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May 23, 2013

No. Not that one. NO. The other white meat. DAMMIT, THE OTHER ONE!

By lucysfootball

Today when I was driving home from work I was thinking about business slogans. I have no idea why. I have to assume there was one on the radio because I don’t drive past anywhere with a visible slogan on the way home. That’s because I purposely take this weird back way to get home that may or may not save me time but I get in a rut and then I don’t want to try new things. Also, it’s pretty back there. There are a lot of trees. And there are lilacs by the stop sign so if my windows are rolled down it smells lovely in the car. Yes, I realize there won’t always be lilacs. But there are lilacs NOW, so that’s NICE. Sheesh.

So, yeah, I have no idea what slogan I heard on the radio that made me start thinking about the fact that there are a lot of terrible slogans in the world. Businesses pay advertising executives a lot of money to come up with these things, and if you think about them, some of them are very, very stupid, and make very little sense, objectively.

Let’s discuss some slogans which I have totally helpfully found for you on the interwebs. Because I am helpful like that. Some of these seem outdated. We’re still going to DISCUSS them, I just don’t know that they’re CURRENT. Nice job, Wikipedia, for staying on top of the trends.

Did somebody say McDonald’s?

This apparently was an old slogan for McDonald’s. I think the current one is the “I’m lovin’ it” garbage or something, right? Anyway, I like “Did somebody say McDonald’s?” because the correct answer to this question is “No. Nobody said McDonald’s, George. We’re going to a REAL restaurant. If you want Big Macs, get them yourself on your lunch hour, you troglodyte.”

Have it your way.

I don’t understand this slogan, Burger King. Does anyone know anyone out there who walks into Burger King and custom-orders? Like, “I’d like the chicken sandwich, only with the sauce you put on the Whoppers, and can I get a side of barbecue sauce with my fries, and maybe instead of a vanilla shake, you could put just a little coffee in there, make it a mocha shake?” No. You do not do that, because IT IS BURGER KING. You order off the menu. If you even ask for no tomatoes they look at you like you’ve shit in the glove compartment. You don’t get it your way. You get it the way they made it before they wrapped it in that paper wrapping stuff and if you don’t like it, HIT THE ROAD, there’s probably a Taco Bell half a mile up.

I’d walk a mile for a Camel.

Was it a windy day when you walked the mile for your Camel? What's up with the flippety scarf-thing?

Was it a windy day when you walked the mile for your Camel? What’s up with the flippety scarf-thing?

OK, this slogan is from 1921, mostly because I don’t think cigarettes are allowed to advertise anymore because THE CHILDREN THINK OF THE CHILDREN. But it’s also false. I don’t think any smokers could walk a mile for a Camel. Because of the coughing and out-of-breathedness. Also, why wouldn’t they drive or, well, it was 1921, take the horse and buggy over to the general store for a Camel? Why are you walking a mile for a cigarette anyway? You need to start stocking up on that shit the next time you hit town if you live that far away. You’re going to wear out your shoe leather, old-timey smoker person.

Ivory Soap – 9944/100% Pure.

If this was an ad nowadays, that Christian Coalition for the Family would get all up-in-arms about it. NAKED KID IN AN AD!!!

If this was an ad nowadays, that Christian Coalition for the Family or whatever those doucheknuckles are called would get all up-in-arms about it. NAKED KID IN AN AD!!!

I actually use and like Ivory soap because it’s one of the only soaps I can use on my special snowflake face that doesn’t make me a., turn bright red like a stop sign or b., break out like a leprosy victim. Sadly, this is not a joke. But I have often wondered what the 56/100% of my soap is. Is it bugs? Toxic chemicals? PEOPLE? IS SOYLENT GREEN PEOPLE? I’m honestly curious, here. Also, I find it funny that this is the slogan. “Ivory! We’re almost totally pure, except for that part that’s not, and we’d rather not talk about that!” Come to think of it, Ivory soap’s slogan and how I presented myself to my parents in college so they would continue to send me money now and then have a lot in common.

Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.

I found something that said "Like a good neighbor stay over there" and it made me giggle. Yes. Stay over there. I approve of my neighbors staying over there.

I found something that said “Like a good neighbor stay over there” and it made me giggle. Yes. Stay over there. I approve of my neighbors staying over there.

THIS IS TOTALLY WHAT I HEARD ON THE RADIO TODAY THAT STARTED ALL OF THIS! This jingle has been on a lot, and also there are commercials that make me laugh. So I guess it’s a good slogan in that it makes me giggle. But I don’t think their intended purpose is me singing the version I’ve come up with, which is “Like a good stalker, State Farm shows up when you least expect it!” because that’s what happens on the commercials and the radio ads. POOF! HERE’S STATE FARM! PEEKIN’ IN YOUR WINDOW AT NIGHT! JUST MAKIN’ SURE YOU’RE SLEEPIN’ OK!

Pork. The Other White Meat.

Other than the fact that this makes me giggle because it’s totally a euphemism, it is such a giving-up slogan, isn’t it? “Pork. You know. Pork? From pigs? Like, pork roast? Pork chops? No. Not wings. That’s chicken. NO. Not CHICKEN BREAST. Good grief. PORK, lady. THE OTHER WHITE MEAT!” “Dude. That’s our slogan. We’re gonna make MILLIONS!”

Probably the best lager in the world.

I mean, we think. We haven't tried them ALL, of course. Ha. Ha ha.

I mean, we think. We haven’t tried them ALL, of course. Ha. Ha ha.

This is apparently a slogan for some beer named Carlsberg which I’ve never heard of. I don’t drink beer because of that time I almost died in college from drinking too much of it and now it tastes like a three-day hangover and vomitous shame to me, so I haven’t had any since. Yes. In over twenty years. That’s right. You’re a math whiz. Anyway. I think anyone who has the gumption to have “probably” in their slogan deserves an award. “We’re not SURE we’re the best lager in the world…but probably. Probably we are. I mean, there are other lagers. And those are fairly tasty. But we’re still pretty certain ours is the best. So…maybe put it in your mouthhole? See what you think? I mean, no pressure. Probably you’ll like it, but we can’t guarantee anything.”

There is no spit in Cremo!

HORRID WORD! Did people used to sell things covered in spit back in the day? Good grief that's repulsive.

HORRID WORD! Did people used to sell things covered in spit back in the day? Good grief that’s repulsive.

In 1929 there were cigars called Cremo and this was their slogan. THIS IS THE BEST SLOGAN EVER. What kind of cigars were being sold BEFORE this? Spitty ones? Like, were all the cigars hand-rolled and then sealed with a loogie? I am utterly charmed, disgusted, AND perplexed by this one. No spit, you guys! None! TRY A CREMO THERE’S NO SALIVA IN THERE!

We drink all we can. The rest we sell.

I mean, unless we drink them all. That's a distinct possibility, I'm not going to lie.

I mean, unless we drink them all. That’s a distinct possibility, I’m not going to lie.

This one’s for another beer I’ve never heard of. Utica Club. Is that Utica as in the city in New York? I’ve been to Utica. I had relatives there when I was little. I don’t remember them being all “we have our own beer here!”, though. This is a very good slogan and it is very honest. I would imagine the people who run this brewery are serious alcoholics, and they drink up most of their inventory. Except sometimes they pass out, and then someone sells some of the inventory to pay for that stuff the janitors used to use in elementary school to soak up the vomit before sweeping it up and it smelled worse than the vomit did, remember that stuff? “We drink a lot of beer here at Utica Club, but when we’ve had all we can, we’ll let you have some. I suppose. *Hiccup.*”

With a name like Smucker’s… it has to be good.

But does it? Does it really? Are you SURE?

But does it? Does it really? Are you SURE?

Smucker’s still uses this slogan and I call shenanigans. Why does it have to be good? Like, is there something magical about the Smucker name? Smucker’s makes a variety of jams and jellies. One of them is raspberry. I hate raspberry. There are too many seeds and if I find out there’s raspberry jam in something I’m eating, I’ll stop eating it because of those effing seeds. So therefore, I don’t find Smucker’s raspberry jam good. I HAVE DISPROVED YOUR SLOGAN. Also, does this slogan imply everything they do is good? Like, if one of the Smuckers’ boys, say Harold Smucker, decides to become a psychokiller who wears his victims’ ears around his neck like a cunning choker, does THAT have to be good? Would any court in the land have to let ol’ Hal go because of this slogan? No, I’m serious, someone help me out, here.

Now you know what it’s like to drive around with me in a car or to watch commercials with me. Mostly I say things like this to ads. Like, every few ads, I’ll start ranting about something random in the ad. I like the Geico Mayhem ads, though. They make me laugh. Good job, Geico.

I want a slogan. Can it be Lucy’s Football: Shut Up and Give Me a Popsicle? Because it is now. NEW SLOGAN!!!

I’m very good at this. Someone tell the ad firms to watch their back.

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40 comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in advertising, Humor

May 22, 2013

So let me say before we part: so much of me is made of what I learned from you.

By lucysfootball

I moved here in September 2002. I started looking for something to do in the area not long afterward; I knew if I just stayed home all the time and did nothing, I’d not only drive myself insane, I’d drive my poor roommate there with me.

I called one local theater and they called me back, but something there seemed off, so I decided that one was out. Then I went to see Cloud 9 at another local theater, and I fell crazy in love. With the theater – an old firehouse that just felt like a theater, the minute you walked in – with the actors, who did the best version of the show I’d ever seen – and with the direction, which was brilliant. This was the theater I wanted to work at. This was where I was meant to be.

The other theater was five minutes from my house in an area I was comfortable with and had a parking lot; this theater was twenty minutes away (in normal, non-rush-hour traffic) in a somewhat-sketchy area I knew nothing about, had on-street parking (and never enough of it) and meant I had to (GULP!) drive on the HIGHWAY.

I’ve never taken the easy way, have I? Nope.

I signed up in the lobby in the volunteer book and thought if I heard from them at all, it wouldn’t be soon. A couple weeks later, I got a call from someone at the theater. “You said you have experience running a light and sound board on your sheet,” she said. “Yes…?” I said. “YOU DO? Want to run the light and sound boards for our next show in a couple of weeks? We could REALLY use you,” she said.

(Side note: she now runs the box office at the fancy theater here, yo. Love you, J.!)

I walked in petrified. I didn’t know these people. Was this even a good idea? I mean, yes, I needed to get out of the house, and I missed theater. But these were STRANGERS. It had been YEARS since I ran the booth for a show. What if I screwed up? These people were GOOD. They might HATE me.

I think I said about three words to anyone for that entire show. I was this scared little mouse in the booth. But I didn’t screw up the lighting or the sound. And the next thing I knew, I was stage managing the next show of the season. And then the next show. And sometimes running either the light or sound board or both. Doing props. Working backstage. And when, a year later, they asked me to be on the board of directors. I don’t know if I was ever happier.

I moved through positions on the board: trustee at large, secretary, vice president of production, artistic director. I worked on show after show after show. I stage managed, produced, worked box office, worked the light and sound boards, did crew work, acted (a little, and not well, I know my limitations, people), ran auditions, worked hospitality, publicity. You name it, I’ve probably done it.

Eight years, I’ve been on the board there. I’ve met some of my closest local friends while working there. I’ve learned so many things there, had so many opportunities to do things I’d never gotten to do before. I’ve seen such amazing work happen on that stage. I’ve laughed until I’ve cried and cried until I’ve laughed. I took such pride in being the artistic director of one of the oldest community theaters in the area. I did good work. I worked very hard to put up shows that I believed in, that people would both enjoy and that would broaden their horizons, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, as well as make us money.

Being on the board led to my job as a theater reviewer. It led to my current full-time job; I met friend A. there, and he sent me the job posting, and now I work with him. Being on the board led to me knowing most of our local actors; knowing more theater than I ever thought I would; being someone that came up in conversation as part of the local theater scene, a theater scene I could not be more proud of.

Tuesday night was my last official board meeting.

I chose to step down. It was my choice. It’s been an amazing eight years, but it’s been a lot of work. A lot of time. A lot of time I haven’t had for myself. A lot of times where I missed other things, other opportunities. I’m starting to wilt. It’s stopped being fun. And I’ve always said, when something stops being fun, you have to stop doing it, not only for your own sanity, but for the people around you; your mood directly affects them.

I know it’s for the best; it’s opening up a whole new world for me. I have plans for all this time. I have things I’ve been putting off that I’ll finally have time to do. I’ll be able to sleep more. My stress level will be lower. This is for the best.

But just because something’s for the best doesn’t mean that it’s not hard, walking away from something that’s been such a part of your identity for so long. Nine years. Almost the whole time I’ve lived here. The theater’s been my main social interaction for all those years. It’s been me. I’ve been Amy, who works at the theater. It’s hard not to feel a little lost, even if it is the right thing, and I’m doing it for all the right reasons.

I’ll be the artistic director for a little less than a month, still. The new artistic director doesn’t start until next month. This was my last board meeting, however; I accidentally bought a ticket to see Neil Gaiman on the night of our annual meeting next month, so this is it for me. (Sorry, I’m not missing Gaiman. I’d have to hand in my geek card if I did. Plus…well, goodbyes are sad; goodbyes at the annual meeting, in front of all those people? SUPER-sad. Plus also pretty embarrassing.) I could always go back. I could always work at another theater. If I get bored, if I start missing theater, maybe I will, but I’ll be taking a good long break first.

This is the right thing to do.

I handed in the keys that have been hanging on my keychain for eight years tonight. I said my goodbyes, which weren’t as sad as they probably should have been. I know this is the right move for me.

I did, however, sit in the car for a little bit and look at the theater, and say a goodbye to it privately. The woman who, nine years ago, sat in her car, afraid to go in; the woman who, nine years later, sat in her car, afraid to leave.

Nine years there, eight of them on the board. The next time I come back, I’ll be a patron. Or a volunteer. I won’t work there anymore.

Just because something’s the right thing to do doesn’t always mean it’s the easy choice to make.

31 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , | posted in memories, sad, Theater, thoughts

May 21, 2013

Random things that made me laugh recently. And also a little queasy.

By lucysfootball

This weekend at work I laughed at a lot of things. Laughing still makes me cough a lot, so also I coughed a lot. It’s not really the best thing combination.

So on Saturdays, I work at the answering service. The job is not the most fun, but my coworkers mostly are the best. We get giggly over stupid shit. I think this is because we’re getting yelled at by the callers so much that we need to laugh where we can.

Today’s best typos:

Someone meant to say that the caller wanted a black plaque on the coffin they were ordering. However, some of my coworkers aren’t the best at spelling. So, instead of “include the black plaque” we got “include the black plague.”

OMG THE BLACK PLAGUE YOU GUYS.

Bring our your dead!

Bring our your dead!

And the worst part was it was on this place we answer for where you can order coffins and grave liners and things, so we totally got giggling because we were all “the black plague! Man, if the black plague was included, what a great day that would be for all the funeral directors! BUSINESS WOULD BE BOOMING!”

Then, someone meant to write “the individuals” but didn’t double-check her message so when I got it, it said “teh individualos.”

Say that out loud. Doesn’t it sound so Spanish and debonair? TEH INDIVIDUALOS!

So we kept saying things like “teh individualos, Señor! Beware teh individualos!” in a thick faux-Spanish accent.

THEN, someone spelled Albuquerque as Albuquercue like it was barbecue, so we were saying that in all the different ways. Mine was Al-be-ker-koo. With a very long oooooo sound at the end. We were all going to take a road trip to Albuquercue to avoid the black plague and also to avoid teh individualos. Those nefarious individualos.

Albuquercue is FILLED with all teh nefarious individualos.

Albuquercue is FILLED with all teh nefarious individualos.

And THEN, right before I left, a caller called in and started complaining that his air conditioner didn’t work, and he was looking for a part. What part? His “compacitor.” Listen, he was REALLY serious about this. No, not his capacitor. No, not his compressor. His compacitor. Which I just Googled and it does not exist. DOES. NOT. EXIST. But a lot of people on the Googles THINK it exists, because they cannot spell. ANYWAY, so after the compacitor guy called, we were all “the FLUX COMPACITOR!” and “1.21 gigawatts!” and “we’re going BACK…to the FUTURE!” and if you think we’re not a., having a good time at the answering service, and b., laughing at the douchebag callers who think compacitors are a thing, you are doubly wrong, my little lemon tarts.

This is CLEARLY spelled wrong. It's COMpacitor, bub.

This is CLEARLY spelled wrong. It’s COMpacitor, bub.

Then I went to the theater and was a very good house manager and made people laugh and tore their tickets with FLAIR. It’s like a little added show, only you don’t even have to pay for that part. Nice, right? Seriously, I was on fire, yo. Actually, no. I was on the OPPOSITE of fire, because my fever is totally gone and all I have is a cough now and sometimes my nose runs randomly the most and I have to run and find a Kleenex and not all Kleenex are the best and some are scratchy and my nose is all sore right now, you know. STUPID COLD.

Then I was watching television and a commercial for this product came on:

This is a beer product that is also a malt beverage like a wine cooler and tastes like a margarita. I can’t…is there anything in the whole entire world, including organ meat, that sounds less appealing than this? Are people buying this? Like, to actually drink it and not use it to mock, or strip paint?

According to this review, they don’t taste like beer (which is what was the most confusing to me, because the commercial kept saying they had beer in them WHY WOULD I WANT BEER IN MY MARGARITA) but they DO taste REPULSIVE which is not at all surprising to me. They are malt beverages. I have not yet met a malt beverage that doesn’t give me a headache with the scent alone.

Listen, back when I did such things, my steady boyfriend was José Cuervo. I pretty much lived on tequila and tequila-based beverages. It got to the point where all I’d do was splash the tiniest amount of margarita mix in the big old glass of tequila, but still. It was KIND of a margarita. In spirit, anyway. Ha! Spirit. Get it?

José and I had a breakup many years ago, and we only have flirtations every now and then, which leave me feeling guilty and kind of disgusting. Damn you, José. You and your seductive bedroom eyes.

But even though I’m no longer a margarita connoisseur, I am fairly sure these fake margaritas in a can that seem to have beer in them would not be good. Not at all good. Terrible. Vomitorious. There were totally a zillion commercials on for them the other night, though. That’s why I don’t watch a lot of live TV. You can’t avoid the commercials.

My verdict: don’t drink these things. And if you do, don’t you even come crying to me, because I totally told you so.

This is kind of short but I’m sleepy. Listen, I had a FOUR HOUR TRAINING SEMINAR today. Four hours. And it was one of those seminars where they MAKE YOU PARTICIPATE. Here’s my take on forced participation: I’ll participate if I want to, but the minute you tell me I HAVE to, I clam right up. It makes me nervous when it’s not on my own terms. There was a lot of shit in that four hours that wasn’t on my terms, yo. But I did get to make a poster. I do so like making posters. That’s my jam.

Here’s to things randomly cracking you up today. But not things making you THROW up, and I’m fairly sure that malt beverage thingy would do just that. Blergh.

18 comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in random, work

May 20, 2013

One day the black will swallow the red

By lucysfootball

There is only one thing I fear in life, my friend… One day the black will swallow the red.

I see a lot of plays. I get paid for it now, for one thing. But I don’t just see plays I get paid for. I’m more than a little addicted. I see as many as I feasibly can. We’ve discussed this, at length; as a child, I always dreamed of living the kind of life where I could go to the theater whenever I wanted. I am lucky enough to live that kind of life now, and I honor that wide-eyed teenager every time I buy my ticket (or am blessed enough to get a reviewer’s comp) and sit in a seat in a darkened theater and let the actors spin their web around me.

They’re not always good. That’s the thing about any art form, really; some will be very, very good, some will be so, so terrible, and some will be just middle-of-the-road. This can be because of any number of things: the actors, the direction, the set, the costumes, the writing. It’s also sometimes because of the baggage you bring to the table, which is something that’s often overlooked; the play could be wonderful, but you might hate it because one of the characters reminds you too much of your abusive ex or your unstable mother-in-law or the set is just too reminiscient of the unhappy home you grew up in. It’s very seldom that everything comes together perfectly. It’s (and I know this is going to surprise you, since, as the Irish say, my bladder is close to my eyes) seldom I cry in the theater; all of these elements coming together perfectly doesn’t happen very often, and in order for me to cry IN FRONT OF PEOPLE (a thing I don’t often do, as weepy as I am – my crying is almost always a very personal and very private affair) the stars really have to align.

Today I saw a play that made all the stars line up perfectly. Better than that: it made me think. It’s still making me think, hours later.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not a huge art person. I mean, I love art. I respect art, and appreciate art, and love going to see art. But I couldn’t tell you what makes good art, not really. Or how it makes me feel.

What really impresses me, more so than the art itself, are artists. The creativity behind making a work of art. The thought process. The type of mind that can come up with something like that. And the demons that live in a mind like that. I lump all artists into this category, by the way, not just traditional sculptors and painters. Writers, musicians, actors, dancers, anyone who creates something new that wasn’t there before. I believe that all artists have something in common, whether or not it’s obvious; that creation holds a madness in it. Whether it holds it at bay or it brings it to the forefront depends on the artist. Anyone who is creative, especially one who is good at what they do, walks a fine line with the darkness in their mind.

Red is about Mark Rothko. I knew very little about Rothko going into the show. I knew he was a painter; I knew he was an impressionist. I knew his paintings were blocks of color, almost painful to look at in their intensity.

Other than that, very little. My artistic education was lacking. I’ll be the first to admit it. We didn’t discuss art in high school, and in college, as long as you were taking some sort of art classes, you were covered, and my art was the billions of theater classes I was taking.

I like that he doesn't look like a fancy artist. He kind of looks like an accountant.

I like that he doesn’t look like a fancy artist. He kind of looks like an accountant.

The Four Seasons restaurant in New York City had just been built in the late 50s by the beverage company Seagram and Sons. (I think of Seagrams now, I think of wine coolers. I don’t know that they’d be proud of that legacy; apparently they used to be the fanciest.) They commissioned Rothko to paint a mural for the restaurant for a lot of money. He worked on them for at least a year or two, then visited the restaurant and decided, for a reason that’s never been completely explained, his paintings couldn’t hang there. He called Seagram up, gave him what is thought to have been a monumental tongue-lashing (Rothko was a firebrand, you guys) and sent him back the money. In the play, which I assume was researched, the amount was $35,000. In the late 50s/early 60s. He RETURNED it. The paintings were done, but he didn’t want them hanging in that restaurant.

The play (which won a number of Tonys in 2010) is about the years he spent working on the mural. In order for him to have someone to talk to (because it would be extremely strange for him to talk to himself for 90 minutes) he hires a young artist as an assistant at the top of the show, and the two of them spar. It’s a complicated relationship; a little father/son, a little teacher/student, a little peer to peer, a little antagonistic.

Let’s get the little things out of the way first: the acting was stellar. The set design was amazing – it couldn’t have been more of an art studio without you actually being in an art studio. They painted on stage, with paint flying. The passion was so palpable. The direction was tight and crisp. I had nothing at all to complain about.

It was the writing, though. The writing. Oh, my. John Logan’s script – such a brilliant work of art in itself.

The play was about the relationship between the two men, but it was also about art. Art on a lot of levels. First, the relationship between the artist and his or her work, but also the relationship between the viewer and the art. How the viewer should come to the work; how the viewer should view the work. How the work should make the viewer feel. How much the artist should art-design the viewing process – the lighting, the venue.

Even closer to my heart, it was about the internal struggle. The quote at the top of the post is from the show; Rothko compared death to the black and life to the red. When the black came for him, life was over. Everything he did was to keep the black at bay. He talked about how artists have to kill their muses (his being the Cubists, killing them with Expressionism); but when the up-and-coming artists came along (Warhol, Lichtenstein) and began to “kill” their muses, (i.e. him) he was furious – at them, for daring to challenge him, at the audience, for what he considered the dumbing-down of art.

“‘Pretty.’ ‘Beautiful.’ ‘Nice.’ ‘Fine.’ That’s our life now! Everything’s ‘fine’. We put on the funny nose and glasses and slip on the banana peel and the TV makes everything happy and everyone’s laughing all the time, it’s all so goddamn funny, it’s our constitutional right to be amused all the time, isn’t it? We’re a smirking nation, living under the tyranny of ‘fine.’ How are you? Fine.. How was your day? Fine. How are you feeling? Fine. How did you like the painting? Fine. What some dinner? Fine… Well, let me tell you, everything is not fine!!
HOW ARE YOU?!… HOW WAS YOUR DAY?!… HOW ARE YOU FEELING? Conflicted. Nuanced. Troubled. Diseased. Doomed. I am not fine. We are not fine. We are anything but fine.”

The passion in this. The fight against anything middle-of-the-road. Always straining for whatever is ultimate. Keeping the black at bay. The overwhelming need to create something beautiful, something that will last. Yes. Yes, I found a lot to relate to in this play.

Rothko, ultimately, was not able to fight the black. In 1970, he was found dead, having not only slit his wrists, but having overdosed on pills as well. The black won. He ran out of red.

He made something lasting, though. 836 paintings. Can you even imagine a legacy like this?

I left the theater filled with so many emotions. Hope and loss and pride and a deep feeling of being understood, somehow, by someone I’d never known, by someone who’d died before I was even born, by someone tied to me by something as tangential as a shared love for the creation of beautiful things and a brain that runs at a different frequency than the people buzzing around us.

I had a good day. The red kept the black most definitely at bay.

29 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in art, Theater, thoughts

May 17, 2013

Having just finished a vacation, the only thing to do is start planning the next one.

By lucysfootball

First: no, I am not dead from the evil sickness of death. I actually was able to sleep last night, which was nice. And I’ve gone from hacking up both lungs to just sometimes hacking up one lung. I do have the worst sore throat, but I suppose you can’t have everything, right? Right. Ow, it hurt to say that. Ow ow ow. I DID have to skip out on seeing The Nephew this week because I love him too much to pass along my germs to his little adorable self, because sometimes being a grownup means you have to put others’ well-being before your own happiness. Not ALWAYS, just SOMETIMES. I mean, I’m not a martyr. Being a grownup doesn’t mean you’re ALWAYS selfless. Come on, now. Be practical. I was sad to miss him, though. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him and I miss him very much.

So it seems I am on the mend. This pleases Dad; he was quite sure I was dying. Every day I would call him he would say “ARE YOU STILL ALIVE? WHY WON’T YOU GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM? WHY DO YOU WANT TO DIE SO BADLY?” He didn’t seem to understand it’s not often one goes to the ER for a cold. Now that I’m getting a little better, he keeps acting like I’m FOOLING him. “Are you SURE you’re better? Maybe the illness is HIDING. Maybe it’s a FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY,” Dad says, very suspiciously.

What are your symptoms, ma'am? Oh, the common cold? THE HORROR! THE HORROR!

What are your symptoms, ma’am? Oh, the common cold? THE HORROR! THE HORROR!

Nah. I’m ok, Dad. No worries. It’s just a cold. I don’t think it will kill me dead dead dead. Probably.

Second, and a lot more interesting than a health update: EXCITING VACATION NEWS!

Fast on the heels of my LAST vacation, I am already planning my NEXT vacation. Yes, I do actually work sometimes, why do you ask? (New job is going very well. I don’t think it’s technically new job anymore, is it? Since I’ve been there about five and a half months now? Probably not. And yes, it’s still great.) I don’t just plan vacations. I do work, too. Seriously.

Soooooo…

At the end of July, I will be going to visit my parents for a week. I know, this doesn’t sound like it’s super-exciting. But it totally is, for a PLETHORA of reasons. What, you don’t think I will give them to you? I totally will.

  • I get to stay in my parents’ wonderful camp in the woods on a mountain, which is quiet and smells like pine trees and you can pretty much only hear the wind. It’s one of my favorite places in all the world. Also, I totally get to be a firebug and light all the gigantic campfires I want, which means ALL the fires. Dad laughs and laughs at the gigantic fires and my mom says things like, “Do you have the phone number for the fire department on the fridge? Make sure you have the phone number for the fire department on the fridge. Are you SURE it’s there? Maybe you should check, just to be sure.”

    When I see this sign, I start doing a happy dance. This is my park!

    When I see this sign, I start doing a happy dance. This is my park!

  • There is no television at camp. Well, there is A television. But it doesn’t get any channels. You can, however, bring a DVD player or a VCR and watch things. There is also no internet. But, in news of PROGRESS and the FUTURE, if you have Verizon, you can finally get cell phone coverage up there. I totally switched to Verizon just so I could have cell service when I go home. I also was the most proactive and bought one of those Bluetooth keyboard things so it’ll be like I have my laptop, only it’s my cell phone. I know. I’m fancy. So yes, there can be blogging while I’m there, and I won’t have to trek to town to do it. As long as it all works out. Fingers crossed.

    It kind of looks like this. Isn't technology grand?

    It kind of looks like this. Isn’t technology grand?

  • The time NOT spent watching all the television and wasting hours online will be spent reading and reading and reading. That is one of my favorite things about camp. It is quiet and you can read for hours. The main thing I’m planning on reading is the last book in the Song of Ice and Fire series, which I’ve started, but haven’t had the time to finish. Also, a thing that happens at camp is napping. SO MUCH NAPPING. And staying up late. And getting up whenever you want. And eating things you cooked on the grill.

    You know nothing, Lucy's Football!

    You know nothing, Lucy’s Football!

  • Mom and I will be going to see A Streetcar Named Desire at one of my favorite community theaters. She has never seen it. I am very much hoping there will not be graphic sex scenes in this version like in the version I watched a couple of years ago. YIKES. This will make for awkward drive-home conversation and also perhaps she will feel the need to do some praying while in the audience.

    How has Mom gone her whole life without seeing Brando in the movie? SIGH.

    How has Mom gone her whole life without seeing Brando in the movie? SIGH.

  • Dad and I will have some sort of adventure. In the past, we have gone to a wildlife center (to see otters!) and a fish hatchery (to see…well, fish!) and to the movies and to a craft fair and to a museum where there was a whole room dedicated to my famous ancestors. I don’t know the plan this year. I don’t want to be pessimistic, but there’s a good chance we’ve come to the end of things to do in the upstate area. STAY TUNED!
  • There’s a possibility The Nephew might be visiting that week; if he is, ADVENTURES WITH THE NEPHEW!

And now, for the two things that I am MOST excited about for vacation…

MEETING VERY FAMOUS PEOPLE AND/OR CREATURES!

First, you remember who I said I would get to meet if I went home, right?

THAT’S RIGHT! HELPER MULE!

If you are new here, you might not remember Helper Mule, as he was very famous a while ago, (there are more Helper Mule posts, if you search for them) and there has not been much Helper Mule news lately. Helper Mule’s been flying under the radar. I got some strange news from Dad tonight that for some reason, Rooster (Helper Mule’s owner) bought like ten more horses? It’s all very confusing. I will get MORE info when I go home! WE WILL KNOW MORE ABOUT HELPER MULE! I will totally Helper-Mule-whisper him and we will become the best of friends! And of course, I will take ALL THE PHOTOS!

Second, and possibly (ok, fine, definitely, sorry, Helper Mule) more exciting…

…remember I said I was planning another out-of-country jaunt? IT IS TIME!

So I got my passport, and with my passport, I got a little passport card. This card is good for going across more local borders. Like the one into, say, Mexico. But am I going to be near Mexico? No. I am, however, going to be near Canada. RIGHT near it. And who lives in Canada?

LE CLOWN DOES!

(As does Sara, Le Clown’s amazingly talented and awesome wife, and Le Clown’s family. It’s not like he lives there all by himself like a weirdo and his family lives elsewhere. That’d be scary, right? And kind of odd.)

So, on one of the days of my vacation, I am making the trek up to the land of poutine and The Kids in the Hall and we are going to have an old-school hootenanny. Or we’re just going to hang out for the day and chat and talk and laugh a lot. Either way. I can give or take the hootenanny.

INTERNATIONAL TRAVEL, BABY! To meet some of my favorite internettians! It seemed silly to be only about an hour and a half from them and not to visit. Plus I am quite sure we will have most impressive adventures. Also Dad is very sure I will be killed in the traffic. He has NOTHING NICE TO SAY about Canadian drivers. Nothing at all. (However, do we find it at all worrisome he doesn’t think Le Clown is going to psychomurder me? He totally thought poor Andreas was going to psychomurder me. Either Dad’s getting soft in his old age or he’s just utterly given up on me.)

Dad sees a Canadian license plate and gets VERY ANGRY. "GO BACK TO CANADA!" yells Dad. I usually hide my face behind my hand.

Dad sees a Canadian license plate and gets VERY ANGRY. “GO BACK TO CANADA!” yells Dad. I usually hide my face behind my hand.

It is now time for bed. I just watched The Office finale, and it made me cry, mostly because I’ve been watching it from the beginning, and it made me think of the person I was when the show started, and the person I am now, and all the people I’ve been in-between. Also, I kind of totally want a Jim. Can I have a Jim, please? Thanks, universe, you’re the best.

Happy weekend, everyone! I will be working and theatering and all the -ing-ing, I suppose. But I will attempt to stop in and wave briefly, how’s that? Awesome. Love your faces. Have grand adventures, every last one of you.

16 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in adventure, vacation

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