Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Here & now
About the grad school post--totally just speculation at this point, but sorta serious speculation, anyway. I don't know, there was a time a few years back when I was exploring my options, imagining how an MFA might look next to my name. But the time just wasn't then; I was thinking like a practical person. Nowadays, I'm not as easily sold on practical. I mean, so what if an MFA in creative nonfiction won't feed directly into a related job. I'll meet fellow creators, and I'll get better. Assuming I'm w/ this writing-thing for the long haul, isn't this pretty important? Methinks so. And anyway, Hunter's program is damn cheap, especially for residents like myself. Of course, I realize that a 'yes' decision would keep me here longer than originally intended, but w/ Pea also of the mind to perhaps stick around awhile... Oh I don't know. I don't know! At least I have plenty of time--a full year--to dwell on it.
Moving on, yesterday was satisfying. I sorta broke the ice w/ a certain editor I've become fond of in recent months, as the day's end found us swapping wry one-liners via email. That which took the cake: "Why not go the full year and profile one corpulent, wheezing geezer per issue?" (Trust me--context makes funny.) Point being: Cultivating relationships, even electronically, is gratifying.*
The amusement factor was hiked a few hours later w/ the opening of this week's Chicks & Giggles. While casts are generally pretty strong, last night's was outta control. Every woman who got up there, all w/ Chicago roots, churned out hilarity, I tell ya. I can't even imagine...
*Also writing related: I landed another Mind+Body story for Runner's World--yea! It's that one I mentioned months ago on different types of thinking as they're exprerienced during running. My due date's March 5, which I'm truly glad for. Not fun was last year's ridiculously far-out deadline, which gave me endless time to obsess, obsess, hate, obsess... (Hopefully) never again.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
2008?
92) HUNTER COLLEGE at the CITY UNIVERSITY OF NEW YORK
Program name: MFA in Creative Writing
Subject areas: Fiction, Creative Nonfiction (Memoir or Biography), Poetry
Faculty: Peter Carey, Louise DeSalvo, Eva Hoffman, Tom Sleigh, Donna Masini, Jan Heller Levi, Meena Alexander, Jenefer Shute, Colum McCann, Colson Whitehead, Andrew Sean Greer, Elena Georgiou
Length: 2 years
Tuition per year: Easier to go by semester. Tuition is $3,200 per semester for residents, so the degree would be $12,800 in all. For non-residents, the tuition is by credit at $520 per credit; the degree is 36 credits and should cost $18,720 in all.
Application materials: Submit all materials to Office of Graduate Admissions: Graduate Application, $125 application fee, 2 recommendations, GRE scores, transcript, personal statement (about yourself, why you write, and why you wish to come to Hunter; replaces statement of purpose in Graduate Application), writing sample; for creative nonfiction students, proposal for biography/memoir to write during program; interviews will be offered to waitlisted students
Deadline: 1 Feb. (fall); no spring admissions
Financial Aid: Every semester, 5 Hertog Fellows (Fiction and Memoir students) are paired with a celebrated writer to work 10 hours a week as a research assistant; stipend is $5 K. Every semester, 5 Norma Lubetsky Friedman Scholars (Poetry students) work 10 hours a week with an established poet; stipend is also $5 K. 2nd-semester students can apply to teach Introduction to Creative Writing in the 3rd semester. Also, each year 2 MFA students are selected as Holtzbrinck Fellows, and are paid $10 K to work a 20-hour week for the academic year with the publishing imprints of Holtzbrink (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Henry Holt, St. Martins Press, and Picador).
Web address: http://www.hunter.cuny.edu/creativewriting
93) THE NEW SCHOOL
Program name: MFA in Creative Writing
Subject areas: Fiction, Poetry, Creative Nonfiction, Writing for Children
Faculty: Robert Polito, Jeffrey Renard Allen, Jonathan Ames, Susan Bell, Mark Bibbins, Susan Cheever, Jonathan Dee, Elaine Equi, David Gates, Vivian Gornick, Shelley Jackson, Zia Jaffrey, Joyce Johnson, Hettie Jones, James Lasdun, David Lehman, Suzannah Lessard, Philip Lopate, Honor Moore, Maggie Nelson, Sigrid Nunez, Dale Peck, Liam Rector, Francine Prose, Helen Schulman, Tor Seidler, Dani Shapiro, Prageeta Sharma, Laurie Sheck, Darcey Steinke, Benjamin Taylor, Abigail Thomas, Paul Violi, Sarah Weeks, Susan Wheeler, Stephen Wright
Length: 2 years
Tuition per year: Easier to go by semester. Tuition per semester is $9.5 K.
Application materials: Submit all materials to the New School Creative Writing Program: MFA in Creative Writing Application, $50 application fee, 2 recommendations, 2 transcripts, statement of purpose, portfolio, résumé/vitae; GRE not required
Deadline: 15 Jan. (fall); no spring admissions
Financial Aid: The Writing program offers a limited number of scholarships to students who demonstrate financial need (amounts not specified). No teaching or graduate assistantships are mentioned on the program website--just government financial assistance programs, institutional scholarships/awards, and FAFSA.
Web address: http://www.generalstudies.newschool.edu/writing
Friday, January 26, 2007
Fine day
When it's 4:00 on a Friday afternoon and the internets have long since gotten dull, what's a girl to do? Enter to win, I tell ya, enter to win! For serious. Not sure I mentioned, but my only firm resolution for 2007 is just that. Enter to win as much and as often as I possibly can. Think about it: Who's the loser if I steal away w/ a luxury automobile, a diamond tennis bracelet, or a lifetime Cheese of the Month Club membership? (You laugh now.)
Har, so Winter Park, CO isn't the Hamptons, but it's not St. Louis, either (sorry Noe).
In other news, Happy Australia Day, mates! (Yes you, I'm talkin' to you.)
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Domain
This is a nice essay. I didn't grow up in
But when I finished reading Fortress, I was left with the slightly irrational feeling that Mr. Lethem had stolen
Vegan cufcake takeover
Cute
Books Written by Kurt Vonnegut While Hungry.
BY JEFFREY LANG-WEIR
- - - -
Welcome to the Waffle House
God Bless You, Jamie Oliver
Monday, January 22, 2007
Lanna & Brendan go to Thailand
Uh, how could I not post these? Unsolicit
Somewhere between 59th and 86th streets, en route to my doc's via the 6, a peculiar thing. A middle-aged man topped w/ a hairstyle I can only describe as 'Elvis wave meets flowing mullet' makes his presence known, pressed as he is against the subway door. He begins quietly enough, passing his small handmade sign from left to right, right to left, the writing-side facing him. He appears to be reading then re-reading it, but as there are only two words, here's the first clue. Clue two comes when he starts talking, addressing no one in particular, about "Earth angels." These are the two words he's written on his sign, which at this point he turns for all to read. "I am one of the Earth angels. I am very sensitive. I cannot look at any of you who aren't also Earth angels for more than a half hour [or was it 20 seconds? --ed]. If I do, I will go blind. ... Do not think that I am crazy, for it is I who know. ... And please, as you step off the train, allow me to shield myself from your faces. Otherwise, I will go blind."
Man.
At least I was laughing. It was funny.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Neat idea, eh? Thought you'd especially like, Ma.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
I'm a blogger!
Hi all of you,
Mommy gave me her paswurd and siad I could post this.
Luv,
Petey
p.s. A toilet brush? Whut was she thinking?! You'd never catch me with one of those things in my hand. (Just ask Kristen.) But cinamon-raisin bread, now that I can understand. Cinamon, mmm... raisins, mmm... Well, back to my movie. (Gorillas In the Mist is on TV! I hily recomend it.)
Escaped chimp gets snack, cleans bathroom
38 minutes ago
An escaped chimpanzee at the Little Rock Zoo raided a kitchen cupboard and did a little cleaning with a toilet brush before sedatives knocked her out on top of a refrigerator.
The 120-pound primate, Judy, escaped yesterday into a service area when a zookeeper opened a door to her sleeping quarters, unaware the animal was still inside.
As keepers tried to woo Judy back into her cage, she rummaged through a refrigerator where chimp snacks are stored. She opened kitchen cupboards, pulled out juice and soft drinks and took a swig from bottles she managed to open.
Keeper Ann Rademacher says Judy went into the bathroom, picked up a toilet brush and cleaned the toilet. Rademacher says the 37-year-old Judy was a house pet before the zoo acquired her in 1988, so she may have been familiar with housekeeping chores. Judy wrung out a sponge and scrubbed down the fridge.
It took a couple of tries, but the zoo sedated the chimp, who fell asleep on top of the refrigerator with half a loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread she had pulled out of the freezer.
The zoo veterinarian gave Judy a drug to bring her around. Rademacher says Judy was groggy but fine after the episode. The zoo says there was no danger Judy would get out of the primate keepers service area and onto zoo grounds.
Balls
We have mice. They're cute as heck, but you know, unwelcome. My favorite related story: Pea's kicked back on the couch, messing w/ the internets, TV going in the background. Out of the corner of his eye, Pea spots movement. He looks up--and there it is, easily the most brazen of the group. It's a mouse alright, and it's straddling a miniature York Pattie and staring straight at Pea. You could see it in its eyes: Look at me, silly human--I'm King of the Kandy Dish (never claimed I cud spel). I'm not afraid of you. Watch, I'll prove it!
And w/ that, our fearless bandit snatched up a silver Kiss* and proceeded to haul it down from the dish, scaling our wooden chest to reach the floor. From here, it lugged its merchandise, eyes laughing, still locked as they were on Pea (see? see!), to the space behind the chest--to "safety." If you've never seen a mice lick its chops, well then you'll just have to come by. A sight to behold.
But actually, you probably won't get the chance. The next night Pea located a teensy hole in the wall next to the stove--perfectly round, just like Jerry's. Figuring here was the problem, we stopped it up. Seems to have done the trick.
*Later the same evening, we found several additional chocolates scattered behind the stove, Kisses in various stages of unwrap. No more stealing kisses, mices! (Ha. Ha. Ha.)
[Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/brashlion/343685848/]
Monday, January 15, 2007
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Rambly as usual
View from our window (dig that spaceship) one morning last week.
And the following day.
If 30 seconds time-to-completion (and by completion I mean consumption) is indicative of success, then I nailed it (and by it I mean Pink Champagne Cupcakes* by Gail Wagman). But wait, beware Pinkititis! Per Pinkalicious, pretty rough. 
Sweet success--by way of a cheap aluminum baking sheet and Tupperware-turned-mixing bowls. I made it happen.
Arty shot.
Gettaload of those plates--courtesy of Ms. Gift Wrapper Extraordinnaire, otherwise known as Aunt Sue. Oh, the use they'll get, especially w/ last night's installation of Bi-Weekly Cuhcakes at k10's. (Thanks, T, for the tip! Just for that, you get not one, not two or three, but four of January 24th's Mint Juleps!) Still on the subject of babycakes, why not weigh in on NYC's finest of the fine? If your zipcode fits the bill, of course. Thing about this informal little survey is that it's being horribly abused! Case in point:
12. The Little Cake Company in Murray Hill makes fabulous cupcakes. They make an awesome cupcake tower thats great for kids birthdays and even weddings. www.thelittlecakecompany.com
Submitted by: Adele
9:23 AM EST, Jan 11, 2007
Adele, Adele, don't think we're not on to you and the half dozen others you're in cahoots w/. Shameless! And it's not just the templated language ("cupcake tower that's great for kids' birthdays and even weddings") or the transparent URL insertion. It's that I've never even heard of The Little Cake Company.** (Go ahead, someone dare write me proclaiming its many virtues, its status as a New York institution, but until it sees consistent mention on the various best-of lists circulating about town, it's got nothin'.)
Yeah, so apart from cupcakes, a whole lotta notmuch has been filling my time since the dawn of twenty oh seven. Just exploiting italics, rioting internally over the stupidity of annual performance reviews (the self-assessment part), and trying to follow doctor's orders as best I can--taking the train all the way to my stop, hopping the bus where I'd normally walk, swapping leg extensions for lat pulls, you get the idea. Speaking of pulls & extensions, I joined a new gym last week, and I've gotta say, f-a-n-c-y! (Important to keep in mind from whom this is coming: me, past frequenter of the dungeon.) The downside: I'm pretty limited as to what I can take on, which is no more than 20 minutes of eliptical every other day, and no legs or abs (all the arms I can stomach, however). But hey, when my lack of options gets me down, I take solace in the various perks my membership affords me. For example: an endless supply of Q-tips, not to mention all the body lotion my skin can soak up, plus cleansing agents w/ taglines like "Wash whatcha Mama gave ya" and "Wishin To Condition." See what I mean?
Honestly though, it hasn't been all sugar & weights. I've managed to make it out a few times over the past couple. Most recently, there was the always-a hoot C&G on Tuesday, an evening that saw me stand up and pump one fist while bellowing "Seaaatuuul!" in response to one of the comics declaring her Seattle roots. If you know me, you'll (correctly) find this odd, out of character as it was. (And no, I wasn't drunk.) I think it's the heat.
Monday after work Pea and I struck out northwestward, a grueling journey that brought us to the Lincoln Center Barnes & Noble for a discussion between Todd Field and Tom Perrotta. At the heart of it was the process of developing Perrotta's Little Children into a screenplay, he and Field having joined forces in the effort. Although I'm not a fan of the book, I died over the movie, and really enjoyed hearing what the two guys had to say. The whole thing was engaging, but a couple of points stood out for me. One, the impossibility of mimicking, in a theatre, the reader's experience. Duh, I know, but I'd never really thought about it, about how when I'm really into a book, I have the choice to put it down at any time. Whether to draw out the finish (you're so good! don't ever end!) or to pause and mull over what I've just read, the choice is always there. And I like having it. So anyway, given the format of Perrotta's story (pretty dense and emotive), Field talked about this as a particular concern.
There was something else that got me thinking, which is the concept of sympathy. One of Perrotta's characters is especially detestable--but only most of the time.*** Because Perrotta provides so much context on Ronnie, presenting him from several different angles, there's an opening for sympathy. And 'opening' is very accurate, I think, because while I hadn't ever thought about it in exactly this way, an opening--an opportunity--is all there ever is. Which is actually a lot, because it's there for everyone always. Yet while it may have come naturally to me--the tendency to 'feel bad' for a person once their inner torment is revealed/suggested--it's easy to imagine other people being so thoroughly disgusted by this man's actions that sympathy stands no chance of ever poking through. Before they've gotten the tiniest of glimpses into this "evil" character, their response has been decided (though the opening remains). I know that so often such is life, senseless and scary and sad as it is. Me, I'd never considered the role of sympathy, or the lack thereof, in the reading of fiction writing, never thought about how flexible fiction can be, susceptible as it is to readers' agendas (moral and otherwise).
That didn't come out as clearly as I'd hoped. Anyway, speaking of writing, I've got several essays in various stages of completion, hoping to catch a wave soon here...
And I think that about covers it.
Well, not quite. If you're hurtin' for reading material, have a look.
http://www.salon.com/opinion/feature/2007/01/10/keillor/ [stunning/funny]
http://www.nydailynews.com/front/story/486914p-409947c.html [uh-huh, that's right]
http://designspongeshop.com/jan-prod4.html [talent!]
*Analysis to come. (Really think I'd pass on reviewing something of my own creation?)
**Which of course won't stop me from visiting--tonight.
***Opinion.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Cheap entertainment
As witnessed yesterday morning while I stood pressed like a pancake on a very busy F train:
Fifty-something-year-old woman clutching the same pole as I, her dyed-black bouffant framing a pair of huge dark glasses: "Well would you look at that"--said as she looked squarely in the face of a thirty-something Wall Street personality w/ hair sprayed as stiff as her own. "What a handsome man! Oh, myyyyy."
Haha. Through my disbelief, I had to giggle. He had to have heard. Have to have.
Woman again: "Woweee. What are we going to do w/ these handsome men? Let 'em live."
This was followed by more disbelieving giggling on my end. (Uh, yep. Good call. Let 'em live.)
Another funny little episode went down a few later. For most of the ride, I'd been sitting w/ negative space between me and my neighbors. But as we pressed north, the lot gradually thinned until it was down to me, the elderly Chinese lady at my side, and four pink Uggs plopped at one end of the car. Well, as it generally happens, if you begin a ride sitting on your neighbor's lap and at some point more space becomes available, you (or they) scoot to whichever side. Now, I'd never been of the mind to defy this section of the code, that is, until yesterday.
At the exodus of the first significant mass of people, I'd naturally expected the elderly lady who'd been smashed up against me for the duration of the trip to create some inches between us. I was a little surprised when she didn't (well, maybe an inch), but as there were still dozens of people around us, I figured she hadn't yet noticed the potential. Well, when she still hadn't budged two stops later, I realized she probably wasn't gonna. Yet there was no way to be sure. So I waited, and waited, and waited. The whole thing struck me as hilarious. There we were, holding in the same semi-scrunched position, both of us capable of spreading out yet opting not to.* (Take that, Unspoken Subway Code!)
I kept thinking how funny it would've looked to someone just entering: all that open seating, then the elderly Chinese lady and I sharing a space meant for 1.8 people. Ha!
So I stepped off the train shortly thereafter, glancing back to find that my research subject had disappeared! Poof! Gone!
Well, I'm off to do some data crunching; results to be posted at a later date.
*By this point I'd donned my social scientist hat. Ah, the complexities of human interaction! Brilliant, just brilliant!
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Keep it comin', neighbors
So what if the torso came to us dressed in cat hair. So what if we had to pick salad remnants from the lamp after prying it from the dumpster. Clearly you were thinking of us. We love ya'll!
Tribute to what may have been my favorite book as read in 2006
Oh gosh, it just occurred to me: If you're planning to read it,* avert your eyes. Because what follows is the very last paragraph on its very last page.** Why would I do such a thing? Because although there is one person and one person alone who will get the significance behind such a move--a significance totally unattibuted to the story itself--I simply feel I must. Hopefully she's reading. :)
It occurs to me, furthermore, that bantering is hardly an unreasonable duty for an employer to expect a professional to perform. I have of course already devoted much time to developing my bantering skills, but it is possible I have never previously approached the task with the commitment I might have done. Perhaps, then, when I return to Darlington Hall tomorrow--Mr. Farraday will not himself be back for a further week--I will begin practising with renewed effort. I should hope, then, that by the time of my employer's return, I shall be in a position to pleasantly surprise him.
Aw oom, if only we'd been around to instruct.
*Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
**Most exquisitely fitting ending, ever.
Ready for this?
Ah, 2007. At the dawn of the new year, I found myself surrounded by some of my favorite Brooklynites: Doug, Michael, and, of course, Pea. We spent the evening at a medium-sized gathering held at a dreamy Nolita boutique that specializes in designs by up-and-coming independent designers. (Not that it was about the clothes--the owner, a friend of Doug's, had the good sense to remove from the floor all but a few items. Not that the sampling didn't result in a small pile of drool at my feet.)
The whole package rocked: the space was (is) lofted and roomy w/ fresh white walls and modern decor (welcome to the neighborhood), and the crowd was amiable and energetic. That and my friends just kick ass. Come 11:59 we stood poised and ready, champagne in hand, and as the cheering erupted, all in our group had someone(s) to smooch. Laughter, hugs, and sloppy toasts marked the minutes that followed, and an hour or so later when me and mine decided it was time to head back, the sappy declarations were still in full swing.
It was grand--and funny, because before arriving, we'd made a pact to keep expectations low, as each of us had experienced several times over, the seemingly inevitable letdown when one dares make New Year's Eve plans. Turns out we could've aimed higher and been alright.
As far as my thoughts on the year ahead, I gotta tell ya, global travesty and the accompanying sorrow aside, I feel a flicker of something good. It's already begun welling up inside me, evident from the periodic bouts of teariness, tears I know to be joyful in nature, that have occurred throughout my day.
The first episode went down as the R pulled into the Times Square station. Two women had been sitting and chatting on the bench across from me. They casually exchanged a kiss, then one got up to leave while the other stayed seated. The car was pretty full, but did anyone pay them any heed? Nope. It was an event of no real consequence, but it just made me happy. And got me thinking about other places I've lived. Say, Stanwood, where such a gesture witnessed on the CT bus would elicit, in the very least, baldfaced looks of disgust. Everett, similar story. Nothing against these two zipcodes (go, Applebees!), which actually have a lot going for them where my memory's concerned, it's just that living where I now do has made me realized that I will never call home a place that frowns upon select lifestyles. (Then again, maybe if us clued-in folks relocated en masse to, like, Topeka, we could infect the closeminded w/ our liberal 'tudes. Hell, I'd settle for a good clean brainwashing.)
I wouldn't go so far as to say this particular occurance made me feel hopeful, aware as I am that my city is one of the exceptions when it comes to passing judgement, but it did make me feel proud to be where I am, and proud to start in on my third year of residence here.
So there was that. Then there was the time, about an hour ago, that I was standing on the platform at 59th and Lex awaiting the trusty 6. Spending the rare (these days) moment hooked up to my music, in shuffled this little number.
So the sun goes down and the world goes dancing
And the stars come out and they all go dancing
And there is nothing I'd like more
Than a twirl across this rickety old floor
Well I don't know why but I just feel like dancing
I can't imagine why but I feel like dancing
And there is nothing in this world
That I'd like better than a twirl across your rickety old floor
Now admittedly, the fact that a third of my downloaded songs are attributed to this man does a good deal to dismiss any irony that I might otherwise claim, but still, it's truly reflective of the way I'm feeling. Giddy! And depressed at the very same time! Please, quick, someone grab my hand and twirl me around a few times! (I get to pick the music.) I may not be equipped w/ a good reason for my quiet elation (or any reason for that matter), and that rickety floor may cave beneath our weight, but damn if I don't feel like dancing anyway.
Honestly though, I do have some idea as to the why. First, there's my natural optimism, a sense I've watched come into play several times over the course of the last few months. Next up: the events that provoked it. I was dealt a series of difficult hands in the latter part of 2006, making me feel more vulnerable--discounting, maybe, a period about four years ago--than ever before. The most trying part of this was that everything happened, basically, all at once. As I'd never been tested in this way, I had no way of knowing how I'd deal.
I surprised myself by slipping into a strange new mode, where issues seemed to sort themselves--not 'sort' as in 'sort out,' but as in 'organize'--into neat mental containers. (Guess this is what's meant by the term compartmentalizing, eh?) I didn't in this way skirt anything, I just shelved a few boxes while the contents of one or two others were examined. Of course, they've all yet to be thoroughly excavated--most aren't even a quarter of the way from done--but I at least know what they look like and where to find them.
But back to vulnerability. What I observed in 2006--in both myself and in those around me--and will continue to see in 2007, is that people are built to withstand a whole lot. Even when it's one thing after another after another, most people still get out of bed in the morning. And while I acknowledge that what I've dealt/am dealing w/ is the tiniest fraction of the heartache that others face day after day for years on end, to me it's felt big. And it is, relative to my own life experience.
So that's it: I realized that after bad thing a, bad thing b, and bad things c and d happened, I still believed--even while at my lowest and most self-pitying--that everything would be okay. I still had it in me to get excited over the small stuff, still had it in me to laugh--laugh!--at Pea's crazy antics; hell, I even learned stuff. I came out ahead.
And everything will be okay. Citing my most recent source of heartache, entering 2007 a non-runner (scratch that--a runner on hiatus, I mean) is odd and disorienting and sorta makes me feel broken, but I will run again and so long as I take care, I shouldn't have to wait till '08 to do so. Regarding an especially special friendship of which I'm one half, while I/we confronted a dark period, I've since come out of it almost completely, keen to the lifelong importance of this person in my life. Regarding the family stuff--all dimensions of it--this will be okay, too. Struggling to come to grips w/ what my little bro is going through, struggling to adapt to certain structural changes... God, we're all still alive, and while one of us may be something of a lost soul at the moment, no one's hurtin' for love. And that's awesome.
I awoke this morning to a clear recollection of a dream I'd just had. In was another theatre dream--in the same vein as that Peter Pan number from awhile back. Once again I was running behind schedule, late in beginning the tranformation from, this time, regular old girl to the Tin Man. That's right--I was to play the heartless-yet-not character from what is hands-down my favorite movie of all time. Funny thing--the reason I was running late was because I was working on an essay. Fitting, at least.
Anyway, before I knew it the the lights had dimmed and the play begun. But shoot: I'd only halfway donned my awkward metal getup--still no silver makeup or funnel hat! I was rushing around backstage, desperately trying to collect my wits and track down my various accessories, when I heard one of my lines being uttered by, by... someone else! Why, it was my understudy! I peered out from behind the curtains to find the shortest, squattest man I'd ever laid eyes on. (Apparently I'd been previously unacquainted w/ my backup.) He was looking quite the sloppy Tin Man, sporting gray sweatpants and a cone hat fashioned from what appeared to be Reynold's Wrap. He may actually have been an OK actor, but I left the dream before I could find out.
How I'm choosing to look at this one: a) I still have issues w/ punctuality, b) I'm a writer, and c) I'm done playing roles. If I'd really wanted to clunk around onstage as an animated aluminum can, then damnit, I would've gotten my act together. I think. Or hey, maybe it's that I already recognize (some of) my strengths, thus I'm not interested in playing a character who's so out of it he can't see that he's already got what it takes. Ha--fun.
One last thing: On the topic of knowing oneself, Pea said something yesterday afternoon that got me thinking. It was along the lines of "This year I want to find myself in Brooklyn." Reads cheesily ('cheesily'--love it), but hey man, I hear him. Which is why I've decided against my usual half-hearted conjuring up of the dozen or so resolutions that appear to be pulled from some Universal List. Instead, I'm choosing to focus my energies simply on strengthening my relationship w/ my surroundings, because place-relationships have always been important to me.
And I think I'll dwell, for a bit longer, on what I liked about last year.
