Do ya ever?

     Do ya ever? Do ya ever just? You do, don't you? The biggest dilemma of my day has been  red or white. And I mean the true meaning of dilemma. A dilemma is a choice between equally undesirable alternatives. Red or white? RED or WHITE? Eh, the end result is the same, so what does it really matter? So maybe it's not a true dilemma.
     I drank a little bit of wine tonight and watched the Thursday night line up. And then I rewatched Cougar Town. And it all made me cry. WTF? Really? Me? Crying? Well yes. It turns out, I'm a crier.  It's not my favorite thing about myself, but it's true. And since I'm still a little intoxicated while I write this, you (dear reader) get to be witness to my admittance of it. I'm a crier. It's sort of why by brother nicknamed me crier. He also nicknamed me rolls. He is not creative. He sees something and he goes after it.
     Do you remember Mary's post about The National? Well, it was about a different song, but I've been listening to About Today and it made me think similar things about the universe. All right universe--I'll pay attention. What do you have for me? I really hope it's good. Also, this song is really good.



     I specifically embedded that version because it comes from Warrior. Mary really liked that movie. I haven't seen it, but I take her word for it. I've been listening to it because it was on the Cougar Town playlist I made. Think about that for a second. This song is on both the Warrior and the Cougar Town soundtrack. Mary loves Warrior. I love Cougar Town.

1960s and British

     I have an odd knowledge base about 1960s British pop music. I barely remember what the actual assignment was now, but in 9th grade I did a presentation on the British Invasion. Of course, The Beatles were a part of it, but I delved a little deeper. Everyone knew about The Beatles, so to me, that was less interesting. I was interested in learning more about the rest of it, and the music my parents listened to.
     My parents would have been in high school in 1965, so I was trying to make a connection between my music obsession and what I was hoping was theirs. My dad kept all their old records from that time. He apparently didn't care much for The Beatles--he as used their album covers as a drop-cloth of sorts when painting. I'm guessing my mother bought the albums, and he passive-aggressively drew goatees on them and painted them blue. It's the type of thing they would do.
     I asked my mom, a lot, about going to concerts and whether she understood she was living at a time that would be considered a revolution as far as music was concerned. No, she didn't. She never went to concerts. She had a story about wanting to go see Elvis perform somewhere in Detroit but my dad wouldn't take her because he said Elvis would always be around and it was no different than listening to the record. Sometimes I wonder how I came from these genes. But I digress.
     The odd piece of knowledge that stuck with me throughout this research from this 9th grade project was my mother's favorite band was Herman's Hermits. The fact that she preferred Herman and his hermits to the much more popular Beatles was endearing. She also enjoyed Gary Lewis & The Playboys, but they were not British so it didn't factor into my presentation. However, I often get them mixed up now, and I'm embarrassed by that. All of this brings me to the point that if someone asks me to name a song from the 1960s that's British, I always refer to Herman's Hermits. So, earlier today, a variation of this conversation happened:

Mary: I have a song stuck in my head, but I don't know what it is. I just know it's 1960's and British.
Me: Maybe it's "This Diamond Ring," by Herman's Hermits.
Me: No, wait, that's Gary Lewis & The Playboys
Me: But if it's Herman's Hermits, maybe it's "Mrs. Brown, you've got a lovely daughter."
Mary: JESUS CHRIST, Nancy, it is! 

 The actual conversation was riddled with (my) typos, but that was basically it. Mary was thinking of a 1960s British song, and my mother's love of Herman's Hermits led me to correctly identify the song.
     Also, "This Diamond Ring" and "Mrs. Brown..." are a little similar.





Also, just to tie this up neatly, this was my parents' wedding song:

Why Yesterday Was Terrible

     I missed Mary.
     I didn't use the internet yesterday, and it was awful.  It turns out, I love the internet.  I've heard a lot of people make cases for how technology and the internet is ruining society, but to them I say "what?  I wasn't listening to you, the internet is shiny."  But for serious, I say "Peshaw.  The internet is great."  Mary is on the internet.
     

A Day

     You ever have one of those days?  Of course you have.  Everyone has had one of those days.  Today was a bit of one of those days for me.  Oh, what a day.
     I enjoy putting in a day of hard work, and I was able to at least do that. But it was one of those days in the way that of course you get a paper cut and then touch a lemon slice.  And of course things could have been worse--they can always be worse, right?--but that's not the point.  You're feeling just a little left of center and like you just can't catch a break.  If you need to train to be right on time, then of course some crazy person is going to get on followed by 6 police officers and cause a giant ruckus and delay the train.
     The cherry on top of the type of one of those days I was having was when I was walking down the street toward the subway.  A guy was trying to throw garbage away and apparently I was between him and the garbage can, so it hit me instead.  It's wasn't gross slimy garbage, and he apologized.  It was more shocking than anything else.  And then I started laughing because it was just so damn fitting.
     And then, because this is a thing that happens to me, I took off my shoes and socks when I got home and my toes were bloody.  That's just what one of my days happens to look like--crazy train guys, garbage throwing, and bloody toes.

You know, just one of those days.

     

Orchids

     My friend Megan had an orchid on her coffee table as a center piece.  It was nice, I guess, but it seemed like it was so much to take care of.  It could never just be there on the table, we always had to talk about it. It had a feeding cycle and a sun cycle and a replanting cycle and was probably going to start menstruating soon.  For a small plant, it really took over the space (of our relationship).
     I'm not really a plant person.  In fact, the last time I had a plant was when I was roommates with the aforementioned Megan.  We had moved into a small room in the basement of a shit-hole.  Someone, possibly one of our new roommates, brought us a plant as a welcoming present.  We oohed and aahed over it and hung it on our pretty picture window that was at ground level.  A few months later someone came to visit our room and made a comment about our sad, dead plant.  "What plant?" we unisoned.  Oh.  We forgot we had a plant.
     I didn't actually care too much at all about the dead plant.  I don't hate plants; they're fine for being outside and converting carbon dioxide into oxygen.  I'm just not really interested in raising them as my own.  It may be for some of the same reasons I don't see the appeal of children.  I assume the plants will be assholes as infant plants (plantlets) and then grow up to resent me even after all my unconditional love and resoiling. It's more than I'm willing to go through.
     The other thing about orchids is that is sounds a lot like orcas.  Orcas are whales.  Large killer whales that are huge and will kill you.  Orcas are a reminder of how primal and ferocious the real world can be.  There you are, just floating along on a small piece of lumber left from your shattered canoe.  You see in the distance a beautiful creature splashing and blow-holing about!  How majestic!  You drift out farther away from civilization, curious about the majestic creature's surely peaceful nature.  The sun blinds you for just a moment as the beautiful smooth ocean-bound mammal leaps into the air, completely free and wild.  You are envious.  This is life.  Then you are lunch.  This is death.

Hot In Cleveland / American Horror Story: My Mash Up Review.

SPOILER ALERT!  I talk about what happens on Hot In Cleveland and American Horror Story. You have been warned.  Also, this post is ridiculously long.    


     American Horror Story is a new, popular drama.  I've never seen it.  Hot In Cleveland is a TVLand original sitcom in its third season, starring Betty White, Valerie Bertinelli, Wendie Malick, and Jane Leeves.  I enjoy this show.  When it was first advertised I made fun of it.  I watched the pilot; I wasn't too impressed really.  Then I didn't get the channel it aired on and I assumed it would go away.  It did not.  Luckily, it was available on Hulu, so I caught up.  It's amazing that the show is still on the air and that it is being nominated for awards.
     My very dear friend Mary enjoys the show American Horror Story.  She and I spend a lot of time talking about various television shows and movies.  We get along pretty well, but really, we don't watch a lot of the same shows, so sometimes these conversations get pretty one sided.  I go on and on about Up All Night and Hot In Cleveland while she does the chat equivalent of smiling and nodding.  The same is true when she discusses shows about vampires and American Horror Story.  Today, she extended an amusing challenge to me, and I really wanted to accept it.  Her challenge--to watch just the season finale of American Horror Story and review it.  The problem--American Horror Story is on at the same time as Hot In Cleveland.  The compromise--watch Hot In Cleveland, then then last 40 minutes of the extended season finale of American Horror Story.  The overlap was uncanny.
     The ladies in Cleveland were up to their same old (pun!) shenanigans.  Elka (Betty White) is currently dating the guy who played the dad on Frasier.  The other three ladies are being hot whilst living in Cleveland.  This is something that should irritate the hell out of me, but I'm amused.  Joy runs in the house, hiding from someone.  She's running from a woman with pruning sheers who is tired of Joy bending over and picking up the mail, because Joy is hot and the woman's husband stares.  The woman unleashes a little bit and points out the ladies' attributes.  And that's where I kind of liked what was happening.  The hot older women were proud of being older and hot.  Wendie Malick has the most amazing arms of any woman over the age of 43 (she's 61), and she fucking show them off.  It's actually pretty damn endearing.
     Elka's story line in this episode is that the old man she's dating is still about 10-15 years younger than she is, so she lies about her age (and weight on some forms about sky diving).  She takes the advice of the girls, who dole out all the life lessons they learned in LA.  Of course, all these life lessons are wrong.  That's a big part of the point.  They seem to learn this a lot.  For their story, they give "LA makeovers" to several housewives in the neighborhood.  At the end of the episode, the husbands come after their wives and say they prefer their wives the way they were, not all LA'd up.  The ladies then have a moment about embracing Cleveland.  It lasts about one minute.  Then they go back to feeling special because they're the hottest things on the block.
     It would be obvious to compare Hot In Cleveland to Golden Girls; I've done it.  I recently made the joke that it would be funny if the HiC cast just read a GG script.  Sure, it has its parallels--any show about 4 older women when one of them is Betty White will--but it's actually not the same.  Hot In Cleveland is no Community, but I still like it.  I laugh out loud at it.  Betty White it still hilarious; she has impeccable comedic timing.  The other ladies are also funny.  The writing is pretty strong.  There are so many shows that are on the air that are so much worse.  I realize that doesn't sound like a glowing recommendation, but it is.  It's a nice little show.  I'm glad it worked out its problems from the pilot.
     Then I switched the channel over to FX.  Jessica Lange was there, and then Kate Mara was holding a baby, and then a corpse was on the ground with spiders crawling from its mouth, and then a guy slits Kate Mara's throat and took the baby she was holding, and Jessica Lange was talking to police-like people.
     I watched the rest of the episode trying to figure out what the show was about.   I still have quite a few questions, but I didn't want to look it up on the internet and ruin the intrigue.  I did ask Mary how many time lines were happening and she said one.  Ok.  So, here's what I think happened:  There's this house, called the death house.  Some people call it the murder house.  Everyone who lives there is a ghost.  There is a servant / maid ghost who is generally kind.  Or at least not malicious.  Also, I think Jessica Lange lives in the house but is not a ghost.  There is a blond boy named Tate.  Tate is a psychopath.  He has killed so many people.  He raped the lady ghost who lives in the house, probably when she was alive.  She had a baby and probably died while giving birth to it.  The ghost family did not all die at the same time. In fact, the ghost lady's husband was originally going to raise the rape-baby on his own, but then he got hanged by the ghosts.  (I learned this when FX replayed the finale immediately following the finale and I watched the beginning.)  At some point a new family moved into the death house.  The new family makes an incredibly rash decision to make a baby on the butcher block table in the kitchen because their 17-year-old kid will be graduating next year and they worry the house will be too empty.  While they're making it in the kitchen, the ghosts are watching and decide that they need to teach these sex fiends a lesson about bringing a baby into the death house, the hard way.
     The best way for ghosts to teach a lesson is to attack people and confuse them in their dreams and fake kill each other.  The scene where man ghost and woman ghost kill each other for the benefit of creeping out the living people reminded me of the X-Files episode with Ed Asner and Lilly Tomlin.  They do a similar stunt to scare Mulder and Scully.  But I digress.  While the adult ghosts are scaring the adults, the ghost kids are scaring the real kid.  Apparently, Tate is hopelessly in love with Violet, the ghost girl.  I assumed she was a ghost because she was in alive kid's room and he didn't know how she got there.  That's how you know the person who you are talking to is a ghost--they never explain how they inexplicably got into your room.
     This Tate kid always has tears in his eyes.  He's a psychopath, but apparently he's also really emotional about it.  He's in love with Violet and I think maybe this affects him a lot.  He was going to kill Gabe so he could be a ghost and be with Violet to make her happy.  Then Tate got all wimpy and couldn't do it and Violet was all "I didn't say good-bye" and they made out.  I don't know the purpose of ghosts making out. They're ghosts.  They're dead.  How do they feel the magic?
     At one point Tate started to confess what he's done to the ghost dad.  (Ghost Dad!  Remember that Bill Cosby movie?  Good times.)  It was a lot of pretty bad shit.  It made me laugh; I realize this is an inappropriate response. It wasn't what he did that elicited the laughter, but he fact that he just started confessing it all as though that would redeem him some how; the way the words just poured from his mouth caused me to guffaw.  
     Have I mentioned the baby?  I wasn't sure at first if the baby was a ghost baby or not.  It's not; I also decided that a television show would have a really hard time getting a ghost baby on the air.  Stuff happens with the baby.  Over the course of the 40 minutes the ghost family decides it should raise this baby.  It is ghost lady's baby after all.  And then they decorate a Christmas tree, because now ghost families raising psycho babies celebrate Christmas--the day the savior was born.  Sure.  There probably wasn't actually that subtext to that at all, actually.  But then Tate and Kate Mara are watching the ghost family decorate the Christmas tree and Kate Mara says something menacing to Tate.  Dun-dun-dun.  CUT TO:  Three years later.
     I imagine this is a bit that fans of the show are excited about.  Jessica Lange is in a hair dresser and goes on about how she's a mother now.  By now I'm pretty sure that Jessica Lange is Tate's mother, so she's obviously rape-baby's grandmother. She's raising the ghost family's baby.  She goes home, there's blood, and this little blond three-year-old has murdered his nanny.  She says "what will I do with you?" and smiles at him.  Now, I don't know what this means, but I bet it's a huge set up for the next season.

Also, a few extra side notes--thoughts I said to the TV as I was watching:

-No, that doesn't answer the question.
-It's Joe! From Ellen!
-Is there a "shit" quotient you're trying to reach?
-You just told him you raped his wife, so I don't think he wants to hang.
-I have to pee.
-Oh, COME ON!
-Someone's dead.  Are they all dead?  Well, at least someone is newly dead now.
-Bwawawa <<maniacal laughter>>.

Now Mary can tell me what was really happening.  And I'll tell her all about Hot In Cleveland.

MURDER

     Murder is wrong.
     I suppose other than that, I don't actually have a lot to say on the topic.  So why bring it up?  Because when I asked Mary what I should talk about, she said "MURDER."  Except she probably said it like this:

Ok, fine, I couldn't fine the audio file I wanted to embed there.  But you know how she said it.
Then, a few minutes later, I was considering changing for my upcoming improv show.  I was wearing a henley-style shirt.  This is the style shirt Dexter wears when he murders people.  I decided I should change into something less murderer-like so people wouldn't get confused.  I want them to know I'm there to entertain them, not to kill them.

I Didn't Forget Thanksgiving

     This morning, Mary had a few things to say about remembering Thanksgiving.  I think Martha Stewart fueled her fire, and to that I say "Mary, why are you paying that much attention to Martha Stewart?"  But I digress, and I see the point.  I suppose it does feel like we skip right over Thanksgiving, going right from Halloween decorations to Christmas decoration, and leaping right into Starbucks Red Cups.
     There was one year when Starbucks tried to do a soft launch of red cups, and really play up Thanksgiving first.  It didn't work.  However, they still have Thanksgiving Blend coffee that comes out in November.  It's a wonderful blend of Guatemalan and Sumatra coffee with spicy tones that bring out the flavor of pumpkin pie and sage-brushed turkey.  It's a damn fine cup of Thanksgiving coffee. 
     I imagine it's the lack of gifts and commercialization that makes Thanksgiving seem like a lesser holiday.  Personally, it's one of my favorites. If there were fireworks involved, it'd win hands down.  But even without fireworks, it's still a festival of food, drink, friends, football, and fun. 
     I have a special tradition for Thanksgiving.  First of all, I don't call it Thanksgiving--I call it Drunkfest.  As we get older, it gets abbreviated to D-fest.  It's less about actually getting plastered and more about maintaining a constant level of intoxication for four days.  For the last six years, my friends and I get together for the whole four days and eat and drink and eat and drink.  We watch the Michigan (GO BLUE!) game every year, and we play games.  We spend the weekend with our framily--our friends who are family.  Ah, I remember last year's ever so fondly.   Replete with Thanksgiving Hangover. 
     It's such a tradition for all of use now, it doesn't feel like something that needs to be explained.  But recently, I had to explain it to people.  The question that always comes up is "how do you explain it to your parents?"  I actually don't understand this question.  I'm not an 8-year-old off to a keg party, so really, I don't think I owe my parents an explanation.  Also, I just have the one and she's pretty easy going about the whole thing.  Six years ago I said "Ma, I'm spending Thanksgiving with my friends, so I can drink more."  That was pretty much the end of it.  Now, all our families just assume that's what's happening.  Also, when I'm done with the explanation, every one else is always jealous.   
     This year, like last year, D-fest is in Nofolk, VA.  I have my flight booked and the email chain has been going for quite some time.  The framily is all a-flutter with excitement.  We will make it a point for Martha Stewart to eat her words.  Of course that means we'd have to invite her over and show her how awesome our d-fest is, and by now she probably has a few invites to invites to juggle.  She'll just have to take our word for it.  We will make sure Thanksgiving stays on the holiday map. 

Scary Movies: A Companion Piece

     Mary is my friend, and sometimes we claim to be brain twins because we often think about the same things at the same time.  There are other times when we're not actually thinking about the same thing at all, but I'm desperately trying to get her to continue to like me.  This is one of those times.  I am going to attempt to write a thoughtful piece on scary movies as a companion piece to Mary's thoughtful post about scary movies.
     The first scary movie I saw was Nightmare on Elm Street.  I was 8-years-old.  I actually loved it and begged my sister to rent all of the movies in the series.  She did, and I devoured the Freddy Krueger series.  I believed it to be superior to all the other horror franchise films, based on nothing of course.
     Eventually they lost their luster.  I think it was about the time the fifth one came out and I was old enough to see it in the theater.  By then, I was no longer interested in purposely being scared.
     Somewhere along the line, I started hating horror films.  There was no fun it for me.  I hate being scared.  I can count the number of times I've seen a horror film on one hand, and I don't do it by choice.
     I saw What Lies Beneath in theaters with college friends because I was obsessed with all things Michelle Pfeiffer.  My roommate, whom I had gone with, spent a large portion of the film holding on to me or the stranger on the other side of her.  I didn't mind the movie, but I did not appreciate the experience.
     Another friend forced me to watch The Shining.  It was late at night and my walk home involved a cemetery.  I was freaked out for weeks.  It is a good movie, but I would not have been happy watching it by myself.
     I have been told there are sub-genres within scary films; there are horror films, slasher films, and just scary movies.  For me, they all involve going through emotions that are similar to losing your keys in a sewer drain and having rats eat your face.  Or other sets of emotions that I am just not interested in.
     My knowledge of scary movies could fit in an applesauce cup.  I remember watching my first Freddy Krueger film in the basement, then apparently something happened inside that made me never want to see that again, and I just stopped watching them.  Oh, and I think I saw Scream 2, but that hardly counts, because Monica was in it (and Mary says it's awful).  

People in LA Can't Drive

     I hate unsolicited advice.  I'm sure I've mentioned this before.  The worst kind of unsolicited advice, however, is that which requires time travel. 

I'm unsure of what to do next in my career.
Oh, you should have moved to LA 3 years ago when you had the chance.

Thanks.  Super helpful.  But you know what, I don't want to move to LA.  And I don't want to travel back in time to do so.  Because people in LA can't drive.
     When I owned a car, I drove a stick shift.  It was fun and sporty and got great gas mileage.  City driving is a little more difficult with a stick, because of all the stop-and-go.  You end up with a massive left calf muscle.  If you don't already know how to drive a stick, you should not start on the streets of LA.  They're large, congested streets with a lot of stop lights and opportunities to really piss people off.  You could roll backwards and hit someone.  You could stall in the middle of the street.  You could drop your transmission in the middle of an intersection.  You could risk looking cool.  All of the competent drivers around you will hate you.
     Another thing about LA driving that's terrible are the buses.  You just can't get around them.  They crap out black smoke into your windshield.  You're blinded and it stinks.  You can't see around them, so there's no way to know when it would objectively be safe to pass them.  Also, it's never really objectively safe to pass a bus.  But they go so slow, and people have places to be.  Plus, they're really big, so you're never going to try to play a game of chicken with them.  You can't cut them off; you will lose.
     Speaking of getting cut off, people do this constantly.  Especially jerks in pick-up trucks.  Why even drive a pick-up truck in LA?  There's no real good reason to haul anything in LA.  You're just driving it because you're a douche, and to perpetuate the douchey stereotype, you cut people off- nice people who drive purple 1987 Buick Skylarks. 
     The traffic in LA is a nightmare, made all the worse by the concentration of people without the ability to drive attempting to do it there. So, traveling back in time to go to LA is terrible advice for two reasons: 1.) impossible, and 2.) the terrible drivers. 

The Del Close Marathon isn't about running

     I'm heading up to NYC this weekend for the Del Close Marathon.  It's my first year and I'm really excited to be going.  I won't be participating, but experiencing it is enough for me, this time around.  Someone described it as the Bonnaroo for improv.  Bonnaroo!  We all know how much fun Bonnaroo was.  And the DCM is all indoors.  And it doesn't involve sleeping on the ground. 
      A few groups from DC I know will be there, and at least one group I know from Boston will be there, and I'm familiar with one or two groups from NY.  I've become an improv junkie and I'm ok with that. 
     The use the term marathon the same way I use the term marathon, not in the way people who run 26.2 miles use the term marathon.  It's just a lot of improv, nonstop.  One show after another after another.  There's more than you could possibly ever see.  Even if you wanted to, you couldn't see it all because it's spread out over three (four including the stage you pay extra for) theaters. And now-a-days, there's no good reason to stay up for 48 hours straight.  It won't all be good, but that's part of the joy. 
     People who are in the improv community are very familiar with the Del Close Marathon.  People who are not in it have never ever heard of it.  It's a pretty sharp dividing line.  A couple friends were taken aback when I just said "I'm going to the Del Close Marathon."  "Why?" then would start to ask as I said "it's an improv marathon."  "Oh, that makes more sense.  I couldn't figure out why you would run a marathon."  They're right.  I wouldn't.  Watch something for hours and hours on end?  Yes, that I'll do. 
     I packed my suitcase (backpack), I printed my bus ticket, and I'm counting down the minutes until my bus leaves.  At the urging of a few friends (esp Mary), I rented a hotel room.  Mary was actually pretty insistent; I debated on how she'd feel about me sharing this conversation, but it's too good not to share:
 me: should i try to just stay up all night friday to save $200?

 Mary: no

  you'll end up getting murdered in washington square park

 me: honestly, i expected you to say yes

 Mary: because that's where they'll drag you

 me: i won't get murdered

 i'd probably just fall asleep in the theater

 Mary: And then a murderer will walk in, clock you over the head, carry you to WSP, and murder you.

  I've seen it a hundred times.

me: Wow. that's a lot of work for one little murder

  perhaps he'd rape me first...or after

 Mary: well, WSP is a no rape zone so it'd have to be before.

 me: oh good.

  no, wait

  i'd prefer after, if i could choose

 Mary: right, well you can't.

  so you should get a hotel

     It made me laugh a lot harder than it should have.  Also, as a side note, when I searched for the conversation, I searched for "murdered" and 17 conversations came up.  Sure, of course.  Why wouldn't there be 17 conversations where I talk about being murdered.  I feel like I'm giving away industry secrets here!  

Ideas That Didn't Pan Out: A List.

     I don't always have a full well of ideas in which to choose from to make my blog topic.  Often, as I've mentioned before, I just ask Mary to yell things out.  She does, and then I end up talking about things that might seem disconnected if you didn't know that was happening.  Things like awesome things that are awesome, coffee, bagels, and breakfast in general, pulp or no pulp, onions, the morning, forty dollars, and fuel, and the email she received yesterday.
     I also sometimes try to come up with my own ideas, but these don't always pan out.  Some are too personal, some too damn depressing, some too underdeveloped, and some there just isn't enough to say about.  Things like:

• Reasons [I think] I'm a Bad Person: A list
• How the President visiting the Navy Yard affects me (it doesn't)
• The Mary Tyler Moore Show: A Review
• Funny things that happened at dinner last night
• Why I can't sleep
• Why, once I'm asleep, I can't wake up
• My inconclusive feelings about Frightened Rabbit
• Low self-esteem and self-preservation
• A Happy Birthday tribute to Mary
• What really keeps me up at night
• My secret plans for the future
• How I keep screwing up
• What I mean when I say "The one time I ..."
• My list of sketch ideas, including "two cats walk into a bar," suggested by Mary
• How maybe I shouldn't rely so much on Mary's suggestions
• How I'm really glad Mary makes suggestions when I ask her to
• The douchehats who insulted the book I'm reading
• My improv team, "We met in 1B."

A few of those I came up with while writing the list and may not have been actual contenders for blog topics.  Oliver is a decently unfocused place, and some would say that is analogous to its author.  To those I say "Hrumph.  Go fuck yourself and leave me the hell alone."  Oliver's focus is whatever is in my view-field at that moment.  It's about what I have to say.  Often, it's about what I have to say about a topic Mary suggests.  This might just be as much hers as it is mine.  Because clearly onions and orange juice are more fruitful topics than anything in that damn list. 

Also:  Happy Birthday Mary.  Sorry I'm missing your movie fest; they all die in the end. 

Mary Got an Email Today

     My dear friend Mary received an email today from someone she doesn't yet know, but will probably develop a deep personal connection with.  New person, I'll name her Amelia, is a graduate student at the University of Michigan (Go Blue!), which is our Alma Mater.  Amelia is in the Urban Planning Department within the School of Natural Resources and Environment.  She contacted Mary via an alumni newsletter (?) because Mary is fantastic.  Amelia wants to be a screenwriter, and has questions.
     Our first response was, of course, "Oh, well naturally she wants to be a screenwriter.  She has a background in Urban Planning."  We had a good laugh.  It's funny for a few reasons.  First of all, there's a pretty decent-sized cliche about writing a screenplay.  A lot of people try to do it.  And a lot of people fail at it.  On the surface, it can kind of look like it's easy to do, which is why so many people try and fail, because it's not easy.
     Another reason this is funny is because there isn't an immediate link between Urban Planning and screenwriting.  Mary has wanted to be a screenwriter forever, and that's what she's gone to school for, which is why Amelia contacted her to begin with.  Mary knows the craft.  You'd think Amelia wants to be an Urban Planner since that's what her major is.  In a very brief interaction, we have determined she's studying Urban Planning as a natural segue into screenwriting.
     That's probably not what happened.  I am often confronted with the same tone and the "Oh, naturally" when I talk about my background.  I have a bachelor's degree in Aerospace Engineering, was an Officer in the Navy for 5 years with a background in Nuclear Engineering, and then I went to film school.  Naturally.  And in film school I majored in production, but I would still really like to be a writer.  I wonder about it sometimes, too, because sometimes people don't take my writing seriously because I don't have formal training in it.  Except I actually do, because no matter how much English majors like to put down Engineers, we don't actually hand in reports drawn in crayon with Xs all over them.  We use words and sentences and paragraphs, just like real people.
     I understand the naturally comment, and I've made it myself.  I've made it myself about myself.  The thing is, people don't have to be just one thing.  Sometimes doing one thing, be it rocket scientry or urban planning, can make you want to do another thing, like write scripts and make movies.  And sometimes it takes a few years to really figure that out.  And sometimes you're not as naturally gifted at writing so you have to ask for advice from people who are.  Like Mary.  Which is why Mary gets emails from potential screenwriting-urban-planners.  Amelia has a story to tell, naturally.

She May Never Be Consoled, But I'll Try

     We all knew it was inevitable, but we're still torn up about it.  Borders Books and Music is officially closing.  The whole thing; it's locking up its doors and burning all the books.  (It's not burning any books.)  The news reported it would liquidate (I do not know what this means) and, uh, fire all the people who work there.  I was still half asleep while listening to the news.  I heard these words: Borders, liquidation, 11,000, area stores, 500 people out of work.  But, I do know it's true, Borders is closing. 
      I know Mary is pretty upset about it; I'm hoping I can talk her through the pain. 
      The number one store was in Ann Arbor, Michigan.  It was a fine store.  It was on the corner of E. Liberty and State Street.  For the few years I was there, it was icon.  I worked there my senior year of college.  It was the best job I had in college.
     Years before my mother and I had gone into a Borders and I wandered over to the cafe section.  I had asked if they could make me something that was half hot chocolate and half coffee.  I was probably 16 or 17 at the time.  The wonderful barista said she could make me something even better.  I was skeptical, but she guaranteed it.  That was my first mocha and I was hooked.  I had thought it was weird to have a cafe in a bookstore, but now I was a full convert.  A cafe in a bookstore was genuis.
     So it seemed fitting that my last year in college was spent there, at the cafe in Borders.  I don't know if this is still a thing, but at the time, they had fountain beverages.  I used to put shots of espresso in my Coke.  I don't actually recommend it, but it kept me from having to sleep. 
     A fun part of working the cafe is that the floor manager would often rotate booksellers through the cafe to cover breaks and whatnot.  The booksellers didn't make the coffee, but they were there to help out; to ring people up and keep me company.  For me, it was fun to just meet my coworkers by having them come to me.  Also, my coworkers were usually my first and last customers of the day.
     There were only about 4 of us cafe folks- people who only worked in the cafe.  We were highly specialized!  I still remember Skylar telling me I was like "10 pounds of happiness in a 5 pound bag."  Yes, he was being sarcastic.  They really were a great group of people.  
     I even liked the break room they had.  Borders gave hour long lunches to their employees who worked 8 hour shifts (I think that was the rule, it's been a few years).  This was the first job I had where hour-long lunches were a thing.  It was such a luxury.  Some days I would walk down to the Cottage Inn and get a small meal.  Other days, I would take a nap on the couch in the break room.
     They offered a pretty nice employee discount, and I remember some sort of holiday deal where for three days you could get double your discount or something. I don't remember the details, but I do know everyone got books for Christmas that year.  And their birthdays.  And for every holiday for months after that.  I actually did buy a lot of books while I worked there.  
     My friends used to come by and study there.  The book store was a lot like a library to us.  (Perhaps that's why they're going out of business- we just rented the books instead of buying them.)  We'd read a little, do a few equations, have a cup of coffee, listen to new releases at the listening station, tell a few jokes, make a journal, wear their T-shirts, use their restroom, put the books back, and stumble to a bar.  It was a good place; it was a second home.
     It's sad to see it go.  I haven't actually been back to the E. Liberty Borders in a few years.  But all Borders still had a Borders quality to them.  I'll miss it as a fixture.  But I'll miss it based on sentimentality and nostalgia, not because I think it could still be useful.  It hasn't been a huge mystery as to why it wasn't working out for them.  But still, the Borders brothers had something special for a while.  And I'm glad I got to be a part of it. 

Harry Potter and The Terrible Cocaine Habbit

     I'm not qualified to write about Harry Potter at all.  I've seen the covers of the books and I've only seen one of the movies.  Rather than reviewing Harry Potter, I'm reviewing the reviews of Harry Potter.
     They're everywhere!  I get that this is most important thing to happen ever in the history of time, but really, there is not one place you can go and not hear about it.  The news radio station I listen to had interviews with people who had seen last nights midnight premiere.  It was 5:30 in the morning, and this was the biggest news story of the morning.
     My favorite astrophysicist, Neil de Grasse Tyson, tweeted about it.  Perhaps he was at last week's New York City premiere, or perhaps he likes midnight showings since it's when he'd be working anyway.  I'm not sure.
     Roger Ebert had a very poignant review of it yesterday.  According to Mary, his spoilers were abound, just kind of hidden between the lines. 
     Ultimately, I don't really care.  But I have been struck by two things when thinking about this.  1.  I feel like I already know what happens.  I'm one of the last people who would go searching for Harry Potter information, and yet, I bet I could piece together the film.  2.  There's a sense of premiere elitism.  And it becomes a vicious cycle.  People who are huge fans really want to see it on its first night.  People who are just casual fans are forced to see it on its first night, or at least first weekend, so they won't be shunned or spoiled.  There's an air of superiority surrounding the idea of seeing it right away.  By the third weekend, if you haven't seen it yet, someone will all out spoil it for you, probably out of spite.
     I would like to make it clear that I have nothing against Harry Potter.  I don't really get it, but that's ok.  It was never meant for me.  From what I understand the stories are all wonderful and they are well told and the movies were all pretty well done.  Well, kudos to the franchise.  It's nice a generation has a kitchy nerd thing to hang on to, and that there are so many choices for Harry Potter themed parties.  I would just be lost if I ever got invited to one.
      My only point is that I just think it's a little unfair that we are being so over-saturated with it.  If you were a really big fan and had read all of the books and seen all of the movies, but maybe your sister was getting married this weekend, so you couldn't possibly get to the theater to see it, you might some how be considered less of a fan.  And then on Monday, while your sister is seriously regretting her life decision, you'd be casually flipping through channels and accidentally stop on the local news.  They'd have a story about "the end of an era" and the lead in would be "By now, everyone knows what happens.  Good triumphs over evil and Harry Potter becomes the King of the Universe."  You'd be stunned and hurt.  And possibly really confused as to why that wasn't in the book.   (I don't know what was in the book.)  Artistic license your ass.
      I've gotten carried away, but the point is, the event of the movie has become bigger than the movie itself.  And I just hope that people who really want to enjoy the film organically are able to do so.   

Decisions Are Hard

     I'm at a time in my life where I'm being forced to make some pretty important decisions.  I'm trying to weigh the pros and cons and look at all the options.  I have to make a choice, and soon.  I could also technically "do nothing" but that is also a choice.  I need to know what I'm going to do before September 1st and every time I think about how close that deadline is I start to breath a little harder.  I just don't know, oh god, what Netflix option I should take. 
     I first heard about the price change slash plan structure change from Mary, several hours before I received the actual email.  It made me curious as to why I wasn't getting the email.  Perhaps I was special.  I've been a Netflix customer since 1986they started.  A very small part of me thought maybe I would catch a break.  No, apparently they were just sending out the emails alphabetically.  I received mine last night and I kind of sunk back on my bed, distraught.
     An extra $6 a month?  Highway robbery!  This is terrible.  They're practically taking food out of my children's mouths.  I've had The Departed sitting on my desk for about 3 weeks now.  In a month and half, that'll cost me $4.50 more than it's costing me right now.  That just doesn't seem worth it.*
     It wasn't that long ago when they upped the prices for the whole package.  It was a little upsetting, but I think my package only went up a dollar, so I took my lumps.  And really, I felt like I was still getting a good deal.  Now it's not as clear because now I really have to think about how much streaming versus DVD watching I do.  Plus, as Mary pointed out (to me personally) one of the great things about their DVD selection is that you could find the smaller independent films that were unavailable in RedBox or even for streaming. 
     I don't intend to get rid of it altogether, though I know this is what a lot of people are planning, or threatening, to do.  I have been using Netflix as a primary source of entertainment for years.  I don't even know how people watch movies if they don't have it.  I am, however, seriously considering cutting down.  Perhaps only getting DVDs or only streaming.  I did recently purchase a BluRay player, so it would be a shame to see that go to waste.  And also, I was able to stream the first 6 episodes of SportsNight because my DVD was severely scratched and wouldn't play.  So I enjoy the streaming too.
     What I've been reading across the infoweb is people are mostly upset that there isn't an increase on content and also the announcement went out on Facebook before it went out via email.  This also explains my email consternation from earlier.  I think I do agree with those general sentiments.  At the same time, I'm not all that angry with the idea of the price hike.  It does seem shocking that it's going up so much at once.  I wonder how we would feel if they raised it $1 a month for 6 months though.  We'd probably still be pissed off.  I think we just want things for free.  Of course, why not?  Who wouldn't want that?  Back in 1986 when Netflix came out, it was amazingly cheap.  We couldn't believe it; that's how they got us.
     I'll probably end up doing nothing, which is also a choice, and I'll keep my DVD and streaming selection.  This makes sense for me because I don't subscribe to cable and I like to watch old things and the commentaries on the DVDs.  However, this has made me think about how tough life is in general.  I've been thinking about this for a while.  This is the thing that has been on my mind since Mary brought it up.  It has bothered me enough that I just wrong this decently lengthy post about it.  What is going to happen to me when I have to make a real decision?  Something that actually matters?  Am I going to "do nothing" and hope things work out?  Oh man, decisions are hard. 

*I was making light of $6 because right now, I have the luxury to do so.  However, I realize this $6 is actually significant.  If my herpes medication went up $6, I'd be really pissed off, and I really need that.**  
**I don't have herpes, nor do I use medication.  

Pulp or No Pulp.

     I do not like pulp in my orange juice.  I never realized this was an issue until I had to start living with other people.  My reasoning is simply that I don't like the mouth feel of orange clumps in my beverage.  I don't like feeling like I have to chew something while quenching my thirst. 
     My freshman year of college I used this pulp / no pulp thing as a litmus test when interviewing roommates.  I had an odd lease situation where the apartment complex could move in whomever they wanted into the other room in my place - it was a single lease on a double.  But they assured me I would have approval.  I remember the day Heidi Oberschmidt walked into the McDonald's I worked in and introduced herself as a potential roommate.  She admitted her situation was a bit dire as classes were starting within the week.
     "How do you take your milk?" I asked.
     "Skim."
     "Toilet paper: over or under?"
     "Over."
     "Pulp or No Pulp."
     "Eww, no pulp."
     "Great, everything else will work itself out."
We had a wonderful semester as roomies and I believe it was based on those fundamental things.
     Pulp is something people feel very strongly about.  I feel quite strongly about not having it.  I've tried to choke it down in an attempt to appease people, but I hate it.  I really do.  I've written no pulp on grocery lists in all caps with underlines and exclamation points.  And then the person doing the grocery shopping comes back with "light pulp" and says she thought it was the same thing.  It's not the same fucking thing.  Or they'll get extra pulp and say they thought I was joking.  Really?  Why would you think I was joking?  "Because who hates pulp?"  I do.  I hate pulp.
     Also, have you ever tried to make a cocktail with orange juice that has pulp in it?  A pulpy-screwdriver?  Awful.  Have you ever been drinking your tequila sunrise with a straw and then a hunk of pulp came slithering up and you choke a little?  Gross.  There's no excuse for it.  No pulp.  The answer is no pulp.
     This becomes so contentious, I actually stopped buying orange juice.  I don't get it at restaurants because 1) they look at you funny when you ask if there's pulp and 2) it's stupidly expensive.  Of course so are most juices.  But I despise this conversation:

     Would you like anything to drink today?
     Is there pulp is your orange juice?
     Oh, it's freshly squozen.
     So, is there pulp in it?
     Well it's fresh.
     Is there pulp in it?
     Ma'am it's freshly squeezed orange juice.  It's really good, you should try it.
     Is that your way of telling me there's pulp?

And then I order coffee.  I should just always order coffee.  There's no pulp in coffee.  

One More From The Road

     Bonnaroo is over. The cars are loaded up and right now we're driving down rural Tennesee roads with corn fields on either side. Also, the cars are air conditioned and it's never felt so good. There was a forecast for thunderstorms, but other than a few drops Friday night there was nothing. It was 100million degrees with 10,000% humidity for four days. All the sunscreen in the world couldn't help me. I used SPF 110 many many times a day but there was no escaping a bit of a burn.
     I spoke too soon about driving through rural Tennesee roads. Everyone else is too, so there's a bit of a jam. As long as they're not all heading to DC, we'll be just fine.
     I'll be sure to do a proper review of Bonnaroo for the rest of the week. I think it requires a decent amount of reflection.

Also, I just wanted to say hi to Mary. "Hi Mary!"

Onions

     Onions have layers.  Therefor they are great for metaphors about people, love, and ogres.  They also mostly taste good.  They enhance food while that food is being eaten.  Hours later however, you wonder "Oh, god, why did I eat those onions?"
     I recently made a giant batch of my mother's recipe of tuna noodle salad.  It calls for green onions.  I chopped them up and threw them in.  The tuna noodle salad is great.  That is until I wake up the next morning trying to decipher what animal took a shit in my mouth.  The aftertaste, for crissakes.  Next time, fewer onions.
     Cutting onions doesn't make me cry.  Maybe I'm just really good at it, and always cut against the grain or however is the proper way to do it to prevent tears.  Or, as others have hypothesized, maybe I have no soul.  In college, I worked at a sandwich shop where we needed to cut up the onions as part of the prep.   My coworkers always left this job for me.  We had to shop a lot of onions; they hated doing it and I didn't mind.  I would pull out the giant onion slicer and have at it, chopping about twenty pounds of onions at a time.  Often, because it would be slow so I would be alone, I would chop the onions between customers.  A customer would walk in and upon the chime of the door, I would walk to the front counter to serve them.  Then they would start crying.
      I'm not kidding, within 10 seconds of entering the shop they would tear up and start sniffling.  They would look around like a lost child and then see me standing there, patiently waiting to help them.  "What's going on?" they would ask.  "Are you chopping onions?"  I would confirm I was- a whole giant pile of them.  "Why aren't you crying?  This is killing me?"  Eh, it just doesn't bother me.  I don't know why.  "You have no soul.  This is awful.  You must be the devil."
     "So, white or wheat bread?"
     Another odd tidbit about onions is that my grandfather used to love them and he ate them like apples.  I do not recommend this.  It's gross and will make you smell bad, apparently until the day you die.  He practically didn't have to be embalmed. 
     Onions are complicated.  They're a delicious-when-enjoyed-sparingly vegetable, a beautiful metaphor, and also, America's Finest News Source. 

Coffee, Bagels, and Breakfast in General

     Remember the magical powers of coffee?  I do.  1.  I talk about it a lot.  2.  I really truly believe in it.  Recently the poor quality of the coffee at work has been getting to me.  The coffee in the office is shit.  I hate it.  I live one block from Starbucks.  I work 2 blocks from a different Starbucks.  I own an espresso machine, a French Press, two grinders, and a pour over cone.  When I'm at home, I have all the good coffee I want.  But since I can't take drinks on the Metro, I don't make coffee for the commute.
     I had not been making the stop on the way in because the atmosphere of the office is so tense that if I walk in with a Starbucks cup I'll get the judgey eyes from everyone, both for stopping for coffee when they provide it and for not getting to the office as early as possible.  However, this week, I just couldn't take it any more.  It seems like a pretty small thing to take a stand on, but it's not.  It's huge.  So I started just swinging in to get my coffee in the morning, enjoying a doppio over ice with a splash of cream.  The real Nancy emerges.
     Every Friday, Mary gets a bagel for breakfast.  I am incredibly jealous of Mary and her bagel days.  I've talked about it before, such as when I almost fell off the escalator.  Anyway, I bring this up, mainly because Mary told me too.  This is the result of another "hey, shout out an idea" request.  I was originally going to write about why I'm a terrible kid, but I didn't want to read all that terrible stuff about myself.
     Bagels are awesome and a great way to start the day.  Breakfast isn't just the most important meal of the day, it's also the most awesome.  Breakfast foods kick ass.  Bagels!  Waffles!  Pancakes!  Eggs!  Ham!  Cereal!  Fruit!  Oatmeal!  Mimosa!  Potatoes!  You can eat breakfast foods at any time of the day and that time of the day will become better.  Breakfast is so good, another meal was made in order to incorporate breakfast foods into it.  Mmmm brunch.  I'd like to propose brinner as an option also.
     My sister still doesn't like breakfast.  I don't understand it.  I always assumed that was something people grew out of, like not liking vegetables or wearing tie-dye.  She's nearly 40 and still won't eat bacon.  BACON!  Come on! 
     Why would anyone eat anything other than breakfast foods? This isn't the clip I was looking for, but it's still pretty damn good. Leslie Knope and I have similar feelings about breakfast, and most foods in general.  Yay Coffee, Bagels, and Breakfast in General!