Where it all started

So, last night I went to another play. I know. It’s getting to be a little bit of a vice with me. But I did actually pay for these tickets. So I don’t have that free-ticket-hog guilt about it this time.

And the show was lovely. It was the Sarah Ruhl translation of Eurydice. And all the actors were good. Eurydice was cute and delicate in just the way I’d choose to be if I hadn’t decided to be strong and quirky instead. Orpheus was a nice looking fella, and a brave enough actor to choose to be slightly unlikable. The father was a foxy older gentleman, and my absolute favorite in the show. And Hades was creeeeeeepy as hell. And funny at the same time. Not an easy trick.

And I say the show was lovely. And I’m about 80% sure of that. Because the theater was in a basement that had giant pillars spread around, so that at least a third of the audience couldn’t see at least 20% of the show. In fact, I’m not at all sure what happened to Eurydice at the very end. I’m assuming that she threw herself into the Lethe. But given that it was entirely behind that damned column, she could as easily have strutted off the stage doing the can-can for all I know.

It all made me remember the experience that I had in high school that made me love going to the theater. It was at Arena Stage in D.C. They did a production of Tartuffe. With actual actors in the cast from the Comedie Francaise. I had no idea what it meant, but I was very impressed anyway. And it was all incredibly good. Until the end. When there was this horrible noise. And the walls started to shake. And tiles fell away from the walls all around us. Then the floor fell out in the shape of a cross. And the ceiling opened up. And a tall black man in a cassock came through the opening hanging out of a helicopter. And there was wind, and smoke, and flashing lights. And it was wonderful. Gasp. Applause, applause, applause. And that's what can happen when good actors have a good performance space (ahem, Undermain Theater).

Some people have an experience like that and it makes them want to be an actor or a playwright, or just somehow a part of the theater. Me, it made want to go to the theater, again and again, for the rest of my life, and be entertained. And I hope someday I’ll have that kind of experience again. It’s a lot to ask. But, as my Momma says, if you don’t ask, you don’t get.

Chicago Style

The more I see about the Illinois governor, the more I think of two specific things:

1. I keep thinking about that scene in the Untouchables where Robert Deniro as Capone has all the mafia guys around the table and demonstrates what happens to people in Chicago when they screw with the Boss. Except when I see the scene, it's Obama holding the baseball bat.

2. They elected a guy with this haircut? Mistake.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it

OK. So my genius streak continues. It's 9:30 last night. It has just finished sleeting. I realize that the temperature is still dropping, and I haven't wrapped up my outside faucet to make sure the pipes don't burst if we have a hard freeze. Crap.

First, I can't find the styrofoam dealy that my pops gave me, with stern warnings about the dangers of frozen pipes. So, I run around looking for a substitute. I find: an old towel, a plastic grocery bag, a piece of rope. Good to go.

I'm wearing my awesome Minnetonka indoor/outdoor, slip-on houseshoes, which are perfect for quick trips to the dumpster, and raids to the backyard to wrap imperiled faucets, that last mere seconds. I put on my serious weather coat, warm gloves, the ugliest hat I own, and I'm ready to do home protection.

I go out the sliding door, and pull it closed because, contrary to the rumor that my mother spreads, I'm not trying to heat the whole outdoors. And then watch as the slide bar falls into place. Oh, fuuuuuuuuudge. But I didn't say fudge.

I'm locked out. I looked at that slide bar when I moved in. Knowing full well that this very thing would happen, someday. It wasn't practically inevitable. It was inevitable. I just kind of hoped it would be in freezing temperatures.

I pushed the door a few times to see if I could bump it out of the way. I actually would have been appalled if it did. It's supposed to keep the door from sliding open. Just hopefully with me on the inside.

Of course, I have no keys, no wallet. Why would I take keys and a wallet to go into the backyard for 30 seconds?

Luckily, I know two things you don't know. One, I have a keypad front door lock. No keys necessary. But, you ask, what about the 6-foot fence. And I say: Two, a misspent youth as a tomboy has left me with mad fence climbing skills. That's right, baby. I shinnied up that fence and dropped on the other side like Barbara Felden in fake fur-lined houseshoes. And aside from the ice flakes that dropped in my collar, and the fear that my neighbors called the cops about the person breaking and un-entering my house, everything was just fine. (And the cops didn't show up. Neighborhood Watch my ass.)

I hurried back to the front door, got back inside the house, went back out the sliding door, carefully securing the slide bar, wrapped the faucet, and went back inside to shiver and call the person who gave me the keypad to say THANK YOU!

Freezing my tchotchkes off

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

It was a stupid mistake. And even stupider because it’s not the first time I’ve made it.

Yesterday they said there was a cold front coming that should have hit right after last night’s rain.

I woke up this morning to a rather warm day. Not summer warm. Fall warm. Light jacket warm. I thought, “Hmm. This isn’t as bad as they predicted” as I grabbed my beloved jean jacket (sartorial weapon of choice) on the way out the door.

Little did I know that the cold front that was supposed to be hard on the heels of the rain, said “Oh, no. You go on. I’ll catch up.” And stopped to have huevos rancheros somewhere between Albuquerque and Taos. I don’t fault the call. New Mexico makes some good heuvos.

But the cold lollygagged it’s way into town around lunchtime. And right now, it’s 33 degrees, with a wind chill that puts it at 26. Brrrrrrr. And me with only a jean jacket.

Makes my Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

It was a stupid mistake. And even stupider because it’s not the first time I’ve made it.

Yesterday they said there was a cold front coming that should have hit right after last night’s rain.

I woke up this morning to a rather warm day. Not summer warm. Fall warm. Light jacket warm. I thought, “Hmm. This isn’t as bad as they predicted” as I grabbed my beloved jean jacket (sartorial weapon of choice) on the way out the door.

Little did I know that the cold front that was supposed to be hard on the heels of the rain, said “Oh, no. You go on. I’ll catch up.” And stopped to have huevos rancheros somewhere between Albuquerque and Taos. I don’t fault the call. New Mexico makes some good heuvos.

But the cold lollygagged it’s way into town around lunchtime. And right now, it’s 33 degrees, with a wind chill that puts it at 26. Brrrrrrr. And me with only a jean jacket. Gives me the chillvers just thinking of it. When will I ever learn?????

You're not THAT cute

http://health.yahoo.com/experts/eatthis/21278/americas-worst-and-best-salads/

Fine, he's hot. But I'm still just really starting to hate this man. Doom and gloom. Doom and gloom. The sky is falling! The salads are fattening! Eat carrots dipped in wallpaper paste! Air has too many calories!

Nobody is that good looking.