It's So Hard to Get Good Service These Days! Or not...

This one's for Debbie...

So... the biggest change in my life when I moved from LA to Charlotte was not what you'd imagine. It wasn't the cultural change. It wasn't the traffic differences. (And for the record, I sometimes think Charlotte's traffic is worse than LA's cause there are only a few routes available to get in and out of uptown and when you get stuck in a traffic jam, you can't just hop over two blocks and go around it or go over the canyon instead of taking the freeway.. but that's neither here nor there.) It wasn't even getting used to the churches on every corner. No, the biggest change I experienced was the startling lack of available (read: not within a food court or the refrigerated section of the grocery store) sushi.

Okay, well, probably not all that startling. Clearly the Asian population of Charlotte is smaller than in LA (yes, yes, I'll say it for you. DUH!) and that would decrease the demand. And that whole lack-of-oceanic-access thing has an effect as well. So I wasn't surprised, per se. Just bummed. Really bummed. I would drift off to sleep at night dreaming of deliciously cool albacore sashimi in a chilled ponzu sauce at Sushi Sase Bune and would wake up to a reality of Harris Teeter "cucumber rolls."

Now, I'm definitely not being fair to the culinary folk in Charlotte. I don't want to give my LA friends the impression that it's 'all Applebees, all the time' in Charlotte. Johnson and Wales Culinary Academy has a branch here in Charlotte and as a result, we have some fantastic restaurants and some of the best food I've ever eaten. It's just the sushi where we really fall short. And, of course, sushi is the one that I crave... Sigh.

I've been through a few sushi restaurants here and was fiercly loyal to each one during its tenure in my life. Sushi 101 had the enjoyable distinction of being a mile from my house. I liked that! And although I thought their sushi was good, it never felt fresh to me. So it became my place holder sushi place. Maybe not Mr. Right, but Mr. Good Enough for Right Now, as they say.

There's another place that is very popular with the 20-something nookie hunting crowd called Rusan's but I was never a big fan of that place. Aside from the mind-numbing techno music they played at a stupid volume, they had very few rolls to choose from that had not been fried in some fashion. Call me obsessive, but the whole reason I spend the money on the sushi is cause I get to pretend it's healthy. Add the flash fry and I don't get to pretend anymore. Fortunately for me, Rusan's got a VERY scary score from the health department a few years ago and I haven't had to fight with dining companions to avoid going there in quite some time.

Then, one day, it seemed my prayers had been answered. Ginbu 401 rolled into town. Fresh fish prepared just the way I like. Barely a fried roll in sight! Heaven! I ate there so much that they eventually named a roll after me. Seriously! It's called the Sheri Roll (creative, yeah?) and it had all my favorite fishies in it!!! But one day, they mysteriously cut their portions in half while keeping their prices the same. I admit, I'm being dramatic, but I felt a bit betrayed. And so... bye bye Ginbu.

Now, there is a new place in town and it's not so far away from my house. The fish is fresh and the servings are appropriate. I'm trying to be more fiscally responsible (note the "trying" portion of that sentence) so I haven't gone as much as I would like. Which may be why I can't even remember the name. But probably, the main reason I don't remember the name is because, to me, it will always be known as "the water glass place." And why is that? Ask Debbie.

No seriously, you don't have to ask Debbie. Most of you don't know Debbie. (And those of you who do know her don't have her number.)

The reason why is because they have really good customer service at this restaurant. In Debbie's mind, a bit TOO good.

Debbie is my favorite sushi eating partner. She and I only manage to get together about once a month when we are lucky, but it's always for a meal and more often than not, we wind up eating sushi. However, we are currently at a bit of an impasse because Deb still likes Sushi 101 the best and I don't like it there anymore at all. She doesn't like to go to the "water glass place." She always gives in to me and goes there, but leaves unhappy everytime. Which makes me vow to myself, every time, that I will go to her favorite next time. And, of course, I don't. Cause I suck. Also, I digress.

Whenever we eat at TWGP (not going to keep typing "water glass place" cause that's way more work than I'm interested in doing) it isn't really all that crowded. However, they always seem to have an abundence of staff... and they seem to want to make sure we are enjoying ourselves as much as possible. So they come by... they come by a lot. Debbie takes a sip of her water and they hustle over to fill it back up. (Hence TWGP) The menus arrive, waiters appear to take our order immediately. If we ask for time, they hover nearby, checking back every few minutes or so. After we order, the owner, the host and the waiter each check on us frequently, asking if we are okay, do we need anything etc. The food comes and as you can probably imagine, there is a lot of checking to make sure everything is to our liking. And water glass filling. And how are you ladies doing? And can we get you anything? And can I take that plate for you? And on and on and on.

Now, again aiming toward fairness, I have eaten there at lunch by myself sometimes with a book. (shocking!) On those occasions, they mostly leave me alone. Although, it is entirely possible that they try to speak to me and I am just too engrossed in my reading to notice. I do always have water in my glass, I know that.

It's not that helpful service is not appreciated. There have been times at other restaurants where I seriously considered getting up and going into the kitchen myself to fill my water glass. (Goodness me, what a tortured life I lead.) So I like that this place is on top of customer care.

It's just that constant interruption makes Debbie want to yank her hair out by the root. Possibly because conversation with me is just THAT fascinating that she doesn't want it interrupted, but more likely because it's just frustrating to be trying to catch up with a friend and being interrupted every few sentences to assure people that we are fine and don't need anything more. I think the water glass thing wouldn't bother her so much if the servers didn't take that opportunity every time to ask how we are doing. If they just came and filled and left, we probably wouldn't notice. But every time, they interrupt to ask how we are. And every time, I watch Debbie's expression get darker and darker. I sometimes think she's one interruption away from stabbing the water glass lady in the eye with a chop stick.

One of the first lessons I learned in in the edit bay or the production truck was that as a Script Supervisor, I should be seen and not heard... I should not speak unless spoken to... It was a lesson I learned the hard way (aka being fired for asking questions and being "too comfortable") and probably wouldn't have happened on a different kind of show where the producer wasn't such a tight ass. Nonetheless, I learned the lesson well. To this day, it's pretty close to impossible to get me to talk in a setting that even remotely resembles a tense edit bay or production truck. Even when it's appropriate for me to speak, I can rarely summon much more than a whisper and have to be told frequently to speak up! (Which is hard for many to imagine, I'm sure, but I got spanked PRETTY HARD when I learned that lesson.)

I'm not saying that serving staff should be seen and not heard. Far from it. I love a good waiter who laughs and jokes with me and offers his opinion. But what I, and I think I can speak for Debbie on this one, would prefer is a waiter who can read the table and be able to ascertain that there is a conversation going on and then make the decision on whether an interruption is prudent.

Having said that, however, TWGP is still the best sushi restaurant in Charlotte, in my opinion, and as such, they will undoubtedly continue to separate me from my hard-earned cash.

And of course, they will continue to fill my water glass at every conceivable opportunity! Which is really fine. Cause let's face it.

Soy sauce makes me thirsty.

Guess what I get high on?

So... I am slacking. I'm not updating this blog as often as I (and some other vocal people) would like. And honestly, I want to update it more often, I do. It's not even that I'm too busy, it's just that I'm uninspired.

I occasionally have ideas float through my head and I like to give them a day or so to percolate to see if there is any substance to them. The other day, I thought about writing something about why I'm so addicted to primetime teen soap operas. But honestly, is there anything to say about that? Cause I'm a freak. End of blog.

Then I thought about writing of my love for all things Aaron Sorkin. Again, who cares? I have nothing interesting to say about it. Just that I love the West Wing and I was one of the few people who loved Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. He has a gift with dialogue and banter. And done.

Then yesterday, I was playing Guitar Hero and considered writing about how each song I hear has a memory attached to it that is so tangible that it often feels like a time machine. There are some songs on there that are SOOOOOO morning show on KROQ that I could almost see the Beverly Center passing me on my right as I drove down Beverly Blvd. to get to CBS for work in my Nissan Exterra. But again, with that thought, I am done.

And so it falls to you, gentle reader (as Stephen King would say.) I require inspiration. When I first got to Charlotte, I was taking this drop-in writing class. The teacher would read aloud from a poem or a song or something or even would just say a word and we would have to write whatever came into our minds for five minutes. I remember one time the assignment was to write something that started with the words "I thought I wanted." And from there I wrote a whole piece about leaving Los Angeles and television and my love/hate relationship with the whole scene and it's one of the things I am most proud of having written.

So a little help from my friends (yes, that's what I get high on) please! Send me an email with anything in it and I will do my best to come up with something to write about. A song lyric is good, a sentence fragment, something you saw in the newspaper or on line, whatever.

In all honesty, I want to write more. It feels good. I so rarely get to feel the satisfaction that comes with creation and I crave it. If only I could create an idea about something to write about.

I would imagine that you will see some blog on my love of the twilight series at some point, but other than that, I'm blank. Help!

Speechless? Well, that's a first!

So... I can't talk today. Literally. Got a cold on Friday, became a fever on Saturday night (right as I was describing to a room full of women where their G-Spot is, so that was fun!), a cough on Sunday, raspy voice on Monday (which made Monday night's party sound very sexy!) and this morning... totally MUTE. Can't make a sound much above a whisper. Well, actually, let me amend that... I can sort of make a noise above a whisper, but since it sounds like a cat screaming while simultaneously playing an out-of-tune viola and scratching its nails down a chalkboard, I choose not to go there unless absolutely necessary.

I have had a few clients call today and didn't want to just not answer the phone, so they got to hear my strange voice and became very confused and hung up quickly. I had to find someone else to do tonight's party, so Molly came over and made phone calls on my behalf to the hostess and other consultants until we got the party covered. It was fun for me... like having an assistant. She would repeat whatever question the person on the phone had just asked and I would whisper my response, which she would then relay back into the phone. I felt like an aging, eccentric diva on an old episode of Moonlighting.

Anyhow, so through all this silence today, I've noticed a strange thing. I'm a bit more lonely at home alone today than I normally am. Feel a little more isolated than usual. People are always asking me how I can stand to work at home, don't I get distracted (yes), watch too much TV (yes) and get lonely without someone else to talk to (not usually...) Don't get me wrong, I enjoy company when I can and there is always the odd day where I miss being in an office and sharing my day with other people. When I got home from Telethon this year, I had an exceptionally hard time reverting back to work-at-home mode and was sad for a few days remembering what it was like to be in an office full of people. (Fortunately, I also had the memory of working until 3AM to make me feel better when I got too sad.)

But normally, I'm pretty happy with my work-at-home situation. I like being around Richie, can't beat the commute, love that I can choose just not to shower, or wear the same outfit two days in a row (yes, only if it's clean... GEEZ MOM!) if I am not seeing the same people I saw the day before. And I very rarely get lonely and miss interaction. So why is it that my status as a temporary mute today should affect that? This is what I have fixated on today while simultaneously fixating on giving up the money I planned to make at the party tonight (grrrrrrr). And here is what I have decided.

It's cause I talk all the time. This won't come as a shock to anyone who knows me, and probably anyone who doesn't but reads this blog anyway. I talk. All day. I always did in an office with other people... off hand comments, long conversations, phone calls, you name it. But I was almost always talking. And it appears, although there is no longer anyone here to talk to, I have continued to talk my way through the day. I'd like to give myself the credit of believing that these conversations are probably all mental and not out loud, but today I have the proof that I say quite a few thoughts out loud when I'm alone.

See cause every word is an effort today. But if I don't talk for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes and focus on something else and then a random thought floats into my brain and my brain says "hey, that was smart... tell everyone else in the room that smart thought you just had" and I open my mouth to speak forgetting I have no voice... well... let's just say it's easier to notice the random mumblings when they sound like pigs being drowned and strangled at the same time. I guess, when my voice is normal, those random out loud mutterings just slip under the radar. If a comment is spoken in an empty room and there is no one there to comment does it make a sound? Now I know how the tree in the forest feels.

The feeling of weirdness got even stronger in the car. I felt so isolated in this very curious way. But I realized quickly that the explanation for that was easy. No voice=no yelling at talk radio. No voice=no singing along with my iPod very loudly (although... probably wouldn't have sounded much worse than when my vocal chords are working properly). Most importantly, no voice=no communication, friendly or otherwise, with other drivers. No nasty, snide comments on other people's driving. Had to make them all in my head. Which was an effort. An effort which led my mind to another question, which you might have already led yourself too.

If I'm talking this much in the car all the time, why have I not been pulled over for DWC (driving while crazy)? Certainly, if I drove by me while I was yelling at the POTUS 08 channel on XM, I would accelerate immediately to pass me by for fear I would be pulling a gun out of the glove compartment. (Remember that movie LA Story where Steve Martin was driving down the highway shooting his gun while talking to Marilu Henner about whether he had left his pants at her house? I love that movie. "Open season on the LA Freeway!")

Seriously, tho, what do other people think of me while they drive by? Do they notice? Do they think I have a bluetooth in and they just can't see it (in which case, if they are like me, they are probably judging me on that basis.) Or is what I do so completely normal that other people don't notice? I know that Molly likes to give shoutouts to other drivers to warn them of impending danger... "Don't you back into me, Mr. Mercedes." "That's an entrance, not an exit lady!" (I call her the traffic avenger. She gets really mad when she drives sometimes. Makes me giggle.)

And finally, this is the other thought that came to me today. You know how, when you lose one sense, it makes the others stronger? Well, if I lost the power of speech today, shouldn't I become instantly better at listening and remembering conversation? You would think, right? But I went to the doctor and he gave me some spray stuff for my throat and I swear he told me how many times I need to spray it each hour but I can't remember. I mean, I think he said three, but I'm not sure... I'd call him and ask, but well, you know.

I'm sure there are some of you out there who are gleefully pondering a world of Sheri-Without-Speech. Probably would be a very different dynamic for everyone! In fact, the nurse at the doctor's office (who I happen to know because she used to sell Pure Romance... holy coincidence Batman) said to me "This is making you crazy isn't it?" To which I rasped "I'm going out of my mind." And she laughed, "Yeah, I knew you'd have a problem. You're a talker like me." Thank God she added the "like me" part or I might have taken offense.

But all you giddy folk thinking about me not being able to quip at the drop of a hat are forgetting the one casualty of this situation. Poor Richie! He probably thinks something is horribly wrong! It's so quiet in his house. His Mom isn't singing to him or barking at him to get out from underfoot in the kitchen, or even ordering him to sit at food time (thank GOD for hand signals.) His whole world has been turned upside down with the silence that surrounds him. Poor buddy. Even though is laying there on his back, looking like he has narry a care in the world, I know somewhere inside he is wondering why his Mom isn't talking to him today. Gee, I hope he doesn't think it was something he did!

Don't worry, little punkin. It won't be long before my voice has been restored to its former glory. (And it better be before Thursday, because I am NOT giving up my party again!) And when it comes back, I will celebrate with an out-of-key song or two, followed by some loud vocal exercises a la high school drama class (the tip of the teeth, the tongue and the lips) and ending with a disertation on why Dexter is currently the greatest show on television complete with a season three episode by episode breakdown of its virtues.

So there's that for us ALL to look forward to. Anyone wanna come over?

The Overnight Shift!

So, ok... it's been a week since I wrote this... but I felt I was too tired to properly proofread when my shift ended and I forgot to post it after. But better late than never!

9/1/08- 12:00AM

The overnight shift!!! It’s the best ever! Some people think I’m crazy, but I fight for this shift! I pulled seniority this year and told someone else they were not allowed to have the overnight. There are a lot of reasons why… some of them have to do with personnel… some of them have to do with me not liking to wake up in the morning and being a night-person. But some of them have to do with the following fantastic performances… welcome to my Overnight on the Telethon blog

1:48A- The Balloon Animal Maker climbs inside a giant balloon and then gets shot in the butt with a lawn dart.

2:30A - Place your bets. Skip Martin, formerly of the Dazz Band is performing his one hit, “Let it Whip.” The live version he currently does is approximately 15 min. We are assured that it will be a mere five minutes on our show. Who wants odds?

2:33A- Skip is now asking just the sexy people if they will shout out a “hooooooooo”. Yes, we are asking a 2:33AM audience to sing and shout “Hoooooooo” “Ya’ll gonna make me lose my mind.”

2:40A: Tom Bergon is hysterical and does not get to showcase his inherent sarcasm on Dancing.

2:45A: Menopause, The Musical. Need I say more?

2:54A: It’s the juggler! He juggles little balls and bounces some blue rubber balls on a small piano on the ground and plays Fur Elise. If that's not talent, nothing is...

3:15 AM: In a local break, I see that breakfast is up in catering. And since I feel that Vegas has not completely leached all the water from my body, I grab a plate full of salty bacon and ham so that finally I can get rid of every pesky ounce of moisture my body currently possesses.

3:20 AM: The Assistant Director is counting the Director through a song where the singer is celebrating bald men and lamenting men who use rogaine. TRUE STORY! "She's said it before... she'll say it again... I like Bald Headed Men."

3:30A: The “comedy imaginator” draws a turkey on a big pad and then pops an actual full size frozen butterball out of the bottom of the paper pad. Then he pops snakes out of peanut cans to the rhythm of Blue Danube. Honestly, I’m not making this up! I LOVE THE OVERNIGHT!

4:10A- In the middle of the local break, one of the staff members says he thinks it will be a good idea to streak the show somewhere in Hour 20. We discuss for a few minutes and someone suggests that because of camera placement we will only be taking away an image of the back of his head. He responds suggestively “Oh, I think you would definitely be taking away something else…” and another staff member inquires “Will it be syphilis? Because, you know, not EVERYTHING that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

4:15- One performance into Hour 11. I’m beginning to tire. Which is making everything a lot funnier. Which is good news for some of these acts and we can only hope the audience is EXHAUSTED!

4:30- Time for the foot jugglers. I’ll let your imagination run wild.

7:20AM- You may have noticed that quite a bit of time has passed since the last entry on my overnight timeline. The reason for that is two-fold. One… I got bored. And two… I got tired. And twoA (revision!)- I stopped having funny things to say. But I have now made a decision that is very important and personal, so naturally, I will share it with you. We have an act performing in the next hour that I am quite fond of. Turns out, this act makes shadow puppets which are the coolest hand puppets you’ve ever seen. These aren’t stupid bunnies hopping through the forest scoopin up the field mice and boppin ‘em on the head. This guy makes Ray Charles and Elvis and Dolly Parton complete with boobs. And although my shift ended at 7, I was going to stay to watch the shadow puppet man (who may have usurped the horn honker man as my favorite telethon act) in the next hour. Alas, I realized the song my bed is singing to me, the come hither lullabye, is too sweet to be ignored. I will have to let me memory of the shadow puppet man's rehearsal be enough to sustain me until next year.

And thus... with a balloon animal... I sleep.*

(*Some time, I may give you the Shakespearean version of Telethon which Allison and I wrote one day. If you're lucky and ask real real nice!)

Happy Labor Day!

Amen Sister!

I found this posting at outtamilk.blogspot.com. And I couldn't have said it better myself... so I won't bother to try.

Please Forgive Me
Dear Hillary,

I know I haven't treated you like I should have. And through the years, I admit we've had a love-hate, on-and-off relationship.

I fell in love with you when you were hanging out with oh-so-cute Bill in the White House - and I admired your spunk and ability to throw when you learned about a Certain Intern.

But then, I had to screw things up by questioning your desire to become a New York senator (Okay, I said I was sorry for mocking your 2-minute residency in the state before taking political office) But gee, Hil, "the suit fit" and you did a great job.

Meanwhile, as a mom, I was also impressed with how Chelsea turned out. And during the long bleak Bush years, so many of us have been poor and jobless and without health insurance, but it was you and me, together in the trenches.

But then, you had to go get all power hungry. Admit it, you did. And friend, you were a little too strident for my tastes - and you made Republicans waaaay too happy every time you talked about being President.

The poll numbers looked iffy. You felt divisive. And ultimately, you reminded me of an uptight, angry, first-wave feminist whose determination just came across as bitchy.

And I left you.

But Hil, I see the error of my ways and I want you back. Um, still not as president, but to rip to shreds that Alaskan Creationist Anti-Community-Organizer No-Sperm-Shall-Be-Wasted Republican poser.

Please. If you ever loved any of us Democrats, you'll do this for me.

Please, please tell me that you're not going to give this scripted sharp-tongued loser a pass...Please, please don't tell me that you won't be an attack dog against Sarah Palin, according to the Huffington Post.

C'mon, she's using your hard earned accomplishments to push her horrid agenda. It's your glass ceiling to break.

She revels in being called a "barracuda" (thank you Heart for demanding the Republicans cease and desist using your song.)

And you know, I've got no doubt that she can be nasty - but girl, and I say this with love - you could be much nastier, and with more intellectual finesse.

The Dem boys can't do it. The laughable outrage of the GOP calling out "sexism" has scared them. And with good cause. History has shown that too often, political girls can outmaneuver boys by insinuating they're bullies -- hell, you've done it.

And this requires a bitch slap.

A good hard one.

So, Hillary, for all the good times we've shared, please, please do this for me. And can we still be friends?

Love, Digital Gal

Prepare Yourself... It's a Sappy One

So… it’s 10:30PM PST and the Telethon has been on the air for 5 hours. I will be on the overnight shift, my favorite shift, tonight. The best shift! All the best, craziest performers come on during the overnight. Plus everyone is really tired and start getting really wacky. (Tune in to the blog a bit later to read the details.) So I will go down to sit in the production truck from 1P to 9AM for my shift. So I have some time to kill until my shift starts.

One of the reasons I love working on Telethon so much is because I get the chance to see so many people I love who used to be a part of my day to day life in Los Angeles. There are so many people on this show who are important to me, who I’ve known for years, who are family and I only see them for these two weeks. Then there are other people who, although I used to only see them on a few shows a year, I have missed and I love catching up.

But I think the best part of the show for me is when, on the last day, my closest friend from LA comes to town. Alli comes to Vegas on show day just to work a few hours, usually the overnight. The telethon is a family business in her family and she’s worked on this show for years. Since her shift starts tonight at 2AM and I’m not on until 1AM, we got a rare chance to do what we always did best… go out to dinner and gab.

Back in my LA days, it was a rare week where Al and I didn’t see each other at least once a week for dinner (when we weren’t on some horrible show.) We certainly talked many times a week and complained about work and the people we worked with and for. But since I left, we haven’t been able to stay in touch as much as I’m sure either of us would like. She got married and had a little girl and like a million animals living in her home. I, as you know, have been jumping from job to job and making a life for myself in NC. Between our crazy schedules and the time change, it’s hard to find the time to catch up. I would say we really only get the chance to sit down on the phone and really talk about three times a year.

Despite that, every year when I see her at Telethon, even though we usually only have a few hours to spend together at most, and there is a live 20 hour show going on at the same time, for me, it’s as though I just saw her yesterday. We sat at dinner tonight for a few hours and got really annoyed that the waitress kept showing up and interrupting our conversation. And there were no lulls. And there was no awkwardness. And no sense of having less in common now since we don’t have the work people to bitch about any more. I filled her in on my life, she filled me in on hers. We gossiped, we reminisced… and the time flew.

So it made me think about how incredible and rare friendships like this one are. Between Alli and I, as is the case with my girls in Charlotte, there is no sense of competition. There’s no snarkiness (well at least-- not directed at each other… everyone else is fair game.) There’s no need to prove how happy or successful we are. Or to lie to save face. There is support. There is genuine affection. And there is the sense that we are really rooting for one another, really wanting the other to find what they are looking for, regardless of the state of our own lives.

I wish I could say that all my friendships were like this one. I certainly have girl friends whom, I admit, I want to get what they want… as long as I either don’t want or already have it. They are the ones I don’t necessarily tell if I am worried about my future and wondering if I will make it in this life I’m living. When I talk to those friends, everything is AWESOME! Couldn’t be AWESOMER! Rah rah and GO TEAM! When I talk to Al, things are good. But some things aren’t. And I’m happy. But not all the time. And what I get back from her in those moments of vulnerability, which I don’t allow many people to see (except, of course, when I publish it in my blog) is not a feeling of pity or even sympathy. Not a sense of, ‘Thank god that’s not me…’ What I get is a sense of empathy. A feeling that, for the moment, she’s going through the bad stuff with me. And on the flip side, celebrating the good stuff with me.

When you have this kind of friendship, and I am lucky enough to have a few of these, it seems not quite worthwhile to go through the motions with anything less. Last year, when I got home from seeing all these people I love so much, I reevaluated some friendships and decided to let one go. Because as much as I wanted to have someone to go to the movies with and go out to dinner with when I’m bored… when compared to a real friendship like this one, it seemed so empty. And not really worthwhile for either of us.

As a single woman in her 30’s, family, friends and dog (yay Richie) are everything. I know there are few people out there with families they actually enjoy like I do who support them the way mine does. And few who have real, honest-to-God friendships like this one. And even fewer who have both (and also a very cute dog who follows them everywhere.)

I get all three. On both coasts. It’s good to be me…

Oh the Things I Could Know...

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.)