As I may have mentioned, my stupid haircut is making me very grateful that I work from home. I know I can’t hide my head forever, (oh, to be an ostrich, and I’ve always wanted long legs, imagine the boot opportunity.) My friend Amanda is going to come by for a hat consult, so there’s hope.
BBH (Before Bad Haircut) I occasionally took my laptop for coffee so I could write in a place that didn’t encourage cats to come by and make unholy noises before rocketing themselves out the door. There are other annoyances, like other people. It really bugs me when people boom into their phones in public places. I walked into Starbucks for a cold drink after a particular grueling adventure with making myself write . The person in front of me was having a heated argument with someone in Russian. It was entirely possible that the listener was actually IN Russia, judging from the volume of the conversation. The person behind me was trying to arrange a blind date over what I hope was a conference call between two other friends. The only other possibility was that he was trying to fix up two of his separate personalities. I really wanted to whip out my flash drive and hold it as if it were a microphone and start providing a recap of the last hour of my life, especially since I’ve been having to practically strangle myself to stay focused.
It’s always these people who look at me like I’m the rude one. Too bad I don’t speak Russian
I made the huge mistake of telling my friend Amanda that I was considering getting my hair cut at a discount salon. (The name rhymes with Dooper Butts) I said I was leery but that my hair was really hard to screw up, mainly because I usually don’t care. Well, today I decided that I couldn’t stand another day of my in between lengths hair was going to cause me to slap myself in the face like Moe, I went to the place who styled my hair cutely the last two times. They also did a terrific job on The Kid’s hair. So I decided to risk it. Apparently I wasn’t descriptive enough to get across the idea of the same thing as what was already on my head, just shorter. I do not see well without my glasses so I trusted my hair and my head to this person who did not speak the English so good. My hair went from what originally was supposed to be a “Messy Pixie” to “Deranged Hobbit” and is now “In patient at the Whoville Insane Asylum.” I know that in the great grand scheme of things my hair doesn’t register on the list of modern disasters. And, on the upside, I am glad I am now working from home, because I don’t think I can stand in front of a class right now.
As I have said numerous times, I watch entirely too much television. I watch a lot of documentaries, mainly so my brain will not dissolve in a pile of goo. Right now, I’m watching a documentary called, “Growing Up Online”. What I am getting out of this so far is that people as whole don’t seem to get the point that one has to invest more than money and a monitor into the education of their child or the whole village of children.
A lot of parents seemed baffled by the online presence of their offspring. I don’t want to come off as preachy, but if that’s how I appear, that’s just dandy. I acknowledge that and take responsibility for what I just said because MY PARENTS TAUGHT ME TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR MY WORDS AND DEEDS. (I know, the nerve of those people!) How does someone not know what their child is doing inches away from them?
It all boils down to core values. Don’t have your confrontation online. Teach your kids to be responsible, caring individuals. Follow through on set rules and expectations. The whole world is watching your kids; act accordingly.
My brain is wired for the weird. Everything I wrote was twisted a bit towards the Animal Kingdom; now I seem to be leaning towards the circus.
I also see to be fond of Alliteration. I truly have no idea where this came from,but I may turn it into a Commedia kind of story:
I have tickets to see the Dangerous Danglers Dancers. They are the first dance troop to incorporate a trapeze tap number as their grand finale. This is their first tour since the downtown debacle a decade ago. I am so excited. I rearranged my entire schedule to make sure I’m there for their warm up. I don’t want to miss a moment. I even arranged for the whole weekend of meals for my family. I don’t usually think so far in advance, but I’m really looking forward to it. If this tour is anything like the last one, the best show happens off stage, when Debbie and Darin argue about who has to be first one on the trapeze, not to mention the antics of Danielle and Dustin, the sweethearts of the group. It was because of their pre-show snuggling that safety net wasn’t secured the last time. Everyone seems to have forgotten that little fact.
I have no idea why my creative writing prompts always lead back to the Animal World, but here’s one. It sounds a bit nuts even for me.
I never thought much about Sidney. He was just the guy who hung around at the end of the dock, and if you ask me, I always thought the situation was a little iffy. Something seemed fishy about the whole situation. He always seemed to know a little too much. I don’t know how he kept all of this to himself; he has kind of a big mouth. Who knew he could keep it shut for so long? I think the whole thing just dropped into his lap, and he scooped it up and made the delivery. When it came out that he was the one who saved the world, we were all stunned. Every one said it was that baby, and the way he optimized that technology for Colonel Blackberry, But all of us buoys and gulls know the truth, without Sidney to make the delivery, the kid would never have gotten to the right place at the right time.
I think it’s something about waterfowl. The first play I ever wrote was a ten-minute play that was driven by dialogue centered around duck puns.
I think that’s what spawned this tidbit:
I was at the park, watching the ducks swim by. It made me think of all of the times my family had picnics in the park, and how we would save bits of bread to throw to the ducks. That was before we knew that white bread was bad for the ducks. I’m not sure when this discovery was made, but I know that most parks have a station where you can trade your spare change for duck food; kind of a vending machine for water fowl. I don’t know the reasoning behind this, but I can’t help but wonder if the whole grain conspiracy is behind this. Whole grain has the best PR agent out there. Everything has whole grain in it, so sayeth the labeling, so shall it be. The cereal companies are even touting the addition of whole grain to sugary cereal. I think that’s to assuage the guilt of any of us who were having conflicted feeling about anything in the loop or O family.
And twice in the last six weeks I have referenced tap dancing lemurs.
I had an epiphany today. It was with less ceremony and hoopla than I hoped, but still, it was an insightful moment. I glanced through Laura Numeroff’s newest creation, “If you give a cat a cupcake.” I have to say that I was disappointed. I voiced my disappointment to the coffee person, saying that the book lacked the drama and pathos of the original. Said person queried, “Isn’t pathos one of the Three Musketeers?”
I hope she was kidding. But I suspect she wasn’t. This explains why the planet thinks I’m nuts.
No one understands my allusions.
Of course there is plenty of other evidence for the commitment hearing like this dance through crazy town. I may turn this into a short story or a pop up book:
Criminy, Larry, why did you even bother to come to work today? Saturdays at this job are hard enough without you lumping around. I know you just broke up with Sandy. You should have just stayed at home;no one wants to get cheese samples from a guy who looks as miserable as you do. The managers are going to start to complain; you’re so depressed no one wants free cheese.
That’s a serious problem, Larry. Now come on, do you even remember what this tastes like? It’s pretty good right. It’s a little sharp, now smile! Chin up and go out there, a positive attitude is how to get your girlfriend back. Now I’m going to stand over buy the cheese wheel of fortune, and you put on the Gouda hat and wave people over. I don’t care how sad you are, it’s your turn to wear the hat. I had to dress like a giant mouse last week.
“Take yourself on adventure through your own mind,” the voice intoned. I fought back the urge to say, “Ok, who else’s mind would I allowed to wander through?” I was afraid to ask, because I had already gotten a sharp look from my mother for cracking wise in public. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The voice continued, “Pull down the ladder. “ I let out a sharp little bark that was almost a laugh. I desperately wanted to say, “Ouch”, because the last time I tried to get into our glorified crawl space that someone might refer to as an attic, the ladder slipped and whopped me on the jaw. Needless to say, I didn’t access the hidden treasures of my mind in that particular guided meditation session. That’s probably better, because I find the strangest things interesting, and they may need to stay hidden.
I haven’t had much success with writing about my defining moment, because I can’t quite define a moment itself, so I’m not exactly sure where I would start a memoir. I know from my experiences in show business that plays and stories are not about the day everything went ok, but I can’t quite pinpoint where things went horribly wrong. I’m not even certain I’ve had a horribly wrong. There have definitely been some bad days, and some minor ups and downs. But I obviously haven’t had anything go fatally wrong for me. That sounds really boring. I have had some difficulties, like my head blowing up and the whole learning how to walk and talk again, then the constant danger of being thwarted in my job search because I can’t process thoughts as quickly as I used to. Then there’s the whole watching my best friend go through his battle with liver cancer, then there’s the whole being laid off from a job I love because I live in a world where the arts are devalued. That seems like a lot, but when you go through it one day it a time, it doesn’t really seem that bad when you’re on the other side of it. Thrilling, I know. I guess I should re-examine the whole thing, because would anyone buy a book entitled, “I had an ok life and it went ok?” Maybe if the cover was interesting, they might pick it up. But it would eventually wind up on a clearance rack. Is there anything sadder than seeing your life story marked down in a bargain bin?