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.

10 Greats for 2006

Birthday and Christmas are over and the new year is about to begin. wow. This is the time of year where lots of people start making lists of their top 10 moments/music/movies, etc. of the year. I hadn't really thought about it. Do they have to be albums or movies that were released this year, or can they just be ones that I discovered? Well, it's my list so I suppose it can be whatever I bloody well want to put on it, huh? Also read little blurbs of regrets from local musicians, etc. in Seattle. Hmmmm...I'm sure I have some of those.

Well, if I had to choose, off the top of my head without much forethought, I think I can come up with a top 10 list of entertainment moments. These are in no particular order, just as they come to me. So number one doesn't necessarily mean #1.

1. Band of Horses at the Showbox. That was a great show and made me fall in love with the band even more, besides making me a bit nostalgic for Carissa's Weird and regretting that I never took the opportunity to see them play when I had the chance.

2. Bowling at Cedar Lanes in Filer, Idaho, with my mom, baby sister, her husband and their baby. (ok, he didn't bowl. He was the cheering section, even if he didn't know it.) My mom hadn't been bowling except for one other time, when she was in high school. Though I spent many hours at Cedar Lanes as a wee child, waiting for my oldest sister to finish whatever she was doing with one school group, or another, drinking root beer at the counter watching other people bowl, I never actually did, myself, until this past summer. (And how's THAT for a run on sentence?)

3. Maui, Hawaii!!! The whole trip. Definitely in the top ten entertainment moments of 2006. Holy crap. I only regret that I won't be able to get back there this winter. sigh...

4. The Walkmen at the Showbox. Another great show. And this time, they had even MORE songs to choose from in the lineup. I can add to that, going by the box office earlier in the day to check on whether or not I needed to pick up my tickets at that moment, or when the doors opened that night, and seeing 1/2 the band sitting on the counter just hanging out. "Hey". "Hey". My only regret would be not taking a second more to tell them how excited I was to see the show that night. I'm sure they would have appreciated a gushing fan. Oh, well, I'm a chicken. I barely got out my "Hey" in reply to their round of monosyllabic greetings.

5. Debating, rather vociferously, over a lovely dinner at Flying Fish, the merits of an MFA vs. an MA or any other degree that might be "practical" with my dear friend Ali. I'm sure we frightened poor Shawn, as Ali and I are both very stubborn and can mightily disagree on something with out giving an inch. So, not only was Ali visiting me and we hadn't seen one another since my last trip to NYC for Deron's wedding, but we were in true Ali and Linnet form. It was delicious and I love her and our friendship all the more for it. Yeah. That was fun.

6. Driving around Southern Idaho with Paige, my Mom and little Collin looking for these ginormous kiln ruins. It took us longer than we'd anticipated. We got a bit lost. We were starving and it was gorgeous. Seeing so much open, beautiful, wild land. Completely worth it.

7. Finally getting around to seeing Wings of Desire. (This was a couple of days ago.) We actually had it sitting around the apartment for almost the entire month of December; we just weren't able to find the time to watch it. Sure was beautiful. Maybe the best film I saw in 2006. I watched a lot of movies, this year, too, so that's a pretty bold statement. (Thank you destroyer of mom n' pop video stores--no, really, thank you. I love Netflix. I know it's killing Broadway Video. I can't help it.)

8. Watching (almost) every season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with Shawn. I had no idea he would get into it, though I knew he'd liked the few rerun episodes that he'd watched with me. We've only the final season to watch and then it's done. I love sharing.

9. Discovering that I can actually live my life without caffeine. Not that I don't want it back in my life, I'd get back on the stuff in a heart beat if I could. How is this entertainment, you might ask? Well, if you had to see me the first week of coffee withdrawal, you would probably have been laughing at me. Highly entertaining. It's true, I did have a split shot americano on christmas day. It was heaven.

10. Spending Christmas day with Shawn. It happens every year (well, for the past 6-ish, anyway) and it is always such a great day. I look forward to it and am never disappointed.


That's the list off the top...it was, basically, a good year. I do regret that I didn't see any life changing/soul inspiring/on the boards itching theatre, though. Yeah. That would be a big regret. I realize it's a tall order, still, it's fantastic when it happens.

Snow Days

We've had, as I'm sure you know if you live in Seattle, or watch the news, a couple of snow storms, lately. Depending on which neighborhood you live in depends, greatly, on the amount of actual snow. Those folks north of the city and even south, definitely got some snow. My 'hood, not so much. Ice on the sidewalks and little side streets, though. Not much of a snow day, in my mind. When I was a little tyke, snow days meant big drifts on the roads making them unsafe for school buses. Frozen pipes were just a matter of course--did not merit a snow day. At my little elementary school, we'd have to save our milk cartons from lunch, rinse them out, and the cafeteria cooks would boil water for us to drink. It had to be boiled. Safer. Must have had some nasty toxins in those old pipes.



This is from last September, in the hallway of the afore mentioned Hollister Elementary. Amazing how buildings shrink as you age...especially this one. I mean, it was small to begin with. My grandmother went there for high school, back in the day. I think that everyone in my family went to this little school for at least a brief period. Oh. Not Dana. When my mom, Paige and Dana moved back out to Idaho, she was starting jr. high. Well, almost all of us spent some time in those little classrooms. It's not like they needed to be big. We were a teeny tiny community.

Snow days were every day, just about, when we lived in Utah. And school was not canceled for them. We had flood days in Phoenix. One year, the start of school was delayed about two days because of all the rain. No snow, though. Well, maybe once or twice, for a minute. And here, in Seattle, I'm too old to benefit from a snow day. I live within walking distance to work, so when it does snow, Linnet can go in. Lucky me.

I love the idea of a real snow day, though. The kind with so much snow that no one is driving around. It's all footprints and animal prints making tracks. You go to a cozy bar and have a bloody mary, or a vodka tonic. Sit in the glow of dim lights and the excitement of something out of the ordinary. Most folks loving the excuse to goof off and tromp around. And how about that crunch of untouched snow, huh? ooooo...gotta love that!

Lost

I lost an entry. I think this is the second time it's happened and I feel like I'm back at the ASU computing commons watching my entire paper disappear--more than once, ahhhh... those midnight to 7am rewriting frenzies--in front of my eyes because I didn't know the golden rule of writing on a computer: Save as you go. They didn't teach that when I was in high school. We only used a computer once in a blue while. (Did I just mix a metephor?)

Only, I TRIED to save this last lost entry, and the blogger site ignored me. Probably wasn't worth reading, anyway. Just about how I'm in this play that has always held a soft spot in my heart and then relating how seeing a reading of it, many years ago, and meeting the playwright started me on a journey that lead me here, to Seattle. This production was precast save for the role of the psychiatrist. The callback consisted of me and a man in his 50's. Could have gone either way and by the end I was convinced that it would go the other way. Still, there was a small part of me that suspected I might actually get the part. And I did. A small part, and fun and challenging in its way.

The irritation at losing the previous incarnation of the above paragraph, however, has not subsided and I continue to live in the past. To hold onto it and the grrrrrrrrrr feeling that causes my shoulders to creep up to my ears, my jaw to tighten and my teeth to clamp together at a slight angle, contorting my face into an off center scowl.

Highland Flings and Matt Walding

My mom asked me if I still knew how to do the highland fling. What? She says that I took a highland dancing class when I was in high school. And then she thought it might have been when we were living in Bountiful, which would have put me in grade school. I have no memory of that. I know there was a street named Highland, and even a high school, I think. But the dancing? Ballet. Check. Tap. Check. Jazz. Check. No flinging. There was a girl in my ballet class, I have a fuzzy recollection that maybe she took highland dance and maybe once I went with her?

I've always felt like my memory was pretty sharp. This has really thrown me. And here I was, thinking about some more trips down music memory lane....

Cowboy Junkies: Margot Timmons' voice, in general, makes me think of my friend Matt Walding. We went to see them at the Celebrity Theatre, they opened for John Prine. We did not know John Prine. We parked in some guy's parking lot and paid $10 because we saw Margot, et al, sitting outside the theatre and we wanted to say hello, so we pulled into the first available parking spot. If we'd driven into the theatre's it would have been free. Worth it to talk about peanut butter sandwiches and mortgage payments. (She'd just aquired one, Matt and I were mortgage free.) She was very kind. She even told us she'd be singing a couple of songs with Mr. Prine, which was our cue to stick around for his set, though we laughed through a lot of it. Matt shared with me his trick of pretending to know the words to songs and grinning while he faux mouthed lyrics that neither of us had ever heard before. (He cracked me up. I laugh over it to this day.) All to see Ms. Timmons come back out and sing.

I guess that's all I really wanted to say. I'd been thinking a lot about Matt, lately, and wondering what he was up to. We seem to keep in spotty contact with one another. A couple of months ago, I thought I'd found out where he was again and e-mailed the person I hoped was he. No answer. Oops, someone is wondering why I called him fat. (Matt and I have this silly little joke. While in high school, we'd read this title of a play on the back of one of those Samuel French publications, "My Fat Friend". We thought that was hi-lar-ee-us. Thus my fat friend Matt and my fat friend Linnet were christened.) Anyway, he e-mailed me back a few days ago! Eureeka! I found him! And then I was listening to a little Cowboy Junkies and on my way to the coffe shop to use fast internet to write him back, my mom calls with the highland dance thing.

And that's the way Linnet's brain often functions.