passes to compensate for not being able to hear lots of today's film, but didn't. Hopefully we each have paid off a portion of our karmic debt.
Unless I've negated my payment by bitching about it here. Oh, nuts.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:48 PM
Turn the other beak
My office building is a few dozen miles inland from the nearest non-river body of water, in this case the Chesapeake Bay, but a few blocks away on my drive in one morning I spot some airborne seagulls. There's nothing to do at the moment since I'm stopped at a light so I take in the rare glimpse of wildlife. Watching one of them soar effortlessly overhead I recall a line from Jackson Browne's Rock Me On The Water: "There's a sea bird above you gliding in one place / Like Jesus in the sky." My head fills with peaceful thoughts. A moment later my reverie is broken when the motionless glider breaks rather suddenly out of his cruciform position and swoops fiercely after a brother bird, chasing it over the hood of my car and into the Metrobus lot across the street.
See, this is why I'm not particularly religious: too many mixed signals.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:46 PM
Fallen Astronauts Spanned the Globe of DiversitySee, it's started already
I've written before of my sense of humor's mind of its own and its disregard for decorum, so you'll understand why I was groaning before I got to the last two words of the following headine from today's Washington Post:
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
10:35 PM
A note from an analog blog
The horrible news of today's space shuttle disaster sent me to the journal I kept during my studies in France in 1985-86 to revisit the entry I had made after the Challenger explosion. Here's the bulk of it:
29 January, 1986
Looking back now, I see my naiveté and a defensiveness that came from feeling alienated during a national tragedy because I wasn't in the nation in question. I remember that within a short time I was trading "Need Another Seven Astronauts" jokes with American friends at the Institut. I'm here now for the current tragedy aftermath and feel the same shock and sadness as recorded before yet my reaction to a news story about Iraq's saying that the explosion was God's way of punishing America was a combination of "what doodyheads" and "they might have a point." Confusion reigns supreme.
Last night I went to the veillée [a get-together of an informal singing group I belonged to, made up of students of all nationalities] at the Institut and Alix told me that the space shuttle had exploded. The way she said it I thought she was kidding, but she wasn't. I was sort of dumbstruck, the way I was when I heard that John Lennon was shot. Of course, it's a terrible thing, but it really affected me. At the veillée when we talked about it with the group everyone was joking, saying [the explosion happened] because there were women on board, etc. This hurt my feelings, not because I construed it as anti-Americanism but because of the light attitude that everyone took. Then tonight when I was reading about it in the paper, Antoine said with a smirk, "Oh! Quelle honte!" as if it was America's fault that seven people were killed; that it was greed or America flexing its muscles that caused the tragedy. We had a little discussion about it and we both found out that my French gets a lot better when I'm riled.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:07 PM