Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Giving credit where credit is due

I have not properly attributed a suggestion from a young(er) friend of mine, and hereby make amends: The source of the "patch-a-thon" idea below is none other than comedy buddy and coworker Jennifer Myszkowski.

Now, my conscience is clear.

Not much else to report, except it's looking like a lot of coworkers are coming to this weekend's "Girls x 3" show.

Oh glory.....

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Progress, indeed

This weekend was devoted to cleaning the house from stem to stern, which I just finished doing (except for one load of laundry), even though I started Saturday morning.

I have never set land-speed records, but when it comes to cleaning, I surprise myself at how long I take. Two days. For a ranch?

Of course, I didn't just dust and vacuum and tidy up the porcelain. I also walked and fed the dogs both days, took breaks for meals, and of course, stopped when the sun set--cleaning after sunset is something I've only done when I was moving out of an apartment and had to clean it before I fled. Or if company was coming and there was no way around it.

Well, company is coming (in the form of my brother and sister-in-law), but not until next Friday. Unless there's a hurricane or other major national disaster. My brother is in the disaster business now, and so he can plan, but God regularly takes his plans and pops 'em in the shredder.

But no matter what happens, my house is clean as it gets.

On other fronts, I spoke with a friend today who is dealing with the aftermath of a parent's death. She has a lot to contend with, but I can help with the grief part, for I remember well the fog that enveloped me the year after each parent's death. The fog lifts eventually, but the sadness never leaves. Not entirely. I miss my mother, I do. I still read things that she would enjoy, and am sad that she can't enjoy them. As maddening as she could be, I wish she were still here. Don't want you to think I don't also miss my dad. I am reminded of him every time I have a show in an Elks Club or see someone driving around with a car full of painting supplies with ladders on top.

But he isn't who I called when I saw something funny or maddening or wonderfully put. If he answered the phone, he would immediately hand it off to Mom. But he's not there to hand off the phone, and she's not there to take it from him, and that may be the proper order of things but that just stinks.

If there isn't an afterlife, I'm going to be so P.O.d. Of course, if there isn't, I won't have the ability to be P.O.'d, will I? (Such are the things that can keep me up nights, but nevermind....)

The only good thing about losing my parents is that I can be of comfort to other people who have lost parents.

One thing: This friend said that two months after the death of her parent, some people are suggesting she should be "over" it already. To this, I could only respond, "Tell them to go f*** themselves, and tell them I said so."

Now, I'm not one to drop the f-bomb unless there is no other word that will do, but anyone who would try to shame someone who is grieving deserves a verbal kick in the pants, if not a literal one. True, these people are likely uncomfortable with emotion or mortality or something that reflects the all-too-human resistance to unpleasant realities, but to suggest to someone who has lost a parent they should "snap out of it" in a matter of weeks has something broken inside. Badly broken.

It took me a year after each parent's death to get past feeling as though someone had hit me in the head with a 2 x 4. Two months?

Altogether now: What a Puddin'head.

Lastly, I dreamt of being in chemo last night with a grand group of women who I was apparently friends with, but I don't remember recognizing any of them. We were having quite a time trying on terrible wigs.

This dream is a combination of bad news I heard about a fellow dog nut in town and a documentary about the making of "Wig in a Box," a CD of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" songs that was a fundraiser for a high school for GLBT and questioning kids in NYC. I ordered the CD, in the hopes that might end the wig references in my dreams; as to what I can do for my sister in dog adoration, I don't know....

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Truer words....

My dear, departed mother, who could turn quite a phrase, often said, "Once you hit 40, it's patch, patch, patch."

Considering my recent spate of repairs, a friend of mine suggests I work on material regarding a "Patch-a-Thon."

My friend, you may have guessed, is younger than I am. My decrepitude is amusing as all heck to the whippersnapper, but to this ol' Dykesaurus? Phooey!

Seriously, I guess I don't really mind so much. Intimations of mortality are nothing new for this battered soul. But the old joke about how I would have taken better care of myself if I had known I was going to live this long has been occurring to me. Over and over again.

In the messy span that was my youth and young adulthood, I didn't expect to live much past 30. Today, I'm 17 years older than that.

Yeah, recovery is grand, but enduring--well, it can be a pain.

Let's review: I had a root canal in 2001 or so, only to have it fail last year. (Yes, the same year that I lost most of my job and was prescribed a colonoscopy, but let's not go there) I had a procedure that was supposed to fix said failure, but I learned just recently that it failed, too. So, the tooth has to come out.

Once six months have passed, I get to have an implant. There may be a joke in here someday, when I actually do get the implant and I can ask people if they can tell I've had some work done, but that may be pushing it.....

Now, my eyes have decided to slip quite a bit, enough so that I need "progressive" lenses. While I love the name, the reality is that the longer I wear them (I just got them today), the more tired and nauseous I become.

That's not progress.

Of course, this is supposed to pass--but then again, so am I!

Ah, there's always a bright spot, isn't there?

Actually, there is. I may be getting some time over at one of my favorite Boston-area clubs. There's nothing official to report, but there's hope.

And that is the best news I have. That and the fabulous "Girls, Girls, Girls!" is coming up on the 30th, and so are my brother and sister-in-law. Should be quite a show and quite a weekend.

But now, I must walk the beasts.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

I knew her when!

Am pleased as punch to report a good friend of mine from my art major days (UW-Milwaukee, 1977-1979), Kathryn Siegler, is having a major show at a gallery in San Francisco. She sent me the gallery's postcard heralding the event, and it described her and her work so beautifully, it made me think, "At last, somebody really gets her and her art."

Thrilling, that. Go here to get a look at examples of her "elegant and subtle strokes" that resonate with her "keen, dry sense of humor and straightforward Mid-Western tenet...."

It looks as though a number of her works have already sold, bless 'er heart.

Way to go, Daddy-o! (In case you're wondering, we had all sorts of names for each other back in the day.)

Working on the weekend?

Somehow, I am working this weekend. Now, I know that isn't right.

But then again, neither is underemployment.

Anyhoo, I was warned that this job entailed a work deluge in the late summer/early fall, and as it is late summer/early fall, I guess this is to be expected.

Still, it seems wrong. In a word: Harrumph!

Did get to watch some of the Open, though, and was happy to see Andy Roddick advance to the final. I missed yesterday's matches, which was for the best. Justine Henin-Hardenne (she who I would not trust with a wooden nickle) and Maria Sharapova (she who is pretty, but has eyes that betray a killer lurking within) advanced, which means that Amelie Mauresmo (she who may have to allow talk of her "nerves" again) lost.

Merde.

Brought our "boy" Linus to the vet today, for he has been licking up a storm. We worried about all sorts of scenarios, but our vet's best guess is that he has allergies. Apparently, September's ragweed wreaks havoc on the canine set, and our dear son may be among the afflicted.

Just like his two mommies. Poor duck.

Lastly, to report on Thursday night's open mic seems silly, as it was a dud. Not an enormous dud, but more of a quiet dud. For most of us, I fear. The audience seemed tentative--no, maybe that was me--and it just never quite got going....or something. Even Jennifer (she who can usually rally the near-dead) had no luck, but she's been cursed with the happiness of late, so comedy is a bit of a challenge for her.

It's best left to us miserable wretches...8-(

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Gratitude

My current job has been a hectic affair of late, with crushing deadlines, last-minute changes, and bureaucratic hoo-hah the likes of which I haven't seen in years.

That said, I am happy for this job. This time last year, I was underemployed and working as a temp for the local superintendent of schools. (The super? She was fabulous. The job? Not so much.) Now at least I'm making a living wage and socking money away for retirement, which at the moment can't come a minute too soon.

But I digress.

What I saw this weekend gave me something to think about every time I think my job is just a menial exercise in futility. For while I have had a lot of terrible jobs in my day (graveyard shift waitress at Bob's Big Boy, for one major example), I saw a job this weekend that made me feel oh-so-lucky in so many ways. For no matter how bad things got, I never had the job the likes of which I saw at the rest stop on the Pike. To wit: Crowd control in the ladies' room.

Yes, there is a job in which one keeps bathroom lines moving. It consists of yelling "Next!" and pointing out the stall that is vacant.

If that isn't a job to make you wonder, "What if?" I don't know what is.

But you know what else? The woman who had this terrible job of all terrible jobs was doing a fabulous job of it. She was yelling "Next" with vigor, and helping the ladies along by giving them helpful hints, like "Third door on the left!" and "Last door on the right!"

She kept that line moving, and with gusto. That was something to see.

Moral of the story: If you don't have a great job, give it your best. If nothing else, it will keep things moving along...

And on the subject of moving along, can you believe it's September already? Disturbing that may be, the good news is tomorrow night is the famous Comedy Open Mic at PACE in Easthampton. $3 for all The Comedy you can stand (maybe more). See you there!




Monday, September 04, 2006

Dyke dynamics

We took a walk with the dogs in a local conservation area this morning, and when we were almost at the end, we came across two lesbians and their children.

Of course, in this neck of the woods it could have been two straight women with sensible haircuts and their children, but they read "Family" to me.

Anyway, as we approached them, one of the women began speaking to me in a very authoritarian tone. She said something along the lines of, "Your dogs should be on leashes. I am a member of the Board of this conservation area, and we have had trouble with dogs abusing the wildlife in this area and have enacted leash laws as a result and BLAHBLAHBLAHBLAH...."

To be perfectly honest, I stopped hearing her somewhere around the "member of the Board" business, for if there is anything that's bound to close my earflaps, it's the sound of OFFICIOUS AUTHORITY. That the officiousness is coming from someone who appeared to share my sexuality didn't help a bit.

In fact, it made it worse somehow. Humorless, dogmatic dykes--goddess spare us!

I did respond that we were aware of the law, but as our dogs are at the age where we're grateful they're still walking, we chose to ignore it. They are no more a threat to wildlife at this stage of their lives than I am. (After 15 years of sobriety, the only laws I break are leash laws--ain't that a kick?)
Well, she was unmoved. I am surprised we don't have a police cruiser in the front drive, and our dogs haven't been cited for being a threat to wildlife.

Afterwards, I thought of something I wish I had said (typical), and if I had had my wits about me at the time the Board Dyke gave me an earful, I would have said, "Well, I'm a comic, and humorless authoritarian types such as yourself are an endless source of material, and I'd like to thank you. Now, I'd like to take my aged, arthritic dogs home, if you don't mind...."

The thing is, she was absolutely right. But the way she presented herself to us made me want to go out and terrorize some wildlife myself. Right in front of her. Twice.

Okay, so I have trouble with authority. This I know. So when someone gets on their high horse, I want to spook that horse and make it run toward trees with low branches so it knocks that someone right on her righteous ass.

And I know that if I were a big, burly guy with a big group of burly guys, she wouldn't have said a peep. (People have long felt free to give me lectures; I appear to have "Won't fight back" written on my forehead.)

Sigh.

On other fronts, we spent a couple of days visiting some NYC friends, and had a good time. The weather didn't cooperate with our plans (we were going to go to a festival called "Day to Be Gay"), but instead we watched the U.S. Open, and all had a good cry when Andre Agassi lost what is supposed to be his final tournament.

Nothing like a good cry over a good guy, I must say. Andre has been a delight to watch over the years, and I'm going to miss him very much.

Now, if the people who decide these things would just show us a match or two with Mauresmo.....