Remind me....What was I talking about...?

"How do I win against what's about to happen to me in there?"

2012-01-25T00:56:00.003-05:00

These were my friend's words as he left the kitchen, headed back into the living room, and stood there looking at us, cap hanging off his water bottle, ready to face the faucet filter.

Somewhere over the past year, the water filter had gone haywire, and for a while, once you turned it on, water would spray as far as the refrigerator. And sometimes, if you were lucky, to that, just for fun, a side stream would shoot out headed towards the basement door.

The rest of us laughed - knowing exactly what he was referring to, and those who didn't, went in with him to see the show.

That moment still makes me chuckle a lot. But I think why I think of this moment often, is because of the way he worded it.

"How do I WIN against what's about to happen to me in there?"

What an interesting take.

And as an improvisor, I greatly appreciate that angle.

There's such negativity in the world, and people consistently feel beat down; and yet, we continue to use the power of our words in ways that speak such lower standards into one another's lives.

Today, while teaching improv at a high school, a young lady came up to me at the end of class and said, "I've been trying that exercise where you can't say I or Me".

"And how's that going?" I asked her.

"Well, I've noticed something," she replied. "I've noticed that people tend to talk about one of two things: themselves, or other people. It's really not cool." she said. "It makes you just not want to talk to anyone at all."

"Sad, right!?" I responded.

"Really sad," she said. And with that she walked away.

So when knowing that what you're about to face could potentially be a bad situation, you'd like to believe that our approach would be like that of my friend's - one of how to WIN against something. Not just one of how to adequately get by, or face it and move on, and just get over it. But to win. And not to win as in a "Toddlers and Tiaras" kind of way, but in one that makes you feel accomplished. As if you've climbed a mountain - kind of way.

Recently, I spent the day with someone who was so competitive, that they literally, no matter where we were, would say to others, "Me and Missy... bla, bla, bla". Oh my word. So there were two losers here - the first being the English language and the horrid misuse of it, but then, second, the people we spoke with who had to hear that all day. And in sharing this, I can tell you, without hesitation, that at NO TIME was this wording changed. That is how it was said ALL DAY LONG. At first I was blaming schooling, etc. But then, as we were in cars, driving to our next destination, this person, who I know left a good five to ten minutes after I did, sped past me, and then literally pulled in front of me and drove there for the next five miles. Now here's what was "really sad". We weren't even going to the same said final destination. Yet.... they, like in constantly saying, "ME and Missy", had to be in the front car.

I thought, "How do I win against that?"

There was no way. Not that I cared though. Truly all I wanted were moments of silence away from the bad usage of grammar, and relief from the constant competitive nature of this person to be first though a door, or ahead of me on the road.

What's the saying? The one about losing battles, yet winning wars?

My dad, just here in the past couple of weeks, has changed the filter on the faucet. And I have done the same with this person in my life - the one who had to drive in front of me, not the faucet fighter. I don't do well with competitive people like that. They put me in a mental place where I do not want to be.

And how do you win against that?

So thank you, my dear and delightful, Don Quixote of the Kitchen. Your fearlessness to face the faucet, had a ripple effect on me of which you may never fully know. (No pun intended.) And with an incredible attitude like that, I will gladly face any water filter that comes our way. You, in my eyes, are a prime example of how a want to win, SHOULD look. Thank you for having enough strength to admit you need help, enough class to ask for it, and most importantly, enough bravery to continue to face other faucets in your future.

Water bottles at the ready!

Onward and upward!

Cleaning Out Your Purse

2012-01-22T03:34:00.000-05:00

My little sister and I are very different when it comes to purses.

She will change twice in a day if she feels the need, where as I will use the same purse for quite some time.

I never spend a ton of money on a "good purse", but instead will find just an affordable, cute one I like - usually from Walmart, or Old Navy, or some place like that, and use it until the handles fall off.

It's rare when I change purses, and the process takes a while.

I've been meaning to change purses for quite some time now.

The one I had been carrying was scratched up, the strap was ripping in several places, it didn't have as many pockets as I needed, and yet, I continued to carry it around. I bought it at Old Navy for less than $10 dollars. Was it ideal? No. But it worked and got the job done.

So tonight I was literally all dressed up, but could go no where.

My car was a block of ice, and as I headed out for a fun evening with the cast, I found that I was stuck.

Ice was still keeping my car at bay. No matter what I did to try and open the doors, the car wasn't having it. My own fault, really. I should have prepped a bit more. This kind of thing happened last winter, and though this winter I have lock de-icer, and all that ready to go, I still should have gone out during the day and scraped the windows and such.

Once I finally gave up, I figured I should call someone at dinner in case they were still expecting me. So this leads us back to the purse.

In looking for my phone, I finally just dumped all the contents of my purse out onto the couch. I mean, I'm now clearly not going anywhere, so it's not like this mess will set me back to be any later for dinner than I already was.

"Well now I can change purses, " I thought.

For Christmas my parents gave me a Dillard's gift card, and my first purchase with said card was a "good purse". This felt like the year to invest a bit. Step out of my comfort zone. Mean some business in the handbag department.

I did indeed buy a "big girl purse", (but only at 75% off), and so now was the moment of truth.

In starting to put all the contents of my old purse into my new one, I am starting to be struck with a thought.

Not everything is going to fit.

Uh-oh.

So now what do I do?

Ugh.

How depressing. This means more downsizing.

I feel like that's all I've done for the four past years is get rid of things, sell things off, etc., and now, I have to do it again! All I wanted to do was change my purse. That's it. Not go through this selection process of what's needed, what's not. What can I live without? What is a total must have?

Yes, I haven't had a migraine for a while, but I like that I can carry a bottle of migraine medicine in my purse. Do I need three different types of lipsticks with me always? No, I don't. But it's fun to have a choice. And the bigger vitamin sorter, yes, is round and bulky, but... well... doesn't matter! I want it in there.

So I sat on the couch a while, literally just staring at the items that didn't fit - sorting it all out, wondering where to put them now, and trying to figure out if I really need them.

And then it hit me.

This is what my life has been like lately.

There is a ton going on with my grandma, the job situations, heat, food, the like - same as the four winters before. But now, well now I see it a bit differently, and can put it into perspective a bit better.... maybe......

There are things I'm holding on to in my life because I feel protected. Like the migraine medicine. But migraines don't happen every day, and the medicine actually makes me sleepy. So if I'm out, a Diet Coke is a better remedy until I get home and can take the medicine and sleep it off. So there's no need for it to come with me everywhere.

When I truly studied the lipsticks I had gathered up, only one was tdifferent in color, one was practically dried up, and the rest varied only slightly - in application wand, or by "sparkle" value. So just choose one, and put the rest away.

And most of the time I forget to take vitamins on a regular basis, so downsize, and deal.

Now the question remains - What to do with the rest of the stuff??

It's still all over the couch, and it needs to be moved before I go to bed. So I should find a place to put it - if even just for now.

Recently, I've started cutting out gluten as much as I can. In that short amount of time, I've lost 15 pounds. And though I greatly miss bread, I don't miss the ear aches, the joint and muscle aches, the weight, or any of the other things gluten has potential of which to be the cause.

So all that to say.... As I get rid of things in my purse, (and not-so-coincidentally, my life), it made me wonder not wether or not I really need all that stuff - because clearly I don't. But whether or not, I truly want all that stuff.

Is my whole thought process on purses, and their infrastructure, just a bigger metaphor for how I live my life?

Can I/Should I apply this then, to the craziness that is my life of late?

Is taking each and every job that comes down the pike, the same as carrying the full bottle of migraine medicine? Is it just protection?

Is not knowing whether I'm coming or going some days worth the stress, gas money, and mental strain, spent on making it work? Or does it really make a difference in the application wand, sparkle, color, and overall effect? (And is anyone really noticing anyway?)

Ooooorrrrr..... Should I just downsize and move on?

But then, I have to ask what I continue to toss around my brain: At some point, do you spend the money, and just go get the one you want?

You know what you're looking for in how many pockets you like, and what kind of strap it has, and the color, shape, and size. So perhaps maybe it's time to just do it.

Maybe it's time to step forward and claim the purse you want.

And maybe, just maybe, for once, you get something that you WANT versus something that you NEED.

Or do we truly know the meaning of those words at all?

If you haven't seen "Return To Me" with Minnie Driver, and David Duchovny, you should. DD's character's wife has died, and he's been dating MD's character. There are a lot of OTHER REALLY IMPORTANT parts to the story, but there's a line that DD's character "Bob" says to MD's grandfather about her character, "Grace".

He says, "I'll always miss Elizabeth, but I ache for Grace."

What that has to do with the mess of purse contents still on my couch, I couldn't tell you. But what I CAN tell you is that as you cut to the next scene of the movie, Grace is in Italy, and Bob shows up.

"You came all the way to Italy", she says.
He smiles at her, thinks about it for a second, and says, "Yeah, I did. I came all the way to Italy."

And I think THAT'S what I truly want and need from this entire journey.

I need that one breath-taking moment of realization that someone, who I both want AND need, came all the way to Italy for me.

And while we're at it, I wouldn't mind a "Chelsea Signature Jayden Carryall" from Coach.

Just sayin'....

Yearning to Be Something Better

2012-01-07T23:06:00.000-05:00

~~ "The heart is still pure and filled with silent hope, but the mind is now in control." ~~

Ironically enough, my astrological sign is Cancer.

I'm not into that stuff, but today read something about Cancers that I thought was funny. Not HA-HA funny, but more along the lines of "Things that make ya' go hhmmmm....." kind of funny.

The reading said that we Cancer's crawl "first sideways, then backward", then skip "merrily ahead, scattering jokes like little berries on (our) path".

We are genuinely concerned and affectionate with people, until well....we're not, and we retreat into our shell where we need to be coaxed out. And not just any sign can pull us out of our sullen funktified retreat. We like those with a "protective presence" -- meaning - we feel safe with. And though truly not fans of surprises, (Cancers are ultimate planners, which is weird because at the same time, one of the most spontaneous signs of all), we will "giggle with glee" at those who "plan surprises for us" out of said protectiveness.

Now though I know all that to be true, and have read it in things before, it rang very loud tonight. It was especially loud as I sat planning my next week, and continuing to avoid chores, and writing a few PR proposals.

I was thinking about how fun it would be if friends just decided to show up at my door, and say, "That's it. Close the computer. We're going out for a while."

Would I go?

And that's what I struggle with.

Would. I. Go???

I'd like to think I would - no matter who it was at my door, if I had showered or not, or what I was currently wearing at the time. But I don't know that I would, because I don't know that there are too many people I truly feel have enough of a "protective presence" for me.

Nothing personal to anyone. Nor is this geared at any one person over another. I am just wondering how I might react in said situation.

Once, I read that we should attempt to say, or at least to consider, to be the first to say "I love you". I believe that thought process here was that if we all waited until the other person said it, no one would say it.

So while it's still early in this new year, and we all look and, as the title states, yearn, "to be something better", I wonder what that might look like for me.

Can I get past the unwritten proposals, and the carpet not vacuumed in order to spend quality time with someone who thinks I'm quality goods?

Or perhaps that's it right there.

Maybe it's more about finally coming to the realization that for each of us, there are those with a "protective presence", and THAT is what gets us through those nights of the phone not ringing with party invites, or feeling that we're not part of the cool kids.

Because out there, for each of us, there's someone either walking a slight bit ahead, or just a tad bit behind, keeping an eye on us in their own way. Be it a parent, a spouse, a significant other, a former teacher, a coach, or a friend, someone is chuckling as you scatter berries along your path. It's just a matter of how your relationship works as to whether or not they are are cleaning them up behind you, or walking ahead to avoid them.

Or perhaps there's someone who knows you're going to scatter them anyway, and instead has decided to focus on listening to your merriment, and is chuckling because they greatly enjoy what the path looks like once the berry show is over - and more importantly.... delights in watching it happen.

And well to you.....

To you.....

Tonight.....

I'd like to say,

"I love you."

The Relief Group

2011-12-31T22:38:00.000-05:00

Last night I had the honor and privilege of being at a wedding reception that was, without doubt, one of the most fun things I've done in a long time. Let me explain...

Life continues to be life, and money issues are money issues, so let's put that aside.

Yes, I still teach improv, direct musical theatre, and strive minute by minute to be the best daughter/sister/aunt/friend/coach I can be. So let's put that over.... there....

And of course, I pride myself on life achievements and humbly and excitedly look forward to what's ahead. So that can sit next to me quietly while I write what I'm about to write.

Last night, amongst the fun of theatre folk, food, music, and cupcakes, I had a realization that has given me something to ponder all day - something to chew on, and consider life lessons in/about/on. And I'm ALL ABOUT the life lessons.

So here goes...

I have a theory. And this theory is about layers.

Now perhaps I'm calling it layers as I sit here in two layers of clothes, a Snuggie, still have my shoes on, and am avoiding walking past the double-wrapped-to-keep-the-cold-out-windows, but I don't think so. I think there's weight to this. Or at least there's something to chew on.

I believe that somewhere in the "A" list of prepositions (aboard, about, above, across, after, against, along, amid, among, around, at) there is this group of people in your life who you love dearly, respect highly, treat differently, and protect richly. Yet, these are not the people who you would ask to be by your side at your wedding, nor would you leave your children to. These are not the people you'd co-sign a loan with, or seek opportunities to even cohabitate. And these are not the same people who perhaps even are last resorts for when your kids are sick at school and they have permission to pick them up. Though you trust them and love them just the same as the people you would for the above activities, (and some maybe even more so), these are not their purpose in your life.

These people are the people who make you smile when they walk into a room for the mere fact that they walked into the room. They walked into your room because you asked them to. And the best part is, you KNEW they would. These people are the people who you find yourself saying things to that often sound like, "I am so glad you're here." Or perhaps, "See?!?! This is why we're friends! I never would have thought of that!"

Now don't hear what I didn't say.

It's not that the other people who hold our extra keys, kiss away our pains, pick up our kids, and sign our loans, don't make us smile, and/or help us see resolutions. They do. They totally do. And they, like this group I am referring to, want nothing in return. That is true as well. BUT...

This group I am trying to highlight tends to give us a stability in a way that others don't. It's almost as if this group of people in our lives give us hope in other ways, and help us believe in mankind.

Really????

Sounds sappy, yes.

And perhaps with a little over two hours until the new year, might tend to be a bit in the glorified, romantic, nostalgic mindset.

However, I believe if you think about it, there are people in your life you who are not blood-related, but you feel like could be. You don't call them "best friends", but they sorta' are. You wouldn't put them on your child's legal pick 'em from school list, but now that you think about it, .... well... why wouldn't you, if you had to?

Does that cross the line into "Best Friend Territory"? Are they now within boundaries of "Bridal Party Junction"? Do you have to consider them residents of "Christmas Gift Village"?

No, I don't think so. Nor do I think they they want to be card-carrying members there. I think these people in our lives are there to be just that: There.

And last night, when the groom said to me, "I'm glad you're here." I thought, "Awwww. You know what? I really think he is." And then I realized that not 20 minutes before he said that to me, I had run across the room to hug a few people and said something quite like that to them, actually. With two of my ultimate best friends at my side, a room full of friends and long time colleagues, and a smattering of people I'm "highly aquatinted" with, I still managed to feel ..... well.... better, and dare I say, "safer" knowing a few of these "relief group" members had shown up, and would be there all night as well.

Your relief group people have families, spouses, best friends, and lives outside of their circle with you. In fact, you might not even be in the other circle of their Venn Diagram, much less the space where the circles overlap. Yet, somehow, there's a way that both your life and theirs are better just because you're in it.

Just because you continue to show up.

Actually..... just because.....

Less than 48 Hours Notice

2011-11-13T00:23:00.002-05:00

For over the past two weeks now, I have been moving some furniture around in the house, getting rid of some other stuff, etc. And so far, only three people have noticed. This house has been FULL of people who are in and out for rehearsals, lessons, vocal coaching sessions, dropping by for a visit, etc., and yet only three people have said something. I'm not saying anything to point fingers, or have a selfish point of no one paying attention. Or perhaps, in a way... I am. Keep reading.

About six years ago or so, I was, for a brief moment, being highly considered for a very sacred graduate school position in one of the nation's top University's Master of Fine Arts programs. It was for the Theatre Directing position - an honor to which only one person a year, received.

I had already met with the head of the department and was blessed to have had the whole, "I'm not suppose to do this, but.." talk. Told that if I could get my paperwork in within the month, he could guarantee he would get me in for an interview, and at least was going to get me in front of the final deciding committee. He liked my answers to the questions he asked in the pre-interview, and was impressed with my "new perspective" on how to approach some things. At one point, after offering to take me to lunch - (from what, I had been told originally would be an "I only have a few minutes" meeting), the Department Head said a loud that what I had brought to the interview in just those few minutes, was more "fresh" and "vibrant" than what he had seen and heard in years. By that time, he's showing me around campus, unlocking theatres, and walking me to where offices were.

After flying home, I immediately finished my application, essays, etc., and mailed them in as fast as possible. I received an email from him saying he had my papers in hand. And so I waited for what was ultimately, a phone call that never came.

Between the time that the envelope landed in his hand, and the final decision was made by the committee, the head of the department had moved on, and the new department head was someone completely different - someone who was looking for a graduate assistant very different than me, to fill that position.

In a little than 48 hours there will be a meeting of what will be, in my opinion, one of the most landmark casts to ever hit the Cincinnati Community Theatre stage. They already have, as well as continue to, create a buzz around a show that, as of yet, hasn't even truly begun rehearsing.

Their dedication to what became a grueling, and highly competitive audition process for 93 people, caused the 16 who now remain, to feel a sense of respect and understanding that one cast member recently remarked, felt as if they had "gone through boot camp together".

Even up to a few days ago, theatre directors in town were talking to me about the ripple effect that not just the cast list, but the CALL-BACK list, had on the community as a whole. Names that were expected to be on the list, weren't. And names that no one had ever heard of, were. Roles that are traditionally one ethnicity, or played a certain way, are now being played by an actor and/or actress of a different color, approach, or voice type.

Will that change the show? You bet.

Will that cause the show to change? Absolutely not.

Allow me to explain.

By donating the small white desk from my upstairs office to a store manager friend of mine who's back room desperately needed a desk, that caused me to take a table out of my dining room, and now use it as a desk upstairs. That then caused the stereo to be moved over to the corner of the room where it now sits on a small, (ugly aqua-marine colored) shelf (found in my parent's garage), and a "decorative box" of music that always sits in my dining room. The bowl, pitcher, and basket, that were on the table that had been there on the "new desk" for the last year, are now displayed on top of the refrigerator, while the rest of the items are sitting on the dining room table until they find a new home. That then gave way for a little doll house-type chair that I love, and had in the corner of the dinning room, to now be moved upstairs as my new office chair, thus giving the "extra" dining room chairs room to spread out along the new open back wall of the same room where they've been for the past.... oh I'd say.... eight or nine years or so.

It opens up the dining room a lot. A. LOT.

Did I add a room on to the house? Not even close. There's not even a fresh new coat of paint. I didn't buy any new furniture. But...... Does it give the main floor, and the office an entirely new look? Absolutely.

We're not reinventing the wheel with this show. All the songs are in the order in which the score and libretto intends. Every song is done with the words that are written. We're not taking a tango number and turning it into a polka, or a salsa, or anything radical.

Instead, we're just opening things up a bit. Moving some furniture around. And giving the show a fresh and vibrant new look.

If you don't know the show, you'll be impressed. The musicianship, talent, skill, and personalities of the 16 people you'll soon meet, will most definitely blow you away.

If you know the show backward and forward, will you notice? You might. If you look for it. Or even if you don't look for it. Your "muscle memory" of the show might cause your eyes to pop open here and there and think, "Wow... that sounds a bit different than the soundtrack", or... "I don't remember that part of the show!" But like I said, we're sticking to the script, and nothing is changing.

I think it all comes down to what we notice, and to what we pay attention.

I'll leave you with this:

In improv, there's an exercise we do called "three changes". I usually try to do it towards the end of a workshop or class, or when people have been "working together" all day.

What is to happen is that you partner off, and very quickly look your partner up and down. Then you turn your back to one another, and change three things about your appearance. Then, both will turn around and try and find the changes made.

Now keep in mind, these changes can be subtle, or big, and also keep in mind these people see each other every day, and work together for hours at a time.

And yet, most of the time, people can only find two of the three changes, and end up having to ask the their partner what they changed - though it's there right in front of them.

15 Things I've Learned From Being Ovarian Cancer-FREE

2011-10-17T22:07:00.000-04:00

Today, marks the 15th year of God's graciousness in allowing me to be ovarian cancer-FREE!

There is so much that one could write about, remark on, ponder, and of course, shout mighty praise for, and not a day goes by that I don't try and do that. But there are also things that don't always come to mind right away, or perhaps haven't been shared about this 15 year journey, that are indeed, I believe, a direct, or indirect, result of having gone through that battle. Some are pretty obvious. Some took 15 years to figure out. Some might mean everything, while some may seem like they mean nothing. But suffice it to say, all these things have in turn made me the woman I am today, right now.... and who I strive to be, and want to be in the days to come.

So.... Here, in no particular order, are 15 things I've learned from being ovarian cancer-free.

15. Coming off a morphine drip, makes a person smell bad. Really, really bad.

14. Sometimes, Little Debbie Cakes stop the pain better than medicine.

13. You can live without a gall bladder. You just have to move your residence closer to the bathroom.

12. When in a recovery period, if something makes you laugh, keep doing it, watching it, listening to it. (Thank you, King of the Hill. I forever hold you in my heart.)

11. After being diagnosed with a serious illness, go watch that horror movie you've put off watching. It won't seem as scary now.

10. Not being able to have "your own baby" can break up a relationship. Ah well.

9. Celebrities are people too. And sometimes, they want, need, and long for, a chance to show others that. Be that person who allows them the chance to be a "real person" for once. Not saying you will end up best friends, but trust me, they will remember you for it.

8. Give yourself a chance to grieve. Yes, live each day to the fullest and all that, but you had CANCER! That's right, CAN-CER. It's not a cold. Just sayin'.....

7. Stop trying to relate to everybody. Seriously, people! Everyone is different. We do NOT celebrate that as we should. Don't say, "Me too!" or "I totally get that!" if you don't. Because here's the thing: Even if you think you do, you don't. Cancer survivor or not, stop trying to be like everyone else. THAT is booooooorrrrrrring.

6. Not everyone will respond with compassion, understanding, and love. Some will be fearful. Some will be confused. Some will be "sorry to hear that". Some will leave. Yes. Some will leave. However, some won't. And most importantly, in some, it never EVER crossed their mind to do so. Remember that.

5. If you can't sleep during recovery, you can't sleep. It's ok. You're lying in a hospital bed. Why are you stressin' out?! What else do you have to do? Where else do you have to be? What? You have an early meeting in the morning, or something? Guess again. Here's a thought... Get to know your night nurses. Pick up a book. Have a talk with God. And while we're on the subject...

4. It's ok to be angry. Period. Be angry. And this goes for care-givers, family members, and best friends, as well.

3. Your pet knows, so let them help. As weird as this sounds, they will think of things you won't. Truly. (Mine use to hop up in my chair when I would leave. And when I would come back, she'd hop down. She was keeping it warm for me.)

2. Hug and kiss people more.

1. Because you talk about it, or don't talk about, shouldn't matter to anyone but YOU. If you want to shout it from the rooftops, write a book, run a race, wear a bracelet, or just keep it to yourself, that's fine. Your cancer is your story. Your survival is who you are. So be who you are, however you want to be.

"It's the soul of all the people who built her."

2011-09-30T21:22:00.000-04:00

This season change is never ever ever ever a good time for me. I hate it. I can't stand cold, and it bugs me that the sun goes down early. And especially here in Cincinnati, I'm bothered by the fact that I even pulled out my Fall clothes for the one day of Fall we've already had. Ugh.

Inevitably, I find myself clinging more to music, video games, Starbuck's Pumpkin Spice Latte, and of course, television.

You'd think that over these next months of cold air, rain, snow, and frozen car locks, that perhaps I'd use this time wisely, and work on catching up on creating scrapbooks, or read that stack of books that are started but not yet finished, create new curriculum, or Hello Writer! How about you work more on that book people ask about every once in a while?!?

I have no excuse.

Nothin'.

No words to respond to that except that the cold makes me withdrawn, sad, and well... just bummed out.

So when I find I'm in a mood like this, I tend to lean on a few different, yet standard, outlet options.

And tonight, it's my DVD collection.

Now there are several ways this can go.

Nostalgic: Such as this classic of which I was given the entire first season as a gift from my, knows me all too well, little sister.

Constant Learning: My always striving to be the best comedienne, and comedy writer/coach I can be, leads me to pick up Arrested Development, Conchords, Kids In The Hall, Whose Line, Gilmore Girls, and of course, anything by Aaron Sorkin. But I usually just end up here:

From the "I wish my sister lived closer" category, the winner is:

But as I reflect back on this week, today, and even the past few hours, I find myself longing to be somewhere else. Not necessary due to the cold snap we're about to have, or that I've been a bit under the weather this week, or that I'm tired of 14 little jobs in one day just to make ends meet, and long for some fun.

Instead, I believe it to be driven by a source of wanting to be in a place where bills are paid (even if only for the week), there's food to spare, and one stays home because one wants - not because there are obligations over the weekend, and one has to be smart about where one drives.

As the four year mark of this no job, no insurance, no assurance, and no end in sight, life, begins to round the bend, I find that instead of wanting to take a much needed vacation, or actually looking forward to the days when I can schedule doctor's appointments, or giving my mind a break from the always leaning into prayer and seeking the next small step, I would much rather take a large one. A giant leap, if you will.

It took nine years for this to happen. So hey... what's five more, right?

Is this bleu cheese???

2011-09-27T23:56:00.001-04:00

Perhaps it’s the time of year, the still constant need for employment, or all my recent listening to storyteller Kevin Kling, but something has put me in a nostalgic frame of mind lately.

On more than one occasion I’ve been told, “You tell good stories.” And sometimes I wonder what that means. Do I tell stories well – in presentation and form? Or do I just tell good stories – ones that make people laugh, or cry, or maybe even both?

Whichever one it is, I can’t say, nor do I think I want to know. But I do find that stories are coming easier nowadays.

I love to recount the misadventures of my first teaching job and living in the coal mining hills of Eastern Kentucky. And of course, all the cancer stuff makes for some really incredible tales of tears, laughter, disbelief, and hope.

But more often than not, my favorite stories to tell, are those of what could, I suppose, appear to be what my dad used to call “Guess you had to be there Stories.”

Growing up, I was famous for them. So famous for them in fact, that by the end of a retelling, I, myself, would just go ahead and say, “Oh well…. guess you had to be there….”, and walk away. It was something I began to use to filter my tale telling. Was this as funny to everyone else, as it was to me? Most of the time, not. But as my sense of humor became defined, and my wit sharpened, I realized that I know funny. And I, as I have said many a time, don’t laugh if it isn’t funny.

The problem with that is that I can find the funny. Again, something I’m not apologizing for, or bragging about, but use as a litmus test in retelling a tale to others. Will others “see” this as funny as I did?

Yes, people on the whole, usually share in the laughter; so I’d say 75% of the time, I’m good to go. But it wasn’t until I met Bryant, that the other 25% of my stories found a life.

Like take for instance, one of my favorite stories ever.

In our music department at college, we, like music majors everywhere, had to attend a fixed upon number of recitals and concerts each semester. If you really knew music (and you’d think that would be the case in a music department, but… not so much…), then you’d scout out “the good ones” scheduled throughout the semester, and write them in your planner the split second the recital schedule was posted around the building, and plan around them.

This usually meant you were going to attend your best friend’s recitals, your private instructor’s recitals, the recitals of those musicians who you looked up to in the department, and then the ones where you knew the performer would be doing really cool pieces.

Unfortunately, what tended to happen however, was that time got away from you, and two weeks before the end of the semester you’re scrambling around going to anything and everything that was offered just so you could get your requirement in.

Banjo quartet? Sure! I’m in.
Handbell Choir? Yeah, I’ll be there. I don’t have a choice, really.

But if you were particularly savvy, you’d find out from the upperclassmen, which were the “really” good ones to go to each year. What this meant was, who was going to have food afterward, and who wasn’t.

You could usually tell who would have food according to where the recital was located. And you could judge if the food was going to be sweet if the reception was some place different from the actual recital location.

Don’t get me wrong. I had my reception in the lobby of my recital hall, but I chose the recital hall across campus. And had to plan a year ahead to get that one – so there ya’ go.

Dr. Bromely was our flute instructor, our counterpoint professor, one of the first year theory teachers, and lucky for me, my advisor my four years at EKU. He was a large man, who sauntered a bit when he walked, and could at times have a surprisingly elfish-like sense of humor. I adored him. He had a low, Russian-bass voice, and each time he’d pass me in the hall, would say, “Good day, Dr. Whitis.” To which I would, every day, nod my head and say, “And to you, Dr. Bromely.”

He could be the subject of a series of blogs all to himself, but I tell you this because you need to know that he was classy. And so, you knew that when a large man such as Dr. B played the flute, it was no joke. And his recital was the one to go to, just to go to.

Now, my Sophomore year, saw us a new vocal faculty member. Mr. Michael Forest. Mr. Forest is an African-American man from the hills of Virginia, who was only with us during the week because each weekend he would fly to NYC to sing with the Met. He studied in London, and brought with him a love of arias that made you love them too – even if you weren’t a vocal major, and perhaps were part of that afore mentioned banjo ensemble (which, by the way, we didn’t have one of, but would have been exceptionally cool if we had).

The man could also TEAR UP a Negro Spiritual. GOOD NIGHT! He was remarkable! He was cute as a teddy bear in the hallways, and fierce as a grizzly on the stage. AND…. He thought I was funny. He’d often chuckle at something I’d be saying in conversation if he passed by in the hall, or be the only one laughing when I tried to make a joke during my voice juries. All in all, I thought he was very cool.

So…. That year, Dr. Bromley’s recital was being held, and it was marked on our calendars. But more importantly, what we noted was the location of his reception. This year, he was holding it in a very swanky historic to the city, house across the street from the music building. This also meant you had to cross the parking lot next to the practice marching band field. In other words, his reception was not technically on campus. So you know what that meant!

When you walked in to this beautiful home, there was a reception spread that was unreal for a college recital. The chandelier alone, gave it this gravitas that the likes of none of our individual recitals would likely ever see.

The long table of food, and fine linen table cloths, ended at some overstuffed, high back chairs, that probably weren’t antique, but you felt like maybe you shouldn’t sit in them anyway. In fact, the whole house kind of gave that feeling, so I wonder if that’s why so many people were standing much of the time.

Everyone was there. Tons of music students, and all the faculty. Even the Dean of Humanities had shown up. A big deal in other words.

Somewhere between coming into the house, and making my way down the food spread, I lost Bryant.

I gathered up my veggies, cheese squares, cookies, and soda, and at the end of the table line, positioned myself to where I could scan and see into about four rooms at the same time. Nope. No Bryant. Ah well. He’d show up.

Sitting myself down in one of the high back chairs, I pushed myself back, realized, as usual, that upon doing that my feet didn’t touch the floor, and began to scoot myself back up in order to not only be able to sit like a lady, but use my lap as a place to hold my plate. As I did this, I looked, and coming down the food line, was Mr. Forest. Mixed among faculty, staff, and students, he was pretty much the only stocky, large African-American man within a mile radius, so he wasn’t hard to miss.

Mr. Forest had stopped at the massive veggie tray, and had picked up a few carrot sticks. I notice he was fixated on the tray. He began to lean down and stare at it. People were moving all around him, buzzing in and out of the drink section, laughing and mingling, and so forth. Mr. Forest didn’t appear to be in the way at all.

He dipped his carrot stick in the dressing and ever so slowly began to lift it up to his nose. It must not have had the smell he was anticipating, because now the man looked confused. He stirred his carrot stick in the dip substance, and began to look around. Again, no one is paying any attention to the man.

Well, no one, but me.

Mr. Forest looked to the person on his left. “Is this bleu cheese?” he asked. That person didn’t hear him as he was talking to the person across the table going down the other side. “Is this bleu cheese?” he then said to that person. Nothing. Mr. Forest paused a second, and then leaned over to the person standing to his immediate right. “Excuse me”, he said ever so politely, “but do you think this is…” and before he could finish, that person walked away, waving at someone across the room.

“I’m allergic to bleu cheese”, Mr. Forest said, to, I guess, the bleu cheese, because not one soul had their eyes on the large Black man in the middle of the room.

He began to stick his tongue out for what I could only guess was going to be an itty-bitty taste of the possibly death-inducing dressing, but thought better of it.

I would have jumped in, and told him that it was indeed bleu cheese, but by this point, I’m crying. I’m sitting in the large high back over-stuffed chair, weeping with laughter. And just when I thought it could not get any better, Mr. Forest proceeded to turn his entire body around the room and yell, “HEY!! IS THIS BLEU CHEESE?? I’M ALLERGIC TO BLEU CHEESE! IS. THIS. BLEU. CHEEEEESSSEEEE?”

I was a goner. Wasted. Because as you can probably guess, not one person, NOT ONE, saw him, heard him, or much less answered him.

Falling back in the chair, I now can’t see through my glasses they are so filled with tears. I had dropped a cookie off my plate and onto the floor as my leg shook from the laughter, and my face is red from not being able to breathe.

And then, finally….there was Bryant. He must have seen me from across the room, and he ran over, kneeled down, and kept asking, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Are you ok?? Are you choking?”

All I could do was point. My right arm extended and pointed violently at Mr. Forest, my left hand fanned my face, trying to cool myself off.

As Bryant turned around to see what I was referring to, Mr. Forest shrugged to himself, and walked away, only adding to this unbelievable moment.

The retelling of the story didn’t take very long seeing as how Bryant’s sense of humor is pretty in sync with mine, so he was finishing sentences, and cackling like I was in a matter of seconds.

Within a half hour or so, Bryant and I decided to leave the reception. As we crossed the parking lot headed back to the music building, we noticed three shadowy figures in front of us. Their talk sounded muffled and it was hard to make out what they were saying as their footsteps crossed the gravel; but there was no mistaking who it was.

I just start laughing. It’s all I could do. So Bryant took the lead.

In the best Mr. Forest voice he could muster, he yelled, “Is this bleu cheese? I’m allergic to bleu cheese!”

“You turkeys!” Mr. Forest yelled. “Why didn’t you answer me? Why didn’t ANYONE answer me?”

“What are they talking about?” asked the people with Mr. Forest. “Just keep walking. Don’t turn around“ he replied. “Just keep walking.”

Bryant moved to New York City my Senior year, and had been there about six months before I was able to go visit him. It was my first time EVER in the Big Apple, and the night I arrived, it snowed about two feet. Not too big a deal to the city, but it was enough that Bryant’s work called and said he didn’t have to come in that morning. They would operate on a skeleton crew.

Over the next 12 hours we saw pretty much everything you’d want to see except the Statue of Liberty, and a Broadway show – which we weren’t going to see because it was Brooke Shields and Adrian Zmed in Grease, so why would you want to?

At 7:40pm-ish, we found ourselves right outside the New York Metropolitan Opera. Amazing. People were all dressed up, and starting to go in for drinks before the show. It was quite “New York”, I thought.

I walked around and looked at the encased posters of the upcoming season.

“Bryant! Come look! Here it is!”

We stood looking at a poster of their next production, and whose name was underneath the title, but one Mr. Michael Forest.

I took a picture of it.

We were walking away when right in front of us coming up the steps were three shadowy figures walking in step, side by side.

Bryant and I looked at one another. Could it be? No way.

Yep. There he was.

“Mr. Forest!”, we yelled. And like that scene in The Sound of Music, where the children run up and hug Captain von Trapp, we ran to the burly man, and excitedly exclaimed how incredible it was to see him.

We talked of how Bryant had been there a while and not seen anyone he knew, but I hadn’t even been there a day in total, and we ran into him. Was he in the show? What part of town did he live in? On and on as quickly as possible.

He introduced us to his friends, as two former "turkey students from Kentucky", and told us about how they were headed in for the show. We said we wouldn’t keep him, hugged him one last time, and waved good-bye.

“He seemed rather in a rush”, I said. “It’s not like he’d have to pick up tickets at the box office or they’d sell them or anything. That’s weird.”

Bryant and I stopped and looked at one another.

We turned around and in unison yelled up towards the doors of the Met, “HEY! IS THIS BLEU CHEESE? I’M ALLERGIC TO BLEU CHEESE!”

Mr. Forest grabbed the elbows of his companions and said, “Just keep walking. Don’t turn around. Just. Keep. Walking.”

Unintentional Play on the Field

2011-09-06T22:08:00.000-04:00

For some reason, this was the one high school football game I remember attending (in a stretch of what would end up being 10 years), that I didn’t have a clarinet, or a megaphone in my hand. I had to have been 15, maybe 16, and it was a crisp, clear, Fall night in the stadium.

It was getting darker, and I remember asking friends of mine, at one point, “What quarter are we in?”

“When this ends, we’ll be at the fourth, “ said my friend Julie.

“I should go call my dad. Be right back.” And with that, I headed into the band room, and called home.

My instructions were to call him right when the Fourth Quarter started, and he’d know to be on his way to pick me up.

“Ok,” said Dad. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in 15 minutes. Be ready.”

Mission accomplished.

Couldn’t tell you if we won or lost, or what I was wearing, or again, why we weren’t in uniform this particular Friday night, but what I can tell you is that when I got to the car, my dad was furious. I mean, sooooooo mad.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” he asked, gritting his teeth.

Pointing back at the bleachers, I said, “Right there. I was sitting right there the whole time.”

“Get in the car! I told you to be ready!”

“Dad, I was! Ask Julie. I kept saying to her that you were coming, and I would have to leave soon!”

“Well the game is over now, isn’t it!?”, he said, as we briskly walked back to the car, plan to beat the traffic blown wide open. Our conversation was quiet, yet highly tension filled. “Did you pay attention at all to when I said I’d be here to get you?”

“Yes! Of course!”

“What did I say?”

“You said it would be 15 minutes!”

“Well it’s been a lot longer than that!” Daddy fumed.

I was whole-heartedly confused. Even today, I am not one to deliberately ignore my parents’ instructions. In fact, I’m probably harder on myself about heeding their words, than they are. I was mortified, but I truly didn’t know what to do, or what I had done.

“Did you look at your watch at all?”, Daddy asked.

On the verge of tears I answered, “Yes, and I watched the big clock too, just to be sure.”

Dad stopped. We were now at the car – he on his side, me on mine. Looking over the top of the car, Dad asked, “What ‘big clock’?”

“That one, right there!”, I said, pointing up to the scoreboard.

Daddy’s shoulders dropped, and he started to grin a bit.

At this point I realized I probably was not going to get in trouble, but I didn’t understand that either.

As he got in the car he asked, “Are you sure you still want to be a marching band director?”

“Yes. Why?” I answered, shutting my door, and putting on the seatbelt.

“Well you’re going to have to learn about football”, he said, backing out.

“Ok. I will,” I said, “But I don’t get what that has to do with clocks.”

In the Dining Hall of the Mountain King

2011-09-05T13:13:00.004-04:00

On the weekends, the college cafeteria program was slim pickin’s. Not only did they close down certain locations, causing you to have to go to ones you usually didn’t frequent, but with everyone gone home, hardly anyone was there.

Most of the time, it was just Cory, Bryant, and Me. And then just Bryant and Me. And then eventually, just Me. So by my Senior year, I didn’t even buy a meal plan.

This particular weekend, however, had a few more music majors on campus than normal, seeing as how it was “Concerto Weekend”.

Concerto Weekend was the weekend of the big to-do orchestra concert where the winners of the concerto competition performed their pieces in the fancy music hall, and every seat in the house was filled. Or as I liked to refer to it, this was the “75-two-three-four” show.

As a clarinet player in orchestra, life is pretty great. You play some kickin’ hard pieces, so you hope to be one of two clarinetist who gets the honor of being in the ensemble. Rehearsals were only once a week for the winds, and there was always a good chance that on the next concert, of the three to four pieces the orchestra would be playing, you’d only be in about one and a half of them. Glorious! So you show up at rehearsal, work on your pieces for an hour, and then were dismissed. It was great!

The concerto competition however, was a different deal. And we only did it every other year. Pieces could range from the dawn of time, to the end of time, and in order to make the soloist, and the overall music department look good, the arrangements chosen were usually ones that had parts for everybody. Whoo-hoo.

I always thought that in those arrangements, the actual arranger was probably insulted that the publisher wanted more parts, and so just out of spite, would do what he did to the clarinets, and third trumpet players, and that was, give them 45 measures of rest, throw them a bone with a few measures to actually play, then give them 75 more measures of rest. Either that, or a drummer did the arrangement. Hard to tell.

Anyway, this particular Concerto weekend, Bryant won. And very well deserved, too. He played the First Movement of Edvard Grieg's Piano Concerto in A minor, Opus 16.

And I counted measures.

My parents couldn’t make the Sunday evening concert, so they decided instead to come down to the dress rehearsal on Saturday night.

Bryant and I ate dinner at the afore mentioned, across campus, not as cool as ours, dining hall, before heading back over to the rehearsal.

I remember we had fish. Bryant had on gray wool pants, and a dress shirt. And I was a bit dressed up myself. We could have, quite possibly, had had another concert that afternoon, maybe? Either way, we looked kind-of nice. And it was going to be the first time Bryant met my folks.

Now I bring up the fish, because with fish, came tartar sauce. A substance, that Bryant proceeded to drop a little bit of, on his pants.

The location of the dropage was, as I faced him across the table, let’s say, parallel and right of his belly button. Nothing too out of the way, but definitely to the casual observer, below the table.

He tried to wipe it off, but it had left a little stain, so he licked his napkin, as one does, and proceeded to try and rid his pants of the spot.

Keep in mind, at this point, the big picture. We are sitting in enemy territory, he and I. No one around knows of our usual dinner antics, loud laughter, and dashes for the frozen yogurt machine once the green light came on showing the mix was ready to pour. A light we gathered could be seen from apparently a NASA satellite, not to mention, any place in the cafeteria, thus causing a rush on the delectable treat. That green light would go on, and blammo! A line was formed in an instant, and before you could even realize what was going on, the “Yogurt Vultures” as Bryant would always call them, had emptied the machine again. Thus once more, causing us to keep vigil on the cafeteria workers as they stirred in another bag of mix.

But I digress…. Back to the spot….

We’re sitting at a table that comes up high enough to comfortably support our elbows. The spot on Bryant’s pants is below the tabletop, and he’d have to lean back a bit from the table in order to work on it.

“Don’t mess with it.” I told him. “You’ll only make it worse.”

“But it’s not coming out!” he said.

Then he proceeded to do and say a scene we couldn’t have written any better if we took a screenwriting class. What unfolded next caused me to live two lives at the very same time. One part of me was right there, watching it, participating in it. The other, was like that scene in Dead Poet’s Society when Ethan Hawke’s character improvises that stirring poem, and Robin Williams, as his teacher, Mr. Keating, leans in and says, “Don’t you forget this!” The other part of me was sitting next to myself, laughing, and thinking to be sure to take it all in. Something like this was probably never ever going to happen this good again.

Bryant kept looking down at the spot. “I can’t believe this!” he said. “What am I going to do with THIS?” and he pointed down, at himself, while his elbow rested on the table. (Which several of you, I’m sure, just tried at home, so you can probably see where this is going.)

“I want you to look at this!” he said to me, pointing downward. “Missy! Look down here at this!”

He’s serious. He, in his very sincere attempt to be concerned about the appearance of his pants before my mom and dad, isn’t thinking at all about what it looks like right now, what it looks like he’s pointing to, referencing, and most importantly, what is coming out of his mouth. It was brilliant yet mortifying at the same time.

And it continued.

“I can’t believe this thing! It won’t go away! It’s so big! I can’t meet your parents with this! (*point, point, point*) Missy! Get over here and look at this! This is unbelievable how big it is!”

A few people around us were starting to stare now.

At that moment, all I could think to do was put my hands up on my forehead, causing a shield over my eyebrows, and say, “Bryant. Stop talking.”

“But Missy….”

“Bryant, “ I said a little louder and sterner, “Stop. Talking.”

And then he said, without fail, what would be the piece de resistance. Bryant said, with a frustrated, exasperated outcry of emotion, “When I rub it, it only gets bigger!”

My arms collapsed on the table, and my head rested there.

I wanted to laugh. But my heart was going out to my dear friend who had no idea what was actually truly happening right then.

“What?” he asked, a bit testy.

I took his hands in mine, (mainly to stop the pointing), and I said, “Think about what I’m seeing. Think about what you’re saying. And think about what we look like right now.”

Silence.

And then all we could do was laugh. It was one of those laughs that starts slowly, and the more you look at one another, continues to build up inside you until you can do nothing but laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

We picked up our trays, put them on the conveyer belt, and left.

There was nothing left to be said.

Labor Day - 20 Years Ago

2011-09-04T12:39:00.002-04:00

Remembering where you were on landmark days rings differently for each generation. And of course, each person's recollection of it is so uniquely different that it makes up the fabric of who we are as a people.

For Generation X's contribution, it’s “Where were you when…” the shuttle blew up, Regan was shot, the day MTV launched, got your copy of Thriller, and oddly enough, for yours truly, remembering setting the table at my grandmother’s house, while her little black and white tv in the kitchen broadcasted Entertainment Tonight’s Mary Hart announcing that Andrew Lloyd Webber’s next musical would be done completely on roller skates.

“Roller skates?”, I said from the other room.

“I think that’s what they said….”, answered my grandma.

1991 was the year I started college.

By Labor Day, if you are a college instrumental music major, you’ve more than likely already been on campus at least a week, if not two – one more than the rest of the student body. And so when station wagons pull up, and boxes are being unpacked, you’re already settled in, had your financial aid squared away, and scouted out the best work-study programs – way ahead of the masses.

There’s something to be said for band camp.

And because you’ve already been rehearsing and marching, marching and rehearsing, Labor Day weekend is ify. Why? Well because if the half-time show music is going well, it could perhaps be a weekend off – one of the only ones you’ll have until November, quite honestly. But if it’s not, then it’s business as usual, and holidays are ignored.

I seem to remember us being in a sort-of good place that Labor Day, and though we ended up having rehearsal that morning, were allowed to have time off that evening. And at the risk of sounding completely over-dramatic, it was an evening that changed everything.

After dinner, I went with Cory back to his dorm room, where we watched tv.

All was well as he sat at his desk doing some, what was probably choral, homework, and I sat on his bed watching Designing Woman. School had already been in session a week, and week two would start bright and early the next morning.

I was fitting in just fine – making friends, learning the lay of the land, and remembering every day, the only piece of advice my high school band director said to me the day I graduated: NEVER skip a music theory or music history class. NEVER.

Our dinner crowd was a different size each day, but centered around a core of about 15 people – a number that would eventually settle on six for the next three years, that each night would then end up being three, and by night’s end, two.

For that first week, two things were consistent at dinner. By night’s end, that “three” was a nonexistent idea, and the two, was just Cory and me.

Cory and I had met there on campus several years before. We attended high school music camp together, and it was there that we realized we only lived 15 minutes apart back home. Cory was at EKU a year before I arrived, and I watched as he appeared to have it all together. So I was honored, to say the least, that at evening's end, he was spending it with me this whole week. Was he being an over-protective big brother? Yes, probably. But.. we had something on the rest of them, and that was, we were already best friends before either of us had arrived at college. A couple of times that first week of school, people tried to introduce me to Cory. We’d just wink at one another and play along so as to not embarrass the person trying to be kind and help us – a quality we would later abandon with whimsy when our little duet would become a trio.

That entire week at dinner, inevitably, amongst the talk of rehearsals, recitals, rush activities, buying books, and what the heck a French Sixth chord was, someone down the table would say something about Bryant. Where was he? When was he arriving? Had anyone talked to him, how brilliant he was at the piano, and oh yeah… how much I would "love him".

By week’s end, this Bryant was still a no-show, (he was closing out a performance season at a job in Michigan) but was built up and put so high on a pedestal that I honestly thought he’d be either completely unapproachable, or The Dark Crystal. You know... something that you loved as a kid, and become nostalgic for the further you are away from it, but when you go back to it later, isn’t as cool as you remember it to be.

So there I sat watching the awesome Dixie Carter as “Julia Sugarbaker” (talk about landmark) when there was a knock on Cory’s door. He walked over, opened the door, and bursting through charged the cutest boy I had ever seen in my entire life.

“I’m back!” the cute boy announced, and he lunged in to hug Cory – who, I might add, looked a bit confused.

“Bryant..” Cory half laughed, half questioned. “Welcome back! What are you doing here?”

Now…. Let’s just pause right there.

It was in that brief millisecond, that I wrapped my head around the past two weeks. This was the guy the dinner crew had been speaking of, was it not? So while sizing up the situation, it very quickly occurred to me, that though Cory had been one to lean over to me and say once that I would “love Bryant”, he was never one to bring him up, or rave on about his talent, nor reference his late arrival.

Did he not like Bryant? I never got that to be the case. I took it that they were friends, but now that I saw this, I took it that they were not close friends. For it appeared that Cory looked confused that Muhammad would come down from the mountain and announce an audience with Cory himself.

Dressed in an orange polo shirt, and overall shorts, Bryant proceeded to very quickly tell how excited he was to be back, and ended his speed talking monologue with asking Cory, “Will you help me move things out of my car?”

This whole time, I hadn’t said a word.

Cory agreed to help him, but not before saying, “Bryant… this is Missy.”

In a literal fuzzy whirlwind, somehow, Bryant ended up on the phone, and made, if memory serves, about five phone calls, that all started with the words, “I’m back!”

He was a great storyteller, this orange-shirted, charismatic wonder, but for all the charm, wit, and apparent cute-ness, no one was coming to his aid.

So as he stayed on the phone, recounting tales of his resort mountain escapades, Cory sat back at his desk doing his homework, and I eavesdropped while keeping the tv down low, acting as if I was watching it.

Every once in a while, I would laugh out loud. And each time, what would follow was this:

“No…I’m not in my room. I’m in Cory’s room. That was just some girl…. Cory’s friend.”

I’d only been in college two weeks, but that was 14 days long enough to reinvent myself (a quality I wouldn’t dig deep and find useful again until circa 1999). So several phone calls in, and several references to being "Cory’s friend", I had had it.

“Cory will you check me out?” I asked. “I should go.”

“Wait! Where are you going?” Bryant asked.

Assured he wasn’t speaking to me, I proceeded to jump off the bed, and look for my shoes.

“Where are you going?” he asked again.

“Who me?” I said. “I’m leaving.”

“Why? Why are you leaving?”

“Because I came to spend time with Cory. Something I haven’t been able to do for the past two hours.”

“But you can’t leave!” Bryant said to me, then said to whomever he was talking to on the phone, “I’ll have to call you back.” To which under my breath I said, “On Cory’s phone, no less.”

Cory was still. Motionless. Standing there like a point in a triangle, watching the scene unfold - a place that bless his heart, he would be thrown in consistently for the next ten years.

“I need help getting things out of my car” said Bryant.

“What? You don’t have somebody you can call?”

Cory stood there with a look I will NEVER forget. I think he was both mortified and taken aback. He shifted his eyes to Bryant as if to say, “Your turn.”

“That’s funny. She’s funny”, he said to Cory, but continuing to look at me. “Is she always like this?”

“Like what?” asked Cory.

“This bitchy?” Bryant said, looking at me. (A gutsy remark I was both offended by, and impressed with.)

“Actually….. no”, Cory replied with a bit of a smirk. “She’s never like this. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” (But instinctually he did. And would later go on to explain it to other people - usually just saying something to the extent of, "They drive each other crazy most of the time.")

“Well we need her to help me get things out of my car.”

“She has a name!” I blurted out. “And it’s not ‘Cory’s friend’!”

Channeling my inner Julia Sugarbaker, I proceed to tell the big shot that he rudely had burst through Cory’s door not even asking how he was, (my take) used his phone all night (Cory’s big recollection of the event), ignored me (Bryant’s emphasis on the story), and now expected “Cory’s friend”, to help him move things out of his car. Well I wasn’t going to do it – especially since he hadn’t even taken the time to learn my name.

“You’re right”, said Bryant. “Let’s start over.”

And he walked out the door.

Cory looked at me with this innocent bystander, wide-eyed look of “What the heck just happened in here?”

I, not sure whether to cry or laugh, was about to exhale a sigh of “Well that’s over..” when there was a knock on the door.

Cory answered it.

“I’m back!” Bryant said, as he hugged Cory.

“Bryant….” Cory said, this time more confused than the last. (A memory that still makes me belly laugh.)

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is Missy…..???” Cory said.

A few sentences of small talk proceeded. Are you a Freshman? What’s your major? Where are you from? And then….

“It’s nice to meet you. Will you help me move things out of my car?”

Cory, in a move that would become commonplace for many a year, walked over to his desk, and in a long sigh of both body and mind, slumped into his chair, and threw his arms and head on his desktop. I don’t think he expected to have to work that hard that particular Labor Day.

Flash forward 20 years.

No more dinner crews. No more music theory classes. No more unpacking cars once you arrive on campus.

Can I tell you what a French Sixth chord is? I’m afraid not.

But I can introduce you to one of the best Middle School Choir Directors in the country, and an exceptionally talented piano player who owns his own interior design firm in New York City.

And me?

Well I’m just happy to still be a point in one of the sharpest triangles that was ever drawn.

I’m still incredibly proud to be “Cory’s Friend”.

And I’m still touched that Bryant felt it important enough to start over.

Nice move.

Nice, nice move.

Jenga Blocks

2011-09-03T14:57:00.000-04:00

Recently, I was interviewed for a magazine article about being over 30 and choosing to not have a baby. Yes, choosing.... (Hysterectomy not included).

As the conversation went on, I found myself recalling a story of a defining moment about choices, ripple effects/affects, and the bravado with which we hold on to ideas only to cover up that which we really don't understand.

There was a man in my life for many years, who, after more many years, finally caused me to say, "Ok! That's it! What's it going to be? Are we getting married or not?"

We went back and forth with all these reasons why it wouldn't work, hadn't worked, and wasn't going to work: Location, jobs, driven-ness of my ambition to constantly be in a forward motion, (read as my apparent aura of “not wanting to settle down”), bla, bla, bla.

Finally, he said, "Well I want kids, and you don't."

"Is that it?" I said. "That's all you got? I can be talked into kids….. probably."

There was silence. Then he said,

"I want my own kids."

And there it was.

Not the first time I had had to stand up for my choice, as well as my non-choice, to have the hysterectomy.

It was close to two years before he and I ever really spoke again.

Yesterday, Bryant and I were discussing how our circles of friends are becoming more like just a circle, one, and the rest are like buoys on the water during the beginning of wind pick-up -- only bobbing up when they need something or want attention.

I find it interesting that one of the main definitions of buoy is "navigational hazard".

Had I known this all along about said boy, that he wasn't open to adoption in general, would I have even gotten involved with him all those many years ago? Would I have continued a relationship with someone so selfish that he wouldn’t even consider giving a home to a baby left without one? Unfortunately, the answer is “probably yes”. He was cute, and played the trumpet. And cute trumpet players tend to be my Kryptonite.

This makes him sound like a bad person. And he’s not. Well, not in the robber/abusive/or even just plain mean, type of bad person. But he is a bad person in the way we all are - we with our vices, sins, horrible habits, and selfish attitudes that end up steering our course. A course that causes us to ignore the needs of those around us, assume everything, and barely truly ask people anything. I’m guilty of it. So are you.

In order to avoid conflict, we don’t make a phone call that might answer a question, or just be “the right thing to do”. Because we feel guilty about something we didn’t do in the past, we just avoid that person in the future. Or because we believe so strongly in something we think we know all about, as soon as the alarms we’ve set around our ideas and protective “values” goes off, we slide down the fireman’s pole and arrogantly race off to rescue that unknown that we hold so dear. All the while, leaving behind the people, places, and quite often, polar opposite thought processes that got us there to begin with – as if they are toys in the front yard, and we’ve just been called in for dinner, even though we don’t know what’s awaiting us on the table inside.

Never mind that this man and I had now been in each other’s lives for over a decade. This one venture into the unknown (i.e. having his own kids), would now wipe out those years.

Ok. I’m fine with that. And probably was all along.

Literally just now, in the midst of writing this, my phone rang, and as I clicked save, I answered the phone to hear my brilliant eldest nephew’s excitement of a new game he invented using Jenga Blocks. You build things with them, and set them up like dominoes, and make “gates” around all these creations.

“That’s the thing (meaning your creation) you try and protect the most”, he said. “If you make a gate, I can come over, and come in. But if you don’t make a gate, then I can come over and destroy your creation. And whosever falls first, looses. If you build a thinner gate, you have more stuff (Jenga blocks) to destroy other people’s stuff with. But if you build a big gate with many levels, then no one can mess up your stuff.”

Who knew the secret to relationships could be found in inch by inch blocks spread out on a tile kitchen floor.

Protect and defend ………. and the world belongs to you and me.

West 16th Street

2011-09-02T22:37:00.001-04:00

For every day of my life, my grandparents, my mom's mom and dad, have owned a house in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. A stone, three floor, "A-frame" house, that sits on the corner of two streets in a neighborhood down from the hospital, a school for developmental disabled children, and right across the street from the family that owned their own swanky clothing store downtown.

There was a high stone wall across the front sidewalk, and led down the right side of the house along the cross street. This sturdy gray wall, is high enough to sit on and think you're cool, yet not so high enough to walk on without a little bit of an element of danger. There was a HUGE back yard with two levels. One for us to play in, and one for my grandparents garden and shed. We didn't do much in that backyard but run around, blow bubbles, and turn flips on the bars of the porch swing (which obviously wasn't on the porch). In retrospect, we weren't in the backyard enough.

That house to me meant one of two things: It was either Summer, or Winter.

My dad would get two weeks of vacation a year, and we'd spend them traveling four and a half hours to Western Kentucky to visit my grandparents. This meant it was either Christmas, or our birthdays (my sister and I have birthdays three days apart. Six years and three days, to be exact.)

There was a mall in town, and the next morning after arrival, unless it was Christmas day, we'd wake up, once again tell my grandmother that we don't eat big breakfasts, and anxiously await my grandpa, "Pawpaw", we called him, move away from the table, and come back into the living room - changed out of his pajamas. This meant we could scurry to get ready and go with him to meet his friends - a group of men who always seemed old (but of course weren't), retirees, who sat together at the mall, and watched people go by.

Until I was about eight or nine, there was this place we'd go first, called Kress. Or "Kresses", as we'd call it. It was awesome. There was a lunch counter in this Woolworth-type catch all store, and I'd sit up there with Pawpaw thinking I was somethin' else. Just the other day, I was recounting to my mom the first time Pawpaw let me walk around the store by myself. Oh yeah? I'm a big girl now!

As I got older, I made the ceremonial rite of passage to the upstairs room. This was my mom's old room, and even in the Summer, when it was sweltering hot, it didn't matter, because my grandparents had a tv up there, cable, and VH-1 still played music videos 24-7, so that was that.

In late November of 1996, my sister and I were both recovering from Ovarian Cancer, and one week we got in the car and went to our grandparents by ourselves. I remember it was abnormally warm that Winter, but it wouldn't have mattered. We were there....by ourselves..... We were both big girls now.

Only two years later, my grandfather passed away. Then, my grandmother moved into the assisted living facility where she is today. And now, in a very short while, she'll make the four and a half hour trip, and live with my mom and dad.

A few days ago, we went to visit my soon to be, 94-year-old, grandmother, and to finish cleaning out the house. There are six exits off the 71 mile stretch of the Pennyryle Parkway that lead you into that crazy little town. And this past Monday afternoon, at the fifth exit, just as clear as a bell, I heard my dad's voice in my head say, "Girls.... Wake up! Get your shoes on! We're here."

As of this morning, someone else owns that house.

And today, for a short while, stone walls seemed higher, backyards looked expansive, and well.... eating a big breakfast just seemed like a good idea.

Hummingbirds

2011-08-27T19:05:00.006-04:00

Today, the most astounding parents on the planet are celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary.

While recently listening to storyteller Kevin Kling read a piece he wrote, partnered with a poem he penned called "Hummingbird", I was reminded of my parents, and their incredible journey.

".....and now you find yourself on a new path.
And, as though channeled through a spectrum, your course is refracted.
And now some people don't recognize you.
Some people will want the old you. Or some people will cry that you've left at all.
But was has happened has happened, and can not be undone.
We pay for our laughter. We pay to weep.
Knowledge is not cheap.
To survive, we must return to our senses.
Sight.
Sound.
Smell.
Taste.
Touch.
We must live like verbs, not nouns,
and let our Spirit guide us.
Our Spirit that's found in breath
With every breath we inhale.
We exhale.
We inspire.
We expire.
Every breath holds a possibility of a laugh, a cry, a story, a song.
Every conversation is an exchange of Spirit.
The words flowing bitter or sweet over the tongue.
Every scar is a monument to a battle survived."

"Hummingbird, hummingbird.
Not a word.
d'Artanian of the Summer yard........"

"Play your cadence with a hum,
Then off and away
to the next kingdom."

Thank you Mom and Dad.
Congratulations on 45 years of conversation and exchange of Spirit.

Off and away to the next kingdom.........

Guest Blogger Month ends now.

2011-07-31T21:37:00.000-04:00

Wow! What fun!

A huge thank you to all the incredible people who joined me in this, my first, Guest Blogger Month. I say "first" because I will definitely be doing this again. It received huge response, and I already have had people say "SIGN ME UP!" to be guest bloggers next time.

Throughout the month, the blog has gained readers in several more countries - now bringing the total to 35+. And it's been super fun to introduce you to such fantastically diverse people.

My heartfelt thanks to Kenn Kington, Mike Weaver, Kevin Isaacs, Simon Hall, Laurie Griesser, Melissa Scalia, Bethany Turner, Jonathan Riggs, Hunter Frederick, Nancy Hower, John Lehr, Crystal King, Josh Steele, and Ken Read. It was such an honor to host your thoughts, writings, and wonderful personalities, in this containment of musings.

And thank you to all who read their entries, and subsequently, the entries around them. I hope you'll stay around.

Here's to you!

Guest Blogger: Dr. Ken Read

2011-07-30T11:58:00.001-04:00

The phrase, "Our paths will cross again", and "It's a small world after all", are both true statements. Like so many people you've met in the blog this month, Dr. Ken Read and I continued to make an acquaintance through different events, and reoccurring meetings here and there, set up by individuals who at time, also seemed random. However....

Christopher (who loyal blog readers will know well) attended Cincinnati Christian University. There, he was part of the music department, and met Becky Read, Ken's daughter. Then, at an event that has to do with moving a couch, (if memory serves), Becky met Daniel, Christopher's brother. Now, Daniel and Becky are married, and in 11 weeks are expecting their first child.

In the midst of all this, I had started teaching at a high school here in town, and we were having a big musical shin-dig of sorts. One of the board members of the school came to me a few days before the event, and said she had invited some of the faculty from CCU to come see the show. It was there that Dr. Ken and I met yet again -- seeing as how she had invited Ken since he is Chairman of the Music and Worship Department at CCU.

Last Christmas I had the honor of being asked to be a part of the big Christmas music program at CCU - a very great piece of musical fun-ness written and conceived by none other than, Dr. Ken Read.

So it is indeed a small world after all.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere, please welcome to the blog, one of the nicest men you will ever meet. (And if you're as lucky as I, you will have the pleasure of meeting him again and again.) Say hello to Dr. Ken Read.

Too Soon?

It’s All About . . . Timing

I’ve heard it and thought about it for the last several weeks, and everywhere I go, I see that in worship, as in humor, it’s all about timing.

A great joke given too soon can bomb. Worse, it can offend if delivered too soon in a set.

Here’s a joke I wrote. I think it’s pretty good: Have your family stop drinking carbonated drinks. Non-carbonated drinks lead to lower natural carbon emissions. Remember, kids, every burp kills a butterfly. Now, how do you set that up to be funny, instead of bizarre?

Remember the Rule of Three. Two waves set up a pattern, the third wave holds the joke. So if this is what you are aiming for, have two quick lines that parallel the butterfly line that will set it up for the audience. (Example: How can you help your family to be more environmentally conscious? Here are some suggestions: One. You can lessen their carbon footprint by buying them smaller shoes. Two. Live in Al Gore’s house. Three. . . . ) You want to create a wave of small laughs that lead to the big one. Without momentum, your otherwise-funny line is too soon.
Set up a context. If you jump into your funny line without giving it a clear context, then it just comes across as bizarre. As in the example above, now that line has a bit of a context. But the punch line still comes too soon. (Example: Three. Have your family stop drinking carbonated drinks. You know, they inject Carbon Dioxide into those drinks. Isn’t that what kills the ozone layer? So when you drink a carbonated drink, let’s just say it increases the natural carbon emissions of your family. Sure, your kids might complain about missing Coke. But you just tell them, Remember, kids, every burp kills a butterfly.) Is that better? At least it is better understood.
Earn their trust. People have to trust you, know who you are, and you might say share the love with you. So your first 30 seconds of talking must aim to disarm defensiveness and to establish love and trust. This whole set of three jokes is too early to go near the beginning of a routine, because it is potentially politically incorrect and offensive. Set up your joke so that it will even be funny to an Al Gore supporter and a tree hugger. They must know that you are not picking on them.

Another example. The character Boomer John. I wrote a book, a sermon, a musical, and various other presentations which are delivered by the apostle John. I found that by halfway through a program, people are really with me. They are disarmed, sympathetic, ready to laugh or to cry. But how do I win them over within the first five minutes? That’s the challenge.

All right. Here’s my opening speech: Hey, this here’s the holy apostle, Boomer John, best friends with Jesus. That’s right. He likes me better’n anybody. Hey, it ain’t boastin’ if’n it’s true; I’m jest layin’ it out there. Now, I ain’t Johnny the Dipper, mind you. He’s a cousin. You got to love family, you choose to love friends. No, this here’s Boomer John, the friend. It was Jesus Hisself who give me the name Boomer John, a son of thunder. He done that the day he called us to leave our boats n such n foller Him. Which we done. More on that later. I’m here to tell you about Jesus, cause He’s like nobody I ever met.

So, what’s the problem? Walking out in casual fishing clothes and talking like a hillbilly, being boastful about my relationship with Jesus, using extremely familiar language and slang terms all adds up to being offensive. After a while, folks pick up on what’s going on, and they buy into it. But those first 30 seconds are crucial.

If that’s the case, what’s the solution? Someone can introduce the character before he walks on stage. (e.g., You are about to be introduced to Boomer John, played by Ken Read. Dr. Read is a scholar who loves the disciple John, and after much study has attempted to present what might be his personality, if it were to be contextualized into American culture today. So, now we proudly present….) An introduction like that can buy you the first minute of audience trust. After that, you are on your own.

Another option is to travel with a video documentary of recognized scholars who seriously converse about John, his background, his writing style, and that he might speak with the Judean equivalence of a country hick accent. Mixed in with those scholarly comments could be a very serious narration of John 1. (In the beginning was the Word, all done with echo and a view of earth from space and all that). An intro like that might buy you the first five minutes, because people understand and have been convinced of your sincerity and respect.

On to the subject of worship. What can be Too Soon in worship? I want to suggest two things that can come too soon: Participation in the opening call to worship, and serious reflection and prayer.

The call to worship is tricky in the same manner as Boomer John’s introduction. People don’t necessarily know you yet, might not be instantly drawn in by the song, might not yet be awake enough to want to clap and sing and dance. How do you get them ready and warmed up, so that the Call to Worship does not come too soon?

If you are the regular worship leader at the church, you can establish the pattern of an opening, familiar song. So the majority of people come in the door ready for active participation and praise.

Another option is to use what we used to call prelude music to help establish a certain mood and energy level. Lighting, projection and a live band playing something that draws people in before they are ever invited to sing is sort of like following the rule of three. By the time they are invited to join, they are ready.

How do you win trust in that opening song? In the words of one drama teacher, you do so by sharing the love. You make sincere eye contact with people as they enter. You smile. You are winsome and empathetic (recognizing the wide spectrum of moods among the people as they enter). You invite participation, but do not manipulate it. (You bunch of lazy, fat American slobs. Jesus died for you! You better clap for Him, or you are on his naughty list.) It’s a fine line that can best be walked by discernment and prayer, being spiritually ready before the service, and by peer review and feedback to continually improve.

Before we move on, let me talk about something practical here. What to do about coffee and bagels? If people enter in a comfortable environment of munching and talking, there are certainly advantages to that. But if you actually want them to clap with coffee in hand, or dance with full coffee cups on the floor, or sing with food in their mouths, you are sending them a mixed message by offering free munchies at the door. I have no answers to this dilemma, but it is a serious cultural challenge in most churches.

The other end of the worship spectrum is the reflective worship moment that you are likely hoping to achieve. If the moment comes too soon, they are not ready to go there with you. We don’t open a service by singing a verse and a chorus of a song, and then inviting everyone, While the band plays, turn to someone near you and confess your worst sin from this week, and pray for each other that you may be healed. Whoa! Too Soon!

Draw them in, then transition and set it up carefully. Refine your methods, and seek feedback.

I keep talking about peer review. That’s a term they use in academic circles for scholarly books and articles, or in accrediting associations. And I have come to realize recently that it is a terrific concept to help us improve. Get feedback from the programming team every week, and from the musicians you work with. Regularly seek feedback from the congregation (never a suggestion box, where people give feedback anonymously!) and from first-time guests. Feedback like that is dangerous and threatening, I know. But it is the best way to sharpen what you do. As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. We are sharpened by friction. Ouch. Enough said.

Great ideas delivered too soon are lost. But like apples of gold in settings of silver are timely words aptly spoken.

Wait . . . for . . . it . . ..

Guest Blogger: Mr. Josh Steele

2011-07-27T19:29:00.001-04:00

When it comes to humor, I'm a picky girl.

I don't like physical comedy all that much. Totally get it and respect it's place in the comedy world, just not a fan.

Can NOT do gross stuff. Anything from snot, to toilet jokes, to puking, to bodily functions and noises.... Nope. Not for me.

However, give me smart, clever, quirky, observational, right on the mark humor that connects and rewards you for paying attention, and you'll have a fan for life. I'm all about it.

Arrested Development. Flight of the Conchords. Sports Night. Archer. Kids In The Hall. Python.

In improv we have a saying about creating the funny: Play to the top of your intelligence.

And that's why I love being friends with today's guest blogger, Josh Steele.

Josh and I met doing Gilligan's Island - The Musical. Not necessarily a show that catapulted either of our theatre careers towards the footlights of the Great White Way, but was still rather fun to do. And it definitely made me a Josh Steele fan.

Josh keeps me on my toes in the humor category. I feel very accomplished when I have made him laugh.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere, please welcome to the blog, the incomparable, Mr. Josh Steele.

Oy gevalt! Who ya' gonna' call?

It’s quite a pleasure to be writing what I must confess to my first-ever blog entry, and I could not ask for a more comfortable world premiere than in the cozy confines of Missy’s very successful blog. While Missy entreated me not to write about theatre, which occupies most of my waking minutes, I have nonetheless chosen a topic which is tangentially related, as it is the subject of a stage musical adaptation which I’m currently writing. The premise of that forthcoming adaptation is based on none other than the great American film masterpiece, “Ghostbusters.”

Obviously, volumes could be written on this cinematic magnum opus, but at Missy’s suggestion, I will eschew the epic dissertation which is rattling around in my head in favor of a more compact medium, the roots of which run deep in my cultural heritage. That, friends, is the haiku. While many of us have experienced the concise and effervescent wonder that is haiku, far fewer are familiar with its true origin as a poetic form. Haiku, contrary to popular belief, is a poetry structure of Jewish origin, dating back thousands of years to the days of the Jews’ enslavement by pharaoh in ancient Egypt . After long, hard days in the sweltering heat, lifting enormously heavy blocks for the pyramids and constructing the Stargate, the normally ebullient and talkative children of Israel were exhausted. Often times, the world-renowned Wham Bam Thank You Ma’am Poetry Slams in Giza ’s Brewery District would be simply cancelled due to a lack of contestants. Concerned about his declining bar sales, famous restaurateur and gun rights activist, Charlton Heston, developed a new form of poetry, one requiring only eighteen syllables, few enough for even the weariest laborer to utter with appropriate beauty and self-importance. The name of the new literary form was taken from two words in the ancient Aramaic: hai, which means to speak passionately, and kuch, which means an everything bagel with strawberry cream cheese. Thus, the haikuch was born. Future practitioners would later drop the eighteenth syllable in favor of the far more evocative winky smiley face, ; ), which we now familiarly recognize to follow all haikuchs (or haikus, for Americans who can’t read good).

And so, I offer my humble haikuch to “Ghostbusters,” a seminal work in the modern cultural landscape, and a work of poetry all on its own.

Ghostbusters

A haikuch by Joshua T. Steele, esq.

Say, Peter Venkman,

Did you make love to Dana

When she became Zuul? ; )

Thank you, and shalom.

Guest Blogger: Ms. Crystal King

2011-07-25T22:24:00.001-04:00

The word "weird" is so over used. It bugs me. It's one of those words like "fun", "awesome", "brilliant", and "amazing." We use it so often, that it doesn't mean anything anymore. Then, when you really need to use it, it's flat, and doesn't express what you need it to express. Lame.

Like now.

My lovely, gutsy, adventurous, friend, Crystal uses the word in her guest blog, and it carries with it great style, and poignancy - not that surface conversation kind of non-weight. So don't sluff it off when you read it. She's using the words correctly.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere, meet my totally fun, totally awesome, totally weird, friend of friends, Ms. Crystal King.

"It's a matter of style...."

About the Author:

My name is Crystal!

I don’t do drugs.

I have a blog,

So check me out!

Guest blogging! Whoo!!

*\o/*

I have been wracking my brain for the past two days to try and figure out what I wanted to post for Missy’s Guest Blogger Month extravaganza. It’s been an intense two days of “I have nothing to offer, here!” and other insecure Wayne and Garth-esque “We’re not worthy!” styled kowtowing. I didn’t want to do something super serious (that’s what usually ends up happening in my own blog). I didn’t want to do something from complete left field. I was looking through older bits of writing, previous ideas, and a metric crap-ton of notes, when I stumbled upon this piece I wrote back in 2009 and posted to the Notes section of my FaceBook page.

I think it speaks quite well of who I am (I’ll leave you to decide exactly what that is), and so now I share it with you, dear blogosphere.

So, as most everyone who has known me for any length of time knows, I have the strangest dreams, and last night was no different. My dreams are movie-like in the vivid quality of them. They are in color, with a soundtrack that I compose in my head, and with the strangest quality of natural scents. (e.g. if my dream has an orange, I smell an orange and register that in my subconscious.)
This morning between 4:00 and 6:30 I had what could be one of my Most Excellent dreams. It began like this:

I was getting ready to go for an interview while living Goodyear, Arizona, and having to drive out to Scottsdale. I knew I would take the Loop 101 through Peoria, Glendale, and Phoenix so I decided to hop into my DeLorean and stop at Arrowhead (a mall in Glendale, Arizona. You American Idol fans will know it as the mall Jordin Sparks was periodically featured walking through during her time in the competition) first to pick up a snazzy new interview outfit. After arriving at Arrowhead, I was assaulted by a gang of horrible rappers, hell-bent on making me join their wiggity-whack posse of ill-versed rhymers. Their leader, Huey Lewis, demanded I join them or else. And while I do enjoy a few Huey Lewis and the News songs, I knew that this was not the posse for me!

Of course, I thought to myself, my skillz were far superior to theirs so I would NEVER join a subpar posse. First of all, they were poorly dressed stereotypes! Secondly, I don't look good with my hat cocked to the side, wearing Ray-Bans and a blazer! It was a matter of style, and these posers were lacking. So I told them off.

And was promptly chased through Arrowhead.

Having read an XKCD strip earlier in the day about the height of a building required to launch a DeLorean to 88 mph to achieve necessary time travel speed (no, this particular XKCD comic strip does not exist – as the length of the building would be far more critical than the height…), I quickly disassembled my DeLorean, went to Spencer's gifts to buy a flux capacitor, hired mall rats to lug the car parts up to the roof of the mall - ALL while being chased by the gang of bad rappers. (Thank God I had the hover-board Marty stole from the future.)

So we get to the top, and my DeLorean is all set to go. Knowing that the building isn't nearly tall (yes, I know – tall ≠ long) enough to allow for the acceleration to the requisite 88 mph needed to escape (and why I didn't just leave the mall and head back onto the 101 is beyond me), I knew I would have to drive the entire length of the mall and I'd have to drive like I'd never driven before.

Well, of course it worked! I made it! I travelled through time! ...to the day the stock market crashed, October 29, 1929. *facepalm* So, I'm driving my DeLorean down what appears to be Mission Street (in Mt. Pleasant, Michigan – where I was currently living. Not only did I time travel, I traveled from Arizona to Michigan!) and out of the blue Doc Brown shows up, ranting about how I'm not supposed to drive the DeLorean out in broad daylight. Doc asks me what took so long to get here, and I recount my interaction with the rappers, the interview I missed, as well as the fact that I traveled 2000 miles. He looks at me, says something I can't remember, to which I reply, "That's heavy, Doc! I guess that's just the power of love."

Doc then reached into his lab coat, took out a remote control, and blew up the DeLorean - leaving me stuck in 1929 with just the clothes I had for the interview and the hover board.

And then I woke up.

I’d REALLY like to see a dream interpreter go to town on this bad boy. And I really want to know what Doc said that prompted my “power of love” response.

So, I guess my reason for sharing this guest blog entry is simple. We’re all a bit weird. Find humor where you can… even if it’s locked down in your subconscious and apparently on crack. Embrace your weirdness – it’s all about the power of love.

Guest Bloggers: Ms. Nancy Hower and Mr. John Lehr

2011-07-22T00:44:00.000-04:00

You may not think you know these two, but you totally do.

Nancy and John are the creative minds behind, and in front of, the television show, Ten Items or Less, It ran for three seasons on TBS, and you can currently find it on Hulu.

John recently co-hosted the CBS special, "Clash of the Commercials" - with Heidi Klum. You know..... 'cause when you think commercials.... you think Heidi Klum. Actually, you DO think of John though, because he was the first Geico Caveman.

John and I met through the improv world. We know a few of the same people. A few of the same totally awesome people, I might add. So we trusted each other right away. Then, when Nancy and John's web series, "Jailbait", debuted on Crackle.com and Hulu, Hot Shot PR became the publicist for Howler Monkey Productions - John and Nancy's company.

Nancy might look familiar if you're a Trekkie. She had a reoccurring role on Star Trek: Voyager. And if you're a rock and roll fan, you might know her from the band Stella. They use to open for Meatloaf.

Currently, these two are blowing up the blog world with their daily vlog series' on life in Hollywood.

They recently sold some new television shows, and are on "Season 2" of their vlog adventures. So it might be a good idea to see what all the hoopla is about by starting at the very beginning. (It's a very good place to start.)

Find out more about John, Nancy, and Howler Monkey at www.johnlehr.com.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere, here to talk improv, are my good buddies, Ms. Nancy Hower, and Mr. John Lehr.

Tap Outs and Sweeps

(An interview about improv - with John Lehr)

Guest Blogger: Mr. Hunter Frederick

2011-07-20T20:09:00.000-04:00

Usually, to start these guest blogs, I've been telling how I met the person, or sharing some little fun anecdote. But in today's blog, our guest did both of those for me. And where other guest are writing pieces for me, this one chose to write about me. So let's get right to it, shall we?

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere..... Beating me at my own game, is Mr. Hunter Frederick.

A Guy, A Girl, and A Pizza Place

Out of all my first impressions of people, the one Missy Whitis made, has to be one of my favorites. I was working for a church in Cincinnati at the time, and I was asked to come up with a 2-3 line quote about why I loved working at the church- so as to post it in the monthly newspaper published for the congregation. If you know me at all, you know that I can't do anything the normal way. Saying something like "I'm here by divine appointment because of my good Lord Jesus Christ", was just not going to cut it for me. I had to stick out. As I was brainstorming with my friend Bethany, she said "Have you meet Missy? She is good at stuff like this!" Sure enough, not two days later, I was with Bethany, and we ran into Missy. I asked her what I should write. She immediately responded, "What about … 'I'm in it for the chicks' ?" I almost fell to the floor with laughter right then and there. Finally! Someone who gets my sense of humor!

I was fired two days later.

NO. I wasn't. But wouldn't that have been the best story ever!? As funny as it was, when I told her I worked in the church's children's ministry we came to the conclusion that this might not be the most appropriate thing to talk about in a church newspaper. Or actually.... ever. To be honest, I don't remember what I wrote, but that is neither here nor there. What matters is the new friend I had made. And that, my friends, was truly a "divine appointment."

I really did lose my job sometime later. No joke. The only job I had ever had up to that point was at that church. Being 19, and having only had one job, made finding another one quite a challenge. What I didn't know was that Missy was going through a similar time of "soul searching." (Read as "unemployment".) We began to meet for coffee to discuss our future career plans, when she informed me that she was thinking about starting her own public relations firm in Cincinnati. She was tossing around that she needed someone to help her with design and branding. WHAT?!?! A new friend AND a job?!?! This is too good to be true! IT WAS. (Only kidding!.I have the spiritual gift of sarcasm if you couldn't already tell).

Missy and I began the almost impossible journey of trying to start a small business during the recession. Let me give you some advice: Do not start a small business during the recession. Instead, play the lottery. Odds are, you will have better luck then starting the "normal way". Also, do you know how many entertainers there are in Cincinnati that have the money for a publicist? Like three. So Missy and I took this as an opportunity for both of us to practice our craft in the real world.

Missy and I began taking on clients that, for lack of a better term, were just random. We had this one that for the life of me I can't remember their name! Which is a problem considering we did publicity for them. Actually now that I think about it, I never could remember their name when we worked for them. The only thing I remember is that they were an organization that helped in the fight against child kidnapping. So naturally I began referring to them as "those 'don't take the children people' " I think there were even a couple times I wrote that in a press release. (Oops!)

Working with Missy is kind of like having that friend in the third grade that you would always talk to during class when you were supposed to be working but because you always got your work done the teacher would never yell at you.

I can't tell you how many times Missy and I goof off, but we always get the job done and look out for our clients first. The amount of hours Missy and I spend at our local favorite pizza place chatting about our clients over a diet coke, is racking up. Lets just say we usually get free diet coke we are there so much. And speaking of pizza, one of my favorite "working with Missy" stories is when we were at that pizza place. Because I am the poor college student, Missy told me I could take her leftovers home for later, but that she wanted her side of ranch and to make sure that when she dropped me off at my car, to not let her forget to take it in. We got in her car and headed back to the office, when we passed a homeless man. Feeling bad, I said, "you know what, I don't need this as much as this guy". I rolled down the window and gave him the pizza box. Missy smiled. We drove away, and then I started laughing. "What is wrong with you?" Missy said. "I gave him your ranch!" We both died with laughter. Ok..... maybe not that funny I know, but the fact that you can break down laughing in a car over something has stupid as a side of ranch, is pretty awesome.

Missy has always given me a chance. Without her, I would never have found my love for PR. I have learned so much from her. Without her, I would have never gotten the chance to move to LA to work for a drug and alcohol induced celebrity whose father almost sued me for all I'm worth ($300) … Thanks Whitis!

I see a side of Missy that most don't see, a lot of people know Missy as the funny, wise one. I know Missy as a strategic business planner. I am honored to call her my business partner, and friend.

And with that I must leave you (Doctor Who is on).

Guest Bloggers: Mrs. Bethany Turner and Mr. Jonathan Riggs

2011-07-16T12:38:00.006-04:00

Today is my birthday.

And on your birthday you're suppose to be able to do whatever you want to do, right?

Well, I want to laugh.

No one, and I mean NO ONE, makes me laugh harder than my little sister.

Bethany and Jonathan have been friends since high school. In several blogs, I've mentioned J-Dawg, and all his awesomeness.

This one is about when Jonathan and I walked around NYC together.

And this link right here tells the tale of how Jonathan awarded me with my very own magazine column, and the fun that ensued.

Bethany and Jonathan are uber talented individuals. And put together, they make for incredible comic fodder.
Click on this to experience, "Ruby.... Don't take your blog to town" - the combined blogging efforts of that crazy duo.
And to give you a preview of what that hysterical blog is like, they've written a blog together for me to include in this month's festivities.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogoshpere..... Have a terrific time reading my brilliant and fantastic sister, Mrs. Bethany Turner, and, I am honored to say, our friend, the charming and delightful, Mr. Jonathan Riggs.

Happy Endings??

We love pop culture almost as much as Missy and sometimes find it hard to talk about anything else. After all, could there be a more fun topic to discuss than who's more talented, Rita Wilson or Kelly Preston? In honor of Missy, the Ambassador of Pop, we have decided to share how some of the world's favorite movies SHOULD have ended.

1. Gone with the Wind

Bethany's Ending: Scarlett moves to New York and launches a successful fashion design company called "Curtains and Curtsies", and suddenly the whole world gives a damn.

Jonathan's Ending: Fed up with the South, Scarlett O'Hara decides to move to NYC to become a songwriter but must first become a scantily clad bartender at a local nightclub owned by Leann Rimes.

2. The Sound of Music

Bethany's Ending: Having climbed all the mountains they could to get to safety, the Von Trapps celebrate their freedom with a song, only to be interrupted by Liesl's declaration that she is pregnant with Rolf's child, and they have decided to raise the child as both a nun AND a Nazi.

Jonathan's Ending: "This is the way, children," Maria calls as the Von Trapps flee over the Alps...but an overly enthusiastic bout of yodeling causes a fatal avalanche that claims the lives of them all except the youngest Von Trapp, Sue.

3. E.T.

Bethany's Ending: Gert goes back into her room, sad that E.T. has gone home, only to realize that ALL of her stuffed animals are aliens, and Teddy of the far off planet Ruxpin isn't NEARLY as friendly as E.T.!"

Jonathan's Ending: As Elliot's family watches E.T.'s ship fly off, they see a beam of light start to make its way back to earth--a shooting star perhaps? No, it's the completion of E.T.'s mission: destroy Earth.

4. Titanic

Bethany's Ending: After finally reaching dry land and safety, Rose picks up a needle and thread to fix the tear in her dress, and she enjoys herself so much that she decides her mother had it all wrong: being a seamstress isn't so bad after all!

Jonathan's Ending: Victor Garber tells Rose that he indeed built her a better ship and, even though there are more than enough lifeboats for everyone, the iceberg barely scratches the hull so everyone can return to enjoy the very special Celine Dion concert inside.

5. Doctor Zhivago

Bethany's Ending: Christopher Cross stands in a blizzard at a Russian train station singing "When you get caught between the moon and New York City..." until he is interrupted by Omar Sharif shouting, "No, you idiot! It's LARA'S Theme!"

Jonathan's Ending: A twist ending reveals that the entire film was a hallucination of Debi Thomas's when she heard her 1988 Winter Games ice skating scores, and the film ends with her chasing Katarina Witt around the rink while Melissa Manchester's version of "Lara's Theme" plays.

We'd like to thank Missy for giving us a chance to contribute to her blog, even though we were both scared she would read our entry and then quietly open the Ark of the Covenant so our faces melt off like at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Speaking of, did you know that they really killed the monkey who ate the poisoned food? Spielberg and Lucas were fine just insinuating that the monkey had died (and using a prop to play the corpse), but Karen Allen wouldn't hear of it and personally supervised the murder of the monkey. It took 59 takes and 300 dead monkeys to get right! Here's to you, Karen Allen, a true Hollywood pro!

Guest Blogger: Ms. Melissa Scalia

2011-07-15T11:06:00.000-04:00

After writing for the same magazine, running into each other at professional social events, and being asked a handful of times if we knew one another, Missy Scalia and I decided we were meant to be friends.

You may know Missy from her many commercials, print ads (She was the face and hair of Bath and Body Works Shampoo), and/or from parts in movies, and hosting television.

She's a busy woman, yet somehow manages to always make time for our ritual of catching up over coffee. And it's a non-stop gabfest. If we meet for dinner, we'll close the place down, chatting it up with the kind of talk like she wrote in her blog. You know.... Follow your dreams, and stuff like that. We love that sort of thing!

Because I know you will recognize her, I've included her reel, below. (A "reel" is a montage with clips of past work, so actors have something to show directors, producers, etc.) This way you can say, "Oh yeah! I've seen her!"

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere..... You should definitely meet my friend, Ms. Melissa Scalia.

Create Your Future

The ups and downs of life, and our tendency to rush through it, can sometimes make it hard to stop ‘dreaming’ of aspirations, and actually start achieving them! A little known fact: without action, ideas are just that…ideas that never become a reality. A few guiding principals have helped me to look my goals with confidence as they come, and actually start making them happen! Whatever you dream of accomplishing, I hope these five simple steps move you forward to attain what you once thought was unattainable. Get out of that rut! It’s time to fire up the engine we have in all of us, and start taking action!

A quote a day keeps procrastination away.

Daily inspirational quotes are a great way to wake up that inner voice that motivates and catapults you forward in ways you didn’t know existed. I recommend signing up at www.InsightOfTheDay.com (no spam), to get an inspirational quote magically delivered to your email inbox every morning! Insight from authors, historians, entrepreneurs, and even Oprah will propel you towards your dreams one quote at a time!

“The best way to predict your future is to create it”. (Thank you, Insight of the Day).

Have an idea? WRITE IT DOWN. Putting it on paper is the best way to start, and a game plan will follow. Brainstorm, get it down on paper, and know it’s okay to write without having it all figured out yet. Then start making a task list to get it done and organize your thoughts. Make your thoughts a reality! Writing them down makes them more tangible!

Appreciate your life today and see value in it, while still moving forward towards change!

Be genuinely happy in the moment, while staying inspired to move forward. According to a great site for motivated women, LadiesWhoLaunch.com, it’s the first and best step toward achieving positive change in your life. If you appreciate what you have and what you have learned, and still wish to better yourself, you’ll have no regret and move forward with the positivity that will get ‘er done!

“It is a very funny thing about life- if you refuse to accept anything but the best, you very often get it.”

Set your sights high, the higher the better. Know no limitations and remember anything is possible. If you don’t sell yourself short, there’s a good chance you will go for the gold!

5. God, please help me trust that even though life sometimes feels uncertain, the changes and challenges that occur in my life are all part of something much bigger, a plan you've made that goes beyond what I can see or comprehend.

In my opinion, acting on your talents and reaching for the best you, is God’s will. Sometimes we may feel life gets in the way, and it’s easy to get discouraged and lose sight of our dreams. It’s good to remember and repeat what I wrote above. The big man has a plan for you, and even though we can’t always see it, every step has purpose and is a part of a bigger picture!

So there you have it. It’s time to put your rear in gear! Stop going through the motions and start living! I hope these five steps help motivate you to create your own reality and move forward toward prosperity and happiness.

Don’t just ‘live the dream’, but start ‘living your wildest dreams’

Guest Blogger: Mrs. Laurie Griesser Brown

2011-07-12T20:14:00.000-04:00

You know how some people are just plain cool?

Well that's Laurie. She's just cool.

Laurie and I met in college. She plays the cello. Cool.

She has one wicked intelligent sense of humor. Cool.

When we were in college, we were in the same SAI pledge class, and she was that one exceptional student who graduated way ahead of schedule. Really cool.

Once a month, Laurie, Kevin (who you met a couple blogs ago), and I, meet up for lunch to hang out and make each other laugh. Yep. We're cool like that.

Laurie is a mother of three cool kids, married to a super fun cool guy named Chris, and still remains to this day, exceptionally .....you know it....... one of the coolest woman I know.

Laurie's blog is a poignant reflection of life as a parent - one to which I'm sure many of you will relate.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere..... Let me introduce you to my cool friend, Mrs. Laurie Griesser Brown.

My Summer Vacation

It’s finally here-vacation. I have friends going all over the place, pictures on facebook posted from Alaska, the Caribbean, Europe-you name it. It’s as if we all have to prove were we’ve been with photographic evidence. I also inundate my Facebook friends with countless pictures of my children having fun during these summer months. I can even envision some friends rolling their eyes when I post some of these pictures but it’s a sickness parents suffer from. We can’t help ourselves.

When I was little, we usually went to the same state park in Indiana every year. This was about as far as my father could emotionally handle travelling. He still would manage to fret about 3 three hour ride home. We would swim, walk the trails, attend the nature programs and swim some more. I have a lousy recollection of my childhood but I do have vivid memories of having fun on those trips.

So this year, we took that same trip. Different lodge but still an Indiana state park. We swam, walked the trails and played board games. When we were walking in the creek and along the trails the kids were amazed. One of them said “this is JUST LIKE Indiana Jones”. They enjoyed looking for rocks and watching the birds. We even found a really cool snake (I can prove this; there is a picture on facebook). The trip was as laid back and relaxed as you can get with three kids.

The last night we were there I found a drive-in. As I am a sucker for these slightly odd places, we were there. Cars 2 was even showing-how perfect. What a great way to end our trip. I thought to myself once again how we didn’t need the big fancy trips. We can have a good time enjoying the simple things.

Then the movie started. The first thing shown is the Disney castle at the beginning. My 5 year old innocently looks at me and asks “when are WE going to Disney World?” This was promptly followed by the other two with, “Yeah mom, when are WE going to Disney World?”

Well……..I thought they got it J I guess you can’t compete with a giant mouse.

Guest Blogger: Mr. Simon Hall (Yon from "Tripod")

2011-07-10T00:42:00.004-04:00

Sometimes I forget I was a fan first.

Before becoming their social media manager two years ago, I was (and still am) a huge Tripod fan. So much so, that three years ago today, I flew to NYC to be in the audience for their first American show. After the big event, I met Yon and Gatesy. It would then be a year later, when over Skype, Scod and I would meet, and we would all four talk again.

My adventure getting to that show remains one of my most popular entries here in the blog. This was the first time I ever had me quoted back to me. So if you haven't read the story of how I was under suspicion at the airport, then click on these words to read all about that hot mess.

The Tripod men are near and dear to my heart. They make me laugh every way to Sunday, and together, we've had a lot of cool things come down the social media pike. Together we've done fan contests, weekly live webstream shows, videos, etc. One of my favorite campaigns though, has to be Tripod versus the Dragon versus the World (a.k.a. "Ask Tripod Your Questions") Fans wrote in from all over the world asking the guys a bunch of fun stuff. I suggest watching the whole series - we were able to make 13 episodes. But just for kicks, here's probably my favorite:

The boys have, as most Gen-Xers do, a HUGE fascination with Star Wars. So Yon's blog speaks to that. Or rather... speaks as that...... You'll see......

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere, lookie who's here?! It's Mr. Simon Hall. Or as you may know him...... Yon from the internationally-known, award-winning, Tripod.

Lighting Bolt

Do you think Darth Vader ever thought:

When am I gonna get to do the lightning bolt like I saw the Emperor do when he killed Mace Windu? I'm thinkin' one day, one day, that's gonna be me f*$&$* ZZZZZZTT!!

I won't even have to get out my lightsaber.

I'll be the first Dark Jedi to not need to use a lightsaber. Knock me out. Take away my lightsaber. Put me in a cell. Next morning guy comes to give me some food... ZZZT... lightning bolt, force pull, and I got me some keys I'm outa there.

Anyway here I am now and he still hasn't shown me how to do it.

I don't know how to bring it up because it feels like he made a promise and then didn't keep it. Like what other dark powers is he keeping from me? Possibly many. I mean when you think about it, pushing objects at people is something a normal Jedi could do. I'm just his p*&#@ boy normal Jedi lapdog f*@&$ henchman.

I hope I can make Luke turn then I can get rid of this arsehole. Then, once we've killed him, we both turn back to the light side, be benevolent dictators, and s*$& sit on a porch with cigars. Men of the people. Ladies coming up to us with baskets of fruit. Playing cricket with the children. Having a laugh whilst cutting a ribbon on a factory.

Guest Blogger: Mr. Kevin Isaacs

2011-07-07T23:41:00.000-04:00

Kevin Isaacs is, without a doubt, one of the funniest people I have ever known. And I teach comedy for a living, so that's saying a whole heck of a lot.

Kev and I met in college. One summer, we were counselors together at the Stephen Collins Foster Music Camp. It was the summer of the OJ mess, and since that was all that was ever on television, we had to create our own entertainment. We proceeded to make up, and often perform for crowds, our own literal choreography, to Tim McGraw's "Don't Take The Girl". It was classic. People still talk about it.

One afternoon, we were on dorm duty. I was organizing and filling out charts and rosters, and Kev was reading the paper.

"Miss", he said, "spell canoe."

"Uh? Ummm.... ok..." I said, not really stopping what I was doing, "C-A-N-O-E".

Kev paused a second, and replied, "Yep. That's canoe." Then went back to reading.

"Care to share?" I asked.

He proceeded to read the following classified:

ORGAN, Lowry Genie, wood upright w/bench. Great for beginners. Best offer or trade for canoe.

We then began a joke that runs to this day. We pretend to make calls offering other things - kayaks, row boats, blow-up rafts, badgers, anything that can be useful on the water. But since it's not a C-A-N-O-E, there's never a sale.

Kevin is a children's librarian, and well-known professional storyteller - like the kind people go to see, hear, and learn from, at storyteller conventions. And yes, they have storyteller conventions.

Kev's adventures in the children's section make for good stories. Here's one now.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere, my dear and wonderfully funny friend, Mr. Kevin Isaacs.

The Sick Day

So, about 90 minutes into my work day today, I had to leave.

"Why Kevin? Why did you have to leave work?"

It's complicated.

You see friends, I was struck ill.

"(gasp)"

Yes I know it's a terrible thing for anyone to have to suffer illness. And it seems I have Conjuctivitis.

"????"

PINK EYE YOU DIM WITTS!! I HAVE PINK EYE!!! PINK EYES TO BE EXACT !!!!

"Ugh (gagging and giggling)"

STOP POINTING AND MURMURING!

I have the highly contagious disease contracted mostly by children. Dirty little children- grimey kids who never wash their hands who run around at elementary schools, which I frequented this week. What door knob? What chair? What? Why, why, why???

When I was I kid in elementary school, pink eye was the equivalent of head lice or body lice. Only the kids who stank and had grime that had been under their nails since their crawling years, got pink eye. Me and my rosey cheeked friends in our fancy name brand clothes, top of the line gym shoes, and Mickey Mouse watches, made fun of them and there pitiful state when they were sent home with pink eye. How cruel we were (not that I've changed that much).

Now my eyes are red and puffy as if I smoked a huge spliff and I look stoned. It sucks when you look stoned and aren't. People give you a condescending "that man's high" look, when really all you want to do is rub your eye again, 'cause it itches. Praise the Lord does it itch!! And the goop. You'll never believe the nasty goop that comes from your eyes. If you rub them then it's on your fingers. IT'S GROSS!!

When I got home I ran to make a doctors appointment, which I have to go to tomorrow. Then I fell asleep to Montel or some such daytime crap, only to awake with one eye matted shut. UGH. It took 10 minutes of washing and rinsing to open that eye, wash away the gunk, and be able to see with depth perception again.

I was so annoyed. I cursed the whole time, "#@#%$ little nasty kids #$#@@ pink eye @$#@! gotta see a doctor. I F$@% hate doctors." Now every five minutes I have to take a damp wash cloth and wipe away the scum so my eyes don't glaze over with pink eye pus and I can see clearly.

Wash your hands at school. Don't touch things unnecessarily. Stay away from people rubbing their eyes, or else you too, may become as I have.

Karma is cruel.

FORGIVE ME GRIMEY LITTLE DIRTY KIDS I MADE FUN OF IN GRADE SCHOOL. I NEVER UNDERSTOOD.

I am unclean.

UNCLEAN!!

UNCLEAN!!

UNCLEAN!!

Guest Blogger: Mr. Mike Weaver

2011-07-05T13:13:00.000-04:00

If I had to categorize the people I know, the top three classifications would be: Pastors, Improvisors, Musicians/Actors. My friend Mike falls into two of those categories.

Mike and I met on-line through the Applied Improv Network. This is an international organization for improvisors in business (among other things). Turns out, Mike just lives in Columbus. And he's a pastor.

A couple years ago, Mike interviewed me for a podcast that posted on his company's website. Mike is the CEO of Group Mind Consulting. We talked about the generational issues that folks need to be aware of in today's work and church environments. Check out Mike's brainchild at www.thegroupmind.com.

Mike is also one of the founders of the improv troupe, Easily Amused Improv. You may have met Mike if you came to the Improv Jam last June. He and that troupe performed with us as our guests.

Here's a bit about Mike (taken from his recent bio):

Mike Weaver’s mission to help pastors reawaken their joy for ministry by renewing relationships with staff, church leadership, and God. Pastors who thrive maintain significant connections and meaningful relationships in ministry. When relationships are strong, joy follows. Mike wants pastors to thrive in, not just survive, ministry.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere..... My innovative friend, Mr. Mike Weaver.

A powerful antidote to stress

Did you know that six year olds laugh an average of 300 times a day, and adults only laugh 15 to 100 times a day? It seems that the stress of life not only affects us physically, it also robs us of what most people say is one of life’s best medicines, laughter.

On Facebook I once posted the question, “In the last 24 hours, what made you laugh?” The responses I got were interesting and instructive of all of the comments, only one was from the world of entertainment, The Daily Show. The rest were kids, spouses, significant others, and friends.

It’s not a matter of what makes you laugh, it’s a matter of who.

This is important. Entertainment in itself will keep us amused and generally happy. But in itself, entertainment can only deliver half of what we need to live well. Entertainment delivers amusement but cannot deliver relationship. When the people in our lives make us laugh we get the best of both worlds, laughter (which is good for you) and relationship (because laughter is a connector between people).

Laughter is great medicine, but it isn’t the best. A friend of mine, Avi, says, “Laughter isn’t the best medicine. Friendship is.” Now when you combine laughter and friendship together, you create a powerful antidote to stress.

As I like to say, “Life is way too serious to take seriously.” There are amusing things happening all around us all the time. Today, love and laugh with the others. You’ll be glad you did

Guest Blogger: Mr. Kenn Kington

2011-07-02T16:30:00.003-04:00

First up at bat for Guest Blogger Month is Kenn Kington.

You may have heard and seen Kenn doing stand-up, and/or speaking all over the country. He's been on tv, and tours all over. Together with Robert G. Lee, and Bob Smiley, he's part of the Standup Guys.

Check them out on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/StandupGuysTV
and on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/user/standupguystv

Kenn will also be in the area on September 4, speaking at Horizon Community Church.

Definitely click on www.kennkington.com to find out more about this fantastic man!

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Blogosphere, the awesome, Mr. Kenn Kington.

Dad Rant

Mothers Day is reserved for honoring Mom and heaping praise on the women who gave us life and molds our lives. We give flowers and applaud them in church. Who is the oldest, youngest, and been a mother the most. Here is your gift of recognition. Then there is Father’s day.

The sermon that Sunday will be a time focused on how we are failing as men and how we can and need to do better! Then we turn on the TV or go see a movie and we are faced with the perception that fathers are: out of touch and insensitive morons that are lazy emotionally and physically. Our gift will be a tie at some point to remind us of the strangling responsibilities we bare on a daily basis.

We work tirelessly to provide a level of lifestyle that far exceeds anything that resembles NEEDS. The wants seldom if ever subside. There is always MORE we should be providing so as to not deprive our family of what they want. New is never new enough. The moment we give it the item is instantaneously obsolete.

Dads live underappreciated with endless expectations that continue to grow exponentially! What is a Dad to do?

Here are a few ideas to both help Dad on this rough road and for Dad’s to hopefully add perspective as we press on.

1. Ignore the noise! I find myself watching almost no TV, other than sports. I’m sick of seeing fathers portrayed as idiots and losers. I take that wasted time and reinvest it by going on more dates with my wife, swimming and playing with my kids or just read a good book. It seems perception is NOT reality. The media has just convinced us it is. Also, Reality TV has NOTHING to do with reality in case you were wondering.

2. Be the BIG person… I discovered that I am the biggest person at my house. Both physically and relationally. I get to determine the priorities in my domain as long as I am paying the bills. I have an amazing advisor in my wife and she has even better ideas than I do. We have decided that our priorities will NOT be set by our society. We paid off our debts and actually survive without the latest gadgets! We work with our kids to help them learn good habits and save for those “HAVE TO HAVE” items. Low and behold they actually enjoy them MORE and LONGER when they have to pay for them from money earned working.

That saving and delayed gratification is not just for the kids. We decided to give up the rat race and save for even big items. I realized it “is” humanly possible to buy a car WITHOUT a loan. Amazing I know. We just decided to keep the interest in our own pockets.

3. I’ve decided to live a “Want to” life instead of a “HAVE to” life. It took some plastic surgery (Cut up credit cards) sacrifice (see above). And 2 fundamental decisions. We decided to give up on creating a lifestyle and start discovering a LIFE. Here are two basic questions that freed us to make the transition. 1. What gifts, abilities, and desires do I have and WANT to fulfill on a regular basis? 2. Am I going to live to GET or Live to GIVE? Working to answer those questions on a daily basis has provided a wonderful journey toward living a life I WANT to live vs. drudging thru a life of HAVE to do’s.

Allow me to warn you it is NOT easy BUT let me assure you it is most certainly WORTH IT!

Guest Blogger Month BEGINS NOW!!!

2011-07-01T00:36:00.000-04:00

Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who reads all these musings.

I am honored, humbled, and always pleasantly surprised, when someone comments, or better yet, stops me on the street, to say they read my blog. Sometimes it's someone I don't even know. Wow...... the internet continues to amaze.......

So throughout July, I thought it might be fun to introduce the world to some of my family, mentors, colleagues, clients, and friends.

Welcome to GUEST BLOGGER MONTH!!!!

The line-up ranges from professional comedians, to theatre directors, to designers, to former students, and lots of cool people in between.

Hope you'll tune in every day to meet someone new. I have a feeling you'll like them as much as I do.

This is going to be such fun!!!

The Ambassador of Pop

2011-06-29T00:37:00.001-04:00

Embarrassed to admit this, but a few days ago I could not remember one of the most famous lines from Star Wars (Episode 4). Ugh. The friend I was with said, "Come on, Missy! You can't forget this stuff! You're The Ambassador of Pop."

Nice. I'll take it.

As a card-carrying member of Generation X, I am proud to be one of the 46 million "Children of the 80's". I've said it before, and will say it a g-zillion more times.... We are unlike any other generation. Of course, every generation can say this, and that's what's so great about this bonding factor we have here on the planet.

You may live in Paris, or Sydney, or Orlando, and be a butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker, but it doesn't matter once the topic of Atari comes up. Mention jelly shoes, or scratch and sniff stickers, and you have an immediate best friend.

So to you who identify with any of the following list, I salute you. To you I say, "Wax on. Wax off". I yell, "Goonies never say die!", in your general direction. And yes, I sigh, and finally remember to say, "Never underestimate the power of the dark side." (Sheesh...... Seriously? I forgot that?!?!)

Here's to the 80's.

Duran Duran The Pepsi Challenge VCRs The Outsiders Thriller

Monchichi Bright light! Bright light! Care Bears Tab Cujo Transformers
V Fashion Plates Break Dancing
Great Space Coaster
Friendship Pins Frankie says Relax Clearly Canadian Love Connection Thompson Twins Fantasy Island
The Breakfast Club Simon Magnum PI Pop Rocks
Chicken McNuggets Answering Machines Gloworm Dig Dug
Colecovision Milli Vanilli Pound Puppies Splash Commodore 64
Welcome Back Kotter The Wuzzles

You Can't Do That On Television
Tootsie Ray-Bans E.T. Charmkins He-Man Showtime Pizza
Slap Bracelets Joanie Loves Chachi Cyndi Lauper Fraggle Rock
United Colors of Benetton Ryan's Hope Parachute Pants
Trapper Keeper Sit 'n' Spin Iroc-Z Camero The Dark Crystal
Underroos The Love Boat Snausages The Oak Ridge Boys Alphie II
Rubix Cube Cats Puffy Paint Top Gun Trivial Pursuit
The Thorn Birds Take a bite out of crime Tron
The A Team Hungry Hungry Hippos Judy Blume Miami Vice
Space Shuttle Challenger
MTV Big Wheels California Raisins Speak & Spell KITT
The Bloodhound Gang Pudding Pops Lite Bright Wax Lips
The Bradys at Kings Island Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Pitfall
Cabbage Patch Kids Max Headroom Sea Monkeys Baby on Board
Who shot J.R.?
Pac-Man Fever Alf Wacky Wallwalker Slip 'n' Slide Ghettoblasters
Disco Mickey Mouse Where's the beef? No whammies! No whammies!!
Poltergeist Snorks Frogger My Two Dads
Star Search (Three and three quarter stars)
Ewoks Sony Walkmans Shoulder Pads My Little Pony
Micro Magic Microwave Milkshakes Flashdance
Psyche! Thundercats The Princess Bride Roos
Go go gadget arm! Thigh Master Mullets Van Halen
Time to make the doughnuts.....
Remington Steele Jamaican Bobsled Team
Champagne wishes and caviar dreams.....

Quo Vadis?

2011-06-27T23:30:00.004-04:00

Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want,
So tell me what you want, what you really really want,
I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want,
So tell me what you want, what you really really want,
I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really
really really wanna zigazig ha.

Not really sure what a "zigazig ha" is, though I probably should by now.

Was asked this a few weeks ago - not "What is a 'zigazig ha'?", but "What do you really want?"

I have never longed for normalcy and consistency more in my entire life. Usually I like jumping here and there, going hither and yon, but now? Well.....it's getting old.

If the Lord said, "You shall be a freelance musician and improvisor - playing and teaching gigs throughout the land." I'd say, "Fine. Let's do this!"

If the Lord said, "Go unto the PR world and post, and video, and stream, your way into the future." I'd say, "Great! Onward Christian soldiers!"

If the Lord said, "I grant you the gift of scheduling and organizing. For unto you shall come many opportunities to plan meetings, parties, and events. Use this wisely." My response would be, "Okey-dokey. I'm on it."

(In my head it appears that God speaks very Python-esque.)

And even if the Lord said, "Pack your stuff. Move to Australia. I'll meet you there." I'd say, "Got it. Here we go."

These would all be fine, I suppose, (will explain the "I suppose", here in a bit), but what I would like most would be the fact that that would be it. IT. Whatever is behind door number one, two, three, or four, would be the consistent factor - the way rent, electric, and water, get paid, what puts food on the table, and what stops the creditors from calling.

Today, I did at least one, if not two, of something from three of the categories. (No packing for Oz.) And every day this week is like that. A little something here, a little something there. Grabbing a few bucks here, doing something for a few bucks there.

Yes, I know, I know, I know, that I should be happy to have something that pays. I get it. And know I struggle every single hour to hold an attitude of gratitude. I do. But when it comes to sanity versus $20...... well..... I'm starting to think that the $20 isn't going to stop the phone from ringing, so why bother.

And that is where the "I suppose" comment comes in.

Consistency is what I grave. That, and direction.

But when I asked myself what is it that I want, what I "really really want", what came out of my mouth was super surprising.

"I want to write for a television show", I said a loud to my computer.

That caught me off guard - for several reasons.

First, the only show I've ever really wanted to write for was Sesame Street, and I'm a loser, and didn't finish my Masters (twice), so I don't see that happening for quite some time.

Second, unless someone who currently writes for tv is reading my blog, and wants to employ me to write for tv, I don't know how that's going to happen.

And third, I was shocked that a bit of a dream came out of my mouth. For the past year especially, I haven't allowed myself to have dreams, or life goals, bigger than getting rent paid on time. So in the midst of the muck, to have something come out of my mouth that was not only from left field, but even remotely dream-like, has helped me keep the faith - even if it's the teeny-tiniest bit.

When I walked in the house tonight, I was tired. Tired of having already done three different little jobs. Tired of getting letters in the mail yet again today saying that no matter how I try, my bills are going to debt collection agencies this week. And tired as I thought about the four more hours of work I still had to do in at least two of the different categories above.

And then I was ashamed.

Ashamed that I'm not grateful enough. Period.

"And every night will end, and every day will start, with a grateful prayer, and a thankful heart."

Three is a Magic Number

2011-06-21T21:35:00.000-04:00

Day two without home service.

In today's world, it seems to me, that customer service needs to strive to be better than ever.

It looks as if service industries have two things working against them: Instant. And global.

Tonight's usage of the internet is on behalf of Barnes and Noble - where currently, the store is offering a class teaching customers how to work their newly purchased Nooks. Good call. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

So in a case of say.... a company that sounds like inci-nati -ell, one would strive hard to keep business.

First off, they have soooooooo much competition. That should be enough. But... in this social media, twitter-fied, you can make a mint by recording a video - world, I'd think that now, more than ever, service agencies would strive to be better, faster, stronger.

Now in the history of my blog, I have only done what I am about to do, once. It was here, and it was the first time. But this calls for it again.

Here goes.

After being told four times that I was being put on the "priority list", and told each time like it was a new idea, I finally asked to speak with a supervisor. Guess what he said? "We should put you on the priority list." Ugh! Then, after I asked if he was going to reimburse me for the time I was losing since I work from home, he stuttered and stammered, and finally gave me a phone number to call.

Now this was after I pressed in about three time, and he tried to not get me to call right away. SURE SIGN! So I called right away.

FINALLY, I reached a lovely woman who was mortified that I had been told all that, and then, she said this, "Well, because you've now called three times, that up's the level of your complaint." Apparently three is the magic number. She then took internet off my bill for the month, and called me back twenty minutes later with what she had found out. It's still going to be Thursday before anyone comes out.

Unbelievable.

When I had my hysterectomy, I was in my early thirties. And I was happy to have it done! While there, I kept saying to my mom that there were these two nurses who were just rude and kept dismissing me as if I had done something wrong. Then it dawned on me. I was thinking perhaps they thought I was one of those young, single, professional types who was having a hysterectomy because I didn't want kids.

The second night in the hospital, I had a charming nurse, who was exploring why I was in there. I had the opportunity to tell her of the cancer journey of my sister and myself; and that this hysterectomy was not cosmetic, but necessary since my awesome little sis had just been diagnosed with an ovarian cancer so rare, it didn't have a name.

At the end of my story, she stood up from the side of my bed, wiped a tear, and said, "I need to share this story at the floor meeting. The other nurses need to hear and know this."

I grinned, and pulled the blankets back up. "Thought they might", I said, as I winked and nodded.

I wasn't in the hospital because I didn't want kids. And I don't want my internet back on so I can watch YouTube clips all day.

And it shouldn't matter even if I did.

My dad has always told us to never burn a bridge. And our mom has always taught us to never judge - period. You don't know who someone is, what they do, what they've been through, or what they're capable of.... or if you might need them, and their capabilities sometime in the future.

So now I'm talking to you, local internet/phone company I've been loyal to for over 10 years now. Have you met my blog readers from 27, count them TWENTY-SEVEN different countries?

Shout out to my readers in Guatemala!

It's either sadness or euphoria.

2011-06-20T23:33:00.000-04:00

Coming to you live from Starbucks!

Today's storm messed up the internet connection on my street. As the Cincinnati Bell tech told me, "Several other reports have come from that area." Really??? Do you think something might be up considering I didn't call until 6:00pm? And because of that, how about working to send someone out before Thursday? Really?? Thursday???

I would think after this happened, they'd rush out asap, but hhhmmmm........

However, sitting in an Starbucks is always a lesson in human nature.

In an interview once, Nora Ephron said that she believed that crime is down because of Starbucks. I'll get the quote wrong, so I won't even try; but basically, it was because people are all around.

Indeed.

The couple two tables down from me has, it would appear, just started dating. But the couple who was sitting there before them was having some issues. He felt he was always in her way. Her reply? "I'm just doin' my thang." She said that three times. I wanted to lean over to him and say, "Don't date her again."

The group of friends the other way down the line, are all in med school together. They were kind-of funny, but sure did talk about alcohol a lot. A. LOT. I wanted to lean over to them and say, "You all seem incredibly smart, and have made me chuckle several times. Stop getting drunk."

But now here's where I have difficulty: What are the rules and social morays of the Starbucks culture?

I am always in shock when people leave their stuff at the table, and go to the bathroom. And in today's world, "stuff" means iPods, laptops, Kindles, on and on. Wow. That's trust.

And how close is close? In the new room design here at my favorite branch, thems some close quarters. But it seems as if people don't mind.

Or maybe they do mind, but because Starbucks has said it to be this way, we buy it.

Malcolm Gladwell did a TED talk on this type of thing. It's about spaghetti sauce.

To a worm in horseradish, the world is horseradish..........

"Anyone else feeling a bit panicky at this point?"

2011-06-20T00:28:00.001-04:00

It gets soooooo frustrating to not be able to have a consistent lifestyle.

For over three and a half years now, I have struggled to pay bills, put gas in my car, on and on.

Yes, I know from where all blessings flow, and trust me, I am constantly thanking Him.

It's just that lately, a whole lot of other crap has been going on, and it makes all the struggle, all the anxiety, and all the daily pressures to pay bills and find consistent money, seem even more distressing, depressing, and without end.

Not going to lie..... sometimes I mentally escape to YouTube to take my mind off the muck.

Most of the time I'm watching improv clips, or 80's tv.

But today in my account, something special showed up. And it helped tremendously.

I'm a part of this.

You don't see me in the following trailer, but you'll read my name a couple times in the credits on the DVD. I didn't write the songs, but was, in a small way, a part of getting them on iTunes. You won't know when I was behind the camera, but my footage is in there. I didn't even help cut out the paper figures you'll see. But I did take the guys a big bag of Goldfish crackers (or "cheesy fish" as they called them) and gum balls, and know they were eaten during rehearsals while cutting out said paper figures.

So yeah... like I said... I'm a part of this.

If I had any idea where all this life stuff was going it would help. But heck, I don't even know where this blog entry is going - suffice it to say that I am incredibly proud to be a part of what's below. So keep on keeping on I guess.

Planing, Planing, Over the Bounding Main

2011-06-18T01:52:00.001-04:00

My mother tells of how when I was a little girl, I never really "played" Barbies. I, in a word, planned, Barbies. It was never about enacting a scene of Barbie talking to Ken, but instead, planning out her day, what she would wear, where she would go, where the furniture should be placed, her daily schedule, etc.

My dad still teases and calls me "the cruise director".

In that same vein, Donnie and Ron on occasion have called me "Julie" - the Cruise Director from the Love Boat.

Pretty weird then that a little girl who did nothing but make schedules and plan ahead for all her life, would one day end up teaching and working in the improvisation field- where she makes things up on the spot.

In leadership books, one is often encouraged to figure out how to combine one's loves and hobbies, with the gifts and talents possessed to get your daily job done.

In my case, that is looking for a way to combine my passion for planning ahead, with my love of making things up as I go along.

Well done and done.

It's taken a while, but I believe I have found the perfect way to combine the two.

Hi. My name is Magnolia Peace. I'm a half-elf Paladin. Today, I killed two three foot long rats, with my long-sword weapon accuracy, and used my healing power to save my traveling companion, a half-gnome named Tellula Loreli, from a deadly infection of Filth Fever. We're on our way to save a four person traveling party who have been lost since their excursion to the Sunless Citadel

Being Conservative/pureHOPE

2011-06-15T01:33:00.000-04:00

Is there such a label as "Radical Conservative"? If so, that's what I am. But for sake of argument, and the point of this blog, let's just say I'm a "Conservative."

I hold tight to my faith, my beliefs, and my politics. I'm from Northern Kentucky, Baptist, most of the time Republican, and I listen to Adult Contemporary radio. So there. Done and done.

But like all things, there are some who give a bad name to those labels we hold and use. Take this for example:

A few days ago, I was out and about, and overheard two women talking.

Somehow, Vegas came up, and with the Vegas topic, the discussion led to strippers.

One of the women then said this, and I quote, "I'm extremely conservative. I just want to say something to make them (referring to strippers) feel bad. There are other jobs out there! GO TO COLLEGE! She's probably just paying her way through law school."

Unbelievable.

So if we diagram the thought here, it would appear that, according to this woman, all strippers do that job because of several reasons. Let's list them, shall we?

1. They are horrible, immoral people.
2. They can find other jobs, they just don't want to.
3. They have not gone to college.
4. They have gone to college, and are now working their way through law school.

I so bad wanted to lean over and say something, but instead, I just kept saying over and over in my head, what she had just said, in order that I could then write it down word for word.

If I had had the opportunity, I would have told her about how if you go in the back door of a strip club, you know what you are likely to see there? Children.

Yes. Children. Not because kids are there to just hang out, but because they had to go with Mommy to work, or they and Mommy are hiding out from someone who doesn't treat them well, or because they are all they have, and in order to eat, Mommy has to get work wherever she can.

Law school. Right.

You may be asking yourself, "Can't they just walk away?" In most cases, probably not. Why? Are they sex addicts? Nope. But when you have another mouth to feed, and the money's right, well..... you do what you have to do.

So that may lead you to ask, "Who's fault is it then? Who's to blame?" Well, to be honest.... we are.

And if they don't get out, or someone helps them out. Guess where it all usually leads?

Porn.

No joke.

And that's no glamorous life either.

According to the State Department, a “voracious demand” fuels the gruesome trade in

human flesh; indeed, the global demand for

commercial sex appears to be insatiable. The multi-billion dollar global sex industry has exploded since the advent of the Internet

and continues to grow; business is booming for traffickers and pimps because access to the industry’s “wares” is now just a click

away.

Despite the attempts (and unfortunate success) of both the industry and the mainstream media to glamorize porn and the lives of

“porn stars,” the actual experience of a woman in the pornography industry is grim. The typical performer is in her late teens or

early twenties, was likely sexually abused as a child, is probably addicted to drugs, transient, and economically desperate.

In all likelihood, she first entered the industry while still a child.

While her background is fraught with abuse and hardship, the typical performer is abused further in the process of making

pornography. Not only is she subjected to punishing sexual acts with a continuous stream of strangers, she must deal with

grueling schedules, unsanitary conditions, low pay, and terrible health risks.

On average, her hellish stint as a “porn star” will last all of 18 months, after which she is left broke, broken, and bereft of

her dignity.

My dear friend Chad is the head pastor at a church over in Northern Kentucky, and he's the one who told me about the kids. Woman from his church take food to strip clubs and are working to get to know the women there. And now, they are getting to know the children there as well. Got all that info in bold off the www.purehope.net website. My buddy, Noel, is the head of that organization, and in getting to know he and his wife these past couple of years, my eyes have been truly open to the realities of these situations.

Law school. Right.

Heavy time I look at chew I ga-bline.

2011-06-11T01:00:00.000-04:00

For many years while teaching chorus, when I couldn't understand what my students were saying, I'd remark, "Ok Hootie! Move your mouth!" This reference would get laughs, and worked.... until it didn't anymore.

Now, Darius Rucker, the lead singer of Hootie and the Blowfish, is working the Country Music circuit, (after his stint doing Burger King commercials), and I'm rather removed for the pop scene; so I'm left without a kitschy and poignant reference.

In 1996, HatB released their cover of the Canadian Band 50-40's song, "I Go Blind". Today I heard said song on the radio.

Not only do I not know what it's about, I still can't understand what he's saying. Yes, it's been 15 years, I could very well have looked up the lyrics by now. But as Lady Bracknell says in The Importance of Being Earnest, "Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone."

While listening, I really tried to remove myself from what I THINK the words are, and played a game where I would immediately repeat back what I thought I heard - right or wrong.

As I did this, I pictured myself on an episode of "I Love the 90's" on VH1. Perhaps it's a segment of those of us who are talking about things, all listening to this song and saying what we hear. It would be me, Hal Sparks, the guys from BNL, Brian Unger, Michael Ian Black, and a cast member from "Blossom", all listening intently, and telling you what we think Hootie is saying.

Here is my version. Not enhanced for comical effect. This is fo' real, yo.

Play the song and follow along.

Airy time I look at you I go bly
(Every time I look at chew I go blind)
Airy time I look at you I go bly
(Every time I look at chew I ga-bline)
Evra mornin' I get up, hand I try to feel alive, but I can
(Every time I look at chew I ga-bline)
I doone know what it is, something in me, jus won give me a chance.
I think it's sat tie feel more cun fuse by the deal love an show me
Lill' chil' there's a rolla pen the lie
And it's gonna shy rye through your eyes
What do you think that lie lie lie
Heavy time I look at chew I go blind
Hi-wa-bliiiiiiiiiine
Wellllll
Somewhere over there, there's a purpose there's a care for free
In me there's no body. No one plan. No one's stand to be free.
I think it's that be cuz, I have seen all the fuss and it's no big dee (no big deal)
Ho me ho me cuz I wanna' get higher and higher
(Everytime I look at chew I go bly)
Ho me ho me cuz I wanna' get higher and higher
(Everytime I look at chew I go bly)
Ho me ho me cuz I wanna' get higher and higher
(Everytime I look at chew I go bly)
Ho me ho me cuz I wanna' get higher and higher
(Everytime I look at chew I go b-) ------> I think it sounds like they were suddenly not allowed to sing
I go life...

How close am I??? Did I win?

Poetry In Motion

2011-06-09T18:49:00.001-04:00

HAPPY BEST FRIENDS DAY!

2011-06-08T23:50:00.000-04:00

Today is national Best Friends Day!

May sound cliche, but we have been though a lot, this man and I.

And we're still here.

Just sayin'...........

Who watches PBS?/Let's all go to a taco show...

2011-06-06T23:48:00.000-04:00

Tonight, we were to sit behind the phones at the PBS telethon. However, several hours before heading to the tv studio, I received a phone call stating there had been a mix-up. Instead of improvisers manning the phones and taking pledges, members of the symphony would be doing it instead. Ah well... That's showbiz. We'll be doing it during the Fall drive here in a few months.

So in honor of the PBS telethon, I've linked what is quite probably my favorite clip from the entire series of Frasier.

"I give you 'Buttons and Bows' "..........

Guts

2011-06-05T23:47:00.000-04:00

What is bold?

Let's start with the definition.

Bold - not hesitating or fearful in the face of actual danger or rebuff; courageous and daring. Not hesitating to break the rules of propriety; forward; impudent. Necessitating courage and daring; challenging.

And of course, there's the font. BOLD

Yes, up above, "the face" was actually underlined where I found the definition. And I think that the key. Not underlining something, though I find that funny that the editors chose to underline something in the definition of bold, - but the words they chose to underline: the face. Not hesitating or fearful in the face.....

In improv, I speak all the time about making bold choices. Stand up, get in the scene, and make a bold choice. And the other day, my very wise friend, (and most excellent improviser), Kevin, said that one of the most bold choices one can make in improv is to NOT get in the scene. "Stay out! Pay attention and don't get in if they don't need you", he said. Agreed. That's bold.

Interesting as well, is that the definition spoke of "not hesitating to break the rules of propriety".

Well what's "propriety" then?

By definition, it's conformity to established standards of good or proper behavior or manners. Appropriateness to the circumstance. Suitability.

Choosing to put on Romeo and Juliet: Not bold.
Setting R&J in the turn of the 20th Century: Bold.

This morning at church, they showed a video of Steve Martin singing a song about atheists. Bold.

Performing for our troops: Bold
Assuming you should be the one to do it: Really bold.

Writing a song telling Stephen Fry you'd like to have his baby: Funny, and clever. Bold? Probably not.
Getting invited to perform that song about Stephen Fry TO Stephen Fry, and accepting the invitation: Totally bold.

Go Molly! You got guts girl!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGYEMXoVHUs&feature=related

With Great Power...

2011-06-03T23:19:00.000-04:00

Today's social media scene is fascinating and scary at the same time. And I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.

Facebook, Twitter, MySpace (R.I.P.), and even this site, Blogger, have done more for small business owners, moms, job seekers, hobbyist, and lobbyists, than any one invention. And live streaming, and Skyping have taken communication to a whole entirely new level.

As we know, all this has connected more people in more ways, than anyone can possibly completely grasp. It's the opening of the Erie Canal, the first ring of the telephone, and Lindbergh's flight all wrapped up in one event. It's as if the Berlin Wall came down on the same day the chunnel was completed.

But where I'm on the fence with how exciting and valuable all this is, is with celebrities.

Last week I watched a live stream with Donny Osmond. That sounds wrong. OF Donny Osmond? "With" makes it sound like he and I were on the couch together.

All he did was plug his stuff. (And again, that sounds wrong.) But it was 20 minutes of him talking about all his upcoming events, the new CD, appearances, bla, bla, bla. I actually, and this saddens me to say, clicked off. Donny in real time on my computer, and I walked away.

Conan has incredibly funny tweets every couple of days or so. Mike Nelson of MST3K continuously makes me laugh. And the fact when scrolling down my list, I can see NPH, Sir Ken, my church, the Barenaked Ladies, Bateman, Johnny Bench, and my brother-in-law, all in the same place, is still a bit surreal. But keeps me hooked.

I stopped following a few celebs just because I got tired of their political rants, and/or the need to answer every single tweet they received. Good grief. You don't have to talk to everybody.

There's using the mediums to your advantage, and then there's fan abuse. Or is it? Probably not. But it sure has taken away some of the mystique... the romanticism... of some celebrities for me.

Finding out that your teen idols are in fact idiots, or that Michael Buble's people only post something when a venue hasn't sold out, is disappointing.

Do they need us and our support, or not?

This week, I had an email conversation with a celebrity who I find enchanting. It was only two (each) back and forth emails, and one back and forth on Twitter, but it did indeed happen. This person's kind-of a big deal in certain circles, and was delightful and very down to earth. I write this not to brag, but to show the power of the social sites. Because then, in contrast, I also wrote a young musician who is very quickly gaining in popularity, and adding fans weekly. And her response? Oh wait. I haven't gotten one.

Big time tv guy -vs - small, grass roots, indie twenty-something musician. Hhhhmmmmm? Who is using this the right way, and who's not?

Or the bigger question is perhaps: Is there a right way?

Now please do not read and hear what I did not write and say. I'm not at all putting out there that just because she didn't write me back means she's small, and not worth it. Not implying that at all. What I am saying is that big time host of a tv show connected, and he doesn't need the fans. And as I've kept track of the social media habits of the indie college musician girl, well, she only appears to be tweeting with her friends, and not posting anything unless it's a new song she wants people to "like".

So who do you think I'm going to follow, and on which one will I click off?

Chicken Wings, Jurassic Park, and Evita

2011-06-01T23:56:00.001-04:00

During college, a little group of us would get together after late night rehearsals, throw some wings in the oven, eat, and laugh our heads off watching Letterman. Wings were always the food of choice. We never did too much fancy-izing in the ways of sauce, or the way they were cooked. They were an easy fun food, and it was hip to throw around that we were having wings.

Several years later, we were introduced to BW3's. And honestly, I don't think we ever cooked wings again after that, really. Nothing wrong with cooking your own wings, but if you want them done right, and/or in five plus different ways, then go to B-Dubs.

This past week, I sat and watched the first half of Jurassic Park. I love that movie. Mom and I always laugh at how each and every time, it's like it's the first time we've ever seen it. WHAT?!?! THERE ARE DINOSAURS?!?! HOW'D THEY DO THAT?!?!

I was struck this time through, by a quote that Jeff Goldblum's character says once the main characters are all sitting down having dinner on the fancy Jurassic Park china - right before the grandchildren arrive.

He says this: I'll tell you the problem with the scientific power that you're using here. It didn't require discipline to obtain it. You read what others had done, and you took the next step. You didn't earn the knowledge for yourselves, so you don't take any responsibility for it. You stood on the shoulders of geniuses to accomplish something as fast as you could, and before you even knew what you had, you've patented it, and packaged it, and slapped it on a plastic lunchbox. And now you're selling it.

When the movie version of Evita came out, MTV was covering the premiere. As the movie ended, and stars were filing out to go to the glamorous after-party, the MTV reporter asked Glenn Close to come talk to her about the film. I'll never forget the look on Close's face. She was confused, and really didn't know what to do. Why? Well not because she couldn't understand why MTV would want to talk to her, but because she was walking out right beside, ANDREW LLOYD WEBBER!!! And during the interview, she kept looking over her shoulder as if to say to the ditzy reporter who apparently hadn't done her research, that the multi-TONY award-winning, multi-millionaire, composer of the musical, was RIGHT THERE! Talk to him!!!

There are many instances when I stand on the Bible verse, "A prophet is not know in his own land." There are often moments throughout the day that I have to remind myself that anyone can bedazzle a pair of jeans and call it art.
And there are times when one has to come to grips with the fact that people have quickly skimmed a skill, and "slapped it on a plastic lunchbox".

A few days ago in their vlog, my friends John and Nancy, were discussing this type of thing. Nancy said, "In no other business does this go on." She continued by saying how we don't tell lawyers how to do their job, or give advice to garbage men on a better way to pick up the trash cans. But in this field, everyone has an opinion.

John added, "One of the most annoying things as an actor, is that anybody can decide that they're an actor. So if you've gone through training in college, or whatever,... doesn't matter. Some guy can say, 'You know what?! I'm an actor!' And he's just as much an actor as you are."

There's no crying in baseball!

2011-03-26T00:38:00.000-04:00

Several months ago, probably close to four at this point, I applied for a position that looked to be AWESOME!

It was the perfect culmination of 15+ years of teaching, drama and music directing, and even fundraising, marketing, social media, on and on and on. In a word, this job was.... me.

As the head of this international organization, it ranks as one of the highest positions in the realms of performing arts teaching; and if that isn't enough, the home office is in Clifton! And this time around they were looking for someone with teaching experience (check!), advocacy experience (check!), and creative ideas on how to carry the organization forward into this social media age (ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! Check check check check check!!!)

Incredible.

I sent my resume, bio, and letter of intent, all in as required, and received confirmation it had arrived in the proper office.

Then, the waiting began.

Today, one of my amazing friends who is very much in the know in this field, sent me a press release that had gone out.

Turns out there were only 100 or so applicants...... and that interviews begin next week.

Perhaps I'm wrong, but guessing that if I was to have a MAJOR interview in less than seven days, I'd probably know about it by now, ey?

Bummer.

Always Ford The River (Version 1 - Part 1)

2011-03-25T00:18:00.000-04:00

(The early musings of a paper for one of those hoity-toity education journals.)
====

Today's classroom has every modern convenience including computers with touch screens, and remote controlled window shades.

Most students, if not all, have a laptop, a portable music device, cell phone, and can even download required reading and text books on a handheld electronic library.

But for early Gen-Y, modern technology reached it's peak when that one computer in the library (which replaced their older siblings' microfiche machine) turned into a computer lab. And they received the golden hall pass when they were allowed to spend time there.

Sometimes their purpose was to work on an assignment. Perhaps they were to print out a paper on the dot matrix printer. But most of the time, it was to name their camp, pack their wagon, and set out to blaze the untamed wild West.

Welcome to the Oregon Trail.

"We didn't realize we were learning, " is the consensus of most late 20/early 30-somethings. Just happy to be out of class and on a computer, Oregon Trail was about all that was available at the time.

It was a game. It was on a computer. And you weren't in class.

Or were you?

This seemingly simple game is a warm and fuzzy memory to everyone who played it. Even today, almost 20 years later, adults with positions such as VP's of banks, award-winning theatre directors, and radio personalities, all sit a little straighter, and begin to laugh when asked if they played.

"Heck yeah I played!", said one thirty-something bartender in a posh bookstore-attached bistro. And as he propped up on the opposite side of the bar, he began to tell about the game, how it was played, and the world of wines, cappuccinos, and designer quiches, went away.

"I learned about diseases I had never heard of before; and that if I didn't ration my food, not everyone would eat." Then he stopped speaking, tilted his head, and looked up- almost lost in thought. "I guess I learned cost/benefit and supply and demand."

He looked around as another waiter came into the area. "Hey! Did you play Oregon Trail?"

"Yes, I did, my brother." he replied.

"And.... what did you learn?"

"Always ford the river." And with that, both went on to supply the demand of their customers - making sure the benefit of their product was worth it's cost.

It's often a hot topic issue that video games are harmful, and a waste of time. Plato said, "You can discover more about a person in an hour of play, than in a year of conversation." But can there be life-long learning effects from a game? Are you better at real estate because of Monopoly? Would you be better at strategy had you played more Battleship? If lost in the desert/forest and had to find bags of gold after jumping on the heads of crocodiles, would Pitfall be the training ground you'd need?

Not sure. But when asking the benefits to someone who survived the Oregon Trail (and didn't die of Typhoid), there are many life lessons. Though perhaps hidden deep in the recesses of their brains, these pioneers learned how to manage supplies, take responsibility for their actions, and figure out how to make a plan when the resources are limited.

And these life lessons remain instilled in them today.

"Be a banker."

"Never shoot the bears."

"You need a spare axel when you travel the trail."

"As long as you have one person survive.....you WIN!"

"Unlike Middle School, no one cares if you only have one outfit."

"Always buy oxen..... always."

"Don't waste your ammunition trying to hunt squirrels or a rabbit when you think a bison may be coming along. But then again, if you can only take 100 pounds with you, maybe you should just go for the deer. And sometimes, when people die, you don't have time to mourn them the way you would like. You just have to get back on the trail. But there is always time to write something funny and inappropriate on their tombstone. And most importantly, you CAN die of a broken leg."

Two Months

2011-03-23T03:30:00.000-04:00

If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?

Perhaps a new car, or a trip, an iPad, bills paid off, or something like that?

Yep. I would have said that too...... until about two weeks ago.

One day, in the midst of being completely overwhelmed with being jobless, money-less, and at that point, hopeless, I said a loud to God, "Could I just have two months? Please? Just two months. Two months of bills paid, two months of rent taken care of, two months of no car issues, two months of food... just two months."

And THAT, made me weep.

If you know me well, you know that I will be the very first to tell you things like, "Anything can happen!", and "God is bigger, so hang on!", and of course, "He created light and dark in a day. I know this situation can change."

Of course, I've had my low points, too, these three years. Really, really low. And those are still there as well.

But to think that my thought process and inner strength has gone from waking up every morning believing that the God of all things would do incredible feats and change the world, to asking for a mere eight weeks of sanity, somehow doesn't seem right.

After taking a few quizzes, it turns out that one of my top spiritual gifts is FAITH. You may be thinking, "We all have faith. As Christ-followers we all believe and know that God can move a mountain if He so chooses." And you are indeed correct. However, those given this gifting are suppose to have a faith that not only believes He can and will move a mountain, but that it could happen today. And if it doesn't happen today, than tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, than we'll just keep praying and believing that it IS coming, and it WILL happen - no matter how long it takes.

Two weeks ago, I wondered if perhaps I had received the wrong gift. Is there a Spiritual Gift return desk?

I don't like losing the excitement, and for lack of a better word, sparkle, that comes with that feeling. To think that today could be the day, may seem naive to some, but to those of us who know that the Lord is not only capable of changing someone's life in a second, but that He will do the REMARKABLE within that second, well...... it's a fun way to live.

I'm not blind or deaf to the fact that some people think I'm a dreamer, and only see big pictures, and not the details. And I also know that there are those who have given up hope that my situation will ever get better. I get that. TOTALLY.

Once, I heard a story, and I'm sure I'll get this wrong, about a custom among a certain tribe of African women who meet together. They meet to talk, share, and fellowship. They can share their dreams, hopes, worries, and fears. And the circle is there to listen, and support. However, if a woman brings the same problem to the circle three times in a row, and the situation has not changed, then the members of the circle will literally get up and move over -- away from the woman who has not listened to advice, or worked to get out of the situation she's continuing to whine/gripe/complain/be concerned about.

There are members of my circle who have gotten up and moved. Fine. I'm truly ok with that. I know that they don't see the six to seven little things here and there I do each week to make money, or the constant networking, sending in applications, etc. All they see is that I still don't have a gig, and I'm STILL whining about not being able to pay my bills.

The two months I'm asking for isn't so I can take a trip. It isn't so I can coast along, take a break from the stress of looking for a job, and spend the day watching Broadway clips on YouTube. On the contrary!! In fact, today a friend of mine said, "You work harder when you're unemployed, than when you're employed." AGREED!! So if I had the blessing of having everything taken care of, if for only two months, I would then be able to really commit to making more of a path in the things that sorta'-kinda' appear to be working. Not just taking anything that comes along because it pays $20.

It's only eight weeks. What's eight weeks to God?

For Love or Money?

2011-02-08T00:06:00.000-05:00

Last week I tried an experiment.

I went to bed one night with the goal that when I woke up the next day, I would only work on those things that bring me money. And even with that, it was to only be activities where I would definitely get paid, had already signed on the dotted line to be paid, or know that payment is on it's way.

There are several things that I have in my life that will bring money, but require a TON of leg work to make happen - phone calls, emails, schmoozing, etc. So in this experiment, those counted. No working on those as well.

Beginning to suspect a few things about my routines and daily activities, I thought it best to stop and do a check.

How much of my day is spent finding work? How much of my day is spent working towards finding work? And how much of my day lies in activities that I took on in order to keep my mind, body, and soul, busy because I can't find work, and the whole process drives me crazy?

So for two days solid, I ended up playing video games.

The phone didn't ring.

And the only emails I received were people wanting something from me - a use of my brain, talent, or skills, yet not offering me any money for my time, expertise, or labor.

So I made a resolution. And here it is:

Upon making a list of all the open projects I have, it was clear that 75% of them were started to keep me sane while I look for consistent employment. Something to do in the down time, if you will.

Those projects are now in the process of getting finished up. Case closed.

There will be no more taking on of projects that don't produce funds - even if it means wondering around the house all day with nothing to do.

If I don't respect my time, skills, and talents, no one else will.

That's that.

How's it going? Well.... I've already turned down a few opportunities. It was hard to say no, but had to be done.

And.......... I reached a new high score on one of the games.

Go me.......I guess.......

The Planet Hoth and Beethoven

2011-01-13T20:46:00.000-05:00

(Oh! HAHAHA! It just now dawned on me that the title of this blog has nothing to do with the weather outside, though it most certainly could. ANYway.....)

Hi. My name is Missy, and I have a hearing issue.

I have since I was a little girl.

My left ear mainly, but both if they decide to party together.

When I was seven I had to have tubes put in my left ear, and that pretty much did the trick.... except.... two things:

First, it postponed my baptism because I couldn't be fully submerged while the tubes were in. (We're Baptist, so we dunk 'em.)

And second, it left me with a hearing loss. All in all, it was a miracle that it wasn't worse, and that just tubes did the trick. But, I do have about a 10% loss in both ears, and could probably lean to a bit bigger percentage in my left, but that's just my gut talking. Haven't had a hearing test in a long while.

You might be thinking, "Ten percent's not that bad." And you may be right (..and I may be crazy...Thank you Billy Joel.). But it's WHAT I lost that is the meat of the deal.

So say you're driving down the highway, and all of the sudden you hear sirens. As you are looking side to side to see from which direction they are coming from, I am probably still starring straight ahead. I didn't hear them....until..... about.... NOW. I don't hear high noises from far away like that.

Neon signs? NIGHTMARE! I can hear the signs and all that is happening in a sign like that. My head is rattling just thinking about it.

CAN NOT sit up close at a movie. I have bad eyes as it is, but WOWZA! The sound is deafening to me. When I was in the second grade, I went with my friend Clarence to see "The Empire Strikes Back". He insisted we sit up front. First row, middle. I didn't want to, but did anyway. The planet Hoth was soooooo bright that I put my sunglasses on to watch it. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to talk, and tell how grossed out I was when Han put Luke in the Tauntaun.

I hear a bit flat. But I know it. So I compensate immensely for it. My choirs and bands never knew.

But here is where it kinda' bums me out at times. Strobe lights. Love 'em. Can't deal with them for long periods of time. And by long, I mean, over two minutes or so. My head starts hurting, my jaw locks up, I can't talk, and a ringing begins in my ear -- my left ear.

My wonderful, fantastically fun parents and I went to the Christmas show at Crossroads, on Christmas eve. During one of the numbers, a strobe light came on. About half-way through, my mom asked, "Are you ok?". "Yeah, thanks", I answered. "I just hope it doesn't go on too much longer, or I won't be."

So when I get sick with a cold, like I have today, I get nervous. I worry about my ears.

I think perhaps, that's one of the many reasons I love Beethoven so much. All those magnificent and extraordinary masterpieces from a man who couldn't hear what he had written. "I shall hear in Heaven", he said.

Lately, I have been working on a church curriculum that will talk about the differences in your skills, your talents, and your gifts. And the question that keeps coming up for me, is "How attached to those are you? Do your skills and talents make you who you are?" Or.... Would you just keep on truckin'?

For years not one doctor would take out my thyroid because of what I did for a living. One specialist said it definitely needed to come out, but he wasn't going to do it. When I asked why, he said, "Because you're a singer!" I replied, "BUT I'M NOT THAT GOOD!!!" I went on and asked, "If I were a bowler would you operate on my hand?" His reply was, "Sure! We can give you a prosthetic hand. We can't give you a prosthetic vocal chord."

So maybe an ear ache is just an ear ache.

Or maybe it's a sign that I shouldn't take what I do for granted.

None of us should.

The Wisdom of The Beach Boys

2010-12-22T22:44:00.000-05:00

"Christmas comes this time each year."

Thank you, Beach Boys. Thank you.