My mom freaked out about rip tides yesterday. We live in Ohio. Rip tides can take anyone though. You're swimming or wading in the water or even just looking at a picture of Cape Cod and next thing you know you're being swept out to sea. I give my mom credit because when something concerns her she proactively works to fight that fear. Mom spoke with a guy at the grocery store who instructed her to swim parallel to the shore if caught in a rip tide. Good to know. Good to know.

I'm Amazing

I amaze myself with how amazing I continually get. I don't just stay at one level of amazing, but I burst through new layers of amazing every day. Like moving into my friend's attic. That's pretty amazing. I mean, how many people get to do that? I'm also going to be appearing on a cable talk show soon. I think it will air on channel 1249. Not many people even have that many channels. How amazing is that? And my birthday is coming up. I'm probably going to dance rehearsal then I'll grab a whiskey and watch court TV. Dance rehearsal. Sounds exotic, huh? I even get to dance with some cute guys. How many other people get to be swept across the dance floor with cuties on their birthday? I'm so amazing.

Velco was invented in Lexington, Nebraska, a little town that has a Motel 8, a beef slaughtering house and since the 1950's, a velcro museum. Understandably. I know this because I was once broken down in Lexington, Nebraska. By "broken down" I mean my car broke down, but this breaking down lead to my own personal break down based on the fact that I was helplessly stuck in a town with only a Motel 8, a beef slaughtering house and a velcro museum (which I toured).

Today on Animal Planet

Observe the Upper Classius Socialitis. Notice their movements as they go about their daily tasks. Observe their apparent disregard for one another. This species thrives mostly on an individual basis, pausing only for casual greeting and the occasional mating. The Males and Females of the Upper Classius Socialitis species rarely tend to their own young. There are surrogate member of the Middle Classius and Lower Classius species more commonly known as "The Help" who take turns caring for the youngest of the more privileged species. They follow the Upper Classius and are occasionally eaten.
Notice how the adults of the Upper Classius get their fists stuck in the small doorways of their mansions and offices, oblivious to the simple solution leading to freedom. Instead they stay trapped with their hands tightly wound around various possessions and other vital resources. Likewise, the Middle and lower Classius (Classii?) follow their example. But are occasionally eaten.

Argyle Socks with High Heals

My show at the Montgomery Theater opened this weekend and it was described as "So funny", "Delightful", and "Smart" by my roomate Becca, an expert in giving great compliments. She also said that I have nice calves. I don't own cows so I'm assuming she means my legs.

There's a scene in The Quiet Man with John Wayne where he drags his stubborn wife (played by Maureen O'Hara) 5 miles back to their house. She falls a couple times, loses a shoe, hits her head on the ground and struggles to keep up. All the towns people are watching with bated breath to see if their hero will succeed in calming the storm that is his wife. Aren't we all victims? Maureen O'Hara has strength that she is unable to display but at the same time John Wayne is living up to the tough guy stereotype when maybe all he really wants to do follow.

Dramedy

I've recently joined an improv tragedy group. "What is improv tragedy?" you may ask. I suppose it's not so different from improv comedy. It's hard to tell the difference between tragedy and comedy sometimes anyway.

Aunt Doris stood there in Aunt Connie's bedroom a few years ago. Her trip from Indiana went well. No real complications. We chatted lightly as I tried to avert my eyes away from the new flatness on the right side of her nightgown. The loss of symatry is so painful. We talked of her grandsons, her impending move to North Carolina, fond memories of grandma. My mind tessered to a time when I'd visit the town house she shared with Aunt Peggy and we'd all go trick-or-treating or swimming in the community pool. I quickly forgot about her missing breast. She was a survivor. A person who lived richly. She lived in Michigan when her husband was alive. She moved to Ohio when we needed her. Her grandchildren in Indiana had her for a few years and grandchildren in North Carolina were blessed with her pressence until she died on Wednesday. She was a sort of Mary Poppins I suppose. She'd pop in and bring a spoonful sugar then move on to the next house in need. I will miss her.

ZuZu's Petals

We sat crammed around the phone straining to hear every little sad, exciting and emotional detail of his sandy life. My brother Ryan...Known to us as the laid-back king of hilarity and friendship...Known to them as Sgt. Vrooman.

I've moved. I live 9 hours away from the home I still refer to and probably always will refer to as "home". Every time I relocate I face the option of creating a new identity, sticking with what is good and fooling all my new aquantences into glancing past the bad. But I think I'm too tired or too motivated or too overwhelmed to go through the effort. Instead, I carry with me all the old experiences which act as titanium frames through which I see the new experiences, allowing me to not change my identity but to grow more saturated in the richness of it.

My house is a romantic old carriage house on the property of a romantic old mansion. My bedroom has romantic wooden floors and the kitchen is filled with romantic morning sunlight. The town surrounding my romantic dwelling is speckled with romantic specialty shops and an unusually romantic Starbucks. And every morning i wake up and do romantic jumping jacks in order to produce some romantic body heat to combat the romantically broken heating system.