wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!

The Wii is fun.

It's not that I want one for myself, but knowing someone who owns one is good. Someone who lives a lot closer to me and wouldn't mind me coming over to play from time to time would be even better. Just look at the grin on that girl's face. Doesn't she look like she's having fun?

Wouldn't trade in my xbox for one, though.

Another Saturday night and I ain't got nobody...not in Seattle, anyway. Shawn's back in the land of sun and I am back to my solo routine. Very sleepy tonight, however, and will probably hit the hay a little earlier than usual. Just sitting at Top Pot--freezing in here--and taking advantage of the wireless for a quick moment before heading back home to read my silly mystery novel or watch a movie. You know, what with school starting in a few weeks, I figure I should get in as much gluttonous reading and movie viewing as I can. Who knows when and if I'll have time to do that again for the next semester. (Ooooooo...how thrilling! I'm back in semesterville! Where time is based on the academic calendar and "next year" starts in the fall!)

Oh, blah, blah, blah. Apparently, I haven't much of interest to write. So, go forth and play a Wii, if you can. I recommend a warm up of your playing arm--the wrist, elbow, EVERYTHING--first as I heard a number of folks complain of aches and pains after playing. Not a substitute for actual exercise, I don't think...

Another One Bites the Dust

Bummer....

And even if it hasn't been officially confirmed that condos are on the way, you can bet your sweet music lovin' self that they are. I actually read some people's comments on the closure that said it's the fault of the smoking ban. Ummmm...so, you'll only see live music if you can smoke? Well, then you must really love to see live music. Sheesh.

Depressed Mods on Memory Lane

I've only had two--well, technically three, keep reading-- things stolen from me (not counting personal items gone "missing" from my bedroom...) which is pretty good, I'd say. Both instances were completely my fault due to momentary lapses in brain activity: A bicycle when I was at ASU and an even more prized possession back in the good ole' days of Jr. High. Please give a warm round of thanks to John Richards for bringing it all back this morning, as I lay in bed, not wanting to get up and knowing that I didn't even have to! (Day off for Linnet with no scheduled engagements...ahhh, sweet life.) It went something like this: Music, music, music...nice to listen to the music...hey, that sounds like Depeche Mode...it is. It's from that album I had in 8th grade that was kiped with my walkman from my backpack...
Sudden clear memory of taking the cellophane wrapping off of the tape after I purchased it. Not where I bought it, or what the day was like--most likely sunny, this was Phoenix, after all--not even what it was like to listen to the very first time I put it into a tape deck. No. Taking that thin, clear, crackling wrapper off. A whiff of plastic smell, particular to that synthetic material. The purchase of this tape was a big deal. I rarely bought music, so I must have had birthday money burning a hole in my pocket. Any other DM albums I owned had been copied for me by friends back in Salt Lake. I wouldn't discover the wonders of used records and tapes until the following year, thanks to a boyfriend and Zia Records.
This, Music for the Masses, was constantly in my walkman. (I use the word generically, I doubt I actually had the Sony version). I dared to bring it to school in my backpack--not listen to it during class, or anything, I wasn't a complete fool. I Just liked knowing I could put on my headphones while I waited for my mom to pick me up after school, listen to those heavy synthesizers and that deep, mellow voice. The feeling that I was in on something exclusive. That I was my own brand of cool, even if it didn't mesh with the rest of Palo Verde Jr. High. Listening to music that, with a couple of exceptions, none of my other jr. high pals liked was my version of surpassing the Joneses. They had better clothes, better hair, probably even had lots of tapes to listen to in their walkmans. But I had Depeche Mode. Until I set my backpack, complete with walkman and DM tape inside, beneath a bench and I left it there. Just for a minute! I swear!!
Funny, I don't have any recollection of why I set it down unattended. Was I still so naive to think that no one would take someone else's stuff from a school? We're all such good mannered kids? Why leave it under the bench, what was so immediately important? My attention called away to do...what? Giggle with some girlfriends? Say goodbye to my crush of the moment? Drink from the water fountain? When I returned to my seat, the pack was still there but unzipped. Walkman and tape gone. The tape case, however, was still inside. I remember thinking "Why couldn't they at least have left the tape? They probably don't even like Depeche Mode!" I'll bet I'd barely had it a month when that happened.

I have a sudden urge to repurchase this album.

Someone Else's Camera

I went to Eastern Washington for Thanksgiving, and someone had a camera. Someone who takes good photos and has a website. Click here to see the photos for yourself, in case you ever wanted to know what I'm talking about when I say "the farm". The guy in the black t-shirt w/ the white star is Karl, the chef. After eating amazing food for 5 days, it was a little disappointing to come home to an empty refrigerator, save for a package of Trader Joe's frozen tortellini. No sauce.

P.S. to the family: thanks for all the well wishes regarding the audition. I guess I should have mentioned that I was not cast. Oh, well....it was nice to be asked.

Why It's Dangerous to Listen to TAL Podcasts On the Bus

You may think I'm being over dramatic, or just too worried about what the outside public world thinks of me as I walk down the street and/or sit on the bus, but I have to tell you, listening to This American Life podcasts while doing one, the other or both of these activities can be an embarrassing, unwanted way of calling attention to yourself. Exponentially worse if there is anything on the episode written and read by David Sedaris and. Do I have to tell you how much of a work out I get clenching my stomach muscles so that I don't erupt into belly laughter of the deepest, sincerest variety? And if you don't know what I'm talking about, then I encourage you to visit this website and find out for yourself! In a 55 minute program, I can ride the roller coaster down the slope of out loud laughter and the slow climb up the track of openly weeping. At home, that's fine. The tears can flow and my mascara stained cheeks scare no one but me. The bus--especially a full one where you are forced to sit next to someone-- isn't exactly the most convenient venue for being ambushed by some writer's ability to pull at my insides, squeeze them until it smarts and make my eyes water because, goshdarnit!, i get what s/he is saying! How did s/he know that I'd felt that way, too? And the laughing--well, there are enough people spontaneously bursting into laughter on the buses who aren't listening to anything that anyone else would be able to hear, if you catch my drift.

Ah, but then don't listen to the podcasts when you're walking or taking the bus. Easy for you to say. A long bus ride out to Northgate is the perfect opportunity to hear an episode, makes the trip more enjoyable. They're called PODcasts for a reason, yes? To be listened to on the iPOD? Assuming that's your mode of mp3 delivery. I try listening at home, but I get distracted by things. The crossword puzzle. The dusting (ha! right. As if I actually have done that in months! Ahhh...I kill myself....)

Check out the episode called "In Dog We Trust" to see what I'm talking about...it's probably not available as a podcast anymore, but you can listen for free on TAL's website. (I think you can just put the title in the search function and find it that way....) Go forth and listen to some radio!

10pm-ish naps are not good for going to bed, later...

First of all, I have the sweetest baby (not so much a baby now) sister in the world.

Secondly, I am wide awake and have another day of work in a marathon schedule so I really should be in bed. However, I wound up taking a nap, late tonight, and was then too wide awake and wired to go to bed, so I decided to take my little book and head to my favorite little neighborhood bar to drink a little sparkling water. Just to read and observe the people and chat with my pal, the bartender, in between drink making. (He was making drinks. I was reading. Observing. Chatting.) It's nice to have this right around the corner watering hole, even though I don't really use it for the purpose for which it exists. I do, in a social context. Just being around other people is nice, especially since Shawn moved to Southern Cal. I find myself really craving something other than sitting in my apartment, alone, night after night. Sun Liquor is a cooling salve once a week, or so. Tonight I got to talk about Radiohead and their new album (freshly downloaded today) how much I LOVED the essay I read while sitting at the bar and commiserate with some other ladies about one guy who is a total jerk and I've watched/listened to as he tried to pick up girls, on more than one occasion. He uses the same lines EVERY time. It is kind of comical. Kind of. At least once you've given him the clear brush off, he leaves you alone.

But that essay...Joe Pernice writing about The Smiths' Meat is Murder, only it wasn't really about the album. It was about the experiences surrounding his discoveries of that band, and that record. It made me giddy. (That's how I felt when I first heard The Smiths. Omigosh! My mom said the same thing about their morbid, depressing sound!!) Only, he heard them when they were still a band and I only stumbled upon them after they were done and Morrissey was already recording his first solo album. But, gosh, I got that feeling back. I love writing that can take you to that place--that first kiss, first crush, heartbreak, first Smiths' song. I told Will that if I were a writer, I would want to write like that. It can happen in fiction, and it seems like the personal essay--the well written one--can have a true knack for succinctly distilling a moment that you, as the reader gets to say, "that happened to me, too!". Perhaps because I know that it's a retelling of a personal experience rather than the added element, in fiction, that even if it comes from an actual circumstance, ultimately it is part of a made up story. And I heart fiction. Truly. But a great personal essay...well, that just makes me happy.

Cross Your Fingers

Last week I had my first, since moving to Seattle, professional theatre company audition. No, really. The first one. I thought, "Wow! I'm so flattered to be asked that I don't even care if I get a call back. I just don't want to embarrass my friend who got them to call me in in the first place." Then, I read the script. And the sides. And I had the audition. And I said, "Holy crap, batman! I WANT to be in this show and I WANT to get called back." Today, I went to the call back.

I WANT this part. I have not doubt that I could do this role, and give to it fully and honestly.

It's out of my hands, I realize. It's down to looks, I imagine, type, chemistry...stuff like that. Hopefully not down to whom they've worked with before because, well, in that case, I'm a no go. I've never worked with any of them before though I know the two other women called back have. What are ya gonna do?

Of course, the true irony of this is that it should happen just as I've decided to go to graduate school and make a commitment to debt and study. Though...as I see the rehearsal/performance schedule, I believe I'd be able to swing it. Financially, I don't know and I'm going to choose not to worry about it since I haven't even been offered the part, yet, so all of this may be moot. Let us all cross our fingers, however, that Linnet is cast and DOES get to worry about it all!!!!!!

Regardless of what happens, I'm still completely thrilled that I had the opportunity to read for this company and perhaps it will lead to more invites and an eventual role.

Words, Words, Words

Against my better judgment, I actually cleaned (sort of) my apartment, today. I've been putting it off and putting it off because 1) I don't like to do it, especially since it usually has to occur on one or two of my two days off. Quelle drag. And 2) It just gets dusty again, and the stacks of library books and the New Yorkers and Vanity Fairs continue to lay one on top of the other in precarious towers. Heck, I even did laundry. A thorough job, in my own way, was done. I even cleaned out my desk and the piles of paper and what not piled up underneath and beside it. I was on fire, I tell you. In putting away letters and notes from family and friends that had been lovingly shoved into the desk, I got caught up in reading old correspondence. That, my friends, is the highway to the danger zone. Very difficult to come back from there. I could read old letters for hours, lose complete track of time and look up to find it is Friday, and time for me to go to work. What happened to Thursday?

I used to work in a cubicle, and that is where I truly discovered the wonders of e-mail. I knew it existed, but I hardly used it and felt sure it would be the downfall of human communication (I think the jury is still out on that one). Well, at my little cubicle job, I suddenly got the whole notion of sluffing off at work while appearing to be o-so-very-busy. I wrote a lot of e-mails and received a lot, too. I printed most, if not all, of these electronic communiques out. I have a large binder with all of those and, so I see today, a box of them to boot. I don't really print my e-mails anymore. I find that I rarely write lengthy ones or have lengthy ones written to me. Wonder what happened? I also think that I have convinced myself that I don't need to print them. They will always be there for me to read whenever I want to sit for some hours and meander through my past thoughts and those of my friends on my computer. Perhaps I am naive.

All that ink. All that paper.

Come to think of it, printing them at the cubicle farm was a hell of a lot easier since it wasn't my ink or my paper. Maybe that's when I stopped? When the output was costing me, personally. Ahhhhhh ha.

For Gina

I received a phone message from my sister, Gina. She left it yesterday and I only listened to it today. (Sorry, Gina. I just wasn't checking my phone...). Well, Gina has discovered this here blog (the first family member to do so...how, I wonder?) and mentioned that I have given some misinformation in a previous post. Therefore, I shall make amends by correcting this earlier misrepresentation of my dear sister. Gina, this one's for you.

In the old post, I said that she didn't like a certain genre of music. Well, though she did not, in fact, like Tears for Fears, she did like some U2, Oingo Boingo--this I can attest to, I remember she had the 12'' of "Weird Science"--and even the Thompson Twins. (Specific bands listed on her phone message.) And now, come to think of it, she also had Men at Work's Cargo way back when we lived in Idlyhoo. But she will have to admit, to me and the world that she looooooves Bon Jovi more than any of the aforementioned bands. Right, Miss Gina Lynn?

So, I would like to present a list of songs and/or bands that remind me, specifically, of my oldest sis!

Bon Jovi. (duh! She hearts Bon Jovi.) Especially the entire Slippery When Wet album, which we had to listen to umpteen MILLION times while driving to and from the dance studio. Really loudly, too.

Gina works the diner all day/
Working for her man, she brings home her pay/
For love - for love

"Sister Christian", by Night Ranger.

"We're Not Gonna Take It", Twisted Sister.

Guns 'N Roses--I think she had a crush on Slash, which I couldn't understand. I mean, how could you tell what he looked like?

Poison--I don't even know what to say about this. I still find it difficult to believe.

Brian Adams--Her phone ring--not a ring at all-- is "Summer of '69"and I laughed with nostalgic glee the first time I called her and heard it play.

Van Halen--the David Lee Roth version. Was it Eddie that she crushed on? She seemed to have a thing for guitar players. Richie Sambora might have been one of those rockers she liked, too....Gina? Can you help me out here?

Come to think of it, I recall her liking David Lee Roth's solo efforts, as well.

Def Leppard, Ratt (I might be making this one up.), Quiet Riot...that's all off of the top of my head. But you can see why I might have jumped to the conclusion that my little underground (at the time) music listening wouldn't have been much to her liking. I hope I have set the record (ha ha ha...record. get it? like those old round, flat discs with grooves on them people used to play?) straight regarding Gina and her eclectic music likes. And really, I have her to thank for introducing me to the music that made such an informative impression on my life, and continues to do so. Thanks, Gina!

Fire Jump Street With Me

In a constant effort to avoid doing the "things" I'm supposed to be doing (self-imposition), I have gone back to some of my favorite television shows from way back when. Back in the day, as some folks like to say. Let us start with that crazy David Lynch classic. It was by total accident that I even saw the pilot episode when it first aired. I was babysitting and the little rug rat had gone to bed. Sophomore year of high school and all my pals were watching that insipid teen soap opera. Poor things. I was hooked from the start. Called my then boyfriend and said you MUST watch this show. (We'd seen Blue Velvet, so we felt well-versed in Lynchism.) I don't know if he did, but I was sure thankful that I was babysitting and had control of a television. I'm sure I would have missed it if I'd been at home. The rest of the series was watched on a little black and white television (I don't even know where I got it) in my bedroom with crappy reception. It's been astonishing to actually see the show in color. On to season two, which I only saw a few episodes of due to my growing irritation with Lynch's wacky symbolism and the whole "Who killed Laura Palmer" mystery. I really could have cared less who did it by the time the show ended. Happy to report that I am anxious to borrow season two and watch the rest of the story unfold. And who couldn't love Kyle M. as Agent Cooper? I do believe it's my favorite role of his, to date. Though, I am as afraid to see the movie as I was when it came out...

The second trip meanders the path down the 7th grade memory lane and this rush home after school so as not to miss a single episode series. I was afraid this one would be VERY bad. Isn't it great to aim low, sometimes? And, with such expectations I can safely say that I don't find the show terrible. I always knew Depp would be a star...sigh... Wary that it would be a painful reminiscence, I only netflixed the first disc of season one. I'm ready for more. I think I stopped watching once I was in high school, so I guess I only made it through the first two seasons.

Side note. It is odd to use Netflix as a verb. Just like Google. Or Xerox. Proper nouns into verbs. Weird, yet part of the ever changing language lexicon.

Eeny Meany Miney Moe

How do you choose which grad school to go to? Besides the obvious enticements of which one will give me more money? A or B? Both have advantages and both are so 100% on line that the coolness, or lack there of, of the city just doesn't matter. I'll be sitting in Seattle, with my UWM or Drexel Dragon sweatshirt on, staring at my computer or a book and being studious. What I really love, though, is that I have choice. Even if I don't know what to do with it.

Panther or Dragon.... both very good mascots.

A Perfect Day For A...

...Ballgame!!! I was given two tickets to the third game of the Mariners v. Red Sox series. 5th row back along the left field foul line. It was sunny, 70-ish degrees, cool breeze blowing...PERFECT day game weather! The Mariners swept the series. I wish I could say I was excited about their win, but, as I have discussed with other baseball fan friends in Seattle, it's really difficult to become a fan. This is the first baseball town I've ever lived in, and I imagined that I would care about the Mariners and watch the games on t.v., or listen on the radio. Really keep up to date on the goings on. It's been 9 years since I moved here, and I've yet to really care. I love the ballpark. I love to watch baseball. I don't love to watch the Mariners. (Except maybe Ichirio. He is so FAST and graceful and refined in his playing.) I could watch just about every game on television, but I have to fiddle too much with the rabbit ears so I don't bother. That about sums up the kind of fan I am. I mean, I'd sure be happy if they did really well. And unless they're playing a team that I like more (NYY, Boston, the Angels...probably a couple more if I really give it some thought...and I already know that a "true" Yankee fan hates Boston and vice versa. I have been a fan of the Yanks since I was a wee little tyke and Reggie Jackson played for them. I have not, however, harbored resentment towards Boston. So unless they're playing each other, I am perfectly happy for Boston to win. I'm an old fashioned baseball girl when it comes to teams. I like the old teams. I like pinstriped uniforms. Go Tigers! Sue me.), than I definitely will root root root for the home team. It's kind of sad. I have never gotten the feeling that the owners care much about the team, either. They're not concerned with winning. They're concerned with money. So, they trade the best players and that's that.
Though, after today, I did feel a little more inspired to make an effort. Especially after hearing from the friend that I took along with me how lucky Seattle is to have such cheap game tickets. $10 to sit in the bleachers. And these games rarely sell out. I was surprised that this game wasn't full. I got to thinkin' that maybe I'd take in a few more day games. I have Wednesdays off, after all, and summer in Seattle is a dream, for the most part. Baseball. Sunshine. Hot dogs. How great is that?!
I miss the world series on NBC. I miss Bob Costas.

All I Wanted Was a Movie...

Where's my damn movie, Netflix?!!!

The movie I sent back seems to have gotten lost in the mail, as they say they haven't received it, yet. Well, I distinctly remember sending it back on Tuesday and it is now Friday. Very suspect. Come to think of it, our regular mailman was not on his route, Tuesday. We had a sub... Highly suspect. On their website it says that if the movie has not been received 6 days after mailing it to them, then I can file a "movie was returned and Netflix hasn't received it" complaint. But I want the other movie that was supposed to come after it NOW, dammit! I don't even know anything about it except that it was recommended to me for the costumes and because it looks likes a good ole sexy, though not necessarily great, entertaining film with pretty people being all Italian and alluring in their Venetian dress, making goo-goo eyes at each other behind fans. Sometimes a girl just needs a little innocent costume drama sexual tension plot. Besides he's in it and I have always been a fan. Speaking of frivolous sexy plots, I think I should start renting the Henry VIII series that aired this year... absolute cotton candy it's supposed to be. Yum.

Home Sweet Home

It's the first day of summer, and to Seattle's credit, the sun shines. The whole day has been beautifully blue, warm with a cool--not too cool--breeze. Oh, yeah, I think...this is why I love it here. Well, there are other reasons, but days like this are in the top three. In honor of the event, I sit outside at Top Pot, eat a donut and drink a decaf (yawn) iced latte...sigh...a good evening treat to be sure. Many years in a row, Shawn and I would find some place cozy to sit and watch the sun as it set far, far in the west. Sometimes we went to Discovery Park, or Golden Gardens. Even staying here, on the Hill. From my perch on Capitol Hill it looks to set behind Queen Anne, which is darn near north. I'd say it's a northerly sunset. By winter it will be dropping down near Magnolia, very westerly.
VERY early this morning, suffering from a bout of insomnia, I caught a bit of the national weather report. 112 degrees in Phoenix. Ugh. Do not miss that. Haven't missed it since the day I left. Never even missed it when I was living there and I'd be on vacation, blessedly, somewhere else.
Funny to think about the place that one considers home. I have two places, actually. One is "home" in the sense of where I grew up. Except that I only lived there 10 years and no one in my family actually lives in that spot. Twin Falls, 30 minutes north-ish of where our home was, isn't technically my childhood home. Yet, it is so familiar, despite all the changes occurring at an ever increasing rate, that my sentimental attachment to it makes it home. Going home for Christmas? Nah... I like to go back home in the summer or the fall. Arizona is unquestionably not home. Yes, I lived another large portion of my life there; 11 highly formative years, and I couldn't wait to get O-U-T, OUT! Going on 10 years in Seattle (gee, I'm at equal parts in these places...) and I can truly say that almost from the start, this was my home. Is my home. I feel very home-like here. I'm a happy homebody in this town. Home, home on the range. How lucky is that? I could have moved here and been sorely disappointed. Hated it. Gotten bored with it. I'm not bored. Are you bored? People get bored with Seattle. Several of my friends have left this boring town, or want to leave this hum drum burgh... O. like my boyfriend. : ( But I really like it. Really.

She's Not My Type

My friend, Adam, is funny. He left a comment for my previous post which has brought a chuckle to my throat, escaping out through my mouth and ending with a smile on my lips. Thanks, Adam. And in response to his response I say, "She's not my type", and here is why: She was kinda mean. She even said she was mean, which came out more so on the second day than on the first. Not mean like, "Wow. She's down right cruel." But she had an edge. I'd forgotten to mention that, previously. Ahhhh... but isn't that classic? In 5th grade, Tay Roberts decided that she didn't like me and was horribly cruel to me in front of anyone who was around--and we had the same friends. She was the queen bee in my 5th grade circle of friends and, though no one else was out and out mean to me, no one stuck up for me, either. It didn't help that my family had no money, wore used clothing and were Bountiful, Utah's version of hay seeds. Her daily doses of "Where do shop, at Kmart?" insults--because at the time, there was no greater insult than being accused of owning anything from the big, blue "K"--did not, however, stop me from including her in the big slumber party/pizza eating/toilet papering extravaganza I hosted in the late spring. And she came. I have a picture to prove it. She was still mean to me and I still wanted her to like me. She never really did. Though my fellow pledge room buddy wasn't mean like Tay, I can see how she had the potential to behave in such a way in a grade school environment. So, no, Adam. She is not crushable. Maybe another day I'll tell you about my friend, K., whose approval I craved, was good friends with AND for whom I had a big, whoppin' crush...

Dorkdome Strikes Again

Clever folks impress me. Sometimes they even cause me to feel small and shy in their presence. It's not their fault; I recognize that it's my own insecurities bubbling up, making my laugh a little more emphatic, my eyes darting to meet Mr./Ms. Clever's, more than necessary to check in during the conversation. Especially in a group. Did he/she like what I said? Was that other person's comment as silly/smart as I thought it was? All very middle school, I know. What can I say? I doubt my own cleverness and ability to be liked in a new group setting. Oh, Linnet! You three or four, shake your heads with a chuckle, What are you talking about? You get along so easily with others. Yes, with people I know. I've addressed this issue before and have apparently not resolved it, yet. Once I get more comfortable, however, I'm fine. I think I've honed in on the most obvious scenarios in which Insecure Linnet arrives on the scene in place of Confident Linnet: 1. at a party of strangers; 2. in a forced group situation where you are all sitting together in a room for a number of hours. Frankly, I prefer the latter. It's a bit easier for me to gain my comfort zone and relax. It's when someone clever gets put in the mix that I get a little gerghidlkn;alghaoi. (Yes. I said gerghidlkn;alghaoi. I don't know how to spell a gurgling, tense and throaty noise that best illustrates my inhibitions.)
Like today, for instance. (Ah ha! Now she comes to it.) And it had to be today, right? Otherwise why would I be writing about it? Well, there was this girl. And she and I were both on the same phone shift for the KEXP pledge drive for the last two days. I see her around the hill and downtown, quite a bit, as one does in a city like this. She has cool and unique tattoos. she dresses in an individually stylish way without being too much. She's cute. Oh, and now that I've sat in the same room with her for 8 hours, I know she's smart with original ideas and ways of expressing herself. And clever. And I felt like such a goober when I realized that I was laughing at her comments more than I would have, if I wasn't feeling like a dork. And that I caught myself actually thinking, Does she think I'm as big a dork as I think I am right now? I hope not. In all likelihood, I wasn't even a blip on her radar. I mean to say, once I left the room, at the end of our shift, I doubt she gave me a second thought. Not in a mean way. Just in a That was a productive 4 hours. We answered a lot of phones and everyone seemed nice way. Whereas I continue to think about her and her cleverness. Yesterday she showed us a 64 second animated short she made for a class. It was great. That's what really got me. Though, if I hadn't seen her again today, I don't know that I would have cared as much as I seemingly do now. I guess I was reminded of my initial impression of her, and we were fewer today than yesterday. Oh. I also sat across from her today. Yesterday, we were a livelier group and there were many conversations going on. Today, we were a bit quieter so perhaps she just shined a little more...what on earth did I want from her that caused this wacky doubting, fumbling version of me?
APPROVAL! That's what I wanted from her. Good god, I am in middle school.

Forgot to mention that, did I?

My friend, and fellow Sight Nine company member, was driving me back to work this afternoon following a short rehearsal for Mrs. Klein. Just a simple read through. We're chatting about this and that, the MLIS program and how long will it take me? etc., etc., etc. "...and blah blah blah, now that Shawn's living in California...blah, blah, bla-" "WHAT?!" (that was Heather.) O. Didn't I tell you?

This is not the first time that changes of a sort of monumental proportion have occurred in my life and I have neglected to tell those that might be interested. I think it's because I'm lazy. I get tired of telling the same story over and over again. And, generally, I find it's not the good stories. My boyfriend has moved to California. My sister died. I'm getting a divorce. I mean, how many times does anyone really want to repeat the details of that particular kind of life changing news? At some point, I hope that enough people have been told so that they can start telling other people and save me the trouble.

Maybe whenever there has been a shift in our fortunes (be they good or bad), we should write up a little summary, including an FAQ, and print it out for distribution. Then, whenever someone asks the inevitable "What's new with you?" all you have to do is hand over the already prepared tale of joy/whoa. You might even add a "Feel free to distribute as you like" hint. It's like that Christmas Letter people write and David Sedaris makes great sport of in one of his books--I think it's Barrel Fever--only you don't have to wait until Christmas. And you don't have to mail it. Keep a few copies on your person whenever you're going to be out and about; especially if you're likely to run into folks you know.

Assignment

My oldest sister, Gina, has asked me to write a little remembrance about my very first dance teacher, Willa Dean Nilesen. I was about five years old when I started taking dance class at Nielsen's school of Dance and the only reason I was there was because my sister, Holly, was taking class with her friend, Emily Youngman. With my mother, I sat--or tried to--and watched from the sidelines. Apparently, as Blumenthal legend has it, sitting was just too much for me and, standing near my mom, I would copy the dance steps that my sister was learning until they finally decided I should be taking the class, too. This isn't really a story about Willa Dean. In fact, I can't really recall a story about her, particularly. My memories tend towards events that involved her, but only as a figure at the front of the class. Or, sitting behind her desk as we practiced our dances. Her sadness when her daughter, Pam, died tragically in a senseless motorcycle accident. Doesn't seem right to talk about how she always seemed too old to have a teenage daughter, that she seemed more like a grandmother than anything else. Her hair cut, colored and set. Painted eyebrows and red-pink lipstick. My childish ideas of her weren't meant to be disrespectful or mean-spirited. I liked her a great deal, looked up to her. My own grandmother died around the same time that I'd started the dance classes, at least my memory is that it happened within the same year. And Willa Dean looked more like my grandmother than she did my mother. So it wasn't with malice that I thought her old; it was a youthful syllogism long before I knew what the word meant. Shocking 20 years later when during a visit with my mom, living once again in Southern Idaho, we run into her at a store and she's even older than she was the last time I'd seen her, in 1984. My goodness, I remember thinking, she was old when I was 7!
So, what story can I write for Gina, in celebration of 50 years of Nielsen's School of Dance? 50 years, really?! How excited we were when the Stargazers dance class got to have the matching, white and blue "v" striped leotards so that she could see better if someone wasn't doing the same dance step that everyone else was doing? The silver tinsel Christmas tree that was in the upper right corner of the studio, every year, with empty wrapped boxes stacked festively underneath it? How she hated ballet and how anyone who wanted to take it had to do so on the sly at another studio? I always thought that was so funny. Strange funny. When we moved to Utah, and I took my first ballet classes, I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about.
I see her so clearly, in her tan colored jazz shoes, black dance pants of that parachute-like material, rolled down at the waist, leotard and accessorized with a skinny belt. Demonstrating a dance step. I see her sitting behind that desk, counting and clapping on the down beat. I just can't come up with a single moment that translates to a story of guidance. Something that has stuck with me all these many years. The kind that you tell your own children--nieces and/or nephews in my case--when they're feeling blue. "Someone once told me..." it begins. I remember her presence. And her love for the dance studio and the students. The long and strenuous preparations for the annual dance recital held on the stage of CSI (College of Southern Idaho). Always a theme. Always a beautiful, lyrical solo for Pam. A family dance for all the Nielsen's. The supporting cast made up of the rest of the students. When Michael Jackson's Thriller was released, that was our theme. The older students recreating the graveyard zombie dance. Our own Footloose for another recital, as well as a Rainbow Connection the year the Muppet Movie came out. For that year's finale, sung by Kermit the Frog, we were a rainbow of dancers. Each class a different color. Was that the year, while waiting to rehearse in one of the college's classrooms, I toppled over in a heavy, metal desk that sliced my right hand middle finger requiring an emergency room visit and stitches, though not missing the recital? Dancing with my right arm bent, but upright the entire time? Maybe that was the Footloose year...

Hellooooooooo Debt!

I did it. I got into grad school!!! My acceptance e-mail arrived last Wednesday, with the hard copy to follow in the mail. That I received today, and holding it in my hand, reading that first line "Congratulations on being accepted...", well, it felt real somehow. As though I was afraid that the e-mail wasn't going to count if they suddenly decided they'd made a mistake. But the paper. The printed word. Now, that is tactile and can't crash or magically disappear or get accidentally erased. The paper I can place on my refrigerator, using one magnet for each corner. Every time I walk by the 'fridge, or open it, or stand in my kitchen I can look at it. Peruse the positive affirmation that is acceptance.

I'm waiting to hear from U of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, too. They're about 1/3 less expensive than Drexel... though Drexel's program is highly rated. I don't know. Maybe I'm being greedy and only want to stroke my ego a little more. (Sing it with me, I got into grad school. I got into grad school...). Speaking of ego... a few people that I've mentioned my good news to have responded in such a way that implies that they don't think I got into a real school. That I'm doing some kind of correspondence course. Like the kind you see advertised late at night. "You too can have a career in the transistor radio field. Simply send for your free catalog and you'll be on the road to choosing a career int he exciting world of short wave radio repair. We'll even send you the tool kit!" No, I explain, this is a university. With a campus in Philadelphia. They have some degrees offered online. That's the only difference. I could there, too, but I don't want to live in Philly. "Ohhhh. Sure. Good for you." They don't look convinced. I want to convince them. I need them to be convinced. (I'm a little sensitive right now what with my my boyfriend moving two states away---one VERY long sate which may as well make it three states away--and though the first month wasn't so bad and I spent a lot of time this last month actually seeing him, these last few days I have missed him terribly. Enough to want to go across the street and buy several pints of Ben & Jerry's to eat for dinner. Thank goodness for sheer laziness.)

So, come January 2008, I will officially be enrolled in Drexel (or UW-M, we'll have to wait and see) and on the road to being a librarian. I can't wait to do my first show as a librarian so I can write in my bio "Linnet is excited to be working with the cast of insert play here. Last seen in insert another play here, she embraces the challenge of a completely opposite role for this current production. Linnet received a BA in theatre from Arizona State University, and has a Masters of Library and Information Science from Drexel University. You can see her in insert month several months in the future here when Sight Nine Theatre opens their production of third play here, please."

Bratz and Cats

I'm not exactly sure how I got hooked into watching a show about girls who want to wear skimpy, sexy outfits and slither around poles as they sing covers of songs in de riguer pop girl vibrato, but I did just that last night. My old Tuesday night 9pm standby, Law & Order CI was a rerun, that had only aired a month ago. So, after returning home from yoga, and settling down with a bowl of pasta, I flipped until I saw the finale of a reality tv show whose purpose was the search for the next sexy addition to an all girl group. Oddly enough, the name of the band seemed so appropriate since the three finalists all reminded me of those weird toys-- popular with the tweens--called Bratz. Unusually large heads and teeny tiny bodies. (Is this our new ideal body, ladies? Almost makes me nostalgic for Barbie...) Only, these three girls weren't called Bratz, though they were trying out to be dolls. Pussycat Dolls, to be precise.
I didn't know it was a real group. I can honestly say that I never need to see anything like that again. I'm not clear if this is truly an expression of feminism: embracing one's sexuality while thrusting, gyrating, grinding and spanking one's own ass as we celebrate women's ability to be sexy and liberated, meanwhile singing such empowering lyrics as "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" This is what teenage girls aspire to? Or, are we being hoodwinked into believing that this is the new feminism, and if we're not on board to overtly put our freedom of feminine sexiness on display, then we are some kind of staid, prudish old lady who just doesn't get it. If I look at women, young girls, who wear their thong underwear as outerwear, and think "ick", am I not really a feminist? Am I trouncing on someone else's experience and negating their freedom to express themselves? In my head. Naturally, I wouldn't actually say something to one of these women/girls. In my head I pass judgment, or form an opinion. In my head I say "This is where what we're raising? Girls who wear t-shirts that say 'I slept with your boyfriend' in girlie pink and sparkles?"

I read an interview on Salon.com that discussed these issues, and I thought I'd check out the website that the author contributes to, and read some more about her views. Feminism for younger women. (I guess I fall into the older women category.) I'd like to be the sort of person who can look at a woman's choice of expression and confirm and support it. And yet, I have to be honest, I am not impressed with a lot of what I see in the magazines, television, etc. It doesn't look any different to me than it did when it wasn't cool to dress like hookers (Women who would probably rather be doing something else besides selling their bodies--I'm making an assumption here.) I'd almost rather be called a prude. Don't get the wrong idea--that I think being sexy is "bad" or anti female power. Not at all. I do believe that there are healthy ways to be sexy and that there are ways that women are being duped into thinking that they're the ones in power. Do these girls have power? And if so, at what price?

Break Out the Summer Clothes!

Guess who's going out to southern California for a little holiday? That's right, c'est moi. Headed down south for a visit with my lovely in only a week and a half. So looking forward to it. I get to see Shawn. I get to see sunshine. I get to feel warm air. I get to breathe smoggy breezes, but I get to come back for some fresh air, so I think I can handle it.

Other than that, well, not much going on chez Linnet. I have tried not to put my pajamas on at 7pm on the weekends. I know they're not my weekends, seeing as how I work on those days, but they are the traditional weekend days/nights nonetheless and I have never gotten over the training my brain received regarding Fridays and Saturdays. Even though all I want to do after work is go home and relax, there is a nagging feeling that I'm supposed to be doing something. Going somewhere. (This was no different when Shawn was here, either, it was just easier to ignore.) Last weekend, I gave myself the task of going to the grocery store at 8pm, just so I could prolong the p.j.'s donning. I know, it's all in my head. Self-imposed musts that matter to no one but myself. Besides, have I mentioned that it's expensive to go out? I just spent $60 on groceries --for one person!--and am taking 3 days off of work pretty shortly. Do i really need to go out just to make myself feel less like a recluse? I'm in the market for the free entertainment. Easy enough to find during the day... The Frye Art Museum is free--love it--though not open late on weekend nights. SAM (rather SAAM, for now) has late night Thursdays. Why not a late night Friday museum? Elliott Bay Books is always good for author readings, though I confess to knowing nothing about the writers scheduled for this weekend.

Whine, whine, whine. Maybe I should change the name of this blog to Whiner, or Whine Fest. My apologies to all 3-4 of you. No more whining. Honestly, being solo hasn't been that bad. Just gets a little lonely sometimes and so I sit on my couch, in my pajamas, with a blanket and pillows, at 7 o'clock in the evening feeling a little unenthused (apparantly, unenthused is not a word. And yet, it sounds so right...) about my entertainment choices. Heck. I haven't even played my xbox since shawn left. Now, is that ridiculous, or what?

All Done

Sent in the supplemental materials to the two schools that I have applied to, thus far, on Monday. Big day for me. Now I don't have to hem and haw and avoid eye contact when someone asks me how my applications are coming along. (On June 1, I'll send in to the third school.) What an uplifting experience. Here I am, missing Shawn, feeling little to no energy to do much of anything, and I can check that off of my list of things I've been, for no reason in particular, putting off. Made for a better answer to the "What's new with you" question that came up, several times, that same evening at my friend Marcus' birthday soiree. Had a chance to see lots of friends that I rarely see anymore, now that we don't all live in the same building. Well, we didn't all live in the same building, but enough of us did so that it sometimes felt as if we had the same address, what with all the comings and goings and drop ins. Anyway, it was more fun to announce that I'd applied for grad school AND that Shawn had moved to California, then just the moving to CA part.

Things To Do When You're Scared Of Silence

1. Watch television
Lots of television. This is particularly useful when you don't have cable and you live in an area where the reception is for crap. You can spend hours flipping through the 7 channels, 3 of which actually come in, waiting for the Law & Order franchise reruns-very likely to occur on every night of the week and Saturdays! If you get tired of the 3 channels, simply adjust the rabbit ears for the next 20 minutes to get 3 different channels. Besides, you can always count on the God channel to come in crystal clear, no matter how the ears are positioned.

2. Play Solitaire while listening to iTunes on shuffle
I'll bet you didn't even remember that you'd downloaded that album! You can play guess the song title/artist/album/release date/band members, too. And, if you're like me and have lost that youthful ability to know the answers to all of those questions, you can exercise that atrophied muscle and be able to flex it at the next social function you attend.

3. Increase your Netflix subscription so there is a constant flow of movies in the
mailbox
Perhaps you don't want to spend that extra $2 plus applicable taxes? Never fear, you can watch all the movies your lovely mother recorded for you on those old fashioned VHS tapes. So what if some of them have been viewed so many times that the picture is a little wobbly and causes you to feel the onset of motion sickness? You've seen most of those movies so many times you don't have to concentrate too hard on the actual watching. After all, it's the noise that's important.

4. Play Xbox until you're bleary eyed
This one works really well, since it is easy as pie to wile away the hours without even noticing how many you've lost forever. However, should you get stuck on a particularly gnarly section that you just can't seem to advance from, this option does become less appealing.

5. Surf the internet
Here's another opportunity for the name that band/album/singer/song game exercise. And, if you're like me and refuse to cough up the extra dough to have a high speed internet connection, you'll really have some serious noise-filled hours while you wait for that Ryan Adams website to fully load.

Happy Silence Avoiding!!!

I heart Wong Kar Wai

If you haven't had the divine pleasure of seeing films by this graceful, intriguing, sexy, thoughtful, smart, melodic, moody, stay with you long after they're over, AMAZING FILM MAKER, then you must run to your local video store or move to the top of your Netflix queue movies by this man. Go ahead, start with As Tears Go By and see how he is not just any Hong Kong director. Of course, as I am notoriously a late bloomer, you may already know the greatness that is Wong Kar Wai, and I'm not telling you anything new. However, if you haven't...RENT THEE Chungking Express, or In the Mood For Love if nothing else.

The Lowdown...

I know it's hard to believe, but I am still here. Simply haven't felt like writing, that's all. Quick update for my loyal readership of...ummm...four? Three? Five? Whatever. Here's a sum up of Linnet:

1. I've actually sent in applications to two of the four grad schools that I was interested in applying to. The third one doesn't accept applications for the winter quarter (or spring semester--whichever they do) until June 1st. The fourth prefers that you begin in their summer session, which I just wouldn't be ready to do this summer, so I'll wait to see how the other three go before applying to start there in summer '08. All four programs are 100% online, distance learning, fully accredited MLIS programs. Please, won't one of you accept me into your school so that I can go into debt for upwards of $50,000?

2. Shawn is transferring to California for longshore work. He'll be driving crane out there (which is what he wants to do as long as he's a longshoreman.) We will be doing the commuting thing. Neither of us has done a long distance relationship before, so it'll be new for both. Ideally, he would like to be 2 weeks down there and 2 weeks in Seattle. I'm a bit blue, I won't lie. However, with him gone for a little while each month I'll finally have that quiet, alone time to write my novel. O. Wait. I'm not writing a novel. Well, I'll have some quiet, alone time to do whatever it is I would do if no one were in my apartment distracting me with his charming, loving ways...Given a choice, I'd rather have the distraction. I fear I may delve into a hermit like lifestyle, the xbox my only companion.

3. I received my tax refund. A whoppin' $130. Damn that 1099 form. Gee, what to do with my riches...perhaps save it towards a digital camera? My favorite film developer is closing up shop for good. I just can't go back to the Bartell's to have pictures developed. Not after being spoiled by the styling glories of Film Stop. Time for me to join the digital camera band wagon?

4. Sight Nine (my still existing, yet quietly so, theatre company) is in pre-production for Mrs. Klein, which will open in September. I predict great things. It is such a yummy play.

That's all folks!

One Voice, Singing in the Darkness...

I'm half watching this reality tv program about casting the next Danny and Sandy for the Broadway revival of Grease. I'd seen lots of advertisements for it and heard two guys talking about it on the bus, last week. I thought, "Gee, that could be interesting. Watching auditons for Grease. Scenes from the show, some choreography and some singing... sounds fun." Well, it's not. Or, tonight it's not. They just sing. It's like watching American Idol--of which I've seen about 15 minutes, once--except they're singing pop songs sans the vocal gymnastics. Well, it's not what I expected. I was talking with my friend, Maia, who called after it had been on long enough for me to watch two contestants, and I mentioned the American Idol comparison. We came up with the idea that for the public, the singing aspect is the most accesible. It's viceral and can be emotive and hits us on those levels in a way that watching a scene, out of the context of the whole play, probably would not. o. and it's being cast out of LA, not New York. Call me old fashioned. Call me naive. Broadway is to New York as Film is to LA. (Yes, I know they are not mutually exclusive. I'm just sayin'...it's for a BROADWAY SHOW!!! Why can't the auditions be in New York? If they'll fly to LA LA land, they'll fly to NYC. They have television stuios and stuido audiences there, too, don't they?) I really don't need to get all worked up over this. I doubt that I am going to watch it again.

The inspiration for this entry came not from the actual television program, but from my conversation with Maia. From the notion that music can be so tactile, emotionally. So, I'm going to share a little secret with you. About me and singing. When I am alone.

I love to play solitaire on my computer and listen to/sing along with sappy, silly, sad and happy love songs. For hours. In a row. At a fairly full volume. I have an ever expanding playlist that is added to and subtracted from, depending on my mood, of songs that I sing, aloud, with feeling while playing single player card games. The criteria is that the songs be very melodic, I have to know the words pretty well, melancholy themes are a plus and that it clicks in some way for me emotionally. Heartache, loveache, longing, earnestnest and sometimes even bliss--those are big winners. And isn't that the fun of music, anyway? You hear a song and somehow it precisely conjures up feelings you, yourself, have experienced and singing that song or even just hearing it puts you exactly in that place again. That connection is strong, it is immediate and it is full. I do like the singing. In the pseudo privacy of my apartment. I wonder what, if anything, my neighbors hear? In my version of reality experienced in my apartment, I have a good, solid singing voice. Not magnificent, but in tune and even interesting. Outside my apartment, I don't know. I'm too self concsious if I think someone can actually hear me sing which leads to not so good singing. I only want to be a pop star in my living room. And sometimes a broadway singing sensation, when i'm cleaning. Then it's Chess, City of Angels, Into the Woods and Les Mis all the way. Just for me. Audra MacDonald, watch out! Linnet's got the broom and she means to sweep.