January 2004 | Main | March 2004 Â

February 25, 2004

The one place where Bjorks' swan dress fits right in

There is, I've found, an upside to running tech rehearsals in the high-speed catastrophe of chaos and Kuumba that I currently find myself neck deep in. This upside I speak of is only a small comfort, hardly erasing my many desires to throw heavy pieces of furniture as far as I can, or run from the building screaming like Jolie as the tears of utter frustration finally begin to course their hot tracks down my face. But it's still there. For enduring this fiasco of epic proportions, I have secured my next job (which is also an upside, but not the real upside I was thinking of here) and I get to see shows for free. Even though the other show just closed, I learned today that a traveling ballet will be coming in to do "Swan Lake." I'm so going. I'm thrilled.

Sure, it may sound like total nerdery, and I can't really deny that's what it is. My level of personal excitement about seeing Swan Lake even startled me. Swan Lake, in my opinion, is the best ballet I've ever seen. Best orchestration, dancing, coolest sequined feathery tutus and whatnot. 'Sall good. But it's been a while. I haven't been to the ballet for maybe a year now, a long while considering my mother and I used to attend SF ballet performances with some regularity. Since I was a little girl, whether I wanted to or not, Mom and I went to the ballet. Back then, we were still a family of no-talkers, and stilted conversation in the Opera House lobby was really the best you could ever hope for. Over the years, though, it became more of a welcome routine - an uber-proper mother/daughter outing that allowed us time to chat over some overpriced fruit and cheese before furrowing our brows at the astonishingly sculpted men cavorting about in paper thin, pastel tights.
My mom is the pinnacle of grace and manners. When we ate our fruit and cheese she knew it was her time to tap into the youth, find out what really goes on in the mind of her own troubled teen. I liked to say things that shocked her. I liked that she was always shocked.

Truthfully, I doubt she was. Nothing shocks that woman. But she humored me, and I respect that. And she rubbed off at least a little of her propriety and ballet-loving geekdom on me. So, Swan Lake, here I come!

Posted by kati at 07:27 PM

February 16, 2004

Disc golf injury #1

Well, it finally happened...
After all the near-miss K.O.'s on the back 9, the rockslides, the scorpions, and the many other times when dumb luck prevailed, the moment arrived when the luck ran out.
And that was this morning.
Cut to...

The midday sun shining brightly through the trees. The cloudless sky forcing an unexpected heat on the open sections of San Diego's Morley Field disc golf course.

On this holiday, the inviting weather had lured out all varieties of golfer, most with dogs in tow. Every tee had a slight backup, and everyone was engaging in relaxed conversation. Shooting through a band of 5 hippies to distance ourselves from a pair of Christian Reformist Youth Ministers, Alan and I found ourselves at Tee 13.

The injurious tee:
Shorter than the rest, uneven at the end. Perilous indeed.

Pictures  from camera 006.jpg
Thanks to Gene, who gets a photo credit for luckily shooting this tee.

Alan and I sit on the bench at 13, waiting for the boys in front of us to finish up. The hippies are climbing the hill toward us. Cute hippies. Big hair, sunglass-clad, short pants kind of hippies. Maybe a backwards hat in there somewhere. Tee-shirts with sarcastic slogans on them.

In my trademark sideways skip-hop tee shot, I prance forcefully down the cement.
I release my disc, and lift my left foot like a ballerina in follow-through.
I am of course a stylish disc golfer, if not an accurate one.
But on this go-round I slide off the end of the tee.
My foot catches, my ankle rolls,
and down I go in a heap.

Instantly humiliated by the show of concern from Alan and the hippies, I jump up. I laugh energetically and hop around like an idiot, mentally reliving my startled yelp and my flailing limbs as I went ass over teakettle into the dirt.
Man ... I fell down. In front of people. I fell down in front of cute hippie people!
Who does that?

Well, I do. And when I do it, I do it with unmatched bravado.
Oddly, although this was my first disc golf injury, it was not my first golf injury. That I sustained in the 8th grade P.E., when some bitchy blonde girl nailed me in the back of the head with a driver.
But really now, who could have called that?
I hardly think of it. And it clearly didn't have an effect on me ... I mean. Clearly.

And I guess it could have been worse. Aside from having one foot that's somewhat larger than the other, and promising to display some pretty colors over the next few days, all that was really injured was my dignity.

Perhaps I should have laid there in the dust a little longer, and waited for that overly-chivalrous Adonis who's out there somewhere to scoop me up and carry me to his jaguar, speeding off to his mansion where he would bandage my foot while I batted my damsel-in-distress eyes and sipped champagne.

Perhaps I should fall down more often. Or use rolling around in dirt as a conversation starter, give Mr. Attractive Suave Wealthy Sensitive Disc Golfer a little time to arrive.
After all, if a guy sees you fall down right at the beginning ...
there's nowhere to go but up.

Posted by kati at 10:37 PM

February 11, 2004

And then I woke up

The wonderful and exciting parade of visitors that the Johnson home has enjoyed of late has finally come to an end. With Ms. Kramer and Mr. Wood's back to back visits, our house has proudly borne the title of "place to be" for a while. Now, with no other expected guests on the horizon, I'm reminded of the more mundane and yet undeniably necessary tasks at hand. Schoolwork, dishes, laundry, jobs. Too easily set aside when fun things are in the foreground. But they remain, and peer out of corners like neglected puppies until they're taken care of. And with no new immediate distraction, I can take this time to revel in the ordinary. Change over laundry loads with gusto and flare, dance behind the vacuum cleaner like Jennifer Beals, maybe even exercise. Or maybe not. Some things are still a bit much.

But it was a lovely time, almost a vacation at home.
We golfed, we bowled
drank some beers.
We ate large amounts of cheese.
How much fun can a person pack into a week?

Not that Gene's visit was completely recreational...
He did set up a lovely network of sorts, so now all the roomies computers can talk to each other. answered all the picture uploading questions we could think to ask.
and thanks to his covert handiwork, my bed no longer lists like a sinking boat when I climb on. So the world is really looking up, I'd say.

It was good to have him here. All other visitors/potential visitors are most welcome. We're a fun house. We play frisbee golf. We have beer. and cheese.
I'm telling you, it's a good time.

Safe home, Gene.

Posted by kati at 10:48 PM