My plane was overbooked. They were offering $400 in vouchers for people to fly out the next day, but I couldn't hear any details because a man was talking too loudly on his Razr about Bear Week and heading back to Gainesville. Of course.
This has been a travel sandwich of reminders of how much better off I am.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Day Nine: Last Day
I had my last day in Maine today, and I tried to soak up as many things as I could. I had blueberry soda, blueberry ice cream, and a lobster roll. I was not a huge fan of lobster rolls last year and found a whole lobster to be much more enjoyable, but this year was much, much better for some reason. But then, everything was much better this year. For some reason.
I ran one last run - seven miles, today - along the Union River Watershed, which I just loved and found so peaceful. I will certainly not miss running hills, especially the last one along Main Street that would almost make me cry daily, but I will miss seeing the water, the lupine, the horses, and the occasional white tail deer dart out in front of me. They just don't have that on my Chicago runs. Especially the hills.
The 8 PM show was great, and the 10 PM show was fine. I got some fudge and candles to bring back. Back to Chicago!
I ran one last run - seven miles, today - along the Union River Watershed, which I just loved and found so peaceful. I will certainly not miss running hills, especially the last one along Main Street that would almost make me cry daily, but I will miss seeing the water, the lupine, the horses, and the occasional white tail deer dart out in front of me. They just don't have that on my Chicago runs. Especially the hills.
The 8 PM show was great, and the 10 PM show was fine. I got some fudge and candles to bring back. Back to Chicago!
Monday, July 12, 2010
Day Eight: Ups and Downs
Today was a weird day of extremes.
It started with my toenail finally falling off. It had been threatening to do so for at least a month now, thanks to running so much, but today it just came quickly and painlessly off when I poked at it. I feel like a real runner. I hope it comes back.
Also, The Downgrade was made public today. Even though I had known for some time and no one seems to approve or even care, it was still saddening.
On the bright side though, I finally got a call from an agency asking me to come in for an interview. Several improvisers I respect are signed with this agency, and it's not Vinny's Talent Shack in the suburbs or anything, so I have allowed myself some cautious excitement. We will see what happens.
I also had a triumphant return, after our day off, to being a slut in the 10 PM game of Hesitation. This time Mike graciously gave the gift of looseness rather than the audience, but the streak is still alive and well. Just one more 10 PM show and it's a solid run of sluts. I can do it!
It started with my toenail finally falling off. It had been threatening to do so for at least a month now, thanks to running so much, but today it just came quickly and painlessly off when I poked at it. I feel like a real runner. I hope it comes back.
Also, The Downgrade was made public today. Even though I had known for some time and no one seems to approve or even care, it was still saddening.
On the bright side though, I finally got a call from an agency asking me to come in for an interview. Several improvisers I respect are signed with this agency, and it's not Vinny's Talent Shack in the suburbs or anything, so I have allowed myself some cautious excitement. We will see what happens.
I also had a triumphant return, after our day off, to being a slut in the 10 PM game of Hesitation. This time Mike graciously gave the gift of looseness rather than the audience, but the streak is still alive and well. Just one more 10 PM show and it's a solid run of sluts. I can do it!
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Day Seven: Day Off
There are no shows on Sundays (right now) so everyone gets a day to relax. I only spent one Sunday in Maine, and unfortunately, it rained the entire day. (In fact, the rain began in earnest about two miles into my run. My run lasted another hour and forty minutes, so I was pretty well aware of how it was raining by the end.) I ate in a bug in the course of this run -- a huge bug flew straight down my throat as I propelled myself in the opposite direction. I gagged on the side of the Union River for a while, and the bug and my throat had an epic battle, but ultimately, I won. I needed protein anyway? How awful.
The plan had been to go hiking and then go back to Echo Lake, but since hiking and swimming, like running, are unpleasant in the rain, we saw a movie instead. As such, after my experience in Echo Lake, I have no choice but to become terrified of water, since I didn't get right back on that metaphorical horse as promised.
That night was the traditional Nacho Night, and as Larrance defines a nacho as "something crispy with sauce and a thing" I contributed a blueberry pie. Sadly, my lattice crust turned out to be the very ugliest lattice crust I have ever made in the history of pies, and I was very much ashamed to present it to people. I would not get points for plating and presentation. However, everyone said they liked it, and I was positively charmed to make a pie with real Maine blueberries. More blueberries!
The plan had been to go hiking and then go back to Echo Lake, but since hiking and swimming, like running, are unpleasant in the rain, we saw a movie instead. As such, after my experience in Echo Lake, I have no choice but to become terrified of water, since I didn't get right back on that metaphorical horse as promised.
That night was the traditional Nacho Night, and as Larrance defines a nacho as "something crispy with sauce and a thing" I contributed a blueberry pie. Sadly, my lattice crust turned out to be the very ugliest lattice crust I have ever made in the history of pies, and I was very much ashamed to present it to people. I would not get points for plating and presentation. However, everyone said they liked it, and I was positively charmed to make a pie with real Maine blueberries. More blueberries!
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Day Six: More Shows
Tonight a very lovely woman who comes up every year told me that my singing in Gibberish Opera was just beautiful. And she was too sweet to be anything but sincere. It was very nice, albeit shocking.
Meanwhile, a little boy wanted pictures... with just the men of the cast.
Meanwhile, a little boy wanted pictures... with just the men of the cast.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Day Five: Shows
10 PM show audiences have fallen into the habit of endowing me with "slut" during Hesitation.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Day Three: Echo Lake
My parents got me swimming lessons at the YMCA when I was little. Basically, a teacher would drag you out into the middle of the pool. I did not care for this and spent the majority of my time screaming.
When I was a little older, I taught myself how to swim during Little League picnics. I was no Michael Phelps, and I certainly lacked technique and grace, but I did pretty okay for myself. The Jersey Shore provides a lot of opportunities to swim, so I swam a lot growing up.
However, Chicago does not offer the same opportunities, even if your gym has a dirty pool completely occupied by old men.
I realized how terrible a swimmer I actually am about twenty feet out in Echo Lake.
I had been easing myself in for much longer than everyone else - Mike had jumped right in, and Jen and Larrance were heading straight out to the middle of the lake. Obsessed with avoiding cold, I had tried to adjust to the temperature of the water by submerging six additional inches of myself over time. Finally, after watching tiny fishes for a while, I just went for it and swam.
Swimming in real water with wind and waves is not easy for someone who hasn't swam at all in five years, nevermind someone who taught herself to swim. I struggled about twenty feet out, turned around and looked at the shoreline, and my lungs immediately closed in panic. I struggled, alternately doggy-paddling and doing my graceless breast stroke, thinking I was going to drown twenty feet out while accompanied by three people with ocean survival training. It seemed to take a long time, but I made it back to the rocks, where I pulled myself up next to four middle-aged women sunbathing in one pieces, gasping and shaking, and blurted to Mike that I realized I am not the swimmer I thought I was.
Sunday, it's back to the lake again, to prove that I am stronger than a huge mass of glacial fresh water. This time, however, I'll be armed with a Noodle.
When I was a little older, I taught myself how to swim during Little League picnics. I was no Michael Phelps, and I certainly lacked technique and grace, but I did pretty okay for myself. The Jersey Shore provides a lot of opportunities to swim, so I swam a lot growing up.
However, Chicago does not offer the same opportunities, even if your gym has a dirty pool completely occupied by old men.
I realized how terrible a swimmer I actually am about twenty feet out in Echo Lake.
I had been easing myself in for much longer than everyone else - Mike had jumped right in, and Jen and Larrance were heading straight out to the middle of the lake. Obsessed with avoiding cold, I had tried to adjust to the temperature of the water by submerging six additional inches of myself over time. Finally, after watching tiny fishes for a while, I just went for it and swam.
Swimming in real water with wind and waves is not easy for someone who hasn't swam at all in five years, nevermind someone who taught herself to swim. I struggled about twenty feet out, turned around and looked at the shoreline, and my lungs immediately closed in panic. I struggled, alternately doggy-paddling and doing my graceless breast stroke, thinking I was going to drown twenty feet out while accompanied by three people with ocean survival training. It seemed to take a long time, but I made it back to the rocks, where I pulled myself up next to four middle-aged women sunbathing in one pieces, gasping and shaking, and blurted to Mike that I realized I am not the swimmer I thought I was.
Sunday, it's back to the lake again, to prove that I am stronger than a huge mass of glacial fresh water. This time, however, I'll be armed with a Noodle.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Day Two: The Return of Blueberry Ice Cream
I made it a point to consume as much blueberry ice cream as humanly possible while in Bar Harbor this year. After every night's shows, I would have Mt. Desert Island blueberry ice cream as my shift drink. I would also supplement with CJ's wild Maine blueberry ice cream. All told, after nine days in Maine, I consumed 15 servings of blueberry ice cream.
Sadly, I discovered with three days left of my time that they sold it in the supermarkets as well.
Fortunately for my target weight, I was relentless with my running while there.
Sadly, I discovered with three days left of my time that they sold it in the supermarkets as well.
Fortunately for my target weight, I was relentless with my running while there.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Day One: Boston
Today I started my journey up from Chicago to Improv Acadia in Maine. I left Chicago at 6:25 flight to Boston, where I caught the Greyhound bus from Boston to Bangor (home of Stephen King.)
I have discovered in my past experience that Greyhound is truly the transportation of choice for teenage runaways and grizzled alcoholics for a reason. On my way up to Maine last year, I sat for the majority of my ride next to a charming gentleman chewing tobacco and using a Mountain Dew bottle as his spittoon. This year, I was equally delighted.
The bus driver, as it was, turned up twenty minutes after the set departure time. No explanation was given for this. I killed some time doing steps outside the bus station, because my mother is adamant that I should do whatever I can to increase blood flow on days I am sitting for long periods (i.e. everyday.) I joined the line at a half an hour before our scheduled time of departure, only to discover I was stuck behind my own personal hell.
Two toddlers, running rampant amongst those on the neighboring line, unleashing the rope dividers to watch them snap, mysteriously throwing lottery scratch off tickets at people, and making their best effort to release the cat their mother carried. Oh, yes, their mother had a cat in a travel bag with her. The cat, knowing what kind of home life it would be returning to, was understandably screaming. The mother, as any good mother should be, was on her phone. She did not even notice when the girl child, Ilana (I am not making this up) set the cat free and the beefy college student behind me and I had to wrestle it back into the carrier for her. The cat thanked us for returning it to its miserable fate by immediately shitting. The odor filled the terminal completely. The mother remained on the phone. The bus driver remained unaccounted for.
Eventually, the mother got off the phone and realized something was up when the boy child, Isiah, indicated "poopie." She did what any good mom would do and pushed the child out of the way so he could not poke at the cat (but could fall to the ground and scream.) She took a baby wipe and swiped out the inside of the cat carrier and stalked off to the garbage, abandoning her two children under the age of three but maintaining her conversation. The cat repaid her by crapping again.
Luck, however, was mine as when the bus driver finally showed up and we were loading the bus, the attendant asked what that smell was and what she had in the bag. When she answered simply, "My cat," he told her she would not be able to bring that on the bus due to "the odor." She stated it was not a problem on the way up, but disappeared and did not reappear when the bus finally departed 45 minutes past schedule.
I spent the rest of my bus ride shoved between another college kid wearing too much cologne who giggled at "Wang Optometry" and promptly fell asleep and a little girl playing with her flashing necklace. A welcome relief.
I have discovered in my past experience that Greyhound is truly the transportation of choice for teenage runaways and grizzled alcoholics for a reason. On my way up to Maine last year, I sat for the majority of my ride next to a charming gentleman chewing tobacco and using a Mountain Dew bottle as his spittoon. This year, I was equally delighted.
The bus driver, as it was, turned up twenty minutes after the set departure time. No explanation was given for this. I killed some time doing steps outside the bus station, because my mother is adamant that I should do whatever I can to increase blood flow on days I am sitting for long periods (i.e. everyday.) I joined the line at a half an hour before our scheduled time of departure, only to discover I was stuck behind my own personal hell.
Two toddlers, running rampant amongst those on the neighboring line, unleashing the rope dividers to watch them snap, mysteriously throwing lottery scratch off tickets at people, and making their best effort to release the cat their mother carried. Oh, yes, their mother had a cat in a travel bag with her. The cat, knowing what kind of home life it would be returning to, was understandably screaming. The mother, as any good mother should be, was on her phone. She did not even notice when the girl child, Ilana (I am not making this up) set the cat free and the beefy college student behind me and I had to wrestle it back into the carrier for her. The cat thanked us for returning it to its miserable fate by immediately shitting. The odor filled the terminal completely. The mother remained on the phone. The bus driver remained unaccounted for.
Eventually, the mother got off the phone and realized something was up when the boy child, Isiah, indicated "poopie." She did what any good mom would do and pushed the child out of the way so he could not poke at the cat (but could fall to the ground and scream.) She took a baby wipe and swiped out the inside of the cat carrier and stalked off to the garbage, abandoning her two children under the age of three but maintaining her conversation. The cat repaid her by crapping again.
Luck, however, was mine as when the bus driver finally showed up and we were loading the bus, the attendant asked what that smell was and what she had in the bag. When she answered simply, "My cat," he told her she would not be able to bring that on the bus due to "the odor." She stated it was not a problem on the way up, but disappeared and did not reappear when the bus finally departed 45 minutes past schedule.
I spent the rest of my bus ride shoved between another college kid wearing too much cologne who giggled at "Wang Optometry" and promptly fell asleep and a little girl playing with her flashing necklace. A welcome relief.
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