Nov. 02, 2003 - 9:00 p.m.
An eye for an eye and a poem for a quote: 'The Spider's Web (Natural History)' -E.B. White The spider dropping down from twig/ Unfolds a plan of her devising/ A thin premeditated rig/ To use in rising. And all that journey down from space,/ In cool descent and loyal hearted/ She spins a ladder to the place/ From where she started. Thus I, gone forth as spiders do/ In spider's web a truth discerning,/ Attach one silken strand to you/ For my returning.
Dear Vincent,
Occasionally, only occasionally mind you, it is necessary to thank someone for the things they have not said and would never say. So thank you for the paragraph of things you would not have said. I especially enjoyed the suggestion of a "walk of epic proportions" (Truman letter # 196). I've always loathed parenthetical referencing. I could never remember if the punctuation went on the (inside?) or (out).
The Chicago Shakespeare Company performed in my small town a few evenings ago. They profess that stopping here was a plan, but I suspect that they got lost here. Upon not being able to find 'Nowhere' on the map they couldn't find their way out. Thus they foisted themselves upon a local area high school with a beautifully new stage and performed "Romeo and Juliet" Saturday evening. It was a superior production and the couple to my right remained interested until just after the line, "Two houses, both alike in dignity..." They slept soundly through the brawl in the streets, and more soundly still through Romeo's wallowing. I believe she stirred slightly around when Romeo and Juliet first met. And when Juliet pleaded, "Oh swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon..." right on cue the sleeping man's head lolled back over the top of his chair as if perchance, he hoped to catch some glimpse of the moon Juliet referred to. His mouth fell open and he proceeded to regale the theater with a symphony of hollow whistling noises expelled from his nose every time he exhaled. Without breaking stride, the couple slept through intermission, and by the time Juliet's father was feeling for a pulse as she lay 'dead' in her bed on her wedding morning, I was sorely tempted to reach over and check the woman's pulse.
The performance was equally enhanced by the impromptu soundtrack. On the other side of the school, where the gym is located, the high school was hosting a dance. At points, musical classics such as "It's Getting Hot in Here", "Right There", and "Hey Girl" could be heard faintly beneath the dialogue.
Halloween has come and gone and I saw Poltergeist. Halloween marks the only day of the whole year I make it a point to see a horror film. I don't like to be scared, and I scare easily, as such, it usually marks the only horror film I see all year. I planted myself in front of the t.v. to watch Poltergeist convinced that it would be minimally frightening, as it was made over a decade ago. With the lights on, and several hands available for clutching, I felt relatively cocky. No stupid 80s horror flick was going to leave me quaking! It was a foolish assumption, the Cast of Amontiado by Edgar Allen Poe still leaves me with the quivers and that was written far longer than a decade ago. It's the suspense that ruffles me. The way Steven Spielberg warns you it's coming, and warns you and builds, and warns you more and builds, and warns and builds some more until... bwhahaha! He allots so much time for getting used to the idea that something scary is about to happen, so by the time it does, I'm on pins and needles already. When I crawled into bed Friday night I darted one hand up to shut the light off after I was under the covers. Normally I would toss an arm over my eyes or behind my head and go to sleep. For several minutes I waged a war with myself. I could submit to the small ridiculous prickles of fear in my stomach and pull the covers up to my chin, or I could leave them defiantly down around my waist. Only little kids are frightened in the dark, I told myself sternly. Then I realized that no one would have to know if I pulled the covers up tight. Nonchalantly, I reached down and pulled the covers up. So if anyone asks Vincent... I was cold, okay?
Halloween evening pre Poltergeist consisted of a Pool tournament with Jen, her boyfriend Craig and Craig's friends. Craig and I get along splendidly, be it because we can both moon walk, or because we both appreciate the humor in calling someone a "player" rather than a "playa", or perhaps because we both believe in high fives for superior word usage... difficult to say, but the mutual respect is there. Maybe it is an error of the human psyche that we tend to project the character aspects a person exposes us to into all aspects of their life. (Case in point the best dancer I ever knew was a girl named Katie, who radiated confidence, and all around prowess onstage. She was friendly, boisterous, revered and sought after within the dance company. I always assumed, that said traits were also exuded in her life outside of dance. I was flabbergasted to find that outside of the dance setting, she was timid, and reclusive.) Craig must have made this error in choosing me as a his Pool partner.
Thankfully Craig's billiard skill won us every round. About halfway through our third game, Craig asked me if I was right or left handed. "Right handed," I affirmed. Craig, began to smile when he informed me I was shooting like a left handed person. So I switched and my game got considerably better. That statement is the equivalent of claiming, "I drive better than a drunk!"... absolutely nothing to brag about. I suspect that I would make a much better candidate for standing around with a stick in my hand, rather than actually playing. Reasonably, I could wander around a Pool hall with a pool stick, and everyone would assume I was playing at someone else's game. No one would be the wiser.
And in more recent news this evening I went to Aunt Lenore's and Uncle Ferd's for dinner. Aunt Lenore invited me late this afternoon coaxing that they needed me to come to dinner because they were having a cook off. When I arrived I discovered that the cook off was to determine who made better Sloppy Joes. I had harbored no grandiose visions of lobster when Aunt Lenore said cook off, but I hadn't expected Sloppy Joes. The kick, is that both Aunt Lenore and Uncle Ferd use the package to make Sloppy Joes... and the only difference between the two recipes are the secret ingredients (a bottle of ketchup and some old bay). By a slim margin of one point, my Uncle Ferd's Sloppy Joes are better (ketchup). She lost that point in the presentation category. Ah yes, I forgot to mention that Aunt Lenore printed up official ballots and named the two Sloppy Joe samples 'sample A' and 'sample B' so the judging would be impartial. Interestingly enough, the best sloppy Joe I had this evening was one with both recipes mixed. This is exactly the sort of neatly packaged metaphorical lesson that would sell in a biography...
Erstwhile... presently,
Meghan
what they said - what they will say
