Over the weekend I took steps toward a more cultured, more sophisticated, more bourgeois me. For the day, I forgot about my minimum-wage-paying place of employment (which I am not allowed to name, for I signed a waiver stating I would not publish any blogs, posts, etc. about my job), I left my childish video games at home, I put on big-girl clothes, and I even took a shower. In the company of three couples (old enough to be my grandparents at the oldest and my parents at the youngest), I drove to Gettysburg to the Majestic Theatre to watch the Met's live transmission of Puccini's opera La fanciulla del West.
Let me tell you, it was an experience.
We arrived at the theatre around noon, and so when my friend Pat asked if I'd like to have some wine with her, I thought, "Heck, yeah! I'll have some wine. It's after 12 p.m., so it's a perfectly not-wino thing to do." So I did. I had one little mini-bottle cup of wine - and got perfectly tipsy. I should have considered that I'd had a very small breakfast. And I should have asked beforehand if I'd be able to take my cup into the theatre or if I'd have to guzzle it down (I did the latter). Whatever the cause, by the time I sat down for the first act, I had a pretty good buzz going on.
Act I was a little rough. I had to read subtitles (the opera is written in Italian), and I was starting to get really sleepy; the wine didn't help out with either of these. Plus, about half way through, I realized that I really, really, really had to pee. (I was adding it up in my head: huge cup of coffee, huge bottle of water, cup of wine...)
But at the first intermission I got to pee, and the buzz wore off, and everything was fine for the rest of the opera. And I even started to enjoy it, though it was a lot to think about. Read the subtitles. Notice the actors. Listen to the singing. Hear the underlying musical lines being played by the orchestra. Try to understand the storyline. Information overload. But several things stuck with me.
Oh, but first, if you want to read a synopsis of the opera, click here.
Back to the several things:
1) The opera slyly shows the racism felt toward Native Americans in the early 1900s. (Think of some of the undertones in Oklahoma!, which appeared on Broadway some 30 years after Puccini's 1910 opera.) There are two Native Americans in the opera - a woman, Minnie's servant, and a man, the father of the woman's child. They appear only in Act II. As the lights came up, the man was lying on the bed (with his shoes on), passed out, a bottle of liquor in his hand. The woman is badgering him about getting married.
2) The leading tenor in the show is called Dick Johnson. That was hard not to giggle at, especially when I was a little wined up.
3) The singer playing Dick Johnson was awesome. Even if he was slightly cross-eyed. In the words of Pat: He is somewhat endearing because he "has a nice little twinkle in his almost-crossed eyes."
All in all, though, it was a pretty cool experience. I'm going to try to go back so I can see Nixon in China. Anyone wanna go?
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
I'm an Addict
I watch too much CSI.
And there's no denying it. Several clues tipped me off:
First, I have found lately that - if given a little bit of down time to let my mind wander - I look around and think about how I would most likely be killed in the given moment.
Example: I'm lying in bed at night and notice the window directly in front of me. It overlooks the roof of the garage, which is against the side of a hill. The cat, my stepdad, or anyone else wanting to get on the roof can do so without any effort at all. Simply walk from the grass in our backyard (on the hill) onto the roof of the garage. Easy. Easy for the cat, easy for my stepdad, easy for maniacal psycho-killers who want to break into my house and kill me. So I look around my room. What clues will be left for Nick (my personal favorite - so hot), Catherine, Sara, Grissom (also attractive in a brainy kind of way), and Warrick (okay, he's hot too) when they come to investigate? They'll see the broken window, of course. But will Pete (my cuddly, loving, soft Golden Retriever) have walked through my blood and trailed it through the house? Will he have licked it up? Will he have been a victim too? Or, worst of all, will he be blamed for the crime?! (There was an episode once about a Golden who would go crazy every time she heard a loud noise. A gun shot set her off and she attacked and killed her owner.)
Second, I find myself believing that the characters in the show are real people.
Example: I'm watching the news with my mom. The reporter is talking about the latest murder story. In my mind I think, "Awesome. Griss and the team are working the scene right now." Or - if it's a day like, well, today - I say aloud to Mom, "If Nick and Catherine were there, they would have solved it already." She is nice enough not to mention that I am not fully grounded in reality.
Third, any time I see something even slightly suspicious my mind is immediately flooded with possibilities. This, of course, is worse when a situation is more than slightly suspicious.
Example: I am driving home from work. Police lights reflect off of the 18-wheeler in front of me, and as I follow it around the turn I see not one, but four cruisers on the side of the highway. They have pulled over a Greyhound bus. I continue driving and in an instant the scene is behind me. Scenarios come to me in a rush. It is a drug bust. It is a bus of convicts and they have hijacked the vehicle. There was a murder on the bus-full of old ladies making their way back from a huge BINGO convention in the city. (Hey, that one's pretty good, eh?)
Fourth, I am afraid.
Example: I am walking to my truck from my house. It is pitch black. I wave my flashlight in every direction looking for movement. At the slightest noise, I freeze and listen carefully until I'm convinced it was my imagination. When I reach my truck, I jump in as quickly as possible and lock the door behind me. I hesitate to turn on my headlights; there may be a body dangling from the top of my stepdad's shed.
No lie. True story. And clues 1-3 never really bothered me. It's the fear that's not okay. I don't believe in living in fear - it's the tool of an Evil one. So I have a choice to make. Can I battle the fear? Or will I have to give up CSI?
Well, maybe I should give up watching entire seasons at a time.
Yikes. Addicted.
And there's no denying it. Several clues tipped me off:
First, I have found lately that - if given a little bit of down time to let my mind wander - I look around and think about how I would most likely be killed in the given moment.
Example: I'm lying in bed at night and notice the window directly in front of me. It overlooks the roof of the garage, which is against the side of a hill. The cat, my stepdad, or anyone else wanting to get on the roof can do so without any effort at all. Simply walk from the grass in our backyard (on the hill) onto the roof of the garage. Easy. Easy for the cat, easy for my stepdad, easy for maniacal psycho-killers who want to break into my house and kill me. So I look around my room. What clues will be left for Nick (my personal favorite - so hot), Catherine, Sara, Grissom (also attractive in a brainy kind of way), and Warrick (okay, he's hot too) when they come to investigate? They'll see the broken window, of course. But will Pete (my cuddly, loving, soft Golden Retriever) have walked through my blood and trailed it through the house? Will he have licked it up? Will he have been a victim too? Or, worst of all, will he be blamed for the crime?! (There was an episode once about a Golden who would go crazy every time she heard a loud noise. A gun shot set her off and she attacked and killed her owner.)
Second, I find myself believing that the characters in the show are real people.
Example: I'm watching the news with my mom. The reporter is talking about the latest murder story. In my mind I think, "Awesome. Griss and the team are working the scene right now." Or - if it's a day like, well, today - I say aloud to Mom, "If Nick and Catherine were there, they would have solved it already." She is nice enough not to mention that I am not fully grounded in reality.
Third, any time I see something even slightly suspicious my mind is immediately flooded with possibilities. This, of course, is worse when a situation is more than slightly suspicious.
Example: I am driving home from work. Police lights reflect off of the 18-wheeler in front of me, and as I follow it around the turn I see not one, but four cruisers on the side of the highway. They have pulled over a Greyhound bus. I continue driving and in an instant the scene is behind me. Scenarios come to me in a rush. It is a drug bust. It is a bus of convicts and they have hijacked the vehicle. There was a murder on the bus-full of old ladies making their way back from a huge BINGO convention in the city. (Hey, that one's pretty good, eh?)
Fourth, I am afraid.
Example: I am walking to my truck from my house. It is pitch black. I wave my flashlight in every direction looking for movement. At the slightest noise, I freeze and listen carefully until I'm convinced it was my imagination. When I reach my truck, I jump in as quickly as possible and lock the door behind me. I hesitate to turn on my headlights; there may be a body dangling from the top of my stepdad's shed.
No lie. True story. And clues 1-3 never really bothered me. It's the fear that's not okay. I don't believe in living in fear - it's the tool of an Evil one. So I have a choice to make. Can I battle the fear? Or will I have to give up CSI?
Well, maybe I should give up watching entire seasons at a time.
Yikes. Addicted.
Monday, January 3, 2011
I'm a Thief
I was four or five years old when late one night - in my memory, it seems too late for a little girl to be out and about and awake - I accompanied my mother to the grocery store. At that time, the local Food Lion had a small display of comic books and character trading cards. It was to this mecca I escaped when Mom became good and distracted in the bread aisle.
The books and cards featured all of the usual heroes: Batman, Spider-Man, Donald Duck, Popeye... My attention, though, was on a shiny, plastic-wrapped pack of Darkwing Duck trading cards. "D.W." (Dark-wing), as his friends called him, was one of my favorites. I watched his show faithfully. These cards - I had to have them. Excited, I stuck the pack in my pocket and ran back to my mother to show her what I'd found.
But oh, woe is me and alas, Mother denied my request to purchase the cards! "You will have to put them back," she told me. (Words no four- or five-year-old wants to hear!) But I was an obedient child - go ahead, ask my mom or dad - and so I did not argue or complain. I slipped the cards back into my pocket so that I could return them to their shelf when we walked by to check out.
The rest of the trip was uneventful. I love my mommy, and I love food, so we probably just had a good ol' time walking through the grocery store. So let's fast forward through this part. (I know: my story-telling skills are admirable.)
When we got home, I helped Mom carry in groceries and put away the things whose cabinets and shelves I could reach. With this chore out of the way we made our way into the hall to put our coats in the closet. For whatever reason - maybe I was wearing gloves, maybe I was reaching for my Chapstick, maybe I was looking for loose change - I put my hands into my pockets before handing over my coat. As soon as my fingers felt the cool, smooth, crunchy plastic my stomach filled with panic. I yanked the pack of Darkwing Duck cards out of my coat and, eyes filling with tears, held them up in front of my mommy.
"Emily Morgen!" she must have exclaimed. "We did not pay for those. You were told to put them back. We do not steal. It is wrong."
Well, I was no dummy. I knew that. And Mom must have known I knew that as tears and snot ran down my face. "I didn't mean to!" I must have blubbered back to her. "I forgot to put them back!"
And it was true. I was horrified at myself. There are not many things I have concrete memories of from that time in my life, but this situation remains in my mind as clear as if it happened yesterday. I remember Mom telling me I would have to return the cards to the store - a thought that made me want to throw up it was so humiliating - but I'm sure she never made me go through with it. Whatever happened, though, I no longer have the cards.
So needless to say, I've never really been tempted to steal or shoplift. In real life, at least. Bear with me here.
See, my friend Aaron has this great pair of Nike 6.0s. They're black and gray with orange accents. A really hot pair of shoes. Unfortunately, his feet are a few sizes too huge for me, so even if he wanted to let me borrow them, it wouldn't work out. Last month, I had this crazy dream. I can't even recall what it was about anymore, but in the dream I was wearing Aaron's shoes. Aaron wasn't even in the dream, but in my dreamy all-knowingness I knew I'd stolen his sweet Nikes. No remorse. When I told Aaron the story, he asked me, "Did you take anything else?!" And that got me thinking: What all have I stolen in my sleepy slumber time?
There have been a few dreams in which I stole something from bad guys and they were chasing me for it. I'm pretty sure I've stolen a kiss or two. Maybe someone's boyfriend. Maybe an identity here and there. But I never feel bad about it when I'm dreaming it. Which makes me wonder...
What kind of person am I when I'm sleeping?! Goodness.
Man, I love Darkwing Duck.
And no, this post didn't have much of a point, except to tell y'all a little story or two.
Happy Monday!
The books and cards featured all of the usual heroes: Batman, Spider-Man, Donald Duck, Popeye... My attention, though, was on a shiny, plastic-wrapped pack of Darkwing Duck trading cards. "D.W." (Dark-wing), as his friends called him, was one of my favorites. I watched his show faithfully. These cards - I had to have them. Excited, I stuck the pack in my pocket and ran back to my mother to show her what I'd found.
But oh, woe is me and alas, Mother denied my request to purchase the cards! "You will have to put them back," she told me. (Words no four- or five-year-old wants to hear!) But I was an obedient child - go ahead, ask my mom or dad - and so I did not argue or complain. I slipped the cards back into my pocket so that I could return them to their shelf when we walked by to check out.
The rest of the trip was uneventful. I love my mommy, and I love food, so we probably just had a good ol' time walking through the grocery store. So let's fast forward through this part. (I know: my story-telling skills are admirable.)
When we got home, I helped Mom carry in groceries and put away the things whose cabinets and shelves I could reach. With this chore out of the way we made our way into the hall to put our coats in the closet. For whatever reason - maybe I was wearing gloves, maybe I was reaching for my Chapstick, maybe I was looking for loose change - I put my hands into my pockets before handing over my coat. As soon as my fingers felt the cool, smooth, crunchy plastic my stomach filled with panic. I yanked the pack of Darkwing Duck cards out of my coat and, eyes filling with tears, held them up in front of my mommy.
"Emily Morgen!" she must have exclaimed. "We did not pay for those. You were told to put them back. We do not steal. It is wrong."
Well, I was no dummy. I knew that. And Mom must have known I knew that as tears and snot ran down my face. "I didn't mean to!" I must have blubbered back to her. "I forgot to put them back!"
And it was true. I was horrified at myself. There are not many things I have concrete memories of from that time in my life, but this situation remains in my mind as clear as if it happened yesterday. I remember Mom telling me I would have to return the cards to the store - a thought that made me want to throw up it was so humiliating - but I'm sure she never made me go through with it. Whatever happened, though, I no longer have the cards.
So needless to say, I've never really been tempted to steal or shoplift. In real life, at least. Bear with me here.
See, my friend Aaron has this great pair of Nike 6.0s. They're black and gray with orange accents. A really hot pair of shoes. Unfortunately, his feet are a few sizes too huge for me, so even if he wanted to let me borrow them, it wouldn't work out. Last month, I had this crazy dream. I can't even recall what it was about anymore, but in the dream I was wearing Aaron's shoes. Aaron wasn't even in the dream, but in my dreamy all-knowingness I knew I'd stolen his sweet Nikes. No remorse. When I told Aaron the story, he asked me, "Did you take anything else?!" And that got me thinking: What all have I stolen in my sleepy slumber time?
There have been a few dreams in which I stole something from bad guys and they were chasing me for it. I'm pretty sure I've stolen a kiss or two. Maybe someone's boyfriend. Maybe an identity here and there. But I never feel bad about it when I'm dreaming it. Which makes me wonder...
What kind of person am I when I'm sleeping?! Goodness.
Man, I love Darkwing Duck.
And no, this post didn't have much of a point, except to tell y'all a little story or two.
Happy Monday!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
5 4,3,2,1...
I love New Year's Eve. Love it. I grew up in a family that believed in celebrating the night with friends and loved ones. Well, I should say I grew up in two families that knew how to celebrate; whether I happened to be with Mom or Dad on Dec. 31st, I knew it would be a fun night. I would get to stay up late, eat junk food, and run around the house with my friends while the adults sat in front of the television to watch Dick Clark. We'd drink sparkling cider at midnight and watch as couples in Times Square kissed. I have nothing but warm, fuzzy feelings toward New Year's Eve. Think of the very end of It's a Wonderful Life, and you've got it.
Even as I got older, New Year's Eve didn't lose any of its splendor. Through high school and then through college I saw the night as a chance to reunite with the people who mattered most to me. Granted, there have been some crazy mishaps in recent years. I did, after all, welcome 2009 in the middle of Rock Creek Park, the creepiest, most murderlicious area in DC. And I did, after all, nearly overdose my boyfriend on Claritin as we celebrated the arrival of 2010. But I still love New Year's Eve.
And I love making resolutions. Now just shut up a second before you start ranting about how people shouldn't have to wait for a date on the calendar to make changes in their lives and blah, blah, blah. I know. I'm right there with you. But I am so obsessed with a clean, blank calendar ready to be marked up that I can't help but be excited about organizing and changing and growing in the upcoming year. Here are some of my resolution-oriented thoughts for 2011:
1. In 2011, I am going to drink more water. I gave up soda one year as a resolution, and I didn't drink it for 2 years after that. I think I'd like to do that again.
2. In 2011, I would like to be hard to offend. I'm not talking about having a thick skin, and I'm not talking about not believing in things and fighting for them. I'm talking about taking people as they are, even if we aren't on the same wave-length. It's difficult to love people if I'm too busy being offended by them.
3. In 2011, I am I going to be a less jealous/more awesome girlfriend. 'Nuff said.
4. In 2011, I am going to abandon my worries. I have let myself wallow in worry and worst-case-scenarios for too long. I don't know when I became that person.
5. In 2011, I AM GOING TO GRADUATE SCHOOL! :)
New Year's Eve wasn't perfect this year. 2010 wasn't perfect. 2011 won't be. But on January 1, 2011 I woke up and was reminded that I'm not stagnant, as much as the post-undergrad blues have made me feel as such. Rather, I am a work in progress. I'm a rough draft. Lucky for me, I have a really good Editor.
So I'm super-stoked about 2011. So far, I: smooched the boy I'm crazy about, got free coffee from Sheetz, completed the application to my number one grad school choice, ate an amazing dinner with my family, played video games with my mom, cuddled with my dog, didn't have to go to work.
And tomorrow is going to be great too.
I hope this is the least nauseating post of 2011.
Happy New Year. :)
Even as I got older, New Year's Eve didn't lose any of its splendor. Through high school and then through college I saw the night as a chance to reunite with the people who mattered most to me. Granted, there have been some crazy mishaps in recent years. I did, after all, welcome 2009 in the middle of Rock Creek Park, the creepiest, most murderlicious area in DC. And I did, after all, nearly overdose my boyfriend on Claritin as we celebrated the arrival of 2010. But I still love New Year's Eve.
And I love making resolutions. Now just shut up a second before you start ranting about how people shouldn't have to wait for a date on the calendar to make changes in their lives and blah, blah, blah. I know. I'm right there with you. But I am so obsessed with a clean, blank calendar ready to be marked up that I can't help but be excited about organizing and changing and growing in the upcoming year. Here are some of my resolution-oriented thoughts for 2011:
1. In 2011, I am going to drink more water. I gave up soda one year as a resolution, and I didn't drink it for 2 years after that. I think I'd like to do that again.
2. In 2011, I would like to be hard to offend. I'm not talking about having a thick skin, and I'm not talking about not believing in things and fighting for them. I'm talking about taking people as they are, even if we aren't on the same wave-length. It's difficult to love people if I'm too busy being offended by them.
3. In 2011, I am I going to be a less jealous/more awesome girlfriend. 'Nuff said.
4. In 2011, I am going to abandon my worries. I have let myself wallow in worry and worst-case-scenarios for too long. I don't know when I became that person.
5. In 2011, I AM GOING TO GRADUATE SCHOOL! :)
New Year's Eve wasn't perfect this year. 2010 wasn't perfect. 2011 won't be. But on January 1, 2011 I woke up and was reminded that I'm not stagnant, as much as the post-undergrad blues have made me feel as such. Rather, I am a work in progress. I'm a rough draft. Lucky for me, I have a really good Editor.
So I'm super-stoked about 2011. So far, I: smooched the boy I'm crazy about, got free coffee from Sheetz, completed the application to my number one grad school choice, ate an amazing dinner with my family, played video games with my mom, cuddled with my dog, didn't have to go to work.
And tomorrow is going to be great too.
I hope this is the least nauseating post of 2011.
Happy New Year. :)
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