So... still here at Telethon, listening to random artists who have written random songs and typing out their lyrics and counting the bars between verses and listening for back up vocal etc. To my loyal readers who don't know what happens in the script department, this is my whole job on the telethon. I am creating a picture on paper of each musical performance so the directors know where to put the camera. So it needs to be detailed. I need to know if there is a half a bar beat between the first and second line of the chorus. If there's a cymbal roll in the middle of a verse, I need to know that too.
The other day, I was working on an 80's song that I once liked but haven't really heard in many years cause sometime in the late 80's I realized that it sucked. So probably haven't really heard this song since about 1980-something. And it's not as though I psychotically loved it at the time either. I liked the movie it was in, but that's about it.
So it was something like my third song I had broken down during the day and my ear buds were starting to bug me so I took them out to take a break for a while after listening to about the first :30 of this 3:30 song. I was just going to surf the internet for a few minutes to give my ears a break when all of a sudden I realized that, in my head, the song had continued to play. My mental jukebox was already into the first chorus and I was even bouncing my knee to the beat. (This is me, ashamed.) So I realized, at that moment, that I could continue to break down this song and get all the lyrics, the count between bars and the back and forth between the two lead vocals... all WITHOUT listening to the song.
I figured I would at least make it through most of the song, get the basics and go back in with the song playing on my iPod and fill in all the musical details and the little breaks between lines, etc. But it turned out my recall was near perfect. When I went back over it with the music on a few minutes later, I had to make two or three changes and that was it! I was proud of myself for an instant (as only a music geek can be) and then I was almost immediately flooded with shame (as any music geek should be.) I couldn't believe I knew that song well enough to break it down by heart. It's not like it was the Beatles or something and I listen to it all the time... it was a song I never hear that I don't even like. If it comes on the radio, I turn it off. If it's playing in an elevator, I sing something else in my head until I can get off. If it's playing in someone else's radio or iTunes, I whine until they either knock me unconscious or turn it off.
So that got me thinking. I've been a script supervisor, on and off, since 1997. I've broken down too many songs to count. There have been some great shining moments in that time where there were Beatles' tributes and Paul Simon performances and good contemporary artists that made me excited for rehearsal. But for the most part, they've been stinkers and I take great joy in deleting them from my iTunes immediately when the show is over.
All the same, if you pulled a random name of a random song out of my past, I could sit down and count you through the opening bars and then sing you the lyrics (if you could stand to hear my singing voice.) So now I'm wondering... how much room in my brain is currently being used by song lyrics to songs I don't even like or songs I loved when I was young and didn't know any better. And, even more importantly, what could I use that brain storage space for if it wasn't being wasted in this frivolous manner.
For exmaple, if I didn't know every word to the Patti LaBelle song "You Are My Friend," would I remember to roll my trash can to the curb every Monday night instead of remembering as I hear the truck on the street Tuesday morning?
If I didn't know all the words to "We Built This City" would I be able to remember people's names for longer than 0.25 seconds after they introduce themselves to me?
Without Wierd Al's "Eat It" song lyrics, could I remember the streets that are parallel to each other in downtown Charlotte and which of them are one way? Would I remember to go to the pet store to buy Richie more food when we are totally out and I've been buying him McDonald's hamburgers for breakfast and dinner every day for a week? Would I remember to send out birthday cards in a timely manner and not have to have computer reminders pop up every time someone in my family has a birthday?
I don't know. Clearly, there are other people out there with better memories than me when it comes to the practicalities of life. But can those people recite on command both sides of the Beastie Boys' debut album "License to Ill"? (Not that I'm ashamed of that one...)
Let's assume they can't. But they can remember the equation for pi to the 156th digit. (Or, for that matter, they can remember how to spell "pi" and not spell it "pie" accidentally and then have to look it up on dictionary.com to confirm the proper spelling.) Are they better off than I am? Are they more productive than I am? Are they more prosperous than I am? Do people like them better because they remember the names of people they meet?
I love that Jim Carrey movie "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." If you haven't seen it, it's really angsty... right up my alley. In it, Jim Carrey is so devastated by the breakup he has with his girlfriend that he has her erased from his memory by a doctor. The message of the movie is that you can't ignore destiny, blah, blah, blah, but what I took from it was the idea of cleaning things out of your mind and your memory so you can replace them with something better.
I would like to experiment by removing certain songs. Not all of them by any means. I'm a big lyrics lover and I would hate to no longer remember the lyrics to "In My Life," the first Beatles song I ever fell in love with or the angry song Adam Sandler sings in "The Wedding Singer" when he was "listening to the Cure a lot." ('But it all was bullshit... It was a goddamn joke...And when I think of you Linda... I hope you fucking choke.' I love that movie.) But certain songs can be cleaned out and replaced. "Who Let the Dogs Out" could be replaced by the relationship between all of my now deceased aunts and uncles. The space reserved for not only the song "Macarena" but also the accompanying dance could better be used for remembering to go buy more shampoo when I'm running low. The Wayne Brady parody of the Four Tops' song "Bernadette" which he cleverly titled "Halle Berry" when she was going to be a guest on the show and he wanted to do a special song for her... imagine how much better off I would be if that space were reserved for the prices of all of my inventory so I could recite them off the top of my head when people ask instead of having to grab a catalog and look them up.
Alas, there are certain complications with this idea I have, since the procedure in the movie only erased old memories. It didn't allow you to choose what you wanted to replace that memory with.
So until modern medicine catches up with Charlie Kaufman's imagination (another case in point... I love Charlie Kaufman, but just now, I couldn't remember his last name and had to look it up on IMDB) I guess I'm stuck with stupid Wiggles' songs generously given to me by my beautiful niece running through my brain (fruit salad... yummy, yummy) at random intervals.
And I will have to content myself, on the other end, with knowing that the first digit of pi is 3. And after that, I think there's a point. But then I'm lost.
('Cause I am lo---st. Livin inside myself... living inside this shell... livin outside your love.' -Gino Vanelli "Livin Inside Myself". And I didn't have to look it up to confirm.)
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
One step forward...
So... I'm a woman. You know this. Probably not a surprise. I empathize and support many things that women do on a regular basis. Many of our habits that drive men crazy or are completely uninteresting to them. I talk about my hair and nails. I coo at babies and little animals. I spend time staring in the mirror before I leave the house (many times) to make sure I look ok, even if I'm only going to the grocery store.
The one thing that we women do, however, that makes me crazy is the "one step forward, five steps back" dance. Please understand, I'm not speaking metaphorically and talking about how I hate growing as a person and then regressing. (Cause clearly I don't mind that at all.) What I'm talking about is departure from a room, a party, from work etc. Especially when there is a group of girls involved.
Take today for example. When we got into the office this morning, one of my friends announced that she was very hungry and we would be going to lunch today at 11:30. "Just like in elementary school," she said. I responded with some comment about having a juice box and a bologna sandwich and agreed that I was on board. Flash forward to 11:15. One member of the team stands up to head into a short meeting and declares herself ready to eat lunch when she gets back. We all agree and while she's gone we determine what we plan to eat.
Time check: 11:45. Previously mentioned team member returns to her desk and immerses herself in work. Someone starts making lunch noises, but it turns out that the guy copying our script this year is coming by to say hello and touch base with us shortly, so we wait.
12:15- Script copying guy has come and gone. Someone mentions lunch again, but no one else responds.
12:20- "I'm at a good stopping point if you guys are ready for lunch," declares one team member. I look up and agree since I just finished a song and don't want to start another one if we are leaving shortly. Sadly, one team member has left her desk and is talking to another staff member on the other side of the room. We all agree to wait until she returns and then leave.
12:35- Another team member says she has to go mail something before we eat. We agree to meet her down by the mail center on the way to lunch. She goes.
12:40- "Hey guys, are we ready," I ask. The two team members left at their desks look up and nod and then look back down at their work. I return to my computer and begin writing this blog in frustration. God forbid I should do work while I'm waiting...
12:50- Mailing team member has been gone for a while now and is SURELY getting irritated standing down by the mail center waiting for us. I remind everyone that she is waiting for us and they all look at me surprised. The team member in conference on the other side of the office is still sitting there talking so I yell out to her to ask her if she's ready. She says she is and will be back in a second.
12:55- I stand up, thinking I will take action to prove my determination. Another team member comes to my side of the desk and tells me he is standing near me to show his solidarity and his readiness to leave. As we stand, the previously mentioned abandoned mailing team member returns to the office looking frustrated.
12:59- FINALLY, we all stand and head toward the door. Before leaving the desk, I stop and hit save on this blog so I don't lose it while I'm at lunch. The other script folk stand at the door and joke that they are sick of waiting for me.
1:00- LUNCH!
See, the point I am making is that no matter how good our planning or our intentions, we still wound up leaving an hour and a half later than intended. During that time of flux, I didn't do any work of course, cause I didn't want to be in the middle of a song when we left. So I mostly messed around on the internet, watched the olympic replays on the monitor and began conceiving this blog.
As a child, I remember waiting for my mother for-freaking-ever whenever we were leaving a dinner party or friend's house at the end of an evening. I would be playing with my friends and either she or my father would come find me and declare it time to leave. I would reluctantly go get my jacket or whatever and go stand by the door, dreading what I now knew was to come. I watched her say goodbye to one friend and talk for a few minutes. Then she would take a step toward the front door and me and then she would remember to tell her friend just "one more thing." I always wondered why she didn't say her goodbye's first and THEN come get me and tell me it was time to go. I believe I suggested that at some point during my childhood and it was not well received.
As I got older and sassier and more bored, I would imagine a sports commentary to go with the slow-motion departure dance.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to another exciting round of "Try to leave the house before I completely melt in my coat in the foyer." Tonight's competitors are formidable opponents who have been sparing in this sport for over 12 years! In this corner, we have Team Me, who is already in her coat and ready to go with a hand on the doorknob. In the other corner, Team Marsha who is holding her coat and chatting with the hostess. Let's watch how events unfold..."
"It looks like Team Marsha is walking backwards a few steps in the general direction of the door and Team Me is turning the doorknob in excited antici... oh no! It looks like the party hostess has offered to send Team Marsha home with some leftovers from the party. Team Me has released her grip on the door and is gazing around the foyer in boredom."
"Okay, ladies and gentlemen, Team Marsha has the leftovers in hand and takes a step in the direction of the door and we see Team Me getting excited and... oh no! It looks as though Team Marsha has begun telling one of the party guests about the book she has just finished. And now Team Me has begun to really sweat and is fanning herself with her coat."
FIVE MINUTES LATER...
"Folks if you are joining us, this has been an exciting evening and a tremendous show of sportsmanship. It would appear as though we have made it all the way to the doorway. Team Me is standing in the snow close to the car and Team Marsha is standing in the doorway facing the house with her coat on and almost buttoned. What a thrilling evening this has been ladies and gentlemen! It now appears as though Team Me is jumping up and down on the same spot, completely impatient and whining. Let's listen close and see if we can make it out... oh yes. It appears Team Me is saying "Let's go Mom! Let's go Mom!" in quite a sing-songy whiny voice. I don't know that I have seen Team Me put up a fight like this since the '80 New Year's Eve party at the Weiss' house."
"And... yes... it looks like... I do believe... it's over! Team Marsha has unlocked the car doors and appears to be getting in! Thanks to our loyal audience for joining us and I hope you will tune in again next week when we go to the party at the Rothstein's house!"
Overkill? Perhaps. I just wonder why this is such a womanly trait. When my Dad said it was time to go, the only thing that kept us from leaving immediately was one of my mom's friends coming up to him to talk. Otherwise, coat on... door open... walk out. So WTF?
There are certainly many mysteries that go hand in hand with woman-hood! Chief among them being why we always have to pee so much on a road-trip. But this whole slow-motion departure thing is on the list, for sure!
And now I have spent my first hour back from lunch writing this blog instead of working, which makes about three hours since I have done much that was constructive. So let's hear it for female procrastination!
Just to be safe, I mentioned that we should plan on leaving for the day at 4 so we can be out of here by 7. Let's see how it works...
The one thing that we women do, however, that makes me crazy is the "one step forward, five steps back" dance. Please understand, I'm not speaking metaphorically and talking about how I hate growing as a person and then regressing. (Cause clearly I don't mind that at all.) What I'm talking about is departure from a room, a party, from work etc. Especially when there is a group of girls involved.
Take today for example. When we got into the office this morning, one of my friends announced that she was very hungry and we would be going to lunch today at 11:30. "Just like in elementary school," she said. I responded with some comment about having a juice box and a bologna sandwich and agreed that I was on board. Flash forward to 11:15. One member of the team stands up to head into a short meeting and declares herself ready to eat lunch when she gets back. We all agree and while she's gone we determine what we plan to eat.
Time check: 11:45. Previously mentioned team member returns to her desk and immerses herself in work. Someone starts making lunch noises, but it turns out that the guy copying our script this year is coming by to say hello and touch base with us shortly, so we wait.
12:15- Script copying guy has come and gone. Someone mentions lunch again, but no one else responds.
12:20- "I'm at a good stopping point if you guys are ready for lunch," declares one team member. I look up and agree since I just finished a song and don't want to start another one if we are leaving shortly. Sadly, one team member has left her desk and is talking to another staff member on the other side of the room. We all agree to wait until she returns and then leave.
12:35- Another team member says she has to go mail something before we eat. We agree to meet her down by the mail center on the way to lunch. She goes.
12:40- "Hey guys, are we ready," I ask. The two team members left at their desks look up and nod and then look back down at their work. I return to my computer and begin writing this blog in frustration. God forbid I should do work while I'm waiting...
12:50- Mailing team member has been gone for a while now and is SURELY getting irritated standing down by the mail center waiting for us. I remind everyone that she is waiting for us and they all look at me surprised. The team member in conference on the other side of the office is still sitting there talking so I yell out to her to ask her if she's ready. She says she is and will be back in a second.
12:55- I stand up, thinking I will take action to prove my determination. Another team member comes to my side of the desk and tells me he is standing near me to show his solidarity and his readiness to leave. As we stand, the previously mentioned abandoned mailing team member returns to the office looking frustrated.
12:59- FINALLY, we all stand and head toward the door. Before leaving the desk, I stop and hit save on this blog so I don't lose it while I'm at lunch. The other script folk stand at the door and joke that they are sick of waiting for me.
1:00- LUNCH!
See, the point I am making is that no matter how good our planning or our intentions, we still wound up leaving an hour and a half later than intended. During that time of flux, I didn't do any work of course, cause I didn't want to be in the middle of a song when we left. So I mostly messed around on the internet, watched the olympic replays on the monitor and began conceiving this blog.
As a child, I remember waiting for my mother for-freaking-ever whenever we were leaving a dinner party or friend's house at the end of an evening. I would be playing with my friends and either she or my father would come find me and declare it time to leave. I would reluctantly go get my jacket or whatever and go stand by the door, dreading what I now knew was to come. I watched her say goodbye to one friend and talk for a few minutes. Then she would take a step toward the front door and me and then she would remember to tell her friend just "one more thing." I always wondered why she didn't say her goodbye's first and THEN come get me and tell me it was time to go. I believe I suggested that at some point during my childhood and it was not well received.
As I got older and sassier and more bored, I would imagine a sports commentary to go with the slow-motion departure dance.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to another exciting round of "Try to leave the house before I completely melt in my coat in the foyer." Tonight's competitors are formidable opponents who have been sparing in this sport for over 12 years! In this corner, we have Team Me, who is already in her coat and ready to go with a hand on the doorknob. In the other corner, Team Marsha who is holding her coat and chatting with the hostess. Let's watch how events unfold..."
"It looks like Team Marsha is walking backwards a few steps in the general direction of the door and Team Me is turning the doorknob in excited antici... oh no! It looks like the party hostess has offered to send Team Marsha home with some leftovers from the party. Team Me has released her grip on the door and is gazing around the foyer in boredom."
"Okay, ladies and gentlemen, Team Marsha has the leftovers in hand and takes a step in the direction of the door and we see Team Me getting excited and... oh no! It looks as though Team Marsha has begun telling one of the party guests about the book she has just finished. And now Team Me has begun to really sweat and is fanning herself with her coat."
FIVE MINUTES LATER...
"Folks if you are joining us, this has been an exciting evening and a tremendous show of sportsmanship. It would appear as though we have made it all the way to the doorway. Team Me is standing in the snow close to the car and Team Marsha is standing in the doorway facing the house with her coat on and almost buttoned. What a thrilling evening this has been ladies and gentlemen! It now appears as though Team Me is jumping up and down on the same spot, completely impatient and whining. Let's listen close and see if we can make it out... oh yes. It appears Team Me is saying "Let's go Mom! Let's go Mom!" in quite a sing-songy whiny voice. I don't know that I have seen Team Me put up a fight like this since the '80 New Year's Eve party at the Weiss' house."
"And... yes... it looks like... I do believe... it's over! Team Marsha has unlocked the car doors and appears to be getting in! Thanks to our loyal audience for joining us and I hope you will tune in again next week when we go to the party at the Rothstein's house!"
Overkill? Perhaps. I just wonder why this is such a womanly trait. When my Dad said it was time to go, the only thing that kept us from leaving immediately was one of my mom's friends coming up to him to talk. Otherwise, coat on... door open... walk out. So WTF?
There are certainly many mysteries that go hand in hand with woman-hood! Chief among them being why we always have to pee so much on a road-trip. But this whole slow-motion departure thing is on the list, for sure!
And now I have spent my first hour back from lunch writing this blog instead of working, which makes about three hours since I have done much that was constructive. So let's hear it for female procrastination!
Just to be safe, I mentioned that we should plan on leaving for the day at 4 so we can be out of here by 7. Let's see how it works...
Monday, August 11, 2008
Many Lives, Many Masters
So... I've been thinking about this one quite a bit lately. To better understand my train of thought, let's take a step into the time machine and take a look back at my many lives and the many masters who ruled them.
Of course, there was childhood and teenagehood. Followed immediately by the incredible college years. Interspersed within the four years of college were a couple of semesters away, one in LA and one in London. (I know, it's taking a long time to get to the point, but hang in there, it's coming.) Then came LA and eight solid years of television work. The shows changed, the players changed, the payroll companies changed, the work mostly remained the same. In 2003, I said goodbye to TV forever (or for a couple of years, whatever) and moved to Charlotte, NC to begin a new career.
That's when things really got interesting. First there was temping at the mortgage company. Then temping at the pump factory (yes, you read that correctly! A pump factory!) Then the corporate office of the hair color franchise where I finally realized that it was only in television that I was allowed to wear jeans every day, so Tentmakers Entertainment brought me back into the TV fold. That lasted one glorious year until they went under. Following which, I tried on the hat of owner, ceo and general commandant-in-charge of my own video marketing company.
All of which led me to where I am now, a Pure Romance consultant spending some of my time in double-wides being paid in quarters and some of it in giant mansions with people who go through money like water.
What's the point, you patiently reiterate? The point is this... Each of those individual pieces of my life seem to me to have happened to a slightly different girl. Confused? Me too. But seriously, I look back on the girl hanging out in a nasty nightclub in London in 1993, headbanging to Nirvana, and think she was a different person from me. Then I think about the girl who stayed up all night long in 1999 working on her very first live show, Nickelodeon's 12 hour telethon "The Big Hell" (oops, I mean the Big Help) just drowning in exhaustion and paper and knowing she was totally sucking at the job but having no idea how to fix it, and I feel no connection to her at all.
Similarly, I currently feel no connection to any of my other lives where I had a boss and set hours. In fact, I really feel more like the girl in college now than anyone I've been since adulthood reared its ugly head.
Does anyone else feel this way? That your life is divided into sections and that they don't seem to go together? Or at least that all the other sections feel like they happened to someone else and you just have heard the stories so many times from that person that you know every detail?
I have some friends who I know have been in the same job their entire adult life. I wonder what that's like. I don't think it's any better or worse than my life, it's just the concept seems so foreign to me. Decades of time going by knowing, more or less, what the day will bring every morning when you open your eyes.
Then I have other friends... the girl who this blog is named for, in fact... who almost never have two days that are the same. And that seems alien to me too. Is she a different person to herself every time her circumstances change? Every time she gets on a bus and goes to a different venue with her tour, does it feel like she takes on a slightly different personality from the day before? OR is it like it was with freelancing for me, where the jobs changed but the person doing them seemed to stay the same. (Until the Olympics when I completely bottomed out and became another new person. A really whiny one, actually.)
I'm sure if I asked my friends with kids they would tell me that they feel their lives fractured and became different the second their first kid was born. I get that.
And it's not so much the change in life that baffles me these days, but the complete disconnect I feel to those other lives.
This morning, I started working on the MDA Telethon for the sixth year. I love this show. It is the only live TV I go back and do and it's a great chance to see the people I love as well as remind myself why I left in the first place. (Not much sleep to be had during the last week...) So when I started working this morning and started the familiar pattern of counting musical bars and typing out lyrics, I felt like I was putting back on an outfit from the previous summer that I used to wear all the time but had completely forgotten about months ago. It feels so comfortingly familiar and yet it feels strange to wear it again when I haven't touched it in so long. And even stranger, from the second I started counting that first beat, I stopped thinking about the work I needed to do for Pure Romance. I barely checked my email throughout the day, something I normally do compulsively, and I didn't even look at my calendar to see if there were any calls I needed to make. It's almost like I put back on my script supervisor self and left the Pure Romance version of me folded in the drawer.
If you've never read the book "Many Lives, Many Masters" I highly recommend it. It's FASCINATING! From Amazon, "In 1980, Weiss, head of the psychiatry department at Mount Sinai Medical Center in Miami Beach, began treating Catherine, a 27-year-old woman plagued by anxiety, depression and phobias. When Weiss turned to hypnosis to help Catherine remember repressed childhood traumas, what emerged were the patient's descriptions of a dozen or so of her hitherto unknown 86 past lives, as well as philosophical messages channeled from "Master Spirits." Catherine's anxieties and phobias soon disappeared, says Weiss, and she was able to end therapy."
That's what I'm getting at here. All these other times in my life feel more like a past life than a part of this one.
When I think about all the different phases in my life, in mind's eye, I see a bunch of different "Sheri"s all lined up next to each other in order of height. And I can see their personalities as easily as if they were wearing signs. One says, "Angsty teenager." Another says, "Angsty script supervisor." Still another says, "Completely satisfied office manager who loves her job, the people she works with, her new house and her dog. But with angst."
I guess the reason I am thinking about this so much is cause I have recently started wondering what is coming next for me. I am steering myself toward being a successful PR consultant who has a team of amazing women working beneath me, each with their own strong, successful team beneath them. I see myself being the mother bird, a role I always enjoy since I am obviously a control freak.
So who will that Sheri be? Will she be more confident? Will she be more focused? Will she really enjoy her life and her work? Or will she be looking for another train to come through town that will take her on to the next master? What would the next master be?
The goal, of course, is to find a way to not only embrace the old "Sheri"s, especially the ones I don't like who keep poking their head out of the woodwork because of stupid Facebook, but to somehow unite them and absorb them into my current life. I'm sure each of those "Sheri"s has something to contribute. They all learned important lessons during their lifetimes.
Makes me grateful for the constants. (Shout out to Lost!) The ones that have been there to know many, if not all, of the incarnations of "Sheri" and who liked her all along.
So, constants... you know who you are... thank you. The little connection I feel to those other lives are due in large part to your memories of them and my memories of you and them together.
Does this make me a bit crazy? A lot crazy? Perhaps schizophrenic? Or does everyone feel this way? Who knows. All I do know is that I am pleased to report than I feel each "Sheri" has grown up a bit more than the previous and by a few more "Sheri"s from now, I should be a completely mature adult!
Fingers crossed...
Of course, there was childhood and teenagehood. Followed immediately by the incredible college years. Interspersed within the four years of college were a couple of semesters away, one in LA and one in London. (I know, it's taking a long time to get to the point, but hang in there, it's coming.) Then came LA and eight solid years of television work. The shows changed, the players changed, the payroll companies changed, the work mostly remained the same. In 2003, I said goodbye to TV forever (or for a couple of years, whatever) and moved to Charlotte, NC to begin a new career.
That's when things really got interesting. First there was temping at the mortgage company. Then temping at the pump factory (yes, you read that correctly! A pump factory!) Then the corporate office of the hair color franchise where I finally realized that it was only in television that I was allowed to wear jeans every day, so Tentmakers Entertainment brought me back into the TV fold. That lasted one glorious year until they went under. Following which, I tried on the hat of owner, ceo and general commandant-in-charge of my own video marketing company.
All of which led me to where I am now, a Pure Romance consultant spending some of my time in double-wides being paid in quarters and some of it in giant mansions with people who go through money like water.
What's the point, you patiently reiterate? The point is this... Each of those individual pieces of my life seem to me to have happened to a slightly different girl. Confused? Me too. But seriously, I look back on the girl hanging out in a nasty nightclub in London in 1993, headbanging to Nirvana, and think she was a different person from me. Then I think about the girl who stayed up all night long in 1999 working on her very first live show, Nickelodeon's 12 hour telethon "The Big Hell" (oops, I mean the Big Help) just drowning in exhaustion and paper and knowing she was totally sucking at the job but having no idea how to fix it, and I feel no connection to her at all.
Similarly, I currently feel no connection to any of my other lives where I had a boss and set hours. In fact, I really feel more like the girl in college now than anyone I've been since adulthood reared its ugly head.
Does anyone else feel this way? That your life is divided into sections and that they don't seem to go together? Or at least that all the other sections feel like they happened to someone else and you just have heard the stories so many times from that person that you know every detail?
I have some friends who I know have been in the same job their entire adult life. I wonder what that's like. I don't think it's any better or worse than my life, it's just the concept seems so foreign to me. Decades of time going by knowing, more or less, what the day will bring every morning when you open your eyes.
Then I have other friends... the girl who this blog is named for, in fact... who almost never have two days that are the same. And that seems alien to me too. Is she a different person to herself every time her circumstances change? Every time she gets on a bus and goes to a different venue with her tour, does it feel like she takes on a slightly different personality from the day before? OR is it like it was with freelancing for me, where the jobs changed but the person doing them seemed to stay the same. (Until the Olympics when I completely bottomed out and became another new person. A really whiny one, actually.)
I'm sure if I asked my friends with kids they would tell me that they feel their lives fractured and became different the second their first kid was born. I get that.
And it's not so much the change in life that baffles me these days, but the complete disconnect I feel to those other lives.
This morning, I started working on the MDA Telethon for the sixth year. I love this show. It is the only live TV I go back and do and it's a great chance to see the people I love as well as remind myself why I left in the first place. (Not much sleep to be had during the last week...) So when I started working this morning and started the familiar pattern of counting musical bars and typing out lyrics, I felt like I was putting back on an outfit from the previous summer that I used to wear all the time but had completely forgotten about months ago. It feels so comfortingly familiar and yet it feels strange to wear it again when I haven't touched it in so long. And even stranger, from the second I started counting that first beat, I stopped thinking about the work I needed to do for Pure Romance. I barely checked my email throughout the day, something I normally do compulsively, and I didn't even look at my calendar to see if there were any calls I needed to make. It's almost like I put back on my script supervisor self and left the Pure Romance version of me folded in the drawer.
If you've never read the book "Many Lives, Many Masters" I highly recommend it. It's FASCINATING! From Amazon, "In 1980, Weiss, head of the psychiatry department at Mount Sinai Medical Center in Miami Beach, began treating Catherine, a 27-year-old woman plagued by anxiety, depression and phobias. When Weiss turned to hypnosis to help Catherine remember repressed childhood traumas, what emerged were the patient's descriptions of a dozen or so of her hitherto unknown 86 past lives, as well as philosophical messages channeled from "Master Spirits." Catherine's anxieties and phobias soon disappeared, says Weiss, and she was able to end therapy."
That's what I'm getting at here. All these other times in my life feel more like a past life than a part of this one.
When I think about all the different phases in my life, in mind's eye, I see a bunch of different "Sheri"s all lined up next to each other in order of height. And I can see their personalities as easily as if they were wearing signs. One says, "Angsty teenager." Another says, "Angsty script supervisor." Still another says, "Completely satisfied office manager who loves her job, the people she works with, her new house and her dog. But with angst."
I guess the reason I am thinking about this so much is cause I have recently started wondering what is coming next for me. I am steering myself toward being a successful PR consultant who has a team of amazing women working beneath me, each with their own strong, successful team beneath them. I see myself being the mother bird, a role I always enjoy since I am obviously a control freak.
So who will that Sheri be? Will she be more confident? Will she be more focused? Will she really enjoy her life and her work? Or will she be looking for another train to come through town that will take her on to the next master? What would the next master be?
The goal, of course, is to find a way to not only embrace the old "Sheri"s, especially the ones I don't like who keep poking their head out of the woodwork because of stupid Facebook, but to somehow unite them and absorb them into my current life. I'm sure each of those "Sheri"s has something to contribute. They all learned important lessons during their lifetimes.
Makes me grateful for the constants. (Shout out to Lost!) The ones that have been there to know many, if not all, of the incarnations of "Sheri" and who liked her all along.
So, constants... you know who you are... thank you. The little connection I feel to those other lives are due in large part to your memories of them and my memories of you and them together.
Does this make me a bit crazy? A lot crazy? Perhaps schizophrenic? Or does everyone feel this way? Who knows. All I do know is that I am pleased to report than I feel each "Sheri" has grown up a bit more than the previous and by a few more "Sheri"s from now, I should be a completely mature adult!
Fingers crossed...
Monday, July 21, 2008
The Tale of the Thieving Bank Manager
So... on last Wednesday afternoon I was out and about in hip-happening Charlotte, doing what I like to call a 'bank field trip.' See, I get checks at parties quite often and they sometimes like to bounce. I don't like it when this happens, as you can imagine, since not only do I now have to chase the check writer and force them to pay me in cash but I also have to remind them that I have a bounced check fee of $30. So now they can add 30 dollars to their total (which, in some cases, is more than the actual check they wrote the first time) But the most annoying thing about it is that the bank charges ME money every time. So now, I make a list of all the banks from the checks I received and then drive to each of them to cash the checks first, then deposit the cash. This way, if it bounces, I pay no fee.
Anyhow, I'm in the middle of my bank field trip last week when I go to a Wachovia bank branch. I get out of my car, hit the lock button and walk the 100 feet from my car to the bank. I walk into the bank and 50 feet to a counter to endorse the check. Then another 10 feet to stand in line. 5 feet to the teller. And then I begin to leave. This all takes place in about, maybe, 10 min. As I leave, I start digging in my purse for my keys. But I come up empty. I dig and I dig (there's a lot of crap in my purse for sure) and I find nothing. I empty the purse, tampons and all, onto the counter and paw through it. Nothing. No keys. Keep in mind, ten minutes and a total of maybe 165 feet have transpired. They aren't on the floor. They aren't on the counter where I endorsed my checks. They aren't the counter by the teller. They are just gone. I look outside to make sure I didn't drop them. Nope. Check inside the car, even though I know I locked it from the outside. Nope. Gone. G-to the-O N E.
I will spare you the details of my frantic search throughout the bank, my phone calls to the only friends whose phone numbers I know off the top of my head since my phone was locked in the car as well. Finally, Molly and the kids to the rescue... Molly had a key to my house, I got my second set of car keys and we headed back to the bank. I get back in the car and check my VM and there is a message from the bank. Says the bank manager "We found your keys!" I call back (sure, I'm right outside the bank at this point, but so pleased to be back in my car that I don't want to leave it again) and ask in wonder, "Where did you find them?"
"They somehow found their way into my office," she answers vaguely. Now keep in mind that at the height of my search, the entire bank was helping me look. And this self-same manager poked her head out of the office and said, "No, I haven't seen ANY keys."
So they SOMEHOW found their way into her office. I totally hate it when my inanimate objects wander away and ensconce themselves in someone else's desk, don't you? Well, let me tell you, I grounded my keys when I got home! You have to teach these keys a lesson. There have to be consequences for wandering away from Mommy in a public place.
Here's my theory... I probably left my keys on the counter while I was endorsing my checks. (Yes, I acknowledge some complicity in this debacle that derailed my entire bank field trip!) I often do that. In fact, at the previous bank, I had walked away from the teller and left my phone sitting there so the kind soul in line behind me had to chase me down.
Anyhow, I left my keys on the counter which was right outside her office and she walked by on her way into her office and, without even thinking, just grabbed them and threw them on her desk. I imagine it was like that moment when you are walking around the house with your mind on 50 different things and all of a sudden you look down and wonder, "How did that banana get into my hand?" So when she was asked if she had seen my keys, the confusion on her face was probably genuine. I have no other reason on earth to think she was holding my keys hostage. She didn't demand a ransom or anything.
Anyhow, I go into the bank and pick up the keys while all the employees smile indulgently at me, as though I am possibly not quite all there, you know, mentally. (Which I'm not. But I don't think the missing keys are a good indication of that at all!) Although the keys "somehow" found their way into her office, in which I had never been, somehow I got the patronizing "Isn't she cute and dumb" glances anyway.
As I'm leaving, the thief calls out to me, "You know the cell phone number on your business card has the wrong area code, right?" I look at my card and, lo and behold, she's right. It says 705 instead of 704. So as I begin counting in my head the hundreds of cards I have given out that have the wrong number on them, she says to me, once again very slowly like I just got out of the hospital after suffering a serious head injury, "Maybe this was karma. Maybe it was meant to happen so someone would tell you that your business cards are wrong."
I stared blankly at her as she put her hand on my shoulder and with a bright, happy smile said "See, it's a good thing!" Well, sure. Perhaps I "secreted" my keys into being lost so I could discover this problem with my business card. Let's see if that explanation holds water.
The moral of today's lesson, boys and girls, is to always put the keys in the purse immediately after locking the car door and don't take them out until you are en route back to the car. Sticking your finger through one of the key chains and swinging them around while you walk? Not so smurt.
Especially with thieving bank managers lurking nearby.
Anyhow, I'm in the middle of my bank field trip last week when I go to a Wachovia bank branch. I get out of my car, hit the lock button and walk the 100 feet from my car to the bank. I walk into the bank and 50 feet to a counter to endorse the check. Then another 10 feet to stand in line. 5 feet to the teller. And then I begin to leave. This all takes place in about, maybe, 10 min. As I leave, I start digging in my purse for my keys. But I come up empty. I dig and I dig (there's a lot of crap in my purse for sure) and I find nothing. I empty the purse, tampons and all, onto the counter and paw through it. Nothing. No keys. Keep in mind, ten minutes and a total of maybe 165 feet have transpired. They aren't on the floor. They aren't on the counter where I endorsed my checks. They aren't the counter by the teller. They are just gone. I look outside to make sure I didn't drop them. Nope. Check inside the car, even though I know I locked it from the outside. Nope. Gone. G-to the-O N E.
I will spare you the details of my frantic search throughout the bank, my phone calls to the only friends whose phone numbers I know off the top of my head since my phone was locked in the car as well. Finally, Molly and the kids to the rescue... Molly had a key to my house, I got my second set of car keys and we headed back to the bank. I get back in the car and check my VM and there is a message from the bank. Says the bank manager "We found your keys!" I call back (sure, I'm right outside the bank at this point, but so pleased to be back in my car that I don't want to leave it again) and ask in wonder, "Where did you find them?"
"They somehow found their way into my office," she answers vaguely. Now keep in mind that at the height of my search, the entire bank was helping me look. And this self-same manager poked her head out of the office and said, "No, I haven't seen ANY keys."
So they SOMEHOW found their way into her office. I totally hate it when my inanimate objects wander away and ensconce themselves in someone else's desk, don't you? Well, let me tell you, I grounded my keys when I got home! You have to teach these keys a lesson. There have to be consequences for wandering away from Mommy in a public place.
Here's my theory... I probably left my keys on the counter while I was endorsing my checks. (Yes, I acknowledge some complicity in this debacle that derailed my entire bank field trip!) I often do that. In fact, at the previous bank, I had walked away from the teller and left my phone sitting there so the kind soul in line behind me had to chase me down.
Anyhow, I left my keys on the counter which was right outside her office and she walked by on her way into her office and, without even thinking, just grabbed them and threw them on her desk. I imagine it was like that moment when you are walking around the house with your mind on 50 different things and all of a sudden you look down and wonder, "How did that banana get into my hand?" So when she was asked if she had seen my keys, the confusion on her face was probably genuine. I have no other reason on earth to think she was holding my keys hostage. She didn't demand a ransom or anything.
Anyhow, I go into the bank and pick up the keys while all the employees smile indulgently at me, as though I am possibly not quite all there, you know, mentally. (Which I'm not. But I don't think the missing keys are a good indication of that at all!) Although the keys "somehow" found their way into her office, in which I had never been, somehow I got the patronizing "Isn't she cute and dumb" glances anyway.
As I'm leaving, the thief calls out to me, "You know the cell phone number on your business card has the wrong area code, right?" I look at my card and, lo and behold, she's right. It says 705 instead of 704. So as I begin counting in my head the hundreds of cards I have given out that have the wrong number on them, she says to me, once again very slowly like I just got out of the hospital after suffering a serious head injury, "Maybe this was karma. Maybe it was meant to happen so someone would tell you that your business cards are wrong."
I stared blankly at her as she put her hand on my shoulder and with a bright, happy smile said "See, it's a good thing!" Well, sure. Perhaps I "secreted" my keys into being lost so I could discover this problem with my business card. Let's see if that explanation holds water.
The moral of today's lesson, boys and girls, is to always put the keys in the purse immediately after locking the car door and don't take them out until you are en route back to the car. Sticking your finger through one of the key chains and swinging them around while you walk? Not so smurt.
Especially with thieving bank managers lurking nearby.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Sheri Spitz is trying to understand the draw of Facebook
So... I'm not stupid. At least not technologically stupid. I'm pretty adept at figuring out what the heck is happening on my computer. In fact, I'm so not-stupid at computers that I started a company based entirely on downloadable internet video. (Feel free to peruse if you have never seen it... www.viewu.com)
But Facebook makes me feel stupid. Really stupid. Cause seriously... I don't get it! I really don't. I wish I did. Apparently people spend quite a bit of time on this site. My sister, I know, spends a great deal of time sending pieces of flare back and forth with her friend Lisa. Now, I know what "flare" is. In fact, I was watching Office Space just this morning. (See, even without Facebook I am able to efficiently waste time).
My cousin Robin, I know, very much enjoys changing her status line. Right now, as I write, Robin "is realizing how underrated fresh air is - being in the midst of wildfires."
I don't ever change my status line. Am I being remiss? Do those people who found me on this site that knew me in nursery school want to know that right now Sheri Spitz is "writing in my blog and will soon be exercising on my Wii fit and unpacking two giant boxes of new merchandise that arrived today"? Or is that too boring? Should I instead inform people that Sheri Spitz is "currently pondering the chicken or the egg issue as I decide which to have for dinner." Although really, I'm having tomato pie. But "which came first, the tomato or the onion" doesn't have that same pithy ring to it.
Another thing I don't get. I have so many invitations and they all make no sense to me. Below is a list of invitations I have recently received.
1. A Superpoke invitation
2. A scabble invitation
3. A Sea Garden invitation
4. A Pirates invitation
5. A Johnny Depp invitation. (I know Alli... I know...)
6. An ilikefriend invitation
7. A Biggest Brain invitation
8. A piece of sushi
9. A Good Karma invitation
and last but not least...
10. An I love the 80's invitation
I don't know what those things mean. I'm sure they would be fun if I attempted participation. After all, almost every person I love in my life seems to enjoy these activities. And I do like playing with the word scramble game, although I don't seem to do very well despite my obvious verbosity.
And please don't misunderstand me, FWLFs (that's Friends Who Love Facebook). I'm not making fun. Well, at least not of you. I am making fun of myself to some degree because I feel like some old lady leaning on my cane and sucking on my dentures while I wonder aloud "What do these crazy kids see in this faces contraption?"
I think my biggest problem with Facebook currently isn't so much a lack of understanding of its purpose, but rather the emotional landmines that lie within. Here I am, innocently reading fan fiction or surfing eonline, when suddenly I receive an email friend request. And there, in the title of that email, is a name I haven't heard in 5 years. Or 10. OR WORSE YET... 15! Cause those are the high school names.
It's not that I don't want to get back in touch with old friends. I love catching up with people who knew me when I was shy. (Shut up! I was... I really was!) But it's that whole two-worlds colliding thing. You know? It was like when I was in college and someone from Shaker would come visit. Or now, when someone from LA comes to Charlotte. It seems weird to me that I should be unpacking my latest box of bedroom accessories and preparing for a party when someone, all of a sudden, who knew me when I actually was willing to run around the playground and play kickball (although I was never really all THAT willing, let's be honest) reaches out with no warning from 20 years ago and touches me on the shoulder. Doesn't that give anyone else the heebee geebees? Sometimes it's a lovely pleasant memory and I revel in it as I accept their invitation. Sometimes, on the other hand, it's a fun little trigger that dislodges me from my current life situation and returns me to a time perhaps best left in the past.
The other weird part for me is that after you accept said ghost-from-high-school-past's invitation and become a friend, people seem to not have an interest in writing and catching up. And I'm as bad as anyone. I have accepted tons of invitations (aren't I popular?) and not even ever opened the profile of the invit-or. I often don't answer things that are posted to my wall. And I very rarely actually write emails. If I do, it's a quick catch-up and then silence again. Some of them have pictures and it's nice to see some faces again. But otherwise, it seems I spend most of my time accepting invitations and then closing my browser.
I can't be the only person who thinks like this, right? But then, I guess if the whole thing really bothered me, I would remove my Facebook profile. Or I would never have put my high school or college into my profile so no one from the past could find me.
So ultimately it must not bother me that much. Perhaps it is just the feeling of not getting the appeal that bugs me the most.
I never did like feeling left out. Except in kickball.
But Facebook makes me feel stupid. Really stupid. Cause seriously... I don't get it! I really don't. I wish I did. Apparently people spend quite a bit of time on this site. My sister, I know, spends a great deal of time sending pieces of flare back and forth with her friend Lisa. Now, I know what "flare" is. In fact, I was watching Office Space just this morning. (See, even without Facebook I am able to efficiently waste time).
My cousin Robin, I know, very much enjoys changing her status line. Right now, as I write, Robin "is realizing how underrated fresh air is - being in the midst of wildfires."
I don't ever change my status line. Am I being remiss? Do those people who found me on this site that knew me in nursery school want to know that right now Sheri Spitz is "writing in my blog and will soon be exercising on my Wii fit and unpacking two giant boxes of new merchandise that arrived today"? Or is that too boring? Should I instead inform people that Sheri Spitz is "currently pondering the chicken or the egg issue as I decide which to have for dinner." Although really, I'm having tomato pie. But "which came first, the tomato or the onion" doesn't have that same pithy ring to it.
Another thing I don't get. I have so many invitations and they all make no sense to me. Below is a list of invitations I have recently received.
1. A Superpoke invitation
2. A scabble invitation
3. A Sea Garden invitation
4. A Pirates invitation
5. A Johnny Depp invitation. (I know Alli... I know...)
6. An ilikefriend invitation
7. A Biggest Brain invitation
8. A piece of sushi
9. A Good Karma invitation
and last but not least...
10. An I love the 80's invitation
I don't know what those things mean. I'm sure they would be fun if I attempted participation. After all, almost every person I love in my life seems to enjoy these activities. And I do like playing with the word scramble game, although I don't seem to do very well despite my obvious verbosity.
And please don't misunderstand me, FWLFs (that's Friends Who Love Facebook). I'm not making fun. Well, at least not of you. I am making fun of myself to some degree because I feel like some old lady leaning on my cane and sucking on my dentures while I wonder aloud "What do these crazy kids see in this faces contraption?"
I think my biggest problem with Facebook currently isn't so much a lack of understanding of its purpose, but rather the emotional landmines that lie within. Here I am, innocently reading fan fiction or surfing eonline, when suddenly I receive an email friend request. And there, in the title of that email, is a name I haven't heard in 5 years. Or 10. OR WORSE YET... 15! Cause those are the high school names.
It's not that I don't want to get back in touch with old friends. I love catching up with people who knew me when I was shy. (Shut up! I was... I really was!) But it's that whole two-worlds colliding thing. You know? It was like when I was in college and someone from Shaker would come visit. Or now, when someone from LA comes to Charlotte. It seems weird to me that I should be unpacking my latest box of bedroom accessories and preparing for a party when someone, all of a sudden, who knew me when I actually was willing to run around the playground and play kickball (although I was never really all THAT willing, let's be honest) reaches out with no warning from 20 years ago and touches me on the shoulder. Doesn't that give anyone else the heebee geebees? Sometimes it's a lovely pleasant memory and I revel in it as I accept their invitation. Sometimes, on the other hand, it's a fun little trigger that dislodges me from my current life situation and returns me to a time perhaps best left in the past.
The other weird part for me is that after you accept said ghost-from-high-school-past's invitation and become a friend, people seem to not have an interest in writing and catching up. And I'm as bad as anyone. I have accepted tons of invitations (aren't I popular?) and not even ever opened the profile of the invit-or. I often don't answer things that are posted to my wall. And I very rarely actually write emails. If I do, it's a quick catch-up and then silence again. Some of them have pictures and it's nice to see some faces again. But otherwise, it seems I spend most of my time accepting invitations and then closing my browser.
I can't be the only person who thinks like this, right? But then, I guess if the whole thing really bothered me, I would remove my Facebook profile. Or I would never have put my high school or college into my profile so no one from the past could find me.
So ultimately it must not bother me that much. Perhaps it is just the feeling of not getting the appeal that bugs me the most.
I never did like feeling left out. Except in kickball.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Words, Wonderful Words
So... I'm a talker. We all know this and I am comfortable enough with myself to admit that I talk quite a bit. It's my Grandmother Bea's fault. She talked quite a bit as well. (I just hope I don't exclude all others from participating in the conversation as she did. And grip their arms in the Vulcan Death Grip while I talk to them.) In fact, my Grandma talked so often that it wasn't until she passed away (alavah shalom) that I ever heard my Grandfather (alavah shalom again) finish a whole story on his own with no exasperated "Oh Paul..." interrupting him and taking over the story.
But it's not just that I love the talk. Or even that I love making the pretty talk. Cause I do enjoy a well constructed sentence. I also love anyone who can talk the pretty talk with me. People who know how to put words together in such a clever way that even though the sentence is totally banal in meaning, the words they choose make me laugh out loud for several minutes.
Take for example my good friend out there in LA, Vanessa. Today on instant message I was talking to her about something and declared myself full of shit. She responded, "I don't think you're full of shit. I think you're full of awesome!"
Which is FUNNY! And exactly what I expect from Vanessa. This girl answers her phone on any day of the week, "Happy (insert day of the week here) to you!" It makes such a nice change from the usual, "Hello?" that most people throw at you. In fact, just about everything Vanessa says includes a fun turn-of-phrase that makes you stop and think a few seconds before you respond while your brain processes her meaning. And yes, VI, I mean that as a HUGE compliment! Another example from today's conversation. I was lamenting my lack of post-it flags in the house and Vanessa offered a solution.
"I'm surrounded by them. Hold on, let me teleport them to you."
"Crap. I still lack the power of teleportation. Maybe tomorrow."
Vanessa isn't the only one in my life with a talent for wordplay. Two other good friends here in Charlotte, Kara and Lucas, are two champions of funny-ness in ordinary phrases. I can't really do them justice without the tone of voice that goes with them. But a good example is how they add, "It turns out" before any sort of statement that describes a situation. As in "It turns out this blog is rambling quite a bit without direction." Or "I was going to the post office today but it turns out that I am quite lazy."
I think this love of strangely constructed phrases comes from an early childhood love of Stephen King. This is my favorite passage from any of his books. It's from "The Shining." In this section, one of the characters has just been distracted in his driving by a premonition being sent to him by Danny Torrance at the hotel. (Yes, premonition! It's Stephen King!) And he cuts off a workman driving beside him in his distraction.
"The workman cut to the left, still laying on his horn and roared around the drunkenly weaving limousine. He invited the driver of the limo to perform an illegal sex act on himself. To engage in oral congress with various rodents and birds. He expressed his sincere belief in the position the limo driver's soul would occupy in the afterlife. He finished by saying that he believed he had met the limo driver's mother in a New Orleans house of prostitution."
I mean... COME ON! Does anyone out there who knows me think that the way I talk may have been influenced by this prolific writer? And if there is anyone out there who knows me who doesn't believe that I not only laughed out loud when I read that the first time, but that I also went back and read it over and over and sometimes would pull it off my bookshelf and look for just that passage to read again and just now when I pulled it out to type knew exactly where it was in the book even though I haven't picked this book up in probably 15 years... well then you probably don't know me very well!
What's the point? Dunno. Turns out I don't have one. I just enjoyed Vanessa's turn of phrase so much that I wanted to share it. And, of course, procrastinate. There's always that.
Check back another time for something more coherent.
But it's not just that I love the talk. Or even that I love making the pretty talk. Cause I do enjoy a well constructed sentence. I also love anyone who can talk the pretty talk with me. People who know how to put words together in such a clever way that even though the sentence is totally banal in meaning, the words they choose make me laugh out loud for several minutes.
Take for example my good friend out there in LA, Vanessa. Today on instant message I was talking to her about something and declared myself full of shit. She responded, "I don't think you're full of shit. I think you're full of awesome!"
Which is FUNNY! And exactly what I expect from Vanessa. This girl answers her phone on any day of the week, "Happy (insert day of the week here) to you!" It makes such a nice change from the usual, "Hello?" that most people throw at you. In fact, just about everything Vanessa says includes a fun turn-of-phrase that makes you stop and think a few seconds before you respond while your brain processes her meaning. And yes, VI, I mean that as a HUGE compliment! Another example from today's conversation. I was lamenting my lack of post-it flags in the house and Vanessa offered a solution.
"I'm surrounded by them. Hold on, let me teleport them to you."
"Crap. I still lack the power of teleportation. Maybe tomorrow."
Vanessa isn't the only one in my life with a talent for wordplay. Two other good friends here in Charlotte, Kara and Lucas, are two champions of funny-ness in ordinary phrases. I can't really do them justice without the tone of voice that goes with them. But a good example is how they add, "It turns out" before any sort of statement that describes a situation. As in "It turns out this blog is rambling quite a bit without direction." Or "I was going to the post office today but it turns out that I am quite lazy."
I think this love of strangely constructed phrases comes from an early childhood love of Stephen King. This is my favorite passage from any of his books. It's from "The Shining." In this section, one of the characters has just been distracted in his driving by a premonition being sent to him by Danny Torrance at the hotel. (Yes, premonition! It's Stephen King!) And he cuts off a workman driving beside him in his distraction.
"The workman cut to the left, still laying on his horn and roared around the drunkenly weaving limousine. He invited the driver of the limo to perform an illegal sex act on himself. To engage in oral congress with various rodents and birds. He expressed his sincere belief in the position the limo driver's soul would occupy in the afterlife. He finished by saying that he believed he had met the limo driver's mother in a New Orleans house of prostitution."
I mean... COME ON! Does anyone out there who knows me think that the way I talk may have been influenced by this prolific writer? And if there is anyone out there who knows me who doesn't believe that I not only laughed out loud when I read that the first time, but that I also went back and read it over and over and sometimes would pull it off my bookshelf and look for just that passage to read again and just now when I pulled it out to type knew exactly where it was in the book even though I haven't picked this book up in probably 15 years... well then you probably don't know me very well!
What's the point? Dunno. Turns out I don't have one. I just enjoyed Vanessa's turn of phrase so much that I wanted to share it. And, of course, procrastinate. There's always that.
Check back another time for something more coherent.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Let's Talk About Pattie Boyd
So... I'm here in Nashville, TN visiting none other than the famous Snell of "Snell Said I had To" blog fame. (Her place is super cute, BTW, for those of you who know our beloved Snellycat. -ed.)
On the drive here to Nashville, Snell and I were chatting on the phone, in preparation for three days of non-stop chatting in person, about the book she's reading about Pattie Boyd. Now, Pattie Boyd, for you non-Beatles lovers (re: foolish people) was first the wife of Beatles' George Harrison (alava shalom)
and then, later, the wife of Eric Clapton. 
I was excited to hear Snell was reading that book, since I just finished Clapton's autobiography. I was anxious to compare notes and find out if Pattie reveals any more in her book that would give some hint as to how this woman, undoubtedly beautiful and probably quite poised and sexy, but still just a woman, managed to inspire some of the most beautiful, passionate and intensely longing songs ever written.
Sadly, Snell came up as empty as I did. She agreed as well that Pattie is a beautiful woman, no doubt. But if you think about some of the lyrics written about this woman, you would think she was some kind of Olivia-Newton-John-in-Xanadu-esque muse. Let's review some of these, shall we?
"If I could choose a place to die
It would be in your arms."
-Bell Bottom Blues, Derek & the Dominoes (aka one of Clapton's bands)
"Let's make the best of the situation
Before I finally go insane.
Please don't say we'll never find a way
And tell me all my love's in vain."
-Layla, Derek and the Dominoes
"Something in the way she moves
Attracts me like no other lover
Something in the way she woos me"
-Something, The Beatles
"I feel wonderful because I see
The love light in your eyes.
And the wonder of it all
Is that you just don't realize how much I love you."
- Wonderful Tonight, Eric Clapton
The interesting thing about Pattie, it seems to me, is that every song she inspired became a rock anthem. Well, Bell Bottom Blues might be a bit of an underappreciated tune, but it is an anthem to me. I can't imagine what it would be like to inspire that kind of unapologetically (yup, I newly worded that word) passionate plea from a lover. He literally offers to crawl across the room to her and beg!
"Do you want to see me crawl across the floor to you?
Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?
I'd gladly do it because
I don't want to fade away."
(This YouTube video is just music, no pictures. So you can come back and finish reading! I know, I'm a giver.)
He'd gladly do it! He won't just, you know, do it. He'll GLADLY do it. That's crazy. I can barely get myself to lean too far out of my way to pet Richie, whom I love tremendously. (By the way, Snell clearly feels the same on that one, because Richie is just outside her reach and she desperately wants to pet him, but doesn't want to get off the couch to do it. Now, granted, she doesn't have the same emotional attachment to him that I do, but you get my point.)
Is it a musician thing to feel things so passionately? Or juat to express them so passionately? Most of the men I have met in my life have felt that passionately about their favorite sports team, but not their women. In fact, now that I think about it, there are probably quite a few guys I have known who would maybe have offered to crawl across the floor for the Boston Red Sox or the Cleveland Indians.
Clearly, when these songs were written in the 70's, they didn't yet understand the dating rules set forth so eloquently by Swingers, where you never show actual interest lest you scare off the object of your obsession. If they had, Eric probably would have waited three days before he wrote a song about his baby. That would have been a different kind of song.
Did they just feel things more passionately then? But if you think back on some of the other love songs from that era, there are so few that are as emotional as the ones Pattie inspired. Or from any era.
I guess there really was something about the way she moved... I wonder if she can teach me.
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