Jed Said...(for a whole post!)
I asked Jed to be a guest blogger today. This is what he said:
It's been a month or so since I caved and did the whole Facebook thing. Maybe it's been two-- ask Natalie Simpson. It was a professional decision. I couldn't admit to yet another client that I was entirely Facebook-ignorant. When such a thing adds itself to the very lexicon of speech and social order, it's hard to avoid it and maintain an air of professionalism. (Have I rationalized that enough? Did it sound rushed?)
And while there is value in discovering how passing acquaintances from high school have matured, I find that the most interesting element of this social networking phenomenon is the simple question, "What's on your mind?" Since no one can resist the question, and I, too, am convinced that everyone is interested in what's on my mind at any given moment (note: I am also a compulsive Twitter-er) I thought I'd share a few others here.
This is what's on my mind:
Jayne. Most of the time. (Pause for awww's)
I wish they'd decide yes or no on automated restroom appliances. Once and for all. How many times have I stood in front of a sink, waving my hands under the faucet expecting it to expel water, when what I need to do is lift the handle? And how much time have I wasted slapping and prodding at different corners of a paper towel dispenser with my dripping hands? Never sure if it's an automatic or a manual feed. There are so many varieties in makes and models, you never know which requires the twist of a nob or a magic word.
I was at Denny's recently (oh, shut up, you love the Moons Over My Hammy, too) and I went to wash my hands before the meal. They had a manually operated faucet but the soap dispenser was automatic (and it was that awful soap that is sweeping our troubled nation. The kind that doesn't smell like soap at all. You know the one. I'd seriously rather fish around in the toilet for a more pleasing aroma to take back to the table with me. Don't you hate that? You sit down and put your hands to your face and wretch. I swear this is the stuff Sinclair describes in The Jungle when the men slip and fall in the vats and get shipped out as soap.) So I'm already a little flustered when I get to the paper towel dispenser. I can't see a knob to turn so I thrust my hands under it and wait. I do it again, this time with a little more bravado, thinking exaggerated actions are more likely to trigger the machine.
It's at this point that I leave my body and see the scene as a third person observer. And it's hilarious: a sloppy, angry fellow with dripping hands, waits like an idiot in the middle of the night in front of an unresponsive, manually operated paper towel dispenser.
The conundrum of Kristen Stewart.
She's turned in a handful of really great performances outside of the Twilight circus. But what to make of her personality? *Groan*
Because I want one for Jayne and if I send them traffic, I have a chance at winning one. Please click on the link to the left!
The Boston Red Sox.
And not just their day-to-day safety and whatnot. My concerns are broader, i.e., will Hazey's fear of the automated toilets at Wasatch (right, I'm back to this...) lead to more profound and lasting developmental issues? Will she be popular? And what of Pars and his inexhaustible love affair with what he finds in his nose? And I'm not even sure if Jules in my biological son-- he's just so beautiful.
The music of Paul Jacobsen and the Madison Arm.
A stellar collective of local artists, each wildly talented in their own right. Lead by the rusty-piped Mr. Jacobsen and filled-out by producer/guitar virtuoso Scott Wiley, Ryan Tanner who seems to be able to do freaking anything, and the inimitable Bishop Pat Campbell who anchors the songs in beats he creates on diverse and sundry discarded bass drums, suitcases and Brazilian tambourines. I spend much of my time humming their music either out loud or in my head. You can hear some of it here.
What do the kids in Eureka do for fun? Have you been to Eureka?
This photo has not been manipulated in any way.
That's pretty much it.
This is what that glazed look means when you ask me a question and I take a minute to respond. This is what those long pauses are on my end of the line when you call and ask me to make a picture for you. It's either this, or I'm imagining that if John Steinbeck came back from the dead, he'd likely want to hang around with me and Bradley Slade. And we'd go fishing and eat greasy food and I'd tell him again why I won't drink any of the beers he would certainly offer me.