The Average Blogger

Soaking It In

I've been lapping up a lot of pop culture this week. TV, music, theater, books. 

SiriusXM was doing a free preview through Presidents Day.  I am intrigued. I liked it a lot. I'm not sure I liked it $120-a-year-a-lot, but I'm definitely thinking about it.  The problem is I can see where I'd spend the entire rest of my life listening to the same music I listened to my senior year of high school, rather than actually broadening my horizons. On the other hand, I heard a lot of songs that I hadn't listened to SINCE high school, so that was kind of nice. 

Saturday was Valentine's Day.  Not Your Average Blogger got The Third Man and chocolate. The Young Prince got some Doctor Who toys and some jellybeans.  I got 4-for-1 movies with Heart and Souls, The Matchmaker, Kissing a Fool and Playing for Keeps, plus a box of M&Ms. Then we all three of us went to see Chicago at the National Theater. It was really good. This was the first time I've seen a performance where Roxie blew Velma out of the water—and it's odd, upon thinking about it, given that the whole play follows Roxie's story arc more so than Velma's.  Billy Flynn was played by John O'Hurley (Peterman from Seinfeld,) and he was great.  All in all it was a fantastic show, and except for the terrific snowstorm we walked around in getting to the theater, it was a great Valentine's Day.

Sunday night we watched the whole SNL special. The musical acts were awful.  The Californians was too long. There were a couple other lags.  But coordinating 40 years and that many people into 3 and a half hours was really impressive. I think maybe my favorite bit was the video commemorating the better instances where actors broke character, esp. the bunch in a row of Fallon and Sanz.  

Since Sunday was eaten up with the special, that meant Monday (Presidents Day, a holiday for NYAB and the YP, but not for me) was Downton/Dead/Saul fixes. 2 out of 3 weren't bad.  I spent more time making fun of Walking Dead than enjoying it. Maybe it'll pick up next week.

On the book front: I finished Karen Abbot, and enjoyed it immensely. I also did a little research for my own book and found a memoir by a guy who was in the same company as my murderer, and was happy to see it was on file in our library reference section. I went in Sunday and scanned the book; there were some good bits I can appropriate. 

Today was a snow day.  I had some banked hours, so I spent the day cleaning the house and then we took the snowblower out for its maiden voyage. MONEY WELL SPENT.  Omigod, we blew the whole driveway clean in 15 minutes and I didn't come in and drop dead at the end.  I don't know why we waited this long to get one, I really don't.  So that means two good things came out of this bathroom remodel.  Huzzah! 

The YP's school has already declared tomorrow a snow day as well, but I am pretty sure all our offices will be open. I'm not sure what the plan of attack is.  I know the kid has some writing to do, though. And some reading! 

Business As Usual

Well, it has been quite the exciting little week here at ye olde AvBlog site.  Lots of traffic, lots of agita. I'm grateful for all the support from folks who know me, I'm delighted that so far nobody has called me a moron, at least while I was in earshot.

I feel like I should use this opportunity to be profound, to be useful and worthy of the attention, to comment on matters of consequence. But I am not a little prince and I don't really have any observations on the warfare between the sheep and the flowers other than to think I really ought to follow through on my plans to acquire an agriculture textbook and try to understand some of it before my mom tries to tell me anything more about the family farm.

So I'll trundle back to more mundane matters, as if nothing ever happened. Let's start with Russian Jews.

Fiddler on the Roof opened last weekend and did fairly well, pulling in more than a hundred folks. After last week's crazy pell-mell pace of rehearsals every night and strife every day, this week has felt like a picnic. That all ends tomorrow, however.  Tomorrow there is work, then a performance that will get us home at midnight. Friday I am up for work at 4 a.m., a doctor's appointment at 2:30,  another performance that gets us out at midnight, after which we will drive to Newport News for NeighborGirl's college graduation at 10 a.m. Saturday -- and after that we will theoretically come back north, do another performance Saturday night, get home at midnight, and be back at the theater on Sunday for a Mother's Day matinee.  Gahhh. No rest for the wicked.

But the kid is loving it, and Not Your Average Blogger reports that he's doing well on stage.  (I haven't seen much from the audience; I'm mostly running around backstage looking for buckets and bottles and battery-operated candles.)

This has not left much time for me to admire my house at my favorite time of year.  Creating mulch paths in the flowerbed last year was exactly what I should have done years ago -- the weeding has been cut to almost nothing and the spaces I've finally filled with new flowers look absolutely gorgeous. Inside the house is not as gratifying -- having a dog means lots more hair and I'm astonished at how I can sweep a pound of dog hair off the floor, then come back and sweep again a half hour later and have another pound. You'd think the dog would be bald by now. She's not. She's still a cutie. 

We are also into the time of year where summer camp looms its head.  It's going to be quite the eclectic summer for the boy.  While my main goal was to set it up so we could avoid spending any time whatsoever in Woodbridge for the next couple of months, the kid's desires were also considered. So he's got a kiddie class on physics and bottle rockets, basketball, a couple drama camps, golf, and two weeks of multiplication-intensive math camp at the end of August as he heads into fourth grade.

Fourth grade! Too soon! Good lord. This time next year his age will be a double digit and he'll probably be taller than I am.  Perhaps that basketball camp was a good idea after all...

So Many Stories, So Little Time

I could write about the day last week that began with the dog dropping a dead mouse on my bare foot and ended with me dropping a butter churn on the same spot. But I won't. Suffice to say much shrieking resulted from both events, albeit for very different reasons.

I could share the anecdote about the jackass driver who tried to pass me at 85mph when the lanes converged and nearly killed the Young Prince, then got mad when I flipped him off, then acted shocked when I yelled louder after he STOPPED HIS CAR IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD to get out and yell at me.  The YP was hilarious. 

"I was afraid he was going to punch you."
"What do you think I would have done if he had punched me?"
"Probably rammed his car with ours."
"That's a good guess.  Were you scared when I yelled back?"
"No, then I felt bad for him. I know how it feels to get yelled at like that by you."

I could speculate on the assorted oddities that gravitate to community theater, from the morbidly obese and mentally ill to the perenially tone-deaf and perpetually overenthused. Present company included in that spectrum, natch.

I could write about the YP's slacking off in class and the teacher sending his work home -- and the YP chucking it in the trash because he didn't feel like doing it and thought he wouldn't get caught. I could write about the stricken look on his face when I told him that if he didn't shape up, he'd spend six weeks in Math Camp this summer because if he won't do the work when he's supposed to, he'll do the work when he would otherwise be allowed to do something fun.

Or, I could muse on the fact that as part of our Math Is Everywhere Adventure, the YP and I made cookies last night, except I wound up adding too much flour and somehow that gave the things an oatmeal appearance and a brickbat texture.  30 seconds in the microwave cures all ills, however.

But having given you this series of vignettes, I think I'll go back to reading my book. 

Some Time Away

Time flies when you're not blogging, apparently. 

Let's see. I turned 41 and had a lovely time opening presents and eating myself sick. And then my warranty expired and while washing the dog I screwed up my back in such a way that I actually had to go to the doctor for drugs. Not even good drugs, just anti-inflammatories that maybe made things hurt a wee bit less than they would have otherwise. 

(On top of this, and DEFINITELY in the TMI department, I also got one of those infections not mentioned in polite company. One of the ones that require you to stand up and sit down a lot -- because, why not? For the first time in my entire life, it hurts to do JUST THAT, so what better opportunity for the whole system to go down?)

I'm pleased to report I'm entirely mended now, however.  It only took two weeks and an entire congressional recess. Rah.

NYAB was also on the DL, suffering from a banged-up rib he acquired while chasing the dog in the dark. He is also largely mended.  The Young Prince is hugely relieved that he no longer has to mince around us like the senior citizens we apparently are.

Last week I took off from work and did a boatload of yard and house work.  I filled the vacuum cleaner twice, and I ripped the hell out of my hands with weeding and digging.  Everything looks good now, though, and should stay that way til ... mm, next week, I'd guess. 

We also went to Opening Day, which was a very nice outing. Good weather, great seats, and the kid even took a moderate interest in the game for a half-hour or so -- up from about 15 minutes last year.  I'm hoping this means that by the time he's in junior high he'll be good for three innings.

The kid's play is coming along nicely.  I got assigned prop mistress, which beats the hell out of selling ads for the program like I had to do on the last one, believe me.   The only down side on this is that all the stuff has to stay in my car pretty much all the time, and there is SOMETHING in that mess that reeks like a dead animal. I have yet to figure out what, but as soon as I do, the bleach will be liberally applied. 

My Cliffs Notes writing project is still in the hands of the editor.  I keep waiting for her to tell me it's ready for revisions, but so far I've only had one email saying, "Mostly formatting fixes. Don't hesitate to check in with me if you start to feel neglected!"  Uh, no, I've got my own life, I'll just wait for you to tell me when you want me to do something else... lalala.

My book is still waiting for the agent to read it.  12 weeks is the average on hearing back on that, as I understand it -- no need for dismay yet. 

And now we are caught up! Ye gods, I lead a dull life.  And I'm quite happy to keep it that way, thank you!

Wow. Has It Been That Long?

I am exhausted.  And yet, so little has happened. 

Work at the office continues apace. Congress was in recess this week, which means that everyone has free time to schedule a zillion other meetings about stuff that gets shoved aside in the day to day bustle.  I spent one day in management training.  I spent another day thinking about staff evaluations.  I even managed to spend a few hours thinking about the actual members of my staff.

Wednesday was a fairly early night off work for NYAB and myself, so we went to a Japanese steakhouse.  The YP was surprisingly well behaved and snarfed down more food than I've seen him eat in ages, which made me quite happy.

Last night was the read-through for the play he is in.  NYAB came along, and we both immediately opened our own books and ignored each other for most of the 2.5 hours we were there. The YP's behavior was sterling.  I couldn't have asked him to be more professional and adult. 

This morning I got up and made brownies for a cooking club thing at work that I'd forgotten about until I got home last night at 11. I was still in the office by 6:45. On the other hand, I made a rookie mistake in dealing with a person who works for me.  So I'd say my performance is breaking even on that front. 

I'm almost done with Brideshead Revisited.  I'm rather glad, because while the writing is beautiful and evocative, I find pretty much every single character in it fairly despicable. It's a lot like the Great Gatsby, actually. I love the craftwork in that book beyond all measure too, while finding those characters every bit as vile and irritating. 

Beyond a Saturday rehearsal, I'm not sure what this weekend will bring.  Hopefully several hours of sleep. Presumably another dog park visit or two. And I may sneak off and indulge myself with several pounds of chocolate before resuming the diet effort in earnest.  Or so I tell myself. 

It's interesting.  I count myself very lucky on so many fronts.  I have a good job that pays well. I have a house I like. I have a husband who is steadfast and brilliant, who is not an embezzler or a drunkard. I have a son who is coming along quite nicely and continues to surprise me with his abilities. I have the best friends a person could hope for. I have plenty to keep me busy and lots of interesting things to read and think about.

And yet, there is a tiny part of me that is exhausted with waiting for a spot of good news and starting to doubt and despair. I'd settle for bad news at this point.  Any news, really.   A friend of mine laughed at me yesterday when I admitted I had started checking my email spam filters because of the deafening silence.

Well, next week is another week. Guess I'll cast more bread on the water. (Speaking of which: I know that's an allusion to sowing rice, but am I the only one grossed out by that imagery? Why would you want soggy, disgusting old bread returned to you? Wouldn't you rather not see it again? And what about that flock of new seagull friends looking for a handout? Don't look up when they come around -- ugh!)

 

Experience Is What You Get...

What's new? The federal budget, that's what.   So I spent 15 hours Monday and 15 more hours Tuesday working on coverage and charts detailing its ins and outs.

This time next week, it will be utterly irrelevant. But that's OK. That's news.  And every budget experience is another chance to refine the process and figure out another way to not screw it up next time.

The Young Prince auditioned for Fiddler on the Roof last week. Even though his monologue was fairly uninspired and he's going to miss one of the performances, he still got offered a spot in the chorus.  He's pretty jazzed.  I'm pretty sure he's the youngest one in the outfit.  That'll be interesting.

More interesting, one of the women who works for me also got a role in the show.  I'm not sure how I feel about this. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled for her and she'll be great. But I do wonder how horrified she will be when I inevitably drag the boy offstage by his ear during some rehearsal because he is not behaving himself and needs a reality check issued in harsh hisses and snarls.   Oh, well.  I reckon either she'll applaud my mad parenting skillz or she'll wind up scared of how I'll react if she misbehaves at work.  Win-win?

The weekend was good.  Steak and Shake was delightful, and we timed it well, in that we drove down in a light rain, ate during a massive snowstorm, and drove home in a light rain. Very strange weather.

Star Wars was less impressive. The 3-D was weak, and of course the plot was not improved. I still hate Jar Jar Binks. We came home and NeighborGirl and I watched Evil Dead 2 instead. Far superior, even in 2D. 

On the sloth front, I'm halfway through reading Brideshead Revisited, and I'm caught up on my viewing of Portlandia, Downton Abbey, Walking Dead, House, Glee, New Girl, 30 Rock and Justified. Man, it looks much worse all written down in a row like that.  Just think how much stuff I could get done if I wasn't a slave to someone else's stories!  There are also several things still languishing in NetFlix that I'm pretty sure I can zip through before spring comes. Ahh, winter. Even a mild winter like this is carte blanche to stay inside doing absolutely nothing. And it's everything I thought it could be.

Happy hibernation, y'all. 

It's an Honor Just Being Nominated

Well, it would be.  I don't recall ever being nominated for anything, come to think of it. 

But! I was contacted regarding my interest in applying for change of venue, workwise.  I am equal parts gratified and horrified that I have priced myself out of certain markets.  I'm sure my boss feels the same way.

The Young Prince is taking an active interest in the political primaries, and for about five minutes there he was all fired up about SOPA and PIPA.  I'm not sure where this sudden civic interest originated, but it has led to some interesting dinner table chat.

The other kid excitement was we went to see all his old pals in the second show of the kid-theater season, which was Annie.  I like the show, I grew up listening to the record and it's amazing how many of the lyrics were still stuck in my brain. It was a well-done production, much better quality than the first one.  Will be interesting to see what they do with the third one.

And because the silly boy can't stand not having an audience even when he's in the audience, at one point in the play Daddy Warbucks mentions "Babe Ruth is the right-fielder for the New York Yankees,"  and my kid hollers out "Boo!"  from his seat dead center in the last row of the auditorium.  Not Your Average Blogger high-fived the kid. A big help he is.  I desperately tried to sink through my chair, face in my hands, while surreptitiously counting how many mothers of kids on stage whipped their heads around to glare at us. To his credit, the kid appeared to realize he'd been a bit too loud, as he too sank down in his chair and asked if he should leave.  

In other news, I finished the rough draft of my second book.  After setting myself a limited word count and still coming in 4,000 words long, my friend in publishing says it's too short. The good news is I know what I need to add and I know how much to add, so I still  might have it into a solid Real First Draft before March.

That, or I'll temporarily ditch the fixes and instead start on a third book I've got banging around in my brain. I can get back to rewrites when Outburst Fever has run its course.

Tomorrow the great agent quest begins for my first effort.  365 agents in 365 days. I polished my query again, and picked 20 recipients.  That'll get me through Presidents Day, which should give me time to find the next 20.  

The kid's birthday is next week. Nine years. Good lord. All that attention-sucking aside, we are doing something right, because he has asked to be taken to Steak and Shake for his birthday dinner.  Happy to oblige!

The Drama of Drama

So, the Young Prince's drama production is finally over.  He is sad. Myself? Not so much.

I'm not sure why my experience was so negative.  The production was great, the kids were top-notch, the YP had a fantastic time and seemed to get along with the group fairly well. I think, anyway.

The monetary investment was a bit steep for my blood, but I was OK with that by the end.

It was the investment of time and aggravation that did me in, I think. In this instance, I'm not at all convinced the end justified many of the means. Maybe it's because I've been a manager too long and I'm used to doing things my own way -- but I don't think so, because there were a lot of other rookies involved in this thing looking around going, "Really? That's how they roll here? Because that's messed up." I think it's more likely I've been a manager too long and I look at bad managers and think, "UGH STOP IT I DON'T EVEN LIKE PUTTING UP WITH NONSENSE LIKE THIS WHEN I'M GETTING PAID TO DO SO."

Like having a party where kids were expected to know to dump liquid into a bucket before throwing out their plastic cups into trash bags.  Um, yeah. There were 60 kids, four monitors. That's a recipe for success. And then one of the monitors got dressed down for abandoning her post -- when some kid had dropped a full cup of something somewhere else and she had gone to help clean it up. (This was not me, for the record. I managed to escape being a member of trash patrol.)

Or the fact that every parent is expected to sell ads (or cough up an opt-out fee,) but there's no list of who's selling where, so the "ad committee" has no idea whether they're making cold calls to business owners who are like, "Oh, Joe Blow works here; he already bought an ad for his kid."  Well, that's dandy.

Another problem seemed to be that assigned roles were not well assigned. It seemed to me that half the women on these committees did most of the work. (OK, yes, there were some men. But really, I'd say it was a 90-10 split. I'm not stereotyping, I don't think.) The responsibility quotient was all over the place. There were some women who were extremely organized, listened to their people and delegated well. (These committees were the best run and most effective, surprise, surprise. They also seemed to be the ones run by women who either had lots of experience with the group or had day jobs.) There were some women who were just "Argh, nevermind, I'll do it myself." (I sympathize with these women. I have a bad streak of it myself, but I try to tamp it down and share my toys.) There were some women who were wandering around going, "What should I doooo?" (Yeah, I hate them too.) And there were some women who were total martinets. "You go here, you do that -- I don't care if you said you had other commitments at that precise moment. Do it!"  (That went over extremely well, as you might imagine.)

Before he retired, my dad ran library systems.  It seemed like every year when he was making the pitch for his budget, the purse-string holders would ask him, "Well, why can't you just use volunteers to (put books away/check books out/unlock the doors/turn on the heater)?"  And his answer was, 'Well, to some extent, we do.  But we are a county service, required to provide materials to taxpayers, and volunteers are notoriously unreliable, for a variety of reasons." 

Yup.

But, hey, I learned a lot. I learned which committees to sign up for next time and which names to avoid. I learned a lot of ways to NOT do things if I'm ever in a position to commandeer a group -- which I suspect might be sooner than I would like, if the kid continues in this fashion.  I also suspect the purchase of a glue gun may be in my not-so-distant future. 

In the meantime, we are taking a break.  The midseason performance is Annie.  I didn't even let the YP audition. I don't know that he would have been taken, but I didn't want to risk it.  I needed the break.

Instead, we are honing his skills on our own.  We are doing readings at home. On Monday, he is going to audit a hip-hop class (Yes. I KNOW.) to see if he wants to improve his dance skills.  (And yes, I'm hoping I can sell him on Swing and Ballroom at some point, but for now I think he should probably be in a dance class with a bunch of other high-energy young boys who can't sit still.) And we are going back to the time-honored tradition of getting homework done, reading when we aren't working, and focusing on how to be quiet and still. Wish me luck on that last one. I will need it. 

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I'm grateful for friends, family, health and material comfort.

I'm also glad that's over.