Happy Tuesday, Matt Smith.
Sometimes, at the end of a year, I find it amusing to write sentences like, "This is my last Tuesday in the Twin Cities before next year," or "This is the last night of the year that I'll eat leftovers from the fridge in my own apartment." Sure, they don't mean much, but it sure does feel good.
However, here's a list of some things that DON'T feel good:
1) Kids who talk too much. (Sometimes, kids who talk at ALL.) This week, I'm working at a "magnet school" -- this one attracts the "gifted and talented." While I, as a child, was labeled as such, at the time it did NOT mean that we were entitled to say whatever was on our minds whenever we felt like it. Apparently... now it does.
2) Muscle strain. While no explanation is really necessary for this, I suppose some details are in order. Today, I worked in a classroom with very little space to spare -- lots of chair-desky things, a big teacher's deak, tons of homemade cardboard and construction paper models of unrecognizable objects, and one quite large table in the center of the room which was covered with a nifty little quilt. So we weren't left with a lot of room to work with. The teacher offered to move the table, but it seemed like it would be a big hassle as she had stored a number of large heavy-looking boxes (holding God knows what) underneath it. We said we'd work around it -- no big deal -- and she jokingly told me that I could stand on it if I wanted. I said, "Really?" She looked at me, semi-incredulously and said, "Oh. Sure." So of course, I did. Jumped on and off the table about 30 times over the course of the day. Did stupid things to ensure the amusement of the children, making quite certain that I could use the table to prance about on. All of this proves that I'm INSANE, that the children would NOT be amused, and that I'm terribly, woefully out of shape.
3) Being kicked in the head. Although this didn't actually occur today, I'm fairly certain it's not something that would feel particularly pleasant.
4) Being cold. Minnesota is very cold. Too cold, in fact, to snow. So cold that the humidity on the inside of my car is frosting the INSIDE of my windshield. So cold that my snot -- my own 98.6 degree snot -- freezes after I spend two minutes outside. Minnesota is frozen snot cold, and it doesn't feel good. Pittsburgh's frickin' Habana compared to this crazy place.
I think I'll make tea now.
Over and over again,
Meredith
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Friday, December 10, 2004
$73 of Wine on the Wall... $73 of Wine...
Dear Matt Smith,
I remember telling you once, after my car was stolen (it's almost my year anniversary!), that when the police arrived on the scene and told me, "When your car turns up, we'll give you a call."
"When?" I said. "Or IF?"
"When," Grumpy Man said. "These things usually turn up."
I extended my hand towards his car window, and, incidentally, his face. "Hi," I said. "Perhaps we haven't met. My name's Meredith, and I'm the girl that nothing goes right for."
And so it goes, Matt Smith.
And so it goes.
Yesterday, after a very long day of teaching "Harassment Now!" (not later) to six classes of seventh graders, I ventured out to the local grocery store -- Cub Foods (I have yet to actually witness a cub there, but then, the Boy Scouts have set up their Christmas tree shop in the parking lot). I bought a few crucial items, including a delicious steak (excuse me... STEAK!) to cook for my meager supper. I did my banking, discovered that I had a bit more cash to play around with before Christmas than I had originally anticipated, and made my way to the local liquor emporium. (Yes, liquor emporium. Minnesota has a vast amount of liquor, but most of it is found in large warehouse environments, where the sky's the limit. Although, why would you want liquor to be in the sky? I'd rather have it in a glass where it's more easily accessible. Damn the sky AND its liquor.)
I perused the aisles for a decent, yet inexpensive, bottle of Merlot and spotted a local Merlot for about $8. I carried my find to the counter, pulled out my license and my debit card, and waited behind a goosy-looking woman who sported a cart filled with 3 cases of some ridiculously God-awful beer. I smiled at her bad taste, and hugged my delicious wine closer to me. The clever minion behind the counter took her check without asking for ID (stupid, stupid boy), grabbed all three of the cases, and carried it out the door to the goose-lady's car. I briefly entertained the idea of robbing the place blind while he left the store unsupervised, but was thrown back into reality as the chubby minion re-entered the store.
To make a short story even shorter, the stupid boy overcharged me. He failed to ring out the Goose's sale, and charged me for her skunky beer. I mentioned this -- because my first receipt read something along the lines of $44.21 -- and he made some brief effort to correct the problem, but ended up charging me an additional $30 or so. Eventually, the poor chubby, shaggy boy had to take $73 off of the card.
So there you have it, Matt Smith. The saga of my $73 bottle of wine. It's really not all that important, but it does illustrate the point that nothing good can come of buying disgusting beer.
Cheers,
Meredith
I remember telling you once, after my car was stolen (it's almost my year anniversary!), that when the police arrived on the scene and told me, "When your car turns up, we'll give you a call."
"When?" I said. "Or IF?"
"When," Grumpy Man said. "These things usually turn up."
I extended my hand towards his car window, and, incidentally, his face. "Hi," I said. "Perhaps we haven't met. My name's Meredith, and I'm the girl that nothing goes right for."
And so it goes, Matt Smith.
And so it goes.
Yesterday, after a very long day of teaching "Harassment Now!" (not later) to six classes of seventh graders, I ventured out to the local grocery store -- Cub Foods (I have yet to actually witness a cub there, but then, the Boy Scouts have set up their Christmas tree shop in the parking lot). I bought a few crucial items, including a delicious steak (excuse me... STEAK!) to cook for my meager supper. I did my banking, discovered that I had a bit more cash to play around with before Christmas than I had originally anticipated, and made my way to the local liquor emporium. (Yes, liquor emporium. Minnesota has a vast amount of liquor, but most of it is found in large warehouse environments, where the sky's the limit. Although, why would you want liquor to be in the sky? I'd rather have it in a glass where it's more easily accessible. Damn the sky AND its liquor.)
I perused the aisles for a decent, yet inexpensive, bottle of Merlot and spotted a local Merlot for about $8. I carried my find to the counter, pulled out my license and my debit card, and waited behind a goosy-looking woman who sported a cart filled with 3 cases of some ridiculously God-awful beer. I smiled at her bad taste, and hugged my delicious wine closer to me. The clever minion behind the counter took her check without asking for ID (stupid, stupid boy), grabbed all three of the cases, and carried it out the door to the goose-lady's car. I briefly entertained the idea of robbing the place blind while he left the store unsupervised, but was thrown back into reality as the chubby minion re-entered the store.
To make a short story even shorter, the stupid boy overcharged me. He failed to ring out the Goose's sale, and charged me for her skunky beer. I mentioned this -- because my first receipt read something along the lines of $44.21 -- and he made some brief effort to correct the problem, but ended up charging me an additional $30 or so. Eventually, the poor chubby, shaggy boy had to take $73 off of the card.
So there you have it, Matt Smith. The saga of my $73 bottle of wine. It's really not all that important, but it does illustrate the point that nothing good can come of buying disgusting beer.
Cheers,
Meredith
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Peeing for Freedom
Hellooooo, Matt Smith.
Good evening to you as well. It is evening here; in fact, it's pretty much been evening here since about 6 o'clock in the morning... on Monday. The sun really hasn't made an appearance this week, but perhaps it's sympathizing with me. I've had to get up at about 6 in the morning every day this week, but more on that later.
News on the car: it IS "fixed." I use the increasingly appropriate ironic emphasis of the quotes here. (And they are "finger" quotes, of course. The internet, however, does not allow me to have fingers.) Apparently, I "flooded" the "engine," and this is "bad," according to the "guys at the shop." After driving a non-fuel injected vehicle for so long, I fully understand the concept of cars not starting. My only downfall was treating all cars the same. All cars are not created equal.
I did tell the tow truck man that this was my annual car trouble. He said, "This happens every year?" And I said, "Yeah, pretty much." He said, "Does it always happen around the holidays?" And I said, "Yeah. Pretty much." Such was our conversation that very, very cold Friday morning at seven.
Bonus to having the car towed that early? I got to eat McDonald's breakfast! Woo-hoo! So exciting! Usually I crave Egg McMuffins at approximately 10:31 in the morning. It's a trick my body likes to play on me, knowing full well that McDonald's -- for whatever cunning corporate reason -- stops serving breakfast at 10:30. The reasoning behind this completely ELUDES me, as any normal McDonald's-breakfast-eating 20-something doesn't even roll out of BED until eleven. It's just wrong. That's all I'm saying. Not very effective marketing, if you ask me.
Waking up at 6am all this week reminded me faintly of working at Starbucks. Only this time, I come home from work smelling of contemptuous middle schoolers instead of scorched milk and stale coffee. Needless to say, I took a shower. I needed to wash off all the "I-don't-care-what-you're-trying-to-teach-me's," the "I'm-going-to-make-fun-of-everything-that-you-do-because-I-have-no-developed-sense-of-humor's," and the "I-have-to-look-cool-and-the-only-way-I-know-how-to-defend-that-is-by-using-sarcasm's." Quite honestly, it stinks. And I didn't want to sit and stew in that all the live-long-Law-&-Order night.
I'm sorry to hear you've come down with a cold. I heard it was going around.
Okay, actually, I didn't. That just seemed to be something that people say to make sick people feel better.
"I've got a cold."
"Oh, really? I heard it was going around."
Or... "I've got bronchitis."
"Really? I heard it was going around."
Or... "I've got anemia."
"Oh, really? I heard it was going around."
(I guess it's one of those "safety in numbers" things. I don't know.)
For the cold and the voice thing, though, I recommend drinking a lot of warm water. Sarah used to make fun of me for drinking what she referred to as my "bath water," but it's better for your vocal chords. Doesn't rip them apart and dry them out the way that ice water will, and the water bottle will double as a handy heat source when your hands get cold.
I've actually been drinking a lot of water lately, believe it or not. Yes. Me. The self-proclaimed Water Hater. I used to think the only thing that could make water bearable was Kool-Aid, but I stand corrected. A body -- well, my body -- goes through a great deal of fluid when it carries all the strain and stress that comes with teaching children. So, I get rid of that stress by drinking water. And peeing a lot. It guarantees that I get at least 2 or 3 minutes to myself every hour or so.
Unless some wandering school official follows me into the faculty bathroom, which hasn't happened YET, but it's just the sort of thing that would happen to me.
And then my car would break down.
Happy to be coming home for the holidays,
Meredith
Good evening to you as well. It is evening here; in fact, it's pretty much been evening here since about 6 o'clock in the morning... on Monday. The sun really hasn't made an appearance this week, but perhaps it's sympathizing with me. I've had to get up at about 6 in the morning every day this week, but more on that later.
News on the car: it IS "fixed." I use the increasingly appropriate ironic emphasis of the quotes here. (And they are "finger" quotes, of course. The internet, however, does not allow me to have fingers.) Apparently, I "flooded" the "engine," and this is "bad," according to the "guys at the shop." After driving a non-fuel injected vehicle for so long, I fully understand the concept of cars not starting. My only downfall was treating all cars the same. All cars are not created equal.
I did tell the tow truck man that this was my annual car trouble. He said, "This happens every year?" And I said, "Yeah, pretty much." He said, "Does it always happen around the holidays?" And I said, "Yeah. Pretty much." Such was our conversation that very, very cold Friday morning at seven.
Bonus to having the car towed that early? I got to eat McDonald's breakfast! Woo-hoo! So exciting! Usually I crave Egg McMuffins at approximately 10:31 in the morning. It's a trick my body likes to play on me, knowing full well that McDonald's -- for whatever cunning corporate reason -- stops serving breakfast at 10:30. The reasoning behind this completely ELUDES me, as any normal McDonald's-breakfast-eating 20-something doesn't even roll out of BED until eleven. It's just wrong. That's all I'm saying. Not very effective marketing, if you ask me.
Waking up at 6am all this week reminded me faintly of working at Starbucks. Only this time, I come home from work smelling of contemptuous middle schoolers instead of scorched milk and stale coffee. Needless to say, I took a shower. I needed to wash off all the "I-don't-care-what-you're-trying-to-teach-me's," the "I'm-going-to-make-fun-of-everything-that-you-do-because-I-have-no-developed-sense-of-humor's," and the "I-have-to-look-cool-and-the-only-way-I-know-how-to-defend-that-is-by-using-sarcasm's." Quite honestly, it stinks. And I didn't want to sit and stew in that all the live-long-Law-&-Order night.
I'm sorry to hear you've come down with a cold. I heard it was going around.
Okay, actually, I didn't. That just seemed to be something that people say to make sick people feel better.
"I've got a cold."
"Oh, really? I heard it was going around."
Or... "I've got bronchitis."
"Really? I heard it was going around."
Or... "I've got anemia."
"Oh, really? I heard it was going around."
(I guess it's one of those "safety in numbers" things. I don't know.)
For the cold and the voice thing, though, I recommend drinking a lot of warm water. Sarah used to make fun of me for drinking what she referred to as my "bath water," but it's better for your vocal chords. Doesn't rip them apart and dry them out the way that ice water will, and the water bottle will double as a handy heat source when your hands get cold.
I've actually been drinking a lot of water lately, believe it or not. Yes. Me. The self-proclaimed Water Hater. I used to think the only thing that could make water bearable was Kool-Aid, but I stand corrected. A body -- well, my body -- goes through a great deal of fluid when it carries all the strain and stress that comes with teaching children. So, I get rid of that stress by drinking water. And peeing a lot. It guarantees that I get at least 2 or 3 minutes to myself every hour or so.
Unless some wandering school official follows me into the faculty bathroom, which hasn't happened YET, but it's just the sort of thing that would happen to me.
And then my car would break down.
Happy to be coming home for the holidays,
Meredith
Thursday, December 02, 2004
I'm Sally Field
Matt Smith,
Half a glass of wine and I'm an expert on a great many things.
1) Car troubles = car experts. It's amazing how many things people think they know after experiencing any kind of car trouble. At 10:30 on Sunday morning, my car wouldn't start. After a few hours of mild heartbreak and a phone call to AAA, I returned home from rehearsal, hopped in my car, turned the key, and heard the engine turn right over. My little Subaru ran smoothly up until today when I trotted out over the icy terrain, hopped in, turned the key, and -- whaddya know? The darn thing wouldn't start. Seems that when something's wrong with a car, it gives you little hints -- symptoms, one might say -- of what's about to come. But everyone's got an opinion, and everyone's an expert here in Minnesota when it comes to cold weather car trouble. "It's the battery," one says. "It's the engine," says another. "It's the gas tank," "It's the starter," "It's the fuel pump," they say. Yeah? It's your FACE. Don't feed me lies. Just fix my car.
2) Schoolteachers sure are condescending, aren't they? I spent today in a school, passing teachers in the hall who spoke to their classes in melodic ups and downs, telling them such important things as, "THERE is absoLUTEly NO TALKing!" or "BOYS and GIRLS," followed by many forms of meaningless drivel. All the teachers I admired in elementary school had one thing in common: they were honest. And not just with me, but with themselves. Teachers of Minnesota, take note.
3) It's one thing to be at home of your own accord, but it's another thing altogether to be at home, truly WANTING to go out. I've spent so many nights here in the Twin Cities, just bumming around my humble little apartment, watching "Law & Order" (or some other cops-and-robbers/crime drama type show -- at the moment, it's "Diagnosis Murder," which I, of course, am ashamed of, but who doesn't love Dick Van Dyke? He's the man; you can't deny it), just being happy being warm (GOD ALMIGHTY it's warm in my apartment! The heat's so bad, I could hang paintings on it) and drinking my tea (or, in this case, wine -- I'm on glass number 2 now, even more brilliant and insightful than I was before). But suddenly, the ability to transport myself from this place to another place has been taken away from me, and I have this odd desire to go someplace. What place? I have no idea. The Dollar Store. The China Buffet. The friggin' Target... I don't care. Just let me out!!!
4) People -- real ones -- read my blog. Amazingly, it's not just Anne Brannen and Matt Smith. That's not to say that Anne and you, Matt Smith, aren't "real" people, but there are other actual human beings out there who have ventured my way -- some via my sister (God love her), and some via Matt Dunegan. (And to end the argument of arguments, I'd challenge anyone to call him Dunegan in EVERY situation; go ahead. Think you can do it? It's difficult. There are some circumstances that wouldn't warrant the use of the name "Dunegan." Trust me.)
Okay, so I'm not really an EXPERT. But I did manage to get through this entry without having to use SpellCheck.
Big, semi-depressing, wintry-scented sighs,
Meredith
Half a glass of wine and I'm an expert on a great many things.
1) Car troubles = car experts. It's amazing how many things people think they know after experiencing any kind of car trouble. At 10:30 on Sunday morning, my car wouldn't start. After a few hours of mild heartbreak and a phone call to AAA, I returned home from rehearsal, hopped in my car, turned the key, and heard the engine turn right over. My little Subaru ran smoothly up until today when I trotted out over the icy terrain, hopped in, turned the key, and -- whaddya know? The darn thing wouldn't start. Seems that when something's wrong with a car, it gives you little hints -- symptoms, one might say -- of what's about to come. But everyone's got an opinion, and everyone's an expert here in Minnesota when it comes to cold weather car trouble. "It's the battery," one says. "It's the engine," says another. "It's the gas tank," "It's the starter," "It's the fuel pump," they say. Yeah? It's your FACE. Don't feed me lies. Just fix my car.
2) Schoolteachers sure are condescending, aren't they? I spent today in a school, passing teachers in the hall who spoke to their classes in melodic ups and downs, telling them such important things as, "THERE is absoLUTEly NO TALKing!" or "BOYS and GIRLS," followed by many forms of meaningless drivel. All the teachers I admired in elementary school had one thing in common: they were honest. And not just with me, but with themselves. Teachers of Minnesota, take note.
3) It's one thing to be at home of your own accord, but it's another thing altogether to be at home, truly WANTING to go out. I've spent so many nights here in the Twin Cities, just bumming around my humble little apartment, watching "Law & Order" (or some other cops-and-robbers/crime drama type show -- at the moment, it's "Diagnosis Murder," which I, of course, am ashamed of, but who doesn't love Dick Van Dyke? He's the man; you can't deny it), just being happy being warm (GOD ALMIGHTY it's warm in my apartment! The heat's so bad, I could hang paintings on it) and drinking my tea (or, in this case, wine -- I'm on glass number 2 now, even more brilliant and insightful than I was before). But suddenly, the ability to transport myself from this place to another place has been taken away from me, and I have this odd desire to go someplace. What place? I have no idea. The Dollar Store. The China Buffet. The friggin' Target... I don't care. Just let me out!!!
4) People -- real ones -- read my blog. Amazingly, it's not just Anne Brannen and Matt Smith. That's not to say that Anne and you, Matt Smith, aren't "real" people, but there are other actual human beings out there who have ventured my way -- some via my sister (God love her), and some via Matt Dunegan. (And to end the argument of arguments, I'd challenge anyone to call him Dunegan in EVERY situation; go ahead. Think you can do it? It's difficult. There are some circumstances that wouldn't warrant the use of the name "Dunegan." Trust me.)
Okay, so I'm not really an EXPERT. But I did manage to get through this entry without having to use SpellCheck.
Big, semi-depressing, wintry-scented sighs,
Meredith
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
A Bit of Wisdom from Garrison
"Nothing you do for children is ever wasted.
They seem not to notice us, hovering,
averting our eyes, and they seldom offer
thanks, but nothing we do for them is ever
wasted."
(Garrison Keillor)
They seem not to notice us, hovering,
averting our eyes, and they seldom offer
thanks, but nothing we do for them is ever
wasted."
(Garrison Keillor)
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Matt sat on the mat, Matt.
Matt Smith,
I wish, Matt Smith, that I had as clever a nickname for you as you seem to have for me. Of course, then I realize that I indirectly gave you that ingenious nickname. You typed it, I questioned it, and I put it to use. (Oh, the cleverness of me.)
Also, I have trouble explaining different stories to people. Sometimes, I'll tell a Matt Smith story -- like the time you did that thing that was so funny and we all laughed -- and people will go, "Oh, that Matt Dunegan! He's so funny!" And then I'll have to tell them, "No, Matt is my boyfriend. Matt was the one who did that funny thing that made us all laugh. Matt did that other thing that was funny that I told you about the other day." And then they'll say, "Wait. I thought you said that Matt did that funny thing." And I'll get frustrated and say, "No, that's Matt. He did that OTHER funny thing. Matt's my friend. MATT is my boyfriend." And then their brain will explode.
So you can see the trouble it's causing, I'm sure. In case you're wondering, yes, I have considered using both of the Matts' last names, but I'm trying to be more efficient in my speech. There are far too many syllables to consider. That option is right out.
Therefore, I've started to consider some possibilities for your nickname. "MS" was an option -- I mean, they're your initials. But then, MS is also a life-altering condition. And really, who wants a nickname with no vowels? (Besides the Polish. They have no need for vowels except to spell Poland. Does Poland still exist? I never had geography in school. What am I saying? I'm out of school, and I shouldn't have to know whether or not Poland still exists. If Poland exists, so be it. The vowel comment still stands.)
The other options are as follows:
1) Matterooni - Like "macaroni" crossed with Mickey Rooney, so it'd be noodles that sang and danced and were shaped like elbows.
2) Smithsonian - I like to think of you as a huge, information-filled museum. You've got a lot of funny stuff in that brain of yours. As my dear Matt Dunegan would say, though, "Alas, alack, Alanis Morrisette!" That name is already taken. No matter what nickname I choose for you, though, I can still call you this one in secret though. I'll just say it to myself. So when I address you with your new nickname (whatever that ends up being), that silly grin on my face is really just me saying silently, "Oh that Smithsonian. He's so clever. And really, how clever am I to have gotten away with using the name Smithsonian without the officials knowing. I am so clever. Oh, the cleverness of me."
3) Math - Matt + Smith = "Math." It's ingenious.
4) Smatt - If you were to file something under your name, you'd file it under "Smith, Matt." Smith + Matt = "Smatt." Again, ingenious.
5) Jerry Seinfeld - This one's just obvious. I mean, have you ever gotten a good look at Jerry Seinfeld? He looks and sounds absolutely nothing like you. It's out of left field, no one's expecting it, no one sees it coming. I'd be like, "Hey, Jerry Seinfeld!" And you'd be like, "Hey there, you!" And heads would turn. Sheer brilliance.
After lengthy deliberation, however, I've finally decided on your nickname.
Mat.
It's great, yes? It distinguishes you from my boyfriend, Matt, and you still get all the recognition and distinction and pomp and circumstance that your given name calls for.
I like it, and you should too.
As always,
Meredith
I wish, Matt Smith, that I had as clever a nickname for you as you seem to have for me. Of course, then I realize that I indirectly gave you that ingenious nickname. You typed it, I questioned it, and I put it to use. (Oh, the cleverness of me.)
Also, I have trouble explaining different stories to people. Sometimes, I'll tell a Matt Smith story -- like the time you did that thing that was so funny and we all laughed -- and people will go, "Oh, that Matt Dunegan! He's so funny!" And then I'll have to tell them, "No, Matt is my boyfriend. Matt was the one who did that funny thing that made us all laugh. Matt did that other thing that was funny that I told you about the other day." And then they'll say, "Wait. I thought you said that Matt did that funny thing." And I'll get frustrated and say, "No, that's Matt. He did that OTHER funny thing. Matt's my friend. MATT is my boyfriend." And then their brain will explode.
So you can see the trouble it's causing, I'm sure. In case you're wondering, yes, I have considered using both of the Matts' last names, but I'm trying to be more efficient in my speech. There are far too many syllables to consider. That option is right out.
Therefore, I've started to consider some possibilities for your nickname. "MS" was an option -- I mean, they're your initials. But then, MS is also a life-altering condition. And really, who wants a nickname with no vowels? (Besides the Polish. They have no need for vowels except to spell Poland. Does Poland still exist? I never had geography in school. What am I saying? I'm out of school, and I shouldn't have to know whether or not Poland still exists. If Poland exists, so be it. The vowel comment still stands.)
The other options are as follows:
1) Matterooni - Like "macaroni" crossed with Mickey Rooney, so it'd be noodles that sang and danced and were shaped like elbows.
2) Smithsonian - I like to think of you as a huge, information-filled museum. You've got a lot of funny stuff in that brain of yours. As my dear Matt Dunegan would say, though, "Alas, alack, Alanis Morrisette!" That name is already taken. No matter what nickname I choose for you, though, I can still call you this one in secret though. I'll just say it to myself. So when I address you with your new nickname (whatever that ends up being), that silly grin on my face is really just me saying silently, "Oh that Smithsonian. He's so clever. And really, how clever am I to have gotten away with using the name Smithsonian without the officials knowing. I am so clever. Oh, the cleverness of me."
3) Math - Matt + Smith = "Math." It's ingenious.
4) Smatt - If you were to file something under your name, you'd file it under "Smith, Matt." Smith + Matt = "Smatt." Again, ingenious.
5) Jerry Seinfeld - This one's just obvious. I mean, have you ever gotten a good look at Jerry Seinfeld? He looks and sounds absolutely nothing like you. It's out of left field, no one's expecting it, no one sees it coming. I'd be like, "Hey, Jerry Seinfeld!" And you'd be like, "Hey there, you!" And heads would turn. Sheer brilliance.
After lengthy deliberation, however, I've finally decided on your nickname.
Mat.
It's great, yes? It distinguishes you from my boyfriend, Matt, and you still get all the recognition and distinction and pomp and circumstance that your given name calls for.
I like it, and you should too.
As always,
Meredith
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
I Do Not Want the Anal Probe
Greetings and salutations, friend.
The direction I was given yesterday in my "playwrighting basics workshop" was to find some time each day to do some writing. I thought, "Hell. I blog." This is writing, right? Right. Now that that's covered... moving on.
My other workshop -- today's workshop -- is "Vocal Orchestration and the Spoken Word." Or something. We spent a great deal of time this evening talking about operatives, primary and secondary emphasis, and the way in which those obscure things changed the way we delivered our lines. When asked what part of today's class "resonated" with me, I truly wanted to tell the instructor (incidentally, the CEO of the theatre), "This is just like the 'I Do Not Want the Anal Probe' game." But... I didn't. (It's quite the fun game in that it does not actually involve an anal probe.)
Seems I was busy -- this weekend -- doing something close to nothing, but different than the day before. (And, of course, any Prince references are included in honor of Prince's hometown of Minneapolis. Glad we could clear that up.) Spent a great deal of time with Matt, bumming around Uptown, window shopping and eating good food. He bought a hat that makes him look like a superhero. (Not a raspberry beret, but I bet you could work him into the superhero idea you have for John, me, and you.) He found a hat that read "Sheep" and had a picture of, yes, a sheep on it. Seems they'll make hats that do all sorts of things besides keep your head warm.
We ate sushi made by a guy named Steve and rushed to get into the liquor store before closing. I drank tea and I made coffee for the first time in 3 months. (Can't say I missed it, really, even if I was making it for Matt.) We peed in a Lutheran church -- I felt like a secret agent on a stealth mission! -- and went to a coffee shop for bikers. Yay for Bob's Java Hut.
We went to the only Steelers' bar in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area (there are so many!), The Starting Gate, and met up with an old friend. We drank beer, and went shopping for groceries. We rented a movie, watched some ZIM! and cooked some dinner. Life was -- is -- good.
It felt good to feel like I was home again.
Even if all it took was dinner, wine, Ben & Jerry's, and falling asleep on the couch halfway through a movie.
Good sighs,
Meredith
The direction I was given yesterday in my "playwrighting basics workshop" was to find some time each day to do some writing. I thought, "Hell. I blog." This is writing, right? Right. Now that that's covered... moving on.
My other workshop -- today's workshop -- is "Vocal Orchestration and the Spoken Word." Or something. We spent a great deal of time this evening talking about operatives, primary and secondary emphasis, and the way in which those obscure things changed the way we delivered our lines. When asked what part of today's class "resonated" with me, I truly wanted to tell the instructor (incidentally, the CEO of the theatre), "This is just like the 'I Do Not Want the Anal Probe' game." But... I didn't. (It's quite the fun game in that it does not actually involve an anal probe.)
Seems I was busy -- this weekend -- doing something close to nothing, but different than the day before. (And, of course, any Prince references are included in honor of Prince's hometown of Minneapolis. Glad we could clear that up.) Spent a great deal of time with Matt, bumming around Uptown, window shopping and eating good food. He bought a hat that makes him look like a superhero. (Not a raspberry beret, but I bet you could work him into the superhero idea you have for John, me, and you.) He found a hat that read "Sheep" and had a picture of, yes, a sheep on it. Seems they'll make hats that do all sorts of things besides keep your head warm.
We ate sushi made by a guy named Steve and rushed to get into the liquor store before closing. I drank tea and I made coffee for the first time in 3 months. (Can't say I missed it, really, even if I was making it for Matt.) We peed in a Lutheran church -- I felt like a secret agent on a stealth mission! -- and went to a coffee shop for bikers. Yay for Bob's Java Hut.
We went to the only Steelers' bar in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area (there are so many!), The Starting Gate, and met up with an old friend. We drank beer, and went shopping for groceries. We rented a movie, watched some ZIM! and cooked some dinner. Life was -- is -- good.
It felt good to feel like I was home again.
Even if all it took was dinner, wine, Ben & Jerry's, and falling asleep on the couch halfway through a movie.
Good sighs,
Meredith
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Germs and Worms and Holiday Things
Hi there, Matt Smith.
I think one day I'm going to decorate my house like an elementary school.
I guess I never really thought about it before, but when you get right down to it, I do like a lot of tacky things. For one, I own that ridiculous, fringy, hangy red lamp that I tote around with me. I have a jean jacket that looks like I stole it from DJ Tanner -- pins and bells and whistles and ribbons and all. Definitely straight out of the 80s, and what's more, I actually wear this jacket. Proudly. So many of the things that I own are ugly, and pathetic, and dilapidated... No. Really. It's true.
The great thing is, though, when I add up all those tacky wonderful things, it works somehow. I don't know why that is, but it's true. Take all that beautiful tackiness, and add it all up, and it's just LOVELY. (Or, as my mother would say, "Put it in a barrel and shake it up." Which actually IS something that people say. Honest.)
So... I think Elementary School Decor is definitely the way to go. I could hang finger paintings on the wall, and make strange decorations out of construction paper and glue (all seasonally appropriate, of course -- cats and ghosts for Halloween, wreaths for winter holidays). I could have window clings of obscure things like teddy bears sledding, and hearts with arms and legs. I could hang strings from my ceiling tiles and tie clothespins to the ends of them so I could dangle paper snowflakes and farm animals from them.
It'd be just... grand.
(Don't you think?)
More to come,
Meredith
I think one day I'm going to decorate my house like an elementary school.
I guess I never really thought about it before, but when you get right down to it, I do like a lot of tacky things. For one, I own that ridiculous, fringy, hangy red lamp that I tote around with me. I have a jean jacket that looks like I stole it from DJ Tanner -- pins and bells and whistles and ribbons and all. Definitely straight out of the 80s, and what's more, I actually wear this jacket. Proudly. So many of the things that I own are ugly, and pathetic, and dilapidated... No. Really. It's true.
The great thing is, though, when I add up all those tacky wonderful things, it works somehow. I don't know why that is, but it's true. Take all that beautiful tackiness, and add it all up, and it's just LOVELY. (Or, as my mother would say, "Put it in a barrel and shake it up." Which actually IS something that people say. Honest.)
So... I think Elementary School Decor is definitely the way to go. I could hang finger paintings on the wall, and make strange decorations out of construction paper and glue (all seasonally appropriate, of course -- cats and ghosts for Halloween, wreaths for winter holidays). I could have window clings of obscure things like teddy bears sledding, and hearts with arms and legs. I could hang strings from my ceiling tiles and tie clothespins to the ends of them so I could dangle paper snowflakes and farm animals from them.
It'd be just... grand.
(Don't you think?)
More to come,
Meredith
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Guilt Bags
Mr. Smith,
Lately, I feel that, as Americans, we're constantly looking for what's not there -- what's being taken away -- rather than what's already there.
It's unfair, I know, but I also know it feels very true.
In relationships, often we look for what's wrong before we notice what's right: "He's not committed enough," "She's co-dependent," or "One of his earlobes is longer than the other." At work, we ask for Time Off. We look forward to the weekend, when we don't have to work. In our daily lives, the negative plays a major role. We look for bargains, for markdowns, for slashed prices. We cut coupons, we count calories (the less the better), we drink water to flush our systems. We want to lose weight instead of gain it, subtract taxes instead of add them, down-size our friends, our budget, our lives...
We are a nation obsessed with the negative.
Why, when we feel compelled to ADD to our lives, do we feel guilty? As if adding things to our lives -- things that come at a price -- we're punished. Higher education, lunch with an old friend, a day off to relax with our loved ones, a car, a ring, a sofa... anything that adds to our emotional, mental (and sometimes even physical) health is gained at a price.
Why, when we carry ourselves out of the office early on a Friday afternoon so we can spend some much needed time with OURSELVES, do we have to carry with us those bags of guilt?
Yeah.
I don't know either.
Always questioning,
Meredith
Lately, I feel that, as Americans, we're constantly looking for what's not there -- what's being taken away -- rather than what's already there.
It's unfair, I know, but I also know it feels very true.
In relationships, often we look for what's wrong before we notice what's right: "He's not committed enough," "She's co-dependent," or "One of his earlobes is longer than the other." At work, we ask for Time Off. We look forward to the weekend, when we don't have to work. In our daily lives, the negative plays a major role. We look for bargains, for markdowns, for slashed prices. We cut coupons, we count calories (the less the better), we drink water to flush our systems. We want to lose weight instead of gain it, subtract taxes instead of add them, down-size our friends, our budget, our lives...
We are a nation obsessed with the negative.
Why, when we feel compelled to ADD to our lives, do we feel guilty? As if adding things to our lives -- things that come at a price -- we're punished. Higher education, lunch with an old friend, a day off to relax with our loved ones, a car, a ring, a sofa... anything that adds to our emotional, mental (and sometimes even physical) health is gained at a price.
Why, when we carry ourselves out of the office early on a Friday afternoon so we can spend some much needed time with OURSELVES, do we have to carry with us those bags of guilt?
Yeah.
I don't know either.
Always questioning,
Meredith
Monday, October 25, 2004
An Old Sad Song
Matt Smith,
A person creates their mate in their mind. I truly believe that every 20- or 30- something on this planet can remember a time in their childhood when they knew exactly what they were looking for in that One Person. Whether they dreamt of a blushing blonde, or a blue-eyed boy, or a white knight -- they know now what they were looking for then, and they've pretty much resigned themselves to the fact that no matter how long and strenuous the search, they're never going to find exactly what it was that they were looking for in the first place.
It's a sad thing to think on. And maybe I'm just a little sad myself tonight.
When I was a little girl, I remember thinking that the person I spend my days with would be an artist and he would be rich. As I got older, I realized that those two traits aren't usually the best of friends. So, I settled into thoughts of a writer, a reader, a thinker -- someone with a generous sense of humor and an honest smile. I wanted a musician, a movie buff. Someone who could see beyond the surface of everyday sorts of things -- not the least of which would be me. (I suppose I always thought that I wasn't much to look at, but I knew that I was smart. Maybe I thought that it took a pretty special type of person to see that deep into who I was.)
I remember thinking that, when I got older, things would inevitably fall into place. I would be walking down the street one evening, dressed in my little black dress after just having come from the theatre, and some tall, rich, tuxedo-clad gentleman with long, beautiful hair would pop out from behind a pillar and ask for my name.
Well, I was partly right.
He is tall. And I suppose it was evening.
But the thing is, I did get what I was looking for. It's hard to explain, I guess. But the person I was looking for... well, he's the type of person who -- well, collects the stickers that you find on produce. Who conducts an impromptu funeral and burial for a dead bird in his backyard by reading "Grass" by Carl Sandburg. Who honks at crows he sees on the interstate. Who tells me stories about, well, whatever I want... even if they're a little silly and involve a woman named Dottie. Who finds meaning in the way I eat my pancakes. Who appreciates the fact that I get a little crazy when I'm left alone for too long. Who can amuse passing tourists just by being himself.
He is the kind of person who reminds me, every day, that I exist. That I live out loud. That I have worth. That I am loved.
And he never has to speak a word.
Love,
Meredith
A person creates their mate in their mind. I truly believe that every 20- or 30- something on this planet can remember a time in their childhood when they knew exactly what they were looking for in that One Person. Whether they dreamt of a blushing blonde, or a blue-eyed boy, or a white knight -- they know now what they were looking for then, and they've pretty much resigned themselves to the fact that no matter how long and strenuous the search, they're never going to find exactly what it was that they were looking for in the first place.
It's a sad thing to think on. And maybe I'm just a little sad myself tonight.
When I was a little girl, I remember thinking that the person I spend my days with would be an artist and he would be rich. As I got older, I realized that those two traits aren't usually the best of friends. So, I settled into thoughts of a writer, a reader, a thinker -- someone with a generous sense of humor and an honest smile. I wanted a musician, a movie buff. Someone who could see beyond the surface of everyday sorts of things -- not the least of which would be me. (I suppose I always thought that I wasn't much to look at, but I knew that I was smart. Maybe I thought that it took a pretty special type of person to see that deep into who I was.)
I remember thinking that, when I got older, things would inevitably fall into place. I would be walking down the street one evening, dressed in my little black dress after just having come from the theatre, and some tall, rich, tuxedo-clad gentleman with long, beautiful hair would pop out from behind a pillar and ask for my name.
Well, I was partly right.
He is tall. And I suppose it was evening.
But the thing is, I did get what I was looking for. It's hard to explain, I guess. But the person I was looking for... well, he's the type of person who -- well, collects the stickers that you find on produce. Who conducts an impromptu funeral and burial for a dead bird in his backyard by reading "Grass" by Carl Sandburg. Who honks at crows he sees on the interstate. Who tells me stories about, well, whatever I want... even if they're a little silly and involve a woman named Dottie. Who finds meaning in the way I eat my pancakes. Who appreciates the fact that I get a little crazy when I'm left alone for too long. Who can amuse passing tourists just by being himself.
He is the kind of person who reminds me, every day, that I exist. That I live out loud. That I have worth. That I am loved.
And he never has to speak a word.
Love,
Meredith
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Friday, October 22, 2004
The Best Little Program Notes Ever
Greetings, Matt Smith.
How was your day? Good? Want to hear about mine? Great.
Wrote this as "program notes" for our classes today at the daycare center, and it made its rounds around the Artistic Staff Office.
Yeah. I wrote them.
And yes. They're true.
Program Notes
West St. Paul, MN
October 22, 2004
Sivie and Meredith
One of the interesting things about preschools and
day care centers that is hard to notice at first is
that they'll try anything once. It really doesn't
matter who comes in to their center/school to present,
or what they're presenting, just so long as the people
who work there get a break in their day. And for good
reason: they have a difficult job. Working with
toddlers and infants is a trying job, day in and day
out. Communication is difficult. Working with
children of that age and trying to communicate with
them all day creates this weird… vibe. They get so
comfortable communicating with toddlers that
communication with adults now seems awkward.
Perhaps that awkwardness is to blame for today's
difficulties.
If there were a magic wand that could instantly erase
the problems of today, the world would be a better
place. Today's program site was a perfect example of
why we have restrictions on programming (such as the
number and age of students in the classroom).
Frankly, it's difficult to create programming for
children who don't speak. No. It's more than
difficult. It's near to impossible. Why, you ask?
Because they can't speak. Much like a dog. Or a
gopher. Or a watermelon.
But, on to the matter at hand: Today's program site
went through a myriad of stages in their communication
with us at CLIMB. First, the contact
(Julie) believed we were clowns, coming in to
entertain the children. ("You guys are a bunch of
clowns, right?" Sure, Julie. We're clowns.
CLIMB Clowns.) Then, once corrected, we were told
that we'd be working with a group of kids who were 2.5
to 3.5 years old, then a group of kids who were 3.5 to
4.5 years old, and finally a group of school-aged kids
(mostly kindergartners with a few older kids thrown in
for good measure)… and was it okay to combine a class
so that there would be one class of about 42 kids?
(No, Julie Casby. It isn't.)
Once all that was straightened out and we understood a
little more of what the kids' level of comprehension
was, we settled in to what seemed to be a fine line of
thought towards programming. The suggestion from Tiny
Tots was that we "read a story" to the youngest group
-- leaving us wondering why we were presenting
something to them at all. We opted for a fabulous
little book on sharing called That Toad is Mine!
(which, while teaching a valuable lesson on why toads
can't be cut in half, also included the line, "A
hoptoad needs ONE place to be"), followed by a
"sharing" version of "Green Ball, Thank You," brought
down to the level of
pass-the-ball-and-say-thank-you-when-you-get-it.
After we had some help from the teachers at getting
the tiny tots settled ("These nice people are going to
be showing us a PUPPET show!" Um. What? Where were
they getting this information?), we were on our way.
This should have been brilliant.
Unfortunately, we were interrupted mid-picture-book by
a woman who seemed to be bringing a group of 1-year
olds in to our class. (Yes, Constant Reader, these
would be the kids who can't talk.) So, after our
initial shock at this new arrangement, we restarted
the story -- and even finished it -- amidst runny
noses, children falling on the floor, and the fact
that children who can't speak also can't answer any
questions.
And that was just the first class. (Although the rest
of the day, even with the scheduling snafus and
miscommunication, seemed a breeze.)
The 3 and 4-year olds were so much more perceptive --
which really isn't saying much -- but they were still
a relief after the stresses of the first class. The
Little Tykes version of "Joey/Lulu and Mom" was
somewhat of a hit, although when questioned about
things like Raising Your Hand and When It's OK to Ask
Questions, kids still came up with answers like, "Say
excuse me when you want to tie your shoes" or "Wipe
the dirt off your face with a paper towel." (Okay…
sure. Those… those are things you can do… when… um…
you… well… never mind.) But, they got the idea that
you're supposed to say you're sorry when you hit
someone or yell at them. And the
Thank-You-for-the-Ball game spoke to them. Somehow.
Regular programming began with "Chuck and the Cheeto
Challenge" and the wonderful return of school-aged
children who understand questions when they're asked
(when they're not playing with the dirt from the
bottom of some other little girl's shoe). The kids
thought we were funny, and they were able to "get"
that sometimes you have to do things you don't really
want to do.
The moral of the story?
Kids who can't talk should be taught by people trained
to talk to them, toads can't be cut in half (but kids
can act like toads REALLY well), people should use
their magic words (please, thank you, I'm sorry,
excuse me), and dirt is often more interesting than a
troll and a goat.
How was your day? Good? Want to hear about mine? Great.
Wrote this as "program notes" for our classes today at the daycare center, and it made its rounds around the Artistic Staff Office.
Yeah. I wrote them.
And yes. They're true.
Program Notes
West St. Paul, MN
October 22, 2004
Sivie and Meredith
One of the interesting things about preschools and
day care centers that is hard to notice at first is
that they'll try anything once. It really doesn't
matter who comes in to their center/school to present,
or what they're presenting, just so long as the people
who work there get a break in their day. And for good
reason: they have a difficult job. Working with
toddlers and infants is a trying job, day in and day
out. Communication is difficult. Working with
children of that age and trying to communicate with
them all day creates this weird… vibe. They get so
comfortable communicating with toddlers that
communication with adults now seems awkward.
Perhaps that awkwardness is to blame for today's
difficulties.
If there were a magic wand that could instantly erase
the problems of today, the world would be a better
place. Today's program site was a perfect example of
why we have restrictions on programming (such as the
number and age of students in the classroom).
Frankly, it's difficult to create programming for
children who don't speak. No. It's more than
difficult. It's near to impossible. Why, you ask?
Because they can't speak. Much like a dog. Or a
gopher. Or a watermelon.
But, on to the matter at hand: Today's program site
went through a myriad of stages in their communication
with us at CLIMB. First, the contact
(Julie) believed we were clowns, coming in to
entertain the children. ("You guys are a bunch of
clowns, right?" Sure, Julie. We're clowns.
CLIMB Clowns.) Then, once corrected, we were told
that we'd be working with a group of kids who were 2.5
to 3.5 years old, then a group of kids who were 3.5 to
4.5 years old, and finally a group of school-aged kids
(mostly kindergartners with a few older kids thrown in
for good measure)… and was it okay to combine a class
so that there would be one class of about 42 kids?
(No, Julie Casby. It isn't.)
Once all that was straightened out and we understood a
little more of what the kids' level of comprehension
was, we settled in to what seemed to be a fine line of
thought towards programming. The suggestion from Tiny
Tots was that we "read a story" to the youngest group
-- leaving us wondering why we were presenting
something to them at all. We opted for a fabulous
little book on sharing called That Toad is Mine!
(which, while teaching a valuable lesson on why toads
can't be cut in half, also included the line, "A
hoptoad needs ONE place to be"), followed by a
"sharing" version of "Green Ball, Thank You," brought
down to the level of
pass-the-ball-and-say-thank-you-when-you-get-it.
After we had some help from the teachers at getting
the tiny tots settled ("These nice people are going to
be showing us a PUPPET show!" Um. What? Where were
they getting this information?), we were on our way.
This should have been brilliant.
Unfortunately, we were interrupted mid-picture-book by
a woman who seemed to be bringing a group of 1-year
olds in to our class. (Yes, Constant Reader, these
would be the kids who can't talk.) So, after our
initial shock at this new arrangement, we restarted
the story -- and even finished it -- amidst runny
noses, children falling on the floor, and the fact
that children who can't speak also can't answer any
questions.
And that was just the first class. (Although the rest
of the day, even with the scheduling snafus and
miscommunication, seemed a breeze.)
The 3 and 4-year olds were so much more perceptive --
which really isn't saying much -- but they were still
a relief after the stresses of the first class. The
Little Tykes version of "Joey/Lulu and Mom" was
somewhat of a hit, although when questioned about
things like Raising Your Hand and When It's OK to Ask
Questions, kids still came up with answers like, "Say
excuse me when you want to tie your shoes" or "Wipe
the dirt off your face with a paper towel." (Okay…
sure. Those… those are things you can do… when… um…
you… well… never mind.) But, they got the idea that
you're supposed to say you're sorry when you hit
someone or yell at them. And the
Thank-You-for-the-Ball game spoke to them. Somehow.
Regular programming began with "Chuck and the Cheeto
Challenge" and the wonderful return of school-aged
children who understand questions when they're asked
(when they're not playing with the dirt from the
bottom of some other little girl's shoe). The kids
thought we were funny, and they were able to "get"
that sometimes you have to do things you don't really
want to do.
The moral of the story?
Kids who can't talk should be taught by people trained
to talk to them, toads can't be cut in half (but kids
can act like toads REALLY well), people should use
their magic words (please, thank you, I'm sorry,
excuse me), and dirt is often more interesting than a
troll and a goat.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Clowns, Toads, and the Communication Skills of American Toddlers
Hi again.
Very little to update you on from out here in the nutso Midwest... but that won't stop me from making something up for my own amusement.
Apparently Minnesota has some strange educators' conference -- the MEA: Minnesota Educators' Association. (Everyone's really big on abbreviations here, for some reason. I've never encountered anything like it before.) It cancels school for all Minnesota schoolchildren for two full days in October (today and tomorrow). How this actually accomplishes anything in the name of education I'm not sure, but I assume it has SOMETHING to do with educating the educators. I hope.
Educating the educators leaves the theatre-in-education folks no place to go for two days, though, since most of our work takes place in the schools -- and the schools are closed. Aside from going out of state (which I'm not), there's very little to do.
Or, you'd think that, wouldn't you?
Wouldn't you know it, they assigned me to a Tiny Tots and Little Tykes preschool/day-care. Me. As in, the girl who can't communicate with adults -- so how am I supposed to communicate with kids who have no grasp on the English language? It's like they're little... foreigners! Or puppies! Or something else that makes incoherent sounds! A broken carousel! A dying moose! Argh!
To top it all off, the people who run the day-care very honestly thought that CLIMB was a group of clowns. Clowns. What a hoot. So, at least we've got that as a back-up plan.
For the little-little kids (say, two-years old? what does a two-year old even LOOK like?!), we've planned to read a book that I just LOVE (seriously) titled, "That Toad is MINE!"
Yeah. It covers the oh-so-serious topic of sharing and what you can and cannot share. Like a toad. You can't share a toad. You can't even have shared custody of a toad, apparently, because, as the book so eloquently states, "A hoptoad needs ONE place to be."
Oooo... I am so VERY excited.
Love,
Meredith
P.S. Emma got engaged. To Marty. So... I mean... that's strange. Good strange, yes... but still strange all the same. I mean... it's Marty. And Emma. And they're my friends. Friends getting engaged? Kooky.
Very little to update you on from out here in the nutso Midwest... but that won't stop me from making something up for my own amusement.
Apparently Minnesota has some strange educators' conference -- the MEA: Minnesota Educators' Association. (Everyone's really big on abbreviations here, for some reason. I've never encountered anything like it before.) It cancels school for all Minnesota schoolchildren for two full days in October (today and tomorrow). How this actually accomplishes anything in the name of education I'm not sure, but I assume it has SOMETHING to do with educating the educators. I hope.
Educating the educators leaves the theatre-in-education folks no place to go for two days, though, since most of our work takes place in the schools -- and the schools are closed. Aside from going out of state (which I'm not), there's very little to do.
Or, you'd think that, wouldn't you?
Wouldn't you know it, they assigned me to a Tiny Tots and Little Tykes preschool/day-care. Me. As in, the girl who can't communicate with adults -- so how am I supposed to communicate with kids who have no grasp on the English language? It's like they're little... foreigners! Or puppies! Or something else that makes incoherent sounds! A broken carousel! A dying moose! Argh!
To top it all off, the people who run the day-care very honestly thought that CLIMB was a group of clowns. Clowns. What a hoot. So, at least we've got that as a back-up plan.
For the little-little kids (say, two-years old? what does a two-year old even LOOK like?!), we've planned to read a book that I just LOVE (seriously) titled, "That Toad is MINE!"
Yeah. It covers the oh-so-serious topic of sharing and what you can and cannot share. Like a toad. You can't share a toad. You can't even have shared custody of a toad, apparently, because, as the book so eloquently states, "A hoptoad needs ONE place to be."
Oooo... I am so VERY excited.
Love,
Meredith
P.S. Emma got engaged. To Marty. So... I mean... that's strange. Good strange, yes... but still strange all the same. I mean... it's Marty. And Emma. And they're my friends. Friends getting engaged? Kooky.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Why's George Foreman Guest Starring on "Without a Trace?"
Hi, Matt Smith.
Really, I don't honestly think it's George Foreman. It sure looks like him, though. It's as if Reginald VelJohnson and Ving Rhames mated, and then spawned this other guy who looks a great deal like George Foreman. Or something like that.
Currently, I'm in Iowa City at the University of Iowa. Since this is really the only long stop I've ever made in Iowa, I feel as if I'm judging the whole state on this one city. But, not to worry. Iowa's everything I dreamt it would be... and more. It's nice to be in a Place with Stuff to Do with People and Things. We're sent so often to nothing-places that it's nice to be able to get out and DO SOMETHING, anything... even if it's sitting at a local bar and grill and complaining about the slow service.
Highlights of today include: discovering the ethernet connection in my pea-green hotel room, presenting in-services to school counselors from all over the state of Iowa, eating with the aforementioned counselors, wearing a skunk costume (while not actually trying to play a skunk), and swapping movie quotes over a meal with fellow actor-typey folk.
But more on Why I Love Iowa and Why You Should Too:
I love Iowa because of their ethernet connections.
I love Iowa because it's warmer here than in the Twin Cities.
I love Iowa because it's flat.
I love Iowa because of Iowa City.
I love Iowa because I haven't encountered one ounce of Iowa stubborness, and therefore, I don't really believe it exists.
I love Iowa because people ride bikes.
I love Iowa because my hotel is connected to the Student Union.
I love Iowa because I didn't have to drive here.
I love Iowa because I don't have to drive back.
I love Iowa because people live here and do things that are fun.
I love Iowa because there's a coffee maker in my room.
I love Iowa because I took a shower this morning.
I love Iowa because I'm going to see the largest frying pan in Iowa tomorrow morning.
I love Iowa because I can blog from my room.
and more importantly... I love Iowa because I don't have to stay here.
That being said, ladies and gentlemen, goodnight.
Sweet dreams,
Meredith
Really, I don't honestly think it's George Foreman. It sure looks like him, though. It's as if Reginald VelJohnson and Ving Rhames mated, and then spawned this other guy who looks a great deal like George Foreman. Or something like that.
Currently, I'm in Iowa City at the University of Iowa. Since this is really the only long stop I've ever made in Iowa, I feel as if I'm judging the whole state on this one city. But, not to worry. Iowa's everything I dreamt it would be... and more. It's nice to be in a Place with Stuff to Do with People and Things. We're sent so often to nothing-places that it's nice to be able to get out and DO SOMETHING, anything... even if it's sitting at a local bar and grill and complaining about the slow service.
Highlights of today include: discovering the ethernet connection in my pea-green hotel room, presenting in-services to school counselors from all over the state of Iowa, eating with the aforementioned counselors, wearing a skunk costume (while not actually trying to play a skunk), and swapping movie quotes over a meal with fellow actor-typey folk.
But more on Why I Love Iowa and Why You Should Too:
I love Iowa because of their ethernet connections.
I love Iowa because it's warmer here than in the Twin Cities.
I love Iowa because it's flat.
I love Iowa because of Iowa City.
I love Iowa because I haven't encountered one ounce of Iowa stubborness, and therefore, I don't really believe it exists.
I love Iowa because people ride bikes.
I love Iowa because my hotel is connected to the Student Union.
I love Iowa because I didn't have to drive here.
I love Iowa because I don't have to drive back.
I love Iowa because people live here and do things that are fun.
I love Iowa because there's a coffee maker in my room.
I love Iowa because I took a shower this morning.
I love Iowa because I'm going to see the largest frying pan in Iowa tomorrow morning.
I love Iowa because I can blog from my room.
and more importantly... I love Iowa because I don't have to stay here.
That being said, ladies and gentlemen, goodnight.
Sweet dreams,
Meredith
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Out of Whack Priorities
Matthew Smith,
Hi there again. Heard any good jokes lately? No? Neither have I.
Oh no. I take that back. Right now I'm listening to the Presidential Debate, which, I'm disappointed to report, is delaying my date with Detective Green and that new guy with the fancy suits on NBC. I don't care if you ARE vying to be the so-called Leader of the Free World, how dare you cancel "Law & Order?"
(Yes, in case you're wondering, I do have "my priorities out of whack," as my mother would say.)
The best way to protect citizens from guns is to prosecute those who commit crimes with guns? Hmmm. Let's see. Call me crazy, but I think we'd do better to make sure the kooky folks don't get guns in the first place. I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong here. No guns = no crimes with guns. Oy. Wait til I get my hands on this country.
But back to more pressing issues.
Since "Law & Order" is STILL not coming on, and the Men in Black are still chatting, yes, I do have a pretty neat sort of job, don't I? Today we had a reporter/photographer in our classroom who was doing an article on CLIMB and our work in the schools. When he asked us about our work, I realized that -- basically -- what I do is a 40-minute commercial for respect. I sell respect to students, and I have to make it look as good as the other brands out there. Brands like Kicking, Screaming, Not Raising Your Hand, Bullying, Name-Calling, Exclusion, and Bigotry. Oh, it's a charmed life I lead. Walking into a school, I'm like the Grandmother who brings presents and candy and then goes home.
The people I really feel for are the teachers -- the Parents in the schools -- who can't always be the Magical World of Disney, and who can't always be a pirate, or a troll, or a goat, or whatever.
Thankfully, I CAN be the Whatever.
I'm the Gonzo.
I'm a Whatever.
(And they're stillllll taalllkkking.... I'm glad that George Dubya prays. Really. I am. Good for him. But does he know that "in the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate, but equally important groups?" I need their stories, President Bush and Senator Kerry. Puh-leaasssee!)
Love,
Meredith
Hi there again. Heard any good jokes lately? No? Neither have I.
Oh no. I take that back. Right now I'm listening to the Presidential Debate, which, I'm disappointed to report, is delaying my date with Detective Green and that new guy with the fancy suits on NBC. I don't care if you ARE vying to be the so-called Leader of the Free World, how dare you cancel "Law & Order?"
(Yes, in case you're wondering, I do have "my priorities out of whack," as my mother would say.)
The best way to protect citizens from guns is to prosecute those who commit crimes with guns? Hmmm. Let's see. Call me crazy, but I think we'd do better to make sure the kooky folks don't get guns in the first place. I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong here. No guns = no crimes with guns. Oy. Wait til I get my hands on this country.
But back to more pressing issues.
Since "Law & Order" is STILL not coming on, and the Men in Black are still chatting, yes, I do have a pretty neat sort of job, don't I? Today we had a reporter/photographer in our classroom who was doing an article on CLIMB and our work in the schools. When he asked us about our work, I realized that -- basically -- what I do is a 40-minute commercial for respect. I sell respect to students, and I have to make it look as good as the other brands out there. Brands like Kicking, Screaming, Not Raising Your Hand, Bullying, Name-Calling, Exclusion, and Bigotry. Oh, it's a charmed life I lead. Walking into a school, I'm like the Grandmother who brings presents and candy and then goes home.
The people I really feel for are the teachers -- the Parents in the schools -- who can't always be the Magical World of Disney, and who can't always be a pirate, or a troll, or a goat, or whatever.
Thankfully, I CAN be the Whatever.
I'm the Gonzo.
I'm a Whatever.
(And they're stillllll taalllkkking.... I'm glad that George Dubya prays. Really. I am. Good for him. But does he know that "in the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate, but equally important groups?" I need their stories, President Bush and Senator Kerry. Puh-leaasssee!)
Love,
Meredith
Friday, October 08, 2004
The Boy Who Cried Poo
Cheers, Matt Smith.
I've just returned from my first full week on the road. "Road," in this particular case, differs greatly from the original entymology. Here, "road" reads more as "middle of nowhere." And, to be even more specific, this week's middle of nowhere was Luverne, Minnesota.
Luverne boasts a great number of fabulous things.
Luverne is the Gateway. I never witnessed the Gate myself, and I can only surmise that the Gateway they speak of is some fictional gate -- a Gate to Iowa and/or South Dakota. Unless they're talking about Real Gates. On fences, perhaps. In that case, there was a plethora of those that housed the area's cattle, pigs, and yes, buffalo.
And, speaking of buffalo, the large stone blasted buffalo statue that stands in front of the specialty store, "Those Blasted Things," is not to be missed. You simply couldn't miss it even if you tried.
Other things of note in Luverne:
1) The Super 8 Motel. Highly recommended by CLIMB Theatre folk, mainly because of the make-your-own-waffle component during breakfast hours. Ask for Barb. She rocks.
2) The local playground. In addition to the windy, swirly, makes-your-hair-stand-on-end shocky slides, there are swings to swing, bouncy things to bounce, climby things to climb, and lots of hard ground to injure yourself on. And while we were there, a man in army fatigues was patrolling the area. Makes you feel safe... or something. (In my case, confused.)
3) The students at Luverne Elementary. Fabulous kids accompanied by fabulous staff. The teachers' lounge was never wanting for goodies -- cinnamon rolls, mini Snickers bars, chocolate chip cookie pie thing -- and I felt very welcome there. In my time as an actor, educator, troll, and pirate there, I even felt a bit of appreciation. Or at least I came close.
Side note of note: During the end of one of our K-2 mini-drama classes where I play a troll, we were asking the kindergarteners to try to remember the 3-part magic formula they learned at the beginning of the play. It never fails that we -- the seasoned professionals -- forget the magic formula. The kids come up with it on their own at the beginning, and we go through so many different combinations in a day (favorite breakfast food/book/color, favorite cartoon character/shape/dessert, and the like) that we inevitably must rely on the kids in each class to remember. In this particular class, the children were having a tough time remembering, and we were of no use. One boy, hand raised, kept calling out, "Poo! Poo! Poo!" Yeah, kid. Poo. I'm SO sure. Why's the weird kid screaming poo? We had no idea. It was odd, and we were tired, and it was funny. So, trying desperately to stay in character, we laughed, and I turned to my team lead/partner, and in my best Russian troll voice, asked, "What is this poo?"
Well, yeah. It was Winnie the Pooh.
But you can't know everything all the time,
Love,
Meredith
I've just returned from my first full week on the road. "Road," in this particular case, differs greatly from the original entymology. Here, "road" reads more as "middle of nowhere." And, to be even more specific, this week's middle of nowhere was Luverne, Minnesota.
Luverne boasts a great number of fabulous things.
Luverne is the Gateway. I never witnessed the Gate myself, and I can only surmise that the Gateway they speak of is some fictional gate -- a Gate to Iowa and/or South Dakota. Unless they're talking about Real Gates. On fences, perhaps. In that case, there was a plethora of those that housed the area's cattle, pigs, and yes, buffalo.
And, speaking of buffalo, the large stone blasted buffalo statue that stands in front of the specialty store, "Those Blasted Things," is not to be missed. You simply couldn't miss it even if you tried.
Other things of note in Luverne:
1) The Super 8 Motel. Highly recommended by CLIMB Theatre folk, mainly because of the make-your-own-waffle component during breakfast hours. Ask for Barb. She rocks.
2) The local playground. In addition to the windy, swirly, makes-your-hair-stand-on-end shocky slides, there are swings to swing, bouncy things to bounce, climby things to climb, and lots of hard ground to injure yourself on. And while we were there, a man in army fatigues was patrolling the area. Makes you feel safe... or something. (In my case, confused.)
3) The students at Luverne Elementary. Fabulous kids accompanied by fabulous staff. The teachers' lounge was never wanting for goodies -- cinnamon rolls, mini Snickers bars, chocolate chip cookie pie thing -- and I felt very welcome there. In my time as an actor, educator, troll, and pirate there, I even felt a bit of appreciation. Or at least I came close.
Side note of note: During the end of one of our K-2 mini-drama classes where I play a troll, we were asking the kindergarteners to try to remember the 3-part magic formula they learned at the beginning of the play. It never fails that we -- the seasoned professionals -- forget the magic formula. The kids come up with it on their own at the beginning, and we go through so many different combinations in a day (favorite breakfast food/book/color, favorite cartoon character/shape/dessert, and the like) that we inevitably must rely on the kids in each class to remember. In this particular class, the children were having a tough time remembering, and we were of no use. One boy, hand raised, kept calling out, "Poo! Poo! Poo!" Yeah, kid. Poo. I'm SO sure. Why's the weird kid screaming poo? We had no idea. It was odd, and we were tired, and it was funny. So, trying desperately to stay in character, we laughed, and I turned to my team lead/partner, and in my best Russian troll voice, asked, "What is this poo?"
Well, yeah. It was Winnie the Pooh.
But you can't know everything all the time,
Love,
Meredith
Saturday, September 25, 2004
The Devil and Creepy Star-ster
Dear Matt Smith,
I feel that there should be a bit said on the subject of Friday. (Not just any Friday, of course, but yesterday.)
Working with children -- and yesterday I did work with kindergarteners, most of which can actually be defined as children -- can be a real pickle. A big, bumpy, sat-too-long-in-the-brine kind of pickle. Kids say the darndest things, don't they? (Thanks, Mr. Cosby.) But there's no "How To" book on responding to their darndest things. A bloody shame, if you ask me. A real bloody shame.
And so, as my laundry dries in the dryer and my clothes wash in the washer and my music plays on the music-er, I'll tell you a few things I heard these darn kids say yesterday. Your job is to think to yourself, "How WOULD I have responded to that?" Yep. It's a toughy.
The Darndest Things Ever
Topic: Self-Control
Q: How might you feel if someone told you that you had to clean your room, and that you couldn't watch your favorite TV show?
A: "Sad."
A: "Mad."
A: "Bad."
A: "Very sad."
A: "Very, very sad."
A: "Very, very, VERY sad."
A: "Sad, and a little mad."
A: "Bad, and a little sad."
A: "Mad, and a little sad."
A: "Happy!"
A: "Ferocious."
Q: What might you WANT to do, even if you knew you were supposed to turn off the TV and clean your room?
A: "Turn the TV back on."
A: "I HAVE a TV in MY room."
A: "Play with my dolls."
A: "Play Playstation."
A: "Play XBox."
A: "Clean my room... and THEN watch TV."
A: "Take a blowtorch to all the things in my room."
A: "Punch myself in my head."
A: "Cry."
A: "Kill myself."
Here's one of my favorite dialogues:
AE (Actor-Educator): How might you use your self-control at school?
(child raises his hand)
AE: Yes? How would you do that at school?
Child: You can use your Star Power.
(after a pause)
AE: Can you explain Star Power to me a bit more?
Child: You can control the devil any time you want to.
(AE stutters a bit. Child continues.)
Child: You use your star power to control the devil and --
AE (quickly cutting Child off): By the "devil," do you mean the bad things that people do?
(Child pauses again... for a while.)
Child: Yes.
(Audible sigh of relief from both AEs.)
At any rate, you see what I mean, yes?
Life's weird when you're a kid.
Or even when you just spend time with them.
Love,
Meredith
I feel that there should be a bit said on the subject of Friday. (Not just any Friday, of course, but yesterday.)
Working with children -- and yesterday I did work with kindergarteners, most of which can actually be defined as children -- can be a real pickle. A big, bumpy, sat-too-long-in-the-brine kind of pickle. Kids say the darndest things, don't they? (Thanks, Mr. Cosby.) But there's no "How To" book on responding to their darndest things. A bloody shame, if you ask me. A real bloody shame.
And so, as my laundry dries in the dryer and my clothes wash in the washer and my music plays on the music-er, I'll tell you a few things I heard these darn kids say yesterday. Your job is to think to yourself, "How WOULD I have responded to that?" Yep. It's a toughy.
The Darndest Things Ever
Topic: Self-Control
Q: How might you feel if someone told you that you had to clean your room, and that you couldn't watch your favorite TV show?
A: "Sad."
A: "Mad."
A: "Bad."
A: "Very sad."
A: "Very, very sad."
A: "Very, very, VERY sad."
A: "Sad, and a little mad."
A: "Bad, and a little sad."
A: "Mad, and a little sad."
A: "Happy!"
A: "Ferocious."
Q: What might you WANT to do, even if you knew you were supposed to turn off the TV and clean your room?
A: "Turn the TV back on."
A: "I HAVE a TV in MY room."
A: "Play with my dolls."
A: "Play Playstation."
A: "Play XBox."
A: "Clean my room... and THEN watch TV."
A: "Take a blowtorch to all the things in my room."
A: "Punch myself in my head."
A: "Cry."
A: "Kill myself."
Here's one of my favorite dialogues:
AE (Actor-Educator): How might you use your self-control at school?
(child raises his hand)
AE: Yes? How would you do that at school?
Child: You can use your Star Power.
(after a pause)
AE: Can you explain Star Power to me a bit more?
Child: You can control the devil any time you want to.
(AE stutters a bit. Child continues.)
Child: You use your star power to control the devil and --
AE (quickly cutting Child off): By the "devil," do you mean the bad things that people do?
(Child pauses again... for a while.)
Child: Yes.
(Audible sigh of relief from both AEs.)
At any rate, you see what I mean, yes?
Life's weird when you're a kid.
Or even when you just spend time with them.
Love,
Meredith
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Parking Lot Nostalgia
Hey Matt Smith.
I was coming back from a performance site yesterday -- my first day of teaching -- and we were driving right behind a truck whose mud flaps were manufactured in Goshen, Indiana. And, inevitably, I thought of you. Not because you're the only person I know who's from Goshen, but because I suddenly thought that maybe you're actually the only person who's EVER come from Goshen. You're really the only person who lives there, aren't you? When you're away at school, the town pretty much shuts down 'cause there's no one there, right? Just checking.
A few things I should let you in on:
1) I have unpacked. And a few of your assumptions do indeed hold true. There are quite a few boxes in my room -- although I think they'd more rightly be called crates -- but all of them are empty and now have other purposes than they originally did. One is a bookshelf, one is a shelf that holds photos and such, and another holds a bunch of candles. None of them hold up a television, because, as one may have gathered, I no longer own a television. Nor do I own a VCR. I have left all of my countless videotapes with my sister, and I miss them (and my sister) greatly.
2) I have left Matt, Emma, and Me, Too at home in Pittsburgh. Emma lives with Lori (but Marty lives with Matt, so look out Jane Street) and Me, Too lives with my sister. She loves him. Or she should. Because I'm not there to. And I can't bring him here, the poor kitten, for assorted reasons... so I'll have to send Kitty Support Checks and let my friends and family love him until I get back.
3) I do have bouts of nostalgia and the gas prices do fluctuate. It's funny you should mention both of those things. For one, I have the bouts of nostalgia at the most random times. Today, I had one while walking through a grocery store parking lot. It was sad. (Which is horrible because I don't think I'm allowed to be sad or lonely here. The natives just won't put up with it.) And also, the gas prices are STRANGE. There's a gas station at the end of the street that I live on, and I swear, the gas price changes twice daily. It's one price when I go out early in the morning, and by the time I come home in the evening, it's changed. One day it changed four times. I've seen it go from $1.70 to $1.86 and back down again during the course of a day. Spooky, yes?
Oh, and 4) The menorah's not mine. It's Melissa's.
Work's pretty okay. Yes, being a troll all week has its advantages, but I often find myself slipping into Troll Speak (which sounds a lot like Dave Katzin's Transylvanian Portugese accent, but I never intended it to) at the oddest points in my day. Never try talking to a check-out girl that way. She just won't know what to do. Trust me.
Yes, being a troll and a pirate and a goat actually are teaching strategies with the company I'm in. So far, so good. I think the message is getting across (today I taught self-control -- yes, con-TROLL -- to kindergarteners) and it's uncanny how comfortable I am doing what I'm doing. I might even say I was good at it.
But that's the only time you'll hear me say it.
Love,
Meredith
I was coming back from a performance site yesterday -- my first day of teaching -- and we were driving right behind a truck whose mud flaps were manufactured in Goshen, Indiana. And, inevitably, I thought of you. Not because you're the only person I know who's from Goshen, but because I suddenly thought that maybe you're actually the only person who's EVER come from Goshen. You're really the only person who lives there, aren't you? When you're away at school, the town pretty much shuts down 'cause there's no one there, right? Just checking.
A few things I should let you in on:
1) I have unpacked. And a few of your assumptions do indeed hold true. There are quite a few boxes in my room -- although I think they'd more rightly be called crates -- but all of them are empty and now have other purposes than they originally did. One is a bookshelf, one is a shelf that holds photos and such, and another holds a bunch of candles. None of them hold up a television, because, as one may have gathered, I no longer own a television. Nor do I own a VCR. I have left all of my countless videotapes with my sister, and I miss them (and my sister) greatly.
2) I have left Matt, Emma, and Me, Too at home in Pittsburgh. Emma lives with Lori (but Marty lives with Matt, so look out Jane Street) and Me, Too lives with my sister. She loves him. Or she should. Because I'm not there to. And I can't bring him here, the poor kitten, for assorted reasons... so I'll have to send Kitty Support Checks and let my friends and family love him until I get back.
3) I do have bouts of nostalgia and the gas prices do fluctuate. It's funny you should mention both of those things. For one, I have the bouts of nostalgia at the most random times. Today, I had one while walking through a grocery store parking lot. It was sad. (Which is horrible because I don't think I'm allowed to be sad or lonely here. The natives just won't put up with it.) And also, the gas prices are STRANGE. There's a gas station at the end of the street that I live on, and I swear, the gas price changes twice daily. It's one price when I go out early in the morning, and by the time I come home in the evening, it's changed. One day it changed four times. I've seen it go from $1.70 to $1.86 and back down again during the course of a day. Spooky, yes?
Oh, and 4) The menorah's not mine. It's Melissa's.
Work's pretty okay. Yes, being a troll all week has its advantages, but I often find myself slipping into Troll Speak (which sounds a lot like Dave Katzin's Transylvanian Portugese accent, but I never intended it to) at the oddest points in my day. Never try talking to a check-out girl that way. She just won't know what to do. Trust me.
Yes, being a troll and a pirate and a goat actually are teaching strategies with the company I'm in. So far, so good. I think the message is getting across (today I taught self-control -- yes, con-TROLL -- to kindergarteners) and it's uncanny how comfortable I am doing what I'm doing. I might even say I was good at it.
But that's the only time you'll hear me say it.
Love,
Meredith
Saturday, September 18, 2004
The Great Great Room is Great
Matt Smith,
It's very loud.
Often I have to take a moment and take stock of my new work environment. For instance, right now, there's a goat and a troll rehearsing outside of the office. I have no shoes on. At one point today, I was even wearing a gas mask.
It's a fun job... once you're able to step back and look at the scene as if you're not in it. If you can't do that, well... you're just going to end up being a very sad, sad person. Or goat. Or troll. Or whatever.
My apartment still has no phone service, but it does have what I like to call the "Great Room." Great because there's next to nothing in it. Sure, we've got a futon now, but there's still a lot of room to do just about anything. It's great for line dancing, or seances, or Twister. It's Great for a lot of things.
Monday is my first day as an Actor-Educator. Yes, to answer your inevitable question, it is silly when I answer the question, "What do you do?" I get to say, "I'm an Actor-Educator." (Yes. AE. I'm an AE. Which is either the stupidest abbreviation or a non-descript vowel sound.) I got to tell the people at the bank that the other day when I opened my new account, and the girl -- who wasn't all that swift to begin with -- looked at me like I had a poodle on my head.
But for now, the goat, the troll, the AE, the Great Room and I (and possibly the poodle) are going to go rehearse a little thing I like to call, "Calming My Nerves," or "Working It Down From A Four."
Because I'm a four, Matt Smith. I'm a four.
-- Meredith
It's very loud.
Often I have to take a moment and take stock of my new work environment. For instance, right now, there's a goat and a troll rehearsing outside of the office. I have no shoes on. At one point today, I was even wearing a gas mask.
It's a fun job... once you're able to step back and look at the scene as if you're not in it. If you can't do that, well... you're just going to end up being a very sad, sad person. Or goat. Or troll. Or whatever.
My apartment still has no phone service, but it does have what I like to call the "Great Room." Great because there's next to nothing in it. Sure, we've got a futon now, but there's still a lot of room to do just about anything. It's great for line dancing, or seances, or Twister. It's Great for a lot of things.
Monday is my first day as an Actor-Educator. Yes, to answer your inevitable question, it is silly when I answer the question, "What do you do?" I get to say, "I'm an Actor-Educator." (Yes. AE. I'm an AE. Which is either the stupidest abbreviation or a non-descript vowel sound.) I got to tell the people at the bank that the other day when I opened my new account, and the girl -- who wasn't all that swift to begin with -- looked at me like I had a poodle on my head.
But for now, the goat, the troll, the AE, the Great Room and I (and possibly the poodle) are going to go rehearse a little thing I like to call, "Calming My Nerves," or "Working It Down From A Four."
Because I'm a four, Matt Smith. I'm a four.
-- Meredith
Thursday, September 16, 2004
A Girl's Got to Have Her Juice (or, AGGHJ)
Hey right back, Matt Smith:
Sometimes it's okay to not feel entertaining. For example, it's okay that I do not feel entertaining now. I feel far from entertaining. (That's one of the many phrases I'd like to be able to work onto my business card -- in some capacity. Another one is, "Meredith: Pretty Far From Bob." It turns out there's a lot of things I'm "far from.")
I'm far from home right now, actually. I'm breaking all the rules in the CLIMB, Inc. Artistic Staff Office by bringing my cranberry juice in here and using the computer for personal e-mail. (But, a girl's got to drink juice. That's how I see it.) The Artistic Staff Office is more commonly referred to as the ASO (read: A-S-O. not "ass-o," which is how I pronounced it the first time I saw it). Folks around CLIMB (that's "Creative Learning Ideas for Mind and Body") have an annoying habit of creating nonsensical acronyms (a word where every letter of the word stands for a different word, or "WWELWSDW") for every part of the office (EPO), and even things that occur in everyday life (TTOEL). Yes, Matt, it's as if I've stepped into another dimension. (I knew you were wondering.)
So, there you have it. I'm spending my days in a bad Saturday Night Live skit during a writers' strike.
But, it's not so bad.
At least I have a nice apartment. (No worries, Anne.)
Love,
Meredith
Sometimes it's okay to not feel entertaining. For example, it's okay that I do not feel entertaining now. I feel far from entertaining. (That's one of the many phrases I'd like to be able to work onto my business card -- in some capacity. Another one is, "Meredith: Pretty Far From Bob." It turns out there's a lot of things I'm "far from.")
I'm far from home right now, actually. I'm breaking all the rules in the CLIMB, Inc. Artistic Staff Office by bringing my cranberry juice in here and using the computer for personal e-mail. (But, a girl's got to drink juice. That's how I see it.) The Artistic Staff Office is more commonly referred to as the ASO (read: A-S-O. not "ass-o," which is how I pronounced it the first time I saw it). Folks around CLIMB (that's "Creative Learning Ideas for Mind and Body") have an annoying habit of creating nonsensical acronyms (a word where every letter of the word stands for a different word, or "WWELWSDW") for every part of the office (EPO), and even things that occur in everyday life (TTOEL). Yes, Matt, it's as if I've stepped into another dimension. (I knew you were wondering.)
So, there you have it. I'm spending my days in a bad Saturday Night Live skit during a writers' strike.
But, it's not so bad.
At least I have a nice apartment. (No worries, Anne.)
Love,
Meredith
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