Log!

Forgive me for meta-blogging again.

I was considering this afternoon what to write about, and started thinking about how hard it is to grasp what is interesting about you to other people. Or even to yourself at a later date.

Case in point, I recently re-acquired my old diary, thanks to a flood in my dad’s basement that forced me to sort through the shipwreck of memorabilia that my mom had salvaged for me. “Ooh!" I thought. “This is awesome! I’ll be able to see my deepest and most private thoughts from my childhood! I’ll have such an insight into my 8-year-old self! Maybe I’ll gain a better perspective on Present-Day Tristan!” It should be known that Present-Day Tristan is not a big “feelings girl.” I don’t talk about ‘em much, don’t think about ‘em much, don’t deal with ‘em much. Apparently, 8-year old Tristan was much the same. I seem to have treated my diary as more of a captain’s log than some sort of receptacle for my inner-most desires. I list everything. I have to imagine that my diary is the dullest child’s diary that one could ever encounter. Yet, because of that, it’s actually pretty hilarious. For your reading pleasure, here is an excerpt from the first day of a trip to visit my family in California.

All original spelling/grammatical/punctuation errors have been preserved.

5/13/89

Today we got up at 4:30 then we had breakfast. then we went to the airport.
While we were waiting we thought we saw George Bush’s daughter. When we got on the plane it wasn’t clear enough to take off. So we went down to first class were the lady we thought was George Bush’s daughter sat.
Mom said “Hello.”
She said “Hi”
Mom said “Are you the presidents daughter”?
“Yes”
“This is Tristan.”
We exchanged greetings.
“And I’m Julie Tanner.”
“My name is Doro Bush.”
“Are you going to D.C. to see your dad?”
“Yes, but then I’m going to South America.”
“Oh well, goodbye”
“Goodbye.”
Then we went to our seat and played “Snakes and ladders.”
Then breakfast came.
There was a danish, a sausage patty, a blitz, and coffee. That flight was two hours.
Then we got off to the next gate wich was gate “7”.
Then we ate another breakfast.
That was a danish, orange juice, a sausage patty, fruit, and coffee (if you wanted it).
After that we saw a movie, it was called Beaches.
Mom was crieing her eyes out.
When the movie was over we played more Snakes and ladders.
Then we played war.
Then it was time to land.
My ears were popping so bad,*
Then we landed.
I saw Aunt Alicia and Uncle Gary.
Then we went to their house.


*Here you can see that I have written, and then erased, “I cried.”

The complete disregard for the paragraph lends even more of an antiseptic air to the thing. It might as well have military times before each line. What a weird kid! The only thing that even resembles a feeling, I erased! In my diary! That only I would be reading. Well, take that, young Tristan! Grown Tristan is publishing it in a BLOG! On the INTERNET! Now everyone will know that you cried when you were 8 because your ears were popping. Ha HA! Of course even that crying was from pain, not being overwhelmed by any emotion.

The only time in the entire diary that I mention an emotion is 11 days later, when the family went to Disneyland. Following is an excerpt from 5/24/89:

On the way, we stopped at Nougles to get egg burritos, coffee and Orange juice.
The man said they ran out of orange juice.
Em and I were disappointed.
But, the man gave us each a free ice cream cone!
Em and I were very happy.

There you have it. No orange juice disappoints me. Free ice cream makes me happy. Nay, very happy.

I then go on to list EVERY ride that we went on at Disneyland. In order. Including the ones we went on again. It takes up three pages. I recall that I achieved this by carrying a park map around with me all day and writing a number next to each ride we went on. I obviously thought this was very important to remember. Thank goodness I will always know that I went on the Submarine Voyage and then the Teacups, and not the other way around.

So, please pardon my mess while I figure out blogs. I am fighting a natural life-long inclination to tell you everything I ate for lunch today.


(Me and Emilie at Disneyland, circa 1983.)

Trips!

Suppose you came across a blog that was created because the author wished people would update their blogs more. You would think that that person would update her blog frequently, right? To quench her insatiable thirst for bloggery? Wrong-o!

But remember, I never made any grand sweeping claims about updating every day. Or, for that matter, ever again.

I’ve been busy! The week after my last post, I went to Wisconsin with pH for the Milwaukee Improv Festival, then to Oakbrook for three days for my company’s All-Staff Conference, then to Michigan with Molly, Laura and Kristen to stay at the Hall family cabin on Lake Michigan.


Highlights from my trip to Milwaukee:

- Our pHamily the Musical show was lots of fun, and the audience really seemed to enjoy it.
- My shoe flew off during the show and almost beaned our music director, Dan.
- There were snacks and beer backstage. I love free food.
- We went to Safe House, an awesome spy-themed bar. There are secret passages and lots of little puzzle-type things, and you have to know the password to get in. If you don’t, you have to perform some sort of "embarrassing" task. Being told to act like penguins may mortify your average bar-goer, but the lady had to yell at us to stop squawking and waddling around so that she could swing open the bookshelf to reveal a hidden entrance. Super fun. Jason, Dan and I got trapped in a secret passage, and had to call Alaina on her cell to come let us out.



Highlights from my All-Staff conference:

- My boss dressed up as a penguin. (Perhaps he was a spy?) Then he danced around.
- I was forced to dance alone in front of 50+ people. With no music. Twice. Once dressed as an old lady, and once waving a jump rope. The people I support know I have no shame, and exploit this.
- I accidentally told my waitress, "Great buns," referring to bread rolls. She was really mean to me after that.
- The following conversation occurred with a lady that I support in the administrative sense, but never see, as she has a home office. She has recently been diagnosed with diabetes, and is trying to lose weight.

LADY: Is this ham or turkey? I can't eat ham.
ME: Oh, yeah. I forgot you're Muslim now.
LADY: I'm not Muslim.
ME: Um. I know.
LADY: Oh. You're funny.


Highlights from my trip to Michigan:

- We got a tour of the Threadless office from Kristen when we picked her up. Pretty effing amazing. They have two ping pong tables, a photo booth, and Buck Hunter. There’s a bunch of other awesome stuff too.
- We all discovered a common love for Legally Blonde: The Musical.
- We pretended that we were forty-somethings on the annual girls’ getaway, and did bits about our husbands and kids back home. I could never remember how many kids I had. That part wasn’t a bit – I just kept forgetting what I’d decided…
- We messed with a dude that came to hit on us on the beach. It turned out that he was high on mescaline. I became fascinated with rehabilitating him through the powers of sarcasm. I think I really got somewhere with him...
- Molly’s parents were there, and are totally awesome. We even had a goody basket on each of our beds when we got there. Adorable.
- At some point, each of us had a green bug in her hair.

I just unpacked from all three trips.

New!

Lately I have been bemoaning the fact that people don’t update their blogs more frequently. And that more people don’t have blogs. I like blogs. Sort of. If they’re not boring. You get to know what people are up to without the pesky inconvenience of talking to them. When you do have to talk to them though, you can refer to happenings in their blog without them ever having really told you, and you seem magical.

Anyway, it felt hypocritical to complain so much about people not writing blogs when I don’t have one myself. So here it is.

Blog.

I wonder if all blogs start out analyzing blogs, and then laying out one’s reasons for starting one.

Because you can’t really start a blog with “I went to the market today, and it was super-crowded and an old lady bought 8 pineapples and a pair of knee-highs.” Because that in itself doesn’t seem like enough of a catalyst to start sharing your life with the world, odd though it may be.

And you can’t start it with “I just got this promotion and cast in a TV show and my baby invented time,” because then it just seems like you’re looking for attention. But, then again, what is a blog but a desperate plea for attention? “My life means something. The things I do are significant. Pay attention to me.”

So, yeah. Sometimes I do things. Sometimes I see things. They are usually fun.

Here are some highlights of my week:

-There is a church near my apartment that does some extended churchbellery at 6pm. As I walked by on my way to rehearsal I was almost positive it was playing the Jurassic Park theme. Bong bong bong bong bong. Bong bong bong bong bong. Bong bong bong bong bong, bong bong boooooong! It turned out to be some hymn that just has a similar strain, but it was amusing to imagine brachiosauruses filing into the pews in their Sunday best.

-When I walked by IHOP on Sunday, they announced over the loudspeaker, “Tristan, party of 2.” It was really hard for me not to go in. I felt guilty for a minute for just walking by.

-A lady got on the bus yesterday, and then suddenly there was an apple next to her. I’m not sure if it was there already and I hadn’t noticed it, or if she dropped it, or put it there, or what, but there it was. Lolling around on its own little bus seat. The bus gradually filled up, and people would head for the seat, and then see the apple and continue on. By the time we got on Lake Shore, there was exactly one more seat than there were people, so the apple remained undisturbed, free to enjoy the priority seating usually reserved for the handicapped and elderly.

- Played poker last night, and ended up turning a profit of a cool four dollars. Playing from 11pm to 3 am, I figure that puts me at about the same pay rate as an immigrant strawberry-picker.

That’s all for now. Pay attention to me.