Monday, May 28, 2007

Sex drive

When ordinary guys want to pimp out their vehicles, high school and pop culture observation leads me to believe they usually do it along the lines of black lights under the car, trunks full of subwoofers, decals, spoilers, or tailpipes the size of garbage cans. I've only seen the "after" part of one episode of Pimp My Ride, but I assume that if you have MTV's budget, they also throw in televisions, barbeque grills, diamond-encrusted hubcaps molded in the shape of your face, leopard-print vibrating hot tubs, and your own personal Playboy Bunny. But the car I saw today had them beat.

It was a red Pontiac Firebird with a set of bulls' horns on the roof, white mudflaps on the back tires, and side view mirrors like a motorcycle's. The pièce de résistance, though, was a red, rubber replica of a ball sack dangling from the rear bumper. It was the most masculine car I've ever seen. I don't know whether to be disgusted or impressed.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Lucy in the Hamptons with Lavendar Overlord

For anyone who doesn't know yet, the summer show at Truman is going to be Lu Ann Hampton Laverty Oberlander by Preston Jones. I read it today, and in concurrence with the suspicions of my friends and myself, it's a lot like a West Texas Heidi Chronicles. Except there's no feminism or art, or five-page long monologues, and very little deeper meaning other than "Get the hell out of this small town while you still can, and while you're at it, stop being so naive."

I think Ron is trying to inspire us.

It's also a lot funnier, and in a much less pretentious way. I think the only name dropped was when Lu Ann told the man who inspected the dirt that went on highways before the cement was doing a piss-poor job because the roads around Bradleyville were "more holey than Billy Graham's mother-in-law."

I can't wait to audition.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Army of Geriatrics

I was walking my dog yesterday when an old black lab started following us. He ran ahead, behind, and around us, marking every bush in sight and reach. I was surprised that he had it in him. He kept up almost the entire way, right until the final stretch home. He had a collar on, so I wasn't as concerned with his health as much as his safety, as he clearly had no concept of the moving vehicle or how fast it could go.

I rode my bicycle down Potter Street today when I kept crossing paths with (and ending up behind) a sixty-something man on his own bike. I wasn't as concerned with passing him as I was with trying to lose him by taking side streets, as it's pretty awkward to be stuck behind a stranger who knows full well you're there.

As neutral as I feel towards old people, I'm worried that this is going to become a trend. There's already an older man who comes into the coffeeshop all day Sunday, orders refill after refill while working on his screenplay, and has offered to pay me $10 an hour licking envelopes for him when it comes time to send it out. I can picture driving home on Memorial Day, sandwiched between sedan after station wagon after beige Camry, right as Highway 63 turns into one lane. Even worse, I'm sure some elderly dame will feel the strongest need to cross the road right as I'm at cruising speed but within stopping distance.

Nevertheless, I was tempted to keep tailing the guy on the bike all the way home, just to see if the dog might be there too.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

The Opposite of Dust Bowl Blues

Oh the chlorine turned my hair green
But it can't kill me, Lord, no it can't kill me.

I did it. I touched the bottom of the twelve foot. No magic fix, no "wake-up-and suddenly-I-could; I went in yesterday and practiced over and over until, after swallowing a wading pool's worth of water, I got it. Today were the CPR, written, and skills tests. They mail me my certification in a month, even though orientation is on Monday. I actually get paid for being there.

Earrings and Shakespeare aside, I haven't felt this accomplished since I fixed JavaCo's toilet myself without having to call anyone. It gives me hope that work and effort really do make a difference, not just "raw talent" or "natural aptitude."

Next step: make it through Free Bird on Guitar Hero.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

The More You Know

This is what I accomplished before going to work at noon:
-Went for a run
-Made a pair of earrings out of two quarters that were squished on the railroad tracks
-Began re-reading Macbeth

It may not look like much, but does anyone remember Sideways Stories From Wayside School? Mrs. Jewels reasoned that if her students learned three facts every day, they would eventually know everything there is to know. I figure at this rate, by the end of the summer I'll be ready to ship out with no stone left unturned, all my strings tied, and most of my metaphors thoroughly mixed.

For that matter:
1. Joan Baez dated Steve Jobs (of Macintosh fame) and her father was a physicist who refused to work on the Manhattan project.
2. Gooseberries are one of the best sources of vitamin C, were once banned by the U.S. Government for allegedly helping spread white pine blister rust (a tree disease), and grow in the Pini backyard.
3. This won the Pulitzer for Breaking News Photography this year:

Sunday, May 13, 2007

In Which Meredith Meets Her Underwaterloo

My first day of lifeguard training was today. I probably should have known what to expect, but I didn't--at the very least being that I should have been wearing a swimming suit, which I was not. I don't even own one. The last time I needed one was at 10:30 pm at Wal-Mart on an August weeknight last summer. They closed the fitting rooms at 10, and I'd be damned if I had to shuck out $10 for a tacky, picked-over, mismatched, clearance-rack bathing suit I'd only be using once, if I couldn't even try it on.

Heather let me borrow her spare suit.

We have to pass a number of tests in order to become a Certified Lifeguard. There is a written exam on rules, procedures, techniques, and judgement calls. There's also a skills test, where you have to demonstrate various rescues, holds, and necessary fundamentals. One of these requires us to swim to the twelve-foot deep end, retrieve a brick from the bottom, and swim it back to the other side.

I can run a 5k without stopping for breath, I can bicycle twenty miles without getting too fatigued, but for the life or death of me, as much as I tried, I wasn't able to touch the bottom of the deep end. I have until next Saturday. The worst-case scenario is that I'd only be able to guard the wading pools in the parks, which would throw a few kinks into my schedule and leave the aquatic center without another full lifeguard at their facilities. But I'm not going to let that happen. I may swallow water; but it will not swallow me.

Come Saturday, that brick is mine.

Saturday, May 12, 2007

"This wine will complement all manner of game and other wild beasts, including sloth."

I have just acquired a bottle of wine with a label designed by Ralph Steadman. You have no idea how cool that is.

I have to be at the pool in three hours.

Wednesday, May 9, 2007

Holding back the fool again

Randi Perkins died and I wasn't sad.

"Hey, Meredith, you're trying out for poms, right?"

I finished tying my shoe and looked up. Randi and two of her friends stood before me in the middle school locker room. "Yeah," I replied.

"Can you do the dance for us right now? We want to see what it's like," Randi asked.

"Um. OK." I shuffled through it the best I could. They gave me wry smiles and left to get in their spots for attendance. After class, I was waiting for my friend to finish dressing out.

"Did Randi and Lindsay ask you to do the poms dance for them?" she asked. I nodded. "Because I heard them talking when they came out. They asked just so they could make fun of you."

Ouch. Not to mention shallow.

I wasn't teased in junior high as much as I was tolerated and ignored, so I naively coasted through under the impression that I was fairly well-liked. For the most part, I'm sure it was true. I never stuck my neck out much, preferring to get to class as early as possible to sneak in a few more pages of the book I was reading rather than socialize in the halls; I bathed regularly, was in the smart classes, had respectable friends, and was meek and nice to everyone, so I doubt anyone had any deep-seated vendetta. Maybe that's why the few times I was on the dumping end of queen-bee refuse, those instances always stuck out in my mind and made me prone to bitter grudges for years.

Randi's family was upper-middle class. She had two sisters--one graduated from high school, one still in. They all played softball, ran track, had sunkissed blonde hair, big brown eyes, and big smiles. Smart enough to earn the good graces of teachers, but not enough to be intimidating. The mother of another one of my friends was the school librarian, and therefore my friend was privy to all kinds of background gossip. Amidst news of silly teacher conflicts and administrator pranks, she told me one day that Randi had a malignant tumor removed from her leg a few years ago and that so far the cancer hadn't returned.

I sat in the cafeteria reading a book one evening, waiting for the school musical to start on the stage that connected that room with the gymnasium. The crowd slowly filled in around me.

"Are there enough seats for us all to sit together?"

"Yeah, right here." They say down behind me.

I heard her voice. "It's too far away. I can't see around." She snickered. "Hey, Meredith, move your big head. I can't see."

"I was here first," I murmured.

"Never mind. You're probably going to spend the whole time reading, anyway." She cackled along with a few others. I gritted my teeth. My first reaction was to cry, but I couldn't allow myself to in front of them. I'd read that the best way to deal with bullies was to ignore them. I hoped that actually worked in real life.

"Leave her alone, Randi," one of her friends spoke up. They weren't all bad people. They started talking about other things. I never gave up my seat.

Our paths seldom crossed once we got to high school, so I was shocked one day my sopomore year to see her in the hall after she'd obviously gone through a few bouts of chemotherapy. She kept playing sports and stayed just as popular. The teachers admired her moxie. She never took any time off from school until one day, I heard through the rumor mill that she was back in the hospital. A few days later, there was an announcement over the intercom that she'd passed away early that morning, surrounded by her parents and sisters. Several of her friends were in one of my classes, and they kept sobbing and hugging each other. There was a two-page spread in the yearbook dedicated to her.

I didn't feel a bit sad. At the time, I rolled my eyes at her weepy girlfriends. She was a bitch to me for no reason other than to make herself feel superior and was just as much to others as well.

I think what truly makes me sad about this is that I got so caught up in hating her back that I couldn't find it in myself to be the bigger person and forgive her. Forgiveness of stupid, insignificant past events is just as difficult as forgiveness of larger transgressions. You forget--which I suppose is half the battle, anyway--but sometimes you haven't yet been able to come to terms with them, and they fester and keep making you bitter. Everybody's a bitch in middle school. People change. Even if they don't, it still doesn't necessarily mean they're a bad person. Obviously she had some redeeming qualitites. I didn't see them, or she didn't allow me to see them, whatever. It doesn't mean they weren't there, and that she wasn't deserving of love or compassion.

Rest in peace, Randi Perkins.

Sunday, May 6, 2007

Pomp and circumstance

I woke up an hour before I had to be at graduation and remembered that I still hadn't bought my tassel. I tried looking for mine from high school but to no avail, so I made one out of leftover white embriodery thread and a heart-shaped pin. I liked it better.

The theatre majors lined up together and walked with the rest of the thousand across campus to the football field. Seth and I had a cigarette on the way. My hat blew off twice, the tassel fell off once, and I lost a flower on my purse. The commencement speaker's general message came across as "It's ok to have dreams, but you should have a backup plan when those don't work out, because you might die at a young age."

We were in the fourth row from the front and gave each other hearty cheers when our names were called. My hat blew away again and my cords slipped off as I walked away from the stage. When I got back to my seat, the excitement was electric. It wasn't as monumental for me as it was for the others, but right then I was glad that I'd let Rosemary and Seth talk me into walking. It was like fireworks, or the big bang theory--we'll go separate ways, and time and space will push us further and further apart, and maybe some of us weren't really that close to begin with, but for a brief point in time we all shared the same...well, spark.

It was shorter than I expected. I got to chat with my professors afterwards over cookies and punch. Ron found the flower to my purse and instinctively knew it was mine.

Wednesday, May 2, 2007

Balancing act

I was awoken by a call from my mother:
"I was calling to see if you were walking at graduation so I would know if I should come up or not."
"No. I didn't want to waste money on a cap and gown for no reason."

"I would have paid for it."
"I just didn't think there was any point."

I have a cap and gown that I borrowed from my then-boyfriend two years ago and I fully intend to walk at graduation. It was the first time I'd talked to her since Easter.

I missed the last karaoke of the school year chasing a pipe dream up and down the streets of Kirksville and to the bottom of a bottle of Bacardi Razz. The memory of it faded as it happened and that was sobering enough, but it was something I had to find out anyway.

But I got hired as a lifeguard at the aquatic center, I was a model for one of the seven deadly sins, and my printmaking professor said that the t-shirt I made for my open project was one of the best he'd ever seen in his time at Truman. So somehow I feel that I've broke even.