Throwing Little Thought Pebbles at Your Windshield Since 1996
My son starred as Billy Flynn in Chicago over the weekend. I took video of his three big numbers.
(Quality: taken with my iPhone from the back half of the theater, surprisingly not horrible, but not flawless.)
We Both Reached For The Gun (live, this number brought the house down)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ykkipCi-47E
Razzle Dazzle (This one is stuck in my head) http://youtu.be/J3heVAVjyuo
All I Care About Is Love
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1ROEuy2WHU
Yesterday the people in my work group were invited to participate in an ugly Christmas sweater contest with a group sitting in our section of the building. Normally we have very little to do with these people, which is what happens in company with 40,000 employees. But clearly we have been identified as movers and shakers and people who enjoy embarrassing ourselves, so they reached out.
There’s a dress code policy in the office and one of the rewards we are given as a motivator is the ability to wear jeans on certain days. (I’d like to point out that while we are allowed to wear jeans, at no point are we ever allowed to wear sneakers. Some of us have worked around that ruled by finding brands of sneakers that don’t look like sneakers. I have become a person who went from wearing sneakers to work every day to not even wearing sneakers on weekends. Maybe that’s a sign of maturity. Maybe it’s a sign of laziness, because most of my shoes don’t require me to tie them.)
So when I heard that anyone participating in the ugly sweater contest would be allowed to wear jeans, I immediately started looking online for ugly Christmas sweaters. With only two weeks until Christmas, most of the “good” styles are sold out, or have had prices jacked up. Unfortunately given the time of year and the desperation someone like me feels, anything still available is priced at $40 or higher. I just can’t spend $40 on an ugly Christmas sweater. The prize would have to be cash of that amount or higher. I don’t think there’s a prize at all, just questionable bragging rights. You can get the following for sixty five dollars.
There are some fantastic ugly Christmas sweaters out there. There are also a lot of ugly Christmas sweaters that feature reindeer having sex. I didn’t know that this was a thing, but apparently it is. Three reindeer having sex, two reindeer having sex. I don’t know if any of the sweaters with a single reindeer having sex, I wasn’t looking that closely.
I decided spending $40 on an ugly Christmas sweater just so I could wear jeans on Tuesday is probably not a good use of my hard-earned cash. Last night I was going through my closet I found a sweater that some might consider a little ugly. The design on the sweater is very busy, and looks something like black and white snowflakes. I realized with horror that I could wear this sweater for ugly sweater day, and most people would agree that it was ugly.
Thus my existential sweater crisis. If I wear the sweater for Ugly Sweater Day, I can no longer wear that sweater for Not Ugly Sweater Day. On the other hand, if it fits in so nicely for ugly sweater day, it’s probably an ugly sweater. If I wear it a month from now, will people think, “wow that’s an ugly sweater.” More importantly, have I doomed it by even considering it for Tuesday?
I think the answer is clear. I need to wire that puppy up with blinking lights and appliqué snowmen and OWN Ugly Sweater Day. I’m going to do it for the children.
I have some things I’m thankful for this year. Some things I’m not, but now is not the time for that. Talk to me next week for complaints.
My son, for finally learning where everything goes when he empties the dishwasher, and for being the one person who consistently makes me belly laugh. That sarcasm 101 class at court jester school really paid off. You are top-shelf, kid, which is, by the way, where the wine glasses go.
My iPhone, which serves as my connection to the universe, my way to shop, my alarm clock, my kitchen timer, my camera, nightlight and radio. I don’t know what I’d do without an automated way to crush candy.
My parents, for everything they do for me, whether I ask them to or not. I know I’m blessed beyond belief to have you both. But I also promised to not get mushy.
My spare kid, and the girls who formed a fan club fighting to replace him, for making me feel loved and appreciated and all-powerful. I do love each of you special snowflakes. If you are reading this, you are my favorite.
Last but not least, I am thankful for second dates, and boys patient enough to wait for you to come out of your silly fog. I am thankful I came to my senses before he gave up on me. And he’s better than a plate full of turkey (but not better than stuffing because let’s not get crazy, okay?)
Went out to Rockport yesterday with my boyfriend to do some browsing, and to visit his brother who owns a gorgeous bed-and-breakfast out there. Little did I anticipate hearing the greatest sentence uttered in 2013 to date.
He was telling us a story about working at the Holiday Inn in Syracuse, basically doing anything that needed doing for tips. Apparently in Syracuse in the 70s, the Holiday Inn was THE place to stay, a hotbed of activity for major and minor celebrities. There weren’t really many other places to stay if you were in the area, visiting the university, or performing.
The stories were great (I’m a huge fan of any kind of celebrity story) but this sentence, actually uttered to Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead, is better than anything I could’ve written.
“I know what it’s like to be famous; I’ve been mistaken for Mac Davis.”
You are welcome universe. Sharing this sentence is my Monday gift to you.
My son, the actor. I like the way that sounds. A week or so ago he was nominated for an EMACT (Eastern Massachusetts Association of Community Theaters) DASH award. DASH stands for “Distinguished Achievement and Special Honors”. That sounds impressive, no? It is. I cried like little baby.
These are the Individual Performance categories. Michael, at 15, was nominated in the Best Youth Actor category, against every other under-18 boy in any production under consideration by EMACT.
http://www.emact.org/services/dash.asp
I’ve been in awe of my son’s talent for years now, but you always wonder if you’re just blinded by being his parent. This is independent confirmation that I’m not one of those American Idol moms at auditions telling her tone-deaf child “they don’t know talent when they see it!” When I say he’s really very good, I am not the only one who thinks so.
