Friday afternoon
So it's the aforementioned Friday afternoon and I've been
not-so-busy at work but not-so-rich for leaving early. I do answer the phone and everything, but everyone in the office has their own back-door number so my phone, the general switchboard, doesn't get in on the action unless it's 1) one of the stores (which is cool) 2) a salesperson (in which case I play dumb and take a message or 3) a wrong number. Maybe five times a day the phone rings. Maybe.

That's not all I do, of course. It's actually an enjoyable job. I fulfill marketing and prize requests. I also process the mail when it comes in and, as such, get the first crack at any unclaimed catalogs. Office supply used
to be my favorite genre; now it's the promotions rags. Last week, I bit my tongue from purchasing a gross of flip-flop erasers in assorted neon colors for $3.49.

My favorite co-worker (though they're all lovely) has also come to the conclusion that she's either mastered her job or bullied all the stores into doing things the right way, because she's got a lot of free work time on her hands. This morning was no exception.

"I usually have some corrections to make on the orders when I get them," she told me. "Today, every store did it right, except for one error that will take me like, 10 minutes." We laughed.

I went home for lunch, just in time to see Max-cat dash across the street in the path of the car in front of me. Everyone escaped without injury, though Maxwell's pride suffered when I soundly berated him from across the street.

Brian was going to come home but called at 12:35. "I guess you've figured I'm not coming home for lunch," he said. True dat. "What are you doing this afternoon?"

"Well, the store mail to-be-logged usually keeps me busy for half an hour," I said.

Despite what my Bible study said on Monday, my prophecy skills failed me (if you've already guessed the punchline, give yourself a bubble-gum cigar). Not a single piece of store mail to-be-logged. For the first time since I started work a month ago.

Just as well that I saved my big project for after lunch: an inventory of the stockroom that I organized and consolidated last Friday. Friday is our jeans day so it's better to save the dirty work until then.

Maybe I could sneak in a book with me...

OK...time has passed... I did a lovely job on the inventory, didn't sandbag or anything, and got it all typed up into a spreadsheet with subheadings and everything. Plus, when I got back to my desk, there was one envelope of store mail to be logged (the local stores sometimes drive it over to us). And it's 3:56, 64 minutes to go until the weekend. Have a great one!

- posted by Mrs.Brian Johnson @ 6:53 PM 0 comments  

 
yesterday Bloomsdayday
Chico celebrates Bloomsday in grand style and I was no exception. Kyle came over at 6:00 with a twelve-pack of Guinness and a bottle of Bushmills. Angelica showed up at 6:30 and she and Erik (our roommate) ran out for dinner. We left at 7:00 -- Kyle drove, bless him -- and upon arrival at the Blue Room Theatre we found three perfect seats. I pulled three more Guinness from my big purse, popped the caps with my Staglin Family Vineyard corkscrew/bottle opener, and we drank.

The guy two seats over got Brian's attention. "Hey, I'm giving a toast during this. Can I borrow your bottle when the time comes?" (later, we were delighted to learn that Samuel Beckett was his role).

Fitz Smith started the evening with a lecture titled, "Who's Who When Everybody's Somebody Else," a succinct syllabus of Ulysses, nothing I didn't already know but I could tell that my theater partners were happy to hear it. :)

For "Sirens," they opted for shadow-puppets -- very clever and effective. Joe Hilsee blew me away with his narration. Dylan Latimer directed that segment and then segued in to his own commentary of the work, as the character of James Joyce, loyal-yet-fiesty Nora Barnacle (the always-a-treat Betty Burns) at his side.

Pound, Eliot, and Beckett offered toasts, and I swigged from the airline sample of Bushmills Irish Creme but did not finish it.

The raucus Lynn Elliot, Steve Metzger, Matt Brown, Fitz Smith et all then claimed the stage as sailors (adorable) and sang 10 verses of "O, You New York Girls." They'd printed the chorus in the program and we sang along, lustily.

Frank Ficarra gave another scholarly lecture, reclaiming the stage with "Santanyana Revisited," about which I remember little, because it was followed by "A Moral Pub," adapted by Fitz, Directed by Mary Ann Latimer, and starring Paul Stout at Leopold Bloom. He was so Bloomish he didn't even need to wear the bowler hat, which indeed he had foresworn. He was breathtaking; the best acting I've seen at the Blue Room, for certain.

Intermission -- Brian asked me for a Guinness and I bought him one, but by the time he returned he already had one, so I had to take it for Team Johnson.

Right as we were settling in for Act Two, some uncouth frat-boy's phone rang, and it took more than a moment to realize that they were pounding their way on to the stage for the Steve Metzger interpretation of "Oxen of the Sun." Very clever, not so different from the chapter. A good novel transcends time, especially in the hands of a gifted adapter, and Ulysses is no exception.

Denny Latimer promised us five but gave us 10 minutes of a musical, abridged version of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, another one of Julie's favorites, I remember. Clark Brown lectured on James Joyce and time, which was lovely and probably got Erik all excited because that's the stuff upon which he wrote his Masters thesis.

A not-quite-right-key-but-nonetheless-enthusiastic version of "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling," and then the pinnacle, Samantha Perry as Molly doing the last three pages of Molly's soliloquy. This I was prepared to be harsh with but she was lovely.

Of course, if she'd done it with my interpretation she'd have been masturbating, as that's how I've always read it, but every interpretation is a valid interpretation if you put enough mind and heart behind it.

So, a resounding "Yes!" to The Celtic Knights of the Sea for a magical evening of Joyce in a Parisian cafe more than 3000 miles from la ville des lumières. I'll coin the expression "Blue Room Bliss," which occurs when one is entertained like a Parisian while drinking like an Irishman. Highly, highly recommended.

Happy 100th birthday, June 16th, 1904. Thank God Joyce took Nora walking that day, the day she "made a man of me," as the artist would say for the rest of his life -- even though she hated his writing, didn't understand a word of it, and was only happy that people bought it.


- posted by Mrs.Brian Johnson @ 12:30 PM 0 comments  

 
First blog ever
Well, I've never "chatted," I've never "IM"d, but I'm blogging. Julie and Steve have been wonderful inspirations to me. And heck, it's the 100th anniversary of Bloomsday, so maybe that contrary James Joyce has something to do with it. In any case, welcome and enjoy(ce)!
- posted by Mrs.Brian Johnson @ 2:56 PM 0 comments