So, we're having sibling issues. Or rather, our siblings are having issues that effect us all.
In the past two weeks:
Greg's brother has been despairing; his older sister has decided to cut off all relations with their grandmother and shares her obsessive rage with Greg several times a day; his younger sister was just released after two weeks in the hospital for being suicidal.
My brother has been doin' the 'roids for his bulging disc and my sister has been diagnosed with a new form of cancer. Not that it's new, just new to her. Breast this time--potentially even caused by the radiation that treated the Hodgkins Disease when we were in high school--generally, this is a good thing because it's local, not systemic. The problem is, hers has started to run, and the favorite destination of this variety is the lymph nodes. Non-Hodgkins lymphoma wouldn't be nearly as fun and easy as a mastectomy--or, as I refer to it, her upcoming boob job.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Monday, April 02, 2007
Differences?
So, post show on Saturday, there was a cast party. The cast got wildly drunk, I just had enough to anesthetize my strep throat. It was generally a good time, I got home at 3:30, Greg got home at 6.
The absolute highlight for me: The GW as she's been known in the past, came up to me, threw her arms around my next and said "I know we've had our differences in the past...but I want to thank you for all your help and support...you're a wonderful person..." It was lengthy and heartfelt and really, rather sweet, all told.
Sweet, but I was very amused. As far as I know, the only real problem we have is she spent more than a year trying to steal my live-in boyfriend just after my father died. Does that really count as a difference? I'm thinking it's more like a hanging offense.
The absolute highlight for me: The GW as she's been known in the past, came up to me, threw her arms around my next and said "I know we've had our differences in the past...but I want to thank you for all your help and support...you're a wonderful person..." It was lengthy and heartfelt and really, rather sweet, all told.
Sweet, but I was very amused. As far as I know, the only real problem we have is she spent more than a year trying to steal my live-in boyfriend just after my father died. Does that really count as a difference? I'm thinking it's more like a hanging offense.
Thank you, Mr. Loper...
It's been a crazy couple of weeks, filled with drama--a play run, a friend blowing town due to horrific circumstances, oh, and there's been lots of work to do at the same time...
And as far as work goes, Thursday took the cake. We had a committee meeting for the community economic development strategy plan we're preparing. We lucked out and had a quorum so the goals and strategies could be approved. We had a speaker to give the committee information about the workforce training needs in the region. We also had a subconsultant who (conspicuously absent up to this point) decided to make his presence known.
Every once in a while, he would make some backhanded complement to our work, annoying, but that's to be expected from an academic sub. Once the Chair of the Committee left and the presenter started, he really became obnoxious--he challenged every bit of data she presented for absolutely no reason.
The entire time, I just kept thinking..."somebody really needs to punch this guy in the neck."
And as far as work goes, Thursday took the cake. We had a committee meeting for the community economic development strategy plan we're preparing. We lucked out and had a quorum so the goals and strategies could be approved. We had a speaker to give the committee information about the workforce training needs in the region. We also had a subconsultant who (conspicuously absent up to this point) decided to make his presence known.
Every once in a while, he would make some backhanded complement to our work, annoying, but that's to be expected from an academic sub. Once the Chair of the Committee left and the presenter started, he really became obnoxious--he challenged every bit of data she presented for absolutely no reason.
The entire time, I just kept thinking..."somebody really needs to punch this guy in the neck."
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Hooray!!!!
Greg's show opened last night at the Duplex. I'd read parts of the script and really had my doubts about it. It worked. It was really good. It was really, really funny.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Home Pride
So, I was home two weekends ago for the Miss O Pageant. My mom and the other "Ladies" as they're now know are getting a little old for the carrying of tables and all the running through the auditorium that's required.
Now, I've been hearing about the horrors of the out-going Miss O's mother for the better part of a year. The girl is sweet, but mama's a harpy. The final night of the Miss Wis Pageant, after her daughter didn't make top ten, not only did she refuse to speak to her loser child, but she spoke to the head of the organization that sponsors Miss O to say the Ladies should be fired and someone who knows what they're doing should be called in. This was quite funny since she didn't allow her daughter to listen to any of the Ladies' advice and between that and her astonishing lack of talent, she didn't even place.
Gordy did get her revenge on pageant day: she threw the entire family (including the precocious little sister known for getting chocolate prints on gowns) out of the auditorium 'cause the families of the contestants aren't allowed. She extended the rule to include the family of the current queen. She was so proud. It was excellent.
The girl's final appearance on stage as Miss O was entirely choreographed by mama. She bought her new dresses to wear (the girl is short, pale and curvy--mama favors white and pastels that are cut straight across), chose her final performance song (Climb Every Mountain) and choreographed the singing of it.
I heard her for the first time when she came out to sing the national anthem. Veterans were openly weeping and NOT from pride. I'm not a flag-waver by any means, but this was offensive.
She then came out to start mc-ing. My niece (the one in her 20s) was sitting next to me and the first thing she said was, "Who picked out that dress?!" It was a lovely pale yellow ensemble with a strapless satin top, a waist belt and tulle skirt. (On the Cosby Show rerun I'd seen the night before, Claire Huxtable had had the same dress for her sweet-16 party in 1958.) Trish and I spent the rest of the night racing to call who'd purchased her clothes (the ladies or the mama) not that it took more than a glance--the girl gained or lost 30 lbs each time she came out in a new outfit.
I don't even like to think about the hideous mistake that was made with her dress for the finale. Ill-fitting, white version of the black dress the very tall, very thin Miss Wis was wearing. Take into account that it had to be bustled so she could dance in it... Ughh... She would've been better off in a white potato sack with sequins thrown at it.
But the piece-de-resistance was her final performance. The Ladies did convince her to wear the dress made for her under their instruction instead of her mama's. So other than her rendition of "Climb Every Mountain", which had the audience flinching with every high note, there was only one problem. Mama rechoreographed the number after the dress rehearsal. The girl finished in a full lunge down on one knee. Umm...her gown had a front slit almost to the waist. My entire section got a fine crotch view. I don't even want to think about the poor Northwestern reporters sitting in the orchestra pit.
The new girl is gorgeous. Seriously fantastic body. Very smart, albeit young, and incredibly nice. Oh, and her dad knows my brother and at the very least talks a great line of BS about following whatever mom and the other ladies have to say.
After their first meeting, they're very hopeful. She may not win Miss Wis., but she should go far in undoing the damage caused by the last one.
PS. Atom, I would've called to say hi, but there was NO spare time.
Now, I've been hearing about the horrors of the out-going Miss O's mother for the better part of a year. The girl is sweet, but mama's a harpy. The final night of the Miss Wis Pageant, after her daughter didn't make top ten, not only did she refuse to speak to her loser child, but she spoke to the head of the organization that sponsors Miss O to say the Ladies should be fired and someone who knows what they're doing should be called in. This was quite funny since she didn't allow her daughter to listen to any of the Ladies' advice and between that and her astonishing lack of talent, she didn't even place.
Gordy did get her revenge on pageant day: she threw the entire family (including the precocious little sister known for getting chocolate prints on gowns) out of the auditorium 'cause the families of the contestants aren't allowed. She extended the rule to include the family of the current queen. She was so proud. It was excellent.
The girl's final appearance on stage as Miss O was entirely choreographed by mama. She bought her new dresses to wear (the girl is short, pale and curvy--mama favors white and pastels that are cut straight across), chose her final performance song (Climb Every Mountain) and choreographed the singing of it.
I heard her for the first time when she came out to sing the national anthem. Veterans were openly weeping and NOT from pride. I'm not a flag-waver by any means, but this was offensive.
She then came out to start mc-ing. My niece (the one in her 20s) was sitting next to me and the first thing she said was, "Who picked out that dress?!" It was a lovely pale yellow ensemble with a strapless satin top, a waist belt and tulle skirt. (On the Cosby Show rerun I'd seen the night before, Claire Huxtable had had the same dress for her sweet-16 party in 1958.) Trish and I spent the rest of the night racing to call who'd purchased her clothes (the ladies or the mama) not that it took more than a glance--the girl gained or lost 30 lbs each time she came out in a new outfit.
I don't even like to think about the hideous mistake that was made with her dress for the finale. Ill-fitting, white version of the black dress the very tall, very thin Miss Wis was wearing. Take into account that it had to be bustled so she could dance in it... Ughh... She would've been better off in a white potato sack with sequins thrown at it.
But the piece-de-resistance was her final performance. The Ladies did convince her to wear the dress made for her under their instruction instead of her mama's. So other than her rendition of "Climb Every Mountain", which had the audience flinching with every high note, there was only one problem. Mama rechoreographed the number after the dress rehearsal. The girl finished in a full lunge down on one knee. Umm...her gown had a front slit almost to the waist. My entire section got a fine crotch view. I don't even want to think about the poor Northwestern reporters sitting in the orchestra pit.
The new girl is gorgeous. Seriously fantastic body. Very smart, albeit young, and incredibly nice. Oh, and her dad knows my brother and at the very least talks a great line of BS about following whatever mom and the other ladies have to say.
After their first meeting, they're very hopeful. She may not win Miss Wis., but she should go far in undoing the damage caused by the last one.
PS. Atom, I would've called to say hi, but there was NO spare time.
Friday, February 16, 2007
I got me an urgin'...
I just looked at the Northwestern's slideshow of the spearfishing on Lake Winnebago. It made me remember a muskie fishing event when I was 4 or so.
I never went fishing for the muskelunge, but I do remember them being bigger than I was and laid out in rows on my grandpa's driveway and then someone using an ax to decapitate them for easier cleaning.
A little kid watching the beheading of something bigger than she is...hmmm... Even after all the deer and fowl butchering I watched/gofered for, that was a bit disturbing.
So if you feel like splurgin' let's go up to Sturgeon Bay.
I never went fishing for the muskelunge, but I do remember them being bigger than I was and laid out in rows on my grandpa's driveway and then someone using an ax to decapitate them for easier cleaning.
A little kid watching the beheading of something bigger than she is...hmmm... Even after all the deer and fowl butchering I watched/gofered for, that was a bit disturbing.
So if you feel like splurgin' let's go up to Sturgeon Bay.
Friday, December 22, 2006
A Holiday Tune...
City kitchens, busy kitchens
Filled with holiday smells...
On the floor there are remnants of baking...
Cookies crumbling, dried fruit tumbling
Biscotti...pile after pile...
And in every still corner you hear...
Tiny mice...tiny mice...
It’s Christmas time in the City...
Hear them squeak...
Watch me freak...
Soon it will be...Christmas Day...
Filled with holiday smells...
On the floor there are remnants of baking...
Cookies crumbling, dried fruit tumbling
Biscotti...pile after pile...
And in every still corner you hear...
Tiny mice...tiny mice...It’s Christmas time in the City...
Hear them squeak...
Watch me freak...
Soon it will be...Christmas Day...
Friday, December 15, 2006
Is me really monster?
- - - -
COOKIE MONSTER
SEARCHES DEEP WITHIN
HIMSELF AND ASKS: IS ME
REALLY MONSTER?
BY ANDY F. BRYAN
- - - -
Me know. Me have problem.
Me love cookies. Me tend to get out of control when me see cookies. Me know it not natural to react so strongly to cookies, but me have weakness. Me know me do wrong. Me know it isn't normal. Me see disapproving looks. Me see stares. Me hurt inside.
When me get back to apartment, after cookie binge, me can't stand looking in mirror—fur matted with chocolate-chip smears and infested with crumbs. Me try but me never able to wash all of them out. Me don't think me is monster. Me just furry blue person who love cookies too much. Me no ask for it. Me just born that way.
Me was thinking and me just don't get it. Why is me a monster? No one else called monster on Sesame Street. Well, no one who isn't really monster. Two-Headed Monster have two heads, so he real monster. Herry Monster strong and look angry, so he probably real monster, too. But is me really monster?
Me thinks me have serious problem. Me thinks me addicted. But since when it acceptable to call addict monster? It affliction. It disease. It burden. But does it make me monster?
How can they be so callous? Me know there something wrong with me, but who in Sesame Street doesn't suffer from mental disease or psychological disorder? They don't call the vampire with math fetish monster, and me pretty sure he undead and drinks blood. No one calls Grover monster, despite frequent delusional episodes and obsessive-compulsive tendencies. And the obnoxious red Grover—oh, what his name?—Elmo! Yes, Elmo live all day in imaginary world and no one call him monster. No, they think he cute. And Big Bird! Don't get me started on Big Bird! He unnaturally gigantic talking canary! How is that not monster? Snuffleupagus not supposed to exist—woolly mammoths extinct. His very existence monstrous. Me least like monster. Me maybe have unhealthy obsession, but me no monster.
No. Me wrong. Me too hard on self. Me no have unhealthy obsession. Me love cookies, but it no hurt anyone. Me just enthusiast. Everyone has something they like most, something they get excited about. Why not me? Me perfectly normal. Me like cookies. So what? Cookies delicious. Cookies do not make one monster. Everyone loves cookies.
Me no monster. Me OK guy. Me OK guy who eat cookies.
Who me kidding? Me know me never actually eat cookies. Me only crumble cookies in mouth, but me no swallow. Me can't swallow. Me no have no esophagus. Me no have no trachea. Me only have black fabric throat. Me not supposed to be able to even talk.
Me no eat cookies.
Me destroy cookies.
Me crush cookies.
Me mutilate cookies.
Me make it so no one get cookies.
Everyone right. Me really is cookie monster.
From: http://www.mcsweeneys.net
COOKIE MONSTER
SEARCHES DEEP WITHIN
HIMSELF AND ASKS: IS ME
REALLY MONSTER?
BY ANDY F. BRYAN
- - - -
Me know. Me have problem.
Me love cookies. Me tend to get out of control when me see cookies. Me know it not natural to react so strongly to cookies, but me have weakness. Me know me do wrong. Me know it isn't normal. Me see disapproving looks. Me see stares. Me hurt inside.
When me get back to apartment, after cookie binge, me can't stand looking in mirror—fur matted with chocolate-chip smears and infested with crumbs. Me try but me never able to wash all of them out. Me don't think me is monster. Me just furry blue person who love cookies too much. Me no ask for it. Me just born that way.
Me was thinking and me just don't get it. Why is me a monster? No one else called monster on Sesame Street. Well, no one who isn't really monster. Two-Headed Monster have two heads, so he real monster. Herry Monster strong and look angry, so he probably real monster, too. But is me really monster?
Me thinks me have serious problem. Me thinks me addicted. But since when it acceptable to call addict monster? It affliction. It disease. It burden. But does it make me monster?
How can they be so callous? Me know there something wrong with me, but who in Sesame Street doesn't suffer from mental disease or psychological disorder? They don't call the vampire with math fetish monster, and me pretty sure he undead and drinks blood. No one calls Grover monster, despite frequent delusional episodes and obsessive-compulsive tendencies. And the obnoxious red Grover—oh, what his name?—Elmo! Yes, Elmo live all day in imaginary world and no one call him monster. No, they think he cute. And Big Bird! Don't get me started on Big Bird! He unnaturally gigantic talking canary! How is that not monster? Snuffleupagus not supposed to exist—woolly mammoths extinct. His very existence monstrous. Me least like monster. Me maybe have unhealthy obsession, but me no monster.
No. Me wrong. Me too hard on self. Me no have unhealthy obsession. Me love cookies, but it no hurt anyone. Me just enthusiast. Everyone has something they like most, something they get excited about. Why not me? Me perfectly normal. Me like cookies. So what? Cookies delicious. Cookies do not make one monster. Everyone loves cookies.
Me no monster. Me OK guy. Me OK guy who eat cookies.
Who me kidding? Me know me never actually eat cookies. Me only crumble cookies in mouth, but me no swallow. Me can't swallow. Me no have no esophagus. Me no have no trachea. Me only have black fabric throat. Me not supposed to be able to even talk.
Me no eat cookies.
Me destroy cookies.
Me crush cookies.
Me mutilate cookies.
Me make it so no one get cookies.
Everyone right. Me really is cookie monster.
From: http://www.mcsweeneys.net
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