"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.

"this is mere madness" hamlet: v, i

Here's how I know that I'm not quite right in the head all the time.

This morning I text messaged a friend I knew was dealing with something unpleasant. "How're you doing?" I texted.

About 5 minutes later I got a text message back:
"Fine thanks."

And rather than thinking to myself "Oh, good, she's 'fine thanks'," what I thought was "Is she mad at me? 'Fine thanks'? What does that mean? I think she's pissed at me for something. Did I say something wrong??"

I somehow managed to read into the phrase "Fine, thanks." In a text message.

But wait, it gets better:

So this afternoon, I texted someone else. I said "How about a movie tonight?"

Ten minutes later I received the following:
"Sure."

"'SURE'?!" I thought. "What have I done to make him mad?"

I don't know what answer I would have preferred. Maybe "yeah, that sounds fun" would have made me feel less insecure. But I don't know. There's a distinct possibility I would have read something into that too. "'That sounds fun?' I think he's being sarcastic!"

I'm going to go ahead and chalk it up to stress. I'm kind of behind on my homework for school this week, but besides that, I am working on a couple of projects for a benefit gala I'm on the planning comittee for, which I am, of course, behind on (this is me we're talking about here). In addition to that, I am also gearing up to stage manage a monthly show at AS220 called the Empire Revue, and as much as I am looking forward to it, I'm quite nervous as well. Plus I also just became a board member for the All Children's Theater, a group I was a member of all through middle and high school, and so I'm starting to think about all that that will entail. Not to mention that I need to start pulling something together for my school externship, and the fact that the holidays are fast approaching and I am going to get slammed at work here pretty soon.

All in all, I'm not that surprised that my mind is a little cuckoo right now.

Still. I see no need to read between the lines in text messages that are, let's face it, less than one line long. There's no "between" there.

This Australian PSA made me feel a lot better though:

"to hazard all our lives in one small boat!" king henry vi, part i: iv, vi

Auuugh I just find it hard to get on here and write much lately. There's always some kind of skullduggery going on at the bus stop or on the bus that I could write about, but after awhile, it just gets dull. Blah blah blah, agressive driver. Blah blah blah, disruptive passenger. All right, all right, we get it, there's wackos on the bus!!

What else is new. I've been taking a rowing class, which has been a lot of fun. The class is a gift I got from V. for my birthday. It's been a great experience and something I've wanted to try for quite a while. If you live in a town with a river where you can learn to row, I recommend it!! V. and I can't seem to help talking about "Oxford Blues" more these days though; that's an unexpected side effect of the activity. Go figure.

Oh, I don't want to forget to give a big shoutout to my sis down in ABQ who had a birthday and got engaged all in a 2 day span! Congratulations!!!

So, I've got class tomorrow so that's pretty awesome. Surprisingly, I've actually been keeping up with my work so far. It's like I'm a different person. I don't even know mySELF anymore. So it's 9:30 on a Saturday and my big plans for the evening involve 1) getting ready to go to bed and then 2) going to bed. Let's hope the scoundrels down on the street engaging in WaterFire revelry will cooperate and not be too boistrous as I attempt to sleep fitfully. Based on what I hear outside right now, things are not looking up for The Kid.


Meanwhile there is a giant fish-death happening here in Providence, I guess due to the drought we've been having. Apparently there's not enough oxygen in the water and so the fish are all just kicking the bucket left and right. This afternoon I watched probably 5 or 6 fish depart this world right before my eyes in the span of about 15 minutes, and there were dozens more floating belly-up all around them. It was a pretty depressing side note to an otherwise pleasant walk along the river. Oh, also, the super-creepy hot October weather (mid 80s!) put a bit of a damper on things. I don't think I've ever been uncomfortably warm wearing only a tank top and jeans in October before this year. Just FYI, if I see any birds flying North instead of South in the next week, I'm going to be packing a bag and heading for the hills.

"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

"cooling of the air with sighs" the tempest: i, ii

I feel like such a hypocrite right now.

I don't own a TV. I don't own a car. Blah blah blah, I eat organic and local. Pftthb. The fact is, I am sitting in my apartment, positively basking in the Central Air. It's a hot and hazy and humid day out there. And I'm not suffering. I'm sitting back, sipping on a nice cold Sanbitter, listening to the Pet Shop Boys and getting ready to prep for class tomorrow, and dammit, I'm enjoying the temperate room.

So freaking sue me.

"some say he's mad," macbeth: v, ii

I was walking home from work yesterday, and a dude riding a bicycle on the sidewalk came up behind me fast and yelled derisively "Look out, hippie!" Which, as anyone who knows me can attest, is an odd thing to call me, as I think I'm not really on the hippie end of the spectrum. I was wearing chef's pants, which maybe looked like something else to him (some kind of hippie pattern maybe?), but that's really all I can think of.

So we're in the new place, officially now. I mean, everything we own is in the new place. That's about the extent of it, though. It's pretty much a mattress and a bunch of still-packed boxes and us.

I'm kind of tired of nutcases. There, I said it. But then I think that I should be more compassionate; surely no one wants to be a nutcase. But there seem to be a lot more of them out and about now that the warm weather has arrived, and I have to confess that I sometimes just wish I could walk down the street without incident.

Yesterday on the bus in to work a dude was coughing (a lot) right behind me, and I could just tell from the lack of muffling that he wasn't covering his mouth. I was about to turn around and say something or at least shoot him a dirty look, but then he started mumbling to himself and it sounded kind of like he was speaking in tongues, so I decided to just ride it out. Sometimes better to let these things slide. Although in this day and age of douchebags knowingly traveling on public modes of transportation with TB, it's sort of a wash when it comes to personal safety.

"...POP..."! hamlet: v, ii

Finally, the flowers and leaves are starting to POP!!

Spring. I have a love-hate relationship with it. Because much of the time, if I really think about it, Spring is fairly shitty: rainy, raw, muddy. But days like today, the day the flowers POP, the day the air feels like a soothing bath, the day the sunshine is finally warm, the first day you smell that hot sidewalk smell mingled with that muddy earth smell and the smell of every plant and tree waking up and waving in the breeze .... it's just so fucking gorgeous.

Anyway, that day is today, and the fact is, nothing on a day like today can make me feel sad. Even though I was dealt a minor disappointment during the day today, my attitude was magically transformed from the usual "why me?" to the much more desireable "que sera, sera!"

I feel like I can handle anything on a day like today.

endeavour thyself to sleep twelfth night: iv, ii

This is the crappiest part of the week for me. I think. Actually I'm torn. It's one of two times: It's either 9pm on a Saturday night, when I am at home, trying futilely to settle down to sleep so I can get up at 5:30am for my all-day Sunday class. Or it's Monday at 7am, when I wake up and remember I have to go to work, and I haven't had a day off when you consider school and work since March 9 and won't be having one until April 8 (thank the gods for Easter, even though I don't observe it).

I shouldn't complain. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I mean, I'm taking advantage of an opportunity not everyone has, to go to school and learn a trade and a craft that I really enjoy. But I'm still fucking exhausted, and I'm tired of Saturday nights being such a bummer.

Oh well. Time marches on. Each word I type is that much less time I can spend in the throes of my once-a-week insomnia. The one night I really need to get to sleep is the one night I never can. I get too nervous that I won't wake up in time and so I can never fall asleep. It's pathological, really.

"varying in subjects" love's labour's lost: v, ii

What kind of sicko gets up at 5:15am when 6:00am would have done just as well? This kid, that's who. Why, I cannot say, except that I just get so anxious that I am not going to wake up in time that I never get to sleep very well at all. It's one trait that I truly can say I wouldn't miss in myself if it suddenly disappeared.

****

Conversation I overheard the other night waiting for a bus:

Young Aspiring Hippie Man #1: I couldn't believe how mad he was! And he was all up in my face, like, yelling about you, and I'm all, Dude, I'm not Jason!

Young Aspiring Hippie Man #2: Yeah he totally lost his shit, man, it was unreal.

Young Aspiring Hippie Woman: Wait, so who was that dude?

Young Aspiring Hippie Man #1: This fucking guy Noah, who's all, like bent out of shape.

Young Aspiring Hippie Woman: What was his deal?

Young Aspiring Hippie Man #2: He's just pissed that I threw a brick through his car back window when I was drunk the other night.

Huh. I just wanted to shake them, but I couldn't bear to get too close; they clearly hadn't showered in days.

****

I never buy US Magazine and then feel good about it. I bought one yesterday and I'm just not sure why. I actually used to read it all the time and derive glee from it, from reading about celebrity mishaps. But a few months ago, there was some smug cover story about a famous couple splitting up (maybe), and suddenly it just wasn't fun for me anymore. Yeah, they're famous, but they're still people, and heartbreak isn't something I should feel gleeful about. So what, someone famous made a poor decision in who they fell in love with -- I know plenty of non-famous people who do that, and I don't express pleasure when it happens to them. It was like a moment of clarity, a weird moment where I realized my worldview had shifted. Why did I buy it yesterday? It was a weird regression, I suddenly felt like I wanted to wallow in someone else's despair for a half hour. But it was a joyless wallowing, and now I feel like I should like, donate a pint of blood or something to make up for it.

Actually, I just donated blood a couple weeks ago. It was my first time donating in a mobile blood center, instead of at a center or in a school gymnasium. In the trailers, they have several cots that are all kind of facing each other, so you end up being able to see the other people who are donating. So I'm sitting on the cot, the technician does her thing, gets me started on the donation, and I sit there placidly making conversation for a few minutes. Meanwhile, this other lady comes in and gets started up. Well, she sits there looking at me with this like glint in her eye, and she's pumping her hand fairly furiously while her donation is going on. After several minutes, she takes a phone call from her son and berates him for not getting his homework done early enough. She hangs up the phone, looks down at her donation sac and then back at me, then goes "Ha! I'm totally beating you!" Uh, wahhh? I didn't realize this was a contest! I didn't realize the object here was to lose as much blood as quickly as possible here! Geez! So, yeah, she did beat me. The technician finishes her up, and she sits down for the minimum number of minutes, refusing the Lorna Dunes (Christ, that's the whole reason for donating! Oreos and cranberry juice!), and then swoops out of the trailer, with a sort of "See ya, suckas" attitude. I guess no one told her that there's no award for quickest donation. It was thoroughly bizarre.

"like a bold champion, i assume the lists" pericles, prince of tyre: i, i II

Do you snore?
I've been told once or twice that I was snoring, but not regularly, no. Apparently I do talk in my sleep. Nothing incriminating, I hope.
Are you a lover or a fighter?
A fighter. I wish I wasn't but I am.
What's your worst fear?
death by fire's a good one. I have so many fears, it's tough to pick my all time fave.
As a kid, were you a Lego Maniac?
Nah. I had Loc-Blocs at one point but never graduated to Legos. I was a big fan of the ol' scotch tape and paper bag type of crafts, not the building stuff.
What do you think of reality tv?
I hate it, and in fact hate almost all tv, which is why I gave it up.
Do you chew on your straws?
Sometimes.
Were you a cute baby?
My parents kept me, so I guess I was cute enough.
Is the single life for you?
No.
What color is your keyboard?
I dunno, it's like colorless. Grey? Generic? That reminds me when Ned Flanders asks his boys what kind of ice cream they want and one of them replies "flavorless!"
Do you sing in the shower?
Sometimes, when the Spirit is upon me.
Have you ever bungee jumped?
Nope. Can't see that happening.
Any secret talents?
Not any I'm willing to reveal here.
What's your ideal vacation spot?
The World.
Can you swim?
Yah.
Have you seen the movie Donnie Darko?
Yeah. It was good, but not like, life altering or anything.
Do you give a damn about the ozone?
Yeah I do. The earth will be fine either way, but I think we humans may be fucked.
How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?
A-one, a-two, a-thrrrreee!
Can you sing the alphabet backwards?
Why on earth would I know the answer to that? Why would I try? It's in order for a reason! (uh, and that reason is, uh, .... very important, I'm sure!)
Do you prefer electric or manual pencil sharpener?
I like the little ones that you just twist around the end of the pencil. Actually, I try to use mechanical pencils whenever I can.
What's your stand on hunting?
Wouldn't do it, don't mind if others do do it, if it's with respect and care for the animal and its environment.
Is marriage in your future?
Was this meme written by a 16 year old?
Do you like your handwriting?
No, my handwriting is an embarrassment.
What are you allergic to?
Nothing that I am aware of.
When was the last time you said, I love you?
About twenty minutes ago when I said good night to my dad.
Do you cry at weddings?
If I really know and like the participants, yes, but not just as a general rule.
How do you like your eggs?
I'll eat an omelet under great duress.
Are blondes dumb?
Some are. Some aren't. It's not a guy's fault if he's born with blonde hair, I won't hold it against him.
Where does the other sock end up?
Heh.
What time is it?
"A-four-thirty! It's not late - nah, nah! It's just early, early, early!" (the spin doctors.)
Do you have a nickname?
Not that anyone calls me in polite company. Oh, I used to be called Angry Nicky. I've chilled out some, though. I actually told someone I work with that I used to be called that and he flat-out called me a liar, he didn't believe me. So I punched him.
Is McDonalds disgusting?
Yeah. The fries are tempting but I try to avoid them; I never eat them and then think "yeah, I'm glad I ate that."
When was the last time you were in a car?
Like twenty minutes ago.
Do you prefer baths or showers?
Whatever, as long as the water is nice and hot, I get can get comfortable either way.
Is Santa Claus real?
Yes, Virginia.
Do you like to have your neck kissed?
Do I!
Are you afraid of the dark?
I must confess that I really still am.
What are you addicted to?
Caffeine.
Crunchy or creamy peanut butter?
Creamy. What, do you think I'm a communist??
Can you crack your neck?
No. That's gross.
Have you ever ridden in an ambulance?
No, thank goodness.
Is drug free the way to be?
For me it is. For you? Do whatever, I don't give a shit. (Unless you're my downstairs neighbor. Dude. Get help.)
Are you a heavy sleeper?
Yeah. More than anything, I'm a fast sleeper, in the sense that when I lay down, I rarely have to wait long before I am in a deep and dreamless sleep. That is one of the nice things about doing physical labor all day.
What color are your eyes?
brown-ish whatever.
Do you like your life?
Most of the time. Could use improvements in places, but all in all I have it pretty darn good.
Are you psychic?
Sometimes I think I might be a little. I sometimes can totally guess what the next song that comes up on my iPod will be!
Have you read Catcher in the Rye?
Yeah. That's funny I was actually just talking about CITR with my dad tonight.
Do you play any instruments?
I play men's souls like Billy Joel plays the piano.
Have you ever stolen money?
Probably the odd dollar here or there from around the house when I was a kid.
Can you snowboard?
I tried once. I did well for a while but when I got tired I turned into a cranky-pants.
Do you like camping?
Yeah I was practically born in a tent.
Do you snort when you laugh?
No, but I have that annoying kind of hiccup-y sounding laugh. I hate my laugh.
Do you believe in magic?
uh, sure.
Are dogs a man's best friend?
I am not really a dog person but I am sure there are some men for whom their dogs are their best friends.
Do you believe in divorce?
Only if it's with the right person.
Can you do the Moonwalk?
Boy, I wish I could! I WOULD USE THAT!!!!!!!
Do you make a lot of mistakes?
I think I think I make more than I actually make. But, yes. "Everyone makes mistakes," as that wise sage Big Bird once said.
Is it cold outside today?
Chilly. Kind of smells like snow, though I know it's too warm for it.
What was the last thing you ate?
A Magic Bar (hey, yeah, I DO believe in magic!!)
Do you wear nail polish?
Not allowed by health code.
How many people do you like right now?
You mean LIKE-like or just like? Or like, LIKE-like-like?
What's the most annoying tv commercial?
I am blissfully unaware of any tv commercials.
Do you shop at American Eagle?
Dude the sizes there are fucking ridiculous. I think I once saw a size 000 there.
Favorite song at the moment?
I've been really into Guillemots lately. "Made Up Love Song" is excellent.
Who are you tagging?
I'm not. This was a long-ass meme! I don't know anyone who has the same kind of free-time I do! But if you have free time and you want to self-tag, feel free!

"you taught me language; and my profit on't is, i know how to curse" the tempest: i, ii

So this is a pretty good quiz; it pegged me pretty darn well.
Take it yourself - it's kind of fun!

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Northeast   Judging by how you talk you are probably from north Jersey, New York City, Connecticut or Rhode Island. Chances are, if you are from New York City (and not those other places) people would probably be able to tell if they actually heard you speak.
Philadelphia
The Inland North
The Midland
The South
Boston
The West
North Central
What American accent do you have? Take More Quizzes

In other news, today I made my first wedding cake.



Yes, it's very small (two tiers, one 9 inches and the other 6 inches), and there's a couple of dents from when I transported it home, but it's mine, and I was happy with it. And my instructor gave me an "A", which, I hate to say, matters to me. I'm a grade hog. I get pissed if I get below an A or A- in any subject that I feel I should do well in. In other words, it's no problem to me if I skate by in pre-calc or chemistry. But if I get an 89 on a very difficult English test, I get super pissed at myself. I got a 4 on the AP English exam without taking the AP English course, so I took the test again the next year and got a 5 (at the time that was the highest you could get, I don't know if that's still true). I wish I had that kind of stick-to-it-tiveness (that might be my favorite dorky-ass made up word ever) in all walks of life. Ah, well. Life is a work in progress. To celebrate my A, I am going to treat myself to an eggnog latte.

"accept distracted thanks" troilus and cressida: v, ii

It's been an age since I last wrote; it's unacceptable, but in my defense this is one of my busiest times, between work and the trimester at school ending. However. I'm here now, and that's got to count for something.

I try to keep a healthy dose of perspective in my life (I really do), but I usually fail miserably. This time of year is a good time for me to take a few minutes to think about how, in the grand scheme of things, I'm pretty lucky. I won't make a "thanks list" here because my reasons are too personal, and frankly, too hokey, for public viewing, but for the most part it's all the stuff most people are thankful for. Although I'm not what anyone who owns a dictionary would call "religious," I do find that a sort of cosmic thankfulness does me some good when I get to the end of the day.

This year my feelings are a little ... I don't know .... I guess you would say unsettled, because a strange and horrible event happened earlier this week. A person I know, a guy I worked with, a guy I saw last Wednesday, was killed in his apartment on Friday night. The police are investigating it as a homicide; apparently he was stabbed in his own home. This wasn't a guy I knew really well; I happened to know his name because I heard him addressed, and I wouldn't be surprised if he did not know mine .... but it was a guy I saw a few times a week, with whom I always exchanged smiles and a pleasant hello. I won't pretend that I'm emotionally overwrought by this; it would be a lie to say my reaction was emotional when I got the news -- our relationship was very basic and no more than acquaintenceship. But I was disturbed, and, in a distanced way, saddened when I heard the news yesterday morning.

I didn't think about it much yesterday because there was a lot going on around me and in my own work that I needed to focus on, but this afternoon, I heard the managers discussing how his shifts were being covered. One of the managers was the guy who brought him into the job, his friend for the last few years, and it was clear that it was a difficult discussion for him to be having. I started thinking about this guy's family and what this Thanksgiving will be like for them, the seat that their 26-year-old son should have filled sitting empty.

It feels weird and selfish to use someone else's grave misfortune as a lens for my own life, but such is human nature, and I do find this horrible event making me more quick to forgive in my mind, both others and myself; more likely to appreciate small gestures; quicker with a smile for someone having a bad day. For me, the hereafter (if there is one) being uncertain, it seems crazy to put off being nice or taking pleasure in things. Life goes on, yes, work must be done, things will piss me off (this is me we're talking about here) -- but given that anybody, including me, could unwittingly make a fatal choice or fall into a fatal situation beyond one's control, at any time ... well, it's a cliche, but life's too short not to enjoy it. And I do, I feel thankful for the things that I have in my life, and the time that's been alotted to me so far, and the people in my life. I just have to take a few minutes and remember that thankfulness.

"know'st me not by my clothes?" cymbeline: iv, ii

Boy, I sure do love music. All kinds. I wish I could say I was a snob about it, but I'm not, not really. Which isn't to say I'll listen to anything, but there is a wide variety of music I'll listen to with gusto. I really do have a soundtrack in my head all the time. I can remember two Halloweens when I was growing up, I tried to rig up a way to actually have a soundtrack to accompany my stellar costumes. One year, I was "the Sugar Plum Fairy" -- not just any fairy, I was the Sugar Plum Fairy (mind you, I held on to this idea from the previous December when I saw The Nutcracker ballet for the first time). I was nervous that people wouldn't know, specifically, that I was the Sugar Plum Fairy based on my purple leotard, tutu, foil-covered wings, and beautiful makeup (the only time I got to wear lipstick at age 7) and wanted to carry the music with me to sort of clue people in. So I spent an afternoon with my Fisher Price tape recorder, sitting next to the stereo speakers in our living room playing the music from the Nutcracker record we had (this was early October, much to my mother's delight), and trying to record the music by holding the recorder up to the speaker. Trouble was, I'd get halfway through recording the darn thing, and someone would walk in and say something, or make a noise, or I'd drop the recorder, etc. Finally I got through one recording that had maybe only one interruption -- I'd have to just quickly make my appearance and skip away before anyone heard it, I reasoned -- and it was time for dinner so I called it a day, hoping for the best.

On Halloween night, in the excitement of putting on my costume, arguing about sweatshirt-wearing with Mom, getting my glow stick and jack-o-lantern treat pail all together, I forgot the damn tape player!! I didn't realize it until we approached the first house, and by then it was too late. We rang the bell, and the kindly older woman who answered the door oohh'ed at the sight of us in our glory, me as the Sugar Plum Fairy and my sister as ... I'm not sure, but I think she was an alien with a sparkly Star Trek-like outfit that might even have had lights on it. "Ooooh!" the woman cooed. "What do we have here? An astronaut! Annnd, let's see .... a ballerina!"

A ballerina!!! Oh, god, she totally missed it!! Without my music I was doomed to the anonymous, unoriginal role of Ballerina, no doubt one of hundreds who would pirrouette their way up these porch steps!! Crestfallen, I blurted out "NO! I'm the Sugar Plum Fairy!!!!!" The woman smiled condescendingly and said, "Happy Halloween, dear," as she dropped a pencil and a penny into each of our treat pails. Double whammy: incorrect costume identification, non-candy treat. Boo.

The very next year I was convinced that I would not be undone in the same fashion. Without my imagined cinematic entrance complete with the very important musical cues that would let people know exactly who I was, I was doomed to nondescriptness; I might as well just buy a costume at the store!

With the new year I had discovered the rock and roll music. In fact, when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up in a school assigment, I put down that I wanted to be either a "doctor for horses" (I knew what a vet was but associated them with cats and dogs and wanted to specify my [kind of snotty, I see now] association with horses, which came from the fact that my dad played arena polo) or a "punk rocker" (I wish I was making my third grade terminology up). Please understand, however, that my idea of punk was about as close to the Clash as Justin Timberlake. My understanding of, ahem, punk rockers was that they wore mis-matched clothing -- sometimes with rips in them! -- had a lot of earrings, all the way up the ear, and, most interestingly to me, multicolored hair. In other words, uh .... er ....

Ok. It was Cyndi Lauper (I spelled it Cindy Lopper). Yeah, not exactly ... you know ... Sid Vicious level punk rock.

So, that was my planned costume. This year, I had it even better, because at (again) the previous Christmas, my uncle (who had been, in his day, a, uh, "punk rocker" himself) had recorded a copy of "She's So Unusual" for me, so I already had my top-notch recording of the song "Girls Just Want to Have Fun." Now, all I needed was that awesome criss-cross haircut that she sported in the "Time After Time" video, dyed bright red!! Well, Mom nixed the cut, but did buy me some red spray-on color. Then, with my "punk rock" outfit (red boat-neck sweatshirt off one shoulder, red skirt, turquoise tights (no rips), red legwarmers), some "crazy" makeup thanks to Mom, I was ready. Oh, wait, one other thing. I decided Cindy Lopper had a pet, who was also punk rock, so I took my Koosa and dressed it up in a similar outfit, and pierced its ear, and drew makeup on the doll with magic markers. Now I was ready. This outfit, pet, red hair, and music would be sure to leave no doubt in any viewer's mind who I was. I was a veritable dead ringer, as surely Cindy Lopper arrived anywhere she went with her punk rock pet and her own music being blasted by one of her lackeys.

The problem that I didn't foresee was my mother's unwillingness to tote my tape player around. Weirdly enough, between the jackets she would be carrying for both me and my sister, the flashlight, and no doubt my Koosa as I got tired of carrying it, she didn't want the extra baggage. Huh, weird - she didn't want to be my stage manager. Go figure. Well, I didn't want to ruin the effect by carrying it around myself (not very punk rock to carry a Fisher Price tape player, even I knew that), and it was getting late -- soon all the good loot would be gone. And I didn't want to throw a fit, lest I be sent to bed with no trick or treating at all. So I surrendered the soundtrack for the second year, against my better judgement.

And at the first door, the kindly older man looked down and said "Oh! What do we have here now? Ahhh, a cheerleader!! Very nice." And dropped a penny into my treat pail. Double, double whammy.

"what revels are in hand?" a midsummer night's dream: v; i

*Sigh* It's never a good thing when I start yelling back at the radio on my way home from work. I won't get too much into what it was that made me yell at the innocent NPR reporter who was simply delivering the news that I found so abhorent -- in fact, insert your own yell-inducing topic if you like. But it got to the point where I was actually yelling - not in my head, but out loud, directing my gaze at the radio as if it could hear me and might heed my anger, changing the news it was telling me. Some people call it passion, others call it fucking bonkers. When I realized what I was doing, it felt like the latter. So I turned the channel and settled into the thrall of pre-programmed Corporate Radio, those fucking bastards. Oh, right, I forgot; I Have Opinions on that, too. I'm glad my work week is over; put it that way.

The upside of today was that there was a big crate of pumpkins outside the store today, which means it is almost time for my favorite holiday; you guessed it, Arbor Day.

Haha, no, no, of course I'm just kidding; everyone knows Arbor Day is in April. Of course I'm talking about Halloween. I. Love. Halloween. Sadly last year I did not get to "do" anything for Halloween because of work, but even on the years when I don't get to do anything, I still love it. I love the feeling of fall at that time, I like the first few weeks after we change the clocks and it gets dark early (I get tired of that pretty quick though). I like the feeling of Halloween being one of the last nights of outdoor revelry before we all hunker down into our homes for the winter. I'm a dork. I know it.

More than anything, though, I love the stuff that has to do with Halloween itself - the pumpkins on all the stoops, which, a day or two before the holiday, sprout glowing faces; the scarecrows in the yards, those all-out folks who build a whole horror story in their yards, and the costumes. Oh, the costumes!! I'll tell you something about my childhood - my birthday is at the end of August. With no real holidays between my birthday and Halloween, I would often spend the whole of September and October dreaming about, brainstorming for, and building my costume for Halloween. I never had anything super spectacular, but it was always well thought out and, well, my parents always said my costumes were neat. It was doing the work that was fun. Sometimes I would finish my costume well before Halloween and I would get bummed out, having to look at it wasting away in the corner of my bedroom, waiting for that one glorious night when it would get to shine!! And then it would all be over too quickly, one fleeting night, sometimes even so cold that the costume was obscured by the sweatshirt my mom would make me wear. Actually, after a while, I started thinking of costumes that would work well with a sweatshirt.

Recently, the most fun I had for Halloween was when my husband, one of our dear friends, and I decided to hit the town as the I-Don't-Care Bears. Instead of the warm and fuzzy Care Bears, with character names such as Cheer Bear, Friend Bear, Wish Bear, or Do Your Best Bear, we were their ne'er-do-well cousins: Boozy Bear (my husband), Druggie Bear (our friend), and Special Bear (me). Boozy Bear was all black, with a belly emblem of a variety of alcoholic beverages, realistically rendered with eye-popping detail on the martini's olive spear and the beer's foam. Druggie Bear was in all purple, with a belly including a syringe and a lifelike bag of a suspicious crystaline substance. As Special Bear, I was dressed in all yellow, and on my belly was a short school bus. The topper on my costume was the helmet I wore, with stickers on it proclaiming that "God made me special." No doubt I, if not the three of us collectively, are going to hell for that one.

Halloween: Best. Day. of. the. Year.