The Book of Questions

I was rummaging through some holiday decorations over the weekend and found The Book of Questions by Gregory Stock, PH.D. I remember buying this years ago on a whim, thinking it would be fun at parties but I guess I don’t have parties (or my parties are so fun they don’t need help from a book?) because this thing has never been cracked. Until now! 

Okay, maybe my expectations are way off base but aren't these books usually pretty innocuous? Don't they generally only exist to make you contemplate "What would you do if you found one million dollars in an abandoned shopping cart?" while your friend takes too long in the Barnes and Noble restroom? Not this creepy, hairy mole of a book. It's unclear what Dr. Gregory’s credentials are but based on the first twenty pages, I’m guessing he falls just right of the questionable pediatrician I went to during junior high whose answer to any ailment was to have me take my shirt off so he could “listen to” my braless chest and just left of the maniacal abortion doctors showcased at fundamentalist Hell Houses. Take Question #11, for example: 

“You’re given the power to kill people, simply by thinking of their deaths and twice repeating the words 'good-bye'. People would die a natural death and no one would suspect you. Are there any situations in which you would use this power?” 

What the WHAT?! I’ve read this a couple times now and I think the detailed procedure he created is the most disturbing. For the average person, a healthy curiosity (and a couple of Sazeracs) might make you wonder out loud, “Hey, can you imagine having the power to kill someone with your mind? Ethically, that would be bananas!” Not Dr. Gregory. He has fleshed this out and planted a neat little script for us so that now I can’t stop thinking of people in my life and saying “good-bye” over and over. I may very well have just eliminated my entire immediate family, two of my friends and Rueben, the smiley cleaning guy at my office who is (used to be??) helping me with my Spanish. It is of no comfort that they died of natural causes, by the way. Drowning is technically a natural death. Also, I feel like he’s trying to mask the crazy by using subtle wording in that final question, “Are there any situations in which you would use this power?” Um, you’re asking me if I would kill people. Don’t get coy with me, Dr. Gregory. You want me to tell you all my killing fantasies and you want to tape them and dance to them the dank, leaky basement where you keep your severed head collection. 

That said, I would totally use it. I would use it for the guy in rush hour traffic who doesn’t let me merge in front of him and then later cuts me off when he needs to get over at the last minute. I would also use it for anyone who talks during movies and bicyclists who bike on the sidewalk. 

Good-bye, good-bye!

Progress Report

It has officially been six weeks since my debut entry about Labor Day resolutions so I thought I ought to provide a progress report. I should tell you that I intended to complete a progress report after one month but I was performing so dismally that I procrastinated for two weeks in the hopes that I might scrape up something better to tell you. I haven’t. 

So far I have flossed my teeth 11 times. One of those times was because I had spinach in my teeth after dinner in Vegas and three of those times were because I had cilantro in my teeth after eating Chipotle burrito bowls for lunch at work. The circumstances, and the fact that I didn’t give attention to every tooth, should not minimize the fact that I flossed, though. If I were a smoker who didn’t smoke 11 cigarettes, you’d be really happy for me. Also, I’m aware that I need to be flossing, even if I’m not actually doing it and, having served as a teacher in our confused school system I can tell you that ambiguous nonsense like “awareness” counts when grading, and I should be held to the same standards as our school children, right?  I give myself a C .

I have read more books! You should be really proud of me on this one because it required the supplementary effort of showing my face at the library and paying a $50 fine for forgetting The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo in the drawer of my coffee table for a year and a half. Turns out that that when a book is missing that long they label it “stolen” (ouch, Library) and remove it from the inventory, so that my simple return became the chaos number in a Broadway show: Perky library personnel scratching their heads and furrowing their brows as they peer at each other’s computers and pass the book around, check the stacks and call the main librarian on her CELL PHONE (I wish I was kidding), all the while with me in the middle at the circulation desk, spinning and repeating the refrain, “I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do to make this easier? I’m so sorry, just tell me what to pay and I’ll get out of your hair!” 

They figured it out, though (special thanks to the kind staff at Silver Lake Library) and I immediately borrowed five books, not realizing that they are only loaned out for two weeks at a time. I thought you got them for, like, a month? Anyhew, I read three of them, so that’s huge progress! Especially here in LA, where you’re regarded a scholar if you read anything other than a script. I give myself an A+!

I have not called someone I haven’t talked to in 6 months or more. Putting that in writing makes me feel like a really bad person. I will make that top priority, right after I take a walk and eat a snack. Classic F.

I also have not explored someplace new. I considered falling back on eating at a restaurant I’d never been to or stopping into a new boutique but those are technically instances of checking out someplace new, whereas I intended “exploring someplace new” to mean that I would spend the day in a part of town I wasn’t familiar with or take a road trip somewhere… basically, even though I haven’t completed this resolution, I should get pops for not cutting corners (reference details of corrupt grading justification in Paragraph 2). I give myself a D. 

That means that my overall Back-to-School/ Labor Day Resolution Grade is a C-. This gives my over-achieving-self mild arrhythmia. I’ve only gotten one C in my whole life and it was in high school Honors Chemistry. I was not good at Math or Science and had no business being in that class but my ego wanted the Honors credit and my Guidance Counselor approved it because Guidance Counselors at all-girls Catholic prep-schools know better than to mess with the ego of a hyper-competitive 16 year old, so I spent the entire year in a state of tortured confusion and only maintained a C because my teacher (I will not use her real name even though Itotallyrememberhernameit’sMrs.Danforth) told me during one of our tutoring sessions that she didn’t know how to help me and I cried and for the rest of the year she propped up my grade to account for her own failing, which was fine by me. The point is, no one can cook the books this time so sh*t just got REAL. I will update you of further progress this time next month! And by that I mean, in six weeks…

An Audience with Her Madgesty

Tonight is Madonna at the Staples Center and I could not be more excited. Nearly 30 years of listening to her (not an exaggeration - horrors. Someone please pass the sunscreen and a tequila chaser, stat) and I've never seen her live!

Some may say her cryogenic state does not count as "live". Save it, haters. Your crafty cynicism means nothing to my 9-year old self, who is bursting with anticipation because all I wanted in the whole world was True Blue on cassette but I wasn't allowed to listen to Madonna because her music was "inappropriate" and everyone owned it but me and it was agony that anyonewhowasanyone got to rock out to it in their bedrooms WHENEVER THEY WANTED while I had to huddle cunningly over my boombox and listen to American Top 40 on the lowest volume possible, record the forbidden hits on a blank tape and then hide the tape under my bed, to be listened to only when my parents went out for the night. This deception was exhausting (but necessary, because who can live in a world without Papa Don't Preach?) and it went on for months until finally, almost a year after True Blue's release, I arranged for Liz Peloso to give it to me for my birthday, fully confident that good Christian values would prevent my parents from refusing a gift. And I was right! They didn't say anything and for the remaining 30 minutes of my birthday party I held my prize and even got to unseal the plastic and breath it in (remember how fantastic new cassettes smelled?) and expand the paper insert to marvel at the pictures and dedications. I had won! A coup for Manipulation! I squirmed impatiently as my friends said their goodbyes. Leave, you ninnies! Can't you see I have a victory to celebrate? As soon as the last of my friends was picked up, I slipped out of the kitchen to bolt up to my bedroom but was promptly intercepted at the bottom of the stairs. With a stern look from my father that set my cheeks on fire - I knew he knew I'd wagered their good graces - I handed the cassette over. True Blue was confiscated. 

I eventually found it in my parents' room and held on to it, careful not to advertise that I was listening to it but keeping a well-rehearsed argument on the tip of my tongue should they ever confront me about taking it back. They never did. When I was younger, I assumed this was because they had seen the error of their ways; that somehow my reasoning had penetrated and they realized the music was harmless after all but didn't want to admit that I'd been right all along. As an adult, I'm pretty sure they just forgot :) 

But none of it matters tonight, my loves! Tonight this Material Girl is gonna Get Into the Groove and oh forget it, this wordplay is way too much trouble. I have drinking to do!

On Saying "Yes"

There are Wednesday nights when you don't feel well so you get into your pajamas at 6pm, make yourself some tomato bisque, watch the Presidential Debate, read two chapters of a book about child abuse in the world of gymnastics and then fall asleep with your Chihuahua on your neck. 

There are other Wednesday nights when you don't feel well so you get into your pajamas at 6pm, make yourself some tomato bisque, watch the Presidential Debate, read two chapters of a book about child abuse in the world of gymnastics and then fall asleep with your Chihuahua on your neck BUT are then woken up at 11pm by your best friend asking if you can be ready in 20 minutes to party at the Rainbow Room.

On those nights, you must say "Yes." 

Not because you care about getting liquored up and sharing laughs with rockers you can name-drop later on Facebook but because life is fragile and what are we here for if not action? Inertia serves nothing, and although it's only drinks at the Rainbow Room you can't shake the awareness that it's more than that; that turning on the lights and doing your makeup at midnight and heading out knowing it will be agony waking up for work at 6:30am - those spontaneous moments, especially when shared with a great friend, cultivate a joyful and curious life. And you do believe that life must be cultivated. Love, humor, discovery, compassion - you believe those things are practiced. You want to practice them.  And so you say "Yes". 

To the outside observer, our night was not much of an adventure. After the bar we ended up at a diner, just the two of us, totally sober, laughing about the night and sharing onion rings. It was something we'd done a million times but it was a moment all its own and one we'll enjoy recounting and one that would never exist if we hadn't stopped to embrace it.

As we drove home I marveled at the stillness of the Sunset Strip - a calm I would never witness on a weekend. It was such an intimate moment with this city I love. I wondered if this was what it felt like to watch Marilyn Monroe sleep. I was drowsy and sentimental. How many purely blissful occasions like this one had I missed out on because I was tired or couldn't be bothered dressing up or didn't want to deal with parking? 

Next time I'll think twice before I dismiss an invitation. 

Next time I'll remember how alive I felt saying "Yes". 

Stuff and Nonsense

Holy Moly! It's been nearly a month since I've written! I'm so sorry to neglect you, things have been crazy. I was sick, and then in Vegas, and then sick again, and then work was bonkers and meanwhile the NFL season started and the Yankees' division status is shaky and I lost an earring and my car was hit two days in a row.

The wonderful thing about all this drama, though, is that it provides me with lots to write about so I have all kinds of amusing musings in the works and I promise that I will wrap them up this weekend so that there's fun stuff for you to minimize at the bottom of your screen Monday morning while you pretend that you're working in your freezing cold cubicle. Until then, tonight I plan to sit in my pajamas and eat ice cream for dinner and listen to the Yankees/ Red Sox game while watching the presidential debate and then read a chapter from this crazy disturbing book called Little Girls in Pretty Boxes - which is riveting and which my friend Chanel, who competed as an ice skater until she was 18 years old swore to me over cocktails on Monday night is totally true OMG - and then fall asleep on my little dog by 9PM because my throat hurts. 

Hugs to you! Only don't get too close 'cause I don't wanna get you sick. 

PSA

If ever you are surfing the internet trying to self-diagnose a sore throat, do not click the link to images of oral gonorrhea. It will, at best, make you quake with terror and question all of your life's choices. 

On the other hand, if you accidentally swallow a household poison, DO click the link to images of oral gonorrhea and then follow up with a medical professional.

One Score and One Year Ago

So like most of you (or none of you), I spent the last two weeks ingesting political speeches, with varying results. As a registered Independent I will teeter dutifully on my fence and vaguely allow that I found some speeches refreshing, some painful, some stirring and some just downright confusing. And although they’re all designed to spur me to pour two fingers of scotch and consider the imminent implosion of our government if I vote for the wrong person in November, what this range of performances actually has me contemplating is the art of public speaking. I can’t help but think about the writer who crafts nimble, layered prose; about the orator who infuses it with emotion; and, above all, about the time in 8^th Grade when I won the Gettysburg Address Recitation Competition.     

Oh, yeah, I won. There’s no big reveal at the end of the story – I’m telling you right now I totally won and I won because I HAD TO. My budding artist’s heart was burning for validation and I had no other outlet except Christmas pageants, Sunday choir and that time I played a frozen mannequin in one scene of a summer camp production of Annie because they owed a role to every child who paid the registration and my singing was so abysmal that they had to ensure I wouldn’t open my mouth.

But I was better than that! I knew I was. I just needed to showcase my talent. I had plotted the trajectory of Debbie Gibson’s career and understood that with perseverance and supportive parents I could be a global sensation by next year’s Homecoming game. I just needed a chance.

I should mention that I was the only student invested in this competition. Mainly because it wasn’t so much a competition as a mandatory English assignment dressed up as a competition. It was an annual chore for each 8^th grade class and everyone resignedly accepted it as another in a string of tortures we had to endure before being released to high school. Not me. On the day those Xeroxed copies were passed back, my toes began to tingle. I had a script! And it was all mine! No sharing the stage with Mary and Joseph or the entire Soprano section or Annie and Grace… this was my first monologue and I was ecstatic.

In the weeks leading up to the competition, I delivered the Gettysburg Address to the bathroom mirror, the washer and dryer, the poster of Joe McIntyre pinned on my bedroom ceiling. I had never given a moment’s thought to American History but now that it impacted my performance I was dusting off my parents’ dormant volumes of Encyclopedia Britannica to devour passages about the Civil War. Taking the stage of the Our Lady of Mercy audi-cafetori-nesium I planted my feet, looked out at my audience of 9 school staff and took everything in as if it was opening night at the St. James. “Four score and seven years ago,” I bellowed to the peeling tape of the basketball court. Lincoln’s words became my own. “We cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground,” I humbly declared to the janitor’s closet.  The school bell rang halfway through and I paused like a pro to wait out the stampede of students changing classes. The lunch ladies scurried around, queuing up cartons of milk. The stink of casserole and sternos filled the room but I was transported. I knew only the rush of breathing life into words. “…. government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth!” I thundered. I closed with a small bow and held my place for a moment. Even though there were other students left to speak, I knew I had won.                     

In my mind, a standing ovation follows. I’m fairly certain that’s inaccurate. But I think it’s embedded in my memory because that was the very first time that I felt a standing ovation. I felt the thrill of doing my best at something I loved and being recognized for it. And that moment was as satisfying as any Debbie Gibson-scale success I had imagined.

Aside: I got an A+ on my performance and, as a prize, got to ride in the local Memorial Day Parade (in a red Ford Mustang, which was sowickedawesome because that was my number one choice for a car whenever I would play MASH) and repeat my recitation for a group of sweet little old Veterans at the historic cemetery whose name I don’t recall because I was too excited about getting my picture taken for the local paper. My picture! Published for public consumption! That never gets old.

Aside II: If you want to brush up on your Gettysburg Address you can find it here. It's such a powerful tribute to our armed forces and the last line always makes me cry. I mean, I don’t want judge you but pretty much if you don’t cry, you’re kind of a heartless America-hating troll. Enjoy!