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.

Shouting Out Words

    Reading is fundamental.  Often, after the fundamental part wears off, it's hard to keep at it.  I like the idea of reading.  In fact, I like most bits about reading, except for when I'm actually reading and I drift off to sleep after only reading 4 pages.  Then I start feeling bad about myself.  I want to be a reader.  I want to read everything I can get my hands on and actually remember it all.  I want to know things.  And sure, I know some things, but there are just so many things out there to know; I want to know more of them.
     A typical way to get an improv show started is to ask someone to shout out a word.  From that word, themes are cultivated and scenes unfold.  I was at a show the other night and the word that was shouted out was irrigation.  Ah, what a great word.  Irrigation.
     Irrigation is one of those things we learn about when we're in school at some point--5th grade maybe.  But then we don't irrigate much, save for a wound or two, and we tend to forget the specifics of it.  We know it's how farmers water crops.  We can picture sprinkler heads and long lengths of pipe.  Irrigating up a hill is probably a thing.  It's probably difficult, but the irrigation engineers figured out how to overcome it.  Other than that we don't think much about it, so we tuck it away in our brains.
     Of the 8 people on the improv team, I would guess about 5 of them were irrigation experts.  How the hell did they remember all of that about irrigation?  A reservoir?  Catching overflow?  What the hell?  There is a chance they were completely bullshitting, but I actually don't think so.  Not everyone on the team offered new irrigation information and the information seemed specific enough to be completely accurate.  It was unreal.  It made me want to read a book about irrigation so I wouldn't be caught off guard for when it comes up again.
     I don't really want to read a book about irrigation.  I can't imagine how long it would take me to get through since I'd be reading it a page at a time between 8 hour naps.  This is because I think a book about irrigation would be very very boring.  However, I would like for all the information I do read to stick in my head.  That way if I'm ever in an improv show and someone shouts out "ornithology," I'll have a think or two to say about puffins and ostriches and the study thereof.    
   
   

Who Does Matthew Gilbert Think He Is?

     Apparently, Matthew Gilbert has a thing or two to say about Dexter.  And he just doesn't know what he's talking about.  Matthew Gilbert is a TV reviewer who watches TV with a blindfold on.  He's stupid and doesn't know a damn thing about Dexter.
     I don't know a damn thing about Dexter either.  I am also not a television reviewer.  At least, I'm not paid to be a television reviewer.  There are only about three people who listen to what I have to say about television, and they think I'm wrong a lot.   Or slightly misguided.  But really, I know what I'm talking about. I usually  watch the shows I'm reviewing.  I make informed assessments of what is before me.  Matthew Gilbert seemingly does not.
     If I were to review Dexter, I think it would go like this:  Dexter centers around the titular character who happens to be a serial killer, but he tends to be pretty clean about it.  He wears Henley-style shirts when he does his killing, so if he comes to visit and he's wearing that, you're probably done for.  But he kills for the greater good, so you also probably deserve it.  And it's probably the heart of the character than keeps the series going.
     That's really just a first attempt, having only seen one episode.  When Matthew Gilbert reviews Dexter, it goes like this:  blurp blorp bloop blop bloopity bloop bloop blah. Because Matthew Gilbert is stupid and knows nothing about Dexter.

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.

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.