One Great Aunt

I spent the last several days travelling to and from New Jersey to be with family and celebrate the life of my great-aunt, Evelyn, who passed away this past Saturday. She was a woman who was good at eating, drinking, and being merry, so we did all these things in her honor.

Some fun facts about my Aunt Evy:
She loved Atlantic City and would talk gambling with my brother.
She chose her restaurants and pubs based on whether they gave twofers -- a chip good for a free drink when you bought one.
She spent her whole life near the shore, and I never saw her without a tan.
She was 91, but lied to her boyfriend by telling him she was only in her eighties.
She was the most efficient phone-call ender I ever met. No conversation was left to linger.

Fun Story #1:
She no longer drove, so Clarence, who lived next door to Evy with his wife, would give her rides when she needed them. His hearing wasn't great, so one day when she knocked on his door, he couldn't hear her over the TV. So she let herself in. He had been sitting in his underwear, and he quickly tried to cover himself with a newspaper. She waved her hands dismissively, saying he didn't have anything she hadn't seen before. After which she walked over to him and gave him her latest request: "I want a third husband... who can drive at night."

Fun Story #2:
A couple years ago, my cousin got married. There was some difficult and painful family history, which the priest decided to detail in his homily. It was awkward, long, and from what I'm told, boring. At long last, Evy leans to the person next to her and asks, none-too-quietly, "Is he still talking?" To the disappointment of all in attendance, this was not enough to stop him.

Fun Story #3:
One Christmas, my brother flew low over the tiny airport near my parents' home. This was planned, and my dad and I headed out with the camcorder to videotape the event. It was cold, so I had on this big L.L.Bean barn coat, and my dad caught some footage of me in it. Evy sees the video and says, "You look so fat!"

I made my first purchase of keep-at-home alcohol a couple weeks ago, and tonight I broke it open and made myself a drink, which I now raise to Evy: Here's to the great-aunt who loved Manahattans and her family; who always owned multiple swimsuits; who was barely five feet tall, but could fill a room with her personality; who was first to belly up to the bar at her 90th birthday party; who never stopped sending me birthday money, because she knew I could really use it.

Here's to you, Aunt Evy.

Joined at the Brain

One of my roommates showed me some video clips by these guys:
http://www.umbilicalbrothers.com/site/stuff/videos.php

Not really brothers, but they're so in synch with each other and their performances are amazingly tight. A couple things are rather random (not sure how Yogi Bear ended up getting shot on the Leno show), but I was blown away by how much they communicate with only their movements and human sound effects. And Australian accents are hot.

Little Girl, You're in the Middle

Friends, I have wretched news to report: In my improv class, I fear I may be -- gasp! dare I say it? -- average. I don't get all the laughs or all the attention or all the praise. Sometimes I screw up. Sometimes I'm not even noticed at all. Tragedy! Abomination! Mortification! Frick-knickers!

I know you're as shocked as I am.

But really, it has taken a fair bit of mental and emotional discipline on my part not to get discouraged by the absence of good grades and gold stars. I'm a good little Lisa Simpson, accustomed to accolades from her instructors. When I don't get that, I wonder if I'm any good at all. I went into this class knowing that I'd have off days, and that one of the big reasons for learning improv at all was to practice taking risks and learning to make mistakes. I knew I was a beginner, and that I couldn't expect to master the art without putting in time and effort. And the last several years have taught me that some things just take time, and they cannot be rushed; like with physical growth, you can make choices that are helpful (eating well, getting rest), but they can't accomplish the work of years overnight.

I've learned big lessons in recent months about what I listen to -- what criticism is unfounded, what praise is worth absorbing. This is proving helpful in the silences, when I'm left with only my own assessments of my performance. I don't obsess over what might be wrong. I allow myself to see the pattern of what God is affirming in me, both directly and through other people: My humor, my gift with words, my performance ability... even physical beauty (but that's a whole 'nother blog post). So, I'm still enjoying improv, even though each class doesn't end with the instructor telling everyone to look to me as an example, or calling me off to the side to confide that he hasn't seen talent like mine before. (OK, no class has ended that way.) I'm just learning, and practicing, and waiting, and seeing where things go.

Although, hey, maybe this need for praise, applause, and approving laughter is proof that I was, indeed, born to be an actor.

Even Hypothetical Sickness is a Bummer

I got another comment on my post about mononucleosis. Further confirmation that it is not nearly as cool as I'd hoped. Way to rain on my long-term illness parade, people. I guess these things aren't as fun to experience as they are to talk about. Who knew?

Wonderfully Horrible

Last week, a friend from work turned me on to this:
http://drhorrible.com/

For one week, it was viewable free online. Now it's $4 on iTunes -- not bad, I think. This isn't an advertisement, just a recommendation.

It stars Neil Patrick Harris. I love this guy. I could totally go for a guy like him. Except for, you know, the whole being gay thing. Although, technically, that just means he wouldn't go for me. Details.

Teaser

One of my roommates, Adam, is a videographer, and he's been filming life in our house. There's talk of posting things on YouTube. Our friend Sophia is taking a film class, and she borrowed some of Adam's footage for one of her editing assignments. This was just posted. It's super-duper short, and contains the briefest of clips from Adam's interviews of us, where we talked about why we moved in here and what we're hoping for, and shots of the others practicing their various crafts. When I say super-duper short, I mean it -- it's only a minute! But it's the first of what will hopefully be a series of fun clips that I can give y'all links to on this blog. So, here it is:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3YabYHnD88

@&$%#$&^%$#!

I heard a fun phrase in a movie last night: "bat-shit crazy." I've decided to try to work it into conversation. As many of you know, I've been learning to swear over the last couple years, largely because I'm trying to subdue my hyper-active conscience. And because sometimes it's really funny. Eventually, I'll probably back off on it, because I don't want to be a foul-mouthed person, but there are a few gems I'll have to get out of my system first. Among them:

ape-shit
fuck me (when said in reaction to being startled, as in "oh, fuck me, I didn't see you there!" -- not meant as an invitation)
shit-eatin' grin
ass-pansy (courtesy of my newest roommate)
dumbass (somehow always brings a smile to my face)
I also can't seem to stop paying people the compliment that I find something they've done "badass."

I may need to add to this list as things come to me.

As I appreciate originality in profanity, so too do I appreciate it in its alternatives. One of my coworkers revealed today that she makes up her own harmless exclamations, and sometimes reaches into the annals of history to resurrect words that are no longer considered offensive. I find that sometimes we can use Britishisms, too, because they don't carry the weight here that they would across the pond. Some fun examples of these:

Newly made-up:
fart-knockers
frick-knickers

Historic:
blast
bother (from Winnie the Pooh, I believe)

British:
bloody
bollocks
bugger

There's also the Yosemite Sam Option, for you rootin' tootin' hombres out there: OooooooooRatsafrackinfreepanogginzortarrrrrrrrrrabbit! It helps if you jump up and down repeatedly while you shout this.

My alternative to taking the Lord's name in vain is to sound like a grandmother:
Oh my word!
Good heavens!

Or a kid from the '50s:
Uh, golly!
Geez!

I think I've thus far managed not to sound like Ned Flanders, but perhaps I'm kidding myself.

So, people, got any good ones I should add to my repertoire?

Another Trip to the Candy Store

More pictures for your viewing pleasure.

Here I am, in my natural dirty blonde, baking cookies with my cousin, Christy. Doesn't she look like she's up to something more? (Note to Christy: Cousin Karaoke will happen. Covering Spinal Tap shall remain on my to-do list as long as it takes!)

Eye Candy

Whaddup, peeps. Since I don't have a lot of stories to tell, I figured I'd give you something to look at to tide you over. I put some of these up on Flickr before, but was told they looked very small, so hopefully this go-round you'll actually be able to see what you're looking at. Some of these are from this past Christmas.

Here's my uncle looking like Santa. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, he likes to go up to children and say, "I know where you live."

A couple days after my hair turned red in a freak sitting-for-half-an-hour-while-my-cousin-dyed-it incident. If my posture looks wonky, it's because I'm leaning forward to pick up a present. Mom likes this shot a lot.

At first I thought this was just a picture of Annie and Casco, the family dogs, sitting by the window. Then I realized my dad is face-down on the dog bed. I don't know how to explain that to you.