Let's try this again...

Aha! I discovered an amazing and awesome discovery!! Welcome to witnessing history, folks! This is the first time I have ever written a blog post on my phone. Having a laptop with an outdated wireless card is so very irritating. :P So yeah, updating on life, let's see how much I can stand to type like this before my patience wears out, shall we? Apparently not much, my phone is already getting angsty. :( if I'm absent for a while, know I will make it up in pre-written posts which will find their way online somehow... So for now, have fun, and poke a platypus!

My laptop is too old to connect to the interwebs, & my smart phone is being stupid. I'll post an update about it all tomorrow. :P

"Less Haste More Speed..."

The above is a quote from one of Brian Jacques books, may the man never be forgotten.

Hello Again! I missed this over the weekend, but I did write down several stories for you... I have less than an hour to write them all in, think I can do it? I'll try...

I know I know I know... "Do or do not, there is no try!" Fine, will do.

First off, can I just say how excited I am to be going to a rehearsal tonight! And as an ACTOR!!! Yes, I'm pumped, if you happen by the Minneapolis Fringe Festival next month you need to come see "Behind the Big Top", because it's going to be a blast!

M'kay, now for the stories!

Saturday was fun, I pulled an 11 hour shift at Planet Pillow (code name for the place I work, courtesy of one Irish Poet...), and the number of people I talked to/at that day does not bear repeating... but I wrote down one particular caller that day that made an impact...

The lady I spoke to had a very dry sense of humour. I'm not just talking about "I'm thirsty" dry, I'm talking "Sahara desert hasn't had rain in 6 months" dry. She also spoke extremely slowly, and every time I asked her a question she would take a good 10 second pause before answering (I know 10 seconds doesn't sound like a lot, but time it out next time you're having a conversation with someone & just feel the silence between responses, it's forever!). Between the way she talked and the "jokes" she told, I was half-convinced she was a prank caller and I almost hung up on her!

Yes, she told "jokes". One of her first ones was "I'm buying this as a gift for my husband I just married 2 days ago. It's our 46th anniversary on Monday." Granted, given proper delivery, this could've been funny, but the way she said it just left me confused... She followed a lengthy pause after this joke with "that was a joke." ... I feebly laughed, then moved on. A few of her other jokes included "Is this pillow approved for smothering?" "Well, my husband is supposed to take me out for dinner next week, I should keep him around at least that long", and "He snores so loud I want to put the pillow on his face--I could say he was sleeping face-down"... I wondered if I should call back & try to warn the husband...

Moral of the story: If you have to tell the person you're conversing with that you made a joke more than 3 times, perhaps you should stop making them...

There's a guy at work, we'll call him Mike. Mike is known as something of a talker--and by that I mean he never seems to stop talking. But it's not even like he's necessarily trying to learn about other people or network or even carry on a conversation. Mike just seems to enjoy the sound of his own voice. Have you ever met a person like that? No matter what you say in the conversation, he just carries on with whatever story he was telling prior to your interjection. And if you were previously enjoying a two-way chat with someone else? He doesn't mind, he'll just jump in with whatever story pops into his head and take off, derailing all talk and hijacking the discussion to take it wherever he wills.

Mind you, this can be rather entertaining sometimes. I like making a game out of it... wicked, I know, but Sunday I had a 10 hour shift & Mike showed up for the last 2 hours... Sunday was slow, I had to entertain myself somehow... ;)

Speaking of entertaining, there's a gal at work, let's see... I'll call her Erin. She's a cool person & has made going in to work a lot more fun, especially on slow days. We dubbed the area around our cubicles "the Valley of Whispers" and every time a supervisor/manager walked through we would whisper-yell their name at them until they made it through our area... Several started taking the long way around just to avoid us... Again, it was Sunday, the call volume was down, and we had to entertain ourselves somehow... ;)

Ah! Running out of time! I may have to write more of these tomorrow. :( Ah well, I shan't lack for material on the morrow.

In the meantime, don't make sad jokes, and listen when you have a conversation with others. Also: is the comment button still working? I dunno, but if you want to check it out for me, I'd be obliged. ;) Laters!

Regrets

Holy cow, I actually intend to write about the title of this post too... This is getting serious now, folks, better watch out... ;)

But not yet, first: and apology in advance.

I have been so gratified to find that views are up on this blog! Woot! People actually want to read this, what?! Crazy-talk. But for you who have been reading please don't get too discouraged in the coming two days when I shan't be able to post. I'm pulling extra shifts at the pillow place and will not be making it home 'till after the wifi is fled. Just a head's-up, but no fear! Regular writing will resume on Monday. :) Thank you tons for your readerness!

Now, where were we?

Italian sodas are a lot less exciting sans chocolate chip cookies. Yes, that's right, I just used "sans" in a sentence... correctly... boom.

Why do you read this again? Not that I'm not gratified, but wow... :S

I was struck today by how woefully behind I am in keeping up on the lives of my friends. My list of people to call is reaching ridiculous proportions, and only getting longer... I wish I knew how to play this game better... (not the one you just lost, that other one...) Friends of mine are getting married, having babies, directing shows, finding significant others, pursuing degrees, and... well... living life. But I can't be there with them at the moment, I'm up here in Minnesota--and while I love it up here, I can't help but wish I were closer to these friends of mine so I could be living life with them.

But such a wish is futile--when my friends are so very scattered. How do I live closer to the friend in California without removing myself from the friends in Detroit and Chicago? How do I get closer to them without leaving behind the friends in Minneapolis? There's no way around it, I just need to get better at this whole long-distance thing... and I need to figure out a way to better afford more roadtrips...

When I was a kid I used to wish that I could buy an apartment building somewhere, move in, and move all of my friends and family in with me. Then everyone I knew would know & love everyone else I knew and we would all live within an elevator's ride of each other. Yes, I know it's impractical--I knew that at the age of 6 when I concocted the scheme--but it still sounds delightful. Aren't the most cherished dreams often the least achievable?

Regrets. I have often had cause to regret not calling someone, or emailing them, or sending a letter or a text or a message. But I have never had cause to regret reaching out to someone. Even if I was hurt by the person I reached out to, the pain was of the lesser kind that I recognize will fade over time & be overshadowed by the good memories.

The pain of being hurt by someone I reached out to is far, far more bearable than the pain of hurting someone I love through neglect. Yes, I've done both, I've been on both ends, and I know which I prefer.

There is in our culture today an idea that time is precious. I would agree with that, there is a limited supply and it's a non-renewable resource. But I notice a disturbing trend resulting from this idea. The thought that my time is precious and I should only spend it on things & people that are worth that time. I should not "waste" time by spending it on people who do not recognize the worth of my time.

I have a couple of problems with this idea. One: as a Christian, "my" time does not exist. I have given everything I am & have over to God and am merely a steward of what He has chosen to entrust to me. In that respect, I don't actually have any time. It all belongs to Someone Else.

In that respect though, I am instructed to be a good steward of all the resources given to me. I have been given much, so much is expected and I have a reputation that is not my own that I need to maintain. In this fashion, I should guard my time and use it wisely.

But what does that look like? I have said it before & will say it again: My lasting regrets in this life have never come from spending time with someone--regardless of whether they recognized its worth. I might regret it for a time, but such an act is not something I look back on years later and still sigh over.

No, my lasting regrets come from not spending time with people.

Granted, this means there's a line to walk. There are so many people in this world, how can we ever spend time with all of them?! And even if we only spread ourselves thin between our loved ones, there may still be a good many of them--how to accomplish this?

Heck if I know. I never said I knew what to do about this!

What do you think this is, an advice column?? Jeesh...

Sorry, brief digression, just in case you forgot where you were... ;)

Regrets are strange. I'm sure you've heard it said "live with no regrets!" but how is that possible? I know it is, I've seen it happen. My great-grandmother said she had no regrets about her life.

But have I already screwed up my chance to live that way because I've already done things I do regret?

Or is it something else. Is living with no regrets more of an attitude toward failure? Is it instead regarding each act that could be regretted as an opportunity for growth instead? Instead of wallowing in guilt, if I could look my failures square in the face, acknowledge them for what they are, embrace them as a teacher and friend, then move on with my life--could that take the regret out of such actions? I like to think so.

When stage managing, there's a mantra (there's lots of them, but that's beside the point) I find myself particularly fond of. It applies to miscalling a cue, especially in the midst of the show. I can't allow myself to wallow in guilt over the mistakes made, if I do I'll lose focus and the mistakes will snowball. Instead, make note of the mistake (be it mentally or in writing if there's time), and move on to the next cue. Learn from the miscall, and don't mess it up next time.

It seems to me that attitude could serve quite well for the rest of life in general as well.

And with that thought, I'm off. Have a great weekend!

Smoke Detectors

This post could get weird, bear with me though--I think I might actually have a thought worth getting out for once!

For the last couple of days the weather here in Minnesota has been pretty amazingly tropical. Tuesday we reached over 100 degrees F (that F might stand for more than one word... just sayin'...) and we had 80% humidity. It was epic, but I was determined to use as little electricity as possible--no window air conditioner, and I had stubbornly refused to turn on the ceiling fan, contenting myself with merely throwing open all the windows & downing huge amounts of water...

Then the smoke detector started going off.

That's right, the title actually has something to do with this post too! I might be getting the hang of this whole titling thingummy...

But anyway, the smoke alarm went off. I was much perturbed, there was no way I was getting carbon monoxide poisoning (did I mention all the windows were open?), I couldn't smell any traces of smoke, let alone enough to set off the alarm (asthmatics have a pretty keen sense of these things...). My next guess was that the battery must be dying.

Following my hunch in the midst of the teeth-rattlingly pierce screams that were emitting from this fiendish device was not as simple as it sounded. I first had to find a chair that was tall enough for me to be able to read the miniscule camouflaged writing on the thing, then one that I could actually manipulate it from atop. Once I did that, I had to discover how to take this contraption off the ceiling, all while trying not to give into my impulse to just take a mallet to the whole thing to get it to shut up--because though I did find the "shut up button" (idk what it's really called, but that's what it became in my head...), it took me a while to figure out that while 1 push means "shut up", 2 means "scream more" and 3 means "scream louder". That was exciting to discover...

Once I finally managed to wrest the thing from the ceiling I realized that the problem couldn't be the battery... At least, I really really hope not, because it's hard-wired into the ceiling...

Only one option seemed left. I had heard of such things happening, but never actually witnessed it myself. Could it be possible? Apparently...

The humidity in my apartment had set off the smoke detector.

I conceded defeat to the weather, and finally turned on my ceiling fan, but to no avail. For the next couple of days I found myself periodically plagued by this thing, hoping in vain that the humidity would break, that the fan would keep the thing happy, that maybe--maybe--I'd be able to get the freaking demonic plastic nightmare from hell to shut up for the last four hours I was alotted to spend in bed before work.

No such luck.

Sooo, yeah... filed a work report with maintenance... Hopefully my neighbors will forgive me (I know for a fact I'm not the only one who's been having this trouble...).

But while thinking on something to write about today, I was reminded of an old friend I wish I could talk to & thought to myself: "There's an excellent object lesson to be learned here..."

Forgive me if this tires you, but I'm about to indulge in a (possibly ludicrous) metaphor. Maybe it's an allegory. I dunno yet, we'll hafta find out together...

Suppose that friends & family, and I'm talking about the close kind here, not just your casual "I see you once a week at the gym and we say hi" acquaintance--suppose we are a sort of smoke detector/alarm for each other. In our true and proper function, isn't that supposed to be how the Church works? We help each other out, we alert each other to danger both without and within ourselves--at its best, that is how the Church should function.

But suppose something goes wrong. Suppose we become terrible at communicating, and find ourselves unable to tell each other what we mean. Suppose we become so obsessed with appearances that we forget what we are supposed to be warning each other of and become simply an annoying shriek leaving others scrambling to shut us up.

On the flip side, suppose the problem someone is warning us about is something we don't want to hear. Suppose they are trying to tell us about one problem, but we don't think that's something that needs fixing right now, or we think it can wait, or we think we have everything under control and why don't they mind their own business? It's not until later when we wake up with a headache that we discover "oh, perhaps they were warning us of a legitimate problem".

Suppose the problem isn't necessarily independent of the smoke detector and the hapless victim of its shrieking, perhaps there's a problem between the two parties. Perhaps the breakdown of communication can only be manifest in pain, and that's the only way either party will admit that there's something wrong & becomes willing to do something to fix it.

Anyhoo, closing coffee shop. I'm off to hopefully not have to listen to Shrieky... we'll see.

Wave at strangers. Maybe they're not so strange after all... ;)

Happy Independence Day!

Alas, the coffee-shop is about to close--they're closing early today due to the holiday. So I'm going back to my apt. to write some non-bloggy stuff & maybe unpack... I may run away to the air-conditioned haven of the Fancy French Store later today...

In the meantime, happy 4th!

Scribbling...

I got a haircut today.

...

Yeah, that's ... um ... kind of how my brain is working right now. I'm trying to string words together, but that's all I got.

Lol, alright, time for a quick character sketch! :)

There's a man that I've seen in the neighborhood twice now. I think of him as "the beautiful man", not because he's eyecandy (that's Boyfriend...;), but because he's one of those people who is beautiful on the inside and it doesn't matter what he looks like.

On the outside, the Beautiful Man is a rather grizzled type, the term "weathered" comes to mind. He appears to be in his late fifties, maybe to mid-sixties, but it's a sixties that has seen a hard life--y'know what I mean? He's of African descent, about 5'8", and wiry in build. He wears no facial hair, and a ball cap.

I first met him when I was walking home from the Boiler Room (if you go there, you should tell them you heard about them from this blog & you'll blow their minds!), I was going one way on the sidewalk & he was walking toward me whilst talking on his cell phone. When we drew about level he took his cell phone away from his face, and spoke from the diaphragm.

"Well, look at you! Beautiful lady on a beautiful day, and you are beautiful! I hope you have a great day!"

The man caught me flat-footed--what do you say to that?! I ducked my head, smiled, and stammered out a thank you and a laugh. We both walked on in our respective directions, but I glanced over my shoulder at the same time as he did & we made eye contact.

"I mean it too, you are beautiful!"

But the way he said it, he wasn't creepy or anything. He was genuine, sincere, and honest in bearing and voice. He didn't undress me with his eyes, he give me "the up-down", he spoke to my face.

It was very refreshing and kind of made my day.

I met the Beautiful Man again a day or two later. He was across the street this time, with a shopping bag over his shoulder. I almost missed him, but I glanced over and we made eye contact. His smile was sunshine and he waved "hey, look it's you!"

My reply was a laughing "I remember you!"

"How are ya?" he asked.

There followed a brief but friendly conversation, cementing him in my mind as the Beautiful Man. I would love to hear his story sometime!

Encounters like this make me love where I live all the more. At the same time, people like the Beautiful Man can be found everywhere--and where they aren't found, they can be inspired.

It's amazing, really, how just a simple conversation like that can stick with a person for ... well, forever. Think back on your life, on random encounters you've had with complete strangers in the store, in church, school, after class, at work, walking down the street. How many of these conversations encouraged you, or tore you down? How much of an impact did they make on your life? What did you do differently because of these conversations?

Personally, after meeting the Beautiful Man, I walked with my head held a little higher... But I also started thinking differently about the people around me.

One of the pieces of advice I read as a rookie stage manager was "if complements and terms of endearment don't come naturally to you, make them happen anyway". The idea was that artists tend to create better when they feel good about themselves, and something as simple as a "Hello beautiful, I love the outfit today!" can make a person feel so much more confident and creative. But the concept holds true for all people really...

How many people do I pass every day who are hovering on the edge of despair, and one word from a stranger can bring them back from the brink? More than any would be willing to admit, I'd guess. And how easy is it to show an honest admiration for them?

I used to be terribly shy and afraid of interacting with strangers. How far God has brought me--I've actually been labeled as "outgoing"--and the label fits! How weird is that? But I still want to strive to make sure every word I speak is filled with purpose and meaning.

I acted in a Beckett play once, and was very much impressed with his sparing use of words. I read the script several times and dissected every line, looking for the meaning in each word. In that research I discovered so many nuances to what he wrote--every word and pause seemed laden with meaning, I grew convinced that there was not a single extra comma in that script. Whether my assessment was correct or not, it inspired me to try to live so not a single word was wasted in my living.

Granted, this blog does seem to be the exception to that striving... I consider that rule to be applicable mostly to finished products... ;) 

Wrong Numbers

Sunday night was auditions for The Hobbit!!!

:D

I'm rather excited... it felt extremely gratifying to be in the audition room on the acting side of things again... Also, I think it went alright. I found out that a half-ocelot Gollum actually works out rather well... ;)

One of the rather entertaining aspects of these auditions was getting to sit out in the hallway & watch my fellow auditionees react when they were told: "Here, you'll read these sides, do some movement, and then tell a joke." To a person, each of them reacted with some variation of surprise & dismay--tempered with relief when they saw that jokes had been provided for them if they happened to not have any in their repertoire...

I had jokes... mwahaha... I ended up using a string of knock-knock jokes (no bananas entered into the conversation...), but there were several I carefully considered before choosing that particular series... Maybe I'll tell them to ya sometime ;D

Today at the pillow-place was kind of entertaining. It was slower than yesterday (thankfully!!!), so my fellow phone-answerers & I had time to swap stories a bit. One of the more hilarious parts of our day tends to be the wrong numbers...

That's right, for once the title of this post might actually have something to do with a smidge of the content!! Is that allowed? I dunno, but we'll find out...

Anyhoo, wrong numbers. Today I answered the phone with a cheery "Hello! Thank you for calling (company name), this is (my name)--how may I help you?" The wizened old lady (in my imagination at least) launched right into her tirade with a "I've been buying your vinegar for seven years now, I'm in Arizona and have been sending you checks for your vinegar--" and so forth.

Did I mention we sell pillows? I have no idea how this lady managed to buy vinegar from us, that's a rather neat trick...

I politely told her of my suspicions that she might have the wrong number, only to met with a "what?" So I repeated myself, and was met with deafening silence, and a small click. Sounds like someone was embarrassed...

Another call today was from a gentleman in Michigan, he was trying to locate the Forest somethingorother--it sounded very martial & foresty, which made for a strange combination. However, we were both rather confused, because his first question was not "who is this?" it was "where are you located?" Not the usual first question of a caller, I admit (that's usually "how much do they cost???"), but not irregular. So I told him we were in Minnesota, and he sounded confused, but began telling me about his attempt to locate a "local branch"... which made me confused. So I asked him what his question seemed to be & he told me he was having some trouble with his fireworks.

I mean, really? I wanted to keep him on the line & find out what kind of problems, but fireworks being what they are I thought the safest course of action would be to get him the help he needed as soon as possible! I informed him of my hunch, told him what we sold, and had a good hearty laugh with him before he hung up.

I wish I could help him with fireworks.

For a while at work we were having problems with a certain drugstore constantly transferring people to us. It got to the point that we could tell just by looking at the number prefacing the caller id if the caller was going to be a wrong number or not... If they were bright they would hear us answer with the pillow bit & just hang up. Some of the deafer sort would launch into a tirade about their insurance, medication, paychecks, or what have you and we'd have to interrupt them to break the bad news to them. It was kind of surprising once or twice how terribly people took it to heart, and how angry they would get with us for not being the people they were trying to reach! I actually had a woman chew me out for not being the person she was supposed to be transferred to--on the upside, that was when I got an inkling of why all those people were wrong numbers...

I was yelled at once for not being the Department of Defense too... The man was very offended that I had the gall to answer the number listed under the Dept of Defense and not be them--he was not capable of misdialing, you understand. ;)

But anyhoo, I hafta run. Thank the people who answer your phone call--whether you meant to call them or not!