Archive for December, 2006

five things you didn’t know about me

nobody tagged me on this thing (boo hoo whatever), but i’m doing it anyway, because it seems like a good writing exercise:

1. in high school, i really wanted to be an actress. but back then i was painfully shy, so the auditions never went well. while onstage i was mostly focused on all the people watching me; to say that my line readings suffered as a result would be an understatement. i tried out for rumors and the best christmas pageant ever with no luck. this upset me a great deal, because i just knew that if i ever got the chance to be in a play i’d be awesome. eventually i was given a small part in this is a test. my performance was marginally awesome.

the part i played in this is a test, though small, was pivotal. i was one of three members of a small chorus of sorts, and our job was to recite this one bit in a round. “this is a test. a what? a test. a what? a test. oh, a test.” our lines varied a bit, though, and sometimes instead of tests we’d be talking about pencils or books or what-have-you. i was the middle person, so the first person would say “this is a test,” and i would say “a what?” and she and i would do the whole bit. then i’d turn to the third person and say, “this is a test,” and the third person would say “a what?” and we’d do it over again. but at the same time, the first person would move on to the next item and say to me, “this is a pencil.” so i’d have to face each person in turn and say, “this is a test. a what? a test. a what? a test. oh, a pencil.” it was hard to remember what item i was saying to the third person while paying attention to what item the first person was saying to me. as i recall, it took me a few tries to get it right, but i didn’t mess up at all during the performance.

this fall my friend jessica’s middle school theatre program did this is a test. even though she teaches middle school and i was a junior in high school when i was in the play, i felt really good when she told me she picked the smartest member of the chorus to play the middle part. suck it, seventh graders! i was marginally awesome!

2. also during my junior year, my church youth group held our second annual dinner theatre. our youth group leaders were in charge of the first annual one, but for the second one, they decided to delegate. this was how my sister came to be in charge of the dinner, and i was put in charge of the entertainment. though now that i think about it, i probably volunteered. i’d been going to that church since my parents brought me home from the hospital, so i knew i’d feel comfortable performing for an audience that had known me for sixteen years. while my sister organized the food and decorations and chose a theme, i picked out skits and sets and costumes.

i loved being in charge of the theatre stuff. i held auditions for the parts, went on thrifting and borrowing sprees for the sets and costumes, and organized and led rehearsals. i even made the programs myself. my day planner from that time (which i still have) was filled with ideas and to-do lists in bright orange ink. in retrospect i was probably a bit over-stressed: i remember calling one guy’s brother an asshole, and hanging up on someone’s mom when she informed me that her daughter wouldn’t be able to attend rehearsals that day. but i was on a mission!

i had only planned to be in one skit myself, but when one girl had to drop out in favor of band practice, i took over her part. to me, that was the most fun of all. that skit had a romeo and juliet plot, but the characters’ lines included their stage directions. for example, i played the princess, and one of my lines was, “the princess stands at her tower window,” or something. there was even a curtain character, who would walk to the middle of the stage at the end of every scene, say “the curtain falls,” and then fall over. everyone died at the end of the play, and my last line was, “the princess dies, and is beautiful even in death.” my pratfall at the end of that line got huge laughs. suck it, high school! i was awesome!

3. i had seizures when i was a baby. massive infantile spasms, they were called. as i was only a few months old, i don’t remember any of it, but my parents definitely do. according to them, i was in the hospital for awhile, and then my dad had to give me steroid shots at home. i can’t even imagine what it’s like to have to give a shot to your own baby. the way these infantile spasms went, the doctors were pretty sure i’d be mentally incapacitated in some way, so my parents had me take an IQ test a few years later. i also can’t imagine how you administer an IQ test to an infant, but the results of that test put my IQ at a genius level.

when i was thirteen, my mother took me to the hospital to get an EEG. they stuck all these suctiony things to my brain with glue and plugged me into some machines, and then they put me on a table in front of a big observation window and told me to fall asleep. there’s no way i’m going to fall asleep! i thought. i’m not tired and things are glued to my head and this table is uncomfortable and zzzz in retrospect, i wonder if they slipped me something.

after the EEG, my mom took me to lunch at the hospital mcdonalds (do they even have those anymore? it seems counterproductive), and showed me a letter she’d written to me when i was a baby. in the letter, she said that there was only one chance in two or three hundred that i’d end up normal. the word normal is a subjective one, but i suppose i am normal in medical terms.

i used to think that my beating the 0.5% odds and emerging from seizures with an infant-genius IQ meant that god had spared my brain so that i could achieve something specific. but i don’t think i believe in god anymore. and really, that’s way too much pressure.

4. in the last eight years i’ve had no trouble asking people out, but my first experience asking for a date was a terrible one. there was a sadie hawkins dance my sophomore year of high school, and i wanted to invite jeff tupper. he was in three or four of my classes that year, and i’d found him pretty easy to talk to. which was saying a lot, since i didn’t find anyone easy to talk to in high school. also, i liked his hair.

i’d told my friend jean about my crush on jeff tupper, and we’d decided i should ask him to the dance the next morning, which was a friday. i’d asked jean if she would go with me to ask him, since i didn’t want to do it by myself. we found him in the hall just before the first-period bell rang.

“hey, jeff,” i said. that part was easy.

“hey, guys,” he said to jean and me.

“uh, jeff,” i said, “i was wondering if you would, um, go to the sadie hawkins dance with me?”

he froze. a look of horror crossed his face, and i knew what he was going to say before he said it. “no,” he said.

i did not know he would be so abrupt. “ok,” i said, and took off running down the hall. jean followed.

of course i had to see him in classes all day. and i knew he’d told his friends, because i kept catching them staring at me. jean said that at least now i knew what would happen if i asked, but it was small consolation.

i spent that weekend moping around the house. when you’re fifteen and your parents live in your house too, it’s hard to mope around without telling them what happened. i was able to avoid talking about it until sunday afternoon when the phone rang. “it’s for you,” my mother said, handing me the phone. she had a strange look on her face, so i knew the call wasn’t from a girl.

“hello?” i said.

“alison, it’s jeff.”

he’s changed his mind! i thought. he does want to go to the dance! oh god, i’m so nervous. what am i going to wear? “hey,” i said.

“i’ve been calling everyone all weekend trying to find your phone number,” he said. “i wanted to tell you that i said no because i have a girlfriend.”

i suddenly recalled seeing him in the halls at school, always with this one girl. how could i have been so stupid? “oh,” i said. “i didn’t know.”

“i didn’t want you to think it was because of you, so that’s why i called.”

“ok,” i said.

“ok. see you tomorrow.” he hung up.

it didn’t make me feel any better at the time. i was still embarrassed, and of course i then had to answer my mother’s inevitable who-was-that-on-the-phone question. but now i think it was pretty brave of jeff tupper to call and tell me about his girlfriend. so thanks, jeff tupper, even though that’s not your real name. you should have just looked me up in the phone book; there weren’t that many headleys in there.

5. i think this is something i always knew, but i didn’t fully realize it until a friend and i discussed it this week. the television is always on in my apartment because the noise and picture and general distraction keep me from thinking about bad things. i’m afraid if i turn the tv off and try to work in silence, i won’t be able to keep the terrible thoughts at bay — the thoughts about my life and career and past and relationships that would derail my entire day if i let them take over. in my better moments i tell myself that there are just a lot of shows i like, and i watch them because i want to know what’s going to happen next. but that doesn’t explain all the reruns and old tapes and dvds. no, those are around for the bad thoughts.

new songs i listened to a lot this year, skewed towards the latter half of the year since i can’t remember anything that happened in the first half

Band of Horses - Our Swords

Beck - Think I’m In Love

Built to Spill - Liar

Camera Obscura - Lloyd, I’m Ready to be Heartbroken

The Dears - Death Or Life We Want You

The Futureheads - Skip To The End

Headlights - Words Make You Tired

The Long Winters - Teaspoon
The Long Winters - Honest

The National - Secret Meeting

Office - Possibilities

Peel - Oxford

Phoenix - Napoleon Says
Phoenix - Sometimes In A Fall

Rogue Wave - Bird On A Wire
Rogue Wave - Love’s Lost Guarantee

The Scattered Pages - Country Club and Love

Secret Machines - All At Once (It’s Not Important)

The Shins - Phantom Limb
The Shins - Girl Sailor

Silversun Pickups - Little Lover’s So Polite
Silversun Pickups - Lazy Eye

Sound Team - No More Birthdays
Sound Team - Your Eyes are Liars

Sparklehorse - Ghost In The Sky

Yo La Tengo - Beanbag Chair

p.s. these files won’t be here forever.
p.p.s. here’s a weird photo i took at the eye doctor yesterday:
at the eye doctor

i pity the fool

sometimes i go a long time without looking at my flickr photostream, because it’s just a bunch of pictures of people having more fun than i am.

“and I guess I will protect myself from you.”

i’ve made a few embarrassing admissions on this website over the past few years.  this definitely won’t be the most embarrassing, but here it is: i watch standoff.  for those of you who don’t know about it (and you are probably numerous), it’s a show on fox about hostage negotiation.  initially i watched it because ron livingston’s in it, and office space is one of my favorite movies.  every time i see ron livingston, i picture him saying “say hello to LUMBERGH for me!” and i laugh and laugh.

i was also intrigued by standoff’s lack of a tired will-they-or-won’t-they subplot.  in the first two minutes of the first episode, it’s revealed that ron livingston and his FBI partner are already dating, so i was curious as to how the show would handle that.  not very well, it turns out; standoff is mostly just a bland procedural show that happens to feature ron livingston.  in addition to the two leads, there are also four supporting characters who have nothing to do except yell orders, look things up on the internet, and try to see if they can get a clean shot at the hostage taker.  each episode is pretty much the same.

but i keep on watching standoff, and i figured out why.  it’s because i like to see people stand up for each other.  in the cheesy hostage situations, if someone threatens ron livingston’s girlfriend, he comes to her defense.

when i had this epiphany, i was immediately ashamed.  an independent, 21st-century woman such as myself should not find it romantic to see ron livingston take up for his partner in a crisis.  women can defend themselves!  they don’t need other people to do it for them.  but i can’t help it.

a story:

when i was 20 i was a waitress at a restaurant in a suburb of houston.  this was back when i really liked being a waitress, when i didn’t dread going to work every day, when waiting tables didn’t make me hate people.  the restaurant where i worked was a small one, run by a man named harris, who had never owned a restaurant before.  he had eight employees total, including cooks, waiters, bartenders, and a dishwasher/busser.  in our battle to make money amid the more popular suburban restaurant chains (a battle we lost eventually), we were like a little family.  at the time i was also dating jake, one of the regular customers.

one night i was working the cocktail tables around the bar area.  that was my favorite section; the customers were friendlier and more accommodating of my rookie mistakes, and there was a lot of money to be made.  on this particular night, one of my cocktail tables was occupied by a group of men that had just been out hunting.  they were sweaty and mosquito-bitten in their camouflage jumpsuits, there was a dead deer in the bed of their pickup truck, and they were drinking tequila.  a lot of tequila.

round after round of shots i served them, per harris’s instruction.  our restaurant was failing, we all knew, and any money we could bring in was good money as far as harris was concerned.  at one point i went to the table to deliver some drinks, and one of the hunters said, “hey, i want to show you a magic trick.”

i was immediately suspicious.  “what is it?” i said, as i put the drinks on the table.

“okay.  i’m going to hold my hand out like this, okay?” he said, extending his arm with his palm facing the man seated across from him.  “see my hand?”

“yes…” i said.

“now i want you to keep watching my hand, don’t take your eyes off my hand, okay?  and i want you to turn your head and kiss me on the cheek.”

“no,” i said, and walked away.  even if i’d been willing to kiss him on the cheek, i knew his intent would have been to turn his head towards me when i wasn’t looking so i’d end up kissing him on the lips.  it would not have been magical.

i avoided their table for as long as i could, but when their drinks were empty, harris told me to ask if they wanted more.  when i approached them, i stood as far away from the table as i could and said, “how about another round?”

“how bout my dick in your mouth?” one of them said.

after he said it out loud i could hear him saying it over and over again inside my head, how bout my how bout my how bout how, with the most offensive part removed, as though my brain was trying to protect me from it.  everyone was laughing.  i turned and ran.

i found harris in the kitchen, clutching his customary cigar and cognac.  “i’ll put someone else on the table,” he said, after i told him what happened.

“what?  you’re not going to kick them out?”

“alison, i can’t.  they’re good customers, and we need their money.”

furious, i stormed back out into the restaurant.  jake was sitting by himself at the bar, and i told him what had just happened.

“gee, that sucks,” he said.

i don’t like to date angry guys, guys that start fights at the drop of a hat, guys that challenge people with a “what are you looking at?”  on the whole i find that sort of behavior pointless and juvenile.  but in that situation i wanted jake to be as angry as i was.  i didn’t want him to take action, but i wanted him to get mad, if not at the hunters for saying what they did, then at least at harris for not kicking them out.

but all he said was, “gee, that sucks.”

while watching standoff the other day, i tried to think of a time in which someone has come to my defense.  other than the nice half of the commenters on this website taking up for me against the not-so-nice half, i could only think of one instance:

four years ago, my grandparents and my parents and i were all at my aunt’s house for christmas.  my grandmother asked me if i was still dating the same guy i was with the last time she saw me.  “no,” i said, “i’m seeing a different guy now.”

“i don’t like to hear about you dating so many boys,” she said.

“but if she doesn’t date different guys,” my dad said, “how’s she ever going to find one she wants to be with?”

it was the perfect thing to say, much better than anything i’d have come up with on my own.  my dad had come to my defense, he’d done it peaceably, and he’d done it with reason, something with which my grandmother could never argue.

i once dated a guy who never stood up for me.  he treated my feelings as an inconvenience, he defended other people when they were blatantly rude to me, and when i said something he didn’t approve of, he acted as though he didn’t know me.  in elementary school when the other kids bullied me, the teacher told me to suck it up and deal with it.  maybe this is why i romanticize the idea of people standing up for one another.  most of the time, i’ve had to defend myself.

we never met.

i spent most of the latter part of 1997 as an IRC addict.  it was the fall semester of my freshman year at UT, and i didn’t have any friends.  rather, i had a few friends, one of whom was my roommate the IRC addict.  one day my roommate got up from her computer to retrieve her laundry from downstairs.  “here,” she said, pointing to her desk chair, “take over for me.”

so i took over.  i changed her nickname to my own, introduced myself to the people in the chatroom, and didn’t look up until the following may when i was put on academic suspension.  i was lonely during my tenure at UT.  with very few exceptions, the people i met on the internet were friendly and smart, and they asked where i was when i wasn’t around.  if ever there was a perfect candidate for IRC addiction, it was i.  but that’s not what this is about.

my IRC friend mark, a college student in ohio, had his own webpage.  almost everyone on IRC had their own webpage, but mark’s is the one in question here.  mark was quite fond of using the word hoopla in [internet] conversation, so on his webpage it said “click here to go to hoopla.com.”  i did click here to go to hoopla.com, and it was the best thing i’d ever seen on the internet.  when i made my own homepage a few days later (in all its photoshop-filtered, drop-shadowed, black-backgrounded glory), i linked to hoopla.com, too.

as soon as i felt that my 1997-tastic webpage was fit for parental consumption, i sent my parents the link.  my mother wrote back with a lot of nice things to say about my creation.  i’m confident she knew that the internet was the cause of my slipping grades, so her attempt to be positive about it was nothing less than heroic.  “you did a very nice job,” she said, “and i really like that thing you did with the birds.”  in her internet infancy, my mother apparently never checked her status or address bars, and didn’t realize she’d navigated away from my site and onto leslie’s.  it frustrated me then, but now i find it amusing.  after all, if she’d continued to click on things, eventually she’d have thought i authored the entire internet.

goodbye, leslie.  if i actually had made your website, i’d have been even more proud of it than my mother was.  and that’s saying a lot.

stray thoughts, in chronological order

1. on the plane to st. louis on friday i was looking out the window at the houses below, noticing how strange christmas lights look from an aerial perspective, and this thought came out of nowhere: if i’m never going to marry and have kids, i will have no excuse for being unsuccessful. i don’t know where that thought came from, and i’m not sure i even think it’s true, but i haven’t been able to forget about it since.

2. in large groups of people i don’t see often, i usually spend more time with the kids than with the adults. i’m sitting there eating my dinner or drinking my beverage, and then i’m surrounded by young people asking me who are you how old are you how many bracelets are you wearing why is your hair pink how many earrings do you have did that nose ring hurt what are you doing? once i get used to the questions, i find the directness refreshing. the kids view alison 28 23 because i like pink 8 yes eating a sandwich as acceptable responses, and never ask any depressing follow-up questions about how my employers feel about piercings and pink hair. they’re more likely to laugh at my jokes, too.

3. while in st. louis i went to the same bar i visited on thanksgiving. the same band was playing again, and once again people asked me what i was working on. this time it was my father’s writing instead of my own; he’d written a piece on which he wanted my feedback, and at the bar i was making notes on the printout he’d given me. i had a nice conversation with two local girls; they asked where my parents lived (i don’t know the city that well, but i was able to give them some nearby streets), and we talked about st. louis and austin and such. “my boss thinks st. louis is the ass of the nation,” i said, “but i totally disagree. i really like a lot of the places i’ve seen, and i think i’d enjoy living here.”

“we love it here,” one of the girls said.

“yeah,” the other one said. “and at least your parents don’t live in the counties.”

(the counties vs. the cities in st. louis is similar to inner loop vs. outer loop in houston, though i imagine this sort of geographical coolness can be applied to any large city.)

4. as i was reading at a bar by myself on a saturday night, i kept glancing up and seeing people i thought i knew. this was impossible, of course, since the only st. louis resident i know that i’m not related to wasn’t there (and the ones i’m related to were definitely not there). but it kept happening anyway, and i started to think about how there are probably more people in the world than there are unique faces. after all, eyes and a nose and mouth and cheeks and skin, etc., can’t possibly exist in infinite permutations on a human head, can they? if this is true, then at any given time in history there are fewer potential faces than there are people to wear them, which is why we often think we see someone we know. but it’s not someone we know. it’s just a duplicate.

i swear i only had two drinks.

5. i make fun of my mother and her doll collection a lot, but i do love seeing how happy she is when she talks about her dolls with other people. as i said to her this weekend, “i wouldn’t let anyone else make fun of you the way i do.”

(if that isn’t part of the definition of the word family, it should be.)

6. on the way back to the airport, my dad and i discussed his writing. i liked his piece quite a bit more than i thought i would, which had less to do with my expectations about his skill than it did with the myriad undergraduate writing classes i’ve taken in which everyone sucked. when i find a stapled sheaf of 8½x11s in front of me, my experience asks me how much is this going to suck?

(my sister and i are both good writers; i don’t know why i worried for even a second that my father wouldn’t be.)

but it didn’t suck at all — in fact, i thought it was really good. so mostly we talked about nerdy language things like when to put a dash between words that are adjectives modifying a noun (”middle-class homes” vs. “we are middle class,” for example), and the various ways one can approach dialogue modifiers: the simple, hemingway-esque “she said” ones i favor, and the more descriptive “she remarked dryly” ones that i think tend to get in the way of a smooth read. as i said to my dad, if the dialogue itself is written well enough and the characters are well-drawn, the “remarked dryly” is superfluous, because then the reader already knows she’s being dry.

we also talked about the process of writing itself. he mentioned my post in which i’d quoted ken levine who was paraphrasing kurt vonnegut, and i told him about ariel’s response to my post in which i’d quoted ken levine who was paraphrasing kurt vonnegut. “she said that she disagrees, because when she writes and it doesn’t flow, it feels like she’s trying too hard and it will come out sounding forced.”

i don’t think my dad and i talked about this in depth (after all, it’s only a twenty-minute drive to the airport), but i think i understand the flow vs. forced concept. if my understanding is correct, then flow vs. forced exists outside of the “writing isn’t easy” concept. because no matter what your process entails, the thing about writing that isn’t easy is recognizing when it’s working and when it isn’t. i think that what vonnegut’s “every day it just flows” writer lacks is the ability to distinguish quality from quantity. it doesn’t matter if you’re like me and your struggling means you should skip to another paragraph and come back to the problem one later, or if you’re like ariel and your struggling means that you’re trying too hard. what makes either process successful is the ability to know when the writing isn’t working.

i told my dad that sometimes i don’t know how i feel about a particular situation until i sit down to write about it. he said that that was his reason for writing his piece in the first place.