Another Post from Debland

One of the reasons I am where I am today (I would tell you where that is, but I don't want you stalking me.  Again.) is because of the skewed view I have of the world.

 

Take my job.  Please.  (Sorry, involuntary reaction.)  I realize that it is a Primary Law of Nature that people have to go around suing each other.  Wait, I don't actually realize that, I think it's stupid.  And here's my crazy, wacked-out theory why:  If you (or your company) do something wrong to someone, either accidentally or on purpose,  you should admit it, apologize and offer restitution.  The key phrase here is "admit it".  Taking responsibility for making mistakes appears to have gone the way of the steam locomotive and Teddy Ruxpin.  Why admit to doing something wrong and making up for it, when you can spend tons more money and time denying it and not?  That's what Jesus did, right?  ("That guy was alive when I got here, I swear, I never laid a hand on him!")  Totally logical.

 

But not to me.  Granted, I tend to apologize to everything, including inanimate objects.  I can't tell you how many chairs I've apologized to for walking into.  But, I also try to own up for the actual shit I do that hurts human beings and/or cats. Cause it's the right thing, if not always the easiest thing, to do.  And it's what I'd want someone to do to me.  Which, correct me if I'm wrong here, is what we're supposed to do.   As vivid as my imagination is, it is hard for me to picture a multi-millionaire waking up in the morning and saying, "Holy Moly, I wish someone would sue me today."  (That was a trick sentence.  The only actual part of that sentence which I cannot picture  a multi-millionaire saying is  Holy Moly.)  I don't live in that world.  I function in it, because I have to, but I don't live there.

 

Bad Steve used to tell me I was naive.  *Pause to appreciate the irony here.*  He's right, I am.  And proud of it.  Because as long as I subscribe to the "Do Unto Others and Unicorns Shit Rainbows" philosophy, I can keep on living in my undisclosed location where lawsuits don't exist and the cats say, "No problem" when I apologize.   It's lonely here, but the unicorn poo is beautiful.               

 

 



The Gays of Our Lives

I will be the first to admit, there are a lot of things I don't get:  younger, richer, dates...but right now I am totally flummoxed by the worldwide anti-gay sentiment.  Every time I read a headline about someone pitching a fit about homosexualty, I get this mental image of a medieval lord extolling the virtues of the feudal system.  "....and serfs?  Hell, serfs will be around FOREVER!!"  (Okay, you could get metaphorical here and argue there are still serfs today, what with an embarrassingly low minimum wage, but, remember, we're here to talk about The Gays, not our Tragic Economic Disparity.)

 

This current onslaught of foreign homophobia confuses me, because these people act like being gay is a new phenomenon, sort of like twerking.  "HUH??  We  never had homosexuals in this country until the Condensed Force of Evil that is the United States of America started letting them get married!   Now it's even spreading to the serfs!!"   Hey, Putinpants, homosexuality has been around since heterosexuality has been around, it wasn't invented by Oscar Wilde.

 

It reminds me of the early 1960's, when I was a kid, and everyone was batshit terrified that someone in some country somewhere was going to set off the nuclear bomb.  Although, in that scenario, the world would be destroyed.  If a gay bomb exploded, it would just leave the world more tastefully decorated. 

 

Is homophobia the new bigotry designed to bring the world together?  I mean, racism is becoming a bit passe and, frankly, it's hard to get worked up about about the inferiority of black people if you live in Switzerland.  But homosexuals!!  There's a group of Satan's Spawn we can globally despise! 

 

It is so. fucking. stupid.  And, perhaps because of the three previously-mentioned-in-the-first-sentence items I no longer get, I have very little patience left for the Devisive Irrational Controlling Knuckleheads Hiding Obvious Latent Evidenditiary Shit, if you get my drift. 

 

Much like other erroneous, outmoded ideas (the world is flat; bloodletting cures disease; Justin Bieber rocks), in time,  this fear-fueled bigotry will pass.  Then the search will be on to find a new undeserved minority on which to focus our irrational hatred!  Huzzah!  Long Live the 15th Century!! 

 

Or.... (call me crazy).... we could stop focusing  our energy on hating people and see what happens if we all try to get along.  There, at least I gave you one laugh.

 



And Now in Financial Muse...

There is a factoid floating on Facebook today that says it's costing the Russians $51 billion to host the Olympics and it only costs $2.5 billion to go to Mars.

Either way, that is a lot of money.  And both those things are really cool, I'm just not sure either project is getting the full bang for their buck here. The Russians have already been dealing with bad publicity and they will be left with a bunch of buildings and sports venues that will very likely sit idle till the next Revolution.  And going to Mars is exciting, but what can you do when you get there?  Other than Starbucks and McDonalds, I doubt if there's a lot going on up there.  Who wants to spend a week staring at a giant face?   

 To tell you the truth, my mind always boggles when it comes to money.  You all know  the Sad Saga of Bad Steve, so I won't bore you with it again. But when I finally realized I was never going to get any of the money back that I had "loaned" him, I was not as upset about losing the money as I was in realizing that he had never really cared for me, just my wallet.  It takes a lot longer for my heart to heal than it does my bank account.

I lead a very simple life and I like it plenty swell.  I have no dreams of owning a big house or retiring to to Sochi or Mars. Living paycheck to paycheck works just fine for me.    My biggest expenses are cat food, beer, and going to see my kids a few times a year.  And I wouldn't trade my kids, cats or beer for all the Mars Rovers in the world.  (Granted, there are probably only 3 or 4 Mars Rovers in the world, but you get my point.)

I suspect this sentiment is a common one in people "of a certain age" and explains the feeling I often get of being completely removed from society.  I just don't understand the expensive, greedy, power-driven, mean shit that people/corporations/governments/political parties/ religious organizations do and rather than try to comprehend it, I just want to sit on my sofa  and pet my cats.  (And, no, I don't mean that euphemistically.)

But that being said, it is breathtaking to hear the vast amounts of money people are willing to put forth for something.  And can you imagine what it will cost it when Mars hosts the Olympics?? Let the games begin!



All The World's a Comedy Club

Back in the '70's (remember those?  No, you don't, you're too young, fuck you), Lily Tomlin had a television special.  It was great, and my favorite sketch was a birthday party, where all the kids were clowns and Lily's parents hired an accountant as entertainment. (Pause as you attempt to YouTube said sketch.)

 

Welcome to my world.

 

I view the entire world as a potential joke. It very rarely fails to disappoint me.  Even when I'm residing in the Pit of Despair (I wouldn't recommend it as a vacation spot, the food sucks), I usually come up with some bizarre take on the situation that makes me laugh.  I was born with this....what, impediment?  gift?  defect?  freakish chromesomal abnormality? but it wasn't till I hit Extreme Adulthood (also not the best vacation destination) that I became proud of it. 

 

Between the ages of 9 and 14, a bunch of obscure relatives I had never met died.  My parents made my sister and me go to the visitations, despite our strong protestations.  They were Family and it did not matter that I was on more intimate terms with our mailman (not in that way!!) than the deceased, you had to show up at the funeral home. It was the Done Thing.  My parents were Republican. (Which is why I wasn't allowed to go to my mailman's funeral.)

 

So, my sister and I would find a couple of out-of-the-way chairs and play what we called, "My Aunt Harriet Died Last Week."  (For the record, we did not have an Aunt Harriet.)  One of us would start the conversation by saying, "My Aunt Harriet died last week.", and then we would just improvise a sketch till our parents said it was time to go home.  We didn't know what improvisation or sketch comedy was,  we didn't even think we were being particularly clever (thinking you were clever was Not the Done Thing), we were just trying to kill time in a funeral home.  (Thank you, I'll be here all week.  Try the veal.) 

 

That's how my brain works.  Luckily, I have managed to find a community of people whose brains also work this way.  We're kind of like a leper colony, only not contagious and better looking.  It's very comforting to know that if you see something that strikes you as funny, you can message/text/actually pick up a phone and call one of your fellow Funnylepers and they will appreciate the humor.  I have tried pointing out the humor in stuff to Civilians but they treat me like I'm Robert the Bruce's father.  (If you haven't seen Braveheart, you won't get that and will thereby prove my point.  Thank you.)

 

When I was a kid, I was in awe of all comedians and I thought there was some Special Magic Funny Fairy Dust that grew in LA and New York that made them funny.  But, luckily, the joke's on me.

 

P.S.  I don't think chromesomal is an actual word, but it's fun to say, so I left it in.  Fuck the Done Thing.

 



A Holiday Greeting, Debstyle

Once upon a time, there was a man who ruled the world.  He was all powerful and everyone revered him.  He could be loving and generous, but he could also be mean and vengeful, you simply had to follow his rules.  Some of these rules didn't make a lot of sense to his subjects, but they followed them, partially because they wanted the man to love them, but also because they didn't want to suffer the consequences.  It was the way of the world.

 

After a while, the man started to get the feeling that all the people didn't really love him, as much as feared him.  He was surprised and hurt by this and decided he would come up with a plan that would prove to his people that he was a kind, forgiving man who truly believed that love was the most important thing there is. 

 

The plan he came up with was this:  Rape a virgin and impregnate her.  Then, when the child was grown, have him tortured and murdered.  Then, then, people would truly realize how kind and loving he was. 

 



And, Holy Fuck, the plan worked. 

 

THE END

 

Of course, that's just one interpretation of the story.  But it explains why I just can't buy into the whole religion thing.  Because I really do believe that love is the most important thing there is.  And that you should treat other people the way you want to be treated.  Of course, being human, I don't always act in a loving way or take the time to think, "Would I want someone to do this to me?"  But I do take solace in the fact that none of us are perfect.  We all make mistakes; sometimes we learn from them, sometimes we don't.    What doesn't make me feel any better is to think that there is an infallible being out there who never fucks up.  It just makes me feel guilty.  Thanks, Sister Mary Elizabeth. 

 

My spritual beliefs are always in a state of ebb and flow. I don't think I could ever put them in a permanent form.   And I really envy those who can adhere to an ancient  dogma and feel totally comfortable with it.  There was a time I pretended to do that.  But I'm on the downhill slide of life and my "Truly Don't Give A Shit" hormone is kicking in pretty strong.

 

However, the Aged Hippie in me still wants to grab humanity by the scruff of the neck and shake them till their eyes rattle while screaming, "LOVE EACH OTHER, you fucking assholes!  LOVE EACH OTHER!!!"

 

Merry Christmas.



 



I've Written About Writing Before, But Hopefully You Won't Remember

Everyone has issues they have to deal with.  I don't mean like taking out the garbage issues, or doing housework issues or learning lines issues (none of which I have ever dealt with, by the way).  I mean deep-down, life-long, holy crap kind of issues. 

 

I will not bore you with what my issues are, because I'm not paying you $120/hour to listen to me kvetch.  Also, I adhere to the following truism:

 

My shit is my shit and no one gives a shit about my shit.  (It's kind of the adult version of I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream.)

 

But we also all have Certain Things that help us cope with our Shit Issues.  Excluding the escapist therapies, like alcohol, tobacco and ice cream, we all have something we do that takes us out of ourselves long enough to emotionally breathe. 

 

One of my Certain Things is acting.  Duh.  But writing is another.  I get into a  zone when I'm writing that pushes my Shit Issues to the back of my psyche.  It's nice.

 

"So, Deb," you say, stroking your mustache and adjusting your toupee, "I guess this means you write on a fairly regular basis, heh?"  (I don't know why I assume you all have mustaches, toupees and end sentences with "heh".  I could be wrong about this.)  But to answer your question, dear reader....no.

 

I would love to write more.  Okay, I tell myself I would love to write more.  But the truth is, instead of writing, I tend to fuck off.  The idea of writing everyday makes me flummoxed and antsy with a side of heebie-jeebies.  That is not nice.

 

"Discipline!", you cry, tapping your pipe on the ashtray, "Discipline, Debala!!"  "Fuck you, mustachioed, toupeed, pipe-smoker!", I retort.  Discipline is all well and good but some days I don't have anything to say that's worth writing down.  Or even worth verbally expressing, for that matter.  So, discipline or not, unless I'm creating instruction manuals for space heaters, daily writing ain't gonna happen.

 

I have no answer for this conundrum or really any idea why I felt led to share this with you.  I guess it's just one of those days where the Shit Issues are looming and the only thing to chase them away is a little literary ice cream.  

On the Job

I have posted before about the weird job titles I see on employment websites.  This week I saw one of the best ever:  Event Coordinator for the Edge of Chaos. 

Doesn't that sound cool?  It actually looks like a job only a Q would be qualified for, but still, the mind boggles.  Of course, the description was much more mundane and involved budgeting and Excel spreadsheets and boring shit of that nature. But props for creativity in the title.

 

Also, this week  one of my friends posted on the FB what his dream job would be.  I used to say that my dream job would be working in a repertory company, but I kind of feel right now that I am, doing three shows in a row. 

 

I think I have gone past the age of having a dream job.  I'll have to keep working till I drop dead, no retirement for me, but I'm okay with slogging away at an 8:00-5:00.  I am pretty content with my life as it is now and the idea of having a job that I actually care about makes me feel weary.  I only have so much emotional energy and that is currently being taken up by kids, friends, cats and theatre.  It's rather relaxing to come to a stuffy, pretentious office everyday and not give a flying fuck.  Also, I can learn lines.

 

I hate to pay the shoulda-woulda-coulda game, but I suppose if I had thought it through when I was younger (something I'm still not very good at doing) I might have chosen something that would have put me on a "career path".  But I am so much more of a "close-my-eyes-and-see-where-today-leads-me path" type of gal, I can't imagine I ever would have been successful at the aforementioned hypothetical career.  

 

Although, if I were a member of the Q Continuim, I would definitely apply to be the Event Coordinator for the Edge of Chaos.