Confessions of a Concessionista

2007-01-16T03:17:00.000-05:00

Sesame Street - orange sings Carmen

no more gay crap.

oh.

never mind.

so who remembers this?? I have been going crazy with old Sesame Street stuff on YouTube. Seriously. Any cartoon or sketch or whatever you can remember from SS is here!! CRAZY. I could watch it all day. Which I have.

New Year, Same Old Discriminatory Bull

2007-01-02T10:09:00.000-05:00

What better way to kick off 2007 than with a new Constitutional Convention with more than enough votes to ban gay marriage? Sounds like a party to me. Because, of course, this is the MOST IMPORTANT THING PEOPLE IN MASSACHUSETTS HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT. People like Bry and I quietly living our lives together, making decisions for each other's health and well-being, sharing taxes and incomes, hospital visitation rights, etc., is THREATENING THE WORLD!!!!!!!!!!!!

STUPID HOMOS! PERVERTING THE UNIVERSE WITH THEIR "LOVE".

There was a letter in the Globe today from a man who said that he and his "real wife" (as he referred to her) of 49 years think gay marriage is a direct threat to them. If, after almost 50 years, a couple of dykes who want to shack up is a threat to his marriage, he needs counseling.

Sorry to get back on this tired old bandwagon, everyone. But the fact that people are voting on my civil rights is just sick, and the fact that even the pro-gay organizations and legislators say the ban will pass (thanks to heaps of money from anti-folks around the country) is enough to make me want to go crawl under something and give up.

Happy 2007. A year of tolerance and goodwill. Go, Prez Romney!

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like

2006-12-13T11:41:00.000-05:00

Not the last word on this, no doubt...
The Illustrious Scheffreens are returning, germ-riddled and starry-eyed, on Friday night, most likely. And then they shall bunk up in our beloved 30 Orne. And there will be much gnashing of teeth and beating of chests and tearing of hair and drinking of Chardonnay.

...the horror...the horror...

Thurs. night we're going to help Carol with her tree etc., in what we lovingly call the First Annual F**k Chuck Xmas Hoedown. Saturday is the annual "Little Dickens" Christmas Carol staged reading at the UU church. Yes, that wonderful time of year where I wear a skirt and work with folks who make me feel like crap. (Anyone wanna go? Let me know.) And for those who have seen this lovely production in past years, you know how...uh...in-tune Chuck's dulcimer playing is when he's NOT jet-lagged! I hope to God they're gonna use recorded music this time...Carol offered to play her autoharp, maybe I could stand in the corner and hum?

Repeat mantra: It's ALMOST funny, it's ALMOST funny...

It Was Only A Matter Of Time

2006-12-01T10:26:00.000-05:00

So, yeah.
Chuck is going to India on Monday for two weeks. Hillary has Calcuttan Meningitis or something, and has been in a hospital there since before Thanksgiving. He's flying British Air (Motto: "We're radiantly good!") and went to NYC yesterday to get a Visa from the embassy. Carol is going bananas. It's a total mess.

Guess teaching ballet to orphaned lepers didn't work out so well, huh.

Is Niiice

2006-11-20T11:28:00.000-05:00

So we put some Chardonnay and crackers in our pockets and walked down to the Cinema to catch a showing of "Borat". First time I actually have seen a movie there, since I started working in The Mall Of The Dead. What struck me most about this movie is that I wasn't shocked, offended, overly amused, or any of the things that apparently viewers are. Sascha Baron Cohen is an extraordinarily talented actor, and completely embodies this character he created -- I'd like to see him do something more, uh, legit -- maybe that's not the right word -- but I think this film could have been more over-the-top if it wanted to be.

Maybe it's because I watch a lot of, and am a big fan of, Jackass and CKY and Wildboyz and such, and have gotten to the point where I can watch Steve-o vomit up African testicle wine (or whatever) while I eat dinner...

the buddy system

2006-11-11T13:51:00.000-05:00

Better advice I have never seen.

macacacacacacaca

2006-11-08T16:20:00.000-05:00

So...I guess Democracy still works. It's creaky, shifty, and expensive, but perhaps there is hope after all. For now.

I am very sorry about the Marriage Amendments, though. The Virginia one in particular. It not only forbids marriage, civil unions, etc., it nullifies any contracts folks might have drawn up in private with lawyers et al. So there is no outlet with which couples might secure basic rights. That, to me, is horrible and cruel.

Also, in Colorado, the voters enacted an anti-gay Amendment and also declined to pass a domestic registry bill (which would have granted couples the absolute bare minimum of rights, like hospital visitation and end-of-life decisions).

We'll see what happens in Massachusetts tomorow, with the Constitutional Convention...

Elect(rocu)tion Day

2006-11-07T12:05:00.000-05:00

The Democrats have been leading comfortably in the polls for several weeks now. And look! What have we here? Oh, my goodness! Some *NEW* polls indicating that the Republicans are making unexpected gains after all! They just might...win anyway!

Okay. Maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions, but I firmly believe that this whole election is just a sham. I believe the votes are fixed, the machines are pre-callibrated, and voter intimidation and supression is in full swing. I think that the media is being fed new poll numbers so when the Republicans steal this midterm election, they can say, "but the polls said we were gaining 16 points in 24 hours!" (or whatever). Oh, Rove & co. will throw us a couple of seats, a few governors, maybe a ballot initiative or two (as long as it doesn't involve fetuses or fags) -- but not enough to make a difference. Here in Massachusetts, we won't have trouble. Our state doesn't really count. There will not be people checking IDs at Town Hall in Marblehead. I didn't get a robo-phone call at 3 a.m. saying I'm not registered to vote properly and if I show up at the polls I will get arrested (which has been happening in Virginia and some other states).

I don't know whether I should read the news or not. I don't want to know, but I can't help it. Fastest info comes from Drudge and 365Gay, and also (if you can bring yourself to go there) Fox "News" site.

I swear to God, I'm moving to Micronesia. Or maybe Mars.

she's put up with me for HOW long?

2006-11-02T15:13:00.000-05:00

Today Bry and I are celebrating our sixth anniversary.

We're going to drink good wine and eat scallops.

Six years!

Tootie always knew best

2006-10-28T22:21:00.000-05:00

Q. "What do you get when you cross Saudi Arabia with Mexico?"

A. "Oil of Olay."

The Mormons Are Coming! (look busy)

2006-10-19T12:26:00.000-05:00

eh, so, The Absent Governor has quietly mobilized the whole Mormon/Latter Day Saints crew to help him sew up the presidency for 2008. He has also been using Brigham Young University (that bastion of tolerance and intelligence) for his base. Hey! After Liberty Sunday, only heaven itself is the limit!

LOVING the separation of Church and State.

Maybe we should all buy a piece of land in, like, Vermont or something, somewhere way the hell out of the way. We can make our own wine and wear burlap.

Because it's only going to get scarier.

"Liberty Sunday" (but not mine)

2006-10-11T12:16:00.000-05:00

So this coming Sunday there is going to be a huge church service/simulcast, capable of reaching 79 million "Christians" and their parishes/families/etc. It's called Liberty Sunday and its main goal is driving home the message that one of the most important things all good Christians can do is make sure that homosexuality is not on the list of protected anti-discrimination categories. Apparently, it is vital to our nation's health to discriminate against and marginalize the wicked, wicked gays as much as possible. Our own Ann Romney will be a keynote speaker. (What, Mitt won't be there too? Oh, I forgot. He's trying to out-right-wing McCain. But he's a busy, busy guy. So he'll just send his wife. She already does the campaigning against stem cell research even though she has MS and knows that research might cure her someday...)

You know, kicking us when we're down and blaming us for everything that's wrong with the world ISN'T GONNA MAKE US GO AWAY. Every time I try to just brush off the latest news, or be buoyed by some article or opinion poll that says, "hey, your kind ain't so bad," Focus On The Family or its ilk comes screaming out of the woodwork, reminding harried Americans that those fucking faggots are raping your children and passing themselves off as normal!

I wish they'd just come out and say that they want us dead/banned/ghettoed/criminalized.

Happy National Coming Out Day, everyone. (October 11)

one year from today exactly

2006-10-06T14:02:00.000-05:00

...I will be getting married.

The countdown begins in earnest!

*does happy dance, grinning foolishly*

10.06.07

The Republican Party's New Poster Child

2006-10-04T13:35:00.000-05:00

Quote stolen from Daily Kos:

"Politics is like driving. To go backwards, put it in R. To go forwards, put it in D."

Oh, and by the way, howbout that Foley, eh? I like the part where his lawyer says, "he was molested...and he's gay." Well, of course! Because poor, poor Foley would never have been a homo otherwise. Then, by God, because he'd been soiled by a priest (what else could it be?), his only option was to start IMing that cute blonde page who worked for him. Hey, Kool-Aid! Oh, Yeah!

Honestly. I just don't know. What kills me is that I bet this won't matter enough to get the true Red Staters to punch a different square on that (totally neutrally callibrated) Diebold Machine.

couldn't resist

2006-09-28T19:32:00.000-05:00

Well, I certainly HOPE so.

Ironic Update

2006-09-28T19:05:00.000-05:00

So: yes. Hilairia (as we like to call her) is as of this writing still going. But! She is...flying to Calcutta...FIRST CLASS.

Because it's never too early to begin to experience crushing poverty and meager, simple food.

Also! She has no place lined up to live in. She said, "I can find a nice flat in the safe part of India (my italics) for $250 a month." She said, "I am just going to go there and volunteer, and maybe the Missionary will give me a paying job." She said, "I wrote them a letter and told them I was coming."

We're starting a pool. I give her three days. Origami Yoda gave her, I think, the same. Bry is a little more optimistic -- a week, perhaps.

Place your bets, Ladies and Gentlemen!

My stepsister's "lifelong dream"...

2006-09-23T15:44:00.000-05:00

So if no one ever checks this blog again I shan't blame ya'll...I didn't realize it had been so long. Now, of course, since school has started and The Movie Theater Of The Dead is taxing what little remnants of my sanity are left, I (like Bry) will most likely be using this forum to scrupulously avoid each and every thing I must read, do, attend, write, or see. Yep.

Of course, I could be Hillary...excuse me, Ilarya...who, if you all haven't heard, is selling her possessions, giving up her apartment, storing her car, and...wait for it...moving to Calcutta, India, to work with the Mother Teresa Foundation holding orphaned, diseased children and (hopefully) not getting strung up by some smooth-talking guy in a white robe.

Yes. India. With her street smarts? And, uh, smarts in general? We all await the outcome. She got herself a 5-year visa, and a whole plethora of vaccinations...Japanese encephelitis anyone??

But...of course...I wish her well. Even if I can't stand her. Actually, everyone in the universe should. (She'll need a hell of a lot more than good wishes if she's gonna survive something like that with what she has to work with.) Chuck is hosting a goodbye party tomorrow at 30 Orne...there's wine bottles stashed everywhere. (Go, Mom!)

They finally painted the house -- a lovely purplish color -- with deep green doors -- it looks FANTASTIC.

Boxes and Subways

2006-08-30T17:00:00.000-05:00

I know it's been a while...I didn't realize just how a while it was til I looked at the date...

been simultaneously trying to get ready for school, sling popcorn, work on my proposal, and pack boxes of dusty books. The Move is actually fast approaching -- can't believe it! At least it's just going upstairs. Poor MarthaDot (the real, live speener one) is gonna go bananas. She's an easily addled, slightly high-strung little kitty. (can't blame her, tho -- she is mine, in more ways than one...) The kitchen floor got redone and looks fantastic. The soul-sucking couch is already firmly in place, and it sits in the corner of the kitchen like it was made to be there. We're just waiting on the carpet guys to come do their thing -- then it can begin in earnest. It will be amazing to have a place where people can come and be comfortable.

Monday I went into Cambridge for a meeting and was reminded how much I love the Red Line. Ha. Apparently, there were signal failures everywhere so all the trains were being blocked -- they didn't tell us anything, kept opening and closing the doors and saying they had to "wait for instructions". In today's ridiculously fear-filled society, the folks on the train were freaking out like it was terrorism or something. (C'mon, people, it's the MBTA, for chrissakes. I just sat and did a crossword puzzle, resigned to the fact that my glass of wine was now much farther away than I had hoped.) After about 45 minutes of this, the subway timidly chugged out of the Harvard station, only to jerk to a stop, announce some garbled incomprehensible nonsense, then start up again, get to Central station, where the doors did not open, leaving people to bang wildly on various parts of the train in order to get anyone's attention. Said attention not gotten, the train continued on, with people visibly upset (my favorite was the very large, very commanding woman who gave the conductor an earful: "You get your white ass out here and open this door, you hear me now!!" BANG BANG BANG). By Kendall station it was almost comical (although if I had wanted to get out at Central, I perhaps might have not found the situation so bemusing). Finally, we careened into Park Street. Never before have I looked forward to getting on the Blue Line so much...even won $15 on a $2 scratch ticket I bought in the station.

West Side Story, w/ a side of butter

2006-08-18T10:04:00.000-05:00

Once a year, Bry and I have lobster. We both love it oh so very much, but it is expensive. So we choose one day in the middle of the summer and have our very own lobster each, with fresh corn and a whole loaf of bread. It is an Event. And yesterday was the day. But it was a long, convoluted trek to our steaming plates, and I still feel a bit weird about it.

I went to Rowan's fish place in Beverly, they have really good lobsters. I walked in and there were a bunch of kids working, weighing salmon, elbowing each other, etc. There was a manager too, but she was very busy. So as soon as I walk in, one of the kids looks right at me and starts singing: "I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty...and witty...and...briiiight...!" Yes, it is "bright" in part of the song, but there are other verses too. Another kid totally blanched, and looked at me and said, "Don't mind him." I did look rather dyke-y, I guess, I suppose I look more homo than I realize, men's clothing, short hair, et al, but -- so I was really disconcerted, and felt very uncomfortable, like, was I just slurred at? I didn't know what to think. So I pick out a couple of lobsters, with blue elastics ensnaring their snappy claws, and turn my back to the kid as he weighs and bags them. I am shaky and wigged out. I pay for them and stumble to the car, looking in the bag, which feels light. The lobsters, now suddenly having yellow elastics, wave frantically. Hmmm.

So I go home, tell Bry what happened. I feel a bit less than human. Was I discriminated against? Was it just a weird coincidence? Did he give me the wrong bag? Was I overreacting? I hated being put in that position.

Bry took the lobsters back, and gave them to the manager who weighed them and yes, they were pretty close to the ones I had picked out, but no, they weren't the same ones. The kid who had sang was hiding in the back when she went in -- he obviously put two and two together and knew exactly who she was.

She brought them back home and I tried to forget about the whole thing. I wanted to enjoy our all-too-rare day off together, our extravagant treat of dinner, etc. But I couldn't. The whole thing gnawed at me and made me physically ill. I also felt stupid, maybe it was a coincidence, I was wrong. Finally, before they closed for the day, Bry called Rowan's and spoke to the manager, told her exactly what happened, said her wife felt like she had been insulted by one of the staff, and that we wanted to return the lobsters. The manager and the kid in question delivered 2 new lobsters (we gave back the old ones) plus an apology right to our door.

So: did I do the right thing? I just wanted to make the whole experience go away. I didn't want to be a PC Bitch. But I also didn't want to ignore what happened.

Ugh.

June 14, 1917-August 5, 2000

2006-08-05T09:39:00.000-05:00

GrammaMartha died six years ago today. I can't believe it's been that long -- but often, it seems longer than that. I miss her, and I wish she was around to see that I've succeeded in pulling myself together and am doing okay. Maybe she knows. She was my biggest fan and a good friend.

She loved all my friends, boasted about my purple hair and "movie career", and had no patience for my mother's (then) refusal to accept my sexuality (GM's best friends throughout her life were gay men).

I'm sorry I was so scattered and incapable back then. I'm sorry she never got to meet Bry. She won't be at my wedding, at my graduation from Harvard. She won't see my new apartment, or meet my future brother-in-law. But maybe she will even though she's not here. I don't know what I think about stuff like that. I like to think she's keeping tabs, that she knows what's going on. But the hugely pragmatic side of me thinks that's just patently impossible.

She left around 10:45 at night. I plan to be sitting at the bar in the Hawthorne Tavern tonight at exactly that time, right after I get out of work at 10:30. I will drink a martini. I will drink the whole damn thing.

Join me, if you like. Literally, or in spirit.

Not the Brightest Tools in the Shed

2006-08-01T09:59:00.000-05:00

Nothing screams "common sense" more than opening a cinema with no working air conditioning in two out of the three theaters. And the owners wonder why business is bad? An apology and coupon for a free soda isn't gonna cut it when it's over ninety degrees in there.

I am not looking forward to today's shift...but at least I don't have to work tomorrow. I can only take so much verbal abuse from pissed-off, sweaty patrons.

CinemaSalem...a true "independent" movie theater. Right. That's why we're showing "Talladega Nights" and "You, Me, and Dupree" next week. Can't get more foreign than Will Ferrell in his underwear. Oh, except for maybe Owen Wilson. In his underwear.

Gonna be needing several beers at Trivia tonight...

porno salad

2006-07-24T11:03:00.001-05:00

Do you ever actually read the back of your bottle of salad dressing? Well...if you happen to buy "Newman's Own" Light Red Wine Vinegar & Olive Oil dressing, maybe you should. Here I quote verbatim what is printed on the back of each label...

The Great Salad Dressing Balloon Race. An armada of balloons loaded with Light Red Wine. The starters gun -- Bazoombah! They all rise majestically into the air. Newman's Own Balloon, with fewer calories, more taste, and secretly propelled by charity, flies faster than Kraft and further than Wishbone. First across. First on the ground. El Piloto quaffs mucho quaffs of Newman's Own Light Red Wine in victory. A medium light Italian starlet, daughter of Butch Cassidini, named Bitch Cassidini, leaps into the balloon basket, kisses Piloto, her lips smeared with Newman's Own Light, she murmurs, "You taste of Sicily, of Vesuvius, of Naples, baby," and patting his fanny she whispers, "and no fat."

Yep. Right there on the back of the ol' bottle.

a week and a half

2006-07-22T09:54:00.000-05:00

...since I last posted. I think time is speeding up, or something. Some people say that when you get older, everything seems to go by faster. My father always used the example of when you are six, a year is one-sixth of your life. But when you are 35, a year is one-thirty-fifth of your life. So mathematically, time seems to fly by quicker. It's already been a week since I went to Florida (and returned safely and rather unscathed). I have to say that I am not a fan of that state, and after spending a few days there I feel even more strongly about that. I spent a great deal of time hiding in the motel room reading the paper ("paper", I should say -- go Tampa Tribune -- makes the Boston Herald look like the Wall Street Journal) and staying out of the sun. It was 95 and extremely humid there. The pleasant-yet-vapid girl at McDonald's had no idea what iced coffee is. "You mean, coffee with ice in it?" she asked, genuinely surprised. Guess no one drinks coffee in Florida. Expecially since the only place I could find anything remotely resembling coffee was, in fact, said McDonald's. Sitting in that McD's on Clearwater Beach was probably the most American thing I've ever done...I felt vaguely guilty throughout the trip, though -- Bry's mother bought me a plane ticket, footed the bill for the motel, dinner, etc. And I tried my best to put my game face on and really be involved. I had several food meltdowns, which surprised the hell out of me, as I didn't expect that. I am pretty good about eating in unfamiliar situations at odd times, per se, but for some reason I just lost it. Salad with no dressing; cold shrimp; etc. Yet at the wedding reception I put away several crab cakes, washed down with a few whisky sours. Eh.

I should try to write about the food stuff I still deal with, maybe I will. It's now been 15 years, almost exactly, since I was at my lowest point. I wish I could remember more about that time, or that I had more pictures, or something. I can't believe I did that to myself.

The picture of the kitten at the top of this post has nothing to do with any of this, by the way. I just had to share its overwhelming cuteosity. Yeah, I know.

ConCon and fancy dress

2006-07-12T09:18:00.000-05:00

I promise I won't keep harping on this whole let-the-homos-pay-taxes-together thing for much longer...but every day I open the paper or turn on the radio and there's some pundit saying how if Bry & I get married the whole world will simply spin off its axis, sending poor helpless children hurtling deep into the gaping maw of Sodom. The glee and excitement in these people's voices is what never fails to get me: the sheer joy and exuberance these folks feel as they tirelessly work to take our rights away. The pure delight of hate and fear, the victory of disgust.

The Constitutional Convention is today. The Legislature has well over the 50 votes they need. It will get on the ballot. And the MassResistance and VoteOnMarriage groups have already shown how deceptive and ruthless they can be to get votes/signatures/etc. (They were the ones standing in front of stores with petitions telling people the petitions were for things like selling wine in grocery stores or banning greyhound racing, then slipping the marriage amendment petition in for the signature.) If you think you may have signed something you didn't mean to sign, go to www.knowthyneighbor.org and check. You can also see the names of every single person who signed, by town, zip code, street, etc. I recently discovered that my next-door-neighbors signed it. Now I hate them for more than just their bad parking skills...

Florida on Friday. (Heart palpitations on Wednesday and Thursday.) I never get enough sleep, and don't breathe enough either. I feel like my body is falling apart. I just want to relax, and I honestly have absolutely no idea how to do that. I wish I didn't work nights; it makes my day weirder. And Bry works days, so we're lopsided. I have been looking for stuff to wear this weekend; I am so bizarrely shaped, nothing fits right. I look awkward in everything. And everything I own has holes in it or is somehow in tatters.

Oh well. I'm sure it will all be better than I am projecting. It has to be.

just sick

2006-07-07T09:58:00.000-05:00

The anti-gay machine has been handed two colossal victories in the last 24 hours. There are now forty-five states that explicitly forbid gay marriage, civil unions, domestic partnerships, registries, etc. New York's court just ruled that gays have no right to be protected. And in Georgia, they are not allowed to receive any sort of legal protection whatsoever. On July 12th, the Massachusetts Legislature will take up the proposed Amendment here. This bill already has the 50 votes it needs to pass. Once passed, all marriages by homos here in MA will be voided.

I am feeling so heavy and hopeless at this moment. It is consuming my soul. I am more and more aware of how second-class I am in this universe. There are plenty of people out there who would torch my property and kill my pets, send me death threats and firebomb my wedding if they could. What did I ever do to anyone?

I am going to Florida for a wedding (how ironic) next weekend. I am tempted to print out proxy forms to bring -- God forbid anything happened to me down there. They'd probably put cyanide in my blood transfusion.

I can't believe I'm afraid to go to a state in my own goddamned country, simply because of who I am. I find myself trying to figure out how to look "less gay" for the occasion.

The kitten haunts me

2006-07-05T17:43:00.000-05:00

At work the other night, a couple of girls came into the theater lobby to wander around and buy popcorn. They were young, vacant, unkempt, sloppy yet endearing in that trashy kinda way. Probably 17, 18. The louder, glassier-eyed one put her pocketbook on the concession counter and began rooting for her wallet. I looked closer and gasped: in her bag, rigid (with fear?) and tiny, was a kitten. A five-week-old, eyes-barely-open, pointy little speen, curled motionless and unblinking. "This is Zeke," the girl enthused. "It's his first day out of the house. Isn't he cute? It only took me 25 minutes to convince my grandmother I needed another kitten." I touched the side of its teeny face, and it turned to me and begged with its eyes, it seemed, just for a second. Then a bunch of kids came out of Superman Returns, jostling each other and banging up against the counter (they wanted their money back after having sat in the movie for about 5 minutes -- they had clearly told their parents they were going to the movies and then ditched -- two hours later an upset woman called asking about "a group of kids who went to see Superman") and I feared they would poke the kitten into oblivion so I told the girls to take it home, it looked tired.

That face...

I know, it's completely ridiculous. Really ridiculous. But I couldn't get it out of my mind. I don't think it'll last six months. I wanted to save it from abuse and neglect. I wanted to spend more time with it. I wish those kids hadn't come out of the movie right then. I wish I had never noticed the kitten at all.

The other thing was -- when girls throw a teacup chihuahua into a Luis Vuitton purse and trapise around, I think it's sick/obnoxious. If people carried cats around on a regular basis, I probably would not think the same way. Like, I'd most likely feel sorry for the cat, but I wouldn't have the same contempt I reserve for little-dog-in-pricey-bag syndrome.

Yep. Hypocritical cat enthusiast, me.

Games, Memory, Sleep

2006-06-27T13:00:00.000-05:00

So I don't sleep much. Or well. So I spend an inordinate amount of time lying in the dark with nothing but my brain to keep me occupied. When I do sleep, I more often than not have bizarro stress dreams about Martha (the cat, not the grandmother) which involve me trying to keep her from escaping through an open door or whatnot. (The other day my dream about her had me clutching the poor thing tight tight tight as we rode in a rickety white van with both back doors open.) Then I wake up dazed and worried, and run to bury my face in Martha's sun-warmed fur. She'll stretch, yawn, look utterly unpreturbed/apathetic, and go back to sleep. She snores. It's cute. The snoring, that is. Not the constant terror dreams.

So I was running through old memories in my head, which is something I do a lot. I try to remember absolutely as far back as I can go. (I can get to about 2 1/2 or three years, not much further. I have some concrete images that pop up. But when I try to remember something I haven't remembered before, I can't.) I was thinking of games, made-up games that I played. I totally forgot that when I was about 9 I had a friend who was a few years younger than I, and our favorite game to play was something we called "Marblehead Tea and Taste Testers". We would raid the kitchen cabinets at 30 Orne and take out all the things like soy sauce, vinegar, tamari, vanilla extract, garlic powder, etc. Also, I was a big fan of the little tins of tea they sold at Amenhauser's (anyone remember Amenhauser's?) and I had a bunch of those. We'd set everything up on the dining room table, and assemble a cache of notebooks, an unplugged phone, phone books, monopoly money. This meant we were open for business! The game consisted of pretending to answer the phone in our best "Marblehead Tea and Taste Testers, how may I help you?" voices. Our pretend customers would then ask us how a particular thing tasted or smelled, and we'd dutifully place a drop of vanilla on our tongues, or take a deep whiff of my Lapsang Souchong tea, and tell the customer, "Oh yes, it's quite good. Would you like to buy some?" Then we'd record their order in our notebooks, and move on.

Then I thought about electronic games. When "Simon" came out, it was as if the aliens couldn't be far behind. It lights up! Wow! Then, a few years later, came "Merlin", a game I wanted with all my heart and soul but could not afford to have. It makes music! And you can play tic-tac-toe! Still later came Speak n' Spell, a game I was too old for but loved stealing my stepsister's and acing all the words. "Simon" was the best, though. And I will never forget how I got mine: I was probably 8, maybe 9. My family was totally beyond broke. I often said I wanted one, but knew there was no way. (This was the year I got Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup in my Christmas stocking.) One day, my mother took me for a circuitous ride in the car, not telling me where we were going no matter how I begged. We ended up in Swampscott at Bradlee's, and she took me straight to the toy section and placed the box in my arms. She'd been socking a few bucks away here and there, and wanted to use it to make me happy. I appreciated that little electronic UFO so much.

Do kids still make up games?

Don't it figure?

2006-06-21T15:59:00.000-05:00

So I finally start a blog and then I get so busy I don't post for almost a week. It's proving to be more erratic and cerebral than I thought. I have so many different things I'd like to write about... it's hard for me to organize my thoughts into a coherent mass of words that adequately get across the weirdo brain waves that fill my skull. I think I'm going to have to steer clear of politics at the moment, though, because the whole entry would look like this: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (shriek, shriek, freak, freak). Just reading the news is exhausting. I can't take it seriously anymore; it has all veered off into the comically, tragically insane.

Next post: "Jo, Blair, and feathered hair".

Advertising is everything

2006-06-16T16:58:00.000-05:00

Working in a movie theater is quite surreal, for a lot of reasons. It feels so weird to wear a name tag and a purple apron and smile beatifically at demanding, never-satisfied patrons who blanch at paying 2.50 for a small popcorn. "Where's the salt?" "You mean I have to pay extra for a cup?" "The theater is too hot." "The theater is too cold." "The movie is too loud!" "Can you turn up the sound a little?" "Why don't you have more previews?" "Why do you have to show previews?" "Do you validate parking?" "Can you watch my kid while I run to the Ladies' Room?" And the biggest, "Why don't you advertise?"

That's something I don't understand either. Everyone who works at CS is losing shifts and hours already -- we've been sent home, told not to come in, etc., almost every time we work. Last weekend we had a total of 31 people one day -- for multiple showings of multiple movies. Of course, the films we have are dubious at best -- people aren't breaking down the doors to go see "The Break-Up" -- but still. If you Google Cinema Salem, you get a movie theater in Salem, Oregon, and another one in Salem, Thailand. If you call 411 we're not listed. It costs $800 a week to run an ad in the Salem News, so the owners have decided not to. Suicide, in my opinion. They seem to think that through word-of-mouth, osmosis, and foot traffic, they'll get all the business they need. They have to do something, though, as they're hemorrhaging money. They are supposed to be opening up a cafe soon; maybe that will help.

It's also weird because I don't go to the movies; I don't really watch movies; I don't know much about what's new, popular, anticipated...CS is a nice little theater and all, but I don't think I'll be seeing too many movies there. The owners had this great idea to show foreign, independent, and classic films along with first-run, but it seems that that's not the case. Superman, anyone? How about Pirates of the Carribbean 2?

Oh well.

Also I feel gross and out-of-control when surrounded by melted butter and monstrous bags of Skittles. I read the nutrition information out loud to my co-workers (60 grams of fat for the Reese's Pieces). I don't eat anything when I'm there -- I find it hard to even eat "real" food on a break or something -- I feel like I don't have the "right" to eat because all I'm doing is standing around for hours. I'm working, but I'm not working "hard". So I get hungry because I'm a living creature, but I don't feel like I'm burning enough calories to justify food. I drink Diet Coke (which I loathe) and eat Tootsie Pops (I like the chocolate ones). I also make lots and lots of popcorn in the big scary popcorn machine, and luckily, I'm not a big fan of popcorn. Most people who work there take garbage bags of it home at the end of the night...

This coming week I'm only scheduled for 16 hours. Not nearly enough. Love the irony -- even though I hate being there, I wish I were there more.

climbing on the bandwagon and holding on for dear life

2006-06-14T12:05:00.000-05:00

So, yeah. Now I too have a space where I can ramble incessantly, link up weird crap, and comment with unbridled fervor on everyone else's business. Stay tuned.

Happy birthday GrammaMartha.