I finally cleaned and organized my desk! It's back in the working condition it should have been in for the entire semester.
Holy smokes, SNOW:
It
just
keeps
coming.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Whoa, It's Actually Totally There...
...and all this time I thought my pile of crap was levitating in mid-air:
I finally cleaned and organized my desk! It's back in the working condition it should have been in for the entire semester.
Holy smokes, SNOW:
It
just
keeps
coming.
I finally cleaned and organized my desk! It's back in the working condition it should have been in for the entire semester.
Holy smokes, SNOW:
It
just
keeps
coming.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Not A Profession, or Round Peg in A Square Hole
So, it seems appropriate to reflect upon this now that I'm done graduated:
What the hell do I do now?
And what the hell do I do with a degree in theatre? (The short and uncomplicated answer to that question is: "uh...theatre.")
So, I've had plenty of people over the years tell me that there's no future in theatre. I've had plenty of people tell me I've wasted my education, my money. I've had people call me straight up stupid for pursuing a degree and life in theatre and the arts. It comes with the territory, I get it. I'm not going to be a doctor and find a cure for AIDS or cancer. I'm not going to be a lawyer and litigate a super important civil rights case. I'm not going to become the new CEO of Ford and save it from destruction and in doing so, fix the economy and save America (sorry, Obama that's still on your list). So in some people's heads that makes me a waste of space. Unfortunately, in America there's not an overwhelming respect for artistry. I get it. We have quarterbacks to pay. I've accepted this about my country.
And while I feel no need to directly respond comments on my stupidity or lack of a future, while I feel no need to justify the reasons I do what I do, I will say: No job is "safe" anymore. You're better off just doing what you love. You'll be happier for it. And the world will be happier to have you in it (aka: I'm damn glad I didn't spend the last four years learning to be an investor)).
*Insert Awkward Dance Here*
Still not buying it? Still think I'll be on welfare and food stamps in three years?? Still think I'll be living under the interstate?
Ok.
Theatre, for me, is not a profession.
Please, allow me to explain.
I was listening to npr today and they were talking to Daniel Barenboim, who is a pretty solid dude. He's a famous pianist and conductor. He was the music director of the CSO (Chicago Symphony Orchestra) for a while. Not only his he a brilliant musician but he's also done much to bridge the divide between Jews and Arabs (like putting together an orchestra of Jewish/Arab musicians (that's a big deal)).
Anyway. So he was actually here in Chicago yesterday (I think) to play a concert and stopped by the local npr station to do an interview. I don't have a transcript in front of me, so I can't do exact quotes but, this dude said some interesting stuff that really struck me. He was talking about how his father taught him to play piano. And more than just teaching him to play, he taught him how to "think in music." He went on to say that for him, music is NOT a profession. It's a mode of existence, a way of thinking, a way of life, a way of operating.
This is how I think about my life and theatre in my life.
For me, theatre is not a profession.
Some people see the world in numbers. Some see it in music. Some see it molecules.
I see the world in theatre.
Now you're like, "What the crap does that mean, Amy?"
Well, I'll tell you.
I see the world in words, in language, in relationships (of people to people and people to environment). I see the world in story. I know how to problem solve creatively. I can think on my feet.
More than just learning how to "act", how to "direct", how to "do" theatre, I've also been trained in a manner of thinking. My brain works creatively, this is the way I was born. I've spent the last four years developing and training this aspect of myself. This brain training and skill set is thus applicable way beyond the boards of a stage. Trying to train my brain to do otherwise, trying to train my brain to think in numbers or molecules or litigation or logic would be like trying to shove a round peg through a square hole.
Could you force a round peg into a square hole?
Yeah.
But not without somehow damaging or altering the round peg or square hole.
And I don't know about you but a world full or critically injured round pegs and permanently maimed square holes, doesn't sound like a very happy place to me.
Do I know I'm an idealist?
Yup. It's a label I wear with pride.
Am I still slightly naive?
Duh, I'm 23 freakin' years old. I feel bad for people my age who aren't slightly naive.
Am I comfortable with these things?
Yeah.
Do I know exactly what I want to do or where I want to be in five years?
No.
Am I sure of who I am, who I want to be, the little I know, and the hefty infinite pile of things I don't know?
You're damn skippy.
...and if it ever ends up that somehow, by some strange twist of fate I do become the CEO of Ford (ha), I know I'll have climbed that ladder using my theatre brain and will run that company with my theatre brain.
I think my good pal Van Gogh said it best, "I consciously choose the dog's path through life. I shall be poor. I shall be a painter..."
Oh, speaking of dogs...THIS. There should be a law against that kind of cuteness. My heart can't take it. SHEESH.
What the hell do I do now?
And what the hell do I do with a degree in theatre? (The short and uncomplicated answer to that question is: "uh...theatre.")
So, I've had plenty of people over the years tell me that there's no future in theatre. I've had plenty of people tell me I've wasted my education, my money. I've had people call me straight up stupid for pursuing a degree and life in theatre and the arts. It comes with the territory, I get it. I'm not going to be a doctor and find a cure for AIDS or cancer. I'm not going to be a lawyer and litigate a super important civil rights case. I'm not going to become the new CEO of Ford and save it from destruction and in doing so, fix the economy and save America (sorry, Obama that's still on your list). So in some people's heads that makes me a waste of space. Unfortunately, in America there's not an overwhelming respect for artistry. I get it. We have quarterbacks to pay. I've accepted this about my country.
And while I feel no need to directly respond comments on my stupidity or lack of a future, while I feel no need to justify the reasons I do what I do, I will say: No job is "safe" anymore. You're better off just doing what you love. You'll be happier for it. And the world will be happier to have you in it (aka: I'm damn glad I didn't spend the last four years learning to be an investor)).
*Insert Awkward Dance Here*
Still not buying it? Still think I'll be on welfare and food stamps in three years?? Still think I'll be living under the interstate?
Ok.
Theatre, for me, is not a profession.
Please, allow me to explain.
I was listening to npr today and they were talking to Daniel Barenboim, who is a pretty solid dude. He's a famous pianist and conductor. He was the music director of the CSO (Chicago Symphony Orchestra) for a while. Not only his he a brilliant musician but he's also done much to bridge the divide between Jews and Arabs (like putting together an orchestra of Jewish/Arab musicians (that's a big deal)).
Anyway. So he was actually here in Chicago yesterday (I think) to play a concert and stopped by the local npr station to do an interview. I don't have a transcript in front of me, so I can't do exact quotes but, this dude said some interesting stuff that really struck me. He was talking about how his father taught him to play piano. And more than just teaching him to play, he taught him how to "think in music." He went on to say that for him, music is NOT a profession. It's a mode of existence, a way of thinking, a way of life, a way of operating.
This is how I think about my life and theatre in my life.
For me, theatre is not a profession.
Some people see the world in numbers. Some see it in music. Some see it molecules.
I see the world in theatre.
Now you're like, "What the crap does that mean, Amy?"
Well, I'll tell you.
I see the world in words, in language, in relationships (of people to people and people to environment). I see the world in story. I know how to problem solve creatively. I can think on my feet.
More than just learning how to "act", how to "direct", how to "do" theatre, I've also been trained in a manner of thinking. My brain works creatively, this is the way I was born. I've spent the last four years developing and training this aspect of myself. This brain training and skill set is thus applicable way beyond the boards of a stage. Trying to train my brain to do otherwise, trying to train my brain to think in numbers or molecules or litigation or logic would be like trying to shove a round peg through a square hole.
Could you force a round peg into a square hole?
Yeah.
But not without somehow damaging or altering the round peg or square hole.
And I don't know about you but a world full or critically injured round pegs and permanently maimed square holes, doesn't sound like a very happy place to me.
Do I know I'm an idealist?
Yup. It's a label I wear with pride.
Am I still slightly naive?
Duh, I'm 23 freakin' years old. I feel bad for people my age who aren't slightly naive.
Am I comfortable with these things?
Yeah.
Do I know exactly what I want to do or where I want to be in five years?
No.
Am I sure of who I am, who I want to be, the little I know, and the hefty infinite pile of things I don't know?
You're damn skippy.
...and if it ever ends up that somehow, by some strange twist of fate I do become the CEO of Ford (ha), I know I'll have climbed that ladder using my theatre brain and will run that company with my theatre brain.
I think my good pal Van Gogh said it best, "I consciously choose the dog's path through life. I shall be poor. I shall be a painter..."
Oh, speaking of dogs...THIS. There should be a law against that kind of cuteness. My heart can't take it. SHEESH.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Excuse Me, Is That a Tattoo on Your Face?
So...
I have bizarre dreams.
This is not news.
When I'm stressed/nervous/tense they're usually about ten times more bizarre.
So last night, while I wasn't totally stressed, the stress was running out of my body (and can now be felt in every place of my back).
One recurring dream I have is that I, in a fit of mental instability, get a tattoo and then am later very angry at myself, because, I don't know if you're aware but those things don't come off. I spend the rest of the dream fretting about the permanence of my inked skin. Because, usually, it's some place awkward...like my hand.
But last night was the most awkward place of all...my face.
I got some weird sort of skyline on the side of my FACE.
I know.
I am crazy. Well aware, thanks.
So in the dream, I get this tattoo and while I'm getting it (and feeling the "tingly" on my face from the tattoo needle (yup, seriously)) I'm thinking, "this was the best idea EVER."
Then I look at the tattoo in the mirror.
And I don't remember what I wanted, but it wasn't what I wanted. It's some form of a bo-jank skyline.
I was really upset.
And when I got the tattoo and went to pay the artist she was like, "That will be 480 dollars please." I was like, "Really?" She's like, "Face tattoos are expensive." So I HAD to pay because the tattoo was already on my face and then I'm literally so upset I feel sick because:
a) I was like, "Well, guess I'm not going to Ireland anymore since I bought this 500 dollar face tattoo"
b) "This tattoo is really ugly and now is on my face forever."
c) "Holy shit my mom is going to be so pissed at me." (My mom makes random dream appearances, while I always understand that she is "dead", for some reason, sometimes she's just there. I guess to be like, "Why the hell did you get a face tattoo??")
d) "Yikes, I don't have the money to pay for tattoo removal and neither does Dad. Also...I don't have health insurance anymore WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."
AND THEN in the dream I was like, "Well Amy, you've really done it this time. I mean you've had dreams where this has happened before, but this is real life now. This is not a dream. Because if it was you'd have woken up already. Nope, this is real life. Guess you've got a tattoo on your face forever. Genius."
I spent the rest of the dream trying to hide the one half of my face a la Phantom of the Opera.
Needless to say, I was so very happy when I actually woke up and discovered the side of my face was NOT tattooed with a weird skyline and in fact just my normal Amy face.
All that said, I'd like to go ahead and take a poll. You know. Just in case...
POLL: Would you still love Amy if she had a face tattoo?
a) Absolutely not.
b) It would depend on the tattoo.
c) Of course. I love Amy for her sparkling personality and not her poorly chosen body art.
I have bizarre dreams.
This is not news.
When I'm stressed/nervous/tense they're usually about ten times more bizarre.
So last night, while I wasn't totally stressed, the stress was running out of my body (and can now be felt in every place of my back).
One recurring dream I have is that I, in a fit of mental instability, get a tattoo and then am later very angry at myself, because, I don't know if you're aware but those things don't come off. I spend the rest of the dream fretting about the permanence of my inked skin. Because, usually, it's some place awkward...like my hand.
But last night was the most awkward place of all...my face.
I got some weird sort of skyline on the side of my FACE.
I know.
I am crazy. Well aware, thanks.
So in the dream, I get this tattoo and while I'm getting it (and feeling the "tingly" on my face from the tattoo needle (yup, seriously)) I'm thinking, "this was the best idea EVER."
Then I look at the tattoo in the mirror.
And I don't remember what I wanted, but it wasn't what I wanted. It's some form of a bo-jank skyline.
I was really upset.
And when I got the tattoo and went to pay the artist she was like, "That will be 480 dollars please." I was like, "Really?" She's like, "Face tattoos are expensive." So I HAD to pay because the tattoo was already on my face and then I'm literally so upset I feel sick because:
a) I was like, "Well, guess I'm not going to Ireland anymore since I bought this 500 dollar face tattoo"
b) "This tattoo is really ugly and now is on my face forever."
c) "Holy shit my mom is going to be so pissed at me." (My mom makes random dream appearances, while I always understand that she is "dead", for some reason, sometimes she's just there. I guess to be like, "Why the hell did you get a face tattoo??")
d) "Yikes, I don't have the money to pay for tattoo removal and neither does Dad. Also...I don't have health insurance anymore WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."
AND THEN in the dream I was like, "Well Amy, you've really done it this time. I mean you've had dreams where this has happened before, but this is real life now. This is not a dream. Because if it was you'd have woken up already. Nope, this is real life. Guess you've got a tattoo on your face forever. Genius."
I spent the rest of the dream trying to hide the one half of my face a la Phantom of the Opera.
Needless to say, I was so very happy when I actually woke up and discovered the side of my face was NOT tattooed with a weird skyline and in fact just my normal Amy face.
All that said, I'd like to go ahead and take a poll. You know. Just in case...
POLL: Would you still love Amy if she had a face tattoo?
a) Absolutely not.
b) It would depend on the tattoo.
c) Of course. I love Amy for her sparkling personality and not her poorly chosen body art.
It's 2pm on a Sunday
...and I've just about done it.
Let me give you a run-down of the last two days.
Friday.
2:45am-Wake up. Yup. I was dumb and said I could work a special shift at work that started at 3:30am. It was actually fun to be there so early and be a part of this special event BUT I was dumb to schedule myself then with so much going on this week.
3:30am-7am-Work.
7am-Leave for school.
9:00am-11am-Final for a class.
11am-1pm-Furiously try and make copies for my chapbook (I've had numerous complaints about the use of the word "Chapbook" so I've had a request to name it after David. This request came from...well, David. It shall henceforth be referred to as the "David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings"). Anyway. I fail at making copies, more than once. Finally, I get what I need and its off to...
1pm-2:10ish-Final for another class.
2:10-Run south to pick up headshots from David, then home. (My headshot looks AWESOME by the way. Many thanks to David A for taking them and freezing his butt off with me (we went and took them last Friday, which if you live in Chicago and remember...it was like 12 degrees that day.))
3:45-HOME long enough to freakin' SHOWER and EAT.
5:30-10pm-Back at work. Yes. Seriously.
10:30-Home. Run over monologues for Saturday.
11pm-I am a 8 ton of bricks on my bed.
Saturday
6am-Wake up, dressed, shower, get in car-go to school.
9am-11:30-Perform final monologue for class.
Then...
Get changed, jump on the train, get off, stop at UPS store make copies for the cover of my David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings (thank you nice UPS store lady who helped me copy my cover onto cardstock and was super mellow to my insanity). Get back on the train, get off, go to Starbucks, sit and work for a while on said books, go over monologue for...
1:40pm-AUDITION AUDITION AUDITION
Back on train. Back to school for...
4pm-Degree Completion Ceremony. Years of busting my ass and look, I got a keychain:
I will treasure it forever. My school is lovely. I owe it my education, but I gotta say this keychain was a little mean considering we DID NOT get caps and gowns NOR did we get to walk across a stage and get a fake diploma and that some of us likely won't be around in May to do that. Little mean, school. Little mean. BUT at the ceremony there were brownies, so I suppose I can't be too mad. Also, there were chocolate covered strawberries. Which are delicious.
THEN after the ceremony my Dad and I (after eating homemade empanadas (yum)) met my cousins at the ZOO! For ZOO LIGHTS! (The decorate the zoo with lights and you can go say hi to the animals. It was fun, even though it was raining. I got to groove with my little cousins and meet this dude:
All the monkeys were sleeeeeeeeping (well, apes). The chimps were sprawled out on the ground, mouths agape passed the heck out. It was pretty funny.
Then I came home, glued some stuff together for my David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings, talked to some lovely people, and WENT TO BED.
10:00-I am passed out.
Sunday-
11am-I wake up after sleeping like a rock
Work on David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings, GET THEM DONE! THAT'S RIGHT! THEY'RE DONE! Behold:
Front Cover (drawn and then copied, care of nice lady at the UPS store):
Back Cover:
Inside Covers (these are hand drawn with white colored pencil, cause it was easier than trying to copy onto black paper):
Amy Cover:
Yup. I had to make 16 of those. I made 20 just in case I get attacked by bear on the way to school who eats 4 of them. I'm pretty happy with how they turned out. Hooray! They're DONE! Now, all I have to do is turn 'em in and I'll be DONE.
...it STILL hasn't set in how "done" I am.
BUT I am finally starting to slow down a little bit.
...my back hurts.
Let me give you a run-down of the last two days.
Friday.
2:45am-Wake up. Yup. I was dumb and said I could work a special shift at work that started at 3:30am. It was actually fun to be there so early and be a part of this special event BUT I was dumb to schedule myself then with so much going on this week.
3:30am-7am-Work.
7am-Leave for school.
9:00am-11am-Final for a class.
11am-1pm-Furiously try and make copies for my chapbook (I've had numerous complaints about the use of the word "Chapbook" so I've had a request to name it after David. This request came from...well, David. It shall henceforth be referred to as the "David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings"). Anyway. I fail at making copies, more than once. Finally, I get what I need and its off to...
1pm-2:10ish-Final for another class.
2:10-Run south to pick up headshots from David, then home. (My headshot looks AWESOME by the way. Many thanks to David A for taking them and freezing his butt off with me (we went and took them last Friday, which if you live in Chicago and remember...it was like 12 degrees that day.))
3:45-HOME long enough to freakin' SHOWER and EAT.
5:30-10pm-Back at work. Yes. Seriously.
10:30-Home. Run over monologues for Saturday.
11pm-I am a 8 ton of bricks on my bed.
Saturday
6am-Wake up, dressed, shower, get in car-go to school.
9am-11:30-Perform final monologue for class.
Then...
Get changed, jump on the train, get off, stop at UPS store make copies for the cover of my David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings (thank you nice UPS store lady who helped me copy my cover onto cardstock and was super mellow to my insanity). Get back on the train, get off, go to Starbucks, sit and work for a while on said books, go over monologue for...
1:40pm-AUDITION AUDITION AUDITION
Back on train. Back to school for...
4pm-Degree Completion Ceremony. Years of busting my ass and look, I got a keychain:
I will treasure it forever. My school is lovely. I owe it my education, but I gotta say this keychain was a little mean considering we DID NOT get caps and gowns NOR did we get to walk across a stage and get a fake diploma and that some of us likely won't be around in May to do that. Little mean, school. Little mean. BUT at the ceremony there were brownies, so I suppose I can't be too mad. Also, there were chocolate covered strawberries. Which are delicious.
THEN after the ceremony my Dad and I (after eating homemade empanadas (yum)) met my cousins at the ZOO! For ZOO LIGHTS! (The decorate the zoo with lights and you can go say hi to the animals. It was fun, even though it was raining. I got to groove with my little cousins and meet this dude:
All the monkeys were sleeeeeeeeping (well, apes). The chimps were sprawled out on the ground, mouths agape passed the heck out. It was pretty funny.
Then I came home, glued some stuff together for my David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings, talked to some lovely people, and WENT TO BED.
10:00-I am passed out.
Sunday-
11am-I wake up after sleeping like a rock
Work on David A Book of Effervescent Poetry Stylings, GET THEM DONE! THAT'S RIGHT! THEY'RE DONE! Behold:
Front Cover (drawn and then copied, care of nice lady at the UPS store):
Back Cover:
Inside Covers (these are hand drawn with white colored pencil, cause it was easier than trying to copy onto black paper):
Amy Cover:
Yup. I had to make 16 of those. I made 20 just in case I get attacked by bear on the way to school who eats 4 of them. I'm pretty happy with how they turned out. Hooray! They're DONE! Now, all I have to do is turn 'em in and I'll be DONE.
...it STILL hasn't set in how "done" I am.
BUT I am finally starting to slow down a little bit.
...my back hurts.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Sarah Palin Brain: The Second
Please.
Reserve your judgement.
I just completed my last week of undergrad classes...
Wednesday night.
I'm driving home.
I notice the road is awful dark in front of me.
Flick my lights.
They go...
BRIGHTS
nothing
everything totally off
Flick my lights again to the one between "brights" and "everything totally off" and try and see based on the reflection off the car in front of me, if my lights are indeed "nothing" or if I'm just imagining things. It's hard to tell.
Flick again...
BRIGHTS
nothing
everything totally off
Finally I pull off to the side of the road and get out and yup...
Both my headlights are dead.
Pull into a service gas station.
They check my bulbs.
Allegedly, they're odd, so they don't stock them and will have to order them. They'll be in by tomorrow.
They tell me to drive home with my brights and come back the next day.
So I do.
Home.
Sleep.
Last day of classes.
Drive to school, using my brights halfway before it's light enough to turn them off.
Get to school.
Go to classes.
Finish.
Can't let the fact I've finished settle in because I have to get my car from Roger's Park to Park Ridge to get my headlights changed then come back to city to have dinner with Meghan and David.
Get in car.
Drive.
Flick lights.
BRIGHTS
nothing
everything totally off
Drive to Park Ridge.
They take my car.
5 minutes go by.
"Um, mam? Your lights are working."
Man takes me to garage, shows me brights (whoa) shows me normal lights that, yes, are indeed working.
He says, "I don't want to charge you for bulbs you don't need and send you on your way because you might have a larger problem."
Me, "Oh."
In my mind I'm going over flicking the lights back and forth in my head and trying to convince myself that they were INDEED really out...
He walks around the back of my car, "But you have two tail-lights out. I sure hope you don't drink, girl. You'll get pulled over."
Me (thinking), "I drive alone. When the hell would I ever notice that I have two tail-lights out, jerk?...Please don't look at my oil sticker and notice that I was due for a change in Novemeber. Also, please don't say anything about the fact that my check-engine light is on."
DISCLAIMER: My check engine light as been on for like...two years. Somewhere, deep inside the Soobs, a sensor is out of whack. Everytime we've had it fixed (like...four) it just pops on again two weeks later. So the long and short is: I don't care that my check engine light is on. I realize the problem this presents when something IS actually wrong with my engine, but it's been this way for two years, so the long and short is: oh well.
He says, "We'll change those for you."
I say, "Thanks."
He says, "So both lights were out yesterday?"
I say *shifty eyes*, "Yeah."
He says, "I think you might have a bigger problem. You may want to take it somewhere and get it checked out. I'm not gonna change your bulbs and charge you but if you hit a bump these things could go out again."
Me thinking, "The bigger problem could well be that I am I am just a dipshit."
Me, "Ok."
He says, "I'll give you my card, so you can have whoever call me and I'll talk to 'em."
Me, "Thanks."
My tail-lights get changed.
He says (to mechanic), "How many blubs?"
Mechanic, "Three"
He says, "Psshh. Tell you what. Give me 10 bucks. Just to keep you honest."
I pay 10 dollars and am sent on my way.
Get in car.
Lights are on.
Look at stick.
Realize I did NOT have my lights properly turned on Wednesday night.
The stick had been flicked/jostled (unbeknownst to me) into "Brights" mode. So that when I turned my lights "on" my brights came up.
This had severely confused my damaged brain and sent me into panic mode.
I swear, I'm much smarter than this.
...but I probably shouldn't tell you about the things I messed up at work Saturday.
Reserve your judgement.
I just completed my last week of undergrad classes...
Wednesday night.
I'm driving home.
I notice the road is awful dark in front of me.
Flick my lights.
They go...
BRIGHTS
nothing
everything totally off
Flick my lights again to the one between "brights" and "everything totally off" and try and see based on the reflection off the car in front of me, if my lights are indeed "nothing" or if I'm just imagining things. It's hard to tell.
Flick again...
BRIGHTS
nothing
everything totally off
Finally I pull off to the side of the road and get out and yup...
Both my headlights are dead.
Pull into a service gas station.
They check my bulbs.
Allegedly, they're odd, so they don't stock them and will have to order them. They'll be in by tomorrow.
They tell me to drive home with my brights and come back the next day.
So I do.
Home.
Sleep.
Last day of classes.
Drive to school, using my brights halfway before it's light enough to turn them off.
Get to school.
Go to classes.
Finish.
Can't let the fact I've finished settle in because I have to get my car from Roger's Park to Park Ridge to get my headlights changed then come back to city to have dinner with Meghan and David.
Get in car.
Drive.
Flick lights.
BRIGHTS
nothing
everything totally off
Drive to Park Ridge.
They take my car.
5 minutes go by.
"Um, mam? Your lights are working."
Man takes me to garage, shows me brights (whoa) shows me normal lights that, yes, are indeed working.
He says, "I don't want to charge you for bulbs you don't need and send you on your way because you might have a larger problem."
Me, "Oh."
In my mind I'm going over flicking the lights back and forth in my head and trying to convince myself that they were INDEED really out...
He walks around the back of my car, "But you have two tail-lights out. I sure hope you don't drink, girl. You'll get pulled over."
Me (thinking), "I drive alone. When the hell would I ever notice that I have two tail-lights out, jerk?...Please don't look at my oil sticker and notice that I was due for a change in Novemeber. Also, please don't say anything about the fact that my check-engine light is on."
DISCLAIMER: My check engine light as been on for like...two years. Somewhere, deep inside the Soobs, a sensor is out of whack. Everytime we've had it fixed (like...four) it just pops on again two weeks later. So the long and short is: I don't care that my check engine light is on. I realize the problem this presents when something IS actually wrong with my engine, but it's been this way for two years, so the long and short is: oh well.
He says, "We'll change those for you."
I say, "Thanks."
He says, "So both lights were out yesterday?"
I say *shifty eyes*, "Yeah."
He says, "I think you might have a bigger problem. You may want to take it somewhere and get it checked out. I'm not gonna change your bulbs and charge you but if you hit a bump these things could go out again."
Me thinking, "The bigger problem could well be that I am I am just a dipshit."
Me, "Ok."
He says, "I'll give you my card, so you can have whoever call me and I'll talk to 'em."
Me, "Thanks."
My tail-lights get changed.
He says (to mechanic), "How many blubs?"
Mechanic, "Three"
He says, "Psshh. Tell you what. Give me 10 bucks. Just to keep you honest."
I pay 10 dollars and am sent on my way.
Get in car.
Lights are on.
Look at stick.
Realize I did NOT have my lights properly turned on Wednesday night.
The stick had been flicked/jostled (unbeknownst to me) into "Brights" mode. So that when I turned my lights "on" my brights came up.
This had severely confused my damaged brain and sent me into panic mode.
I swear, I'm much smarter than this.
...but I probably shouldn't tell you about the things I messed up at work Saturday.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Sarah Palin Brain
So I've been working like mad the past three days, trying to get everything done I need to for this, my final week of classes. When I run this way, I pretty much never allow my brain to rest. Which I know is a bad thing. And even though I know it would not kill me to chill out for 20 minutes, I can't make my brain stop. I would sit on the couch and twitch, so it's just better to keep going.
As such:
Sunday night while working on my set model for design I had chips and a diet coke for dinner.
Monday night I threw two frozen burritos in the microwave while working and ate them while working and then forgot I was eating them and two hours later was left with a weird stale burrito mass on my plate.
Last night I attempted to make eggs. But I did this, again, while working-cutting things with an X-acto, painting, and pasting. My eggs didn't turn out. I tried to eat them anyway. Bad idea. Diet coke and cookies for dinner!
I know.
I know.
It's DISGUSTING.
I'll have a major project out of the way after today so I'm going to make up for the above nastiness by stopping at the grocery store, picking up some polenta, mushrooms and peppers and making something hearty and delicious for dinner tonight. I can't wait.
David's appropriately coined my brain right now, "Sarah Palin" brain. I'm saying things that don't make sense at all and stumbling through the world.
Want evidence?
This happened last night...
I listed my facebook status as, "Amy is a maniac, turning out papers and projects. But it should be noted her hair is out of control and she's only wearing one sock."
Meghan was on AIM at the time...
Meghan (9:43:38 PM): you're only wearing one sock?
Amy (9:43:43 PM): um.
Amy (9:43:44 PM): yes.
Amy (9:43:57 PM): i remember taking one off with the intention of taking the other off
Amy (9:44:04 PM): but then i got distracted
Meghan (9:44:05 PM): it happens
Amy (9:44:54 PM): it happens
Amy (9:45:01 PM): life gets in the way of these simple tasks
Meghan (9:45:08 PM): it does
Amy (9:45:14 PM): normally i could multi task and take off the sock while doing something else
Amy (9:45:23 PM): but with my mind in the state its in right now...
Meghan (9:45:24 PM): OKAY here's a plan:
Amy (9:45:29 PM): OKAY!
Meghan (9:45:31 PM): the next time you start to type at me over IM
Meghan (9:45:36 PM): take off your sock
Meghan (9:45:51 PM): is it off?! it better be off.
Amy (9:45:53 PM): um ok im typing now and trying to take my sock off
Amy (9:45:58 PM): its not off yet
Meghan (9:46:07 PM): you need drugs.
Amy (9:46:17 PM): ok its off
Amy (9:46:23 PM): i had to concentrate though
Meghan (9:46:24 PM): but now your feet are cold, no?
Meghan (9:46:31 PM): go get that sock and the other sock and put the two back on.
Amy (9:46:47 PM): no my feet are fine
Amy (9:46:49 PM): socks annoy me
Amy (9:46:59 PM): in a past life i was a bare foot hillbilly
Meghan:
Dear Loyola,
Give Amy her degree already. She's out of her mind.
Love,
Meghan
Also, when my brain is running like this I have this weird thing where I sleep really really HARD but also am still sort of awake at the same time. I know, it's bizarre. Here's how I can explain it (yes this really happened):
I'm sleeping. Dreaming weird things. I have a dream I'm in my bed doing homework, like I was right before I fell asleep. I open something (I think it was a book or a box) and see SPIDERS! SPIDERS unleash themselves in my bed in my dream!! (This, seriously, is like one of my worst "this could really happen" nightmares) SO, in REAL LIFE I literally go from sleeping like a rock to FLYING out of my bed. No joke, I JUMP out of bed, spastically brushing "spiders" off me and fly to my light switch and turn on the light. No joke. And as soon as the light turns on and I look at my clock and see "1:45am" I "wake up", realize I was dreaming, turn off the light, fall back into bed, and PASS OUT. You would think having such an arresting nightmare would make it hard to fall back asleep. Nope. Not when you're Amy.
Tomorrow is my last day of classes.
Then two tests.
Then the making of 16 chapbooks (Anyone want a copy of my lame poetry book? Let me know and I'll make one for you. You can save it and use it as "make fun of Amy ammo").
One turning of a paper from a rough draft into a real draft.
One composing of a "Life List" and putting it together in project form.
One performance of a Greek Monologue.
THEN FOR REAL DONE!!!!
...crap. I still have a lot to do.
But first...
presenting my design project.
heading to one more class.
driving home, stopping at the grocery store.
a sit down good and hot MEAL.
As such:
Sunday night while working on my set model for design I had chips and a diet coke for dinner.
Monday night I threw two frozen burritos in the microwave while working and ate them while working and then forgot I was eating them and two hours later was left with a weird stale burrito mass on my plate.
Last night I attempted to make eggs. But I did this, again, while working-cutting things with an X-acto, painting, and pasting. My eggs didn't turn out. I tried to eat them anyway. Bad idea. Diet coke and cookies for dinner!
I know.
I know.
It's DISGUSTING.
I'll have a major project out of the way after today so I'm going to make up for the above nastiness by stopping at the grocery store, picking up some polenta, mushrooms and peppers and making something hearty and delicious for dinner tonight. I can't wait.
David's appropriately coined my brain right now, "Sarah Palin" brain. I'm saying things that don't make sense at all and stumbling through the world.
Want evidence?
This happened last night...
I listed my facebook status as, "Amy is a maniac, turning out papers and projects. But it should be noted her hair is out of control and she's only wearing one sock."
Meghan was on AIM at the time...
Meghan (9:43:38 PM): you're only wearing one sock?
Amy (9:43:43 PM): um.
Amy (9:43:44 PM): yes.
Amy (9:43:57 PM): i remember taking one off with the intention of taking the other off
Amy (9:44:04 PM): but then i got distracted
Meghan (9:44:05 PM): it happens
Amy (9:44:54 PM): it happens
Amy (9:45:01 PM): life gets in the way of these simple tasks
Meghan (9:45:08 PM): it does
Amy (9:45:14 PM): normally i could multi task and take off the sock while doing something else
Amy (9:45:23 PM): but with my mind in the state its in right now...
Meghan (9:45:24 PM): OKAY here's a plan:
Amy (9:45:29 PM): OKAY!
Meghan (9:45:31 PM): the next time you start to type at me over IM
Meghan (9:45:36 PM): take off your sock
Meghan (9:45:51 PM): is it off?! it better be off.
Amy (9:45:53 PM): um ok im typing now and trying to take my sock off
Amy (9:45:58 PM): its not off yet
Meghan (9:46:07 PM): you need drugs.
Amy (9:46:17 PM): ok its off
Amy (9:46:23 PM): i had to concentrate though
Meghan (9:46:24 PM): but now your feet are cold, no?
Meghan (9:46:31 PM): go get that sock and the other sock and put the two back on.
Amy (9:46:47 PM): no my feet are fine
Amy (9:46:49 PM): socks annoy me
Amy (9:46:59 PM): in a past life i was a bare foot hillbilly
Meghan:
Dear Loyola,
Give Amy her degree already. She's out of her mind.
Love,
Meghan
Also, when my brain is running like this I have this weird thing where I sleep really really HARD but also am still sort of awake at the same time. I know, it's bizarre. Here's how I can explain it (yes this really happened):
I'm sleeping. Dreaming weird things. I have a dream I'm in my bed doing homework, like I was right before I fell asleep. I open something (I think it was a book or a box) and see SPIDERS! SPIDERS unleash themselves in my bed in my dream!! (This, seriously, is like one of my worst "this could really happen" nightmares) SO, in REAL LIFE I literally go from sleeping like a rock to FLYING out of my bed. No joke, I JUMP out of bed, spastically brushing "spiders" off me and fly to my light switch and turn on the light. No joke. And as soon as the light turns on and I look at my clock and see "1:45am" I "wake up", realize I was dreaming, turn off the light, fall back into bed, and PASS OUT. You would think having such an arresting nightmare would make it hard to fall back asleep. Nope. Not when you're Amy.
Tomorrow is my last day of classes.
Then two tests.
Then the making of 16 chapbooks (Anyone want a copy of my lame poetry book? Let me know and I'll make one for you. You can save it and use it as "make fun of Amy ammo").
One turning of a paper from a rough draft into a real draft.
One composing of a "Life List" and putting it together in project form.
One performance of a Greek Monologue.
THEN FOR REAL DONE!!!!
...crap. I still have a lot to do.
But first...
presenting my design project.
heading to one more class.
driving home, stopping at the grocery store.
a sit down good and hot MEAL.
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