Making Animal Noises on Ellen DeGeneres

I know that some people have a deep seeded desire to be on TV. I get that. Everyone somehow thinks that if they can get on TV, they can finally endorse their favorite product, or that people will care what they think, or that they will have "made it." It's really quite a cultural phenomenon.

I used to really want to be on TV. I had whole ideas for sitcoms and movies (starring me of course), that I was desperate to share with the world. I would play these out by myself or with friends, write screenplays, and even come up with promotional ideas. For my sitcom, I thought I could wear different college sweatshirts each episode to promote different universities. In turn for the publicity, they would provide sponsorships for the show, and maybe one would provide me a scholarship (even though I was ass-spanking rich in my fantasy world, I still wanted / "thought I was entitled to" a scholarship). I figured it was win win really.

In college, I came to the realization that I didn't need to be famous to be happy. I could live without the glamour and glitter of a Hollywood life. It would be fine; I didn't need to be on TV.

I wish other people, however, would come to this same realization. I turned on the TV this morning - while I was in my kitchen making desert for a dinner party this evening - when Ellen DeGeneres came on. I love Ellen; she is one of my favorite celebrities - funny, genuine, and generous, so naturally I didn't change the channel. She then had people from the audience showcase their "talents." The first woman who came up, I kid you not, her talent was making animal noises.

Animal noises! I was flabbergasted. Who wakes up and decides, "today will be the day I make animal noises on a nationally syndicated daytime talk show?" I thought one of the main ideas of life was to limit your moments of public embarrassment - not dive head-first into them. Apparently not, apparently some people think it's a good idea to make chihuahua and hawk noises in front of live studio audiences. The sad part is, she wasn't even that good. I mean if your talent is borderline embarrassing anyway, be good at it before you share it. If it's going to make the viewing public wonder who on Earth let you out of the home, it's a bad idea.

I'm not trying to be cruel; I'm sure that lady is a very nice person, but being nice doesn't guarantee the ability to make smart choices. There are many nice stupid people in the world. That being said, if I ever end up on Ellen DeGeneres making animal noises voluntarily as a talent (and not part of one of Ellen's weird games), put me out of my misery, because something has gone horribly horribly wrong.

BP - Beyond Perturbing

I used to be a big fan of British Petroleum. I liked their commercials, and I found their service stations to be clean and generally a step above their competitors. I was even taken with their "beyond petroleum" ad campaign describing their move towards cleaner energy by focusing their top scientists on bio fuels and green technology. Now, I can't say I am a fan. In fact, I need to say that I am beyond perturbed.

My latest issue with BP stems from the failure of their "Top Kill" method to contain the oil spill in the gulf. The top kill method as reported by CTV News (it's not made up; it's Canadian) was designed to "overwhelm the broken well with a combination of heavy fluids and debris." And as you may have seen on multiple news channels, the liquids consisted of mud and concrete, and the debris consisted of pieces of rubber and golf balls.

I understand the use of concrete, but my main question is this: Did anybody honestly think that throwing golf balls at the spill would stop the leak? People's livelihoods are on the line, as are some of nations most prized and beautiful wetlands. Entire ecosystems are at risk of destruction, and hundreds of people stand to lose their very way of life. And the solution is to throw fricking golf balls at it? Who is running BP, George Bush? No, George Bush loves oil too much to let it go to waste. This level of incompetence is unprecedented.

This spill should be a wake-up call to America and the world. We cannot survive if we continue to use fossil fuels as our primary source of energy. The risks involved are too great. BP has proven that we do not know how to contain problems when they occur. We need to seek cleaner and safer forms of energy, and truly begin the transition.

Maybe this whole spill was a part of BP's "beyond petroleum" campaign. By committing corporate suicide, they hope to show the world that we need cleaner fuel sources. Of course, I don't believe this, these are the same people who decided golf balls were an appropriate course of action. It would take quite a mastermind to come up with such a plan, and masterminds have better ideas than golf balls.

In light of the failure of the top kill plan, BP has decided to try yet another option - capping the leak using remote operated robots. (It's a similar plan to one that has failed before, but at least it is more plausible than others they have tried.) As CTV News points out, this will be the seventh attempt to plug the well. If this plan fails, the leak could gush into August, while a relief well is being drilled.

We better find a solution soon, because the more time that passes - the worse off our wetlands become, and hurricane season is approaching. A hurricane in the gulf could bring the oil inland - destroying wetlands and river regions far beyond the coastal plain. The Christian Science Monitor reports that if left unresolved, the oil from the well will flow into the gulf for seven years. That's seven hurricane seasons. BP needs to stop this now.

Keys, Offices, and Observations

So about two and a half weeks ago, I gave up the keys to my old office in Mississippi - along with my keys to all the campus facilities and the building my office was in. This is typical when you leave a job - most employers discourage you from keeping keys - liability and whatnot, but I didn't realize how much I would be giving up when I gave up my keys.

It was difficult to hand over my keys - not because I want to keep the job - that couldn't be further from the truth. I'm excited about the change and very happy with my decision to leave. It's just that - even with all the stress and hardships - there were some great moments here. I really came into myself as a teacher, and I really enjoyed teaching my classes. Those are the things I am choosing to remember about my time in Mississippi - at least the things I will keep close to my heart. Giving up the keys represented a finality to that - the closing of a chapter that I wasn't ready to close. I was ready to close all the other chapters, but that one - the one chapter that I felt was worth re-reading, I was not ready to close.

I got over it. I got over it quickly. I went back to SC, met with old friends, and was again excited for the move. To continue the metaphor, I was ready to open the new book - start a new chapter. And just like books, you don't have to forget about the old one when you start a new one. You are allowed to remember the previous book, and reference it at any time. It's just a moving on - not an erasure. So back I drove to Mississippi to begin phase two of the move.

For monetary purposes (i.e. the fact that I'm poor, and can't afford a moving company), I decided to move in three phases. Phase one was the initial: "I need to go," response. I packed my car as tightly as possible, and went. I drove to SC with as much stuff as I could. Phase two is basically the completion of phase one. It's the return to gather the rest of the chochkees, books, and other small items. Phase three is the final phase. It's the phase where I rent a small U-haul and move my bedroom set and chairs. Granted this does take more time than hiring a moving company or renting a large U-haul, but it is much cheaper.

Now I'm back in MS, and again I am lamenting the loss of my keys, and thinking that maybe I should have kept them until the end of at least phase two... See, I'm rather cheap, and since my office and workplace had free wifi everywhere, there was no need for me to purchase Internet for my townhouse. I thought I could always come back to work to pirate the Internet, but when you no longer have keys it's not quite so easy.

Hence why I am sitting in my car at this moment, in a make-shift office, blogging away. I can't get into the building to sit inside, and I don't want to risk getting rained on sitting outside, so this was the best alternative. I not only gave up a primary connection with my students when I gave up my office, but I also gave up my Internet service (not counting the 3G coverage on my Verizon Wireless Blackberry - but for those of you who have ever tried to do all of your computing on a Blackberry, you know, it get's old).

You may be wondering why I didn't just go to a Starbucks... I did! I yearned for the nice ambiance of a commercial coffee corporation, but apparently you have to purchase a card to get access to the FREE wifi. Now, I don't want to shake a rattle, but IF YOU HAVE TO MAKE A PURCHASE, IT'S NOT FREE!

Oh well, I enjoy my car / office, it's actually quite peaceful, and has plenty of natural light. I wonder why we even bother with offices at all really? This car (I'm currently in a Kia Rondo) with it's backseat folded down - provides a great work table (I really would only need an adapter to charge my laptop). I could put a few books against the walls. Joey could sit in the front seat if I wanted to bring him. Best of all, you can take this office anywhere! I could drive this office to any destination (at least any destination on campus if I want to keep the free Internet).

The only real drawback is well - the bathroom situation. This is not a traffic jam on the interstate - I am not peeing in a bottle because I can't hold it any longer... Speaking of, I really can't hold it any longer, (those venti iced skinny hazelnut lattes have a way of going right through me). So I really have two choices: 1) drive the office to a restroom or 2) risk being arrested for public urination. I'm opting for one. Peace!

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

Hello all, I apologize for not posting yesterday, but my Internet connection was not cooperative. I am happy to report that my meeting concerning the job in Alabama went very well, but I struggled a little with the question: "Where do you see yourself in 5 years?" I believe I answered it well in the moment, but truthfully the question took me by surprise.


I'm not sure why I was caught off guard. After all, it is a standard interview question. After I answered the question, however, I became internally distant. I snapped myself out of it to put on a good face, but inside I was shaken.


The truth is, I have honestly no idea where I want to be in five years. I'm not even sure where I want to be in a year or tomorrow for that matter. A year ago, I could have answered that question just fine (or at least competently bullshitted it), and would have continued on without batting an eye. In light of losing my father, however, I see everything differently. My world isn't the same place anymore, and I am not the same person.


I was left with an existential conundrum. Where do I see myself in five years? Why five years? The designation of five years is incredibly arbitrary. Why not ten years? Why not twenty years? Why not three years? Why not tomorrow? Do I really see myself - when I look ahead - or am I merely searching for shadows? Is it where I truly want to be in five years, or where like I feel like I should want to be in five years? Does anyone truly know where they want to be in five years? Circumstances change, plans change, should we be so rigid? Isn't it better to be fluid? Is it better to chase a dream or to discover dreams as you flow? Where do you see yourself in five years? Honestly, I still don't know.




On another bit of news, my parrot Joey came with me to Alabama. They knew about this prior to my arrival, and were prepared. What they weren't prepared for, however, was for his cage to break in my car before the second portion of my tour (it was several blocks away from the first part, and we took separate cars), and for me to complete the tour with a parrot on my shirt. Oh, I wish they had asked me that question during the second half of the tour.


Kelly: "Where do you see yourself in five years?"
Me: "Being able to afford a bird cage that doesn't break during an interview."


It would have placed me in much less of an existential quandary.
Let's hope I made a good impression!

Simple Things

So I had written a piece of idiots at the bank, and was going to post it for you all, but something happened that changed my mind...


Today, I received a call from a job in Alabama. I am going for a tour of their facilities tomorrow! And, I have a phone interview on Friday morning! Well, I am currently visiting my mom in SC, and all of my interview outfits are at my townhouse in Mississippi, so I scrambled around my wardrobe here for something presentable. I settled on a sleek pair of grey denim jeans and a white and blue paisley top with black shoes and a black belt. I will look put together, but not overdone. It isn't a traditional "interview" outfit, but I think it will fit the situation.


My mom, however, insisted at first that I needed something more traditional. She preferred a black top striped with silver instead of the paisley. She was also insistent that I wear a tie. Again, my ties are in Mississippi, so I turned to my father's tie collection.


For those of you who don't know, my father passed away last summer. It was from complications due to an accident - completely out of the blue, and as Sarah Ruhl might say, "all at once, in cowboy boots." I feel my father's presence with me most days - especially when I visit the house in SC. Sometimes I don't even realize he's gone; I stopped myself the other day from walking into his bedroom, because I wanted to know what he was doing.


This evening, however, I found myself face to face with his tie collection. I found a tie that I really liked. I don't ever remember my dad wearing it, but I remember it being his. It's black with a field of tiny polkadots - slate, sage, and gold - all in lines, almost forming patterns. It went perfectly with my paisley shirt, and as I tied it around my neck I recalled a rather poignant moment.


A night or two before my father's accident (it may have even been a week, but it seems like it was closer), I was visiting my parents in SC, and I ran out of the bathroom showing off a freshly tied tie. I showed my dad, and he said: "It's about time," with that sarcastic smirk he always had, and turned back toward the television. It was such a simple moment, a simple thing; how was I to know it would end up having so much meaning.


I could never tie a tie. No matter how many times Daddy showed me, I just couldn't do it. It eluded me, confused me, and I could never end up getting it right. For years I had him tie them for me; I kept them in my closet already tied, and cursed if someone or something untied them. I grew to hate ties, never wanted to wear them unless I felt it necessary. Then, on the eve of his death - in the last hours of his life - something clicked, and I was able to show him my tie.


It's the simple things. The simple things - like tying a tie - hold a person close to you. It's these things that make us human, make us love, and make us remember.

I chose not to wear a tie tomorrow, and to wear the paisley top. The other outfits looked too hot, too uncomfortable for Alabama in the summer, and my mom agreed. She thought it was all too much too. And, as I took the tie off, I couldn't help but think - Daddy would feel the same way, but he'd be proud I can still tie a tie.

Hold on to the simple things.

Guns Save Lives at High School Reunions

Today has been an interesting and rather fun day. I ate out for every meal, having breakfast, lunch, and dinner with three different old friends. It was quite a nice change of pace, and I found it rather productive too. It's amazing how many things you can accomplish when you know you get a moment - or in my case, 3 moments - of peace with the world.

This brings me to the topic of this evening's post. Two things came up during my adventures today (actually many things came up, but these are the two I wanted to share with you all): high school reunions and firearms. We'll start with the reunions.

I was enjoying my green curry for lunch at a local Thai place, when my friend reminded me that her 10 year high school reunion is in August. (Of course this means my 10 year reunion is next August...) We also did the math and came to the realization that she graduated 10 years ago tomorrow. We talked about school and classes, people we remembered, and her graduation ceremony with the atrocious speeches. Then I had this little moment of panic: have I really been out of high school for this long? A bunch of people I graduated with are already married - some are on their second marriage - and many have kids.

While we were on the subject of kids, my friend reminded me that there was a young girl pregnant at her graduation; her child will be 10 soon! That's a decade! I can't imagine having a 10 year old, and I can barely imagine someone my age having a 10 year old. I know I am old enough to have sired a child in some night of wild unprotected coitis, but that imaginary hypothetical is never aged more than an infant. Now I don't want you to think that I am hard on young parents, I'm not at all - I love kids, and I love it when people decide to have children. I pressure my married friends to have kids all the time (primarily by suggesting outlandish baby names, but that's another story). I just can't imagine - at this stage in my life - actually being responsible for another human being. My biological clock is ticking, but it's not pounding just yet.

Reunions too - those are things I'm not ready for. Sure my memories of high school are becoming more like STAR WARS - long long ago in a galaxy far far away - but 10 years? Hell, I'm not ready for a reunion. Someone needs to double check the math, because as of right now I have a year to drop ten pounds, find a hairstyle that works, and find a hot piece of arm/eye candy to parade in front of people who will all be silently (or not so silently) judging my every move. And it's not like I should care, but I do... I want to show them that I have done something with my life, and it's a little un-cool to drag around a projector with a power point presentation, slides armed and ready to click out my portfolio at any lull in the conversation. I have to show off in other ways.

In general, I think a bunch of this need to show off stems from my envy of happy married people. I want that, you know? I'd like to have that kind of happiness before I make it to my reunion, but even if that doesn't happen, a relationship would be nice. I think after this whole road trip thing, this blog may be dedicated to me finding a boyfriend! Stay tuned...


Now for the next topic:

Did you know: GUNS SAVE LIVES? It's true, guns save lives. How do I know? A bumper sticker told me. That's right, a bumper sticker informed me of this fact on my way to dinner. The bumper sticker was promoting a grass roots movement for - you guessed it - guns.

Now, I am a bleeding heart liberal, so many of you may find this next statement shocking: I support America's right to own guns. The second amendment clearly states:

"A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed."

We as Americans have a right to bear arms. Hunters use guns to catch their prey, police officers use guns, and many people have guns to protect their homes and themselves from violent crime. I do, however, advocate gun control. If you do not prove to be responsible, or have proven to be a detriment to yourself and/or society, you forfeit your second amendment right.

That being said, who the fuck actually believes "guns save lives?" I've heard of "guns don't kill people; people kill people." Yes! Very true! Guns usually, however, make it easier. "People kill people, with guns." No one has ever saved someone's life with a gun. Think of the after-school special that would have made: Thank God you shot him - NOW JOHNNY WILL LIVE! A doctor has never prescribed a gun for a headache. Here take this prescription, it's for two AK-47s every night before bed. A therapist has never suggested a patient purchase a Colt 45. When you're on a boat you don't strap on a life preserver and a revolver. Playing Russian Roulette doesn't cure cancer! Guns DON'T save lives!

When it comes to lives, guns have a way of royally fucking them up. This did not stop me, however, from bursting out laughing when I first read the bumper sticker. I couldn't shake the image of oversized handguns putting on scrubs and lab coats, shouting things like "STAT!" and doing chest compressions on an ER patient. Think of Grey's Anatomy, only instead of McDreamy and McSteamy it was McSmith & Wesson.

Hulk Hogan vs. Cocoa Pebbles

So, here I am wondering what I am going to shake my rattle at today, when quite an interesting story pops up on my news feed...

http://www.aolnews.com/nation/article/hulk-hogan-rumbling-with-post-cereal-over-ad/19488061

Now once you have stopped judging me for having an aol news feel, actually check out the article. Hulk Hogan is suing Post Cereal, because according to him they have used his likeness and harmed his image.

Has Hulk looked in the mirror lately? Frankly I think he has more to worry about than Post Cereal harming his image. The man's a frickin' professional wrestler; there's no coming back from that. Not even Dwayne Johnson can escape the moniker "The Rock," and yes I can still smell what he's cookin.' Besides they don't use Hogan's trademark du-rag, and it isn't the Hulk without a du-rag. It also isn't characteristic for Hulk Hogan to not rip his shirt off, and as you can tell - there was no ripping of the shirt by Mr. Hulk Boulder.

If they were modeling their character after his image, they were obviously modeling him after a Hulk Hogan that is quickly fading from the cultural conscious - a Hulk that didn't look quite so much like a clay-mation special, one that wore colors other than black (Apparently Mr. Hogan has entered his Johnny Cash phase), and one who wasn't too cool to let a children's cereal pay homage to him by naming a character "Hulk Boulder" in a cartoon commercial.

Oh, and how is anyone supposed to know that he ever went by "Hulk Boulder" before he became Hulk Hogan? I have news for Terry Bollea: nobody cares! Just like nobody cares that I wanted to change my name to Wisconsin in the seventh grade. It was before he was relevant. Besides, shouldn't he be happy if they used his likeness? It's not like he is relevant now. It could have been some free publicity.

Why is he suing anyway? Doesn't he have enough? In 2008, during his divorce, he was valued somewhere between 26 and 34 million dollars. Does someone with that much money really need to worry about Post Cereal? It's already the red-headed stepchild of cereal companies. It's sales already trail billions of dollars behind its competitors General Mills and Kellogg’s. Why go sue it now? My thoughts, maybe Post should sue Mr. Hogan for harming its image, or maybe Mr. Hogan should just clothesline Post - then slap it on the ass and grab a beer.

Or maybe we should put a stop to frivolous lawsuits. Just a thought...

Shaking my Rattle

Once upon a time I had a job in a magical land far, far away: Detroit. I no longer call the motor city home, but it has left with me an imprint. It actually reminds me of a wonderful moment from Sarah Ruhl's play Eurydice, where the two ill-fated lovers are playing on the beach. Orpheus has composed a symphony for our heroine, and he pressures her to remember it for always. Eurydice replies after a barrage of questions, "I will always remember your melody! It will be imprinted upon my heart like wax!" (or something like that; it's not like I have the play in front of me). Now there are differences between Eurydice and my time in Detroit (many many differences), but the idea here - the idea of something leaving an imprint - that is what reminds me of the D.



One imprint that I wish I could make go away would be the phrase: "shaking their rattles." This all began when a group of my coworkers and I protested our working conditions citing several unsafe tasks we were being asked to perform. Apparently some people thought 16 hour shifts and operating power tools after having been awake for 46 hours are both good ideas and safety words are only for losers at bedroom play. Now most people we worked with and for understood that the conditions needed to change, and were happy we brought the issues to their attention. One, however, was not so happy...



He protested our changes to his work (I work in theatre - hence the random Sarah Ruhl reference). He accused us of being babies - shaking our rattles - because we couldn't go on a ski trip. (We had asked for a change in a design to make it less dangerous and not take 8 hours to shift; how ski trips ever came out of our request may forever be a secret locked up with the number of licks to get to the center of a Tootsie-Roll Pop, but I digress.) Needless to say we won that argument. You can't argue with safety; OSHA has made sure of that. I did learn a valuable lesson that day, however. As a child I was always taught that the squeaky wheel gets the grease. So I squeaked, and I learned that the old maxim is indeed true. The squeaky wheel does get the grease. The problem comes in assuming that the squeaky wheel is the one with the problem. The wheel only gets grease to shut it up.



So now, more than a year and a half later, I have established this blog. Here is where I will shake my rattle at the world. Sometimes my rattle will praise those who make smart choices, sometimes my rattle will rail against BP. (Seriously, BP! Find a way to fix the oil spill now! Sidebar: can you believe I actually saw people pumping gas at a Satan's Service Station this evening? Really people!?! We should all stop filling up at BP until they put on their big girl panties and deal with the situation - with a solution that actually works.)



Now onto a brighter topic: a friend and I will be taking a road trip to remember this summer, and I will be sharing our adventures with all of you! Currently, we are lining up the dates, and planning our excursion (minimal planning - it is an adventure after all). So I am shaking my rattle in anticipation of what I hope will be the best trip of my life thus far. We'll be going from Detroit to San Diego, and along the way we'll visit Chicago, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles. I've never been to California, so this is pretty exciting!



I have also made it a goal to write in this blog everyday in preparation for the trip. I have never kept a blog, and never really journaled, so this is new for me. In the weeks prepping for the trip, I will probably shake my rattle quite a bit. This wheel really squeaks.