You know what they say about big ears…
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Yesterday, while at lunch—Chinese buffet, the temptation never dies, does it?—I overheard a table a few booths away talking. They were replaying, in conversation, a blow-by-blow of what they’d done earlier that morning: sledding. It doesn’t snow here the way it does “up north.” The threat of a half-inch closes down most businesses and schools. We’d gotten several inches, actually. And they had gone sledding. And they were talking about it. One guy said, “Yeah, I hit you pretty hard.” Another guy said, “Yeah, you did.” They laughed at that. Then, said the exact same thing again, using different words, and laughed again. From where I sat,...
It’s no Gashlycrumb Tinies, but the point is I wasn’t going for that, anyway.
I’ve been having the most interesting, intriguing, and ridiculous dreams lately. Last night, and I was medicine-free, mind you, I dreamed that I was a poet, of sorts, and that I was neighbors to a house. Well, I should say, House. Because this House was alive, a real, bona-fide living House. In addition to that, this House lived in an envelope. That’s right. An envelope. (It is a buyer's market, right?) At any rate, I’d been out of work for some time, and as a favor, the House had hired me to paint a new coat for its exterior. Except, instead of paint, the House had...
The Top 15 Meanest Things You Could Say To Another Person On Purpose, Or Even Worse, Accidentally.
So, I have an evil side. What about it? I don’t like admitting it, but fortunately, by the time you realize it’s true, there’s no point in admitting it because, theoretically, you’re experiencing it, you’re the guy at the other end of it, getting my evil. I’m not sure but somehow that last bit sounded gross, didn’t it. Anyway. I’m human, and being human means coming with an evil side. And it’s a lot easier, every now and again, to revel in that than to pretend otherwise. I don’t try to understand it anymore than I try understanding why people spell words out in front...
One of my favorite games, growing up, was Beleaguered Librarian.
Filed under: Deep South, education, End of the World, Everyday, humor, language, life
Here’s something you don’t know about me: I enjoy doing my taxes. I rarely get anything back from them, so that’s hardly the reason why – there’s no monetary motivation behind it – it’s just that, deep down, I really like filling in things, forms, blanks. I like putting things where they go, seeing them meld into the template of the 1040EZ, or the W-2, or the New York Times Crossword. I like it because when things fit, I’m pleased. I like it because, when it’s all said and done, it looks neat. And I like it because it looks intimidating: To think that...
“That’s not lying,” he said, “That’s good manners.”
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, faith, family, humor, language, life, theatre, writing
Of all the hobbies I have, I most enjoy lying and eavesdropping. Because I, personally, like a hobby that's a challenge. And both of these are. It is not so easy to lie, as you might think. The closer you are to someone the craftier you have to be. But, I like that. I've always been good at crafts, thanks to Vacation Bible School. Ask U.L. He’s kept every single thing I ever made at VBS, with the exception of that frightening plastic Jesus-on-the-cross-shaking-hands-with-PawPaw objet d’art I made, when I was six. I don’t blame him for that, though; it’s difficult to know how long...
She was, in fact, too next to me.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, food, humor, language, life
If it hadn’t happened to me, I would have wanted it to. Because I love desperate people, people who are in dire need of belonging to Something: a group, a party, a conversation. They’re simply fascinating to watch in public because they have no radar for ridicule. Enter: Me. The Radar. I’m not always “in your face” about things, but it takes all kinds, I know, and I respect those who are. For me, I’m much more like a Dorothy Zbornak; I like to fight with my wit, when I have any. Like that girl, last night, whom I’m supposing I met thought I...
He was called Bear because he looked like a bear.
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, family, food, language, life, theatre, writing
I figured something out yesterday: The closer I get to someone, the more of my name I lose. It's not the first time, I admit, that I've had this thought. I’ve often been concerned with the apparent fluid boundaries of what constitutes Identity, especially where names are involved. I got it naturally; after all, I’m no average Chris…I’m Kris…with a K. I even wrote a song about it once. It was always a delicious fantasy for me, though, in grade school, to change the spelling of my name on my homework assignments. I mean, Chris (with the “Ch”) was as foreign a person to...
The very idea of texting your mother…
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, language, life, writing
You tell me if you get this: a student gets up to leave at the end of this morning's class, and casually turns back to me and says, “Well teetle, I guess! Have a good weekend!” Teetle? Do you know what that means? I didn’t either. I asked her to repeat it. “I said ‘teetle.’” “Do you mean like toodle-loo? Is that what you’re trying to say? As in, See you later, toodle-loo?” “I would never say that. That sounds dumb.” There was a lull as we tried to figure out how to communicate what, at first glance, appeared to be nothing but a simple, closing remark as she...
She said tetherball, and I immediately felt sorry for her.
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, family, language, life, theatre
Before I begin the section on Theatre History, for non-majors, I always start the class off by discussing children’s games. I ask them what their favorite games were when they were little, and then I segue from that into the ideas of exaggerated expression, storytelling, being larger than yourself, and then lead them all the way into that post-adolescent Catch-22 of knowing which parent to ask to get permission to do whatever it is the other parent said No to. Because a lot of those ideas are exactly where theatre’s roots lie, at least coming at it from the...
I’m made of sterner stuff than common sense, I’ll have you know.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, family, language, life, theatre, writing
I used to get frustrated when I'd be cast in a play, an old one written back, say, in the 1920s, a la Glaspell or O'Neill, and halfway through the play I'd come to one of my lines: "Egads, Helen! Don't do that with your teeth! The zipper's fine." Or... "Eureka! Eureka! I've unlocked the secret code. Now, the children may eat." I hated that type of diction. It was always difficult for me to comprehend who in the world would ever actually say these things. Even harder still when one of the words had a repeat. I had no idea how to even say these words. That is...until today. Today...
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