Holy crap.
To revive any Oscar-weary spirits, I offer ……….
Actually, I don’t think this is helping. I think I’m having a heart attack.
Holy crap.
To revive any Oscar-weary spirits, I offer ……….
Actually, I don’t think this is helping. I think I’m having a heart attack.
(A PS at the beginning: My take on the Oscars validated here and here and elsewhere, I’m sure.)
At one point, during tonight’s yawn-o-rama/Oscar broadcast, Meryl Streep got up to introduce the awards given out at the Governor’s Dinner or the Emperor’s Potluck or the Despot’s Brunch or whatever. I was in the kitchen getting an alcoholic beverage to revive myself.
“……… so let’s review some highlights of this unforgettable night …” she intoned.
But I had my head in the fridge or the water running or something. It sounded like something else to me.
“Did she just say, ‘this unforgivable night’??”
“No! Unforgettable.”
“Oh. Really? Given the current evening, mine seems more appropriate.”
This is why I didn’t live blog it, pippa. I was too bored and uninspired.
Btw, I was rooting for Brad. I’ve never been a huge Brad Pitt fan but I thought he was fantastic in Moneyball. Just fantastic. I have never liked him as much as I liked him in that movie.
And Meryl Streep, well, the moment of the night. The speech of the night. So beautiful, inclusive, and heartfelt. It changed my tears of boredom to tears of joy.
By my count, though, the broadcast was only 7 minutes over time. It just felt a lot longer.
Can I just throw a question out there?
Uh, is weight loss really something you should have to mention to other people? I mean, after a certain amount of weight loss, shouldn’t it be, you know, noticeable?
The background:
About 3 years ago, I started working out hard on my cool new mini trampoline. Not the kind you buy at Sports Authority with the cheap short coils, but a top-of-the-line smaller one with long coils for a good deep bounce. MB bought it for me for my birthday because he’d seen me visiting their website and pining away for it for quite a while. I’ve always loved working out this way because it seems more like fun and less like work.
Anyhow, I lost weight, right? Like, oh, about 20 pounds. I’m at my “appropriate” weight now — or whatever. I’m in good shape these days because I’ve worked hard at it and I’ve stuck to the regimen. This has been 3 years now. (Somewhat shockingly, the boobins did not decrease. I’m really starting to think they’re fake. Like at some point, I was drugged and woke up in a tub in Vegas — not with a kidney missing — but with big fake boobs and that I just have amnesia about the whole ordeal.)
MB’s family comments on it every time they see me. (The weight loss, not the boobs.) They make a fuss about me and it every time, which is nice. (Again, the weight loss, not the boobs.) They say something nice like, “Oh, you look great! Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.” So it validates to me that it IS noticeable and that all that work/bouncing “ain’t been in vain for nothin'” — to quote Lena Lamont (Singin’ in the Rain).
But here’s what’s odd to me:
No one in my family has ever said a word about it. Not a word. Nothing. In 3 years.
A few weeks ago, we were at my brother’s house and at one point in a conversation with my SIL, I briefly mentioned “losing weight.” (She is a workout FIEND, that one.) She looked surprised and said, “Oh! How much have you lost?”
“Uh …… about 20 pounds?”
“Oh! When did that happen?”
Long pause.
“Uhm …….. about 3 years ago,” I said drily.
“Oh.”
“Oh”? “OH”?? Really? That’s it? “Oh”????
Now, again, it’s been like this for 3 years, but somehow this little exchange sent me into a long-expected but long-delayed tailspin. I ranted about it the whole way home to MB, who quietly contemplated suicide.
I raved about it again at bedtime, in bed, and the next morning while MB methodically loaded his gun.
But, seriously, shouldn’t weight loss of 20 pounds be noticeable and …. well, comment worthy?
Or is it unfair to expect comment on something like that? I mean, maybe it is. I don’t know. My family dynamics are a bit odd, I think, so I don’t know what “normal” is. It seems more “normal” to me that MB’s family has commented but maybe commenting makes them unusual. On the other hand, my girlfriends have commented, but not my mom or my sister or my SIL.
So, really, what’s normal here, pippa?
Now I didn’t lose the weight so people would comment. I lost it for various personal reasons that most people have for losing weight. Nevertheless, it seems normal to at least think that people might comment, not that you do it for that, but that that is an outgrowth of your efforts — people who know you/love you commenting on your efforts.
Am I wrong?
Again, what’s normal here?
I actually don’t know, so please explain normal to me.
(Apologies to anyone who may find these tedious. I’m being very theatre-y.)
More from “The Fantasticks”:
Soon It’s Gonna Rain ……
Soon it’s gonna rain
I can feel it
Soon it’s gonna rain
I can tell
Soon it’s gonna rain
What’ll we do with you?
1) Matt and Luisa waltz and sing in honor of ….. love and impending rain, I guess. Because they’re in love so who cares about rain?
This photo is still in the theatre department’s “Hall of Fame” (so to speak). Still hanging, so that makes me happy. I’ve always thought it was a very sweet photo. My leading man here recently wrote a musical for the Seattle Children’s Theatre. Very talented fellow.
2) Still singing and dancing. Uhm, I am mixed about this next photo. Wanna know why? The reason is petty and shallow. It really is.
Okay. Here goes: My elbows. The dimples in my elbows, which my mom always told me to cover, are glowing neon to me in this photo. That was part of why I hated this costume. It showed my apocalyptic elbow dimples. Retarded, yes, but there it is.
Soon it’s gonna rain
Pool in your elbows
Soon it’s gonna rain
Good luck with that
Soon it’s gonna rain
Let’s get you some nice sand bags
Elder Nephew, dressed up and smirking.
The smirk is killing me. Sometimes, you just need to see a good smirk, you know?
Sixteen-year-old Luisa, dreamer and slight psychotic, bursts into song mere moments after twirling onto the stage at the top of the show. (Well, at least I had to twirl anyway.)
I’d like to swim in a clear blue stream
Where the water is icy cold
Then go to town in a golden gown
And have my fortune told.
Sure, whatevs, Luisa. Calm down.
Please, God, please! Don’t let me be NORMAL! she pleads at one point.
Luisa’s mom finds her. OMG, Luisa, please just come inside and be normal with me, okay?
But Luisa clearly cannot be tamed.
Or normal either.
Not in those shoes anyhow.
Sometimes you have no idea how stuff happens in your life.
Example:
Today, came this letter in the mail:
Dear Tracey,
Welcome to membership in the Association of Correctional Food Service Affiliates (ACFSA)! (Thank you. What?) We are pleased that you have taken the opportunity to join other correctional food service professionals in this organization. (What opportunity? WHEN?? Does this have something to do with the FOC?)
Included in this packet is the latest INSIDER (the quarterly ACFSA magazine) (hahaha, their magazine, pippa!), your membership certificate, pin (there is actually a pin — SO excited!), and card.
Be sure to call your state contact (listed in INSIDER) (their magazine, pippa!), that is either a state representative or chapter president to introduce yourself and find out about events in your area. Regional events and directors are also listed in each INSIDER magazine.
Please let us know if our office can be of assistance to you. We look forward to meeting you at the national and regional conferences in the near future. (Oh, we’ll see about that. I will SO be there if I can. At the end of the letter, they just willy-nilly gave me a username and password for their site.)
Sincerely,
Dude who clearly has no idea I never applied for membership in this organization but will gladly accept because it’s cracking me up
Oh, look. “Membership has its advantages,” as we can clearly see:
My certificate. I LOVE it when I earn a certificate without ever doing anything. See the triangle logo in the middle bottom there? That’s exactly what my nifty pin looks like. Very Star Trek-ian. Beam me INSIDE, Scotty. Although it kind of looks like I’ve become a default Freemason, which I really don’t want to do.
My first copy of INSIDER, their magazine, pippa!
I am a member this entire year. I have no idea how or why or when this happened but I am oddly excited because it’s just so strange and random.
I will definitely keep you posted on any pressing developments in the — what the heck is it, again? — ACFSA.
Based on a true story, uhm …… me, circa age 7 ……. obsessed with cereal. And large bowls. And small spoons.
Small spoons make things last longer, you see.
(Of course, if you’ve essentially taken ALL the cereal, that should last you a good while regardless of spoon size, kid.)
Everyone is just stunned about this, obviously.
So so sad.
My personal favorite Whitney Houston song. Ah, the ease and purity and power of her voice. One of a kind. (The key change from 3:40 to about 3:46 gives me goosebumps every time. Her face is so cute there too, like, “Here it comes, people.” Love it.) She never looked more gorgeous, if you ask me.
“I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
I hope you’re not hurting anymore, Whitney Houston. Thank you so much for sharing your gift with us.