Say What??

It's hell week/opening weekend, kittens, which means I'm tired as all fuck.  The posts are going to slow down a bit as I open this wonderful, beautiful, surprisingly difficult, 90-minute show.  In the mean time, here are some lovely out-of-context quotations we like to call "Overheard at Rehearsal."

• "I'm not gonna tap dance for you!"
• "I think this might be a little 'Mrs. Garrett.'"
• "Do you think we're going to extend?"
• "Most of the audience will be filled with little old ladies hoping to see the nudity."
• "I'm not going to be naked."
• "I thought you were going to be naked?  I was promised nudity!"
• "He's just wearing shorts; Paul is going to be naked."
• "Speaking of extensions..."
•  "Can we fold the napkins differently?  Unless, of course, it's offensive to your delicate sensibilities."
• Director:  "Is it really 10:28?  That can't be right."
• Me:  "Well, you talk a lot."
• "'Mensch' was yesterday's word of the day." 
• "The higher the hair, the closer to God!"
• "If you have to cough, just take a drink of water and let it drop through your balls.

And, of course, one last one from my Unit just this morning, words of wisdom for us all:

"Don't go to work with your hair like that.  You'll be fired." 

Throwback Thursdays: Hugga Bunch

Aren't they adorable?  Just wait, they'll get creepy in a moment.  (And if you already think they look creepy, they're going to get creepier).  The Hugga Bunch dolls were a franchise started in 1985 by Kenner and Hallmark Cards.  Each fuzzy, candy-colored doll came with a smaller doll, called a "huglet," which they would, well, hug.  The dolls had velcro on their hands (hey, it was the 80s; velcro was still a big deal) so they could "hug" the smaller doll or even each other, I guess.

Please note the shiny material on the dolls' dresses.  The velcro could catch on this fabric and then leave nasty snag marks when you ripped it away (as I often did).  My mother noticed this imperfection and made an angry phone call to the manufacturer.  Soon I had a second set of Hugga Bunch dolls.  You didn't think I came by my habit of Strongly Worded Letters all by myself, did you?

Because Hallmark Cards was involved, they made a Hallmark family "made for TV" movie of the Hugga Bunch called The Hugga Bunch.  Apparently the title/marketing department had no cash to come up with a better name as the entire movie was produced for $1.4 million, "making it the most expensive TV special ever produced at that time."  Presumably most of the money was spent on "special effects," as it earned one Primetime Emmy for "Outstanding Visual Effects."

NPR Reject

NPR has a short story contest they call "Three-Minute Fiction."  Stories can be a maximum of 600 words with the idea that each can be read in three minutes.  A "famous" (read: "published") author is the guest judge for each round, and s/he submits the writing prompt.  My Unit sent me this just in time for Round 11.  Guest judge Karen Russell, author of Swamplandia! and St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves, said the prompt was to "[w]rite a story in which a character finds an object that he or she has no intention of returning."

Each week NPR reads some of their favorite entries; the winner is picked in a month or two.  So far,  my story has not made to the "favorites" list.  When I've read my "competition," sometimes I think, "Yeah, mine was crap," and "Really?  They liked this??"   Here's the list so far.  As in anything online, it updates at least once a week, so you'll have to check back anxiously and often like I do.

Also, as with anything on the Interwebs, people feel free to comment and give their unsolicited advice.  And even though this is NPR, these people are still kind of assholes.  Not the same assholes and trolls that you find on Facebook posts or newspaper "articles."  These assholes try to pick apart the stories and use all their words and their sentences are (mostly) grammatically correct.  But damn.  Whether they're armchair editors or fellow submitters with a case of sour grapes, I can't tell, but they're still highly negative and judgmental.

Oh, you're probably wondering about my story.  Well, I'm going to give NPR another week or two.  If my story doesn't show up, I'll post it here.  I'm already wondering if my silly subtitle killed my chances (I knew I should have left it off!).  Here's a hint:

Your Lotion Smells Like Poo

The new blog's first Strongly Worded Letter (SWL).  It's not my best work since I wasn't frothing at the mouth when I wrote it, but the hippie organic company deserves to know why they will no longer be getting my (non-hippie) money.

Dear Avalon Organics,

I have been a faithful user of your Peppermint Body Lotion for five years now.  Recently, I’ve noticed significant differences in the product; namely in its texture, consistency, fragrance, and overall effectiveness.  For example, the lotion now just sits on top of my skin, rather than being absorbed.  Its consistency is thinner, and worse, after attempting to use your product,  my skin just ends up feeling sticky and rather gross, rather than moisturized.  When I’m done attempting to use the lotion, the fragrance has changed as well.  It no longer smells like peppermint, but something else entirely unpleasant.

I compared the list of ingredients from an “old” bottle which still worked and one of the “new” bottles; the only change I can find is that you’ve now started using safflower seed oil (Carthamus Tinctorius) instead of sunflower seed oil (Helianthus annuus).  As you can see from the list above, this one small change has made a large (negative) impact in the effectiveness of your product.

Until such time as you change your formula back to the original, I am afraid my family and I will have to purchase lotion from another company.

Sincerely,

Leonard

I Flunked Geography

Whilst having sushi with my Unit, she mentioned a protest she had read about -- somewhere, in another country, people protesting over the building of a shopping mall in the ONE remaining park the place had.  "It's in Istanbul, I think," she said.

Fast-forward to the next morning, she shouts from the next room:  "Yep, it's Istanbul!  Where is Istanbul?"
Me:  "I don't know, but it was once Constantinople."
Her:  "Very funny."
Me:  "I've been waiting since last night to use that joke."

FYI, Istanbul is in Turkey.  And on a more serious note, here is the protest that is happening. You should read it.

Why Castle's Season Finale Pisses Me Off

 

River is correct.  This post contains spoilers.  Read after the jump at your own risk.

Found Objects

I went to the university library to find and check out Life of Pi by Yann Martel.  I found the book in the correct location.  Tucked inside of it was a folded up piece of paper.

I am ashamed to admit I almost didn't check out the book because of this piece of paper.  It's hard to explain, but my train of thought went something like this:  Someone left this paper in here because they didn't finish this book.  They didn't want this book.  Only ridiculous people leave pieces of paper in books; I'm going to look silly checking this book out of the university library.  Everyone else has already read this book.

Somehow, that one folded up piece of paper that no one had bothered to remove (and it's actually about 3 sheets of paper folded into fourths, so it was rather thick and obvious from the outside of the book) was judging me.  I said it was ridiculous, but sometimes that's how my brain works.

And then I said, "Fuck it.  I want to read this book.  Let's see what goodie this person left behind."

At some point I want to create a book of the marginalia I've found in various textbooks and library books.  I love writing back (in pencil, of course) to people who've left notes before me and then returning the book, carrying on some strange conversation with someone I'll never see.  This piece of paper is like that.

I finally unfolded it.  This person bought a one-way bus ticket from Des Moines to here.  I wonder how soon after arriving she returned this book?  Did she even finish reading it?  If she was using the paper as a bookmark, the answer is no.

I know it's a "she" because the pieces of paper have her name, address, telephone number, and confirmation number of the bus ticket.  It even lists the times and stops the Greyhound bus makes.  Out of respect for this careless individual, I'm not posting any of that here (she also wrote "password" and then a phrase as well *tsk tsk*).  Plus, it takes some of the mystery out of it.

She arrived on March 16; the ticket was purchased on the 15th.  Was it a last minute trip?  Or just someone forgetting until last minute to purchase their ticket?  If I was really creepy, I could look up her name (and/or address) on Google or WhitePages.com or something.
But I'm not.

Am I?