"a strange fellow here" troilus and cressida: iii, iii

The All Children's Theatre, which I mentioned earlier, got some nice press in today's local paper. It's great to see such a nice write-up. The print edition had some nice other photos as well.

Things are coming together nicely for the Gala. I have my first rehearsal for the Empire Revue tomorrow evening after work. I actually got a little ahead on my schoolwork last night. It's been a pretty good couple of days from that standpoint. And it's finally feeling like fall. I think I might make a stew later this week. MMM MM good!

I was waiting for a bus this afternoon after class; I had changed into my street clothes and looked, I don't know, ok, I guess. And this dude walks by me, this young dude, like 22 maybe, and goes "Excuse me, miss, could I get your number?" ("Excuse me, miss"?! I guess at least he didn't say "ma'am".)

I just looked at him somewhat incredulously. He looked back at me with this almost shy look on his face, like he was really hoping this forthright approach would be effective. He goes "nah, you don't want to, huh." "No, not really." "Ok, have a good one." And he sauntered off.

I just don't understand what goes through people's heads sometimes.

"the play's the thing" hamlet: ii, ii

Here's a catalog of some of the interactions I've had in the last couple of days. They will appear, in an homage to my favorite person, V., in the form of short plays.

1. The Watchtower

Scene: The Kennedy Plaza outdoor bus terminal. Monday morning; commuters are starting to line up at their various boarding areas. A thirtyish woman dressed in chef's pants and a tshirt, Nicky, stands slightly apart from the other waiting people in her boarding area. She is on her cell phone to her mother, speaking quietly about something that seems important and emotional. Her words cannot be heard by those around her, but she is clearly on the phone.

An older woman, Serena, approaches. She is carrying leaflets and magazines.

SERENA (to Nicky): Would you like a copy of The Watchtower, dear?
NICKY (into her phone): Excuse me just a sec, Mom. (To Serena) I'm sorry, not now, I'm on the phone.

Nicky returns to her call. Serena's face, which has until now been a mask of pleasantness, twists into an ugly grimace.

SERENA (brandishing the magazine, agressively): Take it!!
NICKY (just as agressively): No, I don't want it!
SERENA (shaking the magazine at Nicky so that it hits her hand): TAKE IT!!
NICKY: NO! Not now! (moving away from Serena, who wanders off down the street, her face rearranged back to the pleasant expression) JESUS fucking CHRIST!! Fucking Jehovahs!!

BLACKOUT

2. Once You Pop ...

Scene: The bus into downtown Providence. Nicky, a thirtyish woman wearing chef's pants and a tshirt, sits along a rear bench seat. She has a few grocery bags with her; she's picked up a few things for supper after her long day at work, as well as a snack of potato chips.

The bus stops. A young man, Jeffrey, boards the bus and sits on the opposite side of the bench Nicky is on. He sprawls out and stretches his arm across the back of the seat; he is not, strictly speaking, encroaching on Nicky's personal space, but he's treading a fine line, considering he is a perfect stranger to her.

Nicky reaches into her shopping bag and pulls out her partially consumed potato chips, and pops a few into her mouth.

Jeffrey reaches over and taps Nicky on the shoulder; it's easy for him to do so since his hand is already up on her seat back.

JEFFREY (to Nicky): Yo, could I get some of those?
NICKY (taken aback): I-I'm sorry??
JEFFREY: Could I get some of those? (indicates the chips)
NICKY: Wwellll, there's not very much left .... (she trails off at this point, meaning to indicate that since there is not very much left, she doesn't intend to share any of it with seemingly well-nourished boys.)
JEFFREY: Oh, that's aiight; I'll just take the rest.
NICKY: (taken even more aback): I'm sorry??
JEFFREY: I'll just take the rest.
NICKY: (near spluttering in disbelief): Well, actually, no, I don't think you'll just take the rest because this is my snack and I'm hungry and I'm going to eat the rest!!

Mercifully, the bus pulls up to the stop at this point. The passengers all stand and begin to de-bus, Nicky among them, although she is still one stop away from her destination. She exits the bus, not looking behind her once.

BLACKOUT


3. Strangers in the Night

SCENE: The Mall. Friday night; the place is loaded with adolescents. They're loud, boistrous, obnoxious -- all the things that make a childless 30-year-old-woman sigh a breath of relief.

A thirtyish woman, Nicky, wearing a tank top and jeans, approaches the escalator. It can be admitted that she looks cute, but no cuter than usual. She just threw this outfit on quickly before leaving the house for a brief errand or two, which included the decidedly unglamorous tasks of buying running shorts and toilet paper.

As Nicky boards the escalator, a young man, Chris, probably no more than 20, boards behind her. They ride in silence for a moment.

CHRIS: (quietly) How YOU doin'?

He speaks so quietly, in fact, that Nicky assumes she is not the one being spoken to, and continues staring ahead.

CHRIS: (a little louder) I like your glasses, those are nice.

Nicky knows now that it is her he is speaking to, as she is wearing a pair of glasses that she regularly gets complimented on. However, she thinks it best not to encourage this young man, and continues to ignore him.

CHIRS: (definitely louder now) And your butt. I like that, too.

Enough is enough. Nicky turns to face Chris.

NICKY: (incredulously) Are you talking to ME??
CHIRS: (grinning sheepishly) Yeah!
NICKY: (even more incredulously) Do I KNOW you???
CHRIS: Yeah!
NICKY: No. You don't. You don't know me. That's not an appropriate way to speak to someone you don't know.
CHRIS: (backpedalling, in a slightly regretful tone) I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make friends.
NICKY: ...?....
CHRIS: ......
NICKY: Yeah, I don't think that's what you're trying to do.

Nicky turns back around and walks the rest of the way down the escalator, shaking her head in extreme disbelief.

BLACKOUT

"by'r lady, thirty years." romeo and juliet: i, v

Well I'll be damned if it isn't my 30th birthday in about an hour and a half.


What a strange (and usually wonderful) ride it's been so far.



....
Not, as you can see, a lot of blogging went on over the summer. It hasn't been a particularly interesting summer. There have been a few things I've wanted to write about but haven't yet ... I may yet still do so. School starts up in a couple weeks and no doubt I will want to procrastinate.

Tonight I was riding the bus with V. and there was a lady passed out drunk across from us. She was rather rotund and very well endowed in the chest, so that as she fell forward with the motion of the bus her face was flopping down right into her cleavage. HOT. I was seriously concerned that she was going to suffocate in her own boobs.

Last night I guess the kids were all back in town for college starting up, so there was all manner of nonsense going on downtown here. The nightclub next door was hopping with all the little striped-button-down-American-Eagle-shirt-and-frayed-bluejeans-wearing frat boys lining up, checking out the girls, who, at this point, are simply not putting on pants -- I can only assume for ease-of-access. I wish I was exaggerating, but I swear to you that I am not joking at all when I say I saw more than one girl wearing one of those stupid-looking tunic-style tank tops with no pants, just boy-short-style underwear, and wedge shoes. My soul shrunk a little.

So apparently I'm thirty and a cranky old person now. That's cool, at least I have an excuse for being cranky now.

"she was a vixen when she went to school" a midsummer night's dream: iii, ii

Today was a warm early spring day. Even now, as the afternoon wanes, the air is temperate and drivers are cruising the streets with their windows open, perhaps blasting a hip new tune. You know, like ..... Gangsta's Paradise??

Seriously, someone just drove by my house blasting that song! It's more than 10 years old! The kids in college now were 9 when it came out.

Just got back from class. All things being equal, it was about as good a day in class as I could hope for -- I was lucky enough to not have any trouble tempering either dark or milk chocolate and was able to get all my production done very efficiently. My products turned out pretty nice. A good day.

Now if I could just wave my wand and have the bathroom clean itself. *sigh*.

"contemplation of my travels" as you like it: iv, i

If one makes one's final approach to Hell on a city bus, I think I know what that bus would be like, for I just stepped off of it.

I'll back up.

In Colonial days, there were two major port cities in what is now Rhode Island: Providence and Newport (though they were probably like "Providenfe" and "Newporte"). If I'm not mistaken, Newport was the primary one, but then Providence built up and became the main port for the colony. Newport and Providence now remain as sort of sister cities in this smallest of the states. Newport is a big summer city, but in the winter, not much is going on there. So in the winter, young folks who attend one of the schools in Newport might find themselves wanting to come into Providence for some Friday night revelry, and they might find themselves on the 10:00 bus from Newport to Providence in order to do so.

And in fact, so did I find myself on this bus on this very evening. I picked it up about halfway between Newport and Providence in the town where my parents live, not really thinking that there would be many people on the bus because there usually aren't at night. But tonight this was not the case.

First of all, I knew things weren't going to go well before I even got on the bus. I'm standing in the rain at the bus stop, which was clearly marked and well lit, and I see the bus approaching. Fast. Like, really fast - like, easily 50mph. Too fast to stop for me with any amount of safety awareness. So I put up my hand and wave it to indicate "I'm here and would like to board your bus, please," and I don't see the bus slowing down any, so my hand waving becomes more and more animated until the point where I am waving my arm fully extended back and forth very rapidly in a "Hey! Hey!! HEYYY!!" kind of way. As the bus breezes past me, I see the brake lights finally go on, and fully a block past me, the bus rolls to a screeching halt. I jog the block down the road and board the bus, and before I can say "good evening" to the beleaguered driver, I am greeted by a wall of sound. The bus is packed -- packed -- with kids. I say "kids" -- they may have been 21 or so, since they were all clearly headed out to the bars; however, since I turned 29 maybe 21 is starting to look like 19. What? Why would I even type that out??

Anyway, the bus is packed, and there is one lone seat all the way at the back of the bus, on the bench that crosses the whole back wall of the bus. So I pick my way over all the feet that are sprawled out in the aisle and before I can reach my seat, the bus lurches forward again and I trip over someone's feet and up the aisle. Lemme tell ya, it felt like the middle school school bus all over again. Could I be any more uncool?

I finally make it back to my seat, nestled amongst a group of boys who are all wearing the college sophomore guy uniform: American Eagle striped button down shirt with a wife-beater underneath, revealed by the shirt being buttoned only 2/3 of the way; some kind of neck accessory (hemp necklace, fashion crucifix, dog tags); spiked hair (but not in the cute way); ratty-ass faded blue jeans; and pristine Nike shoes. These guys all also have the fashion accessory that marks them as underage: the Poland Spring water bottle filled with a liquid that is clearly not water. I have my iPod in, so I can't hear their whole conversation, but they get particularly animated at one point and I hear this exchange about being picky eaters (apparently they all are): First guy says "Dude, that's why I cook at home. I watch that Rachel Ray shit and cook all my shit at home." (The other guys look at him in silence for a minute.) Second guy goes "all I know is, I've never eaten an olive, and I've never eaten a mushroom, and I'm not going to."

There was another group of young men whose fashion choices I simply could not fathom: two of the young men seemed to be very conscious of hip-hop style in all their clothing items except that they were wearing these jackets that had these child-like cartoon drawings of woodland creatures on them. One of them had a white background and the other had a royal blue background but other than that they matched. These two guys also had matching do rags except in opposite colors. It was adorable, like they called each other as they were getting dressed.

Also, in watching each individual group of people, I noticed that every one of them at some point seemed to have a conversation about their shoe choices, as I saw them all looking at each other's shoes and pointing and comparing.

Meanwhile I think the bus is about to careen off the road; the driver is either trashed or just so keen to unload this rowdy group that he couldn't keep his foot off the pedal.

As I got off the bus at my stop, the lone other passenger who clearly wasn't affiliated with this group of late-night party-goers got up behind me, crashed into me as the bus screeched to a halt so that I nearly fell down the steps, and asked the driver "Is this the airport?" I left the bus before I could hear the bus driver's response, though I am sure it was something along the lines of "You've got a long way to go to the airport; you're not even on the right bus."

"i will resist such entertainment" the tempest: i, ii

I try not to be too high and mighty about this, but I've given up television. We don't have one at our house, and I rarely watch it anywhere else. Yes, I will watch it if it's on at someone else's house or if I'm housesitting or something. But my life no longer revolves around shows. At first it was a little strange, but I've gotten to the point now where I rarely miss it. Once in a while I'm bummed if I'm missing a Pats game, but I have class all day Sundays anyway now, so at this point I really don't miss it. All in all, getting rid of tv has freed me up not just in the sense that I'm not sitting in front of the tube, tied to a schedule there, but also in the sense that I have a lot more brainpower to devote to other things now (such, in my case, as they are).

I found this article disconcerting: TV for the Time-Pressed. Basically it's "if you only watch one show per night, these are the ones to hit." Again, I don't want to come off like I'm on a high horse, even though I know it probably will, but it just seems sad to me, the idea that even if you're time-pressed, one might feel as though at least a show must be watched. I mean, if you're short on time, wouldn't watching tv be a good thing to discard from the schedule? You could instead take a little "me-time," to think, or read, or just be, without stuff being fed into your brain. Maybe my attitude about this is similar to a phenomenon some former smokers have mentioned to me, where, after they quit smoking and were out of the first couple weeks, they got to a point where watching anyone else smoking made them mad. Anyway, I'm not trying to convert anyone, not really ... but I will say that I feel my mind working much more clearly now than it did when I was at my peak of tv-watching hours.

On another note, here's a little interchange I witnessed yesterday. I was boarding a bus from my school's campus that was heading downtown. There was a large group of undergrads all around me, waiting for their buses as well. As I was boarding, a young woman leaned up the stairs behind me and addressed the crotchety old angry bus driver:

Woman: (somewhat confrontationally) Does this go down to the Hospitality Campus?
Driver: (short-temperedly) What does the sign up there say? Huh?
Woman: (scornfully) Pssh! I don't know, I guess I can't read.
Driver: (with equal contempt) You're real smart, guess that's why you got to college.
Woman: (back turned, leaving) Pssshh!

and ... scene

"marvellous sweet music!" the tempest: iii, iii

I'm not going to be shy about admitting that I am a child of the 80s. I was born in the late 70s and my predominant childhood memories are all in the 80s. Since I wasn't a teenager in the 80s, my perception of being a teenager in the 80s was shaped by the movies and music and television that was all around me. My babysitters all watched MTV - yes, we were able to be transfixed even though "all they did" was play music videos. By the time the 90s had rolled around, I was already well into the world-weary preteen years, already looking back at what I thought was my wasted childhood and my inability to return to those halcyon days. The 80s were a simpler time, a time when technology still seemed to hold the keys to the future, when we could still say "cool!" when we saw a computer in someone's house, but it was the turning point, too, a time when somehow there was a balance between naive wonder at the world before us as well as a new understanding of the problems of our world, and how we as a generation would have to face them, and use the new tools at our disposal to try and make the world a better place. Even though every generation says this, it was a unique time that shaped my view of the world today.

(Oh, a side note before I continue. To the very sweet, very friendly, very young people that I seem to encounter a lot lately as the new school year gets in full swing: You are adorable. You are fresh-faced and naive, and your determination and upbeat attitude is refreshing to me. My only advice to you in dealing with folks of "my generation" -- who, let's face it, are really only about 8 to 12 years older than you -- is this. If you're going to ask my age, that's fine, I will answer gladly; I'm not one of those women who won't reveal her age. But when I reply gamely "Twenty-nine," try to avoid widening your eyes and saying "Wow!" It tends to be off-putting. And the half-hearted follow up of "you don't look twenty-nine" barely covers things. Just letting you know.)

Well, back to my original point. I'm a child of the 80s, and my perception of life has been shaped by that fact. So, it is with a little trepidation and a fair amount of embarrassment that I admit the following fact about myself: I often think in music montages. That's right, you know those scenes popularized in the teen flicks of the 80s where, to get the point across of some kind of dynamic action taking place over the course of time, the only sound is a catchy song with lyrics that barely tie into the plot and the scenes show the progression of action happening quickly so we can get to the happy denoument. Well. Sometimes - ok, a lot of times, and it happens even more now that I have an iPod - I'll be doing a very normal, everyday thing, such as laundry, and I'll imagine it all going down as a musical montage. As I pull up to the laundromat, the opening riff of Adam Ant's "Goody Two Shoes" will play in my head, and every mundane action as I do my wash will appear in my head as a cut shot in a montage set to that song. It's .... well, let's face it, it's a little pathetic.

The culprit for this disorder is one of two movies:

The Breakfast Club, "We Are Not Alone" (Karla DeVito). This one was key because it was about teens and high school, and I was very influenced by anything I thought older kids were doing. At first glance, this scene doesn't seem quite so much a montage as it is just a crappy dance scene, but it skyrockets into montage range when they do the cuts of different characters dancing on the railing. Highlights include Judd Nelson dry humping the sculpture, Molly Ringwald showing off her super-cool princess outfit as she dances on the landing, and Emilio Estevez playing air guitar in all his stonewashed-jean glory. These kids didn't have much in common, but crappy pseudo-rock brought them to new levels of understanding.

The Karate Kid, "You're the Best" (Joe Esposito). Possibly the gold standard by which all movie music montages must be judged. It has a lot going for it, from the clenched fist of approval from the Cobra Kai Sensai, to the twitchy-classic-jock-neck-cracking performed by the bleach blond Cobra Kai lackey before he enters the ring with Daniel-san, to Mr. Miyagi's passive onlooking, joined by a chipper Elizabeth Shue. What makes this montage so spectacular is that they show the match officials moving Daniel-san's name placard up and up on the tournament standings chart, to indicate him moving effortlessly through to the championships. Most important, they chose a song that really kicks it into the next level through the use of switching between major and minor keys, really building up the tension and getting you ready for the all-time classic Sweep-the-Leg Moment ("Put him in a body bag, yeah!") that follows shortly after. You can't beat this top-notch montage.

In any case, this problem is one I'm going to have to live with. So, fresh-faced youngsters, if you catch me bopping my head and singing to myself as I carry out an everyday task, just chalk it up to the fact that in my head, I'm living it up in the old days. Just try not to say "Wow."