Shook THAT off

Ah, it feels better to lose the gravity boots, heavy eyeliner, superhero cape, and beehive hairdo and go back to being Marian(super)Librarian, instead of Zelda Pinwheel (very bitchy alter-ego trotted out for sales people and nasty maitre d's), Ab Ovu Usque Ad Mala (Sapphic Amazonian babe who likes to taunt MySpacers), and the Goddess of Snark (the weekend smartass).

It's better when you're unprepared

Since I goofed off last night and attended TWO meetings before 9 am today, I was wholly unprepared for my stint on the Walt Bodine Show's Book Doctors segment.

Whenever I feel I'm not ready for something I decide to wing it, and usually do better than if I'd prepared. But you be the judge.

Bad dress rehersal

So today is the day that I've been dreading for the last month. The first program in a series called Eclectic Eats that I planned and organized with my buddy, Paul, who is a logistical genius and a worrier nonpareil. I don't bother worrying anymore. Paul is doing enough for the both of us to last the next two years.

And the day starts off with a wallop. It's raining like a mutha. Clem goes tearing downstairs to see if the basement is leaking. Again. My cat pees on my newly acquired vintage cardigan sweater AND the clothes I was going to wear to work. I miss my bus. I forget to do my makeup. I forget to apply my de-frizz. I forget that I only have my beat-up babyish maryjanes in my desk at work and I can't wear those with bare legs which means I have to put on the spare pair of stockings I keep in my desk and the elastic is shot and where the hell am I supposed to put my underwear since I can't wear it now?! (Male people from work may not read that last line). I stuff it in my left Chuck Taylor.

I have a plethora of email to read since I didn't make it into work yesterday (hit a deer on my way back from Emporia. Do. Not. Ask.) When I do read it I learn that poor Paul is going into battle, yet AGAIN, with everyone under the sun about the room set up.

The sound guy is being "artistic" which demands a whole new set up. We spend the afternoon having multiple meetings about the set up, the food, the sound, the video, the centerpieces, and the promotional materials for the Young Friends of the Library. I discover my color printer isn't working and I can't make the copies I need. I forgot to arrange for centerpieces and cobble something together at the last minute. The soundnvideo guy is late and a bit of a squirrel. A nice squirrel, but a squirrel all the same.

I finally give up and go with it, deciding that the event is going to happen no matter what. Paul insists on wearing out his shoe leather by wearing a small trench in the floor. I tug on my stockings and we both wonder where the speaker-chefs are and at that moment, my phone vibrates. Which dislodges my stockings. This is getting embarrassing. And now it's show time.

When we open the doors, we have ten people in a room set up for 120. One of our speakers is late and my microphone won't work. Our CEO shows up and Paul and I start to get nervous that we are about to bomb; the flop sweat breaks out. The music isn't on and we can't find the CDs.

And then, everything comes together. The last speaker shows up in a crowd of about 90 other people. The music is playing under the crowd buzz. My microphone gets juiced, I make a joke about sound checks, and Paul's boss grins at me from the back of the room. I'm doing it right.

Paul gives me a thumbs up and a "you rock" wink and I'm off to the races introducing the speakers, handing off the mike, moving through the crowd and greeting the attendees. All I can think about is getting to the back of the room and getting my own drink.

Paul's boss follows me outside and tells me, "We're done. This is perfect. The CEO is thrilled. We can have anything we want in the morning. You two have done excellent work. Post mortem on Thursday. Be there."

And all Paul and I want is a place to sit and breathe and clink glasses. We'll think about the great performance tomorrow.

Performance Evaluation

I must not be the suk. Friends and family are glad I do what I do for a living. An old high school buddy has taken one of my latest favorite books with him on vacation. He's threatened to kick my ass AND the ass of the author's famous dad if he doesn't like it, but I know he will.

My mom, who listens when I tell her why she likes the books she does, discovered one of my favorite authors and is hooked. She couldn't wait for this author's latest book to come off hold, so she's reading something else and can't believe what she's been missing.

Two friends from my newest book group sat around with me in my library's cafe this weekend and jabbered about all things biblio. Victoria and I talked Crista into trying Barbara Kingsolver, Crista talked Victoria into an Australian debut novel and Victoria reminded me why I should go back and give The Club Dumas a spin. Both of them are glad to have found this new gabfest and we're going to be a tight group, I can tell.

When the work day has been cruddy, I just have to talk about reading with some friends, family, heck, strangers even. And it's all good all over again. I am lucky.

Why I love David

Sure, I have a wholelottalurv for Kurt. I can say "And so it goes" in Japanese, thanks to him and a college pal.

But my heart is missing David Halberstam. Intelligent, witty, insightful author of SPORTS books. He was a journalist in the best sense--interested in EVERYTHING and he could make you read ANYTHING. But I will miss reading the book he was working on about the 1958 game between the NY Giants and the Baltimore Colts...

What a loss to the writing community.

I am so proud

My brother, Matt, the 39 year old Army recruit, was interviewed by FoxNews today. Go here and see why we're all proud of him. He's the best:

http://foxnews.com

Type Coming of Age in the search box and choose Video, not story

Glass Hearts in Glass Houses

In her trademark ethereal prose, Alice Hoffman presents the story of a family who are slaves to love and don't know how to escape the bonds. In her latest magic-tinged novel, Skylight Confessions, methodical John falls inexplicably in love with dreamy Arlyn. The two are such polar opposites that they emotionally struggle against each other more than they come together. Their son, Sam, is scarred by the deasth of his mother and bewildered by her torrid affair with a local window washer that produces his adored younger sister, Blanca. Sam fights a losing battle with his father, his stepmkother and drugs due to grief over his mother's death, while Blanca spends her childhood playing peacemaker. Only their nanny, Meredith, can soothe Sam's tumultuous spirit and comfort Blanca. All are haunted by the ghost of Arlyn who manifests herself in mourning doves, unexpected showers of ashes and broken dishes. This family of emotional misfits must look to Sam's son, Will, to patch up the crevices of their souls.

While I'm a diehard fan of Hoffman's writing style, I felt this story was rushed and unfinished. Story threads were left dangling and theree was no character or story development involving the grandson, Will. Blanca is also left with parts of her life unresolved. Readers may feel unsated by the novel's finale.

Y-Front Photo Shoot

So. Now you know what happens on a film set. Here's what happens at an underwear photo shoot.

The room is toasty warm. All the radiators are on full blast and there are girls and women walking around in the designer undies and t-shirts. We're in the bedroom trying on the designs and waiting while the designer makes her descisions about who is wearing what. We're in the kitchen munching on the fruit and veggies the designer so graciously provided. We're on the screened porch, flashing passersby and having a smoke. We're in the front room, bopping along with Robert Moore on the radio. No one is bitching about hating their boobs, or being fat, or needing a nose job. With this crowd, we're all trying to come up with dirty jokes about the emblems on our "couture cooch covers."

The photographer is the only guy in the room. He can't stop grinning at all of us and telling us we look great. But he means it. He's not being patronizing. The first shot he wants is a group shot.

All the girls line up in a row before the windows. Chins up, boobs out, "don't look at the camera!" (we will hear that phrase a hundred times today). I am standing in between Venus and Sheila and Venus wraps an arm around me. Sheila wears one of her patented looks and reaches around to pinch my ass. I pinch her back and then everyone is laughing and playing grab ass and the camera clix away.

Then we yell "designer shot" and Twitt gets in the middle. We all look adoringly at her until she claps her hands and says, "Okay people, back to work!" By work, Twitt means, sit on the floor and wait until you are called to pose in your skivs in an artful manner inspired by your colored t-shirt, underwear design and whatever wacky prop we can find. Twitt opens a couple bottles of wine and Nutty, Venus and I imbibe, Sheila breaks out her unfiltered apple juice and we all take swigs of that with the wine. Not bad.

While the photographer is shooting, we're all yelling out suggestions (some are taken seriously, some ignored); stretching; passing the wine and cookies; admiring each other's undie designs and making plans for that evening--Roller Derby, Brick, or Owen/Cox Dance Group? We debate the merits of girls beating up girls, guys shredding guitars, and ultrahipjazzballet. No one talks about being too fat to be a model or how self conscious they feel in their knickers. Instead, we bitch about our tennies and how worn out everyone's Chucks are.

Finally, we are a headline kickline below the belt:

What they DON'T teach you in underwear model school

Ya gotta SHAVE! EVERYWHERE!

Deets on the shoot later. Off to dinner, roller derby, dance performance, The Brick.

Marky Mark and Me

Now I am an underwear model. I think I am doing this backwards. Aren't emerging showbiz types supposed to pose in campy adds in scanty lingerie and THEN do nude scenes in movies?!?! Apparently I am not following the prescribed HWood formula for success....

Twittering Machine needs "real" women to model the very kewl underwear she has designed. I will blog about that tomorrow evening after the photo shoot. All the rock wives are getting together to help her promote her "wears". Then we are going to the Plaza and do our "Little Dutch Girl" impersonations for the hoi polloi. Heh.

I will post pics if they give them to us. You won't able to see our faces, but I will be the one in orange.