Around the end of October I kept getting all these postcards requesting my assistance in updating my profile for the West Babylon High School graduate directory. So, one afternoon, while bored at work, I decided what the hell — I'll call them. Apparently it's just a gimmick to get you to buy a copy of the directory for $49.95 or, for a limited time, the CD-ROM version for a special offer of only $29.95, but anyway...
The guy taking the information has a Southern accent and keeps trying to be chatty and "relate" to me, like: "Ok, let me just look this up...West Babylon, New York — hey, are you ready for the big game tomorrow?" — meaning the Yankees and the World Series, because I'm from New York, see, and it's just a given that all New Yorkers are Yankee fans, so it must have been perplexing to him when I asked, "Uh...what game?"
So I answer all the standard questions about where I went to college and if my last name has changed and all that, and I confirm all my pertinent information. Then, when I get to my work address, Mr. October launches into this gold:
"Whoa — Park Avenue! So you're right in the middle of it, huh? You know, I've never been to New York, but I've always wanted to, and I have a friend who lives up there now, so I might go and stay with him, you know, see the ice skating rink in Rockefeller Center, or that hotel — the, uh, the Waldorf-Astoria! Yeah! Where they made 'Scent Of A Woman' — you know, that Al Pacino movie? [NOTE: I can't stand this movie.] 'HOO-AH!' Hahaha! [bad Pacino impersonation] 'I oughtta take a FLAME-THROWAH to this place!' Hahaha! Oh, boy...that was one of the good ones, huh?"
Me: "... It's not one of my favorites."
I obviously burst the guy's bubble, so he sort of backpedals and goes, "Oh...so what kind of movies do you like?" To which I jokingly ask back, "Why? Is that going in my profile?" Then he gets all apologetic, like I had been seriously questioning him: "Oh, no, no! Just making small talk." I honestly felt bad for him at this point, but still, I had to really struggle to keep from laughing.
So eventually the ordeal is over, and I decide to send my sister an e-mail relating the whole incident, for her own amusement. She responds:
"Oh my god, that is priceless. The poor guy! They probably shove him in a cubicle all day with his headset and he's got nobody to talk to so he has to make idle chit-chat with all the high school alumni. Maybe he goes through the names and makes up his own stories for each person. Maybe he is now imagining himself and you ice skating at Rockefeller Center and dining at the Waldorf. Someday you'll get married to him there, and he can say it all started with a phone call..."
To which I reply:
"Awesome! And my colors can be blue and gold, just like West Babylon, and I can bring him to my reunion so he can meet all the other alumni and it will make it all real for him and really change his perspective, just like that research guy in Titanic."
I am yet to purchase a copy of the directory.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
On With The Show!
Theater people can be a little...dramatic.
A few years ago I did a community theater production of Anything Goes, where — literally — anything went. Everyone was hooking up — male and female, gay and straight, on-stage and off, publicly and privately, in singles and multiples. We made a coming-out parody of the song "Let's Step Out." We had a ball with "Blow, Gabriel, Blow!" We gave out an award at the cast party to "All Those Who Either Began The Show As, Or Became Over The Course Of Its Run, A Lesbian." But there were also more than a few hurt feelings and awkward moments. And at the center of it all, it seemed, was Julie.
Julie, Mary and I had been inseparable during the last show, when we had all been lowly chorus members, and the youngest ones in the cast by about 15 to 20 years. This time around, Mary and I were still ensemble players. Julie was playing Bonnie. Julie (besides being the prize for which a good portion of the cast seemed to be competing, à la a modern-day pansexual Helen of Troy) had also been spending more time with one of us than the other lately — at the diner after rehearsals, in the parking lot after the diner. This caused some tension.
One night, there was a minor confrontation in the wings. There were confessions and apologies. There were tears and hugs. There were attempts at hugs angrily pushed away. It was obvious to any passers-by what was going on, so most passers-by avoided our little triangle and averted their eyes.
Except for Dave.
Dave was a featured dancer, and, according to his bio in the program, had worked on a Disney cruise ship, which, if you have ever met Dave, was a hilarious thing to picture. Dave didn't hesitate to intrude on our pity party, draping an arm around Mary's shoulders and announcing, at first rather compassionately, "I'm so sorry, ladies," then, abruptly, rather petulantly, "but can we not fuck up 'The Heaven Hop' tonight?" before blithely waltzing away.
There was a brief stunned pause, then a burst of laughter, and we all realized we were being silly and kissed and made up and took our places for the next scene...
...knowing full well we'd do it all over again tomorrow night.
A few years ago I did a community theater production of Anything Goes, where — literally — anything went. Everyone was hooking up — male and female, gay and straight, on-stage and off, publicly and privately, in singles and multiples. We made a coming-out parody of the song "Let's Step Out." We had a ball with "Blow, Gabriel, Blow!" We gave out an award at the cast party to "All Those Who Either Began The Show As, Or Became Over The Course Of Its Run, A Lesbian." But there were also more than a few hurt feelings and awkward moments. And at the center of it all, it seemed, was Julie.
Julie, Mary and I had been inseparable during the last show, when we had all been lowly chorus members, and the youngest ones in the cast by about 15 to 20 years. This time around, Mary and I were still ensemble players. Julie was playing Bonnie. Julie (besides being the prize for which a good portion of the cast seemed to be competing, à la a modern-day pansexual Helen of Troy) had also been spending more time with one of us than the other lately — at the diner after rehearsals, in the parking lot after the diner. This caused some tension.
One night, there was a minor confrontation in the wings. There were confessions and apologies. There were tears and hugs. There were attempts at hugs angrily pushed away. It was obvious to any passers-by what was going on, so most passers-by avoided our little triangle and averted their eyes.
Except for Dave.
Dave was a featured dancer, and, according to his bio in the program, had worked on a Disney cruise ship, which, if you have ever met Dave, was a hilarious thing to picture. Dave didn't hesitate to intrude on our pity party, draping an arm around Mary's shoulders and announcing, at first rather compassionately, "I'm so sorry, ladies," then, abruptly, rather petulantly, "but can we not fuck up 'The Heaven Hop' tonight?" before blithely waltzing away.
There was a brief stunned pause, then a burst of laughter, and we all realized we were being silly and kissed and made up and took our places for the next scene...
...knowing full well we'd do it all over again tomorrow night.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Weekend Update!
So I decided to stay in last night due to the ZOMG BLIZZZZZARD!!!. It wasn't a very exciting evening, thus I ended up falling asleep around 11.
Only 45 minutes later, I'm suddenly awakened by a barrage of 5 text messages in rapid succession from my mom and my brother. I realize it's Saturday, but it's still kind of late for them to be sending me anything, and it makes me a little worried. Is everyone ok? Was there some sort of snow-related emergency?
I pick up the phone, wondering what could have happened, only to discover the true reason for this flurry of familial communication:
To excitedly alert me that the "What Up With That?" skit is on Saturday Night Live.
I love my family. :)
Only 45 minutes later, I'm suddenly awakened by a barrage of 5 text messages in rapid succession from my mom and my brother. I realize it's Saturday, but it's still kind of late for them to be sending me anything, and it makes me a little worried. Is everyone ok? Was there some sort of snow-related emergency?
I pick up the phone, wondering what could have happened, only to discover the true reason for this flurry of familial communication:
To excitedly alert me that the "What Up With That?" skit is on Saturday Night Live.
I love my family. :)
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Pleased To Meet You / Hope You Guess My Name
My name is Rebecca, after Miss America 1974. Really.
I didn't used to like the name. When I was little, I thought it was kind of stuffy, but I feel like I've grown into it. Once, when I was working as a cashier in high school, a customer — picture the exaggerated stereotype of a big, loud black woman — read my name tag and pronounced to the whole store: "REBECCA! THAT'S A SEXY NAME!" That may have been the turning point.
It's Hebrew, but I'm not Jewish, which has caused some confusion. And for some reason, a lot of people mistakenly call me Rachel — also Biblical and starts with an R, maybe...?
I've been called, at different points in my life: Jeebah, Budgie, Becky, Becca, Speckle, Bex, Elsa, Dexter, Schneidy, Bird, Peta (my roller derby alter ego — some of my teammates never even knew my real name), and Haggard Attention-Whore. Seriously — that last one was meant to be an insult, but I found it so awesome, I've adopted it as my title on an Internet forum.
If I had been a boy, I would have been named Michael, which would have made me the fifth Michael in my age group on my block growing up. If my dad had his way, I would have been Gretchen, so thank you, Mom, for sticking to your guns.
I've had some issues with my surname. People routinely mispronounce and misspell it, even though it's only five letters. During my radical feminist period, I believed it was sexist to have to change my last name if/when I got married, and for a while I was considering switching to my mom's un-Americanized maiden name, but "von Votrubova" is kind of a mouthful. So my solution has been to just eliminate a syllable from each name, and voilà — BeccaGo is born.
Welcome to my world. :)
I didn't used to like the name. When I was little, I thought it was kind of stuffy, but I feel like I've grown into it. Once, when I was working as a cashier in high school, a customer — picture the exaggerated stereotype of a big, loud black woman — read my name tag and pronounced to the whole store: "REBECCA! THAT'S A SEXY NAME!" That may have been the turning point.
It's Hebrew, but I'm not Jewish, which has caused some confusion. And for some reason, a lot of people mistakenly call me Rachel — also Biblical and starts with an R, maybe...?
I've been called, at different points in my life: Jeebah, Budgie, Becky, Becca, Speckle, Bex, Elsa, Dexter, Schneidy, Bird, Peta (my roller derby alter ego — some of my teammates never even knew my real name), and Haggard Attention-Whore. Seriously — that last one was meant to be an insult, but I found it so awesome, I've adopted it as my title on an Internet forum.
If I had been a boy, I would have been named Michael, which would have made me the fifth Michael in my age group on my block growing up. If my dad had his way, I would have been Gretchen, so thank you, Mom, for sticking to your guns.
I've had some issues with my surname. People routinely mispronounce and misspell it, even though it's only five letters. During my radical feminist period, I believed it was sexist to have to change my last name if/when I got married, and for a while I was considering switching to my mom's un-Americanized maiden name, but "von Votrubova" is kind of a mouthful. So my solution has been to just eliminate a syllable from each name, and voilà — BeccaGo is born.
Welcome to my world. :)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
FML.
1. I got only 2 hours of sleep last night, due to what I believe was battery acid aggressively eroding my esophagus.
2. I threw up upon getting out of bed this morning.
3. I called in sick to work, but am not getting paid for it because I've used up all my sick days for the year.
4. I missed the company holiday party being held today.
5. A co-worker just called from the party to tell me I won a $100 gift certificate in the company-wide raffle, but they had to give it to someone else because I wasn't there to claim it.
So, my question is: should I just kill myself now, or, based on this progression of events, just wait a few hours and let it happen naturally?
2. I threw up upon getting out of bed this morning.
3. I called in sick to work, but am not getting paid for it because I've used up all my sick days for the year.
4. I missed the company holiday party being held today.
5. A co-worker just called from the party to tell me I won a $100 gift certificate in the company-wide raffle, but they had to give it to someone else because I wasn't there to claim it.
So, my question is: should I just kill myself now, or, based on this progression of events, just wait a few hours and let it happen naturally?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Idolization
Ok, I realize that by posting this I am outing myself as a creepy stalker-type, but I at least hope not to the extent of the exchange I am about to share.
So, first things first: I love Adam Lambert. Not so much in a "ZOMG HE'S SoOoO HAWT HE TOTALLY SHOULD OF [sic] WON!!!1!" way (I didn't even watch the last season of American Idol), but more of an if-I-was-a-gay-guy-I-would-be-Adam-Lambert kind of way. Seriously, the more I see of him and read about him or hear him in interviews, the more I'm convinced we'd be the same person if it weren't for the genitalia. Same taste in boys, even — I swear!
Anyway...I follow a lot of famous people on Twitter because I find it interesting. For example, Dave Navarro is a damn funny guy, and Shawn Marion can't spell. Learning things like this amuses me. So naturally, I follow Adam Lambert, and one day, in that roundabout, six-Tweets-of-separation sort of way, I discover that he has a brother named Neil, and that Neil is also on Twitter, and that he has a blog, and that it's pretty freakin' funny. So I decide to follow him, too. Neil doesn't seem to be quite as gracious and diplomatic as his famous sibling. Case in point, my favorite Tweet of his to date:
@d___ would you like my attitude any more if I told you to fuck yourself and get off my internet? Would that brighten me up for you?
You can see why he appeals to me. >:)
Neil also appears to have some pretty strong political opinions, and whether you agree with him or not, you can imagine what it's like when the world of hardcore liberal politics collides with the Glambert Army: Clueless Tween Fangirl Division. However, in case you can't, I will now provide an illustration — an exact, unedited transcript — that I'm not sure whether to classify as "utterly hilarious" or "extremely sad and pathetic":
negativeneil: Kill Lieberman, make Howard Dean the entire legislative branch.
t___: @negativeneil I cannot even.... WHAT. *insert indescribable Howard Dean noise here*
negativeneil: @t___ oh, right, you must be one of those morons who disregard the man based on a 1 second clip. Congrats, you're a waste of afterbirth!
t___: @negativeneil LMFAO it was a joke, Neil.
t___: OMFG BRB PUKING OMFG NEIDLDSAF
t___: @adamlambert LMFAO your brother just called me a waste of afterbirth. tell him i said... thanks??
t___: lmfao i think my heart fell out of my ass IDEK
t___: shaking. not crying. but shaking.
t___: LOL brb getting ice cream to drown my ~unrequited love~ sorrows in :( NEIL :(
t___: LOL i feel like such a douche. i called my brother and screamed into the phone about neil and he's like UHM I'M AT WORK. lol fuck.
t___: LOL my mom. "...Are you okay? You look like you just pooped your pants." YOU COULD SAY THAT.
t___: NO but i just realized. one degree from adam. ONE. okay i'm done now. ............................................. ONE.
Uh, honey? One degree or not, he called you A WASTE OF AFTERBIRTH. I really don't know if that warrants such a level of excitement. But hey, maybe I'm just being negative. HA! Get it?!?
I'm now going to get some ice cream to drown my ~despair for the future of the human race~ in...
So, first things first: I love Adam Lambert. Not so much in a "ZOMG HE'S SoOoO HAWT HE TOTALLY SHOULD OF [sic] WON!!!1!" way (I didn't even watch the last season of American Idol), but more of an if-I-was-a-gay-guy-I-would-be-Adam-Lambert kind of way. Seriously, the more I see of him and read about him or hear him in interviews, the more I'm convinced we'd be the same person if it weren't for the genitalia. Same taste in boys, even — I swear!
Anyway...I follow a lot of famous people on Twitter because I find it interesting. For example, Dave Navarro is a damn funny guy, and Shawn Marion can't spell. Learning things like this amuses me. So naturally, I follow Adam Lambert, and one day, in that roundabout, six-Tweets-of-separation sort of way, I discover that he has a brother named Neil, and that Neil is also on Twitter, and that he has a blog, and that it's pretty freakin' funny. So I decide to follow him, too. Neil doesn't seem to be quite as gracious and diplomatic as his famous sibling. Case in point, my favorite Tweet of his to date:
@d___ would you like my attitude any more if I told you to fuck yourself and get off my internet? Would that brighten me up for you?
You can see why he appeals to me. >:)
Neil also appears to have some pretty strong political opinions, and whether you agree with him or not, you can imagine what it's like when the world of hardcore liberal politics collides with the Glambert Army: Clueless Tween Fangirl Division. However, in case you can't, I will now provide an illustration — an exact, unedited transcript — that I'm not sure whether to classify as "utterly hilarious" or "extremely sad and pathetic":
negativeneil: Kill Lieberman, make Howard Dean the entire legislative branch.
t___: @negativeneil I cannot even.... WHAT. *insert indescribable Howard Dean noise here*
negativeneil: @t___ oh, right, you must be one of those morons who disregard the man based on a 1 second clip. Congrats, you're a waste of afterbirth!
t___: @negativeneil LMFAO it was a joke, Neil.
t___: OMFG BRB PUKING OMFG NEIDLDSAF
t___: @adamlambert LMFAO your brother just called me a waste of afterbirth. tell him i said... thanks??
t___: lmfao i think my heart fell out of my ass IDEK
t___: shaking. not crying. but shaking.
t___: LOL brb getting ice cream to drown my ~unrequited love~ sorrows in :( NEIL :(
t___: LOL i feel like such a douche. i called my brother and screamed into the phone about neil and he's like UHM I'M AT WORK. lol fuck.
t___: LOL my mom. "...Are you okay? You look like you just pooped your pants." YOU COULD SAY THAT.
t___: NO but i just realized. one degree from adam. ONE. okay i'm done now. ............................................. ONE.
Uh, honey? One degree or not, he called you A WASTE OF AFTERBIRTH. I really don't know if that warrants such a level of excitement. But hey, maybe I'm just being negative. HA! Get it?!?
I'm now going to get some ice cream to drown my ~despair for the future of the human race~ in...
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Holiday Cheer
Well, maybe not so much "cheer" as examples of how my brother exists on a whole other plane entirely, but here goes:
My mom used to recycle old gift boxes and store them in the attic. As kids, whenever we needed to wrap a present, we'd raid this supply of boxes. One year, while attempting to wrap the Christmas present he bought me, my brother finds a box with a dead moth in it. Not only does he leave the dead moth in there, he tapes it to the bottom of the box beneath the tissue paper, circles it with a marker, writes "DEAD MOTH" next to it with an arrow pointing to it, and continues to place my present inside the box and wrap it. When I open this gift Christmas morning, he acts puzzled and says, "Uh oh, something's missing. Isn't there anything else in there?" I lift up the layers of tissue paper and discover the surprise. I immediately drop the box and freak out as he explains excitedly how he didn't put it there on purpose, he just found it that way in the box, like it was all just a lucky coincidence for me. Hilarity ensues. I vow to exact revenge.
The next year was the one they introduced the character "Timmy" on South Park. My brother's name is Tim. I find this elementary-school-nostalgia metal lunch box with Timmy And The Lords Of The Underground on it in a local record store, so I buy it for him. A week later, I find a dead fly on my windowsill. I pick it up with tweezers, tape it to the inside of the lunch box, then wrap the whole thing and put it under the tree. Christmas morning, amidst much laughter and shouts of "TIMMMAAAYYYY!" I interject, "Wait — there's more! Open it up!" And the dead fly is revealed. Hilarity ensues.
Meanwhile, I'm rummaging through my stocking when I come across a small, strangely-shaped package. I unwrap it to discover a Ziploc sandwich bag full of toenails, labeled, in Magic Marker and my brother's handwriting, "MY TOENAILS." He had saved all his toenail clippings for like, 3 weeks, and given them to me for Christmas. "It's a very special present," he says. "I gave you a little piece of me!" Hilarity ensues. I joke that at least it was only a few week's worth and not a whole year.
The next year, I recieve a Ziploc bag containing a full year's worth of toenails.
Holidays with my family are not exactly what you'd call normal.
My mom used to recycle old gift boxes and store them in the attic. As kids, whenever we needed to wrap a present, we'd raid this supply of boxes. One year, while attempting to wrap the Christmas present he bought me, my brother finds a box with a dead moth in it. Not only does he leave the dead moth in there, he tapes it to the bottom of the box beneath the tissue paper, circles it with a marker, writes "DEAD MOTH" next to it with an arrow pointing to it, and continues to place my present inside the box and wrap it. When I open this gift Christmas morning, he acts puzzled and says, "Uh oh, something's missing. Isn't there anything else in there?" I lift up the layers of tissue paper and discover the surprise. I immediately drop the box and freak out as he explains excitedly how he didn't put it there on purpose, he just found it that way in the box, like it was all just a lucky coincidence for me. Hilarity ensues. I vow to exact revenge.
The next year was the one they introduced the character "Timmy" on South Park. My brother's name is Tim. I find this elementary-school-nostalgia metal lunch box with Timmy And The Lords Of The Underground on it in a local record store, so I buy it for him. A week later, I find a dead fly on my windowsill. I pick it up with tweezers, tape it to the inside of the lunch box, then wrap the whole thing and put it under the tree. Christmas morning, amidst much laughter and shouts of "TIMMMAAAYYYY!" I interject, "Wait — there's more! Open it up!" And the dead fly is revealed. Hilarity ensues.
Meanwhile, I'm rummaging through my stocking when I come across a small, strangely-shaped package. I unwrap it to discover a Ziploc sandwich bag full of toenails, labeled, in Magic Marker and my brother's handwriting, "MY TOENAILS." He had saved all his toenail clippings for like, 3 weeks, and given them to me for Christmas. "It's a very special present," he says. "I gave you a little piece of me!" Hilarity ensues. I joke that at least it was only a few week's worth and not a whole year.
The next year, I recieve a Ziploc bag containing a full year's worth of toenails.
Holidays with my family are not exactly what you'd call normal.
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