Last night's show at The Comedy Studio was fine, except I didn't adjust the mic stand (which Rick Jenkins had graciously lowered--he's a very tall drink of water), and hence spent my set leaning into the mic.
I knew I was doing it, I wanted to stop, but I didn't have the mental fortitude to adjust the stand while talking--perhaps the comedic equivalent of walking and chewing gum--so decided to forge ahead, poor posture notwithstanding.
Just watched the DVD from the show, and my posture isn't as bad as I feared, but, of course, could be better. Mother would not be pleased, but I don't think anyone would notice. That much. Okay, except for my comedy buddy Jennifer. And any other comic watching.
To heck with them. That's my attitude at the moment, and I'm enjoying this fleeting fiestiness while it lasts. (It won't.)
The jokes got laughs, for the most part, so my mission was accomplished. And, it appears it was duly noted by Mr. Jenkins. It seems both yours truly and Jennifer will be invited back to the Studio on a regular basis. In a word: Woo!
That's something to write home about. And I would, if my parents were still living. Would be a little pointless now. Perhaps I'll write my Aunt and Uncle in Wisconsin, what's left of my father's generation in the homeland. They just sent me three pounds of coffee beans, for they know I'm job-hunting and probably want to help out somehow. Coffee is an unobtrusive, but oh-so-thoughtful way of saving a niece some money. Best of all, they remembered that Linda and I like the strong stuff, and that's what they sent.
Bless their hearts.
Thing is, I know they'll wonder what The Comedy business is going to come to, and I don't have an answer for them. At the moment it just seems the thing to do. What keeps me going: If the Universe gives you hints about doing something (i.e., standup), you do it, people tell you you're good at it and to keep doing it, and it seems to be getting progressively easier and enjoyable to do it, you'd keep doing it too, wouldn't you? Of course you would--wouldn't you?
I may just be trying to shorten my deathbed regrets phase, but then again, I am not exactly being deluged by offers from more "legitimate" opportunities, so what the hey.
That's my rationale du jour. Now, I must figure out what I'm doing at tonight's show, even though I have no idea how much time I have. Details, details.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Saturday, July 30, 2005
That went well...didn't it?
Overall, I think my interview yesterday went well, but it was one of those intense experiences that resists recollection, if you know what I mean. What I remember: Both of my interviewers seemed good, solid, decent people--which matters a lot--who are just being very, very careful as to who they bring into their company fold.
I get that, really and truly I do--when a company is as small as this one is, it can't afford deadwood. That comes later, when the organization is HUGE.
(Am I a little jaded after my decade-plus of covering corporate America? Well, yes, come to think of it, I am....)
I also have another little bit of work to do for them on Monday, which I hope will help my cause. It seems like a very good job that would actually entail using my brain on a regular basis for decent pay. The fact that it would also be a work-at-home job means a lot, too (especially after driving home in the thick of rush hour traffic yesterday....what misery!). They have one more candidate they need to interview, and then they'll make their decision. Here's hoping!
The best part is if they hire me, I won't have to worry about them finding out I'm gay--they know, people, they know. If my look isn't "clue" enough, the fact that they asked for an explanation of The Amazonian and I gave it to them is--and I looked carefully, and didn't see either person flinch when I said "lesbian," so at least that's out there. If it puts a kabosh on the deal, so be it. Their loss.
It's hanging over my head today that Tuesday I get my root canal repaired. It occured to me yesterday that not only am I at the age where one has root canals, I am at the age where one has root canals REDONE. This does not qualify as progress.
But tonight I have a show at The Comedy Studio, and that's today's focus. Have finally figured out exactly what will fit the 5-7 minute timeframe, so I'm ready. Am really looking forward to it, even if there's a tiny tremble of anxiety attached. Ah, what's life without a few tiny trembles? BORING, that's what.
I get that, really and truly I do--when a company is as small as this one is, it can't afford deadwood. That comes later, when the organization is HUGE.
(Am I a little jaded after my decade-plus of covering corporate America? Well, yes, come to think of it, I am....)
I also have another little bit of work to do for them on Monday, which I hope will help my cause. It seems like a very good job that would actually entail using my brain on a regular basis for decent pay. The fact that it would also be a work-at-home job means a lot, too (especially after driving home in the thick of rush hour traffic yesterday....what misery!). They have one more candidate they need to interview, and then they'll make their decision. Here's hoping!
The best part is if they hire me, I won't have to worry about them finding out I'm gay--they know, people, they know. If my look isn't "clue" enough, the fact that they asked for an explanation of The Amazonian and I gave it to them is--and I looked carefully, and didn't see either person flinch when I said "lesbian," so at least that's out there. If it puts a kabosh on the deal, so be it. Their loss.
It's hanging over my head today that Tuesday I get my root canal repaired. It occured to me yesterday that not only am I at the age where one has root canals, I am at the age where one has root canals REDONE. This does not qualify as progress.
But tonight I have a show at The Comedy Studio, and that's today's focus. Have finally figured out exactly what will fit the 5-7 minute timeframe, so I'm ready. Am really looking forward to it, even if there's a tiny tremble of anxiety attached. Ah, what's life without a few tiny trembles? BORING, that's what.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Well, I've had my morning workout...
Today is interview day, as well as take-Linus-to-the-groomer's day (Shwea's paw sprang a leak again last night, so she's sitting this one out).
Guess which one was more fraught? So far, getting Linus to the groomer's. While I was inside seeing if the coast was clear, he figured out why we were there. Being the manly man that he is (ie., allergic to soap), he rebelled. First, he hopped in the front (yes, driver's) seat of the car--always a bad sign. Next, he resisted getting out of the car, and then he absolutely fought going into the groomer's shop. Thanks to this dog, I will never have any trouble grasping the expression "digging in one's heels." He does it professionally--with all four of them. Very effective.
I have a choke chain (well, it's cloth, so as not to be as brutal as the metal varieties, or so I hope) for the purpose of overriding such rebellions, but today it was as ineffectual as Leave No Child Behind. It took three people--me and two groomers--to get him into the shop, and even that was a struggle. A man watching us even came by to offer his assistance, for heaven's sake.
The only good thing in all of the hubbub is that Linus never growled or showed his teeth. He may hate bathing, but he kept to the non-violent resistance route, and for that I will always be grateful. My not-so-little pacifist!
Now I need to get my professional work samples together, take a shower, and prepare to drive to my interview. After this morning's events, I'm feeling a little worn out, but calm.
Not a bad mindset for an interview, say I.
Now, if I could just figure out how to keep Shwea's paw from bleeding and shave 30 seconds off my set for The Studio tomorrow night, all would be swell.
There is, indeed, always something.
Guess which one was more fraught? So far, getting Linus to the groomer's. While I was inside seeing if the coast was clear, he figured out why we were there. Being the manly man that he is (ie., allergic to soap), he rebelled. First, he hopped in the front (yes, driver's) seat of the car--always a bad sign. Next, he resisted getting out of the car, and then he absolutely fought going into the groomer's shop. Thanks to this dog, I will never have any trouble grasping the expression "digging in one's heels." He does it professionally--with all four of them. Very effective.
I have a choke chain (well, it's cloth, so as not to be as brutal as the metal varieties, or so I hope) for the purpose of overriding such rebellions, but today it was as ineffectual as Leave No Child Behind. It took three people--me and two groomers--to get him into the shop, and even that was a struggle. A man watching us even came by to offer his assistance, for heaven's sake.
The only good thing in all of the hubbub is that Linus never growled or showed his teeth. He may hate bathing, but he kept to the non-violent resistance route, and for that I will always be grateful. My not-so-little pacifist!
Now I need to get my professional work samples together, take a shower, and prepare to drive to my interview. After this morning's events, I'm feeling a little worn out, but calm.
Not a bad mindset for an interview, say I.
Now, if I could just figure out how to keep Shwea's paw from bleeding and shave 30 seconds off my set for The Studio tomorrow night, all would be swell.
There is, indeed, always something.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Maybe the cheddar line should stand...
Just realized I've known I don't have the music in me for a while--I just re-realized it thanks to the e-mail.
Wonder how many times I've "realized" something in this blog (or heaven help me, elsewhere, where people pay attention), only to have realized it before. Maybe even more than once before.
Egads--that's just sad. Well, humbling, at the very least. And isn't being an "oops!", alcoholic, asthmatic, semi-employed, middle-aged, Midwestern, a miserable failure as a Peace Corps volunteer, and formerly Catholic enough humility for one lifetime?
Apparently not.
Was thinking about taking out the line in my set where I say I'm not the sharpest cheddar in the cheese haus, but I think the cheesehead still fits. So I'll wear it.
Wonder how many times I've "realized" something in this blog (or heaven help me, elsewhere, where people pay attention), only to have realized it before. Maybe even more than once before.
Egads--that's just sad. Well, humbling, at the very least. And isn't being an "oops!", alcoholic, asthmatic, semi-employed, middle-aged, Midwestern, a miserable failure as a Peace Corps volunteer, and formerly Catholic enough humility for one lifetime?
Apparently not.
Was thinking about taking out the line in my set where I say I'm not the sharpest cheddar in the cheese haus, but I think the cheesehead still fits. So I'll wear it.
Realizations and rumblings.
Did I already mention middle age is the time when one's illusions begin to crumble in earnest? (Yes, I did--middle age is also the time when one's memory gets spotty, sorry.) Received an e-mail reply from a couple of friends (who are also a couple) to a comment I made in relation to "Mad Hot Ballroom," in which I wrote of my wish to dance like the little darlin's in the film, but sadly: "This North Woods gal does not now, nor will she ever have, the music in her."
They found that line quite funny, which is the usual human reaction to the truth writ large, so there goes another illusion--though I like to think I have musical sensibilities (I did play clarinet and tenor sax for years, after all), it is widely recognized that I do not have the music. In me, that is.
Which may be different than being musical, this is true--I may be constitutionally incapable of doing a convincing rumba or salsa, but I can follow a tune, keep a beat, and beyond (if only in my mind, not my carcass).
Why this is bothering me today is hard to figure. The upside is that this all may be adapted for use in a future comedy routine--might be a good addition to an expanded bit on the life-affirming joy that isn't the Upper Midwest.
We are not a sultry people. We do not now, nor will we ever have, the music in us.
Needs work--the rule of three applies to all things--but there's something there, really and truly.
On other fronts, Linda's taken off the rest of the week, for we were supposed to be flying out to Las Vegas this weekend for a Peace Corps reunion. We cancelled because of my job situation, of course, and instead we're staying home--well, staying home and doing The Comedy.
Which, as substitute activities go, isn't that bad. It would be great to see the gang, but not while worrying about how the trip was reducing my financial breathing room. Going to Vegas with money worries is rather like going to Bourbon Street with a drinking problem. Or something.
Well, Linda's preparing to take Linus for a walk (Shwea's still on restricted duty), so close I must. Need to practice my set, and that needs to be done alone (but for a trusty dog).
They found that line quite funny, which is the usual human reaction to the truth writ large, so there goes another illusion--though I like to think I have musical sensibilities (I did play clarinet and tenor sax for years, after all), it is widely recognized that I do not have the music. In me, that is.
Which may be different than being musical, this is true--I may be constitutionally incapable of doing a convincing rumba or salsa, but I can follow a tune, keep a beat, and beyond (if only in my mind, not my carcass).
Why this is bothering me today is hard to figure. The upside is that this all may be adapted for use in a future comedy routine--might be a good addition to an expanded bit on the life-affirming joy that isn't the Upper Midwest.
We are not a sultry people. We do not now, nor will we ever have, the music in us.
Needs work--the rule of three applies to all things--but there's something there, really and truly.
On other fronts, Linda's taken off the rest of the week, for we were supposed to be flying out to Las Vegas this weekend for a Peace Corps reunion. We cancelled because of my job situation, of course, and instead we're staying home--well, staying home and doing The Comedy.
Which, as substitute activities go, isn't that bad. It would be great to see the gang, but not while worrying about how the trip was reducing my financial breathing room. Going to Vegas with money worries is rather like going to Bourbon Street with a drinking problem. Or something.
Well, Linda's preparing to take Linus for a walk (Shwea's still on restricted duty), so close I must. Need to practice my set, and that needs to be done alone (but for a trusty dog).
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Up in the air
I woke up at the first bell this morning (not after several of the only bars I frequent these days--snooze bars), for I had a rendez-vous at 7:30 a.m. at the cottage with a plumber.
My heart be still.
The plumber, however, was not quite as timely a fellow as I had expected, and didn't show up until 8:50 a.m. Puddin' head.
Yes, I could have slept another hour--or at least hit the snooze bar a number of times. Puddin'head-n-a-half!
While I waited, I cleaned the house and refilled the hummingbird feeder. Linda is of the firm belief that hummingbirds only like "fresh" sugar water, but I saw one dart up and drink repeatedly from water that was at least 10 days old. He (or was it she?) didn't seem to mind, but I had time to kill, so did my duty to the boids.
Also dismantled the garbage bin that the bears kept breaking into, even though it's empty. Do bears not have a good sense of smell, or do they just like to mess things up every so often, just to let you know they're there? Bears without a cause....
Returned to a call from the potential job person, who had some more for me to do. With her help, I created a couple of pie charts that weren't half bad--rather fun, that. (Sorry, just watched part of "Mrs. Dalloway," and all the British English stays with this one.) May even have an official interview with this group this Friday, though it's too soon to tell.
Sadly, the one job I thought I had a real shot at is no longer a target, so to speak. It sounded so cool: It was with a university, it entailed writing and editing, and not only that, three of my former colleagues wrote such glowing letters of recommendation on my behalf even I would have hired me on the spot (and I know what my weak points are!). It seemed perfect, but then the Fates intervened. In yesterday's mail, I learned that the university has suspended its search due to "budgetary constraints." So goes another prospect. Alas.
On the other hand, there is the interview possibility, I'm working on my sets for this weekend, and have already put together my first draft for the LGBT magazine. So I may not be a hot full-time employment prospect, I've got my charm in other sectors.
Unpaid sectors, but who am I to quibble?
My heart be still.
The plumber, however, was not quite as timely a fellow as I had expected, and didn't show up until 8:50 a.m. Puddin' head.
Yes, I could have slept another hour--or at least hit the snooze bar a number of times. Puddin'head-n-a-half!
While I waited, I cleaned the house and refilled the hummingbird feeder. Linda is of the firm belief that hummingbirds only like "fresh" sugar water, but I saw one dart up and drink repeatedly from water that was at least 10 days old. He (or was it she?) didn't seem to mind, but I had time to kill, so did my duty to the boids.
Also dismantled the garbage bin that the bears kept breaking into, even though it's empty. Do bears not have a good sense of smell, or do they just like to mess things up every so often, just to let you know they're there? Bears without a cause....
Returned to a call from the potential job person, who had some more for me to do. With her help, I created a couple of pie charts that weren't half bad--rather fun, that. (Sorry, just watched part of "Mrs. Dalloway," and all the British English stays with this one.) May even have an official interview with this group this Friday, though it's too soon to tell.
Sadly, the one job I thought I had a real shot at is no longer a target, so to speak. It sounded so cool: It was with a university, it entailed writing and editing, and not only that, three of my former colleagues wrote such glowing letters of recommendation on my behalf even I would have hired me on the spot (and I know what my weak points are!). It seemed perfect, but then the Fates intervened. In yesterday's mail, I learned that the university has suspended its search due to "budgetary constraints." So goes another prospect. Alas.
On the other hand, there is the interview possibility, I'm working on my sets for this weekend, and have already put together my first draft for the LGBT magazine. So I may not be a hot full-time employment prospect, I've got my charm in other sectors.
Unpaid sectors, but who am I to quibble?
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Turn the beat around....
Yesterday was all over the map, but mostly in the good parts. I did another freelance gig, but felt at sea for most of it--happily, the person in charge is an understanding sort, and sent me even more work to do today. In a word: Yay!
Secondly, I heard from a new GLBT magazine in Arizona that yes, indeed, they want me to write a humor column. Am hoping I can write funny enough for these folks, for they seem determined to do something great--and I'm all for that, especially where "family" is concerned. We deserve nothing less. And they're going to pay. Not a lot, mind you, but certainly more than I made in a year writing for the ill-fated Amazonian.
Third, I heard from someone in my alumni association who promised to forward my "Bucky's Not a Bigot!" design to the head of the outfit--the Big Cheese, if you will (sorry, that really was uncalled for, wasn't it?). I don't know what, if anything, will come of this, but it is gratifying that someone felt it was worth passing on to the Powers That Be.
And lastly, my Shwea is a pup with a new lease on life--she's so happy to be mobile again, she's practically laughing.
Happiness for everybody!
Now--and it comforts me to write this--I must get back to work.
Secondly, I heard from a new GLBT magazine in Arizona that yes, indeed, they want me to write a humor column. Am hoping I can write funny enough for these folks, for they seem determined to do something great--and I'm all for that, especially where "family" is concerned. We deserve nothing less. And they're going to pay. Not a lot, mind you, but certainly more than I made in a year writing for the ill-fated Amazonian.
Third, I heard from someone in my alumni association who promised to forward my "Bucky's Not a Bigot!" design to the head of the outfit--the Big Cheese, if you will (sorry, that really was uncalled for, wasn't it?). I don't know what, if anything, will come of this, but it is gratifying that someone felt it was worth passing on to the Powers That Be.
And lastly, my Shwea is a pup with a new lease on life--she's so happy to be mobile again, she's practically laughing.
Happiness for everybody!
Now--and it comforts me to write this--I must get back to work.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Shwea walks! Jennifer kills!
Yesterday was a day that started off awful but ended up great. While I was in Boston waiting for my sandwich, Linda called to tell me that Shwea, the unable-to-walk dog of the morning, was walking. Hooray! She still favors her leg a little, but nothing like she did yesterday. A miracle of science!! Hooray x 2!!
And my comedy buddy Jennifer Myszkowski did Western Mass proud last night--she killed at The Comedy Studio, and I think she was the best of the bunch. She certainly maintained the hilarity level throughout her set, which is more than most of the comics could do.
We also did a little post-show schmoozing, which was awkward, as it was very noisy in the bar and I didn't know most of the people there--and you know, I was feeling a bit drained by that time, having been up past my bedtime three nights in a row (the mind may be willing, but the body is having none of it). And I really didn't feel "part of" the post-show, for I hadn't performed. Yes, this gal can get self-conscious at the drop of a hat! (Keep wondering how old I have to be for this miserable shyness to fade away--am beginning to think "dead" is how old I'll have to be. Yup, dead.)
Anyway, I also found myself getting really anxious about next Saturday's show--I guess Rick (Jenkins, The Studio's fearless leader) telling me that Saturdays always sell out didn't help--and am going to prepare myself to the point where I will be nervous by choice, not because I'm unprepared.
Well, now I have some paid work to do, thank you very much (my freelance business is beginning to show signs of life), so off for more coffee I go.....
And my comedy buddy Jennifer Myszkowski did Western Mass proud last night--she killed at The Comedy Studio, and I think she was the best of the bunch. She certainly maintained the hilarity level throughout her set, which is more than most of the comics could do.
We also did a little post-show schmoozing, which was awkward, as it was very noisy in the bar and I didn't know most of the people there--and you know, I was feeling a bit drained by that time, having been up past my bedtime three nights in a row (the mind may be willing, but the body is having none of it). And I really didn't feel "part of" the post-show, for I hadn't performed. Yes, this gal can get self-conscious at the drop of a hat! (Keep wondering how old I have to be for this miserable shyness to fade away--am beginning to think "dead" is how old I'll have to be. Yup, dead.)
Anyway, I also found myself getting really anxious about next Saturday's show--I guess Rick (Jenkins, The Studio's fearless leader) telling me that Saturdays always sell out didn't help--and am going to prepare myself to the point where I will be nervous by choice, not because I'm unprepared.
Well, now I have some paid work to do, thank you very much (my freelance business is beginning to show signs of life), so off for more coffee I go.....
Sunday, July 24, 2005
What did Shwea do to deserve this?!
This morning, Shwea could not get out of (or, more accurately, off of) bed. Her back left leg was completely out of commission. When Linda and I foisted her off the bed, she collapsed.
We eventually got her outside, though her paw--on her other back leg--started to bleed again. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!
I gave her a Tylenol, as I been told to do by our vet in the past (see the wisdom of that below), and eventually, she was able to hop around and relieve herself.
That was a relief for us all.
Then I called the emergency vet, though this time it was a much more local (than Springfield) vet--just across the bridge, in Hadley. That vet told me that Tylenol is poison to dogs, and that I should only give my dogs aspirin from here on in.
(Will be calling my vet tomorrow to see why they suggested I poison my dogs, not to worry.)
Anyway, she was able to see us this morning at 10:00, and after a thorough examination, the vet said (if I'm recalling correctly) that the two most likely scenarios are (1) Shwea might have injured a ligament, or (2) Shwea is developing more severe arthritis. She gave us some pain meds (okay, they're just for the dogs--me, I could use a sedative, truth be told), and said if she doesn't stop tucking her bad leg up in three days' time, I need to bring her to her new vet for x-rays.
Yeah, that's just what the old semi-employment budget needs, but you know I'll do it. (Call me crazy, but I would sell my car to make sure my pups get the care they need.)
My goddess, for all the pain Shwea is in, she just hobbled into my office so she could be near her momma--how could anyone not respond to, much less reward, such devotion?
What a way to start a day, eh? Especially a day after a rather (for me) late night--I didn't get into bed until around 11:30, and since I got up around 6:00, I'm feeling a little cheated. Depleted, even. Perhaps a nap will be in order soon.
As for why I was up past my bedtime, it was so Jennifer and I could go to the open mic in Worcester, which was in a part of town that, well, the word seedy was meant for. The regulars were not what you'd call sophisticated comedy buffs, and they proceeded to play pool and talk loudly during the show, sometimes interrupting the comic (as happened to poor Jennifer, who was trying to time her set in prep for tonight's debut at The Comedy Studio, for heaven's sake).
Doing a set under those conditions is better than practicing in one's bathroom, but not by much. However, the comics were all very good-natured about it all, and we did all do our best to rise to the occasion and not take it personally. And the comic running the room was a good guy, so you know, we may be back there again--a comic in need of stage time is a desperate thing.
Tonight, happily, is not a desperate situation--we're heading to the hallowed Comedy Studio so Miss Jennifer can perform. I'm not on the slate, but am going along to offer moral support and to help make the drive less tedious--and she is returning the favor next week, bless her comic heart. It will be fun to just take in the atmosphere without the heart palpitations of knowing one will have to perform. Plus, this has been a pretty darn draining weekend, with two nights of comedy and lots of driving/riding in a row--not to mention the shock of a disabled furry love of my life.
Realized this morning (before the fur hit the fan) that I don't think I'd be able to do three nights of comedy in a row without having a lot of recovery time afterwards. Tonight I won't be in bed anytime near 11:30, so expect tomorrow to be more challenging than the usual Monday.
We shall see.....
We eventually got her outside, though her paw--on her other back leg--started to bleed again. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!
I gave her a Tylenol, as I been told to do by our vet in the past (see the wisdom of that below), and eventually, she was able to hop around and relieve herself.
That was a relief for us all.
Then I called the emergency vet, though this time it was a much more local (than Springfield) vet--just across the bridge, in Hadley. That vet told me that Tylenol is poison to dogs, and that I should only give my dogs aspirin from here on in.
(Will be calling my vet tomorrow to see why they suggested I poison my dogs, not to worry.)
Anyway, she was able to see us this morning at 10:00, and after a thorough examination, the vet said (if I'm recalling correctly) that the two most likely scenarios are (1) Shwea might have injured a ligament, or (2) Shwea is developing more severe arthritis. She gave us some pain meds (okay, they're just for the dogs--me, I could use a sedative, truth be told), and said if she doesn't stop tucking her bad leg up in three days' time, I need to bring her to her new vet for x-rays.
Yeah, that's just what the old semi-employment budget needs, but you know I'll do it. (Call me crazy, but I would sell my car to make sure my pups get the care they need.)
My goddess, for all the pain Shwea is in, she just hobbled into my office so she could be near her momma--how could anyone not respond to, much less reward, such devotion?
What a way to start a day, eh? Especially a day after a rather (for me) late night--I didn't get into bed until around 11:30, and since I got up around 6:00, I'm feeling a little cheated. Depleted, even. Perhaps a nap will be in order soon.
As for why I was up past my bedtime, it was so Jennifer and I could go to the open mic in Worcester, which was in a part of town that, well, the word seedy was meant for. The regulars were not what you'd call sophisticated comedy buffs, and they proceeded to play pool and talk loudly during the show, sometimes interrupting the comic (as happened to poor Jennifer, who was trying to time her set in prep for tonight's debut at The Comedy Studio, for heaven's sake).
Doing a set under those conditions is better than practicing in one's bathroom, but not by much. However, the comics were all very good-natured about it all, and we did all do our best to rise to the occasion and not take it personally. And the comic running the room was a good guy, so you know, we may be back there again--a comic in need of stage time is a desperate thing.
Tonight, happily, is not a desperate situation--we're heading to the hallowed Comedy Studio so Miss Jennifer can perform. I'm not on the slate, but am going along to offer moral support and to help make the drive less tedious--and she is returning the favor next week, bless her comic heart. It will be fun to just take in the atmosphere without the heart palpitations of knowing one will have to perform. Plus, this has been a pretty darn draining weekend, with two nights of comedy and lots of driving/riding in a row--not to mention the shock of a disabled furry love of my life.
Realized this morning (before the fur hit the fan) that I don't think I'd be able to do three nights of comedy in a row without having a lot of recovery time afterwards. Tonight I won't be in bed anytime near 11:30, so expect tomorrow to be more challenging than the usual Monday.
We shall see.....
Saturday, July 23, 2005
So much for my theory of the Elks...
It wasn't a truly bad show, it just wasn't very good--the crowd was thin and not entirely sure what to make of yours truly, the mic kept cutting out, and performance space was just weird. A lone snackbar chair in the middle of a linoleum expanse with track lighting.
Ah, experience.
The best part is I don't feel bad about it, just, "Oh well, it just wasn't my night." Am very pleased to be so sanguine about it, and am glad to not feel bruised today (that has happened in the past).
Oh, and the french fries (I'll save the sweet potato fries for another day) at the Wagon Wheel were the best I have ever had in my life--and I've had lots of fries in my day, let me tell you. The burger was burnt--and while I've managed to enjoy burnt burgers in my day as long as they were covered in lots of ketchup, lettuce, and tomato--this burger was burnt beyond the usual repair.
But I still ate it.
I don't know what that's about (Grandchild of the Depression Syndrome, perhaps? Hunger?), but my friend Holly, also a rather non-assertive Midwesterner, was moved to return her burger for a refund.
My goddess, I'm less assertive than another Midwesterner? That's like a few steps from spinelessness.
However, Holly's beau Dave also ate his whole burnt burger, and was going to eat the charred remains of Holly's if she wasn't going to return it, so I don't feel so bad. And Holly did announce, frequently, in case I missed it, that she was "In a mood." A mood in which you tell everyone exactly what you're thinking.
Yeah, so maybe she was a Midwesterner in a fleeting feisty phase (say that five times fast)--that may have been it.
So maybe I'm not as wimpy as all that; maybe I've just got a healthy appetite. Or? (Never mind, I know what you're thinking.)
As for the future, I'm off to Worcester tonight, to try out a "new" (well, for us) open mic with my comedy buddy Jennifer. Who knows what's ahead--a great new place to perform, a terrible new place to avoid like the plague, a new story? That's just a few of the possibilities--we shall see!
This a.m., I heard that Phyllis Diller, perhaps the first woman comic I ever saw (or was it Minnie Pearl? I can't remember--my earliest days are a blur), has an autobiography out. The title is something about being a lampshade in a whorehouse, and I can't wait to find out what that's about. She was on NPR this morning, and it was beyond good to hear her laugh--that laugh was the salvation of more than a few of her near-misses, but more often, the icing on top of her countless wonderful creations. Miss Diller's 88 and retired from the stage, but still coming up with priceless material: She told a joke about women with facelifts that I will cherish for a very long time--gives this relatively young comic all sorts of hope.
As for NPR, my hope is running thin--they did a piece this morning about a series of articles in a Kansas paper that tried to rebut "What's Wrong with Kansas?" the book that discusses the bizarre voting practices of people who ultimately have little to gain--and a lot to lose--from their picks.
Ah, the poor regressives were feeling picked upon, so they came up with a "Nothing's Wrong with Kansas" campaign, that focused on local talents like a woman who whistles, a guy who makes sourdough bread, and other contributing members of society.
Ah, people--what the hell does whistling have to do with picking representatives who send the Bill of Rights rights packing at the first signs of trouble? How does making good sourdough bread make it okay that your reps are sending your kids to die in a war that was based on lies and is a recruiting vehicle for terrorists worldwide? Where does "nothing wrong" square with your government's plans to hand big pieces of your Social Security over to financial institutions who may or may not handle it wisely? In fact, may leave you scrambling to make ends meet when you're least likely to be able to do so? Will the sourdough bread guy be there to feed you, when the time comes?
Oh dear, I'm in a mood myself. Didn't help that I ran into a friend at Dog Heaven this a.m. who is convinced the religious nuts--Christian and Muslim--are going to kill us all in a final, bloody war. She found out she might have diabetes and wasn't feeling exactly upbeat, shall we say, so I suggested she go see "Mad Hot Ballroom." It won't change the largely terrible state of the world, but it might just give her some hope.
And as long as we've got hope.....
Ah, I've got a set list to write (you're pardoned if you're relieved). Better quit pontificating and get typing.
Ah, experience.
The best part is I don't feel bad about it, just, "Oh well, it just wasn't my night." Am very pleased to be so sanguine about it, and am glad to not feel bruised today (that has happened in the past).
Oh, and the french fries (I'll save the sweet potato fries for another day) at the Wagon Wheel were the best I have ever had in my life--and I've had lots of fries in my day, let me tell you. The burger was burnt--and while I've managed to enjoy burnt burgers in my day as long as they were covered in lots of ketchup, lettuce, and tomato--this burger was burnt beyond the usual repair.
But I still ate it.
I don't know what that's about (Grandchild of the Depression Syndrome, perhaps? Hunger?), but my friend Holly, also a rather non-assertive Midwesterner, was moved to return her burger for a refund.
My goddess, I'm less assertive than another Midwesterner? That's like a few steps from spinelessness.
However, Holly's beau Dave also ate his whole burnt burger, and was going to eat the charred remains of Holly's if she wasn't going to return it, so I don't feel so bad. And Holly did announce, frequently, in case I missed it, that she was "In a mood." A mood in which you tell everyone exactly what you're thinking.
Yeah, so maybe she was a Midwesterner in a fleeting feisty phase (say that five times fast)--that may have been it.
So maybe I'm not as wimpy as all that; maybe I've just got a healthy appetite. Or? (Never mind, I know what you're thinking.)
As for the future, I'm off to Worcester tonight, to try out a "new" (well, for us) open mic with my comedy buddy Jennifer. Who knows what's ahead--a great new place to perform, a terrible new place to avoid like the plague, a new story? That's just a few of the possibilities--we shall see!
This a.m., I heard that Phyllis Diller, perhaps the first woman comic I ever saw (or was it Minnie Pearl? I can't remember--my earliest days are a blur), has an autobiography out. The title is something about being a lampshade in a whorehouse, and I can't wait to find out what that's about. She was on NPR this morning, and it was beyond good to hear her laugh--that laugh was the salvation of more than a few of her near-misses, but more often, the icing on top of her countless wonderful creations. Miss Diller's 88 and retired from the stage, but still coming up with priceless material: She told a joke about women with facelifts that I will cherish for a very long time--gives this relatively young comic all sorts of hope.
As for NPR, my hope is running thin--they did a piece this morning about a series of articles in a Kansas paper that tried to rebut "What's Wrong with Kansas?" the book that discusses the bizarre voting practices of people who ultimately have little to gain--and a lot to lose--from their picks.
Ah, the poor regressives were feeling picked upon, so they came up with a "Nothing's Wrong with Kansas" campaign, that focused on local talents like a woman who whistles, a guy who makes sourdough bread, and other contributing members of society.
Ah, people--what the hell does whistling have to do with picking representatives who send the Bill of Rights rights packing at the first signs of trouble? How does making good sourdough bread make it okay that your reps are sending your kids to die in a war that was based on lies and is a recruiting vehicle for terrorists worldwide? Where does "nothing wrong" square with your government's plans to hand big pieces of your Social Security over to financial institutions who may or may not handle it wisely? In fact, may leave you scrambling to make ends meet when you're least likely to be able to do so? Will the sourdough bread guy be there to feed you, when the time comes?
Oh dear, I'm in a mood myself. Didn't help that I ran into a friend at Dog Heaven this a.m. who is convinced the religious nuts--Christian and Muslim--are going to kill us all in a final, bloody war. She found out she might have diabetes and wasn't feeling exactly upbeat, shall we say, so I suggested she go see "Mad Hot Ballroom." It won't change the largely terrible state of the world, but it might just give her some hope.
And as long as we've got hope.....
Ah, I've got a set list to write (you're pardoned if you're relieved). Better quit pontificating and get typing.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Stop me before I blog again!
It's odd, it's a little more than a month since I was supposed to go visit my friends Ed and Martial in Palm Springs, but it wasn't until today that I really missed them and their odd, parched neck of the woods.
Maybe next year, eh?
ARRRRRRGH!
The phone interview, she is over. Thank goddess.
The job, she is probably--definitely--not for me (I was hearing "brush off" in the interviewer's sign-off; that may have just been her haste, but then again.....).
At least that's my immediate, post-interview stance. It sounded like a writing job, but it really is more of a marketing job.
A "self-funded" marketing job.
And we all know how I feel about marketers, don't we? (We don't?) Well, when I was in an MBA marketing program in the mid-1980s (it was a phase), a professor said, "Your paycheck is life's report card."
I was stunned. Disgusted. Aghast.
My classmates, however, thought it was the most inspirational thing they had ever heard.
In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if some of them had their grandmothers embroider a pillow with that sentiment, so they could keep that glorious phrase near them even during their leisure.
ARRRRRRGH, say I.
The job, she is probably--definitely--not for me (I was hearing "brush off" in the interviewer's sign-off; that may have just been her haste, but then again.....).
At least that's my immediate, post-interview stance. It sounded like a writing job, but it really is more of a marketing job.
A "self-funded" marketing job.
And we all know how I feel about marketers, don't we? (We don't?) Well, when I was in an MBA marketing program in the mid-1980s (it was a phase), a professor said, "Your paycheck is life's report card."
I was stunned. Disgusted. Aghast.
My classmates, however, thought it was the most inspirational thing they had ever heard.
In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if some of them had their grandmothers embroider a pillow with that sentiment, so they could keep that glorious phrase near them even during their leisure.
ARRRRRRGH, say I.
Dog paw, car cleaning, phone interview, comedy
How's that for a "list of things to do," eh? Took the bandage off Shwea's paw this morning, and while there's a spot that looks a little funky (and no, not the good funk), the pad isn't bleeding, and that's the main thing. I'm hoping a little air will do it good, and as Shwea is passed on out the floor beneath my desk, I don't think I have to worry about her opening it up somehow. At least until lunchtime (then all bets are off--she and Linus follow me around during lunch prep, hoping against hope that I'll drop something good, like a side o' beef).
The car must be cleaned today, for tonight I pick up Holly to go to the benefit in Gardner, and right now, my car is so full of dog hair it's like driving around in a cotton candy machine--without the spun sugar. Everyone leaves the car looking like they're wearing mohair, and that's just not right.
As for the phone interview, it's for a job that would entail a two-hour drive into the heart of darkness (aka Connecticut), and unless they're open to telecommuting, I don't stand a chance. The irony is they probably won't even consider a telecommuter for the job, even though they are consultants to an industry that regularly outsources its customer-facing departments half a world away without a thought. "Sure, we trust the people in India to do the right thing by our customers in Iowa, but you ink-stained wretches writing reports that nobody reads, we need to keep a close watch on you!" Ah, corporate America.
This afternoon, I get another freelance assignment from the company that was thinking of hiring me, but is now interviewing other candidates. Was it something I said? Did they "Google" me? There are a few not-terribly-flattering stories about me floating around on the Web that refuse to go away. They're from the end of my days as an embattled co-editor of a publication for the lesbian community, and they could make me look a little surly. (The publication didn't exactly go well, and I didn't exactly take it well, shall we say.) Worse, one hack decided to make it worse than it was in his treatment of our sad story, saying my co-editor was my life partner (no, he didn't fact check) and then after a few more mistaken interpretations chalked the whole thing up to the bitterness of dinosaur dykes (yeah, gotta love those gay boys who embrace their inner misogynist, don't you?). Ah, I'm getting agitated. Must stop writing about this now.
Lest you think this list too dreary, the day is topped off with The Comedy, and that makes all things if not bright and beautiful, at least a lot more bearable. I'm a little nervous about how the Elks will respond to my, shall we say, diverse brand of comedy, but yesterday I listened to my last Elks Club show, and it went pretty well. And those Elks were in Connecticut, which I think is a lot more tightly wound land than Massachusetts. We shall see.
As to The Comedy, my comedy buddy Jennifer summed up the beauty of the comedy buddy relationship here--if you're a comic or a fan of The Comedy, it's a must-read.
Oh, and I almost forgot--I also get to go to the famous Wagon Wheel restaurant tonight, which I have heard so many wonderful things about (specifically: great burgers and sweet potato fries). A more heavenly combination is hard to comprehend.
This is a day for the record books, people.
The car must be cleaned today, for tonight I pick up Holly to go to the benefit in Gardner, and right now, my car is so full of dog hair it's like driving around in a cotton candy machine--without the spun sugar. Everyone leaves the car looking like they're wearing mohair, and that's just not right.
As for the phone interview, it's for a job that would entail a two-hour drive into the heart of darkness (aka Connecticut), and unless they're open to telecommuting, I don't stand a chance. The irony is they probably won't even consider a telecommuter for the job, even though they are consultants to an industry that regularly outsources its customer-facing departments half a world away without a thought. "Sure, we trust the people in India to do the right thing by our customers in Iowa, but you ink-stained wretches writing reports that nobody reads, we need to keep a close watch on you!" Ah, corporate America.
This afternoon, I get another freelance assignment from the company that was thinking of hiring me, but is now interviewing other candidates. Was it something I said? Did they "Google" me? There are a few not-terribly-flattering stories about me floating around on the Web that refuse to go away. They're from the end of my days as an embattled co-editor of a publication for the lesbian community, and they could make me look a little surly. (The publication didn't exactly go well, and I didn't exactly take it well, shall we say.) Worse, one hack decided to make it worse than it was in his treatment of our sad story, saying my co-editor was my life partner (no, he didn't fact check) and then after a few more mistaken interpretations chalked the whole thing up to the bitterness of dinosaur dykes (yeah, gotta love those gay boys who embrace their inner misogynist, don't you?). Ah, I'm getting agitated. Must stop writing about this now.
Lest you think this list too dreary, the day is topped off with The Comedy, and that makes all things if not bright and beautiful, at least a lot more bearable. I'm a little nervous about how the Elks will respond to my, shall we say, diverse brand of comedy, but yesterday I listened to my last Elks Club show, and it went pretty well. And those Elks were in Connecticut, which I think is a lot more tightly wound land than Massachusetts. We shall see.
As to The Comedy, my comedy buddy Jennifer summed up the beauty of the comedy buddy relationship here--if you're a comic or a fan of The Comedy, it's a must-read.
Oh, and I almost forgot--I also get to go to the famous Wagon Wheel restaurant tonight, which I have heard so many wonderful things about (specifically: great burgers and sweet potato fries). A more heavenly combination is hard to comprehend.
This is a day for the record books, people.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Bucky's a bigot?!
Did I already rant about the fact that the University of Wisconsin, my (formerly) dear alma mater, doesn't offer domestic partnership benefits--in fact, it is the only Big Ten school not to do so? Yeah, you're right, I did.
This morning, while I was walking Linus (Shwea's bandaged up and on limited walk duty for a few days; more on this later), I was thinking about the situation anew (there was a cute story in the latest Advocate on how two UW lesbians hooked up, and it got me steaming about the uncoolness of the school's policy all over again), and I remembered the great T-shirts that were sold during the graduate student strike in the early '80s. They had a picture of a particularly fierce looking Bucky (Badger, the Wisconsin mascot), and underneath said "Strike Big Red!"
I wore that shirt so long, it fell to pieces in the wash. Was wondering what T-shirt design would work for this domestic partnership situation, and came up with the idea, "Bucky's Not a Bigot! Domestic partnership for all Badgers!" No, that's too long, isn't it? Maybe the "Bucky's Not a Bigot" line could go in front, under the Bucky picture, and the domestic partnership bit could go on the back.
Have to think about this. And since I have no work today, odds are good I'll have lots of time to do just that--and work on my sets for the weekend. "My sets"--that is a hoot to write, even though I think my Linda is wondering how she got mixed up with a comic. I'm going to be out Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, which officially makes her a Comedy Widow. Kind of a drag, I know, but I also know she supports my comedy big time--it's just the theory of support can be a little easier than the practice, especially on atypical weekends like this.
That paid gig I mentioned yesterday--it's not coming to pass. Good thing, I think, for it would have meant next weekend was another three-night Comedy Widow extravaganza for Linda, and we don't want to push our luck.
On other fronts, the vet thinks Shwea just scraped her paw jumping out of the car. What a delicate flower! I think I need to get a carpet remnant for the garage floor or toughen her up somehow. The vet also suggested Preparation H--it apparently helps cells regrow (don't want to dwell on how that works for its primary purpose, but that's what she said). So, we'll be dabbing that on her paw at bedtime--ah, the things we do for unconditional love.....
This morning, while I was walking Linus (Shwea's bandaged up and on limited walk duty for a few days; more on this later), I was thinking about the situation anew (there was a cute story in the latest Advocate on how two UW lesbians hooked up, and it got me steaming about the uncoolness of the school's policy all over again), and I remembered the great T-shirts that were sold during the graduate student strike in the early '80s. They had a picture of a particularly fierce looking Bucky (Badger, the Wisconsin mascot), and underneath said "Strike Big Red!"
I wore that shirt so long, it fell to pieces in the wash. Was wondering what T-shirt design would work for this domestic partnership situation, and came up with the idea, "Bucky's Not a Bigot! Domestic partnership for all Badgers!" No, that's too long, isn't it? Maybe the "Bucky's Not a Bigot" line could go in front, under the Bucky picture, and the domestic partnership bit could go on the back.
Have to think about this. And since I have no work today, odds are good I'll have lots of time to do just that--and work on my sets for the weekend. "My sets"--that is a hoot to write, even though I think my Linda is wondering how she got mixed up with a comic. I'm going to be out Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, which officially makes her a Comedy Widow. Kind of a drag, I know, but I also know she supports my comedy big time--it's just the theory of support can be a little easier than the practice, especially on atypical weekends like this.
That paid gig I mentioned yesterday--it's not coming to pass. Good thing, I think, for it would have meant next weekend was another three-night Comedy Widow extravaganza for Linda, and we don't want to push our luck.
On other fronts, the vet thinks Shwea just scraped her paw jumping out of the car. What a delicate flower! I think I need to get a carpet remnant for the garage floor or toughen her up somehow. The vet also suggested Preparation H--it apparently helps cells regrow (don't want to dwell on how that works for its primary purpose, but that's what she said). So, we'll be dabbing that on her paw at bedtime--ah, the things we do for unconditional love.....
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
"Wicked bummer," as we never said in Wisconsin
Well, I was feeling fairly upbeat this morning, for late yesterday afternoon I landed a phone interview (for a job that's two hours away, unfortunately--so it's probably another bit of interviewing practice) and woke up with a general feeling of well-being (that I spent about an hour in a church basement last night probably has more than a little to do with that, but I digress).
Then, Linda and I took the dogs for a walk this morning, and when we returned home Shwea jumped out of the car and was bleeding. Well, her paw--the one that was supposedly healed--was bleeding, and while it wasn't bleeding a lot (no geysers, I'm happy to report), it was bleeding enough for me to have to take her back to the vet's this morning.
That's just wrong, people--the Universe just needs to cut this dog a break. Me and my work situation will eventually iron ourselves out, but this paw problem with Shwea--she's my first dog, she's a big bundle of sweetness and fur--has me vexed. For heaven's sake, the dog needs to be able to take a walk without giving blood. Is that asking too much?
I've been to about six vets about this, maybe more, and I'm hoping that the vet we see this morning will be the one to finally get to the bottom of this. Wish us luck!
On other fronts, there's a chance I might get a paying comedy gig soon, but then again, there's a good chance I won't. It's nice to be asked, regardless--just like that job that's two hours away. I probably won't get it, but it gives me all sorts of hope to be interviewed.
We're living on hope, people. Soon, we'll be livin' on a prayer, but that's a shameless lift from my friend Jennifer, so close I must (before I pilfer again!).
Then, Linda and I took the dogs for a walk this morning, and when we returned home Shwea jumped out of the car and was bleeding. Well, her paw--the one that was supposedly healed--was bleeding, and while it wasn't bleeding a lot (no geysers, I'm happy to report), it was bleeding enough for me to have to take her back to the vet's this morning.
That's just wrong, people--the Universe just needs to cut this dog a break. Me and my work situation will eventually iron ourselves out, but this paw problem with Shwea--she's my first dog, she's a big bundle of sweetness and fur--has me vexed. For heaven's sake, the dog needs to be able to take a walk without giving blood. Is that asking too much?
I've been to about six vets about this, maybe more, and I'm hoping that the vet we see this morning will be the one to finally get to the bottom of this. Wish us luck!
On other fronts, there's a chance I might get a paying comedy gig soon, but then again, there's a good chance I won't. It's nice to be asked, regardless--just like that job that's two hours away. I probably won't get it, but it gives me all sorts of hope to be interviewed.
We're living on hope, people. Soon, we'll be livin' on a prayer, but that's a shameless lift from my friend Jennifer, so close I must (before I pilfer again!).
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
The cleaning lady is taking her sweet time
It's cleaning day, and I am having a hard time getting motivated to tackle this (overdue) job. Keep hoping another fragment of freelance work will come in from that editing job I thought I had a shot at--it appears to still be on the freelance course, with no word of a full-time position. Oh well.
Applied to some more jobs yesterday, and am looking at a job in Cambridge today--I know, I know, the commute would be a killer, but the job sounds so cool.
"Cool" jobs are few and far between, let me tell you--heck, all jobs are few and far between when you've landed in the purgatory known as ALMOST 20 YEARS OF EXPERIENCE.
I'm beginning to think that doesn't make me sound like a seasoned professional, rather it sounds like: Old, expensive, fussy, technologically inept, and a giant pain in the ass.
When if people would just have me on over for an interview, they could see that none of that applies--except, perhaps, for the old and/or expensive part. (But I'm getting less expensive every day; and for a 46-year-old, I'm remarkably lifelike.)
It's been three months since I learned of my job's (partial) demise and the end of work as I know it. Must admit I thought I would have landed something by now, but it's beginning to look like I am going to have to bide my time until the fall--and hope/pray things start to open up then.
What's most frustrating is that I can't even find TEMP work--that just seems wrong, somehow. The last nibble I had turned out to be "wrong for me" (the company found me overqualified for the job--but isn't that the nature of temp work for a lot of people?!), and now "my" rep is working on a gig that wouldn't start until the end of August. August?!
Wah, wah, wah, whine, whine, whine, kvetch, kvetch, kvetch--okay, I feel better now.
Elsewise, not much is shakin'--enjoyed the season finale of "The Scholar" last night, especially the testy exchanges among the college recruiters who were making the tough (make that nigh impossible) choice about who should win. The final three candidates were all good--great, even--though the guy was a little too intense for my liking--he seemed to be someone who could easily go over to the Unibomber side of the equation if life threw him a few too many curves.
Hope the show is renewed for next season, for cheesy and occasionally annoying as it could be, it puts a premium on education, community service, and playing well with others--values our country's current leaders don't share, to put it mildly.
Sigh.
Applied to some more jobs yesterday, and am looking at a job in Cambridge today--I know, I know, the commute would be a killer, but the job sounds so cool.
"Cool" jobs are few and far between, let me tell you--heck, all jobs are few and far between when you've landed in the purgatory known as ALMOST 20 YEARS OF EXPERIENCE.
I'm beginning to think that doesn't make me sound like a seasoned professional, rather it sounds like: Old, expensive, fussy, technologically inept, and a giant pain in the ass.
When if people would just have me on over for an interview, they could see that none of that applies--except, perhaps, for the old and/or expensive part. (But I'm getting less expensive every day; and for a 46-year-old, I'm remarkably lifelike.)
It's been three months since I learned of my job's (partial) demise and the end of work as I know it. Must admit I thought I would have landed something by now, but it's beginning to look like I am going to have to bide my time until the fall--and hope/pray things start to open up then.
What's most frustrating is that I can't even find TEMP work--that just seems wrong, somehow. The last nibble I had turned out to be "wrong for me" (the company found me overqualified for the job--but isn't that the nature of temp work for a lot of people?!), and now "my" rep is working on a gig that wouldn't start until the end of August. August?!
Wah, wah, wah, whine, whine, whine, kvetch, kvetch, kvetch--okay, I feel better now.
Elsewise, not much is shakin'--enjoyed the season finale of "The Scholar" last night, especially the testy exchanges among the college recruiters who were making the tough (make that nigh impossible) choice about who should win. The final three candidates were all good--great, even--though the guy was a little too intense for my liking--he seemed to be someone who could easily go over to the Unibomber side of the equation if life threw him a few too many curves.
Hope the show is renewed for next season, for cheesy and occasionally annoying as it could be, it puts a premium on education, community service, and playing well with others--values our country's current leaders don't share, to put it mildly.
Sigh.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Couldn't I just win the lottery or something?
I know, I know--it's bad enough our top-level government officials scorn the notion of "reality-based" information (much less truth-based governance), I can't afford to jump on the "Expecting a miracle any day now" bandwagon, too.
Just didn't realize what a charmed existence I was leading until recently--no worries of the financial sort, just the usual mix of existential dread and quiet hopes for a more meaningful existence, someday.... Well, someday is now--or perhaps it never will be, and I'm just telling myself I'm on the cusp of something fabulous so I won't stumble on the reality that I'm actually on a precipice where my finances are concerned and am thisclose to falling over the side.
A financial precipice isn't as scary as others I could be teetering on, and for that I am grateful. I don't think my mortal soul is in peril at the moment, for I'm feeling no desire to do anything that would threaten my sobriety (and for me, sobriety is the key to my soul, to put it mildly). It's key to everything, come to think of it.
The good news of the week is I have a benefit on Friday--true, it's at an Elk's Club, but hey, I get 15 minutes--and an open mic on Saturday. Sunday, I ride with Jennifer to Boston, where she gets her fabulous self on the stage of The Comedy Studio for the first (and certainly not the last) time. It will be a wonderful weekend of comedy, this I am counting on.
Now, if I could just find something useful to do with myself until then.....
Just didn't realize what a charmed existence I was leading until recently--no worries of the financial sort, just the usual mix of existential dread and quiet hopes for a more meaningful existence, someday.... Well, someday is now--or perhaps it never will be, and I'm just telling myself I'm on the cusp of something fabulous so I won't stumble on the reality that I'm actually on a precipice where my finances are concerned and am thisclose to falling over the side.
A financial precipice isn't as scary as others I could be teetering on, and for that I am grateful. I don't think my mortal soul is in peril at the moment, for I'm feeling no desire to do anything that would threaten my sobriety (and for me, sobriety is the key to my soul, to put it mildly). It's key to everything, come to think of it.
The good news of the week is I have a benefit on Friday--true, it's at an Elk's Club, but hey, I get 15 minutes--and an open mic on Saturday. Sunday, I ride with Jennifer to Boston, where she gets her fabulous self on the stage of The Comedy Studio for the first (and certainly not the last) time. It will be a wonderful weekend of comedy, this I am counting on.
Now, if I could just find something useful to do with myself until then.....
Friday, July 15, 2005
Wracked with ambivalence yet again
Well, there's still no definitive word on that job I was so hopeful was mine earlier this week. It now seems that the person who is hiring is trying to decide among a few fabulous candidates, for I was given another editing/writing job to do (happily, I'll get paid for this one), due Monday.
The good news is the job hasn't gone away completely; the bad news is the longer it takes to land, the less sure I am that I'm interested in it. In my experience, black and white, yes and no thinking can be done only on the quick; the grays start to emerge when one has time to ponder. And I've had enough time to ask myself, in all sincerity: Do I really want to learn all there is to learn about metals? The manufacturing sector? Inventories?
But another series of questions come to mind, too: Do I really want to pull my own weight financially? And is anyone else offering me a way to do just that? Is the temp job lady ever going to find me something??
Yup, here I am, strapped onto the ambivalence rack yet again, for the 3, 256th time in my life.
I spend more time here than anywhere, so you'd think I'd enjoy it by now, but no.
So, I'm going to go run an errand or two, then get on the rower, in the hopes it will help me see my way to some clarity on these questions. Or at least let me feel as though I've done something productive today, besides take an early-morning trip to the local recycling center.
The end of the week total of jobs applied for and whose status is unknown: 52. Number of jobs applied for and whose status is (sadly) known: 9. Number of jobs applied for and in the running for: 1.
The good news is the job hasn't gone away completely; the bad news is the longer it takes to land, the less sure I am that I'm interested in it. In my experience, black and white, yes and no thinking can be done only on the quick; the grays start to emerge when one has time to ponder. And I've had enough time to ask myself, in all sincerity: Do I really want to learn all there is to learn about metals? The manufacturing sector? Inventories?
But another series of questions come to mind, too: Do I really want to pull my own weight financially? And is anyone else offering me a way to do just that? Is the temp job lady ever going to find me something??
Yup, here I am, strapped onto the ambivalence rack yet again, for the 3, 256th time in my life.
I spend more time here than anywhere, so you'd think I'd enjoy it by now, but no.
So, I'm going to go run an errand or two, then get on the rower, in the hopes it will help me see my way to some clarity on these questions. Or at least let me feel as though I've done something productive today, besides take an early-morning trip to the local recycling center.
The end of the week total of jobs applied for and whose status is unknown: 52. Number of jobs applied for and whose status is (sadly) known: 9. Number of jobs applied for and in the running for: 1.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
"Today later," eh?
Thought I might be close to landing a job today, but am now beginning to wonder if I made it all up (yes, I'm ending a sentence with a preposition, and no, that's not a good indicator of why my job hunt has been for naught, you churlish beast).
The editing/writing test I took yesterday went well, apparently, but now I'm waiting for a follow-up interview/call that was supposed to happen "today later." That was the phrasing at 9:13 this morning, and this person is on the East Coast, so I'm wondering: Did I manage to say something stupidly job-costing in my last missive to this person, or did she just get busy (she was on deadline, after all, and I know how that is) and put the call/me off?
This job-hunting business is a crazy-making affair, let me tell you. It doesn't help that my initial excitement over the job prospect sent adrenalin coursing through my veins, adrenalin that has now worn off and its absence is making me want to take a little nap. Okay, a big nap.
But I know I won't sleep, wondering if the "today later" call is on its way. Harrumph!
I'm also wondering if the fates are arranging it so that the person calls just when the postman is delivering and/or the paperboy is making his appointed rounds. Then she'll get to hear the "hounds of heck" I listen to every day, which may make her think I work from my home, alright. My home in a kennel.
Otherwise, Shwea, Linus, and I had a fine walk this morning at Dog Heaven--Shwea's first in about two weeks. She has been flat out on the floor ever since--that's a sign of a dog walk well done.
So, I can't land jobs, but I can give my dogs a proper walk. One takes one's successes where one can....
The editing/writing test I took yesterday went well, apparently, but now I'm waiting for a follow-up interview/call that was supposed to happen "today later." That was the phrasing at 9:13 this morning, and this person is on the East Coast, so I'm wondering: Did I manage to say something stupidly job-costing in my last missive to this person, or did she just get busy (she was on deadline, after all, and I know how that is) and put the call/me off?
This job-hunting business is a crazy-making affair, let me tell you. It doesn't help that my initial excitement over the job prospect sent adrenalin coursing through my veins, adrenalin that has now worn off and its absence is making me want to take a little nap. Okay, a big nap.
But I know I won't sleep, wondering if the "today later" call is on its way. Harrumph!
I'm also wondering if the fates are arranging it so that the person calls just when the postman is delivering and/or the paperboy is making his appointed rounds. Then she'll get to hear the "hounds of heck" I listen to every day, which may make her think I work from my home, alright. My home in a kennel.
Otherwise, Shwea, Linus, and I had a fine walk this morning at Dog Heaven--Shwea's first in about two weeks. She has been flat out on the floor ever since--that's a sign of a dog walk well done.
So, I can't land jobs, but I can give my dogs a proper walk. One takes one's successes where one can....
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
My luck, she is holding....
This has been a bad news/bad news kind of day, which, come to think of it, is, as my dear friend Ed was once fond of saying, "Par for the course in my rotten life."
That said, Shwea is now without bandage, and that is good news for everyone in this house, anyway. Not to mention the mutt in question, who has a new lease on life.
Of course, she hasn't started her diet yet, so this new lease may expire at any time. She's a good 10 pounds overweight, her hips bother her on occasion, and so on and so forth, so we should do this for her, and I bought some pricey diet dog food from the vet today, so we likely will.
That I, too, could stand to lose about 10 pounds is another story altogether, and one I am not about to address while unemployed, okay? THERE IS ENOUGH STRESS HERE ALREADY, okay?
Otherwise, I applied for a job before we went to the vet and was summarily rejected by the time I got home. Well, at least they didn't keep me hangin', but jeez. That was fast.
And I'm in the process of taking the editing/writing test for the job I'm telling nobody (except Linda) about, and I gotta tell you, writing about the metals, it makes a girl want to put her head down on her desk.
But then, I want to put my head down on my desk a lot of days, particularly overcast ones, so perhaps I shouldn't hold the metals accountable?
Must go have some lunch and tackle the rest of the test, then send it off, secure in the belief that all things being equal, I don't stand a snowball's chance....
Or so recent history would suggest.
And no, there's been no word regarding the temp job, but let's not read too much into that (and the Magic 8 said it was possible, or something to that effect).
We shall see....
That said, Shwea is now without bandage, and that is good news for everyone in this house, anyway. Not to mention the mutt in question, who has a new lease on life.
Of course, she hasn't started her diet yet, so this new lease may expire at any time. She's a good 10 pounds overweight, her hips bother her on occasion, and so on and so forth, so we should do this for her, and I bought some pricey diet dog food from the vet today, so we likely will.
That I, too, could stand to lose about 10 pounds is another story altogether, and one I am not about to address while unemployed, okay? THERE IS ENOUGH STRESS HERE ALREADY, okay?
Otherwise, I applied for a job before we went to the vet and was summarily rejected by the time I got home. Well, at least they didn't keep me hangin', but jeez. That was fast.
And I'm in the process of taking the editing/writing test for the job I'm telling nobody (except Linda) about, and I gotta tell you, writing about the metals, it makes a girl want to put her head down on her desk.
But then, I want to put my head down on my desk a lot of days, particularly overcast ones, so perhaps I shouldn't hold the metals accountable?
Must go have some lunch and tackle the rest of the test, then send it off, secure in the belief that all things being equal, I don't stand a snowball's chance....
Or so recent history would suggest.
And no, there's been no word regarding the temp job, but let's not read too much into that (and the Magic 8 said it was possible, or something to that effect).
We shall see....
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Happy Day!
I finally met my deadline! Life is good, life has possibilities, life is--well, a relief.
Now, to celebrate, I'm going to go row for a little while, then I'm going to make some pasta with zucchini and beef. Yum!
Tomorrow is a biggie: I take Shwea in to get her staples removed, then I take an editing test for a prospective job I do not want to hex by discussing with anyone--not even you. Sorry. Then, I might have a job interview for a temp gig. Then again, I might not.
We shall see. My luck has not been exactly stellar of late, as you may have noticed, and I'm hoping a little superstition would do me good.
Don't think it can hurt.
Now, to celebrate, I'm going to go row for a little while, then I'm going to make some pasta with zucchini and beef. Yum!
Tomorrow is a biggie: I take Shwea in to get her staples removed, then I take an editing test for a prospective job I do not want to hex by discussing with anyone--not even you. Sorry. Then, I might have a job interview for a temp gig. Then again, I might not.
We shall see. My luck has not been exactly stellar of late, as you may have noticed, and I'm hoping a little superstition would do me good.
Don't think it can hurt.
Does this work for you?
The aforementioned auto dealer who put the wrong-sized tire on my car responded to my letter of complaint yesterday with an apology, a coupon for a free oil change, and four coupons for a free car wash.
Pretty good save, but still not satisfying. Problem is, the letter came from the guy who sold me the car (whom I have no problem with), not his brother, the service manager who so thoroughly fouled up the tire repair in the first place.
And the coupon was signed by a female relative, which leads me to wonder: Does this family protect its own, or what?
Unfortunately, they're not letting "their own" clean up their own messes, which, in my view, means such messes will continue unabated.
Am I being a Codependent No More hardass about this, or is this a legitimate concern? I know my subconscious isn't appeased, for I dreamt last night that I brought my car in to the dealer for a repair and they forgot to put the ceiling panel back in--so no, I'm not buying their apology, that much is plain. But still, I'm wondering if this is an example of:
"Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me," OR "Everyone deserves a second chance."
Or?
I think I'm still going elsewhere with my car.
On other fronts, I have a shot at another temp gig, and while it might be dull as ditchwater, it would be money coming in instead of just out--and that's the way I like it.
Haven't asked the Magic 8 about it yet, however. We shall see....
Pretty good save, but still not satisfying. Problem is, the letter came from the guy who sold me the car (whom I have no problem with), not his brother, the service manager who so thoroughly fouled up the tire repair in the first place.
And the coupon was signed by a female relative, which leads me to wonder: Does this family protect its own, or what?
Unfortunately, they're not letting "their own" clean up their own messes, which, in my view, means such messes will continue unabated.
Am I being a Codependent No More hardass about this, or is this a legitimate concern? I know my subconscious isn't appeased, for I dreamt last night that I brought my car in to the dealer for a repair and they forgot to put the ceiling panel back in--so no, I'm not buying their apology, that much is plain. But still, I'm wondering if this is an example of:
"Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me," OR "Everyone deserves a second chance."
Or?
I think I'm still going elsewhere with my car.
On other fronts, I have a shot at another temp gig, and while it might be dull as ditchwater, it would be money coming in instead of just out--and that's the way I like it.
Haven't asked the Magic 8 about it yet, however. We shall see....
Monday, July 11, 2005
Is this a pathetic pup, or what?
This is Shwea this morning, posing with her hot-pink bandage. Thought it would be festive, but I don't think it works. Oh well, we're off to see the vet on Wednesday, and perhaps she will soon be footloose and fancy free...or a lab mix equivalent.
On other fronts, I did finally figure out how to work my new DVD burner, though the fact that it requires another DVD burner to work really bothers me. And the fact that I bought a new PC and laptop earlier this year and could have easily ordered said burner had I really thought about my computing needs for a minute-and-a-half irritates me more.
But buying any big-ticket item sends me into a spasm of research and analysis that is so intense I'm lucky if I end up with ANYTHING, so I must cut myself some slack. And soon. Besides, I got the copy I needed to enter a comedy contest in plenty of time, so the crisis has passed.
Speaking of crises, it looks like I may actually finish my latest project, if not on time, reasonably so. Since I lost so much time last week to the Shwea emergency, I asked my editor for an extension and bless her heart, she gave me what I asked for--that is a wonderful thing.
Tonight, I'm taking two community college classes: How to Run a Home-Based Business, and Getting Yourself Published. Dunno what, if anything, I'll gain from this, but I think I will feel as though I'm doing something productive.
And that is a rare and wonderful thing, let me tell you.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
What the?!
Could someone please explain to me why the manufacturer of an external DVD drive would place the software for said drive on a DVD?
I mean, if I HAD A FREAKIN' DVD DRIVE, I WOULDN'T NEED TO BUY ONE, NOW WOULD I?
Or am I missing something here?
The good news is that when I spellchecked this entry, the folks at blogspot offered the term "foreskin" to replace "freakin."
I am also terribly amused when spellcheck suggests "homos" when I type "HMOs," so do consider the source.
I mean, if I HAD A FREAKIN' DVD DRIVE, I WOULDN'T NEED TO BUY ONE, NOW WOULD I?
Or am I missing something here?
The good news is that when I spellchecked this entry, the folks at blogspot offered the term "foreskin" to replace "freakin."
I am also terribly amused when spellcheck suggests "homos" when I type "HMOs," so do consider the source.
Oh my....
Didn't realize it at the time, but when I spoke to the father-and-son Jehovah's Witness team yesterday, not only was I wearing pink boxer shorts, I also was wearing a t-shirt that said, "You call me Dyke like that's a bad thing."
Oh well, I've always believed in truth in advertising....
Elsewise, we had a lovely dinner with friends in our house last night, perhaps the first such dinner in eons. Or at least months. It went so well, I'm hoping this means we will be doing it again, and soon.
Must go brave the mall--it appears I need to buy a DVD burner, and CompUSA is the place to buy it (it's the only computer store on the BuyBlue site, which I consult before every major purchase).
Am feeling up to this daunting task (I'm no shopper), for Linda and I just fixed the wood gate on the side of the house that has been irritating us for almost as long as we've owned said fence--and it took mere minutes! And absolutely no hurt feelings or unkind words were involved, either.
If we had known it was going to be that easy/painless, I think we would have tackled it sooner. Because no matter how much we love each other, we both get our testy on when doing home improvement jobs. Don't know why, but it's a pattern, and one that we didn't repeat today, oh happy day.
Oh well, I've always believed in truth in advertising....
Elsewise, we had a lovely dinner with friends in our house last night, perhaps the first such dinner in eons. Or at least months. It went so well, I'm hoping this means we will be doing it again, and soon.
Must go brave the mall--it appears I need to buy a DVD burner, and CompUSA is the place to buy it (it's the only computer store on the BuyBlue site, which I consult before every major purchase).
Am feeling up to this daunting task (I'm no shopper), for Linda and I just fixed the wood gate on the side of the house that has been irritating us for almost as long as we've owned said fence--and it took mere minutes! And absolutely no hurt feelings or unkind words were involved, either.
If we had known it was going to be that easy/painless, I think we would have tackled it sooner. Because no matter how much we love each other, we both get our testy on when doing home improvement jobs. Don't know why, but it's a pattern, and one that we didn't repeat today, oh happy day.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Jehovah's Witnesses, thoughtless employers, and hell, oh my!
A father-and-son Jehovah's Witnesses team came to the door late this morning, and as my mother did before me, I gave them a polite listen. She used to bring them in for coffee, but I am not my mother's daughter in all ways--besides, my mother didn't have two howling dogs to contend with, or a sweetie who would be content to urge said dogs to attack said Witnesses. Not that they would, but you see my point.
Further, unlike my mother, I couldn't help but ask about their position on homos, and they replied with the Bible-says-it's-wrong-so-it-must-be line.
Sigh.
I replied that passages of the Bible have also been used to support slavery (which I thought my impress my guests, as they were African American), the subjugation of women, and also goes so far as to support public stonings for adulterers.
In other words: Considering the source's myriad flaws, I'm not buying it.
Well, they weren't buying my views either, for the father promised to come back to clear up the "common misperceptions" regarding the Bible's views on women. He said nothing about the slavery and stoning bits, but I wanted to finish my breakfast so I shook their hands and wished them well, letting their foolish inconsistency pass. Sigh x 2.
I hadn't planned on contemplating the condition of my soul today, but the morning's visitors brought it on, so to speak. If I go to hell, and I know it's a distinct possibility, I feel it will be for a short while, for I have already endured hell on this Earth--mostly during my faux straight drunk girl phase, but also at the hands/words of homophobes. In other words, I can envision a scenario under which I die, approach the Pearly Gates, and am told by St. Peter, "Uh my, you were a naughty girl, weren't you? But you were a drunk, too, and eventually got on your feet--more ways than one, if you don't mind my saying."
"All things considered, you should go to hell for your sins in the first half of your life, but you did your level best the second, kept God in your thoughts just about every day, helped others, and did what you could to make amends and turn the other cheek, so let's call it a wash, shall we? Your sweetie, folks, friends, and dogs are waiting for you in Room 624--give 'em all my best, will you?"
Well, a girl can dream....
On other fronts, there's a possibility of another paid comedy show in my future, which is good news of no small sort, and I have an editing test next week for a job that would allow me to stay home and still make decent money working with people who love what they do--that sounds quite promising, no?
Promising is good, for another one of my "status reports" came back (from Brandeis) with the news that the job had already been filled. If I hadn't asked, they wouldn't have told--does that strike anyone else as rude? At least UMASS has been good enough to send a very kind "we're sorry" letter both times they knocked me out of the running.
Though I'm risking the label "OLD FOGEY," allow me to note the sorry state of etiquette in the corporate and collegiate sectors. In the age of e-mail, it doesn't have to cost a thing to let people down easy, but yet most employers don't bother.
Oh well. I'm examining other's flaws, not my own--another reason hell is a distinct possibility. Oops!
Further, unlike my mother, I couldn't help but ask about their position on homos, and they replied with the Bible-says-it's-wrong-so-it-must-be line.
Sigh.
I replied that passages of the Bible have also been used to support slavery (which I thought my impress my guests, as they were African American), the subjugation of women, and also goes so far as to support public stonings for adulterers.
In other words: Considering the source's myriad flaws, I'm not buying it.
Well, they weren't buying my views either, for the father promised to come back to clear up the "common misperceptions" regarding the Bible's views on women. He said nothing about the slavery and stoning bits, but I wanted to finish my breakfast so I shook their hands and wished them well, letting their foolish inconsistency pass. Sigh x 2.
I hadn't planned on contemplating the condition of my soul today, but the morning's visitors brought it on, so to speak. If I go to hell, and I know it's a distinct possibility, I feel it will be for a short while, for I have already endured hell on this Earth--mostly during my faux straight drunk girl phase, but also at the hands/words of homophobes. In other words, I can envision a scenario under which I die, approach the Pearly Gates, and am told by St. Peter, "Uh my, you were a naughty girl, weren't you? But you were a drunk, too, and eventually got on your feet--more ways than one, if you don't mind my saying."
"All things considered, you should go to hell for your sins in the first half of your life, but you did your level best the second, kept God in your thoughts just about every day, helped others, and did what you could to make amends and turn the other cheek, so let's call it a wash, shall we? Your sweetie, folks, friends, and dogs are waiting for you in Room 624--give 'em all my best, will you?"
Well, a girl can dream....
On other fronts, there's a possibility of another paid comedy show in my future, which is good news of no small sort, and I have an editing test next week for a job that would allow me to stay home and still make decent money working with people who love what they do--that sounds quite promising, no?
Promising is good, for another one of my "status reports" came back (from Brandeis) with the news that the job had already been filled. If I hadn't asked, they wouldn't have told--does that strike anyone else as rude? At least UMASS has been good enough to send a very kind "we're sorry" letter both times they knocked me out of the running.
Though I'm risking the label "OLD FOGEY," allow me to note the sorry state of etiquette in the corporate and collegiate sectors. In the age of e-mail, it doesn't have to cost a thing to let people down easy, but yet most employers don't bother.
Oh well. I'm examining other's flaws, not my own--another reason hell is a distinct possibility. Oops!
Friday, July 08, 2005
My days of "bouncing back" are behind me
When did I start to need more than one day to recover from one late night? When??
I used to be up till all hours of the night (or early morning, to be more precise) on a regular basis. What's worse, I would also be drinking heavily on these late nights, and still I would "recover" more quickly than I am so far from my Big Comedy Night Out in Cambridge. On Wednesday night, for heaven's sake.
Understood being less than perky yesterday, but I'm dragging my amorphous ass around again today, even though I got into bed at a (relatively) civil hour last night. Well, actually, if I'm honest with myself, I'm usually in bed well before last night's 11:30 landing, so perhaps that does have something to do with it. There were just SO MANY COMICS at Jennifer's show last night, we were all lucky to get out of there before midnight.
Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. Managed to get an okay set off last night (good thing, for friends showed up, and that was marvelous); that said, I think my body can't take much more comedy. At least not on top of my "day" job. Luckily, there is no more comedy for me for a while--not until the 22nd, if I'm reading my calendar correctly. And then, on the 24th, I go with Jennifer to Boston for her debut at The Comedy Studio, as a good comedy buddy should.
By then, I should be all better.
On the job front, I heard from two more places that I didn't get the job. One didn't surprise me; one hurt, if only a little. The one that hurt would have entailed a commute into the Boston area, and the more I think about that, the less I like it.
However, I also enjoy holding up my end of things here at home, so I may need to get over myself on this front. We shall see.
And, lastly, I bid a fond farewell to Pine Needles Coffee Emporium & Eatery in Marlborough, CT. Rumor has it they were purchased by Dunkin' Donuts, which, no doubt, will remove the fabulous moose decor. Hope they don't remove the tree from the middle of the shop, but you know how those corporate outfits are....
Had a few performances there, and remember most quite fondly.
Sigh.
But, I am seeing more comedy action on my horizon than I have in ages, so I guess all's not doom and gloom....
I used to be up till all hours of the night (or early morning, to be more precise) on a regular basis. What's worse, I would also be drinking heavily on these late nights, and still I would "recover" more quickly than I am so far from my Big Comedy Night Out in Cambridge. On Wednesday night, for heaven's sake.
Understood being less than perky yesterday, but I'm dragging my amorphous ass around again today, even though I got into bed at a (relatively) civil hour last night. Well, actually, if I'm honest with myself, I'm usually in bed well before last night's 11:30 landing, so perhaps that does have something to do with it. There were just SO MANY COMICS at Jennifer's show last night, we were all lucky to get out of there before midnight.
Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. Managed to get an okay set off last night (good thing, for friends showed up, and that was marvelous); that said, I think my body can't take much more comedy. At least not on top of my "day" job. Luckily, there is no more comedy for me for a while--not until the 22nd, if I'm reading my calendar correctly. And then, on the 24th, I go with Jennifer to Boston for her debut at The Comedy Studio, as a good comedy buddy should.
By then, I should be all better.
On the job front, I heard from two more places that I didn't get the job. One didn't surprise me; one hurt, if only a little. The one that hurt would have entailed a commute into the Boston area, and the more I think about that, the less I like it.
However, I also enjoy holding up my end of things here at home, so I may need to get over myself on this front. We shall see.
And, lastly, I bid a fond farewell to Pine Needles Coffee Emporium & Eatery in Marlborough, CT. Rumor has it they were purchased by Dunkin' Donuts, which, no doubt, will remove the fabulous moose decor. Hope they don't remove the tree from the middle of the shop, but you know how those corporate outfits are....
Had a few performances there, and remember most quite fondly.
Sigh.
But, I am seeing more comedy action on my horizon than I have in ages, so I guess all's not doom and gloom....
Thursday, July 07, 2005
More good news
Looks like our gal Shwea just needs to shed a few pounds (don't we all?) and toughen up a little (ditto). Well, her paws should be toughened by walking more sidewalks--that and a little weight loss might help reduce the Dramatic Cut Syndrome we go through each year. In sum: The vet thought her paw looked normal, and a biopsy and x-ray and so forth would show a whole lotta nothin' (my phrasing, not his). What a relief!
Oh, and as a friend of mine thought I should explain, Shwea is pronounced SHWEE-ah and is Arabic for "little bit" or "little." It's one of the few words I learned after living in Morocco for two years (yes, I should be ashamed of myself), for whenever anyone asked me if I spoke Arabic, my reply was typically, "Shwea." To break things up, I also replied, "Mashee bizeff" (MAH-she B'zeff), which means "not a lot," but that's no name for a dog.
Plus, look at that magnificent mutt--if she doesn't look like a Shwea, I don't know who does (and yes, I'd name an elephant "Tiny").
Success on The Comedy front!
Thank goddess, the show at The Comedy Studio went well--so well, in fact, I've been invited back to perform on a Saturday (July 30th, in case you're wondering). Happily, Rick Jenkins was much more affable in person than in e-mail, so a lot of my fears regarding last night were for naught.
So what else is new? Most, if not all, of my fears turn out to be for naught.
Not only that, I got a DVD of myself out of the deal, which I can send to comedy contests and such.
Last but not least, my comedy buddy Jennifer Myszkowski got herself a spot, too, on July 24th.
Let's hear it for the Western Mass Women Comics Association (no, there is no such thing)! Woo!
There's no way of knowing what, if anything, will come of all of this, but after all the professional rejection I've been up against lately, a little positive comedy feedback has been a tonic. I feel wonderful, even though I went to bed a little after 2:00 (to say that's past my bedtime is what they call a "masterpiece of understatement").
Today would have been perfect, if not for the horrible news out of London. My heart goes out to the people there, and I worry about my friends in NYC and other "target" cities. May goddess/God/HP/Whomever help us all.
Now, I must get back to work. There is a little matter of a deadline tomorrow, not to mention a dog with a disintegrating bandage who needs to see a vet in about an hour.
So what else is new? Most, if not all, of my fears turn out to be for naught.
Not only that, I got a DVD of myself out of the deal, which I can send to comedy contests and such.
Last but not least, my comedy buddy Jennifer Myszkowski got herself a spot, too, on July 24th.
Let's hear it for the Western Mass Women Comics Association (no, there is no such thing)! Woo!
There's no way of knowing what, if anything, will come of all of this, but after all the professional rejection I've been up against lately, a little positive comedy feedback has been a tonic. I feel wonderful, even though I went to bed a little after 2:00 (to say that's past my bedtime is what they call a "masterpiece of understatement").
Today would have been perfect, if not for the horrible news out of London. My heart goes out to the people there, and I worry about my friends in NYC and other "target" cities. May goddess/God/HP/Whomever help us all.
Now, I must get back to work. There is a little matter of a deadline tomorrow, not to mention a dog with a disintegrating bandage who needs to see a vet in about an hour.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
The show's the thing
It's been a day of taking care of business--show business, that is.
No, I've done "real" work, but I also sent a comedy calendar out to a small circle of friends and kind folks who expressed interest, then I ensured tonight's set is a tight five minutes. Last but not least, I washed the windows in my car, and filled up the window washer resevoir.
I'm ready as I'll ever be.
For Friday's deadline? Uh, well, we shall see. I also rescheduled the vet for Shwea, for I heard word of mouth on the vet I was planning to see put an end to that.
No "so-so" vets for my gal, no ma'am. We're seeing a highly-recommended vet tomorrow, and here's hoping this vet can get to the bottom of this paw business.
Last night, someone opined that Shwea might have to have her paw removed, and that possibility has been haunting me all day. Not that the person was a medical professional, but truth be told, I had a similar worst-case scenario fly into my brain once the word "biopsy" was suggested by the emergency vet.
Please let this just be me going into alarmist mode--I come from a long line of alarmists, and can't help myself. There is no situation so terrible that it can't be seen in an even worse light, at least that's been my training. Thanks, Mom.
We'll get a start on what's really going on tomorrow; until then, it's time to think comic thoughts, and perhaps put a little more work into what's left of my paying work.
And finish up that ice cream. I've never had stress that was immune to the restorative effect of ice cream, and I hope I never will.
No, I've done "real" work, but I also sent a comedy calendar out to a small circle of friends and kind folks who expressed interest, then I ensured tonight's set is a tight five minutes. Last but not least, I washed the windows in my car, and filled up the window washer resevoir.
I'm ready as I'll ever be.
For Friday's deadline? Uh, well, we shall see. I also rescheduled the vet for Shwea, for I heard word of mouth on the vet I was planning to see put an end to that.
No "so-so" vets for my gal, no ma'am. We're seeing a highly-recommended vet tomorrow, and here's hoping this vet can get to the bottom of this paw business.
Last night, someone opined that Shwea might have to have her paw removed, and that possibility has been haunting me all day. Not that the person was a medical professional, but truth be told, I had a similar worst-case scenario fly into my brain once the word "biopsy" was suggested by the emergency vet.
Please let this just be me going into alarmist mode--I come from a long line of alarmists, and can't help myself. There is no situation so terrible that it can't be seen in an even worse light, at least that's been my training. Thanks, Mom.
We'll get a start on what's really going on tomorrow; until then, it's time to think comic thoughts, and perhaps put a little more work into what's left of my paying work.
And finish up that ice cream. I've never had stress that was immune to the restorative effect of ice cream, and I hope I never will.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
The party? It was fabulous!
Almost forgot to note that despite spending five hours with distressed animals and their people, I had a fabulous time at the Fourth of July party my friends threw. They know a lot of warm, open people who have the rare gift of being able to talk to people they haven't known from birth.
Okay, that may be overstating it, but sometimes I find New England Hospitality a little on the chilly side.
Not yesterday, not at all. What a great way to end what had been a very distressing day.
Thank you Hilary and Amy!
Okay, that may be overstating it, but sometimes I find New England Hospitality a little on the chilly side.
Not yesterday, not at all. What a great way to end what had been a very distressing day.
Thank you Hilary and Amy!
The Magic 8 Ball called it....
This morning, I finally got the attention of a temp placement person (the woman I had been assigned to has been on vacation for two weeks--yes, my luck is remarkable on just about every front, isn't it?), and she got me all charged up about a temp possibility at Smith, the woman's college down the street. It sounded so very promising that I felt it was best not to get excited about it until it was definite. The rep said she'd call just as soon as she got the green light from the school to send me over. Glad I kept myself in check.
Not that I expected to be turned down, oh no--what in my recent experience would suggest that?
Actually, what kept me from celebrating the first good news I've had in a while was that I checked to see what the "Magic 8 Ball" that Linda gave me for my birthday thought. I asked, "Am I going to get the temp gig at Smith?" And it said, "All signs are NO."
Don't you smirk. The Magic 8 also called the Wimbledon final between Venus Williams and Lindsay Davenport for me (I couldn't take the stress of not knowing, nor could I bear watching the third set, so I asked the Ball). When I asked if Lindsay was going to win, it said "NO." And as any tennis fan would know, the Magic 8 was right.
Anyway, shortly after I asked the Ball what it thought, the temp placement person called me back, and her tone said it all: The student who had blown the job off was being given a second chance, so there went my sweet little summer gig, just as the Magic 8 called it.
Yes, I'm now turning to a toy for information. But seriously: Who could blame me, after getting almost no response to 50 job applications?
On other fronts, my dear dog Shwea wasn't able to see her vet today because he is in Germany. As I recall, he was in Jamaica the last time her paw sprung a leak, and I am beginning to see a pattern here. A pattern that has led me to make an appointment for tomorrow with another vet; here's hoping she'll be able to get to the bottom of what ails my dear first-born dog.
Otherwise, I'm slogging away on the work that's due on Friday, and trying not to worry about whether I'll get it done in time.
As is almost always the case, IT'S TOO SOON TO PANIC. Really.
Not that I expected to be turned down, oh no--what in my recent experience would suggest that?
Actually, what kept me from celebrating the first good news I've had in a while was that I checked to see what the "Magic 8 Ball" that Linda gave me for my birthday thought. I asked, "Am I going to get the temp gig at Smith?" And it said, "All signs are NO."
Don't you smirk. The Magic 8 also called the Wimbledon final between Venus Williams and Lindsay Davenport for me (I couldn't take the stress of not knowing, nor could I bear watching the third set, so I asked the Ball). When I asked if Lindsay was going to win, it said "NO." And as any tennis fan would know, the Magic 8 was right.
Anyway, shortly after I asked the Ball what it thought, the temp placement person called me back, and her tone said it all: The student who had blown the job off was being given a second chance, so there went my sweet little summer gig, just as the Magic 8 called it.
Yes, I'm now turning to a toy for information. But seriously: Who could blame me, after getting almost no response to 50 job applications?
On other fronts, my dear dog Shwea wasn't able to see her vet today because he is in Germany. As I recall, he was in Jamaica the last time her paw sprung a leak, and I am beginning to see a pattern here. A pattern that has led me to make an appointment for tomorrow with another vet; here's hoping she'll be able to get to the bottom of what ails my dear first-born dog.
Otherwise, I'm slogging away on the work that's due on Friday, and trying not to worry about whether I'll get it done in time.
As is almost always the case, IT'S TOO SOON TO PANIC. Really.
Monday, July 04, 2005
Happy Fourth!?
I cannot believe what a day this has been. Happily, there's a lot more to go, and perhaps I can turn this day around before it's too late.
Shwea's paw began bleeding (yes, again) this morning--well, bleeding isn't quite descriptive enough. Her paw began spurting.
If I was one of those "faint when seeing blood" types, I'd have been out cold since about 10:00 this morning. Instead, I wrapped her up as best I could, hoping we could stop the bleeding with pressure and such. However, she bled through two gauze bandages and a baggie in no time, and when she continued to spurt after I put another big bandage on, we decided it was time for the emergency room.
Shwea and I have been to this emergency vet before--in fact, I had typed up directions taped to my file cabinet just in case I had to go there again. Good thing, for I was on the road with Shwea by about 10:30 or so.
My goddess, the place was busy. How busy? We arrived around 11:15 or so, and it's now a little after 4:00--and we've been home about 30 minutes.
Shwea needs to see her regular vet ASAP this week, for the ER vet just put in staples and said there obviously is something causing this paw to keep opening up, so it's time for a biopsy. And perhaps an x-ray. And without knowing what exactly was wrong, I'm already shy about $240.00.
All while I'm marginally-to-almost unemployed.
But you know, things could be worse. While we were waiting, three families got the worst news a pet person could get--and one of the dogs was a German shepherd, like our Linus. The shepherd was 16, had cancer, and had been hit by a car, for haven't sake--they wheeled her in on a gurney, and I couldn't look at her. I knew I would start crying and I likely wouldn't stop.
While I am not against public displays of sadness, it seemed inappropriate, especially as the owner of the dog was so matter of fact about the dog's need to be put down. She could have been ordering Chinese food with the emotion she put into this decision. Her kids were taking it hard, according to her, but she seemed so detached, I wondered: Does having kids leave you with no resources for anything or anybody else? Did she lose so many dear people/animals in her life, she's hardened to the experience? Am I the wacko for being much more sympathetic to the elderly woman who was crying because her dear dog had to be put down and she was heartbroken, for she felt as close to the dog as to her children? (Her adult children nodded when she said that--and they didn't seem to mind, bless their hearts.)
Whatever. It was a hell of a way to spend a holiday, and I am supposed to go to a Fourth of July party within the hour.
Gotta turn the mood around, people. (And no, I don't do substances.)
Wish me luck (and Shwea, too, if you don't mind).
Shwea's paw began bleeding (yes, again) this morning--well, bleeding isn't quite descriptive enough. Her paw began spurting.
If I was one of those "faint when seeing blood" types, I'd have been out cold since about 10:00 this morning. Instead, I wrapped her up as best I could, hoping we could stop the bleeding with pressure and such. However, she bled through two gauze bandages and a baggie in no time, and when she continued to spurt after I put another big bandage on, we decided it was time for the emergency room.
Shwea and I have been to this emergency vet before--in fact, I had typed up directions taped to my file cabinet just in case I had to go there again. Good thing, for I was on the road with Shwea by about 10:30 or so.
My goddess, the place was busy. How busy? We arrived around 11:15 or so, and it's now a little after 4:00--and we've been home about 30 minutes.
Shwea needs to see her regular vet ASAP this week, for the ER vet just put in staples and said there obviously is something causing this paw to keep opening up, so it's time for a biopsy. And perhaps an x-ray. And without knowing what exactly was wrong, I'm already shy about $240.00.
All while I'm marginally-to-almost unemployed.
But you know, things could be worse. While we were waiting, three families got the worst news a pet person could get--and one of the dogs was a German shepherd, like our Linus. The shepherd was 16, had cancer, and had been hit by a car, for haven't sake--they wheeled her in on a gurney, and I couldn't look at her. I knew I would start crying and I likely wouldn't stop.
While I am not against public displays of sadness, it seemed inappropriate, especially as the owner of the dog was so matter of fact about the dog's need to be put down. She could have been ordering Chinese food with the emotion she put into this decision. Her kids were taking it hard, according to her, but she seemed so detached, I wondered: Does having kids leave you with no resources for anything or anybody else? Did she lose so many dear people/animals in her life, she's hardened to the experience? Am I the wacko for being much more sympathetic to the elderly woman who was crying because her dear dog had to be put down and she was heartbroken, for she felt as close to the dog as to her children? (Her adult children nodded when she said that--and they didn't seem to mind, bless their hearts.)
Whatever. It was a hell of a way to spend a holiday, and I am supposed to go to a Fourth of July party within the hour.
Gotta turn the mood around, people. (And no, I don't do substances.)
Wish me luck (and Shwea, too, if you don't mind).
Friday, July 01, 2005
Footloose and fancy free? I WISH!
I have some work to do, and am struggling with getting myself to buckle down and do it. Methinks it's residual animus from the Early Bird paycut my publisher inflicted on me last month, but it might just be pure, unmitigated sloth.
That's a family trait, can't do a thing about it. My mother was convinced we were a family of slugs, and even amused herself by coming up with a Podolske family motto that went something like this: "You can't wait till you feel like it." She even translated it into Latin, which went something like: "Non permissum est, vis faceri id."
(All Latin spellings and phrasings approximate--I've never studied Latin, and have had a lot of drinks/drugs since family mottos were a topic of regular discussion in my life, pardon me.)
So, here I sit, realizing I have lots to do, but absolutely no interest in doing any of it.
That said, I would really like a job to go to, and soon. During our vacation, I teased Linda for her need for structure (she can not just sit around and read, for example, she must have something to DO). It got so bad she announced that she was looking forward to going back to work.
Isn't that terrible?
Me, on the other hand, I love sitting around with nothing to do while on vacation, especially if a good book is handy. I am also content to pass out on the back screened-in porch, even if I wake up drooling to the sound of ice melting in my glass.
That's the mark of a successful holiday, say I.
But then, enough is enough. I've had my rest, had my lull, had my "free time," and now I want to work. I'd prefer to work somewhere nearby with nice people, but am beginning to think even somewhere far, far away with human barracuda would be preferable to this.
I know--I will regret thinking that, and am trying not to welcome that scenario. But I tried to do my visualization this morning, and the picture just wouldn't focus. Perhaps I'm visualizing the wrong thing--but please, dear goddess/God/Whomever, would you let me know what the right thing is, and soon?
Sadly, I need structure, too--thought I was more laissez-faire than all of that, but apparently I'm not.
Sometimes, I think middle age is designed primarily to ensure that all of one's youthful illusions are smashed to bits. Goddess knows I've have seen more than a few put out of their misery in recent months, and can't wait to see what little bit of disillusionment is coming up next. (And if you believe that....)
See, I need something to do, people, and I need it SOON!
That's a family trait, can't do a thing about it. My mother was convinced we were a family of slugs, and even amused herself by coming up with a Podolske family motto that went something like this: "You can't wait till you feel like it." She even translated it into Latin, which went something like: "Non permissum est, vis faceri id."
(All Latin spellings and phrasings approximate--I've never studied Latin, and have had a lot of drinks/drugs since family mottos were a topic of regular discussion in my life, pardon me.)
So, here I sit, realizing I have lots to do, but absolutely no interest in doing any of it.
That said, I would really like a job to go to, and soon. During our vacation, I teased Linda for her need for structure (she can not just sit around and read, for example, she must have something to DO). It got so bad she announced that she was looking forward to going back to work.
Isn't that terrible?
Me, on the other hand, I love sitting around with nothing to do while on vacation, especially if a good book is handy. I am also content to pass out on the back screened-in porch, even if I wake up drooling to the sound of ice melting in my glass.
That's the mark of a successful holiday, say I.
But then, enough is enough. I've had my rest, had my lull, had my "free time," and now I want to work. I'd prefer to work somewhere nearby with nice people, but am beginning to think even somewhere far, far away with human barracuda would be preferable to this.
I know--I will regret thinking that, and am trying not to welcome that scenario. But I tried to do my visualization this morning, and the picture just wouldn't focus. Perhaps I'm visualizing the wrong thing--but please, dear goddess/God/Whomever, would you let me know what the right thing is, and soon?
Sadly, I need structure, too--thought I was more laissez-faire than all of that, but apparently I'm not.
Sometimes, I think middle age is designed primarily to ensure that all of one's youthful illusions are smashed to bits. Goddess knows I've have seen more than a few put out of their misery in recent months, and can't wait to see what little bit of disillusionment is coming up next. (And if you believe that....)
See, I need something to do, people, and I need it SOON!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
