Dude. Don't look around. Just be cool. Relax. Chill.
Okay. Here's the deal. We're going to act like it's Friday. Seriously. If we all just act like it's Friday, maybe we can make it BE Friday. It's the end of the month. That throws people off any way. So if we all just play along like it's the end of the week, we might just be able to make it happen.
Here's how you start: keep walking up to people, saying "Hey, big plans for the weekend? I'm thinking I'll barbecue." And "Whew, can't believe we made it to the end of the week." And throw in the occasional, "TGIF, right?" Then at the end of the day hit 'em with the kicker - "Take it easy. See ya Monday." But don't overplay it. Just casual like.
Cause, damn. I needs to be Friday. I think if I wake up tomorrow and realize I've still got another day to go, I may just curl up into a little ball and die. Don't you feel it? It's gotta be Friday. It's just gotta be.
So, ya know. See ya Monday.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
One sign that you may be a ginormous geek:
You find the news that Disney is making Tron 2 (and that Jeff Bridges will be in it) really, really exciting.
[Guilty]
[Guilty]
The Earth Moved
So, another earthquake in Southern Cal. I'm always kind of interested in them, the same way I'm intrigued by hurricanes. If you've been in one, it's got a certain extra oomph to the story.
And I have been in an earthquake. Not a big one mind you. A 3.5. Not such a big deal as earthquakes go. But it was kind of hard to miss. It happened around 7:00 in the morning. I was still in bed, and in that nice sweet spot between drooling in the pillow and being fully awake. And all the sudden, it's like my bed is a raft on the ocean. Just kind of rolling up and down. I'm just awake enough to think "Huh. That doesn't usually happen." (At least not when I'm on my own. Heh-heh-heh.) And then it was over before I was fully awake, so - snuck-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz - out like a light. I wasn't even fully aware that anything had happened. My dream sleep is ratty enough that I was just going to write it off as bad guac for dinner. But then when I make it up to watch the news, there are perky Southern California morning show anchors to tell me that there are two types of earthquakes - back and forth, and up and down, and what we experienced this morning . . . Oooooh. Ah-ha.
Anyway, having been through a teensy earthquake, I found it much easier to say "happy trails" to living in California. Not that I ran scared or anything. As any Californian will tell you 3.5 ain't no thing. But it did add some "been there/done that" flavor to my time. Had the earthquake, now I can leave. Done deal.
And I have been in an earthquake. Not a big one mind you. A 3.5. Not such a big deal as earthquakes go. But it was kind of hard to miss. It happened around 7:00 in the morning. I was still in bed, and in that nice sweet spot between drooling in the pillow and being fully awake. And all the sudden, it's like my bed is a raft on the ocean. Just kind of rolling up and down. I'm just awake enough to think "Huh. That doesn't usually happen." (At least not when I'm on my own. Heh-heh-heh.) And then it was over before I was fully awake, so - snuck-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz - out like a light. I wasn't even fully aware that anything had happened. My dream sleep is ratty enough that I was just going to write it off as bad guac for dinner. But then when I make it up to watch the news, there are perky Southern California morning show anchors to tell me that there are two types of earthquakes - back and forth, and up and down, and what we experienced this morning . . . Oooooh. Ah-ha.
Anyway, having been through a teensy earthquake, I found it much easier to say "happy trails" to living in California. Not that I ran scared or anything. As any Californian will tell you 3.5 ain't no thing. But it did add some "been there/done that" flavor to my time. Had the earthquake, now I can leave. Done deal.
Refurbishing the Hell Mouth
Okay, people. The bitch is back. I am declaring a moratorium on helping other people out. Starting September 1, no helping other people out for at least a month. No helping people move. No helping with yard work. No wrangling kids at parties. No painting. I'm talking all major jobs. I can drive you to the airport, I cannot resurface your driveway. I can water your plants; I cannot till the back 40. Yes, helping somebody out is good karma. Good karma I've got. A clean house I don't.
Cause my place looks like a hell hole. Seriously. I'm scared. There is stuff everywhere - waiting to be organized, waiting to be painted, waiting to be donated, sold, carted away, washed, dusted, hung, or just plain dealt with.
And, frankly, it's not really about being nice at this point. I'm not nice. I'm just helping you so that I don't have to go home and look at the hopeless, Sisyphean mess that is my humble abode. At this point, it just makes me want to cry big fat giant tears. And using your chores to deflect from my chores has just become unhealthy. I gotta stop.
So. 9/1 to 9/30. It's nose to the grind stone. It's all work and no play from sun up to sun down on every weekend day. I shall be a very dull girl. And don't try to tempt me with fun stuff either. No movies. Put down the beer. I am made of stone. I shall not break. I will not be moved. (Except for Tropic Thunder - call me.)
Cause my place looks like a hell hole. Seriously. I'm scared. There is stuff everywhere - waiting to be organized, waiting to be painted, waiting to be donated, sold, carted away, washed, dusted, hung, or just plain dealt with.
And, frankly, it's not really about being nice at this point. I'm not nice. I'm just helping you so that I don't have to go home and look at the hopeless, Sisyphean mess that is my humble abode. At this point, it just makes me want to cry big fat giant tears. And using your chores to deflect from my chores has just become unhealthy. I gotta stop.
So. 9/1 to 9/30. It's nose to the grind stone. It's all work and no play from sun up to sun down on every weekend day. I shall be a very dull girl. And don't try to tempt me with fun stuff either. No movies. Put down the beer. I am made of stone. I shall not break. I will not be moved. (Except for Tropic Thunder - call me.)
Monday, July 28, 2008
Well, hello, Zelda Rubinstein
You know I love going to the theater. Love the shows. But I can say without a doubt, I will never willingly go to a show at the downstairs stage at Theatre 3 again. Most uncomfortable.
The upstairs stage isn't giant, but there is some amount of distance between you and the actors. Plus my season tickets are a bit higher which gives even more space between you and the actors. The downstairs space is much smaller. I'd say that when the actors are downstage, there's no more than 15 feet between you and them. And the stage is just the floor of the room, while the seats are 3 rows set on risers. When they are standing and look out into the audience, they are looking you dead in the face.
It was like the TV looking back at you. Gah! The most totally Poltergeist-ish experience of my entire life. I kept expecting one of them to turn to me and start saying "Step into the liiiiiiighhht, Carol Anne!" Very disconcerting.
Frankly, I never want to interact with the people on stage. I don't want a comedian to ask me where I'm from. I don't want to be pulled in to join dancers at the Ren Faire. I don't want to pull a card from the deck. I don't do audience participation. But, I can say without a doubt that performers are, as a breed, sick bastards. Because I think they can smell the fear and dread on me. "I need a volunteer from the audience! You ma'am! Aw, she seems shy! Let's give her a hand . . ." Mother-f***er. Or if it's something where somebody has been told that they need to find a face in the audience to perform to, they'll laser on to me, and not break eye contact. Eeeek! I have no idea what to do in that situation. Do you smile? Look politely blank? Do you stare back? If you look away, is that rude? Freaks me out every time.
No more little stage venues for me. Just can't take the pressure.
The upstairs stage isn't giant, but there is some amount of distance between you and the actors. Plus my season tickets are a bit higher which gives even more space between you and the actors. The downstairs space is much smaller. I'd say that when the actors are downstage, there's no more than 15 feet between you and them. And the stage is just the floor of the room, while the seats are 3 rows set on risers. When they are standing and look out into the audience, they are looking you dead in the face.
It was like the TV looking back at you. Gah! The most totally Poltergeist-ish experience of my entire life. I kept expecting one of them to turn to me and start saying "Step into the liiiiiiighhht, Carol Anne!" Very disconcerting.
Frankly, I never want to interact with the people on stage. I don't want a comedian to ask me where I'm from. I don't want to be pulled in to join dancers at the Ren Faire. I don't want to pull a card from the deck. I don't do audience participation. But, I can say without a doubt that performers are, as a breed, sick bastards. Because I think they can smell the fear and dread on me. "I need a volunteer from the audience! You ma'am! Aw, she seems shy! Let's give her a hand . . ." Mother-f***er. Or if it's something where somebody has been told that they need to find a face in the audience to perform to, they'll laser on to me, and not break eye contact. Eeeek! I have no idea what to do in that situation. Do you smile? Look politely blank? Do you stare back? If you look away, is that rude? Freaks me out every time.
No more little stage venues for me. Just can't take the pressure.
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