Flirtatious: You know I think I could get interested in this weather business?
Real Mood: Languorous
Prediction: They won't get started on that road behind my house this Fall. ( the rich people in the neighborhood are throwing a fit. NIMBY rides again)
Well, even though this will register as a Saturday posting, it's really all about Friday.
And Friday morning CNN's morning weather person is still Bonnie Schneider. If you'll look up towards the runway you'll see Bonnie is wearing tight black pants. Her blouse underneath appears to be a clinging black tafetta with white embroidering. It dips even lower than her Thursday blouse. I say "appears to be" because most of it is covered with this tight, fire engine red bolero top. I personally think it needs a little more length to look comfortable.
ATTENION NON MEDIA FRIENDS: I am going to deliver a couple of fashion apologies for TV anchors. You'll note they often look as if they ought to go up a size with their jackets when they step out from behind the anchor desk. That's because there's a whole bunch of things stuffed up under those jackets..
In most major market studios, anchors have two wireless microphones attached somewhere on the chest. It's ironic they call them wireless. Truth is both Mic's HAVE wires that run down to little transmitters clipped to the waist. But wait, that's not all. They also have little ear pieces like the FBI wear? Attachhed to them there's a curly plastic tube running down the collar in the back. Another wire gets plugged in at this juncture and runs down the back, inside the jacket, and attaches to another little receiver box. It's called the IFB. And the IFB is there so producers can yell at them. And you thought it looked like fun. You might join me in wondering WHY all the wires when we can all the same features and more on a Cell phone about the size of a fingernail?
In profile, at the weather map, Bonnie does start to seperate herself from Jacqui. But I swear they are still from the same gene pool.
What a strange day. I've decided to go to a student performance of Bertolt Brecht's "Mother Courage." Well, one of the nice benefits of instructorship is free tickets to plays. So at 11 a.m. I know the play is at 7:30. But to get one of those free tickets I need to drive to school to get a voucher. The campus is about a quarter of a tank of gas away. So why drive downtown, get the ticket, drive back home, eat an apple, and then drive right back to town again. Why don't I just arrange a few things to do in between and hang out.
So off I go. I get lunch, get a tour from Paula Vargas of the Estacion Espanol where she's the assignment editor. (Paula is a former student. As they typically say of assignment editors? Don't mess with her.)
Then I head over to the station where I'd worked for 17 years just to say hi. That was great. I hadn't realized how much I missed the people that work there. I got to meet Robin Hoffman the new Executive Producer (new to me) and internship coordinator. Students give her rave reviews. Well that took all of an hour. On to campus.
Meagan Euler is the keeper of the vouchers.
"Sorry Paul, Meagan won't be in until after 4. Maybe you could go to the box office and reserve a ticket, come back here, after 4, get the vouchers, and go back to the box office."
Okay then. I have to kill 6 hours on campus, which you'd think might be fun. Well it's not. The computer labs are down. I walk over to watch a women's soccer match just as a big final cheer goes up. Everybody walks off leaving me there alone. (I do get a chance to wave at Former student Elin Otter. She is the match announcer.). I go to the book-store to look around. With just 5 weeks left in a semester? Don't bother looking around the bookstore. Well I'll just sit outside on a bench and veg for a while.
" Is that rain? Why yes it is. Well it's a little early, but I'll go eat at Pete's." I decide on speghetti with meatballs.
"Yes sir, just pay at the cash register."
"Whatcha havin'"
"Speghetti and meatballs."
"No sorry, no meatballs. How about some Italian sausage."
"Okay, Italian sausage."
"That'll be blah dollars and blah cents and I'll bring it out to you."
20 minutes later here it comes.
"Here you are sir, speghetti with some very tasty Italian sausage."
"Thanks."
Well I get my fork out and start lookin'. I mean I look under every string of speghetti on the plate. I taste the sauce. There is no sausage.
"Hem, Hem, excuse me."
"Problem?"
"No sausage."
"Whoops. Oh, there it is. Sorry about that."
So I try to take a nap in my booth. That gets tough. My "where's the sausage" guy is turning all the chairs upside down. I guess it's closing time.
Well I walk around a little more. It's 6 p.m. The box office will be open. I get my ticket and now I've just an hour and half to kill. I remember I can get free parking in one lot, even though I'm already paid up in another one. But since I have to kill an hour and a half, why not?
I use up maybe a half hour making the transfer. However I'm no longer parked anywhere near the theatre.
I amble over to the building and the theatre is still dark. So I know this building, and take the elevator up to the third floor and call Peggy in California. I'm not sure she understands why I'm doing that.
So, off I go at 7 p.m. to see "Mother Courage." I am not the first one in line. Those spots belong to former students (Meagan and Kristina) and friends of former students. We get introduced and chat and I sit in their section. I listen to them discuss the play, theatre in general, and life in general. I've forgotten how serious and probing students can be. It reminds me of the time when I was a college senior driving my freshman sister and her coed pals to Long Beach State. They were chattering up a storm about religion. One of them says, "Why do suppose God chose Mary to be the mother of Jesus?"
"Because she was pregnant," I replied.
The rest of the trip was marked by total silence. Well not total silence. I drove a '49 Chevy with one of the radiator fan blades rusted off.
Well, I will not make that mistake again. I just keep my big mouth ( my sister Brenda and I can actually get our entire right fists inside our mouths. We perform at parties for free drinks.) shut. I settle in for two and a half hours of War Protest.
Turns out I have four students performing in the play. There's David Karasik, Karah Britton, David Rodwell (didn't even know Rodwell acts. I should have guessed. He's reserved in class until called upon. Then, he comes alive. I'm guessing he's related to Mother Courage since she has the same last name) and Nicole Stevenson.
I'm thinking it's good I'm here. I consider it a fun self imposed obligation of the job to see students other rooms of their lives.
But it also makes it impossible for me to do a critical review. It's the same as having your own kid on stage. He or she can do no wrong.
I will say I've always wondered about promoting "Mother Courage" as a war protest. I'm sure Brecht would be happy about that. But once you create something, it then belongs to everyone. And this one, me, thinks the play just exposes all the misery, and moral contradictions of living with war. It's just a two and a half hour version of "War Is Hell." It's a story that can be told and shared without comment. But I think I just made one, didn't I.
Well, this is getting langorous, isn't it. I'm exhausted. Don't ever just tell yourself you're going to go "hang out for 6 hours."
It doesn't work at this age, probably any age.
One more thing. Current student Sarah Frank wrote the play back grounder for the production. She is so good at what she does. This is no exception.
I wonder if Bonnie will be doing the weather again in the morning. I still can't tell you the expected high in Boston.
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