Before I moved from California to Massachusetts three weeks ago, my friends shook their collective head.
"YouÕre moving cross country in a 24-foot U-Haul, towing a car behind that, with your husband of five months..." theyÕd begin.
"And our cat," IÕd interrupt.
"And your cat, and youÕve never moved together before."
"Well, he moved me from the Santa Cruz Mountains to Chico."
"Sure, but you werenÕt living together then."
"We were engaged." (And the truest quote on that subject was from seven-years-married Julie, who stated, "IÕd rather be married than single, but IÕd rather be single than engaged.")
"Ok, engaged," theyÕd all counter. And then they laughed off their collective butt.
My matron of honor, Anne, who did her undergrad at Wellesley -- a New Englander pro tem, perhaps -- put the underlying ridiculousness best.
"I canÕt believe it," she told me long-distance, and three hours earlier than it was at my house. "Motormouth, the least likely person ever to be a New Englander, living in New England."
DonÕt worry -- I wasnÕt offended. See, my father is a third-gen native Californian (I am suppressing to urge to capitalize "native") and IÕve never quite forgiven him for making me be born in North Carolina. My family returned to the Left Coast before I was fahve, and I was California public-school educated from Kindergarten to my MFA. It wasnÕt until I was 29 that I saw snow fall for the first time. When Mom set the thermostat to 68, IÕd have to go put on a sweater. While living in the beautiful SC Mountains where everyone should live before they die, I was snowed in one winterÕs day and snowed out two nights the subsequent year -- snowed in is better. Above all, I am molto allergic to insect bites and stings, and the one time I was in Boston, Hurricane Bob came to visit.
So why Massachusetts? Because my darling husband was accepted to UMass-AmherstÕs doctoral program, and wants to be a college professor more than anything in the world. Why Northampton? Because we heard that was where all the "cool" grad students live. HowÕd we end up in the most enormous and beautiful flat in town? Because we couldnÕt afford to fly out to visit first.
I was office temping and Monstro was sanding cremation urns -- itÕs a living, but barely. Lucky for us, the Noho/NÕton/NorthamptonUncommon Chamber of Commerce employs a fairy godmother by the name of Katie. She hooked me up with a business owner who offered me a job after nothing but e-mails and phone calls and cross-country reference checks. In addition, she not only looked at apartments for us, but put down a $100 check of her own money as a placeholder when we agreed on the place she liked best. Seven of MonstroÕs future classmates showed up at noon on August 10th to help us move. Benji at Jimmy BurghoffÕs tried getting our sofa up the front and back staircases and also the second-floor sunroom window (we have come to the conclusion that early New Englanders were neither tall nor portly). Jeff, the furniture refinisher on Route 10, traded us our sofa, a similarly awkward-sized bookcase, the desk we broke moving it into the truck in Chico, and a $100 check for a beautiful desk and a two-piece china hutch.
The only thing that didnÕt survive the move was our cat, who died two weeks after our arrival, and prompted the Chamber ladies to write us a card that made three people cry: me, Monstro, and my mom when I read it to her over the phone. Now we take heart in the loss of our beloved pet by saying, "Well, at least he saw the country" (during which time he found porn under the bed in Utah, and grass in the room we got for him in Entfield, CT. If heÕd survived, IÕd have farmed him out to the Vice Squad).
So anyway, I donÕt know where yÕall got the reputation for being unfriendly, and you arenÕt working very hard to maintain it. Jeez, and we havenÕt even made it to church yet! ________ [1] ItÕs true that telling people youÕre moving cross-country is a lot like telling them youÕre scheduled for surgery to have your wisdom teeth removed: I heard from two men how they each were so broke by the end of the journey that they had to live in campgrounds with all their possessions, their newlywed spouse, and, in one case, an infant. This universal truth is not dependent upon the goodness of the people you tell, as the pastor who baptized Monstro, married us, and was also my boss for a year, himself lived the tale with the aforementioned Ņinfant.Ó Read all the winning entries here.
Today would have been Max's first birthday, so he wasn't old. He seemed to be settling in as well as Mr. Johnson and I. We'd had an exterminator in who'd dusted ant poison into our walls, but that seemed largely undisturbed. Maybe he was just worn out from everything, all the changes in his life.
As if losing a beloved pet isn't bad enough, I also don't feel like I'd been a good kitty mommy for the week prior. I'd gone away to Albany and returned with a cold, so I spent Monday and Tuesday nights after work parked in my chair. When I got home from Albany, Max raced to greet me. I picked him up and he put his arms around my neck in what we referred to as a "kitty hug," and purred for half an hour. Later, when I tried to put him down, he held fast and looked at me, frenzied. I laughed then, but now it just makes my heart hurt.
Mr. Johnson, who is braver in the face of woe, put a more pragmatic spin on it. "Well, at least he got to see the country." Which he did -- Motel Sixes from Chico, CA to Northampton, MA, during which time Max found other people's porn in our room in Utah (and it was total Utah porn -- the girl on the cover wore a swimsuit) and other people's dope in Entfield, CT, where he had is own room (we splurged on it after 15 hours in the truck, so that he could expend nocturnal energy without waking us up in the process).
"Max should work for the vice squad," I told Mr. Johnson, who did not disagree.
We took him to the vet to be cremated. Dad said he'd bury the remains at the pet cemetary we have at the cabin where I spent my childhood summers. And even though I know Max is dead, I still hear him in the apartment, mewing and jingling his collar. One week later and it still brings pinpricks to my eyes.
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 8/16/2004 03:58:00 PM
TITLE: The Curse of the White Sofa
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
When Dino moved in to his ski-cabinesque loft apartment next door on Allerton Street, he had this five-month-old white sofa that had us all placing bets.
Dino had just rented the top floor of Abby and Charles' house, and in so doing gained a Staircase from Hell. Its 80-percent grade hooked over your left shoulder like half a "z". The sofa was long and overstuffed. Perfect for napping.
It would be a gruesome twosome situation. Alex didn't think it could be done. My housemate's mind was one for computing spatial variables, so I sided silently with him. But Danny, from across the street, had professional moving experience. Danny had a plan.
The men all put their backs into it, and made it halfway when Landlord Lou arrived and said, "You boys need to watch that stair rail."
Abby and I took in the scene from Dino's second-floor landing. The banister in question was attached to balusters attached to the stairs, impossible to remove. We shrugged our shoulders and Lou left, muttering Slavicly.
"Be careful about that stair rail, now," Abby mocked, causing the guys to grit their teeth and try it again. They reached the second-floor landing but were unable to cantilever the long, overstuffed piece into his den.
They loaded the sofa back into Dino's moving truck. Alex whispered, "knew it wasn't going to work. Watch that stair rail."
A precise impersonation of Abby's impersonation of Lou. I shrugged, waving at the truck's shrinking taillights.
And I think about that now because I remember how sad I felt for Dino, and how much it would suck, to have a new white sofa and have to take it away.
And I think about how it did suck, this week, to watch my own five-month-old, perfect-for-napping, overstuffed white sofa drive away to Jeff the furniture refinisher who works down the street, after attempts were made to get it up two different stairways and a second-floor window.
And I think of the curse of the white sofa, and its procession from Dino to me.
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 8/13/2004 04:35:00 PM
TITLE: Live from Northampton
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
I am pleased to report that Mr. Johnson and I have arrived safely in our new hometown! So far, it has thundered and lightening-ed every day except for the day we moved in. The kitty did very well on the move, and enjoyed roaming the basement in his Grandma Johnson's home outside of Denver.
More info and pictures once we get unpacked. My first day of work will be Monday, and we'll be checking out a new church on Sunday morning.
Our new hometown is *adorable*, the people are almost too friendly, and the food is unbelievably yummy and healthy. And the water's so soft it takes a good long time to rinse the soap off, and my skin has never felt so tender.
Ahhhh. It's good to be home.
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 7/21/2004 04:32:00 PM
TITLE: Insta-fun!
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
Wow, motormouth johnson is going interactive. Welcome to the weekly poll! Vote once a day!
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 7/21/2004 02:17:00 PM
TITLE: kitten life
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
You might have noticed that I didn't post last week. I was busy working: Eight hours each day at the temp job, then three hours each night at Family Fun Week (aka Vacation Bible School) at my church.
So, there is much minutia to catch up on, one piece of which my favorite co-worker reminded me of today when she told me her dog threw up on her kitchen floor and it made her think of My Darling Husband.
You see, last week, about 3:30 a.m., I woke up to MDH saying, "Max, did you just pee on my leg?" Max is Our Darling Kitten who is seriously nocturnal, which makes him not-so-darling. Monstro turned on the light and realized that Max hadn't urinated, but rather vomited on his leg. Monstro was remarkably sweet about it, cleaned himself and the kitten up and made sure Max felt OK, but then when he got back into bed he said, "Sure, you just wanted to puke on my leg."
This sent me into hysterics, which made MDH upset until I explained, "I'm not laughing because of the puke, I'm laughing because of what you said." This placated him, but then every time I'd try to quiet down I'd hear his voice in my head and that would set me off again. This made MDH even more upset.
"Come on, you know how things are funnier than the middle of the night than they are by the light of day? This is one of those things," I said.
Nonetheless, I could not settle down, so I slept on the sofa. And the next morning, when I told my favorite coworker about it, it was still pretty funny.
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 7/20/2004 04:47:00 PM
TITLE: serious fun
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
This weekend, I did something I've never done before. I sang the national anthem at the Chico Rooks soccer game. Having promised various people not to "muck it up" or grab my crotch or do anything else Barr-ish, I stood on the field, faced the flag, gripped the microphone in my right hand and belted out my best anthem ever, except for the time I sang it as the audition song for District Honor Choir in high school and I could get out two lines on everybreath, instead of just one.
If you ever have the opportunity, sing the anthem at a sporting event. Even if it's before curling, or that sport where they throw telephone poles. Of course, in that case, you would probably be singing the Scottish national anthem, which probably doesn't include any of Mr. Johnson's favorite Scottish words, most of which are culled from Trainspotting.
(thanks Julie for the Trainspotting/Irvine Welsh link!)
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 7/20/2004 04:39:00 PM
TITLE: what does it say...
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
So, does it reflect well or poorly upon me that my thesis adviser is also the creator of the Bulwer-Lytton bad-writing contest?
The 2004 winners have been announced. If I'd been a judge, this would have been #1:
Johnny's first kiss with Melissa knocked him back on his heels like the bass line of the "Theme from Peter Gunn" -- an odd sensation since Johnny wasn't born until 1972 and Peter Gunn was over because Blake Edwards, who created Peter Gunn, had begun the Pink Panther movies starring another Peter, Peter Sellars, best remembered for his performance as Chauncey Gardner in "Being There" but whose truly great role was in "Dr. Strangelove" co-starring Slim Pickens who rides an atomic bomb to earth where it explodes -- and that was what Melissa's first kiss was really like.
Kent Neely
Edwardsville, IL
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 7/02/2004 11:08:00 PM
TITLE: all better!
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
Wow, fixed the dates, got the comments going again -- it's a good Friday! And now, My Darling Husband has the blog bug. Check him out at http://www.motormouth.com/monstro .
Happy 3-day weekend, all!
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 7/01/2004 07:13:00 PM
TITLE: fix one thing, break another
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
Well, in fixing the datestamp on this blog, I have erased my comments from the face of it. Sigh. I shall figure it out eventually, but not right now, as three more boxes of work have come in. Ta!
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 7/01/2004 04:47:00 PM
TITLE: so very random
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
This morning before 8:30 five egregious errors were brought to my attention, apparently due to the fact that my adding machine hates me and I'm not too fond of it, either. But I had it all fixed up by 9:30 and felt a little better.
Then, I came back to work after lunch and was informed by the accountant that he'd received a phone call from the gub'mint guy in Sacramento, the recipient of those forms I had to type (TYPE!) the other day. The GG called to compliment us for our amazingly professional-looking job on the survey. It's the best one he's ever seen, apparently, and he's looked at 10,000 of the things every year since, I don't know, Lucifer had Most Favored Angel status.
When I'm bad, I fix it. And when I'm good, I'm spectacular!
Now, if I could just find a two-bedroom apartment in Northampton, I'd be set. But I'll rest on my laurels for the next half-an-hour. Heck, I've earned it!
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 6/30/2004 04:08:00 PM
TITLE: Spam jabberwocky
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
So I've been getting more spam than usual (which is saying a *lot*), and it's been tricking me into opening it. It's not offering to enlarge my johnson (which has taken on a whole 'nother meaning since taking a married name), but rather, it's a mess of unrelated words strung together. Like this:
bon brahmsian tabloid andrei bull bob felicity
cotyledon black chelate jitterbugger defiant souvenir aphasic ambassador solemn mathews shrugging herculean
Vocabulary list, maybe? Unsolicited make-it-yourself haiku? What do you think?
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 6/30/2004 01:31:00 PM
TITLE: the end of an era
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
My mom always says that, when something big changes. "Oh, it's the end of an era," followed by a sigh. Sometimes a mock sigh, but a sigh, nonetheless.
In any case, it is the end of an era -- our Erik-as-roommate era. We had our last night at home with Erik last night. Monstro and I are very sad about the whole thing.
The night started after work. Kyle took us out for sushi, and we gorged. Anyone in Chico must run, not walk, to the newly reopened GenKai for Tamo and co's outrageous sushi rolls. My favorite? It's a tie between the Saturday Night Fever, which employs a blowtorch, and the Benson, which we ordered last time in tribute to my maiden name, and then learned it's the best freakin' roll ever created sans blowtorch. Instead of rice, they lay paper-thin red snapper over the top. Oh. My. Word.
After dinner we went back to the house and hung out on the porch for the hundredth-something time. I took a picture of Erik wrestling with the kitten. I honestly don't know who will miss him more: Monstro, me, or Maxwell Hanes. They have a very avuncular (thanks, Julie) relationship. Max'll be bummed to be stuck with Mom and Dad, I think.
"I know the picture I want of my roommates," Erik said. "Monstro in his chair, smoking, with Motormouth behind and her arms around him."
"Should I be holding my beer?" Monstro asked.
"Oh yeah," Erik replied.
We got in position and Erik prepared to take the pic. "Monstro, look less gay, more Ethan Hawke." Monstro puzzled over this until Erik clarified, "Ethan Hawke in 'Gattaca,' dude." The picture was snapped. Erik went inside and I hijacked his camera and took a cleavage shot down my t-shirt. All the girls did this for Dusty at her graduation party, and it seemed like a fun tradition to continue.
Then we went inside, watched three episodes of "Family Guy" on DVD (Erik's DVD), and at 11 I went to bed, after receiving a glasses-into-the-face hug from Erik.
Our consolation is, when we're freezing our buns off in MA, Erik will be even colder in Aberdeen, Scotland. It's a small consolation, but it's something.
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 6/29/2004 12:43:00 PM
TITLE: Ahhh, technology
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
There's nothing like completing a 14-page government census form on a typewriter to make one appreciate one's computer. Even if said computer is a PC. 'nuff said.
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 6/25/2004 07:26:00 PM
TITLE: Get well soon, Mary-Kate!
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
So yes, you've all been waiting for me to weigh in on the Mary-Kate Olsen health crisis. I read today that someone wasn't surprised that she has admitted herself for a one-month treatment for an undisclosed health issue (that bastion of journalistic integrity, "Us," reports that the twin suffers from anorexia). Apparently this person saw her out for dinner one night: she cut a tomato into six slices and ate it very slowly.
That was it: one tomato.
Of course, the twins' recent film, "New York Minute," was deemed a failure by the entertainment industry because it only earned $14 million.
Fourteen million dollars. And it's a failure.
Any of you ever made $14 million dollars? Yeah, me neither.
The entertainment industry just sucks: portraying unrealistic versions of unrealistic people making unrealistic sums of money for being unrealistic.
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 6/25/2004 01:51:00 PM
TITLE: Good week for the e-word
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
Two sentences this week have made me laugh out loud.
First, from the Northampton Gazette: From a bear fatally mauling a dog off Route 66 to numerous reports of bears foraging in garbage cans in an Elm Street neighborhood and an incident in which a motorcyclist hit a dog that was chasing a bear on Spring Street, indications are clear: bear season is upon us.
A motorcycle hitting a dog that was chasing a bear. All I want to know is, what sort of dog chases a bear? I mean, our kitten might, but even sans manhood he has more courage than brains.
Great e-sentence, part two, from the Mercury News's review of the new schlocky romance, "The Notebook": After you've gotten horizontal under a green light, there's no place left to go but making out.
...Just make sure that light hasn't changed to red before you go.
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 6/23/2004 06:43:00 PM
TITLE: A New(er) Woman
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
I applied for a credit card last week (excited about 4.9 interest and the opportunity to transfer the balance from my evil, wicked AT&T Universal card) and got a phone call yesterday about it. We verified all of my information and then, right before we hung up, the agent asked, ŅWait a minute Š whatÕs your birthday?Ó Turns out that TransUnion credit agency has listed my birthdate as 1972: one year off from my true 1971 date of birth (also the same year that Nike and Starbucks were born).
An optimist would look at it as gaining a year of youth. I look at it as a reason to contact all three credit agencies and tell Õem to get their (collective) act together.
Freakin' data entry drones...
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 6/21/2004 07:39:00 PM
TITLE: Summer in Chico
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
When Monstro and I were first courting, I googled him and read all of his opinion columns online at the Chico State newspaper. My favorite warned Chico summer visitors to be careful when they stand up so as not to hit one's head on the sun.
It's only funny because it's true. It hit 104 last week and will only get hotter from there. We were at a barbeque on Saturday; the host kept the backyard cool with overhead water misters. It was just like being at Magic Mountain, except the food was free and there were fewer rides. Kyle made a big mess of ceviche and gave us the leftovers.
The students left a month ago, and now summer school is over so *all* the students are gone, leaving only the Chicoans (Chee-kho'-hans) to roam the streets. I was downtown yesterday and had a "28 Days Later" flashback (not to be confused with a "28 Days" flashback, which would be another thing entirely, and unlikely as I never saw that flick).
Oh well, at least that means it takes less time to get food.
Random weekend occurance: A taxi pulled up to our place and a bag-carrying driver came to our door. "Is this 376 A?" he asked, and when I said "yes" he said, "Did you folks call for the cigarettes?"
We had not. But I could tell that Monstro thought it was a great idea!
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 6/18/2004 06:53:00 PM
TITLE: Friday afternoon
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
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.
Monstro 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!
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 6/17/2004 12:30:00 PM
TITLE: yesterday Bloomsdayday
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
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 Monstro'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 Motormouth 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 -- Monstro 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 lumi¸res. 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.
-----
--------
AUTHOR: Motormouth
DATE: 6/16/2004 02:56:00 PM
TITLE: First blog ever
PRIMARY CATEGORY:
STATUS: Publish
ALLOW COMMENTS: 1
ALLOW PINGS: 1
CONVERT BREAKS: 0
-----
BODY:
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)!