Category Archives: Me

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100 Photos Before June

Chillin' by Big Blue Mess
Chillin’, a photo by Big Blue Mess on Flickr.

I have only confessed this to a couple of folks; I’m afraid of my camera. Sure, looking at it excites me, purchasing accessories for it makes me happy, but when faced with taking it outside I get anxious, then I tuck it away and grab my point-and-shoot. A month or so ago I was so relieved to find the batteries had died. Well, can’t take it out like I wanted to, no batteries you understand. Then when I tried to get the right batteries, my excuse was, “well, the rude teenager at Radio Shack didn’t want to make the sale, and I can’t get batteries anywhere else, you see”.

Admittedly, for me part of the problem is that my 35mm SLR camera uses film. The film part adds all the stress. Once I’ve committed to a shot, that’s that – there’s no flipping through the photos and deleting the ones I can’t stand. There’s no checking to see how it looks to see if I need to retake the photo. It’s taken and then it’s over. I’ve committed. No backsies. Then I have to take the film to the photo processing place (whoever is still left) and say a silent prayer for a day or more that I’m able to get at least one decent shot. I could have over/under-exposed every single photo and I won’t know until I’m opening up a little envelope looking at the photographic carnage that I had hoped would be my artistic shots. The pressure!

Now an acquaintance from high school had this brilliant idea, that I could set a goal and take 100 photos before June. Since it was before May, I believe, that he suggested this it seemed completely doable. I don’t think I even had to use the 35mm; it could be anything – just start taking photos until I was comfortable. He even offered to review the photos and give me tips. (He has had photos published online and in books. He’s hand-down one of my favorite photographers and having him offer to critique my work is a pretty big deal. He also mentioned Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers with its 10,000 hour rule (the idea being that the key to success in any given task is to spend 10,000 hours doing it – a theory my Dad has often talked about).  His advice was to just start taking the photos instead of whining and worrying.  Apparently, whining and worrying while not taking photos will not necessarily improve the quality of your work – or so they say – sounds like pop psychology to me.

I had a great opportunity this weekend when I went to East Texas to see my Dad, learn more about permaculture and see it in practice (Dad is doing some amazing things with his land).  Lots of ducks, ducklings, chicken and geese to see along with the bee hive, the orchard and various fruits and vegetables growing. We then headed out to the family graveyard for the Memorial Day celebration and potluck – with the old church, the graveyard and family I haven’t seen in years. I very purposefully left my real camera at home – nothing to take pictures of there! My excuse was, “well, I’ve taken photos of everything I want to take photos of out there. I have my iPhone if anything interesting appears.”

So, here it is – an iPhone photo at the family cemetery (don’t ask, I have no explanation – I mean, your family graveyard doesn’t have a fridge chained to a pole? What is wrong with you?) and one of only a handful of photos for June.

I think we’ll have to work on 100 Photos by August. I’ll have to come up with a new excuse on why I didn’t accomplish this feat since I did finally purchase the batteries (and not from an obnoxious Radio Shack clerk). I’m sure I’ll think of something.  Of course, I haven’t put them in the camera, yet so that’s a good excuse start. Baby steps.

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Right As Rain

First, a quick aside.  I hate Adele.  Yes, the singer.  It’s not really her fault, but there you have it.  Until this morning,  I couldn’t name a single Adele song, although I know I’ve heard her music on the radio.  I think she has a great voice.  I use the word “think” because I have no idea what she sings, but I know she won a ton of awards.  So, I’m trusting the opinion of the masses who helped her win all of those Grammys. Good for her!  Sing on you little golden throated warbler!

Where she and I got crossways – I tried to find a clip from The Matrix on YouTube featuring the character The Oracle.  Every time I entered my search parameters: “right as rain matrix” “matrix right as rain” “OMG really not Adele again matrix”, there she’d be -  Adele staring back at me.  I “grrr’ed”, she stared.  I “grrr’ed” more menacingly, and she stared some more.  It turns out it’s hard to intimidate a photo.  I conceded, “you won this round, Adele” and shook my fist at the monitor then dropped the whole “right as rain” from my search and added “cookie”.  “TAKE THAT, ADELE!!!  Haven’t written a song about a Matrix cookie, have you? HAH! I win! In your face!!”  I’d spike my mouse on the floor in celebration, but Jay would stare and blink then politely ask why that seemed necessary.  That would lead to me incomprehensibly blithering about Adele and ultimately end in more blinking and staring until he concluded I was insane and it would be better to just turn around.  “You may look away, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that Adele is a menace! A menace I tell you”  I can already hear the, “hmm” that would follow that bout of crazy.

Anyway, back to The Matrix and the real reason I was posting.

A few weeks ago, it occurred to me that I am The Oracle among my friends.  Well, if you take away the wise, clairvoyant, encourages balding children to bend spoons, and love of floral house dresses bits.  The two of us are practically twins.  I mean, I like cookies.  She likes making cookies.  You totally see this, right?   Where I got this idea? A friend of mine was recently having a hard time and my first thought was, “you know what? I should send her cookies”.  See, we have a great cookie shop here in town called Tiff’s Treats (they’ve also recently opened shops in Houston and Dallas) who deliver warm cookies and milk to friends in need.  It’s my go to whenever I hear someone is really having a bad day, because we all know cookies fix everything especially if they’re warm and accompanied by some cold milk.  For a little extra, they’ll even add a balloon.  Now, how could that not get your day back on track?  (In the past, I’d send balloons – those floating mylar ambassadors of joy then Tiff’s opened and its been cookies ever since that day.)  Granted, I’ve sometimes had to decide if the person in question and I are  at the cookie stage of our friendship.  Those can be tough decisions. Sometimes it’s apparent  ”we’re more Snicker Bar snack treats from the candy jar friends.”  If we’re not quite that close, an email with a photo of cookies (or balloons) and some nice thoughts will do.  But, if we are cookie pals and they’re in the Austin delivery area, fresh-baked cookies are ordered and sent.

Now, the most recent person in my life having a rough time would not give me their address. I don’t know if they were so distraught that they thought my request for their address was really a request for their phone number or they didn’t want to tell me what name they were using at the place they were staying.  (I’m not kidding on that part; I know someone who uses different names.  Don’t ask.  I don’t.  It frees up brain space for thinking about ponies.)  So, she had to remain sad and cookie-less.  This is tragic.  How can one endure the sad without two dozen hot cookies ready to cheer them up and some cold milk with which to wash them all down? (Aside, not ending sentences in prepositions makes for some goofy sounding sentences even if they are technically correct.)

So, here’s what I say to you: If you’re having a bad day, you’re in the Austin area and you need cookies, make sure I have your address for both work and home.  I promise when you’re done eating them, you’ll feel right as rain.

YoutTube video link (sadly, can’t embed)  - Have a Cookie

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Super Cool

My friend DeAnne sent an email out today that linked to a great blog post titled “You are Super Cool” along with a YouTube video.

What DeAnne didn’t realize (until she started reading my post) is that her timing was impeccable, because this weekend I convinced myself I was exceptionally un-cool.

It all started Saturday morning while getting ready for the singing improv class.  I was dressed, I had taken Sam outside and then I plopped down to look at Facebook to get a hit of funny before hopping into the car.  Instead of finding the funny, I found a new photo of someone who had insulted me on several occasions in an improv class.  “What if she signed up for the Laura Hall thing?  She probably did,” I told myself. “I bet she manages to work in an insult in a song and you’re going to have to smile, because you’re pitiful. You don’t have a backbone.”  “I bet this isn’t even a beginner’s class.  In fact, I bet every professional singing troupe member in Austin will be there and you will fail in front of them and they will loathe your presence and pray you leave at the break.  You don’t deserve to be there.  You’re pretty worthless.  Remember, no one ever thought YOU should be in troupe.”  It didn’t matter that I’d talked two people into signing-up or that when one of them had doubts they signed-up anyway after I reminded them that they absolutely should be there; that they were great.  I continued to beat myself up, “you realize they don’t really want you there either, don’t you?  You’re odd and you make people uncomfortable with your presence.  Why do you have to be so weird and off-putting? Why don’t you have more friends? Why don’t old friends want to be around you? It’s pretty obvious. You are too disgusting to be around.”  I was suddenly my intoxicated and bitter grandmother on a bad night.  The words that repeated in my head, throughout the day, “you do not deserve to be there.”

There was a rational side arguing in my head, too who took on the face of one of my teachers and one of my friends.  “Beth, you’re brilliant.  I wish I could say it in a way that you would believe me when I say that to you.” “Beth, you have every right to be there.  You’ll enjoy it if you can just make yourself leave this house.”  “Beth, you’ve got to leave the house now.  You will be ok.  You will be safe.”  I stared at the rationale side suspiciously.  “Beth, you know if you don’t leave, you are actively choosing to spend the day filled with sadness and regret.”  I told myself, “I’m ok with that, because I do not deserve to be there; it’s a class for people better than me” and then I spent the day being self-indulgent and nursing my cruel side by beating myself up with every negative thing I could whip out.  It was a day filled with deep self-loathing and weeping every time I moved. I finally decided to just sit still and stare catatonically at the TV.  I now know more than I ever thought I would about the Amish and I did successfully polished off Season 2 of Downton Abbey.

I think what made matters worse; I didn’t have anyone around to talk me off this particular ledge.  Jay worked that day and I wasn’t about to send him a load of crazy in an email.  I imagine there would be nothing worse than being trapped at work and thinking, “my wife is having a breakdown”. A friend I might have called, I didn’t; she has to deal with my crazy all the time, she should get at least one weekend off. So, I sat and made myself feel miserable all day.

The next day I had to go to the theater and instead of lying about why I missed class, which had been my big plan, I offered up “I psyched myself out”.  This was accepted, but there were a couple of disappointed sighs along with reassurances, “you should have come; it was ok.  People asked about you.” They were absolutely right.  I should have gone.

Sam being hugged and telling me she thinks I’m pretty darn cool. (Or it could be: Sam hoping I’m saying something about food or rabbits, but I’m pretty sure it’s the “cool” thing.)

The thing about it is there is a part of me that knows I am actually pretty cool.  You can ask Sam.  She’s an excellent judge of character. I just sometimes forget.

I also deserve things – like going to a class I’m incredibly excited about.  That’s not going to happen again.

I hope you all never forget how super cool you are and if you ever do, I’ll be there to remind you.

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Advice & Perspective

Last week the following email managed to leap over my spam filter and land among my various fan emails (my friends simply refer to them as ‘notes’, Philistines! But they know they’re fans deep down):

“Hi Beth,

I came across bigbluemess.com and thought there would be a good fit for a partnership with our network of local landing pages in various verticals. Our users are looking for informative articles, and advice, and your perspective stood out as a fit.

I’m looking to set up a call for my director to learn more about bigbluemess.com as  well as have her bring the right person up to speed on how we work with  our partners. Would you be the best person for this conversation? If so, would either this afternoon at 3:00 PM EST or tomorrow at 11 AM EST work better for an intro call?”

After tearing apart the sender’s email address, determining the email’s source by sifting through header information and finally cyberstalking the sender through LinkedIn (as well as a few other sites), it appeared that it was legitimate.  Being legitimate gave me permission to laugh.  Well, once I finished translating it and determined what was meant by the term “vertical”.  I’m a pro at “horizontal” eight to nine hours out of any given day; however, vertical has always been challenging especially on Mondays.  Apparently this “vertical” is a different beast. I’d share the definition, but I think it’s important we all embark on our own personal Odysseys (that and I think deep-down, you may not care).

I must say I was a bit offended.  The note implies that:

  1. I write articles.  No self-respecting journalist would ever look at my posts and award them the title of “article” unless they were stoned or half-heartedly making an attempt at stand-up. I’m almost positive all of my past English teachers/professors were overcome with a strong compulsion to roll their eyes in unison as soon as the guy typed the line.  We won’t even talk about the “informative” part.  (Well, unless we’re talking CCL surgery and physical therapy for beagles in Austin, TX.  I have steered a few readers in the right direction that one time.)
  2. I give advice. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  AH HAHAHAHAHAHA!  My advice in a nutshell: Don’t assume a slow southern/Texas drawl is indicative of a a slow mind.  Trust your gut. Don’t randomly kick things, especially around hospitals or fire ant mounds.  Let me just send up a huge apology to my grandmother, Grandbuddi; I hope I didn’t cause you much discomfort, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell what that was underneath your covers.  Please understand I was still a teenager, which means my brain was half formed and I was still somewhat of a sociopath, like most youth.  I’ve stopped kicking most things now.  You’d be quite proud.
  3. I offer a sought after perspective.  Wow.  I should display my reader count to shake them back into reality. How desperate must a company be for partners if they skim my site and think we’d make a good match?  Sure, I can offer a bit of perspective when it comes to improv or how my whining both plagues and confounds my sketch writing teacher, but real, thoughtful, and introspective insight where I bestow my pearls of perspective on a regular basis?  I don’t have it in me. My friends refer to me as the “token blonde”. That’s a strong indication that there’s probably not a lot of insight rattling around upstairs.  Insight scares me.  People might make pilgrimages to my house or find my face on their toast.  Then there’s the whole problem with what do you do to feed the masses.  Should we build a balcony on which I can stroll out at noon and wave? Will the Home Owners Association allow for a shrine in my yard when we can’t even display tasteful yard gnomes? And what if my new found minions ask me questions?  Let’s face it, at best I’d end up being the embodiment of Peter Seller’s character in “Being There” and no one wants to see that sequel. See, this is a slippery slope.

Needless to say, I didn’t respond or set-up a call.  I’m pretty sure my advice, perspective and “informative articles” were not quite what they would be looking for in a “partner” and their verticals would become diagonals – sloping in entirely the wrong direction.  Plus, to be quite honest those call times would be right in the middle of my work day, meaning the call would have to be made from my desk where all of my co-workers/cube-farm mates would learn how truly important I am.  Do they have a vertical? I bet they don’t even have a decent bar graph. I couldn’t do that to them.  It would be like finding out that Clark Kent was actually Superman.  I prefer my workplace anonymity where no one is sure if I can work the copier.  Finding out I write compound sentences would blow their minds.

Has anyone else received a solicitation like this and did you respond?

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Sketch Highs and Lows

For a week I’ve been high on a bit of praise I received from Esther’s Follies.  For those outside of Austin, Esther’s is a bit like our very own Saturday Night Live.  Their shows have been running non-stop Thursday – Saturdays since around 1977.   Recently, they (along with The Onion) hosted a sketch writing contest and I went ahead and submitted a sketch.  My thought was, “the only way to definitely not win is to not try”.  This is the rallying cry I use when talking myself into most things – good and bad.  “The only way to definitely not know what the red ‘Do NOT Push’ button does is to not push it.”   You know the sort.  The praise I received was, “this is very funny” and had a couple of suggestions to make my sketch work on their stage (apparently, you cannot expect actors to crumble into dust before a live audience – clearly their actors aren’t truly dedicated to the craft – lazy creatures!). They then reiterated that they really liked the sketch.  I was drunk on the praise.  Here’s a group that I’ve gone to see since the late 70’s with my Dad.  The place we’d show-off whenever an out of town guest crossed our city’s limits and here they were saying I was funny. Oh you! You guys are funny!

The contest ended Sunday.  I knew I wouldn’t hear back and I’ve really tried to cheer myself up with “hey, you got some fine praise”, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was disappointed.  I was completely in love with the idea that my sketch would be performed on their stage.  How cool would that have been?  In my fantasy, my sketch writing class heroes and I then formed a sketch writing troupe. A video montage played in my head featuring photos of an assortment of performers, stages, and YouTube clips along and the occasional shot of all of us laughing hysterically and our delighted audiences. There may have even been people cheering my name and a guest spot on The Daily Show.  My Belushi-esque downfall would still be years away.  The highs and sad lows of a week.

To add to those lows, I really tanked in sketch class last night.  In class, we go around the room and there’s a group reading of your sketch.  You assign your parts and you get to hear how it plays out.  I had two sketches read – one where the assignment was based on a real life event and one where we created a musical number.  The one I wrote based on a real event went over like a big gigantic craptastic turd.  Well, the event it was based on was a big gigantic craptastic weird turd to begin with, but I had lamely tried to make it humorous by switching up a few details.  Let’s just say it played like it did in real life.  The first comment after the last line was read was a big, “WHAT?!?!”  I knew I should have gone with the story about the blind date who took me to the AA meeting.

The musical sketch I wrote was a parody of Glee using characters from Game of Thrones.  No one in the room had ever seen Game of Thrones, so I spent most of the time trying to explain who the characters were and what the gags were about.  I used the Glee theme “Don’t Stop Believin’” as the song the characters would sing at the Westeros Regionals.  After explaining that Westeros wasn’t actually a real place, I realized I should stop before even trying to explain why the Dothraki Secondary School kids would be scantily clad and whinnying.   Before we even started reading/singing the sketch, I just wanted to lay my head down on the table.

For your amusement, I’m including the first draft.  A couple of notes:  It won’t make sense if you’ve never seen Game of Thrones. It’s also a first draft; I haven’t re-written it, yet.  I’m actually not sure what I’m going to do for a re-write – maybe the character The Hound will sing a version of “Get Happy”.  As a first draft, I decided I was completely cool with it not following a rhyming scheme necessarily and having it stray a bit from the original song.  I’ll stop there since I’m about to kill an angel.  As you recall, we’re forbidden from doing this in class (or outside).  It happens when you apologize for your writing.

First, let’s start with the Glee version of the song to get you in the right mindset.

Now, the first draft.  Did I mention it’s a first draft? It’s not polished?  Be kind. (Oh, and about the HTML code – well, it wins today.  I’m too lazy to figure out the spacing problem at the moment.)

SEVEN KINGDOMS REGIONALS

INT – HIGHSCHOOL AUDITORIUM – DAY

A brightly colored banner bearing a stag on each end declares this is the “Westeros Seven Kingdoms Regional Competitions”. Several groups of teens cluster around in their school’s groups, each with a kid holding a standard representing their respective high schools. “Winterfell High” – the kids are dressed in white with fur lining theirnecklines and cuffs. “King’s Landing High” – blonde, beautiful and tanned students who all look eerily similar wearing the finest couture – the glint of rings, necklaces and pearly whites reflect in the spotlights . “Dothraki Secondary School” – the teen boys strut around without tops and wearing only shorts – the girls are also scantily clad. The Dothraki sporadically whinny. Finally, “Nightwatch High” – reform school kids that appear to be hard on their luck without a budget for matching outfits. They stand around and sulk.

The crowd favorites, Winterfell High, assume center stage. Their stars NED and CATELYN STARK step away from the group as the orchestra begins to play the opening refrains of “Don’t Stop Believin’”. They smile as they look at each other, and then face the audience to begin their duet.

NED

Just a small town girl,

Living in a frozen world

She took a late night ride goin’ anywhere.

CATELYN

Just a man, they call The Hand;

They tried to kill our Bran

He took a late night walk to uncover the truth.

NED

A eunuch in a sun-filled room.

The smell of lies and stench of doom.

In a whisper he will point the way

To my destiny.

 The rest of the Winterfell choir moves forward and takes center stage.

 CHORUS

Houses scheming, for a throne of swords.

No need for cushions, hemorrhoids.

The kids don’t look like you, what’s a king do?

They’re all blonde, yay inbreeding!

The chorus line throws their thumbs in unison over their shoulders to point out the choir from King’s Landing. The kids from King’s Landing High scowl and quickly cover the ears of the younger choir members. Ned and Caitlyn come together and then dance away. JON SNOW steps away from the Nightwatch High kids and takes over the mic.

JON SNOW

Working hard to guard the wall.

Don’t want to take a fall.

Trying to fill my time.

And not worry about Bran.

(singing defiantly to Catelyn)

My step-mom, she’s a shrew

I can see why he strayed from you.

I took the black, now the White Walkers come.

CHORUS

Don’t stop with treason.

Grabbing the throne is still in season.

Whispers in the night.

CHORUS

Don’t get attached.

Ned Stark’s head becomes detached.

Everyone in the story ends up dead.

JON SNOW

Don’t start moping

There’s more to come; the plot line’s open

I get a girlfriend in the end.

Jon Snow shoots a smile at the kids from King’s Landing, then adds.

JON SNOW

… and Tyrion is my friend.

Jon walks away from the mic, high-fives a young dwarf standing among the King’s Landing kids.

CHORUS

Don’t Stop!

The crowd goes crazy with applause and gives the group a  standing ovation. At the judges table a heavy-set balding man covers his mic while whispering conspiratorially with a small squirrely, well-dressed man as they score the performance. Their nameplates read: VARYS and LITLEFINGER.

FADE OUT.

And that’s how I went from an incredible montage-filled high to a “I think I’m quitting sketch” low (and how I worked the word “eunuch” into a musical number).  I’m really trying to listen to Jay, although he’s filled with crazy ideas like, “Beth, you’ve only been doing this for how long? Three months?” This whole “it takes time” “you get better by continuing to write” thing is annoying.

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The Comment Overshare

I have to make a confession. I’m a blog commenting oversharer. I’ll find myself completely captivated by a well-written story and the next thing I know, clicking “Like” just won’t do; I must tell a related story of my own. It’s a bit embarrassing at times as I look back at the other comments. They tend to range from a friendly word to a simple supportive sentence, and then there’s mine sticking out like a sore Dickens installment.

Maybe it’s that need for connection. I relate to the story being told, to its author and the next thing you know I’m compelled to tell a story of my very own. Hooray, we’re bonding with words! I know words! They know words! It’s like we’re practically best word friends! Or it could be that I can go from zero to slumber party in the length of time it takes me to complete your story; this is my more frightening over-exuberant side that occasional peeks out and demands more friends, pillow fights, frozen bras and rice crispy treats. (I have no idea why my friends steer clear of my house; it’s truly baffling.)

Lately, I’ve been doing my very best to only click the “Like” button. I follow that by immediately sitting on top of my hands to prevent any anecdotes from accidentally leaking out and dribbling all over an unsuspecting comments section. It’s hard – so very hard. I get a little twitchy. Beads of perspiration form. I sing “Mary Had a LIttle Lamb” while rocking slowly in place.

Mary had a … Fine! Ok, ok, ok, remember that time you wrote about that crazy thing with your co-worker? Well, once MY nutty co-worker did… GAH! This isn’t the “Comment” section. I’ll just save that little snippet for your blog.

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Rites of Passage

I was born wearing glasses. The full head of hair, the colic-y cries and the thick plastic framing my unopened eyes made me easy to pick-out from all the newborns in the hospital’s nursery. “That one is ours!” It made for an interesting delivery story.

I had my first eye surgery at age 2, the second at 4 and the third at 9. In fact, by the time I reached 20 and my fifth surgery (albeit the final two weren’t eye related), I had enough surgeries to feel like the hospital was just our family’s poor idea of a fun get away. Sure, I hadn’t been to Disney World, but I had this marvelous get away to St. David’s Hospital where I played a rousing game of checkers with my nurse while nibbling on bland Jell-O. Now who’s envious?

You’d think that by now, I’d handle glasses more gracefully. You’d be wrong. Thanks to some perverse label maker who decided that printing important things like “Directions” or better still “Warnings” in a 5 pt. font was cool I had the pleasure of visiting my ophthalmologists recently. Thank you perverse label maker. I had been quite happy with my 20/30 vision for years now, but 5 pt. font labels were now fuzzy black squiggles.  They probably only said “don’t take 100 of these at once” or “don’t lick this” if I could only read them.

After a few tests, where my spunky little doctor made my eyes do some tricks. (Thanks to those early surgeries my eyes make for an interesting study), she cheerfully declared, “it’s time for bifocals!” Yay. Go me. I asked what my vision was and got the good news, “your distance is 20/30, but up close it’s 20/70.” I complained bitterly about the unfairness of it all and pointed out my husband’s 20/15 vision. Apparently, his good vision has no impact on mine save that he can read all the small words without aid. Show off. She consoled me with, “now you can get rid of the magnifying glass.” My Sherlock Holmes impersonations, too I suppose.

I pouted. It took a month to get the prescription filled. The eyeglass sales person promised I would hate them for weeks – they might even give me headaches. Headaches you say? Sign me up! She finally added, “well, it may not be that bad.” Needless to say, when they called to announce my glasses were ready, I dragged my feet. If they’re ready on Saturday, they’ll still be ready on Wednesday I reasoned. I went with the progressive lenses, because yes I’m vain enough that I don’t want a line across my eyes. A line announcing to the world my eyes were even more special that originally thought. That was beyond my ability to cope.

I’ve had no trouble adjusting to them. No feeling like my feet are 100 miles away while going down stairs. No headaches. I can even read all the small words as promised; however, I’m still not overly keen on them. Sure, you can’t tell they’re multi-focal lenses, but I know and deep down the world knows, too.

Since I’m apparently stuck with these forever I have only one request.  Well, if you don’t count being used as plant fertilizer.  My request is that when I drop dead could someone finally take these things off my face.  Feel free to cast them on the ground and do a little dance atop the lenses on my behalf.

Yes, I’m still in the adjustment period.

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A Plea to Stephen Colbert

Friends and Family (the rest of you are off the hook again – yipppee!)

I just want to thank you all for helping support The Institution Theater and Me – especially all of you past and present PBS folks.  It means a great deal to me and I know I owe you one.  You are now officially on the “Beth’s Favorite People Forever and Ever” list.  I know, it’s like Christmas has come early (or maybe really late).  Hrmm…  The rest of you, it’s still not too late to make the list, but you’re cutting it close.  Do you really want to be on the ”other” list – a list you could avoid for a mere $10?  There are only a few more days left on the theater’s drive to make $20k and they’re still not there.  It’s going to be close.

So, the theater owners made a little video and here’s where you can help if $10 is like pulling really cheap teeth.  We all know we’re just six degrees from Kevin Bacon (I can make it in 4), which means we’re probably even closer to Stephen Colbert.  If you can’t give $10, maybe you could pass this video on to a friend who knows Stephen Colbert.  Then I could say I attend the Stephen T. Colbert Theater of Imagineering for a Better Better Tomorrow.  He might even name one of the owners after himself and finally put Perry’s Hair on the Threat Down list (unless he already did that and I missed the episode).

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DeAnne’s Vote and a Sam Update

Earlier this week, I got a great email from my friend DeAnne. You should refer to her as HRH DeAnne, like we all do and if you could genuflect a bit or possibly approach on your knees, that would not only be a welcome gesture, but one that would be encouraged and save you from being royally thwapped. No one wants a royal thwapping. This email was one of the best I’ve received in a long time. You know how I crave a good story? Well, this email wasn’t just a story – it was an adventure! There were misread maps, weest (a combination of East/West), punching, stitches tearing apart, Lacrosse, chili, starving teens, a crazy woman wielding a Christmas gift card, and a surprise move to North Dakota. I’ve saved this email because it’s simply that great and it’s a reminder that writing has become a lost art. No one ever writes letters anymore – we just quip each other to death with what amounts to email tweets. Her email reminded me how I really miss well thought out letters (or emails). Of course, in response to DeAnne’s great email, I email tweeted a thanks. I completely failed to rise to the occasion and offer up my own real letter. Sorry Miss DeAnne! (Yes, I did use “Miss” when addressing her; you should still stick with HRH or something else that shows a proper amount of deference.)

DeAnne’s vote for one of the top posts was the one titled True Beth North; she completely empathized with my sad lack of direction. Well, it’s not a lack of direction. Everything is North depending on where I stand. As one of the smartest people I know, DeAnne confessed that she has sometimes struggled with direction, thus the term “Weest” was born – the one that will get you or her family punched if you dare speak it within earshot. Her next vote was for any post dealing with Sam.

Sam actually showed up as a couple of people’s favorite topics when I polled them on about their favorite posts. Since there are a few of you who are fairly new to the blog, I’ll just give you some background. Sam is our 9-year-old beagle that we adopted 5 years ago from a local group called Hound Rescue. Sam has had a harder time then most of our pets having suffered from a condition known as Horner’s Syndrome (similar to Bell’s Palsy) and tears to both of her cranial crutiate ligaments. What I’ve taken from this is I’m a pet person. I don’t have a pet because it’s convenient or easy. I have Sam because she’s a great dog who makes me laugh. The next time someone suggests, as a co-worker did in the past couple of weeks, that it would be cheaper to euthanize Sam that pay for knee surgery, they should come with a figure on how much it would cost to euthanize them. I mean, with food and housing going up, not to mention health care I’m thinking a single shot would cure anything that ails you (or me), because frankly you’re more expensive to maintain in the long run than my dog. Oh, and I like my dog more. Truce? I won’t say a word about how you throw your money away on unnecessary expensive little toys and go on your vacation jaunts. In return, don’t suggest I kill my dog because she’s inconvenient. Last I checked, you weren’t in charge of my finances. Thanks.

To veer off that rant a bit, I’ll tell you a little more about her. First off, as a beagle Sam is basically a stomach with legs, soft ears and a very keen nose. The sound of a kibble plummeting off of the cat’s food perch will wake her from a dead sleep and send her running into the kitchen. Beagles are never satiated, which is quite awful if you think about it. Sure, you may have known hungry dogs, but anyone with a hound, particularly a beagle can tell you crazy stories about their appetite and the lengths they’ll go to in order to eat.. Sam doesn’t know how to play unless playing involves dancing around for food. The only way I could get Sam to play with a stuffed animal or a ball would be to wrap it in bacon and smear it with peanut butter. I tried talking to her about it, but I suspect she just likes hearing her name. According to Sam, she has three command driven names. They are “Sam”, “hey, Sam” and “I love you”. “Hey, Sam” knows to look at me and pay attention, there might be food or something interesting to sniff. While, “I love you” tells her to wag insanely, because that Sam is going to scritched from head to toe.

Sam is scared of our cats and our cats are aware of this. They like to set-up gauntlets in the hallways. If I hear Sam whimpering, it’s usually because a cat (probably Hodi) won’t let her come down the hallway or enter a room. However, this fear disappears if anyone is eating chicken, despite not getting table food, or when she’s enjoying her rawhide. It’s only under these circumstances that she will chase Hodi and Sage all over the house. Without the false bravado instilled by a yummy leathery chew; she’ll return to the whimpering mess we adore when faced with a kitty obstacle..

Sam Update: The Long Overdue Installment

I haven’t had a “Sam Update” in awhile, but that’s mostly due to things being fairly normal in the house. This is a good thing. Yes, I am knocking on wood. So, I’ll leave you with two recent happy moments. First, I came home a couple of weeks ago and released Sam from her crate. She was full of silly and dashed all over the house as fast as she could without pinballing into any kitties. She was the embodiment of joy, so I did my part to keep her going. Her final move was a dive under her blanket, which as I recall used to be MY blanket. She wiggled in one end and worked her way to the other finally kicking the blanket so her head peeked out. I declared, “you’re ridiculous!” which caused her to leap out of the covers and zoom around more. Where she doesn’t play with balls, she does love running at break-neck speeds that sometimes make me wince as I think of her knees (she’s clumsy and has torqued them performing this maneuver). Still, it’s hard to discourage her when she’s having fun.

From last weekend: There was whimpering from the kitchen so I got up and to make sure Hodi wasn’t pinning Sam in somewhere while cackling maniacally. I go in and find that Sam would really just like Hodi to hurry up and let her have a turn at the water bowl. (We have three, incidentally, but this one is deemed the best by all the pets. It’s a fountain where water pours constantly purchased because Sage wouldn’t drink from still bowls.) I looked at her and said, “no, you have to wait”. All of her nervous energy eventually drove Hodi away. Sam then asked to go outside, so I open the back door and there sitting against the fence is giant a tom cat. Sure, Hodi and Sage are horrifying, but that 20 lb. tom cat is clearly a big sissy and chose the wrong yard. Sam went tearing out sending the cat over the fence. (He’s sprayed our porch, much to Hodi’s great dismay that she vocalized in long mrrs and hissing one night.) Sam marched around proudly at having defended the yard, then came in and resumed her spot at the bottom of the pet totem pole. Hodi won’t tolerate uppity beasts and made it clear, “get any idea, Ears and I will smack them out of you.”

Thank you, DeAnne for inspiring a new Sam Update and for taking the time help me out on those blog posts.  I know, I still owe you a real letter.

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Support the Institution Theater!

An Appeal to Friends and Family

Remember when I worked for PBS and every few months I’d extend a hand to ask for your support?  I’d drag you into the studio to answer phones with promises of cheap pizza, soda, stale popcorn or maybe a even little BBQ. Those were the days of Austin City Limits tickets, galas, the auction, the Texas Hill Country Wine and Food Festival and of course, you got to hear all of those crazy stories about the people I worked with.  Its been awhile, hasn’t it? Now most of you can’t even remember what I look like answering the phone on your television.  Sadly, you never did get the chance to see me in HD on your new flat screen; I’m sure I look pretty amazing in HD.

The Institution Theater – 4 New Shows - 1 New Theater Pledge Site

Well, here I am again asking you to support another group – The Institution Theater. I’m coming to you now because they have to raise $20,000 in the next 10 days or they will not receive any of the money pledged by their supporters.  I have to be honest with you, they had 30 days to raise the money and they’re not even half way there.  Without your support they will not make their goal.  Now the great thing is, there are still 10 days left in which you can help this theater for as little as $1.  As you know, even the smallest pledge helps.  So, what are the rewards?

  • At higher levels you receive complimentary tickets to shows – shows like Etch-a-Sketch where my most recent sketch piece was performed.
  • You’re doing your part to support the arts in Austin, particularly South Austin.
  • You’re supporting me by supporting my teachers. In return I get to entertain you by performing on their stage, by continuing to write sketches for their theater, and by coming here to this blog to share my crazy anecdotes.
  • You’re doing your part to help Keep Austin Weird

The Institution Theater – 4 New Shows – 1 New Theater Pledge Site

So please, if you can, pledge your support to The Institution Theater today.  Any amount will help them achieve their goal and is greatly appreciated. Even if you can only afford a $1, it will help put them a $1 closer to the $20,000 they must  raise in the next 10 days.  If you can give more, that’s great, too.  Just think, at $25 you recieve two complimentary tickets that you can use towards coming to one of my shows.  It’s like getting your tickets in advance! So, support The Institution Theater today because you love Austin, you love theater and you love having watched me grow through improv and sketch writing. Do it because you miss the old PBS days when I appeared on your television.  Do it because Tom (in the video appeal on the linked Kickstarter website) is a really great guy and is the person who gave me the world’s best pep talk starting with the words, “Beth, you’re brilliant.”  (Or do it because he dated Rikki Lake, or he was at Sean Astin’s wedding or he can tell you about hanging out with Jane Lynch or because he was on Babylon 5 or because he is the world’s best and most notorious name droppers. Do it so I’ll stop spamming you with their logo.)

The Institution Theater – 4 New Shows – 1 New Theater Pledge Site

Click here to learn more about The Institution Theater