It seems almost necessary that there be a great deal of fuss, bother and stress before a vacation. Though, come to think, I didn't have much of any of that before my Wisconsin trip last month. (That won't be stressful until the bill comes. Ouch!)
This holiday, however, was no exception. I had two major projects to get in before I could leave work with a clear conscience yesterday, and I was making great progress until right in the middle of the day we had a blackout. Just as I was putting some finishing touches on a document, all of Big Company went dark. (The word blackout now has real meaning for me, as I sit in an internal area of the Big House without windows. If my pal Jennifer hadn't been working on a laptop, I would not have seen a thing.)
Big Company does have backup generators, but they took their sweet time firing up. When they did go on, we headed out of the building ASAP. Who wants to sit in the dim? Not I!
We sat around outside, wondering what was happening, when some of the more senior (some by rank, some by age) members of my area decided to drive off to have lunch, and asked if we wanted to join them. I went along, and am I ever glad I did.
When we got in the car and started driving off to the nearest Panera, I had a feeling much like I did those rare times I snuck away from boring high school events in the mid-70s to go do something delinquent, like smoke a cigarette or ride around town trying to find someone who would buy us beer. But yesterday, even though I was riding in a car with a woman at least 10 years my senior wearing career separates (and I was wearing my lesbian-friendly equivalent), I felt about 16, and thought for a moment or two we should both have cigarettes hanging out of our mouths, and maybe even a beer or two in the cup holders of her Buick.
High school flashback in Big Company's parking lot. What a hoot!
Anyway, once we got back from lunch the power was back on, so I finished up what I absolutely had to do, and now have two glorious weeks of freedom ahead of me and my gal. We are looking forward to doing--well, not much. Have already had my first nap of the holiday, and it was a good 'un. Linda is working on hers now, bless her heart. We were going to head out to the cottage, but the weather report is on the discouraging side, so we may just hang at home and do things we've been meaning to do around here, like go to the morning movie and have a leisurely look at the art museum at Smith (we've only been able to get there after work for a frenzied pre-close tour).
Tonight, we have dinner with friends, and that's about all. We're finally meeting the new member of their family, a Jack Russel terrier named Pluto. (Our friends seem to be adding family members here and there, and I can't help but add that I understand adding a terrier far more than I understand adding a baby. But that's just maternally-challenged me.)
Lest I forget, the show Thursday night at the branch of the wedding industrial complex (not original with me, but I can't remember which of Jennifer's friends coined this phrase) called The Colonnade was good. There was an odd, dead silence at a line that usually gets laughs, which I still can't figure, and they didn't seem to like my "rear awakening" story much, either.
Jennifer is of the opinion that when I had more ballast back there, this joke worked. Now that I don't have much of a Back 40, it isn't that funny.
Harrumph. It's one thing to diet oneself out of one's wardrobe. But to diet oneself out of one's sure-fire jokes?
So, getting healthy is bad for one's comedy?
Sheesh! News flash: Life is not fair, people. Life is not fair.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Not that you were going to go....
But the art benefit this Thursday is in a new locale--click on Comic Attempts (under "Links of Distinction" down and to your right) to see the new deal.
It is $50 a pop, however, so unless you're a rabid fan of art in Connecticut, I understand if you don't come. Really, I do.
But Jennifer and I will be there, so I can see the temptation.....
On other fronts, today is my birthday. I am now 48 years old, which is about 18 years older than I ever expected to get. (Or wanted to get, for that matter.) Must say I am enjoying life far more than I ever did back in my misspent youth, even if it is accompanied with more than a smattering of aches and pains.
We took the kayaks out this morning for a nice paddle around a local lake, for example, and I can feel it in my back and arms--even though I work out with weights three times a week. One only wonders how bad it would feel without any exercise at all. (Insert: Shudder.)
It's been a grand birthday weekend. Last night, we made our first visit of the season to Jacob's Pillow, a beautiful spot overrun with aging retired New Yorkers and beautiful dancers. Contrasts everywhere! Well, we went to see a documentary, "Carmen and Geoffrey," about two dancers with a great history at the Pillow, and it would have been much more accurate to have called the film "Geoffrey and His Opinions of Carmen." The man is a camera hog, people, and while he obviously adores his wife, he adores the sound of his own voice more. I remember his slightly from a commercial way back in time, where he intoned the pleasures of the un-cola (I think it was an ad for 7Up, but who can remember?) in his deep Caribbean-steeped voice.
Carmen, on the other hand, first appeared at the Pillow in 1953 (or was it '54?), and is still stunning. Stunning. While she spoke some, I wanted to hear more from her--and less from her blowhard hubby.
Of course, that could be my dyke talking. I have a weakness for older women, especially gorgeous, serene older women who are strong and move with grace--something sadly lacking in the Podolske DNA.
The best part of the evening is they were sitting across the aisle from us, and when it came time for the Q&A after the film, they stayed in their seats and spoke to the audience. We were close enough to feel as though we were at dinner together. Quite lovely, that.
Well, there's one more noteworthy event of this noteworthy day: I met and held an eight-month old child named Chloe, who is in foster care with friends who I knew wanted to adopt children but I had no idea they were going to get the ball rolling this soon. (They didn't really think it was going to happen this soon, either, truth be told.) The child is pudgy perfection, but serious as a judge. She definitely has the Churchill look down, and appears to be pondering questions of great import, even when she's probably pondering her own gas.
I do hope this doesn't signal the end of this friendship--we have lost more than one delightful couple of friends to child-rearing, and worry--but I am hoping we'll manage somehow. We shall see!
It is $50 a pop, however, so unless you're a rabid fan of art in Connecticut, I understand if you don't come. Really, I do.
But Jennifer and I will be there, so I can see the temptation.....
On other fronts, today is my birthday. I am now 48 years old, which is about 18 years older than I ever expected to get. (Or wanted to get, for that matter.) Must say I am enjoying life far more than I ever did back in my misspent youth, even if it is accompanied with more than a smattering of aches and pains.
We took the kayaks out this morning for a nice paddle around a local lake, for example, and I can feel it in my back and arms--even though I work out with weights three times a week. One only wonders how bad it would feel without any exercise at all. (Insert: Shudder.)
It's been a grand birthday weekend. Last night, we made our first visit of the season to Jacob's Pillow, a beautiful spot overrun with aging retired New Yorkers and beautiful dancers. Contrasts everywhere! Well, we went to see a documentary, "Carmen and Geoffrey," about two dancers with a great history at the Pillow, and it would have been much more accurate to have called the film "Geoffrey and His Opinions of Carmen." The man is a camera hog, people, and while he obviously adores his wife, he adores the sound of his own voice more. I remember his slightly from a commercial way back in time, where he intoned the pleasures of the un-cola (I think it was an ad for 7Up, but who can remember?) in his deep Caribbean-steeped voice.
Carmen, on the other hand, first appeared at the Pillow in 1953 (or was it '54?), and is still stunning. Stunning. While she spoke some, I wanted to hear more from her--and less from her blowhard hubby.
Of course, that could be my dyke talking. I have a weakness for older women, especially gorgeous, serene older women who are strong and move with grace--something sadly lacking in the Podolske DNA.
The best part of the evening is they were sitting across the aisle from us, and when it came time for the Q&A after the film, they stayed in their seats and spoke to the audience. We were close enough to feel as though we were at dinner together. Quite lovely, that.
Well, there's one more noteworthy event of this noteworthy day: I met and held an eight-month old child named Chloe, who is in foster care with friends who I knew wanted to adopt children but I had no idea they were going to get the ball rolling this soon. (They didn't really think it was going to happen this soon, either, truth be told.) The child is pudgy perfection, but serious as a judge. She definitely has the Churchill look down, and appears to be pondering questions of great import, even when she's probably pondering her own gas.
I do hope this doesn't signal the end of this friendship--we have lost more than one delightful couple of friends to child-rearing, and worry--but I am hoping we'll manage somehow. We shall see!
Monday, June 18, 2007
Wisconsin Tour 2007 Highlights
"Youse guys are here for me and I'm here for youse guys."
As sweet a definition of a support group as I have ever heard--and in the language of my people, no less.
The source could have been from Wisconsin, or she could've been a UPer (denizen of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan), but the language is pure Upper Midwest, in case youse guys were wonderin'.
Yes, I'm back from five days in Wisconsin, featuring visits with one college buddy, three relatives, one friend of the family, 12 or so members of an anonymous fellowship, a friend from my Morocco days and 60 or so high school classmates (incl. spouses).
My trip was fraught--two of the relatives have fallen on very hard times, health-wise, and I don't have any friends who can think back on their high school days without flinching. (And it may not be a sign of an open heart/mind, but I do draw back a bit from anyone who tells me they had a blast in high school.... How, indeed, is that possible?)
Anyway, to add to the fray, I agreed (sort of) to do some standup at my reunion. This prospect bothered some of my comic friends--particularly my Comedy Buddy--to no end, but it seemed like a good idea to me.
And you know what? It was a good idea. While the setup was terrible--a very bad sound system was blaring the worst hits of the '70s before I went up, and the head of the reunion committee introduced me repeatedly (at least four times, I kid you not) as a "professional comic"--my set went very well. Sure, there was some dead air, but not as much as at your average Elks Club, and when my classmates laughed, they laughed but good.
The best part was afterwards, when a couple of people pulled me aside to tell me their "gay-friendly" stories. They were personal, so I won't repeat them here, but considering the sources were guys who lived their entire lives in either my home town or a town of about 3,000 people in the same state, their tales were remarkable. Heart-warming. Balm for this ol' dykesaurus' soul.
But the best part of the evening? Long before I performed, I got a hug from someone in my class who could have easily given me the cold shoulder--or worse--and had cause to do so.
That verged on the miraculous, really. Made the whole trip worthwhile, in an instant.
Healing in the Heartland, people--if it can happen there, it can happen anywhere.
It is good to be home, however. I had to get out of there before I ate any more saturated fat--the state is teeming with it, and while I made sure to eat at least some fruits and vegetables each day, I realized I am powerless over the food of my forefathers and mothers.
Let's just say I didn't count WW points on this trip. I studiously ignored them.
My favorite off-the-charts repast was a plate of potato salad. Now I'm sure it had more points than Heinz has pickles, but who can refuse a plate of fresh potato salad? Especially when it was prepared by a great gal named Florence who tells you stories about your dear departed parents, and who catches you up on the "kids" who still live in town?
Would you turn it down? You're made of sterner stuff than I, Dear Reader.
It is good to be home, even though I received my first "hate" mail upon my return. Wrote a letter to the editor of our local paper in response to a call to arms by MassEquality, and received what was intended to be hate mail, but actually was quite hilarious.
The message? "Dirty Fagg."
Yes, indeed. Not only did this person call this 100% dyke a fag, he or she SPELLED IT WRONG.
The clincher: The person also put a return address on the envelope containing this terse bit of balderdash.
Is it any wonder the anti-gay folks aren't exactly doing well?
As sweet a definition of a support group as I have ever heard--and in the language of my people, no less.
The source could have been from Wisconsin, or she could've been a UPer (denizen of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan), but the language is pure Upper Midwest, in case youse guys were wonderin'.
Yes, I'm back from five days in Wisconsin, featuring visits with one college buddy, three relatives, one friend of the family, 12 or so members of an anonymous fellowship, a friend from my Morocco days and 60 or so high school classmates (incl. spouses).
My trip was fraught--two of the relatives have fallen on very hard times, health-wise, and I don't have any friends who can think back on their high school days without flinching. (And it may not be a sign of an open heart/mind, but I do draw back a bit from anyone who tells me they had a blast in high school.... How, indeed, is that possible?)
Anyway, to add to the fray, I agreed (sort of) to do some standup at my reunion. This prospect bothered some of my comic friends--particularly my Comedy Buddy--to no end, but it seemed like a good idea to me.
And you know what? It was a good idea. While the setup was terrible--a very bad sound system was blaring the worst hits of the '70s before I went up, and the head of the reunion committee introduced me repeatedly (at least four times, I kid you not) as a "professional comic"--my set went very well. Sure, there was some dead air, but not as much as at your average Elks Club, and when my classmates laughed, they laughed but good.
The best part was afterwards, when a couple of people pulled me aside to tell me their "gay-friendly" stories. They were personal, so I won't repeat them here, but considering the sources were guys who lived their entire lives in either my home town or a town of about 3,000 people in the same state, their tales were remarkable. Heart-warming. Balm for this ol' dykesaurus' soul.
But the best part of the evening? Long before I performed, I got a hug from someone in my class who could have easily given me the cold shoulder--or worse--and had cause to do so.
That verged on the miraculous, really. Made the whole trip worthwhile, in an instant.
Healing in the Heartland, people--if it can happen there, it can happen anywhere.
It is good to be home, however. I had to get out of there before I ate any more saturated fat--the state is teeming with it, and while I made sure to eat at least some fruits and vegetables each day, I realized I am powerless over the food of my forefathers and mothers.
Let's just say I didn't count WW points on this trip. I studiously ignored them.
My favorite off-the-charts repast was a plate of potato salad. Now I'm sure it had more points than Heinz has pickles, but who can refuse a plate of fresh potato salad? Especially when it was prepared by a great gal named Florence who tells you stories about your dear departed parents, and who catches you up on the "kids" who still live in town?
Would you turn it down? You're made of sterner stuff than I, Dear Reader.
It is good to be home, even though I received my first "hate" mail upon my return. Wrote a letter to the editor of our local paper in response to a call to arms by MassEquality, and received what was intended to be hate mail, but actually was quite hilarious.
The message? "Dirty Fagg."
Yes, indeed. Not only did this person call this 100% dyke a fag, he or she SPELLED IT WRONG.
The clincher: The person also put a return address on the envelope containing this terse bit of balderdash.
Is it any wonder the anti-gay folks aren't exactly doing well?
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Good news, it travels!
Heard about the vote on the gay marriage ban from #1) my Sweetie, #2) my Comedy Buddy, and #3) Senator Stan Rosenberg while I'm out here in Madison, Wisconsin, a place that struggles with the concept of DOMESTIC PARTNERSHIP.
The Midwest. (Everything you've heard is TRUE.)
Anyway, I "Woo-Hooed" when I got the message on my cell from Linda, even though I was walking down State Street by myself. Happily, there were only drunk college students around, so nobody paid me no never-mind.
While I grew up in a state with a progressive past, I now call a truly progressive state home, and you're reading drivel from one grateful dykesaurus now.
A tired dykesaurus, however, who has a big drive ahead of her tomorrow. To the high school reunion...#30...."Oy!" as we don't say in Wisconsin.
Happy day!
The Midwest. (Everything you've heard is TRUE.)
Anyway, I "Woo-Hooed" when I got the message on my cell from Linda, even though I was walking down State Street by myself. Happily, there were only drunk college students around, so nobody paid me no never-mind.
While I grew up in a state with a progressive past, I now call a truly progressive state home, and you're reading drivel from one grateful dykesaurus now.
A tired dykesaurus, however, who has a big drive ahead of her tomorrow. To the high school reunion...#30...."Oy!" as we don't say in Wisconsin.
Happy day!
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Vacation
Linus continues to have good days and not-so-good days. This morning, around 2:30, he woke me up to go outside, only to RUN barking after who-knows-what outside.
It being 2:30, I forgot to put on my glasses and my shoes, so I have no idea what he was running towards.
Am terribly, terribly grateful it wasn't a rabid skunk. Being virtually blind as well as barefoot, I wouldn't have been much help.
And who, exactly, expects an arthritic dog to suddenly be able to run? (He did collapse afterwards, but still.)
Note to self: Put on your glasses, no matter what the hour.
Today, we're both a little groggy, as you can imagine. I expect this to change shortly, as we're off to see the dyke diva Kate Clinton tonight.
I adore Kate Clinton. If ever a Martian were to ask me to "Take me to your leader," she'd be my first pick.
On the vacation front, I'm still stuck with two tickets to the "True Colors" tour in Chicago. No nibbles on the online front or the friend front. Sigh.
Looks like I'm going to eat them, but if one must lose money on tickets, at least they were for a good cause.
Elsewise, I will be hanging with my high school's Class of 1977 in the not-too-distant future. By myself. (Linda is staying home to tend to our dear boy.)
They want me to do some of my standup, the prospect of which has sent more than one comic friend (and one sister-in-law) into tizzies. Small, medium, and large size tizzies, to be exact.
I understand their concern, but also feel this might be something very, very good. You know--for the healing.
Of course, it might also be good for the nice lady in town I stopped seeing a while ago as well.
We shall see, eh?
It being 2:30, I forgot to put on my glasses and my shoes, so I have no idea what he was running towards.
Am terribly, terribly grateful it wasn't a rabid skunk. Being virtually blind as well as barefoot, I wouldn't have been much help.
And who, exactly, expects an arthritic dog to suddenly be able to run? (He did collapse afterwards, but still.)
Note to self: Put on your glasses, no matter what the hour.
Today, we're both a little groggy, as you can imagine. I expect this to change shortly, as we're off to see the dyke diva Kate Clinton tonight.
I adore Kate Clinton. If ever a Martian were to ask me to "Take me to your leader," she'd be my first pick.
On the vacation front, I'm still stuck with two tickets to the "True Colors" tour in Chicago. No nibbles on the online front or the friend front. Sigh.
Looks like I'm going to eat them, but if one must lose money on tickets, at least they were for a good cause.
Elsewise, I will be hanging with my high school's Class of 1977 in the not-too-distant future. By myself. (Linda is staying home to tend to our dear boy.)
They want me to do some of my standup, the prospect of which has sent more than one comic friend (and one sister-in-law) into tizzies. Small, medium, and large size tizzies, to be exact.
I understand their concern, but also feel this might be something very, very good. You know--for the healing.
Of course, it might also be good for the nice lady in town I stopped seeing a while ago as well.
We shall see, eh?
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
My favorite member of the GOP
I have a dear friend who comes from a very conservative neck of the woods, and her family has done its level best to blend in. Her father, for one example, is a card-carrying Republican, but he has become increasingly less GOP and increasingly more PFLAG as the result of being the father of a card-carrying Dykesaurus.
He cried when he gave the toast at her wedding, and has had a special place in my heart ever since.
But he also has become a vocal defender of GLBT folks, as the following attests.
I feel that a response is required in regard to [mean guy]'s letter ("Falwell was right to condemn homosexuals," June 1). This newspaper should not waste space by printing letters from people who are obviously ignorant about the subject of the letter. I realize that logic goes out the window when religion is involved, but here goes.
Mr. [mean guy] reported that God said in Leviticus 20:13 that the behavior of homosexuals is detestable, and that Jerry Fallwell was right to condemn them. God did not write the book of Leviticus, nor any other book in the Bible. The Bible was written by humans. They may have believed that they were inspired by God, but God did not put pen to paper. The human who wrote Leviticus probably believed the world was flat. He had no idea that the western hemisphere existed. He did not have a clue about how conception occurs, and in particular how genetic traits are passed on to offspring. That human was ignorant when it comes to homosexuality.
Homosexuality is not a chosen lifestyle. Homosexuals are the way they are because that is the way they were born. They cannot change their sexual preference any easier that they could change their eye color. My daughter is a homosexual person. I like to say that she inherited a lot of my traits and one of them is that she prefers females, one in particular who is a singularly wonderful human being. Neither my daughter or her partner have a prejudiced bone in there body, which is more than I can say about Jerry Falwell and Mr. [mean guy].
Perhaps the writer of the letter that upset Mr. [mean guy] should not have rejoiced at Falwell's death but the God that I know would not condemn any of His creations simply because of the way He created them. Neither should Jerry Falwell.
[The end.]
Hope comes in the form of a Republican in Iowa. Who knew such things were possible?
He cried when he gave the toast at her wedding, and has had a special place in my heart ever since.
But he also has become a vocal defender of GLBT folks, as the following attests.
I feel that a response is required in regard to [mean guy]'s letter ("Falwell was right to condemn homosexuals," June 1). This newspaper should not waste space by printing letters from people who are obviously ignorant about the subject of the letter. I realize that logic goes out the window when religion is involved, but here goes.
Mr. [mean guy] reported that God said in Leviticus 20:13 that the behavior of homosexuals is detestable, and that Jerry Fallwell was right to condemn them. God did not write the book of Leviticus, nor any other book in the Bible. The Bible was written by humans. They may have believed that they were inspired by God, but God did not put pen to paper. The human who wrote Leviticus probably believed the world was flat. He had no idea that the western hemisphere existed. He did not have a clue about how conception occurs, and in particular how genetic traits are passed on to offspring. That human was ignorant when it comes to homosexuality.
Homosexuality is not a chosen lifestyle. Homosexuals are the way they are because that is the way they were born. They cannot change their sexual preference any easier that they could change their eye color. My daughter is a homosexual person. I like to say that she inherited a lot of my traits and one of them is that she prefers females, one in particular who is a singularly wonderful human being. Neither my daughter or her partner have a prejudiced bone in there body, which is more than I can say about Jerry Falwell and Mr. [mean guy].
Perhaps the writer of the letter that upset Mr. [mean guy] should not have rejoiced at Falwell's death but the God that I know would not condemn any of His creations simply because of the way He created them. Neither should Jerry Falwell.
[The end.]
Hope comes in the form of a Republican in Iowa. Who knew such things were possible?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
