Context: Here's a bit of nonsense I found that I wrote a good seven years ago. Don't ask me if there's supposed to be a deeper meaning, because if there is, I forgot it.
It was Tuluth the Brave
as he tried to rescue the fair Larolananina
with sword a-swinging and muscles a-rippling
that was killed.
O sorry world! Now the task
of rescuing the maiden and slaying the villain
was left to Tuluth's brother,
Corgan the Skinny, who wielded his homemade javelin
with the skill
of an overgrown toothpick.
Still bravely went Corgan
to the castle of that necromancer,
Necro the Mancer, to perform the deed
that his brother had left him responsible for.
There he battled Necro, face-to-face.
First Corgan poked Necro with his javelin tip,
and then Necro threw lightning at him.
Corgan took the hit hard. Was it the end of him?
No! He sprung upon his feet once more.
He dashed at Necro.
Necro singed him with ropes of fire.
Corgan hurled his javelin at him.
With a swift bolt of magic,
Necro smote the handcrafted thing asunder.
Corgan pulled out his Swiss army knife,
and commenced to chop Necro into a million little pieces.
The necromander howled in anger, thrust out his arms, and...
Nothing. Necro had no magic against a Swiss army knife.
Corgan turned him into mincemeat.
There was so much blood that
they had to call in George, the janitor,
to mop things up.
It took a lot of towels,
and a couple hundred gallons of Clorox,
before the castle floor was as good as new.
"Oh!" exclaimed the fair Larolananina. "How ingenious!
But how did you know to bring a Swiss army knife?"
"Miss," said Corgan the Skinny, "I'm a Boy Scout.
I'm always prepared."
"My hero!" said Larolananina.
So Corgan married Larolananina
and had a son with her,
who he named for his brother, Tuluth
—not because he wanted to,
but because everyone expected him to—
and then he took over Necro's kingdom, and was a wise king,
and Larolananina was a beautiful and stylish queen,
and under their reign the land was flowing with milk and honey,
and everyone had money but no one had taxes,
and they all lived happily ever after.
The End.
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Monday, February 27, 2017
Promote Promote
As some of you might know, Little Brother is a YouTube star. Sort of. Kind of. A little bit.
For the past few years, he's run a YouTube channel called Helga von Eggwitz. Helga is a sarcastic chicken who has very specific views about the world around her. She has become pretty popular with Little Brother's middle school- and high school-aged friends as well as among some of my own friends.
I've alluded to Helga before. Little Brother asked me several times to promote her on the blog. I told him it would be easier to promote if I could tell people that he was the one behind Helga. The people who read this blog are presumably interested in me, not in random YouTube videos, so it seemed unlikely they would appreciate having videos of a chicken recommended to them unless they understood my personal connection to said videos.
However, Little Brother resisted because he didn't want people to connect him to Helga.
Finally, though, Little Brother has given me permission to reveal him as Helga's puppeteer. Because when I say Helga is a chicken, I mean Helga is a chicken puppet. A live-hand chicken puppet, to be exact. I don't know if it's all the Fraggle Rock that Little Brother has seen or what, but he's a naturally talented puppeteer. He does little nuances and expressions that he clearly learned from observing the works of Jim Henson. And the kid has a crackin' sense of humor (which he obviously gets from me).
What else can I say? If what I've said about Helga interests you, check it out!
For the past few years, he's run a YouTube channel called Helga von Eggwitz. Helga is a sarcastic chicken who has very specific views about the world around her. She has become pretty popular with Little Brother's middle school- and high school-aged friends as well as among some of my own friends.
I've alluded to Helga before. Little Brother asked me several times to promote her on the blog. I told him it would be easier to promote if I could tell people that he was the one behind Helga. The people who read this blog are presumably interested in me, not in random YouTube videos, so it seemed unlikely they would appreciate having videos of a chicken recommended to them unless they understood my personal connection to said videos.
However, Little Brother resisted because he didn't want people to connect him to Helga.
Finally, though, Little Brother has given me permission to reveal him as Helga's puppeteer. Because when I say Helga is a chicken, I mean Helga is a chicken puppet. A live-hand chicken puppet, to be exact. I don't know if it's all the Fraggle Rock that Little Brother has seen or what, but he's a naturally talented puppeteer. He does little nuances and expressions that he clearly learned from observing the works of Jim Henson. And the kid has a crackin' sense of humor (which he obviously gets from me).
What else can I say? If what I've said about Helga interests you, check it out!
 |
| Confession: I've been dying to use this GIF since I first saw it on a tumblr called Avatar Parallels. I'm not sure where it originally came from, though. As far as I can tell, GIFs are one of the few things on the Internet whose origins you don't have to cite. |
Saturday, February 25, 2017
The Write Way
I made a resolution this year to write recreationally every week.
The problem with this resolution is that when I'm feeling inspired and want to write, I can't. When I have time to write, I feel uninspired, and it seems like everything I write turns out wordy and in passive voice.
I question my life choice to become a writer. It's been so long since I wrote a coherent story with good characters that was actually well-written and that I liked.
Ugh ugh ugh.
The problem with this resolution is that when I'm feeling inspired and want to write, I can't. When I have time to write, I feel uninspired, and it seems like everything I write turns out wordy and in passive voice.
I question my life choice to become a writer. It's been so long since I wrote a coherent story with good characters that was actually well-written and that I liked.
Ugh ugh ugh.
Thursday, February 23, 2017
The Five Stages of Texting
You've heard of the five stages of grief. Or rather, I've heard of the five stages of grief. Mostly because the beginning of Ella Enchanted is a classic example of the stage of bargaining. When I first learned about the stages of grief, I was all, "Oh! Bargaining! Yes, I know that one. It happens in Ella Enchanted."
In case you haven't heard of them, or in case you don't remember, the five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
Somewhat similar are the five stages of texting.
"The five stages of texting?" you ask. Yes. You know want I'm talking about. I'm talking about that rush of emotions you get after sending a text.
Stage 1: Confidence
Right after you send a text, you're excited. Your text was great, you're going to get a great response, and great great great everything is great!
Stage 2: Reassurance
It's been an hour or two, and you haven't gotten a text back. "Don't worry," you say to yourself. "I'm sure he/she is very busy right now."
Stage 3: Paranoia
But wait. What if he/she isn't busy? What if he/she simply doesn't want to talk to you??? You can't help but notice that the person you texted just posted to Facebook...so he/she probably his/her phone on him/her! Frantically, you reread the text you sent. Is it clear enough? Is it possibly to misinterpret it if different words are stressed? Or maybe it sounds too needy. Or angry! Why, oh, why, didn't you think more about what you were saying?!
Stage 4: Anger
"I thought we were friends!" "I thought I was more important to this person than that!" "I don't know why I even bothered texting this person!" etc. etc. etc. Loose plans form in your head in which you a) march to the person's house and demand an answer, b) give the cold shoulder the next time you see him/her, and/or c) are hit by a bus, causing great grief to the person who didn't respond to you. They come to your funeral, weeping hysterically, and throw their personage upon the coffin. "Why, oh why, didn't I respond to my dear friend before that bus came! Now it's too late."
Stage 5: Acceptance
"I might be overreacting a little. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for the lack of response. Maybe he/she will still get back to me later."
I can't tell you how many times I've finally gotten a response while in Stage 5. Then I respond to that response, and the five stages of texting start all over again...
In case you haven't heard of them, or in case you don't remember, the five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
Somewhat similar are the five stages of texting.
"The five stages of texting?" you ask. Yes. You know want I'm talking about. I'm talking about that rush of emotions you get after sending a text.
Stage 1: Confidence
Right after you send a text, you're excited. Your text was great, you're going to get a great response, and great great great everything is great!
Stage 2: Reassurance
It's been an hour or two, and you haven't gotten a text back. "Don't worry," you say to yourself. "I'm sure he/she is very busy right now."
Stage 3: Paranoia
But wait. What if he/she isn't busy? What if he/she simply doesn't want to talk to you??? You can't help but notice that the person you texted just posted to Facebook...so he/she probably his/her phone on him/her! Frantically, you reread the text you sent. Is it clear enough? Is it possibly to misinterpret it if different words are stressed? Or maybe it sounds too needy. Or angry! Why, oh, why, didn't you think more about what you were saying?!
Stage 4: Anger
"I thought we were friends!" "I thought I was more important to this person than that!" "I don't know why I even bothered texting this person!" etc. etc. etc. Loose plans form in your head in which you a) march to the person's house and demand an answer, b) give the cold shoulder the next time you see him/her, and/or c) are hit by a bus, causing great grief to the person who didn't respond to you. They come to your funeral, weeping hysterically, and throw their personage upon the coffin. "Why, oh why, didn't I respond to my dear friend before that bus came! Now it's too late."
Stage 5: Acceptance
"I might be overreacting a little. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for the lack of response. Maybe he/she will still get back to me later."
I can't tell you how many times I've finally gotten a response while in Stage 5. Then I respond to that response, and the five stages of texting start all over again...
Saturday, February 18, 2017
The Parting of the Ways
I did at least one musical a year for eight years straight. Then I quit. I was graduating high school, and I wanted to focus on my degree.
For years, I did no theatre. I missed it, but I didn't have the time or the energy to devote to frequent rehearsals and weeks or performances. Then, one Sunday, I saw Goldfinger at a fireside.
I really didn't know Goldfinger. I'd seen him perform with the local improv troupe for years. In fact, one night he irritated me by trying to talk to me after the show while I was waiting for one of my parents to pick me up. If I recall correctly, he was trying to inform me that the theatre would be turning off its lights soon and/or making sure that I would be able to get home okay, but I usually don't like it when people I don't know approach me, even when they're trying to be helpful. I was not very responsive. A year and a half later, I saw him at Older Sister's mission farewell, where we were formally introduced. He kept listening to my conversation with Little Sister and laughing.
When I saw Goldfinger at the fireside, he remembered me. He asked about Older Sister and then blurted out, "The troupe is having open auditions on Tuesday. You should come."
I was taken aback, because although I had a lot of musical theatre experience, I didn't think he knew that. Plus I knew nothing about improv theatre. So I politely declined.
Now I tell you what, up to this point I'd only had one audition experience that I would call "spiritual." It was when I auditioned for Anne of Green Gables. At that age I'd been in three theatrical productions and was working on a fourth, but I'd never ever had any lines or been featured in any way. All of my productions had been through a children's theatre program where you paid a fee to participate, so I'd never even had a real audition. I don't think anyone thought I actually had any aptitude for theatre. I was a body to fill up the space in the chorus, and that's all. So when I saw the poster for Anne of Green Gables, I shouldn't have felt as strongly about auditioning as I did. Later in life, I realized that feeling as a prompting.
The last thing that I expected was to feel a prompting about auditioning for an improv troupe. Sure, I loved improv...as an audience member! I admired the skills Goldfinger and his colleagues possessed, but I didn't think I had them. Besides, some of the things I loved most about being in structured theatre were a) getting to be someone else rather than presenting myself to the audience as Awkward Mormon Girl Obnoxious, b) knowing exactly what I was supposed to say or supposed to do (unlike in real life, where maneuvering unexpected social situations was completely beyond me), and c) getting the chance to do the same thing over and over again; if I messed up one time, I could always do better the next. Improv had none of those things. Improv was the exact opposite of those things.
In spite of all this, though, I felt like I should go to the audition. I mean, yes, how awesome would it be if I did well at the audition and I got to work with this troupe that I'd been a fan of for years? I did consider that. The greater part of the feeling, though, was that this was something that God wanted me to do. So I decided that, what the hey, I would go to the audition.
This was back in the day when I didn't drive much, and when I headed to the audition after institute, I couldn't remember how to get to the theatre! I showed up rather late, which was extremely unprofessional and embarrassing and, for most theatrical opportunities, would have automatically disqualified me. Yet in this instance, I was still allowed to audition.
Like I said, I knew next to nothing about improv, so throughout the audition I just had to follow my basic knowledge of theatre, my own instincts, and what I'd gleaned from watching many improv comedy shows. At the end of the audition, I was surprised to realize that I'd done all right. In fact, if the comments a few of the troupe members gave me afterward were any indication, I'd done pretty darn well. And, now that I'd dipped my toes back into theatre, I not only hoped the troupe would invite me back...I knew that if they did, I probably wouldn't be able stay away.
Happily, they offered me a chance to workshop with them and learn some actual improv skills. I worked hard and had fun, and at the end of the workshop, they invited me to join the troupe.
I came to appreciate the "throwaway genius" of improv. Lack of repetition, I realized, could be a gift. Instead of trying to replicate my own performance night after night, each show was a do-over, a completely fresh opportunity.
There were some improv things that I learned to do really well. There were some things I never quite grasped, and there were some things I naturally excelled at in the beginning but which I lost under the weight of the knowledge of improv theory. All in all, though, it was a great experience with great people.
After four years, I got another prompting. This time, the prompting was not to audition, but to leave. So I left.
It was hard, because a lot of people wanted me to stay. I questioned my decision multiple times, especially as my last show loomed closer and closer. But I felt like it was the right thing to do. I felt (and still feel) like Heavenly Father wanted something else for me. Although the commitment to an improv troupe doesn't require the almost nightly commitment of a musical, musicals end. I found improv troupes require a greater commitment, just spread out over a longer period of time. That was all right with me...until suddenly, it wasn't. I know that's not a super rational explanation, but I feel like all will be made clear to me in time.
My last show was sad but also happy. A lot of kind friends and family came to see me. My troupe saw me off in a grand style, with flowers and a card.
I don't know what, exactly, lies in my future that will replace improv. I do know that someday, when I look back, I'll know why I left when I did. Sometimes, a guarantee on the future is all we can hope for.
For years, I did no theatre. I missed it, but I didn't have the time or the energy to devote to frequent rehearsals and weeks or performances. Then, one Sunday, I saw Goldfinger at a fireside.
I really didn't know Goldfinger. I'd seen him perform with the local improv troupe for years. In fact, one night he irritated me by trying to talk to me after the show while I was waiting for one of my parents to pick me up. If I recall correctly, he was trying to inform me that the theatre would be turning off its lights soon and/or making sure that I would be able to get home okay, but I usually don't like it when people I don't know approach me, even when they're trying to be helpful. I was not very responsive. A year and a half later, I saw him at Older Sister's mission farewell, where we were formally introduced. He kept listening to my conversation with Little Sister and laughing.
When I saw Goldfinger at the fireside, he remembered me. He asked about Older Sister and then blurted out, "The troupe is having open auditions on Tuesday. You should come."
I was taken aback, because although I had a lot of musical theatre experience, I didn't think he knew that. Plus I knew nothing about improv theatre. So I politely declined.
Now I tell you what, up to this point I'd only had one audition experience that I would call "spiritual." It was when I auditioned for Anne of Green Gables. At that age I'd been in three theatrical productions and was working on a fourth, but I'd never ever had any lines or been featured in any way. All of my productions had been through a children's theatre program where you paid a fee to participate, so I'd never even had a real audition. I don't think anyone thought I actually had any aptitude for theatre. I was a body to fill up the space in the chorus, and that's all. So when I saw the poster for Anne of Green Gables, I shouldn't have felt as strongly about auditioning as I did. Later in life, I realized that feeling as a prompting.
The last thing that I expected was to feel a prompting about auditioning for an improv troupe. Sure, I loved improv...as an audience member! I admired the skills Goldfinger and his colleagues possessed, but I didn't think I had them. Besides, some of the things I loved most about being in structured theatre were a) getting to be someone else rather than presenting myself to the audience as Awkward Mormon Girl Obnoxious, b) knowing exactly what I was supposed to say or supposed to do (unlike in real life, where maneuvering unexpected social situations was completely beyond me), and c) getting the chance to do the same thing over and over again; if I messed up one time, I could always do better the next. Improv had none of those things. Improv was the exact opposite of those things.
In spite of all this, though, I felt like I should go to the audition. I mean, yes, how awesome would it be if I did well at the audition and I got to work with this troupe that I'd been a fan of for years? I did consider that. The greater part of the feeling, though, was that this was something that God wanted me to do. So I decided that, what the hey, I would go to the audition.
This was back in the day when I didn't drive much, and when I headed to the audition after institute, I couldn't remember how to get to the theatre! I showed up rather late, which was extremely unprofessional and embarrassing and, for most theatrical opportunities, would have automatically disqualified me. Yet in this instance, I was still allowed to audition.
Like I said, I knew next to nothing about improv, so throughout the audition I just had to follow my basic knowledge of theatre, my own instincts, and what I'd gleaned from watching many improv comedy shows. At the end of the audition, I was surprised to realize that I'd done all right. In fact, if the comments a few of the troupe members gave me afterward were any indication, I'd done pretty darn well. And, now that I'd dipped my toes back into theatre, I not only hoped the troupe would invite me back...I knew that if they did, I probably wouldn't be able stay away.
Happily, they offered me a chance to workshop with them and learn some actual improv skills. I worked hard and had fun, and at the end of the workshop, they invited me to join the troupe.
I came to appreciate the "throwaway genius" of improv. Lack of repetition, I realized, could be a gift. Instead of trying to replicate my own performance night after night, each show was a do-over, a completely fresh opportunity.
There were some improv things that I learned to do really well. There were some things I never quite grasped, and there were some things I naturally excelled at in the beginning but which I lost under the weight of the knowledge of improv theory. All in all, though, it was a great experience with great people.
After four years, I got another prompting. This time, the prompting was not to audition, but to leave. So I left.
It was hard, because a lot of people wanted me to stay. I questioned my decision multiple times, especially as my last show loomed closer and closer. But I felt like it was the right thing to do. I felt (and still feel) like Heavenly Father wanted something else for me. Although the commitment to an improv troupe doesn't require the almost nightly commitment of a musical, musicals end. I found improv troupes require a greater commitment, just spread out over a longer period of time. That was all right with me...until suddenly, it wasn't. I know that's not a super rational explanation, but I feel like all will be made clear to me in time.
My last show was sad but also happy. A lot of kind friends and family came to see me. My troupe saw me off in a grand style, with flowers and a card.
I don't know what, exactly, lies in my future that will replace improv. I do know that someday, when I look back, I'll know why I left when I did. Sometimes, a guarantee on the future is all we can hope for.
Friday, February 17, 2017
Another Sunday Dinner
Mr. Little Sister continues to be indoctrinated into our family by way of Sunday family dinners.
Baby Sister started off a recent Sunday dinner by announcing that she was taking a vow of silence.
During dinner, my parents wondered aloud why the downstairs smoke alarm, which used to go off due to the steam every time Baby Sister took a shower, no longer goes off.
Baby Sister picked up a whiteboard and wrote something along the lines of, "It's because I don't shower anymore!"
Little Sister grabbed the whiteboard and wrote: "Yeah, we know cuz you stink!"
We are charming, are we not?
Baby Sister started off a recent Sunday dinner by announcing that she was taking a vow of silence.
During dinner, my parents wondered aloud why the downstairs smoke alarm, which used to go off due to the steam every time Baby Sister took a shower, no longer goes off.
Baby Sister picked up a whiteboard and wrote something along the lines of, "It's because I don't shower anymore!"
Little Sister grabbed the whiteboard and wrote: "Yeah, we know cuz you stink!"
We are charming, are we not?
Thursday, February 16, 2017
St. Valentine's Day
As a Perpetually Single Person, I'm apparently supposed to hate Valentine's Day. However, I actually really like it...and have pretty much my whole life.
See, to me Valentine's Day is about all love. In certain South American countries, they actually call it El Dia de Amor y Amistad, otherwise known as the Day of Love and Friendship. I'm all over the "and Friendship" part, and I don't really feel like I'm missing much on the Love part. But maybe that's a blessing of being a Perpetually Single Person instead of a Sometimes Single Person: I've never had a romantic Valentine's Day, so I don't really know the difference.
I have a lot of fun Valentine's Day memories. When I was in first grade, my mom made me take Valentine's cupcakes to an elderly neighbor I didn't really know. He was (weirdly, I thought) touched, and he kissed me on the cheek. Then, late that night, he and his wife came by with three Beanie Babies! Apparently they knew that my parents had a bunch of little girls, and they'd heard Beanie Babies were all the rage for little girls. And that was how I (and Older Sister and Little Sister) got my very first Beanie Baby!
Another, less fun Valentine's Day memory is the year that I was in fourth grade. I was so excited for Valentine's Day that I made decorated envelope mailboxes to put on my sisters' and parents' bedrooms. Then, the night before Valentine's Day, I put valentines in everybody's envelopes. What fun!
Apparently I'd just assumed that everybody in my family would be on my same brainwave. To my severe shock and disappointment, there were no valentines or treats of any kind in the envelope bearing my name. I was crushed. My parents, belatedly realizing how very seriously I was taking the whole thing, quickly announced that we wouldn't look in our envelopes until that night. Sure enough, when I went to bed, there was a lollipop, a Valentine's Day pencil, and at least one valentine in my envelope. I felt better, but I'd had a rude awakening that not everyone was like me. Not everyone wanted an excuse to shower people and be showered in tangible emblems of love.
This year was nowhere so dramatic, but it was oh-so-fun! Among other things, I bought French macarons from Rosebud to give to friends and family.
A little plug for Rosebud's macarons...they are great! And maybe it's just that the only other places I've bought macarons are California and New York City, where everything is tres expensive, but I thought these ones were very reasonably priced.
I also got roses from my parents!
The Seamstress made brownies and wrote notes for me and Pepper, and Pepper gave me and the Seamstress necklaces and homemade cards.
All in all, a great day! I'm sad that we have to wait a whole 365 days to do it again.
P.S. One upsetting thing did happen...I brought my family their valentines in the morning, before went to work. Baby Brother wasn't home, so I left his valentine on his bed. When I returned to my parents' home that evening, I asked Baby Brother how he liked his macarons. He said, "What macarons?"
Baby Brother had never found the valentine on his bed...and he had apparently gone all day thinking that I'd brought valentines and macarons for everyone in the family but him! He handled the perceived snub pretty well, but I kept having flashbacks to empty envelopes.
See, to me Valentine's Day is about all love. In certain South American countries, they actually call it El Dia de Amor y Amistad, otherwise known as the Day of Love and Friendship. I'm all over the "and Friendship" part, and I don't really feel like I'm missing much on the Love part. But maybe that's a blessing of being a Perpetually Single Person instead of a Sometimes Single Person: I've never had a romantic Valentine's Day, so I don't really know the difference.
I have a lot of fun Valentine's Day memories. When I was in first grade, my mom made me take Valentine's cupcakes to an elderly neighbor I didn't really know. He was (weirdly, I thought) touched, and he kissed me on the cheek. Then, late that night, he and his wife came by with three Beanie Babies! Apparently they knew that my parents had a bunch of little girls, and they'd heard Beanie Babies were all the rage for little girls. And that was how I (and Older Sister and Little Sister) got my very first Beanie Baby!
Another, less fun Valentine's Day memory is the year that I was in fourth grade. I was so excited for Valentine's Day that I made decorated envelope mailboxes to put on my sisters' and parents' bedrooms. Then, the night before Valentine's Day, I put valentines in everybody's envelopes. What fun!
Apparently I'd just assumed that everybody in my family would be on my same brainwave. To my severe shock and disappointment, there were no valentines or treats of any kind in the envelope bearing my name. I was crushed. My parents, belatedly realizing how very seriously I was taking the whole thing, quickly announced that we wouldn't look in our envelopes until that night. Sure enough, when I went to bed, there was a lollipop, a Valentine's Day pencil, and at least one valentine in my envelope. I felt better, but I'd had a rude awakening that not everyone was like me. Not everyone wanted an excuse to shower people and be showered in tangible emblems of love.
This year was nowhere so dramatic, but it was oh-so-fun! Among other things, I bought French macarons from Rosebud to give to friends and family.
 |
| Cute, huh?! |
I also got roses from my parents!
 |
| Yellow roses...the kind I've always wanted someone to give to me! Plus red, pink, and orange. Little Brother helped my mom pick them out. |
The Seamstress made brownies and wrote notes for me and Pepper, and Pepper gave me and the Seamstress necklaces and homemade cards.
 |
| Earlier this week, Best Friend Boy and I were talking about gifts. He said of people who give me gifts: "At least if it's Harry Potter related they can probably rest assured that you liked the gift." |
P.S. One upsetting thing did happen...I brought my family their valentines in the morning, before went to work. Baby Brother wasn't home, so I left his valentine on his bed. When I returned to my parents' home that evening, I asked Baby Brother how he liked his macarons. He said, "What macarons?"
Baby Brother had never found the valentine on his bed...and he had apparently gone all day thinking that I'd brought valentines and macarons for everyone in the family but him! He handled the perceived snub pretty well, but I kept having flashbacks to empty envelopes.
Saturday, February 11, 2017
The Art of Conversation
I went to the grocery store around Groundhog Day, and the lady at the checkout stand tried to strike a conversation with me. "How's the weather? Is it still foggy out there?"
I told her it was.
"Hopefully it will snow and clear out the inversion," she said at the exact time I said, "At least it's better than snow."
Still trying to be friendly, she commented on Groundhog Day and asked does it mean six more weeks of winter if the groundhog sees his shadow, or six more weeks if he doesn't?
I explained that if the groundhog sees his shadow, he gets scared and goes back underground to hibernate for six more weeks.
"Really?" the checkout lady said, and I could tell that she didn't believe me. It is rather anti-intuitive, since shadows are cast by sun, and sun should mean a shorter winter. She said something to this effect: "I'll have to look it up when I get home."
I refrained from explaining to her that I was one hundred percent positive about my response, since my family has an old Jack Frost movie in which it's a plot point that Jack Frost casts a shadow to scare a groundhog back into hiding in order to extend winter six more weeks.
A few days later, I went to get my hair cut. I didn't intend to get into a conversation, but I couldn't refrain from commenting on the book that my hairstylist had sitting at her station. We instantly were talking about books, about family, about dating. The two experiences couldn't have been more different. It's funny how that works.
I told her it was.
"Hopefully it will snow and clear out the inversion," she said at the exact time I said, "At least it's better than snow."
Still trying to be friendly, she commented on Groundhog Day and asked does it mean six more weeks of winter if the groundhog sees his shadow, or six more weeks if he doesn't?
I explained that if the groundhog sees his shadow, he gets scared and goes back underground to hibernate for six more weeks.
"Really?" the checkout lady said, and I could tell that she didn't believe me. It is rather anti-intuitive, since shadows are cast by sun, and sun should mean a shorter winter. She said something to this effect: "I'll have to look it up when I get home."
I refrained from explaining to her that I was one hundred percent positive about my response, since my family has an old Jack Frost movie in which it's a plot point that Jack Frost casts a shadow to scare a groundhog back into hiding in order to extend winter six more weeks.
A few days later, I went to get my hair cut. I didn't intend to get into a conversation, but I couldn't refrain from commenting on the book that my hairstylist had sitting at her station. We instantly were talking about books, about family, about dating. The two experiences couldn't have been more different. It's funny how that works.
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