Seriously, you guys. Back in August of ’08 (#tbm), I was sure I was slammed with all sorts of stressful activities and thoughts.
Sigh.
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Keely’s Third Cup Of Coffee And I Don’t Care
(originally published August 12th, 2008)
Last night we had our first tech rehearsal for Rules of Infection, a delightfully dark comedy in which my honest-to-gosh husband and I play less than divinely happy married people. Turns out, when we ran the show in the upstairs theatre at Strawdog (and not in the front window of a vintage 2-flat on a neighborhoody street) we were able to, you know, ACT, and not live in fear of the cops being called. And since we’ve recently added in huge amounts of stage blood this is a very real threat. It opens Thursday and runs through the weekend, in case anyone wants to come. It should be quite fun.
On our way home (on bikes, naturally, for this is our summer of being eight year olds) we stopped at Dairy Queen. We never go there. However, P.J. had a coupon- that is mighty strong enticement, as anyone who has seen P.J. “Super Saver” Schoeny in action well knows. He got a turtle blizzard and I chose a chocolate strawberry waffle bowl sundae. We at them at the outside tables and listened to various dog owners chide their dogs for not being more like others’ dogs. Truly. It was a sea of small dogs on long leashes being dragged around by hyperactive owners forcing relations with other canines.
We look so rested I kinda want to smack us.
THEN- we rode all the way home and parked our bikes in the backyard, for the meteor shower was just beginning! (Well, I think it had been going on for some time. It just happened to be getting really dark in the Midwest.) We brought sleeping bags outside and parked ourselves facing north/northeast (we read up on this kind of thing) to enjoy the show. It took our eyes a little bit to adjust as our next door neighbors had their porch lights on and the upstairs neighbor was actually using the back of the apartment. SO. After a few of the clouds drifted away and it became sufficiently dark…I saw a gorgeous shooting star across the ladle of the big dipper! I turned in excitement to P.J.- who had fallen asleep.
“Dude, wake up.”
“I am up.”
“Your eyes are closed.”
“I’m enjoying the meteor shower.”
“You’re on your side.”
“I’m seeing the ones over here.”
And so forth. I watched the sky intently for the next hour while P.J. napped “until the clouds fully went away.” Around 12:30 I unzipped my sleeping bag and prepared to trek inside only to be asked by P.J., “Are we going in? You’re having such a good time!”
Maybe people further from city lights and cloudy clouds had better viewing…but it was still lovely to see.
And I will leave you with this point to ponder- why do small children sing “Jimmy Crack Corn?” Jack and I are listening to a Wee Sing something or other CD and at least ten high-pitched children are singing about Jimmy Crack Corn and Not Caring. This is most certainly a slave song (I’m sure the lyrics have been modified over the years, but let’s call a spade a spade) no matter how benign it may sound. Did you know that a Cingular ad had to be pulled because of the song’s usage? (It’s the one where the guy is asking a girl’s father’s blessing and the call gets dropped in the middle of his awkward monologue- “…okay there JIM…Jimbo…Jimmy Crack Corn,” etc.) This proves two things; one, that people get upset about the darndest things and two, maybe we shouldn’t be including this song on a CD between songs about sharing and a teddy bear’s picnic. Thoughts? Feelings? Mp3s to email in order to get this song out of my head?
Nothin’ but the issues, folks.
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