Lost in the Din

The office is so quiet, so hushed, but a clamor in my head pervades the stillness, not jarring, like the faint creak of a door at the edge of an afternoon nap, but incessant, like the faraway buzzing of a halogen light.

Four years. Four years they’ve gone while I’ve stayed. Four years they’ve played while I’ve worked. Four years they’ve reconnected while I’ve disconnected. Four years.

If I admit I can’t get used to this, will the restlessness subside, or will I lose myself in the din?

What the…?! TechnoGeekery at Real Simple?!

Fooyah! Guess who’s podcast o’ Technogeekery was featured in the Simply Stated: Technology blog at Real Simple online magazine? Chassy Cat’s, that’s who!

Honestly. Ain’t that a kick in the pants…

Thanks to the Simply Stated: Technology blogger, Erin of Manic Mommies, for the shout-out. I couldn’t be more jazzed!

*jazz hands*

See?

(Feel free to click on over to Real Simple and leave TechnoGeekery some love… you know, if you want to. I don’t even care. Whatever. But feel free!)

Think Positive

Is it normal for me to be MORE nervous than TD? He’s the one singing all of Charlie Bucket’s songs and performing all of Charlie Bucket’s lines in the 6th grade Willy Wonka Jr. musical tonight! It’s out of control!

I’m a wreck, that’s what I am… A wreck, I say!

Aaaaaand TD just rushed by me, belting out “Think Positive,” complete with wild gesticulations that I certainly hope are a part of the choreography. Because if not? EMBARRASSING.

“You’ve nothing to lose so why not choose to think positive?”

Well all righty then. I’m off to the show.

And TD? Break a leg, kid.

Aerosmithsonian

When you’ve been together a while, it’s bound to happen. You know, the whole ending each other’s sentences thing? Accordingly, one shouldn’t be surprised by the following conversation I recently had with the DWM padres who have traveled all the way from Podunky Small Town Arizona to see Numbah One Grandson (Yeah-huh! Okay, Numbah TWO Grandson… happy Kim?! SHEESH.) in his musical theater debut as Charlie Bucket in Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka Junior Ramma Lamma Bing Bang Extravaganza!

Do you follow?

So we were sitting down, having a nice little chat, when my dad leaned over my mother to ask if it would be difficult to get into DC to visit some places.

I asked, “Where do you want to go?” while mentally conjuring the Metro transit rail map.

“Well, I wanted to go to the Smithsonian…” he began.

Ah. See, there is a common misconception out there in the aether that the Smithsonian is one particular building in DC. This is not, in fact, the case. Let’s see…. you’ve got the more well-known Natural History Museum (check out the Hope Diamond!), the Air and Space Museum (ooooh! IMAX and Planetarium!), the National Portrait Gallery (don’t step too close to some of the exhibits… the sensors are freaking sensitive) and let’s not forget the National Zoo (Giant Pandas! Giant Pandas!). Then, of course, you’ve got your American Indian Museum, African Art Museum, your Postal Museum… and quite few more that I am much too lazy to look up, so there.

It’s evil I know, all show-offy and whatnot, but of course I asked, “Which one?”, and blinked innocently at the confused look on my dad’s face.

To his credit, I think he must have remembered my lecture on the Great Smithsonian Conundrum (yes! I’m a horrible geek! duh!) because he was only fazed for a moment.

“I wanted to see–”

And then it happened. The finishing each other’s sentences thing. (See? I’m focused! HA!)

My mom leaned over and butted in– er, interrupted– I mean, lovingly finished his thought, “Oh! He wants to go see the Aerosmith Museum!”

I blinked again, but this time in confusion. “The Aero…Smith… what?”

There was one of those pauses where it is completely silent except for the almost perceptible sound of cogs whirring and twirling in the collective brains of those assembled. As my dad and I began to snicker, my mom blurted out, “Oh! Air and Space! Air and Space!”

But it was too late. Oh, yes. Much too late.

My dad grinned. “Yeah, hon, I really wanted to hit that rock and roll museum… see all that rock star memorabilia?”

“Oh, sure! I’ll tell you how to get there! Just walk this waaaaaaay! talk this waaaay!”

My mom, adopting her patented I Totally Meant To Say That blasé attitude, was all, “Oh, you knew what I meant!” And just in case that wasn’t enough to save face, she quickly added, “Although an Aerosmith Museum would be pretty cool, come to think of it…”

My dad and I gave her a hard time of it for a few more minutes, after which I assured my father that I would make sure he got to see the Air and Space Museum.

Then I launched into my Smithsonian Conundrum spiel one more time for good measure, naturally.

Aaaaaaand now you know me better. You see? I can’t help how I am. It’s like the magnet my parents had on their refrigerator as I was growing up:

“Insanity is hereditary. I get it from my children.”

Wait… Hey!

More Riding in Cars with 3rd Grade Drama Queens

We now join the post-kiss-and-ride-pickup conversation of a desperate working momma and drama queen daughter, already in progress:

“It was a good day… except, do you know what so-and-so thinks is a good insult, Momma? He says,” here Alli adopted a gruff schoolboy’s tone, “‘Your grandma’s butt!’”

I threw a quick, raised-eyebrow look at her. “Huh,” I said as I signaled and pulled into the jam of after-school traffic. “That’s kind of a stupid thing to say.”

Alli snorted. “I know. Me and Hannah think a good thing to say would be, ‘I’m sorry. We need an interpreter. We don’t speak idiot.’”

Wow. I didn’t even teach her that one! “Nice one,” I said, throwing a quick glance of motherly pride her way.

A proud smile crossed her face, but almost as quickly as it came, it wavered. “Of course then he’d probably hurl a rock at me, or something, huh, Momma?”

I pictured so-and-so in my head for a moment. “There is that possibility,” I finally agreed.

She was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled mischievously. “I’m sorry. I don’t speak idiot!” she said with a giggle.

I suppose she figured the satisfaction would be worth the risk.

That’s my girl.

I’m Shameless When It Comes to Plugging You…

Okay… well, that was supposed to be a play on the lyrics of Billy Joel’s “Shameless” (or Garth Brooks’, whatev, pick your poison, I don’t judge), but I realize now that it just sounds dirty.

Eh.

So I made this wicked awesome header logo for my Chassy Studios website (to match, but not totally match, DWM and TechnoGeekery) and I want to brag and whatnot, not to mention plug my services (dude, again with the dirty), even though I am actually too busy right now to take on any new clients, which is completely beside the point, clearly, but I thought I’d mention it, so step OFF me! GOSH.

What?

Ah, yes! The header logo! Shameless plug! Because of the wicked awesomeness!

Check it:

 

Eh? Eh?! With the Chassy Car and the Chassy Town and the Chassy Tree and Chassy Buildings and e’rything?!  Right?!

Wicked awesome. I’m just saying.

So… there you have it.

Oh, I’m shameless. I just wanted you to know.
Oh, I’m down on my knees… shameless.

Hmmm… there’s a joke in there somewhere. I just KNOW it.

Presenting Gravatars! Again!

Yay, y’all! Now we can JUDGE each other!

I dedicated a TechnoGeekery episode to this topic back in August last year, and then Gravatars went all crazy on me and everyone was like, “O. Em. Gee. Where is my stinkin’ Gravatar?! LAME!” But in the latest upgrade of Wordpress, they threw caution to the wind and built in Gravatar support! I know, right?! SWEET. Accordingly, the following information and TechnoGeekery video may be familiar to you, but watch again. (I’m testing out mdialog– as suggested by new TechnoGeek Gail Rivett– by creating a channel. Let me know how it works for you, especially those PC users out there!)

IF that doesn’t work for you, try this:

With no further ado…

In our day-to-day lives we can judge others by what they look like, what clothes they wear, how they talk, oh, all sorts of ways. But blogs and boards are so… anonymous. It’s not as if we can actually see each other, right? So how the heck are we supposed to judge each other?!

Fortunately, that’s where gravatars come in. With gravatars, we can create custom images that represent us. A personal logo, if you will. Gravatars identify us and say something about our personality. Which… ah-ha! Okay, what I meant to say was… ah-ha! Now we have something to work with!

Think about it. What can we infer about a person who creates a gravatar image featuring a fluffy white kitten perched atop a pink pillow? Um, cutesy, much? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Conversely, what can we assume about a person whose gravatar features an image of Jude and Tommy during that scene on Instant Star when they were totally making out in the rain? Aaaw! Hopeless romantic, that’s what! Eh? Eh?

Take a gander at some random gravatars:

So if you frequently find yourself commenting on blog posts throughout the blogosphere, I strongly suggest you create a gravatar. You know… so people can judge you? Then your gravatar should appear whenever you post a comment to a gravatar-enabled blog—like Technogeekery.com, for instance. Hey, it’s easy and it’s free, that’s all I’m saying. Do what you want. I don’t even care. Much.

So… do you have a gravatar now? Well, what are you waiting for? Show off the darn thing by commenting on this vidcast, for heaven’s Pete sake. Do it, do it, do it!

Do it.

*UPDATED I’m Thinking!

There are thoughts being thunk. I promise! But I’m in a funk. Not to mention the fact there are, unfortunately, not enough hours in my day to plunk out said thoughts being thunk…

Aaaaaand now I’ve gone all Theodor Seuss Geisel on your ass– er, bootays. How incredibly lame.

I need a vacation.

That being said, I have a story. It’s a good one. It involves six impatiently eager children, six gaily wrapped presents, one tinsel-covered Christmas tree, and a dream. Oh, and Uncle Ron. We can’t forget him. This story spans years and years and has recently come to a rather interesting conclusion. Or beginning. I don’t know…

When I gather the thoughts I’ve thunk, the keys I will plunk.

Oh, dear lord. I’m LAAAAAAAAAME.

Until I get my blog on, feel free to click over to TechnoGeekery for my latest shows:

TechnoGeekery Show #29: What the Widget?!

*TechnoGeekery Show #30: Send Videos…One Click!

Seriously. What the widget?! Did anyone ELSE know a person with Safari and Leopard could DO this?! SWEET.

* Plus, to prove people watch, I need your videos now! Send whatever you want, except porn ain’t allowed! (Hey, that sounds like a song…)

Leap of Faith… Redux

I recently stumbled across the following post, which I wrote way, waaaay back in May of ‘05. In all honesty, it made my heart hurt a little to re-read it. Who knew I could be introspective and poignant? Sometimes? Okay, I may have even teared up a bit. Just a little! I know, right? Me? BIG BABY. Deal with it. Re-reading the post also inspired in me a wicked craving for a donut. Go figure.

In any event, I thought I would share. Or, rather, re-share. Share again? Whatev. You know what I’m saying.

_______________________________

I have no desire to be enigmatic.

But it is a scary place, my mind. Crowded with jumbled imagery and intricate stories and trivial pop culture references, with nowhere to go. All of the craziness shuffles and scuffles to be forefront in my mind, to be most important. To be first. “Let me out!” it all screams, because it has to go somewhere, right?

Sometimes, when I read a book or I see a movie, I catch the mood of the piece, and I cannot shake it. I am there, and woe unto any who try to break in, to find me. I am in it, and only I can find my way back out. I am not even sure if that makes sense, but it is most definitely the case.

I mean, I know other people can read a book and put it down. Me? I read the fifth Harry Potter book in one night. ONE NIGHT! That freaking book is over 800 pages long! Honestly. It can take me literally hours to stop worrying about the characters in which I have invested my time. I feel their pain, their joy, their despair, their triumphs. If the book is particularly well-done, if the characters are alive, if the mood is fully realized, then it can take me hours to stop feeling the book. To let go of it.

Other people can watch a particularly riveting television show or movie and walk away thinking, “Huh. Good show! What’s for dinner?” Me? I become emotionally invested in the characters. I will obsess about their lives and the “what if’s” for days on end. Weeks, even. Now do not misunderstand. This is not to say I cannot separate the fictional characters from reality. No worries. I absolutely can. What I cannot do, not right away, anyway, is to stop thinking about their stories. Taking them in new directions. I will spend hours weaving new stories for them. Sometimes I even dream new stories. But Leonardo da Vinci said, The eye sees a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination awake. Dude was a wise Renaissance man, yo?

Which leads me to this: when I write stories? Oh BOY. I am SO living them. And it is so exciting! I get to be someone else! Well, for a little while, anyway. I become Goddess of the Story Universe! Bow to me! Then, inevitably, my characters begin growing and acting out in ways I had not intended, and I just get to go with it, and it is GOOD. Of course, I think this is why I enjoy happy ending so much, formulaic cliche be damned. I need them, or I am lost. Then again, my endings are not always happy. And I absolutely hate that, because I ache for my characters. But I love it, too.

For a long time I thought this craziness had a name. I HAD to give it a name. I was surely bipolar. Manically depressed. Obviously. It was the only explanation for the mood swings, the black days, the deep-rooted dark despair that settled into my mind and would not let go. Right? And what sane, happy person loses herself in television and books? Huh? Normal people with three beautiful kids and TGIM don’t act this way, right? Am I RIGHT?! I hated my career choice, my living situation, my life, and I could not shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly WRONG with me, because everyone I knew insisted I should be happy, that I should be thankful, that I should just STOP wallowing and get on with living. And I wanted to. I WANTED TO. But I was stuck. So I turned to the happy pills. But the drugs? They did not help. Dispassionateness, for me, was not a cure. It was a bandage.

“You are just like my ex-husband,” my sister said to me. “You can be anything you want to be. Anything but happy.”

Oh, no she DIDN’T.

So I ripped it off that bandage. And I made CHANGES.

I found a job writing and quit my teaching job. I packed up and moved all the way across the United States, not sure when and if TGIM would follow, but sure it was the right thing to do. I began expressing the jumbled imagery, intricate ideas, and trivial pop culture references swirling about in my mind through the magical world of blogging. I made new friends. I discovered the words “job satisfaction” were not mutually exclusive. I pulled myself out of the rut of complacency and fear in which I was trapped and made some personally earth-shattering decisions regarding what I wanted out of life. And, yes, I hurt TGIM and others close to me in the process and, yes, almost lost everything. I know that. I OWN that. But these days? I’m starting to feel as if despite the excruciating pain I caused myself and others, I have gained everything.

TGIM thinks this is The Crazy in me. Sometimes he loves me for it, sometimes… not so much. Me? I am starting to believe The Crazy is simply the artistic temperament in me. And, slowly, oh so slowly, I am learning to embrace it. I am learning how to USE it, to hone it, to bend it to my infinite megalomaniacal will, mwah ha ha ha!…

Sorry.

The other day I stumbled across a quote by Edvard Munch, the artist formerly known as the man who painted The Scream. Okay, he is still known as that, I just like the allusion to Prince. Because Prince ROCKS. Anywhos, Munch wrote of the experience he had which triggered the creation of this masterpiece:

I was out walking with two friends - the sun began to set - suddenly the sky turned blood red - I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence - there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city - my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety - and I sensed an endless scream passing through nature.

As I read this I realized, hey, sometimes I sense that Endless Scream, too. I hear it! I KNOW it. And, slowly, I am learning to embrace it. I am learning how to USE it. I know, I know. Inscrutable, much? Talk to my family. But, then again, if I did not see the world this way, if I did not feel the world this way, how could I write? And writing? Makes me feel complete. Utterly, dizzyingly complete.

Well, writing, and a big ol’ cinnamon cake donut. Yummmmmm.

Take that, big sister. I CAN be happy.

A New TechnoGeekery: Hyperlinks and Hugh Hreffner

A new TechnoGeekery is up! You better mosey yourself on over to watch, if you want to be a part of the Super Secret HTML Club, that is. Just sayin’, the clock’s a-tickin’.

TechnoGeekery with Chassy Cat is brought to you by Aveeno Baby. Check them out!

In this episode– TechnoGeekery Show #27: Hyperlinks and Hugh Hreffner– Chassy Cat reveals all: learn how to make a hyperlink–a link to another web page, picture, document– in comment sections of blogs and websites using HTML, and become a brand new member of the Secret HTML Club! Which, of course, makes you super cool.

Woo!

Remember, Hugh Hreffner is the KEY… (and yes, I know it’s Hefner, but this is MY mnemonic device so step OFF me, yo?)

<a href=“URL”>Hyperlink Text</a>

That’s all she wrote, my TechnoGeek peeps.

Cat, OUT.

Driving in Cars with Kiddos

Sometimes big thoughts hit you during small moments.

For whatever reason, my kiddos and I were talking about the city that lives underneath Disneyland, full of offices and tunnels and security and employees making their way across the park without having to brave the crowds. I believe the Mickey Mouse Jail is underground, too. Not that I’ve ever been in it. But, hey, I know people who have, so HA!

“Hey, Momma, wouldn’t it be fun to live underground?”

Before I could say anything, Tanner butted in to say exactly what I was thinking. “No way,” he replied. “Everyone would be all grumpy and depressed…”

“Exactly,” I interjected, imagining a world full of people stricken with seasonal affective disorder due to sun deprivation.

“… until we evolved.”

Okay, I wasn’t thinking that last part.

“Evolved?” Allison repeated, her eyebrows going all wrinkly.

Tanner turned around in his seat to look at Allison who sat behind him in the middle row of our car. “Yeah,” he said, with that twelve-year-old air of confidence and superiority sixth-graders have before they go off to junior high and have it squashed out of them. “Then? We’ll lose our eyes and have to find our way around by echolocation.”

Okay, I wasn’t thinking that part either.

I could see in the rearview mirror that Allison’s eyebrows had flown up into her hairline as her eyes widened to enormous proportions behind her glasses.

Tanner, never one to miss an opportunity to showboat, cupped his hand to the side of his mouth and stage-whispered, “And then we become FISH!”

Allison gasped. Hannah snickered from the very back seat of the car, then continued reading the book that had miraculously kept her out of the conversation up to this point.

I looked over at Tanner–torn between reproving him for freaking out his sister or giving him props for his correct usage of sweet words such as “evolve” and “echolocation”– but before I could say anything he smiled smugly at his littler sister and said, “But don’t worry. Evolving would take years.”

I cleared my throat.

“Millions of years,” Tanner amended.

Allison’s tense little body sagged with relief. “I guess it wouldn’t be fun to live underground after all, huh, Momma,” she said.

“I guess not,” I replied, smiling at her in the rearview mirror. Then I turned to glance at Tanner, with what I hoped was a stern look on my face. “Echolocation?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Fish?”

Tanner shrugged and smiled, then turned away to look out the window.

Echolocation, I murmured to myself, amused. Evolution. I ever-so-slyly stole a look at my son, and suddenly, in that small moment, the big thought struck. We may have millions of years underground before we evolve into freaky, sightless, echolocating fish, but my son appears to be evolving right before my eyes into more and more of a handsome young man than my sweet little buddy boy.

And that quickly, evolution didn’t seem all that funny anymore.

“Echolocation!” Hannah piped up from the back seat as she slammed shut her book. “Like bats!” she added with a giggle.

At that, I burst out laughing. Because honestly. Echolocation? Still funny.

For My Nephew: An Argument FOR Video Games

Please indulge me as I address a response to my tween-aged nephew who requested some advice on how to write a persuasive essay which would convince people to play video games.

“Not a good topic,” he wrote, “but they say stick to what you know.”

Oh, no. I would say that this is a freaking fabulous topic, my nephew. FAB-U-LOUS. In fact, I would say that there are actually two very compelling angles you can take with this topic. Allow me to elucidate:

Argue that playing video games can help keep you phyically fit AND promote family togetherness.

Booyah! Fact! Sort of!

With the emergence of games such as Dance, Dance, Revolution and Wii Sports and EA (Wii) Playground, you are no longer a passive participant in video game playage. No, indeed! Instead, you are working up a sweat getting down with your bad dancey self, and swinging that Wii remote around, bowling, batting, golfing, boxing, playing tetherball, skateboarding, and battling your friends and family in dodgeball. DODGEBALL, people. Without actual BALLS being hurled at you at warp speed by sadistic jocks who are only happy when they are inflicting pain upon those smaller than them in the form of dodgeball-sized welts all over said smaller people’s torsos. Do you hear me, Coach Carter?! DO YOU?! Welts! On TORSOS!

Plus, tetherball is way fun.

I confess, I was sore after I spent the afternoon playing Wii Sports with my friend Paige. (Yes, I play video games with my friends on my days off! While my kids are in school! Hoo! How do you like them apples?) I think it was the boxing that did it. Ouch. It was like an intense Tae Bo workout, but with sound effects and fits of giggles. And everyone knows that laughing is an AWESOME abs workout.

It is. Look it up. I can’t do everything. GOSH.

And don’t even get me started on the fun that is Rock Band, which is essentially Guitar Hero on crack, with not only guitar and bass, but drums and vocals. Oh, you got me started!  See, it’s educational, what with budgeting all the gig earnings so you can buy new songs, outfits, tattoos, instruments, you know, important rock band stuff. Not to mention the fact that many kids who play Rock Band are inspired to try out the REAL instruments, thus developing a previously untapped musical talent. Plus there’s the traveling, the practicing, and the working together to be the Best Rock Band EVER. That’s all I’m saying. These are valuable life skills. It’s the school of rock, baby! SCHOOL. OF. ROCK.

Basically, it’s all about family togetherness.

As an added bonus, playing some of the instruments–especially the drums, which, FUN!– are quite the workout. I’m not kidding here. You will sweat.

OF course, there’s the old standby of developing your hand-eye coordination blah blah blahdy blah, but whatever. Physical fitness! Family togetherness! Those are the key!

(An upcoming TechnoGeekery vidcast episode I am working on involves this very topic, so feel free to cite my show as a resource.)

There. I believe I have made my point. I rest my case.

Um, amen.

Videos Before Ho’s

“Hey, Momma, since you’ve never seen it, we should go see ‘Horton Hears a Ho’ tonight!”

*snorts of laughter*

“What did I say?”

………………………………………………..

And speaking of ho’s, Chassy Pimp makes an appearance on the latest episode of TechnoGeekery. And she RAPS, yo? Right?! I’m sayin’. Sweet.

TechnoGeekery Show #16 (actual #26): Blog Books and Blurb Raps

Please note that the latest episode of TechnoGeekery is also available in the DWM sidebar. Right over there –>. And by clicking on the “Toggle Full Screen” icon in the lower right-hand corner of the sidebar’s Podango player, you can watch the video–wait for it… wait for it– full screen! Just so’s ya know.

“… and a bag of chips.”

Over the weekend, I cuddled up on the couch with my kiddos and we watched Sydney White, a modern retelling of the Snow White story. As “the fairest of them all”– a beautiful sorority girl (because, duh, who better to play an evil witch, eh Disney?)– strutted onto the scene, Alli leaned over and tapped on my arm.

With an unladylike snort of disgust, she whispered, “Momma, that girl thinks she’s all this and that, doesn’t she?”

Special Message to Spammers

No. I can unequivocally state that I do not, in fact, want to increase the girth of my, er, male member. What with me not having boy parts and all. Just so you know. So please stop sending me Special Offers.

Especially those ones in Chinese, for obvious reasons.

I mean, honestly. Why don’t they send out spam the same way they distribute Happy Meals at McDonald’s? “You want one cheeseburger Happy Meal? Okay… boy or girl?”

Street Cred

Crap.

I may have just been spotted–at work!–air guitaring along with the (wicked awesome) song playing on my iPod.

Hey! I can’t help it! The music is in my SOUL, so kindly step OFF me, yo?

Well. This can’t be good for my street cred with the urban cubicleland demographic.

NEW American Idol Theme Song

If you can’t view a YouTube link (for whatever reason), and are therefore unable to enjoy the comedic stylings of Rhett and Link, it is quite possible you may be able to view the video HERE. And since I think these guys are freaking hilarious, I will mention that you can also subscribe to the Rhett and Linkast at their site or iTunes.

There! Don’t say I never give you anything.

Enjoy.

All rising.

Guess who’s TWITTERpated?!

Follow Chassy Cat at TWITTER.

That’s right, y’all. I’ve already jumped on board the Twitter train, but now I am determined to get off my lazy, non-Twitteriffic butt and rush full steam ahead! Or something. Crap. Yeah, I lost myself in my analogy, too.

Whatever! My point is this: I have installed a Twitter widget in my right sidebar. Seriously. Take a look. —> Over there! I can wait… See, I’ve decided to Twitter random thoughts as they occur to me throughout the week. For instance, please note today’s Chassy Cat Tweets:

Britney Spears totally cracked me up on HIMYM. Well, there you have it. Words I never thought I’d utter without a codicillary “Not!”

AND

I suddenly realized the only time I will ever “stop traffic” is during my funeral procession and basically my day went downhill from there.

Woo! FUN! I mean, that is good stuff there. All I’m saying is that a person needs an outlet for all the randomness in life, and I think I’ve found mine. And all in 140 characters or less, to boot! That’s right… hollah!

*raises the roof*

So feel free to visit DWM to see my Tweets, or head on over to Twitter and follow me there. Oooh, and if you already have a Twitter account, we can totally Tweet each other! Right?!

Dirty.

Royally Screwed

As I sat at a traffic signal a few moments ago, stopped at a green light, my feelings quickly descended from the heady heights of annoyance– I mean, STOPPED! at a GREEN LIGHT!– into the realm of somber thoughtfulness, which was most likely a natural progression of thought due to the mile-long funeral procession crossing in front of me through the light.

And as I watched the cavalcade of mourners roll slowly by, preceded by motorcycle police officers with their sirens and lights providing guaranteed right-of-way to the hearse containing the casketed remains which followed closely behind, something pretty earth-shattering occurred to me.

See, I suddenly realized the only time I will ever be treated even remotely like royalty– with cavalcades equipped with sirens and lights and special flashers, and adoring family and friends following me around– I will be totally DEAD. And thus, completely unable to enjoy the experience. And heaven knows that my family and friends won’t have a good time, what with being all wrecked with sadness and whatnot over the tragedy of their loss. You know, of me. Right? Right?! Dude, I’m saying.

In what universe is that fair?

Benjamin Franklin once said, “Certainty? In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes.” And today I suddenly realized that in both? Well, I get totally gypped.

Washington Improv Theater, Free To Me, and Other Confessions

I remember the moment– the exact moment– I realized what it was I wanted to do with my life.

Ah, yes… how could I forget? It was summer and I was at recess with my friend Natalie. We were on the monkey bars… but, wait… it must have been spring, rather than summer, if we were at recess, right? But whatever! The moment is tattooed on my brain! Natalie and I were on the slide… except it must have been Dominique because Natalie didn’t like the slide… and… oh, hell, I may as well burst into a soulful rendition of “I Remember It Well” from Gigi, the 1958 Academy Award winning musical film starring Leslie Caron, Louis Jourdan, and Maurice Chevalier, and be done with it! GOSH. I didn’t say I could focus clearly on the minutiae of the moment! I just said I remember the moment! The having of it! So step OFF me.

*ahem*

So, Dominique asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up.

Well, this was a deep question in the sixth grade, I tell you what. We’d gone way beyond, “Do you like me? Check yes, no, or maybe.” And as an aside, why “maybe”? Had no one taught us that “maybe” was the new “no, but I don’t want you to cry or hit me at recess”? Honestly.

I remember thinking very seriously about Dominique’s question. Probably for more than a minute, even. No one had ever asked me that question before, you see. And then, I just knew.

“I want to make people laugh,” I said with conviction. “You know, like Erma Bombeck!” (Shut up. I was eleven.)

Oh, the folly of youth! There I was, thinking there was a career to be had in making people laugh! Ha! There Dominique was, asking “Who the heck is Erma Bombeck?” Double ha!

Dominique and I drifted apart in junior high.

So, there it is. I’ve always wanted to be a comedian. Or a lawyer. And for a short while, there was that dream of becoming a professional Orca trainer at Sea World. (Hey! They get to swim with Shamu. And ride the dolphins!) Sadly, not one of these careers has ever panned out.

That being said, guess what?! Give up? Okay! I have been invited to attend some (free!) improv classes at Washington Improv Theater, that’s what! But, hello? Scary. I mean, I’m not sure what to expect. For instance, will I be required to take part in any type of miming activities? Because I don’t mind saying that mimes? Give me the wiggins. With their imaginary glass boxes and drinking from cups that aren’t there and whatnot! Good LORD! It’s just not RIGHT!

On the other hand, I’m pretty sure I already mentioned the free-to-me part. No cost whatsoever. Totally free.

I’m torn. Should I set aside my Metamfiezomaiophobia and sign up? Well? Should I?!

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m going in, y’all, the possibility of being trapped in a glass box be damned! I’ll see you on the other side.

(Any one in the DC Metro area who has a wild a hair and wants to join me, give me a holler! Or an email! Whichever!)

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