Busy! So busy!
I've been writing, just - you know - not here. And it's really taking a toll on my real-life life. Without this place to put my little stories and thoughts, I tell people things over and over and over. My friend's son who played the Sheriff in Robin Hood even though his name is Robin? He never again wants to hear how Studley gets all shades of confused when we refer to him as Robin instead of the Sheriff.
"Robin! Let me tell you this adorable story about my son!" Good lord, that sentence ages me by about 4o years every time I so much as think it.
And then I've started telling random strangers things that they really don't need to hear because I've stopped telling you. Because you're not strangers, obviously.
These things have got to come out because little stories are like sneezes and if you suppress them they will put your back out or dislodge an eye.
Yesterday I was interviewing an artist I like. At the end of the interview she asked where she could pick up a copy of the paper. Neither of us lives in the town where it's published, so I didn't know where to send her. "You can find it online," I suggested. "I'm never totally convinced they'll print what I write, so I always check to see if my column is online on Fridays."
If that doesn't inspire confidence, I don't know what does. Hey! Thanks for the interview! I'm gonna run right home and write something that no editor in his or her right mind would want to publish!
The self-denigration gene runs strong in my family. It's a good thing I'm not a surgeon. Me, to patient: "wow, I've never seen these scalpels look so shiny! I hope I don't mess them up. I'm kinda new at..... hello?... hey, where'd everyone go?"
Here are some of the shiny scalpels I wielded recently:
This week I wrote about how picnics crush fear like rock crushes scissors. It's in The Magazine of Yoga. The Magazine of Yoga lets me write a column every month even though I haven't taken a yoga class in years. They seem to think that since my brain does a convincing rotated pigeon inversion, the rest of me is let off the hook.
Rotated pigeon inversion sounds like it could be dinner.
Speaking of dinner, last month I wrote about the Zucchini Principle at TMoY.
I can't believe there are people who actually encourage me to write this stuff. It's as if when I was in high school, wishing on all those stars that Justin Myers would call me, the stars said "unbeknownst to you, Justin Myers is gay. But we'll make it up to you down the road a bit."
For the record, Justin is not the boy I wrote about in my latest submission at Polite Fictions: What Happens After the Kiss. The assignment was to write about what happens after a pivotal moment. I liked this one.
My alter ego, Opera Betty, has a radio show on womr.org on the second Sunday of each month. It's about opera but it's like if highbrow scowled a lot.
Both Opera Betty and Trout Towers are on Facebook. It's way easier to write two sentences than one blog post. Who knew?
You know what else is harder than it looks? Writing about pop-culture. It turns out what I write about mostly is stuff that makes people cock their heads and say "what even is that?" Which does not qualify as pop-culture. So let's all pick something weird that I know about and make it popular so I can write about it on MamaPop, okay? That would be great. Let me know by Sunday night - I write every Monday. Who doesn't love Mondays? Hmmm?
My favorite MamaPop post to date is the one on Sarah Ruhl's Vibrator Play.
And with that, I think I'm out of all danger of dislodging an eye.