Pointing, by the way, is not polite.
tweet thisFiled under: Deep South, education, Everyday, food, health, humor, life, theatre
I’ve become a little too close to the janitor, at the college. And it’s not that I mind, not one bit; it’s how we’ve become close that I find amusing and uncomfortable. It involves Miller Light. Sort of. Before I go any further, I want you to be plainly aware that this is not about an academic caste system. And I have a previous story to prove it. Though I rarely tell this story from my Disney Days, prior to having the high-class job of character entertainment and the allure of being an Attractions Host at Disney Studios, I will come clean and tell you that...
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...
The Parable of the Good Alcoholic.
I figure there are two ways to burn a bridge: whiskey, and everything else. I admit it: There's something beautiful in a martini glass; something so achingly elegant in the way a champagne flute plays its score. And I know it must be in my blood because I wasn't brought up to drink, it was never glorified, and certainly not encouraged, not in a Baptist household. (At least the Jews in my family drank wine, but I didn't know them very well, and they always seemed to be committing suicide or losing a few children in Oklahoma or some such dramatic thing...
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