Song in my head

Thanks to some living room candlestick-microphone karaoke with Becca (aka “Beccarado“) and a recent viewing of In America with Ross, I now have “Desperado” stuck firmly in my head. I have been finding myself singing it accidentally, like as I wait for the light to change before I cross the street.

Toasters come from Becca

Even though we were in the midst of our now-resolved fight, Becca came over last Friday bearing what is, without a shadow of a doubt, the cutest toaster in the whole wide world. It’s chubby and copper and shiny, and I look at it every day and just want to hug it. I love toast. I even donated my own toaster to my previous job, so I could toast things any time of day. So I’d been missing toast very much, but just simply refused to spend money on buying myself one, rationalizing that untoasted bread should be good enough for me. Now, once again, I’m back to my toasting ways.

Thus my apartment has been almost completely and totally outfitted via the goodwill of others. It’s been like a barn-raising. Thank God, because I’m broke as a joke and would be sitting amongst boxes otherwise.

Like butta

Last night in improv class, my Priscilla accent materialized out of nowhere when I did a mother character. I have never consciously tried to do it in a scene. In fact I have avoided it, for fear of losing it or mucking it up after a few minutes. But somehow, it just flowed right out. Like I was born a Jewish woman in New Jersey.

A good day starts like this

1) Waking up: Wake up 1.5 hours late for work.
2) Packing a lunch: Attempt to pour too much chicken soup into your Gladware. Realize it’s too much soup when soup goes everywhere.
3) Heading out the door: Leave house at last. Realize one of your flip-top mittens is missing. Retrace steps up the stairwell and into apartment. Find mitten in the refrigerator on top of the spinach.
4) Getting there: Wait for the bus. Watch as the bus does not stop. Figure you should take train, as another bus will take forever to arrive. Walk two blocks. See a second bus breeze right by.

It’s funny cuz it’s true

“No one can tell you that you can’t make a difference. It’s something you have to figure out for yourself.” — Teach for America Chews Up, Spits Out Another Ethnic Studies Major, in The Onion

Thanks to Mark for the link.

Elaboration, 2/17: Here’s the thing. The above sentiment is not a deterrent at the moment. I’ve already been learnt and burnt in the hallowed halls of D.C. public schools. I figure now I’ve got a good, crispy shell to keep me somewhat safe. I already know that “making a difference” is really all relative. History has a lot of momentum going for it. Progress can seem incrementally, painfully slow, to the point of appearing nonexistent, because you can’t just shut off Niagara Falls to do some landscaping. Basically, I’ve decided that I just want to pick a spot to stand and see what I can do, whether it makes an apparent difference or not.

How the…?

Unclear: How I will go to improv class tonight and be open and funny, when currently I am feeling humorless and like a closed umbrella in the rain.

Addendum 2/16: Class was fantabulous. I had three or four scenes that I really, genuinely liked, and I really, genuinely had fun. (I am not lying.) I’m not sure what happened — something just clicked. Or snapped. (If you could’ve heard it, it would’ve sounded like the snap of a fresh, raw carrot.)